Chainsaw Charlie and the Wolfie Boys

[-dogs of war-] [1. OK, let’s do a quick hunt! 10 min posting rounds. If/when we’re dicing, declare in 2 min. Roll in 2 or I’ll roll for you and/or skip you. If you want to post ICly during combat, keep it to when you’re not actively declaring/rolling, or else keep to the 2-minute deadlines.
2. If you happen to be multitasking, make sure you can keep up with the deadlines. Otherwise, I’ll ask you to stop your other scene.
3. No posting order, but please post ONCE for every post I make unless I say otherwise.
4. Keep track of your own health and tempers.
5. Questions in the chat. Don’t IM me. If I don’t see the question, repeat it until I do. 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.
6. PM me your applicable flaws. This includes stuff like nightmares and phobias and hatreds and compulsions!
7. If there are any off-limits themes, imagery or events you do NOT want to see in a scene, PM ’em to me now.
8. I’ll start us off! ]

[-dogs of war-] Last night’s blizzard had hit with such ferocity that the lakeside is shrouded in ice and snow. Even now, with the brunt of the storm past, Grant Park is abandoned. It looks like another world altogether: the lake indistinguishable from the land, the paths buried, the buildings prehistoric dark lumps in the snow, all of it cloaked in white.

Across this surreal landscape comes the unmistakable, equally surreal sound of someone revving up a gasoline chainsaw. And someone else screaming, muffled.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Why Patrick is anywhere at any given time is like asking why people put cigarettes out on the sidewalk when there’s a rubbish bin two feet away — it just is, and he just is. Right now, the taciturn Fianna Galliard is doing a round of the park grounds with a — surprise, surprise — cigarette between his fingers.

He’d been at one stage watching the fountain, and ignoring the creepy as fuck faces that smiled at random. Everything is white, white, white — and frozen. His breath mists, sounding louder in the quiet. His boots crunch over frozen ground and in the distance — a chainsaw revs.

Someone screams.
Patrick stops, and exhales.

“… the fuck.” Such an eloquent soul.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Why Patrick is anywhere at any given time is like asking why people put cigarettes out on the sidewalk when there’s a rubbish bin two feet away — it just is, and he just is. Right now, the taciturn Fianna Galliard is doing a round of the park grounds with a — surprise, surprise — cigarette between his fingers.

He’d been at one stage watching the fountain, and ignoring the creepy as fuck faces that smiled at random. Everything is white, white, white — and frozen. His breath mists, sounding louder in the quiet. His boots crunch over frozen ground and in the distance — a chainsaw revs.

Someone screams.
Patrick stops, and exhales.

“… the fuck.” Such an eloquent soul.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] […ahem. ]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She just came from a bar in this general vicinity, and considering what may be coming, it’s probably a good thing that she didn’t drink too much. She is in a semi-pissy mood for some reason or another, and is just making her way into the park for some introspective time. She has a cigarette dangling from one corner of her mouth, having just lit it while walking along the pathways.

And then there’s the metallic rip of a chansaw buzzing in the night. And what should come after every good chainsaw rip…if you’re Leatherface, that is.

Sarita should be surprised. She’s not. She just narrows her eyes, shakes her head, and starts walking toward where sound came from with an exhalation of cigarette smoke into the air.

“Fuck February,” she says, patting her duster where Harry lies. “Stupid bullshit wanna-be month anyway.”

[Burnout] Hunter decided to take a stroll on his way home since the weather had begun to clear. John had been waiting in the car for him and now they walk through the park taking in the eerie white blankets all around them. Cigarette in his hand with his coat pulled tightly around him.

They had found Patrick, talking to him briefly(well hunter did LOL SOZ JOHN) before that chainsaw noise shook through the empty park.

the fuck Patrick says.

The fuck indeed.

“You got any fuckin’ talens on ya’ Patty? John? Fuck it.” He flicks his chin, autobots roll out.

[Simon] Simon was out for whatever stupid reason that honestly made no sense to him. Something something… You should go outside! That is what he said to himself and here he was out and about. Still the boy was smart enough to wear light colored clothing. White hoodie, even white jeans, and a heavy white scarf with a white coat over the top. The surreal wasteland worked well to cover him up in the event he actually had to hide in this all. Simon was out to keep an eye on things as always… His patrols never stopped even if the rest of his pack slept!

His car was a pain in the ass… Luckily there weren’t many out on the streets tonight and so he didn’t have to worry too much about causing an accident. Besides there was no way in hell he was walking in this shit. The main streets were opened, partly, and he was making use of them.

Luckily the muffled sound that accompanies heavy snowfall made it easy to pick out the screams of someone. His car stopped slowly and the sounds of a motor were heard. A familiar sound… The kind of sound that lit the full moon’s eyes up with a hint of glee. Someone brought a chainsaw out to play… Simon found a spot to park his car and immediately stepped out and opened the hatchback and immediately began to rummage through the tools he kept piled in the back.

[Drawn in Blood] Even if he can’t talk, the Modi doesn’t appear as though he’s made too miserable by the fact that it is zero degrees Fahrenheit outside, and the wind slices off even more warmth, and steam is rising from his body as he walks through the park. This isn’t an aberrant weather phenomenon compared to what life further north is like, but considering the freakish storm that had passed through several nights before, it’s still not exactly enjoyable.

So, he’s hunkered down into his jacket as they move through the park, unable to communicate with his hands pushed into his pockets in lieu of suitable gloves. When that scream pierces the night air he looks up, sharply, his nostrils attempting to flare even though they’re practically freezing together every time he inhales. Breathing through his mouth makes his lungs burn.

He’s used to this, but the lack of sunlight makes it near-intolerable.


The Fenrir nods, tersely, and with that flick of his soon-to-be Alpha’s chin, he breaks off running down the treacherous sidewalk in the direction of the scream. It’s too fucking cold for a full-out sprint but this isn’t something to leisurely stroll toward, either.

[-dogs of war-] In the distance — over by the manicured trees, the shaded paths where people walk their dogs on nicer days — the chainsaw revs again, that distinctive coughing, cycling noise.

And then it’s not revving anymore, just roaring. The muffled screaming reaches a fevered pitch of terror. The tenor of the chainsaw changes, becomes wetter — the screaming shifts abruptly into the sort of shrieking, inhuman noise most people never hear in their lives, much less make.

[Burnout] This is not okay, the screaming sounds out again in his head and this time his body is shifting after a quick glance around him. He does it on the move, running through the snow and he stretches down into all fours long before he loses arms in favour of front legs. He lopes in crinos, then in Hispo, then finally in Lupus. Still unsure of who is around, still not willing to risk it.

His head turns to John as he runs along beside him and he let’s out a little snarl. Soak please. Is what it asks, and he holds his mouth open briefly.

They head in the direction of the manicured trees.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Sólo mi maldita suerte…” She breaks into a run, hauling ass that way. She’s not stupid, though…she doesn’t know she’s not alone in heading that way, so she pauses a moment to activate Blur of the Milky Eye (or as she likes to call it, “Predator Mode”) before she heads that way.

[Predator-Mode: Engage]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6 (Failure at target 8)

[-dogs of war-] [wanna try again at +1 diff?]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Always! And WP this time, ’cause she thinks she’s stopping psycho chainsaw men alone as of yet]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 6, 10 (Failure at target 9) [WP]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Fucking February,” she mutters under her breath again, as she can’t get the concentration right and just gives up.

[Drawn in Blood] The scream hits again, this time accompanied by the sound of a chainsaw chewing up flesh, and John nearly wipes the hell out skidding to cut off the walkway and onto the snow-covered lawn. Like the Bone Gnawer, he shifts to a form better suited for covering long distances in snow, morphing through bodies until he hits his wolf skin and runs, quickly but not so quickly as his fleet-footed companion.

A bit of rummaging, and he deposits a small granite wafer stone in Burnout’s maw. It leaves him one from the scant supply of bound Earth Elementals he had commandeered for the journey south. He readies his own, and picks up the pace.

[-1G, +3 soak from talen!]

[-dogs of war-] No go for Sarita. Her body tries to blur, but the spirits slip from her reach, leaving her starkly visible. At least the moon is dark. Her moon.

[Sarita, Burnout and Simon, roll 1d10! Highest roll gets there first. Burnout’s roll counts for himself, DiB and Patrick]

[Burnout] [rollin]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [C’MON KAHSEENO!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Simon] Simon began to whistle to himself as he pulled out a tool suited to the occasion. It was rare he got a chance or reason to make use of the thing so why not? A small gas can was also lifted and gas was poured into the engine. He primed the engine and before long it was wrapped up neatly in a little blanket and gently settled into a duffel bag.

When he is ready he closes the door and begins in the direction of the sound. Taking the time to begin activating Talens!

[-1 G BB, -1 G Soak Talen!]

[Simon] [Rolling!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Prayers to Broken Stone never claimed to be an elegant man.

He hears those noises and there’s a guttural, unnatural snarl. He starts running and leaps over the snowy ground at one point — when he lands, there is no more man — only beast. Huffing, paws pounding heavily against the snowy ground. It flies away from his progress as if blasted by the sheer weight of his on-coming.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [FYI: Patrick gives not a single fuck and is in Hispo. :D]

[-dogs of war-] It’s the Ragabash, scout and forerunner of the Nation, that makes it to the scene first. She knows she’s near because she can hear the chainsaw coughing and snarling just over the next rise. She can smell the sharp, acid tang of fresh blood. The screaming has died down — a sort of snuffling, sobbing noise now, spiking now and then into a fresh wail.

She can hear another voice, too. It’s a boy. He sounds young, no older than fifteen or sixteen. “C’mon! Make some noise! Don’t fuckin die yet you fuckin pussy. Your sister lasted longer than you. You wanna know what I did to her? Huh? Well, first I —

— what he describes then, and in extreme, gleeful detail, chills the blood.

[Sarita, roll me a percep + alert or percep + PU, whichever is highest, diff 6.

Hunter’s crew, roll the same thing at diff 8.]

[Burnout] [percep+alert dif 8 -2 lupus]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Well, if she’s not gonna be all yautja (that’s the name the Predators have for each other. Shut up, Sarita’s not a geek, and she’ll kick your ass with her steel-toed boots if you suggest otherwise), she’s at least gonna be armed. She pulls out her .44 Colt Anaconda and she approaches the sound of flesh and bone being split like cord wood, pulling the hammer back.

She keeps low as she moves, going as fast as she can without being obvious by yelling or, you know, setting off Piccolo Petes along the way.

[[Both the same, so I say Alertness just because]]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [PU+Perception, -2 diff (lupus).]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 7, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Per + Alert]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [There might be more than that one voice over the hill.]
to Burnout, Drawn in Blood, Prayers to Broken Stone, Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [oh fuck the fucking diff, man.]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] That’s why they make guns with more than one bullet, she thinks to herself as she approaches. She crouches lower when she gets to the hill, gun at the ready as she comes up and getting a quick look at what she’s shooting at (and how many) before she shoots.

[-dogs of war-] [sarita, roll wits + stealth to stay hidden while peeking!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[SNEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAKY]]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [percep counterroll – diff 8 cuz i’m SAWIN AWAY]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 6, 7 (Failure at target 8)

[-dogs of war-] [i’m not sawin’.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [nor i.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 6, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [nor me.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [there are four. one’s got the face of a snotnosed kid and the body of a steroid-pumped bodybuilder. he’s got a chainsaw. the other three are mangy, starved-looking wolves. i’ll probably put better descrips into my pre-init post, but there you go!]
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[-dogs of war-] [whup – pause a sec for me to get a post in!]

[-dogs of war-] It’s not that Sarita’s particularly loud, or clumsy, or inexpert. Quite the opposite. The Ragabash moves smooth as silk as she pops up and over the crest of the hill for a look. She’s just unlucky.

On the other side of the hill, there’s massacre. There’s a body that used to be human tied — with razor wire — to a tree trunk. The tree’s in the way, sparing Sarita from seeing what inevitable gore was wreaked on that unfortunate. Standing in front of him, bare to the waist in this weather, is a kid. At least, he has the face of a kid. Towheaded. Freckled. A little goofy, like some sophomore class clown. That face sits on the towering six-three body of a professional bodybuilder, though, bulging with steroid-driven musculature.

There’s a chainsaw in his right hand. It’s red. There’s a bowie knife in his left. It’s red. His face is red too, his chest, all of it splattered with blood; there’s red all over the ground, exploding outward from the near-dead thing tied to the tree.

And he’s chewing, as though on gum. But it’s not gum. It might be an ear.

Chainsaw Boy’s not alone in that copse of carefully tended trees. He’s attended by a trio of wolves, or what might be wolves. They’re huge, bristling. They’re also so emaciated that their ribs show through their mangy pelts, the points of their shoulders and hips jutting through their winter coat. Two of them are snarling at each other, fighting over a

severed arm

but the third is looking right at Sarita. He sees her. He gives a single, low, powerful bark. The other two drop their toy immediately, heads swinging around to face Sarita, hackles coming slowly up. Chainsaw Boy looks up, too, and his bloody mouth splits into a wide grin.

“Well, damn, baby!” he crows. “You’re the hottest thing I’ve seen this week! Mm-MM! Why don’t you come on down!”

Behind him, the first of the wolves begins to rise to its hind legs, growing as it moves.

[Okay, one more round of reactions! Inits will come at the end of your posts. Hunter et al can be at Sarita’s position by the end of this round, but Simon will need to run for another round to get there.]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her eyes widen, and she utters many curses directed at several Catholic saints and gods of capricious luck as she does. Amidst there is a brief “Help me out, Jude” as she takes aim at one of them. Hopefully she can cap one and play hit and run with the rest. That’s just about the only way to play odds like this.

Well, you know, except to get help. But that would be expecting FAR too much from Sarita. She’s more concerned about saving who’s whoever might be alive than silly things like self-preservation. You know who was into self-preservation? Joe McCarthy, Osama bin Laden, Lex Luthor and Satan. Do you want to be like them? Sarita doesn’t. And that’s why she’s not a self-preservationist. Because if you worry about keeping your own life, the terrorists and Satan win.

Somehow, in some way, that made a disturbing amount of logic, but Sarita doesn’t have time to think about that. Instead she just grins and takes aim at the nearest wolf. “Oh, sweetie, trust me. You couldn’t handle me…I play too rough.”

[[Init +6]]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[Burnout] Hunter skids to a halt when he starts to hear those noises, smell those scents. Wait up, he wags, hold. The human,or what is most likely human, is still alive. This means the veil, this means he either has to die which he probably will anyway, or.. Well John is here, not a problem.

The other problem is that there are more of them, perhaps many more of them and there’s some animal quality about the others. Nostrils flare, teeth crunch the soak talen that had been given to him and he pauses to think.

I have had it with this shit, let’s break some heads boys.

His body shifts again, a short way up into a bulky Hispo wolf with slavering jaws and feet that dig into snow, compacting it beneath a vastly bigger weight.

You ready?

Green eyes flick between the two then he’s rushing forward to meet Sarita and the abominations.

[-1G +2 soak! -1 WP Resist pain INIT +13]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Galliard doesn’t speak; his teeth are bared; his gums drawn back at the scents and sights before him. A claw dances in the snow; impatient. Vengeful. He licks his chops, and when the Bone Gnawer speaks, he simply whines in anxious need to be out there. To destroy.

It’s not even a question of Gaia’s War.
It’s what is right, and what is wrong.

They are wrong.
The Fianna will decimate them.

He runs after the others, yapping in exhilaration before he morphs, swarming up into his Hispo form.

[Simon] Simon keeps coming. He fully intends to join this fight… Though he is oblivious to the fact that others are already there he gives a warm and affectionate little smile when he gets into the tree line and lowers himself to set his bag on the floor. Unzipping it… He pulls out the contents. Priming the engine once more to be certain then slowly his form shifts upwards to his war form. With the Chainsaw in hand he begins towards the Scene… The massive black furred creature pushing through the brush and snarling as it races towards the scene of the crime or… Whatever it was. Readying himself for a fight! A violent bloody fight…

Don’t bring a gun to a Chainsaw fight motherfucker… Bring a fuckin’ chainsaw!

[-1 WP Resist pain]

Runrunrun! Through the trees… Leap, dodge, jump, swosh… Gonna get there before all the fun is over…

Somewhere in the distance the sound of another Chainsaw is doubtless heard revving up. More allies perhaps? Or something far far more sinister?

[Drawn in Blood] Drawn in Blood cannot snarl. Fury fills his eyes, golden in this form, and he nearly bristles with the driving need to rush down there and bury his claws in something, but no low growl of warning leaves his throat. He does not slaver or snap his teeth. They are bared, glistening and sharp in the moonlight, and they flash like knives in the darkness as he waits for a cue from the Bone Gnawer beside him.

No one back home would believe him capable of following an urrah into battle. He had this realization the other night: he will not survive in this forsaken city if he practices exclusion based on tribe.

Burnout shifts, the Fiann whines, and the Fenrir, his blood notably pure for being as thick in the End Times as they are, just explodes into his war form, charging into battle alongside the two strangers, whetting his claws on trees and buried stones as they go.

[-1R, activate Razor Claws!
-1WP, activate Resist Pain!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[-dogs of war-] War Wolf 1: White Fang +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] War Wolf: Balto +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] War Wolf: Buck +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] Handler +8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] The Handler 17
Hunter 16
Patrick 16
DiB 14
Balto and White Fang 13
Buck 11
Sarita 10

Declares in reverse, please!

[Simon] [Init! +9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[-dogs of war-] [Simon has top inits when he gets here next round!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [1 Rage spent. action 1: shoot a wolf, action 2 run]]

[-dogs of war-] White Fang
1. Bite Patrick
R1. Claw!
R2. Special Maneuver: Dread Howl
R3. Tackle DiB!

1. Fur Gnarl Burnout
R1. Bite Burnout
R2. Bite again!
R3. Bite DiB while he’s down

1. Bite Sarita
R1. Hamstring Sarita
R2. Bite Burnout!
R3. Bite DiB while he’s down!

[Drawn in Blood] [1a:
R2: all claws on White Fang, switching to Balto if he goes down.]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1a.
1b. Biting on White Fang
R2. Same again! Fianna don’t give a single fuck.]

[Burnout] [1a – spur claws Balto
1b –
1c –
r1 –
r2 – bite white fang switching to balto if he goes down]

[-dogs of war-] Handler
1a. Kill guy on tree
b. saw Burnout!
R1. saw Patrick!
R2. saw DiB!
R3. saw Sarita!

[-dogs of war-] The Gaians bear down, rushing over the hill into that shallow basin full of churned snow, sprayed blood. Almost as one, the tainted wolves grow to meet them — dim, primitive, hungry intelligence in their eyes, snarls of foul challenge spat from their maws.

Their handler isn’t angry. He’s delighted, crowing and laughing, giving that ripcord on his chainsaw a good hard tug not because the tool — the weapon — needs it, but because it’s just fun.

Without batting an eyelash he plunges the chainsaw into the chest of the gurgling, bound man. The tenor snarl of the chainsaw hits a lower, labored pitch as it grinds through meat and bone and organ, into wood. There isn’t even a scream this time. Just fountains of blood, hot, melting snow with soft sizzles. The boy gives a shriek of delight, then wades through the blood to meet the largest and strongest of the wolves on the field.

[1a. KILL!
b. saw burnout, -3 dice. Chainsaws: diff 8 – really unwieldy.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

[-dogs of war-] [chainsaw damage: str + 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Burnout] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Burnout] [1a – spur claws on balto -3 split(WP Because this is important)]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]

[Burnout] [dmg ;(((( COME ON KAHSEENO]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [Balto soaks!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [+2 diff to Balto!]

[Burnout] [1b -4 bite white fang!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Burnout] [dmg+3]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [WF soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Burnout] [1c -5 bitin again!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[Burnout] [dmg+3]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [WF soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1a. Bite WF! Don’t laugh at my puny totemless stats. -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[-dogs of war-] [WF soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1b. RAR.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[-dogs of war-] [WF soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Damage + 0]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [1a: claw White Fang, -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [WF soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 5, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [1b: -3, DO NOT FUCK WITH ME TODAY KAHSEENO]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [WF soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] The would-be Alpha charges first, claws swiping at one of the wolves before turning on another. His lunges directs the storm: one after another, his packmates-to-be follow his attack, snapping at the ugly, misshapen beast that had first noticed Sarita.

It’s a tough kill. It takes all three of them biting in tandem, one after another, to finally bring it tottering down to the snow. Even there it growls feebly, paws struggling to move.

The Handler wails — a petulant sound of pure peevishness. “You’re not FUN!” he accuses.

[WF: x_O]

[-dogs of war-] Balto 1: Fur Gnarl on Burnout! 7d10, diff 7
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[-dogs of war-] [Claw Damage str +2. Every succ /2 = -1 soak to gnarled spot.]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [ignore that! fur gnarl fails. +2 diff!]

[-dogs of war-] Buck 1: Bite Sarita!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Autoshift to Crinos]]

[-dogs of war-] [Bite Damage str +3, +3 from suxx]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[GO GO GADGET SOAK]]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Gotta change action since I don’t think she can shoot–finger guard don’t fit anymore. Claw time]]

[-dogs of war-] [+1 diff, and go!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[CLAW +1 Diff]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Sorry, Buck]]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [{DIE!!!!]]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 6, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [buck soaks!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [Handler: saw patrick!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)

[-dogs of war-] [whoops, the 10]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Failure at target 8)

[-dogs of war-] [dam +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 6, 6, 6, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 5, 5, 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Burnout] [R1 bite Balto!]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[Burnout] [dmg+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [ack, soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [x_O]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [R1. RAR bite, uh, that dude that done sawed me. Yeah. -2 Guts Hanging Out.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 10 (Failure at target 5)

[Drawn in Blood] [R1: claw… whoever’s up! Buck! Yeah!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [Buck soaks!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] The second war wolf goes down faster than the first — its throat torn out by the Bone Gnawer, its heavy body puffing powder snow up as it falls.

There’s just one left. He’s barely nicked Sarita; meant to tear her hamstring out. But she’s facing him now, scratching for his throat. His tail hangs low. He gives a single uncertain whine. Then it shifts. Strengthens. The single standing war wolf throws back his head and howls.

[R1 changed: special ability – Rallying Howl. -2 Rage. Each succ/2 restores 1HP to war wolves in earshot. Charisma + Survival roll! +1 diff for action change.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[-dogs of war-] [WF and Balto teeter up to 6Agg!

WF – +1 diff, clawing Patrick — Burnout takes this hit!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 5, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 7)

[-dogs of war-] [damage +5]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Burnout] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 6, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [Balto’s biting Burnout at +3 cumulative diff next]

[Burnout] The claws strike down his flank after the two war wolves rise from their twitching half-graves. They look broken, destroyed, utterly ravaged but still they continue. Hunter snarls low and gruff to the two wolves at his side.


[-dogs of war-] [balto, bite!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)

[-dogs of war-] [dam +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Burnout] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 5, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Claw claw claw clawy claw on Buck. Fucker]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8 (Failure at target 7)

[-dogs of war-] [I’m gonna let Simon join combat now so he doesn’t wait the entire thing out. Declare for R1/R2 (or just R1 if you wanna spend just 1 rage!) — we’ll assume the main action was running]

[Simon] [R1:Chainsaw Chainsaw Man!
R2: Chainsaw Chainsaw Man More!]

[-dogs of war-] [Roll R1, Simon!]

[Simon] [Chainsaw +Wp]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 7) [WP] Re-rolls: 2

[Simon] [Str+3+4= 15]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [Handler soaks!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 7, 7, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] Handler, R2: Saw DiB!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[-dogs of war-] [dam]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Burnout] [Hunter r2 bite buck!]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Burnout] [dmg+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Regen!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[-dogs of war-] [we’ll save that for end of round]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [R2 Bite on, uh, the handler! -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [ack! soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [R2: WHITE FANG]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[-dogs of war-]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Drawn in Blood] [*siiiiigh*]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Burnout] [soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [WF: Dread Howl. Succ/2 in damage (soakable) — plus, if you get damaged, you’re deafened and can’t hear commands for a round.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [FUCK YOU WHITE FANG]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Burnout] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [Balto: chomping Burnout next.]

[Simon] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [Soaking the rest of the hits on Burnout!]

[-dogs of war-] [biting at +2 diff!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 8, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[-dogs of war-] [dam +3]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [You fucking asshole.]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [And Buck: same!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[-dogs of war-] [dam +5]
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 4, 5, 5, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [Come at me bro.]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Simon] [Chainsaw Chansaw Man!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Simon] [Str+3+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [ack!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [rageback!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)

[-dogs of war-] Handler: Frenzied! Drops chainsaw, commences stabbity.

R3. Changed to: Stabbing Simon! +1 diff
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[-dogs of war-] [dam +5]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Simon] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [roll stamina vs diff 8 as well!]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[-dogs of war-] WF: R3 – tackle DiB!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [sorry, diff 7 – same succ though]

[-dogs of war-] [dam +4, bashing]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] Balto: bite while down! -2 diff, +2 diff from spur claws
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[-dogs of war-] [dam!]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [buck’s next action is also to bite while DiB is down]

[Drawn in Blood] [I swear to god Damon if he dies because of Bashing damage again John will haunt your fucking sock drawer.]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [Buck: chomp!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 3)

[Drawn in Blood] [ZOOM]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [dam +5]
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Burnout] [Hunter +13!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Drawn in Blood] [IT IS A GOOD DAY TO DIE
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Simon] [Init +9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [Sarita +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[Drawn in Blood] [PATTYCAKES
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[-dogs of war-] Shit happens. People die. Then they bounce back up! And more shit happens. And now two of the war wolves are clinging to life; the Handler’s frenzied; Buck’s still doing all right. Not great, but all right.

On the Gaian’s side, Patrick is pretty badly sawed up, but he’s healing. DiB’s kinda nibbled at. Hunter and Simon are scratched. Sarita’s still good.

The fight rages on!

[-dogs of war-] WF +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3 (Failure at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] Buck +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] Balto +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5 (Failure at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] Handler +8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] Hunter 21
Simon 18
The Handler 16
Hunter 16
Buck 15
Balto 12
Sarita 11
Patrick 10
WF 10
DiB 9

[Drawn in Blood] John
R2: all claws on White Fang, then Balto, then Buck. Fuck.]

[-dogs of war-] WF
1a. chomp Sarita!
b. chomp Simon!
R1. chomp DiB!
R2. chomp Burnout!

[Drawn in Blood] Patrick
R2: same as John.]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[1. Grab Buck by head, throw him AT the Handler]]

[-dogs of war-] Buck
1a. chomp burnout!
b. tackle Simon
R1 chomp DiB!
R2 chomp Sarita!

1a. chomp DiB!
b. chomp Simon!
R1. chomp burnout!
R2. chomp sarita!

[-dogs of war-] Handler
1. knife simon!
R1. knife him again!
R2. knife burnout!
R3. knife DiB!

If Buck actually gets tossed onto him, he may accidentally stab buck a few times.

[Simon] [1a: Reserved for a Chainsaw Parry!
1b: Chainsaw The Handler
1R: Chainsaw TH, Balto, Buck, WF
2R: Chainsaw ” ”
3R: Chainsaw ” “]

[Burnout] [1a – bite WF
1b – bite WF
1c- bite Buck
r1 – bite buck
r2 – bite balto]

[Burnout] [1a -3 bite WF!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Burnout] [dmg+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [rage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[Burnout] [1b -4 bite WF]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7 (Failure at target 5)

[Burnout] [1c WHAT -5 bite buck!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[Burnout] [dmg+4]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 4, 7, 7, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [buck soaks too!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Simon] [First action reserved for parry straight to second action! -3 dice for split action WP!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 6, 7 (Failure at target 8) [WP]

[-dogs of war-] [handler: knife!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 4) Re-rolls: 3

[Simon] [Chainsaw Parry! -02.000 Dice]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Failure at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

[-dogs of war-] [dam +8]
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Simon] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Simon] [Staminaz!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[-dogs of war-] Buck: 1a. chomp burnout! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 10 (Failure at target 5)

[-dogs of war-] b. tackle simon! -3
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[-dogs of war-] dam +2 bashing
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Simon] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] Balto: 1a chomp DiB!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[-dogs of war-] dam +2
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [Soakage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] b. chomp simon while he’s down!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 3)

[-dogs of war-] [dam +3]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Simon] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Simon] [Stay standed]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 9)

[-dogs of war-] [buck: don’t fall!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She reaches out and grips the wolf code-named “Buck” around the head and proceeds to pivot, intending to use her momentum to fling the thing directly into the handler. As she does, she bellows something in High Tongue.


Forgive her. Someone’s been watching The Expendables far too much. And been pissed there’s no female member of the team. What the fuck is that shit about anyway? Was Milla Jovovich, Linda Hamilton or the like too busy with their shitty Resident Evil sequels and…whatever Linda Hamilton is doing these days? What about Uma Thurman with some Bride revenge shi–ahem. Sorry. Oh yeah, attack.
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[WP, need 2 to get to 8]]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 6 (Botch x 1 at target 9)

[-dogs of war-] [buck’s pretty heavy. bashing damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] Pattycakes
[1a: -4 (first split/4L).]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Drawn in Blood] [+1]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 6, 6, 6, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [WF soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [annnd incap!]

[Drawn in Blood] [1b: -5]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 6 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Drawn in Blood] [+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 4, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] balto soaks!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] John
[1a: -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [nooo i want to liiive!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [rage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 8)

[Drawn in Blood] [1b: -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]

[Drawn in Blood] [+1]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 5, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Burnout] [Hunter r1 on balto]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) Re-rolls: 3

[Burnout] [dmg+3]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [balto soaks]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 4, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [er, buck. buck soaked that]

[Simon] [Chainsaw Handler!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Simon] [Str+3]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] Handler
R1 – knife Simon!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 4)

[-dogs of war-] [dam +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Simon] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] Buck
1. chomp DiB!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[-dogs of war-] [dam +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [WHAT IS THAT]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] Balto
R1 chomp burnout!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[-dogs of war-] dam
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Burnout] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] here are 3 soaks for wolves, plus one for chainsaw man. i gotta get noms!

wolf soak vs patrick
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] vs DiB
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] vs Burnout’s R2
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] and Handler vs Simon
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Simon] [Chainsaw Handler!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 10 (Failure at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

[Burnout] [R1 bite ]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 7 at target 5)

[Burnout] [that was actually R2+6 dmg]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] Patrick
[R1! -2!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Drawn in Blood] [+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

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

[Drawn in Blood] [+4]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [hold on!]

[-dogs of war-] Handler R2! stabbity burnout.
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 4)

[-dogs of war-] [dam +6]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Burnout] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] buck, chomp sarita!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[-dogs of war-] [dam]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [balto’s also chomping sarita]

[-dogs of war-] [balto’s still at +2 diff]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 4, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[-dogs of war-] [dam]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Burnout] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [dog soaks against pat’s earlier attack]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Simon] [This is the Final Fucking Chainsaw… Only cause if I don’t chainsaw I get +1 Diff anyway so why the fuck not!?!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Failure at target 8)

[-dogs of war-] Hunter 21 – 5Agg
Simon 18 – 2Agg
The Handler 16 – 5Agg
Buck 15 – 5Agg
Sarita 11 – 4Agg 2Bash
Patrick 10 – 4Lethal

[Drawn in Blood] Patrick

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Fuck the fancy shit. 1: CLAW BUCK MOTHERFUCKER!]]

[-dogs of war-] Handler:
R1. Stab again!
R2. And again!

1a. Bite whoever bites me first
b. bite whoever bites me second!
R1. first guy again!
R2. second guy again!

[Simon] [Okay here’s what I’ma do Handler!

1a: I’ma Bite you to hold your ass still with my Mouth(And kill you a little)!!!
1b: Then I’ma jam the Chainsaw up through your rib cage as I hold you still and dead!!!
1R: Then I’ma throw the Chainsaw and you aside and Claw the living fuck outta anything still standing]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Burnout] [1a
1e – all bites on handler changing to buck if he goes down will spend WP in there because this shit is ridic.]

[Burnout] [1a -5 bite handler]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Burnout] [dmg+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] x_x

[Burnout] [1b -6 bite the buck I WANT MY FUCKIN’ CORNERS]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Burnout] [dmg+5]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-dogs of war-] [Final tally:

White Fang 7A
Buck 7A
Balto 7A
Handler 7A +1 overkill

Hunter 5A
DiB 7A
Patrick 4L
Sarita 4A 2B
Simon 2A]

[-dogs of war-] [I’M TOO TIRED TO WRITE A WRAP! but y’all were great. thanks for participating, and thanks for sticking it through!]

[Drawn in Blood] [THANK YOU DAMON]

[Simon] Simon will make sure everything is alive… And then he will make good use of that chainsaw to get the parts shredded and when they are properly hacked up he will see to it that the bodies are disposed of… With the help of anyone who is standing around…

When the matter is dealt with he will keep the second chainsaw. You never know when you will need two!

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Sarita helps Simon with the body disposal and so on. She’s good-natured, despite being fuckered up, and makes lots of jokes. Until it comes do dealing with the victims, at least. She puts away the humor for that.

[Drawn in Blood] [WAKE UP MODI
PU+Wits I want to fail another roll before bed]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 5 at target 4)

[-dogs of war-] It should be mentioned:

During cleanup, they might stumble upon more bodies in the snow. Some are decayed; others are frozen so solid they didn’t get a chance to decay. All have been terribly mutilated. They put down a real monster tonight.

[Burnout] A Gaia’s breath to John, just the one and then Hunter waits patiently for the Modi to rise so they can help with clean up. Back to bronze, he might stop on the way and pick up a street walker since his Rage is so low, or maybe a kinfolk or two.

[Drawn in Blood] [WHAT’D I TELL YOU SON]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Burnout] [block]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

A Fight With a Wurm

[Cracka’Jack] *Snow drifts lightly on the streets of Bronzeville, dusting the slums magical for a few spare hours. Darkness is falling over the ghetto, and the predators are coming out to play. Thugs loiter on corners, breath puffing as they speak in low tones, eyes slanted wary at each passing car. There are things out tonight higher in the food chain than those in gang colors.

One of them is a scrawny ghetto diva, a pink bubble popping loudly between her lips as she cases an abandoned parking lot. Once upon a time, this had been a park. Lou’s little sister had chipped her teeth on the metal monkey bars years ago. Now it was 2 stories of cement and exposed rebar. Hoop earring flicker in the dying streetlight as she shakes her head.*

[Tongue Twister] Somewhere between bronzeville and chinatown is a hidden little apartment building that once was a packhouse for the Bogeymen. Now it holds only the lone Bogeman left, by the generous donations of a certain Shadow Lord Kin, who digs skinny, shy redheads. Said redhead is currently headed home from whatever mischief she’d gotten into today – which is to say not much, as sometimes she is not very much like her Tribe, at all.

Battered boots, tattered jeans, a light jacket and all those vibrantly red curls turns the corner in the form of Rory. Her pack is on her shoulders, her hands shoved deep into her pocket, her lithe form keeping close to the shadows, as all good Bogeymen do…

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s walking down the street, having absolutely no problem with the slums in which she finds herself. The woman is used to traveling through the scuzzy parts of society, and she walks along like she owns the place. It’s a level of confidence that would be considered foolhardy on anyone but the most capable of individuals. Is she that level of capable? We may find out soon enough.

A hand-rolled cigarette is pressed between her lips as she walks along, having just pocketed some cash. The Strider needs a place to ply her trade, and there’s no shortage of pot buyers around here, she’s learned in the last three weeks. She rolls her shoulders, setlling the duster a little better on her shoulder as she moves along.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] As a matter of fact, there’s a familiar figure talking to one of those pot dealers right now. Well, familiar in breeding at any rate. Familiar if the broad shoulders and back were remembered from times glimpsed around the Brotherhood of Thieves, around the city. Patrick Llewelyn is standing, hand in one pocket, hood drawn back from his blond head and lit cigarette between the fingers of the other, talking in undertones to a young Hispanic kid.

The kid has a cigarette between his lips, and neat cornrows; running over his skull and ending at the nape of his neck. There are more tattoos on his body than many people ever see at once in their natural lifetime. A handful of bills emerge from Patrick’s pocket, and to Sarita, or anyone else who knows what to look for can glimpse the baggie that’s handed over and that the Galliard tucks into his coat.

He starts away from the kid with a brief nod.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She glances over when she sees Patrick, doing a double take. She grins a little and hops playfully off the curb, then back on as she makes her way over to him. The expression on her face is mock-hurt, the upturned lips belying any actual hurt feelings as she walks toward Patrick with arms going a little wide.

“Dude! How am I supposed to run my perfectly legitimate business when my potential customer base is out shopping at my competitors?” She smirks. “That’s just straight out harsh, chico. S’up?”

[Cracka’Jack] *There was an electricity in the air that seemed to war with the whirling frost. It was what had drawn the gnawer here, though she hardly knew it. The tingle of wrongness that set her teeth on edge. Dingy leather boots scuffed across cracked cement. Lou snorted at the fault lines underfoot. This was no doubt the reason this place had been abandoned in the middle of construction, something in the concrete hadn’t set, and rather than do it right, the company had just slapped a for-sale sign on the ruined structure and walked away.

Dark eyes skate across the street at the low murmur of voices. The gnawer’s hit by one shock of celtic breeding followed by another. A strider easing up the street as though this was her regular haunt.
A snort as Lou leans from the second story of the car lot, elbows braced on concrete as she hollers to the pure blooded garou beneath.*

Sheeyit, what we got here? Got us a fuckin’ party?

*Behind her, a sign vibrates unnoticed*

[Cracka’Jack] [will be faster now. Had to deal with baby!]

[Tongue Twister] Someone calls out at her, and she looks up, almost expecting to be hit… She blinks, once, twice for good measure, then ducks her head away, curls sliding over her face to hide her expression. She sees Patrick, and Sarita, and hesitates a moment, like she’d like to go say hello, but isn’t sure if she should.

She scuffs her foot against the walk, and stops, just watching them…

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Cliath doesn’t seem fazed as he’s hollered at from above; then again, he clearly had some familiarity, at least in passing, with being in the neighborhood. Mostly, the Galliard found if you projected an aura of confidence you were left well enough alone. It helped, naturally, when you felt as unnatural as Patrick did, with his highly potent Rage.

Just like the shy Fianna noticing them; she was cute and curly haired; but she gave off the impression of lethality none the less.
Of wrongness.

Sarita calls him dude, and the Fianna lets out a snort of smoke; it curls from his nostrils, the corner of his lip. “I was in the neighborhood,” he defends without much in the way of caring, one way or another and his blue eyes flit upwards to the Bone Gnawer, leaning over the edge of the second story lot. “Depends,” he calls back; his voice betraying his youth, the lack of a definable origin outside of American.

“What sort you looking for?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks up when the shout comes from on high, head cocking sideways. She grins a little, looking at Lou. “I got some disco balls I can bust out of we need, and some Abba burning up my glove compartment. Come on down, we’ll party like it’s 1979.”

She looks over at the Fianna watching them, nodding a little bit, and looks back to Patrick. “You are quite possibly the best deadpan foil in existence, you know that?” The unsmiling man’s refusal to give into her sense of humor only seems to spur her on more. It’s like reverse psychology, only probably not intended. “I like that. We should be our own two-man comedy team. How well do you know ‘Who’s on First’?”

[Cracka’Jack] *In the world of garou, there was seldom room for coincidence. Four of Gaia’s warriors gather in the shadow of the carlot, the pulse of their righteous anger enough to herd away even the most street hardened gangbanger. That sense of the strange is growing. Helped along by a tickle along the spine. A tenseness without reason.

Lou smirks down to the Fianna as smoke coils from his mouth, her chin jerking in his direction as she bawls to he and the strider.*

Baby that chronic you fuckers doin up? Shit boy, don’t you know sharin is carin? We don’ need no disco, just do a bitch a solid! None for homegirl there though, she spooky as is.

*The gnawer is nattering from her higher perch, a bubble popping obnoxiosly. The advantage of perspective however, is to those on the ground. The edge of something coasting past the roof’s lip, like a shark scenting blood.*

[Per alert! excluding lou, as she’s mine! :P]

[Tongue Twister] Something feels off – and she tips her head slightly, her brow furrowing as she searches for the source…

(percept+alert! I SEE U)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Strider Senses, ACTIVATE!]]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [Whats segmented and grey and probably bigger than lou? Whatever the hell that was!]
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Per + Alert!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [roll inits if you’re leaping into action. *laughs* Lou’ll be a step behind to keep things fair.]

[Tongue Twister] She swallows, hard, and then is moving, heading toward the (wormwhyWORMSwhywhy) grayish segments yelling as she does “Patrick?!”

Because surely he sees it too.
She doesn’t hesitate. Things like that aren’t natural. Of course, neither is she…

(Yeah, boy! GONNA SERVE YA UP FRIED! er, inits. How close is it, by the way? +8)1
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Cracka’Jack] [for expediency’s sake, lets say you can get to it this turn.]

[Tongue Twister] (my favorite answer! 🙂 )

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She doesn’t get a good look at it, but whatever it is, it’s big and not good. “HEADS UP!” she shouts, pulling out…is that a gun? The Garou is using a gun? Oookay…

[[Beat-Down Order Selection Roll FTW! +6]]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Prayers to Broken Stone] “Hey, man, I–”

There’s a loaded pause; the Fianna’s blue eyes narrow and then widen. He tosses his smoke aside with a sharp intake of breath, and then he’s tugging at the Strider’s sleeve and starting to jog: “Fuck my life.” As Rory falls in as well, the Fianna is already beginning to change; his eyes glowing, his voice dropping into something more like a snarl than speak.

“I see it.” He doesn’t even hesitate; the Cliath. He just yells: “Sarita, see if you can distract it with the gun,” well, she’s already on it. “Rory, you see if you can flank this… whatever the fuck it is. I’ll take point.”

Why? Because it was Patrick, that’s why.

[-1 Instashift to Hispo!
+8 (boo, no totem any more)]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Cracka’Jack] [Lou -2 penalty due to surprise +5]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Cracka’Jack] **Declare slowest to fastest. Roll Fastest to slowest. Order as follows!

Sarita (15)
wurm (11)
Pat (9)
Lou (6)


Lou might be oblivious to the creature overhead, but she is ~not~ deaf. Everyone starts flipping shit and running towards her, and the ghetto diva does what she figures sensible. She runs out of view and pops fur, boiling to crinos near the stairs to the roof, snarling something that might have been FUCK! but is now more of a high pitched snarl.**

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Patrick is gonna:

1a. Bite the Wurmy
1b. Repeat and Rinse
R2. — both bites!]

[Cracka’Jack] *Rippling grey skin marks the Worm’s movement towards the stairwell, girth scraping slowly across chipped cement. All the sudden movements and yelling having made it through to even its limited senses, and its tactics are now simple. Snag whatever jumps out of the concrete burrow. Eat it.*

[1a. Grab! 1b. Bite!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] To call it a “gun” would not be the most accurate thing in the world. Instead, it’s more like a hand cannon. Ever seen Dirty Harry? Yeah, that’s it. She takes aim at the thing, a little smirk curling the corner of her lips as she intends to shoot the fuck out of it.

[[Shootie shootie, Single shot]]

[Tongue Twister] (grossgrossgross

-1R to insta Hispo shift, split first action, 1 rage action

1a: flank
1b: bite
1c: bite

(1a flank, rolling 1b bite:
split 2: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 -4 for split = 5 diff 5-1 for flank – reroll 10s)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[Tongue Twister] Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + (1)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Tongue Twister] split 3: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 -5 for split = 4 diff 5-1 – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 8 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[Tongue Twister] Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + (1) DIE.
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Dex+FA]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[That was damage]]

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [1a- wurm – snag Rory! Grapple!!! dex/ath dif 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Tongue Twister] ERK! AVOID! dex+ath per st request…
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [Wurm – oof! NO! grab again!! Dinner!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 9 (Failure at target 7)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1a. Bite! [Dex + Brawl + Hispo, -2 Split]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 0]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1b. Repeat! [-3] Split]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 7 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [What is with this lack of damage, Kahseeno?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soaaak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)


Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 diff 5-1 (flank) – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 4) [WP] Re-rolls: 1

Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 7
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soak. dur dur dur.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [RAGE AGAINST THE WURM, take 1.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soak. I AM SPARTICUS!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [AGAIN!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [I SOAK IT! I AM WURM?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] *There was no way this situation wasn’t going to be a huge veil clusterfuck if it wasn’t kept contained. The deserted street is all that saves them as Patrick boils into his powerful dire wolf form, surging into the shoddy concrete structure and streaking up the stairs behind the lightning quick form of his Metis Tribesmate. Lou’s skinny frame is bulking up as the Fianna dashes past her, all teeth as she tears into the rubbery outer skin of the wurm’s.. well.. she’d suppose it was its flank? IT all seemed the same really.
Sarita’s gun goes off with a blast that would have the cops out in force were it anywhere else in chicago, though the bullet seems to sink harmlessly into segmented blubber.

Enraged, clear foul smelling plasma spurting from bitten fles to steam in the frosty air, the wurm lashes at Rory, its tentacles clinging and slapping to no avail against thick fur, finding no purchase as a lampry mouth sucks at air.

Patrick bounds up the steps, and lights upon the wurm, teeth snapping and splitting segments apart with no small amount of effort, he and Rory coming at the abomination from either side, Lou belatedly bounding up the stairs behind them.*

[Declare slowest to fastest. Roll Fastest to slowest. Order as follows!

Sarita (15)
wurm (11)
Pat (9)
Lou (6)

*Lou dives into the fray, clawing at seeking tentacles, attempting to distract the maw.*
[1a – claw tentacles. 1b. Claw tentacles. Rage1- claw tentacles! Rage 2-Claw tentacles!]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1a
1b — same as before!
R2. — yep, same deal.]

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm – ORLY?! 1a- Grab at Pat! 1b Grab at lou! R1-eat Pat! R2. eat Lou! r3. Eat who ever didn’t get ate!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] It takes everything that the Latina can muster not to rush forward and join in with her fellow Garou in hand-ripping it to shit. Christ knows that it’s gonna be a pain to shoot around them. But she contents herself with the knowledge that she would probably ruin a perfectly set of new boots if she did. So instead, she takes aim, letting her Rage speed to get an extra shot off. [[1. Shoot. R1. Shoot]]

[Tongue Twister] Split first action, 2 rage RARSHAMSH DIESTUPIDWURM!

1b: BITE


split 1: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2 = 9 -2 for split = 7 diff 5-1(flank) – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1


Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 6
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [I can totally soak that.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)


split 2: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2 = 9 -3 for split = 6 diff 5-1(flank) – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 4) [WP]

[Tongue Twister] SUCK IT, BITCHES!
Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 6
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 9 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [I’m completely soaking that too. eat it carrot-top.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[BANG BANG]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 7, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[FUCK OFF KAHSEENO]]

[Cracka’Jack] [Wurm! 1a Grapple PAT! (wp, I’ma eat SOMEONE)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 7) [WP]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Gerrof me. Dex+Ath to avoid!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [Muahahah! I’ma also grab Lou! go go gadget tentacles!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [or FAIL, as the diff should have been 7. >.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Re-declaring!
1a. Break free! +1 Diff for Grappled
1b. Again!]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1a. Break Free! Strength roll!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 10 (Failure at target 7)

[Cracka’Jack] [KEEP the MEAT!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1b. This is so gross. -3, oops. Forgot that on 1a. DURR.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Cracka’Jack] [NO! stay! I will love you and pet you, and call you george]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [Lou – claw tentacles! ugh! + 1 dif called shot -2split]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 8 (Failure at target 7)

[Cracka’Jack] Lou 1b SERIOUSLY NOW.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Cracka’Jack] [thats more like it. DAMAGE!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm – i soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)


Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 diff 5-1(flank) – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1


Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 5
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [I soak?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 7, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Go Go Gadget-Damage Pool!]]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [I eat guns for breakfast?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [WURM… is dead!?!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[In Soviet Russia Guns Eat You!]]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [WOOHOO!]

[Tongue Twister] (WHOOOHOOO!)

[Cracka’Jack] **The roof of the shoddily constructed carport is not up to supporting this much weight, it cracks and groans under the claws of the collected garou, Sarita can see pressure fissures appearing along the columns beneath. Above, rory is a tornado of toothy destruction, biting until her teeth sink into something more solid, a writhing rope of bone.
Sarita’s gun fires wide of the mark in all her careful aiming not to hit the other fighting gaians. Tentacles slither around the back of furred hocks, tightening and dragging Patrick off his feet, worm creature suddenly seeming more like a terrible squid monster from a horror flick, albeit one intent on consuming itself a Fianna galliard. Lou manages to avoid being entangled, but only one lonely tentacle is shorn from around Patrick’s body as the worm writhes and slithers across the crumbling rooftop. Quick as thought, Rory is on its hind quarters, stripping, peeling off thick insensitive hid from the beast in great mouthfuls – and still it seems the thing is unaffected. PAtrick can feel an unwholesome circle of suckers and chitinous teeth working through the fur of his hind-quarters, feel them scrape with stinging acidity against now bare skin – and then a single shot rings out, and he’s dropped hard to the floor, a worm-creature half crushing him, oozing sicklly yellow fluid as it tremors in its death throes.*

[Cracka’Jack] *Lou is quick to shift forms, perhaps only so she can better bawl.*

Well Sheeyit. Ain’t that a bitch. You okay dawg?

*A black ooze slicked hand offered down to the crumpled galliard beside her. A boot toeing a tentacle as she does so, ensuring ts a fatality.*

[Tongue Twister] She is poised to tear another chunk out of the thing, only to skid to a stop and fall against the worm as it crashes down in death. Ears flick forward, head cocks to the side, and she makes a confused sound deep in her throat… even as she noses it to make sure it’s dead…

When she has assured herself it is… she scrambles up and over it to see if Patrick is ok, panic clear in her eyes… the last of Caldera’s own that she befriended died. Everyone leaves, everyone dies. She’d prefer it not happen again… let alone so soon. So she scrambles, sliding in the ooze to get up and over and find the man who’d promised to teach her guitar..

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins as the thing drops from her bullet, and she can’t help it…she brings the barrel toward her lips and blows for effect. You gotta have style, after all. Of course, she’s doing it AS she runs toward Patrick to check on him. “Yo, chico and chicas!” She yells to the group, putting her gun away. “Y’all wanna get your culos off that carport. Trust me.”

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The tawny Hispo beast on the ground beneath the creature gives a half-disgusted snarl as it collapses upon it; sensitive nostrils flaring at the stench of the liquid oozing sluggishly from its hide. With the Bone Gnawer’s aid, he is pulled free of it and rises to his feet; shaking off a massive fur coat with a bristling.

When Patrick changes forms; he becomes a tall, blond haired man with black ooze coating patches of his clothing where the creature had grappled him in another form. He looks around for Sarita, and Rory; and finding both holds up a thumb in a clear signal of s’all good.

Rory clambers toward him, and the Galliard flashes her what passes for a grin. “Nice teeth work, killer.” Sarita gets another. “Look at the aim on you, thanks.” Then, sniffing, coated in sticky crap, the Fianna starts patting down a pocket in search of his cigarettes.

“Christ, I think it ate my smokes.”

[Tongue Twister] He’s fine. He even almost grins at her, and if the Hispo form could blush at that coupled with the compliment, then it is almost certain that she is. She ducks her head, and settles back into herself, sliding into Monkey skin with a little shake that turns to a shiver, her pack settling on her back again, her slender form crouched by the wurm.

She blinks at Sarita, and tries to figure out what a culos is.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smirks a little and shakes her head, chuckling. “I’m just upset I didn’t have time to say ‘Are ya feelin’ lucky, punk?’ Also, this is why you get to be happy I got smokes on me.” She reaches into her duster and pulls out a pack, holding it out to him.” She plays it off well, but Y’sure you’re okay?”

[Cracka’Jack] Think it pissed all over you, hommes.

*The ghetto diva is teasing a strange sucker out of her hair, flinging it to the ground as the building groans underfoot. A wide eyed look to Sarita and the Fianna, before the Gnawer is jogging down the stairwell, hollering*

Shit, bookit!

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah, like I said…abandon ship.” She gives a wide grin and moves to follow Lou. “The slimy suckery thing can be the captain that goes down with it.”

[Tongue Twister] The building groans, and Rory snaps her head up, and looks around at the carport, and the thing on top of it, and her brows furrow slightly, as she glances to Patrick. “..burn?”

A legitimate question – if he thinks it can burn away all the evidence, she’ll see to starting the fire to do so, before the building collapses…

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Sorry guys, phonecall! 🙂 Patrick will abandon ship too and suggest burning seems the best option!]

[Tongue Twister] He nods, and turns to run. Rory gives them a head start, and then settles her nerves with a breath… and

[Create Element – GN diff 6)]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[Tongue Twister] …sets the wurm on fire – stands, and runs to catch up with the others.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Gaah. Stupid chat not updating. :P]]

Once she gets off the thing, she turns around from a safe distance to look the ruined carport over, and then looks back to Lou and Rory. “Soooooo, hi.” She extends a hand to them in succession. “I’m Sarita. I shoot things, but you already know that.”

[Cracka’Jack] Aw see? Don’ be trippin, gurl Got this.

*Croons Lou to Sarita and Pat, as Rory makes with well timed arson. Narrow shoulders jog as though she wasn’t the one who’d yelped and ran the hell away, as though she’d been cool and calm and – *

That some nasty assed wyrm shit up in there. Knew I smelt some bad ass bizniz.

*Lou snorts fishing around in her pockets for a peice of gum. *

You bussa cap in that thing like a gansta, Sari-baby. I’m Lou. Cracka’Jack, full moon howling original BeeGee. So who you fine fianna fuckers? You done tore that shit UP.

[Cracka’Jack] *Sar’s hand is slapped in a ghetto handshake, before Lou pops gum back in her face and chews thoughtfully, going hipshod.*

[Tongue Twister] Rory is shy. It’s odd – as even with the rage spent, she burns with the fire of the full moon, her cheeks warm still with the simple delight in Patrick’s compliment for her. It’s not hard to imagine she doesn’t get such kind words often.

Lou introduces herself, as does Sarita. Rory looks down at the offered hand, then back up again, before she slips her fingers – pale and delicate looking – into Sarita’s briefly. She never quite meets their eyes, never quite that daring, or strong. She offers her name, softly. “Rory.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins at Lou, thoroughly amused by the woman. “You, I like.” When Rory takes Sarita’s hand, the Hispanic Strider smiles, her expression softening some, and nods her head. She tones back her usual larger than life attitude for a moment.

“Nice to meet you, Rory.” She doesn’t grip the Fianna’s hand too tightly, just a light squeeze before she lets go. “Nice going up there.”

[Tongue Twister] Rory’s grip is stronger than one expects – one of the many surprises in the soft-spoken Fianna. She flushes with pleasure at the compliment, ducking her head to hide behind her hair as she tucks her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

Not one for many words on the best of days, she sums it all up with “you too.”

Because some things are easier said than others.

[Cracka’Jack] Tyeah. Shit, you HAD that fuckin crawler done the fuck in, till the Strider here gots all Doc Holiday on a mother fucker. BAm. one shot one kill. What?! Fuckin bullshit.
What that piece you got on you anyway? Let a bitch see that shit….

*And no. She doesn’t seem to ever shut up. Quite a contrast to Rory as Lou shakes out dragon lady fingernails and begins to clean them, grinning madly as she gestures the group into an alley with a shake of her head.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Rory gets a little smile, before Lou starts in again. The Strider grins and reaches into her duster as she starts for the alley, pulling out the .44 Colt to show the Gnawer. She doesn’t hand it over, though. There’s no wariness toward Lou…it’s a thing for her. “Lou, meet Harry. Harry, meet Lou. He’s my oldest and best friend. More reliable than a boyfriend and he only shoots off when I tell him to, which is another way he’s better than a guy.”

[Tongue Twister] She looks around, making sure things are burning well, and even if – no, when – the carport collapses, there will be nothing left of the thing that attacked them. She follows into the alley, though a bit behind, a little more timid. This is not the rage machine they saw just moments ago against the enemy – no. This is the shy girl, who’s been hurt far too often, far too much, far too recently.

She remains quiet, looking at the gun curiously.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [back! Typing!]

[Cracka’Jack] *A bony shoulder jostles into Rory’s pushing her off-balance as Lou grins a shit eating grin. Lips work a moment, before a bubble blows large in the Fianna’s face. For all its obnoxiousness, its a playful sort of harrassment afforded the Metis. Then Sarita brings out a gun, and the gnawer is eyeballing it with a smirk.*

How many papers that cost you? Shit. Dirty Harry?

[Cracka’Jack] [heads up! my power just flickered, usually a sure sign its about to ditch me! If I disappear, assume Lou hears sirens and bolts.]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Lou asks who they are, and Patrick shakes her hand, his grip around her wrist more than her hand itself. It seemed a strange action, but then — Celtic, who knew. “Prayers to Broken Stone, Cliath Galliard Fianna, you can call me Patrick, though.” He’s taken up one of Sarita’s earlier offered cigarettes, and lights it with a cupped palm over the flame.

It dances over the Galliard’s face, revealing the cheekbones, brow and eyes of his tribe; his features were not those of the Sons of Stag to Ireland, or Scotland but those of the Welsh born.

[Ack, noted! Thanks for STing if you drop, Punkin!]

[Tongue Twister] (ditto! 🙂 )

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Indeed, thank you!]]

Sarita chuckles to Lou. “Got it off of this fuckstain scumbag selling meth to eight-year-olds way back when, in Arizona. He wasn’t using it anymore once I was done with him.” She puts the gun away and looks back to Patrick. “So how’ve you been? You and Bridget get shit sorted out from the other day?”

[Tongue Twister] Patrick introduces himself, and he and the other girls talk, while Rory does what she normally does – takes a step back and listens, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] It doesn’t take a scholar of human behavioral patterns to notice the changes that have been born in the Fianna, Patrick. He’s hanging around Bronzeville, buying weed from the same dealers as Howard had. He’s wearing some of his pack-mates T shirts around, beneath his jackets — the rare few he can fit into, that is.

He’s smoking not sometimes, but all the time. The scent of it clings to him 24/7.

At the very least, he’s shaved in the last day, so he doesn’t look entirely scruffy and without means. But he’s still hurting, that is evident and clear whenever he’s not killing monsters, or sleeping with near-strangers, or getting into arguments with Kinswoman who had been physically intimate with his Alpha. Sarita mentions Bridget, and for all that he’s burned through his rage — there’s a flicker of agitation the trembles through him — he drops his head forward, grimaces and turns away a minute, blowing smoke.

“Same old, same whatever. Night falls, daylight follows it.” A beat, he twists back, and shrugs. “Don’t think Bridget knows how to sort out what’s wrong, not sure there’s a way to fix how she feels.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She winces a bit. “Sorry…I do have a wee bit of a taste for my own boot soles from time to time.” She gives the man a light cuff to the shoulder. “You can only try, man. Don’t let it get to you. There’s more’n enough other shit that’ll pile up on top of it, you know?” She looks back at Rory and smiles giving her a friendly wink as if to include her as part of the conversation without actually forcing her to get involved, and then gives a quick sigh.

“Okay, peeps. That was fun…what do we do for an encore?”

[Tongue Twister] Patrick turns away, twists back, brushes off the thoughts, and Rory watches it all through lowered lashes. She was there when he buried his brother. She helped, once Joey pulled her over to do so. She mourns Howard more than Patrick can ever know – and she will not tell him…

She doesn’t say she understands the loss, either, though she does. She simply watches, quietly, and understands far deeply than any could imagine.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Strider cuffs him on the shoulder, and he endures, rather than responds to it. His tendency to become despondent, and withdrawn apparently was making itself known and Patrick remains a silent figure frowning away into the distance for a long moment after the Strider asks after an encore.

He taps at the end of the cigarette in his fingers; flicks a blue-eyed glance Rory’s way.

“Think I’m gonna head off, back toward Lake View. Maybe grab some beers on the way.” He can hear the distant whine of sirens, as the carcass of the animal burns behind them; and the Bone Gnawer lets out a yelped shit, gotta go! and sets off like the cars were about to take the corner in pursuit.

“We should get outta dodge, anyway.”

[Tongue Twister] She nods, slightly, then lifts her fingers in a little wave, before she ducks back toward the back of the alleyway.

Bronzeville streets are her home. She knows 15 different ways to get home withing being detected, losing any that would follow in the meantime. She looks back once, just before slipping out of sight.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] A faint look of irritation passes over her face, flitting through like the shadow of a bird passing overhead. Blink and you’ll miss it. Luckily, she doesn’t give up that easy and doesn’t give a shit if she earns someone’s enmity. She gives a little nod, grin ratcheting up a good ways. “Sounds like a plan.” She nods and starts to walk along in that direction.

“Safety in numbers, after all. Right?”

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [thanks for scene, guys! switching up for LV! 🙂 ]

[Simon Zahradnik] He watches the other two leave with a silent and Empty look on his face and then he watches Lukas through the window. He wasn’t going anywhere… He would wait and do as he is told/directed by his elder.


[Oliver] [woo thanks for the scene, ya’ll!]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] People in Lake View are accustomed to seeing some strange things.

Sometimes, usually when there’s a full moon in the sky some really odd occurrences happen, too. Tonight there’s barely a sliver of one left yet it didn’t stop the Ahrouns having a fist fight in the middle of the Cafe. It also doesn’t, apparently, prevent a Fianna Galliard from appearing around the corner of a block covered in drying black goop; it dots his coat; the shirt beneath which was some lurid colored abomination that set off the uncanny blue of the Fiann’s eyes.

He’s broad-shouldered, bares the breeding of a son of Stag and is accompanied by a Silent Strider who, while not as coated in grime as he, also bears the signs of a recent battle. The blond has his hands in his pockets; his eyes downcast; though every now and then he raises them to glance at his companion and frown.

He does not slow down, as they come upon the Cafe. Or seem to care, particularly, if he gets the odd glance, an up and down of uneasiness.

[princess] Asha is napping in the backseat of Lukas’ car. It’s almost sweet. Her dark head is pillowed in a cloud of gleaming back hair, and she’s curled up in a fetal position – sleeping the sleep not of the dead, but of wolves – which is to say, she’ll be deeply asleep until she’s startled awake by movement outside.

And then she will be immediately, utterly awake.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s walking along at Patrick’s side, in a much better mood from the looks of it than the Fianna. “…don’t worry. You loosened the lid of the jar, so to speak. I just finished it up.” Whether Patrick was worried or not about that may be a completely different story, but she’s putting it out there anyway as they walk along. If Sarita is worried about what people think of her and Patrick’s odd appearance, she sure as hell isn’t showing it. In fact, when someone on the corner gives them a strange look, she pauses turns her head in their direction.

“OIL! Go tell J.P. Morgan, we struck black gold! Texas tea, right here in River City!” The now thoroughly-wierded out person gets the excuse they need to escape their rage, and Sarita grins and speeds her steps to make up the small amount of lost ground.

[Lukas] Lukas is back outside in record time. It seems no one in the cafe wants to delay his order. He’s fasttracked to the front of the line, and then his drink is fasttracked past a row of empty waiting cups. Two, three minutes tops and he’s coming back out with a steaming cup of joe in hand. If he’s surprised to see Simon still waiting, he doesn’t show it. He tilts his head toward the car, holding his hand out for his keys as he goes.

The front doors unlock. Asha comes instantly awake, and then Lukas climbs in, depressing the car on its shocks.

“Have you met Asha? Asha, this is Simon Bone-Grinder, my tribesman, fellow Ahroun, and current Wyrmfoe of the Sept. Simon, Asha K&+257;lar&+257;tri, my packmate, also an Ahroun.”

[princess] Too bad Thomas wasn’t asleep in the front seat. He’d introduce Asha properly. Instead, she’s to be contented with two names and a moon-sign. The creature straightens, pushes a hand through sleep-tousled hair and yawns once, revealing perfect rows of sharp white teeth before she snaps her mouth closed and shakes free of the lingering hints of sleepiness, chasing them from the edges of her consciousness like cobwebs burned from the darkest corners of the room.

“Hi.” Asha says, making a mental note that they’ve not been properly introducted. Keeping it mental so as not to shame her Alpha.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon follows… Why Lukas would be surprised if at all would be beyond him! The Full Moon had asked him to stay so they could speak! It would actually be rather impolite to disobey his elder like that would it not? Still he walks to the door and glances in at the sight of Asha. He smiles a little and he nods his head…

“She distracted a dragon for me once… But Adam scared it off before I could strike the killing blow. Ruined what woulda been a great story to tell my eventual children about their father. Still we made it out alive so it’s all good!”He says with a grin.”It’s a pleasure to meet you Rhya…”He did not know if she was his elder or not, the rank was not mentioned but she was Packmate to his alpha so he opted for respectful.

His smile showed as he looked her over. Cautious and curious to see if she recalled that little bit of history.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] She’s trying to comfort him about the gigantic garden worm from Hell they just slaughtered and set on fire in Bronzeville; and the Fianna walking at her side slants her a rather incredulous look, and punctuates it with a snort. It’s good natured, though, at least as good natured as you were likely to receive from Patrick right now.

Ahead of them, a blaze of Rage in the form of the current Ahroun Elder walks out of a Cafe with coffee in hand, and gets into a car where another two Garou sit — he recognizes the passenger in the front seat, and one of his eyebrows crawls upward a little. “What the Hell,” he says under his breath; a mixture of genuine bemusement and irritation.

“They conduct meetings in their cars, now?”

Patrick comes to a stop outside the Cafe, slouches his back against the brick facade and promptly pulls another of Sarita’s cigarettes out — he’d held onto the packet, what a prince — he lights up; fostering nothing to disguise his interest in what was going on inside the car. “Whose the guy in the front seat with Bone Grinder?”

This, an aside to Sarita, like she’s expected to know.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The semi-sorta good-natured snort from Patrick gets a little twinkle in the mischievous Latina’s eye. She’s making headway. She pulls out another couple of cigarettes and passes Patrick one before she lights up.

“Who, what?” She looks ahead, squinting a bit at the car. “Oh…that’s Simon–obviously–and Lukas. Simon’s tribe. Ahroun. Master of the Challenge’s packmate, and I think he’s the tribe elder if I remember my conversation with him right. I was a tiny bit stoned at the time, but I think I got that right.”

[Lukas] It’s still warm in the car — lingering effects of the heater. It gets warmer when Lukas fires up the engine, but they don’t go anywhere. He thumbs down the window on his side a little to vent. Too much rage, too much body heat.

“You’re both Cliaths,” Lukas says, sips his coffee, and then passes into the back in case her highness wanted some. “Anyway, Simon, I wanted to talk to you about taking on a more active role. For a long time Wyrmfoe’s been largely a ceremonial role, but you’re a Shadow Lord, and we’re pragmatists. I doubt you would have taken it on if you didn’t want to do something with it.

“So this is the first thing I want you to do. I want you to go around to each pack and assess their combat ability. I don’t care if this means fighting them, taking them out to fight with you, or giving them a questionnaire — as long as you get answers and those answers are reliable. I want to know how good they are, and I want to know if you’d classify them as scouts, warpacks, or something else altogether.

“Then I want you to start training Garou who need training. I don’t expect a Child of Gaia Theurge to be at the caliber of a Get of Fenris Ahroun, but I want everyone in the Sept to be competent.”

A pause, another sip.

“I know you wanted to take a bigger role in actually getting packs to mesh, too, but I’m going to put someone else on that. Maybe Joey, if she wins her challenge. It’s not that I doubt your conviction, Simon, but you’re a warrior. A weapon. Social graces aren’t your strong suit, and you’ve got a strong, polarizing personality. Someone like Joey, someone who gives off the impression of being laid-back and easy to talk to, will ruffle feathers much less as she goes around sussing out conflicts and how to mend them.”

[princess] Naturally, Asha assumed that Simon addressed her as -rhya out of natural deference to her breeding, her blood, her tribe. She nearly tells Lukas that when he mentions it, but thinks better of it when he passes his coffee back to her highness.

Lately, she’s preferred her eminent highness, thank you very much. So: her eminent highness takes a deep drink of coffee, mouth curling. It is perhaps here that Lukas might rethink giving that girl caffeine.

Still, she flashes him a winning grin, all razor-wide, all white teeth – and bounces experimentally on the back seat. “That’s good,” Asha tells Lukas, opening the back passenger’s door already. “I’m gonna go get it in Super Extra Venti with a double-shot and some chocolate sauce. Be right back!”

[princess] (this is liz going to bed! night guys!)

[Simon Zahradnik] He draws in a little breath and he nods his head. You see there was a little glimmer in his eyes, and a nod of his head. The job of the Wyrmfoe was, in his mind, largely a position taken by young Ahrouns seeking to earn a name. So when Lukas offered him something to do for the sept with his position he nodded his head and smiled slightly.”I will assess each pack to the best of my ability.”He already found himself formulating opinions he also thought about all those who were not claimed or members in an active pack. They could be addressed later. For the moment he had something to do with his position so he wasn’t just waiting for a Moot.

He then nods his head.”If someone else can work on coordination I do not care. I am more interested in survivability… A pack can hardly claim a territory that is swarming with Wyrm creatures is truly under their control. Territory is something a pack can manage on their own and so long as this hive remains a threat we can hardly claim most of this city is ours. I have personally slain at least a Dozen of them and that hasn’t even dented their population. As I see it this is their city until we drive them out… I would rather we all work together to drive them out then we can start dividing the city into our own personal regions. It doesn’t make sense to fight over territory we don’t even own.”He says with a nod of his head. Something he has given thought to…

He smiles just a hint.”I am looking forward to reporting something back as soon as possible. I suppose I should begin assessing the packs strengths and weaknesses.”He pauses to think on this then smiles just a tad.”I am assuming you will be taking care of your pack? Or would you like me to assess them as well?”He asks with a hint of a grin. You see Simon was a Shadow Lord and so that meant that he could devise all manner of sneaky tricks if Lukas wanted his pack tested as well.

[Lukas] Their conversation is interrupted, albeit briefly, as the Fang princess — and she is, annoyingly enough, an actual princess — in the back bounces once and then rockets out the door for something sweet and caffeinated. Lukas watches her go, wondering if he’s making a mistake. Then he turns back to Simon.

“I’ll handle the Unbroken. If I don’t even know my own pack, I don’t deserve to be Alpha of anything. As for territory — I’ve never been a fan of packs claiming firm turf and nailing up KEEP OUT signs. It turns the Sept against itself. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want Garou to take care of patches of protectorate, as long as they realize they’re warders, not owners.

“The Caern comes first. But I do want Dark Sky and the Vanguard to work together cleaning Bronzeville up. It’s too bad Hunter had to leave so fast, but when you go talk to his pack, set some time aside to work with him on divvying up the patrols in the area. He talked about something afoot in the area too — Wyrm companies, maybe. Said he’d get back to me when he had more details. You’ll want to talk to him about that too so you can better mesh your efforts there.

“Sooner or later we’ll have to turn our attention back north. The Knights were doing all right for a while, but Mica’el reported pretty heavy losses the last two weeks. So I might send the Vanguard up for a look, or I might go myself. So get those packs into fighting trim for me, Bone Grinder. We’ll need them soon.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He nods his head at the mention of speaking to Hunter.”I will do what I can… We need to begin cutting off the Hive’s resources. You can bet they have allies and potential allies scattered about the city. I have been doing my best to root them out but better and direct coordination and communication would make this all work better.”He says with a little smile. His eyes follow Asha for a second before looking back at Lukas.

He Mentions Mica’el… Was he referring to that Angel Thing? It honestly did not matter. If they were fighting their enemies then that made them allies and a valuable resource for the moment. Honestly he hadn’t minded the one that… Worked with them.”I will make certain the packs are ready and those who are not will be pressured towards doing so.”He smiles just a little.”I will also look into classes or training of some sort… Perhaps hunter and some of the other Full Moons would be willing to assist.”He says with a little smile.

“I look forward to the day we bring this fight to the Hive itself… I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when we destroy that abomination and collapse what remains in around their heads.”His eyes spoke of delight. He would not rest… He might hide, he might run, he might retreat, when it was necessary but he would not rest until the Black Spiral Dancers in this city were hunted down to the last man and exterminated.”Give me time and I will teach them the true meaning of fear.”He says with a little nod of certainty.

He was delighted. The young Full Moon was getting a responsibility. Something more to pile on his plate and that meant he would be a very busy man. He’s been looking for more to do as Wyrmfoe anyway.”I will do the position, my tribe, and my sept proud.”He says with a nod of his head.

“Was there anything more Rhya?”

[Lukas] “I’m willing to teach as well,” Lukas adds, “but sometimes it feels like if I step up it suddenly becomes an inspection, not practice. I’m here, though, if you want me to help train our Septmates.”

Lukas takes one more sip of coffee, then sets it down. “Yeah,” he replies, “just one.” He looks Simon in the eye, solid and direct. “Thank you. A lot of others in your position have chosen to take the backseat, to be led rather than to take initiative. Or worse: to wait for their leaders to fail. I know I was hard on you before, but … I’m happy you stepped up. I’m proud to call you my tribesman and auspicemate.”

[Prayers to Broken Stone] “Huh.”

Ever the eloquent one, Patrick. The Fianna pushes off the wall in a surprisingly fluid motion; given his frequency for being a less than adequately elegant Galliard. He walks a couple of steps nearer, watches the Silver Fang dash back toward the Cafe with a strangely fixated purpose; then swings his gaze back on the pair in the car.

Staring; watching — he looks the picture of disapproving youth with his battle-smeared clothing, and rumpled hair. Smoke trails from his nose before he addresses Sarita again. “Figured he’d be bigger or something. I hear Shadow Lord I see the evil guys in Disney flicks, y’know.”

He sniffs again. Is he catching a cold, or is it a habit. “Probably the way they hear Fianna and figure we’re all drunks who can’t figure one end of a klaive from another.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He smiles just a hint.”We have responsibilities… One day I will be in your position. One day the weight of these decisions will fall in my lap. I can either reach for them and embrace what I am to become or I can run from it. I only run when it is necessary.”He says with a nod of his head.

“I thank you for your praise and I look forward to living up to it.”You see there were a lot of things to be said about the Shadow Lords. There would always be a chance that Simon might one day seize power from his elder by force. This was their way… Lukas must maintain his strength for his people if he cannot then it will be taken from him. But there was also an understanding that Simon came to as a garou.

“We will hope that it will be many decades before I have to step into your shoes. In the meantime… Someone must always stand ready to step forward. This is our life…”Simon was showing Ambition… It was a Shadow Lord trait but it was more than that. He knew that he would one day have to lead and he wasn’t shying from it. There was a slight glimmer though, it was nice to be acknowledged for ones actions.”I look forward to serving under you for many years if not decades to come.”He says with a nod of his head. Proud, headstrong, certain… Failure would not happen… Even if one day it would.

“You will make us proud when this battle finally is brought to the Hive. I look forward to the celebration when it finally falls.”He nods his head one final reassurance. He wasn’t being mushy, he was returning a compliment from his elder.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Mmm.” She smirks, watching both Patrick and the car. “Well, if you like I can buy him a black cape, a hat with a feather in it and a big mustache that he can twirl. I’m sure he’d love it. He does look like a traditionalist, after all.” She chuckles.

She takes a drag off of her cigarette and takes a lean against a stop sign. “You know, they’re probably gonna see us at some point and assume we’re spying. They may have to kill us if they think we know too much.” There’s just a touch of wryness to it.

[Lukas] The subtle reminder of the way of their tribe — the ambition, the constant temptation of power — brings a wry smile to Lukas’s face. He leaves it where it is: they both know how it works. In the end, all he says is, “As do I.

“I’ll see you around, Bone Grinder. Keep me informed.”

[i’m gonna put Lukas on semipause for now — gotta focus on challenge! if you guys are around in a bit i might trot him out again, though. thanks for the RP!]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Fianna lets out a bark of laughter; it is as darkly entertained by the notion as his answer is. “Yeah, well, at least we’ll be remembered for more than being another blood-smear on the ground when our time comes.” The Galliard finishes his cigarette; flicks it into the gutter where it sparks and hisses, and reaches a hand into a pocket; turning his back to one side so he’s facing away from late night Cafe patrons.

The plastic bag in his pocket rustles as he takes out paper, and a collection of herb, and proceeds to roll it.

“How many of these,” he says flatly; conversationally for Patrick; his blue eyes lifting to meet hers, “you think I’ll take before my head completely empties out.”

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [*It’ll, not I’ll. Tsh.]

[Simon Zahradnik] [Are you two watching Simon and Lukas chat?]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, that’s sort of a vague question.” She looks down the street a moment and then back to him, her lean against the sign post still present and casual. She gestures to the joint-in-progress. “I mean, let’s start with the shit itself. It depends entirely how good the quality is. Most of the dank I’ve encountered here is pretty shitty, to be frank. Barely above the quality of shake. But let’s assume it’s above that, you gotta ask what kind it is.”

She shrugs. “Blends are important. Some stuff, like hash, you can smoke more or less non-stop and it’ll leave you at a certain high, keep you there and just extend it the more you smoke it. Some shit will push you into getting sick. Some shit’s just flat-out weak and you’ll be lucky if you get a buzz off it.”

“And that aside,” she adds, “What terms are we talking about? The number of joints? Depends on how much you put in them. And do you mean just stone you out of your fuckin’ mind, or like, zombify you? The last…well, hate to break it, but I don’t know if you have enough money to get that much from someone.”

[Prayers to Broken Stone] “I mean reach a state where the next fucking person who says my Alpha’s name doesn’t make me want to do anything at all but laugh.” He lights the joint; and takes a hit, breathing out slowly as he passes it over to the Ragabash.

“I’d really like to get there.”

He leans his head against the cool brick.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Ahh…that much.” She takes the joint and pulls a hit off of it, holding it down for a second. She seems like she’s considering for a moment, then lets it come out in a slow, lazy exhale and passes it back. “You know…I like you, amigo. You’re good peeps, even if you’re totally bumming me out by refusing to go to Improv Comedy night at the Charcoal Lounge next Thursday night. So here you go.”

She reaches into her pocket and comes out with pretty a sizable baggie. She holds it for a second, considering Patrick and appearing to do some quick math in her head. “Yeah. That’ll about do it for a good long while.”

She tosses it to him.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] “I’m a funny guy,” he says without inflection, and catches the baggie, stowing it away in a pocket. It’s minus three outside; they must be freezing. Patrick doesn’t appear to care much, if he is. Perhaps his grief sustains him; much as people suggest hate will preserve.

“I’d make you look better just sitting in the corner, alluding apathy.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] In Sarita’s case, she’s just too damn stubborn to recognize cold. The woman the doggedly obdurate type who refuses to acknowledge what she doesn’t feel like acknowledging. When something finally does her in, it will likely be because she was too stubborn to avoid staring death in the face, and she won’t even refuse to acknowledge she’s dead for months. But then, Silent Striders have that familiarity with the Dark Umbra, so maybe she’s just following the natural course of things into ghosthood.

“That’s what I’m saying, m’man. You’re hilarious. You make deadpan a fine art, the way Michelangelo made paintings transcendent.” She nods sagely. “It’s a gift, hommes, I’m telling you.”

[Prayers to Broken Stone] “Yeah,” he says without much in the way of feeling — that might be the weed kicking in, nice — and takes another hit. Then one more before he passes it to the Strider. “You know what, the only piece that’s missing is beer. You wanna tag along, or whatever?”

He straightens; and a passing couple deliberately speed up and avoid eye contact with him.

He starts off toward the nearest alleyway, slouching broad shoulders; a trail of pungent smoke following after his wake.

[which is Jacqui’s way of noting she’s kinda brain dead and exiting Patrick for now!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Always.” She smiles and nods, heading off with him. [[Yeah, it’s late…sounds like a plan.]]

Checking Up With the Kin

[Patrick Llewelyn] It’s not until the afternoon hours that the Fianna finally makes his way back to the Brotherhood of Thieves.

He has not set foot in the establishment since Howard died; since he became a card carrying member of the Sept of Maelstrom. When he walks in, quietly, coming through the kitchen rather than the front most entrance; the two owners are discussing an order of stock at one window. Jenny and Reuben Coltrane turned jointly at the sight of the [showered, but not shaved] Galliard they knew had lost a pack-mate.

The female squeezed his hand as she went past, Patrick managed a tight smile. Reuben thumped a meaty palm on a shoulder, clasping it for a beat and meeting the blue eyes of the Garou long enough to nod. Then; it was done and he moved on, through the swinging door and into the restaurant proper. It was still the Cliath’s moon outside, and his Rage swarmed the air around him as he climbed the stairs to the common area.

In his hand was an object of some sort, clasped tight.

When he raps his knuckles on Bridget’s door; they are no longer bruised, wearing the signs of some manner of physical abuse. He does not reek of alcohol, but instead of shampoo, faintly of cigarettes. “S’Patrick,” he says through the door, as if his Rage didn’t announce what, if not who, he was.

[Bridget Geroux] “A false sincerity, a liar and a thief, my pulse and memory, a comfort within grief.”

The Brotherhood seems relatively hollow tonight. Downstairs, patrons are just beginning to pile in for the dinner rush, followed by the bar rush. Upstairs is not much different. The light in the common room is off, but the hallway is dimly lit by two lights in other rooms. A fluorescent glow emerges from the gap beneath the bathroom door. A softer, incandescent glow beckons from the barely-cracked door of Room 8.

Within that room at the end of the hall, no one is present. Amidst the retail carnage of two young independent women are some identifying markers between what might belong to Bridget and what might belong to Cordelia, although the mess is strewn about so that it’s difficult to say, really. An acoustic guitar rests on one bed among a bunch of sheet music, a familiar overstuffed canvas bag, and other accoutrements belonging to the Canadian bumpkin.

The dim scent of alcohol, cigarettes, and a fresher scent of blood taint the air so perfumed by the ambient smell of two different women of strong Warrior breeding. The only ambient noises are from beneath the dorm-style loft area and quiet, mouthy breathing. It’s nearly imperceptible, but eventually the sound of running water would catch Patrick’s ears.

A quiet spat of hissing and whispered expletives comes from the bathroom.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s sitting in her room…well, Kyle’s room to be specific. But it was the room that she and Amy were crashing in and Kyle didn’t really sleep in there, so it might as well be called their room. Besides, isn’t possession 9/10ths of the law? Well, she’s in possession at the moment, so it’s her room. Nyah.

…AAAAANYWAY, she’s in her room, and the door is open. So she heads Patrick’s footsteps as they approach Bridget’s door, only two down from her own (let’s include door possession in as part of the room, so as not to get on another side-tangent) and hears his voice. She sits up, walking to the door and stepping outside to note Patrick. The Strider’s expression is not pitying, but it is sympathetic and minus its usual snark. “Hey.”

[Patrick Llewelyn] The Galliard’s blond hair was tousled, he’d clearly been doing what Sarita ventures out of her own room and discovers him mid-process of a lot. Which was running his fingers through it in what must have been agitation at not finding Bridget in her room. The object in his hand appears to be an old harmonica, and he shifts it from one hand to the other as he turns; his blue eyes finding the Strider.

He grimaces a little in memory of the last time they met; though for all she knows, it’s because she’s speaking to him, or Bridget isn’t home or — it could be any number of reasons. Maybe he’s just hungover as hell and her voice seems louder to him than normal. “Hey,” he echoes quietly, in response to her expression and her greeting. He’s becoming accustomed to seeing that look on their faces.

He wants to resent it; their caring; their anguish about Howard.

But he cannot seem to muster it, so he simply accepts it and moves on. “Seen Bridget?” He gestures at her door and then turns his head slightly at the running water, the muttered cursing. There’s a slight upturn to the corner of his lip, and he moves across the hall, and tries the door to the communal showers.

“You in here?” He doesn’t say who he’s asking after; but he can smell her.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Not since she was here yesterday.” She frowns. If Bridget is potentially missing, the Strider is concerned. And while Patrick didn’t exactly say that, Sarita is clearly not taking any chances. There’s a lot of people fucked up around here, and she doesn’t think they know her well enough to let her help in any substantive way. So she can at least keep an eye on them, and keep things from getting worse.

She shuts the door to her room and starts to move after Patrick.

[Bridget Geroux] So, apparently the loft was not as hollow as it appeared at first sight. Patrick finds Room 8 unoccupied currently, but a girl just doesn’t leave without her purse… bag… whatever. Patrick is looking for Bridget, but finds a concerned, well-meaning Strider instead. The concern, the grief, the mixed emotions might not have been what Howard wanted, but what Howard may or may not have wanted doesn’t nullify the facts of life.

The facts of life being that even monsters sometimes care for their fellow monsters, or are disheartened by the expendability of other monsters like themselves. Kinfolk are simply too varied to really gauge their reactions. Kinfolk tend to be a harder lot than the rest of humanity, more accustomed to loss.

Sometimes, part of that means going on a bender regardless of the consequences. Even if that means stalking the grimy streets of Chicago like a lost sheep tempting Fate to throw them a curveball. Shit happens. Sometimes that shit involves getting into scraps with the wonderful samaritans of Chicago.

When the combined Rage of the two Garou descend upon the door to the communal showers, there is no need for a knock to announce their presence. Within, the kinswoman pauses in her attempt to clean herself up. A moment before they found her out, a fresh nosebleed began gushing into the sink. Bridget was trying to see if she had a broken nose, prodded things the wrong way, and the fresh wound reopened readily.

“Gimme a sec,” a nasal groan replies over the roar of running water.

When she finally opens the door, Bridget looks the worse for wear. She looks like she’s had a shower also, but under her eyes there is a fresh bruise from the knock to the nose. Her face has the pallor of those recovering from a night under the mixed blessing of Dionysus.

Eyes go to Patrick first, since his footballer build would take up most of the doorway, then to Sarita. She’s holding a wad of toilet paper to her face, using it to pinch her bleeding olfactory appendage with.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She pauses when she hears Bridget’s voice, relaxing a bit since she knows that Bridget isn’t actually…you know. Missing and presumed trying to snorkel in a ditch. Without the snorkel. She takes a lean against the wall, letting Patrick be most prevalent. That gives Little Miss Laughter a chance to watch him, study his features. She’s a pretty good judge of character, or she likes to think so.

She doesn’t study long though, before she looks down at her feet. The woman is normally not worried about irritating people with her long, curious stare. Now…probably not the best time, though. She looks back up when the door opens, giving a smile that drifts away when she notices the toilet paper and scents blood.

“Hey there chica, howwwwoah…kay. What did you get into a fight with?”

[Patrick Llewelyn] The Strider comes down the hall after him, concerned about her friend. Patrick doesn’t appear quite so stressed when he calls out into the bathrooms; nor does his face melt into an expression of relief, either. It remains a passive thing, only signaling its mood in the faint furrow lines marring his brow. What Sarita sees in her study of his profile is a young man who has been forgoing shaving for the past three days; though with Patrick’s fair complexion, the bristle on his jaw is not as prominent.

It merely gives him a scruffier edge.

For a musician, hell, for a mechanic, it’s not such a strange sight. But on someone like Patrick, who had always been clean-shaven, it seems a clear indication that wherever he’s been, or whatever he’s been doing — he has not been taking great care of himself. The clothing he’s wearing is the same as what he was in when Bridget saw him last night; they’re rumpled, but smell only faintly now of the bars he’s been haunting.

When Bridget pulls open the door, the Garou’s nostrils are flaring at the scent of blood.

Sarita speaks, asking what she’d gotten into a fight with. Patrick, on the other hand merely studies her face acutely; silently. His eyes roving over her face, absorbing the fresh bruise beneath her eyes. He slips the harmonica into a pocket, and slides his arms over his chest. “Is it broken?”

[Bridget Geroux] “Some crackhead tried to mug me,” comes a nasal response. “Hit me, I hit back. He ran off.”

Bridget looks to Sarita when she’s addressing her, not too swayed by the Strider’s Rage as much as Patrick’s. Last night the kinswoman had the bravado of the drunk, but today it’s gone. She’s wary for more reasons than just the spark of divine wrath.

It’s uncertain whether she’s checked her voicemail, or if it mattered at this point. Patrick’s concern elicits movement from the kin, a flinch, a smirk. She grants her desire for movement by moving back to the sink for a minute to make sure no bloodstains were left in the sink before she returns to the doorway, still holding the paper wad over her nose.

“Dunno. It’s fine,” she answers Patrick at last. Sarita would recognize the same deadpan expression she had yesterday when The News was broken. Her countenance is a grey stone, a far cry from the colorful, shifting thing she’s known for.

The kinswoman stands in the doorway before them, blinking as she points her gaze at the doorframe, tilts her head up a bit to let the blood drain down her throat.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, as long as you hit harder, at least.” She offers up a little grin. She’s not the kind that layers on sympathy after sympathy after sympathy. Sometimes, it’s too much for people, and a little respect and normalcy is what they need in the short term. Sarita would never accuse herself of normalcy, but respect she can do, and some levity can still go a long way.

“How’re you feeling other than that? Betting you had a fair amount of a hangover…”

[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick, honestly, aside from smelling less like the inside of a bar, seems much as he was last night. His rage is not diminished by any means, though there is less anger prominent in his gaze, now, as it remains on the face of the Kinswoman as she crosses back to the sink, then returns to stand before him.

He is uncertain, that much is clear in the manner he uncrosses his arms, sets them at his side and then flicks a quick look at the Strider. Back to the Kinswoman. “Listen, I need to talk to you for a minute.” A beat; he jerks his head in the direction of her room and moves out of the road.

Sarita gets a brief nod, but it’s about all the Galliard seems to be capable of managing.

He pushes the singer’s door open, and moves into the space, his hands delving into the pockets of his jacket as he comes to a stop at the cluttered desk that separated the beds. He leans against it, focusing on some speck on the carpeted floor while he waits for Bridget to follow. For all he knew, he’d be waiting an hour or more.

[Bridget Geroux] “Yeah, shoulda punched him in the dick,” Bridget returns the gesture with one of her own in an attempt to show Sarita that the girl wasn’t going to fall the fuck apart.

Patrick needs to speak with the kinswoman. Kinfolk don’t much have a choice, or rather… the desire to rebel against these minor things should be strong enough to be worth any reprisal. Patrick shuffles off to her room, leaving Bridget and Sarita standing in the doorway. The Canadian quirks a brow at the Strider, then rolls her eyes a little bit.

A hand goes to the other woman’s arm, a small touch of reassurance. “I’m okay. Gimme a sec to see what he needs.”

His. Needs. Bridget isn’t particularly thrilled to fulfill them, but she trots along anyway, wad of slightly bloodied toilet paper still at her face. Once she trails back to the shared bedroom, she grabs the guitar by the neck and props it against her headboard, shuffles some of the junk off her bed, and takes a seat.

She checks the paper wad carefully, taking a white part to check if she’s still gushing. She isn’t, but she pinches her nostrils with it for a few moments longer anyway. A silence grows between them, and the kinfolk isn’t the one to break it first except for a slight sniffle.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She provides a warm smile to Bridget and nods. “Hon, do your thing. You know me…I’m just chillin’.” She watches the two head off, and then moves to her room. She pauses, looking over at the door to Bridget’s room as the two walk in, and then heads into her own room for the moment. She only spies on her non-friends. And her sister. Though that latter one made her wish for brain bleach.

[Patrick Llewelyn] She doesn’t break the silence.

Well, that’s alright. Patrick takes a moment after she steps inside and settles herself, sniffing and dabbing at her nose to check to see how badly she’s still bleeding before he does so much as lift his eyes off the floor. He’s frowning, but that may simply be the manner that he collects his thoughts. Tonight, with his rage as high as it is, he is overly cautious of lingering long here.

It’s simply too risky.
He still wants to lash out and hurt people too badly.

“I’m gonna be honest.” He says bluntly, without any warm up speechifying that was atypical of his auspice. “I’m too fucked up, Bridget, to be a shoulder to cry on about Howard.” He holds up a finger to ask for patience. Or understanding, or — something. “Not that you seem the crying kind, or, whatever but I can’t — ” He breaks off, turns and leans his weight on the chair back; his fingers curling around it; shoulders rounded back.

“I came here to say sorry for being a jerk last night, but now I’m here and it’s not gonna work because I am gonna be a dick again. I don’t know if I even mean to be but right now, it’s all I can manage. Telling you how it is, for me.”

He turns, straightening, and takes an object out of his pocket; turning it over in his hands. It’s the harmonica he’d been holding when he came in. He leans over, and sets it on the bed beside her. “It was Howard’s.” Gruff. “I can’t play it, and he knew you did and I guess I thought he’d have wanted someone to get use out of it, so.”

He grows silent, turns toward the door.

“That’s it. S’all I wanted.”

[Amunet Trujillo] Amy is making an effort to get up, shirt off as she slowly untapes her ribs to prepare for a shower. She glances up when Sarita looks in, but doesn’t say anything.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles a little. “Hey chica, you’re awake.” She grins as she shuts the door to the room and takes a lean against the wall next to the door. “Looks like you’re healing up well. Are we at a point when I can jump up and down on the bed to jostle you?” She smirks. “Or is that too soon?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Only if you want me to fucking murder you.” She offers a tiny smile. “You got any more of those pills?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Of course.” She pushes off from the wall and heads to her bed, taking a seat on the floor next to it and reaching under. She’s grasping for several moments and swearing under her breath in Spanish and English both before she comes out with the bottle, which she tosses over at Amy.

“There you go. Take two of those, call me if your face turns red and you start choking or some shit.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I need a fucking shower.” She tries to catch the bottle but misses, having to slap her hands down onto it in her lap before it falls to the floor.

[Bridget Geroux] Two brows go up when he starts talking. He toes the line of control and oblivion, and it’s obvious by his flustered words. He warns her he’s going to be a dick, he gives some sort of gesture that he cares. There’s an apology, which is more than was expected. He gives her a trinket belonging to his packmate, which he probably debated about for a while.

Patrick has something exactly right: Bridget never cries. Not that there’s been much reason until recently for anyone to witness that useless, saline rain fall from her face, but even with her recent heartache, they don’t appear. She turned to no one for her grief, no one but Mister Jack Daniels. Patrick fights his inner demons, so Bridget doesn’t stir the pot. Not that she would anyway, giving the circumstance.

The Welshman turns to leave before Bridget has had time to process the brief interlude. She takes the bloodied wad from her face finally, wraps it up carefully, and sets it on her dresser for now. Only her arm moves in this endeavor, so she stays fairly still overall.

“You’re not in the mood to talk, but I have something to say. Please just hear me out, you can lose your shit, hit me, or whatever. I don’t care anymore.”

Let’s just hope it isn’t inspired by a deathwish. A small, mouthy breath fills the strong lungs of the young woman, then exhales to relieve more than just hot air.

“I know you’re trying to not be a dick, and I appreciate it. I don’t pretend to understand your grief, your loss, what you’re going through. I couldn’t possibly know what goes on inside your head, your heart. I don’t particularly want to; I don’t really understand what’s going on with mine.

But I found out just last night because someone spilled the beans. Everyone was going to just let me sit and drink myself blind because part of me is a stupid, foolish girl and I read too much into things. I was about to go drink myself stupid because the last time Howard saw me, he ran the other direction like I was some plague.

I don’t know what I felt about him. But the reason why I got so wasted last night was because it hit me all at once that I am absolutely alone here. There is not one person here I can remotely relate to. There are, however, a few people that small parts of me can relate to small parts of them. You, Howard, Simon, Cordelia, even Sarita out there. Still? For the first time in my life I feel completely lost.”

She stops and takes a deep breath, holds it, then exhales for continuing, “I don’t want to seem like I’m whining. There are worse things. All I’m saying is that you were right last night. I shouldn’t let myself be toyed with. I shouldn’t get involved. I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe finding some answers or some sort of connection or understanding… when I came here. You were right, even if you didn’t mean to be a dick like that.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well then go take a shower, bitch.” She grins a little bit and looks her over. “What the fuck do you need my permission for?” It’s a good-natured insult, like their banter usually is, instead of the occasional screaming matches that they have. She gestures to the door in a grandiose sweep.

[Amunet Trujillo] “I fucking hate you. Are you going to make me say it?” She pries off the lid of the bottle and dry swallows three pills.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She gives Amy a look, as if to say ‘what the fuck?’ She sighs and shakes her head, getting up off the bed and picking up some of her clothes to sort through them. “Yes, I’m going to make you say it, since I have no fucking clue what you’re babbling on about.”

She looks up at her. “Just come the fuck out with it. Jesus.”

[Amunet Trujillo] Her nose wrinkles, and she looks pained. “I need help. I can barely fucking move still.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Sarita blinks. “Oh. So…you need help getting to the bathroom? No problem…”

[Amunet Trujillo] She sighs, scowling. “I’m probably going to need help in the shower. Fuck. I forgot how much this fucking sucked.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Wow. Um, okay.” She nods, moving over to help her. “No prob…I got this.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Sorry. I can’t get the fucking tape off.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Don’t be sorry, I’m a-comin’.” She walks over and reaches out, puttin her arm around Amy’s mid-back and helping her. “Okay, go.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She struggles to get up, then gives Sarita the loose edge of the tape. “Want to hold and I’ll spin?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “That works.” She grins. “Just imagine youre a ballerina. Without all the psychosis and lesbian sex.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Maybe just a little of the psychosis.” She twists slowly, but still gets dizzy. When the bandage is off, she struggles out of her pants and grabs a towel to wrap around her. “Shall we?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Let’s.” She head back over and slips an arm around Amy’s back, letting her lean and helping her along.

[Amunet Trujillo] “We are so fucking getting high after I shower.” She moves along slowly now that her ribs are free.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I knew it…you just got hurt so you could get into my good shit, didn’t you?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Oh, yeah. You know me. Fucking druggie so bad I want the shit kicked out of me.” She laughs, then winces. “Fuck.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Careful, nutty one. Don’t laugh too hard, you might lose a rib.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Take the broken fuckers out. Fuck.” She turns the water on in one of the showers, waiting for it to heat.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Why, are you that desparate on becoming a big, tough guy that you’re trying to refulfill the ultimate guy fantasy?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [fulfill, not refulfill]

[Amunet Trujillo] “Okay, that was just fucking creepy. Stand here and make sure I don’t fall on my ass, okay?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You set me up for it.” She grins and nods, letting her go.

[Amunet Trujillo] “You’re a bitch.” She grins and setps into the shower slowly. “So what should we do tonight?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Um, not get our asses kicked is a good start.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Okay. So what are we going to do that won’t get our asses kicked?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Fuck if I know.” She snickers. “We’re not good at not getting our asses kicked.” She pauses. “You called Casey yet?”

[Amunet Trujillo] There’s a long pause. “Yeah. I left him a message a couple of days ago.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “He call back?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “No. Fuck him.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, shit.” She frowns. “You told him you got fucked up and he didn’t even bother to check up on you?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I just told him that some shit came up. Who fucking cares. He was a lay, that’s it. You know how fucking hard it is to wash your hair with one hand?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Probably pretty damn tough.” She shrugs. “I can kick his ass if you want.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Whatever. I don’t give a fuck what happens to him. Where’d my fucking towel go?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey, fair enough. Hold on a sec.” SHe goes and retrieves the towel, holding it up for her.

[Amunet Trujillo] Stepping out of the shower, she lets Sarita help with the towel with a minimum of grumbling.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She isn’t as much “helpful” as she is facilitating the passing to Amy, though if need be she helps with as much as is needed.

[Amunet Trujillo] The towel is wrapped around her without much real drying, and she shuffles her way back to the room.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She follows along behind. “So what would you like to do?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Get drunk. Get high. Get something.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I’m good with any and all of the above. I don’t think your meds make either a problem.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Let’s do both, then.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You are SO my sister.” She grins and does a knucklebump for the sheer cheese factor. “Word.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She laughs and returns it, making her way into the room. “We should go out and get laid.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You can barely MOVE, bitch. How the fuck are you gonna get laid.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I’d figure it out.” She digs through her bag for the tape, handing it over to Sarita.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She takes the tape and sighs. “Okay, raise your arms. I’ll try not to make this hurt too much.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fuck the painkillers have kicked in. I’m not feeling shit right now.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “If you say so.” She tapes Amy up carefully, making sure that it’s tight and and giving Amy proper support.

[Amunet Trujillo] “I forgot how much broken ribs fucking hurt. So what kind of shit have you got?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I have just the regular. Lots of booze and some pretty serious weed. I will say one thing about him, my hookup doesn’t fuck around. He’s spendy, but worth it.” This is why they stay on the verge of poor; too much smoking their product. But at least they’re not in debt.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Outside, then?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Outside it is.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She struggles into some clothes and a jacket, then heads outside.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She helps Amy on out, leading her onto the van.

[Amunet Trujillo] She climbs in slowly, settling into the seat. “So what did you do today?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh shit. Not a huge amount.” She its down and pulls out her tin box, pulling a plastic baggie of pot and her pipe. “Went looking for Bridget after the shit that went down yestrday. And then found her here.” She rolls her eyes.

[Amunet Trujillo] “How was that?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Didn’t talk to her much. Patrick was there too, and he needed to talk to her.” She shrugs. “They have shit to straighten out or something. Long as she’s okay.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “So she was fucking him or what?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Who, Patrick?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “The dead guy.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh.” Her nose wrinkles as she loads the pipe. “Not…I don’t think so. There was something there, though.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fucking men.” Her nose wrinkles and she looks out the passenger window.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well…in all fairness, he got gacked by reanimated Spirals or some shit. It’s not like he woke up in some hooker’s bed or something.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Well, I feel bad that he died and shit, but…” She shrugs “They’re still all fuckers.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh, no doubt.” She grins. “That’s part of their use.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fucker.” She scowls a little. “Are you going to light that fucking thing or what?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Bad joke.” She takes the first hit, holding it in for several beats as she hands it over.

[Amunet Trujillo] She reaches for it across her body to use her non broken side, taking a long drag and closing her eyes as she leans her head back against the head rest.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles a tiny bit. “Better?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Getting there.” She takes another drag before finally handing it back

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Good.” She kicks the minifridge open. “What do you want to drink?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Something fucking strong”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Straight shots it is!” She grins and grabs the jager out of the fridge and hands it over. “You’re gonna be fucked up tonight.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Thank fucking god.” She grins and grabs for the bottle, gulping down a mouthful.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She chuckles. “My GOD are you going to be hungover tomorrow. But at least it’ll distract you from the rest of the pain.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Can’t we find somebody to heal this shit already?” Another gulp, and she hands the bottle over too

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “We can try. If you’d ever found a Theurge, it’d be easy.” The wryness in her voice is heavy. She pulls out the Cuervo, taking a shot.

[Amunet Trujillo] “If you ever got off your fat, lazy ass and learned the ritual it would be easy too. What’s her fuck is a Theurge, I think. The weird new girl.” She’s happy to keep the Jager, taking another drink

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Wierd new girl.” She pauses and frowns, then shakes her head. “Nope. I am not a Theurge.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fucking slacker.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Blow me.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I choke on small bones.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She snickers. “You learn that in the last week or two?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Yep.” She takes another drink.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She practically chokes on a swallow of tequila. “Oh my fucking god, Amy.” She tosses her head back and out and out cackles.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Hey, you asked.” She scowls out the window again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The laugh mellows, and fades. “It’s bothering you.” It’s not a question, more an observation.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fuck him.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You should call him again.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “No. I’m not going to go chasing any guy. Fuck that.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shrugs. “At least to tell him off then, if nothing else.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She shrugs, taking out her phone and sending a quick text message.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You’ll feel better,” she says as she watches her send the text. She takes another good hit off the pipe and passes it over.

[Amunet Trujillo] “I don’t feel shit. That’s the point. Not feeling shit about them.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Okay.” She gives a little nod. “Just making sure.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She turns her phone off and tosses it into the back.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “We gotta get you back on the horse then. Once you’re able to ride, anyway.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Lots of guys here for it, that’s for sure.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “All Garou, though.” She smiles. “Least it’s good odds for you.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Yeah, till I run into another one thinking he’s going to fucking mark his territory with me.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “At which time I kick their ass.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I can kick their ass myself, thanks.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Then I’ll kick them when they’re down.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Deal.” She gives a smile, the weed and the alcohol starting to set in.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles, noting the change. “Okay, NOW we’re feeling better, I see.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I feel pretty fucking fantastic”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Good.” She sighs. “Feels like we’re on the road right now. Just chillin in the van, high and drunk.” She smiles, eyes shutting. “Good times.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “You want to get the fuck out of here? Not like we have any ties.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Not really.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I kind of like it here. Other than the death, but that’ll be anywhere. You?”

[Amunet Trujillo] She shrugs, taking another drink.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “If you want to go, we can go.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I don’t give a fuck. I can get into bar fights anywhere”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “We can, yeah.” She’s quiet a bit. “Okay, next time, you decide how we go in. Since you’re the one who gets laid up. Deal?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Next time, we just don’t take on more than we can handle”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I’ll buy that for a dollar.” She shrugs a bit. “Sorry.”

[Amunet Trujillo] *She half laughs, wincing* We need to find some fucking Get or something. Get some back up

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah.” She sighs. “I need to get packed.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “We. We need to get packed. You can’t go joining some fucking pack that won’t let me play too.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, yeah. Obviously…”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I fucking hate telling people I’m kin. I look like a dumbass, all beat to shit.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, get better, bitch.” She grins. “Then it won’t be a problem.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fuck me, I’m trying. Fucking bones.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She chuckles and sits back, shutting her eyes to enjoy the buzz. “Soon enough.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She snorts suddenly. “I probably should have fucking eaten something. Jesus, no wonder I feel fucked up already.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh? When did you eat last?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I don’t know. When did you bring me that sandwich?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Um. Yesterday.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Oh. Well. Fuck.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Jesus H. Christ, Amy. You’re unbelievable.” It’s not truly reproachful, just amazed.

[Amunet Trujillo] “I forgot. Christ. I was sleeping and shit.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Stay here. I’ll go in and getcha something.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Good. Don’t move. Or something.” She shuts the door and heads off to get food for them both.

A Longer Talk With Tabitha and Tala

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She cocks a brow, grinning. “Yeah, I do. Why, what or who did she do this time?”

[Azra Dzananovic] Azra’s makeup looks almost professionally done: from the blue of her eye shadow to the cat eye liner around her blue eyes. Her hair is swept together low at her neck, a few longer bits are brushed to the side out of her eyes.

Her eyes consume the entire room in one sweeping glance. She notes the placement of the only male and the newly arrived females – one of which she has met if only briefly. She’s in the room, her Rage a wall of heat that announces her arrival long before any real sound does.

Azra nods to Sarita and Tabitha before letting one hip come to rest on the arm of the couch on which Ray sits.

[Tabitha Reese] Her head cants and she takes in Sarita with one long, unblinking look before answering. “Nothing. Should she have?”

The stare is interrupted only by Azra’s entrance, at which point it’s turned on the Lord.

[Ray Ostermann] The man gets no answer from any of the women who enter the room, and that situation gets a perplexed look before the man chuckles to himself and takes another sip of the bourbon. His eyes however do fall upon Azra, the woman having seated herself as far away from Ray as humanly possible.

He gestures to the couch proper with an award winning smile despite the wave upon wave of rage that came from her and the other woman and spoke. “There is plenty of seating you know. And I don’t tend to bite.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Not necessarily. Just checking.” She looks over, noting Azra and smiles. “Hey, you from the bar. You got here, awesome. Usually my directions are for shit; glad it worked out.”

She looks at Rey, head cocking, and chuckles. “Well that’s no fun.”

[Tabitha Reese] She moves around the couch to find a seat, the smear of blood on her jeans standing out faintly against the dark denim. There’s a moment of deliberation before she chooses a spot, putting herself where she can have all of them in her line of vision.

[Azra Dzananovic] Her attention turns to Ray then, once he speaks. Her gaze sits squarely on his handsome face. That he says he doesn’t bite induces the faintest of smiles – just an edging of one side of her mouth upward, really.

“No.” She says quietly, “But I do.” Having said that she moves toward the open space Ray offered.

“I did, thank you for your assistance.” The smile given to the Strider tries very hard to be friendly, but there’s something in Azra’s gaze that says she is not capable of being anything remotely close to friendly. At least not genuinely.

“You seem comfortable here. ” Blue eyes cut to Ray. From where she sits, he can very probably smell the Chanel No. 5 she’s wearing. “Maybe you can assist me?”

One leg crosses the other at the knee and Azra doesn’t sit fully back on the couch. Shes sits on the edge of the cushion, hands neat in her lap.

[Ray Ostermann] Ray smirks as Sarita says that hes no fun and he shrugs. “I don’t tend to…I find it a bad idea to bite the wild life.” He gestures back to Azra to emphasize. “They tend to bite back, sometimes in ways I might not enjoy.” He gives Azra a wink before he takes another savouring sip.

Ray laughs and holds his arms out before him, one hand still holding the tumbler of bourbon which flashes in the light. “I am known as a man who can do such things yes.” He says as he lets his arms fall back to the couch and inclines his head ever so slightly towards her. “The multi-million dollar question of course is…what is it that you need assistance with?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She chuckles as Ezra heads toward the kin and shrugs, moving to pick up the remote and take a seat somewhere. Tabitha gets a glance. “What happened to you?”

[Tabitha Reese] “What do you mean, what happened to me?” She hunches a little, hands jabbed further into her pockets.

[Azra Dzananovic] Wild life. When he says this Azra’s top lip twitches just faintly. Blue eyes remain focused on Ray. He is lounging, she sits with her spine straight and posture perfect.

“I need to find my family in your city, yes?” Her accent is a strange mix of something near to Russian and French. “I was told of this place, but no names. I’d like to have names.” Lips painted mauve break apart as she smiles, exposing teeth.

“My name is Azra Dzananaovi&+263;. I’m a child of Thunder.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She points at the blood smear. “Either you rag from your knee, or something happened.”

[Tabitha Reese] She seems less concerned once Sarita points out the blood. She looks down at the still slightly damp in the middle smear and shrugs a shoulder. “Accident.”

[Ray Ostermann] “Ahhhh.” Ray says as he sets the bourbon down on the arm of the couch and sits up a little straighter. “Well that I can certainly help with as he gestures to himself. “A child of Thunder by birth myself.” He says as he pulls a pad of paper and a pen out of his inner coat pocket and goes to write down a few names.

“My name is Ray Ostermann, Kin mind you..the man you will want to find however is named Lukas, most people know him as Wyrmbreaker, hes would be the Tribal elder.”

He keeps writing, getting a list of names going for the woman. “There are a few trueborn of thunder around. I’m sure you’ll meet them in good time.” He says tearing off the paper as he stood and walked to her, offering the paper from between two fingers.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, next time try shaving with a razor, not a broadsword.” She grins. “That might help.”

[Tala Whitedeer] Figures. She sighs heavily to herself as she comes into the room. Her entrance is a bit timid, until she spots Tabitha. She scowls and stomps in that direction.

[Azra Dzananovic] When he gets close enough to hand her the paper she leans in to take it, casually, and closes her eyes to soak up the smell of him. Blue eyes open slowly, like a cat too long lounging in summer sun rays. “You donot smell like Thunder’s blood.” She whispers. The paper is folded and Azra stands, one hand smoothing down the side of her pressed slacks.

“Thank you…” She says, tipping her head to one side. “Enjoy your drink Mr. Ostermann.” Her voice is as quiet and as purposeful as her steps. She directs the sound toward Ray and it doesn’t travel very far if she doesn’t want it too.

(My belly is growling and dinner is DONE *G* I’m off to eat, be back after dinner and Jersey Shore!)

[Tabitha Reese] “It isn’t my blood.” By her tone, she’s missed the sarcasm and just thinks Sarita to be slow.

Tala’s glare is matched with one of her own, but she holds a hand out to her packmate when she gets closer.

[Ray Ostermann] Ray chuckles as she heads off, he himself enjoys the fine smell of her perfume and the quality of her upbringing before shrugging as she heads off. “Not all of us were lucky enough to be born with a class vintage.” He says as he waves professionally to her. “It was a pleasure Ms. Dzananovic.” He says before returning to his seat.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “‘Smell like Thunder’s blood’?” She arches a brow, watching Azra head off before she looks at Ray. “That’s it. I’m bottling a new cologne called “Thunder’s Blood,” just so you can wear it and call bullshit.”

[Ray Ostermann] Ray laughs as his head tilts back ever so slighty and he looks between the women still present and leaned a little closer. “As I said…by birth, right now you could say I’m on permanent loan to another team.” He says with a wink as he leans back and points at Sarita like he likes what shes taking about.

“However…I think I could market that very…very easily.”

[Tabitha Reese] Her eyes flicker to Ray and narrow, very slightly.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smirks at Ray. “I’ll get right on that.” She looks over at Tala. “Hola, chica. S’up?”

[Tala Whitedeer] “You could have said you were going somewhere.”

[Tabitha Reese] “You could have too, and not made me spend all night looking for you.”

[Ray Ostermann] Ray’s no slouch and he notes Tabiltha’s narrowed eyes and he gives her a curious look. “If you have something to say my dear…say it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Ooh, shit. Girl spat. She subtly focuses her attention back to Ray, letting them have their time. “So, we haven’t actually met yet.” She rises and heads over, offering her hand. “Sarita. No-Moon of the Striders.”

[Tabitha Reese] Her attention is abruptly focused on Ray “I. Am. Not. Your. Dear.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Real mature.” She nods at Sarita. “Hi. Sorry. Tabi’s just being a bitch right now.”

[Ray Ostermann] Ray’s attention held briefly on Tabitha, that smile still on his lips even as his eyes grow slightly darker. But then his attention slips to Sarita and the warmth spills back into his eye’s as he holds out a strong hand and gives her a shake. “Ray Ostermann, currently Kin to the Bone Gnawers.” Does he look it, nope, smell it, certainly not…

His eyes then turn back to Tabitha and inclines his head towards her, as if in apology. “My apologies, what do you prefer?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Tala gets a smile and shrug. “Hey, s’between y’all. Me meto donde me necesiten.” A pause. “Or where I might enjoy it.”

She looks back at Ray. “Pleasure to meet you, Ray.” She doesn’t seem wierded out by the Gnawer association. Stranger shit has happened.

[Tabitha Reese] Ray is spared by Tala’s comment, and the Fury’s eyes pin instead on her packmate “I had to clean up your mess, Tala. That’s where I was.”

[Ray Ostermann] Ray also offers his hand to Tala the man used to moving about the room and shaking hands. “The pleasure is mine.” He says in that smooth voice, his face all smiles as he looks at Tabitha one more time. “I’m used to such things, its quite alright.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Yeah. MY fault. Sure. Whatever.” She rolls her eyes and sits.

[Tabitha Reese] “He was a witness, Tal.” She pulls her hand out of her pocket to rake it through her hair, more blood covering her wrist that she doesn’t seem to notice as Ray offers his hand to Tala. She’s on high alert suddenly, watching for trouble that only she can see coming.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Witness? She can’t help but look over at that.

[Ray Ostermann] Ray also perks up at the womans sudden attentiveness wondering precisely what was happening now. His cool was still his however as he picked up what remained of his bourbon and downed it.

[Tala Whitedeer] “You’re just paranoid.”

[Kyle] (Where is everyone?)

[Tabitha Reese] “No such thing.” She relaxes visibly when Ray moves away, hands jammed in her jacket pockets again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Common Room. Sarita near couch, Tabitha and Tala sitting elsewhere, Ray moving away from the two]]

[Tabitha Reese] (Tab and Tal are on the other end of the couch, I thought. Either way!)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “If you guys need an alibi, lemme know.” She grins good-naturedly “I’m good at those.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Yeah. There is. There really is.”

[Tabitha Reese] “I might.” She seems frighteningly serious as she looks at Sarita again.

[Ray Ostermann] Ray checks his watch and looks at the women gathered around him. “If you’ll excuse me ladies, I need to be off myself. Work to be done, and money to be maid…though I’m sure I will see you all quite soon.”

He waves to them all before heading for the stairs. “It’s been a pleasure.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Go wash your hands, Tabitha.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Later, Ray. Nice meeting you.” She lets him go, then turns her direction back to the packmates. “What happened?”

[Kyle] His heavy foot falls on the stairs announce his presence. After all he can’t exactly call out and his humming sure isn’t going to be heard by anyone unless they stood next to him. As he enters the common room people who know him are going to be a little surprised. He’s wearing a rather expensive black suit. Something he could never truely afford given his travelling ways. The suit is tailored and fits him perfectly. Unbuttoning the jacket he dodges around Ray and gives a casual smile and wave before looking to everyone else in the room. He wasn’t expecting people which is obvious from the look of surprise on his face.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her head swivels around to Kyle, and she blinks before smiling. “Well, holy shit.” She smiles and stands, cocking her head to the side. “You clean up nice, you know that?”

[Tabitha Reese] “Why?” She asks Tala, but doesn’t take her eyes off of Ray.

[Tala Whitedeer] “They’re bloody.” She shrugs at Sarita. “Tabitha either hurt or killed someone. You get used to it.”

[Kyle] Gives that grin he has and shrugs as he starts to undoe the blood red tie around his neck.
“Thanks people keep telling me that. Still prefer my casual gear. How’s things?”
Looking to Tala and Tabitha with a confused look.

[Tabitha Reese] “Oh.” She pulls her hands out of her pockets long enough to scowl at them, then jams them back in and hops up to go to the bathroom.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Eh. Got shit hashed out with Ames last night. There was much in the way of yelling, and possibly some middle fingers. But I think we’re cooler now.”

Tala gets another look, curious now. “Anyone who had it coming?”

[Tabitha Reese] She glances back over her shoulder, looking Kyle over before answering Sarita. “He’s a rapist.” There’s a slow, satisfied smile before she amends. “WAS a rapist” And she’s off to the bathroom to wash her hands.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh. Well, then, all good.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Like I said. You kin of get used to it.”

[Kyle] Now he seems even more confused as he watches the ladies. Looks to Sarita and gives a thumbs up.
“Good to hear. Back in a sec. Going to go change.”
Wanders off and vanishes into his room.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She cringes to herself as Kyle heads off. “I hope he doesn’t mind the mess…” She smiles a bit and sits down, nodding to Tala. “Well, like I said. You need an alibi, lemme know. I got lots of alibi skills.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “I don’t know if she does. I’m fine. Thank you, though.” She smiles at Sarita. She seems oddly calmer without Tabitha directly in proximity.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “O’ course.” She leans back, extending her feet as she stretches them. “So let me remember…forgive me, I’ve met a LOT of people so far. From South Dakota, right?”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Well. Not originally but yeah, I was there for a while. From the Qualla originally.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Right. North Carolina, my bad. I’ll take a half-point for a partially correct answer.” A grin. “What brought you two here?”

[Tabitha Reese] She’s examining her hands to make sure she’s gotten all the traces of blood when she gets back, putting them back in her pockets before going to sit on the couch again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her phone vibrates and she checks it, a bit of a frown coming over her face. She texts back and sets it away.

[Tala Whitedeer] “Tabitha did. She knows someone.” She quiet down a little as Tabitha comes back into the room. One can almost literally watch her shrink.

[Tabitha Reese] Oblivious to the shrinking, she settled next to Tala and pats her leg gently. “What are you guys talking about?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks up, looking between them silently for a moment. “Just what brought you guys here.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Just. Like I said. Tabi knows someone.” A quick shrug.

[Kyle] Now he feels human. Wandering back in he’s wearing what he refers to as his casual gear. Long sleeve black shirt and jeans. In his hands he holds his heavy black boots. Around his neck is his familiar black leather collar. His hair remains tied back and neat. Casually he slumps into an available chair and listens.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks over at Kyle and smiles at him when he comes in.

[Tabitha Reese] “Yeah. Tribemate.” She watches Kyle but apparently doesn’t see him as a threat, leaning into Tala a little as she settles in.

[Tala Whitedeer] “I still haven’t met her though.” She wriggles out from under Tabitha. “Where’s the bathroom?”

[Tabitha Reese] She manages to point with her elbow. “Down the hall.”

[Tala Whitedeer] She scurries down the hall.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Did AIM just die for you?]]
to Tabitha Reese

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches Tala go and then looks back to Tabitha. “That’s cool. Nice to know people in the city you’re headed to…”

[Tabitha Reese] AIM and ICQ, yeah.
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Good, not just me then.]]
to Tabitha Reese

[Tabitha Reese] “What did you say to her?” Her tone is nothing less than accusatory as she glares over at Sarita.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I didn’t say anything, chica.” She seems unoffended by the glare, smiling it off. “Literally, just got a reminder where she’s from and asked what brought you guys here.”

[Tabitha Reese] “Then why is she cowering?”

[Tabitha Reese] Not even Express on the AIM site is working. Bah.
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Kyle] Rasises a brow as he watches the unsuual conversation. HE’s not sure what he’s missed but can see in his eyes he’s wondering if he should get out of the way.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “That’s a very good question.” She looks right at Tabitha. “Didn’t start until you walked back in.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Try now, mine are back]]
to Tabitha Reese

[Tabitha Reese] “Bullshit.” She settles in on the couch, looking Kyle over again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’.”

[Tabitha Reese] “We’ll see”

[Tala Whitedeer] She comes back down the hall, sitting back down carefully.

[Tabitha Reese] She gives Tala a quick smile, reaching up to muss her hair. “You okay?”

[Tala Whitedeer] She allows Tabitha to muss her hair, then readjusts the flowers. “I’m fine.”

[Tabitha Reese] “I’m sorry, okay? I should have told you where I was going, but you would have tried to stop me.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She just shrugs and sits back, looking to Kyle. “So, what was with the penguin suit?”

[Tala Whitedeer] She shrugs at Tabitha.

[Tabitha Reese] “Don’t be mad, okay?” She puts an arm around Tala and pulls her closer.

[Tala Whitedeer] “I’m not mad.” She gets pulled closer to Tabitha, not resisting.

[Tabitha Reese] She settles in with her packmate, giving Sarita a satisfied smirk.

[Tala Whitedeer] “So. Um. Anyway.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She pretends to ignore the smirk, though there’s no way that’s possible. This one…she saves shit away for later, and then drops memory grenades when they’re at their deadliest.

[Tabitha Reese] “Anyway what?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Did we lose you?]]
to Kyle

[Tala Whitedeer] “I don’t know. What were we talking about?”

[Tabitha Reese] “Sarita thinks that I make you uncomfortable.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks back at Tala and Tabitha. “Not a hell of a lot, really. So other than killing rapists…A+ on that, by the way…how’s the city treating you?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Party foul. I’m callin’ five seconds rule on those words…they were totally on the floor for more than that before you put them in my mouth.”

[Tabitha Reese] She appears to be about to say something about Sarita’s first statement, before blinking in utter confusion at the second.

[Tala Whitedeer] “I…Huh?” She looks confused, then apparently decides to focus on one set of words. “The city is nice. As cities go I guess.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You. Put words. In My Mouth.”

[Tabitha Reese] “Isn’t that what you said though? That she wasn’t uncomfortable until I came back?”

[Tala Whitedeer] She speaks up, tone clearly desperate. “I don’t know about the food, though. I don’t know how you people get by with that crap.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Not exactly. But let’s let it drop, cool?” She smiles at Tala. “Ain’t my choice-a food, I swear. Definitely different than back home.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Yeah. I don’t care for it.” There’s definitely still desperation in her tone, and she’s not quite looking at Tabitha.

[Tabitha Reese] “Jesus, Tal. Relax.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “I’m -fine-.”

[Tabitha Reese] She reaches over, gently grabbing Tala’s chin and turning her head to make the other woman look at her. “You’re not acting fine.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Stop.” Her tone becomes a bit whiny, almost childish.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She sighs, letting them work it out. Probably for the best.

[Tabitha Reese] She scowls and lets go of her chin.

[Tala Whitedeer] She looks back at Sarita. “Where are you from?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “New Mexico, originally. A little tiny place outside of Albuquerque. Been all over since then.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Oh. That sounds nice.”

[Tabitha Reese] Tabitha settles in to stew, watching Tala.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “It was pretty cool…I enjoyed growing up there, I guess.” She smiles. “Good as any other place, I guess. Better’n most, even.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “I’ve only seen pictures.” She shrugs, obviously making an effort to ignore Tabitha’s stare.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Totally different world than here.” Her tone is warm and fond as she talks about home. “I know a lot of people look at the desert in a bad light, but growing up there…fantastic. I loved it.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “It sounds very lovely.”

[Tabitha Reese] “I’ve never been to the desert.” Her gaze moves from Tala suddenly, fixing on Sarita now.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, I ain’t gonna lie…there were shit parts of it too. Happens all around, no matter where you go. Meth heads, cops more concerned with border jumpers than murderers and so on.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “That’s everywhere you go.” She shrugs.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “True.” She looks at Tabitha. “You should go some time. You can get away from all this city shit for the most part. It’s peaceful. Free.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[The “ture” was to Tala]]

[Tabitha Reese] “Nowhere is peaceful. There is evil everywhere you go.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Jesus, Tabi.”

[Tabitha Reese] “What? It’s true. I was tortured in one of the most peaceful places in the country. You can’t escape it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “No, she’s right.” She nods. “I ain’t saying there isn’t evil there. Note that I did say, ‘for the most part,’ chica. But it’s not all hell, like some of the rest of the world.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “No wonder you’re so pissy, if that’s how you feel.”

[Tabitha Reese] She scowls at Tala “I’m not pissy.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “You realize how ridiculous that was with you glaring at me, right?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] And this is one where the jokester girl is smart enough to stay quiet and let them argue.

[Tabitha Reese] “How are you and your sister getting settled in?” She looks to Sarita, trying to calm her growing irritation.

[Tala Whitedeer] “Now you ignore it. Great.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Fairly well. Only one major screaming match so far.” She grins, arms folding over her chest. “I consider that to be a very good start.”

[Tabitha Reese] “Screaming match?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah, screaming match.” She nods. “We’re sisters. Fairly new to being sisters, but sisters nonetheless. Therehow, we are biologically implanted with the ability to piss each other off in ways that no one else in the WORLD can.” A smirk. “That’s just kinda how it work, y’know?”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Which one is your sister?”

[Tabitha Reese] “No. I don’t have any siblings. My mother died when I was very young.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Amy,” she says to Tala. “She’s crashin’ in Kyle’s room with me. …when she’s actually crashing here, anyway.”

She looks at Tabitha and nods. “I didn’t either, until a year ago. Grew up an only child. My mom died when I was fifteen and dad wasn’t around…not the same, but I know what that’s like, in a way.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Oh. I don’t remember her.” She shrugs, looking over at Tabitha.

[Tabitha Reese] “Tal and Rollie are the closest thing I’ve ever had to siblings.”

[Tala Whitedeer] She grits her teeth. “Tabitha.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Um…maybe a new topic?” She purses her lips, looking between the two. [[Sorry, got busy there for a few.]]

[Tabitha Reese] She sighs at Tala. “Fuck’s sake, Tal. I loved him. I’m not going to go the rest of my life not talking about him because he died.” She nods to Sarita. “A new topic might be good. Have you found any packs to look into yet?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She snorts in amusement. “I wish. I know of lots of individuals, but like one pack. And they got enough issues without me crowding my own in.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “You two fought ALL the time.”

[Tabitha Reese] “That doesn’t mean I didn’t love him.” She shrugs at Tala, then nods at Sarita. “Seem to be a lot of floaters around here. That might be good for forming something new.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “ALL the time. Over everything. You got in a fistfight over fucking pizza toppings.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “That could have its benefits, yeah.”

[Tabitha Reese] “He wanted to put pineapple and tomatoes together, for fuck’s sake”

[Tala Whitedeer] “You don’t fistfight people over that.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I’ve heard of fistfights over worse…”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Hell, she’s HAD fistfights over worse, not that she’ll mention it. You put my gun in the sock drawer, you crazy bitch was not a quote anyone but her sister ever needed to know came out of her lips.

[Tabitha Reese] “He was a Fenrir. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t fistfight over.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Whatever.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You just described…well, at least three tribes off the top of my head, chica.”

[Tabitha Reese] “They’re the worst offenders, though. Generally.”

[Tala Whitedeer] She’s sitting back in the couch, arms crossed tightly over her chest, scowling at the world.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, if you include the word fist instead of claw, yes.” She shrugs and sits back. “Anyway. What about you guys? Who’ve you met so far?”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Pretty much you. Some pretty boy child of Fenris.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “That’s it?” She blinks. “Jesus.”

[Tabitha Reese] “Remy” She nods. “And Hunter, and Howard.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Who are those people?”

[Tabitha Reese] “Remy is the pretty boy Fenrir. Hunter is Howard’s friend.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hunter and Howard I know. Let’s see…and Howard’s packmate Patrick. A ton of kinfolk. Um…Mila, Lukas, Katherine…couple others, I think.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “So you’re close to Howard now?”

[Tabitha Reese] “I wouldn’t say close…”

[Tala Whitedeer] “What WOULD you say?”

[Tabitha Reese] “You know what I say? I say I’m going back to the motel” She stands up, scowling. “Sarita, nice to see you again.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “See you, Tabitha.” She nods to her. “Have a good one.”

[Tala Whitedeer] She stands as well. “This isn’t over.”

[Tabitha Reese] “It should be, since there’s nothing to even argue about.” She nods to Sarita, and heads out.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches the two. It’s like watching a boxing match without a ring, referee, or any actual punches being thrown, really.

[Tala Whitedeer] “Good night.” She scowls and heads out after Tabitha.

Let’s Jam!

[Kora] “You’ve seen the mucus glands of a moose, have you?” Kora returns, casting her packmate a – deeply doubtful look – as she pushes her winter gear into the booth and folds herself in after it. There’s a certain ease to the motion, though she does not bend perhaps as deeply as she ones might, and her center of gravity has already started to change.

“Don’t tell me your grandpappy raises them on the farm,” she finishes with a doubtful expression that would be a smirk on someone else’s face. There’s something lighter though, about the expression, that keeps the darkest expression of irony at bay. ” – because that I won’t believe.”

The street outside is dark and the windows here are tinted. It’s such a cold night, with swirls of flurries fallen from a dull orange, that the cold leaches through the insulated windows, making these booths chilled and rather less popular with the patrons. She likes the view, though, the comfort of it. Her packmate can watch the entrance, and she can watch the street. She glances out, now, dark eyes lilting over their reflections to the street beyond before looking back at Roman. Quietly, a furrow of speculation between her pale brows.

“Heard from Sparrow, lately?” Her eyes remain fixed on the younger Garou’s face with the question, quick and watchful and sure.

[Bridget Geroux] [Cha+Perf + PB 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Roman Turner] “Raised Buffalo too. Steaks are pretty good if it’s a fresh slaughter and not over cooked.”

He got situated and started fiddling with the salt shaker while looking all over the place like he’d never seen such a place. Kora asked about Sparrow and for a split second something akin to pain flicked in those faded denim eyes of his.

“No, I guess she’s busy or something.”

[Izzy Montoya] Not many people would figure Detective Montoya for a music fan – let alone for Blues. Or Jazz. Or anything other than head banging screaming metal. Fact is, she has a healthy appreciation for all things music. So she’s hear tonight, already in a booth, not far from where Kora and Roman decide to sit.

She’s in the shadows of a booth, though it is certain that won’t hide her for long, as Kora has the uncanny ability to find her in any crowd. She has a beer in front of her, though she has yet to order anything to eat. Her hair is down, her dress business casual, as usual. Even off duty, she looks to be on alert.

She watches as Roman and Kora take their seat, and should they turn this direction, lifts her beer slightly in hello, before tipping it back to drink deeply of the icy cool liquid. Sometimes this is as good as it gets. sometimes that’s all she needs.

[Kristiana Coleman] The blond kin walks in dressed to impress in a shortish skirt and soft lightweight sweater. Maybe not exactly appropriate for the venue, but it’s not club wear. Her hair is pulled back with clips at the sides, and she strides in after being carded and once again successfully passing. Phone out, she texts Bridget rather than spend the time and energy to look for her.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon takes the time to look them both Over. First there is Bridget, and his eyes slip all the way down and then back up before meeting her eyes.”I just got your call, sorry I am late.”He says before turning his head in the direction of Patrick. His smile grew and he nodded his head.”You like? I thought it’d be nice to dress up a little, you know look nice and pretty?”He asks as he holds out his arms and spins a little for Patrick. When he turns back around he looks in the direction of Bridget.

“I think I saw Kora and Roman but not too sure… I mean I was just passing through. Not sure who else might be on their way.”He says this with a nod of his head and a tiny little grin.”So am I umm… Too late? You already done?”He asks before glancing in the direction of the minibar.”I suppose I should get myself a drink.”He says.”I’ll umm… Be right back.”He says excusing himself for just a moment to wander past and grab himself a drink.

[Bridget Geroux] Downstairs, the next band finally starts in. They make a slow start, but maybe it will pick up. Some of the more inebriated patrons attempt to dance. The smell of fried southern food is mouth-watering. Soon enough, the waitress will return with their appetizer and ketchup.

Upstairs in the lounge, Simon finds the kinfolk and Galliard drinking bourbon and making small talk. She slowly sips at the bourbon, sets the glass on the table, and picks up her harmonica. The metal instrument gets polished briefly while the kinswoman looks off.

“I’m not going to even ask what you mean by Howard’s porn stash. So no, I haven’t seen it. He’s been acting weird lately, and I kinda lost my temper and said some shit that Hunter had to kinda kick my ass for. Figuratively. I deserved it. But anyway, I’ve been keeping myself busy working.”

She blinks a few times at her own rambling. Simon’s attire is… well, it gets quite the appreciative look from Bridget. She shifts a bit in her seat as she sits there. Bridget is a performer, but she doesn’t like to hear herself talk, not ramble on like this. The Canadian lifts the harmonica to her mouth and starts to play, following that same urge of movement as before.

Bridget starts to play a rowdy tune, George Thorogood’s Madison Blues. It’s quite the rendition, considering it was made for electric guitar. She leans into Patrick at some point, gesturing with her eyes at his guitar.

[Ivers] By the time he remembers he was supposed to be somewhere tonight he’s already had most of a pitcher of beer and Christ knows how many doses of drugs not worth mentioning in polite company; there’s no telling what reminded him, after all of that, but he looked at a clock or heard a song on the jukebox or maybe just took the world’s most head-clearing piss, but at some point he said to himself, “SHIT!” and then hauled his skinny ass out of wherever he was and started over to Buddy Guy’s.

Whereupon he realized that American assholes card for entrance into places like this.
Whereupon again he realized that breaking and entering isn’t terribly difficult.

Though he did not come in the front door like the rest of the world, Howard stumbles out of the bathroom as though he has been in there for some time, a curly-haired twenty-something Rip Van Winkle. Stumbling is never indicative of intoxication for him, being as he walks like a sloppy drunk even when he hasn’t touched a drop all day, and he looks worse than he smells; he does not reek, though he looks as though he does. He wears probably the worst outfit anyone has seen him in yet: black Converse sneakers, seafoam green twill pants, a bright orange t-shirt likely older than he is advertising Reese’s peanut butter cups, a black-and-blue scarf, and a black leather jacket. It goes without saying his hair is a mess, and his sunglasses are in place.

Patrick was late for undisclosed reasons; Howard’s lip is split.

He stands still a moment, looking around as though he’s attempting to figure out where the fuck he is, where the fuck he’s supposed to be. There are Fenrir everywhere, an underdressed Fang kinswoman nearby, and Howard starts aimlessly wandering in the blind hope he’ll find Patrick before he gets into another fight.

[Kora] “No way,” Kora returns, with a snort of disbelief. “There’s no way you raised moose. I’m pretty sure they’re like caribou, you know? Or reindeer in Lappland. They need cold weather to live, yeah? They’re adapted to it.” At the end of it, she offers Roman the slow, brief curl of a half-smile and drops her voice by a good ten decibels, finishing softly, ” – like Fenrir.”

The waitress has returned by now, with their drinks and the huge basket full of appetizers – chicken wings and fried oysters, fried okra and fried peas, fried pickles and fried twinkies.

Well, maybe not the twinkies.
Or the peas.

The woman has that harried look to her, bruises underneath her eyes, her hair flat from the heat in the room, from her sweat, from the long night of work. She puts the beer down in front of Kora and the milk down in front of Roman thoughtlessly. Kora does not switch them until the waitress leaves the booth, but switch them she does, picking up that tall glass of whole milk to return the quiet toast to Izzy.

Underneath the table, she bumps her toe against Roman’s calf; acknowledging that frisson of pain without indulging it.

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Per + Charisma: Guitar playin’.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Patrick Llewelyn] [That was just depressing, Patrick.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 6, 8, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7) Re-rolls: 1

[Roman Turner] “Yessum, my family’s ranch has all sorts of odd things on it that ya don’t expect to find. Ostrich, Llama’s, even some of them fainting goats. Course, after a while I wasn’t able to get too close, so ended up shoveling stalls when they were empty.”

He might be pulling Kora’s leg on the Moose part but he sure wasn’t admitting it if he was. The waitress returned and got an even bigger smile when she absently put the milk in front of Roman. Though Kora snagged the milk before he managed to stick his tongue in it or anything. Still receiving a beer in exchange was a good deal in his head. About the time Kora saluted Izzy was about the time she bumped his leg beneath the table so he thought one had something to do with the other and was twisting in his seat to locate the recepient of the salute to which he saluted too with his beer. Izzy got a devilish smile with the beer salute.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon finds himself watching. Settling in and watching when the two of them start to play. His eyes shifting as he pulls up a seat and settles his glass on the nearest table and just decides to watch. Patiently and quietly, let the Fianna do what the Fianna do best right?

I mean you wouldn’t want them barging in when you are torturing or betraying someone ruining your fun now would you Simon? So let them do their thing and they will let you do your thing and in the end everyone wins.

[Izzy Montoya] Kora salutes her with milk, which makes the corner of Izzy’s lips lift in the briefest, smallest of smiles. While she has no wish for ankle biters of her own, she knows Trent is excited – and that’s enough to have her at least appreciative of Kora’s condition. That devilish grin of Roman’s however – that twists the smile into a huff of amusement.

She must be tired to let it be seen like that.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Simon is twirling and speaking of feeling pretty and the Fianna glances at him and simply —

pauses for a moment, mid swallow. He stares at the Shadow Lord from under a furrowed brow and then simply nods, and samples what might once have resembled a friendly smile but honestly rather looks more like an awkward grimace. That might also have something to do with, truth be told, the large amount of whiskey he just imbibed. Bridget responds with something about Howard’s behavior and her own and then starts up with her harmonica.

And, well, it’s easier for Patrick to play, then try and figure out why an Ahroun would tell a Galliard he feels pretty. He takes up his guitar, and starts picking up the chords to accompany Bridget’s tune; it takes him a moment, perhaps two, and then he has it — he taps his foot against his leg in time to the beat.

Downstairs, his Alpha has arrived and Patrick feels the familiar tug at his senses telling him he’s nearby: We’re upstairs, man Howard hears, along with a mental projection of the room, and the staircase leading there.

[Ivers] “Whoa.”

This, out loud, as though Patrick had sneaked up on him and not projected an image of where it is he’s supposed to be going rather than yelling it in his ear. As tempting as it likely has to be for him to go over to the seated kinswoman who insisted he call her Detective Montoya instead of whatever obnoxious nickname he would have come up with for her, or to the pregnant Skald who had threatened to geld him when last their paths meet, the brightly-colored Theurge does not wander over and attempt to ruin their nights.

Either he can be taught, or he has simply reached the point of being inebriated where his perception of his surroundings is completely nonexistent.

Up the stairs he goes, grabbing the railing so he doesn’t wipe out attempting to ascend, and when Howard arrives at the VIP lounge he identifies himself in a relatively sober-sounding voice. Patrick and Bridget have started playing already, and there’s Simon, parked at a table dressed like a 70’s flashback in his denim jacket. A grin of forewarning comes over his lips, the barely-formed scab on his lower lip threatening to crack and bleed again if he isn’t careful, and he ambles over, bumping into a chair before hauling it back and dropping himself down right next to Simon.

“Dear Jesus are you handsome tonight,” he says, and reaches out to steal the Ahroun’s beer.

[Kora] Kora shakes her head doubtfully, somehow imagining Roman’s family ranch as a cross between Noah’s Arc and Dr. Doolittle’s lab. Her laughter rises underneath her breath, and disappears just as quietly – brief and charming before she dives into the giant basket of deep fried – well, deep fried anything on the table between them.

“The Sept where I fostered – Vindur und Ringing – it’s off on the north Atlantic, on this barrier islands, my people call it Hjaltland, right? And the only thing that could survive on that turf grass, in the winter conditions, was sheep. So the kin there raised sheep, and fished for a living. Winter was pretty much mutton or dried fish, dried fish or mutton in endless combinations. Every piece of both, too. It was – ”

There’s a brief, far away look – though her ruminations are interrupted by the vision that is Howard Ivers – and when she looks back to Roman, her dark eyes are shot through with a certain ironic light, the nostalgia subsumed beneath the surface of her pale skin, bleeding through only in the shape of her half-smile. “Stark. And so far north that winter was dark and long. Sometimes you could see the northern lights, though – scintillating across the sky.”

[Bridget Geroux] Indeed, Simon. Indeed.

The Fianna make child’s play of the song collectively. Even if it takes a second for Patrick to get into gear. Somewhere towards the end of the song, a cheap black cell phone on the coffee table buzzes, vibrating against the glass. It lights up with the name “Kris” on the outer screen.

Bridget eyeballs the cell but doesn’t go to pick it up until they’re done. Howard, man of the hour, stumbles in the VIP lounge in a drunken stupor, collapses on a chair, and starts flirting with Simon. This elicits a throated chortle from the young woman a few seconds after the last note.

She grabs the phone with one hand, then bumps Patrick with her shoulder lightly.

“You’ve got some mad skills there, Slick,” she says before punching some letters into the phone and clicking SEND. The phone gets dumped back onto the table, the glass of bourbon goes to her lips. A deeper sip warms her belly.

Bridget stretches her legs out, kicking off her black kitten heels. “So, what’s next?”

[Roman Turner] For his part, he was working on draining the beer as Kora talked about home and cold and fish and sheep. Boy he had some sheep jokes not fit for mixed company that he had to keep to himself. In the middle of talking Kora paused to look at someone and that had Roman turning to see who it was. He didn’t know Howard from Jesus, so wasn’t so sure that’s who Kora looked at when she did that little pause in her story before continuing.

“I miss flat land with an unobstructed view. All this traffic, snow and folk rushing around is just plum crazy. I would of likely ended up in love with a Sheep if I’d lived where you grew up and that would of been baaaad.

[Patrick Llewelyn] As Bridget’s song tapers out, the Galliard’s fingers soften on the chords; he grins despite himself when Howard makes an instantaneous bee-line for the Shadow Lord and starts hitting on him and keeps his head lowered so as not to distract himself from the riff he starts evoking out of the strings.

Bridget nudges into him and he mmphs, glancing across at her without ceasing in his gentle, aimless play. “Back at you, I don’t think I’ve seen someone elicit those sounds from a harmonica since — ” he looks momentarily blank — “Well, ever.” Patrick then returns to his bluesy playing, alternately his time with thumps of his palm against the side of the instrument for a dull, rhythmic backing.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The perpetually grinning one slips through the door, stepping into the establishment. Perhaps surprisingly, she’s not dressed in the same motif as she usually is. The duster’s been left at home tonight, with a brown leather jacket replacing it. She’s got a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses on, a white tank-top that reads “Destination: Grassy Knoll” with the o in ‘knoll’ consisting a crosshair target. Torn, well-worn blue jeans and a pair of cowboy boots complete the the ensemble.

She steps a few paces inside and then off to the side, so as not to block traffic to and from the door as she looks around the place.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon was watching Bridget mostly, transfixed by the kin as she and Patrick play so he didn’t notice when Howard came wandering up to join him. His eyes shifted towards the Theurge and his smile grew a little. He pulled the hat off his head and nodded back to him before looking back in Bridget’s direction.”Thanks… I thought I would at least try to look decent seeing as how I got the invite and all right?”He asks before flicking his eyes back to Howard.

Simon wasn’t the kind to be weirded out or creeped in the slightest by comments like this.”You get your lip bit?”He asks him with a little smile as he watched Howard steal his drink.”It’s rum… I thought you kind were more the scotch sorts.”He says before looking back up to his face and finally back to Bridget.

“It’s nice just to get a chance to settle back and relax now and again.”He says, those green eyes just watching, admiring, the kin as she played. Quiet and reserved. The full moon wasn’t terribly talkative or speechy at the moment it would seem.

[Kora] “The dude with the bad fashion sense is Fianna,” explains the woman who wore the same blood-stained jeans for six-months straight, and had a no more than two other changes of clothes until a kinfolk espied the lack, and brought her a new wardrobe she usually eschewed in favor of her dedicated things. She further explains: “Loudmouth.” – with a brief, narrow little smirk.

“Anyway, I didn’t grow up there,” returns Kora, making that clear distinction between her fosterage and her childhood. She is making steady progress through all the deep fried treats delivered to their table, employing Roman’s hard-won ketchup only sparingly. “It was an accident of circumstance, really. I was in Edinburgh when I changed, and that was the closest Fenrir Sept. Linus and I, we moved around alot when we were kids. Sort of like military brats, without being in the military, yeah?

“Lived almost anywhere you can think of. Florida, Kentucky, upstate New York, southern California. We were in Missouri when I graduated high school. Then they moved up north somewhere. I think they were in Montana when Linus’ dad came looking for him.”

[Ivers] Here’s the joy and beauty of being in the presence of the Ahroun of this Sept: they will talk and talk and talk and eventually forget having asked Howard a question in the first place, eliminating the number of instances in which he could potentially be caught fabricating some wild story to be teased apart and dissected as his companion searches for the truth amidst all the bullshit that comes out of his mouth every night.

Simon asks if his lip was bitten, and while it’s a nasty cut, the Theurge doesn’t answer the question. There’s a question as to whether or not he was a scotch drinker, and Howard flicks his heavy brows up over the edge of his aviators before tossing back a mouthful of Simon’s drink. To his credit he doesn’t put his cut lip on the glass or straw, although that may be more due to a desire to avoid the sting of alcohol on exposed tissue than to avoid getting germs on the other man’s drink.

“You should do it more often,” Howard says, to the matter of settling back and relaxing. “Take that stick out of your arse, yeah? Although if you did that I don’t know what I’d do with myself. That whole uptight prick thing really works for you.”

[Izzy Montoya] When the waitress swings her way again, Izzy still does not order food, though the scents of the cooking are enticing enough. Maybe she’s already eaten, or perhaps the more plausible truth is she has decided to drink her dinner tonight. Thus, it’s another drink she orders – another beer, this time with a friend – whiskey, neat – to keep it company.

She doesn’t change tables, doesn’t move to interrupt Kora and Roman’s conversation, doesn’t move upstairs. If she saw Howards entrance – and she did, she misses very little – it doesn’t get more than a glance. Instead, most of her attention seems to be for whoever is on stage – right up until she grabs a file folder from the briefcase beside her, opening it up and littering her night off with work.

[Roman Turner] “I lived in Clearwater my entire life till I came with Sparrow to here. Who would of thought I’d still be here and she ain’t?”

For a moment his face screwed up like he bit in to something sour. The beer was polished off and he waved down a waitress to shove the leftovers in a box before he rose and started replacing his winter wear. One hand was held out to Kora to pull her out of the booth.

“Ok, back to the grind. Here, let me help ya with your coat.”

He made sure Kora was bundled and grabbed the box of leftovers with a wave to Izzy before the pair made for the door. They stuck close together, touching now in the familiar way of Packmates.

“I think we should get some ice cream on the way home, watcha think?”

His words soon swallowed by the howling wind and sound of the street as they stepped out.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She heads to a table as close to the stage as she can, taking a seat and taking the aviator shades off. She smiles at a waitress and orders a tequila sunrise, watching the stage for a moment before she looks around the room, looking for faces that she knows.

[Roman Turner] (( thanks ))

[Kora] (night folks!)

[Bridget Geroux] ((night))

[Simon Zahradnik] He laughs back at Howard and shakes his head.”Dressing to impress is for special occasions. Practicality is for most occasions.”He says with those eyes breaking from Bridget long enough to look back at Howard. His eyes focusing on that lip before he shrugs his shoulders.

“You and Patrick doing okay? No troubles or anything? Life is… Alright?”He asks, small talk was about the best he could hope for with these two. Anything more than that and there was likely to be fists flying and lots of yelling. Simon hadn’t come to fight, and for Bridget’s sake he would play nice with her Tribe tonight. It only seemed respectful.

[Bridget Geroux] The eyes of the Ahroun under the sign of his change–also sandwiched between the two other Garou– causes Bridget to fidget. Patrick strums his guitar, Simon’s eyes fondle the kin, Howard flirts behind his aviators.

The Canadian rises and takes a giant step over the coffeetable, then pads barefoot back to the bar. She grabs the bottle of whatever bourbon they were drinking before, two spoons, then returns with it in a similar manner, sits down, and pours herself another glass.

The bottle of Jefferson’s Reserve rests on the glass countertop before Bridget gets comfortable again. Her fingers clasp around the two metal spoons and she does a couple warm up excercises with them to keep herself from going nuts. Her eyes flick to Simon. The bumpkin is appreciative of his outfit and the way he wears it.

Bridget tries not to look at Howard, whether it is because she doesn’t want to provoke him, or because she might still be angry (which is unlikely, but possible), is uncertain.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She notes Howard at the table that he’s at with Simon, raising a hand to wave toward him before she looks back to the stage. She tilts her head when Bridget busts out the spoon, her usual smile becoming something a bit more intrigued. The tequila sunrise arrives and she thanks the waitress before pushing a chair out at the table she’s at so she has something to put her feet on.

[Ivers] Life is… alright?

“Lemme tell you somethin’, gat,” Howard says, his voice a little louder than is absolutely necessary yet not at a volume that will overpower the two playing, oddly cheerful despite the subject matter he’s suddenly decided to discuss, “life fuckin’ sucks. I don’t care how many times you go ’round sayin’ we have a purpose or the fuck ever. Either you appreciate the things that don’t suck–”

He turns his head towards Patrick and Bridget, his eyeline obscured by black plastic and thus the intended object of his attention uncertain; it could be his brother, it could be the woman he’s scorned this month, it could be the idea of them, the tribe, music, some other abstract concept he can’t possibly articulate at this point in his bender. Whatever it is, Howard only looks at them for a second or two before he looks back and steals Simon’s drink again.

“–or you end up wallowin’ and this whole thing becomes completely fuckin’ pointless. Yeah, sure, maybe you could do what you seem fond of doin’ and pretend life is amazing despite all the crap that goes on and go around wavin’ your pom poms tryin’ to get everybody pumped the fuck up, but that takes way too much effort and if you ask me it’s slightly fuckin’ delusional. If it’s workin’ for you though… cheers, mate.”

He’s got to be high on something. Howard never talks this much.

[Bridget Geroux] Howard’s brilliant and loud tirade makes the Albertan stop short in her practice. She grabs the drink off the table and downs a shot. The first, having been imbibed slowly, is slowly inching its way towards numbing her perceptions. Her eyebrows raise in protest at Patrick, and by the look of the slight clench in her jaw while she moves her lips into a smile, she’s stifling herself from chiming in.

Another flinch of her facial muscles and a slight noise of protest from her throat, and the expression is gone. She turns her head again over at Simon for a second, blinks a few times before looking back to Patrick. She puts the spoons down just as she notices Sarita made her entrance.

“Oh, thank God you came,” she says to the Strider.

Bridget is glad the testosterone quotient in the room is thinning out; she’s glad to know someone here might be holding MJ so that things will calm the fuck down before they even get started. The Canadian smiles and gestures to the minibar before picking up her harmonica again.

She starts to play an old tune, done several times by several people, but made famous by Mister Muddy Waters: I Just Want to Make Love to You.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick is playing almost mindlessly.

Which is not to say that he plays without timing, or a degree of competency, but that his fingers on the strings seem almost a disconnected thing from the rest of his body. He’s listening now to the conversations going on around him; in particular to what Simon is asking and Howard is telling so that Patrick is in fact looking in their direction when Howard turns his head toward them and the Galliard frowns; and his eyes slip away, back down to his guitar and then across at Bridget as the fiery brunette downs a shot.

Picks her way cross the room to allow the Silent Strider entry.

Patrick gives up picking out tunes without starting, and sets the instrument aside in favor of finishing his drink, and venturing to the small bar to procure a second. “Hey, Doc, I say we outlaw talk of anything that is not related directly to getting drunk, or jazz music. Why don’t you play something?”

He gestures at his guitar, then at Bridget. “Do us proud.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He rolls his eyes.”If life sucks so much big guy there’s a way out…”He says this with a shrug of his shoulders.”I for one wake up each day, and take a breath and you know what that feels like? It’s pretty nice… Cause unlike you I have an appreciation for the fact I am still alive right? A lot of folks don’t get that luxury…”He doesn’t look at Howard as he speaks.

“You keep whining… See how far it gets you. I dunno it might be a good approach.”He laughs a little and sets his hands on his glass to take a sip and close his eyes to relax and focus.”Seems to be our approach anyway so what the fuck does it matter right? I’ll get my ass killed and everyone will say some shit and not a single one of you will have learned a goddamn thing.”He settles his glass down.

“It’s the way of the world.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Howard’s diatribe isn’t completely caught by Sarita, but she does hear just enough to get the gist. She looks over his way, her brows bunching into a furrow, before she looks back to Bridget and smiles.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” The tone is warm and friendly. She looks at the minibar that Bridget gestures to and nods in acknowledgment. She pulls a battered tin case out of her pocket and flips it open, pulling out a filterless cigarette and lighting up. Only AFTER she lights up does she go ashtray hunting.

[Bridget Geroux] Is Patrick trying to make a joke or is he actually inviting Howard and Bridget to jam? Simon and Howard are seriously dragging down the mood of things. Bridget stops playing, sets her harmonica down, and raises her eyebrows at Sarita. Wide-eyed, as if it is a cue for something.

Frustrated, the kinswoman falls back to one side on the couch. She eyeballs Sarita’s cigarette as she goes ashtray hunting.

“Best just use a glass. Hey,” she follows up. “You holding?”

[Ivers] Howard holds up a finger to indicate he hasn’t finished yet when Patrick comes over to intervene. When the Shadow Lord starts talking, the Theurge barks out a laugh and looks toward the ceiling, as though he’s attempting to figure out where he placed something that has no logical reason for being up there in the first place. He pushes his hand up underneath his shades to rub at his face, groaning loudly when Simon tells him to keep whining.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, sitting back up, “Now I’m whinin’. You people just don’t like hearin’ anythin’ that isn’t ‘GAIA IS BLESSED AND WONDERFUL’ or ‘WE’RE GOIN’ TO WIN THE WAR’ or ‘IF WE ALL JUST FUCKIN’ WORK TOGETHER…'”

Howard pushes back from the table, nearly losing his balance as he gets to his feet.

“Maybe if you tried listenin’ to other people they’d fuckin’ learn somethin’ from you you bombastic twat.

And there he goes, back towards the stairs.

[Patrick Llewelyn] I’ll get my ass killed and everyone will say some shit and not a single one of you will have learned a goddamn thing.

Behind the bar, Patrick’s lips twitch. “Careful, Simon,” he notes with idle flippancy and mouthful of whiskey, “you’re starting to sound like me.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks at Bridget and nods. “Chica, I’m always holding. It’s just a matter of what I’m holding that’s in question. Smokes, “smokes,”–complete with air quotes–“my collection of vintage Nelson and Heart CD’s, someone’s spleen…” She shrugs, then smiles. “I’m holdin’ what you’re askin’ about though, yeah.”

She pauses in the midst of picking up an empty glass for said ashtray purposes, hearing Howard’s rant. “Whoa. Hey, hombre…wait up.” She gives Bridget a little wink, as if to say Don’t worry…I got this as she follows behind him.

[Bridget Geroux] And that seems enough for Bridget to rise up from the couch, shooting Howard a glance. “Howard!” the voice isn’t angry or overly loud, but enough to get his attention.

“Come on, guys. I’d like to just chill with you guys and not think about this heavy shit for a while. This doesn’t help anything.”

[Izzy Montoya] She reaches for her whiskey, and tosses it back with a grimace. She doesn’t ruin the taste by being a wuss and following it with a beer either. She simply sets the glass to the edge of the table to be picked up by the waitress her next trip around, and goes back to the work in front of her.

[Patrick Llewelyn] “I’ll toast to that,” the Galliard murmurs and takes his glass back to the sofa; sinking down on it, the Fianna nurses the glass idly upon one knee, resting it on the coffee table and staring rather glassy-eyed ahead of himself at nothing and everything at once. Howard has wobbled his way back downstairs and for all the reaction his pack-mate gives to this, you’d wonder if they were truly pack-mates at all.

But then, how was anyone to know that they hadn’t been conducting their own conversation for the better part of the hour or so Patrick had been hanging about upstairs in the lounge with Bridget. They didn’t; they couldn’t. He does turn his head lazily to one side as first one, then another of the females call out after his Alpha.

The Welshman’s brow creases in bemusement.

“Gotta give him props, he knows how to make an exit,” it appears Patrick is addressing an empty room — or Simon — or his glass. Across the totem link, all Howard hears is his pack-mate’s amusement, and: they’re coming after you, run faster.

[Simon Zahradnik] “If there is nothing in this world worth fighting for. Then there’s nothing in this world worth living for…”He mutters before opening his eyes and meeting Patrick’s as Howard walks away.”We’re not the same Patrick. We’re not even close…”His eyes lock into Patrick;s own and he stares with such piercing, penetrating fury.

Simon was being quiet and reflective right now but there was no hiding a trace of contempt as it grew on his face. He listened to Howard’s footsteps carrying him away and he slowly shook his head.”Never… Ever… Ever run from a predator.”He mutters under his breath before going back to his drink.

Cold, quiet, and dismissive. He wasn’t here to fight.

[Ivers] [And let’s stay Howard somehow manages to evade capture despite being dressed like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade float. Thanks for the scene, all!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She sighs as he makes it to the stairs before she can get to him, a chair blocking the more direct route between two tables that would have let her intercept. She watches him go with a frown, but it’s quickly wiped away before she turns her face back to the others. The smile is back on, and she makes her way toward Bridget.

“Just needs some chill time, I’m sure.” She shrugs, picking up a glass on the way and ashing into it. “Happens to the best and worst of us, so whichever of those he is I’m imagine he’ll be just fine.”

[Bridget Geroux] Bridget never really left the couch. She lets the Strider handle it and pours herself another glass. Simon grows suddenly… cold and dark, which honestly is to be expected but not something Bridget has witnessed firsthand from the Shadowlord.

She blinks a few times, slams back another shot, then goes to stretch herself out on the couch. There’s still plenty of room for others, and there’s additional seating besides.

“Tabernak,” she mutters an expression of frustration. She runs her fingers through her hair as Sarita comes back to save the day– or night, as it is.

[Izzy Montoya] She finally looks up, pushing her hair back from her face with her fingers. A last notation on the papers she’s working on, and she closes the file, and places it back into her briefcase. Moments later, she stands, slips on her coat, takes up the case, and makes her way out of the establishment.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Tabernak?” She chuckles, sitting next to Bridget and setting the glass down. She balances the filterless on the rim and pulls out the same battered tin case to open it. Once open she runs her thumb along the inside, pushing down in a spot which causes a click and the false bottom to open. Underneath is the far less legal smoking substance.

“Ain’t heard that particular curse word in a while.” She starts rolling a joint. “Not since I took a quick jaunt north of the border.”

[Kyle] (Mind if I wander in? )
to Bridget Geroux, Izzy Montoya, Patrick Llewelyn, Sarita Ecos de la Risa, Simon Zahradnik

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[I don’t!]]
to Bridget Geroux, Kyle, Patrick Llewelyn, Simon Zahradnik

[Patrick Llewelyn] The Shadow is staring across at Patrick, telling this creature, of all creatures that if there is nothing in this world worth fighting for, there was nothing worth living for. He tells him they’re nothing alike and Patrick’s slumped chest gives a sharp exhale of bitter amusement.

The Galliard’s pale eyes glint as he stares back at the Ahroun.
He isn’t shying away, though unlike Simon, Patrick’s Rage is dim; diminished.

“Damn right we’re nothing alike,” he holds up his glass, peering through the amber liquid at the distorted reflection of Bone Grinder. “You care about this War, man. You probably have some great, inspiring spiel about where your deed name came from, hell, I could recite for you about a dozen different stories and make you feel a dozen different ways about our existance.

But it doesn’t change shit.”

He takes a sip, runs the tip of his tongue over his lips, tasting the bitter aftermath of the whiskey. “I care about people, if some dick came up and hassled Bridget, or Howard or anyone I’d fight to help them. But I wouldn’t do it because it’s what some higher than thou entity instructed for me.

I’d do it because it’s the right fucking thing to do. There’s things that I care about, what makes us Monsters, just isn’t one of them.”

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Shadow… lord. Hee.]

[Kyle] He’d intended to arrive a lot early than he has, but other things kept him distracted. Making his way into the VIP room he nods to everyone as he sets his guitar case and trench aside out of the way. It was the lack of sleep that made him look like he was wearig makeup. The black circles around his eyes natural and the pale skin was just how he looked. The traditional top to toe in black included a set of fingerless leather gloves tonight. The other odd thing he’s wearing tonight is a top hat. He’d forgotten to take it off and chuckled as he now realised why people had looked at him oddly on the wander over. Seeing Sarita and the others he makes hiw way over and gives that casual smile and wave as he looks for a spot to sit down.

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Charisma + Expression, for shits and giggles. +1 tough crowd, also slightly drunk]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Failure at target 7) Re-rolls: 1

[Patrick Llewelyn] [worst. galliard. ever. / ]

[Kyle] (LOL)

[Bridget Geroux] The click inspires the chit’s interest. She rises up enough to rest her head on the Ragabash’s shoulder. And maybe Bridget is just that friendly with people. It’s happened with her Fellowship sisters, the last time she tried with Howard he flipped a god damn bitch, and she went climbing with Victor’s help (although it’s doubtful anyone is aware of that).

So Bridget smiles like a cozy cat curled up in the sunlight, biting a pouty bottom lip. Patrick, the drunk at the bar talking to himself, tries very hard and makes a good point, but it’s just not effective. Maybe he’s slurring more than he things, but it’s just not the grand speech one expects from a Galliard.

A Strider kin not seen in a long time makes his way inside and takes a seat. Bridget’s eyes light up, but she doesn’t take her cheek from Sarita’s shoulder.

“Haven’t seen you in forever. Where’d you blow in from?” she asks, half-interested. It’s not because she’s not interested in seeing the kin so much as the illegal substance Sarita’s about to light up.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles at Kyle, waving him over. “Hey, you. Good to see you. Have a spot to place yourself wherever.”

She clearly doesn’t mind being a headrest for Bridget, looking over at her with a faint smile. There’s a friendly demeanor to her face, something akin to a protective big sister feel to the way she reacts with both Bridget and Kyle around her. She finishes rolling the joint and hands it over to the Fianna kin. “Here you go. You get the honor of first hit on this one.”

[Kyle] “Hey Bridget. Been around you know me.”
Grins at her as he leans back in the chair. His voice soft as usual as he looks at her to ensure she can read his lips.
“Would have bene here sooner but been helping a few guys out. Their drummer broke his hand and they had a performance to do tonight. How’ve you been doing?”
He then looks to Sarita and again that warm smile is given as he adjusts his top hat.
“Same to you. Having a fun night I hope?”

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon took another sip of his drink and his attention fell on Patrick. He waited quietly and he watched, and he waited, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in thought. Those green eyes were so full of bitter fury as he watched the man quietly. He didn’t speak for some time but his silence made certain the heat of his rage radiated off him like a furnace. He took in every word and each word spoken to him was mulled over within his skull.

What he was hearing was more than upsetting it was downright heretical. Still Simon wasn’t a Philodox so correcting that wasn’t his job, nor was he a Galliard. What he was, was an Ahroun. That alone stood for something to him if no one else.

“My deed name came from the fact I took a man apart… Bit by bit. With a pair of pliers and some other fucking house tools. Plucked, cut, and slowly separated him from his body while he screamed in agony for almost two hours before he died. Terrified and trembling in agony. He begged me… He begged me again and again to kill him, to show him the tiniest hint of humanity. He begged me to be the better man… The honorable man… He begged me to be the thing that he never was to anyone.”He shrugs his shoulders and then looks back at his drink.

“I got my name because I show my enemies the same respect they show the weak and helpless. I’m not a man Patrick, I am hell made flesh and mark my word before long the night sky will reek with the smell of burning traitors. Let them cackle and laugh all they please…”He lifts his drink to his lips and takes a sip as his eyes settle back on Patrick’s own.”Hell will soon reclaim it’s own.”

“I’m not here for you Patrick I am here for them and I will die fighting them. That is all there is to it.”

[Bridget Geroux] Sarita… catches Bridget off-guard with her offer. She blinks, then reaches into her back pocket for a lighter. While Kyle is speaking, Bridget listens, but her eyes drift to the Shadowlord. She flicks the flame into being and smolders the tip of the joint.

Not the classiest thing out there, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

She inhales, holds onto the smoke, and offers the joint out to whoever. She tries to close her eyes, but the things Simon is saying are going to give her nightmares. Images float up of the man–No, Monster– who has been so courteous and has even served her coffee like a civilized, even hospitable human being, talks about dismembering a dude with fucking house tools like it ain’t a thang.

There’s something about his Rage, his burning stare at Patrick, or about his voice that makes Bridget believe him absolutely. She remains quiet and shivers without realizing it before she nestles against Sarita again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins in Kyle’s direction. “Having as much fun as a barrel of monkeys. Unfortunately, in this case the monkeys are rabid, emo little fuckers that managed to get out of the barrel and had too much to drink, so they’re getting pissy, shouting, stalking off and shit.”

She glances in Simon’s direction, rolling her eyes at his story. “Or telling long stories and being especially emo. We gotta do something to lighten the mood around here before an All-American Rejects concert breaks out. As it is, I think we’re about three eyeliner strokes and a little cutting short of a Fall-Out Boy opening act at the most. It’s condition-fuckin’-critical.”

[Kyle] Smirks as he raises a brow and looks at Sarita.
“Well that’s no good. So do we need to play a game of twister or do we need to pick up the tempo of the music playing tonight?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey, don’t think I won’t. Bridget here was kickin’ some serious ass onstage with Patrick, but I am ~not~ afraid to get up there and bust out some bad-ass rhymes, Eminem-style.” Is she kidding? It’s kind of hard to tell, considering that she’s always grinning.

[Kyle] “So we going hip-hop or street base or do you have a specific request?”
That constant smile stays on his face as he stands and makes his way over to check on the instruments. Seeing what they had available to use.

[Simon Zahradnik] He hears Sarita and his eye twitches and his attention goes to his drink for a moment. He takes it and draws it to his lips taking a long drink before slamming it back on the table and standing.”Ridicule… Funny…”He says back to her with little more than contempt in his eyes.

He reaches into his pockets and pulls out his gloves, one by one he pulls each of them onto his hands.

“I suddenly find myself overtaken with an overwhelming feeling of disgust.”He says before turning his attention to Bridget.”Sorry I can only take so many insults and stomach so many cowards for one night. If you have another show I would love to come but I can’t stay here.”He says back to her before heading for the door. His hate bubbling up within him, raw seething contempt was all he felt right now.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She chuckles, watching Kyle walk over to the instruments. However, when Simon takes offense, she makes a sound like frustration. Not a growl–she’s not overtly angry, per se–more incredulous and annoyed. “¡Oh, por todo lo que es santo y profano en este mundo. ¿Estás bromeando?

She pats Bridget’s shoulder and gently but quickly extricates herself from under the kin’s head, rising to follow. “Dude. Seriously now, fucking STOP.”

[Kyle] And the spike of rage causes him to stop and simply stay out of the way. Absently watching as he keeps his eye on the situation. Waiting to get out of the way for good if needed

[Bridget Geroux] [Manip+Emp +PB. Dif +1 due to inebriation.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 7)

[Bridget Geroux] The girl can do nothing to argue with Simon, so she merely sighs and looks defeated. Since her talk with Hunter, she’s been less bold with the Garou. She’d probably try to say something if he hadn’t just regaled on how he took a man apart with a pair of pliers.

That, and his Rage is enough to make her leery of even saying much. Finally, she sits back in the couch, looks to the ceiling, and sighs.

She draws a shaky breath before a pained sound emerges. While not over the top, her mouth is drawn in a pout that could stop any mortal man in his tracks. Does she know what kind of power she holds over them? Simon thought once. She probably doesn’t most of the time, but that fact makes it no less effective. Her mother was a Class A Heartbreaker (unbeknownst to her), and Bridget definitely has had something of those traits as her birthright.

“S’il vous plaît. Un instant de paix,” the Albertan reverts to her native Quebecois. The inflection of tone is soft, pleading without being desperate.

“Simon,” she continues. “You don’t have to go.”

She looks at him with those brown eyes and whether it is her expression or the marijuana that has her eyes somewhat glazed, it’s just…


The little unpretentious charmer could probably lull serpents to sleep or sly away diamonds from a jeweler with that sort of pout. The thing is, it doesn’t seem at all devious, because it likely isn’t.

[Simon Zahradnik] “Stop…”He says when she gives him an order. He stops and he turns around and looks directly into her eyes.”You can’t tell me to stop. In fact after that passive aggressive bullshit a second ago you are lucky I haven’t put your skull through a wall…”His fury is shining through as he approached her. So much fury in those eyes as he met her gaze directly. So much loathing and contempt.”You don’t have the right to give me orders.”He says as his body tenses and he rises up into his full height fully prepared to lash out at anyone who gets too close. He was a full moon… Whatever he might say with his mouth it was with his fists he expressed himself most clearly.

Bridget, however, gets more leeway. She knows him, he knows her… Watching her, seeing her, hearing her all of these things pull his eyes off Sarita and back towards her. Her voice and the look on her face did appear to have a somewhat soothing effect and he looked back into her eyes. He wanted to put someone through a wall… He wanted to smash someone’s face under a very very heavy brick… He wanted to crush and smash and destroy. he wanted to unleash his fury like the primal force of nature he was meant to be. Yet he couldn’t… Because Bridget was pouting and it was fucking adorable! What a bitch!

“I came to listen to music… Not be insulted at every turn. If I had known this was the plan for the evening I would have opted out of showing.”He continues.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She doesn’t shy away from his stare, his fury or his words. For all that she’s a jokester–and make no mistake about it, she is–there’s something serious deep in those dark brown eyes. And, whether it indicates her insanity or not–she’s showing absolutely no fear as she returns the gaze. Her lips are still quirked upward in a faint smile.

“Listen. I don’t know who you are exactly, because we haven’t been introduced. My name is Sarita. But if we had been, you would know that I have a one storming-out per social event rule, and Howard beat you to the punch. And frankly, I am not willing to let you be unleashed on the world out there with the emotional state that you’re in, homeboy. So the way I see it, you have three options. A, you can sit down, realize that I meant no offense to you and was just trying to lift the mood and we can return to a state of semi-pleasantness. B, you can kick my ass and we can return to a state of semi-pleasantness. C, you can kick my ass and then leave.”

With that, she–wait, she didn’t, did she? Yes, she actually reaches out and puts her hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Leaving without any of those occuring? NOT an option.”

[Bridget Geroux] “But I–” Bridget is almost dumbstruck by his Rage. She may be a part-feral, purebred, adorable bitch, but she’s still human. She blinks, looking hurt for about half a second before she takes another hit from the joint she’s been holding.

Okay, that’s better.

“Simon, I’m sorry. How could I know it would be this way? I can’t do anything to stop you all when you’re like that.”

The thing is, Bridget knows that Killer brooding in the corner has the capabilty of being civilized, or at least doing a damn good show of pretending. Now she’s hoping to call him on it, let him remember that rather than getting violent or leaving, he has a third option to choose.

[Simon Zahradnik] However much calmer Simon might have been, the hand reaching out to settle on his shoulder brings out a flare of heated passionate fury in his eyes. Whatever she had said, whatever she had intended went out the window with the sudden and uninvited gesture. Simon was a wolf and she had just invaded his personal space… She was a Stranger, an unknown, and she was in his territory, among his people and now she was in his face putting her hand on his shoulder. His eyes met her own directly and oh how serious they were.

“Take… Your hand… Off my shoulder and back the fuck away.”That was said between his teeth, that was said in the deep and slow tone that implied there was quite a bit of concentration pushing though him just to maintain that state. He looked into her eyes with all the seriousness of a warrior who was not asking, he was not suggesting, he was telling.

He was doing his best to be civilized but these were not a civil folk. Wolves in sheep’s clothing… Or rather men’s clothing. They were playing at the game of being men and right now one of those wolves was invading another’s personal space.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shrugs, her expression not changing, and the hand is removed. She doesn’t back down, and from her posture, the look in her eyes and so on, nothing has changed for her. But she gives him that courtesy out of respect. Even if she doesn’t know who he is, she knows that she took a step too far and there is still no fear in her.

“Sorry, Simon. Again, ain’t no offense meant. I wasn’t trying to get all up on your ass and light a fire. I still ain’t gonna let you step out in your state. Wouldn’t be right. So do what you gotta do. No foul, no offense taken. If beatin’ my ass for a bit will chill you the fuck out, I’m okay with that. But again I tell you–and believe me when I say this–you’re not walking out of here angry.”

She spreads her arms wide, fingers moving in to her palms a couple of times as if to say ‘bring it on.’

“So get to throwin’ your punches, or come sit down and have a drink with us. I really ain’t so bad once you get to know me. At LEAST thirty-seven percent of people I’ve ever met can vouch for that.”

[Bridget Geroux] Simon doesn’t respond. This is the call for Bridget to look to Kyle and get up off the couch very slowly. The wolves are about to have a spat and they’re scaring the kinfolk. Bridget pads backwards towards the raised aisle. The back of her legs bump into it. She’s still holding the joint, but she climbs up onto the aisle and tries to put a lot of space between herself and the Garou.

Her bare toes press against the smoothed fibers of the reclaimed wood while the fingers of one hand guide her to the door leading to the recording booth. She doesn’t say anything. It’s gotten beyond words at this point.

[Kyle] Kyle has stayed well out of the way. If he could pass through walls he doubted that would get him away from them. Seeing Bridget heading out of the way, Kyle makes his way around to follow her. Silly really that he’s in fact putting himself between Bridget and the true borns but he’ll mentally kick himself later. That casual smile thrown to Bridget letting her know things would be ok.

[Simon Zahradnik] Sarita speaks and he looked back at her as if she was speaking Chinese the entire time. He just watches her, quietly, looking her over from head to toe. Quiet and rigid… He was powerfully built and his stance showed that he knew well how to carry himself. Simon was, after all, a full moon and this much showed through in everything that he did. He blinked several times before drawing in a deep breath to calm himself.

He notes Bridget skulking back, he also notes the way Kyle protectively places himself between them. Simon was nothing if not brilliant at reading posturing and body language. It was one of the talents of the True Born though with Simon that talent seemed to shine through impressively.

It was watching Bridget shy away that affected him more than anything and his attention shifted once more back to Sarita. Before he sighed and stepped around her making his way back to the Mini Bar while shaking his head.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She blinks, her expression changing to one no one in this city has yet seen, except perhaps her half-sister Amy. The expression is shock. She obviously expected to be crawling back to the couch trying to hold her ribs together…and apparently, she would have been okay with that. She lowers her arms and turns around, the smile ratcheted up a couple of notches and makes her way back toward the couch. A sidelong look is thrown at Kyle and Bridget and she gives them a wink.

“You da man, Simon. Muchas gracias.” She smiles his way, the tone of her voice having lost its usual tease. The girl may be crazy, but she knows when to not push her luck. Aside from that though, there is honest gratitude in her voice. “Now, back to chilling out.”

[Llewelyn] [Let’s play where is Howard?

1-3 Alley
4-6 Bathroom
7-10 Somewhere else]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Bridget Geroux] Bridget reaches out to Kyle with her eyes and gives each person in the room a long thoughful glance before she decides to drunkenly pad back over to the couch. She drops off the raised aisle onto the lounge inset floor, stops to get her balance.

Soon enough she passes over the remainder of the roach to Sarita and flops down on the couch beside her. The glazed bon bon finds a comfortable niche in the couch to chill the fuck out.

For the time being.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She takes the roach and gets a hit off it, holding it in for a good three seconds before letting the smoke curl out of her mouth and nose. Some of the tension that Sarita hadn’t noticed was there melts away, and she relaxes with a deep sigh. She rolls her head left and then right, a few popping sounds coming forth before she leans in to murmur quietly to Bridget, keeping it low so as not to carry past the couch.

“Sorry, chica…didn’t mean for shit to get intense. Better me than some poor shitbag on the street who didn’t have it comin’, y’know?” A little grin. “I mean…odds are, I have it comin’ for something I did.”

[Llewelyn] At some point after he’d lectured Simon about All The Ways Your War is Fail™ by Patrick Llewelyn, the Galliard had gotten up off his plush little sofa and wandered downstairs in search of his oft-missing Alpha. You would imagine, given their level of connection that locating Howard could not possibly be so hard.

Clearly, if you deem this accurate, you do not know our characters that well at all.

It takes Patrick some time — minus a break to linger outside in the alleyway and smoke a joint — to track down the Theurge, when he does, he finds him in the strangest place imaginable. Or perhaps not, when Howard’s tendency toward long-spanned visits to said plumbed facility was taken into account. Patrick smacks a fist against each toilet stall in order downward from the sinks.

He gets two fuck offs! before saying in an ever so slightly dreamy voice.

“Howard Ivers, get your skinny ass out here.”

[Kyle] Good thing he’s already pale or people might worry since if he had colour in his cheecks they’d have washed out thatnks to the micro rage fest that just happened. Seeing everyone move back to being relaxed he removes the top hat he’s been wearing and tosses it over near his stuff before heading over to the bar himself. That warm smile still plastered on his face as he looks to Simon. When he speaks his voice is just above a whisper and sounds a little raspy.
“Hey I’m Kyle. Nice to meet you.”

[Ivers] The roar of water rocketing down the pipes, and Howard emerges from the stall moments later, buttoning his pants and staring at Patrick with a smile threatening to burst onto his lips. Whatever he was doing in there would probably have him arrested if he were to be caught; he sniffs, wipes at his nostrils with the back of his hand, and plants both of them on his slim hips.

“Oh look at you,” he says, his voice marveling, “you’re so stoned.”

He wanders right into the Galliard’s space, leaning closer to inspect his eyes for redness or glazing, then reaches up to pop the collar on Patrick’s shirt, the action strangely loving considering he follows it up with a playful slap to Patrick’s cheek and a gum-chewing grin. Given how fat the moon has become he ought to know better.

“Last time I gave one of those meatheads the ole big-word-‘twat’ combo I couldn’t walk right for the rest of the night. Made out pretty good that time, yeah?”

[Simon Zahradnik] When he returns to the group he has a glass in hand. Half of which he has downed already. His eyes go to Bridget and then to the others. He stops, however, long enough to acknowledge Kyle and present his hand out to him.”Simon.”He says back to the somewhat shy lookin’ guy. Likely not a True Born… Not enough balls, but that wasn’t so bad. After Howard’s little speech Simon almost welcomed his company.

He then hears Howard and his eyes close a second or two as he draws in a few breaths. Then looks down at Bridget.”I didn’t intend to fuck up your get together.”He was apologizing not to anyone else. In fact he still looked like he could punch someone, but he felt it was appropriate to extend the little gesture back to the kin. If nothing else to ease her fears and worry.

[Llewelyn] Patrick stoned is not so vastly different from Patrick sober, only the stoned version tended to smile more frequently and cared less for controlling his mouth when it came to — well, everything. Howard comes out of the stall buttoning his pants and staring at Patrick, and his pack-mate stares back at him with raised brows. The expression is comically demanding until his Alpha tells him how stoned he is and loosens his black shirt.

It’s long sleeved, and pressed to perfection; though by this point of the evening it’s starting to rumple.

Patrick smacks away the cold hand that slaps his cheek; and grabs Howard by the scruff of his neck, forcefully walking him to the sinks. “Wash your goddamn hands you dirty fuck.” It’s as playful as the slap, and Patrick lets loose his pack-mate without causing him any harm but a few tugged out hairs.

With the amount he had, Gaia knew he could spare a few to rough housing.

Patrick leans against the sinks while he washes up, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk laying heavy over his lips; another stoned feature typically absent. “Yeah, try it now after I told him again how the war sucked.”

[Ivers] It’s almost a given at this point that Howard will shriek if he’s grabbed or punched and the effort does not result in grievous injury: it’s a truncated, quiet sound meant to convey false alarm, and he is easily marched over to the row of sinks despite his height advantage and Patrick’s fuzzy perception of the world around him. Once at their destination Howard sniffs again, then stares at the sink for several seconds before spinning the hot water tap and lazily rinsing his hands, which tremble slightly.

Before he can be reprimanded, he pumps soap into his left palm and scrubs both of his hands. It doesn’t last nearly as long as medical professionals insist upon in order to reduce the spread of bacteria, but he still makes the attempt.

“Again?” Howard asks. “Man, you tell him that story every fuckin’ time.” He rinses quickly. “Maybe you ought’a tell him you’re ready to be a–” Instead of paper towels, he wipes his hands on the empty seat of his pants. “–fine, upstanding–” A pause to flick residual moisture from his fingers. “–give-a-fuck member of the community, yeah? No more nay-sayin’. Bet he’d shit a fuckin’ crow.”

[Bridget Geroux] Simon does his best to be civil, to pass his Rage. It’s a struggle, and Bridget knows it. The expression on her face when he speaks to her with that edge of anger in his voice is somewhat like that of a deer in the headlights. A small thing that is keenly aware of a big thing.

That too, is adorable. The kicked puppy look is not something she gets very often, either. “You didn’t?” she replies quietly. “Nothing’s broken, no one’s bleeding. I think that calls for a toast.”

To that, the girl rises up again like Lazarus, grabs the rest of the whiskey, and pours herself another glass. This one will for sure push her down the sobriety staircase, but Gaia help anyone who tries to take it from her.

[Bridget Geroux] To Sarita, Bridget simply shakes her head. “No, I get it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] There’s a smile to Bridget at when she says that she understands. She looks up at Simon as he approaches, rising to stand. It’s not an aggressive move at all; she’s not moving toward him, just getting to her feet. However he may take it…for her, it’s a sign of respect. And that’s not something that she extends very often. (Coincidentally, it does slightly happen more often when she has an Ahroun potentially pissed at her. Complete and total coincidence.)

“We should probably do official-like introductions. Sarita Echos-of-Laughter. Cliath No-Moon of Owl’s Brood. She holds out a hand to Simon. “No hard feelings?”

[Llewelyn] Patrick seems sincerely thoughtful on this point, a palm flashes to cover his chest in abject despair. “Oh no,” he laments with very little real sincerity. “Am I becoming repetitive in my mockery and loathing of everything we were created for?”

The eyes widen theatrically.

“The horror.”

The Galliard pushes Howard out the door, and then starts toward the stairs, leading them back up to what is, by this stage, no doubt a full blown party — or something god awful. Either way, Patrick’s guitar was up there and he’d be damned if he left without it. “C’mon, cheesedick, upstairs, if you’re real lucky the Shadow Lord will still be around to flirt with.”

He trumps up the steps noisily.

[Simon Zahradnik] He smiles a little back at Bridget and his head nods a little, he lifts his glass to Bridget and nods his head slowly. The full moon joined her in his toast then downed the rest of his glass. When his drink was finished his eyes fell back upon the Kin. Heavy was the weight of rage especially as his moon rapidly approached. Thinking straight got harder and harder, and it showed especially as the moon drew fuller and fuller.

Sarita pulls his attention away, and his eyes look her over.”Simon… Bone-grinder… Cliath, Ahroun grandchild of Thunder.”He says before eying her hand a moment then reaching out to take it gently enough and shake. She wasn’t so much the focus of his fury as others were. Their faces, their smug little grins, the kinds of grins that would take more than a fist to wipe away.

[Ivers] “You do tend to repe–whoa!

With a jolt, Howard stumbles forward, his sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as he’s ushered towards the door. He bursts through without pausing to see if anyone will be knocked over, and when he tried to go for the door, Patrick shepherds him in the opposite direction: the stairs.

Whaaat,” he moans, as though this is the last place he wants to go right now.

All it takes is the last nine words to convince him to hustle his ass back up into the VIP lounge, where he reappears with about as much bustle and boisterousness as he had earlier, which is to say, not much at all. He had been almost quiet when he first appeared, as though he was afraid of startling a creature of a moon that grows exceedingly touchy this time of the month. A pause to look around, and Howard rolls his head on his neck, once, before approaching Simon.

This is probably going to result in his nose being broken. He just doesn’t fucking learn.

“Simon, man, I’m sorry. Truly, I am. What do you say we kiss and make up, yeah?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her handshake is firm, far from ladylike. She nods a little, a bit of her good-natured mirth returning. “A pleasure and honor, Simon…”

The words trail off when she hears Howard and Patrick come up the stairs, and she quite literally facepalms as she heads Howard’s comment. It’s not tough to see that she’s not getting in the way of this particular ass-kicking. She’s not a peacemaker by nature, and calming down an Ahroun once is against her nature as it is. Doing it twice within the span of a few minutes? Not happening.

[Llewelyn] Patrick, coming in ahead of Howard is smiling, a strange sight in and of itself, when he steps to one side and flourishes the path toward Simon at Howard — all bets should have been well and truly off. He’s clearly not in his right mind, if ever he has been to date. Though generally, Patrick did tend to be the side of Caldera approached for more … rational answers.

Presently, the Galliard is leaning back on his heels and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Bridget.
Er, right.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon blinked when he heard Howard. His eyes didn’t leave Bridget’s face, he tried to focus on her eyes. He tried to bite down on his own tongue for a second or two. He took the time to draw in his breath slowly, get his lungs nice and full before slowly exhaling. He tossed the ice around in his glass and looked down at it, before slowly turning to face Howard.

His eyes met Howard’s own, and he took that glass and held it a little closer to him, dumping the ice out at his feet.”I stepped out of my house this morning thinking to myself that today was going to be exactly like every other day and for the most part it was. If your hope is to infuriate me just a little more so I will beat the shit out of you once more… Forget it. Kicking your ass would mean I gave a flying fuck whether you lived or died. It would mean I gave a crap about your feelings or opinion. Kicking the shit out of you would imply you were worth raising my fist in anger.”He says with a shrug of his shoulders. His eyes met Howard’s own beautiful eyes(What? They are pretty!) and his lips curled into a little smile.

The words were spoken coldly and with such bitter contempt for the Theurge. He contained his rage, in fact just letting that out seemed to let out the steam.”Now if you will excuse me I need another drink.”He says once more to him before turning and walking away. Normally he wouldn’t present his back to someone he just insulted like that, but that too was it’s own little message. He didn’t even consider Howard a threat, and while that might not mean much to some any Shadow Lord would understand how deep an insult that was.

[Ivers] Anyone with a shred of shame, dignity, or self-respect would have been insulted or even hurt after what Simon said. He would have sat his ass down or turned around and walked out of there and made an effort not to cross paths with the Shadow Lord ever again. Heir of the Ruined Day has terrible impulse control and an even shittier sense of self-worth, but by god is he stubborn, and anyone who has known him as long as Bridget, or Simon, or Patrick, would be able to state with utter certainty that he just doesn’t know when to quit.

Simon starts off, giving his back to a creature who, were he taking his auspice role seriously, were he taking anything seriously, could have rained down any number of punishments upon him with the opportunity presented to him. There were not a great deal of Shadow Lords in Boston, or London, or wherever the fuck Howard was before either of those places, but he has to know the significance of one of Thunder’s grandchildren giving him his back.

Undeterred, without even pausing to do much more than execute an about face, Howard calls, “Infuriate you? Why would I want to infuriate you? You’re much cuter when you’re calm!” He starts after Simon, following him back to the bar if he has to. “Y’know, if I infuriate you, maybe you ought’a be askin’ yourself why that is, yeah?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Simon’s response to Howard draws an arching of her eyebrows, and a wide grin. “Nicely done,” she says to him. When Howard decides to push the issue, she rolls her eyes. “Hey, chico. You’re ruining a good party here, yeah? Dial it back down a bit, you mind?”

[Llewelyn] The Galliard’s flick to the Black Fury, he says easily, “Leave him be, he’s not going to do any harm,” a beat and the Welshman starts toward the sofa, and his guitar, to properly stow it.

“Unless Bone Grinder has any reason to be afraid of my pack mate.”

[Llewelyn] [Man, just [insert tribe here] I don’t even care any longer.]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Kinda completely missed the point there, but whatever.” She shrugs and goes to make herself a tequila sunrise.

[Simon Zahradnik] “A bee…”He says with a soft tone as he approaches the bar.”Is born, and it like does shit. It doesn’t really know why I was born, it doesn’t ask. It was born and it does as is needed for all the other bees and a little while later it dies. In its entire life it processed as much in its tiny little brain as you think every second. Yet that bee stood for something. It believed in something and it might have very well died for that thing… That stupid fucking thing that meant absolutely nothing to any of us cause we just wanted her honey.”

“It’s funny… Cause I’m thinking on it just a minute ago. About the world and all the terrible things in it. Like Black Spiral Dancers.”He says this with a little smile.”You know traitors… They’re turned their backs on everything they believe in. They’ve forsaken everything and everyone in favor of their alien agenda. Yet even they are deserving of a brutal, painful, terrified screaming death. Cause at the very least they have the balls to stand up for something… Forsaken or not at the very least they hold on to something that you know… Means something to them.”He shrugs as he reaches the bar.”They fight for their hive…”

“I think it’s funny cause I mean… I don’t really like… Even pity the terrible disgusting thing you have become. Because you’re not even willing to fight for your fucking honey. You just bounce around in life callin’ people names until they drive your ass off for being a prick.”He pours his drink and tosses a couple more ice cubes in the glass.

He then presents the glass to Howard as well as a smile.”I don’t have to ask myself why you infuriate me… Because for all that everything inside your brain you don’t even have the dedication of an insect. You’re like a little mosquito buzzing around my face only you don’t even have legs or a stinger or wings… You’re more like a really loud earthworm.”He says with an almost warm little smile.

[Llewelyn] “Oh, yeah?” He snaps, the Galliard, not his moon, his personal moon, but the Gibbous none the less in the sky outside, at the Strider female. He’s stoned and his capacity for bullshit is at an all time low. “What was the point, then? That he should hold his tongue so you and Bridget here can play dress up some more about not being a),” a gesture at her, “a Monster in woman’s skin and b),” at Bridget, “in denial of pretty much everything?”

He snorts; snapping shut the locks on his guitar case and lifting it up, setting it against a wall.

“I’d rather be the asshole that ruins the fantasy, sorry to say.”

Then — then, there’s Simon’s speech to Howard and Patrick’s Rage — on a dull to middling simmer all night sparks and ignites. He walks up to the Ahroun and shoves him, without preamble. “Stop fucking presuming you know everything about us, Ahroun!”

He’s shouting, abruptly.

[Hunter] Hunter is late.

Not that kind of late, he doesn’t do shark week, he has a penis. But he is late for the jam night. So late in fact that he’s missed it completely. Except he doesn’t know this of course. He doesn’t know it when he comes stomping up the stairs with something disgustingly resembling a kazoo in his hand. It’s shiny blue, like the kind of blue that a stripper wears. It has sparkles on it.

He blows it loudly, puts it in his mouth and toots the descending melody for Rainy Day Women no 12 & 35.

br brp brp brrP Dooooooooooooo doooooooo doooooo dooo

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 7 (Failure at target 7)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She pauses, turning around and giving him a look. That ever-present grin of hers grows, to something approaching maddening levels…maddening both for others around and for her as well. She turns around from making her drink, leaving the half-finished sunrise on the bar. The effect will be ruined by the time she gets back. She makes a slow walk to Patrick, eyes not shying away from him, and something shifts in her, subtly. Without any noticeable or quantifiable change, she’s distinctly less human now. And she doesn’t stop walking until her face is inches away from Patrick’s, her finger coming up to rest on the hollow of his throat.

“And don’t you presume,” she purrs, there something distinctly threatening in the amused tone of her voice. “…to know a single thing about me, Patrick. It’ll be the worst fucking mistake of your life. Comprende?”

[Ivers] He doesn’t have a chance to offer a witty, homoerotic retort to what Simon just said to him. The fact that it took him so long, and so many words, to build up to calling Howard annoying and yet not even worth paying the slightest bit of attention to would only serve as a contradictory counterpoint to everything that the Shadow Lord has said just now, and though the green eyes that Simon finds so pretty are hidden by dark black sunglasses, the light in the room high enough that he would be rendered useless if he were to take them off. No one can tell, exactly, whether he’s stricken or distraught or hernia-provokingly amused.

Drawing a breath to respond, Howard is jostled out of the way by his brother, the buzz of the cannabis not enough to take the edge off of his Rage tonight.


Up the stairs comes Hunter, tooting away at his kazoo, as Howard darts between the shorter yet considerably deadlier Garou and puts a hand out on either side of him, not touching the Galliard or the Ahroun but prepared to–attempt to–push either of them back should they come at each other again.

At which point Sarita gets in Patrick’s face.

The Theurge groans, then drops his arms.

“What’s with all the fuckin’ cock waving? Christ!” He points at Simon. “That was the sweetest fuckin’ thing anyone’s ever said to me.” He points at Sarita. “You need to calm your tits.” He points to Patrick. “You… you.”

And then he sees Hunter, towards whom he bolts.

[Llewelyn] His fingers reach out, snap lock around that finger.

“Then make it the last one I make,” he (begs) taunts; his eyes dilated with drugs and adrenaline and Rage. “Finish me off, c’mon. I won’t even fight back.” He spreads his arms wide, beating his chest once at both the Shadow Lord and the Strider. Howard begins to — and then doesn’t — and Patrick’s voice catches in his throat, turning hoarse.

“He isn’t gonna stop you. Do it. Obliterate me.” He pants.

[Hunter] The horrible tune from the kazoo comes to an abrupt halt, dying off in a quick, wallowing and disheartening shriek that ends with a rather depressing sad little


He removes the ‘instrument’ from his mouth when Howard starts talking and puts it in his pocket. Something is definitely wrong here, tempers are high. Anger is almost palpable in the stale bar air. Patrick starts telling people to obliterate him and Howard starts running in Hunters direction.

He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns.

“The fuck??!”

[Simon Zahradnik] “You know my mom was a pretty tough lady. I used to whine about things and she would tell me to suck it up and accept it. She was one hardcore bitch… Then one day about this time last year I earned the rank of Cliath.”He shrugs his shoulders.”When that happened she cried for the first time in my life. Cause for all her hardcore tough love bullshit she was still a mom and her baby boy was about to go off and get his ass killed for some stupid war she never understood. But even she knew that this was who I was, and like it or not this was how things would be.”He says sideways to Patrick, his voice was almost soft.

Howard’s response gets a little smirk and he watches him walk away. A slight smirk taking shape as he makes his way away. He doesn’t bother to say anything more. He looks at Sarita and he smiles as he looks at Patrick.”Do not suffer thy people… Tend to thy sickness.”He mutters softly at the man in a dark and cold tone. He was not a Half Moon. In fact no Half Moon was present. In fact! IF EVER there was a Time for a Half Moon to be present it should be right now. He was simply reminding the Galliard.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The shift in the dynamic is so sudden, Sarita practically gets whiplash. She rolls with the punches easily, though, and just shakes her head. “I said worst mistake. I didn’t say last. I ain’t that nice.” She puts her hand on his chest and pushes him, gently, backward toward Hunter and Howard.

“I also don’t do suicide by Sarita, and you aren’t that good of a goader. Go…best you get out of here. You can thank me…well, probably never, but I ain’t used to being thanked, so you won’t be hurting my feelings none.”

[Ivers] As he’s done several times before, Howard tears ass towards Hunter and then uses him as a shield between himself and the rest of the world. His outfit is, in all likelihood, the worst one Hunter has seen him wear yet: sneakers, seafoam-green pants, an orange vintage Reese’s cup t-shirt, that blue-and-black plaid scarf that matches nothing he owns, and his leather jacket. When he claps his hands on Hunter’s shoulders, it’s the thickness of his jacket that keeps him from feeling how cold Howard’s hands are.

The fuck??!

His left arm stretches over Hunter’s shoulder, continuing to point as he explains what the fuck’s going on.

Simon. “I pissed him off–”
Sarita. “She’s snarkin’ up a storm–”
Patrick. “He’s stoned–”
Simon. “He thinks I’m cute–”
Sarita. “The Great Cuntrag Shortage of 2011 takes another victim–”
Patrick. “I’m about ninety-nine percent certain he’s tryin’ to commit suicide without actually havin’ to do it himself.”

At which point Sarita pushes his brother back in their direction. Howard sighs, quick and loud, and lets go of Hunter’s shoulders with a harsh sniff. For the first time… well, likely ever, Howard gives Patrick a command that leaves very little room for argument, if one is willing to ignore the fact that Patrick could beat Howard’s ass in a heartbeat.

C’mere!” he says, in a hoarse stage whisper, waving his arm. His tone, though his volume is disastrously low, has an edge to it that none present have ever heard before.

[Llewelyn] “My sickness is simply that I don’t want to fight for what you do,” the Fiann says, still panting, sweat dripping from the ends of his hair.

“You all… you just don’t want to stop and think that maybe, maybe I’m not fucking sick. I just don’t agree with with your principles. God forbid those chosen by Gaia stop and think for themselves.” He mutters, and as Sarita pushes at his chest he swings, grabbing up his jacket and guitar.

“I’m so gone.”

He confirms, and glances at Howard as he passes and he hisses c’mere in actual challenge.

Patrick keeps walking, down the stairs.

[Hunter] Hunter listens to Howard with a face that changes emotions rapidly. RAPIDLY.

I pissed him off — Orly? Feigned surprise.
She’s snarkin’ up a storm — Don’t be a dickhead Howard
He’s stoned — Contemplative.
He thinks I’m cute — Sigh. Ugh.
The great cuntrag.. — HOWARD!
Ninety-nine percent — Concern.

And the concern stays there when Patrick ignores his Alpha’s commands. Truth be told, Hunter Matthews doesn’t really care what happened at the bar now, he looks at Simon, looks at Sarita, sees no threat. His attention goes back to Patrick and Howard.

“You gotta’ make em do it man.. one way or another..” He says the words like he doesn’t really want to have to say them to Howard, but feels it’s necessary.

[Bridget Geroux] Like Lazarus, the Fianna kin suddenly takes a sharp breath in and sits upright. A few adorable blinks and wide doe-eyed looks around the room causes the Canadian to grimace. A blink pushes back emotionless tears– her eyes are watering from the case of Drunk.

“Jesus! the young woman cries, it’s not pained, but soft and high pitched.

“I can’t leave you guys alone for a second! What’s going on? Why is Caldera here, and Hunter?”

It’s damn adorable, that fucking Canadian bitch. She rubs her eyes and frowns.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She spins around and tenses, reacting to the exclamation from Bridget like it was a gunshot. When she sees and hears Bridget, all the residual hostility she may have carried and what was left of that other-than-human look she had flits away. She puts on a smile and sighs. There’s something about the kin being conscious that certainly invokes that change.

“No worries, chica. Things just got a bit intense. We’ll be good boys and girls, promise.” She heads toward the minibar. “Who needs a fuckin’ drink?” And she raises her hand. “That’s right…I do, I do!”

[Simon Zahradnik] He keeps his smile as Patrick speaks now. He watches quietly and he shrugs his shoulders.”Believe what you like… I am honestly past the point of caring. I put my life on the line because I believe in something. You choose not to believe in that thing. That’s cool it just means I can be a little more selective on who I put my ass on the line for.”He says with a nod of his head as Patrick storms out.”Night princess!”

He then turns his attention to Bridget.”I think they are leaving.”He says before giving a little smile.”Well I can’t speak for Hunter. You wanna stay man? Grab a drink?”He asks the Full moon, inviting him in. Hunter was… Well he didn’t know him well but one Full Moon can respect another usually.

[Ivers] This is the longest any of them have known Howard where he has been absolutely silent for this long.

Patrick not only doesn’t C’mere but he keeps right on walking, carrying his guitar case and his jacket without stopping to collect his Alpha, and Howard just watches him, skinny shoulders slumped, hands at his sides, lips parted as though he’s attempting to find the words but can’t get them to line up properly. There’s the totemphone, of course, but he utilizes that far less frequently than he utilizes, say, prophylactics or language appropriate for all audiences, and he’s silent there, too.

It’s shock. He’d joked about it, had tried to make light of it, but having Patrick walk away from him like this doesn’t seem to have any previous mapping in his brain. It isn’t as though they’re in the living room, or the common room, and he’s storming off to their bedroom after Howard has sufficiently annoyed him. He just attempted to goad two Garou from other tribes into obliterating him, and then ignored what was, effectively, an order.

With his back to the room, his attention on the empty space where his brother was a moment ago, when he answers Hunter he doesn’t attempt to hide, at first, the fact that he’s confused.

“I can’t… I’m not…”

A hand goes to his forehead, kneads the wrinkle-free flesh there, and then the realization that there isn’t a single person in this room who he hasn’t pissed off in the last twenty-four hours strikes him. He draws a breath, effectively pulling it together.

“The fat fuck just can’t handle his weed, is all,” Howard says, his voice a degree of cheerful that is so forced it bears no resemblance to his typical brand of not-a-single-fuck-given speech; he even adds a forced Hah, hah! as though it’s in the script and he just doesn’t feel the damned line during this particular rehearsal.

Without waiting for anyone else to speak, he starts after Patrick.
Unlike every other time this has happened, he doesn’t shout for him.

[Hunter] Hunter stands there looking at Howard, he sees the confusion, the hesitation and Hunters face falls. He shakes his head slowly and after a few moments he just claps the Theurge on the shoulder, gives him a friendly smile.

“Good luck.” And it sounds sad.

He can’t follow, he can’t help him, what would be the point? He has to do it himself, and if he can’t do it himself then he shouldn’t be the one giving orders.

Howard bolts out after Patrick and Hunter looks around the rest of the room. He sees Bridget, gives her a wave. “Guess I’m late ye? Shit. Night ladies. Oh you too Simon.” He sighs, gives a wave of his hand and then he’s heading back out. He won’t stop to find the Caldera’s, he won’t stop even if he walks right into them.

Home time.

[Bridget Geroux] It’s her own party and people don’t even say goodbye to her. Bridget is, however, strangely used to this. It doesn’t surprise her, but she does continue to blink and pout in her semi-conscious state. The poor kinfolk whose party was kind of ruined like a friggen tantrum of 6th graders from both sexes who have reached puberty just waves her hand at Caldera… you know… like they’re actually looking or like it matters at all.

“Bye guys.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She picks up the tequila sunrise, sighing as she sees that, indeed, the sunrise has already faded away. She swirls the liquid in the glass a little bit, mixing it all the way, and then heads over to sit down next to Bridget. “I’m sorry. Here I thought I’d made the whole thing better for half a second, and then it took a huge, Greg Louganis-style dive. Horrific head-smack and all…in a metaphorical way, anyway.” She looks at the kin, her expression apologetic.

[Bridget Geroux] It takes a few more minutes for the Canadian to actually wake up. She might go after them if she was privy to that whole Harano-filled tirade. No, she definitely would go after them if she knew about it.

Things being as they are, she doesn’t. Bridget wakes up bleary-eyed, gets up, goes over to the plate of finger food. The plate gets brought over to the couch and set onto the coffee table before her. She’s still drunk, so it’s slightly less graceful than she thinks.

“This sucks,” she mumbles. “If shit is always this dysfunctional everywhere but home, it’s no wonder you guys keep saying the world is ending.”

She doesn’t mean anything smart-assed by it. It’s wisdom from the Bottle that every one of the guests so far has indulged too heavily in.

“Can’t even… fucking… jam. I mean, goddamn.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He waves to Hunter and then glances at Bridget. He frowns a little and just watches her quietly and seemed to look like he wanted to say something. He even opened his mouth to start to talk once, and then a second time, and then a third. He holds up his hand then looks around. Then finally back to her.”You can’t umm… Jam… On your own?”He asks softly and so very cautiously. He wasn’t a musician and didn’t realize how stupid this question was. He didn’t realize there would be multiple people performing here. He just thought he was here to see Bridget and probably a few others!

[Bridget Geroux] [Cha+Perf+PB. Dif +2 drunk. Keep posting, I just want to know what I need to start typing.]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Bridget Geroux] [Well fine. -2 dice then]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles, a sadder smile than she’s usually seen with. “You know…” She takes a drink of the cocktail, then sets it down before turning on the couch to face Bridget. “I grew up without any connection to all this shit. My father…more or less a one night stand with my mother. That kind of thing is fairly common among my tribe. You’re on the road a lot, you don’t really get into a lot of committed relationships, you know?”

Her words aren’t said with any bitterness. A trace of sadness, perhaps, but it’s faint and more for what she had and no longer does than what she never got the chance to experience. “Turns out, Esteban had a whole other family. Kinda makes him a shitty guy, in a lot of people’s opinion. He knew about me–they all knew about me–but I knew nothing about them until after my mom died and I had my First Change. I’ve had a lot of time since then, but I’ve really always felt like I had an outsider’s perspective, since I spent all those so-called formative years knowing nothing about all of us, and all of this.”

She pauses, thinking a moment. “There’s some fucked-up shit about the nation, and yes, there’s a lot of dysfunction. There are people I want to beat the tar out of sometimes…my own sister among them, and even a few people I’ve met here. But you know that all of that aside…we’re still a family. An enormous, seriously fucked-in-the-head family that sometimes tries to kill each other, but a family nonetheless. And when the chips are well and truly down, most of us will always have each other’s backs.” She looks at Simon and grins. “Hell, if I can end up on the same semi-side as this guy, anything can happen.” She throws him a wink, then looks back at Bridget. “Don’t get down. You’ll have your chance to jam…sometime soon, I bet.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [GO GO Gadget-Manip+Emp+PB!]]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Helps if I properly type the number in]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[One More ’cause I’m dumb!]]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3 (Failure at target 6)

[Bridget Geroux] To this, Bridget simply sighs and blinks. Simon doesn’t get it, but that’s fine. Sarita makes a pretty convincing argument, which inspires her to play. She clears her throat, looking quite serious while she searches for her harmonica, fingers floating through the crevices of the couch. Alas, it is there.

She holds it up to the dim light, then polishes it off with the corner of her shirt and brings it to her mouth. She starts playing. It is a pretty good job, but her heart just isn’t in it like it was before when she was playing beside a member of her Tribe, without tempers flaring through the room.

The song that starts is Wayfaring Stranger, and it is pretty convincing to the Garou. Bridget herself doesn’t hear it quite the same. She can’t see herself, so she feels disappointed with her own notes. She smirks when the soulful traditional melody is done.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The song strikes a particular chord in Sarita who seems clearly familiar with it. She smiles a tiny bit, silent as she watches and listens. When the song is done, she tilts her head a bit to the side. “Interesting song choice, chica. And nicely done.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He listens at first to Sarita and then he looks at Bridget wondering what she is thinking. He is quiet for some time and he just watches her standing still and quiet as he listens quietly and pauses just to think. She was a beautiful creature and just watching her perform was pleasure enough on its own. He is quiet and respectful and he let her have her performance before giving a little smile.

“We’re not a family… Not right now.”His eyes said he was thinking about other things. He was thinking about many things, and his eyes seemed to stare off just Past Bridget as a bittersweet smile showed.”We’ll get there… One way or another we’ll get there.”His tone was somber and somewhat annoyed. Even Bridget’s song couldn’t erase the pang of guilt that rolled through him as he settled back into a seat and wondered what the pair of Garou was up to.

Simon was still young. Still full of ideals, and hope… That little spark that this war could still be won still glowed within him. He could be cold and brooding now and again but the innocence of youth, that misguided sense of wonder still showed through now and again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She gives a suffering sigh, leaning back across her side the couch and letting her head fall backward over the armrest, so that she’s looking at Simon upside down. “Look at that…the Strider No-Moon and the Shadow Lord Full-Moon disagree on something. Someone get a Galliard, this rare occurrence needs to be transcribed into the Silver Record.”

Again, the words are gently teasing instead of having any malice behind them, the tone entirely good-natured. “Next thing you know, a Fury and Fenrir might start fighting, or a Fang might condescend to a Bone Gnawer.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He shakes his head.”It’s not that it’s… Something else. I’m just… You know. Being my usual asshole self.”He says softly even giving a little smile.”No you are right somewhere in the end we need to be able to depend on one another.”He sighs.”I’m just being, thinking stuff it’s complicated.”

[Bridget Geroux] Simon watches Bridget’s performance with his intense method of admiration. He wonders what she’s thinking. It’s difficult to read, perhaps because of her concentration, her current level of sobriety, or even because she’s too moonbrained to ever have one thought at any given time.

The song mentions family, so of course her thoughts stray there. Her father and his big hands, the sound of his voice, the way he taught her everything. The mother she believes is dead, who she doesn’t remember at all except in photos and the way her father’s voice pinched and strained when he thought of her. The stiffness in Meuric’s demeanor when he thought of Lily, the way he could communicate without words all his heartache.

Bridget is thinking about the lovely black woman in Toronto who she distinctly remembers taking care of her when she was very young. She vaguely remembers the faces of Mama Gayle and her foster children. She remembers Mama Gayle’s voice, remembers the kinfolk nanna’s lullabies, the way she sang the kids to sleep. She called the little wayward Fianna girl blackbird.

Bridget is thinking about how much she misses the deep mountains, the clear air, the thrill of hunting in the wilderness with a set of wolfish eyes watching her prey on rabbits and deer. The warmth of furry bodies in a winter dogpile, the smell of Wolves. These are all childhood memories, so she doesn’t remember the fighting, the negative.

Lastly, Bridget is wondering whether she will ever find a place where she feels at home. Even with her fellowship sisters, there is a virtual abyss between them sometimes. She wonders if she’s ever going to settle down (even though she doesn’t want to). She wonders if there’s going to be a point when Caldera leave and take a piece of her with them. If Simon is going to do the same somehow. And what of her fellowship sisters? They all have lives to return to when their time in Chicago is done…

Just like Bridget does. Did she ever think this was going to be permanent? Why then get attached to anyone? Is this why Howard pushed her away, basically? All these and more flash through the kinfolk’s mind in a matter of short minutes.

The kinfolk lowers her head in deep respect to each of her two audience members. She sets the harmonica down and picks up those two spoons again. She clanks them back and forth, trying to think of something. It takes a moment before anything comes to her. A succession of clinks and clanks and rattling noises come out before her eyes light up.

“Hey, this is a jam. So I’m eliciting your participation. C’mon.”

She starts clicking the spoons and tapping her feet to a certain beat, looking at the two of them to see if the Upside Down Ragabash and the slumping Ahroun will pick up on it. If they don’t, that’s their deal. She will continue with the song anyway.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles a little bit when Bridget calls for some audience participation, and she sits back up. “Silly rabbit.” She has no training with musical instruments…when she was 15, she had her legs pretty persistently wrapped around a singer/guitar player who thought he was the next Kurt Cobain and she picked up a trick or two from him, but that’s the last time she touched one. Still, she has been known to be able to follow a beat from time to time and she kicked ass playing Rock Band in a Best Buy once–until she had to run away for smashing the guitar against the ground at the end of her performance, anyway–so she’s not afraid to get involved. She starts to tap out the beat on her leg that Bridget is setting, the smile widening as she does.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon wasn’t exactly feeling like making a fool out of himself by showing his total lack of musical talent but there was still guilt there. After all he did kinda ruin Bridget’s evening. So as the beat starts he does the best to join in with his own foot and hands. Tapping his foot and bringing his hands together.

[Bridget Geroux] The song goes on with a sort of chant feel. Bridget teaches children’s music lessons, so leading the two of them along is not overly difficult. Her bare foot slaps against the foor with the same rhythm, while the spoons vary a bit to polish up the chant a bit.

Eventually, she will chime in with some singing. It is light, soft, slow. The perfect ending song to this little fucked up shindig to end on a somewhat positive note.

“Why you wanna fly blackbird you ain’t ever gonna fly.
No place bif enough for holding all the tears you’re gonna cry
Cos your mama’s name was lonely and your daddy’s name was pain.
And they call you little sorrow cos you’ll never love again.”

A long stretch of the song goes between this and the next portion.

“So why you wanna fly blackbird you ain’t ever gonna fly.
You aint got no one to hold you you ain’t got no one to care.
If you’d only understand dear nobody wants you anywhere.
So why you wanna fly blackbird you ain’t ever gonna fly.
You ain’t ever gonna fly.”

At this the song tapers off and Bridget slows with the spoons until she stops altogether.

[Bridget Geroux] [And they jam into the wee hours of the uneventful morning.

End scene!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Yay! Thanks for scenes!]]

Amy and Sarita Get To Know Their Fellow Newbies

Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“…and then she just walked out, leaving him pretty much speechless.” She slides out of the driver’s side door of the Van, slamming it shut. “Not that anyone wouldn’t be speechless after that.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“She laughs, head back as she slams the passenger door behind her. “No shit? Goddamn. Did the poor thing recover?” Her jacket is zipped against the cold as she shivers and waits for Sarita to come around the front of the van.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Yeah, eventually. With some adjusting of the pants and a bit of stammering.” She grins, coming around. “I gotta admit, it was pretty damned priceless.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“That just proves men are pigs. You would think that the implied threat of death would negate any need for pants adjusting.” She pulls an almost empty pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and frowns. “We need to get some money.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Hmmm.” She looks over at Amy and nods. “Yeah, probably a good idea. I need to talk to my new supplier here anyway. I’ll give him a call so I can get going. ’bout time I got off my ass and started pulling in a bit of dough.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Damned right. I have certain requirements that aren’t being met, and if you don’t start making some money, I might have to make an impression on you.” She raises a hand threateningly, then laughs again

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
A chuckle rises up from her. “I’ll do what I can to avoid the Pimp Hand of Doom.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Yeah, you better.” She grins, then starts down the street. “So anything else interesting happen?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Mmm…chatted with the Mack Daddy and his pals for a little bit. They seem tolerable, if a bit quirky.” She falls into step next to Amy, keeping her eyes on the street. “I think I missed most of the good excitement though, curse my timing.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Guess you should have ditched out on me earlier” She makes a face. “I didn’t expect that shit to take so long.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Ehh, ain’t no thing.” She shrugs. “There isn’t any kind of time table for that kind of shit…it’s cool.” She pops a crumpled, hand-rolled cigarette out of her pocket and lights it. “So what’s the plan for today?”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“We need to get our asses over and meet the important people at some point. You think Mack Daddy might be somebody we want to work with at some point?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Maybe. Only seen him twice now, and one he was all limping and shit, so he gets in his share of trouble. That could be good for us.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“I like trouble.” She nods approvingly.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“You and me both. I guess it depends on figuring out some dynamics of how people get along, but he’s not bad. You met anyone fun yet?”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Fun, yes. Useful, no. But he was fun.” She grins again, grabbing the cigarette and taking a drag before handing it back.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She arches a brow, grinning madly. “You dog. Anyone I should know?”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Maybe. Not that I remember his name.” She shrugs, looking completely unapologetic.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
A shake of the head, and she chuckles. “Am I a bad influence on you? If so, then good.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“No, I was a wanton slut way before you came along. I grew up in a sept full of Get. What was I supposed to do?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Man, if that doesn’t prove that we’re related, nothing would.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“If you have a thing for fucking Get men, I don’t want to know. Isn’t that like, the BIG big rule?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She elbows Amy with a smirk. “I meant the wanton slut part, bitch. Yes, that is the big rule. Along with ‘Stay away from concentric, consistently-shrinking pathways.'”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Lucky me, not having all these silly rules to follow.” She elbows back and points at a coffee shop. “I’m freezing. I want a latte.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Technically, you do have to follow some rules, you know.” She nods and alters her course to head for the shop. “Not that I’m gonna play enforcer. Just sayin’.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Seen and not heard and all that shit? Yeah. We know how well I follow those.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Well, more the ‘Respect your elders’ and such. ‘Don’t hang out with evil fuckstains,’ shit like that.” She holds the door open for Amy. “At some point someone may try to put pressure on you to be made into an honest woman. Ain’t gonna be me, mind.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Which is where we get to the ‘You’re expected to pop out crotch fruit’ part” Her nose wrinkles and she steps into the warmth of the shop. “No fucking way.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Hey, like I said…ain’t gonna be me. An’ I’ll do what I can if and when to block it from ya. I’m just saying, might happen.” She follows behind.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“If it happens here, we’ll spilt. Just like Denver.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Gonna run out of cities eventually, you know.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Here. Then we still have Europe and shit. And by then I’ll probably be dead anyway.” It’s matter of fact enough to disturb the poor woman waiting in line ahead of them, and she makes a hasty retreat from the shop once she has her tea.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Please, I’ll be wormfood LONG before you’re kicking up daisies.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Only because you can’t fight for shit.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Fuck off.” She smirks. “I can fight just fine, thank you. And I have Harry to be my backup when I need.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Which is a lot.” She smirks, then orders her coffee.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Again with the fuck off.” She gets her own coffee, a quad shot Americano.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“So what’s our next move here? We should find somebody to hook up with pretty quick.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“We gotta meet some more peeps, first.” She heads to a table away from everyone else, and takes a seat. “Can’t just hook up with the first band that we come across. Maybe meet the bigwigs, like you said.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Might not be bad to have friends here before we meet the bigwigs though. Just in case.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Which brings us back to the meeting more peeps. Which means you gotta stop cruising bars for dick and start getting out and about.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“We’re out and about now, aren’t we?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Yeah, but not in the right places. It’s a shot in the dark that we’ll find our kinda people around here.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“So it might be cruising bars while looking for dick. You don’t know.” She sticks her tongue out at Sarita and takes her coffee.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Then I gotta get out there and start getting laid. Seriously though, I was more thinking our new home away from home or the like myself.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Yeah. Last time we tried to hang out there, some creepy fuck had me drinking rooster balls.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Jesus, you’re so sensitive…one set of testicles slides down your throat and you’re all skittish to hang out there again.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“I don’t mind testicles down my throat, as long as they’re connected to someone.” This is enough to drive the rest of the respectable folk out of the shop, leaving them with their choice of tables.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She laughs, ignoring the fleeing people and the shocked employees. “Dude, chica, if you can get them all the way down your throat WHILE they’re still connected, I would be impressed.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
She just answers with a sweet smile, sipping her latte

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She grins. “Bullshit. You’re a dirty, dirty liar.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“You’ll never know, will you? But I will remind you that you got out of jail in that shitty little town in Missouri without either of us posting a cent of bail.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“One-a these days I’m gonna get a carrot and find out the truth of these no gag reflex boasts you keep making.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“You’ve been fucking guys with carrot shaped dicks? Goddamn. No wonder you’re cranky.” She gestures outside. “You want to head over to the house, then?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She finishes up the coffee and nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
She makes her way upstairs, flopping onto the couch dramatically. “Jesus fuck it’s cold out there.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Hey, you think I’m gonna disagree?” She sheds her duster, draping it over the one side of the couch before she settles down on the floor to go through some back-popping twists of her body. “New Mexico born and bred, bi-atch.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Yeah Yeah. So tell me more about this guy last night”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Ain’t a whole lot to say.” She settles one foot on the other side of her leg and twists her upper body in the opposite direction, resulting in the appropriate pops and a contented sigh. “Generally an ass, but that’s nothing different from us. Got a pack member or two, both guys. Had some wierdness with his vision last night that I’m not sure about. Didn’t ask.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Pack of three guys. I like it already. What about the bitch?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Who, Miss Let-Me-Show-You-My-Tongue-At-Extreme-Close-Up?”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“That’s the one.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Dunno. I met her for all of five seconds. She’s got some skittish chick she’s here with.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Skittish Garou that I should be scare of, or skittish Kin that I can fuck with?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She pops her back the other direction, then lies back on the floor. “I didn’t exactly ask for her membership card so I could check. Be nice…ish. If I gotta be nice, you gotta be nice.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Nice is overrated.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Yes, but we need friends. Remember that conversation we were just having, ADD-girl?”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Am I wrong, though?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Usually.” She grins.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Oh fuck off.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She laughs a little. “I’m just sayin, we gotta be somewhat nice for now. I’m not saying sugar and spice and everything nice, just not complete bitches. We need friends.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Alright. I’ll play nice. For now. Any idea where the remote is?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Check the cushions.” She arches her back off the floor, arms over her head and stretching in a cat-like manner.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“You check the cushions” She apparently doesn’t care enough to actually get up and look for it.

[Tabitha Reese]
The Fury makes her way up the stairs first, as if checking things out before letting her packmate up.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Bitch, YOU’RE on the couch. Check the fuckin’ cushions.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Eh. Fuck it. There probably ain’t shit on anyway.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“You’re impossible. More than me, and that’s fuckin’ saying something.” She sits up, noting Tabitha coming up the stairs, and grins. “Well, hola.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Hey.” She nods to Sarita, motioning Tala up the stairs.

[Tala Whitedeer]
She follows Tabitha, looking around.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“I remember you too.” She hops up off the floor. “S’up?”

[Tabitha Reese]
Her eyes narrow for a moment before she places Sarita. “Oh. From last night. Right. How are you?” She looks Amy over quickly.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Not too bad. Yourself?” She looks at Amy. “This is the one I was telling you about.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Ooooooh…..” She nods slowly, understanding dawning as she sizes up both the women.

[Tala Whitedeer]
She’s too busy taking in the environment to really pay much attention to the others right now.

[Tabitha Reese]
Her eyes narrow at the kin. “What?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She chuckles. “Chill. This is my hermana Amy. I just mentioned meeting you last night to her.” She pauses. “Oh, right. I’m Sarita, by the way.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Tabitha. This is Tala” She reaches out to tug the other girl’s arm and get her attention.

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Hm? What?”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Pay attention, weirdo. We’re meeting people.” She smiles, the name clearly affectionate.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She smiles and waves. “Hola. We met briefly last night.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Oh. Hi. I’m Tala.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“So I heard. Nice to meet you.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Hey. Amy, like she said.” They are both sized up quickly, and she settles into the couch again.

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Hi. It’s nice to meet you.” She doesn’t seem as ill-at-ease as she did last night, much calmer.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She smiles and sits back down on the floor. “So, you guys new around here too, or is it just us?”

[Tabitha Reese]
“New, yes. How long have you been here?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Mmm, about a week or so.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Oh. That’s still longer than us.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She grins at Amy. “Does that mean we’ve lost our new car smell?”

[Amunet Trujillo]
She scrambles up and leans to sniff at Sarita “Yep! Now you just smell like skank.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“That’s ’cause I need to hose down the van since you’ve been sleeping inside it.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
She looks between Amy and Sarita blankly.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Fuck you. I don’t smell like skank.”

[Tabitha Reese]
She watches the interaction between the two, hooking her arm through Tala’s protectively.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“What was last night’s name again?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Why do they talk to each other like that?” She doesn’t lower her voice or anything, looking at Tabitha.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“I kept screaming ‘Oh God, Oh God’, but I don’t think that’s his name.”

[Tabitha Reese]
She shrugs a shoulder, still just observing.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“And you’re not the one with the skank smell. Riiiiight.” She looks at the other two women and gives them a quick grin and wink.

[Tala Whitedeer]
She looks completely lost.

[Tabitha Reese]
“The implication is that she’s a slut, Tal.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Oh. Is she?”

[Tabitha Reese]
“I don’t know.” She looks Amy over. “Are you?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Only in the nicest definition of the word.” She scoots back to lay against the front of the couch from her spot on the floor. “Feel free to get comfy.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Um. No.” She scowls at Tabitha.

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Don’t look at her that way.” She glares at Amy.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Or what?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Just don’t.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Or what?” She stands up.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She frowns. “Wow. Can we not be getting into threat mode already? Amy, sit down. And you,” she looks at Tala. “Looks don’t kill. Chill the fuck out.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
She scowls. “Don’t tell me what to do. Only Tabby tells me what to do.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
‘Fine, Tabby? Tell her to chill the fuck out.”

[Tabitha Reese]
She sighs. “Chill the fuck out, Tal.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Gracias. Amy…Recuerde, se supone que debemos ser agradable. No me hagas ser una perra a usted aquí.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
She scowls at Sarita for a moment, then shrugs and flops back into the couch. “Fine”

[Tala Whitedeer]
She gives Tabitha one of THOSE looks, but quiets down abruptly.

[Tabitha Reese]
“Good. Pissing contest over now?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Well, that’s out of the way.” She grins brightly. “Only go uphill from here, right?”

[Amunet Trujillo]
She’s glowering now, but stays quiet.

[Tala Whitedeer]
“I wasn’t…” She huffs at Tabitha, glowering just like Amy.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Alll righty, then. So, how about that fucking cold-ass weather? Or alternately, insert your own awkward segueway here that we can build off of.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“I heard you like to kiss other Garou.” Not exactly an awkward segueway…

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
You can practically hear the internal facepalm going on in her head. It’s an amused facepalm though, from the look on her face.

[Tabitha Reese]
She looks Amy over again, slowly “Only when I have to.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Hey, I said it in an impressed way for the record. Shut his ass up.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Doesn’t seem like much else was going to. You know him?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“You did what?”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Nothing” She gives Tala a sweet smile.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Only briefly. Saw him getting helped out of the bathroom here by his green-eyed friend, and the guy Patrick was there to help. Then saw him last night when I saw y’all.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Tabby. What did you do?”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Nothing, Tal. I kissed him to shut him up. Which worked. It was nothing.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Great. So we’re in town a couple days and now everyone thinks you’re a charach.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Oh, it’s not that bad. Only she, he and I were there. And I doubt he’s going to want to admit that he didn’t stop her from doing it, so…”

[Tabitha Reese]
“No they don’t. Jesus.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Those are the only ones you know of were there.” She shoots Tabitha a look.

[Tabitha Reese]
“Oh for god’s sake, Tal. It wasn’t a big deal.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Fine. Whatever. Let’s not talk about you being a slut.” Her tone is vaguely teasing, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She rolls her eyes and looks away, letting them argue.

[Tabitha Reese]
“Yeah, okay. I’m a slut.” She rolls her eyes.

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Well, at least you can admit it.” That actually seems to relax her somewhat.

[Locations! Et cetera!]

[Amunet Trujillo]
She shrugs at Sarita, looking vaguely amused.

[Amunet Trujillo]
(All upstairs, couch-ish)

[Tabitha Reese]
“What the fuck is your problem?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She shrugs back to Amy, as if to say “whatever, let them sort it out.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“I don’t have a problem.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“So you’re just being a bitch for no reason?”

[Amunet Trujillo]
She moves a little bit closer to Sarita, though apparently only to get a better view of the oncoming fight.

[Tala Whitedeer]
“I’m not being a bitch to be bothered by you running around slutting it up.”

There are voices in the common room. A tall dark-haired kinswoman wanders her way up the stairs from the kitchen. She’s dressed in hat and gloves and scarf, jeans and sneakers, and a leather jacket. She smells like the outdoors and, for those with a nose for it, there’s an air about her that calls to mind emerald fields overlooking cold grey oceans.

She is Quinn. And she’s come home from wherever she went today. She offers a smile and a wave to the people in the common room. “Evenin’.”

[Tabitha Reese]
She nods to Quinn instead of biting Tala’s head off, but there’s a definite simmering irritation surrounding her now. “Hey.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She looks over at Quinn and gives her a little smile and nod. “Hola hola.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
She’s scowling, now, laning against the closest wall.

The Fianna woman doesn’t stick around for longer than that. She heads down the hall and disappears into room 4. A few moments later, she emerges in a grey t-shirt with what look like painted on black hearts, and a pair of black lounge pants. Her hair is down, falling in loose waves over her shoulders, and her feet are bare.

In one hand she holds a red toothbrush and a tube of tooth paste. She disappears into the bathroom.

Down the hall a door opens up. Down the hall some footsteps come walking, far softer than they should considering the size of the owner of the feet and the heaviness of the boots, and then around the corner comes a man who fills the room by presence and, to some extent, size. He looks like he could be an Ahroun, albeit one with muscle more lean than bulky. There’s a scar notching his eyebrow, there’s a scar along the right side of his throat, there are five white lines of scar tissue running down each forearm, elbows to wrists. His rage flows into the room well ahead of him, a wall, a wave, a surge. It’s as intense as any Ahroun’s.

His eyes are a pale gray, almost colorless tonight. His t-shirt is black. His jeans are fraying at the seams a bit. His boots are black. The man’s hair — a bit on the longish side — is a bronzelike color, not quite red enough to mark him as a member of his tribe, not fair enough to suggest a tribe of finer breeding. He’s a few inches over six feet, and when he enters the common room he looks across the group of women.

Quinn passes him and his eyes leave them instantly. He watches her til she gets down the hall, then looks back to the others.

Something about him — his stance, his scent, his presence — hints at authority. At rank. He can sense the tension in the room without needing to interpret glares or body language — its in the air. Then he decides to be polite.

“Buried Hatchet,” he says, “Fostern Half Moon of Stag.” No pack is mentioned. No totem. No titles beyond his deed name.

[Amunet Trujillo]
She stretches, cat like, standing up slowly. “Sar, I think I’m going to go to-” She looks Hatchet over with an expression that Sarita has seen before. “Bed…”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She looks up at Hatchet from the couch. “Hola. Sarita Eco de la Risa, Cliath Ragabash of Owl. That’s my sister, Amy.” She looks at Amy, giving her a ‘not a good idea’ look.

[Tala Whitedeer]
She pushes herself off the wall, offering the newcomer a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hello. Tala Whitedeer. Cliath Theurge of Uktena’s children.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Tabitha Reese. Fury.” She’s still pissy, and it shows.

[Amunet Trujillo]
Sighing, she looks to Sarita. “Oh mi dios lo quiero. ¿Puedo quedarme con él, por favor?”

The man in the room with them now makes most Kinfolk who meet him uncomfortable. Some of them he outright terrifies whether he even looks at them or not. There is at least one kinswoman in this city who doesn’t bat an eyelash at him, but she was once mated to an Athro Ahroun whose rage made Hatchet’s look like a candleflame against an inferno.

Amunet isn’t terrified. And he nods to Sarita and Tala and Tabitha as they introduce themselves by mortal names, something he notes but doesn’t comment on. Then Amuent sighs, and speaks, and a faint tug appears at the corner of Hatchet’s mouth. He’s leaning on the doorframe at the moment, arms crossed over his chest. The tug is more smirk than smile, but it’s not unfriendly. Just… amused.

“Love me?” he echoes. “Usted apenas me conoció,” he goes on, in a chiding tone of voice. His arms unfold, and he heads into the room, taking up a seat on one of the seats of the sectional with… a decent amount of space between himself and the group of females. “Y yo soy una mala noticia.”

Hatchet leans back, putting his feet up. “Ask anyone.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She grins at Hatchet’s response, looking back at Amy. “BUS-ted…”

[Amunet Trujillo]
She at least has the good grace to look mortified, not bothering to correct that love wasn’t exactly what she was thinking. Making a face at Sarita, she pulls together what’s left of her dignity and looks back to Hatchet. “Las malas noticias es mi favorito. Cualquier otra lengua que debería evitar con ustedes si no quieren que usted saber lo que estoy diciendo sobre usted?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
She takes a step closer to Tabitha and leans in to speak quietly to her.

He certainly doesn’t look like someone who speaks Spanish. This deep into winter his skin retains a faint golden brown tan, something genetic more than having to do with the sun. His eyes aren’t emerald green, his hair isn’t livid red, his skin isn’t pale and freckled. He doesn’t much look like a Fiann… or like a Fenrir, for that matter. But the Garou in the room can scent him easily enough and tell that the man has nothing when it comes to purity of blood.

His eyes flick over to Tala whispering to Tabitha, and tsks softly. “So rude,” he murmurs, not terribly invested in whether they’re rude or not. His eyes go back to the Strider sisters.

“I was packed with an Uktena Ahroun by the name of Muerte Fría for a number of years,” he explains, as far as his grasp of Spanish goes. There’s a pause, something flickering in his eyes. “Though it was a Child of Gaia named Mender of Words who taught me the language.”

A beat, and he goes on, directly to Amunet this time: “Oh, stop flirting,” he says, his lips twisted wryly, still amused. “You’re the one trying to hide things. Now go to bed before your sister spanks you,” he adds, jerking his head at the door to the hallway.

[Tabitha Reese]
She nods at whatever Tala says, and bumps her shoulder against hers. “You know better than that.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
She just shrugs, starting to look a little overwhelmed with all the new people showing up.

[Amunet Trujillo]
She snorts. “I’m not flirting. You’re a lot cuter before you open your mouth.” She settles back into the couch, apparently intent on staying up just because she was ordered not to.

[Tabitha Reese]
She keeps her voice low. “Are you okay? Do you want to go?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“I’m fine.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She smirks, looking between Hatchet and Amy. She’s not intervening yet, curious to see how it plays out.

[Patrick Llewelyn]
Patrick doesn’t even go here anymore.

That, of course, never stopped his Alpha from making nightly visits and right now, it isn’t stopping the broad-shouldered Galliard from loping up the stairs from the restaurant, his breeding and Rage heralding him whether he wants it to or not. For once, he’s not in his work clothing, but clean, worn in jeans, boots and what seems to be the only jacket he owns. It’s black, leather and probably came to him second hand.

He smells like the great outdoors; that being wind and snow, respectively.

When he rocks up to the second floor, he’s tucking some piece of paper into one of his pockets and running his other hand back over his head, dusting it free of snow flakes. Very clear, very bright eyes absorb the scene before him. Females — and Buried Hatchet.

He raises his eyebrows.

“Entertaining?” He says dryly.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Not very.” She answers Patrick before actually looking at him, arms crossing over her chest.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Not yet, but I’m hopeful it’ll pick up soon,” she says to Patrick.

That, of all things, makes Hatchet grin. Broadly. He chuckles, even. And at that point he might open his mouth again, go straight on until he flat-out offends Amunet and then Sarita and probably tries to wrangle Tabitha and Tala into the party of people getting annoyed by him,

but Patrick comes upstairs, and the Fostern throws his hands out. “Patrick!” he says happily, dropping his hands again. He shrugs those broad shoulders of his, shakes his head. “No. Being entertained, yes. Those two,” and he points at Tala and Tabitha, “are passing notes in class, so be prepared for that. And that one,” he points at Amunet, “thought I was cute til she realized I’m a prick. And she,” pointing at Sarita now, “is that last one’s sister and I think she and I are going to be fantastic friends.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“She does tend to be friends with cock knockers.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Hey, now. Says you…”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“It’s true. That guy in St. Louis? And the prick with ears in Denver. Though I think you might have found your dream dick here.” Most kin would certainly have more sense than this…

If he were really an Ahroun, Hatchet might whip his head around at that, stare at Amunet, make her back down. He does give pause, and looks at her a moment, then just… looks at Patrick instead. “Or may not,” he says, dryly. “Want to grab a few shots downstairs?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
She sets her jaw, but says nothing, closing her eyes for a moment.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“First up, chica, poor choice of words. No offense,” she says as an aside to Hatchet. “Second…um. You suck.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
She scowls, pushing up from the couch suddenly and stomping off to Kyle’s room.

The water running in the bathroom stops, and a door swings open, closed. Another opens, but doesn’t close. And eventually, the tall Fianna Kin makes her way back out into the common room, stopping in the hallway.

The crowd has grown. “Hey hey,” she greets again. “I’m Quinn,” she offers, and sidesteps Amunet as she heads down the hall.

[Tabitha Reese]
“Patrick, was it? Hi. I’m Tabitha, this is my packmate Tala.” She nods to Quinn, to include the arriving girl in the introduction.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She opens her mouth when Amy heads off, then shrugs and gets back to her feet. “She’ll cool off fine soon enough.” It’s said to no one in particular. “Now…where was I?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Hi. I’m Tala.”

[Patrick Llewelyn]
It’s unusual for anyone aside from Howard to look pleased to see Patrick, and it gives him a moment’s pause, he looks the Fostern over rather carefully as though checking for signs of being toyed with; then lifts both his shoulders in a rather nonplussed fashion. “Well,” he says to Hatchet graciously.

“You are a dick,” his eyes flick over the assembled women. “But then, so am I, so yeah let’s take our dicks downstairs and do some shots.” That was either a mistake, or entirely intended to sound the way it does. He watches Amunet push off the couch and stomp off.

Shakes his head, brow furrowing. “I’m so glad I don’t live here anymore.” Quinn emerges; and gets a nod up from the Cliath. Then Tabitha is introducing himself; those blue eyes swing to her. “Hey, uh, how’s it going.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Is that an open invitation for shots? Or is it boys only tonight?”

[Patrick Llewelyn]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She looks over at Quinn when she comes in, nodding with a lopsided grin. “Hola. We may have met already. I’m losing track. I’m Sarita”

Quinn nods here and there, and waves, and shakes her head No, she’d remember if she’d met Sarita.

She looks at Patrick, and she smiles. It grows slowly on her pretty face, and her shoulders lift, but eventually she just shakes her head. “Hon, it’s going smashingly. I don’t know if you noticed it yet, but I had to leave my truck by your place. I know it’s pretty much a lost cause, but if you think you can work your magic and resurrect it from the jaws of death I will get you free drinks until the end of time.”

No offense, Sarita says to Hatchet, but he’s talking to Patrick, and just shrugs it off. He doesn’t even seem to notice Amunet stomping off, though he does indeed notice Quinn coming back in. But he’s still talking to Patrick.

“Yes,” he says, not arguing. “Yes, I am. I am a dick in dire need of whisky, and then I can scold you about flirting, too. I mean it’s bad enough when kin not of my tribe do it, Patrick,” he says, lifting himself to his feet and heading for the stairs, “but you and your packmate are already building a horrendous reputation without dragging me into it. Quinn,” he says without missing a beat, as though they’ve been introduced, as though they’ve ever met in person, “you come get some shots, too.” Tabitha asks if she can come, and Hatchet just shrugs, as though to say knock yourself out!

He heads down the stairs, yammering aloud and picking up where he left off. “You know, bitching about how glad you are about something is still bitching. Was it strictly necessary to say that aloud just so all of us know how anti-social and above it all you are? We’ve had this conversation before, Patrick –”

and that’s the point where the women upstairs lose track of what he’s saying as distance muffles it, but if Patrick is indeed walking with him, and if Quinn is, they can hear this as he goes on:

“– you’re entirely too concerned with people knowing how you feel about everything. You could achieve the exact same effect by just glowering every time someone speaks to you. Come on, there’s a bottle for me in the pantry that Jenny said is all mine if I promise not to beat anyone up for at least two months. And it’s a pretty big bottle, I think she’s trying to pacify me.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Jesus…” She blinks after Hatchet, then looks to Tala and Sarita. “What do you think?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She arches her eyebrow as Hatchet directs his attention away, and then decides to sit back and watch.

[Tala Whitedeer]
“What do you want to do?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“What do I think of what? I’m fucking lost now.” She grins.

[Tabitha Reese]
“I could use a drink, but there seems to be a pretty thick film of crazy on that one, so…” She shrugs and looks at Quinn again. “What happened to your truck?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Alright. We can stay up here then.” She shrugs.

Quinn doesn’t follow down immediately. Her brows rise when she’s addressed directly by the stranger. She was a bit too late for his introduction, doesn’t yet know that he’s the one her employee called her about earlier in the week.

He leaves in his wake a cluster of confused and vaguely baffled females, Quinn among them. She winks at Tabitha before pushing off from the frame.

“If he’s Fianna it just comes with the territory. And it got pretty smashed.” A shrug, and Quinn starts down the stairs, saying over her shoulder, “A state I’m happy to join it in.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Do I smell or something? Seriously. I’ve never seen a room fill up and clear out that fast.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She chuckles. “Like I said. Totally fucking lost on what just happened.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“They’re going to drink,” she volunteers helpfully.

[Tabitha Reese]
“Me too.” She bumps against Tala again. “Feel better now?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“I’m fine.”

[Patrick Llewelyn]
To say Patrick’s face falls when Quinn mentions her truck being (likely) beyond repair is an understatement. The man looks rather crushed, all told. For a moment there’s actual emotion present in his eyes, straining into tiny lines around them; lining his brow. “O, dduw. A’n dlawd beiriant,” he murmurs in what could easily be considered Gaelic, or some variation of it.

He’s giving the common room a distracted, general sort of wave and jerking his head at Quinn to follow if she wants and they can hear the Fiann retorting as his feet clomp back down the stair-well. “Dude, okay, for one thing, I haven’t flirted with anyone. You can blame Howard for whatever has been doing the rounds and secondly, so what if I bitch aloud?

Someone needs to say what’s on their mind in this city and either I do it, or you get Howard’s version.”

Then his voice is muffled by distance.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“I got that part…thanks though.” She smiles to Tala, the expression actually fairly gentle for once and not the variation of taunting, teasing, joking or mocking that has been the norm so far.

[Tabitha Reese]
“So where are you two from?” Tugging Tala along, she moves to the couch to sit.

[Tala Whitedeer]
She gets tugged along without much resistance, taking a seat.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Oh, all over the place, really.” She settles back down on the floor, stretched out on her side. “I’m from New Mexico, originally. How about you guys?”

That was exactly the look…no wait, there’s actually emotion there. Patrick doesn’t blankly stare at Quinn, quietly judging. His face actually falls, and with it goes Quinn’s spirit. For a moment she feels like she’s kicked a puppy. She wants to say she’s sorry, so so sorry, but the Galliard heads down the stairs.

So she sticks around and offers a couple remarks to the women still in the common room before following after. To collect herself, as it were, and stop feeling like she just ruined Christmas.

When she does go finally, she catches up to the other Fianna, wherever they’ve gotten themselves to.

[Tabitha Reese]
“Michigan, then South Dakota. That’s where I met Tal.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“The Qualla.”

“Yes, yes, you two are sole crusaders in speaking your mind,” Hatchet says amicably, waving his hand at the Galliard as he enters the kitchen. He’s going to the pantry for that bottle of whisky, and bringing it back to the big table in front of the fireplace, setting it down with a thump.

His eyes go to Quinn as she enters the kitchen as well. He seems to have simmered down a bit as he grabs some tumblers and pours. Not quite shots, but oh well. This whisky is good enough to be savored.

“My name’s Taggart,” he says to the kinswoman. “And having spoken to the other Fianna I could find in the city, I intend to state my claim as elder of the tribe in Chicago at the next moot. For you, this really only means that I will be your ‘official’ guardian for as long as you remain in the city unless challenged by another Garou who wants to be responsible for you.”

There’s an air of blah blah blah to all this, though that doesn’t necessarily indicate how seriously (or not) he takes the issue. His eyes lift from pouring, and he slides one tumbler towards the end of the table, more easily reachable by her or Patrick. “After the moot I’ll get in touch and discuss it more with you, as there’s things you should know about what that all means — and doesn’t mean — for you. But I wanted you to have a heads up. Also, I owe your bar for a couple of drinks. I’ll be glad to pay you back, should I ever have a drop or two of cash, but I’m open to other suggestions for compensation.”

He lifts his own glass now, toasts them both. “Sláinte.” And downs two fingers of whisky, entire.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Cool. I passed through South Dakota once…didn’t really stop, though. I was kind of in a hurry.”

[Tabitha Reese]
She smirks a little. “What did you do?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“THAT time?” She grins. “Nothing that running a couple states away didn’t fix. Apparently framing the local upper tier-ranking skinhead drug dealer on charges of sexual deviancy is not to be advised if you want to stay settled down.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
She looks impressed, sitting forward suddenly. “That’s good. Really good.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Damned good.” She nods appreciatively.

Quinn moves around the table, pulls out a chair, and sets herself down with an exaggerated groan. She listens to Hatchet’s spiel, and nods and, even though she’s spent time with Caldera, has even stayed a couple of nights at their packhouse, her eyes do not stray toward Patrick at unless challenged by another Garou who wants to be responsible for you.

“Man, that has such a terrible, ominous ring to it,” she says, and sighs. After a month in Chicago, though, she can’t really say that it’s not true. How many times has she had to fight someone or something? Twice now, her truck has had to be looked over for repairs. It’s a dangerous place, and the Kinfolk here, from what she’s heard, are troublesome.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she says, and this is genuine. “The Winchester has a longstanding Family-drinks-free policy. But if you ever really want to trade, I’ve been working on fixing the place up since I took over. Patrick built the stage, which earned him a bottle of bourbon.” She lifts her shot first to the Galliard, then to Hatchet. “Cheers.” She can’t take the shot all in one go, but she tries, bless her heart. She tries, and she gets it on the second swallow.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She shrugs it off. “I have my moments. He crossed a line, and once that line is crossed, all bets are off.”

[Patrick Llewelyn]
Patrick can’t help the slight grin curling up the corner of his lip as the Fostern Half Moon talks … and talks. He’s on about them being sole crusaders and taking his place as Elder of the Fianna in the city and the next Moot — which does interest Patrick, that’s obvious — and that makes him Quinn’s Official Guardian, like he’s her sponsor for a marathon or something of the sort and all the while the younger of the pair of Garou is peeling off his jacket and folding it over the edge of a chair; the shirt he’s wearing beneath it is long sleeved; a baseball jersey with red shoulders and neck and the number 83 printed in heavy font to its back.

The Galliard takes up his own shot; and toasts it with a word that is perhaps unfamiliar to the ear, but whose meaning is quite the match for the sentiment in Quinn’s.

“Iechyd Da.”

When he speaks the native tongue of his ancestors, or one is aware of where his heritage lies, those bright eyes and that blond hair of his make a great deal more sense. His accent possessed nothing but time spent in the States, yet he clearly spoke Welsh with a familiarity that begged long time exposure to it from somewhere.

He wipes his mouth and slams his shot down.

“Good stuff, Jenny doesn’t scrimp.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“What did he do?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Had me left in a ditch after I stopped his dealers from slinging meth to kids.” She smirks, briefly. “The attempted murder’s fine, turnover is part of the business. Churn, as they call it in so-called legit industries. It’s the thinking I was gonna let him keep dealing like he was that crossed the line.”

[Tabitha Reese]
She nods, obviously approving. “When was this?”

Quinn sighs about the ominous ring of it all, and Hatchet shrugs, setting his glass down and capping the whisky again. One glass seems to be all he wants at the moment. Maybe he’s saving up that bottle for as long as it will last him, as a way to get through the two months he promised Jenny he wouldn’t throw anyone down stairs or boot-stomp them in the common room or something. “I can do a bit of this and a bit of that,” he says, “but I’m best at taking advantage of free drinks. So you can be assured I’ll do plenty of that for the Winchester.”

He goes to the sink, washing out the tumbler he used. “Reuben is a hell of a brewer,” Hatchet agrees with Patrick, rinsing it out and setting it on a nearby rack. He looks over his shoulder as he dries his hands. “I’m going to head out on a patrol. You two crazy kids don’t get into too much trouble,” he adds without so much as a waggle of his brows, and goes for the door. He hasn’t got a jacket. He doesn’t seem to mind.

Cold air swirls in, and the door closes behind him.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“About two and a half years back. Ain’t been to that part of Montana since.” She sighs. “Sucks too…nice countryside.”

[Thanks for the RP, everybody!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
[[Bye! Thanks. 🙂 ]]

[Tabitha Reese]
“Oh.” She glances to Tala, seeming disappointed.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Why do you ask?”

[Tabitha Reese]
“If it was more recently, it would be easier to find him.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She smiles a bit. “Ain’t no thang. Like I said, lots of turnover. I wouldn’t be shocked if he got a turn at the ditch already…and Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t have great furry X-Men-like healing powers.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Being a skinhead is reason enough for me, Tabby.”

[Patrick Llewelyn]
The remaining Fianna doesn’t so much as blink when the Fostern heads out; leaving a whirl of cold air in his wake. Rather, he drums his palms against the countertop and cants his head at Quinn; his expression, if anything, could be called winning. The suggestion of a smile, the rise of sandy brows.

“You want a beer? I’m going to raid the fridge and hang down here until things quieten upstairs.” Anyone would think he, a grown, strapping lad, was afraid of a few girls. He crosses to the fridge and pulls out a pair of long-necks, handing one over to Quinn if she accepts.

“So, tell me what happened to your truck…”

He pulls up a chair, straddling it and pops open the cork on his beer. This, could take them a while. In truth, it’s probable they don’t emerge for some time, if Patrick’s love for car detail was any indication.

[Tabitha Reese]
“Me too, Tal. Hard to track somebody down after a while, though.” She nods to Sarita. “We can hope so, hey?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Nothing would put a bigger smile on my face.”

[Tabitha Reese]
She looks over to the stairs. “Should we go down and get that drink?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
A grin spreads over her face. “I’m ~always~ up for a drink.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
She looks uncertain. “I can go down there…”

Hatchet, no Taggart, is best at taking advantage of free drinks. Quinn smiles and lifts her empty glass in a kind of salute. The trade-off doesn’t necessarily come in the form of labor versus alcohol consumption, though right now that’s the best that Quinn can ask.

He doesn’t stick around much longer than that, and so the bottle of whiskey is stoppered. Quinn can’t say she’s terribly disappointed, her chest still wants to burn from that one drink. She once told someone that Kinfolk are more breakable than Garou, and really, it goes in more ways than simple wounds or broken bones. She could never keep up with Hatchet or Patrick if they were really determined to drink the night away.

“That would be fantastic,” she says of the offer of a beer, and she accepts a bottle happily.

Patrick asks after the state of the truck, and what happened. Quinn closes her eyes, sits back, and groans. “I think we should wait a couple beers. You’re not going to like it.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Okay then.” She stands and stretches, then heads down the stairs.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She grins and rises, following along.

[Tala Whitedeer]
She follows Tabitha, somewhat timidly.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She looks around when she gets downstairs, making a beeline for the bar.

[Tabitha Reese]
Empty. Well son of a bitch. She makes her way to the bar, settling where she can see the door.

[Tala Whitedeer]
She sits near Tabitha, lookin around uncomfortably.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“I think just a beer for me. What are you two drinking?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“I don’t drink for fun.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Beer works. Tal doesn’t do anything for fun. Though probably, watching Rol and I try to drink each other under the table was fun.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Beer it is, then.” She looks at Tala. “Why don’t you do anything for fun?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“I have responsibilities.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“We all have responsibilities, Tal. Don’t be a snob.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“We all…” She nods at what Tabitha says. “I ain’t trying to give you a hard time, chica. I’m just curious. If you don’t wanna say, that’s totally cool.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Hey.” She turns to Tala suddenly, frowning. “Last night. You said you couldn’t have a chocolate because you promised somebody something. What was that about?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“I’m not being a snob. I have different responsibilities than you do. I’m an intermediary.” She shrugs at Sarita. “I know you aren’t. It’s just chiminage. I can’t eat or drink for pleasure for a while.” And back to Tabitha. “Just that.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“When did you do that?” She frowns.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Ahhhh.” She nods, light dawning behind brown irises. “Yeah, that would do it. Makes perfect sense.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Back. You know when. Before we left.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Why didn’t you tell me?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She procures the beers for her and Tabitha, setting one down in front of the Fury before opening her own.

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Why should I have? You don’t tell me everything you do.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“I tell you the important things.” She sips at the beer, then starts to peel the label.

[Tala Whitedeer]
She snorts, but doesn’t say anything.

The Owl Girl Meets The Mack Daddy and Others



Water runs, then shuts off. The Black Fury walks out of the bathroom as though nothing ever happened.

Hunter isn’t exactly a large man, but standing next to Howard Ivers he looks like a veritable wall. He could keep out Mongolian raiders if he wanted to. Whilst Howard is taller, Hunter is stocky, but they both have green eyes and they both smile far too often to be healthy.

“I think ya’ got’em mixed up a bit, this one’s the big mouth.”

One would think that that storm cloud moving over Remy’s features was the achromat’s version of a ray of sunlight bursting through the clouds the way the hipster breaks into a grin as he ambles over to the table. For someone who looks and oftentimes smells as though he doesn’t bathe with any regularity, who is rarely without some sort of burning herb in hand, he has well-cared-for teeth.

Where’s his bigmouthed packmate. The Fiann extends his right arm until his wrist pops out from beneath the sleeve of his leather jacket and consults the back of his wrist. There isn’t a watch there; he stares at it for a few seconds anyway, then returns his hand to his hip with something of a flourish.

“Probably writin’ a sad song on his guitar and havin’ himself a cry,” he says.

Hunter thinks he got them mixed up. Howard shakes his head.

“Nah… I’m the loudmouth. Very easy to mix up, especially if…” He turns to the table. “True story: I caught this fucker walkin’ around with two left shoes on the other day.”

[Tabitha Reese]
Tabitha laughs loudly all of a sudden, hand clasped over her mouth to stop it as she elbows Tala. “Stop!”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“I’m not doing anything. I’m sitting here, Tabby.” She shakes her head and sighs.

[Tabitha Reese]
“You’re a goddamned liar.” She elbows Tala again, then looks up to the two men. “Hey. How are ya?”

“I only got one pair’a a shoes you simple fuck.” Hunter says, snatches out a chair from a nearby table and pushes it with the back facing towards their table. He straddles it with his elbows resting on it.

“I’m Hunter, and I’m good thanks.” He says, eyes flicking between the occupants of the table. “This fuck here,” and he throws a thumb over his shoulder and turns.

“Is Howard.” He saves the insults, Howard proves how much of a dumbass he is without any help.

[Tabitha Reese]
“Tabitha” She hides her hands in her pockets again, nodding to her packmate. “This is Tala. We’re new.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Hi.” She looks the two over, not bothering to conceal it as she sizes them up.

“And it sounds like you’re thinkin’ about one of us naked,” he says. He looks between Hunter and Remy, then jerks a thumb at the Fenrir. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Well we know it wasn’t you Howard, that’s for sure.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Maybe not so much naked as on fire.” She offers Remy another charming smile.

Now, all things considered, Remy’s been more or less easygoing tonight. Sure, he laid down the law so far as his kin was concerned. Sure, he turned around and smacked said kin upside the head. Sure, he seems to have no social graces whatsoever, or at least pretends that’s the case — but the teasing between Fenrir and Fury tonight has, on the whole, been of the friendly-ribbing sort.

That sort of changes when Howard and his big buddy approach. Something in the young Fenrir’s face tightens down. He sits back in his chair, a sort of exaggerated and deliberate broadening out of his physical presence that claims the air around him, the space around his feet.

“Why don’t you two jokers quit pretending we’re friends and take your comedy show on the road,” he says. “If the bulldykes here want to join you that’s their call. But I got here first and I don’t much want to eat my sandwich looking at your pipsqueak faces.”

“‘Bull… dy…'”

Howard turns to Hunter and drops into a crouch rather than sitting. When he speaks, it’s in an exaggerated stage whisper.

“I don’t speak Ignorant Twat, what’s a bulldyke?”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Oh for fuck’s sake. We are NOT fucking.”

“It’s a woman that doesn’t want to fuck you on principle,” Remy replies instantly, almost lazily, “and not just because your face looks like a kicked-in pile of horse shit. You noisy little cunt. Get lost.”

“Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Prettyboy,” he says, holding up a hand in a lopsided Don’t shoot gesture.

Hunter is amused, he really is amused. He might not be so amused if the two females he is calling bulldykes weren’t Garou. They can take care of themselves. Hunter would like to see Remy call Joey Oliver a bulldyke. As it stands he is trying his best but then Howard has to go and be Howard, and it comes out.

“pffffffftttttttttt.” Air escaping as he laughs with a look of Oh shit on his face.

“Didn’t ya’ say he don’t like that Howard?”

Remy’s eyebrows hop up on his forehead. Then he pops down the last of his sandwich — and might we add that even with a mouth full of half-chewed food, through which he lets out one of the fouler belches of the century, he’s still pretty enough to turn the heads of two college girls across the room — and dusts his hands off.

“Okay, pipsqueak,” he says, food-muffled. “You asked for it.”


[Izzy Montoya]
Speaking of noisy little cunts… [Ok, not really, but it seemed like a good enough line to steal.]

The door opens, as doors do when nudged from one side or the other, and she stalks in like she owns the joint. She doesn’t, of course. She walks into most places like that – it’s all in the attitude. She pulls off her gloves and stalks to the counter, and orders her coffee – hot and black, just like she likes her… well. Coffee.

Her features are strong, her breeding pure, her blood that of Viking Heroes. Her hair dark and longish, her eyes dark, her smile non-existent. She is lean – and by the looks of the bags under her eyes that have luggage of their own – exhausted.

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

“Oh, shit,” he intones, trying not to laugh even in the face of an impending ass-kicking. Even though he’s several inches taller than Remy, the term ‘pipsqueak’ isn’t entirely a misnomer: the Fenrir has somewhere in the neighborhood of seventy pounds on the Fiann, and it’s all muscle. Thrusting the coffee into Hunter’s possession, Howard says, “TellPatrickIlovehim” and turns to run.


This is where a Fostern should really… really… really give some semblance of a shit about what was going on. She steps way from the bathroom door, and the corner with all the banter and one very Attractive Rage-o-holic draws her attention. She is the spiritual equivalent of jet lagged. Her head is swimming, and her eyes come in to focus just in time to see a fight break out.

Her hands go to her hips. Attire is comfortable. Jeans with holes (air conditioning she insists), tights (because it’s still developmentally appropriate for her to believe that tights with jeans are cool) and a hooded sweatshirt. The Fury carries a messenger bag with her. She shrugs her shoulders and wanderes towards the fray.

Literally, wanders, like the budding fight was more like finding a sale on bonbons.

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3 (Failure at target 6)

Of course, this would be the moment that Patrick, Howard’s long suffering Galliard decides to grace the Cafe with his presence. Prayers to Broken Stone, a broad-shouldered kid with a head of sandy hair and brows to match; coupled with impossibly blue eyes was what most referred to as the quiet side of Caldera.

Put him beside Howard, and he was all but a mime. His conversation often little more than well timed shrugs or gesturing on one front or another. Presently, he’s wearing his work attire — that being dark blue coveralls and his battered leather jacket atop them. There are black fingerless gloves on his hands, and he’s crossing the street toward the Cafe in question when he sees Howard, shooting out the door.

His eyebrows rise.

He watches, then flicks them toward his pursuer.

[last call for inits! i’ma go review another section of my manuscript, and if there are no other inits when i get back i’ma declare.]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Oh, why not! TUSSLE! +6]

[Tala Whitedeer]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Tabitha Reese]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Tala Whitedeer]

[Tabitha Reese]

[1. yell BOO! as Howard streaks out the door, sit back down.]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She’s whistling just for the sake of whistling as she makes her way down the street in the general direction of the Cafe, walking at an unhurried pace. She’s got a hand-rolled cigarette out one corner of her mouth, and she pauses once she crosses at an intersection to light it before continuing on.

[1. Look disgusted with Remy
2. Lean against wall, James Dean style, and smoke a cigarette.]

[1a: realize Remy’s not chasing him
1b: wander back inside]

[Tala Whitedeer]
((grab a fork. Hold said fork in deathgrip))

[Tabitha Reese]
(Trip Howard as he attempts to flee)

[ok, i’ma wait to see outcome of the trip and then probably just go back IC *LOL*]

[Tabitha Reese]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
(Rolling for the trip!)

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 1, 3 (Failure at target 6) [WP]
[Athletics+Dexterity: GO GO HIPSTER BOOTS]

“OOGLABOOGLABOO!” Remy yells — nay, roars — as Howard turns to run. Heads turn all around the room, and not just because Remy is fucking hot. The ‘pipsqueak’ streaks toward the door. Tabitha sticks out her foot. Howard goes sprawling. Neighboring tables gasp in alarm. Are you okay?! someone wants to know.

Remy picks his toppled chair back up off the ground, sits again, uses the pad of his thumb to pick up a few crumbs of his sandwich. “Dumbass,” he comments, and reaches across the table to high-five Tabitha.

[Tabitha Reese]
She returns the high five, settling back in her seat and gently prying the fork out of Tala’s hand.

[Izzy Montoya]
Her coffee arrives as one is running off. There’s a tension about her lower back, dancing up her spine, as she turns her head enough to track what’s going on. Only when everyone stands down – for now – does she turn to wrap her fingers around the cup, and move to the side so others can order as needed. She tucks her gloves into her pocket, then lifts her cup to take a swallow that’s far to big for how hot the coffee is. She makes a face, a slight grimace, as the hot liquid burns over her tongue.

He wipes out in spectacular fashion, nearly taking out one of the table’s neighbors as he crashes into the floor, and a normal person would be pissed off, Rage flaring from embarrassment or pain or any other strong emotion that comes from being tripped while in the act of running from a man who looks like an underwear model.

Howard doesn’t yell, or strike back at the bulldyke, or fire back when Remy calls him a dumbass. Granted, he loses his sunglasses, so all he can do for several seconds is squint, but he doesn’t start fumbling for them. He flops onto his back and starts laughing.

“Oh Jesus,” he announces, laughter dying down, then points where he thinks Tabitha is supposed to be; his finger ends up aimed somewhere around her navel. “Y’know, you ought to be careful, in some cultures that’s considered foreplay.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
Prying the fork loose is easier said than done, but Tabitha IS stronger, so with a small whine of protest, off it goes.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She exhales a drag of smoke and goes back to her whistling, the shrill tones of “Twisted Nerve,” as the cafe grabs her attention. With a shrug, she directs her steps toward it, stubbing the cigarette out just outside. Someone could use a coffee.

She looks at the pile of people. The Fenrir, who puffed up all nice aand big, the Fianna who started to run, then was tripped… and then faceplanted. She inhales slowly, and a little more deeply than she realizes. The younger Fury clenches her jaw, and heads over. There’s high fiving. Then laughing. Her jaw unclenches. She shrugs, and heads for the door.

“Hey,” she says to Patrick on the way out, “I don’t think you can smoke in here.”

[Tabitha Reese]
She’s about to answer Howard when the dark haired woman matching the description she was given captures her attention. Now her, she’d go bulldyke for. Getting up quickly, she pats Tala’s shoulder and makes her way over to Alethea.

(Patrick is still outside! He’ll stay there til I return with dinner in a min!)

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Where are you going?” She seems alarmed suddenly.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She glances at Patrick as she slips in the door, recognizing him from the other night in the hallway of crowded bathrooms, towels and such that she’d stumbled upon. She gives him a nod and a wink as she slips inside, glancing around on her way toward the counter.

“You know,” Remy says to Tabitha and Tala, “you two aren’t half bad. I’m staying at the Brotherhood. You should look me up sometime. Like if you want to go hunting or something.”

On that note, he finishes picking crumbs off his plate and cocks his eyebrows at Drew. “I’m taking off, girl. You want me to walk you to your car so you can drive me to my boardinghouse?”

[Tabitha Reese]
“I’ll be right back. No stabbing anyone.”

She nods to Remy “We’ll do that.” Then she’s off to catch up with the other Fury.

(ohshit! Sorry, delete last line!)

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Bye.” She nods curtly at Remy, then looks over at Tabby, watching her go with a look of growing displeasure.

[Drew Roscoe]
Drew spent the whole of this ruckus just leaned back in her chair, watching the goings-on while looking like she couldn’t be bothered to be upset or anxious about it anymore. The potential of a scuffle is left with a roar of ‘ooga booga’ to chase the curly-haired Fianna away, who winds up tripping over Tabitha’s foot and crashing into some chairs and a table. The people who work are arguing near the end of the counter about whether they should kick them out, leave them, or call the cops and claim someone’s disturbing the peace.

Her coffee’s empty for the most part, cooled off enough that it’s not as enjoyable anymore, when Remy finishes the crumbs from his sandwich and, in a roundabout way that made it sound like he would be helping her, asked for a ride back to The Brotherhood of Thieves. Drew took a last drink of her mug, set it on the table, and stood up. “Alright.”

He keeps calling her Girl and she doesn’t correct him. Just goes ahead and pulls her dark blue winter coat on, buttons it up to her collar bone, and makes a beeline for the door.

Hunter has performed one of his disappearing acts or is eating paper napkins or something equally constructive, leaving Howard to either fumble around for his sunglasses for another two minutes until he finds them or do what he ends up doing, which is abandoning them in favor of attempting to grope his way from the floor to a chair. In order to pursue Alethea, Tabitha has to step over or around the prone Fiann; that doesn’t seem to be an impediment, and he doesn’t take the opportunity to trip her as she does so.

He lies still a moment, blinking so slowly he ends up squeezing his eyes shut a few times, then sits up. His hand finds the chair Tabitha vacated, and he clumsily–silently–picks himself off the floor and sits his skinny ass down. When his eyes, a shade of green similar to Hunter’s, move around it isn’t with the same sharpness and precision that the rest of the patrons’ do: they don’t focus on anything, and his brow is furrowed.

Slowly, it dawns on him that someone’s still here.

“I think she fancies me,” he says, and folds his hands on the table.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She pauses a second in her walk as she sees Howard on the floor, recognizing him from that other night as well. She opens her mouth as if to ask why he’s on the floor, then looks to the table everyone’s at before shrugging it off with apparent acceptance. On her way to get her coffee she goes.

It wasn’t a very subtle way to ask for a ride, but Remy looks downright delighted when he actually scores one. The resultant grin makes at least one of the arguing baristas lose her train of thought. Remy buttons back up in his winter coat, his scarf and hat and gloves, and pretty soon there’s just that little sliver of face showing again.

“Okay,” he mumbles through his buttoned collar. “I’m good. Let’s go.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
She looks over at Howard, blinking slowly. “What?”

All the while the Fianna Galliard has been outside, foot propped against the wall; smoking like a wannabe rebel. He’s flicking it away when the Fenrir appears, exiting with his ride. “Well hello, gorgeous.” Patrick drawls, for no real reason and cants the man a salute.

[Tabitha Reese]
She stops herself just short of grabbing Alethea’s arm, settling instead for brushing her fingers on the other woman’s arm to get her attention and clearing her throat.

[Drew Roscoe]
Remy was good to go, and at this point the mayhem in the coffee shop had driven up the little Kinfolk’s blood pressure to the point that she was barely paying mind to anyone else. Family first and that was all, if he wasn’t a Fenrir she would have hit the pavement long ago. She only just notices Izzy as she’s holding the door open and waiting for Remy to catch up, and the detective Kin gets a long stare before a nod of acknowledgment. No warm smiles, no waves, no ‘Hey Izzy!’, just the nod.

Once Remy’s caught up, Drew’s stepping outside along with him…..

…right into the face of another show of provocation. Drew looked up at Patrick, some guy she’s never seen or met before, calling him ‘gorgeous’. While this was a truth there was no point in denying, it had caused him to snap at the Black Fury, then charge the Fianna to scare him off. Drew was giving him a ride, she wanted to get her ass back home, have a drink or two to calm the nerves, and go to sleep so she could get her ducks in a row for her interview on Monday.

So she breaks her act of ‘good, quiet kin’ and jams a finger at Patrick. Everyone has a last straw, and the number of them wane as the hours tick by. “You. Smug guy. Shut the hell up and let us go home. Your pals are in there waiting up for you.” That finger retracts so she can jerk her thumb toward the cafe door.

She stops and turns around. Someone touches her arm, and she looks up. Her lips upturn, and something about her seems… distinctly more grounded than Tabitha remembered. She is also, simultaneously, less there than she was when they first met. She perks up-

“Oh! Hey!”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Hey.” She smiles, looking relieved. “I was going to call you. To let you know we’re here. How are you?” She’s babbling, gesturing too much with her hands as she talks.


When he turns his head towards Tala, his eyes land in the general direction her voice came from. They aren’t bloodshot or red, nor are they marred by bruising or scars; there is no discernible reason why it’s dark out and he arrived wearing sunglasses. There are some bizarre females out there who claim this young man is attractive, that he has pretty eyes or the whole skinny mop-haired asshole thing is a turn-on, but none of those bizarre females exist on this side of the fourth wall so the ones left standing shall be spared.

“Which one are you?”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Which one am I what?” She looks confused.

[Izzy Montoya]
Izzy takes a seat at an empty table, setting her cup down and rubbing her fingers together to warm them. Drew notices her, and gives a long look, which Izzy simply returns. She arches a brow, slightly, just as Drew nods, and turns to go outside.

Izzy, likewise doesn’t call out, doesn’t smile, doesn’t wave. And she likes it that way just fine.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She gets her coffee, paying with a grin, and turns around to look over the room once more. She considers for a moment before heading over to the big, occupied table and nodding at Howard. “I remember you. How’s your ass?”

She doesn’t say anything, she just hugs the other Fury and holds on like she might fall apart and float away just by being there. She is warm, and she is surprisingly solid for being… well… being her. It’s a little known, less cared about fact that Alethea Adamidas has a heavier build than her height suggests. Even with the apparent weight loss, she’s solid.

“Where are you staying?” her voice is muffled.

Another night — the night Patrick called him a Silver Fang, for example — and Remy might have flown into a fury. Tonight’s a pretty good night, though. He traded jabs with a Black Fury that gave as good as she got and miraculously didn’t get pissed; he scared Patrick’s loudmouth alpha off; he watched said Black fury trip said loudmouth alpha on his way out. Good night. Good happenings.

So there’s no frothing at the mouth. There’s no sudden lunge for the throat. There’s just a smirk that widens when Drew gives Patrick the one-finger salute.

“Aw, don’t be jealous,” Remy says, slinging his arm unapologetically around Drew and hugging her against a side that feels as solid as a slab of beef. “Charming fella like yourself, I’m sure you’ll find some company tonight.

“Better stay off this one though. Don’t think you can handle her kind of fire, Stag-boy.”

He ignores the finger, breathing smoke out his nostrils as he straightens. His bright eyes consider Drew for a beat, and he glances back at Remy. “I like her,” he notes as mildly as if he’d been commenting on a new car, already turning his shoulders toward the Cafe door.

“She’s almost got the mouth of a Fianna.”

He pulls open the door, turning with his back to it to raise both eyebrows at the pair of Fenrir. “Have a good one.”

He sits in furrow-browed thought for a grand total of two seconds, which is something of a record between Howard being asked a question and Howard spitting out an incendiary response. When he comes up with it, he snaps his fingers in an unspoken I got it.

“No, wait, you’re not the one with the–”

At which point Sarita arrives at the table. Its occupancy has dwindled significantly; only the Uktena and the Fiann are left, now, and the Fiann doesn’t appear startled or anxious that someone whose voice he’s never heard has wandered up asking him about his ass.

“I don’t remember you,” he says, without missing a beat. “What’d you do to my ass?”

[Tabitha Reese]
She hugs the other Fury back tightly, looking considerably more settled now. “It’s good to see you. We’re just in motel rooms for the moment. Come meet Tala”

[Tala Whitedeer]
Another unidentified person, and she’s definitely looking overwhelmed. Not quite shutting down, but getting there .

“But-” she says “-I have to go. There aren’t a lot of- I’m needed on the other side.”

Because when is a theurge ever not needed on the other side.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“It’s grandfathered into Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Next time, spend a lifetime building an immunity to iocane powder, or as I like to call it, Rohypnol.” She looks over at Tala and does the upward chin tilt can be construed as a greeting. “Hola.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Oh…” She nods. “Right, of course. I”m sorry. Some other time.”

[Drew Roscoe]
Remy’s arm is tossed about her waist and draws her in against his side with no hint of shame or apology in the gesture. On another night he’d feel her shoulders hunch up uncomfortably and her muscles go tense. In another setting being hugged into so handsome a man’s side with his hand at her waist, hip, belly… anywhere in that area, that might coax a blush.

Tonight she just looks like she just figured out that the candles on her birthday cake were trick ones. Her frown is less aggressive and more annoyed, the hand that she was gesturing at the Fianna (she gets that from Remy calling him ‘Stag-boy’) drops to her side, and she just stands loose-limbed against the Godi’s side and stares up the street while Patrick compliments Remy by saying he liked her, wishes them a good night, and heads inside. One can only guess that Drew’s counting from ten backwards in her head.

A tick of the second hand passes on the clock inside the cafe, and Drew reaches into her pockets to tug on her white mittens, but doesn’t jerk her shoulder into his side or try and wrench out from under his arm. “Truck’s up the road. You’ll have to nevermind the plastic.”

She gives Tabitha a quick squeeze.

“I’ll come find you,” she tells her.

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Hi. Hello.” she nods at Sarita as well, definitely tense.

“Oh, hey, look at that, startin’ off with a date rape joke!” He lifts two thumbs to indicate his approval, sarcastic as it is, then indicates where he thinks a chair might maybe be with his finger. “You’ll fit right in.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Alright.” She nods, kissing the Fury on both cheeks before leaving the Theurge to her work and scooting back to her table and the increasingly panicked Tala.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Hey, I like putting by best foot forward. Wherever that may put it.” She grins and takes a seat, at least nice enough to not sit too close to the timid one. “I’m Sarita. Saw you during the thing with the limping and the bathroom and all that shit. It’s understandable you may not have seen me. You were focused on something else.”

[Tala Whitedeer]
“Who was that?” She snaps at Tabitha, bristling for some reason known only to her.

[Tabitha Reese]
“That was the one that I told you about.” She resists the urge to dump Howard out of her old seat, taking the one vacated by Remy instead.

[Tala Whitedeer]

“Love,” he says, sitting back with a sigh, “you’ve no idea how many days of the week you managed to describe with the words ‘limpin” and ‘bathroom.'”

His attention jumps the tracks with a speed that is enough to induce whiplash in the unconditioned.

“You seen a light-eyed fella with skin like mashed potato and a–”

Who was that?

“Jesus!” Howard says, as though she’s startled him. When Tabitha returns she’ll note that the young man, whose tribe does not announce itself in his blood and whose Rage is so scant it is barely noticed by even the most weak-willed of humans, is sans sunglasses; his expression is focused but his eyes are vacant, as though he’s staring into fog and can’t see a damned thing.

To be fair, Remy lets Drew go pretty much as soon as ‘Stag-boy’ goes in. He tugs his hat a little lower over his forehead, obscuring even his eyebrows now. Must not be from so cold a climate. God knows where he’s from — for all that easy american slang, there are sometimes hints and glimmers of muddled, myriad accents in his voice.

“Sorry about that,” he explains. “That jackass called me a Silver Fang the last time we met and then got lucky enough to win the fight.” He doesn’t even bother to explain why there was a fight. Or what it was about. It’s obvious in his mind. At least he’s honest about losing, though, shameful as it is. “That was his Alpha in there that the Fury sent sprawling. That was pretty satisfying.”

And, “Plastic?”

[Tabitha Reese]
“What’s wrong with you?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“If limping and bathroom describes multiple days, you may be quickly becoming my favorite person I’ve met here so far.” She looks up as Tabitha approaches, going quiet for a second as she looks her over and seeing how this changes the table’s dynamic.

[Tala Whitedeer]
She gives Tabitha a scowl, saying nothing.

What’s wrong with you?

“Who?” He points in Tala’s direction. “Her? I think she’s jealous.”

[Tabitha Reese]
She looks Sarita over quickly, then offers a nod. “Hey.”

Her nose wrinkles at Howard. “No, you. Why would she be jealous?”

[Drew Roscoe]
Not one to question why a pair of Garou will get into a fight, Drew instead started walking up the sidewalk once Remy’s arm unwraps from her back and side. He was gentlemanly enough not to let it linger, even went so far as to apologize for the act (though the necessity for it was beyond her, she wasn’t bothered enough to pitch a fit over it). Her shoulders shrugged, white mittened hands adjusted the lapels and collar of her coat, and she walked the curb as he explained himself, and while she explained herself in turn when the plastic was brought up and questioned.

“Huh,” is what she has to say on the pack that he’s talking about, how satisfying it had been for him to see Stag-boy’s alpha eat floor. And “Don’t worry about it,” for the apology.

As for the plastic: “I haven’t quite had a chance to get the blood cleaned off the seats yet. The week’s been hectic, to say the least.” She doesn’t have to tell the whole story, not unless he asks for it specifically. She doesn’t need to say that it’s her own blood that cakes most of the vehicle, and the rest is from an ally– none of it is from an enemy. It was a part of being Garou and, unfortunately, these situations tended to spill over and make it a part of being Kin as well. It was just a shame that they were so much more fragile.

[Tala Whitedeer]
“I’ll see you back at the motel, Tabitha.” She nods to Sarita and Howard, standing and heading for the exit. ((bedtime))

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Nice meeting you…uh, person,” she calls in Tala’s direction as she departs.

“Lady,” he says, laughing slightly as he sits back in his chair, “do I look like I’ve the slightest idea why girls do the things they do? We aren’t wired the same, for Christ’s sa–oh hey later!”

At some point Hunter walks back in, slaps Howard in the ear and sits down in a chair.

“Stop it, I don’t care what it is, just stop it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Well, in all fairness it WOULD be dull if we were all wired the same.” She looks over at Hunter as he comes up. “You I remember too.”

“Ow!!” He sounds indignant; however, this is Howard, who only expresses genuine emotion by affecting the exact opposite. His hand goes up over his ear, and he starts laughing. “You got me in the ear, you wanker!”

Patrick steps into the Cafe — though he has been taking his own sweet time about it and saunters up to his Alpha; Howard’s shoulders get the benefit of his pack-brother’s large palms pressing down firmly on them as the Bone Gnawer resurfaces from — elsewhere — and slaps the Theurge’s ear.

Patrick sets his gaze over the assembled; his Rage like a persistent heaviness in the air.


[Tabitha Reese]
She quiets, watching the three as Patrick joins them.

[Izzy Montoya]
At some point, she’d finished her coffee. Now, she stands, pulls her gloves back on, and heads toward the door.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
And then she looks up at Patrick. “And you, of course I remember. Hola.”

Remy laughs, a single muffled Ha! echoing down the quiet street. “Transporting bodies, were you?”

“Ah..” He scratches his chin “Oh.. that’s right, you was at the fuckin’ broho last week or some shit. Good ta’ see ya’ again.”

He ignores Howard’s at least for now. He’s like one of those fake babies, it will always be there, crying and moaning and being useless. They take hundreds of years to degrade as well. Those annoying little fucks. Somewhere in a dump there is an underground city of crying moaning cabbage patch dolls.

“Hey patty.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She checks her watch. “Oh…yeah, I guess it is last week by now. Huh. Nice to see you too though. S’up?”

[Drew Roscoe]
“Only mine and a friend’s.” There’s a beat, and she corrects herself. “No, there was a body in the back, but that was easy to hose off.” She’s not scowling so hard now, being out of the cafe and back on the street, walking away with the knowledge that a bed and room all her own was only thirty or forty minutes away was promising enough a thought that it calmed her down some.

Her dark cherry painted Dodge Ram is near the end of the block, and when close enough to it she extracts her keys from her coat pocket and presses the button that has the lights flashing to indicate where the vehicle is and that its doors are now unlocked. The story leaves much to be desired, plenty of details left out (like exactly what the fuck happened and why she and this friend were bleeding rather than all the bad guys dead bodies), but the fact was that she was standing there looking as fit and healthy as could be. There’s no limp in her step or pain in her face when stops at her truck and pulls open the passenger door. On a street like this with drunk drivers and taxi cabs alike dominating the road, it was just safer and smarter to go in through the passenger side if you could.

All’s well that ends well right?

There’s a Black Fury whose face he does not recognize, another he recalls from the Brotherhood and a Fenrir Kinswoman whom he last glimpsed the night Howard took a swandive off a fire escape.

And Hunter.
Who calls him Patty and gets the benefit of a frown.

Izzy is gone too quickly for the Galliard to salute her, so his attention re-focuses on the newcomers. “Hey, I don’t think I caught your name last time.” To Sarita, those blue, blue eyes all hers for a beat, then they shift to the Black Fury. “And yours is a face I don’t know at all.”

He sticks a hand out; it’s rough and his movement brings with it the wave of motor-oil and cigarette smoke. The latter far fresher than the former. He clasps hands where he’s offered and adds, with emphasis: “I’m Patrick, people call me Prayers to Broken Stone.”

He nods at Howard.

“This one’s pack-mate.” Speaking of, Patrick glances at Howard’s face; the frown returns. “Did you lose your sunglasses when the Fenrir chased you? Fuck, how many pairs have you lost being chased around?” He starts making some cursory sweep of the Cafe floor.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She affects a terrible British accent. “Ecos de la Risa. Sarita…Ecos de la Risa. I take my martinis neither shaken nor stirred, but thrown the fuck out so I can have tequila shots.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
And she takes the offered hand with a hearty handshake.

“I’ll have you know,” he says, “it wasn’t the chasin’ that made them fall off, it was…”

He blindly points a finger towards Tabitha, knocking over an empty cup in the process. There has been a period of palpable silence over the totemphone, Howard not screaming for help or recounting his last will and testament prior to being destroyed like he usually does.

“… the tripping. Don’t usually have an man-hater pop out of nowhere to help a woman-hater, man, I’ll be on my toes next time.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“I don’t hate men. Some Furies DO have to like men, you know.”

“Oh, come off it,” he says, “I have sex with people I hate all the time.”

“Huh.” Remy thinks for a while. Maybe it’s that handsome, handsome face. Maybe it’s all the muscle. Whatever the reason, thinking looks like it takes more effort for him than, say, throwing a punch. Or ripping off a scathing insult or three. If Drew knew his auspice, she might be surprised. Most people are. Then they find out how long it took him to earn Cliathhood, and it’s not such a surprise anymore.

“Was the body in the back responsible for the blood on the seats, at least?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She laughs a little bit. “I picked the right coffee joint to frequent tonight, I see.”

[Tabitha Reese]
“Masturbation doesn’t count, sugar.” She smiles sweetly, then looks at the door. “I should probably go make sure Tala got back okay.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
The laugh turns into a full cackle. “Instant classic right there.”

[Drew Roscoe]
Drew pegged him for a Rotagar. It was the crotch grab that nailed it. He’s pondering what she had to say about the blood on the seats, even as she steps up onto the foot hold of the truck then climbs across the truck’s bench to slide in behind the wheel, plastic that covered the back and seat of the bench crinkling noisily in protest while she went. The plastic sheet was clear but cloudy, but even through that the dark brown of dried blood that interrupted the light gray of the seat beneath could be seen. There was a lot of it behind the driver’s wheel, right where she sat.

His question is met with a curious expression, a moment to think about how to answer that, and she waits until he’s in and the truck door’s closed to answer. “Mostly, but it wasn’t the only one. The rest of them followed us and it turned into a full-out battle maybe forty minutes or an hour later.” Keys in the ignition and she starts the truck. “No casualties on our side…. but it got pretty close.” Both mirrors are checked and doors are locked before Drew’s pulling out into traffic.

It’s only for five seconds, but that comeback shuts Howard up long enough for Tabitha to make her exit. He laughs, but the fact that he doesn’t have an instantaneous game-ender to hurl back at her means she’s either struck a nerve, or that was simply too well-played an insult to recover from right away.

“What, your ‘phone’ busted?” he asks. “Tabitha, love, if you can’t stand your attraction to me, just say so. You don’t have to go runnin’ off. It’ll save us all a lot of pain and heartache in the long run.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She smirks, waving to Tabitha. “Nice to kind-of meet ya. Have a good’n.”

She then turns her attention to Howard. “You just got ‘powned,’ as the kids these days say. Y’know that, right?”

[Tabitha Reese]
“You’ve got me. It’s all I can do to not throw myself at you right here, right now. If I don’t leave now, I’m sure to do something that you regret.” She leans in, delivering a toe curling kiss to Howard before nodding to the others and breezing out. (Bed!)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
Her eyes widen, and she laughs. “Correction. You just got old-school motherfuckin’ OWNED.”

To say that Howard does not see that coming isn’t an exaggeration. He literally does not realize she’s there until she’s inches from his face, and then the Fury has her mouth on his. A Litany-following, Gaia-fearing servant of the spirits would be pushing away from her as fast as he possibly could; Howard, stunned as he is, doesn’t even think to reciprocate. He smells like Febreze and marijuana smoke but his breath is vaguely fruity, as though he’s been chewing gum. His eyes stay open, and when she pulls back and disappears, he sucks in a breath.

He got old-school motherfuckin’ owned.

“The fuck did you just say?” he asks, feigning belligerence, before reaching down to unceremoniously adjust the crotch of his jeans. “Speak English.”

“Hm,” Remy makes another thinking noise, “so my question really is: did you take care of them all, or do I have to kick some asses?”

[Drew Roscoe]
“We got ’em,” is the short answer.

The addendum is tacked on with a lift of one eyebrow and a half a smirk to accompany her glance in his direction before eyes return to the road. “But I don’t think anyone will ever have all of Them taken care of.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“That was English, Mack Daddy.” She grins. “Si quieres que no hablan Inglés, puedo hacer eso también.”

“Estamos en los estados unidos, chica,” he sighs, suddenly sounding weary, pinching the bridge of his nose for effect; “los americanos no les gusta cuando los extranjeros hablan sus lenguas extrañas.”

Meanwhile, Patrick has been on a sunglasses hunt. Or, one assumes as much, anyway. There is, after a time no small amount of scuffling beneath a corner table and a female seated nearby gives a little shriek when Patrick’s shoulder brushes into her bare leg.


He says, voice muffled. A hand emerges with a pair of sunglasses, followed by the rest of his body. He shakes dust out of his hair, glances at the woman; she quivers a little. It’s the Rage, that’s all. “Sorry, you were in the way.” Then he gets to his feet, and wanders back to his Alpha; taking his hand and firmly slapping his glasses into his palm.

“I’m fitting ’em with a fucking pager.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She nods, the grin ratcheted up. “Sí, pero usted conoce a alguien mejor, cuando no ver lo que los enfurece. Y los americanos son muy, muy bueno en el supuesto que alguien que habla español no sabe Inglés, que es ideal para espiar.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
The fact that Patrick just emerged and missed the whole ‘owning’ bit seems to amuse her, and she nods to him. “Welcome back.”

We got ’em, she says. Remy, climbing onto the plastic sheets and shutting the door and buckling himself in as she gets this show on the road, tosses her an approving glance.

“Good girl. I hate having to clean up after someone else. So you got a name, or am I just going to call you ‘girl’ for the rest of your life?”

[Drew Roscoe]
He finally gets around to asking about a name, and that gets a bit of a chuckle from the Kinfolk. “Girl works fine. Or Drew. Or if you wanna get on my great side, Long Shot.” Kin had to work hard to get something close to a deed name, you better believe she was proud of hers.

The drive back to The Brotherhood of Thieves wasn’t a difficult one, she didn’t have to ask him once about directions, she’s obviously been a few times before (truth be told, she’s driven there several times but it was a rare thing that she would actually go inside– paranoia instilled by a fanatic was a difficult thing to shake). A few turns, stoplights, and a dozen or so blocks of main road are eaten up by the unnecessarily large truck for an urban setting before they’re in the parking lot, around by the employee door that the Garou typically used rather than the customer entrance.

Remy’d get dropped off with a name, phone number, and an explanation that she could be reached at any time because Family didn’t get a day off.

“Eso es muy, muy profundo,” he says, nodding. “Maar as ek praat soos hierdie, die polisie dink dat ek hier is onwettig. En dan–”

His brother grabs his hand and slaps his sunglasses into them. There is no melting relief from the Theurge, but he does say something strange as a dog walking on its hind legs:

“Thanks, man.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Oh, now changing tongues on me, that’s just not fair.” She smirks. “Was the one you had still tied in knots?”

Patrick has absolutely no notion of what the pair are speaking when he slaps those sunglasses back into his Alpha’s hand. He therefore possesses the expression of someone standing amongst a number of his peers speaking Chinese on the bus while he stands among them; entirely unfocused on their conversation.

Howard thanks him; and his pack-mate doesn’t comment, but sets his hand on his bony shoulder as he passes by on the way to the counter.

After he returns his sunglasses to his face there is no dawning change in the young man’s demeanor; he did not shut down simply because he couldn’t see a damned thing. Any difference in how he typically acts wasn’t likely to be noticed by anyone other than Patrick, who was too busy hunting for his aviators to notice he wasn’t standing up or flailing his arms around like an over-caffeinated college professor.

Black shades in place, he sees her smirks and raises it with a self-satisfied, teeth-baring grin.

“Now why would my tongue be tied in anythin’?”

[thanks for the RP, all! *jets*]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She leans back with a chuckle. “I don’t know. It sure seemed to be twisted around something not very long ago. I thought maybe whatserface could maybe pull off that trick where you tie a cherry stem with your tongue.”

Hunter has been dozing off, his head in his arms on the table. Thankfully he doesn’t snore, that’s reserved for those of.. larger calibre.. He sleeps quietly.. if you don’t count the yips and puppy noises that come out of his mouth as he chases cars down never ending streets in a city where it’s summer all the time.

When he wakes it is sudden, his head comes up and he looks around for familiar faces.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Morning. sunshine.”

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 1, 3 (Botch x 2 at target 7)
“I’ve got somethin’ she can–”

Up comes Hunter. Howard seems to have found his sunglasses again, or had someone find them for him.

“Good mornin’, sunshine!” he crows, almost simultaneously with Sarita, and hauls off to kick Hunter under the table.



[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“1, 2, 3, JINX!”


Hunter seems most confused by all of this. “The fuck?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“What, you’ve never heard of that? Two people say the same thing, whoever says ‘1-2-3 Jinx’ first means the other can’t talk and if they do, they owe the Jinxer something to drink. I’ll put it on your tab.”

Howard looks over to Hunter as if to confirm what he’s about to say before he goes ahead and says it.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard all fuckin’ night, and I’ve been hangin’ out with this dickhead since about five o’clock.” He stands, somewhat abruptly, and starts off towards the restrooms. “I gotta take a leak, hold that thought.”


“That sort’a shit will get ya’ fuckin’ beat up in LA.” He says and pushes back from the table to stretch his arms and back. It’s a glorious stretch, bone popping and groan inducing.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Mmm, they can try.” She grins, like she would enjoy the opportunity. “I may not hit harder, but I fight dirtier.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She takes a sip of her coffee. “So, this a usual hangout, or just a place lucky enough to serve as such for the night?”

The Galliard of Caldera has been placing an order at the bar. He turns, eventually, with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand and makes his way over to the table where Sarita and Hunter are sitting. He turns his chair the wrong way, and braces his elbows on the spine of it; cradling his coffee.

He studies both faces as he sips.

“Howard in the toilet?” He asks the Bone Gnawer, with no small amount of surprise. Howard was always in the bathroom, if he wasn’t outside smoking. “Guy has a bladder the side of a walnut.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She grins. “I assume we’re not talking about some genetically-engineered super-walnut that grows to ginormous size and rampages through Walnut Tokyo, right?”

“Nah,” Patrick says with little inflection save the way his pale brows rise. “Would you want to see his super walnut?” He shakes his head, leans his weight back from the chair back; it protests the motion with a wooden creaking.

“I sure as hell don’t, and I live with the guy.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Yeah, no thanks. You seen one walnut, you seen ’em all. Besides, I left my industrial-strength nutcracker back in the van.”

That earns the female a chuckle, a brief, almost soundless affair before the Galliard drains his mug; glances at the bathroom door, then at the (apparently) dosing Bone Gnawer. “I hate to leave you alone with this guy,” a nudge of the Ahroun’s leg, he twitches but does not stir.

“But I gotta head home, hit the showers. I reek of motors.” Patrick rises, and twists the chair right way around. He nods at Sarita, and heads for the bar to deposit his empty mug on the way out. “Take it easy, yeah.”

With that, the Rage-intensive young man pushes out the door into the night.

[Sorry guys, my brain is pretty well mush! Thanks for the RP! ]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She grins and watches him go. “Don’t have too much fun. Have a good one.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
[[Probably a good place for me to go get some sleep too.]]

She finishes up her coffee and rises. “If you’re awake, tell the Mack Daddy I’ll talk to him later. Amy’ll kill me if I don’t get up at a halfway decent hour tomorrow. Don’t have too much fun.” She grins and moves to turn in her mug before heading on out the door.”

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