[Wyrmbreaker] That was not the sort of performance one expects from a Fostern, a Shadow Lord, an Ahroun who calls himself the Alpha of his auspice. Though Wyrmbreaker is instantly on the foe, his snarls caught in his throat and the only sound the clap and snap of his teeth, it took an infuriatingly long time for the bane -- a minor wyrmling at best -- to die. It had more than enough time to call for aid. His luck that it did not; nothing more.
Biting back the urge to growl, the Ahroun twists a small mirror out of his side and drops it on the floor. He finds his reflection in it, hulking and black, one paw planted on the mirror's edge...
...and realmside, air rushing away from his instantaneously appearing body presses against eardrums; rustles paperwork and indoor plant-leaves.
[Heartland] Imogen, with Alek and Ruarc - still wolf-formed, wait in the still darkness outside the president's office. The office furniture is clearly finer tan that anywhere else in the offices through which they have walked - silent, modern but generic, made of plastic and fiberboard with wood veneers and stain resistant fabrics. Here: the gleam on the receptionist's rather large desk is real wood, well maintained and polished. The contents of that desk are precisely kept, a crisp white blotter, a daybook, a handful of pens in a leather cup banded in gold. The nameplate says, Jackie Hollingbeck, Executive Assistant. There is no computer in sight.
Well-made book shelves behind the desk camoflage a crisp black plasma television. A plush leather sofa sits invitingly against one wall.
--
Two locked doors away, Lukas Wyrmbreaker plunges back through the gauntlet into the hidden file room. The room is narrow and generic, white walls, a handful of closed circuit television feeds, lateral file cabinets, and a huge paper shredder are the dominant furnishings. A single metal desk circa 1968 is an addition, with a pair of armless rolling chairs and a worktable rounding out he contents.
--
- and, somewhere further back, Fate lurks, hidden in the deep shadows, listening to a quiet conversation.
[Blood-Song] Blood-Song scents the air. After Wyrmbreaker vanished to the other side, he took up guard position, scenting the crisp air-conditioned air, eyes gleaming yellow in the weak artificial light, never letting his guard down.
[Wyrmbreaker] The direwolf shakes his head once, hard, to clear his ears. Some faint glistening strands of metallic spiderweb fall from his fur, disappear before they hit the floor. He moves forward -- and up, shifting back into his homid shape in an instant. The mirror is taken and pocketed. A moment after that, Glabro again, huge and cro-magnon, unmistakeably inhuman in all but the briefest of glances.
He goes to the door and unlocks it. The door past that, too, if possible.
[Imogen Slaughter] While they wait, Imogen is not idle. She walks around the administrative desk, pausing briefly to turn the nameplate toward herself. Her brow furrows, then clears as she sets the nameplate down back on its small adhesive markers before turning to the desk.
"No computer," she says, mildly, to no one in particular. Perhaps there is a laptop docking station. Perhaps Ms. Hollingbeck has an incredibly boring job without even the internet to keep her occupied.
Everything she touches, she does so carefully. A finger keeps the place in the day planner, if there is one, as she carefully goes through the appointments, interested in the meetings of the man whom the secretary serves.
The sound of the opening door at her back freezes her, a moment of utter, animal stillness.
She is not Garou. But forgot not her blood of wolves. It's in her blood, and in moments like this - the stillness of a predator and not prey.
She closes the book slowly, then turns toward the door. The glass is one way - and not in her favour, at least unless Wyrmbreaker turns on the office light, letting it seep through, letting vision in, murky and shadowy, merely an effect of the original design rather than intent.
Regardless, when he comes into view, however he does, her hand slowly slides out from the small of her back, empty.
[Heartland] Both doors open, easily from within. He swings open the door from the file room and crosses through the hushed confines of the president's office. There are darkened windows looking onto the factory floor, nothing visible beyond the smoked glass with the production lights off. The office is dominated by a huge mahogany desk and an oversized black leather seat. Leather bound books line the walls. The observant might guess them to be paste mock-ups on closer inspection, ordered from some set-decorating warehouse, shelved about for looks and looks along.
The observant would be correct.
While Imogen pages through the hand-written day calendar, she will see a heavily marked appointment written in an unusual hand two days ago. "ER STRAT MTG, w/HG" the entry says, in big black letters, underlined in sharpie strongly enough to bleed through three days' worth of appointments. There are other appointments, written in that sort of shorthand: some appear to be business related, during office hours. Others include meetings with the Cook County Board of Education, and fundraisers for various politicians running for House or Senate, or for more mundane but just as influential positions - sheriff, magistrate, supreme court, county commissioner, and so on.
[Roman Turner] It was a good thing Lukas got the doors unlocked. A good thing because not long after the swinging doors he had vanished through slipped open and were pushed closed. Blurred as he was, when he moved like this there was no hiding someone or thing was moving. Quiet and swift as he was, there was no hiding doors that suddenly opened and closed and his rapid breathing. And quick as he was, not so far behind him the sound of those swinging doors came as they opened yet again and this time closed on their own accord. There was no hiding the sound of footsteps from more than one. Nor was there any hiding the sweep of flash light beams back behind him. And as soon as he found the others he blurted out in a hushed, breathless whisper.
"Two guards coming this way...didn't see me. It's a setup. Pack of spirals in the warehouse, at least 5 of 'em. Two went umbral to watch, three waiting for guards to lead us to a trap."
It was rushed, it was quick and he barely got it out before he dove back against the wall next to the door leading to the room. Flat on his back with his legs pulled up and facing the doorway.
[Kindly One] [this is not the Fury you thought you saw *jedi mind trick*
Lukas gets back: 2 Gaia's Breath and a Sense Dep]
[Blood-Song] Blood-Song’s shaggy head turns towards the closed door as the first unseen one opens. His ears twitch, turning as he listens to the approaching steps from within. There is tension in the Fianna full-moon, but no sound escapes his fangs for now. Instead, he watches as the second door opens. A glance past Wyrmbreaker, then he moves to take up position near the open doors. He does not enter for now, instead watching their backs as the others go in search of the documents to be moved.
Then Roman shows up, materializing out of the dark to whisper a warning. The yellow eyes of the Lupus is fixed on those lights however. Lips pull back to reveal sharp teeth, but the Lupus shrinks back towards the desk to find cover from those beams of light. Once he is behind the desk, he curls low, stretching his forepaws in under the desk and slowly drags them over the floor, claws scratching over the rug as he sharpens those claws with his auspice gift.
Blood-Song holds for Wyrmbreakers command however, glancing to the fostern.
[1R spent for Razor Claws]
[Wyrmbreaker] "The ones in the Umbra are likely to find the bane I killed. I didn't have time to conceal the remains." He holds the handdrawn map out to Roman. "Show me where the three Spirals are, and where the guards are coming from."
He doesn't have to tell the Ragabash to be quick.
[Roman Turner] He blinked and pointed behind him, hissing.
"Guards, now!"
And slid to the floor against the wall right next to the last door he came through. His intentions? Trip the damned guards.
[Imogen Slaughter] Her reactions are subtle and slight. Roman appears, seemingly from no where as Lukas opens the door, offering his whispered warning. Her gaze lowers toward the Lupus sneaking by her thigh to slide beneath the desk. Her gaze lowered, slightly narrowed, she watches as he tears through the rug to the concrete beneath, his claws igniting a spark as they scrape across stone.
The sound tightens her jaw. Still, she gets the intended meaning.
Her hand, gloved, disappears beneath the fall of her jacket once more, this time coming out with her weapon. It clicks softly as she removes the safety. Wyrmbreaker asks where the guards and Spiral are. Imogen glances beyond him toward the record room she needs, but does not yet move.
[Wyrmbreaker] Oh. That close. Wyrmbreaker reacts instantly, a quiet snap of his fingers pointing Roman and Blood-Song to either side of the door -- to flank and ambush whoever comes in.
"You, behind me."
That's to Imogen. And then he's shapeshifting.
[to hispo!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Wyrmbreaker] [FINE THEN, TO CRINOS.]
[Blood-Song] Blood-sing reacts immidiatly, moving behind the door and then his body shifts up as he moves to his war-form, hidden behind the doors, ready to strike in ambush.
[Sta + primal urge]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Wyrmbreaker] [oh hey, i forgot my two glabro dice!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 6 (Failure at target 7)
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen only has a time to glance at the Ahroun Elder, a cool regard, as she moves further back behind Lukas, giving ample space between them and her, half obscured, her weapon by her side, her finger on the trigger guard.
But not, she suspects, for long.
[Wyrmbreaker] [stealth!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Blood-Song] [Stealth? Sneaky? Wut?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] stealth! HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Heartland] Greg [Per + Alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Heartland] Hank [Per + Alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Heartland] [Int + Security: Hank!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Heartland] The quartet can see the flare of flashlights in the reception area through the crack underneath the shut door. It is dark inside the office, and the room seems infinitely smaller with the presence of three Garou, two in their warforms. Outside, the sound of footsteps is muffled by the carpet.
"Those fuckers, man." one of the voice remarks to the other, it has the simmering aura of old grievance, this. "I know how to get them, though. Some day." he says, vicious and wistful at the self-same time. " - some fucking day."
"Shit, Greg," the second voice is shark, a hint of quaver to it. "They've got ears like fucking bats. They hear you makin' threats like that, they'll flay you for sure. I heard from one of the guys at HQ that that chick had pants made out of the skin of someone who mouthed off to her. Like, I heard it was her husband or something."
"Fucking coward. It's easy to take care of them. Stake to the heart or a silver bullet to the - "
The footsteps are closer, now. There is the shaking out of keys and the turning of the doorknob.
Inside the room, in the dim gleam of ambient light, they can see it turn. And then stop.
"Shit. Shit." - says Hank, the nervous one, his voice sharper now, a certain keen point of distress centered therein. " - you think Jackie would've forgotten to lock up, man? The door's unlocked. Still think this is all an overreaction?"
The knob slowly turns back to neutral. The door remains closed.
[Wyrmbreaker] Actually -- the doorknob stops turning. And it begins to turn back.
And at that moment, Wyrmbreaker explodes forward, rears back, slams his clawed footpaw into the door with all his might.
[Wyrmbreaker] [+19!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Heartland] Hank +6
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Blood-Song] [Init +8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7
[Heartland] Greg +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Imogen Slaughter] +9!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Wyrmbreaker] [ambush roll! dex+stealth.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [*sighs, sacrifices lamb* FINE, HAVE MY DINNER. *eats peaches instead*]
[Roman Turner] +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3
[Heartland] Wyrmbreaker: 28
Imogen: 19
Blood-Song: 15
Roman: 10
Greg 9
Hank: 7
[Heartland] Hank: 1a. Electrical Field! 1b. Start running!
Greg: 1. Claw Wyrmbreaker. Rage 1: Claw Blood-Song. Rage 2: Claw Roman.
[Wyrmbreaker] "That one first!" -- Hank.
To Imogen, it sounds like nothing more than a short, savage bark.
[Roman Turner] shift to warform
1a. claw guard
1b claw guard
[Blood-Song] [Declare
1a. Claw Hank
1b. Claw hank
1c. Claw Hank
[Imogen Slaughter] (Letting the Garou be badasses.)
[Wyrmbreaker] 1a. hulksmash door!
b. claw hank
c. bite hank
--> greg if hank dies
[Wyrmbreaker] a. -3 dice!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [dam +5 to door!]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [door!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [whoops, +1 to damage]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [gah! dice all messed up! *LOL*
str + sux -1!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Heartland] Hank - soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Heartland] The door explodes outward, splintering in the face of one of the security guards. He lifts his hands to shield his face, screaming in the face of -
[Wyrmbreaker] b. claw!
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [dam +4]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Heartland] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] b. sdlkfjdklsdjskl. claw -4
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [dam +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] c. bite -5!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Heartland] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 6, 7, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [dam +3!]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 6)
[Heartland] The door explodes outward in a frenzy of motion. Wyrmbreaker barks a sharp, savage command. Before the others have had the chance to react, the Shadow Lord dispatches the quaver-voiced Hank, who was standing at the door, his ringful of keys still in hand.
His body is torn in two, quite literally, and the blood is spattered around the room in great, spurting gouts from the torn and broken corpse - the last beat, the last two beats, of the dead man's heart. The word painted red, and then nothing. His flashlight rolls quietly on the carpeted floor, under the desk. Beyond him, the second guard is snarling in reaction.
[Imogen Slaughter] Perception+alertness. HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 5, 5, 8, 10 (Failure at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Imogen Slaughter] RAR!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Blood-Song] [1a. Claw Greg -3 split ]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Blood-Song] [Damage + 5 ]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 6)
[Heartland] Imogen is still within the president's office, behind the Garou scrambling to get through the now-shattered door. Wyrmbreaker barks, the door shatters. Hank cries out, some death-gurgle - and Imogen notices the flare of a flashlight up, the disc of light skimming along the glass.
to Imogen Slaughter
[Heartland] Greg Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Blood-Song] [last claw -5 split]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Heartland] Rage back?
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 7 (Failure at target 8)
[Blood-Song] [damage +4]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 10 at target 6)
[Heartland] The second guard falls as quickly as the first. There is a haze of blood in the air, sharp, the shattered door, the pair of corpses - a great confusion of bodies and rage in a small space. The assistant's chair has been knocked on its side and is covered in blood. Her blotter is soaked. The stillness that follows the brief skirmish is almost preternatural.
[Roman Turner] Well that was over fast and all he could say in the sudden moment of violence was.
"There went surprise. And there's five more of them, a pack for sure. Boy howdy, two were Umbral get ready for incoming."
He took up position within reach of Imogen fully intending to shield her.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's voice, low, quiet breaks the preternatural silence. She is quiet to begin with. She is almost soft now.
"There's more coming. A flashlight," A twist of her head, sharp, indicative toward the one-way glass at the front of the office. "Down there."
A glance at the beast as it moves toward her. She has can hazard a guess as to who it is.
"Make yeh a deal," she says. "I'll stay out o' the way. And you stay wi' the others."
[Blood-Song] Blood-Song straightens up from the bloody mess that was the remains of Greg, turning massive snout to look around. He shakes his claws almost lazily, splattering blood on the floor around the corpse.
He turns his gaze to Roman, huffing in agreement, then looks to Wyrmbreaker until Imogen speaks up. His head twists back towards the one way glass.
[Roman Turner] He was chestnut and shaggy but his head turned toward Imogen with a flicking of ears, one swiveling her way. And his attention went to the one way glass. He wasn't going to squish through the broken door with the others, he was eying the glass like something might come through or he might do the honors.
"Coming."
The single yip given to the others.
[Wyrmbreaker] [to hispo, ffs!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] The guards are dispatched in the blink of an eye, fast enough that the flashlight is still lolling back and forth on the ground when Wyrmbreaker picks it up. In his massive handpaw, it looks like a penlight. Delicately, with one claw, he switches it off.
Darkness. Roman alerts them. Wyrmbreaker motions them back, into the inner office, behind the one-way glass.
"Back to back. Be alert. Those two in the Umbral will try to ambush us from the other side if they have half a brain between them."
He stoops again, sweeping the guards' guns off the ground and handing them -- not tossing, but handing -- to Imogen.
"Check." English is guttural and gruff in this form -- "If silver, use."
-- and then simply impossible as he completes the shift to his direwolf form.
[Blood-Song] Blood-Song glances around, then follows Wyrmbreaker’s command, moving in to form up with the others. Back to back, hopefully they would not be taken by surprise at any rate.
He remains in crinos, hulking and massive, lips pulled back as if snarling, but he does not let any sound aside from the ragged breathing escape from him.
~we could bring fight to them. Take them through wall? Keep moving to avoid ambush.~
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen regards the war-formed Garou evenly as she slides her own weapon back into its holster and takes the weapons, silent.
She checks chambers or clips expertly, quickly. In the end, one gun is set aside. The other remains in her hand, unfamiliar in her grip.
The Garou speak to each other. She can only dimly guess that they are speaking. The language is impossible.
[Wyrmbreaker] "No."
For a moment it seems that's all he'll say; all the explanation he'll give. Then he nods to the doorway.
"They can only come through that door single-file. We can see them before they come." He indicates the one-way glass. "And the Gauntlet here is stronger. While I was on the other side I failed to press through once, right here. Spiders will have reinforced it further by now.
"Besides. The files are still in there. Without them, this is an exercise in futility. They'll be back up and running in weeks."
[Heartland] Imogen noted the flash of the flashlight across the glass. By the time she draws the others' attention to it, the light is gone. Outside, the factory floor is too dark to be seen through the glass. There is a certain overarching quiet except when the Garou grunt or growl, speaking quietly as they shoulder their way through the inner office. Of the two weapons collected by Wyrmbreaker, one has a clip with the soft bullets gleaming silver in the darkness.
Somewhere, blood is dripping from a high plane to a lower one. From the secretary's chair, perhaps, onto the floor, where it pools dark and crimson: drip drip drip, drip drip drip.
Drip
- drip
--- drip.
Otherwise, the room is quiet except for the labored breathing of the Garou, as they huff back and forth in a language Imogen cannot understand.
Then, the silence is shattered. The old-fashioned black dial-faced phone on the president's desk, a relic it seemed - one of those kitschy office decorations concealing a clock or a candy bowl -
- rings.
[Wyrmbreaker] The Shadow Lord's head snaps around, ears pinning. A beat. Then he chuffs at Imogen. Maybe he means unplug it. Maybe he means pick it up.
[Roman Turner] He nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone rang and moved closer to Imogen, trying to keep her inside a triangle of Garou because he had a bad feeling.
[Blood-Song] Blood-Songs ears swivel, straining to pick up any sound over the dripping of blood. The sudden ringing of the phone causes his head to jerk around, a low growl escaping him.
[Imogen Slaughter] Wyrmbreaker is the Ahroun Elder of the Sept. He is a Fostern in a Sept of Cliaths, a Shadow Lord. He is predisposed to leading. To wanting to lead, when there is a gap.
When he directs the kinfolk, he finds it unnecessary. After a bare moment of surprise, the kinwoman crosses the room, the only human (not quite) in the room, she is the only one with the necessary appendages to answer the phone. Or unplug it.
She presses the speaker phone button, opening the phone to the room.
She says nothing. She merely waits, the absence of ringing, the hum of an open line the only sign that the call has been answered.
[Roman Turner] For a horrible moment he had to fight the sudden urge to breath/pant heavily into the speaker of the phone. It was nearly overwhelming and vastly amusing to him. Just like any kid doing a prank phone call.
"Is your refrigerator running?"
All sorts of humor flashed through his brain in that split second of waiting.
[Heartland] There is silence from the other end, too. There is just the hum of the telephone line, perhaps the caller as muted the originating handset. Maybe it is an automated sales call, and this is the moment of silence between the point of attachment, when the computer finds it has reached a living person, and the point of transfer, when the call center employee in Bangalore or Split or Cheyboigan jumps in with an offer you cannot resist. Credit monitoring or ID theft. Free vacations in exchange for sitting through a spiel about time shares. The dolphins or the children in Haiti or your favorite candidate's changes are dying without your $25 contribution. The Economist wants you back, at the low low price of just -
- no. It is not one of those calls. The silence extends for three heartbeats, then four.
Then, a woman's voice like a curl of smoke lingering over a glass of whiskey that gleams in low light.
It takes them a moment to hear inside that voice that she is laughing.
"Speaker phone. Hear that?" the suggestion of background noise, a grunt or a snort, quickly swallowed. "The Alpha's there. If he is not, tell him this:
"I don't give a [i]fuck[/] about this place. I have two machine guns and a grenade launcher trained on your position. You can die up there like cowards. Or you can skulk out and die like Garou. Either way," the suggestion of a rich laugh, "I am going to find your kin when we are done, and claim them for myself. Skin and blood and flesh and bones. Or you can give yourselves over to the truth you each know in your guts and in your bones. The Father's winning. The Father is winning and his war is sacred. Is necessary as breathing.
"Make your choice," she finishes, then. If she has not been interrupted. If they have not shut off the connection. "Either way, I look forward to hearing your screams."
[Heartland] There is silence from the other end, too. There is just the hum of the telephone line, perhaps the caller as muted the originating handset. Maybe it is an automated sales call, and this is the moment of silence between the point of attachment, when the computer finds it has reached a living person, and the point of transfer, when the call center employee in Bangalore or Split or Cheyboigan jumps in with an offer you cannot resist. Credit monitoring or ID theft. Free vacations in exchange for sitting through a spiel about time shares. The dolphins or the children in Haiti or your favorite candidate's changes are dying without your $25 contribution. The Economist wants you back, at the low low price of just -
- no. It is not one of those calls. The silence extends for three heartbeats, then four.
Then, a woman's voice like a curl of smoke lingering over a glass of whiskey that gleams in low light.
It takes them a moment to hear inside that voice that she is laughing.
"Speaker phone. Hear that?" the suggestion of background noise, a grunt or a snort, quickly swallowed. "The Alpha's there. If he is not, tell him this:
"I don't give a fuck about this place. I have two machine guns and a grenade launcher trained on your position. You can die up there like cowards. Or you can skulk out and die like Garou. Either way," the suggestion of a rich laugh, "I am going to find your kin when we are done, and claim them for myself. Skin and blood and flesh and bones. Or you can give yourselves over to the truth you each know in your guts and in your bones. The Father's winning. The Father is winning and his war is sacred. Is necessary as breathing.
"Make your choice," she finishes, then. If she has not been interrupted. If they have not shut off the connection. "Either way, I look forward to hearing your screams."
[Imogen Slaughter] Perception+Alertness! HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
to Heartland
[Roman Turner] Well, they could fire through the window, that would work. Otherwise, he couldn't figure out how they planned on using those weapons. The Garou could cross over, that would make the weapons pretty mute but then Imogen went boom. That thought kind of irked him. When he was irked he kind of did silly things. So though his response came out as growls and snarls, the other side would understand him.
"Eeewwweee, I am shaking in my boots. Ain't everyday a goat raper calls for a donation."
[Wyrmbreaker] [HAIL KAHSEENO!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]
[Imogen Slaughter] When the growls come, Imogen promptly taps the phone on mute, "Don't give them anything they can use," she says in the direction of the Garou whom she suspects may be Roman by his proximity. "They're trying to rile yeh up, and every one o' you who speaks, yeh give away numbers, and I imagine, yer form, possibly as much as yer position."
A beat.
"Whichever one o' you is Wyrmbreaker: yeh won't gain anythin' from this conversation. End it, decide yer plan and act. She's exaggerating. It's fer show."
A sudden, improbable smirk twists her mouth. "Growl, if yeh agree."
[Blood-Song] Blood-Song doesn’t respond to the insults. His head is turning around slowly, looking at their situation, searching for options. Then Roman replies. It makes the massive Crinos half turn towards the young Ragabash, looking at him for a moment before huffing and looking back towards the doors. He isn’t to keen on leaving Imogen behind by shifting over to the other side either, into whatever trap was waiting there with banes and spirals. His gaze is drawn to the one way windows, considering them.
[Heartland] She's mostly sincere; still, there was something to the speech that pinged his senses. When Imogen says that she's exaggerating, she's likely right. The firepower: she's exaggerating about the firepower.
to Wyrmbreaker
[Wyrmbreaker] There's a pause; the hispo's head cocking. It's hard to catch the nuances of the woman's -- the Dancer's -- tone. It's hard to be certain of what he's hearing. He knows they're looking to him to make this call, though. He knows what he decides in the next split-second could well determine whether they all live or die. That's the burden he took on willingly. It's not one he backs down from now.
Wyrmbreaker crosses the room. He flows into his human shape. He picks up the phone and says, courteously:
"Come and get us, ikthya."
He hangs up and turns to the others. His tone is level, utterly calm.
"The only reason they're calling us," he says, "is to taunt us in hopes of luring us out. If we didn't have an advantage in here, they would never do that. If they had that kind of firepower, they would've used it already.
"Get in position. Be ready. Roman, remember to heal. And stay out of Slaughter's line of fire."
He drops forward -- direwolf again.
[Blood-Song] [Note: Ruarc has spent 1R 2G, 1 WP. He has BB activated (4HL's, Soak talen, 2 extra soak dice, Brawl 4 + 3(ancestors), Resist Toxin activated. Razor claws activated]
[Heartland] [Pausedly pause pause!]
Biting back the urge to growl, the Ahroun twists a small mirror out of his side and drops it on the floor. He finds his reflection in it, hulking and black, one paw planted on the mirror's edge...
...and realmside, air rushing away from his instantaneously appearing body presses against eardrums; rustles paperwork and indoor plant-leaves.
[Heartland] Imogen, with Alek and Ruarc - still wolf-formed, wait in the still darkness outside the president's office. The office furniture is clearly finer tan that anywhere else in the offices through which they have walked - silent, modern but generic, made of plastic and fiberboard with wood veneers and stain resistant fabrics. Here: the gleam on the receptionist's rather large desk is real wood, well maintained and polished. The contents of that desk are precisely kept, a crisp white blotter, a daybook, a handful of pens in a leather cup banded in gold. The nameplate says, Jackie Hollingbeck, Executive Assistant. There is no computer in sight.
Well-made book shelves behind the desk camoflage a crisp black plasma television. A plush leather sofa sits invitingly against one wall.
--
Two locked doors away, Lukas Wyrmbreaker plunges back through the gauntlet into the hidden file room. The room is narrow and generic, white walls, a handful of closed circuit television feeds, lateral file cabinets, and a huge paper shredder are the dominant furnishings. A single metal desk circa 1968 is an addition, with a pair of armless rolling chairs and a worktable rounding out he contents.
--
- and, somewhere further back, Fate lurks, hidden in the deep shadows, listening to a quiet conversation.
[Blood-Song] Blood-Song scents the air. After Wyrmbreaker vanished to the other side, he took up guard position, scenting the crisp air-conditioned air, eyes gleaming yellow in the weak artificial light, never letting his guard down.
[Wyrmbreaker] The direwolf shakes his head once, hard, to clear his ears. Some faint glistening strands of metallic spiderweb fall from his fur, disappear before they hit the floor. He moves forward -- and up, shifting back into his homid shape in an instant. The mirror is taken and pocketed. A moment after that, Glabro again, huge and cro-magnon, unmistakeably inhuman in all but the briefest of glances.
He goes to the door and unlocks it. The door past that, too, if possible.
[Imogen Slaughter] While they wait, Imogen is not idle. She walks around the administrative desk, pausing briefly to turn the nameplate toward herself. Her brow furrows, then clears as she sets the nameplate down back on its small adhesive markers before turning to the desk.
"No computer," she says, mildly, to no one in particular. Perhaps there is a laptop docking station. Perhaps Ms. Hollingbeck has an incredibly boring job without even the internet to keep her occupied.
Everything she touches, she does so carefully. A finger keeps the place in the day planner, if there is one, as she carefully goes through the appointments, interested in the meetings of the man whom the secretary serves.
The sound of the opening door at her back freezes her, a moment of utter, animal stillness.
She is not Garou. But forgot not her blood of wolves. It's in her blood, and in moments like this - the stillness of a predator and not prey.
She closes the book slowly, then turns toward the door. The glass is one way - and not in her favour, at least unless Wyrmbreaker turns on the office light, letting it seep through, letting vision in, murky and shadowy, merely an effect of the original design rather than intent.
Regardless, when he comes into view, however he does, her hand slowly slides out from the small of her back, empty.
[Heartland] Both doors open, easily from within. He swings open the door from the file room and crosses through the hushed confines of the president's office. There are darkened windows looking onto the factory floor, nothing visible beyond the smoked glass with the production lights off. The office is dominated by a huge mahogany desk and an oversized black leather seat. Leather bound books line the walls. The observant might guess them to be paste mock-ups on closer inspection, ordered from some set-decorating warehouse, shelved about for looks and looks along.
The observant would be correct.
While Imogen pages through the hand-written day calendar, she will see a heavily marked appointment written in an unusual hand two days ago. "ER STRAT MTG, w/HG" the entry says, in big black letters, underlined in sharpie strongly enough to bleed through three days' worth of appointments. There are other appointments, written in that sort of shorthand: some appear to be business related, during office hours. Others include meetings with the Cook County Board of Education, and fundraisers for various politicians running for House or Senate, or for more mundane but just as influential positions - sheriff, magistrate, supreme court, county commissioner, and so on.
[Roman Turner] It was a good thing Lukas got the doors unlocked. A good thing because not long after the swinging doors he had vanished through slipped open and were pushed closed. Blurred as he was, when he moved like this there was no hiding someone or thing was moving. Quiet and swift as he was, there was no hiding doors that suddenly opened and closed and his rapid breathing. And quick as he was, not so far behind him the sound of those swinging doors came as they opened yet again and this time closed on their own accord. There was no hiding the sound of footsteps from more than one. Nor was there any hiding the sweep of flash light beams back behind him. And as soon as he found the others he blurted out in a hushed, breathless whisper.
"Two guards coming this way...didn't see me. It's a setup. Pack of spirals in the warehouse, at least 5 of 'em. Two went umbral to watch, three waiting for guards to lead us to a trap."
It was rushed, it was quick and he barely got it out before he dove back against the wall next to the door leading to the room. Flat on his back with his legs pulled up and facing the doorway.
[Kindly One] [this is not the Fury you thought you saw *jedi mind trick*
Lukas gets back: 2 Gaia's Breath and a Sense Dep]
[Blood-Song] Blood-Song’s shaggy head turns towards the closed door as the first unseen one opens. His ears twitch, turning as he listens to the approaching steps from within. There is tension in the Fianna full-moon, but no sound escapes his fangs for now. Instead, he watches as the second door opens. A glance past Wyrmbreaker, then he moves to take up position near the open doors. He does not enter for now, instead watching their backs as the others go in search of the documents to be moved.
Then Roman shows up, materializing out of the dark to whisper a warning. The yellow eyes of the Lupus is fixed on those lights however. Lips pull back to reveal sharp teeth, but the Lupus shrinks back towards the desk to find cover from those beams of light. Once he is behind the desk, he curls low, stretching his forepaws in under the desk and slowly drags them over the floor, claws scratching over the rug as he sharpens those claws with his auspice gift.
Blood-Song holds for Wyrmbreakers command however, glancing to the fostern.
[1R spent for Razor Claws]
[Wyrmbreaker] "The ones in the Umbra are likely to find the bane I killed. I didn't have time to conceal the remains." He holds the handdrawn map out to Roman. "Show me where the three Spirals are, and where the guards are coming from."
He doesn't have to tell the Ragabash to be quick.
[Roman Turner] He blinked and pointed behind him, hissing.
"Guards, now!"
And slid to the floor against the wall right next to the last door he came through. His intentions? Trip the damned guards.
[Imogen Slaughter] Her reactions are subtle and slight. Roman appears, seemingly from no where as Lukas opens the door, offering his whispered warning. Her gaze lowers toward the Lupus sneaking by her thigh to slide beneath the desk. Her gaze lowered, slightly narrowed, she watches as he tears through the rug to the concrete beneath, his claws igniting a spark as they scrape across stone.
The sound tightens her jaw. Still, she gets the intended meaning.
Her hand, gloved, disappears beneath the fall of her jacket once more, this time coming out with her weapon. It clicks softly as she removes the safety. Wyrmbreaker asks where the guards and Spiral are. Imogen glances beyond him toward the record room she needs, but does not yet move.
[Wyrmbreaker] Oh. That close. Wyrmbreaker reacts instantly, a quiet snap of his fingers pointing Roman and Blood-Song to either side of the door -- to flank and ambush whoever comes in.
"You, behind me."
That's to Imogen. And then he's shapeshifting.
[to hispo!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Wyrmbreaker] [FINE THEN, TO CRINOS.]
[Blood-Song] Blood-sing reacts immidiatly, moving behind the door and then his body shifts up as he moves to his war-form, hidden behind the doors, ready to strike in ambush.
[Sta + primal urge]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Wyrmbreaker] [oh hey, i forgot my two glabro dice!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 6 (Failure at target 7)
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen only has a time to glance at the Ahroun Elder, a cool regard, as she moves further back behind Lukas, giving ample space between them and her, half obscured, her weapon by her side, her finger on the trigger guard.
But not, she suspects, for long.
[Wyrmbreaker] [stealth!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Blood-Song] [Stealth? Sneaky? Wut?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] stealth! HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Heartland] Greg [Per + Alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Heartland] Hank [Per + Alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Heartland] [Int + Security: Hank!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Heartland] The quartet can see the flare of flashlights in the reception area through the crack underneath the shut door. It is dark inside the office, and the room seems infinitely smaller with the presence of three Garou, two in their warforms. Outside, the sound of footsteps is muffled by the carpet.
"Those fuckers, man." one of the voice remarks to the other, it has the simmering aura of old grievance, this. "I know how to get them, though. Some day." he says, vicious and wistful at the self-same time. " - some fucking day."
"Shit, Greg," the second voice is shark, a hint of quaver to it. "They've got ears like fucking bats. They hear you makin' threats like that, they'll flay you for sure. I heard from one of the guys at HQ that that chick had pants made out of the skin of someone who mouthed off to her. Like, I heard it was her husband or something."
"Fucking coward. It's easy to take care of them. Stake to the heart or a silver bullet to the - "
The footsteps are closer, now. There is the shaking out of keys and the turning of the doorknob.
Inside the room, in the dim gleam of ambient light, they can see it turn. And then stop.
"Shit. Shit." - says Hank, the nervous one, his voice sharper now, a certain keen point of distress centered therein. " - you think Jackie would've forgotten to lock up, man? The door's unlocked. Still think this is all an overreaction?"
The knob slowly turns back to neutral. The door remains closed.
[Wyrmbreaker] Actually -- the doorknob stops turning. And it begins to turn back.
And at that moment, Wyrmbreaker explodes forward, rears back, slams his clawed footpaw into the door with all his might.
[Wyrmbreaker] [+19!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Heartland] Hank +6
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Blood-Song] [Init +8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7
[Heartland] Greg +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Imogen Slaughter] +9!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Wyrmbreaker] [ambush roll! dex+stealth.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [*sighs, sacrifices lamb* FINE, HAVE MY DINNER. *eats peaches instead*]
[Roman Turner] +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3
[Heartland] Wyrmbreaker: 28
Imogen: 19
Blood-Song: 15
Roman: 10
Greg 9
Hank: 7
[Heartland] Hank: 1a. Electrical Field! 1b. Start running!
Greg: 1. Claw Wyrmbreaker. Rage 1: Claw Blood-Song. Rage 2: Claw Roman.
[Wyrmbreaker] "That one first!" -- Hank.
To Imogen, it sounds like nothing more than a short, savage bark.
[Roman Turner] shift to warform
1a. claw guard
1b claw guard
[Blood-Song] [Declare
1a. Claw Hank
1b. Claw hank
1c. Claw Hank
[Imogen Slaughter] (Letting the Garou be badasses.)
[Wyrmbreaker] 1a. hulksmash door!
b. claw hank
c. bite hank
--> greg if hank dies
[Wyrmbreaker] a. -3 dice!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [dam +5 to door!]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [door!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [whoops, +1 to damage]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [gah! dice all messed up! *LOL*
str + sux -1!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Heartland] Hank - soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Heartland] The door explodes outward, splintering in the face of one of the security guards. He lifts his hands to shield his face, screaming in the face of -
[Wyrmbreaker] b. claw!
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [dam +4]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Heartland] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] b. sdlkfjdklsdjskl. claw -4
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [dam +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] c. bite -5!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Heartland] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 6, 7, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] [dam +3!]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 6)
[Heartland] The door explodes outward in a frenzy of motion. Wyrmbreaker barks a sharp, savage command. Before the others have had the chance to react, the Shadow Lord dispatches the quaver-voiced Hank, who was standing at the door, his ringful of keys still in hand.
His body is torn in two, quite literally, and the blood is spattered around the room in great, spurting gouts from the torn and broken corpse - the last beat, the last two beats, of the dead man's heart. The word painted red, and then nothing. His flashlight rolls quietly on the carpeted floor, under the desk. Beyond him, the second guard is snarling in reaction.
[Imogen Slaughter] Perception+alertness. HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 5, 5, 8, 10 (Failure at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Imogen Slaughter] RAR!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Blood-Song] [1a. Claw Greg -3 split ]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Blood-Song] [Damage + 5 ]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 6)
[Heartland] Imogen is still within the president's office, behind the Garou scrambling to get through the now-shattered door. Wyrmbreaker barks, the door shatters. Hank cries out, some death-gurgle - and Imogen notices the flare of a flashlight up, the disc of light skimming along the glass.
to Imogen Slaughter
[Heartland] Greg Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Blood-Song] [last claw -5 split]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Heartland] Rage back?
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 7 (Failure at target 8)
[Blood-Song] [damage +4]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 10 at target 6)
[Heartland] The second guard falls as quickly as the first. There is a haze of blood in the air, sharp, the shattered door, the pair of corpses - a great confusion of bodies and rage in a small space. The assistant's chair has been knocked on its side and is covered in blood. Her blotter is soaked. The stillness that follows the brief skirmish is almost preternatural.
[Roman Turner] Well that was over fast and all he could say in the sudden moment of violence was.
"There went surprise. And there's five more of them, a pack for sure. Boy howdy, two were Umbral get ready for incoming."
He took up position within reach of Imogen fully intending to shield her.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's voice, low, quiet breaks the preternatural silence. She is quiet to begin with. She is almost soft now.
"There's more coming. A flashlight," A twist of her head, sharp, indicative toward the one-way glass at the front of the office. "Down there."
A glance at the beast as it moves toward her. She has can hazard a guess as to who it is.
"Make yeh a deal," she says. "I'll stay out o' the way. And you stay wi' the others."
[Blood-Song] Blood-Song straightens up from the bloody mess that was the remains of Greg, turning massive snout to look around. He shakes his claws almost lazily, splattering blood on the floor around the corpse.
He turns his gaze to Roman, huffing in agreement, then looks to Wyrmbreaker until Imogen speaks up. His head twists back towards the one way glass.
[Roman Turner] He was chestnut and shaggy but his head turned toward Imogen with a flicking of ears, one swiveling her way. And his attention went to the one way glass. He wasn't going to squish through the broken door with the others, he was eying the glass like something might come through or he might do the honors.
"Coming."
The single yip given to the others.
[Wyrmbreaker] [to hispo, ffs!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Wyrmbreaker] The guards are dispatched in the blink of an eye, fast enough that the flashlight is still lolling back and forth on the ground when Wyrmbreaker picks it up. In his massive handpaw, it looks like a penlight. Delicately, with one claw, he switches it off.
Darkness. Roman alerts them. Wyrmbreaker motions them back, into the inner office, behind the one-way glass.
"Back to back. Be alert. Those two in the Umbral will try to ambush us from the other side if they have half a brain between them."
He stoops again, sweeping the guards' guns off the ground and handing them -- not tossing, but handing -- to Imogen.
"Check." English is guttural and gruff in this form -- "If silver, use."
-- and then simply impossible as he completes the shift to his direwolf form.
[Blood-Song] Blood-Song glances around, then follows Wyrmbreaker’s command, moving in to form up with the others. Back to back, hopefully they would not be taken by surprise at any rate.
He remains in crinos, hulking and massive, lips pulled back as if snarling, but he does not let any sound aside from the ragged breathing escape from him.
~we could bring fight to them. Take them through wall? Keep moving to avoid ambush.~
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen regards the war-formed Garou evenly as she slides her own weapon back into its holster and takes the weapons, silent.
She checks chambers or clips expertly, quickly. In the end, one gun is set aside. The other remains in her hand, unfamiliar in her grip.
The Garou speak to each other. She can only dimly guess that they are speaking. The language is impossible.
[Wyrmbreaker] "No."
For a moment it seems that's all he'll say; all the explanation he'll give. Then he nods to the doorway.
"They can only come through that door single-file. We can see them before they come." He indicates the one-way glass. "And the Gauntlet here is stronger. While I was on the other side I failed to press through once, right here. Spiders will have reinforced it further by now.
"Besides. The files are still in there. Without them, this is an exercise in futility. They'll be back up and running in weeks."
[Heartland] Imogen noted the flash of the flashlight across the glass. By the time she draws the others' attention to it, the light is gone. Outside, the factory floor is too dark to be seen through the glass. There is a certain overarching quiet except when the Garou grunt or growl, speaking quietly as they shoulder their way through the inner office. Of the two weapons collected by Wyrmbreaker, one has a clip with the soft bullets gleaming silver in the darkness.
Somewhere, blood is dripping from a high plane to a lower one. From the secretary's chair, perhaps, onto the floor, where it pools dark and crimson: drip drip drip, drip drip drip.
Drip
- drip
--- drip.
Otherwise, the room is quiet except for the labored breathing of the Garou, as they huff back and forth in a language Imogen cannot understand.
Then, the silence is shattered. The old-fashioned black dial-faced phone on the president's desk, a relic it seemed - one of those kitschy office decorations concealing a clock or a candy bowl -
- rings.
[Wyrmbreaker] The Shadow Lord's head snaps around, ears pinning. A beat. Then he chuffs at Imogen. Maybe he means unplug it. Maybe he means pick it up.
[Roman Turner] He nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone rang and moved closer to Imogen, trying to keep her inside a triangle of Garou because he had a bad feeling.
[Blood-Song] Blood-Songs ears swivel, straining to pick up any sound over the dripping of blood. The sudden ringing of the phone causes his head to jerk around, a low growl escaping him.
[Imogen Slaughter] Wyrmbreaker is the Ahroun Elder of the Sept. He is a Fostern in a Sept of Cliaths, a Shadow Lord. He is predisposed to leading. To wanting to lead, when there is a gap.
When he directs the kinfolk, he finds it unnecessary. After a bare moment of surprise, the kinwoman crosses the room, the only human (not quite) in the room, she is the only one with the necessary appendages to answer the phone. Or unplug it.
She presses the speaker phone button, opening the phone to the room.
She says nothing. She merely waits, the absence of ringing, the hum of an open line the only sign that the call has been answered.
[Roman Turner] For a horrible moment he had to fight the sudden urge to breath/pant heavily into the speaker of the phone. It was nearly overwhelming and vastly amusing to him. Just like any kid doing a prank phone call.
"Is your refrigerator running?"
All sorts of humor flashed through his brain in that split second of waiting.
[Heartland] There is silence from the other end, too. There is just the hum of the telephone line, perhaps the caller as muted the originating handset. Maybe it is an automated sales call, and this is the moment of silence between the point of attachment, when the computer finds it has reached a living person, and the point of transfer, when the call center employee in Bangalore or Split or Cheyboigan jumps in with an offer you cannot resist. Credit monitoring or ID theft. Free vacations in exchange for sitting through a spiel about time shares. The dolphins or the children in Haiti or your favorite candidate's changes are dying without your $25 contribution. The Economist wants you back, at the low low price of just -
- no. It is not one of those calls. The silence extends for three heartbeats, then four.
Then, a woman's voice like a curl of smoke lingering over a glass of whiskey that gleams in low light.
It takes them a moment to hear inside that voice that she is laughing.
"Speaker phone. Hear that?" the suggestion of background noise, a grunt or a snort, quickly swallowed. "The Alpha's there. If he is not, tell him this:
"I don't give a [i]fuck[/] about this place. I have two machine guns and a grenade launcher trained on your position. You can die up there like cowards. Or you can skulk out and die like Garou. Either way," the suggestion of a rich laugh, "I am going to find your kin when we are done, and claim them for myself. Skin and blood and flesh and bones. Or you can give yourselves over to the truth you each know in your guts and in your bones. The Father's winning. The Father is winning and his war is sacred. Is necessary as breathing.
"Make your choice," she finishes, then. If she has not been interrupted. If they have not shut off the connection. "Either way, I look forward to hearing your screams."
[Heartland] There is silence from the other end, too. There is just the hum of the telephone line, perhaps the caller as muted the originating handset. Maybe it is an automated sales call, and this is the moment of silence between the point of attachment, when the computer finds it has reached a living person, and the point of transfer, when the call center employee in Bangalore or Split or Cheyboigan jumps in with an offer you cannot resist. Credit monitoring or ID theft. Free vacations in exchange for sitting through a spiel about time shares. The dolphins or the children in Haiti or your favorite candidate's changes are dying without your $25 contribution. The Economist wants you back, at the low low price of just -
- no. It is not one of those calls. The silence extends for three heartbeats, then four.
Then, a woman's voice like a curl of smoke lingering over a glass of whiskey that gleams in low light.
It takes them a moment to hear inside that voice that she is laughing.
"Speaker phone. Hear that?" the suggestion of background noise, a grunt or a snort, quickly swallowed. "The Alpha's there. If he is not, tell him this:
"I don't give a fuck about this place. I have two machine guns and a grenade launcher trained on your position. You can die up there like cowards. Or you can skulk out and die like Garou. Either way," the suggestion of a rich laugh, "I am going to find your kin when we are done, and claim them for myself. Skin and blood and flesh and bones. Or you can give yourselves over to the truth you each know in your guts and in your bones. The Father's winning. The Father is winning and his war is sacred. Is necessary as breathing.
"Make your choice," she finishes, then. If she has not been interrupted. If they have not shut off the connection. "Either way, I look forward to hearing your screams."
[Imogen Slaughter] Perception+Alertness! HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
to Heartland
[Roman Turner] Well, they could fire through the window, that would work. Otherwise, he couldn't figure out how they planned on using those weapons. The Garou could cross over, that would make the weapons pretty mute but then Imogen went boom. That thought kind of irked him. When he was irked he kind of did silly things. So though his response came out as growls and snarls, the other side would understand him.
"Eeewwweee, I am shaking in my boots. Ain't everyday a goat raper calls for a donation."
[Wyrmbreaker] [HAIL KAHSEENO!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]
[Imogen Slaughter] When the growls come, Imogen promptly taps the phone on mute, "Don't give them anything they can use," she says in the direction of the Garou whom she suspects may be Roman by his proximity. "They're trying to rile yeh up, and every one o' you who speaks, yeh give away numbers, and I imagine, yer form, possibly as much as yer position."
A beat.
"Whichever one o' you is Wyrmbreaker: yeh won't gain anythin' from this conversation. End it, decide yer plan and act. She's exaggerating. It's fer show."
A sudden, improbable smirk twists her mouth. "Growl, if yeh agree."
[Blood-Song] Blood-Song doesn’t respond to the insults. His head is turning around slowly, looking at their situation, searching for options. Then Roman replies. It makes the massive Crinos half turn towards the young Ragabash, looking at him for a moment before huffing and looking back towards the doors. He isn’t to keen on leaving Imogen behind by shifting over to the other side either, into whatever trap was waiting there with banes and spirals. His gaze is drawn to the one way windows, considering them.
[Heartland] She's mostly sincere; still, there was something to the speech that pinged his senses. When Imogen says that she's exaggerating, she's likely right. The firepower: she's exaggerating about the firepower.
to Wyrmbreaker
[Wyrmbreaker] There's a pause; the hispo's head cocking. It's hard to catch the nuances of the woman's -- the Dancer's -- tone. It's hard to be certain of what he's hearing. He knows they're looking to him to make this call, though. He knows what he decides in the next split-second could well determine whether they all live or die. That's the burden he took on willingly. It's not one he backs down from now.
Wyrmbreaker crosses the room. He flows into his human shape. He picks up the phone and says, courteously:
"Come and get us, ikthya."
He hangs up and turns to the others. His tone is level, utterly calm.
"The only reason they're calling us," he says, "is to taunt us in hopes of luring us out. If we didn't have an advantage in here, they would never do that. If they had that kind of firepower, they would've used it already.
"Get in position. Be ready. Roman, remember to heal. And stay out of Slaughter's line of fire."
He drops forward -- direwolf again.
[Blood-Song] [Note: Ruarc has spent 1R 2G, 1 WP. He has BB activated (4HL's, Soak talen, 2 extra soak dice, Brawl 4 + 3(ancestors), Resist Toxin activated. Razor claws activated]
[Heartland] [Pausedly pause pause!]
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