[Heartland] [Last posts!]
[Heartland]
These are double-doors, smoked glass reinforced. Human sized. The quintet is reflected in the glass: Imogen, slight, Wyrmbreaker hulking behind her, caveman sized. Blood-Song behind them both, war-formed, huge. There is no low profile in war-form, he looks hunched awkward, the size of a small car. To Imogen's doubtless relief, the cameras set into the entrance - below the awning - and between the two sets of entrance doors - are both dead-eyed, turned off.
There is enough room for a handul of people in the foyer area between the doors, the crisp, cool blast of air conditioning. They see an umbrella rack, and the reception area, quiet and as the second set of doors swing open.
The reception area is small, and claustrophobic with the presence a war-formed Garou. There is a high-topped receptionist's desk to their immediate right, and a couch and several armchairs to their left. Ahead, locked double doors lead back to the factory. Beyond the receptionist's desk, a small hallway branches off to the right, heading toward an area marked on the map as "locker rooms." To the left, another door, this one all glass. Beyond it, offices are visible. Or rather, the beginnings of a small warren of cubicals, all decorated in the finest pre-fab furniture staples has to offer.
[Wyrmbreaker]
Once inside, out of the eye of the wider world, Wyrmbreaker reaches upward another rung on the shapeshifting ladder. The last vestiges of humanity drop again. Thick black fur replaces clothing. His posture changes, looming forward, arms longer than human proportion.
He looks behind the receptionist's desk. Sniffs the mouse, the screen on the computer. Gingerly pulls open drawers with a single claw. Provided nothing is remarkable here, he moves to the locker rooms, pushing the door open and tasting the air within as well.
Last, he goes to the office door. He peers through. He bends down and cranes up to sniff around the cracks of the doors, trying to catch a whiff of what's within. A moment or two, tail moving slightly. His claws tick on the floor as he turns back around and, moving, shifts between forms again. He has an ease with his changing body that many human-born Garou do not. Then again, he also has a spirit connection stronger than most.
"Fate," he whispers, "scout ahead on the factory floor. If Slaughter's codes can't get you in, you'll have to get across the door through the Umbra, so pull your cloaking gifts on now. Get a look at where the guard patrols are if you can, and if you have the chance, Peek across and see where the banes are concentrated. Those might be our tainted containers.
"Don't take chances, though. If you can't get an easy look, just leave it. Don't get caught.
"The rest of us: let's get started with those files. And keep an eye out for any links back to suppliers or growers. We'll look into them after."
[Blood-Song] Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[To sway or not to Sway...]
[Roman Turner]
"Yessir, Rhya sir."
He wiggled his brows, shot Imogen a worried look that was combined with pure puppy love, so likely he looked like he had gas. And he pulled for gifts and sneakiness to head for the swinging doors on out to the factory floor.
[Roman Turner] He reached for the gift of Blur of the Milky eye, hoping it worked this time and went for the door to the factory.
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Roman Turner] Sneaky roll
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] He had blurred and snuck for the door. Trying to be as careful as he could. If the door didn't open for him, then shifting would be necessary and he'd try to go across through the Umbra as suggested. This is what he was born to do, he just hoped his lack of super experience didn't get them caught.
per+alert
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Heartland] There are two sets of double-doors leading to the factory floor. In between, off to the right, Roman sees a small galley door leading to a kitchenette or break room. To the left, doors lead off to rest rooms. Neither are marked on the map. There's a small, single light on in the kitchenette, over the sink. The room is otherwise dark but for the glow of the vending machines.
The second set of double doors leads onto the dark factory floor. Roman has an impression of space over his head. The corrugated metal roof is at least two stories, perhaps even two and a half stories at its apex, all dark. There are a handful of lights on here. The production floor is rather more antiseptic than he might have imagined. The machinery is stainless steel, well-kept, gleaming in the low lights. Some things he can recognize on sight: huge industrial mixers, maybe, or machines that look like a cross between a washing machine and a cement mixer. Others are mysterious, with spiraling arms and conveyor belts, whose function is wholly a mystery to him.
Just inside the doors, Roman goes still. He hears voices - human? - and sees the glow of a flashlight not so much sweeping as it is swinging somewhere up ahead.
[Roman Turner] The sound of voices had his attention focusing towards it. Then there was the swing of a flashlight, and really, that kind of confused him because anything on the up and up, they'd just turn on the lights. He lifted his face and drew in a deep breath through his nose, trying to pick up anything he could. Then he slank in the direction of the voices and light.
[Roman Turner] dex + stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Heartland] In his humanskin, his sense of smell is muted, particularly at this distance. The most dominant scent is flour; and underneath that, a sort of antiseptic scent that might remind him of a nursing home or a hospital. There is a thread, a rich undercurrent of baking bread. The production floor is a strange place, full of bizarrely shaped shadows. Roman clings to them, edging closer until they become audible.
The lighting is low enough that his impression of the small group limited. He has the impression, first, of two humans in security uniforms. Blue polyester pants, pale blue cotton button-down shirts. "I'm telling you," one of them says, " - it's just a glitch in the software. Earl's working on it. We'll have the cameras that are down up and running again in no time. It's not - "
There's a certain note of irritation in the man's voice, but underneath, this close, Roman can catch a subtle quaver of fear.
"Shut up." That voice is feminine, rich and soft, threaded with iron, though, with a certain verifiable menace. The flashlight swings, and Roman catches a glimpse of her, hard-faced, with a jagged scar pulling across her mouth like a ghastly, exaggerated grin. "Do your job. We do ours. Your fucking cameras is no coincidence."
He counts, as he closes the distance, seven figures total, arrayed around a small knot of desks and chairs overlooking control panels for some of the lines. Two are dressed as security guards, the rest are in street clothes. The details are unclear, but one of the remaining five has a hideously lumpen appearance, with grotesque growths bulging out from his skin. The female bears a faint trace of pure blood.
After she chastises the guard, she goes quiet. Roman might recognize the manner of her silence - as that of a Garou communicating with packmates through a spirit-bond.
[Roman Turner] He went completely still, waiting, holding his breath nearly. He wasn't going to move or make a sound till they started making noise again. Get in, take a look around, spot what he could then report back. Unlike the female, he didn't have a totem bond he could speak across. And if he had a bond, he didn't have anyone with him he could communicate with. So this was a case of listen and watch. And if the female was communicating like it looked like, then there were more of them around here somewhere. He also knew there were some trying to get the security going again. Just great.
[Heartland] Other than the security guard and the grotesque, tumor-covered male, there is another male, with an extended jaw and an ugly manner about him. He's dressed in jeans and white t-shirt, spattered with blood.
The smallest of the quintet that Roman already guesses to be a pack - it is in the way they move together, and they way they are silent together, in the way the two largest males move in tandem to menace the security guard when he starts to speak again, contrary to the female's orders - the smallest two peel off from the other three. There is a faint whisper of something against his senses, and a subtle pop as first one, then the other, disappears across the umbra.
"Kkryt'chin and Riig'sh," she turns back to the guards, one of whom has edged his hand down onto the handgrip of his weapon, thumb on the safety, as if that would everprotect him from these beasts. " - are going to watch from the spirit realm. You two, get back to your patrol. If you find them, give the signal and lead them back to us. We will," the scarred mouth widens into a stretching grin. " - be ready."
"Miss." - one of them manages, in a strangled voice. The security guards nod to the woman, one even clips his heels together. Then, they turn almost as one and start heading back toward the double-doors through which Roman slipped to get onto the factory floor.
[Roman Turner] He had to be quick and that meant now. As soon as orders were given and two vanished across, Roman turned to make as quick and quiet a race as he could for the others to warn them. This wasn't good and the others had to know about what was sitting umbra and this side, waiting for them.
[Roman Turner] dex+stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Heartland] Roman darts ahead of the guards. He's silent this time. He's especially silent, clinging to the shadows - a shadow among the shadows, barely visible. The doors are difficult. They'll stay in motion after he's through them, but he slides through carefully, dampening the backward movement, deliberately pushing the door closed to keep it from swinging. Behind him, the cut and curl of the beam of the flashlight as it gleams off the industrial mixes, the assembly lines, the curving conveyer belts. He makes it through both sets of double doors, breathless into the reception area. then darts off to what is now his right: the warren of cubicles and offices through which the others disappeared.
Roman is half-way through the cubicbles, about to enter the hallway that will lead him past proper locked offices and conferences rooms, and evening to the president's office that he knows to have been the group's target. Behind him, still - more purposeful now - the sweep of flashlights over the darkened cubicles, as the security guards follow more slowly in his wake.
[Heartland]
These are double-doors, smoked glass reinforced. Human sized. The quintet is reflected in the glass: Imogen, slight, Wyrmbreaker hulking behind her, caveman sized. Blood-Song behind them both, war-formed, huge. There is no low profile in war-form, he looks hunched awkward, the size of a small car. To Imogen's doubtless relief, the cameras set into the entrance - below the awning - and between the two sets of entrance doors - are both dead-eyed, turned off.
There is enough room for a handul of people in the foyer area between the doors, the crisp, cool blast of air conditioning. They see an umbrella rack, and the reception area, quiet and as the second set of doors swing open.
The reception area is small, and claustrophobic with the presence a war-formed Garou. There is a high-topped receptionist's desk to their immediate right, and a couch and several armchairs to their left. Ahead, locked double doors lead back to the factory. Beyond the receptionist's desk, a small hallway branches off to the right, heading toward an area marked on the map as "locker rooms." To the left, another door, this one all glass. Beyond it, offices are visible. Or rather, the beginnings of a small warren of cubicals, all decorated in the finest pre-fab furniture staples has to offer.
[Wyrmbreaker]
Once inside, out of the eye of the wider world, Wyrmbreaker reaches upward another rung on the shapeshifting ladder. The last vestiges of humanity drop again. Thick black fur replaces clothing. His posture changes, looming forward, arms longer than human proportion.
He looks behind the receptionist's desk. Sniffs the mouse, the screen on the computer. Gingerly pulls open drawers with a single claw. Provided nothing is remarkable here, he moves to the locker rooms, pushing the door open and tasting the air within as well.
Last, he goes to the office door. He peers through. He bends down and cranes up to sniff around the cracks of the doors, trying to catch a whiff of what's within. A moment or two, tail moving slightly. His claws tick on the floor as he turns back around and, moving, shifts between forms again. He has an ease with his changing body that many human-born Garou do not. Then again, he also has a spirit connection stronger than most.
"Fate," he whispers, "scout ahead on the factory floor. If Slaughter's codes can't get you in, you'll have to get across the door through the Umbra, so pull your cloaking gifts on now. Get a look at where the guard patrols are if you can, and if you have the chance, Peek across and see where the banes are concentrated. Those might be our tainted containers.
"Don't take chances, though. If you can't get an easy look, just leave it. Don't get caught.
"The rest of us: let's get started with those files. And keep an eye out for any links back to suppliers or growers. We'll look into them after."
[Blood-Song] Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[To sway or not to Sway...]
[Roman Turner]
"Yessir, Rhya sir."
He wiggled his brows, shot Imogen a worried look that was combined with pure puppy love, so likely he looked like he had gas. And he pulled for gifts and sneakiness to head for the swinging doors on out to the factory floor.
[Roman Turner] He reached for the gift of Blur of the Milky eye, hoping it worked this time and went for the door to the factory.
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Roman Turner] Sneaky roll
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] He had blurred and snuck for the door. Trying to be as careful as he could. If the door didn't open for him, then shifting would be necessary and he'd try to go across through the Umbra as suggested. This is what he was born to do, he just hoped his lack of super experience didn't get them caught.
per+alert
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Heartland] There are two sets of double-doors leading to the factory floor. In between, off to the right, Roman sees a small galley door leading to a kitchenette or break room. To the left, doors lead off to rest rooms. Neither are marked on the map. There's a small, single light on in the kitchenette, over the sink. The room is otherwise dark but for the glow of the vending machines.
The second set of double doors leads onto the dark factory floor. Roman has an impression of space over his head. The corrugated metal roof is at least two stories, perhaps even two and a half stories at its apex, all dark. There are a handful of lights on here. The production floor is rather more antiseptic than he might have imagined. The machinery is stainless steel, well-kept, gleaming in the low lights. Some things he can recognize on sight: huge industrial mixers, maybe, or machines that look like a cross between a washing machine and a cement mixer. Others are mysterious, with spiraling arms and conveyor belts, whose function is wholly a mystery to him.
Just inside the doors, Roman goes still. He hears voices - human? - and sees the glow of a flashlight not so much sweeping as it is swinging somewhere up ahead.
[Roman Turner] The sound of voices had his attention focusing towards it. Then there was the swing of a flashlight, and really, that kind of confused him because anything on the up and up, they'd just turn on the lights. He lifted his face and drew in a deep breath through his nose, trying to pick up anything he could. Then he slank in the direction of the voices and light.
[Roman Turner] dex + stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Heartland] In his humanskin, his sense of smell is muted, particularly at this distance. The most dominant scent is flour; and underneath that, a sort of antiseptic scent that might remind him of a nursing home or a hospital. There is a thread, a rich undercurrent of baking bread. The production floor is a strange place, full of bizarrely shaped shadows. Roman clings to them, edging closer until they become audible.
The lighting is low enough that his impression of the small group limited. He has the impression, first, of two humans in security uniforms. Blue polyester pants, pale blue cotton button-down shirts. "I'm telling you," one of them says, " - it's just a glitch in the software. Earl's working on it. We'll have the cameras that are down up and running again in no time. It's not - "
There's a certain note of irritation in the man's voice, but underneath, this close, Roman can catch a subtle quaver of fear.
"Shut up." That voice is feminine, rich and soft, threaded with iron, though, with a certain verifiable menace. The flashlight swings, and Roman catches a glimpse of her, hard-faced, with a jagged scar pulling across her mouth like a ghastly, exaggerated grin. "Do your job. We do ours. Your fucking cameras is no coincidence."
He counts, as he closes the distance, seven figures total, arrayed around a small knot of desks and chairs overlooking control panels for some of the lines. Two are dressed as security guards, the rest are in street clothes. The details are unclear, but one of the remaining five has a hideously lumpen appearance, with grotesque growths bulging out from his skin. The female bears a faint trace of pure blood.
After she chastises the guard, she goes quiet. Roman might recognize the manner of her silence - as that of a Garou communicating with packmates through a spirit-bond.
[Roman Turner] He went completely still, waiting, holding his breath nearly. He wasn't going to move or make a sound till they started making noise again. Get in, take a look around, spot what he could then report back. Unlike the female, he didn't have a totem bond he could speak across. And if he had a bond, he didn't have anyone with him he could communicate with. So this was a case of listen and watch. And if the female was communicating like it looked like, then there were more of them around here somewhere. He also knew there were some trying to get the security going again. Just great.
[Heartland] Other than the security guard and the grotesque, tumor-covered male, there is another male, with an extended jaw and an ugly manner about him. He's dressed in jeans and white t-shirt, spattered with blood.
The smallest of the quintet that Roman already guesses to be a pack - it is in the way they move together, and they way they are silent together, in the way the two largest males move in tandem to menace the security guard when he starts to speak again, contrary to the female's orders - the smallest two peel off from the other three. There is a faint whisper of something against his senses, and a subtle pop as first one, then the other, disappears across the umbra.
"Kkryt'chin and Riig'sh," she turns back to the guards, one of whom has edged his hand down onto the handgrip of his weapon, thumb on the safety, as if that would everprotect him from these beasts. " - are going to watch from the spirit realm. You two, get back to your patrol. If you find them, give the signal and lead them back to us. We will," the scarred mouth widens into a stretching grin. " - be ready."
"Miss." - one of them manages, in a strangled voice. The security guards nod to the woman, one even clips his heels together. Then, they turn almost as one and start heading back toward the double-doors through which Roman slipped to get onto the factory floor.
[Roman Turner] He had to be quick and that meant now. As soon as orders were given and two vanished across, Roman turned to make as quick and quiet a race as he could for the others to warn them. This wasn't good and the others had to know about what was sitting umbra and this side, waiting for them.
[Roman Turner] dex+stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Heartland] Roman darts ahead of the guards. He's silent this time. He's especially silent, clinging to the shadows - a shadow among the shadows, barely visible. The doors are difficult. They'll stay in motion after he's through them, but he slides through carefully, dampening the backward movement, deliberately pushing the door closed to keep it from swinging. Behind him, the cut and curl of the beam of the flashlight as it gleams off the industrial mixes, the assembly lines, the curving conveyer belts. He makes it through both sets of double doors, breathless into the reception area. then darts off to what is now his right: the warren of cubicles and offices through which the others disappeared.
Roman is half-way through the cubicbles, about to enter the hallway that will lead him past proper locked offices and conferences rooms, and evening to the president's office that he knows to have been the group's target. Behind him, still - more purposeful now - the sweep of flashlights over the darkened cubicles, as the security guards follow more slowly in his wake.
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