[Twilight] Illinois is the flattest state in the country, and the suburban ring around Chicago proper proves it, again and again. There's work here, on the tree lined streets of the inner suburbs, the flat ranch houses from the 50s interspersed with split levels and flat attempts are cookie-cutter modernism from the 70s. Strangely enough, the lots are larger closer in than they are father out, the homes smaller but usually more solid. The further away from the city's core one travels, the larger the homes become, the smaller the home lots.
Napierville - that's the interstate exit for this suburb - has a mix of working and lower-middle class homes hugged on two sides by limited access highways, interspersed with sprawling strips of shopping centers, new and old, fast food and franchise restaurants, car dealerships. The sidewalks seem more like suggestions that promises. No one here walks to the store, even if they walk for pleasure, around the cul-de-sac, the circular subdivision platted 50 years ago by some enterprising developer. In Napierville, the housing developments are named after trees. Maplewood. Oakwood. Birchwood, and Beechwood. Further out, the McMansion developments are named rather more grandly - Fox Chase Heights, or The Estates at Devonshire.
He has clients out here. He replaced a faucet for Mrs. Anna Schuler, an energetic retiree who will only admit to be over-50, and that is cheating her age by at least 15 years. Then, he fixed a closet door, got a window unstuck, crawled under the house to remove a dead rodent. Now she calls him for any small problem she might have, and recommended him to her daughter and the bridge ladies.
--
Dusk in the sprawl is deceptive. The land is so flat that he cannot see the central business distract scraping the sky from anywhere in Napierville, and all the development foreshortens one's sense of space. Napierville feels like everywhere and nowhere, all at once.
There's a locally owned hardware store tucked away in an older shopping center that has otherwise gone seedy. He gets in an out quick, quicker than he ever would at Home Depot, and at Love's Hardware they'll exchange the part if its wrong, even a two dollar part in an opened package, no questions asked. The owner, an older man with a shock of white hair and rough, warm hands always remembers his name.
The rest of the stores are distinctly low-end. There's an Odd Lots, a cheap Mexican restaurant fitted into the remains of an Arby's. Illegal immigrants hang out in the parking lot mornings, waiting for contractors to come by and pick up day laborers. The Smoker Friendly store promises LIQUOR TOO! in big neon lights, and a check cashing/Western Union WE SPEAK SPANISH store rounds out the offerings.
He was by here earlier to pick up a couple of washers, a Y-joint and some drywall tape. The couple was here then, too, in a dusky blue Chevy Cavalier circa 1993, the hood up. They're young, right - eighteen or nineteen - a ropey young man with a shaved head and tattoos, and a slight, angular young woman with dyed black hair, a toddler in a sagging diaper in her arms.
The young man was leaning over the engine block, a gallon jug in one hand, grease on his hands. The girl braced her hips against the passenger's door, holding the toddler with the careless ease that comes from both long practice and underscored frustration.
Two hours later, dusk on the horizon, the stores closed, the parking lot mostly empty, the couple and their Chevy Cavalier are still there. There's a new tension to the girl's body language. She has the toddler lifted up to one hip, and is standing just away from the car, turning her shoulders inward, supporting the baby's bottom with one hand, bracing his flank with the other.
The young man is leaning over the engine block again, but he's looking right at her. Muscles bunching visibly in his arms. Trent's stopped at the traffic light just over from the shopping center, and even from a distance, windows rolled up, sound off, there's a sort of undeniable tension to that snapshot.
The way she holds the baby. The way he is looking at her.
Everyone else just drives by.
Someone else's problem, that.
It's Wednesday, too. Church night for the Baptists, and the baseball playoffs are starting again. Yankees against the Rays. Red against the Phillies. No reason to interfere.
[Trent Brumby] Work is just that, but he makes it pleasant. He does his job well so that he feels alright with taking money off nice old ladies in order to pay his bills and a grocery bill that continues to grow each week. He has plenty to save up for, not quite sure what he's going to do when the baby comes and he will have to spend more time at home so that Kora can continue being the Garou that she is. He thinks about these things, this goal he's working towards.
Its still on his mind when he looks over to the couple that are still there. He decides to pull in instead of continue on. It's not just the fact that they have a toddler, but the looks being given and the body language. He hopes there's no guns involved or blades, fists he could deal with if it comes to that. Trent is not yet paranoid to be carrying his gun around with him. Silly perhaps, but true enough.
His typical, well running sedan pulls into the parking area and he shuts off the engine. Phone in his pocket, he pushes open his door and climbs out. Still in his work gear, dark pants, boots and a polo with the buttons undone, he's managed to clean off most of the stuff on his hands but understands the grease the other guy wears well.
"You folks need a hand?"
[Twilight] There was rain earlier, some storm front passing through. Now the sun is out again, and the clouds are intermittent, edged with orange and pink, this heartbreaking autumn sky. The sort of sky you just - sit, and peer out at while you inch through traffic, another car in a hundred thousand crawling around the spiral of highways and arteries of the city - reminded of the fastness of all things, the falling leaves, the slant of light across the windshield, the bite of chill in the shadows, the warmth of the sun at midday.
Those painted clouds - the quilted gray edged with pink and orange highlights - reflect in the liquid surface of his windshield as he pulls into the shopping center. The parking lot is mostly empty, except for a few cars scattered around the Mexican restuarant.
His headlights cut across the pair before he kills them, and neither of them seem to be aware that he has pulled up rather close - Good Samaritan - until he shuts his car door behind him.
The girl turns and looks, she has this mottled combination of dyed black and brown hair, and hazel eyes, and she looks at him wide-eyed, drawing in a breath, shifting the child in her arms.
"Yeah," the young man says, his hands planted on the car frame, the hood still open, fixed there by the rigid metal arm. There's something silky, insinuating about the way he says it. His intense gaze doesn't leave the young woman, he doesn't turn to look at Trent, doesn't acknowledge the other man's presence. Just leans forward, snake-like, over the engine block, staring at the girl. " - do we need a fucking hand, Amber?"
There's an ugly spill of radiator fluid under on the asphalt, that burned smell that comes from overheating still lingers in the air.
[Trent Brumby] "Since she's not the one under the hood," Trent says with this unfazed strength under his voice as he approaches, "I doubt she can tell me if you need a hand with getting on the road." There's still a distance between himself and the guy threatening the girl, not within swinging distance - yet. But his attempt is to draw the mans attention from the woman and the child, bringing that smooth wrath on himself. He wants to keep the woman out of it, force the man into picking on someone closer to his own size. At the same time he's not being overly hostile about it, trying to remain the great Samaritan that he tries to be.
The look he had given to Amber had been brief and short, the nod he gave her a short acknowledgment of her presence, letting her know that he see's her but isn't going to bring attention to her in that sort of way. There are ways to go about these things, he's learned. It never, ever turns out well.
[Twilight] Amber meets Trent's eyes briefly. The look is stark in the dying light, the sweep of the western sky so-briefly reflected there. She's young, twenty maybe, dressed in jeans and a gray hoodie, a handful of silicon bracelets on her bony wrist, visible where the sleeve peels back. There's something firm about her jaw. Not frightened, really - more ashamed. At the circumstances, the cheap car in the cheap parking lot in the middle-ring of suburbs too far out to be fashionable, to close in to be brand spanking nouveau-riche new.
Cradling the back of the baby's head, shifting its weight in her arms, she straightens from her casual lean against the frame of the car. Steps back, a step or two.
"Who the fuck," Trent addresses the young man directly, and he whips around a look at the interloper at last. He was blonde, but his head is close shaven, as if he just got out of the military, or prison. Ear stretchers in either ear complete the look. There's a certain - menace to his glower. Something sinuous to it, enough that it feels unnatural. " - are you, man?"
"Johnny." Amber inserts.
"No - "
"Johnny. He's just - "
"NO." says Johnny, staring at Trent the entire time now. "That fucking bitch drove the fucking thing until the fucking radiator cracked and didn't fucking bother to fucking tell me until we're stuck next to El Mato Gringo Fuck-me Taco - "
[Trent Brumby] Standing his ground, he managed to keep his face about as expressively calm as he's able in the situation, which is to say his jaw is beginning to show his tension and his eyes are slowly appearing harder. He breathes in slow, subtle, to keep from his heart rate from starting into some rapid beat and get that adrenalin pumping. Even he knows once it crosses a certain line it becomes this primal, testosterone laden battle.
"What's done is done. Yelling about it isn't going to get it fixed." Trent says it level, not quite calm, but certainly the more controlled of the two of them. "Tone it down, take a breath and step back."
Gesturing vaguely behind him. "Why don't you go grab a cool drink, and I'll call in a tow to get you on the road?" Even if it's some futile attempt to dispel the tension and make this go a different route to the usual one, he still tries it. He's worked in security, sure, but he still has a tendency to meet aggression with aggression, a trap he's trying to prevent.
[Twilight] Amber gives a quick jerk of her head. She's a half car-length away from Johnny now, holding the deadweight of the sleeping toddler carefully in her arms. The child has a shock of dirty blonde hair that is starting to curl at the the tips, but otherwise has that chubby androgeny of young children. "Can't afford a tow," Amber murmurs quietly, not contradicting, just supplying the information. God knows, that car probably wouldn't be worth whatever it took to towit back to the city.
"Listen, though, baby - " this to Johnny, quiet, reasonable, pleading underneath, the sort of inexorable negotiation she must have been trying all day on the muscle-bound kid. "Baby, please. Listen to him, it's not - we can get a bus, right? We can get a bus back to the city, and maybe you can get someone to come back out with you, I mean - it's not going - "
"SHUT THE FUCK UP." Johnny shouts. There's this brief spasm of almost inhuman emotion, anger so raw it coruscates. Trent is close enough now to see the sweat on Johnny's forehead, beads of it. No matter that the mercury never topped 70, and night is falling now, cool air from the north curling around the bases of things. Abruptly, Johnny - slams down the hood of the car, enough force that he snaps the metal arm in two, bounces the frame of the car violently on its struts.
This wakes the baby.
He starts crying.
"I. said. - " Johnny does that thing now, his hands fists, his arms opening wide, as if he were struggling against the tide for control. His words are a monotone. " - who. the. fuck. are. you. man."
At least he's ignoring Amber now, all that anger focused on Trent.
[Trent Brumby] Perception + Alertness
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] "Amber, is it?" This without taking his eyes off Johnny. "Why don't you take the young one over to that store over there? Ask them to give you a drink and something to eat. The bill will be on me." He looks good for it, the money. Some hard working blue collar. Mostly he just wants her out and away from this very angry, possibly steroid taking prick. He's probably in over his head, but it doesn't make him back down.
He's coming to the end of Mr. Nice Guy.
"It doesn't matter who I am, Sir, just that you calm down and take a breather. No need to get yourself worked up for nothing." Watching carefully. "Not when we can work something out."
[Twilight] Amber is it? Trent asks, and Amber nods, yeah, she gives him this fleeting, ghostly smile, like they're allies in this, you know, in this parking lot. The baby is crying, these hitching breathes where the crying seems almost experimental, and Amber bends to touch her forehead to his, shaking him in that familiar soothing motion. She's backtracking - slowly though, step by step.
"Yeah," she says, a hitching breath underneath, not crying, just disbelieving. Continuing this mantra like a cycle, turning it over again and again, as if that might stop things before they get worse. It sounds familiar.
She's said it alot lately. " - yeah okay. Listen, Johnny - baby, he's just trying to help, it's just a car, you aren't like this. You don't have to be like this. Remember, you don't need this. It's me, baby. It's me right here, I know - "
"Are you hitting on my girlfriend?" Johnny returns. There's this moment where it feels like a genuine question, almost bewildered, like he's just not sure what's going on anymore. "Are you hitting on my fucking girlfriend? - "
He turns on Amber, then, who now has the whole length of the car between herself and her crazed boyfriend. "Are you fucking him, Amber? Is that what is fucking going on here? Are you two - "
to Trent Brumby
[Twilight] The man's anger isn't natural. Not entirely. It feels charged, somehow, like there's something twisting itself inside him and pushing out through the inside. No - that's not it. There's something about the way Johnny looks at him, directly, underneath the slick gloss of menace that is disbelieving, like he's watching himself turn into a movie of his life, like he's turning into something he cannot quite remember, something he cannot recover from. Bill Bixby into the Hulk.
the way he opens his fists and closes them again - he just wants to hurt something. Smash his way through. Barely in control now, he's about to unleash, and will attack Trent or Amber. Or the fucking car. Even Johnny doesn't know whom. He just knows that breaking something under his fists is the only way to quiet whatever is in his head.
to Trent Brumby
[Twilight] Amber is it? Trent asks, and Amber nods, yeah, she gives him this fleeting, ghostly smile, like they're allies in this, you know, in this parking lot. The baby is crying, these hitching breathes where the crying seems almost experimental, and Amber bends to touch her forehead to his, shaking him in that familiar soothing motion. She's backtracking - slowly though, step by step.
"Yeah," she says, a hitching breath underneath, not crying, just disbelieving. Continuing this mantra like a cycle, turning it over again and again, as if that might stop things before they get worse. It sounds familiar.
She's said it alot lately. " - yeah okay. Listen, Johnny - baby, he's just trying to help, it's just a car, you aren't like this. You don't have to be like this. Remember, you don't need this. It's me, baby. It's me right here, I know - "
"Are you hitting on my girlfriend?" Johnny returns. There's this moment where it feels like a genuine question, almost bewildered, like he's just not sure what's going on anymore. "Are you hitting on my fucking girlfriend? - "
He turns on Amber, then, who now has the whole length of the car between herself and her crazed boyfriend. "Are you fucking him, Amber? Is that what is fucking going on here? Are you two - "
[Twilight] (pause!)
[Twilight] Amber is it? Trent asks, and Amber nods, yeah, she gives him this fleeting, ghostly smile, like they're allies in this, you know, in this parking lot. The baby is crying, these hitching breathes where the crying seems almost experimental, and Amber bends to touch her forehead to his, shaking him in that familiar soothing motion. She's backtracking - slowly though, step by step.
"Yeah," she says, a hitching breath underneath, not crying, just disbelieving. Continuing this mantra like a cycle, turning it over again and again, as if that might stop things before they get worse. It sounds familiar.
She's said it alot lately. " - yeah okay. Listen, Johnny - baby, he's just trying to help, it's just a car, you aren't like this. You don't have to be like this. Remember, you don't need this. It's me, baby. It's me right here, I know - "
"Are you hitting on my girlfriend?" Johnny returns. There's this moment where it feels like a genuine question, almost bewildered, like he's just not sure what's going on anymore. "Are you hitting on my fucking girlfriend? - "
He turns on Amber, then, who now has the whole length of the car between herself and her crazed boyfriend. "Are you fucking him, Amber? Is that what is fucking going on here? Are you two - "
[Trent Brumby] His tongue runs over his teeth briefly as the man accuses them both of doing something rather impossible given the circumstances. "Be reasonable," Trent tells Johnny, "I've just met you both and I'd have to be the fool to hit on your girlfriend, who has your baby- which is upset, and yelling isn't going to help the poor kid. I'm suggesting they go and sit somewhere cool and grab something to drink."
"I've offered you the same, but you insist on yelling and throwing your weight around, Johnny."
"Now. Are we going to see what we can do about your car and get you back home, or do you want to stand around here and argue all night?" Brows raise as he starts to come towards the end of his own patience. He's noticed quite a few things about the man, and he's one hundred percent certain that this is going to become violence of some kind. It's a matter of who's going to be the target for it.
[Twilight] The sun has sunk below the horizon now. There is pink streaking the sky, a dull bleak glow from the streetlamps in the parking lot, the ghostly illumination of passing headlights shining over them. Cars stop at the stoplight in these great, moving herds, like beasts on the savannah. When the light turns green, they move again, that elegant, organized chaos. Trent is not the only driver to glance out the window, day-dreaming, waiting for the light to change, waiting for the car in front to move. Trent is not the only driver to see the couple - now trio - in this tableau like a diorama, the lines of promised iolence, deep-bone tension underscored in even a passing view of the group.
He's the only one to stop, though.
The shopping center has a desolate feel in the twilight shadows. There's the faint scent of garbage, and grease pumped out of the Mexican restauant. Just three cars are turned in and parked in front of the reclaimed, repurposed Arby's. No one has come in or out since he pulled in. The hardware store is closed, but neon lights from the check-cashing place glow dully in the dark.
Johnny is shorter than Trent by a good five inches. He has the compact, wiry physique of a bantam weight wrestler, and the cropped hair cut of an ex-con. His eyes are a water blue, the pupils dilated with rage. Tendons stand out in his neck. "Be reasonable," Trent tells Johnny, and the kid - twenty years old, maybe - grits his teeth, opens his fists, and smacksthe car frame, open handed.
Amber has the baby clasped firmly in her arms now, a full length of the car between her and her boyfriend. Her shoulder is turned toward her boyfriend, protecting the infant bodily. "Baby," she says, desperation a clear undercurrent. She doesn't want to leave him here, cannot let him go. " - this isn't you. It's just a car, right? It's not - we're a team baby, right? You plus me against the world - I don't know - "
Trent returns each one of the young man's accusations in a firm, quiet tone, with that inexorable logic underneath, and once - just once - he gives Trent this enchained look. Like there's still a person underneath the rage, like he gets it, all of it, he just needs a way through, a spool of thread unwound to guide him through this maze -
- and then it drops, that look, Amber is backing away from him. Like she's afraid of him. Like she's afraid, like she has reason to be afraid, his frayed control snaps. Hands again fists, Johnny punches the hod of the car one more time, then takes off, charging for Amber.
[Inits!]
[Twilight] Johnny +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Twilight] Amber! +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Trent Brumby] + 5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Twilight] Amber: 13
Trent: 10
Johnny: 9
Johnny: 1a. Charge Amber! 1b. Grapple Amber!
[Trent Brumby] Body tackle Johnny.
[Twilight] Amber: run away!
[Trent Brumby] The moment that Johnny takes off after the woman and the baby, Trent springs into action. There's no way that he would stand by idly while a prick like this guy chases down an innocent, vulnerable woman and a harmless child. He can hardly believe it when Johnny charges in the first place, but having expected some reaction from the guy, Trent is quick to act. Boots kick off the ground as he sprints after him, all reason gone, as he goes to tackle the guy off course.
[Trent Brumby] Dex+ brawl (bodytackle)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 6 at target 5) [WP]
[Trent Brumby] Dex+ Ath
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Twilight] Dex + Ath
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4 (Failure at target 10)
[Trent Brumby] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Twilight] Johnny: Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Twilight] Amber runs, this half-hitched stride, slower than she would be, burdened as she is by the weight of the crying child. There's this choked off cry out of her mouth that sounds almost like her boyfriend's name, never fully formed. When Johnny takes off after Amber, Trent throughs himself - throws himself at Johnny, tackling him from behind and bringing him down hard. Trent keeps his feet, by Johnny goes down to his knees, then sprawling, cracking his chin against the asphalt. Coughing, spitting blood, Johnny pushes himself up, struggling to get back to his feet.
[Johnny: change actions 1a/b to: 1. GET UP. Dex + Ath -1 wounds, dif 5.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 5)
[Twilight] Johnny: 1a. Punch Trent! 1b. Punch Trent again!
[Trent Brumby] Grapple Johnny to ground.
[Twilight] Amber: Stop running, back away. Watching! Staring in horror!
[Trent Brumby] Grapple. Str + Bra
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Twilight] Johnny: change actions. 1. ESCAPE grapple. -1 for wounds.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Damage for cinch
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Twilight] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Twilight] Pebbles, crumbled bits of buckled asphalt studding his chin, digging into both palms, Johnny pushes himself up, to his knees, soon gaining is feet, turning around in this sort of choking rage to half-face his attack. His scraped hands are fists again, that rage runneling through him like fire as he turns to face his attacking. A good car length and a half-away, Amber turns, cradling her infant, breathing heavy, staring, wide-eyed, tears on her face, openly.
This time, Trent grabs Johnny, holding him firmly. He's larger, he has a greater reach, but otherwise they are well-matched. Johnny is just dazed from the way his head struck the pavement, and he cannot shrug off the hold. Close up, Trent can feel the way the kid's skin burns, like he is enfevered, the ripple of fury in the kid's corded muscles.
[Twilight] Round 3: rundown.
Amber - okay, staring.
Trent - okay!
Johnny - 2 bashing, grappled.
Johnny: 1. Break free!
[Trent Brumby] On the ground kid!
[Twilight] Amber: open-mouthed!
Johnny, Jr.: bawl!
[Trent Brumby] Str + Bra
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Trent Brumby] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Twilight] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Twilight] Johnny: Changes action. 1. HEAD BUTT. Dex + Brawl -1 (wounds), dif 7
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7) [WP]
[Twilight] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Stamina
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Twilight] The struggle is hard-fought, punctuated by grunts, by this furious, impotent snarl from the young man as Trent begins to wrestle him to the ground. Trent has wrestled the other man down to one knee, nearly but not quite on the ground, dominating the fight, and can sense him bracing himself to try breaking free once more. Instead, quite abruptly, Johnny snaps his head back, making contact with Trent's forehead, a dull crack of bone on bone.
Round 4.
Trent: okay!
Johnny: 3 Bashing, grappled, half-way to the ground.
[Twilight] Johnny: 1a. Head-Butt! 1b. KICK Trent.
[Trent Brumby] Continue to wrestle.
[Trent Brumby] Str + Bra
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Trent Brumby] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Twilight] Johnny: 1a. HEAD BUTT. -1 (wounds) -2 (split)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[Twilight] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 8, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Twilight] 1b. KICK. -1 (wounds) -2 (split). dif +2
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 9) [WP]
[Twilight] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6 (Failure at target 6)
[Twilight] Trent wrestles Johnny to the ground, effectively pinning him under his weight, an arm around the kid's shoulders, a firm hand between his shoulder blades, holding him against the asphalt. Pinned, Johnny continues to struggle - wildly now, thoughtlessly. He isn't trying to break free, he's just throwing these desperate blows, frantic, lashing back to head butt Trent again, scissoring a kick that somehow catches Trent in the left knee, leaving bruises behind.
"Stop, stop - " it's impossible to tell to whom Amber is speaking. Johnny, Trent, the universe, the shadow of the sun on the horizon. There's a hint of fear, there, a rich note of desperation. " - baby," there are tears steaking her cheeks, though, and maybe she is just talking to the baby, rocking him as he continues to cry. Her body is stark, the raw afterburn of fear in her throat. If Trent were not here, that would be her on the asphalt.
She hugs the baby tighter, holding him with a sort of fierce desperation.
[Twilight] Round 5! DING DING DING.
Amber: crying.
Trent: 1 bashing! on top!
Johnny: 3 bashing! Grrrr. Pinned. +2 dif to his actions, -2 dif to actions against him.
[Twilight] Johnny:
1. Elbow Trent!
[Trent Brumby] "Take your baby inside!" His voice cuts out more angry then before. He doesn't mean to direct it at her like that, but he's struggling with a violent man under him, trying to keep him from getting up where he knows the man can do more damage. "Now!"
He takes the hits to his body, better then him then the frail girl or soft boned baby, and shifts his hold to try and keep the man from moving anywhere. He hasn't quite thought what he's going to do with him from there, since nobody is coming to help.
[Trent Brumby] Choke-hold Johnny.
[Trent Brumby] Str + braw - 1 injured.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5 (Failure at target 6) [WP]
[Twilight] Johnny: Elbow! Trent!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Twilight] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Trying again!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Damage choke!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 8, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Damage choke!!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Twilight] SOAK!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Twilight] This struggle, between a pair of unarmed human men almost perfectly matched physically, takes far longer than any battle between Garou. There is a sort of relentlessness to the gritty fight, the cinders of the broken pavement underfoot and then underbody, the way the asphalt abrades Trent's knuckles as he holds Johnny down, insinuates his arm around the kid to get him in a choke hold, and then chokes him, cutting off his air. The damage isn't life threatening, scrapes and deep bruises for both, but this time the hold literally immobilizes him. Trent squeezes, cutting off Johnny's air, and the kid's body spasms for a minute, these terrible choking noises coming from his mouth -
- then he goes limp, all that strain gone out of him as the oxygen deprivation hits.
"Don't - don't - baby stop, baby - " Trent yells at Amber to get her child out of her, to move, to remove herself, the goad of her presence. Christ, and she just stands there, watching. That's not entirely true, she's backing away the whole time, one step two step, watching, leaving, but unable to pull herself entirely way.
Then Johnny - scrappy Johnny, who kicks and head-butts and elbows Trent - leaving him with a few superficial bruises and a deeper one on his left knee - goes limp and Amber stills. Stark and alert, her grip on the infant like a vise.
[Twilight] Final tally:
Trent: 2 bashing!
Johnny: 4 bashing, passed out!
[Twilight] The stop changes again, red to green. The same cars idled on the main thoroughfare throughout the fight. If anyone noticed, they are doing not a damned thing about it.
[Trent Brumby] As his arm slowly pulls away, allowing oxygen back into the others lungs and brain, he touches the side of his neck for the pulse. He's trained as a medic, worked professionally as one for a few years, and had obviously done some self defense training too. Making sure Johnny is still actually alive, he gets up and immediately heads for his trunk.
A hand points from Amber to the restaurant. "Amber, go over there, calm your child and yourself. You are not helping this situation. Johnny is fine and breathing." But as he says this, he hasn't stopped what he's doing, moving to pop open his trunk and to grab out a length of rope.
Providing nobody stops him, Trent has full intentions of binding up this guys hands and feet, and while he may have told Kora that he is perfectly hopeless when it comes to camping, tying up a person is another matter altogether. He's well versed in that. Immobilizing others by the use of restraints is a several year (and then some) pastime.
[Twilight] "You aren't going to - " Amber watches the whole thing; sees Trent checking Johnny's pulse, feeling for signs of life, and watches as he lets her boyfriend go. There's silence, after. Just the idle of engines at the redlight, and the baby's crying.
Her arms are getting tired.
Johnny's fine, she tells herself, Johnny's fine.
Some part of her - some macabre part of her - wants to stay and watch this play out. She wants to go, kneel down, turn Johnny over, brush the pebbles from the broken asphalt off his cheek, his bruised jaw, his cracked nose.
Then she remembers the look in his eyes when he launched himself at her, and Johnny, Jr. renews his crying, hungry now, tired, legs kicking, heavy in her arms. With a sort of gasping sigh, she pivots, clutching the baby to her body, and retreats toward the restaurant, stealing glances back over her shoulder at Trent and Johnny.
No one else seems to have noticed. The shadows over the parking lot are dark now, the only light from the restaurant, on the street, in the sky.
[Trent Brumby] Breathing a bit easier now that the girl is away in the restaurant, he finishes up with Johnny decides he'll gag him later if he starts any screaming bullshit, but would rather have the guy able to talk. He's made him as comfortable as he can while being hog tied on the ground. Flexing his knuckles, he looks at the scrapes before going for his phone from his pocket and pulling it out, hoping the screen isn't cracked - thankfully it isn't, these are durable things.
Kora's number is in speed dial and gets put to his ear. He gathers his breathing and checks himself over, rubbing at his knee as he waits to see if he's getting the voice-mail or not. Already he's contemplating a plan, thinking in this silence.
[Twilight] She answers on the third ring, her voice distant, a bit distracted. The sound of a an engine close by, some clanging, the harsh screed of metal against metal. Gaia only knows where she is. There's a certain - distance in her voice, like her mouth is held away from the speaker that resolves after ten seconds of static. Then her voice is in his ear.
"Baby," she says to him, quiet, underneath the metal noise in the background. Familiar, fond. " - hi. What do you need?"
[Trent Brumby] "I just got into a fight," he tells her the moment she answers. "I'm alright, a few scraps, and I've detained the guy." Pale grays shift down to Johnny, held captive on the ground. "But I'm pretty sure that there's something not right with the guy. Aside from the obvious. He needs some help."
There's a pause.
"Should I call the cops, or?" Another glance to his knuckles, flexing them again and watches the dirt and grit shift across the raw skin.
[Twilight] Trent says, detained and she's still for a moment, silent on the other end. "Not a threat to you anymore, yeah?" she asks, pausing before continuing, listening to the traffic noise on his end, through the statis. " - and you're outside. Okay. If you need to call for form, yeah? Call Izzy, have her come and flash a badge. I'll get an address where she can bring him. Give me twenty minutes. Or if you're okay, bring him youself."
Another pause, then, " - we'll see what we can do. Okay?"
[Trent Brumby] "Great idea. I forgot about Izzy." It perks him up some. "I'll give her a call and we'll go from there. Don't worry, I'm not in any trouble." Now with a more solid plan, he feels better. Some tension leaks out of him and his voice takes on a happier tone. "I'll call you again soon. Okay? And we'll have to buy dinner."
After any goodbyes he'll hang up and make a call to Izzy to see if she can come and pick the guy up to go from there.
Napierville - that's the interstate exit for this suburb - has a mix of working and lower-middle class homes hugged on two sides by limited access highways, interspersed with sprawling strips of shopping centers, new and old, fast food and franchise restaurants, car dealerships. The sidewalks seem more like suggestions that promises. No one here walks to the store, even if they walk for pleasure, around the cul-de-sac, the circular subdivision platted 50 years ago by some enterprising developer. In Napierville, the housing developments are named after trees. Maplewood. Oakwood. Birchwood, and Beechwood. Further out, the McMansion developments are named rather more grandly - Fox Chase Heights, or The Estates at Devonshire.
He has clients out here. He replaced a faucet for Mrs. Anna Schuler, an energetic retiree who will only admit to be over-50, and that is cheating her age by at least 15 years. Then, he fixed a closet door, got a window unstuck, crawled under the house to remove a dead rodent. Now she calls him for any small problem she might have, and recommended him to her daughter and the bridge ladies.
--
Dusk in the sprawl is deceptive. The land is so flat that he cannot see the central business distract scraping the sky from anywhere in Napierville, and all the development foreshortens one's sense of space. Napierville feels like everywhere and nowhere, all at once.
There's a locally owned hardware store tucked away in an older shopping center that has otherwise gone seedy. He gets in an out quick, quicker than he ever would at Home Depot, and at Love's Hardware they'll exchange the part if its wrong, even a two dollar part in an opened package, no questions asked. The owner, an older man with a shock of white hair and rough, warm hands always remembers his name.
The rest of the stores are distinctly low-end. There's an Odd Lots, a cheap Mexican restaurant fitted into the remains of an Arby's. Illegal immigrants hang out in the parking lot mornings, waiting for contractors to come by and pick up day laborers. The Smoker Friendly store promises LIQUOR TOO! in big neon lights, and a check cashing/Western Union WE SPEAK SPANISH store rounds out the offerings.
He was by here earlier to pick up a couple of washers, a Y-joint and some drywall tape. The couple was here then, too, in a dusky blue Chevy Cavalier circa 1993, the hood up. They're young, right - eighteen or nineteen - a ropey young man with a shaved head and tattoos, and a slight, angular young woman with dyed black hair, a toddler in a sagging diaper in her arms.
The young man was leaning over the engine block, a gallon jug in one hand, grease on his hands. The girl braced her hips against the passenger's door, holding the toddler with the careless ease that comes from both long practice and underscored frustration.
Two hours later, dusk on the horizon, the stores closed, the parking lot mostly empty, the couple and their Chevy Cavalier are still there. There's a new tension to the girl's body language. She has the toddler lifted up to one hip, and is standing just away from the car, turning her shoulders inward, supporting the baby's bottom with one hand, bracing his flank with the other.
The young man is leaning over the engine block again, but he's looking right at her. Muscles bunching visibly in his arms. Trent's stopped at the traffic light just over from the shopping center, and even from a distance, windows rolled up, sound off, there's a sort of undeniable tension to that snapshot.
The way she holds the baby. The way he is looking at her.
Everyone else just drives by.
Someone else's problem, that.
It's Wednesday, too. Church night for the Baptists, and the baseball playoffs are starting again. Yankees against the Rays. Red against the Phillies. No reason to interfere.
[Trent Brumby] Work is just that, but he makes it pleasant. He does his job well so that he feels alright with taking money off nice old ladies in order to pay his bills and a grocery bill that continues to grow each week. He has plenty to save up for, not quite sure what he's going to do when the baby comes and he will have to spend more time at home so that Kora can continue being the Garou that she is. He thinks about these things, this goal he's working towards.
Its still on his mind when he looks over to the couple that are still there. He decides to pull in instead of continue on. It's not just the fact that they have a toddler, but the looks being given and the body language. He hopes there's no guns involved or blades, fists he could deal with if it comes to that. Trent is not yet paranoid to be carrying his gun around with him. Silly perhaps, but true enough.
His typical, well running sedan pulls into the parking area and he shuts off the engine. Phone in his pocket, he pushes open his door and climbs out. Still in his work gear, dark pants, boots and a polo with the buttons undone, he's managed to clean off most of the stuff on his hands but understands the grease the other guy wears well.
"You folks need a hand?"
[Twilight] There was rain earlier, some storm front passing through. Now the sun is out again, and the clouds are intermittent, edged with orange and pink, this heartbreaking autumn sky. The sort of sky you just - sit, and peer out at while you inch through traffic, another car in a hundred thousand crawling around the spiral of highways and arteries of the city - reminded of the fastness of all things, the falling leaves, the slant of light across the windshield, the bite of chill in the shadows, the warmth of the sun at midday.
Those painted clouds - the quilted gray edged with pink and orange highlights - reflect in the liquid surface of his windshield as he pulls into the shopping center. The parking lot is mostly empty, except for a few cars scattered around the Mexican restuarant.
His headlights cut across the pair before he kills them, and neither of them seem to be aware that he has pulled up rather close - Good Samaritan - until he shuts his car door behind him.
The girl turns and looks, she has this mottled combination of dyed black and brown hair, and hazel eyes, and she looks at him wide-eyed, drawing in a breath, shifting the child in her arms.
"Yeah," the young man says, his hands planted on the car frame, the hood still open, fixed there by the rigid metal arm. There's something silky, insinuating about the way he says it. His intense gaze doesn't leave the young woman, he doesn't turn to look at Trent, doesn't acknowledge the other man's presence. Just leans forward, snake-like, over the engine block, staring at the girl. " - do we need a fucking hand, Amber?"
There's an ugly spill of radiator fluid under on the asphalt, that burned smell that comes from overheating still lingers in the air.
[Trent Brumby] "Since she's not the one under the hood," Trent says with this unfazed strength under his voice as he approaches, "I doubt she can tell me if you need a hand with getting on the road." There's still a distance between himself and the guy threatening the girl, not within swinging distance - yet. But his attempt is to draw the mans attention from the woman and the child, bringing that smooth wrath on himself. He wants to keep the woman out of it, force the man into picking on someone closer to his own size. At the same time he's not being overly hostile about it, trying to remain the great Samaritan that he tries to be.
The look he had given to Amber had been brief and short, the nod he gave her a short acknowledgment of her presence, letting her know that he see's her but isn't going to bring attention to her in that sort of way. There are ways to go about these things, he's learned. It never, ever turns out well.
[Twilight] Amber meets Trent's eyes briefly. The look is stark in the dying light, the sweep of the western sky so-briefly reflected there. She's young, twenty maybe, dressed in jeans and a gray hoodie, a handful of silicon bracelets on her bony wrist, visible where the sleeve peels back. There's something firm about her jaw. Not frightened, really - more ashamed. At the circumstances, the cheap car in the cheap parking lot in the middle-ring of suburbs too far out to be fashionable, to close in to be brand spanking nouveau-riche new.
Cradling the back of the baby's head, shifting its weight in her arms, she straightens from her casual lean against the frame of the car. Steps back, a step or two.
"Who the fuck," Trent addresses the young man directly, and he whips around a look at the interloper at last. He was blonde, but his head is close shaven, as if he just got out of the military, or prison. Ear stretchers in either ear complete the look. There's a certain - menace to his glower. Something sinuous to it, enough that it feels unnatural. " - are you, man?"
"Johnny." Amber inserts.
"No - "
"Johnny. He's just - "
"NO." says Johnny, staring at Trent the entire time now. "That fucking bitch drove the fucking thing until the fucking radiator cracked and didn't fucking bother to fucking tell me until we're stuck next to El Mato Gringo Fuck-me Taco - "
[Trent Brumby] Standing his ground, he managed to keep his face about as expressively calm as he's able in the situation, which is to say his jaw is beginning to show his tension and his eyes are slowly appearing harder. He breathes in slow, subtle, to keep from his heart rate from starting into some rapid beat and get that adrenalin pumping. Even he knows once it crosses a certain line it becomes this primal, testosterone laden battle.
"What's done is done. Yelling about it isn't going to get it fixed." Trent says it level, not quite calm, but certainly the more controlled of the two of them. "Tone it down, take a breath and step back."
Gesturing vaguely behind him. "Why don't you go grab a cool drink, and I'll call in a tow to get you on the road?" Even if it's some futile attempt to dispel the tension and make this go a different route to the usual one, he still tries it. He's worked in security, sure, but he still has a tendency to meet aggression with aggression, a trap he's trying to prevent.
[Twilight] Amber gives a quick jerk of her head. She's a half car-length away from Johnny now, holding the deadweight of the sleeping toddler carefully in her arms. The child has a shock of dirty blonde hair that is starting to curl at the the tips, but otherwise has that chubby androgeny of young children. "Can't afford a tow," Amber murmurs quietly, not contradicting, just supplying the information. God knows, that car probably wouldn't be worth whatever it took to towit back to the city.
"Listen, though, baby - " this to Johnny, quiet, reasonable, pleading underneath, the sort of inexorable negotiation she must have been trying all day on the muscle-bound kid. "Baby, please. Listen to him, it's not - we can get a bus, right? We can get a bus back to the city, and maybe you can get someone to come back out with you, I mean - it's not going - "
"SHUT THE FUCK UP." Johnny shouts. There's this brief spasm of almost inhuman emotion, anger so raw it coruscates. Trent is close enough now to see the sweat on Johnny's forehead, beads of it. No matter that the mercury never topped 70, and night is falling now, cool air from the north curling around the bases of things. Abruptly, Johnny - slams down the hood of the car, enough force that he snaps the metal arm in two, bounces the frame of the car violently on its struts.
This wakes the baby.
He starts crying.
"I. said. - " Johnny does that thing now, his hands fists, his arms opening wide, as if he were struggling against the tide for control. His words are a monotone. " - who. the. fuck. are. you. man."
At least he's ignoring Amber now, all that anger focused on Trent.
[Trent Brumby] Perception + Alertness
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] "Amber, is it?" This without taking his eyes off Johnny. "Why don't you take the young one over to that store over there? Ask them to give you a drink and something to eat. The bill will be on me." He looks good for it, the money. Some hard working blue collar. Mostly he just wants her out and away from this very angry, possibly steroid taking prick. He's probably in over his head, but it doesn't make him back down.
He's coming to the end of Mr. Nice Guy.
"It doesn't matter who I am, Sir, just that you calm down and take a breather. No need to get yourself worked up for nothing." Watching carefully. "Not when we can work something out."
[Twilight] Amber is it? Trent asks, and Amber nods, yeah, she gives him this fleeting, ghostly smile, like they're allies in this, you know, in this parking lot. The baby is crying, these hitching breathes where the crying seems almost experimental, and Amber bends to touch her forehead to his, shaking him in that familiar soothing motion. She's backtracking - slowly though, step by step.
"Yeah," she says, a hitching breath underneath, not crying, just disbelieving. Continuing this mantra like a cycle, turning it over again and again, as if that might stop things before they get worse. It sounds familiar.
She's said it alot lately. " - yeah okay. Listen, Johnny - baby, he's just trying to help, it's just a car, you aren't like this. You don't have to be like this. Remember, you don't need this. It's me, baby. It's me right here, I know - "
"Are you hitting on my girlfriend?" Johnny returns. There's this moment where it feels like a genuine question, almost bewildered, like he's just not sure what's going on anymore. "Are you hitting on my fucking girlfriend? - "
He turns on Amber, then, who now has the whole length of the car between herself and her crazed boyfriend. "Are you fucking him, Amber? Is that what is fucking going on here? Are you two - "
to Trent Brumby
[Twilight] The man's anger isn't natural. Not entirely. It feels charged, somehow, like there's something twisting itself inside him and pushing out through the inside. No - that's not it. There's something about the way Johnny looks at him, directly, underneath the slick gloss of menace that is disbelieving, like he's watching himself turn into a movie of his life, like he's turning into something he cannot quite remember, something he cannot recover from. Bill Bixby into the Hulk.
the way he opens his fists and closes them again - he just wants to hurt something. Smash his way through. Barely in control now, he's about to unleash, and will attack Trent or Amber. Or the fucking car. Even Johnny doesn't know whom. He just knows that breaking something under his fists is the only way to quiet whatever is in his head.
to Trent Brumby
[Twilight] Amber is it? Trent asks, and Amber nods, yeah, she gives him this fleeting, ghostly smile, like they're allies in this, you know, in this parking lot. The baby is crying, these hitching breathes where the crying seems almost experimental, and Amber bends to touch her forehead to his, shaking him in that familiar soothing motion. She's backtracking - slowly though, step by step.
"Yeah," she says, a hitching breath underneath, not crying, just disbelieving. Continuing this mantra like a cycle, turning it over again and again, as if that might stop things before they get worse. It sounds familiar.
She's said it alot lately. " - yeah okay. Listen, Johnny - baby, he's just trying to help, it's just a car, you aren't like this. You don't have to be like this. Remember, you don't need this. It's me, baby. It's me right here, I know - "
"Are you hitting on my girlfriend?" Johnny returns. There's this moment where it feels like a genuine question, almost bewildered, like he's just not sure what's going on anymore. "Are you hitting on my fucking girlfriend? - "
He turns on Amber, then, who now has the whole length of the car between herself and her crazed boyfriend. "Are you fucking him, Amber? Is that what is fucking going on here? Are you two - "
[Twilight] (pause!)
[Twilight] Amber is it? Trent asks, and Amber nods, yeah, she gives him this fleeting, ghostly smile, like they're allies in this, you know, in this parking lot. The baby is crying, these hitching breathes where the crying seems almost experimental, and Amber bends to touch her forehead to his, shaking him in that familiar soothing motion. She's backtracking - slowly though, step by step.
"Yeah," she says, a hitching breath underneath, not crying, just disbelieving. Continuing this mantra like a cycle, turning it over again and again, as if that might stop things before they get worse. It sounds familiar.
She's said it alot lately. " - yeah okay. Listen, Johnny - baby, he's just trying to help, it's just a car, you aren't like this. You don't have to be like this. Remember, you don't need this. It's me, baby. It's me right here, I know - "
"Are you hitting on my girlfriend?" Johnny returns. There's this moment where it feels like a genuine question, almost bewildered, like he's just not sure what's going on anymore. "Are you hitting on my fucking girlfriend? - "
He turns on Amber, then, who now has the whole length of the car between herself and her crazed boyfriend. "Are you fucking him, Amber? Is that what is fucking going on here? Are you two - "
[Trent Brumby] His tongue runs over his teeth briefly as the man accuses them both of doing something rather impossible given the circumstances. "Be reasonable," Trent tells Johnny, "I've just met you both and I'd have to be the fool to hit on your girlfriend, who has your baby- which is upset, and yelling isn't going to help the poor kid. I'm suggesting they go and sit somewhere cool and grab something to drink."
"I've offered you the same, but you insist on yelling and throwing your weight around, Johnny."
"Now. Are we going to see what we can do about your car and get you back home, or do you want to stand around here and argue all night?" Brows raise as he starts to come towards the end of his own patience. He's noticed quite a few things about the man, and he's one hundred percent certain that this is going to become violence of some kind. It's a matter of who's going to be the target for it.
[Twilight] The sun has sunk below the horizon now. There is pink streaking the sky, a dull bleak glow from the streetlamps in the parking lot, the ghostly illumination of passing headlights shining over them. Cars stop at the stoplight in these great, moving herds, like beasts on the savannah. When the light turns green, they move again, that elegant, organized chaos. Trent is not the only driver to glance out the window, day-dreaming, waiting for the light to change, waiting for the car in front to move. Trent is not the only driver to see the couple - now trio - in this tableau like a diorama, the lines of promised iolence, deep-bone tension underscored in even a passing view of the group.
He's the only one to stop, though.
The shopping center has a desolate feel in the twilight shadows. There's the faint scent of garbage, and grease pumped out of the Mexican restauant. Just three cars are turned in and parked in front of the reclaimed, repurposed Arby's. No one has come in or out since he pulled in. The hardware store is closed, but neon lights from the check-cashing place glow dully in the dark.
Johnny is shorter than Trent by a good five inches. He has the compact, wiry physique of a bantam weight wrestler, and the cropped hair cut of an ex-con. His eyes are a water blue, the pupils dilated with rage. Tendons stand out in his neck. "Be reasonable," Trent tells Johnny, and the kid - twenty years old, maybe - grits his teeth, opens his fists, and smacksthe car frame, open handed.
Amber has the baby clasped firmly in her arms now, a full length of the car between her and her boyfriend. Her shoulder is turned toward her boyfriend, protecting the infant bodily. "Baby," she says, desperation a clear undercurrent. She doesn't want to leave him here, cannot let him go. " - this isn't you. It's just a car, right? It's not - we're a team baby, right? You plus me against the world - I don't know - "
Trent returns each one of the young man's accusations in a firm, quiet tone, with that inexorable logic underneath, and once - just once - he gives Trent this enchained look. Like there's still a person underneath the rage, like he gets it, all of it, he just needs a way through, a spool of thread unwound to guide him through this maze -
- and then it drops, that look, Amber is backing away from him. Like she's afraid of him. Like she's afraid, like she has reason to be afraid, his frayed control snaps. Hands again fists, Johnny punches the hod of the car one more time, then takes off, charging for Amber.
[Inits!]
[Twilight] Johnny +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Twilight] Amber! +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Trent Brumby] + 5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Twilight] Amber: 13
Trent: 10
Johnny: 9
Johnny: 1a. Charge Amber! 1b. Grapple Amber!
[Trent Brumby] Body tackle Johnny.
[Twilight] Amber: run away!
[Trent Brumby] The moment that Johnny takes off after the woman and the baby, Trent springs into action. There's no way that he would stand by idly while a prick like this guy chases down an innocent, vulnerable woman and a harmless child. He can hardly believe it when Johnny charges in the first place, but having expected some reaction from the guy, Trent is quick to act. Boots kick off the ground as he sprints after him, all reason gone, as he goes to tackle the guy off course.
[Trent Brumby] Dex+ brawl (bodytackle)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 6 at target 5) [WP]
[Trent Brumby] Dex+ Ath
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Twilight] Dex + Ath
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4 (Failure at target 10)
[Trent Brumby] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Twilight] Johnny: Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Twilight] Amber runs, this half-hitched stride, slower than she would be, burdened as she is by the weight of the crying child. There's this choked off cry out of her mouth that sounds almost like her boyfriend's name, never fully formed. When Johnny takes off after Amber, Trent throughs himself - throws himself at Johnny, tackling him from behind and bringing him down hard. Trent keeps his feet, by Johnny goes down to his knees, then sprawling, cracking his chin against the asphalt. Coughing, spitting blood, Johnny pushes himself up, struggling to get back to his feet.
[Johnny: change actions 1a/b to: 1. GET UP. Dex + Ath -1 wounds, dif 5.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 5)
[Twilight] Johnny: 1a. Punch Trent! 1b. Punch Trent again!
[Trent Brumby] Grapple Johnny to ground.
[Twilight] Amber: Stop running, back away. Watching! Staring in horror!
[Trent Brumby] Grapple. Str + Bra
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Twilight] Johnny: change actions. 1. ESCAPE grapple. -1 for wounds.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Damage for cinch
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Twilight] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Twilight] Pebbles, crumbled bits of buckled asphalt studding his chin, digging into both palms, Johnny pushes himself up, to his knees, soon gaining is feet, turning around in this sort of choking rage to half-face his attack. His scraped hands are fists again, that rage runneling through him like fire as he turns to face his attacking. A good car length and a half-away, Amber turns, cradling her infant, breathing heavy, staring, wide-eyed, tears on her face, openly.
This time, Trent grabs Johnny, holding him firmly. He's larger, he has a greater reach, but otherwise they are well-matched. Johnny is just dazed from the way his head struck the pavement, and he cannot shrug off the hold. Close up, Trent can feel the way the kid's skin burns, like he is enfevered, the ripple of fury in the kid's corded muscles.
[Twilight] Round 3: rundown.
Amber - okay, staring.
Trent - okay!
Johnny - 2 bashing, grappled.
Johnny: 1. Break free!
[Trent Brumby] On the ground kid!
[Twilight] Amber: open-mouthed!
Johnny, Jr.: bawl!
[Trent Brumby] Str + Bra
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Trent Brumby] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Twilight] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Twilight] Johnny: Changes action. 1. HEAD BUTT. Dex + Brawl -1 (wounds), dif 7
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7) [WP]
[Twilight] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Stamina
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Twilight] The struggle is hard-fought, punctuated by grunts, by this furious, impotent snarl from the young man as Trent begins to wrestle him to the ground. Trent has wrestled the other man down to one knee, nearly but not quite on the ground, dominating the fight, and can sense him bracing himself to try breaking free once more. Instead, quite abruptly, Johnny snaps his head back, making contact with Trent's forehead, a dull crack of bone on bone.
Round 4.
Trent: okay!
Johnny: 3 Bashing, grappled, half-way to the ground.
[Twilight] Johnny: 1a. Head-Butt! 1b. KICK Trent.
[Trent Brumby] Continue to wrestle.
[Trent Brumby] Str + Bra
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Trent Brumby] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Twilight] Johnny: 1a. HEAD BUTT. -1 (wounds) -2 (split)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[Twilight] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 8, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Twilight] 1b. KICK. -1 (wounds) -2 (split). dif +2
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 9) [WP]
[Twilight] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6 (Failure at target 6)
[Twilight] Trent wrestles Johnny to the ground, effectively pinning him under his weight, an arm around the kid's shoulders, a firm hand between his shoulder blades, holding him against the asphalt. Pinned, Johnny continues to struggle - wildly now, thoughtlessly. He isn't trying to break free, he's just throwing these desperate blows, frantic, lashing back to head butt Trent again, scissoring a kick that somehow catches Trent in the left knee, leaving bruises behind.
"Stop, stop - " it's impossible to tell to whom Amber is speaking. Johnny, Trent, the universe, the shadow of the sun on the horizon. There's a hint of fear, there, a rich note of desperation. " - baby," there are tears steaking her cheeks, though, and maybe she is just talking to the baby, rocking him as he continues to cry. Her body is stark, the raw afterburn of fear in her throat. If Trent were not here, that would be her on the asphalt.
She hugs the baby tighter, holding him with a sort of fierce desperation.
[Twilight] Round 5! DING DING DING.
Amber: crying.
Trent: 1 bashing! on top!
Johnny: 3 bashing! Grrrr. Pinned. +2 dif to his actions, -2 dif to actions against him.
[Twilight] Johnny:
1. Elbow Trent!
[Trent Brumby] "Take your baby inside!" His voice cuts out more angry then before. He doesn't mean to direct it at her like that, but he's struggling with a violent man under him, trying to keep him from getting up where he knows the man can do more damage. "Now!"
He takes the hits to his body, better then him then the frail girl or soft boned baby, and shifts his hold to try and keep the man from moving anywhere. He hasn't quite thought what he's going to do with him from there, since nobody is coming to help.
[Trent Brumby] Choke-hold Johnny.
[Trent Brumby] Str + braw - 1 injured.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5 (Failure at target 6) [WP]
[Twilight] Johnny: Elbow! Trent!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Twilight] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Trying again!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Damage choke!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 8, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Trent Brumby] Damage choke!!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Twilight] SOAK!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Twilight] This struggle, between a pair of unarmed human men almost perfectly matched physically, takes far longer than any battle between Garou. There is a sort of relentlessness to the gritty fight, the cinders of the broken pavement underfoot and then underbody, the way the asphalt abrades Trent's knuckles as he holds Johnny down, insinuates his arm around the kid to get him in a choke hold, and then chokes him, cutting off his air. The damage isn't life threatening, scrapes and deep bruises for both, but this time the hold literally immobilizes him. Trent squeezes, cutting off Johnny's air, and the kid's body spasms for a minute, these terrible choking noises coming from his mouth -
- then he goes limp, all that strain gone out of him as the oxygen deprivation hits.
"Don't - don't - baby stop, baby - " Trent yells at Amber to get her child out of her, to move, to remove herself, the goad of her presence. Christ, and she just stands there, watching. That's not entirely true, she's backing away the whole time, one step two step, watching, leaving, but unable to pull herself entirely way.
Then Johnny - scrappy Johnny, who kicks and head-butts and elbows Trent - leaving him with a few superficial bruises and a deeper one on his left knee - goes limp and Amber stills. Stark and alert, her grip on the infant like a vise.
[Twilight] Final tally:
Trent: 2 bashing!
Johnny: 4 bashing, passed out!
[Twilight] The stop changes again, red to green. The same cars idled on the main thoroughfare throughout the fight. If anyone noticed, they are doing not a damned thing about it.
[Trent Brumby] As his arm slowly pulls away, allowing oxygen back into the others lungs and brain, he touches the side of his neck for the pulse. He's trained as a medic, worked professionally as one for a few years, and had obviously done some self defense training too. Making sure Johnny is still actually alive, he gets up and immediately heads for his trunk.
A hand points from Amber to the restaurant. "Amber, go over there, calm your child and yourself. You are not helping this situation. Johnny is fine and breathing." But as he says this, he hasn't stopped what he's doing, moving to pop open his trunk and to grab out a length of rope.
Providing nobody stops him, Trent has full intentions of binding up this guys hands and feet, and while he may have told Kora that he is perfectly hopeless when it comes to camping, tying up a person is another matter altogether. He's well versed in that. Immobilizing others by the use of restraints is a several year (and then some) pastime.
[Twilight] "You aren't going to - " Amber watches the whole thing; sees Trent checking Johnny's pulse, feeling for signs of life, and watches as he lets her boyfriend go. There's silence, after. Just the idle of engines at the redlight, and the baby's crying.
Her arms are getting tired.
Johnny's fine, she tells herself, Johnny's fine.
Some part of her - some macabre part of her - wants to stay and watch this play out. She wants to go, kneel down, turn Johnny over, brush the pebbles from the broken asphalt off his cheek, his bruised jaw, his cracked nose.
Then she remembers the look in his eyes when he launched himself at her, and Johnny, Jr. renews his crying, hungry now, tired, legs kicking, heavy in her arms. With a sort of gasping sigh, she pivots, clutching the baby to her body, and retreats toward the restaurant, stealing glances back over her shoulder at Trent and Johnny.
No one else seems to have noticed. The shadows over the parking lot are dark now, the only light from the restaurant, on the street, in the sky.
[Trent Brumby] Breathing a bit easier now that the girl is away in the restaurant, he finishes up with Johnny decides he'll gag him later if he starts any screaming bullshit, but would rather have the guy able to talk. He's made him as comfortable as he can while being hog tied on the ground. Flexing his knuckles, he looks at the scrapes before going for his phone from his pocket and pulling it out, hoping the screen isn't cracked - thankfully it isn't, these are durable things.
Kora's number is in speed dial and gets put to his ear. He gathers his breathing and checks himself over, rubbing at his knee as he waits to see if he's getting the voice-mail or not. Already he's contemplating a plan, thinking in this silence.
[Twilight] She answers on the third ring, her voice distant, a bit distracted. The sound of a an engine close by, some clanging, the harsh screed of metal against metal. Gaia only knows where she is. There's a certain - distance in her voice, like her mouth is held away from the speaker that resolves after ten seconds of static. Then her voice is in his ear.
"Baby," she says to him, quiet, underneath the metal noise in the background. Familiar, fond. " - hi. What do you need?"
[Trent Brumby] "I just got into a fight," he tells her the moment she answers. "I'm alright, a few scraps, and I've detained the guy." Pale grays shift down to Johnny, held captive on the ground. "But I'm pretty sure that there's something not right with the guy. Aside from the obvious. He needs some help."
There's a pause.
"Should I call the cops, or?" Another glance to his knuckles, flexing them again and watches the dirt and grit shift across the raw skin.
[Twilight] Trent says, detained and she's still for a moment, silent on the other end. "Not a threat to you anymore, yeah?" she asks, pausing before continuing, listening to the traffic noise on his end, through the statis. " - and you're outside. Okay. If you need to call for form, yeah? Call Izzy, have her come and flash a badge. I'll get an address where she can bring him. Give me twenty minutes. Or if you're okay, bring him youself."
Another pause, then, " - we'll see what we can do. Okay?"
[Trent Brumby] "Great idea. I forgot about Izzy." It perks him up some. "I'll give her a call and we'll go from there. Don't worry, I'm not in any trouble." Now with a more solid plan, he feels better. Some tension leaks out of him and his voice takes on a happier tone. "I'll call you again soon. Okay? And we'll have to buy dinner."
After any goodbyes he'll hang up and make a call to Izzy to see if she can come and pick the guy up to go from there.
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