[Arcane] The sun was out all day, warming the sidewalks. Though still below freezing, the Chicago night seems balmy after the endless march of arctic lows, flirting with 0 F and below. It's easier to breathe, easier to keep the cold stone walls of the church warm. With the deceptively bright sun and the deceptively blue sky, it's easy to believe that spring is not far off now.
It's later now, an ordinary night. Kora's sitting on the arm of one of the old couches. Even from a distance, the pack can sense the visceral immediacy of Imogen's pure breeding. And will, the moment they leave the kitchen and enter the sanctuary. Have a job for you, Kora's voice in Roman's mind, quiet, low and sure. Roman. Bring Patrick, too.
There's an easiness to Kora's posture, but a certain - alertness underneath, straight through the shoulders, straight through the spine - as she speaks, quietly, with Imogen near the front of the sanctuary. Her dark eyes are settled on the kinswoman's features. That moment's inattention passes and her gaze sharpens in focus on Imogen's familiar features, the fine skin, the scintillating hair. The slap of breeding, raw, ineffable, stark echoes of Garou long dead, long past, long gone. "I'm going to send Roman and Patrick. Doc, do you have time to take them there, show them what you found?"
[Roman Turner] They were in the kitchen where Roman was stuffing his face with Patrick. Fries were shared, stolen and thrown back and forth. The smell of onions and greasy fries tainted the air from the fast food.
"Oh what's that!?"
He pointed over Patrick's shoulder so he could snag a fry.
It was during this that Kora's mental voice whispered through his mind like the brush of a feather, tickling the back of his thoughts before settling in the thinking part of his brain. He paused with the stolen fry half chewed.
"Kora wants us."
[Slaughter] Where Kora sits, Imogen stands, her spine straight, her shoulders back. She is darkly dressed, a black coat over dark washed jeans and a black sweater. Her skin and hair stand out sharply, the skin ever so pale, the hair ever so red.
She turns her head slightly toward the kitchen as the other speaks, half expecting the two Garou to come barrelling out, but the truth is, they are a little slower than that, being neither superheroes nor firemen.
Her attention returns to Kora, her gaze settling on the Fenrir's features - blonde and pale. There is a moment's pause, a tightening to her lips. It passes.
"I do," she answers.
[Patrick Llewelyn] "That's low, man."
The Fianna says, without rancor. The days have eased some of Patrick's grief, and it no longer bears its presence in the lines of his face; in shadows beneath his eyes. He is showering again (most everyone was rejoicing the fact), tending to his appearance enough that when he emerges with Roman; still chewing on the remains of his meal the difference in him is visible.
That he will never be precisely merry is sure; but the Galliard can at least smile now, fleetingly, at Imogen when he sees her. "What's going on?" He queries, tugging at the zipper on his coat.
[Roman Turner] "What?"
His reply with an added innocent look to Patrick's "Low" comment. Still practicing that innocent look when he came out behind Patrick. Himself still washing down a bite with the last of a can of beer while he worked at depositing a fry down the back of Patrick's coat with as much stealth as he could.
[Arcane] "Cool," returns Kora, some of the fine tension in her features easing minutely into the more familiar, considered faces she wears so ordinarily and so well. She stands, then, sliding from the arm of the couch, her feet on the cool stone floor, glances up toward the chancel, the transept, the crossing. "I appreciate it." There's a certain quiet - fervence to her expression of appreciation. The words are not empty.
Seated like that, Kora on the half-buckled arm of the squat old couch, the kinswoman and Skald are nearly of a height. Standing, though, Kora towers over the kinswoman. "Roman," she lifts her voice when they draw, "Patrick. The doc found something suspicious, yeah? I want you two to go with her to check it out. I'm going to let the Doc give you the details, or we'll get into a bloody game of telephone," a twist of her mouth, here, " - that may not have a natural ending."
[Slaughter] Kora creates a lead up - Doc, she calls her, and Patrick may have already realized, not many call Imogen by her first name. Doc. Miss Doctor Slaughter Ma'am. Et cetera. When it is her turn, Imogen speaks. "I found another interesting warehouse, abandoned, but even the homeless avoid it. The gangs don't park their cars or sell their drugs there." A beat, "I took a look," presumably with more success than the last location she had surveyed, as she is here, telling them, rather than hiding in overgrowth while beasts suck and eat the marrow of their meal. "Found a fairly old body, desiccated," a beat, before she adds, "dried out.
"It looked old, but given tha' it's still being gi'en a wide berth, I thought someone here might be interested in taking a look."
She appears unflappable, her voice even, unhurried, offering the details with a certain sort of calm.
[Roman Turner] "Howdy Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am."
He came up even with Kora, brushing his arm against her's.
"Ya found a jerky tender body and want us to take a look at it and the area? Does it stank bad or is it all the way to the jerky stage?"
[Patrick Llewelyn] "Dude," the Cliath cries in disgust as a fry drops out the back of his shirt; a hand lashing out to shove at the younger boy with the roughhousing force of bickering wolves. "That had better not have been in your mouth." There's a measure of returning focus though, when Kora addresses him, and his spine straightens, a hand rising to scruff at the nape of his neck.
He frowns at what the Skald says, and the expression deepens as the Doctor does; his bright eyes sharp on Imogen's face; her unflustered demeanor. "Sounds like something," he agrees, without any over-abundance of glee at the thought of discovering whatever might have been the source of the Kinwoman's discoveries.
"Lead the way, Imogen."
He doesn't bother with the titles; perhaps that might bother her; perhaps the Fianna does not care.
[Slaughter] Imogen's eyebrow lifts at Roman and his question, "Desiccated would indicate the jerky stage." If she has any discomfort with the use of her first name, she does not show it.
[Roman Turner] "So ya want us to take a look at the mummy remains and see if we can figure out why everyone avoids the area?"
He clarified with Kora.
"Sure would be nice to have Linus in on this with his spirits, but we are game, aren't we Patrick? I call shot gun!"
[Arcane] "Roman," there's a certain cautionary note in Kora's voice. He brushes past her, and she returns the moment's contact, a solid bump of her elbow against his upper arm, that familiar contact backed by a certain - direction. She flickers a glance upward at Patrick then, her fine mouth curving into a brief, passing half-smile as he agrees that it sounds like something. The mirth is mostly hidden beneath the direct, clear-eyed facade she wears, but the brief gleam of it underneath is welcome. "I'm counting on you." Then, brief bob of her head, affirming Roman's understanding of the request. "I think a Ragabash and Galliard can handle it. If it takes more than one trip - " a faint, subtle shrug. "Then we can go back. Scouting mission tonight, yeah?"
Then she lifts her chin toward the door. "Thank you, all. Let me know what you find."
[Patrick Llewelyn] "I hate it when people say that to me," he returns back at Kora's remark of depending on them. There's a gleam of returned mirth (and deeper, true unease) in his eyes; voice. "For the record, if horror befalls us all, it wasn't my idea." With a brief smirk, he heads out after Roman and Imogen; his hands immediately delving into the pockets of his coat; the collar turned up against the chill.
He glances at Imogen as they walk.
"So how did you come upon this warehouse, anyway? Can't imagine it's on your way to anywhere."
[Slaughter] "Don't worry," Imogen answers, mildly, her mouth twisting. "I'll take responsibility."
Her gaze flicks to Kora, then she nods slightly, starting toward the door. Patrick asks a question, as Imogen pushes through the front doorway, bracing herself against the wind. Winter still clutches Chicago in its claws, but even so, she leaves her coat open.
There is an old Volvo parked out front. The drive is likely to be painful for the mechanic, Patrick.
She glances at him when he speaks, before looking away, fishing into the pockets of her jacket.
[Slaughter] (err. that wasn't supposed to send!)
[Slaughter] "Don't worry," Imogen answers, mildly, her mouth twisting. "I'll take responsibility."
Her gaze flicks to Kora, then she nods slightly, starting toward the door. Patrick asks a question, as Imogen pushes through the front doorway, bracing herself against the wind. Winter still clutches Chicago in its claws, but even so, she leaves her coat open.
There is an old Volvo parked out front. The drive is likely to be painful for the mechanic, Patrick.
She glances at him when he speaks, before looking away, fishing into the pockets of her jacket. "I ha' my eye out fer things that seem out o' the ordinary," she says, finally. "And know people who do the same on my behalf."
[Patrick Llewelyn] "Do I want to know what you do on your time off?" He returns that remark with, his eyebrows rising a touch. Ah, the Volvo. Patrick's expression does alter a touch and he takes his hands out of his pockets; doing a lap around the car and ducking down to look at -- well, goodness only knew -- before his head appeared again. His boots crunch over the earth as he knocks at a tire absently with the toe of one; checking the pressure.
"I could do a lot with this." He impresses on her, without true hope of anything but a smirk, or absent remark.
[Roman Turner] He gave Kora one last backwards glance, meeting her eyes for a split second before walking out as he tugged on his coat. Once outside he headed for the shotgun seat.
"Ya wouldn't believe some of the things Miss Doctor Slaughter finds."
His shoulders hunched against the cold wind until they got in the car.
[Slaughter] A smirk twists Imogen's mouth, but there is not much humour to it, only a sort of dry resignation. "No," she says. "You probably don't."
A flick of a glance toward Roman, but she refrains from noting he forgot the 'ma'am'.
She circles around to the driver's side door, glancing at Patrick as he comes back up from checking the underside of her car.
"I'm waitin' fer the engine to die," she says, "and then I'll buy another one." Blasphemy, one would guess for a fix-it like Patrick. "Yeh'd better sit behind me," as opposed to Roman, "more room fer yer legs."
The door unlocks uneasily, a heavy click of metal, and she gets inside, slamming the door to make sure it sticks, before she leans over, unlocking the passenger side door, then twisting around to unlock the rear driver's side.
[Roman Turner] He was looking for the seat belt once he got in, ready to go even as he asked.
"Does this thing have heat?"
[Patrick Llewelyn] "Oh," the Fianna says with a brief huff of amusement to Roman as he slides in behind the Doctor, "I think I would." The remark about letting the engine die had brought a twist of despair (albeit somewhat melodramatically) across the Galliard's face and he'd slapped his hand over his chest.
"You wound me."
She's correct however, about the leg room. While not as tall as some, Patrick's build was solid, and even seated as he is; he has to fold up one knee. It has to be a little claustrophobic, on the drive there. There's not one but two of them pressing against the confined space; and while perhaps Roman alone was tolerable, Patrick's Rage was a force.
[Slaughter] Imogen must appear to be one of the most stoic kinfolk - even in the close confines with Patrick's rage, there is little reaction. There is no added tension.
She has withstood far more than this.
The engine starts uncomfortably, loudly, and Roman asks if it has heat, and Patrick mentions she wounds him.
"It will ha' some when we get moving," she says, though the warmth from the vents is never much more than lukewarm.
She pulls out and away from the church and starts down the road. Unless the others strike up a conversation (as Roman doubtlessly will) the drive is quiet.
[Arcane] It's a good mile, maybe two, following the arc of the Chicago through the center of the old industrial corridor of the city before the boulevard swings away from the river, following the long, slow curve of some long abandoned railway.
Chicago, City of Broad Shoulders, Hog Butcher to the World, and all that is left of those days is this inner city industrial ruin. High rise housing projects loom close here. The buildings have a gutted look, blind in the failing light, like a man whose eyes have been put out, but who continues to stare out of his fucking empty sockets. The crumbling brick warehouses, factories, the old storefronts are bisected here by a weedy ruin of an old rail right of way, most of the rails pried up, the gravel covered with trash, broken bottles, crack pipes, cigarette butts, used condoms, broken furniture, blown out tires, the rusting frames of a handful of old boxcars with nowhere to go.
Here are there the old spaces have been reclaimed. One is a cheap plastics manufacturer, running one shift of a morning. There's a lumbar yard down the way, and a second-hand home improvement store across the road.
The street here is plowed clear of snow, and a handful of parking spaces have been dug out, or melted down, by the downbeat of the sun on the northern half of the street. The snow is old and sooty, carved in moving drifts. A narrow walkway, sheltered from the wind by a retaining wall and from the sky by an overhanging awning, the skin ripped away from its aluminum skeleton, leads away from the trampled sidewalk past the crumbling brick walls toward an old pair of wooden doors. One set is chained firmly closed. The other is half-open, the old chain hanging uselessly from the metal handles.
[Slaughter] She parked several blocks away, leaving them to approach on foot. The blocks are almost eerily quiet, the sound of a chain squeaking from the box-cars, a steady, rhythmic whine.
The kinswoman slows to a stop at a corner,
"That's it," she says, lifting her jaw to indicate the building, the gap tooth of a partially opened door.
[Roman Turner] He'd climbed out when Imogen parked the car. Each little sound of snow under foot was magnified in his mind. His breath fogged out as he peered around the corner when Imogen pointed out the building.
"Ya went inside and found the body there?"
Outside there might be indicators of tracks in the snow if others had come this way. Inside would be another matter.
"Welp, time to take a look."
[Patrick Llewelyn] Prayers to Broken Stone was not altogether unfamiliar with this side of town. He had a dealer, who had in fact been Howard's dealer who he met, every other week to collect more weed to keep his Rage, and his tendency toward apathy at bay as long as he could. He is not therefore, the young Garou who looked, to human eyes more like a college student than anything else, perturbed by the crumbling, forgotten realm about him as they walk in silence.
Patrick's earlier conversation with Imogen, the easy banter had been left behind at some point on the journey here and the young man is now somber; his expression drawn as they pause to study the building. Patrick's eyes scan the door; the chain swinging, the overwhelming sense of sad abandonment to the place. He exchanges a glance with Roman, nods; his jaw tight.
The Fianna sets off toward the door.
[Roman Turner] "I can slip on ahead if y'all want to hang back and wait for my signal? I got no problem with that."
He was a scout, it's what he did. And sometimes he could actually go unnoticed to other eyes besides how he imagined it in his mind.
[Slaughter] "Hold on," Imogen's voice is quiet, as Patrick starts to move ahead. Her eyes are fixed on the building. "I didn't leave the door closed that far."
A glance at Roman. A beat. "Probably best."
[Patrick Llewelyn] He stops -- turns, and glances at the Kinswoman. He nods, briefly and allows the Ragabash to move on alone. "Do your thing, man."
Patrick's hands return to his pockets; though his thumb remains on the outside, tapping a persistent beat that speaks of agitation, of the desire to be in motion. Perhaps even to smoke though that scent too, has begun to fade from his clothing of recent days.
[Roman Turner] "Ya didn't? Means someone or thing's been here or the wind was blowing just right? Either way, I'll scoot on ahead and take a look. If ya hear a lot of screaming, that would be me."
His brows did a little dance up and down, wiggling as he slipped ahead and reached for two gifts, one behind the other. He tried to Blur and then grabbed Resist Pain just in case. And headed for the building and another way in other than the door. If nothing turned up, he'd go for the obvious entrance.
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]
[Roman Turner] dex+stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Arcane] There are scattered tracks in the snow outside the building. Few of them veer close to the warehouse, and those seem - old, glazed into place, set into stone like a footprint crusted into drying cement. Beyond them, a scattering of finer, pinpoint marks in the snow, like the tracks of birds, or spokes in a wheel. The direct approach to the half-open door is mostly clear, here and there are patches of ice. Snow lines the retaining wall that shelters the broken sidewalk in undulating dunes.
---
From outside, the building seems still. Light sweeps in through high windows, but the ceiling above is lost in shadow. There are no other obvious entrances. The windows closest to ground level had been boarded over. Higher windows gleam in the dull orange glow of the city's industrial scar. Impractical, to scale the side of the mortered brick to gain that edge.
Roman slips inside the building; the others wait without, watching at the no-moon slips into darkness.
[Slaughter] Her gaze moves toward the ragabash, a shoulder lifting, absently, then falling. "Be a fairly strong wind, comin' from the inside." The ragabash starts away.
She is a sharp contrast to Patrick, still and unagitated. She keeps her eyes on Roman for as long as she can see him, before her gaze moves, sweeping over the street, then back toward the building.
Then again, out over the street, above them toward the sky, then back toward the building again. One hand slides beneath her jacket, a faint click as she undoes a strap on her holster.
[Arcane] Per + Alertness
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Arcane] Per + Alertness
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Arcane] (ack. those are DIF SEVEN. one sux on first roll, none on the second.)
[Slaughter] perception+alertness
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 9, 10 (Failure at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] per+PU
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Wits + Crafts]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Slaughter] (let's try that again!)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 7, 7, 10 (Failure at target 7) Re-rolls: 1
[Arcane] The boards covering the windows are relatively new. The wood's raw, it has not been weathered a full season yet. The job was done hastily, but thoroughly. He can still see the impression of the hammer on the wood. Moreover, the boards are fitted together solidly, joined better than you would usually manage if you were just trying to protect glass or keep out the homeless: meant to hide whatever's inside.
to Patrick Llewelyn
[Arcane] The interior is - wrong. That chain hanging from the ceiling doesn't move the way it should. There's a sharp scent in the air, sharp enough that he can smell it in his human skin. He hugs the wall and creeps past rusting old machinery, sees a half-dozen places for something to hide. There's a dark grate near the center of the concrete floor flecked with fluid, and although there is little in the way of dust on the floor, here and there long strands of cobwebs drape down from someplace high up, lost in darkness above the line of light defined by the high windows.
He continues deeper in, and hears the sound of someone coughing. There is the skeleton of an old crane here, stripped of its gears and half-its parts, just a guttered remnant of a thing - and a man, with a shock of blond hair and the pasty skin of a long-time junkie, mostly covered by a thin, filthy blanket he has drawn up and over his head is coughing. Roman can see the shadow of his face, the line of his arms underneath the blanket, hear the wheezing of his near-silent cough, full of a certain grotesque strain, like there's something deep in his lungs that he cannot get out.
to Roman Turner
[Slaughter] (STOP EMBARRASSING ME KAHSEENO)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Patrick Llewelyn] The Galliard's eyes are narrowed as he stares at the building; his gaze sharpening on the lower level's boarded up windows. His fingers stop tapping out their anxious rhythm and he reaches across to touch the Kinwoman's sleeve; attracting her focus toward the building.
"Those windows are newly boarded up, you can see the difference in the wood. It hasn't been out long enough for the weather to touch it," he speaks softly, his voice intent. "That isn't handiwork to keep the elements out, it's to keep anyone from looking in."
[Arcane] There is a piece of paper, crumbled up in the leeside of the retaining wall. It hasn't been there long enough to become soaked; she doesn't remember it from before, but she wasn't standing out here for this long. Still, what she sees as she stands is the word HIS in all capitals, black lettering, some san serif font. One of those evil ones.
to Slaughter
[Roman Turner] What he saw wasn't any reason to fear, but the spider webs and the fact that Imogen had said there was a body here, a body that had been dried out, now that made him think of two things. Vampires and Spiders and everyone knew Vampires weren't real, so that left big ass spiders. His gaze traveled from the one under the blanket towards the ceiling, to the grate and back up again. He couldn't relay back to Patrick and Imogen what he saw. So he was going to give this a good look and slip back to update them.
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Per + Alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Arcane] The crumbled paper is a simple flyer. Half a sheet of paper. One said says:
Addicted to Pain Killers? Alcohol? Benzos? TAKE BACK YOUR LIFE.
Recovery Begins Here! Peer Counselors Available 24-7. God-Centered, Healing- Motivated.
WE HAVE HELPED OTHERS. WE CAN HELP YOU.
The other side:
Call Now! Help is available! Suffer no Longer!
1-888-HIS-SIDE
preparing the people for His return.
to Slaughter
[Slaughter] Imogen glances briefly toward Patrick, her gaze moving toward the boarded up windows, then back to the Fianna. She does not answer his observation, instead walking toward the retaining wall, and sinking to a crouch in its shadow, the tails of her coat sweeping the snow strewn ground. She leans forward, picking something up in her leather gloved fingers.
As she straightens, it is clearly a crumpled sheet of paper which she carefully smooths it against her knee.
Her brow furrows, as she turns it over, searching it for - something, before getting back to her feet, folding the paper and shoving it into her coat pocket. "I'll explain later," she says to Patrick. "S'not important just the now."
[Arcane] Patrick is looking up; he sees - a flicker of movement reflected in the un-boarded up windows that are higher up, a story or two, closing to the roof, closer to the ceiling. For a moment he thinks that it is the reflection of a bird wheeling against the sky -
to Patrick Llewelyn
[Arcane] Both Patrick and Imogen can hear the rasp of labored breathing inside there. It's quiet, hard to differentiate from the background noise, but now and there there's a spasm of almost audible coughing that catches the edges of the interior space, echoes oddly out to meet them.
Roman is peeling away from the coughing man, intent on making his way back to tell the others what he has seen. He gets half-way back across the interior of the old warehouse when - something soft and white falls from the ceiling. Why does it remind him in that hanging second of a beach ball? the middle-roll of a snowman?
Then the softly-woven sack hits the concrete floor with a soft, smacking thud, like the smack of a flat palm against glass.
[Arcane] - and dissolves into a mass of crawling spiders, this moving, grotesque hairball of insect limbs and softly furred bodies, shivering together, scrabbling over each other, pulling free of the peeling silk, each one the size of Roman's hand, no larger. Already spreading out over the concrete floor.
[Roman Turner] Ut oh, he was right. Vampire or Spider and since Vampires weren't real that left the Spider and here came it's egg sack just bursting with little nasty baby spiders.
"Hot damn y'all! Spiders everywhere!"
[Slaughter] Imogen's gaze fixes on the spiders, spreading at Roman's feet. Without a word she spins on her heel and starts toward her car. One - particular Patrick who is, quite frankly, unfamiliar with Imogen's gall - might almost suspect her to be phobic and fleeing the scene. At least until she rounds to the passenger's side of the car, pulling open the door to dig beneath the seat.
"If there is something else there, deal with it," she says, as she straightens, holding a fire extinguisher in her hand. "I'll try and deal wi' the spiders."
She is speaking to Patrick in the hopes this will be passed on to Roman.
"If I run out," a brief pause, a glance toward her car, as she sets the keys on the roof, "There's ethanol in the trunk, strips o' gauze. Yeh can light it up."
She pulls the pin from the extinguisher, and starts toward the building.
[Patrick Llewelyn] "Wait -- " The Galliard has a palm outstretched toward the Kinswoman, keeping a space of distance between them as he stares up at the strange, wheeling bird -- no, not a bird -- "Back up, back up."
He's gesturing at the Kinswoman as the spiders explode out of their eggsack and spill over onto the floor; Patrick's expression is strangely devoid of fear; there is little anxiety. In the heat of the moment, there is calm intent about the Fiann as the Gaian calls out toward them.
"You take one half, I'll take the other?" He's calling with a brief turn of grim humor. "Imogen can blast the rest." When the Doctor returns from her car with the fire extinguisher, the Fianna nods, once. Already his eyes have begun to take on a strangely animal slant.
He sets off toward Roman.
There's a rippling, then; and Patrick's form erupts; cloth tearing away beneath the explosion of fur and extended musculature. In seconds; the man is replaced by a hulking tawny Hispo wolf.
[+8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
[Arcane] Spiders 1-10 +4
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Arcane] Spiders 11-20 +4
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Arcane] Spiders 21-30
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Slaughter] (+9)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Roman Turner] Inti...still in homid at the moment...dex+wits
+7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Arcane] Coughing Dude. +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Arcane] Imogen: 17
Patrick: 14
Spiders 1-10: 14
Spiders: 21-30: 14
Spiders 11-20: 12
Roman: 11
Coughing Dude: 10
Imogen returns with a fire extinguisher from her car; Prayers to Broken Stone dives into the warehouse, surging toward Roman, over the knot of spiders fighting its way free of the broken egg sack, swarming out onto the concrete floor, hungry. Roman is just on the other side of the knot of spiders. Beyond him - a good leap for a warformed Garou, farther for a human, a man sits shrouded beneath a blanket, coughing, wheezing, straining like there's something in his lungs that won't come up. He sits in the shadow of a ruined industrial crane, long-since stripped for parts, and doesn't seem aware of them until there's commotion at the front; until the egg sack falls -
- He stands up, this hapless man with a shock of blond hair and several days' stubble over his jaw, still coughing, the coughing fit audible now, this terrible, wet, tearing hacking, accompanied by an "OH GOD. OH - " choke, "OH - " full of agony.
Coughing Man: 1. Stand up. Still coughing! Skin tearing! Gross!
[Roman Turner] The spider babies weren't so bad, but the freaking out, hacking, skin tearing man was. He snapped to Warform and leap for the freaking man to..
1a, claw man
1b claw man
[Arcane] Spiders 1-10: SWARM Roman. He looks tasty!
Spiders: 21-30! We were at the bottom of the pile, fighting free!
Spiders: 11-20: SWARM Patrick. Potentially also very tasty!
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Patrick is gonna --
1a.
1b. -- chomp Spiders 11-20!
R1.
R2. -- then Stomp them!]
[Slaughter] The spiders tick-tick-tick along the ground, their many legs moving, their many eyes blinking. She cannot hear them speak and cannot imagine them thinking, and there is a certain alieness to them, made worse by their context.
The man hacks and coughs almost screaming as his skin begins to split, as blood begins to seep from the gaping holes, and if she looked closely, she might see his ribs as they cracked open. However, she does not look closely - Roman becomes a beast, and starts toward the ailing, soon to be dying man. The spiders swarm his way.
Imogen turns her nozzle upon them.
Earlier this evening she easily withstood Garou in the small confines of her car. Now, with the wyrm at her back, the hairs on the back of her neck lift, a metaphorical spider skittering down her spine.
(split actions three ways:
Spray spiders - 3
spray spiders 3
spray spiders 3 + WP)
[Slaughter] Spray 1!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Slaughter] damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Arcane] Spider 1
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Arcane] Spider 2
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Arcane] Spider 3
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3 (Failure at target 8)
[Slaughter] Spray 2
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Slaughter] damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Arcane] Escape foam?
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 5, 7 (Failure at target 8)
[Slaughter] Spray 3!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5) [WP] Re-rolls: 2
[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Arcane] Escape foam?
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Failure at target 8)
[Arcane] Results!
Spiders: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5: ARE DEAD SPIDERS.
Spiders: 6, 7, 8, 9: ARE SPIDERS IN FOAM.
Spider 10: STILL BITING ROMAN, singing a song (all by my seeeeeeeeeeeeelf)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [1a. Chomp! (-2 Split) Dex + Brawl]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [1b. Chomp! (-3)]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 2 ]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Arcane] Spiders: 11 + 12: DEAD.
[Arcane] Spider 10: BITE ROMAN.
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 5)
[Arcane] Spiders 13-20! BITE PATRICK. :(
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Roman Turner] 1b. Claw sick dude.
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 7, 7, 7, 7, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Er, oh yeah. Resist Toxin would be beneficial.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Arcane] Sick Dude Soaks!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 5 (Botch x 2 at target 6)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Soaking]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 7, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [R1. STOMPING. Since apparently Soaking is too much work.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 7)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 5]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [R2. SQUISH.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 3 -1]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Arcane] Roman slams into the coughing man; tears open his human skin, rips into him deep down to the bone. He can feel the human's skin zipping open beneath his claws. The blood flows freely, but there's also something - chitinous, there, compacted beneath the ribs, jointed, twitching in its death throes. The man falls, blood gushing from his torso, his mouth, his staring, straining eyes, this - grotesque appendage folded underneath his skin still - twitching.
Spiders: 1-5 are dead. 6-9 are stuck in foam. and 11-18 are dead.
10 is on Roman. 19-20 are on Patrick!
21-30 are coming out of the eggsack!
[Arcane] Coughing Dude (INSIDE OF HIM.) +4
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Arcane] Spiders: +4
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Roman Turner] +8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Arcane] Order!
Imogen
Patrick
Roman
Coughing Dude: 9
Spiders: 4
Spiders: 10 + 21-26 SWARM ROMAN
19-20 SWARM PATRICK
26- 30: kamikaze run at the lady with the Fire Extinguisher!
[Arcane] Coughing Dude: (Inside) 1. Skewer Roman.
Rage 1: Bite Roman.
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Stamina! Regen plz.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Roman Turner] 1a. Claw coughing monster thingie
1b Claw coughing monster thingie again
1 rage squish spider 10
[Patrick Llewelyn] [1a. Squash Spiders 19-20!
1b. Bite 21-26 on Roman
R1. Again on those on Roman
R2. Etc. moving on then to Coughing Dude!]
[Slaughter] Split actions 3 ways!
Target 21-30!
[Slaughter] Spray 1!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Slaughter] damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Slaughter] Spray 2!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 5)
[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5 (Botch x 2 at target 6)
[Slaughter] Spray 1 redux!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 7, 10 (Failure at target 5)
[Slaughter] reroll 10!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 5)
[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Slaughter] SPRAY THREEEEEE DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEE
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 5 (Success x 1 at target 5) [WP]
[Slaughter] no, really guys, seriously. die.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Arcane] Spiders 21-29 are dead!
Currently Active Spiders: 10 [chomping Roman]; 19 + 20 [chomping Patrick] 30 [chomping Imogen]
[Patrick Llewelyn] [1a. Stomp! (-2 Split, -1 Ow)]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Arcane] Currently Active Spiders: 10 [chomping Roman];19 + 20 [chomping Patrick] ; 30 [chomping Imogen]
[Patrick Llewelyn] [1b. Stomp that one dude.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 8 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Arcane] Currently Active Spiders: 10 [chomping Roman. MY NAME IS ININGO MONTOYA! YOU KEEEL MY BROTHERS! PREPARE TO DIE];19 + 20 [chomping Patrick] ; 30 [chomping Imogen]
[Roman Turner] 1a claw sick dude thingie
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Roman Turner] Damn
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Arcane] SOAK
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1b Claw Sick Dude thingie
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] Damn
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Arcane] SOAAAAAAK!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Arcane] Whatever was compacted underneath the ribcage, pushing through the skin of the dying man breaks free: a jointed leg, opening, covered with tiny cilia, utterly inhuman, too large for the space into which it has somehow been pressed - explodes from the chest cavity of the dead man, a rain of shattered bone sprays as it lashes out at Roman.
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[Arcane] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Arcane] Spider 10: AYIIIEEEE:
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [R1. Kill the Pig -- wait, I mean Bug! (-1 ow)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 5 at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Arcane] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] R1 Claw thingie
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Failure at target 7)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [R2!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 7, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Arcane] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Arcane] The air swims with foam from the fire extinguisher, the sharp chemical scent of it, and the fetid stink of the coughing man as Roman opens him up the first time and whatever remains is his bowels is released in one reflexive movement. His bowels and bladder; the air spells of piss and shit and something mucosal underneath that blood, the dry silk and the flat powderiness of the exoskeleton of the thing opening in the chest cavity of the corpse. There are dead spiders everywhere; the danger is obvious to Patrick, bitten three or four times. Though the injection sites are tiny, he can feel the poison inside his body, stiffening his joints, making it harder for him to fight, harder to move.
Imogen is surrounding by foam, the corpses of the dead spiders; the two Garou have leapt across the breadth of the warehouse to tear apart whatever it is that emerged from the coughing man's chest. And, in the end, they tear it open, pull away the razored arm dripping with Fate's blood tear it off with a wet snick, feel it breaking - some connection, wherever it came from, just one leg and a greedy mouth born and died in the collapsed corpse of a sick human.
The warehouse is silent after; just the harsh sound of their breathing. The stomp of Fate's great paw as he shakes off and crunches the last of the spiders.
[Roman Turner] His shoulders might not be as great as some with his smaller stature, but in this form, Warform, they were impressive enough compared to norm. Dark lips were peeled back in a snarl that wrinkled his muzzle showing wickedly sharp, gleaming white teeth. In this form his faded blue-gray eyes were a rich amber in his monster's face as he turned to regard Patrick and Imogen with a lift of his head in a very human nod. Despite the stench in here, he took several deep breaths as his ears twitched, swiveling with each faint sound in the place. Blood dripped from the slash he'd taken but he didn't feel yet.
Back across the link to Kora and Linus was sent a feeling of victory as his body twist and wavered, shifting back to the teen he was when he wasn't playing Super Hero slash Nightmare.
"Woo weee, now that was just plain ole nasty! I owe y'all."
[Slaughter] She coughs sharply to clear her throat, lowering the fire extinguisher, then lifting it again to shake it gently. The contents sift softly, but the canister sounds nearly empty. The kinswoman toes a spider away from her with a shoe, flicking a glance toward Roman.
"Spiders again," she observes.
[Roman Turner] "Spiders, the other white meat?"
He tried for humor as he nudged the remains of the body by scraping the bottom of his foot off on it.
"Ya know the worse part about a party? Cleaning up afterwards."
[Patrick Llewelyn] The Fianna is lucky for the gift that spares his body the true effects of the poison the Spiders injected into him. But it still slows him down enough for his limbs to shake, briefly, as he kills the last of the Spiders surrounding him. His fur shaken out, the Galliard whuffs at the Gaian; turns and regards the Kinswoman in his great wolf form.
Like this, there is no disputing the danger he posed. The danger any of those like him did.
After a moment; there is a concerted effort made by the Fianna to shift forms downward, the crack and strangely liquid sound of bone and sinew rearranging itself into a human shape. Eventually, however, he is back and whole and slightly bent forward; puncture marks in his neck still evident. He sets a hand over them; grimacing.
"I say we drag them into a heap and burn them."
[Slaughter] She pauses, lifting a hand, still sealed in her leather gloves, the surface now damaged with the spray-back from the fire extinguisher.
"I don't want to dispose o' it this time," she says, evenly.
"I want to see what was goin' on wi' tha' -" a lift of her chin indicates the fomor. "S'too bloody coincidental. Two warehouses, spider creatures in both."
[Roman Turner] "Yeah, something weird. It felt out of whack when I came in. Seems like we got some investigating to do and a little patching up."
He was eying Patrick's puncture wounds.
"You ok? I mean, not feeling like nothing's growing inside of your belly, do ya?"
[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick's eyes follow the redhead's toward the dead and destroyed corpse. He could all but taste the bitterness of corruption in his throat still. "Keep the body, but we should get rid of these little ones." He nudges a dead insectoid body with the toe of his boot.
"Yeah," he straightens, drops his hand away from his neck. "Benefit of being of Stag, we're hard to poison."
[Slaughter] Imogen turns her head to glance at Patrick, from her position standing over the body, an eyebrow arching. "I'm quite familiar wi' body disposal," she says, easily. "Yeh might even call it routine.
"We both know what needs t'be done - it will probably go much swiftly if we simply do it rather than yeh talking about it."
A beat. "Shall we get to work?"
[Patrick Llewelyn] He doesn't seem particularly affronted by her telling him what she's familiar with; he merely lifts a shoulder in some absent attempt at nonchalance. "Fair enough," is the most she gets from Patrick, before he sets to helping the Kinswoman collect together and pile grotesque little corpses into a pile.
With the Gaian's help, the clean up process doesn't likely take as long as it otherwise might. Most all of the Galliard's Rage had been burned through in battle so he is a blessedly tamer presence to work alongside than he might otherwise have been. At some point he does cast Imogen a glance; bent to some task as if he were trying to piece together some puzzle in his head, but it remains a passing fancy, and he does not voice whatever it is aloud.
It's later now, an ordinary night. Kora's sitting on the arm of one of the old couches. Even from a distance, the pack can sense the visceral immediacy of Imogen's pure breeding. And will, the moment they leave the kitchen and enter the sanctuary. Have a job for you, Kora's voice in Roman's mind, quiet, low and sure. Roman. Bring Patrick, too.
There's an easiness to Kora's posture, but a certain - alertness underneath, straight through the shoulders, straight through the spine - as she speaks, quietly, with Imogen near the front of the sanctuary. Her dark eyes are settled on the kinswoman's features. That moment's inattention passes and her gaze sharpens in focus on Imogen's familiar features, the fine skin, the scintillating hair. The slap of breeding, raw, ineffable, stark echoes of Garou long dead, long past, long gone. "I'm going to send Roman and Patrick. Doc, do you have time to take them there, show them what you found?"
[Roman Turner] They were in the kitchen where Roman was stuffing his face with Patrick. Fries were shared, stolen and thrown back and forth. The smell of onions and greasy fries tainted the air from the fast food.
"Oh what's that!?"
He pointed over Patrick's shoulder so he could snag a fry.
It was during this that Kora's mental voice whispered through his mind like the brush of a feather, tickling the back of his thoughts before settling in the thinking part of his brain. He paused with the stolen fry half chewed.
"Kora wants us."
[Slaughter] Where Kora sits, Imogen stands, her spine straight, her shoulders back. She is darkly dressed, a black coat over dark washed jeans and a black sweater. Her skin and hair stand out sharply, the skin ever so pale, the hair ever so red.
She turns her head slightly toward the kitchen as the other speaks, half expecting the two Garou to come barrelling out, but the truth is, they are a little slower than that, being neither superheroes nor firemen.
Her attention returns to Kora, her gaze settling on the Fenrir's features - blonde and pale. There is a moment's pause, a tightening to her lips. It passes.
"I do," she answers.
[Patrick Llewelyn] "That's low, man."
The Fianna says, without rancor. The days have eased some of Patrick's grief, and it no longer bears its presence in the lines of his face; in shadows beneath his eyes. He is showering again (most everyone was rejoicing the fact), tending to his appearance enough that when he emerges with Roman; still chewing on the remains of his meal the difference in him is visible.
That he will never be precisely merry is sure; but the Galliard can at least smile now, fleetingly, at Imogen when he sees her. "What's going on?" He queries, tugging at the zipper on his coat.
[Roman Turner] "What?"
His reply with an added innocent look to Patrick's "Low" comment. Still practicing that innocent look when he came out behind Patrick. Himself still washing down a bite with the last of a can of beer while he worked at depositing a fry down the back of Patrick's coat with as much stealth as he could.
[Arcane] "Cool," returns Kora, some of the fine tension in her features easing minutely into the more familiar, considered faces she wears so ordinarily and so well. She stands, then, sliding from the arm of the couch, her feet on the cool stone floor, glances up toward the chancel, the transept, the crossing. "I appreciate it." There's a certain quiet - fervence to her expression of appreciation. The words are not empty.
Seated like that, Kora on the half-buckled arm of the squat old couch, the kinswoman and Skald are nearly of a height. Standing, though, Kora towers over the kinswoman. "Roman," she lifts her voice when they draw, "Patrick. The doc found something suspicious, yeah? I want you two to go with her to check it out. I'm going to let the Doc give you the details, or we'll get into a bloody game of telephone," a twist of her mouth, here, " - that may not have a natural ending."
[Slaughter] Kora creates a lead up - Doc, she calls her, and Patrick may have already realized, not many call Imogen by her first name. Doc. Miss Doctor Slaughter Ma'am. Et cetera. When it is her turn, Imogen speaks. "I found another interesting warehouse, abandoned, but even the homeless avoid it. The gangs don't park their cars or sell their drugs there." A beat, "I took a look," presumably with more success than the last location she had surveyed, as she is here, telling them, rather than hiding in overgrowth while beasts suck and eat the marrow of their meal. "Found a fairly old body, desiccated," a beat, before she adds, "dried out.
"It looked old, but given tha' it's still being gi'en a wide berth, I thought someone here might be interested in taking a look."
She appears unflappable, her voice even, unhurried, offering the details with a certain sort of calm.
[Roman Turner] "Howdy Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am."
He came up even with Kora, brushing his arm against her's.
"Ya found a jerky tender body and want us to take a look at it and the area? Does it stank bad or is it all the way to the jerky stage?"
[Patrick Llewelyn] "Dude," the Cliath cries in disgust as a fry drops out the back of his shirt; a hand lashing out to shove at the younger boy with the roughhousing force of bickering wolves. "That had better not have been in your mouth." There's a measure of returning focus though, when Kora addresses him, and his spine straightens, a hand rising to scruff at the nape of his neck.
He frowns at what the Skald says, and the expression deepens as the Doctor does; his bright eyes sharp on Imogen's face; her unflustered demeanor. "Sounds like something," he agrees, without any over-abundance of glee at the thought of discovering whatever might have been the source of the Kinwoman's discoveries.
"Lead the way, Imogen."
He doesn't bother with the titles; perhaps that might bother her; perhaps the Fianna does not care.
[Slaughter] Imogen's eyebrow lifts at Roman and his question, "Desiccated would indicate the jerky stage." If she has any discomfort with the use of her first name, she does not show it.
[Roman Turner] "So ya want us to take a look at the mummy remains and see if we can figure out why everyone avoids the area?"
He clarified with Kora.
"Sure would be nice to have Linus in on this with his spirits, but we are game, aren't we Patrick? I call shot gun!"
[Arcane] "Roman," there's a certain cautionary note in Kora's voice. He brushes past her, and she returns the moment's contact, a solid bump of her elbow against his upper arm, that familiar contact backed by a certain - direction. She flickers a glance upward at Patrick then, her fine mouth curving into a brief, passing half-smile as he agrees that it sounds like something. The mirth is mostly hidden beneath the direct, clear-eyed facade she wears, but the brief gleam of it underneath is welcome. "I'm counting on you." Then, brief bob of her head, affirming Roman's understanding of the request. "I think a Ragabash and Galliard can handle it. If it takes more than one trip - " a faint, subtle shrug. "Then we can go back. Scouting mission tonight, yeah?"
Then she lifts her chin toward the door. "Thank you, all. Let me know what you find."
[Patrick Llewelyn] "I hate it when people say that to me," he returns back at Kora's remark of depending on them. There's a gleam of returned mirth (and deeper, true unease) in his eyes; voice. "For the record, if horror befalls us all, it wasn't my idea." With a brief smirk, he heads out after Roman and Imogen; his hands immediately delving into the pockets of his coat; the collar turned up against the chill.
He glances at Imogen as they walk.
"So how did you come upon this warehouse, anyway? Can't imagine it's on your way to anywhere."
[Slaughter] "Don't worry," Imogen answers, mildly, her mouth twisting. "I'll take responsibility."
Her gaze flicks to Kora, then she nods slightly, starting toward the door. Patrick asks a question, as Imogen pushes through the front doorway, bracing herself against the wind. Winter still clutches Chicago in its claws, but even so, she leaves her coat open.
There is an old Volvo parked out front. The drive is likely to be painful for the mechanic, Patrick.
She glances at him when he speaks, before looking away, fishing into the pockets of her jacket.
[Slaughter] (err. that wasn't supposed to send!)
[Slaughter] "Don't worry," Imogen answers, mildly, her mouth twisting. "I'll take responsibility."
Her gaze flicks to Kora, then she nods slightly, starting toward the door. Patrick asks a question, as Imogen pushes through the front doorway, bracing herself against the wind. Winter still clutches Chicago in its claws, but even so, she leaves her coat open.
There is an old Volvo parked out front. The drive is likely to be painful for the mechanic, Patrick.
She glances at him when he speaks, before looking away, fishing into the pockets of her jacket. "I ha' my eye out fer things that seem out o' the ordinary," she says, finally. "And know people who do the same on my behalf."
[Patrick Llewelyn] "Do I want to know what you do on your time off?" He returns that remark with, his eyebrows rising a touch. Ah, the Volvo. Patrick's expression does alter a touch and he takes his hands out of his pockets; doing a lap around the car and ducking down to look at -- well, goodness only knew -- before his head appeared again. His boots crunch over the earth as he knocks at a tire absently with the toe of one; checking the pressure.
"I could do a lot with this." He impresses on her, without true hope of anything but a smirk, or absent remark.
[Roman Turner] He gave Kora one last backwards glance, meeting her eyes for a split second before walking out as he tugged on his coat. Once outside he headed for the shotgun seat.
"Ya wouldn't believe some of the things Miss Doctor Slaughter finds."
His shoulders hunched against the cold wind until they got in the car.
[Slaughter] A smirk twists Imogen's mouth, but there is not much humour to it, only a sort of dry resignation. "No," she says. "You probably don't."
A flick of a glance toward Roman, but she refrains from noting he forgot the 'ma'am'.
She circles around to the driver's side door, glancing at Patrick as he comes back up from checking the underside of her car.
"I'm waitin' fer the engine to die," she says, "and then I'll buy another one." Blasphemy, one would guess for a fix-it like Patrick. "Yeh'd better sit behind me," as opposed to Roman, "more room fer yer legs."
The door unlocks uneasily, a heavy click of metal, and she gets inside, slamming the door to make sure it sticks, before she leans over, unlocking the passenger side door, then twisting around to unlock the rear driver's side.
[Roman Turner] He was looking for the seat belt once he got in, ready to go even as he asked.
"Does this thing have heat?"
[Patrick Llewelyn] "Oh," the Fianna says with a brief huff of amusement to Roman as he slides in behind the Doctor, "I think I would." The remark about letting the engine die had brought a twist of despair (albeit somewhat melodramatically) across the Galliard's face and he'd slapped his hand over his chest.
"You wound me."
She's correct however, about the leg room. While not as tall as some, Patrick's build was solid, and even seated as he is; he has to fold up one knee. It has to be a little claustrophobic, on the drive there. There's not one but two of them pressing against the confined space; and while perhaps Roman alone was tolerable, Patrick's Rage was a force.
[Slaughter] Imogen must appear to be one of the most stoic kinfolk - even in the close confines with Patrick's rage, there is little reaction. There is no added tension.
She has withstood far more than this.
The engine starts uncomfortably, loudly, and Roman asks if it has heat, and Patrick mentions she wounds him.
"It will ha' some when we get moving," she says, though the warmth from the vents is never much more than lukewarm.
She pulls out and away from the church and starts down the road. Unless the others strike up a conversation (as Roman doubtlessly will) the drive is quiet.
[Arcane] It's a good mile, maybe two, following the arc of the Chicago through the center of the old industrial corridor of the city before the boulevard swings away from the river, following the long, slow curve of some long abandoned railway.
Chicago, City of Broad Shoulders, Hog Butcher to the World, and all that is left of those days is this inner city industrial ruin. High rise housing projects loom close here. The buildings have a gutted look, blind in the failing light, like a man whose eyes have been put out, but who continues to stare out of his fucking empty sockets. The crumbling brick warehouses, factories, the old storefronts are bisected here by a weedy ruin of an old rail right of way, most of the rails pried up, the gravel covered with trash, broken bottles, crack pipes, cigarette butts, used condoms, broken furniture, blown out tires, the rusting frames of a handful of old boxcars with nowhere to go.
Here are there the old spaces have been reclaimed. One is a cheap plastics manufacturer, running one shift of a morning. There's a lumbar yard down the way, and a second-hand home improvement store across the road.
The street here is plowed clear of snow, and a handful of parking spaces have been dug out, or melted down, by the downbeat of the sun on the northern half of the street. The snow is old and sooty, carved in moving drifts. A narrow walkway, sheltered from the wind by a retaining wall and from the sky by an overhanging awning, the skin ripped away from its aluminum skeleton, leads away from the trampled sidewalk past the crumbling brick walls toward an old pair of wooden doors. One set is chained firmly closed. The other is half-open, the old chain hanging uselessly from the metal handles.
[Slaughter] She parked several blocks away, leaving them to approach on foot. The blocks are almost eerily quiet, the sound of a chain squeaking from the box-cars, a steady, rhythmic whine.
The kinswoman slows to a stop at a corner,
"That's it," she says, lifting her jaw to indicate the building, the gap tooth of a partially opened door.
[Roman Turner] He'd climbed out when Imogen parked the car. Each little sound of snow under foot was magnified in his mind. His breath fogged out as he peered around the corner when Imogen pointed out the building.
"Ya went inside and found the body there?"
Outside there might be indicators of tracks in the snow if others had come this way. Inside would be another matter.
"Welp, time to take a look."
[Patrick Llewelyn] Prayers to Broken Stone was not altogether unfamiliar with this side of town. He had a dealer, who had in fact been Howard's dealer who he met, every other week to collect more weed to keep his Rage, and his tendency toward apathy at bay as long as he could. He is not therefore, the young Garou who looked, to human eyes more like a college student than anything else, perturbed by the crumbling, forgotten realm about him as they walk in silence.
Patrick's earlier conversation with Imogen, the easy banter had been left behind at some point on the journey here and the young man is now somber; his expression drawn as they pause to study the building. Patrick's eyes scan the door; the chain swinging, the overwhelming sense of sad abandonment to the place. He exchanges a glance with Roman, nods; his jaw tight.
The Fianna sets off toward the door.
[Roman Turner] "I can slip on ahead if y'all want to hang back and wait for my signal? I got no problem with that."
He was a scout, it's what he did. And sometimes he could actually go unnoticed to other eyes besides how he imagined it in his mind.
[Slaughter] "Hold on," Imogen's voice is quiet, as Patrick starts to move ahead. Her eyes are fixed on the building. "I didn't leave the door closed that far."
A glance at Roman. A beat. "Probably best."
[Patrick Llewelyn] He stops -- turns, and glances at the Kinswoman. He nods, briefly and allows the Ragabash to move on alone. "Do your thing, man."
Patrick's hands return to his pockets; though his thumb remains on the outside, tapping a persistent beat that speaks of agitation, of the desire to be in motion. Perhaps even to smoke though that scent too, has begun to fade from his clothing of recent days.
[Roman Turner] "Ya didn't? Means someone or thing's been here or the wind was blowing just right? Either way, I'll scoot on ahead and take a look. If ya hear a lot of screaming, that would be me."
His brows did a little dance up and down, wiggling as he slipped ahead and reached for two gifts, one behind the other. He tried to Blur and then grabbed Resist Pain just in case. And headed for the building and another way in other than the door. If nothing turned up, he'd go for the obvious entrance.
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8) [WP]
[Roman Turner] dex+stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Arcane] There are scattered tracks in the snow outside the building. Few of them veer close to the warehouse, and those seem - old, glazed into place, set into stone like a footprint crusted into drying cement. Beyond them, a scattering of finer, pinpoint marks in the snow, like the tracks of birds, or spokes in a wheel. The direct approach to the half-open door is mostly clear, here and there are patches of ice. Snow lines the retaining wall that shelters the broken sidewalk in undulating dunes.
---
From outside, the building seems still. Light sweeps in through high windows, but the ceiling above is lost in shadow. There are no other obvious entrances. The windows closest to ground level had been boarded over. Higher windows gleam in the dull orange glow of the city's industrial scar. Impractical, to scale the side of the mortered brick to gain that edge.
Roman slips inside the building; the others wait without, watching at the no-moon slips into darkness.
[Slaughter] Her gaze moves toward the ragabash, a shoulder lifting, absently, then falling. "Be a fairly strong wind, comin' from the inside." The ragabash starts away.
She is a sharp contrast to Patrick, still and unagitated. She keeps her eyes on Roman for as long as she can see him, before her gaze moves, sweeping over the street, then back toward the building.
Then again, out over the street, above them toward the sky, then back toward the building again. One hand slides beneath her jacket, a faint click as she undoes a strap on her holster.
[Arcane] Per + Alertness
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Arcane] Per + Alertness
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Arcane] (ack. those are DIF SEVEN. one sux on first roll, none on the second.)
[Slaughter] perception+alertness
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 9, 10 (Failure at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] per+PU
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Wits + Crafts]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Slaughter] (let's try that again!)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 7, 7, 10 (Failure at target 7) Re-rolls: 1
[Arcane] The boards covering the windows are relatively new. The wood's raw, it has not been weathered a full season yet. The job was done hastily, but thoroughly. He can still see the impression of the hammer on the wood. Moreover, the boards are fitted together solidly, joined better than you would usually manage if you were just trying to protect glass or keep out the homeless: meant to hide whatever's inside.
to Patrick Llewelyn
[Arcane] The interior is - wrong. That chain hanging from the ceiling doesn't move the way it should. There's a sharp scent in the air, sharp enough that he can smell it in his human skin. He hugs the wall and creeps past rusting old machinery, sees a half-dozen places for something to hide. There's a dark grate near the center of the concrete floor flecked with fluid, and although there is little in the way of dust on the floor, here and there long strands of cobwebs drape down from someplace high up, lost in darkness above the line of light defined by the high windows.
He continues deeper in, and hears the sound of someone coughing. There is the skeleton of an old crane here, stripped of its gears and half-its parts, just a guttered remnant of a thing - and a man, with a shock of blond hair and the pasty skin of a long-time junkie, mostly covered by a thin, filthy blanket he has drawn up and over his head is coughing. Roman can see the shadow of his face, the line of his arms underneath the blanket, hear the wheezing of his near-silent cough, full of a certain grotesque strain, like there's something deep in his lungs that he cannot get out.
to Roman Turner
[Slaughter] (STOP EMBARRASSING ME KAHSEENO)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Patrick Llewelyn] The Galliard's eyes are narrowed as he stares at the building; his gaze sharpening on the lower level's boarded up windows. His fingers stop tapping out their anxious rhythm and he reaches across to touch the Kinwoman's sleeve; attracting her focus toward the building.
"Those windows are newly boarded up, you can see the difference in the wood. It hasn't been out long enough for the weather to touch it," he speaks softly, his voice intent. "That isn't handiwork to keep the elements out, it's to keep anyone from looking in."
[Arcane] There is a piece of paper, crumbled up in the leeside of the retaining wall. It hasn't been there long enough to become soaked; she doesn't remember it from before, but she wasn't standing out here for this long. Still, what she sees as she stands is the word HIS in all capitals, black lettering, some san serif font. One of those evil ones.
to Slaughter
[Roman Turner] What he saw wasn't any reason to fear, but the spider webs and the fact that Imogen had said there was a body here, a body that had been dried out, now that made him think of two things. Vampires and Spiders and everyone knew Vampires weren't real, so that left big ass spiders. His gaze traveled from the one under the blanket towards the ceiling, to the grate and back up again. He couldn't relay back to Patrick and Imogen what he saw. So he was going to give this a good look and slip back to update them.
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Per + Alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Arcane] The crumbled paper is a simple flyer. Half a sheet of paper. One said says:
Addicted to Pain Killers? Alcohol? Benzos? TAKE BACK YOUR LIFE.
Recovery Begins Here! Peer Counselors Available 24-7. God-Centered, Healing- Motivated.
WE HAVE HELPED OTHERS. WE CAN HELP YOU.
The other side:
Call Now! Help is available! Suffer no Longer!
1-888-HIS-SIDE
preparing the people for His return.
to Slaughter
[Slaughter] Imogen glances briefly toward Patrick, her gaze moving toward the boarded up windows, then back to the Fianna. She does not answer his observation, instead walking toward the retaining wall, and sinking to a crouch in its shadow, the tails of her coat sweeping the snow strewn ground. She leans forward, picking something up in her leather gloved fingers.
As she straightens, it is clearly a crumpled sheet of paper which she carefully smooths it against her knee.
Her brow furrows, as she turns it over, searching it for - something, before getting back to her feet, folding the paper and shoving it into her coat pocket. "I'll explain later," she says to Patrick. "S'not important just the now."
[Arcane] Patrick is looking up; he sees - a flicker of movement reflected in the un-boarded up windows that are higher up, a story or two, closing to the roof, closer to the ceiling. For a moment he thinks that it is the reflection of a bird wheeling against the sky -
to Patrick Llewelyn
[Arcane] Both Patrick and Imogen can hear the rasp of labored breathing inside there. It's quiet, hard to differentiate from the background noise, but now and there there's a spasm of almost audible coughing that catches the edges of the interior space, echoes oddly out to meet them.
Roman is peeling away from the coughing man, intent on making his way back to tell the others what he has seen. He gets half-way back across the interior of the old warehouse when - something soft and white falls from the ceiling. Why does it remind him in that hanging second of a beach ball? the middle-roll of a snowman?
Then the softly-woven sack hits the concrete floor with a soft, smacking thud, like the smack of a flat palm against glass.
[Arcane] - and dissolves into a mass of crawling spiders, this moving, grotesque hairball of insect limbs and softly furred bodies, shivering together, scrabbling over each other, pulling free of the peeling silk, each one the size of Roman's hand, no larger. Already spreading out over the concrete floor.
[Roman Turner] Ut oh, he was right. Vampire or Spider and since Vampires weren't real that left the Spider and here came it's egg sack just bursting with little nasty baby spiders.
"Hot damn y'all! Spiders everywhere!"
[Slaughter] Imogen's gaze fixes on the spiders, spreading at Roman's feet. Without a word she spins on her heel and starts toward her car. One - particular Patrick who is, quite frankly, unfamiliar with Imogen's gall - might almost suspect her to be phobic and fleeing the scene. At least until she rounds to the passenger's side of the car, pulling open the door to dig beneath the seat.
"If there is something else there, deal with it," she says, as she straightens, holding a fire extinguisher in her hand. "I'll try and deal wi' the spiders."
She is speaking to Patrick in the hopes this will be passed on to Roman.
"If I run out," a brief pause, a glance toward her car, as she sets the keys on the roof, "There's ethanol in the trunk, strips o' gauze. Yeh can light it up."
She pulls the pin from the extinguisher, and starts toward the building.
[Patrick Llewelyn] "Wait -- " The Galliard has a palm outstretched toward the Kinswoman, keeping a space of distance between them as he stares up at the strange, wheeling bird -- no, not a bird -- "Back up, back up."
He's gesturing at the Kinswoman as the spiders explode out of their eggsack and spill over onto the floor; Patrick's expression is strangely devoid of fear; there is little anxiety. In the heat of the moment, there is calm intent about the Fiann as the Gaian calls out toward them.
"You take one half, I'll take the other?" He's calling with a brief turn of grim humor. "Imogen can blast the rest." When the Doctor returns from her car with the fire extinguisher, the Fianna nods, once. Already his eyes have begun to take on a strangely animal slant.
He sets off toward Roman.
There's a rippling, then; and Patrick's form erupts; cloth tearing away beneath the explosion of fur and extended musculature. In seconds; the man is replaced by a hulking tawny Hispo wolf.
[+8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
[Arcane] Spiders 1-10 +4
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Arcane] Spiders 11-20 +4
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Arcane] Spiders 21-30
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Slaughter] (+9)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Roman Turner] Inti...still in homid at the moment...dex+wits
+7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Arcane] Coughing Dude. +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Arcane] Imogen: 17
Patrick: 14
Spiders 1-10: 14
Spiders: 21-30: 14
Spiders 11-20: 12
Roman: 11
Coughing Dude: 10
Imogen returns with a fire extinguisher from her car; Prayers to Broken Stone dives into the warehouse, surging toward Roman, over the knot of spiders fighting its way free of the broken egg sack, swarming out onto the concrete floor, hungry. Roman is just on the other side of the knot of spiders. Beyond him - a good leap for a warformed Garou, farther for a human, a man sits shrouded beneath a blanket, coughing, wheezing, straining like there's something in his lungs that won't come up. He sits in the shadow of a ruined industrial crane, long-since stripped for parts, and doesn't seem aware of them until there's commotion at the front; until the egg sack falls -
- He stands up, this hapless man with a shock of blond hair and several days' stubble over his jaw, still coughing, the coughing fit audible now, this terrible, wet, tearing hacking, accompanied by an "OH GOD. OH - " choke, "OH - " full of agony.
Coughing Man: 1. Stand up. Still coughing! Skin tearing! Gross!
[Roman Turner] The spider babies weren't so bad, but the freaking out, hacking, skin tearing man was. He snapped to Warform and leap for the freaking man to..
1a, claw man
1b claw man
[Arcane] Spiders 1-10: SWARM Roman. He looks tasty!
Spiders: 21-30! We were at the bottom of the pile, fighting free!
Spiders: 11-20: SWARM Patrick. Potentially also very tasty!
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Patrick is gonna --
1a.
1b. -- chomp Spiders 11-20!
R1.
R2. -- then Stomp them!]
[Slaughter] The spiders tick-tick-tick along the ground, their many legs moving, their many eyes blinking. She cannot hear them speak and cannot imagine them thinking, and there is a certain alieness to them, made worse by their context.
The man hacks and coughs almost screaming as his skin begins to split, as blood begins to seep from the gaping holes, and if she looked closely, she might see his ribs as they cracked open. However, she does not look closely - Roman becomes a beast, and starts toward the ailing, soon to be dying man. The spiders swarm his way.
Imogen turns her nozzle upon them.
Earlier this evening she easily withstood Garou in the small confines of her car. Now, with the wyrm at her back, the hairs on the back of her neck lift, a metaphorical spider skittering down her spine.
(split actions three ways:
Spray spiders - 3
spray spiders 3
spray spiders 3 + WP)
[Slaughter] Spray 1!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Slaughter] damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Arcane] Spider 1
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Arcane] Spider 2
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Arcane] Spider 3
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3 (Failure at target 8)
[Slaughter] Spray 2
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Slaughter] damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Arcane] Escape foam?
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 5, 7 (Failure at target 8)
[Slaughter] Spray 3!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5) [WP] Re-rolls: 2
[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Arcane] Escape foam?
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Failure at target 8)
[Arcane] Results!
Spiders: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5: ARE DEAD SPIDERS.
Spiders: 6, 7, 8, 9: ARE SPIDERS IN FOAM.
Spider 10: STILL BITING ROMAN, singing a song (all by my seeeeeeeeeeeeelf)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [1a. Chomp! (-2 Split) Dex + Brawl]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [1b. Chomp! (-3)]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 2 ]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Arcane] Spiders: 11 + 12: DEAD.
[Arcane] Spider 10: BITE ROMAN.
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 5)
[Arcane] Spiders 13-20! BITE PATRICK. :(
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Roman Turner] 1b. Claw sick dude.
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 7, 7, 7, 7, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Er, oh yeah. Resist Toxin would be beneficial.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Arcane] Sick Dude Soaks!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 5 (Botch x 2 at target 6)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Soaking]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 7, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [R1. STOMPING. Since apparently Soaking is too much work.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 7)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 5]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [R2. SQUISH.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 3 -1]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Arcane] Roman slams into the coughing man; tears open his human skin, rips into him deep down to the bone. He can feel the human's skin zipping open beneath his claws. The blood flows freely, but there's also something - chitinous, there, compacted beneath the ribs, jointed, twitching in its death throes. The man falls, blood gushing from his torso, his mouth, his staring, straining eyes, this - grotesque appendage folded underneath his skin still - twitching.
Spiders: 1-5 are dead. 6-9 are stuck in foam. and 11-18 are dead.
10 is on Roman. 19-20 are on Patrick!
21-30 are coming out of the eggsack!
[Arcane] Coughing Dude (INSIDE OF HIM.) +4
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Arcane] Spiders: +4
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Roman Turner] +8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Arcane] Order!
Imogen
Patrick
Roman
Coughing Dude: 9
Spiders: 4
Spiders: 10 + 21-26 SWARM ROMAN
19-20 SWARM PATRICK
26- 30: kamikaze run at the lady with the Fire Extinguisher!
[Arcane] Coughing Dude: (Inside) 1. Skewer Roman.
Rage 1: Bite Roman.
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Stamina! Regen plz.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Roman Turner] 1a. Claw coughing monster thingie
1b Claw coughing monster thingie again
1 rage squish spider 10
[Patrick Llewelyn] [1a. Squash Spiders 19-20!
1b. Bite 21-26 on Roman
R1. Again on those on Roman
R2. Etc. moving on then to Coughing Dude!]
[Slaughter] Split actions 3 ways!
Target 21-30!
[Slaughter] Spray 1!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Slaughter] damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Slaughter] Spray 2!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 5)
[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5 (Botch x 2 at target 6)
[Slaughter] Spray 1 redux!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 7, 10 (Failure at target 5)
[Slaughter] reroll 10!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 5)
[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Slaughter] SPRAY THREEEEEE DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEE
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 5 (Success x 1 at target 5) [WP]
[Slaughter] no, really guys, seriously. die.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Arcane] Spiders 21-29 are dead!
Currently Active Spiders: 10 [chomping Roman]; 19 + 20 [chomping Patrick] 30 [chomping Imogen]
[Patrick Llewelyn] [1a. Stomp! (-2 Split, -1 Ow)]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Arcane] Currently Active Spiders: 10 [chomping Roman];
[Patrick Llewelyn] [1b. Stomp that one dude.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 8 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Arcane] Currently Active Spiders: 10 [chomping Roman. MY NAME IS ININGO MONTOYA! YOU KEEEL MY BROTHERS! PREPARE TO DIE];
[Roman Turner] 1a claw sick dude thingie
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Roman Turner] Damn
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Arcane] SOAK
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1b Claw Sick Dude thingie
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] Damn
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Arcane] SOAAAAAAK!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Arcane] Whatever was compacted underneath the ribcage, pushing through the skin of the dying man breaks free: a jointed leg, opening, covered with tiny cilia, utterly inhuman, too large for the space into which it has somehow been pressed - explodes from the chest cavity of the dead man, a rain of shattered bone sprays as it lashes out at Roman.
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[Arcane] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Arcane] Spider 10: AYIIIEEEE:
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [R1. Kill the Pig -- wait, I mean Bug! (-1 ow)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 5 at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Arcane] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] R1 Claw thingie
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Failure at target 7)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [R2!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 7, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Damage + 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Arcane] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Arcane] The air swims with foam from the fire extinguisher, the sharp chemical scent of it, and the fetid stink of the coughing man as Roman opens him up the first time and whatever remains is his bowels is released in one reflexive movement. His bowels and bladder; the air spells of piss and shit and something mucosal underneath that blood, the dry silk and the flat powderiness of the exoskeleton of the thing opening in the chest cavity of the corpse. There are dead spiders everywhere; the danger is obvious to Patrick, bitten three or four times. Though the injection sites are tiny, he can feel the poison inside his body, stiffening his joints, making it harder for him to fight, harder to move.
Imogen is surrounding by foam, the corpses of the dead spiders; the two Garou have leapt across the breadth of the warehouse to tear apart whatever it is that emerged from the coughing man's chest. And, in the end, they tear it open, pull away the razored arm dripping with Fate's blood tear it off with a wet snick, feel it breaking - some connection, wherever it came from, just one leg and a greedy mouth born and died in the collapsed corpse of a sick human.
The warehouse is silent after; just the harsh sound of their breathing. The stomp of Fate's great paw as he shakes off and crunches the last of the spiders.
[Roman Turner] His shoulders might not be as great as some with his smaller stature, but in this form, Warform, they were impressive enough compared to norm. Dark lips were peeled back in a snarl that wrinkled his muzzle showing wickedly sharp, gleaming white teeth. In this form his faded blue-gray eyes were a rich amber in his monster's face as he turned to regard Patrick and Imogen with a lift of his head in a very human nod. Despite the stench in here, he took several deep breaths as his ears twitched, swiveling with each faint sound in the place. Blood dripped from the slash he'd taken but he didn't feel yet.
Back across the link to Kora and Linus was sent a feeling of victory as his body twist and wavered, shifting back to the teen he was when he wasn't playing Super Hero slash Nightmare.
"Woo weee, now that was just plain ole nasty! I owe y'all."
[Slaughter] She coughs sharply to clear her throat, lowering the fire extinguisher, then lifting it again to shake it gently. The contents sift softly, but the canister sounds nearly empty. The kinswoman toes a spider away from her with a shoe, flicking a glance toward Roman.
"Spiders again," she observes.
[Roman Turner] "Spiders, the other white meat?"
He tried for humor as he nudged the remains of the body by scraping the bottom of his foot off on it.
"Ya know the worse part about a party? Cleaning up afterwards."
[Patrick Llewelyn] The Fianna is lucky for the gift that spares his body the true effects of the poison the Spiders injected into him. But it still slows him down enough for his limbs to shake, briefly, as he kills the last of the Spiders surrounding him. His fur shaken out, the Galliard whuffs at the Gaian; turns and regards the Kinswoman in his great wolf form.
Like this, there is no disputing the danger he posed. The danger any of those like him did.
After a moment; there is a concerted effort made by the Fianna to shift forms downward, the crack and strangely liquid sound of bone and sinew rearranging itself into a human shape. Eventually, however, he is back and whole and slightly bent forward; puncture marks in his neck still evident. He sets a hand over them; grimacing.
"I say we drag them into a heap and burn them."
[Slaughter] She pauses, lifting a hand, still sealed in her leather gloves, the surface now damaged with the spray-back from the fire extinguisher.
"I don't want to dispose o' it this time," she says, evenly.
"I want to see what was goin' on wi' tha' -" a lift of her chin indicates the fomor. "S'too bloody coincidental. Two warehouses, spider creatures in both."
[Roman Turner] "Yeah, something weird. It felt out of whack when I came in. Seems like we got some investigating to do and a little patching up."
He was eying Patrick's puncture wounds.
"You ok? I mean, not feeling like nothing's growing inside of your belly, do ya?"
[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick's eyes follow the redhead's toward the dead and destroyed corpse. He could all but taste the bitterness of corruption in his throat still. "Keep the body, but we should get rid of these little ones." He nudges a dead insectoid body with the toe of his boot.
"Yeah," he straightens, drops his hand away from his neck. "Benefit of being of Stag, we're hard to poison."
[Slaughter] Imogen turns her head to glance at Patrick, from her position standing over the body, an eyebrow arching. "I'm quite familiar wi' body disposal," she says, easily. "Yeh might even call it routine.
"We both know what needs t'be done - it will probably go much swiftly if we simply do it rather than yeh talking about it."
A beat. "Shall we get to work?"
[Patrick Llewelyn] He doesn't seem particularly affronted by her telling him what she's familiar with; he merely lifts a shoulder in some absent attempt at nonchalance. "Fair enough," is the most she gets from Patrick, before he sets to helping the Kinswoman collect together and pile grotesque little corpses into a pile.
With the Gaian's help, the clean up process doesn't likely take as long as it otherwise might. Most all of the Galliard's Rage had been burned through in battle so he is a blessedly tamer presence to work alongside than he might otherwise have been. At some point he does cast Imogen a glance; bent to some task as if he were trying to piece together some puzzle in his head, but it remains a passing fancy, and he does not voice whatever it is aloud.
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