[Roman Turner] He would try to stick to the shadows, though sometimes it just didn't work as well as he believed it was. He reached for the Gift of Blur and started off trying to be sneaky in following the whimper. Yeah, follow the whimper and it would be like one of those alien face suckers.
[Roman Turner] blur
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Sorrow] Kora: Dex + Stealth!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Slaughter] Imogen waits a moment as Roman starts down the stairwell. Then, she follows, her step steady, reasonably hidden by the shadow.
[Roman Turner] dex+stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] per+aler
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Slaughter] per+alertness!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Sorrow] One by one, they file down the basement steps, reasonably quiet, reasonably hidden, reasonably concealed. Roman leads the way. Imogen follows, and Kora is a shadow behind the kinswoman. At the foot of the stairs, Roman steps carefully over the corpse of the dead woman, middle-aged, staring, her dried blood on her mouth and nose, a handful of bullets in her body, her hands empty, her eyes open, her mouth still round with shock, or outrage.
There's a curtain drawn across close to the base of the steps. It is hung from the crossbeams of then floor above, and held in place by a pair of hay bales on either side. Down here, the scent of blood, old and new, mingles with the sharper ammonia of urine on the flood. There's an unpleasant humidity in the air, and an ugly pegboard full of uglier tools - wire loops like those used by animal control to wrangle stray dogs, pitch forks and sickles, some with blood on them, shovels and picks and branding irons and metal traps with rusted teeth, weights of chain -
On the far side of the basement, visible in the dim light, a series of metal cells with drifts of straw and hay. Each cell has a pair of troughs affixed to the bars. From a distance, Roman can see the glint of water in several. Close to the cells. Three of the cells are occupied. There's a - human-shaped thing near the edge of one of them, the size of a small woman or adolscent body, her arm stuck through the bars, reaching, reaching, reaching for something just out of reach.
In the second, the crumpled mass of a larger man, sleeping admist the straw like the drunk or the dead.
The last cell, farthest alone the wall, holds a huge person, half-buried amidst the straw, face turned toward the wall, body language tight with fear.
[Sorrow] As Roman descends the stairs, he hears the scrape of metal against concrete.
to Roman Turner
[Sorrow] As Imogen descends the stairs, she hears the scrap of metal against concrete, the subtle tension in a hinge moving under weight, as if someone were opening a door. Or pulling one carefully closed.
to Slaughter
[Roman Turner] He lead the way and instantly his brain told him all of these had to die and another part said he hoped they didn't get out. Then a sound had him whipping towards it, trying to pin point it as he held his finger up to his lips in a shushing manner to warn the others.
[Slaughter] Imogen, utterly silent to begin with, arches an eyebrow slightly as Roman whips around to shush her, but her gaze soon moves away, searching for the source of a sound herself.
She studies each door, though without approaching them to see if any is even just slightly ajar.
Her bets are on the last one. Her finger moves from the trigger guard to the trigger, and briefly, her eyes touch on the young woman - reaching, stretching out, perhaps whimpering, perhaps silent. Her brow contracts, and then is forced smooth.
[Slaughter] perception+alertness
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Sorrow] Roman can stay concealed even in the open in the basement. The eye doesn't want to linger on him; he can find and cling to the shadows. Imogen and Kora do not know that trick. As soon as the pair of them are past the curtains held in place by the hay bales (and briefly, passing them, the sharp scent of cut hay chases away the deeper, more disturbing scents sunk into the bones and marrow of the place) the smallest of the (potential) victims look up, alert as an animal, and animal-quick, like a mouse caught out of its hole by a cut, and snags her arm back inside, pressing her spine up against the solid metal bar that defines one of the corners of her cell, holding her arms around her legs, keeping her chin carefully low, watching them out of the corner of her eye.
There's little - no? - movement from the second cell, and only that silent quivering from the third cell.
[Sorrow] None of the doors are ajar. Looking closely, though - the last cell, the one she scrutinized most closely - remains unlocked.
to Slaughter
[Slaughter] Imogen reaches up, silent and taps Roman's shoulder if she needs his attention, her gaze flicking to Kora to include her. She deliberately moves her eyes toward the third cell, the movement significant.
[Roman Turner] Well this was interesting. He saw the reaction of the small girl shape and then Imogen touched him and he slipped away to deeper shadows, heading towards those cells for a better look inside them.
[Roman Turner] per+alert
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Closer, and Roman can see what the smaller shape in the first cell was struggling to reach; a pair of scissors, discarded, half-concealed under spilled straw. Closer, and he can see the faint rise and fall of the chest of the inhabitant of the second cell, smell the sharp, almost clean scent of alcohol soaked into the air around him, a contrast to the darker, less innocent scents suffusing the air.
Closer, and he can see the last inmate in the last of the cells, huge, face hidden in the straw piled in the corner, find dark pants and crisp white shirt barely containing his bulk. The fabric is fine - finely gauged, well-woven, crisply put together - there is a half-moon of sweat under either armpit, but otherwise he seems to be clean, unsoiled.
Kora nods quietly to Imogen sends a look in her direction. She steps out, flanking Imogen, keeping her tall frame between the line of cells and the kinwoman without blocking her line of sight. As Kora's shadow falls across the girl, she draws back sharply toward the middle or back of her cell, but deliberately keeps her eyes averted.
[Sorrow] There is no lock on the third cell.
to Roman Turner
[Roman Turner] He drew closer to the cells, passing each and stopping before the third. That was odd and of course, being himself he said so.
"Well I'll be danged, this one don't have no lock on it. Boy howdy don't that ring of the jail keeper or what?"
[Slaughter] Kora steps out, keeping herself between the cells and the kinwoman. Imogen steps wide, giving herself space and allowing her a clear shot at the body. Out of the corner of her eye, the girl's movement catches Imogen's attention and for a moment, the doctor's dark gaze moves, falling on the supposedly human girl.
Pity, perhaps for a moment.
Then gone.
Roman speaks, and Imogen raises her weapon, levelling it on the prone body. Her finger is on the trigger.
[Sorrow] Dex + Stealth:
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Slaughter] (HAIL KAHSEENO!)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 6, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Roman announces that the last cell has no lock. Imogen levels her weapon on the body inside. The inhabitant is at least 6'3", and well north of four hundred pounds. For all that, it is surprisingly light and quick. Both Imogen and Roman are sharper eyed, however, and notice the way its bulk tenses for movement underneath the mounded straw, readying to -
(inits!)
attack!
[Sorrow] Kora: +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Slaughter] (+9!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Roman Turner] +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Sorrow] Junior: +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Sorrow] Order:
Junior: 17
Roman: 16
Imogen: 14
Kora: 9
Kora: 1 rage - snapshift to hispo.
1a. BITE. 1b. BITE. Rage 1:BITE.
[Slaughter] Imogen:
Fire,
Fire
[Roman Turner] 1 Rage to Snapshift to Warform
1a Claw
1b Claw
[Sorrow] Junior: 1a. Charge Roman! 1b. Charge Kora! Rage 1: Run run run run run run runaway!
[Sorrow] Junior: Charge Roman! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Sorrow] They circle the last of the cells, the scorch of promised violence in the air. The human female shrinks back further under the straw, pressing her face against her knees. The huge form of the remaining son - in his fine suit, in his tailored shirt - tenses and turns ready to charge out, flinging open the unlocked cell door - human apparently, except for his size - faster than anything that large should be, head low, surging toward Roman -
and falls, hard, goes skidding on the floor.
[Action Change: 1b. GET UP. Rage 1: Charge Kora!]
[Roman Turner] 1a claw
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1b claw
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Slaughter] Shoot!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 4 at target 4)
[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Slaughter] shoot! HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 5 (Failure at target 4)
[Sorrow] Kora: BITE! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Sorrow] DAmage!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Sorrow] Bite -3
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Junior: CHARGE KORA!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 6, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Kora: Rage 1 BITE
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 4, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Slaughter] (+9!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Sorrow] Junior: +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Sorrow] Kora: +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Roman Turner] +8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Slaughter] rollyrollypoly
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7
[Sorrow] Order:
Kora: 17
Imogen: 16
Roman: 12
Junior: 11
Junior: 1a. Bite Kora! 1b. Bite Imogen! Rage 1: RUN RUN RUN AWAY.
[Roman Turner] 1a claw jr
1b do it again
[Slaughter] Shoot junior
Shoot junior
shoot junior!
[Sorrow] Kora: 1a. BITE junior; 1b. BITE junior.
[Sorrow] 1a. BITE
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Sorrow] 1b. BITE
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Slaughter] DIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 5 at target 4)
[Slaughter] BLOODY STINKING DEATH IN BLOOOOOOOOOOD!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Sorrow] x.x
[Sorrow] There is another spasm of violence; the Garou launch themselves at the huge man. He moves as quickly as a Garou, though otherwise his curse is less than his brothers, expressed in his size and his resiliance, in the corkscrew tail that is evident through a pinpoint hole in his pants.
One of the Garou claws him, the other bites, tearing away chunks of flesh dominated by cheesey yellow adipose tissue, rarely crunching deeper, touching little that is vital or internal under near the end. He scrambles to his feet, batters himself against Sorrow with a fury that clear in his brown eyes and quivering bulk. She's uninjured. The acrid scent of gunpowder is sharp in the air - and when it seems as if he were nearly immortal, having survived another pair of bites - Imogen levels her weapon and shoots him, and he falls with a deep thud.
In the third cell, the woman is a quivering mass of fear. She makes a short, sharp sound in the back of her throat and stuffs the heel of her hand into her mouth in an attempt to dampen the sounds from her throat.
In the second cell, the drunk inmate remains - drunk, unmoving, unaware of the vicious fight happening within feet of his unconscious body.
[Roman Turner] His ears were ringing so loud he couldn't hear a thing for a few moments. The smell here was so bad he sort of wished he didn't need to breath. Fear was the worse part though, he could taste it in the air. So much for not scaring the prisoners any more than they needed to. And here came more horror. He began the shift back to homid again.
[Slaughter] The man, more human than his brother, falls, crumpling and boneless to the ground. Imogen exhales her breath slowly and steps back away from the body.
Her gaze turns toward the girl. She studies her, crouching, terrified, doing her very best not to make a sound.
Imogen's gaze drops, turns away. She drops the clip from her weapon, replacing it with another, her gestures hindered by the burns on her hand.
A beat, and she chambers her first bullet, flicking a glance at the girl. The two Garou have a space to stop her, now. The moment where clarity comes, and Imogen's cold, rational decision is obvious.
"You have my sympathies." She sounds dispassionate. Disconnected as if she were saying this of no account. To someone simply because she should. One must hope that Imogen does not say such things in such tones to the families of her dead.
Three steps forward, her gun sliding between the bars.
[Roman Turner] He moved like someone poked him in the ass with a cattle prod when Imogen's actions became clear to him. In that moment he leapt right between Imogen and her target, facing Imogen.
"NO!"
[Roman Turner] "Ya can't just shoot her in cold blood. Look at her. It's like shoving little bunny foo foo in a stew pot while petting him and hand feeding him. Ain't right."
[Slaughter] Imogen stops, her gun not yet risen. Her eyebrow lifts.
"The things she must have seen cannot be undone." A lift of her chin, sharp, indicating the other cell. "Same with him."
He continues, her eyebrow remains lifted.
"And this delay is kinder?"
[Roman Turner] "Gonna hurt your soul."
He shook his head slowly.
"Ain't right. He's drunker than a skunk and she's so scared, who's gonna believe what she says? It don't hurt none to let a little light shine through sometimes, does it?"
He spoke each word as soft as the brush of a feather and as steady as a Preacher at Sunday sermon.
[Sorrow] Kora makes no move to intercept as Imogen begins to level her weapon, but her dark eyes flick over Roman as the young Garou jumps in front of the target. She does not stop him, either. She's human again - shifted, bleeding, her head tipped aslant, studying the girl in the cage, whose face is tearstreaked and absolutely white.
There's a deeper sort of compassion evident on the Fenrir's sharp features, considered, her mouth is still though.
"She's broken," Kora says, low to the pair of them, her attention direct on Roman. " - wounded. Soul as well as body. There's no going back from a place like this. Give her a quick end; it's merciful."
---
The girl is watching them now, her eyes huge, fixed on the back of Roman's head. Imogen, at least, will see how she keeps herself in his shadow, making her as small as possible.
---
"You can't just let her go. Nightmares, memories - how would that be any kinder?"
[Slaughter] "Humans don't come back from this," quiet, even. Calm. "And they pose a risk to us all. The right word in the right ear, or even just an interesting one in the wrong ear can bring attention that none can afford."
[Roman Turner] "I can't just let her be put down like a rabid skunk."
He shook his head slowly and turned to look at the girl.
"If she's so broken, what makes ya sure anything she said would mean anything to anyone? It just ain't right."
[Roman Turner] "What's yer name? I ain't gonna hurt ya none."
He reached between the bars holding his hand out to the girl as he cooed just as soft and sweet as if speaking to a frightened little puppy he was trying to tempt with a treat.
"Come on, I ain't gonna hurt ya. Come take my hand. It's gonna be ok. I'm Roman, what's yer name? I betcha got one of them Chicago accents, don'tcha? Me, I ain't from around here, but don't mean I can't help ya. Come on, come take my hand."
[Slaughter] "Your packmate wants a pet," Imogen says to Kora, annoyed. She turns away and walks to the body of the most recently killed pig, searching him for keys, one handed.
[Roman Turner] "That ain't right either. Ya know that ain't right. Your momma raised ya better than that. Just cause life has come up and bit ya on the hind end don't mean ya got to pull the wings off of flies."
He was still trying to tempt the poor girl towards him while murmuring the admonishment.
[Sorrow] "Humans might not believe her, Roman," Kora says quietly, watching him as he reaches back into the cage toward the girl. " - but cursed ones, would. Listen, Roman, she'd be a walking victim for the next monster, and the one after that. She would attract them like a magnet. Nevermind that she knows our faces. That even if no one believed her, she'd be able to break the veil, and that she could tell the cursed ones and any others our faces, even our names, maybe. Who we are. How we fight. The right word in the wrong ear, Roman."
--
The girl turns toward Roman, darting dark eyes up at his face as he reaches between the bars, she reaches out and grabs his hand, pulls herself upright and reaches out and grasps his hand. She puts her face against the bars, her eyes closing as she tips her head toward Roman. Murmuring, close and quiet in his ear.
[Sorrow] "I don't want to live. I was trying for the knife. So I could end it. I don't want to live. I want it quick. Please."
to Roman Turner
[Roman Turner] He leaned in when she took his hand and put her face close to the bars. He was half listening. Instinct was telling him that she might bite his ear off. Then he heard her whisper and pain cut through the heart of his soul. That little part of himself that was pure took a serious blow with that whisper. Defeat shagged his shoulders as he nodded and slowly stepped back from the bars, barely getting the words out.
"She don't want to live no more. That's not the words of a crazy person. That's the words of someone hurt and feeling like ain't no other way out."
[Slaughter] Roman's jibes go unanswered. Her mother, her life or the status of flies; there is a sharp, tight line to her spine as she crouches by the corpse. Her gun rests on her knee as she slips her uninjured hand through the pockets of the corpse. The metal clicks and jangles against each other as she pulls the keys free from a pocket.
Roman steps back, defeated, and Imogen turns her head to look at him. There is no triumph there, but she gets to her feet. A pause, a moment, before she starts to step toward the bars.
[Sorrow] The girl stands close to the bars, watching Roman as he steps back defeat in his shoulders, pain lancing through him. Her eyes are dark, shining with unshed tears. She is filthy - older than he might have considered on first glance, thirty, or thirty-five, thin from a life on the streets, with track marks up her arms and stringy dark hair greasy from lack of washings.
"I'm glad it's you," the woman says, earnestly, watching him as he drifts away from the bars of the cage. Finishing with a look toward the cursed human collapsed across the concrete basement floor. " - and not them." Earnest and quiet, before she looks stark at Imogen, tightens her hands around the bars, and dips her head as if in prayer.
[Roman Turner] How did you take something like that graciously and not throw it back at them by saying you weren't glad you were involved at all? That it was killing a little of the light in your soul, dragging it towards that forbidden darkness kicking and bleeding the entire way? It made him want to be anywhere but here at this time. He wanted a do over card.
[Slaughter] A tendon flicks in Imogen's jaw, a brief tensioning.
She meets the woman's eyes when she steps up, dark blue, confident, an attractive woman with no track marks on her arms, no drug addiction, her thinness born of good genes, of hours at the gym.
They are utterly unalike. No similarities. From Imogen's washed hair to the woman's bare feet.
The doctor inhales like she might say something, but finds that every word is paltry. She places her gun to the woman's temple, and pulls the trigger.
Gunpowder embeds in her skin, the muzzle leaves a burn as the super-heated bullet leaves it. Flesh depresses then tears, bone breaks inward, and her skull cracks like an egg, each crack telling a story. Which one was first. Which one is last. The final damage, the bullet leaving the skull on other side, bevelling an exit wound outward, the wound coughing a spray of blood and brains backward. The drug addict's body falls, and Imogen steps back, her gaze lowering to her. A moment, and then she walks to the other cell.
[Roman Turner] He blinked with the gunshot, it was an auto response to the loud sound. Oddly the passed out drunk didn't bother him as much, but still he had to say something as he turned for the stairs.
"Ya know, if he ain't woke up yet, then maybe he was so drunk he never knew none of this happened?"
Nothing like the Devil's advocate.
[Sorrow] The woman lowers her had as if she were praying, and closes her eyes. She feels the press of the muzzle against her temple, and remembers the god she has long since cast away as a clear fiction, created by the powerful to justify their success and grind down the rest of the world.
She prays - half-wordlessly, the name of every god she an remember, trembling in the last moment before the trigger is pulled. Then the body collapses like a folding deck of cards, and the addict falls against the bars. The final look on her face is peaceful, still, except for the gaping wound in her temple, in her blown-out skull.
--
"There are no maybes in the litany," Kora says, quiet, flicking a glance back at Roman as he turns for the stairs. She's still in the middle of the room, gunshots ringing in her ears.
[Slaughter] She never answers him. Merely fires, twice. The man, in his drunk stupor, one which he clings to, perhaps, never gets up. She watches his chest rise and fall, painful stuttered breathes with gaping wounds along his spine. Twice, he breathes.
Then he does not.
Imogen pauses a moment, her back turned to both Garou, before she turns away.
"There's a lot to clean up," she says.
[Roman Turner] "They ain't all dead yet."
It was the stairs he started climbing as he said those words.
[Sorrow] When it is finished; the drunk dead, the corpses scattered around the basement, Imogen remarks on the cleanup. Roman climbs the stairs to scour the first and second floor to hound out anything else that might be living in the building.
And Kora, who is still, whose tension has never left her entirely, though perhaps for reasons wholly shifted from those offered by Roman, glancing at the good doctor with sparking. The struggle on her sharp features is clear as the restraint that comes quickly after the spark of rage that brightens her dark eyes.
Her rage is spent, but underneath, Kora is furious.
--
Instead of whatever she meant to offer initially - instead of that exclamation - she swallows back her words, and helps Imogen clean up the corpses. She treats the humans more gently, cleansing along. But sometime during the clean-up, Kora looks up, clear-eyed at Imogen over a body. And says, low, sharp, "Remember what I said about lone wolves, doc?" Quiet, a brief pause. Then, "Call me next time. Before you walk in the fucking door. If we hadn't been in the neighborhood - "
She doesn't finish the sentence. Not for the rest of the night.
[Slaughter] Kora speaks, low and sharp, and Imogen looks up, even-gazed. She meets the Skald's eyes, holds it. When Kora is done, she does not answer.
She merely returns to her work. No agreement, no denial, no response whatsoever.
The cleaning is long and tedious. There are bodies upon bodies. Tools. The meat is left to rot. A closed sign on all the doors. Imogen finds keys to lock the doors when they're done, her car weighed with corpses.
She does not bring herself to ask either to heal her hand; but if it were offered now, she would not refuse. She barely has use of her hand and even Imogen cannot deny that explaining this at her place of work would be difficult.
--
One imagines they work in silence. Words exchanged are utilitarian. What goes where. Where the car is. Where they are going after that.
Then the house is locked tight, the bodies are disposed of. They go their separate ways.
[Roman Turner] And he would of course heal her hand and later he would tell Kora that some times there should be a "maybe" in things. And that she might want to think about how what she said to Imogen might make her think twice and it might make her not call for help next time.
Last of all when it was all said and done he patted Imogen on the shoulder and murmured.
"I'm sorry."
Then parted ways.
[Roman Turner] blur
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Sorrow] Kora: Dex + Stealth!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Slaughter] Imogen waits a moment as Roman starts down the stairwell. Then, she follows, her step steady, reasonably hidden by the shadow.
[Roman Turner] dex+stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] per+aler
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Slaughter] per+alertness!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Sorrow] One by one, they file down the basement steps, reasonably quiet, reasonably hidden, reasonably concealed. Roman leads the way. Imogen follows, and Kora is a shadow behind the kinswoman. At the foot of the stairs, Roman steps carefully over the corpse of the dead woman, middle-aged, staring, her dried blood on her mouth and nose, a handful of bullets in her body, her hands empty, her eyes open, her mouth still round with shock, or outrage.
There's a curtain drawn across close to the base of the steps. It is hung from the crossbeams of then floor above, and held in place by a pair of hay bales on either side. Down here, the scent of blood, old and new, mingles with the sharper ammonia of urine on the flood. There's an unpleasant humidity in the air, and an ugly pegboard full of uglier tools - wire loops like those used by animal control to wrangle stray dogs, pitch forks and sickles, some with blood on them, shovels and picks and branding irons and metal traps with rusted teeth, weights of chain -
On the far side of the basement, visible in the dim light, a series of metal cells with drifts of straw and hay. Each cell has a pair of troughs affixed to the bars. From a distance, Roman can see the glint of water in several. Close to the cells. Three of the cells are occupied. There's a - human-shaped thing near the edge of one of them, the size of a small woman or adolscent body, her arm stuck through the bars, reaching, reaching, reaching for something just out of reach.
In the second, the crumpled mass of a larger man, sleeping admist the straw like the drunk or the dead.
The last cell, farthest alone the wall, holds a huge person, half-buried amidst the straw, face turned toward the wall, body language tight with fear.
[Sorrow] As Roman descends the stairs, he hears the scrape of metal against concrete.
to Roman Turner
[Sorrow] As Imogen descends the stairs, she hears the scrap of metal against concrete, the subtle tension in a hinge moving under weight, as if someone were opening a door. Or pulling one carefully closed.
to Slaughter
[Roman Turner] He lead the way and instantly his brain told him all of these had to die and another part said he hoped they didn't get out. Then a sound had him whipping towards it, trying to pin point it as he held his finger up to his lips in a shushing manner to warn the others.
[Slaughter] Imogen, utterly silent to begin with, arches an eyebrow slightly as Roman whips around to shush her, but her gaze soon moves away, searching for the source of a sound herself.
She studies each door, though without approaching them to see if any is even just slightly ajar.
Her bets are on the last one. Her finger moves from the trigger guard to the trigger, and briefly, her eyes touch on the young woman - reaching, stretching out, perhaps whimpering, perhaps silent. Her brow contracts, and then is forced smooth.
[Slaughter] perception+alertness
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Sorrow] Roman can stay concealed even in the open in the basement. The eye doesn't want to linger on him; he can find and cling to the shadows. Imogen and Kora do not know that trick. As soon as the pair of them are past the curtains held in place by the hay bales (and briefly, passing them, the sharp scent of cut hay chases away the deeper, more disturbing scents sunk into the bones and marrow of the place) the smallest of the (potential) victims look up, alert as an animal, and animal-quick, like a mouse caught out of its hole by a cut, and snags her arm back inside, pressing her spine up against the solid metal bar that defines one of the corners of her cell, holding her arms around her legs, keeping her chin carefully low, watching them out of the corner of her eye.
There's little - no? - movement from the second cell, and only that silent quivering from the third cell.
[Sorrow] None of the doors are ajar. Looking closely, though - the last cell, the one she scrutinized most closely - remains unlocked.
to Slaughter
[Slaughter] Imogen reaches up, silent and taps Roman's shoulder if she needs his attention, her gaze flicking to Kora to include her. She deliberately moves her eyes toward the third cell, the movement significant.
[Roman Turner] Well this was interesting. He saw the reaction of the small girl shape and then Imogen touched him and he slipped away to deeper shadows, heading towards those cells for a better look inside them.
[Roman Turner] per+alert
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Closer, and Roman can see what the smaller shape in the first cell was struggling to reach; a pair of scissors, discarded, half-concealed under spilled straw. Closer, and he can see the faint rise and fall of the chest of the inhabitant of the second cell, smell the sharp, almost clean scent of alcohol soaked into the air around him, a contrast to the darker, less innocent scents suffusing the air.
Closer, and he can see the last inmate in the last of the cells, huge, face hidden in the straw piled in the corner, find dark pants and crisp white shirt barely containing his bulk. The fabric is fine - finely gauged, well-woven, crisply put together - there is a half-moon of sweat under either armpit, but otherwise he seems to be clean, unsoiled.
Kora nods quietly to Imogen sends a look in her direction. She steps out, flanking Imogen, keeping her tall frame between the line of cells and the kinwoman without blocking her line of sight. As Kora's shadow falls across the girl, she draws back sharply toward the middle or back of her cell, but deliberately keeps her eyes averted.
[Sorrow] There is no lock on the third cell.
to Roman Turner
[Roman Turner] He drew closer to the cells, passing each and stopping before the third. That was odd and of course, being himself he said so.
"Well I'll be danged, this one don't have no lock on it. Boy howdy don't that ring of the jail keeper or what?"
[Slaughter] Kora steps out, keeping herself between the cells and the kinwoman. Imogen steps wide, giving herself space and allowing her a clear shot at the body. Out of the corner of her eye, the girl's movement catches Imogen's attention and for a moment, the doctor's dark gaze moves, falling on the supposedly human girl.
Pity, perhaps for a moment.
Then gone.
Roman speaks, and Imogen raises her weapon, levelling it on the prone body. Her finger is on the trigger.
[Sorrow] Dex + Stealth:
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Slaughter] (HAIL KAHSEENO!)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Roman Turner]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 6, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Roman announces that the last cell has no lock. Imogen levels her weapon on the body inside. The inhabitant is at least 6'3", and well north of four hundred pounds. For all that, it is surprisingly light and quick. Both Imogen and Roman are sharper eyed, however, and notice the way its bulk tenses for movement underneath the mounded straw, readying to -
(inits!)
attack!
[Sorrow] Kora: +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Slaughter] (+9!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Roman Turner] +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Sorrow] Junior: +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Sorrow] Order:
Junior: 17
Roman: 16
Imogen: 14
Kora: 9
Kora: 1 rage - snapshift to hispo.
1a. BITE. 1b. BITE. Rage 1:BITE.
[Slaughter] Imogen:
Fire,
Fire
[Roman Turner] 1 Rage to Snapshift to Warform
1a Claw
1b Claw
[Sorrow] Junior: 1a. Charge Roman! 1b. Charge Kora! Rage 1: Run run run run run run runaway!
[Sorrow] Junior: Charge Roman! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Sorrow] They circle the last of the cells, the scorch of promised violence in the air. The human female shrinks back further under the straw, pressing her face against her knees. The huge form of the remaining son - in his fine suit, in his tailored shirt - tenses and turns ready to charge out, flinging open the unlocked cell door - human apparently, except for his size - faster than anything that large should be, head low, surging toward Roman -
and falls, hard, goes skidding on the floor.
[Action Change: 1b. GET UP. Rage 1: Charge Kora!]
[Roman Turner] 1a claw
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Roman Turner] 1b claw
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Slaughter] Shoot!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 4 at target 4)
[Slaughter] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Slaughter] shoot! HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 5 (Failure at target 4)
[Sorrow] Kora: BITE! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Sorrow] DAmage!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Sorrow] Bite -3
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Junior: CHARGE KORA!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 6, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Kora: Rage 1 BITE
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 4, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Slaughter] (+9!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Sorrow] Junior: +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Sorrow] Kora: +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Roman Turner] +8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Slaughter] rollyrollypoly
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7
[Sorrow] Order:
Kora: 17
Imogen: 16
Roman: 12
Junior: 11
Junior: 1a. Bite Kora! 1b. Bite Imogen! Rage 1: RUN RUN RUN AWAY.
[Roman Turner] 1a claw jr
1b do it again
[Slaughter] Shoot junior
Shoot junior
shoot junior!
[Sorrow] Kora: 1a. BITE junior; 1b. BITE junior.
[Sorrow] 1a. BITE
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Sorrow] 1b. BITE
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Sorrow] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Slaughter] DIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 5 at target 4)
[Slaughter] BLOODY STINKING DEATH IN BLOOOOOOOOOOD!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Sorrow] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Sorrow] x.x
[Sorrow] There is another spasm of violence; the Garou launch themselves at the huge man. He moves as quickly as a Garou, though otherwise his curse is less than his brothers, expressed in his size and his resiliance, in the corkscrew tail that is evident through a pinpoint hole in his pants.
One of the Garou claws him, the other bites, tearing away chunks of flesh dominated by cheesey yellow adipose tissue, rarely crunching deeper, touching little that is vital or internal under near the end. He scrambles to his feet, batters himself against Sorrow with a fury that clear in his brown eyes and quivering bulk. She's uninjured. The acrid scent of gunpowder is sharp in the air - and when it seems as if he were nearly immortal, having survived another pair of bites - Imogen levels her weapon and shoots him, and he falls with a deep thud.
In the third cell, the woman is a quivering mass of fear. She makes a short, sharp sound in the back of her throat and stuffs the heel of her hand into her mouth in an attempt to dampen the sounds from her throat.
In the second cell, the drunk inmate remains - drunk, unmoving, unaware of the vicious fight happening within feet of his unconscious body.
[Roman Turner] His ears were ringing so loud he couldn't hear a thing for a few moments. The smell here was so bad he sort of wished he didn't need to breath. Fear was the worse part though, he could taste it in the air. So much for not scaring the prisoners any more than they needed to. And here came more horror. He began the shift back to homid again.
[Slaughter] The man, more human than his brother, falls, crumpling and boneless to the ground. Imogen exhales her breath slowly and steps back away from the body.
Her gaze turns toward the girl. She studies her, crouching, terrified, doing her very best not to make a sound.
Imogen's gaze drops, turns away. She drops the clip from her weapon, replacing it with another, her gestures hindered by the burns on her hand.
A beat, and she chambers her first bullet, flicking a glance at the girl. The two Garou have a space to stop her, now. The moment where clarity comes, and Imogen's cold, rational decision is obvious.
"You have my sympathies." She sounds dispassionate. Disconnected as if she were saying this of no account. To someone simply because she should. One must hope that Imogen does not say such things in such tones to the families of her dead.
Three steps forward, her gun sliding between the bars.
[Roman Turner] He moved like someone poked him in the ass with a cattle prod when Imogen's actions became clear to him. In that moment he leapt right between Imogen and her target, facing Imogen.
"NO!"
[Roman Turner] "Ya can't just shoot her in cold blood. Look at her. It's like shoving little bunny foo foo in a stew pot while petting him and hand feeding him. Ain't right."
[Slaughter] Imogen stops, her gun not yet risen. Her eyebrow lifts.
"The things she must have seen cannot be undone." A lift of her chin, sharp, indicating the other cell. "Same with him."
He continues, her eyebrow remains lifted.
"And this delay is kinder?"
[Roman Turner] "Gonna hurt your soul."
He shook his head slowly.
"Ain't right. He's drunker than a skunk and she's so scared, who's gonna believe what she says? It don't hurt none to let a little light shine through sometimes, does it?"
He spoke each word as soft as the brush of a feather and as steady as a Preacher at Sunday sermon.
[Sorrow] Kora makes no move to intercept as Imogen begins to level her weapon, but her dark eyes flick over Roman as the young Garou jumps in front of the target. She does not stop him, either. She's human again - shifted, bleeding, her head tipped aslant, studying the girl in the cage, whose face is tearstreaked and absolutely white.
There's a deeper sort of compassion evident on the Fenrir's sharp features, considered, her mouth is still though.
"She's broken," Kora says, low to the pair of them, her attention direct on Roman. " - wounded. Soul as well as body. There's no going back from a place like this. Give her a quick end; it's merciful."
---
The girl is watching them now, her eyes huge, fixed on the back of Roman's head. Imogen, at least, will see how she keeps herself in his shadow, making her as small as possible.
---
"You can't just let her go. Nightmares, memories - how would that be any kinder?"
[Slaughter] "Humans don't come back from this," quiet, even. Calm. "And they pose a risk to us all. The right word in the right ear, or even just an interesting one in the wrong ear can bring attention that none can afford."
[Roman Turner] "I can't just let her be put down like a rabid skunk."
He shook his head slowly and turned to look at the girl.
"If she's so broken, what makes ya sure anything she said would mean anything to anyone? It just ain't right."
[Roman Turner] "What's yer name? I ain't gonna hurt ya none."
He reached between the bars holding his hand out to the girl as he cooed just as soft and sweet as if speaking to a frightened little puppy he was trying to tempt with a treat.
"Come on, I ain't gonna hurt ya. Come take my hand. It's gonna be ok. I'm Roman, what's yer name? I betcha got one of them Chicago accents, don'tcha? Me, I ain't from around here, but don't mean I can't help ya. Come on, come take my hand."
[Slaughter] "Your packmate wants a pet," Imogen says to Kora, annoyed. She turns away and walks to the body of the most recently killed pig, searching him for keys, one handed.
[Roman Turner] "That ain't right either. Ya know that ain't right. Your momma raised ya better than that. Just cause life has come up and bit ya on the hind end don't mean ya got to pull the wings off of flies."
He was still trying to tempt the poor girl towards him while murmuring the admonishment.
[Sorrow] "Humans might not believe her, Roman," Kora says quietly, watching him as he reaches back into the cage toward the girl. " - but cursed ones, would. Listen, Roman, she'd be a walking victim for the next monster, and the one after that. She would attract them like a magnet. Nevermind that she knows our faces. That even if no one believed her, she'd be able to break the veil, and that she could tell the cursed ones and any others our faces, even our names, maybe. Who we are. How we fight. The right word in the wrong ear, Roman."
--
The girl turns toward Roman, darting dark eyes up at his face as he reaches between the bars, she reaches out and grabs his hand, pulls herself upright and reaches out and grasps his hand. She puts her face against the bars, her eyes closing as she tips her head toward Roman. Murmuring, close and quiet in his ear.
[Sorrow] "I don't want to live. I was trying for the knife. So I could end it. I don't want to live. I want it quick. Please."
to Roman Turner
[Roman Turner] He leaned in when she took his hand and put her face close to the bars. He was half listening. Instinct was telling him that she might bite his ear off. Then he heard her whisper and pain cut through the heart of his soul. That little part of himself that was pure took a serious blow with that whisper. Defeat shagged his shoulders as he nodded and slowly stepped back from the bars, barely getting the words out.
"She don't want to live no more. That's not the words of a crazy person. That's the words of someone hurt and feeling like ain't no other way out."
[Slaughter] Roman's jibes go unanswered. Her mother, her life or the status of flies; there is a sharp, tight line to her spine as she crouches by the corpse. Her gun rests on her knee as she slips her uninjured hand through the pockets of the corpse. The metal clicks and jangles against each other as she pulls the keys free from a pocket.
Roman steps back, defeated, and Imogen turns her head to look at him. There is no triumph there, but she gets to her feet. A pause, a moment, before she starts to step toward the bars.
[Sorrow] The girl stands close to the bars, watching Roman as he steps back defeat in his shoulders, pain lancing through him. Her eyes are dark, shining with unshed tears. She is filthy - older than he might have considered on first glance, thirty, or thirty-five, thin from a life on the streets, with track marks up her arms and stringy dark hair greasy from lack of washings.
"I'm glad it's you," the woman says, earnestly, watching him as he drifts away from the bars of the cage. Finishing with a look toward the cursed human collapsed across the concrete basement floor. " - and not them." Earnest and quiet, before she looks stark at Imogen, tightens her hands around the bars, and dips her head as if in prayer.
[Roman Turner] How did you take something like that graciously and not throw it back at them by saying you weren't glad you were involved at all? That it was killing a little of the light in your soul, dragging it towards that forbidden darkness kicking and bleeding the entire way? It made him want to be anywhere but here at this time. He wanted a do over card.
[Slaughter] A tendon flicks in Imogen's jaw, a brief tensioning.
She meets the woman's eyes when she steps up, dark blue, confident, an attractive woman with no track marks on her arms, no drug addiction, her thinness born of good genes, of hours at the gym.
They are utterly unalike. No similarities. From Imogen's washed hair to the woman's bare feet.
The doctor inhales like she might say something, but finds that every word is paltry. She places her gun to the woman's temple, and pulls the trigger.
Gunpowder embeds in her skin, the muzzle leaves a burn as the super-heated bullet leaves it. Flesh depresses then tears, bone breaks inward, and her skull cracks like an egg, each crack telling a story. Which one was first. Which one is last. The final damage, the bullet leaving the skull on other side, bevelling an exit wound outward, the wound coughing a spray of blood and brains backward. The drug addict's body falls, and Imogen steps back, her gaze lowering to her. A moment, and then she walks to the other cell.
[Roman Turner] He blinked with the gunshot, it was an auto response to the loud sound. Oddly the passed out drunk didn't bother him as much, but still he had to say something as he turned for the stairs.
"Ya know, if he ain't woke up yet, then maybe he was so drunk he never knew none of this happened?"
Nothing like the Devil's advocate.
[Sorrow] The woman lowers her had as if she were praying, and closes her eyes. She feels the press of the muzzle against her temple, and remembers the god she has long since cast away as a clear fiction, created by the powerful to justify their success and grind down the rest of the world.
She prays - half-wordlessly, the name of every god she an remember, trembling in the last moment before the trigger is pulled. Then the body collapses like a folding deck of cards, and the addict falls against the bars. The final look on her face is peaceful, still, except for the gaping wound in her temple, in her blown-out skull.
--
"There are no maybes in the litany," Kora says, quiet, flicking a glance back at Roman as he turns for the stairs. She's still in the middle of the room, gunshots ringing in her ears.
[Slaughter] She never answers him. Merely fires, twice. The man, in his drunk stupor, one which he clings to, perhaps, never gets up. She watches his chest rise and fall, painful stuttered breathes with gaping wounds along his spine. Twice, he breathes.
Then he does not.
Imogen pauses a moment, her back turned to both Garou, before she turns away.
"There's a lot to clean up," she says.
[Roman Turner] "They ain't all dead yet."
It was the stairs he started climbing as he said those words.
[Sorrow] When it is finished; the drunk dead, the corpses scattered around the basement, Imogen remarks on the cleanup. Roman climbs the stairs to scour the first and second floor to hound out anything else that might be living in the building.
And Kora, who is still, whose tension has never left her entirely, though perhaps for reasons wholly shifted from those offered by Roman, glancing at the good doctor with sparking. The struggle on her sharp features is clear as the restraint that comes quickly after the spark of rage that brightens her dark eyes.
Her rage is spent, but underneath, Kora is furious.
--
Instead of whatever she meant to offer initially - instead of that exclamation - she swallows back her words, and helps Imogen clean up the corpses. She treats the humans more gently, cleansing along. But sometime during the clean-up, Kora looks up, clear-eyed at Imogen over a body. And says, low, sharp, "Remember what I said about lone wolves, doc?" Quiet, a brief pause. Then, "Call me next time. Before you walk in the fucking door. If we hadn't been in the neighborhood - "
She doesn't finish the sentence. Not for the rest of the night.
[Slaughter] Kora speaks, low and sharp, and Imogen looks up, even-gazed. She meets the Skald's eyes, holds it. When Kora is done, she does not answer.
She merely returns to her work. No agreement, no denial, no response whatsoever.
The cleaning is long and tedious. There are bodies upon bodies. Tools. The meat is left to rot. A closed sign on all the doors. Imogen finds keys to lock the doors when they're done, her car weighed with corpses.
She does not bring herself to ask either to heal her hand; but if it were offered now, she would not refuse. She barely has use of her hand and even Imogen cannot deny that explaining this at her place of work would be difficult.
--
One imagines they work in silence. Words exchanged are utilitarian. What goes where. Where the car is. Where they are going after that.
Then the house is locked tight, the bodies are disposed of. They go their separate ways.
[Roman Turner] And he would of course heal her hand and later he would tell Kora that some times there should be a "maybe" in things. And that she might want to think about how what she said to Imogen might make her think twice and it might make her not call for help next time.
Last of all when it was all said and done he patted Imogen on the shoulder and murmured.
"I'm sorry."
Then parted ways.
