Ornature

[Fire Claws] He could smell everything beyond the fence. The smell of rotting flesh and dead bodies. He could smell the death that waif through the cold Chicago air. It was not the rotting, corpses that made him growl. But the amount. Wolves were used to smelling death, they could find dead prey if times got too tough in the heart of winter for a pack. But this was something altogether different. There were dozens upon dozens of them, stacked. And that was not the worst of it, the did not seem to rot naturally, properly.

They were not buried, which he didn't mind. But they were mixed with strange smells not akin to death. Well not to him.

His nose follows the smells back, beyond the fence, towards the concrete building. The smells of the bodies... not all of them dead. A strange mixture of smells besides the dead bodies. His nose pushes at the chain link fence as if he needed to hunt this strange smell down now. His mind still linked with the pack.

More than death. Rows of death. Piles of bodies. And oil. And blood. Rot. Bloated corpses. Inside storage. And fresh two-legs. One sex smell. One oil-like-monkey.

[Janis Ian] The Rotagar has plucked a small detail out from her surveillance. Her nose twitches, eyes narrowing slightly as they fall on the gate. She retraces her steps, moving past to Patrick to the gate. Her head turning to regard Linus as she clicks her tongue to get his attention.

"The chain on the gate is just wrapped, nay sign of the padlock being closed, it's just 'anging open."

[Bone Writer] The Godi blinks at the sound of the whistling, lifting off the alley wall with a brief surge of muscle and a soft grunt. He turns toward Fire~Claws, hooking his head back to the pair at the alley's mouth, beyond the exposure of the Chainlink fence itself. Fire~claws report leaves a vague dissatisfaction clinging to the Godi's mind, something that translates to an unsteady rumble over the link itself.

Pull back. Need eyes on the Whistler. Gonna send the Rotagar up to take a gander. Pack'll hang back in alley for report. Something goes wrong, we rush.

And Linus is pulling back from the chainlink fence, motioning at Janis from halfway back to the street. His whisper is low as the Rotagar draws close, the sound of the whistling nearby bringing a vague aggitation to his senses.

"You're going in. Need numbers. Fire~claws says the units are filled with the dead. Some of them have still living ones. Need to deal with the key holder. Identify and pull back to report. You get seen, pull back. Break silence only if necessary."

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Fianna, frowning at the sound of the whistling, mutters lowly: "That's just plain creepy. I hate whistlers. If you can't remember the words, why bother?" When the wolf born's report comes back about the bodies. The piles of bodies; Patrick's hackles rise.

A hand pushes back the hood from his head; his eyes are very pale in the dark; blue specks on an otherwise white face.

Roger, over and out.

Comes the Welshmen's totemed reply; his figure skulking back toward the others.

[Janis Ian] Janis inclines her head in a nod to Linus as he is telling her what she needs to do. Her nostrils flare out, eyes turning to scope out the gate with the chain wrapped around it, skimming across the chain link fence for a weakness in the links, for another way in besides the obvious route.

She huffs out, "The key 'older?"

[Twilight] STUFF!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 5, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Twilight] Patrick 1-3; Fire Claws 4-5; Linus 6-8, Janis 9-10
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[Bone Writer] Linus interrupts Janis' question with a raised hand, flicking fingers across his ear. Were one to listen closely, the jangle of the keys can be deciphered, intermingled with the Whistling sound and the rush of metal on metal in the distance.

"Get going. And be careful..."

[Fire Claws] He begins to pad away from the fence, as the whistle continues to go. He didn't like leaving the rotagar off alone, she wasn't connected to the pack. She could be overrun without them knowing. She could be knocked out in a darkened area and she wouldn't be able to signal back to them. But this was what the no moons did.

He just moved off the chain link fence and into a shadow of one of the buildings.

[Twilight] There's a suggestion of movement behind the tinted window of the tiny office, an occlusion like a shadow. Bone Writer's backing up, disturbed by Whistler's presence, or maybe his taste in music. The Rotagar's ducking forward, ready to to her duty.

Then the double doors to the office sweep open. The sound of gunfire tinny enough that it must be coming from the speakers of that cheap television just visible through the window, cushioned against the great, moving bulk of a man so large that the Garou could be forgiven for wondering how he managed to fit all of his bulk inside the office shack, let alone how he managed to squeeze it through the doors.

Crumbs cover his cheap t-shirt, which is white and translucent with grease in places. He's crumbling a paper bag in one big, meaty hand. Lobs it in a moving arc over the fence, accurate enough that the greasy White Castle bag hits - or comes close to hitting - Fire Claws with the bag.

"JENKS - " the big guy yells, in a surprisingly thin voice, " - WHAT THE - I NEED - "

Then he stops, turns and looks toward the motley group closer to the gates. Smiles, sudden and wide. He has a piece of gristle clinging to his jowels, and is missing several teeth. He smells like he bathed in that scent O'Tolley's pumps into its parking lots. Here's Fire Claws grease-scent, front and center, wrapped about with death, new and old.

"Oh!" He seems, gleeful. "Customers!"

Claps his surprisingly tiny hands, and begins lumbering down the wooden ramp to the ground.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Doo de doo, can the Fianna be stealthy?]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] (Man+Stealth. I prey he hides, cuz he might just snap at the fence)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Bone Writer] "Fucker..."

The Godi's flaring warnings over the Totemlink even as his voice whispers with the first grin and bellowed 'Customers!'

"Stay low. Small forms. I'll keep his eye. Wait for it..."

And the Godi steps forward, never one for hiding, hands tucking into pockets and gaze narrowing as he regards the Fat man from beyond the Fence. He's walking toward the gate, though he has yet to step further from the wall toward the Fence itself. A good six feet off if he's an inch.

"I've got some product needs storing. Pretty big though. How much for rooms?"

(Persuasion)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] He stays within the shadow of the building as best he can when the creature seems to lumber out of the hut, looking almost like Jabba the hut. He doesn't snap at the fence when the bag lands on his paws. He wanted to snap through the fence and eat his face for just being... well... what he was. It was hard not to growl, but he didn't. Yet.

Let me rip him limb from limb. Just him.

[Bone Writer] (Lyyyyiinnngggg: Manipulation 2 + Subterfuge 3. Diff -1)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Janis Ian] She is likely the one that was seen - if any motion she had made when surveying the fence has garnered the fat man's attention. She stands back, shifting behind Linus to try and trying to stay out of the fat man's view as the Godi works his tongue to fabricate some lie. She doesn't go far, the less they see the better. Her eyes narrow, brows drawn together.

[mani[p + stealt]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) [WP]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Galliard has to catch himself before he out-right laughs at the creature that ambles out to greet them. Across the totem-link; his amusement and disgust cannot be halted.

That is the ugliest fucking man I have ever seen. That's just -- even if he weren't evil I'd wonder. Think the Wyrm offers Jenny Craig schemes?

Then; pulling his hood back up; he slides further out of sight; watching. Balanced on his heels; and then; with a crackling liquid sound; as a tawny colored wolf, steady on its paws.

[Twilight] "Depends how much space you need," the big-guy returns, smiling his gap toothed smile, hands fluttering like butterflies on crack around his bulk as he lumbers down the groaning wooden ramp. The t-shirt is large enough to cover his bulbous frame, but underneath - he's wearing cut-off jeans, tight ones, great white thighs bulge out from them, like fate from sausage casings.

It's freezing tonight.
He doesn't seem cold.

Just delighted, some fucking how.

" - and whether you need refrigeration. Small ones go for two hundred a month, plus ten percent. Then there's hazard insurance. Oh, customers. JENKS. CUSTOMERS. ARE YOU ALL TIDIED UP - " He is focused Linus now, waddling toward the gait. In the middle distance, Linus can see a tall, narrow framed man materializing from the shadows. Gaunt as this one is fat, with gray skin and sunken eyes, walking out from one of the storage lockers. "We have one or two left. We are mostly full. Did Rattrap send you? You look like one of his friends. You look like - " The strange licks his lips; sudden, lascivious. Gods only know whether he wants to sit on Linus, fuck him up, or eat him. " - you could use some meat on your bones."

"COME OPEN THE GATE JENKS. WE CANNOT LEAVE THIS NICE YOUNG MAN OUT IN THE COLD."

[Twilight] (Jenks: Sense Gaia)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Twilight] (Jenks: Charisma + Performance - specialty - whistling)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Bone Writer] Keep in his blindspots. Shouldn't be hard. Going to draw him 'round so his back's to the pair of you. Get to the gate quietly while I keep his eye and attention. Hit him when you've got your opening.

The Totemlink thrums as Linus hand rises to catch the bar of the Chainlink fence, pushing his way to the gate. He glances up with a grimace and a frown, his nose snuffling at the stench of the Fat Man reaching out to take hold of his jugular. He swallows briefly and his eye lifts through the fence with another round of words on his tongue. He's interrupted of course, by the sudden appearance of the slender fellow from the shadow. One and Two.

Linus clears his throat and offers a tilt of his head.

"Fridge space, maybe. Got a lot of furniture. Some fragile items to. Bunch of..." And Linus pauses, flexing a brow up suggestively "...Meat, needs keeping for a night or two."

[Bone Writer] (Sigurd's Stride: Stamina 4 + Primal Urge 1 + Totem 2. Diff 4 1 Gnosis)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4)

[Fire Claws] There is part of him that wants to just snap at the obese man... for being well... a waste. This was partly what he spoke to Starla about, disgustingly fat and soft. Monkeys needed this stone dens and steel forest of building now. They have come easy prey, far to easy. He smelt like the crap that this scab called food. Nothing but crap.

The other coming along. The smell of sex seemed to come through now. As if he had just finished mating with some poor two-leg just off in the back. But the smell of other humans did not seem to come along with him.

He waits in the shadows until something happens.

[Janis Ian] Janis would be thankful that she cannot smell what Fire Claws does, though, her nostrils flared she exhaled out softly. Shifting slowly to the shadows to follow where Patrick had gone, disappearing until it enveloped her and her body waves and melts with the sickening crack of reshaping itself - autumn-furred and large paws finding a perch on the ground as she skulks onto her belly, ears flat along her head - waiting and watching the others for the signal to move.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Fire Claws is not alone in his desire to end this tub of lard.

The Fianna himself bristles somewhat as his brother stands near to both the fat one; and then as he appears; the whistler. There's a touch more bristling from Prayers to Broken Stone, now. He lowers his body to the ground; snuffles and flattens ears back against his skull.

His tail is between his legs; low to the ground -- the scouting, hunting wolf's body language. He can feel Janis nearby; similarly poised. Tension mounts.

[Twilight] "We store a lot of meat. We got special rates for meat. We got special specials for it. Depends on whether its still breathing or not." The Fat Man beams at Linus, now - a great smile cresting his massive jowls. He has completed his ensemble with flowered flipflops that slap on the concrete ground, and follows, watching Linus as he speaks, keeping his eyes fixed on the Godi now, like he's been mesmerized by the promise of it.

Just once, he pauses, wraps sausage fingers through the diamonds of the gate to stare dreamily down at Linus - whom he outweighs by a power of ten and overtops by a solid six or eight inches - then reaches and yanks the loosely wrapped chain from where its coiled between the bars.

"Oh, a friend of Rattrap is always a friend of mine." The gate rattles as the chain uncoils, falls to the concrete in a slinking pile. Then Fat Man's backing up, pulling the gate open to let Linus in.

In the background, the Whistler - now whistler another tune, this one unrecognizeable - approaches the pair of them, peeling a latex glove - slick with some dark fluid - off his hand, snapping it at the rest.

He hangs back - near the mouth of the narrow, dark walkway between the storage lockers - and stares at Linus with spare, unblinking gray eyes.

When he smiles, his teeth are sharp as needles.

"He is no," the Whistler cautions his compatriot, regard distinctly predatory. " - friend of Rattrap, are you?"

[Twilight] (snapping it at the wrist!)

[Bone Writer] Two of you on Fatso. Careful of your tails. I want Janis through the Gate, round Tubby here and teeth in throat of the Whistler-

"Friend? Why I wouldn't go that far. Acquaintances maybe. Meet at the Salon every Friday-" And Linus pushes through the Gate, being sure to give the Large Tub a wide berth that will have his fascinated head and eyes following Linus. The Godi's hand is already rising to scratch at his chin...collarbone, just inside the hoodie who's hood is drawn back to reveal boyish features and a shaved scalp.

"-He loves, tubby back here-" A chuckle and a head hook back at the Fat Man "-but says he doesn't like what you do with his meat, Jenks. Naughty..." And the Godi's toes kick into ground as soon as he's a few feet from the fence, already reaching past the flesh for the spiritual bond to the Spear tucked along his right arm.

-High and low, Gentleman

[Fire Claws] He makes sure to do as Bone Writer says, keeping to the shadows and out of sight for the moment. But he could feel Bone Writer getting ready. Something about these two monkeys seem odd. They smell of death, something monkeys avoid like the plague normally. They smell of grease and sex and oil and crap. They smell like scab dwellers.

He lowers his form, predatory move as he waits to spring on the prey. To take it down in a moment and kill the creature without question. There is no need to look over at prayer~yuf. Just move with authority and end it.

[Resist Pain active. -1 WP. Sigurd's Stride Active. -1G Stam 4+Primal (4) + Heightened Sense benefit (1).]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 4)

[Janis Ian] Blur
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Failure at target 8)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Creeping! Dex + Stealth + Lupus]

Prayers to Broken Stone barely finishes hearing Linus' voice issuing commands before he's off, the Fiann wolf; creeping lowly across the ground toward the gate. Positioning himself as close as can be behind the fatter of the pair. Ready to sink teeth and claw into soft; jelly-like flesh.

[Activating Resist Pain, too.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Fire Claws] (Opps for sigurd stride forgot the +2 stamina in lupus, diff 4 still)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 3, 9 (Success x 1 at target 4)

[Twilight] "YOU SEE!" Fat Man claps, pulling the gate further open, pallid eyes bulging on Linus for a moment with that odd hunger, half sicko, half childlike, before peeling back, looking away toward the Whistler and clapping his big meaty hands. "YOU SEE! HE LIKES ME BEST. I told you Rattrap liked me best of all. He doesn't like you though. He HATES WHAT YOU DO WITH THE - "

The Whistler, meanwhile, bares his teeth - which are gleaming metallic and thin as hypodermic needles - in a narrow snarl at the Fat Man. "Shut up, you fool." He hisses once. Then - " - he's one of them!"

[Janis Ian] Janis' gotten the memo, though, her larger form crawling through the shadows to get around to Whistler, without a blurred form to cover herself, to attempt to ambush him. The others going straight for Fat man.

(-1wp for Resist Pain, sneaking up on Jenks, dex+stealth+hispo)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6) [WP]

[Fire Claws] (Sneak up you fool. Dex+ stealth+lupus)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Bone Writer] (7+...)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[Twilight] Fat Man +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Twilight] Whistler +8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

[Janis Ian] 9+
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Twilight] Order:

Janis: 17
Pack: 16
Whistler: 15
Fat Man: 7

[Twilight] Fat Man: 1a. Stench. 1b. Block. Rage 1: Bodyslam Patrick. Rage 2: Bodyslam (lovingly!) Linus.

[Twilight] Whistler: 1a. Bite Janis. 1b. Block. Rage 1: Howl! Rage 2: Bite Linus.

[Bone Writer] (Reflexive: Rage Shift Crinos. Resist Pain -WP
Initial Action: Spear Thrust Jenks.
Rage 2: Spear Pin Jenks to Wall)

[Janis Ian] Janis
Splits, 1a bite. 1b dodge, rage1: bite again, all whistler

[Twilight] Whistler: Per + Alert!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] Fire~Claws. 1R insta shift to hispo.
1a Fur gnarl Fatty(-2 dice, diff 7)
1b. Fur gnarl Fatty (-3dice, diff 7)
1R. Bite gnarled skin. (diff 7)

[Twilight] Fat Man Per + Alertness
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Patrick is:
Insta-shifting to Hispo and THEN

1a.
1b. Fur Gnarling!
R1.
R2.
R3. Same til he drops, ya'll.]

[Janis Ian] 1a bite, 9 -2 for split = 7 + 4bonus for ambushy = 11
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Twilight] Block! Whistler: 1b. -3 for split
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Bone Writer] (Spear Thrust on Jenks: Dex 4 + Melee 2. Diff 6)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Bone Writer] (Str. 6 + 1 Spear + 2 Sux. Damage Faccckkk offffff Kahseeno)
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 4, 4, 6, 8, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Fire Claws] (Fur Gnarl. Dex 4+ Brawl 3+ Hispo 2. diff 7-1, -2 dice for first split

~~*HAIL KAHSEENO*~~)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Fire Claws] Damage
(Str3+ Hisp 3+ Claw 1+ Sux 3
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Twilight] Fat Man: soak! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] (Rip off some more skin, gnarl some more with claw.

1b. Fur Gnarl. Dex 4+ Brawl 3+ Hispo 2. diff 7-1, -3 dice for second split

~~*HAIL KAHSEENO*~~)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2

[Fire Claws] Damage
(Str3+ Hisp 3+ Claw 1+ Sux 4.

~~*HAIL KAHSEENO*~~)
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Twilight] Fat Man Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1a. GNARL YOU. Dex + Brawl + Hispo vs Diff 6 (-2 Split)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Twilight] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1b. YOUR MOTHER GAVE ME SUXX. ]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[Twilight] SOAK!!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Twilight] Whistler: Bite Janis! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Twilight] (Er: Dif 5 but makes no difference)

[Janis Ian] Dodge 8 -3 split
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Twilight] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Janis Ian] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Twilight] Fat Man: Stench!!!! Man + Expression. :)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Bone Writer] (Stamina!)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Janis Ian] (stamina!)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Staaaamina.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] (stamina)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 4, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Twilight] The stench is strong enough that it literally sears the lining of his lungs. 2 lethal.
to Bone Writer

[Twilight] The stench is strong enough that it singes his fur. 1 lethal.
to Fire Claws

[Janis Ian] Rage 1 bite
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 9, 10 (Failure at target 5)

[Bone Writer] (Rage 2: Spear Pin Jenks to the Wall. Dex 4 + Melee 2. Diff 6)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Bone Writer] (Str 6 + 1 Spear + 2 Sux.)
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Fire Claws] Bite attack.
Dex 4+ Brawl 3+ Hispo 2 Bite, diff 5+2 for attack on gnarl -1 for flank

~~*HAIL KAHSEENO*~~)
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Fire Claws] Damage
Str 3 +Hispo 3+ Bite 1+ Maw 1+ 3 Sux

~~*HAIL KAHSEENO*~~)
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Twilight] Soak!!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Twilight] Rage back?
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7 (Failure at target 8) [WP]

[Twilight] ( x.x )

poor fat man.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [R1. Switching targets -- Whistling Dude! Yer next.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[Twilight] Whistler: sooooak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Twilight] Whistler: Rage 1: Howl!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) [WP]

[Bone Writer] (WP)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Janis Ian] [willpower]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Willpower]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] (WP)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Bone Writer] (+1 for Perm. not Temp)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2 (Failure at target 6)

[Twilight] (So he wasn't that scary. Damage?)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [R2. Le Chomp.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 5, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Twilight] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Twilight] Rage 2: Changing action from bite Linus to Bite Patrick! That dude with the spear isn't that scary. +1 dif.
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Twilight] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [R3. I'ma get you!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 5]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Twilight] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Twilight] Whistler + 8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Janis Ian] 9+
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[Bone Writer] (8 +...)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Twilight] Whistler's Girlfriend +3
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [+8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Twilight] Janis: 18
Pack: 18
Whistler: 16
Whistler's Girlfriend: 13 (shambling corpse shambling up behind him; does not smell alive to FC or, uh, anyone. )

[Twilight] Whistlers Girlfriend: bite closest warm body, other than whistler.

[Twilight] Whistler: RUN AWAY.

[Bone Writer] (Initial Action: Block Girlfriend from harming pack)

[Fire Claws] FC
1a. Fur Gnarl Whistler
1b. Fur Gnarl Again.
1R bite.
2R bite

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1a.
1b. Bite Fur Gnarled spot!
R1.
R2. BITE.]

[Janis Ian] Splits, 1a & 1b bites on Whistler. Rage 1: bite on whistler, switch to girl if he's dead.

[Janis Ian] 1a Bite 9 - 2 split
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Janis Ian] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Twilight] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Twilight] Whistler: x.x Botching means he rages back and kills himself with his own stupid needle teeth.

[Janis Ian] 1b Bite 9 -3 split
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Janis Ian] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Twilight] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Janis Ian] Janis Soak roll from biting
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 7, 7, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Fire Claws] 1a. Fur Gnarl on GF
Dex 4+ Brawl 3+ Hispo 2 -2 for split dice pool. diff 7. Add WP)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP] Re-rolls: 1

[Janis Ian] Please don't pull a Linda Blair. Oh gods!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] (damage
Str 3+ Hispo 3+ Claw 1+ Sux 1

***HAIL KAHSEENO***)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Twilight] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] 1b Fur Gnarl again.
Dex 4+ Brawl 3+ Hispo 2 -3 for split dice pool. diff 7.

***HAIL KAHSEENO***)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7) Re-rolls: 1

[Fire Claws] (Soak from damaging gf)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] (Stamina diff 5 from puking)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Fire Claws] (Damage
Str 3+ Hispo 3+ Claw 1+ Sux 1

***HAIL KAHSEENO***)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 5, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1a. Biting Fur Gnarled Spot!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 9, 9 (Failure at target 7)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1b. Biting again! + WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Twilight] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Bone Writer] (spear Girlfriend. Dex 4 + Melee 2. +1 diff for Changing Action. WP)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Bone Writer] (Damage 6 + 1 + 1)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Twilight] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Twilight] WG: x.x

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Stamina!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Twilight] Everything's quiet in the aftermath. The fight - tucked away in the strange little U-STORE-IT tucked up off the alley - is over in a matter of seconds. The Fat Man, the Whistler, and the grotesque corpse shuffling up behind the Whistler - the one covered in his scent - are still, pooling on the floor. Only the Fat Man bleeds red blood through the layers of bubble. The Whistler's blood is a sort of sterile gray, the vague female corpse is simply grotesque, falling backwards and disintegrating around the spear thrust that finally ends whatever strange, inhuman bonds have held her body together.

---

The Fat Man was watching It's a Wonderful Life on the television in the office on a VCR. He has three dozen other classic movies on VHS, from Breakfast at Tiffany's to Rear Window to Heidi to (appropriately enough) Psycho.

There are a few other storage lockers with various contraband. Two strung together are clearly a marijuana grow operation. They've recently harvested, but there are still two or three plants left inside, the heady scent of pot in the air. Another is stacked, floor to ceiling, with old library books. Yet another is full of misprinted Bibles, END TIMES ASSEMBLY stamped on the inner leaf.

Jimmy Stewart is yammering on about the building and loan, but it all goes by silently since someone tore the volume nob off. They will find in the office four or five hundred in cash and the world's largest collection of empty Twinky wrappers. Down the narrow walkway, in the refridgerated units, they find - body parts, nothing intact, fingers, ears, hands - all manner of body parts, gruesomely hacked from some once-living body. Once-human, in various stages of decay. The promised refrigeration unit is not particularly efficient, they find. And none of these appear to have arrived intact; just pieces.

Most of the units are taken up with this storage. There's one for ears; another for hands. Another nearly empty one devoted to noses, with just two specimens on the floor. A half-dozen disjointed legs, (right) next to another locket with at least ten to twelve pieces of left legs. Another devoted entirely to fingers; and another to thumbs.

Last is the one devoted to skulls. There are four, only one with the eyeballs still in their sockets; an old man with a matted, graying beard and long, stringy hair. All the signs of destitution. Fresher than the rest.

[Fire Claws] After the massive battle ensues it was a blur of attacks and kills. Moving with a pack had its advantages and it showed in this case. Patrick and Fire Claws move in tandem against the obese man that was once called Jenks. Fire Claws led out first, ripping open flesh and t-shirt and muscle and fat exposing the softer inner parts that. Prayer to Broken Stone came in and ripped the creature to near death.

A fury of rage and tactics take him down in a matter of milliseconds. The final bite coming from Fire Claws jaw. But Prayer for Broken Stone proved his battle prowess when going toe to toe with Whistler. Ripping flesh from bone in moments, leaving him worn down. Janis joined the fray with quick shots but not took a couple of moments to find her footing before shredding Whistler from the face of the earth.

Not before the agents of the wyrm got some shots in, leaving Fire Claws with the stench of rot and disgust over his fur. Something that would stick to him for a few days it seemed. However Whistler's girl seemed to hear his moans of pain and came a-callin. But she was nothing compared to the gathered Gaians. With LInus putting the finishing touches on the rotting corpse.

When it is all said and done, Fire Claws stands over the corpse of Whistler and pukes up the fatty mess and gore that came up from his stomach. Expelling the rot and grease and taint that was Jenks. Shifting down to his natural form, he sniffs at Whistler and then back at the rotting corpse. A strange smell coming off them. Barking out now.

~Strange. Smell of mating. Together. But she dead. He alive. He mated her?~

Looking to the rest,

~Strange two-legs mating with dead. Cannot make pups that way.~

[Imogen] She has stolen a blanket but not entirely for warmth, eschewing the idea of wrapping it around herself and instead using it as a barrier between the chilled hardwood floor and her posterior. There is no heat here yet, and though it is now warm enough to rain, the house is still chilled.

Her light comes from a floor lantern, ironically set up on the seat of a wooden chair, the only one in the room. It casts an orange halo over its immediate vicinity, the sound of its battery operated electricity droning on.

Her hair is back, carelessly so, a bun which has begun to uncoil, tendrils of hair sliding forward across her cheek as she tilts her head, eyes on the artpad in front of her. She wears a sweater with sleeves that she alternately pushes up (as their presence annoys her) and pushes down (as the chill seeps deeper into her bones.

It is full dark, well into the night and the rain falls steadily against the high window panes. Somewhere, she thinks she can hear a leak, a steady drip-drip-drip which she has not bothered to investigate.

[Kora] The floors are uneven but solid. This building - a chapter house, maybe, once - is as old as the church proper. The big hewn blocks of limestone frame the exterior; the glass in those windows still intact shows the wavy imperfections of an earlier age, framed in by lead mullions gone vertigris green against the stone casements. Most of the furniture was been long-since looted, but the larger pieces, the most elaborate, the heaviest - a handful of those remain. There are shadows against the walls where long-forgotten paintings hung. Layers of graffiti overtopped them in some rooms. Others seem to have been entirely neglected by the squatters and Garou who came after alike: black walls, peeling wallpaper, and a layer of dust the texture of fur on the wooden floors.

Only the cleverest sort could make it across the floors without making a sound; and then it would require work. Deliberation. Some damn knowledge of architecture, some fine attunement to weight distribution, some care. So the hint of a knock, less a question than a suggestion, the opening of a door, that halo of sound bringing the muffled sound of rain against the windows into sharper relief, the fresh, raw cold wind of early spring, then the creak of floorboards underneath some new weight precede her.

"You're up late, doc - " Kora offers by way of greeting, as her shadow crosses the threshold of the room, interrupting rather than throw by Imogen's lantern. Looks up then, at the ceiling, then the walls, then back to Imogen on the floor, the artpad open there in front of her.

[Imogen] The kinswoman straightens as someone knocks, an eyebrow stirring somewhat sardonically as she turns toward the door. She sits with one knee drawn up, the art pad balanced against it, a pencil in hand. A sharp turn of her head moves hair from her eyes, brushing it back against the curve of her cheekbone.

"So are you," she answers, her mouth twisting wryly. "Since we're statin' the obvious."

[Kora] "Couldn't sleep after the excitement that was the Bermuda-Sri Lanka World Cup qualifying match," the creature quips, some hint of self-mockery underscoring her voice. The details so absurd as to be absolutely untrue, but she says it with same irony she might use to order a Pabst Blue Ribbon in some hipster bar. Part of / apart from that world, entire.

"Since we're stating the obvious." Dry, that; a twist of her generous mouth near the end of it, mostly lost in shadow. Her hair is looser than Imogen usually sees it; not twisted into a messy bun, just caught loosely at the nape of her neck by a loose elastic band. The strands are fine and flat; the only wave comes from the hours then spent pulled up, twisted together, and that's already being pulled out by the weight of it. "Couldn't sleep."

She's not still; she needs to move and she does, restlessness burrowing under her skin. "And can't really go out looking for trouble on my own, just now." A brief, glance, sidelong, defined by the curve of her cheek, the shadows beneath her jaw. "You finding what you need here?"

[Imogen] At the quip, Imogen exhales a breath, something like amusement, but does not seek to lengthen the joke. It is not quite worthy of the effort, and dies well now.

Kora says she can't sleep, and Imogen's mouth twists slightly. "Must be th'rain," she says, circumspectly, perhaps inferring that she too cannot sleep.

"Well," she says after a moment, "I've found four walls and a roof, which is a start." She lifts the pad, waving it absently. "I'm tryin' t'write down all th'things I might need. I thought th'appropriate surroundings might help."

A pause, thoughtful, regarding the Fenrir, though not her belly, her pregnancy. It is not an obvious aversion so much as straight forward lack of acknowledgement.

"You must find full moons difficult," she observes.

[Kora] She's still now, Kora. Not still, but stopped, by the window. The glass is intact, by there's plywood across it in an X. Light comes in; watery light, indirect and distant, refracted through the prism of raindrops streaking down imperfect glass. A spare hand on the frame, long-fingers tipped against the work of it. Wood, solid - heartwood, carved by human hands rather than some fucking factory in GuangDong or Xichuan or some other unpronounceable province in some distance, guttered heart of some other ancient land - beneath her fingers.

She looks back; finds Imogen regarding her steadily and returns the glance, then lifts her dark, darkly reflective gaze upward. The ceilings are high here, lose in shadow. A quiet breath, out.

"I like the promise of an empty room," she returns, the look taking in the quiet corners, filled by nothing more than shadows and the memory of mice; the echo of that leak somewhere. Dripdripdrip. Dripdripdrip. A trebled beat, so its nothing to do with the work of her heart.

"The last one, yeah," she returns, with a kind of grim certainty. "Next one'll be harder."

Maybe she'll skip the moot. Find someplace where she can spend herself without being surrounded by warformed Garou. Given in to the itch to move, the itch to hunt, the itch to be a fucking animal in its light in some safe, circumscribed way. Jesus. Gaia.

There's an awareness about her, though, even in the midst of this. She looks back at Imogen, then. Dark eyes searching the kinswoman's features. Not looking for secrets, just a survey of the way the incandescent light from the lantern cuts across the sharper lines of her face, the way shadow pools in the hollows. "I imagine I'm not the only one, though."

[Imogen] Imogen shifts slightly to ease her view of the Garou, turning a little on the floor though she does not bother to stand. The light from the lantern casts a pale glow over her features, deepening shadows on one side of her profile and completing vanquishing them on the other. They spark colours in her hair, bringing certain strands into sharp relief as they echo their blonde tones, with the majority of it burning red. There are not many with a hair colour quite like hers. A true red, lit by rare strands of blonde and a darkened undertone of oak.

Her body is lithe beneath her sweater, her jeans, a certain promise of lean strength, of stability in the core muscles, of a stamina in her shoulders and spine. She was never a soft woman, but she has grown harder - though perhaps, to Kora, coming in near the very beginning of the shift has simply always known Imogen to grow harder by every passing day. She may think nothing of it; it is simply the way the kinswoman is, working her way toward titanium.

It is a mistake of many that titanium is the strongest metal known to man. It is, instead, a metal with one of the highest strength to weight ratios. For its light-weightedness it bears more than one would expect.

She likes the promise of an empty room - the edge of Imogen's mouth twitches. "S'not that -" a pause before she chooses a relatively obvious word, "promising fer me. So long as it does what it should in the end, that's all that matters." Kora has seen the kin's flat. Black leather, a media centre with no television. The room's she had seen merely served a purpose, fulfilled a function. The living room, the dining room. No art on the walls, no pictures or mementos.

She steadily regards Kora as the Skald's gaze searches her features. It is a mirror to what happened less than a minute before. "I suppose tha' depends on your circumstances," she says after a moment. She might have said more - but stops before it truly becomes full-thought. The memory of it lingers as tension in her mouth.

[Kora] There's a spare smile on Kora's face; a sort of intent there. It's distant, though, informed by rootlessness. By restlessness. By whatever woke her to a cold rainstorm in the middle of the night. She's softer than Imogen; the curve of her mouth, the frame of her body. The new layer of fat on top of the frame. Imogen disavows the poetic promise of an empty room, and Kora's spare smile deepens, fractionally.

Then she looks away; finds the empty spaces, the voids of shadows, places the space in time, however fractured her sense of time may be.

"At Vindur und Ringing - " her pronunciation is not native, but close enough that she learned by speaking with them, rather than by listening to tapes in a classroom, or half-fluent descendants admist the fires of some American lodgehouse. "There was a man named Runólfur Jóhannsson. Fisherman. Captain of his ship, yeah? Big, but not in that American way, you know? He knew his shit, man.

"They have those - those oil derricks out in the North Atlantic, yeah? On the other side they look like multistory vertiginous mosquitoes when they've been awakened. They're either pumping some sort of poison in or sucking the blood back out of the world. Or both. Runólfur Jóhannsson - " she breathes out with his name; there's a withheld memory there. Incomplete. Still distant. " - well, he could maneuver in so close to the damn things that you could step from deck to platform without getting your feet wet, and stay close, hidden until you needed off. Never lost anyone for leaving them behind. He was fifty, maybe sixty. The sort of man whose strength you never questioned. Just there, solid.

"Full moon, though," and here she cuts a glance back out through the window. "He'd start drinking two days before, and wouldn't sober up for two days after." A brief twist of her narrow shoulders at the end.

[Imogen] She is silent then, first looking at Kora as she imparts a small sliver of detail - not about herself, but about a kinfolk in a Sept of which Imogen has never even heard.

The doctor's eyes move to the window, the rain streaking the glass, distorting the ambient and diffused light that seeps in through the rippling glass. She can hear the drip-drip-drip of the water somewhere, and the more regular tapping of cold icy rain on the window and eaves of the abandoned house.

"I'm in the mood fer a cigarette," she says, suddenly, getting to her feet. The ease of motion with which Imogen moves, her body unweighted by a foetus, her ligaments still tight, her hips unshifted, must seem almost alien now to the pregnant Garou. The idea of the motion, dimly remembered but now foreign with her own reality.

"Want to come along?"

[Kora] "Sure," returns the Skald, the quiet in her voice matched by the quiet of the rain. There's no hesitation, though Imogen will find the creature's dark gaze on her, sidelong and shadowed in the darkness as the kinswoman stands, the lean economy of motion clear. She breathes in, one of those long, deep breathes meant to clear the senses, eyes half-closed, a glance cut toward the windows, then just starts walking back through the ruined rooms, past the gloom of the peeling wallpaper and the cut points of light pooled on the still dark floors. A tip of her head toward the pattern of rain shedding down windows as they walk back to the door, her own gait heavier, interrupted with weight.

"I could use the sky overhead." The feeling of being without walls, especially when there's no danger of seeing the moon tonight. Outside it is sharply cooler. The rain has gentled by now, but the gutters are full of runnels that echo as they sluice down. In places, sheets of rain drop right from the eves to the ground, where the gutts have been torn or fallen or crumbled away.

[Imogen] Imogen only nods, and reaches down, picking up her jacket, not to put it on, but to retrieve the package of cigarettes, her lighter and step outside.

It is cool enough she should have brought her jacket, but the kinswoman does not seem to regret it much, merely drawing the lines of her body tighter together, her elbows to her ribs, her forearms brushing her chest as she lifts the accoutrements of her addiction.

She stands beneath the eave of the building, protected from the steady, quieting fall of rain. Lights up in silence, her eyes on the falling water. An inhale, an exhale, her head turning away to the wind, the smoke exiting her mouth grey and slowly fading through the rain.

Another drag.

"I used to play music," she says. "On a full moon. Bars, mostly. Surrounded by humans, blessedly rageless, simple and ignorant humans." Her choice of phrasing is deliberate. Humans, she calls them, as if she were outside of them. As if she were not one of them.

Another careful drag. "It never really made a difference. H-" beat, "I was usually found anyway."

Here now, less of a pause, more of a nod to her addiction as she takes another drag, her next words choked in smoke. "And now. Well." The smirk is mirthless, quiet, her eyes are on the rain, "it doesn't bother me as much as it used to."

[Kora] Without a cigarette to occupy her hands, Kora tucks them into the pockets of her sweatshirt, tugs up the hood, too, against the chill as they walk. Even in this advanced state of pregnancy, she does not require her arms for balance. Not to walk through the deserted building, down the steps. She keeps her arms close to her body, elbows against her flanks, hands in the pockets.

Outside, she looks up, brows raised skeptically underneath the shade of her hood, watching the rain pelt down out of the dark sky. When the cigarette catches - that familiar sound - she cuts a glance back, watching the kinswoman with that close-eyed attention fixed on her profile, the cut of her jaw, the drift of smoke from her nose and mouth. The pattern of rain gives them a sense of privacy, dampening sound. Still: the quiet, supple exhale in answer to Imogen's last statement - or perhaps just the edge of her smirk, the twist of muscles beneath her skin - is perfectly audible.

"Lost my guitar when I changed. They sent someone for my things, but the guitar was back at the performance space. I'm sure someone at Vindur und Ringing had a guitar, yeah? but when I first went there I couldn't speak the language, had no idea what the fuck - "

A pause here, the words withheld, a moment's remembered passion snapped off behind her teeth. It passes; she pulls it back in, twists her narrow shoulders in a brief, supple gesture. "Well, by the time I learned the language, I didn't need it anymore. The guitar, you know?" Everything'd changed by then.

Kora looks away again, this time up toward the dripping eaves. Listens to the pattern of rain on the ground. "If I were to hear a story about him," she says this quietly, without hesitation once she has decided to ask, but with a certain implicit, respectful distance. " - sometime. Would you want to know?"

[Imogen] She listens as Kora speaks, in a smoking silence, her cigarette scissored between her middle finger and fore, the ember burning orange, the only light beyond the ambient that they have around them. They can hear the tires of a car on a nearby road, the sharp sound of a backfire. Someone shouts. Though no one truly bothers the Garou where they are, this place isn't ever silent.

The sound of the gang wars, the inherent violence of the neighbourhood in which they live bleeds through.

She stills, as Kora asks the question, not only her body language but her face. She wipes of it emotion, of reaction, tamps it down, stamps it out. Her hand is still, the cigarette lowered, her fingers poised to ash it to the ground.

Then, a muscle in her jaw moves, her molars tightening together, and it is the first minute movement, but it signals her unpausing. She inhales a breath, tapping the cigarette free of ash, and lifting it to her mouth again. Her fingers in front of her lips, she speaks, once, shortly. "No," she says, with finality that belies her next phrase.

She drags on the cigarette, inhales it deeply. She smokes Dunhills. Imports them - the British brand. A gold band about the filter makes them distinctive, their flavour slightly different than the usual, American brands.

"Not unless he's dead," she amends.

[Kora] During the interregnum, Imogen takes another drag on her cigarette. Kora glances back at her, then, a look steady as the (nearly) spring rain falling in front of them. They are more than half in shadow. It is well after midnight, dark, but the city is never still and the city is never silent, not even when rain falls on and through the roof of the cathedral. Here, though - they can pretend. The grounds are overgrown enough that come summer you will not be able to see the street from this vantage point, just a tangled sea of green in the heat-haze of a continental summer. Now, they see the buildings opposite through a lacework of bare branches, slick, gleaming with rain.

"Got it," the Skald returns, turning away again. Her voice is dampened by the rain. By some trick of place there's little resonance and no echo. Then she inhales again, deeper, through the nose, her eyes closed, that ozone scent that lingers close to the pavement, here, the scent of waking ground underneath the dripping underbrush. And says, "Smells like spring."

[Drew Roscoe] Drew's got her cellphone pinned against her ear with her right shoulder, held tipped down to help meet partway. Top floor of a busted up apartment building, surrounded by half-demolished boxes of similar shape and design-- this was going to be a revitalization project one day, when the city found spare funds to finish its work. For now, though, it was a ghost of a street. Out front there was a vehicle blocking one side of the street, having collided with a parked, old, rusted abandoned looking thing. The trail of blood that went from the vehicle to the front door of the building is pretty much dry by now, the overcast skies never delivered the rain that it promised would wash the stain away.

Drew gives shaky directions to Roman into her cellphone, gathers children to her best she can, and moves them over to Eli's side with her.

Get them out, he'd struggled to tell her. That could wait, she couldn't leave her Kin like this, absolutely couldn't. What if her bullets weren't as sure as she thought? What if one of the monsters came to and decided to finish their work with Booker while he was paralyzed and unable to defend himself? What if he stopped breathing? She'd be gone, unable to defend him, to perform CPR, to do anything. So she'd stayed, and after hanging up with Roman she'd shushed quiet comfort noises to the children while keeping one hand at Eli's chest, having to feel it move up and down when he breathed to be sure.

The side door is where she'd told Roman to go, the one with the boards torn off. Upstairs, they were impossible to miss.

Please hurry.

[Eli Booker] They are not hard to miss. The muffled cries of terrified children, the scent of blood and gun powder that lingered in the air and the trail of blood outside that led upstairs...they were all like a trail of bread crumbs leading Roman to where they were.

Eli breathed like a man deep in the throes of nasty asthma attack. His chest struggled to lift as his lungs strained to take in and hold a breath. When he exhaled, it always seemed like it'd be for the last time. He's shaking - muscles twitching and trembling in response to the poisonous toxins released into his system by the Fomori they fought only a handful of minutes ago.

They are in a dark room - what would be this apartments living room - and behind them is a bedroom. One glance would tell Roman bad things happened her. Unless he physically looks, he'd see a foot laid out and still peeking from behind the corner of one wall.

[Janis Ian] Janis is still a prospective member. She isn't bound to the totem as of yet, though, she's around the church as often as she can be, picking up the patrols through the pack's turf. It isn't the bat signal that snares her attention to something going on.

It's Roman himself - the reactions of his body when he skids to a halt at the doors of the front stoop of the Church and starts to run down them, a phone in hand. The Rotagar side-steps out of his way as she was walking up the steps to the church, watching him run like a wild bull. Red brows furrow together, the one sided conversation plucked out words that she recognizes as 'wounds' and 'Drew'. Her nostrils flare as she looks up at the Church and then to the fading form of the CoG running down the street.

It doesn't take much for her to spin on the ball of her foot to turn, it takes even less effort for her to break into an urgent run to follow after the other no moon.

[Roman Turner] It was a dead run that passed in a blur for him. Once he'd knocked a man clean off his feet, making it so Kora had to leap over the man. His Alpha had responded right away, so as they ran Roman acted as blocker, knocking anyone out of the way that didn't move fast enough. His coat tails flew out behind him, hat long forgotten.

It wasn't too hard to find them, he found the car, found the trail of blood and what might seem like life time for those waiting passed in minutes for him. Soon enough the sound of boots came as he ran up the stairs two at a time to burst in on the scene, panting like a dog.

[Drew Roscoe] What they find is a mess, the kind that suggested there really ought to be casualties on both sides. There's blood all about the place, the smell of gunpowder as thick in the air as the blood is. There's a body whose foot is poking out of a back room, still as the grave. There's another figure face down at the back of the room, near a corner filled with shadows and the scent of despair and children, blood pooling from its head. A lump of deformed lopsided muscle and pink flesh is on the floor with its brains painting a picture on the ceiling above and along the back of his shoulders. The last body visible is that of what appears to be a vastly oversized, mutated scorpion, exoskeleton cracked with multiple gunshot wounds and vibrant yellow-green pus leaking from these wounds, while blue venom only recently stopped leaking sticky goo from the tail.

Near the door that Roman burst through first, followed close behind by Kora and Janis (who the fuck's that? whatever, if she's with Last Watch she's fine), some odd number of feet to the right, are five still-warm, still-breathing bodies.

Eli's on his back with his head near the wall, Drew had moved him so he wasn't slumped back but laying flat instead, aware that this would make it easiest for him to breathe. She's on the ground, beside him, with a four year old in her lap and a six and nine year old at her sides. They're all crying, quiet hoarse sounds now, unable to process what they'd seen, what had happened to Mommy and Daddy, clinging to the pretty woman with the blood-speckled face, the warm coat and the long hair that smelled of floral shampoo and gunsmoke alike.

Her eyes fly up to the cavalry, wide and bright with fear but without tears (just yet, she'd have time for that later).

"He's worse," she informed Roman.

[Roman Turner] "Holy cow. We got youngins in here. Lord have mercy."

He thought quickly, pulling his cell phone back out and with one thumb had a game up and going in a flash.

"Here,come over hear and play. See? Angry birds. Ya just have at it and Uncle Roman will buy ya some icecream and suckers when it's all better."

He was hearding the kids out of the way so he could get a good look at Eli. Kneeling next to the Kin to examine his wounds.

"Oh man, tell me ain't no stings below the belt, cause if poison's gotta be sucked out, I'm afraid ya might not make it unless one of the girls is feeling adventuresome."

[Janis Ian] Roman wasn't alone. The redhead was on his heels, following behind him as her breath remained steady, unlabored - as it rolls out in a stream of mist, her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her eyes narrow as they pass the car, the scent of blood pulls a growling rumble from the pit of her stomach.

She looks to Kora and then to Roman as the CoG is the first to burst through the door, she skids in behind him. Brown eyes scanning still-warm bodies that were laying close by, until her head turns and the Rotagar stops - dead in her track. "ELI!" It's the first panic-stricken thing she utters as her eyes move to the fallen kin, and then to Drew and back again.

There were kids crying, huddled together as they were being herding out of the way. She blinks once, "Roman, can ye heal 'im?"

[Drew Roscoe] The six year old is bold enough out of the three to accept Roman's invitation, they allow themselves to be ushered because they're shellshocked, they're too young to know to retaliate, to run, to do much of anything really. Authority's what they seek, promises of ice cream and suckers are lost upon them for the most part, the game is barely paid attention to, but the kids will leave Drew and Eli when she lets them go and huddle together elsewhere so the Ragabash Medic can do his thing.

Janis yelps Eli's name, this earns her a snap of a glance from Drew, a startled blink, and a moment's worth of a stare. Then she's shaking her head and moving one hand to Eli's shoulder, the other to tug down his shirt, down to the point that a kevlar vest is able to peek out at his collarbone.

There are two sting marks at his neck, one at the side the other more centralized on his throat. They look as awful as they should to do this much damage. "There. His armor, it did it's job, but it only covers so much..."

[Roman Turner] "I surely hope so."

He heaved the biggest sigh of relief when the wounds weren't belong the belt in the "No man goes there on another bro, zone." Calmly he reached for his belt, flicking open a small Gerber pocket knife which he moved to the wounds with.

"Ya with me Mr Eli? I'm gonna try and suck some of this poison out, so don't start to thinking I'm just trying to give ya a hicky. Hold still if ya can."

[Eli Booker] He wheezes. His breath whistles through his lungs in a sound that could very nearly pass for the infamous death rattle old people are said to posses before they pass away. Whatever toxins were introduced to his system are effecting his muscles, because they twitch and his respiratory system, because he cannot breath easily and Eli was no asthmatic.

Janis yells his name, Roman asks if he's with him and Eli can only make his head move slightly - enough that Roman can just barely see the motion.

He was talking before, albeit with great effort. Now, he says nothing.

[Roman Turner] It was just the pointed tip of the knife and he worked quickly to score across the stings. In a moment he was bending over Eli, sealing his mouth the wounds to suck. And no, he didn't suck and swallow, he was more the suck and spit sort. Inwardly he gathered himself. One hand was splayed flatly on Eli's chest, the other across the wounds he worked on.

"This might hurt some. Gaia please bless me, be with me on this."

[Janis Ian] There is a moment's stare that is shared between Janis and Drew - the kin gives a startled blink, Janis' mouth flattens into a thin line. She's moving quickly to the other side, sliding into a crouch at Eli's legs on the same side as Drew. She watches with a soft furrow of her brow, her nostrils flaring.

Eli's head moves slightly - Roman has the assurance that he's still there. Janis skirts her eyes away to try and assess what happened, the children taking into regard, but her attention keeps returning to what Roman's doing - arching an eyebrow at the other no moon.

[Roman Turner] His breath deepened with his eyes closed as he drew on his own spirit and the Gift of Mother's touch. He leaned down close to Eli's neck, just where he had been sucking poisoning out and pressed his lips against the wound with a faint whispered breath of sound. Giving it his best go at using Mother's Touch on the Kin.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 4, 5 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]

[Kora] The truth is: Kora doesn't run as fast as Roman. Not on two legs. Not any longer. And so she sends the young Ragabash running ahead of her, Rotagar in tow. Roman bursts into the door a solid minute or three ahead of the pregnant Skald, but arrive she does. She's developed the beginnings of a waddle, all things considered. All her weight forward, now, heavy on her tall, narrow frame. The reflexive twist of rage in her blood is good for neither her nor the child she carries now - but there is nothing to be done for it.

When she sees the children, her mouth tightens. She breathes out, once, sharply. "They cannot see any more." Kora says, sharply. A lifting glance toward Janice, then, a movement of her chin toward the children. "Move them. One of the other apartments. No names, no words in their presence, understand? Nothing more."

The healing work she leaves to Roman, but while he works - after a shooting glance toward Drew. Pulling her aside with a brief, moving glance toward Eli, her generous mouth a thinned line across her sharply defined features. Low, the question. She asks it only when the children are out of the room. "I want to know what they saw."

[Roman Turner] What passed from Roman in to Eli might not be much, it might feel like a tickled that started out soft and warm, but them it might burn as it reached the poison to do battle with it. And Roman knew it wouldn't be enough. He whispered near Eli's neck. I'm gonna have to try again. Stay with me partner."

[Janis Ian] Her hand drops to Eli's calf, squeezing it as Kora's breath draws out once, sharply, gaining the redhead's attention. She wears a similar tight mouthed expression, her head turning over her shoulder to regard the children.

Auburn hair falls across her shoulder as she slid back up to her feet, withdrawing her hand, and moves away. It distracts her - the task. She swallows the lump forming in the throat, offers the children a rueful smile as her voice drops into a crooning sing-song voice, the brogue accentuating her words sweetly, gently.

"C'mon, my darlings..." she says to the children, trying to herd them away so they won't continue to watch, like a mother goose herding her ducklings into a pond. "C'mon o'er 'ere."

[Roman Turner] He didn't much like how quiet Eli was, nor how labored his breathing was. It was one of those times you wished you had one of those adrenaline shots. All he had was a minor gift that took every bit of his spirit to work. He spoke softly to Eli, just as he had to Drew the time he held her and sent healing through her body.

"Ya ain't getting out of working on the Kin house this easily. Just remember that."

Once more he bent to the wounds to breath out against them so close his lips touched open flesh.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[Drew Roscoe] Drew slides away, to give Roman space, and after a moment of hesitation she pushes herself up onto her feet and watches what Roman does. He flicks the knife out and works to suck the venom from Booker's wounds, and Drew furrows her brow some, thinking that perhaps she should have done that herself. But then, if she had maybe she'd have wound up on the floor twitching and struggling for air too? No, no, she did right.

Janis kneels down by Booker's legs, Drew's eyes bounce off the female Ragabash again for a second, then she's leaning down to pick up a couple of guns off the floor-- hers first, the big heavy Dirty Harry revolver, which goes right into the holster at her back, under her coat, and Eli's smaller handgun second. This she checks for a second, the flicks the safety on and sticks in the deep pocket of her winter coat.

Kora arrives and takes charge. Roman is left to do what he's doing, Janis is told to move the children, and Drew is pulled aside to explain what the witnesses saw. Her answer takes a moment to surmise, but it given after she licks dry lips that taste like splashed blood and brain matter.

"I don't know... not all of what they saw, not for sure. Their screaming and crying is what made me and Eli take notice and come looking in the first place. Heard a man pleading and a woman crying-- I haven't gotten to check for them yet. Safe to guess that they're dead, 'cause they sure didn't leave." She shivers a bit and presses on, gesturing to each dead body in turn.

"Saw this one take several shots to the head before it died trying to choke me out. Saw this one stab and lash at Eli and try to come after me before I put it down. This one--" to the gray thing sprawled out face down in a corner, "Came out of the back room, I expect it took the parents. Tried to grab up one of the kids and make a break for it, but I put it down before it could touch them again.

"They saw me and Eli bust in with guns, saw us kill some monsters, and saw Roman suck some poison out of Eli's stings...."

Another moment of quiet, and Drew's eyes drift after the kids. Her arms wrap tightly around her chest, clenching back the crushing sensation within it that tended to follow evenings such as this where loss came so close to home. "You guys... you have a way to fix their memories, yeah?"

[Roman Turner] He was checking Eli's breathing, coloring and responses with each warm thrust of his Gift in to the Kin. "Ya with me still? I can't work on another hicky, ya can tell all the fellas some kinky story on how ya got them."

[Eli Booker] Kora's face is as grave as the situation had been.She ushers Drew to the side and instructs Janis to move the children away. They had seen their mother and father drained dry. Should Kora look in the room just behind them, she'd see the mother splayed on the floor next to her long dead husband. There blood is drained, though the floor isn't coated in it.

While Roman works, Eli's breathing becomes less haggard - less forced. His heart races in his chest with the force of both adrenaline and fear. A finger twitches, then a foot. Eventually, Eli is able to move his extremities, and lifts his eyes toward Roman.

"I...usually only go to first base...on a first date..." He says quietly with a voice full of gravel.

[Janis Ian] [persuasion gift?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]

[Roman Turner] "Son, for another nuzzle against your neck, I'd bring flowers and the ring."

His chestnut head lowered again and this time as he breathed across the wounds, he poured the last of what he had in to healing.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 2 (Failure at target 6) [WP]

[Roman Turner] "I'm afraid I'm drained. I owe ya a better date than this one."

[Janis Ian] The three children have seen horrors that they shouldn't ever be exposed to. Janis does what she can to keep their attentions, divert their focus to something else. She keeps talking, asking simple questions to the youngest, or watching the six-year-old with Roman's phone.

Her voice is as soft and pleasant as she can keep it, drawing on more persuasive gifts to aid. She takes them away into one of the apartments, out of sight and out of mind, not once breathing a word about what just happened.

[Eli Booker] Roman's remark earns him a smile that doesn't quite work itself into a full fledged smart ass grin. Eli can move, his body aches in places still though. Dragging himself up, he leans against the wall and flexes his fingers, hands, into fists and then relaxes them.

"I owe you kid." He says to the Child of Gaia.

[Kora] There's a dark moment in the nascent seconds when Drew has finished her story where Kora is closed off from the pack. She cuts a glance back over her shoulder, out into the hallway in the Janis' wake, considering the whole of the story Drew has just offered. Something hard about her face in that moment, something steely in the depths of her dark eyes. Her left hand clenches into a fist, and her nostrils jaw sets firmly, grinding, as she considers What Is to Be Done.

Her first thought is death.

She is still with it, stark with it. Holds it inside her like she could swallow it herself, make it whole if she were to consume it somehow. Then, the moment passes, she breathes out all at once. It's not relief, but something else. Some easing that comes with decision.

"We'll look for them," says Kora, of the parents. Lifting her chin toward the place Drew indicated. "I need you to take the children out of here before there are cops anywhere close. I want you to take them to Hill House. Have Janis help you keep them in line of out of sight. Don't get pulled over, don't be seen, and don't get caught. Give them to Mary Alice and make sure she knows they are going to be cared for by kin and only kin; kept out of the public eye until whatever search the police make for them is over. And then sent away, someplace quiet and rural, adopted into the family.

"The only way to keep them from being a veil breach is to raise them as kin."

[Drew Roscoe] Drew doesn't question Kora's choice, doesn't protest the fact that her truck isn't outside-- it's only a short two blocks away, she was sure that she and Janis (a name to go with the face, there we are) could manage walking the three back to her house, find a way to pile them into the truck and get them to the Hill House like it was ordered. Sure, her truck only had the bench, but she was sure she could squeeze her own petite self and three smaller children in without any trouble. Two would just have to share a seatbelt, and Janis would either hang behind for clean-up or ride in the back of the truck, whichever.

Drew's attention is split, though, when Roman leans back and Eli's voice grinds to join the teen's in the air. Her posture straightens, back stiffens, and weight shifts forward some, indicating that she was about to move but stopped herself.

Instead, quickly, she glanced up to Kora and flicked her eyebrows up, like asking permission to deviate from the task set before her for a moment to see the Gaia-given recovery herself.

[Roman Turner] "You're not kidding ya owe me."

He helped Eli prop himself up against the edge of the sofa.

"I need ya for your painting skills. Besides, after sucking poison out of ya, I think we're engaged. So ya sit here and I'l find ya some juice, then we'll see if we can get ya out of here."

[Kora] Drew's raised eyebrows are met by another lift of the pregnant Garou's chin. It's like permission. Go on.

[Janis Ian] Roman's phone was retrieved from the six-year-old as Janis finds a trinket from her pocket to distract the child with. A brightly polished piece of brass shaped like a coin. The print minted on it long faded. She tells the child it's a good luck piece, lets him hold on to it and motions for them to stay there.

She reappears in the hallway, making her way towards the others as she caught a portion of what Kora says. Brown eyes quickly fall to Drew, her tongue slid inside her left cheek. "Roman, I 'ave yer phone." She says, offering it up to the Child of Gaia as she casts Eli a look.

[Roman Turner] "Thank ya kindly."

He held up his hand from where he had retaken his seat next to Eli on the floor. At that moment he'd been trying to encourage Eli to drink orange juice.

[Eli Booker] Eli doesn't quite laugh. Rather, he huffs out a breath of air that would of been a laugh if only he had more energy to behind it. Roman helps him and he is accepting of it.

"Those kids ok?" He asks, dark eyes shifting around the room. That's when his eyes light on Kora's face for a beat. Just a beat, because he can't make himself catch her eyes and hold them.

"You're alright in my book Roman...I'll paint the fuckin' city for you if you need it..." He groans and shifts, plants the sole of one heavy boot on the ground for leverage as if he's testing his legs to see if he can stand. Instead he just sips the orange juice and tries not to throw it up as his stomach churns.

[Drew Roscoe] The Kin doesn't rush over or fall so her knees crack the floor so she can drop down beside Booker once he's sitting up and talking, she isn't one for those kinds of dramatics. Instead she walks over, sneakers quiet save for the occawsional squelching noise when she steps in a bit of carnage, and remains standing while Roman helps Eli sit up and get propped so he can lean back against something sturdy. First the Kin's fingers push through Roman's hair, a quick and thoughtless gesture.

"Thanks, Roman. Two of our lives you've saved now. Can't thank you enough."

For Eli, she fishes his gun out of her pocket and leans down, tucking it into the vest pocket she knows he tends to keep it in. "Janis and I, we're gonna see those kids into the right hands. I guess you, Kora and Roman have clean-up duty." A bruise is already blossoming about her neck and throat, up close to her jaw as well. That she'd withstood the beast of a misshapen man trying to squeeze the life out of her so well was a testament to her ancestry, really, or just her stubborn determination to live. That didn't mean she'd escape without any marks, though. Frankly, she considered herself lucky that she could speak and it only hurt a little to breathe.

[Roman Turner] "We'll get ya home. Maybe I will call a cab this time. And get ya some rest, you'll do ok. But them youngins are gonna have a hard time and will have to be kept sheltered while working through this stuff.

[Roman Turner] 'Just doing what I was born to do Miss Drew. I had a little more in me I could tend to ya too, but gonna take a bit to recover."

[Eli Booker] "You ok?" It's spoken to Drew, quietly, as a heavy hand reaches out and touches her calf. She was bruised, she'd be sore, but she saved his life and Eli is more than aware of this. There's a familiarity to his touch with Drew, it lingers for longer than it should

Eli's face falls when Roman speaks. There are lines at his mouth, creasing his brow. It ages him considerably. He is worried after the trio of youngsters and it couldn't be more obvious on his expression.

"Thanks Roman..." He says again and uses his back against whatever he's against to try and leverage himself to standing.

[Janis Ian] Janis tilts her head in a nod to Roman, her hand falls back to her side, nearly disappearing under the cuff of the sleeve to her leather blazer. Her shoulders roll back once, straightening her frame as the Rotagar turns her head at the sound of her name coming from Drew. Her throat ripples, swallowing quietly - "Aye," is all she can say about the task to handle the children.

She shakes her head, casting her head down as a fall of red bangs shadows the expression of her eyes. She steps away to move back towards the apartment where the children were waiting - "Best get them out of 'ere while we can, Drew."

[Drew Roscoe] "Goddamn peachy," is her answer to Booker, accompanied by a grin that was as warm as ever, accented with a bit of wild that makes teeth look sharp and lips stretched a bit too far-- adrenaline was kicking in, and she was smothering the sort of hysteria that followed nearly dying, others nearly dying, and the rush of victory to boot. Booker puts his hand on her calf, she lays her hand on top of his, then moves it and tucks her other hand under his armpit to help him regain balance while he tries to stand. She can't lift him, no, she's not nearly so strong, but she can at least help with balance until he finds it on his own.

Once he does, she nods and lets him go with a squeeze of his hand, and flashes that grin to Roman in turn. "Nah, this is nothing, just a mugging story for work and extra foundation is all." She sounds like a battered wife-- Kin usually do when trying to explain battle wounds no matter where they came from.

From there, her attention is on Janis, and there's a solemn kind of nod before she moves to join the No Moon, to go with her wherever she'd taken the children.

"C'mon kiddo's, we're gonna get some hot chocolate and meet one of the nicest ladies on earth."

[Kora] Kora cuts a glance back over her shoulder as Janis comes back into the apartment. Steps back, turning to following the curl of gunsmoke through the half-finished rooms, considering the next room. Corpses - human or otherwise - laid out on the floor. She holds herself just apart here; that sense of inhumanity sharper in this moment than it ever is on an ordinary day. There's nothing close to a smile on her generous mouth, the sense of the animal is clear, alive underneath her skin, the monster in her - now - not just the wolf.

"She'll recover," Kora corrects Roman with a quiet sort of stillness, after a narrow, critical sweep of Drew's bruises; the way she moves. There's a question subsumed in the statement, which Drew is left to answer or not as she pleases.

"They'll live." The Skald tells Eli, taking a step back into the hall, watching the next room over as Janis returns. Her arms are crossed, beneath her breasts, over the swell of her stomach, underneath that is a feral tension imprinted on every muscles of her body.

"We're not calling a cab here, Roman." She contradicts her packmate, brief, quiet. "Don't want someone investigating this scene finding about a cab run. Call the Doc and Izzy. See if the Detective can run interference with whatever investigation comes next." She's still talking as Drew and Janis leave to round up the children, but she steps them both for a brief, quiet look. And a serious, direct, "Thank you." - before she lets them go.

[Roman Turner] He nodded, listening to his Alpha and makes the calls. First to Imogen, then to Izzy.

"This is Roman, we could use a ride and some help on clean up if ya could come."

[Eli Booker] The apartment is a 'shotgun' style unit. When you enter the door you're in the living room. Were you to turn to your left, you'd be faced with the dead and crumpled bodies of two middle age, middle class parents. They're dressed nicely - a wrong turn, bad directions on the GPS, probably brought them to this place. Most might say fate. Eli would just say their luck was just fucked today.

Turning to the left is a hallway. A bathroom is on the right. The kitchen is straight ahead. Kora and Roman and Janis can smell death. This place stunk of it. Nothing here, in this space, has died naturally. Not even the rats.

The strongest stench seems to roll from the bathroom...though neither Drew nor Eli had managed to venture that far into the unit.

Janis and Drew are taking the children to the nicest woman on earth. He watches the two Fenrir, then looks at the children before nodding to what Kora has said.

"I'll be fine." He says. And he would, because he had too.

[Roman Turner] If Eli wanted a ride with him, he'd beg it off Izzy or Imogen to get them back to the church. Either way, he would come back to help clean up. And they'd have to get hold of Linus for a cleansing.

[Janis Ian] The Rotagar can hear the rumble of noise in the back of her mind, the questions that want to know answers to what just happened, how Kora was going to handle the mess, the clean up, and then there are others when she peers back at the faces of the three children Drew and Janis must sneak three blocks to the kin's house to take them to Hill House.

A part of her is relieved that death does not have to come to such young faces - that she doesn't have to kill them.

She stops when Kora stops them with a brief quiet look. "Any time, rhya." She replies and leaves with Drew.

[missing some]

[Roman Turner] If Eli wanted a ride with him, he'd beg it off Izzy or Imogen to get them back to the church. Either way, he would come back to help clean up. And they'd have to get hold of Linus for a cleansing.

[Roman Turner] ((And I have over stayed my sleep time. Sorry so short, but appreciate the play. Thanks folks!))

[Eli Booker] Thanks Blu!

[Janis Ian] The Rotagar can hear the rumble of noise in the back of her mind, the questions that want to know answers to what just happened, how Kora was going to handle the mess, the clean up, and then there are others when she peers back at the faces of the three children Drew and Janis must sneak three blocks to the kin's house to take them to Hill House.

A part of her is relieved that death does not have to come to such young faces - that she doesn't have to kill them.

She stops when Kora stops them with a brief quiet look. "Any time, rhya." She replies and leaves with Drew.

[Detective Montoya] It's an odd thing, really. No one would guess that she would answer such a call, let alone make her way to come to their aid when it was asked. No one, of course, expects her to do anything but be trouble. Of course, she fosters such beliefs with her attitude, because it works for her. It keeps them at a distance. It makes it easier - for her.

She does, however, say three words into the phone. "On my way."

She's already in motion, getting the directions as she slips on her coat, long strides carrying her down the hall, out and too her car. By the time she's unlocked the door and settled inside, she's already flipped on the radio, to dispatch, to hear if she's going to have to do any interference before arriving, pulling out into traffic smoothly to head toward the apartment in question.

[Kora] "This place is deserted, yeah?" Kora asks Eli, dark eyes flickering ever so slightly up at Eli when he makes it to his feet. The height different between them is negligible, and she has a way of standing - a way of looking up - that makes her seem taller than she is.

Roman is dispatched downstairs with a moving though to await the arrival of reinforcements necessary for clean-up. She herself remains in the room, walking down the hallway toward the kitchen, feeling her gorge rise with the scent of death in the air. It's enough that she lifts a hand to her mouth, presses the back of her hand against her lips as she walks, puts her free hand on the door of the foul-smelling bathroom and listens as she holds herself away from the foul scent that comes from underneath the door.

"You and Drew heard something and came up?" A glance back down the hall at the kinswoman, dark eyes in a pale face, reflecting the ambient light spilling in through the windows. Head tipped then, meditatively considering whether the sirens she hears in the distance are coming here or just part of the urban landscape.

"I'm trying to figure out whether this is a rush job," that twist of her mouth, dry and distant. The clean up, she means. The inevitable grotesquerie of it. "Or if we have time to take our time."

[Eli Booker] This apartment building houses two units - one up and one down. It's empty and by the looks of it has been for some time. Every window is covered with plywood and the only light that bleeds in comes from cracks and gashes in the wood. She walks into the kitchen and there are dead rats, sucked dry of their blood and discarded like so much trash across the kitchen floor.

The bathroom, where Kora has to hold a hand to her mouth and nose to keep from taking in the reeking smell, is awful. There are two bodies in the bathtub - both pale with a lack of blood, their once dark brown skin faded, their mouths twisted into a grotesque grin. They are young men, dressed in common street attire and complete opposites from the family ambushed in front of the building.

Eli is standing, broad shoulders pressed to the wall bracing him up. His palms are rubbing his face as he listens to her walk ...bears her gaze on him and processes her words.

"Heard screams...then a car crash." Roman left him juice and Eli drinks it now finding his throat dry and sore. "We made it here but...we were too late for their parents I think..." Dark eyes cut toward where Kora should be, down the hall at his left.

"No one was here...this street was like a ghost town."

[Detective Montoya] There doesn't seem to be anything on dispatch - but that doesn't mean their won't be. She calls in and tells dispatch she's going to dinner, is thus off duty for a while, perhaps even the rest of the night. Then, she lights a cigarette, and takes a round about route toward the place in question. Just in case.

Soon enough, however, she arrives at the building in question, dark eyes sweeping the area as she parks the car. She pulls out a pair of gloves from the glove box - latex, blue [hands of blue, two by two] - and takes a final drag off her cigarette. She gets out, pausing to tuck the gloves into her pocket, before heading up the walk.

[Kora] Kora gives a dry husked laugh. There's no humor in it, nothing light. Just that grim certainty as she walks back down the hall, careful of the debris in the room now, alert but not rigid with it, as she steps over the debris, booted feet making a quiet, solid noise on the floor with each careful footfall.

She's back in the room now, at the end of the hallway, hands in the front pockets of her jeans, arms close to her body - mostly concealed by her dark gray hoodie. It's cold in here; the night coming in through the plywood boarding over the windows, cold enough that they can see their breath. Not cold enough to keep the dead from rotting, though. Sinking into themselves, deliquescing in the stark, cold air.

"Probably for the best," she says, of the parents. A winnowing sort of certainty there. "The parents would've been a problem, if they'd lived." Another flicker of her gaze - not precisely to his eyes, but over his face; the lines of care in it; or rather, the lines of care underneath the skin, evident only from this angle. From that expression.

"I'll have Izzy give you a ride back to the church, then. See if you can can get the parents' car out of here. Find someplace to dump it so this disappearance doesn't come back to this neighborhood, yeah?" A flickering look, up and sidelong, gaze shearing away toward a shuttered window. sO there aren't implications. So there's no investigation - not a close one, anyway.

"That tow truck of yours will come in handy." She pauses, quiet - that hint of a far away look - before she refocuses on the immediate. "You're alright, then?"

She pauses, waiting for the affirmative that is sure to follow. "Good, I'll have Linus check you out. We'll do a cleansing if necessay before the night's over. I'll want to hear the story too, you know."

A twist of her mouth, straightening her head as hidden communication writes itself across her face. "Izzy's here." Roman tipping her off.

[Kora] alright darlings, I need to sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep. :) but lo! there is a scene where izzy and eli can keep playing and/or hook up with drew/janis later. while kora roman and NPC imogen clean up.
to Detective Montoya, Eli Booker, Peek

[Eli Booker] Thanks Liz!
to Detective Montoya, Kora, Peek

[Detective Montoya] [Sleep well! :) ]
to Eli Booker, Kora

[Janis] It's a clear night out, stars splash across the sky above the skyline of the Cabrini, twinkling like a treasure trove of tiny diamonds. One or two are in constant motion, airplanes that could be mistaken for shooting stars or ufo... Some of those stars were planets or satellites that roamed just outside the earth's atmosphere. The Rotagar watched them from the roof as she collects her resolve, digging deep down inside her gut to summon up the courage to face the courage to seek out the Jarl.

Kora, though, only a rank above her was impressive to behold - she reminded Janis of her Uncle who shared the birth moon as the Skald, and he was frightening. She clears her throat, pulling at the fiery tendrils of hair that run across her face, escaping the loose knot of hair at the base of her scalp.

With silent steps, the Rotagar climbs down from the belfry, back into the warmth of the church to seek out the Alpha of the Last Watch.

[Kora] The relative warmth of the church. The vast, lofty spaces of the sanctuary are nearly as cold inside as without. The stone walls keep out the winter wind, though, and repairs or tarps over the largest holes in the roof keep out most of the wet - rain, storms, thundersnow - now. Janis exits the belfry as Kora enters the church. The huge wooden doors swing silently on their well-oiled hinges, cutting a band of orange light across the dark stone floors. Though there is no breeding about her to define her from a distance, to the sharp sweep of someone's feral senses, Kora's figure is still distinctive. Pregnancy, advancing, makes it so.

Inside the doors, Kora tips her head back to dislodge the heavy hood covering the crown of her pale head, the tips of her ears. Strips off gloves as she walks, and begins unwinding a long, hand-knitted scarf. Fair Isle patterned, that, made of hand-carded lambswool. Both scarf and gloves are tossed over a chair in the scattering of derelict couches and easy chairs near the front of the sanctuary, and Kora begins unbuttoning her winter coat with one hand while lifting the lids of the remnant pizza boxes with the other. She looks up, as Janis crosses the cold stone floor. Offers the Rotagar the ghost of a smile, the edge of it, evident in the dim light every from a distance.

"Janis." Quiet, her voice, a certain richness, though her accent is plainspoken, broadly American. The English of cable news and suburban high schools rather than anything regional. "Evening."

[Janis] Janis was very much in touch with her wolf, the primal side of her mind more active than her human self at times. She angles her head down, earlobe and then chin brushing across her shoulder as she looks in the direction of the door open that her ears had picked up first. She runs a hand over her face, catching the red tendrils of hair to tuck it behind her ears.

Her steps are light on the stone floor; quick-paced and agile as her path seems to be crossing with Kora's sooner than she had anticipated when she had summed up the courage to go seek her out. Kora's distinctive form swims across her vision, instantly, Janis looks at the Skald's swelling stomach, a wan of a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Kora..." she stops abruptly at the greeting, dipping her head down in a tiny bow, "Sorrow-rhya, I was just coming down from the belfry to look for ye.'" her brogue is not difficult to understand, it accentuates her speech more than hinders her English. "If ye 'ave a moment, I'd enjoy a chat with ye, I 'ave questions that I wanted to ask."

She is apprehensive, not wanting to seem too eager, but neither was she shy. It's a controlled mannerism as she shows the Skald respect where it is do. Kora will read it in the posture that Janis keeps, her head bowed and turned, eyes never quite fully meeting hers, her portion of her throat exposed - submissive.

[Kora] (Per + Linguistics: what part of Ireland!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 3

[Kora] "I think I found the fresh one," the Skald remarks, thumbing open one of the top-two pizza boxes. There's a sharp, brief wash of the savory scent of the cooling pizza in the bright, cold air before whatever had steam had built up in the cardboard dissipates around them. "Sausage and pepperoni, looks like."

Then she's quiet, dark eyes reflective in the shadows, a moving gleam across the surface as she studies the Janis, her own head canted with considering - an answering gesture, just as feral as the subtle signs of reserve and respect evident in Janis' posture, the sweep of her head.

A twist of her generous mouth, just upward at the rightmost corner, the sort of expression that could easily curl into a deeper smile. "Yeah, sure," the Skald replies, sliding a hand underneath the fresh(er) box, picking up a pint of chocolate milk alongside. "Grab yourself a beer if you want one, and C'mon," she continues, with a gesture toward the couches. "Have a seat."

With that invitation, she carries pizza box and milk over to her favorite couch and sits, tucking a leg underneath her torso, tossing the open pizza box on a tottering, three-legged coffee table. "What's on your mind?" she says, when both are settled.

[Janis] Janis' interest perks as Kora mentions the pizza that still remains. She had broken into the pizza boxes earlier, scavenged enough to appease her growling belly and left the remains for the others. Now, she waits for Kora to take the choicer box before stepping up to the tables to pick through the leftovers.

She compiles a few difference slices into a box, tucking it under her right arm and palms two beers to bring along with her to the couches. Her boots leave a quiet echo in her wake as she looks through the abundance of seating, she sets the box and bottles down on the floor, walking over to another couch to pull two of the cushions from it, pacing back to drop them on the cold floor in front of Kora's favorite couch and flops down on. Her legs crossing underneath her thighs as she reached for the box.

"We never got to talk about what 'appened with me and my former pack. I can only assume yer aware of what's been going on since Eli rescued as I spoke with yer brother. Charming lad, Bone-Writer is."

She smirks at this, the corners of her mouth curling into a small reflection of the thin crescent moon that lingers over their heads. Snippets of it caught through the patches in the tattered roof.

"Since then, I 'ave time to reconcile my issues with reasoning from the kin. Linus told me of the city's plight, its enemy... 'Tis not good for a wolf to be alone, I 'ave been swallowing a lot of things in the past week..." a pause, sucking in a deep breath, her eyes cut down to stare at the pizza box in her lap before lifting up to meet Kora's.

"I want an opportunity to try out with Last Watch." There is a seriousness in the quiet disposition of the Rotagar, one born from hours of private conversations with herself and hearing the opinions of others. Kora will notice the subtle edge of emotion when Janis mentions Eli, the fondness that shows in her eyes or the small twisting smile that grows without Janis realizing it was there. Whatever the male kin had spoken to the Garou, it seems to have affected her decision to approach the subject.

[Kora] "I heard part of the story. From Linus and from Eli," Kora returns, pulling up a free leg to sit cross-legged on the couch. It's warmer here, the glow of the space heaters banished a fair portion of the chill from the stone hall, and the couches are dotted with blankets that smell - for the most part - relatively fresh. The subtle scent of earth-friendly phosphate-free detergents suffused in the fabrics. She's serious now, dark eyes on Janis' face, studying the Rotagar with a quiet awareness, watching not just her expression, but the way the electric glow of the heaters frames her face; the way muscles move beneath her skin. " - beginning with Eli finding and freeing you, more or less."

A brief twist of her mouth. "Ending with the visit paid him by Joey and Hunter." The results of which are obvious. Eli's moved into the Church; and brought Janis back with him. The twist fades, the Skald sobers, her low voice a quiet background note. "I'd like to hear the story of your pack, though. If you've a mind to tell it."

Quiet again, the pale-headed creature nods once as Janis remarks that she has had to swallow much in the last few weeks; and then once more, when she observes that wolves were not meant to run alone.

"If you talked to Linus and you still want to join us - " the humor there is subtle, bound up with a quiet irony. Kora is well aware of her brother's opinion of both the Sept and their place within it. "I'd be honored to have you run with us. You've already been taking up patrols, yeah? Step one. And you've met all my packmates, yeah? I think - " a moving pause, mouth pressed firmly together in consideration. Then another twist of her mouth, dark, gleaming eyes alive with the clear memory of loss. "Standing here, strong, after losing your pack - I think you already know what Hermodr expects of us. That strength of purpose in the darkest hour. In the last fucking days, until Ragnarok and beyond."

[Janis] A twitch of her nose when her nostrils flare to breath in a scent, or when the beer and pizza finally assault the olfactory glands in her brain, to the arch of a red eyebrow that rode up or down over brown eyes work the muscles in her face. Much of it hides behind the untamed red tendrils that fight to be free of its restraints, to frame the pale contours of her features.

Like Kora, Janis had no pure breeding, there was nothing regal about her bone structure, nor did it hint of the luscious ancestry of long ago Valkyries that flew across war torn battlefields. She rolls her shoulders forward at one point, becoming relaxed in the presence of the Skald, weathering Kora's scrutiny and expressions with raptured interest. A small sense of pride sparks in eyes when the Jarl tells Janis how strong she stands after her experiences.

She inclines her head in a bow, hands picking at the cold pizza, tearing it to pull it into her mouth to chew and swallow, but it doesn't hold her attention for long, neither does the beer.

Her voice is clear as she speaks, "Rebel's Yell was our pack name, we drove under the moonlight into the sunrise and across Umbra and the roads of the United States, both dirt and cement pathways. Just three cliaths in an old muscle car flying the banner of General Lee. Cecil Stone-thrower was alpha and Juju Bee our beta and theurge. They were Gnawers that I met when I was living in the Carolinas when I was sixteen. I ran away from 'ome and we all went up to New York to join the Sept of the Green with dreams of being pack mates and fighting the good fight. Bunch'a 'opeless romantics we were, kids."

Janis sucks in a deep breath, even now the pain of their memories surfaces, her eyes crinkling up at their corners, her face flattening into a scowl. "My first change came in New York, word got to my mother, who in turned called my Uncle in Ireland. Harrowing~Guillotine 'e's called from the Sept of the Dark Hart, he's a frightening Skald. Anyway, I trained under 'im, gained my first deed name which got changed when I returned back to the States to the one I go under currently.

"My folks are kinfolk, my mother's native born Dubliner, my father and brother served as Naval officers during their time. I was a bit of a military brat, which bred that rebellious streak in me. But that's a different story... We came to Chicago on our way to California, Jason my brother lives here in Chicago with 'is wife. When we made a pitstop along the Riverfront for Juju to take a piss we were jumped by the Fomori. I could 'ave sworn there was pure breed amongst one of them, a kin perhaps."

Janis reaches for the beer, kissing it to her lips as she takes a long swallow to wet her throat and then continues her story, "Cecil fell first, Juju and I were overpowered by our wounds and their strength, we took as many as we could. We were taken to an auto shop, I was unconscious in a cage whilst they tortured and killed Juju for information we didn't 'ave. When I woke up, Eli found me."

[Kora] "You'll have your vengeance," Kora promises, a note of steel in her low voice. "For Cecil Stone-Thrower and Juju Bee, make no mistake there." She is sitting rather more straight now, a certain intensity in her eyes, listening - closely, head canted, her food and drink forgotten in her hands. As the story continues, the Skald shifts sideways, unfolding her legs, finding the cold stone floor with her boots, like she needs to be connected to the goddamned earth for this. Once, then twice, she makes a fist, but otherwise her features are nearly seamlessly still, just the glittering light of her dark eyes on Janis' features as she tells the story.

"We'll start with the site where Eli found you and work from there. I'd say they wouldn't be arrogant enough to stay there knowing you were rescued, by the cursed ones are sometimes just that arrogant. If not there: we'll hunt them whereever they've taken refuge, put them in the ground and howl the fact of it loud enough that your packmates will hear it in their homelands, yeah?"

[Janis] Janis nods her head in agreement, shifting on the cushions to move the box of pizza out of her lap. "I would like that for them, Sorrow-rhya, 'tis the least they deserve."

She looks from the Skald, tilting her eyes to study the beer in her hands, and then slides them back up to focus on Kora. She watches the Skald, committing her image to memory, her scent drawn in with a flair of nostrils. Janis swallows as her throat ripples, finding her voice has grown a little quiet.

"Sorrow-rhya, may I speak of Eli?" she is uncertain how Kora will respond to her question of the kin, "He is of yer protection as all kin are under the Jarl. He's a good man, albeit a bit brash at times when 'is 'ead isn't on straight. I disapproved of the way Joey spoke of 'im like 'e were a pile of dog shite to be scraped off 'er boot. She paid me little kind as well, calling me a stray. I'd not be 'ere because of 'im... I owe Eli that much gratitude."

[Kora] When Janis asks to speak of Eli, Kora's dark eyes sharpen with interest on the Rotagar. There's something attenuated about the interest, a certain watchfulness backgrounded by something deeper. The flash of the wolf in her; that animal interest, keen and sure.

Then she continues; and Kora's pale head cants. She nods once, grimaces a half-moment later. Straightens her shoulders near the end, and replies, "Eli came to see me, too. I had much the same story from him. That Joey and Hunter treated him as if he were a child and insulted you in his house. I understand that they claimed his old home as territory, and felt justified because he was in their territory." Here, Kora offers a narrow, one-shouldered shrug. "Though he said that this was the first time they had been to see them.

"They treated you - and he - poorly. For that, I'm sorry. I think they also behaved foolishly. Had he stayed in their territory, Eli could've been an asset to them. Instead, they drove him out. A foolish consistency, there. If either of you have further problems with them, let me know."

[Janis] "Defiance lost that wild card that Eli could 'ave dealt them. With Last Watch, 'e makes a better ally and asset to 'elp, I know. I 'ave watched 'im around the church. 'e wants to set up a place for halfway place for others if they need it, so we aren't endangering the church and compromising the pack's safety."

Janis understands the wolf in expressed in Kora; her own rides close to the skin at times. Her nature leaning more towards feral instincts than human logic, but tonight? Tonight she speaks with a human reasoning, trying not to let her emotions and feral instincts get in the way.

Her tongue darts out to wet across her bottom lip, still tasting the beer. She sets the bottle down, rubs her hands across her thighs anxiously, "Sorrow-rhya, it is my 'opes that I can continue to work with this kin, to stay with Eli as I feel I owe 'im a debt for what's 'e's done. I know our kin 'ave a duty that's expected of 'im, but it's - " Janis sucks in a deep breath, releasing out quickly through her nose, "I do carry a strong fondness for 'im, there's a desire to seek yer permission to take 'im as my own when ye'd deem it so."

"Newly arrived to the city, it's foolish to just challenge ye for the rights to claim Eli for myself."

[Kora] "Are you asking my permission to court him?" returns the Skald, her attention sharpening on Janis again. Except for that hint of attentiveness - the faint narrowing of her dark eyes, the twist of her mouth, the upward lilt of pale brows - her expression is still, her mouth neutral now, her tall frame still. "Or are you challenging for him now?"

[Janis] "I am seeking yer permission to court him, Sorrow-rhya."

Her head lifts, brown eyes shining as they meet the sharp attention of the alpha female in front of her. Her shoulders straighten a bit, face angling to tilt as she sits still upon the cushions. Not a muscle twitching to move, her breath held in anticipation.

[Kora] Sorrow offers a quiet snort, the quiet mask of her pale face breaking into a brief, curving sort of smile. The sort that finds expression in the fine skin around her eyes longer than it remains on her mouth. She's still half-smiling, something withheld in the expression, when she tells Janis, "You have it, then."

[Janis] Kora can see the tightness in Janis' body as she waited. When she hears the answer, when permission is granted - she is relieved. The corners of her mouth pulling back into a silly grin that makes her appear young and girlish for a second. She tries to quickly compose herself, to not look so foolish and giddy, bowing her head in a deep nod to Kora.

"Thank ye."

A low rumbling purr echoes softly in the base of her throat, rising up somewhere from inside her chest - it's content. She reaches for the box of pizza and the beer. Her eyes lifting to peer at Kora with a smile, "If I 'aven't worn ye out too much, rhya, I would love to 'ear one of yer stories."

It's request - she sits like an eager pup before her mentor wanting anxiously to hear glorious passionate tales that the Skalds were infamous for... it would be a fine way to spend the remainder of the night to get to know the woman that would be her alpha.

[Kora] "Let me tell you about Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya, yeah?" Kora begins, sitting back into the couch. "He was an Adren of your moon, Jarl of the tribe when I arrived. Packed under the Eagles for years with Silence-rhya, but left them when they left the Caern. Fought to raise Maelstrom, and fought for Maelstrom ever since." Quiet, there, Kora pulls in a breath, the note a somber one after Janis' giddiness. It is the first story she tells though, Sorrow. Almost always the first story she tells.

She draws in a deep breath-exhales, all at once, pulled back into herself by memory, and begins, reciting in a quiet, insistent voice, sure and metered as the doubled beat of a hear, resonant as a drum.

"I remember a warrior, Alpha, Jarl, shadow-grinned.

The Caern-raiser, the bane-slayer, Odin’s son.
The firm kernal of courage; the heart
of the maelstrom. The bright limb and the blooded
hand of Fenris - who stood over a roaring sea
of corpses, now spent his last breath
in darkness. The foundling lost no more,
who offered fires to the outliers. The fool who
nourished the wise. The shadow who stood
first in battle when even full moons
quailed. Gone now with the daughter
of the mists, the swan-blooded, the slaughter
maiden to dwell in the house of the gods
until Ragnarok come.

He treads the Hel-way and returns, raging."