Her Choice.

[Trent Brumby] Trent is prompt. He's even a little early, but he doesn't mind waiting. His sedan is parked a little away, locked up against the night. Wearing a pair of jeans and a buttoned down shirt, he's gone for that neat-casual after scrubbing up from work. It's late enough he's already done dinner, ate with Erick, and stowed left overs for his mate.

Now he waits, hands in his back pockets, watching the world go by.

[Imogen Slaughter] The evening is clear and warm, stars hidden only by the lights of the city, skyscrapers surrounding them on all sides, glass buildings reflecting the street lights.

The building at which Trent stands has steps leading up to the front doors. Beyond them is a darkened lobby, a glassed in front desk and a single, locked door with a scan pad in front of it. The hallway, just tangible through a single window in the door, has been dark since Trent has arrived.

Imogen is late.

Some five, ten minutes - none of this matters unless Trent has a watch, unless he checks it, aware of the time he arrived, and the time that has passed - later, the light in the hallway comes on, creating a small warm glow through the square. A few seconds later, the door opens, and a slight figure steps out into the darkened lobby.

Her hair, bound back by a clip, is a muted rouge in the dim lighting, the brilliance softened, like faded embers. Her attire is black, her skin ghostly white. He cannot hear her footfall as she steps up to the doors, but he can hear the click of the lock as she undoes it, then the click of her shoes as she steps outside. She turns away slightly, keys jangling as she fits one into the door lock, locking up. No one else is here at this hour - no one except the security guards.

"Trent," she greets him as he approaches, sliding her purse down her arm to slide her keys back inside, to retrieve a hard case of cigarettes.

[Trent Brumby] He has a clock on his phone but he checks it only once, before stuffing it back into his pocket. It's a ladies prerogative to be late and he wasn't going to hold it against her. He's a patient man.

When he hears the door unlock, open, lock again, he slides his hands out of his pockets and stands up straighter. A hand sweeps across his short black hair, cropped recent enough to make curls into half their size, and steps over to meet the woman that descends the stairs.

"Imogen," he greets her with a smile. He's a little nervous. She makes him self conscious, but he handles it well. "Thanks for meeting up with me. It's nothing I wanted to discuss over the phone."

"You sure I can't buy you a drink somewhere?" He'd asked that on the phone, too, quite happy to wine and dine her -- strictly business style, of course. The Kinfolk is devoted to Kora like only a single minded man can.

[Imogen Slaughter] She shakes her head slightly as she flicks open her cigarette case, drawing out the fag and fitting it between her lips. "Don't mention it," she says, her words slightly muffled around her filter.

She lights up, drawing the smoke into her lungs slowly, filling them deeply with tar and nicotine and other poisons. She turns her head as she exhales. "Yeh can join me for a coffee," she says, speaking in a breath laced with smoke. "But I prefer t'use my own money."

She tilts her head toward the stairs, sliding her purse back up her arm as she takes another drag, starting to step away. She takes the steps easily in her heels, clicking softly against the concrete. Imogen is the kind of woman to cut a graceful silhouette. Tailored clothing, high heels, a fit body, and the confidence to move it in any way she desires.

She casts a glance the Fury-kin's way.

"What can I do fer you?"

[Roman Turner] (Er, where are they?)
to Imogen Slaughter, Trent Brumby

[Imogen Slaughter] (on the street near Cook County Medical Examiner's office.)
to Roman Turner, Trent Brumby

[Trent Brumby] Nodding simply, he followed in her wake, moving to match her pace and walk along side her. He's not offended by the fact she wants to buy her own drink, and seems quite content with coffee. It soon becomes apparent what the conversational topic is going to be, and, surprisingly, its a topic that Trent seems far more comfortable with then any other man. This is attributed to his blood Tribe and cultural raising.

His voice is low as he asks her, "Do you know much about Garou pregnancy?"

[Imogen Slaughter] A brief, untelling pause, before Imogen speaks, evenly. "I've not exactly had any opportunity fer in-depth study. Not in medical school, is it?" It's the kind of thing that should be accompanied by a smirk - however, her mouth is unmoving.

[Trent Brumby] "Mmmm," he guessed as much but was going out on a limb.

"No, I understand that," he goes on, a little unsettled by her demeanor but moving past it, "I just thought you might have heard something. I can't exactly go and speak to the Sisters around here. Since I took up with Kora, as you can imagine, I'm not the most favoured of my bloodline."

Furies vs Fenrir.

[Imogen Slaughter] A beat.

"Perhaps you should just ask me what yeh'd like to know."

[Roman Turner] He spoke from behind the pair. When he turned up, who knows? Though it was obvious pretty quick that he had been following and listening for a bit.

"Ya can't get in the motherly way Mr. Trent. Though if it does happen? Let me know cause I think we could make a truck load of money hitting the talk show circuit."

When they looked back they'd find a familiar stetson and beneath it the smiling face of one Roman Turner.

[Trent Brumby] Right.

He takes a moment to think on that, on where to start. "Do you know any dangers, aside from the obvious battle injuries, that come with a Garou carrying child?" Looking towards her. There's more, but, Roman speaks up.

Glancing quickly over his shoulder, he lets out a quiet laugh, easily amused by the thought. "I'll be sure to do that."

"How are you Roman?" Purposefully distracted by the talk.

[Roman Turner] "I'm fine. Are ya doing a paper on how to get pregnant or is Miss Kora in the motherly way and my senses have gone dull?"

He just threw it out there.

[Trent Brumby] "Kora's pregnant," he confirms. Then he gets this strange little look across his face. Trent doesn't frown that much but he is now, and for those that can read well, he's a little hurt somewhere under all that too, and worried. It passes quickly. He gets on with it.

"She didn't tell you, then?"

[Roman Turner] "Apparently not and apparently my senses have done gone dull here in the city."

He started to look a little green.

[Imogen Slaughter] A glance at Roman, wry in a sharp, restrained way. "I believe tha' someone else may ha' already done that particular stunt," she observes. "Yeh won't get much cash now."

A pause. She lets Trent answer the question before she answers his, taking a drag from her cigarette, her eyes forward on some distant point.

Once he's answered and regardless of the answer, "I would imagine tha' the obvious risks are enough," she says. "Garou do not get ill, as a rule and their bodies are more resilient than humans."

[Trent Brumby] "Sorry." What for? Maybe he doesn't even know. It's the appropriate thing to say. Garou loosing their senses isn't something to laugh at anyway. He's heard all about the hates of the city plenty times over. Maybe he's saying sorry on Kora's behalf, too.

This is an awkward situation and he's at a loss for words momentarily.

But Imogen is answering his questions then. "Yeah. She hasn't been sick. Just eating a lot of different foods. It didn't occur to her that she could be, even if, you know, the obvious." They've been together for awhile now, and while they may see Kora in a particular way, Trent knows her in a completely other manner and she's not shy with what she wants.

"What about shifting and the spirit world, all of that. Does that have an effect? She won't talk about it. I don't know if she knows. I had to explain a few things myself." About pregnancy tests. "I want to be able to answer her questions."

[Roman Turner] His color was off and he had gone silent. About the only thing he was doing was a lot of swallowing and shallow breathing.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen casts him a sharp glance, her eyebrow arching. "Really think she'll turn to yeh for them, do you?" A beat. "Questions about a world yeh've never seen, can never reach, and the only person she'll be able t'reach out to is you?"

A pause.

Imogen takes a drag of her cigarette, slowly. Exhales it. When she speaks again, the edge is duller, but still there. "Kora is a Garou and a Fenrir. She appears t'possess at least a moderate intelligence, and she is not isolated from other Garou. What's more, I imagine she knows her duty as a -" yet another pause. "Female of the blood.

"Leave the pregnancy t'her. She'll keep it if she can."

[Trent Brumby] Simply, he's put in his place.

"I know that. I'm trying to ease her worries." He's concerned. Trent doesn't want to tell them how Kora's features changed and how her fingers shook. There are things that are private and he's beginning to think that this was a mistake. Especially going by Roman's expression.

Coffee no longer sounds like a good idea.

[Roman Turner] He had been in combat with Kora, having no idea she was in a fragile condition. He had let her dive in there and he had no idea the risks. Suddenly Kora went from Alpha to female in his brain and the risks taken made him physically ill. In point of fact, he leaned forward and tossed his cookies in a splash at Trent's feet. Look who had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.

[Imogen Slaughter] There is a distinct pause at Roman's statement on the proceedings. Trent doubtlessly stops walking, and Imogen does too, staring down at the partially digested food and bile, then back up at the green Roman. Down again.

Improbably, the corner of her mouth twitches.

"So much for 'more resilient'," she observes.

[Trent Brumby] Stunned.

He's stuck on the ground where his nice leather loafers are splattered in vomit from a Garou. At least it's meatballs and not some sort of chunky bitten off fingers and the like, not that he can think of anything more then the fact -- Roman just puked on his shoes.

Trents mouth is slightly opened as he looks from the vomit up to the Garou, and one has to wonder about the way his vein throbs suddenly in the side of his head and he flushes with some colour, that has to do with a rising anger that he has to swallow down.

Roman's green features help with that, and youthful features remind Trent of age differences. "You could have turned the other way," he manages, sounding distinctly upset.

[Roman Turner] "No sir, sometimes things just won't wait."

He did have the grace, as he dragged the sleeve of his jacket across his mouth, to mutter.

"Sorry."

Visibly shaken, he was already sending across the totem link to his cousin Sparrow.

~Sweet Jesus, Miss Kora's done got herself in a family way.~

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's gaze lowers back to Trent's shoes.

"Want t'find somewhere t'clean them off, or just gi' up and go get 'em off at home?"

[Trent Brumby] "You know," this at Imogen's suggestion, he's stepping back and trying to get them off with the back of his toe to his heel, "I'm just going to take these off and go home." They've only ever seen him polite and generously willing, but right now he's a fuming, adult male who is perfectly capable of violence, thrust into a situation that isn't going well for at least two of them.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this, Roman," his shoes come off, leaving him in black cotton socks, "and if you want to talk about it when you're feeling better, give me a call." But he suspects that he'll go to Kora instead.

His tone is far more curt then it was moments ago.

[Roman Turner] "No sir, I ain't got nothing to talk to you about it. I appreciate ya telling me so I can pass word to my cousin, she should know as we are Pack."

And they hadn't been told by their Alpha. That hurt and his mouth tasted horrible.

[Trent Brumby] If he was in a better mind frame, he'd do so some explanation. Or try to. But he really couldn't care right then. He's leaving Kora to her mess, while he cleans up Romans.

A quick look to Imogen, after he's picked up his shoes, gingerly holding the back of them by the heels. "I'm going to have to take a raincheck on that coffee. Thanks for your time tonight Dr. Slaughter."

Then, to both: "Goodnight." Before he's heading back to where his car is parked at a long, unhappy stride.

[Imogen Slaughter] "Trent," Imogen calls after him as he starts to stride away.

A moment's pause, after he turns.

"Don't gi' her medical advice or what yeh hear on somethin' yeh can't understand. Tell her that she's strong enough to manage this." A tendon tenses in her jaw - only Roman is close enough to see the flicker of it, the sign of her own tension, breaking through the surface like a shark beneath the water.

"Probably a better choice o' words."

She offers Roman her cigarette, wordlessly. Hardly gum, but a different taste, nonetheless.

[Trent Brumby] "I've already done that. Don't worry. I know she's Fenrir." A glance from Imogen to Roman and back again. "She does too." With a small nod of his chin, he turns back to continue walking to his car, parked off in the distance. He's not a happy chap.

[Trent Brumby] [thanks for the scene guys! lol.]

[Roman Turner] He took the offered cigarette and started puffing like a freight train. Just waiting till the Alpha impregnator was out of ear shot.

"She should of said something. I let her go in to battle without a care for the second life she carries."

Yeah, he might be sick again.

[Roman Turner] (Thank you!)

[Imogen Slaughter] (back atcha!)

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen lets him keep the cigarette, instead reaching into her purse for her case again. She starts to walk - neatly avoiding the vomit. " I find it hard t'believe tha' Kora enters battle only wi' your express permission."

[Roman Turner] "You know what I mean."

He grimaced with the dinner left behind on the ground, yet a secret little part of him was right pleased that he barfed on the culprit of said lost dinner. That was another story he was going to have to grace his cousin with.

[Imogen Slaughter] "I know it's not your responsibility," she replies.

[Roman Turner] "I know if anything happens to that unborn child, I will never shave because I won't be able to face myself in the mirror."

He inhaled deeply as his stomach complained. Sparrow he expected, but Kora? She went from battle buddy to female with a single word and it was doing a number on his brain.

[Imogen Slaughter] "Frankly," she says, "That's your problem. Not hers.

[Roman Turner] He blinked, giving Imogen a blank look. Maybe his hearing was going too, or his brain?

"That's what I said. I will just have to be extra vigilant with her and see to it nothing can hurt her."

[Imogen Slaughter] "You're missing the point," she says, before shaking her head. "It doesn't really matter. Look - I'm walkin' home. Yeh should probably head yerself back t'yer territory. S'nothin' interesting going to happen out 'ere tonight."

[Roman Turner] 'If I am missing the point, then what is it?"

He had stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk to crush out the butt beneath his boot with a simple twisting of his foot.

[Imogen Slaughter] She walks forward several more steps before turning back to look at him. "The point is tha' it's her body. If she does not want t'be -" a moment's pause for her choice of words, "locked up in a glass box, then that is her decision. And if she does not want her packmates," her gaze is cutting as she turns her attention his way, "treatin' her like she's made o' porcelain, that's her choice as well."

She takes another drag of her cigarette, turning her head to exhale it.

"However, I can't be bothered t'stand 'ere and argue for her; do as yeh want."

[Roman Turner] "Yessum, I will. Because while it might be her choice and a blessing? It is my choice to worry for my packmate, for the future she carries and it's tiny hope it holds. That is my nature and like ya said, my problem."

He touched the brim of his hat.

"Night Miss Doctor Slaugther, Ma'am."

With that he turned the other direction and walked off.

[Imogen Slaughter] She says nothing - merely turns back on her way.

Cigney's Vengeance.

[Kora] The equinox has passed and the moon is full. The harvest moon. If not for the clouds, it would be low and fat in the sky now, just after sunset. There are clouds, though, a deep drifting bank of them, the promise of rain in the air and a sharp bite means football weather. That means - frost soon.

The church is still, and dark. Leaves are starting to change on the trees that have grown up around the ruin, shielding the view of the big stone walls from the street.

Kora sits on the steps, near the top, on the long, wide portico. She has a reasonable view of the street, the gates of the old chain link fencing put up by someone - maybe the diocese - to keep vagrants out years ago are pulled open, wide. They've been like that for years, rust stains the sidewalk. The fence is covered by twisting vines, and these are starting to turn colors, too. The leaves are yellow, the fruits falling off.

The earth turns away from the sun.

Her usual clothing is supplemented by a long-sleeved thermal undershirt and zippered hoodie in shades of blue, the colors are muted but saturated, receding in the darkness.

Dinner time. She searches through a white paper bag filled with take-out chinese, pushing past Roman's choices looking for her container of hot and sour soup.

[Roman Turner] He was waiting his turn at the bag while he sat on the steps with her. As usual he was in a hat, but it was cooler and night, the summer weight hat was replaced with a black Stetson. Brass buttons glinted faintly down the front of the open jean jacket he wore as he sat hunched forward, forearms resting across his thighs.

"Colder here than home. Confuses my internal clock, ya know?"

Not that the cooler weather bothered him, instead it just screwed with his memory sense.

[Imogen] She sees Imogen through the chain link fence, recognizes her because of her brilliant hair, even muted in fading light of dusk, because of her stature, because of the way she moves. Her hands are pocketed in her corduroy jacket, her back is straight.

She turns her head when she feels the Skald's gaze on her. The doctor's gaze has always been direct, and it is no different with the moon full, with the Garou's rage high.

She steps through the open gates, her flat shoes near silent on the concrete, and moves silently until she's within speaking distance. When she inhales, she can smell the grease of the Chinese food. It reminds her of Kemp.

"Cigney's dead," she says without preamble. "I ha' in the morgue."

[Imogen] (holy crap, I didn't see Roman log in at all! *LOL*)

[Imogen] (lemme repost real quick.)

[Imogen] They can see Imogen through the chain link fence, recognizes her because of her brilliant hair, even muted in fading light of dusk, because of her stature, because of the way she moves. Her hands are pocketed in her corduroy jacket, her back is straight.

When she senses one, or the other or both looking at her, she turns her head. Her gaze is direct even at this distance, even with the moon full, their rage high.

She steps through the open gates, her flat shoes near silent on the concrete, and moves silently until she's within speaking distance. When she inhales, she can smell the grease of the Chinese food. It reminds her of Kemp.

"Cigney's dead," she says without preamble. "I ha' her body in the morgue."

[Kora] "Never developed that internal clock, not 'til after, myself, yeah?" After changing, she means. Now, that feels innate, the seasons move under her skin like water. She knows the earth the way few humans can, or will. " - moved around too much. Arizona one year, Maine the next. That screws with your sense of the seasons."

The cup of soup is open, by then. Kora's taken her first sip, tentative, and her second, deeper when she knows the liquid will not burn her tongue. Then she catches sight of Imogen's hair like a flare against the darkness, and turns, setting her cup of soup off to the side, cinching the lid back down, brushing off her hands on the worn thighs of her jeans.

There's an instinct to stand, when Imogen is close enough. That's old, embedded - some fundamental courtesy she carries inside her. - but she stays the instinct. Imogen has stopped at foot of the steps, maybe a few steps up. Standing would just make her that much taller.

Instead, she remains seated, and stills at the news, gritting her teeth, a spasm of tendon in her jaw as her rage sparks and flares, sickening, turning her stomach. Kora swallows against her gorge and breathes out, knuckles white, her hands fisted, nails digging into her thighs.

"Fuck." she says, low and sharp, with feeling, breathing out hard. Abrupt. She lifts her chin then, looks away, down the street, scene through the scrim of overgrown trees and vines. " - how?" Quieter, her voice, but no less hard.

[Roman Turner] He was just digging in the bag for his dinner when Imogen appeared with the dead news. Unlike Kora, he was on his feet in an instant, hat removed with the brim cupped in his hand, the opening pressed against his chest.

"What happened?"

[Izzy Montoya] There are any number of reasons that would have Izzy in this neighborhood, and most of them involve doors wrapped in yellow tape, victims carted off in body bags, little splotches of blood identified with white numbered markers, strong fingers encased in blue gloves to protect fingerprints found, and other such things. Tonight is no different, and the walk back to her car takes her past a certain abandoned church.

Fate is a funny thing, after all.

Her walk is distinctive - she's been accused of walking like a man, often enough, but what it is is a stride of purpose, of intent. She's aware of her surroundings, for all her attention is on the phone in her hand and the message on it.

[Imogen] Imogen's gaze fixes on the Garou on their reaction, a wariness that is far from fear as rage sparks and reactions come, sharply restrained. Roman gets the most attention - getting to his feet as he does.

But neither lose control - she does not relax, but after a moment, she answers, replying to their dual questions.

"She was found dead in a park, a knife in hand. There were multiple sharp force injuries to the front, back and side. Claw marks. S'not Garou, s'too big t'be animal." She shakes her head slightly. "Unfortunately th'wyrm doesn't keep me up t'date on their abominations."

A pause.

"The knife was soaked wi' blood and so was her sleeve and wrist. She died fighting."

She says it without sympathy - but simply as a fact that might as well be said.

[Roman Turner] He just didn't get why Kinfolk insisted on walking through the parks and bad parts of town at night, especially knowing what was out there. At the moment that irony was pushed in to silence as the person came in to sight. Izzy was not someone that sparked memory for him so when he spotted her he stepped down from the porch and closer to Imogen. Speaking softly as he replaced the hat on his head and neared Imogen.

"That's a right shame. I'm sorry for the loss."

[Kora] The world constricts, in moments like these, to a set series of reference points. Aware of her packmate, standing, close enough that her shoulder brushes his leg, aware of his rage, her own, and the moon in the sky, hidden behind the clouds, huge and round. She is aware of the way her breath frosts out of her mouth, a quiet cloud.

Cigney died fighting, Imogen says. Kora's generous mouth flattens, her nostrils flare. In the days after the moot, Kora met one of the new-come Fenrir in the Sept, among the graves, told him the story of Lexi Jonsen's death. Read out to him the names of the Fenrir dead as she circled the monuments. She died, he said, like a Fenrir should.

A good death, he judged it.

She makes no such judgments.

"Can you show us where it happened?" She remains seated, her lean frame taut. Uncurling her fists, spreading her hands out over her thighs, staring off sharply past Imogen's shoulder, before returning her attention to the kinswoman. Briefly, her eyes touch on Izzy, nearly unseeing except for the sharp curl of breeding that sparks an animal response in her, under her skin.

Then she swallows, a winging glance back to the kinswoman, direct. "I want the body, too." That's rather more quiet. "I don't want - " what, her flat mouth whitens as she bites something back. She doesn't want Imogen's instruments underneath the woman's skin. She doesn't want her splayed open on a stainless steel table, under unforgiving lights. The mere thought strikes a visceral reaction in her. She voices none of it.

[Izzy Montoya] There's something about being watched by the Garou that is distinctly different than being watched by mere mortals. It's very much like feeling stalked, like someone - no, something is watching, deciding if someone is dinner, and deciding that yes, yum, tasty flesh. The creepy crawly feeling at the back of the neck, fine hairs lifting in effort to run away themselves, spine stiffening, muscles tensing, the sudden desire to run, run far, run now...

Izzy does not give in to any such feeling. She is Fenrir. She is a decorated Detective. She is, quite possibly, insane. Either way, when the eyes of the Garou find her, she takes a breath, and looks up from her phone to find the source of her sudden discomfort, and in so doing, discovers the unmistakeble glint of fire-red hair, and the presence of the Jarl. Her Jarl, one would say. She.. simply wouldn't say at all.

She pauses, however, outside of the gate, and nods in their direction. A hello, of sorts.

[Imogen] Imogen's eyebrow arches slightly toward Roman. "Say it to yer packmate," she says, lifting her chin slightly toward Kora. "S'a loss t'her tribe."

She turns her head toward Kora as she speaks. "I can only release th'body t' her relatives," she says. "S'in the system, now, and there's only so much I can do in tha' respect." There is a steadiness to what she says; she does not flinch from this defiance.

She pauses at the question. "I can show yeh the park," she says, "and the general area, but th'body was picked up by one o' the medical examiners; they didn't see fit t'need t'ha' a forensic pathologist come out."

Both Garou's gazes flick toward Izzy as she passes them by - in response, Imogen turns to glance over her shoulder.

She speaks, then, raising her voice to be heard. "Detective Montoya," she calls out. "C'mere a moment, will yeh?"

[Roman Turner] Kora knew what he felt in a sense as he felt the anger and loss seeping across from her across the link. For his part, his soul answered with sorrow, that sick little feeling. At his age, he was still immortal, he'd not had many close to him die yet. So accepting someone wasn't around anymore, was a vague notion. Instead he sort of replaced dead with vacation in his brain.

He remained where he was, watching Izzy, though Imogen's sort of greeting relaxed him enough to reach up to the crown of his hat where he gripped it enough to lift the hat an inch of his head with a nod to Izzy.

"Ma'am."

[Kora] "Norway," Kora returns. Her voice is low, she has a stillness about her that is defined by tense muscles, by a certain promise of motion-to-come. Her voice is low and rought, nostrils flaring with something, some underlying anger that is different than the unseeing spark of rage. " - they're in fucking Norway. Ran off and left her here to sink or swim alone."

The Chinese food is cooling on the steps, mostly forgotten now. The hot and sour soup will not be consumed tonight. Maybe she'll pour it out someplace away from their den, to feed whatever animal-things make their living in the hard-scrabble industrial territory they claim. Maybe she'll drink it cold in the morning.

Breakfast of champions.

"There's got to be some kind of release they can sign, right? Let me take care of it as her second cousin twice removed, by marriage."

This has the ghost of a smile drifting across her mouth, a still one, sick with feeling. She lifts her chin, her head moving in an animal cant as her eyes travel over Roman's profile, the emotions leaking across the link clear to her.
Abruptly she stands, "Detective," greeting Izzy when she comes closer, the word flat as a board, business-like. Dusting off her hands on the thighs of her jeans, she bends over, picks up the Chinese food, rolling the opening of the bag closed before she sets that too aside on the porch, the portico.

[Izzy Montoya] Imogen asks her to come over, and after the briefest of hesitations, during which Roman nods and calls her old ma'am, she nods. "Of course, Doctor Slaughter."

She slips past the gate, and in a few long strides joins them at the steps, remaining apart just a tough, though close enough to speak without need to raise their voice. She stops short when Kora stands abruptly, and then after a moment, she nods again, this time to the Jarl first "Kora." and another to Roman.

She stops short of calling him sir in retaliation. barely.

[Imogen] Imogen glances back over her shoulder at Kora as she speaks. Once must admit, the kinwoman appears entirely cold in this. Her expression hard but unreadable beyond that. Each word quiet and controlled.

Kora is barely leashed Rage, Roman is sorry for the loss and Imogen - well.
She is doing her duty, as she sees it, to the letter.

"I'll see what I can do," she says, "but we should p'raps find a kinfolk t'receive th'remains. Th'less visibility yeh ha', the better."

Back to Izzy.

"Ha' yeh heard about the park case?" she says. "It 'appened a few days ago. S'kinfolk, and it's a veil breech," however slight.

"I've signed out th'death certificate wi' a cause o' death as 'multiple injuries due to animal attack', but I imagine there will still be an investigation." Her head tilts slightly, indicating the detective, "Anythin' yeh can do to help support my findings or at least nudge the investigatin' detective in tha' direction would be appreciated."

[Roman Turner] (oh hey, don't go in order. I mean, don't wait for me )
to Imogen, Izzy Montoya, Kora

[Paul Kellogg] The bumble-bee yellow humvee slows as it drives up the street. Pulling to a stop and park two car lengths up from the quartet. Paul steps out. Wearing faded jeans, those simple toe shoes and a solid blue tee that was form fitting.

A bright smile on his face as he steps upon the curb, heading their way. Casting a curt wave. "Heya folks...."

[Kora] "There anything you need?" this is an aside to Roman, as Imogen turns to discuss the particulars of covering up the veil-breech. Of steering the investigation, of moving things around so that the mortal authorities will be and remain satisfied that one Cigney North, nineteen years old, surfer girl from California with eyes that will be memorialized as "gray" in her official records rather than silvery, died from an animal attack. A pit-bull on the loose, some fighting dog. Doberman or German Shepherd - something ordinary, quotidian.

Something that preserves the Veil.

Kora's question to her packmate is aloud, though. Underneath, there's a faint nudge along the link, feeling Resistance's presence out there, at the Caern, maybe, then deciding in the end that there's no point in summoning her too, in waiting any longer.

This is how you go to war: in a zipped up hoodie in gradations of blue, hair pulled back, in a black t-shirt that doesn't show blood, a white thermal undershirt for warmth, that does. Standing, she reaches back, shakes her hair loose from its knot, finger combs the curling locks free, and then begins to plait it, a French braid, her fingers running expertly through the strands. " - I'm ready when you are."

Kora waits until Izzy and Imgen have finished their exchange. Then, " - if you don't mind, Detective, come with us, yeah? Could use your eyes."

[Izzy Montoya] A brow arches slightly as Imogen gives her a quick rundown, and there's a flicker of something in her gaze, unreadable and brief. By the end, though, she nods, slightly. "I've heard of it - it's not my case, but I can see what I can do." In fact the wheels are already turning. She's owed a couple of favors, it should be easily enough to nudge them in supporting the doctor's decision.

Fortunately, she's very good at her job - both of them.

Kora invites her along to see where it happened, and she nods, slightly. "Of course." Her eyes, and possibly other talents, depending on the area in question. Not that she's ever let Kora know exactly what she could do...

[Roman Turner] He was in the midst of trying to come to terms with a pretty girl just dying like that. She had set him up and shot him down cold, but he'd not wished death on her. Now he sort of felt guilty that somehow he'd made her end up dead. Kora asked and he shook his head as he wrestled with the nearly overwhelming need to have his cousin close.

"No ma'am, Miss Kora."

About that time Paul turned and waved, greeting them and he returned the wave and muttered to Kora.

"Paul's coming this way."

Like she couldn't see that herself.

[Imogen] Imogen nods slightly. "I appreciate it." She says, simply. "I'll do th'same from my end." The conversation is a brief, transitory window into something normally kept to the background. It's there a moment, then it's gone. The women have said all they need to each other. They'll work separately now, both for the same goal.

She turns her head slightly to Kora, nodding slightly, then glancing toward Paul as he approaches.

"H'lo," she says, her accent truncating the vowel of her greeting - what might have once been 'Hullo' to almost nothingness.

A glance toward his car, "Bit conspicuous for this area o' town, aren't yeh?"

Even as she speaks, she is reaching into the pocket of her corduroy jacket, retrieving a set of car keys.

[Kora] Then Paul pulls up, in his bright yellow hummer, parks it on a mostly desolate industrial street not far from the entrance to an old derelict church, built in the neo-gothic style. The building has been abandoned for twenty five years, and is surrounded by a riot of trashy trees, locusts mostly, a tangle, survival of the fittest and fastest-growing, the deepest roots in the worst soil.

He's smiling. They aren't. Imogen and Izzy are on the concrete sidewalk leading to the wide steps that lead to the portico, proper. Roman stands close by. Kora is near the top of the steps, dressed in a worn jeans and a hoodie over a thermal and t-shirt that add bulk to her frame, her arms up behind her head, rapidly plaiting her hair.

" - yuf," Kora greets Paul as he becomes visible, offers his salutations. There's no answering smile. Kora is working her way down the steps, her hands still employed twisting her braid together. When she's close enough to Roman, she brushes past him, close physical contact, reassurance.

[Roman Turner] He brushed back against Kora and followed her till he got close enough to Paul to say in a soft voice.

"Cigney's dead."

Letting the other Coggie know why everyone was so solemn.

[Izzy Montoya] She turns as Paul says hello, but she doesn't reply. Instead, her comment is for Kora, Imogen.

"My car is one block down." An unspoken invitation for those who might need a ride, as well as a simple statement that she intends to drive herself, to make it easier to hit the station afterwards. And with that, she's following Kora back to the street.

[Paul Kellogg] A quick nod to Imogen, but his smile never wavered. "Perhaps...but I liake it" Wiggling his brows at her. "Nice to see ya gain Doc" But his gaze takes on the others. Before Roman's words even registered, his smile had wavered. Roman didn't appear his happy self, and hell neither did Kora...

Tilting his head, his smile faded to nill in an instant. []"Im sorry..what? Cigney? The blonde kin? I just saw her a few days ago...how?"[/b]

[Roman Turner] "Seems she ran in to trouble in a park. Her body was found with a knife in hand. Something tore her up, but looks like she tried to fight it off."

Went down fighting didn't sound right, that was too Wild West and didn't fit with a pretty girl dying. She'd put her fingers against his skin once, touched him. She'd hugged him, surprising and confusing the hell out of him. Then she'd set him up and shot him down another time. Still it just didn't make sense, she was too young to die, wasn't she?"

[Paul Kellogg] "Well Gawd Damn, sheit...Im sorry man..what can I do to help?" Shocked, he had alittle trouble digesting the news. Never thought he'd not see her again..or hell even get a chance to use any of her skills in aiding with his hairbrained ideas. "...ya'll got any ideas who or what did it?"

[Imogen] A brief glance at Izzy, a brief flicker of smirk, "Mine as well." She says, though there is no humour behind it. Paul said it was nice to see her again. Imogen glances his way but does not respond.

At his question, she had started to draw breath to answer - but Roman says it first.

"Not a friend of yer kind, that's fer sure," she does, however, answer the last question, mildly.

[Imogen] (okay, folks, just a heads up, I need to start doing some work, which may result in long silences from me. Kind of inconvenient since Imogen's rather embroiled in the scene, but there it is! if you don't have to wait for me, please don't!)

[Roman Turner] "Miss Doctor Slaughter is gonna take us where it happened in the faint hopes we might find some clue as to what did it. Ya want to come along? I'm sure the more eyes, ears and noses the better."

He however did look towards his Alpha to make sure he wasn't stepping on Fenrir territory with this.

[Kora] Kora's generous mouth is still; in the amber lights, the discs of her dark eyes sheen like liquid metal as she reaches the base of the stone steps and glances up, looking from Roman to Paul, to Izzy, to Imogen.

"We're going to see what we can find, and kill it if we find it." Whatever killed the kinswoman. Kora says that with an air of finality

[Kora] (gah! ignore!)

[Paul Kellogg] "One of the reasons I came here was to chat with Kora about this kin..but that chat wont matter now. It would be remiss of me not to aid ya Roman, or your pack...I'd like to know who's responsible and do em in. Weather we liake our kin or not...we don't let em get slain. Besides, I owe Kora for her generousity with August during my absence...so Im in if ya'll have me"

[Kora] Kora's generous mouth is still; in the amber lights, the discs of her dark eyes sheen like liquid metal as she reaches the base of the stone steps and glances up, looking from Roman to Paul, to Izzy, to Imogen.

"We're going to see what we can find, and kill it if we find it." Whatever killed the kinswoman. Kora says that with an air of finality. Roman invites Paul along, and Kora shoots him a look, her pale head tilted. By now, her braid is finished. She secures it with an elastic band, a proper hair band rather than a cheap rubber band from someone's morning newspaper. "You're welcome, but there's no acting out in this. You come with us right now, That's Great, you follow when you need to follow. If you can abide by that, you're welcome."

Then, she shoots a glance at his Hummer. "Leave your ride, here. Best not to be associated with a crime scene. Detective, Doc, Roman, Paul and I would appreciate a ride."

[Roman Turner] He looked at his Tribe's man to see how his Alpha's words set with him. Then touching the brim of his hat, he followed Kora, commenting over his shoulder to Paul.

"Hope ya ain't fond of them rims."

[Izzy Montoya] She glances around. "Alright then."

She turns then, to finish the walk she had started and aborted with the invitation of the Doc. A tip of her head invites those that are riding with her to join her, but she does not slow down. They're Garou, they can keep up.

As promised, down the block is a non-descript yet obviously unmarked police issue vehicle. Boxy, brown, four door, and likely with an engine supped up more than one would think. There's rusts in spots, the doors when they get to it creak when they're pulled opened. But it runs, and it runs better than expected. Izzy says nothing, simply presses the button on the keyring she pulls from her pocket, unlocking the doors.

[Paul Kellogg] "I've left her in worst places friend" With a soft chuckle to Roman. He only nodded to Kora. He was in, he knew the drill. He might be without a pack at the moment, but he's always been a team player. Following her guidance. He keyed his pad for the alarm and locks and pocketed it.

[Roman Turner] He was willing to pile in the back seat of the car with Paul. Hat pulled off before climbing in. His brain was still chasing it's own tail in circles as he tried to make sense of the death. It still didn't seem real because he hadn't seen her broken, dead. And he was getting that bleed from Kora that made his chest tight.

[Paul Kellogg] Climbing into the back with Roman. A slow shake of his head as he let a breath out. "Fuckin kin killers..."

[Kora] The park is small. One of those half-block green spaces built by some well-meaning philanthropist. There's a name etched into a concrete slab near the the entrance to the place, though now it is covered over in graffity and bird-shirt, because after the big gift of ten thousand or twenty thousand dollars, after the ribbon cutting and the dedication that brought out all the city's dignitaries to bask in the reflected glow of Something Positive -

- the place hasn't been visited except by the grass-mowing crew. The annuals were left to die in the planting beds, the playground equipment gradually stolen or coopted by the homeless or neighboring gangs. The grass is mowed by big machines in a matter of minutes. No one bothers to pick up the crack vials or the discarded butts of blunts. The sandbox stinks of urine from the neighborhood's stray cats, the hinged lid meant to prevent that was broken the first week the place was open. There are slats missing from the park benches, and human feces in the bushes.

And a crime scene, where the alley bisects the park, cutting it right in half.

Death by dog attack doesn't merit surveillance on the crime scene. No one bothered to call in the forensic team. Now there's just yellow tape to mark the place, wrapped around the post of a non-functioning path light, and a pair of convenient trees. The path is asphalt, solid. In the dark, it is hard to see the blood. The trees here are young, slender. Planted last summer, the summer before, before the grand opening. They're growing, because their roots are in the ground.

They're growing.

They parked down the block, away. Drifted down here in ones and twos rather than as a big knot of bodies, and now Kora stands at the edge of the tape, frowning closely, searching the dark, quiet scene.

"No other bodies found here?" This to Imogen, to Izzy.

Her hands are in her pockets. There's no ease to her, tonight.

--

Imogen leaves the Garou and single kinfolk to their investigation.

Chrysallis

[Crysallis] The dead man was homeless, found by children playing in a weedy stretch of the old engine yards, near a long-abandoned wheelhouse in a long-forgotten old trainyard hard against the city's once-famous stockyards, separated from a high-rise housing project by a deep gully that once houses a small canal, long-since damned back up. There are too many environmental issues to redevelop the old trainyards, and so they remain, abandoned, grotesque - brown and gray and overgrown, not wild, not really - something else - under a gray-cast sky.

It wasn't the deadman that caught Imogen's attention. He was sprawled underneath the eves of an old engine house, eyes open, staring, but rather something close by, a little caern of stones that struck her as almost ritualistic, that hit a chord, that opened something up inside her. So she toed the structure - two inches high if that - over and found, underneath, a single gold tooth.

And something beneath it, slashed in blood, formed with the tip of claw. Like a Garou glyph -

- gone wrong.

[Imogen] She had confiscated the gold tooth subtly, quietly her back turned to the others on the crime scene. She is never alone in such things; there are forensic investigators, police officers, sometimes a resident along for the learning experience.

She keeps her back to them all as she carefully places a few rocks over the glyph again, the gold tooth sealed in a baggy and pocketed, getting to her feet.

"Nothing but a small pile o' rocks," she says as she returns to the body. "Poor kids legos, maybe."

The body is zipped into a black bag and placed on a stretcher by the body removal team - Imogen does no souch things once she's cleared the corpse for transport. She watches them as they put the body into the back of the van and then turns her attention to the police officer, removing her gloves carefully, the fingers tipped with rouge from where her examination had brought her into contact with congealing blood.

"I'll do the autopsy in the morning," she says, "shall I? Doesn't seem that important."

"Naw," snorts the officer, a man whom she intensely dislikes. "It's NHI. Take all the time you need."

No Human Involved.
Alright, then.

Hours later, Imogen calls Kora. "It's me," she says, allowing her accent and voice to do her introductions. She is in her office with a closed door, with office hours starting in minutes. "I found somethin' rather similar t'what we've seen before." Circumspect, is the message, though one images that Kora gets it.

"I ha' some time tonight after six, should yeh like to see it."

[Imogen] Perception Alertness! HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Crysallis

[Crysallis] "I'd like to see it," Kora returns, quiet. Sometime after six, she has to consult her phone, because she thinks of the world in terms of day and night and sunrise and sunset, of moon rise and fall, and the movement of the stars rather than hours. Still: for things like this, she makes the effort, consults the cheap tracphone, keeps an eye on the sun in the sky.

Sometime after six, Kora summons Roman. Doc found something is what she tells him. you and me are gonna check it out.

The sun is low, but not yet set when they arrive at the edge of the old railyards. The place is flat, half the rails have been pried up by enterprising junkies hoping to recycle some metal for drug money.

[Fate] He was more than happy to go with Kora, especially if it meant he could see Imogen. Who cared if she were older? She had one hell of a figure on her; he especially liked the view from behind, she had great assets. So when the time came, even though it was an odd place, he was eager to see the taciturn Kinswoman.

[Imogen] Imogen has them meet her at her car; when they arrive, she is standing there, her back against the door, a cigarette between her fingers, her expression taut. She'd been approached once during the wait to enquire about her fees.

The experience has put her in a bad mood.

She takes a deep suck of the cigarette as the Garou approach before dropping the fag to crush it out beneath the flat sole of her nondescript shoe.

"Do you see that SUV o'er there?" she says once they are close enough for her to speak quietly. She indicates several blocks away - the car still visible. "It was 'ere when I came t'retrieve the body. S'moved, but I'd swear it was the same car."

A pause before she adds, "I recognize the dents."

[Crysallis] The SUV is empty at the moment. It's big and black and boxy, circa 1992 model yeah, something American, with a handful of dents, of varying sizes and disfigurements. Kora glances up the street, her features set into a frown, her gaze lingering over it. The shadow of the housing projects is long, but the concrete basin of the drained canal is a long, deep barrier between the two. No one would park here to go there. Only the kids slide back and forth between the neighborhood and its next-door netherworld, under the fences, through the underbrush.

"So someone's coming and going." Kora says, restating the obvious. Then, a glane between Roman and Imogen. "What was it you found?"

[Fate] He forced his attention away from Imogen long enough to look in the direction she indicated. An SUV or the Angel before him? SUV normally wouldn't stand a chance. Though this was weird enough to have Imogen calling them, so he forced his brain to business.

"I can go take a look at it, see if I can pick up a trail, smell anything to follow."

As he was the smell of death lingered too close to this place, it was a sickening sweet smell his sensitive nose could pick up even in homid.

[Imogen] "A glyph," she says, "or at least what looks like one, done in blood. I don't recognize the shape." Which, truly, only means that it is none of the tribes with which Imogen is familiar, nor wyrm, nor kinfolk nor the auspices.

Then again, she seems to have been finding unfamiliar glyphs throughout the city, so it may very well mean more.

"Show you, shall I?"

[Crysallis] "Please," Kora returns, low voiced, looking from Imogen to Roman and back again. The lights are low, the shadows long here. There's a persistent scent of car exhaust and old diesel fuel in the air. They are close enough to downtown that the background lights of the city are bright, brilliant against the horizon, but the streets here are dark and mostly still.

" - show us."

[Fate] How long had he waited to hear those words?

"Show you, shall I?"

It took a lot of thought processes to calm down the eager teen hormones that had just jumped up and did the happy two-step dance. He forced himself to nod, hoarsely croaking out.

"Yessum, show us."

Who invented jeans anyway? The danged things suddenly felt like they had shrunk in the crotch last washing.

[Imogen] Roman's voice cracks when he speaks - Imogen casts him an odd glance, her eyebrow arching before she decides she is better off not knowing. She does not say anything else, merely tilts her head in a particular direction and walks toward it.

She's parked a few blocks away. Close enough to be in sight but not so close as to be obvious. They walk into the old train yards with their relics and dead engines, the rusting box cars, the carelessly strewn iron tracks. The foliage rustles as she highsteps through some of the worst of it and hisses as she walks through the rest.

"I found the body there," she says, pointing to the engine house, a small area haphazardly cordoned off, ribbon that will likely stay there until children tear it away, "Doesn't look like he died o' violence. From th'colour of his sclera - that's the white o' the eyes - and his skin, I'd imagine he died o' liver failure, but I won't know that until I cut him open.

"But what I did find was 'ere," she says, sinking to a crouch and picking up a few small stones and tossing them aside.

She lifts her chin now, not bothering to expand, merely gesturing at the glyph, slashed in blood, the colour of it uneven and brown.

[Crysallis] Fall, now - and a lean, dry fall at that. The tenderest shoots, the clustered grasses that had been going brown from drought were revived two nights past by a passing stormfront. Still, the growth underfoot is crabbed, tainted by the toxins left behind by the old rainroad companies and by the opportunistic fly-by-nights that came in after. The whole railyard is a superfund site that will never be cleaned up. Too expensive, and maybe too dangerous. Too many unknowns. Too much blame to be spread around for the cancer rates in the neighborhood, the birth defects, the subtle ways in which people go wrong.

Here and now, though, in the shadow of the old engine house, Kora sinks to a crouch, nudging away one of the stones with her long index finger. She goes still, this sour sense in the back of her throat. "Offering," she says, quiet, low, a certain hint of queasiness in her voice. " - that's what it says. offering.."

Then, glancing up at Roman, " - you want to try to get a scent?"

[Fate] He leaned in for a good look when the rocks were moved. It probably looked like one of those scenes where a group of kids gathered to examine a bug one found, only they weren't kids and it wasn't a bug. His nostrils flared just before a look of disgust touched his young face.

"Guess he couldn't find no paint?"

[Imogen] Imogen casts Kora a briefly wry glance. "There was a gold tooth left behind as well."

A beat. "Rather poor offering, I'd think." These words are almost to herself. It is a rather disturbingly sharp contrast to Kora's queasiness, to Roman's disgust. She casts a glance between the two and quietly clears her throat, a hand lifting to her hair, pushing it back as she glances about them, taking in their surroundings once more, this time without the busyness of a crime scene.

[Fate] "Gold is a solid offering. It's valuable, been the trade of choice throughout history and add to it, it's a tooth. Teeth mean a lot to a wolf, without 'em, we don't last long."

He crouched down to make a smaller target in the dark, using the women for a shield as he began the shift from Human to Wolf. Once there after all the wonderfully disgusting sounds and sights of the shift, he started sniffing the hole, rocks and area, letting his sharper senses pick up what his eyes couldn't.

[Fate]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 4 at target 4)

[Crysallis] "Maybe," Kora says quietly, a flicker of a look at Imogen's features, the wry look on her fine mouth, lingering in her dark blue eyes. " - but I don't think that that is going to be the only one."

Her smile is sifting, lingering, fleeting. Abruptly, she pushes herself to stand, frowning, casting the railyards - what is visible of them, in a long, sweeping glanc. Then Roman shifts to his lupus form, and Kora takes up a watchful position, looking for strangers who might stumble into the windy, abandoned stretch of broken real estate.

[Imogen] Imogen only makes a brief sound of acknowledgement to them both. Roman begins to change and Imogen turns her head slightly to watch him over the shoulder, her expression intent, a line forming between her eyebrows.

It fades and like Kora, Imogen moves to take a watchful position, allowing her and Kora to cover the entirety of the area with relative certainty.

[Crysallis] Roman finds the scent, recent enough, a hint of blood and darkness, some memory of pain, diesel and stagnant waters and dank, rotting earth. It takes him two circuits of the engine house to tease this one out from all the others, sharper, all the human scents from the police officers and forensic investigators and morque workers who attended to the corpse of the nameless man found with a grimace on his face and his eyes open - staring - at the sun a dozen feet away or more, but he teases it out soon enough, pads out among the broken rails into the weedy darkness.

Imogen and Kora watch until the wolf is a shadow against shadows, turning in a wide circuit around the wheelhouse. It takes him ten minutes, maybe 15, to make the full circuit of the place, but when he returns he has found four more tiny caerns, hidden amongst the weeds and detritus, each so small as to be easily overlooked.

A handful of stones.

Gold, underneath, and a blood-painted glyph.

Tooth and the top joint of a finger.

The root of a tongue.

The lense of an eye, tiny, perfectly worked as if it had been pulled from life, the iris and dilated pupil staring, gold on gold. A handful of bones worked in gold - the distinctive stapes, the malleus.

Together, the five little caerns form five points of a star, five cardinal directions (weren't there just four?), defining a wide ranging circle with the derelict wheelhouse at the heart of it.

[Fate] He was sniffing around like any dog or wolf would. Letting everything filter through instinctively. Trying to filter out the smell of stray cats, the occasional dog, children, cops, metal, rotting wood, a mouse, and death to find what he wanted. Something solid to connect to the tooth and pile of rocks.

When he returned, he shifted back up and lead them to his finds.

"More of them, five like the points in a pentagram and when ya think about it, depending on which way ya want to look at it, it could be horns up or not."

[Imogen] Imogen pauses, turning briefly to look at Roman.

"Did yeh check what was in the centre o' the pentagram?"

[Fate] Blur...man+stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Fate] dex+stealth
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)

[Crysallis] Rrrragrash:

I TOTALLY SEE YOU.
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Crysallis] (or not!)

[Fate] "No ma'am, but I intend to."

[Imogen] (perception+alertness!)

HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Crysallis] Kora: Per + Alertness!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 9, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Imogen] da Mei promises da Kahseeno pretty things!

HAIL!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7) Re-rolls: 1

[Crysallis] ARGH. PER PLUS ALERTNESS KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 10 (Failure at target 7) Re-rolls: 1

[Imogen] (u no promiss kahseeno purty things.)

[Crysallis] Imogen notices movement on the periphery, a trio of figures in the shadows carrying a heavy object between them, something dark and saclike, the fabric matte, the shape and the way it slumps reminds the kinswoman of the dead weight of a human body lifted from a guerney, still flexible, not yet stiff with rigor mortis, the weight of the body defining a long, drooping arc between the two larger figures carrying it.

Notices the movement in time for Kora and Imogen to take shelter, hidden inside the engine house, the scent of rust and old fuel heavy in the air, spiders spinning webs so complex they seem to be arguments or poetry in the weaver's world.

There are windows, many-paned, rusted over through which they can watch the trio, who are keen and careful, but not worried about detection, talking so that their voices carry in the air in drifting snatches of intelligible speech.

From within the shelter, Kora traces the feel of her packmate more than the site of him; it would take the keenest of eyes to pick him out of the shadows of the railyard now. Holding her breath, now, as the trio gets close to the Ragabash, releasing it in a sharp and silent sigh as they disappear into the roundhouse.

Then Roman returns, abruptly, twenty tense minutes later, bearing news.

[Chrysalis] oh, I should post rules:

1. uh, let me know of merits/flaws/phobias that might apply.
2. keep track of your own health, WP, rage, gnosis, et cetera.
3. let me know if anything is off limits (I know lizards, lessa!) and / or please IM me if something offends you.
4. you will have one free reroll of any roll in the scene. once you've used it, no more! I would save it for something important. :)
5. have fun!

[Chrysalis] They are all the Caern tonight. Tongue Twist and Night's Reprieve and Dreams in Summer Snow. In the Caern, at the edge of the lake, on a night that has been marked and moved and ridden by storms. The concrete is wet and the lake's surface is as volatile as it ever gets. There is lightning on the horizon, breaking through the line of the clouds. Cloud to ground, the sort that splits the sky, this stutter-step of a flash that leaves something - smoking - on the wet ground.

After the storm, the evening air is warm and drenched. Fall is coming, but it feels like summer, simmering, the cool promise of the evening belayed by the humidity that lingers in the air. The moon beyond the clouds is full, they can feel it - but they see it only in flashes as the weather changes.

- and then it comes, a Galliard's call - gift-born and intent, both the call of the wyld and the anthem of war.

The Guardians cannot leave the Caern, but they pass on the news to those in the physical world rather than the spirit-world. she who offers sorrow summons whatever Garou will come to her call to fight.

They'll find her near the edge of the Caern, where the bawn borders her territory to the north, lupus, waiting impatiently, pacing back and forth. She will not wait long.

[Chrysalis] (LAST RULE: narrative posts within reasonable time, declares/rolls in 3 minutes pleaaaaaase!)

[Tongue Twister] In the Caern, the call comes, and Rory's head snaps up, curls spilling across ehr face, over her shoulders as she listens. It is a call to war, a call to fight. It is her moon, her birthright, her duty to answer, and answer immediately.

She grabs her pack, shoves her things inside, and slings it over her shoulders - all on the move. Also, on the move, she shifts to her faster, lupine form, moving quickly and sure footed to join she who offers sorrow at the edge of the bawn.

This is what she was build for, made for. This is what she does, who she is.
This is War, and Tongue Twister is ready.

[Imogen] Roman had returned with his news - a chair with restrains, a reclined pose in the wheel house. People carrying a body. Soon after, things occur quickly - cover found, conversation switched to low tones, barely louder than the sound of lips parting, and air passing through them.

Imogen is not pack - she has no totemic connection; they must speak this way.

Kora - we shall call her Sorrow, now, for these are things of war and blood and no room for even human names in it decrees the number too great to be attacked by two Garou and one kinfolk. Imogen's mouth is a thin line as she nods. Her gun is out, now, resting on her thigh, the safety removed, her expression carved in marble.

As Sorrow prepares to leave for the Caern, Imogen speaks, her finger on the trigger guard. There are tunnels beneath here, she thinks. A train system abandoned decades ago. There really isn't time to ask the kinwoman why she might know these things, and at the moment, likely, it doesn't make much difference.

Fate is sent to scout it out, as Sorrow leaves for the Caern and Imogen - having found a decent vantage point through the shattered window of an abandoned squat brick - building is too grand, but box will do nicely - that still has rusted tracks in front of them - merely a dozen feet or so of them before leading off to nowhere in grass and overgrown weeds - keeps a look out. She won't yell if she's in trouble; the report of her weapon will be warning enough.

Fate:
Imogen's directions lead him to an abandoned building down rickety, rotted stairs to the basement. There, beneath a scatter of debris, the shattered edges of drywood, he finds the heavy metal door, and the remains of a broken, rusted lock. He opens it by a ring handle to get inside. The air is cool and stagnant, the walls rough and uneven.

There is very little light here. Some light comes from behind him, but more comes ahead - dank, musty and filtered through fluttering dirt and motes. He can feel debris at his feet as he moves, a large oil can mysteriously in the middle of the tracks, the contents smelling burnt and charcoal-filled, with the faintest trace of meat left behind.

As he gets closer to the light the tunnel begins to slope upward. He can hear the mutter of voices, something indecipherable. The sharp smell of blood, and the smells he learnt to recognize from the roundhouse he'd peered into from above. Old metal. Old oil. The clank of tools. He's found what he needs.

By the time he returns, Imogen is much as he left her, though she turns as he opens the door, her finger on the trigger.

It relaxes a moment later - at least if he is in his human form, and if not, will relax when he reveals himself. She merely arches an eyebrow then turns her attention back toward the building, watching from an oblique angle.

[Dreams In Summer Snow] He's at the caern tonight. He comes out here to stand guard like the rest of them: he's pledged himself to Maelstrom and he lives at the Brotherhood, and even though he's not a warrior or a soldier, he's a part of this war. He remembers a creature coming up out of the water to destroy, to rend. So he's here tonight, standing guard.

He goes when the call comes from a Galliard he barely knows, has never spoken to, only seen in passing. Still: he has a healer's hands, the Philodox, has the gifts of the Children of Gaia regardless of whatever his moon is. He goes toward the sound of the summons.

Dreams in Summer Snow takes a new shape as he goes, distorts his form, grows taller. His warform is still small, not filled out yet, not fully grown; he is only fifteen. He is eight feet tall when he arrives, covered in a thick glossy coat of brown shot through with gray. He is already panting, tense, not quite as battle ready as the rest of them.

There's a look, once, toward the kinswoman he does not know. Harmony hovers close to her, protectively; it hardly occurs to him that this woman doesn't need his protection.

[Night's Reprieve] Night's Reprieve stands with his arms crossed over his chest, staring out over the lake with a streak of mud on his face and dirt on his hands. His nostrils flare with the scents of the evening air and his ears twitching to the sound of far away thunder and lightning. A storm is coming. When the call hits his senses, his body tenses and his chin tilts towards the location. Something calls for aid, something in his Bawn needs help and the Keeper of the Land is quick to respond. He see's the Fianna, darting across the concrete and his eyes track her for a moment. He doesn't shift, not yet.

He makes his way into one of the hangers and gathers up his leather satchel After that its just a matter of briskly walking across the Bawn to meet the Jarl, to see what the problem is.

[Fate] He was gone for several minutes and in that time he was chattering over the Totem Link to his Alpha, filling Sorrow in on details. Smells, sounds, the path he followed and the whispers he heard. Some ritual was going down, others had before from the burnt remains in the barrel.

When he returned to Imogen he hunkered down next to her, whispering.

"It's messed up down there, I'm thinking they's gonna torture that man they hauled in, then they will have a bar b que with what's left. I found the burning can. Miss Kora should arrive shortly, she's gathering folk."

[Imogen] Imogen pauses, her head turning slightly toward him, then back again to the window.

"The can is mine," she says. "I'll be movin' it later, yeh can rest assured."

[Fate] "Huh?"

Real bright that response. He had taken his hat off to brush webs off of it when she said that.

"Ya put that can there, or ya claim the can for your own? Cause I gotta say Miss Doctor Slaughter, there's better places to be bar be quing."

[Imogen] "You've seen me burn evidence." Her voice is barely a whisper. "Gi'en how often I've been doin' it lately, I've 'ad t'get a bit -" a pause before she chooses a word. "Creative."

[Fate] "Yessum, but ya might consider better neighbors. These folks ain't gonna come borrow sugar. I reckon most likely they will come to borrow a heart and not bring it back."

Over the link he sent.

~Miss Kora, best be moving along before Miss Doctor Slaughter gets the urge to go in that there hole and commence to grilling up someone.~

[Imogen] "I'll keep that in mind," her reply is as dry as the Sahara.

[Chrysalis] They find her at the edge of the bawn, the motley trio: Ahroun and Philodox and Godi, they find Sorrow, the Skald, in her gray-furred lupus form at the edge of the bawn. Her flanks are heaving from both her run through the city's umbral reflection, underneath the great spanning works of the weaver, in the shadow of the darker coils of the wyrm, through the hard, flat lands of her territory. When they arrive, the story she tells them is brief, almost perfunctory:

Doctor Slaughter discovered a glyph near a corpse today, hidden underneat a small pile of stones. The glyph said offering and was written in blood. Fate and Sorrow[i] joined her to investigate, and found five more forming the points of the star - a five-pointed star, with an offering at each apex, all in gold. The disc of a lens from a eye. The bones from inside some human ear. The root of a tongue, so finely detailed, said the doctor, it could have been cast from a body.

Given the proclivities of the enemy, likely it was.

At the center of the five-pointed star, in the abadoned railyard is an abandoned roundhouse, and in the abandoned roundhouse, the enemy gathers. Her packmate is scouting the approaches, but they do not have much time. Whatever they mean to do, the cursed ones have hidden it well and carefully, and prepared themselves assiduously.

They gather tonight, and must be stopped.

- and Sorrow asks them, Tongue Twister and Night's Reprieve, Dreams in Summer Snow, to join her.


--

Those that door soon retrace Kora's steps, through the umbra. She runs in her lupus form, for speed and endurance. They pass through her territory and onward, while the world around them darkens, until it grows so dark that she stops, [i]looks across the gauntlet, into an abandoned warehouse, and leads whoever has followed her back across the gauntlet.

The last handful of blocks they take on foot, quiet on bleak streets through the corridors of long abandoned industry, until they come to the abandoned railyard, huge and weedy, littered with derelict engines and criss-crossing tracks, old brick and metal buildings. The closest thing to civilization are a pair of bleak high-rise housing projects on the other side of a wide concrete canal bed, the water long since drained away. No one lives here but scavengers, human and other kinds.

Silence is necessary, now. They pick their way aound the edge of the vast old trainyard - half the tracks have been pried up and sold for metal scrap - until they come to the squat brick - structure in which Imogen and Fate have taken shelter against the darkness, with a vantage point on the roundhouse, the largest structure in the foreground, with train tracks spanning out from it like the points of a multipartite star.

[Imogen] Imogen straightens slightly as the Garou darken the door. She is crouched near the window, her vantage point. A flick of her gaze about Sorrow, the Garou behind her and the slight redhaired kinwoman nods slightly, almost as if to herself.

Her safety clicks ever-so-softly as she places it back on. She sweeps a hand beneath her light jacket, fitting her gun back into its sheath.

It is a deliberate, silent statement, as she gets to her feet, keeping out of direct line of the window. Her intention to withdraw.

[Dreams In Summer Snow] He is attentive while he listens to Sorrow tell them what they found. Dr. Slaughter he doesn't know, and Fate he doesn't know, but he'll know them soon enough. Battle has a way of getting people acquainted. Lets them know more about each other than they would otherwise. Harmony would deny it; that doesn't make it not true.

He follows Kora and keeps pace easily. Quiet, waiting for orders.

This isn't a place he would have gone to on his own, normally. This isn't a place whose like he's been in before. The Philodox watches with nervous green eyes as they pad through the old trainyard. His muscles are tense.

[Tongue Twister] Sorrow gives them the rundown, and when she turns to go, Rory is at her side, running easily in this form as she does in others. Interestingly enough, the fur in this form kinks and curls just as much as the hair in her homid form does. Not necessarily important, but interersting.

She follows Chicago's Jarl as easily as she does others, and picks her way silently across the yard to join the others. This is Sorrow's fight, and with a dip of her head she accepts her leadership unquestioningly. She doesn't speak, not yet. A nod for Imogen, for Roman, both of whom she has met. Then she looks to Kora to see if she has a plan, while quietly placing herself between the Doctor and the danger before them, almost as if on accident, only not.

[Fate] When the group arrived he melted out of the dark to greet them. Whispering with a nod towards the building.

"There's a way in that Miss Doctor Slaughter Ma'am knows about. I done scouted up through there and so far, we ain't seen more go in, so unless they crossed over from the otherside to arrive, the party is about to start. They got themselves a fella all strapped in like they's gonna do surgery."

[Night's Reprieve] Night's Reprieve enters the little structure last out of all of them, places himself out of the way but nods his head to both Imogen and Roman. He knows little about the situation until Roman begins to talk and when he does the Godi listens, narrows his brows. Keeps his mouth shut until the mention of the man strapped in.

"Who is he? Does he need to be saved?"

Could be he'd be better off dead, could be he's just some poor human in the wrong place at the wrong time in which case they need to stop his death.

[Chrysalis] "Doc," Kora says, quietly by way of greeting to Imogen when they've arrived. She stays away from the half-broken windows of the old brick building, sliding into the shadows on the other side as the other Garou come in after her. Roman gets a hip bump by way of greeting, subtle and animal, direct. " - the tunnels go all the way inside, then."

She lifts a glance back up at Imogen as Night's Reprieve asks who the man is, shaking her own head quietly. "I don't know." A direct look at the kinswoman. " - though I cannot imagine a human could survive captivity by the cursed ones with anything like sanity intact. Were either of your close enough to overhear?"

[Fate] "Well sir, I ain't had a chance to ask him who he is. It's a mite bit crowded in there, what with all them Dancer fellas dancing around."

He bumped back against Kora when she bumped him, though he was answering NR.

"Ain't heard much of what they said either, except some unflattering things I ain't gonna repeat in the presence of lady folk."

[Imogen] Does he need to be saved?

"I think it's a little late for him to be saved," she says, casting a quiet glance toward Night's Reprieve as she adjusts her jacket about herself. "Even if he's still alive if you succeed." Sorrow speaks, and Imogen returns the glance, steady, unflinching.

At the Skald's question, she shakes her head, simply, the only answer she offers.

[Fate] "I did get from some of the things they were saying, that they ain't so sure their offering is gonna be enough. Though enough for who or what, can't say. I can say they's a bunch of them inside. Four or five dancers and they got a motley looking bunch of human folk like a bunch of cattle wandering around."

[Dreams In Summer Snow] Harmony's heart beats a little faster when he hears there's a man, trapped. His Crinos form doesn't lend itself to a great deal of expressiveness, but whatever Rage most Garou might feel at the prospect seems to be muted in him. He's just torn, just horrified, just pained at the thought of what they might have to do to him.

"...We should do something. If we can," he says. Because he has not yet fully accepted the idea that sometimes there is nothing that can be done.

[Night's Reprieve] "Assume he's done for , I'm sorry Dreams. They are both right, he won't have much of a mind left if they've been the hospitable hosts that they aim to be."

He raises a finger tip his lips, puts his thumb nail between his teeth briefly.

"Well, this way in you found. How big are the tunnels? Room for Crinos, room for Hispo?"

[Tongue Twister] She listens. she listens carefully, and even casts Fate an unreadable look that reads very much like the idea she might be shocked to find herself considered a lady. She shifts her feet, slightly, and then glances at Harmony. "If." If they can, they will, but she's already moved on.

Night's Reprieve asks the question she was about to ask - and a good sight more clearly, as well.

[Fate] "It's a train tunnel. Four humans across, sure, but you talking Hispo or Crinos and fighting room? No more than two side by side or ya gonna be hitting each other. It's possible to sneak in close, spread out before striking, if luck is with us."

[Night's Reprieve] "Hm."

He leans back against the wall of the structure, crosses his arms over his chest. When he speaks its calm, chirpy even.

"Tunnels lead to the same place? Is there different exits?"

[Fate] "Sure, sameway they came and went, right through that door over yonder."

He nodded towards the Wheelhouse.

[Fate] "I don't think they know about the tunnels cause Miss Doctor Slaughter here has been using them for bar b queing and ain't no one ate her yet."

[Bone-Grinder] Simon had trailed behind them. Literally just a couple minutes behind them all. He was surprisingly quiet in his approach... The Full Moon was also a Shadow Lord and so Stealth was just as important as speed strength and agility. He came upon them with a little grin."Heads up..."He says before simply jumping into their midst. He allowed everyone time to register that he was a friend, or at least not an enemy.

"I was told where to find you all and thought I would stop in to lend a hand."He reassures the others with a nod of his head. The full moon was dressed for stealth tonight, hoodie, and a bandanna around his neck, he carried a knife on his belt and a pair of tightly clutching boots. Relatively loose jeans made stealth a little easier as he shouldn't snag up on anything while being tight enough that he would trip. He came to join the operation prepared to do his part, it would appear.

[Dreams In Summer Snow] Harmony lets out a slow breath and listens to what the others are saying about the tunnels. He isn't really a spectacular fighter, the Philodox; he just wants to know the layout, wants to plan out where he'll have to be in order to heal someone if he needs to.

He looks over his shoulder once, at Simon, and the brown Crinos nods toward the Shadow Lord he's fought beside but never really spoken to.

And he steels himself, prepares to go inside.

[Imogen] Perception+alertness

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

[Fate] "Howdy Mister Simon. Listen, we got the wheelhouse there. We got us four or five Dancers. We got one man all beat up, strapped in for the ride and there's a bunch of humans that seem to be there for the party as either party favors or clean up crew. We got Dancers worried their sacrifice might not be enough, for what, beats me. And there's the tunnel with the old tracks. They branch out down there, all seem to come to the same room in the end. If we are really quiet, we might spread out and come in from different angles."

[Imogen] "The tunnels are a massive network," Imogen interrupts, "s'an old city -quirk, shall we say. Old train system. There are other entrances but other than the wheelhouse and th'buildin' I showed Roman, there are none near here." A beat.

"Tha' I know of."

A flick of her glance toward Fate, "All tha' means is we were never 'ere at the same time. Not that they don't know about the tunnels. Besides, when I was 'ere last, there was no chair in the wheelhouse. You're leapin' a bit far."

[Fate] He turned eyes as pale as faded denim on Imogen, removing his hat.

"Yessum. You're right, Ma'am."

One thing he had learned a long time ago, never argue with a woman who had a gun.

[Chrysalis] There is movement around the weelhouse. The flicker of a flashlight, keen against the darkness, the shadow of a pair of human-sized figures, emerging. Imogen will recognize the familiar flash and flare of a lighter in the darkness, the spark of a cigarette as someone lights it.

The second figure takes draft from the first character's cigarette, then peels away, dragging what appears to be a now-empty body bag through the weeds.
to Imogen

[Night's Reprieve] His head turns towards the new-comer, he frowns. The man isn't known to him, though that isn't surprising but you get to know faces being the Keeper. His wasn't one that had been around the Bawn lately. No matter, he's here to help.

"I don't like the idea of all of us clunking our way into those tunnels and then having a single exit to where we want to go. We've got enough people here for two forces, Simon, Dreams, Tongue Twister, Sorrow. Delayed front door. Fate, Doc and Myself take the tunnels. Fate can give the signal to Sorrow when we're in position."

There's a pause.

"Am I missing anything?"

[Bone-Grinder] He nods his head a little."Different angles is night provided we have the ability to keep a little on the quiet side. That said I'd imagine that most of us know how to be a little sneaky by now."He adds with a little tiny of a smile and a nod of his head."Surprise is the greatest weapon we have at our disposal."He says with a nod of his head.

"What are they sacrificing? The man?"He asks curiously."If so... Might do us a little better if we got him out of there or killed him before the ritual is complete if we can't manage to wriggle him free. Whatever plan they have in mind stopping it will likely be a good thing."He says with a little bit of a smile. The way he mentions killing a man who might be an innocent is surprisingly casual but then... Consider his tribe.

"Do we know anything about the pack specifically? Who is their alpha and who is their Beta? If we know these then they should be the first to fall... As the ones who will likely organize in a conflict cutting off the head of the pack before the fight usually helps dispatch the rest of the body."He was giving suggestions and doing his part. These kinds of things were important... Having a plan and knowing where you are going.

[Imogen] Abruptly, Imogen holds up her hand, making a brief sharp sibilance of sound. The same hand points concisely toward the window, indicating the out-of-doors, where a flashlight is weaving near the wheelhouse.

[Fate] "What I know is, they might of done started by now. They been in there quite some time now."

He shrugged apologetically.

[Fate] He naturally looked in the direction Imogen was pointing, hissing.

"Might of heard or seen us. Could be that there watch ya asked about."

[Bone-Grinder] His eyes shift in the direction of the flashlight and he finds his eyes narrowing a little."Could be some kinda night watchman or something? If so let him stumble in and distract them... We can use the cover to strike."He says with a slight smile forming on his lips. Always make use of your environment and oblivious humans were what a Shadow Lord would consider an environmental factor.

[Fate] per+pu
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Tongue Twister] [per+PU]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Dreams In Summer Snow] [Perc + PU]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Imogen] perception+science

HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 4, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Night's Reprieve] [per+pu]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Fate] "If it's anything, it's one of them or their's. No one patrols this area, it's why they picked it."

[Imogen] Imogen shakes her head slightly. "They're smoking and carryin' a body bag," she says, her eyes narrowed toward the dimness, "an empty one," she adds.

"I think it's merely coincidental."

A beat.

"But might I suggest tha' it would be rather embarrassing t'ha' a guard, or smoker, or anythin' realize tha' there are five Garou and one kinfolk hiding in a building debating a battle plan?

"If you want my advice, take the tunnels wi' the element o' surprise." A flick of her gaze toward Night's Reprieve, "I regret t'inform you, I'm not joinin in yer venture. I imagine you ha' Garou enough.

"I will leave when yeh've started th'attack. But pray, decide quickly and get on with it."

[Chrysalis] "The tunnels come up in the center of the wheelhouse, right?" Sorrow casts a look at Fate, briefly. "More than two of you should take the tunnels. Anyone, only one Garou at a time is getting through those doors, and squeezing a hispo through them after knocking them down would be an effort. A different sort of bottleneck, with the door in the middle. " To Simon, a quick shake of her head. "We don't have any intelligence. We stumbled on a ritual. We need to stop it."

--

Those who look now can see one human figure standing outside the wheelhouse, smoking cigarette. A second human figure is walking away from the doors, dragging a long black bag. The smoker has a flashlight, pointed down now at the ground. He shines it briefly to light the second figure's way. She's a teenaged girl, with greasy brown hair but a certain confident set to her shoulders. Then he shines it away. The guard is guarding the building in a desultory manner, after that, but he's there.

--

And then they feel it, underneath their feet - each and everyone of them, this brief - lurching shudder, as if the earth were briefly liquified, somewhere deep underground. It isn't enough to rattle glass in its pane, not yet. But they felt it, the wrongness of it, each and every one of them.

[Dreams In Summer Snow] Harmony begins to shift down to Hispo at the suggestion, glances toward the others. And waits for someone to give the word to go, for one of the Ahroun to lead the way into the corridors. He'll be quick to follow.

[Fate] That's all it took. He looked at his Alpha and nodded to the rest.

"Come on fella's, feel that? It's the welcome wagon."

And he slipped off towards the tunnels.

[Tongue Twister] She shakes her head. "Enough talk."

She steps up, and points to Simon and Sorrow. "Guard." To the others. "Tunnels."

And she turns to follow Fate toward the tunnels. Time to get this show on the road.

[Night's Reprieve] His hand dips into his leather pouch at his side while he peeks out at the flash light. Talens are removed. Discs with seams running through the middle, he cracks one in half and rubs the goopy grey paste on the back of his neck where the spiraling spear tattoo is. The second he smears on his cheeks below his eyes.

So much for plans, here we go. He follows after the rest of them into the tunnels.

[rolling for damage Talen]
[-1G Soak +3]
[-1WP Resist Pain]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 5)


--

Imogen remains back in the narrow building, her eyes on the wheelhouse, her hand on her gun. When she hears the sounds of battle - she slips away.

Cigney's Initiation.

[Cigney] The drizzle from earlier that morning had cleared up nicely, leaving a sunny finish to an autumn Saturday. She'd finished her work by noon, as most of her clients were prone to watching college football now that the season had started.

As for Cigney, she'd decided to come on down to the river and do a little bit of clean up. She's got a pair of extra gloves and some trash bags she'd kept in the trunk of her car from the major clean-up Trent had organized last week. Having promised herself she'd stop by every now and again to help maintain that cleanliness.

Every once in a while she'll pause and look at at the river from the bank, and then continue picking up the litter she could see. First along the river, and then double back along the brush line.

[Kora] The riverfront here is debris filled, despite the dent Cigney and the rest of the kin and Garou made the week before last. There's a narrow strip of green, though the grass is mostly dead now after two solid weeks without rain, and long, hard slope down to the water's edge. The neighborhood is a mixture of abandoned industrial buildings, old warehouses that once serviced the city's once-thriving docks, and modest housing for the poor. The few businesses revolve around money and alcohol - check cashing places, payday loan stores, pawn shops line the dull streets closer to the housing developments.

The city has made its attempts to beautify the riverfront, though. There's a jogging path cut into the slope half-way down, and a walk paved with old brick pavers at the top, with 15 year old historical markers, discussing the river, the city, its milestones. As Cigney works her way through the debris close to one of the sets of access stairs tucked into the slope of the hill, she sees a human shadow emerge from the shade of one of the trees along the waterfront.

She's circled that tree twice today, maybe skirting just a bit out of range. A pair of homeless men had been sitting beneath the branches, visible really only from below, and then only when one had reason to look up. She marked them more by the pungent scent of their clothes at first, and then - avoided them, wisely, the rest of the way. The pair appeared to be well on their way toward passing out, sharing a bottle out between them.

The figure is walking with that - swaying gait of a drunk, one hand out. He has a big trenchcoat open, the suggestion of filthy clothing underneath, but mostly he's enshadowed. And something: some change in sound. He's breathing - huffing, like one of her clients when he's reached the limit on the treadmill - like someone in pain.

[Slaughter] "Roman," she calls after him, raising her voice enough to be heard - loud enough for Cigney to hear her.

"Gi' it back, will yeh?"

She holds out her hand, as she steps forward, closing the distance between them both, an eyebrow arching - one of her best 'I am not amused' expressions.

It is a second or two later that she sees Cigney not too far away, the figure approaching her. She lifts her hand to indicate them, her gaze flicking briefly toward the water, then back again.

[Cigney] Busy working, Cigney still seems attentive to her whereabouts. Kind of like a deer in that respect, her head lifting every now and again. That's when she caught the shadow, and her actions became still. How did it get so late, so fast? Deciding to give up for the day.

Then she hears Imogen's voice. She ties the garbage bag and places it off to the side, then removes the gloves and tucks them into the back pocket of her broken in blue jeans.

Her gaze watches for Imogen...still...

[Roman Turner] "Oh come on, I promised not to drive in to the river, remember?"

He was walking backwards, waiting for Imogen to catch up and retrieve her keys when she lifted her hand to indicate something behind him a bit. Turning with the smile still on his face. It wasn't till he recognized Cigney that his face flamed.

[Slaughter] As Roman turns, distracted by Cigney, and is distracted, his face flaming, the kinwoman darts forward - her body as succinct as her speech and snatches her keys from his hand.

They jangle gently as she palms them, stepping back and slipping them in her pocket.

Her gaze flicks from Child of Gaia to Fenrir kin, silent for a second before she tilts her head Cigney's way. "C'mon."

[Roman Turner] He just got pass seeing Cigney when Imogen's, "C'mon" came. Nodding quickly he picked up the pace to keep up with Imogen.

"Why's she out here this late playing with trash?"

Lifting his voice he called out a different version of that question.

"Hey, don'tcha know it ain't safe to be out around the river after dark?"

His hand lifted and he pointed at what in his mind had to be a flasher heading towards Cigney.

"Best step away partner! Put that little pea shooter back in the holster!"

[Cigney] At Imogen's beckon and seeing Roman, Cigney smiles and nods but then remembers the shadow and turns away from them momentarily with a curious gaze.

[Kora] The man's shadow looms - larger than he does, really, as if he had been somehow doubled. It is a trick of the failing light, this. The way his ratty old trench coat billows open, the way his extra layers of clothing fill it up, bulk him through the shoulders and the torso.

That scent expands out from him, too. The odor of a body gone too long without washing, with an admixture of urine, feces, and cheap alcohol as top notes. His clothing is stiff with filth. There are leaves trailing from the bottom hem of the coat. There are leaves stuck in his matted hair.

"Hey! - " he says, as he stumbles over the rise. The top of the tree is visible, and the canopy is shaking as if the wind were blowing through it. There is no wind, though - or rather, if there is a wind, it skims higher across the curve of the earth, touching the tree limbs without disturbing a hair on Cigney's head. Imogen and Roman have spotted both Cigney and the homeless man staggering toward her, " - hey! Lady! Hey lady! Hey!"

He shouts, over and over as he stumbles down a sharp dip in the slope. "You gotta phone! You gotta phone? My buddy - there's these - he needs - "

There's urgency in the man's raw voice, and fear. His tones are thready, not booming as she would expect from someone his size. And as he staggers toward her, the light changes. There's blood spattered over his grizzled features in a stippled array.

There's blood on his hand, a jagged sort of wound that reminds her of teeth, tearing into meat.

[Cigney] The silvery grey eyes widen at the sight of it. Both of her hands come up to her mouth, pressing there tightly to subdue any scream that might have escaped. The sight, the smell, the sound of her heartbeat resounding in her ears...the bells and whistles go off, and she acts as she's been taught.

The tree enters into her thoughts only for a moment. She then puts her finger to her lips and tries to hush the man, crouching down low and motioning for him to do the same.

[Slaughter] The man staggers toward Cigney, and Imogen raises her voice again as she picks up the pace, "OI." This as Cigney presses her hands to her mouth. "Back off." She hears some of it .

The distance is quickly covered, the slight redhaired woman's nose pinching in well-bred disgust at the smell of the homelessness and the addictions that go with it. She sinks to a crunch if the man does, reaching out to take his hand firmly by the wrist, turning it so she can see it, even as she presses down on the arteries which feed the hand, slowing blood from the wound.

She can feel the layer of filth on his skin, the smell of his clothes.

"Where's your friend?" she'd only heard the end of it but she catches on quickly enough, her gaze touching the wound and then moving significantly to Roman, meeting his gaze.

[Slaughter] (err - ix-nay on the "she hears some of it"-ay.)

[Roman Turner] His muscles tensed as the scent of blood and filth touched him. All it took was that and the look from Imogen before he was passing them up to head towards the direction the man had come from with a muttered.

"I'll take a look."

[Cigney] As Imogen looks to the injured man, and Roman passes them to find out what's going on, Cigney stays with Imogen and tries to understand what's going on. This sort of thing is coming new to her. She hadn't had any problems in Chicago thus far.

"What in the hell did this?"

She whispers to Imogen, then looks over her shoulder to where Roman has gone.

"Should I follow him?"

[Slaughter] "Stay," Imogen's response is immediate and brooks no argument. Still her gaze follows Roman as he moves, and her head remains tilted like an animal listening for nearby sounds.

"You have a deep wound," she says clearly to the homeless man, "Yeh need a hospital. Must ha' been quite a dog which did this, wasn't it?"

[Kora] "He's - He's - He's - " the homeless man collapses to his knees a handful of feet from Cigney, his arms dropping open, second hand falling away from the first. Blood flows freely in that moment until Imogen arrives, reaches out, finds the artery and stops the bleeding. The man is in his fifties, with four-days growth of grizzled beard over his cheek and spots of blood dappled over his features like pieces of a pointillistic painting. "You got a phone, lady? He's - under the - "

The only clean piece of clothing on the man is a perfectly fine scarf, wrapped 'round his neck. The fabric is soft, made more for fashion than for function, and mostly hidden underneath his foul trench, revealed only when it drops open as he falls.

"Fucking - " he's still breathing heavily, woozy from blood loss and shock, " - doberman. Rottie. Wolf - big fucking - "

Roman cuts by the two kinswomen, past the wounded man and crests the small hill. The branches of the tree spead out in a low circle, close to the ground. There's a body, splayed out underneath the branches, and a pair of dark shapes, canine or lupine, nosing their way across the body, tearing away hunks of flesh. Along the jogging trail, a pair of men stand, watching. One of them has a small black box in hand. When Roman comes into view, one of them looks up and curses to the other, then turns something on the dial of what looks like the controller for a radio-controlled car, complete with a small antenna jutting out from the little black box.

One of the animals whines and snaps. Then, the two of them turn and streak toward Roman.

[Cigney] Her gaze follows Roman, but does as the Dr. orders. Looking down at the man and his wound, Cigney grabs the bottom of her thread bare t-shirt and lifts it to her mouth. With the material firmly between her teeth, she pulls and rips the t-shirt up the length of her torso. Her hands then do the rest to tear a band clear off her mid-drift, successfully making a binding for Imogen to use. Be it bandage or tourniquet.

[Roman Turner] He has a fraction of a second to register what was going on before the dogs were racing towards him. There on the crest of the hill his dark form shifted and where had stood a dude in a Stetson and jeans, was now a big ole prehistoric wolf shape as he snap shifted to Hispo. Fur bristled along the ridge of his spine and his muscles bunched as he gathered himself to leap in to the fray.

[Slaughter] "I haven't got a phone," Imogen lies quietly, casting Cigney a sharp, quelling glance as she reaches out to take the fabric, "but my friend will see to your friend."

She hears the sound of growling, the snarls of dogs, and then, abruptly, the low snarling grow of a Garou in hispo, his form between the monster and wolf.

Imogen looks up at the beast, then down again at the homeless man, her hand releasing his wrist to come and close firmly on his shoulder while the other reaches beneath her jacket to the small her back.

She'd mentioned something once. How she'd take no chances with this.

Her features are a mask, her jaw set. She removes the safety of her weapon before she pulls it out. It's a rough night to be human.

She never speaks or warns Cigney, nor her victim as she points it at the homeless man, just a half foot away from her and fires entirely without hesitation or warning.

[Slaughter] ("entirely without hesitation or expression")

[Cigney] The sound the dogs, and the sight of Roman's change catch and hold her attention, until that is...

The gunshot causes a series of actions to occur. First she jumps back a good foot on both feet, landing on her butt in the pathway dirt. The ringing in her rings disorients her for a few seconds...before registering just what Imogen had done.

It knocks the air out of her. Until she blinks her eyes, and comes back to the real world.

"Oh my god...you...oh god..okay...relax....we're cool".

[Cigney] ((the ringing in her EARS - edit))

[Slaughter] The man only has enough time to make an abortive sound, like a gag in his throat before the report of the gun swallows all sound. After that, his brain is less than oatmeal, and he makes no more sound.

This close, the gun drives gunpowder beneath his skin. This close, the bullet tears skin, shatters bone, distorting the skull, bevelling in at the front and bevelling out the back.

A fine spray of blood flecks the kinwoman's pale face, her mouth sealed shut, her nostrils tight in distaste.

The body goes slack in her hand, slumping forward. She lets go his shoulder and pushes the body backward slightly, letting it fall. The once-man-now-corpse falls with as much control as a sack of potatoes. Flaccid with death, the body is merely skin over bones, as if the muscles did not exist at all.

Imogen lowers the weapon, puts her finger on the trigger guard, casting a glance to Cigney, on her bottom on the pathway dirt.

"Yes," she says, her own voice sounding muted to her ears, overlaid by the ringing. "We are. Best get to your feet."

And with that, she turns her gaze toward Roman and the dogs, then the pair of men, her eyes narrowing. She judges distance, location before she acts.

[Kora] The pair of dogs don't stop for Roman. Blood sprays from their maws as they charge, and the men standing on the jogging path watch with a - still certain level of calm, until the gunshots ring out. The man with the black box punches hard at the controls, while the other reaches for a weapon. Some ozone scent sparks in the air around the dogs, which reminds Roman of the scent of an electrified fence out on the prairie as current arcs through the collars, but the animals have blood in their mouths, and a scent to follow.

One surges forward, leaping in a snarling arc at Roman. The other runs wide, sweeping past him, cresting the hill, coming into view of the two kinswoman down the slope.

Down below - the pair of human figures look at each other. One shoves the radio antenna back down into the black box from which it protrudes, then both start to run.

[Slaughter] +9
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Roman Turner] Inti.
+9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Cigney] 6
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[Kora] Inits: ZombieSpot 1 +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Kora] Inits: Hungry Rover: +6
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Kora] Roman: 19
Spot: 11
Imogen: 10
Cigney: 9
Rover: 7

[Kora] Rover: 1: RUN to homeless dude. Rage 1: OM NOM NOM (eat homeless dude)

[Slaughter] As the animal races toward them, Imogen speaks without looking at Cigney, already lifting her weapon.

"Get behind me."

[Cigney] At Imogen's words, Cigney pulls herself up and looks to the man...then to the crest of the hill. She braces herself as Rover comes running over...to eat the dead guy. She watches, not sure what to do.

[Slaughter] (Split-Actions!
1. SHOOT PUPPY - 3rb
2. SHOOT PUPPY - 1)

[Kora] Spot: 1. BITE Roman. Rage 1: BITE Roman.

[Roman Turner] 1WP for Resist Pain
1a Bite dog
1b Bite dog
1r Bite dog

[Roman Turner] 1a bite dog
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Roman Turner] 1b bite
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 4, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Cigney] [i][/i]

[Kora] Spot: BITE Roman!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 (Failure at target 5)

[Slaughter] Three round burst!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Slaughter] KABLAM!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Kora] Rover: soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 2 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Slaughter] second shot!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP] Re-rolls: 2

[Slaughter] Damage! HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Roman Turner] 1r bite dog!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Kora] Spot: Bite Roman!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Kora] There is a snarling confrontation between the hispo-formed Garou and the dog - the dog that cannot be a real dog, that cannot be merely a dog. No dog would go charging at a Garou. No dog would throw itself into the confrontation, snarling and snapping.

The second beast, the smaller of the two - some mixed breed, maybe fifty pounds if that, with short white fur and an odd sort of - tinge to its coat, vaguely green. The animals eyes are all black, and its maw is bloody. It streaks down the slope of the hill, a spray of blood and bone as Imogen wings it with her first burt of gunfire. Its progress is arrested, it overshoots the homeless man by a good foot, kicking up mud as it turns and churns back to the corpse, snuffling through the body, rooting around until it snags the the edge of that new-looking scarf wrapped around the man's neck.

The animal seizes and tears at the scarf, a sort of savage glee evident as it pulls it out, shaking its head as if it had found its prey, then swings its head toward the pair of kinswoman, a low growl resonant through its frame.

[Kora] [I am not going to reroll init!]

Roman: 19
Spot: 11
Imogen: 10
Cigney: 9
Rover: 7

[Kora] Rover: 1. Noxious breath! Rage 1: Bite Imogen!

[Cigney] She stares down the dog and lines up for a field goal kick.
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP]

[Cigney] ((Sorry!))

[Slaughter] (split action 4 ways
Fire
fire
fire
fire+WP)

[Kora] Spot. 1. Bite Roman! Rage 1: BITE ROMAN.

[Roman Turner] 1a bite dog
1b Bite dog
1r Bite dog

[Roman Turner]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Roman Turner] Damn
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Kora] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Roman Turner] 1b Bite
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Kora] x.x

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

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

[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Slaughter] Shoot 2
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[Slaughter] COME ON KAHSEENO!

DAMAGE!!!!!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 3, 3 (Failure at target 6)

[Slaughter] RAR!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 5 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[Slaughter] GRRRR!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Kora] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Slaughter] RARRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 8 (Success x 1 at target 4)

[Slaughter] (ack, meant to spend WP there)

[Slaughter] DIE MUTHAFUCKA!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Kora] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Cigney] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 10

[Cigney] Strength?
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 1, 9

[Kora] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Cigney] ((*sigh*))

[Kora] Noxious breath:
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 3, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Cigney]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Slaughter] stamina! FINGERS CROSSED!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Kora] Spot: BITE Imogen!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 7 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Kora] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Slaughter] SOAK!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Kora] Roman: 19
Spot: x.x
Imogen: 10
Cigney: 9
Rover: 7

[Kora] Rover: 1. BITE Imogen.

[Slaughter] Split actions x3 - shoot, shoot, shoot.

[Kora] (Cigney: Kick! per my discussion with Moon. I think she's having a slow-posting-thing)

[Roman Turner] 1a bite rover
1b bite rover
1r kill rover

[Roman Turner] bite rover
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Kora] x.x

[Kora] Roman - in a forward position at the crest of the small slope closest to the tree - tears into the first of the dogs, finally ending its life with a snarl. There is a faint tang in his mouth, the ozone sensation of electricity from the radio collar around the beast's neck.

Downslope, the second animal yanks free the pale blue scarf from the homeless man's corpse, snuffling in triumph, then turns on the pair of kinswoman. Imogen stands straight, calmly letting off four separate shots right into the animal's chest and back, while Cigney fearlessly aims a kick at its ribs, feeling one of the crack.

The animal is tougher than anyone could expect, though, and does not fall. Instead, it breathes out a cloud of noxious gas, enough to turn Cigney's stomach and burn Imogen's sclera and the soft tissues of her nose and mouth as she inhales.

Roman is now streaking down the hill toward the pair, kicking up grass and debris as he runs. The dog turns on Imogen, though, baring its teeth in a snarl as bites her right arm, tearing away a chunk of flesh.

Roman is there before either Cigney or Imogen can breath or think, though, and finally the Garou tears the grievously wounded dog to pieces.

It does not rise. That pale blue scarf flutters in the breeze, and a radio collar is around its neck.

The two men visible down on the jogging path are long gone by now, disappeared down the riverfront.

[Slaughter] The animal falls, and Imogen turns away from Garou, kin and corpses to spit bloody onto the grass, once, twice, and then once more. She inhales sharply through her nose as she turns back one hand briefly covering her bloodied arm.

Her eyes shut - two seconds, three, and then she draws in another breath, sinking to a crouch.

It is not an uncontrolled movement, the beginnings of a collapse, but something deliberate and strong. She uses her left hand to turn the dog corpses head, fingering the collar before she begins to slide her fingers, quickly becoming slick with the animal's blood around the collar to find its clasp.

[Roman Turner] He snapped back to homid. Gone was the shirt he'd worn, but sure enough there was the Stetson, jeans and boots. Ugly burn scarring mottled his torso. He was breathing like a freight train as he reached for Imogen even as she went down to feel for the collar. In his mind, Imogen was going down for the count. So he reached out and tried to send what little bit of a gift he had through Imogen.

Mother's Touch

[Cigney] As the violence ends, Cigney looks at the carnage with a blank gaze. A little shell shocked. She's a half breed after all, and her upbringing was a good part human. As Imogen has problems, Cigney doesn't respond except to ask.

So what happens now?

The voice is emotionless. Any sunshine this girl possessed is gone.

[Slaughter] Imogen moves sharply away from Roman's reaching touch - intuiting his purpose.

"Save it," she says. "I'm not badly injured."

[Slaughter] The edges of her voice are hoarse, but the words are clear when she speaks. The blood does not wash from her arm so much as seep, darkening the already dark fabric of her blazer. She answers Cigney as she begins to undo the collar.

"We need t'clean th'area o' the bodies and dispose o' them."

A glance at the girl, a brief pause. "It's your choice if you participate or not."

[Roman Turner] Imogen said she was ok as he reached for her in his concern and sent what little bit of a gift he had her way.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]

[Cigney] She looks at Imogen with a dead panned gaze, like she'd been insulted.

BBQ then? We don't have a whole lot of time. Make it look like an accident.

Her nature has changed. She's kinda there, but not really there at all...walking over to homeless man to pick up the bandage she'd ripped from her t-shirt. Figuring to put it to use on Imogen instead.

[Roman Turner] His half wild gaze swept Cigney, looking for signs of injury as he spoke.

"They done got away? That ain't gonna work."

Then Cigney mentions BBQ and for a moment that wildness in his eyes actually looked like he might consider it.

"Ain't allowed to eat humans. That's the Law. Gonna have to get the trash bags and stuff 'em in."

He was still bristled as he looked the way the men had run. It rankled him to no end.

"I think they were experimenting with them collars. Like that Frankenstein fella."

[Slaughter] She turns sharply on Roman as he touches her anyway, her body arching away from his fingers. It is too late, however, and a blue spark paces between him and her as she leans away. Her teeth grit as tendrils of gnosis work its way through her body, forcing wounds to heal faster than she is accustomed.

A second passes.

"The next time I say don't touch me," she says, coldly. "I would appreciate it if you would not do so anyway."

A glance at Cigney, "Two dogs were mauled by a Garou in a form which does not exist to human minds, a homeless man killed by wild dogs, another bitten, shot, then gnawed at. We can't make this look like an accident."

Her irritation is diffused, unfocused.

She holds the collar in one hand, gesturing briefly toward the other bodies a little ways away, "Can yeh gather these?" to Roman, she speaks, "get the collar off th'other as well. I'll get my car."

[Cigney] "I mean torching the bodies to ash ..."

Cigney looks up over at the tree.

"We could drag these three up and light the tree..."

[Roman Turner] He didn't argue with Imogen because it wouldn't do any good on either end. Both were stubborn as the day was long and both would continue their hard headed ways. No need to waste breath. Instead he touched the brim if that hat with a faint cant of his head.

"I'm on it."

And he was headed back up the hill. Scarring ran up over his shoulder and around from his ribs like fingers across his back in that ugly mottling of skin that looked too thin, too stretched out after a burn. A faint muttering faded with distance as he climbed the hill.

"Dang stubborn hard headed pretty as the rising sun....death of me...I swear if I...."

[Slaughter] "We'll do it elsewhere," she says to Cigney, reaching into her blazer pocket for her car keys, "where we can control th'burn and stoke it and not ha' t'leave the bodies in the open afterwards."

A tilt of her head, deliberate, "C'mon, yeh can help me bring th'body bags."

She's done this before. There is a sense of habit in this.

[Cigney] She doesn't argue, how could she? For all the good she'd done, they might as well have had Lucy Cavanagh with them. Her shame runs deep, so deep she goes silent. Doing whatever it is Imogen orders her to do.

Cigney puts the t-shirt strip in her pocket and follows.

[Slaughter] Imogen glances at Cigney as they walk, her eyes penetrating, aware. Still, she does nothing to break the younger kinfolk's shamed silence. She merely leads the way to her car - an old model Volvo with rust and peeling paint and ... well, body bags in the back.

They move the car closer then disembark to dispose of the bodies, as the night grows later. Roman dismembers the bodies and they are piled into the deep trunk, already lined with plastic. All are bloody by the end, all are sweaty.

Later, they stand near the water beneath an overpass, silent now due to the hour. A fire has been burning now for some time, the smell ironically pleasant, particularly for those who are hungry. Imogen has kept her attention on the fire and does not say much.

When the bodies are consumed to ash and bone, they are dumped back into the body bags. What Imogen does with them after that - neither knows beyond the fact they are returned to her trunk to make much smaller piles than they had before.

She'll drive them home, if they need it, remote and unapproachable in her silence.