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
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.
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