The day had started off so well:
He had come upon the area in Chinatown Nate had previously mentioned for the meeting, with something like 'caution' lingering in his steps and thoughts. Washington was still new territory and it paid to get to know the landscapes you'll be defending/warring within. It also paid to scope and inspect the landscape you were meeting in, for any signs of potential problem.
So when the lurid display of Chinatown culture (red rice paper in the most elegant designs, storefronts and shops buried in external vendor style shelves and goods and trinkets, the smells and exotic tangs of it's cuisine and Mandarin tongue) presents itself to Merric, he comes with an honest heart and eyes. That is, mistrusting and scrutinizing.
The square with it's central fountain, a small cobbled landmark for lunch go'ers at mid-day, surrounded on all sides by the open avenues and alleys of restaurants without public seating, is a charming breath of air. It has him smiling and nodding to the elderly ladies attempting to sell him good luck charms from their tiny box vending shops.
It has him relaxing more than he should.
The Crossing of the gauntlet is made in an isolated alcove, away from prying eyes. The mirror he uses is cracked. Perhaps a warning. Perhaps an omen.
* * * *
They would find him imperiled. Not a word used often and certainly for good reason, but accurate in this moment nonetheless.
Five of them, slender, beautifully built from coloured, crystaline glass, so thick, their innards are a murky collection of moving parts and mechanics. They flow and shift and step with effortless ease, in and out of one another's space, the mind of one in many.
Spiders. As big as loveseats. Green, red, purple, blue and black. Hauntingly lovely in their artifice, elegantly stable in their movements. They shift into place around the calcified landscape of the fountain's penumbral reflection, forming a broad circle around Merric.
He is down on one knee, the Black Elegant's pincers dug into one shoulder and held in place by a Crinos hand that seems to keep it from pushing any deeper. The limbs of the spider have perched and bitten into the webwork cobbles beneath, bearing down their weight while the Philodox's other limbs push back from the ground.
There is no grimace on his features (Resist Pain) and his snarls send the others skittering backward (Flashes of True Fear) but they seem to click closer, while the Black elegant continues to push downward, forcing him lower.
A grim rumble escapes his lips, while his jaws snap at the mandibles, sunk into a patch of flesh just past the shoulder and just out of reach of those impressive canines.
(One post each, then Initiatives!)
NateA slinking, stalking, slowly spreading behemoth oil slick of black fur and gunmetal claws leaps and lopes amidst the Penumbral nighttime streets of Chinatown, cognizant of both its surroundings and not making its presence known to its denizens. At times he found such travel to be preferable to the cabs, cars and public buses that left him at the behest of his own short temper and others steamed to limp cabbage by the excesses of his rage. He can hear the snarling.
Nate can hear the clicking of Weaver-limbs across cobble stones laced and calcified by their webbing in this place. And he does not step forward.
The Ahroun does not rush headlong into battle when he comes upon a vantage point that brings the impromptu battlefield (urban warfare, guerrilla tactics) into view. Instead he clings to those shadows. Flanks and finds the correct angle of attack in an attempt to split the circle and break the lines converging on his yet-to-be-packmate, in that unfamiliar Crinos form simply a strange Garou with his scent (other than blood) not yet caught on the Penumbral winds.\
[ In Hispo. 1 Gnosis to activate Seizing the Edge. Rolling Dexterity + Stealth to flank from the shadows. Blowing a WP. ]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
IngridIngrid doesn't know about any meeting. Well, that's not entirely true. She knows that they're happening all over the territory of the Sept of Awakening. At least two Garou at the so-called Shadow Lord moot mentioned packs for the newcomers to the city, should they be interested. Ingrid hadn't given any inclination that she would be. She didn't stop and chat with people once the barrier of spirits was lifted. When she was free to go, she was gone.
To be more specific, she doesn't know about this meeting, the one that Merric was on his way to when he was...shall we say, waylaid. She is wandering the Umbralscape, her purpose in Chinatown's reflection her own, when she becomes aware of the commotion. Curious, she draws closer on silent paws, with no scent of her own to carry on the Umbral winds. She does not rush to the aid of the unknown Garou, but waits, watches, surveys. From a distance, she shifts fluidly into her war form. Her mighty handpaw taps her sternum, and from the bone withdraws her blade. Cloaking herself in Chameleon's blessed gift, she comes at one of the creatures from behind.
[blur! (i hope)]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 4 [WP]
Ingrid[and dex+stealth]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 4 ) Re-rolls: 2
Merric(Perception from the Spiders. Diff. 10 for Niko. Diff. 7 for Nate, due to distraction.)
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
Merric(Alright. Ingrid and Nate both get a free single action attack of your choice, no splits. then we goto initiatives. Pick a colour if you're attacking a spider. Black is in the centre on Merric, the rest are forming a four point circle around them.)
Ingrid[black spider, I choose you!]
Ingrid[whoop, does she get back-attack bonus, too?]
Merric(Roll your Attacks. Flanking counts so -1 diff. Can't do back since there are other spiders with eyes covering the Rear of each other, but the stealth allows for a quick hit to the side while they shift and move around Merric.)
Nate[ Attacking a green spider. People tell me geniuses pick green. Rolling for a bite. Dex + Brawl, difficutly 5 - 1 = 4. ]
Dice: 8 d10 TN4 (1, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 6 )
Nate[ Damage ]
Dice: 13 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Merric(No soak, without Armour Charm)
Ingrid[stabbity! dex+melee, diff -2 (behind)]
Dice: 8 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 9, 9) ( success x 1 )
Ingrid[dam: str+4+2+0][L]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )
Merric(Annddd inits please! Merric 8+..)
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
Ingrid[+9]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (9) ( success x 1 )
MerricSpiders (Hive Minded) 8+...
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (9) ( success x 1 )
Nate[ Nate + 20 ]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (7) ( success x 1 )
Merric(Nate
Ingrid.
Spiders
Merric.
Posting Order. Declare in Reverse.)
Merric
There is a flash from multiple points in his peripheral and a brief easing of the tension on his back. Enough that the Half-moon's attention ratchets around, bracing to push upward and throw the Spider on it's back.
(Initial: Grappled Sweep.
Rage 1: Claw the exposed belly of Black)
MerricSpiders
There is a high-pitched shriek of radio signal that erupts from the five, as Green's hide is split, the thick glass shattering along it's abdomen, under Nate's heavy teeth. It scuttles to one side, joined by most of the others.
(Initial Actions; Retreating Defense.)
While Black maintains hold of Merric, one leg neatly clipped clean, the jagged glass stump punching down at the Half-moon in an effort to get him to release the mandibles.
(Initial Action: Stab Merric.)
Ingrid[1: Headshot on Black, targeted diff (not sure if still flanking, don't matter tho) +WP
R: Regular cut on Black]
They move into a more defensive position, scuttling from their formation around a wounded Garou that Nate now seems to recognize the breeding of as he gets closer, though turned savage and battle-boiled in this scenario. He lets out a snarl, rearing back above one of the creatures, before turning aided by Gaia's indignation and fury to snap again and again into their assembled legion.
[ Dropping three Rage like a boss. A: True Fear Red. R1: Aimed bite Green. Head. R2: Aimed bite Purple. Head. R3: Bite Purple. ]
Merric(Flank still counts, Niko due to the Black Spider still grappled by Merric. Nate's initial actions. Roll em out!)
Nate[ True Fear on Red. Strength + Intimidation. ]
Dice: 8 d10 TN8 (3, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
Merric(Red's leakin' lubricants in terror. Ingrid's Initial actions!)
Ingrid[1: Headshot! diff +2 (targeted) +WP]
Dice: 8 d10 TN5 (3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 10 ) Re-rolls: 3 [WP]
Ingrid[dam?: str+4+2+9???]
Dice: 17 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 9 )
Merric(I'm...rolling a Short-circuit splodee check for that damage)
Dice: 8 d10 TN8 (6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 1 )
Merric(black goes splodee)
Merric(Rest of the Spiders, maintain Retreating Defense Pack tactic.)
Nate[ WP ]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 3, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 1 )
Nate[ Had to do a quick check for Nate's proclivities. Luckily he controls himself. ]
Merric(Use remains of Black Spider. Huck at Purple. Str 8 + Ath 2. Diff +1 For Action change)
Dice: 10 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Merric(Dam: Str. 8 + 3)
Dice: 11 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 7 )
Merric(Another splodee check)
Dice: 8 d10 TN8 (2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Merric(Purple is cracking all over but still functioning. Rage Actions!)
Nate[ Aimed Bite Green. Head. +3 difficulty. Re-rolling 10s for Surgical Strike specialty. ]
Dice: 9 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 1 )
Nate[ Damage ]
Dice: 12 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 9 )
Merric(Splodee check 3)
Dice: 8 d10 TN8 (1, 1, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 7) ( botch x 2 )
Merric(Green literally shatters into chunks and pieces. Damaged Purple, Terrified Red and a very confused Blue left. Ingrid's first Rage action please!)
Ingrid[slicey dicey! switching to Blue (diff +1 to change, -1 for flank for retreat?]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 4 )
Ingrid[dam: str+4+2+3][L]
Dice: 11 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )
Merric(Spiders have no Rage actions, but correction on the above. Merric's attack didn't incorporate the Dodge difficulty from Purple for Initial round. Nullifying the attack, Purple's still at full.)
(Merric's Rage: Actual throwing of Remains this time)
Dice: 10 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )
Merric(Dam: 7 + 1 on purple)
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )
Nate[ Niko, if she's using a knife, remember that your difficulty is only 4 as per the books. I wasn't sure what kind of blade she has. ]
Dice: 9 d10 TN8 (2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )
Merric(Next round of age actions please! Nate's got 2 left! Roll 'em both out!)
Ingrid[it's a sword, diff 6, +2L]
Nate[ That was my roll for bite in my last post. Purple. Aimed head shot. Here is damage. ]
Dice: 13 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
Nate[ Last Rage action. Regular bite on Purple. ]
Dice: 9 d10 TN5 (2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 6 )
Nate[ Damage. Wasn't sure if Purple was dead after my last roll. If so, move this damage to Blue. Of course that's up to your ruling Mad. ]
Dice: 13 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 9 )
Merric(Purple goes down with the second bite. Recap coming up!)
Nate[ Sorry for the sloppy rolls. I'll be cleaner next turn. ]
MerricMerric's head lifts slightly as the presence, scent and musk of Garou enter the surroundings and the Half-moon surges upward with a renewed grunt.
Nate and Ingrid, seem to weave their way through the scuttling Synchronicity of the Spiders and their intricate dance, slipping free of shadows to lance blows along their respective targets; Black's leg goes sailing through the air, tumbling away and a moment later, a sword tip enter's neatly through the head, causing spasms before the thing shuts down with a hiss of smoke and spat steam. The blurred shape of the Ragabash standing nearby is already in motion, orienting on the retreating others.
Nate's movements are a calamity spawned, jaws collecting slivers of glass as they punch through the thick yet delicate plate of the Green Spider, which collapses within a few scraping steps, pieces of machinery spilling out and spreading across the webworked ground like so much broken cellphonage in the midst of a champagne bucket of ice.
The three remaining seem to link into step, climbing across one another's backs in a strange and confusing pattern, enough that Merric's first chunk of Black Elegant sails wide and scatters on the ground behind them.
No sooner has it flown, than Rage burns the air and the three seem to lose themselves in the space between moments. Ingrid's black slips neatly through the weave of patterned defense to cull another leg from off of Blue. Merric seizes the bulky remainder of Black elegant and hurls it into the path of Purple, which cracks and splinters under the sudden weight.
While Nate's jaws are there, as Purple scrapes out from beneath the hide of it's fallen co-worker, splitting the creature down the middle, an implosion of glass, scattering mechanical guts out the other end in a spray of oils and fine gears.
Red is already on the move, turning with fluid steps to make a break for the buildings and the safety of heights, the Ahroun's image playing havoc with it's normally stoic circuitry.
Blue, missing a leg, compensates with a vicious clatter of it's remaining limbs, pinpoint tips digging into the webwork and bending low as if braced for a leap.
(New Round! spiders are preparing to retreat!)
Merric(Merric)
He grunts, climbing to his feet fully, a crinos limb reaching up to feel the calcified injury on his shoulder, while he turns his eyes toward the Blue monster with an air of almost casual dominance.
(Initial Action. Staredown blue.)
Merric(Spiders)
The Hive is breaking. Two minds where once there was five. Reconnecting in progress. Seeking high ground.
(Blue jumps for safety. Red runs)
Ingrid[ack, sorry, this stopped refreshing!]
Ingrid[A/R: Slice/Slice on Red]
NateNate is less ape-name than that of his deed in his next movement, catching on the fear of the spider jumping away in but a moment, sprinting after it to pounce on its back from behind and once again lay vicious pearly whites into Weaver-calcium-crystal hide.
[ Spend 2 Rage. A1: Jump after Blue. R1: Bite. R2: Bite. ]
Nate[ Jump. Dexterity + Athletics. Trying to land on top of the spider. ]
Dice: 7 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 3, 7, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Merric(Ingrid's initial action)
Ingrid[Slice on Red!]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 5, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
Ingrid[dam: str+4+2+1][L]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )
Ingrid[and now i gotta jet, be back in about 30!]
Merric(Red Running)
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Merric(Blue Leaps. Diff increased by 2)
Dice: 8 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 1 )
Merric(Merric Staredown. Cha 3 + Intim 4 (Withering Stare). Diff 5)
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 2, 3, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )
Merric(Red's full tilt across the space, climbing the building and out of reach. Blue leaps a few feet and falls back down, dislodging Nate beside it. Will be running from Staredown next turn rather than leaping. RAGE ACTIONS! Nate?)
Nate[ Bite Blue. ]
Dice: 9 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
Nate[ Damage. ]
Dice: 12 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 2, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
MerricThe Weaver has never had a problem with retreat. No honour or search for glory to demand a bitter finale, they are servants and employees and logic demands, running in this moment. Running and reporting.
The Red Elegant has turned and begun a pace on eight legs, that not even four can hope to match. It scales a building with liquid grace and ease, clambering over the lip, abdomen leaking a deluge of lubricants and oils as Ingrid's blade snaps in and twist's pulling a chunk of the glass free with an expert twist.
Merric's gaze orients on the Blue, as Nate's body, a black spasm of War, surges hard into the side of the Crystaline Spider, which balks and scatters, it's leap thrown back to the ground where the Ahroun is deposited on all fours, nimble and swift.
Merric does little but watch, digging claws into his shoulder to rip out the calcified flesh, even as Nate moves to snatch out the centre of the Blue Elegant, which tumbles in half, the crunch of glass heard and echoing throughout their surroundings.
The hiss of steam ejecting from spent bodies, accompanies the fallen forms, while the three Garou stand, victorious apparently.
Merric is the first to speak, offering a rumbled growl while he holds the bloody patch where the calcified fur had been.
"[b]My thanks, you two. It would seem my connection to Gaia needs to be furthered in the future to avoid disturbing the gauntlet so...blatantly.[/b]"
Nate"If only for practical reasons," is Nate's growled and yipped response to Merric's words in the Hispo's grasp of the High Tongue - more predatory, more feral, more terrifying despite the content of its snarls speech. He looks Merric over, up and down, his gaze lingering on the wound for a moment and visibly licking his lips at the uncauterized wound he created ripping up the petrified hardened flesh.
"We'd better get the fuck out of here before it comes back with the rest of the Pattern Web," tossing his head over both wide quadrupedal shoulders, behind and to the sides, his ears perking up to listen for more of those clattering legs.
But there's one thing he can't resist. Digging into those bits and pieces, slamming them into the walls that surround them, destroying the Weaver-reinforced brick, plaster and glass elementals with its own corpses in a morose display of victory. He revels in the display, in leaving a marker of his destruction and a reminder for any spirits, Gaians, or whatever else might come upon the remains.
Merric(Gonna wait for Niko to hop back on she'll be back pretty soon for Ingrid's reply)
Nate[ I'll be back at 7, feel free to start the scene and aftermath without me if I'm a little longer as Nate's reveling in destruction anyway. ]
Ingrid[back! readin']
IngridIt's plain to see how Dances With the Hurricane earned at least part of her deed name. Her Crinos form is not so huge as some, not so powerful, but she moves with the ease of a dancer, and the liquid grace of an animal. Even blurred as she is, to see her wield that sword is to witness a terrifying kind of beauty.
Nate cannot resist destruction. Ingrid could not appear to be more reserved. The fight over for now, she says nothing to the two males as she calmly and methodically wipes her forearm over her sword's aged blade, using her fur to get the worst of whatever mechanical lubricants would mar its surface.
When the Garou who was initially set upon gives his thanks for the other two's timely assistance, the Ragabash fixes him with eyes glowing golden with rage committed but unspent. She dips her heavy head, lower than she might have with someone else. These males both carry the posture and the weight of an advanced rank. Despite the Ahroun's destructive revelry.
Merric"You wa-"
He is about to interject, but Nate is already into the thick of things and the Crinos framework, bred pure, shrinks down into that of a man, wearing little more than a long jacket of thick cotton, grey and pepper black and a pair of neat slacks over bare feet. He is tall, well-built and a deep mahogany in skintone.
He watches Nate commit to the revelry with a brief sigh that is not disappointment so much as helpless acceptance. Instead, he shrugs out of the coat, which has carried a faint red splotching from the wound he's dug out and turns an eye over his shoulder to inspect the damage. Mostly meat and some frayed mostly, hardly anything to write home about.
He sets the jacket down, crouching onto his haunches, fishing through the pockets of the garment for something of use or value. A glance is given, double-taken, toward Ingrid's stoic countenance before his hands dip into the lining of the coat.
"Not often one finds a sword in Crinos grip. Such things are normally saved for Klaviskari."
The lining rips under a sudden jerk, pulling strips and pieces free, some of the cotton padding inside tugged out as well.
"You seem well versed. A fondness then or something of a history with the blade?"
IngridEyes on the man-shape currently destroying his attire, Ingrid continues to clean her sword. It looks well cared for, but old, very old. Her ears quirk at Merric, then shift back as she finally turns her focus on her work. Evidently pleased with what she sees, the sword is pressed against her torso, where it disappears.
Turning, she starts toward the pair of fosterns. Still, she has not answered the Philodox, nor given any indication she even heard him. Impudent? Maybe. Deliberate? Probably. But then the last time her fellow Shadow Lords saw her, a brash Cliath tried to follow her home. Maybe they're together in some way. Friends. If so, maybe some of that brashness has rubbed off on her.
When she's still a few feet away, well out of the immediate reach of the Ahroun, she stops, tilts her head. "That is a bit personal a question to ask before you even know my name, do you not think so?"
NateNate locks his jaws on the corpses' legs, shaking hard and tossing midsections like the hammer at a track and field competition, except for most of the time the legs detach with his first or second jerk and only send the bulk flying at Merric had earlier. He finally turns away and focuses on the other two Garou, catching his breath, gaunt ribcage of his flank ballooning huge and deflating, gracing them with a curl of a smile turning up the ends of that gashed, gaping, tooth-filled thing.
Nate recognizes the female Garou, Ingrid, from the Shadow Moot. Stalks forward to join them, though when he's still a few yards away shakes his fur loose of the gear-oils and fluids, jumping up into the air as he does so like a winding and churning sea mammal breaking the water at place. He pops into his homid form at the apex of the jump, throwing his momentum forward and leaving the droplets cast from fur and claws to rain down behind him like some biomechanical Pollock painting.
"Dances with the Hurricane, meet The Bitter Firm, a prosecutor of our Tribe to mine and your beat cop. Dances with the Hurricane is a No Moon of our family," turning between them through the introductions, though leaving his gaze on Ingrid. "We're here to discuss our pack, Ingrid, that same one I mentioned at High Rite. The Grandfather saw fit to bring you here... Change?" He walks by, giving them both a wide birth, "I think is an interesting turn. Things might've gone differently," looking to the exploded bodies of goop and shrapnel behind the. "Might've. But he brought his teeth and swords to bear, in you and I, to assist Merric."
And then, he turns directly upon her, his eyes narrowed. "Of course, I would be curious to know if maybe you're here for a different reason." She hadn't been given the location of the meeting, yet here he was also in the Penumbral reflection of Chinatown. He continues stalking around the two, leaping in the diminutive, leather-jacket-and-black-denim-swathed ape form (homme heroin chic) from one corner of shadows to the next... Though it's almost playfully. Almost.
This a coyote-hyena-predator's grin. Wide and full.
"Come on. Elsewhere, where we can talk of many things," a sing-song growl, even in his human form, as he moves. He even snaps his teeth together for good measure, incisors and molars clamping angrily to get them to follow as they leave the place.
MerricThe Philodox seems to answer her possible impudence (stoicism, shyness, socially inept qualities) with patience, paying careful attention to the lining he pulls free and the padding. He seems satisfied with a particular number of strips and falls back to sit rather unceremoniously on his ass, legs crossed, one shoulder chirted away from Ingrid's approach.
"Not terribly considering we just shared a Battlefield. I can think of few more intimate moments than that, but..." And he turns a stare up at her, frank and good humoured, pausing in his ministrations with the coat materials "...if you feel strongly about it, there is a way to remedy that."
Before returning to his materials, scrutinizing the lengths and glancing at his wound. The padding is plucked up and placed gingerly across the lightly bleeding injury, pressed down with a firm hand.
Nate rejoins them, casts out both their names and Merric pauses once again with the first few strips, to glance at Nate and then turn at Ingrid with a quirked grin and a nod.
"There. All cosy."
Then he's throwing the strips over his shoulder, angled to sit over the padding, while tucking the others beneath his arms, hugging ribs in slow wrapping lengths. A cursory binding that might snap at any moment but he seems content. He climbs to his feet and retrieves his jacket, slinging it on (several ribbons of torn out lining, dragging behind him like mismatched tails) and stepping into the Ahroun's wake with a glance cast at Ingrid. Expectantly, a brow rises with silent question.
IngridThe Ragabash has her eyes on the Philodox when the Ahroun interjects, introducing them for each other. There is the faintest of shifts in the angle of her head. She's already shifting, halfway to near-woman when Nate asks Change. The change is smooth, far easier than it would be for most homid-born Garou. Within moments she has gone from huge Crinos, fur mostly black with ripples of grey and brown, to slender, beautiful Korean woman. She is dressed in slacks and the same button-down shirt Nate would have seen her in at the moot, unbuttoned low enough to reveal the tattoo of her sword. Her hair falls in disheveled waves over her shoulders and down her back. Her feet are bare, muddy, and her dark eyes are still rimmed with rage.
I would be curious to know if maybe you're here for a different reason.
Ingrid turns to Nate, full lips curled in a crescent smile. Cat-like. She shrugs an elegant shoulder, gaze dropping. Neither confirmation nor denial.
He continues on regardless, and Ingrid's gaze returns to the Merric. More specifically, to the wound on his shoulder. A kind and caring, compassionate woman might go over and offer to help. Ingrid remains where she stands until Nate beckons them away. Merric looks at her with that questioning, expecant brow raised. Ingrid meets his gaze, still smiling that sly smile. Then puts one foot gracefully, languidly before the other.
NateOne might be surprised to see the level of comfort that Nate feels in the Penumbral reflection of Gaia. While deeper vistas may be completely foreign to him, he has a connection to Gaia that is apparent when gazes past the Gauntlet in this bustling and calcified area of the city.
Searching out someplace safe. Someplace private. Finding a small corner behind a dumpster that looks like it hasn't been moved since Winter set in. It looks to be shared with three restaurants and an apartment building's worth of hard working (though perhaps not necessarily legal) citizens. The Trash Gaffling it has spawned rumbles happily, blooming open to show its wares for trade, but Nate walks right past the strange spirit and to an even more secluded corned it hides.
They turn down corridors and alleyways, him stopping every now and then before he fishes a thin polished blade out of his pocket and looks into its flattened end, the first to splash through the icy layer to the material world and then waiting for the other two.
MerricMerric is some time crossing. Perhaps enough that Ingrid is through before he manages to peel out of the Gauntlet with a heavy grunt and a shift of shoulders. He looks down at his feet as they splash in the puddles of their alley seclusion, a hummed incoherency drifting off his lips.
"Charming."
Before he adjusts his jacket and takes a look around.
"We're no where near my car at the moment."
IngridNate finds them a nice little spot to cross out of sight of mortal eyes. When he pulls out his blade, she retrieves a small metal case from her pocket, snaps it open, and uses the reflective surface of a hand mirror to boost her crossing. Even so, in this area of the city, it's hard. Her connection to the spiritual isn't nearly as strong as her connection to her beast side.
She lands in the puddle first, the cold water splashing on her bare feet. Instantly she twists, side-steps, and is on moderately dry ground. Dangerous dry ground. Shards of glass, twists of metal, old needles, garbage. If it weren't for her Garou nature, Ingrid might be concerned she'll need a tetanus shot after this. Such things are not her concern, however. She stands amid the trash and detritus and decay as straight and proud as if she were a queen about to ascend a throne.
"We're near mine, but," she elongates the word, stroking her lip with a delicate index finger as she looks over the males in her company. "One of you would need to sit in the other's lap."
The ShadowsThey come through in the alley, a place that was supposed to be secluded, supposed to be free from prying eyes and ears. It would appear that was not entirely the case this time.
They all feel it a moment or two after stepping sideways, once they are all safely present within the confines of the alley, the subtle but poignant thrum of rage is present here, as is the smell of pure breeding, strong and true. The smell is of Thunder's brood, darkness and lightning, thunder and power fill the air, and it takes them a few moments, just a few precious moments more to pinpoint the source of this rage and pure breeding.
The source stands against a wall, arms folded across her stomach as she waited. Blue green eyes survey those who have arrived, taking in those who took longer to cross then others, seeing who lead the charge and who took up the rear. These were watchful eyes, full of knowledge and guile. Full lips held an unimpressed, almost arrogant look to them as she waited. Her features are beautiful, or at least...at one point they would have been, but for an old set of scars which covered her cheek. Her head rested against the bricks of the alley wall, her hair wild and disarrayed around her head, falling barely to the bottom of her ears.
She was dressed simply, black pant's, a spaghetti string top, also black...her shoes were again...black, devoid of any markings or identifiers. It is only when all three are through that she looks in their direction, those heartless blue green eyes watching them as she spoke in a clear, dulcet tone.
"Its about time you all showed up."
NateNate seems to take this all in stride... Merric's words, Ingrid's, and then the stranger who makes herself known with a curt statement in an arrogant voice attached to prideful lips.
He just keep talking. Not that easy to shut up. A smirk.
"Luckily the Mother saw fit to give you feet and the Weaver's hatchlings were nice enough leave you your legs," a snort of laughter to Merric.
"You know, the Chinese have a saying. Walk a hundred steps after ever meal, and you'll live a hundred years. Don't worry, these aren't the kind of people who ask questions," adjusting his leather jacket, he thinks twice, and actually pulls it off. Finally glances over at the new woman, so full of that same fuel he'd exploded upon the Weaver's forces only minutes earlier.
Many wondered why he often wore two hooded sweatshirts on his jacket. Other than the cold. Or at least, he imagined they might wonder. He pulls off the top lay of sweater, already a size or two too big but all the more warming of his flesh and warding of the chill for it, and hands it to Merric. "And we haven't even sampled the cuisine. Want to get to know a city, buddy? Learn its food. Cover yourself up, though," looking to the woman in the shadows with a, one thing at a time, look. Maybe he's surprised, but he tries his best not to show it, if he is.
Maybe he even succeeds, as he continues... On... Like someone didn't just not-so-accidentally stumble upon right where they'd be. Without breaking a sweat.
"They don't care much for health codes, but if we're going to get something to eat," which he seems set on, as he takes a long sniff of the scent-filled air and seems to revel in the food-and-garbage... -and-people-living-atop-one-another, "I'd rather you not be bleeding all over the table."
The sweatshirt is black and should do its job covering up the blood, on top of Merric's makeshift bandaging.
And then, after all this, Nate finally turns full on toward the woman. "So, about time for what, ma'am?" Canting his head sideways. Trying to feel out her bearing for a mantle of rank, one he expects might just supersede all of theirs.
Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (1, 3, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )
Nate[ Once again, didn't mean to roll. Doh. ]
MerricHe blinks and turns. There is no hiding his blatant shock, nor the instinctive reaction to curl and bend into something vaguely resembling combative ire. Truth though, Merric's Rage is not on par with most and he has spent most of it in their last battle. What little remains, is stoked to the slightest of embers, crushed firmly under the boot heel of his Will.
He straightens, slowly, as the woman smiles at them, a look and presence not new to their Tribe. (A thousand Echoes in a hundred shadows, fresh off a King's lips). His gaze travels the length of her, before Nate's voice cuts into the scrutiny.
A sweater is handed out and Merric looks at it, then shrugs and doffs his jacket, laying it carefully atop one of the garbage cans nearby. The Sweater is tugged on. A touch snug, but fitting enough and he reaches over his shoulder to adjust the bandage beneath, threatenign to slip free with the donning of the garment.
The jacket is pulled on again, with deliberate ease, eyes finding the Woman again.
"I find it odd that you were Expecting us at all. Anyone willing to goto the trouble of seeking out several individuals of the tribe, obviously has something important to say. Though not so important, that she can't find the proper authorities on the matter?" A clearing of the throat. "If she had, why would she bother finding us to begin with?"
IngridIt takes Ingrid less time than the others to trace the source of the breeding. Ordinarily, it's harder to tell how strong her animal instincts are. She wears such fancy clothes, has such a nice way of talking, stands with such poise. Ordinarily, she is pristine.
But after a jaunt in the Umbra? It's not so hard to see. Her long hair loose, just a step closer to wild than grizzled, and in her Umbral trekking clothes, her muddy feet recently washed with dirty puddle water. She looks farther out of step with civilization than either of her companions combined.
And then there's Nate, talking talking talking. Distracting her ears, but not her nose. She picks up that scent, and with a scant turn of her head, locks onto the scarred woman. Haughty, arrogant, with an impossibly strong presence of authority. Nate is still talking. Ingrid dips her head to the woman.
The others react, with words words words.
When Merric has finished, Ingrid steps forward, just one step. It brings her out of the shadows, and alongside the Philodox. She angles her dark eyes up at him, looking at him from the corner. "Perhaps we are the authorities she seeks." A graceful lift of her shoulder in a shrug. "Or maybe not all of us." She, after all, was not expected at the Umbral meeting.
The ShadowsThose blue green eyes track back and forth slowly between the three Shadow Lords, her gaze cold and ruthless even as her lips hold that perfectly arrogant smile. She even allows Nate to yammer on as he does, her head tilted to the side as words tumbled from him like stones into a river, coins into the drain.
She does not push off from the wall yet, she doesn't even so much as move a muscle beyond the movement of her eyes and lips, and the inclination of her head in this or that direction. Each of the individuals greetings are weighed, measured, and sorted as she listened. Nates receiving a raised brow and a amused look, Merric's speach recieved a simple nod.
It was only when Ingrid took that single, solitary step forward that the woman slowly, almost languidly pushed off from the wall and turned towards them, her face cast into deepest shadow as her wild and unkempt hair is made a horrific mane in the half light of the alley.
"Seek authority?" She asks, amused before she shook her head, her arms unfolding and her hands curling inward, claw like. "I don't see authority...I am authority." She said as she looked at no one in particular.
"But I am here...for all of you. Shadow Lords, Daughters and Sons of Grandfather Thunder." She says it like she might well wonder if they deserve the title, but she nods slowly regardless, that mantle of authority not leaving her for a second.
"I am here to see that you understand what is coming, and what....i hope, you will all chose to partake of."
Nate[ WP ]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 1 )
Merric(Truth of gaia: Intelligence 4 + Empathy 2. WP 'cause this is not a good situation)
Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (2, 2, 3, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
NateNate looks like he might turn them around, especially when all the ingrained years of etiquette and understanding in terms of the Nation's hierarchy, further rooted in his years as a Garou first of cub, then Cliath, then Fostern rank, leave him at a loss for sensing just where the woman sits on the pecking order. It unsettles him. It makes his paranoia flare, visibly, as his eyes narrow and he searches her scars and features for some kind of indicator of her person and identity.
And comes up with nothing.
Maybe it's his curiosity that wins out. Maybe a death it's a death wish. Maybe they are one and the same. But he holds his ground as the woman pushes up to stand before them, when Ingrid approaches further. "Authority always wins..."
A glance at Merric when he says it. Another huff of laughter, more a wheezed sound than anything now. He pulls out a pack and lights himself a cigarette in a quick and fluid (years of practice even before he was of age to buy the things) movement.
"Then enlighten us, ma'am? Your exposition is sufficiently unsettling. Can we get to the meat of the matter?" And it's times when he says things like that... Worded in such a way... That in that street facade, tarnished with unwashed hair, tattered clothes, and scruffy face, there is a glint of silver beneath the patina. Like it had not always been his world.
MerricHe seems to weather the moment, dramatic, percussive and telling of ancient Stereotypes, well. His arms do not cross in consternation nor does he seem put out by the values the woman speaks of or the...calling of Thunder's children. He offers no obvious response to Nate's repetition about 'Authority' except a brief flicker of a smile at one half of his lips.
The woman displays no rank. At least none obvious. Nor does she present any outward or inward presence of loyalties. To hear her talk, some might expect Thunder to clap over her shoulder. A lightning strike to brighten the distance.
"Respect those beneath ye."
The Litany spoken. A casual comfort. Something off-hand perhaps.
"The Elder of this Sept is well known. Why are we not hearing whatever deed or news you have, from him? Why this secrecy?"
IngridIngrid holds her ground, but she goes no further forward. She would not dare approach this woman unless she had something of value to bring before her. The others may not see her for what she is, but Ingrid knows, because Ingrid is a predator made to walk on two legs. She can sense the order of the food chain. Usually, she's one of the ones at the top.
She's made her offering. The Cliath remains respectfully silent, patient. Knowing that with time, something will come. Information, a lesson (in pain or of the mind).
Merric(Indeed. A meeting was set to gather here to discuss things so it wouldn't be impausible for Erich to have heard about it.)
The Shadows"No." It is a singular word, it is no grandiose statement of defiance or declaration of intent, it is simple...but it is in its own way, powerful. She utters this to Nate's request for an expeditious movement towards the heart of the matter, an end to the secrecy and the shadows. She turns her gaze upon Nate, ensuring that the man heard her, her features throwing off harsh angles that exaggerate the feeling of power she bares, but refuses to show openly.
She then turns her gaze towards Merric, and he asks why this information hasn't been brought to the Elder of the Sept, a fair question....given that information usually rolled downhill, but she simply shook her head. "Because I do not wish too." She said plainly, perhaps baldly, but to her it seems perfectly normal to act in such a way.
"And if you question the value of secrecy again..then I am afraid you will have no place in the coming endeavours." She then turned her gaze towards Ingrid, the woman was silent...waiting, watching...listening. This brought a more truthful smile to the woman's lips, even if it yet failed to reach her eyes, and she closed the gap to Ingrid, coming to just outside of arms reach.
"Ears open little shadow." She said with a hint of pleasure. "Good....I like that." She stayed where she was, staring into Ingrid's eyes with that frosty look. "Others will be coming...soon. Others of THE tribe. I would think long and hard upon what it is they will have to say to you. It will be worth your while."
Nate[ Damon, Mad sent a PM to you as snail but you'd already logged out. Nate and Merric set a meeting for those interested in packing up to meet and greet in Chinatown, Erich might've heard and felt like dropping in anyway, especially if he knew Ingrid was going to serendipitously be in the area as well. ]
Ingrid[ahhhhhhh! WP]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 7) ( success x 1 )
NateNate is denied. Giving a monosyllabic answer and left to gnaw on it. But not for long, because the woman gives a more illuminating answer to Ingrid as soon as she is done with Merric.
The meat of the matter. The words please, bait, and hook him all in one.
All in all, the three are each subject to different facets of her emotional state.
And she may be talking to Ingrid, but he decides to finally shut up and give the woman his full and uninterrupted attention. It's a labor of love, as he watches her lay her gaze on her. Cold and calculating in the pleasure she takes at something about the woman. Wondering what will come next.
And, yes, finally silent. Like 'No' had been enough to put him in his place. Shut him up, yes. Because, it's plain on his face - maybe because he allows it to be - he would indeed like a place in the 'coming endeavors'.
Merric"Others are coming. Do not question secrecy. Be mindful of your place. The Litany need not apply because...you do not wish it to."
Merric reads them off. In the silence that follows her decree. Nate doesn't speak and Ingrid hasn't for some time, leaving him to finally cross his arms over his chest, a furrow in his brow though more confusion then displeasure. If any of what's stated were supposed to carry weight...
...it would be under the assumption that it would have done any good to begin with. She seems unconcerned and this makes firms him. Settles something in his head.
"A Name. If not yours, then perhaps those of these...others you speak of."
IngridThere are Ragabash who simply ask questions. They think that as Questioners of the Way that is their duty. Questions questions, always questions. And they are so focused on asking questions they don't listen to the answers. They don't pay attention to the lessons they force others to learn about themselves and their ways of thinking.
Ingrid is not such a Ragabash. Perhaps it is because she chose the life of the Shadow Lord, and Grandfather Thunder welcomed her into his embrace. Perhaps also it is because of her camp. The Children of Crow are keepers of secrets. Not many secrets to be gained with mouth open and ears closed.
She listens, and she does her best to remain respectful. But she cannot help the instinctive reaction she has when the woman nears. A strong powerful instinct takes her when the woman is that close, a horrifying instinct. She wants to lift her chin, expose her throat, or worse. She wants to drop to the ground, expose her belly. And after the battle in the Umbra it's so hard. She fights the instinct with all her remaining will, fights to meet that gaze and just
barely
holds that gaze. Just barely keeps her head. Others coming. Listen. Think.
Ingrid nods once.
Two down, one to go.
ErichOthers are coming, and WHAM!
- the back door of Lucky 88 Triple Crown Chinese Restaurant comes flying open. A burly body hurtles against the opposite alley wall, narrowly preceding Erich lunging out that same door. The young Ahroun's all fired up about something, teeth bared, eyes aglitter. He leaps down the back steps, his heavy boots stomp a suspicious puddle to flying droplets of filth, he grabs a handful of something -- hair or shirt or apron or something -- holds the target in place.
Fists fly. Brutal efficiency there. Not much chance of counter, though in his defense Erich's nameless foe gets a good jab in to the Ahroun's jaw, knocking him sideways for a beat. Then he's back, and this time he's using his knees and elbows along with his fists, and seconds later there's a heavy body dropping to the alley floor, snoring the bloody wet snore of the unconscious.
Erich grabs him by the back of the shirt, heaves him back into the kitchen he'd dragged him out of in the first place. One of the chefs is in there, gaping, somewhere between astounded and outraged. You'd expect a burst of Cantonese, but no, the English is perfect:
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
To which Erich bellows back: "I told him. Three times. No fuckin broccoli."
He rears back and kicks the back door of the Lucky 88 Triple Crown shut. The resultant slam! echoes all up and down the alley. The light from the kitchen cuts out. He's left in the dark dank alleyway, his breath a huffing white steam, the taste of blood in his mouth. His own, this time. His beloved hoodie's popped a seam at the sleeve, which he inspects before sticking a finger in his mouth, grimacing. Bends, spits, a tooth pings out. When he straightens, he looks around at the others in the alley for the first time.
"There you are," he says. It's possibly directed at Ingrid. "Hell did you get me into now?"
NateErich comes flying out of the restaurant, making noise, throwing first first and then nutritional heresy and finally questions.
Nate puts a singe index finger to his lips.
"Quiet time," then, the finger slowly drops to point at the woman that has joined them in the alley. Dripping with rage and breeding and unsettling sentiments.
The ShadowsThe smile upon the woman's face grows at Ingrids silence remains total, but again it never reaches those eyes, perhaps it couldn't maybe the woman had glass eyes, or maybe she was simply hollow inside, shadow within, shadow without.
She had words for those present, precious kernels of knowledge that would either illuminate them, or drown them in darkness forever, but before such utterances could be made a battle ensues down the alleyway. Eyes swivel and a head cant's to the side bemusedly at the interruption, her body remaining still and quiet, as if she herself were simply a absence of light in that moment.
When the door closes, and the man speaks, asking about what he'd been brought into now the woman lowered her chin, inclining it in a predatory way that made that divinely arrogant smile become something almost rictus like in manner before she spoke.
"Where you should be." She said simply before she turned towards Merric, and turned bodily now, moving towards him with a slight widening of her stance, a fraction of a thing...but it was there, poignant and intense.
"A proper shadowlord understands precisely what you just said...and why exactly it makes perfect..undeniable sense." She said in a whisper that spoke of daggers in the dark and secrets great and terrible. "Who I am..is not your concern..yet. The fact that I am here...is. I expect you to spread my presence, to those of our blood. Spread it as far...and as quietly as you can must. But if one...tiny...word. Escapes lips to the ears of those beyond our tribe...I will see you cut, like the chaff you reveal yourselves to be."
She speaks directly at Merric as she does so...but it is obvious she speaks to all of them...and through them, the entire Shadow Lord contingent here in the city.
The Shadows[Must=Muster]
NateNate raises his eyebrows, looking to be near to falling off the edge of his seat. He even leans forward in his stance on those laced up black combat boots his slim fitting denim jeans are tucked into. Waiting...
For just whose presence they'd be revealing.
Other than a toothed cunt of a woman in an alley who looks like she'd rip off all their heads if only to fill herself. Of course, such sentiments are as close to loving as Nate himself can muster. Really, if he said it out load, he'd mean it as nothing less than a very high compliment.
But he doesn't.
Instead, like he's growing just a little bored of the wait, he pulls on his leather jacket if only to give himself something to do. He seems to remember his ciagrette, sitting between his off hand's index and forefinger, placing it between his lips to take a long pull. Hoping nicotine will help to diffuse at least some of the stress of the situation.
And... Wow... He's still quiet. Other than asking Erich to keep his own mouth shut a tick earlier. But, you could only expect so much.
MerricThere is a breath. Deep and resonant as Merric maintains the woman's eye. If she seems that much more insistent than he appears that much more resilient. His jaw circuits, rolling a slow circle, like he were chewing on the intangible while she continues to measure their obedience.
She warns. States intentions should word be cast aside. Taken lightly. He listens throughout but...
...She gives no names.
Merric grunts again. He doesn't speak this time, but then, what good has it done before? The Judge waits for some signal or sign. Some truth or measure beyond simple expected devotion.
Of Erich? There isn't even a glance. Just the merest sniff of the breeding and some quiet little tick at the back of his mind for a description told him over coffee.
IngridWham! Ingrid starts, and the spell is broken. At least, the sound and the ensuing brawl and particularly the recognition of that particular blond head give her the distraction she needs to regain her composure. She even regains a glimmer of her humor as she watches the sheer brutality of the altercation. It reveals itself in the faintest twinkle in eyes so dark they're nearly void.
It gives her space to breathe again.
And then the woman is moving away, that hard stare directed at someone else. Ingrid's spine relaxes an infinitsimal iota.
Everyone falls silent then, quiet in the aftermath of the woman's warning. The Ragabash lifts her chin, examining the space between buildings where a star or two might be seen, if it weren't for their geographical location and where they are within the city's limits. Dropping her gaze back down to the woman, she asks, "What are we to call you? How will we know these others?"
ErichErich's mouth opens immediately to spit some response, but --
-- then it shuts. He glowers at the mystery woman for a beat. He stares around at the others for several seconds longer. It's a look of sheer what the fuck? why are we listening to this random bitch? Every emotion in his heart, every thought in his head might as well be writ large across his face. Not going to survive in a tribe like this with a poker face like that. But maybe those rending teeth of his will at least delay his death.
The ShadowsSilence, beautiful, unequivocal silence falls upon the lords who stand around her, her fingers drawn into a claw like shape unhinge and straighten, the woman letting out a sigh that should sound relaxing...instead it sounds like the last gasp of a dying soul.
"You may call me The Dirge." She says quietly, her words heavy despite the softness of her voice as she turned to regard those who stood in silence around her, her gaze turning back to Ingrid as she stepped towards her once more.
"And you will know them...because they will tell you precisely that." She then turned, looking around once more at all those present before allowing a smile, bright and full of perfectly set teeth, that held about as much warmth as that of a great whites. "I will be watching you, I will be listening, and soon, very soon you will here from me again."
She said as she took in the newcomer one last time, before turning to the rest. "Ta." She said, as her body blinked once, like an old TV screen flickering between channels....before disappearing, stepping sideways into the umbra.
ErichAs soon as she vanishes:
"Okay. What the fuck?"
Merric(Truth of Gaia: Is that her name?)
Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (1, 3, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
Merric(Intelligence (Lore and History) 4 + Investigation 3) WP. This is tre important.
Dice: 7 d10 TN9 (2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Merric(Re-roll as forgot to click re-roll 10s)
Dice: 7 d10 TN9 (5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 ) Re-rolls: 1 [WP]
Nate"A badass bitch," Nate says, and it's a moment later he's upon the spot. Right where the woman had been leaning against the wall.
Burying his nose into it, mouth wide and open so that the scent he tries to breath in - tries almost disgustingly to catch - can even sit upon the back of his tongue. This is his first and most focused concern, hands against the wall, up and down it. Where her hair had been. Where her ass had been. Down to her boots.
It's... Altogether disturbing, especially should any passersby come upon them.
[ Perception + Primal Urge. ]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5) ( botch x 1 )
Ingrid[percept+PU: pickin' up her scent, for "reasons" *winky wink*]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
Nate[ Also throwing out an Intelligence + Politics. Not that Merric didn't already handle that. ]
Dice: 4 d10 TN9 (1, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )
MerricErich offers a perfunctory question. Merric's reply is a thumb and forefinger to his brow and the inevitable grind of an ache that reached for persistence.
"I hate the Summit." He mutters it. A brazenly honest, even blunt assertion from the Half-moon, before he pulls his attention back to the present and those around him.
"Bane~Stalker must be told. If only to confirm her story and any indication whether we are being spiritually led about by the nose."
He glances at Nate, a frown creasing his features.
"Whatever is coming, it will not bode well for the Tribe to be fractious. All here will be easy targets, dismissed under the rule of Rank and thumb and if they follow in her methods of leadership and information, then we might as well kiss the chessboard."
The ShadowsNate takes a good long wiff of where the Dirge was standing, and instead of coming back with her scent...he comes back with nothing, it was like he had smelled the void and come back missing something.
[For the rest of the scene....hes scent blind]
Ingrid..on the other hand, picks up her scent fairly easily...the smell of jasmine mixing with the breeding and heady aroma of power.
IngridNate isn't the only one who steps forward to the place where The Dirge stood. Specifically, where she leaned against the wall. Depending on how long she had been waiting for them in this alley, it should hold a fairly strong imprint of the woman. The Ahroun gets there first, an animal of a different nature. Her eyes flick to Erich, the look brief, appraising, then gone. Without waiting for Nate to move, she slips in beside him.
Most Garou, they are a mix of human and wolf. Generally speaking, they tend to be somewhere around half and half. Not Ingrid. Her mixture was definitely more heavily wolf. People can feel it on her when she walks past. It's how she knew to be respectful of The Dirge. And now, it's how she picks up the scent with one deep inhalation. She doesn't need to ram her face into the wall, though she should shove the sweaty Ahroun's face away so his odor doesn't taint the scent she seeks. She doesn't, though, and not simply because she doesn't need to. She catches the woman's scent, and for better or for worse, Nate's as well. They are both imprinted in her memory.
The deed done, she glances to her side, eyes narrowing, nose scrunching daintily, at the sight of Nate's face half-smushed into brick, his mouth open.
She steps back in one fluid motion, stretching her arms up high over her head. "Examine the threads too closely, and you miss the tapestry." Her eyes closed in the stretch, it's unclear to whom these words are uttered.
Relaxing just a little more, she walk away without a backward glance, out of the alley in her simple yet rich clothes, bare feet padding softly over the concrete, just missing the glass and debris.
Erich"Yeah, you know what I hate? I hate brooding emo shitheads that think they know shit." There's genuine vitriol behind the words. His teeth flash. "You don't know my camp. You don't know I have a camp. You don't know me. And I'm not a fucking Lord of the Summit, so shove it up your ass. You don't wanna be fractious, how 'bout you start by not badmouthing your brothers."
People are plastering themselves to walls, digging in their memories for clues. Erich: he's just standing there watching them, one eyebrow steadily hiking higher than the other.
"Badass bitch doesn't quite cover it. She's trouble on stiletto heels. 'Spread word of my coming, but only to those of the tribe, or I'll cut you. More will be coming soon. And PS, baby, I'm waaaatching you.' What is she, a cult leader-slash-stalker? Am I the only one that thinks listening to her might not be a good idea?"
Also: he reaches out, grabs Ingrid by the back of the shirt, and hauls her back. "Oh no you don't. You got me into this shit, you're staying until I leave."
NateNate stands up straight and away from the wall. Whatever had gotten into hadn't come out, and his nose is scrunched. He even pressed his forefinger against each nostril, sending a snot rocket from each. Mutters a few choice expletives and then turns back to Erich's latest tantrum.
"I should introduce you to my mother. She thinks I'm juvenile," the late-teens Garou says with a coyote's smile again on his face, laughing at his own joke like it's oh-so-amusing.
"And I think what our friend Merric here meant was... The woman. Is a Lord. Of the Summit. An apology might be in order. Not that you seem like the orderly type," spinning to put his ass against the wall, and he finally gives Ingrid a nod, after her commentary on missing the forest for the trees. Or something like that.
He doesn't dwell.
I think it might be a good idea. You know... Listening to her. Not necessarily following her. Not doing what she acts. But... Listening? Always a good idea," he continues, tapping his temple with his finger next. Looking at the cigarette, almost finished, in his land.
"Gotta fuckin' quit," against deeply snorting, like he's still surprised his face has a nose connected to lungs.
MerricMerric's attention turns toward Erich with a perked brow, both matter-of-fact and oddly patient.
"What No~Quarter said." It is a simple correction, that carries little reprimand or hint of ire. Almost as if Erich's outburst were...expected behaviour? "She is of the Summit camp's more overdramatic quality, possessing of an Ego and the eagerness to let others know it."
A heavy sigh, that turns into a low rumble, has he moving out of a puddle and onto a relatively dry area of pavement, wincing with the pain dully trickling through his system.
"Unfortunately, her directives and intentions could as easily be insanity as it is truth. Whichever direction, it makes her dangerous and the tribe under threat, but then-"
An eye glances off at the pair of cliaths.
"None here are pack. Promised perhaps-" A glance at Nate "-which we need to do something about now. Not later."
IngridShe's walking away when a hand reaches out for her, even manages to get a grip on the back of her shirt as well as a handful of long dark hair. He does not, however, haul her back. As soon as she feels that pressure, Ingrid twists, turns, ducks under that arm, and comes up inches from Erich's chest.
One would probably expect her to be angry, disgruntled, about to snap into the war form and rip this impudent boy's head from his shoulders.
Ingrid just stares up into his pale eyes, her own expression curious. She is so small before him, so slight and slender. A gazelle before a raging bull. And yet she does not quail beneath his rage.
"You will let me go," she says, not a command, but matter-of-fact, "and if you like, I will buy you eggrolls and all the chicken without broccoli you desire. But first, you will let me go."
ErichErich shoots Nate a dark look. "Don't split hairs. You know damn well what I meant. In case you don't," exaggerated slowness: "let's not follow her straight down the mouth of Malfeas."
A beat. Then a twist of his mouth; a begrudging, but audible: "Sorry." It's directed at Merric. "Mouth jumped the gun. Happens. A lot."
Something odd happens when Ingrid does that neat little trick of hers, though. She ends up inches away. Erich takes a big step back, stiffarming her away in the same instant.
"I prefer beef," is all he says.
NateDark look meets another dark look, though it's spotted with baby blue eyes that really shouldn't be on that face. "Oh. That's what you meant," mockingly, as if the realization has dawned on to him now that the other Ahroun is talking nice and slow.
"Anyway. Like he said," a thumb to Merric. "Unified force. Shoring up the ranks if they've got one coming in. Especially if you don't like the idea of doing whatever they or she or whoever the fuck says. And it's just so much scarier if there's, like, seven of us all looking brooding 'n' shit, with you frothing at the mouth," a nod of regard to Erich as he says that last part, now that Merric has finally brought up the P-word.
The second-most-important P-word.
Pack.
"Lone wolves die or, worse yet, they live ineffectually. They become pawns," running with the chess board analogy that Merric had kicked off, though in a decidedly 'for Dummies' kind of way. "And that's just a fucking boring piece."
"But that's up to you guys. Think on it," a wink to them both. "Don't have to love each other. Just have to fuck shit up in a positive way," and with that he turns toward Merric. "Walk you to your car? Don't want you getting into trouble again," the younger man says to the older Garou, dripping sarcasm that manages to dilute the usual bile.
MerricHe flicks a glance toward Erich, a frown on his features, something like the Principal found a hall loiterer.
"For every apology, a opening. Rather you learn from your mistakes than ever admit to them, Storm's~Reach. Anything else is useless to both of us."
Nate's words are given a nod. Little more the philodox could add to them. Instead, he motions with a nod toward the alley mouth. He had a car to find. They had some ramparts to build.
The Storm, apparently, was coming.
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