here piggy piggy.

[when darkness falls.] [Okay! Ground Rules and all that good stuff:

1. This is gonna be a pretty basic slice 'n dice combat scene, so don't expect impressive passages of prose from me.

2. As always when I ST I say there is a chance of PC death, that just comes with the turf, so I won't be mortally offended if you decide to drop out of the scene.

3. I'm still learning as I go about STing and dice and what have you, so forgive any blunders on my behalf and please be patient with me, thanks!

4. HAVE FUN. [nb. this is not really mandatory]

5. I shall start us off with a setting post!]

[when darkness falls.] Graceland Cemetery was one of Chicago's best-known and historic resting places for some of its citizens. Established in 1860, it was, at the time, set outside the city limits in North Side, but it was engulfed by the growing size of the city as it spread northward. Once, it had been set on the lakefront but concerns over overcrowding of the graves and the threat of water-borne diseases had forced the city officials to move the bodies therein to nearby Graceland, with the old cemetery grounds becoming what was now known as Lincoln Park.

These days, the cemetery was a popular tourist haunt, with the graves of several prestigious city names buried within it, so much so that maps were now handed out at the main gates for interested parties and a book A Walk Through Graceland Cemetery had been published by the Chicago Architecture Foundation.

The cemetery itself was not far from another of Chicago's less morbid attractions, Grant Park. Sitting on the corner of Clark and Irving Park Street, it was a monstrosity of size and proportion, yet somehow seemed less threatening, as did most burial sites of the dead, during the day-lit hours.

Now, however, it seemed as if the darkness swelled within it, it seemed as if, despite the warmer nights, mist wound its way around the statues of angels standing guard over the dead, and obstructed any clear vision of pathways cut between the rows of graves.

The front gates should have been locked at this hour.

Oddly, tonight, one side of the heavy steel bars had been badly warped and bent, peeled backward like a metallic orange rind as if someone [or something] had been trying to get inside the grounds.

From the looks of things, they had succeeded.

[picture in my gallery of the front gates!]

[Robb Murdoch] There's a man standing before those peeled-open gates. He stands with his feet shoulder-width apart, balanced and sturdy; his hands open at his sides. Head tilted, looking at the ruined gates with a feral curiosity.

His limbs are long. He's tall. A shock of reddish hair stirs in what wind there is -- dull, coarse, haphazard as though he never runs a brush through it, much less bothers to condition.

[Robb Murdoch] [sharp eyes specialty!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Warcry] No packmate called her, by totemic link or telephone call. She drove here. And she's driving past the cemetery when the hair on the back of her neck stands on end for no reason other than the fact that it is a cemetery. It isn't until the El Camino rolls past the gates that she notices, without realizing that she's noticed it, what has happened to them.

The dark green El Cam brakes with expert speed and gentleness at once a few yards past the gates. Lights flare and it moves into reverse. Behind Robbie there's a blonde girl with her window down, brow furrowed.

[perception + alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Robb Murdoch] [in kahseeno we trust!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7) Re-rolls: 2

[Warcry] [christ, kahseeno, fuck you]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 6 (Failure at target 7)

[Tongue Twister] There's no real reason why she's here, or why she might not be, or anything. Ok, there's a little reason - she's practicing. Practicing sneaking, because she's in a pack known for being stealthy and Rory tends to trip over her own feet.

So she practices whenever she's moving from one area of town to another... shadow to shadow, quiet and careful...

{i sneaky by..!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Tongue Twister] [but does she SEE anything?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Kindly One] She's not on patrol, not on her way to or from anywhere in particular. The Black Fury is just walking. Her steps take her near the cemetery, with its broken and warped front gate.

Curious. Alek goes closer to investigate.

[percept + alert]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3 (Botch x 2 at target 6)

[Robb Murdoch] The rangy male at the gates turns when the El Camino pulls up behind him. As long-boned as he is, as big-boned, one expects him to be gawky, awkward, forever stooping and shuffling.

He does stoop a little. His shoulders are rounded, his body set in a slight slouch. It's not lack of confidence, though. Something closer to primal instinct, the urge to drop to all fours. And there's absolutely no awkwardness to him. That pivot is smooth as silk. He looks at Sinclair with pale eyes, a clear gleaming grey-green. The pure blood in him is as faint as the green in his eyes, and as present. The same can't be said for the Glass Walker, who has no purity of bloodline at all.

"Drive on," he says, and waves her on. His vowels are a little flattened, but it's not obvious enough, and he hasn't talked enough, that she can discern his accent as anything other than: not from around these parts.

[when darkness falls.] Robbie can see, peering through the warped and ruined gates that beyond the first several rows of graves there is movement. There is noise, too. An odd sort of snuffling. When moonlight passes from behind the clouds, he can see the gleam of something white, the outline of something hunched over. What might have been fur.

It did not look particularly human.
Not if the hairs on his arms are any indication.
to Robb Murdoch

[Tongue Twister] She tips her head, slightly, and blinks. Once. Twice. Then she looks to the others, and softly, silently, she moves to stand behind Robb's shoulder - a daring move, all told [Pure bred. One of hers. He can hurt her later.] and murmurs softly. "Hring ber."

She could only mean Sinclair in the car. Or maybe the Fury. Or maybe both. Or maybe he can't possibly put together the mix up in words - either way, as quickly as the murmur fades, so does her presence as she slips past the gates.

She intends to get behind it, if she can. It's on the hunt, and she's hiding - but this time, only to get an advantage, not to run away. After all - THIS is the enemy. She usually only hides in fear from allies...

[when darkness falls.] [Doo de doo]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Warcry] Something about the woman in the car is enough to set people's teeth on edge, make their shoulderblades drag together tight and quick. Even other Garou feel it. It isn't fear, not for them. They are predators higher on the food chain than any unshifting animal, and yet here she is, and their instincts tell them: threat. To their territory. To their prey. To their mate and cubs. Threat, because she too is a predator, and a strong one. Her very scent carries it through the air, making some dogs whimper and other dogs growl.

Rory and Alek come their way, the redhead seeming to appear almost out of nowhere and the Philodox just on a stroll, and without acknowledging Robb's attempt to send her on her way, Sinclair cuts the rumble of the engine and removes her keys. The door pops open and as she stands up she rolls the window up by hand-crank, then closes it --

as Rory heads inside.

"Hey," she says levelly, carrying because of the weight of authority in her tone more than because she raises her voice. She doesn't call Rory by her deedname, because she doesn't know who the hell this guy is. "If you're taking the lead on this I'll follow you, but if you are..." she trails, then shrugs: "you have to tell us what we're doing."

[Kindly One] The Fury can't see beyond the gates, through the darkness within. What she can see, however, are two Garou known to her and a pure bred stranger. She recognizes the Fianna Ahroun and the Fostern Glass Walker.

The newcomer gets a steady look. Alek blinks her dark eyes, and she follows the others into the graveyard.

[Tongue Twister] She turns to look at Sinclair, though she doesn't meet her gaze completely, her eyes dropping instantly in submission - before she simply points inside. "Thilling kat."

Simple enough...

...but not exactly taking lead. She chews her lower lip, briefly - but it is another noise from the monster within that decides her. It is rare she leads anything. So rare, that the very thought of it causes the hand that gestures to them to tremble... first Sinclair, and gestures that she take the other side - to Alek and Robb move in toward the thing, and hopefully distract him from the Fostern and herself, and then she turns to resume her sneaky along to the right of the snarfling beast, where she hopes to surprise it.

[Warcry] Sinclair watches Rory gesture around, and looks where she gestures, but briefly. She turns back to Rory. "I'm not seeing what you're seeing," she says, with tightly leashed frustration that -- all the same -- seethes at the edges of her calmly spoken words, underneath the control. "I need to know what I'm up against."

[Robb Murdoch] The blonde in the car doesn't drive on. That alone tells Robbie she's not a mundane, not some pretty girl in her daddy's classic car meeting her goth boyfriend in a goddamn cemetery. She gets out, then, and she comes forward, and the truth is Robbie's not a great Galliard -- in fact he might be a pretty shitty one -- but he's still enough of one to know rank when he sees it.

His eyes flick toward the ground briefly like an acknowledgment. Then back up as others gather, as a purebred, speech-impeded tribeswoman speaks up, as everyone starts to drift in and leadership is decided.

"Some sort of white-furred beast, I think," he says quietly to the Fostern. It's the best he can offer.

[Tongue Twister] She blinks, and looks over her shoulder that the thing, then back to Sinclair. "Pull skig. Big."

[when darkness falls.] The four Garou make their way into the Graveyard.

There was a map to one side of the gently sloping pathway that displayed the entirety of the Cemetery, pointing out some of its more well known residents. There was also a bright red arrow that told them they were here!. A box of pamphlets were situated in a holder attached to it; they flapped aimlessly in the breeze.

Trees rustled, their leaves speaking secrets to the wind.

Large stone statues stood on eternal watch, their faces eroded by time, blasted by the elements until many of them held only the suggestion of a nose, the indentation where a mouth should have been.

The pathway split off into several smaller, each allowing visitors to walk among their dearly [or not so, in some cases] departed. Some graves had flowers set atop them, some photographs and other tokens left by visiting family members. And then, as they approach the intersection of the two main roads -- they can see it.

Or at least, they can see its hind quarters. From the rear, it could have been mistaken for some sort of wild animal, something explainable. Something normal. But for the stench coming off it, and the noises it was making.

Heavy, excited breathing.

As the Garou approach, the Beast does not seem to notice them -- yet. It is preoccupied with its task, great mounds of dirt go flying over its great bulk.

There is an overturned vase of roses among it.

The smell of freshly turned dirt mingled with the stench of rot and decay and wrong.

[when darkness falls.] [Okay guys, one round of reaction posts, and then it's time for inits with my next post!]

[Kindly One] "Awesome."

Alek was watching the metis, the Ahroun, tremble as she took the lead. Gives them direction against something at least two of them haven't even seen yet. When they know what their adversary is, The Black Fury Philodox begins to prepare for battle. Activating a few of the bracelets at her wrist, drawing a pair of dark-bladed weapons from within her forearms.

[go go gadget soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Kindly One] [damage +1]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 2, 7 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Warcry] A short, sharp nod, and she glances back at Alek to see where she is, then looks at the stranger. "Warcry, Brutal Revelation," she says quickly, "Fostern Galliard of the Glass Walkers." There's a faint accent to her speech, coming out now mostly when she says "Howdy," and goes where Rory indicated moments ago, taking what will become a flanking position as they move in.

Her will twists up along her spine as she burns through it, calling on Bear's gift to shield her mind from the pains of the body. As she walks, she begins to hunker down, her hair flowing into fur, her skin turning tougher, her hands to paws, her fingernails to claws, her teeth to fangs.

And her fur to steel.

[-1WP, Resist Pain.
Slowshifting to hispo.
-1WP, Steelfur. Stamina + Science]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Kindly One] [damage +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 4, 7 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Tongue Twister] Everyone starts to prepare, and they actually follow her directions. This causes Rory to blink rapidly for less than a second, before she turns and heads around to the right once again, swift yet silent, stealthy even as she falls to all fours and shifts as she moves with the shadows...

[shifting to hispo. Rory has no fancy smancy talens/gifts. Heh. Mental note. GET RESIST PAIN ALREADY. GAWD.]

[when darkness falls.] [Per + Alert, hey stupid, can you sense something is up?]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Kindly One] That prepared, she grins to the others.

"Kindly One, Cliath Black Fury Philodox, Alpha of the Squad of Ultimate Badasses." And she shifts upward, body growing, jet black fur sprouting along her body. There are sparse patches, at her chest and hip, at her sternum. Scars. When she stands in Crinos, she inclines her head to the Fiann Ahroun.

[Kindly One] [oh yeah -1WP activate Resist Pain!]

[Robb Murdoch] As they pass the large map, Robbie reaches out and picks up one of the pamphlets. He's never been here before. He wasn't even entirely aware this place existed. He doesn't have a lot of reading material at home -- home being the empty room in the Brotherhood he just took last night -- and he thinks perhaps this will make for some interesting bedtime reading.

"Robbie Murdoch," he replies, that same flat-voweled quietness, "[insertdeednamehere.] Cliath Galliard of Stag."

His bloodlines are not full of heroes, but they are old. He has warriors and conquerors in his past; mystics, bards, chieftains. They are still very close to him. He can call upon them if he wants to, easily.

He doesn't. He prepares the only way he can: by flexing his hands closed and open again, once, before falling in beside the Ahroun.

[when darkness falls.] Unlike Gaia's Chosen, the Skull Pig was no great Warrior. It had, once upon a time been some natural ancestor of Ice Age Mammals, but the Wyrm's influence had corrupted, over time, all that was natural about this stinking Beast and rendered it into a brainless, lethal combination of bulk, muscle and razor sharp tusks that emerged from its mouth like some grotesque imitation of the extinct Sabre-tooth.

It's head was covered with skin so pale it gleamed like the bone beneath it, and its hide was carved with the Glyphs of the Fallen.

This, it appeared, was someone's property.

Still, for all its lack of intellect -- it had, it seemed, a decent sense of smell -- the huge head snapped up as the Garou adopted their war forms. It snuffed at the air, and, with a deafening shriek of hunger, or mindless, driven instinct -- swung around -- searching for the source of the sudden aromas in the air.

It could smell Garou.
It loved the meat of the Werewolf.

The Great Beast lumbered forward, its heavy paws all but shaking the ground.

[Inits!]

[Kindly One] [+8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[when darkness falls.] [The Beastie Boi
+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Robb Murdoch] [+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Tongue Twister] It can smell all of them...

...but not Rory. For all her flaming hair and freckles, the [wasted] purity of her blood - her slender frame - even in this form - holds no scent.

She doesn't wait. She doesn't hesitate. she comes at him from the side - and attacks.

[+8!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Warcry] [+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[Tongue Twister]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Kindly One]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[when darkness falls.] Robbie 19
Rory 18
Warcry 12
Kindly One 12
Beastie Boi 12

Declare in reverse!

Beastie Boi
1a. Tusk Robbie!
1b. Tusk Warcry!
R1. Body Slam Rory

[Kindly One] [1a: Flank
1b: Slice!
R1: Slice!
R2: Slice!]

[Kindly One] [1a: Slice!
1b: Slice!
R1: Slice!
R2: Slice!]

[Warcry] [Already flanking as per Jacqui's ruling. w00t.
1a.
1b.
R1.
R2. -- all bites on the beastie]

[Tongue Twister] [2 rage, split first action - already flanking!

1a: bite
1b: bite
1R: bite
2R: bite]

[Robb Murdoch] The Ahroun, their temporary leader, darts behind the beast with the Fostern. The Philodox and the Galliard are left on point.

The Fianna flicks Alek one quick, unreadable glance. Then he turns toward the beast and digs his claws in, snarling a challenge.

[1a/b/R1/R2: chomp!]

[Robb Murdoch] [-2!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 6, 6 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Robb Murdoch] [dam +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

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

[Robb Murdoch] [dam +4]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Robb Murdoch] [just fucking eat shit and die, kahseeno.]

[when darkness falls.] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 5, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] The Fianna leaps into the fray, his teeth sinking into the stinking hide of the Beast. It rears, squealing, angered and incensed by the attack. As the Fianna bites into the sickly tasting flesh though, he notices it at once -- it's more than tainted --

it's poison.

[Robbie -- roll Stamina vs Diff 6 for those bites!]

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

[Robb Murdoch]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Warcry] [1a. dex + brawl -2 (split) // diff +1 (steelfur) -1 (flanking)
YEAH I'LL BITE THAT POISON SKIN AND LIKE IT. WATCH ME.]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Tongue Twister] split 1: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2 = 9 -2 for split = 7 diff 5 - 1 for flank! reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 9 (Success x 3 at target 4)

[Tongue Twister] Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 2
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [Soak, YOUBITCH]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Tongue Twister] split 2: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2 = 9 -3 for split = 6 diff 5 - 1 (flank) reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7 (Success x 4 at target 4)

[Tongue Twister] Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 +3
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Tongue Twister] Resist Toxin!
sta + survival diff 6, only 1 suxx needed.
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 2, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) [WP]

[Warcry] [Damage! +1]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Warcry] [Soak vs yeccch]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 7, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Warcry] [1b. dex + brawl + perun -3 (split) // diff +1 (steelfur) -1 (flanking)]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Warcry] [Damage! +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 11 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [Mommy?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Warcry]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Kindly One] [1a: Slice: dex + melee -2 (split), diff (dual-wield)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7) Re-rolls: 1

[Kindly One] [dam: str +1 (Stheno) +2 (sword) +1 (talen) +4 (Crinos) +1][L]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Kindly One] [1b: Slice!: dex + melee -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 6 (Botch x 1 at target 7)

[Kindly One] [dam: +0][L]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Tongue Twister] NEY how!!! That's not NICE!

Soak:
Sta+Hispo = 4+3=7
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [1a. Tusk Robbie! (-2)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [Damage]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Robb Murdoch] [stupid pig, you can't tusk a fianna!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [1b. RAR!!!1! Tusk Alek!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [Damage]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Kindly One] [soak!: stam +1 (Stheno) +3 (Crinos) +1 (talen)]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Robb Murdoch] [resist toxin!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Robb Murdoch] [R1!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[Robb Murdoch] [dam +3]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [Soak eet, you stupid piggy]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Tongue Twister] RARSMASH!
R1: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 diff 5 -1 (flank) reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 12 at target 4) Re-rolls: 3

[Tongue Twister] I DONT LIKE PULL SKIGS! DIE!
(KAhseeno if you are a whore on this I will NEVER FORGIVE YOU! SO DONT BE A WHORE!)

Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 11=20
Dice Rolled:[ 20 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [Squeeeeeeal]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Warcry] [R1]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Warcry] [+5]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Warcry] [soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[when darkness falls.] [Nooooooooo!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[when darkness falls.] [Skull Pig's Status has changed from :D to X( ]

[when darkness falls.] The Skull Pig, an old male separated form his herd, cannot sustain beneath the onslaught of four sets of teeth and blade upon his tough hide. Tonight, the Garou work as a seamless machine, easily toppling the great Beast. When it falls, bleeding heavily from wounds, it is upon the desecrated grave -- the blood dark and black against the earth.

Poisoned, filthy blood seeping into the ground.

It was odd, a Wyrm creature such as this alone -- even an aged one as this appeared -- and the Glyph's, burned into its hide seemed to signify that no matter how easily the victory came this night -- perhaps there was more to come.

[Kindly One] [golden apple: om nom nom]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 3)

[Warcry] The thing dies fast and it dies easy, but the poor piggy was beset upon four Garou -- none of them with low Rage, none of them afraid of its poison skin -- and savaged down to blood and lifeless flesh in mere seconds.

Standing over it at the very end is the Galliard who ceded leadership, despite her rank, to the only Ahroun in their presence and the one ordained by auspice to take charge in battle. Her fur is thick and scrapes against itself, metallic hair against metallic hair, with every breath she takes. With her gift active it is hard to make out the pinpoint glints of metal piercings in her ears, in her left foreleg, but they're there.

Brutal Revelation shakes herself after several seconds of silence, listening for more pigs to come, and the metal melts off and dissipates from her like so much water. Steel becomes fur again, soft and silent, a greyscale rainbow across her form.

She lifts her head to survey those with her, the damage they've taken and avoided, and turns first to Rory. "I will tell Wyrmbreaker-rhya," she calls him, though he is Fostern as she is... for now, "of how you led."

Perhaps the other Galliard here tonight will note the neutrality of that statement. The promise to record, to remember, to retell, but not an indication of opinion in a word of it. She looks at Kindly One, assuming because the Half Moon is a Fury: "If you can Cleanse, I will deal with the corpse."

And to Robb, last to see her crystalline eyes fixing on him. A chuff of thanks, and of greeting. And nothing more.

[Robb Murdoch] Four Garou fall on the single skull pig; tear it to shreds. In the aftermath there's only the latent scent of old death about this place -- the collective decay of hundreds of buried dead.

In this form, the Galliard finds it hard to understand this human practice, this consigning of bodies to the earth. He's not afraid of ghosts, but he dislikes this place for the unnaturalness of it -- his ears flattening against his head, his fur remaining on end.

"I can Cleanse," he interjects, and then looks to the Fury. "And I can help, too, if you want to lead the Rite."

[Tongue Twister] The Skull Pig falls, and Rory stands, feet braced, and blood and gore dripping from her muzzle as she waits to be sure it won't rise again. Her head tips to the side, ears flicking as she listens.

Once she is certain it will not rise, she gives a violent shake to her fur, before she melts down into her monkey skin. Blood stains her shirt, an injury gained by an alley and therefore needing no mention. Instead, she looks over each of those that fought with her, that (shockingly!) followed her lead, and nods.

And finally introduces herself to Robb. "Rory. Tongue Twister. Fianna Cliath Mull Foon."

And then Sinclair tells her of how she lead, and she ducks her head, a blush spilling across her cheeks, spreading along her shoulders. The comment is neutral, though the fact that there will be a telling at all is enough to bring the extreme shyness of the metis to the fore.

And then she goes about helping with the disposal of the body.

[when darkness falls.] [Thanks for letting me ST for you, guys! It'll be longer next time! :] ]

[Kindly One] Of the four, the young Fury dealt the least damage and took the most hurt. Before she sees to her own wounds, she looks over the Ahroun, looks for the place where she missed her mark and hit her ally instead. What's left of the nick is already healed, all that's left a bit of Rory's blood on her fur. Alek says nothing, but she dips her head to the metis in apology.

Her swords are returned to their place within her forearms. A nod to Warcry, of course she can cleanse. And a look to Robbie.

"I would appreciate it," she says, though first she withdraws seemingly from her own body, from within her fur, what looks like a glowing golden apple. Once eaten, her wounds seal themselves, flesh knitting together where the pig's tusks tore her open.

"Ready?" she asks, and she and the Fianna Galliard perform the cleansing.

[Robb Murdoch] [short and sweet is good too, jacqui. i had fun! :] ]

[Tongue Twister] [Thanks Jac! it was fun! And Rory will stay and help with cleanup - but I gotta sleep! Night!]

[Warcry] [[That was fun! Thank you guys for the RP! Thank you for STing, Jacqui.]]

[Kindly One] [thanks for running this, Jacqui!]

strange, solitary fianna.

[Robbie Murdoch] Out of the alleyway. The bloody, bloody alleyway where a Spiral Dancer, a pack of dogs and a monstrosity born of the very essence of madness of disease died bloody, bloody deaths. Where one of their own was touched and tainted, taken beyond sanity to a state she would never --

To a state Maoldònaich Mac an Deòraidh believed she would never come back from. Maoldònaich; not Robbie. Yes. The difference is important.

Out of the alleyway, then. Two, three yards away. The Galliard sways like he's drunk. Puts a hand out and touches the wall, then lets his elbow bend, his arm relax. Folds against it and turns until his shoulderblades as to the brick, leaning, closing his eyes, waiting for the jumble of sudden-bursting memories and images to settle into something approaching coherent sense.

The sequence of events. The violence in there; the things he had done. The cold ichor and hot blood still on his tongue, fouling his mouth. His utter willingness to end that Ragabash, wipe her existence from the earth. These things chill him to the bone; but there's more. There was the rush of it, the hot exhilaration of being so fucking powerful. The remembered might of an Elder like a phantom limb: felt but not really there.

He reminds himself of that, too. It was never really there. He is not who he thought he was, gripped in the seductive madness of his ancestor. He is not in Britannia, less than a century after Christ; he is not Maoldònaich Mac an Deòraidh, reaper of flesh.

He's himself. Robbie Murdoch. A lanky tall man-shaped creature leaning against a brick wall outside an alley full of low voices that he did not want to face again. He's wearing the same worn clothes he walked in there with, but now they're covered in blood. He's soaked in blood. Shit. He needs to get off the street. He needs to find his kin. Both of them.

The Galliard pushes himself off the wall. He's still unsteady, but pure determination soon puts that from his stride. His balance comes back to him as he walks, and then he starts running, going forward without thinking, trusting in his instinct to lead him in the right direction. Heavy boots pound the pavement. He doesn't care if someone sees and wonders. The way he looks right now, someone wondering why he was running was the last and least of his concerns.

[Amelia Conway] Blood was a common factor tonight, in several different ways, most notably in veins of the people out on this particular street tonight, also in the form of business. The cloying sweet-and-bitter smell that got its way up into your nasal cavity and hung around for hours on end. You almost got used to it, forgot that it smelled so strongly after breathing it in for so long. That was the point Amelia was at, at least, as she stepped out of a low, wide building that was largely single story with only a small second story wing at the front. 'Conway Butcher Shop' was scrawled in old turn-of-the-century block letters across a sign over the front door of the building, with specials painted onto the front window. Amelia turned her lock in the front door, stuck the ring of keys into her pocket, and took a step back to put her hands at her hips and look at the window, then the sign, then the front of the building in general with an air of satisfaction about her.

She wasn't a very outstanding woman to view right away, especially not from a distance. She dressed plainly in a pair of gray slacks and a white tank top, butchering jacket hung up in the back when she had finished with her work. Her hands and arms had been washed, but the smell of her dirty work was still stuck to the short, choppily styled blonde hair and grimed dark red under her short fingernails. She couldn't smell anything but the meat and blood and salts anymore, but that would fade just fine after a shower.

Behind her was the pounding of feet, someone running, an unfamiliar sound in this neighborhood, particularly at this time of night. Usually it was vehicles or bicycles, the steady thump-thump of running shoes as someone jogged casually up the street, but this was different. There was determination to the rhythm, adrenaline, and it caused Amelia to turn, curious and cautious both.

Wide amber-hazel eyes fell upon the tall form of a man that was so covered in blood that the word 'splashed' no longer applied. 'Caked', however came to mind.

She didn't say anything immediately, didn't put herself in the way or jump out to help. He could be a madman, could lash out at her, drag her around the back into the employee parking lot of her business and slit her throat. Rather, she pressed her back to the front door of her shop and watched the man run nearer.

[Liadan Whelan] It's been an interesting night for Líadan Whelan. Or just another one. The summer months are the worst months in Chicago, at least for the tall Fianna redhead. A year and a month ago she met her first Black Spiral Dancer. Since then, strangely enough, nights like tonight have become commonplace. She rolls with them in ways no normal person, no healthy, well-adjusted human being should.

She's killed people. And things. She's threatened to kill more under the guise of protection. There's no one in particular for her to protect anymore, though. Marrick and Charlie and Curata have all died. Young Garou males she met in a diner are all dead or drifted off into the mists of the unknown. And finally, her own guardian left. Left her here in the city, alone, with no idea who to turn to if she found herself in trouble.

Strange, how barely a couple weeks after the Philodox departed a Galliard landed right on her doorstep.

She's not thinking about Robbie Murdoch right now. He's there, somewhere in the back of her thoughts, waiting to be pondered at a later time. Maybe when she sees him again. Maybe in a few moments when she takes a breath and makes herself relax. Forces her thoughts away from what happened earlier in the evening.

Sitting on a bus bench, slouched back so far her head rests on its back, her face pointed to sky, she closes her eyes and shivers despite the heat of the night. She had a Black Spiral Dancer on her tonight. It pinned her to the ground. At the time, she didn't think about what he could do to her.

The sound of hurried footsteps draws nearer. Lee sits up abruptly, like a wild animal, head snapping in that direction. Slowly, she slides off the bench to stand. Waiting. Preparing.

[Robbie Murdoch] Ironically it's that sudden movement, the way Amelia shrinks so suddenly back into the doorway of her butchershop, that draws the predator's eye. Instantly the Fianna's head snaps around. There are stereotypes about their tribe: lovers, singers, good natures, good fighters. The truth is quite a bit more varied. The truth is their history is full of barbarians and murderers, grudges, warfare; a murky prehistory rife with cannibalism and sacrifice.

That's the stock they came from, driven from the mainland of europe by wave after wave of invaders. That's the old, dark blood that runs in their veins, battered and harassed from their prehistoric glory to a tiny island, and from that island to the very farthest reaches of rock and stone. They're a downtrodden people with an axe to grind, and violence is as much in their blood as song and history.

All of which is to say: when Robbie's glass-green eyes lock onto Amelia's, she stares at her own death.

He changes directions without a hitch of pause. Fleet-footed, deft, the Fiann pushes off the ball of one foot and swerves toward the woman. Shoves off the foot of the other and is airborne, leaping, literally pouncing on her like an animal. She barely gets time to scream before he's on her, slamming her back against the door. Knocking her to the ground. Landing crouched atop her with flawless, thoughtless balance, his hands fisted in the front of her shirt. He smells like blood and musk, wild.

"Pray you either recognize or forget what ya see," he pants, and like that, snapshifts to his warform.

[Amelia Conway] Perhaps she should have instead stuck out her foot to trip the man, or considered calling out to ask if he was okay, or yelled at him that he was a maniac and she was calling the police. Anything but try and keep out of the way and keep quiet. She'd moved backward perhaps too sharply, too quickly, to press herself into the door and avoid being plowed over on the sidewalk, and the precise opposite effect was had. The man wearing mud like a layer of latex over his front (and quite possibly his back), had quite literally launched himself upon her.

Chest and shoulders slammed into her own, squeezing her into the heavy wooden front door of her shop, knocking her head against it as well, then the world swam for a second (most of her senses did for that matter) and she felt still-warm concrete on her back and hands gathering up the front of her shirt. Her expression flicker-flashed between several when she looked up at him through eyes crinkled at the corners with tension-- surprise, fear, concern, curiosity, panic, defense... but it all comes down to that blank, wide-eyed stare when the denim knees pointed to frame either side of her were replaced by big, bulky, muscle-and-fur covered joints, when the hands pressed into the center of her chest sprouted claws and the face hovering over hers lengthened into a snout filled with teeth that could kill her without thought.

Her muscles locked, spine as well, and all expression spilled away to leave an empty canvas behind on her face.

Then her lips part just enough to let an exhale hiss through, she blinks her eyes once, and whispers to the panting maw above her.

"I pray this street is empty save for us."

[Amelia Conway] [[ mud = blood ]]

[Liadan Whelan] The street isn't empty save for them. Lee rises from her place on the bench, and she watches for the approach of someone running. She doesn't know, after all, if the Dancer she saw had other friends than whatever was lurking in that alley. She doesn't know if there is something else out there, or some creature tracked her down. Her blood calls to them, to the supernatural creatures of the night. Friend and foe alike.

At this distance, at this time of night, her sight bad even with her glasses, she can't make out the details of what's happening in front of the butcher shop. Until a shadow that wasn't there pops into existence, that is. Crouched low over something. Over someone.

Tonight, Lee did the smart thing, or what many would consider to be the smart thing. She ran away from the danger, or tried to. She tried to run from the dancer. She fled the scene.

Now, though, it's different. Maybe she's tired, not thinking clearly anymore. Rather than spinning on her heel and leaving whoever it is pinned beneath a monster, she runs toward them. Something about the crouched war beast is familiar. Not enough for her to recognize him. Not outside of his breed form or outside of his dire wolf.

She runs, dragging her gym bag up over her head to let it fall onto the pavement. A few feet away, she slows to a stop. Chest heaving, head tipped down, her dark eyes sweep over the woman pinned and the monster on top of her.

"Get off of her," she says flatly.

[Robbie Murdoch] Even in Crinos his body retains some of that lankiness. His legs are long; his arms, his torso, his fingers. His muzzle, even. Everything about him is narrow and long, lean, rangy. In this form his fur is sodden with blood and other, less pleasant fluids; the breath that huffs out of him is pungent with some unknown, noxious scent.

It smells like ruin. It smells like madness.

The green eyes, enormous and gleaming in the wan light of the street, stay fixed on the kinswoman's face another moment. Then abruptly and smoothly he unfolds to his feet. A huge handpaw extends. By the time she takes it -- if she takes it -- it's human again.

"It's not safe here." There's a slight flatness to his vowels; a faint touch of New England. "You need to come with me."

Actually: there's no choice there. If she doesn't take his hand, he grabs her by the wrist. And he turns to run again, but: there's no need. A breath bursts out of Robbie. He pants a few more times, then closes his mouth, nostrils flaring with every breath now. He ignores Liadan's flat order -- but then, he ignores that she tried to order him around, too. His pale eyes flick around.

"Where's the other one?"

[Amelia Conway] The creature unfolds itself from overtop of her, rises to its feet even though that long body stays leaned down far enough that a similarly lengthy arm can reach out toward her. She can see fur retracting and fingers shrinking back to something akin to human even as the hand comes toward her. It isn't with violence, though, she recognizes this, and her hand moves to clasp his, accepting it almost by reflex more than anything else and hauling herself back up to her feet with this man's arm as a beam of support for her to do so with.

She didn't appear terribly phased by being slapped into a door and then pinned to the ground, not physically at least. She didn't flinch or touch at anything like it ached, but rather grabbed the thin straps of her tank top to adjust them over her shoulders, plucked the chest of her shirt so that it lay more properly over an average bustline rather than puckering out where it had been jerked at.

She'd looked to the woman that had run over and concluded rather quickly that since she'd run up and spoken after seeing this man become a beast and return again, she had to be Garou or Kin as well-- or perhaps a monster. That option had her shoulders tight and her eyes bright as she looked to the woman with the red hair, but it was Robbie's response to her that had Amelia settling, but only a little.

She looked to the front of her shop, then in the direction that the man had come running from. She checked to see if anything was pursuing, then looked back to the pair.

"This might be inappropriate timing and I'm more than willing to flee whatever we're fleeing... But who the hell are you two?"

[Liadan Whelan] He's already rising by the time Lee gets to them. And he shifts into a form that she recognizes. Tension in her shoulders eases, but doesn't bleed out completely. She's still tense, wary. Ready.

"Gone," she says, and she looks beyond him, back the way he's come. Looking for more creatures of nightmare to come loping out of the darkness. When she sees nothing, she turns her attention back to Robbie, covered in blood. She knows that appearance, what the blood at his face and soaking his clothes must mean. She's seen it before on various other Garou she's known.

"Did you--" she starts, but stops when the woman speaks up, asking who the hell they are. Her face turns to her, but her eyes shift to Robbie first. "Lee. You should get out of here. I called a cab, it'll be here any minute."

[Robbie Murdoch] Gone, Liadan says, and instantly Robbie's teeth are on edge. His jaw does square when he clenches it like that, hardening his rather long face that, paired with finer clothes, better-groomed hair and not so much blood, might've made him look noble.

"Take the cab," he says. "Both of you. To the Brotherhood of Thieves. I'll look for the other one and meet ya there."

He doesn't wait to see if they comply. He grabs the bottom of his shirt, wipes his face on it, and takes off running again.

[Amelia Conway] Amelia looked to Lee when she offered a name and mentioned a cab, then to Robbie when he clenched his teeth and ordered them to go to some place called The Brotherhood of Thieves. She'd heard about it from one other Kin that knew her uncle, someone that was an acquaintance at best. Apparently it was a Garou/Kinfolk safe haven of some kind, though beyond that she didn't know much else. For all she knew it was a themed restaurant where people jousted in the middle of a ring while customer sat and ate chicken with their fingers.

"Amelia," she answered to Lee, quietly, after Robbie was off and running again.

The cab, without missing a beat, turns the corner as soon as Robbie disappears around the opposite one. Whether Lee gets in the cab as suggested or not, Amelia does. She isn't going to tell a complete stranger that she should get in and do as she was told as well, but she's more than happy to hold the door and cover the fare if she does.

[Liadan] Hours have passed since the Brotherhood's restaurant closed for the night. The kitchen is quiet now, silent but for whatever late night wanderers come in looking for a quick bite, a drink, something before they go out on their evening patrols or return from wherever it is they were tonight. Somewhere on the second floor, either on the sectional sofa or in one of the many spare, empty bedrooms, there is a Kinfolk. There is no breeding to mark her for what she is, nothing but a lack of hysteria when a Crinos formed monster revealed himself to her on an empty city street.

That had been enough to reveal what she was. It was what warned Líadan about the woman in the SUV, who has gone now, back to her home or wherever it is she'd go late on a Thursday night.

There's another kin sitting in the dining room. She sits with her feet drawn up on a booth seat, just a few low lights on to illuminate her table and a few others. Her back is to the wall, and there's an empty plate in front of her. This one has breeding. It makes her noticeable in a way her face doesn't. It draws the eye when mundane creatures would overlook her.

Lee sits with her arms draped over her legs, her head resting on the back of the booth, her eyes closed. She looks like she's sleeping.

[Robbie Murdoch] It's well past midnight and closer to dawn when the front door of the Brotherhood bangs open. The man that comes in is tall, rusty-haired. He would be taller if he didn't always slouch just a little, and his shoulders would look broader, broad as they really are, if he didn't always round them just a bit.

He does, though. And rather than giving him a shy, uncomfortable look, it makes him look feral: some beast, slouching through the motions of being a man.

His head is down when he enters. He's grabbed someone sweatshirt somewhere, a hoodie, and pulled it up. Pulled the hood up. It's still warm outside, and he's breathing like he's been running a long way, which he has. He's sweating under the hood,

but when he pushes it down and off with a swipe of his hand, it's not sweat on his face that stands out most. It's the streaks of drying and dried blood, painting his knife-edge cheekbones and knife-blade nose like war paint.

His eyes look brilliant against that redness. Brilliant and sharp and pale green like something frozen, like sea ice. He spots Liadan at once and comes toward her, pushing rage ahead of him, then the smell of blood, lastly the smell of himself, sweat and adrenaline.

"Let's go upstairs." Tired, ramped up, wired, his accent seems a little thicker: ugly and flat. Upstaiyahs. His jaw is still tight. There's no second -- third, now -- kin trailing him.

[Liadan] [percept + emp: doot de doo]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Liadan] Lee's dark eyes snap open almost before the front door does. Either she wasn't asleep, or her slumber is light, easily disturbed. After a night like tonight, the reason could be either. Her head comes up when the door bangs open, and she looks at the hooded figure that steps inside. For a moment, her expression is empty, like a blank canvas, or a doll. Pale and waxy and utterly without emotion. Then she blinks those warm dark eyes, and there's a difference. She looks weary. On an ordinary night, she'd be asleep by now, lost in the covers of her bed in the cool air conditioned comfort of her own apartment.

The apartment that won't be hers for much longer. There are already boxes stacked in the dining area, plastic trash bags full of clothing. Some of her furniture is already wrapped and ready to be transported across town to a new place, a new space for her to fill with the signs of her existence.

That's for this weekend. For now, she's watching the Garou that showed up on her doorstep just a few nights ago, looking for hospitality. A place to shower and sleep. Family. What she's looking at is not the blood streaking his face. What she reacts to isn't the rage he pushes before him, diminished in battle but still there, still setting her teeth on edge. She's studying the lines of his face. The rounding of his shoulders. There was a time when she used the information she gathered from such a scan to morph her personality, bend and mold it like clay so that it fit perfectly against the person she was looking at.

Lee continues to look weary now. She unfolds herself from where she sat in the booth, her usual booth, the one that affords her the best view of the restaurant. She pulls her gym bag toward her, and slides out of that seat, the ancient vinyl groaning beneath her shifting weight. She's quiet and obedient tonight, now that he's not in his war form, pinning a girl to the sidewalk.

She follows him quietly, up the stairs to the second floor. "They keep some spare clothes around, if you want to take a shower," she offers.

[Robbie Murdoch] He hasn't been here long. Actually, he's been here a few hours. He just moved in today -- picking up his bag in her apartment this morning, which has turned into a maze of boxes and crates, and walking out the door. He doesn't even have a room yet, though Jenny promised she'd leave the open rooms unlocked for him after dinner.

This will be his first night here. But if he was inordinately familiar with Liadan's home, he's even more so here in this space where all things are shared and communal. He thumps through the doublehinged kitchen doors; thuds up the stairs. His backpack has been left in the corner of the common room, and he goes pick it up, slinging it over his back.

She offers spare clothing from the Brotherhood. He looks at her quizzically, the way he did when she offered him fresh towels.

"I got my change of clothes," he says.

Out of the common room, the hallway is narrower, the space more enclosed. He seems taller here, even lankier, with his thoughtless grace of motion. True to her word, Jenny's left the empty rooms open. They look the same, or similar: the same tiny beds, the same cheap desks, the same sparse furnishings -- not because the proprietors of this place are cheap or miserly, but because they can't afford better.

The Coltranes are not wealthy. They just have big hearts. They're Fianna, after all.

"Why don't ya move in here too?" Robbie says abruptly, stopping in front of -- room 4, is it? -- and turning to face Liadan. "I mean, where are you moving to, anyhow?"

[Liadan] This isn't Lee's first time here. While she's not intimately acquainted with The Brotherhood of Thieves, she's spent a lot of time here. A lot of nights. For all of her memories of this place, when she follows behind Robbie, her eyes don't linger over the door to room 1 when she passes it. She gave Jenny her key weeks ago. Someone else lives there now.

Seeing it, though, reminds her. Her hand goes to the simple cord around her neck. She tugs it over her head and away from her hair. The pendant at the end is white stone, hand carved. There are glyphs on it. Lee doesn't look at it, though, just holds it in her hand.

She doesn't look at room 3, either. It's been months since anyone she knew or cared about lived in that room.

Oddly, the room that holds the strongest memory, the strongest feeling of safety and security, is not room 1, or room 3. The room is farther down the hall. Lee hasn't been inside it since she first came to Chicago, since the first time a Black Spiral Dancer caught her. It's finally empty again, but she doesn't go to it. She stops when Robbie does, outside of room 4.

"Hm?" Reddish brows constrict, and she frowns at the bloodstained Galliard. "Ah, no. I lived in a dorm for four years and a few hostels overseas. I'm not going to do that again. My new place'll be off the Mile."

[Robbie Murdoch] The Mile. The name means almost nothing to him. He associates it vaguely with glittering lights, designer names on the walls. He doesn't know what the rent is, the square footage, the amenities; he doesn't quite understand how wealthy this rather unremarkable kin is.

What he does understand is the silence of her apartment for those two or three days he stayed there, where if he wasn't speaking or she wasn't speaking then no one was speaking. There was only the sound of the air conditioning, the fridge, lifeless machinery upkeeping the luxury of her home. Her house. Her place of residence. It's not really a home to Robbie, though perhaps he would be casting stones from a glass house to say so.

What he says instead: "Don't you get lonely like that? Living by yourself all the time. No Family."

[Liadan] All she can do is shrug at that. For someone who's family life growing up had been filled with intense and unbearable silence, being around people is worse. In some ways, family to her is the family found in Ireland, father and brother and sisters, and a multitude of cousins and aunts and uncles. There, it's too loud and too busy, with people asking too personal questions.

In other ways, family was a rage-heavy Philodox, an Ahroun, a Theurge. It was a Gaian kinfolk met occasionally. Sometimes she wonders if home wasn't really that condo outside of Grant Park, with her funny little couch and the bed with no frame.

"If I get lonely I come here," she says. "But I like living alone."

[Robbie Murdoch] The hour's close to four in the morning now. The Brotherhood is quiet: a few hours of lull before the morning rush starts again. Downstairs, the dining room is dark and quiet, the kitchen still.

In the common room, Amelia Conway has fallen asleep on the sectional couch. She wakes now to voices out in the hall, mildly muffled through the walls. It's the two she met on the street -- the tall one with blood on his mouth, blood on his face, blood on his clothes; the other one, also tall, who had shared a cab with her and brought her here.

...get lonely I come here, the woman is saying. But I like living alone.

The man is visible through the open doorway. He stands with his shoulders a little hunched, his arms folded across his lean chest. He's bony and large, his frame easily 6'2, 6'3 in height if he stood straight; shoulders a broad rack of bone. Not a lot of meat on him. Everything about him is supple and long, lanky, rangy, rawboned. He frowns down at Liadan for a while, quite possibly one of the minority of men in this city able to do so.

"Take a bunk here at least," he says. "For times like this, if ya get in trouble. Do it for me. So as I don't have to look all over the city for ya."

His head turns, then: some small sound or motion Amelia made, alerting him to her consciousness. A moment later his stance shifts as well to face her a little more.

"Morning sleepin' beauty," he says, wry, that light, flat touch of a faded Boston accent making all his humor dry.

[Amelia Conway] Amelia Conway had shared a cab with Liadan Whelan, one that traveled from some small island of businesses in the predominantly residential neighborhood of Lake View. There hadn't been much for conversation during that ride, each girl seeming preoccupied with their own thoughts. The smell of blood lingered with both of them, but for one it was more the smell of monsters, for other the smell of livestock. Liadan had taken Amelia as far as the kitchen, shown her the staircase and said she should make herself comfortable upstairs.

Apparently she did.

The woman was asleep on the sectional, sitting in one corner and slumped to the side until her head and shoulder had found the arm, bent uncomfortably at the waist with her feet still set on the floor in unflattering black non-slip work shoes. Her short blonde hair was mussed, bangs in front of her eyes, and those loose gray work slacks she wore were wrinkled from shifting and moving about and wearing them all through the day and night. She wasn't a particularly light or heavy sleeper, but she did notice the voices that came to break the quiet and still of the second floor hostel in these wee hours of the morning.

Amelia didn't make a lot of noise, but she did make a kind of vocal grinding sound when she stretched her arms over her head, then planted her palms on the arm of the couch to push herself back up into a sit. One hand rubbed at her face, the other her neck before both moved to brush through her boyishly short hair, shifting bangs out of her eyes and smoothing the back down. She peered through sleep-fogged eyes at the two faces from several hours before, then checked her watch-- she'd been asleep for three hours, and it was officially morning so she couldn't go home and go straight to bed.

Her answer to Robbie's greeting is a low, displeased groan and the pressing forward of hips to retrieve a thin miniature Altoids tin from her hip pocket. One cinnamon mint was popped into her mouth, the hot spice of the mint helping to awaken her a little better while killing off the dragon breath (though that did nothing to help the stink embedded in her unwashed hair and work clothes), and she leaned forward to put her elbows on her knees.

"Mornin'." There's a slight pull to her vowels, her dialect deepening them more than necessary, and something about that suggested of western mountains and ten gallon hats. A pause, and in a voice that was just a bit raspy with exhaustion, she asked: "Is whatever that danger was quelled?"

[Liadan] Lee doesn't look any different than she had when she left Amelia to wait in the dining room for the Garou's return. Her hair is down, dark but vibrant red, a mess from running, from when she was tossed around. Dressed in a t-shirt and capris, in the open air of the common room the smell is less noticeable. She managed to avoid getting blood on her clothes, for once made it out of a fight without needing to furiously scrub at her shoes. The smell the clings to her is that of rotting, fetid garbage, of waste and decay where a white-eyed monster knocked her to the ground and pinned her there.

A corner of her mouth twitches up in a crooked smile, and she reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. She's not gorgeous, not stunning or beautiful by nearly anyone's standards. Someone trying to be polite might call her attractive, or cute. There's a shy sort of charm to her crooked smile, though. He tells her to take a bunk in case of times like these, so he can find her. She's under no delusions that his concern is anything more than that of a Garou for a pure bred Kinfolk.

"That's the plan."

The woman on the sofa shifts and wakes. Lee doesn't know, well, anything about her. They kept to themselves in the cab, Lee riding with her forehead pressed to the window, staring out at the darkened storefronts and buildings without really seeing them.

Now, she watches the shorter woman wake, her own head canted curiously to the side. She wants to know if the danger was quelled. Lee leaves the answering of that up to Robbie.

"I'm going to take a shower. It was nice meeting you, Amelia," she says, as if the circumstances of their meeting were not as horrific as they were. "If you need anything from me," she adds, her expression wry, "I'll be in room 7 until the sun comes up."

[Robbie Murdoch] "Oh." That was easy. Robbie, expecting resistance, seems a little put off his stride, nonplussed. "Well. Good."

Liadan goes to shower. He steps out of her way automatically, then rounds to face Amelia as the redhead disappears down the hall. The other asks about danger. Robbie hesitates, then nods.

"I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. But I didn't find my other kinfolk either." He nods at her again, this time a short inclination of the chin, "Whose kin are you? So I find the appropriate party to apologize to, heh."

[Amelia Conway] Amelia sucked at the Altoid and watched Lee tuck at her hair, make brief eye contact with her, then immediately dismiss herself to go and take a shower. Light hazel eyes, almost amber in most light but plain and uninspiring in dim lighting, like the sort here in this... common room of sorts, followed after the other Kinfolk as she retreated, then closed so that she could swipe her fingers underneath them, rubbing old mascara and eyeliner from her bottom lids. She wiped her fingers on the rough fabric of her slacks, then looked over to Robbie.

"Well I'm pretty sure you'd know if she was dead. Y'all have spirits that warn of those happenings, right?" She licked at her lips, and cast her eyes about for a cheap coffee pot, something that she always thought to be a requirement for common rooms and motel rooms alike. As she hunted, she dropped a hand to her neck to rub at it, feeling stiff from sleeping so awkwardly on the couch.

"Stag. Fianna. But no one you'd have to apologize to personally, 'cause I didn't take no offense in what you did and there's no one I know yet that would for me. Only showed up some two weeks ago."

[Robbie Murdoch] The lanky Fianna shakes his head. His arms are still folded across his chest, his bones long enough and his chest lean enough that it seems with a little effort he could wrap them all the way around himself. He doesn't, though. The cross of his arms is loose, easy. He comes a little ways into the commons room, and when the light hits him she can see he's wiped some of the blood from his face, but it's still there along the jawline, at the hairline. Dried, rusty red now, it's an ironically close match to the russet of his rather tousled hair.

"Maybe the Theurges have spirits that would report to them all the doings of their kin. I don't. I got my two feet and my eyes." He laughs a little under his breath, then shrugs a bony shoulder up, swipes it across the hard line of his cheekbone where blood, drying, has begun to itch. "I didn't find her dead either though. So there's that.

"I'll find someone, can make me a Questing Stone. Look more in the morning."

She's of Stag, too. His mouth twitches faintly. "Well that's good. I'd be apologizing to myself, seeing as how I haven't met another Garou of Stag yet. Robbie Murdoch. Galliard."

[Amelia Conway] "Mm," is her answer to that. She didn't know an awful lot about spirits and the like, only what she's heard from family and friends, and not much was said beyond what it took to keep her pleased that they weren't purposefully trying to keep her ignorant, that she got something beyond 'it's none of your concern' or 'don't worry about things like that'. She knew they taught Gifts and that they came in every size, shape, and variety imaginable, plenty unimaginable as well.

"Amelia Conway. My brother's a Philodox." She smiled up at him, even though the expression was lackluster and tired. Forefinger and thumb pinched at the knot in her neck, then she stood by pushing her hands on her knees, moving in a way that suggested she would much rather be making opposite progress and be shifting to lay down properly instead. Rather than that, though, she moved to a small stand tucked against a wall that had a discount Wal*Mart coffee pot on it. The coffee in the pot was still fairly warm, the heater underneath did a decent job, some insomniac must have snuck through to brew it while Amelia was dozing off.

She poured herself a cup, then paused and lifted the pot to Robbie in indication as she spoke. "Want some? ...You new 'round this town too, or are there just not many of us here?"

[Robbie Murdoch] There's an almost avian sharpness to Robbie's glass-green eyes, and to the way his head turns slightly, smartly, precisely to look at the coffeepot. Then he shakes: no.

"Thanks," he adds. Polite boy.

"I'm new," he confirms then. "Came in maybe three days ago. Crashed with Liadan for a couple days. Moved in here tonight. Well. Moving in here right now. Haven't picked a room yet though.

"Folks at the caern, they told me a Fostern Fiann left town couple weeks ago. Looks like we just missed him. Suppose to be another one around too." Distaste curls his lip, "She's sinborn, though.

"So you just move in too? How come you got your name on a store already?"

Sharp eyes, his. Don't miss anything -- not even a sign on a dark street while he's running from a murder scene, looking for his scattered kin, pouncing on some poor innocent bystanding woman and knocking her flat.

[Amelia Conway] She nodded to him when he turned down the offer and thanked her anyways, took her own cup and hunted until she found some sugar packets to put into the coffee. She couldn't find anything to stir it with, so she shrugged, turned to lean back against the table the coffee pot was supported on, the top of her rear settling onto the edge of the tabletop, ankles crossing, and both hands cupping the mug as though to warm them, when in reality she was just holding the mug close to her face as though the smell of coffee could begin to caffeinate her.

Her eyes flicked up when he made a face at the fact that the only other Fianna in town was a Metis. She'd met one of those before, and the poor creature had no determinable gender and skin that was simultaneously perfectly free of hair and slick like an amphibian's. She pitied the thing, understood the reasoning behind the First Law without question. Her chin dipped in a bit of a nod, and she rolled her neck to stretch it before taking a drink of her coffee and answering over the plain mug's rim.

"I'm not living here, I'm at a hotel until I find a house I like and put in an offer. As for the shop, it was my uncle's until he passed on. I'm here to keep it going."

She grinned, and the expression flashed a hint of the sharpness that made their blood similar-- the relation to wolves shining through only briefly. "Meat seemed a good business when most of your family is carnivorous."

[Robbie Murdoch] "Why don't you move into the Brotherhood too?" His humor is ironic, "Make it easier for me to keep you guys safe."

Then surprise makes his eyes flicker. Robbie's eyelashes are short, light -- almost invisible against his pale eyes. It gives him a sharp, hawkeyed look.

"You just moved to town and you bought a butchershop? You must be filthy fuckin' rich."

[Amelia Conway] "I didn't buy the shop, I inherited it."

She lifted her pale blonde eyebrows, as though slightly skeptical of the way he was looking at her now. It felt like a potential profit property being stared at by a real estate shark. She sipped some more of the coffee, which was terrible but something to keep her conscious, or at least to help soothe the start of what she knew was going to be an awful headache in an hour. "My uncle didn't stipulate it specifically in his will-- no children or anything. I'm the only person in the family who has any idea of how to run a business that isn't a farm, so I came out here to keep it going."

Her eyes flicked toward the hallway that lead back to the dorm rooms, and after a moment she shook her head and grinned halfway. "Naw, I prefer privacy. Did the dorm thing in college, I'm done with that."

[Liadan] Lee isn't gone for very long. There's the feeling of routine to what she does once she disappears down the hall. Not that there's anyone to notice. While Robbie and Amelia drink coffee and talk about the tribe, Lee drops her gym bag just inside the door of room 7 slips into the bathroom for a quick shower. Finished and wrapped in a towel, she stands at the mirror and brushes her hair back. She doesn't have many things here, doesn't know anyone with a shower kit she can borrow or clothing she can change into. She has to make do with whatever is left in the stalls for general use.

Still, she does the best she can with what she has, and is glad simply to clean the smell of filth from her hair and skin. Securely wrapping the towel around her, she gathers her dirty clothing in one hand, and moves out and back down the hall toward the laundry room. Glancing into the common room as she passes the door, she does a double take, surprised to see the two others are still there, still talking. Sharp eyes may be able to catch the tattoo peeking above the towel on her right shoulder blade. Continuing past, they can hear the sound of a washing machine start and the lid drop closed.

When the tall redhead appears again, she's wearing a simple nondescript t-shirt at least two sizes too big for her and a pair of shorts. They were the first things she saw. Lee isn't looking to win any fashion shows, just needs something to wear while she waits for her clothes to get clean.

She stops at the door leading into the common room, presses her shoulder to the frame and loosely wraps her arms over her midsection. She gets there just in time to hear the Galliard trying to entice another Kinfolk to stay in the Brotherhood. The corner of her mouth quirks.

"I said the same thing."

[Robbie Murdoch] "She did," Robbie affirms when Lee reappears. "Strange, solitary Fianna you are, though."

Said the pot.

On that note, he straightens a little. He's never come far into the commons; a step or two beyond the doorway, no more. As Liadan enters, he uncrosses his arms, heads out.

"I need to wash this off," he says, "and put my stuff in a room. Maybe if you're still up I'll see you later." He thinks a moment. "And consider taking a bunk. Or sharing one with Liadan. For emergencies."

[sorry to bail, folks, but gotta handle some stuff IRL!]

rabid.

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