September 28, 2002
.09.28.02. - wonder if she screamed at the end [pack]

[north jersey]

(decker)
He hands the joint back. She sucks a hit, blows out smoke, shrugs with one shoulder. "You know we walk the other way if we see somethin'."

He exhales, shifting his weight, idly running his hand over the fresh-healed pink skin over his gut where that damn lupus had torn him open. Livingston hadn't touched that, leaving it to heal itself. Stingy bastard. "Yeah, but - seen anythin', heard anythin' at all? Maybe she was one o' yers. Heard somethin' about someone killin' you girls a while back."

Another shrug, a tired smile. "Well, that's stopped. Thank God."

"Think she was a blonde. Probably pretty. Mighta seemed highborn."

Cherry shakes her head again. "Like someone like that'd last a week out here." One last drag, and she hands the joint back. "Sorry, Deck. Can't help ya. But you're scarin' away the customers, so."

"Yeah," mutters Decker, tired of running up a blind alley, taking his joint back and having a last drag before tossing it down and stubbing it out. "Later, Cherry."

(arianna)
"An I said thank you - that's all your gonna get. And I don'tgive a shit what I am to him. Shoulda gutted him when I had the chance."
Smirks, and turns to lean back against the wall.
"Ya'll are holding last night against me, ain'tcha? not against him. All I did was stand my fucking ground. And I'll continue to do so."
A roll of her shoulders, and sha shakes her head.
"I'm pissed off. Gonna be for a while. I got all the right in the world - same as you. Don't like it, sorry. But ya take me as i am - or I can just keep walking."

(jimmy donovan)
**moves up right beside her. "I'm not holding shit aga'n ya." he says calmly. "I already told him that 'sfar as I'm concerned he's dirt."

(arianna)
Nods, and reaches for the bottle again.
"Had a real affect on him, I'm sure. I hate people like that."

(jimmy)
he shrugs. "Cant change 'em, why try?" he says giving her the bottle

(james)
so they say ya got class
or somethin;
Decker knew the local folk
and he knew the local.... folk
the little folk that is

everybody has their own little associations and their own little tricks of the trade
and it seemed his packmate had at least found the trick if not the trade

used and abused Cochran's scuffstep over the sidewalk
black BDUs in realization a few more stitches may be in order
gray tank pulled from the dregs of his pack
he'll have to dedicate it sooner or later
his shirt is soaking up the remains of the Fang kin
dreads tied back beneath the black paisley bandana

lower lip nibbled in thought as he finally crosses the street towards "the corner"

(arianna)
Takes the bottle and a long swig before handing it back and wiping her mouth.
"You should see it from my side. Gets right depressing knowing you can't change them, no matter what tribe they are. For every half decent one there's half a dozen pricks just like him."

(jimmy)
he nods "I know." he says quietly

(decker)
Right about then's when Decker leaves Cherry to her trade, shoving his hands into his pockets to cross the street to yet another corner, at right angles to both Jimmy and Arianna, and Cherry. Leaning against the wall, he raises his head to see James scuff his way up, and raises an eyebrow as if to ask, any luck?
(arianna)
"Do ya now."
quirks a half grin, but shrugs, arms crossing as gaze continues to glare holes in the hide her blade tasted just yesterday.
"So what do you do, Jimmy Donovan, other then rescue battered kin..."

(jimmy)
he shrugs. "Nothing any more. I just got offa boat a week ago or so." he seems briefly sad and looks up at the moon. "I wont be goin' back home though."

(ari)
Arches a brow, slightly.
"So what you do before - and where's home?"


(james)
a bit of a nod
a bit of a smile

"More mojo."

but his right hand raises upon the crinkle of a paper bag
Sunshine Donuts
this morning's, cold, little stale
but still good

eat first, talk later
Mother Rat's been kind

(jimmy)
"Belfast. I live with my da' and worked in factories. Till I had to leave."

(decker)
Decker leans over to glance into the bag, shakes his head. Not hungry, especially not for something that sick-sweet.

"Where at?"

[migrate to blackdays]

(james)
more for him
few bites taken of a maple bar chewed in thought before nodding back from whence he came

"One apartment building's had a few more gunshots than normal, in the last month..... few mice said they saw a real pretty lady entering before the latest round but they didn't see her come out."

real pretty
blond

"Care to go sniffing around?"

his nose is still full of the pine sol from being in the Barrens only a few days ago
he also doesn't know what to look for
but he knows where to look

(arianna)
And after Jimmy's moving on - she still leans against the wall, staring a whole in Decker. Flicker glance of recognition for James, but the jerk has her full attention. Toothpick rolled lazily with her tongue as she swings her pack around and grabs her walkman, slipping the phones on and turning it up.. just watching.

(decker)
Decker shrugs. Another building another gunshot another death. What else is new?

Real pretty lady.

"Yeah, okay," he agrees, nudging off the wall. "Just one thing. Go tell the fuckin' Silver Fang bitch across the street to quit glarin' my way."

No way was he going over to risk about confrontation.

(james)
Silver Fang bi...?
a glance across the street across the last bite of the bar

"Ooooh.... I thought after last night you'd developed a fan club"

waggling fingers before they're licked clean
he can hear the walkman from here
no use in calling out

the bag handed over for safe keeping
and the Gnawer is up and at'em
heading on over to the other side (once again, it seems)

(decker)
"Fuck you," scowls Decker. Fan club. Fuckin' Gnawer who thought he was funny.

As James moves off, Decker looks into his bag of treats. Yueech. Crinkling the top closed, he lets it hang by his side while he walks into the convenience store to flip through skin mags. He couldn't pay up tonight, but he could still look.

(ari)
Not bloody likely. A lift of brow, but fingers lift and waggle in return, headphones pulled off to drop around her neck as james heads her way. Pause. Wait. Then a smirk.
"Evenin James. A message from his royal asshole?"

(james)
funny? no, learning the pack's sarcasm, maybe
a chuckling nod before a twist to lean against the wall

"MMMhmm..... I may be taking liberty with the translation, but I think it boils down to mind your manners or next time he won't hold back, or bring Livingston in on it."

he heard all about it last night
and probably has figured more out than Decker let on
he knows it wasn't entirely his temper
or at least, figured it out once "she" narrowed down to Arianna

(arianna)
She just, stares at the boy.
"mind my.. oh you gotta be fucking kidding me."
She shakes her head - nope, no different here either. So much for James not being so bad, hm? a shake of her head and she tucks her toothpick into her pocket. They're all the fucking same.
"Whatever."
Yeah - a WHOLE load of shit narrowed down to a single word.

(james)
muscle rolls shoulders into a shrug
hands held up in that "nothing personal" way

"I'm just delivering what was said, and trying to turn it into English over slang. He outranks us both."

as if that explains everything
well
it does, come to think of it
even if a brow lifts the bandana on his forehead
he knows there's more than 'whatever' stored up in there

(arianna)
Smirks.
"Everyone outranks me, which is why no ones bothered to tell the whole story or even hear my side before passing judgement on the SilverFangBitch. They're all the same. All that remains to be seen is if you are any different."

(james)
there's a bit of a laugh at that one

"Well you are a bitch."

grinned

"So what's your side?"

(arianna)
"Yeah, and he's an asshole. With not one wit of fucking manners. Should have gutted him when I had the chance."
Wry grin, though she looks over a james.. actually having not expected the question, what with Rune's "no wonder he decked her" and jimmys poor us look what we have to put up with routine. A slight nod
"Was headed back to my friends pad, and fucker reached out and grabbed me, started demanding that I tell him shit - no introduction, no nothing. How the hell was I supposed to know he was on your side, hm? I told him he wasn't getting shit without telling me who he was, and thats when he grabbed me by the throat snarled some macho bullshit and shoved me."
a pause, a shrug.
"I stood my ground and returned the favor. Asking again for some sort of introduction and why I should tell him anything. That's when he decked me. I only held the blade to him - I had no intention of using it, just of getting him to back the fuck off."
Shrugs, and gares toward the door of the convenience store.
"Had he been civil and at least told me who the fuck he was - he'da found out I didn't know where my so-called "family" is anyway and that I came alone. But he has no manners and even less common sense."

(james)
there's a nod
no defending his packmate
no damning him either
Decker is Decker and it's not his right nor mission to change him

"He seems to be a little touchy about blades."

dark eyes take a gandering glance over

"He tell you what we found last night?"

(arianna)
A slight smirk. A little touchy indeed.
"A simple introduction and request and he never would have seen the blade."
A shrug. Simple as that and yes she's still pissed of. When you come from where she has... yeah. anyway. A slight shrug.
"Snarled something about a chick in the woods before my world went black and red."

(james)
"A chick in the woods.... just like you..... but a great deal smaller. I wrapped everything that was left to bury in my t-shirt, and probably didn't need that much. Decker knows who did it. I think he was more concerned with not having a repeat performance rather than formal introductions and requests."

again the smooth shrug
that easy smile
perhaps Decker does have common sense
maybe even compassion

in his harsh, trailer trash, brutal sort of way

but you won't find the Gnawer saying that out loud
let them each think what they want
he knows what he knows

"Next time, glare at his boots, or at least smile when you think the dirty thoughts. There's something to be worried about far more dangerous than him, and a lot closer than what we found the other day suggested. You know where Rune's is, they're pack..... so you know how to find me if you need me. Be careful out there, hm?"

(ari)
She just shakes her head.
"I didn't say shit about formality - but is 'names decker, this is what's happening, you know anything to help?' too much to ask? And I did ask. three times. I don't think he's concerned for shit. But again - whatever. My condolences."
There won't be a next time. She pulls from the wall, and nods.
"Later man."
He still has her card - she won't be looking them up. They need her, they can come find her. A roll of shoulders resituates backpack, and she heads thataway once more.

(rune)
"Try this one."

The distinctive flapping of glossy pages against glossy pages: the magazine rattle. Decker's view of Miss October is interrupted by a another Miss October: same silicone breasts, same bleached blonde hair, more blatant pose.


(james)
he said if
he doubts it
but the offer was still made
Mother Rat still heard it

young ones these days, they really need to learn to listen

but the boyman finds his way back down and across the street
and into the store
stopping to half peer at the skin mag in question

"Anyone interesting?"

glancing nod for Rune

(decker)
Decker starts, looking up with a wild light in his eyes (dangerturnbiteKILL--oh.) that dies down to the usual slow muted seethe of his Rage. Looking down at the better picture, he smirks faintly and shakes his head.

"Check out page 87."

Probably not what they expected. The girl there is the most...plain? No; none of the girls were plain. But normal might be a good word for it. The least fake. The breasts might almost be real; the hair is dark and smooth; the pose, a recline, all sleek sloping planes and gentle curves. One of the amateurs, and probably one that barely made the cut into the issue.

Strange what you start longing for after a few years of the wild, the exotic, the unnatural, the War.

(rune)
"We'll take it," Rune says to the clerk, with a bare-lidded glance when the Playboy is open to page 87. Pulling out her credit card, she glances at the boys. "Anything else y'all want?"

It wasn't exactly the time or place to discuss what they might've learned.

(james)
the normal woman gets what could almost be a smile
the credit card a look of almost confusion
before he remembers himself
(old habits die hard)

ones that work still somewhat of a treasure to him

reaching to grab a Belly-Washer while the offer is still open and holds it up with a nod

(decker)
Decker just shakes his head, taking his Playboy in its nice discreet brown paper bag outside when Rune's done paying for it.

"We were gonna go scope out somethin' James found earlier," he says. Cherry was gone. Either got some business or gave up, he figures.

(rune)
Rune tosses in a packet or three of rolling papers and a five pack of cheap lighters. She grabbed her prized Zippo off the street last night after tossing it to some strange, but has decided to be prepared. Next time someone asks her for a light, she'll just give them one of these.

The clerk takes an imprint of the card, and Rune signs one of her many aliases, then strides out of the convenience store as she stuffs her bounty into the deep pocket of her leather blazer.

Pausing on the sidewalk beside Decker, she lights up a cigarette. "So. Where to?"
(decker)
Decker, waiting for James to lead the way, asks Rune, "You find anythin'?"


(james)
it's all about Stuff
while he may have no personal use for the Courage the Cowardly Dog top on the drink
someone else might
and bartering has worked since the beginning of time
sipping on the daily dose of vitamin C in the berry drink
dreads bob in a nod

"Thank you, Rune."

outside
already heading towards the area in question

"It's about six or so blocks up"

better than sixty miles this time, eh?

(rune)
"Don't mention it." Rune falls into step alongside the James, and her strides are long and even tonight. It seems she remembered to wear sensible shoes, rather than the tragically hip heels she usually favors. Tucking her hands into the pockets of her leather blazer, Rune shrugs to Decker. "Not really. Didn't think I would. I can usually do some information gathering the other way around. Gimme a location or a name, and I can have some folks I know dig up records and so on. But out here, this ain't really my turf so this sorta canvasing shit ain't my forte."

(decker)
Decker nods, hands in his pockets, trudging along. Though he's somewhere between James and Rune in height, his slouching, prowling gait leaves him several inches shorter. Pant-cuffs scrape along pavement, wearing new frays and new holes into the hem as he keeps pace.

"James' people said they heard gunshots in some apartment." He fills her in not to make conversation but out of pack instinct. What one knows, the pack knows. "Said a pretty lady walked in that day 'n never came out. Figure it's worth a shot."

Lagging briefly behind to ditch the paper bag in the general direction of a trashcan, he shoves the skin mag folded up into the back of his cargoes and then trots to catch up to them again. James' long easy stroll matches Rune's hipswaying slink matches Decker's slow thuggish swagger. Three abreast, the urbanesque Garou prowl the pavement, easily and unthinkingly matched in pace and stride.

"Should probably send word to her people somehow," he adds.


(james)
Cochran soles lug across the neatly shaped cement
silent in thought and sip for awhile

"Well.... we might have a location for you. More wicked mojo, just going to sniff around."

considering last night's events
it seemed the best way to go about it
dark eyes glancing up the streets ahead
and pulling to a stop mid-block

"But it seems we've got about seven complexes to choose from."

(rune)
"There's a Caern in Central Park," Rune comments, offhanded, to Decker. Maybe we can pass on the word to them, they can get in touch with her people. Put the word out, find out who's missin' what, and so on. Probably not many - if any - of her folks up there, but they'd know where to go better than we would. I don't have any idea about other Caerns close by."

Nodding to James as he draws to a stop, Rune continues, "...I'll have my uncle see what he can dig up on what we find. It's all a mismatched patchwork of databases, and so on, so there's no guarantee, but could be he can give us some clues. Any idea on where to start?"

(decker)
Nodding mutely to Rune's suggestion, he keeps pace and listens to his packmates.

"Let's go Umbral," Decker interrupts when Rune asks where to start. "Ain't gonna be able to tell which building it is from this side, but might be that we can from the other. Look fer taint."


(james)
the three amigos
the three stooges
or
the three horsemen avenging their fallen comrade

he's not sure what to think of it
but it's comfortable to walk with a pack again
this it how it's done
this is how it should be
no matter past mistakes

"Arianna's the only one I know of her family, but she's about as out of contact with them as we are, the only Others I know of are up in the Barrens, seems you know them too. We were on the outskirts of NYC, so not too in touch with the goings on there outside of hearsay and rumor."

what he finds out in Jersey is what will get the home Sept back in the proverbial loop
a Bone Gnawer investigating a Fang Kin's disappearence
little brother's good for something, it seems

"Mouse said she saw a real pretty lady walking into a dark building a little while before the last volley of shots."

that narrows seven down to five
not even breaking stride to turn into an alley
already looking like he belongs there
already able to tell it's uninhabited
(it's a homeless thing)
exhaling as his body slims to squeeze through

it's always easier.... in the city


(decker)
It's always harder in the city.

So Decker doesn't try to do it alone. He grabs Rune's hand and lets her pull him across, hoping her spirit can add to his measly one. All muscle and no mind, is Decker. All rage and no gnosis.

Pop. One of those subaudible subdermal noises, like someone releasing a pressure seal far, far away. Sound is just pressure, so why not? On the other side now, crawlerling spiders all around gleaming silver-grey with eyes the color of electricity, purple and blue and white all at once, Decker lets go of Rune and shakes out his fingers.

Webs everywhere. Pattern everywhere. And beneath that, seething and jarring, the everpresent stench of Wyrm. Smog, pollution, despair, jealousy, abuse, hatred.

Just another day.
How could they stand it, Rune and James?

(rune)
The faintest shake of her head - acquiescence, no doubt - scatters inky strands of hair around her face. Rune as they enter the alley, smoothing them back with a slim white hand.

Glancing at James - perfectly willing to follow his lead here - she nods to herself and pulls out her lighter, then leads Decker through the thick webbed strands of the umbra.

The viscous gauntlet is familiar enough for her, and the stained, shattered penumbra just another reflection of home. She begins a slow circle in place, getting her bearing and keeping a careful eye out for the million hazards to which they might fall prey. The landscape is ghostly, ghastly, a strange multilayered history of the site. Half the current buildings - more - haven't yet made their imprint here, while others from another age cling stubbornly to their little spiritual plot, slowly fading to nothingness.


(james)
maybe this is why his kind are always looked down on
not the First Legend of old Boney's tricks
not the mangey, downbred.... domesticated... bodies
but that they're so damn comfortable here

this is home
the beast forced to grow and adapt to the sprawling, infested, seething, rotting concrete jungle
the primitive boy becoming the urban man
the animal evolving into something better.... or worse

a deep breath clears his head
no more pine-sol
even with the hazards ready to drag him into the darkness
that easy smile hasn't left
that pace doesn't slow
weaving through and around the scattered half-shadow ghosts of forgotten memory demanding it's share of conscience as easily as if walking down an empty street, already numb to the stained, vicious leftovers of what once might have been - he knows he lays a trail safe for them to follow as they search

(decker)
So he follows closely, now and then casting quick glances to either side. He might be passably familiar with the city's realmside, but this was a different situation. He didn't want to be bringing up the rear here. The odd superimposed landscape with its endless shining mirror-webs confused him, misled him, made him fear that he might lose the path if no one was there before and behind him.

As he moves, almost without realizing it, he takes his favored war-shape, the brooding thug becoming a grey-furred direwolf, claws ticking on the now-slick-as-glass, now-rough-as-concrete surface of the ground they tread upon.

(rune)
Rune's lips twist into her usual faint smirk as Decker choses the middle position. Her laugh is soundless, and mostly mirthless, as she falls into step behind him.

Hip-sauntering gate bleeds into a wary prowl, watchful and ready and alert. Tension sparks through her body, electric, livewire, but she stays loose and ready as they explore.

Except for the ceremony wherein they called Eagle, she hasn't been Umbral in a good long time. Familiar as she is with this urban horrorscape, she wouldn't dare it without pack. Pack - how unsettling, how bizarre.

(james)
the Get prowling the hunt behind enemy lines
the Walker tense with awareness' electric current
the Bone Gnawer taking a walk through the park

up, down, around
side to side
put your left foot in, put your left foot out
put your left foot in, and hope it doesn't get ripped off
you do the lookey-lookey and ya may get turned around
that's what it's aaaalll about

straight and narrow
a simple path
they won't get lost
they can look around
he'll make sure they don't make that left at Albaquerque

twisted as the landscape is
cities are cities
integrally, they're all the same
that's the beauty of it

a quick glance back
silent

anything?

(decker)
He's looking around, grey eyes in a grey face, white on his shoulder. He looks at the facades of the ghostly buildings one on top of the other, looking for things that didn't belong.

The city is old; there's a lot of blood. What's he's looking for, though, is fresher. And more...wrong.

Nothing, he rumbles, so far.

(rune)
Crouching on the cracked cobblestones of a street-that-was, fingers half-trailing over a few sickly, waving weeds, Rune studies the ghostly structures with a careful eye. In the middle of one of the apartment buildings, the remains of an old church. The lines of the squat, shambling tenement are barely visible, little more than a suggestion of structure, like a cage, around boxlike little church. White clapboard glows luminous in the dingy Umbral twilight.

"Wouldn't be a bad place to live, that," she remarks to James, soaking it in a moment more, faint smile turning her red lips upward, before shifting and stalking forward.

Different angle, new view. The 1-A in building two throbs low and bitter, the almost solid walls coated in a gelatinous substance that might've been blood, but the feel is old - is ancient, even. Glancing up - there? - Rune points to the fireescape hanging above the blackened windows. The structure leads her gaze upwards, the faint spillage of something bright against the dull black iron. Rune points. "What's that? Can you find a way up there?"

(james)
without even being told, he stops
perhaps to smell the flowers alongside the park path
glancing to the little picket fenced structure hiding in all the ghostly dreams
it brings something of a smile to the young Gnawer, too

reminds him of home

dirt stained fingernails scratch at the base of his neck when the gaze raises
contemplation a moment's silence
pinpointing the strange smear of... whatever.....
barely

"Sure. Just don't go anywhere."

that easy grin in tease as the empty juice bottle is resecured in cargo pocket
hands rubbed together before stepping towards the building
shall we dance, madam?
the faintest of lip curls when he grasps the pattern web
sticky woven strands clinging to his palms
his boots
ach, gah, his hair on a badly-timed glance down
while there's progress
it isn't quick
he's avoiding the windows

"What am I looking for again?"

simply waiting for something to reach out and grab him
too many horror movies, Jamey-boy
...... right?

(rune)
"Third floor," Rune calls, watching James climb the pattern web with (relative) ease. She's not entirely absorbed in his progress though, keeping an eye on the blackened windows, and sweeping her watchful gaze up and down the street. "Bright, like a crumpled bit of foil. Too irregular to be part of the web."

Shading her eyes to catch a glimpse of... whatever it was, to see if it's even there anymore. "See it?"

(james)
if there's anything that will make a Gnawer opt for a bath.....
he's cleaner than most of his Family, but still
pine-sol isn't quite as bad

it's called a web for a reason
he's making progress as quick as possible so not to find out why
he's heard enough tales about enormous eight-legged electromagnetic freaks from outerinnerspace
let's try to keep them stories
shall we?

bright
foily
shiney
irregular
and thirty feet up in the air - whee!

but he finds it

"It's smeared....."

bandana wrapped heat tilts
eeeew

".... no..... splattered, looks like.... I can't smell anything though."

one hand lets precariously go, withdrawing a piece of paper from yet another pocket
and wiping it across the stain
caaaarefully folded into a little packet
and dropped down to them below

(rune)
Rising to catch the packet as it drifts and floats aimlessly toward the ground, Rune prays that it doesn't catch on any of the smaller, encircling webs. Gaia was keeping an eye out for them, or perhaps they're just lucky tonight.

Scooping the pack up from the cobblestone street, Rune unfolds the little packet, careful not to trail her fingers through the smear, then presents it to the direwolf for inspection.

(decker)
Carefully stepping amongst the webs, Silence pushes his nose into Rune's palm and inhales, exhales, inhales again.

Snorts.

Asher. And one other. Female. Maybe kin. Can't tell very well.

(james)
Asher
fantastic
just who he wanted to find

no... seriously

a quick glance counts the windows (he can see) from one side of the building
but more the relativity of the window to the fireescape
and, yep, that's right, down comes the Gnawer
he's not risking that window
you have no idea the tales he's heard
no matter how much at ease he seems to be
dusting himself off as best he can once back on their level

"There seemed to be a little on the sill, too, like it started inside."

not quite suggesting that's where they head next
pack instinct
they should know

and all

he'd rather attempt the next part on the other side


(rune)
Standing and streching, Rune absorbs the information silently, keeping an eye out for James as he climbs down the tangled webbing.

And without a word, she turns again, waiting for James to take the lead back to the alley, with Rune the alert rearguard, and Silence between.

(decker)


(james)
over the webbing and through the sludge
to reality's house we go
gnawer knows the way
t'wards light of day

snap out of it Jamey-boy!

the path is quick, retraced
counting the steps, yards, blocks
back to the alley they came within

giving Silence the time to return to more street savvy form before exhaling.... and stepping through


(rune)
Rune catches Decker's hand and breathes out a long, singing breath, then leads him back to the other side a few seconds behind James.

There, she shivers a capable hand through her hair - must be a nervous habit - and smoothes it back into place. Eyes half-closed, Rune superimposes her memory of that world over this as if it were a transparency. Grim-faced, she is, no longer her usual smirking self, and absorbed with the task at hand as they pace from the alleyway back onto the street with barely a glance for the few passersby, so intent on the building is she.

(james)
unodostresherewego

instinctual the check that everybody made it back safely
all hands, eyes, ears, arms and tails kept inside the moving vehicle at all times
good
each step a rhythm, a song, a backbeat to be remembered and retraced
just like a song to lead them back to the building

run down
slummy
dark bricks

yea.... there's no place like home
and his head shakes

"Nothing special..... those I found hadn't been inside."

(decker)
I can only hope they close. their. eyes.

Three of them, in through the door of what passes for a lobby. There's an old man with rheumy eyes who leans heavily on his cane and looks up at them, shaky, shaken, his eyes white in his dark face. Ignoring him, Decker heads straight for the narrow door marked STAIRS.

The lobby had been lit by a few pale fluorescent lights, low-ceiled. The stairwell is darker, only a few sodium lamps burning in cages to light their way. The stairs themselves spiral tightly up on along all four walls, large numbers painted on the walls to show them the floor. One, two, three.

Open door. Musty hallway. Windows at both ends, murky with dirt. Brass numbers on the apartment doors, faded gold against stained brown. "Which one?" Decker utters, looking one way, then the other.

(rune)
Rune doesn't belong here - the Prada blazer, the low-slung linen pants, the silky white blouse and the shit-kickers - doesn't belong here at all, but she's almost as comfortable slumming it up as James is.

Hands sunk into the pockets of the blazer, she scans the street with a practiced eye, looking for anyone who might be looking at them.

Well, looking at them more than necessary, or more than usual.

She paces down the sidewalk then, head canted up, studying the windows for lights - anybody home? - then ducks her head and follows Decker and James into the lobby, up the moldy stairs stinking of piss.

"This way," she points, the corners of her mouth quirking downward in a puzzled frown. "One of those two, though I don't know how they're laid out, so I couldn't begin to guess."

(james)
this seems like a right nice place, actually
four walls
relatively dry
sturdy flooring
oh, ceiling is good too
pleasent, quiet atmosphere

if it weren't for the taint outside the window and all

lower lip sucks in to nibble upon pause in the hallway
mentally re-counting counting the windows and ticking off the doors
estimating floorspace
(Rat bless the Frankenwielers and their blueprint studies)

"This one."

suddenly pointing to 302

(decker)
Decker looks between his packmates, and then goes forward to knock on Door A.

And waits.
And waits.
And waits.

Rune might be about to suggest some clever alternative - going Umbral to peek, etcetera - when Decker draws back a step and slams his booted foot into the door. Doesn't even try the lock first - which doesn't matter now, anyway, since old wood splinters and breaks. Shakily, the door wobbles inward and the three Garou, crowded shoulder to shoulder, look in to see...

(imogen slaughter)
It's nearly one am, and perhaps not the best time to be going a scene of a recent crime. Particularly one where no one is left to guarding the scene. She has her reasons, though, and sometimes waiting until the next day allows a trail to go cold. Or an inkling of an idea to fade, the spark washed out. Or destruction of evidence. So, after informing all of the appropriate people (some of them twice) and insuring there was someone at the office (there is always someone at her office) knew where she was, here she is, parking a nondescript car beneath a street lamp, and beginning to unbuckle her seatbelt and slide out of the driver's side. Rounding the car and opening it's sizeable trunk, out comes a heavy case, slightly out of synch with her slender frame as she hefts it, carelessly tossing the strap over one shoulder as she shuts the trunk with a single hand. And here she goes, to do whatever it is she does with her job (after all, if it was just cutting up bodies, she'd never get out anymore)


(james)
the keyring he was pulling out of his pocket is slid right back home as Decker unlocks the door for them
so much for subtlety

even if it gets something of a grin from the Gnawer

until the scents from within the apartment spill out into the hallway from the quiet, stale darkness within
underlying the pizza, the rats, the dust, and all the forgotten memories

there's violence
death
destruction
corruption
and overwhelming hate

whatever happened here was unspeakable

even though he's used to being the bottom of the barrel
forgotten
abused
violated
trashed
dumped on
and generally ground beneath society's heel
the Ahroun halts a distasteful step back

some seriously bad mojo


((the apartment is clean, empty save the furniture Gaby didn't take, but what was Malcom's and broken in the fight between Asher and Madeleine is still there.... ))

(decker)
They can flinch if they want. They can roll over and vomit for all he cared. They're Glass Walker and Bone Gnawer.

He's Fenrir. Weakness is not allowed.

Biting back the immediate urge to turn and vomit, the Modi - standing with his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, ready for anything to charge out of the darkness - relaxes his weight onto his heels. A cough, a shake of his head like a musician missing an easy note, and then he steps forward and puts a hand on the door to halt its rebound. The other hand gropes along the wall for a light switch, finds one, flicks.

Nothing. Bulb's burnt out or smashed. His voice sounds oddly flat in this place so choked with hatred, "Anyone got a light?"

(imogen)
Into the fluourescent lit lobby, eyes trailing down the lobby as she shifts the weight of her bag, heading toward the doorway marked Stairs in capital letters. Up the spiral staircase, keeping hands away from dingy looking railings (you don't know where those have been) trying to decide which floor to start with. By the time she reaches the third floor, the burn in her knees and legs indicates that apparently, it will be this floor, whille doubling for a silent and blatant reminder that she should get to the gym more often (ever).

Third floor it is. The hallway smells of mould and reminds her vaguely of a wet dog smell as she steps in, eyes sweeping the walls and door ways, thoughtfully, wheels churning to the ideas that had been previously brainstormed, the entire reason she's come here in the middle of the night.

(rune)
The sour taste in the back of her throat is familiar by now, and so it should be easier to take.

It isn't easier to take of course, and so Rune lingers outside the door squaring her shoulders and summoning her scant spiritual reserves to form some sort of thin, frail armor, then walks inside. From the pocket of her blazer, she pulls out the packet of cheap lighters she purchased earlier and tosses them to Decker. Then, from her other pocket, Rune pulls out her wallet and slips a slim flashlight shaped like a credit card from within. Squeezing the plastic, Rune directs the thin beam around the room. "Best I can do."

(james)
lip curls upon stepping inside
he doesn't have that Get mentality about weakness
but he's not about to back down

the crunch of glass beneath Cochran signifies.... he knows why the lights don't work

dark eyes follow the trail of the mini-beam
the broken door at the other end of the living room
should be about where that fire escape was, too
a bit of a sigh
here we go.... again

but he stops at the doorway
the smells thicken
even as old as they are
once Rune catches up he understands why

the bloodsplatters fairly evenly dispersed along the walls
floor
even ceiling
pooled on the bed

(rune)
"You had to break down the door, didn't you?" muttered, the words, as Rune tosses a glance over her shoulder toward the dingy hallway. She does what she can to push the door (mostly) closed and steal a breath or three of relatively fresh air. She spends a few beats staring at the blood pooled on the bed, forcing herself to get used to it, then flashes the beam around the room. "Let's see what we can find. If you gotta touch something, try not to leave print. No reason to bring the damn cops to our door."

(imogen)
She will, in approximately thirty seconds violently curse a variety of deities and gods from Gaia and God and Jesus on down, for the poor luck of a Cornish woman who just happens to end up in the same god-fucking building and the same bloody floor as these three. All this was was a hunch. A search for evidence.

Her foot steps are whisper quiet outside the door, coming to a complete halt as she sees what is left of door number three, with the faint murmer of voices within, body edged toward the wall, and listening. She is quiet, but she is not perfectly quiet. Those who listen well, might catch the sounds of another presence; or she might just as easily be ignored.

(decker)
Decker coughs again and just grunts. Passing within a foot of him is like pushing through invisible bramble thickets. Rage and revulsion spiral out from him in jagged loops, and he heads across the room to stand at James' shoulder.

A bedroom. Or it was. Blood everywhere, soaking the sheets, dried on the walls, congealed and sticky and evaporated on the ground. The place is a fucking slaughterhouse.

No words out of this one; no reply to Rune's cool comment. A thick sound emerges from him, and nothing else, as he shoves past James to look at the prints in the blood on the floor, if there are any left. From the way the blood is dripped and then smudged, it's clear that someone towed something - a body, or perhaps it (she) was still alive - out to the fire escape, over.

This is the trail he follows, gingerly sticking his head out the push-up window to look out. To get a breath of fresh air before turning back. Deep breaths. One after another. Asher. Asher.

"Find anything?" - the words scrape out like sandpaper.

(james)
the window opens
the drapes flutter
.....shredded

and the Gnawer's eyes flick to the wall

"Bullet."

doing his best not to step in the dried leftover splatters that were once a woman
peering at the hole in the wall just beside a tacky (even in his opinion) painting

"Pried out, looks like."

good boy
not touching anything
just eyeing the scrape marks on the wall surrounding the hole
what he can see in the strange darkness, anyway
oooonly looking
course, not like he has prints on file, either

"From the looks over everything else, I'll assume at him, and not from him? Whoever she was..... helluva struggle."

no Forensics team
but from the mess and broken.... everything
well
it's obvious

(rune)
"Gimme a chance to look around," Rune mutters, irritation creasing her features. Pulling her hair out of her face, tucking the stray black strands behind her ears, she crosses the apartment gingerly. She, too, avoids the spattered blood as much as she is able, settling into an easy crouch beside the bed, shining the thin beam of her little flashlight beneath it.

Nothing on the nightstand, only a half-empty bottle of cheap shampoo and a tube of toothpaste squeezed from the middle, maybe a thin sliver of soap left in the soapdish, and a half-roll of TP sitting on the tank of the toilet.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Emerging from the bathroom, Rune shakes her and skims the flashlight across the apartment at her packmates. Shrugging faintly, she announces, "Nothing else I can find."

(decker)
He doesn't see any of what James and Rune might be deducing. Even if it were full light outside, even if all the lights inside worked, even if he had the training and the knowledge, he wouldn't.

After his first circuit of the room, he's wandered his way to the middle, where he stands slowly turning, looking at the splashes of blood on the walls, the drip and fall of it, the puddles and the ooze on the ground, irregular like the edges of a continent. He wonders who she was, this nameless, faceless, lifeless kin whose last remains rotted in a field miles from here. Silver Fang (get of fenris, did it make a difference?) kin, blonde, lovely until Asher (Bjornsen. Rohl.) tore in here, terrible and huge, and left her a ruin.

A queer little smile on his face, he murmurs, "Fighter...huh?"

Wonder what she said. Wonder what she thought in those final fatal moments. Wonder if her eyes were blue, or if they were grey. Wonder if she'd been someone's mate, someone's mother. Wonder if she'd ever wanted more from life that whatever life gave her.

Wonder if she'd wanted to see the world, alone.
Wonder if she smiled like sunshine.

Wonder if she'd screamed at the end.

"I gotta get outta here," mutters Decker, and shoves his way out of the bedroom.

(imogen)
Perhaps it was that there was something akin to guts in this woman that she will walk up to a broken in door and peer in, or perhaps there was something caught or recognized in any of their voices, or perhaps when she was born she was, quite frankly, lacking in the one trait that has permitted humans to proliferate for eons. A survival mechanism; the idea that 'this might kill me' stops most people. But then again, it seems to be a rather distressing lack in more than a few kinfolk. In either case, the decision is made and she is crossing the last few feet heading toward what remains of the doorway.

(james)
and he seconds the motion
tapdancing around the splattesr and back out into the main room
his head tilting at the sound of little rat feet scurrying across the ceiling
away

a quick grunt

someone's at the door

(rune)
Rune's gaze slips briefly to Decker, and she nods acquiesence. Not that he needed it. Not that the Get needed her permission to do anything.

She pauses in the living room, studying the arrangement - a broken lamp on the floor, a straightbacked chair missing the lower part of a leg tilted against the wall - and is walking toward the kitchen when James grunts.

Not another step.

Turning silently now, dark eyes flashing in question toward the two of them, Rune pauses, poised at the edge of the open kitchen. Waiting.

(decker)
On one side of the room, the bashed-in door. On the other side of the room, Decker. Homid form, thankfully: head down, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as though he had an incurable headache.

Hearing the approaching footsteps, his packmates' and someone else's, he looks up, giving a quick shake of his head before leveling a look at James. Company expected?

James shakes his head. Instead, his dreadlocks swing as he juts his jaw at the door. The Modi exhales, drops his hands to his sides, loosening and flexing and then loosening, before crossing the room to stand at the left side of the door, out of the line of sight.

Posted by james at September 28, 2002 12:00 AM
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