July 14, 2003.07.14.03. - never trust a fang [decker-imogen-johanna-barny][noje - some shitty little town]
(james)
urban wasteland full of squatters and drifters, gangsters and thugs
ain't a good place fer nobody
that would depend entirely on one's definition of "good" and "nobody"
because he, in all honesty, seems to fit right in
except for looking like he's had a shower in the past 24 hours
..... sorta.long brown dreads are tied back in grey bandana
there's more than one smear of dirt (... blood?) on the black t-shirt
those OD green cargos could probably use a wash... or three
Camel long is clenched between his teeth
but oddly, lips surrounding the orange and white smoke resemble an ambient smileBuck Moon last night
Full Thunder Moon
the Gnawer was nowhere to be found around the condos
which may explain that partial smile
though the reason he's here now is that faint feeling of pack which tugged his stroll down this street instead of the usual left on 25th(decker)
The silence spins out. Finally, "'N yer deedname." He lets go her hand, glaring, and shakes out the bloody strip of bandage. Like a spider spinning a web, his motions are hypnotic and repetitive as he starts to rewrap his knuckles. "Yer auspice 'n rank. 'R ain'tcha earned one yet?"(johanna -jo- delacourt)
Deedname, auspice, rank . . . again the familiar words beat at the wall holding back her memories, almost finding the latch on the door but not quite. Eyes meet his for the first time, intellingent and weighing but unsure at the same time. Uncomprehending, almost. She clears her throat nervously before answering.
"I, uh, I guess I haven't earned one yet . . ."(imogen)
"Yer have no idea what he's talking about, do you?" speaks the woman finally, a lilting accent that rounds out around the edges in a near brogue and clipped sharp around the corners. Un-american and certainly european, to say the least.(jo)
A thankful look and a slight shake of her head.
"No, I'm afraid I don't."
Voice still velvety smooth, but colored with her new found insecurity. Not knowing is going to drive her crazy if she doesn't break down that wall soon, but she's not sure how to go about it.(decker)
Well...she doesn't look like an idiot. Which either made her some sorta lost cub (wtf, another? and a Fang, at that?), or a very good liar. Neither prospect pleases him. On a night like this, very little indeed pleases him.When Imogen speaks he falls silent, tucking the loose end of the bloody bandage in under the rest. It's like there were only so many words between them, and when one spoke the other couldn't. He rolls his shoulders restlessly. The moon was coming up over the buildings now, leering and round.
The feel of pack turns his head, momentarily. James is smiling. Decker can't grasp that. Can't imagine smiling. Barely ever smiles in normal circumstances; wouldn't ever on a full-moon night, except maybe in that split-second before a frenzy, when all the world falls into a strange chaotic red order, and it all. makes. bloody. sense.
Beast. Bestial. Best for him, really. Freed of the burdens of conversation, he inhales again, deeply. Aromatic molecules spark off nerve impulses in his mind. Two gunships full of youngsters toting .45s cruise past and his eyes follow them. But they're not looking for trouble around here. They're going into enemy territory, D-Day on a small scale every night, every hour. Some will come back alive and earn their reputation tonight. Others will be sprawled on the asphalt when this is over, leaking brains. And tomorrow morning, or even tonight, Dr. Imogen Slaughter might be called to the scene.
Nod up to James.
(james)
the stroll seems to have a little more purpose
or at least there is some direction to the ground-devouring strides
chin (and ember, resultantly) tip up in breif nod
that easy, almost smile is still there
like some faint memory that's lurking about the periphreal
something made bloody sense, allright
just because he's a Hood never meant he was a Saint
he was only often mistaken for onedeep umber eyes, the color of Gaia's rich earth, skim over the stranger
(..... that purebred? fuckin' great.)
then strafe to the warwagon rumbling up the street and beyond
then.... back again
bit of a twitch in his smile
(... 'lo Imogen)
PR music man ain't much up on conversation tonight(imogen)
There's a brief glance toward Decker, quick, illegible, before sliding back toward Johanna. Even on a night where the moon is full, she doesn't waver her glance.Imogen is, as mentioned, a small woman, and this is something that is somewhat heightened by Decker, even when (or especially when) standing a few feet behind him, where she'd stopped herself, realizing the Modi had halted, and simply never bothering to close the distance again. She is fine boned and only an inch, maybe two over five feet, casually dressed in jeans and some t-shirt beneath a light jacket, which is still too heavy for this kind of weather.
"Then why..." pause here, not so much to think of words as to pull out her cigarettes again, reminded of such things by the smell of James's cigarette, as she glances briefly over her shoulder toward the Ahroun, before her eyes slide back to the song bird, "didn't yeh say so in tha first place?"
(jo)
Neither cub nor liar, but lost is not far from the mark . . . she looks back and forth between the two, hoping for some sort of explanation, any kind of key to try the locked door.
"I guess I didn't know I should . . ."
And now there's another that she can feel approaching before she sees him, another tower of rage but this one with a smile on his face. Another battering ram at the gate, much more and she feels like she'll break despite the strength she shows.(james)
this Full Moon wears a smile on his face
but the problem with James is - that smile is trademark
the easy curve is almost always present
even on a night like this
one should worry when it's not thereif Jo couldn't feel his approach, she'd have to be dead
not with the way that inferno of Rage has only begun to lessen
it still prickles and tumbles around him like an invisable sphere
which, probably, is the reason he remains a certain, specific distance away from Decker
most would think it's possible respect for his friend as the smoke from his Camel then drifts up and away
but they all know betterone hand slips into his pocket
retrieving one battered black Zippo
streetlights glint off the worn smooth finish as it rotates in the air
twisting between his fingers before the top flips open and produces flame
that's offered to Imogen
Jo only gets a curious glance(barny jameson)
Third night. Last night. Worst night.For the third day and night in a row, Barny is out walking (...Stalking...) the streets. Again, it was the Rage boiling in him that drove him out of the shelter of the small motel room. He has managed to walk all over the place during the short few days he has been here. Its a dying place, filled with desolation and hopelessness. It almost makes it startling, the people he meets on the streets. He half expects them to all be wyrm ridden freaks. But they look so deceptivly normal. It doesnt stop his skin from feeling like its beeing caressed by some venomous snake though.
He knows it is because of the rage. If anything, knowing the third night is always the worst night, he is forcing himself into more control. And in this case, control is to put away mile after mile of asphalt and concrete of pavements. The moon, bloated, shining, burning in the night sky illuminates him where he walks. Head that is in some desperate need of a shave, with dark red hair and beard that has reached some fuzzy outline. Vivid green eyes, alight cause of the rage burning hin his body, coarsing through it like some fiery tide. Black Tank top that outlines a broad, muscular chest, and does nothing to hide the branded mark on his shoulder. A scar running from the middle of his throat, encircling the entire left side of his neck is faintly seen under the moonlight. BDU's, and heavy boots finish him off. A big man indeed. an angry man that walks the streets.
(imogen)
And the rage thickens the air, burning the molecules, searing the atoms. It's hard to say if rage makes it colder or hotter, but either way it goes (and every second can be different), it's uncomfortable.It would be impossible to distinguish all the sources of rage, and it is almost impossible to remember what it would feel like to be unable to recognize rage, feel rage and know it's presence.
All this sets her teeth on edge and she stops searching for her zippo when James offers her the flame, her head turning to look briefly at the girl with the twin braids.
"An... 'I'm sorry, I don't have a bloody clue what you're talking about' never crossed your mind, did it?" she inquires casually, mostly because whatever feels off about the entire scenario is impossible to quite pinpoint. Particularly, when one considers the violent reactions of one cub, recently.
"Just... stare blankly and play along? Ta," the last said to James as she uses his offered flame, lighting the cigarette, a deep inhalation as she flickers back toward the girl, an eyebrow lifted.
(jo)
She pulls herself straight, proud again, losing the vestiges of hiding, of protecting herself. She may not know everything they're talking about but something about them reaches her . . . the rage beating against her with her heartbeat, the bands of headache tightening as she struggles to remember anything to aid her in this situation.
"I thought maybe it would bring something back, listening. Talking isn't always the best way."
Although for her it usually is, rather singing is usually the best way.(decker)
Just a snort from the Modi.Not in the mood. Not in game for this. Not in this state and not on this night. Everyone's lighting up around him, and him, he just tossed his last joint away. Expected to walk one redhead to one car, expected to turn around the other way and welcome the violence waiting for him in the empty parking lot with open arms.
James drifts in. Imogen's talking to the Fang. Decker drifts out, turning his back to the tableau and walking off. Aimless at first. Then it gets pretty clear he's going back up the street toward where he left his truck. Toward Barny coming down the street.
Storm fronts colliding.
(james)
"Bring something back?"forgive him for being a little skepticle
he did, after all, come in on the latter half of the conversation
(whatever conversation there was, knowing present company)
Imogen's accent is foreign, his is sharp, bred just across the damn river from here
the Gnawer drifts in, the Fenrir drifts out, a rather deadly dance when you think about why
but now his attention has turned fully, after a welcome nod, to Jo since the Zippo is no longer of need
the Camel, half smoked, still clenched betwee his teeth allows both now free hands to open in that "please elaborate" sort of waythis wouldn't be the first time the Modi has drifted off and let him take over
so it seems James takes it all in stride
...... but if this is another cub....(barny)
But Rage responds to rage, doesnt it? And that beacon/explosion/ocean of Rage that is just There! Draws him like some violative moth, to the literal flame of Gaia's wrath collected. One good thing about it. He wont have to howl to alert them to his presence as he approaches, that is for sure. If he recognises any of the figures standing there except Decker, he makes no show of it. And Decker is coming his way. With something close to a fidget, he forces himself to stop. Hand searching the many pockets of his pants, before he finds the thin metal box. opening it, he pulls out a slim J. The full moon, and this much rage? he will take any help he can get. Zippo found, and the flame lights up the hard, chiseled lines of his face as he lights, and drags deep.Holding it, watching Decker approach, one hand cupped around the sweet smelling J. A slight nod, and he waits. Its the packs grounds after all. Clear skies. Yet thunder is threatening to fill the area.
(imogen)
"Alright." Smoke exhales with her words, sharp, suddenly, hinging on impatience. She certainly has more than Decker, at the best of times, and as he walks away (glance flickers, then back), certainly, this might be obvious. "We're going to play a game. We're going to pretend I don't 'ave all that much time. Which means I can't draw this out for the next few hours while I ask you questions and you give me ..." caustic, sharp shrug, "... say half an answer."The full moon's rising, and she glances toward James, and tilts her head in the gutter mutt's direction, an eloquent motion, simplicity. "So. What he said. Bring what back?"
(jo)
She shrugs, protective shutters closing against too much emotion, too many questions.
"Anything really . . . I don't remember much. I know my name because it's on the liscense that has my picture and on the credit cards in the same wallet."(decker)
Decker's eyes flicker at Barny's joint. His pace doesn't slow and it doesn't quicken. He comes at Barny until it becomes clear he's walking past Barny, hands in his back pockets, wallet chain glinting like silver. But it's not.Passing, he reaches out and snags the joint over. A jerk of his head motions for Barny to follow along. Pulls a hit off. Swoops without slowing and grinds it out on the pavement. Hands it back to the Coggie.
"Ya don't want that fuckin' with yer head where we're goin'."
Back to the parking lot. Back to the boarded-up, run-down, long-closed store.
(james)
and a brow most certainly lifts
oh this is just..... peachy
as Silver Fang (must be, with that breeding) amnesiac
one LONG drag off that Camel kills it then and there
then it's flicked towards the gutter uncerimoniously"Allright."
he wants to beat something - not problem solve
deeep breath James"May I see the wallet and cards?"
(jo)
She raises an eyebrow at his request, taking in his shabby, worn down state distrustfully before supplying the requested items. Eyes like a hawk's (or a falcon's) watch him as he looks over her things, her Washington state driver's lisence with the Seattle address, the handful of credit cards, the small amount of cash, they key card to her hotel room. No pictures, nothing personal to give any clues.(barny)
Perhaps there is some flash of a silent growl as it is snatched from him. But control is the word so far, and by the way Decker makes it sound Barny doesnt argue the action for now. He shrugs his shoulders in some semi reply, as he takes the cold smoke back from Decker, tucking it away in one of the many pockets of his bdu's. He walks slightly behind Decker. Its the little things that can make the difference between clawing at each other, or working together on nights like these.He doesnt say anything as he follows. Strange, huh? Just smirks, walking along in silence, looking towards where Decker so easily leads. Some cracking of knuckles and joints as he flexes, and opens his hands. He doesnt know what to expect, but it is always good to be prepared, isnt it?
(imogen)
She was likely about to ask the same question, however instead takes a quick sharp drag off her cigarette. She glances briefly toward the licence, credit cards, thoughtfully, "There might be a sept up there," she shrugs slightly. "Otherwise, I can try through th'DMV an' see if there's any previous addresses." Where there might also be a Sept. Either verify the story, or perhaps simply to try and give the girl some sort of answer.(james)
there's a breif expansion of his smile in thanks
whether it's for her trusting him with her things even as shabby as he looks
whether it's for her simply obeying and not further raising his (already high) stress level
that's for her to decide
the flip through the wallet is quick and to the point
either he knows what he's looking for or this isn't the first time he's rifled through a wallet"There's that, DMV is the easiest, but will raise a brow and get those involved you may not want, anyone here that could run the numbers is on a business trip." .... just how long has it been since you've seen her, Jamey-boy.... "Other option is to place a call upstate. Do you remember the room?" easy enough question, that, to see where her memory starts - but here's the kicker: "And do you even know what she meant by Sept?"
translation: Do you even remember what you are?
(decker)
Clawing at each other.
Working together.Either way works for him, really. As they approach the parking lot Decker can see his truck has, indeed, been fucked around with. Headlights yanked out. Hubcaps gone. Tires too. Windshield smashed, radio yanked out, and the toolbox from the bed.
All of it is sitting in a pile near the front door of the closed supermarket. One of the punks is sitting atop the pile of tires, grinning. No, they aren't subtle about this sort of thing, but then again, they had the advantage of numbers.
Decker stops by his truck a moment, silent, looking over the damage with a critical eye. The air around him bends and shears. Black body radiation: you swear he's about to go incandescent like a comet and rage.
But it subsides. Turns cold. He strips his shirt off and leaves it on the hood. Turns and starts toward the young thugs under the awning, his feet pounding concrete. Their jeers and taunts fall on deaf ears, and eventually stop falling at all. The grins vanish. Switchblades flick out and guns are cocked, but their hands are shaking the closer he gets.
Eight feet away he hits Crinos
(all hell breaks loose)
and reaches forward without taking another step and extends a huge arm and grabs the kid off the tires
(punks scattering every which way, screaming; guns dropped clattering or fired wildly)
and throws him seventeen bonejarring feet
(air jordans beat asphalt; the storefront clears out like a meth lab under a sting alert)
and doesn't bother to chase when the kid picks himself up and runs screaming bloody murder.They weren't the fight he was waiting for. Hell no.
In the silence that follows (silent save for the distant shrieks, the conflicting stories they'll put together three blocks away, the arguments they'll have that'll turn into fistfights and gunfights until they all decide they'd tripped off some bad X and chalked it up to a weird night, and forgot why they never came down this way ever again.), Barny might realize it wasn't the kids that was giving off that feel that made even Ahrouns tense. No, it's the building behind them, shut down, locked down, dark, its windows shattered and boarded over like eyes sewn shut. The Modi shifts down - partway - halts at Glabro and speaks to the Coggie.
"This place ain't smell right to my Theurge last time we was down this way. Ain't priority on nobody's list," this neighborhood, this land, already rotten, already infested, already beyond hope, "but could be good fer a l'il romp."
The Get of Fenris Modi levels a steady stare at the Child of Gaia Ahroun.
"Think yer up fer it?"
(jo)
Sept, another familiar word but not quite the right key . . . Although some pictures are brought forth by it. Wolves and people and things inbetween dancing and telling stories and herself singing with everyone listening. But where, and what was that? The headache's been threatening since she felt the first brush of rage and now the bands tighten again, causing her to pale slightly.
"Yes and no; the word is familiar . . ."(barny)
He follows. The truck, and the kids are given some quick glance. Is this what Decker had meant? But with the advance, and shift and the careless throw of the youth, Barny just smirks. His own shift is instantanious and smooth. He watches as Decker returns, then glances to the building. Looking at it for a few moments, before his gaze goes back to the Modi.The smile, fueled by the full moon and his rage is almost hungry. Answer enough as he puts his hands together infront of his chest, cracking glabro knuckles with the sound of tree limbs breaking in a storm. A nod in the midst of a shoulder roll. Sign clear enough for decker to lead on. This, might be just what he is looking for.
(imogen)
"Rohl introduced himself, and she didn't have a clue," notes the woman, with a faint lift of her shoulders. It's easy for Johanna to be lost again, seeing as Imogen uses the Modi's last name without thinking, when he had introduced himself with his first name, only.Her head turns toward the sound of gunfire, a brief pause in her attention, fingers sliding, habitually to her hip and finding her pager, sliding it free to check the display, before sliding it back. She picks up the words to James, again, "yer choice on th'licence. It's doable," ashing her cigarette toward the pavement. Doable might mean she can manage it without raising eyebrows. Doable also might mean she can manage it, even with problems, because the problems are controllable.
And it's not connected to the gunshots, and may very well be across the city (hell, across the state wasn't completely unlikely), but it's around now her pager, just checked for batteries goes off.
The curse is muttered, hissed beneath her breath as she reinserts the cigarette into her mouth, and takes several sharp steps away from the Garou, thumbing the pager off as if it burned, pulling it free as she continues to step away as she glances at the display, reaching into her pocket for a small cell phone, heading back toward the car half way down the block. Farewell constitutes a brief glance, and a flick of her fingers, because chances are she isn't being paged to hold a conversation.
(decker)
The boards give way until the Modi's Glabro strength, bending and then cracking jaggedly in half. He rips them off one of the larger windows in the front. Inside the store is pitchblack, the air musty. The dim light spilling from outside doesn't last ten feet. When their eyes adjust, they can glimpse the shadowy interior.No one's been there for years. Some of the casings have fallen off the fluorescent lights overhead. The tubes are still there, but Decker doubted they still worked, even if the electricity was still running out this way. Which it wasn't.
The cash registers are bare and deserted. The shelves and racks from the last leaser, the second-rate grocery market, are still there, naked as a skeleton. Dust and mice droppings cover the floor, though the air is eerily still. No mice here anymore. Even they've moved out.
And it stinks, too.
(barny)
He lets decker lead their 'assault'. Following him into the abandoned market, he looks around. Indeed, it does stink. A glance to Decker, then again, his gaze is drawn around. It seems empty enough here. In the back perhaps, or even in the moonworld. No need to hit crinos yet. Not for Barny anyway. He gives a nod towards the doors leading into the back, then tips his head slightly to the left, as if saying thats the side he will take, leaving it up to Decker which way to go.(james)
something's happening down the street
it's out of sight, and should be out of mind
but not when you're connected by the wings of Eagles
and it makes something BRISTLE within the Gnawer
the gut reaction to distant ignition of where his packmate went off to
something that pulls and tugs at the predator coiled just beneath human shell
something that the guttermutt can pick up rippling down the trashed street
(the ghettokid's reaction to the gunshots and screams)"Son of a bitch...."
.... the Veil is at risk
.... there could be trouble
.... someone is having fun without him"Doable." nodded towards the kin before she steps off under slavery to the page, and the wallet is handed back "And you have three choices. A. Go back to the motel and wait for me to call tomorrow, we can look more into this. B. Carry on your way. C. Tag along."
choice is hers
he's spun on a heel and is heading towards where those gunshots came from
Trouble?
shot ahead - needed or not, watching the door or jumping into the frey
that's still his packmate
he's not about to ignore it(jo)
Gun shots and something in her answers, leaning toward the sound (there's music even in gunfire to her) and incorporating it into the song of the night. She stands and follows the man, only hoping she won't be in the way or that she can help.(decker)
Decker's already looking into the right. In Glabro his features are primordial, easily mistaken for caveman or Cro-Magnon at first glance.At second, they're nothing alike. The brow slopes, yes. The jaw pushes forward. But the length of hair is coupled with thickness, a watertight layer beneath the longer guard hairs. His beard and body hair is filling in much the same, coarse and stiff guard hairs over a thin layer of down. The former is taking on a distinctly grey tone, and it's not the grey of old age. It's the steel grey of a Fenrir.
The bone structure is halfway lupine, the cheeks flatter, the nose split down the middle, the teeth elongated and set apart so as to intermesh perfectly. Those teeth are visible as he scents the air, bottom jaw falling away from top a distance. Then he straightens, assuming a more humanoid stance, and looks at Barny.
A voice underlaid with a growl, "Kin ya make any sound at all? Howl?" Barny shows him the whistle, and he gives a curt nod. "Ya find somethin'--" cuz Barny didn't look like he needed help, and Decker wasn't the type to really give it either, "--give a blast."
Then the Modi turns his back and strides away toward the right, quickly disappearing into the murk of the store.
Barny, meanwhile, is left to himself. The left side of the store yawns open and silent and dark.
(barny)
Asked, and whistle shown. Not that he is going to need it. If he does find something, the sound of claws in flesh, and screams of pain will be all to clear, wont it? The large ahroun, made to seem so inhuman in glabro moves to the left. Senses stronger then those in homid, it is still murky to him, even as his eyes have adjusted to the shadowy darkness. He moves with confidence, but not stupidly, even as the rage boils in him to Frenzy. He is looking around with all his senses, searching for that wrong that the Modi spoke of.Where Decker had the tones of gray and silver of the Get, if anything, Barny gets darker. The Red hairs and furlike hair on his arms and shoulders, mixed with the green of his eyes, intense as he searches. It would be so easy to place him with the Fianna tribe, wouldnt it?
(decker)
The deeper Barny goes, the greater the sense of wrongness.Because even if he's a little off in his perceptions, going in the south side and turning left, he should've hit the west wall a long time ago.
But he doesn't.
The distance stretches on. And on. And meanwhile, the north wall seems to be closing in. Like the store wasn't the rectangle it'd looked like from the outside. Like it was tapering, the laws of space bending and becoming fluid.
Pretty soon, Barny's in a tunnel. The tile is slick under his feet at first, but increasingly crunchy. If he bends down, he'll see it's littered with bug carcasses that get thicker and thicker as he goes on.
Still no wall.
Just silence. The pound of his own blood in his ears. The crunch of dead bugs. Distance.And, very softly, a rustling in the distance like the wings of a giant insect.
Where was he?
(barny)
This wierd bending of space. He is no theurge, but he knows that this is commonly encountered. In the umbra. Anyone who has ever moved any distance in the moonworld would recognise it. when a mile walk can take several hours, but a 10 mile run can take less then a minute. But he is no damn theurge. he is a warrior, and what the hell does he care about it? what he does care about however, is the faint sounds, and remains of the bugs. The shift to crinos is as fluid and instantanious as the shift to glabro was. He doesnt seem to grow in between. One step he is glabro, the next, some 9 feet furred monster. Dark fur, as to nearly black with the deep red hairs. Coarse, and still so utterly silent. The crinos form exudes fear from every hair. The slightest motion is one of calculated madness and destruction, as claws against the floor is the only sound escaping him now.(james)
Tacoma up ahead
.... stripped.
that's. not. good.
that would explain the gunshots and screams
he's surprised there's no blood in the parking lot
but that isn't where the inherant trail stops
so that places him paused at the door of the old market
glancing back to Jo, breifly
his eyes wander to her chest
and not in that normal copping a look way
but like he's looking straight into her heart
and what so unknown seems to be inspiring it"Think it's in you?"
accompanied by a rogue grin
because if that wasn't a vague question...
to back him up? to survive? a valid excuse to even be here?but now he's inside
his body has changed, like the door was a gateway in so many ways
senses heighted, features primal
something wicked this way comes... though he has a feeling it's already here
he can smell (feel) Decker off to the right
he can smell another stranger off to the left
they're all closing in on the back of the store
that leaves him bringing up the middle, taking up last flank
Jo.... is on her own
(no better way to prove you can swim than by jumping into the water)but there's something that calls them, almost like gravity
it pulls harder the thicker the bugs crunch beneath Barny's pawpad feet
it brays like challenge at the Modi in the reeking darkness
it tickles enough to make the mellow Gnawer paranoid
it calls.... whispering, taunting.... at the Fang, such blessed secrets the darkness may hold(jo)
She looks at him and (of course it's in me, I'm no coward) follows silently in more than one way, average sized, graceful body shifting up to a larger yet still lithe body as she prepares to defend as needed. Always alert, senses are now on edge, honed to a sharp point as she looks (smells, listens, tastes) for any threat around them. Ah, blessed secrets held by darkness promised sweetly (sweet as saccharine) and she follows the whispers, knowing that that's where the battle lies. And memories flood over her (such horrible accusations, treachery, wyrm-taint and who knows what else leveled at her and her family) making her want to curl up in a corner, to cry, to die, but now she knows she has to prove herself, to show that she is still good regardless of what her house (a pox on both your houses) may have done.(barny)
Indeed, this is what is the worst part of it. The wait. The walk. He knows that there is some great fight waiting just around the corner, or at the end of this never ending corridor. The wait, the anticipation is almost worse then the rage, and it is all he can do not to run head first into it. Great claws flexing in the dank, stinking air. Every sense overwhwlmed by that lust for battle tearing in him.(james)
they say that the lyrical rub of a cricket's wings are the serenade to it's mate
they say, also, that the very sound is the same that warns of impending locust swarm
it is enough to drive animals into stampede for the effort to get away
instinct commanding flight to save itself from the mindless plague consumptionbut those are herd animals of the plains - and these are urban predators
they don't run
(though perhaps they should)Decker came upon the far (solid) wall and turned again, finding nothing there, low-slung thuggish swagger smooth as glass in this careful, confident journey towards the challenge. The closer he gets to the back of the supposed store, the louder the sound gets - his hearing always was better than the others. It's piercing, grinding, hurting his ears and making his spine ache even before he sets foot in the tunnel. The grunt between packmates is more mental than verbal, and the Modi pays little attention to the Fang other than lingering glance which makes note even if she knew nothing of auspices and deed names and perhaps the Sept may sound familiar, some things must be automatic. Because she sure ain't a pretty little girl anymore. Something in her knew what it was doing, even if she wasn't aware of it.
The move to flank is automatic, James taking a step to the side to cover yet still allowing the Modi to lead.
The sound keeps getting louder for Jo, her missing memories filling in the blanks with whatever it is she wants to hear. Promises. Seductions. Temptations. Sweet, blessed secrets. The call to battle is coy and noxious. An overwhelming doubt begins to creep up, tickling with tiny little nails. Does she walk with allies, or do her enemies draw her into the darkness....
Barny, furthest ahead, wary and careful as a scout - doesn't feel the tiny little warp that signals stepping across. Maybe because it looks the same, here, it's just as dark, just as smelly, and the ever-thickening carpet of insect carcasses seems to.... move. Sometimes moving as if either something was traversing smoothly beneath them, or perhaps they weren't all dead.
(jo)
She tries to shake the voices out, to not hear the whispered promises (there's a lady who's sure/all that glitters is gold), but oh, secrets . . . the temptation is strong, will the Fang be stronger? Suspicious glances shot at each of her companions, but she stays with them, knowing even if they are enemies it's not likely she can take them both.(barny)
Perhaps, there should be some growl from him. claws sink, and tear into the long dead shells of the animals, making the massive beast easily keep his balance. Moving forward at a slight crouch, as if ready to pounce, or slip to the side. Arms and paws down infront of him. sometimes helping with the balance, while at others, those claws flex and feel the air, as if it were flesh (or spirit) already. He hears no whispered voices, but that sound. that sound of the rustling wings, it sets his teeth on edge.(james)
Barny passes from the tunnel into a cavern, or maybe the tunnel simply widens to accomodate whatever it is that built it. The store was an open gate, and he can realize that now, the question remains of what it is that conjured such things in the darkness. Before him, the air seems to whirl and thicken... two somethings begin coming out of the darkness, right infront of him....As the Child of Gaia slowed, the others were able to catch up. Picking their way through the quagmire of little carcasses, shaking off the still living creatures that scurried up their legs to find some puchase, some sanctity in the Garou that moved through as if to ride them as rafts back to the outer world. There is safety outside. There is only something.... wrong.... here...
Decker is the first into the cavern, edging off to left side when space enough clears. James moves right, hanging back, after a quick Whozzat? at the appearence of Barny's furry form, and Our side. shot back over the Totem Phone quells his hesitance. At least the Chrinos won't be one of the things they'll have to fight.... hopefully. Jo is left to make her own decision. All she can hear are the promises of the giant wings soft and sweet in her mind.
The Modi can see what's happening around Barny, but that doesn't help with the sudden rush of air that whirls around him (the chittering of the giant wings, the deafening, mindnumbing sound that's white lighting in his brain, mockery to Fenrir pride, the flashback to the things that tore at him to the sound of a demon drummer and the full moon high, high above) into the forms of several Banes. It's enough to throw him right. into. Frenzy. He's been looking for something to take it out on, and opportunity always presents itself. This is revenge. For his truck. For the attack. For hitting Imogen. For everything. Suddenly he's become a roiling thunderstorm of steel grey fur.
The Gnawer whirls, snapping Chrinos and shoving Jo out of the way, his claws slashing at the Bane just behind her (or is at at her, herself? Who's side are you on, anyway, Johanna?).
(jo)
There's no time to debate such things as loyalties when banes are found; even without all her memories something tells Jo this. Glabro to crinos is instant, smooth, almost beautiful in it's primal savagery. Claws and black tipped white fur flash as she moves, taking on a bane before her. Better to deal with known threats now and possible (imagined?) ones later.(barny)
He waits, sensing something wrong before he sees it. The others coming up behind him doesnt even draw a glance, just a an irritated, angry flick of his tail. And then the shadows begin to swirl. Perhaps the sound of those cricket wings would have driven him to frenzy. Atleast if it were given a chance. The child of Gaia full moon doesnt need some wings. As rage burns through him, fueling his body, the full moon burns in his mind, and the frenzy is a fact.He doesnt know what the others can, or will do, but Decker made it well clear, as did barny that first time they 'spoke. you take care of yourself. dont expect anyone to carry you burden for you, and Dont. Fuck. Up. It is with open jaws, that would normally explode in a battle cry, that he charges the banes as they are forming out of the darkness. The utter speed of the Garou's frenzied charge brings him ontop of one, just out of range for the other to reach. Frenzied, but he is a warrior true and true, as his claws tear out.
The claws tear into the bane. the spirit doesnt know pain, or fear, and doesnt even try to avoid the razor sharpened claws. But the skin of the bane turns the blow away, glancing it off, and to the side. In turn, the bane lashes out with some perverted scream. Barny tries to slip to the side, but the banes his strikes his chest. Barny takes the hit, but the thick skin and fur of Crinos body manages to just make the blow glance off to the side.
The second bane moves to be able to attack shortly.
(jo)
Bane, garou and confusion and attack . . . she feints front and then spins on whoever's closest (the unlucky James). Claws rake at him as she moves lighning fast and with no tell.(decker)
FRENZY--
--halted.Three banes rushing at him. He stands there, blazing with Hyperion's fire, covered with the skin of trolls, steeled against pain, tattoo slithering into a black axe incandescent with blue foxfire, calling upon his totem's might
as
the
banes
come
in.Three hits.
Scratches on his hide. Nothing more. Motherfuckin Fenrir, baby. Then it's his turn. Axe singing black through the air, claw flashing out--(even Fenrirs fuck up)
--miss!
Banes come in. Rip him to shreds. He falls, he gathers his rage, he calls himself back to life with the sheer force of his anger. The world is red. He's hurt, almost dead, came back, and what doesn't kill him--
Yeah. It pisses him off.
CRUNCH. Axe into the third bane. Ichor spills. CHUK. KSHH. Shrieking, fading away. Whirl on the second.
One hit, solid. Another, devastating. A second Wyrmling spins into oblivion.
And now, the third. Steel-grey rage, crimson blood, black axe. The bane lashes out, pure malice and evil: the blow is turned aside by the light of the sun and the skin of the rock-trolls.
And it's his turn. Again. Stepping forward on huge paws, moving out of pure instinct, sheer rage, no fear, no mind at all.
Move like an anaconda.
One hit to cripple.
Strike like a motherfuckin Fenrir Modi in the prime and final years (days?) of his life.
One more to destroy....yeah, that bane's dead.
And him, left behind: breathe in. Silent from begin to end. The red fades. He musters his will. He centers himself.
Breathe out. Work his shattered jaw.
Drums-on-Skulls! Mother's Riddle!
Roll call.(james)
Rage inspires. Rage blinds. As easily as it overcomes the Fenrir, his packmate is soon to follow. James wanted to beat on something, but got saddled with problem solving, no matter how breif. In the heat of battle, he simply.. gives in. The Anthem of War thunders from the normally so mellow Gnawer as the bane falters beneath flurry of claws, blood staining deep brown fur from it's retaliation.Decker is surrounded by the whirling spirits. Yet still, the Modi keeps fighting. Never give them your back. Never surrender. Even if they're beginning to bring him down.....
Then the kick hits the Gnawer (.... what the fuck?). Spinning to face it the claws raking for his throat skim through the thick barrier of maned and tangled fur. It's not hard to imagine a lupine brow lifting in almost human expression of surprise in a very breif moment before the red closes in again.
Oh that's it
He was trying to. help. her.
One thing you never do is cross a Hood.James, in his righteous anger, calling upon Eagles' strength lashes out towards the treacherous silver fang female. But in his heroic attempt, he forgets the dead shells of insects that litter the floor, and stumbles, head first down to the ground, baring himself for a few, vital seconds to attack. There is the breifest thought that his deed name is going to be changed after this to something worse than it already is. That, however, is quickly banished as the traitorous Fang lunges again in concert with the bane.
Something about this just isn't right.
Seriously.And all it does is fuel the Ahroun's Rage into repeated attacks. The Fang bitch falls then rises once again, only to go down permanently beneath his claws even as the black spirit presses in. Her body already reverts back to naked breed form when he spins to face the bane. But it's too late, he's too broken, he's lost too much blood to the Garou that could have been his ally. He goes down and tears back to the land of the living out of pure spite. But it's not enough to pull him back into battle, only enough to keep his heart pumping in his chest (belching crimson onto the ground from gaping wounds).
When the Modi barks roll call - Drums on Skulls doesn't answer.
(barny)
Insane fury form the cliath Child of Gaia. Is it a wonder he left his tribe, tired of their treehugging politics and actions? Claws first, he dives into the bane, rage fueling his actions. Slipping to avoid a heavu blow, he screams, as he literally tears the bane apart with a few quick strikes of his claws. Then the second one reaches him. He doesnt avoid the blow this time, and it strikes him squarly over the shoulder. Blood wells up, but it doesnt stop the fury of the Coggie ahroun. He hurls back at the bane, into a frenzy of claws and teeth, tearing at its spiritual flesh.Then James goes down. He catches it in the corner of his eyes. Decker said, Dont. Fuck Up. Everyone carries their own load. You make your own way. A curse slips from the ahroun, as he turns. he takes another strike to his unshielded back, stumbling forward. Massive crinos thunders past the bane that just leans down over James body, reverted back to its breed form. A howl, and the Dark monster that is barny rushes past the bane, barreling for safety. james body firmly protected in his arms.
He doesnt even pause to clear the building. Even in his crinos shape, he can sense the life slipping from james body, and it is instictual, that the warrior calls upon his tribes gift. that of the mothers healing touch. Some blessing of power? perhaps just the effort, and will the great ahroun pours into the healing of this fallen comrade-in-arms. But the power rushes through him, and into james, to fill james with that sweetest of Life.
When the role call comes, Barny raises his great shaggy head, mouth open, as if to howl.
But only silence springs fourth from great throat.
----
Figuring roll call gets answered when James snaps back to the world of the living, heh.
Johanna's final post will be inserted here at some point, too.
And insert all players PANICKING, SCREAMING, WORSHIPPING/HATING THE ROLLER, AAUUUGGHHHing at your leisure.
FUCK that was fun.JAMES:
Posted by james at July 14, 2003 12:00 AM
disfigured jaw, break never heals right
+2 to all verbal communication diff when using human speech, and +1 to bite attack dif
speech slurred
+1 temp glory
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