August 14, 2004
.08.14.04. - comparin' notes [eagles-imogen-danah] *ac

[forums]

(decker)
A meeting with the Shadow Lords.
A disagreement over who talked to whom.
Got a little outta hand.
Three claps of thunder and a pounding headache later:

An empty motel room.
One Fenrir Modi sitting on his ass at the base of a wall.
One Fianna kin, about the same situation.

He's been stunned for no more than half a minute. But half a minute's a lot for a Garou. The fate of caerns are decided in seconds. Garou, with their adeptness of both worlds, five forms, and numerous other forms of transportation, could be nearly anywhere.

And even Decker recognized four to one were pretty shitty odds.

First things first. First thing, he sits up straight. Kneads his head for a moment. Shakes it like a dog. Then, for the first time in longer than he could remember, he grabs something for leverage to get up. It's the edge of the minibar this time, his hand batting single-serving Jack Daniels and pretzels off onto the floor. With a grunt the Modi's on his feet again, swaying gently like he was drunk.

"Y'alright?" -- this, grunted, at Imogen. He's tense as a wire, irritable, his eyes flaring electricity and his jaw jutting. Tended to get like that when he was at the complete mercy of strangers for about thirty seconds. Trusted 'em too easy. Came here fuckin' alone, and with liabilities (how Imogen would hate to be thought of in such terms) besides. Got cocky. Got stupid. His scowl deepens. "Fuckin' hell."

Totemphone flares open. Erik. Rune. James. Kemp.

To me, Eagles. 'M at... (insert address). Down tha street from the Walmart. Ain't stayin' long.

Simultaneously, he's scrabbling through the minibar, looking for supplies. One of those travel sewing kits is ripped open. A length of thread removed. Then, a bottle twisted open. The cap wrapped around and around with thread. Tied off. He dangles it from his finger to test.

Now he has a Questing Stone.

Motherfuckin Shadow Lords Clap'a'Thundered tha fuckhell outta me 'n Imogen 'n left. Was too fuckin' stupid ta see it comin' 'r bring backup. Grey eyes narrowed, he watches the bottlecap swing gently to and fro on its string. To and fro. To and fro. To and fro. Like a magnet pulled by the earth, it eventually locks into a distinct track. 'M headin' north. Walkin'. Come git me. Compare notes. Figger out tha fuck the Lords is up to.

Keys to tha Tacoma's under my pillow but ain't nobody but Rune's touchin' my truck. 'n HUSTLE.

Totemphone hisses to static on his end. He snaps the bottlecap into his hand like a yo-yo, and reaches down to haul Imogen to her feet with one hand under her bicep.

"C'mon. We's movin'."

(erik)
Erik arrives quickly, maybe too quickly, maybe like he was already in the area. One look at his packmate (brother, friend, killer) tells him all he needs to know. And in case Decker has forgotten, his alpha needs no rites to track his prey. Erik reminds him... "Eh? what's dat fer? Oh. Well, yeah, if ya fall behind ya can use it to catch up. Now where da fuck dem others?"


(decker)
They're just walking out the front door of the crummy little motel when Erik comes across 'em. (What's dat for?) And Decker says it straight, "Fer in case y'ain't showed up none, again."

But he reaches out to clasps Erik's hand briefly, and a ghost of a smirk flits over his mouth before he lets go the Rotagar's hand and drops the Questing Stone into his pocket, falling in behind the natural-born(-killer) tracker instead.

"Still on they's way, guess." They'd be going by foot a little longer, leaving Imogen's stateissue behind 'em. He waits 'til everyone's gathered before telling his piece of the story.


(kemp)
Caught in the middle of racing down the street at top speed on the bike. A swerve to miss the car suddenly stopping up ahead and he was shooting back over the link.
~Rune? Rune who? Only Rune I ever heard of was dead or something like that. Same one James never talks about?"~
Talk about confused and never told Jack shit! Altering his course to head in the direction given.
~Well fuck me blue, I never know shit around here!~
Muttering away while driving like a maniac to the blare of horns and shouts.
Just like a fucking mushroom, kept in the dark and fed nothing but shit.

(danah)
Danah did not suddenly develop telepathic powers or the ability to read chicken entrails - despite some people's unspoken desire for her presence without follow-up. (Damon)

It was just really good timing.

["Location, location, location," a faceless Corporate Wolf once said.]

Jump back ten minutes ago, to Danah knocking (pounding) at the door to the Eagle packhouse. A bottle of Jack Daniels dangled from one hand, while the other finished off the smoldering stub of a cigarette. The door started to open, Danah took a final pull, and flicked it end over end onto the littered concrete street where the ember broke apart into a thousand little fires. Jump ahead five minutes, to Danah asking James (the PR Guy), What's next? And making sure that at least the Eagles know where to find her the next time they wanna test, scold, or beat her.

Fast forward to four black tires beating the asphalt to the rhythm of thrash metal lyrics and ear bleeding drums. To Danah chauffering James to some clusterfuck or another. To James wishing he was in car driven by somebody of slightly saner disposition.

The black hummer slows at a red light. For one beat. Then flies forward, whizzing through the space between cars to the other side. Car horns blare as drivers off a courteous middle finger as a sign to 'go right ahead' and 'please tailgate me'. Beggars can't be choosers, right?


(imogen)
She's a little slower to react than Decker, a little slower to get up. It's for two reasons. One, face it, kinfolk recover slower than Garou. Liability. It's in subtle things like this moment, and in more obvious ones, from bruises to scars.

As Decker passes, the kinfolk's leaning forward, the heel of her palm pressing against her temple, "I'm fine," she says, and it could be his own irritation that imagines the edge to her tone. Unlikely.

After all, Imogen had not been stunned by the Shadow Lords.

It had been mentioned two reasons that she was slower to stand, and the second is this: time had been spent watching the Fenrir prowl the room, perhaps trying to work out exactly what he was doing. And when she knew, it still didn't make sense, but so be it.

Half way through straightening up, the Modi decides to help her, hauling her the rest of the way by the bicep. It's a none-too-kind way of getting someone to their feet, and it's a half stumble (quickly caught) that straightens her, to cast a dark-eyed glance his way ("Ta," she says, ironically), before making a brief gesture of her hand as the other pushes back hair from her face to tuck it behind her ears, the hand dropping to tug at the collar of her jacket, righting it again.

Lead the way, and all that.

Erik's bloody quick. The kin has little to say, and her glance is her greeting.

(james)
damned good timing
about the time James is reacting to the Totem Phone
Danah's just outside the factoryhouse door
.... what's next?

"Deck'r's callin', time a move." brow lifts "You go' wheels?"

it takes four lights for the guttermutt to consider regretting that question
the ballsouttotallyinsanetakenoprisonersandoffernoquarter driving he can live with
though the screaming thrash metal is close to making his eyes cross
thank Gaia they're in a Hummer and he doesn't have to worry about much
at least plowing through a family of five won't make them late
directions barked out towards the motel in question
whatever words he can get in edgewise around the ear-bleeding drums

the Gnawer's demeanor frighteningly naaaaasty

(erik)
A glance at Imogen as she is hauled to stand, and then a nod up Eagle style, but no words. No, Decker's scent is on her, and Erik has always payed her little mind because of it. So, to keep himself occupied until the rest of the pack arrives, he takes out his shotgun-fetish-weapon and snaps the barrels open. He draws the shells out (no saftey, always loaded) and inspects them closley. Figures Decker will explain further once everyone's there to hear.

(decker)
Actually, they left the motel a long-ass time ago. Though Decker put the Questing Stone away, he's still following the vague coordinates it had given earlier -- heading north on the big boulevard, waiting for his Tacoma to catch up.

Or... Danah's Hummer, as it were. Christ, talk about penis envy.
(...if only he knew.)

As James thunks out of the same huge vehicle, Decker cocks an eyebrow. Ain't worth saying nothing to, though. He just nods up, slowing to a stop on the street.

"Still waitin' on Rune 'n Kemp."

--and enter Kemp, on his screeching motorcycle.

"Jus' Rune now."

(kemp)
Screeching to a rumbling half halt, half roll, making sure to stay out of the way of the hummer because frankly, he didn't trust the bitch driving it not to accidently run over his ass and say she didn't see him there. She'd already tried bossing him around with her big mouth like she was long time pack or his mother. Mother being the operative word.
Helmeted head swiveling from Erik who seemed in once piece now and was farting around with that big assed gun of his, to Decker and Imogen. A wiggle of brows for Imogen, then a lift of chin to Decker and Erik.
"Ok, so like, what'z up?"

(james)
motel in question: not there
the hitchy feeling of pack at the base of James' spine speaks elsewise
giving up on attempting any holler above the thrash metal
he's slapping the dashboard and pointing next best direction
next gripping the polished interior for his life may very well depend on it - Garou healing abilities or not - as the four-wheeled monster careens past the parking lot
let us pray Danah doesn't decide the sidewalk is a clearer avenue of destruction
summarily running over his packmates in their haste

the guttermutt thunks out as much as falls out of the Hummer
hard to tell the exact target of that glare seething in deep umber depths

the legal peramaters of the GeeDub bitch's driving
the cocky question that began to form in the Modi's mind
the slightly more than just entertained thought he should forget composure and simply drop and kiss the mothafuckin' ground
the splitting headache that's going to take hold once his hearing decides to return
the very offense to his dearly beloved packmates that called them all here
or.... something else entirely that's lost all too quickly before the lifted brow
lopsided smirk appearing damned expeditious curtain shrouding such thoughts

somewhere beneath the carefully controlled temper
the raggedyman may just look amused

the Gnawer said he'd give her a chance, didn't he?
(credit for being around when needed)
besides - what male in his right mind would complain about the ride?!
(whuttafukkin' RUSH)
it got them there in one piece and faster than safe for, well most people
(those were the ones veering for cover)
luckily, they never were nor will be "most people"

greetings collected into a singular nod up
lanky Ahroun clambering up to sit on the Hummer's mesa hood
boots planted firmly apart on wide (wiiiiide) elephant-guard bumper
there's a glance of limited concern across Decker and Imogen
strategic assessment of any lingering damage beyond rawly scalded pride
but without the appearence of any readily dripping blood or protruding bones
his attention drops to the pack of Camels and Zippo in his hands
biding his time until the breifing begins in earnest
offering the smokes and lighter to any interested before tucking them back into the cargo pocket from whence they came

(rune)
Enter the Tacoma, with its bigassed tool box (anyone used that lately?) and its rebel flag and its naked-chick mudflaps caked with ordinary road grime, and its driver: one Glass Walker incongruously stylish in crisp black linen floodpants, lowriding to conform to the curve of her hips, an ivory camisole - chiffon and lace and just enough silk for modesty, wide tortoiseshell sunglasses and an elegant pair of Jimmy Choo's that lift the already tall Ahroun several dangerous inches higher. The driver's window rolls down, and the Glass Walker looked out and then over the frame of her glasses at the gathered.

What, everyone doesn't dress up to go a-hunting?

"You had a flat, I broke a nail," she smirks, swinging Decker's keys around her index finger before opening the door and sliding down, high heels clattering against the pavement. She tosses the keys to Decker, overhand, conspiciously displaying the jagged margins of her war wound -- indeed, a broken nail, crimson as her smirk - then curling her fingers over her palm and tipping her hand, examining the damages herself, now. "Just had them done, too - " she comments, offhand, to no one in particular, her attention drifting back to the modi, waiting for him to speak, the strange little gathering reflected owlishly, doubled in the oversized, overdark sunglasses.


(danah)
The Hummer pulls to a hard stop, with Danah looking over at James with a just-so-damned-pleased-with-herself grin. "Told you we'd get there in time." And if they had to break a dozen or so traffic laws in the process, who's to complain? Nobody got hurt - yet.

With a simple flick of her wrist, the engine is cut and the stereo dies, with the keys left to dangle from the ignition as she steps out and offers a nod-greeting: Erik, Decker, Kemp, Rune, Imogen. Black leather shitkickers clack against the pavement, as Danah winds her way around the Hummer and takes a seat on the hood beside James. Boots rest on the winch set, and her elbows lay on her knees, as the young Galliard leans forward ready to absorb the story of what's up and why she's here.

James offered cigarette is taken (naturally), with a grateful nod. She supplies her own light though, from a book of matches, who's sandpapered edge later serves as a nail file, grinding away the imperfections of her claws as she listens.


(decker)
...and then there were seven.
Time to debrief.

This should say it all: "Trusted tha Shadow Lords."

There's a smirk as he says it: but he ain't amused. And in case that wasn't enough info, he adds, "Met tha pack. Imogen wanted ta ask 'em 'bout whatall's been done fer curin' tha sick 'r somethin'. They put on airs like they was too good ta answer. I got in they's way 'n they Clap'a Thundered me. Twice. Second one bowled my ass over'n then they jus' left."

Oh the headache.
Oh his bleedin' ears.

"That don't sit raight with me. Ya might stop if someone gits in yer way. Might go 'round him. Might tear his fuckin' throat out fer steppin' to ya. But ya don't Clap'a Thunder 'em, 'n then jus' leave.

" 'less you was tryin' ta git ta somethin' before somebody else finds it, 'n ain't wanted ta give nobody no reason ta follow."

He's heading toward the Hummer as he speaks. Why the Hummer? Because his truck don't seat 7, dumbass.

"So we's gonna catch 'em 'n figger out wtf is so important to 'em. On the way I wanna know everythin' everyone knows about these fuckers. What they told us. What we done figgered out ourselves."

Swinging into the second row of seats (navigator -- that'd be Erik with his tracking gift -- gets shotgun), Decker gets comfortable and starts off the note-comparing.

"One, 's four'a them I know 'bout. Fostern Theurge 'n Fostern Philodox. Cliath Ahroun 'n Cliath somethin-else-I fuckin' fergot." The packmates get a brief mental impression of each associated with their rank and auspice. "Both tha Fosterns like Clappin' a hell lot, so firs' thing we do is break they fuckin' hands.

"Two, they's immune to Clap'a Thunder 'r somethin'. Smacked 'em all with one 'n they ain't even blinked none. So don't waste yer time.

"Three, they fed us some bullshit 'bout disease carryin' fomori. But I ain't got tha details there."


(james)
((okay folks, due to the sheer amount of speech that's coming up.... translate this wonderfully clear English into James-speak. It would give me a headache to type it much less you try to read it otherwise.....))

"You don't Clap of Thunder them an leave them alive ......." James snorts a lungful of smoke as a word in edgewise, punctuated by a nod up at Rune's arrival "Storm Winds knows Imogen is connected to me and the Council, by you, too..." nod up to the Fenrir "... if they demanded their proper introductions... doubt they'd ditch etiquette to this extent of insult and not expect some sort of follow-up if they left you breathing." they all know it takes mere seconds to rectify that "Imogen asked them exactly what they knew was coming, if they were too good to talk about it, they could have denied the audience rather than waste the time and effort to make this point. They're desperate and running out of time."

spank a ranking Modi into the corner
send an Elder's liaison following in close quarters
it doesn't take a genius to see the red flags going up on this one
if only he could ignore this sinking feeling of a trap....

(see what you get for trying to be diplomatic with the Lords, Jamey-boy? should have trusted your instincts.....)

weight heaves off the Hummer's expansive hood
pitching the dreadlocked Hood to the ground where boots pivot towards a door
not a second thought to taking his place along the second row
instinctive heirarchy giving Erik the front seat by rank and nav abilities
it also puts the Ahroun further back from the devastating grill and ruthless soundsystem
can't say James doesn't learn quickly
after the engine guns and they're all nice and comfy
the Gnawer adds his buck fifty to the notes thrown into the proverbial pot

"One - pack of four out of the Thunder's Forge Sept of East Appalachians. First showed up couple weeks ago when the Warder sent out the call and first brought up this virus stuff. Alpha's tall and hook-nosed, there, Peter Kaminski, Cierzo, Fostern Philodox. Beta's the skinny chick, Maria Barbu, Ostria, Fostern Theurge. Other two are Mikhail Valsan... the brick shithouse.... Borasco, Cliath Ahroun and Danika Negrea, Sirroco, Cliath Galliard. She's the smallest with the biggest mouth. Have her number and location for contact. All lying sacks of shit."

secondary impressions fleshing out Decker's synopsis both by mental images and detail as James carries on
luckily Imogen already witnessed much of it at the primary meeting and doesn't need the Totemic supplement
so she doesn't have to strain in translating this much of accented slur.... yet

"Three -" two apparently skipped over as he doesn't have input for that " -the Fomori. Spider and I dug up info for their leader at the DMV.... name, address, chauffer license, employer, whole nine yards. Planning a recon with Leonida's GeeDub's to track him down, probably take out the second Johnny "Skinner" Piel fucker, too. Flight's Sandman's killed the third last night."

"It all doesn't matter anyway. Waste of fucking time far as this goes." the guttermutt waits until all heads are turned except, hopefully, Danah's - wyrmspawn have to die on principle, anyway, but they're not priority anymore "Fomori carriers are bullshit, goose chase to distract us from what they're really after. Real carrier's a kin that's Borasco's sister, by what Cliona was telling me before I came here. They want her dead, and all she's come in contact with, but she's immune to the virus and carries what we need to find a cure."

gaze ticktocks to Imogen to ascertain an validity in that whole antibody vaccine fandango medical thing

"Virus is airborne, Garou hosts and carriers, manifests in kin with ninety percent fatality. Cliona got infected even wearing med gear. One Gnawer kin's dead, another dying, one more kin's infected... Strider's, dunno her name.... and Roxy's..... friend..... Chloe got zapped, too. Chloe's our key to finding this girl. She and Evie met her before the Lords arrived and I'd bet dinner that's who they're blackmailing Chloe to find again. Nobody's got this girl's name, just know Scent of the Prey doesn't work on her and she disappears or threatens suicide anytime she gets a whif of Garou blood. Dark hair, eyes, bout fourteen or so, terrified beyond reason and looks like a tracked-out junkie... Chloe said something at the meeting about finding her in Southside last hole-up."

a glance back to the Modi
how's that for his input

"One problem though. Chloe wanted the information to contact the Lords before I talked to Cliona..... dunno if she's got the girl, handed her over, or what's up. Left a voicemail little while ago but haven't heard back, and now we're here. We can find Chloe easy..." nod up towards Erik "...it's just dealing with both kin without getting infected ourselves if it's not too late."

... to save the girl?
... to catch up with the Storm's head start?
... to avoid infection themselves?
that last phrase something the Gnawer, surprisingly, does not expand upon

(kemp)
Grumbling. He didn't like leaving his bike behind and he hated feeling like a freakin sardine even more. And getting in one vehicle with 6 others, made him think sardine. Nothing like putting all the eggs in one convienant package. Listening to the talk as it starts. Most of it barely making much sense to him. Names given, imagies flitting through the link. Chloe? No idea who that was, someone he never met. And it figured all this stuff started around a stupid girl. Gah, girls were going to be the death of him.


(decker)
"Hold up," to Danah, before she gets a chance to start driving.
Possibility for split trails, high.


(imogen)
Everyone into the hummer. Close quarters. Imogen sits in the back, glancing toward the Fenrir Modi as he speaks. Cliath-I don't-fucking-remember. "Galliard." A blank filled. Her memory's good.

And after all, she's heard the silvertongued Lord speak twice now. And introduce twice.

Decker speaks. Note comparison. James follows, and his mangled conversation makes it difficult for her to follow. Decker sometimes throws her with his American accent, and the Gnawer with his accent and disjointed tongue results in her constant attention. Like Danah, she does not have the benefit of totemic-communication. But at least she knew most of this. By the way her interest piques as the Gnawer mentions the girl, it might well be that she too, was drawing to some conclusion similiar to that. A focusing of her gaze without surprise.

Earth eyes turn the redhead's way and the pale woman glances at him as a hand rubs the back of her neck. "Possibly," she allows, refraining from adding more, because it would slow things down. Or perhaps she does not intend to speak at all, and keep her thoughts to herself, even as she pays absolute attention to words spoken.

Once James has finished, however, leaving his final sentence unqualified, the kinfolk speaks up. One might say she is defying order of rank and does not look at one specific person as she does it. Nor does she look at them all. Debriefing of a most impersonal form.

"Evelyn said the girl was babbling about doctors. So chances are, any marks she might have would be from doctors. Either tryin' t'find a cure, or from havin' th'disease injected."

After all, this is a disease that attacks the Garou gene. Not humans. It had to have been engineered. Either that or Gaia truly had it out for her Children.

"She also said that a Silent Strider had been in touch wi' 'er asking her questions about the girl. He'd asked Evelyn f'r the clothing she'd been wearing the night they'd met. Evelyn never gave 'em up, but she still 'as 'em, unwashed." A shake of her head, her lips twisting briefly in a movement of distaste. To her mind, logically, this is useless information, however, "The only thing I could think o' was either he suspected th'clothin' to carry disease, or perhaps he could find the girl somehow through Evelyn's clothing." Her glance flicks across the Garou. They'd know better than she.

"I've a name of someone who is supposedly working at the other effected Sept looking for a cure. For treatment, he might tell me if anything works. If anything prolongs life, what they've tried. However, this lovely bloke's name was given to me by the Shadow Lord pack. Considering their track record, all I might get are lies. I can ask o' th'girl, too. If he gives the partyline," drug addict, runaway, uninfected, "at least I know where he stands."

"As fer gettin' the girl, t'avoid infection completely yeh would need a full suit. And even that would have no guarantee. Gloves, and a mask," a glance James's way confirmation, "as Cliona wore wouldn't be enough. Yeh need somethin' t'cover yer eyes, yer skin. Yer own air supply, if possible. Anything else, and yeh stand a good chance of exposure.

Needless t'say, if yeh're hopin' t'get the girl without scarin' her to possible suicide, that would not be th'way. Nothing subtle about it.

On the other hand, if she carries the cure, then infection may not be so devastating. If someone works fast f'r the cure. If she is the cure."

A moment pause that is almost thoughtful, "And you're very lucky."

And that, for some, might well be the longest they have heard Dr. Imogen Slaughter speak in an unbroken stretch.

(danah)
Seven people in one vehicle. This should be fun.

Danah scoots off the dull black hood, and slowly paces to the back of the vehicle where she opens a door and begins shoving overflowing articles from the back seat into the trunk again. Clothes, CDs, even a small portable amp. Anything that once littered the backseat is picked up and unceremoniously thrown into the back trunk to clear enough room for all seven occupants.

Leaving the door open for whoever to slip inside, Danah moves up to the driver's side and takes her rightful place behind the wheel. Turning the keys, the more-balls-than-you-can-handle engine rumbles to life. A deft push of a button turns off the radio, sparing everybody's eardrums from being blown out. Hand on the gear shift, she waits for the order to go and where to.


(decker)
Decker looks at James first, as he speaks. Then Imogen, as she does. Then the Modi lowers his head for a moment, his elbows on his knees, his fingers kneading his temples.

Thinking it out -- or nursing a headache.

"OK." He raises his head. "Then we git to this girl first." Duh. "Me Erik 'n James," he looks at them one and then the other for confirmation, "is goin' after tha Lords. If it's the Ahroun's sister, he'll know 'er fuckin' name 'n we'll beat it outta 'im. 'N they pro'lly have a better way'a trackin' her than anythin' else we got if they followed her this far. Even if they don't, we need 'em outta tha way.

"Same time, want Rune 'n Kemp talkin' ta Chloe. Cain't put all our eggs in one basket, 'n she's our next best link ta this girl. Don't git too close if you can, but 'm expectin' us all ta git infected 'fore tha end. Occupational fuckin' hazard. Jus' gotta git tha cure 'fore people start dyin'.

"Chloe wants ta take you places, keep yer guard up 'n stick together. Chloe thinks she kin gitcha to tha girl, you jump on tha chance.

"One way 'r another, we beat the Lords to tha girl. Once we find 'er, we's sendin' Imogen ta talk with her, 'r at least distract 'er til we can bring her safely in." Glance at the redhead. "'Til then, wantcha ta stick with Rune, but don't git too close ta Chloe. Git on tha horn with this kin tha Lords toldja 'bout. Maybe it's more bullshit, maybe it ain't. Still worth a shot. But if he wants ta meetcha anywhere, we's settin' up tha meetin' 'n watchin' all the doors this time.

"'N Danah. Yer goin' ta drive Rune 'n Kemp ta Chloe's. Then yer gonna go ta Spider, tha Wyrmfoe." Shit work, all right. But being an Eagle wasn't guts 'n glory all the time. Sooner they learn that, the better. "Let his ass know what th'Eagles are up ta, so he kin plan."

Another glance to Erik, eyebrows up: was he all right with the plans as set?

"One more thing 'fore we split up. Hell we know 'bout this Strider everyone keeps on talkin' 'bout?"


(erik)
Erik's been listening, learning, yet he stands apart, outside the hummer, leaning against the passenger side door. All this is news to him, so Deck gets the go ahead nod as he slams the sawed off shotgun back into the shoulder holster and out of casual view. "One atta time, or we takin th' 'ole pack in one bite?"


(decker)
"All'a once. Ain't gonna be able ta ketch 'em one atta time. We ain't killin' nobody though. Not if we kin help it. Don't think they's tainted 'r nothin'. 'N dead Garou don't give no answers."


(imogen)
As Decker lifts his head, Imogen's attention is drawn his way, and she's impassive through the plan. Thoughts are not something she reveals easily. If she has any opinion of this at all. She must, considering what the Fenrir has decided what she is to do.

Erik speaks, and Imogen's attention reflexively flicks beyond the Hummer and the gathered, inside or out down the street up it, and then back again. It's only when the quick exchange is over that she answers Rohl's question. "Evelyn met the Silent Strider. He sought 'er out. Askin' about the girl she'd met. S'where I heard it from. She said 'is name was 'Path o' Sand.'"

(decker)
Path of Sand -- he nods to Imogen, then looks at Erik, James, Rune. "Think it's worth hittin' up Path?" And then Rune alone: "Think y'all got time?"

(james)
possibility for split trails, high
when the other blanks are filled in
James takes a moment to rearrange his tongue
forcing it and his jaw back into proper place after that speech
marveling - objectively - at the utter extent of Imogen's lecture
(cursing the dire consequence he knows to have spawned it)

"Won't spread during incubation, anywhere from forty-eight hours to a month depending on immune system strength. Signs of sickness show, and you're hot. Mother's Touch and Resist Toxin don't touch it, either. Cliona and the other Theurges at the meeting were taught a rite to... supposedly.... ascertain if someone's infected."

additional precaution to Imogen's warnings once the directions pour forth
consideration for the well-being of his packmates in possible exposure and aftermath
the rite's effectiveness may be as much bullshit as anything they've heard so far
then more questions come up.... and it seems the luxury of his silence won't last for long
jaw's gonna ache for days after this
here's hoping he'll still be alive for it to heal.....

"Absalom. Also known as Path of Sand or Road Not Taken. Fostern no moon." the guttermutt begins during a lull of contemplative silence, mentally ticking off the facts coming up for this list "Lords are calling him the buyer, Fallen - Cliona's met with him, saying his story is the opposite. Found out the danger on a routine message delivery, barely escaped with his life, and has been chasing the kin to find a way to stop it since."

who to believe?
rolling shrug of scarred, muscular shoulders gives his opinion

"She's saying he seems more dependable than the Lords." if THAT isn't an understatement from the Bone Gnawer.... "Doesn't seem to be the one pressuring Chloe. But your call is as good as any....."

the train of thought is broken as James' cell beeps insistantly
demanding his attention on something that better be of just importance
phone magically produced from the dark depths of some cargo pocket
if it weren't for the caller ID blinking a very pertinent number
the Ahroun would ignore the recently arrived voicemail completely

Chloe absently passed along the invisable feathers of Totem Phone wings
excuse for the normally inappropriate grip of wireless communication during a meeting
his brow furrows at the information, but it's assimilated as the viewscreen darkens on exit
breath fills the Scab Warrior's lungs to pass along what he's learned - and the phone. blips. again.
(for the love of..... its like a fire-pissing leash......)
irritation darkening his features though the message gets its fair share of attention, too
(the fuck... they outta service area or something?? fuckin' humvee ice-sheet thick armor muckin' up signals supposed to be carried all the 'can you hear me now? good!' goddamned time... stupid Weaver technolgy more of a pain in the.....)
frown emergeing as the phone's held away for all to hear the nasty coughing fit crackling across the line
some symbolic action to avoid the possible germs transmitted even -that- way

Think it's worth hittin' up Path?
finger held up requesting Decker hang on to that thought
buttons hurriedly thumbed to volley back an answering text-message
(k. plans in prog. bak 2 u soon.)
the lanky guttermutt stretching halfway out a window to reclaim that peskily evasive signal
(... just... long... enough to hit....sendmotherfucker....)
luckily - his head is at an angle to miss Kemp's protest at a hand on his shoulder providing leverage in streeeeeetch
unfortunately - his head is at an angle to miss Rune's reaction to how techno-savvy the raggedyman's become
long way from the guy who didn't even know how to turn the cell on when she first handed him one
regular call center, this Omega Tribe fullblood

resettled on the bench of a backseat
(for safety, please keep all arms, legs, and heads inside the vehicle at all times)
James organizes the last few moments into translatable chain of events
the way this is going, the Modi may not be the only one nursing a killer headache.....

"One: Chloe says she doesn't have the girl, her job is done and resources tapped... but hell if I know what that means."

"Two: Cliona. Our Strider boy wants to meet about the Lords and help find the girl if that's still our goal - seems he has his heart set on me, sketchy about an audience." he doesn't mention the identifying carnation request, though surely some of his disgruntled hesitation at wearing the symbol of admiration so... symbolically.... filters through the pack's subconscious bond: fidelity to duty James can associate, here's hoping a bloody bloom most likely expected to be worn on his chest comes to a far lesser degree of concrete observation..... and attention flicks to the two older Fenrir "But given the Lords are close on his tail, I doubt he'd complain at the backup unless this is a trap."

not so hard to see how this suddenly falls into their plans of taking the pack in one bite
cause it sort've goes without saying this has been a set-up and trap since the beginning
crux of the matter staked on how they make use of each turning event
(something about biting off more than one can chew....)
guttermutt's actions depending wholly on the two ranking Fenrir's cues
James'll go meet the Strider - even if as willing bait - if they think this has become the most viable option

proof of the Ahroun's unshakable faith in his packmates
if they can ambush and down a dreaded Spiral pack's Alpha and Beta in one strike
then surely......

"Cliona'll set up the meeting soon as I call her back."

deep umber eyes ticktock towards Danah in the Hummer interior's semi-darkness
brow edging towards the frame of heavy dreads in silent question
probably safe to assume the city GeeDub's ability to contact each other
he won't incur insult under the alternate presumption in leiu of offering help
but he's got Spider's numbers if she needs them

--------

((Same excuse for translating James-speak out of this fine English, heh. Hope I didn't step on any toes by collecting all the postings of the last few days into one few minute period for the sake of continuity.... offline crappery kept me away for longer than expected so I'm playing catch-up. As for availability this coming week: Sun is out unless plans change, Mon seems booked with the Angie/James scene in the other thread.... but I can do Tues, Wed, or Thur anytime after 7pm chat. Time limit's 2am chat cause of work starting ALL too early the next day. Next Fri-Sun is totally out so far as I know.))


(danah)
With an arm hanging casually outside the driver's side window, Danah's been listening to the laying of plans in remarkable quiet. The only reason she hasn't left to find Spider, or call him, probably being the consistent changing of plans from one moment to the next. Looking back at James, she offers a question in response [What?], before continuing her mental minute keeping.


(decker)
Decker grunts. "Needja with us when we go up 'gainst tha Lords. Fer Inspiration." They can hear the capital I there. "Keep 'em from knockin' us all down with Thunder."

Decker didn't just pick teams 'cause he liked James and Erik. Sometimes the Modi actually had reasons for setting things up the way he did. James for Inspiration. Erik for tracking. Rune and Kemp on the other team, for their social skills.

(In a pack like the Eagles, you take what you can get in terms of social skills.)

Head down for a moment, he's thinking again. Then, "OK. Change'a plans. Rune 'n Kemp with me, ta face off with tha Lords. Ain't got Inspiration, True Fear's tha next bes' thing. Either way, ain't leavin' 'em to run around after tha girl while we chitchat with some fuckin' Strider.

"Erik 'n James ta meet tha Strider. Contact 'n Alpha. Imogen too, in case he got info she kin use."

Again, a glance at Erik for confirmation.

(erik)
A nod, down, not up. They will follow the Ahroun in matters of war. "Jus' tell me which truck ta get in." He is already reaching with his spirit, testing the air with his human nose, casting around with his eyes. Give him a moment and he'll find the Scent of his Prey.

(decker)
"OK." He thumps the back of the driver's seat like a judge thumps the gavel. "Danah, drop Erik James 'n Imogen off on yer way back to Spider." He climbs back out of the roomy (but not very... user-friendly) Hummer, blipping the alarm on his suped-up Tacoma instead, one hand digging his Questing Stone back out. "Kemp 'n Rune, with me.

"Keep in touch on totemphone. Plan this on tha fly."


(kemp)
Listening to the change of plans just long enough to get the reply from Erik so he'd know which way he was going.

Leaping out of the Hummer like his pants were on fire as soon as Decker was heading out.

"Whoohoo! Yeah! Hey, can I drive?"

Already knowing the answer to that one, but it didn't stop him from asking.

(james)
first, the guttermutt shrugs to silent question - bases covered, there
second, the guttermutt nods - [i]Gotcha[/i]
then.... nods... again once plans change

in another situation he'd probably be amused at all this rearranging
not to mention the current status of the pack as one fierce collection of agreeable bobbleheads
at least he doesn't have to leave the safety of second row bench-seat
drop off directions for Danah put at the discretion of Rotagar and kin
subsequent transport to the meeting is one part he's wholly not responsible for

"Any prefs a hookin' uhp?"

eyes already on making sure thumb presses the right buttons of his cell
the question's blindly cast for Erik's input pre-call
safe bet he'll be concentrating his efforts on dealing with the Strider himself
best leave the tactical preferences to those actually able to keep guarding watch
transmission connected once scarface gives an answer

"Cliona.... w'rk y'r magic for me." there's a nod of dreadlocked head before James reinforces whatever it was out loud "Yeh... s'gonna be me, Er'k, 'n Im'gen. C'n be a' th' _______ soon'z ________."

((fill in the blanks with Erik's choice if there is one, otherwise edit as necessary, heh))


(cliona)
The call comes while she's still feeling like shit - just as quickly as it was promised. A moment's breath found to say. "'e'll b'there." When the blanks are filled in. Then, quick dial of numbers. "Sloan, lass? Tis Cliona.." pause to spit up that last particularly juicy bit of lung... "Need t'meet wit' Absolom. Three o'th'Eagles. They'll be ___ at ____. Tell'im likely nae on th'carnation, but 'e canna miss th'dreadlocks, and th'redheaded kin th'be with'im n'th'kid. Thank'ee lass."

Click.

Dial to James - confirm, and then it's back to sleep again.


(decker)
"Haiil no."

Well, at least Kemp expected it. Decker yanks open the driver's seat and climbs in. Literally. The Tacoma's lifted so that the seats were nearly at chest-level. Add in the rebel flag on the back window and the bullbars, and it was almost ready for demolition derby. Too bad it was Jap-made.

Decker strings the Questing Stone over the rearview mirror like fuzzy dice, and guns the aggressive engine while waiting for Rune and Kemp to get in.

Brief, the smirk through the rearview mirror at the kid, "Y'ain't got me my playboy channel hookup yet."

(erik)
Private, or public? Both have their advantages, and their drawbacks. He casts a glance at James, steady Drums on Skulls, or Jukebox, or whatever. Then his icey glare falls to Imogen, the (necessary) liability. Erik must be gettin so good he merits a handicap.

So, make it private and the Eagles can do what they do best; intimidate, make known their strength and will to use it. Show this Strider the serious side of war. Uncover the truth that way. 'Course, then they have to worry about keepin Imo's red head on her neck so she can blow Decker later with it.

Public, shouldn't be much danger to the kin, and might make the Strider more comfortable, willing even. Not much worry about fur and claws comming out, from either side, and, he must admit to himself, if the fur flies their Strider might just end up killt fore the beans get spillt.

No, they'll need to speak frankly, if nothing else. Private, then, and Erik has just the place. "Iron Coffin, down in Skid Row. Biker Bar. Tell 'em at da door Ole Ugly's expectin. Back room. Now les' fuckin go a'ready."


(kemp)
Didn't take much for the kid to jump in back and then the expected reply that just brought a great big Jack-o-lantern smile from him.

"Nope, don't got your playboy channel yet, but I got mine."

Brows wiggling along with a thrust of his hips. Making sure he had a good firm hold because he knew Decker all too well and he just might decide to gun the engine just to see if he could toss Kemp out on his head.

[cont'd in ol' ugly's expecting me]

Posted by james at August 14, 2004 12:00 AM