August 01, 2005.08.01.05. - crimescene vultures [eagles-fangs] *ul[forum]
(st)
Araceli Santiago was fifteen-years-old, born in Cancun, Mexico, she moved to Chicago ten years ago to live with family relations in the neighborhoods of the Carl Sandburg area. She loved the Occult, Death, and the Goth lifestyle. She practiced the Santeria. She was in-love with D’Angelo Muñoz Torres, Bone Gnawer kinfolk that ran a gang called the Los Lobos, out in Mt. Pleasant located in the upper northwest portion of Chicago’s South Side. Southside meets Skid Row, united in a strange love affair. They were like night and day. He was hip-hop, a gang-banger, and a drug-pusher. She was bats and belfries, an ecstasy-addict, and darkwave music.Araceli and D’Angelo had been together for a year now.
She was also five months pregnant with D’Angelo’s child.Araceli paced up Madison Avenue in the posh sector of Downtown, the click of her thick-soled platform boots resound in a heavy staccato over the pavement. She wore her favorite dress, a loose-fitted frock of black velvet with ruffled sleeves and a small hood with runic trim embroidery. She wore a dog choker with a vial pendant hanging from a key ring connected to the chain; a red liquid housed in the vial. Human blood, and coupled with a necklace of red rosary beads. The rosary beads were a gift from her priest and mentor, Father Throper, whom she was to meet at a locale in Downtown. For some reason, Father Throper had asked her to invite D’Angelo to the meet.
Araceli did as requested, begging her ‘Gnawer lover to come meet with Father Throper. It had taken two days of begging, pleading, and finally threatening, to get the skittish ‘Gnawer to do so. D’Angelo had been acting strange since the news headlines of the recent murders, even the explosions in the Southside and Riverfront were setting his gang on edge. Araceli chalked it up as nothing, too high on drugs to care. She was rolling tonight, a hand stroking over the velveteen roundness of her stomach. She spoke quietly to her unborn baby, so happy and so high; she was going to be a mother.
Two blocks west of Madison Plaza on the northern edge of the Chicago River. Madison Park was a small recreational park nestled amongst the tall skyscrapers of major corporations and high-rise condominiums. The park overlooks the water’s edge, offering a little bit of nature to citizens with a few acres dedicated to an exercise path, a docking ramp for boats, trees, and a playground for children. It even boasts a few sculptures for the art savvy. It is here that Araceli makes her final destination, slipping into the shadowy expanse of trees to walk along the riverfront, towards one of the boat docks. The thud of her boots resound a heavy toll across the wooden planks. She stops a foot from the edge, dropping down to fishnet-clad knees and waits. Father Throper never appears and she decides to begin without him.
Ten minutes of silent prayer, Araceli begins to preparations for her ritual. She pulls out a small plastic bag from her the confines of her small coffin purse, opening it up, and begins to take out its contents. With a stick of chalk, she draws an outline of a pentacle on the wooden planks, taking out six white tea lights and a lighter. She positions each candle on one point of the star, and the sixth in the center. She lights each one, chanting in a soft, melodious voice in Spanish. The thick coils of black hair spill forward to frame her white-painted face. Her brown eyes outlined in heavy black eyeliner for a dramatic effect, making her appear more dead than alive. “Querida Madre Condenada…“ black lips continue to murmur, “María de las lágrimas sangrientas…”
….Dear Unholy Mother… Mary of the Bloody Tears…
Araceli continues to chant, drawing out a small knife from her coffin purse; she clicks it open, gripping it in her right hand. She extends her left arm, shaking back the ruffled sleeve to expose an olive-skinned flesh. She focuses on her arm, bringing the blade to press it into the tender skin of her forearm, pressing hard as it draws a two inch cut down her arm. She can feel the sting of pain, erupting in a wash of pleasure throughout her body. Her nostrils flare, breathing heavily, her voice shuddering between words. “Maria Sangrienta...” her voice begins to lift higher, ”Maria Sangrienta...” blood drips on the center candle, mixing into the wax her arm held outward, “Maria Sangrienta!”
…Bloody Mary… Bloody Mary… Bloody Mary!
---------
D’Angelo was running out of time. He was late… supposed to meet up with his long-time girlfriend, Araceli, at the park. He blasted his way down Madison Avenue, driving the Ninja Kawasaki in and out of traffic. The lights of the riverfront catch through the dark tint of his helmet, the dark images of skyscrapers looming by as he speeds past Madison Plaza and the Montreuil Headquarters, on to Madison Park. The motorcycle roars loudly, downshifting into first gear as he rides it up onto the sidewalk, weaving his way through the concrete pathways toward the boat docking ramps. The faint glow of lights catch his attention, the image of a slim girl dressed in velvet softly illuminated by candlelight could only be his sweet Araceli.
D’Angelo stops the bike, shutting it off with a flick of a key; he sets it on the kickstand, pulling his helmet off. He starts to make his way towards Araceli, the helmet dangling by the chinstrap from his fingers. His footfalls become slower until he stops altogether. “Araceli, muñeca?” The tiny hairs rise up on the back of his neck, feeling the icy tickle of a chill rolling across his spine, underneath the hot layers of his clothing. Araceli does not answer him back, she is to quiet for his liking. The Latino ‘Gnawer quickly pads forward, breaking into a sprint to hit the docking ramp. He skids to her side, reaching out with one hand to grab at Araceli’s shoulder.
D’Angelo sees why she never answered him. There was nothing for Araceli to speak with, by the way blood coats her chin, running in a down her neck to stain her gown. She sits in her knelt position, head bowed forward and unmoving, somehow propped up. D’Angelo cries out, “Ah Mi Dios!” pulling his hand away from her, which causes the body to tip forward into the chalked outline of the pentacle. His eyes try to focus on the scene before him, nostrils flaring out as he breathes in the scent of her blood. Her blood… was everywhere, staining the wood, covering her clothes. He can see the way she died, eviscerated by something with sharp claws.
Then it begins… the loud, mournful wail of crying woman. What had Eddie the Cyclops told him? D’Angelo swears in Spanish, shoving himself up to his feet and starts to run. The river surrounding the dock explodes with the throbbing mass of writhing shadowy wisps, like smoky tentacles, spraying water all over the place, dousing out the tea light candles. The ‘Gnawer kin spares a backward glance over his shoulder, seeing the once beautiful, now mummified face of a woman leering at him, her gnarled fingers projected out like claws to lash out at him. He screams, without thinking, throwing the helmet at the apparition, breaking for his motorcycle.
D’Angelo manages to reach it, wasting no time to shove the key into the ignition and start the bike up. There is barely a second lapse of time as the kickstand thrown up and the throttled revved. Barely managing to see the apparition, he grits his teeth, leans forward on the motorcycle, releasing the throttle, and speeds away, La Llorona barreling down upon D’Angelo’s heels.
--------------
Two blocks down from the Madison Plaza building, the streetlights flicker off and on, sparking and sizzling as glass shatters, and the lights shut down two and three at a time. The street begins to lose electrical power, beginning to black out the entire area for a two-block radius from the river. The body of a young Latino man will be found floating in the river, after the lights come back on in a few hours.
Somewhere a man dressed in white watched the entire incident play out before his eyes. Deep shadows cast across the hawkish features of his face, a vicious smile dancing over the line of thin lips. The man will retreat to the safety of the darkness, exiting the park as quietly as he came. An unmarked car awaiting him at a side street, and watching over this man, is the skeletal visage of the mirror witch.
--
In Southside at the Heart-stone's Shelter for abused Women and Children, a nine-year-old girl screams in her bed, twisting and turning in the covers as the horrible visions of skeletal face plague her young mind. Black water flows like ink around Molly in the dreamscape of her mind, bodies floating, young mothers dying, and the touch of a Trueborn’s life stolen away. In the real world, she is screaming in a language not native to the Irish child, “Maria Sangrienta!” it is loud enough to jar a young Fianna Philodox from her rest as Wolf slept in the same room, two beds down from the girl.
In the Riverfront at an undisclosed location, the Eagles keep watch over the little Bone Gnawer kin named Andrea, those that stand watch and sleep, are awaken by the screams of her night terrors and her incoherent babbles in Spanish. “María de las lágrimas sangrientas…”
(kemp)
Kemp had been dozing, sitting against the wall with his head on his chest, super soaker laying cradled across his knees when the screaming started. Head jerking up so fast with the first scream, that the back of his head smacked against the wall with a dull thud."Where?! Where!?"
Jumping up to spin around the room with the gun aimed at the walls, floor, ceiling. Damn he hated Spanish, even if he couldn't understand most of what the girl was screaming, he got some idea and did the first thing to come to mind. Covering her mouth with one hand while kneeling on the bed to hold the girl and whisper against her ear.
"Shhhhh, don't call her. Shhhhh, no one is here. You're safe, go to sleep. Shhhhh, ain't gonna let nothing happen. Shhhhh."
Sending a message to those not there with him.
~Fuck me, something's happening somewhere. Girl just scared the piss out of me, screaming her head off in her sleep. Don't see nothing to scream about.~
And so Kemp continued to hold the girl, rocking her and crooning while watching the walls and ceiling warily.
(some fianna philodox)
Someone must have thrown the young fianna philodox out of bed, because she's out of it that quickly, although the sheets tangled around her hips and legs are a liability, and after gaining her feet she almost stumbles. "Molly! Where? Fu--" She barks her shin against one of the beds inbetween the fianna blooded things, but still, she reaches the little girl's bed quickly, sitting down heavily to shake her awake, "Molly, wake up, it's okay, there's no Maria whatever, you don't want to wake up Mr. Carlson, c'mon, I'm here, don't worry, I'll," etc. etc. and meanwhile, resonant over the link racoon provides packmates: Uh, something's happening. The monster probably can't come out of dreams though, right? Anything look weird to you guys? This place creeps the fuck out of me.(decker)
James, git down there 'n see fuck's up with tha girl.Imogen got tha results from the license plate today. Some ex-con on parole outta Miami, got clapped up fer child kidnappin'. Mario Vin Dahl. Ain't sure if he's on Bloody Mary's side 'r not. All we know, he might be gittin' framed fer tryin' ta help tha kids.
Gonna find him with a Questin' Stone 'n see what I kin find out.
(st)
For the Eagles, Andrea's screams subside as she's woken up by Kemp, his hand covering her mouth, the thirteen-year-old kin breaks down into tears... yet again. It's hard to keep count how many times she has done this, the emotional stress levels have been too much for her to handle. She hugs onto him, like he were a stuff animal, head tucked down against his chest, sniffling, "I want to go home... I want Mama Grace."
----------Monsters can walk through dreams... They can be as real as the dreamer allows them to be. Molly's eyes open, her cheeks wet with hot tears, little arms are thrown around Wolf, hugging onto her with all the strength a little nine-year-old girl can possess.
That sweet cherub face buries into the older girl's stomach, muffling her whimpers. "I saw it. I saw it, Thaney. We can't stay here.. we can't we can't. We must run. Must find Andrea and run... She's taken another one." A frantic tone in the voice of the little Fianna girl, whose blood was so rich and pure of her tribe's ancestory. Red curls were damp against her temples and cheeks from the sweat of her night terrors.
The two Fianna girls, kin and werewolf, can feel the tiny hairs begin to rise on the back of their necks. A chill begins to run down their spines like the tickling of icy fingers. There is a feeling of sorrow, of dread, in this room. The walls groan, the windows shudder, the knob on the bedroom door shakes as if someone was trying to turn a locked handle. And then... the door opens on its own with a loud, ominous creak.
(josie)
It happened in the Silver Fang area of downtown. Two blocks from Madison Plaza, and its inconceivable that the commotion wouldn't draw Josephina's attention. Even in her office, the reverberations, the sudden phone calls into the office as security notify of an 'incident' a few blocks away, and the scuttle of the few people in the streets below. The way their heads turn. The explosion of glass, the lights flickering seen from her high vantage point, before utter blackout. Then the skyrise's own electricity switching to emergency generators when that power surge attempts to cripple its mainlines.
[-- It would be a surprise, sometimes, to think she had it. So human is she. So immersed in that weaver world. So out of touch (so often) from the garou roots which carved and created her other monstrous side. A surprise for any flicker of primal instinct that would urge her that something was wrong. Out of place. (Dis)connected --]
Before checking that its even stabilised, she's moving towards the elevator and down it, striding briskly out into the street despite one protective guard chasing the blonde executive and warning her against an obvious, in his mind dangerous, intention. Stung slightly when his concern is sharply, so casually, dismissed. His authoritative tone (his area of expertise. his job) washing over her unheard.
[-- blur]
Then at some point, she simply begins to cease being noticed by many, except those that already had their eyes on her - a white-clad business woman half running in those stiletto heels towards the current maelstrom. And eventually, her form is disregarded by most. Then all.
Across the totemphone: Vast, Gabriel - I need you. Two blocks west of Madison Plaza. Meet me there. Something has happened we need to check out.
It doesn't take her long to arrive on the scene, past the blasted remnants of windows, past the chaos of people screaming terrorist attack - right into the heart itself: the origin of the explosion. The park.
The corpse. The blood. The pentacle. The candles. The foetus.
Pull back that body - and the eviscerating, recognisable, furrows.
-- Claws.It’s in a glance that its all taken in, the horror of the scene barely allowed to impact the clinical distance of her mind - not beyond the swift intake of breath, the initial slow to a standstill when she had first come across the body. Then gaze is sweeping back from their inspection, to the rise of the twisted sculpture representative of modern art, macabre backdrop of writhing shadows - moonlight dusted, a ghost - over the remnants of the ritual that had taken place.
The hail of sirens begins to encroach on the area, a couple of blocks away or less - and Josephina is stepping back from the body, moving around in an attempt to see anything that may give clue to what happened here, the lure of the river waters eventually dragging her eye. It takes a while to focus, another sweeping pass - before the body is made out where it has been dumped. Edging closer, she can see the markings on the body if not make them out - closer still, and the ragged and gaping wound on the back of the shirtless corpse meets her eye, exposed as it is from his facedown float.
It would not be until later as the body was dragged from the water by police and paramedics, the ragabash kept out of sight and out of the way through the aid of the night, blackout and the tricksy way of a gift (the distraction of the emergency services who swarm), that she would get a closer glimpse of the markings on his throat, pointed out by one of the officers - glyphs recognisable as garou.
Bone Gnawer.
Kinfolk.The fear that eats through those present is unmistakable - the police, the paramedics, those from the coroner's office - recoiling as they see the female corpse and the unborn that had been torn from her body. A scene unexpected after the report of an explosion. One cop stumbles away, sickened and shocked, the sound of his retching is eaten by the sirens, the shouts - the contents of his guts splattered onto the pavement.
The lines of the totemphone open once more.
Snapped: I need you both NOW.(gabriel)
The lines of the totemphone open once more.
Snapped: I need you both NOW.Through the flood of police lights that wash his noble features in stark red, deep blue and back again comes Gabriel. He is not concealing himself quite as his Alpha did, he took another route, one of gentle [--persuasion] to garner access to the crime scene. He stood however removed and to the sides, skimming the edges of the crime scene. Features laced with the tauntness of agitation, disgust.
For what he glimpsed.
For what he could smell.I am here, Cousin. What's going on?
(josie)Its the touch on his shoulder that would alert him to her presence, approaching as she does from behind and still heavily masked by the gift. Its the touch that allows only his eyes to be drawn to her as that gift remains, all other attention towards the scene in the park - they now standing at the periphery. Out of the way of emergency services, red and blue lights flicker fire across their faces.
Two murders, one a kin. Is the grim response over the totemphone, reflected in the tense lines on the face of the ragabash. Through the totemphone, she goes on to explain what she has seen, what has occurred - information quickly and efficiently disposed of, there for her packmates to assess and analyse as they will. In particular, Josephina watches her theurge - he and his knowledge of spiritual matters, rituals. She hopes he will provide some necessary insight on the carnage.
But while he takes it in and thinks himself, her mobile is withdrawn from her pocket, and a number she picked up long ago, dialled. Hopefully the Bone Gnawer elder has not changed his digits for the last year.
"James. This is Josephina." The voice is terse, brisk - the clipped English sounding anunciating each syllable like a bite, lowering only at the approach of any stranger. The chaos in the background can be heard - the ongoing wail of sirens. "You may wish to come downtown. Two bodies have been found in Madison Plaza park, one of them definitely a kin of your tribe."
Then to Decker, in case she gets the answering machine of James Branson's phone. A repeat of the same message, with the following added: "This may be related to your spirit but I don’t know the details so you might want to take a look yourself.” The Caern meeting amongst the alphas had hardly disclosed all Decker knew. The boy just did not speak enough to ever allow that possibility.
Directions given, and then that gaze has turned back to Gabriel. Quietly, "There were claw marks on her body. Hardly coincidence. A dead child--" and here her eyes flicker, distant, before she amends herself. "--foetus. If she was kin like the other..." The thought need not even be finished and instead she reiterates, "Blackout. An explosion, or at the force of one enough to smash windows in a one block radius, while leaving no crater when there should be one. Two dead, one kneeling at a ritual, the other in water. Think Decker’s spirit did this? Or could it be something else?"
The mobile is not completely discarded from her grip, thumb running over the keypad thoughtfully - wondering if she should tap into something else to attempt to get Gabriel legitimate access to the murder scene.
(decker)
Decker picks up, amazingly. It's hard to tell though. There's nothing from his end but the faint sound of breathing as he listens. And eventually, a grunt of acknowledgement before the line goes dead.James, try ta git ahold'a the woman's body when you git there. Deathdust it. Annemarie, you back 'im up.
(OK, I know there are conflicting orders going out at this point... just assume this is happening in pseudorealtime (yes, i know some threads continue and overlap) and whatever's posted latest on the forums is his latest comment on the whole situation *LOL* sorry guys.)
==
Vast: (on hold while i get some info from the ST)
(am)
Alright.She grabs the deathdust that had been given to her, meets up with James, and heads toward Downtown.
(jack)
Jack sits upright, throwing aside the pile of clothes that was blanketing him while he dozed in the back of his van. A hand comes up quickly to wipe the drool from his cheek as he pushes open the vans side door. Something in his packmates voice (thoughts), too close to fear for his liking. The teenager is in the street now, bare-chested as he stares at the Shelter with dark eyes.I don't know what ghosts are or aren't capable of, Princess. But I want you out of there, right now. Grab the girl and get your ass to the van NOW!
He wants to run in there, kick down the door and pull his packmate out bodily. Or at least be next to her. Her earlier message..."This place isn't good"...it rang in his ears (mind) now. Now there were ghosts, from the sound of things...
Inspiration strikes. Suddenly, Jack leaps back into his van, slamming the door shut. I'm coming in there Princess. At least, I'm gonna try like hell...
Then he's staring into the rearview mirror, fixed on the reflection of his own pupils...focusing...pushing. He can't kick down the door. Too many questions. But in the Umbra, there may be more options.
(vast)
Sevastian doesn't answer to the snapped demands. He doesn't answer to a tone like that, period, and nevermind if it came from his elder and alpha. Because point is, he was already there.He'd been there since a few moments after Josephina made it to the scene, staying back in the gawking crowds, staying astride his Hayabusa in case a fast escape was necessary. These things always drew watchers. The human species was a strange one, fascinated by its own demise.
When the youth's body is fished out of the river, though, Sevastian lowers the kickstand on his bike and swings off. He'd been toying with the idea of feigning recognition in order to get a closer look. The murdered pair were young, minorities, obviously urban kids. Not suburban, sheltered and privileged. The cops would want this mess off their hands, and they'd foist the duty of naming the dead off on anyone who came along. Especially someone who rode a fast bike, dressed a little urban, knew how to slum it.
But then D'Angelo gets fished out, and he doesn't even have to pretend to know them. He does know them. He's seen this one before, him and his green Kawasaki. Last Saturday he took second on the crosstown midnight race. Would've taken first, except first place was a much more devious motherfucker.
Vast starts pushing through the crowds, eyes fixed on the dead. Most fall back easily enough. He's strong; more important, he's Garou. The sheep draw back as though burnt. When he gets to the police line, there's resistance. But not for long.
"I think I know him. He's ... we rode together, a few times." He raises his eyes to the cop. Persuasion came easily to him. Lies, too. "Let me see him, please. If it's who I think, he was -- " a sudden twist of his features, a glance away, a crack in his voice, most convincing, " -- a good friend."
The police fall back. Sevastian stuffs his hands into his pockets as though wracked by the moment. Hangs back. Then seems to muster his will and steps up. One of the cops draws back the sheet over the face. Most onlookers turn away, sickened. Waterlogged bodies don't look good. They bloat. They turn colors. But Vast takes a good look, trying to gather as much information as possible in the brief glimpse he has. Then he lays a hand on D'Angelo's unmoving chest. Murmurs something, and it didn't really matter what. Moves the dead kin's hand over his chest, pats it once or twice, and then steps back.
"Yeah." The Fang mops a hand quickly over his face. "It's him. His name's D'Angelo... I'll see if I can find his family, have them call you."
No one notices the thin layer of dark ash now coating D'Angelo's waterlogged shirt.
The boy's name is D'Angelo. Bone Gnawer kin. He pushed a little, strictly low-level. I knew him better through his bike. He raced it all the time. Most likely the dead girl is his. Was. And that baby, too.
I just deathdusted him. Let's go Umbral and hear the story from the dead man's mouth.
(josie)Still standing aside from the scene, still cloaked in the blur of her gift making her unnnoticed except to the more perceptive eye, the urgency that had ridden her in demanding the presence of her packmates dissolves almost completely with their presence, fading instead to disquiet. Perhaps even a flicker of annoyance could be detected in the wry response to Sevastian's contribution.
Nice of you to finally join us. She can see him where she stands, had seen him as he approached - saying nothing to Gabriel and not needing to, both pairs of eyes drawn to the galliard who stood over one of the dead bodies. Deathdust, hmm? You surprise me, Vast. You don't seem the type to have a little bag of tricks.
She glances at Gabriel at this point, sharing a look that flickers with query. The look does not last long, however, as that gaze moves on to where the other body lies, police presence thicker there, enthralled by the macabre. Do you have any left? The woman's body is the one that interests me the most. Nothing like a ritual slaying to perk one's curiosity, and she had no doubt that if Vast had some - he'd think of some way to get close to the corpse.
(-- he had a certain way with women, after all.)
Whatever the answer, Virago is not waiting for Sevastian's response, already moving as she is to a nearby building out of sight so that no stray glances may catch Gabriel and herself when they suddenly disappear from realmside.
(vast)
Even across the milling crowds they can see Vast turn abruptly and unerringly toward where Josephina was -- albeit unseen. I was occupied, Rhya. And you don't seem to be complaining about the fruits, so don't complain about my fucking efforts.Moody tonight, isn't he. Rebellious little fucker, isn't he. But then she knew that of him. His attitude wasn't reserved for outsiders alone, after all. And while it was true that he served her loyally, would never speak against her publically, it's his opinion that he does so by choice. His choice. And hers. You reap what you sow.
And, Josephina. You of all people should know better than to underestimate another.
He turns toward the cluster of authorities around Araceli's body, a few blocks away. Even from here, he can see the trailing edge of the crowd that had gathered to gawk. Even bigger than the one around D'Angelo, never let it be said that gore doesn't sell. My my my, the sheep had a lot to gossip about tonight...
As you will. But this might be a little more difficult.
Same deal. Through a combination of subterfuge and persuasion (...with a capital P), he'll try to get the authorities to let him through to see the deceased.
(shann -- your call whether he makes it through again or not.)
(st)
The crowds are thick with gawkers. The police were doing their bests, albeit the gore of the young woman, to keep the people back. Vast manages to get close to D'Angelo to identify him, but it will prove very difficult to get to the body of Araceli.Two of the investigators on the scene were demanded that people stay away, not wanted to disturb the crime scene already. The Silver Fangs can hear snippets of conversations amongst the authorities, murmurs of a possible serial killer. This wasn't going to look good for the city, even worse. The News was going to have a field day with it.
(vast)
They aren't letting me within three arm's reaches of the body, Josephina. I can try to throw the dust as far as I can, but I doubt it'll work.Hanging back about one-deep in the milling, staring crowd, Sevastian keeps his hands in his pockets, the right one holding the last precious bag of death dust. He waits for his orders.
(josie)
Save it. Let me see if I can get in unnoticed. She returns back towards the crime scene, the mobile lifted to her ear as Evangeline's number is called. The conversation is fairly swift, the kin knowing well enough to comprehend the request immediately. Promising to do so immediately, the call is ended. For the duration, Josephina has moved towards Vast and taken the dust, a slight frown marring her brow at the concentration of bodies around that particular crime scene. It would be difficult to get through them, even unnoticed, what with the high possibility of bumping into someone and drawing their attention to herself.
Behind the cordoned off area, but before she is even within any workable range, she discovers that she's not even going to have to worry about someone inadvertently walking into her at all. Its like she steps over an invisible line, and heads nearby turn. To look directly at her. The gift? Disintegrates. For a second she feels like a performer thrust out unprepared and caught in the spotlight, the white suit drawing their eyes like a magnet. One of the policemen, given the duties to ensure the public do not step over their carefully erected boundaries, looks shocked for a moment upon suddenly noticing her, then calls out and approaches. Merde. "I'm sorry, ma'am, you simply cannot come through here." He stops just short of grabbing her arm and hauling her away - perhaps because her own feet have stilled at being noticed, those bright blue eyes swinging towards the cop.
A hand rakes through blonde hair, agitation and apology carving themselves into her features automatically - and not entirely an act given the failure of her cloaking. "I'm so sorry…" the accent is thicker on her tongue, the mouth fairly stammering her response, as she gives him a weak, distracted smile. All she manages to accomplish being a little out-of-character act for the later amusement of her packmates, before the cop is steering her away and back over the perimeter of the crime scene.
The dust is returned to Vast, the alpha giving her packmate a look of disquiet. My gift failed. Did you see all the people turn to look at me? Like something just abruptly ended its effect and I was wearing a bloody neon sign. A couple noticing, she may have acknowledge. But that many humans having high enough perception to simply just penetrate the gift was something she simply did not credit.
When her phone vibrates again, notification of Evangeline returning the call, its only to herald worse news. No luck with the superintendent either. This does not surprise her - given the public location and nature of the crime, the gruesome details, it was no surprise the police were keeping very tight on this one. Nothing like a little ritual disembowelment to spark media and community frenzy.
That course failing, a number is looked up and called: Imogen's.
"Dr. Slaughter?" There's a briskness to the recognisable British that comes across the line, nothing like the sardonic languor of that first call. In fact, the almost frigid polite, imbued naturally in the accent, and the sound of sirens and activity in the background, set it distinctly apart. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, but have you heard about the murders that have just occurred downtown? Will you be attending the scene as we were hoping to get access to one of the bodies - as soon as possible, if we can. We think it may be linked to the spirit problem."
Death dust, Virago would explain as well as answering any other questions Imogen may ask, and while it was preferred to be applied at the crime scene (one spirit already waiting umbral side for their arrival), it would be just a well if it could be done once the body reached the medical examiner's office. Either way, it was unlikely they'd be able to access the corpse without a scene or the Fianna kin's help.
(vast)
As Josephina is left stranded and Blur-less, Vast's response is, amazingly, not the laughter she might have expected. Gabriel, give her an out, quick. I can't do it. They've seen me before. They'll think we're up to something.And... well. They were up to something.
When Josephina comes toward him to return the Dust, Vast gives a quick shake of his head and turns away, starting back toward his bike without a look back. The corporate minx and the speed junkie? We don't belong together. You don't know me.
I was watching you. They didn't see through it; your gift simply vanished -- like ghosts disintegrating over a line of salt. I have no idea what it means. Gabe's the Theurge, not me. But I don't like it. Let's get out of here, Rhya. We'll meet Umbral and talk to D'Angelo's spirit.
(gabe)
Gabriel, had for a brief moment or two been suspended by the uncanny sense of time slowing down in tandem with his Alpha's sudden lack of invisibility to the naked [--veiled] eye. It was the sense of impending doom, or some sudden clawing of panic as she froze and Sevastian addressed him over the link because Gabriel, still contemplating on all the information given him had been side swiped by an overzealous Police Officer who seemed intent on driving the Theurge back from the Crime Scene.I cannot reach her, this buffoon is intent on keeping me my distance.
There is the sharp snap of French hued anger across the link before the dark eyed and anger-flushed theurge manages to rejoin his Alpha, his arm finding her elbow to gently lead her away from the scene. His murmuring in her ear for the most part ignored, perhaps he simply wished to seem reassuring to those curious still observing the woman in white who'd tried to slip into the crime area.
It's bad, that's what it means. Come, let us see what the Spirit has to say, perhaps he can shed us more light.
A muscle jumped in the young man's jaw, his tension rattling through his frame into his Elder's. Sevastian it seemed was not the only agitated this evening. Though the Healer's obvious uneasiness seemed all in lieu of the bodies being loaded onto trolleys behind the retreating Fangs.
(james)
((conflicting orders..... slightly overlapping threads..... PSEUDOrealtime?! *just laughing*))Kemp..... the hell she screaming? caught not -quite- in home range, James starts throwing questions across the Totem's Line, rearranging the foreign words into the closest approximation spur of the moment provides Sangria is a Spanish wine named for it's color - blood. Wanna take a guess at where Maria fits in?
just outside the warehouse homebase, the Gnawer's cell rings
newest attention task nearly taking the lanky raggedyman right off his feet
fumbling with the doorhandle while digging through his pockets for the phone?
not one of the Ahroun's highest skills short of shapeshifting another pair of hands
eventually cell worms up into dreadlocks and he catches the jist of Josephine's message"Thank' Jose'phine. Keep'n eye a where they take'm... I'll get there soon."
luckily, checking in with the ranking Modi saves him the trouble of coordinating his way inside
Kemp, just do what you can and watch your back, Ruhiger grab my pack an .....
the conclusion of whatever instructions were coming trails off as James spots a cab one block down
Cocoran soles beating hasty path as fingers hook between teeth to blast a whistle
meter clicked on and running as AnneMarie catches up for the ride
chaotic scene forces their drop-off a few blocks shy of intended location
but it's good enough for government work and they can hoof it up to the yellow tape
cell rummaging exchanged for burrowing through the pockets of his battered Alice packShe's down on the boatdock, can smell guttered candles, blood.... bile.... point of interest's too far down the planks to make out more than something drawn in chalk.....
running commentary drifts off as James catches bits and pieces of already churning rumormill
paramedics, polics, gawkers - all mumbling their own snippets in effort to form a whole story
(..... ripped right open ...... baby gone ...... throat torn out .... satanic ritual ......)
it's one particular factoid that almost has the Gnawer Elderman retching along with the rest
(.... another point for the home team, Jamey-boy, one more ugly memory brought to surface?....)
teeth audibly grit as the raggedyman struggles to focus on the task at hand
dark eyes following black-bagged forms atop gurneys wheeling towards official vehiclesHow's your Imogen impression? the question should seem odd enough to draw AnneMarie's gaze to his own, and as his lopsided grin does precisely nothing to clarify the question - the badge he produces from depths of Alice pack may pick up the slack Not for this county but hopefully you won't be inspected that closely. See if you can get close before they load'em into the vans, some last minute thing that warrants touching the body, just long enough to dust the female. We'll have to catch up at the morgue for questions if I can get hold of Doc Slaughter to sneak us in. Doubt we have enough time to do anything more here with the growing media circus......
before she can press for further details of his impromptu master plan, or hash out a Plan B
James is stepping off through the thickening crowd, once more digging for that pesky cell
quick-dial code pressed to ring the good Doctor's own wireless handset
request quietly made while dark eyes search out the statuesque Fang responsible for bringing them here
..... if nothing else, there's always redial to coordinate their efforts
(am)
His pack is grabbed, and AM is hoofing it out the door, then into a jog to catch the cab stopped by the Gnawer elderman. The pack handed back, she listens to the commentary, keeping silent (surprised? nah) as she watches the Adren's back, and follows him through the crowd.It's the question that snaps her head back towards his, pale gaze meeting umber as she arches that slim brow. Impresonate the Doctor? He can't be.... oh yes, He's serious.
This? Ought to be interesting.
She takes the badge, and holds it in her hand to be flashable yet hopefully not recognizable. The Deathdust is within easy reach, and with a straightening of her shoulders, a stiffening of her spine, she makes her way through the crowd and boldy to the tape and beyond. When approached, she flashes the ID, with confidence and quickness as she heads straight for the female's body. Her movement is purposeful, yet unhurried. She clearly has a job to do, and intends to do it.
Just because the police force has no idea what that job really entails? Technicalities. Her aim is to get close enough to dust - if she's not stopped beforehand.
Bold as brass, somedays, hm?
(josie)
Tall, white suit, blonde - the woman causes a ripple even in the most chaotic of situations. That she had been caught beyond the perimeter lines? Lets just say there are some eyes still following here as she walks across the street towards the harbour offered (lets go umbralside) by a nearby building. Its as she's striding across with Gabriel at her side that the familiar figure of the Bone Gnawer elder is seen. Instead of tracking her way towards him (just wouldn't do - she's taken Vast's advice to heart), the mobile is lifted to hear ear.
"James," the same brisk tones, the sound of movement, swallowed by the echo of background noise that he's hearing himself and now through the phone. "Walking over towards the Bank of America building across the street if you want to join us. We're going to step over. Vast got some dust on the kin's body - but not the woman. Be good if you could get through to her too."
(james)
brisk, concise, the Fang's salutation is nothing less than standard dressed up in a white suit
James' return Eagle style nod up fits equally well with his far more.... casual choice of style
however meaningless it may be while the two Garou are yet seperated by half a city street
it's the thought that surely counts, especially with a Tribe so uptight about protocol"Joze." truncated for the sake of clarity over cellular lines "Got R'higer workin' a dus' th' girl. Tha' fail, we c'n coun' on Im'gen a help us out a th' morgue."
their paths parallel for another handful of yards before the lanky guttermutt crosses to the other side
repeating the habitual chin-jerk-up greeting to the gathered Fang pack as a whole
the current rendevous point and tentative plan passed on to AnneMarie in a series of impressions
Gnawer Ahroun settles into wait and watch from a comfortable lean connecting shoulders with BofA wall
pack of smokes dug out and offered around after his own is lit
deep umber gaze settling on Josephine"What'cha fine ou' 'fore cops taped off th' scene?"
(josie)
She was still walking away, if slower, while on the phone - but a glance over her shoulder lets her see that nod, and acknowledge it with one of her own, the fleeting grim curve of a smile. Their eyes meet, if briefly, before she is turning away, still walking towards the cover of the bank.
"Not a lot. Not nearly enough." She explains in detail the state of the bodies, the presence of the pentacle, the foetus stolen - ripped out - from the woman and the bloody furrows of claws. She also mentions the 'explosion', the failure of lights reaching even the Montreuil offices. Nitty, gritty, detail as required, some of which he would have acquired by intently piercing through the melange of bodies now crawling on the scene. Any questions asked by James are replied to, drawing out any details she may have missed in the relay. Still, her initial response is proving more than true.
Virago finally finishes, "Hopefully we'll find out more from the kin's spirit. We're going to go umbral to meet it now. Join us when you can."
There's a slight pause in the conversation, translate that into a couple of steps further across the street, as she adds, "And I spoke to Dr Slaughter, so she should be aware of whats going on down here. But I'll let you handle it from now on."
Let you - it could be read as a concession made by the Fang, or a favour. But in fact, Josephina's intent is quite the opposite and her tone, if not her words, say as much: your kin, after all. And then in addition to that? The unspoken (in her mind, perhaps not needed) request that they also be given information regarding what the good doctor finds out. Its the busy CBD district after all - and that makes these murders very much on Fang turf.
When the gnawer elder has finished speaking, the mobile is pocketed and the cover of the bank is reached. Slipping into the darkness of the laneway next to it (made dark with the continued absence of power), Josephina exchanges a glance with Gabriel before murmuring, "Lets go." Step sideways.
Hopefully there will be two spirits there, waiting for them.
(imogen)
Imogen picks up her cell phone with a brisk "Slaughter," though there is an impatient tone in her voice. She listens in silence as Josephina speaks, and do not think she does not know immediately who is calling.A pause, and perhaps the fang's good ears can hear a pen scratching against paper, and were she talking to anyone who knew her well, they might catch a thread in her voice - as it is, Josephina can hear the cool detachment. Imogen might be responding to an invitation to tea with a woman that she has only a passing acquaintence, for all the urgency that enters her tone, "I can't join you, unfortunately, but I can meet you at th'morgue." There's a sense that she is perhaps not alone.
"If yeh give me what yeh need and wait where you'd expect it, I'll take care of the rest." There is no hesitation in this - though she is not offering exactly what Josephina was requesting, she gives her help, without question, and waits for a response before heading, presumably on her way.
((... apologies for belatedness.))
(st)
The Fangs and Jukebox were hoping for two spirits to be awaiting them on the other side. There isn't, just the frazzled image of a wraithly D'Angelo, looking just as he does when he died. A huge gaping hole in his chest that one can see through, where his heart should have been.--
Annemarie for all her boldness and bluster will not be able to reach the body of Araceli in time. The medics began packing it up a few minutes before she got there. She can see the black body bag being loaded up into the ambulance as she tries to make her way through the crowd of law enforcement. The silent Modi finds herself stopped by one of the officer, the wash of rage unnerves him and makes him edgy around her. She flashes the badge quickly, hoping it will get her through, but it doesn't.
The officer reaches out a hand to grab the Modi's arm, "I'm sorry, but you don't have clearance for this scene," he replies.
--
(Sincerest apologies for the latest of my responses. I'm ready to get on with this. I know the time-stream is alittle out of whacked, but we'll get it coordinated.)This post has been edited by Angel on Aug 8 2005, 12:26 PM
(am)
The man dares lay a hand on her, and the Modi doesn't say a word - though the heat of her glade is full force on him. The message is clear. Say what you need to - but don't touch.She turns easily enough, however, and tucks the badge away before it can be studied any closer. She moves quickly through the crowd, and over the Totemphone.
Already packed the girl up - was stopped and told I needed clearance, and moved away rather then risk questioning. Best chance at getting to that second body is through Imogen, it would seem.
(james)
It's allright. the Gnawer's voice returns steadily across the TotemPhone, any irritation or insult found at a mere cop daring to foil his packmate's agenda doesn't show through his mental tone, content in the knowledge AnneMarie gave it nothing but her best attempt I wasn't sure it would fly, anyway, but was worth a shot. Josephine was kind enough to give Imogen a heads up, so she's on stand-by, but anything else beyond that she'll let us handle. Oooooh. The Modi couldn't have missed the mental smirk associated with that remark. Could use your help Umbral-side, but I have a feeling you should follow that body and make sure it ends up at the morgue.Doc Slaughter can't do diddly if there's no body in her fridge
With the way things have been going, I wouldn't be surprised at anything, and we can't afford to have that body disappear before we can get to it. You can text Imogen to let her know you're coming. I'll follow once Fangs and I are finished with the boy's spirit.
James is markedly hesitant to split up Eagle's attending forces
but the reasons AnneMarie should keep tabs on the body continue adding up
he should be capable enough of curating the pack's interests with the male spirit by himself
no reason to double their efforts when it isn't absolutely necessary(gabriel)
The Fangs and the Gnawer were hoping for two Spirits, they get one instead.Gabriel wastes little time once they are across the Gauntlet, he does not shift from his Homid form, merely exchanges a glance with his Alpha, nods toward the Bone Gnawer Elder in greeting, in unspoken agreement, in indication that they should proceed. All these things accomplished with a tilt of his head?
Well, the dark eyed Theurge had never been one to be accused of running his mouth.
Aurelius begins to walk closer to the frazzled projection of one D'Angelo, flanked by his Pack and the Bone Gnawer.
(sevastian)
A little after the others have convened, Sevastian shows up, motorcycle helmet dangling from one gloved hand by the chinstrap. He casts the Bone Gnawer Elder a glance, neutral at best, then turns his attention on the ghost.What's he doing here? Come to give orders? It's pretty obvious he's not talking about poor dead D'Angelo. Don't let him forget. This is our turf. Our business. The fucking Eagles have their fingers in too many pies already.
Don't you hate it when the peasants think they're better than they are?
(am)
Alright.Simple as that, no questions asked. The tall Modi digs her phone from her pocket. She cannot speak into it, sure, but with the quickly advancing text messaging abilities, she can use one with relative ease. The number dialed, text message left.
"It's AM. I'm on my way, behind the bus."
Once at the street, she flags down a cab, pale gaze watching the Ambulance as it pulls away. The first cab stopped, she climbs into the back, and produces her whiteboard for the driver.
"Follow that bus." And should it be questioned, there is a glare that cannot be denied, and the addition. "That's my sister in there."
Then, her eyes on the vehicle that is carrying the female body, she settles back for the ride. Though likely, the driver has a sense that if he doesn't do as she asks, she'll likely explode through the seat and drive the cab herself. Quite possibly with HIS hands.
(josephine)
"He is here at my invitation, Vast." She answers the galliard aloud, calmly, that blue gaze sliding across to her packmate. There is a smile that hovers on her mouth - despite the grim circumstances; the spirit that awaits them; the chaos realmside; and the blood they had just left. Trust her to find something amusing. "And I am sure that Drums-on-Skulls-rhya is fully aware that this has occurred on our territory, and therefore there are certain proprietries which must be respected." That gaze slides across to the bone gnawer - smile still amiable, except for that sliver of steel that enters her eyes. She talks about him, looks at him, but it is to her packmate that she continues to speak. "Much like I am fully aware of the proprietries given that it is one of his own that has fallen." Yet the message is clearly for the adren.Read: cooperation. Full cooperation.
(-- call it a respectful request.)She is also fully aware of the weight the Eagles threw around and not particularly pleased with it. Beyond the fact that they were, beneath and above that surface: rabble. Immersed in the fact that they were the soldiers and hardly the generals. Again in the fact that they had a habit of dealing with everything themselves - feeding information to the rest of the Caern only when it suited them -- and often almost too late. Decker's little meeting was indicative of that. Their behaviour in the past was indicative of that.
Like fucking government departments, the way this damned sept worked together.
"Rhya, the kin is yours - perhaps you would like to do the questioning yourself. With the aid of our crescent moon, Gabriel, if necessary." Said like the bone gnawer never even knew the Silver Fang. So insular, the Eagles, that a part of her would be surprised if the gnawer elder did. But the smile lingers, that regal head inclines slightly, and she gestures for her packmate and the elder to go ahead, and Sevastian and herself to follow.
Not only regard for rank and kinship drives her concession to the gnawer, despite this being the Fang's domain. Practicality, also - because frankly the gnawer knows more than her. And unlike Vast's need to assert the pack's interest, Josephina could on occasion act for the greater good. How magnanimous of her, don't you think?
(st)
The frazzled spirit of D'Angelo watches the approaching group of Garou. It wasn't very aware of its surroundings, hovering their in the prenumbra.(james)
Gabriel's glancing nod receives its own acknowledgement from the Gnawer Elderman
Eagle pack's trademark nodup sufficing all it should, for now
proper salutations could wait until time was not so much at stake
which would explain the lack of any ceremony responding to Sevastian's own cursory gaze
though wouldn't place any bets James missed a syllable of ensuing reprimand(... it's the little things like this that make forced company bearable, eh, Jamey-boy?......)
"Dunn drop in a step'n toes." the concession is met with partial, ever-lopsided, grin - perhaps the Adren is familiar with the resident pack's concerns about his own, or he's simply well-versed in social graces as far as Silver Fangs must be concerned, overall "Gabe-r'el's prob'ly bett'r versed'n spiri' talkin' th'n I, by b'rth much less 'xperience, I've no probl'ms w'th him handlin' things 'long'z I c'n get th' ans'rs'm lookin' for. Know he'z blood, 'n I c'n be use' f'r sway.... but dunn plan a step in 'less I gotta."
chalk one up for the Eagle Public Relations team!
full cooperation and respectful acquiescence rolled up into one
the Fang pack would be hard pressed to find any insincerity in deep umber eyes
Gabriel's heading the session not only proves whether or not the pack's got what it takes
but sure as hell saves James the problem of translating his own version of English for spirit ears
invitation still accepted, however, as the raggedyman flanks pace with the Crescent Moon
though speaks to assure no set of ears feels left out of conferring address"'m mainly concern' wi' findin' out how he an' th' girl w'z kill. Descrip'sh'n a wha' did it'n how, ev'rything 'e c'n tell us 'bout th' girl, h'r ritual, 'r wh'tev'r she may've said'r who she w's with b'fore tha' links wi' t'night's events." this said, the Adren narrows full attention on the Theurge, weighting down the importance of his next words with the sheer gravity within earthen eyes - slivers of steel can be as nothing in the face of impending landslide "Dunn let'm say th' name've th' spiri' tha' screams'n bleedz, 'r repeat i'h if 'e duz. Go' tha'? Things'll get 'lot worse f'r all've us."
something about inferred finality just says the Ahroun knows what may come
warning doing it's part to act in mind of the greater good and, in a way, protect the Fangs
personal feelings, reputable insularity and class differences apparently set aside for the moment
slight nod up signaling the show's now in Gabriel's hopefully capable hands(gabriel)
If there were to be a public relations officer for the Silver Fang pack, it is possible that Monsieur Rouvier would fit this bill quite splendidly, for at least in public the Garou was capable of delivering a decidedly subtle and considering air--almost bashful but never quite so retrenched--in his manner there was a calmness, an elegance maintained in the clipped stride of his figure toward the Spirit floating so uncertain. And even when turned to listen to the Bone Gnawer Elder, there in the line of eye and lip, expression and countenance was a willingness to be enlightened perhaps not so visible in his Cousins.Gabriel was proud; this was a plain truth.
But it was his ability to discern detail and to pay heed to the smallest of things that more often than not made up for what most would call a Tribal fault.
So proud, so insular, these Kings of men(monster.)
So feeling not so unlike Atlas, the young man walks to D'Angelo and gives some slight incline of his upper body, almost a bow but not quite. And in a tongue foreign to all but the Elder beside him, the Theurge spoke the language of the Spirits.
"Greetings, will you consent to speak with me? I understand you were killed unjustly and I, as well as those with me," The Theurge's hand gestured behind him at the others, encompassing them briefly but keeping his attention solely on the Spirit of D'Angelo and his gaping wound. "We have come to find answers, to justify the taking of your life and that of the young woman with you. Will you help us to find our answers?"
Here Gabriel fell silent, and clasped his hands together before him. Almost supplication, but not quite. His expression was focused and did not waver from the ghostly form.
This post has been edited by Jacqui on Aug 14 2005, 01:08 AM
(st)
The frazzled apparition looks on at the gathering of werewolf spectaturs. His head owers, glancing down at the umbral ground of where his body once lay. He just keeps staring at it. "Si, Senor, I will answer what I can."
(gabriel)
A moment's silence that stretches. Gabriel's eyes do not shift from the Spirit, however when D'Angelo lowers his eyes to where his physical form once lay, the Theurge allows a sliver of relief to slacken his jaw. The dark eyed Silver Fang was cautious, as much still required a tentative approach.Merci, D'Angelo, can you tell me about what happened to you tonight? Why were you and the young lady in the Park?
It was best to begin simply, Gabriel had often found.
This post has been edited by Jacqui on Aug 15 2005, 23:09 PM
(vast)
Sevastian stays a distance away from D'Angelo's spirit, choosing instead to keep a wary eye on the weaverlings shuttling to and fro in the (not so distant) background. For now, anyway.
(st)
The spirit looks up again as he is addressed, the eyes become vacant and glassy, as he doesn't appear to be all their anymore. The seperation from his old life and into the afterlife, hitting him with shock. All the Garou were doing was delaying his passage into the next one."She, Araceli, my girlfriend, called me up to meet with her here at the park. She said something about wanting me to meet up with her priest. Not like I cared much for that shit she does, but the Priest requested that I come, especially since Araceli was pregnant. I guess he had concerns for her welfare or something."
A pause.
"So I come and I find her dead, flayed open like fish, my....my..." a shadow of anger casts over his transparent expressions, the spirit quaking with such fierce emotion it could almost rival a garou's rage in that one instant. It sets the hairs on the back of their necks to stand up slightly.
"Whatever IT was. Came outta the river and chased me down. I think it's the same thing that has chased after those three kids my Elderman was hunting for..." The spirit starts to calm down as he speaks, "Ol' Eddie the Cyclops warned me something would happen to my girl if I fucked up. I don't see how though, I did what he asked me to and I stayed out of it like he warned me to. I just don't know..."
D'Angelo looks over the Garou, when his glossy black eyes settle upon James, he turns away as if ashamed. "We's were gonna to have a baby, Araceli and me. I had plans to leave Chicago, head down south a bit to see my Theurge sista to see if... ah hell. Anything else, senor?"
This post has been edited by Angel on Aug 17 2005, 10:12 AM
(josephine)
The information is relayed to them over the totemphone by Gabriel, to better not disturb the spirit in its response. Josephina stands back with Sevastian, though the entirety of her attention remains on the hovering apparition and the words that are passed on by the theurge. Her mouth compresses ever so slightly at the mention of a priest, gaze flickering to Sevastian to see if he knows of what the spirit speaks, before those eyes are focusing back. With the mention of Ol' Eddie, that look just firms even more.
Ask about the priest and Ol' Eddie the Cyclops, Gabriel. I have no idea who either of them are.
Josephina is stepping forward slowly even as she speaks, careful not to disturb D'Angelo. A voice low, she murmurs to the Bone Gnawer elder, "Did you understand?" And if the answer is no, very quietly she passes on the mention of the priest and Ol' Eddie, giving him the oppportunity to narrow any questions, if he would.
(gabriel)
Gabriel's head canted to one side, his dark eyes taking a glazed sheen for the moment it took to recite across the totemlink all that had been said. The Bone Gnawer Elder would have understood the Speech of the Spirit, D'Angelo so the Silver Fang Healer did not pause to repeat his gained knowledge over again, merely exchanging a mildly questioning look with Jukebox before with his Alpha's urging, pressed forward with a growing sense of urgency--"Just two more questions, D'Angelo, please. The Priest you mentioned your sister met with, what was his name?"
Gabriel's hand rose in a brief motion to accompany his words.
"And if you could, tell me about this Eddie, what did he ask of you?"
(st)
D'Angelo's spirit wavers, looking away as if someone was calling his name, he seems to want to leave being drawn by something. The questions force his attention back upon the Garou. There is an impression of a head-shake."No." He murmurs, "She never say the Priest name to me. He known through out the barrio, respected and feared."
The spirit's head hangs once again, "Eddie was creepy. He was a BG kinfolk that live down on Whiskey Row in Southside. He had a thing for hookers, one in particular that was a Gee Dub, but she went missing a while back. We think he finally killed her, or pulled her over to the darkside. Who knows. He wasn't right. He gave me a package and told me to deliver it to Fox's Garage, and then warned me if I told anyone something would happen."
He looks up to Gabriel, then swings his gaze over to the pretty Blond, Josephina and then Vast, "I gave it to a Swedish Girl that rides fast bikes in the circuit, bra, she had the package. I think she delivered ain't sure. Not seen it since."
(gabriel)
Fox's Garage, is that not the Eagle Kin's business?Comes Gabriel's totemlinked thought, it is a quiet, almost rhetorical question that required no answer as he knew it to be true, or the very least knew it to be answered soon enough by the Eagle beside him, listening in.
The lean Fang then translated the sum of D'Angelo's response across the link to Josie and Vast, his tone leaving no doubt he felt this package to be the key to something pivotal.
"One last thing, Monsieur and then you may be at peace--the Swedish girl you mention, did you happen to get her name?"
This post has been edited by Jacqui on Aug 19 2005, 09:09 AM
(st)
"Nah, senor, I didn't." The spirit replies already starting to appear more transparent as they continued to speak. He looks away, behind him into the darkness of the Umbra as if someone was calling him. "Can I go now?"
(josephine)Again the information is relayed across the totemlink, and unless James has anything further to say, the alpha inclines her head slightly in agreement. Gabriel can let the spirit go.
"Let's get to the morgue." A questioning look tossed in James' direction as to whether word has been received from AnneMarie as to what is going on there. With or without, she has no doubt they need to make their way there now. When D'Angelo fades, as they even wander away from the spot where he had been, a question is asked out loud for the benefit of the Gnawer.
"Vast, you know of the girl?"
She glances at the youngest of her packmates, a platinum brow hooking up in expectant inquiry. Fast motorbikes the link through which he knew D'Angelo, so knowing this Swedish girl cannot be so difficult, surely. There cannot be many girls that ride with that group. And in regards to Fox's Auto - chances are the delivery was already there, in which case she has no doubt Drums-on-Skulls is already alerting the rest of the Eagles.
This post has been edited by Katya on Aug 20 2005, 18:58 PM(st)
Before anyone else, even Gabriel can ask the spirit of D'Angelo any further questions. His form vanishes in a small burst of light.(james)
the Gnawer Elderman remains quiet as the questioning begins
listening attentively for the sake of learning as much as gathering information
it isn't until the ghost vibrates with anger that James shows any fraction of emotion at all
senses heightening as the guardhairs prickle along the back of his neck
something else entirely causing him to glance away, swallowing hardmaybe witnessing another man's child-loss agony just seems impolite, to the guttermutt, irregardless of whether or not the man is still a living being..... or maybe it's something deeper that causes him to choose bearing witness to an alternate vision as the emotions rise to featured display
only when the glossy black eyes weigh upon him does the raggedyman look back
Posted by james at August 01, 2005 12:00 AM
slow blink casting away whatever explanations may have risen from the depths of deep umber
acknowledgement of the once-kinsman's hopeful plan coming with slight, Eagle-patented, nod-up
(....... sometimes, bad things ha