[Liadan Whelan] It's become something of a routine these days for Líadan to be found lounging in the booth at the Brotherhood of Thieves closest to the kitchens, sitting so she can watch the people entering through the front. She's been sitting there most days since Saturday, a portfolio tucked away in her bag filled with pictures of her kinsman, Aidan Whelan (no relation). The prints are part of his payment for the impromptu photo shoot held in Líadan's studio, and even though she shoved a wad of cash into his pocket, she had always intended to have prints made for him.
So there she sits, sipping a soda, a plate with mashed potatoes and the remains of some meat dish pushed away from her, during the dinner rush. There's a jacket on the seat beside her. The weather turned cold suddenly, so she's wearing the usual, witty geek-centric tee over a longer sleeved shirt, jeans. She's slouched in the booth so that the heels of her feet rest on the bench across from her.
And she waits. The staff in the kitchens already know to alert her if either Aidan or Taggart—who may know how to find Aidan—show up through the back. Bored, she plays Tetris on her blackberry.
[Nessa] Her hair Was on her head. It had been fastened with two pencils through the twisted mass, has slowly been falling into curls and waves along her back, the knot from towards the top now down to the nape of her pale neck. Black hair on white skin. The pencils will soon be free to fall the rest of the way to the floor. Any minute now.
The scent of chocolate accompanies her, with cherries. Fresh cherries, and berries, and a little bowl of melted chocolate just for Nessa, and no one else.
Shadowlords don't have to share.
Unless there are more powerful Shadowlords around, which there are not. She hopes.
Into the commons room, where she looks for a comfy seat, chooses Lukas's because there is no one to say no to her. For now.
"Hello." The one word declares her as not raised in the country. Nessa smiles, sort of, at Liadan, or at least she doesn't frown, but in truth, her attention is less on the woman and more on the fruit. And what comes with it.
[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander isn't sure about this. He's in the parking lot astride his Buell speedbike, bright crimson, the engine still running, his hands off the handlebars as he sits back in the saddle and considers the building reputedly full of fine and upstanding members of the nation. Sort of like a combination soup kitchen/brothel? he quipped at Maija. There was acid in the joke.
But it's overcast and getting cold and he's hungry, and after another few seconds' indecision he twists the key in the ignition, rolls the bike up on its kickstand, and dismounts. He's in blue jeans and a motorcycle jacket that covers everything from neck to wrist to waist, black with silver trim. He undoes the chinstrap of his helmet and pulls it off as he heads for the door, tucking it under his arm, scuffing a gloved hand through his short hair before reaching out to pull the door open.
There's a wariness about him, just beneath the deliberate swagger. He flashes a grin at the greeter that doesn't quite touch the eyes, and then he's looking over her shoulder to have a look at the occupants of the place.
[Nessa] (edits location-- entersfrom the kitchen, sits very near Liadan!)
[Liadan Whelan] Hello.
The red haired Fianna Kin glances up from her game. The word was obviously spoken in her direction, and she's curious if it's someone she should know. She doesn't recognize the dark haired woman with the bowl of berries and cream. She offers a polite, “Hey,” before her eyes dart back to her blackberry. A few quick button hits and the T shaped piece takes out a row of three.
She doesn't recognize the woman for what she is. Kin blood doesn't call to Kin, breeding to breeding, the way it seems to among the Garou. She's just an ordinary human who doesn't even know the difference between the Fianna and the Shadowlords or the other tribes, because no one has told her yet. Hell, everyone in the dining room could be Kin and she'd never even know it.
The door leading in swings open, letting in a glare of overcast sunlight. Líadan glances up again, past the woman to see the man who entered. She doesn't recognize him. The last time she saw the man clad in biking clothes, with the helmet held under his arm, he was dripping wet from a shower with a towel thrown across his neck. She had run her fingers through his wet hair when she said goodbye, an intimate gesture that meant absolutely nothing to her now. She has all but forgotten the sordid tryst in the man's motel room just a few nights ago. All that matters is that he's not Aidan and he's not Taggart.
Brown eyes flick back to her blackberry. To the woman, she says, so as not to seem overly rude, “That looks tasty.”
[Nessa] "I expect so." She also, would have no idea that Liadan is anything other than any customer in the place; she is at least friendly-ish, and courteous, which is better than growling at customers and making the Brotherhood public-unfriendly.
Nessa is helpful in all SORTS of unexpected ways. Really. She's helping. That's the story.
Black jeans, a tie dyed fitted tee in stormy colors. Red lipstick and nails, one of which is dipped in chocolate, Nessa raising the finger to taste the darkness. This is very very dark chocolate.
"Yep. Is good." Foreign, and possibly Russian. Definitely, if Liadan places the accent.
[Alexander Vaughn] As luck would have it, the greeter leads Alexander over to a table adjacent to Liadan's, and across from Nessa's. She drops a menu in front of him, flashes him a practiced smile, assures him the waitress will be over soon.
Dinner hour on a Tuesday is still a rush. There are a lot of patrons, a lot of chatter, a lot of business being done, especially with the more intense occupants of the Brotherhood apparently all out or asleep at the moment.
Alexander doesn't take long to flip through his menu to find the entrees list. While he reads down, he unsnaps the collar and the cuffs of his motorcycle jacket, which is thick leather, heavily and protectively padded at the elbows and the shoulders, the mid-back. Upsetting Ahrouns or not, 200mph speedbikes or not, it seems Alex doesn't actually have a deathwish.
When the jacket comes off he's lean and taut, in a short-sleeved orange fitted tee that shows off his tan, which surely didn't come from these northern latitudes, as well as his biceps, which surely didn't come from sitting on his ass. By then he's decided what he wants and he closes the menu and looks around, adopting the overtly alert mien of a customer waiting for service.
His wandering attention catches on Liadan once without much of a spark. Then again, and this time he frowns faintly at her. Doesn't he know her from somewhere? And then he has it.
You're kidding me, he thinks, well aware of where he is. His fingers drum on his tabletop for a second. Then he picks up his menu in one hand, his helmet in the other, hooks a free pinky into his jacket and, quite without invitation, moves over to Liadan's table.
He hasn't gotten any taller. He's still tight and compact, and he still sits with the same aggressive arrogance.
"Hey," he says, a short grunt of a greeting, looking right at her. "You live here?" And his eyes flick to the other woman, the one drinking hot chocolate with her fingertips. "Who's your friend?"
[Nessa] Nessa dips a berry into the thick melted chocolate-- barely syrup consistancy, it clings to the glossy red fruit, drips only slightly. More than hot chocolate then. Her eyes rake across Alexander briefly, wait for any thrill his apperance might give-- then moves on to watch the kitchen door.
Doesn't mean she's not watching them too, though. The mention of living at the Brotherhood--casual joke?
Her other free hand toys with the napkin on her lap, with three of her fingers, which is to say, all of them on the hand. Scars, there.
[Liadan Whelan] As it happens, Líadan doesn't catch the accent, not right away, not with so few words spoken. She glances at the dark haired woman again, and decides to shut off the game and pay attention to her. There's something wild about her that Líadan finds intriguing.
Just as she's twisting on her bench to put the phone in her bag, Alexander occupies the seat across from her. Startled, Líadan jerks her feet off the bench when his hip bumps into them.
“Um. Do I know you?” Something in her expression suggests she at least believes in the possibility of having met him somewhere before. But she was never supposed to see Asshole again. The night she spent wrecking his hotel room with him was meant to be a one time only deal.
[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander gives Liadan a look, somewhere between disbelief and amusement and amazement.
"Wow. You are hardboiled."
He investigates her plate, whatever's left in it. If there's anything salvageable he helps himself with his fingers, leaning back to drop it in his mouth.
Then: "We met Friday night." And it's probably as much for his own ego at having been so thoroughly forgotten as it is for Liadan's respectability in this establishment that Alex forgoes the details.
[Nessa] IF she is evesdropping (Wouldn't you?), she is offering no sign of it. In fact, unless he is deeply drawn to plain-faced threefingered women with faces bland enoug to make a Secret Service agent jealous, no matter how toned and muscled her thighs under the black denim are, Alex might find nothing to remark about Nessa save that she had come from the kitchens directly with her snack, not the rest of the human-allowed dining areas.
She seems to be having a deep, meaningful relationship with her berries just now, taking her own sweet time, literally, in enjoying a bite.
[Liadan Whelan] Her hands are together in her lap. A brow quirks slightly when he dips his fingers into the remains of her mashed potatoes, noting the perfectly usable fork laid crosswise along the edge of the plate. He called her hardboiled, and she can't say she knows what that means.
She's about to make some smart comment about how she met a lot of people on Friday night, when the events of Friday night suddenly snapped into place. She spent the entire afternoon and most of the evening holed up in her studio, perfecting the images of Aidan Whelan, as well as a large quantity of work related photos. She'd been at the studio for so long, it was well into the darkest hours of the night when she left. When she tried cutting through a motel parking lot and been stopped.
When...
“Asshole!” The word causes a few heads to turn and look in there direction. The heads quickly turn away again when they see the look on Líadan's face. It's a look of recognition, and a smile, and, almost, a laugh. She sits up, leans her elbows against the table, no longer wary and somewhat reserved. “How the hell are ya?”
[Hatchet] The staff in the kitchens know to alert Liadan if Taggart shows up through the back. Taggart shows up through the back, so one of the waitresses -- too busy right now to run out and alert her -- alerts him that she's out there, that she might want to talk to him.
So here he comes, striding through one of the kitchen doors into the proper dining room. He's got his boots on, and that long-sleeved henley with tears all over the place that have been too often mended. He looks like a mess, with that and the huge sewn-back rip across the left thigh of his jeans, but otherwise he's...clean. In other clothes he might be metro, even, but it's hard to look at a man who makes the hairs on the back your neck stand on end and imagine him chilling at home watching Queer Eye.
He finds Lee like he already knows where she's sitting, and heads that way. He gives the briefest, smallest wave -- a lift and drop of his hand -- to Nessa, but then he's leaning against the outside of Lee's booth, noting her friend 'Asshole' but looking at young Ms. Whelan.
Who is older than him, by the way.
"I thought that was your nickname for me," he says, feigning hurt.
[Nessa] Nessa nods and smiles at Hatchet, the courteous sort of greeting one gives a werewolf of rank whom one doesn't know well at all. She even more or less drops her eyes to her food, or no, maybe she was going to do that anyways.
Because.. its chocolate, and deserves attention.
[Alexander Vaughn] "Surprised," 'Asshole' admits. He asks her again, "Do you live here?" but whatever she might've answered, he looks away, and up, when Hatchet approaches.
Alexander shifts his weight slightly in his side of the booth. He sits a little lower, sprawls a little broader. Something about his body language becomes a sort of posturing, a dominance display.
[Liadan Whelan] [I see wut u did thar]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Nessa] She'd not brought out much; even one who expends as much energy in various tasks can't indulge every day in quite that much sin. Of an edible nature. Actually, one can sin a hell of a lot in one day, if a Shadowlord puts her mind to it. She has proof.
But for now, its a good time to make a quiet exit before conversation is demanded of her, which might delay her Next tasks. Which won't wait.
Nessa slips back into the kitchen with her dirty plate, and is gone from the building moments later.
[Liadan Whelan] “No,” says Líadan, not skipping a beat, “my nickname for you is Ass Face.” She tilts her head to smile up at Taggart. “Big difference.”
When she turns back to Alexander, she notes the change in his posture, realizes it's very similar to when she found him sitting in a lawn chair, beer bottles strewn all around him. She had prepared herself to fight him, should it come to it, when their conversation took a decidedly different turn. She could offer him warning, No honey, you don't want to mess with this guy. I'm pretty sure he could rip you in half.
But she doesn't. Instead she slides over, offering Taggart the chance to let his Rage pin her to the wall.
[Hatchet] The short-haired man across the way changes his posture to one of dominance, taking up more space with his smaller frame. It's physical arrogance, and Taggart doesn't need a handshake or a baring of teeth to see it. He does, however, ignore it. Except for a flick of a his glance in Alex's direction, his attention is on Liadan.
Lee slides over and he just shakes his head; he's not sitting. His arms cross loosely over his chest. "Ass Face. Right. I keep forgetting that." One hand lifts to scratch idly under his jaw. "I got your note. There's a girl living here named Gabbie who said she'll help us set it up. Best I can do is get the Coltranes to feed us and get us drunk."
[Liadan Whelan] When Taggart shakes his head, Líadan brings her long, denim clad legs up onto the bench to sit cross-legged facing him, back pressed against the wall.
“Woot. When do I get to meet Gabbie?” There's a glass on the table spilling condensation onto a coaster. Líadan picks up the glass, sips the dark bubbly liquid through a straw, sets it back down again. She hasn't forgotten Alexander, but she has more pressing matters to look to before she engages him in conversation again.
[Hatchet] "Uh...when you tromp up to Room 4 to see her," Taggart says dryly, one brow quirked. He cracks his neck; the pop is audible. "Girl in the kitchen said you were looking for me?"
[Alexander Vaughn] Christ, there's a lot of resentment coming from across the table right now.
It's not even jealousy. Not quite, anyway. They're nothing to each other, the redhead and the guy sitting across from her. It has little to do with Lee, a lot to do with Alex; he was talking to her, and then this blond guy horns in on his territory, and Alex's hackles are all up, and he's bristling quietly but unsubtly across the table.
And getting ignored. Which stings worse than anything else, because it suggests he's not even worth the attention.
They mention upstairs; Room 4. He still hasn't gotten a straight answer out of Liadan on what's really anything but a straight question, because what he really wants to know is do you belong in a place like this; and then the stranger more or less answers it for him. Great, Alexander thinks, fucking great. And he'll probably be one of the furrier cousins too, with his luck.
Abruptly Alexander cuts in, with a sort of jagged smile: "Hey man, I was having a fucking conversation here. Do you mind?"
[Liadan] Hey man, I was having a fucking conversation here. Do you mind?
It doesn't even occur to Líadan to consider that Alexander might in some way be pissed off at Taggart for interrupting his conversation with her because of her. She determines that it's all part of the air of bluff and bluster that surrounds the dark haired man.
Without even turning to look at the man sitting across from her, she holds out her right hand to him and extends her middle finger.
To Taggart: “Oh, yeah, I need to find Aidan. I figured if I didn't run into him here maybe you knew where to find him.”
[Hatchet] Almost at the exact same time as Lee, Hatchet lefts his left arm from where it's lazily crossed over his chest and gives him his own middle finger. No, he apparently does not mind. And he, too, is having a conversation. The bird remains extended for about four or five seconds and then folds down. Hatchet crosses his arms once more, as though he's forgotten he gave the gesture to Alex in the first place.
"He lives in Chinatown." Taggart shrugs. "I usually just...see him when I see him. Why?"
[Gabbie Bellamonte] Of all the residents of The Brotherhood of Thieves, only one of them didn't carry around enough Rage to make the average patron of the restaurant/bar want to quickly finish their drink and leave. There was a solitary Kinfolk left taking up space in the upstairs dormatory-style rooms, and she was walking through the kitchen doors closest to the fireplace into the business part of the establishment downstairs.
She was today dressed a little better than she has been, perhaps she'd finally gone out? A simple but obviously expensive white dress was worn, one that had a dangerously low neckline that showed an amount of chest that would be scandelous if she flaunted the fact more than what she did. A thin brown belt was worn around the waist to give it shape, and a pair of matching brown boots, ankle height with a three inch heel, completed the outfit. Her hair was twisted into a loose looping half-pony half-bun at the side of her neck, and a light touch of make-up was done.
With her hands tucked together at the small of her back, she stepped out of the way of the kitchen doors and loitered against the wall beside them for the moment, surveying the dining room for who was there and what was occurring.
[Liadan] Her brows furrow and her mouth quirks a little to the side in a contemplative frown. “Hm. He let me take some pictures of him and asked for prints, but I don't know how to get a hold of him to give them to him.”
The hand formerly flipping the bird to Asshole rises her her mouth, the thumb rubbing along her bottom lip. “I guess I could leave them with Jenny or something.”
[Alexander Vaughn] (WP, +2 diff - intolerance, +1 - TWO for the price of one!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 10 (Failure at target 9)
[Alexander Vaughn] Actually, the bird remains extended for about one second, because that's how long it takes Alexander to snap whatever tenuous chain he has on himself, grab his motorcycle helmet, and swing it in a vicious backhanded arc.
Since the Fianna's looking at his kinswoman, it's aimed at the backside of his head.
[Hatchet] [Init +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Alexander Vaughn] (w00t inits!
+7)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2 (Failure at target 6)
[Alexander Vaughn] (split action - bludgeon hatchet twice!)
[Hatchet] [Split: Grab Helmet / Bludgeon]
[Alexander Vaughn] (switching first split to holding on)
[Hatchet] [Split 1: Str+Brawl]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 6 (Failure at target 7)
[Alexander Vaughn] (ooor not.)
[Hatchet] [Split 2: Changing to Punch
Dex+Brawl -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 7, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 7) [WP]
[Hatchet] [Damage]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Alexander Vaughn] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 2, 4 (Failure at target 6)
[Hatchet] Naturally, Hatchet isn't as fast as he seems to be. There's a spirit on his side, fast and wily, that does not like being snuck up on even though that is one of its own preferred methods of attack. He sees a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, or senses rising tension like a change in air pressure, and even as Alex is whipping out that helmet to bludgeon the back of his skull with it, Hatchet's arm lashes out to try and grab a hold of the headgear.
His fingers dance right off of it, but no matter. A second later he's turning his broad-shouldered body and slamming his fist as hard as one imagines he's capable of in this form right. Into. Alex's. Face.
There's no sudden pulse of Rage, no gold bleeding at the edges of his eyes, but Hatchet moves quickly, his arm is strong, and though Alex is still conscious, he's in no shape to do so much as retaliate. Hatchet's eyes are hard. He does not immediately turn back to Lee, but watches the dazed, tattooed fellow, head cocked to one side as though he's more curious about the outcome of this than anything else.
[Aidan Whelan] Speak of the devil...
...and he appears.
In through the front door tonight, because he was in need of something to drink. He'd been contemplating various options: beer, scotch, everclear...
But that was when he noticed the scene laid out in front of him, and for a moment he forgot entirely that he'd wanted to actually order something. He probably shouldn't have been surprised. After all, this was the Brotherhood. And werewolves lived here. It made him wonder why on earth he had assumed he might actually be able to... you know... relax. The day had been a long one, after an even longer night, and he looked... tired. (Not so much physically as emotionally.)
Of course, that didn't mean he hadn't still managed to put himself together nicely. (Likely he'd just come from an appointment of some sort.) Black pants with a dark red buttoned shirt that shimmered with satin just at the accents. It highlighted the auburn in his hair.
Taggart punched a stranger. His hit landed hard. Aidan saw the whole thing, and looked between the two warily for a moment, holding back from approaching.
[Alexander Vaughn] Hatchet's fist cracks into Alex's nose with the force of a goddamn freight train. Cartilage tears; bone more or less explodes into shards. The helmet drops, bounces once on the tabletop before smacking to the floor and rolling aside. Alexander drops similarly, crumpling back into the opposite side of the booth with one hand to his nose. There's a look of dazed disbelief in his eyes.
A moment later, there's a flood of red running down his palm, forking over his knuckles and rivuleting down his forearm.
This is a goddamn restaurant. It's not a great area of town, but it's set itself apart by the quality of its food and service. There's silence all around. Shock and awe. And then, almost at once, the kin staff starts to loudly announce an early closing tonight, apologies for the inconvenience, the meal's on us. The sheep get herded toward the front door.
The first of them are just starting to head out when Alexander recovers enough to howl, "FUGG! MY FUGGIN DOSE!"
[Gabbie Bellamonte] Of course this couldn't just be a quiet, calm evening at The Brotherhood. Gabriella was starting to doubt that such things truely existed. She spotted Hatchet before anyone else, because her eyes always went to him first, and because he was the only person aside from the staff that she recognized.
Then, out of nowhere, there was motion a little too fast for her to comprehend completely. All she knew was that there was a flurry of violence and suddenly the dark-haired man she'd never seen before was laid out with his face all but busted into itself. Gabbie yelped something that might have been 'Hey!' were it not for the fact that language escaped her from sheer surprise. It was just a noise, really, what came out of her mouth.
But whatever she'd yelled, she was running between tables and around the bar to reach the booth, snatching a napkin dispenser from a table on her way over. Her nice white skirt flutters as she drops to the floor beside Alexander, and she's yanking napkins out and pressing them lightly to his chin, trying to convince him to move his hand so she can help with gentle nudges. While she does this, she snaps up at Hatchet.
"What the hell, Taggart? You broke his face!"
[Liadan] [manip+sub]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 7, 7, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Liadan] It started and ended in an instant, almost too fast for Líadan to react. But of course she had time to let her eyes widen momentarily at the sight of Taggart's fist slamming heavily into Alexander's face. To Líadan, the dark haired man has eared the nickname she gave him.
She should have known that flipping him off wasn't the best idea in the world, not when dealing with a man who so clearly desired to show dominance. She hadn't expected Taggart to pull the same move at almost precisely the same moment as her, which no doubt set Alexander off even more. And then she'd deliberately ignored him.
Just because Líadan has common sense doesn't mean she must use it, however.
And now Alexander is bleeding profusely from the face. The patrons are being ushered out the door. Líadan carefully schools her face into an expression of mild unconcern as she unfolds her legs and rises from her side of the table.
A girl comes up, tells Taggart he broke the man's face. Líadan rises, moves around the Fianna to stand by Alexander. She holds out a hand to help him up. Whether he takes the offered hand or not, she shrugs at him. What can ya do?
[Hatchet] He is aware of Aidan and Gabriella and Liadan like he's aware of the direction the wind is blowing, or a familiar scent, or his own memories. They're all around him, their breeding pulling at him, but none so strong as his Rage. His Rage is the reason that patrons are leaving even without being told, the reasons why waitstaff are rushing to complete checks, the reason why so many people are paying cash. His Rage is the reason why none of the Kinfolk employees are rushing over to tell him to go upstairs. Maybe if Andrea were still here, she would have.
Taggart stares at Alex thoughtfully a moment longer, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end when Aidan walks in. He doesn't trust himself to look that way, so he doesn't. He watches Gabriella come into his field of vision, trying to help Alex by providing napkins that will at least soak up the blood.
Fuck. His fucking nose.
What the hell.
Liadan moves to help Alex as well, and Taggart blinks slowly. He nods, somewhat droll, to Gabriella. "Looks like it."
[Aidan Whelan] "Tell me he deserved that."
This was directed at Taggart as Aidan closed the distance between them, pausing a few feet away. Oddly, there wasn't any particular note of sarcasm or irritation in his voice. Maybe he really did assume that whoever the person was, he had, indeed, deserved it. After all, the only thing Aidan had seen was Alex trying to smash Taggart in the head with his helmet, followed by Taggart doing the sensible thing and defending himself.
Sympathy? Nope. Not tonight. Not for Alexander, anyway.
[Alexander Vaughn] (Let's not be stupid again. Survival is good, yes? +2 intolerance, +2 LOTS OF PEOPLE FOR THE PRICE OF ONE!, -1 owwwww)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 6 (Botch x 3 at target 9)
[Alexander Vaughn] He's not on the floor, actually -- he's sort of sprawled in the corner of the booth, shellshocked. That's wearing off, though, and he's struggling back upright, and then some girl he's never seen before is dabbing napkins at his chin when it's his nose that's shattered, and she's yelling at the fucker that broke his face, telling him he, well, broke his face.
The shock's giving way to a rising wave of white-hot fury. Or humiliation. Or hate. It's hard to tell which it is, or even whom it's directed at. His whole head is buzzing like a hive of angry hornets, and there's a fist-sized block of pain that's embedded itself in his face where his nose normally sits, beating with every pulse of his heart.
Slowly, rather sluggishly, Alexander brushes Gabbie off. The palm of his left hand is slick and red. His fingers leave streaks of blood on the table. He pulls himself something-like-upright and shakes his head once, sharply, sending droplets of blood flying every which way, and now there are people gathering around and making droll little comments and watching and --
Alexander, to put it mildly, loses his shit.
(ahem. inits again?)
[Gabbie Bellamonte] (( Init + 6 ))
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3
[Hatchet] [Init +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7
[Alexander Vaughn] +7!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Aidan Whelan] ((Init +6))
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7
[Liadan] [inits: +5]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Alexander Vaughn] (that it?
hatchet
aidan
gabbie
alex
lee
reverse dec!)
[Liadan] [Shove Alex out of the way]
[Alexander Vaughn] (alex intends to: a. stomp hatchet's knee under the table. b. punch!)
[Gabbie Bellamonte] [Declare: Stupid, stupid Kinfolk throws self between the contenders. No dead people please.]
[Aidan Whelan] ((Why not? Punch Alex))
[Hatchet] [Grapple Alex, Spending WP]
[Hatchet] [Strength + Brawl]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Aidan Whelan] ((Dex+Brawl))
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Alexander Vaughn] (a. -- change to resist grapple, -2, -2.)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 4, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP]
[Aidan Whelan] ((Str+2))
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Alexander Vaughn] (soak against aidan)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 3, 4 (Failure at target 6)
[Alexander Vaughn] (alright -- aidan knocks alex out.)
[Alexander Vaughn] Suddenly there's a lot more bodies in the way.
Hatchet reaches across the table to grab Alexander, who breaks the hold with a quick twist of the arm. Slowed as that gesture is, hampered as it is by the damage he's sustained, it still speaks of some training, serious training in some discipline or other, beyond a few brawls in a schoolyard. Alex knows what he's doing. The way he'd grabbed up the helmet was quick and deft, but not wild. There's a taut, honed strength in him.
Which really, in a way, makes this more crushing in the long run. It's not that he's green and untried, a sap, incapable. It's that it isn't enough. It's never fucking enough when they're just bigger, and faster, and stronger, and ... more in every way.
Insult to injury, though: it's not even Hatchet that takes him down. It's the skinny, pretty boy that said something like Tell me he deserved it. It's the little fucker that steps in out of nowhere with a fist to his jaw, snapping his head to the left a fraction too far. Barosensors complain, cranial nerves fire.
There's a flare of are you shittin me --
-- everything shuts the fuck down.
[Hatchet] So Alex is unconscious. And Hatchet is stunned. Not physically.
He grabs at Alex, which does about as much good as grabbing the helmet did him, and out of nowhere, a pale, thin fist clocks Alexander upside the jaw, sending him reeling. Hatchet's head whips around, his control so much thinner than his fury, thinner than the moon outside, and stares at Aidan. It takes a second, but then he blinks, and his lips slowly part, and then he turns back to look at Alexander.
"Well..."
Hatchet blinks again.
"...shit."
[Gabbie Bellamonte] Alexander drops like a sack of potatoes and Gabbie stands back, looking positively indignant and shocked, utterly, that Aidan, Aidan of all people, had put knuckles to the man's already broken faced and stole his consciousness away. She stares at him with something between fury and disbelief flashing in those crystal blue eyes and across her face, then glances to Hatchet. She's hardly even noticed Liadan, yet, truth be told.
"What's wrong with you two?!"
And so she stoops down with that fistfull of napkins to gingerly, ever so delicately wipe his face so that way here in a minute she'd be able to move him (or try really hard to) without smearing blood all over her pretty white dress with the low cut front.
[Liadan] Líadan is left to watch in stunned awe yet again. It was one thing to see Taggart draw back and break Alexander's face in the span of a heartbeat. It's quite another to see Aidan, skinny, beautiful Aidan who doesn't look like he could cause damage to a fly, bring the fight to an end.
Not that it was much of a fight.
She looks down at the prone form of the man she calls Asshole.
“So.” She looks up at Taggart. “What should we do with him?”
[Aidan Whelan] Everything seemed to happen at once. Gabbie was fussing over the man with the broken nose. Liadan was offering to help. Hatchet was... surveying everything impassively.
And then, the stranger exploded with anger, and Aidan reacted without thinking, slamming his fist into the side of Alexander's skull just as the man was breaking free from Taggart's attempt to grapple with him.
He honestly hadn't expected to knock the man out, and when he looked down at the poor, crumpled body at his feet, he had a moment of feeling... well, a little guilty. But, really now... could anyone expect differently? He had a bit of protective instinct in him yet, and it wasn't as if he'd never had to throw a punch before (not in spite of but because he was pretty.)
He looked at Alex, then over at Gabbie, whose words stung him slightly...then, finally, to Taggart.
"Shit, I'm sorry." He said to no one in particular.
[Hatchet] His eyebrows pull together, tight and sudden, at Gabriella's words. Hatchet isn't whirling on Aidan to yell at him about stepping in where he had no business. He isn't joking around with Lee about kicking Alex to the curb. He's hearing Aidan's apology, to the unconscious man or to the Garou beside him or no one, maybe a dead person, maybe himself...
...but it's Gabriella's question that is ringing in his ears.
He thinks about what he said to Lukas -- who could take him down in a heartbeat, unless he got lucky, who could survive just about any brawl they might get into -- just last night. He thinks about how goddamn full the moon is, and how uneven he feels now, how the balance is tipped in the favor of frenzy, and he thinks about the way his right hand is still curled into a white-knuckled fist with flecks of Alex's blood on it. Gabriella is so small. Aidan is so thin. Lee is so soft. 'Asshole' is vulnerable now simply by virtue of being knocked out.
Hatchet closes his eyes for a second, takes a deep breath, and opens his eyes again as he exhales. He shrugs his shoulders loosely to Lee, turns around, and walks to the kitchen door.
[Aidan Whelan] ((Perception+Empathy - You mad at me too?))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6 (Failure at target 6)
[Liadan] Taggart doesn't answer, just shrugs his shoulders and goes into the kitchen area. She turns to frown at Asshole again, considering. Then she whirls on her heel and follows Taggart into the kitchen.
Just because she has common sense doesn't mean she has to use it.
“Taggart?” The query isn't timid, just meant to see, see if he'll stop and look at her.
[Gabbie Bellamonte] Aidan apologizes to the air, the red-haired woman with the glasses asked what to do with him next, and Hatchet takes in a deep breath, then turns to walk away. Her words seemed to bother Aidan and Hatchet both, but she was steaming at both of them so if she noticed she'd didn't respond to it. Rather she glanced up to the woman she didn't know and spoke in a tone that was two parts sharp, one part scolding. She'd seen, even if she hadn't heard the details. She didn't understand how or why exactly, but somehow Lee and Hatchet had egged the man on, lit his obviously short fuse, and that's how this nonsense started.
"You don't worry about him, Miss. You've done quite enough."
Brows knitted, she knelt beside the unconscious man and, finally, decided to slide a hand under his head and lift it, tipping up so that the blood didn't flood down his throat and make him choke or something. More blood rushed from his broken and mangled face, and cursing quietly in French she yanked more napkins from the tin dispenser and sopped up the flow.
[Aidan Whelan] Taggart's back was turned to him when he looked over, an expression of subtle concern on his face. And because his back was turned, Aidan couldn't tell if the other man was angry with him or not.
Great. Just what he needed.
And Gabbie most certainly was.
He sighed. Really, this wasn't quite what he'd had in mind for the evening. Then he bent down next to Gabbie to try and look her in the eyes.
"Gabbie..." His voice was gentle.
"He was crazy. He might have hurt you." And he tried to hurt Taggart!
Beat.
"Do you need any help?"
[Hatchet] [WP -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Hatchet] ...you've done quite enough.
His steps halt. For a moment. And then he keeps walking, speaking to his kinswoman over his shoulder, teeth on edge. "Lee, I'm about to break something. Please leave me the fuck alone, all right?"
[Liadan] [manip+subt]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Gabbie Bellamonte] Aidan bent down on the other side of the fallen man, angled his head so that he could look into her eyes, so she'd have to see him rather than chose to ignore him. Despite the anger that she couldn't quite explain properly rolling through her muscles, she was still very gentle with the fallen fellow. Blood-sopped napkins were set aside, out of the way and tucked against the booth's bench so that no one would step on them.
The beautiful red-haired man attempted to reason with her, insisted that he was crazy and might have harmed her. This might have been true, but she still paused and stared back at him. Her scowl was hard for a second, but it softened when she looked at him. He was a difficult person to stay upset with.
"Aidan, I've lived my entire life around people who might hurt me at any given second. That's nothing new." She considered rolling up and shoving some napkins into the man's nostrils, but decided against it. That'd probably do more harm than good. So, instead, she sighed and padded up several napkins together and held them over his nose, lightly, so they would soak up the blood as it flowed. "If you'd like to help, you can help me move him upstairs into a room, please."
[Liadan] And that's that. She doesn't say anything as he continues to walk away. She just turns around and goes back out into the dining room.
“Should we call a doctor?” she asks as the door swings open. There's a spring to her step, her expression is mild. She doesn't show how worthless she feels. How upset she is that all she could do was stand around and watch. How stupid she feels that she doesn't know how to offer consolation. She just doesn't know how.
The girl tending to Alexander says something about taking the man upstairs. She looks like just a slip of a thing, so Líadan moves to the unconscious man's side, takes a limp arm and pulls it over her shoulder. “Which room?”
[Aidan Whelan] "Guess it's a good thing I wore a red shirt."
And inwardly, he was cringing already at the thought of getting blood-stains on it, matching color palette or no, but nonetheless he bent to take the other of Alex's arms and heft it around his shoulders, just as Liadan was doing, and stood slowly, adjusting the limp weight to make sure that they had a good grasp on him before moving towards the kitchen door.
[Gabbie Bellamonte] Lee and Aidan get a good hold of the man before she rethinks her executive decision to put him upstairs. Frowning a touch, she shook her head and rose to her feet, tugging her belt so it was straightened and back where it was supposed to set around her waist.
"No, wait... That wasn't the best idea... We'll call an ambulance for him."
After all, Hatchet was upstairs. Lots of other Garou were upstairs. And if this man got into fights as easily as what she just saw on a regular basis, that wasn't the best place for him. Plus, for all she knew he was a regular joe, and things weren't exactly discreet on the second floor. So she glanced around, then gestured to the booth. "You could prop him up there, I suppose."
And, still frowning, if only softly, she walked to the, gestured for the phone from Danny, and proceeded to dial for an ambulance.
[Liadan] “Oof.” Líadan does her best to rise along with Aidan, maintaining the weight distribution of the unconscious man between them. “Aidan...don't let me forget.” She turns her head to look over Alexander's slumped form. “I've got those prints you wanted. In my bag.”
She pauses between words awkwardly, trying to breathe and carry the dead weight and sound normal all at the same time.
[Aidan Whelan] The whole evening had been awkward, and they were only just beginning.
To Liadan, he actually smiles in spite of the somewhat grisly and unpleasant nature of their current activity. "Oh, that'd be great. Thanks."
To Gabbie, he offers an exasperated look before switching course to do as directed and prop the man's unconscious body up in the booth. "That's... probably for the best." Frankly he'd only been carrying the man upstairs because he assumed that Gabbie had some plan in mind. This one sounded a bit more logical.
With a soft exhale, he immediately went to check his shirt for bloodstains. There was a very small bit on the shoulder, where some of the blood had dripped from the man's nose, and he looked...extremely irritated by this, furrowing his eyebrows together for a moment.
"Is there a sink around here? I'd like to see if I can get this out."
[Liadan] “I need to wash up, too.” Líadan had grabbed the hand Alexander had used to press against his broken nose, and now everything she touched left a trace of blood behind. This now included her tee shirt and her jeans. “I think there's a sink in the back. C'mon.”
After making sure Alexander won't simply topple over, Líadan pushed her way back into the kitchen, paused to look around, then went to the sanitation station to wash her hands. Let the girl calling the ambulance catch the man should he fall.
[Gabbie Bellamonte] "Hello? Yes, I need an ambulance. We have a man with a broken... ah... nose... and jaw... and probably cheeks... Well, really just massive face trauma I suppose. Yes, yes..." She glanced around, pulled the reciever away from her mouth, and spoke to the tall lanky red-haired man behind the counter. "Danny, they need the address. Would you stay on the line with them, please?" He, of course, would comply. And as she passed the phone to him she paused, kept her hand over the reciever, and with a quiet sigh added to that. "Would you please not say it was Taggart who caused the damage..? We know he won't go to jail, and the last thing any of us want is legal trouble here.
Danny assured her with a gentle version of 'Well no damn duh', then took over the phone. Gabbie smiled faintly to show her appreciation. She turned about to look over at Lee and Aidan, where they set Alex up in the booth. She parted her lips to answer, but Lee responded first, and together they went into the kitchen. Left alone with the bartender, Joaquin hovering somewhere near the door scowling over the whole situation, Gabbie leaned back against the counter, elbows hitching onto its top, and she sighed quietly.
Several seconds passed, then she murmered her thanks to Danny once more, then quietly with her shoulders slumped just slightly, she too passed through the kitchen but didn't pause. Rather she moved straight to the staircase and made her way back upstairs.
[Aidan Whelan] Poor Gabbie, getting stuck with a passed out, bloody stranger to deal with while the Fianna go back to business as usual. Aidan took off his shirt and did his best to try and scrub out the blood, but he wasn't sure if his efforts would ultimately come to much fruition. Still, by the time he put the thing back on, it was just a small patch of dampness where once bright red had been.
He'd make his way with Liadan to the stairs, buttoning his shirt back up as they walked. When he reached the top of the staircase, he glanced around into the common room. Looking, likely, for Taggart.
[Aidan Whelan] Or, rather, he went up the stairs assuming Liadan was going to follow him. And was proven wrong. Whoops.
[Liadan] Líadan watches as Aidan heads for the stairs.
“Be careful,” she says somberly. “He said he was going to break something.” She dries her hands on a nearby towel and goes back into the the dining room. She stands looking over Alexander, considering. Then she reaches to where her bag is, pulls out her blackberry, tosses the bag back onto the bench she had been sitting on earlier. She sits down beside Alexander's unconscious body, brings Tetris back up again.
“Well, Asshole?” She slants a glance in his direction, then back to the screen of her phone to lay the first puzzle piece. “Looks like it's just you and me.”
And she sits with him until the ambulance arrives.
come find me
13 years ago