bones.

[-bump-] OK folks! This is gonna be a pretty standard dicetastic scene. Nothing fancy. Ergo:

1. 10 min per post OR LESS. Preferably less. If we're dicing, declare in 3 min. Roll in 2 or I'll roll for you.
2. No posting order, but please post ONCE for every post I make.
3. Keep track of your own health and tempers.
4. Questions in the chat. Don't IM me. If I don't see the question, repeat it until I do *LOL* If I don't respond for minutes on end -- I'm probably posting. You should wait, unless it's absolutely urgent, upon which you should PM me once.
5. PM me your applicable flaws. This includes stuff like nightmares and phobias and hatreds and compulsions.
6. If there are any off-limits themes, imagery or events you do NOT want to see in a scene, PM 'em to me now.
7. Go ahead and post yourselves in. We are a block or two off Broadway, so it's a quiet semi-urban commercial/residential area. Brick rowhouse, treelined street. Looks something like this:

http://tinyurl.com/yb2vaqp

Your character might just be coming out of a theater or a restaurant or something!

[Genevre de Provence] Merits: Gall, Concentration Flaws: Compulsion - Perfection (Borderline OCD) Addiction: Alcohol Allergy: Chocolate
to -bump-

[Lonna Larson] Lonna Larson had finally become comfortable enough with herself that she could go to the movies alone and not be embarrassed or frustrated or anything of the sort about the act. It violated a social norm, yes, that one was supposed to be ashamed when they came out of movies alone because it was an inhernetly social act to sit by your closest friends for two hours and not say a word to them.

No. No, Lonna thought this act was completely stupid because, well, if she wanted to watch a movie with her friends she would talk through it. And, if she wanted to actually watch a movie, she obviously did not feel the need to surround herself with people that she liked.

So, there she was, making her way out of the theatre smelling vaguely like cut flowers and dissapointment.

There was twelve bucks and two and a half Lonna Larson was never going to get back.

[Danicka Musil] Ms. Musil is finished shopping for the night. She's striding down the sidewalk, back to the station or back to wherever her car is parked. Her boots are worn over her skinny-legged jeans, crunching into the snow and crushing the salty icemelt. She's got a few layers on up top underneath her black wool revere coat, a yellow leather purse over one arm, and she's carrying a couple of shopping bags in her other -- gloved -- hand. There's a green knit hat on her head with a tiny decorative brim and a daisy on it, offset. Her hair is in two long blonde braids.

It's very cold. She's alright with that. Her breath steams as she walks. Her cream-colored scarf peeks out at the world from beneath her coat. She hums to herself as she goes. It's the Happy Birthday song.

[Genevre de Provence] Genevre had spent most of the morning and afternoon in this district working on some contracts for a local company. Now she was on her way back up the street to find her car, since parking sucked in America, so that she could head back to the office and work on revisals.

[-bump-] There's an faux-irish pub just down the block, and the door flies open to emit a burst of noise and music -- as well as one glass walker kinsman, tossed out on his ass. The Fox & Feather isn't really the sort of establishment you see barfights in a lot. It's all green felt and dark wood, expensive and just a little pretentious, a place for young professionals with musical leanings to go for overpriced scotch and half-decent open mic nights. No wonder Alexander Vaughn and his antics weren't welcome here.

"I know girls that fight better than you!" he shouts back in the open door. A motorcycle helmet answers him -- pitched out at his head. He catches it. The door slams shut. The street is quiet again.

By coincidence or serendipity, they're all within a block or so of each other -- Danicka, Genevre, Lonna, Alexander. Grumbling, the Glass Walker gets to his feet, dusting snow off his ass.

Somewhere down the street, a dog starts barking.

[Danicka Musil] She's not one of the women in this town who delights in seeing Alexander Vaughn tossed out of a pub, tackled flat in the snow, or otherwise brutalized. She doesn't feel much at all when she sees him up head, nor does she have much reaction to the sight of Lonna coming out of a theater across the street. She's familiar with both of them. She usually only sees them when bad things are happening, and that may be why the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end suddenly.

No matter, no matter. She ignores the crawling sensation of foreboding for now and keeps walking, does not offer Alexander a nasty quip, but does wave to Lonna slightly. She hasn't seen Genevre yet.

[Lonna Larson] Somewhere, a dog starts barking. The blonde keeps her hands in her pockets and she moves down the street. She stops, finds herself looking at a pub, and wonders briefly if she should go get a drink or not. There's always room for booze, it seems. The Child of Gaia continues on her way, though her eyes go from Mr. Vaughn to... oh, a wave.

She looked at Danicka and she smiled. The bonde slipped her hand out of her pocket and waved hello to her. Lonna had yet to realize that she only saw Danicka when something terrible was about to happen. They were missing Atropos this evening, how unfortunate. She does see Genevre though, and she waves to her as well.

She is pleased, to say the least.

[Genevre de Provence] She manages to get to where her car -should- be and looks around. She frowns, she could have sworn she had parked just there.

Hearing the commotion not too far away, she looks to see Alex throw out on his ass. She smirks a bit, finding it amusing actually. Then a look around, and she notices Lonna. A light wave was given back before she moved up the way and stood next to Alex.

"You alright, monsior?"

[-bump-] By then, Alex is back on his feet, dusting his ass off, turning his helmet over in his hands to check for damage.

"What?" He whips around, looks at Genevre. "Who the fuck are you?"

Down the street, the dog's bark grow louder, more urgent. Whoever's dog it is, he isn't getting shushed. Maybe the owners aren't home. Or maybe --


(percep/alert check! diff 8, all or nothing.)

[Danicka Musil] [perception + alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

[Lonna Larson] [per+alert, diff8]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 10 (Failure at target 8)

[Genevre de Provence] "Genevre. I 'ave seen you around, non? May'aps at the Brother'ood? For zee celebracion of Thanks?" But the dog's barking makes her turn to that general direction.
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[-bump-] That dog is getting closer.
to Danicka Musil, Genevre de Provence

[Danicka Musil] Her attention does pick up on Alex and Genevre now, as her hand drops and she turns her head that way. The barking of the dog makes her frown, as she heads towards Genevre and Alex, expecting Lonna to do the same, perhaps.

"Genevre de Provence, Alexander Vaughn," she says. "Vaughn, de Provence." Only half a beat. "Would the three of you like to join me for some drinks? I have an idea to run past some of you, and now's as good a time as any."

Maybe she believes in Providence. Or Serendipity. Or something.

[Lonna Larson] Lonna Larson is deliciously clueless in this regard. There was a dog barking, and it was barking quite a bit. Lonna wasn't too sure what that meant, but she didn't quite put much thought into it. She smiles, something polite and lovely as usual and has finally bridged the gap with little effort.

"I'm Lonna, Lonna Larson, it's a pleasure," introductions to the man who is a little taller than she is, and it's back to Danicka.

Mentioning booze. God bless Danicka Musil.

"That? Sounds fabulous, I would appreciate that."

[Genevre de Provence] Genevre shifted her briefcase from one hand to the other, so she could get to her purse hung from her shoulder, and shifting her hand in it as if looking for something. She's a touch distracted by the dog barking, but a nod was given to Danicka. "Oui, mon ami. I will buy zee firse round."

[-bump-] Alexander laughs, a rough sort of sound, dabbing at his nostrils with the ball of his thumb to see if he's bleeding. He's not. "Well, if she's buying, I'm in. We better head somewhere else. I'm no longer welcome here -- "

He breaks off. They can all hear claws on asphalt now, running. The dog's still barking. It's loose. It's coming at them, and

it's not a dog.

This is a nice street; a quiet, tree-lined street with brick rowhouses that march away into the distance and plenty of street lighting. Pools of amber sodium light fall on the snow drifts and the well-plowed street. Sprinting straight down the center of the road, seen in flickers and flashes as it dashes through those pools of light, is a beast out of nightmare.

It's fourlegged. It runs like a dog, forepaws stretching for leverage and hindquarters churning with power. It has short, dense fur; the markings are vaguely those of a doberman, or a rottweiler. That's where the resemblance ends.

The size of the thing is mindboggling, for one -- as large as a pony; bulging with overblown musculature. Bone spikes protrude from its elbows and the hocks; from the point of the shoulder and the croup. A ring of bone crowns the withers. Three horns protrude from the skull, like a triceratops gone wrong. Slaver runs from its jaws as it snaps and growls and barks, coming straight at them.

By now, it has become rather clear Fido doesn't want to play.

(inits!)

[Danicka Musil] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[-bump-] (Those of you with guns: I'll let you draw and load in one action (split is okay). Fido is still a good 20-30 yards away, though it will cover that in a round -- so for this round, it's just running at them.)

[Genevre de Provence] 5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Lonna Larson] 5+1d10
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[-bump-] +6!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] (Action order:
Fido
Lonna
Danicka
Gen

Declare in reverse!)

[-bump-] 7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] (Ahem.
Alex
Fido
Lonna
Danicka
Gen)

[Genevre de Provence] Spending round to draw gun and load clip.

[Danicka Musil] Upon sight of the dog, Danicka Musil's eyes go wide. She drops her shopping bags on the sidewalk immediately, but it's not out of shock. Air, ice cold, shoots into her nostrils as her hand goes into her bag with motions that are, sadly, becoming rather practiced.
[1a. Draw and load
1b. 3RB on Fido]

[Lonna Larson] There was a dog there. A bog... thing... ish. She looks at it, brows knit and the blonde takes a second to rifle through her purse, because no lady was ever really fully dressed without a hand gun
[Actions1
1a: Draw and load
1b: 3 round burst! Sorry, Fido]

[-bump-] Fido:
BARK! BARK BARK! RUN! BARK!

Alex:
1. Dig in Danicka's shopping bags for something to use as a weapon.

[-bump-] (Anything useful in those bags?)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2 (Failure at target 6)

[Lonna Larson] [Shoooot! dex3+firearms2+3RB = 8 -3 (split) = 5, diff 7)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 7) [WP]

[Lonna Larson] [Damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-bump-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] The first staccato burst of bullets comes from Lonna. They hit the once-dog with a crunch of lead into bone. The creature yelps, stumbles ... keeps on coming.

[Danicka Musil] [1b. dex + firearms + 3 (burst) -3 (split)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP]

[Danicka Musil] [damage. 4 + 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 6, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence] *is loading in the clip*

[Lonna Larson] Bullets hit the once-dog, but it doesn't stop moving just yet. No, it's still coming. it just... keeps... coming. The blonde grits her teeth, and a look of clear displeasure crosses too pretty features. Normal day in Chicago, it seemed.

[-bump-] Danicka, Genevre and Lonna, for all intents and purposes, appear to be three ordinary young women.

They're not going to some secret meeting; they're not on some quest. They're rather attractive, all of them, but nothing that would stop traffic, shake the earth. They're all well-off, or at least comfortably situated in life, but none of them appear to be heiresses to a fortune. None of them are out particularly late. None of them are returning from anything particularly interesting.

And then a hound from hell comes howling down the street at them. And not a single one of them shrieks, or runs. Not a single one of them cowers and hides.

They all drop their shopping bags, their movie popcorn, their briefcases -- and pull handguns out of their pretty little outfit-coordinated purses. Not little snubnosed ladies' affairs, either, but matte black, heavy, semiautomatic pistols capable of firing three round bursts. They step away from each other on instinct, load, flick the safety off, square to the target, brace their firing hand with their off.

The street resounds with gunfire.

And with the sound of tearing paper and cardboard. Alexander has found a knife block in Danicka's shopping bags. A moment later the kinsman gets to his feet, a cleaver in one hand, a chef's knife in the other.

"Bring it!" he shouts at the dog-thing.

And the dog brings it.

[Genevre de Provence] 1) Firing, 3RB at hellhound

[Danicka Musil] "Alexander Vaughn, I swear to Christ almighty if you blunt a single one of those I will end you," snaps one of the two blondes, the shorter one, without lowering her arms.
[1a. 3RB
1b. 1 shot]

[Lonna Larson] Action! 3rb!

[-bump-] Hellhound:
1a. Headbutt Lonna! With horns!
b. Bite Alex!

Alexander:
a. Stab in ribs with chef's knife!
b. Chop cleaver into skull!

[-bump-] a. Stab! +2 diff for targeting. Effects: if damage after soak, stamina -1 for collapsed lung. -2 dice!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] Damage, +1
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[-bump-] b. HEAD CHOP. No particular effect.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 8 (Success x 3 at target 4)

[-bump-] 2
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-bump-] Alexander: "Your knives are already dull!"

[-bump-] The hellhound yelps as Alexander's knife -- formerly Danicka's knife -- parts thick muscle, slips past arching ribs, finds its target in the tender tissue of the lung. However, it shrugs off a direct blow to the cranium. Doesn't even seem to split the skin.

A second later it bows its head and drives directly for Lonna with its three wickedly pointed horns.

a. -2 dice, headbutt!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[-bump-] Damage +1(headbutt) +2(succ), lethal.
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Lonna Larson] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] Lonna isn't nearly so tough. Bone tears through her flesh like razors through paper. The kinswoman drops, stunned, as a pool of blood begins to spread beneath her.

The hound doesn't hesitate. It turns and snaps, viciously, for the one with the knives.

b. -3 dice, bite!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[-bump-] Damage, lethal!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Lonna Larson] She doesn't so much sit up as she does roll over and look at the triceratops-turned-housepet. The blonde barely levels her gun and fires three times. Thank everything she's close...

[3RB: dex3+firearms2+3 = 8 - 5 (OWW!) = 3, diff 7 - 2 (really effing close))
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Lonna Larson] damage
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] Danicka doesn't answer Alex. The hellhound's closer, and there's a muscle in her jaw twitching, a glint in her eyes that isn't fury but terror. She readies herself for the nine millimeter's kickback and fires off three rapid shots again, thinking not Alexander Vaughn is an asshole but oh god oh god oh my god oh god.
[1a. dex + firearms +3 (burst) -2 (split)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5)

[Danicka Musil] [damage! 4 + FUCK YOUR MOTHER]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] [1b. dex + firearms -3 (split)]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4) [WP]

[Danicka Musil] [damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 5, 7, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[-bump-] (soak against 1 auto)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence] ((Dex 2 + Firearms 2 + 3RB Diff 7 - 2diff point blank shot))((Add WP))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5) [WP]

[Genevre de Provence] Dam 4 + 1
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] The thing is unholy in its toughness. Despite bullet after bullet hitting its hide, the hound

just
keeps
coming.

(Let's reinit! Hound, +6!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence] 5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

[Danicka Musil] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[-bump-] Alex, +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Lonna Larson] (0+1d10)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

[-bump-] Genevre
Hound
Alex
Danicka
Lonna

go!

[Lonna Larson] action!: 3rb on the thing

[Danicka Musil] [1a. 3RB on Fido
1b. -1WP, BB on Lonna]

[-bump-] Alex:
1a. This is fun! Stab to back of neck with chef knife.
b. Cleave again!

Hound:
1a. STOP STABBING ME. Bite!
b. STOP SHOOTING ME. Toss Danicka!

[Genevre de Provence] 1) shooting again 3RB

[Genevre de Provence] ((dex + fire + 3RB = Diff 7 -2diff for PB range)) ((WP again))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5) [WP]

[Genevre de Provence] Damage 4 + 1
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-bump-] Yelp!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[-bump-] ...until Genevre plants three bullets in its thick skull, anyway. The hound's head snaps back so hard it rears up, its huge body twisting once in the air.

Then it hits the asphalt on its side, motionless. There's so much mass there that the kin can feel the ground literally shudder on impact.

They get only a second's worth of respite before an inhuman shriek splits the night.

"THEY KILLED MY PUPPY!"

It's coming from above them. At the edge of one of the brick lowrises is a girl, perhaps 18 or 19, pouting. She clings to the sleeve of a tall gentleman whose coat and hat makes him look like a throwback to Chicago's gangster era.

"POOPSIE, THEY KILLED FIDO. THEY KILLED HIM. LOOK."

The man beside her sighs the sigh of the longsuffering. "Yes, darling, I see that. But I told you, if you let him off his leash like that, he'll get hurt one day. Didn't I tell you?"

"BUT POOPSIE--"

"No buts. Come on now. Let's find you another one."

The girl's face lights up. Her mouth splits open. The smile is an obscene mockery of delight, all sharp teeth.

"REALLY, Poopsie? Which one?"

The gentleman looks over the edge at the kin below. "Pick one," he says.

The girl -- well, she looks like a girl, anyway, until she vaults over the edge and falls, falls, lands in a coiled, compact, effortless crouch. Her eyes are totally black, insectoid. She looks from one kin to the next.

Then she begins to chant:

"Eenie, meenie, miney, moe..."

[-bump-] (one free round while the two are talking to make whatever preparations you like!

also, everyone roll 1d10.)

[-bump-] (alex)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Lonna Larson] (ohgod!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Danicka Musil]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Danicka Musil] Danicka starts to lower her gun when the hound goes down. She's breathing heavily from terror, from preparation. Her arms are already sore. She jerks when the shriek hits her ears, whips her head -- and, notably, her firearm -- around, though the barrel doesn't point straight at the girl until she sees those sharp teeth. And then she just bolts towards Lonna, reaching into her purse and taking out something wrapped in cellophane.

"You're okay," she says to Lonna, the woman whose intestines are currently showing and who -- even so -- went on shooting. Danicka lays the bloody bandage, black and dried, across her midsection. "You're going to be fine. But you need to get up."

A hard rush of air leaves the Lord kinswoman's lungs right as the bandage starts to glow faintly blue, sparking with bits of silver that turn black as they die out, like candles extinguishing themselves when the wick and the wax are diminished too far to be of any use. The bandage feels like rage when it shudders, unravels, and then disperses into nothingness. When the glow has faded, all that's left are -- well.

Lonna's midsection is still a mess. But it's far less of one, now. Danicka stands up, rolls her shoulder, gun still in hand. She goes over to Alex and hands him a pair of thin darts, speaking fast. "You have to get up close anyway. Focus on these and jab them wherever you can. You'll have three seconds, maybe, where they won't be able to react while you chop them the fuck up. Okay?"

She doesn't wait for an okay. She lifts her gun and aims.
[-1WP, BB, +3Health to Lonna]

[Genevre de Provence] The dog finally drops, and as she listens to the strangeness of the girl and man, she pulls out a fresh clip, her spare, and switches them out. Leaving the half clip in her coat pocket so she can get to it faster. Her eyes staying on Mantis-girl.

[Lonna Larson] Lonna Larson always expected that, if her life was a horror movie, she would be the first to go. She sits up as best. she can, though it doesn't quite work. Everything hurts. There's blood everywhere, and she's starting to feel incredibly lightheaded.

She shoots anyway.

Danicka rushes over, and within a moment her midsection isn't quite as disgusting. She's okay, Danicka says. She's going to be fine, but she needs to get up.

The blonde has no qualms with it, and she is on her feet quickly.

"Anyone parked close? We gotta get the Hell outta here," it's all the advice and forethought she has to offer.

[Lonna Larson] (close that tag!)

[-bump-] While Danicka is handing out talens, Alexander is staring at her.

"What are you, Mary Poppins?"

And then, to Lonna: "My bike's a block away, but that doesn't help the rest of you much."

--

"...catch a tiger by the toe.
If he hollers let him go.
Eenie meenie miney ... moe."

Her finger points at Alex for an endless second.

Then:

"My, mommy, told, me, to, pick, the, best, one.
And, that, is, Y ... O ... U."

She's pointing at Lonna. And then she squeals in delight, jumping up and down, clapping her hands.

The gentleman leaps down behind her. He lands as she does, effortlessly, catlike in balance. And he shrugs apologetically at the kin.

"You heard her."

(inits!)

[-bump-] Alex +7!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Lonna Larson] 3+1d10
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[-bump-] Darla +6
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] P. Sherman +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence] 5

She glanced over her shoulder, and took a quick look. "Zee red one" A gesture to the red Volvo 3 cars up across the street.
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[-bump-] (init order:

Alex
Danicka
Darla
Genevre
P Sherman
Lonna

For the record, I'm going to say Genevre's car will take a full turn for most people to reach (doing nothing else). If you split your actions 50/50, it's two turns to get there; if splitting 33/33/33, it's three turns, and so on. It'll take an additional action for Genevre to unlock it, and then 1 each to get in.

Declare!)

[Lonna Larson] action! 3rb for Miss Darla (Sorry Darla!)

[-bump-] P Sherman:
1. Evil Powerz, Activate!

[Genevre de Provence] 3RB at Sherman

[-bump-] Darla:
1a. Grab Lonna
b. Evil Powerz, Activate!

[Danicka Musil] She doesn't look at Alex when she answers him, staring down the street. "I used to be a governess, actually," she says. "Not a nanny." Like it matters. Especially right now.

"I didn't drive," she adds to Lonna, and fires at P. Sherman. She's getting tired. They're not even half done and she's tired. She would wonder if she should run, if it weren't for the fact that she's too focused on what she's doing.
[1a. 3RB on Sherman]

[Lonna Larson] (changing action to this: dodge Darla like a mofo]

[-bump-] Alex:
1. Jab Sherman with dart! -WP to activate talen.

[-bump-] Rolling it like a knife, since it's in his hand! +1 diff for unwieldy knife.
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 6, 6, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[Danicka Musil] [dex + brawl + 3 (burst) // diff -2 (pointblank) -2 (partially immobilized target)]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 2, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 3)

[Danicka Musil] [damage. 4 + 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] Alexander doesn't know what he's doing. He's never handled a talen before. But when the tall man comes sailing down, and when all the kin line up their beads on him, he doesn't think twice.

The Glass Walker leaps in and jabs the dart into the tall man's side. As though struck by lightning, his spine arches and his head flies up, eyes staring emptily skyward.

Three seconds. The kinswomen unload.

(soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] Darla: grab! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Lonna Larson] Eyees widen, her heart pounds, and all she knows is that she does not want this spoiled brat of a whatever she was touching her. Lonna intended on getting out of the way

(dex3+dodge2= 5 - 1 (oww) = 4)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[-bump-] Quick as the preying mantis Genevre thinks of her as, the girl strikes at Lonna --

-- but the blonde dodges. Easily.

Shrieking with vexation, the girl tries again.

(b, changed action! -3 dice, +1 diff.)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 7, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Genevre de Provence] ((dex 2 + fire 2 + 3RB / diff 7 - 2 diff (point blank - 2 immobilized target))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 3)

[Genevre de Provence] Damage 4 + 5
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] (Action order:
Alex
Danicka
Darla
Genevre
Sherman
Lonna

declare while i quick-recap!)

[Lonna Larson] action: stomp on Darla's instep (poor Darla)

[Genevre de Provence] 1) SHooting Mantis girl now 3RB

[-bump-] This time, Darla gets a fistful of Lonna's hair. The girl's strength is nothing to write home about, but her tenacity is alarming. Like a piranha on a victim, she just doesn't let go.

"Lets," she hisses, "make you a little prettier."

Meanwhile, the others fire on Sherman again and again. Bullets riddle his wool coat, his felt hat; for all that, only Genevre manages to wound him -- and then, only grazingly.

Seconds tick by. Awareness is coming back into his eyes. For the first time, his longsuffering weariness melts into something else, closer to true irritation.

"Insects," he snarls.


[Sherman declare: 1. ACTIVATE EVIL!]

[-bump-] [Darla declare: 1. ACTIVATE EVIL!]

[Danicka Musil] [1a. 3RB on Sherman
1b. 1 shot]

[-bump-] [....on Lonna, that is. Sherman's just powering up something evil.]

[-bump-] [Alexander: 1a. Get behind Sherman
b. Kidney stab!]

[-bump-] a. move!
b. -3 dice, -2 diff.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 2)

[-bump-] dam +3!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] Even as she fires, Danicka is counting, chanting in her head like a nursery rhyme. Seven to go, seven to go, seven to--

Go.
[1a. dex + firearms + 3 (burst) -2 (split) // diff -2 (point blank)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Danicka Musil] [damage! 4 + 5]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] Four to go, four to go, four to --

Go.
[1b. dex + firearms -3 (split) // diff -2 (pb)]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[Danicka Musil] [damage! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] (this will be followed by a short post)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[-bump-] Darla's eyes are bottomless pits.

They hold Lonna's as her thin hand holds its grip on her hair. The girl's other hand comes up and grasps Lonna around the throat, viciously.

The sensation that follows, rippling out like a shockwave from that pitiless grasp, is like nothing Lonna has ever felt before. Radiant pain shocks through her very bones -- literally. Her skeleton pops and cracks, and then her skin splits.

Spires of bone, bloody still from their sudden eruption, rear from her shoulder girdle; curve from her knuckles; jut from her elbows. Darla's shrieking laughter rings in her ears.

(soak 2 lethal, Lonna!)

[Genevre de Provence] ((Curve the bullet!!!))

((dex 2 + fire 2 + 3RB / diff 7 - 2 diff (point blank))((WP))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) [WP]

[Lonna Larson] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence] Damage 4 + 4
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-bump-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 2 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] [this, too, will be followed by a short post.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[-bump-] Darla doesn't laugh for long. Genevre's next shot hits the girl square in the shoulder, smashing bone, tearing flesh.

The wound doesn't bleed.

The impact drives her back, though, slams her against the brick wall. She slides down in an untidy heap, dazed, Lonna slipping from her grasp.

Her companion snarls in fury, lips peeling back from his teeth. They all see it: his canines long and sharp, translucent white like those of a viper's. And then shadows devour him alive. Where the man once stood is a column of living darkness, writhing and sentient.

[Lonna Larson] Oh that. was. It.

The blonde one, bloody, warped, and ultimately displeased, turned and looked at Darla. She was a vengeful little thing.

"I'm pretty the way I am, thank you."

(actions!
1a: punch! -2
1b: 3RB for Darla)

[Lonna Larson] (oh, wait, just a 3RB, she doesn't have the dice to split)

[Lonna Larson] (dex3+firearms2+3rb= 8 -2 (oww!)= 6, diff.. something)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9 [WP]

[Lonna Larson]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] (init order:
Alex
Danicka
Darla -- Stunned
Genevre
Sherman
Lonna

Declare in reverse while I recap!)

[Lonna Larson] Action: she's stunned, may as well finish the job!
get in point-blank-range for Darla, aaaand shoot.

[-bump-] Darla stares at Lonna stupidly as the child of gaia -- badly injured but pissed as hell -- blows another hole in her chest.

That one doesn't bleed either.

Then the column of shadow and wrath, howling like nothing human, moves. Fast as light. Fast as darkness. It gets between Lonna and the girl, protecting her. Tendrils of darkness, agile, dimensionless, like countless ropes of gossamer, lash out.

[Sherman, reflexive:
-1 blood point. Heal for 1L

Leftside tendrils:
1a. Disarm Lonna
b. Initiate Clinch on Genevre

Rightside tendrils:
1a. Grab Danicka
b. Bash against wall!)

[Genevre de Provence] 1) 3RB HEAD shot @ Darla

[-bump-] [Darla: stunned]

[Danicka Musil] [1a. Dodge
1b. 3RB on Sherman]

[-bump-] [Alex: 1a. I ATTACK THE DARKNESS (stab!)
b. MOAR. (stab!)]

Furthermore: if your character has NEVER seen Obtenebration 4, roll permanent WP vs diff 8 to prevent succumbing to terror. If you fail this roll, you must try to flee instead.

If you have Gall, roll at diff 6.

Alex's WP roll -- ]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Lonna Larson] [OMG WTF?!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Genevre de Provence] ((WP))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] a. stab -2!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 6 (Success x 1 at target 4)

[-bump-] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] b. Stab -3!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 4) Re-rolls: 2

[-bump-] dam+3!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] [1b. 3RB // diff -2 (pb)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Danicka Musil] [damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-bump-]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] Alexander strikes at the seething darkness. Danicka's knives -- once gleaming, now wet with houndsblood -- sink again and again into

nothingness.

It does little. The same can't be said for Danicka's shots. Muzzleflash from the guns casts their shadows onto the buildings -- everyone's except the man-turned-darkness. Like a vampire of legend, the shadow itself casts no shadow. It does not bleed. It does not speak.

But it is capable of being damaged. Wounded.

Brought down.

Three bullets strike in quick succession, square-on, and the writhing tendrils of darkness seem to twist in on themselves; fall apart at the edges. Tattering, shattering, they spin apart --

-- the form of the man, revealed again, hits the wall beside his companion. Slides down.

He looks dead. He doesn't breathe. His skin is cold. But at least one of them here knows that if he were really dead, he would turn to ash.


[Darla: still stunned! Genevre, go!]

[Genevre de Provence] ((dex 2 + fire 2 + 3RB / diff 7 - 2 diff (point blank - 2 immobilized target))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 3)

[Genevre de Provence] Damage 4 + 5
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] Darla: Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 2 (Failure at target 6)

[-bump-] One last burst of gunfire from Genevre drops all light of awareness out of Darla's eyes. She slumps beside the tall man, apparently lifeless.

[-bump-] [back IC!]

[Danicka Musil] She's shaking now. Her backbone -- never what she's been known for, at least before Chicago -- feels chipped away at, bent out of shape, weakened. Danicka has one bullet left in her gun, and she doesn't carry extra clips. She's never exhausted even one before. Why would she carry extras?

But she knows she has one. One. And she knows what these things are.

When the others are faced with massive black tentacles of shadow writhing about in the street, Danicka thinks only Oh, god. and it's a resigned, exhausted sigh of blasphemy even in her own skull... rather than a scream of terror resonating around her head. She doesn't lower her firearm but squeezes the trigger once, twice, three times in quick succession, praying. She prays, sometimes.

And it does the trick. Finally. Danicka lets out a noise that's not quite relief, nor is it anywhere close to triumph. She is breathing heavily, her chest moving with each pant, and her arms are still locked to keep the gun at the ready.

The girl falls, and Danicka walks immediately to the fallen man. She bends at the waist, presses the barrel of the gun to his head, and unloads one last bullet into the bloodsucker.

[Genevre de Provence] It took a few moments for Genevre to lower her gun. She wasn't shaking, or fearful, or the like when one took a life. It almost seemed as though, this wasn't the first life she ever took. She slowly pocketed the gun in her coat. "Why iz it when I go out, some kind of bullzhit like zis always 'appens?"

[Lonna Larson] She has no idea what this is. She has no idea what they are or what they could do [she has an inkling though, and that was enough]. She could handle quite a lot of things, but this was not natural by any means. She is furious... and when the fury and anger and indigation settled down...

She caught a look at her knuckles, her shoulders, the blood that was everywhere and daring to make her get sick to her stomach. Lonna looked pale, and now that her adrenaline was daring not to pound too heavily, her hands were shaking...

"ohmigod..." is the only thing she can think.

Ohmigod. ohmigodohmigodohmigod fix. it. now

Breathe, Larson. Right?

"I think I'm gonna be sick..."

[Genevre de Provence] She moved over to Lonna. "Come, we take you to.." She had to think for a moment then grumbled. "We take you to Theron. 'E will fix you, 'opefully."

[-bump-] The bullet does nothing.

But the spark -- the fire bursting from the muzzle, point blank; the ignited gunpowder coughing out onto the bloodsucker's temple --

it catches. Like sparks to paper, lightning to tinder, it burns, sudden and hot and unbelievably fast. A rim of fire spreads, orange and furious, licking from one monster to the other. Behind it, flesh and bone, a century old or more, crumbles away to ash.

In seconds, the man and the girl are gone. Ashes blow away on the wind, speckling white snow with grey.

--

Kinfolk live a rough life. They get jaded fast.

A few months ago, Alexander fought against fomori for the first time. He was terrified. Tonight, facing the hound with the bone spikes and the muscles and the teeth, he thought mainly about how to kill it. Where to strike. How to angle the knife.

And then he saw a man turn to darkness.

The knives are shaking in his hands, splashing shards of light in all directions. He's panting, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. His helmet is forgotten in the gutter.

"What the fuck was that?"

[Danicka Musil] "Leech," is all Danicka says, and this is to Alexander Vaughn.

She's stepping back from the fire, and she's still trembling. And shudders when she looks over at Lonna. "Oh god. Lonna, I'm sorry."

As though she could have stopped that.

[Genevre de Provence] She was pulling off her coat to put on Lonna's shoulders. "Zat was our life, mon ami."

[Lonna Larson] In a moment of morbid fascination, the blonde perks up with a half of a laugh, "hey, look, they're self cleaning. We don't have to do anything."

Ashes scattered to the winds, and she shudders. The blonde is genuinely horrified. It comes across in her speech- shakey, uncertain, quiet, and the way that she is holding onto Genevre's coat for dear life.

"I'm fine," is the only thing she can get out, for her own benefit as much as anyone else's. "We... we... we need to go. We need to go now."

[Genevre de Provence] She took Lonna by the arm. "I take you to Theron. 'E should know 'ow to fix zis." And started for her car with Lonna in tow.

[-bump-] Alexander just gives Genevre a look: equal parts disbelief and disgust. "What the fuck?" he says, and then turns back to the blonde. The one with all the spikes. "Let's go. Think we can get someone to ... help her? Push her goddamn bones back in under her skin?"

[Danicka Musil] The Shadow Lord kinswoman -- who has been, at turns, mistaken for a member of a great many other tribes, and not just by Mr. Vaughn over there -- looks at the Fang and the Gaian with a concern she's never shown for others after one of these skirmishes. She looks at Genevre. "She needs to be taken to her tribe. If you don't know a Child of Gaia, take her to the Brotherhood and flag down the first one of them you see. Someone will know a Theurge."

Her eyes go to Alex as she's staring to put her gun away. She swallows hard. "Would you mind giving me a ride home?"

[Genevre de Provence] She shoo'd Alex off. "You go. I will 'andle Lonna. I will take 'er to mon pack's zeuge. Now shoo." Being all Fangy at it.

[Danicka Musil] "Genevre," Danicka snaps. "It hardly matters which Theurge it is. Find someone, for god's sake. But shut up and go."

[Genevre de Provence] *takes Lonna to the BH*

[Lonna Larson] People keep talking about taking her to her tribe. The blonde, however, doesn't seem to be taking this well. Of course, she's taking it just fine for a moment, then the realization of something seems to be sinking in and she's reminded of something else and things build and build and-

Genevre was taking her to the brotherhood. No panicking.

[-bump-] Fang and Coggie head toward the red Volvo. Alexander watches them go, trying not to stare too hard at the bone spikes.

"No problem," he says to Danicka. "It's this way."

[Danicka Musil] [intelligence. is there any chance you even remember?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] There are shopping bags on the sidewalk. Williams Sonoma. Crate and Barrel. Pottery Barn. They are left right where they are, as the rather pale woman in the black coat -- which has ash on it now, and Lonna's blood on the cuffs -- and the cheerful green hat walks over to Alexander Vaughn with a small nod, gun in purse now. She shoulders the bag and nods. She doesn't even notice the shopping bags, it seems. Or maybe she just doesn't care.

"It isn't far," Danicka assures him, as though this makes much of a difference with a dead dog-monster's body behind them and a cloud of ash stirring up and vanishing. She stops, though. "Oh."

And looks at the dog, then Alex. "I don't want to deal with this," she confesses. And then: "One moment."

An iPhone, sleek and shining, comes out of her coat pocket. She doesn't call anyone. She sends a text, and then nods to Alex. "Alright."

Her address is given, and she doesn't shy from quite literally clinging to him once they're on his bike, all the way to Kingsbury Plaza.

[-bump-] "Hey, you forgot your stuff," Alex calls. If she doesn't go back for them, he does -- muttering the whole time.

It's probably a good thing she doesn't live far. The Buell's saddlebags are small on a good day; its storage space is miniscule with a passenger on board. It's possible she'll have to leave some things on the curb.

The knives, maybe.

They get there, though -- Alexander riding not so fast as he would in better weather; under better circumstances. The kinsman's body is stocky and solid, a compact, dense bundle of meat and bone. He shrugs her back if she leans against him so heavily he's in danger of losing his balance, but given who this is, and her approximate mass, this is unlikely.

At the foot of her building Alex stops, sitting back as she gets off the back of the bike. She's at the glass doors when he suddenly calls her back.

"Hey!" Irony: it's the same words. "You forgot your stuff."

He's holding the second dart out to her, shimmering between gloved fingers, faintly green-black in the sodium lights.

[Danicka Musil] "Oh."

Danicka does indeed turn back to get her bags, folding paper around items inside to shove them into the saddlebags. Her trembling is dying down. She'll have to be reminded again when he gets to Kingsbury Plaza, perhaps, to take her stuff back out. She didn't shake when she was firing. She just lets it all hit her now, in the aftermath.

She's ridden on the back of a motorcycle before. A few times. A lot of times. And she does need to be reminded of the talen, if not the bags from the places she chose to shop at today. Her hands have Lonna's dried blood on them when she turns on her heel, walks back, and takes the dart back.

"Thank you," she says. No words about keeping it, or about doing a good job out there tonight. She does look at him for a moment though, and her parting shot is just: "You'll be hearing from me."

She goes in. Home. Or something like it.

technical knockout.

[Sinclair] It. Is. Frigid.

The parking lot is empty, the Brotherhood long since closed and even the employees long since departed. It's a relatively clear winter's night. There are cracks in the asphalt, but not even dead grass sticks up through it. Moisture is heavy in the air; it almost always is so, this close to the lake, the docks. What wind there is comes off the water and wraps everyone outside in a chill several degrees below what the thermometers say.

The young woman standing in the parking lot -- at least one of the young women in the parking lot -- has enough rage to fuel a savage sort of body heat. It borders on feverish. She paces, though, sneakers scuffing on the flattened man-made rock, as though she's aching for the movement, for the release, for something. It's still her moon in the sky, though very nearly full, very nearly belonging to the Ahrouns.

And Sinclair seems to shine underneath it as it gets closer to its zenith. She is never more beautiful than she is under a waxing gibbous moon. She is never as strong, as fast, as much a paragon of movement and ferocity. Her voice is silvery on nights like tonight. Her skin looks soft to the touch. Her eyes take on a crystalline dance when the light hits them.

She's not swinging a baseball bat. She's not tossing a ball. She's waiting for her packmate to show up, that tall blonde drink of water with the Fang breeding that goes on for eons behind her. She's waiting to put into practice the lesson she has inscribed on her left hip.

[Marrick] It was times like these where Marrick Fisher missed her truck.

The blonde was headed off on her way, down the street and through the parking lot in hopes of saving herself some time. The air was cold in her lungs, and she found herself thinking of deals made and situations she'd recently been posed with. The Fury had a week, a good, solid week to buy herself some time and come up with a solution for Old Man Oak.

She had finished playing messenger and delivery girl for her pack, and instead the Fury- clad in jeans and Target-brand rain boots, and a coat that was neither fashionable nor new. However, it was warm. That was good enough for her. The moon is nearly full; while Sinclair's moon hangs high in the sky, hers is close. There is a desire for movement. There is a desire to burn off energy and steam.

Marrick had intended on coming to the brotherhood to get a sandwich, warm up, and head home again. Instead, she found herself looking at a young woman- bright and savage.

"Sup?" it's the only greeting she gives Sinclair. No malice, no frustration. Just an upward nod with her hands shoved in her jacket pockets.

[Sinclair] "I'm waiting f--" Sinclair pauses there suddenly, turning and tipping her head to look at Marrick. "Oh, do I get to finish what I'm saying this time before you flounce off? Thanks so fucking much. I'm waiting for my packmate. What's up with you?"

[Kate] "She's waiting for me, I believe." Finishes a sweet voice (hah! sweet, it's so deceiving it's worth a hah, just like that) from somewhere on the edges of the parking lot where the shadows are at work, concealing the Silver Fang's approach. Not that it does much to conceal her from Sinclair, Katherine. They can reach out mentally and touch one another; just brush against the other's awareness like a feather tickled along skin.

Well, there's that and then there's Katherine's breeding that is almost returned to its natural state, tonight. Only another few nights and she'll be fully a Silver Fang again. Her sacrifice will have been completed and her gift, her penance to Gaia almost at its zenith. Tonight, she wears black boots that crunch over gravel and snow; and her breath mists before her face in the cold air. Her coat is white, of course and she has her woolen cap pulled down over her blond waves.

[Schala] Schala was bundled up like she was about to invade Moscow. It was cold....hell...it was freezing. It was minus 7 fucking degrees that evening. So cold didn't even remotely cover the sensation. For a girl who was used to luxuries of central air and heating ducts in an underground bunker, freezing what bits she had off was not kosher. It didn't function. Did-not-compute.

Yet, she was out and about. She had had a craving for chocolate. And there were only a few places she knew that were open that served her hot chocolate just the way she liked. Others would tell her she should make it herself, but Schala was as skilled with an oven as Betty Crocker was capable of field-servicing a rifle.

So there she was, walking near the closed Brotherhood...frowning as she had hoped to get some wi-fi from it or somewhere nearby...when she spotted two peoples in the parking lot. In the words of Gir:

Oooooo whuz that?!

[Alexander] Suddenly a window bangs open on the second floor.

"What the fuck is going on down there?" Alexander bellows out his window. "Don't you fuckers know some people are trying to sleep up here?"

[Marrick] "Oh no, I thought that I would get pissed off halfway through your sentence, cut you off, and then get distracted by something shiny. Have any pretty, jangly keys Sinclair?"

Half a smile, either she was being sarcastic or self-deprecating. Either way, she shrugs it off and moves on with her thought.

"Comin' by to get somethin' to eat-" the thought has been interrupted when she sees Kate... whose breeding has yet to come back fully into force. Marrick looked at her...

And blinked. She cocked her head to the side in quiet confusion. Alex chimes in, and the Fury raises her head up and calls back-

"Quit whining and get some ear plugs!"

No love lost.

[Sinclair] "God, you act like such a cub," Sinclair mutters, shaking her head. She looks up as Alex opens his window and -- doesn't yell back. Or suggest that he and Marrick fuck again. She just looks up at him. It's unsettling, how bright her eyes are, how coldly blue, that they're visible no matter how high up he is and that they gleam like they do in the dark.

She drops her chin and looks back to Kate. "You ready to go, then?" she asks.

Sinclair is not wearing jeans. Her legs are clad in a pair of white pants in jersey or some other soft fabric. The waistband is thick and black, and there's black kanji down the left leg. Probably says something about serenity or peace or god knows what. They're yoga pants, and they cling to her hips and her ass, hug her thighs, flare slightly around her lower legs. She's got on dark blue Nikes, her old and scuffed-up pair. Up top is a form-fitting mock turtleneck of a workout shirt, black with white stitching at the seams. She should be freezing.

She isn't. Her hair is tied back in a tight, small knot. There are fingerless gloves hiding her hands. There are pentacles drawn on the palms in white. As a joke.

[Alexander] "Oh, cry more, Anna Voinitseva!"

On that rather obscure reference, the window slams shut again.

[Schala] The blue haired wonder who's hair is slightly obscured by a thick furry ushanka including a red star in the middle. She cradled her hot chocolate and watched them, glancing up at the guy opening his window to yell and then back to the other three. She recognized them, after all, she had been at the last moot. She had almost taken the GW Elder position. Almost. Damn rigged contests.

[Kate] Marrick is staring at Katherine, who, it should be noted, rather likes having that sort of attention paid her; but not tonight. Or at least, not for the reason that she knows the Ahroun elder is staring for.

"It's a long story," she offers with a slight turn of her pink lip. "Involving a spirit and a wager." This is, it would seem, all that Marrick is going to get in lieu of the full explanation -- perhaps Truth's Meridian is simply tired of re-telling it. Then Alex's head pops out of a window like a curious ferret and bellows something at them.

Katherine lifts her head and stares at him like her pack-sister does, they are a strange echo of one another for a beat before Alex yells something back at Marrick and retreats back into his bedroom.

Katherine cuts a look to Sinclair. "I am suddenly comforted by the knowledge that another tribe suffers from bothersome Kinfolk." She smiles, her attention dividing for a moment between Schala and Marrick; then returning.

"Yes, I am ready."

[Marrick] About four months ago, Marrick would have yelled and thrown a fit about being told this. The Fury, however, does not. Either she's grown to accept her immaturity, or something else entirely. Not pushed, not injured, not defensive. But, on that obscure reference, the blonde stops.

She frowns, and makes no attempt to hide her confusion. Then again, even if she had attempted? It wouldn't have been successful in the least. Anna Voinitseva. Remembered for reference purposes, and.. she shrugs. The Fury turns back to Katherine, who explains in very little detail.

Something in her stomach turns, and her eyes go from Katherine to the moon. The blonde doesn't tense so much as she looks like she ate something unpleasant, remembered something foul. She shakes her head.

"Shouldn't keep y'all from your... whatever you're doin'."

[Sinclair] "I'm not his warder anymore," is all Sinclair says to Kate, as though it's just a reminder. Alexander Vaughn is, as far as the nation is concerned, Rayne's problem now. Not that they'll ever meet.

"Alright," she says, and glances over to Marrick and Schala. "Y'all may want to hang back."

It may be worth mentioning at this point that the piercings in Sinclair's ears are not removed, but have been carefully covered, completely, with a thick but tidy layer of medical tape. One could ask why she didn't just take them out, but only one who thinks that the metal and ink and scars of an urban primitive are decorative in nature. From the look of the coverings, Sinclair has done this before.

"And no," she says, a bit ominously, "Katherine's lineage makes absolutely no difference in this. As she knows. As she's learned. A few too many times."

The Walker keeps her distance a bit from her packmate. "I'm not going to try and teach you the basics: snapping to attention, keeping your hands up, clenching your teeth. And we'll go to the Umbra when it's time to learn to fight better in other forms. But this was the body you were born with, and you should know how to use it first. So we'll start with environment: what around you, right now, could you use as a weapon against me?"

[Alexander] A few moments later the door bangs open. If anyone was sleeping above it, they're not now. Alexander comes tromping out, head down, zipping his motorcycle jacket up.

Not that he seems like he's about to go for a ride. It just happens to be the warmest jacket he owns. Chicago's a goddamn world away from Miami. Or at least a climate zone.

"I changed my mind," he calls, trotting down the steps to the parking lot. "You're not Anna Voinitseva at all. You're Sofya Yegorovna. Or maybe Mariya Grekova. I really can't make up my mind. One's silly and the other's a hypocrite. Though the silly one's also murderous, so maybe that fits you a little better."

He's right there now, and he claps Marrick on the shoulder, all cheerful mockery of friendliness. "How you doing, Marrick?" The kinsman's head turns; he looks between the blondes. The other two blondes. "What the fuck are they doing?"

[Schala] "Streets of Rage or Final Fight."

Schala perks up, answering Alex's question as she takes another sip, this time slurping it to make sure the others knew they had an audience. The young Walker then turned to regard the fight about to break out.

"We never had this sorta thing at the Burrow though."

[Kate] Katherine's lip curls in at one corner when Alex Vaughn's voice cuts into what her pack-mate was saying, but it is the only indication that she gives as to his presence at all. The rest, she ignores, her attention is utterly fixed on Sinclair.

Her teacher, for the moment.
Her opponent.

They are standing in the middle of a parking lot, what weapons could one use in such circumstance? Katherine's boots slick over the snowy ground, and she smiles suddenly, lowering her eyes to it. "I seem to recall you making very good use of the dirt the last occasion we had to spar." Her pale eyes scan the area, settle on another object, she nods toward it.

"The garbage bins would make some impression, should the lids be tossed with strength behind them, as would those heavier stones lining the edge of the lot."

[Marrick] "Who the fuck is Anna Voinitseva?" she gets the name right, but misses the ever-so-obscure reference. Alexander Vaughn, it seems, could be her phone-a-friend were she on Who wants to be a Millionaire, though he might drag out his thirty seconds just to be a dick. On second thought, Alex would not be her phone-a-friend.

There's a look up, and then one down. Then, the Fury looks at his hand and doesn't bother to brush it off.

Her attention, instead, goes down... down... wow, Schala is tiny.

"Jus' sparrin'... better graphics watchin' these two anyway," she says. Then? "I'm Marrick."

May as well offer.

[Sinclair] "You're missing the most obvious," Sinclair says immediately, and points down.

At the asphalt.

The same hand that's pointing moves around to smack the back of her own neck, matching the pentacle on her glove to the quartered circle on her flesh. "Grab the neck -- if you can, we'll get to that later -- and sweep the legs. Face. Asphalt. Pain."

[Alexander] "You don't want to know," Alexander replies, "but if you really must I'll let you borrow my laptop to Google it on later."

Then, "Nice. Hey, ladies!" He raises a hand. "Can I play?"

[Kate] The Philodox makes a noise clearly intended to portray her agreement and her amusement at forgetting such an obvious natural weapon, right beneath her feet. Her pale eyes watch the manner in which Sinclair locks her fingers around her neck very closely, with a predator's greedy intensity and she nods, once.

It was one of her better qualities, Katherine, that she was adept enough as a pupil, and as a Half Moon to be capable of absorbing new knowledge with surprising speed. She did not question unless it was a requirement, and could, when of course it suited her too -- offer a great deal of respect.

"Grab the neck, sweep the legs, beat the skull against the concrete." She repeats, reaffirms perhaps, for her own retention.

Her eyes shift to Alex as he chimes in and she narrows them thoughtfully. "If there is two against one, perhaps the weapon of choice becomes one of the attackers."

[Schala] Schala blinked and then looked to Marrick, cracking a grin to the Fury.

"Yo. Schala. And I like my fightin' games behind a console...pixelated violence. And even in sparrin' someone can get hurt, right?"

She says, glancing at her and then back to the other two, rocking back on her high tops a little before she drinks more of the chocolate goodness, feeling it start to lose its warmth.

[Sinclair] "You're fast enough to pull that off," Sinclair says, and the ease with which she offers this compliment takes some of the praise out of it: it's matter-of-fact. It's like someone pointing out that Sinclair is particularly good at beating people into bloody heaps of agony. "But you're not skilled enough to pull it off. You'll have to practice leg sweeps about seven thousand times, and frankly, a sharp knee to the groin will usually serve you better.

"That sa--"

Can I play?

Sinclair stops speaking and looks over at Alex, ignoring what she hears from Schala as though if she pretends it was never said then reality will alter to match. She looks back at Kate. "I think you're talking about the kind of fighting that's a bit advanced for what you can handle, frankly," she says. "How do you handle learning by observation?"

[Kate] From another creature, such frank comments regarding her fighting abilities might have rankled precious Silver Fang feelings of superiority. But Katherine absorbs what Warcry says with a surprising amount of aplomb and merely nods once or twice, her arms sliding over her chest.

How do you handle learning by observation?

The Half Moon's eyes turn playful, almost bouyant. She grins openly at Alex -- how discocerting.

"Exceedingly well."

[Marrick] "Score," she says. Aparently, the Fury is stealing Alex's laptop for the evening.

"Well, yeah," she tells Schala, "but you can get hurt gettin' out of a bunkbed, too." Spoken with the fervor of a woman who always, always, always got the top bunk.

For now, however, she watches those in front of her and keeps her mouth politely shut... For a good two seconds before she's grinning ear to ear.

[Schala] "Well..yeah...but that's sort of self-inflicted. Or gravity doesn't like you. Damn gravity. Only reason I can't fly."

Schala pushes her lips out some as if pouting...then shakes her cup some and then sighs.

"Dammit....no more chocolate."

[Alexander] Alex whoops and trots on over. Maybe he doesn't realize what a bad idea fighting with Sinclair is under the best of circumstances, not to mention:

on her moon. Waxing. With no one around that stands a reasonable chance of stopping her in case something goes ... awry.

But if any of that occurs to him, it doesn't phase him. Not in the slightest. He's unsnapping the neck of his motorcycle jacket, peeling down the zipper and dropping it in the snow. Underneath he's in jeans and an orange t-shirt, BAL HARBOUR stamped across the chest.

"Fuck! It's freezing. You don't hit me in the balls," he says, "and I won't pull your hair out. Deal?"

[Kate] In a flash of compassion -- or perhaps, mercy for the leather -- the Half Moon bends down and picks up the Kinsman's jacket, consenting without comment to hold it for him while he spars with her pack-mate.

[Sinclair] In the Unbroken, it may be unsettling to acknowledge that for all intents and purposes, the closest match to the Fostern Ahroun Alpha's fighting skills is the slender, athletic young woman standing in the parking lot right this moment. She's younger than Katherine -- though not by much. She's less knowledgable about her own nature by far. Her father wasn't a renowned hero of their people. Her ancestors are not known by name and deed. Of all of those that follow Perun, she is perhaps the youngest and most inexperienced.

And she is, for both those reasons, considered more dangerous than Wyrmbreaker. Less controlled. Less disciplined.

Too look at her now, though, she seems in her element. She seems fine. If worse came to worse, Marrick's there. Schala's Garou, too. Kate's her packmate. If she lost it, if something got into her and ripped away her control, surely one of them -- or all three of them -- could take her down. But there's no Wyrmish minions lingering about right now. There's nothing lurking, waiting to jump into her soul and take away her very awareness of who is a friend and who is not.

Alex is, supposedly, her friend. She called him that to a Fostern of their tribe. She told him that and he didn't dispute it. Sinclair has never laid a hand on him in anger or violence. She has warned him against grabbing her, told him she could have broken his arm. She has had another Garou hold him back while she knocked Brother of the Lost to the bathroom floor. She has gotten in his space.

She has half-carried, half-dragged him to his bed and dropped him there with a surprising, secret level of care.

But she's never hit him.

Exceedingly well, sayeth Her Majesty. Sinclair doesn't grin back. Those who think she takes obscene pleasure in violence would not recognize her now, and likely haven't been paying any attention at all. She doesn't look playful as she turns to Alex and flicks her eyes up and down his frame, taking the measure of him in a way she hasn't previously. She isn't verbally noting whether he realizes or cares that fighting her is seriously dangerous; what he's seen of her fighting ability has been rather limited. The only time she can remember him ever seeing her go all-out was against Marrick, and she lost. She was a bloody, nearly disemboweled mess after that. So no: as far as Sinclair can recall, Alex has no way of knowing what he's getting into.

"My hair will grow back," she says. "Your balls won't."

She makes no promises other than that, which isn't one at all. And moves into a ready stance.

[Alexander] "Aww, you've got my unborn children in mind. How -- "

on that note, Alexander reaches out to grab Sinclair behind the neck and introduce her face to his knee.

" -- sweet!"

[Sinclair] [+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Alexander] [+7!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Alexander] ;_;

[Alexander] [1a. grapple
b. knee to face!]

[Sinclair] [1a. Sweep
1b. Drop knee to ribs (kick, basically)
1c. Headbutt]

[Sinclair] [1a. dex + brawl + moon - 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8) Re-rolls: 2

[Sinclair] [1b. dex + brawl + moon -4]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[Sinclair] [damage. str + 1 + 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Alexander] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [1c. dex + brawl + moon -5]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 5) [WP]

[Alexander] (btw folks, i don't care if you keep playing and posting!)

[Sinclair] [damage. str + 1 + 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Alexander] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [nor do i!]

[Marrick] Marrick Fisher has a moment where she realizes something.

She got lucky.

She got damned lucky. At the time she and Sinclair had fought, at the time that Marrick had gone a few rounds with the Galliard, they had both been fairly evenly matched. The fates had been in Marrick's favor- she hit a little harder, moved a little faster, and her attempts were just a little better than the Galliard's. Sinclair has killed three garou, one of them stayed down. Sinclair is strong and fast and is backed by a totem who spurs her forth to be a conqueror.

Marrick Fisher got lucky. And something in her mind tells her this simple fact: she doesn't want to get lucky anymore. That, however, might not matter in a week.

"Hey, Kate?" she calls to the woman, "if you got a minute I need t'talk t'you about somethin'."

[Alexander] Slam Sinclair down!

-2 dice (split)
+2 diff (maneuver)
+1 diff (changing diff)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 9 (Failure at target 9)

[Alexander] >:[

Alright, counterheadbash! +1diff (changing maneuver)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

[Alexander] Damage: Str +1 (maneuver) +1 (succ)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Alexander] "Y'know," Alex pants, "if you wanted to be Anna Voinitseva, all you had to do was ask." And then he tries to slam Sinclair again.

[Alexander] (reinit! +7)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Schala] Schala watched as the two whacked each other...tumbling..hitting. She pursed her lips a little...part of her captivated by a train wreck. The other part was meanwhile reminding her that she had a Doctor Who marathon to watch before David Tennant was no more as the Doctor come January the first. It would be a sad New Year.

[Sinclair] It isn't called a ready stance because she doesn't expect Alex to fight dirty. It's called ready because she's... well.

Guess.

He comes at her, going for the back of her neck just like she had shown Kate, and Sinclair responds by ducking her head, hooking her leg around his and dropping Alexander Vaughn to the asphalt in one smooth, Sinclair-controlled flop. She lets her full weight drop onto him then, knee angled for his ribs, but bone glances off of bone. She doesn't seem to notice, doesn't pause, before she's curling over him, headbutting his face.

Sinclair does not weigh 200 pounds. She doesn't think much about her weight, so she doesn't know what exactly her weight is, but she's not terribly heavy. Nor is she a featherweight slip of a girl. Alexander, however, can't get her off of him. So he headbutts her right back, and she just smirks down at him, eyes glinting.

She's not panting. Nothing she could say right now to respond to that is something she's willing to say in front of Marrick, Kate, and Schala. So she just rears back, preparing to start pounding his head into the ground.

[+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[Alexander] (tiebreaker!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [WTF. +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Sinclair] [1a. Punch
1b. Punch]

[Alexander] [1a. Counterslam again!
b. Elbow!
c. Head!]

[Alexander] a. +2 diff, -3 dice!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

[Alexander] b. Elbow aka punch! -4 dice!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Alexander] str+2
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Alexander] "....annnnd Vaughn wins by a TKO!" Alexander, quite likely more insufferable than ever now, leaps to his feet and bounds around an imaginary ring, fists in the air. "Thank you, thank you very much!"
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Marrick] [wp: don't say something stupid!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Kate] Katherine, who had been observing this very closely, merely raises a brow at Alexander's antics and contemplates dropping his leather jacket in the snow and grinding her designer boot into it until she tears a hole. She refrains, however, much as she refrains from dashing to her pack-mate's side to offer aid.

Sinclair does not need it, she'll shake off the boy's blows as easily as she'd breathe, given a moment and instead turns her eye toward Marrick, registering somewhat belatedly that she'd been called to. Katherine nods minutely, and beckons the Ahroun elder toward her. "What plays on your mind, Bones to Dust?" She murmurs, observing Alex running laps of victory with the curiosity a wolf did the displays of a kitten before its devoured.

[Marrick] "Old Man Oak," she tells Kate, "used to be strong, not so much anymore... anyway, I was contacted an' I need t'help him... it's... it's like there's somethin' trying to corrupt him, tryin'a make a case to go with the Wyrm."

She stops.

"I'm havin' a hard time wording this."

She has turned her back on Alex. It is purposeful, she is not paying attention. As a matter of fact, she is trying desperately to turn her focus on Kate so something that sang too much like sappy teenager didn't leak out. She was here on business.

"Here's the sitch. Black Unicorn tol' me there was a spirit of th'wyrm tryin'a corrupt Old Man Oak, an' I get there an' this little toad thing is trying to convince him to forsake Gaia, Old Man Oak says the air's polluted birds won't next in him, the air burns like oil an' acid, and the earth is hard and barren. He's in pain, and the future looks bleak... I gave oak some of myself, but it's only bought me a week t'come up with a solution to his issue. Stakes are pretty high."

She pauses.

"I don't have a damned clue what t'do yet, and I ain't sure what my opponent's got in the cards."

[Sinclair] Kate can feel what Marrick and Schala and Alex cannot tell by observation: Sinclair is not calling on Perun for this. The Garou can tell by the lack of some tingle in the air or twitch of Sinclair's being that she's used no Gifts. No one can quite explain why the moon being in her phase makes Sinclair shine the way she does, but she can't choose that, can't turn it off.

She hasn't shifted. She's used no talens. She is, for a Garou, holding back.

When Alex elbows her, it hits her head. And it hits her hard enough that her head bounces on the asphalt -- the weapon she pointed out to Kate earlier. And that causes blood to run out over the rock. That causes Sinclair's pupils to constrict with pain. That causes her to gasp, dazed enough that Alex jumps up and begins running a victory lap. He gets two steps. Three, four. Five, six. In combat, that's a few heartbeats. In combat, that's a matter of seconds. That's an eyeblink. That's an eternity.

He hasn't even gotten halfway around his imaginary ring when his opponent sits up, hands going to the ground. She pushes herself to her feet, blood matting her pale hair, and a trickle of it going down the back of her neck. She rose with a snakelike ease, disturbing because she is human, uncanny because she is rather badly hurt while Alex barely has a bruise on his forehead.

Whoever taught Sinclair to fight taught her to use every available weapon. To use it ruthlessly. To be cruel. To be heartless. Gaia only knows what else that mentor taught her, to turn her into what she is now... or to let out of her human cage the wild thing that Sinclair seems to be.

"C'mere, Negative Seven," she says quietly, without beckoning a hand, without raising her voice. Her voice is low. Earthy. Disturbingly... sensuous. Her chest moves with every inhale and exhale. "I am so not done with you yet."

[Schala] Schala watches before she looks to Marrick.

"It was nice meeting ya."

She hadn't heard the conversation...otherwise the Theurge might have put her two cents in...but she had been oblivious when Sinclair pulled a Demi Moore...she half expected the Full Moon to grab at her crotch and tell Alex to suck her cock. But maybe she was only the movie buff here...or pop culture buff anyway. The metis ate, read, and absorbed it like a sponge most of the time.

She gave a wave, starting to make her way off.

[Marrick] "See ya Schala, keep warm, okay?"

She gives her a half nod and a little bit of a wave. It's enough that she catches the sensuous tone in the distance, the nicknames, the-

Marrick's jaw clenches, and she turns her attention back, quickly, solely on Kate. Out of sight, out of mind. Right?

... right?

[Alexander] Alexander drops his hands, turning to face Sinclair. He's pumped from the quick, brutal fight, dancing on the balls of his feet like a boxer.

He's not a boxer, though. His style is entirely too rough, entirely too unrestrained for that. Not to mention, he uses far more than his fists. Elbows, foreheads, shins, knees, feet -- whatever the hell he can strike with.

His hands are loose at his sides as he looks Sinclair over. Then he shakes his head.

"No way. You're done, Sinclair. We can rematch after you heal up, but I'm not gonna bludgeon your lights out like this."

[Sinclair] "Why?"

The question isn't defensive. It isn't wheedling. Seen from the front she looks... fine, really. A little out of it, a little pale, a lot intense, but otherwise untouched. It's mostly if you see from the back that one realizes the shape she's in, which is: bad.

She just sounds curious, and genuinely so. "You're hardly the epitome of honorable comba-- pay attention, Kate! --combat. You have no problem with 'hitting girls'," she says, without unnecessary fingerquotes, as all the sarcasm is held in her tone. "And there is no fucking rematch when you. Didn't. Win."

[Kate] Katherine listens, it is obvious that her attention is stretched between what is occurring between Sinclair and Alex and with what Marrick is confiding, asking for her help, with. But, as was the measure of her moon she is capable of balancing her attention between two things, she notes what is taking place in the combat ring just as she notes the clear agitated confusion in the Full Moon's voice.

She speaks of her totem, of Old Man Oak and spiritual, Umbral matters.

She frowns, and says, not unkindly: "Bones to Dust, Marrick," the use of her Christian name is purposeful, intended to siphon empathy, and offer sympathy for her situation. "I am not a Theurge to offer you guidance on how best to aid a spirit such as Old Man Oak, but if what you say is true, and a Toad for the Wyrm," for it was how best she could envision what was described, and had some brief knowledge of a Toad like minion of the Wyrm. "tries to convince him that he is best to offer himself to the Wyrm, than you need to offer the spirit some reason to stay sided with Gaia. I would advise you to seek the wisdom of someone such as Gossamer Wing, but for my own advice to you?"

She hesitates, considers, her lovely features drawn into a considering frown.

"Offer the spirit something which the Wyrm cannot possibly counter. Perhaps bring a Theurge with you so that they might convince the birds to return, that they may Cleanse the area around him, and reinvigorate the land, make it unpolluted once more, and if all else fails, ask Old Man Oak if he would not rather shift to a place that is pure again, that he might be reunited with other young trees.

There is always a way, Bones to Dust, remember this when the times comes. The Wyrm is cunning, and he will look to undermine you, so you must match your wits to him, and act to counter his claims."

[Alexander] The kinsman stops dancing on his feet, dropping his heels to the asphalt, advancing.

"Because we aren't fighting for real, Sinclair. You know that. I know that. If we were fighting for real, I'd be a smear on the asphalt by now.

"So if we're not fighting for real, then I'm fighting you the way I fight whoever I get lined up with in the cage first and third Saturdays of the month. And if you and I were in a cage just now, the ref would've stopped the match on a technical knockout. You can barely stand. I'm barely scratched. No good ref would let this match continue."

[Sinclair] "I wasn't down for ten seconds," Sinclair counters, as far as technical knockouts are concerned. They're both advancing, now, walking towards one another. "And you're full of shit. We said nothing about cage match rules when you stepped up, and there's no ref."

She pauses her argument when they're just past arm's reach of each other. And looks at him. And lowers her voice.

[Marrick] She looks back, and turns so she's not molopolizing all of Katherine's space. The Fury regards the Fang beside her, and when she speaks it is something obviously intended for her ears only.

[Sinclair] There's no faux, dark sensuality in Sinclair's voice now, no glittering rage in her eyes... any more than there is normally. She looks, briefly, more like she did when she came to him after killing Art and dropped the discussion of sex when he answered Do you want me with You scare me. She looks more like she did that night she showed up, drained of her rage and spiritually restored and yet weighed down with the shame and rebuke of a half-dozen or so indictments against her character, asking only -- as she always asks first -- if she could sleep there.

No explanation. And no Sinclair, come his early wakeup time. Just a faintly warm emptiness in his bed.

There's no ballsy bluster in her voice, and no debate. Just: "Would it be too much like fucking me? If you really won completely, I mean." She's shorter than he is, though not by much, and has to look up a bit to meet his eyes. Her throat isn't bared. (Of course.) "Would it mean losing all respect for me?"
to Alexander

[Alexander] "No shit, Sinclair," Alex butts in, "if you were down for 10 that'd be a knockout, minus the technical. See the difference?"

His ever-smart mouth shuts the fuck up, though, when Sinclair drops her voice. And the kinsman lowers his head, enough to hear what's being said to him. Whatever it is, it makes him frown. His hand comes up -- the elbow faintly smeared with Sinclair's blood -- and rubs behind his neck. Then he answers, quiet himself.

[Alexander] "Yeah. And not. Sort of.

"I just don't feel the need to ... totally pound you into the dirt to prove a point or something. Put you down beneath me. Crush you beneath my heel. Whatever." He shrugs. "It's not like you've done something to me that I need to retaliate against. It's a friendly spar, Sinclair.

"For what it's worth, I didn't really expect you to pound me into the dirt either if you'd had the upper hand." An eyebrow cocks. "Was I wrong about that?"
to Sinclair

[Kate] That, whatever Marrick says lowly to the Philodox, has Katherine's pale eyes flashing back to lock on hers, and has her whispering furiously at the Ahroun.

Hmm.
Interesting.

[Sinclair] Kate and Marrick have their own business to attend to. They don't see Sinclair's eyes lower to Alex's jaw at Yeah, don't hear the yeah or the question it was answering. Nor do they see her eyes flick back up to his. Or when. Nor can they guess why.

Alex knows. That it's at Was I wrong that she looks back up, a thoughtful -- if somewhat distant -- expression turning more immediately attentive.

"I wouldn't willingly hurt you, Alex. Not to the smear-on-pavement level. Nowhere near."
to Alexander

[Alexander] He doesn't say anything to that. Directly, at least. His cheek bulges out as he tongues a molar. Then:

"I wanna ask you something. Why were you so ticked off that I called quits?"
to Sinclair

[Sinclair] "I wasn't." She sounds a little surprised. Looks it. "I just didn't want to stop."
to Alexander

[Marrick] There is silence again, and the distinct impression that she is listening. And, if the Fury is giving the impression, then surely it must be true. She nods again, taking a step back and looking at the brotherhood.

"I'll come by later in the week, I 'ppreciate your advice," and she says it like she means it. Because, well, she does.

[Alexander] "Oh. Huh." He thinks for a moment. "Way you looked and talked, I thought you were about to eat my face. Thought you were, I don't know. Sore. About losing."
to Sinclair

[Kate] Katherine still looks concerned. She reaches out, and lays a retraining hand on the Ahroun elder's arm for a beat; their eyes connect and hold. "Do come back, and tell me of your plans in regards to this, Marrick." A beat. "You are a most capable Ahroun, Bones to Dust, it would be a shame to lose you to anything but a worthy cause."

[Sinclair] She shrugs one shoulder. Her left, though that doesn't necessarily mean anything. And her head is still bleeding, but there she stands, a bit bleary-eyed, and calmly discussing whatever-it-is with the kinsman. Her attention hasn't wavered from him since she leaned in to murmur whatever-it-was.

"No, I wasn't about to eat your face. You were being a jackass but I already knew that and really in the long run nobody cares if you can beat up Garou who pull their punches, but I wasn't gonna eat your face. Got clocked hard in a relatively fair fight," she says, dismissively wiggling her fingers to one side, "and if I was sore about every time that happened I'd be covered in br--"

A beat. A thoughtful look. "I think you gave me a concussion."

Which makes her laugh, suddenly, and loudly.

[Marrick] "When your totem makes demands of you, you rise to the occasion," she says. It does nothing to assuage concerns or what-have-you, in its own right, is a concern in and of itself. Marrick has grown to associate seeing her current totem with Problems. Always a battle to be fought if you have the time to look for it.

"I'll be seeking your council again, Katherine... I'm trustin' in yer ability t'play devil's advocate. I ain't goin' in unarmed."

She nods again, and finally the words hit her. She nods.

"Be seeing you."

[Alexander] Alexander looks at Sinclair cockeyed for a moment. Then, abruptly, he barks a laugh.

"C'mon. Heal up. Let's go again. 'less you'd rather go a round with her." He jerks a thumb toward Marrick. And grins, gleam-eyed.

[Sinclair] "I don't have to do what you tell me," Sinclair insists playfully, shoving Alex in the chest...not as playfully. Her rage equals her ability to leash it at the moment. At the moment. "I should probably see what Kate can do to you, actually. Since she wasn't PAYING ATTENTION!" the Galliard yells in the Fang's direction.

[Marrick] A beat.

"I got you in trouble. Yer gonna have to stay after class now."

[Kate] Katherine just smiles a little; there is something inherently wistful in it for the moment it lasts, directed after the Full Moon. "Oui," she concedes, and then when Sinclair shouts at her, the Half Moon's eyebrows riiiiise in a clear 'ORLY' mentality, before she exchanges a totally devilish grin at Marrick, leans down as if to set Alex's jacket on the ground, balls up some snow and lobs it at Sinclair.

[Sinclair] [dex + ath + moon -2 (ow): why? because we like you]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6) Re-rolls: 4

[Sinclair] Sinclair -- whether that's her first name or her last or just the only thing she's got is unknown, and likely doesn't matter enough for anyone with access to go hunting it down on her driver's license in her wallet or on her nonpublic files on GWNet -- does indeed have a concussion. It doesn't mean much when a little moment of focus could have her shaking off the effects and fighting on anyway. It doesn't mean much when the damage Alex's elbow and the asphalt did to her head will be gone in an eyeblink as soon as she shifts.

But Sinclair doesn't shift. She doesn't use her Gift. She remains concussed, dazed and bewildered and likely not far from forgetting what the fuck just happened --

-- and snatches Kate's snowball out of midair.

It isn't that she bats it away, tossing it to the ground. That would be interesting, but not impressive. It's not that she catches it and crushes it. That would be impressive. Sinclair plucks it from the air as though time froze for a moment, handling it as gently as an egg, and does so without even seeming to try. It's effortless. It's stunning.

She holds it. She looks at it. She claps it on top of Alex's head.

And smiles at him.

[Alexander] Alexander's not particularly broad (or tall), but his torso's a solid wedge of muscle, and shoving him in the chest feels roughly like shoving a side of beef on the rack. The kinsman dances back a step or two, balance on the front of his feet again for a second, then reverting.

"Fuck no," he scoffs. "She might c--"

and this is when Kate tosses a snowball. And Sinclair catches it. And claps it on top of his head, as if Alex wasn't cold enough already getting rolled around the ground in a tshirt.

"--FUCK!" And that's it. He bends over, scooping awkwardly at the snow -- great big armfuls of it that suggests he might've never seen snow outside a ski resort in his life.

[Marrick] She looks at Kate. From Kate to Sinclair. And back to Kate.

Marrick Fisher doesn't say another word, instead she turns around to go eat a sandwich. Damnit, the woman had priorities.

[Kate] Katherine tilts back her head, props an arm around her midsection as if afraid of the consequences of it and laughs. Gleefully, openly. As if she were nothing more than an almost twenty-two year old girl having fun in the snow far too early in the morning with her friends. She sees Alex digging into the snow and, cheeks flushed and giggling like a young child, resumes forming her own and pelting them at both Alex and her pack-mate.

"It is war!" She cries joyfully, and dives for cover.

[Sinclair] "I don't think this is a good idea!" Sinclair all but wails, throwing up her hands. "I'm s'posed to be teaching you how to fight and someone's gonna get seriously hurt or I-- something. Hurt or something."

She drops suddenly to a crouch, arms around her knees, and then shifts, her shoulders broadening and her hair growing thick, coming free from its elastic binding, her clothes morphing and stretching to accomodate her new form. Which she wears for perhaps five seconds, head tucked, as the back of her head seals once more.

[Alexander] Alexander isn't wearing gloves. Alexander's fingers are about to fall the fuck up, but he gets up with two handfuls of snow -- not quite snowballs but close enough. He cocks back to throw.

Sinclair drops without warning and shifts.

There's a sudden tension in the kinsman. His arm drops; his jaw tightens. He looks at the suddenly not-human Sinclair, then at the other blonde -- the pristine one, giggling and laughing and looking for all the world like a carefree young woman when

everyone knows she's a monster. Just like her packmate.

Alex pitches his snowballs. Both of them go toward Kate, rather halfheartedly. Then he dusts his hands off and goes for his jacket.

"Too damn cold for me out here," he says. "And anyway, I'm in the middle of my beauty sleep. I'm gonna catch you guys later."

[Kate] Katherine, flushed and panting, has never looked so lovely.

She is a portrait of youth and beauty in her white coat, her blond waves dusted with snow, when Alex announces that it is too damn cold for him there is something rather near to a pout that takes Katherine's lips, however she rises, with the Kinsman's jacket in tow and offers it out to him with the rare bestow of credit: "You fight well for a human, Mister Vaughn. I bid you goodnight, then."

[Sinclair] Five seconds pass. Alex chooses to throw snowballs at Kate instead of Sinclair, all curled up in a ball at his feet. When she stands, she's in homid. Her eyes are no longer spacing out but glitter with that same savage intelligence they always seem to. She waits, at least, until Alex has caught his coat

and tackles him.

[Alexander] Alexander scoffs at that, taking his jacket and shaking it out. "I fight well for anyone, and you know it. Hey, say-- omph!"

That's the sound he makes when he hits the ground on his back. Again. This time he grabs a handful of snow and crams it in Sinclair's newly healed face.

[Sinclair] [girrrl...]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Sinclair] The sound Sinclair makes -- and it's a sudden sound, not a moment of shock followed by gibbering -- is not quite a squeal. It is a giggle, though. Right before she headbutts her kinsman again, all the snow he just palmed onto her face falling onto his.

[Alexander] (BECAUSE V'S MAKING ME ROLL EMPATHY)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [NUH UH]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [She did a fucking spectacular job of not mauling his face just now.]
to Alexander

[Alexander] +7!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Sinclair] [+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

[Alexander] a. snowmash to the face! (blind!)
b. counterheadbutt!

[Sinclair] [1a. Get up!
1b. Punch!]

[Sinclair] [1b. dex + brawl + moon -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Sinclair] [damage +3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Alexander] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Alexander] It's a different outcome this time. Sinclair's first punch cracks Alexander's head back hard enough that stars swarm in his eyes. The kinsman drops back on his ass, then his back, stunned. He whacks a hand against the snow twice, tapping out.

"Ow. Fuck. Techni...technical fuckin' knockout."

[Sinclair] She throws up her hands. Her hair is loose now. The medical tape on her ears is shredded through but still clinging on. There's blood matted to her skin, to her hair, staining the black shirt that skims her upper half. When she first waited out here, she looked... clean. She looked ready. And now that she's bloodied and disheveled, she looks more like herself. Wilder.

"Oh come on!" she cries out, in something like frustration or disgust or god only knows.

But Marrick and Schala are gone. Sinclair looks over at Kate and there's a sudden internal calculation. Katherine is her packmate now. She curled up against Kate's side after the last moot, after the Stone of Scorn. These two people, in very different ways, both shared their silence and warmth with her when she was most in need of it and most unable to ask out loud for it.

So Sinclair makes a decision. She doesn't lean over and offer her hand, laughing at him. Her face is wet from snow. Her cheeks are nose are pink. She's finally starting to feel cold when she steps over and gets on her knees next to Alex. She does take his hand, wrapping hers around his wrist, but she also puts her free hand underneath him, helping him get at least partially upright.

Her hand, eerily, is warm even through his clothes, even now.

"Alright," she says, as though that's all that needs to be said. "C'mon. It's too fuckin' cold to be training out here like this anyway."

[Alexander] Groaning, Alexander more or less gets heaved up to a sitting position. He stays there for a moment, head in one hand. Then he gives a quick, sharp snap of his head, shrugging Sinclair off.

He's not nearly so smooth, so reptile-graceful, as he gets to his feet. But he does get there.

"You wanna play again," he says, "I'll play again tomorrow."

[Kate] Katherine says little; that she is proud, however, of her pack-mate's progress, is clear in her eyes, and in the quiet, private smile that adorns her lips for the next few hours.

[Sinclair] Interestingly enough, Sinclair neither forces Alex upward nor clings to his side. She's there, and she's near, but there's a sort of restraint and attention to her behavior that is utterly at odds with everything Kate -- and perhaps Alexander -- have ever seen. She's in strict control of something right now, the way that people school their fear or hide their shame.

There's not progress here so much as a strange form of indulgence, giving in to something more dangerous, in Sinclair's eyes, than rage.

Alex shakes her off and she rises. She doesn't offer him a hand up from sitting to standing. She keeps an eye on him. "Yeah, well," she says, somewhat dismissively, definitely without offering committment, "we'll see."

Her eyes track over to Kate. "I'ma come do some laps, okay? Just let me run upstairs and grab my suit." The implication is clear: she's asking for a ride.

She's also making it so the following happens: she's a few paces behind Alexander Vaughn when he heads into the Brotherhood and back upstairs. She's far enough back that she's out of arm's reach but they both goddamnwell know she could change that in half a heartbeat. Sinclair doesn't follow him to his room but heads to the door next to it, ducking inside to grab a change of clothes and one of her swimsuits, tucking it all inside a small purple nylon duffle with wide straps made of white webbing. She's downstairs a few thundering jogs later, hopping into whatever car Kate is driving these days and swearing to Gaia and every other spirit in existence that if Kate doesn't slow the fuck down she's going to knock her head into the window and take over, for the love of Christ, Kate, what the fuck.

Doesn't really matter that she spends close to an hour in the pool at the Loft after that, after a hot shower to get the blood off her hair and skin, shredding the water in focused silence, lap after lap after lap

after lap.