[Izzy Montoya] [doot de doo ]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Izzy Montoya] Cabrini Green is not the best place in the city, which is why one Detective Izzy Montoya is seen around here so often. Today, there is yellow police caution tape fluttering in the ever present wind across the door of a store front. The windows are glass, some of which are shattered, and there is evidence of the swarm of policemen and women that had swarmed the area a couple hours before still, though all that remains is one beat up brown vehicle that is an undercover cop vehicle that does nothing to really hide the fact that it simply LOOKS like a cop car, even minus the details.
The current owner of said Crown Victoria is not in the car. Nor is she on the sidewalk. She can be seen however, through the broken window thats marked with fluttering ‘DO NOT ENTER’ yellow tape. It’s hot now, and her long coat has been replaced with it’s shorter, lighter cousin, leather tailored to fit her slim figure beautifully, as are the blouse and slacks she wears underneath. She is simply standing there, unmoving, her hands in the pockets of her slacks, the blue latex of the gloves she currently wears seen around her wrist as she…
Listens. Just… listens.
Her brow is furrowed deeply, as she seems for all anyone could ever know to simply be staring at the floor.
[Karl Gyllenhammar] And the Rotagar?
He had it in mind to ’get to know’ the city. It has proven a bit more difficult then he had anticipated. The place is fucking HUGE! It doesn’t dissuade him however. (Of course not, he is Get!) and he has been walking the streets for the better part of the day. He has covered some ground, and at some point, streets started blending together.
So that is where we have the ‘heroic’ Garou. Near enough lost and walking around in a bit of a temper. You could go so far as to call him frustrated. Refusing the simple escape of a cab or a bus to more familiar areas (If he even knew were to find a bus stop!)
Chalk it down to Swedish temper, stubbornness of Tribe, or just simply a big ‘FUCK YOUUUUUU!” to the Scab that is Chicago.
Glacial blue eyes never rest long in one place as he seeks recognition or familiarity among the streets, but he has long since realized that this? Is a new part of town. The well worn leather jacket hanging open to show the dark tee underneath. Dark, well fitting jeans showing of that physical perfection that comes only from a supernatural metabolism, and constant fighting. Even in this part of town, humans step around the all to angry Rotagar.
Then, as he passes yet another house, he stops, as if hitting a brick wall. A chance glance througha broken window, spotting something that actually is familiar. It pulls the Rotagar to a full stop, without ever realizing he is standing in front of the beat up brown car. His eyes locked on the slim figure seen through the window.
[Izzy Montoya] She is still. So very still. Her eyes closed, and then her mouth moving as if she’s repeating something to herself so that she will remember it later.
shh…don’t move now… shhhh. your safe here
but mama
shhh. close your eyes, and just wait…
WHERE IS SHE? YOU FUCKING CUNT, GIVE HER TO ME!
I said no! Get outa here! I’m gonna ca..
YOU FUCKING WHORE!
and the sounds, the sounds the sounds the sounds…
Izzy visibly flinches, and then her eyes snap open, and she sinks to a crouch. If she is aware of being watched, she says nothing, she makes no move that lets him know either way. Instead, she tips her head slightly, and peers underneath a sagging shelf. She pulls her latex covered hands from her pocket, grabs a plastic evidence bag from another, and moves forward until she can reach under the shelf and pull an object out of the deep shadows where it had been missed before and tuck it into the bag.
The murder weapon. One of them, anyway, and likely the one that will have the DNA needed to put the slimebag away for a long time. Only then does she turn from the scene, and step through the door, ducking under the tape. Only then does she look over at Karl and arch a brow slightly. “At least you have enough fuckin sense not to cross a police line.” There’s the sense that not many of his kind are. Then, she simply moves toward the trunk of her car, opens it, and tosses the evidence bag into the box for such purposes.
[Drew Roscoe] The Cabrini-Green used to be home to Drew Roscoe. Matter of fact, she used to live just several blocks over from this very sidewalk, in a modest little apartment complex made up of four brick buildings set in a four-square arrangement. But there was old blood in those walls, old scents in those carpets, and her Boys wound up feeling too far away on the opposite side of town. So she’d upgraded in living space by renting out an entire house for herself, but downgraded in neighborhoods by entering the boundaries of Bronzeville.
So what was she doing back in the Cabrini-Green?
Well, not that it particularly mattered, but she’d been babysitting yet again for Rochelle Young, her dead former boyfriend’s sister. It seemed she didn’t get much as far as nights off these days, between Wyrm encounters, working at the Artisan, and babysitting for old pseudo-family. Her truck was alive and well, but gas prices were hiking upward along with the temperatures, so she opted for public transportation most of the time.
Just up the sidewalk the brakes of a city bus sighed and groaned as they released and the vehicle pulled away from the curb, leaving Drew Roscoe standing in its wake. She wore jeans, sneakers, and a plain black A-shirt with ‘Roscoe’ printed on the back of the shoulders in blocky yellow font. She began to walk, but a step faltered upon spying yellow police tape, a vaguely (recently) recognizable man, and a more certainly recognizable woman.
Her left hand jammed into her pocket as she approached, right hand waving first, then moving to pluck at the heavy wrap of bandaging about her left bicep.
[Karl Gyllenhammar] He watches the kin as she works. There is interest in his gaze, and only partly because of the blood that sings out to him. No, seeing her work, to take part in the real world in a way that to him? Is so completely unreal, that is what has him near enough spell-bound. She crouches down, vanishing from sight for a few moments before appearing again, and then moves out of the house, away from the crime scene and towards the car.
“Detective…”
She is perceptive. It is her job, it is her nature. She has been around enough Garou to recognize not only the rage that surrounds him like a mantle. A sense of heat that is both ethereal, and so very real at the same time. The full moon, waning, but still sickly still hidden in the hours of dusk. She can pick out the tension in his voice. She has been around her fair share of Garou. This one is on edge. Never a good thing, for kin, or anyone. Not in the city. Not anywhere.
“Always such a sunny disposition…”
Those glacial blue eyes fixed on the kin woman, until a slowly approaching figure calls to his attention by raising her hand, waving. Eyes snap up, focusing, narrowing. Recognition. (Property of War-Handed) and the Rotagar rolls his muscular shoulders slowly, flexing.
to Drew Roscoe, Izzy Montoya
[Karl Gyllenhammar] He watches the kin as she works. There is interest in his gaze, and only partly because of the blood that sings out to him. No, seeing her work, to take part in the real world in a way that to him? Is so completely unreal, that is what has him near enough spell-bound. She crouches down, vanishing from sight for a few moments before appearing again, and then moves out of the house, away from the crime scene and towards the car.
“Detective…”
She is perceptive. It is her job, it is her nature. She has been around enough Garou to recognize not only the rage that surrounds him like a mantle. A sense of heat that is both ethereal, and so very real at the same time. The full moon, waning, but still sickly still hidden in the hours of dusk. She can pick out the tension in his voice. She has been around her fair share of Garou. This one is on edge. Never a good thing, for kin, or anyone. Not in the city. Not anywhere.
“Always such a sunny disposition…”
Those glacial blue eyes fixed on the kin woman, until a slowly approaching figure calls to his attention by raising her hand, waving. Eyes snap up, focusing, narrowing. Recognition. (Property of War-Handed) and the Rotagar rolls his muscular shoulders slowly, flexing.
[Izzy Montoya] She smirks, slightly, as he comments on her disposition, but doesn’t deny it. She has, after all, been around her fair share of Garou. And then some. She slams the trunk of her car closed, and then goes about the ritual search for her cigarettes and lighter. It’s then that she see’s Drew. She recognizes her, of course, but there is not a jaunty wave, or a smile. There’s the slight lift of her chin, and that will have to do.
Pack found, and a cigarette is shaken free. She takes her time to light it, slender fingers cupping around the flame to keep it from the wind, as she inhales deeply. Lighter finds it’s way into a pocket again, and she exhales, away from the Garou.
“Likewise. What brings you to this section of Chicago?”
[Drew Roscoe] Drew came nearer to the two, her eyes sliding away from Izzy and Karl (jeeze, why the hard stare fellow?) to the building they were standing in front of. Police tape fluttered in the evening breeze like streamers at a birthday party, a window was broken out, and the entire area seemed to stink of violence, though all that Drew could truly smell was what the wind carried– pollen, rain, garbage, exhaust.
Her pace crawled slower, she hooked a finger under the bandage on her arm to scratch where it had been bothering her, and she came to a stop a couple of feet from the pair. Blinking once, as though to bring herself back to reality, she looked to the pair again, and nodded to Izzy.
“Hey Detective,” she said pleasantly enough, then nodded to Karl. “And Karl, how are ya?”
Her right hand returned to her jeans pocket to mimic the left, and she wrinkled her nose some at the building. “Particularly tough a case in there?”
[Karl Gyllenhammar] Izzy lights up, and drew steps closer. The Garou draws in a deep breath, eyes lidding for a moment before they open again. There is a light in his eyes, some reflection of what lies within.
“I am…. Exploring.”
Izzy can hear the frustration in his voice easily enough. Even Drew, as she draws closer catches the end of it. Anger there. Rage, and more.
“Drew.” The kin given the slightest nod. He looks at the young woman that joined them. Perhaps remembering the way their last meeting ended. He exhales in a rush, near enough a snort.
“I’ve been better.”
[Uriel Engel] The Chicago Checkered Cab, an old 50s Ford slowed as it turned from one street unto theirs. Lights soft against the fading light of the early twilight evening. Taxi light screamed fair vacant. Soft hum of some old R&B thumped and moaned from it’s interior.
Uriel drove the cab at a cruising speed. Police tape were nothing new, especially here in Cabrini-Green. What was however, were the gaggle of whites. Alone and mulling about. Which drew his attention. They must all be the police he thought as he slowed just passing by. His window open, almost coming to a stop.
[Izzy Montoya] A particularly tough case? “Not necessarily.” That would depend on the day, the cases, and whether or not she’d been given the access she needs to prove herself as good a Detective as they know her to be. Today, she’d been given the time she needed. This one will be open and shut by the time she’s done with it. Suspect already in custody, and the evidence she’s collected enough to make it a done deal.
Some days it’s easier than others.
Karl gets a direct look, steady and unflinching. “So your lost, then.” Amusement, brief.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew’d parted her lips to say something in return to Karl saying he was better, but Izzy was cutting to her own sort of chase on the topic. He was lost. Drew was thinking something along those terms (‘Yeah, the city’s pretty rough for guys like you. Crowded and stinky. I can understand that.’), but decided to let the pair of them talk it over. No sense in double-teaming the poor guy, after all. So she flashed a small grin at the Rotagar, nodded a little to the answer Izzy gave her about the difficulty level of the case, and glanced toward the street.
…Just in time to catch the taxi cab rolling slower and slower in front of the building, window down, driver leaned forward to view either the scene or the three of them.
Suspicious?
Oh yes.
Her hand slipped toward the back of her waistband only to find it empty– she didn’t keep her pistol with her when she was babysitting Rochelle’s kids, guns and children just didn’t mix. She nipped the inside of her cheek in irritation, glanced toward Izzy and Karl again, then stepped away from them and closer to the curb where the Taxi was crawling at a mighty three miles per hour maximum in front of them.
“Hey,” she said cordially enough through the window, flashing the kind of smile that would light up rooms were it not for the current of tension that ran under it, tension that spoke of distrust and wariness. “We’re good here, not looking for any rides, thanks though.”
[Karl Gyllenhammar] ”Temporarily dislocated….”
The look he gives Izzy is almost dirty.
“So yes, near enough.”
Karl looks up at the checkered cab that closes. Easy way out. Not his way. Not yet. Then Drew reaches for something. His eyes on the woman, following her every move. She moves away, and speaks to the cab driver. Karl takes a second look at that driver now that he is closer, and eyes widen just a little.
The Rotagar moves suddenly and with intent. His arms flashes out, and he slams his palm heavily on the roof of the Cab.
“Stop.” His voice raised enough to cut through the sound of the car’s engine.
[Izzy Montoya] She just chuckles as he shoots her a dirty look, as if he’d given her some sort of gift. It’s a game see – poke the Garou. Izzy’s particularly good at it, even if it rarely ends up in her bed now that John’s tried to make an honest woman out of her. She lifts her cigarette to her lips, and inhales, while the other hand slides to rest under her open jacket, knuckles resting just behind her hip as she watches the cab, and the Garou that demands he stop, while drew demands he go.
Exhales.
Interesting.
[Uriel Engel] Uriel’s chocolate hues twinkled with amusement. Wife beater, yellowish/orange with a mello yellow decale blazoned upon the front. His left shoulder ritually tattooed. Germanic, Norse, Tribal and yes…a Fenrir glyph woven into it. Dew rag over his long dark locks. The five o’clock shadow only made him seem even more darker than he should in the failing light.
Yet his hand rose, a simple gesture. A wave of recognition. “Nien Problem Heir Obermann…Teusch!” As he added just enough pressure to speed up about half a mile faster as he passed the unmarked cruiser of Izzy. His accent definately German, but thick with something else. Simple enough though…they didn’t need his services. And he didn’t need to be around a gaggle of Polizie.
[Uriel Engel] (whoops adds) Just as the Cab began to pull beyond the parked car, it squeeled to a simple stop. Brake lights bright upon Drew. The dark silhoutte within poised and waiting.
[Drew Roscoe] The little Kinfolk that surprised many just by being of Fenrir blood startled when Karl slunk up beside her and slapped a hand down on the roof of the cab, demanding that the man inside stop. She hopped to the side half of a step, turned her head to look up at Karl, expression on her face a plain ‘What the hell, man?’.
Red light glowed on the belly of her shirt and thighs of her pants from the brakes, and her arms folded edgily over her ribcage, right hand fingers scratching at the edge of the bandage about her upper left arm, even though the doctor had told her several times to cut that out even while she was in at the clinic. Kind of like chewing at your lips, no matter how many times your parents tell you to stop you find yourself doing it anyways, not to be rebellious, but just because it’s what your teeth did on their own when you weren’t paying them enough attention.
Karl had stopped the cab when it had begun to roll away, and Drew just stayed at the curb and watched uncertainly, prepared either to jump away if the guy behind the wheel sprouted bat wings and moss-green fangs, or to wedge herself between him and Karl if he ended up just being some poor schmuck in the wrong place that said the wrong thing to tick the wrong ‘good guy’ monster off.
[Karl Gyllenhammar] Karl leans down to look through the window. That glacial gaze fixed on Uriel, studying him closely. Hand still on the roof of the car.
“Sie auf der Verschiebung?”
The german flows easily enough from Karl’s tongue, his eyes locked on Uriel. That gaze is enough to make most people uncomfortable. The sense of rage, deep, lurking just beneath the surface tends to make them want to run the other way.
[Uriel Engel] Sweet Jesus, Mary Mother of Joseph this man was definately of the Higher Order. One need only sense the rage, know the look and well. Accept that damnable candor.
Uriel though, after a gulp against the rage. Thankfully hidden in shadowy fingers of night. He nodded “Ja, though Mein-Rhya, I can easily get oft if sie be need’n” Deep and somber, broken accent. Turkish, German..Spanish. It was..gutteral and definately brutish in his tember. Though it bespoke of a fairing attitude.
[Izzy Montoya] Drew looks uncomfortable, and unsure. Izzy looks as she always does – ready. She watches, says nothing, and simply keeps smoking her cigarette, her hand comfortably sliding about to the small of her back, wrapping around the handle there.
[Karl Gyllenhammar] Uriel recognizes Karl for what he is, and Karl nods, and switches back to english easily enough.
“Yes, for now at least.”
Karl straightens and with a simple wave of his hands indicates a spot just a little bit down the street where the cab can be parked. His gaze goes up to Izzy and then to Drew. Waiting for the cab driver to start moving again.
“Either of you know this man?”
Eyes unreadable, ice cold. That frustration still there, that ever present rage. But something else also.
[Izzy Montoya] She shifts her position to lean a hip against the back of her car, her dark eyes watching Karl and the cab driver. When questioned, the answer is easy enough.
“No.”
[Drew Roscoe] Drew watched the exchange, frowning a little bit as she tried to struggle through Uriel’s accent, through the unfamiliar language that the pair were speaking. Little did she know, if her mother had survived to have a hand in raising her, she very well might be able to speak German as fluently today as she did English, as her mother had grown up in Germany and moved to the states in her late teens.
However, Fate had shot that plan down before it even had a chance to take off.
So Drew just blinked, as though snapping out of a daze, when Karl straightened up and addressed her and Izzy both. Her lower lip caught between her teeth and she watched the cab, shaking her head as it rolled away to find a parking spot. “No… Why, should I go hide while you kill him?”
It might be construed as sarcasm, might get her slapped… were it not for the bald expression of genuine question on her face. She was dead serious.
[Izzy Montoya] She just looks at Drew. Just looks at her. And then there’s a snort, some sound that’s a mere exhalation, a huff of breath through her nostrils as she turns to watch the cab park, then on to Karl.
Her thoughts? Her own.
[Bob] It doesn’t matter how they came upon each other tonight, whether it was a complete accident or whether one of them sought the other out. A tall blonde is walking next to a taller, significantly less attractive brunet, the latter dressed all in black and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette as they troll the streets looking not for the Wyrm, not for creatures out to harm their Kinfolk or destroy the Veil but for a liquor store that’s still open after 6 o’clock at night.
The last time Joey had been in the Fostern’s presence, he had been in a terrible mood for reasons that he hadn’t seen fit to divulge to her. Despite the fact that he was all but killed in that challenge against War-Handed Wednesday night, he’s in good spirits as he walks next to Joey right now.
At least, as good of spirits as one can expect from someone who’s been raised by Fenrir his entire life. He’s not singing, but neither is he looking to get into a fight with the first person who looks at him.
“Oh, goody!” he says when he sees the cluster of pure breeding on the sidewalk ahead.
[Uriel Engel] The cab parked. A full car’s lenght past Izzy’s. A few moments passed as the shadow within moved about the interior. Finally Uriel openned the door. Long muscular legs draw forth. Tanned. Wearing camo cut off BDUs and Adidas flip flops. He were tall when he finally drew himself from the seat of the cab. Standing easily at 6’5″, broad shouldered and with the form of someone just slightly past their prime. Perhaps late thirties but still physically strong.
A blue dew rag atop his head, he wore that mello yellow orangish wife beater well. Slinging a simple kaki button up long sleeve dress shirt over his shoulder. Jelly bracelets wrung about his left wrist. His right were like his left shoulder and neck, tribally tattooed. A leather throng dangled around his neck with a simple silver feather and axe. Good luck charm? It seemed cheap enough for such an assumption. Sunglasses worn earlier in the day still sat restingly atop his dew rag that held his long hair back from his face.
Leaning against his cab, he cocked his head abit askew to watch them from his vantage point..slightly afar.
[Drew Roscoe] Izzy shot her a look that could possibly wither a houseplant, and Drew looked a little confused and taken aback by it. Her head tipped to the side once, she scratched with further irritation at the bandage, and shifted her weight from one rubber-soled foot to the other.
“What?”
And the mix of self-conscious uncertainty mixed with the mild offense that came from being scuzzed off by a female when you are a female on her face was almost cartoonish in how obvious it was.
“I haven’t got a gun and I bleed easy, whadaya want? Thomas said it’s not our place to be soldiers.”
[Karl Gyllenhammar] Karl nods to Izzy, then gives Drew a long, hard stare.
“No.”
A glance to the cab as it is parked, and he looks back to the two kin women in front of him.
“The driver is Fenrir kin, like yourselves…”
Something in his voice, something that seems to trouble the Rotagar. As Uriel steps out, Karl motions for the man to come closer.
[Izzy Montoya] Dryly. “Common sense. Not every moment is War, and I don’t give two shits what Thomas says.”
She flicks a glance toward Karl, then farther to the cab driver who’s apparently kinfolk. She says nothing further, simply takes a final drag off her cigarette, and flicks it into the gutter. She does, however, release the gun holstered at the small of her back, and instead tucks her hands into the pockets of her slacks.
[Uriel Engel] Shirt still tossed over his right shoulder, he pushed himself from his cab. Drawing a long deep breath as his feet carried him with simple pops from his sandel shoes towards them. His left leg revealing beneath the hair that covered it many a glyphish and swirling pattern tattoo, from toe to knee and past. Disappearing beneath his shorts.
A chocolate eye for both Izzy, then Drew. Though he remained silent. With his last step he actually took the stance of a relaxed parade rest. Hands behind him, locked together whilst grasping his shirt at the small of his back. Feet apart, his gaze though wandered.
[Joey] The first person who looks at him. That could be Joey. For the first time in her life, she cuts an almost intimidating figure. Her blue t-shirt is fitted, hugs the muscular contours of her strong upper body. Her jeans are loose, her sneakers old and worn, and she walks with the rolling, relaxed gait of a natual born athlete. She does nothing to hide the scars at her throat, the slash overlaid with four parallel claws. No animal known to man could have made those scars, and no ordinary woman could have survived them. Strange, then, that there’s a blue speckled patch covering her left eye. There’s no scarring around it, no sign that the orb was ripped forcibly from the socket.
However she ran into Blood Summons, Joey fell into step with him easily enough. A destination was agreed upon: Cabrini Green and a cheap liquor store, one that wouldn’t look too closely at Joey’s fake ID. And let’s face it, with that smile edged with rage, no one’s going to look closely at her ID.
Oh goody.
Her head comes up then. A flick of her head flips her bangs back out of her eyes. It’s time for a hair cut.
She grins when she sees those gathering, doesn’t recognize Karl in his Homid form, but she’ll know him soon enough when he gets there.
“Drew!” she calls, lifting a hand in greeting as they get closer. There’s a crime scene nearby. Joey glances in that direction.
[curiositah!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Drew Roscoe] Drew made a bit of a face, one where the corners of her mouth didn’t necessarily curl downward, but pulled back in a way that turned her mouth into a gash of displeasure across the lower half of her face. The bridge of her nose wrinkled, and she shook her head and said, quietly: “Bet that’s what Lonna thought when she got killed. Given the rate people are droppin’ around here, I’m gonna have to disagree.”
She shifted her weight off her right leg and onto the left, and this time moved along with that momentum so that she began walking backward, slowly, away from the trio of Fenrir she stood with. Her eyes flicked curiously to Uriel, covering and outlining the shape of his face, committing it to memory so she could note that he was Family later. They then landed on Karl, crinkled uncertainly at the corners, and she took a few more steps back, turning to get along her way, only to spy Joey and some man she’s never seen before strolling up the sidewalk to join the group.
Her name was called out, and she lifted a hand rather lamely in return.
She had an urgent desire to be on her way home, but felt obligated to stay to have at least more than one word with Joey.
[Karl Gyllenhammar] Karl stands, waiting for Uriel. As the man stops in front of him, the Rotagar looks up. Uriel tops him by quite a few inches. That glacial blue gaze locked on the large Fenrir kin. Physically smaller, yet for all intents, the Rotagar seemed like the larger man(Thing) of the two.
“What is your name?”
And easy enough question. Drew begins to back away, and is given a brief glance from Karl. He is about to turn his attention back to Uriel when a familiar voice calls out. The Rotagar turns, spotting Joey and Bob.
[Izzy Montoya] There is certainly no love lost between these two. it’s evident. Drew may not even realize just why Izzy dislikes her so. Izzy, for her part, couldn’t care less if she does or not. As for Lonna, well, Izzy’s of an opinion on that too. An opinion she also keeps to herself. For good reason.
She watches as she makes her escape, and doesn’t bother to answer the question. Drew will learn, or she’ll die. It’s the same as for all of them. Instead, she shifts her attention to Karl and the cabbie, and awaits the introductions that will surely follow.
[Uriel Engel] Quip of his brow. Watching the back-peddling of Drew. And wasn’t she a short one? Which caused his lip to curl with amusement. An eye for Izzy, then towards the duo saddling up the walk towards them before shifting back to Karl.
Another deep breath and he broke the stance. One hand dipping into his short’s pocket. Fishing a cigarette from within a crumpled soft pack. Lighter in hand. A moment later smoke was deliciously pouring from both nose and lip.
Then Karl spoke. He blinked, casting his gaze sharply to the left..then the right. Not that woman..nor her. Nope..the Attention were on him. “Uriel” Hung on his lip and tongue, but never uttered. Instead, another draw from his cigarette as the true-born’s attention were taken. And thankfully so.
[Bob] The man walking next to Joey doesn’t have potent heroism in his blood, doesn’t look like the warriors of old. All that really exists on his person to tell the world what he is is that terrible scar lancing across his throat, newer than the patch-wearing female at his side’s.
Their enemies tend to go for kill shots, for the parts of the body that will instantly end the life of one of Gaia’s. Their enemies seem to be getting stronger.
Joey calls out to the tiny female standing near Izzy, and Bob blows a heavy plume of smoke out of his lungs. Their steps eventually bring them to the congregation of bodies on the sidewalk. The Fostern slows, ashes his cigarette, and says, in greeting rather than a bid for his attention, “Holds the Line.”
[Karl Gyllenhammar] “Blood Summons-rhya”
Karl inclines his head, not much, but respect clear in the small action. He turns from Uriel, nodding to Joey as well.
“Laughs-yuf”
Only after having greeted the two true born does he look back to Uriel.
“A strong name, to match your ancestry.”
The kin cannot sense it like the Garou can. The purity of blood and lineage that calls out to the Fenrir like a beacon. Here, with so many kin, so much of that purity? It is like a wave, calling out.
“I am Karl, Or If you prefer, Holds the Line.”
That glacial gaze fixes the large kin, unwavering.
“You are not known to me, or these kin. Do you have family in the ciry?”
[Uriel Engel] “None that I’ve claimed or sought,..” Shaking his head he finally shrugged a large shoulder. Drawing another drag of his smoke. Billowing it out on a spoken exhale. “..nacht.”
[Izzy Montoya] Izzy flicks a glance toward Bob and Joey, and it serves for enough of a greeting for now. Though some would doubt her ability to remain silent, it’s just another thing that so many don’t understand about the easily irritated Fenrir Kin. She simply watches, listens, and goes about lighting another cigarette.
This city will be the death of her yet.
[Joey] Joey doesn’t talk about the scars on her throat. Nor does she hide them. They’re just…there. Part of her, things she may as well have been born with, like those freckles splashed across her face for all the attention she gives them. Looks are ignored, questions and comments treated as if they’d never been uttered.
Because her enemies are the ones who go for her throat.
“‘Sup?” she greets casually, an upward nod of her head to the other Rotagar. He holds her attention for a second, a moment of respect for an equal ranked Garou. Then there’s the matter of fresh and foreign breeding, a new soul, new kin to inspect. Joey cants her head at the kinsman Uriel, up and back in fact.
“Jesus Christ you’re fucking tall.” An unconventional greeting, to be sure. I’m Joey, Laughs in the Face of Death.” She slides her hands into the pockets of her jeans and frowns. They’re empty but for her wallet.
A nod to Izzy, one-eyed attention brief but intense. Then she’s looking for Drew. Her face lightens considerably, and she grins when she sees the Kinswoman attempting to backpedal to freedom. There’s nothing cruel in that smile, just wry humor. And maybe a bit of understanding.
[Uriel Engel] Joey’s attention only drew a sharp quip of his brow and another exhaling drag from his smoke. Whilst he let his gaze linger, appraising she..then her companion. He returned it to her with a simple wink before Karl captured his attention and held it. For the moment at least.
Head canting downwards at the flock about him. Inwardly chiding himself for stopping, but then again…he wouldn’t have tore off. Damn if you do, Damn if you dont situations. His expression though were relaxed, if not bored or at least very very patient.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew had paused in a manner that seemed a bit meek, like when your teacher catches you trying to sneak out the door before the bell rings and tells you to get your ass back against the wall and wait patiently. Her hands tucked together in front of her, eyes dropped to the couple of rings she was wearing (none of which took place on her left hand beside her pinky, though). They lifted again to greet Joey properly when she got nearer, a small smile accompanying the verbal greeting that followed up the wave.
“Hey Joey.” Eyes touched the scar at her throat, then hopped over to the face of the man beside her. Bob was greeted with a brief upward jerk of the chin, and her attention slid back and forth from person to person. Karl, Uriel, Izzy, Karl again.
She looked around as though to be stealthy, to make sure no one was paying her any attention (which seemed to hold true at this moment anyways), that no one would come up from behind and startle her if she began to move. Then she stepped back. And again.
Once the distance of a couple of feet was gained, she turned about and started walking up the sidewalk, away from the group, in the direction she had intended originally.
[Bob] Unlike most Trueborn males, Bob doesn’t eye the females with interest, doesn’t inhale the air around them as though to memorize their scent or attempt to make eye contact with them. He doesn’t greet them with words, doesn’t try to stand closer to them or stop Drew from slipping off into the night.
This makes him something of an anomaly, the way he doesn’t even seem to register the heady presence of breeding around him. He returns Izzy’s look, returns Drew’s chin lift, glances at the kinsman whose name he had heard grace the night air as they approached, and takes another drag off of his cigarette.
“You know,” he tells Joey, “I think if we take a left up here there’s a booze store on the corner.”
[Uriel Engel] “There is a better one, two blocks further. Cheaper, by a dollar on average” Casting a simple glance towards Bob. Gesturing with his hand as his attention fell to his feet now crushing out the finished smoke.
[Bob] “Really.”
That grabs the abomination’s attention, snapping his gaze away from where it had been floating somewhere around Joey’s face to the significantly taller male’s. Uriel manages to make Bob look small, what with his being almost a full head taller and broader in the shoulders, easier on the eyes. Bob looks as though he was designed to take a beating and get back up, not as though he has any luck with dealing out damage himself.
Smoke blows out his flared nostrils, and he pushes his tongue into the back of his incisor as he considers the street beyond that turn he had suggested, weak human eyes attempting to glean the lights of the store from a distance.
“Can buy a lot of shit with a dollar.”
[Uriel Engel] That drew a chuckle past his lips. Slow mirthful shake of his head. Eyes twinkling in the twilight hours.
Uriel’s accent were difficult to place. European, definately thick with Germanic origins, though lilted with something akin to Spanish and Arabic. He were dark skinned, naturally guilded with a deep bronze complextion. Chocolate eyes to match his chocolate locks. Rough stubble upon his chin and jaw.
“Here, take my card….” Passing Bob a simple Cabbie’s Card. Listing his number as well as the number to his cab company. “Now, if I am not needed. I shall be going ja?”
[Joey] Joey watches Drew as she takes off into the night, escaping the gathering of Fenrir. She can’t blame her, weak little Kinfolk that she is. It’s an instinctive reaction, just like the times she talks over Nate, or pins him down, or yells at him. As soon as she realizes she feels that way about Drew walking away, she pushes it down, snuffs it out, and turns her attention back to the gathering of Garou and Kin.
There’s a booze store on the corner. But there’s a better one two blocks further.
“Or put that dollar toward more booze,” she says, with a shrug. She glances up at Uriel when he hands over his card to Bob, quirks the brow over her patch. If it weren’t for that, Joey would be a pretty girl.
[Izzy Montoya] Uriel hands out his card to bob, but she doesn’t move to return the favor. She simply continues to smoke, and wait out this little impromptu meet and greet.
[Karl Gyllenhammar] Karl looks between the gathered, then to Uriel.
“Ill be your fair.”
Simply state, looking to the large man. Not a question. Not a request. Statement.
“I find myself in need of a ride.”
And the Rotagar turns his head to Bob and Joey, nodding to them before starting of towards the cab.
((sorry folks, brain cant handle it! Melting!))
[Bob] [My brain is melting too *LOL* Thanks for the play, guys!]
[Uriel Engel] Uriel definately had the gaggle fuck of Fenrir all beat on age. A cock of his brow, clearly amused. It were a simple nod before he gave the gesture. Off to his cab.
[Izzy Montoya] Her phone chirps, and she reaches for it, flicking her cigarette into the gutter as she moves around the car. She snaps “Montoya.” and then listens, as she steps into her car, and pulls smoothly into traffic, and away.