[John Thornton] The night was warm, with a dying half moon peeking through thick clouds that seemed on the verge of rain… Water trickled in the gutters, in the sewers, along the concrete streets…
White and black vans, red and blue LEDs bouncing brightly atop the roofs, lit the street in garish and undulating shades… The cigarette in hand shook just a little.
It always happened that way… You never felt the fear until after.
The hand holding the cigarette was attached to a man, a man who looked little like himself. His hair had been colored a strange shade of green, and he sported several necklaces of gold over a silk maroon shirt. The shirt tails draped over a pair of blue jeans…
Cigarette smoke dances across fatigued features. hazel eyes watch the continuing stream of arrests from the building from within dark sockets. A bullet resistant vest sets on the hood of the black Crown Victoria upon whose hood he sits. Police was written in bright yellow lettering across the back.
Wordlessly, cigarette hanging from his mouth, John sets about checking his firearm… Counting the spent shells and trying to focus… To remember the stream of events from the bust so the paperwork worked out.
[Oliver] It’s a nice enough night for a stroll through the city. This isn’t the kind of place a young woman should walk alone, especially not when they’re young, pretty, blonde. Not when they have a face splashed with freckles and an easy smile. Especially not when they’re wearing short denim shorts that expose long muscular legs, and snug fitting dark t-shirts. But, as always, Joey Oliver walks the streets unconcerned with the dangers that face other women. Ordinary women. She should be. Tonight her rage is non-existant. Tonight, if fomori or Spirals or Weaver drones pop out of the air around her, she’ll be at a decided disadvantage.
Still, what a glorious way to go, that. Alone and against the odds. Fighting with everything she has against the Wyrm. It’s how any Fenrir would want to go.
She’s not thinking about that, though. She’s not thinking about much at all as she strolls leisurely down the sidewalk. The sight of flashing lights catches her attention and sparks her curiosity. Drawing on a Gift, she goes to investigate.
[I’m pulling an Edwin, harf harf harf: Blur!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Oliver] [sneaky sneaky: dex + stealth]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[John Thornton] ((Perception, diff = 6 +2 (blur) = 8))
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[John Thornton] Hazel eyes consider the .45 in hand for a time, the clip popped from the bottom of the weapon as something flits in the periphery of his vision. The green haired cop makes no outward sign, at least… Not right away.
Instead, he slides the clip home again with just a hint of unsteadiness, and after a long puff from the cigarette, draws back the slide. Replacing the cigarette, the light click of the safety being snapped off is heard as he brings the weapon to bear on the blurry form nearby.
“Not the best time for peek-a-boo.”
[Oliver] Her form blurs, and Joey fades into the shadows, mostly. This isn’t her normal hunting gear, however. The shirt is dark, but the light from the cars flashes and glitters off something pinkish, something greenish, and it draws attention.
The man on the hood of the car levels his weapon at her. Joey would have dropped the Gift in a few seconds, anyway. She’s caught the scent of breeding, of strong Norse warriors of old, strong bloodlines, the promise of pure bred cubs. A few steps closer, and she might have recognized he man himself, despite the color of his hair or the clothing he wears. It’s his voice that identifies him, though.
One second there’s a blurred shadow. The next, there’s a young woman, light dancing off an embroidered heart, palm trees in the middle and burst lines all along its edge, the KILLERS stamped across her mid-section. There’s a dark colored cabbie hat drawn low over dark eyes, but even though it’s been a long time since they’ve seen each other or talked, it would be difficult to mistake Joey Oliver for anyone other than herself. She’s close enough that the scars on her throat — never hidden — are visible.
“What is with your hair?” she asks?
[John Thornton] John smiles a wan not-a-smile and feigns sincerity.
“You don’t like it? I understood it to be the latest trend among the clubbing crowd.”
As quickly as that, the safety clicks again… The pistol is slid neatly into the black leather shoulder holster resting atop the police bullet resistant vest on the hood of the car beside him. A weary hand scrubs through the mop of hair with its shock of green… The somewhat less mop-like than usual hair that had apparently also been recently trimmed and far shorter than was typical for John’s tastes.
Then, with a nod in the direction of the flashing lights…
“I was undercover. I had to look the part to do the job.”
[Izzy Montoya] Somewhere, nearby, someone has been listening to the radio. She’s been listening carefully, because such things like this make her nervous. Almost as nervous as she was when John crawled into bed with that green hair – he came THISCLOSE to getting shot that night… THISCLOSE. Then, he was teased mercilessly. Because.. well. it’s GREEN.
The jeans though… THOSE she likes.
[raaaaaawr]
Now, now that the arrests have been made, the shots have been fired, and none of them resulted in ‘officer down’, she can relax a bit. Just enough that she can park her unmarked vehicle down the block, light a cigarette and step out of her car. She is dressed much as she always is – business casual, with a light blazer having replaced the leather in the hot weather. Exhaling smoke to the side, she steps into motion, and makes her way toward a certain crown vic down the way.
[Oliver] She notes the differences, aside from the obvious, from last time. The cut of his hair is different, that’s about it. The smile, the cigarettes, everything else is the same. Constant. Steady. Unstable, sure, but he’s kin of the Get of Fenris. Instability is just a mark of the tribe.
Grinning, she moves closer to the Crown Vic, crosses her arms over her abdomen and leans her hip against the grill. “I wouldn’t know. Last club I went to was a fuckin’ fight club. Not a lotta hip, trendy people there.” For a moment, she just watches the steady stream of people leaving the building, escorted by other agents and officers. The corner of her mouth quirks in a smile, impressed.
“Looks like a successful hunt,” she says. She turns that quirking sort of proud smile at the older agent, glances over her. “Y’alright?”
[John Thornton] At Joey’s question, John nods…
“I’m okay. Nothing a hot cup of terrible coffee and a couple hours of police reports won’t cure.”
He becomes quiet for a moment… Thoughtful… Then, with a deep sigh and a shake of the head, he continues.
“A kid pulled a gun on me in there… The bad guys are getting younger by the day.”
Then, as Izzy approaches, he shrugs, and turns to watch a perp who could scarcely have been 18 get hauled into the paddy wagon from the building beyond.
“No big deal…
Hello, Iz.”
[Izzy Montoya] Joey gets a nod – and the Detective gets a soft reply… “Hey, John.”
He says no big deal, and he mentions the kid pulling a gun. She, of course, knows this. She also knows the way his hands shake, the way he shrugs it off, the way… they are so much the same. She takes another drag, and turns to watch the perp progression, as she exhales the grayish plume of smoke away from the others.
Then she slides her free hand into the pocket of her slacks, and returns her attention to John and Joey. “Looks like a night of paperwork, hm?”
And if they are perceptive, if they’re looking, there’s something that sparks in dark eyes, that matches the slight quirk at the corner of her lips.
[Oliver] [Are you watching, Oliver?: percept + emp]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Oliver] [nope! hahaha]
[Izzy Montoya] (*LOL*)
[John Thornton] ((Does John catch it?))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Oliver] If there was an ounce of rage in Joey tonight, it would rumble and burn at that. Someone pulled a gun on him. If she had been there, if she had known and there had been any way a twenty-year-old ‘civilian’ could have been in that building, at least one perp wouldn’t be walking out of there tonight. Maybe she’d remember she was a child of Bear, and she would withhold the killing blow. Maybe.
But, there’s no rage in her tonight. Joey is careful to keep her eyes down to earth and not up at the sky, seeking out the waning half-moon burning through the cloud cover overhead. Because she knows that tonight, it’ll be out of her control, and she knows that that would be bad for anyone she happened to run into.
Her gaze snaps to the ‘kid,’ not much younger than herself. The bad guys are getting younger by the day. There’s a story there, in that statement, but Joey doesn’t know what it is.
Before she can ask, another presence nears. Another child of Fenris, another Kinfolk. Joey turns, and Izzy gets a smile in greeting. The last time she saw John, Izzy was there. Imogen was, too. And Blood Summons. It had been a regular party in a park somewhere, the Garou lounging on a bench drinking from paper bags while the Kinfolk passed through. Then, as now, Joey doesn’t look too deeply at the detectives. If there’s something more there between them, more than the commonality of being Kin to the same tribe, working for the same force, she doesn’t notice.
Just like she doesn’t notice the look that sparks in Izzy’s eyes. She doesn’t know the kinswoman well enough to be able to interpret it, anyway, to notice it as something that is outside of her normal expression.
No big deal, though. That gets a quirked brow and a flare of nostrils. “How much longer do you need to stick around here?”
[John Thornton] “Looks like…”
He smiles that wan not-a-smile at Izzy’s question, before the hazel eyed gaze turns to Joey again. Then, he becomes more contemplative, more serious…
“The boys should be almost done with the arrests. Then I get to debrief at the precinct and paperwork in triplicate. IA probably won’t hassle me until morning at least…
Given that this was a two week bust in the making, if I’m lucky I’ll be done before IA calls in the morning.”
He scrubs a hand through the too short, hatefully green hair again and sighs…
“But it’s worth it.”
And at that, even the untelling detective’s facade lights up a little bit.
[Izzy Montoya] Joey doesn’t notice the connection, or at least doesn’t react to it. Those on the force, however, have noticed. In fact, one of the officers that walks by slaps Izzy on the shoulder and gives John a knowing look all while in motion, and just as quickly as he arrived he is gone again. They boys don’t even ask her out anymore. Even Finn has finally found himself a new crush – though he’s still the first to race to her side should she call for backup.
Well, one of them.
Be that as it may, there is most certainly something between them. Tangible. Thrumming under the surface. Noticeable in little ways – if only by them.
He says it’s worth it, and she smirks, chuckling. “It is. I’m making a fortune off the pictures of you with that hair…”
[Oliver] Joey’s head tilts to the side, and she studies John’s profile. She looks at the small tells, the slight lightening of his features, muscles that are usually tight with the effort to keep his face impassive relaxing. Even with green hair and those godawful chains, he looks better than he did the last time they sat and talked. Or rather, since the last time they sat, he talked, and she listened.
Izzy mentions pictures, and suddenly the kinswoman has all of the Rotagar’s attention, and the full force of that several hundred-watt smile.
“No way. How much for one?”
[John Thornton] “Just don’t forget my cut of the profits.”
He smiles that wan not-a-smile and taps his nose knowingly. Then, with a sigh, John puts back on the shoulder holster and gathers the bullet resistant vest before sliding off the hood of the Crown Vic.
“I think that’s my cue… Take care, Joey. We should catch up again sometime soon; it’s been too long.”
Then, he turns to Izzy, that same smile playing about untelling features.
“See you tomorrow, Iz. Bright and way too early, like usual?”
((Nothing to read into that statement…
Manipulation + Subterfuge, diff = 6, wp))
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[John Thornton] ((Jesus Kasheeno))
[Oliver] [oh ho ho: percept + emp]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Izzy Montoya] She can’t help but chuckle as she arches a brow at Joey, and goes ones step forward. “I’ve found the ones of him fresh out of the shower, shirtless and in those jeans has been the most popular with the female crowd. $50 for that. But a fully dressed shot though… for you?” a beat, and then that ever so slight grin. “Free.”
John may well shoot her, himself.
Instead, she finds herself looking up into his eyes, that same smile playing about his features, yet somehow, somehow for her it’s different, and she arches a brow, that smirk morphing into something that ALMOST resembles a smile. Like usual?
“Of course. Bring coffee.”
[nothing to see here… for Joey! Maybe?]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 6 (Failure at target 6)
[Izzy Montoya] [… WELL FINE THEN.]
[Oliver] Joey doesn’t know a lot about Izzy. When she was under Daniel’s…something, Joey had been following a vow of silence, one with strict stipulations. Getting to know a Kinswoman who so clearly did not want to go into room 8 was beyond impossible when Joey couldn’t do anything except stare blankly at her.
The times that Joey has seen Izzy Montoya, she’s been gruff. Quiet in too-large groups, sometimes stand-offish. All of that melts away when she looks at the green-haired detective.
The Rotagar’s expression changes, too, morphs from something lighthearted, smiling, carefree, to something knowing as she looks first at Izzy, then at John. And rather than asking for the shirtless picture just to see what changes might be wrought in the stony-faced detective, Joey reaches for her wallet.
“I’ll take a clothed one, please, when ya get a chance.” She fishes through a wad of cash, looking — perhaps surprisingly, perhaps not — for something smaller than a one hundred dollar bill. She finds a fifty and hands it over to Izzy, but she’s grinning at John.
“Oh yeah, definitely. I should get goin’, too, but gimme a call sometime. We can have lunch or somethin’.”
[John Thornton] John shakes his head and walks to the back of the Crown Vic while the money’s being exchanged to load his vest into the trunk. Then, approaching the front of the car again, he nods to Joey.
“That sounds like a plan to me. Until then.”
Then, as he opens the driver’s side door, he adds.
“Oh, and Iz? If you do intend to be my photographic pimp, use my left side. It’s more photogenic.”
With that same not quite a smile on his face, John gets in the Crown Vic and starts the engine. It growls to life immediately, purring steadily as it idles, while John rids himself of the gold chain necklace and some of the other more garish parts of his undercover garb. Only then, when satisfied he’s done as much as he can to look almost normal again, only then does he put the car in gear and begin slowly pulling away from the curb.
It isn’t long before the black Ford disappears into the darkness of night beyond.
((Gotta go folks; thanks for the rp :) ))
[Izzy Montoya] Not many people – no. Not many Trueborn know a lot about Izzy. This is not by mistake, but rather by careful design. If they don’t know you, it takes a whole lot to hurt you. Daniel managed to almost kill her physically, and through everything, that was not what managed to hurt Izzy by the time he simply dropped her in the lap of the Jarl and washed his hands of her. His fists were nothing. Other things… though…
But that is neither here nor there. It takes a bit of work to get to know Izzy, and those who have tried know the simple truth; It’s worth it. Those who don’t try, or who simply dust their hands, or worse – make assumptions based on very little fact… they are not worth it. Someday, perhaps, she and Joey will have a conversation. Someday, perhaps, Joey will learn more of the why that is behind the very controlled detective’s persona. Maybe.
Today, though – Izzy just chuckles and takes the $50, and slips it into her pocket. “I’ll drop it by the Brotherhood tomorrow.”
Then John is getting into the car, and makes that comment, and Izzy chuckles under her breath, and simply says… “I know.” though the statement is far from simple, as it is. She watches him pull into traffic, and remembers her cigarette and takes a final drag, before flicking the butt into the gutter, and exhaling to the side.
[Oliver] Joey steps up onto the curb, out of the way of the Crown Vic. And she falls silent, simply watching the interaction of the Kinfolk, her hands in the pockets of her shorts, head canted slightly to the side. With her back to the bust going on behind her and her hat pulled low over her eyes, Joey’s face is cast mostly in shadow. Her smile, though, is still very visible.
If she expects more than banter, she doesn’t show it. She probably doesn’t. Until she came to Chicago, Joey wasn’t very good at hiding her thoughts or masking her emotions. A year later, and while she’s better, most days she just doesn’t bother. There’d be no point in keeping her face straight right now, for instance. Kinfolk are good for that sort of relaxing of the guard. Izzy may put up barriers around the True Borns, but at least in Joey’s case, she takes them down. Mostly.
She watches John pull away, her expression easily read as fond. And she says, “How the fuck did he manage to pass for a club goer, that’s what I wanna know.”
[Izzy Montoya] The comment after John pulls away makes Izzy laugh. Well, almost laugh – it’s a brief sort of chuckle that’s low, amused, and far to short to really ever have the chance at life. Her hand now no longer occupied with the cigarette, she tucks it into the pocket of her slacks as she watches the tailights disappear in the distance, before glancing at Joey.
Joey hides very little, if anything at all. Izzy has learned to hide. to build up walls. to make sure do to anything to keep from finding the key, her key, the one that is her undoing. All too often, the true on both sides delight in tearing down their kin.
“Good question. He’s cuts a fine waltz, but can’t fast dance to save his life.” How Izzy would know John can waltz… well. Questions must be asked in order for them to be answered, hm? “At least, not without looking like he’s having a seizure. Maybe that’s the ‘cool’ thing, these days?”
[Oliver] That’s the trouble with the Fenrir. There are those like Joey who treat Kinfolk like they’re family, like they’re something precious that must be protected at all costs. It’s important to her that John and Izzy, Drew and Eli, that all of them are alive, and able to live their lives doing things most Garou can’t. There are others who see Kinfolk differently, who don’t think these things matter. They’re in all the tribes, really. Those who think of them as property, or objects, or breeding stock.
Among the Get of Fenris, the women are treated the worst. In a male dominated tribe, what place do women have to occupy? What roles are they expected to fulfill? Joey knows. No one would have guessed in a million years that she would Change and not her brother.
She doesn’t know how Izzy would know John can dance. She doesn’t ask, though, just makes her own assumptions which she keeps to herself. And she laughs.
“Dude, I don’t think so. It’s been a while since I been to a club? But I’m pretty sure seizures’ve been out since the fifties.” She reaches up a hand to scratch behind her ear, idly, her attention unfocusing momentarily before she shakes her head. “Man, I’d fuckin’ pay to see that, though.”
She turns her attention back to the kinswoman, though. Her smile fades into a more thoughtful expression as she looks — unless Izzy has joined her up on the curb — down at her. Her head is canted, but her chin slightly lifted, giving her a more canine look of curiosity.
“I dunno if anyone’s told you, but Matt Oliver’s in Moraine Hills now.”
[Izzy Montoya] “Unfortunately, he gave me the wrong address to the club – else I’d make a bundle on video’s too.” It’s said with that same slight smirk, both knowing and amused, as she imagines John trying to act the casual clubgoer. “He must have done something right, though. This one has been two weeks in the making. ” Unsaid – it’ll look fucking great on his record. And she’s proud of him. Obvious, perhaps, but unsaid.
A breeze sends her hair across her face, and she absently lifts a hand to tuck the long dark locks behind her ear. Her features are strong, too much so by some standards. Izzy will never win any beauty contests, especially coupled with her attitude, one gained by working in a male dominated field, and fighting a male dominated war on the side. But even to those who cannot read her history, her breeding in her blood, there is something that draws them to her… even as she keeps most at arms length.
“I’d heard. He’s not tried to contact me. I’ve kept the same number, however, in case someone does.” Not that she thinks Matt can be saved, but perhaps to get a lead that will allow them to open a can of whoopass in the Hills.
[Oliver] She just nods at that, her mouth pressing into a straight line. Her expression becomes unreadable, not because she’s trying to hide but because there’s just so much there. Too many emotions, too many feelings for any one to stand out. There’s a reason she said it that way. He’s in Moraine Hills. Not He was taken by Spirals or even He was corrupted. She doesn’t know the circumstances of her cousin’s disappearance or how her Questing Stone came to lead her north and west beyond Chicago’s city limits when she tried to find him.
Joey sucks in a deep breath, lets it out on a sigh. “If you hear from ‘im, let me or Joe know. An’ if you see ‘im, don’t try to be a hero.” That’s what started the mess in the first place, Kinfolk acting like Gaia’s rescue squad. “There’s no savin’ him now. Could you let the other Kin you see know?” Not a command, a request. Though Joey has the means of finding and reaching the Kinfolk of Chicago, finding them when they’re available is another matter entirely. Getting rings delivered to the Fenrir Kin hadn’t required any of them be home or awake or available.
[Izzy Montoya] Don’t try to be a hero. That sparks something, something deep in her gut, reflected in her eyes, tightening the corner of her mouth. But she does not acknowledge the reaction, of course. It may be that it’s simply something she’s heard before, far too often, in situations that are less than ideal. Sometimes, there is no choice but to pull a gun, to fire and hope for the best. When it works, it is applauded as heroism. When it fails, it is the fault of the one holding the gun, because they should not have tried to be a hero.
Life does not give one such as Izzy many choices, does it?
But she simply replies, “I’ll do my best.” to not try to be a hero. “I’ll pass the word along.”
She and John had received rings. Joey might be surprised to find that it is in Izzy’s pocket. She doesn’t know if John carries his, but Izzy does for reasons that are her own.
[Oliver] Joey hopes the Kinfolk she gave rings to still have them, somewhere. She hopes that they haven’t simply been thrown in the garbage, spirits doom to be locked inside them forever. They need to be replaced, those spirits released and allowed to be free again. Soon. It’s been a rough week for the nearly-Fostern Rotagar. There hasn’t been time to make more talens.
She nods then, and her mouth quirks back into some semblance of a smile. “Awesome. Thanks. Well, I should get goin’.”
Hopping down off the curb, she stops before she walks away, looks back at the kinswoman. “That invite goes for you, too. If you wanna grab a bite or whatever, I’m around.”
[Izzy Montoya] She studies the young girl – just a kid, really – as she thanks her and prepares to go, but not without adding an invitation for later. Izzy’s gaze – even for just a kin – isn’t necessarily one that’s easy to withstand. It’s too direct, it’s too knowing, it’s too perceptive and probing. It’s gotten her beat by many a true, and attacked by humans. It’s a good reason why her suspects hate being interrogated by her. Sometimes, some things, she just knows.
And here, she knows the invite is genuine, despite any suspicion she holds for Daniel’s packmates. She does not trust them – but she does not snub the Rotagar either. “Goes both ways.”
A beat, as she turns back toward her car, than. “Goodnight, Joey.”
[Oliver] Izzy doesn’t have a reason to trust them. Daniel’s packmates treated Izzy and whatever happened between her and Daniel as the Tribal matter that it was. And the only tribemate Daniel had was Joey. Silent Joey who couldn’t even say Yeah, I’ll help when Daniel asked her if she’d help him rearrange room 8 to make room for the kinswoman. Nobody knows what Joey’s thoughts were on that situation, because she couldn’t tell anyone.
Since then, none of them have sought the kinswoman out. They haven’t had much reason to. Daniel’s gone now, stayed behind in Canada to study an ancient and feral tribe. None of the rest of them know her. Maybe that can change.
“Yeah. Take care, Izzy.” The tall lean young woman strides off into the night, her hands in her pockets, humming to herself.