[Izzy Montoya] [doot de doot]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Victor Oseragighte] (( Hullo. Mind a visitor? ))
[Izzy Montoya] (S’cool. :) typing a post up now. :) )
[Izzy Montoya] The thing about being a detective is this: The job never ends. When you’re on call, you’re on call. And when you’re the best damn Homicide detective on the force, you are ALWAYS on call.
Izzy is that detective.
One a random street in the Green, there is a storefront that’s sporting the very finest in Police Caution Tape, yellow and black and fluttering in the wind. Inside the storefront, visible from the street, is the lone detective that remains on the scene, the light of the store causing something of a halo affect about her. She looks like one might expect – strong of features, long and lean. Her dress is ‘business casual’ – slacks, a tailored blouse, and a blazer that is unbuttoned. Her badge is on a chain around her neck, her hands are on her hips, and the fall of the jacket hides the weapon at the small of her back.
But what stands out most is her blood – that purity of sensation, the history of warriors and heroes of old, of Vikings and Blood, of all things Fenrir. To say she stands out in a crowd is an understatement – even if, for now, she is all alone…
[Victor Oseragighte] He remembered Cabrini Green. When he was a boy, living here for a brief time while his father was on a job, it had been infamous. It wasn’t quite so much so now, but it still held a certain fabled position for many, like South Central or Harlem. It made him think, too, of his first change. No escaping that. But he was neither the boy who had lived here so long ago nor the naive young man who knew nothing of the true darkness in the world.
So he goes to Cabrini Green, in jeans and black t-shirt and gray windbreaker, to see what he can see. To remember.
[Izzy Montoya] She doesn’t seem to be doing anything, really, though so many know that looks can be deceiving, and that’s exactly what it is as she’s very much doing something. She’s listening. And listening intently.
There’s no telling how long she’s been there, really, but it seems she might be about done with whatever it is she’s doing […shutupshutup! give it to me! now! NO DON’T! NOOOOOO(BANG)…silence…] as she takes a deep breath, and turns to make her way to the door, and back to the street. Once there, she pauses and digs her lighter and cigarettes from her pocket and goes about lighting up.
[Victor Oseragighte] It is on the street that he spots her, remembers her, the one that was never actually introduced previously. He stopped, wondered if he should, but could see no reason not to and so approached, trusting that he was not intruding as he did so. Victor is careful to make certain she sees him approaching, not wishing to be mistaken for an enemy attempting ambush.
[Izzy Montoya] Once the cigarette is lit, the pack and lighter disappear as she takes a first, and a second drag. She exhales slowly, before she raises her free hand to rub lightly at her temple. It’s then that she see’s Victor approach. If she recognizes him, it’s not immediately clear.
“Yes?”
Not one to mince words, Izzy.
[Victor Oseragighte] He had seen her, but perhaps she’d not truly seen him, it seemed. He nodded, thumbs stuck into his jacket pockets. “Almost met you the other night. Little park?” He wasn’t precisely verbose either, so this might be an interesting conversation.
[Izzy Montoya] She smirks, slightly, bracing her free hand on her hip, as she watches him, idly flicking the ashes from her cigarette to the cement walk below.
“Yeah, and?”
She ‘almost meets’ a lot of people.
[Victor Oseragighte] If her flippancy bothers him, it doesn’t show as he shrugs his shoulders. “Saw you. Good a time to actually meet you as any.” No beating about the bush, no need to go into further details. He suspected she’d not care for either anyhow.
[Izzy Montoya] “I see.”
For kin, she has a disconcerting stare. She meets the eyes of those she speaks to with her own, direct and without flinching – even the Trueborn. The intensity of it, the brazen suggestion that she just doesn’t give a fuck, the spark of intelligence and the sense that she knows something the others simply don’t are all combined in a way that makes the suspects she interrogates tremble. It also tends to piss off just about every trueborn she meets.
Victor is the victim of that intensity, now.
“And you are…”
[Victor Oseragighte] ‘Just about’ does not appear to include Victor. He meets her eyes evenly, looking surprisingly… stable? Yes, that is what comes across most about him, a sense of stability, though at the same time there is a strange air of intangibility that most humans cannot make sense of. She does not offer her hand, so he doesn’t either.
“Victor.” That intensity might well make one think her Garou at first, he recognizes. She might still be, but he doesn’t sense it.
“Wendigo,” he adds, to see if she says more herself to tell him for certain.
[Izzy Montoya] She lifts the cigarette again, and takes a drag, tipping her head to exhale so that she smoke floats away from him. Common courtesy, or something like that. Wendigo, he says, and a slim brow arches slightly.
“Interesting.” She tucks her free hand into the pocket of her slacks. “Detective Izzy Montoya.” A beat. “Fenrir.” Like it isn’t obviously written in the scent of her very blood…
[Victor Oseragighte] “So I am told,” he remarks with a touch of mirth to his smile. “Also told been a lot of trouble. Guessing that doesn’t scare you any.” It wasn’t a question. Wasn’t quite a comment. There was a little bit of compliment to it, impressed by her bravado, something he could appreciate.
But she was a Detective, too, and that might just mean she could tell him more of what was happening around here, right?
[Izzy Montoya] She smirks, amused. “You mean ‘the war’? The one most the assholes round here talk about in Capital Letters like it makes it different than every other fuckin’ place?” A snort. “Then yeah. Trouble.”
A beat. “An’ I don’t scare so fuckin’ easy.”
[Victor Oseragighte] He nodded when she answered, his lips spreading into an amused smile as she expanded on her view of it. At her last comment the smile becomes a grin. “Good. Know much about it all?” She seemed competent to him, the sort who might well know more than many kin would; he did not see this woman as one to like to stay in the dark.
[Izzy Montoya] A shoulder lifts into a negligent shrug. “Depends on what you want to know.”
And there’s that smirk again. “And why.”
[Victor Oseragighte] “Want to know anything useful. ‘Why’ is I don’t much like kin being hunted. Been hunted. Remember the feeling. Remember friends dead or hurt. Don’t sit well with me.” His accent was a curious one. There was a fair hint of French in there, Quebecois, but it was mitigated by all of the time he’d spend stateside with his father on jobs. New York. Chicago. Detroit.
[Izzy Montoya] “You checked in with the local bigwigs yet? Rumor has it there’s some sort of spirit mumbojumbo that tells all the True the current status of” and yes, she finger quotes it… “The War” before dropping her hands, and taking a final drag off her cigarette. “From their point of view, of course.”
“As for bein hunted – not much fuckin different here than anywhere else, cept we got a whole town of nasties that seem to have a taste for the finer things in life. Namely, our asses. One of ours was taken just a while back. Had a bunch of our numbers an’ shit – though we haven’t been contacted or anything yet. Don’t mean it won’t happen, just that it hasn’t fuckin’ happened yet.””
[Victor Oseragighte] “Yup. Listened to it. But it’s just a spirit. Trading rumors, telling what it knows. Can’t well answers lots of questions. Only knows what it is told, like you say.” His shrug said he didn’t think much of that either, that he preferred to get more perspective on the situation.
“There’s hunted and hunted, though. Active, full on, like what I hear… not so much. Can’t have that. Didn’t hear about this list. Who all is on it?” That was an important little detail nobody had mentioned to him previously.
[Izzy Montoya] She shrugs, absently, as if it is no bother, really. “Myself, my partner, a few others.” She flicks the butt of her cigarette to the ground, and grinds it to death with the toe of her sensible shoe.
“Like I said, he hasn’t contacted any of us.”
[Victor Oseragighte] “But you expect somebody will.” Again, it wasn’t a question, not entirely. He glanced down the street absently, just keeping an eye on their environment. Another glance back the way he’d come and he looked at her once more.
[Izzy Montoya] She slides her now free hands into her pockets and shrugs slightly. “I tend to expect the worst, as does my partner. We’re somewhat well known in the Department, which they could consider useful.”
Unsaid – others in other places have done so, a fact she knows far too well, to personally.
[Victor Oseragighte] He nodded, seeing that this did make her and her partner prime targets, without a doubt, despite nobody seeming to know what the Spirals wanted them for yet. “I met your partner?” He did not think he had, since he’d met fewer kin than Garou so far, and none had been introduced as a Detective.
[Izzy Montoya] She shakes her head. “I don’t know. He works Vice. I’m Homicide.”
Ah, it seems she means something entirely different by the term partner in this case. “I don’t routinely question him for who he’s met.”
[Victor Oseragighte] “Don’t think I have, them. Still pretty new here. Getting a feel for the place. Haven’t met too many at all.” He had to figure she meant her boyfriend, husband, mate, whatever she wanted to call him. He did not know many other ways one had a partner, unless it was simply a teaming of two kin in the police.
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, slightly. “We work a lot. I’m sure you’ll run into him sooner or later. For now, though – I’ve a bunch of paperwork to see too. IF there’s not anything else….”
She arches a brow, questioningly, and waits…
[Izzy Montoya] (bedtime for me, gotta work tomorrow. :) )
to Victor Oseragighte
[Victor Oseragighte] He thought a moment before shaking his head, a spark then coming to his eyes. “Barbecue over at Moira’s, you and your partner want to go. Not my place to invite, but you can call. Can’t hurt to keep in touch with others.” It was a suggestion anyhow. “Good meeting you. Thanks.”
[Victor Oseragighte] (( :: smiles:: Thansk for the play. Rest well! ))
to Izzy Montoya
[Izzy Montoya] That brow arches again, and she chuckles. “Maybe. Goodnight, Victor.”
And with that, she turns, and makes her way to the non-descript car on the curb, unmarked police issue and colored shitbrown. She doesn’t look back, she doesn’t even wave. She simply slips into the drivers seat, starts the engine, and pulls away.
[Izzy Montoya] (thank you! night!)
to Victor Oseragighte