[Delmar Meister] Bronzeville was old. If you had to count it, you might say it was Chicago’s last old neighborhood. It wasn’t as old as the loop, for instance. Where Chicago had been born, died in a fire, and born again. It wasn’t as old as Canaryville or Back of the Yards, where those that lived in the city worked for the city and made it prosperous through the blood of slaughtered cattle and the grime of organized crime. But it was still old. It was still Bronzeville, where the people that did the unseen jobs lived. The ones that greased the wheels of the city, that cleaned up the messes that needed cleaning. That made the messes that needed making.
Take for instance the gentlemen at the corner of 35th and Grant. There’s a Bodega there. Its warm, except for the refrigerated section, and they’re all good friends with the store’s proprietor. And yet they’re all outside, passing around a large bottle hidden in a paper bag. They’re all swapping stories of the good old days. The days when they were gangsters. The days when they ran this town. Now, they’re all bald. Greying. Wrinkled and arthritic. One is a bus driver. Another is a Janitor. The third, a man on a rascal, is on disability. They’ve been here forever. But they’re still not as old as Bronzeville.
Delmar acts like he’s been here forever. He trudges through the streets, not like he owns the place, but like he knows the place. He’s confident. He’s sure. And most importantly he doesn’t stick out. Even if he is an 18 year old White kid, ugly as sin, with Blue eyes, a sallow face, and blond hair twisted into dozens of tiny braids peaking out from under his black hoodie.
[Ylva Rattlebones] It was the very first place that she has come to in the scab. The wispy tendrils of the Gauntlet was ravaged and torn by claws, as she had to fight her way through the thickness, spit out onto the darkest part of an alleyway. Bits of smoky fiber cling to her skin and hair and the jutting bony parts of her small frame.
The girl staggers onto the wet, filthy pavement as asphalt sears away the top layers of skin on her palms and arms with the way she was dumped unceremoniously onto the ground. She attempts to regain some balance, but finds it difficult at first. A stagger to the right sends the girl skittering into a stack of wooden crates and garbage cans. Rats squeak out in protest and swarm away from where she crashes.
It takes a bit of time for her to regain herself, to focus. Her eyes closed tightly, legs trembling from lack of use like a newborn foal.
[Delmar Meister] There’s a rattle and clamor in the alleyway he’s just stomped on by. It was the kind of thing that usually made people jump with fright when they were in a neighborhood they didn’t know. It was the kind of thing that people knew to stay away from when they were in neighborhoods they did know. Curiously, Delmar is neither of these. He is in between. So he does not jump, but he stops. He doesn’t pretend not to have heard, so he steps back. A moment later he’s walking into the alleyway, a sight less steady but sure of himself nonetheless. Curious as to what might have made the noise in the first place.
[Ylva Rattlebones] A rattle – a clinking of bones echoes faintly with the girl’s movements. Her back to Delmar as she begins to stand, her arms extended out in front of her, open hands scrape against the grungy filth of the brick wall she leans in, almost blindly, feeling her way up. He can see her head turn to the right, angling over her shoulder as if to cock an ear to listen.
A hiss erupts in the back of her throat, it sounded garbled and growlish like a threatened animal spooked at the first smell of a man. She was shorter than Delmar by two inches, long brown hair hanging in limp strands over her face and shoulders, concealing most of her features. The clothes she wore were not tailored for her body, stolen probably.
Boy’s styled baggy jeans hang off bony hips; a stained tee shirt hangs swallows up her torso. “Who – “ a pause, trying to access her surroundings as the girl spun around slowly in Delmar’s direction. “Smell monkey filth…”
The clicking sound echoes with her movements, a necklace of small bleach-bone carved tablets hangs on a long cord around her neck. Black letters painted on its surface.
[Delmar Meister] For a second his brows shoot together with lightning quick anger. Monkey filth? You’re mother’s fulla monkey filth! At least, that’s what he would say. Except…there’s a quiet realization. And for now he’s silent. As Silent as he can be. Perhaps she can’t see him. Perhaps she simply can’t see him yet?
But he sees her. And he sees what she’s wearing. And when he does finally speak, he moves as well, taking a step to the side as much as the confines of the alleyway allow.
“You wear the runes…” He says, and relocates quickly further behind her.
[Dex+Stealth!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Ylva Rattlebones] “You wear the runes…”
The girl turns around, trying to pin the voice that seems to flow out of nowhere. Delmar manages to relocate hisself behind her, coming down wind so she can’t quite place his position.
She goes quiet, not answering him at first. And then, begins to turn in his direction. She pushes away from the wall, wobbling a bit in her stance until she has managed to part her legs and brace her bare feet on the ground. Thin, bony fingers stretch up to shove the limp mass of brown hair back from her face.
“Hear you, monkey, smell like troll piss you do.” She hissed out in a harsh voice, which sounded hoarse from lack of use. Her eyes open, sliding back and forth in their sockets… and yet not. Delmar can see her now.
The girl, at one time, would have been considered cute, if a bit plain. Her eyes – detracted from her appearance. The milky-white sheen over the right lacks a pupil, lacks sight, and the green left eye pierces him with a hard gaze. Thin white scars run in a faint pattern over her left cheek to the jaw line in an odd scarification. The bones around her neck clink against her chest.
[Delmar Meister] “You uhhh…you aint exactly a bowl of petunias, sweetheart.”
His voice was strong. Harsh, whispered, but strong. Strong from regular use. Strong from using it only when he needed to.
“You uhh…you have a name, gorgeous?”
[Ylva Rattlebones] His voice is strong, harsh against her ears, whisper yet still strong. She snorts out hot air from flaring nostrils, the thin white scars on her left cheek pulling tightly with the gesture.
His speech sounds odd to her, forces her to cant her head to the side like an animal. Bones clinking. She shuffles closer to Delmar, eyelids widening with the sensation of his breeding.
“Rattlebones, wolf-brother,” she answers him, thin lips pressing back in a wide grin, “Smell the blood of great fathers…” her head cocks to the right now, listening to the air, “Monkeys give name to Rattlebones – Ylva.” (Pronounced as ILL-vah)
[Delmar Meister] “Ylva. Good name. Old name. I’m Delmar.”
And he moves again, as if testing, this time moving to the side of the eye with no pupil before he speaks again.
“Not so good on two legs, are you?”
And he watches her closely, watching to see if she would react before he speaks or after.
[Dex+Stealth]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Ylva Rattlebones] [alert + perception]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Ylva Rattlebones] Delmar crosses the path of the moon-eye, it stares at him blankly, eyelid blinking only when the green-eye does so. It gives her the impression of laziness to her sight. It takes her a few seconds to react, listening to the shifting of his voice as it starts to grow distance – not in front of her – moving to the blindside.
Thin lips peel back even more into a wider smile, mimicking her birth moon. “Not so good.” She responds, her head finally swinging to the right and the body follows, turning in a shuffling circle to keep up with him.
[Delmar Meister] “Well uhhh…sucks to be you, huh. Not so good being in a uhhh…in a city. And you can’t get around on two uhhhh…legs. Might get hit by a bus or uhh…fall down a open sewer or something. Especially if you uhhh…can’t see where you’re goin.”
The way he says it all, despite his frequent stalling as if searching for words, sounded playful. Perhaps a little too playful. It was that sort of “Nice place you have here. It’d be a shame if something happened to it.” kind of cruel play.
[Ylva Rattlebones] She can pick out the mocking undertone in his words, which pulls her features into a mean scowl. It causes the white lines of scars to stand out as color flushes in her neck and face. The pattern of the white scars is almost discernable, like a tribal wing…
~Behind you…turn to the left..he’s over here~ soundless words spring to the girl, filling up her mind suddenly as she can feel the press of another with them. Delmar will see her hesitate in moving.
Lips peeled back in a mock-snarl as Rattlebones suddenly spins on the balls of bare feet, pinning both green-eye and moon-eye on him suddenly. Long brown hair whipping around her in a flurry, eventually settles around her shoulders.
“Mock again, monkey, and will snap into wolf and bite off your sack and swallow it whole.” Her threat is intensified by the growling pitch that rose up in her throat.
[Rory O’Bryne] There are three alleys, marked with windchimes that are handmade of a variety of stuff, pieced together by talented hands to make them beautiful and functional too. They are marked also by the abundance of alleycats that caterwaul, meow, and clamper over each other to get to the food and milk she places out for them. Despite her rage, they recognize her as the Bringer Of The Food, as well as blessed by their Totem. And she’s nice to them. Sometimes niceness goes a long way.
Soon, the alleyway spits her out, and she slides her arms through the straps of her backpack, and looks up at the sky. It’s hot today. Hotter than it’s been since she arrived. Chicago weather was confusing! Today, the curls are left to bounce freely, and freckles are in abundance across shoulders and back bared by a black tank top. The jeans are the same – dark wash, and sort of clean – as are the shoes.
She heads up the street, in no particular direction, which leads her particularly toward the voices in another alley, purely by chance.
[Delmar Meister] “My sac? Hah!”
And he’s stepping back cautiously, a wry smile on his face.
“You uhhh…you made a Rotagar laugh today, Ylva. So I uhhh…won’t take that personally. But lets try to uhhh…leave my sac out of it, alright?”
[Ylva Rattlebones] “Yes.” She retorts rather bluntly, eyes narrowing on Delmar. She can’t quite see him in the dim light of the alley, but his voice is loud and clear now that she stands in front of him.
Her hands perch upon bony hips, offering him a feral toothy grin. The points of her incisors, even in human guise, were sharp.
“Del-ma,” she starts to say, slowly testing the pronunciation of his name with her voice, “Be wary o tricking Godi.” Shaking her head at him, the bone runes clink around her neck loudly, “Spirits cheat to tell of your existence.” Her right hand pulls off her hip, extending upward to tap at the corner of her milky-white eye.
With that she nearly cackles, her voice pitching high to echo off the walls of the alley, “Come, black moon, speak o things to, Rattlebones, seeking prophetic blood-rimmed waters, where eye is eternal and swallows everything it touches.”
[Rory O’Bryne] It’s not long before she hears the voices, hears the rattle of bones. Steps slow as she peers into the alleyway. It’s not so odd that a follower of Alleycat be curious, right?
She see’s Delmar first, moving backwards, and she ducks her head as she starts to move on. Maybe he won’t notice her. Maybe he will and she’ll stand up to him. Maybe she’ll find something to fill her empty belly sooner than later.
That’s a lot of maybes.
[Delmar Meister] “Sounds fuckin awful. What uhhh….what you want with something like that, four-legs?”
Just then there’s a start in him. His arms and shoulders and chest jump at the movement, and his attention turns to it.
“Shh!” He says without thinking. His eyes catch a burn of red hair, and he smiles to himself, huffing.
“I’ve only heard of it. Still haven’t been myself. But maybe SHE KNOWS!”
His voice was loud, but not accusatory. Simply loud enough to let the little alley cat know she’s been found. Loud in an ‘I SEE YOU!’ sort of way.
[Ylva Rattlebones] He calls her four-legs and Rattlebones snorts at him indignantly, her chin lifting up as she is forced to stare up at him. He starts to wave his arms wildly in the air and the Godi’s attention swings. Her body pivots on bare feet as she turns around.
Her arms pull from her sides suddenly, angled up to try and balance her when she starts to sway, her body threatening to crash to the pavement as her legs try to give out.
[Rory O’Bryne] She lifts a hand and rubs at the side of her nose. Of course he saw her. Her hair is a beacon on it’s own, paired with pale skin, green eyes, and the blood of Celtic Kings and Warriors, wasted in fragile skin. The scent of her alley clings to clothing, though other than that, however, there is no scent. No oder that is distinctly her. No musk, no sweat, [no tears].
Fingers flex and curl, searching for something to do, and she shoves them deep into the pockets of her jeans. There’s a moment where she might move on – but she steps into the alley instead.
Maybe she knows. “What?”
[Delmar Meister] “Lady wants to get to some uhh…what was it? Prophetic eye? I uhhh…think she’s talkin’ about Maelstrom.”
He shrugs.
“You know how to get there, right?”
[Rory O’Bryne] Her eyes narrow, slightly. “Don’t you?”
[Delmar Meister] “Quit fuckin around, mule.”
It was the quickest, most fluid he’d ever spoken to either of them. It was also the closest his voice had come to sounding like anger.
[Ylva Rattlebones] Thin fingers lift up to her neck, hooking into the long cord that holds the bleached bones carved with runes. They slide down between her fingers as she bends her head, lifting the necklace up and over. She holds them in the air, allowing it to pool into the palm of her right hand, rattling them at Rory.
“Dragon bones whisper…” she hisses out in a low breath, nostrils flaring, thin white scars pulling on the skin of her left cheek. “Heart o city, blood-rimmed waters turn, black eye seeing, swallows everything it touch,” her eyes narrow on both of them.
She shakes the bones at Rory and then Delmar, “Speak—“ her voice cuts off, inhaling sharply as her green-eye focused on Rory, “Sin-born?”
[Rory O’Bryne] Something snaps in her, and she takes a slow, deliberate step toward Delmar, and slowly, deliberately, separately.
“Fuck.”
A beat and another step.
“You.”
Then, she studies Ylva, who names her sin-born, and she ducks her head slightly. “Rory.” She chews on her lower lip, briefly, before she nods. “Show you. Since he’s pot a nart.”
[Delmar Meister] Delmar’s eyes widen, and his spine straightens and stretches, as does the smile on his face. The smile which does absolutely nothing for his looks.
“Well yuck foo too! Look who finally grew a spine.”
[Ylva Rattlebones] There is a snap. The bones rattle violently as Rattlebones clutches them up tightly, bringing them to her mouth. She murmurs something to them, letting smooth white bones slink through her fingers like water. She begins to move; her steps slow but deliberate as she makes her way up to Rory.
The Godi only stands about five inches over five on bare feet. She extends her height, posturing up as she stands in front of Rory. The right hand holding the bone rune necklace draws back and then swings down as she smacks the mule across the cheek with a hard slap.
“Watch how speak, mule, to those o the truer blood.” she hisses out in disgust.
[Rory O’Bryne] Rory is not tall. She is thin and fragile looking, though looks are deceptive, strength is relative and her’s is well proven. Ylva deliberately makes her way toward her, and Rory’s shoulders hunch as words are hissed, disgust spit at the shy, and oft shamed ahroun. She meets her gaze and drops her eyes immediately.
“Then wind your own fay.”
Her hands are clenched in her pocket. Her rage spikes, hot and heavy, thick in the air, though she takes a step back. Then another. Then deliberately turns her back on Ylva, on Delmar, and moves back toward the street.
[Delmar Meister] There’s a sudden rattling laugh like a machine gun as Rory speaks. Delmar’s voice bounces off the walls even as he trots forward.
“Hey! Hey, where you goin? C’mon, don’t be like that.”
[Ylva Rattlebones] Rattlebones snorts out, lifting an eyebrow at Rory as she stares after her. She keeps her chin held up, the dragon bone necklace sliding over her head and settled around her throat once more. She watches Delmar begin to chase after the mule, laughing as he does.
She turns her head, phlegm building up in the back of her throat and nose as she hawks it up and then spits in out. Her arms folding across her chest as she watches, disgruntled.
“What say again, Gaia’s abomination?”
[Rory O’Bryne] Delmar comes after her, laughing. And she keeps walking, until he’s close enough. Then she whips around to face him. Bloodred curls flying, then settling to slap against her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders.
“Why?”
Green eyes settle on Ylva for a minute as she spits, then back to Delmar. She speaks again, and Rory shakes her head, slightly. “Wot north it.”
Fighting? Leaving? Talking? Herself? Them? She does not explain.
[Ylva Rattlebones] “Del-ma.” The Godi’s voice follows them, she begins to walk, slowly at first, testing the balance of new legs like a newborn foal and goes.
Plain features twist in scowl, making her seem uglier than she is, eyelids crinkling around her moon and green eyes. “Wot north it?” She mimics Rory, her tongue clucking against the roof of her mouth, as thin lips pressed into a grim line, as she took no enjoyment out of badgering the Fianna.
“Stag’s blood is weak. Let run so IT tucks tail o’er ass to hide nose.” She hissed out, “Such a waste o good blood.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Above them, the fire-escape rattles. The building is condemned, old. Lord knows what she was doing here. Her hand comes to rest on the metal railing, an eyebrow arching as she leans over to look at the gathering of Garou. Her lips draw tight in a line of tension.
Were she a more conversational sort, she might mutter something like ‘Of all the luck.’
But she’s not. She says nothing.
Instead, she steps over the railing, one hand resting on the metal for balance, and begins to descend. The kinwoman is clearly what she is – her blood speaks of her lineage. Her skin and bones carry the genes of heroes. It is a rare thing that a Garou mistakes her.
Stag’s blood is weak.
The once-Fianna’s steady descent pauses, but her back is turned, so an expression is impossible to see. Several seconds later, she continues again.
[Delmar Meister] “Ey!” Delmar exclaims and jumps sideways, trying to avoid a sudden wad of phlegm headed his way. “Woah!” He exclaims again. “Abomi—man. Fuck. That’s fucked up. Uh…listen. Hrm. Its uhhh…Tongue Twister, right?”
[Rory O’Bryne] Stags blood is weak..
Delmar may say something. The rattle of the fire escape registers, as does the blood of the woman rattling them, but she ignores it for now. Her eyes are on the wolf. Waiting. Measuring. And then she steps forward, plants both hands on the Ylva’s shoulders suddenly and shoves.
“Wot. Neak!”
Being ridiculed she can handle. She can walk away. She can quit speaking as she never hears the mistake, hearing only what she intended to say, not what she does say.
But being told she is weak? She cannot do any of those things.
[Ylva Rattlebones] The mule begins to stand up for herself against the oppression of the wolf-born that slanders her with insults. If it were any other Garou, they would probably have raged at the Godi by now, threatening to rip her throat out. Rattlebones snorts, hot breath rushing out of flaring nostrils.
Rory steps up to defend herself, waiting and measuring Ylva. She manages to plan both hands on the Godi’s shoulders and shoves back. It nearly sends Rattlebones back off her feet, causing her to stagger and sway. Her teeth grit together, the muscle in her jaw ticking with tension as she growls out dangerously.
Her eyes slid back and forth wildly in their sockets, trying to focus with the one good eye as the milky-one spasms. The bones around neck clink together.
[Delmar Meister] “ALRIGHT!” He says, though not in a reveling sort of sense. Not entirely at least. There was a smile on his face though. And if one looked closely they could see the glee in his eyes from the sudden violence. And who’d have thought it would be directed at someone other than himself.
Delmar looked to Imogen as she clamored down the fire escape. He cast a quizzical glance up at where she came from, then back to her in a ‘What the fuck?’ expression, and then he’s back to the other two.
“Uhhhhh….alright. ALRIGHT! Lets cut the shit here!”
[Imogen Slaughter] Delmar’s what the fuck glance is met with a cool regard, then a brief shake of her head, eloquent in wordlessness. Don’t ask.
She pauses at the bottom of the ladder, a good distance from the ground. Now would be to lower herself dangling before dropping. Instead, she pauses, waiting for the outcome.
Foolish, after all, to leap into the fray with her skin so friable and Garou claws so sharp.
[Rory O’Bryne] The wolf staggers backwards, and Rory stalks forward, daring her to say something else, to call her weak again with just the fire in her gaze. Her rage sizzles, crackles, flares about her as she waits.
Delmar speaks, but she does not spare him a glance. Her hands are loose at her sides, her fists clenched, then slowly, deliberately flexed.
Waiting.
[Ylva Rattlebones] [Partial transformation – mixed morph merit to bring diff to 6, spend 1 wp]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Ylva Rattlebones] Delmar yells at them to cut the shit out, but neither seems to listen – at least the wolf-born does not. She refuses to back down to the sin-born Fianna. A growl issues in her throat, as her arms press against her sides. The muscles and skin ripple around bare flesh as claws begin to form, morphing hands into weapons to use in her monkey-skin. Rory waits and Rattlebones lunges at her with claws extending up to swipe at the mule.
[Rory O’Bryne] [Inits!]
[Rory O’Bryne] [Still homid – +6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Ylva Rattlebones] [Homid 7+]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Delmar Meister] Homid [+8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3
[Delmar Meister] ((OOC Note: All parties agree on Mei as a mod))
[Imogen Slaughter] (Order is:
1. Rory and Ylva.
2. Delmar.
So since we have a tie, what I’ll do is get Delmar to declare first and get Rory and Ylva to declare to me in PMs. I’ll post them up when I’ve received both.)
[Delmar Meister] There was an odd machine-gun burst of laughter as the two squared off and went at it. Delmar, sick bastard that he was, was actually enjoying all this. Even if just a little bit. He shakes his head, and next is shrugging, shaking himself free of his coat and stepping toward them, reaching for what looks to be a straight piece of rebar strapped to his leg, with one end wrapped in leather, and the other end carrying a heavy hammers face, and a menacing spike on the other side.
[Declare
Reflexive: Activate Persuasion
1a: Weapon sweep Rory
1b: Weapon Sweep Ylva
Rage action: Feint with weapon/Intimidate on both.]
[Imogen Slaughter] (… just for the sake of formality)
Imogen init. +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3
[Rory O’Bryne] Declare:
2 rage: 1 snap to Hispo
Split first action
1a: bite Ylva
1b: bite Ylva
1R: bite AGAIN.
Note that she will back off if Ylva falls incap. All are intended to get her to incap, no farther.
to Imogen Slaughter
[Imogen Slaughter] Rory O’Bryne
Sun 5:23 pm
to Imogen Slaughter
Declare:
2 rage: 1 snap to Hispo
Split first action
1a: bite Ylva
1b: bite Ylva
1R: bite AGAIN.
Note that she will back off if Ylva falls incap. All are intended to get her to incap, no farther.
Ylva Rattlebones
Sun 5:19 pm
to Imogen Slaughter
[Action: split action claw attack A: Right claw swipe B: Left claw swipe. Does have dex specialty quick, so up to you if you want to allow it for attack rolls]
[Rory O’Bryne] split 1: Dex + Brawl + Hispo + AlleyCat = 3+4+2+1= 10 -2 for split = 8 diff 5 – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Rory O’Bryne] Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 3=12
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Ylva Rattlebones] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Rory O’Bryne] split 2: Dex + Brawl + Hispo + AlleyCat = 3+4+2+1= 10 -3 for split = 7 diff 5 – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Rory O’Bryne] Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 3 = 12
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 5, 5, 5, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Ylva Rattlebones] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Ylva Rattlebones] Split Action 1: right claw swipe Dex specialty: quick for rerolls
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Ylva Rattlebones] Damage str +1
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 6 (Failure at target 6)
[Ylva Rattlebones] reroll Split Action 1: right claw swipe Dex specialty: quick for rerolls -2 for split
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Ylva Rattlebones] Split Action 2: left claw swipe dex speciatlty: quick for rerolls -3 for split
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Ylva Rattlebones] Damage str+2
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Delmar Meister] RE-DECLARE!
1 Rage – Snapshift to Crinos
1a – Bite to Hamstring Rory
1b – Hammer Rory (Lethal)
1c – Hammer Rory again
All at +1 diff for change.
[Delmar Meister] [Hamstring: Dex 5 + Brawl 2, -3 for split, diff 8]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)
[Delmar Meister] [Damage: Crinos Str 6 + Bite 2 + Suxx 3 -1 = 10]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Rory O’Bryne] Soak:
Sta+Hispo = 4+3=7
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Delmar Meister] [Hammer time: Dex 5 + Melee 3, -4, Base diff 7 for lethal, +1 for change]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Delmar Meister] Damage Str+3+1
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Rory O’Bryne] Soak: Sta+Hispo = 4+3=7
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Delmar Meister] And Number 3, -5
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 6 (Failure at target 9)
[Rory O’Bryne] R1: Switch bite to Delmar for +1 diff.
Dex + Brawl + Hispo + AlleyCat = 3+4+2+1= 10 diff 5 +1= 6 reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 6, 9, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Rory O’Bryne] Damage: Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 2 =11
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Delmar Meister] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Imogen Slaughter] Stag’s blood is weak, Ylva had said. There is a saying, particularly among the British, where Stag’s blood first bloomed, “Blood will out.”
Blood will prove itself, it means. It always does, in the end.
Stag’s blood proves itself now.
The fight is quick, short and brutal. Rory’s teeth tear into Ylva’s flesh, causing goblets of skin and muscle to catch in the hispo’s teeth. Ylva’s claws find only air and fur. Several tufts of the Fianna abomination’s pelt flutter toward the ground, scattered by the combatants.
Delmar shifts to his war-form, a vicious beast of strength and power, his rebar painfully small and slender in his massive paw. He dives for the flesh of the quadripedal beast, his incisors tearing flesh and fur, but leaving little more than a trickle of blood. His rebar glances off the hispo’s shoulder. Then its foreleg. Neither blow have a satisfying sensation of damage. No vibration of hitting bone.
And the Fianna turns on the other Garou. Teeth tear skin, flesh and sink into bone between the crux of shoulder and neck. Fresh blood fills the metis’ mouth, mingling with the blood of the wolf-born. Fresh meat fills her tongue.
Blood hits the pavement of the alleyway. Growls of beasts fill the air. Imogen draws her gun, keeping it low at the side as she remains at her perch on the ladder, watching to see where it goes now.
[Rory O’Bryne] The blood of the Fenrir is thick on her tongue, her eyes vibrant and green even in this form, alive with rage.
She is not weak.
She will not back down.
The low growl rumbling through her chest declares it so.
[Ylva Rattlebones] One could presume that the she-wolf was tough by the looks of her. The white lines of thin scar tissue that decorate her left cheek to the jaw line, the lack of sight in the milky-white tissue in the right eye socket. The Fenrir were bred hard for war. There was no backing down from the fight, even if Rory paints the alley with Rattlebones’ blood.
And the Fianna does just that.
Within moments, Rory has defeated both of the Fenrir, first taking down Rattlebones and then Delmar who joined afterwards. The Godi staggers back several paces, arms folding across her torso as the pain of her wounds racks through her entire body. She grits her teeth, hissing out in a harsh whisper of breath.
The dragon bones clink around her neck, tainted with her own blood as she stares hard at the Fianna for a moment with her good eye. “Enough.” She pants out in a ragged breath, her head snapping to the side to flip some of the long brown hair back off her shoulder, chin lifting up to bare her throat. “Proven worth. No continue fight – and shed anymore blood.” She watches Delmar out of the corner of her good eye, to see what he’ll do.
[Delmar Meister] Delmar reeled back, his form large, still hooded, still garbed in that black hoody, though now stained glossy dark red and torn from Tongue Twister’s jaws. He clutched at his body, staggering back and leaning on his hammer, body low to the ground.
“UUUHR!”
He groaned. It was possible that it meant something. it was possible that he was trying to say something. Trying to bring peace between the wolf-born and the sin-born. He might have been submitting to the one he would have called ‘mule’. Instead all that came out of his war-formed throat was…
“UUuuUURH!”
…braying.
[Rory O’Bryne]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5) [WP]
[Delmar Meister] Its easy to tell what he was trying to get at if you know what to look for. Towering as he was in his warform, he carried himself low to the ground. Lower than Rory in her Hispo form. Lower, and smaller, almost scraping and cringing from the pain.
It was a submission. Just not a very clear one.
[Rory O’Bryne] The Wolf-Born calls for the fight to stop, and bares her throat. Rory takes a step toward her, her teeth bared, the growl deepening, before she deliberately steps back again.
Accept Honorable Surrender.
Delmar brays, and she whips her great head toward him, the vibrant green of her eyes studying him, his body language, the sounds that come from his throat, looking for any hint of surrender, gathering his intent.
He surrenders.
She steps toward him once, the growl low in her throat, before she clearly steps back once more, the same she had for Ylva. Acceptance. She shakes herself vigoriously, blood and gore flying from fur and maw, until she shifts back to more human skin, and stretches to stand tall as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and spits to the side.
There is still a fire in her eyes, in her stance, but the surrender she understands, and accepts.
[Imogen Slaughter] (I’m gonna wait for everyone to post one more time now that people are starting to shift down or not. *LOL* ‘cuz that’s about when my action is gonna change.)
[Ylva Rattlebones] Rattlebones continues fend off the ravages of pain. The blood of her wounds seeping through her clothes, soaking up the blood as attempts to erect herself to her full height, dropping her head down once Rory has accepted the submission. She calls on abilities to resist the pain, feeling a numbness lace around strained muscles. She can’t gauge the grievances of her wounds just yet, but a glance to Delmar shows that he fared just as she had. She hobbles over to the Rotagar, a hand stretching out to smack roughly against Delmar’s wounded side and heals him.
[mother’s touch on Delmar 1 gnosis]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 5, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 1) Re-rolls: 1
[Delmar Meister] “UUHR!” He barks once again, and his form slowly melts into something smaller, and smaller, until the skinny, blonde fenrir with the shit-eating grin is leaning against his hammer, still clutching at his torn open chest.
“Uhhhh…Fuck! Uhhhhh….what’d you…what’d you go and do that for? Fuck. Uhhhhhhh…..”
[Delmar Meister] ((DLP! Didn’t see that one))
[Ylva Rattlebones] (lol, she would have smacked him in the chest then, wherever the wound was)
[Delmar Meister] ((Oh, nevermind. that still applies. Carry on.))
[Rory O’Bryne] She takes another step back, their blood coating her chest, soaking into her tank top. She slides her backpack off, and opens it to retrieve a zip up sweatshirt, and slip it on.
She says nothing while she zips it up to cover the blood, and pulls the hood up over her curls to contain them, to shadow her face. Only when her backpack is back on her shoulders, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jeans again does she answer.
What’d she do that for? “Proof.”
[Imogen Slaughter] The Garou begin to shift down, their forms bloodied and rent with damage. Imogen regards them from her perch, her mouth drawing tight, her eyes moving upward toward the sky, then down again. As Delmar yelps in pain under Ylva’s ministrations, the doctor slides her gun back into its holster.
She lowers herself from the final rung of the fire escape’s ladder, supporting her weight with her arms, her body against the rung. When she drops, she does so without fear. She lands with a solid thump, her knees bending to absorb the impact.
“Yeh may want t’get deeper into the alleyways,” she says without preamble and to no one in particular. “Even th’humans could smell this much blood.”
[Kemp Oates] From the roof above Imogen came the sound of a voice and then the deliberate rattle of the fire escape as he came down with enough noise to raise the dead. Seems the smell of blood did indeed draw attention.
“What the fuck was slaughtered here?”
[Delmar Meister] “Proof huh. Well uhhh…way to prove yourself. Now you gonna take her to maelstrom or not?”
He stood now, giving a strange look to Ylva’s strange eye. A blood smeared, perfectly healed chest peeks out under the ripped clothing.
He looks back over to Imogen, eyes and nose taking in more of Stags blood. Great. Just great.
His attention snaps up to Kemp’s voice, and he gets the same ‘Where the fuck did you come from?’ look that he’d given Imogen, who now got an even stronger, more perplexed look.
“Uhhhh…hey Kemp.”
[Imogen Slaughter] The kinwoman is slight – small bones, slender body. Her skin is pale, porcelain like, her hair flaming, vibrant, as might be expected from someone of her tribe.
She makes no move to approach any of the bloody and bleeding Garou
Her head does turn, however, to look at Kemp as he comes down the exact same fire-escape she herself just descended. Her brow furrows briefly. One imagines she wonders if the Rotagar was shadowing her.
Rather than bringing up that subject, she answers his question.
“Each other.” A tilt of her head indicating the Garou.
[Rory O’Bryne] She narrows her gaze at Delmar, though her attention is jerked up to Imogen, and Kemp in turn. There is something she does not understand, here. Something that nags at her, but she is not so quick to put into words.
Another step back, to keep everyone in sight, as she survey’s the blood spatter, and then looks at the Fenrir. “You.” There’s a pause, and then. “I’ll clay and stean the alley.”
[Ylva Rattlebones] The sound of metal grating against the sides of the building snaps her head up, her nostrils flare out as she breathes in the scent of the human woman with flaming hair. Her good eye squints slightly, she says nothing to the kin, returning her eyes back to Delmar.
When she sees the perfectly smooth skin appear beneath the ripped clothing, the wounds knitted together. Rattlebones grunts out with satisfaction. She drops the bloody hand back to her own side, turning away from the others. The blood split upon the ground fills her nostrils mingles with the wretched stench of the alley, causing her to sneeze.
They babble – another ringing on the metal ladder – her head snaps up to focus her eyes onto Kemp as he descends. She does not offer up an answer, merely shuffles further into the alley to get out of sight at Imogen’s suggestion.
The girl is thin, standing no taller than five inches over five. Blood-caked brown hair falls limply around her features concealing part of her face. At one time she might have been considered cute, though her looks are plain. The left eye a dark green, the right a milky-white, sightless. Stolen clothes hang loose and torn over her body, bit of green ink work peeks out on her left shoulder. Around her neck hung a rope of small bleached bone tablets with runes painted in black on them, also flecked with her own blood.
[Kemp Oates] “Well that makes a lot of fuckin sense.”
He dropped the last few feet to the pavement with a bending of knees. Sweeping the hair back from his eyes with one hand even as he straightened up to his 6’5″ height to tower over Imogen from behind.
“Hello Delmar. Rory. Ain’t no need for you to stay and do maid work Rory. If anyone needs to clean, it’s all them involved. Don’cha think? Now, who the fuck is that?”
Pointing straight at Ylva.
[Rory O’Bryne] She glances at Kemp, before down, hiding a little grin as she admits, “I won.”
She WAS involved, and she is covered in Fenrir blood under the hooded sweatshirt hastily donned afterwards. She should clean.
[Kemp Oates] “I ain’t at all surprised ya won, Rory. Ya take on both at once or did they take numbers?”
He was still eying the weird looking girl with the freaky eye and necklace and there was a not so nice comment sitting on the tip of his tongue, just dying to come out. Rory got a lift of his chin. He’d hoped she’d come out of the beaten dog shell and it looked like she was blooming faster than expected.
[Delmar Meister] “That’s Ylva. Uhhhh….Rattle bones. She’s trying to uhhh….get to Maelstrom—Don’t! Don’t uhhhh….bring it up or she’ll start wooping and uhhh….hollering again and shaking her bones at you.”
He shakes his head and shrugs.
“Godi.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Kemp has been at her back more times than she can remember. It is where he most prefers to appear, perhaps in a bid to make the reticent doctor shriek in fright.
It hasn’t happened yet.
He is at her back now, his rage washing over her. It is a certain testimony to her strength of will that she does not move away.
Her hands lift to her jeans, coming to rest near the hips. Her thumbs hook through the belt loops, her fingers spreading at her thighs. She turns her head while the Garou talk, watching the mouth of the alleyway.
[Kemp Oates] “Yeah? Well I might shake a bone back and do some whooping of my own.”
His smile only grew wider.
“She looking for the spot, point her in the direction. She’s a Godi, she can speak to the spirits, they got road maps and shit.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She rubs the side of her nose. “Both.” A beat. “She called we meak. Am many things – nut bot weak. He jumped in.”
Delmar avoids the thought of going to Maelstrom himself, again, and she glances at him, but shrugs it off. Not her problem.
[Kemp Oates] If one jumped in to help the other, meant they must know each other in his book.
“Really?”
His attention was back on his Auspice Mate.
“So ya know her, do ya? The whooping one with the pirate eye?”
He pointed at his own eye and squinted.
“So, ya want her to find the place, ya take her or tell her to use her connections with the spirits and ask them. I am sure they would be pleased as shit to show her the way. Though if I were you, next time I jumped in on a cat fight, I’d put a skirt on so maybe ya don’t lose.”
[Kemp Oates] He murmured to Imogen.
“Ever hear that pirate joke about the two pirates on the ship of the boat. Captain and First Mate. First Mate look at the captain and says. Pardon me askin Cap’n, but how ya be getting that there peg leg?”
[Ylva Rattlebones] The Godi has kept her silence as they speak about her, her eyebrows rising up slowly as she dominates the conversation. She clears her throat, feeling it grow dry with each swallow.
“Don’t know Del-ma. He jumped in o own violation. Did not ask him to, was between her and me. Is done o’er now.” Her voice is hoarse from a lack of use, her nostrils flaring out slightly.
[Imogen Slaughter] Kemp murmurs in Imogen’s ear, and while it is not audible beyond the two of them, her reaction is. It is something akin to incredulity mixed with incomprehension. She turns her head slightly – hardly necessary to do more with the Rotagar’s proximity.
Her answer is low-pitched, though the tone matches her expression.
“What on earth are you talkin’ about?”
[Delmar Meister] “I uhhhh…Just met her. And I was only trying to uhhh…get them to cut it out. But…fine. Whatever you say, Rhya. I’ll take her.”
[Kemp Oates] “Well then, he got what he asked for.”
He had straightened up to lift his voice enough for Ylva to clearly hear it. Then he bent to continue his story to Imogen.
“I’ll get to that part. So like the captain looks at the first mate and says. Oh tis a tragic tale. One day I be sailing the high seas and Moby Dick jumped up and bit my leg off at the knee. That’s how I be getting this here peg leg.”
He straightened and looked at Delmar when Delmar spoke up.
“Good way to get them to stop, jumping in a cat fight and all. Before ya take her, ya make sure who and what ya got with ya. As I said, she any good, she could speak to the spirits in the first damned place.”
And just like that he bent to continue his story yet again.
[Kemp Oates] “So the mate says to the captain. Oh, that’s a pity and a shame cap’n and the captain said, that it is, that it is.”
His words were smooth and he put on a bad pirate accent when he spoke as them.
“So after time passed the Mate worked up his courage and asked the captain. Cap’n, I hope ya don’t mind me askin, but how ya be gettin that there hook on yer arm?”
[Kemp Oates] “The Captain looked to the Mate and said. Well, that there is a tragic tale. Ya see, one day I be sailing the high seas, hunting Moby Dick to get me leg back. And up out of the water he came and he bit my hand off, right there. And that be how I be gettin this here hook on my arm.”
“The Mate made the right sounds of condolence and said. Oh what a pity, what a shame. And the Captain said. That it is, that it is.”
[Imogen Slaughter] The kinwoman adopts an expression of attentiveness as Kemp tells her the story.
Privately, she suspects she is going to regret simply telling the Rotagar that yes, she has heard it before.
[Kemp Oates] “After they sailed for a time more, the First Mate once again worked up his nerve. He said to the Captain. Cap’n, I hope ya don’t mind me askin, but how did ya come to be wearin that there patch on your eye?”
“The Captain once again replies with. Well that there is a tragic tale. One day I be sailing the high seas and I looked up and a seagull done shat in me eye.”
[Delmar Meister] “Well uhh…”
He looked at the scarred faced Godi perplexed.
“How the hell do I do that?”
[Rory O’Bryne] She blinks as Kemp goes on and on about some pirate or something, and she just watches him a long moment.
Then she steps back toward the street judging the grade of the alley, to see where it would drain. Judging it drains near the manhole at the back end, she crouches at the Street side of the alley, and once she looks behind her to ensure they’re still relatively private, she takes a breath, and spreads out her hands…
(Create Element)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Rory O’Bryne] And once the water appears on the pavement, she stands, and starts scooting it along with the side of her foot. She still pays attention to the rest of them, but does her best to disperse the scent of blood toward the drain as she does so.
After all, she spilled it.
[Kemp Oates] “Well, the Mate had been expecting some fantastic tale and instead got Shit. So he looked at the Captain and replied. But Cap’n, a seagull shattin in yer eye don’t make ya lose yer eye.”
“The Captain looked at the first mate, lifted his hooked hand and said. It does when ya have a hook for a hand.”
Once more his attention was drawn to Delmar and he straightened up to speak.
“Make her show ya something to prove who she claims to be.”
It was about then that Rory moved and spread her hands at the end of the alley and he hoped to fuck they were not between her and her target as he bent to Imogen once again.
“This might not be good, but let me add this. My question is, do ya think her eye is like that cause she got shat in it, or do ya think she was running with that there necklace on and it put her eye out?”
[Kemp Oates] One moment he was joking away with Imogen and the next he was moving for higher ground, offering the small Kinswoman a hand up.
“In coming tide or something.”
[Rory O’Bryne] (OOC: It’s not a flood! haha!)
[Kemp Oates] ((He melts))
[Delmar Meister] ((Gotta leave in about 15 folks))
“Huh.” He huffed to himself, still considering.
“Alright, uhhhh…Rattlebones. Lets see some of that uhhh…Godi Magic, eh?”
[Ylva Rattlebones] Rattlebones levels her good eye on Delmar, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. One corner of her mouth pulls back slightly as she listens to Kemp’s story.
“Ask yourself if want to know the answer.”
She regards Delmar, her arms remain folded across her chest as she waits for him to make a request of her. Still the worst for wear as she carries the bulk of her damage. “I healed your ass didn’t I?”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen smirks faintly at the quip of the joke, answering her in equally low tones, “I do not know,” she says, “but I do not suggest you ask her quite like tha’.”
Kemp grabs hold of the ladder, swinging himself up to get out of the way of the water. Imogen casts the Rotagar a dry glance, merely stepping back to avoid getting the water on her shoes – flat soled and admittedly inexpensive, but still hers nonetheless.
Delmar asks about Godi tricks. “Why not ask her the name o’ the Sept’s Grand Elder,” she says “If if she’s o’ yer tribe, ask her the name o’ yer eldest.”
[Kemp Oates] Imogen was always so smart, that’s what he liked about her. That and the fact that her legs weren’t like swinging doors, always open for business.
Ylva spoke up and he replied from his new perch.
“I already made my own answer, but come again, please drive thru.”
[Delmar Meister] “Shit. You’re right. Alright uhh…lets uhh…lets get outta here.”
And without much ceremony, the young rotagar is heading off, half expecting the Godi to follow.
[Rory O’Bryne] Kemp jumps up and out of the way, and Rory blinks at him, but then simply continues. She is unsurprised when Imogen simply moves backwards. The scrape of her shoes is the only sound as she continues to scoot the water, directing it, and using her toe to scrape a few spots that are stubborn as she moves. The scent of blood disperses, eases, and fades from notice as it falls down the drain.
[Kemp Oates] He kind of liked his new perch, having always preferred heights. And he waited to see what would happen next. Twiddling his thumbs.
[Ylva Rattlebones] “Whatever answer you choose, it holds no truth,” a pause, “Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya.”
The girl steps away, bloody ripped clothes and bare feet to pad across the washed street to follow Delmar. If the younger rotagar were smart, he would know better than to drag her through the city looking like a mess. She says nothing else to the others, merely follows Delmar.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s eyebrow arches slightly, turning her head to cast a glance up at Kemp. “S’pose that’s an answer in and o’ itself, isn’t it just?”
[Kemp Oates] If Ylva were smart, she would know to take care of herself and not follow through the streets looking as she did. He grinned like the cat that ate the bird with Ylva’s response.
“Oh right, ya know all the answers, that’s why ya need a tour guide.”
He shrugged to Imogen.
“Who knows? Every Godi I ever met has been mental.”
[Delmar Meister] ((That’s about it for me guys. I’m bowing out here. Thanks for playing, it was a REAL blast!))
[Rory O’Bryne] She finishes her little chore. It’s not perfect, but it will do. It’s not as if there’s an actual body for all the blood. She rubs her chin with the back of her hand, dried blood flaking from her skin with the movement. Now the only thing that holds the scent of blood strongly in the alley is Rory herself.
She glances up at Kemp. “Safe to dome cown, now.”
[Kemp Oates] “Ya sure? I’m so sweet that if I get wet, I’ll sure as fuck melt and we can’t take my irritating presence out of the world that easily. I mean, who would piss in people’s cheerios for them?”
He responded to Rory even as he gave up his perch, coming down.
[Imogen Slaughter] She steps out of the way of Kemp’s descent.
“I hate t’break it t’yeh,” she informs the rotagar mildly. “But you’re not the wicked witch o’ the west. The likelihood o’ you melting is rather low.”
[Rory O’Bryne] She ducks her head a little as they banter, to hide the little grin under escaping curls. She shoves her hands into her pockets again, wriggles her toes in her now soaked shoes.
She, clearly, will not melt.
[Kemp Oates] “I am sweet. So sweet I melt if I get wet. It is well known that cotton candy melts when it touches the tongue. I am far sweeter than that.”
He swept a hand over his body as he spoke, indicating himself. Then he made a halo over his head with his fingers.
“And I am angelic.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s breath exhales sharply in amusement.
“You’re somethin’ alright. Cotton candy and sweet do not come to mind.”
[Kemp Oates] “I know your dreams. I dance through them.”
He paused just enough for drama.
“Naked on cotton candy clouds.”
[Rory O’Bryne] There’s the smile again, briefly, before she looks out to the street, and down to herself.
“Time to shind a fower.”
And a wash machine, to take care of her clothing. She’s a couple choices, once closer and certainly more preferred than the other. And neither involving naked Fenrir on cotton candy clouds.
A Fury smitten with a kitten, on the other hand…
[Kemp Oates] “Heh, don’t melt Rory. I would.”
He saluted her as she made to leave. Still busy irritating Imogen which was evidenced when he started batting his lashes at her again. Making dimples in both cheeks with his fingers.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen casts Kemp a dark glance. “You’re mad,” she informs him, meaning something other than ‘angry’.
Her attention returns to Rory as she says … it takes a moment to understand, a brief moment of a perfectly blank expression. Then, the click of understanding. “Ha’ a good night,” she says, simply.
[Rory O’Bryne] (Thanks for the scene! She’s a planned scene with Gabriel in a few minutes – conveniently her need of a shower gives her an excuse to bust in on him. Ha!)
to Imogen Slaughter, Kemp Oates
[Kemp Oates] ((Thank you!))
to Imogen Slaughter, Rory O’Bryne
[Imogen Slaughter] (( *LOL* Have fun!))
to Kemp Oates, Rory O’Bryne