[Fons Van Der Noot] (1-2-3 Not it)
[Izzy Montoya] Lake View is supposed to be the nicer area of town. It is -sometimes. Condos, theaters, Chicago’s rich and famous, so on and on forth, but that doesn’t make them immune to crime. Not in Chicago, and since she’s been back, her case load has doubled what it was in Miami. It’s a damn good thing she loves what she does…
Today, that means she’s outside a building, the yellow police tape that blocks off the entrance fluttering in the wind and snow as she directs the crew on which steps to take next. She’s clearly in her element; comfortable, confident, as she points out something to a colleague, while looking over his shoulder to the notebook in his hand. Only once she’s satisfied that he knows exactly what she’s looking for does she step aside, peel off a blue plastic glove and slap him on the shoulder with her bare hand, before turning to walk away, working the other glove off, and into her pocket so that she can replace them with her leather gloves.
It’s fucking cold in Chicago.
[Izzy Montoya] .
to Izzy Montoya
[Fons Van Der Noot] Cold is a relative term. Compared to Miami, this city was damn cold, in fact it was down right arctic. Then again if she had come from someplace like Canada or Alaska, well then she would feel at home.
But then again it was a little abnormally cold even for Chicago. Already below freezing and it isn’t really in winter yet. Snow drifts already on the street, and slush in the gutters. It made the city look horrific, even if that was possible at all. The scab couldn’t get much worse than it did now.
He seemed to just sneer at humans as he passed by, holding his Emperio Armani trench coat closer to his form as he passed, they were most of the reason that the city grew out of control. The second city was a blight that he hated so much, if only the caern was not found in this crap hole.
But that was not the case and he would suffer for the sake of Gaia, suffer from the corruption it tossed upon them. But it did offer a larger gathering than he would have expected, kin and true alike.
[Izzy Montoya] Izzy stands out in a crowd. She holds herself differently, she walks with confidence born of clawing her way through the ranks of men who consider themselves dominant in her field. Her eyes are sharply intelligent, and her slender form is not unattractive. She’s no beauty queen, and doesn’t put off airs. There’s something supremely elegant in a woman who is confident though, and it attracts attention – as does the fact that her carriage and dress practically screams ‘cop’.
Her slacks are dark, her blouse light, and she’s given in and replaced her light leather with a thicker, warmer version in the form of a trench coat. It’s not closed though, keeping access to her weapon open, should she need it. She’s even pulled the holster from the small of her back to her hip, something she hasn’t had to do for years.
She stands out to others, as well, those in the know. Her breeding fairly screams of Norse Warriors and bloody battles, the tales of heroes born in battle, leaving destruction in their wake.
As she passes by Fons, her foot hits apatch of snow, and she slips, catching herself on a lamppost – and as she steadies herself, she does what she does oh so well – cusses up a storm. “Jesus, Mary mother of FUCK…”
[Fons Van Der Noot] She does indeed stand out from the crowd. Maybe the mortal dregs see something within the woman that is admirable, something strong and fierce, something independent and elegant. She may be confident as hell.
But he see something else when he moves to through the streets. All he can see is the barbarian invaders of the Norse, the hordes of Vikings that claimed many a caern in the name of defense. Something they knew better to try with his own tribe.
He watches her as she passes, eying her up and down as she moves. Muttering to himself.
“De verwanten in deze stad worden gekweekt als zij willen zilveren hoektanden zijn “
And as she slips on a part of snow and ice, barely catching herself on the lamp he can not hold back at a laugh. She does not seem so well bred at that moment.
[Izzy Montoya] He laughs, and she shoots him a glare, even as she catches her balance and footing on the ice. She smooths her jacket, and gives her gloves a firm yank into place again, all the while studying the man who laughed.
“The fuck you lookin’ at?”
[Fons Van Der Noot] He laughed a little more as she looked him over, trying to glare him down. But when she talks back to him, his laugh all but fades into a sneer. His eyes moving to meet her own. The whole of his six foot frame moving on her and with it the heat that his rage brought. She may be kin, but she did not seem to know the proper respect one should show a larger, more powerful predator.
“A man you should learn to respect more.”
His words are touched with the accent of one whose speaks English as a second language, the germanic tone it holds. He does not seem all to jovial now as he starts to infringe on her personal space, almost.
[Izzy Montoya] She smirks, and shakes her head, as he comes up into her personal space, his rage prickling along her skin. The moon is still heavy in the sky, though not so much as before – and she knows all too well the dangers of poking a Garou.
She just doesn’t care as she states with mockingly exaggerated patience “And I asked what YOU were lookin at. I know what I’m fuckin lookin’ at – an idiot who hasn’t realized that respect is earned, not handed out like fuckin’ candy just because ya have a fuckin’ set of balls.”
[Fons Van Der Noot] (It is better to be feared then loved. Intimadation go)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Izzy Montoya] [Fuckin fangs, man….]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Gabriella Bellamonte] Chicago was making up for its unseasonable warmth that it had been so generous to extend into the late weeks of November, and doing so with plenty of gusto. Temperatures crashed from the forties to the twenties in a span less than that of a week, snow had fallen and turned to slush when no further clouds dared to cloud the sky, when the cold grew too harsh for snow to want to fall anyways. The streets were gray, though in a neighborhood nice as this they were brightened, if only a smidgen, by the lamposts that framed the streets and the iron-wrought fence circled trees as well, each decorated with lights, small wreathes hanging off the petite black lampposts as well.
The city council deemed that the budget was in the green for holiday cheer in Lake View, while not so much in Bronzeville or the Cabrini.
Gabriella was out, escaping the Loft. She loved her brother dearly, she loved her sister as well, though this was perhaps only because of the fact that they were siblings, because she had to love them. Their interactions, their tenderness… It had always been there, but became odd and off-putting when puberty settled into adulthood. Gabriella left them alone, which might not have been the best idea overall, but was good for her. She wrapped up in a high-end gray trench coat, pulled on a black wool knit cap over bronze-blonde hair that was left down to keep her neck and ears warm, wore a slate gray scarf about her throat, tied so it fell over the swell of her bust, and a pair of dark wash jeans that she had tucked into knee-high black winter boots.
Her hands, also covered with gloves, were dipped into her coat pockets, and she walked at a pace clearly meandering up the sidewalk, clear blue eyes cutting the path in front of her.
Yellow police tape and confrontation. An unfamiliar, strong looking woman with brown hair and a pleasant face was glaring up into the face of… familiarity and friction. Friction glared right back with a harshness that sent shivers that had nothing to do with the wind chill down her spine, and she kicked up her pace a bit. Time to play base to this acid.
[Fons Van Der Noot] The beast within him starts to swirl and awaken as she pushes back at him. He does not look away, he does not snicker or smile as the woman steps up to him. And in that moment she can see it, the beast staring back at her now. Pent up rage barely held in check by the will of a true born.
“You are looking at a man who has earned his respect by the very birth he was given. Earned each turn of the moon, from the time forgotten by memory. Balls have nothing to do with this.”
[Izzy Montoya] A muscle in her jaw clenches, and she rolls her hands into fists to hide the tremble that snakes though her form, that blanches her skin and it is only by Fenrir determination and a force of will that keeps her rooted in place. She is DONE being intimidated.
He says balls have nothing to do with it, and she forces the smirk back across her lips. She should probably keep quiet. She’s not going too.
“Lucky for you, then, ain’t it.”
[Oh yes she’s dropping wp like mad to stay there…]
[Gabriella Bellamonte] Quiet steps sound on the pavement, soft soles and heels of winter boots carrying the Silver Fang kinfolk over to her tribesman and the woman that he was doing a fair job of looming over. She could read tension all through the woman’s form– in how tightly her jaw was clenched, the way her back was straightened, the tension of muscles, the planting of her feet, the profile of her face… All of that. Gabriella was good at reading people.
As for Fons, he looked like he was close to getting ahead of himself.
Gabriella introduced herself to the situation gently, unobtrusively as she could. This was the type of thing she learned in her ‘how to be a proper lady’ lessons of youth. She reached out to touch a hand to the crook of Fons’s arm and spoke softly, but clearly and certainly. “I don’t believe this is the best setting for such assertion, cousin.” As she said this, her gaze flickered toward the building just beyond them, decorated with police tape as though it were tinsel, holding what could very well be a dozen or so men that would gladly, perhaps eagerly pull pistols and level them on Fons for doing any wrong to another of their number.
[Fons Van Der Noot] He sniffed at the air a little when she seemed to be forcing back the desire to run. It intrigued him a little to see her stand up to him, try and act like she was not potential prey to him. But then again mother told him not to play with his food.
“I suggest you remember your proper place among your betters. Especially those that could do things that you only see in your nightmares. Especially those of your distant cousins.”
He could feel himself tighten his fists in his trench coat. He was almost to the point of snapping her in to now, coming oh so close to…
His eyes snap off from the woman standing their, defiant in his eyes to the wonderous form of Gabriella. His tension easing now, a nod offered to her before looking to the police tape beyond.
“I believe you may just very well be right.”
[Fons Van Der Noot] (Lets just check something)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Delmar Meister] This was not his neighborhood. The truth was, his neighborhood couldn’t be found anywhere in Chicago. People from here didn’t quite look like him (Pale skin, sharp cheeks) or move like him (hunched, limping, and slightly stiff legged on his right side) or dress like him. Well, maybe that last bit wasn’t exactly true.
Delmar actually pushed the black hoody off his head as ambled down the sidewalk. It wasn’t his policy to reveal that much of his sallow, gaunt face or the tangle of messy brown and blonde twists of his hair. But even covered, the sound of something caught his ears. The sound of someone talking. Talking about respect. Talking about turnings of the moon. Talking about time before memory. Only two types of folks talked like that. Crazies. And garou.
He stopped with a scrape of his stiff legged walk, approaching carefully on the sidewalk, but obviously attentive. Blue eyes flick from Izzy, to Gabriella, and finally settle on Fons.
[Izzy Montoya] The tension twists along her spine, her teeth grind all but audibly as he tells her to remember her place. Her lips curls, from smirk to sneer as she fights the urge to back down. She has clawed her way through ranks of many men just like this, though without the Trueborn abilities behind it. It’s one of the many things that pisses her off, and it’s clear that she’s willing to fight to remain, just to prove she can.
“And you should learn some fuckin manners, cousin. You fuckin’ touch me an’ I’ll put a fuckin’ bullet in your brain.”
Maybe not here. Maybe not now. But she certainly would, of that much she’s certain. She turns her gaze on Gabriella, and gives her a quick once over, snorting a breath as she calms the idiot Garou in front of them.
[Fons Van Der Noot] (WP)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Fons Van Der Noot] (Umm lets try that again, shall we?)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)
[Gabriella Bellamonte] Gabriella had hoped that everything was going to move along smoothly. That Izzy, with that tremble of primal terror wrapping roots around her spine, even if she refused to acknowledge or let it show, would let the confrontation end there and go back to the job at hand. Judging by the holster that crossed her torso, the gun at her hip, and the clothes she wore, Gabriella was quite certain that this woman was a part of CPD and was here for work. That she had something to be focused on.
…alas…
Something tightened at the corners of Gabriella’s mouth, along the line of her throat that was hidden by the thick dark fabric of her scarf, and she gripped at the sleeve of Fons’s coat a little more securely, speaking quietly.
“Pas ici, pas maintenant. Laissez lui allez, veuillez.”
[Fons Van Der Noot] He turns in a very sharp motion to the woman that he was just staring down. The words that she said almost ripping his very insides apart. And that glare once again comes down on her, this time teeth almost bared as he sneers. His hand almost reaches out for her, almost grabs her by the neck like he did with Rory. Almost chokes the very breath from her body. Almost.
But not this moment, not right now. And then Gabbie speaks once more and he just stands there, with his hand out of his pocket almost leveled on her.
“Et pourquoi devrais-je apprendre à ne pas d’elle une leçon proprement dite, en ce moment. Ces hommes se blottir pitoyable dans la peur, une fois qu’ils me verront.”
His eyes never leaving Izzy now.
[Izzy Montoya] He reaches fo her, he almost grabs her, and she knows that this is not going to end well. Yet she doesn’t move. She doesn’t do anything but slide her hand under the edge of her jacket. Gabriella might as well not even exist.
Then, a uniformed cop sticks his head out and calls her name.
Twice.
Then yells it.
She turns and looks at him, and nods, before she glances at the two of them. This time, she speaks to Gabriella – determined to get the last word in. “Get’im a fuckin’ leash.”
And she turns and stalks toward the uniform calling her back to work. “What the fuck, Gomez?” and she ducks under the tape and inside the building again.
(Sorry guys – she would totally stay to be beat up by Fons, but RL calls! I’ll be back asap!)