Evans
[nightmares, yo]
Dice: 7 d10 TN7 (2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )
zeal
They all got a letter yesterday.
A
few of them are not easy to find and their properties afford them
enough of a lookout that they could have seen a visitor coming. Others
live in secured buildings. Locks between them and the outside world. It
doesn't matter. The letters bear no postage and no return address and
they do not recognize the handwriting on the outside.
Thin block
letters score their names into the centers of the envelopes' faces. The
paper inside the envelopes is yellow, legal, without scent. The
handwriting on the letter itself is careful with an edge of anger to it.
The author pressed hard but did not smear the ink.
Each letter says the same thing, in the first paragraph:
You
and I have never met. I know you have no reason to read this, let alone
trust me, yet I write to you in the hopes that you are decent and will
meet with me anyway.
The rest of the letter is different for each person.
zeal
I
know what your baby's father is. I cannot prove it. But I know. I also
know the names of several other people you call friends, and I know what
they are too.
I worry my sister is one, too. I do not know what to do. Please meet me at the Wells Fargo center at 7pm tomorrow.
Don't make me come to you.
Evans
Sam
finds the letter in her mailbox, along with ads and junk mail and bills
and such. When she finishes sorting through the stack she picks up the
envelope, frowning a little. The Glass Walker isn't entirely married
to the idea of electronics, but paper correspondence? In this day and
age? When she opens it her frown deepens.
Well. That doesn't
really clear up much. Sam Evans has a lot of friends that are a lot of
things. So, is this letter calling out hackers? Members of the queer
community? Computer engineers? If there is one thing someone might be
worried their sister is, it's a computer engineer.
Garou, maybe?
Whatever
it is, despite the angry cast of the handwriting, someone is asking for
help. If there is one lesson Samantha Evans should have maybe learned
in her time in Denver it's to stop answering calls for help. She's seen
so much, nearly died a time or two. She also got a kid, though, so.
She
fires off a text to Keisha letting her know that something's up, leaves
Jake in the care of the nanny (a Bone Gnawer kinsman by the name of
Anthony, by the way, a kind man with a Garou cousin not far away just in
case of...well, just in case), and heads out to the Wells Fargo Center.
She
pulls her aqua blue CX-5 into the lot, but doesn't get out yet.
Instead, she hangs back in the driver's seat, checking her bag to make
sure she has all of the essentials. Notebook, wallet, taser, mace, 9mm
hand gun, check check check check check.
Lola Hawkes
Lola
had received a letter yesterday, pinned under the foot of the small
wooden table between two rocking chairs on her front porch. She was
immediately suspicious, as such is her nature, but after she'd opened
the letter and started reading that feeling was justified. By the time
she reached the end of the letter, the suspicion was replaced with
defensive anger that boiled in her ribs and flushed her face. It was a
watered down, impotent rage compared to what her Cousins carried, but it
had her crumpling the letter up in her fist and stomping inside of her
house none the less.
The next day she arrived at the Wells Fargo
Center as the letter had instructed, approximately ten minutes within
the seven o' clock hour. She had parked her old and half-rusted metal
deathtrap of a white truck in the parking lot, the vehicle rumbling and
creaking in protest on its suspension as it moved from street to lot.
She found herself a spot that she could fit the dinosaur of a vehicle
into, climbed out, and slammed the door shut behind her.
It's
seven on the nose when Lola makes her way around to the front of the
very tall building. She only looks out of place because she seems to be
searching for something-- wandering, anxious, hunting, but unsure of
what for exactly. She wore her long black hair down her back and over
her shoulders with a white knit cap to keep her head and the tops of her
ears warm. Along with that she wore a thick wool-knit cream colored
sweater with cuffed sleeves that hugged her wrists, and a thick red down
vest overtop of that. Dark jeans and brown riding boots covered her
bottom half, and her hands were jammed into the pockets of her vest.
Along
with clothes she wore a heavy scowl, and when her breath huffed in
white clouds into the air they were almost reminiscent of a bull
snorting steam at a red sheet.
She was hunting for whoever this Matador would be.
Alexis Theron Lambros
Alexis
Theron Lambros is, as those people who have met him can attest to, a
very calm individual. Many people learn martial arts for many reasons;
self-defense, athletic outlet, just so they can beat people up and be a
badass. Alexis' reasons were firmly for the first two, and he studied
the philosophy along with it. He practices elements of that philosophy,
and it gives him a bit of a Zen outlook to complement the teachings of
the Nation. As such, there isn't much (well, Phoebe knows one thing,
but besides that) which can rattle him.
Mention of certain
individuals in conjunction with a potential blackmail threat prompts him
to leave all that Zen calmness at the door of his apartment. The
letter and its envelope are left crumpled on the floor and he's
generally been in a bad mood for the whole of the day afterward. He
keeps to himself and calls off his classes for the day, and stays at
home until the time is right.
The time is now right.
He
shows up at the location, pulling his 1984 Buick LeSabre into the
parking lot of the building. He's dressed simply enough, in a grey
turtleneck and jeans with a windbreaker over the whole thing. He hasn't
come armed, because...well, he doesn't believe in guns. He knows how
to use one, but he hates them as a rule, and the weapons he knows how to
use don't conceal well. So when he slips out of the car, still
frowning, he casts his eyes about the place. Alexis generally has good
situational awareness, and he's putting that to use now as he scans the
lot, starts to move toward the building front.
Eva
By
seven full dark has fallen and the city is wrapped in that strange
balance of shadow and brilliant, artificial light that seems strange and
bright and stirring as the days narrow toward the winter solstice.
Listen,
there is a nondescript Lexus parked some indeterminate distance from
the Wells Fargo Center. It is not close. The woman who drives is is
attractive but not remarkably so. She is careful to check the mirrors
and the terms and conditions of the public meters, and careful of her
periphery, and careful of so-many-things, but also, not entirely
full-of-care.
After all, she is here now, has been here for some
time. At 5:30 p.m. she slips into the bar at Randolph's and orders a
Scotch that she nurses. Something approximating a meal follows, but
anyone closely observing her would note that she does not consume much
of either the beverage or the meal, before paying her bill and leaving a
generous tip. Oh, but anyone observing her closely is so-observed in
turn. This is how things go.
--
Éva arrives before 7. Call it 6:50. She is dressed in business casual attire, carries a leather attaché case.
She is armed in so very many ways.
More than you dare count.
--
When
Lola appears around the edge of a tall building, in the shadows of the
evening, at seven p.m. on the nose, the Shadow Lord notices. Smirks,
mildly and wholly to herself, and turns in an arc for another singular
survey of the space before walking up to the Uktena.
The pair are
of a height, though Éva is wearing moderately-sensible three-inch
heels, which lift her up to 5'10" or so, so perhaps she has to drop her
mouth to murmur into Lola's ear.
"Let me guess. You received a letter."
zeal
Most
of the people who work in the Wells Fargo Center and the shorter
buildings surrounding it have gone home for the evening. The lots are
emptied of everything but empty 20-ounce plastic bottles and cigarette
butts and errant bits of paper fallen out of pockets and purses. Foot
traffic has bled out and the only people still moving between vehicles
and doorways are those with great distances to travel.
For a time
the only two bodies out in front of the building are a hard-faced young
woman and a sharp-dressed sharp-eyed lawyer. Their breath steams up from
their mouths and the wind does not tug at the hems of their garments
but the cold seeks to leech the life from them anyway.
More
vehicles arrive. More faces they recognize from warmoots or the recent
punishment rite. Irony in the meeting but a poetic sort. Alexis is the only one in the parking lot.
If anyone feels as if
someone is watching them it is not paranoia bred of the letter's
nature. It is the same letter. Sent via email it would have been blindly
carbon copied. Maybe the wording would have been more deliberate in its
vagueness.
Whoever wrote the letter had to write it five times.
Travel to the places they spend the most time. Jam them into door frames
or underneath furniture before sneaking off again.
Now she tucks
her hair back behind her ears and glances both ways before she crosses
the street to walk towards them. At a glance she is a young woman of
average height, her build concealed beneath a peacoat, long dark hair
beneath a wool cap. They have about thirty seconds before she's at the
front of the building with them.
She appears to be alone. They
cannot read the nuances of her expression yet. She walks with long
strides and keeps her hands in her pockets.
Alexis Theron Lambros
He's already at the edge of the
parking lot, and then he's turning round to the front, where he sees Lola and Eva.
Two more that he hasn't specifically met, though he saw them both at the
judgment the other night. He frowns again and moves to walk toward
them.
And as that other person, the new presence who he knows he
hasn't met, walks across the street, he has another unknown element.
Another blackmail-ee? Or their own person Mister (Ms.) Boddy? And
that's when he stops where he is, between the two kin at the front of
the door and the parking lot where Melantha and (unrevealed yet) Sam
are, watching the woman making her way toward them with hands in
pockets.
He's watching those hands closely, switching his
attention between the pockets and her shoulders. When someone makes a
sudden move, their shoulders are usually where you see it first.
Eva
During
those first ten minutes, Éva studies the hard-faced young woman while
frowning, rather mildly, down at the screen of her tablet. Texting
something; responding to e-mails. Involving herself in the digital
world to provide herself with a reason for loitering here, at this hour,
in this weather, alone in the largely deserted square.
It would be so much easier if she were simply to take up cigarettes, but
instead
she looks like a thoughtless professional captured mid-walk by some
suddenly pressing something at near-seven p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon.
The girl must know who she is, though. To deliver such correspondences.
Must know who they all are.
--
A
sideglance at Lola's expression, long enough to take in what is
doubtless some note of resonance over the letter she received. Some
confirmation, affirmation: something like a yes.
And Éva is
careful, turning her dark head (hair pulled back into a sleek chignon,
her suit jacket dark beneath a short dark peacoat. Her 9 mm always
within reach) noting the others on the periphery, shadoes against the
parking lot.
Notes them, all of them. One by one by one.
And
makes a decision, walking toward the girl rather than away, reaching
into her left pocket with her left hand for a folded piece of paper.
It is blank but otherwise the color and texture of the letter she received, which was examined and then burned to ash.
"Excuse
me," to the hard-faced young woman. " - are you the author of this
letter?" The paper flashes white against the darkness, then disappears
into back into her left pocket.
Evans
Sam sits in
her car, watching as people arrive, a stranger storming toward her
friend, and another stranger headed for the building. It's a few
minutes after seven now, so this has to be it. These people probably
received letters, as well, and chances are decent that this other
newcomer headed toward Lola and Eva is the one who sent it.
Sam opens the driver's side
door and slips down onto the pavement. Quietly, she shuts the door
behind her and heads with a quiet, swift efficiency toward Alexis. If
the other stranger turns out to be a threat she's pretty sure Eva at least will have that area covered.
As
she gets closer she realizes that's no stranger at all, but a young
woman she's seen before, at the last warmoot probably, or somewhere in
the crowd for the punishment. Sam may be
the shortest of the lot by nearly half a foot, but she doesn't need
people to make allowances for her just because of her stature.
So it is that she arrives at the cluster of Kinfolk a little late but just ahead of the stranger.
By
way of greeting, she looks around and simply asks, "Letter?" Her long
brown hair is down beneath a blue knit cap and her hands are tucked into
the pockets of a fitted olive green jacket. Her jeans are snug as
well, her boots comfortable, good for kicking or for running, whichever
comes first.
Lola Hawkes
There's a tell-tale 'clack clack'
of heels on pavement that catches Lola's attention, and she turns
sharply to face the sound, eyes sharp and wide and a dead giveaway to
the woman's intent for half a second. Whoever it was that summoned her
here was in for it, simply put. But recognition dawns upon the Uktena
Kinswoman soon enough, as she's seen this older dark-haired white woman
at several Moots. She's a Shadow Lord Kinfolk, and she could be
trusted, so Lola's body language relaxes (only a little), and she turns
to face Éva more directly.
The question is met with a huff of air through her nostrils, but not blown into the face of the inquirer. "Sure did."
She
didn't ask how the older woman was lured out here, or what her letter
had said. She knew they wouldn't be identical, hers was very specific
to her after all. However, it became clear after a glance past Éva's
shoulder to spy one unfamiliar face, soon joined by one that she knew to be Reese's sister, that
this was a summoning of Kinfolk. They were all called out here,
probably for the same reason.
Lola growled under her breath to the thirty-something (forty-something?): "This reeks of a trap."
Then,
bit by bit, their attention all turns to a woman who is crossing the
street to join them in front of this massively tall skyscraper. Éva
turns and approaches first, asking the question that they all wanted to
know. Lola kept her hands in the pockets of her vest, flicked her eyes
to the other three that were congregating toward the area as well, then
followed after Éva on flat-soled boots. She didn't crowd the older
woman, but she would fall to stand at her side, looking imposing and
brooding but saying nothing-- just glaring at the woman and waiting for
an answer with what is clearly baited breath.
zeal
The
woman wears running shoes with the laces tucked down. They will not
flap or come untied if she decides to bolt. Her jeans are boot-cut and
fit snug to her legs. She walks as if she is used to taking her time to
get from one place to the next.
And as she draws closer her pace
does not slow but the light in her eyes mutes itself and she looks from
one face to the next to read what it is she's walking into. This is a
meeting of her own making but that letter did not tell them anything
other than that if they did not meet her here she would come for them.
It
may well be an idle threat. The woman's posture is impeccable and she
carries herself as if the repercussions for slouching are heavier than
whatever she wears beneath her coat. The coat conceals her weapon but
not the presence of the holster she wears.
Her cheekbones are
covered in freckles. Her hair and her eyes look the same color in the
dark. Yellow street lamps are all they have to push the night back away
from them. When the attorney speaks the woman looks to her. She worries
her lower lip before she answers.
"Yes," she says, and nothing else.
Evans
[percept (insightful) + empathy (emotional states)]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 1
Alexis Theron Lambros
[[Per+Emp]]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 8) ( success x 1 )
Lola Hawkes
The
instant the word 'Yes' leaves the woman's mouth, Lola is a flurry of
motion. Her feet move her forward a step and a half, and her hands fly
out of her pockets so that they can shoot forward toward the female.
Anyone with an eye trained for combat can tell that she's not trying to
strike or punch-- she isn't throwing from the hip or shoulder, so that
doesn't apply. Anyone without that trained eye, though, will probably
be convinced that Lola's going to initiate a brawl because her lips peel
back from her teeth and she's already making a gutteral noise in her
chest and throat, the sound mingling with and eclipsing the 's' on the
woman's answer.
She doesn't hit, but she does seize the woman by
her coat-- collar preferably, but lapels or simply loose fabric at the
front will be accepted. Lola's difficult to escape like this-- she's
fast, she's strong, and when she gets a grip on the coat her grasp is
like steel wire.
The poor woman gets two solid shakes by her jacket before Lola snarls in her face.
"Don't you ever fucking lay threats down on me and mine again. 'Don't make me come to you'? Bitch, you wouldn't make it halfway."
Eva
"An
absurd sort of trap," Éva remarks back to Lola, rather agreeably and
remarkably quietly before she approaches the strange woman. All the
work put into those letters and their delivery, merely to draw them
here? If Éva intended to hunt someone, she would not alert them to the
game ahead of time.
Why do anything other than shoot to kill?
"More
than this one, I think." An arched and singular brow and a cool dark
stare that rises from the strange around the space, then falls back to
her. "Which seems to have been quite the task to undertake. Did you do
it of your own volition - "
Then Lola is stepping forward, lips
peeling back from her teeth, all-in-motion, reaching for the girl's
lapel. Éva grits her teeth, a supple spasm of motion in her temple, and
makes a gesture intended to stay or still or forestall Lola before the
Uktena actually grabs the girl, in hopes of giving Lola pause before she
does make that grab. She will not, however, physically put herself
between the two.
Lola Hawkes
Éva will make an effort to stop Lola, gesturing with a hand or expression or otherwise that this is a poor choice.
Lola
likes Éva. Hell, she may even respect her. But Lola's been thinking
about doing this since she decided simply shooting whoever was
unfortunate enough to fess up would be too extreme. She would not cease
her action for the older (wiser) Kinfolk's silent suggestion.
Alexis Theron Lambros
The
woman approaches and the kinfolk start to converge on her. And Alexis
is willing to let them before Lola steps forward and starts snarling
threats. Just like that, the Fury kin is moving foward. He's not
rushing with aggressive intent, but he's still moving quickly as he
tries to get between the two women.
"Whoa, easy," he says to Lola
as he puts a hand on Lola's shoulder. He can take a punch if she needs
to unleash one at a target; while Alexis is in fact combat trained and
knows she's not going to hit the woman, she may need somewhere to throw
that anger so they can handle this. Alexis is none too pleased with
this woman either; he doesn't get angry often but he's pissed right
now. Still, threatening a blackmailer is usually not wise. They're
often desperate or have contingency plans. And he noticed that holster,
too.
"Let's step back a moment, and talk." He shoots a glare to
the mystery woman, one that strongly suggests that the key word in there
is talk.
zeal
[oh right i didn't do this yet
manip + subt]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
Eva
This
deep and frustrated noise, back-of-the-throat. Whatever else the woman
might have said is forestalled by Alexis' intervention. Éva takes a
distinct step backwards as he puts himself between the two women.
This
lingering irony in the shape of her mouth. Much of what she intended
to say is swallowed, changed, redirected with a glance at the stranger.
Over the heads of the other two kin.
"Is that the reaction you wanted? If so, I think you earned it. What exactly is it that you want out of this."
Eva
For
ST reference: Perception + Subterfuge. Spec: hidden motives. Looking
for: in any answers she gives, whether she is being deceptive.
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 4 ) Re-rolls: 1
Evans
Sam
hangs back a bit, a little to the side of Alexis until Alexis is moving
to touch the Uktena kinswoman. For a moment, people are mostly focused
on the potential for violence, for either a punch or a good shaking.
Most of them, that is, except for Sam.
Sam who is looking at the
woman, her own expression calm and just shy of pleasant for all that she
received a similar threatening letter. Whatever was written in hers,
though, it didn't drive her to a fury of protectiveness for the ones she
cares about. Her eyes, too dark to display color in the dim evening
light and lined with heavy black liner, shift to Lola before returning
to the woman.
"That will probably make you feel better, but-" but
then Eva speaks up and Sam cedes the floor to the older, more
experienced kinswoman.
zeal
If the woman does not
anticipate the rural woman leaping forward to grab and shake her then
she does not react to it. But: she knew enough else about her to lance
fear and anger up out of her in less than one written page. She does not
react because she is not surprised.
The eldest of the four allies
attempts to stop her and the only man present attempts to calm her.
With a fist wrapped around her collar the woman stands stock still and
watches Lola's face without staring at her. Watches too Éva. Samantha
doesn't get very far with her sentence but she can read familiarity in
the way the woman carries herself and speaks.
Anything she says
Éva will be able to tell if she is lying. As of right now all she has to
go on is what was in the letter. She thinks her sister is one of them.
"I
don't know which it was," she says and now that she speaks more the
Kinfolk can make out an Eastern European crackle to her accent. "But one
of your friends bit my sister."
Alexis Theron Lambros
He's
got his hand on Lola's shoulder, and he's half-expecting an attack from
her. He wouldn't be surprised. Maybe he's expecting the woman to
shoot them in panic from being semi-assaulted, or a sniper that the
woman has as a backup taking a shot from a hidden location.
He was expecting a lot of things. He wasn't expecting to hear
THAT.
He
really doesn't mean to be rude. It's not laughing at her, really.
But...come on. And so he looks at the woman and a full moment of
laughter gets out before he has a chance to try and swallow it back.
"Oh,
for..." He shakes his head, still trying to hold back a chortle. It's
just so...well, COME ON. "No one bit your sister. I can promise you
that."
Evans
Sam's expression quirks, eyes
narrowing a little as her mouth turns upward in a slight, disbelieving
smile, the sort of smile that graces one's face when they're not sure if
a joke has just been made. At least she doesn't laugh, c'mon, Alexis,
rude much? She didn't get very far with her sentence, which was going
to lead into a question, but the answer to that question comes anyway.
"And you thought, what? You'd tattle to us and ask us to keep our friends in line?"
Of
course she would, she thinks, because if she made it through the
Delirium knowing her sister was bitten by Garou she's probably afraid to
face their shifting cousing head on.
Then again, she doesn't seem terribly afraid at the moment. Maybe she doesn't know what sort of people she's drawn out.
Lola Hawkes
Alexis
was a man that Lola had never met before, but here he was walking up
and clapping a hand on her shoulder and trying to (gently, in his
defense) tell her to step back and step off. Lola at this point seems
to be all but ignoring the other Kinfolk there, but at least she isn't
redirecting her anger where it isn't deserved. Alexis isn't hit for
touching her. Hell, his hand isn't even shrugged off of her shoulder.
But she does keep a firm hold on the woman's coat, and seems even more
bothered by the fact that she didn't get anything close to a reaction
out of her.
When the woman speaks, expressing worry that one of
their lot bit her sister and now she's changing, Lola scoffs noisily and
shoves the woman backward-- hard enough that she would be forced to
stumble at least one step back to maintain her balance. Lola's feet,
though? They don't move from where she's planted them on the concrete.
This is her claiming ground and standing it, and she won't be moved.
But hey, at least she's not shaking anyone anymore.
"Don't
be fucking retarded. If you know enough about us to know where to find
us, how to get us here, and if you know....--" Well, whatever it was
that this stranger knew about Lola was clearly something that she didn't
want to talk about and spit into the public air, so she cut herself off
and sneered instead. "You know full well that's not how that works.
Cut to the goddamn chase, we ain't idiots."
Eva
"I
can see why you're concerned, then." Éva returns without so much as
cracking a smile. There is a degree of concern and a degree of
professional composure and no real warmth in her eyes, but the
competence is can be soothing.
Then Alexis: laughing has Éva
shooting him a brief and quelling look. It is a glancing blow, before
she returns her attention to the stranger, but seriously and quite
precisely.
The flare of her nostrils.
Neither Sam nor Lola
receive the same look, primarily because there are only so many
directions one can glance at once. The first rule of dealing with the
unknowing or insane or the egomaniacal and so many in between is to cede
them the rules of the universe. Grant them their world and let them
describe it for you.
Also: Éva knows that the woman is not lying. She believes what she says.
"Excuse them. I for one take this very seriously. Where is your sister? Is she still injured? Or is she experiencing...
"Other symptoms."
Eva
Manipulation + Subterfuge: biting is absolutely how werewolves are made, yes you are right I totally believe you crazy lady.
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 6, 6, 6, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 6 ) Re-rolls: 2
zeal
[perc + subterfuge: i call bullshit.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
zeal
Alexis laughs and she does not react.
Samantha
asks if she is tattling, thinking she is going to ask them to keep
their friends in line, and she looks as if she is going to bust out into
a cousin of the laughter that gripped Alexis. Whereas his laughter was
born of relief thinking the woman before them to carry ignorance with
her hers has a different sire.
Her hands haven't left her pockets.
They are still there even as Lola shoves her back from her. The woman
takes one step back to maintain her balance and another to regain her
stolid footing. She shakes her head to free her shoulders from the curls
fallen down over them and she smirks.
"'Other symptoms.'"
The
woman chews her lower lip again and looks away a moment. The glance
away is not a tell. Wherever she parked is not within her line of sight.
Soon her eyes come back to them.
"Your friends and the things
they fight... they're all the same to me. If I have to, I will put her
down myself. But I thought we could come to an arrangement, seeing as
you know things I do not know."
Alexis Theron Lambros
The
laugh, to his credit, does go away. It was already on its way to gone
before Eva threw him that look. It was more a reaction of relief and
just an emotional release than anything else, not that it would be
interpreted as such. Truth be told, he already feels a little bad for
it, but that's just the way it is.
And it's CERTAINLY gone when she says she might "put her down," her being the sister in question. That draws all the humor off his face, and he looks at her more closely now. Frowns.
"Your
sister. Blood relative, or adopted?" He glances at the other kin and
then back to her. "What sort of arrangement are you talking about?"
Eva
"What
symptoms?" A brief, lifting query. "I ask because it is possible that
the infection has not yet spread. She could be cured, depending how
far this has gone.
"Someone would have to examine her closely,
and determine whether the infection can be contained or eradicated. You
understand the delicacy of the situation. Give us her name and her
address, we will look into it and have someone contact you to let you
know if recovery is possible.
"Or if a more final solution is necessary."
Evans
The
woman wants to make a deal, Alexis (and Sam) want to know what sort of
deal. Preferably one that doesn't have some close or unrelated family
member getting killed. And preferably that doesn't have this woman
asking for access to other supernatural creatures. She is a benign
threat, but a threat none the less.
Sam Evans, though? Sam is not
a threat to anyone, not unless she needs to be. Her smile of disbelief
melts into something pleasant and friendly. It's perhaps a strange
counter to Lola's aggression and Eva's sharp tone. But hey, sometimes
you catch more flies with honey.
"I'm interested in names, too,"
she says. "Like yours for one. How do we know we can trust you to
stick to any kind of arrangement you propose?"
[I am totes your friend: charisma (charming) + empathy]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 6 ) Re-rolls: 1
Lola Hawkes
Alexis
asks about this relative, if they are blood related or adopted to be
made sister to the woman who didn't react to Lola's up-front aggression
or Alexis's laughter.
Éva said that the infection could be
spreading and tried to pull information from this woman as to the
whereabouts of this sister.
Lola still didn't even believe that this sister existed.
The
Uktena scoffed again, and swung her arms in front of her, then back to
her sides, then in front again a couple of times. Each time that her
hands met in front of her, it waso to roughly tap the side of a tight
right fist in the curved palm of the other. This made a jarring
clapping sound each time it happened. Thankfully it only went on for
about four turns.
"Whoa, now. Before any goddamn thing else--"
And she cuts a sharp look back to the other three Kinfolk, eyes burning
hard on all three faces for a half a second at a time. Her eyes are
quick to return to the stranger, though. "Who the fuck are you? To
know as much about me and probably these others here, to have looked
that deep into our lives, I don't trust a fucking thing that's come out
of your mouth yet tonight.
"Shit. I doubt this sister even exists."
zeal
They
have more questions than she has given them answers and they do not
have a name for her though she not only has their names but their
addresses and the names of their loved ones. In some instances this
woman has information that not even the rest of the Nation has. Knows
those who have died recently and those who are not even born yet.
If she had reached out to the werewolves themselves they would have cut her down right here or dragged her in for questioning.
Alexis
knows that Phoebe and Thomas would have wanted her checked for taint.
Keisha and Tamsin would have wanted to follow threads back to her
sister, if she has a sister, if she is not out here alone and insane
trying to goad them into giving up more information. Even Lola can't
reliably predict what Hector would have done but they all know what
Erich would have done.
There's too much variability when dealing
with the ones actually perpetuating the War. This woman considers her
options. If she were lying about the sister Éva would have seen it.
That
Sam projects an air of trust and companionability - that it is an air -
is lost on the woman. She's too distracted now by all of the questions
and all of the possible ends to this ride she's started.
"She does
exist," she says. "For now. If the day comes I do not recognize her,
then no. This sister will not exist. She is my twin, Mister Lambros. And
this was all her doing. I will take responsibility for not stopping her
sooner, but... we all have reasons for doing the things we do, yeah?
"If
you can stop this, whatever it is that made your friend bite her, I
will give you everything we have. The computers, the notebooks. Our
guns. All of it. And you'll never hear from us again. That is what I
propose."
She pulls a business card out of her pocket. On the back she has written another address. She hands it to Éva.
"Meet me here at the same time next Friday, if you accept. My name is Nina."
That
isn't her full name but it's enough for mystics to work off of. She
leaves them with that. Turns and walks back the way she came. That's
another difference between them and their cousins. She would have never
given a wolf her back.
Evans
Sam's aura of trust
and kindness isn't so much an air as it is a projection of her self.
She is kind. She draws frightened Black Spiral Dancer cubs into the
circle of her arms not because she'd want her last act on this earth to
be one of kindness, but because that is the kind of selfless person that
she is. She rescued a squalling baby from a burning bar not for praise
or accolades, but because that is what you do when the helpless are trapped in danger.
She
is good, is Sam Evans. That does not mean that she is trusting. The
woman - Nina - turns and walks away and Sam, whatever the others do, she
hangs back a bit. Waiting to see if Lola has another burst of fury to
get out to draw attention. When it's quiet, though, Sam glances at the
others, tips her chin in farewell, and she tails the woman. Not far,
just enough to catch a license plate number or see which bus she
catches.
[dex+stealth, +WP]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 5 ) [WP]
Lola Hawkes
There
is an instance that the sister does insist, and the woman continues on
in a flat tone and provides some information. It's not nearly what Lola
would have wanted, and not necessarily what she was asking after in the
first place. She wanted very much to know where this woman got her
information and how she was able to find it there in the first place--
why she would have been prompted to dig, where she would have located
their identities to even begin that digging.... This was the biggest,
most important thing for her to understand because, you see, Lola is as
territorial as the literal wolves she calls her cousins.
But.
She
gets a name (probably a fake one), and a flimsy lead (although the
address on the back of the business card would be checked into
immediately), and that's all the woman provides before she turns her
back on them and starts walking away. A more hotheaded Lola would have
persued, would have forced hands away from the holster that she knew was
there, would have knocked her skull into the pavement a few times and
would have fought anyone that tried to stop her, or simply ignore their
blows and pulling arms until she'd gotten what she wanted.
The
Lola that stands her tonight instead takes a deep breath of cold air as
though it can cool the fire in her chest, rolls her shoulders back so
her chest is pushed out a bit and her back is straightened and her
overall posture is larger and more intimidating, and says nothing.
She'll
glare after the woman as she leaves, wait until she is out of earshot,
and then say harshly to Samantha, Éva, and Alexis the three of them
(this prior to Samantha sneaking off, as the Glass Walker was waiting
for the Uktena to make her move anyways): "I'll give you one guess as
to where I'm going." She taps the business card against her palm in
indication, then slips it into her pocket and starts a
distance-consuming long-legged stride back to where she parked.
Eva
Éva
accepts the business card with precise, fine fingers. Glances at the
address, then lifts her dark eyes back to the woman's face. Steady,
quiet, withheld. Shielded, assuredly. There is a quick-curl to her
mouth, which is not quite smoke and is not-quite fire and is more and
less than both.
She is remarkably careful, watching the stranger
walk away. Allowing the name to unfold in her tongue, consider the
diverse knot of other kin to whom the woman issued whatever she issued:
pleas or threats or something in between. When Nina is out of earshot,
she allows the other three to inspect the business card. The name, the
address. To write anything down that they desire.
Then she glances at the rest.
"Someone's
going to have to meet her. I think it would be best to bring a shaman
along, as well, at the very least. Perhaps the sister is a cub.
Perhaps she's Fallen, or falling.
"Stay in touch," the Shadow Lord
counsels the Uktena. With a faintly ironic smile. " - and if you do
go looking prior to the meeting, try not tip your hand."
Alexis Theron Lambros
He listens, and he takes the card, and he frowns. And he does other reactionary stuff and they go their separate ways.
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