"Torch first, then call nine-one-one."

[hazlogs]

It is currently 20:40 Pacific Time on Wed Dec 3 2003.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (67% full).

West Bridge Street

The desperate hopelessness of the industrial sector just to the south makes itself felt here, in crowding tenements and dying trees. Many of the people here leave their homes to go to the factories and warehouses, and to return again to noise, crowding, and the tempers of too many people in too small a space. The street is a patchwork of potholes and attempted fillings of them, cracked across with the imperfection of the work. The occasional shop is tucked in here, small building among those a few stories taller. From 13th to 15th Streets, every inch of land is used, mostly for buildings, occasionally for a small, struggling garden which even in the best years cannot hope to provide all the needed vegetables.

It's a desperate, poor, struggling area of town. A place a Bone Gnawer or all-but-homeless people might live in, and where slum lords and crack dealers rule. A series of small and uniformly unimaginative houses line one block in particular--probably built as badly-needed housing for the returning GIs from World War II. The only distinguishing features are the differing states of disrepair and the jalopies parked in the driveways. Effortlessly and perfectly at home in the open, a drug dealer makes a sale about half a block away near a busted-out street light.

From afar, to Salem and Leonard, Alicia thinks. "Alright. I picked up Leonard on my way out here. Lets say we parked our cars.. the Yugo an Tom's stang' down the street a few blocks away an decided to rough it out on foot. No license plates to track us an what not.

You paged the room with 'Two cars, but parked a few blocks away. Right, Leashy?'.

From afar, to the room, Alicia nods. "Olga, Tas an Leo got pickedup by me an rendevou'd with Salem here. We got the cars parked around the corner and Alicia is ganna be out there first.

Down the street strides Alicia, the bitch of the block, wearing a pair of knee high boots with the heels cut off, a mini skirt that only leaves the mind open to imagination and a top that may put a few certain blonde pop stars to shame. Her trench coat lightly dances around her frame as she moves, one hand shoved into her pocket, eyes locked on the drug dealer up above. The other dangles a string and stone, one which bobs forward a bit. "Yo. Bro." She calls out to the thug, eyes narrowing a bit coyly. "Got some of the good stuff?" She looks to fit the part, typical urban hot chick, looking for some action.

Salem doesn't stroll so much as prowl, a tall, lean, vicious-looking semi-skinhead with his sweatshirt hood pulled up and his hands in the pockets of his big black coat. He's trailing somewhat behind Alicia and to the side as if not with her.

Olga meanders slowly after Alicia, hands dug into her coat pockets, shoulders hunched a bit against the immediate cold outside the car. Her nose flares a bit as she breathes in the cold, dirty night air. She throws her head from side-to-side, looking quite at her ease, if a little cold, though not quite feeling it.

Leonard stays where he is, not adding to the freak parade. He leans against the side of an abandoned building, arms folded, keeping an eye out for any other unsavory characters. He wouldn't stick out so much if this were a Latino neighborhood.

Taslyn leans up against a building, looking up and down the street, not too far from where the others are. She punches her hands into her jacket, pulling it across her chest. She looks down at the ground, covering the fact that she keeps an eye on the others.

The dealer glances over at Alicia, completes the transaction with someone in an idling car, and straightens up as the car pulls off and disappears down the street. "Whachoo need, babydoll?"

"Well, ya'know, just the ordinary, boring shit." Alicia says, sliding her hand out of her pocket, holding out a pair of twenties. She raises up a brow, lowering her voice, allowing it to turn a bit persuasive. "Here. Take this.. get yourself a nice warm dinner, and get outta here. Got some funky shit going down here t'night. And well.. I wouldn't wanna see a brothah like you take a bullet. Aiight?"

Olga stops a fair difference from Alicia and her new friend, close enough to hear but not so close as to intrude. She turns to face the street and sways back and forth, raising herself up on her toes and back down to her heels, for relief of boredom and warmth. She looks back at Taslyn and Leonard, and then back out at the street.

The dealer takes the two twenties without hesitation. "$40? I'd be cuttin' me own throat. Make that much from just one score bitch, and you know it."

Salem continues walking, taking his own damned time. He glances over at Alicia and the dealer with a hard eye, feigning disinterest.

Taslyn kicks off the wall and goes to walk past the action, idly walking down the street. She looks to be paying no attention and looking for someone else that may possibly be meeting her. But her ears are open and she listens, stepping softly across the walk.

A bright grin forms over Alicia's face. "Like I said. I'd /really/ hate to see you catch a bullet." She flips her hand along her jacket, letting it whip back a bit to reveal the heavy looking twenty-two. "You can come back here tomorrow or something." Her voice soon deepens as she leans forward some, rumbling a growl as the darkness hides the slight change in her features, turning them a bit more harder. "So.. take your throat, in tact.. an move it."

The thug narrows his eyes at Alicia, long and hard. For a few moments, he looks like he might call Alicia out, then apparently decides against it. "Cunt," he says, then turns to walk off to somewhere else--apparently quite certain Alicia doesn't have the cojones to pull anything.

"Have a good night." Alicia says cheerfully over her shoulder as she lets the jacket drop back in place, then starts forward once more down the sidewalk. She eyes the third house down, lightly dipping her head forward some as her eyes dart towards Salem. "Thats it." She says, glancing down at the string as it jumps a bit more.

Salem eyes the retreating dealer, then steps over toward the Child of Gaia. "You're sure?" The Walker cocks his head, eyeballing the ratty house.

Leonard watches the two debate over the location of the grannie.

Olga remains where she is, waiting to be told where to go or what to do.

Taslyn stops and watches Alicia track over and speak to Salem. She steps closer to the others and takes up a position to one side, not quite with the others, but still able to hear what goes on.

"If I'm wrong, I'm getting the money back on this stupid Rite." Alicia says as she heads down the sidewalk, hands leaving her pockets now as she lets them sway at her sides, sizing up the place.

Salem smirks briefly and falls into step with Alicia, giving the other Garou a passing glance. Quietly, the Walker murmurs to the Child of Gaia. "Two hit the front, two the back, fifth for reserve and lookout?"

"Fine with me." Alicia says as she glances over the house again, squinting. "There's a light on if you see through the blinds. They got iron gates on both back an front doors by the way. They both appear locked. I can pick those easily enough. So, I'll take Taslyn with me. You get Olga. Leo shouts the loudest, so he can be look out."

Taslyn tilts her head to Salem as he speaks. She steps closer to the group and nods. "Sounds good to me..." As she comes up beside Alicia. "Right by your side."

Olga looks over at the two conversing, interest piqued now that she can't hear what's going on. She wanders over closer to the two, wondering what's up, feet slapping on the sidewalk.

Salem simply nods curtly and makes a beckoning gesture at Olga. Oh, good, she's already coming. "How are you at lockpicking?" he asks the Bone Gnawer, once she's close enough.

Olga looks at Salem. "Excellent, I imagine," she replies to him, "bein' a Gnawer 'n' all. Not that I ever tried, though." It gets out before she realizes she probably shouldn't be quite so flip to an elder, and she looks down at her shoes.

Salem wrinkles his nose, his mouth twitching into a grimace. "Lovely." He doesn't sound impressed.

Taslyn looks at the conversation between Olga and Salem and gives a bit of a shake of her head.

Olga agrees with a low "Mm-hmm," which is sincere, however it may sound. She looks up at him, wondering what's they're to do.

Alicia reaches into her jacket and takes out a small black binder, about the size of her palm and opens it up. "Here, Olga." She says, sliding out a pair of metal tools, holding them out to her. "Its a standard lock. You can easily pop it if need be. Just wriggle about and use a bit of force." She explains. With that, she tilts her head to Taslyn. "We're going through the front."

Alicia pages to the room: Is it cool if we assumed James followed after in his own car? He was just a bit late?
Tskilegwa pages to the room: Whatever floats your boats.
Jamethon pages to the room: Motorcycle. :)

From afar, Tskilegwa marvels at the lockpicking technique. You'll be out here in the cold for a while. :)

Olga listens to Alicia, and takes the binder she hands to her. She nods once in understanding, but remains quiet. "We're taking the back, then, eh?" she quietly says to Salem, heading that way.

Salem is giving Olga a dour, critical eyeball that's quite unlike the easy comraderie he displayed when drunk out of his mind on Thanksgiving. He nods to her and joins her in heading around the back, muttering under his breath about perhaps being lucky with a window. Such confidence, he shows.

Up comes a motorcycle on the road, parking up a bit of the ways from the group. Those that know her would generally recognize the bike as one that Beth would generally be riding, not tonight it seems. Upon dismounting he makes his way casually, though quickly enough to the group.

Taslyn nods to Alicia. "Right with you." As she looks to the house and gives it a once over and then back to the others.

Tskilegwa pages to the room: Actually, there's a lot of skill involved in picking a lock. Wiggling is more or less the last resort of random and utter desperation. Forcing, with lock picks, breaks the tools. It's nothing like you see in the movies. You're going to be out in the cold for a long while, hoping to get lucky with a lock.

Jamethon arrives around the side and steps up to Salem on his way to the group, speaking quietly as he approaches. "Hey, made it when I could. Where can I be useful?"

Tskilegwa pages to the room: Even with a professional with good quality tools, good lighting, and knowing what the lock is, it'll take several minutes. I doubt Alicia's professional grade. So you're looking at between 5-15 minutes probably, maybe longer, depending on luck.

Tskilegwa pages: Oh, that's interesting. Old wooden house and the frame on this window is rotted badly. You could probably just pull the frame's bolts off the wall with a moderate tug.

Salem pauses to size up the big Get of Fenris -- Jamethon's actually _taller_ than him. "Can you open locks?" he asks, in a way that suggests he's not expecting an affirmative answer. A brief moment of thought follows, his eye going to Alicia and Taslyn headed toward the front of the house and Leonard standing around as lookout. Then back at James. "Take your pick. Frontal assault or sneaking around the back?"

Taslyn looks up at a face she doesn't recognize. She looks to the others and sees that he is obviously a friend. She turns her attention back to Alicia and the house... In that order.

Alicia creeps to the front door and squats down, slipping out the tool kit once more and opens it up. After studying the lock, she takes out a pair of pins and then begins to go to work, carefully, biting on her lip. "Tas.. watch that front door in case it decides to pop open."

A car comes down the street, muffler dragging.

Jamethon only gives a toothy grin at the question about picking locks, the kind that suggests Salem is crazy or at least humerous, for asking such a question. "I honestly... am not that good for sneaking, but Alicia has the front it sceems and you may need a healer on the back end. Yeah, I'll take the back with ya."

Taslyn nods and moves to the side of the door that would allow her to go after whomever might open it and come out without them seeing her, stepping in front of Alicia. She crouches down low and sits on the backs of her heels, listening for a footfall or creak behind the door or the knob itself. The car distracts for a second but she turns back to the door.

Olga holds her hand to her head, groaning quietly at the clamour, as she walks around to the back door.

The car rattles on past, leaving only the soft metallic clicks, scrapes, and scratches coming from the lock Alicia is hard at work upon. A minute passes. Then another. Then another. Apparently this sort of thing isn't as easy as it looks on TV shows and movies.

Salem simply nods and stalks around to the back of the house, Jamethon and Olga with him. He waves Olga toward the locked back door -- who knows, the Gnawer might get lucky -- and starts checking the windows. Fortunately, it's an old house, and the frame on one window is badly rotted, enough that it looks possible to pull the frame's bolts off the wall with a good enough tug. Who needs lockpicks? The window's more exciting anyway.

The Child of Gaia is quite aware of how hard this can be, having picked a dozen locks in her time, as well as done a few car jobs. But, she is patient and makes each twist and shift of her wrists count. She'll give herself another five minutes or so, before she'll give up on the plan.

Olga stares at the lock on the back door, and at her lock kit, with no idea how to make the one interact with the other. "Fuck," she says to herself. She starts jamming tools in the lock at random, turning them like keys, and getting nowhere. She sticks out her tongue just because that seems like it might help.

*snap!* As Olga forces the multiple picks in the lock, the fragile tools break in half. Another car comes down the street in the opposite direction.

Olga looks around quickly, hoping no one saw that. She tucks the tools back in the kit, and takes out some more. "Second time's a charm, eh?" she mumbles to herself quietly.

Jamethon reaches into his jacket and pulls out a wide bladed straight dagger in a leather sheath which quickly is removed leaving a sharp metal blade, shining dully in whatever light is available. He apparently noticed the window that Salem did and sizes up the edge of the blade in a testing manner, seeing if the window appears to be pryable in a quick and possibily quiet fashion. He makes a murmur, though seems to be generally displeased with all the quiet. "We know this is the right place? For sure?"

Alicia pushes herself up at the sound of another car coming, wettening her lips a bit and turns to Taslyn, letting out a breath. "Think we may gotta try a new course of action."

Taslyn looks to Alicia. "Have you just tried the door... Are you sure it is locked?" She is still hunkered down and watching the door and nearby windows.

Salem speaks in a low, grouchy mutter as he works at dismantling the window. "...If you don't know _how_, don't waste time trying. Try a window." He nods at Jamethon's question.

Salem's grouching is, of course, directed at Olga. If it wasn't obvious.

Olga shrugs. "Alright," she mumbles, putting away the tool kit. "Third time woul've been the charm for _sure_, though," she says quietly to herself. She looks around for a window that might be easily opened. If there's one in the door itself, that's the one she looks at.

Salem pries the bolts out of the rotted, termite-ridden wood with ease. And with Jamethon's additional assistance in steadying the grating, the operation is all but silent and accomplished in under a minute. The grate is laid down on the ground near the window--which, odds are, won't open easily or soundlessly on a house this old and in this state of disrepair. If it did, it'd certainly be the first. But now there's a relatively standard-sized window with glass in it--rather than metal grating--keeping everyone out.

Alicia glances over to Leonard and motions him over, clearing her throat. "C'mere. You like to get killed an stuff." She says with a chuckle. "Knock on the front door."

Taslyn gives a quiet chuckle at Alicia's line of defense. She turns and tries one of the windows, checking for anybody in the room though, of course. She checks a few of them to see if they are loose and would give way quickly. "Let's try a window. Rather not see anybody get killed."

Leonard shrugs, walking on up to the front door. As he moves through the shadows he seems to loom larger, ending up in glabro. Or maybe its just a trick of the light.

Salem takes a step back to consider the bare glass, massaging his knuckles as he does so and considering for a second or two -- as Leonard-the-hulk goes lumbering up to the front door, in fact.

"I dunno Tas. This may be fun. Leo's good for this shit." Alicia says as she reaches to her belt, sliding a hand on the revolver as she steps off to the side, using the shadows a bit as cover as she waits for the Wendigo to do his thing. "Just be careful of the windows tho'."

Jamethon takes out a sizable flask from his jacket now, putting the knife away. Opening the flask the pungent but generally pleasant scents of rosewood and other woodsy scents waft from the container. James uses the contents of the container, revealed to be a mixture of various oils, to grease up the windows for opening. "May help... may not." After a good deal of the contents are slathered on James caps the vial and puts it away.

Taslyn finds that the window she is playing with is a little too solid to try. She ventures over to another besides the one that James is working on, giving it a push, checking the inside of the room first. "Rather get in quietly though."

Olga continues her fruitless search for an easily opened window, occasionally looking back to see how the others are doing: much better than she, it appears. She sighs to herself, and goes back toward both them and the door. If I have to break something, she thinks to herself, I'm breaking that damn lock.

Salem eyes Jamethon, nods curtly, and steps up to try opening the window. Carefully.

Alicia glances over to Leo, then clears her throat, whispering over to Tas. "Hey, we're ganna just do it this way. Give the others in the back time to get in through the back. I hope." She says, then looks to Leo, nodding her head.

Leonard seems to be inspecting the door before he knocks. Probably looking for a clean spot.

Leonard finally puts a hand on the handle of the wrought-iron security door that acts as a screen door (TO HELL!!one!) and gives it an experimental turn.

Locked. Alicia's earlier attempt at lock picking would have looked ridiculous if the Wendigo simply opened the door.

Salem grimaces as the opening window makes a *skeee* noise that, while not _incredibly_ loud, is too loud for comfort. He moves to the side of the window, holding a hand up in a 'wait' gesture. Just a moment or two.

Olga stops her pacing about at the gesture, looking intently at the window and the two right by it.

Alicia waits, crossing her arms over her chest as she lets out a breath, frowning to herself. "You guys hear anything inside?" She asks, glancing to Leonard, motioning him to knock again.

Leonard frowns. Must be stuck. He 'jiggles' it. If by jiggling you mean braces his feet, takes a breath, and attempts to twist the knob off.

Leonard shakes his head to Alicia as he strains.

Jamethon steps to the other side of the window in a practiced manuver that seems to carry an economy of movement. His one hand is held in a claw like gesture towards the window, and he seems to be breathing deeply, concentrating on something.

The people out front don't hear any noises other than distant cars. Leo strains hard against the metal doorknob in the metal security door, but it refuses to twist and break. It's almost like the door might have been constructed to keep people out or something!

Leonard glances to Alicia over his shoulder and shakes his head. Then, knocks, polite as you please, thank you.

Salem arches an eyebrow at the Get of Fenris, but doesn't say anything. The window, after all, is open and right next to them.

"Fuck it." Growls Alicia in her throat as she starts to pace back and forth. "Two more minutes, then we are going around back. She's not ganna answer the fucking door."

Taslyn pushes at the window near her, up over her head and hoping it opens. She peeks up and looks into the room, seeing what may be about.

In the back of the house, Olga, Jamethon, and Salem are separated from the inside of the house by a single pull-down blind.

Seconds tick by out front. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Leonard waits a bit impatiently, then striaghtens, looking at the door.

"Alrightie.. lets head to the back." Alicia says, frowning and starting back away from the porch, letting out a breath. "I'm tempted to throw a fucking brick into the window or something. Next time we do shit like this. I'm investing in smoke bombs."

Jamethon looks to the chick with them, "You got a compact?" He asks simply enough.

Leonard moves his hand frantically near his hip, letting his arm otherwise hang normally.

Leonard still looks with attention at the door.

Alicia glances over to the Wendigo and frowns slightly. "You are thinking of going right through that bad boy, aren't you?"

"What do you want, injun?" comes a voice from inside the house, sounding straight out of the south and with an archaic dialect centuries old. Literally. Even the "injun", as if it were perfectly okay to use that term. The front door does not open.

Tskilegwa pages to the room: Feminine. Elderlyish.

Salem eyes his two companions -- an insane Get of Fenris (who's voluntarily cut off a ball daily) and a smartmouthed Bone Gnawer -- in a calculating sort of way, then shakes his head slightly. He points at Olga, then the window. Then himself, then Jamethon. Yes, the Glass Walker makes the Gnawer, the newcomer in town, go first. The bastard.

Olga looks up at Jamethon in disbelief. "Like, a make-up mirror?" she asks quietly. "No, no I don't. I really, really don't." She waits nearby as the others work at it.

Alicia pauses as she gets about five feet away and whirls around, reaching down to the gun at her hip, keeping off to the side of the door a bit, crouching a bit. She nods her head towards Leonard slightly.

Leonard says simply, "You know what I want, Old Woman. Open the door."

Tskilegwa pages to Salem, Jamethon, and Olga: You all hear that through the house.

Taslyn removes her hand from the windows and pushes herself against the wall, nearing the door. She moves behind Leonard to get to the side of the door that opens out. Gaining the ability of surprise if needed./

Olga shrugs and figures she hasn't any time to argue. She hurries towards the window, lifts herself up, and tumbles in as quietly as she's able.

Olga shifts to Glabro too!

Salem follows after Olga, boosting himself through the window as quickly as possible. To be truthful, it's not the first time he's broken into someone's run-down tenament house; a Ronin's life just lends itself to petty crime.

Leonard's voice turns honeyed, cajoling. Weirdly compelling. "Come on, Grandmother. What have you to fear, in your old age. Open the door."

Jamethon shakes his head in a never mind fashion and hurries to leap off the ground, gracefully actually through the window once it is his turn, taking to the lupus form in midair once through the window before landing as softly as the large wolf can manage.

Tas shifts at the side of the door into glabro, leaning in to see if the second door opens at all by Leo's feet.

Shifting into the Glabro form, Alicia rumbles softly in her throat as she flexes her fingers some.

Tskilegwa pages to Salem, Jamethon, and Olga: You're in what looks to be a back bedroom that's predominantly taken up by sheets of plastic, wrapped round and round and round what you'd hazard are corpses. Maybe 10-15 of them. Stacked up like cordwood all along the wall. It stinks of death and Glade plug-in potpourri

No answer seems to be forthcoming from the inside of the house.

Leonard pounds on the door now. "Open up, woman. You have something I want."

Jamethon covers his nose immediatly upon landing, and takes on the glabro upon doing so, the look of disgust on his face not seeming to want to leave any time soon. He takes a cell phone from his jacket pocket and calls Alicia's cell phone quickly, letting it vibrate once before hanging up and putting it away. Taking out the knife once more after the call is accomplished he preps himself to throw it at whatever target might present itself as a preempting of his own attack.

Olga lands fairly smoothly on her feet, and hurries out of the way of everyone else coming on through. She pulls up to her feet and really looks around for the first time. Her face goes white, and she freezes. Her eyes dart this way and that. Her hands are clutched open, frozen in the air, as she looks at the corpses.

Salem wrinkles his nose but doesn't spend much time looking over the cling-wrapped corpses. Like the other two, he takes Glabro form. Olga gets a sharp look and, as he moves for the door, an even sharper tap on the shoulder -- not quite a cuff.

You paged the room with 'How dark/light is it in here?'.
Nicodemus pages to the room: 40 watt bulb. Dimly lit, but lit enough to see.
You paged the room with 'Just one door?'.

Jamethon still stands taller then the rest, weighted blade in hand. The Get elder is clearly ready to sink a throwing knife deep into the back, hopefully, of whoever is in the other room when they become visible.

Out through the doorway, in the hall, a hovering, disemboweled corpse levitates into view, then the arm holding it up from behind, and a butcher knife in a free hand. Grandma Death is apparently using a corpse as a human shield. She starts as she catches motion out of the corner of her eye and looks at you three.

Nicodemus pages to the room: Yes, there's only one door to the room.

Jamethon pages to the room: That knife sets flight the very millisecond I see anyone/thing in the room.

The thing about human shields is that they're usually meant to give the attacker pause -- don't want to kill or hurt an innocent or an ally, that kind of thing. A corpse, fortunately, is already dead.

Salem doesn't hesitate -- a second after Jamethon lets the knife fly, the Glass Walker is through the doorway and in Crinos in a flash of Rage, black claws moving at food processor speed. He makes no sound -- no growls or snarls, just a silent baring of teeth as he goes for the kill.

Jamethon throws the blade and taking on the crinos form with speed driven by rage once that is accomplished moves in behind the blade to get some claw action to follow up the mundane weapon.

The blade sinks a beautiful mark right in between the already quiet dead body's eyes almost hilt deep.

Olga is knocked forward a bit by Salem's little tap, which knocks her back into her senses. She looks over at him apologetically, though with more than a hint of disgust remaining in her face at the sight before her, and then turns back to the door, only to see a corpse hovering there. She freezes for a half second again, then shifts and lunges.

Salem blurs with the expenditure of much rage, shredding the corpse and laying in to grandma. Dead, stinking human flesh flies from bones to splatter onto the combatants as Salem, in crinos in the confined (for a nearly 10' tall werewolf) hallway bumps and bangs against the walls. It's not pretty, but it's deadly dangerous. Granny hacks back at Salem with the butcher knife in her right arm, letting out a scream of terror and anger. The blade scores deep into Salem's arm. Olga, crowded for room to fight through a doorway, lands another blow--not having to deal with the corpse-shield like Salem does. Grandma looks pretty bad off already.

Hope that knife wasn't silver. Or infested with something nasty. No time to think about that now, though; Scar snarls as he feels the knife bite into his arm and continues to do his damnedest to give back both that and some extra.

Jamethon follows up with a powerful leap foward and almost looking like a basketball player doing a slam dunk slams his arm forward in a roundhouse fashion into the dead human shield in an attempt to if not remove it from infront of granny, at least dismember it enough to render it useless.

Fat-Ripper side-steps (the mundane way, not through the umbra) away from the door along the wall. She bashes through it with both hands, then, hoping the old timbers give way, hoping also they don't bring the entire house down with them, and she can open up a hole right through the wall to Granny's back.

You're in what looks to be a back bedroom that's predominantly taken up by sheets of plastic, wrapped round and round and round what you'd hazard are corpses. Maybe 10-15 of them. Stacked up like cordwood all along the wall. It stinks of death and Glade plug-in potpourri. Jamethon and Olga are in the room: Jamethon is by the only door out of the room and Olga is moving away from the door in order to begin smashing through the wall--creating a new door as the old one is more than full of Get of Fenris. In the even more cramped hallway, a crinos Salem is simultaneously assaulting both an elderly woman and a reeking, decomposing corpse she's using as a human shield. She's screaming bloody murder as she hacks at Salem with a butcher knife. Jamethon attacks the corpse-like thing, his blow literally ripping the corpse in half. Grandma takes another swing at Salem with her butcher knife, but doesn't fare too well this time--only nicking him. In return, she bears wounds that ought to have killed an elderly woman--or even a relatively strong man--by now. But she looks ragged.

"Shit guys, move her out farther!" Alicia calls over as she starts shifting as well, taking the Crinos form and flexing out her claws in a guttural snarl.

Scar is nothing if not tenacious. Move her out further? Move her out further _where_? Fangs bared, he snaps at the old woman's face, a massive, clawed hand making a grab for the hand with the knife. The knife is _annoying_.

DefendsHerWorth turns and runs back out of the back of the house, jumping and flying out of the window and landing on the back porch, running to the front of the house to jump through one of the windows there.

Brings-Buffalo lands in a crouch, testing the air and immediately wishing he hadn't as he almost gags on the scent of Glade air-freshener. He takes in the scene with mild incredulity, then settles on waiting for Olga to make another door before following her through.

Fat-Ripper stomps, smashes, and claws her way through the wall, fist after flying fist, opening a large hole in the thing. If it were an enemy, it'd be mighty hurting by now, but it's not, just a stupid wall, which pisses her off all the more. Finally it opens up large enough for her to shove her Crinos bulk through, which she promptly does, turning and facing the hag with teeth and claws bared.

Fights-For-Hope once on the other side, the body at least efficently removed as a total covering obstacle leaps into the side of the woman in a tackling fashion, claws first with the speed lent from luna's gift of rage.

Guards-Flame starts to edge towards the door way, ears flickering outwards as she determines three crinos and not enough space is more than enough to handle one single fomori. She then begins to take in the scene about her, eyes roaming over the bodies.

Brings-Buffalo shifts down to lupus, nimbly stepping around Olga once he follows her through the hole, and he goes to explore the rest of the house, seeing as there's no room to attack the mean old lady. Maybe he'll go on her lawn.

DefendsHerWorth goes around to the front of the house and claws at a window there, trying to get inside from that direction.

The best of plans do not come to fruitation--except for Salem. His initial bite and claw-swipe attacks both hit, and hit impressively well. Grandma's right hand, holding the butcher knife, is ripped clean out of the socket. His bite to her face scores, and Grandma's head explodes in his jaws like an over-ripe grape, leaving the tang of blood and brains in Salem's fanged maw. Olga completes her hole in the wall, Tas leaps out the window and almost makes it to the corner, and Jamethon's clawswipes ensure that they extremely deceased grandmother has 20 more chunky bits than before.

Guards-Flame rumbles loudly. ~Should we check the Shadow for our little Bane idea or just let it go?"~ She says, watching the battle go over really quickly.

Fights-For-Hope stands there, covered in splattered gore and quickly heads over to a bathroom, looking at the mirror for a moment. ~We gonna go find out, or what?~

Guards-Flame rumbles loudly in her throat as she follows after Fights-For-Hope. ~Scar, you coming? Its a Gibbous there tonight.~

Fat-Ripper pants, loudly, exhausted at her effort and pissed at its lack of uselessness. She looks around her at the hallway, seeing if there's anything left to do, and growls low at the wall when she concludes the negative. She puts another fist through it just for good measure.

DefendsHerWorth hears the total lack of fight now and moves back to rest on her haunches on the porch, keeping to a dark corner and out of sight.

Fights-For-Hope stands in front of the mirror and looks then to Alicia, shaking his head. ~Nevermind. Forget it. It would be pointless risk and waste. If its methods are to flee when the host is killed, it is gone already. If such a bane even exists... we'll need to set up a trap for it before the host is killed... again, assuming the bane is even a real thing.~

Scar spits out his mouthful of granny skull and granny brains. And spits again, shaking his head sharply with an expression of disgust.

Guards-Flame nods her head and rumbles loudly in her throat. ~We should alert the police to this place. But, first.. clues.~ She says, making her way back into the tomb room. ~Find /anything/ that could be useful.~

Leonard pokes his head out of the kitchen. "I know how we can alert the police to this place... and I've searched it. Livers are missing. She's been living off them, I think. Food in here is long bad." He shakes his head. "But, gas stove. Just turned it on." He pauses. "Forgot to light it, though. Be a real shame if there was a spark, after about oh, a half hour, yah?"

Fat-Ripper grunts. ~Yes, there's more important things than banes,~ she agrees. She looks back at the room of corpses. ~I'll check in there, if you like, Guards-Flame,~ she says, not particularly looking forward to it, but volunteering anyway, wanting to be of some use. ~She might be in there,~ she adds.

Scar's ears twitch upward; he cocks his head and fixes a golden eye on Guards-Flame. ~Find clues, yes... but the police won't get anything but a burnt--~ He glances at the Wendigo, arching a brow. He nods in agreement.

Shifting into the homid form, Alicia softly lets out a breath. "I'll go with you." She heads back into the room, saying clearly. "If you see Catherine's body in here. I'm going to freak an someone may have to knock me out."

Leonard nods back to Scar. "Fire's cleansing, anyway." He shrugs, going back into the kitchen.

Fights-For-Hope takes on the homid form and moves over to Salem, looking over his wounds in a precursory manner, seeing if they are healing on their own. "You alright?"

Fat-Ripper nods, shifting back into Homid form herself, the form in which the smell will be least overpowering. She rips off a bit of her shirt and holds it over her nose: scant protection, but she feels a need to do something, at least. She enters the room, and looks around, stifling the urge to cry, or kill something, anything. She moves over to the first plastic roll, and closing her eyes, shifts it out onto the open floor, and unravels it.

Scar bristles at Alicia's words, uttering a 'huff' of angry surprise. With a scowl he shifts down to glabro and starts toward the kitchen to wash off the worst of the visible blood and gore. Presuming the old bitch's water was running, of course. He nods at Jamethon. "Fine. Just a butcher knife."

Water works fine, apparently.

Alicia pushes over a body and starts to examine it, being quick about the process so not to waste up time.

Leonard is in the kitchen, where the gas stove is hissing menacingly. There's already a smell of gas in the room, but it doesn't seem to distract the Wendigo, who's looking at some pictures in frames. "None of these are her." He nods to the body in the hall -- well, what's left of it. "Don't even look like her." He shows the big bloody ahroun.

Olga looks at the body beneath her. The smell is maddening, and she moves slowly as she fights the urge to vomit. She stares at the body, sees nothing worthy of further notice, and goes on to the next.

The bodies are in various states of decay, almost sequential states. And they all seem to have had their guts exposed and livers removed.

Salem is hardened to this sort of thing. Fifteen years of Garoudom, one ought to be. Washing up quickly, he follows Leonard's gaze toward the pictures and frowns. "They're probably wrapped in plastic with the rest," he says sourly.

Jamethon looks now to Leonard, stepping over to his packmate, "I'm going to go home," it is clear he means the packs territory, "I'll inform Luke and the others."

There doesn't seem to be any wallets on the corpses. Or purses. Or anything of use in their pockets.

Leonard huhs. He nods absently to Jamethon, wandering back out into the living room and putting the pictures back where he found them in an odd show of neatness.

Alicia makes her way around the room, then snorts out a breath. She is barely breathing through her mouth, so not to gag on the choking smell of rotted flesh.

Jamethon is back outside, back to the bike a bit down the street, and then back into the night.

Tas finds a nice dark corner of the porch and shifts back to homid. She makes her way back around to the back, crawling into the back window. "This place is horrid." As she looks about.

Olga goes through the dead, one by one, dutifully looking in their pockets for something, anything that might help. She comes up emptyhanded each time, and each time curses. It's more upset than angry, more sad than upset. She can't stand it any more: she goes out into the kitchen for a breath of cleaner air, though it's still revolting out there, and then heads back to go to it again.

Leonard leans over to put one back on an endtable, then pauses and bends down. He begins rifling through something.

Salem finishes with his hurried clean-up and joins the others. On the way, he passes Olga and gives her a bit of a look, studying her.

Taslyn looks about, covering her nose with a hand. "What can I do to help?" As she looks about at everyone.

Leonard leans back on his haunches, studying a wallet. "That's why she didn't look like them."

"She's not here." Alicia says after rolling the last body to the side. "Thats.. good news.. I think." She says, glancing to the others out in the room, then heads over towards them.

Olga ignores Salem, beyond caring what anybody thinks of her now, and looks at Taslyn. "Look about," she suggests. "If we can figure out what this old hag's like, that's a step to fig'ring out what sort of bane's been at her." She breathes deep of the cleaner air, and heads back into the room.

Salem's attention is, thankfully, shifted from Olga to Leonard. "Hm?"

Leonard holds up a wallet, still looking. He begins dragging out purses, other wallets. "Stuff. Dead people's stuff."

Taslyn nods and begins to search the kitchen, there's always a junk drawer. She looks about while in the kitchen, maybe a basement door or something like that...

No basement door in this small house. The junk drawer is found in short order. It is filled with.... junk.

Olga returns to checking pockets, something she assumes Alicia didn't do in her search for the cub. A little thoroughness won't hurt anything: well, hurt her sense of smell, her sanity, maybe, but nothing important. Leonard's announcement catches her interest, but she turns back to the task at hand. Plenty of time to look through the dead people's stuff later.

Leonard looks at another ID, then motions to the pictures on the end table. "Hanson. George and Mel...lin-dah?" He peers at the ID. "Hanson. Its their house, I guess."

Alicia softly lets out a breath. "Alrightie.. lets get the hell outta here. We should contact the cops at least, then blow the place up if you want." She looks.. crestfallen, relieved?

Taslyn looks all about and simply shakes her head. "What could possess someone to do this..." She covers her mouth again and walks to the living room, looking for anything to help out.

Leonard shakes his head, standing and letting the wallet fall. "Cops'll come if the house is on fire, no? Or when the fire people find the bodies?"

Leonard glances at Taslyn incredulously. "Bane." Duh.

Taslyn furrows her brow and looks at Leonard. "Smartass."

Leonard favors the woman with a lopsided smile. "You asked."

"Torch first, then call nine-one-one," Salem advises. "In that order." He passes back through the room to open the back door, and he barely even glances at the corpses, but pauses to look at Leonard. "Neighbors. Should get the firetrucks out here before the whole block goes up."

Alicia steps out into the backyard and takes a deep breath, rubbing a fist along her eyes. "Aiiiight... Leo, do yer' thing." She says, following after Salem.

Leonard nods to Salem. "Everybody out." He heads back into the kitchen.

The smell of gas is getting stronger, even outside the kitchen.

Olga moves to leave, wiping at her nose, which has begun to run, with her sleeve. She looks back to the kitchen and spies the box there. "Y' leavin' that?" she asks, incredulously.

Taslyn shakes her head and heads out of the window to the back again, saying under her breath, "It was a rhetorical question ya..." She mumbles the rest under her breath.

"Yes," Salem tells Olga, curtly. "Leave it. For the cops." He heads out the back door.

"Cops won't do crap with it," Olga replies. "It might help. If y' can find out who the bane's killing, that's a step, eh?" She doesn't go get the box yet, though, just looks at him, or his shoes, rather.

You paged the room with 'Okay, so, we all scuttle off into the night, someone makes an anonymous call to 911 and the house goes kabloom?'.

"Banes," Salem tells the Bone Gnawer quietly, now that they're out of the house and moving away from it, "tend not to pick specific targets." He pulls up the hood of his sweatshirt and eyes her, his scarred face still a bit messy here and there. The sweatshirt's not much better. "What moon are you again?"

Olga looks at him, not answering the question, assuming he knows the answer. "There's more than one type of bane," she defends herself. "Why's it eat livers, and not brains, 'r hearts? Just f'r the hell of it? Is it focused on consumption? Or violence? Or something else, vengeance maybe? I wanna know. It might help to know." Her voice is subdued. She seems rather apathetic about it all, almost even shrugging.

Salem snorts at Olga's answer and picks up the pace of his stride, wanting to be well out of the area before the house blows up. "Do you need a ride?"

Olga looks at him, blankly. That caught her off-guard. She looks at it again, and at him again, and decides that she was wrong to have interpreted it as a question, and not a `I want to talk to you, young'un` command. "Yes," she says acquiescently, looking at the ground, "please."

Long distance to Olga: Salem hrms... and erfs. Actually, um, I ought to go to bed. I just now looked at the clock, and it's past 3:30am. :} Olga'll get a ride to the zoo (or whereever) in Salem's coolass (ha) Yugo. No lecture, but lots of cold and stony, disapproving silence.