Hunting a Missing Ronin

[hazlogs]

[2/8/98]

[Background.  Morgan and Arlen left Salem alone while they went chasing
after a Bone Gnawer cub's kinfetch.  When they returned, Salem was gone.
Morgan was... irate, but she had the cub to deal with.  Finally, though,
other members of Edge arrived.]

[It's a full moon at the Rialto.]


Ragedancer looks glad that the cavalry has arrived. Chugs, Lightseeker, Shadow 
  Eyes. This is... Clever for Food, newest Bone Gnawer cub. She lifts her 
  muzzle towards the auditorium. I need to go find... the Tribeless-Devil. 
  He's not up there. That note is made with more than just a hint of 
  irritation. I don't want him roaming the city with the moon so full.

Shadow Eyes wags his tail as he sees Clever. I know this one... He wuffs at 
  Clever, greetings cub.

Clever-for-Food starts forward as Shadow Eyes wags his tail. Go out? Find 
  food? She sniffs along his side, her own wagging quickly now.

Shadow Eyes wuffs. Finding food will be but a small part of your training, now.

Lightseeker offers, as the Gnawers get to know each other, I could track with 
  you, Ragedancer.

Clever-for-Food's flipped ear pricks to match her upright one, and she drops 
  into a play bow. Play, too? Her jaw drops open as she starts to pant.

Ragedancer flickers her ears at Lightseeker. Chugs? You with us, or do you 
  want to teach?

Shadow Eyes will teach play as well, silly pup. He wags his tail. Among many 
  other things.

Clever-for-Food makes a full circle around Shadow Eyes, sniffing. Good, good. 
  We go now?

Chugs stops as he sees the cub, letting Shadow Eyes step forward. The big 
  Gnawer looks over at Ragedancer. Chugs is with you girls.
Chugs steps forward though towards Clever, powerful shoulders rolling as he 
  approaches. Alpha male dominance is all over him as he stands there. I am 
  tribe alpha, Chugs.

Ragedancer gives a short growl, containing her irritation. Let's go then, 
  Chugs. If you're through being buff. She starts up towards the door, taking 
  her homid form.

Clever-for-Food's tail continues to wag, though from a lower position than 
  before. I'm me! Keeping her head down, she leans in to sniff at the larger 
  animal.

Shadow Eyes is Shadow Eyes. Like yourself, a shifter.

Chugs leans over the cub, sniffing at her and then turns toward Shadow Eyes. I 
  want her staying here for now. Hand her off to Jose when you gotta go, Eyes. 
  That said, the big Gnawer turns his moon-buff self toward the stairs, 
  padding up after Ragedancer with a low growl. Buff my ass.
Chugs leaves up the stairs into the theater above.
Chugs has left.

Lightseeker shifts upwards as well, following her two packmates. "Have a good 
  time, Elan..."
Arlen leaves up the stairs into the theater above.
Arlen has left.

Shadow Eyes will!

[Edge all trot upstairs to the auditorium, leaving Elan with the new cub
in the Green Room.]

Pete Barlow stretches slightly as he regains his birthform. "Where'd the fetch 
  find you?"

Arlen sticks a thumb in her pocket and points with the other one. "Here. It 
  found Salem first, and then we arrived. And then we left, without him."

Morgan shakes her head. "Damn him," she mutters. "He seemed half-drunk. I 
  didn't think he was going anywhere."

Pete Barlow looks over at Salem's 'spot' and frowns. "Looks like he'd gotten 
  himself on a tear alright."

Morgan nods slowly. "I should be able to get a bead on him with the help of 
  one of Gaia's gifts. He won't be getting away simply." She cracks her 
  knuckles. "I just hope he comes along quietly."

Pete Barlow gives a shrug. "I kinda hope he doesn't." The big gnawer smiles, 
  looking over at Arlen with a dark grin.

Arlen nods. "Which is odd, since he was somewhat... inactive when we saw him." 
  She quirks a smile. "Should learn that. Got too many things to teach, 
  though."

Morgan gives a short chuckle. "Three of us on one of him isn't sporting odds, 
  though we don't really want open fighting in the street." She inhales a 
  short breath and then closes her eyes concentrating. Her lips move, 
  murmuring a prayer to Pegasus.

Davy comes in the out door, wearing his black leather jacket and looking 
  preoccupied. He starts seeing more than half his pack gathering in the room 
  with anticipatory expressions, but with one glance at Morgan's face he 
  doesn't immediately speak.

Pete Barlow nods Davy over, not bothering to raise a shushing finger to his 
  lips when he sees the Fianna is two steps ahead of him... as usual. Pete 
  turns, though, and looks over at Morgan.

Arlen's return smile to Pete is somewhat predatory, one Pete has come to know, 
  lately.

Morgan, without opening her eyes, says in a murmur, "Northeast. Maybe across 
  the river." Her eyelids flutter open. "That must be near the interstate." 
  She takes another deep breath and smiles at Davy.

Arlen says. "Well. We outta here, then?"

Davy's voice is the intense drone of the fighter pilot in _Star Wars_. "Stay 
  on target." He then raises both eyebrows. "Is it the Death Star, though?"

Pete Barlow gives a chuckle at Davy, a sharp full-moon chuckle. "Let's do it 
  before Jack gets himself in a pickle."

Morgan can't help but break into a laugh. "Trust the Force, Davy."

Davy falls in behind his pack, whistling. And of course, what could he whistle 
  but the Attack on the Death Star theme.

[Scene change to: Crappy Motel on I-90.]

Aided by her Gift, Morgan leads the rest of Edge on a trek out toward 
  Interstate 90, across the river, and to a motel that sits near the 
  Interstate just before it crosses the Columbia river and into St. Claire. 
  It's a run-down, bland, ugly, squat little place, with dead trees, brown 
  shrubs, and a neon sign that proclaims: V CANCY. There are a few cars in the 
  cracked parking lot, plus a truck with one of those silvery metal trailers 
  hitched to it.

Morgan wrinkles her nose as she takes in the surroundings of this crappy 
  motel. "Damn Ronin," she mutters, under her breath. It must be the tenth or 
  the eleventh time she's mentioned it. Her eyes closes again, as she tries to 
  zero in on the wandering ahroun's room.

Arlen murmurs, "Yes, we know he is," and leans against a railing.

Davy kicks a clump of dead leaves, turning them over to expose an opened 
  condom package. "Lifestyles of the rich and famous."

There's a kid walking her dog in the semi-light of a sodium lamp. She gives 
  the pack a look that's halfway between wary and apathetic and keeps her 
  distance. Morgan's gift leads her - and Edge - toward one of the rooms at 
  the darker end of the lot. First floor - there _is_ no second floor.

Morgan knocks on the door, before she motions the brute squad over to kick it 
  in, if needed.

The curtains are drawn, but the light snaps out as soon as Morgan knocks. The 
  door remains stubbornly closed.

Arlen just looks at Davy, enquiringly.

Pete Barlow stands to one side of Morgan, all business.

Morgan sounds pissed. "Don't make me break this door down."

No response.

Arlen asks Davy, "You got that Gift?"

"Fine, asshole," Edge's alpha shouts into the darkened room, sounding even 
  more pissed off now. She lifts her chin toward the door, her eyes inviting 
  Pete to do the honors.

Pete Barlow reaches up as if to check the door then shrugs before kicking the 
  door in, his heavy boot slamming flat beside the handle as the door buckles 
  inward.

Davy lets the ahroun do what he does best--break things--while he asks Arlen, 
  "Which gift?"

Arlen gestures with her fingers. "To unlock doors. More subtle than Pete's 
  method."

Almost as soon as the door flies inward, Morgan follows it inside, bristling. 
  Standing in the dark, she almost hollers, "What the *fuck* is the big idea?"

Arlen murmurs, "Sewer time?" and follows her Alpha.

The kid at the other end of the parking lot stares as she watches - from a 
  safe distance - as people go kicking doors in. Then she takes the better 
  part of valor and runs off, dragging the dog with her.

And as soon as Morgan steps into the darkened room, nine feet of snarling, 
  rage-paranoid Garou lunges out of the shadows, claws and teeth bared.

"Not as dramatic though," offers Pete as Morgan busts through the door. 
  Seeing--more like feeling--the crinos'd Jack, Barlow follows Morgan into the 
  room rising up into glabro as he does so.

Davy answers laconically, "Yup. But I figured Pete wanted his fun. And Morgan 
  might decide to break me, in her current mood, if I get in the away." He 
  turns to look in after his packmates, frowning as he sees Pete bulk up in 
  the doorway. Still completely on the sidewalk himself, he stays down.

Arlen, at the snarl, lets Pete through, blocking the doorway to casual view.

Morgan is more direct than Chugs, she snaps into crinos immediately and moves 
  to slam into the Ronin, trying to back him against the wall, keeping herself 
  and her shape behind the shadows of the curtains. ~I'm not taking any of 
  your paranoid shit tonight, Salem. You play so big and tough, and you just 
  slink the hell off, not telling a soul where you're going.~

Pete Barlow steps to one side of the door after coming into the room, 
  thick-body large and powerful enough for the moment. Barlow's lips are 
  pulled back, dark and menacing. He lets Morgan do her thing, though, 
  scanning the room for anything unusual.

Davy flanks Arlen, covering the door from the other side. He looks out toward 
  the street, scanning up and down. Seeing no one for the moment, he mutters 
  to Arlen softly, "Just some werewolves here, move along."

Arlen murmurs, "We're a hedge, nothing to see, move along."

Salem slashes out with his claws as the Fury moves to subdue him. A blow 
  connects with the Ronin's muzzle, creating an audible *crunch*. And then he 
  goes berserk. There's no other word for it. With a choked snarl, the 
  frothmonster redoubles his attacks upon Ragedancer, both claws lashing out 
  with supernatural, murderous speed, teeth snapping to bite, flicks of foam 
  coming off the bloody muzzle.

Ragedancer, not completely surprised by this outcome, moves to knee the 
  nine-foot crinos right where it counts the most -- in his crotch -- as soon 
  as she can, having ducked under his first attack. ~Chugs, give me a hand,~ 
  she growls, giving low grunts as the Ronin's claws tear open her flesh. 
  ~Let's not kill him, yet.~ Her voice is unwavering, fearless.

Pete Barlow rises up in a snap into crinos, the violent motion from Jack Sprat 
  all that's needed to trigger the ahroun. Rising swiftly into crinos, Chugs 
  barrels forward like a linebacker going after the QB and the ball--though 
  it's clear that Morgan has a good handle on that. Chugs angles enough to 
  attempt to slam into the Ronin.

Salem, not paying attention to anything but mindlessly rending apart anything 
  that comes within reach of his claws, gets a solid hit in the groin, 
  provoking a snarl from the frenzied Ronin. The force of the blow knocks him 
  backwards a half-step, at which point the Bone Gnawer barrels into him from 
  the side. Raging, Salem goes down under Chugs, claws raking at his new 
  opponant.

Arlen says, "Hm," and takes a small jar out of her pack.

Ragedancer follows right after Chugs, driving her knees down on the frenzied 
  Ronin's legs, trying to subdue his limbs, and then weather the storm as best 
  she can.

Davy peeks in the door. Seeing the thrash of bodies and limbs in the dim 
  light, he says, "Some guys get all the fun."

Arlen hefts the jar in her hand, thoughtfully. "Think I ought to stay here? 
  This stuff - gets you confused about what's up and down - it might be 
  useful..."

Salem continues to struggle, golden eyes rolling in their sockets, showing the 
  white, his muzzle covered with blood-streaked froth and true rabid-dog 
  fashion. But Chugs and Ragedancer have the frenzying Garou securely pinned. 
  Maddened, he lets out a howl fit to wake the dead and keeps trying, 
  fruitlessly, to fight his way out from under the two Weasel-kin.

Chugs seems to be all too familiar with this kind of brawling--maybe it's the 
  close to thirty-odd years of street fights and sewer brawls. Applying all of 
  his bulk, size, and rage-fed strength, Chugs seeks to slam a thick, bony 
  forearm across Salem's muzzle, first one direction and then another.

Salem's howl is cut off in short order by the double-blow, the lupine soound 
  replaced by a few more meaty crunching sounds, and noises of breaking bone 
  and smashed teeth. Still snarling, he snaps in the direction of the blows, 
  his black fur slicked with blood -- his own.

Davy gives an involuntary twitch at the sounds and smells coming from the 
  room. He clears his throat, then says, "Save it, I think. The day the two of 
  them can't handle that annoying little shit is the day Razor disowns us."

Ragedancer resists the urge to kick the Ronin in the nuts again; she just 
  holds her bulk over his legs. ~You stupid fucking wretch,~ she snarls at the 
  enraged tribelss, the cuts from his claws finally sinking into her thoughts.

A very faint smile appears on Arlen's face. "That was rather my thinking as 
  well. But," she glances inside again, licking her lips, "Wish I could help."

Chugs feels the tear of a snap from Salem and simple lets loose, a shitload of 
  rage fueling his nea-frenzied reaction. ~... break... the ... fuckin' ... 
  rules...~ Each growled verbalization is punctuated with at first a powerful 
  fist to Jack's head, Chugs body-weight rising and falling onto the ronin as 
  he seeks to knock Salem out... or kill him... or both.

Davy shoots Arlen a sympathetic look. "Know the feeling." He then looks up at 
  the sky, at the swollen moon. "It's that time of the month."

Salem finally, after a couple of nasty blows, goes limp underneath the two 
  Edgers unconscious, golden eyes rolling back into the lupine head, his face 
  covered with blood, muzzle broken. Blood, too, stains the torn rags 
  wreathing the Crinos' upper torso.
Salem reverts to homid form, too.

Chugs gives Salem's now-unconscious homid body a final, heavy slam back to the 
  floor of the hotel. ~Fuckin' shit,~ he growls with barely contained rage.

Arlen says, quietly, "Perhaps he did not trust himself around the potential 
  cub. Nonetheless..."

Ragedancer puts a restraining paw on Chug's shoulders. ~Keep it together, big 
  guy. One is enough.~ She grumbles, a touch in pain, as she takes glabro. 
  "Well, we aren't leaving him here for the night. Someone's probably already 
  called the cops."

Salem stays out cold, easily manhandled by the irritated Bone Gnawer Ahroun. 
  The tattered remains of his shirt poorly conceal an odd mark on his chest, 
  but the pants must have been Dedicated. Forgotten, the battered black duster 
  lies across the bed nearby, along with a number of objects.

Chugs shakes his muzzle side to side as if clearing cobwebs or cooties and 
  then abruptly stands, backing away and down into glabro.

Arlen, as Chugs and Morgan drag the ahroun off, grabs anything that doesn't 
  look like hotel material. And a washcloth.

Morgan grunts. "Give me a hand. We'll stow him in Davy's van. Davy, you want 
  to get that heap fired up. I don't want to answer questions for the police."

There aren't any sirens. Yet.

Arlen wraps up the stuff in Salem's duster, and moves to help with stowing 
  Salem in uncomfortable places.

Salem gets hauled, bloody, unconscious, and unresisting.

Pete Barlow seems to have come up out of the rage-funk, still thick-bodied 
  though in the glabro. "Let me handle him," says Barlow as he leans over, 
  picking Salem up without much trouble. "Should just dump this fuck in the 
  river. Heavy boots and all."

"Not yet," Morgan says, her emotion choking her voice. "I want to have the 
  pleasure of some answers before we kick his ass out of town. Fair enough?"

Pete Barlow grunts acceptance, though his jaw is still working, clenching and 
  unclenching.

Davy climbs back into the driver's seat of the dark brown van. He starts up 
  the engine, which purrs to life. Mystically enough, the flipping on of his 
  headlights doesn't cause the little license-plate spotlight to light up. The 
  back of the van is missing the back seats, since the area is used for 
  deliveries instead of carting passengers. The floor is uncarpeted as well, 
  and Salem's blood smears over the cold surface beautifully.

Morgan gives a tight lipped grin to Arlen.

The pack gets away without further incident.

Arlen puts a light hand on Morgan's back, returning the smile.

Pete Barlow squats in the back, leaning against the side of the van as they 
  travel back. He watches the unconscious form of Jack as if waiting for an 
  excuse to resume the pounding.

Salem doesn't awaken during the trip back to Edge territory.

[Edge dumps him in a warehouse on their territory, and Morgan takes the
precaution of tying him down.  With chains.]