The Time: Sunday, October 11, 1998, 9:54 PM (EST)
The Place: Andy's Old Fashioned Donuts
Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous Moon phase (60% full).
Andy's Old Fashioned Donuts
A small quaint donut shop, tastefully done in blue and white. A glass case,
showing a variety of fresh donuts stands at the back of the store. Standing
behind the glass case, a small old woman, looking to be in her sixties, is busy
with customers. A young girl, slightly taller than the old woman and looking to
be around sixteen rushes back and forth through a swinging door, bringing out
trays of donuts or coffee or other delicious smelling items.
A sturdy door to the south opens out onto the street. Small round metal tables
have been set out near the window, '+help places' will assist you in seating.
At the corner table, the plate-glass window at one side and the backwall behind
him, is Joshua. The Shadow Lord sits low in the chair, his eyes half-hooded as
he stares at the old woman behind the counter - the only other person in the
place. She is fidgeting under his hostile attention, he not only seems well
aware of her reaction, but is delighting in it.
The opening door gives the woman another place to look, but Jack Salem is hardly
any more comforting. Unsmiling and grim, the Glass Walker sweeps a dark-eyed
gaze over the area, his attention pausing briefly upon Joshua.
Joshua does not react to the door opening, not at first anyway. He watches the
old woman a bit longer, following the play of emotions across her face. Only
once the show seems over does he start turning his gaze towards the newcomer,
the turning of his head seemingly little faster than a glacier moves across the
land. His eyes giving away a confidence so complete it has become cocky, he
looks Salem up and down; Joshua appears unimpressed.
[Salem]
Tall and dark, he stands a few inches over six feet, a striking and rather
dangerous-looking man in his mid-twenties. Black hair frames hawkish features
and a high forehead, the dark eyes deep-set. It's a face tailor-made for
brooding and cynicism, and he excels at both moods. He's handsome, albeit in a
devilish, saturnine kind of way, but rarely does he seem truly relaxed, and
often a sharp and tense hatred seems to rage just beneath the surface of his
flesh, a murderous anger held in check by a tight and uncertain control. A black
goatee lines his lips and jaw, and a thick scar runs down the left side of his
face, just missing the eye. In short, he has the look of the very devil about
him, a Lucifer fallen from grace, bitter about his fate and prone to dark moods
and unprovoked violence.
He's dressed entirely in black; the funereal color suits his appearance and
often his mood. A clean short-sleeved t-shirt is tucked into a pair of BDU-style
military pants. He wears sneakers instead of boots, for whatever reason, and has
his shoulder-length hair tied back, leaving only a few loose strands to fall
over his forehead and eyes. And when outdoors, he wears a black leather
longcoat, battered from much use but sturdily built. He's moving a bit more
carefully than usual, light-footed but without the customary impressive grace.
Salem, with considerable restraint, refrains from a challenging stare and
contents himself with a careful study of the bleach-blond. A flicker of a thin
smile tugs at his lips as he turns away, stepping toward the counter. A few
quiet words pass between him and the old woman behind the counter. She points to
a payphone hidden in a corner nook; Salem nods and heads toward it.
Joshua returns the Glass Walker's smile not with one of his own, but with a lazy
smirk. His expression bored, he watches the interaction of the two, then the
woman a while longer before letting his eyes wander back towards Salem. Without
looking at his hand, the full moon reaches out for a bit of donut left on the
table, then flicks it at the other ahroun much like a little boy might poke a
dog with a stick, trying to discover its breaking point.
Salem ignores the gesture; he's a bit too far out of flicking distance anyway.
His back toward Joshua, one might say insultingly, he picks up the phone, dials,
listens a bit, and then hangs up.
The gesture was symbolic; if Salem had been felled by the donut crumb, Joshua
would have been mightly disappointed. Smirk still in place, he continues to
stare at the Walker, his almost sprawled position (even so far as one booted
foot up on the chair across from his), remains unchanged.
The pay-phone rings about fifteen seconds later. Salem picks it up after the
first ring and speaks into it, quietly.
As the counter woman returns from the back, Joshua's eyes leap towards her: his
first quick movement since Salem arrived. The Lord grins at her, the expression
all teeth and menace; she reacts accordingly.
Salem, still talking quietly on the payphone, casts a glance over the shop;
Joshua's interaction with the old woman does not go unnoticed by the saturnine
Glass Walker.
Despite his lazy, almost sleepy posture, the air around Joshua all but prickles
with not just Rage, but something... else. The old women behind the counter sure
does seem to feel it, for she hurries back into the kitchen, making the sign of
the cross as she goes.
Salem hangs up the phone with a quiet click and turns around, folding his hands
into the pockets of his coat. His gaze falls on Joshua again, and he smiles. It
isn't a nice smile.
Nigel comes in off the street, drawn by the scent of hot fresh donuts.
Jeff comes in off the street, drawn by the scent of hot fresh donuts.
Something shifts within the Lord as Salem looks his way; it's not a physical
change (he has hardly moved since claiming his chair), but the tension in the
air around Joshua increases, the air buzzing as if a swarm of bees were arriving
one by one and circling him.
[Jeff]
Jeff's appearance almost screams 'Rich Boy'. He stands a little above average
height, about 6'2. He has a full head of dark brown hair, well groomed and
looking much like one of the '$100 hair styles.' His features are gentle:
rounded chin, slim nose, and clean, dark complexion. His eyes seem to mismatch
his hair and complexion, they are a pale blue color. His build is athletic, but
not overly strong. All-in-all, grooming and looks combined, he could stand out
in a crowd, though perhaps only barely.
Currently, he is wearing a casual outfit, at least his version of a casual
outfit: Black dockers and a loose-fitting, blue, button-up, silk shirt. The
outfit is completed by a pair of comfortable loafers.
[Nigel]
Nigel is a sandy-haired man in his early thirties with a gold-rimmed pair of
spectacles and a scrawny build. His exposed skin is brown from a great deal of
time spent outside, and his calloused hands and dirty nails would seem to
indicate a person who earns his living through physical labor, but while some
blue collar workers have cell phones and pagers on their belts, not so many have
an emerald ring on their finger and a $2000 watch that measures barometric
pressure. In Canada. After six months in St. Claire there are new lines on his
face and a more somber wardrobe: his cold-weather ensemble is a maroon pullover
on top of a black t-shirt (the word 'SPINAL' is visible), dirty khakis, and a
battered old pair of Reeboks. No socks.
Nigel enters and looks around the room, noting exits, security systems, the
price of a large coffee, everything.
Jeff slips in behind Nigel, quietly dropping his arms to his side as he takes in
the scene.
Joshua's head makes a small, sharp movement as the door opens. The Lord cocks
his ear towards it, then slowly tears his eyes from Salem and checks out the new
arrivals. Jeff gets a quick once-over, but it's Nigel that holds Joshua's
attention. Like a sleepy lion stirring at the first scent of a brushfire, the
full moon shifts his weight, not sitting up just yet, but looking like he's
getting ready to.
Salem glances toward the door, acknowledging the two other men with a nod.
Taking charge of the situation, Jack steps toward Joshua's table and, without
asking, pulls out a chair and seats himself opposite. "Joshua Black, I presume."
Joshua's booted foot hits the floor with a thud as Salem pulls the chair out
from under it - the Lord just lets it fall. His eyes return to the dark Walker,
his expression far, far to cocky to be called worried, but at least the young
man seems alert now. "Yeah," he drawls, then summons up the effort to gesture at
Salem with a pair of fingers. "You are?"
"A representative," Salem answers, blandly. He sits straight, arms folded across
his chest, rage and nobility coiling about him like a cobra. A glance goes
toward the other two Walkers, with a nod toward nearby empty chairs, and then
his gaze goes back to Joshua, meeting his eyes squarely.
Jeff adjusts his loose fitting jacket around him a little more before slipping
over to one of the indicated chairs and sitting himself down. The whole time, he
doesn't speak a word.
Nigel finishes his survey of the store, hooks a dirty sneaker under the fourth
chair, spins it around, and sits in it backwards. He proceeds to scrutinize
Joshua like something on a microscope slide, silently.
Joshua uses Salem's glance towards the other men as an excuse not to meet his
eyes just yet. His gaze makes the slow trip between them, watching them seat
themselves and box him into his corner. His jaw tightens, the invisible bees
seeming to grow more numerous in the air around him. "A representative," the
Lord repeats as if sounding the word out, tasting all the different meanings it
might hold. "I see." When his attention returns to the other ahroun, the stare
is established... but not held for more than fifteen seconds; with a silent
snarl, the young Lord looks away first.
Salem's smile widens a notch. Satisfied that he's established his place superior
to the man with bleached hair, he unfolds his arms and leans forward, resting
his elbows on the table. "A representative of those who wish to speak to you
about certain... concerns we have about your conduct."
His eyes drilling holes in the wall past Salem's left shoulder, Joshua's upper
lip has yet to smooth. "I'm listening," he says, his quiet voice icy with hate
and something that isn't quite threat, but isn't too far from it.
Salem shakes his head. "No," he says firmly, and with the tones of one familiar
with command. "_We_ will be listening. _You_ will be speaking. And answering our
questions." He looks toward Nigel and Jeff.
Jeff quirks a brow and nods lightly, keeping his mask of calm on at all time.
"Yes," he agrees in a soft tone, before looking back to Salem to continue.
Slowly, ever since the three sat down, Joshua's weight has been shifting. The
movement so slow it's hard to mark just when it started, it ends with him
leaning forward aggressively, his hands gipping the table's edge. "Questions,"
he repeats flatly, addressing Salem; Jeff is utterly ignored.
Nigel casually takes a look under the table at Joshua's knee, and adjusts
himself in the chair minutely.
"Yes. Questions." Salem leans forward as well, dark eyes boring into Joshua. All
trace of geniality has vanished from his manner. "What do you know about the
murders?"
There's a slight movement of Joshua's eyebrows as he gets nothing from his gift
off Salem, though the timing is such that it might be taken as a reaction to the
question. His head tilts to Nigel, focusing on him before getting around to
repeating the word. "Murders?"
Salem's eyes continue to bore into Joshua. "Yes," he says, flatly. "The murders.
The dead women. The animal attacks. The... evidence of perversion. It's been all
over the papers since you arrived in this city." Jack pauses a beat. "What do
you know about these murders?"
Joshua's eyes go to Jeff now, giving him more attention for this moment than he
has since the half moon arrived. As soon as he has gotten the information he's
looking for, he looks back to Salem with an 'Oh? Were you talking to *me*?'
expression. A pause, then he gestures towards the door to the kitchem, the one
the old woman fled through while things were getting hot and hairy. "Keep her
busy and we'll talk."
"I don't think you realize the position you're in," says Salem. His weight
shifts slightly in his chair, and then, suddenly, his hand lashes out toward
Joshua's face in a backhanded strike, fueled with the rage that continues to
simmer under his flesh.
Nigel's attention goes towards the counter for a split-second, to be snapped
back by Salem.
Jeff begins to turn the indicated direction, but also jerks his head back as
Salem strikes. He instinctivly pushs his chair back an inch or two.
Joshua starts to react as Nigel and Jeff fall for the ploy and look towards the
kitchen, but Salem's intended slap screws things up. The Lord surges upwards,
exploding into warform. His intended move had been to throw the table into Salem
as he leaps (or starts to leap) at Nigel.
Joshua contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Joshua shift into Crinos form.
[DarknessGathers]
A nightmare become all-too-real; a monster more frightening than any Hollywood's
knockoffs will be able to match. Clad in black fur and armed with talons and
fangs, this hulking creature stands over nine feet tall. He is a thing created
for seemingly one purpose: death. If one was to linger long enough to look into
his eyes, a second purpose might be noted, thought admitedly it's just a
variation of the first: slow death; the infliction of pain. That pause to look
closer might cost you, though...
Salem surges upwards in a blink of an eye, a fraction of a second after Joshua
transforms. Silently, the killing rage bursts forth and takes form, nine feet
tall and black as night. The hand lashes out again, claws gleaming.
Salem contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Salem shifts into Crinos form.
Nigel instinctively throws himself backwards, firing the gun concealed in his
pullover pocket before his butt hits the floor.
DarknessGathers, intent first on faking Nigel out, is distracted enough for
Salem's gift-armed strike to land. Not only does the Lord gain a gash, his legs
tumble out from under him. He snarls, eyes going dark as he fixes on Salem. The
shot from Nigel goes just a tad high, blowing out a chunk of the Lord's thigh
instead of his knee. He doesn't jump up right away, instead raking his claws
against the tiles of the donut shop's floor.
Jeff kicks his chair back as he sees the transformation, hand moving behind him
and coming back with a silver-loaded pistol.
Dark One snarls, hunching down and glaring toward the stranger-Crinos with hot
yellow eyes. ~Shift back,~ he growls. ~Or you die. Here, and now, you die.~
Dark One backs up his statement by raking his own claws across the hard floor,
sharpening the talons to a bright, razored gleam.
DarknessGathers does not shift down. His speed backed with Rage, he launches
himself off the ground at Dark One, hindered somewhat by the wound in his leg.
One arm then the other slashes out, his blows doubly backed.
Nigel gets his feet under him after a second and hops the counter in a fast
attempt at Veil Control. Yelling "Get down! They're shooting at each other!" he
tackles the elderly storeowner and shoves her down with him on top of her.
Dark One loses his balance and tumbles over, going down on his back. But a pair
of long, brawny arms wrap themselves around Darkness Gathers and drags the other
Crinos down with him in a pile of blacker-than-black fur. Twisting like a cat,
Salem brings his hind legs up to bear at the Shadow Lord's belly and kicks out,
hard, several times and rapidly.
Jeff levels the gun, snarling quietly as he realizes he can't get a proper bead.
Setting the pistol aside, he lunges himself into Crinos himself.
DarknessGathers's body twists, trying less than totally successfully to save
himself from being gutted even as he drives his muzzle down at the Dark One's
throat. Clawed hands attempt to capture the Walker's as he fights to keep the
other crinos pinned on his back.
Dark One is wise in the way of brawling, and the Lord's attempt for his throat
is met with a muzzleful of snapping teeth, fang clashing with fang as his claws
dig into the other's flesh to keep his hold, taloned feet kicking hard enough to
disembowel, if one of those blows land.
Jeff decides, perhaps stupidly, to enter the fray. Quickly moving up behind the
furry mass of werewolves in the floor, he tries to take advantage of the
distraction that is Salem and slash at DarknessGather's back.
DarknessGathers, less than wise in the way of brawling, continues to try and
slash with his teeth, wasting his fetish-aided claws on trying to keep Dark
One's hands out of the battle. The Lord is good enough (and/or lucky enough) so
that he dodges the first of the blows, then the Walker's right paw hits home,
his claws digging deep into the muscle of Joshua's stomach before he kicks,
opening a gash more than a foot long. Jeff gets plenty of time to attack the
Lord's back as Joshua's busy 'assulting' Salem with loops of intestines.
Dark One's face twists into an ugly snarl, his rage burning steadily -- though
not in the explosion of frenzy. Strengthening his grip, showing no mercy at all,
the Walker Ahroun kicks again, hard. ~Yield.~ And again. ~Now.~ And again. ~Or
die.~
Jeff strikes a few more times, causing a few nasty gashs on the back. He takes a
step back, then another and scans the area for something that would prove a
useful weapon.
Rage burns hit in the Lord's eyes, but then so, too, is the blood pouring out of
him noticeably warm. Panting, blood thick on his muzzle and flesh in his teeth,
he rolls off Dark one and lifts his chin.
Dark One wrinkles his muzzle, baring bloody front teeth. With a low rumble, he
rolls over and reaches out to press his claws against the Lord's exposed throat.
~Shift down,~ he commands. ~Now.~ There's a distinct lack of trust in his tone.
Jeff sees the offer of throat and takes the moment to shrink back down to his
birthform. He adjusts his clothing a few minutes before making his gun handy
again, just in case.
DarknessGathers's teeth bare as the command is backed up by force, but it's not
his best show of threat, not with his innards hanging out. He shifts down to
glabro, one hand shifting to his ripped belly.
Dark One grunts and gets up, reverting to human form as he stands, nose wrinkled
in distaste as the blood now seeping into his clothes. "Now get up," he commands
the Shadow Lord. "You're coming with us. This interrogation is not over."
Nigel continues keeping the old woman flat on the ground and out of the way. He
says loudly as English begins to be spoken, "Look, whoever you are, we didn't
see your faces! Just leave us alone, and we won't rat on you!" More
conversationally he murmurs in the woman's ear "This happened all the time in
Charlestown. Mob hits--we're fine as long as we don't make trouble."
Joshua gets up slowly, every movement seeming an effort as he tries not to pull
wounds further. Once he's most of the way up, hunched (crouched?) before Salem,
he launches himself at the Walker. Hindered muchly by his ripped open belly and
weakened leg, he shifts back up to warform in the blink of an eye, bring both
hands forward and teeth bared to attack with everything he has.
Jeff having his gun already at the ready, fires off a few, rather unsuccessfull
shots at the spot Joshua use to occupy, swearing loudly the whole time.
"You FUCK!" The sound of tearing cloth and the acrid tang of more
freshly-spilled blood hits the air as Joshua's claws tear into him. Roaring in
anger and pain, Jack flashes back into Crinos, the rage snapping out with the
madness of battlefrenzy as he retaliates, clawing, kicking, and snapping in a
flurry of rage-fueld attack.
In a dingy little donut shop in a dingly little city, the Lord who killed his
way across a half-dozen states attacks Salem with a single mindedness known well
to most Garou. Fetish and gift-aided claws fly, teeth lash out, blows are
exchanged. Quickly enough Joshua loses the advantage of his surprise attack and
the battle turns; the Lord's pelt becomes thick with his own blood, gashes open,
bites rip flesh from him.
This time, the Glass Walker gives the Shadow Lord no chance to give himself up
and spare his own life. There is no mercy in Salem as he continues tearing at
Darkness-Gathers, the teeth ever-snapping for the Lord's throat as the feet kick
and the clawed hands grip and slash and tear at the murderer's flesh.
DarknessGathers loses his footing in the slickness of his own blood, crumpling
to the floor under the continued fury of Dark One's attack. The Lord does not
attempt his trick a second time, nor does he truly give up. Blood loss and grave
injuries slow him down enough for more and more of Salem's attacks to land true,
which only continues the cycle. Soon enough, Darkness Gathers does little more
than raise his arms in a position that would be blocking if it was at all
steady, the Rage (and life) ebbing out of his eyes.
Nigel keeps his head down (and by extension, the shopkeeper's); Jeff, not
wanting to come between Salem and his prey, takes a stance by the door to block
as much of the scene as possible from the outside world.
Salem's own fur is bloodied, not all of it Joshua's, but it's clear who is the
victor here. One hand grasps Joshua's weakened wrists and yanks them down; the
other grabs the Lord's muzzle and jerks it up, exposing the other's throat. His
jaw gapes, bloody fangs bared, and then dives down. There's a muffled, wet
crunch as he bites down and deeply into the vulnerable throat-flesh.
As the Lord is finished, his broken and beaten body returns to birthform.
Salem refrains from howling his triumph and merely shifts back. Blood covers him
nearly head to toe; the floor is slimed with it. Getting up, he glares at the
corpse and gives it a kick. "Fucking honorless bastard," Jack rasps.
A scream sounds from the street.
Jeff quickly puts something away in his overcoat and turns as the door he was
blocking opens: his stony expression crumbles a bit as he recognizes the
'customer'. "Rina. We don't have much time--is the street empty?"
Salem turns sharply toward the scream, dark eyes narrowing in his bloodstreaked
face. He calms down slightly upon seeing Rina and bends down to pick up Joshua's
battered corpse.
Staring at the body, Rina shakes her head minutely. "Doubt it," she answers,
voice close to a whisper. A breath, and she pulls herself together enough to
turn and go lean outside for a moment--long enough to look up and down the
block.
Nigel is leading the old shopkeeper in the Lord's Prayer, their voices raised
loudly from the little kitchen in back of the shop.
"We got sirens and lights," Rina calls back in, coming inside. Her voice is
tight, the control evident on her face--but a faint glimmer shows in her eyes.
"Get through the kitchen fast.
Salem snarls out another angry-sounding, "Fuck," and wastes no time in heading
for the kitchen with Joshua's body.
Rina takes another deep breath. "Tell me where you're goin' and I'll send a
Theurge. Got one on the way."
Nigel hears the approaching feet and has just enough time to cover the old
woman's face completely with his coat. "Please don't kill us; the back door's
that way. We won't snitch, will we? No, of course not."
Salem pauses, turning to eyeball Rina and then Jeff. "Someplace close and
secure." His scowl deepens; he ignores the voices behind the counter. "My place,
unless someone can think of anything better." He continues toward the back, and
(hopefully) escape.
Jeff takes a final look around for dropped objects, then follows the others.
Nigel silently hands over his pistol, which the Philodox drops in another
oversized pocket with a nod.
Rina nods curtly. "Jeff, call me an'I'll tell 'em where to go. I'm outta here."
The she darts out, dodging into an alley.
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