Ivan Press

[Kleopas Appius Hugh] "When I keeps it movin, that means there aint no spoin them
Where the love at?
When you young broke and black?
Where the weed at?
Its over there by the black!"

There are certain advantages to steriotypes. For one thing, many of them were based in truth. Many of them were also based in lies, but the important part is really the latter. Kleopas resembled so much a certain human stereotype that; given a lifetime of feeling great bouts of random chattering coming on, he could train himself to mimic certain movements, certain muscle contortions that it all seemed so little worth a second look.

"Oh, Mary Jane I love you so.
"I will never let you go!
"Oh, Mary Jane I love you so.
"I will never let you go!"

Anyone looking closer however would see the desperation of his movements. The utter helplessness of it. The thin white film of frantic foam forming at his lips. They'd see a man a few steps away from biting into his tongue and collapse it to the ground.

"Here I am!
"I'm the man!"
"Word!"

And of course, if you asked a certain percentage of the people tugging the pockets of their jackets closer together while walking through the late night crowds, hoping to catch the next El Train before the real crazies came out; he had real talent!

"Cool as a fan!"
"I'm cooler than...fan."
"Heard me tell...another...man..."

That is, until he started losing steam.

"And I'm smnamnamaan..."

Its then that something remarkable happened. The impressively tall, unimpressively slim black man stood stock still, straightened the collar on his camouflage bubble goose-down, and started trudging against the direction of the steady Mag Mile cowd setting one steel toed workboot in front of the other.

Not a difficult feat...considering the energy that practically arcing out in a sudden jolt of 'stay-the-fuck-away.' encouraged entire groups of people to do just that.

[Ivan Press] It's almost midnight. It's almost freezing. Lake effect and continental mass makes for cold winters. Up the street, a playhouse is letting out. Plays aren't really Ivan's thing, much less modern plays full of pretense and oh-so-heavy symbolism, but he was hardly here for the plot. He doesn't come out of the front door, after all, but the backstage door - the one marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY - with some giggling blonde starlet following him out into the alleyway for a cigarette.

She has dreams of Broadway, or maybe just Hollywood. They're not in love. They're not even courting. She thinks he must have connections, with all his wealth; maybe he knows somebody or he knows somebody who knows somebody. He thinks she has nice tits. It's a two-way street of mutually agreeable usage, and he's enough of a gentleman, at least, to offer her a cigarette from his case and light it up for her.

Alleyways on the Mile are a world apart from the rat-ridden filth heaps of Bronzeville or Cabrini. This one's wide, concrete-paved, properly drained, and even reasonably well-lit. Seen from the street, they're figures leaning against the wall, the woman petite and just this side of anorexic; the man tall, very lean, cat-deft and cat-graceful as he cups his lighter to his own cigarette.

Both of them look up when those rhymes, somewhere between pedantic and psychotic, ring off the tall buildings. The woman clutches at the man's arm, as though in sudden fright. The man's affect is cooler. She's a rather good actress, after all, if he's honest. He doesn't believe for a second her fear is real.

Still. He puts his hand on her elbow, leans to murmur something in her ear, and then guides her back inside. He shuts the door behind her. If he promises to call her, it can't be heard from the street. The girl dismissed now, Ivan turns the collar of his coat up against the wind and comes out of the alley, crossing the street to intercept the suddenly taciturn would-be-poet.

"Interesting rhymes," he offers.

[Kora] There's a crime scene on the Mile, written out in yellow police tape around the front of a small boutique. The crime was minor enough that no one would bother to call the police in any other neighborhood. This one rates two squad cars, blaring red and blue lights against the darkness, adding to the cacaphony of lights scatterred around the Mile. The victim sits sideways in the backseat of the second squad car, underdressed for the weather, in a little teal bustier dress, with black mohair shrug knitted and knotted to look like spider's webbing, made for fashion rather than warmth. "You know Halloween was a week ago - " the investigating officer joked when he saw the get-up. The clerk gave him a sharp, haughty look and said, in a haughty voice. "It's a designer original - "

Yeah, right.

Yes, there was a disturbance in the backroom.
Yes, she has a bruise on her temple.
Yes, she's a bit woozy. No, she won't go to the hospital.

"Back door's busted, but it don't look like anything's taken," says the second cop, from the second squad car. Someone's probably being murdered for want of a police response somewhere in Chicago ghetto right now. And here these guys are, frowning over a knocked-over supply shelf and a busted down back door.

Half-a-block way, a blonde sits perched on the edge of a planter box filled with dead impatiens, black with frost, hands firmly in the front pockets of her hoodie, the hood pulled up over her hair. There's a steaming cup of coffee by her right knee. Was steaming, is no longer.

She doesn't belong here anymore than man with the rhymes, those old boots, that worn clothing, layers for warmth wrapped around her torso, giving a naturally narrow frame some winter bulk. Still, watching those police now and then from a distance, her attention sharpens, cutting away from the crime scene as Ivan emerges from the alley.

Pure breeding cuts through the air like a scythe, and briefly her dark eyes are intent on him, gleaming in the light shed by the nearest street lamp, the tendrils of her blonde hair hidden beneath the shadow of her hood, her hands firmly in the pockets, her posture forward - alert, aware, alive.

[Paul Kellogg] Paul walked the Mile completely unawares of his surrounding. So much so, he carried on an arguement with himself. Over what? One had to be paying attention.

There were no seeing at the moment others, let alone sensing them

[Kleopas Appius Hugh] "EH!" He says, or grunts if you prefer, recoiling from the address. Wide eyes look at Ivan, but not frightened eyes. Frightened eyes have a certain panic movement to them. Paying equal attention to the direct subject, and the possible escape routes. These were not frightened eyes. They bugged and bored through him. It was his feet that proved to be more mobile than anyone possibly intended them to be.

"I push rhymes like weight, muthafucka!"

He then blinks. And blinks again. And his eyes seem so much smaller, and smaller. So much more...normal.

"I mean...what?"

[Ivan Press] It's possible they've seen each other before. Across the moot fires, for one. It's also wholly possible they never noticed each other. Ivan usually looks bored at moots. Kleopas may or may not even have been mentally present. They look at each other without recognition now, though it's hard to mistake Ivan for anything but what he is.

Highborn. Wellbred. With a nobleman's fine, lean frame and a true profligate's tastes in clothing, in cigarettes, in haunts, in women. While Kleopas flickers between modes like a light flashing on off, on off, binary, digital, not at all analog -- Ivan simply watches him.

The Silver Fang's eyes are sharp, their color indeterminate in the shifting dazzling lights of the Mile. He watches Kleopas go from bombastic to normal. A little confused. He takes a drag off his cigarette. It smells like cloves and tobacco. It smells strong.

"You were spitting rhymes just now," he remarks. "Don't know if they're good enough to sell albums, but you could probably at least avoid being booed off stage at a local talent show. Or don't you remember?"

[Kora] The cotton hoodie is zip-front, with a deep hood on a drawsting left loose and open pulled forward enough to shade her face. Maybe its or warmth, against the brisk chill of the clear November evening. Striped in shifting dusky blue hues, it fades into the background without becoming a smear of shadow. Despite the bulk of the layers - that jacket over a thermal over a t-shirt over another. The edge of the hood pushes back, but there's nothing like Ivan's breeding to mark her out. Just that promise written under her skin, that potentially lethal stillness of her tall frame, there in the darkness. The way she slouches forward, nearly hunched, but still contrives to seem tall.

The lights from the police cars throb against the darkness, like an infected wound. She's far enough away from the scene that she cannot hear the interviews, and has only the body language to go by. There are firmly ensconsed, still, those cops. One stands with his hand flat on the roof of the squad car, the other one half-kneels at the girl's side, as if he were about to propose. They gain a shifting sort of audience as revelers spill out of a bar for a chilly cigarette or a quick, squealing dash to the next club down the way, but the rubbernecking is just this constantly moving crowd cutting through the sidewalk.

The girl's booted feet hit the sidewalk, then. It's quiet and soft but not silent. Hands still in her pockets, firm there, she casts a glance back at the squad cars, then begins to amble toward Ivan and Kleopas.

[Kleopas Appius Hugh] "Man, whachu--" He starts, but then stops himself, letting his eyes role up and back, as if they could actually look back in time. "Hm." He seems to think to himself. "I was doing that, wasn't I?"

"Uhh..yeah. Yeah, y'know. I do a lil sumpm sumpm sometimes. Aint no big thang."

And then he catches it. So strong, so obvious! He lets the non olfactory aspects of it wash over and through him, and it infexts him so that he cannot hide the quite obvious 'Snnnniiif!' that caps it off.

"Yo. I uhhh...I know you? I mean, we met?"

[Ivan Press] "Not really," Ivan replies. A smile flashes; he ashes his clove cigarette, sticks out his hand. "Might have seen you at the bimonthly howl though. Ivan Press." Pause. "So is that a regular occurrence? Spontaneous rhyming without realizing it, I mean. Are you possessed? I'm actually being serious here."

Maybe. Maybe not. There's a light in his eyes; it's either a gleam or a twinkle, depending on your perspective. Up ahead: Kora approaches. Ivan flicks the Get of Fenris a glance. Waves hello like a good boy.

[Simon] Chicago's Finest... The term itself was laughable in the mind of the Full Moon. They were little more than a symptom of the disease that is tearing Gaia apart. The concrete walls that surrounded them were held firmly in place by the very laws they served to "Defend". It was for this reason Simon felt his annoyance lift just a hint as he passed the squad cars in pursuit of something of greater interest.

Steam rose from his lips as he exhaled, hinting at the cauldron of rage churning underneath that hoodie. He kept the hood drawn up and a banana was worn around his neck, though not his face, still none of that could keep the weight of his breeding hidden fro long from his own kind. The tall, and shadow figure was large enough to be considered menacing, even threatening.

He tried to keep his eyes up ahead. This was none of his business... This was what he told himself on most nights because the honest fact was that he couldn't fight everyone's fights for them. Now and again people had to stand on their own two feet right? Now and again you had to turn your back and focus your attention on that which needed your attention. Even if he'd love nothing more than to personally see to it this entire city was burnt to the ground, it wasn't practical, yet anyway!

So instead he found himself following something, anything other than the flashing lights that flickered and begged for his attention.

[Kleopas Appius Hugh] There's a dawning in his eyes, and an ever so slight slackening of his shoulders when she mentions the 'bi-monthly howls'. Its not recognition, just a matter of knowing where one stands setting on at ease.

"Spontaneous? Without realizing it? Man, I been practicin' them rhymes for months now. I just gotta, y'know, refine my craft a lil bit."

[Kora] Ivan waves hello like a good boy. Kora doesn't wave back, not precisely. Her hands are tucked into the pockets of her hooded jacket, her narrow shoulders turned forward against the cold, which seems unseasonable to someone still dreaming of summer, though not to Garou who follow the rhythms of the sun and moon. They've already had the harvest moon and the hunter's moon fat and full in the sky. Now the fields are bare, the temperature plummets, and the wolves of winter hound their prey across the barren expanse of the –

- Chicago city sidewalk. So, this one doesn’t wave. She does, however, acknowledge the wave, lifting her chin by way of greeting, this half-curling sort of smile curving across a wide, mobile mouth that comes into focus as she tips her head back, and the lower half of her face catches the ambient light. The half-smile’s easy, with a mild sort of irony written into it, but her eyes are alert above it.

“Hey,” says the Fenrir, dark eyes swinging from Ivan to Kleopas, back again. Then she's quiet, another glance moving between them, waiting to learn if Kleopas is possessed, as if that were an every day occurrenc. There’s no breeding in her blood, no heroes written into her bones to mark her as Fenris’ daughter. She has the coloring, though – the pale skin, the pale hair – the sharpness of jaw and nose that is her human heritage, at the least.

Simon passes by the police cars, the girl being interviewed behind them. There’s a prickle of awareness in the back of Kora’s spine that sharpens her posture, makes her – readier, somehow, but nothing more than that.

Her voice is low, and the cold air lends it a certain husk. “You gentleman want to give me a hand?”

[Ivan Press] Whatever Ivan might have said in return is averted when Kora strolls up. Only Fenrir don't stroll. Silver Fangs stroll. Fenrir stride. Or stomp. At least Kora appears to be of the formal, more modern camp. The lean Ragabash regards her with some curiosity, and some amusement.

"Not really," he replies -- honest, if nothing else, "but I will if I have to. What's going on?"

[Kleopas Appius Hugh] His fingers tremble.

He was trying to fight it. He truly was. You could see the almost pleading expression on his lips if you looked close enough. He was trying, but sometimes, the sound of humming is just too loud.

"Kleopas claps for her."

[Kleopas Appius Hugh] ((Remove quotes from last part. A brotha gets sleepy.))

[Kora] Ivan's not really earns him a flare of her nostrils; the corners of her mouth twitch in a faint, twisting little smirk that says, not surprised in the fleeting moment between his reply and Kleopas - well, clapping. The young woman's dark blue eyes fix on his face. She's tall - just an inch or two under six feet in her shit-kickers - but she's rather used to looking up at male Garou.

- and does it without acknowledging the difference in height. "What the hell is that about?" - Kora to Kleopas, the dark of her gaze defined more by the subtle movement of her head underneath the dark shadow of the hood, from his mouth to his hands. It's not belligerant the question, though her tone, pitched low for privacy, gives it a certain rush, a kind of undefined urgency that eases when she cuts a glance over her shoulder, back to the crime scene, notes and acknowledges Simon, a direct look from a distance, narrow shoulders twisting her torso aslant befor she turns back to Ivan, Kleopas.

"Chased a - " a pause here, this narrow movement of her shoulders that defines an unspoken curse against the foul, dark, inveterate things of the world. " - cursed thing down, had it until it broke into the back door of that place." She gives another subtle indication toward the store. I think it had a key, but in the end it just - battered the door down. The alarm went off and it dashed upstairs as far as I could tell. A loft, it looks like. Been waiting for the police to leave, ever since, and I could use another pair of eyes," a glance at Ivan, " - or two," Kleopas, "to make sure that fucking thing doesn't escape before the cops leave. You in?"

[Ivan Press] Of the three of them, Ivan's the only one that looks like he belongs on the Mile some time after midnight. Look at his coat, so sleekly cut it has to be tailored. Look at his haircut, the five-hundred-dollar distant cousin of a caesar. Hell, look at that ridiculous cigarette, jet black with a thin red accent at the midline, which he takes a last drag off of now and drops on the sidewalk, stamping it out.

"Boring," he pronounces. "I'll do you one better. I'll go inside and have a look. When I find it, I'll come back and let you know where it is. Then you can go in across the Gauntlet -- with Snoop Dogg here if you want -- and get your quarry."

No mention of helping in the showdown. Not surprising, perhaps.

[Simon] He had noticed Kora. Was it the way her jeans fit her? Or the acknowledgement of one predator to another? It really didn't matter to Simon she turned her attention his way and he found himself smiling brightly back. He looked around him cautiously before moving to approach the group.

He was already aware of Hugh's presence so a greeting might be a bit redundant. Instead he approached and joined the group quietly enough.

[Kora] "Yeah?" she says, pushing her hands in closer against her torso, curling her shoulders forward as if that might be some ward against the cold. Mostly she's watching Ivan, though, dark eyes droppig to the end over end of the cigarette as he tosses it and stamps it out. The scent of tobacco is sharp in the cold air, and there's something behind and beneath it, the metallic hint of coming frost, the promise of snow in the air.

There's a subvocal sort of bemusement underneath the texture of her voice, a hook to her half-smile that would look like a sickle were she not so damn comfortable in her changing skin. Here, in place - on a cold, sharp night. "Simon," there, a greeting she offers, a low voice, a quick, obserant little survey of the Shadow Lord before her sharpened attention returns to Ivan. "Cameras in the backroom," she cautions Ivan, that burr from the cold still warming her alto. " - and the alarm system to get past."

And - this is unspoken, a glance over her shoulder toward those squad cars - the clerk with the oh-so-convenient bruise. "Get me that info, though, I'll remember it." Remember him for it, too. Maybe tell a bit of the story with her commoner's tongue.

[Simon] "Kora!"He says this with a hint of enjoyment. She was good company... Fenrir had this edge to them that made them exciting to be around even if he knew she hated him. It wasn't about who liked whom and whatnot... It was all about the fact that Fenrir tended to be a stuffy lot who was long overdue for a little loosening up. It made them that much more enjoyable to a Smartmouthed prick like Simon.

"I woulda never expected to bump into you here of all places. How have you been?"He asks her with a bright smile as he leans back against a wall then offers an eventual nod towards Kleopas and finally to Ivan."You sound a little busy maybe I should hang back and let you all do your umm... Thing?"

[Ivan Press] "Of course," Ivan replies, so offhandedly one can't quite to sure what he's of-coursing. Of course he'll get her the info. Of course she'll remember him and the favor he deigned, deigned, to do her.

No more than that, though. The sharply dressed Fang -- redundancy there, perhaps -- gives the approaching Shadow Lord nothing more than a cursory look, and then he's walking away. The other way. Away from the cops and the cars and the noise and the lights, looking for all the world like he might just leave them standing there all night waiting for his return.

[Kora] "Stay," she tells Simon, in this voice that is half-invitation, half-command. She's dressed for the cold, Kora, in a hoodie over her usual t-shit-and-thermal, maybe another sweatshirt underneath, and the layers give a certain bulk to her narrow frame. Fists low in the pocket of her cotton jacket, she swivels in a half-sweeping arc of motion, tracing Ivan's path away from them briefly, hearing the easy condescension in his voice.

“Cheers,” she returns to the Fang’s of course that mild irony sharpening with her half-smile and her direct, sure gaze before it flares away from him.

“I hunted something,” this is for Simon’s benefit now. They are an odd quartet – now trio – standing on the side between the mouth of an alley that cuts behind a contemporary theater and a late night sushi place doing a brisk business even at this hour. “ – it disappeared into that shop, had a keep but half-battered in the door. Alarm went off, and the cops where here before you could say Snorri Sturlson three times fast,” a twist of moving laughter, at some internal, private joke. “I’ve been waiting for the cops to leave, since. The Fang,” a glance at Ivan’s retreating back, “ – finds waiting boring. He’s going to check it out.”

[Fire Claws] The touch of the dying season was upon the scab, soon enough winter would be in full force and Fire~Claws would experience first hand what a winter in Chicago could really be like. Maybe not as bitterly cold as Storm Hammer, but there he could rely on his birth form to keep warm. There was no way he could stay within the wolf form the whole winter and still stay in the city. But each night as chill continued to set in, he wondered more and more what use the monkey skin was. No claws, no fur, nothing worthy of a true predator. It was a near waste.
However he made a vow to this Sept and its totem, he would not run from his obligations. He would suffer through the cold winters and whatever else may be thrown at him.

Tonight he found himself wandering deep within the heart of the scab. He normally wouldn't be caught among these people that strut about the clubs and bars and shopping centers that lined the streets, but he had come to learn something about the concept of... money and restaurants always had jobs for those looking for a quick buck with no idea of what minimum wage was. However dishwashing was not the glorious triumph one would expect a Get to entertain. But it did feed his stomach and put some money in his pocket. Strange papers with pictures of dead people on it.

After finishing up and being sent home and no altercations coming under the new moon. He needed to hunt. He needed to kill something, work off the human in him. Bundled against the cold in a tattered old coat he kept his eyes vigilant on the street. Another downfall of this form was the lack of smells, a waste of a perfectly good sense it would only be by chance that he came across the rest of the predators waiting on the street. One pair he had knew of already, the other pair unknown to him.

[Ivan Press] [don't wait on me! i'll have ivan show back up in a while!]

[Simon] He listen's to Kora's tale then shrugs his shoulders and laughs a little."Shit you want the cops outta here leave that to me. I'd be more than happy to get rid of 'em for you..."He says this with a brilliant glimmer in his eye. He didn't care for the police in the slightest. At best they were an annoyance and at worst they were the enemy. There was no reverence or respect in those eyes of his in regards to most authority figures. Though this was a common trait among most inner city youths. Simon grew up in a world where if you wanted justice you got it yourself and in a tribe that stressed the importance of being able to do just that.

[Ivan Press] [i maek toy badge.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [now i turn on Persuasion]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
to Kora

[Kora] Kora's human senses - sight, really, but also that sense of movement of people on the street, on the sidewalk, that awareness of place bred by familiarity, a hunter's sort of keenness - are sharp enough that she picks up Fire Claws turning 'round the corner. She's dressed in jeans, a hooded cotton jacket over several secondary layers - anothe sweatshirt, a thermal, a tee - with her fists in the pockets of the hoodie at the level of her hips. The streetlights are well maintained here, that bright, white light that makes people feel more confident at night, safer in the darkness, and that white light catches across the surface of her eyes light a match to a puddle of gasonline, which is to say - then shine with more than reflected light.

Her hair's hidden in the hood, the weight of it knotted behind her head makes her head seem misshapen, elongated somehow. "Hey," she says to the lupus when he's closer, not calling him Fire Claws on a public street. There's subtle nod up by way of greeting, then, a distinct way she opens the circle of acquaintance with her body to include him, if he lingers.

She cuts a glance back to Simon, after, that half-smile deepening. When she shakes her head, the knot of her long hair, hidden by the hood, sways with them movement. "No, see - " tips her head forward, toward the cops, watchful and alert. A few blonde tendrils spill forward, tickle the line of her jaw, but mosly her face is cast in shadow. "- it's the Mile, yeah? They care about what happens here. Two squad cars for a breaking and entering with nothing major taken, minor injuries - " a sharpened look, sidelong at Simon's profile. " - driving them away, making a disturbance, it just draws attention either back to you, or back to the store. This is the sort of thing I'm good with waiting out, unless we have no other optios.

"Here, though," that faint, twisting smile again. " - patience is an option."

[Ivan Press] [now i try to convince uniform cop to let me in cuz i'm totally a newly hired detective! putting a WP on this to prevent botchery. -1diff from persuasion.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP] Re-rolls: 1
to Kora

[Kora] [Nu-uh buddy, trying to horn in on our girl here!!!!! +1 dif b/c distracted by barely clothed clerk.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 7)
to Ivan Press

[Kora] [IIII know what you're about, man. ]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)
to Ivan Press

[Kora] [Girl: well, III see. +2 dif b/c she has no specific reason to be suspicious if the cops aren't.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 6, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 8)
to Ivan Press

[Ivan Press] [hi, you're cute.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
to Kora

[Kora] [You noticed? I think I'm woozy from this concussion, that's all. Flutter.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Ivan Press

[Ivan Press] [wink and smile! just think about my pretty hazel eyes, baby, and don't worry about why i'm faking my way past the cops. app+subt? -- subt spec this time: sweet little lies.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [ahem. anyway. INSIDE NOW: i look around!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Ivan Press] [fugg. *sweeps to PMs*]

[Kora] [I've seen guys like you before. No, really. Might've eaten some, too.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
to Ivan Press

[Simon] He shrugs and chuckles."True but us full moons gotta keep in shape right? A little workout never hurt anyone... Though I suppose if you wanna take this the slow way and be miss sensible we can do it your way. I was mostly just gonna fuck with 'em anyway. I'm not stupid enough to start a war with the police... I should correct that. I'm not gonna start a war with the police here and now that would be stupid."He says with a laugh and a nod of his head.

[Ivan Press] [i do detective-y things, the way i saw 'em do it on law & order. then i go upstairs and let camera see me. then i blur! no applicable specs.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Failure at target 8)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [don't be a shit, kahseenothulu!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 9) [WP]
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [okay, now i shifting lupus and creeping upstairs vewwy vewwy quietwy. not sure what diff should be, but notable traits at present are:

dex 4+2 - quick reactions (probably not applicable)
stealth 4 - ambushes (probably not applicable)
doublejointed and perfect balance - may help with creaky boards?]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [moar sneaky]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 6, 8, 8, 9
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [and sneak again. STOPPIT WITH THE ONES, KAHSEENOTHULU.]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
to Kora

[Fire Claws] Even in the monkey form, there is very little of him that could be mistaken for human if one only knew what to look for. His body is hunched over, eyes narrowed against the bright lights cast from the streetlamps and neon signs of those establishments that are still open. His movement bounds with each step, agile and sure. And then there is that fire that they share, a roaring pit of fire and rage ever ready to spring forth and deal proper justice should it be called upon. But there is something else that lingers about his form, even as it is smothered by his coat and is fairly weak in the human form, the scent of industrial soap and a slop of different food smells still linger, ever so faintly on his skin. His voice is a garbled mix in the human form, a dialect mutiliated from a former mentor from the southern parts of possibly Tennesse or possibly Kentucky.

"'Ello Kora, Simon."

That was all, just watching what the gathering was all about.

[Kora] Kora's dark gaze flashes over Simon, away from the scene spread out in front of them. There's something attentive about it, and animal underneath, the sidelong cant of her head, the steadiness of her eyes, studying him directly, without flinching, not once looking away as a human might. They are a good half-block away from the crime scene, and mostly the folks out at this hour skirt the scene, casting an occasional glance back to see if the drunk driver was someone they knew. When Simon laughs at the end of the speech, she gives one of her halfsmiles, the expression mostly shadowed by the hood except where a ribbon of light cuts across the tip of her nose, in a line aross her cheeks.

"Patience, Simon," she retuns, in the wake of his laughter, almost cerebral, certainly contained, easy in this skin. " - and I'll give you a workout." Then, "Evening," to Fire Claws. She lifts her chin back in the direction of the police cars, the little boutique. There's nothing regional about her accent. Smooth and low and easy, straightforward in its American tones. "Chased cursed human into that building. Alarm went off and he disappeared upstairs. I was waiting the cops out, but a no-moon Fang was bored by my plan and offered to check it out. You're welcome to stay."

[Ivan Press] [o_o]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [o_O]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [O_O]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Ivan Press] [-_- (this is a sniff!)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 5, 5, 9 (Success x 4 at target 4)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [^-_-^ (and this is a listen!)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 4)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [peek!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 6 (Failure at target 8)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [FANGS DON'T FAIL]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 9 (Failure at target 9)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [ooo, look, mirrurz.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [and now we cross! KAHSEENO FHTAGN.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [sneak behind the curtain!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [look around behind curtain!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [sniff too!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4)

[Ivan Press] [peek! no mirror, and i don't think he'd risk shifting to pull his mirror out.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5 (Failure at target 8)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [OH FFS I'LL BURN A WP.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 10 (Success x 2 at target 9) [WP]

[Ivan Press] [...goddammit sorry. *sweeps dice away*]

[Ivan Press] [looking across umbra]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [sneak back toward the stairs to have a look there, too.]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 7)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [and looking around umbrally downstairs!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [sniff.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4)

[Ivan Press] [listen!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 4)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [okay. time to leave! cross back! oh god, i'm burning wp like candy but i don't wanna get stuck in the web!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8) [WP]
to Kora

[Fire Claws] He watched the building as the Silver Fang stayed within, hunting down the cursed human that had stormed the store and hid from the claws of Gaia. However he was not one to wait on a potential kill, especially one that he did not track or hunt himself. There were enough claws and teeth here that a simple cursed human would be nothing but a bloody mess in no time. He looked between the pair of them and just shook his head.

"I gunna 'unt sumtin else."

He pondered another idea that came over him for a second, pausing as he looks at his Jarl for a moment before shaking it off. Obviously something he wanted to remember, something passed already but it just did not seem to come to him.

"Enja' ya 'unt."

[Ivan Press] [shifting back to homid, walking back downstairs. then walking out! if girl is still there, horn in on beat cops to "ask her some questions." then, 1) subtly convince her i'm a journalist looking for a story, plz don't tell on me, thank you so much for not outing me, also wanna go get a drink sometime? manip/subt/-1 diff from persuasion, specs!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 3 at target 5)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] [2) look closely. baby, you work around them tainted par-fumes all day long.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
to Kora

[Kora] [I know your kind.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
to Ivan Press

[Kora] [Dissembling!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6 (Failure at target 7)
to Ivan Press

[Ivan Press] [crap. did she buy it? O_O]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
to Kora

[Ivan Press] For a while, it might really seem as though Ivan had left the other Gaians behind. That'd be quite a prank, after all. Tell the big bad Fenrir and her buddies he's going to help and then go have a beer. Fuck his girlfriend-du-jour. Come back hours later, see if they're still waiting.

And maybe they're starting to think that of him when he shows up again. This time he's coming from the direction of the crime scene. He's doing up the buttons of his overcoat as he comes, tucking his hands into his pockets as the air gets ever colder.

"Ladies," he greets them, but it's a casual nod toward snarkitude at best. He's serious, businesslike and brusque. Whatever else might be said of Ivan, he's a good scout. He takes his work seriously.

"It's a little more complicated than a single fomor holed up in a building," he says. "Your friend's up on the second floor with a buddy. They're both armed. Your friend looked strong, but nervous. He might be trigger happy with his 12 gauge. His buddy's cool as ice. Slimy-looking fellow with a handgun, and I mean that literally. You might not want to, you know, lick him.

"It gets more interesting though. I looked around a bit more umbralside. Lots of banes downstairs. Second floor's mostly clear; they were really interested in the merchandise. The shoes and the perfume. They looked -- hm, incidental? I mean: they don't look like they were summoned for a purpose. Just drawn to the stock. My bet is that store's selling Wyrm couture. There are too many cops around tonight for you guys to do much about the merchandise, but this is something to follow up on.

"While I was in there, I also eavesdropped on your friend and his guest for a while. Big guy wanted to know what was taking 'her' so long. Little guy said to chill out, the longer they're out there the more likely it is she'll give up and vamoose. It sounded to me like they were talking about you, Kora, but I wouldn't discount the possibility that they're expecting more backup.

"There was the scent of another wolf around the place. Maybe a Dancer, maybe not. And then there's the clerk -- the shop girl that sells the perfumes and the shoes that the banes are swarming around? She's sharp, and she's not quite right. I wouldn't be too surprised if she's the 'her' Big Boy was talking about."

He thinks a moment.

"If you want my assessment, the best way to get in is through the Umbra, second floor. No cameras there. No sign the fomori have any Umbral awareness. They'll be sitting ducks. You duck across, make a stealth kill, retreat across the Gauntlet and get out of there before the police decide on what to do."

[Simon] He listens to the assessment and he nods his head."Easiest way to deal with a problem is to get them when they don't know you're coming. I like the plan anyway... Get in, clean quick kill, then get the hell out. Sounds pretty simple and straightforward. Though I'm curious about their contact... She... Whoever she might be. I'd also kinda like to make sure the merchandise was taken care of... No point in acting if their boss or the like just shows up and distributes it anyway right?"

[Ivan Press] "Oh, I almost forgot. Slimeboy might have tentacles or something too. There were weird lumps and bulges under his very well-tailored clothes. If I had to guess, I'd say he might be the boss around here. Or maybe the representative for Wyrm Couture, Inc."

[Ivan Press] [btw tuck ivan's blurb post before simon's!]

[Ivan Press] [actually no, it sorta fits there. gah! don't mind me.]

[Kora] Sorrow has a sort of patience that is rare in Garou, particularly Fenrir Garou. She's standing there at a distance, her hands still in her pockets. The hood has falling back a bit from her face as she watched the store. When Ivan returns, her sharp eyes touch on his face, there's a twist of her mouth for his gestured toward snarkitude, this expression that acknowledges the joke without joining it. Then that goes still, and she leans forward, even looks briefly away from him, listening.

"Thank you," she says, easily, directly, her dark eyes touching again on Ivan's face. She does not say things she doesn't mean." A brief, sharp look a Simon, and she nods. Look back at Ivan, wry, " - you sure you don't want to come? I'm sure there's plenty of Slimeboy to go around." Her mouth thins, then, and she looks beyond Ivan and Simon, toward the lights in the glass, reflecting, this constant movement. "We'll take them now. Get whatever info we can from the corpses, and dash. We can deal with the stock later, after the police have gone. Maybe keep an eye on the place, and the clerk, see what turns up. See who delivers the goods, if that leads us anywhere."

Then, the creature tips her head toward the alley. "C'mon," to Simon. " - time for your workout, yeah?"

[Ivan Press] "And steal all your glory?" Ivan quips back, the fine curve of his mouth slanting into an easy smirk. "Never."

Then he sobers, shaking his head. "Besides," he adds, "I need to keep an eye on the clerk. Good luck with your hunt."