4/8/2005

08:57 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waning New Moon phase (2% full).
It is currently 20:34 Pacific Time on Fri Apr 8 2005.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly cloudy. The temperature is 53 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 9 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.79 and rising, and the relative humidity is 42 percent. The dewpoint is 31 degrees Fahrenheit (0 degrees Celsius.)

Wharf, Pier Two(#1122RA)
The creak and sway of the rotting boards are in sync with the gentle slap of water against the pylons. Only the sections of the Pier jutting far into the river have fallen into disrepair. The sections nearest the bank are still is fair condition as some commerce still occurs by way of the river. However, many goods that were once shipped via the waterway are now shipped overland which is cheaper and faster. The wharf stands as testament to an older time, when the River was a lifeline for the city.
Beyond the warehouses lining the banks to the west, the black asphalt strip of First Street can be seen.
Contents:
Dillen
Brom
Dakota
Obvious exits:
First Street  

The wind is brisk tonight, the scattering of thick grey clouds being blown across the sky, mkaking the stars wink out in patches against the moonless black of the night. The wharfs are quiet as usual, witht he typical three groups of homeless people that often frequent the corners and overhangs. Tonight, they are all gathered around the same barrel fire, talking amongst themselves as they pass around a loaf of plain white bread and a few bottles of beer. Someone must have gotten a full cup today.

First pack patrol in Requiem 2.0's territory as Brom leads the way quietly, wearing a large leather jacket over his tight muscle shirt, complete with torn at the knees loose jeans. He glances about the streets as he heads down one sidewalk, allowing the other two to talk amongst each other. His blue eyes catches sight of the garbage can fire in the distance, staring at the group of homeless for a moment, before continuing on.

His hands are shoved down into his pockets, pointing out areas as he walks that he has noticed on his own patrols, trying to get Kenneth to speak up as well if he doesn't. "There's always a group over there. Poor bastards." He shakes his head a bit and growls.

Kenneth is silent as the scattered clouds in the sky, though the Shadow Lord watches where Dillen refers to. Perhaps a little longer than he should. He keeps his eyes and ears open, tracing down these rather familiar paths down by the wharfs.

Nothing seems out of place, but the place is never perfect. In the near distance the still-working factories pump out chemicals. Flames spill out from tall, thin stacks and thick black smoke from others. Even the puddles here seem to have a rainbow-like shine, like looking into a pool of bubble fluid. There comes a rowdy outburst of laughter from the bums, six in all tonight, as two of them clink their bottles together and exchange good-natured blows to the shoulder. The nightmare that struck their group only a few weeks ago seems forgotten, as the sturdy folk move on and try to enjoy their lives.

Dillen finds his eyes moving over the bums, raises a brow some. "Someone is happy tonight." He gives a shrug and shakes his head, grumpy. His eyes follow up and into the smoke, watching it fill the sky. "And that shit is no better..."

"Better to be happy while living in the gutter than whining about it on your knees." Brom says with a rumble as he watches the crowd for a moment, before continuing on, tugging his jacket a bit tighter around his person, eyes narrowed. "You'd think this being a bad part of town there'd be more action."

"Sometimes no action is better," Kenneth intones, "and sometimes not." The Shadow Lord is scanning the group for a moment, but otherwise checking out some of the darker shadows or more rancid alleys.

The bums continue to talk and joke amongst themselves, paying the trio of patrolling Garou little mind. The Rage might creep them out, but the faces are familiar so they just keep their distance and go about their buisness. Then, one of them gwaffs out very loudly, "Hey! Lookit 'ere, look who it is!" And immediatly following are the affectionate voices of, "'Eyo, where you been?" and "Butch! 'Ere boy, want saume crust?" They're all looking deeper into the alley.

Not paying them much mind either, Brom seems to be trying to memorize what streets they walk down, glancing into each alley, studying his surroundings. He seems occupied with his own thoughts for the moment.

Dillen cranes his neck to one side, looking down where the bums do, checking out the alleyway.

Kenneth looks over as well, if only because the name 'Butch' might trigger something in the Shadow Lord.

Further in the alley and at the edge of the shadows is an animal, dog by the faint outline the light gives it. The fire catches and shines in two eyes as the dog watches the circle of bums, head low between its shoulders. It comes forward a step and pauses, giving a slight jerk as it licks its wet jaws. "Come'n Butch, 'ere boy, want sum bre'd?" One of the older women says as she holds out a half eaten slice. The dog comes a step closer, warily. It's a thin mongrel, bones visable under a thin mange-ridden coat with bare patches and swollen lumps. It's fur looks like it might have been brown, but it's thick with dirt and grime and looks vaguely like a bird recently in an oil spill. It looks at the people, but seems disoriented, sniffing and turning its head continually. "Aww, ya don' look so good, pup." One of them croons. This Butch would seem a local like them and in about as bad of a condition, if not worse.

Brom doesn't seem to be perceptive tonight as he continues on down the sidewalk, having gained a bit of distance past the bums and now glancing left to right upon the street, stretching himself out and letting a hard breath tumble past his lips. "Fuck I'm bored."

Kenneth slows his pace down, watching the bums interacting with the dog. "You could put Butch outta his misery," he notes idly to Brom with eyes still directed towards the dog and group. His eyes narrow at the mutt's condition. "Or find whoever owns that Butch an' put /him/ outta his misery."

And on the other hand, Dillen stops and looks down at the dog. "Maybe we should get it to a doctor or something." Hell, aren't we all dogs deep down? A hand runs through his hair, eyeing the beast as it comes from the alleyway. "I hear you on the putting whoever owns Butch out of his misery.

"We aren't Children of Gaia, or Bone Gnawers." Brom says with a snort. "Its their dog, let 'em take care of it. I'm not going to kill some fucking dog cuz I'm bored. Its probably their only pet." He says as he turns his eyes back to the ground, squinting. ".. Though that dog does look fucked up."

Kenneth snorts quietly, but doesn't add additional commentary on Brom's note about Coggies and Gnawers.

"Whatever, Brom." Dillen peers at the beast. He shakes his head and fishes into his pockets with his hands, beginning to move away from the bums and the dog.

Butch comes closer to the woman, limping on a front leg that looks so diseased its ready to rot right off. The animal half bares its teeth and snaps up the bread, just missing the woman's fingers. She jerks back with a squack, but tries to cover up her momentary fright with a shakey laugh. " 'ungry as us, eh?" Another bum tries to approach the dog, but the mutt gives a growl and slinks off a short distance. "Now what's up with you, Butch? Bad day? You's normally sleeping wit' us." One of the men with a beer says with a voice of concern. Apparently the dog is normally very friendly. Knowing strays, it probably has distemper or even the starts of rabies.

Eyes narrowing, Brom sniffs the air a bit, then starts over across the street. "Maybe we should take a peek." He says, one hand grazing the sheathe where his machete lies, unbuckling it.

Kenneth is still tense for whatever reason, and Butch's growl is grating to the Shadow Lord's ears. At Brom's unsheathing of his machete, Kenneth rather stares at the large knife. "Christ," he mutters under his breath, and turns to follow with the pack leader.

Dillen stays to Brom's other side, watching the bums as well as the dog. He's wary of them all. Who knows if one of them "caught" something from Lucas and his dealings.

The bums continue to fuss over the sickly dog, but when one of them tries to approach him again, Butch lets loose with a volley of booming, angry barks. The homeless scurry to the other side of the fire from the animal, the bread handler dropping the bag which the dog instantly falls on. He tears through the plastic, eating chunks of the bag as he tries to get to the bread. It's eyes shine bright, nearly mad as it ravenously consumes the remains of the loaf, spittle running out of the corners of its nearly hairless, dirty muzzle.

"Well, its definitely sick in the head." Brom says as he furrows his brows, fingers itchy as his arms sway side to side, head twisting one side, than the other as he calls out. "Your dog sick or something?" He calls to the bum party, his image caught in the dancing flames as his wild, blue eyes gleam over.

Dillen steps to one side, looking at the dog. He comes in closer to it, leaning down some and speaking low, right to the dog. "What's wrong, friend?"

Kenneth contains himself at the dog's barks, though his upper lip parts a touch and reveals the edges of his teeth. He seems content to glower, particularly at Butch and his pathetic condition.

Butch eyes the three Garou warily, his hackles raises as he consumes the bread in great, overflowing mouthfuls. The oldest of the men looks to Brom and gives a very fast series of nods. "He ain't never like this. Can ya do somethin'?" "Please help 'im! He's all we got." The woman who initially fed the dog pleads, fearful tears in her eyes. The dog polishes off the meager meal, licking his jaws and curling his lips to show off tarter-damaged teeth. As Dillen speaks to him, the dog gives a sharp, violent jerk and wheels to face him, eyes blazing with fury as it lets out a ferocious open-mouthed snarl that almost sounds like a full fledged roar. The bums bolt behind the three Garou, like a migrating mass of spooked rats.

Slowly, the machete is pulled out of the sheathe as Brom rumbles in his throat. "I can sure fix 'em. I'm a Vet. Trust me." He says as he twirls the blade slowly in his hand, glancing over to Dillen. "I take it he says Hi back in return, huh?"

"He's not listening... Or doesn't hear me." Dillen says quietly. "I think he may have rabies, or something worse." Trying to communicate to the others that something isn't right about this dog.

Kenneth shoves his left hand into his jean pocket, looking from packmates to the bums to Butch. "If he's got rabies, y'might as well stick a fork in him," the Shadow Lord growls out with a narrowing of his eyes at the dog.

With the bums cowering and looking on with frightened and pleading looks, the dog finds himself on the other side of a very large group. Its fur bristles, what little remains that hasn't fallen out or isn't matted with a thick sludge that does look very similar to oil and tar, and the animal bares its yellow teeth in another warning snarl. As it takes a step back, something else becomes apparent. With the shift in pressure, one of the larger boils on the back of its rear foot pops, spilling a thick, viscous yellow-green fluid. A fluid that hisses faintly when it hits the pavement.

"Oh yeah, tonight is going to be interesting." Brom says with a wide grin upon his face, then whirls upon the bums, flailing his machete about. "Get the fuck outta here!" He says, his prescence looming like a murderous demon in the firelight as he takes a step towards them.

"Oh fuck." Dillen growls out, knowing exactly what is going on now. "Get the hell out of here!" He stays looking right at the dogs eyes, challenging the beast, "I am gonna rip your head off..." He whispers to the beast in a voice it can understand, not moving.

Kenneth immediately takes a step back, and rather than add his voice to the commands, stares back to make sure the bums really are moving away from the scene. As added incentive, he fake starts a couple of times, counting on Rage, survival instinct and what little common sense in the bums for them to scatter.

Between the order from a machete-wielding viking, the building Rage, and a diseased dog snarling, the bums abandon the last shred of hope and make a break for a different alley very far down the way. Moments after they leave, the dog throws its jaws open wide, too wide to be natural, and lets loose with a horrible hissing roar that sends foam flying from its jowls. Deep in its eyes burn a sickly green light and the firelight flashes in rainbow arcs over the dog's slicked blackened fur, outlining every sharp bone and taunt ligament under the skin. It gives a jerk forward and then charges for Dillen, who seems in particular to anger the tainted animal.

Turning, Brom darts forward quickly as he looks to cut off the dog's approach towards his pack mate, reaching out to arc a mighty swipe with his machete towards the beast. Growling in his throat, he roars out. "Die Forath!"

Dillen goes into a three point stance, like a linebacker. He pauses for only a moment before doing his best to vault over the beast as it charges him.

Kenneth turns halfway to the side and steps back as the two Get attack first, watching the bums scatter. His two packmates handling the issue for the moment, the Shadow Lord keeps one eye watching the alleys, another on the activity beside him. Only after he sees the last bum disappear does the Shadow Lord make a shift up to Glabro.

The blade flays a great slab of flesh from the animal's back and side, the metal hissing and pitting as acidic fluid erupts from both in and under the dog's skin, splattering the arms and front of the Forsetti in random droplets that eat through clothing and skin like white-hot needles. Watery, dark blood oozes from the wound and Butch howls in pain, stumbling and skidding as its charge is ruined by the attack. Claws scrabbling on the pavement, the animal swings around and lunges for the legs of Brom.

An its good! Brom readies himself soon as he jerks the blade back, looking to aim his steel toed boot beneath the crazed beasts chin soon as he gets within striking range. He shifts his weight to the side, whats left of his machete being tossed to the side, clinking upon pavement as he snarls.

Dillen takes opportunity and shifts into crinos, dragging his claws against the pavement as he does so, jumping at the same time towards the side of the beast, aiming to slice away at it and bring it down.

Kenneth takes a step back as Dillen shifts further than he, and baring his slightly pointier teeth the Shadow Lord he roughly calls out, "Make it quick!" Hands out of his pockets and balled into fists, he sends a final glance away from the battle and scans the wharfside street before turning to fully face the battle.

The street seems safe of spectators, but the alley remains full of action. The reflexes of the dog are faster than those of Brom, and Butch twists his head out of the way and swings it to fix his large jaws and rotting teeth into the side of the Fenrir's leg. That's going to need some iodine later. However, whatever damage the beast could do further is haulted as the Crinos claws sink into his sunken side and rips it wide open, screeching on ribs and yanking them right out of place like they were slightly stiffened straws. More boils burst, eating deep into the flesh of Bloods-Bane's arm, but the fomor is doomed. As his organs are laid open and his back and side already flayed, the animal goes down.

Kenneth takes care not to actually get one spittlefleck of acid on him, and as the animal goes down, he stares at the carcass like it's a ticking time bomb that has been set off. The fists at his side uncurl, but the tension doesn't subside as he looks up and further down the alley where the dog had come from.

Grunting in pain as the jaws find his leg briefly, Brom doesn't so much as say Ow. Hissing, he glances over to Bloods-Bane. "Shift down, /now/. Geezus, its a fucking dog, not a damn spiral dancer." He says in an annoyed tone.

Bloods-Bane pulls off and shifts back into a human form. He looks down at his arm and growls. He steps over, giving the dog a spit. He looks to Brom. "He's dead. That's what matters." His teeth gritted together as he shoves the one good arm into a pocket.

"What matters is that it was in the fucking middle of the public. Those damn bums probably didn't run real quick. From here out Dillen, we do things /safe/, period. We only shift to the war form if we /have/ to and its our ass on the line. The veil can't even be worth risked for a moment." Brom is seething with anger.

Kenneth shifts down to homid as soon as he's sure no one in his sight is watching anyway. The Shadow Lord doesn't say a thing at first, only listening to the two Get bicker. After a moment, he adds with a disdainful glance down at the carcass, "We better get rid of /that/."

"Fine." Dillen growls out and heads away from the others. He turns back and looks at Brom, "Will there be anything else?" He goes to fold his arms across his chest, stopping and grunting as he looks at the damage.

Once the sounds of the main fight die down into bickering, the sounds of rattling cans can be heard from across the way, like a foot had kicked one.

"You made the mess, you get to clean it up." Brom says as he jerks his head upwards quickly, then turns, making his way off towards the sound swiftly, cursing in German under his breath.

Dillen rolls his eyes and looks towards the dog, trying to see if it shows any signs of supernatural. Only then does he turn to see the noise of the can.

Kenneth looks up at the sound of the can being kicked. The Shadow Lord wordlessly looks to Brom and Dillen, before he heads towards the origin of the sound.

The closer Brom gets to the alley, the easier he can hear the sounds of fast, rapid breathing. Huddled against a dumpster and nearly half under it is a small bundle. It's a kid probably no more than ten, wrapped as tightly in a tattered, musty, short blanket as she possible can. As she hears the footsteps, her eyes clench tighter and she makes a terrified whimper in the back of her throat. The smell coming of her in pungent, the mixed scent of dirt, exhaust fumes, and the fresher scent of urine and fear.

Growling, Brom looks frustrated as he reaches down, jerking the blanket off the girl's body, staring down at her. "You saw /nothing/, right?" He says with a rumble in his throat as he squats down before her. "If you want to continue having your streets safe, and your friends alive, you better tell me that you saw -nothing-, because if you saw something, then that will be the last thing you ever seen. Am I clear?"

"No. Don't thank me for helping you out." Dillen grunts under his breath and looks down the alley, moving after Brom as he does so. He stops, grinding his teeth hard and looking at the small girl. "Fuck." He shakes his head, running a hand through it.
You paged Dakota with 'Does the girl look like catatonic at all?'.

Kenneth looks down at the girl, then back up to Brom. "She ain't gonna talk," he concludes after a short observation of the girl's condition. "Probably should check the other alleys tho', just to be safe."

The homeless girl is curled up as tight as she can as the blanket is torn away, tightening herself up into the fetal position. She whimpers and tears leak out of the corners of her tightly shut eyes, and by her lack of response and position, it's pretty obvious the Delerium has hit her hard. She'll be a lucky one. In the morning, the events will just be a strange and terrible nightmare she had in the middle of the night.

"Yeah." As Dillen turns and heads down the alley across from the one that Brom occupies. Once past sight, a fist punches into the brick of the side of a building.
Huffing loudly, Brom puts the blanket back over her, then starts out of the alley. "She'll be alright." He says, then starts back down the street. "Lets go clean that mess up. Fucking dog was tainted. Probably another one from that farm. I'm sick of that shit."

Kenneth makes his way slowly down towards the body of the tainted dog, looking at its carcass with narrowed eyes. Then, taking his shirt off and gingerly wrapping it around a putrid leg of the corpse, he lifts and drags the dog body to dump into the fire barrel.