4/12/2005

11:10 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (26% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 41 degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the north at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.99 and rising, and the relative humidity is 82 percent. The dewpoint is 36 degrees Fahrenheit (2 degrees Celsius.)
It is currently 22:46 Pacific Time on Tue Apr 12 2005.

East Elson Commercial Sector and Waterfront
Motels, movie theaters with posters of scantily-clad women, and even a few posters of nudes, and bars are interspersed with stairways leading to dilapidated second stories or downwards into basements. Women saunter along the western streets of the district, around Third and Fourth Streets. In the area around Second, a profusion of graffiti markings of black knives or the words 'The Blades' are scattered along buildings and sidewalks. A little further eastwards beer cans are scattered around the entrance to one bar with, if one looks through the window, several pool tables in enthusiastic use for several hours a night and even occasionally during the day.
Contents:
Brom
Obvious exits:
Harbor Park  The Underground  North  West  South  

Take a look down the commercial sector of East Elson, and the atmosphere can be felt as a dark, oppressive aura. Particularly around the dark alleys and desparate corners, the streetwalkers are out tonight right at the height of their night's work. The Shadow Lord finds himself walking along this path dressed a lot better than he's been for the past few months, and smelling clean. The loud, brash voices of a group of ladies echoes over the passing car on the street, trying to attract the driver's attention but not succeeding. The ladies proceed to flip the guy off in his rear view mirror.

Wearing a tight muscle shirt and a pair of torn at the knees jeans is Brom, following along with the Shadow Lord. His hair is wet and tied back as if he just got out of the shower not too long ago. He smells clean, like soap and cologne. "So, where are we going again?" He asks in a deep voice as he lets out a slow breath.

"Just checkin' out this one spot I noticed yesterday night," Kenneth explains gruffly. "Noticed a couple of people hangin' out where they don't normally hang out." He didn't state earlier why he insisted Brom come along, but the halfmoon remains mysterious. They soon reach a darker section of Elson and 2nd, keeping an eye around for the lookers and the Blades. "You remember, I mentioned bloodsuckers yeah?"

There is a loud snarl in his throat. "Yeah, you mentioned 'em. They are down here?" Brom pauses. " We shoulda brought Dillen if we were going to tangle with them." He says, shooting a look over at the Shadow Lord, eyes narrowing.

"Nah. They aren't here," Kenneth utters quietly, black eyes shifting around as he walks. "Unless they decided to switch HQs already. Andy didn't seem much of the type though." He lifts a hand and runs through the cut hair on his head. "But y'know, leeches come out at night. Question is, who does the stuff durin' the day? Ever watch that movie, Blade? Maybe it don't work that way, and it's just in the movies. But someone's gotta be watchin' these guys when they're hiding out from Uncle Helio." Though they're far away, Kenneth jerks a thumb to indicate a location a block and a half down.

"Ghouls." Brom rumbles loudly in his throat as he pounds a fist into an open palm, eyes narrowing. He gently scratches at his neck where a tattoo of a snake can be seen, one that disappears under his shirt. "Maybe we should send a message back to the bosses.. that Requiem is here and not going anywhere, eh'?" He asks as he continues down the street, picking up the pace a bit.

Kenneth doesn't reply just yet, leading him and the Get alpha closer to a point before he stops and indicates they should wait just around the alley mouth and watch. "Don't know what they're called," he mutters. "Just know that they move stuff that doesn't look like it goes anywhere." He points out a trio, two blacks and a latino. "Watch 'em for a moment, and tell me if you think you see anything odd." There seems to be a trick question to this, even if the Shadow Lord hasn't asked one.

Trying his best to relax, Brom watches impatiently as he leans into the side of a building, arms crossing over his chest. "Three of 'em, think we can take 'em?" He asks as he licks his lips slightly, anticipation building in his eyes.

"Maybe," Kenneth thinks aloud, just audibly enough for Brom to hear him as they scope out what appears to be just three gangers talking. "But more importantly- when'd you ever see a couple of black guys talkin' all easy 'round a mexican like that, 'specially when 2 are flying colors, and one isn't?" Sure enough, the latino doesn't seem to have any ready indications at distance of his allegiances to the streets, but the other two wear distinct black sports-jerseys. "There's somethin' up since yesternight, and I figure we should have a look."

Letting out a heavy breath, Brom shifts from foot to foot as he watches. "I don't know shit about gangs. You think we had black people where I came from? Or Mexicans?" He narrows his eyes harder as he watches, then glances back to the Shadow Lord. "So, lets go over there then?" He says, pushing off the wall and starts over, sniffing the air a bit.

Kenneth looks back briefly to Brom, eyes showing his debate inside of whether to answer the rhetorical question. In the end, the halfmoon opts for silence, and makes but a mild nod before he gestures. "After you." The trio down around a block or so continue talking in manners way to friendly between possible rivals. "Yea, so I said to the ass, 'Fuck off, or the Blades be cuttin' you a second farthole to shit from 'fore you get sent to lockdown!'" Laughter. "So anyway, you got some o' them Uncle Ben's ready rice?" "Fuck yeah homes. I figure we go back to my place and count out some dinner-size portions."

"Hey, uh, homies." Brom says as he continues towards the three, lumbering at a dominating stance as he rocks from side to side, reaching up to pull his hair free so that it flops about his shoulders. "I hear you were all down with the fangs. Ya'know, the kind that come out at night and bite people."

Kenneth follows up behind the very much larger Get, like a mild shadow compared to the other halfmoon's frame. "Fine night out for catchin' cold in, huh?" Kenneth asks smoothly, watching the two Blades members for a moment before shifting his gaze to the smaller latino. The trio all stop laughing at the same time, watching Brom approach with a sort of wary but unintimidated air. This is their turf, and they outnumber the guy- or so it's said. "Who the fuck are you?" the first black guy asks, his head sporting a decent job of cornrows tightly bound and traveling over his head. His companion gives Kenneth a bit of an eyeing, sizing up the halfmoon without being impressed in the least. The third, latino guy, he does take a quick step back to let the other two have a go. He doesn't look so keen on facing Brom three-on-one, let alone one-on-one.

Eyeing the trio, Brom lets out a loud snort. "Who the fuck am I? I'm the garbage man." He says, pounding his heavy fist into his open palm once more, creating a loud, stinging slap. "I asked you a question. Are you guys down with the blood suckers? I was told by someone new in town that you were and he's going to be taking your boss out." He squints his eyes, looking at all three, noticing how the latino starts to skulk off.

Subtlety was never the Get's strong point it seems, as Kenneth shakes his head. The two Blades squint up at the huge Get, not flinching as his fist meets palm. "What's a fuckin' garbage man askin' about blood suckin'? What, you got some weird fuckin' fetish? Dude, you're fuckin' fucked up. Hookers for that be back down four blocks yo'." Cornrows doesn't seem to be too bothered, but then he also seems to be putting up a good front. "And I got news for you Crackajack. Be better if you take yo'self outta here 'fore someone gets hurt." Even as he speaks, the presence of a number of young teens have come skulking out from behind the pair of Garou. Kenneth turns to look over his shoulder, counting silently. The latino has taken a few more steps back, definitely keeping his eyes on the Get as he retreats.

"Oh, I'd hate to have to hurt you." Brom says as he continues to stare at 'corn rows' a bit, giving a wide grin upon his face. "Look, you fucking nigger." Oh, he went there. "I asked you a fucking question and don't think for a second I'm scared of you or your pussy friends that are sneaking up behind me." He cuts his eyes to the latino, snarling out. "Hey 'homie', stay, before I collect your weak ass and park it on the ground."

Laughter barks out from Corn. "Oh I get it. You must be from back east where all y'all Whitey's neva /seen/ a brother before. That's a'ight tho', I'll teach you. This," he flips Brom the bird, "means Hello. And This," here Corn withdraws a very real matte black .38 from his pants and points it directly at Brom's face. "Means Get the Fuck outta here before I paint your ass on the sidewalk." The smile disappears from Corn's face. "Got the lesson yet, Bitch?" Kenneth is still counting, before he utters a low, "Five... six... seven... usual reception probably." The Shadow Lord is muttering to himself, before he silences and turns to see where Brom's gotten to. And Burrito is /still/ backing away, clearly not intending to do anything Brom says about sticking around.

"My, that is a nice finger." Brom says calmly, that killer grin of his still revealed upon his face. "For some reason though, I figure if you had the balls to kill me, you would have pulled that trigger by now. Which means... /you/ are the bitch." Beat. "By the way... mine's bigger." Maybe its the fact its dark outside. Or maybe everyone blinked at once, but, he's moving, quick, and this time there is a sledgehammer in his hands as he jerks his body to one side, looking to ram the butt of his mighty weapon up into the chin of 'cornrows'.

Wham! No one ever expects a seemingly unarmed man, no matter how big he is, to be able to pull objects out of thin air. Especially, not objects as big as a sledgehammer. The end connects with Corn's chin than sends him flailing- but at the same time the gun in Corn's hand is still there, and the body's upward flinch causes him to squeeze the trigger. The gun goes off with a ear-popping BANG! and the Get feels the bite of the bullet take off (and rather painfully) a good portion of his left ear. The hot splatter of blood and flecks of flesh drips all over the Forsetti's recently cleaned self. Kenneth, on the right, flinches just as much as everyone else who happened to be in the immediate vicinity, but recovers far faster than the rest of them. His left open palm slams out and connects with the underside of Corn's companion, knocking the guy up and back onto his ass right beside his friend. Burrito Bolts, headed Very far from Brom and Kenneth. The seven behind the two Garou are converging, Fast now, soon to pounce upon them in less than 10 seconds.

Roaring out loudly, Brom whirls himself around to face the crowd, muscles tight, blood leaking down his head as he rumbles to them, spinning the hammer. "Is that all you got!? It doesn't even /sting/. Come all of you! You shall fear the might of Thor's wrath and your souls well be devoured by that of Valhalla's brothers and sisters! You do not face no mere man, but a God!" His eyes tighten as he lunges forward, like a beast, looking to cram the first guy who gets close a gut full of sledge.

As the Get turns around, the others are still running in. Seven becomes eight, eight becomes ten. But the first hapless ganger who gets within range and is sent flying by the sledgehammer onto the sidewalk sets the others to caution, and more towards grabbing for their knives. A few pull out pistols from their backs, three in all. Those three firearms carrying thugs stay back as others advance. "Shit, you called in a right storm," Kenneth growls out as he sees. "We gotta back out into one of these alleys. And I think our intended target is... getting away." He dares a brief look over his shoulder towards the fleeing form of Burrito.

"Pah.. " Brom says as he takes a few steps back once the numbers start to pile on, kicking cornrows gun over towards Kenneth as he twirls the hammer around in a single hand. "Lets go then." He says, starting off after 'burrito', running hard on powerful, muscled legs.

Kenneth stops the gun with his foot, grabbing it up and pointing it right back out at the converging mob of angry blacks- all of them so. "First one to blaze'll get t' meet my friend Reaper," he calls out, before turning too and sprinting after the Get. The pair of Garou fleeing, Brom bleeding, the other gangsters suddenly split, half in a rescue party to upright their fallen brothers, and half in after the two Garou. Burrito has had a good headstart, and is thus running like hell on wheels is after him, ducking across the street, nearly getting run over by a car in the process but making his getaway south towards the wharves.

Unfortuantely for Burrito, Brom was an All American Football player and still a natural athlete. Running is what he /did/. He continues to lumber, the sledgehammer now disappearing from view and back onto his chest as he bursts out of the alley, barreling his way across the street and dodging traffic. "HEY!" He bellows out, leaping over the hood of a call as it goes screeching to a halt, keeping his breath steady as his eyes narrow tight.

Kenneth did his running as well, and Brom knows just how quick the halfmoon proved to be at the tennis courts, though he is trailing at a set distance of about a couple yards. The Shadow Lord dodges and weaves through the street around the halted car and between two parked vehicles, feet pounding and breath coming in and out. Burrito is fast. Maybe he too was some kind of sports potential guy, but perhaps it's just those one-too-many cigarettes that weigh against him as he leaps over the hood of another car, ducks into an alley and dodges away. The crash of trash cans spilling out block the big Get's way, like battered metallic defensive linemen seeking to trip him up.

Continuing to pound towards the alley, Brom narrows his eyes and leaps over the garbage cans, stumbling just a bit, but doesn't stammer long before rushing off again. He flicks his wrist, pulling the snake away into the form of the fire axe he just purchased, then lobs it forward with a hard, expert throw. End over end it travels, glinting through the night.

Burrito winds his way down the alley, but like forest rangers tend to say, never run in a straight line from a bear. The fireaxe flips itself end over end and embeds itself deep into the latino's shoulder, which in turn elicits a screaming wail of pain like the people around here even consider to be a very rare sound itself. The crash and thud of the gangbanger into the piles of trash down the alley sounds the Get's success at stopping his run. By the time the Get reaches Burrito, his voice has stopped screaming and has been reduced to crying whimpers and quick, pained pants. Kenneth soon catches up as well, and over the acrid scent of blood and rancid trash, the Shadow Lord scowls. "Jesus Christ," he mutters to himself.

Planting a foot on the latino's back, Brom reaches over and snags the axe's handle, jerking it back and letting it swish back into its rightful place against his neck. Growling in his throat, he stares down at him, then jerks his gaze to the Shadow Lord.

Whimpering and then screaming out as the axe is pulled out, Burrito is to put it succinctly in plenty of pain. Kenneth steps around the halfmoon only after making sure they haven't been followed. It doesn't seem like they've gone very far at first, running wise, but then there's probably a reason why the other gangers didn't chase beyond a certain point. The Shadow Lord glances back down to the latino. "I take it you're working for Andy," Kenneth begins first. "F-Fuck you!" "... Ok..." Ken steps back, glancing to Brom.

Jerking the man's head up, claws now replace the fingers upon Brom's hand. He shifted only his fist so that a large crinos paw grips the man, a deep rumble echoing in his throat. "Talk to him, or I start cutting off things that you will miss in the morning." And by the tone of his voice, he means it. Good cop, bad cop. You try and figure out who is who.

"Holy shit! Holy fuckin' shit! Oh my god!" Panic sets in over the rush of adrenaline, Burrito's breathing siezing on key points every time he dares a glance down at the sudden, huge claws. Over the smell of blood, a scent of fresh urine enters the air. "I do! I do work for him! Webber, Andy Webber! He... he- oh god- he's just my ... my boss!" The guy is pissing his pants, and crying.

"You tell Andy, that this turf is no longer his, and that is belongs to Fenrir's sons. We are Requiem. His pact with the Shadow Lord is over because he is dead. You have a week to clear out of here, or I will be sure to bring the wrath of Gaia upon your heads and I won't spare a single soul. My name is Brom Gustaffson, you tell him that. You tell him that I'm a murderer of the old world and that I won't tolerate his blood sucking ass living here in my city." Brom grips the throat a bit tighter, cutting off the whimpering breath. "Now that I have your scent, burrito, I can find you anywhere I want. The wolves own your ass." CRUNCH. He slams the kids face into the ground, looking to knock him out.

Kenneth looks off, not watching the Get breathe hard his words into the ganger's face. Particularly in the part about pacts with Shadow Lords, the halfmoon squints his eyes a touch. Then, when Brom smashes the young ganger's face down into the ground, it does the excellent job of knocking the guy out- and maybe rearranging a bit of cartiledge in the process. Once the guy's knocked out, Kenneth looks back. "Well," he notes blandly, "sounds like we just declared war."

Brom walks past Kenneth and gives him a fierce grin. "Fuck yeah I just did. C'mon, lets get some sleep, its fucking late and I got a kin at home to bang." He licks his lips, shifting just a bit to let the ear heal back into place, then makes his way back down as he steps out of the alley, glancing about carefully, then heads down the sidewalk.