4/17/2005

06:55 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (59% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 49 degrees Fahrenheit (9 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 7 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.09 and rising, and the relative humidity is 80 percent. The dewpoint is 43 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)
It is currently 18:31 Pacific Time on Sun Apr 17 2005.

Pool Hall(#3490RJ)
Pool tables, with one foosball table and an air hockey table hiding among them, dominate the space of the hall, hardly yielding any space for the motley crew of players chalking their sticks and eying the brandy bottle at the bar lining one wall. The dust and scratches on all surfaces save the green velvet lining the pool tables indicate this hall as skimping on maintenance and cheap on cleaners. Its lack of flashy videogames and surplus of toothless kibitzers underscores its appeal to the older crowd. No natural sunlight is permitted into the hall, its lighting provided by bulbs swinging from the ceiling.
A recent 'renovation' to the hall has caused many splinters and embedded bullet holes, adding much to the aged atmosphere. Ruddish stains, dark and ominous even under the lights, refuse to be washed out of the floor. A dart board brightens up the walls with its red-and-black scheme, and a moosehead looks down on the proceedings.
Mounted from the ceiling, a television blares its glaring brightness and noises.
A set of double doors, one locked, the other unlocked at the whims of the hall manager, lead out to the street. Unobstructive doors behind the bar undoubtedly lead to storerooms.
Contents:
Brom
Obvious exits:
Outside  

Already at the pool hall and occupying the table that was designated as Brom's, the Shadow Lord philodox is in the middle of a rack. He plays by himself, lining up each shot carefully, patiently, before taking his shots. No one seems to be inclined to join him at the table, or even come near him, as there is an undertone of tension running through the halfmoon's body - a still rattle just waiting to be shaken.

Making his way into the pool hall, Brom is sporting himself a nice looking trench coat. There is a few holes in the back of it, but overall it doesn't look too bad. Aiming for his pool table, he pauses for a moment, squints his eyes, then relaxes once he sees that its Kenneth. "Hey." He calls over with a chuckle in his throat. "What's up?"

Kenneth looks up from his game, remaining slightly bent in position to put the 9-ball into a side pocket. "Yo," he replies to greeting only, before concentrating on his shot. Just as he is about to strike, a particularly strong itch digs itself into his still healing arms and he tenses up right before the cue connects. The falter in power causes the shot to miss, and in frustration the Shadow Lord slams his cue down onto the velvet and grips his arm (which is bandaged all the way down to his knuckles) with his hand, also bandaged. He breathes out roughly, squeezing hard.

"Man, what happened to you?" Brom asks as he eyes the bandages, then lifts up a brow. ".. Are you alright?" Suddenly the grin upon his face drops, losing the happy facade and melting into something more serious.

Dillen comes in, wanting to work off some boredom. He sees his packmates and wanders over to them. A unconscious itch on his palms causes him to start scratching, a lot. "S'up? How's the arm man?" He looks to Kenneth.

Kenneth snorts and grits his teeth until the itch is literally squeezed out of his arm. Slowly, he sets his hands back down onto the tableside. "I'll live," he replies to Dillen first as the Galliard comes up. Then, to Brom and his serious demeanor the halfmoon answers, eyes remaining on the velvet. "Found a Nasty garbageman down near the wharfs a couple days ago. Dillen and I were on patrol. Some reason Emma an' Jacinta were there too." Rolling his shoulder in as much a shrug as it is to relax a tense muscle, he flicks his gaze up. "It's just a scratch."

Brom blinks his eyes a bit. ".. Huh? Wait, a garbage man did that to you?" He frowns, glancing back and forth between the pair of them, then focuses once more on the Shadow Lord. "What kind of garbage man? What happened? Why didn't you get me?"

Dillen reaches to pick up a cue and heads for the table, lining up a shot with his eyes. "No time. Real nasty bastard." He runs the cue through his hand and curses, putting the cue down to scratch his palms again. "Could tell you more... But not here. It was like someone was a Lucas fan club. If you get my drift."

Kenneth doesn't dare scratch, but at the same time it's like he's deliberately torturing himself for the sake of appearances. The Shadow Lord's face is one babystep away from contorting into an angry snarl. "Fuckin' sick fuck," he hisses out. "Stronger than he looked, and with sharpened fingernails that were more than just your call out for a manicure. Not to mention a skin condition all over him worse than a leper." He looks down at his own hands, squeezing his fingers into fists to keep from scratching his itches.

Twitching his eye some, Brom lets out a hard breath. "What? Well why didn't you? Wha.. you shoulda got me!" He says with a disappointed grunt. "Man.."

"Figured you were fucking Rillie or somethin. More important stuff, ya know." Dillen growls out and lines up a shot on the table, letting lose and knocking two balls into the holes without a second look to Brom.

Kenneth huffs, tossing his head up like an impatient hotblooded stallion stuck in a stable until racetime. "You took off. How were we supposed t'call you in? 1-800-GET-BROM?" The Shadow Lord shrugs again. "Four of us were enough t'handle him anyway."

Snorting loudly at Dillen's words, Brom shoots him a sharp look. "I /would/ have stopped fucking her for /that/. I can always come home and fuck my girl, I can't always just go out and kill a garbage man." He scowls, then sits down into a heavy chair. "Well, congratuations on your victory."

"Thanks." Dillen loads up another shot and knocks it down. "Now, if I would just stop itching. And I can't fucking eat anything that isn't chewed like a million times."

Kenneth growls out wordlessly, also sitting onto a pulled up stool and clasping his fingers tightly around the edge of the seat. Knuckles running white, he watches the pool game and Dillen's shots for a time. Then, he looks over to Brom. "How is Rillie?"

"Kenneth, go ahead and scratch if you have to." Brom says as he snaps his fingers over to the tender across the room, then looks back to Ken. "She's doing great. Busy with some homework project at the moment, photography."

Dillen just keeps shooting on the table and eventually clears it. He pays no attention to Brom and then begins to rack up a new set. "Anybody in on this game?"

Kenneth snaps his gaze back to the other philodox before standing up again. "I'm not scratchin' it. Only makes it worse," he mutters. Then to Dillen, "Yeah. I started one. Better finish one." The Shadow Lord picks up the cue left on the side of the table. "Are we gonna talk to that Michael guy some time, or are we waitin' on him to show some spine and come out here?"

"He has a spine, trust me." Brom says with a rumble in his throat as he lets out a quick snort. "Maybe we should go up there and find him on the bluff or something. I haven't been able to talk to him since the incident with Bear and I've been busy picking fights with leeches and working out a strategy for this stupid farm we're going to take down." He wets his lips. "We should take a field trip, together, as a pack."

"Fucking WB." Dillen growls, smacking the cue ball and sending the balls on the table all around. "Shit, nothing went in." He looks up to Brom. "I would like nothing more than to see WB show throat to me."

"Least he didn't join the others out there," Kenneth notes, walking around the table to seek out a strategy. He takes his time, arm tensing with a passing itch before he gets over it, leans forward and takes his shot, putting in an easy corner pocket. "But if we're gonna make a case, might as well do it as a group." He says nothing about White Bear, leaning down for a second shot that misses by fractions of an inch. Tcha.

"Stripes." Dillen loads up the shot and sinks it, moving to the next one. "Wait. Did you say you were picking fights with Leeches?" He raises a brow and fires, missing the easy shot. "Crap."

"I don't care about that mutt. He doesn't need to show throat to you cuz' he's nothing but a tribeless cub. You're higher than he is Dillen. You're Get." Brom says with a rumble in his throat, then pushes up to his feet. "Yes, I picked a fight with them. All of 'em. Told them to clear house."

Kenneth and Dillen play a game of pool over at 'Brom's Table', with the Get philodox looking on. Requiem's three provide an ample enough bubble of Rage around them, but they converse quietly nonetheless. Kenneth takes a shot on a solid colored ball, banking it off two sides before it rolls into a corner pocket. "You sure did Brom," he utters flatly, not particularly looking pleased even as he takes a second shot. It misses.

"Well, someone needed to shake 'em up." Brom says with a snort as he snags up the trio of beers the waitress brings by, then tosses a ten onto her tray. After shooing her off, he plucks the other two onto the table next to them.

"All for shaking up leeches." Dillen grins a toothy grin and growls low. The pool cue flies again and smacks two balls so close to the pockets that they almost sink in, but they don't.

The door opens up quietly and Emma walks in without much fuss. She wasn't planning on meeting anyone here, and so her bookbag and her are slipping to a table in the back corner.

Kenneth sniffs once, and then swings around to the other side of the table in order to line up a better shot. As he does, he gets a good view of the front door and whoever enters. His gaze flicks up for a second to see Emma, but he doesn't exactly register her immediately - a fleeting glance at best. The Shadow Lord's concentration go into the shot, and where Dillen missed, the halfmoon doesn't. Kenneth pauses to chalk the end of his cue. "If we're gonna do it, we need to find out just how far they've dug their hands into the dirt here."

"Should try and see if they got any police ties first of all." Brom says with a rumble in his throat as he watches Emma walk in. "Then from there, make sure they are the 'only' ones we are messing with. They got tribes just like we do, and if they are just small potatos, then I want to move on to the cheese burger." He licks his lips, then barks out. "Hey Emma!"

Dillen cracks his knuckles. "I just want more teeth." He growls low and in his throat. He waits for Kenneth to make his shot.

Emma startles slightly as the call comes out. Her eyes glance up, squint in the direction of the pack and then she gives a faint nod. It almost looks as if she had hoped to go completely unnoticed here tonight.

Kenneth looks over to where Brom calls out to the Get ahroun, brain clicking inside with recognition finally. Though he offers no greeting or nod, the Shadow Lord notes her presence. "What're you gonna do. Make a necklace outta 'em? Breach Central," he remarks to Dillen, taking his shot and missing once again by fractions.

"You see what some kids are wearing these days? People won't give a shit about a necklace full of teeth, they'll think its some stupid plastic kind." Brom says with a chuckle, waving a hand over to the Ahroun once more, motioning her over.

Dillen shakes his head and peers at Kenneth. "No. I keep them in my pocket. And hell, if anybody sees them that would think they were fake. But one tooth in my pocket is one less fucking leech on this planet." He nods to Brom in agreement. Then he lines up the shot, smacking it hard and two balls roll in. "Gotta live up to my name."

Emma looks at the group again and then reluctantly shifts her direction of travel towards them. When she gets close enough, she looks around and gives a single shoulder shrug, "Hey."

Kenneth scoops up one of the beers into his hand, leaning on his poolcue slightly. As Emma approaches, he watches her at a distance. "Yo," the Lord replies. Then, a look is given to her bookbag.

"Hey, talking about killing leeches." Brom says as he takes another long pull off his beer, swishing the contents about in his mouth, then swallows it down. "What is in the bag? Hopefully the head of something you just recently killed." He says teasingly.

Dillen looks to Emma and nods. "S'up?" As he moves to shoot again, missing totally. "What is this? Magnetic or something?'

Emma looks over her shoulder as if the question only just reminded her she had it with her. Her head shakes, "Nah, nothing fun like that Brom." The two younger members get a nod each, but the Ahroun seems rather distracted tonight.

Kenneth cracks his neck with a low mutter, finishing the re-chalk of his cuetip and taking his shots after Dillen. One, two, and a third ball are sunk in rapid succession as he spies an opportunity. The fourth being tricky though, is utterly missed without even the cueball coming close to the intended target. Instead, the Shadow Lord has deliberately placed the ball in between an easy pocket, making it harder for his opponent to complete his shots. He looks back to Emma then, and remains silently curious about the contents of her bookbag.

"... Nothing fun, huh? So what is in it?" Brom asks as he squints his eyes, keeping his attention upon the Ahroun. "Didn't you mention once about... doing school again?" He asks, his tone dropping a bit more cuirous.

Dillen lifts his eyes up to look at Emma and then back to the table. He leans in and knocks two balls in in succession. "There we go. Now that is better." He lines up the nest... And the cue ball goes flying off the table. "Shit."

Emma sighs deeply, "No it's not school work. It's just- stuff." She gives the place another glance, "You guys been here long? Just hanging out or what?" As the ball goes whizzing off the table, the Ahroun frowns a bit.

Kenneth cracks a tight smile of early victory as the cue ball bounces off the table, but this time the Shadow Lord is right on it. He stops the ball before it has a chance to roll out and trip anybody as in a certain situation in the past, scooping it up like a raven with a shiny quarter. "Scratch," he utters to Dillen, and thus lines up the ball where he wants it right on one side of the table behind the invisible line. "7-ball, side pocket." The remaining shot for his whole-colored side is called, and the Shadow Lord sinks it easily. Then, lining up for the 8-ball, he takes his time, prepping the stick and modifying the power used before the end of the cue contacts ball, white hits black, and the black sinks into the far corner, ending the game. "Close one," he tells Dillen, checking the remaining two striped balls on the table. "Since when did you learn how to play billiards?" The Shadow Lord spares another glance to Emma. "Fer awhile," he replies, lifting a hand not to scratch at his bandaged arms, but at a spot on his cheek.

"Known for a long time. Parents had a table. Used to play in the basement, trying to keep away from them while they were fucking next to my bedroom." He leans against the table and shrugs. "Spent a lot of time down there instead of sleeping."

"We practically live here." Brom says as he tilts his head some to the Ahroun, then looks about the pool hall once more. "I like it here, my kind of place." He says with a chuckle, then continues to eye the bag. "So, what kind of stuff is in there?" He asks again, continuing to be curious.

Emma lets out a bothered sigh, her fingers clenching around the strap she holds onto to keep the bag at her shoulder. "Papers. For writing things. Some people might call it stationary. That, and address books okay? Geezus."

Kenneth takes a small drink of the beer he chose, still grimacing at its taste. At Emma's answer, though, he peers at her with a slightly peaked interest - one of those smaller hills on the rollercoaster ride of curiosity. Dillen gets a nod, albeit not exactly one that shows he is sympathizing.

Dillen looks to Kenneth, "Another game?" he asks with a lackluster energy about it.

Brom continues to look curious, then glances over to the pair of pack mates once more. "So.." He says. "We were talking about vampires earlier, Emma. So, you get dinner yet?"

Emma shakes her head, "No, I was- well there's no place really to chill at this point.

Kenneth lifts his chin slightly, regarding the ahroun. "Too hormonal out west huh?" he queries, loads of implication in the question.

As the pack sits around talking, a couple of guys get a little more rowdy at the bar. One of them looks about and then jumps up, reaching into his coat and pulling out a gun. "Gimme all your fucking money or I will blow you fucking head off." The gun is faced right at the bartender, who by now is sweating hard.

Dillen looks up to the noise and raises a brow. "Fuck." He grunts under his breath. "Looks like we have some fun after all." The cue is laid to one side.

Furrowing his brows, Brom lets out a snarl as he stands up, dropping the bottle to the ground with a clink. Reaching over, he snags up Dillen's cue stick as he starts his way over, slowly spinning it around in his hand, end over end, eyes narrowed. "Hey! Get the fuck out of our pool hall."

Emma tenses again, her teeth setting into a clench. She watches as Brom moves towards the altercation, but stays put herself.

Kenneth is in the middle of another sip of his beer before those trigger words of a robbery are spoken aloud. He glances about at the other patrons to see their reactions first, and eventually focuses on the Fenrispack's leader. "Here we go /again/," the Shadow Lord growls under his breath. Slowly, he backs up against the pool table, reaching into the side pocket to grab a couple of billiard balls.

As Brom moves in closer, another guy jumps up and pulls a gun from his jacket, leveling it at Brom. "Go back over, boy scout. Unless you want to see the old man bite it." His buddy cocks the gun at the bartender's head. "Better listen, Boy scout." The bartender by this point has begun to move towards the register, eyes looking to Brom for help.

Dillen reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a new toy, a stiletto. It makes a small noise as it flies out from the center. "C'mon guys. Put the guns down. You don't wanna do this." The knife held behind him.

Emma begins to boil silently where she stands, watching everything as it escalates. Her hand clenches tighter around the book bag strap as she glances between Brom and the second gunman.

"So? Shoot him then. I don't give a fuck about him." Brom says as he continues to twirl the stick around in his wrist. "The only thing I care about, is killing you." Slowly, a grin spreads over his lips. "Cuz' I can guarantee this." He says, continuing forward, step by step. "You drop him, I drop all of you. You can get your shit, leave, and that'll be the end of it." Snap. With a single hand, he cracks the wood cue stick, catching the other half with the other as he narrows his eyes. "I will also enjoy killing you."

Kenneth grits his teeth as the second gunman makes himself known, holding back a shake of his head. "Dumbass," the philodox mutters quietly once more to himself, slowly gauging distance, taking his time to inch over to a position that gives him a clear shot towards the first gunman's body. While the two are occupied with their focus on Brom, the philodox transfers one ball to his left hand and the other to his right.

Grunt 2 still has his gun leveled on Brom. "Fuck off man. BACK off." His gun is cocked as well. His eyes do not leave Brom. Grunt 1 still is centered on the bartender. "Come on old man." The 'tender trying to hurry, but shaking all the while as he does so.

Dillen takes the advantage to move around to the side countering Kenneth in what seems to have become a pack move, back in behind some of the others that just stand there either ignoring the proceedings or watching with slack jaws.

Emma growls slightly as the others begin to move in; it's already three on two, and she doesn't seem overly concerned that they are getting in over their heads.

"Pussy, if you had any kind of balls, you'd have pulled the trigger by now." Brom says as he continues to lumber forward, foot by foot, closer, swaying with that confident swagger he exudes. He flips his left hand, twirling the battered broken wood shard, sharp enough to impale if need be. "You got one last chance to just walk out, or you're dead." There's a glint in his eye. "Leave -now-." He paces forward, like a tiger, eager on the prowl.

And with Brom's words, Grunt 2 fires. And fires, And fires. Three shots ring through the air in Brom's direction. Drugs filling the grunt with abandon of his senses. The guy at the bar startles and turns around to look at where the shots went, now scared. "Dave, man. You weren't supposed to..." The gun moves away from the bartender just enough for the man to pull out a baseball bat and ring Grunt 1's bell with it. Dillen moves in, grabbing the gun from his hand and wrenching the man's arm backwards.

Kenneth wets his lips, spies Dillen on the move, and then looks to Emma for a moment. Taking stock of the Garou in the room and their positions, the Shadow Lord finally winds up. And fakes a pitch, wincing as the small pool hall is suddenly filled with gunfire. No time to think strategy now, the Slord dodges around a table and a couple of screaming clientele, and chuckles a pool ball hard as he can towards the head of the second gunman.

"That's a nice coat you have there." Brom says before the gun is fired, then moves into action with a near blur to his step, having his eyes set on the man's hand the entire time. As he dodges to the side, he takes a bullet hard in the shoulder, but barely a grunt passes his lips as he aims with his shard, looking to impale the man in the stomach. Blood soaks his jacket, teeth clenching together.

The young Ahroun tenses again as the shots go off. Her face screws up as one of the Brom-intended bullets hits her. Emma immediately lets out a girlish gasp, hands dropping to her stomach and pressing there as blood starts to soak her palms. Without thought, she calls upon her gifts to mask the pain- in hopes that it will keep her from snapping altogether. "Fuck!" she calls out, eyes dangerously close to hazing over with rage.

The ball that Kenneth throws smacks Grunt 2 in the head, throwing him off. One more shot rings out from his gun and finds itself embedded into Emma's gut. The same happens to Grunt 2, right into the gut and he is run through by a pool cue. He doesn't fight much as he falls against Brom, blood running down the cue and staining Brom's clothes. He chokes on his tongue and dies, right there. Grunt 1 is now held by Dillen, arm torqued behind him. Dillen growls in the man's ear. "Fucker. This is our place. No shithead's allowed." With that he pulls upwards, breaking the man's arm. The man winces with the pain and then is overrun, he passes out on the floor. Once he lands there, seems a knife was pushing into his kidneys as well.

"Oops." Brom says as he drops the man to the ground, snarling under his breath, then strips him of his jacket, dusting it off and throwing it over his shoulder. Glancing to the tender, he snorts, jerking the pool stick out. "We're drinking for free tonight, right?" He asks firmly.

"Fucking hell," Kenneth curses, following it with a stream of mutterings as he goes over to Emma's side. "EVERYONE GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE!" the Shadow Lord roars, deliberately planning on sparking panic. The customers that have since ducked and covered, pool cues dropped, start running for the door in immediate reaction of gunfire and command. "Emma," Kenneth says lowly, stooping beside her. "Get up and get out. Duck somewhere and shift. Quickly." The philodox only pauses to stare hard at his packmates.

The tender props the baseball bat on the bar. "Every night you are here you are. You and your buddies. That's the third time I been robbed. Only time they didn't get the money." He comes out from behind the bar. "Thanks. I'll take care of the cops. You take care of yourselves." The man gives them a knowing nod to each of them. Maybe something about the man seems that he knows more than he says. "Table is yours anytime."

Dillen rushes to Emma and growls. "I gotcha. Let's get you to the Brownstone."

Emma looks up at Kenneth on the verge. She clenches her jaws tightly, grinding her teeth together so fiercly it can be heard over the shuffle of panic. Her hand still pressed to her gut, she gets up and starts staggering to the back door with loud, animal like grunts and growls.

There is a slight smirk as Brom shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it to the side, then pulls on the new one, testing its size. Cracking his neck to one side, he starts for the door, tossing the other shard of wood to the side, letting it bounce off the wall. "See why I like this place?" He grins.

Kenneth slams the remaining pool ball in his hand onto the table and glares at Dillen. "Sonnuva bitch. Think! She's not gonna get to Browstone like that," he hisses angrily, himself tenser than a cat hanging on a rotating ceiling. "Get her down some alley and let 'er shift. I'm gettin' the fuck outta here and the rest of you should too." Not pausing now, he starts on his way out the front door, utterly ignoring the bartender. "Jesus Christ," he snarls to himself, blowing out of the pool hall onto the street.

Dillen lifts Emma up on his side and pulls her outside. "She'll be fine, man. Chill." He wraps his arm around her and pulls a bar towel off the bar to shove into her gut. "C'mon, Emma."

"L-let go of me..." she hisses out as Dillen tries to help her out. She shakes her head violently, as if caught in a dream she could not wake from. Emma's whole body trembles as she shoves the back door open and drips into the pool halls back 'yard'.

Dark Alley
A fairly typical alley way for this part of town, this narrow way knifes its way north-south between tall brick buildings. Not much wider than the dumpster that lies near the south end, it appears that a great deal of the refuse never makes it into the dumpster, or else, it's scattered to and fro by homeless persons, cats, and rats, all looking for food and other treasures.
Contents:
Emma(#4114PVce)
Obvious exits:
Regan Avenue  Bridge Street  

Kenneth just so happens to have ducked down the alley beside the pool hall, walking quickly, but not flagrantly visibly, away from the establishment.

Just as Emma shakes free of Dillen's hold and exits via the back door, it happens. She collapses forward to her knees, her hands slapping the dirty alley as her blood oozes from the wound. Shoulders buckling, her head drops to hang loosely from her neck for just a brief moment. All at once the sound of her shifting can be heard, rapid popping of bone and stretch of sinew as she rises up past Glabro to settle in a needy, rage-filled Crinos. It would be a good thing Dillen was behind her, as it gives him opportunity to both close the door and stay out of her direct sight. The shift immediately works to heal the wound, but does not do anything for the boiling rage that must be taken off the heat.

Dillen comes out and around the corner in time to see Emma cracking up. "Fuck." He says quietly. "heal fast, we gotta get far away from here."

Kenneth isn't all that far down the alley. The low huffing pants of a crinos reach his ears, and he turns around immediately to make sure that no 10 foot tall fuzzy Cuisinart for Gaia is about to pounce on him. Seeing none, the side of his face twitches, and tentatively the halfmoon retraces his steps, back towards the two Get hidden at the back of the pool hall. Once he steps into view, the Shadow Lord curses an expletive once more. "Get ahold of yourself Emma," he hisses out through clenched teeth. Only seeing the edge of Dillen, Kenneth squints his gaze, biting on his tongue.

Dillen was the first to alert the Crinos of his location, and so even as Kenneth gives her the command to calm down- she is turning claws upon the Galliard. There is no communication from the frenzied Ahroun, just that look of total oblivioun and the dance of rage in her eyes.

"Oh fuck." Dillen growls out. His growl deepening as he shifts to crinos himself and stepping closer to her. ~Edge. Go home.~ He grunts.

Kenneth curses again regardless, taking several steps back further into the alley before he calls out, "Take her down the alley!"

Stone-Spirit snorts viciously, raised claws swiping at Dillen as her fangs are exposed in a serious snarl. The first strike aims right for the Galliards face, as a second comes up from below to tear at the others belly.

Dillen backs away from Emma, pulling her down the alley. ~Come on.~ He growls. Each of the swipes missing him by bare inches. He keeps backing up, pulling further into the darkness.

Kenneth isn't walking, but jogging down the crooked alley between the hall and the tenement. About midway, where the streetlights don't even reach, he stops and turns, bulking up to Glabro. ~Make it quick, and for Gaia's sake don't shed too much blood!~

As the Galliard moves, Stone-Spirit grows more agitated. When her last swipes misses, she simply launches herself forward in a mighty leap, aimed to take the other down and give her fangs purchase around his neck.

Dillen finds himself backed up against the back of the alleyway with nowhere to move. Thank goodness for a dedicated neck brace as Spirit's jaws lock around his neck. His own claws push forward and rake at her belly, shoving them in and trying to pull her off. ~Stone-Spirit, It is Bloods-Bane. STOP.~

Dodging away from the two crinos in an already cramped alley, Kenneth ducks to a side, lips peeled back in a silent snarl as he fights down his own urges. The half moon's still-healing arms have since torn the bandages wrapped around them, leaving the strands in tatters, but mostly contained by the long sleeves of his dedicated clothing. ~Just fucking take her OUT, Dillen! She can't be reasoned with in frenzy!~

With her teeth locked around /something/ she at least feels as if she is making progress. The claws that rake at her belly earn another snarling hiss from her and she slams her body forward to pin the other more firmly. A loud thud as what could be up to a thousand pounds of flesh and muscle slams into the brickwork. Her own claws reaching out to grab, sink in, and pin shoulder to alley wall.

Bloods-Bane gives a mighty growl and then shoves with all he has, pushing Spirit off of him and using the momentum to throw her to the ground, trying to land on top of her and beat the hell out of her. Doing his best to knock her out now. Claws move into fists that slam as many times as possible to her head.

With a stroke of luck and good fate, Stone-Spirit is pushed backwards with such quick and unexpected force, that not only does she go down, but she goes down head first. A sick Ker-clack sound is heard as her head slams down into the filth of the alley and all but in an instant the fur and muscle gives way to pale-pink flesh and wounds. Her stomach shows off the strike of claws from Dillen and blood oozes from her head.
Stone-Spirit pages to the room: Aw, her bullet wound is prolly a mere scratch.

Bloods-Bane shifts back to glabro and flops down on the ground. "Fuck." He says and looks to Kenneth. "What's closer? Brownstone or Shadow's End?"

Kenneth doesn't turn his gaze away even as the fight draws to a close. The halfmoon is clearly restraining himself as well, frustration mounting. Forcing himself to shift down, the Shadow Lord reverts to homid. "Take off your jacket and put it on her. Brownstone's all the way across town, for cryin' out loud. We'll take her to the End. Jesus Fucking Christ." Sure enough, in the growing dark there is the faint sound of sirens, though too early to say whether or not they are coming this way. "I'll grab her bag. You pick her up and stick to the alleys, make your way back and don't get caught."

"Will do." Dillen shifts to homid and does as he was told, quickly. He pulls her up and starts out of the alley. "Let's hurry. See you there."

[Back at Shadow's End, which got dested but the building's still sorta there.]

The nice thing about an unconscious Emma is that she can't give you shit for anything- so Dillen manages to get her covered up, picked up and hauled off.

Dillen pulls her into the End. He finds his way to the couch and dumps her off there. He runs into Jarred's old room and pulls out a bunch of towels, bringing them out and putting some behind Emma's head and around her waist. He slaps her cheeks some trying to get her to wake. His own wounds are not tended to at the moment.

Tense waiting, and it's at least 20 minutes before the elevator rumbles to life and Kenneth exits with a scowl, rolling into the room as angry as a thundercloud ready to let loose. "Right mess out there," he huffs, finally forced to scratch at the irritating marks on his arms. "Goddamn Brom has /No/ sense of subtlety Whatsoever." He nearly rips off his shirt and tosses it to one side.

The fifth or sixth cheek slap brings her eyes to a blink and Emma finally opens them up. She tenses instantly as she is in an unfamiliar place. Her hand instantly goes to where the bullet struck, hissing as it finds the small wound replaced by a larger more serious one. She moves to sit up and the throbbing in her head knocks her right back down. With a growl, she shifts up into Glabro, not even caring where she is, and her eyes shut again.

Dillen pulls off Emma and flops onto the ground, shifting into glabro as well. "Dammit." He huffs. "She will heal and I will get her back to the brownstone."

"Yer Damn Fuckin' Right she's gonna heal and get the fuck outta this joint," Kenneth bursts out, eyes glaring black and beady. "You're lucky the cops got there 'fore that punk died, or we'd be raped /and/ screwed! Jesus CHRIST." Swatting the air, the Shadow Lord storms, pacing and roaring like a lion, low but loud. "Fucking Brom! Fucking Fenris!"

[later... still at the End.]

After directing the Get to take his tribemate to one of the spare bedrooms upstairs, Kenneth remains in the darkened Shadow's End. He sits on the right hand end of the dirty, blood-stained couch, shifted to Glabro. The philodox broods, absently scratching at his arms where the bandages have been removed.

Having been walking the streets a bit and making sure the cops wouldn't come down this way, Brom finally decides to head back upstairs and wander about. After checking the rooms, he walks into one your inhabiting, tilting his head a bit. "You OK?" He asks, his shoulder bandaged up, shirt tied about his waist.

"Fine," Kenneth answers monosyllabically, still scratching. Still brooding.

"I wasn't trying to kill that guy you know." Brom says as he squats down before you, hands on his knees. "I didn't think he'd even shoot."

Kenneth turns his gaze so that their eyes meet. "Does it matter?" he growls low, dangerously borderline. "Does it matter that you weren't tryin' to kill him? That you didn't think he was gonna shoot?" Kenneth leans forward, putting his more primal near-man features into the dim light and dark shadows.

"Soon as he pulled that trigger, it was him or me." Brom says with a furrow of his brow. "And I was looking to just put him down quick and move to the next guy. I didn't think I'd kill him." Standing up to his full height, he shrugs his broad shoulders back. "So, what is going through your mind right now?"

Kenneth clamps down visibly, locking all outlets as he digs his own small but sharp claws into his own arm. Slowly, the fingers release, leaving curved dips in his skin. "You got No sense of subtlety," he answers, each word thin in patience. "There were Human witnesses /all/ around. There was a gun pointed Right in your face." He looks up after, glaring now. "You're fuckin' Lucky, Brom. But you're also a fuckin' bull in a china shop."

"An here I thought you were going to insult me. I am a bull, Kenneth. I don't like fuckers like that. I watched them rob the pool hall twice now in the past week and I sat around and did nothing. The only difference between then, and today, is that they pulled a gun on the old man." Brom says with a slight rumble as he rubs the back of his neck. "Sides, all those witnesses will say the same thing, they came in, guns blazing, and we used self defense. That part of down, they won't ask us questions and if they do, fuck it. I'll handle it, I'll make sure it dosen't come down on you."

Kenneth stands up abruptly, turning and pacing away. "That's not the Point, Brom," he snarls. "The Point, is that you started a fight that could've been avoided. You put the whole pack in danger." He turns a couple yards away, facing the Get philodox. "You put Emma in danger, and she's not pack. She ended up frenzying outside; Dillen put her down. They're both upstairs, healin'." The Shadow Lord's voice is ice cold now. "Of all the things you could've done... why'd you take them on right then and there? Fuck Brom. Four of us could've jumped those assholes right outside and beat their heads in. Or even killed them. But it doesn't matter now." Kenneth looks off towards the kitchen. "It doesn't fucking matter."

Letting out a loud snort, Brom squints his eyes some, pinching the bridge of his nose some. Growing quiet for a few moments, he responds with. "I hate this fucking city."

"The city hates us all," Kenneth growls out in reply, prowling along the edge of the broken railed stairway. "Right now we gotta lie low or something." A large hand sweeps through his hair. "And wait for this to blow over. Bartender seemed like the type who's seen all this before." He paces some more. "I give it a couple days. And if one of us gets picked up... we need a plan, just in case."

The Forsetti is breathing heavily now as he thinks, fists curling up tightly for a moment, then releases. He narrows his eyes a bit, then sinks himself down into a chair, staring up at the ceiling. "You and Dillen should go to the farmhouse and stay a few days. I'll stay here and keep my ears open. I can't go on the bawn anyways. I'll just stay over with Rillie. No one knows where I live except you guys. I'll just stay inside a bit."

Kenneth breathes out slowly, having managed to calm himself to a medium low. "There're enough faces out in the city that we shouldn't have to worry too much," Kenneth reasons. "Still give it a couple of days. Christ, I sound like I watched one too many episodes of Cops now." This time, the Shadow Lord shifts, but down to his breed form. He looks over to the Forsetti. "Moon's gettin' bigger. We gotta watch it."

Nodding his head, Brom looks frustrated as he paces a bit, then heads for the door. "I'm going home, ganna tell Rillie. Sorry I fucked this up." He says, irritation etched into his face.

Kenneth shrugs a shoulder, not looking back to the Get. "Shit happens," is what he answers with. There's a pause before he adds, quieter, "Don't get caught."

The Shadow Lord is answered by the retreating footsteps of the Get of Fenris, heavy, but not proud as usual. There is something more slower in his step.