1/17/2006

05:31 AM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.

Currently the moon is in the waning Full Moon phase (82% full).
It is currently 05:24 Pacific Time on Tue Jan 17 2006.
Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly cloudy. The temperature is 46 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.99 and rising, and the relative humidity is 82 percent. The dewpoint is 41 degrees Fahrenheit (5 degrees Celsius.)

Snaik's Room(#3428Jh)
Contents:
Zeenat
Sabina

[Time: Just around Breakfast time, 8:30 to 9 AMish. Well, unless you're in IHOP, which means it's always breakfast. But you're not in IHOP now, are you? Are you?!]
So this is the neighborhood. It's the sort of place non-residents usually don't visit, if only for its lack of distinctiveness or attractions. Insufferably suburban, the streets are lined with trees and SUVs and garbage bins all dutifully out for collection. A few older couples are taking walks down the street, and one mother jogs with a dog and baby carriage. No, this neighborhood won't be making it into the St. Claire tour guides, but it doesn't seem like a bad place to live.

A surprisingly nice car comes cruising down along the road. In it are Sabina and Kenneth, both half-moons sitting silently in anticipation of a cubnap, the car purring along the road as they follow an invisible guide.

Surprise surprise. Kenneth had never seen a kinfetch of Thunder's before, but seeing the skies cloud over and a slightly larger than life blackbird dive straight at you is a harrowing experience indeed. And annoying. It was only after he'd taken a swipe at it with his tennis bag and saw it pass right through, that the philodox had understood. Understood, and ran like a world-class sprinter to the nearest payphone, called collect, and grabbed Sabina from any breakfast plans /she/ might have had. Now in the car, the younger halfmoon sits in the passenger side. His eyes, locked on the unnaturally, occassionally transparent spirit that flies high overhead but just in view as it leads them towards the house in question.

The bird comes to perch on a scrawny almond tree in one driveway. This is the house, at last. Though noticeably a little more run-down than its neighbors (the trim could use some paint and the lawn some water) it's not out of place, not somewhere the neighbors would suspect of harboring a potential furry wolfbeast. The screen door is closed to keep out morning bugs, but the main door has been left open. The odor of cooking -- real cooking, not the microwave kind -- wafts out to the street, and the TV announces the news.

"Alright, Kenneth. This is your first cubnap?" Sabina enquires, driving right past the house and parking the car on a nearby side-street. "You know the mess Abraxas made with Beatrice's cubnapping, so you know what /not/ to do. Did you have any ideas on how to get her out?"

"Yes," Kenneth answers plainly for the first question, eyes following the bird still until it rests in the tree. "And all I happen to remember, from mine, is that one minute I was talking, next moment I was stuck in the Cave." The capitalization is evident, referencing, and altogether showing of his thought processes going in work. "We could go up and pose as neighbors," he suggests. "See if the cub's alone in the house."

"Neighbours won't cut it," Sabina murmurs, shaking her head. "No, to find out if she's alone, the best way to do it is a door-to-door survey. Do a couple houses on either side and ask if her parents are in, to ask them questions. Should have a notebook in the trunk. Then, if she's alone, we go in from the back."

From the sound of it, no such luck as the cub being alone. An older woman's voice rises in question, words unintelligable, and is responded to by a man's, in English this time. "Gul! Zeenat! Come for breakfast!" Certainly loud enough to be heard out the open door. It seems like meeting one family member is going to mean meeting them all.

Kenneth takes his eyes from the front door, looking to the other halfmoon. "Fine," he accepts. "Better'n sellin' girl scout cookies." He reaches for the car door handle, pausing as voices float through the open window. Again, he looks towards Sabina.

"Mmm." Sabina looks thoughtful. "I suppose waiting until the kid pops isn't feasable, but it would make life /so/ much easier. She kills the olds, we go in and rescue the sobbing teen...much easier than all this human bull." She thinks hard, shaking her head slightly. "I say we camp out until she's alone. No point in killing parents for being around."

"And who are you expecting to clean up the place if the kid pops?" Kenneth inquires with a Meaningful Look. "Vera?" A pause. "Vera-/rhya/?" Another pause, and the look swings back housewards. "How do we know they're not kin?"

"Kin, living in this city without telling Garou? They'd better bloody not be kin," Sabina replies firmly. "Or I /will/ gut them. And Vera can go hang if she's got complaints; the kinfetch found us, not her."

The sound of feet trudging dutifully and chairs scooting across linoleum. Breakfast small talk begins. Food odors intensify. Somewhere down the street, the sound of a garbage truck can be heard. No clues here.

Kenneth tightens his jawline. "After the last moot, I wouldn't be surprised," he mutters quietly, still in his seat. "Are we checkin' the neighbors or what?" He does so anyway, first order being to see how many cars are parked in driveways, or streetside.

Each house has an average of two cars, though the sum is quickly reducing as the neighborhood loads itself into vehicles and heads off to the ol' grind. Just about every house seems to be awake.

"The cub's parents will go to work," Sabina predicts. "Between them going and the school bus arriving, we get her out. There are various ways of getting in; ask to borrow the toilet or the phone, or check the gas meter, or whatever. Think you're up for doing that?"

Kenneth quickly jerks back the attention from houses to halfmoon. The young Slord's face twitches with a mixture of halted replies, before he turns back to watching their stake out. "Yeah, sure," he answers.

The sound of scolding rises this time -- again, the older male's voice. "...and Zeenat? If I hear that you are not in school today, I will take away your mobile. Do you hear me?" Grumbling, repeated scraping of chair legs. The screen door swings open and a dark-haired man with a mustache and a briefcase steps onto the dying grass of the front yard. He pauses only briefly before unlocking the older car he drives, glancing down the street, yet seeming not to see the two newcomers. The engine starts and he pulls out of the driveway.

"How strong are you in homid?" Sabina then asks, a serious question, hushing abruptly at the sound of voices. "Sounds like the kid might not be going. Excellent. Do you think you could knock a teen out without them making too much noise? If you handle that, I'll write out a running-away note to her parents and pack up some of the kid's stuff."

Kenneth bristles despite the question being serious. "Strong enough," he claims with a flash of fire in those normally cold eyes. That seems to have upped his tension level another notch. The grip he has on the car door handle is tight, and white-knuckled.

The older half-moon nods, accepting the answer at face value. "So. Parents go out, kid stays in the house. You go up and get in, knock the kid out and open the door for me. I'll find something she's written and copy her writing into a note to her parents and bundle up some stuff. Any ideas on how to get her out of the house into the car without being seen?" This almost seems a lesson of sorts, by the questions she's asking.

However, only the father seems to have left, taking with him the only car. Someone changes the channel on the TV to songs in some foreign language. An inner door closes decisively and the food odor dissipates. When the door opens again, a boy of about 9 or 10 emerges with a backpack and starts to cross the street. Nope; not him. The spirit continues to sit patiently.

Kenneth evaluates the departure and traveling of various vehicles along the residential street. "You park the car on the driveway. I'll find a side door and..." he waits for the boy, following with his gaze, "and pretty much hope the neighborhood watch is still eatin' breakfast."

"Give it until nine and most people will have gone to work," Sabina murmurs. "Any problems you can think of? I haven't seen the mother leave.."

"Could just knock her out," Kenneth states without flourish. He doublechecks to see if there's a second floor to the house.

"Which puts paid to the idea that the kid has run away," the other Shadow Lord replies patiently. "We could always wait for the kid to leave. The fetch will show us where it goes, and we could perhaps do a drive-by kidnap."

And, as minutes stretch on, there comes no sign of either the mother or the cub. The songs continue to play (albeit muffled by the door) and no other movement can be heard. There is indeed a second floor, though all the windows are closed against the cool.

"Unless her mother's the type that doesn't give a shit if she goes to school or not," Kenneth utters, gaze dropping back to the front door. The stormcrow spirit in the trees gets another brief glance. If he had a wristwatch, he'd probably be checking it.

"Relax," Sabina murmurs. "Kinfetch can come any time up to two days before the kid's going to pop. We can afford to be careful - it's the difference between keeping the veil and shredding it."

Can they afford to be careful? Or, more correctly, do they have the patience? Time passes, the only new sound being feet going up stairs and the slamming of a door. This is probably as empty as the house is going to get.

Kenneth eyes the other halfmoon sidelong. "Two days." He absorbs the information, but doesn't look any more relaxed by the notion. "We don't have two days to afford to waiting for a cub."

"I wasn't suggesting waiting two days. But equally, it doesn't have to be done in the next hour or so, while the world is still watching and there's the possibility of a mother in the house." Sabina unclips her seatbelt. "I'm going to do some door-to-door surveying. Could be that mother has already left - or indeed, there isn't one."

Drowning out the foreign language songs is now a local urban music station, clarion-clear from one of the upstairs rooms.

"Thought I heard a woman in there before the father's," Kenneth says, looking over as the other philodox unbuckles. Despite his impatience, he doesn't move to do any more than unbuckle his seatbelt as well. "It /would/ be faster if we just went in and knocked the crap out of them. I'd be surprised if anyone's watching."

"Turning this into a kidnap instead of a run-away," Sabina exhales. "Well, we can do it that way if you like. It'll be a learning experience, at least." She sounds mildly unimpressed, but willing to get it over with.

Now it's Kenneth's turn to be patient. "You're the experienced one. But even I know that runaways don't leave notes. Suicides, maybe." He doesn't appear to be getting out of the car just yet.

It seems that nothing more is going to take place at the house. It's as ready as it'll ever be.

The dark-haired woman nods. "I'll go surveying. Won't take me ten minutes to do a couple either side. Can you drive?" She pushes her seat back and reaches for the door handle, but pauses before opening it.

Kenneth hesitates just a touch, then nods as his answer. "Ten minutes," he replies.

"Alright. When I'm done, I'll wave you down and you can bring the car onto the drive," Sabina agrees, slipping out and closing the door behind her, off to do some fake survey-taking with her notebook and pen. It's an easy beginning, with most of the houses empty already, and so she quickly makes it to the house with the kinfetch roosting in it's garden. Knock knock!

Kenneth meanwhile, switches seats to sit in the driver's side. The halfmoon familiarizes himself with the basics, and is finished with his inspection and hand on the wheel when the other has reached the house in question.

The foreign music behind the hip-hop pauses. A door leading off the main hallway opens, and an older woman in a flowered headscarf comes to the door. She blinks owlishly, as if not expecting company, and finally asks, "Y-yes..?" Even the one word is heavily accented and betrays the speaker's nervousness.

"Oh good morning!" Sabina's expression is bright and cheerful, her accent strongly southern; Texas, perhaps. "Sorry to bother you, my name's Carol and I'm just calling around from the Homeowner's Association. May I ask you a few questions, Mrs...?" She holds up her pad and pen expectantly.

The woman seems torn. Eyes flit here and there and she bites her lower lip a bit. Hesitant, "You come in.." she invites, adding with embarrassment, "..but I not speak good.." She puts her thin hand on the handle of the screen door and swings it open.

Nodding, Sabina offers another bright smile. "Perhaps there's someone else in the house who could speak for you? Son or daughter?" she enquires in the manner of someone who believes non-native speakers will understand her if she speaks brightly and slowly enough.

Sabina does, also, step in.

Kenneth remains vehicularly impounded, for the time being. His eyes let the freedom of his gaze penetrate into what he can see through the rectangle of the doorway.

The woman gestures to a sofa in the front room. Again apologetic, she replies, "M-maybe.. I call.. Maybe she not come.." Making a gesture of 'wait', the mother goes up the stairs and can be heard to knock on a door. The hip-hop don't stop, but it /is/ turned down a notch. Their speech is too quiet to be heard, but telling from the sudden cessation of the music, success is at hand. The older woman comes down first and offers, "I make tea?" It seems to be a rhetorical question, as she sweeps immediately into the safety of the kitchen. Behind her, trudging reluctantly, is a sullen-looking overweight teenage girl.

Outside, a crow calls three times.

[look Zeenat (homid)]
Some overweight people bear their extra pounds like an unwelcome burden, grudging their body its size and shrinking into themselves. Others, like this young woman, are unafraid to take up space and utilize their increased bulk for increased presence. While there certainly is a degree of big-bonedness to her tall, stocky frame, there is also unrepentant fat. One might estimate her to be 5'8" and 190 pounds and in her mid-teens.
In keeping with the air of general confidence, her appearance is meticulously maintained. Her skin, while not creamy perfection, is healthy, with an innate tawny glow. A nose flaring wider at the nostrils and impeccably glossed lips are set in a wide oval of a face. However, it's the large, gazelle-dark eyes that are the treasure of the visage. Outrageous mascara that would be tawdry or downright ridiculous on any other face adds to the drama of those eyes, as does a dusting of golden glittery eyeshadow. A few golden highlights streak her waist-length brown-black hair, left free and unbound.
She wears a close-fitting white shirt sparkling with rhinestones around its Baby Phat logo. Over this, a hip-hop style hooded track jacket keeps out any potential chill. Vintage-style faded jeans are tight around her hips before loosening fashionably around mid-thigh. Blue and gray athletic shoes complete the look.

"Yes, please," 'Carol' agrees with another bright smile, and then her gaze fixes on the teenage girl. "Hi there," she enthuses brightly. "I'm Carol. What's your name?" She sits poised with her notebook, waiting until the older woman is out of sight into the kitchen and putting the kettle on. Kettle = noisy = good!

Water pours in the kitchen and pots clang. The girl slumps into a loveseat, body language belligerent. "Zeenat." she grunts. "And if you're from the school, go" Clatter! "yourself. I went yesterday, so it's not like I'm missing anything."

Kenneth keeps an eye out on the general traffic, car and pedestrian wise.

"I'm not," the almost-caucaisan woman replies, rising and crossing over towards the girl. "Can you write that down for me? I'm terrible with spelling names." She offers the notebook and pen over, looming over Zeenat's shoulder.

Zeenat grimaces openly. "Whatever," she issues the battle-cry of disaffected teens everywhere as she snatches the pen and writes as if for a three-year-old: 'Zeenat'. "There. You happy?" Snarky li'l (big) thing. The kitchen door swings open again and Zeenat's mother sets down a serving tray with two cups of milky tea and a plate of cookies. She herself perches on the edge of the sofa where 'Carol' had been and says nothing.

[look Sabina (homid)]
If there is a certain feminine allure to Sabina, it does not come from her looks. Standing average in every way, at 5'6 and of medium build, slighly-darker-than-caucasian skin and elbow-length dark brown hair, there is little of her that could truly be called pretty, though by the same token she is not repulsive either. Her face is mostly rounded and perhaps slightly gaunt, sharp cheekbones and thin lips taking away any notion of beauty, though her sharp green eyes do show a surprising amount of intelligence and wry humour should one look at the right time. Her body is likewise nondescript, the woman carrying slightly more weight than the 'ideal' but not getting into the realms of fat, perhaps even a shade more muscular than most women, sadly though she'll never make a living as a model.
She is wearing a somewhat eclectic blend of clothing, thrift-store chic being the wardrobe she ascribes to. A plain white shirt begins at her throat with a roll-neck and runs all the way to her wrists and waist, tucking in there to a plain pleated grey skirt that ends just above the knee. Her legs are completely hidden by a pair of opaque tights in chocolate brown, which in turn are hidden from the ankle down by a pair of sturdy Doc Martins, slightly worn but still usable. Her hair is nipped back into a plait that reaches to between her shoulderblades, tied with a grey ribbon.

"Perfect," Sabina trills brightly, though behind the plastic smile and dancing eyes a little rage begins to grow, irritation at the cub, the mother, the situation, at herself. Growing, slowly. "So, Zee-nat," she pronnounces, remaining loomed where she is. "You don't go to school?" Rather than taking back the pad, she reaches down and abruptly lands a blow against the cub's scalp, adopting the half-man Glabro form for extra strength, assuming the blow will knock Zeenat out and darting over abruptly to do the same to the mother, trusting in delirium to cloud memories.

What might have been born a yelp of suprise is instead cut off by the heavy thud to the head. Zeenat proves that she /can/ slump in the chair a little bit more than she already was. Her mother, seeing this, utters the beginning of a moan and faints just as the second blow lands on her own scalp.

Pausing to take a few deep breaths and shrink back down into her breed form, Sabina brushes herself off out of habit. She heads for the door, looking out to give Kenneth a nod, and then ducking back in and heading upstairs, to grab some clothes and stuff from the girl's room.

Back at the car, Kenneth starts up the engine for the sake of having it warm and ready to run. Or, he's harboring the evil thought of ditching the halfmoon and taking the car out for a spin. When he sees Sabina poke her head out, though, those hopes of his plans go awry. Oh well. "About time," he exchanges, revving the engine a couple of times in preparation.

The room is cluttered with clothing (clean and odiferous alike) and cosmetics. Still, the drawers and closet yield a bounty of trendy items, easily packed into the empty satchel that most students use to carry books. Back downstairs, neither mother nor daughter stir. Steam rises from the tea, oblivious.

Driving the car up into the empty driveway, Kenneth puts the vehicle in park and gets out. Business-like, he enters the house without worry and proceeds to gaze about. The girl is glanced to. The mother, after. The tea and cookies. "Right... CSI won't get nothin' on this." He proceeds to move the mother to a spot beside the girl on the couch, laying the TV remote nearby. The tea and cookies he takes to the kitchen, dumping both cups down the sink and snagging a cookie while he's at it. Then, still chewing, he grabs the girl up. "Christ," he mutters muffedly, before finding some way or other to drag her out of the house and into the backseat of the car. Even if he has to call upon Fenris to aid him strength in this battle.

Neatly packing clean clothes into a bag - folded and all - Sabina then heads for the bathroom, picking up a toothbrush - Zeenat's if she can tell which that is - and then heading down again, the bag over her shoulder. "I think she's had a few too many cookies," she observes to Kenneth. "Want me to take legs?"

Zeenat is deadweight, unfortunately, and quite a lot of it. Her mouth gapes open as if in surprise, though she's clearly unconscious.

Kenneth glances down, and nods. "One sec." He snags up the TV remote, and turns on the television, leaving it on the Home Shopping Network before replacing the remote in lap. "That woman's face on the TV would give anyone nightmares," he rumbles, before picking up the girl and heave-to-ing it towards the car.

Manhandling the cub out into the car, Sabina and Kenneth settle her on the back seat. "Alright, job done. Nice." She goes back to pull the front door securely closed, doing so with her hand tucked inside her sleeve so there's no prints left on it. "I'm driving. Are you coming to the farm or want dropping somewhere?" she then asks, heading for the driver side door.

"Farm," Kenneth agrees, no longer so resistant as before. He heads back towards the passenger side, getting in and glancing back. "Jesus. She looks like a piece of work, doesn't she?" The question comes after spotting what must be a severe bump to the head. That's the final comment he makes for the time being. And once they're at the farmhouse, the philodox takes his leave and bag with him.