Arson & Robbery (Punkin SL)

[Squash]

*Just off Mag Mile, where things get less magnificent and fade to ordinary. Dazzling skyscrapers, mirrored in the distance. But nothing so fabulous in this neighbourhood. A strip of commercial businesses. Fat, happy, prosperous. This entire area on an upswing. A new apartment/condo building going up across the street from a all night convenience store and a Greek restaurant and lounge called "NINO'S." A large civic centre with a gym, tennis court and pool is lit up a block down. Nestled amidst new houses and looming high dollar apartment complexes.*

[Administrator]

Wharil Choc, welcome to General Chicago (Night)

[Squash]

[toss selves into area! willynilly however you please!]

[Jeremy Zielinski]

He's been doing this since he arrived, moving among Chicago and blending into the crowd. He looks, scouts, mingles as if searching for something but no one really pays attention to him. He told Henri he wouldn't mind spending more time with her than doing this. Maybe he's becoming obsessed. Maybe he's not. Tonight of all nights, he looks tired. Dark circles fall beneath his eyes and he's not alert as he often is. Beneath the loose black shirt and the jacket he sports, is the steel gun he keeps with him. Never leave home without it.

[S. Ashton Winters]

She had dropped Marcelle off at the chantry, because the lady needed to get something decent to eat. She had headed off to try and find something to eat, something to do to kill time before she could go take her daughter home. The official ruling was that she really needed to take a day off for herself. It wasn't quite working, so instead the mother of the almost-one-year-old child was out trying to think through her day and what she was going to do next. She is alert, and she is looking for food. Ashton's tall, lean, and unremarkable. Dark hair, dark eyes, and she just seems content to fall into the background. Such is life.

[Wharil Choc]

Now here was a place he could get used to. Its not that there was anything wrong with Wharil's current place of residence. Oh no. He'd been set up with quite the comfortable little hell hole, comeplete with a dining room that made him ffel like he needed to strangle his wife and a bathroom that made him feel guilty that he actually had, despite the fact that he didn't even have a wife to begin with. He looked at the last of the apartment brochures as he left the still new highrise, and paused just outside the building's front doors. Now, if only he could find one he could actually afford.

[Squash]

*Its a relatively quiet night this far off the Mile. Laughter and the strong smell of lemony spiced food filter out from NINO's as the door swings open, and a coughing redhead moves hurriedly towards the car, her hand up to ward against the lazy patter of cold rain coming down. A pair of punked out teenagers sit at one of the outside tables, huddled under the umbrella despite the rain, necking like.. well.. teenagers. A car drives by. A dog barks on someone's balcony. All seems well.* [roll per alert!]

[Wharil Choc]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6) [Perc+alertness]

[S. Ashton Winters]

Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) (per+alert)

[Squash]

to Wharil Choc [Do you smell smoke?]

[S. Ashton Winters]

She finds herself fixated on the teenagers for a moment. Ashton inhales slowly, and her attention doesn't waver. Doesn't falter. She is fearless, or, rather, she is a woman driven. She wasn't exactly known for her tact, but she does seem more than content to look at the teens and try to put two and two together. Her attention goes from the teens to the building, and she starts to head in the direction of the building and not the teenagers. Or, rather, she tells herself that she has to do this. Nagging fear doesn't go away. Odd, because she is normally so fearless.

[Jeremy Zielinski]

He's tired but he's not so tired as to miss the smell. His nostrils flair as he heads towards the restaurant. It seems to make more sense. A lot more sense than some face sucking teenagers. And there is Ashton.

[Wharil Choc]

He unclasped the flap of his messenger bag, tucking the brochures in somewhere between the yellow notepad and the handgun. The smell of food teases at him, and with it something else. Wharil sniffed once, pointedly, and his gaze lifted as he scanned the area. Was that...smoke?

[Squash]

*That smoke smell becomes more so, and soon a thick plume of it is billowing from the back of the restaurant, white and acrid. It seems people inside have noticed now as well. Casual voices raising to an alarmed murmur, now suddenly punctuated by panicked shouting, as diners begin to rush towards the door. A voice drones above the rest.* Ladies and Gentlemen, please exit in an orderly fashion, don't panic please.... *Patrons begin tumbling out the front doors in a wave. The two punk kids stop necking and get up, moving with the crowd to the rapidly filling parking lot area. Something crackles loudly in the restaurant.*

[S. Ashton Winters]

She looked at Jeremy and recognized him. She was a creature of direction. She nodded to the teenagers. Ashton couldn't quite say anything, and she wasn't sure what she was supposed to be doing at that moment. However, it didn't stop her from investigating the smell of white, caustic smoke. The teens were moving to the parking lot, and Ashton Winters pursued as a result.

[Jeremy Zielinski]

Ashton moves after the kids and Jeremy slips into the restuarant, that blonde man in the crowd, to be sure others are out. Ashton has the teens covered.

[Wharil Choc]

The corners of Wharil's mouth pull in an uncomfortable grimace. Fire. Fire in a restaurant. This couldn't be good. Wharil watched from his vantage point across the way, noting the people exiting in tumult, and also noticing the blond man going in. This couldn't be good. Wharil started across the street, eager for a closer look but not quite willing to go diving into the fray.

[Squash]

*People are ignoring the droning of the man telling them not to panic. They're panicking. Getting in cars and leaving. A few brave, stupid onlookers milling about a safe distance away to watch the blaze. Inside the parkinglot, the teenagers converge on the shakey looking redhead who'd emerged coughing. The mohawked boy grabs a duffle bag out of the back of a small economy car, tossing a grimey soot stained packpack to the redhead with a toothy grin.* You dun your part. You ain't Cindy now. You's Cinder. *He hugs the pink haired little punk girl to his hip. with an air of authority.* Lets take n' torch baby. *The rain having stopped spitting, it seems the fire out back is gaining strength. Orange flames throw the alley out back into sharp relief. Inside the restaurant, chairs are upturned food half eaten, and a man stands at the register, counting cash with his back to the door.*

[S. Ashton Winters]

"Hold it," she says. She's the air of authority. The voice of reason. The man, as it were, because she looked at the punks and didn't falter. She didn't seem concerned, she just made her presence known. "What's going on here?" Again, an authoritative voice, to say the least.

[Jeremy Zielinski]

He slides his gun from his waistband, both hands holding it firmly and slowly aiming it towards the male. "Put your hands above your head where I can see them." And trying to be aware of their time and his surroundings. It's been a long time since he's done this sort of thing.

[Wharil Choc]

Wharils eyebrows leap high up onto his forehead as the blond pulls out a gun on what looks like a brave and opportunistic looter. He edges in past the front door, reaching into his bag for his own weapon but trying to stay out of sight.

[Squash]

*The mohawked punk's eyes narrow, and he gives his best Billy Idol sneer, glancing around the parkinglot as he jerks his chin to Cindy ..er.. Cinder. The redhead balks a moment, then hesitantly ducks into the trunk to rummage for something. The punk snarls at Ashton, plucking a smoke from his pocket and dangling it between his lips.* Whats it to ya, ya uptight bitch? Move along... *Pinky brings out a zippo with a curve of cherry glossed lips. She gives Ashton a rebellious wink as she flicks it alight, a tiny flame dancing in the dark as the back end of the restaurant burns brightly* [And we're going to need us some INITS]

[S. Ashton Winters]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10 (init! 6+1d10)

[Jeremy Zielinski]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Failure at target 106) [dex+wits -1 for lack of sleep] = 5 + 1d10

[Wharil Choc]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5 6

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 [pinky init +5]

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5 [Kerosene +6]

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 [cindy +5}

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5 [BigTony +6]

[Squash]

((*blinks*))

[Squash]

[ Order is follows :: Ashton Kerosene/Tony/Jer/Wharil Cindy/Pinky declare in reverse] [Cindy - get colt .45, brandish!] [pinky - share will with Kerosene] [Kerosene - Ignite Ashton's hair] [Tony - duck behind register. Draw pistol.]

[Wharil Choc]

[Declare: Move to cover somewhere closer to Tony, draw handgun]

[Jeremy Zielinski]

[Shoot Tony ]

[S. Ashton Winters]

(declare: split action: 1a: draw weapon 1b: shooooot Kerosene)

[S. Ashton Winters]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP] (shoooot! -3)

[S. Ashton Winters]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6) (damage)

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6) {kerosene - collapse holding guts. Stunned} {Tony - dodge behind counter/draw gun (rollin just to dodge)}

[Jeremy Zielinski]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP] [firearms -1 = 6 - Taking Tony down]

[Wharil Choc]

Wharil rushes forward, head and body kept low, handgun held evenly at his side. With a bit of a scramble he fits his body behind an upturned table.

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 8 (Failure at target 7) [cindy - abort action - switch from brandishing to FIRING at Ashton (+1 dif)]

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 3, 5 (Failure at target 7) [Pinky - draw pistol!/shoot ashton! {+1 dif} } [draw weapon - done] [shoot -3 dice +1 dif due to changing action]

[Squash]

[recap comin in a jiffy!]

[Squash]

*As the punk sneers, eyes glazing, Ashton snaps her gun from its hiding place and quick as you'd like, fires a round into the mohawked firebugs's guts, dropping him to his knees with cool aplomb. A modern day Doc Holiday, our Ashton. Tony responds to the threat of foul play by dropping behind the counter, just as Jeremy fires a shot past him that the big man likely could feel the heat from. Wharil flings himself behind an upturned table, knees grinding frajolaki into the carpet as he keeps his weapon at the ready. As Kerosene slumps, Cindy sees that shit just got REAL, and goes from threatening nervously with the pistol to firing it. If.. she'd had the safety off of course. It clicks uselessly. She won't make that mistake next round. Her boyfriend slumping and gurgling at her side, Pinky drops her lighter with a wail of horror and dismay, drawing her own gun and.. making the same mistake as Cindy, in her haste for revenge. Meanwhile, Smoke is beginning to obscure the inside of the restaurant, pouring blackly from the back rooms. Fire a roaring snapping backdrop to the gunshots and violence. Any onlookers have since fled.*

[Squash]

[ Order is follows :: Ashton Kerosene/Tony/Jer/Wharil Cindy/Pinky declare in reverse] [cindy - Action 1 - fire at ashton Action 2- get in car] [pinky- FIRE AT ASHTON!]

[Jeremy Zielinski]

]squat behind wharil's table - Hold for opportune moment to shoot tony] "Go help Ashton." He said, staying behind the table. "I can take care of him."

[Wharil Choc]

"Who?" [Ask no more questions. Back out of the restaurant.]

[Squash]

[Tony - Shoot at wharil! since he's movin and all]

[S. Ashton Winters]

(yet another split! 1a: shoot pinky 1b: shoot cindy)

[S. Ashton Winters]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) 1a: -2

[S. Ashton Winters]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 8 (Failure at target 6) (damage?)

[S. Ashton Winters]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP] (1b: -3?)

[S. Ashton Winters]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 5, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6) (damage?)

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) [Tony - shoot Wharil!]

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) [colt dmg +1]

[Jeremy Zielinski]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 8 (Failure at target 76) [WP] [shooting tony]

[Jeremy Zielinski]

[*is dumb tonight, pay no attention*]

[Squash]

[rollit again mr. Diff 76}

[Jeremy Zielinski]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 6, 6, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP] [retry - shootin tony cause I suck]

[Jeremy Zielinski]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) dam

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7) AUGH! You shot me?! [cindy - fuck this. abort shooting. just get in car! +1 dif = dex/ath]

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6) [Pinky - shoot ashton]

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [damage + 3sux +5pistol]

[Squash]

[oh lowdy.. recap a'comin!]

[Squash]

*Ashton, fearless now that no one is threatening to singe her hair off.. Stans toe to toe with Pinky and puts a hole through the girl's plaid overcoat. She's already switching targets as the girl shrieks in panic. Another shot cracks in the night and hits the nervous redhead in the hip, spinning her neatly around with a spurt of blood. Tony pops up from his hiding place and cracks off a shot that catches Wharil in the lower back, sending the euthanatos lurching for the door, vision dimming a moment as he holds to the door frame, stunned. Jer takes the opportunity to peg a now exposed tony in the shoulder. The big man groans as blood pours over his fingers. Cindy has had quite enough of this whole "pyro-robbery" thing, and would quite like to go back to telemarketing now, diving behind the dash of her Car and trying to start it up. And Pinky, with her pyro boyfriend rasping at her feet, levels her gun and FIRES dead into Ashton's chest*

[Squash]

*Smoke is filling the restaurant, thick and black, its becoming hard to breath, and flames are licking through the back wall as a wave of heat presses wickedly at all inside NINO'S.* [ JER TONY WHARIL - stamina rolls please. Smoke is making breathing difficult Order is follows :: Ashton - stunned? Kerosene{-5}/Tony{-2}/Jer/{Wharil- stunned?} Cindy{-2}/Pinky declare in reverse]

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 4 (Failure at target 6) [tony stam roll ]

[Wharil Choc]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 5 (Failure at target 6) Stamina

[Jeremy Zielinski]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 2, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6) [stam]

[Squash]

[+1 dif to tony and wharil's anything.. due to hacking/coughing] {Cindy - DRIVE AWAY!} {Pinky - Ashton's down..right? try and stabalize boyfriend.}

[Jeremy Zielinski]

[Grab Wharil, high tail out of there]

[Squash]

{kerosene - let his baby mend him}

[Wharil Choc]

1 WP to ignore stun [Follow Jeremy's lead and GTFO!]

[Squash]

[Tony - grab cash and get the hell out! Kitchen door!]

[S. Ashton Winters]

(-1 wp to stay up) (action: damnit, cindy! Shoot the tires out!)

[S. Ashton Winters]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 10 (Failure at target 8) [WP] (-2 for wound penalties, sorry loves!)

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) [tony = runs away dex/ath -2]

[Squash]

(that was +1 dif due to smoke badness, but still 2 sux)

[Squash]

{Kerosene lays there, looking less punk and more teenage kid suddenly, for all his piercings.]

[Jeremy Zielinski]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 4 (Failure at target 6) [assisting Wharil]

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 9 (Failure at target 6) [Cindy - fleee]

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) [cindy - play medic, "don't die on me baby!"]

[Squash]

[ahem.. twas PINKY) recap coming. Anyone still in combat next round?]

[Jeremy Zielinski]

[work in the morning, night guys! sorry to skip out.]

[Administrator]

Jeremy Zielinski has left General Chicago

[Squash]

*Ashton sways on her feet, but stays up, firing a round towards Cindy's tires as the woman revs the car to life. It's way wide, sparking off the pavement and ending up in some poor neighbours Toyota. Tony coughs up a lunge and books it with a bloody handful of twenties and fifties, running for the side door as his left arm hangs useless. Kerosene moans from the ground, holding his guts and spitting blood on himself. Jeremy tries to hoist Wharil, but find he hasn't the strength, only able to lend an arm as a coughing hacking Wharil limps slowly but surely to the door on will alone. Cindy for her part guns the engine and .. forgets the damn E-brake. And Pinky kneels, ignoring absolutely everything as she tries to save her boyfriend's life, putting pressure on his gut wound and sobbing. There's an earsplitting BANG as the fire comes upon something compressed in the back, fire erupting into the dining room, blowing the kitchen door off its hinges.*

[Squash]

[combat over unless you guys get the blood lust! post as you'd like. I'll be posting for Jer. :P)

[S. Ashton Winters]

She coughed. There was blood all over her chest, made her lungs ache and she could feel every heartbeat she had. The woman looked at the bleeding teen on the pavement, and it was easy for her to stand and look detached. And it was easy to stand and wish that she could do something about all of this in the most detached sort of way she could. And, she did. The woman put the gun down and headed over to go help the teen who was bleeding everywhere. "Hold still," she tells him, and she crouches to try and put him together again. Pain was nothing. blood was nothing. Duty. That was what mattered.

[Squash]

*Jers not overly strong, but he's determined, the blast behind him pushing him forward as he helps Wharil out the door and into the parking lot, blonde looking around for further threats.*

[Wharil Choc]

Wharil leaned against the blond at his side. Who was he? Another reporter? Yeah, that had to be it. Another journalist. Why else would he be here? Why else would anyone that looked like him come all the way to Darfur? "I'm hit." Wharil says, and even as they limp out his eyes are scanning the distances, the roads leading into the village, and the corners behind the huts. "We've got to get back to the caravan. If we can get back...damn." One hand was pressing at the wound in his back. Wharil brought it up to his face, looking at it awash with blood, and put pressure back onto the wound. "I fucking hate Janjaweed."

[Squash]

*Pinky's a sobbing mess, pushing her hands into Kerosene's guts and swearing, hand tightening on her gun as she looks to the woman who shot him, and is now apparently trying to help him. Kerosene waves a bloody hand at Pinky, laying back. Cindy meanwhile is letting the car idle, and looking around fearfully for cops. She hollers out the window.* Fuck GUYS! We gotta go!

[S. Ashton Winters]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 4) "You're staying," she said. She didn't sound as though she was really paying much attention to Pinky or the man who, as far as she knew, was a bit of a danger to her. He was, however, a patient. Her attention didn't waver and her hands didn't shake. this was emergency medicine, and this was what she was very... very good at. This was what she was born to do. She didn't shake- "Fall back, I'll be there in a second-" she calls back. Her voice carries distinct authority. The kind that was only associated with field medics and doctors. (int+medicine to make Kerosene stable, -2 dice (oww) -2 diff (ability aptitude))

[Squash]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6) *Jer shakes his head at Wharil, calm as he tries to get the man to come with him. Taking it all in stride. Once out of the shadow of the burning building, he tries to get the man to sit on the curb,whipping off his shirt with a tinkle of dogtags and applying pressure to wharil's wound. Thinking quick on his feet.* [wits/med -1 nightmares tonight]

[Squash]

*Kerosene is stable and groaning in pain. Pinky is trying to drag him to the car, yelling for Cindy.* Fuckin, DO something! Come on.. he's bleeding! We needa get him to a hospital! *Cindy is not getting out of the car,but she inches it forward a little slumping low in her seat. There is another BANG inside what used to be Nino's. Tony is nowhere to be found, and sirens are wailing faintly in the distance. A firetruck, and ambulance, and the Police. The whole shebang descending upon the fiery shoot out.*

[Wharil Choc]

Wharil wavered on his feet slightly before Jeremy led him away. He was standing on his own, which was wonderful, but the look in his eyes suggested that Wharil wasn't exactly all there. And in the meantime, he just kept bleeding. "Aint gotta tell me twice, doc." He says to Ashton. But as Jeremy encourages him to sit and starts treating his wound, he's a bit less cooperative. "What are you...why are we stopping man. This aint safe. This aint fucking stable. We gotta get back to the caravan. I have to..." His back ached, and in the back of his mind he wondered how much damage his organs might have taken from that shot. He had to fight back at this pain. He had to will it away. Wharil stopped complaining and, quietly, he started chanting.

[Wharil Choc]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 5) Mind 1 effect - Pain don't hurt, Mantra Focus. 1 WP to ignore wound penalties for a round

[S. Ashton Winters]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 2, 5 (Success x 1 at target 3) "He's not going to die," Ashton explained, "I barely shot him, the problem with chest wounds is that they bleed pretty badly." She was explaining all of this. She was talking out loud for the sake of the punk in front of her and not for her own. She knew how badly she had shot him, and she knew that her hands, covered in blood and sweat and vitriol, was nothing in comparison to so much. She was focused, and she got to trying to help. (Life 3: it ain't that bad, diff 6, -1 focus, -2 quint)

[Squash]

*Jer's got Wharil's back to stop bleeding some. Head jerking up as he hears the sirens.* We're fine. We're in a parking lot. In Chicago. *Pinky's still hauling at her boyfriend. He'd be so mad if he ended up in jail. And rather suddenly he's pushing to his feet, attempting to limp away with her, even as Cindy hollers again and revs the engine.* SIRENS GUYS!!!

[Wharil Choc]

"Oh Jesus." Wharil says with one last pinched-faced grimace of pain. And when his eyes open again, he seems a bit more coherent and a lot more unaffected by the gunshot in his back than a man with a gunshot in his back should be. "Oh Jesus. Wha-? I know that, man. I fucking know where I am, alright? I'm not crazy." He pushed away Jeremy's hands that were tending to him and stood, unconcerned with his wound, and apparently no longer worried about the Janjaweed. "Can't believe I listened to you. Can't believe you got me shot. I gotta get my ass to a hospital." And with that, he packed his gun back into his messenger bag and patted a bloody hand on Jeremy's shoulder, wiping some of the blood off there. "Thanks for everything, man."

[Squash]

*Jeremy shrugs, frowning slightly and watching Wharil make his way with concern. He looks to Ashton, moving in her direction.*

Glass Half Empty (Scene Ran for Rene)

[Glass half empty]

The letter didn't come in the mail, nor was it delivered by hand, at least as far as anyone seemed to notice. Rene would have found it in her room. She would have gone for a shower or woken up with the feeling that she'd slept with her eyes half open and had seen, or felt, people moving at her bedside. Or she might have been looking for something, something recently lost, and there it would be: Lost item and letter side by side. The item, no worse than it had been in the beginning. The letter, sealed with wax with the Omega pressed into it. The letter was fairly simple, straightforward, and intimate. Hello, Rene; On Michigan Avenue, between 34th and 35th street, lives a man named Geoffrey Blackwall. Mr. Blackwall is a fixture in the Bronzeville community, and rightly so since Mr. Blackwall has been living there for almost 200 years. Now, it may be possible that this is simply a case housing fraud, that some living soul has usurped Mr. Blackwall and has maintained his utilities and debts in return for free residence. However, there have also been disturbing reports that might indicate something more sinister is afoot. You are to observe Mr. Blackwall, and ascertain as to whether his continued existence is the result of an opportunistic imposter or some sort of meddling with the natural motion of fates wheel. Observe, Ms. Vitalli, and write your report on the blank page provided. With regards; Iago P.S.: You are being monitored.

[Rene Vitalli]

*An eyebrow darts up. She leaves both pieces of paper folded neatly in her suitcase, and prepares to go observe. Her usual supplies are packed and strapped and latched onto her body, a long rain black slicker taking the place of her usual light coat. And so, with little further adieu, Rene takes a cab to 37th st.*

[Glass half empty]

This was the heart of Bronzeville. The eye of the violent, crime ridden storm that swirled around this part of the city, and tonight the rain was coming down hard. The wind was her greatest enemy. It made hard pelets of the rain, beating against her face, and it tugged and swatted at her rain slicker, threatening to pull it right off her body. The rain and wind seemed to clear the streets, however. There were no gangbangers lounging on the corners. The junkies had all gone into their hovels for safety. Only a fool or a mad woman (or man) would be out in this kind of weather. And that's what made it all the more noticeable. As Rene crossed the intersection of Michigan and 35th street, she saw someone up ahead going through the same struggle as she was. The figure was small, probably no more than four-foot-nine, and with small, narrow shoulders. But the men's slacks and shoes that he wore under his trench coat suggested an older man, by fashion at least. And old man, in fact. He moved with very little trouble, entering through the gate and front door of a house. The architecture was older than most of the others in the area. No, as the thunder flashed Rene could see for an instant that, besides a fresh looking layer of graffiti, it was possibly the oldest house on the block.

[Rene Vitalli]

*Ah yes. That was likely the place. Rene slips out of sight, into the relative shelter of a nearby alley. She leans her soaked form against the wall there, and draws out a small mirrored charm, stringing it on silky grey thread as she begins to weave a complicated pattern with the fingers of one hand, a mini tapestry to fate in the palm of her hand, staring intently as she reaches to her core and feels the cold lurch of her atman in her mind. She peers into the tiny mirror* (Anyawin lvl 2 - remote sensing. -1 dif specific foci)

[Glass half empty]

[Who's there? Blackwall's awareness roll, +1 diff for Rene's arcane]

[Glass half empty]

[Blackwall's kooky stuff!]

[Glass half empty]

From one of the front windows, one easily visible from the street, a low yellow light shone and revealed curtains made from tattered lace through which the interior was barely visible. Something moved inside, going past the front room and into another. And something moved inside. As Rene extended her perception beyond the limitation of this false physical distance, she felt something move. Something shifted in the air around her. The frigid rain fell away and was replaced with a faint but still warmth of the kitchen. A man, small and decrepit looking, peeled off a long, rain sodden coat to reveal a faded and frayed suit and vest. Behind her a clock ticked loudly, and in the other room came the dusty sounds of an old jazz record. The man took off his hat and set it on the table. A thin hand with knots for knuckles strokes at a single whisp of hair. The man's face is hardly a face. its a skull, skin pulled tight around the bones. The muscle of his cheeks and flesh of his lips had long ago withered and pulled the skin back, revealing a crooked row of bone dry teeth. And while one eye still shone eerily strong, the other had long ago grown yellow and rotten in its own socket. Rene can hear the rattle of the refrigerator as the man pulls it open. Upstairs something rattles and falls to the floor. He doesn't seem to notice. He sniffs at the container. In the other room, someone laughs as if at a joke. He doesn't seem to notice. A cold breeze passes through Rene, shoots through her skin straight into her bone, and a voice whispers. Its too quiet to be a sound. It whispers...straight into her head. We see you. Geofrey Blackwall's remaining eye rolls in its socket, looking upward, looking straight. At. Rene. This time, he notices.

[Glass half empty]

[Blackwall's kooky stuff! (cuz I rolled it wrong last time)]

[Rene Vitalli]

*Rene raises an eyebrow. Well, that certainly wasn't natural. And better yet, there was more than one. Spirits of some sort she could only presume. Something she had no personal influence over. She raises her chin and nods. The gig was up. Her senses search for the source of the noise upstairs. Perhaps there was more than one corpse? *

[Rene Vitalli]

[corr2- diff 4]

[Glass half empty]

There are things in the floorboards, between stories. Hidden boxxes full of papers and old treasure. Rene only sees it for a glimpse, and then its gone. She's in the dark now. Rain beats at the window pane. Lightning flashes to reveal a bedroom, sparsely decorated, and a phalanx of tiny sepia portraits in frames on a chest of drawers. One of them has fallen. And as she watches, another lifts straight up off the surface, hovers in the air, and shoots toward the far wall. Laughter comes from the other room. The joke is funny again. But...there's something different now. There's the smell of musty air, ages of dust on the sheets and on the chest of drawers. The smell of mothballs and mold. The tingle of the air, warm and dry, and the feel.... The feel of a mirrored charm and a length of string in her fingers. Rene isn't viewing the house anymore. Somehow...she's in the house.

[Rene Vitalli]

*Well. no need for subtly then. Teleporting someone unwilling was invasive. She takes the opportunity to glance quickly at the sepia portraits. Hand unravelling the mini skien of fate in her left palm. The other up to ward off attacking pictures. Just in case. Moving as quickly as she can as she scouts for things of interest in the room. She would gather as much information as she could, before coming into direct conflict. If they already knew she was here, less reason to be subtle. She moves coldly and efficiently. Alert* [per invest (ability apt) - whats in this room? ]

[Glass half empty]

The pictures all seem to have something in common, if she looks close enough. Which, apparently, she does. The common factor is the face. A single face in all of them. Here, a handsome young black man poses, holding a child in his arms and standing beside a young, unimpressed looking woman. They're standing in front of a house. This house, only clear of grafiti and the ravages of time. In another photo the black man stood in the front of a crowd, all assembled and formally dressed. All somber. The women hid their faces in veils. The men held their hats to their chests. In another picture, the man holds his hat to his chest. His face is impassive, his hair: greying. A man and a woman stand beside him in matrimonial garb. Another group photo. The man's face is sunken. This time there is another sitting with them, propped up in a chair sits a woman in a wedding dress. Her head flops to the side, as if unable to hold it up. And a third group photo, though the group is smaller now. And this time, instead of a chair, there is a coffin. Another group photo. The man is thin. Unhealthy. Another. One of the man's eyes has closed in on itself. Another. The man's hair, already white as snow, is thinning. He's no longer somber. Three other people stand with him, posing by the coffin. The man is smiling. There's also a trunk at the foot of the bed in the room, noticeable only because the lid of the chest trembles as if cold. And then, one corner shifts suddenly, and another, and the trunk lurches forward, threatening to crash into Rene's knees.

[Glass half empty]

ANGRY TRUNK ATTACK!

[Glass half empty]

[Damage]

[Rene Vitalli]

*Her heart had jumped for a beat, into her throat as she realized she was in the house. But that same dispassion that lent her such an air of detached malice, robbed her of the appropriate fear response. Rational calculating mind taking over as she begins to explore the room. She examines the pictures at length, eyes skating to the trunk just in time to see it crash at her.* [dex ath]

[Rene Vitalli]

[possible soak]

[Glass half empty]

The trunk crashes into Rene's leg with force and keeps going until it crashes into the far wall. She doesn't have time to react, but as her legs suddenly get knocked out from under her she at least have time for the gut reaction to put her hands down, and then her legs replant themselves In the other room, there's laughter. Lighting lights the room and for an instant there's someone in the corner, standing on top of the trunk and stifling a laugh. In the dark, he's gone. "You're gonna die here." comes a whisper from far away. And downstairs there's the sound of breaking glass, and someone running up the stairs.

[Glass half empty]

[1 bashing to Rene]

[Rene Vitalli]

*Spirits she couldn't do much with. Walking corpses however... She makes to banish the sudden chill down her spine with action, blades always a better option for the dead. She dashes to the side of the door and waits for it to bust open, thin diamond shaped blades at the ready*

[Rene Vitalli]

[wits/stealth]

[Glass half empty]

And bust through the door it does. The knob rattles, and for a moment it seems like the hinges themselves were trembling again, just as the trunk had, and the door swung open swiftly, illuminating the doorway with the dull yellow light from the hallway. Small, frail-looking Geoffrey Blackwall came storming in, opening his jaws to errupt a choked, dusty how of anger, and a gleaming saber swished through the air as he charged in. And then he stopped, craning that skull around as he searched the room.

[Rene Vitalli]

*The blades are palmed in favor of thread, upon seeing how dusty the man is up close. Stabbing him would have no effect. Dark fingers weave a familiar tapestry. Atropos guiding her hand, an extension of her will, a spinneret of Arachne herself. And once done, the euthanatos tucked welcome in the darkness lets the skein unravel.* [Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust. life3/entropy3 - foci , - resonance, + wp, taking time to extend if need be. diff4]

[Rene Vitalli]

[reality's a bitch]

[Rene Vitalli]

{soak!}

[Glass half empty]

[Blackwall sussing out his attacker]

[Glass half empty]

The dusty old man peers around the dark room, oblivious to Rene's exact location. But then, his skin seems to sizzle slightly, pulling back even further as that rotten, yellow eye sinks in even further. Its hardly enough to phase him, made obvious as he turns the good eye to Rene's hiding spot, and then his body. The flesh of his cheeks were long gone, but his skin pulls back to reveal the distant back rows of his teeth. One would imagine its the walking corpse's version of a smile. A dark, lecherous smile reserved for zeroing in on one's prey. ((There's no getting away this time. INITS!))

[Glass half empty]

Blackwall +6

[Rene Vitalli]

[init+ 7 ]

[Glass half empty]

Action order: Rene Blackwall Declare in reverse

[Glass half empty]

Blackwall: Chop her up!

[Rene Vitalli]

[splitting actions 1 - throw blade 2 - dodge]

[Rene Vitalli]

[throwin atchu]

[Rene Vitalli]

[damages = str +1]

[Glass half empty]

[200 year old man soak]

[Glass half empty]

In the dark there's barely a gleam as Rene hurls one of her blades, and it lodges straight into the man's throat. His single remaining eye bulges. His grip on the saber slackens, and a watery red liquid pours from the wound in spurts. Spurts that suggest an immeasurably old, but still beating heart. Geoffrey Blackwall falls to his knees, and then face forward onto the floor of his bedroom. There's no laughter in the other room. No knocking at the door hinges or at the trunk against the wall. There's no sound of demonic mirth in the house now that its surviving resident had died, though possibly not for the first time. But their is weeping. Wailing, even. The room grows suddenly cold, frigid. Rene's calm breath blows white in front of her face, and all around her are the sounds of forlorn spirits. No longer whispering. No longer far away or in some other room. They're right there, with her. And they grieve. NO-O a woman screams in Rene's ear. Other's weep still in the background. Men in the foreground call out. "Geoff? Geoffrey? What did...what did she do to you, buddy?" The temperature plummets, and the voices grow deeper. More determined. "Get up, Geoff! Get yo ass up! A deal is a deal, and our deal aint done! Kill this bitch! Kill her! Get up, Geoffrey! Give us her blood! We want her blood! Get up! Get up! Get up! Get up! Get up! Get up! And the small, frail, curled body on the ground....twitches.

[Rene Vitalli]

None of that thank you. *Says the soft little girls voice that should never have been put in such a forbidding piece of work. Rene makes to jerk the blade from his twitching grizzled fingers. Blade retrieved, she backs away, making to tangle the skein she'd made before, to rework it and continue as she had.* [extended rolling as they animate him again. Ashes to Ashes.. life3/entropy3. foci, destructive resonance wp, quint]

[Glass half empty]

The voices scream on, and those knots that should have been knuckles flex just as they grow black. The head shuffles, leans back, and looks up at the shadow of Rene in the relatively dark room. The yellow eye caves in entirely, and the darkness of the socket grows over his skin. (keep going)

[Rene Vitalli]

*Stilt tangling, threads of fate more elaborate, fraying in her haste to get this done, almond eyes glinting bitter in the dim light of the bedroom.* [[extended rolling +2 as they animate him again. Ashes to Ashes.. life3/entropy3. foci, destructive resonance wp/quint]

[Glass half empty]

That throat has been damaged beyond repair, particularly now that the black decay creeps down his face and frays the still moist edges of the wound like heat curling paper. There's a gurgle, and the hand reaches out suddenly, clutching at Rene's shoe. A dull crack, and the black, dry fingers all break off and crumble. There's a dusty moaning sound coming from the dark cavity lined with brown teeth. The man's remaining whips of hair lifts from his head like cobwebs in the wind. And with a crescendo of screams from the ghosts in the room, and with a final 'Huuurrrrrrr' from Geoffrey Blackwall, the corpse of a man dries up right there on the ground, and his chest caves in. And then silence. Absolute. The loudly thumping-clicking grandfather clock has stopped. The dusty jazz record on the Victrola has ceased. Even the rain outside has subsided. The air in the room warms with the same sort of sudden shift. It would seem its over.

[Rene Vitalli]

[Reality - unlike the dude - does not abide]

[Rene Vitalli]

[soak it]

[Rene Vitalli]

*She remains poised a few long moments. Waiting. Dark eyes shifting about the room. When her paranoia finally subsides the statuesque black woman stands fully, and moves about the room with disturbing disinterest in the corpse himself. Pictures are slipped from frames. tucked into an inner pocket. And then it is time to attend to the corpse. She strips the bed, rolling whats left of Geoffrey Blackwell into a sheet. Then she makes for the back door. Arcane up.*

[Glass half empty]

As Rene heads out of theback door, there's a woman just about to come in. There's a long, extended moment of flushing faces, pounding heartbeats, and frightened 'what the fuck?' eyes as the two meet quite suddenly. The woman, dressed more warmly than Chicago required just yet, removed her winter gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of her overcoat. And then, as if surprised by it, she pulled out a small envelope and gave it a curious look. Then her eyes went back up to the woman before her and the rolled bed sheet she was carrying. "Ms. Vitalli, I presume?" She said, her voice full bodied and confident. The woman hardly takes her eyes off the loaded bed sheet as she hands Rene the envelope, which she can now see bears a wax seal and the omega, and takes two calculated steps back so that she was halfway between fleeing and halfway between barreling through Rene.

[Rene Vitalli]

Yes. *Rene takes the envelope in one hand, opening it and reading it on her way to the trashcan. Shark eyes flicking up and down the woman who gives it to her frankly.*

[Glass half empty]

The woman steps out of her way, and once Rene has continued on, she disappears inside the house. The letter is in the similarly straight forward but familiar tone, but in noticeably different handwriting. Dear Rene; Don't fret. While I would have preffered a more experienced candidate 'handle' Mr. Blackwell, I understand that it wasn't entirely your fault. I'd like to commend you on your prompt reaction, but in the future I hope you will be slightly more discreet when monitoring subjects. Nevertheless, I still expect a full report. Thank you for your continued cooperation. Iago PS: You are still being monitored.

[Rene Vitalli]

*Rene's eyebrow lifts, but she shows little else by way of reaction. Disposing of the corpse in a bag of trash, retying it with gloved hands, before moving to disappear best she can between houses and privacy fences. Making to slip into the night.*

[Glass half empty]

~Fin~

Practical Jokes

[Wharil Choc]

Sure the Chantry was open to magi of the city that had need for it. Sure it also doubled, at least to the sleeping world, as a boarding house and would therefore have all sortys of visitors coming in and out. But there were late visiting hours, and then there were obscene hours. There'd been a stirring at the door. The bell rang. The usual chantry custodians answered it and...all fell silent again. Only the downstairs light stayed on, possibly to the chagrin of the others who had to stay there, the ones that had left their bedroom doors open. And if that wasn't bad enough, every so often there was a fast and steady thump-thump-thump-thump-thumping coming from down there. As if whatever or whoever it was just couldn't keep still.

[Rene Vitalli]

*She was awake. Barely. The series of stretches she did before bed nearly complete. Rene was relaxed and assured that even in sleep she would be limber. Quick to react should something happen. Her blades are arranged under her pillow. All that was left was to stretch, relax and -thump-thump-thump-thump-thump! Rene twitches in irritation, exhaling and standing fully. A spider is flicked off of her wrist as she grabs a loop of wire and moves towards the sound. Towards the library.*

[Rene Vitalli]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1 [dex stealth]

[Wharil Choc]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6) [Perc+Alertness: Wuzzat?]

[Wharil Choc]

[Result:...the wind!]

[Wharil Choc]

thump-thump-thump-thump-thump! There's someone in the library, obviously. He's got his back turned to the door and his face brried in a book, something on the higher points of extended rituals. For a moment he stops reading. His leg stops shaking. The man himself damn near stops breathing and he lifts his head, turning to one side to reveal Wharil Choc in profile. He stays like that for all of three seconds. Maybe five. Then, certain that it was nothing, he turns back to his book. And his leg goes back to its work as well. thump-thump-thump-thump-thump!

[Rene Vitalli]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1 *Ah. It was Wharil. Wharil was a friend. And its with that in mind she approaches and makes to slip the garrote over his head in one swift motion. Tightening it only to the point of constricting his airway pleasantly. Playful.* [What a day for a garrote. What a day for a garrote now!]

[Wharil Choc]

There was something at his throat, something strangling him. His grasping fingertips tell him its something whip thin, wired. There's a part of his brain that things "This is a garrote" and a neighboring part that thinks "Euthanatos use garrotes. A Euthanatos lives here. One that I know. Oh, that plucky Rene." Sadly, neither of those parts of the brain are in charge this very second. In this very second, he panics. He reaches for the garrote and his fingernails scratch at the skin of his own throat, leaving loud, red welts and peeled skin. Then he stands, which only changes the angle and makes things worse, not better. Still he scratches at the garrote. Still he scratches at his own throat. And the only thing he says is something like: "Ach! Aaughhhh-gachk! Auch!"

[Rene Vitalli]

*Not wanting to actually strangle the foolish boy, she releases one end of the garrote and allows it to go limp, withdrawing a step backwards as she does so. Her lips quirk into a ghost of a smile, one eyebrow lifted mischievously. This was a good joke. She was sure of it.*

[Wharil Choc]

There's a sudden gasp, and he wheels around, free of what he considered a near strangulation. As soon as he saw Renee both his eyebrows almost met, though it wasn't clear whether that was from some kind of annoyance, or just the desire to get breath back into his lungs. "You--cough--You think that's pretty funny, huh?"

[Rene Vitalli]

I do. *She lifts her chin in a nod, watching him splutter dispassionately. Rene blinks, before continuing in her conversation.* What are you researching?

[Wharil Choc]

He tosses the book on the couch he'd previously been sitting on. "Long term rituals. I'm...working on something...but its gotta last." He rubbed his hands over his throat, still feeling the phantom pressure of the garrote. "Jesus, you could have killed me, y'know?"

[Rene Vitalli]

No Wharil. Had you gone unconscious I would have resuscitated you immediately. *She shakes her head slightly, gesturing he come closer.*

[Wharil Choc]

"Well that's a sweet sentiment, but not exactly comforting." His voice was a little hard. Still a little, or perhaps more than a little annoyed. And yet, he moves closer to her as requested. Or was it commanded? No time think of it now, he was already close enough to reach out and touch. Closer. "You play too rough sometimes, you know that?"

[Rene Vitalli]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 5, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5) [WP] It was a joke. Nevermind. *At that she does purse her lips ever so slightly, strong dark fingers slipping to feel for a spot in the center of his chest. A apider ambles over the back of the couch as she works his chakra.* [life3 - 1 spec foci]

[Wharil Choc]

He allows her touch him this time, without argument, and when she's done he touches at the previously raw scratches at his throat, and swallows visibly. "Mm. Thanks."

[Rene Vitalli]

She speaks in that polite child's murmur.* In future do not defend. Give your full body weight so that one must lean over, and then attack.

[Wharil Choc]

"Huh. Lets hope I can remember that. Lets also hope I never actually have to. What are you doing up anyway?"

[Rene Vitalli]

Your legs annoy me.

[Wharil Choc]

Its obvious he doesn't know how to react to that, and for a while he just stares at her stupidly. Eventually, however, he just bursts into a soft laugh. "Aw. I'm sorry. Its a subconscious thing, really. I didn't realize I was...sorry."

[Rene Vitalli]

How is your throat Wharil? *It was a stupid thing to ask. She knew. She'd fixed it. But people asked similarly stupid questions all the time to make each other feel better. And so Rene gives it a shot now. It perhaps wold seem more like concern if she weren't holding a garrote, and peering at Wharil like his answer was the key to whether she reapplied it or not.*

[Wharil Choc]

"Fine." He says, and his hands splay across the flesh there, apparantly hoping to defend against another garroting. "Why, what's wrong? What did you really do to it.."

[Rene Vitalli]

*Rene raises an eyebrow.*

[Wharil Choc]

He raises one right back. At least at first. Eventually he seems to decide that he was being unreasonable. He stops. He hesitates in stopping, but he stops looking at Rene in that vaguely accusatory manner. He sits again, moving around the couch and picking up the book anew. "You remember those guys from the other night?"

[Rene Vitalli]

I do. *She's watching him with an eyebrow up and almond eyes narrowed. Once he stops mean mugging her,s he stops looking at him like she's a step away from lethal violence. She leans on the couch and turns the corner of a lip up. She murmurs. * What about them?

[Wharil Choc]

"Well they've been at this kidnapping gig for a while now. And I'm sure they don't just borrow them for the night. If so, that' should be a lot of missing people. And a lot of missing souls. If they haven't returned to the wheel I may be able to call the names of their victims and sick them on the attackers." He'd been leafing through the book all the while but, not finding what he was looking for, he snaps it shut. "They'll be haunted until...until they turn themselves in. I've used it a couple times before, and just the suggestion of guilt was enough. But...that was Africa. This isn't."

[Rene Vitalli]

I see. *Rene considers this, flicking a spider off the back of the couch, sending the arachnid sailing past Wharil. Her eyes remain on him too long, boring a hole into him coldly.*

[Wharil Choc]

"What?" He sets the book aside, looking at her curiously. "What are you thinking?"

[Rene Vitalli]

Why would it work in Africa, and not in this situation?

[Wharil Choc]

His expression drops slightly. Something a touch darker. It doesn't take him any time to come up with an answer for her. "A lot more angry souls in Africa. They wouldn't even have to all be victims of the same man. They were all victims."

[Rene Vitalli]

mm. *That made sense. She nods her head slightly, eyes drifting to her shadowed silhouette. Her eyes narrow at it and she shifts position slightly, watching the change in shape.*

[Wharil Choc]

He watches her, and his eyebrows knit together. Only this time they're accompanied by a smile. "I've seen you do that before. Play with your shadow. Why do you do that?"

[Rene Vitalli]

Many reasons. *She says sharply, straightening. She notes the smile belatedly and adds more quietly.* Why do you look in the mirror?

[Wharil Choc]

"Uhm. I dunno. To make sure there's nothing on my face or my hair. Make sure i don't look like a complete idiot before leaving the house." He shrugs. Thats about all he could think of.

[Rene Vitalli]

To see yourself. *Rene watches him too intensely. Dark eyes glittering with what could very well be malice. Aesthetically pleasing in structure, wholly repulsive in presentation. Her voice rings small and discordant to her appearance.* Do you understand?

[Wharil Choc]

"Yeah." He says, and slowly the smile fades. It did so particularly the longer he examined her expressions. The heat in her look was enough to wilt his own cheer, even though it had survived all the way to this ungodly hour. Bot god, was she beautiful. "I'm sorry I didn't...I wasn't thinking. Listen, I'm gonna get out of here. I'll let you get back to...whatever you were doing. I'm sorry i disturbed you."

[Rene Vitalli]

Preparing for bed. *Rene blinks at him. He was suddenly nervous. She glances to the wire in her hand. That was probably it.* I don't intend on playing another joke.

[Wharil Choc]

He scoffs, unable to help himself. "God, I hope not." He turns to her, and there's a moment of hesitation, but eventually he stands and goes to replace the book on the shelf. "How are you with your manas, Rene? Your mind magic?"

[Rene Vitalli]

I find it very difficult. *She straightens from her lean on the couch, spider dropping from the book case.*

[Wharil Choc]

"Hm. That's interesting actually. Maybe we should get together some time and...I dunno, maybe I can help."

[Rene Vitalli]

*Rene is looking at Wharil with such intensity it seems like at any moment she's crawl out of her skin and into his. She lifts her chin.* Yes. *The lithe black woman smooths a hand over her abdomen, ridding her tight wifebeater of a wrinkle over a flat scarred stomach. She moves effortlessly towards Wharil, a liquid stalk of long legs before she's standing directly in front of him, garrote in hand, chin upturned. She levels a gaze across at her fellow euthanatoi, almond eyes raw and unflinching . * I would like that. Goodnight Wharil. *And with disturbing grace, she snaps on her heel and heads back the way she came. Leaving the room free of her presence but for a few lingering spiders, and the faintest scent of grapefruit.*

[Wharil Choc]

He stiffens slightly as she approaches, but then that scent hits him. Grapefruit. He knew that smell of grapefruit. Some would even say he knew that smell of grapefruit. That smell wasn't unpleasant in the least bit. And the proximity of the woman suddenly had him...expectant. He gave the woman an even stare, though raw and unflinching weren't exactly the right words for this. Then, just like that, she's gone. Wharil sighs and runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "I really have to find out what that woman is thinking." And it was with that thought that he turned off the light in the library, and made his way beck to his car outside.