What Lies In Shadow (Game Thread)

[EmperorZuma]

New York sat under and orange-purple sky as the sun started to fall on the western horizon, its light fading fast. It was the time of dusk when the moon's light began to shine as the brightest thing in the sky, and in its quarter phase, it was already hanging high above the city.

For now, the city was at peace, aside from the standard human woes of poor traffic and choking on a haze of pollution. However, it wasn't to last, for many a thing that went bump in the night would exploit the cover of night to unfold their own agendas...

 

[TheDoctor455]

Underground.

"Good evening my children!" Kaijin called out to his gathered Unearthers, "So far, you have all enjoyed the fruits that Gaia has blessed us with. Our medicine, our food, our company and comfort. Tonight, I will ask you to return the favor, to repay the debt you have incurred. No. Keep your wallets. I am simply asking for a favor. But for now, let us observe the early evening Greetings to Gaia."

A chorus stepped in behind him and began chanting incomprehensible gibberish... or possibly in a language so dead that even the most ancient trolls have forgotten it. In either case, good luck understanding a word of it. Kaijin clasped his hands together, and a young elemental orcish practitioner of the Art lit all of the torches, candles, and oil lamps in the fairly large antichamber (well, it is a lot larger than one would think based on its exterior anyway).


What none of them noticed however, was Kaijin covertly nodding to several cloaked and hooded individuals in the back of the room, who then nodded in return, bowed slightly, and left at a brisk pace, locking the doors behind them.

So it begins...

Gray Talon HQ... or more accurately... on the roof of a building just across from it... and around 8 PMish, because Johnny D'Ville is nothing if not a late starter.

Johnny D'Ville laid his back on the edge of the rooftop, his left arm hanging over. His left hand, meanwhile, was absentmindedly carving his initials into the red brick of the wall below him, followed by the phrase "... was here." Believe it or not, this was a sign of personal improvement on Mr. D'Ville's part, as he used to attempt murder in his sleep. The Gray Talons must be rubbing off on him after all.

Once his hand had finished carving out his initials (which was perfectly legible), it started doing a one-hand juggle with a six-inch combat knife. Johnny's hand caught it by the hilt every time while he snored loudly. After about ten minutes of this, his cell phone alarm clock went off, waking him just as his left hand had tossed it up again. About ten feet into the air. In one hand, he managed to shut the alarm off while the other caught the knife and sheathed it.

Then Johnny realized it wasn't his alarm. Far too early for that. Wasn't anywhere near dawn. It was a call he'd just cancelled. Ugh... someone wanted something again. Second time he'd been woken up far too early in the night. D'Ville had thought that his 'brothers and sisters' in the Gray Talons would have taken the hint not to bug him when he left the HQ a few hours ago. No rest for the wicked, obviously.

He looked up this missed caller and returned the call. After he got through he said, "It's D'Ville. What do you blighters want now?"

 

[figment of mind]

Olivia held off on eating as long as she could, but sketching would only take her so far and her friends were very insistent that she eat something. She had opted to get a burger, something simple, but was summarily outvoted and was dragged to some middle eastern place that she'd never think of trying so instead of enjoying her medium,-rare burger with the works she was stuck with the only thing on the menu that she could recognize which happened to be a falafel, all in the name of "expanding her horizons". To tell the truth, she wouldn't have even left her apartment if Simon hadn't banged on the door and dragged her out, saying that she had to get out some. She had spent all day staring at the papers that her father left behind, trying to find some decypherable clue in the mess but ultimately, all she discovered was a poem about her mother, a set of instructions and a key to a safety deposit box, not really anything she had hoped for but it was something.

There were two others with her and Simon, his current girlfriend who's incessant nagging about eating enough drove her up the wall, and a older coworker of his who barely talked, and seemed to like to keep to himself, save for when Simon was around (Simon himself was in the restroom). As she took a bite of her food (not the worst thing she had but it still didn't appeal to her much), she thought on what she would say to him, figuring that she'd be forced too eventually, whether by chance or the woman across from her. She had tried talking to him before but had failed pretty badly, trying to explain a certain shading technique to a guy who (self-admittingly) knew as much about art as a broomhandle.

She had taken a few bites of her falafel when the guy turned to her suddenly and asked, "So...,what are you drawing?", in a tone that said, 'I don't know who you are or what to talk about so i'ma take a shot in the dark and hope for the best'.

"Oh, um... It's just a simple drawing, nothing really...just a woman i saw once...", Olivia sputtered out, lying through her teeth. She had studied that poem of her mother carefully, picking at whatever features her dad had written down and trying to match that up to her own face in an attempt to deduct at least a fasimile of what her mother looked like, easier said than done due to her father over-embellishing every feature.

The similarity didn't go unnoticed on his part, saying, "Well, she looks a bit like you..." To which simon's girlfriend agreed, adding, "I actually thought you were drawing that self-portrait i asked for."

"Oh...i'll get to that at some point, i've just been busy."

"You always say that but you never tell us what you're busy with."

"It's family buisness."

"Oh come on! It can't hurt to tell us."

'Yes it can...', she thought, 'It could get me hunted down by the very people i work for.' Luckily she didn't have to say anything else as Simon came back, having solved whatever personal crisis his bowels caused, saying, "Chill, Jess. If she doesn't want to tell us she doesn't have to tell us, it's her business."

The others continued to talk to each other while she sank into working on her sketch, not feeling like contributing anymore but adding in a sentence or two here and there. Eventually simon and the other man started talking about dealing with...something, Olovia wasn't paying attention. Her sketch was very rough but it was good enough for her for now and with that, she excused herself and left.

She figured that the safety deposit office (or whatever they call it, she doesn't care) would be closed by now so she would check there in the morning. Right now, she would just wander around. Simon was right, she had to get out.

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

"Well, if it isn't the shining example of sobriety we've all come to know and love," bellowed the bartender, a smile lighting up his aged, silver-bearded face. He set down his cleaning rag and without so much as a glance towards the liquor shelves, removed a bottle of his finest whisky and a small glass and set them atop the bar counter. "Or at least the closest thing we get in this hole." The Detective just waved the comment aside with a lighthearted smirk on his face as he stepped completely through the door and approached the bar, then sat down at his usual spot. "So, today the day you gonna drink enough for me to retire on time, or am I gonna have to stay open another ten years to make up for the lack of income from your pussy-footing around?"

"As much as I'd like to stop caring about the integrity of my liver, I'll just stick with the usual, thank you very much," Daniels quipped. "Now, you gonna pour me a drink before you keel over, old man? I mean I could serve myself afterwards, but I think you might find the discount I'd give myself a little disagreeable."

"Any less than what I charge is robbery. Especially for your Mormon ass. Does your mother know you're drinking like a little Amish girl?"

"Mick. You kiddin'? She's Irish Catholic, she'd probably have a heart attack. And I'm not a Mormon, I just don't wanna try my luck with the Liver Powerball."

"Ah, is that how they do it now?"

"As a matter of fact, they do. I keep an eye on the drawings for Tommy. Lord knows he's overdue for a new one."

"That Boston-Irish bastard? If he's anything like his father, he'll be drinking a fifth a day well into his eighties. But enough about your girlish drinking habits," the old man said and chuckled as he poured Daniels his drink. "How've you been? Arm doing okay?"

The Detective gave his shoulder a light squeeze. "Feels a little tight every now and again, but otherwise it's perfectly healthy. Work on the other hand...Jesus, I could practically draw the grains on my desk from memory. I'm sick of looking at the damned thing. I'm ready to get back to field work, y'know?"

"You never seemed the desk-jockey type. At least your physical therapy should be up, huh? You manage to get with that therapist broad yet?"

"Ehh, not really. She ain't my type."

"'Ain't your type'? Jesus fuck, you are a woman, ain't ya?"

"Hey, she's engaged, alright?"

"Yeah, right, to that car salesman, wasn't it?"

"Lead salesman. He's due for another promotion any day now."

The bartender just waved his hands in a manner that, to most people, would easily throw off a "la-de-fuckin'-da" vibe.

"Anyway," Daniels continued, "I'm sure you've got a story about the general rabble from last night."

"Actually, yeah. Alright, so get this, there's these two guys that come staggering in about eleven o'clock - already plastered out of their minds, right? So they're getting loud and rowdy, and who decides he's had enough? I'll give you two guesses, and the first one's wrong. It was Jerry, drunk as an Irish wake, and he starts..."

At this point Daniels just tuned out of the world and into his own thoughts. He wondered just when he was going to hear from the mysterious contact again. He thought about it ever since he saw the note in an odd scrawl on his desk. The whole incident that put him in the hospital seemed like a distant memory. He knew his intentions the moment he set foot in that dingy house. He was gonna drop that psycho dead. He couldn't help but hold that woman's face in his mind, her trapped screaming and that godawful gurgling as she drowned in her own blood. The bastard cut right through her aorta and windpipe, a cut clean as a surgeon's so the coroner had put it. It wasn't supposed to happen the way it did, but it had and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it now. As he sat there, spinning his glass in his fingers, he wondered if he really needed to-

"-he did? Hey, Larry, you paying attention? I'm just getting to good part."

"Lawrence," Daniels corrected, putting on his best smile. "It's Lawrence, you know I hate 'Larry'."

"Got your head outta the clouds, didn't it? So, as I was saying, Jerry grabs these guys by the collars, lifts 'em up and, I shit you not, throws 'em into the cab!"

The Detective chuckled and shook his head before taking a sip of his drink, setting the glass back down shortly after. "Yeah, that's Jerry alright."

"Yeah, that crazy mook. Anyway, I'll leave you to your thoughts. Gotta give this guy a hard time," the old man said as he turned his attention to the opening door. "Hey, Tommy, you rat-faced fuck, your tab is overdue."

"Blow it out your ass, you lousy Mick," said the scrawny regular as he settled onto a stool. "Now get me a drink before I have to climb over that counter and get it myself!"

"What, so you can get at my bottle of Speyside's finest? Over my rotted carcass you ungrateful little shit."

The pair's banter continued as Daniels sat with his half-empty whisky, waiting. Biding his time. Thinking.

 

[mcpop9]

Gamestop in manhatten.
"You really are such a nerd." said the blond haired white girl sitting on her phone, leaning against the counter in the store.

"Of course i'm a nerd. I play videogames, love anime, host the occasional dungeons and dragons match and have been working at gamestop for the past six years while refusing a promotion on the basis that i like interacting with customers." she retorted as the last customer walked out of the door of the place.

"and your ears." added the blond.

Sana shrugged at the comment. "I had the operation straight out of highschool. i like elves, what can i say?" the elf responded and left the blond with a shrug. "Whatever, i'm going home, you can lock up." then promptly collected her things from the back and left.

The elf sighed. Allot of the times people should just quit the job if they don't like it. she didn't hate the girl, just was annoyed that she elected to stay in a position where she didn't care about the work. Herself on the other hand, loved the entire culture around videos games and anime. she went to the store room, changed shirts back to her tanktop then slipped on her link hoodie before heading out and locking the front door, then bringing down the gate infront of the store.

She began to walk home, putting on her earbuds and setting her iphone to coheed and cambria, humming along to the beat and occasionally playing some air riffs from the song.

 

[Ruedyn]

Mael

The pair had started talking for about an hour, the goblin noticed. A tall man, gaunt and hard with a thick and flowing silver beard and an eyepatch sat opposite him, speaking of events that had not yet occurred. Ragnorak, mostly, was their grim topic of the evening.

Mael was sipping his tea as it fell from his hand. Incorporeal, again. The glass landed on the hard wooden chair as he fell through it as well, landing an his ass with a small thud, and banging his re-tangible head against the bottom of the chair. The Goblin was only thankful he didn't get any glass stuck in him, as he slid back behind the chair.

"Sorry, sir Wodanaz, I'll have to cut this a bit short. See you soon, tomorrow?" The Aesir nodded, standing up and grabbing his spear as he disappeared in a black haze. Mael quietly took out his pipe, stuffing it with some tobacco and lighting it in a single, practiced motion. He looked around his meager room, the walls absolutely covered with book shelves save a single full length mirror and a large, comfortable bed, with another mattress underneath to catch him. It was a nice room, it had served him well for years...

But for now, he'd leave for a small walk. He grabbed his cloak and wrapped it around his frail form, slicking his shock of hair back into something somewhat presentable. He donned his monocle, last of all, as he swung the door closed behind him... It seemed like a peaceful evening. He sought to lose himself in his thoughts, and soon enough that was exacctly what he had done.

 

[SamtheDeathclaw]

Ari sat in the back seat of a car. He didn't know the driver. He hardly knew where he was going. He'd just debriefed with Asura, and his head still hurt. Doublespeak and neutered corporate euphemisms, all over the place. The hardest part of the mission had been returning the info and figuring out if the Directors were pleased or not. He should hope so. The mission had gone off without a hitch. He wished all missions were that easy. But something had burnt him out. He needed sleep, bad. Cobwebs were wrapping themselves around all his memories. Or perhaps it was clouds.

Stubbe was in the back seat with Ari, looking like a lost puppy, as usual. He'd been handy, also as usual. Broke a man's neck with his bare hands. Wolf hands? Whatever.

"Where to?"
Right. A cab. How long had he been sitting in silence? He was seriously out of it tonight.
"Greenwich and Seventh." Home. "Stubbe, where you headed?"
They didn't usually catch rides together.
Did they? He couldn't remember anything. He'd done... Something. With his powers. Chewed through all his brain cells like rogue prions. But it wasn't usually this bad, even after some heavy-duty illusions.
Why am I so foggy tonight? He shook his head, hard. He got like this sometimes. He wasn't sure if it was a problem with him, or just something that came with his powers. A twofer. Buy telepathy and get dementia for half off! Another shake.
Had Stubbe answered him? He wasn't sure. Peter. We're on first name basis now. Right? Yes. Yes. I'm sure of that, at least.

He looked expectantly at the man across from him, waiting on an answer, hoping he hadn't already missed it.

 

[Bravo 21]

On a street corner on the border between Brooklyn and Queens, Sean Blake waited. Not two hundred yards away there was a Black Fang "safe" house. As Sean was convinced that it would serve as a staging point in the inevitable move on Brooklyn, he had taken it upon himself to make the safe house that much less safe.

Of course to do that, he'd had to antagonize them until they gathered, but now it seemed that the house was filling. Plenty of muscle, he mused, looks like they're taking no chances. Might as well call in a few friends of my own, he thought as he retreating around the corner. Leaning against a wall, he dialed a number and waited. No answer. He was about to try another when his phone began buzzing, followed by a familiar voice

"It's D'Ville. What do you blighters want now?"

Sean grinned, and spoke, "Well, looks like Black Fang's hosting a bit of a get together, just North of Greenpoint. Figured you might join me and a few others in paying them a visit. Looks like they're probably gonna be here for a couple hours yet, so I figure we wait for it to get good and dark... but don't let me bore you with details if you'd rather get back to whatever you happen to be doing..." he trailed off, counting on Johnny's taste for violence to overcome whatever was holding his attention at the moment.

 

[TheDoctor455]

"Ah, Good to hear your voice, Seannie boy." Johnny said after hearing Sean's proposal, "Let me just get my gear from the higher ups. You know how touchy they are about me just waltzing around the good stuff. Hopefully they won't chain me up this time. Not like they can really stop me from giving you a hand anyway. Damn. I really wish I knew where they hid my weapons this time. Bastards."

Johnny hung up. Black Fangs, eh? Should be fun.

He got up, and ran back into Gray Talon HQ, stopping briefly to grab a cup of blood-coffee before heading for the Talons' Quartermaster.

"Right, I need my guns right about... now, thank you." he said, leaning on a wall, "A mate of mine, and a lackey of yours, needs some help taking out a Black Fang safehouse that's just a little too close to Talon turf for comfort. I'd recommend letting me go all out on this one."


The Quartermaster seemed to be ignoring Johnny at first.

 

[Lunar Templar]

Yuki was, in a word, bored. She was stuck at work cause a co-worker had not bother to call in or show up, worse, it was getting on that 'dead' time of the evening, her and boredom rarely went together well, though it was amusing watching the ghost hunters check the street lights.

About a week ago, Yuki had been bored out of her mind on the grave yard shift, so, she set up a pretty elaborate illusion on around the stop lights to make them look like the Lakitus from Mario Cart. There where a few near misses but no one got hurt, a lot of people slowed down to confirm they where seeing what they think they where seeing, for them she had one of them say 'please don't clog the lanes'. When word got to her parents about 'the mass hallucination', her father Jason laughed, no one was hurt so he didn't see the need to lecture Yuki on it, but did tell her to tone it down next time. Shizuka, was more or less silent on the subject, kinda hard to lecture some one on the responsible use of their powers, when you would have done the same thing only ramped up to eleven.

But for now, Yuki just watched, bored, though the gears where already turning on the fun she could have with these 'Paranormalists'

 

[EmperorZuma]

Grey Talon Quartermaster

"Hmm...? Black Fang place, ya'say?" The, rather tired-looking, old Quartermaster turned to face Johnny, a long scar stretching from his forehead, over a covered, though probably-absent, eye, all the way down his neck. He took a moment to scratch the scar, grumbling as he thought to himself. Eventually, the man silently went over to a marked locker and pulled out all of Johnny's equipment. Once he laid them on the counter, the man paused again, leaving his hands on Johnny's guns before finally speaking. "You know what? I'm feeling mighty generous today..." The Quartermaster heaved up some boxes of various ammunition onto the counter. "Happy hunting, me'boy."

 

[SirPlindington]

"Crulk... James. James, Jim, can I call you Jim?"

James fidgeted with the table. "Don't call me Jim."

The landlord sighed. "James, you need to get a job."

James glared up at him. The landlord was a painfully earnest middle-aged fae with a paunch and too many ears. He had aspirations of creating a Community witness protection program, which currently consisted of James and an Earthborn named Maut who never left his room. This was the fifth hole James had stayed in since his rapid departure from Staten Island, and he'd really thought it was a keeper. He'd spent the first 3 weeks seeing how far he could push the landlord and, when nothing happened, decided to settle in. Since then, in James' opinion, he'd been a model patron. Never ask for anything, take your meals in your room, don't talk to anyone, don't leave the building, don't waste the bill on lights or showers. But apparently there was no pleasing some people.

"Can't get job. Someone will see me."

The landlord sighed more deeply. "James, I respect your fears, but they're back on Staten Island. Nobody's going to hurt you here! I promise you that. I'm here to get you back on track, get you a real home and a real life again! Isn't that what you want?"

James stared furious holes in the table and said nothing. The landlord took this as a sign of encouragement.

"Of course it is! You just need to get out there and know that there's nothing to fear. Why, in a couple of weeks, you'll be your old self again! You can move out, become your own man!"

James clenched his fingers in his lap and said nothing. The landlord leaned in eagerly.

"You'll see, Jim, that soon enough..." James' head snapped up.

"Don't call me Jim.

The landlord leaned back in his chair and sighed the mother of all sighs. "Bottom line, Crulk, is that you start paying some rent or you're out."

And that was how James Crulk found himself out in the Underground, mumbling and shivering, plucking at his clothes and hoping that he would wake up and the landlord would be back to reluctantly tolerating him. But no, this was no dream. Poor James.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and shrieked. He whirled around, aura already forming around his fingertips, to find himself looking into the many eyes of a goblin collective, all wrapped in red fabric and shiny trinkets. "Youse a sad man," the leader chittered, the rest nodding their heads sagely, "we knows, we sees, yessis we do. We's also sad, yah? We make deal, you do job, and neither of us be sad no more. Yessis?"

 

[TheDoctor455]

Gray Talon HQ

"Thank ye kindly, good sirrah," Johnny said with broad grin as he tipped his imaginary hat to the Quartermaster before grabbing his guns and ammo. "First kill's for you, my friend."

A few minutes later, just outside the Black Fang Safehouse

Johnny snuck up on Sean, and held an SMG to his head.

"All right, turn around slowly and empty your pockets." Johnny said before ducking back a good two feet in case Sean decided to take a swipe at him.

"Hey man! I'm just fucking with you." Johnny said once Sean was done, "Great find by the way. Nice little spot to take off the map. Who'd you scare into telling you where it is?"

Johnny laughed as he checked his shotgun, SMG, revolvers, knives, and ammo. He put his SMG away and drew his revolvers.

"So... what's the score? How many fuckers are we dealing with in there?" Johnny said, an ear-to-ear grin appearing on his face, imagining the next several minutes, or perhaps hours of violence.

"Those of you sitting in the first few rows will get wet," he whispered to no one in particular.

 

[SamtheDeathclaw]

Stubbe and Ari rode in silence. The cabby stopped at the intersection of Seventh and Greenwich, like Ari had told him. Ari got out, Stubbe stayed in. Maybe they normally did ride together. Ari had no idea whatsoever.

He walked the short distance to his apartment building and climbed the stairs. It was just after sundown. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd slept. He stumbled into his apartment, a finely furnished, tastefully eclectic three room affair. Without thinking, he stripped, locked the door, and tumbled into bed.

Three hours later, he was awoken by a phonecall.
"Mr. Hrafn-" the voice on the phone began.

"Christ alive, do you people ever sleep?"

"Mr. Hrafn," it began again, audibly disapproving. It was Ari's immediate superior, the man who handled Asura's merc recruiting. His mission control, as it were. "We have one final mission before your current contract expires."

Ari grunted noncommitally.

"The information you retrieve was very valuable to us." Whether it had been or not, Ari was not at liberty to say. He knew flattery when he heard it, though. "And it gives us a new avenue to pursue."

"Is it clouds? It's clouds isn't it."

"We're looking to take a piece of the underground. We feel-"

"Aw, man. I was close. Clouds and underground are just opposites. Close enough."

"WE FEEL," it repeated, louder. "that Asura Group has too long neglected such a large part of the Shadow Community. As we understand you have some contacts in the Emergence Coalition, we would be ve-"

"Where do I go? We both know I'm contractually obligated to do whatever it is you're wanting." He hadn't gotten enough sleep for this. It wasn't even as bad as normal, but still annoying.

"Meeting room 2, Alama Hotel. They'll fill you in."

"I still wish it was clouds. Why can't it be clouds?"

A click came instead of an answer. Predictable.

Ari climbed out of bed, stood, and got dressed in the dark. Dark green button-down, dark jeans, and his running shoes. Sturdy, well-made, and probably soon to be covered with dirt. He sighed.

Door key, wallet, watch, cell phone, gun and holster. Spare clip in the strap pocket. He wondered if Peter would be there. He hoped so.

With that, he was out the door, and on the street. Not a whole lot of cabs in Greenwich Village this late. He took off joggging towards the hotel. He arrive around ten minutes later, pleasantly refreshed. He'd always enjoyed running, especially at night.

He approached the night receptionist.
"Which way to Meeting Room 2?" Ari asked, putting on his best innocent face.

The woman did a double take at him, then carefully avoided looking at him. He'd forgotten to look at his tattoo. It was apparently something bad.

"Uuuuhh.. That way. Take a left, then your second right. Up the stairs, then the third door on your right."

"That seems needlessly complex."

She shrugged, and he followed her directions. He arrived, and saw why'd she'd sent him around the long way. There was a common room in the most direct route. His tattoo was, apparently, that bad today.

The was a mirror in the hallway. He stopped and inspected it.
A dick. A well-drawn, anatomically exact erect penis. He sighed, and pushed into the meeting room.

 

[Ruedyn]

Stubbe

The car ride was awkward, Ari seemed to be slipping a bit that day. He told the driver where he wanted to go, Alama hotel for a meeting later, didn't seem like he heard though. It worried him, but he wouldn't say anything... yet. The car ride was silent, though, and the driver seemed a little bit nervous. Couldn't blame him too much for that one.

Ari got out of the cab wordlessly, and Peter said a goodbye. Didn't think he caught it, though. Stupid, should've said it louder. Or something. He was getting worried, should've said something in the car too. He sighed, and the cab drove on in it's silence. Less nervous driver, though. That was... acceptable. Peter must've not looked very intimidating. His hand had been aching again all day, maybe he just sort of looked pitiful?

He got out when they reached the destination, Peter kept his backpack on him usually for days like this. Filled with gear for his night job. He walked in, breezed past the receptionist with his usual banter. How's the weather, stuff like that. A flash of the pearly whites and his money certainly sped up the process, only about 20 minutes to get a room. Not exactly close to Meeting Room two, but it was fancy. Someone would come get him after a nap, hopefully. He sat down on the bed, looking through his current gear, for the job.

His pistol, clips with different types of ammunition, body glove and light, extremely flexible armor. A disposable smartphone finished of the list. He laid back on the bed, smiling. He hoped he met Ari again later, though he hated having to kill in front of the guy...

After awhile, he was woken up, didn't remember what he dreamed. Too bad, though not like he was going to keep a journal. Shit was silly. He threw on a pair of cheap jeans and a long sleeved shirt over his black, skintight body glove. Good for stealth, and it was specially made in case he wolfed out. Clothes were not. He made his way over, and had to keep his laughter in check when he saw Ari.

"So... uh..."
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Mael

Wandering bore fruit, he remembered why he wanted to leave rather quickly, earlier. A courier found him in his musings, gave him a slip of paper. Meeting in a bar, how cliche. The mission itself could prove interesting, however, and he'd very rarely been to the place called "Mudpit bar", so that could be interesting. Maybe someone famous had visited? Another face to his repertoire, maybe a Troll. That'd be good to have on his side, though most were likely still alive.

His way over was uneventful, if only he'd been better at summoning beasts. Then he could ride them. He supposed he could hitch a ride on the back of Heracles, but that seemed such a waste. And riding a human, no matter how large, into a grotto such as this might've been the wrong message. Wearing his clothes in general in a place like this was a bad idea, though. He'd save his energy for summoning someone impressive in the mission, for now. Probably Cu. He was always ready for combat, and eerily good at it.

He made his way inside, and found where his group was fairly quickly, at least. He smiled as he walked into their conversation, staying quiet in the back.

 

[figment of mind]

Olivia climbed down the rungs of the ladder, very much annoyed. She was supposed to be getting some fresh air and yet here she was, going to the underworld, the very epitome of stagnating air. She actually didn't have a problem with the underworld, having made peice with it while she hid out for those few weeks, she was just annoyed at having to come down NOW. She figured that Gareth Corp. had to have it's own branch that tracked down each of their members and kept constant track of them to make sure that they could assign missions at the worst possible moment.

She wondered about how her friends were doing, probably sleeping (except the troll. Wait...do trolls sleep? Probably. Note to self, ask later.), before wondering why she was being called down. She knew it was about the Asura Group apparently planning an attack on the underworld. She wondered when her group were going to retaliate and whether she would be dragged into it.

She was in the underworld at this rate, walking past homes and businesses and such. She payed them no mind however as she walked along, starting to get distracted and calming down. 'I wonder how you attack a major corperation anyways? Probably very sneakily...i wonder if somebody just went in all Rambo style and just started shooting up people? They'd be cut down pretty quickly unless they were a troll...Rambo troll...now that would be a good movie...what genre though...'

She filed that idea away for later usage when she reached the bar, The Stereotypical Vampire Bar Featuring A Copious Usage Of The Word Blood ie, the Blood Bank Bar or BBB (easy to remember at least). Why would they schedule a meeting with a werewolf here, she didn't know, and she suspected that she would stick out like a sore thumb, which unnerved her. Still, she was obligated to at least go in so she opened the door and peeked in. Relieved to see nothing that would immediately make her vomit, she walked in and sat down, waiting for her contact to appear, she wasn't drinking a thing though.

 

[JokerboyJordan]

The gentle hum of the electricity through the tracks was music to Drusus' ears as the subway cart came to an eventual halt in front of him. The low level light coupled with the throng of bodies helped to obscure his unusual appearance, which he made an effort to conceal with a large duffle coat. Every now and then a bump in the tracks would cause a nearby commuter to stumble ever so slightly into him, whereupon they would recoil as they received a particularly nasty static shock. These incidences would sometimes draw a muted apology from Drusus, but only if they were so lucky. It was just another facet of his being that he now had to live with.

As the train pulled up at the next station, a gaggle of tourists boarded the carriage and immediately made their way over to the end which Drusus now sat. He stopped his habit of keeping his head down to take a glance at the from underneath his hood. They were Japanese from the looks of it, their colourful shirts and cheerful dispositions could only have been product of naive wonderment. They had no idea of the true nature of this city; the way that it constantly assaults your senses from every angle, or its seedy underbelly filled with the kind of murderous scum that would gladly mug you for the 10$ in your wallet and not think twice about putting a bullet in the back of your skull.

Drusus tried hard to not become like those kind of people, but with every passing day his sense of humanity seemed to fade further. He didn't know if he could ever go back to smiling the way that those tourists still could.

Ignorance truly is bliss it seems

"Umm.. Excuse me mister...?"

His eyes flicked open at the greeting, as he became aware of the presence in front of him. It came from a boy who couldn't be more than ten years old, dressed in a similarly bright garb to the rest of the family of tourists. Drusus gathered that he must be with them, his suspicions proved correct when the boy motioned to the others to show that he was okay, despite the fact that it had probably taken him a lot of courage to come speak to him.

At first he tried in vain to pretend he hadn't heard the boy, but he remained rooted to the floor in front, supporting himself with the railing in one hand and a camera in the other. "...Yes?"

The child smiled at receiving a response. "Hi! Could you take picture of me and family? It's our first time in New York and they speak little American."

Without waiting for a response the boy offered the camera out in both hands. Didn't the kid not to talk to strangers? Let alone not to hand over your expensive goods? Drusus sighed in frustration, taking out a small tube labelled 'Silicone Grease' and rubbing a small layer of its contents over his skin before taking the camera in his hands. The boy rejoined his family as Drusus rose from his seat to point the lens at a decent angle. It was a less than ideal setting, but after setting the camera to compensate for the train's movement the family were already mid-pose.

"Sei, no...chiizu!"

One cheerful photograph later, Drusus had finally arrived at the corner of Helman and Brock. The large, unassuming complex was one of many in the area, having nothing discernable to mark it as Black Fang, but those that were in the know in the Community knew that these streets belonged to them. Whether they liked it or not was a different matter altogether. Thats what he had been summoned to clear up. The case of family that has been getting too wise as of late.

He flipped over the business card he had been given, on the back was scribbled the address and apartment- #549. He buzzed the number, only to be greeted by a synthesised voice.

"It's Dai."

 

[mcpop9]

The brass Wench Pub
Entering the pub, causing the few patrons inside of it to take a glance at the doorway, was a man in a leather jacket. a recent addition to it was a large embroidered cross on the back of it. Anyone who had worked ever a few remote cases would recognize Brian "Knuckles" O'Malley. He wasn't drunk, but looked like he had one hell of a day doing something. He had been in here a few times prior, always generally nice to those who serve him beer.

Walking towards the bar, his shoulders drooped low and he did generally not look good. He managed to haul himself into the seat next to the detective and placed his arms on the counter. "Ah, just a pint O' Guinness to wet me tongue and wipe me mind. 'been a long day and not a productive one at that..." he said with a rather heavy Irish accent, staring down at the bar's wooden counter.

While he hadn't killed anyone, he managed to break a few baseball bats over heads, one of them being a good friend who turned out to be a snitch. He left the fella in a coma and didn't care if he ever woke up from it or not.

 

[Bravo 21]

"Must be gettin old, lettin' you sneak up on me like that. Anyways, from what I've seen, maybe a dozen Black Fang goons, probably a few hangers on." Sean grinned, "Not the greatest odds we've faced, but for something quick, should be fine."

Grasping into his bag, he pulled out a weathered shotgun. "Let's get this party started shall we?"

Checking once to make sure the road was clear, he rushed across, and fired twice into the door. Upon entering into the front hall of the building, and stepping over the corpse of a man unfortunate enough to have been standing just inside the door a moment earlier, he let out a primal howl. Firing at someone peeking out from the top of the stairs he shouted: "I've got the top floor! Take the bottom!"

 

[TheDoctor455]

"Now you're talkin!" Johnny said, running straight into what looked like an abandoned hotel's lobby. He knew it was supposed to be abandoned by the total lack of maintenance... you know, broken and squeaky floorboards, torn furniture, mattresses randomly strewn about, bloodstains on every surface, and claw marks everywhere. The usual visual crapshoot.

Johnny ran in, and fired a few shots in random directions. "Heeeeerrrreeesss' JOHNNY!"

Like you didn't see that one coming.

A few werewolves came rushing at him, and Johnny took them out with a few well-placed explosive rounds from his dual revolvers. Unfortunately, one of them got a little too close to Johnny when he fired, so the small explosion knocked him back through the flimsy remains of a wall, causing him to drop his revolvers, which slid underneath what looked like a broken 1950's era lead-lined refrigerator. Instead of stupidly trying to find the little bastards, he drew his SMG and flipped himself upright before kicking over a nearby kitchen table for cover. And that's when he noticed that he was sporting some nasty burns that, while not visible to anyone affected by his Glint image, still hurt like hell and would take weeks to heal.

Four wolves entered the room. Two from the obvious hole in the wall, one from the door on the left, and one from a hole in the ceiling. Johnny popped up and sprayed the entire room with incendiary rounds fired as fast as its mechanized parts would allow while spinning around and cackling like a maniac.

This tactic killed the two idiots standing in the hole in the wall, shattered the door-wolf's kneecaps, and sent spider-wolf clambering back up to the second floor. Once again, Johnny's secret "Fuck-Off-Jitsu" had done the trick.

Without waiting to see what would happen next, Johnny ran through the hole before the fire slowly gaining traction in the room managed to really get going. Back in the lobby, he ducked behind the receptionist's deck and reloaded. Waiting for any other furball that wanted to get its ass kicked... and shot off... and probably burnt to a crisp... and then stomped and piddled on by Mr. D'Ville; anyway, while waiting for someone to come up, he breathed a small curse as the fire in the kitchen started spreading like well... wild-fire... and he heard his revolvers exploding noisily; and from the sound of it, sending the fridge up into the next story and apparently lodging it in the floor or ceiling above. Weird.