Decker Rohl

Imogen Slaughter

Sun 10:00PM EST
She had gotten halfway down the inter-state when her pager had gone off, resulting in her turning back, right in the direction she'd come. Back to the same anonymous hotel, into another anonymous hotel room, with another anonymous victim. It was odd. Bodies did not come in trickles, one after the other, but in droves, sometimes several at a time. Sometimes there is no discernable pattern. Sometimes there was a reason.

No matter.

Several hours after a repeat of her afternoon, she is once again walking down the boardwalk, flicking her cigarette, smoked down to the filter, end over end into the gutter, landing on the pavement, the ember shattering and scattering across the road, to be obliterated underneath the wheels of a passing car.

The hand, now freed of the warmth of her cancer stick, reaches up, brushing back strands of hair, tucking them absently into the fold and weave of her braid. No coffee this time around. She'd already learned it tasted horrible, and that she wasn't about to drink it.

The boardwalk still pulsates with people, coming and going, gambling and kissing, arguing in soft tones, and sometimes not so soft tones. Out for a night on the town perhaps. She twists sideways to avoid a careless passer by, hands shoving into the pockets of her jacket.

Silence

Sun 10:15PM EST
She twists sideways to avoid a careless passerby, and behind the careless passerby is another, more familiar to her, unmistakeable with the hurricane he carried with him.

His carelessness is not the blindness of those who've never seen the ugly (unnatural) sides of life. Decker's carelessness comes from an unshakable, arrogant sort of confidence: unstoppable, invincible. It isn't true and he knows it isn't true, but every thug knows the attitude is half the war.

Head down, a plastic bag with the name of a drugstore imprinted on it held open while the other hands rifflings through the contents, he crashes into her without a glance or a sorry. Back to the sweatshirt since the wintercoat was so much ash now, but with a grey ski cap tugged down over his ears, Decker's three or four steps past her before something catches at his attention - a hint of roan, auburn; a scent of wind and her soap, skin; a familiarity in the brief collisive contact.

Dropping whatever he'd been fishing out of the bag (sport bandages, biggest size they had) back in, he turns around. Bag lowers to his side as he offers her the nod up, the usual greeting (sup Imogen), followed by a seven-point inspection of her face and form. "Small world. Hell you doin' here?"

Lazarus.

Sun 10:19PM EST
It would be a good night to a make a lil cash. (Yeah, money is good.) At the crack of 7pm those thoughts had rolled through her brain along with poison kiss of too much -something- from the night before. She wasn't an early riser, no.

Imogen Slaughter

Sun 10:26PM EST
She'd avoided the first, but avoiding the second was impossible, and she thuds against his solid frame, stumbling back a few steps, because she's that much lighter, and he's that much stronger.

It had taken a brief moment to guarantee to herself that it was the Fenrir, half turning to look after him a hand lifting to her face to rub lightly against the tip of her nose.

She'd been about to perhaps say something in his wake, or just open her mouth, and close it, and keep on going, when he turns around, and she smirks faintly at his question, "I was working 'till about ten minutes ago," she explains, as his eyes pass across her. Tired, maybe, with the faint smudge of dark beneath her eyes, half hard to see, because she's always tired, and so it's a normal state of affairs, hair in it's usual state of chaos, only half confined by the braid she's tamed strands into. Sometimes, the braid might make things worse, than better. A jacket, zipped half way up, beneath, a snatch of blue peasant's shirt visible. Blue jeans, comfortably moulded to curves of hip and thigh. Her own eyes dip away from his face and down him, then up again, to return to his face. "You?"

Silence

Sun 10:36PM EST
There's something of a smirk lingering at the edges of his mouth. He sizes her up and she sizes him up. He's in dark colors from head to toe, grey knit cap, black sweatshirt, dark blue jeans with the toes of scuffed skechers (or skecher-ripoffs, more likely) showing under voluminous folds of denim. His clothes hardly mould to his body, but there's still the impression of what she would know to be beneath: solid shoulders, arms like a blacksmith's (axewielder's), lean waist and fast strong legs.

Burnt, too. Under the clothes that cover most of his body, his skin is reddened in patches, blistered here and there, and what looks like the world's worst sunburn creeps up the side of his neck. The clothes had to chafe on all that. He lifts the bag a few inches, rustling the plastic.

"Buyin' bandages 'n shit. Rune's down here on some Glass Walker business. Tagged along, 'stead of walkin' to the Walgreens." It sounded pretty stupid, even to him. More likely he just wanted to get out of the house with the trunk full of mummified child in it.

He takes a few steps back toward her now, closing the distance between so that passerbies stopped cutting between them. The free hand is pushed into his pocket (the palm was burnt and he didn't wanna forget and touch something with it), so he moves the bag up to hang on his wrist as he reaches out to touch her shoulder in some sort of unspoken apology. "Didn't see ya."

Imogen Slaughter

Sun 10:48PM EST
A faint movement of her lips, an echo of what might be a smile as he touches her shoulder, shrugging slightly, a faint twitch of movement, beneath his hand. "I didn't see you, either."

One hand lifts for a moment, stopping a few millimetres from the red that peeks from his neck, before brushing against unmarred skin, as her eyes drifting downward to look at the crisped skin, tilting her chin slightly, in general meaning of the visual mark, "How's the burns?" she inquires, her hand dropping back to her side, sliding back into the relative warmth of her jacket.

Bad enough to be buying bandages.

Silence

Sun 10:57PM EST
Should say something sappy. Like, better, since you've touched me. Should say...

...yeah, right. A loose shrug, and he just watches her a while, a corner of his mouth hooked up. Then, as she returns her hand to her pocket, he tugs the cap down over his ear a bit - the ear opposite his good hand. "Ain't bad 'nuff fer Livin'ston to bother with 'em." Translation being, bad enough to buy bandages; ain't bad enough for him to ask for Livingston to heal him. Dimly seen through the thin plastic bag, in addition to the roll of bandages, are tubes of first aid cream and bottles of antibacterial/antiseptics, and a package of Hershey's kisses. Even Modi had a sweet tooth now and then.

A glance over her shoulder down the length of the crowded length of the Boardwalk. Bright painted horses pranced on merry-go-rounds ringing with carnival music and children's laughter; cotton candy hawkers spinning out pink treats; young men winning stuffed bears for their girlfriends. Above it all, the ferris wheel spins slow and stately. Even on a Sunday night, the Boardwalk drew its share of visitors.

"Goin' home?"

Imogen Slaughter

Sun 11:03PM EST
Garish and bright, it does have it's own appeal, even if normally, she doesn't see it. Laughter, amusement. People winning, people losing. Money being made.

A faint nod replies to his question, "Yeah, I think I've had enough of 'ere for a while. You want a lift, or is Rune going to be done, soon?"

Knowing Rune, and knowing the Glass Walkers, business could take ages. Meetings have been known to take days.

Silence

Sun 11:09PM EST
Garish and bright, it does have its own appeal, even if he never did see it. To him, the Boardwalk was where the wealthy (or at least those well-off enough to throw dollar after dollar away on games) came to burn off cash. Where the cops patrolling every other corner - can't have the lucrative tourist business frightened off, after all - eyed him like they expected him to break into a jewelry store any second. Atlantic City isn't his territory in every sense of the word.

A glance over his shoulder, half-turning to look behind him the way he was going. "S'pposed to meet her in an hour. Walk you to yer car, though."

...gentleman that he is.

Imogen Slaughter

Sun 11:18PM EST
The cops here were the worst, out of all the ones she needed to deal with. Half of them were more concerned with the business of the establishments rather than the actual crime. The other half hardly cared about anything at all.

She nods, slowly, pushing her hands deeper into her pockets, "Alright, then," she replies, half turning in the direction she'd been walking in before, "I'm up this way."

Some parking lot, some ways up, out of lack of parking spaces. Several blocks to go. Her boots sound dull against the planks of the board walk, a slow hollow sound.

Silence

Sun 11:24PM EST
As they swing up and away from the Boardwalk, the lack of bright lights and tourist crunch seems to chill the air even though they were moving away from the damp ocean breeze. Decker reaches back and draws the hood up over his cap, a double-layer of warmth. He walks a little slower than usual, at times adjusting the fall of his sweatshirt and the shirt underneath as though to keep from scraping a particularly tender area of skin.

"You gonna need to do anythin' 'bout that body?" He broaches the topic abruptly enough, a block up from the core of the boardwalk, passing the silent parked cars all in a row. Quite a few of the parking meters were red, but even if Decker had spare quarters, he wasn't the type to drop them in. Back in the condo, the pack had not had time (nor inclination) to examine the remains more closely, yet. "Report it 'r somethin'?"

Imogen Slaughter

Sun 11:32PM EST
She inhales slowly, through her nose, shaking her head, walking astride with the Fenrir.

"No, I just need to be sure nobody finds it, after you've finished with it. I'd have a hard time explaining something like that, if I were to report it. I doubt telling them it was at my neighbours house, just sitting around, would fly too well with the police. Nor my chief."

She exhales what's left of her contained breath, misting softly in the cold air. Another breath, buying time, before she speaks again, "I can examine the body, if y'want it, as best I can without actually taking to the morgue." In a way, it might have been better to leave the body, at least from her perspective. Had it survived, she could have examined it in the morgue. But the chance of it not surviving was enough that it's little more than wishful thinking. "But I won't be reporting to the authorities, no."

Silence

Sun 11:39PM EST
A low sound: Decker and his steamrolled chuckles. He glances at her (and coughs her way, incidentally, at that particular moment as something irritates the already raw insides of his air tract), a grunt of assent welling in his throat. "Gonna see if Livin'ston kin do some Crescent-Moon voodoo on it too."

A cold damp breeze blasts up from behind them, plastering their loose clothing against their backs, rustling the plastic bag in Decker's hand. When it subsides, he has another question for her, "Rune said somethin' 'bout y'all findin' blood under the rug?"

Imogen Slaughter

Sun 11:45PM EST
The damp wind curls it's way down the collar of her jacket raising gooseflesh beneath her jacket, and one hand leaves her pocket to flip up the collar, in the hopes of that adding some warmth.

"That rug in the middle of the room? Covered quite th'stain. It's not recent, by any means, and didn't look like anybody tried to clean it up, just tossed the rug over it, as if it didn't matter." A frown, faint, before clearing, and she shrugs, "No blood anywhere else, either. That was all I could really tell." And the evidence long destroyed now, it would be all she could ever tell, had she had anything else she could have done, other than take pictures and measure.

Silence

Mon 12:00AM EST
Watching her turn her collar up, Decker moves closer to her. Their hands are in their pockets, and so their arms don't need to swing. The sway of his shoulders brushes him against her with every step: shoulder, upper arm, elbow. It's the extent of their contact, though. The topic on hand, the time, the place, every one of these things raises another wall over and beyond their natural defenses.

Light from the trendy little boutiques lining the street cast golden pools at their feet. Gourmet chocolates. Jewelry. Souvenirs. Posters. Original art. Independent bookstores.

"So," his left hand, the unburnt one, comes up out of his pocket again. Fingertips slide under the hood and the cap to knead at his temple. "Looked like maybe they killed their own kid in the livin' room?" A sideways glance at her, gauging her reaction to his inexpert Sherlock Holmesing. "Then stuffed 'im into a box 'n put 'im away?

"L'il girl drew some freaky shit too," he adds after a moment, but it still seemed inadequate. Too few pieces of the puzzle, and him, far too bluntheaded to piece them together - if they could even be pieced together. Damn it, if only there'd been more time to search the second bedroom.

Imogen Slaughter

Mon 12:15AM EST
And even if where such things not at hand, it seemed they rarely touched, anyway. Brief moments of contact like this (his hand on her shoulder, her fingers brushing his neck) are the interludes between abrupt and mostly sudden collisions (his hands in her hair), more often than not in the most insane hours of the morning (her hands on his skin); somehow, the brief touches makes it worse.

A half part of her mind slips into witness mode. You never tell the police anything unless you're sure. It can bite you, later. You never give inconclusives on the stand, though it might be harder for others than for her. She lies, where necessary. Her answers are formed, and almost spilled out, before she shakes her head slightly, dispelling the feeling.

"I don't know," she said slowly, "I hardly got a look at the body in the trunk," only a smell, a whiff, and then things went to hell. Then they were driving away, to avoid fire trucks and police and unwanted questions. Very little time for the good doctor to make any sort of examination. "It would certainly be possibly, though I'd have to see what killed the child in the trunk, to see if it would result in that kind of blood spill."

Another addition, said slowly, as she considered it, "But then, if that's true, the child in the trunk did not die of SIDS. And either someone in my profession was very very sloppy, or there was a third child."

Silence

Mon 12:27AM EST
His head moves under the hood and the cap - some sort of distracted nod. Perhaps she's known him long enough to know the distraction only meant he was mulling over what she said, devoting most his attention to picking it apart, leaving little for social conventions of acknowledgment and the like. Another five, six steps - another five, six brushes of his shoulder against his. His heat doesn't quite seep through all the many layers they wore between them, but the insinuation is there, a hint of what lay beneath much as the burn crawling up his neck hinted at the damage below.

Then she speaks again, and he casts a sharp look at her. His pace slows a bit, and then he stops. Behind him, a florist's shop, closed at this late hour. The lights are still on in the window display, though, and carnations and marigolds and roses bloom. The nails of love, as they say, and the nails of death. And of course, the queen of flowers.

"What?" He wouldn't know anything about nails of love, and his concept of nails of death were quite different. His hands stay in his pocket and he frowns at her. "What do you mean?"

Olivia - incinerated. Nameless child - in a box. Third child?

Imogen Slaughter

Mon 12:40AM EST
The insinuation of his arm beneath the sweatshirt, muscles and corded strength, coiled and restrained rage. The insinuation of her skin beneath the jacket, slender, no where near as harsh; muscle, there, too, because she refuses to be soft. But no warriors strength there. It's the lightest of contacts. It's broken as she turns to face him, one hand leaving her pockets, because she has a habit of gesturing as she talks. She's not exuberant, but slight movements of pale white hands punctuate what she means.

"I know of two children," she says, "One," a finger lifts, "named Lloyd. He died of SIDS at three months. I saw the death certificate. He died before the other child, Olivia," a second finger lifts, "was born. We know what happened to Olivia." Incinerated in a retort, flesh licked away, and bones reduced to ash. "And according to records, we know what happened to Lloyd."

She frowns, again, because it just seems unbelieveable, before saying, finally, "So I haven't got a clue what's in the box. I haven't the foggiest."

Silence

Mon 12:48AM EST
A slight tip of his head back, and that frown deepens as he compresses his lips, considering her. "Kid in the trunk ain't three months old, to be sure. Probably three years old."

A flash of grey eyes down the street, toward the Boardwalk, and back to her. He starts walking again, taking his good hand out of his pocket (bag still strung around his wrist) to tick the years off on his fingers as he counts children. "So now we got Olivia who died a coupla weeks back, Lloyd who died - what, years ago? - 'n kid in a fuckin' box."

His hand goes back in his pocket. They come to the end of another block and stand waiting for the light to change. "There a way to check on Lloyd? Record of a grave somewhere?"

Imogen Slaughter

Mon 01:00AM EST
She pauses, considering, "I can find out, yeah," she says finally, her stride keeping up with his. "Lloyd died in..." Pause, memory riffle, trying to connect the dots through the file folder she'd but glanced at, "Ninety-five, ninety-six? There might be records of the autopsy, still. Filin' purposes and all o' that. That should indicate which funeral home the body would have been released to."

If the filing system was up to date. And if she could find the particular box down in the dredges of filing cabinets. If nobody asked any questions. If, if, and if. She doesn't bother with the if's.

Silence

Mon 01:15AM EST
If she wanted to risk her job (again) to help the people she didn't even really like. If she wanted to work overtime, without pay, in crappyass conditions (Rune's kitchen island) with no equipment and few instruments to examine a body that's been dead for months - years -

If, if, if.
The reluctant fighters are always the best.

"Be good if you could," he says, low, which is as close to a thank-you as she was going to get from him. And she probably doesn't want to know what he intends to do with the information. Dig up graves. Unearth long-dead remains.

See if the little sucker really was dead.

Imogen Slaughter

Mon 01:24AM EST
No, she doesn't want to know what he's like to do with the information. But she knows, anyway. She is not blessed with ignorance, and it has been, for years, a bane for her, moreso in recent months. Simply because she does not ask, does not mean the truth she knows is not there.

But still, she says nothing of it.

She nods her head slightly, her hand, released for the purpose of gesticulation, returning to the pocket of her jacket, glancing at him through the half obscuring veil of titian hair, strands fallen from the braid to rest against her cheekbones. It's cold enough for her not to bother with brushing them back.

"Give me a bit," she says, quietly, "I'll find his file, and let you know." A week. Two. Maybe more. Overtime spent on Garou business instead of human business. Sometimes, one must wonder about Imogen, and her sense of duty. If she had it at all, and that was what drove her to help, even those Garou she did not like, even those she detested. Even when she'd avoided the Nation, she'd made what efforts she could to hide the Garou's true nature. Or, if it was because she felt she had no choice. Because she was told to. Because she was kinfolk, and he was Garou, and they were Garou, and it was black and white. Either she was against them, or not.

Silence

Mon 01:38AM EST
A week, two, maybe more. "Yeah okay." Him and his careless answers, the second affirmative somehow weakening the first until it was just something to say. His and his slow swaying gait, and his easy apathetic veneer. Him and the undertone, overtone of tension he brought with him everywhere he went, every second of every day.

Him and the tension that sparks between he and she, even (especially) when they barely touch, bumping shoulders with every step, when they talk business.

There's nothing more to say on the subject now, so he keeps his impenetrable silence the rest of the way to her car. Walks her out to her car, just like he'd said he would.

There, he follows her to the driver's side of the vehicle rather than the passenger's as he usually does, and waits, hands in his pockets, for her to unlock the door, get in, all that.

Imogen Slaughter

Mon 01:53AM EST
She has nothing more to say, and nothing more to tell him, (you idiot, I can't believe you went up the goddamned stairs) and won't until she has more information. An autopsy to be performed on a mummified carcus. An infant's grave to be found. Another little girl dead. None of it's pleasant.

And so their silence continues, walking shoulders barely touching, a brief impression with each step. He walks her to her car, like he had said he would, and it must seem almost out of place for him to walk around to the driver's side and stand there, waiting for her to unlock the door, get in, all that.

The alarm chirps, disarmed. The interior light of the SUV turns on as the doors click, unlocked. And without further adieu, she slips into the driver's seat, sticking the keys into the ignition, as she pulls the seatbelt across her torso, turning her head to look up at him and his near six foot height, the door still open, "Tell me if y'want me to examine the body," she says after a moment.

Silence

Mon 02:08AM EST
Bathed in the light of the SUV, natural compared to the pale lights of the parking lot, her hair takes on some of its usual richness: colors of a flame, and of certain woods, flowers, that he had no name for, but could remember glimpsing in discreet, half-forgotten episodes in his life. Polished chairs in the sunlight, in the showroom of some fancy furniture dealer, seen through a window. Nameless plants growing in the heart of a caern. Things like that.

"The body?" he echoes, blank for a moment. "Lloyd's?"

She pulls the seatbelt across her torso and his gaze follows it, shadowed by his eyelashes, framed by the hood, the grey wool cap. Impulsive, he reaches out and takes the buckle from her hand as she's drawing it across her chest.

The backs of his fingers glide light over her body, diagonally from breast to hip, as he draws the belt down the rest of the way and leans across her to buckle her in. His: the scent of night and seawind. All the while he leaves his burnt hand in his pocket, because she didn't need to see it.

Imogen Slaughter

Mon 02:27AM EST
The backs of his fingers glide light over her, brushing across skin covered in places by only thin fabric, other places obscured by her half open jacket. Her breath catches; they hardly touch, and more often than not, it makes the moments when they do (or when she does, or he does) molten. Her fingers cover his at the apex of the seatbelt, where he buckles her in, for a moment, half shifting to look at him as she answers. "More the one in the trunk. An infants body will be of little use after five years." The words quiet, stirring the air between them.

He'd leaned across her, and again, she hadn't moved back, and again, they are inches a part. This time, however, the odd awkwardness of movement (normally, one balances oneself with a hand, one does not leave their hand in their pocket, when in such a position) clicks into place the oddity that his right hand hasn't left his pocket since she'd seen him. And he was right handed, so far as she knew.

She's left handed, and it's that hand that she lifts, palm up, fingers loose, moving her chin in the direction of his right hand, "May I see your hand?" She didn't need to see it. She didn't need to know. She didn't want to know. She asked, anyway.

Silence

Mon 02:41AM EST
"Oh." The catch of her breath, and the strange balance of his body, right hand in his pocket: he sets one knee on the floor of the SUV for balance, his thigh pressing against her seat. Her hand covers his and he glances down at it for a moment. Then, her, and it's incomprehensible how they can keep talking about this. "Yeah, I do."

His eyes on hers. These moments of contact, his hand beneath hers, resting on the buckle of the seatbelt when she could as easily move it to cover her body and touch her skin. The catch of her breath; the dilation of his pupils, black in grey, because the interior of the car was still far from bright despite the ceiling light, because she's three inches away and she isn't moving back.

"Maybe if you - whenever you got time."

She mentions his hand and he stills for a moment. There's a movement of his right arm, checked. His hand settles back into his pocket and he shakes his head. She didn't need to see. She didn't need to know. He didn't want her to know.

" 'S not important - " the catch of her breath, and now, the catch of his, one second before he, awkwardly balanced, his one good hand caught under hers, flexes forward and kisses her mouth like he could've should've would've didn't, days ago.

Imogen Slaughter

Mon 03:09AM EST
'S not important

She might have thought to protest that, or at least just stared at him, frustrated for any thousand of reasons (because it wasn't his place to protect her, and because she didn't need to know, but sometimes she wanted to, anyway). It's amazing how they can hold a thread of conversation even touching, even inches from each other. Perhaps it's because their words are so rare, they need to be spoken soon, or else forgotten, fallen to the wayside. Conversation does halt, however, as his lips cover hers, and her mouth meets his, the feeling of her breath running across his lips in that half second before contact.

Her hand remains on his, fingers sliding between his own, brushing against hardened callouses, in part because she cannot map out his burns, and while the Fenrir is no doubt used to pain, she'll have no part in adding to it.

He smells of sea salt, and night, the smell of his skin, unique to his own. She smells of cigarette smoke, the sea air and the crispness of night. She tastes of coffee, and he can tell she hasn't quit smoking again, because he can taste it on her tongue.

Five minutes later, she's driving for the second time that day toward the interstate, music a quiet counterpoint to the whirr of the SUV.

She had to get up in five hours; and he had to meet his packmate in fifteen minutes. There are any thousand of reasons, on any night, why not to drag him with her, or be dragged with him, and all of them good. Rarely do they work. And she can still taste him, if she paused to run a tongue across her lips, smell him from the faintest impression left on clothes and skin. It's late; and he needs to meet with his packmate. So, she drives home.

Rune

Sun 08:13PM EST
The lupus Glass Walker pads quietly through the room, nose lifted to steal scent from the air. Her senses are not as honed as the country counsins' might be, but in this form they are nonetheless refined. Carpet - toys - water, relaying the sense of the scents to Decker through the mindlink, particularly any for which she has no point of reference, citygirl that she is.

The Storyteller

Sun 08:14PM EST
Rune also smells the faded scents of rum mixed with a hearty, rich beef stew. She can hear someone quietly singing, but the words are unintelligeable and foreign.

Decker Rohl

Sun 08:19PM EST
Decker pads to the edge of the door and, there, halts. Last time they all walked one way, the passage back closed off. If he didn't move, would it stay open? Or would he simply be trapped when the door slammed shut - in a forest of fur rapidly closing in?

Unpleasant prospect, that. The thug exhales shortly, nearly a snort, and shrugs his coat on closer as he steps across the threshold into the odd room.

James

Sun 08:19PM EST
Stay back

allright.
how long?

apparently not much
because he's leaning in the 'doorway' fairly soon after the lupus tumbles through
looking around as much as she's smelling
he can't help the glance to the sides of the portal, just to see if it's a door, a closet, or a damned mirror they're moving through

none would really surprise him
making way for Decker as the Modi draws up behind him
what block's Rune's view by height, he can see right over
pretty damned wary

Rune

Sun 08:24PM EST
The lupus pads through the room, circling the oversized bed while relaying the information gleaned by her lupine senses back to her packmates. Stew, rum - some voice, singing in a foreign tongue.

The wolf paces across the room to the bed, nosing beneath the ruffled sheets.

The Storyteller

Sun 08:24PM EST
Bastian comes up behind Decker, whistling under his bretah that annoying X-Files tune on the odd occasion as he examines the furry trees that seem to have morphed into fur coats hanging inside the closet doors. He pauses in the whistling long enough to step around James, giving the Bonegnawer a faint, strange smile before taking in the new surroundings. Especially all the toys heaped along one side of the bed.

The Storyteller

Sun 08:27PM EST
As Rune circles the bed, snuffling under the frilled undersheet that reaches down the plush blue carpet with it's own pale plus color. A little ugly man in a nurse maid's outfit, complete with bonnet, smiles and waves at her, then continues to pour water from a large earthen pitcher into a bowl already containing a fair amount of the liquid. That, apparently, is the source of the trickling water sound.

"About time you got here!" His voice brings the memory of the goblin, Hoggle, from the Labyrinth movie to mind for any of them that has actually sat down long enough in their lives to watch such a movie.

Rune

Sun 08:33PM EST
Well, then.

Ugly man. Nurse's maid. Pouring water. In a child's room.

All this, plus a vampire in close proximity while she's in lupus. All this, and she ruined her new winter coat by shifting in the first place. Lovely.

The Glass Walker shifts then - if the ugly man was not unnerved by the Glabro Decker, or perhaps the fur-forest outside his bizarre door, which morphed into a closet and well, so on, he was unlikely to be unnerved by the sight of her shifting through her forms all the way back down to comfortable, sleek, familiar homid. Pale arms cross across her abdomen, slender hands chafing each opposite arm a bit warmer. Lifting her chin, she offers a faint smile to the - uh, man?

"You were waiting for us?" Fucking. Hell. (across the mindlink, because she must curse SOMEwhere.) "Do you know the way out?"

Decker Rohl

Sun 08:34PM EST
Decker stares down at the half-sized man, a frown of sheer disbelief turning into a scowl of sheer displeasure. He reaches out to touch one of the fur coats as though to ascertain that it was real, then reaches out to open one of the dresser drawers at random, peering into it.

He has a question for the little man, too, his southern drawl undercut by a hint of gravel, a dash of rasp. "The hell you pourin' water into that for?"

James

Sun 08:36PM EST
he just blinks as they all waltz inside
sound of someone singing and we just barge into the room?
this is going to go real well
the return smile to Bastion is somewhat more skeptical than strange
his head snaps up at the sudden salutation
rising up on his tiptoes to peer at the figure

the.... nurse... man....

he's seen stranger
but it still gets a brow lift
they were expected
why is that not comforting?

but he's still silent
just like a Gnawer

The Storyteller

Sun 08:38PM EST
"Out of where, Miss?"

But his attention was already on Decker and that wonderfully shiny wallet chain hanging at his side.

"So you can wash your hands and face like good little children." This is reply to Decker's gruff question.

Rune

Sun 08:42PM EST
"Out of the bedroom, of course," Rune replies, her smile turning a sickly sort of saccharine sweet. "We're expected for croquet in an hour, but I'm not sure we're going to find our way. We've just forgotten everything, haven't we Bastian? Unless you've remembered something I've forgotten, which would be most helpful right now, if. you. have."

The speech finished, she returns Decker's glance, shaking her head quietly. Fuck if I know.

The Storyteller

Sun 08:44PM EST
"I could maybe know the way out." He says slowly, weaselling tone, as shis eyes glue to Decker's pocket where the chain vanished.

Bastian, on the other hand, is inspecting the teddy hears and merely looks up at Rune giving her an infuriatingly bland shrug before going back to his inspection. He picks up one particular bear and holds it out towards James.

"Recognize this?"

The bear looked like... Dimmy's... the one she left at his feet, staring up at him with lifeless eyes, while he was having a mental breakdown.

Decker Rohl

Sun 08:48PM EST
Decker keeps his mouth shut. Rune's game here, being the most vocally eloquent of the trio.

James

Sun 08:49PM EST
he's still just listening
thinking
where others jump into the frey
he analyzes, first

listening to the word game begin
watching where the nurseman's eyes have gone
he can't help the slight smile

which vanishes immediately when he looks over towards Bastion
chin jerking in a sharp nod
how could he not?
a step finally taken towards the vampire
hand held out for the bear

though still quite aware of the conversation at hand

The Storyteller

Sun 08:51PM EST
There is also a very small door behind the goblin-dwarf-thing in the nurse's outfit, about half again his small stature, which leads one to believe that most here being able to fit through is wishful thinking.

Rune

Sun 08:51PM EST
"You could maybe know the way out, but you want something for your troubles, right?" dark brow rising as she studies the weaselly man - dark eyes slicing to Bastian as he confronts James with the fucking teddy bear. "I'll give you a link from that chain if you tell me the way out, and leave another link for every question you answer accurately. If you help us enough, you might get the whole chain."

Sorry, Decker.

The Storyteller

Sun 08:52PM EST
Bastian hands the teddy bear over to James with a sad smile tinging the edges of his lips. The bears cold lifeless eyes look deep into James, it seems...

Right before it blinks....

Then... sneezes

In a deep baritone the teddy bear then speaks... "Is there a dog in the room somewhere?"

Decker Rohl

Sun 08:56PM EST
Decker moves his shoulders is a slight shrug to Rune's apology. It's a twenty-dollar chrome-plated chain, twenty-four inches long, but what the fuck. He'll just make Rune buy him another one. Silently, his hand delves into the pocket, careful to unsnap it from his wallet while both are still out of sight.

Drawing the chain out of his pocket - a sussurant hiss of steel over denim - he holds it out to Rune.

James

Sun 08:59PM EST
whomever thought a teddy bear could be cold and lifeless?
it's something a child pours its very heart and soul into
smothering it with love and companionship

somebody. obviously spent too much time with this one

he doesn't even flinch as it blinks
he doesn't even drop it when it sneezes
he's good at accepting, remember?
easy smile crossing over his lips

"Take care. And not.... exactly. How'd you end up here?"

last he remembers is (what he thinks is) it on the floorboards of Rune's Beemer

Rune

Sun 09:00PM EST
Arms and shoulders tightening as - well - the teddy bear wakes up. Someone please tell her they just smoked some laced pot and are sitting in the living room, staring at the lights reflected on the ceiling through the shattered, open windows.

The chain clanks as she accepts it from Decker, palm curving over the middle of its length. The swinging bits of chrome-plated chain are then gathered into her palm with a satisfying hiss.

"The deal is good, solid, accurrate information. Don't try to fuck me over, or I'll keep the chain. Help me, and I'll be generous." pause, mouth twisting into a flagrantly unnatural grin. "So, first. How do we get out of here?"

The Storyteller

Sun 09:02PM EST
The teddy bear's baritone deepens as he lifts a stubby, fingerless arm and rubs the side of his head.

"Well... it's like this... it was dark... it was stormy... the toilet light was dim... and the teacup was sinking. Fast."

The goblin, meanwhile, is fair on salivating over the chain clutched in Rune's hand.

"Which way?"

Rune

Sun 09:05PM EST
Rune eyes the small door opposite the goblin and lifts her shoulders in a swaying shrug. "Whichever way we can fit - " a brief nod toward the door " - and it doesn't look like we could make it through there."

The Storyteller

Sun 09:05PM EST
Bastian arches one well defined eyebrow at the teddy bear now conversing with James. He turns around and takes a step away towards the bed. He slides both pale hands back into the pockets of his long coat, ignoring the slide of raven black hair over his shoulders.

The Storyteller

Sun 09:09PM EST
"Well, if you wash your face and hands, you'll be able to go and play."

He indicates the bowl of water and then gestures towards the tiny door set into the wall. Then he shudders profusely, pointing under the bed.

"Or, there is that way."

James

Sun 09:10PM EST
dark eyes flick upwards at Bastion's movement
most would think it would say
..... well didn't you talk to your toys when you were a kid?
but perhaps there's something else in it, too
after a moment, it's gone, and his attention focused back on the bear
(mostly)

"Have you been stuck here since?"

Decker Rohl

Sun 09:11PM EST
Decker shifts his weight from one foot to balance between both. Decker's far from a rocket scientist, but nor was he an idiot. He could put two and two together and right now two and two equaled a very small four. I ain't likin' the idea of gettin' even littler.

The Storyteller

Sun 09:12PM EST
"Well... yeeeah. It's kinda a bit of a bummer, really. There aren't even any girl bears here and talk about trying to find a decent bar! Just tea all they fuckin' drink is tea"

This was the teddy bear's conversation with James, as he was held between the Gnaswers two hands around the waist, glassy brown and black eyes blinking every so often.

The Storyteller

Sun 09:12PM EST
Under the bed there is the faint sound of nails scraping and scratching at wood.

Rune

Sun 09:14PM EST
Rune flashes Decker a glance and nods, faintly. Then her dark-eyed attention returns to goblin, as her fingers work deftly to pry one link from the long chain. The polish gets scratched, but - suprisingly enough - she hardly notices as she tosses the first promised link to the goblin.

"What's behind the small door? What's beneath the bed?"

The Storyteller

Sun 09:16PM EST
"The Hall and the band. Under the bed? Well..... ummm..." He gulps a little, looking nervously at the bed after snatching the promised chain link out of the air and wrapping a thick, chubby fist around it, so that it was out of sight.

"Stairs."

He then mumbles under his breath.

"And Erekia."

James

Sun 09:17PM EST
Alice got smaller to take the longer path..... Sarah took the path of least resistance and it became the long way to get to the castle....
apparently he is still paying attention

nodding at the bear

"So you haven't found a way back to Dimmy yet?"

The Storyteller

Sun 09:19PM EST
"Nooooo. No I haven't"

He looks around, twisting his bulbus head and 'scratching' at his cheek with one stubby paw.

Rune

Sun 09:19PM EST
"Is there a way out of the hall?" dark eyes lowering to focus on the chain in her hand, as she pries out a pair of links and tosses them to the creature in succession. "And I'll give you three links if you tell me everything you know about Erekia."

The Storyteller

Sun 09:22PM EST
"Yes, well, right. I guess there is a way out of the Hall. Ummm... and as for Erekia. He's big. He's stony. He likes to tear things assunder... ummm... he does weird things with yogurt and goats... and don't insult his mother, he really doesn't like that."

He picks at his nose, thinking a little more and you wonder just how much of his hand he can fit up a schnozz that large. He's definately giving the attempt his all as he contemplates Erekia.

"Oh and he has a door in his chest."

James

Sun 09:24PM EST
contemplation fills his silence
at least for a few moments

"What has prevented you?"

Rune

Sun 09:28PM EST
"What do you mean you guess there is a way out of the hall? Are there any doors other than that one?" She nods toward the door, dark hair swinging across her pale cheek, dark eyes lowering to focus on the links in her hands rather than the hand up the creature's nose.

"...and where does the door in Erekia's chest go?"

The Storyteller

Sun 09:29PM EST
"No fingers." The teddy bear waves his stubby little arms around to show his point.

The Storyteller

Sun 09:30PM EST
"The Hall? Never walks down it that far, how should I know?"

He picks his nose and then looks at what came out with his roughly shorn nail.

"As for Erekia, do I look like a brave man to you? I'm a lover not a fighter."

Decker Rohl

Sun 09:32PM EST
James is talking to a teddy bear. Rune is talking to a goblin. Decker...folds into a crouch after a moment, opening the door up and looking through it at the hall.

Rune

Sun 09:33PM EST
Two more links. One more glance shearing away from the creature, as a smirk crawls across her face.

"You gonna eat that?" with a nod toward the uhm... buried treasure he managed to recover. (Yes, sometimes she's 12.) "Is it tasty?"

Two. Three. Four more links, tossed in his direction.

"Do you know anyone who's been that far down the hall?" Another pause, the flash of a half-smile. "And, about Erekia, how do you know he has a door in his chest if you've not been down there?"

The Storyteller

Sun 09:34PM EST
Decker can spy a vast golden hall with no ceiling that he can percieve. Directly across from him six munchikins wave, all of them wearing heavy metal gear and tuning various instruments.

Decker Rohl

Sun 09:40PM EST
Decker gets down on all fours, putting his head close to the ground to look in through the door. Finally he calls down at the waving munchkins, "Hell's in there?"

The Storyteller

Sun 09:40PM EST
The goblin just rolls his 'treasure' into a nasty little goblet ball and flicks it across the room, all the while smiling lecherously up at Rune. Kinda that Hey baby, how ya doin'? look.

"I've seen Erekia, just never been through the door."

The Storyteller

Sun 09:41PM EST
Of all the band members, one of the little white munchikins, the drummer by all appearences, seems to not be entirely confused by the question . He gives Decker a Bill&Ted type grin and thumbs up.

"A hall, dude!"

James

Sun 09:42PM EST
Decker crawling
Rune still bargaining
and the Gnawer is talking to a toy

"What did you need fingers for?"

noting that, obviously, you don't always need them to open doors
wolves don't have fingers, either
and they got in here, didn't they?

Rune

Sun 09:43PM EST
Rune rolls her eyes, and settles into an exagerattedly hip-slung slouch. If the creepy disgusting little man wants to smile lecherously up at her while answering her questions, she'll give him something at which to leer.

"So. The door. ...is actually in his torso, as opposed to the sort of chest in which one stores treasures. Do you know where the door goes?"

The Storyteller

Sun 09:43PM EST
"Yeah, but that door has a door handle, man." He gestures with one studdy arm towards the direction of Decker, of which they now have a nice view of his ass.

Bastian, meanwhile, has stopped exploring the vast amount of teddy bears and cocks his head to one side, looking at Decker's ass as it sticks into the air.

The Storyteller

Sun 09:45PM EST
"Yes, its in his torso. As for where it leads, that is beyond my knowledges, little miss."

He poses like a superhero in the nurses outfit, trying to outdo Rune's posturing or maybe just trying to impress her.

Rune

Sun 09:47PM EST
"Who sleeps in that bed?" Rune asks abruptly, shifting from foot to foot as she tosses the goblin another two links, as her eyes glide toward the oversized blue bed.

The dark eyes narrow and pause in Bastian - staring at Decker's ass - along the way. Smirk.

Decker Rohl

Sun 09:48PM EST
Decker straightens up, about to slam the door on the munchkins, and then thinks better of it. Leaning down again, "There a way outta the hall?"

Bastian had a nice view of his ass what with his jacket pulling up and his pants sagging down. The waistline of his boxers ride about three and a half inches over the waistline of the jeans in standard ghetto-thug style - until, of course, Decker feels the eyeballs and reaches back to tug the pants up.

"Like a...fuckin' exit 'r somethin'?"

James

Sun 09:48PM EST
a brow lifts
bears obviously haven't learned of tools or traction
he can't help but wonder if Bastion could be any more interested, perhaps if Decker's tail were flagging through the air?
(that's just wrong, James)

"Do you know what's down that hall, beyond the band? Or where the door in Erekia's chest leads?"

The Storyteller

Sun 09:52PM EST
"No one. Have you seen how high the fuckin' thing is??"

The goblin seems truly amazed at the question and the sheer idea of someone managing to drawl into the bed.

The drummer, quite some distance away, strains to hear what Decker was saying and then nods slowly, almost becoming hypnotic in the gesture. Someone was definately stoned.

"Down that way." he points to the right. "for half an hour, turn 180 degrees and you'll find a laneway. If you go that way." he points to the left "That's our house."

The bear, clasped by James who hasn't learned how to use tools apparently, scratched his cheek again.

"Nope and nope. I been in here for awhile now. They done me for drink drivin'."

James

Sun 09:55PM EST
one can drive, but not open a door?

"And what would happen if I left you here......?"

brow lifting to ask the name

Decker Rohl

Sun 09:54PM EST
Decker grunts something akin to a thank-you and shuts the door on the munchkins. Turning around, he settles his weight on his heels and rubs a hand over his bristly scalp.

Ask 'im if Erekia likes anythin'. Like a bribe. 'Cause down that way's a bunch'a stoned l'il people.

James

Sun 09:55PM EST
one can drive, but not open a door?

"And what would happen if I left you here......?"

brow lifting to ask the name

Rune

Sun 09:55PM EST
"Yeah. I saw how fucking high that thing is."

Rune tosses the goblin another link, then settles her hands on the curve of her hips, fingers of her left hand still cupped carefully about the remaining links. She's turning back toward James and Decker when she thinks of another question.

"...so. Any idea what Erekia would take in trade for us going through his door?"

The Storyteller

Sun 09:57PM EST
Bastian examines a chest in one corner, opening it and rifling through the contents which was mainly toys. A shrug, closing the chest again. He slides his hands back into his pocket, glancing over at James for a moment, shaking his head to himself at a thought that came to mind. Patience is a virtue, but in this place... this was just bizarre.

The goblin, deep in conversation and perve-mode with Rune, scratches his thinning gray hair that sticks out from under the bonnet.

"Not 'less you have two cows, an oxen and a horse."

The Bear: "I'd go back to the corner."

The Storyteller

Sun 09:57PM EST
The bear did sound rather depressedly resigned at the idea of spending more time in the company of stuffed animals.

Rune

Sun 10:01PM EST
"Do you know where I could find two cows, an oxen and a horse?" Another link sparkles end over end, as it sails toward the goblin, flung from Rune's pale fingers. The chain clinks satisfyingly in her hand as she draws it against her abdomen and glances around the room.

Y'all seen any toys like that?

The Storyteller

Sun 10:02PM EST
"Maybe in the fields?"

Did he look like a farmer to you? No... he looked like a fat little goblin in a nurse's outfit.

James

Sun 10:02PM EST
Got it covered
flick of a glance towards his packmates
there's a slow nod
back to the bear

"Precisely.... stuck here, no girly bars, no beer, just these stuffed animals and tea..... lots of tea.... and no fingers to get you out of.... what was the name of this place again?"

Decker Rohl

Sun 10:03PM EST
Decker opens up the door again and sticks his head down near the floor to call through it.

"Got any cows, oxen 'n horse near yer house?"
Worth a shot.

The Storyteller

Sun 10:03PM EST
The Bear: "Happy Dales."

The Storyteller

Sun 10:04PM EST
The munchikin drummer in heavy metal gear thinks about it, chewing on a lip for a moment.

"No, but I'm pretty sure there are some near the laneway, dude."

The Storyteller

Sun 10:06PM EST
Something moves apart from the munchikins, which would not doubt catch Decker's attention and imagination. There was a little guy burling down the hall, on the right for the munchikins, in a small buggy towards the laneway. The buggy is drawn by two purple cows, a giant rainbow oxen. His only passenger is a horse with a multicolored mohawk. They were moving at break-neck speeds.

The Storyteller

Sun 10:08PM EST
The drummer notices the buggy and points towards it, moving in slow motion.

"There?"

James

Sun 10:08PM EST
again, that slow nod

"How was Happy Dale created, Bear?"

since he didn't give a name
and sometimes you can't help the whim questions
since it seems Decker and Rune are covering the other bases

The Storyteller

Sun 10:09PM EST
The bear shrugs stuffed shoulders. "I dunno. Do I look like I get out much?"

Rune

Sun 10:14PM EST
Rune's eyes narrow faintly, and she glances toward Decker, head tilted to catch the munchkin's reply, not wasting another question on the goblin as this point. She crosses the room and offers the remaining length of chain to Decker - his pockets are deeper, and therefore a little more convenient for carrying the last 10 inches of the chain.

"Thanks for your help." tossed over her shoulder toward the goblin. "One more question," she murmurs, fingering the chain lightly. "If bathe and shrink to fit through that door, can we bathe again and get bigger once we come back through?"

The Storyteller

Sun 10:14PM EST
Beneath their feet, almost undetectable to the eye at first, the carpet slowly starts to swirl and change. The once perfectly white walls start to become smoke stained and the bed gets a hardened appearence. There was also the sound of twisting and creaking wood as the room appears to be growing in width.

Bastian lifts one of his feet, looking down at where the carpet used to be under that particular spot but now has a look of brown tiles.

"Curious." Mummured to himself before he looks up at his unwilling companions.

"I suggest we pick a door and leave some time soon, children."

The bear, held still in Jame's hand, starts to warp in the Gnawers hands. His ears begint o get longer, as does his snout. A puppy like tail starts to develop, as does the soft beat of a heart.

The Storyteller

Sun 10:16PM EST
"Should you need to. I guess so." Slowly even the goblin was changing, although not in appearence, merely in clothing. The skirt of his nurses' outfit elongating into checked pants and the bonnet rearranging itself into a chef's hat.

James

Sun 10:18PM EST
shoulders shrug beneath the tattered trench
mimicking the bear

"I don't know, thought maybe you would have heard something, somewhere, in passing or whatever. So give me a good reason, Bear, of why I should take you with us, back to the land of girly bars and beer. You don't get out much, so you couldn't have any useful information anymore than what you've already told me..... so what would pay your trip, Bea......"

blinking
looking around as things begin to warp and change
a warmth replacing fluffy cotton against his hands

"..... Puppy."

a glance to Rune
he'll fit through
hefts the be....er..... pup a bit
to anyone else it would seem like he was just pointing this oddity among oddities out, right?

Rune

Sun 10:18PM EST
"Don't refer to us as children." The wintry smirk is directed at Bastian. "Particularly when you're not doing a fucking thing to help."

Dark eyes lift from the changing carpet, and her words go to her packmates on Eagle's wings. I think we do the munchkin thing, get the animals, and try to make it back to get through the door in the... thing's chest. Anyone prefer something else?"

Decker Rohl

Sun 10:21PM EST
Decker grunts as he sees the animals waltzing past. Ain't got a better plan. Still, I don't gotta like it.

What appears easiest often isn't. Nonetheless, the Modi gets up and heads for the basin, hands poised to wash.

We doin' this? Or we gonna try to send that damn dog?

The Storyteller

Sun 10:22PM EST
The puppy, now fully formed, licks James face with enthusiasm. The floor is now almost fully tiled like that of the kitchen. Or bathroom. Take your pick. The bed has alsot taken on a very bench-like appearence and most of the toys have being converted into various foods.

Rune

Sun 10:23PM EST
"Puppy."

Dark brows rising as she returns James' glance, red mouth curving into a much more generous smirk than was offered to Bastian a moment before.

"We'll take you with us if you go through the door and come back with two cows, the ox, and the horse we need. "

Send the dog. If it doesn't work, we can always follow him.

The Storyteller

Sun 10:26PM EST
The goblin, now fully garbed as a chef, leans over to Rune and whispers.

"It's just a puppy."

He looks more concerned for the safety of the puppy and slightly hungry.

James

Sun 10:26PM EST
there's a half-smile beneath the...... bath
a pat on the head after setting the puppy down
it helps, or it gets left
(or it runs off into the distance never to be seen again)
decisions aren't his to make

The Storyteller

Sun 10:29PM EST
Bastian shakes his head again with something akin to a soft sign and walks to the basin that Decker was hunkered near. He splashes his face with water, rinsing his hands in the process.

To those standing in the room he vanishes, but they can see him not outside the small door, regular compared to the munchikins.

The puppy bolts out the door, seeming to change size to equate with Bastian's on the other side of the door.

Rune

Sun 10:32PM EST
"Fuck." Rune murmurs, as James sets the puppy down on the tiled floor, dark eyes sliding from the puppy now bolting through the door back toward the goblin. "...well, I guess we bathe."

Nostrils flaring with irritation, Rune follows Bastian's example. If it's bad, I'll warn you guys when I get there. If you don't hear from me... a lilting shrug as she dips her hands into the water. ...maybe you should wait for the room to change again.

"Thanks," she flashes a smirk toward the chef before dipping her hands in the water.

The Storyteller

Sun 10:36PM EST
Rune finds herself in the grand golden hall standing, no doubt, a little too close to Bastian for comfort. At her feet, behind her, is where she came from. A small victorian doll's house and on the wall is a picture of a door. Other than Bastian and the puppy, the only other occupants to the eyes are the heavy metal Munchikin Band and the buggy disappearing into the distance.

The only thing that Bastian says, looking from Rune to the tiny open door of the doll's house is...

"How curious..."

Decker Rohl

Sun 10:39PM EST
Decker shoots James a glance. He didn't like the pack splitting up. He didn't like letting Rune to go off alone. Nor would he like leaving James behind, alone. Nor did he like everyone marching through at once. Nor did he like--

Rock. Hard place. Eyebrows rise: We stayin' or goin'?

Rune

Sun 10:43PM EST
I'm fine. Not dead or anything. It's all rather... she takes two steps away from Bastian and toward the band, in the direction of the disappearing buggy. ...well. C'mon through before that exit disappears as well.

She flashes Bastian an irritated glance, and then continues following the buggy.

The Storyteller

Sun 10:44PM EST
Above them, the ceiling of the grand golden hall, was not blue but a strange twilight purple with clouds constantly shifting pattern across the open area and every once and awhile rain, hail, or snow would fall from the clouds onto the unsuspecting below. To watch the ceiling of the hall was akin to watching a nature video of the sky in time-lapse.

The Muchikins were now staring at Bastian and Rune, stoned eyed wide and glazed... finally one of them utters...

"Gnarly..."

Bastian turns his head to watch Rune, catching her irritated glance and merely raises an eyebrow in reply. Infuriating, wasn't he?

James

Sun 10:45PM EST
he?
does not like this situation either
and he's half a mind to say something about it
(but knows better)
most definitely wanting to protest at that shrug
(he ..REALLY.. knows better)
sighing deeply in thought
brows raising a bit in reply
She told us to wait, but I don't like it.

that's about when her voice comes through
decision made
(no, that isn't sheer relief Decker's seeing, honest)
he heads to wash in the basin

Decker Rohl

Sun 10:49PM EST
As James heads toward the basin, Decker's already washing up. Water splashes over his face and when he opens his eyes, he's the size of a munchkin, standing in front of the munchkin door.

He waits for James to catch up and go through first (leave no man behind), and then the Modi brings up the rear.

Rune

Sun 10:52PM EST
Rune flashes the munchkins the universal symbol of heavy metal rock fans everywhere (she saw it in Wayne's World. She was never into hair bands herself.) as she passes them. Her feet ring out on the gold floor, as she passes them swiftly, careful to keep the disappearing buggy in her sight.

It doesn't matter that the other path is closed (maybe it'll open again?). It's just that the buggy, the cows, the ox, the horse, the price, the other door - is the only thread of logical connection remaining in the topsy turvy world. She's not going to lose that. Not yet.

Half-a-eye out for her packmates behind her, and her thoughts flow to them too.

Following the buggy. Thing. Don't think the band knows much. Ideas welcome.

The Storyteller

Sun 10:59PM EST
Bastian, hands in pockets as always, follows Rune at a more leisurely pace, nodding his head politely to the Munchikins in passing. He starts to whistle the theme from Wizard of Oz as he continues to walk across the golden floor of the vast hall.

James

Sun 11:02PM EST
he doesn't bother keeping a logical connection anymore
(he was just talking to a teddy bear that morphed into a puppy, after all)
jogging a few paces to catch up to Rune
knowing the Modi keeps right behind him
(a vampire and three werewolves walked into a bar....)
skirting around Bastion
only slowing when he's just to her left flank
the band was ignored
the ever-changing sky recieves only a glance
(it seems rationality and logic abandoned them long ago)
shoulders rolling in a shrug
Not. a. clue.

Decker Rohl

Sun 11:05PM EST
Maybe we oughta catch up to the buggy... The Modi's thoughts form a third voice to their two, as he comes abreast of Rune at her right side for a moment, casting a glance across his packmates before simply...dropping forward, his body swinging rigidly down as though he were a door, and his feet the hinge, as though he had simultaneously tripped on a rock and lost the ability to bend his joints -

- hits the ground a grey wolf, and breaks into a steady ground-eating lope after the buggy.

The Storyteller

Sun 11:06PM EST
In the distance, some way off and now small to the eye, the buggy does a 180 and starts to come charging back towards them. However, it doesn't grow in size as it does so, always that small size, and then...

Poof

It vanishes in midair.

At this point they also pass a sign that they didn't percieve earlier that has an arrow pointing in the direction that they were already going that reads:
Laneway 20 Mins

Rune

Sun 11:15PM EST
The laneway, then.

She doesn't even sound surprised anymore, not when the buggy turns around, not when if fails to grow in size as it should, not when it vanishes. Right now, she wouldn't be surprised if Decker put on a pink tutu and started belting out show tunes while perfecting his tap dancing routine and petting a bunny rabbit and making eyes at Bastian. Nope. None of that would surprise her a bit.

So, when they draw abreast of the sign for the laneway, Rune slows to a somewhat slower pace, hitching a half-step so that she and James can walk abreast as Decker forward and ahead of them. She has the sudden, strange urge to reach out and take his hand, but manages to supress it in favor of a casual brush of her hand across his shoulder, a faint twist of her torso towards his, so his swinging arm grazes her flank.

High-ho, high-ho. It's off to the laneway they go.

Decker Rohl

Sun 11:16PM EST
...uuh.

The Fenrir stops ahead of them, one forepaw raised as the words filter through his lupine senses and find meaning (of a sorts) in the core of his mind.

20 mins..?

The Storyteller

Sun 11:19PM EST
"We're late, we're late, we're late for an important date."

The words coming from Bastian as he walked behind the trio of Fuzzballs, breaking his whistling of the theme of the Twilight Zone to do so.

James

Sun 11:20PM EST
well, there's that too
or.... there was that... too
he hadn't quite gotten into his shift yet when the buggy turned
and charged
and fuckin' disappeared

oh that's just lovely

there's just a sigh
will somebody please hand him his ruby slippers now?
Size ten and a half, please. Thank you.
It'll take 20 minutes to get there, Decker.
probably no matter how fast they move
turning somewhat to look at the vampire
a brow lifting in the frame of heavy dreads
allowing his weight to shift shoulder against Rune's

"You've been rather quiet through this, Bastion. Are you going to continue to wait for us to do everything and get you back home, or are you going to start being helpful instead of contrite? Tell me about New Jersey, why he would create that little box to get us here and what, if anything, you percieve as a plausible plan for getting the hell back home."

Decker Rohl

Sun 11:25PM EST
Even as James speaks, Decker's teeth grind together hard enough for Rune to hear. If the little vampire didn't shut it soon - or get helpful soon - he was gonna....

The Storyteller

Sun 11:30PM EST
He considered James' comment for some time, as if drawing his thoughts out on purpose or considering what he would and would not tell the trio.

"This seems to be far-fetched, even for New Jersey, although should this be of his construction, then even I would find even myself in fear of his whims in the future."

A pause.

"Indeed, if there is a future."

Rune

Sun 11:37PM EST
"That?" Rune's dark brows lift as she follows James' spin, but she still keeps walking - so slowly - backwards, so as not to prolong their journey to the laneway even while chatting with the oh-so-charming leech with whom they have been saddled. "...was not helpful."

The words are flatly spoken. She heard the grind of Decker's teeth. Now James can hear the grind of her own teeth, can feel - faintly - the curl of her fists swinging at her side as she continues walking slowly backward.

James

Sun 11:38PM EST
the Gnawer actually..... stops
rather than just looking over his shoulder
hands sliding into his pockets
dark eyes raise to the sky
contemplating the shifts of weather high above

"That wasn't very helpful, Bastion."

and he just.... watches the sky
for another dozen seconds or so
musing

"So why bother going home? Sort've like the Fire Swamps..... we can get used to it given some time. At least we have that here, rather than the question of whether or not the future even exists.... think about it. No wars. No sewers. Just happy little bandmembers with their happy little songs. Just happy little chain hogging trolls. We're in the happy. Little. Box."

the smile turns on Bastion
savage
gleaming

"What on earth do we have to worry about.... what's your rush back, Bastion?"

The Storyteller

Sun 11:41PM EST
"Time is only a perifial concern for one such as myself, as I am assuming you have discovered, judging by your charming sentiments towards me, my dear." That comment directed at Rune before he slowly tilts his head, studying James curiously.

"I'm in not particular hurry, as you have probably noticed, but I do have things to attend to that would be quite difficult to accomplish in this... how did you put it? Happy little box?"

He arches an eyebrow sardonically.

"If we are indeed in a box."

The Storyteller

Sun 11:45PM EST
"I doubt it will relax your overt display of paranoia and annoyance, but if you must know - New Jersey is of a similar ilk as myself. Different family, same shit."

Yes, the polite well ennuciated facade of his voice dropped away towards the end of the commentary. He was no doubt as frustrated as they were, but he had more practise dealing with bizarre happenings than them.

Decker Rohl

Sun 11:47PM EST
Decker, too, has stopped. Thus far, though, the Modi's back remains turned. Likely because the sight of Bastian's too-young too-pretty face would further inspire him to return it to so much mush.

"'N why would 'New Jersey' wanna put yer ass in a box?"
Besides the obvious, that is.
"'N how the did he do it?"

The Storyteller

Sun 11:50PM EST
"New Jersey is prone to do what every he wishes on a whim. His family is not known for sanity, after all. As to how he did it, I am not a student of such arts as his family possesses."

A breeze picks up, stirring the clouds high above them as they take on a rainbow hue that casts a brighter coloring, almost like sunlight through a diamond, across the gold floor. The words "Belial Eborua Lovari Iravol Avrobe Laileb" whisper through their senses, followed closely by a shower of many multicolored jewels that were, at smallest, half an inch in diameter and an inch at the largest.

James

Sun 11:52PM EST
"I don't think it matters if Happy Dale is in a box or over the river and through the woods, do you, Bastion? What matters...."

he actually takes a step towards the vampire
that same easy grin still plastered around his teeth
if someone is annoyed and paranoid?
it certainly isn't him

".... is that you want to get home, too. So why not lend a hand rather than run the commentary, hm? Your normal wit and charm is not quite up to par and your avoidances help nobody."

there's only a soft laugh, then
you know when you get past the point where everything just becomes amusing?
yea.

"He's one of the Kooks, isn't he?"

once more, kids, those urban legends are popping up truths
but this is obviously not the work of someone that's conventionally sane
and he had heard about one branch of the family tree that was a little wobblier than the others

Rune

Sun 11:53PM EST
"Gee, that's helpful." Rune snots, turning her fucking back on the vampire and walking. the. hell. away. "...because, you know, I never would've gussed, considerign the corpse and the stink and you and the creepy bone coffin and fucking what-not. Hell, no. I never would have guessed.

"Actually," ...and here goes all her frustration, all her vitriol and anger, sharp words hissed past curving red lips, short and clear and bitten off. "Before you fuckin' clarified that, I was thinking that New Jersey was your blue-footed purple-nosed winged tinkerbell of a gnome boyfriend. Or, you know, a talking car. Next year from Disney? Bastian and the fucking love bug. It's the new Chitty Chitty Bang Bang with a touch of fucking Lestat thrown into the mix.

"Now." still walking. Still. walking. Rune holds out her hands and watches the, ah, gems fall from the ceiling sky. Or whatever. She wasn't going to think about it to closely. Nice and calm and controlled, she continues, mostly (at this point) for her own amusement. "Lemme guess. You have no idea what those words just meant?"

The Storyteller

Mon 12:00AM EST
Bastian is disturbed by the fall of jewels, but seems to take no harm from the hard stones falling upon them. He raises a hand to sheild only his face, frowning breifly before speaking to James once again.

"Completely fucking nuts is another term commonly used."

His eyes shift slowly to Rune while she was running off steam, raising an eyebrow and merely looking... bemused.

"I believe Belial is a demon of some ilk. One of the four princes of Hell, I believe. Reassuring, isn't it?"

Up in the sky is a transparent image of a small forlorn boy looking down upon them, tears streaming down his face. He mouths the words "Get the bad man away from me..." Then a taloned hand reaches out and covers the boy's face, which is pulled away from sight. In his place is the pale face of an old man with jet black eyes and teeth, two black curling horns protruding from his temples. He yells "WELCOME FRIENDS!" which is followed by maniacal laughter as he fades from few in the skyline.

Sebastian, having watched thes, pointed up to where the visages were and says far too calmly (snap).

"That was definately not New Jersey."

Then the falling jewels turn to soft, warm gummi bear lollies and throughout the land a child-like scream can be heard.

James

Mon 12:06AM EST
"Considering they were saying the same thing forwards and backwards it only negated itself, didn't it."

shrugged
head shaking to dislodge some of the jewels... and then gummi bears out of thick dreads
the theater of the sky didn't impress him
and that scream isn't sending chills up and down his spine beneath the trenchcoat
he turns?
and just starts walking again
how far to the Emerald City again?

The Storyteller

Mon 12:10AM EST
"If you had listened closely you would have noticed that two of the words were actually different. I wouldn't count on anything being negated just yet."

He slides the hand that was sheilding his face back into his pocket after picking a gummi bear out of his hair, flicking it aside before catching another in his palm and popping it into his mouth, sucking.

The puppy was still following them, running in mad circles, eating all the sticky lollies littering the golden floor.

The Storyteller

Mon 12:12AM EST
Barely two minutes pass before the come to another sign, directly in the center of the hallway. It reads:

Laneway 180 degrees

Rune

Mon 12:13AM EST
One foot in front of the other. The other in front of the first.

And on, and on, and so on. Some demon-thing comes into the sky, and a child cries. Jewels fall from the ceiling and turn into sticky gummi bears. A puppy runs around.

Rune flips Bastian off and walks. ever. forward.

Until the sign, of course, catches her eye. Well, then. 180 degrees?

Rune spins on her heels. The laneway better be there, or she's gonna find someone's ass to kick.

The Storyteller

Mon 12:15AM EST
When Rune turns everyone has caught up to her regardless of where they were originally, staring at her in the face (or crotch, depending on form) from only a few inches away. Behind them, in front of her, is an L turn to her left. There was a glimpse of the buggy disappearing around the corner of the L turn.

James

Mon 12:18AM EST
lips twitch as he repeats the phrasing again
brows lifting

"You're right."

though he doesn't seem to particularly care
180 degrees, huh?
seems about where the buggy was
so he just does an about-face within step
rotating weight on the ball of his foot
he's not about to charge, though
he'll just keep walking

oh look. buggy. yay.

The Storyteller

Mon 12:21AM EST
Sebastian turns as well, watching the buggy charge around the corner and vanish from sight again. He does a flowing, flowerly (vaguely sarcastic) gesture for Rune to proceed - since she appeared to be the one that the two boys were paying heed to.

Rune

Mon 12:23AM EST
........aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand forward march. Rune has the sudden urge to link arms with her packmates, and skip off after the buggy like an extra in the Wizard of Oz trying out for the Dorothy role. She doesn't.

Instead, she walks in the wake of the buggy. around the L-turn, and so on, while fumbling through her pocket for cigarettes, lighter, little bag of pot. The last is stuffed back into her pocket as she walks onward, lighting a cigarette as she goes.

She really. really. needed that first poisoned puff.
You don't know how much she needed it.

The Storyteller

Mon 12:29AM EST
Each time that smoke falls from Rune's mouth, it emerges as smoke encapsuled in bubbles that rise upwards and upwards and upwards... and you get the idea.

Turning the corner, as there didn't seem to be any other way to go, they come upon a set of Three Doors.

The one to their left was old rugged wood with the following scribbled upon it in bright colored crayon:

'Twas brillig, and the slithey toves

The right door was made of gold with black embossed letters emblazened across it that read: SCHELAGON

The door directly in the middle was nice wooden door with a stainglass window (view obscured by the pretty, frilly curtain on the other side) with a letter slot that has Tea Party on a tag above the slot. There was a fine sand spilled around the bottom of the door.

Decker Rohl

Mon 12:32AM EST
Decker looks up at the scribblings on the wall. The writing on the wall. It's fuckin' there, he's fuckin' seeing it, and it don't make no sense.

Twas brillig, and the slithey toves. SCHELAGON. Tea party.
What. The. Fuck?

Someone hasn't read his Lewis Carroll. No matter if the smoke's coming out in bubbles. He reaches out, 'borrows' the cigarette from his packmate's mouth, and takes a drag. Coughs. Hands it back. Goes down smoother than pot, but he still didn't have to like it.

James

Mon 12:36AM EST
the vampire flounces
the Walker stresses
the Fenrir seeths
and the Gnawer?
just strolls

the same ground eating stroll they see on the Jersey streets
he can go anywhere and not look like he's putting out the effort
it's energy efficient and sufficient for his needs
it's a casual reach that stretches to steal the cigarette in its jouney back to Rune
deep drag pulled into ample lungs
the smoking stick handed back as his head, then, leans back
picing his tongue up from the hollow of his jaw
blowing smoke rings towards the ever-changing sky

half disappointed they aren't pink
or bubbly like Rune's
then his head tilts, infront of the doors
pointing to each in turn

the slithey toves
"Jabberwocky."
schelagon
"I have no idea."
tea party
"Alice in Wonderland."

another long breath

"Do we want flaming dragons or a hat tricks with a tea party before croquette with the Queen?"

The Storyteller

Mon 12:38AM EST
Bastian gestures towards the golden door, clearing his throat slightly. See, he was going to be helpful. Wasn't he nice?

"I suggest we avoid that door, on principles sake, based on the other Abramelin commentary so far. Unless you feel that a demon is the least of the three evils?"

Rune

Mon 12:42AM EST
With three Garou sucking on the cigarette, well, it burns down pretty quickly. So Rune lights another one, ignoring the bubbles of smoke spilling from her mouth, offering it around to everyone.

Well, everyone except the leech, that is. Fucking leech.

Her mouth tightens into an unattractive line before curling outward into a familiar smirk.

You've read 'em, James, haven't you? What do you think?

(You didn't think she was going to let the leech in on this conversation, did you?)

"Thanks." The curt word spills bubbling smoke in Bastian's direction. "That was somewhat helpful. So. glad you came along."

The Storyteller

Mon 12:48AM EST
The door marked 'schelagon' opens and the little goblin from earlier in the dool house comes out wrapped in a thick, snow covered fur wrap. A mutter...

"Damn that's cold. Next time they can clean theur own teeth."

He pays no attention to the four of them debating which door to choose, opens the one marked Tea Party, enters and closes it behind him.

James

Mon 12:52AM EST
there's a slow nod
taking the smoke for his turn
ignoring Hoggle
just as if they were passing a joint on Rune's couch back home
and the troll was just some strange cartoon at 6am
somewhat pleased the smoke comes out blue this time
Jabberwocky ends with a big fight against the dragon, I think it's a vorpal sword that kills it - which I don't think any of us thought to bring unless Bastion has one hidden up his sleeve, I don't know if an axe will do glance slid towards Decker, and the smoke handed over ..... Alice goes on trial before the Queen for the theft of tarts, so that's a battle of wits versus brawn....... and I have no idea what the demon thing is about.....

Rune

Mon 12:56AM EST
Nodding, faintly - accepting the cigarette from James and passing it back to Decker - Rune absorbs the information from James with a lowering frown.

No offense, but... not sure how we'll do with wits versus brawn, unless we get to be the brawn, or you get to be the wits. Or maybe we can just toss them witless over there - faint nod toward Bastian - and be done with it. Do they find the sword in the Jabberwocky poem, or is someone just carrying it around? If it's something we can track down in there, that's where I want to go. If not, looks like it's tea time.

The Storyteller

Mon 01:05AM EST
"Then again, I could be wrong about the Shelagon. Or I could be lying. Who knows? I am what I am, right?"

Ask for help or suggestions and then exclude the guy from conversation and little huddled trio. Someone was feeling unloved, perhaps? Or maybe the icy demeanor was finally starting to chip away - after all, they were all in this together... Of course, considering what he was and what they were, it was all the be expected. But it didn't have to be liked.

He slides a hand out of his pocket with a hait tie between two fingers. He gathers up his weaist-length raven hair, tying it back out of his young, alabaster skinned face.

James

Mon 01:12AM EST
there's a bit of a chuckle
glancing at Bastion

"We all are what we are, Bastion, the question is more whether or not you can endure the silences you treated us with while you waited.... all in good time."

the Gnawer is either asking for it
or doesn't care anymore
He already had his sword in hand while waiting by the Tumtum tree. It was a looking glass book though, read only in reflection.

The Storyteller

Mon 01:22AM EST
"Tiiiime is on my side..."

A faint singing lilt to his voice, lips curling at the corners with sour bemusement. For when they were naught but bones and dust there was a good chance that he would still be there - the Watcher of North Jersey. Time was on his side...

Rune

Mon 01:23AM EST
"They're changing the guards at Buckingham Palance," Rune mumbles - a half-remembered poem from her childhood. This is her only answer to Bastian as she takes a last drag off her cigarette and offers the remains to Decker and James. "Christopher Robin went down with Alice."

The pack had made its decision. It was as much a feeling as a word, shared between James and Rune, offered to Decker, then at last voiced in their minds. Tea Party. Let's not all go in together. Give me half a minute to give you the okay before coming through.

Long legged strides, the familiar creak of leather smooth against skin. She lifts a hand and shakes it through her hair, then exhales a long breath of smoke.

"And so are we."

Hand on the door. Door opening. One Glass Walker Ahroun walking through.

The Storyteller

Mon 01:26AM EST
Not that Bastian heard any of the plan, therefore he follows Rune through the door, perhaps glad that a decision had been made...

The Storyteller

Mon 01:31AM EST
On the other side of the door, for Rune's appraisal was an overgrown garden with all sorts of plants - from jungle to backyard. There was a mummur of a thousand voices whisperingfrom every direction that seems to grow louder as both Rune and Bastian enter via the door. Their steps take them directly onto a cracked concrete path and behind them... just the door and more garden stretching out. Through the open door, Rune can still see Decker, James and the puppy that is currently trying to attack Decker's shoes with mock ferocity. At the end of the path is a rusted gate, leaning against it on their side is... well, I guess nothing is odd here anymore, hmmm? ... the nervous little man from the bus station that had asked Rune for the time, save that he was now sporting rabbit ears and a fluffy tail. He was speaking to Mr. Tumnus, a fawn. They appeared to be sharing a bottle of elderberry whine.

Rune

Mon 01:38AM EST
S'all good guys. Well, except for the fucking leech. That's never good. But, you know. Just the guy from the bus station with bunny ears talking to a - uhm - animal. They've got booze, though, so I'm happy.

Offered back at the pair of packmates through her mind. She doesn't pause to wait for them, though. Rune just continues to walk forward, offering a chin lifting nod to the nervous man from the bus station.

"Wassup? Y'all wanna give me directions on how to get back to the bus station, or should I just keep on walking?"

Decker Rohl

Mon 01:40AM EST
James' complacence has not spread to Decker. If anything, the Modi was winding silently tighter with every passing moment, his impatience ratcheting up and up and up with every step. A snort precedes his stepping through the door.

James

Mon 01:40AM EST
part of him wants to remind Bastion that even though time may be on his side
and he may still be here long after their grandchildren's grandchildren have turned to dust
(unless, of course, Decker gets hisway)
the longer he is in Happy Dale with them
the less of his important business is getting done
trifle hard to conduct business when in the happy little box
but, as with other choice phrases of the journey
he does not share it out loud

a slight glance to the puppy growling at Decker's boot
which probably weighed more than it
sighing a bit
Why does... time.... keep coming up.
then just steps on through

White Rabbit
Mr. Tumnus
someone's mixing up their books
(like that's a surprise)

The Storyteller

Mon 01:47AM EST
The White Rabbit - if you'd like to call him that as James seems to think of the nervous man - turns to Rune with a wide lopsided grin of a drunk, cheeks flushed red.

"Why hello Alice!" He burps and staggers against the gate, throwing up at Mr. Tumnus' hooves. Mr. Tumnus looks at his hooves, pulling a grimace and staggers back - apparently he has been deep in the elderberyy wine as well.

"Ew!"

He then looks up at Rune, swaying as he focuses his eyes slowly and then smiles.

"Hello Child of Earth and Moon." When he notices James and Decker, he corrects himself."Children of the Earth of Moon..."

He bows to Bastian, grinning like a fool still and reeking of alcohol.

"Child of Caine..." he sees the dog and raises an eyebrow... hmmm.. "And.... puppy?"

A little confusion there as he stares at the puppy then shakes himself like he were drenched in water.

"As for the bus stop, I know of none. Maybe the lovely man in the hat can help you!"

Rune

Mon 01:55AM EST
"And puppy. Or teddy bear. He's having a bad day." Rune flashes the man a tight grin, and digs into her pocket for yet another cigarette. Lighting up, she breathes out a long stream of smoke and continues, "...well, maybe you can tell me how to find the lovely man in the hat?"

Anyone else have questions to ask? It's probably best that we keep moving, given all the damn time references. Or, whatever. Given the fact that it's something to do rather than standing around talking.

The Storyteller

Mon 02:00AM EST
"Just keep following the path, dear daughter of the earth or moon. Just keep following the path."

He offers her the bottle of elderberry wine, finds a small clump of grass and promptly passes out, snoring like a small child. The White Rabbit also appears to be out for the count, mumbling "Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock" in his sleep.

Bastian approached the gate without waiting for anyone, tugging it open and accidentally, the whole gate comes away in his hand, taking the post it was attached to with it. Ahem... he slowly turns and places the gate up against one of the trees, takes a deep unneeded breath to compose himself and... walks...

James

Mon 02:02AM EST
white rabbit
brer rabbit
thumper

either way
the library has combined the entire children's section into one unabridged volume
(or nightmare)
he's cool with it
more for your money
bigger bang for your buck
or whatever cliche fits in this ridiculousness
he just flashes both the men that easy grin
steps over the puddle of vomit
and right on up to the gate all the staggering back made way for
and that Bastion opened...... well.... rather Decker-esquely
(how cute)
strolling on through like it's just a walk in the damned psychadelic park

Rune

Mon 02:05AM EST
Well, well, well.

Rune manages a nod of thanks to the bunny-man, then follows in the leech's wake. At least if they were going to fall off a cliff or into a flaming pit of lava, the leech would go first.

That little thought brings an oddly lovely smile to Rune's red mouth, and she just... saunters on past, smoking and strolling in her James' and Bastian's respective wakes like she was walking down Fifth Avenue, heading straight toward Saks, that Silver Fang's check burning a freakin' hole in her wallet.

The Storyteller

Mon 02:11AM EST
Minutes, minutes, minutes, minutes. They pass and pass you by... like the sands of time through the hour glass... these are the Days of Our Lives... oh wait, wrong sort of reference... but you get the point... Fatigue seemed to leach into their bones and oddly enough it even seemed Bastian was losing his vigor. A leech... getting tired... uh oh, right?

The path was laid like a wave, weaving back and forth through a thick, rickly scented forest (not as thick as the original forest, no worries) until they hear the sound of clinking of china, mad laughter and really bad jokes.

Rune

Mon 02:15AM EST
"It's either a tea party, or an evening at the improv, or a weird combination of both. Might as well check it out, mightn't you Bastian?" Rune flashes him a faint smirk if he turns around to look at her. "Let us know what happens, won't you?"

James

Mon 02:16AM EST
he's used to walking across cities
but even he's getting tired, achey..... hungry too
not necessarily the cigarette smoker of the pack
but he damn well gets his share

long slow breath hearing the clinks up ahead
Here we go.

The Storyteller

Mon 02:17AM EST
One voice in the distance asks: "Where are your buccaneers?"

... a short pause and that voice laughs uproarishly loud... "On your buccan'ead!"

Bastian flashes Rune a look that could wither stone for a moment, then shrug and continues forwards... a lone it would seem. Through the trees and shrubbery, disappearing along the footpath into the clearing from where the voices were coming from.

The Storyteller

Mon 02:19AM EST
Bastian's voice is faint, barely a whisper of sound, just before he disappears...

"Or I could leave you behind..."

Then he was swallowed, as mentioned before, into the clearing and the party held within.

The Storyteller

Mon 02:21AM EST
Tick. Tock. Tick... Tock... Tick...

Then there is an ugodly scream of sheer undulating delight.

"BASTIAN!"

Shortly followed by the sound of flesh hitting flesh and a sharp crack of bone snapping under impact.

The Storyteller

Mon 02:24AM EST
Followed by girlie shrieks of dismay...

"Don't hurt his hat! I made that! Oh you bitch! You hit my friend!"

After which a small rat dressed in a rainbow colored coat, white vest, white pants and spats comes flying through the trees, hitting the ground, tumbling and ending up at Rune's feet looking the worse for wear.

Rune

Mon 02:26AM EST
Rune shrugs faintly as Bastian's voice drifts back to them. She listens for half-a-moment (no screams yet? Pity. She wouldn't mind - oh, there. That was nice. Too bad it wasn't someone else screaming.)

"Well, same routine. Y'all wanna wait here for a half-second while I go see if our potential hosts have eviscerated our erstwhile companion and whether they're inclined to do the same too us?" The words are offered over her shoulder - she's already heading toward the clearing - but even as she utters them, something else comes through via the totemphone. ...promise I'll be quick. Be ready, guys.

And with that - well - she stops and looks down at the rat.

"Your friends going to kill us if we walk into the clearing?"

James

Mon 02:29AM EST
he just.... stares... really
joke scream slap crack fling
not like he has much else to do
a glance to Rune
a glance to Decker
a glance back to Rune with yet another nod of acqueiscence
a glance to the rainbow doormou.....rat.... doing a flying squirrel impression
and not a very good one
shoulders rolling beneath the trench
already moving ahead, but slower, giving Rune that half minute
just because he's been calmer than than a dopefiend on payday doesn't mean he's not ready

The Storyteller

Mon 02:30AM EST
The rat dressed in a rainbow coat gets up, woozy, holding onto Rune's leg for support and shakes his head.

"No no... we're alll friends here..." his voice slurred, considering he went sailing through the air at a remarkable speed before impacting with the ground. He then straightens up and clears his throat, regaining his composure.

"Come join the birthday party. We have tea!"

Upon hearing the word 'tea' the puppy skids the halt and charges back to quiver behind James.

There is several more sounds of flesh hitting flesh and bone breaking in the distance.

Rune

Mon 02:33AM EST
"Great. That's just great. I'm really looking forward to meeting everyone." That grin on Rune's face? It's not a pretty thing. It's stretched at the corners, fragile as fucking glass. Oh, yeah: someone could go crazy. If someone ever considered psychedelics, she's crossing them off her list.

Too bad her Xanax was in the pocket of the ruined jacket.

Half-a-nod to her packmates, and Rune walks off into the clearing, long strides, wary dark eyes sweeping forward.

The Storyteller

Mon 02:39AM EST
Rune walks boldly forth into the clearing to see Bastian in a state she has never seen before. He looks well and truly shitty.

He was holding a weedy looking pale guy by the back of the neck attempting, it would seem, to drown him in a large bowl of punch, occasionally bringing him up and revealing half a crumpled face. If what Decker did to that kids' face with the wall after repeatedly smashing it into the wall looked nasty, this looked like it was done with a singular punch. The bones had caved in, the eyes was squishy goo and teeth were missing on one side of the other young man's face as blood poured out in dark waves, although it appeared to be healing of its own accord and rather quickly. The young man's arms also appeared to be on strange angles, as if broken, as were his legs.

Bastian notices Rune and takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck and then gently places the "Man In The Hat" back into one of the large chairs around the banquet table. He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wipes his hands clean of punch and blood. He stares at Rune, unblinking.

Rune

Mon 02:42AM EST
Rune can adapt.

"So, mind telling me why you did that, Bastian?" Dark eyes settle unwavering on the vampire, and her red mouth curves upward in a painful smile. "Or should I ask your friend?"

Haven't been attacked yet. C'mon through.

The Storyteller

Mon 02:44AM EST
The utter calm slueths back over Bastian like a mask as he raises an eyebrow at Rune before turning to the young man with a healing, yet still remarkably crumpled face, and takes the seat next to the other... well, it looked a lot like a vampire, so maybe it was one.

"Meet... New Jersey."

His voice dead pan and neutral as he he lifted on the forks off the table and inspected it, waving it at the other man when looking up breifly at Rune. There. That was an introduction.

James

Mon 02:45AM EST
soon enough, he rounds the corner
and seeing what's left of the guy.....
..... has this itchy feeling to call him....

Meet.... New Jersey

Bingo.

Decker Rohl

Mon 02:45AM EST
So Decker follows in the wake of his beta, side by side with James. By the time he gets there Bastian is likely all cleaned up again, leaving the mess that is Bastian's 'friend' something of a mystery.

Meet New Jersey.

Uh. Okay. Decker scowls at the venerable New Jersey, shifting his weight to balance between his feet. This s'pposed to be the fucker that landed us here? How we know if this Bastian fuck's tellin' the truth?

So he wasn't in the best of moods.

Rune

Mon 02:48AM EST
We don't. Rune's shoulders rise and fall in a faint, lilting shrug. But, our dear leech-friend-thing beat him the hell up, so, it's not a bad guess that he's telling the truth. More or less.

"Hi New Jersey. How about telling us how to get out of here? Or at least where we can take a nice, safe nap in your... lovely domain. Or whatever it is."

Decker Rohl

Mon 02:50AM EST
I meant, the mindvoice is very nearly a snarl - the Modi is tired, physically and not mentally, for the first time in god knows how long, how do we know New Jersey's the one responsible?

James

Mon 02:53AM EST
the Gnawer is strikingly quiet throughout their little exchange
he's prefer a nice nap at home if at all possible
silently studying the pair of leeches

The Storyteller

Mon 02:53AM EST
Bone reknits itself, skin slowly regrows and a napkin plus sucking fingers takes care of all the blood hanging like a stench on the air. New Jersey's eyes were really wide like a child that has been scolded and he doesn't understand entirely way, then something seems to dawn upon him and he jumps to his feet, spluttering blood from still healing cuts and bounces like a puppy on red cordial.

"You found my box! You came to rescue me! Oh I love you! I love you! I love you!"

He moves like a blur that is almost too hard for the eyes to watch and grabs Rune in a bear hug that was far too strong for such a small, wiry stature and plants a sloppy, bloody kiss on her cheek and then in another blurr he is back at the table and poised to hug Bastian, save for the fact he didn't stop in time and part of Bastian's fork was embedded in his chest.

"Don't touch me..." Deadpan voice issues from Bastian as he doesn't even bother to look at New Jersey, or the fork now slid into the other vampire's chest.

New Jersey has halted and jiggles from foot to foot like he needs to go to the bathroom or he just really wants to hug Bastian, his savior, or so he thinks.

"Where do we rest in this place, whelp?" The sound of the ages weighs his voice now, age beyond anything that the Garou could possibly comprehend. Beyond anything of their lifetimes, for sure. Age and the emotions stirred by that amount of time spent in one body, one lifestyle. It all hangs there, making the young-looking man seem so much older than his appearance.

New Jersey bites one lip and bobs his head, gesturing all around him with a wave of his arms.

"Anywhere and everywhere."

Decker Rohl

Mon 02:57AM EST
Decker takes.
One.
Step.
Forward.

His voice is quiet as ice cracking a million miles away. "Rescue you?"

James

Mon 02:58AM EST
his brow furrows a bit
watching the boy turn ancient turn boy once more
..... odd
and his head tilts
he wants to know one thing before even considering closing his eyes in this place
waiting after the Modi's question crackles glacier freeze in the nice garden
before voicing his own question

"Who was it that had your box, New Jersey?"

he'd like to stop thinking of the staked vampire as Graff Orlock, personally

The Storyteller

Mon 03:01AM EST
"Of course rescue me! This place is absolutely bonkers!" New Jersey has the eyes of a crazy man - someone who isn't all there - and he was calling this place crazy. Either the pot was calling the kettle black or this was a worse situation than they originally thought.

His wide child-like eyes turn to James next, heading bobbing up and down as if thinking about the words.

"All I wanted was an itty bitty peek in the tin. And whoooomp here I am! I wasn't meant to be here! It was meant for them damned rats... They all stink! They should be sucked into boxes! But..." his face crumples and he looks close to tears... "I had to look! And I've been here for soooooooo long! I want to go home now, please!"