2023-04-07 HH: Penetration Testing
HH: Penetration Testing
Participants: Brandon Enzo Francesca Kaz River Wren
Storyteller: Elyse
Location: Cecil Hotel Pop-up Night Market
Date and Time: April 7, 2023 10:20 pm
Summary: During a minor block party and pop-up night flea market, some of the members of the Sept of the Smiling Angel encounter a woman possessed.
Mood Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ak7BQaaizlM – The Becoming by Nine Inch Nails
There's a brisk pop-up night market going on near the Cecil Hotel; a couple of old tent awnings have been placed to create little spots for people to lay out a variety of different things, from home baked goods to dubious people just hanging about and getting folks' attention. Any impromptu gathering is not necessarily nefarious, but it can bring some chaos to the outer Bawn; and people from Skid Row proper have started to filter into the Flower District upon hearing about the market.
Going strong since about 7pm, it's now around 10pm; people have set up stereos with speaker systems linked up via Bluetooth and more traditional aux cables. Different varieties of hip-hop, trap, and EDM bounces and reverberates around the street, and cars are naturally deviating away to find safer and less obnoxious passage elsewhere.
Clear skies tonight; the crescent moon looks like a gash of a smile in the sky. Luna in her mystery, watching from above. There is a strange feeling in the air, a kind of current that shivers through the city streets and affects the melding denizens of Skid Row and this neighborhood.
While maybe a new face amongst most of the wolves down below, Kaz has at least been scooting around Skid Row long enough that they caught wind of the night market fairly early in the evening. They staked out a spot on a curb where they could get a good view and have been adding to the varied soundscape with their own, much quieter noodling on a banged-up acoustic guitar. They don't exactly have a fixed audience, but there's some change and a few bills in their open guitar case. Just hanging out for the moment. Vibin. But also keeping eyes and ears open.
Francesca and Enzo are hanging out with a middle aged woman who has set up a table full of found treasures that are allegedly 'antiques'. One may or may not know her as one of Enzo's many cousins, DeeDee McGee. There's a pair of crocs, an old laptop, and several flip phones, for sale on the table, among a number of other similarly not entirely useful items. The two of them seem to have a bet - who can sell more of DeeDee's useless antiques to the highest bidder.
Currently, Francesca is talking to an older gentleman. "These are /great/ toys - " she gestures to the flip phones and laptop. "Rather than playing house, you can give these to your kids, and they can play 1990s corporate America. See?" and she picks up one of the phone, aggressively flips it open, and growls: "Get me London, stat!" into it before clicking it shut again.
Wren's walking from somewhere northward, possibly the Row. She's in Pico-Union mode: black cargos with a studded belt, darkish tee, charcoal athletic jacket with a hood that isn't pulled up. Bandage around her throat (hiding those tats.) Lightweight combat boots.
One would not necessarily say there are bad vibes about the market as it gets on towards the later evening, but there are murky vibes. People seem to be taking more risks; a few folks are being rather open about selling substances, much to the chagrin of their more wholesome neighbors. An old Japanese woman is selling handicrafts out of a wagon near where a kid in clubwear is selling molly.
It seems like there's some cold or flu spreading as well; a decent amount of people seem ill, noticeable when people really start paying attention, but largely falling into the background when focusing on literally anything else in this dazzling mess of a noise complaint.
Feels like something's coming. This part of Los Angeles is holding its breath in anticipation; wait and see, wait and see.
Not too far from the market is a seafoam-green Nissan Leaf playfully competing with all the music and lights. It's competition: his music is club house, it's louder, it's insistent and drips disdain; the bright violet lights coming from the undercarriage is hypnotic and too bright to pleasantly look at directly. It's playful: the volume's only set at 7.
"I don't know what you're sayin' to me, I don't know what you do...." oozes the singer's sultry voice over an low slow rolling beat.
The other way to see that Brandon is being playful is that he is not shopping, which would disrupt the customers. He leans against the driver's side, on his phone. He glances up only occasionally. He does not notice any issues with the vibe, for he has brought his own, and Brandon is, as usual, not really paying attention.
Talking softly with his cousin in Italian, Enzo grins and then shakes his head at the items Francesca is trying to pass off. "1990s Corporate America? Like that movie? American Psycho? No, no... Look, man, you want these crocks. You can get those cool things you press into them to make them more fancy. The kids can play dress up like a nurse or doctor, washing up to go into surgery..." Trailing off, he points to an old ratty lab coat and adds, "Oh man, speaking of slashers, they can dress up like a mad doctor and throw in these rubber gloves, and it's even more scary!"
A wink follows toward Francesca as he starts to point to other items on the table to try to steal the customer from his packmate. "Ask my cousin DeeDee; she'll tell you there was no one better at dressing up than me when coming up. But outside of games, these things I'm offering you can be used for real-world applications. Chillin' at home, crocks work. Need to run after something, but these bitches into sport mode and runnnnnnn." Studying the crocks, he adds, "I might buy these instead of selling them..."
Wren ducks into an alley and, oddly, flips her hooded jacket inside out before pulling up the hood to conceal her face. (Just in case anyone talks to her.)
Kaz smiles and thanks someone as more change clinks in their case -- a pity pence since the punk's mind is not on the music right now -- but their expression sours once they're alone again. They're eyeing some of the action happening around them and seem less than pleased -- already had to glare one dealer into setting up shop further away. By the time they find Brandon and his beats amidst the crowd, they're uncomfortable enough that they nearly get up to go address the Warder, but then think better of it. Surely he's already on top of it, and having some raggedy Ragabash point out the obvious probably won't win any points in their favor.
"You can have the crocs for $30," Francesca tells Enzo. "I've already got a buyer - " she nods to a woman across the lot. "Who is offering $25, right, DeeDee?" she looks at DeeDee and smiles, winningly, expecting her to side with Francesca - who wouldn't, for $5 (or, $30, more, as Francesca is probably attempting to fleece Enzo).
The man who she was attempting to sell to begs off - maybe on account of general discomfort - and then she pauses for a beat, while waiting to see if Enzo's going to buy the crocs. As she does, she scans the market, then turns her head, speaking to Enzo in Italian - the general context of which is that the vibe seems off, and maybe they ought to help DeeDee pack up and beat it?
The older gentleman looks between Francesca and Enzo with tired, worn eyes. He nods and gestures to the laptop. "Found it in that recent trash pickup thing," he laughs, "people throw away all kindsa shit. You can still do a lot with this stuff. I usedta work in tech, lemme tell ya," he explains to Francesca, then glances at Enzo as Francesca moves to wander off when he shows no interest in her wares. "Lemme see some of your aunt -- whaddya say? DeeDee? Lemme see some of what she's got to sell. I do a brisk resell on unnameables and unmentionables, but not the kind what's in yer drawers."
Some people walk past Kaz; one of them throws some denominations of bills into their guitar case. A few Washingtons, even a Lincoln. One of the people passing stops to watch Kaz playing for a few moments; the dealer that Kaz glared down is off towards the aforementioned older Japanese woman, who is seeing a congregate of dealers. This one is apparently selling heroin.
People around here are used to the sight of the seafoam-green Leaf and do not attempt to molest it.
Someone watching the alley where Wren ducked into notes her quick change upon exiting, but seems too sick to say anything, falling into a coughing fit and moving to sit down.
Brandon divides his attention evenly between a report on his phone on Chinese concrete futures; a man selling underwear that is supposed to remove estrogen from the atomsphere before it can impact your manly gonads; a discord channel in which he is trying to hawk a coin reverse-pegged to Chinese concrete futures; a swarm of midges irritatingly swarming the streetlamps; and texting someone, on his phone. He nods at Kaz, whom he met just this morning; he hasn't seen Wren (she's so elusive); Enzo and Francesca have been noted and ignored, since they are dealing with electronics that are _very_ uncool.
He finally stirs himself when he sees people selling heroin, and angrily (of course) he rolls his shoulders and heads over that way.
Letting DeeDee deal with the old man before the rage can really push people away from her stand, Enzo hears the price of the crocs and shakes his head. Slipping into Italian to argue with Francesca as they move a little away he pauses to add politely to DeeDee, what seems to be that same warning Francesca gave and that they'll be close if anything goes sidewise. With that done, he turns back to Francesca and complains more about the crocs, obvious from how he motions to them as he complains at her in Italian. Finally waving off the whole thing, he places a cigarette between his lips and sparks up, saying softly to her, "Let's check out what's going on." Nodding towards Wren he adds, "Wren is here too."
Wren wanders through the chaos, clocking the dealers (especially those unfamiliar) and otherwise mapping threats and... trying to figure out why that uneasy feeling hangs in the air.
"Oh here we go," Kaz mutters to themself with a little smirk. They watch Brandon push off from his station through their hair as they bend over their guitar and pretend to tune the strings. Very curious to see what the full moon does, but also careful to not seem curious at all, in case anyone's watching.
Sighing at Enzo, Francesca shakes her head about the crocs, as if that's where she's drawing a line, for her packmate. His 'Daddy' hat? Fine. Purchasing a Lordship? Great! But crocs? Absolutely not. Unless he pays his cousin $30 for htem. She smiles at DeeDee, but then frowns when the old man mentions unmentionables to Enzo. A subtle jerk of her head toward the old man, and she offers, in Italian to Enzo: "Is he trying to sell you drugs? Or used sex toys? Or worse? Also - here comes Brandon."
The problem with Rage and the Veil is the absence of a thing. As Brandon moves through the night market, people start to disperse as though he's the Moses of pop-up flea markets. The dealers are unaware of Brandon until the weft of his Rage washes over them. The one selling molly beats feet immediately, but the one selling heroin stares at him with a sullen expression. The Japanese woman also starts to pack up her things and leave.
The old man near DeeDee glances in Brandon's direction, then looks back to the others. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a flash drive, setting it on the counter. "Some interesting code in there. Maybe some stuff that's still under NDA."
Enzo shrugs back at Francesca and then nods toward DeeDee. Speaking in Italian he says to her, "Wheel and deal, but get that. Francesca will cover the cost. Or try to throw in the crocs to sweeten the deal and lower the price. Those are pretty slick cuz." Grinning a little as he stays back away from the sale to keep his rage away from the activities he stays close enough to keep his senses focused on DeeDee while looking around from time to time.
Brandon walks straight up to the man, smiling with an affability that's slightly psychotic, without saying a single word, until he's deeply uncomfortably within his personal space, until their noses almost touch. He starts to speak with him, quietly. Brandon, you see, is a member of the local BIA, and there are rules, and this gentleman did not actually _book a table_ from which to peddle his wares, and now Brandon will have to extract certain percentages and information from him. All this is done softly, quietly, friendlily. Brandon even reaches out his hand to wipe some fluff from the man's shirt, before taking hold of it, fiercely, to admire the texture.
All the while his car, with its aftermarket SugarBeatz speakers, behind him, blares out insipid house music. Uuntz uuntz uuntz, punk.
River is riding along the street on his old, classic, well-maintained motorcycle (an Indian, both awesomely and sadly). It's olive green and doesn't showcase any of his usual lack of style or money, and might even be enough to make him seem, in his white tanktop and jeans, moderately cool. The shoes are always a give-away though, battered and beat-up and proof positive of his lack of style and money. He is cruising along, looking for a parking spot that isn't in the robbery and vandalism fest that is Skid Row.
Members of the Sept of the Smiling Angel -- old and new -- are currently engaged in visiting a pop-up night market near the Cecil Hotel. The vibe is pretty off, and drugs are starting to be distributed. Francesca, Enzo, and their aunt DeeDee are talking to an older gentleman and exchanging cash for what appears to be a flash drive; Brandon is talking to one of the dealers; Kaz just stopped playing music as they were busking; Wren is lurking in the alleys and making her way up from Pico-Union.
The dealer goes with Brandon and agrees to hand over the profits from his sales and his remaining heroin. It's pretty shit quality. Something on the side of the vial, though. Some writing? It was scratched out.
It first starts with a scream. An ear-splitting shriek that somehow cleaves through the obnoxious music bumping from the Leaf, the cacophony of the market. People are fleeing from where that Japanese woman wound up.
She's put a knife in the throat of one of the younger dealers that was standing near her stall. It's one of those long chef's knives, something that probably was bought and sold in this very market. She stares at the kid, blank-eyed. People are fleeing from the two of them. The kid reaches up to grab at his throat and attempts to tug the knife out, sending a spurt of blood. He drops to his knees.
The old Japanese woman wrenches the knife out of the kid's throat and turns, advancing on the young woman who screamed, who has backed herself towards a makeshift stall created from milk crates. She scatters bric-a-brac and knick-knacks over the ground, clearly terrified.
Careful observers will note that the Japanese woman's pupils have widened to the point that the whites of her eyes are nearly invisible.
Kaz is on their feet at the first scream, swearing as they were distracted with Brandon and his shake-down. There is a momentary hesitation as they process the unexpected -- the drug dealer spouting blood and the incongruous knife-wielder. But the moment they see the scared woman scrabbling backwards over the stall, the young punk is charging, aiming to tackle the old woman before she can get to her.
DeeDee McGee is no slouch, and when Enzo tells her to wheel and deal, her green eyes light up. A hand slides back, through her sprayed and teased blonde hair - hair that matches perfectly with her relic-level electronics. Leaning in, she speaks, in a low voice to the old man peddling the flash drive: "So you're selling me something that could be worth a lot of money - but only if I can put it to use before the folks who bought the other 100 copies you have?" she suggests, indicating her interest in the goods but also a that she's savvy to a potential fact that could lower their value.
While DeeDee talks, Francesca slips her a roll of cash. It could be a more subtle sliding of funds, but, hey, there's a lot going on and Frankie's purse is huge, and she has to dig out her wallet while trying to use Enzo for cover.
When the money is in hand, DeeDee uses to open negotiations with the flash drive peddling old man. Flashing green, DeeDee slowly and subtly adds bills to the pile until both buyers are (hopefully) satisfied and cash is exchanged for the flash drive.
Then there's screaming - and blood. She looks to Enzo, then moves in on DeeDee - and the man - trying to put herself between them and the woman with the knife without anyone realizing that's what she's doing.
Brandon has knocked the dealer's money to the ground where it curls against the asphalt like large dead moths. The air is presumably still, tonight, so they don't blow away; after all, that's how vibes go bad. Miasma. His left hand holds the vials that the man has delivered; his right hand continues to grab the man by the shirt, while he looks back to see what the heck is going on, the spurting of blood, the violence, the madness of little old Japanese ladies. He sees Kaz go for it, and is content not to intervene, for now. He struggles to remember the sequence of events he wasn't paying attention to. "You sell to her?" he asks him, his smile tightening by the second. He can't help it. Once you see blood, you get excited.
"No, that old bitch told us to leave," the dealer says, eyes starting to show a little fear now. He nods in the dead-or-dying kid's direction. "He knocked some of her shit out of her wagon. Some snow globes or something."
The man takes the cash and glances over his shoulder, "Well, that's my ticket. Pleasure doin' business with you!" And the old gentleman wheeling and dealing with DeeDee takes off.
More people are fleeing the market. The vibe is now in shambles.
There's a double-meaning to Charges-the-Line's deed name. Also it doesn't mention the results of that event. Kaz throws their scrawny self at the knife-lady but catches one of the poles of the pop-up canopy over the stall. The resulting crash brings the whole thing down and the no moon is now a flailing lump beneath a plastic tarp on the sidewalk.
Nodding to Francesca as he smokes its clear Enzo is paying attention to the deal she's working with DeeDee. He's staying back and now more and more focused on the stabbing. With his brows lifting as he sees what's going down. With a last drag of his cigarette he flicks it away then calls out to his packmate in Italian, "Be right back!" With that, he's off, close behind Kaz, and where Kaz fumbles and crashes, Enzo dives to try to tackle the knife-wielding woman. It's a solid hit but she stays up with him and then they end up facing off, both still standing as the Bone Gnawer gives a smile and an awkward, "Hi."
River is cruising along when the street ahead bursts into chaos. People start running and there is obvious commotion. He takes a look around and finds a parking spot to nose his bike into, even if it's cozying up to a car in the same spot. He kills the engine, engages the kickstand and withdraws the key from the ignition.
Wren, further away to begin with, is of course heading straight for the chaos at a run.
Because of /course/.
The woman hesitates briefly as Charges-the-Line knocks the stall down; her head tilts to the side.
For those brief moments before Enzo gets to her, she turns her attention back towards the woman who she had been advancing on; the woman begins to scream again.
That's odd. The old Japanese woman's skin seems to be growing darker, darker, darker. Almost pitch black. Light reacts as if absorbed in the event horizon of her flesh. Her pupils widen further, the black overtaking the white; her entire body is shadow.
BOOM. A solid hit from a Bone Gnawer, but she remains on her feet. She turns to look at Enzo. Again, she cocks her head to the side as if listening to something.
Her jaw unhinges and she unleashes a furious scream. It is a scream of loss, of watching depravities inflicted upon one's children, one's husband.
The tiny jabs and jeers of life that poke and prod until you're left dying of a thousand cuts in the gutter of some shit night market, being harassed by drug dealers.
The scream of a landlord giving one last warning and three days notice.
The scream of watching your only living child fall into addiction, the clinic they went to only furthering the problem.
She screams and screams and screams, knife lifting towards Enzo.
After that awkward exchange as Enzo finds himself face to face with the knife wielding monster lady, she starts to scream and he drops into a quick attack. Without warning he's swinging around and dropping low to sweep her legs right out from under her to drop her to the ground. Quickly getting to his feet he lashes out with a vicious kick right to the kidneys, trying to stun her while she's down as he yells out, "Drugs are bad!"
River is walking his way through the fleeing crowd like a fish swimming upstream, though this one doesn't exactly cut through, but rather squares and lowers his shoulders enough to knock against those going the other direction. As he goes, he set his jaw and all at once, phones and cameras all around him suddenly go inert. Slowly, he closes.
Wren comes at a near run, ducking and weaving through the chaos and bodies like only a born New Yorker can. Her Sig is out, carried low down.
Kaz just manages to get out from the entangling tarps just as the knife woman thuds into the sidewalk beside them, with Enzo pounding away on top of them. Thinking things are in hand at least for the instant, the punk kid darts to the woman whose screams first alerted everyone and grabs her arm, tugging her away from where knives -- or worse -- might be flying. They meet her gaze with their own. "Hey, look at me! Are y--" And then it's like the movies when the sound cuts out, the young punk's mouth making the shapes for 'you okay? Let's get out of here!" But no sound comes out. No sound at all. It's eerie as fuck but they start dragging her past the stalls, putting themselves between her and the most immediate danger.
Brandon strides over with rapidly increasing annoyance. He nods at River. He sets up a smile. His left hand stays in his pocket. He eyes Kaz and Enzo and Francesca tightly, expectantly: in his expression is the silent command that they get this under control before he gets there. He squints when he sees (rather than hears) Kaz's lips move, and quickens his pace just a little. A glance is given to Wren, gun at the ready.
As Enzo goes to tackle the woman, Francesca grabs the flash drive from DeeDee and tucks it down the front of her dress, for safe keeping. Then, she starts quickly moving around the crowd. "Cops - cops - cops!" she declares to anyone with whom she can make eye contact, indicating it's a lot better to beat it than to stay around and find out what happens to the crazy lady with the knife. She works quickly, attempting to start a whisper campagin, essentially, encouraging people to repeat her warning and help each other pack up.
The woman -- though it's hard to call her that anymore as her skin has fully embraced by the entropic energies of the Wyrm -- lies prone on the ground. She opens her mouth, unhinges her jaw once more, and has a sucking intake of breath. Suddenly, Enzo (and Kaz, for a brief time) can hear nothing at all. The silence is so complete that it would sound loud in the ears if Enzo could still hear the rushing of his blood.
Once Kaz leaves the woman's immediate vicinity, all the sound comes rushing back to their ears like a sledgehammer. It's disorienting and disturbing. Like standing in the void of space for just a moment, the nihilistic hole that woman has become creating a strange sonic wound.
And yet she cocks her head to the side again, as if listening for something. She fishes around in her pocket and starts to drag out a dull-looking blade of a type of sheen that is immediately recognizable to any Garou.
For some reason, this lady has a silver knife.
The woman twists her body and lashes out with that silver dagger at Enzo's leg. The blade burns as it bites through the pantleg, slicing deep into his hamstring and near through his leg altogether. That silence persists. She looks up at Enzo with a gloating grin.
"Go GO GO!!" Kaz practically screams at the woman they were rescuing, and then they're spinning around to race back to the brawl. They're mid-leap, form rippling to that of a lean red wolf as they see that vicious flash of silver and the sudden sprays of Enzo's blood. As the huge shape of Brandon's crinos crashes into the woman, slashing and biting, the little wolf tries to snap at that knife hand, but in the chaos it slips right from their jaws
Once the humans are adequately fleeing, Francesca turns her attention back to the woman with the knife. There's silver - and her packmate is in danger, bleeding. Bending, she takes off one of her designer shoes, lifting one in her right hand to reveal scuffed red bottom, and advances on the creature. "Hey! - " she begins, like she's going to try to distract it. But then she notices Brandon shifting, so she takes another course of action, with shoe already in her hand, running up to try to jam the stiletto through the woman/creature's eye. But! The new moon doesn't have the strength to cause any damage, this time.
River sees that unhinging jaw and hears the screams that are derived from loss and desperation. It makes his blood run cold and he freezes, stock still, but after a mere instant of faltering, he folds his arms across his chest. Trying to look like he's rooted to the spot so that he can observe what's going on, and not fighting his animalistic impulses to flee from this threat.
Amid the chaos of Francesca darting in to stab and Brandon letting his furry freak flag fly, Wren makes it to a spot not far from the woman's head. She plants a shot from the Sig into the old granny's /head/, her own face expressionless.
Brandon's wild eyes bug at Enzo, his teeth snap at him for stealing his kill; just barely he manages to stop himself from murdering everyone around him in order to take his time gathering the dead thing to himself, as a prize, but he will very soon attack. His fur bristles madly.
Enzo takes a vicious slash and stab from the old, knife-wielding, monster lady. It's a hard hit from silver that would take out a lesser warrior. Fueled by rage he shifts with a roar and attacks, the bite tearing the face off the woman and downing her to be easily finished off. Looking up for any other threats he eyes Brandon and that look he's given.
The woman's torn up form loses its coloration as it is savaged by Brandon. The spiritual corruption of the body is still present, but not as prevalent, the bane slipping back into the Umbra.
There is nothing more terrifying than a full moon whose rage is running rampant with no foes nearby to unleash it on. Enzo is bleeding from silver, and, worse, there's kin within striking distance. So Charges-the-Line does what they do best -- be a complete idiot. The tiny wolf leaps in front of Brandon's view, paws wide and hackles raised, snarling in a clear insubordinate challenge, doing its damnedest to get the beast's attention.
River shifts into Lupus as well and dogs (ahem) the ongonig chase to ensure that the aura of jammed technology that moves with him protects the others from breaching the Veil, doing his best to not attract the attention of the Crinos.
Watching Brandon, Frankie nods in agreement with Kaz's quick thinking, watching admirably. She rolls her neck, her back starting to strain the fabric of her dress - it doesn't come off, but the fabric is definitely tested, as muscles grow beneath it. She's not entirely crinos, but not entirely human, either. Bending, she picks up Enzo, hoisting him up over her back to fireman carry him like she's just snatched him out of the Pacific ocean ala Baywatch. "It looks like you /are/ going to get to steal Brandon's car," she mutters to the Gnawer on her back. Some people do stand in the darkness, afraid to step into light. She starts moving toward Brandon's car.
"Wren! Open the door!" she demands in a hushed whisper, if the kin isn't already on it. Some people need to help somebody, when the edge of surrender's in sight!
Once Enzo's in the car, she slides into the front, then pushes the ignition switch. "Mmm, he left the fob in here. We don't even have to play Jurassic Park..." she mutters to herself (Brandon being the T-Rex). Then, she slowly, carefully, drives away, with Wren and Enzo in tow.
Wren is, in fact, on it, though her reactions are a touch slower than everyone else's. She's still breathing fast when they all pile in, and her head tips back.
Brandon eventually pulls himself together, his wild eyes go lucid and briefly pained; almost immediately he shifts down into Homid, wondering what happened. He does not /remember/, but he can piece it together, as he watches Charges-the-Line darts away, as he watches his own car peel out, house music still thumping. He rubs his forehead, and, as always in these circumstances, he turns back to the corpse. There's a silver knife, there are pockets, there is disposal. He beckons Kaz over, whom moments ago he was trying to murder, and he asks them, as they set about the grisly business, to fill him in on what he's done.
Enzo shifts down to homid and snatches the silver blade that stabbed him. With it collected he's hoisted on Francesca's shoulders and lets her carry him until he's seated in Brandon's car. Bleeding on the seat he's slid into he gives a little grunt of pain and then reaches over to look for something else to listen to.
When it looks like Brandon's back in control of himself -- mere seconds by human reckoning but Kaz saw several lifetimes pass as they kept out of range of the Ahroun's jaws -- the scrawny punk takes their human shape again and plops heavily on a curb nearby. Close, but not too close, just yet. "You okay big guy?" they inquire, then clear their throat. "Err, Big Guy'rhya." They quickly fill in the relatively quick mauling, though points out the blood on the silver knife belonged to the other wolf. "Oh. And they took your car."
