2023-05-02 MM: Michael Maybury's Set
Michael Maybury's Set
Storyteller: Elyse
Location: San Jacinto Mountains
Date and Time: May 2, 2023 12:49 am
Summary: Clem learns that her father is still alive through working with Jamie, the kinfolk lawyer. She learns that her father was arrested alongside two other men, Jimmy Lewis and Robert Baker. She goes to find Robert Baker and Jimmy Lewis who are rumored to live up in the San Jacinto Mountains off the grid.
Mood Music: Far From Any Road - The Handsome Family
Taking the 10 all the way past East Los Angeles -- and making sure no one gets out considering that a very, very angry group of Uktena who serve Hummingbird makes all of the San Gabriel Valley their territory -- the little group of kin and Garou makes it to the 215 and down to California Highway 74. As they pass Ontario and Riverside, the highway gets a little sparser with traffic, the towns look a little more like one-horse towns relying entirely on the highway's travelers to hit their gas stations and restaurants. The air feels dryer, somehow, there's almost a static buzz when stepping out of the van for gas in Romoland. There's a restaurant that's made out of an old train that's rusting away.
Various conservative signs and slogans, as well as the occasional Biblical reference on a sign are seen all long the roadways. This is the land of American flags on trucks. Come and Take It stickers with Gadsden flags.
Past Hemet, 74 gets rough. The group heads through Valle Vista into the mountain pass. Given the time of year and the fact that it's a Friday, the road is backed up with people coming to camp. But likely a bunch of Bone Gnawer hillfolk aren't going to be around camps where tourists and weekend warriors come to practice their rudimentary survival skills. After about another hour of pushing through the traffic towards the state park's entrance, Danny points out a little side road that leads away from the intersection of 74 and 243. It's an old dirt road, but has clearly had some vehicles on it recently. He turns down the road and begins to roll slowly along it. It's getting dark, so he flicks the high-beams on.
The very notion of a road trip is highly novel to the LA-bound Clem. She's been past the city outskirts maybe only a couple of times since she was six or so, and vehicular travel itself hasn't featured heavily. So even for the couple of hour drive out of LA, Clem is living it up like a road trip to Nevada. Bag of doritos on the dash, an extra-large cup of soda fountain cola in the cupholders, music blasting, windows down and baking the interior with air that feels like it's coming straight from a hair dryer. She's already had her haircut, so her hair is tomboy short, but she's still got on her leather vest and a ratty black tanktop with a picture of topless Baphomet inside a pentagram. Because what better shirt to wear out into Bible country, natch.
Of course, it was all fun and games until the sun started to go down and the back roads started to feel a lot more like back roads. "This is how Chainsaw Massacre starts," Danny says as he turns off onto the dirt road, the headlights somehow turning the dimming dirt road even more spooky with its harsh lighting. "Nah!" Clem replies, grabbing one last handful of chips before passing the mostly empty bag back to Kaz. They did at least put the seat up for them. "That was in Texas," Clem points out, "And also, like.. we're the monsters." She cackles a laugh, putting a sneaker up on the dashboard. She does, for her part, look utterly unconcerned about the weird vibes they are heading into.
Kaz is going undercover as a normie, or at least their version of it. They stole one of Danny's flannels and tucked their flophawk up under a trucker cap with a buck's head on the front from some hunting supply brand. They look nothing so much as a teenaged boy. They called shotgun, cuz Danny, and spent most the ride with their boots up on the dashboard, filling the cabin up with pot smoke as they played their guitar along to the country and ranchero stations. The wrestling match between them and Clem this caused at the first gas stop resulting in Danny's not entirely-joking threat of turning the van around convinced them to compromise and rotate seats every so often, as it turns out neither werewolf enjoys being cooped up in the back part of the van for very long.
"I hear there's a bunch of leeches out here actually," Kaz points out helpfully. "Vampires," they clarify for Danny's sake. "So you know, really it's more like 'Near Dark'. Or that one with George Clooney when he was young and hot." It must be weird knowing that werewolves and vampires exist, not being either. Kinfolk truly get the short end of the stick.
"Wait there's vampires?!" Danny says with a start, then laughs, "I'm just kidding, of course there's fucking vampires." Then he purses his lips and focuses on driving. "Of course there's fucking vampires," he mutters again under his breath, in a moment of grim reflection. Sometimes when you're a normie you just have to stop and examine your life, and if you find it to be ridiculous, just go along with the ride. He's wearing a black leather baseball cap that is showing its cardboard brim in more than one place, and a patched up jean vest over a second-hand green and dyellow John Deere shirt. His hair is temporarily in a mullet, because once Emmie got the scissors out and he realized he was driving them to the country, the mullet seemed like the funniest choice. 'Figured it'd throw them off the scent if they got trans vibes' he said. Clem wasn't sure how, but trusted his gut on this issue.
Clem has been acting pretty erratic since she found her dad was alive. Like she's not sure whether she should be happy about it, or sad that he's in prison, or angry that he's in prison, or what. The circumstances suck pretty bad. During the trip she would've explained to Kaz and Danny that her dad was in on murder charges, and being kept isolated from visitation, which the Kinfolk lawyer seemed to think was fishy because that treatment was usually reserved for like, organized crime. 'Not a fucking chance' is Clem's appraisal of that revelation. In any case, the road trip seems to have cheered her up. Clem's always happiest when she's Doing something. Moving forward feels good, it feels positive, it feels like as long as she's moving forward, she's in control of her destiny. It's when she's sitting still that it feels like the world is spinning without her. "I don't know any of that shit," Clem states with a clarity of purpose. "We need a VHS player or something. I bet we could find all kinds of old movies for like, fuck-all money." Danny nods agreeably. "Danny, hey Danny. Pull over, I gotta piss." Danny looks alarmed. "Here? Now?" Danny asks incredulously, but Clem punches him in the arm. "I gotta piss my dude!" Danny swears and eases on the brakes, pulling over the tiny bit that the dirt road allows without risking a tire. Clem pops the door, the interior light turns on briefly as she hops to the dirt.
Kaz pulls the side door open with a screech and a rumble just so Clem can continue being a part of the conversation despite going wee. "Hey! Make sure you're not peeing on some local's tree!" they yell, before continuing more conversationally, "You ever see those cones someone made for vag-owners to piss in urinals? I wonder if we could pee out the window with one of those."
"Dude," says Danny in exasperation.
"What it's not like the can couldn't use a car wash. Dual purpose!" They snatch up their guitar and sit with their legs dangling out the side door and start plucking away. It's after a bar that Danny suddenly says, "No, don-" but it's too late as Kaz starts singing in a basso voice, "Escandalo es un escandalo~"
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Perception + Survival vs. 6 -> 0 successes. (10 5 3 1)
As Clem is urinating she notices all of the life in the desert. It generally attempts to get away from her, given that animals can feel the Curse. She notices one animal in the distance, a very distinct canid shape. The van is facing in the opposite direction and therefore so are the lights; regardless, it turns and begins to run off. She isn't able to tell if it was a wolf or a coyote from this distance. It quickly crests down a hill away from the road.
Clem squints but can't see more than the silhouette, mingled into the other dim shapes, all the colors blending together into a murky blue-brown that defies detail. Still, she can't help but grin a little, and when she's done, she wanders back to the side of the van where Kaz is still playing, leans against the door. "I can't be sure, but I think I saw something out in the desert," she informs her friend, "Let's just assume they know we're here and act accordingly." She scans the horizon, but if she's hoping to see another hint, it's just Joshua trees and desert shrubs. "That'd be for the best, I don't want to surprise them more than we already have. I doubt they're gonna be thrilled to see us, family or not. Come on, let's get going." She opens up the front and climbs back into the van. Danny looks at her. "What do you mean they 'won't be thrilled?'" he asks, and Clem laughs. "Don't worry, you're kin. Worst that could happen is they'll kill me and Kaz and keep you as breeding stock." She wiggles her fingers at him, spooky creepy fingers, scaaary fingers. Danny grumbles and turns the radio back on, but turns the volume down. The vibes are starting to get to him. He waits for the side door to slide shut and then clunks the van into drive and eases it down the road.
Down the road, the lights illuminate the dust before them; it drifts up and swirls around in the light cast by the headlights like little wispy sandspouts that swirl up towards the sky. The sun sets fast in this part of the country, especially up in the mountains. In the distance, one of the few California black oaks suddenly erupts with black birds as crows attempt to escape from some predator. An owl swoops in to capture one of them and seems eager for its dinner as it begins to tear it apart in mid-air. Oddly, it drops the corpse of the bird to the ground and wings off into the distance.
A shape can be seen fleeing from the tree.
As Danny drives further down the road, a humanoid shape suddenly steps into view, right arm thrown out, thumb up as though hitching a ride. The rough-looking face of the person seen from under a ragged hood leers and grins at the van. They step fully in front of the van; Danny will have to either slam on the brakes or try to turn the van.
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Perception + Alertness vs. 7 -> 2 successes. (10 10 9 5 1)
The slide into oldschool hills horror mostly sees its effect on poor Danny. He's starting to get jumpy, and the sight of the tree with the crows feels like an omen. He comments, but Clem just laughs, watching the display with intense curiosity. Maybe it's something. But whatever it is, she's not letting it get to her. She'd relish the opportunity to bare her claws, if it came to that. Horror's less scary when you're the monster, but she's also inexperienced. There are scarier things than her out in the world, she just hasn't met them yet.
"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me," Danny exclaims when he sees the hitch hiker, followed by a sharp "Oh fuck!" when that grinning person steps out in front of the van. "Pull over," Clem says quickly, leaning forward in her seat to try an get a better look. Danny has no time to do anything other than follow Clem's instructions, slamming on the brakes and pulling off a few feet. "Are you fucking serious? This is LITERALLY how Texas Chainsaw Massacre starts!" Danny hisses, trying to keep his shit together but clearly starting to come apart. Clem laughs again, though there's an edge to her laugh now, a slightly wild look in her eyes. Adrenaline, grinning toothily. "Fuck yeah it is! Shove over Kaz, let's make a friend," she says with an excited growl in her voice.
Kaz is blissfully immune to the horror vibe in the back of the van, strumming the Mexican tune about tragic love. That is until Danny curses and slams on the brakes and Kaz goes sliding into the back of his seat with a solid thud. Seatbelts are for people without regenerative abilities. They pull themself up and peek over Clem's shoulder at what the commotion is about. "Oh shit, I thought the hill people thing was a joke." They lean over and give Danny a playful smooch on the cheek. "Keep the engine running!" They pull the side door open and hop out into the dirt with a crunch. "I like your blood on my teeth just a little too much~" they singsong to themself under their breath, not expecting a fight but ready for one.
Clem was just going to pick them up, but since Kaz hops out, Clem shrugs and pops her door open too, hopping back into the dirt. She keeps a casual posture, half-leaned against the side of the van's front as she waits for the hitch hiker to react.
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Perception + Primal-urge vs. 6 -> 3 successes. (10 9 6 5)
+ROLL/+DICE> Kaz: Perception + Primal-urge vs. 6 -> 3 successes. (10 9 6 2)
+ROLL/+DICE> Elyse: 3 + 2 vs. 6 -> 0 successes. (6 5 3 1 1)
The man steps around and slaps the side of the van as he goes. He moves to jump in through the side door and says, "Whew! It's hot out there tonight, isn't it?" It's actually quite chilly. "Where are y'all headed?" His accent sounds Californian, but with that kind of rural drawl.
He stretches his arms up over his head and looks over at Danny, leaning forward to clap him on the shoulder. "Drive on ahead, hoss." He leans back. Clem and Kaz can sense the man's Rage as he sits near them. It's lower than theirs. Surprise, surprise.
There's the sound of crows in the distance; last call of the day before night falls entirely and sets civil twilight into night.
Danny physically flinches from the man's touch, though the one who gets the glare is Clem, who is, alas, oblivious to it. She's all grins, the sort of toothy grin that'd look friendly if it wasn't coming from a wildly rageful werewolf. "Oh you know," Clem replies cheerfully to the man as Danny eases the van back into drive, heading down the road, "Just sight-seeing. The desert's fuckin' beautiful in the twilight, once you get away from the city lights, huh?" She twists around in her seat, pulling a leg up beneath her to sit almost sideways, wrapping her arm around the headrest so she can look at the man directly. That wild look in her grey eyes, eyes that shine in the dim. "Ahh, fuck it, I don't wanna jerk your chain. Lookin' for a couple of people, or someone who knows 'em. Jimmy Lewis... and Robert Baker. Pretty sure they're from around this but of the dustbowl, can't be more than... oh, a hundred people living out this way, prolly less. I guess that gives good odds you'd know 'em?"
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Charisma + Etiquette vs. 7 -> 1 success. (9 8 1)
+ROLL/+DICE> Kaz: Dexterity + Performance vs. 6 -> 1 success. (9 7 5 2 2 1)
Kaz settles back against the wall opposite the stranger, one leg pulled up and the other outstretched. They pulled their cap down low over their dark eyes but they've got a small, crooked smile, one of the joints from earlier dangling unlit from their lips. The back of the van smells thoroughly of marijuana, most likely, but that's probably would have been no surprise even before legalization.
The tune they're playing is lazy, up four notes, down four notes, almost like they're practicing scales. Metallica might be unrecognizable at this speed, played in a van bouncing down a dirt road, unless one knew their chords well. Then after a couple of bars, "Of Wolf And Man" might be recognizable.
The "kid" pauses a moment to light up the j, but only takes a quick puff to light the cherry before offering it across the hitchhiker.
The man is quiet for a moment while they drive slowly down the road. "I suppose I might know Jimmy and Bobby. And from the looks of y'all, you're not the law, unless the ATF has gotten *real* cheap because of all them budget cuts these days," he pulls a little rolly cigarette out of his pocket and lights it up, giving Clem a quick glance. "Also, don't feel like there are a lot of Garou looking for them these days. Not since five years ago." A brief pause. "Name's Shit-Kicker. Fostern under the half-moon." He leans forward to pat Danny on the shoulder, "You'll just wanna keep goin' up there, hoss, then take a left. It won't look like a road, but I assure you, it's a road. It's by the bushes about a hundred yards ahead."
He leans back. Shit-Kicker wonders, "So tell me about yourselves. What the fuck are some city wolves doin' all the way out here? Not using that dumb ass term, they'd call me 'urrah' too." He actually starts to drum his fingers to the beat of the guitar, then takes the joint, eyes it thoughtfully, and inhales off of it. He coughs immediately and reaches to hand it back. "Holy shit!" Shit-Kicker cries out between coughing.
Clem barks a laugh at the notion that they might be the raggedy-ass division of the ATF, clapping a hand against the dashboard. "Hello fellow kid, do you have a moment to talk about D.A.R.E.?" she asks in her best hello-fellow-kids voice, smirking. Danny seems to relax as the tension bleeds away. It doesn't sound, at least for the moment, like the night is going to end in scary hillfolk murder. So when Shit-Kicker touches him again, he flinches noticeably less. "You got it," Danny says evenly, keeping his eyes on the road.
"Good to meet you, fam," Clem says with a grin as the joint gets passed, "It's awakened weed, so take it easy if you wanna keep your wits. Fair warning. It's the good shit." She holds a hand out and takes it from him, assuming he offers it up, and takes a toke herself. "Fuck," she croaks, letting out a plume of smoke and passing it back to Kaz. She coughs a little, then, "I'm Cackles-at-the-Dawn. It's a funny story. Cliath full-moon," she can't help but say full-moon with a broad, toothy grin, like it's a mark of pride, "Bone Gnawer, of course. You can call me Clem though, everyone does." She doesn't exist enough as a full person to keep her name under wraps. "So about five years ago, that's actually what I wanted to talk about. I think your buddies knew my dad? His name's Michael Maybury." She waits to see if that gets a response.
"Urrah, ooh-rah," Kaz says, reaching across to take the j from Shit-Kicker as he coughs. They take a much more modest toke, just to top off, but then lift it over their shoulder for Clem to claim. "Charges-the-Line, call me Kaz, cliath new moon, one of Unicorn's kids." They'd normally say something like 'I'm down with the Rat though' but given the current company that part's self-evident. "And that's Danny. He's one of y'all's." They go quiet again as Clem launches into her purpose though, resuming strumming on the guitar. Willie Nelson this time. They seem to play Willie Nelson a lot when they get high, it just feels right.
The Philodox is quiet for a moment, then gives a slight nod. "Yeah, I remember Maybury. That's your dad? Shit. Well, I'm sorry about what happened with him. You'll have to talk to Jimmy and Bobby for the full details. They also knew him the best. He rode with us for, oh," he falls into thought. Shit-Kicker glances out the window, then points to a little turn-off point to Danny. "I think about two years. Made it out of prospect. He had some promise. I don't typically hang with this crowd. Kind of a mixed group. Not all Gnawers," so it's not a group of Hillfolk! "We got ourselves some normal humans, some Uktena kin."
Clem seems a little surprised to hear, well, all of it. She raises her eyebrows as Shit-Kicker speaks, upon learning that her dad got pulled into some biker gang stuff. "Guess I had to get it from somewhere," Clem supposes, frowning a little. The insistant desire to press for more detail is rattling around in her ribcage like a loose marble, but it looks like she'll have to wait for answers about the incident. Instead, she asks, "How'd he get pulled in with your lot? Last I saw him we were getting raided at a homeless camp by the LAPD down near Skid Row. Not like he had gang friends at the time." She pauses, frowns, and considers. "At least, I don't think he did. Might've been keeping some things from me." She's learning a lot about her dad. He'd seemed so fragile at the time. Couldn't hold down a job, was still depressed about Clem's mom dying in that car crash years before. Maybe Clem getting taken away finally converted all that sadness to anger. Or maybe it was always there and she just never saw it. "So what about Bobby and Jimmy? They in the know or am I gonna have to dance around these two?" she asks, suddenly grabbing the seat as the van bangs and lurches, and she shots a glance at Danny. "Sorry!" Danny says with a quick laugh, "Pothole. What am I looking for, anyway? A house? Trailers? Biker bar in the middle of fuck-all nowhere?"
"Naw, I don't think he had gang friends." Shit-Kicker leans back against the wall of the van, rubbing at his stubbly jaw. "I heard about that police raid. I happened to be in the area when he first came around. He was all sunburnt and fucked up. Looking for just about anything to help him. I was able to tell he was kin, so," he waves a hand.
Suddenly, a spread of trailers comes into view. The lights are kept low in this area, preventing people from being able to see it from the air. There are people milling about with covered barrel fires. Some of them glance over at the van as the group rolls up. There are probably thirty people, all told, and a small truck sits nearby with Texas plates.
"Here we are." Shit-Kicker points off towards one of the trailers in the back, "Bobby lives back there. Jimmy is probably around. He likes to pitch a tend when he sleeps."
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Wits + Streetwise vs. 6 -> 1 success. (10 5 4 4)
+ROLL/+DICE> Kaz: Wits + Streetwise vs. 6 -> 1 success. (8 7 6 2 1 1)
Shit-Kicker clears his throat. "Sorry, that weed's strong. Forgot your question. Jimmy and Bobby are both kin, but they're Uktena. You should be fine around 'em. Keep away from there," he points into one direction where there's a group of Latino men chatting around a bunch of bikes. They're wearing cuts and Clem and Kaz both recognize the rocker and logo of the Vagos Motorcycle Club.
The raid remains a sore spot for Clem, so she just nods wordlessly as Shit-Kicker relates. She remains surprised and grateful that it wasn't the moment of her first change. Who knows how differently things might've gone if she'd Crinos'd and tore through a small chunk of the LAPD in the middle of a police raid. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't fantasized about it since then. She remembers how powerless she felt. But realistically? It wouldn't have been a proud moment. Danny has the vibe of someone who knows his vehicle is being watched, and eyes the Vagos in particular - he's not afraid of them per se, though it's easier to go unnoticed by the gangs in the city than it is out here - but he maneuvers the thing around the vague, almost more implied dirt roads that connect this little trailer park community together.
"Shame Elyse didn't come," Clem says to Kaz, giving her knee a smack and pointing at the Texas plates. Just a little joke for the two of them. Danny rolls to a stop near the indicated trailer. "So you're the lone wolf around here?" Clem asks as she pops the door and hops down to the dust. The air is cooling off rapidly, so she grabs her hoodie from the back once Shit-Kicker is out of the way. Just a grey zip-up with a few patches on the front. She pulls it on, pulls her vest over top of it, and gestures for Shit-Kicker to lead the way. Better to see a friendly face before a stranger, after all.
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Wits + Primal-urge vs. 6 -> 1 success. (10 8 1)
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: 1 vs. 6 -> 0 successes. (5)
+ROLL/+DICE> Kaz: Wits + Primal-urge vs. 6 -> 5 successes. (9 8 7 7 7 3)
There are definitely no other Garou in the immediate vicinity. Shit-Kicker nods and glances back to Clem and Kaz as they follow him, "I'm the lone wolf 'round these parts, yep. I mostly live up in Northern California. Y'ever hear about the Emerald Triangle? We have a camp up in Humboldt county near Eureka. Mostly growing weed, but a few of the kinfolk have some good shroom farms. Here, well," he trails off.
There's the scent of ammonia and ether, and two trailers have stacks on top of them to pump out some vapor. There are other pieces of ventilation welded or looped around these trailers, keeping the air fresh within. These two trailers are also the only ones without swamp coolers attached to them.
Definitely some meth labs here.
Shit-Kicker leads up Bobby's trailer, stepping up the rickety stairs and knocking on the door. "Yo! Bobby! Open up! Y'got company from the big city!"
"Oh shit," Clem says with a laugh at the mention of shroom farms, "I'm gonna get your number, Shit-Kicker. I wouldn't mind having a line on some awakened shrooms." It's half-serious, the kind of offer that could be taken as a joke to avoid the awkwardness of saying no. She doesn't press. As for Shit-Kicker being a lone wolf, it does make Clem relax a little, though it'd be a pretty easy lie if the intent was to surprise her. It's never out of the question, after all. But Shit-Kicker's family and a philodox no less, so she's leaning toward trusting him. The smell of methlabs doesn't go unnoticed. She's been around one or two in her past. It's not a good smell, but at least that's not one of the trailers they're going into. She stands a little bit behind Shit-Kicker at the door to the trailer with Kaz. Danny remains in the truck, leaned back in his seat with his leather cap pulled low over his eyes.
Shit-Kicker knocks on the door again, then shouts, "Bobby!"
"I'm coming! Jesus fuckin' Christ!" Comes a voice from inside the trailer.
After a moment, a tall, indigenous man opens the door. He's dressed in a white undershirt and a pair of old jeans, with a set of old motorcycle boots. "What?" He looks to Clem and Kaz. "Who the fuck're you?"
"Now now, Bobby, let's be a little more polite. These are Garou from the city. You should invite them in." The smile that Shit-Kicker gives Bobby is all daggers. The kinfolk takes a step back with a glare, allowing them entry. The Philodox heads inside, moving to sit at an old folding card table with mismatched wood chairs.
Bobby moves over to grab some beers from the fridge, setting them out on the table. He opens the fridge again, pulls out a cold pizza and sets it out on the table as well. There are about five slices left of pepperoni. Little Caesar's from Hemet.
Bobby moves to sit down and lights a cigarette. "S'all I got for food and drink. Welcome in," he says with very little joy.
Hospitality is not a thing Clem is accustomed to, so she doesn't take it personally when Bobby glares at her, she just returns the glare with a big toothy grin. Her idea of a friendly grin is more than a little wolfish. She can't help it. She's a wolf. "Hey Bobby," she greets cheerfully, "Don't worry, I doubt we're gonna cause you too much inconvenience." She gives Shit-Kicker an appreciative glance as she climbs the steps into the trailer and plunks down into one of the chairs. It's clear that getting a sitdown with Bobby is being lubricated considerably by the Philodox's presence. And hey, beer and cold pizza is, as far as Clem is concerned, a perfectly welcoming spread, and she indulges herself eagerly. All she's eaten for hours is maybe half a full-size bag of doritos. "So Bobby, I hear you were a friend of my dad's," Clem says around a mouthful of cold pizza. She pauses to wash it down with a mouthful of beer. "Michael Maybury, he got caught up in something with you back in 2019 or sometime around then? I understand he's in a federal prison on murder charges and fuck me Bobby, but I'm having a hard time believing that's the whole story. My dad was no killer." She's not.. a hundred percent sure of that, but it feels like a good strong opener.
"You're Mike's kid? No shit?" Bobby takes a drag off his cigarette and breathes the smoke out of his nose, glancing between Clem and Kaz. "So, yeah. I knew him. He came here back after his camp got raided in Los Angeles."
"I told them that," Shit-Kicker mentions.
"Yeah, I'm fuckin' getting to it!" Bobby snaps at the Philodox, who glowers at the kinfolk. Suitably cowed, the Uktena kinfolk continues. "So, he didn't know what else to do. Couldn't go back to Los Angeles, he said he stole something before he left. I think it's still in a box in the storage trailer," he points out the window towards a lightless RV set on blocks. "Anyway, he wanted to find a place to belong here, and we told him he could work it off. Well," he pauses. "Not 'we.' Tomás told him he could work it off. Tomás is the leader of this band of Vagos. Your dad was shit at riding a bike, but a quick learner. He made it past prospect to patched in. Planned to come back to Los Angeles but," he takes a drag off of his cigarette, glancing between the three Garou.
"So, Tomás was having trouble from this Arco station owner down the way. Apparently this guy ratted on a few of the Vagos. So he sends Mike," he gestures to Clem with the cigarette, "me, and Jimmy off to put the fear of God into him. Or at least the fear of Santa Muerte. Mike panicked when the guy pulled a gun out and shot at him." He takes a drag off of his cigarette until it hits the filter, then punts it out in a nearby ashtray that's already overflowing.
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Perception + Empathy vs. 6 -> 3 successes. (8 7 7 3 2)
+ROLL/+DICE> Elyse: 2 + 2 vs. 6 -> 3 successes. (8 8 6 2)
"Yep, that's me. Clementine. Call me Clem," the ahroun says, introducing herself a bit late and holding a hand out for a shake, though she's eyeing Bobby's cigarette. She can barely take her eyes off it for a long moment. She starts to tap the toe of her sneaker against the floor, and slides her cigarette case from her jacket, pulls out a cigarette, and puts it between her lips to let it hang there, to kinda chew on it with her lips as she listens to the story, the one she's had little details on and has been mulling over for days since she found out. She doesn't light the cigarette, she's just... tricking her brain. Addictions suck, but she keeps a hold on this one. She nods along, trying to memorize the details, since she's not recording it, though her eyes grow harder as he goes on. When the story concludes, she looks incredulous, almost angry for a moment. "So that's it? My dad- .. *Mike* panicked during a shakedown and shot the owner? That's all it was, Bobby?" She glowers a little, the cigarette filter crushing a little between her lips as she frowns, the lines in her eyes and the weathering on her face more apparent when she looks unhappy. Bobby would increasingly become aware that the unhappiness is levied at him. "You think I came all this way, waited all this time, just to be fuckin' lied to about my fuckin' *DAD,* Bobby?" She stands up, her chair falls over behind her with a clatter. She doesn't make an aggressive move, just stands there with her fingers flexing and unflexing into fists, trying to keep a grip on the rage building. There's a look in her eye that dares Bobby to try her, wild, a deep, dark excitement about the 'fun' this could lead to. "I don't wanna lose my shit Bobby but I am having a bad fuckin' week, so why don't you rack your brain and start over, and I'll pretend you didn't just lie to my fuckin' face."
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Charisma + Intimidation vs. 5 -> 3 successes. (10 9 8 8 1)
Bobby immediately goes silent, his head ducking down and his eyes staring at the table. He definitely doesn't want this Ahroun to lose her shit. Though he's not affected by the Curse, have a little more sense-of-self than the average person, he still can tell that she's not someone to trifle with. No Garou really is, especially for kin. And especially since Shit-Kicker isn't doing anything to defend him. In fact, Shit-Kicker is just quietly eating some pizza and drinking a beer, glancing between the two of them.
After a moment, Bobby says in a quiet voice, "Yeah, okay. It didn't go down like that. But you're not gonna like how it *did* go down."
He looks up to level his gaze at Clem, but can't quite hold it. Instead, he looks at about her midsection. "But it wasn't either me or Jimmy wanting to do it. Your dad was there with us. This was his first big thing after he got patched in. It was important for him."
Bobby selects another cigarette, tapping the filter first on the table, then popping it into his mouth before he flicks the flame against the tip. "Things started going well at first. The guy, Bujar, he was gonna give us more of a cut than normal. Tomás calls your dad and says he wants your dad to ice him. Mike says no, not at all. Well..."
The rage bleeds slowly from Clem's eyes, though there is a hardness that remains that Kaz would find unfamiliar. Something about this whole mess with her dad is drawing something out of her, like an animal with a wound, ready to snap at the lightest touch to the wrong spot. She stays standing for a long moment, staring down Bobby as she waits for the true story. "Go on," she murmurs, removing the unlit cigarette from her lips and lifting her beer and taking a long drink from it while she listens. Eventually she lifts the chair back up from the floor and grabs it, twists it back into place so she can sit again, reclining in a relaxed fashion that does not match the hard expression on her face at all. "So one of y'all did it, and scapegoated my dad because he was too 'chicken' to pull the trigger. I got about the right of it?" Clem asks flatly.
"Not quite," Bobby says, "but nearly there." He blanches and takes a drink from his own beer. Outside, there's the sound of shouting as a couple guys get into a fist-fight. Some shouting in Spanish, which Kaz will recognize as someone calling to break up the fight, and the two guys get pulled away from each other.
"So, your dad doesn't wanna do it, but Bujar overhears Tomás on the phone. Of course he fuckin' did. Anyway, so Bujar pulls out this little shotty from under the counter and tries to shoot your dad, gets him with some buckshot in the shoulder. Your dad fires his gun and hits Bujar in the stomach."
"Jimmy," Bobby trails off, looking down at his beer. "Well, Jimmy says it's a bad way to die, and he tells your dad to finish the job. But Mike's not gonna do it. So Jimmy grabs the gun from your dad's hands, and shoots Bujar in the head."
After another pause, with a glance towards Shit-Kicker -- who is absolutely keeping out of this -- the kinfolk continues. "We figure that's it. We clean up as best we can. Come back. Tomás is pissed. He tells your dad that he gave him an order, he expected it to be followed. He said your dad can either get what Bujar had coming to him, or he can serve time and keep the cops from sniffing around. Your dad tried to plead with Tomás, but Tomás just said, you know, some choice things. Anyway, Mike took the deal. He *did* shoot Bujar, but I figure Bujar would've lived if he got medical attention. Probably would've shit into a bag for his entire life, but he would've lived."
Bobby leans back against the chair and sighs, rubbing his eye with his free hand's palm. "So that's that. That's the story. I'm sorry to tell it. He's up in Victorville now, I hear. But he don't want anything to do with us, swore off being a Vago."
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Perception + Empathy vs. 6 -> 4 successes. (10 9 7 6 3)
It's quite the story. Things are always more complicated than you expect them to be, that's one of the ways you can see an easy lie from a true story. And now that Bobby's cowed into not hiding behind his shame and his allegience to his gang, Clem takes a deep breath and evens herself out. She closes her eyes and rubs her face as the story comes to its conclusion. The hardness has been replaced with a weariness, but only for a moment. "I get why you didn't want to tell me," Clem says, gritting her teeth a little, "You got your loyalty to the Vagos. You aren't proud. I get it. Fucked up to lie to a kid about her dad being a killer, though." She finishes her beer off, seems to have lost her appetite for the half a slice of pizza she has left, so she just tosses it back into the box. "Thanks, anyway," she says, a bit grudgingly, appreciating the truth. "So two more questions then," Clem says, eyeing Bobby closely, "What's the deal with Jimmy? Seems like there's bad blood there. And second, what did my dad leave behind? What'd he steal?"
Moving to stand up to his feet, Bobby gestures towards the door and says, "Let me unlock the storage trailer. Might as well take it, since he's your dad. You're the one who should have it, after all." As he waits for everyone to get up -- Shit-Kicker finishes his pizza slice before he stands up -- he mentions, "Jimmy, well. He became a bit of a loose cannon. After he killed Buraj, he got a couple more cross and bones patches on his cut. Tomás saw him as right-hand material. But Jimmy's too fucked up to be in that kinda position. Still chaps his ass, but y'know. Will kill whoever Tomás says."
Clem rises with Bobby, patting Kaz once on the shoulder as she makes room for people to clear away from the table. Her expression is unreadable, just a wild mix of emotions that just kinda blends into frustrated. At least she knows her dad's innocent, or at least... not wholly guilty. That's something to go on, even if she's not sure what to do with that information yet. "Yeah thanks, I don't really have anything from my family anymore," she admits, shoving her hands into her hoodie pockets. He didn't answer her question, but she supposes she'll figure it out soon enough. "Guess every gang leader needs their own personal attack dog on a short leash," Clem supposes with a rueful smirk, and before they're out of the trailer, she has to ask, "Why did Tomas want Bujar dead so bad anyway? It sounded like he was gonna pay up, isn't that bad business? Was it a grudge hit at that point or what?"
Leading the trio out of his trailer and across the dusty flat ground towards the storage trailer, Bobby shakes his head. He glances over his shoulder towards the other people in the camp, but doesn't speak in public. Some of the men -- they're all men -- start to amble towards them, but a swift look from Shit-Kicker stops them in their tracks. Also, Clem and Kaz, with the heightened Curse via Mammoth, keeps any of the humans from approaching them at all. The wind picks up and swirls some dust around the camp; there's a clattering sound as stony sand hits the windows of the storage trailer. Bobby unlocks it and flicks on the light switch.
Once they're all inside, he starts to talk again, "Where the fuck is it? Oh, here." He goes for what appears to be a large file box. "Tomás answers to some other folks who wanted to send a bigger message. If he didn't have Bujar killed, then we would probably have lost some of our Bakersfield contacts. Plus the next time we made it down to Sinoloa for a shipment escort would've been a nightmare."
He moves to hand the box to Clem. It's not very heavy, probably a few pounds.
+ROLL/+DICE> Clem: Intelligence + Streetwise vs. 6 -> 1 success. (9 8 3 1)
For once, Clem seems too focused to be distracted by the people who are starting to gather up their curiosity about these strangers from LA, just pulling her hood up over her head to block the worst of the dust. Danny, still in the driver seat of the (locked) van, lifts his cap when Clem and Kaz and the others come back out of the trailer, but once he sees the group aren't heading back to the van, he just sinks even lower in his seat, trying to look either asleep or keep too low a profile to be visible in the dark by anyone who might take an interest.
"Guess nobody wants to piss off the Cartel," Clem says under her breath, a hint of malice in her voice. She's already decided she doesn't like this Tomas guy. Business is business, but he didn't have to fuck over her dad. Still, she's not gonna say anything that'd raise any alarms. She just waits by the trailer until the box is in her hands, and she immediately opens it. She doesn't have the patience for a long meaningful stare at the closed box, to wonder what's inside, to live in that liminal mystery. She has to know.
Within the box are two other boxes. One is a music box that her dad found in the trash one day and fixed up when Clem was very little. When Clem would have the nightmares that typically precede a Garou's First Change, he would wind the music box over and over again to play a Chopin song on repeat. The little ballerina that was inside the box has long since been broken off. The lid of the box barely closes correctly, but the mechanisms still work.
The other box contains what appears to be a bunch of jewelry -- a couple wedding bands, some gold necklaces that are probably expensive, though she'd need to get them appraised. Oddly, there's also a passport that's not Clem's dad's. It belongs to a man named Frank Terwilliger, and it seems ancient. There are three folded up pieces of paper in the box.
Unfolding the paper there's something written in Michael Maybury's handwriting, addressed to Clem. It reads: "Clementine, if you're reading this, I'm either dead or gone for some reason. I'm sorry about that, I never wanted to leave you alone, especially after what happened with your mom. I know I didn't do well by you, you know. I could've done better.
"Maybe this will fix it. This passport is for a guy that's some serious bad news. I don't know how old you are by now, but my dad was a werewolf. I don't know if you figured it out, or what. But you're related to werewolves too. We call it kinfolk," he goes on for a while to describe the condition of being kinfolk and the Garou Nation, what a Bone Gnawer is. "I never wanted you to have to learn about this, but the guy in the passport, Frank Terwilliger, is a really bad dude. He's sort of like, possessed," and the letter goes on to explain in very general terms what fomori are. "He was behind the raid. I think he's connected to something bigger. There's a company that has a lot of fingers in pies. Anyway, if you're reading this, get this information to some friends of mine up in San Francisco. They'll know what to do with it. Find a guy called Ham. This's weird but there's a quick way to get to San Francisco from Los Angeles, you don't even have to drive. Just find Mason King's boy. I love you, Clementine. I hope you turned out well. I hope I'm not dead and we can meet again some day. It's funny, but I know I was a bad dad in a lot of ways, but I feel like it was the best thing I ever did with my life. I hope you found some good folks. Love, dad."
Shit-Kicker and Bobby try not to watch Clem as she reads the letter, instead kind of milling about inside the room. Bobby checks some ammo stocks. Shit-Kicker looks at his phone. Outside, the sound of more motorcycles approach.
Clem paws through the box a little, her eyes starting to mist up as she sees little bits of vague memories from her dad, her mom. Jewelry that she half-remembers. The music box hits her like a punch to the gut, and she covers a pained sound with a laugh that is betrayed by the way her face and eyes redden, a sheen finding her eyes. She sniffs, rubs her nose with a knuckle, and then slides down the wall of the trailer to sit cross-legged and read the letter her dad had left for her. She barely recognizes his handwriting but she recognizes his voice in the words.
Clem is quiet for a long time, eyes scanning back and forth, reading and rereading sections, her face red and eyes crinkled, riding the line of trying not to cry. But despite her best efforts, a few drops of liquid catharsis find their way down her cheeks, staining the letter. It's a lot to take in. "Why didn't you just fukkin' tell me?" she whispers to herself, touching the letter with her fingertips. She gives a little laugh-cough, wipes her eyes on the back of her hoodie sleeve, sniffs, and folds the letter up. She gives Kaz a meaningful look, like there are things that they are going to have to talk about, but for now she just places the letter back in the box, and takes the passport out. "Shit-Kicker," she says, getting the fostern's attention, her voice a little ragged from the strain of forcing herself not to show too much of her emotion, and she lift the passport up and open to show Frank's face, "Do you recognize this guy at all?"
Shit-Kicker leans in and looks at the picture. His expression suddenly goes dour, the stormy look of Rage flickering through his eyes. "Yeah. I know that fucker." He pulls himself back up to his full height. "That fuckin' guy works for Atlas International. The energy company that runs that nuclear power plant up near San Luis Obispo. He's a fomor, but not the kind that we're used to dealing with. Bad news. He'd wipe the floor with the both of you. Probably with me too, if I came along."
More motorcycles roll up outside, as well as a truck. Bobby peers out the window and says, "Oh - uh, y'all want to get out of here now, I'd suggest. There's gonna be some business that you shouldn't be around for. Tomás will be pissed if he finds you. And," Bobby shakes his head, "There's fuckin' Jimmy." One of the guys rolls up on a massive cross-country style motorcycle, Harley Davidson.
She wasn't expecting exactly that response. Sure her dad warned her he was a bad dude, but her dad thought she was a young fragile kinfolk, not one of Luna's war machines. She was made to kill 'bad dudes.' So when Shit-Kicker gives his warning, she snorts and puts the passport back into the box. "Well, so much for just going off and killing him to let off some steam," Clem says with a sigh, pushing herself up to her feet with noticeably less energy than she usually has. "Why's my dad warning me about this guy specifically? What's he got to do with us? It's so wei-" she cuts herself off as she hears the motorcycles starting turn the night air into a cacophony of revving engines and rumbling mufflers. She shoots Kaz a glance and nods. "Yeah, we've got what we came for, we'll get out of your hair," Clem says to Bobby, and hefts the now-shut box a little. "Thanks for this. Really. It means a lot. And thanks for your help, Shit-Kicker. If you ever need something from me in LA, find me in Skid Row. I'll see if I can return the favor." And with that, she hops out of the trailer and walks at a brisk pace back to the van with Kaz in tow, trying not to look too interested in the growing number of headlights sweeping around the little trailer park, so perhaps they won't take interest in them either.
