Participants:
| Scene Title | Bad to the Bone |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Some disgruntled Chimerae decide to party a little too hard with the mortals and find some Scions along the way. Punching and hijinks ensue. |
For decades after the Civil War, Hell's Kitchen on New York City's West Side glowed, simmered, and frequently boiled over with crime and corruption. Notorious gangs ruled the streets between the tenements, grog shops, slaughter houses, railroad yards, and gas works. In the gaslight days of the lobster palaces, private dining rooms, and champagne suppers, those in a sportive mood headed toward the Tenderloin, centering around Haymarket. In the Tenderloin there was more crime per square mile of redlight house and saloon than in any other place in America. This all flourished under police protection of course.
But Hell's Kitchen also produced "The Fighting 69th" and Father Francis Patrick Duffy, the heart and soul of that famous regiment. Writers such as Thomas Wolfe and O. Henry lived in Hell's Kitchen and searched its streets for ideas and inspiration. Over the years, Hell's Kitchen has learned to temper its wild instincts somewhat. An unknowing visitor will still see pockets of undesirables, but the neighborhood is home to thousands of people and open businesses. Some still argue about the exact boundaries of Hell's Kitchen, but these days it's commonly considered to run from 34th to 59th Streets and from Eighth Avenue to the Hudson River.
—-
Another evening in Hell's Kitchen, which bubbles and boils with its souls. Gangs, mobsters, bikers, redlight houses- all sorts of miscreants calll this place home and operate here. While it's less wild than before, there are still pockets of trouble even if violin case toting men in suits aren't quite as open. The humid, warm cloudy evening provokes many to seek bars after work. A gaggle of about half a dozen motorcycles, mostly choppers and Harleys are parked outside a bar near a redlight - ahem, house. Still, there are nice places and it is known for its inspiration, heart and soul if one seeks to see the heart, metallic heart and veins of a city. Just an ordinary evening so far, though there's a few shouts from the bar the bikes are parked just outside of.
Alexander is hanging out, waiting for trouble to start. It doesn't matter what kind of trouble, really, just so long as someone gives him an excuse to crack heads and take wallets. He's got his arms folded while leaning against a wall across the street from one of the biker bars, tuning out the constant noise of the city for a shout, scream, or call for help. His only uniform for this special service to the city is a black t-shirt with a silver bear stencil on the front, and a chrome belt buckle in the shape of a bear's open maw.
This area of the city was decidedly not one of Jocelyn's preferred places to be, but the money for the delivery was good. Jo looks decidedly out of place in this rather grimy area, as she is dressed in relatively nicer attire - a white, fitted button down shirt with a damask design screen printed the shoulder in black, paired with black dress slacks, red converse high tops peeking out from beneath the cuffs. Her long hair is pulled up into a smart ponytail, which swishes emotively as she walks, stepping out from one of the nicer looking row houses along the street.
The short young girl is attempting to look business like, and generally coming off looking angry. She does smile as she glances over her shoulder at her friend, "And this, is precisely the reason I need you along on these things. I think that thing would have tried to eat me otherwise," Jo grimaces slightly, but continues walking out onto the sidewalk.
Aillen was dressed for business in blacks, umbrella out and ready to keep the dampened world at bay. Hell's Kitchen wasn't exactly a place he wanted Jo to be alone even if he wasn't acting as a body guard. Still he could be a dangerous man too, he walked with his posture that bore little reference to passivity. He was a predator as well, one that would show the other predators that this was his territory and he was not on the menu to be prey tonight, nor anyone he was with. He grinned at Jo at her commentary "You're doing fine. Just keep the posture right. Body langugae means a lot."
This city. It's his city. Josh has decided to take it upon himself to begin a campaign against the crime that has begun to infest this part of the city again. A lone vigilante, striking at the heart of the criminal underworld with unstoppable force. Josh is no longer himself, of course, as he has fashioned a 'mask' of sorts, which is really just a bandana and a pair of sunglasses, along with a dark t-shirt and dark cargo pants.
Right now he's on top of a roof, overlooking the city, as he waits for something to draw his attention. A crime he can stop, some criminal element that he can beat into a coma. Batman, this is not. But Josh is going to unleash some vigilante justice upon someone tonight.
Hell's Kitchen for some may remind them of Daredevil. For others, it may bring to mind Chef Gordon Ramsey. And for still others, it is home. Ominous though it may be, it is always home to some of the city's poor, the city's shadowy, and the city's unfortunate. Why, exactly, Orion Granger can be found here is anyone's guess. Maybe New Atlantis is as down on the black man as New York City.
Granger looks markedly more at home in Hell's Kitchen than Jo or Aillen… Or even Alexander. He is crouched beside a red, white, and blue motorcycle outside of the biker gathering's chosen Redlight House. It looks like it's any ordinary Asian-made so-called superbike, but somehow different. There's something weird about the bike, somehow setting it apart from other bikes of its style. Kind of like its owner, Orion, himself is different from other black guys.
Dressed in jeans, a sleeveless muscle shirt, and boots, Orion appears to be busily trying to fix something on the bike. Is that the transmission he's tinkering with?
More loud laughter and roaring from that particular biker bar. It seems a rowdy, but lawful gathering. So far. At least until some poor bastard in biker leather comes flying - literally flying out the damn door and lands flat on his backside. He shouts a few profanities, and even more are shouted back. Uh oh. "The Hell is wrong with you! Walkin' in like you own the damn place, c'mon," The fellow on his backside beckons challengingly, daring whomever threw him out to come outside. His bravado does not last long though, as not one, not two - heck, not even /three/ burly creatures exit and more seem to be trying to shove out the door. The fellow, we'll call him Rick - decides his verbal taunts are enough and scrambles for his bike. It seems that around 5 figures have exited the door. To most folks, they look like big, huge, burly dudes with dark moustaches and varying levels of beardology.
To /you/, dear Scions, they are an unholy amalgamation of man and Harley Davidson. Some of whom have connections at the gas tank with chrome shoulder pipes and others who are attached more at the seat, incorporating piston, steel and leather into their design. None seems to be an apparent leader, but fists are curling and poor Rick's about to get it when - sniff, sniff. Something /better/ to mash into a pulp has come along. One or two eye Orion, and suddenly they're muttering and growling amongst themselves. Fortunately, Rick isn't stupid and bails for it.
Alexander grins as the monsters stride out of the bar. By now, he's used to crazies like these showing up out of nowhere, and while they might suck for easy cash, at least they pose more of a challenge. Kicking off the wall, Alexander begins to stride across the street, his knuckles cracking when he flexes his hands into fists, not saying anything just yet as he approaches the future scene of the crime. He won't throw the first punchlooks better that way to the normiesbut he'll be at Orion's side in seconds.
To /you/, dear Scions, they are an unholy amalgamation of man and Harley Davidson. Some of whom have connections at the gas tank with chrome shoulder pipes and others who are attached more at the seat, incorporating piston, steel and leather into their design. None seems to be an apparent leader, but fists are curling and poor Rick's about to get it when - sniff, sniff. Something /better/ to mash into a pulp has come along. One or two eye Orion, and suddenly they're muttering and growling amongst themselves. Fortunately, Rick isn't stupid and bails for it.
Orion suddenly has a feeling in his gut. It feels like he just got dropped into Trivette's boots or T.C.'s Hawaiian shirt or possibly B.A. Baracus' bling. He closes up the bit of transmission that he had opened, allowing him to work on something inside of the case, and slowly turns his head to stare at the cluster of guys who have given up on hassling Rick.
"Huh. That's different," remarks Orion as he sizes the quintet up, "So, uh. S'up?"
Mr. Granger's hand nearest his bike may be reaching for his remarkably large saddlebag - racing bikes like this don't usually have such big saddlebags, the hell does he have in there? - while he sizes up the Motorcycle Men. In Orion's experience, drek like this never ends in anything less than ultraviolence, whether he's asking for it or not.
Jocelyn pauses mid stride at the commotion at the biker gathering, eyes glancing about curiously and noting the reactions of those around her. She settles her gaze on the group emerging from the bar, frowning and shaking her head, "You know, coming in here for this assignment, I expected some normal bums, maybe a not so normal bum or two, but not this sorta thing," she adjusts her messenger bag closer to her back, glancing over her shoulder at Aillen as she starts towards the fray, clearly figuring her friend would follow along, "Guess we should check what's going on, I suppose?"
Aillen frowns seeing the man thrown out of the door, then frowns more seeing the five cyclemen coming out after the guy. Looking back to Jo, he grinned. "Can check easily enough. I imagine that checking is going to quickly escalate into stabbing, probably some screaming and then follow it up with a few explosions. " He grinned and shook his head as he started towards the fray, though his longer legs took him in front of her with his quickened pace, not wanting to let her be the one to take the brunt of what was going to happen. He glanced over to the large man approaching as well, then noticed that the bikers turned towards the man with the fancy bike.
"Well, that's something." Mutters Josh, as he takes off from the rooftop he's on. Of course, as he falls he activates his Sky's Grace. Which of course will make sure that he doesn't hurt himself by jumping off of a roof. And he directs himself towards the monsters, since his job, at least in his own twisted mind, is to beat things like them into non-existance. For the good of mankind, naturally.
These might be the kind of guys that give those gut feelings. Most mortals - even the women who /adore/ this kind of man - have cleared a wide path. Even the usual run of thugs and bikers has hauled out. But that doesn't seem to faze the biker-men, chimaera most unholy. There's a few chortles and smirks between them as they consider Orion. "What's your business here, /boy/?" One asks, more sneer than question. There's an irrational, almost bloodborne hatred bubbling beneath the surface - as if Orion's very /existence/ were an offense. "You don't belong…" He wrinkles his nose, looking to the bike then Orion.
Abruptly, a few of his buddies murmur and rustle. They perk up. Unfortunately, much of biker related violence is hormone, booze or stupid fueled. In this case, it might be all three. Their hatred seems practically instinctive, natural as posturing and muttering. "You got some buddies?" They eye him, perhaps scenting more like Orion on the way. Oh boy. This doesn't look good. One approaches Orion, about to grab his shoulder if he doesn't move.
That man down there is in trouble! Josh has to save him. So the quazi-masked man lets himself go from his position in the air, and he falls. Anyone who looks up might think that some crazy person is jumping to their death, with the speed he's falling at!
However he knows that he will land unhurt. Unfortunately, the creature he's about to land on will not be as lucky. Josh angles himself as he falls, and raises one elbow above his head. He aims down at the creature as he drops, in his own head imagining the flashes of cameras as he falls, the announcer screaming loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd, but all of that dulled by the pounding of his own heart as the adrenaline kicks in, flooding his body with the feeling of being truly immortal. The intent, of course, being to drill his elbow into the head of the creature closest to Orion, and drive it straight into the pavement in one swift strike.
It's on now, as they say - if this were cheerleaders and not big, hairy bikers. Mercifully, their uniforms are a lot different. The one that Josh lands on is hit with a bonecrunching - even sickening thud and collapses, driven into the pavement. It's steel and organics, crashing, crushing and groaning into submissions. This, this act /pisses his buddies off/. Combined with inborn hatred, a love of fighting and the maddening scent of scions drives the gaggle into combat mode. Three of them grab their iron wrenches and one moves to grab Josh now, trying to clinch him in a simple grab - it's raw street fighting, instinct and anger more than form or finesse.
Jocelyn raises an eyebrow as a masked man drops from a nearby rooftop onto the scene, effectively destroying one of the beasties. She mutters, largely to herself, "Oh good gods, is he the god-damn Batman or something?" Jo shakes her head and advances forward a bit more, keeping herself behind Aillen for the time being, brushing her hand against her stone necklace and muttering softly in Greek, an intricate sword appearing in her left hand. Her Greek mumblings continue, for any who speak Greek - Jo is requesting the favor of Fortuna among other deities - but for those who don't, she sounds kind of looney. A moment later, there's a slight shimmer in the air around her.
Boy? Did that half-man, half-motorcycle, purely ugly monstrosity call him /BOY/?
Orion's steely gray eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and culturally reinforced murderous fury. It takes Granger a full half-second to bite back his bile and his raw hate before he can restart his hand toward his saddlebag. His handsome features suddenly gain a predatory smile at the Biker's question about buddies. Cold and calm as the day before a Nor'Easter, Orion replies in a strong and nearly diabolical voice.
"I'm a brotha. I got homies everywhere, dawg."
Josh simply drops out of the sky and drops a Motorcentaur with his elbow. Orion pays only enough attention to notice that one threat is down and the odds are somewhat evened according to some ethereal plan to which he is not privy. The tall man flips open his saddlebag with one hand and snags something inside just as a Biker's hand comes for his shoulder.
Granger twists toward his bike and executes a hands free, one armed cartwheel over the seat of his bike. When he lands, Orion holds a very big sledgehammer that he dragged out of his bike's saddlebag as he cartwheeled over the bike. He twirls it merrily in his hand, smiling a dark, grim smile at the bikers.
"Looks like I got a badder posse than you, cracka."
Aillen spun the umbrella in his hands, flinging it into the air with an exagerated gesture to draw the eyes up and away from him. He was already running forward as he did so though, diving through an opening between the men with well practiced agility, his black clothing helping to unify his form and distort his exact shape. Yet as he dove his hands planted onto the legs of the motorcycle man fallen to the ground, the rest of his body flipping over to plant black combat boots on the concrete. A grunt escaped his lips as legend fueled musculature yanked the thing off the ground in a deadly arc, swinging past Josh and the other men around him towards the head of one of the fallen's companions as he rose to his full height.
Alexander was winding up for a hammer punch when suddenly /everyone is kung-fu fighting/, with one guy even doing an elbow-drop from the friggin sky! He cries out, "What the hell?!" in dismay, looking even more bewildered as Jocelyn of all people arrives armed and on the scene, "What is this, happy-hour?! These punks were mine!" Throwing up his hands as even the 'helpless biker' pulls out a friggin sledgehammer, Alexander just says, "Screw it!" and charges forward with a roar. A single fist comes flying through the air over his shoulder, small metal plates clanking and unfolding from one another as they encase his fist in a metal gauntlet just moments before it impacts the biker-centaur's face, "COME GET SOME!"
Even Josh has to admit that his attack was pretty cool. He smashed that monster something fierce. But then of course, he's got someone else coming after him! Josh ducks out of the way of the clumsy grapple by the motorcycle man, and he steps back away from him, "Oh no you don't!" He reaches up and grabs his shirt by the collar, and tears it off of him, ripping it down the middle and tossing the remnants of his shirt to the ground, before he points a finger right at the creature in front of him.
"You picked the wrong guy to mess with, brother! Now I'm going to show you and ALL of your friends," Josh points at all the other creatures, to emphisize his point, "Why you shouldn't have come here." And then, Josh moves in, using his superior skills to attempt to grab the monster himself, so he can unleash his full force upon the creature.
Upon getting ahold of his target, the now shirtless Josh effortlessly hauls the creature up into the air. Holding onto him tightly, Josh jumps into the air, and brings the creature with him. When he gets the creature up high enough, at least in his opinion, Josh lets go, and then grabs him again from a different position, holding him in position to unleash a powerbomb, as he falls back towards the earth at full speed, letting out a battlecry as he does.
The two of them plummet towards the earth, but the biker centaur is going to hit the ground first, right on the back of his neck. But with this much force, he'll be inside of a crater as Josh impacts the ground in with the force.
All Hell has broken loose. Most sane mortals have scrambled out of the way or gone to call the cops by now. Even the mortal bikers have gone to their booze or out of the way. Two centaurs are dead or damned close to it. One's stinging and growls at Alexander. "What's yer problem, son?" He comes swinging a wrench at Alex, in a neat, simple uppercut. Clever, these guys ain't. They're working on raw hatred. With a laugh, one is still eyeing Orion. "What kinda crotch rocket is that, boy?" He taunts. Though, he does hesitate seeing what happens to his buddies. Then a snort, "You gotta posse, but what about you?" He sneers and lunges at Orion, waving the wrench. And finally, a third looks between the two. He shrugs. "RAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" And barrels at Aillen. Everyone's getting a taste of the melee it seems.
But for now, mercifully, Jo goes unnoticed by the Centaurs. Longterm planning? Not their thing.
Alexander leans out of the way when the biker tries to uppercut him with the wrench, blandly calling out, "One." Leaning away from a second sweep, Alex drawls out, "Two," while stepping away from an overhead smash. The third swipe of a wrench goes wide as Alex suddenly isn't there anymore, instead standing behind the biomechanical centaur and tapping his shoulder. When the creature whirls around, Alex grabs his shoulder and draws back a fist, "THREE!"
With a wrench coming his way, the young irishman's body acted on instinct more than anything as heavy blackened boots propelled him forward towards the thing, yet to its opposite side, figuring the greatest defense was the things own body, and as he dove his left arm swung upwards, the air shimmering around it as it solidified in the shape of a sheild, imposing yet more power in the way of the things assault.
Orion twirls his sledgehammer a few more times as he watches the Motocentaur coming for him. He brings his sledge around, gripping it in two hands like a staff. Within a second, Orion and the ornery, belligerent monstrosity are locked in mortal melee weapon combat. Sledgehammer versus wrench, each impact throwing up tremendous *CLANG*s and *CRACK*s of metal on metal or metal on divine wood. Every impact throws the two apart for a fraction of an instant before they join one another in battle again
"Handmade, custom designed, and All American, Ugly. You a Detroit Monster or you foreign parts?"
Jocelyn watches the chaos unwind before her, frowning as one of the mechanical monstrosities attacks Aillen, her fist clenching around the hilt of her sword. She rolls her eyes at Alexander's initial comment about 'his' punks, muttering to herself as she coils into a crouched position, waiting for an opportunity to strike. As the centaur beast misses Aillen, Jo spots an opening, charging forward at full speed, her outline blurring slightly as she closes the distance in the blink of an eye. Her sword flashes shining silver in the dim streetlight as she lunges forward in an attempt to bury the blade to the hilt into the monster's side, snarling in anger.
Aillen's eyes took on an unholy sheen as biker thing swung its wrench at him, and as he impacted the ground bits of concrete flew up into the air with his impact. "By whatever hells spawned you, I will end you!" With head held skyward he let out a howl as his arm pointed down and back, a spear appearing in his hand with the shaft running up his arm and the blade jammed into the road beneath. Arcing forward like a beast himself his arm whipped forward, ripping a jagged line through asphalt as it exploded outwards, spraying debris up into the face of the leather clad thing as his other arm dropped to the shaft to slam it gutwards with all his might.
Orion's face has quickly become a mask of grim determination. These things are worse than monsters, they seem to be inexplicably racist monsters of Legend. He has been charged with destroying such ignorance, malevolence, and evil from the World.
Granger twists his body in an expert maneuver, using both hands to lock the leverage of his Faulthammer so he can knock the Motorcentaur's wrench backward and out of his way. The tall man narrows his steel gray eyes as the wrench and the chimaera's arms swing out of immediate striking range. Orion slides his hand near the head of the hammer down to where his other hand grips the haft of the hammer as he brings the hammer around.
"Say good night, Gracie."
The Faulthammer hurtles over Orion's shoulder in a devastating arc for the creature's chest. He angles just a little steeply, intending to hit hard and high so he can pound not only the chimaera's chest and armor, but pound its armor clean into its chest and, hopefully, into its dark heart.
Anyone looking at Orion from the left side might notice that his chest appears to be glowing a fiery orange color. This may, or may not, be a good thing.
This has gone on for far too long, Josh thinks. He's killed two of the creatures, and then two more of them are still alive, it would seem. Well, he knows how to put an end to that! Moving towards where Orion is, he maneuvers in to grab ahold of the bike'taur by one of it's arms, as he looks to Orion, "Hope you don't mind if I cut in." He says, as he twists the beast's arm, and then shifts his weight in order to use a shoulder throw to hurl the creature at the other one that's still standing, intending to use the creature's weight to his advantage, and end up doing enough damage to both of them to take them out of this fight. And then, once they are all gone, it will be off into the night like a good vigilante!
Of course, as the bike'taur flies through the air, he has a few seconds to think about his life, and the poor choices he's made throughout it. Maybe when he was younger he should have paid attention in school. Maybe if he hadn't been such a trouble maker, he wouldn't be in this situation right now. If only he had stayed home and applied for college instead of coming to this bar with his so called friends. If only..And that's about it. Because at that point he hits his friend, who was caught completely off guard, with the force of a semi-truck impacting another semi-truck.
Now those of us who have seen Mythbusters know the kind of devestation that such an impact can cause. And the two mangled, mashed bodies continue to sail through the air further away from the initial impact point, until they crash through the front entrance of the bar. Thankfully when the fight broke out, the bar cleared out, because it's no more than a second later when they both explode. They do have internal combustion engines, after all. The fireball blows out the front windows of the bar.
Of course, Josh stands there, with the explosion to his back, unmoving. Man he looks cool like that. Something you might see in a movie. Something you probably did see in one of his movies, all things considered.
Alexander reaches up as though acknowledging Josh's epic achievement in explosive biomechanics. But instead, he simply snatches a set of keys that are flying through the air, checking them over thoughtfully before tucking them into a band on one of his arm bracers—already studded with claws, fangs, and other such trinkets, "Not bad." He nods glancing over at the smoldering flames, "Not bad at all."
Since there's a reasonable amount of bits and pieces even with the explosion - the group will find that the Centaurs all have happily never ending gas tanks relatively intact and ready for application and decoration to a new bike (Though a Greek pal might be needed!). The tanks will enable a motorcycle to run for life with never needing another refuel. As well, any diligent searchers will notice each bike'taur has a patch bearing the Harley Davidson logo. This logo - this brand, representing an old biking tradition will bestow knowledge to all tasks involving maintaining the bike. Or even operating it, so one doesn't end up much like the previous owners. There are about 3 intact tanks and 5 salvageable patches, as well - something drifted down from the explosion. Some debris lingers. Congratulations, you have saved the day. Although, one hears sirens far, far in the distance. Cops might not be /too/ eager but they do still have an obligation.
"Damn waste of a bar," remarks Orion as he watches the blaze roars up higher. He strolls over to one of the Motocentaurs and *CRACK*s the gas tank off of its corpse. The tall man inspects it carefully, nodding carefully after a few moments.
Granger strolls back to his bike, setting the Faulthammer in its saddlebag. He regards the gas tank thoughtfully, listening to the sirens for a few moments. After a minute, he grabs his helmet and pulls it on before swinging himself onto his bike. Looks like he's going to have to ride off into the moonset with a gas tank under his arm. Surely no one will notice him. It is yet to be determined if there's a Harley logo on the tank for him to make use of.
Aillen ripped gae bolga free from the body of the motorcentaur it had happily lodged itself in as he looked around at the bodies and the other men. He nodded thanks to Jo. "Think Hopper will be able to do anything with this stuff?" He held up the still sloshing gas tank and shook it a few times with a brow raised and a shrug. "Weird things and all." Looking over to the others, he smiled to Orion. "Hope you didn't mind us butting in and all, five against one seemed pretty shitty odds." As he shook off his spear, a patch clung to the spike and he plucked it off and put it in his pocket to check later.
"Well, my work here is done." Josh says, as he looks at the flaming remnants of the bar, "You kids play safe now." And then he flies off into the night sky before the cops arrive. But he did manage to snatch one of those Harley patches first. It came off in his hand when he threw the bike centaur.
Jocelyn rolls her eyes and lets go of her sword, allowing the blade to vanish in a rustle of wings and a slight breeze, plucking the Harley patch from the vest of a nearby corpse and sighing, "Lovely." She stretches her arms over her head, shaking her head and walking away from the scene a bit, still looking decidedly out of place amid the corpses, debris, and overwhelmingly male population. At Aillen's question, Jo glances at the gas tank, "Ah, he'll probably be able to do something with it. Although I still recomend buying a bike instead of letting him build one. Explosions near bits and all that." The young Greek shrugs.
"No big deal, man. I appreciate the help. Might be a good time for us to roll outta here though. Doubt any of us want to deal with the NAPD."
Orion offers a charming smile to Aillen and Jo before flipping down the visor on his helmet and revving the engine of his bike. He also makes sure to secure that thar gas tank under his arm before he tries to drive off one handed - surely a legendary feat in its own right - to escape the cops. Granger's going to have to change his tires after this.
Aillen nodded, not fond of the explosions near his bits part. "True true. We'll manage. Thanks for the assist at least. Though, best we make our way into the night like the rest of the loonies." He let his spear return to whence it came as he clutched his gotten goods, and offered Jo his other arm to make way into the night.
Jo watches the rest of the team depart, raising an eyebrow at the departures, "Gods we've got odd people around here." She sighs and accepts Aillen's arm, turning the Harley patch over in her hand as she walks with Aillen, "I suppose it'll be useful if I ever get a Vespa, and severely piss off any Harley aficionados in the area, as well. No way in hades you'll get me on one of those things," she nods at Orion's swiftly retreating form, "Either way, off, into the night with the rest of the crazies." She grins up at her friend.
Any additional notes fall to the bottom screaming for their lives. Raw log with dice rolls available, contact Sophia.
