Log edited with Logedit 2.6.6pl on Fri Jan 15 17:33:21 EST 1999

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Drew, indignation almost overriding her fear, pushes away from the wall and tries to storm past the hulking man. "Enemy? That's it," she snaps, tugging her sweater down to conceal the glyph tattooed on the small of her back, "I'm out of here. Keep the fucking camera."

Julie snarls quietly, but doesn't move, still peering coldly up at Drew from past the braids that veil her face.

Pete Barlow puts out a hand, stopping the woman with a shake of his head. "Not so damned fast." Barlow looks over at Davy. "Anyone hear go the Sniffer?"

Davy looks over with a shake of his head. He says, intelligently, "What?"

Pete Barlow frowns. "Sniffin' out the Wyrm," answers Pete as he studies the intruder.

Signe doesn't, but she moves smoothly to block the human's chosen escape route.

You say "That's spirit shit, man. Need Arlo." He turns back toward the kinfolk after answering. His thick brows are knitted together in a frown. "You wanna hold her, have me scare up Arlo or a crescent?"

Pete Barlow takes a deep breath and nods. "Yeah, we're gonna have to do that." Barlow shakes his head. "Or we just kill her and get it over with."

The young woman, even when glaring balefully, manages to look cute. Not much for intimidation, this one. Moving to slip under Pete's outstretched arm, she grits her teeth. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about --" Her eyes widen at that last comment, and she freezes up.

Pete Barlow turns as the young woman slips under his arm, straight into Signe's path. "Look, you little shit, you're not gettin' out of here without us makin' sure you ain't a gawddamned spy for the Wyrm."

Julie takes a step forward, still gripping her arms tight across her chest, a preditorial glint in her eyes.

Signe puts a hand on her shoulder and directs--not all that gently--into one of the chairs. "So. Relax." She says, and emphasizes the fact that it isn't a request by smiling. The smile is anything but comforting.

As if coming up against an invisible brick wall, Drew swerves as she comes to face Signe, whirling to face Barlow. "Look," she tries to reason, the quake in her voice now all too obvious, "I don't know who you are, or what wormy shit you're into, but I'm leaving." The resolve of her words fails to reach her voice.

Davy pushes past. He calls over his shoulder. "Be back ASAP."

You go into a dimly lit hallway and then up a spiral staircase that leads you to another hallway and eventually out into the theater auditorium.

Davy, having already tried Harbor Park and his own apartment, swings by Harbor Park. The stocky man strides quickly, boots sounding on the wooden floor, as he searches the patrons as if looking for someone lost.

Brigid is settled at a seat by one of the windows, feet up on the chair next to her and a leather-bound book in her hand. A mug of tea sits next to her on the table. Brigid

Long, straight hair, dark as unblemished molten ebony, spills about Brigid's shoulders in an unbroken wave. The inky blackness is broken by a pair of snow-white streaks, falling from the crown of her head. When loose, the ends curl softly, brushing her delicate chin with their pale tips. Her round, heart-shaped face with its high, graceful cheekbones and sweeping eyes of a pale ice-blue, holds an icy touch and only the faintest of smiles. Her tall form is muscular, yet well-proportioned, and she carries herself with perfectly erect posture, exuding a tangible aura of grace, power, and confidence.

An off-shoulder long-sleeved dress of midnight blue silk covers her body snugly, the hem flowing around her ankles. The fabric is embroidered with silvery-white thread in a pattern of stars, so that it looks as though she's clothed in a swath of twilight sky. In a few places, the hem of the dress is kilted up to her waist, revealing the shimmery silver-metallic stockings beneath. Her slender feet and calves are tucked into a pair of dark blue suede calf-high boots that zip up the inside of her legs. A fine pewter chain is draped about her neck, standing out above the dark fabric of her dress.

Davy probably would have glanced at the beautiful woman, hurry or no hurry, regardless. His eyes widen in recognition as he does and his pace quickens to take him toward the Silver Fang. "Brigid! Thank God."

Brigid looks up sharply at her name, blinking ice-pale eyes and setting the book down. "Davy? What is it?" She sits up and takes a quick sip from the cup of tea while looking up inquisitively.

Davy slides into the seat across from her without even the normal flirting play of it he would have normally indulged in doing. He drops his voice. "We have a weird human cornered at the Rialto. Came into the basement with a camera, and she has what looks to be a glyph cut into her. Can you do that sensing thing, to see if she's clean?"

Brigid's eyes widen as she listens, then nods emphatically, keeping her voice to a low whisper that doesn't carry beyond the table. "Certainly." She claps the book shut gently, folding the clasp of it shut and draining her cup as she stands.

Davy gives the young woman a gratful look as he pushes up again. "Van's outside," he offers. "Thanks. I owe you coffee."

Brigid smiles thinly and tucks her chair in before heading outside. "It's enough to help."

Davy's full chuckle sounds as he opens the van door for Brigid before climbing in himself. "I'm rarely too proud to ask for that."

Brigid settles into the seat and chuckles softly, "I'm rarely asked for it." She shrugs and smiles a little more.

Davy spares a glance from the road. "Because of your youth?"

Brigid nods a little, "That's one reason, I suppose. That and some people think I'm a little nose-in-the-air from my attire."

Davy waits until a traffic signal to turn again. His eyes travel down Brigid and up again, before he politely returns them to the road. "Aren't roughing-it clothes, for certain. I could see that, in the woody sorts, and half the city sorts eat out of dumpsters." He pulls into the alley next to the Rialto and shuts off the van. Looking over with a wink, he says, "But I think you look like a vision."

Brigid's cheeks color slightly and she smiles, "Thank you." Looking around, she starts letting herself out. "This is it?"

Davy nods and opens his door. "She's more stable than she looks," he comforts, before leading the way into the condemned playhouse and down to the basement.

The Rialto -- Auditorium(#3319RJ) The roar of the crowd. The smell of greasepaint. "Now is the winter of our discontent..." An old, darkly nostalgic quality hangs heavy in the air of this empty old theater. Once black-painted windows no longer refuse the light of sun and moon, now broken and open to the city sky.

Largely gutted now, this once gilded and opulent theater spreads like an old grand dame holding desperately to a past now gone and largely forgotten. The plush seats which once held nearly a thousand people are, for the most part, long gone. Time's indifferent hand has dulled the once ornate proscenium arch and faded the velvet red of the main curtain, leaving the wide stage in dark shadows before the gaping and toothless mouth of the music pit.

At the right side of the stage, from the auditorium floor, a door leads toward the back of the theater. To the left of the stage, an old exit sign still glows above a reinforced door. In the back of the auditorium, archways lead back to the lobby and the boarded up front doors.

You go through the door toward the backstage and then down a flight of spiral stairs into the theater green room.

Green Room -- The Rialto(#3680RAJ)

Brigid comes in from the stairs.

Signe slips up into the war form with an easy, fluid motion. The transformation is quick, but it leaves the nine foot monster hunched over the chair where the human sits, teeth gleaming and eyes glinting.

Davy, with his perfect sense of timing, appears int he doorway with Brigid in tow moments after the shift downstairs.

Brigid trails Davy with a concerned cast to her features, casting one quick glance around before centering on the scene in progress.

(Oh. My. God.) Drew stares pop-eyed at the hulking beast, frozen like a deer in the headlights. Mouth hanging open, all she can do is gaze in morbid fascination at the horror movie come to life, knowing inherently that she /should/ be screaming, but for some reason can't. Curled in the chair, the comparitively tiny woman is utterly humbled -- not to mention startled shitless.

Pete Barlow licks his lips clean of the salty flavor of lunch meat, old lunch meat. "I take it that's what you were meanin', eh, Drew?" Pete closes the fridge. "You seen one of those before?"

Davy stops on the stairs and says dryly, "It'll be tea and biscuits next, I just know it."

Drew manages to swallow dryly, throat twisting visibly with the effort. Her eyes never leave the towering creature that /used/ to be Signe, brimming over with an odd sort of wonder. "Years ago," she barely whispers. Curls whipping around her fce abruptly, she sends a startled glance towards Davy. Flighty little thing, she is.

Pete Barlow nods slowly. "Well, we're still fuckin' here. And it looks like you got some of the blood in ya." BArlow looks over at the smart-ass on the stairs. "So, you find a crescent, eh?"

Brigid listens distractedly as she looks over the woman, tugging her coat closer around her thoughtfully.

Davy looks back at the brute on the floor with a wicked grin. "I always deliver, my man." He takes the rest of the steps in five steps, then sweeps a bow toward Brigid with his left hand outstretched.

The dressing room door that the cub had disappeared into is unlocked and opened slightly, just a crack. It remains that way for a moment, then it is nosed open, and a ragged, thin 'dog' pads out slowly, head held way low, tail tucked up between its legs. Blotches pauses a distance away, to watch, the golden brown, blue-flecked gaze flitting nervously about the group.

Defiant-Storm just kind of leers at Drew, tufted ears cocking and swiveling, amber eyes tinted an angry yellow, and a low growl omnipresent from her breathing.

Pete Barlow looks over at Brigid. "You can Sense the Wyrm?"

Brigid makes her way down the stairs a bit slower than Davy and nods. "I can. Davy says you need someone checked out."

Disoriented, Drew tugs absently on a curl, still watching the unbelievable sight before her. She is completely and speechlessly in awe.

Pete Barlow motions at Drew. "This girl here. She looks to be kinfolk, but might could be a spy for the Wyrm."

Brigid nods and looks at Drew again, moving towards her quietly. She stops barely a foot and a half from the girl and holds out one hand slightly, her gaze unfocusing for a second as she stares. Brigid leans her head to one side and pulls her hand back, blinking and looking over to Pete. "She's clean from what I can tell."

Pete Barlow nods slowly to the Silver Fang before running a hand over his head. "Won't have to kill her right off then." The big Gnawer takes a couple steps around the table. "OK. You got some choices to make."

Blotches pads over towards her elder, dropping to her belly and crawling the last few feet to the side of a foot, though keeping out of his way.

Drew breaks from her awed reverie, glancing beyond the nine-foot behemoth to raise an eyebrow expectantly at Barlow. Her defiant spunk already shows signs of returning.

Davy laughs suddenly. "She's sure to," he says aloud.

Brigid backs off and out of the way, watching quietly now that she's done her task.

"I can lock your ass down here until we're confident you know who the fuck you are and what," starts Barlow with a simple nod. "Or, I'll let you go for now ... on the condition that you'll take one of us to your digs and that you'll listen to what we tell you. It may mean your life someday."

Drew rolls her eyes to the ceiling in a mimicry of intense consideration. "Let's see," she drawls with more than a hint of cynicism, "Stinky theater basement or a werewolf sleepover? Mm, tough choice." She pauses, glancing down at her folded hands, suddenly in all seriousness. "To tell you the truth," she meets Barlow's gaze squarely, "I don't have a place to stay. Yet."

Pete Barlow chuckles and then points at the dog next to him. "She'll show you a cot down that hall." The big gnawer walks toward the opposite hallway. "I've got some work to do. Julie'll show you the ropes. Just know this: you go off on your own and you're liable to get snatched up by the wrong kind a werewolves, honey. Just remember; we're the good guys."

Blotches gets to her feet and growls softly at Drew, not the menacing type, but the attention-getting sort and she turns, padding down to one of the dressing rooms. Her tail's hung low, as is her head, as she waits by the door.

Drew glowers after Barlow's departure, still curled on the chair with one knee drawn up under her chin. Once he's gone, the kinswoman glances doubtfully from the mutt to Davy. "Uh," she falters, sliding both feet to the floor, "The dog's s'posed to explain all this to me?"

Davy moves further into the room to take a seat again. He takes off his jacket, which exposes a holster looped around his chest. "When she shifts," he says laconically. "Though I'll do in a pinch before I have to go run patrol."

Blotches ruffles her fur and shakes vigorously, then chuffs quietly, settling on her haunches and watching the two.

"Ah," the young woman rises from her seat, a little edgy at the sight of the holster, "I see." She pushes shaky hands into her pockets, eyeing her surroundings as if for the first time before letting her regard settle on Davy again, scrutinizing. She seems doubtful, hovering between dashing for the stairs or retreating towards the privacy of a room.

Blotches thinks she knows how the two-legs feels. Not locked up, like Blotches, though.

Davy's look is not unkind, though his watchful gaze doesn't relax. "For all that he has the tact of a nuke, Uncle is right. You could have stumbled on something a lot worse." He then looks down to the dog and grins ruefully. "Unknowing kin are a lot like cubs, miss. You have that right."

Blotches sneezes, then gives Drew a lupy grin, tongue lolling as a paw lifts to scratch at the door. Sleep safe, wake happy, eat good.

Davy looks back up to Drew, the smile lingering. "She says you can sleep here and eat well when you wake up, and that's happiness."

Drew's gaze switches between the dog and Davy, disbelief etched on her open features. Suddenly her resolve crumbles, worn down by the events of the night. Her shoulders droop, hands rising to cover her face. "I don't believe this," she murmurs, half-muffled.

Davy offers seriously, "We aren't the bad pizza you ate last night, honest."

Blotches whimpers softly, lowering to her belly, muzzle resting on her paws. Blotches did not believe, not for long time. Blotches knows, knows how two-legs feels. Sleep, better in morning.

When the woman removes her hands, her eyes are brimful of tears. "I know," she sniffs, almost laughing as she rubs her fingers against a throbbing temple. "It's just -- the thing," her hand gestures in the direction of the departed Barlow, "And the dogs, and --" She laughs again, the tears almost flowing freely now, and sniffles shakily. "This is incredible," she murmurs absently, tired to the bone.

Davy's expression softens. "She knows how you feel, my lady. I don't, but I can make the stretch. Get some sleep. You may not believe it yet, but you're safer here than in any motel bed."

Drew wipes her nose gingerly with the sleeve of her sweater, turning away from Davy and the cluttered room. "I ha -- I have to go," she manages, almost hiccupping. She turns towards Blotches almost pleadingly, beyond the point of caring that she's looking to a dog for directions. Pausing, wringing her hands, she turns a tearfully dimpled smile back to the man. "Thankyou," she barely whispers, "I -- I'm sorry I caused so much trouble. With that, she turns away, dabbing at her streaming eyes and heading in the general direction Barlow mentioned.

Blotches pushes up, resting back on her haunches again, ears perking forward. Door lock inside, Blotches stay, watch keep two-legs away, rest quiet, wake when not tired. Blotches show two-legs where food.

Davy nods. "Good. Thanks, Julie." Davy turns to go. He then half-turns back and looks uncomfortable. "Julie?"

Blotches flicks an ear. Yes?

Davy opens his mouth then shuts it again. He shakes his head. "Just show her where the kleenex is." With that, he turns and walks out of the basement for patrol.

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