Fursuit Pursuit
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Date: 11/26/2017 Time: 18:00 EST |
The CYC was obviously a school. There's a front info desk, though, with a guy manning it; he has a list for who's admitted. They go through the gym, into a back hall; at one end there's a gathering of people. Lockers line one side of this wide hallway, which runs the width of the gymnasium. Two hallways branch off from one end of the room, each separated from the open space here by two sets of heavy steel doors. One leads to a hallway that runs the length of the gymnasium while the other leads to a set of former classrooms that have been converted for use as dormitory rooms. At the opposite end is what appears to be a lounge area, laid out in front of what was doubtless at one time a snack bar servicing high school basketball games. The lounge is a strange space nestled in the hallway's dead end. It sports furniture in a mixture of well-worn and brand new - two couches, three recliners, a large flat-screen television and a bookshelf that holds paperbacks, a stereo, a marble bust of an imposing looking woman and an eclectic assortment of movies on dvd and Blu-Ray. The snack bar is left open nearby, inviting visitors to take advantage of the soda machine behind the counter or help themselves to any of the several snacks that are left out within easy reach. This hallway, closest to the center's maintenance area, is chilly even on the hottest days of summer. Nor does winter bring a respite - the back hall is colder then. The twin chemical smells of fresh paint and industrial adhesive haunt this private space, a bothersome testament to the work that has been done to restore the building. Novi Sheraton Hotel, Lobby
Novi Sheraton Hotel, Various
Novi Sheraton Hotel, Room 309
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Cast: Storyteller: | |
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It's perhaps three or four in the afternoon at the Carson Youth Center! It's an ordinary day. Nothing spectacular about it. No doubt Oliver and Sandra are there, doing whatever it is an Olier and Sandra might do. Perhaps they're finally having the chacne to meet certain people. Eitehr way, there's nothing to make the moment stand out aside from that. ...FOR NOW. Stepping into the youth center, a place she has been a few times since arriving, Sora has an olive drab duffle bag in one hand and is wearing a grey waistcoat over her dress. The Kin looks around to see whom is present, speaking in a quiet soprano as she says "Oh, good afternoon." At the moment, for Sandra's part, that happens to be examining the white board, and looking for any recent reports, as she often does. There's a distinctly pensive look about her, but this is hardly unusual, "I can't help but notice that our resident scout hasn't bothered with 'step two' of his wildly speculative Umbral fly-over," said in an offhanded fashion to her packmate, not seeming to notice if he's busied himself with something more engaging than watching her pace. "It's been well over a month since that report was filed." Her tone implies what words don't, and most of that revolves around the word 'useless.' She looks up at the sound of a new arrival, her head canting slightly as she gives Sora a rather pointed once-over. True to form, "I don't believe we've met before," is said in lieu of anything more like an actual greeting, the folder she has in hand placed near the white board again. It would seem that this is the time to be at the CYC. Just a few moments after Sora enters, the door swings open again to admit Jamila. Her navy wool peacoat hangs unbuttoned over her slate-gray pantsuit and burgundy blouse. A black leather satchel and black alligator heels complete the look. She takes one, two steps and the pauses, her eyes moving from face to face, finally settling on Sandra's. She doesn't say anything, though, as it's rude to interrupt. Oliver is indeed not watching his packmate pace, at least not at this precise moment. He's studying the board as well, looking rather thoughtful himself. "I wonder what the hold-up is?" he says, picking up one of the folders just before Sandra puts hers down, but not getting it open before the arrivals. He glances over at the sound as well, giving the young woman a less-pointed once-over -- and then one to Jamila, for good measure, when she enters. They get a distinctly British-accented, "Good evening," to share, also. "What can we do for you?" "Oh, of... of course, I'm so sorry," says Sora to Sandra as she transfers her duffle to both hands so that she is holding it at about knee level. "I am Sora Morikami, kin to the Hakken Shadow Lords. It is a pleasure to greet you, ma'am," says Sora in that reedy voice. "How may I be of service?" Sandra's gaze shifts somewhat peripherally to Jamila when she steps into the CYC, though the Ahroun's attention drifts in that direction about midway through the introduction, the word 'Hakken' calling it swiftly back to Sora. Her brows arch subtly, and a brief glance is cast in Oliver's direction before it settles back on the new arrivals. "I suppose that depends on what you're good at," she says to Sora, "but we could arguably use as much help as we can get, especially in civilian circles." Beat. "Sandra Ulrich," she says, then. "Razor-Eater. Cliath Ahroun, Shadow Lords. And for what it's worth, Ms. Fujiwara will undoubtedly want to meet you sometime in the near future." Her gaze shifts to Jamila, then, and she says, "And you are?" somehow managing to keep the tone polite in spite of the pointed wording. Shadi pages: Your phone starts ringing. Go ahead and pose answering it in your next pose :) Long distance to Shadi: Oliver probably also ought to SW on these guys just to be reasonably whatsit. Uh. Responsible isn't the word but it'll do. From afar, Shadi nods. They're not wyrmy, of course, but totally fine that you'd do that. *handwave* Jamila takes a few more steps in, lifting her satchel up over her head and setting it down on the floor by a sofa. She shrugs off her coat, and drapes it over the armrest. She's very casual as if this is not the first time she's been here, and in fact, as if she has a routine for when she arrives. She looks up when Sandra introduces herself and smiles. "I am pleased to finally meet you," Jamila says, her voice bright with amusement. "I am Jamila Yusef Ibraahin, All-Things-Equal, Bagheera," she says, pointing to her business card up on on the bulletin board. "I've been awaiting the moment we'd meet since our first missed connection on Belle Isle." You paged Shadi with 'What's it say on caller id?' Shadi pages: Unknown Caller. Oliver's eyes flick briefly to Sandra about the same time she glances toward him, one brow arching faintly in return before his gaze returns to the newcomers. There's something a bit sharper about the regard while the Ahroun introduces herself, but it soon relaxes. At Jamila's introduction, it's his turn to glances fleetingly to Sandra with a subtle arch of his brows. Back to the arrivals, then, and he inclines his head in a greeting. "Oliver Cholmondeley-Fetherstonhaugh," pronounced 'chumley-fanshaw', because enough history erodes even syllables, "called Ouroboros; born of man beneath the new moon, and Cliath of the Shadow Lords." Which is not the tribe painfully obvious to those who can tell such things. "How do you do. W--" A ringing comes from his pocket, rudely interrupting him, and his brow furrows. "I do apologise, one moment," he says, and pulls the out the phone, glancing at it as he takes a step aside. Whatever he sees gets faintly pursed lips, and then he taps the screen and lifts it to his ear. "Hello?" From afar, Shadi: A pause. "is this the... the...'Meshuggenah of Mountain Dew'?" asks a hesitant, halting voice. Immedaitely, Oliver will be able to tell that this is someone who hasn't been speaking with a /voice/ for some time. It's the kind of halting way someone who's spent an extended amount of time as a wolf might speak. "I was given your name. Told you could help. It is im-port-tant." "A pleasure, truly. And of course Mr. Cholmondeley-Fetherstonhaugh, pay me no heed. Ineed, Miss Ulrich. I have already met with Miss Fujiwara. I came as a bit of a surprise to her since my bloodline is not well known nor prolific in America," says Sora. She speaks quite properly, but her accent is... well, accentless. Perhaps midwestern or the 'TV accent'. "I had heard I had many tribe mates here, I am glad to see it was not an overstatement," she continues. "Well. I am trained in herbal and practical medicines, though some would call them 'alternative' medicines. I am a craftsperson who specializes in book binding, but also blacksmithing. And, of course, I will help you in any way I may though I am not truthfully particularly skilled in anything." She looks to Jamila as the woman introduces herself and her brows raise, then lower in thought but whatever is on her mind remains unspoken. Instead she says to Sandra, as though addressing what the Ahroun was looking over earlier "I am uncertain if this is related to your concerns; I spoke to Mr. Gomez upon my arrival. He seemed to wish to make some sort of point to me about not being under our chain of command. I humbly made an effort to remind him that, while I am but a kin in service to the Garou Nation, we all of us whom are loyal here serve Gaia, Ma'am." As with Oliver, so, too, with Sandra. Anyone with an eye for lineage don't see a Shadow Lord at all, but there's something less-- dulled, perhaps, about the vibe of the Ahroun's own breeding. In fact, said lineage is one that would typically scream 'AVOID AVOID AVOID' in the best of circumstances, for some. Jamila, of course, gets her full attention when the Bagheera makes that introduction, something about her expression softening subtly upon hearing it. Her lips purse, as if to avoid a smile of her own, and she says, "So. You're the one I have to thank for the reminder that there's still such a thing as civility." There's nothing hostile or even sarcastic about having said it; apparently, that came as quite a relief! "As you say: it's good to finally meet you." There's a sort of 'one moment' gesture to come of it, her attention shifting to Sora to say, "And Mr. Gomez is many things, but 'on point' is rarely one of them. Speaking frankly, I suspect he's still indignant about having been warned not to fly onto the premises in his avian form. And I'd recommend being careful about what you say around him. If the reason for the warning doesn't make it abundantly clear, even by Corax standards, he's not known for his discretion." She looks to Jamila, "Fair warning, if you haven't had the distinct pleasure of meeting him yet," sparing only a brief look in Oliver's direction as the phone call proceeds. Jamila's lips part and her cheeks lift as she laughs. "You should have seen how he introduced me to Kai," she says, name-dropping like it's nothing. She unbuttons her jacket, and then sets herself down on the sofa, leaning back and crossing her legs. She looks toward Sora and says, "Don't let him know anything you don't want to share with the whole class." Whatever Oliver hears first makes his brow furrow a bit more, and then gets a brief (but clear if one's watching) skyward roll of his eyes. "It isn't a name I answer to," he informs his telephone, "but yes, I expect I probably am the person intended. How may I help you?" He may well have half an ear on the rest of the conversation, but one thing at a time. With a bow of her head to Sandra, Sora replies "From our interraction, I suspect you are right about his indignance. I can only hope he is not one to let matters of well-placed discipline impede his work for The Cause. And, speaking frankly... yes Ma'am. Your warning falls niether on deaf ears nor dull eyes. He seems to treat discretion as many would a particularly itchy wool scarf in boiler room." Looking to Jamila, Sora nods once as she says simply "There are, at least, manners in which that can be put to use I suppose, but I do not deny my vexation. It was not a great way to meet a Corax for the first time, I was not sure if I was bearing witness to a spirit bird speaking to me or something decidedly... other." From afar, Shadi: "I have been hunt-ing. There is a skin, old and powerful and wrong, taken from a wolf who was old and powerful and wrong. The skin is in the place called Novi. I have the numbers. I can not go, but you can. This skin, it corrupts. it destroys. Can you help?" The eyeroll is indeed, noted - just as surely as Jamila's name drop, which earns some notable recognition - even as Sandra's overall posture continues to something more relaxed, though there's something a little like parade-rest about the way she stands. Knee-jerk, rather than intentional. Oliver gets a questioning look, all the same, though her attention strays back towards Sora and Jamila, the word 'vexation' earning a slight raise of her brow, and something like amusement in her expression. Subtle, but present. "The words 'security risk' come to mind," she says. "If either of you see him in raven form here in CYC, or see him arriving in it, try to remind him of that concept. I'm not sure if either of you are familiar with the current goings-on within the city, but we don't have the luxury of that kind of nonsense. Like it or not, this is still a youth center, and the common view of ravens by the bulk of humanity isn't always a generous one." Health inspectors are a thing, in other words. "In any event, 'much ado about nothing' aside," she says, "if either of you have questions, concerns, or relevant information regarding local matters, I'd be interested in hearing them. Ms. Sokolov can't always be available to address things on behalf of the local Garou, so I tend to function as something of a go-between." From her comfy spot on the couch, Jamila lazily watches the others. One arm rests on her coat, draped across the armrest, and the other is laid along the back of the sofa. She has, it would seem, made herself _right_ at home. Her eyes lazily drift from Oliver, to Sora, and then back to Sandra, clearly interested in what's being said. "Shadi turned me on to this employment discrimination suit that's been filed against MDCI. I got in touch with the poor souls doing that work, and I am going to try and lend them a hand." She sounds rather pleased about this. "I'll let you know more, as it develops." Oliver's eyebrows raise again. This time it's rather less subtle. "I can certainly try," he says, pacing a couple steps. "Is there a name I can know you by, or a way to contact you? I have the feeling calling you back might not be ideally effective. And -- just out of curiosity -- did the one who pointed you this way happen to mention why he couldn't do more himself?" 'He' is a guess, admittedly. But it's a pretty strong one. The look from Sandra gets a brief raise of one finger, his hand barely moving from where it rests, but he looks more intrigued now. From afar, Shadi: "He is not in the Mow-Tor city. You are. I am Runs-Down-Past. The numbers are 21111 Haggery Road in Novi." Novi, Oliver could check on his phone, is twenty five miles northwest of the Detroit City Center. Perfectly reachable township, but yes, very close to the HORRIBLE CITY. If he googles the address, he'll see it's for the Sheraton Hotel. Perfect place to trade a horrible wyrm artifact of some kind.
Shadi pages: It's a four star hotel. You paged Shadi with 'A perfectly acceptable number.' "I am still looking through the information on hand," says Sora, "I am not asking for hand-holding, but are there any specific bullet points I should be aware of, Ma'am?" She stops speaking, however when she sees Oliver's gesture and settles herself into a relaxed stance. Though Sandra is visibly curious (albeit in the usual downplayed fashion), Oliver's 'one moment' gesture gets a short nod, and her attention diverts back to Sora and Jamila, though the latter has the bulk of it, for the moment. She's polite enough to say to Sora, "I'll get to that in a moment," before that happens, though. To Jamila, she asks, "Lend them a hand? In what capacity?" Given Shifters, it's a fair question. Jamila chins toward the bulletin board where her card is pinned up. "I am an attorney; a new law professor at the University. I specialize in civil rights, but those poor kids all just passed their bar exams in July. They're all run ragged." Her eyes lid lazily and she smiles as she shakes her head. "I won't be licensed until after the exams in February, but I can still do research and write briefs." Oliver gives a small nod, for all the good that does on the phone. "Thank you," he says, "Just one moment..." The phone leaves his ear so that he can tap at it for a few seconds, whatever comes up getting a 'hmm' sort of look before he returns to the call. "All right," he says, "I have that. Anything else you can tell me before I go stick my nose in?" Remaining quiet for the moment, Sora's attention doesn't so much wander as sharply focus here and there. She watches Oliver with his phone, Jamila with her chin-nod towards her business card, and Sandra as she waits to be told anything Sandra might find important unless the current situation undermines the chance. Shadi pages: Only that you do not underestimate its power. In life, he was a fierce killer. His skin has been worn by many a warrior and many have fallen facing the one wearing it. It has been burnt before but always has returned. If you find it, destroy it and buy peace before it must be hunted again. Call back when you have done it?" *CLICK* He has no idea he was an 'unknown caller'. Lupus. Sandra glances towards the business card again, and affords Jamila a faint, contrite smile. "My apologies," she says. "I know I'd seen it before, but there's a lot going on these days. That, and - I'll admit - I'm not terribly used to shifters of any kind holding down a job of that nature." She doesn't say it might be a matter of projection, there, but-- Ahroun. The smile dampens, then, Oliver afforded another glance before she says, "I'm glad to hear you're pitching in. There may be additional avenues with some of the veterans organizations - specifically those revolving around women - given their hiring pool extends to them rather frequently, if not exclusively. Speaking personally, serving on its own can be trying enough without having to face these sorts of pitfalls once you're out. In any event, I'll have Shadi give you more detailed information on that if she hasn't already. "As for the bullet points," she says to Sora, "beyond 'Damien Shaw is somoene you ought to avoid,' I'd have to know what you're aware of before I go into the laundry list of items that need to be covered." Jamila smiles and shrugs her shoulders along with her face, her eyebrows lifting and then lowering. "No offense taken," she says. "It can be easy to forget what else we all do when so much is demanded from us as Gaians." She rolls her head and eyes around in a broad circle, indicating the whole room, "And it seems quite a bit is demanded of you, in that capacity." "Well," says Sora, "Mr. Gomez told me Damian Shaw had betrayed us and this was the primary reason for a lack of Caern. I came here knowing the place was awful with dark spirits and decay, but I found out that the Garou here are apparently unable to enter the umbra as a result. That pertains less to me directly... my only ability with spirits beyond some vague understanding of the Near Umbral reflection is the ability to use a drug to see it... in a rather uncontrolled manner. And frankly my Yunshi extract doesn't require any sort of special skill to use so long as you don't mind seeing only the other side for a while as you stagger drunkenly while trying to move." She looks down, "Mmm. I skimmed your posting on the board, but haven't had a chance for a deep read. So I know the nearby Wendigo do not seem to consider us allies... " Oliver lowers his phone and looks at it a second, brow furrowed again, before returning the device to his pocket. "Well," he says, as he turns back to the women and retraces his pacing back to his packmate. "Sorry about all that. But speaking of things demanded from us," he turns his head to Sandra, "up for a field trip? I seem to have been volunteered to deal with what sounds like a Wyrm Fetish out in Novi. By our semi-local purveyor of aggravation and acceptable scotch, judging by the name my interlocutor was given." He looks to the others, adding, "I'm terribly sorry about the timing. Don't suppose either of you just happen to have a knack for the finding and disposing of noxious spiritual items?" Sandra affords Jamila a briefly appraising look, likely picking apart the subtext of that last line, though it's hard to say for sure. "We all do what we must," she says, after a moment, though one can be certain that subject will be revisited later. To Sora, she says, "Damien Shaw - though not someone to take lightly - is, unfortunately, only one piece to a very extensive puzzle. The 'front man' for something much larger in scope. As for the Wendigo--" She pauses, upon hearing Oliver address the lot of them, her attention turning to her packmate. There is-- a notable scowl on her face when He That Shan't Be Named is brought up, if only in that it's there at all, eclipsing what appears to be default impassivity. "I'm not sure if I like the word 'demanded' in all of that, but I suppose he is, at least by technicality, our superior," she says flatly. "Is this a 'favor' we owe, or is this a favor being asked of us?" she asks, even though she doesn't look like she's saying 'no' to a field trip. Or to having some assistance. Jamila finally regards Oliver with more than just a glance. Her lips purse and pull down in a sort of frown. A glance toward Sandra before returning her attention to the Brit. She uncrosses her legs, and brings both hands down to run down her legs as she scoots forward in her seat. "Finding Wyrm-tainted things is something at which I excel," she says, pushing up to stand. "Where are we going?" Looking to Oliver, Sora opens her mouth then shuts it. She shifts uncomfortably where she stands and one of the hands on her duffle bag smooths up the wrist of the arm she has holding the bag. "Like I said, Sir... I am an Herbalist and a Craftsperson. " She looks to Sandra since she seems to be the one in charge, " Ma'am. If you... do not mind my help, as I would certainly never, EVER, wish to even imply that you need it... I could probably help in locating it. And... while it might be better to take the time to make a potion or craft a talisman to deal with it, I could certainly give unweaving its mystic code a try. I... if you, d... don't mind my help that is. I'm not... I'm not a Lightning person or anything. I just know a few minor natural magics that DON'T break the laws of nature like a Name Breaker would. And... s... so I would very much LIKE to accompany you if I may." "I think," Oliver replies to Sandra, "it may be a we all do what we must. Big enough issue for a fairly clear Lupus to ring me up. It sounds as though he was the one to discover it was nearby. A skin, old and powerful and taken from what sounds like an old and powerful Dancer, and apparently it's worn by warriors for some kind of battle prowess. It's also apparently been burnt before, but always returns..." He's addressed most of that to all of them, though with the last bit, he gives Sandra a sideways look, brows doing that subtle lift thing again." Sora's remarks he leaves to the woman they're addressed to, though Jamila's get a small upward quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Well. That's convenient," he says. "It's in Novi, about twenty, twenty-five miles from here. The address I have is the Sheraton, so I suspect we may be looking at some sort of intended trade. And I hear it does a rather good barbecued duck breast." Sandra looks to Jamila, nodding once during that brief exchanged glance as if to state her own acceptance, her gaze shifting to Sora, in turn. She considers for a moment, listening to the details Oliver gives on the matter, and says, "Given all that-- if you're capable of protecting yourself without requiring constant guard or supervision, I see no problem with having another pair of eyes on the problem. Obviously, you won't be left to your own devices if a threat you can't manage is headed your way, but I'd prefer we're all as freed up as we can be." It's to the group as a whole - save, perhaps, Oliver - that she syas, "Dancers don't let go of their fetishes easily - obviously - which makes stepping into this a tricky matter to begin with. The problem is that this particular contact isn't exactly fond of giving straightforward details, so-- it'd be best if we went in expecting as much trouble as this situation can possibly throw at us. "That said: I have the means of driving us up there, unless there's a preference for taking separate cars. And I'd suggest we all take some time to make adequate preparations first, if need be-- be it in shoring up defenses, or otherwise." Driving to the Sheraton Hotel isn't terribly difficult. It's pretty close to Detroit, at twenty five miles to the north and west of the city center, in the suburb of Novi. The building itself looks pretty large and the kind of heavily-trafficed hotel for covnentions and meetups you'd all imagine a plce like this to be. ([1]) Indeed, you're lucky to get any kind of parking space at all as you begin making your way towards the door. This place is PACKED. That's going to complicate matters somewhat, but it was to be expected. A busy, modern four star hotel. For her part, Jamila was ready to go from the start, patting her satchel and indicating everything she needed was in there, and that she was more than happy to leave her car far away from any Black Spiral Dancers they might encounter. She grabs a spot in the backseat, probably next to Sora, leaving the packmates to the front, and is quiet for most of the ride. When they get to the hotel she hops out, and takes off her coat, despite the cold, and stuffing it into her satchel--which it should not fit in--and then slinging the satchel over her shoulder. During the drive, Sora withdraws her tanto styled dagger from her duffle and ties it to her inner-thigh where it is hidden by the hem of her dress. What looks like a Buddhist or Onmyou talisman strapped to the other leg by the straps of a card holder-like cartridge that looks like it is designed to hold more than just the one it is holding. Otherwise she leaves everything else in the bag as she exits the car with it slung over her shoulder. For an Ahroun, Sandra is a remarkably calm driver. Or, at least, not a frightening one. Speeding is done 'within reason,' and other cars are given a wide enough berth to allow for decent reaction times. The radio is ignored in favor of low-level chatter, but, for the most part, she seems content to remain largely silent. Upon arriving, she pulls a folded up shoulder holster with a 9mm of some kind still tucked inside, shrugging off her suitcoat and jacket to pull it on and get it properly fastened, the combat knife attached to the back belt loops of her slacks checked before coat and jacket are pulled back on, and situated. She gets out of the car, surveying her surroundings - and those with her, Oliver only getting a brief nod once that's done - and takes a moment to consider the possible entrances. "Looks like there's an event happening," she notes, and frowns. "Should have checked the schedule before we arrived." Oliver is not carrying a bag today, which makes it damn quick to get ready: he heads out and claims the front passenger seat. Politeness apparently doesn't extend quite so far as sitting in the back. "He's not the one who called," he notes to Sandra, "he's -- I'm fairly sure -- the one who suggested the caller do so. Which isn't to say there might not be something off, and expecting as much trouble's rarely a poor idea. But the caller sounded sincere, at the least." He does a reasonable bit of the low level chatter, small talk if that's what the others seem inclined to or just observations now and then, but nothing terribly important. The hotel gets a critical look as they arrive and leave the vehicle, and the parking lot another -- mainly for its fullness. "They don't hold conventions, do they? I'm sure the panels would be fascinating," he says, a quick pat making sure what little he has with him is where he expects it to be. It is. "...and perhaps, but I don't expect we could've rescheduled." Still, he tugs the phone back out and takes a quick scan of the place's listed events. ...as Oliver gets out his phone, a man gets out of a nearby car. He puts on a... is that.. a.. It's a fursuit. He waves at you as he walks towards the entrance to the Sheraton. And your eyes are darwn towards a sign that reveals what Oliver is finding out on the phone all too quickly. "WELCOME FUR FRIENDS TO THE MOTOR CITY FURRY CON!" When she gets an eyeful of the man's fursuit, and then the banner on the front of the hotel, Jamila just laughs. It's that awkward kind of laugh that probably suggests she doesn't know just what to do with that information. "Guess we'll blend in," she says with a shake of her head. She pulls her satchel around so that it's resting in the small of her back, and glances toward the others, before heading toward the hotel. It's cold out, and she put her coat in her bag for some reason. "Ohhh... boy," says Sora as she reaches a hand up to scratch her cheek with one finger. "Well. Forward through shot and shell, here we go into the mouth of hell... " she continues as she reaches into her bag and pulls out a compass that is on a jewelry chain, putting it around her neck like a locket. There is-- a definite *look* shot in Oliver's direction, Sandra's jaw shifting in such a way to suggest clenched teeth. That is not a happy look. Not in the least. Fair to say she doesn't share Jamila's amusement, but, at the very least, the sound of the laugh seems to temper the worst of her own-- er, temper. A light grunt is made in agreement to Sora's aside, "something like that," said mildly. "Next 'favor' this jackass asks of us," she says flatly, "we're vetting. Thoroughly. And delegating, where able." A sneer, and a look back at the hotel. "Honest to god," she says under her breath, starting to make her way towards the hotel, hands slipped loosely into her pockets, "if that man *weren't* holding rank over us..." She allows the thought to taper and die, already surveying the area for anyone who *isn't* wearing an obscene number of colorful badges, or an equally obscene amount of faux-fur, looking their way. Oliver's brow furrows a bit at his phone, and he lifts his head in time to see the new arrival. He does not look as annoyed as his packmate -- more bemused, really, as the costume-clad man disappears inside. "Well, if you'd like to interrogate a lupus over the phone next time, be my guest," he murmurs, sliding the phone away again, and tilting his head at the hotel. A moment of consideration, and he shrugs. "I suppose I've seen sillier outfits. Not many outside panto or a fancy dress party, but all the same. And a convention of some sort =could= be a good cover for meeting up with someone... or generally standing out less," he muses quietly as they start toward the door, paying equal attention to his surroundings as she is, and with a tiny acknowledging nod to Jamila on that last point. "I'll reserve my revenge-fantasy energy for later, when I can really get stuck in." The lobby is packed. This place is packed. There are people at the front desk, checking in still. There are people in, yes, full on fursuits. Wolves, deer, foxes, stags, goats, boars. Pretty much all the popular animals so, yes, more than a few wolves to boot. Near the door is a slightly chubby girl with a big smile and a pair of cat ears on her head. "Nya," she greets, "I have name tags for you if you're here for the Con! What's your name?" She gets a big felt pen ready to write it on a laminate name tag for each of you. <OOC> Shadi says, "Floor plans available here: [2]" Jamila smiles at the girl with the nametags. "Oh, of course," she says, brightly. "I'm Aaliyah." She looks the girl over, her eyes lazily taking her in, then she nods in toward the hotel. "Looks pretty packed this year. Record attendance?" "NYAN, NYAN!" squeees Sora to the cat girl as she bends her knees and makes 'cat's paw' fists, presenting a side view. "My name's Sky!" she says, and she's not lying. Her name DOES translate to Sky. "I LOVE those ears, Ohmigosh! Did you make them yourself? You know I got a pair from Yaya's site a little while back and they didn't even look this good!" She is all smiles now, running a hand up along the strap of her duffle bag. "Where is the costume contest supposed to take place, if you don't mind? And do you have an itenerary?" Sandra looks over to Oliver as introductions are brought up, arching her brow in a silent prompt that suggests she's going to defer to him on this. It's kind of like when a child throws up on the floor, and suddenly he's not *mom's* son, he's *dad's* son, for the express purposes of clean-up. Except, in this case, it's an op. So, congratulations, Oliver: now that your op's puked on the floor, you get to run clean-up detail. Oliver leaves all squeeing to Sora, which is probably for the best. He'll handle the lying, apparently. "Basil," he tells the girl, giving her a brief smile. "And Sybil," he adds, indicating Sandra with a slight tilt of his head, "With an S, not a C." Or at least, mostly lying: "I've not made it to one of these before," he adds, glancing around, "Anything one really ought to know? And what's the thing not to miss today?" "That's a very pretty name," says the smiling girl. Her name tag is 'Catherine'. Because of course it is. She writes down the name, actually spelling it correctly, and hands the name tag to Jamila. "Have a wonderful time here," she says with a warm smilke. Then Sora gets a BIG smile and she joins her in nyahing' back and forth for a moment before adding, "I totally DID make these! I'm so glad you like them! You don't want to miss the dance competition and fursuit maker conference if you want to learn about that, but the meet and greet is probably the best palce to start and that starts in an about thirty minutes! And then there's plenty of games to play, too, so take your time and explore your options, especially if it's your first time." She gives Oliver big eyes. Her heart melted a bit at his accent. "Wow. You came a long way!" The names are written. The tags given. Jamila reaches out and takes the nametag, peeling the back off and sticking it to the lapel of her suitjacket. "Thank you, and so is yours, Catherine," she says warmly, placing just a little extra emphasis on that first syllable. She gets it. The fursona. "I hope you don't get too bored manning the front table. Maybe I'll catch you later, inside." There's a wink, and then Jamila steps away, on into the breach. "I usually just do the mimi thing myself, but I was making fur suits for a little while. Started out with just a couple then SHOOM suddenly overwhelmed and I had to stop! Maybe I'll hit the conference, never know what you might learn, right?" says Sora as she accepts her nametag. "Have a great evening!" she says to Catherine. Once she turns away, her right eye is twitching. Her enthusiasm gone. To her credit, Sandra keeps any odd looks to herself where the choice of names are concerned, accepting the name badge and clipping it to her own jacket. She waits only as long as it takes Oliver to say whatever it is he has to say before offering a polite nod, and falling roughly in step with Jamila and Sora, "Where, oh where do we begin?" asided dryly to her packmate. "Well, I was in the neighbourhood," Oliver replies, and when she's done writing, accepts his badge as well, settling it appropriately in place. "Thank you," he says to Catherine, giving her another of those brief smiles, "I'll keep that in mind." And then it's off with the others. His demeanor doesn't change all that much, except that if there are any actual smiles, they're back to being a lot subtler. "Well," he says, "a map and getting our hands on one of those programs, perhaps, so we know what's going on around us. Taking stock of any obvious indications." By which he probably means sensing for Wyrm, but who knows, maybe someone is wearing a neon sign. "I'd give listening a try but there's rather a lot of conversations happening here. Did you have a particular preferred manner of looking about?" The last to Jamila, since she did say it was her forte. And he's not quite as good at finding things as he once was. Lifting the compass she has around her neck, Sora narrows her eyes at it like it has offended her. Well. It may have. There is the softest hiss of metal on metal as the clockwork inside the strange little compass turns rapidly. A crystal or lightbulb perhaps on the end of the compass needle glows with a steady luminescence that is about the same power as a single white LED. The needle keeps spinning and randomly stopping on each of the other three in turn. "I actually CAN hit the fursuit maker's conference," says Sora very softly to the others, "And my best detection method for what we are looking for will require you all to be outside a 50 yard radius from me. I have a suspicion about the conference and the headless lounge. Both are places where there will be storage of fur like items, and you said the thing we are looking for is a skin or a fur, right? I could either take both of those locations or however you would like me to go about it." It's a Furry Convention. Having just got your name tags from Cat Girl Catherine and seen the friday schedule (]https://motorcityfurrycon.org/schedule/]), you're left to your own devices on how to locate and identify the wyrm-tainted skin. It's here somewhere. That's all you have, for the time being. There's people /everywhere/. The crowd here is actually in the thousands at the Sherraton, with the convention goers in everything from normal clothes to fully articulated suits through which they express their, ah, furry identity. Most of them seem to be having a blast. There's a slight purse of her lips and a wrinkle of her nose before Jamila looks to Oliver and shrugs. "I generally just stick my nose in things until I find what I'm looking for," she says. She brings up a finger to her nose and taps it. "Can either of you sniff these things out? Might make sense to split up to search." She turns scan the room, looking for something in particular, and then smiles when she spots it. "Either way, I need to get into costume." She heads off toward the women's. Sandra offers an acknowledging nod to Sora as the idea is put forward, "Here," said gently, her phone taken out in the meantime. "If you get out of range and something comes up, I want you to call or text immediately. Understood?" Assuming the number exchange takes place (she'd insist on it, really), she says, "Send me a text when you're finished," she says, then. "I'll let you know where we're off to." It's roughly then that she notes Jamila heading off towards the bathrooms, the fact that the Bagheera had been saying something that may or may not have been vital suddenly occurring to her. Her brow furrows, gaze flicking between Jamila and Oliver. To the latter, she says, "I'm sorry-- did she say 'costume'?" You paged Shadi with 'So, re: my last pose. can he A) get a map and program, B) sense wyrm?' Shadi pages: Roll for the sense wyrm. Long distance to Shadi: Oliver is sort of assuming whisper catching would just be a mad mishmash of people talking right now/here. <<DICE>> Oliver rolls perception + wyrm lore, difficulty 6 to Shadi Shadi pages: Yeah, yeah it would. "That's what I meant by 'obvious indications'," Oliver replies to Jamila, with a small nod, and watches with a small furrow in his brow as she heads off to... get in costume? "Yes, yes she did," he answers Sandra, before looking to Sora again. "And that sounds like a reasonable plan; cover more area. But as she says... text immediately if anything comes up, et cetera." For his part, he strides over to the table bearing programs (and, as it turns out, the maps within them) and picks a few up, with the sort of 'meant to be here' bearing that tends to work pretty well for him, but particularly when he's already wearing name badge. And they probably don't care all that much who takes them. The place gets a look around with a rather sharper focus for a moment before he returns to the others, and hands them each one of the programs; he glances down to give his a closer look, then, and snickers. "'Motor City Furry Con and the Quest for the Holy Growler'?" he asks quietly, the incredulity peaking on the final word. "Was last year 'Motor City Furry Con's Lube of Bruin'?" A shake of his head, and he glances around the room briefly once more. "...at any rate. Something's here somewhere, for certain; seems as though it isn't a wild good chase. If you'll forgive the metaphor in this context. I can't feel where, yet, except that it's definitely been through here." "Th-thank you," says Sora to Sandra as she fumbles with exchanging numbers. It seems newfangled technology isn't something she is terribly good with, though... she DOES have an iPhone. Even a two year old can work one of those proficiently. She gives Sandra a ghost of a smile as she says "I will do so. If I get a reading I'll text to let you know; then I will text once I am able to confirm or if anything happens. I'm headed to the Fursuit Maker Social first. It will also give me a bit more of a cover; not all fursuit makers come to these kinds of things in a fursuit and it will give me reason to be going through the materials. Let's see, Interlochen is on the second floor... I will see you all later then." With this, though she lingers a moment in case there is any further input, Sora makes her way through the crowd and at her height is lost from view pretty quickly. SORA: The fursuit dance contest tryouts is... impressive. It's a bit like watching mascots at a sports game do their thing, only with some wildly inventive things and music you won't ordinarily find at a sports event. (Example: [3]) No sign of anything additional. The only pings on her compass, for the time being, are when the others might get a little too close in their own efforts. Oliver and Sandra are left alone near the lobby. For waht ever reason, they are not being welcomed into the fun and games of the con with such open arms. The curse is probably seeing to that. A few people even eye them and move on their way. While Furries are notoriously accepting, the Curse is still a thing. They haven't been here long enough for it to really settle in, of course, but it's still going to make things harder on Sandra especially. In the bathroom, Jamila finds a woman trying to get into her own fursuit. "Hey, can you help me out here?" she asks, "I've got a stuck zipper." Her fox suit has nine tails. Very expensive looking. "Of course," Jamila says to the woman, as she does her best to conceal a smirk. "Good costumes are a team effort." She steps up to the suit and squats down to get a close look at the zipper--an impressive feat in her heels--and jiggles it free of the bit of fur that was caught in it. Up it goes as she stands back up. "There you go, foxy lady." She heads off into a bathroom stall to put on her own "costume"--by shifting into her Sokto form--and, after waiting a few minutes so as not to seem too amazingly swift at changing her appearance, steps back out. She takes a look in the mirror and smiles. She's devastating. Then it's back out too the main con floor. She scans the room, spotting the gap in the crowd surrounding Sandra (and Oliver), and heads that way. Her cat-eyes peer around and her lip-whiskers twitch as she takes in everything. When she finally arrives back next to the Garou she shakes her head. "It's here, but I can't place it." The wide berth is expected no matter where she happens to be. At the moment, Sandra is mindful only of those participants that show recognition of the effect, even if they follow along with the rest of the crowd by giving a radius of personal space to both herself and her packmate. She urges him closer to the bathrooms as they wait, saying, "If someone here is temperamental enough to insist on dressing like a goose of any kind, they have more problems than just being caught in a place like this," under her breath. Once Jamila makes her return, the Ahroun appraises the other woman in a fashion that could almost be called complimentary, her brows arched slightly. "Well played," she says, more an aside to the choice of form than the comment. Which, itself, gets, "I'd suggest we look to the Dealer's Den first," pulling out the program she'd been given to look over the list of names. "I'd like to rule out 'hiding in plain sight' to begin with. I doubt the item in question would be sold at a place like this, but it may be getting shown off as a sample of some kind." "'Motor City Furry Con and the Peen-thing is Rife'," Oliver mutters, as much to himself as Sandra, as he strolls along with her toward the bathrooms; he idly scans the crowd as they pass and/or avoided by it, with the occasional glance at his program again. "Could also be someone who likes telling little rhymes to children," he suggests to the 'tempermental' suggestion, "or prodding people in the bum, but I suppose if they're wild enough to chase even the first might be an issue." He looks Jamila over as she returns, looking mildly amused, and gives her a small nod. "Same result I got," he says, "so at least we've decent confirmation, between us. I see no reason not to start with the Dealer's Den; and if that doesn't pan out, perhaps a quick check in the hallway of the panel rooms to rule them out as well would be efficient." Texting briefly, Sora sends a message which says 'Nothing here at the dance contest. The panel won't start for a while.' Even as she does, she keeps her eyes peeled. Sure, she can't help but to look at the way the fur suits are made. She really has had occasion to fill requests making a few, and admires them from an artist's perspective but she has her compass in the same hand as her phone to keep it discreet as she watches the crow, contestants, and judges. The Dealer's Den:
The ongoing Dealer's Den is a rather large area, Ballroom D in its entirety, sectioned off for stalls. This is where furries buy and trade costume parts, books, comics (buy a complete run of Foglio's Xenophiles, here!) and more. And yes, amongst them, are swatches of cloth and material for making those suits. At a glance, there doesn't appear to be anything too unusual here. Just a lot of people conducting their business and trying to make money off their hobby, not that there's anything worng with that. It's BUSY, though. The dance compettiion tryouts are getting more and more impressive to Sora's eye and, eventually, they do wrap up. People are left panting and more. Someone in a rather large skunk suit is making a beeline for Sora, though. Trying to chat her up, it seems. Because yay yellow fever is unfortunately still a thing amongst some people. A slight smile and slight tilt of the head are all Jamila has in response to that lofty compliment from the Ahroun. A glance between her and Oliver and she nods. "Let us do this thing," she says, and turns to head off toward the expo portion of the convention. Her lip-whiskers twich and her eyes scan back and forth, but Jamila seems rather disappointed after just a few minutes in the Dealer's Den. Stopping near a table full of cat-ear headbands--which range from mediocre to very good, depending on price--she just shakes her head. "It's not here," she says to the others. "We should try upstairs." Sandra frowns at what she's told, looking around the Den where they've stopped. The frown deepens noticeably once she's made her assessment, her brow furrowing or a time. "I'd like to check back here later," she says. "Are the panels upstairs?" she asks Oliver, apparently having devoted most of her attention to scanning the names of the vendors. "We should give them a quick once-over on the way up, if not." Oliver scans the booths and people more than the names, which seems like it covers things between them; his brow furrows with what seems like annoyance for a moment, though it smoothes somewhat at Jamila's remarks. He nods to the 'coming back', and then again: "Yes, second floor seems to be the panel rooms. That's why I think there's a decent chance we can rule them out with a trot down the hallway. Assuming, of course, it isn't actually currently there. If not, we might consider checking the restaurant. And no," he eyes Sandra sidelong, "not because I'm hungry; just seems a decent spot to chat with someone that's easier to check than every actual room in this place. Although if we must." "Excuse me? Can I help you three? My! That's a LOVELY costume. Would you like to be in the makeup and design showcae later?" That's what's said to Jamila, of course, because she really is rockin' that look. "It's just so authentic!" That's directed to Jamila by one of the dealers. Then he sees Sandra and stops dead becasue that woman is just creepy. He is also dressed in a wolf fur suit. Because of course he is. A skunk suit; yeah that doesn't bode well as memories of Pepe' Le Pew flit through Sora's mind. Though she was pretty settled where she was, she pretends not to notice the oncoming skunk suit and begins to gather her things to be on the move as quickly as she can. Clockpunk compass falling loose about her neck, phone in hand, olive drab duffle threaded over her shoulder. She knows she can disappear into a crowd relatively easily at her height; of course there probably aren't many people out of fur suits, fewer still without at least a nod to a mimi of some sort. Still, he doesn't openly pursue Sora, at least, nor does he skip after her. Instead, he skips after the person in the female skunk suit. Because of course he does. In any case, people are starting to file in for the Fursuit Maker Social. Getting things set up for it, it seems. Jamila turns to regard the dealer, fixing her feline gaze on him and twitching her lip-whiskers ever so slightly. Authentic, indeed. She takes a couple steps toward him, looming over him--as he is surely not seven feet tall, and she's wearing heels to boot--and then shakes her head. Finally she smiles, and says, "No, but thank you." Looking back to the others she jerks her head back toward the lobby and the elevators, and then turns to just walk away from her admirer. Devastating. She pushes the button to go up, and waits patiently for the car--and presumably the Garou--to arrive. It is a short ride up to the second floor. She disembarks and starts to just stroll down the hallway, nose wrinkling, whiskers twitching, and eyes scanning about. Once she arrives at the other end of the hallway she sighs. She waits for the others to catch up and shakes her head. "It's not here, either. I don't even sense it as much as downstairs. But I sense something _else_ that passed through." Her lips curl down into a frown. Sandra barely seems to notice the man's apprehension, still looking around the production floor with that furrow settled into her brow, and occasionally glancing back at the names of the dealers present. After a brief shake of her head, she says, "Keeping in mind that we have no idea what we're even chatting about," to Oliver, under her breath so as to avoid too much eavesdropping, "but I suppose it'd be as good a place as any to regroup if we come up empty." She doesn't comment on it any further, instead following Jamila out towards the lobby and the elevators, but not so quickly that she doesn't offer Wolfman Fap a pointed look in an effort to keep the creep-out factor at maximum volume. She takes a look around, herself, once they're on the second floor, though defers largely to the two people she's with, currently, to do the 'sniffing.' She nods once to what Jamila says, and to Oliver, she says, "Same thing on your end, I take it?" though her attention quickly shifts back to the former. "And what exactly do you mean, 'something else'?" "We're fine, thank you," Oliver says to the not-wolf-man, and turns to head to the second floor with the others. Sandra's remark gets a half-smile, and a murmured back, "I didn't intend us to be the ones doing the chatting. Except perhaps to be less noticable than if we were silent. If whoever brought it isn't just airing it out for a bit of a stroll, they've probably got someone to meet up with about it. If not in a private room, somewhere with drinks and nibbles might be favourite." The hallway gets a focused once-over from him as well, brow furrowing again, and he looks to Jamila when she speaks, giving a small nod. Confirmation, it looks like, particularly since he gives Sandra a second one at her question, but whatever he's sensed isn't strong enough not to leave the 'what' answer to Catwoman. There comes a text from Sora, 'I have a hit'. Meanwhile she is careful not to directly look in towards where her needle is pointing, but she does reach a hand down to the hem of her skirt as she watches her compass atop her phone, taking an apparently 'leisurely' seat in the gathering for the panel. Then comes the second text from Sora: 'Confirmed. Six wolf fur suits, moving as a pack; there are plenty of wolves around but these are moving AS a pack. One is extremely elaborate. Highest likelihood that the target has been incorporated into a fur suit. Your orders?' Whether or not Jamila answers, Sandra withdraws her phone from her pocket, the device buzzing away to announce a couple incoming texts. She reads the first, goes back to listening-- and by the time the second comes in, there's a distinct furrow on her face. She thumbs in a message back - 'stay locked in, tell us where you are, and stay put' - whatever *has* been said apparently left to Jamila and Oliver to discern on their own. "I'm heading downstairs," she says, relaying the information Sora's given them as the reason why. "You two can keep searching up here if you feel like this secondary 'what' warrants it, but I'd rather not leave her sticking her neck out on her own." And with that, without waiting around, she opts to take the stairs down to the first floor for expedience' sake. Text from Sora: 'Roger that. Location as previously agreed. Interlochen, the Fursuit Maker Social. Third row from back, east most aisle seat.' Jamila offers a shrug with upturned hands. "Something other than what I sensed downstairs. It's more faint, even, as if it just passed through a while ago. But it's distinct." She doesn't have much more to offer after that, her eyes shifting from Sandra to Oliver, and then back to Sandra as the woman's phone buzzes. She watches as Sandra barrels off toward the stairs and glances toward Oliver. "Whatever that other thing is, it feels more distant than the other. Let's just get going, and we can come back to look into that." With that, she follows after Sandra, heading down the stairs. <OOC> Oliver assumes we're going with Interlochen being moved downstairs, then! <OOC> Jamila says, "Yes. Or the thing being in a room that's downstairs and not Interlochen. Whichever. :)" Another small nod at Jamila's answer, though Oliver seems to be acknowledging it as much as affirming however much of it he might also have caught. Possibly not quite as much? He leans over to glance rudely at his packmate's phone when it buzzes, and then flips his program open, giving it a quick scan. And then, onward with the other two. "Primary over whatevers," he agrees, though the place gets another thoughtful look as they continue toward Sora and the pack. Moving back to the Interlochen isn't terribly difficult, though the fur-suit maker social is one of the more crowded events because everyone wants to SEE. Metal foldiong charis and benches have been set up for people to sit on and punch is being handed out freely, amon gst other things. People are talking. There's a podium from which to speak, of course, as people start talking and sharing details on some of the more elaborate creations. Some are being worn, some are being dmeonstrated in how they work. A lot of human ingenuiety goes into these things. It isn't hard to see that the wolves in question are enhjoying showing off their suits, one in particular. Elaborate and with beautiful, soft grey fur mounted on it, it's definitely 'state of the art' as these things go. And that guy in it, he's the MAN. Why, he's actually going to be one of the first few speakers, and everybody is paying attention to him. He's got the ROOM, like nobody else. To (Jamila, Oliver), Shadi pages: HOo yeah. That fur suit STINKS. And there sits Sora, looking fairly nonchalant as she apparently pores over her phone. If you know what you are looking for, you can see the compass on top of the phone's screen as she monitors text beneath. She doesn't look around nervously, but rather manages a natural sense like she is just checking mail before the speaker begins. Long distance to Shadi: Oliver would like to use Fatal Flaw on that dude, if he may. >_> Just in case... Shadi pages: Perfectly doable. You paged Shadi with 'It's his wits+subt for the diff.' Shadi pages: Diff 3. <<DICE>> Oliver rolls perception + empathy, difficulty 3 to Shadi Shadi pages: So, good news, bad news. You paged Shadi with 'It's like it has its own Aura of Confidence. o.O Hm. But he seems likely to be a human in there, then? (And he's got, what, five 'packmates'?)' Shadi pages: That's accurate! Upon arrival, Sandra remarks to no one in particular, "I can't help but think this is a fitting end to the 'lauded' item's tenure," in a decidedly dry tone, her brow arching as she observes the pack and, most specifically, the headliner. To Oliver more specifically, she whispers to him what's effectively, "If he doesn't announce his name, try asking one of the audience members who he is. He has to return to his room eventually to change, and I'd like to be there waiting for him when he does." That aside, she crosses her arms loosely over her chest and - much to her dismay - waits. And watches.
Oliver stifles what a close look might suggest is a similar reaction to Jamila's, and settles in by his own packmate to study the 'wolf' in question; it's essentially what most of the room is doing in any case. For him, however, it results in a slight furrow returning to his brow, and then a thoughtful look. He turns his head to murmur to Sandra, a sort of belated reply to her whisper: "Seems 'normal', but the suit... gets in the way of a full assessment. It's clearly more than he is without it, though. After we find the room, we might consider aiming for when it's not being worn rather than just dropping by anytime." Hopefully it's clear enough to get the suggestion he means across to her. But hey, what's a Ragabash for, right? "Heeeey, everyone! I"m Jacob Schmidt," Oh god. He was so bullied in high school. That's right. HE's talking now, and he's offering his name. His name tag also says: JACOB and undeneath that 'TALON PACK ALPHA'. Because /of course it does/. "Some of you know me better as Pack Leader of the Talon Pack! It's great to be here at MOTOR CITY FURRY CON, EH?" He's clearly canadian. "I mean, in Windsor all there is to drink and gamble, but here we can be our best selves! AWOOOO!" Several people in the crowd howl. Because... well.. he's actually pretty charismatic and is having the time of his life. "When I made this suit, I never thought it'd change my life. Putting it together was the best thing I ever did." "I'm not sure," says Sora as she looks to the others, just dropping the compass from her hands to let it hang around her neck with the needle wavering between those in the group "How common it would be for people in this community to want to get to know one another at a convention like this without their fur suits on... but I could try asking him out for drinks when this is over." She looks around at the crowd. She is, indeed, speaking softly "That is... if I don't end up with too much competition after this." To (Sandra, Oliver), Shadi pages: Both of you actually feel like you wanna howl along with the crowd! You are able to resist teh temptation for now. But it's clearly an effect of the 'powerful wolf aura' going on here from the Wolf Skin Fetish. To (Shadi, Oliver), Sandra pages: ...Lol. You ass. You paged (Shadi, Sandra) with 'Oh god he's started a howl.' To (Oliver, Sandra), Shadi pages: Zootopia ftw. "I was thinking we'd get a better assessment of him personally if--" Sandra pauses. Actually looks rather annoyed for a moment or two, her teeth clenching beneath lips that have thinned to a tense line. She stands up juuust a little straighter, a similar kind of tension seated in her shoulders, the Ahroun's anger turning rather abruptly towards the stage. She says something under her breath, not at all easy to hear, but the gist is there. Whatever it was, it's a) filthy, b) not intended as a compliment. "That's not a good sign," she says, a little more audibly, to the group around her. "As I was saying-- I was thinking we'd get a better assessment of him personally if we got the drop on him-- laying in wait." She glances at Oliver. "We *do* have ways of making people forget," she notes, "crude as it might be. But if that thing is active..." She glances to Sora. "If you're comfortable with making the attempt, I doubt he'll be inclined to stay suited up indefinitely, no matter how much he'd prefer to 'be his better self.'" Then to Oliver, "One way or another, we need that room number, and you're the most likely one to get your hands on it." <OOC> Sandra notes: she starts looking annoyed/tense around the time the howl sounds off. Didn't make that terribly clear <_< That look of disgust does not leave Jamila's face. Indeed, it intensifies when the Canadian croons his best howl. She glances across the back of the room toward the wolves she's with. The actual wolves. The wolves for Kuzco. She knows the general plan, and seeing as she's surely not going to do anything with Mr. Fur Suit here, with all these witnesses, she heads back out of the room, and off toward the concierge. Jacob finishes his speech, talking about how he put together the suit and even incorporated an old wolf skin he was able to get. Some people don't like that, for obvious reasons, but he felt that since it was 'really old', it wasn't like he was supporting anything awful. It just added an air of authenticity, he says. The other members of 'Talon pack' cheer for him, and the audience claps raucously over his speech, in which he does generally come across as a likable, fairly witty guy. He ends it with, "TALON PACK RULES! AWOOOO!!!!" And his friends join in. So do some people in the crowd. Eventually, the social lets out. SORA:
It isn't much longer before Sora sees her chance to approach. When she does, it initially goes well. He seems friendly enouh and he's spending time with his friends in the other wolf suits. He's clearly in charge of them and they're talking about going out for drinks later, after they've all had a chance to shower. As she tries to delay him, he turns and smiles at her and after a short conversation. "Oh, sure! You can come, I guess. I'm Jacob, but you already knew that. These are my friends in Talon Pack. Anyway, uh... I hope you're not getting the wrong idea. I'm super gay. Just in case you, you know..." But, hey, they're happy for someone to come with them! She's able to score a phone number from Mr. Schmidt. It's a furry con. These things happen. JAMILA:
Jamila is making excellent headway. It isn't long, in her case, too before she's able to score a room number... and a room number... and a room number... a phone number... Oh, and she's able to Jacob's room number and phone number too. OLIVER:
Oliver doesn't have QUITE the same luck as Jamila, but he does eventually run into a fellow at the desk who seems okay with helping him. "I can page him if you want and he can come down to see you? Or... well.. I /guess/ I can just tell you. Room #309." Jamila's notes will confirm this. (The crowd is still enthused. Occasional howls echo.) "Well," says Sora with an expression that is definitely somewhat amused, "It turns out he is... as he put it, 'Super gay'." She is, of course, now speaking to Sandra having meandered back over to the taller woman's side to speak softly within her earshot without directly looking at her in case they need to pose as something besides friends/family/acquaintances. "I, however, did get his cellphone number. That in itself gives us a line in." Oliver returns from his jaunt to the desk, settling in by Sandra and Sora; he's less subtle about having a connection to the former than Sora is, but it's a bit late to pretend otherwise in any case. "...well," he says quietly, "that could have gone more smoothly, but I think I've got a room number to work with. 309." After successfully flirting her way into several room numbers and phone numbers, including Jacob Schmidt's, Jamila heads back toward the meeting room. She pauses as she passes by the bank of elevators, briefly considering just going up to meet this man alone. Talk to him Minnesotan to Canadian. But then she reconsiders. She's here as part of a team. This time. Those dogs might do something untoward without her. She approaches Oliver and Sandra a moment or two after he finishes disclosing what he'd found. "I've got his room phone, and his room number: 309." She does not mention all the other room numbers, which she promptly forgets. Those poor folks, scorned by the perfect catwoman. Sandra doesn't do much in the way of actively responding until everyone's returned to report, as it stands, offering a brief nod once that's covered. "Seems the best option is to wait, then," she says. "Soon as he has that suit off," she notes to Oliver, "you'll be going in to lift the skin off of it. You," she says to Sora, "will the one to say 'when.' Send him a text," with a timing of 'now,' by the sound of it, "ask him to let you know when he's headed back down for drinks, that you'll be checking out the con, in the meantime. The three of us," she says to Sora and Jamila, "will stand watch. In the intervening time we have between now and when all this begins, I'd like to at least discuss where best to take up positions. I have ideas of my own, but you two know your own strengths better than I do." "Yes ma'am," responds Sora automatically as she is already pulling out her cellphone to tap out a text. It doesn't take long to send, of course. She fires off the simple 'When are you headed back down for drinks?' awaiting any reply before telling him she will be checking out the con. "My main strength is being a craftsperson and a medic. My combat capability is primarily the use of knives. I am uncertain how that all fits into the current situation, but I am willing to do anything you need me to." Sora's phone pings a moment later with an answer: "Going in about twenty minutes, AWOO!" Oliver nods to Sandra's giving of the assignments, settling comfortably into a stance that seems to more or less say 'that's settled, then'. "That's fine by me," he says, probably unsurprisingly, and leaves it at that, though Sora's stated combat capability gets an interested sort of look. "I'm a people person," Jamila says, her tongue quickly darting out all cat-like to wet her lips. "I find the best fights are the ones we don't have, and I have a way with words." She glances down to her satchel, then her hands, and then back up toward Sandra. "But, in combat, I'm best in close. Preferably in the shadows." "Mmm, okay... he responded," says Sora "Twenty minute E.T.A., Ma'am." Sandra gives a short nod. "Makes two of us," she says to Jamila. Glancing to Sora, she nods again, and gestures to Oliver to go on and start prepping, her own attention turned back to the program and, most importantly, the hotel layout. "You'll be flanking me for this particular 'exercise,'" she says to Sora. Then to both her and Jamila, she says, "I'm guessing line of sight on the room is coming from the direction to the elevators. You look more like you 'belong' here than she or I do," she notes to Jamila, "so I'd like you to take up position there. You and I," she says to Sora, "will be taking the stairwell, for now. Though that may change if it's too far from the room itself." Sharp eyes focused on the layout as Sandra speaks, Sora slips her cellphone back into her pocket without really looking at it. She is quiet as she sweeps her fingers across her forehead to clear a few bangs out of the way, then nods to Sandra and says softly, "Yes ma'am." Once enough time has passed for them to be securely out of the room for drinks, and out of costume, you head to the room. Room #309 is, as one might have guessed, on the third floor. There it sits, with the door shut and a keycard lock. There's the occasional shifting sound. ANd other sounds you probably want to not dwell on. Oliver actually aims for a bit earlier, unless countermanded, to find a suitable place in the area to lurk, faded into the scenery, before they've left -- and thus to watch them go. Make sure there seems to be the right number of them, and that the suit doesn't go with the group. Assuming all seems to be going well at that point, he gives it another couple minutes, then heads toward the door, to see about coaxing it into letting him inside. THe light on the keycard reader turns green. Oliver can go inside. Jamila lingered on the main floor by the elevator banks, waiting until she saw Jacob and the rest of Talon Pack come off the elevator. Indeed, she slipped right onto the same car and rode it back up to the third floor, thankful for the high ceiling. When she ducks out of the elevator, she glances each way down the hallway, noting each and every security camera. Then she makes her way toward the room. She arrives just as the door is swinging open, and a very blurry Ragabash has his hand on the handle. "I just saw them downstairs, and they don't have the item," she says to him. Having positioned herself between cameras within a line of sight of the door, off to one side and appearing to speak on her phone for the time being, Sandra's brow arches noticeably as Jamila moves towards the door. It arches just a little further as words are exchanged. Scowling, she says to Sora, "Apparently, we're not going for subtlety, at the moment," under her breath. "Keep an eye on the door, let them know I'm stepping over to take a look around." Beat. "And be ready to text either one of them if you see someone approaching." She waits only as long as an 'understood' before disappearing into the stairwell. "Roger that," responds Sora as she withdraws her phone and waits. She may be no technical wizard, but even she can send a text at need. She remains more or less where Sandra and she originally were, positioning herself to keep an eye on the door while sitting to look as casual as possible should anyone happen upon them. Hey, people hole up in the weirdest places to check and send texts during cons. Shadi pages: So, you go inside, right? And you see the dude's luggage, his laptop, and so on. And a chest. The chest is open, and nearly placed inside carefully, is the fursuit, the head sitting atop the carefully folded and compacted body. Long distance to Shadi: Oliver nodnods. Anything unusual about the chest beyond it being a chest? (as opposed to normal luggage) Shadi pages: Nope. It's just the easiest way to carry something that doesn't fit edasily in luggage, really. You paged Shadi with 'Is it clear which bit of the suit needs removing (i.e., the actual pelt in question)?' Shadi pages: THe torso and head hve the wolf skin blended into it. You paged Shadi with 'Hm. Going to be difficult to remove, then, huh?' Shadi pages: More than likely. You paged Shadi with 'Welp. Sorry, Jacob. If Oliver takes a quick look through the chest, is anything else in there and/or does anything look unusual? (and, uh oh, heh...)' Shadi pages: That's when the eyes of fursuit head open, a green baleful glow eminates from them and it begins climbing out of the trunk. You paged Shadi with 'Oh, good times.' Oliver looks (extremely blurrily) startled when Jamila approaches and speaks to him as his sleeved hand turns the knob; if there were any urge to reply, it's quashed, and he just gives a faint nod as he slips into the room. There's no pause involved; opening it and sliding in is a smooth, quiet movement. Those are the operative words inside the room, as well; he takes a good, assessing look around as he looks for the suit in question... From outside the room, it registers as a quiet pause. Which is more or less as planned. He should be out in a few minutes with the extracted pelt, if all goes well. What's not as planned is that the pause only lasts a handful of seconds. If Jamila's not gone terribly far, her Sokto ears may pick up a movement or two, but they'd certainly catch his voice, unpanicked but urgent and clearly meant for them: "It's up. Tell Sandra." Shadi pages: The fursuit is soundessly howling at you and reaching for you. You feel a distinct ripple in the gauntlet. You paged Shadi with 'Do I have the feeling that the howling is causing the ripple?' Shadi pages: It's probably connected. Long distance to Shadi: Oliver is going to try to use Hush on it. Do you still want me to keep what he's seeing out of it as much as I can in the pose? Oliver takes a step back as the suit unfolds from the chest, its eyes glowing a baleful green as it reaches for him and it begins to soundlessly howl. His gaze flicks briefly to something invisible, then back to the suit as he explodes upward into his Crinos form. He settles into a fight-ready position, hand already moving toward his knife, but the attack doesn't come immediately; he has a rather focused death glare to give it first, apparently. Tell Sandra. Uh-huh. Instead, Jamila opts for telling Sora, or, well, gesturing very emphatically toward Sora. She quickly presses her palm out toward Sora in a Stop sign, then she turns in toward the hotel room to see what is going on, reaching into her satchel to fetch her Fang Dagger as she goes. Sandra, for her part, lingers on the Umbral side of the fence, likely not far from where Jamila stands. The unearthly glow coming from within the room has her full, undivided attention, the combat knife strapped to the belt loops of her slacks withdrawn and at the ready as she peers inside to assess the situation. And determine whether or not shifting (or stepping) is in order. Soundlessly, the Talon Packleader's suit, in all its lupine, felt and fur anthropormohpic glory, rises to its feet and steps towards Oliver. Spirit-claws (better than spirit-fingers), extend from the fur-suit's hands, it's mouth now full of equally ephemeral fangs. The air around it seems to shimmer as the gauntlet weakens. For her part, Sora reaches beneath her skirt; to the sheath on her right thigh and the card cartridge on her left thigh. The latter is, well, an Ofuda. The long white cardstock-like paper is covered in Kanji but also includes what Westerners would view as a 'Pentacle'. Since she was cautioned by Jamila to stay put, she does, however as she awaits orders. Jamila, too, explodes into her Crinos, her clothes and satchel just melting into her body as her black, subtly-spotted fur, emerges. There's a white stripe across her chest where the satchel was. Weilding her dagger back along her arm, she leaps toward the fursuit, slashing at it. The knife draws along the fur, but these spiritually fortified fursuits are tougher than they look. Touching her Ofuda to her forehead, if someone were able to SEE Sora they would see her lips moving rapidly in a Sutra. And then the cardstock talisman just... melts into her body as though it were water evaporating. Into dim motes of light. With that, one hand moves to pull her hood up over her head as she closes her coat more tightly around her and leans into what will likely be a dash to the door of the room. Meanwhile, in the hotel room, a baleful, patchy furred wolf shimmers into existence. Smoke emanating from its form, its teeth rotting and broken in its mouth. This is a wyrm-corrupted wolf if there ever was one, its eyes filled with angry green flame like the suits. It's looking at Jamila. Wolf sees cat. Wolf wants to eat cat. Ouroboros probably makes a striking contrast with the Bastet, pure white next to her subtly-spotted black. Semi-patchwork grey(?) is stealing all the attention currently, though, as it comes off of Jamila's strike still focused on the Ragabash. He counters its attack with his dagger, the blade striking the claws away and moving down the inside of its arm to the chest. It's a good slash, but the suit takes that as well, showing no sign of fraying, and the dagger can't seem to get a good bite. Those things really ARE tougher than they look! Before one of the two banes phases over into the Realm, Sandra shifts rapidly up to her war form, covering the distance between herself and the corrupt wolf with little hesitation. Her claws strike out, aiming to rake the spirit across the face and shoulder, but ultimately comes up short, just in time for the wolf to wheel around and bite down on her forearm with those rotted teeth. She wrenches her hand away, blood barely beginning to form before the wounds seal over. The Ahroun's free hand lashes out to catch the wolf on the side of the face before it can retreat, claws gaining purchase and ripping through the spirit's substance. Granted, the worst of those fresh wounds seal over the moment they're made, but that's neither here nor there: she's got its attention, and taken it out of the fight on the other side of the Gauntlet. Hopefully. With a sound that is faintly like the wind blowing rattling ashes against the walls, Sora bursts through the door and immediately drops to slide on her jacket's padding along the floor so that she slips through the legs of the Garou and the Fursuit. Popping up to her feet, her body shimmers for a moment as though she is shedding sparks from a flame and a white, card-stock paper, talisman appears in her left hand. She immediately turns and lashes out with the tanto dagger in her right hand, precise and straightforward with little wasted motion, though it's hard to tell if it got a solid hit in all that fur. Ouroboros growls, facing off with the suit, and as it starts seeming to move faster than it should -- the fact it shouldn't be moving at all notwithstanding -- he keeps up, managing to get even blurrier than before to the naked eye. As the suit begins to lunge at him again, he strikes once more, under the reach and upward, and this time the slash actually takes. Not as deep nor as long as he'd have preferred, but at least it's proof the thing can be damaged. Proof he keeps firmly in mind after the next attack knocks the thing's claws aside but returns to failing to gain any real purchase itself. That a swing and a miss follows up the Ahroun's initial attack is aggravating enough on its own. That it comes with a complementary set of teeth digging into her forearm again just makes this extra annoying. That there's only pattern spiders around to witness it hardly seems to matter. Be it out of sheer spite or otherwise, she *again* wrenches her now-bleeding arm free of the bane's jaws, and sinks her teeth into the 'meat' of its shoulder as a 'fuck you, too,' not *quite* getting a good enough hold to bite down harder, but it's enough, leaving trenches ripped into the fabric of the spirit, and a bizarre, sulfuric taste in her mouth. But even as she pulls back, the wounds lining her forearm begin to seal over, lessening the trickle of blood flowing down through grey fur. The fursuit is wordless and soundless. If it had anything to say, it would be saying it to Oliver right now. Instead, it's biting at him with its jaws, waddling forward like some ungaingly sportsclub mascot. An empty one. It's like it stepped out of Five Nights at Freddy's. In any case, it doesn't quite manage to bite Oliver like it wants to. It's glowing green claws look like they might get a work out soon. Seeing the mangy, corrupted wolf leaping at her, All-Things-Equal shifts her attention toward it. A good offense is the best defense so she slashes at the cur with her dagger, but it grabs her arm and tries to drag her massive body down. The net effect? One angry kitty-cat, and not much else. Facing off against the snarling bane, there's no mercy given. The first blow Razor-Eater levels against it is a hard slam and rake of her claws against its side, aiming to send it careening into a nearby wall. Before the thing has even so much as a chance of getting to its feet, she lunges, gaping jaws slamming down on its midsection, clawed hands closing around its head and its hindquarters. Her teeth dig in, and with one harsh pull of her arms on either side, the bane is violently ripped into three indistinct pieces, its substance turning to dull ribbons of faded energy. Now, all that's left is stepping back over. Reversing her stroke, Sora lowers her center of gravity while presenting a side angle to make herself less of a target even to the fur suit's back then slices outwards with an upwards arc as her back foot slide-steps towards her front. Her stance, her posture, her strike are all perfect... her aim is not. She shaves off a bit of its fur. Oh the pain. That filthy bane wolf is still on the Bastet's knife arm, making it impossible for her to even _connect_ the blade with it's sickly, corrupted body. She tries anyway, waving her arm around and dragging the wolf with it. It's teeth sink into her arm, but it doesn't do anything more than fill her with rage. GET OFF ME RIGHT MEOW! The rest of the fight surrounding him doesn't pass Ouroboros unnoticed, but the suit itself still has his attention -- and he still has its. This time his movements aren't unnaturally quick, but they're naturally so enough to get in ahead of it this time, catching from a movement where it plans to lunge and making an almost balletic lean out of the way and down, giving him momentum to rake his arm upward, drawing the knife along the suit from crotch to neck as though aiming to give it a new set of fastenings. And this time, he just about does. This time, the dagger bites in hungrily, catching and ripping through the fur and -- well, not flesh, precisely -- of the thing. The gash it leaves behind widens each time the creature moves, a sickly green glow escaping in the blade's wake in lieu of blood as the dagger comes up through the side of the head, just across the cheek, and takes off most of the ear as the Ragabash's arm follows through. The creature lets out a soundless howl, it's ephemer al flickering wildly as it staggers back away from Oliver after an aborted claw strike. The fursuit is tattered at tghis point and the only thing keeping it together is the spirit emanating from the pelt. With the bane little more than diffuse matter, the Ahroun reverts back to her breed form, steps back into the room proper, and nearly does a double-take. At *everything*. You walk away for two minutes, and already the inmates are already running the asylum. The smell of blood hits the air with the usual hint of ozone that comes with crossing the barrier between 'worlds,' and there's a barely noticeable trickle of blood running down her left hand - these wolves really do seem to have a thing for forearms - but she appears otherwise undamaged. The damage done to the spirit on the other side of the Gauntlet lingers on her skin only as a scent; a touch of acrid sulfur to mix with the tinge of ozone. She doesn't go for her knife, immediately, instead getting a read on her surroundings first and foremost. ...And on whether or not to duck. A stupid dog should not be this hard to fight. All-Things-Equal continues to try and swipe at it, and the bane continues to evade and snap back at her. Neither one damaging the other enough to even care. Ouroboros bares his teeth viciously and presses the advantage, his arm moving down and across again smoothly. Again the dagger's spirit dives in, and the blade moves remarkably smoothly for the raggedness of the wound it leaves as it crosses the fursuit's "neck" and emphatically decapitates it. The head slides right off, it and the now-crumpling suit that had supported it both tumbling to the floor as the glow dims from both sides of the neck's stump. Suffice to say, Sora is making artfully precise slashes at the fur suit. Is it working? No, not really. She gives it a nice shave and a haircut, that's her two bits. This? This right here? This is why the good fight is the one that doesn't happen. Because, all things being equal, when the daggers get drawn, the Bastet isn't really the best combatant. But, sometimes? Sometimes, she gets lucky. Just as the Ragabash is cutting the fursuit down a peg, All-Things-Equal manages to wrench her arm away from the bane wolf, spin her dagger around in her palm, and thrust it hard into the spirit's hindquarter, dragging it from tail to snout. The fang bites deep, all but cutting the wolf in twain. Then she stabs back down at it's head, just for good measure. Like a good camper: leave no trace. The bodies of the wolves, at least, dissipate into spirit stuff. The fur suit is wrecked, but the pelt is part of it. Proper disposal means getting it out of here. The good news is that, as a fetish, shoving it into the umbra is doable. <OOC> Shadi says, "Rather than pose it out in its entirety, just tell me the game plan and we can wrap with it :)" After discussion: If there are people outside the room going WTF, exit via Umbra so as not to get MORE people staring at us. If not, Sora and Jamila exit normally. Sandra and Oliver linger for a moment or two to go over the guy's possessions, but otherwise Sandra's out to join them quickly. Oliver takes the fursuit out through the Umbra. If we can't find any hackers to handle the security camera footage, Kami is enlisted to bribe the problem out of existence. | |
