Mission: Just Plausible
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Date: 11/04/2017 |
A Parking Lot in Lansing
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Cast: Storyteller: | |
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Oliver placed out word for what he's looking for in the local Garou community! While he may not have a ton of contacts in the area or a thorough and complete knowledge of local Garou personalities, politics and Septs, he does know enough to be able to get the word and get the word back. Someone contacted him, said they'd be in Lasing. They have what he's looking for, but he has a favor to ask in trade. Assuming Oliver makes the trip to Lansing to meet with 'Sullivan 'Sullies The Foe', a No-Moon shadow Lord Fostern, he'll find him sitting in a parking lot on the trunk of a black cadillac. Because it's ALWAYS a black cadillac. Oliver absolutely makes that trip. He even rents a car for the occasion. And drives it! On the correct side of the road and everything, though by the time he gets there he still hasn't entirely stopped trying to find things with the wrong hand. Muscle memory's a heck of a thing sometimes. Still, he makes it there with no accidents, without being pulled over by any police, and without getting lost, so all in all: success! He pulls into the parking lot he's been directed to, and parks by the Cadillac. ...in his blue Hyundai Elantra, because apparently Enterprise didn't get the memo. A glance around as he turns the vehicle out, taking in the surroundings, and then he opens the door and unfolds from the seat to approach his fellow Ragabash. "Evening," he greets, with a slight inclination of the head. "Shit, man," says Sully, "you're whiter than I am. So, I don't wanna take up a lot of your time. I know where I can get one of those fetishes. I can get it for you and it seems like you nefed it, what, with those dark rings under your eyes. You sleepin' okay?" He grins at him, then adds, "But it'll take me out of the way from my delivery. I figure, you can make it for me instead. Don't much like dealing with the Porcupine Mountain's Sept anyway. They've got great, heapin' sticks up on their bottoms. Hell, they'll probably like you more than you like me. You ever honored Porcupine before?" "Yes, I've been working on my winter camouflage," Oliver replies, deadpan, "By January I'll just need to do something about the footprints." He walks a few steps further before settling into a comfortable stance at a reasonable casual conversational distance. He answers the grin with a slight upward quirk at one corner of his mouth. "Thanks for meeting me. I have, in fact, slept better. And in the service of not taking up too much of your time: no, I've not honoured Porcupine before. I take it there's something I ought to know?" he says. "I'd like to think I have enough experience with great heaping stick enthusiasts to handle that, but Porcupine is a new one to me." "Don't worry. I'll hook you up. Porcupine is not as prickly as the name indicates. He's actually pretty chill. The Wendigo are less chill but, you know. Anyway." He pops open his trunk and produces two plastic two liter bottles full of some kind of liquid that looks a little thickish and cloudy. "These are talens. Follow the scent marks to their bawn, introduce yourself properly, and empty /this/ bottle on the ground," he holds one up with a red mark on it, "and give them the other. This one will nourish the grounds for Porcupine's meals. Got it? The magic is contained in the oil so /don't/ open them until you're in the right spot, or else you'll be in deep shit. You got me? I use this car as a dead drop all the time. I'll leave the blanket for you here." Oliver eyes the bottles a moment, taking in the marking as well as the rest of their features. "This is the delivery?" he asks, looking at the one without the red mark. "What is it? And when are they expecting it to arrive?" He looks from them back to the other Shadow Lord. "I have got it, though. Proper introduction, empty that one on the ground," he indicates the marked one with a slight movement of his head, "give them that one, and don't open either before its time. And I'm sure they'll be just chuffed to bits to see me regardless." A hint of dryness suggests he might have an idea why Sullivan might prefer to trade that off -- whether he's right or wrong remains to be seen. "Well, like I said, man. They don't much care for visitors. The oil is, well... call it a talen fertilizer of sorts, I suppose. I wasn't kidding about the nourishing part. We have a deal, then, eh?" He gets off the trunk. (Yes, Sully is Canadian.) "I believe we may," Oliver says, reaching out to accept the bottles. "When are you meant to be there? Or is this an unexpected delivery?" Another interested look at them, closer-up. "Do you want a call o some such once it's done? And when should I check back here?" "Just check back here. I gotta fly, and to be honest, so do you. If you leave now, you'll /still/ probably be a little late. Good luck. Don't let the Porcupines hassle you too bad, huh?" He hops off the car and hands the bottles over, popping onto a motorcycle. | |
