Pricks and Porcupines
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Date: 11/05/2017 |
The Porcupine Mountains
A Parking Lot in Lansing
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Cast: Storyteller: | |
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<OOC> Shadi says, "Okay, guys!" <OOC> Sandra has her car, of course. <OOC> Oliver has a question or two himself. :) Mainly if there's anything he can find about about the Sept and about Sullivan before they go/get there (...and possibly about two-liters-of-oil talens). And yeah, I figure Sandra's going to drive 'em. <OOC> Sandra would do what she did last time: put some money towards whichever tribal reservation they're nearby, if there's a charity running. And probably do some hunting. Skin/field dress the carcass, leave the remaining bits where scavengers can get at it and where the soil needs it. If there's time. That's about all she can think of, really. :P <OOC> Shadi says, "Totally sensible, Sandra." <OOC> Oliver helps with this, obviously. <OOC> Sandra wouldn't give a name with the donation, but it'd be a tidy sum of $100 or so. Not hugely amazing, and she's not blatantly attempting to hide it, but wouldn't say it wasn't her, either. Stay humble/etc. <OOC> Shadi says, "You're able to at /least/ get a read on Sullivan himself. His full name is Sully 'Sullies the Foe' O'Sullivan. He's considered a royal asshole known for his barrages of insults. Nobody you speak to has much clue about the Wendigo of Porcupine Mountains, to be honest, and the news'd at least be a little surprising to anyone still talking to you. That said, most knowledge of local septs is regional/local, and you don't exactly have a lot of people willing to take your calls on short notice of account of who you are. It's pretty obvious that he's a Raggy himself so it's not wrong to expect he's having a little fun with this." <OOC> Oliver says, "Yeah, Oliver's pretty much assuming there are catches a mile high in here." <OOC> Shadi says, "Yeah. I mean, it's a safe bet." <OOC> Sandra says, "Yeah. Which is partly why Sandra would talk up offering the donations/carcass. And anything else they can think of." <OOC> Oliver mostly just wants to make sure as best he can that he's not being used to cause trouble. And ha. :D <OOC> Shadi says, "Well, I mean." <OOC> Oliver says, "Well, yeah, hence other Slord Ragabash is trying to figure out what kind of hole he's getting himself into. ;)" <OOC> Shadi grins. <OOC> Sandra says, "Aside from the whole thing about offerings, this is Oliver's show. She doesn't have time to take a cursory look at local customs, or hunt down rumors and such like she did before, so. >_>" <OOC> Shadi says, "Pretty much. You have to do this on short order or not at all." <OOC> Sandra says, "Probably having Oliver scan some wiki entries on the location on the way up and any literature regarding which tribes are present/etc (for as long as they have 4G, anyway). Not so much in learning what to say so much as learning what NOT to say/do/present, kind of thing." <OOC> Oliver says, "'Having', tch. ;)" <OOC> Shadi says, "Ojibwa." <OOC> Oliver is all over research though. <OOC> Sandra would just be antsy about not screwing up their presentation, they've already got enough knocks against them >_> <OOC> Shadi says, "Oliver: Calm down. Sandra: BUT Oliver: DO NOT FRENZY IN MY CAR" <OOC> Sandra says, "Sandra: EXCUSE ME WHOSE CAR IS THIS?" <OOC> Oliver grins. It's probably her car, unless she feels like driving a rented Elantra. :D <OOC> Sandra says, "I think taking her car would be fine. Less money paid out for the rental/etc, unless the rental is already theirs for a day. OTOH, unexpected wrinkles, who knows if the car gets mauled by an angry Gurahl they didn't expect to see." <OOC> Oliver says, "I figure it is for a day, 'cause I don't think they usually let you do less than that." <OOC> Shadi says, "One important note:" <OOC> Sandra will refrain from the hunting thing if a quick sniff around gives her any indication that she's on wolfpack territory. Taking from their herds is just rude. The drive up there is long. Looooong. Nine hours of driving. By the time you get there, you're both already tired and sore just from the nine hour drive. Nobody likes a nine hour drive, after all. Porcupine Mountain National Park is a lovely place. Beautiful in the day, but you're getting here a little closer to the evening. And you still have a long hike ahead of you without a sure destination and a couple of hefty two liters to carry with you the entire way. The old growth forest is thickj and tall, the light pollution from the cities providing only marginal help here. It's bound to feel 'more homey' for creatures of the Wyld like Garou. It's not the longest drive they've taken. Possibly a bit more fraught than others, though, given the lack of certainty on just what they're getting into. Oliver does what research he can, of various sorts, and does what he can to keep his packmate calm as they go. And himself. Despite what are likely periodic if short conversations about ways this COULD go. On the upside, since they'll be following scent markings, carrying the talens at least isn't too big a deal; he just makes sure they'll stick with him when he changes. "Well," he says as he gets out of the car and thoroughly stretches, looking around in the dim part-light of distant city light and moon, "can't fault the scenery, I suppose." To the contrary, Sandra is quite all right with a lengthy drive, and her carseats are quite comfy! ...That said, lengthy drives on a full moon are another story. She's not necessarily grumpy by the time they get to where they're going, parked at the foothills with a long hike sprawling out ahead of them, but she's not in the *best* of moods, either. Not that this comes as any surprise. The *good* news is that she's more at home here than she is in the city, more often than not, the mountains that sprawl out up ahead coming as something of a sight for sore eyes, a great deal of the tension in her seeming to dim upon seeing them. She doesn't say again, for what must be the eighth time, that she doesn't like showing up empty handed. With or without the donations, it doesn't sit well with her. He already knows to keep a lookout for deer. "Hell of a lot better than Detroit," she says. "Just be sure to let me know if you start feeling faint, or winded while we're climbing. Assuming we ever get to any higher elevations. You'll adapt fairly quickly, but you'll want to give yourself some time to get used to it." So far so good, but thre's no great indication where the Caern is supposed to be, at least not from human form. It's also cold. And snowy. It's the time of year for it, after all. Oliver, for his part, does not agree again for the eighth time that he's absolutely in favour of bearing gifts. He's had the sense to dress warmly for likely snow, at least, but it won't matter for at least a fair bit of this trek. "All right," he says to the advice, looking up at where the mountains continue to rise. "...doesn't look too terrible though, all in all. Not like the Rockies. Americans just HAVE to make everything bigger..." He glances sidelong at her, stifling almost all of a smile, and looks to the woods again, then begins to pick his way into the trees. Shifting waits until they're decently away and shielded from the parking area, but not for much longer than that. That works. There are definitely the appropriate scent marks in he area. Wolves are here. Following them will be a bit more difficult on account of the snow but noses are powerful things indeed. Sandra, similarly, has gone with attire more conducive to the weather, with a thermal longsleeved shirt (and a layer beneath her jeans, undoubtedly) and flannel for insulation. A polar-fleece pull-over is tied around her waist in case the army jacket - with its insular lining having been placed back in - isn't quite up to the task. She casts a glance in his direction, as well, brow raised at the comment, but she offers none in return. She merely walks with him, and shifts down into her wolf form when it comes time to do so, heavy muzzle pointed this way and that to catch the scents on the breeze, and in the snow. Ouroboros does the same with his rather less-heavy muzzle, and possibly his coat allows him to become one with the snow, because it's not long at all before he turns his head a precise direction, and his body just after. <<Got it!>> He glances to her briefly before beginning to follow his nose. Attention still out for other markings and signs of potential gifts, but the trail is found. Razor-Eater looks up upon hearing the all clear, though it's not at all that long before the musky odors start hitting her, too. She whuffs a wordless confirmation, and begins to follow. Noting some split attention in his body language, she says, <<Until I have a stronger bead on that trail than you do, stick to it. I'll keep a lookout.>> Which she does, nose and ears on alert for any of the markings owners', as well as any potential prey animals. Or predators, for that matter. There was the mention of bears. Many, many bears. It's gonna be a long march up there. But there are scents. Sometimes, the wind brings new ones, but you're traversing the woods in the middle of the night so that's just going to happen. Hours pass and you find yourself inexorably drawing closer to Kelly Peak an the so-called 'Lost Lake'. The occasional scent of bear does assault your nostrils as well, along with a huge variety of other wildlife. This is pristine, remote nature. Mostly. The signs of man are never /too/ far away. Nature existing only where he permits it in his domain, and even then, not without benches and posted signs and trails. The deeper you go, though, the more these fade away and the thicker it all is. It'd be so easy for a human, so dimly connected to their primal selves, to get lost here and never find their way out again. The scents draw you around Kelly Peak and into the mountains proper, and it isn't long before you're getting into truly remote territory and, indeed, reach a spot where the old growth thickens and the mountains slops become ominous before you're sure this is as close as you should get. The smell says that alone. Ouroboros indicates agreement with her suggestion, and focuses more purely on the trail itself, trusting her with all the rest. There's not a whole lot of chatting, in this form, though there are still little comments now and then. It'd be a long, long walk without at last that much. He stops when they reach that spot, and looks to his packmate. <<Seems about the place. He said to make a proper introduction, and then pour out the red-marked talen...>> Not that he hasn't told her this already. He eyes further into the bawn, looking slightly uneasy, but preparing to Announce all the same. There's a slight nod of the Ahroun's head, more human than anything, before, <<You pour. I'll call.>> She's no more eager to dive straight in than he is, and takes a moment or two at the ledge to consider. Then, throwing her head back, the howl begins, loud enough to carry, but with some attempts made at sounding-- for lack of a better way to put it: diminutive, the big wolf crouching a low to the ground to nuance her tone with her posture. There is at first a greeting - a 'polite salutation,' as much as one can be offered - followed by, <<I am Razor-Eater - Ahroun, Shadow Lord, Cliath - here with my packbrother. We bring offerings, in place of Sullies-the-Foe.>> Short, and simple. Ouroboros looks over at Razor-Eater at her suggestion, and there's a mirroring oddly human-like nod. He shifts up to a form with fingers, and eyes the red-marked bottle a moment while his packmate makes her call. He does not say 'well, here goes nothing,' but it's easy enough for at least her to read. Sticking to the order as instructed, he waits for the howl to finish before he takes a breath, unscrews the lid, and pours out the contents on what looks like a likely spot. ...they were already onto you. That much is rapidly evident. Of course they were. No Warden worth their salt wouldn't be, to be honest. Which is why when the five great wolves emerge from the trees as Oliver uncorks and pours, you're not surprised. Well, you actually are SORT of surprised. Because they're not Wendigo. Of course not. By their measure and their breeding and their smell and the irritation in their postures and their tail flicks, you'd say they're probably Red Talons. Meanwhile, it's a little too late to stop the pouring of the bottle, which uncorked, promptly smells POWERFULLY. Of urine. Sully, Sullies the Foe, gave you a bottle of mountain lion piss. Which you just poured on their lawn. Mountain Lions are one of Porcupines few predators. Awesome. The very second that scent piques her senses, Razor-Eater's hackles bristle, <<DON'T-->> proving to be as far as she gets. She *cringes* the second that fluid goes splashing down on the soil, moving anxiously from one front paw to the other, and she instantly crouches to the ground as the wolves move in, biting back the knee-jerk snarling and stamping around that she almost certainly would *like* to be doing, and instead forcing silence. Her posture is low but cautious, her bristled hackles giving a fair barometer of the surge of anger that comes with the revalation. Seriously, how does *one guy* gather up that much cat piss? It takes a moment longer for the scent to get caught and identified by Oliver's currently-human nose, but not much. Just... just slightly too long to keep from some of it actually hitting the ground. He stops it as fast as he part-humanly can, a definite flash of Rage going through him, obvious to any and all present whether or not they'd understand the "Oh for FUCK'S sake!" that comes along with it. If he had hackles in this form, they'd be as up as Sandra's. The lid's twisted back on as fast as he can, and -- and there's company. He goes back down to Lupus, also as fast as he can, and with a similarly low and cautious and, in his case, really decidedly apologetic stance. About as much as it can be without abandoning the potential to move. The Red Talons. There's more of them than you. The apologetic gestures are noticed and that is, perhaps, though the intense flash of rage in THEIR eyes, they do not immediately lunge. <<You will have four of man's times to run.>> They're Talons. This may be charitable for them, assuming you can't talk your way out of it further. <<Then we hunt.>> Razor-Eater is careful to put herself between the Talons and her packmate, making more of a scurrying move to his side than anything more dignified. Her anger doesn't help matters, in this instance, the attempt to speak plainly to the wolves, to explain, already off on the wrong foot with things like complicated words and concepts rather than anything concise. <<Please. He's here because of me. Your quarrel is with *me*.>> Beat. <<You can see by looking at us that we-->> She gives a slight shake of her head. That was wrong foot The Second, there. <<We meant you no insult. We carried what Sullies-the-Foe, what our superior asked us to carry. He told us this was meant in tribute. We didn't know. If there's any way that we can apologize, make this up to you-->> And here is where she shuts up, brutally aware of the likelihood that her approach is going over like a wet fart in church. Ouroboros flicks a quick sidelong glance to Razor-Eater, body tensing slightly to see if she's inclined to take that... well, offer, sort of; he knows which of them is probably in a better position to lose their pursuers, even if it might still not be enough. Since she doesn't seem to be immediately on board with that, he moves similarly to her side, though she covers more distance; they're a small pack, but they're pack. He's still Apologetic with a capital A (not that these guys can spell), and adds support to her remarks in the background -- well, the 'quarrel with me' part not so much perhaps -- but it doesn't look as though things are going as well as they might. He takes a moment to gather what he can of both determination and Gaia's blessing before he chimes in as well. It IS difficult, trying to express what he wants to in wolf words and concepts, let alone persuade with them. But he does his best. <<Your quarrel is with Sullies-the-Foe, and now so is ours. We did not know, but we apologise for our part. We will make what contrition we can to you and to Porcupine. If you allow us to leave, we will be sure that Sullies-the-Foe does not go unpunished for this, and you will not need to leave your land to ensure that this happens. He is our superior but was willing to put us in needless danger; he will not care if we suffer. He did not come to offer the disrespect himself -- he will care if he suffers. If you will let us leave, we will make it so.>> They hesitate for a moment. There is communion amongst them. <<We will deal with Sullies the Foe. He is ours. You speak truth. We know. Which is why we will only chase you from our lands with our youngest. And because you are Garou, because you are humans, and because you have shown /deference/, you will be granted.... /time/." Congrtulations, Oliver. You just talked down the Talons from MURDERMURDERMURDERDEATHKILL to MAIMMAIMAMAIMMAIMWITHTRAINTRAINTRAINTRAIN. The unspoken subtext is that you're now, at least, fodder for training cubs so at least your lives aren't on the lines. Maybe a limb? Or two? It's actually pretty damn impressive, given the stakes when you walked in here. "NOW GO CAT PISS MAN," howls one of the other talons. The cubs are getting excited. <<CHASE THE CAT PISS MAN>> For a much as Razor-Eater would *like* a do-over, the fact that her packmate steps in to dim the worst of the damage she could have done is a relief. A humiliating one, to be sure, but she's biting that back about as hard as she's biting back her anger. She glances towards Ouroboros first, and then, sincerely - with or without the cubs barking in the background - <<Thank you,>> is said, the big wolf lingering for about as long as it takes for the Ragabash to add something of his own before high-tailing it, back towards the direction they came from. Ouroboros's posture expresses clear gratitude as well, a respectful acknowledgement of the consideration being given them. Even if it is the kind of consideration that may still turn out pretty painful. He doesn't squander a second more than that, a glance flicked to meet his packmate's and then they're off, in essentially the direction they came. If the worst that comes out of this is a new sobriquet amongst the Porcupine Mountain Talons... he'll take that for sure. BOY THIS SURE IS FAMILIAR. RUNNING THROUGH A HEAVILY WOODED AREA, BEING CHASED BY A REALLY ANGRY GAROU. Oliver should feel an ASTOUNDING sense of deja vu. And Sandra should probably feel guilty..er. IN ANY CASE, you have some advantages. Mostly, that advantage is you know where they are, largely befcause they haven't stopped howling 'CAT PISS MAN, WE'RE LOOKING FOR YOU! WE'RE GONNA GET YOU!' as wolves sometimes do. Well... these wolves, anyway. They're moving all around you, up ahead in some cases, because they're fast and these are their woods, but they're clearly operating on a 'harry the prey' instinct to try to force you in to areas they can more easily see you. It's effective. Very effective. Especially since they know the land and you do not. However, both of you are just a little faster, a little sneakier, and a little more experienced (a lot more experienced, in Sandra's case. She old.) than they are, which has let you slip through their net for now. You don't have much time to celebrate as you have a long way back to the car. The thinning air at the altitutde you'd ascended is already weighing down on you just a little, even if you're in peak shape. You've still got a ways to go. There's some anger brewing as the trek continues. Not so much at the circumstances, but at how Not The Least Bit Surefooted Razor-Eater is feeling on these slopes. Bad enough to get *talking* wrong-- worse to feel like she's stumbling over terrain that she knows like the back of her hand. Or paw, in this case. Still, it's kept contained-- all the growls, all the possible shitfits that did, indeed, put Ouroboros in this exact situation roughly a week prior. Something about that just lends to the determination to get right back out of it, the Ahroun cleaving to her packmate, wholly unwilling to let him face that threat alone. If that's what it comes to. There really is a certain deja vu, particularly since it's another situation in which Ouroboros would really rather not kill his pursuer(s) and they're unlikely to be feeling the same compunctions. But fingers or other digits crossed, it won't come to that. And in any case, when fleeing, there's a huge morale difference between 'with your packmate' and 'from her'. His own anger is directed more toward the source of their current situation than anything else -- he's certainly not doing better with the terrain, but since he hasn't the experience to expect to, it doesn't rankle quite as much. And the howls are almost -- ALMOST -- amusing now and then. When they're particularly far away. Even then, though, the focus is on getting them even farther away. It is, indeed, a long way back to the car. To be fair, Oliver can be reasonably confident that they'll only MAIM him a bit. It's Talon training! And at least it's ONLY the cubs, right? But Talon cubs are engaging in the only life they've ever known right now and hgopefully learning from it. With your confusing scents lost on them, they're falling further behind from the sound of things. At least until you run right into heavier snows that you weren't prepared to account for. That slows you /down/. Did we mention that its started to snow again? It has. Fun. Ever seen one of those snow drifts that looks solid but really isn't? They're bottomless, even for fleet-footed animals that can run across the crust of the snow without sinking in. Some manage it, some don't. But powder is a different animal altogether. Powder is like freezing quicksand. So, long story short on that: one minute Razor-Eater is there, and the next, she's not. Where she *was*, there's a puff of powdery snow flying every which way, and only a heartbeat or two later is there a sign of the struggling Ahroun flailing to get right back out of the pit she's fallen into. There's a truly enraged snarl that comes of it, but nothing nearly as weighted as the ones Ouroboros has heard from her before. And thankfully, given the snow, it's largely muffled. It seems to have renewed her determination, however, what windedness she's been experiencing as she bounds through the higher drifts of snow seemingly erased in favor of plowing forward, (almost spitefully, and) bodily carving a way through. But quietly. Very quietly. Honestly it's all for the best that she's carving that path, because despite the recent 'training', Ouroboros isn't getting any less winded. He is at least also not getting any MORE winded, and not having to push through the drifts himself is probably helping there. The sound of his breath isn't quite as quiet as he'd prefer it to be, but not quite bad enough that he might have to turn in his Ragabash credentials. But at least he managed not to look amused by the powder puff. Despite your slowed progress, you're far enough ahead of the cubs by now that you've got something of a cushion to work with. There's a fair number of howls behind you shouting the same sort of threats, but you've definitely outpaced them. FINALLY. You get to the edge of the park and find the car. Razor-Eater continues to be a four-legged snowplow for the Ragabash behind her, for as long as is necessary, seeming rather tireless in this particular effort. Even as they get farther away - even as the howl signals that the worst of the chase if over - the usual adrenal collapse that comes on after the high doesn't leave her any more fatigued than she was when it came on. She just keeps on moving, until they're right beside the car, and able to reassume human shape. Which Sandra does, the moment they're at the edge of the park. "That *motherfucker*," she snaps, in such a way that suggests she's been waiting the *entire run* to spit it out. ...so, your car, right? It smells. Like pee. Red Talon pee, to be precise. Well, one red talon anyway. Just so you know. Ouroboros exhales a sharp puff though his nose as that pungent scent meets it, and glances briefly around before he shifts up as well. "Quite," he agrees, the final consonant crisp enough to just about give the impression of cursing as well. He eyes the bottles, and moves around to the trunk. Might as well keep them at the furthest reach. "...complete wanker. Who better bloody do HIS part of the supposed deal, or I shall be somewhat miffed." New entry for the year. "Where did he even get that much mountain lion piss? Is he involved in big cat watersports?" He looks the part-empty one over again, adding, "I think we ought to return this to him, when we get a chance. And possibly the other one. I wonder what the other one is?" Presumably it LOOKS about the same, but, "Why bother marking one specifically if they're the same thing?" He clearly doesn't wonder enough to try opening it himself, at least not now or here. Being somewhere that is not here, as close to now as possible, is much more appealing. Welp. Time to drive home. You have nine hours to stew on the way back to Lansing, back to the parking lot where he said he'd leave the blanket. The black cadillac is still there because of course it is. Good eyes will notice that teh trunk is shut, but unlatched. so one could just flip it open. When you do, several things happen. First, you see a blanket, neatly folded with military precision. Then you see a piece of paper on top of it, handwritten. Nearby are several newspaper clippings. Lastly, the radio left in there starts loudly blaring 'SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THIS'. Sandra pauses upon stepping closer to the front wheel well, and-- quite promptly rolls her eyes in a rather exaggerated fashion. She bites her tongue, of course-- or at least clenches her teeth together, her gaze flicking up towards Oliver as he speaks. Or, at the very least, once she's deposited her rucksack inside the trunk, and moved around to the driver's side. "I don't know," she says, finally, "and, frankly, I'm not sure if I care. What I *do* know is I fully intend on making sure he knows that if doesn't chug both bottles in rapid succession, he can look forward to having them crammed straight up his ass." She pulls open the driver's side door once the key fob remotely unlocks both it and the passenger side. It's only once she's in that she says, "Car's been pissed on, by the way," in a flat tone. "I don't know about you, but I'm starting to sense a theme." At which point, she pulls out of the parking lot. The drive is long, yes. And just about as wordy, though Sandra does at least start to converse a little more freely just to give herself something to do. A means of staying awake that isn't coffee, which is just prolonging the trip with pit stops. It's once they reach their destination - and, more importantly, have the blanket in front of them - that she shoots a dubious look in Oliver's direction, one brow raised. The threat gets a faint upward lift at the corner of Oliver's mouth. "Good start," he murmurs, and moves to the front, claiming shotgun as is his right. As for the abuse of the poor car, "I know," he replies, which is all he has to say about that. Currently, anyhow. Chattier all in all on the drive back, because... well, long drive, and they haven't got through them before by listening to Top 40. He sticks with things not terribly likely to add to the risk of road Rage, particularly given that neither of them are at their most sanguine just now. And when they get to the spot... well, he doesn't do anything without taking care. Good look around, careful what he touches without looking it over first, etc. You'd think he didn't trust the guy or something. Still. It's A blanket, at least. "...who am I to disagree," he says dryly, with another quick look around to see if it's likely to draw attention. If not, he leaves it alone, focusing on the other things he can see in there instead. "Do we know any theurges with a knack for checking items for hilARious unexpected effects?" Nobody's around. The note is handwritten. "Don't feel too bad for the Talons. They needed the poking and prodding and man the howls were hilarious! You'll probably see them at the next regional gathering, if there is one. See you there! On second thought probably not see you there! Everything is as it is promsied." The newspaper clippings are a handful of articles about people havine gone missing in the mountains. Hikers. Solo mountaineers. You know the type. Talon bait. "None that know how to find their ass with both hands," Sandra replies. "Ms. Fujiwara might have some idea of how to give it a once over, but I'm not entirely sure that's possible without at least some attunement." She takes a look around, herself, checking to see if the man himself is aiming to make an appearance. When that doesn't happen, she, indeed, peers at the letter that's placed there with the blanket, reading it over, but leaving the 'picking it up' part of it to Oliver. It's the newspaper clippings that she turns her attention to. "Is this where we find out that we were walked into the home territory of some Predator Kings?" she asks him mildly, idly gesturing with one of the clippings. "Or is this just standard Talon fare that we got chucked into for-- I believe the technical term is 'shits and giggles?'" Oliver considers the clippings for a second or so more before answering, "If I had to guess, I'd suspect more to the standard side of things. But either way, he's definitely been taking the piss. I'm still not averse to returning it." Assurances in the letter or not, he gives everything another wary looking over before he starts picking anything up. "I suspect he had in mind that lying to me would mean I'd at least be telling the truth if and when I had to try to talk them down. But on the other hand, lying to me is the only reason I would have been in that situation to begin with. I'm fairly sure he wasn't aiming to get me actually killed. Still, on balance: fuck that guy." The blanket gets a look. "Possibly =somewhat= less if this is genuine. Maybe I ought to be the one to try it first, though. Just in case." Sandra looks the blanket over, herself-- has been, for a while yet. It's a tentative look, that. Not quite apprehension, but she's steeling herself for it to be a farce, in and of itself. Her gaze flits over towards him at his suggestion, and while there may be some merit to it... "No," she says. "We check it for taint. We find an enclosed space-- one you can reasonably run out of in time. I'll test it." A beat. "If something goes wrong, you'll have somewhere to lock me in." And by the sound of her tone, she's not taking 'no' for an answer on that. "If this is the genuine article," she says, "I should be the one getting attuned to it. If it's not--" She gives a slight shrug. "I'd say you've taken one for the team more than a few times this week. It's fine to sit this one out." "It isn't as though if I attuned it, you couldn't afterward," Oliver points out, "and going very wrong is likely to be still slightly less intense for me, particularly this time of month. Not to mention that you'd be more likely to be able to do something about it. However... if you're entirely certain even so, I'll go with your way." A small pause. "I checked him; he wasn't tainted. This..." he tilts his head slightly, considering it for the space of a couple breaths, "isn't either. So, there's that much, at any rate." Sandra nods, looking down at it again. "There's that, yes," she says gently. "And yes," she says, looking back up at him. "I'm certain." She eyes her surroundings again, before carefully gathering up the blanket, though she pauses for a moment, eyeing the car-- then Oliver. "We could leave the bottle in there, you know," she says. "Slightly cracked." Oliver can't help smirking at the suggestion. "He said he often uses it as a dead drop, so if so.... Of course, it might not even really be his." Which is not a no, regardless, particularly as he moves to look at the doors and see whether they're locked. Not that it would likely keep him out if they are and he wanted in, but all the same. "'Cat Piss Man' *does* have a legacy to live up to," Sandra replies dryly. "And he may as well smell the part." She glances at the trunk again. "Though I suppose that means we'll never know the answer to how on earth he got 2 liters worth." "At least," Oliver agrees, "We also don't know what the other one's full of, after all. And my only objection is a preference for dousing his daily driver. But since that appears to be a motorcycle which is not currently here... what do you think: boot, rear footwell, or driver's seat?" "If we had time," Sandra says, "I'd say rig it to give him a slim chance of the upholstry suffering a terrible fate. For now," she looks at the trunk. "I'd say the trunk is fine." A pause. "On the other hand, if the second one's full of bourbon, I suppose he can be forgiven." "Mm," Oliver agrees, "...but do YOU want to be the one to open it?" Another brief consideration, and he adds, "Although if we do want to risk it, then barring wherever he lives, I suppose this would be the place." He takes the note, and heads toward the rental, presumably to get one or both of the bottles from it. "If we do, I say we put the blanket safely away first." <OOC> Sandra figures we can call it there. ;) Or at least fade there and figure out which way they went on it. Shadi, what's in the boooox? <OOC> Shadi laughs. <OOC> Oliver grins. Oliver may also glance to see how the radio was rigged, and whether he can happen to repurpose the same to rig the bottle they know the contents of to spill on he who opens it. <OOC> Shadi says, "Scotch." <OOC> Oliver snorts. <OOC> Sandra lol <OOC> Shadi says, "And that if you didn't check it at least you had scotch." <OOC> Oliver says, "He did also almost get us killed though. So: complete pass, or 'we're just going to return this to you' pass?" <OOC> Sandra would still leave the piss bottle, contents not upended, in the trunk, with a note on it saying 'guess what happens next' and let him torture himself wondering what that means. <OOC> Oliver would probably just go with "See you soon," himself, but can go with that. She's being nice, though. And I mean. We don't even know if it's GOOD scotch. ;) <OOC> Sandra says, "A fair point." <OOC> Oliver grins. Oliver'll rig it to sit nicely (but... aromatically) until the trunk is opened. So he has a CHANCE to stop it. And ideally, aimed outward more than at the car itself. <OOC> Sandra hi5 <OOC> Oliver ^5. :D <OOC> Sandra says, "And since they've been driving and running for 18+ hours." <OOC> Oliver says, "woo!" | |
