World of Darkness World of Darkness: Attrition - Come into my parlor... [Complete]

[Owns-The-Night]

{Tuesday, 12th of August}

Declan turned off his computer with a sigh and sat back, rubbing his temples. He had been checking the UCLA register with his staff access, and had found the home address of the Professor... no, of the Azlu that was pretending to be a professor.

The chatroom incident had bothered him a little. He was just grateful that no-one there could see him lose his temper and tear the sturdy kickbag in the corner to shreds in his Urshul form. Sand was all over the floor of his lounge now, along with tatters of reinforced Gortex fabric. Heh. Perhaps this is the best way to learn to deal with people. Sure, and at $500 a lesson, it looks like I'll only be logging onto the chat once a month.

He was still embarassed about how he had reacted though. What did it matter what a snotty little fuck like Hunt thought anyway? At least he had apologised and tried to make amends: Declan was able to appreciate that much.

Still, he had things to do now. Focus, soldier. He changed into a dingy threadbare charcoal-grey tracksuit from a charity store and wore an old pair of sneakers he had found in the garbage. If he needed to change suddenly, he didn't want to trash any clothing he had actually paid good money for. That done he took two racks of ribs, two pounds of bacon, and three large steaks and started to cook the lot up, shoving three potatoes in the oven to bake.

He wasn't sure how hungry Morgan might be, but there were two werewolves going along tonight, and it was best to make war on a full stomach, especially as Morgan might be a casualty of a hungry Gauru form otherwise. It wasn't a thought he wanted to contemplate, so he shunted it aside.

He made coffee for her: Lightfighter-strength coffee that would keep a body awake through the night and into the next damn day. Him and Amber would have to go without, but that was okay. They'd be high on life. He grinned at the thought of going into a righteous battle. Last one had been that drug dealer, but even he wasn't a real challenge, gun or no. Nope, this was an Azlu, a spider host. Tricky and dangerous it had nonetheless been spotted, and was vulnerable if Declan and his friends *Pack!* moved swiftly.

As he cooked, he mused over the surprises of the online chatting. People had stood up for him. For him, this was a new sensation. Morgan, Sarah and Amber had all defended him, told that Hunt guy he was out of line. Even Adrian, the weird guy that had spotted him as "Crazy Perault" That was dumb, making that 'crazy' dig at FancyPants had been cool. And they hadn't even met! Declan wondered at that, wondered at the emotional warmth he found in it. For his entire life since his uncle died, the only acceptance he had found, the only brothers he'd had, however tentatively, was in the Army.

There, his intensity and skills were things to respect and emulate. Out here, he was suffering from the same problems many Human veterans had: his skills and training were uncomfortable reminders for the civilians that wars were fought and men died on their behalf. That sense of alienation was heightened further by the Wolf inside him. Dangerous and predatory, it made him "creepy", had always made him an outsider even as a child. But now... Now people were befriending him.

He filed that away as he flipped the hot food onto dishes and set plates on the table. His guests Morgan would be here soon: time to get his game face on and not be too distracted. He wanted this to go smoothly.

[Astra D.]

"Dress for action," he'd said in the chat room. Morgan thought rather glumly that it wasn't the sort of action she would have preferred, but, then... He had said he wanted to see more of her.

"I can't believe I agreed to this," she muttered, dragging yet another pair of pants out of the pile of clothes on her chair. Spatters of paint marked the legs, along with a threadbare rip across one knee, but she figured they would do. She grumbled to herself about her own stupidity as she tugged them on, wiggling to pull them up over her hips. To say they were "tight" would be something of an understatement, but cargo pockets lined the sides and the hems flared slightly over her favorite old black boots. A t-shirt that was at least a size too small stretched across her chest, where the words, "2006 National Moustache Riding Champion" were emblazoned in bold lettering, and she threw a faded grey hoodie on top of the pile so that she could grab it later.

"Hey, Morgan. A friend and I are going to go hunt down an Ax... Alz..." Scowling at the strangeness of the word on her tongue, she threw herself back down in her (conspicuously clean) computer chair. "A freaking nightmare. Wanna come?"

"Oh, sure," she replied mildly. "Just let me find a young priest, an old priest, and someone willing to inject me with mixed martial arts mastery, and I'll be all set!"

She was still grousing as she fumbled through the pockets of her ever-present bag, fishing out an oversized deck of cards. If she was going to get herself killed, she decided, at least she should know about it ahead of time.

In a few moments, a small brass burner on her desk was emitting fragrant smoke from an ancient Egyptian recipe. Fragrant notes of cedar, juniper, and other, less definable scents filled the air, and as she breathed in the aromatic vapors, her hands began moving through the practiced motions of shuffling. The rasp of cardstock whispered through the empty dorm room as her long fingers expertly muddled the cards, and then rapidly placed three on the desk in a straight line.

"What is," she murmured, turning the first face-up. "What was... And what will be."

The first card depicted a fool in brightly-colored motley, blithely wandering toward a precipice on a checkered path beset on all sides by demons and frightful beasts. Her lips twisted into a faint, wry smile as she saw it. "The Fool. How appropriate." This venture was a cliff, of sorts, and she was either making a terrible mistake, or taking a leap of faith. Perhaps both. Not only that, but it was, coincidentally, the card most closely associated with her own Path because of its correspondence to luck, spontaneity, and individuality.

The next got a snort of laughter, considering her recent interactions. The Lovers. A pair of nudes, tellingly androgynous, who stood beneath a blazing sunburst with linked hands sharing a cup. Affinity, bonding, union, temptation... There were easily a dozen different interpretations, but all of them implied gain with loss: a sacrifice of some sort. Whether it was trading one lover for another, or giving up the single life to forge a new relationship, or even forsaking such fetters altogether, a price must always be paid for happiness. Romance- the real kind- was much less familiar to Morgan than its physical trappings, and so she considered the card for a moment before shrugging and moving on to the last one to be turned.

"The Crystal Sphere...?" Her brow furrowed in confusion. It wasn't a card you'd typically find in a Tarot deck, largely because Morgan had painted these herself. Many of the cards were re-imaginings of elemental courts and Arcana, and she'd managed to draw the card that related to the realm of Spirit. It depicted a simple crystalline sphere on a black base, within which amorphous forms could be seen shifting through a vaporous fog. She hadn't learned the trick of seeing the invisible beings just yet, but this card seemed to portend a parting of the veils, a glimpse of things unseen.

It was almost unthinkable that the cards would be wrong, even if she couldn't yet grasp the connections, so she tucked the reading away in her mind for future reference. If there was a pattern, she was determined to find it.

Her divinations finished, Morgan tucked the cards away again, snatched up the hoodie, and headed across campus toward the address Declan had provided.

The long walk gave her time to clear away the cobwebs, and mentally she kicked herself every step of the way. Agreeing to meet up with Declan and his "friend" had been a total impulse move, and she knew almost nothing about what was going to happen. Still...

"Fortune favors the bold," the pale-skinned girl mumbled to herself disconsolately, the weight of her bag reassuringly solid in the warm California night. Unconsciously, her ears perked with anxiety at every unfamiliar sound, and for the first time in a long time, she was genuinely uncomfortable being alone.

Fortunately, she kept up a passably brisk pace and managed to get to the other side of Hilgard Avenue (being narrowly missed by a low-slung 'vette headed up to Sunset Blvd.) in a little less than twenty minutes. Tentatively, she lifted her hand and knocked at the door, half-hoping he wouldn't answer, and half-hoping he'd still be in a towel if he did.

[Owns-The-Night]

Morgan was to be disappointed on two counts: Declan answered the door fairly quickly, and he wasn't wearing a towel. That said, he was stripped to the waist, wearing only a faded and threadbare pair of sweatpants and some trainers that looked as though he had mugged some poor bum for them. Judging by the smell of it, he'd been cooking. She was again struck by the way he took up space: objectively, she knew he wasn't a giant like LaSalle, but he seemed to fill the doorway nonethless. He radiated physicality, an animal vitalism which dwarfed his surroundings. Was it a werewolf thing? she wondered. Then she realised that she'd get the chance to find out, tonight.

"Morgan." Declan smiled at her. It was strange to him how easily he smiled now; not grim dark humor or the grin that bared teeth in a threatening manner, but genuine and unaffected. He didn't know it, but the smile softened his features a little, making them less forbidding when it reached his eyes.

"Come on in." He waved her into the lounge, a large high-vaulted ceiling arching above her head. There was a lot of space, or seemed to be, devoid as the living area was of personal touches like decorations or household appliances. An old t.v./vcr combination and an equally-old computer were the only electronics present. The bare walls were lit by dim golden light that provided illumination without being overly bright. The one jarring note for Morgan as she stepped, somewhat warily, into the wolf-man's house was the sand on the floor in the far corner. Tattered remnants of a large, expensive kickbag hung from a cord attached to an overhead beam, and shreds of the bag's skin were scattered over the floor of half the spacious room. He followed her gaze, then looked back at her, seeming almost embarassed as his face colored a little.

"Umm, I didn't get around to clearing up yet." he said with a one-shouldered shrug. "Come through to the kitchen. Got food and coffee for all in there." He turned and led the way, hoping not to hear the sound of rapidly-retreating footsteps as the girl ran like hell.

[Astra D.]

"Coffee," she repeated, still staring dumbstruck at the tattered remains of what had to have been a damnably heavy bag. "Yeah... Sounds good." Note to self. Do not fuck with a werewolf. Even from a distance.

To her credit, she didn't run. Instead, she followed quietly behind him, taking in the simplicity of the furnishings and the lack of sentiment in the decor. No paintings, no posters... Not even a fading potted plant interrupted the spartan aesthetic, and though it wasn't to her taste, it seemed perfectly suited to the man who lived there.

Even the kitchen, tidy as it was, seemed rather bare. He had most of the modern conveniences, she noted, including an area for laundry off to the side, but the only thing that caught her eye was a carnivore's dream come true: more meat than she'd ever seen outside of a butcher shop was piled on the table, and she smelled the rich, aromatic scent almost before she saw it.

"So, this friend of yours," she said distractedly, staring at the feast laid out. "They're like you?" With some effort, she managed to tear her eyes away to admire the play of muscles beneath his bare torso.

Easy, girl. No point in getting yourself all riled up before running off to get eaten by some monster.

That thought sobered her quickly enough, bringing her instantly back into the present and out of lascivious fantasy. She murmured her thanks as he handed her a mug of Black Death, and took it gratefully.

[Owns-The-Night]

"Yeah, she's like me. Same moon-sign even." Declan nodded as he placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and gently yet inexorably guided her into a seat at the table. "Call her 'Elle' for now: if she wants to tell you her real name, she will." He smiled, a little wryly. "I'm not one to go around outin' other special types generally, and a female werewolf 'specially. But she's good people: like us." This was delivered with a toothy grin that was still (somehow) strangely reassuring.

"Help yourself to chow." He pointed at the table. "Once the wolves sit down and start eatin', it'll disappear right quick." He sniffed the air, then turned around and crouched down, opening up the oven door and fishing out three baked potatoes. "There, these are ready too." He wrangled them on another dish and set that on the table as well. "I wasn't sure if you were vegetarian... didn't think about it to be honest. Hope this is all okay for you?"

[Astra D.]

"Okay?" Morgan asked, a little incredulously, trying not to concentrate on the little tingle that zipped through her when his hand rested on her shoulder. "I've never seen more food at once in my life. Well, not real food, anyway. That one time we had a dozen two liters and fifty dollars in Little Caesar's specials at Loki's doesn't really count. Wow..." Setting her bag on the floor, she peeled off her jacket and hung it over the back of her chair, earning a snort of laughter from her host as he caught sight of the lettering stretched across her chest.

She took a cautious sip of the coffee, nodding her approval. It wasn't anything fancy, with special flavored creamers or syrups, but it was hot, it was dark, and it was strong enough to keep her going through mid-terms. Her plate filled rapidly with whatever she could fit, and her belly quickly began to follow suit. Ramen and peanut butter sandwiches were filling, but a meal like this was a treat not to be passed up.

The baked potato was the first to go, loaded up with butter and salt, and she kept reminding herself as the food disappeared from her fork that she was a guest in someone's home- not standing at a $4 all-you-can-eat buffet. With obvious reluctance, she forced herself to eat a little more slowly, grinning somewhat sheepishly up at the bemused werewolf.

"'S good," she mumbled candidly between bites. The fact that it might well be her last meal wasn't lost on her, and so she devoured what was in front of her with gusto. She was worried, and rightfully so, but she'd already agreed to tag along. No backing out now.

The steak was nearly half-gone before she let fork rest against plate for a moment, licking the juices from her lips with a contended sigh.

"Okay, screw all that stuff about bachelors not being able to cook. Best meal I've had since the Great Pizza Disaster of '05. And, trust me," she grinned conspiratorially. "That was definitely a disaster." A little part of her was still surprised at how comfortable she was here, in "Crazy Perault's" home, his presence, but the rest of her was busy enjoying it. View's not half bad, either... Dinner and a show. Mrow. The thought only made her grin even wider.

[z-Amber Wren]

The truck roared unhappily, not pleased to be run twice in one day. For once, Amber ignored its grumbles and pushed it a little harder. She was late, or since they hadn't set a time, later than she liked being. But work had run until midnight and then she had to fight traffic across town.

The light ahead turned red, and Amber eased to a stop, putting the truck into neutral and pulling her polo shirt over her head. Ignoring the whistles that erupted from the car next to her, she pulled on the baggy t-shirt that she used with hunting. She had to change into sweat pants, but driving seemed to be more important, and her pants could wait.

Yes, she was being paranoid with her work shirt, she admitted to herself as the light changed and she gunned the old truck. It leapt ahead with a shudder and a roar, leaving a black cloud of oily smoke behind. She needed to take the time to figure out what was wrong, but she'd been a bit busy later and too high to care before that.

It wasn't Declan that she was paranoid about. He was Uratha and could be trusted with certain things. It was an instinctive and complete code of honor between them. No, it was the strange mage that had Amber paranoid and nervous. "Willworker," she snorted to herself as she drove, trying to conceal her nervousness in bravado. But Declan trusted her - trusted her enough to bring her along on the hunt. Well, Amber would have to form her own opinion, probably within seconds of meeting her. Amber relied heavily on instincts and first impressions.

And the moment of truth was looming; Declan's house was just ahead on the left, just before Hilgard Avenue curled to the right. Again, it was a bit of a challenge to maneuver the massive vehicle into his driveway, but she had practice now and got it tucked in easily.

She took a moment to stuff her shirt away under the seat before lying back on the seat and wiggling out of her pants. Quickly, she pulled on a pair of baggy sweat shorts; like her shirt, it was loose enough to accomidate a form-shift to Dalu. They wouldn't survive a shift to Garou but if things were that bad, she wouldn't care about the clothes or modesty afterward.

Her wardobe prepared, she grabbed the backpack on the passenger seat and walked up the sidewalk. Shaking her loose hair back from her face, Amber knocked on the door, adjusting the backpack over her shoulder.

[Owns-The-Night]

Originally Posted By: M. Westbrook

"Okay, screw all that stuff about bachelors not being able to cook. Best meal I've had since the Great Pizza Disaster of '05. And, trust me," she grinned conspiratorially. "That was definitely a disaster."

Declan laughed quietly. "Lemme guess: it was something that happened at three in the morning, after a lot of booze. And everyone was hungry, but there was nothin' ready to eat. And then some bright guy says "Hey, let's cook up a pizza out of what we have hanging around!" right?"

He grinned at Morgan, who was laughing into her coffee. "Been there, done that too. There was this time in Germ-" he stopped as a knock sounded at the door, then glanced at her. "Wait here."

He rose and padded to the door, sniffing lightly at the air. Evidently he sensed no danger, and he smiled in greeting to his second guest of the evening.

"Elle, glad you made it." he winked at her as he used the false name. "Come on in, food's on the table." He stepped aside and let her enter, closing the door before leading her through into the kitchen. "This is Morgan. Morgan, this is Elle." He stepped aside, silver eyes warily studying the two females as they met.

[Astra D.]

As the introductions were made, Morgan swivelled around in her seat to get a look at the newcomer. Even in sweats and a t-shirt, she had to admit, the woman was built, and somehow still managed to look feminine. Standing next to Declan, the similarities in their posture were surprisingly evident, and Morgan suddenly felt rather small and dull in comparison to the waves of vitality that radiated out from them. That Elle seemed both attractive and athletic wasn't lost on her, but she viciously tamped down the tiny spark of jealousy that flared to life in her breast. They looked good together, and as far as she knew (which was admittedly very little), that sort of of relationship was preferable to their kind.

So? It's not like he's got your name tattooed on his chest next to... whatever that mark is, or anything, and you haven't exactly made a serious move. Flirting is one thing, but that's all you've done. Focus.

"Elle," Morgan repeated slowly, dimly realizing she'd been staring. She nodded by way of greeting and offered a polite smile before taking another sip of coffee. "Nice to meet you. Declan was just warning me I'd better clear off as much of this as I can, because you two are gonna make short work of it. I'm doing my best to oblige him," she grinned, spearing another bite of steak onto her fork.

[z-Amber Wren]

Amber made a face at the name Declan picked for her. "Hey," she said, subtly testing the air. Next time, I'm picking my own codename. But it wasn't worth making a fuss over. Instead, she stepped past the well-built Uratha, noticing immediately the awkward hanging in the air. But even that wasn't as interesting to the Rahu as the demolished punching bag in the corner. "Ha, classic," she grunted to the other werewolf, grinning widely. "Nice job."

Declan took her praise as only another Rahu could and lead her into the kitchen. There, without the bag to distract, there was only the other woman. The non-Uratha. The borderline intruder in Amber's life and her nascent relationship with Declan. She was pretty, with dark hair, and Amber realized she'd seen her around. She was the artist looking for models, and she'd been at the party. She looked small and soft and all-around prey.

But the woman had backbone, Amber admitted as green eyes passed over her and assessed her. She also was dressed more sensibly than Amber would have thought possible after the party. And most importantly, she wasn't getting dominant on Amber, which helped, and the Uratha felt her shoulders relax a touch. "Nice to meet you, too," she said easily, dropping the bag near the door. "First aid kit," she said, nudging it with her toe. "We'll likely need it."

Moving to the table, Amber grabbed a plate and started to dig in. "Did Declan debrief you on what we'll be facing?" She gave a longing glance at the coffee maker, but made no move toward it. She was sure to be shifting tonight, and she really needed to not have seizures when she did. "I mean... did he give you the full low-down?"

[Astra D.]

Her mouth full of tender, rare meat that would probably moo if she gave it time to twitch before cutting into it, Morgan could only shake her head. It took a moment for her to finish chewing, and when she did, her brows knit in a petulant frown.

"No, just that it's nasty. Hell, I can't even pronounce it right. And, I'll be honest. Thinking about it scares the bejeezus out of me. I don't get to turn into a huge, flawlessly efficient hunter or rend spirits tooth and nail if they get out of line." There was a little admiration in this last; Declan had made a hell of an impression on her. "If it's really as bad as Declan says, and I trust his judgement..." She shrugged a little, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Well, at least I won't have to worry about classes. I don't want to sound like a pessimist, or anything. I just, really, am not sure that I won't be a hindrance to you guys. I want to go, stupid as it sounds, but I won't if it's going to be a problem."

Better to get it out in the open in the beginning, she decided, rather than wait until it's too late to do anything about it.

Her gaze was clear, open, and direct as she looked from Elle to Declan, giving both of them the chance to either explain what she could expect, or concede that it wasn't the best idea for her to go along. She was prepared for either answer, really, though as the moments ticked past, she was beginning to ludicrously hope for the former. How else was she going to get an experience like this?

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan retook his seat near Morgan, inwardly relieved that the two women were at least getting along civily, and gestured for "Elle" to sit across from him. "I figured I'd wait for you before I started discussin' the Azlu, because if I get somethin' wrong, you might be able to put me and Morgan both right on it." He glanced at Morgan.

"Azlu are spider-Hosts. They're like..." he furrowed his brow and tried to concentrate on the details he'd been told sketchily by his tutor. "Like evil spider spirits that get bigger as they absorb others like them. Once they get big enough, they can catch a human and drink everythin' out of them, leaving a skin they can wear to move around in on this side of the boundary." He glanced at Amber, measuring his words and seeing if she agreed or disagreed. "They tend to hang around near locuses, or whatever the term is for a lot of locus, and they spin webs that seal the gauntlet up tighter, making the locus spiritually dead. They like to close off all locuses in the area except the one they use as a web for catching prey in."

His brow furrowed further, a thought coming to him that had been nagging on his subconscious instincts all day.

"They're tricky, sly, and careful for the most part. Which is why I'm wonderin' how one was seen by a member of the Herd." He looked at Amber. "Unless it was somehow inviting attention, or the student that saw the thing isn't just Herd. Can an Azlu be seen like that by just anyone?"

[z-Amber Wren]

"Some of them stay swarms, just getting more bodies," Amber said, digging into the food without a sign of being grossed out by the topic. "They'll still take over a human, and when you cut those open, these spider bodies tumble out and crawl all over hell. You need to try to kill them all, or it'll come back." She glanced at Declan. "Got any bug-spray? Pressurized cans are fine; if its bad enough, we can puncture the cans for an area disperal."

"Their webs also aren't a joke - they'll catch and hold you, and I've heard about them spitting in faces, gumming up your breathing." She paused to consume steak before continuing. "They'll web up all the loci save the ones they want to hunt at and then they'll hunker there and have their fill. They'll eat other spirits and humans, and they really like us, too. Rumors are they think we're - werewolves - are a bizarre delicacy."

Amber sighed and shifted. "Sadly, all my knowledge is academic, picked up from overhearing my family. This is my first time fighting them.

"Yeah, and the girl seeing them would be the other part of the problem, granted it's the less-pressing one at the moment," Amber admitted. She sank into her chair, feeling her feet complain a little as she eased off of them. Standing behind the register for eight hours was a strain even for her toes. "She shouldn't have been able to see it. Her. Whatever. Fuck, we couldn't see her."

Amber's eyes narrowed suddenly and she glanced at Morgan. "Do you have a boyfriend? A rude one that likes to call your roommate names?"

[Astra D.]

Since neither one of them seemed to take issue with the fact that she was going, addressing instead what it was they were hunting in the first place, Morgan saw no reason to bring it up again. The more they described of the spirit's nature and temperament, however, the less she was sure she'd really wanted to know. Visions of human-headed spiders, big as ponies, with fleshy lips gaping wide over venomous chelicerae skittered through her head, and she narrowly suppressed the resulting shiver. All she could think about was taking a fang to the face, and morbidly wondering if the poison would keep her conscious while she was devoured.

Consequently, the confusion on Morgan's face as "Elle" suddenly asked her about her boyfriend was both complete and profound. How they went from talking about evil spirits eating people to Trent was well beyond her comprehension; the information just wasn't meshing.

"I... Well, I have a boyfriend, yeah, but I don't know anything about him and Swara. Though," she amended, frowning as she considered the question, the fork dangling between her fingers, "if he was going to talk to her, he'd definitely be an asshole, but I haven't heard from him since the frat party, and I try to avoid spending much time around the roommate."

She blinked, pausing as she finished processing the information about the spirit they'd discussed. I'm so going to have to keep a journal, or something, if I keep hanging around these people. This is way better than trying to find this stuff on the 'net.

"Why do you ask?"

[z-Amber Wren]

She couldn't help it. Her eyes flickered to Declan when Morgan mentioned her boyfriend. She knew the limits that she and Declan operated under, but there were no such limits with Morgan. And the woman was absolutely beautiful. Amber wasn't into women; she'd had sex with them in the past, for drugs, and if allowed to pick, she'd go for dick. But Amber found herself being drawn to Morgan, to watching those red lips a little too closely. The woman was just sexy. Amber could have easily hated her for it, but that was just dumb. If she looked hard enough, Amber was sure she could find plenty other things to hate her for, more substantial things than beauty.

"Because," Amber said as she shoveled a thick slab of cooked bacon into her mouth, "Swara-underscore-Ann was the woman in the chatroom who told me about the Azlu. She said she saw it, and that's just impossible, unless Swara is something else, something special. She could be claimed by a spirit herself, but it's unlikely she'd warn us then. She might just be a gifted human - sometimes, that happens - they can part the veil, for brief glimpses.

"Thankfully, she's convinced herself she needs to get more sleep. If she doesn't become aware of the truth of the world," Amber added, pausing to drink a swallow of milk, "then she won't go looking for it, and it might pass her by. Is there anything unusual about her? Anything you've seen?"

[Astra D.]

In spite of the sobriety of the situation, Morgan couldn't hold back a snort of laughter.

"Sorry, sorry," she chuckled, waving her hands apologetically. "It's just that pretty much everything about her is unusual by my standards. From what I know of her, she's up before dawn every day, running. Apparently she's a machine on the track." She shook her head, her expression part sympathy and part disdain. "Everything she owns- and I mean, everything- is some nauseating shade of pink, she's bubbly, cute, she panics over the slightest little problem with her homework, she's completely air-headed, and she's got 'Jesus Loves Me' as her ringtone. If I have to listen to that one more time, I swear..." Again she shook her head, glowering at nothing in particular as the remainder of the threat trailed into silence.

"She's from some hick town in the Midwest. That's about all I know. Sweet little country girl, just waiting for some bad city boy to take advantage of her and break her innocent little God-fearing heart."

There was a pause as what "Elle" had said finally registered.

No fucking way. Swara's so fucking dense it'd take her two hours to watch 60 minutes. How the hell did she see something like that, when even the goddamn werewolves didn't?

"Wait a second. Swara saw this thing? ...Please tell me you're joking."

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan rumbled a low growl deep in his chest as Morgan mentioned a boyfriend. It was instinct and consciousness in agreement, a sound of territorial maleness that set off sparks down the spines of the two females present. Unfortunately, it wasn't entirely helpful to the conversation at hand, and Declan mentally cursed at his slip.

"Sorry." Declan said, grabbing a knife and fork and digging in to his dinner. "Hungry." He didn't look up as he ate heartily, but now and then his eyes flickered sideways to study Morgan, his ears peeled back as he listened to the conversation.

[z-Amber Wren]

Oh, yeah, Declan was interested. Amber refused to react to that rumbling noise that came from him. She was all too familiar with that noise and what it meant. It brought back a horde of memories from her childhood; the most vivid had been between two of her aunts over a Wolf-blooded mate. Grandmother Wren had decided that both females were an acceptable match for the man and told them to work it out themselves. And they had, in a no-holds barred match that had left the victor without an eye for a few days and the loser without an arm for longer. And the loser had continued to make that grumbling noise whenever she saw the man after that.

With effort, she shook off those memories. "Please tell me you're joking," Morgan pleaded and Amber gave the beautiful human a flat look. "Morgan, I don't joke about this shit," she said, and while her voice wasn't flat, it wasn't as harsh as Declan would have expected. "We have a duty, and I take it seriously." She paused to eat a bit of potato before adding, "If it helps, think of it like we're cops. Think of how seriously they're supposed to take things. I tend to approach it the same."

Amber grinned suddenly, her change from her somber mood a bit surprising. "Doesn't mean we don't have fun. But when the shit is on, it's on. Speaking of, do you know anything about Professor McArthur? According to Swara, she's kinda old and very structured. She teaches history, and she's the one we'll be hunting tonight." Amber watched Morgan's reaction closely. Odds were, McArthur would look human, at least for a bit. If Morgan was going to have qualms about hunting a human-looking thing, they needed to find that out now.

[Astra D.]

While Amber may have been familiar with the multitude of various growls, yips, and barks which punctuated the communication of the Uratha, Morgan was a far cry from having such knowledge. As far as she was concerned, nearly any such vocalization was an intimation that someone was in serious danger of injury. Or, to put it in urban perspective, "a bitch might get cut." Her natural inclination, then, was to peer warily at Declan as she slid her chair unsubtly (and pointlessly) a few inches farther around the table. She realized after the fact that it wouldn't make any difference, and either of them, if angered, could just as easily come over or even through the table as around it. It was simply that it was one thing to hear it from a wolf or a dog, which was cause for concern, but completely natural. Hearing that unpleasantly aggressive rumble from a human throat, however, was decidedly not- particularly when he kept cutting his eyes in her direction. That, perhaps, was the sticking point, as she considered for a moment that she hadn't minded quite as much when it was directed at her wigged-out boyfriend.

Still...

I am so unbelievably glad he's got a plate full of food right now.

She nodded at Amber's assessment of the situation, and then again when she asked about the elderly professor. Being a mercurial sort of creature herself, she took the other woman's mood shift in stride, and even managed to summon up a faint grin of her own. Morgan's morals were nothing if not flexible, and the essential idea that "looking like something" was not the same as "being something" was a fairly simple one to grasp. If Swara, of all people, had actually seen what she claimed, she had no doubt but that these two would be able to confirm it.

"McArthur? Yeah, I had her for Modern Europe last semester. She looks like she's in her sixties or seventies, easily, and drove me absolutely nuts. If your paper wasn't exactly what she'd asked for, she pitched it, and you started over. Ugh." She caught her lower lip between her teeth, tapping her foot against the chair leg as she tried to think of any relevant details. "I know she's had tenure since well before most of the current professors were even students themselves. They just won't get rid of her, even though she looks like she'd snap in a stiff wind. Reminds me of one of those old spinster governesses the English were always writing about, the ones with flinty eyes and an iron rod for a spine. Needless to say, I failed her class," she admitted, shrugging. "That's about all I know, though."

[z-Amber Wren]

Unfortunately, while informative, it wasn't helpful. It indicated that McArthur was something of a bitch, but if that was all the indicator that Amber needed to find a spirit sneaking around where it shouldn't be, her job would be so much easier. Of course, if bitchiness were a tag for supernatural creatures, a hunter would have put a silver knife in her back weeks ago. Though... Amber furrowed her brow in thought. She was that old, with that kind of tenure? That indicated she'd been around for a long, long time, and that was bothersome. How many loci had she fucked up - how many humans had gone to feed her monstrous appetite?

Another problem to worry about later, like Swara. Time to focus on now. "So I guess her failing you will make it easier to help kill her, huh?" Amber asked bluntly. She asked the question casually, but her gray eyes were intense as she looked at the other woman. She had to know now if Morgan was going to lose her shit when killing-time came.

[Astra D.]

The question was abrupt and unexpected, and Morgan couldn't help but stare at "Elle" for a moment in disbelief. Where the hell did that come from?

"No," Morgan replied tersely, meeting the other woman's gaze with surprising directness for someone being put on the spot. "Her failing me won't make it easier for me to kill her, if it comes to that, or help someone else do so if it doesn't. What will make it easier is the fact that, if you guys are all correct, and she really is one of these... spider-spirits, she isn't a person, and she doesn't fucking belong here, eating the goddamned student body. I've been told a little about what you guys do, and why, and if, if McArthur is what you say she is, then I say we get a big fucking can of Raid and a Zippo and torch the bitch."

She sighed, shaking her head in surprise at her own vehemence as she pushed her plate away and took another long drink of liquid death. It was going to be a long night, she figured, so she might as well fuel up now.

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan finished cramming food down his neck, devouring his steak and a quarter of the bacon in the time it had taken the two women to discuss the ancient-sounding professor. He was feeling a little better, the thought of Morgan still being with *that asshole* her boyfriend not filling his thoughts with plans of bloody murder against the long-haired streak of piss anymore... for now that is.

Of more importance (he reminded himself with a stern mental rebuke) was the Azlu and Morgan's reaction to killing it. He chuckled, bad mood nearly-forgotten now. at her comment about using Raid and a zippo, winking approvingly at her as he took a long drink of fruit juice from one of the three cartons on the table. Leaning forward he looked from 'Elle' to Morgan, making eye-contact.

"We'll only attack her if we're sure. I might not have liked history class much in school, but I'll be damned if I'll off some old biddy just because someone planted a false-flag against her." He looked back at Amber. "We recce the place first, four-legs and two. Sniff out anything funny. I'm told there's signs when an Azlu has gotten comfortable: webs, maybe even scents left by it's victims. Remember its a spider... hell, it's THE Spider. It likes to trap prey. That works against it as much as for it if it's the one being hunted." He glanced back at Morgan. "If there's no sign of the Prof. bein' the spider-lady, then we check out this Swara chick. If I was being hunted, I'd point my enemies at a false target to draw them out, and any Azlu would know that there's a werewolf around, just from my markers." He paused and chewed down a piece of bacon. "Which brings up another unpleasant thought: there might be more than one Azlu. Careful tonight going in, ladies, and if the Prof checks out as bein' of the eight-legged persuasion, then we still check out Swara as though she might be one too. Because that frail sure as hell is somethin' weird. Jesus Loves Me as a ringtone? Damn. If that ain't a sign of a twisted soul, I don't want to know what is." He shook his head and smiled for a second, then turned a little graver.

"Okay Morgan, you said earlier that you wouldn't be much use in straight-up throwin' down. That's cool, I more or less expected that. Reason I invited you is because you can see and tamper with Fate, however small you might think that is, it could be the difference between life and death for us. Also..." he hesitated, hoping Amber wouldn't laugh as he kept his eyes on Morgan and smiled. "I... *want to hunt with you!* ...I think you're lucky. Me and Elle, we don't have a pack. Hell, we only met a week ago. We're both Uratha, both Rahu. That's a lot of ass-kickery and not a whole lot of insight and introspection, as a rule. When the fightin' starts you hang back, keep your eyes open, and help out as you can, okay?" He slid his clasp knife, a heavy bladed working-man's tool, across the table to her with a reassuring wink. "Here, this might help in a tight place where you suddenly need teeth."

"Speakin' of helping out, is there any mojo you can put on us or on the bad guys to swing the fight? Any tricks you know that might help?"

[Astra D.]

He winked at her, and for some reason, Morgan felt inordinately pleased with herself. It was just so damnably easy to get along with him when she didn't have to spend an entire conversation decoding what he said, or what he meant; it was all laid out simply and openly.

Jesus, if he keeps grinning at me like that, I'm going to go crazy. There seriously must be something wrong with me.

It was unnerving how quickly some part of her brain she couldn't identify could switch gears and adapt to the nuances of Declan's expression and tone. One minute those damned moon-silver eyes were making her shiver in nervousness, and the next they were making her shiver in something altogether different, but equally primal.

She swallowed hard, taking another long sip of coffee and crossing her legs under the table. Her thoughts were rapidly veering off into inappropriate territory, and she needed to concentrate on the issue at hand.

"Speakin' of helping out, is there any mojo you can put on us or on the bad guys to swing the fight? Any tricks you know that might help?"

And there's the sixty-four thousand dollar question.

"In theory, yes" she began slowly, but after a glance at her two companions quickly continued, hoping to forestall any questions until she'd explained. "Most of the things I do regularly are familiar to me, easier because I've learned that doing specific things in a specific way yields specific results. I've never had any reason to try doing it to anyone else... Well, at least not until recently, anyway." Her eyes flickered briefly over to Declan (an unconscious gesture on her part) because it reminded her of their meeting at the party, and subsequent meandering around campus. "But, it should still be possible to experiment, so to speak. I have a basic idea of the things I ought to be able to do, so I can always try to make something up on the fly."

Whether or not they were willing to play guinea pigs- er, wolves- was another matter entirely. She was fairly sure she could improvise something, given time, but they might not be quite so keen on letting her try.

[z-Amber Wren]

"'Make something up on the fly?'" Amber repeated, an eyebrow rising as she contemplated the willworker. "I take it there's no handbook for dealing with werewolves?" Saying this to a woman with no primal aura, who wasn't wolf-blooded, was making her nervous. That was only trumped by the nervousness she felt about having a willworker do something to her, something that willworker hadn't practiced before and wasn't sure would work.

"So, I have to ask at this point, if you fuck up, what happens to us guinea Uratha?" Amber asked. There wasn't a lot of nervousness in her voice, but there was caution and concern. "What might happen to us? Second head? Dropping us in a hell dimension?"

[Astra D.]

"Actually," Morgan frowned, cradling her mug in both hands as she pursed her lips. "I don't think what you are really makes any difference. If anything, it should be easier for me to work around you guys, because you aren't Sleepers. Er, Herd," she explained. "Their mundane nature creates a sort of... consensual reality, and any time magic is used around them, the very fact that they don't believe in it can supposedly prevent it from working at all." Or, alternatively, go crazy, but I'd really rather not think about that. "The worst that should happen is that it doesn't work, or I end up with a headache. I don't want to try anything too overt, to be on the safe side, but I might be able to help tip the odds in our favor."

"If it'll make you feel better, I can always try it on him first." She tipped her head in Declan's direction, grinning wryly at Amber. She was already mentally sorting the few rotes she'd memorized simply by tinkering with this effect or that, and trying to determine which (if any) might be altered to do what they were asking.

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan shrugged his bare shoulders. "I'm game to be a guinea-wolf." He smiled a little at Amber, then looked Morgan in the eye with a steady gaze. "I trust you. Anythin' bad that happens is accidental as far as I'm concerned. Okay?"

He grabbed another rib. "As for our marchin' order when we get goin', I suggest you two ladies take the lead when we travel to the Prof's house. I'll go four-leg and keep our back trail safe from snoops. Amber, you'll be point. Give me a five-minute head start so's I can make sure no-one's already lurkin' nearby." He tore the meat off the bone and, still chewing, glanced over at Amber. "That sound alright to you?"

[z-Amber Wren]

Amber considered for a moment and nodded. "Sure, anything like that should work so long as we don't leave Morgan alone to get chomped," Amber said easily. She gave the mage a quick smile to let her know that she was joking. Well, kinda joking. She really didn't want to see Morgan get hurt, but her lighthearted tone could be misconstrued.

Amber opened her mouth to say something, but a knock rang at the door. Sarah! Amber immediately thought, jumping to that conclusion without hestitation. She looked at Declan and asked, "Are you expecting someone?"

[SalmonMax]

I've gotta be crazy, thought Ariel.

She'd been thinking that a lot, lately.

Her trusty old Honda was parked at the curb outside the house belonging to the groundskeeper of UCLA; one Declan Perault. Ariel had met him once even, while responding to a call from a frat party. Big guy. Not towering huge, or bulky bodybuilder big. Just...big. He took up space. She wondered if that was because of what he was. She wondered if he'd somehow known then what she was.

Number one thing is territory, the jovial, loopy lupine who went by 'Def Int' had told her. If you don't have it, you'll want it. If you have it, you're someone. If someone else is on it, you're pissed.

You had to figure a guy's house would be his territory, right? That was pretty basic. She hadn't come here to trespass. She'd just wanted to get a look at Declan's place...get a feel for him before she called him tomorrow.

Only, the lights were on.

Ariel knew she should really get to bed. She was tired. But she was also wired from the 'initiation' the guys at Topanga had thrown for her. Evidently a new 'forsaken' was a fairly big deal, even if they weren't looking for a newbie in their own pack.

She should call first. She knew that. But then what if he said no? What if he told her to get lost? It was harder to do that face to face. And truth be told, the idea of slinking back home just...didn't appeal right now.

So Ariel walked up the gentle grassy slope from her car over to the house that looked old enough to be part of the original campus. She paused at the door, steeling herself...

Just one set of knocks. If he doesn't answer, I'll just call tomorrow.

Her knuckles hit the door in a triad of quick, strong raps.

[Astra D.]

Surprisingly, Morgan laughed at Amber's remark, and slid her chair back to get another cup of joe from the warmer. It might as well have been the elixir vitae as quickly as she went through the stuff, but, then, coffee was one of the least of her preferred vices. She replaced the pot, turning to lean back against the counter and conjure up an exaggerated grimace.

"Yeah, consider me in favor of anything that leads to me not being devoured. I'd really prefer to keep all my parts-"

The knock at the door interrupted her, and she glanced from Declan to "Elle" warily. Her host hadn't mentioned that anyone else would be coming along, which didn't seem to bode well for the trio.

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan's response was swift at the unexpected knock. Shaking his head in negative to Amber's question, he rose and moved to the doorway linking kitchen and lounge, glancing at the lounge window. He saw a slender female form on the step, but the hair was too short to be Sarah's.

He looked over at Amber and Morgan, murmured "Stay quiet, but ready." and padded to the front door. He counted five under his breath, then opened it a short ways, prepared for anything...

Except what he saw. The lady cop, Ariel McKenzie, was on his front doorstep, and she had Changed. He peered into her green eyes and wondered what the hell she was doing here. It also didn't escape his male brain that they were pretty green eyes, and he momentarily mused what it was that had three attractive women calling on him in the middle of the night, and if it could be bottled. He smiled a little at that, and nodded to Ariel in greeting.

"Evenin'"

[SalmonMax]

Ariel's body language was reflective of her reticence. Her arms were folded over her stomach, which was roiling with butterflies, and she was leaning a little away from the door. Obviously taken aback by his reaction, or lack therof, the blueprint in her mind for the conversation is momentarily extinguished, and she starts things off by saying, "What? Oh...evening."

Then she rallies, quickly getting back on script.

"I'm Ariel McKenzie...we met at the party at the beginning of the month. I was the police officer. Uh..." Unconsciously she wrung her hands over her belly. What she had to say sounded so stupid to her, even now. And she felt so awkward and anxious...was it because she'd entered Perault's territory uninvited?

"A lot's changed since then," Ariel understates. Her turquise eyes scan his silver ones; his face, trying to gauge his reaction to her presence. "Do you have a few minutes? Not a police thing. I'm strictly off-duty right now."

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan grinned good-humoredly at her: his deliberate insouciance had been a mild form of hazing, seeing how the new wolf would react. Evidently, from the look in his eyes, she passed. The Rahu opened the door wider, letting Ariel see his partly-clothed state as he stepped back from the doorway, giving her leave to enter with a sweep of a well-muscled arm.

"You're in luck. Or we are. Come on in : group therapy's in session." With a smile Declan ushered the detective into his lounge, closing the door behind her then moving towards the kitchen, leading the way. He seemed very much at ease, a strange glitter in his eyes as he entered the room where the others waited. He felt as though those strands of Fate were weaving around him, cards falling into place on the green baize of the playing table. He leaned down as he passed Morgan on his way round the table, murmuring "Told ya you were good luck" in a soft, intimate voice, his breath tickling her ear.

Standing by his chair, he leaned on it's back and looked at Ariel, who by now was standing in the kitchen doorway peering at the other guests with obvious misgiving. "Introductions are in order, I think. Elle and Morgan, this is Ariel, and she's got somethin' she wants to talk about. Ariel, you can speak freely in front of these two. Grab a chair and relax. It's goin' to be a long night, and I we ain't got to the therapeutic part yet." He sat down himself and resumed chewing on a rib. "What's on your mind, miss?"

[SalmonMax]

Ariel's eyes flick over Declan's body quickly, more from a cop's impulse to note detail than from any physical attraction. She was just too tense right now for that, too nervy. She'd somehow been expecting more scars. But her eyes widened slightly at the mark on him. She recognized what the mark was, even if her brain stubbornly refused to remember specifically which tribe it meant.

She felt a little better as she followed Declan into his house. He was being a lot...nicer than she'd expected, given his background, and the time. Maybe Def had known more than he'd been telling when he'd suggested she talk to him.

On entering the kitchen Ariel paused in the doorway on seeing the other two women there. Her eyes narrowed a little. What was this, a harem?

Remember the oath, she thought. They...we...can't do that with each other. So it's probably not like that.

She relaxed a bit at that and nodded at the other two. "Elle. Morgan. I'm out of my element here, so rather than stumble around and hedge and make an already weird and uncomfortable situation even more awkward, I'm just going to come right out with it."

Ariel takes a deep breath and follows that up with, "Last Friday I found out I'm...one of you." She winces and forces herself to say it. "A werewolf."

"I blundered into Topanga, and they were very nice apparently and instead of kicking me out, they showed me the ropes. The most important ropes anyway."

She looks back at Declan. "But they aren't looking for anyone new. They said there were some...unattached folks, and named you. So. I figured I'd see what you had going."

Her eyes wander back to Amber and Morgan. "More than I thought, by the look of it," she adds, a feeble attempt at a joke.

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan gave a short bark of laughter. "Grab a seat and something to eat, Ariel. We were just havin' a council of war when you showed up."

He let Ariel take a chair opposite Morgan, forming the fourth side of the table, and then leaned forward, explaining in clipped, but precise detail what Ariel had missed. Morgan was not Uratha, but a mage. Him and "Elle" were Rahu, he a Blood Talon, her having no tribe. There was an Azlu on campus somewhere, possibly more than one. And they were going to hunt them down and rip the spider-hosts, however many there were, to bloody quivering pieces.

There was no discussion from Declan as to whether Ariel was invited. The invitation was implicit: she was Uratha without a pack; why wouldn't she want to come along? So he laid out the basic plan for her as though she was part of it from the beginning, smoothing over any awkwardness with a natural ease that was as instinctive as it was confident.

"Now that you're here, our chances are better. So..." He took a piece of bacon and chewed idly on it, then grinned at Ariel. "Without making it sound like a pick-up line: what's your sign? Moon-wise, that is."

[z-Amber Wren]

Amber nodded casually to the newcomer, satisfied with her presence when she felt that aura of wolfiness around her. Amber might have been much less calm had she realized that this was the same Ariel who was a cop looking for her. Eating steadily, she waited for Ariel to mention her sign. Then Amber would have a better idea about what she could bring to the battle.

[SalmonMax]

"Half moon," Ariel replies automatically. Even for one as untried as her, the knowledge of her 'birth' sign is burned deep into her newly awakened instincts. "Def Int called it 'elodoth.' I'm still a bit fuzzy...so to speak...on what it all means. They gave me the basics, but there's a lot to keep track of."

She watches them all a bit warily as she sits down, "What about you two?"

[Astra D.]

Great. Just fucking great. Not one werewolf at UCLA. Not even two werewolves at UCLA. Three. Three goddamned shapeshifting bay-at-the-moon werewolves, and the icing on the cake? One of 'em's a cop.

Morgan didn't honestly trust herself to speak at this point, and all casual attempts at conversation (or even a polite greeting) were utterly absent as she remained near the coffee-maker and watched the three over the rim of her mug. She'd expected one of Declan's friends to arrive, and that was fine, but the fact that this red-headed law-wench just strolled in and made herself at home didn't sit well with her- much less that Declan and "Elle" seemed to be perfectly happy with including her as if this had all been arranged. Even Declan's whispering in her ear didn't faze her; if anything, her mood had bottomed out the moment the other woman sat down.

Gee. I hope I'm not the only one who thinks taking a cop to kill something that looks like a little old lady might be a bad idea, regardless of what or who she claims to be. Christ, she thought sulkily, feeling more than a little out of the loop and keeping her distance from the soon-to-be-furry trio.

[Owns-The-Night]

"Rahu." Declan replied to Ariel, smiling a little. "So you're half-moon? That's good for us. We'll need someone capable of sniffin' out the false from the true tonight." He stood up from the table and stretched, glancing over at Morgan. She looked sullen, upset. His head tilted slightly as he regarded her, trying to puzzle out what the matter was. Then it came to him a little belatedly: she was feeling shunted aside. He imagined that, beautiful as she was, Morgan probably wasn't much used to that feeling. And now there was a pack-dynamic forming, and the natural inclination was for her to be edged to the outskirts.

To hell with that. He left Amber and Ariel at the table talking quietly and wandered over to where Morgan slouched by the coffee-maker.

"Hey." He murmured quietly as he came to rest against the counter next to her. "You okay?" He regarded her with open concern.

[Astra D.]

"Mmm." It was less an answer, and more an acknowledgement, but, then, if she'd really seemed to be doing just fine, there wouldn't have been any reason for him to ask. As she lowered the mug away from her lips, she shook her head, and forced a thin smile to her lips. She couldn't be genuinely angry, and she reminded herself that she was the outsider here, but a good pout now and then still felt damnably satisfying. It didn't help that now there were two beautiful women who had something very important in common with Declan, and this time she couldn't quite smother the glimmer of jealousy that flickered green as envy itself in her eyes.

"Just a little on edge, I guess," she replied sotto voce, gaze locked warily on the newcomer. "I mean, if you really think it's a good idea for a co- for her to come along, I'll trust your judgement, but I'm really starting to feel like the lone fat kid on the dodgeball team, if you follow me."

[Owns-The-Night]

He smiled a little bit and nudged her gently with his shoulder. "Hardly that. You're my good-luck charm." He deadpanned, then smiled at her. "You're important here, as important as any of us. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be prepared to believe that there's a pattern to things. And I've got the feelin' you'll be as useful out there as any of us." He glanced at Ariel, then back at Morgan, still murmuring. "Whatever she was as a human, she's not now. She's goin' to have a lot of trouble stayin' a cop when a bullet wound heals within an hour and bruises fade in front of folks eyes. For now, it's camoflage that'll come in handy as she makes the passage from what she was to what she is. Sooner or later, she'll have to move out to the fringes of human life. I hope for her sake it's later, because I imagine that kinda thing to be hard for some. Me? I didn't have much invested anyway. No problems here other than seein' a therapist once a week until I get my damn pension given to me." He grinned a little.