satisfied

Dances With the Hurricane
I was hoping you'd say that.
Those were the only words Ingrid spoke to Cash before she walked away, the man stalking in her wake. His movements are powerful, conservative. She moves with the smooth grace of a dancer, or an animal. The two aren't wholly different, in the end. She led him down the street and around the block, taking point because she has to and because that is her place as scout, even though the hunt has barely begun. People part for them easily, moving to either side of the walk way for fear of Ingrid's predatory gaze, Cash's boiling rage. The Audi waits exactly where she left it, with only one person foolish enough to stand near gawking at its sleek smooth lines. The headlights flash twice with the press of a button, the locks clicking open from a distance. Ingrid, moving with calm assurance, flicks her hand at the man, effectively shooing him away. He all but trips over himself in his haste. Once they're both inside, Cash will notice other smells, normal things. Leather and carpet, that sort of thing. Nothing of the driver. Inside, she introduces herself in a low, lightly accented voice. She is Ingrid, also Dances With the Hurricane, Ragabash Cliath and Granddaughter of Thunder. He is given the opportunity to supply his own name, and they drive in silence. She takes him out of the city, though not very far, or at least it doesn't feel far, not the way she drives. It's a place she's become quite fond of in her travels through the area. A park, a seemingly endless stretch of forestry. It is a Wyld place, a place almost as at home to her as the city they've left behind. She parks beneath a stretch of snow covered trees and gets out. Pausing, she looks at the Ahroun from over her car.

Tempered Fury
Settling into her clean, new smelling, expensive car....he looks awkward. His legs are long and he can't sprawl out the way he's used to. Hands rest on powerful thighs and he keeps his head tipped back against the headrest, eyes watching the scenery pass them by. She gives her introduction, he offers the same - Cash, Tempered Fury, Veicht. Fostern in the nation and a son of great Fenris. A Modi, he says then defines that as a full moon in case Ingrid isn't familiar with the term. Then it's silence. Nothing but the purr of her engine and the thump of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Parked, he climbs out and stretches, fingers gripping the bottom of his hoodie to pull it off. It leaves him in nothing but a off white thermal shirt that fits against the lines and planes of his musculature neatly. He drops it in the seat he just vacated, lips twitching into the start of a grin.


Dances With the Hurricane
"What are you in the mood for?" she asks him the way she might inquire as to his eating preferences this afternoon. Burgers? Thai? Something finer? To Ingrid, they're interchangeable, except this way they find the meal themselves, in a manner of speaking. Only time will tell if what they find is edible or poisonous. She's found all manner of things in these woods. "I was thinking we could cross," she says, removing her gloves and tossing them onto her seat along with her car keys. There is no one else for miles around, not that she'd worry if they were in the middle of a crowd. "Perhaps find something we could really sink our teeth into." And not worry about clean up, that would also be nice. She removes her boots, then her coat before she slipping from the dress beneath. She is naked for no longer than it takes to add the dress to her pile of clothing and shrug back into her coat, long enough for goosebumps to rise all over her pale skin. If he looks, and she has no reaction whether he does or not, he'll see her slender, graceful figure, the sword tattoo directly in line with her sternum, and an bandage applied to a large portion of her side. She buttons her coat up just far enough that the hilt of that tattoo is still visible. She shuts her door, ready at last. Pushing her long hair back from her face, she leans down to gaze into her reflection in the side-view mirror.

With a pop! she crosses.


Tempered Fury
"Don't eat nuttin' but meat." He growls, watching her strip from her clothes. The lithe frame is noted. As is the tattoo and the bandage most of all. He hadn't smelt blood. Then again, he didn't smell anything of Ingrid. Cash peels out of his shirt, chest a criss cross of white scar tissue against naturally tan skin. His steel toe work boots are kicked off, jeans next. He stays in his white boxers -- not briefs, old school boxers -- that are hitched low on his hips.

She crosses in a pop, there and then gone. He does the same, clawing his way through the webbing between worlds until he's on the otherside with her, neck rolling on his shoulders as he begins the unpleasant sounding shift to his lupus form. Cash has no breeding, but he looks the part of a Fenrir just fine even if he does have some brown and red threaded into his thick gray winter coat. His body shakes, fur shimming over his bulky frame. He stretches and pads toward Ingrid with ears flat back against his skull.


Dances With the Hurricane
Cash claws his way through the webbing of the Gauntlet, pushing and forcing, and he still gets there before the Ragabash. It's a few seconds more before she's there beside him, shifting along with him. Her body lengthens and stretches, the transition considerably smoother than one might expect of such a city-seeming Garou. The fur that sprouts out over her body is dark, but not jet like her tribesmates. It's black and grey mottled. When she gets there, her lupus form is small and long-limbed and lean. The wound at her side is bare now, Cash can see it were it's torn through the fur of her flank. Ingrid flicks her tail once, peering at the Ahroun with golden eyes. Peering ahead of them, she lifts her muzzle and sniffs, ears flicking back before snapping erect.

She looks at Tempered Fury, then straight ahead again, This way she says without even the growls and whuffs of this form. She doesn't wait long before she's off, leading the Fostern this way and that through the Umbral reflection. Spirits of winter form little piles before dispersing, flitting away, reforming, unable to decide where to play today. They are ignored by the Ragabash. They don't have to go far to find their prey. A scent on the air reaches them, and Ingrid slows only a little, places her paws a little more delicately. The smell is fetid, rotten, the smell of decay. It grows as the sounds diminish, leading them to a small glade.

Here, Ingrid comes to a stop, looking over her shoulder at Cash before angling her lupine head forward. She moves carefully, soundlessly forward and comes to a crouch just beyond the treeline. Peering within from the shelter of the remaining trees, it becomes apparent that this clearing is not natural. The remnants of glade children litter the area, pieces here, there, all over. It's a massacre. And the cause? It's hard to say exactly what it is. Somewhere between equine and bull, with heavy, curling horns like a ram's, it stands taller at the shoulders than most Hispo wolves would. It lowers its head, mist pouring from its nostrils, muzzle full of sharp, deadly teeth oozing slaver. It snorts, pawing the earth with a massive cloven hoof. Letting out an unnatural scream-snort, it charges the nearest assemblage of glade children. It's too big, too fast for them all to move aside, and they are so reluctant to leave their roots behind. The sounds of spirits' screaming fills the air, followed by the crunch and snap as the creature devours the first prone spirit it reaches. Ingrid, crouched low to the ground, turns her toward Tempered Fury expectantly, her head tilting curiously as if to ask, Will this do?


Tempered Fury
She shifts. He pads closer and notes the wound on her side, sniffing it with a low whine of sound that passes as confusion and is so marked in his eyes. But then they're off and he doesn't sniff at her any more. She is lean and long limbed, he is bulky and strong and his coat has thickened for the winter, making him seem to be carrying more bulk than he actually is.

Long, powerful legs carry him quick at her side, muzzle to the ground sniffing and snorting and drawing in the scents of everything that has passed through here. When Ingrid lays low and watches the unnatural part of the glade ahead of them, Cash stalks forward with his belly low to the ground and a silent snarl whispering across his muzzle.

Yes, he growls. He is all growls -- warnings to keep others from being hurt, the sound of his words seem to natural form a feral snarl even in his human guise. I'ma go round...and slowly he's crawling, sulking low belly to ground around to take the beast at its flank.

Tempered Fury ((sneakin')) Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )
Dances With the Hurricane [percept] Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (6, 7, 7, 9, 9) ( success x 5 )
Tempered Fury Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (5, 8) ( success x 1 )

Dances With the Hurricane Yes. Ingrid's ears flick. In lupus the smug, pleased-with-herself look she so often wears is even more apparent. She tilts her head at him when he says he'll go around, the muscle above her left eye twitching up the way her homid brow would. But he is the Ahroun, and a Fostern besides. She is the Beta, following his orders, though he doesn't give her any himself. Which is all the better for her, at least sometimes. He moves off, crouched low to the ground, and he does well for his auspice. He is silent, almost as silent as the Ragabash herself might be. But he's not silent enough. A twig snaps beneath his paw, hidden until it makes that soft crack. In the clearing, the beast stops its meal. It's massive, shaggy head snaps up, faster than something that size should be able to move. Its head turns unerringly in Tempered Fury's direction, and it grunts. It makes that snort-scream sound again. Turning to face the place it knows the Garou to be, it stamps the earth.

Ingrid has not been idle in this time. Cash took off, keeping to his small, swift lupus form. She shifted, her fur twitching and spreading across a greater area as she assume her Hispo form. As soon as the creature moves, she crouches low, hoping to blend into the shadows a little longer. When it becomes obvious she is not its intended target, she decides to see if she can change its mind. Springing forward into the glade, she lands with four paws splayed, braced. Her lip curls into a snarl, and she roars.

[WP to resist roaring obvious wolf, need 3 suxx to change its mind!] Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 8, 9) ( success x 1 )


Tempered Fury He is not silent enough. He was no Rotagar, stealth wasn't his place in the Mother's plan. He could not speak fluently with the spirits here, he was no Godi. His songs were off key and didn't rhyme, he was no Skald. What he was was Modi. Born beneath the full face of Luna and infused with the gifts of his Mother befitting that birth moon. A warrior, with a love for life and a maniacal hatred for those things that would harm his Mother. If he did nothing, there would be nothing. He was Fenris.

His body expands exponentially to his Crinos form, muzzle elongating and bones shifting and snapping. He's tall, and hulking and he roars at the thing intent on him. The muscles in his leg bunch up and he waits for the thing to attack.
(-1R resist pain)

Dances With the Hurricane Ingrid [+9] Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (2) ( fail )
Tempered Fury +19 Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (7) ( success x 1 )
Dances With the Hurricane Shaggy [+6] Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
Dances With the Hurricane Round One: FIGHT
Tempered 26
 Ingrid 11
 Shaggy 11
 Declare in reverse!
Shaggy Charge Cash
 Ingrid 1. Bite R. Bite

Tempered Fury 1. leaping rake R. claw
Tempered Fury 1 - leaping rake Dice: 9 d10 TN8 (1, 3, 5, 6, 6, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 2 ) Re-rolls: 1
Dances With the Hurricane Ingrid [1. Bite: dex+brawl -1 (ow), diff -1 (flank)] Dice: 7 d10 TN4 (2, 4, 4, 4, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 6 )
Dances With the Hurricane [dam: 5+1+5] Dice: 11 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8) ( success x 5 )
Dances With the Hurricane [soak!] Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (5, 5, 5, 6, 6) ( success x 2 )
Tempered Fury damage - str+1+1 Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
Dances With the Hurricane [soak!] Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )
Dances With the Hurricane Ingrid [R. Bite! No longer flanking per ST, who is me, who says stop being awesome, Ingrid! Just stop it!] Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 2, 7, 7, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
Dances With the Hurricane [dam: 4+1+5 I SAID STOP IT] Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
Dances With the Hurricane [soak ;_;] Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 5, 5, 5) ( fail )
Dances With the Hurricane [dead -_-]


Dances With the Hurricane The creature snorts, tearing the earth in huge, cracking chunks. It blows out a breath, lowers its head and the glade erupts into a flurry of motion. The creature charges at Cash, and the Garou close in on it, Cash charging from the front, facing it head on with all the fury and savagery one would expect of a fostern Modi. At the last second, just as the creature lowers its head to slam into the stone colored Fenrir with its huge, curling horns, Cash crouches, legs bunching beneath him, and springs. Leaping almost straight up, he allows the creature to run right beneath him. Curling his body up, he tips his torso down, stretching out his arm, raking claws leaving a quartet of deep, bloody marks. The creature stumbles to a halt, lifts its head, and screams.

Enter the Shadow Lord. For a moment it had looked as though their roles would be reversed. For the first time in a while, maybe even ever, she would play distraction for an Ahroun to strike something unawares. Mother Gaia knows their places, however, and guides them toward their proper fates. Tempered Fury takes the fore, as his auspice should, while Dances With the Hurricane sweeps in from the side. She is as deadly on four legs with teeth as she is on two with a sword. Her snout contorts in a snarl, and she snaps forward, tearing away a huge chunk of hairy flesh. Vengeance, perhaps, for the mark that remains on her own side. The creature turns its head toward her, howling fury and pain and agony, to no avail. Ingrid dips her head, ducks forward, lifts her muzzle, and sinks her jaws into the beast's exposed throat. Clamping down with all of her might, she jerks her head away to the side, tearing through the jugular, ripping through the esophagus. A burst of hot air explodes into being from the gaping hole she's created. The creature opens its mouth, but no sound escapes this time. As if in slow motion, it drops its hind quarters to the ground, then its fore, and finally its head. It collapses in a boneless heap, heat steaming from its open wounds. Ingrid stands to the side, forelegs splayed to brace her, her chest heaving, muzzle still contorted in a silent snarl. This is the true nature of the Shadow Lord Ragabash. Not a prim and proper elegant two-legged thing, but a monster, an animal, a wild creature more at home in the forest, wounded, blood dripping from her open maw.


Tempered Fury She on four, he on two. One hand is bloody, but for once his maw is clean. He roars once more, the sound triumphant and angry, made perhaps to let loose the last bits of Rage and anger in his gut. He moves gracefully in this form, his body proportioned neatly. He begins to morph with a shake of his massive head, his Rage fueling the transformation from Crinos to lupus. The fostern walks toward the beasts head and sniffs at, licks its head and sniffs more, eyes flickering over Ingrid's fierce form before he sits back on his haunches, satisfied.

Dances With the Hurricane The fostern roars their victory to the heavens. The cliath's head snaps toward him. She snorts once, lifts her muzzle, and howls a savage cry to match. When the sounds of their voices die away there is silence.

Then, little by little, with the threat neutralized, the spirits begin to return. Cash sniffs about the head of the beast, but he may not wish to lick it, not there, anyway. It's from the mouth the smell of decay and rot comes. The smell is foul. The rest of it seems to be safe. The blood that leaks from its wounds, that paints his lupus paw and discolors Ingrid's muzzle and neck and chest, is red and hot as blood should be. She relaxes her stance, her eyes almost but not quite bored. She cannot hide the triumph of the successful hunt, not in this form. Probably not in any. Moving around the corpse, she comes close to the Modi, sniffs at his neck and face. Licks him once before sitting by him, muzzle lowered. Her ears flick back, and her head tilts all the same.

Satisifed? she asks, tail thumping on the ground behind her.


Tempered Fury The Lord approaches and he doesn't move. His ears swivel, listening to the return of the spirits to the area. He is satisfied by this -- like the way a cigarette satisfies after food or sex. Sated. The little, deadly ragabash is pleased too, and it's because of this that his tail thumps twice when she licks his neck. His big head turns toward her and he lies it across the back of her neck before whining low and nuzzling into her fur. dances with hurricane is hurt, but fought brave. you are strong and do grandfather thunder proud. The modi searches out her wound and sniffs it again before lying on his belly and glaring at the big thing she brought down.

 tempered fury is satisfied -- grateful.