Start A War - Part 2 Of 2 "The Enemy"

Stone Canyon Reservoir - Gate 14
The dirt road that leads to the gate is about a quarter of a mile long,
though clear enough that one can see the bends and broken pavement of Stone
Canyon Road. The drive is wide enough for two cars, but only so long as one is
pulled far to the side and stopped to allow the second to squeeze past. By the
looks of the old gravel and weed-lined landscape, not many people access this
service area. Lined with large foundry stones that are each roughly five feet
high and just as wide, the path is overhung with large juniper and cypress
trees, staggered in patches with wildly prospering moss and wild flowers. The
forest beyond is mostly old growth, the ground mostly cleared of anything
shorter than ten feet, and taller than two, leaving not much cover for anyone
that would be slinking about in the wilderness. The gate itself is a steel
swivel arm that's supported by a tall post at the right hand side of the road,
chained and locked to another opposite it to bar vehicle passage further into
the reservoir from this entry.

* Exits *
None.

About a block down from the meeting spot, the Party Van pulls up, with Maxwell driving and Sieg and Phelan in the back, not at all touching the SAW that's bolted back there. Craning his head back, he says, "..Sieg. Put those cuffs on Phelan. Behind his back. Phelan. Don't break them before we need you to. They're just plastic..". Even as he opens his door, boots dropping onto the ground outside, he can be heard, "..I'll have your throwing knives in my duster, in case the shit hits the ground. But this place doesn't seem too populated. You can probably get away with being Ultra-Wolf if it comes down to it. But so can they..", he explains, spurs jangling on the ground like a bad-ass as he makes his way around to open the back doors of the van.

With a subtle nod and a chuckle, Phelan spins around and puts his wrists behind his back one on top of the other. Holding his arms out to Sieg he looks behind him and nods. "Chain me up, Sieg." He watches Maxwell carefully, then smirks a little as a glint comes to his eyes. "I hope you're right, man. I've been wanting to go that route since that round on the beach." He takes a moment to draw in a breath and sigh deeply, his body shaking ever so slightly as if the air carries with it all the fear and tension his young frame stores inside.

Sieg gazes back at the door as it opens, green eyes seeming to catch the reflection of the light of the little light that shines in. "Time to roll the dice." He murmurs before taking a few quiet steps across the steel surface of the van's floor to drop out the back door. "You two head that way and i'll find another way that takes me behind the bastards? There anything else that you would have me do?" With Phelan's words, he whips out the painted cuffs, spinning them over his right index finger before slipping them over his wrists carefuly. "Remember Phelan, look like you're heading to the headsman. If you walk in all sure of yourself they'll know something's up."

"..Yeah. I don't want you goin' in behind them. I want you downwind, so you can't be scented. And I want you outside. Put your wolf-ears on. You'll know when I call for you..", Maxwell explains, flicking the dog whistle around is neck once as if to show him how, "..If I blow it once, just come in. If I blow it twice, you come in Crinos and ready to kill some motherfuckers..", he says, watching as Phelan is cuffed. Just in case, he grabs that hip-holster from the back of the van, the one with the crowbar, and clips it onto his belt, "..Phelan and I are going to go up first. You come in after. You're going to be wearing this two-way radio. And so am I. So I can hear what you tell me, and you can hear what we're doin'…". This is said even as he's unpacking them.

As he feels the cuffs go over his wrists, Phelan spins around once again and looks down over his form to be sure everything is there and in the right place. Greenish-brown Hawaiian shirt? Check. Khaki shorts? Check. Brown sandals? Check. Hand of Brotherhood tucked around his neck and under his shirt? Check. Manhood? Hard to tell at the moment but it seems so. Giving himself a second he scoots to the edge of the van's back door and gets out with a slight grunt, having to manuever a little awkwardly due to the toy cuffs. Looking over to Maxwell he draws close and then gives Sieg a quiet clance, waiting for the conversation to continue. He slowly tells himself to get in character, trying to look distraught and downtrodden.

"Two-way? What's the point of the whistle then if I can hear what's going on?" Sieg replies to the man before letting go of the cuffs with a slow nod. "Whatever goes. I'll be in Hispos so I can leap in on a motherfucker if it comes to that. Phelan, remember that tactic we talked about before? If it comes to it, let's give it a try." He comments afterwards before reaching out to accept the two-way Max has to offer him.

Handing off the two-way to Sieg, Maxwell goes about fastening his own on and clicking the power on it, grabbing Phelan about the shoulder. Glancing down at his watch, he tells Sieg, "..We're going in. You go.. I don't know. Try and get on the roof? Or find a place where you can watch the door. Do it fast. Like, right now. Phelan and I are going to go up a bit slower..", he explains, testing the toy cuffs on Phel, before starting to drag him off. (Leadership: 5 Successes).

An old, rather decrepit looking Ford panel van with a prolific amount of rust showing through its faded and flaking once white paint crests a small hill in the middle distance, a huge plume of dust and half-burnt fuel clouding the skies behind it. The plates are unreadable, looking like they've been chewed on extensively by some form of absolutely gigantic dog, the windshield caked with dirt and grime so thickly the driver is forced to peer out through a collection of wiper-blade shaped smears, and one of the headlights long since rendered useless by a sizable crack and about a half-gallon of dirty gray rainwater. Rattling and squeaking almost constantly as it rolls down the disused access road, the already half-destroyed vehicle locks all four wheels and slides to a stop in a spray of dust and gravel a good hundred feet away from Max's van. The driver sits motionless for a long moment, their form obscured almost completely by filth, little more than a thin dark shape. The door swings open with the low creak and groan of metal against metal, then a dull vaguely metallic 'thud' as it hits the stops. A pair of dull, heavily scuffed black boots hit the ground with the crunch and scrape of gravel, worn jeans tucked in to the tops. A ratty black Metallica teeshirt draped over the man's tall, thin frame. Squinting his dull yellow-green eyes slightly — oddly matched with the clearly unhealthy tone of his skin — he raises a hand to shade them and steps around the door, lips parting to reveal surprisingly good teeth in an open sneer. "Hello, puppies." As if on cue something in the back of the van shifts violently against one of the sides, the sharp rocking produced accompanied by the hollow sound of abused steel. "Brought me what's mine? I do have somthin' of yours, turns out."

Sieg presses the two-way in his ear before giving the other man a nod as he draws a dagger from his side. A glimpse is taken of its reflective surface before those green eyes take on somewhat of a piercing gleam to them, almost otherwordly in appearance. "Hm… interesting." He murmurs before walking off into the night in the opposite direction of the two, heading towards the quarry area as his spine cracks and legs lengthen with the shot of dark brown hair. His hackles rise for a moment before quieting as he dissapears, his pawfalls muffled or at least attempted to be as he takes on an almost predatory movement meant to hide himself. Should Maxwell or Phelan look after him, they'd find his body shifting towards a perpetual blur.

Without turning to watch the other Ragabash go off Phelan instead sighs deeply again. Hanging his head and dragging his feet he lets his whole body go limp and lethargic. On the surface he appears genuinely depressed and conflicted, but if one were to look even deeper they would see it to be a mere ploy. He stays close to the Kinfolk, waiting to be 'forced' toward the Dancers and never once meeting Maxwell's gaze with his own.

A battered red pickup truck whose color is mostly faded by time and wear gradually pulls around a curve in the road, closely following the van ahead of it due to the narrow width of passable driving space. Puttering softly as it travels along the seldom-used path, a visible stream of smog trailing out of the cracked exhaust pipe as it moves along, the scent hanging heavily in the air. Gradually, it comes to a stop, brakes squealing loudly in protest as the tires screech softly in the process. The door opens with a creak, rusted hinges whining with age and abuse as a single tan work boot lands squarely on the ground with a soft thud, a second soon following it with the same noisy crunching of gravel. Gradually, a lithe form makes herself known, yellowish eyes peering about with a sense of dark curiosity. One hand casually swings and out, pushing the door closed with little effort and causing the truck to rock side to side from the force. Pale fingers press firmly against the rusted metal as the woman pushes herself away from the vehicle. Turning slightly as she takes a single step forward, her other arm and hand soon become visible. The limb is withered, skin pulled taught around the bone though still displaying almost gruesome wrinkles. The hand its self is actually turned in the wrong direction, wrist flexed in what would almost appear to be a broken and unnatural position. The fingers are malformed, appearing to be little more than thick nubs decorating a curled and club-like hand. Her attention is trained upon the pup, lips curling into a visible sneer. "Oh look, he's even gift-wrapped.", she coos, though the faintest hint of suspicion lingers within her gaze.

"Nope. Brought you what's mine. Could be yours though, but you've got to show me what I want to see. You've never done a prisoner exchange before, have you?", Maxwell asks, keeping a hold on the shoulder of Phelan. Whatever is about to be said is given a pause, dead upon his lips as the second vehicle approaches. He's never seen the woman before, but isn't unfamiliar with her, at least from descriptions, "..So you better start showing me what I want to see. Of the two of us, you're the only assholes with a reputation for not playing fair..". He stands there, his other hand resting upon the crowbar that's been tucked into the holster at his side.

Looking up for only a few moments, the confident and joyful glint out of his usually cheerful gaze, Phelan catches site of the Dancers he wished he'd never seen and immediately looks back down at the ground. He shuffles around nervously, barely any energy going into his heavy-looking steps (relatively, anyway). He utters not a word to anyone, not even a mumble to himself as he continues to try and look dejected and maintain the facade.

"Have you?" asks the tall, dark haired, rather greasy-looking man, his sneer hardly fading as he takes a couple long, slow strides away from the van toward Maxwell and his captive. "Was the last guy an idiot? Cause, how I'm rememberin' this, you came here on our terms. Nothing changed." A gesture back toward the decrepit van, the pickup, and the woman with the gnarled hand… a little on the grandiose side considering the subject matter. "The pup goes with her, then you get to see your little blonde bitch."

Sieg slips out from the quarry rocks as he keeps his muzzle low, pearlescent green eyes gazing down upon the meeting place with their wolfish gleam. One foot steps before the other and he finds himself stalking in from the Northeast at an angle towards the Van, effectively working to keep himself out of the downwind coming from the Northwestern side. If one were to look in the direction, his form blurs in the night, the faintest change in the air the only thing to truly give him away as if the Predator was coming towards them.

A low, decidedly unpleasant rumbling works its way up from somewhere deep in the dark-haired figure's throat and his neck arches forward a bit, head dropping a couple inches and pressing forward as he squints out at the encroaching gloom. "What. The fuck. Was that."

Even as Phelan continues to walk with an apparently heavy heart towards the Dancers, Ryla continues to peer at him, yellow eyes narrowing as she carefully observes his every movement. "Now pup, you almost seem excited about this." Clapping her hands together, the deformed limb muffles the sound slightly, withered skin twisting ghoulishly in the moonlight. "Step lively! I can tell that you're going to have fun learning to dance." She continues to grin as she speaks, voice holding just an edge of excitement. Head turning to look at Maxwell, her dark hair flows elegantly about her shoulders and she lets out a low chuckle. "Now now… Patience is a virtue." She sneers, showing a glint of unnaturally sharp and slightly yellowing teeth. "And don't pretend to be the noble ones here. The White Knights. How stupid do you think what are?" Upon hearing her companion's exclamation, her eyes shift away momentarily from the kin, peering off in the direction that seems to be causing him concern before turning back towards the others once again.

"..Nothing. You've got yourself all scared, out here in the middle of the night, around real Garou..", Maxwell remarks, face kept stoic for the moment, hand still upon the boy at his side, this said to the male Dancer. His other hand still upon that crowbar, it slides up just a bit, even as he turns to look at Ryla, "..You're not getting him until we see something. Or hear something. This isn't my first rodeo. Let me see her. Or hear her. All we've got to go off of is your word, which.. really isn't dirt at the moment, being the kidnappers and all. Besides also being the bitches who couldn't hack being Garou and went AWOL.".

"The day I dance is the day I let a horse pork me in the mouth, bitch…" Phelan utters under his breath, trying all the while to still appear defiant but not confident and take a bit of the attention away from the other man hiding in the shadows. He does not lift his eyes or say another word beyond that, his body still limp as he keeps his gaze to his own feet.

Sieg shifts to the side during that exclamation, meant to hide himself behind a piece of overgrowth for concealment. His head lowers as his tail shifts behind him, tucking slowly against his leg as if meant to hide that in the shifting blur of illusion that hides his form from sight rather than moving forward in aggression with his stalking form.

"You want to hear? Yeah." The sickly looking man turns, yellow-green eyes focusing briefly on Ryla, though they're quick to return to the area where he'd seen something, never really settling on Maxwell for long, if at all. The other man's assurances obviously count for nothing with him. "Yeah. We can do that." Raising his voice, he calls back toward the van, "Hey! You wanna get saved, bitch? Make some fuckin' noise!" The van rocks with another series of powerful kicks… or body-blows, or something, the sound of abused metal carrying easily to the small group.

Craning her neck towards Phalen, the Dancer continues to eye the boy, watching him and listening to his words with an amused expression. "Porked in the mouth by a horse… kinky." Her devilish grin only widens now as she adds, "I like it." She shifts her position slightly, arms stretching out before her, then moving to extend lazily above her head as the fingers of her good hand reaching out to grasp the deformed club before swinging both limbs behind her back. "Come'on Chuckles. You made a lot of lovely noises for me earlier. How about a repeat performance?" There are a few moments of silence before the recognizable voice of Charlie drifts out in a strain and somewhat muffled manner. Although the words are hard to identify, if one listens closely enough they can hear, "Maxwell… MAXWELL!", being called out in a plaintive voice.

"That doesn't tell me shit. Just that you've got something locked in the back of that van. I want to hear her voice. Or see her. A fucking monkey could thrash around in the back of a van. I know. I've got a van. I thrash around in it all the time..", Maxwell remarks. The sound of the woman, however, does seem to interrupt whatever he was going to say to the Dancers, and his head cants to the side a bit to listen better. A shove of his hand sends Phelan forward a few feet, putting him half-way between himself and the woman, though to the side as well, not blocking contact between the two. He pulls out his Desert Eagle then, though he doesn't aim it, so much as he holds it up in the air, hefting it there, "..Show her to me, and he goes the rest of the way…".

As he looks between the Dancers and Maxwell the surfer suddenly finds himself pushed forward and a Desert Eagle pointed at something or another. He pretends to panic, shifting his eyes between the Dancer with the gnarled hand and the Kin with the gun before shaking his head and shifting around in place with his hands behind his back all the while. "M-Max…?" he utters nervously, his voice heavy with confusion and despair as he sees the Kin's 'desperation tactic'.

Aaron's eyes go wild then roll back in to his head completely, jaw opening wide and twisting to release a strangled, wordless sound as his back arches powerfully, forcing him suddenly on to hands and knees as the rubber soles of his boots fail to find purchase on the gravel. Already unhealthy yellow-tinged skin ripples and splits as thousands upon thousands of shafts of dirty yellow-gray fur break the surface in an instant. Ribs expand, spread, muscles bulging inexplicably from his neck all the way down to his feet, muzzle elongating, teeth turned curved and savage in an instant. The whole of his form is wracked with convulsions, the sound of bones realigning and tendons snapping in to new and completely contrary positions surely sickening to any not already well versed in such things. The most sickening crunch of all comes as both knee joints shift… then he's up again, and just as furious as before.

Sieg takes a step out from his concealment, pearlescent green eyes burning with Gaia's rage as his form suddenly shifts from the dire wolf into a massive raging beast of destruction. All the while as he changes, his body is carrying him forward from that spot in a charging lope with lowered claws. His haunches flex with the thick muscle that riddles them, thick brown fur shifting before suddenly propeling him forward right across Aaron's back with one massive hand passing by with a gleam of claws in the light cast on the area meant to rake them across it.

A high-pitched giggle escapes the Dancer, the sound much akin to the eerie cackle of a hyena. She turns to look at her companion as his body shifts and writhes, changing into his more ferocious and deadly warform. "Sucks to be you fuckers…", she cackles out just before her face begins to warp and twist. Her jaw extends to inhuman proportions, though it is far from the sleek muzzle of a normal. Rather, it is far more blunt, yellowing teeth poking out from all sides and thick ropes of saliva dripping down onto the ground. Her slender torso remains the same size, only adding to the awkward though gruesome appearance as both of her hands begin to sprout patches of dingy white fur. Gnarled, black claws erupt from each fingertip, both normal and deformed, cracked and oozing pus though still quite sharp. Her feet, too, begin to alter in appearance, boots melting away into nothingness as enormous paws errupt from where they once were, also tipped with deadly talons.

Saliva still running in thick ropes down her muzzle, Ryla crouches slightly upon her now-enhanced paws, muscles tensing as they store up power. She turns her sighs onto Phalen, eyes locking onto the pup as a dark glint sparks within them. After a moment, she lunges towards him, arms outstretched and seeking to securely grasp the young Garou, even with her crippled limb. The claws on both flex in anticipation, obviously seeking to dig into his flesh so that she might secure her hold.

As the two Dancers begin their shifts and the boy realizes the jig is up he wastes no time. His body suddenly stiffens as he lowers himself into a ready position that resembles some form of martial arts, and with a single strong tug of his arms the cuffs around his wrists break. Phelan bears his teeth and eyes all the combatants, summoning forth all his will and drive to bring out the inner wolf.

Maw twisted in the wolfish equivalent of his earlier sneer, Aaron turn on his would-be attacker and contorts in at attempt to avoid the rake of his claws, slithering almost snake-like across the gravel-covered road despite his enormous size. Form now bulging with a disturbingly thick layer of pure muscle, the flesh beneath his fur is cracked and covered in weeping sores which leak a viscous yellowish fluid constantly. As Sieg moves airborne under his own power overhead the giant arches and lunges powerfully from his curious position on the ground, making a clear attempt to remove the other's shoulder in its entirety.

"..Oh shit..", Maxwell murmurs, not quite panicked, but not pleased with the sudden shifting of the situation. The gun he held with such readiness aloft in the air is lowered, the large barrel pointed right at Ryla. He doesn't fire though. Instead, he takes his aim at her, letting her get closer to Phelan, letting the beat of his admittedly racing heart help him to time the shot. He ignores Phelan, and he ignores Sieg, knowing them to be werewolves fully capable of defending themselves, or at least, not being killed too fast. Instead, he focuses completely on the charging for of the female-turned-Crinos. Somewhere, as time slows down for him, a faint chant hits his ears, a light murmuring of the oddest thing, "..Rainbows and Rain. Rainbows and Rain. Rainbows and Rain..". It only takes him less than a split second for the realization to come to him that it's his own lips which are uttering the absurdity, though somehow, it is vaguely calming, despite the sudden chaos at hand.

As the monsters reveal themselves snarling, full of mange and matted fur, the female Dancer immediately shifts to match the form of the other, and sets toward Phelan with one healthy arm poised to pull him to her. Just before Maxwell can gather his strength and raise his handgun towards the form of the smaller Dancer, the male of the duo slides and skids along the gravel out of Sieg's way, his head snapping back as the Garou comes into view. His body swists in odd places as he turns himself around to make a leap toward his attacker, and hits Sieg solidly in the chest, knocking against him with enough force to send them rolling to the side and with a bang onto the ground. With Maxwell's sight steady, the female appears to position herself with Phelan infront of her, but her angle is poor and when her muscular arm closes about the Claith's waist, she's left a sizable gap of coverage against one of her sides due to the lack of a second, strong arm.

As his body cracks and grows from his all-too-rapid shifting, Phelan's clothes rip and break open and soon the Crinos launches his attempted counter. Noticing Ryla's poorly executed move he raises his claws and drives them down toward the healthy arm holding him from behind. "Payback time, horse-porker!" he says as he positions himself as if trying to give Maxwell more room to get a good shot in on the Dancer femme.

Feeling that her grip around her victim is not as secure as it could be, the Dancer bends her head down slightly, lowering her slobbering maw towards Phelan's shoulder, obviously aiming to use her vicious teeth to help her keep her grip, and possibly help to weaken the pup slightly in the process. At the same time, she pivots lightly on one foot, turning around so that the portion of her heavily muscled and oozing body that Phalen is presses against can be turned towards Maxwell in an attempt to use the young Garou as a living shield.

Snarling viciously, Aaron's attention shifts from the now prone Sieg to the only one among them not currently covered in fur. Launching himself bodily at the man, he reaches out with one inhumanly long, inexplicably powerful arm and he swats at the hazel eyed man's hands with a black-clawed paw. There's not a great deal of delicacy involved, and it's not perfectly clear if the goal is to remove merely the weapon… or the offending appendages along with it.

Sieg scrambles against the ground with his claws as he rises, his hackles rising with the motion as those green eyes focus on the Dancer in front of him. The sight of the offending creature in all its might, evil incarnate in the younger Garou's eyes driving him to the brink of Gaia's rage. Claws dig into the ground and his haunches flex, a ripple of muscle shuddering down their length to that very base he created to send him in another powerful leap at the creature with an earsplitting howl into the night. His claw's gleam and flash as they streak forward in a powerful swipe meant to slice into the creature's flesh, his own body being used as a deterrent in the process to hurl him away from his apparent target with pure fury unbeknowest his smaller being.

Out of the corner of his eye, Maxwell notices the lunge of the Black Spiral, and what comes out of his mouth is something a bit like this, "..Rainbows and Rain. Rainbows and Rain. Rainb..Oh, shit. Rainbows and Rain!". He's torn for a moment, between keeping his aim on Ryla, knowing that he's got a sight on her, and swinging to protect himself from Aaron. Chaining down all of his survival instinct, Maxwell allows a deep and shuddering sigh to escape him as he puts trust in his packmate to stop the assault, one eye closed and the other looking right down the sight of his barrel, aiming for Ryla's face. He doesn't jerk the trigger, too practiced with his guns for that, and instead gives it a nice, slow squeeze, willpower bracing him for the impact of the Desert Eagle's kicking power, even as he mutters, "..Fuck. You.".

Maxwell's chanting hits the air even as the fight continues, and the Kinfolk's arm is held steady at his target. The trigger is clicked back, obscured by the instant bark of the fifty caliber, and Maxwell's gun causes every ear to flatten except his own. The female's head is knocked to the side harshly against her shoulder, gore painting Phelan and four feet to her left side before her body can even go limp. Not soon after, the hulking form of the male Dancer is caught a tumble of teeth, fur, and claws as Sieg lands atop of him a few feet to Maxwell's side, both of the Garou snarling and howling. Aaron's claw comes up against Sieg's stomach with a burst of blood, but the pressure of the Glasswalker's swipe takes the male's throat nearly with it amidst a gurgle of pain and sheer force of will to remain alive. Phelan's motions are for nothing, despite the force of Ryla's muzzle lacking from his shoulder, and he faulters under the surprise and weight of the shrinking corpse and hits the ground on his knees.

Sieg howls in pain as that claw rips into his stomach, life's essence spewing across the thing's claws. His own bloodied claw raises though with another flex of supernatural muscle into the air then before falling with a powerful thrust meant to tear the rest of his throat out as he bears his full weight into him. That rage still burns in his eyes at the sight of blood and near death though it seems lessened somewhat from before as he fights for his life and the outcome of his opponent.

Maxwell Hearkenstone passes Ryla on the way to the van, putting another silver bullet in the bitch just to be sure that she's dead, before stepping over the corpse, or supposed corpse, and ignoring everyone else as he walks over to the van. There's a muttering from him as he stands there, breath coming a bit hard, still caught up in all that's happened, "..Maxwell. She never calls me Maxwell..". And then he tosses open the back door of the van, shoving the barrel of his Desert Eagle inside to herald his face, not quite prepared to believe that Charlotte is back there, but hoping that she is nonetheless.

Seeing that there is really little room for him to act the young surfer wolf takes a moment to lower himself to the ground and rest. He looks over to Sieg with a deep concern in his eyes though he snarls as he notices no good opening to aid in the attack. Deciding not to get in the way he waits patiently for the opportune moment, taking the downtime to focus on going down to four legs to prepare for the possible contingiency of blocking whatever comes out of the van if it should decide to show.

The female Dancer's body, oddly, doesn't shift even as it lays lifeless on the ground with only a quick spasm as Maxwell puts another bullet into her chest. Phelan slips out from under the body, unwounded but soaked in blood, and crotches down while is body undergoes a sluggish shift into Hispo. The male dancer raises one clawed hand weakly towards Sieg's neck, but it falls dead against the ground after the Glasswalker's claw slips through the remaining bone and muscle with a gout of blood to easily end his foe.

Sieg crouches forward against the Dancer, his claw gouging against its throat still as the craze of fighting it wears off before lumbering backward and shifting off of him to his hands and knees. His form shifts slowly, sliding back into his human shape as he groans in pain from the wound in his stomach, fingers clawing into the dirt. "That's for the skullfuck you sonuvabitch."

As Phelan shifts from Crinos to Hispo he trots over to the van as fast as possible and looks inside of the vehicle once he is near the Kinfolk pointing his gun. Inside he finds something that is both a comfort and a great pain, as evidenced in his crystal wolf orbs. Lying in the back of the van is a wild buck, it's body tied with ropes and bedsheets and the innards of the car smashed and dented by its antlers. The animal is still, obviously finished with the death spasms that were causing the van to shake. The only other things there are the intestines of the poor creature and a recording device on which the playback of Grace-of-Moonlight's voice was blasted for the warriors to hear. The young Garou looks up at Max and whines softly, his ears pinning to his head as if in shameful apology.

Maxwell Hearkenstone can't peel his gaze off of the massacre inside of the van for all of several moments, just staring, caught in the same cross between relief and disgust that Phelan is. And then he leans over, wretching all over the ground, spilling the contents of his stomach. There's chicken, some chinese food, and maybe what once was carrots, all finely nastied and making their second appearance into the world. He doesn't sit there and huff and puff, or pant, or do anything else past that. Instead, he pushes back up, holstering his gun, and tells Sieg, "..Search him. Get ID or anything else. Toss him in the back of the van..", he says, before scratching the top of Phelan's Hispo-formed head, and moving over to do the same with Ryla, "..I'm going to need some help with the Rite..", he says.

Sieg draws himself up to his feet, his body hunched from the blood running from his stomach as he turns his gaze into the van. "Call Charlie Max. If she wasn't here maybe we can at least see if her phone has a signal to it. We might be able to get a trace on it if it is working." He turns back then to search Aaron's body, drawing away only a lighter and a pair of keys. "Well, found the keys at least." He comments with a grunt of pain before hooking his arms under the man's own arms to drag him where Maxwell directs.

Maxwell empties out Ryla's pockets, seeming hesitant about touching the bitch at all. He doesn't get excited over the cash, or anything else really, though he tosses the keys to Sieg once the Garou gets the man into the van, "..Hold on to that. We're going to take care of these vehicles when we're done. You'll both have to drive one..". He drags Ryla over to the van, tossing her into the back of it along with Aaron and the corpse of the animal, "..And I'll give her a call when we're done here. We have to cleanse this shit and get it taken care of..". He lays the envelope of money down at the back of the van, along with the knife, but everything else is just tossed in with her.

As he finds everything in the van to be totally obliterated by the thrashing deer, Phelan pads his way to the truck which the female Dancer came in driving. Carefully he jumps into the back and looks all around the front seat, the weight of his body causing the vehicle to sag and give a metallic groan of protest. After a few moments of looking through the back window and sniffing around the young Garou snarls softly and turns to jump out of the truck once more. "Nothing. No plates, no papers, nothing…" he growls in his feral tongue before rushing to catch up with the other two. As he catches sight of the knife he eyes it with mild curiosity but shakes his head to empty any thoughts of greed and make room for more pressing matters.

Sieg leans against the van for rest as he presses his hand against his stomach, "Once we're done cleansing this shit, i'm gonna need to hit the ER for a few. It's only a flesh wound, but i'd rather close it up before it gets worse." He calls back to Maxwell before taking the keys he has to slip around and open the van door. "I'll drive the van."

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