alive.

(missed the first stuff. basically Vast shows up while evie and miriam and NPC-Jim are getting tailed by a threatening van. the van vanishes; he leads 'em off the freeway to talk, but then miriam tries to shoot him and it gets hairy.)

Evelyn 'Evie' Bryant

Thu 12:38AM CST
Oh she's down all right. In fact, when the gunfire begins again the Kinfolk drops her body right onto the ground and sort of rolls out of the way. Wedging her body behind the convertable and squatting there, panting and watching. Somehow she's cut her cheek. Just a graze when she dropped to the ground. Fine gravel and other things caught in her usually pristine mane of hair. She holds onto the bumper of the car. Staying low. And staying silent.

If there is such a thing as a mindlink. And Evie can say things that only Vast can hear. At the moment that would be a string of curses to put even Cliona to shame.


Storyteller

Thu 12:49AM CST
And then all hell broke loose.

Vast fires twice. As he's readying his shotgun, Miriam is ripping up pavement and trying to manuever her car out of the way. He fires, she tries to serve out of the way, the pellets hit, blowing out at least one of the tires and putting the car onto its rims. The second shot is less successful, if only because Miriam is quickly pulled to the ground by the cowering Ragabash inside. [Its not heroics folks, its self-preservation, the pure breed irish girl has a car and directions to the caern, don't confuse them].

So Miriam finds herself kissing leather and feeling the warm sting of lead inside her shoulder blade. She barely got out of that one alive.

And then Jim is shoving her foot on the accelerator even harder, which is a little problematic since nobody can actually see where the fuck the car is going.


Evelyn 'Evie' Bryant

Thu 12:56AM CST
As the car moves, Evie, who had been sheltering behind it, is thrown backwards. She lands on her back, skull connecting with the ground as the tires [..one..two...] blow and the smell of burning rubber is nothing against the pain exploding behind her eyes as the car's back wheels throw up dirt and possibly pieces of the tire onto her.

She really needs to move the hell out of the way. The car is skidding around as Jim pulls Miriam down inside and Evie shakes her head to clear the dancing spots in her vision, rolling over onto her hands and knees and crawling out of the way. If there is an out of the way.


Storyteller

Thu 01:03AM CST
(Hot damn people!)

Miriam spots it only because she is brazen enough to peek her head above the steering column. Vast spots it from the corner of his eye, hiding in his periphery. Evelyn has the best chance to see of anybody, prone on the ground, undistracted by dodging deer shot.

They never actually lost the black van. They just postponed its arrival, because there it is. The familiar headlights fly forward, back wheels slide, gravel kicks up, side doors start to slide open. And almost in perfect unison, as though operating as one mind, a black SUV pulls up as well, flanking the van, and effectively cutting off at least one route of escape, its doors (driver and passenger) also opening.


Vast

Thu 01:10AM CST
Now, really, he should leap onto his bike and race after Miriam's little sportster careening down the street -- preferably with mirror shades and a flapping trenchcoat -- like some angel of vengeance.

Alas, Vast doesn't like to have to chase after women. Standing straight and steady, calm in the heart of the chaos, he pivots on his heels like a turret as the car swerves down (around?) the street. The shotgun raised like an extension of his arm tracks the vehicle's erratic motion smoothly and unerringly for a few yards.

This is what should have happened: his trigger finger squeezes and BLAM, a shot that might, if he were lucky, strike the fuel tank and result in a fiery inferno that would almost certainly kill the kin girl. It might even consume the Ragabash. Bit of a vengeful streak; bit of a believer in an eye, an ear and a lung for an eye, Vast. Or, alternatively, if he were not lucky, the shot might simply hit the back tires, the back bumper, the flank of the car, or even nothing at all.

However, that does not happen. The van pulls up and the turret-mounted shotgun that Vast has become swivels back. The shotgun slides between van and SUV, warily, as though scenting for danger. When the side door of the van begins to slide open first he makes up his mind. The Ithaca takes aim there, steady. Somewhat huskier than his normal lean athleticism, somewhat broader and thicker, the glabro-shaped Silver Fang in his matched black motorcycle outfit stands ready.


Evelyn 'Evie' Bryant

Thu 01:12AM CST
Evie is still on her knees, taking cover when the van pulls up, along with the SUV behind it.

Her eyes widen, when she can finally see, her face coated in a fine layer of dust so that she appears like she's obtained a tan. [...by lying facefirst in the dirt...] and she begins to struggle to her feet. The car still moving with Miriam and Jim inside, Vast standing there like some character from the shoot-em-up double feature that she watched last night on TV.

She watches, strangely frozen as the doors open and the Kinfolk again feels a shiver run down her spine.

They're here.


Storyteller

Thu 01:23AM CST
As always, Jim is the last to know about everything. When the shotgun fails to go off an anticipated third time, he pokes his head above the seats and looks back to see if its safe. "Oh FUCK!"

"Hunters! Get the fuck out!"

And almost as in reply, the figures start to emerge from the safety of their vehicles. Three visible creatures from the side of the van. Three more from the SUV, driver, passenger, and rear passenger. The driver of the van makes seven, although he remains in the safety of his vehicle. Each figure is head to toe in solid black fatigues. Their faces are a mystery, anonymous, covered with black rubber gas masks. Their bodies armed to the teeth: armor, rifles, side-arms. Probably a couple of other nasty tricks too.

Their group tactics leave many lesser Garou packs with much to be desired. One mind, steps out of their prospective vehicles, each slowly lifting a rifle. The first of many red dots appears on Miriam. Plunk

She collapses lifelessly. Out cold.

"What're you doing?? RUN STUPID!" And taking his own advice, Jim steps on Miriam's foot, and thus the gas, as a red dot hovers on his back. More red dots appear, swinging toward Evelyn and Vast in turn.


Vast

Thu 01:28AM CST

Dice Validated
6D10 Dice Roll: 10; 9; 3; 4; 7; 10
[WP check vs diff 8 to do the smart thing and RUN]


Vast

Thu 01:35AM CST
Hunters coming from a van. Armed to the teeth. Coordinated. Faceless. Silent. Deadly. He should be terrified; and maybe he is. Maybe that's what this sensation is, this quivering tightness in his belly, this ultrasharp knife-edge clarity to the world.

But all he can feel is the adrenaline dumped by the buckets into the pounding blood. All he can feel is the racing of his heart. The quickness of his breath. All he can feel is goddamn exhiliration.

[I am alive. I am fucking ALIVE, tonight, now, here, still.]

Distantly he perceives the kin, the annoying one who had presumed to take a shot at him, collapsing. Distantly he perceives the car screeching out of there. Distantly he perceives is bike, Evie. In full, minute, adrenaline-amplified detail, he seems to see every last fold in the hunters' clothes, the ridges on their guns, the gleam of the eyepieces of their gas masks. His mind is screaming along; compared to the speed of a neuron, even a bullet is slow.

He's faster than any one of them; he knows this; there are few things on this earth faster than Vast. He can take down one of them, even two, maybe even three. He could fight. Who wants to live forever? He could live his last 10 seconds, and then--

(his father would mourn him. his mother would mourn him.)

--and then abruptly some cold, calculating scientific survival urge clicks in and the shotgun cocks back over his shoulder. Fuck this. In the same motion he grabs Evie off the ground, tosses her like a rag doll over the Hayabusa, climbs on (the shotgun has miraculously disappeared). The bike, finetuned japanese perfection, starts without a hitch -- and he wrenches it about like a greenbroke horse and hauls ass for leather out of there.


Evelyn 'Evie' Bryant

Thu 01:38AM CST
She sees the guns first. Funny that, you'd think other things like the fact that they're wearing masks or that there's a whole damn lot of them would register first. But for Evie...all she sees is the guns. More guns. Fantastic. She stands there, frozen to the spot as the red lights swing around to focus on her now. She tenses. Can't even move to even glance at Vast.

And then. Movement.

She's picked up, her limbs bending almost without thought as she's thrown onto the bike. Her fingers feel the material as she holds onto him, but she's almost doing it on auto pilot.

[...what the hell is going ON?...]


Storyteller

Thu 01:47AM CST
Vast turns to move, and like clockwork mathematical precision, three red dots find purchase on his torso, held in steady center-mass, hovering over his heart. As he slides away toward Evie, three short bursts of air fire, three projectiles fly threw the air, three projectiles hit the pavement.

Your lucky day Vast.

Jim and an out-cold Miriam are spiralling down the street like two bats out of hell, sending up a spray of sparks as one set of tire rims drags along the pavement. They quickly lose control, hit a burned up, bricked up old building. If anybody bothers to look, they might just be able to see the outline of one figure, dragging the other away from the wreckage, into the shadows.

Vast and Evie hit the bike, rubber squeels, and they're off.

One mind, the soldiors move into their respective vehicles and respective positions. Vast would expect them to give chase. But they don't. They seem to have already realized the futility in chasing him down on that particular machine. The plans have already been examined, the possibilities calculated, and the persuit deemed unworthy of the risk. They pile into their machines, and instead drive past the wreckage of the crumpled up convertible.

And maybe while Vast and Evie have a free ride home, they can pray Jim and Miriam will share in their luck.