Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 39 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the northwest at 5 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.73 and steady, and the relative humidity is 89 percent. The dewpoint is 36 degrees Fahrenheit (2 degrees Celsius.)
Industrial Sector, Southwest Side
Several blocks encompassing the southern ends of 13th, 14th and 15th Streets extend in an area poor and abandoned, with but a few businesses struggling to survive. Along the northern edge of the district is a junk yard filled with old washers, dryers, tires, and the myriad other elements of human-created unrecycled waste. Smoke pours from a few factories, and the more productive factories to the east combine with it to lay a thin film of dark ash across much of the streets. Other factories, and warehouses between them, lie abandoned or are home to the poor; at night, from some of those with windows, the orange glow of oil drums used for heating and light shine dully through the grime. Small shops serve the few factory workers who remain in the area beyond the end of the working day, or during the lunch hours grudgingly allowed. In the northeastern corner there is slightly more activity in bars offering drinking and even some gambling in dark corners. Along this stretch of street, the alleyways have stairways to second-floor rooms, with the occasional alley entrance occupied evening and night by painted women making blatant offers to the male passersby. Southwards, on the southern side of Grym Broders Avenue, the train station falls into disrepair similar to the rest of the area.
J.C. stands hunch-shouldered and shivering near an oildrum fire, one of several chilled souls. No one's talking, least of all Jenny, whose cold seems to have taken a turn for the worst. Her nose is red, her eyes fever-glassy.
"You look like shit," comes Renee's distinctive and harsh voice from behind J.C. The others gathered around the oildrum give the kid a glance and little else. The Gnawer is draging around her knapsack today and its stuffed with something or another.
J.C. mumbles something in reply, too low to make out; her teeth clatter together in a burst of shivers. Her bloodshot brown eyes remain fixed on the flames.
Renee scowls irritably. "Ah fuck, J.C., you look like you need a bloody doctor." The other woman's jacket arm is latched onto the the girl gives it a tug. "Gotta warm place to crash around here. Getcha out of the cold." Hard eyes look over the others gathered around the oildrum, as she does a quick headcount.
Two men and a woman, all past forty, flinch their eyes away from Renee, the warmth of the fire keeping them from retreating completely. J.C. pulls her head up at the tug. "Nuh doc...tors." The word slurs off into another quick bout of teeth-chattering. Turning, she stares through Renee in an unfocussed kind of way.
Renee growls softly under her breath. "Wasn't gonna. Don't know any. I do have a warm place ya can crash." J.C.'s arm is released and the young Galliard goes digging through her bag. Three partially empty Tin-Yen boxes and five slices of pizza apear, whcih the girl dumps on a piece of cardboard and shoves it in the general direction of the other homeless. They keep telling her to take the food stored in the Church, so she did. The bag is rezipped and Renee glares at J.C. "Now come with me. No complainin'."
J.C. seems not entirely 'there'; someone's nipped a few cards from her mental deck -- the fever, most like. She lets the younger girl tug her away from the fire, offering no resistence.
One had drags the fever-ridden J.C., while the other drags along her knapsack. The three left near the oild drum decend on the food, divinding it up evenly. Soon, the gates of the junkyard are reached and Renee makes her way inside without a backward glance.
MacGregor's Junkyard - Customer Parking
This is a 30' x 60' area of hard-packed oiled dirt, with a driveway leading into the main junkyard from either side. Open sheds form either side boundary of the area, with racks of tires, wheels, mufflers, and other common large parts filling the sheds. The back of this area is enclosed by a single three-story building, one half of which is a garage large enough to hold a Mack tow truck, the other half of which has a single door with a sign over if that says 'Office'.
J.C. makes whispery, mumbly noises under her breath as she trails after Renee, too slurred and quiet to be coherent. Every so often, her fingers twitch.
Renee makes her way up the stairs, helping the other woman where nessicary. Reaching the door labelled office, she unlocks the door and lets herself in.
Upstairs Apartment
This spacious apartment occupies the building's top floor; it seems to have been reclaimed from storage space, perhaps once used as a warehouse. The hardwood floors have been stripped, recently, stained to a honeyed brown, marked and scratched and blackened in places from the decades of rough use. There's a new-ish couch in the livingroom, an old wooden trunk for a coffee table, a rag rug under it, and not much else; beside the livingroom a corner is set off by counters, serving as a kitchen, the appliances dating from the fifties but the chrome well-shined.
Tall, old-looking windows look out onto the street, facing away from the junkyard. A doorway along one wall apparently leads to a bedroom, and another door near the kitchen is probably the bathroom.
A old and poorly treated matress has been set up in one corner of the living room, as far away from the couch is possible. This is where J.C. is led and told to sit down. The matress smells like dog and is covered in blankets, most of which have holes in them.
J.C. sinks down onto the mattress, then rolls onto her side, curling up fetal with her hands cupped together close under her chin. She shivers, though her skin is burning hot to the touch. More hissy whispering escapes her.
Renee draps blankets over the other woman. Its all she can do, really. Sitting with her back against the wall, the Gnawer merely watches.
J.C. remains in the grip of the fever for several hours, shivering despite the blankets. Occasionally, a coherent word or three slips out amidst the teeth-chattering and mumbles. "Curse," is one. "Fucker, fucker bastards," is another.
Renee watches, anger bubbling just bellow the surface. Fustration at not being able to do anything. Still, no-one can stay awake forever and the Galliard begins to doze. Finally falling asleep, arms around her legs and face resting on her knees.
Hours pass, and it's quite dark when the Bone Gnawer wakes up again. Jenny's gone; the mattress and blankets are empty.
Renee blinks and rubs the sleep from her eyes, before her brain finally registers that Jenny is gone. "Jesus fuckin' H. Christ," she swears violently. Standing, she paces in place for several minutes before taking on the lupus form with a growl. The blankets are sniffed at, as she searches out the other woman's scent.
Roaches, rats, fleas, lice, and sour sweat tainted by sickness. The scent is muddled, but seems to lead toward the shadowy kitchen area.
Ears lays back and golden eyes go wide. Bad, bad idea. She is going to be in so much trouble, if Jenny saw her shift. All sense strain for an indication of the other woman.
Rats move about underneath the sink. But there's nothing -- no sign or smell or noise -- of anything two-legged or humanoid.
Runs emits a puzzled whine, as she pads into the kitchen. Nose and ears tracking the rats. Maybe Jenny left after all?
The light of an outside neon sign glimmers off the shiny, chromed toaster, showing a distorted reflection of the glowing letters. A large brown rat pokes its nose out of the shadows and sniffs the air toward the Gnawer.
What this Galliard wouldn't do to know beast speach right about now. Siiting down on her haunches, a filthy Runs regards the rat. This won't do. Don't know how Lance'll react to having a rat in his place.
The rat -- it's a big, healthy male -- stares back at the Gnawer with glittering eyes. Then it turns into the shadows and vanishes.
Runs sighs heavily and puts her nose to the ground, intent on following the rodent. A quick change to glabro and she should be able to grab the animal and put it outside. She'll probably get bitten in the process, but thats life.
Odd. The rat is gone, as though it had melted into the shadows that it had scurried out from.
Runs paws at the shadows in confusion, nails scratching against the flooring. The Gnawer emits a defeated whine, then makes her way back into the living room. Once again, she attempts to follow Jenny's scent. Failing that, she curls up on the matress and chews on the blankets to vent her fustration.
The blanket is well ravaged by Runs' attention when there comes the sound of a body hitting the floor in the kitchen.
Runs regains her paws with a snarl, hackles standing on end and legs going stiff. She stalks toward the kitchen, instincts screaming at her to attack the 'intruder'. How someone actually managed to get in, is a question that simply does not cross the Gnawer's mind.
And there's Jenny, curled into a ball next to the counter, underneath the toaster. Her eyes are closed and her breathing seems to have regularized. The fever's broken, and her skin is covered in sweat.
Runs just stares at the woman, hackles remaining lifted as she scrambles backward. Recovering from shock, she regains her birth form and pokes at J.C. with the tip of her shoe.
"No doctors," J.C. mutters, her eyes closed.
Renee growls, chest echoing. "Don't like mysteries," she rumbles. "And I ain't gonna take ya to a doctor."
Unhelpfully, the small woman seems to sinking quickly toward sleep. "Mmn."
Renee's fingers twitch, as Rage bubbles just bellow the surface. Control is regained with a few deep breaths, if barely. Standing over Jenny, the Gnawer latches onto J.C.'s clothing with both hands and shakes her violently.
J.C.'s head snaps back, her eyes flying open, wide, panicked; her yell is cut off abruptly as her teeth clack shut, severing off the tip of her tongue. Bleeding and terrified, she tries to scramble away, squirming and wriggling to get out of her coat, out of Renee's grip.
Renee lets go and watches the tiny woman scramble back, Rage blatently worn like a cape. "Don't like secrets," she rumbles again. "Where did ya go?"
J.C. wipes at her mouth, getting blood over her glove and sleeve; she stares at Renee with wide eyes. "Wha' djoo mean?"
Renee's chest rumbles in yet another growl. "Ya disapeared, then there was a big rat, then ya came back." Eyes narrow, The Galliard's entire body tense with suspicion. "Humans can't disapear like that."
J.C. blinks, eyelids twitching. She holds her sleeve against her mouth as though to staunch the bloodflow. "I..." She pulls her wrist away slightly, enough to talk. "I dunno." Her body slides down; she sits with her back pressed against the counter, fearful. "Fuck, kid, I can barely fuckin' walk, where'm I gonna go?"
Renee sits down on the hard flooring, eyes never leaving the other woman. "Ya ain't goin' nowhere. I think you're like me. I think ya ain't quite human. I'm not gonna let ya go anywhere, until ya tell me what ya are."
J.C.'s eyelids do that twitchy blink again. "Oh, shit. Kid, what're you *on*?" She sounds pained, and not just from her bitten tongue. "Talkin' fuckin' crazy. Shit. I'm goin'." She starts struggling woozily to her feet.
"Sit down," Renee snaps. "Start talkin'."
J.C. is sweating again, sweating and shivering. She continues to get to her feet, gripping the counter with bloody fingers. Her chin and mouth are bloody as well, though the bleeding itself seems to have slowed or even stopped. "Nothin'... nothin' t'talk about. Kid, I like you but... shit. Yer crazy."
Renee snorts, regaining her feet. "People have been saying that for awhile now," she rumbles. "I can tell ya exactly what was happen to the guy that was killin' people."
J.C. leans heavily against the counter, looking like she could collapse at any moment. Warily, she says, "Yeah?"
"He was eatin' people," Renee continues, then watches for J.C.'s reaction.
J.C. is silent for a moment, her bloodshot eyes cautious and calculating. "Yeah," she says, after a moment or two. "I heard somethin' like that."
Renee flashes her teeth in a gesture that is more snarl, then smile. "I'm surprised. Normal people wouldn't remember him eatin' people. They'd run away, then not remember. Not properly." Another pause. "We found him and we killed'em, so he ain't around no-more."
J.C. wrinkles her nose. "I said I /heard/ stuff, kid. I din' say I /saw/ anythin'." Her head sags slightly like the weight is too much for her thin neck and regards Renee from under lowered brows. "Y'killed him though. Great, fuck, wonderful. Mind if I leave, now? I gotta man t'see about a thing."
Renee gives her head a shake. "Didn't say ya had. Ya shouldn't have been hearing stuff, cause folks wouldn't have remembered." Still, there is no sympathy from the Gnawer. "Ya can't go until ya tell me what happened."
"Big Julie tol' me how her old man was missin'," J.C. replies. There's no warmth in her tone, just stubbornness and a general annoyance born of fear. "She din' find anything but his fuckin' finger, though. Knew it was his 'cos of a tattoo he had 'cross the knuckles. 'N Jenkins, he said he'd seen the fucker skulkin' around the alley where Julie's man 'n her usually slept. Two 'n two 'n all that shit, girly. People get fuckin' scared, 'n people talk. Not to the people who scare 'em, though." She wipes blood away from her mouth again, or tries to. Mostly, it gets smeared around. "As for t'night, I told 'ja I don't know, 'n I don't. You fell asleep, I guess, 'n I went sleepwalkin' or some shit."
Rage bubbles and fingers curl into fists. "You're lyin'," she states flatly. "I wen't lookin' for ya with my nose and all I found was a big rat that disapeared into the fucking shadows. You weren't here anymore, then suddenly you were back." The girl's jaw works, as she glares at Jenny. "I like ya and I don't want ta hurt ya, but if ya keep lyin' I'll just bring ya ta the others."
"Y'don't wanna do that, kid," Jenny replies. She shifts her weight, still gripping the counter. "I like you, too, but y'got a fuckin' suspicious mind and an overacti-fucking-magination."
Renee grunts. "That was your last chance," she snarls. "I'm sorry." Changing doesn't really bother the cub anymore, convinced that Jenny is something other then human. Inches are added to the kids height and muscles buldge, as Renee takes on the glabro form. She advances on the smaller woman, eyes hard and expression grim.
"Shit," says Jenny. She pulls her eyes away from the shapeshifting Renee and focusses on the shiny, chromed toaster, which still gleams with the reflection of the neon lights outside. And, a moment later, she disappears.
Renee roars, picking up the offending toaster and pitching it against the wall. With a metalic sound, the toaster falls apart. Its various fragments clattering against the hardwood floor. The Gnawer then proceeds to throw a tantrum, as only the Garou can. Nearly distroying the kitchen beyond repair. "Oh fuck me," she finally swears and leaves the apartment. Atleast she has enough sense to return to her birth form, before stomping out the door.