Clearing his throat slightly Haven says "Actually, if you don't mind slumming it for a bit, I would much prefer we not add hypothermia to your list of injuries for the day. I'm sure I've got some clothes around here somewhere that will fit well enough till we can get your stuff dried out some. With the amount of blood you just lost, cold is the last thing we need you to be." Looking concerned, Haven begins to pack up his supplies, disinfecting the needle and putting it back then stops. "Actually, is anyone else injured? You might as well speak up now, we are already down here, no sense wandering around with wounds you don't have to deal with."

During the short operation Claymore silently watches the tech go about his work, quickly but sullenly lending his help where and when it was needed. Although still furious at the day's events, and his inability to strike back at the cause of the problem, his anger is cooled somewhat by the mechanical actions that are required for the task at hand. He would never admit it, even to himself, but Haven's run-on monologue also plays a part in calming the elf's frazzled nerves, the constant, level tones matching the tech's measured, even movements as he confidently goes about patching up Tain's wounds.

By the time Haven is finishing up, Claymore has had time to think about things a little. The tech wiz's words from upstairs have had a chance to fully sink in, and the warrior has clearly seen the other elf's commitment during the last half an hour or so. Still confused by the whole situation, he waves off the offer of first aid, grabs his jacket, and without a word heads up the stairs.

The patch up went smoothly and although the chatter got on his nerves it seemed to be a mannerism of Haven. Centering maybe? Or just something to help him focus?

Pulling off his longcoat and handing it over to Tain, "Here should keep you warm for a bit, omae. As for wounds, yes but I had to magically treat them so unless you think you can do something, it's beyond my skill and at least it's only a flesh wound."

Seeing Claymore stomp off, he almost shakes his head slightly. Man he's grumpy today.... not that I blame him, shitty day! Hope that's it for the day.... Feck I need some downtime.... Wait a mo...."

"Hey Haven you got a jumpsuit or sheet hanging about you don't need? Got a solution to the clothing issue, just need something about the same size as a shirt and pants."

Looking slightly confused, Haven steps behind the curtain and comes out with a couple of blankets. "Will these work?"

"Perfect, any preferance Tain or the same as you were wearing earlier?

And taking the two blankets, he arranges them into roughly shirt and pants shape and then concentrates the mana flow into them their shape and material changing as he runs his hands from 'top' to the bottom slowly changing them into a shirt and trousers.

Rolls


And picking up the finished items he hands them over to Tain "There you go instant cat walk fashions!" and starts to laugh until a rib twinges and he settles down again. "Oh come on guys, comedy gold here!" and smiling at the obvious untruth he looks around, "So back to the squat? I know I could do with some rest."

The elf watches Claymore leave without saying a word, thinks about sending Jake or Curly after him to make sure he's alright, then thinks better of it. Tain can guess the gunslinger's mood easily enough (the clenched jaw and angry brows remind him all too much of a mirror), and sending someone to bother him when he wants solitude is the last thing that'll help that sort of mood.

He settles, instead, for quizzically raising an eyebrow at the mage doing his thing, then simply shrugging -- without a wince -- and taking the magically crafted garments back behind Haven's small privacy screen. When Tain returns a few moments later, stitches still closed, wrapped in new clothes, and carrying his boots, he makes a beeline for Squire and holds out a hand for his weapons belt.

If you're going to get dressed, get dressed all the way.

Settling back into the seat to tie his high-ankled combat boots, belt momentarily slung over the back of the chair, he glances up at Aero. "The Squat it is. You all keep on your toes. Vixen was popular, and by leaving the Challenge sight with me you've chosen a side. A few of her favorites could be quite drunk by the time we'll get there. The Ancients have lost enough tonight, I don't want of you dying, too."

He knows Claymore doesn't need to hear the advice. He's pretty sure, in fact, none of the others were clueless enough to let their guard completely down. But it's the gesture that counts. The vocalization of the concern, just to hit home to everyone how serious the situation is, and to let them all know their private worries aren't for nothing.

"That said..." He stands, rolls his shoulders experimentally halfway through buckling on his sword-and-gunbelt, and hauls on his recently-battered Ancients jacket. "...let's go home."

Once at the top of the stairs, Claymore finds himself at somewhat of a loss in knowing just what to do next. He knows that there is little point in his returning to The Squat on his own, but he isn't at all sure just who he can trust among his current companions. He had been unwittingly thrown in with the others, his 'side' chosen for him by the lies and machinations of that traitorous slitch and her cronies.

Heading for his Harley, the elf retrieves a cleaning kit, and then searches out a likely spot in the garage to set to work. The gloss black Predators that had seen action earlier that evening need attention, and are quickly stripped down and cleaned inside and out, the left one that hit the sidewalk getting an extra going-over to check for any new flaws.

As had happened downstairs, the mechanical task seems to calm Claymore, his mind and hands occupied with the mundane and routine chore.

Taking Tain's advice to heart, Haven disappears upstairs briefly getting his Enfield from his bike and heading back downstairs. Pausing briefly at the top of the stairs to note Claymore's professionalism with his guns, Haven goes back down and starts collecting stuff from his weapons workbench. Popping the clip on his Enfield, Haven looks at the shotgun's clip and winces as he notes the Flechette designation on the shells and quickly exchanges them out for gel. Picking up some extra clips and stowing them in his pockets, he puts on the shotguns' sling and lets it hang as he continues to arm himself. He picks up a staff from beside the bench for a moment, checking it's power levels, and then shakes his head "I think carrying this around would be a little too aggressive. I mean, being prepared is all well and good, but we don't want to look like we are spoiling for a fight. " Setting the staff against the wall, he grabs a small tube about the same length as his hand and flips it into the air with a quick spin. The weighted ends telescope out quickly into a full size staff and Haven catches it as it falls and then snaps it back into tube form and stows it in a pocket on his leathers. Haven looks longingly at his shelf of grenades and homemade explosives, but shakes his head and heads back upstairs. Pulling a Browning from under the corner of one of his tool benches, he checks the ammo and then retrieves a couple clips from under another bench- all gel. Stowing these on his person, he climbs the stairs leading up and comes back momentarily descending the stairs while pulling on a stun glove and carrying what appears to be an oversized stun baton.

"Well, then, I was loaded for the possible scuffle with other gangs, now I'm good for just about anything nonlethal. Sorry that took so long. I am ready to head out whenever you are. Does anyone need anything?"

Claymore - Wed, April 2nd 01:05 - FarHaven - Outside

As Claymore finishes methodically stripping and caring for his weapons, his commlink beeps twice, signaling an incoming message.
Claymore Only

Null sheen, chummer and think I got myself covered. as he checks the Pred is still snugly in it holster on his back. Heading back upstairs again he nods at the concentrating gunslinger as he passes on his way to his bike and slinging a leg over it he nudges it out through the doors and tilting his head back he looks up at the rain sky for a short while feeling the rain, for once mostly clean, washing the blood and tension away for a moment. Then with a small shudder he refocuses again and looks around in case the garage is being watched.

On Astral


Rolls and such

Busy sliding bullets back into the Predator's clip, Claymore distractedly gives the mental command to pull up the incoming message. His eyes widen in surprise and his fingers freeze while the video plays all the way through on his image link. Not knowing just what to think about this latest development, Claymore's newly-acquired calm threatens to evaporate as the elf replays the entire video not once, not twice, but four times in a row.

"Haven, we're gangers." Tain doesn't quite sigh, doesn't quite roll his eyes, doesn't quite smirk, doesn't quite shake his head. But, wow, he's tempted for a bit of all three. He checks the fit of his big Ruger, thumbs his sword out of its hard sheath by the handguard, then snakts it back into place. "We're supposed to look aggressive. If you want to carry the shotgun, carry the shotgun."

Satisfied with his own weapons, he tosses his head towards the entrance where all their bikes are waiting. Jake and Curly head out, Squire following after checking on her own assortment of knives and her Manhunter. Tain gives Aero and Haven a nod, and heads back towards Liath Macha, himself.

"We're rolling, Ancient," he glances at Claymore as he passes. "Heading back to the Squat, going to see what's what."

Wincing at the fact that Tain decided to rhyme his phrase, Haven says "Oh, I'm taking the shotgun, I just changed out to gel. The weapon I was talking about was my stun staff, and this sweet little tweaked out Mannlicher Wildhuter I've got, but both of those are hard as hell to carry on a bike and bringing them would kind of indicate that I was expecting blood and we don't want rumors out that we came loaded for bear, or Ancient as it were, instead of just defended ourselves if Vixen's cronies get cranky."

Haven heads towards his bike and mounts up, ready to follow instead of lead this time.

Lost in thought, his unfocused eyes staring at nothing in particular, Claymore is momentarily startled back to the here and now by Tain's rich voice. Blinking a couple of times, he eyes the other Ancient with a slightly puzzled expression for a moment before giving him a brief acknowledging nod. Without a word the gunslinger quickly finishes reloading the remaining rounds and slamming the clip home in the Predator's jade-gripped butt, then gathers his gear and packs it away in the bike's saddle bags.

Shrugging into his long leather jacket, Claymore slings a leg over the big Harley, then looks around at the others and nods in readiness.

Tain doubts Aero's going to want to take the lead all that much, so he takes the decision out of the mage's hands and gets the group rolling. Liath Macha rumbles low as he starts it, then howls. Wheels turn as he cocks his wrist, spitting up foul black smoke and leaving a skidmark before a shift in his weight brings the tire into better contact with the pavement, friction kicks in and the bike bucks and launches out into the street like a bullet from a gun.

Tain's night was looking up.

He's got his sword back, his bike under him, and he'd managed not to even lose a single limb to The Bitch in the process of punishing her for her ineptitude and rudeness. He was on his way to talk to Sting, and in so doing, grip with both hands the position he'd just opened up in the gang's ranks. Tain was in the mood to drive fast, now. He leads the pack back towards The Squat, weaving in and out of the howling, racing, lot of them with some sliver of the attitude people expect from an Ancient.

Haven grins as Tain smokes out of the garage, setting all the locks and security systems back to full, he blasts off them. Getting caught up in Tain's manic energy Haven starts to weave the reciprocal form of the path Tain is racing through the others creating what would be a beautiful display, if viewed from above, but instead just makes the Ancients look even crazier to everyone they pass.

With a last glance around and a nod to the others Aero pulls out on the Blitzen chasing after to flying Tain and Haven but failing to match their ease just content to weave through the slower traffic and keep up with the more racing minded gangers. Smiling under his helmet he enjoys the speed and the wind, revelling in this closer connection to his mentor's element.

Aero/Claymore/Haven/Tain - Wed, April 2nd 01:23 - Tarislar/The Squat
Music - Warren G & Nate Dogg - Regulate

Riding back up to the Squat, there's no doubt that the place is alive with activity, even from blocks away. The music can be heard even through the rain, but more telling are the sentries posted on building tops down the street. There's always look outs at the borders of Tarislar, but the only reason to have active look outs so close is if they're expecting trouble, or having a party. Lots of drunk gangers require someone to keep an eye out for trouble. Ever if they're the ones causing it.

The small pack of Ancients ride up to the Squat, Tain in the lad, as always flanked by Squire, and Jack pulling up the rear. There's Ancients outside, under cover or in the pouring rain, drinking and doing their best to smoke. Most outside are shirtless, already high on alcohol and street drugs or tech, numbing the feel of the elements in favor of something more selective. The atmosphere is wild, Ancients dancing and thrashing in the rain. More telling are those sitting beneath cover, talking low, hunched over beers and flasks, eyeing the other groups. It's like watching the ocean, seeing the roiling waves, and knowing that the rip tide running beneath is going to be a killer.

Claymore finds no thrill in the wild ride this time. No real excitement in squealing recklessly around the rain-slicked corners. No solace at riding free and feeling the wind and rain in his hair. Not even a small glimmer of joy at the way the sheep draw back from the pack in fear as the Ancients speed past. He feels nothing but a sour mix of foreboding and confusion, his mind vainly churning over the seemingly endless night's events, no closer to putting things together than he was when it all started.

Haven - Wed, April 2nd 01:23 - Tarislar/The Squat

Sighing as the ride ends far too soon, Haven snaps out of the meditative zone he was flying in. Looking around he winces as he realizes that over the course of a single night a huge gash has been rent in the heart of his family. Bleeding in his heart as he takes the precaution, Haven saves images of each celebratory Ancient and each Ancient brooding over their drink for future reference. Waiting for Tain to take the lead, Haven just sits on his bike and wonders how it all went this way.

It will pass. Everything does.

There can be no long standing attitude of discontent, no eternal feeling of dissatisfaction, among even the lowest of classes present in any given societal structure. In times of strife deserving of such an attitude, things will change enough for those who are disgruntled to feel a renewed sense of satisfaction as a result of the mercurial setting. In times of comfort, those who were once outraged over some imagined slight will eventually be worn to complacency by the attitudes of those, content, who surround them.

Tain has the passage, like so many others from the same books, memorized. Their writer knows politics betetr than most, but the concept is simple. Either things blow up, or they don't. Simple. Tonight's strife is temporary, he is certain. The dark looks are the sort what will wear away in time. The Ancients hadn't been an internally cohesive group since Green Lucifer and Sting had risen to power and started picking favorites; tonight's bloodshed wasn't even a drop in the ocean compared to that. Tain had followed every rule, respected every custom, and gone through proper channels with Vixen.

Given time, the friction would ease. The disgruntled Ancients would turn. Tain himself would turn them.

He slows his bike as he passes past the sentries, head tilting up to get a look at who's on duty. He slows yet more as he gets nearer the Squat, as he stops and sits on his bike, boots on the ground, his sharp-eyed gaze taking in the merry bands and the sullen groups alike. he former get nods and rare smiles, the latter he makes eye contact with, polite, uncompromising, unashamed. He was righteous in his anger, earlier this evening. He will show them that he is proud of the traitorous, incompetent, cancer he cut from their midst.

They will turn. It will pass.

Liath Macha's low growl turns to a high pitched whine as the engine idles, then shuts off. Tain swings a leg up and over, stands, and hooks his thumbs in his belt while he glances around for a friendly face. It was time to see where Sting was, and get to work.

Raised bottles and sullen stares meet the procession as the small crew enters the Squat. More than once, and angry faced ganger begins to rise, only to have a fellow place a hand on an arm, giving a shake of the head, followed by another beer. It's a mixed vibe, as a few halls later, Slide, a short haired blonde chica, rather petite but with a killer rep, passes a bottle of SynthJack to the three, with an accepting nod to Haven as well.

Good to see you in out of the rain chummers. Been a wild ride tonight. Here's a little somethin' ta' warm ya'.
She gives the three formerly accused a nod of the head, a simple but acknowledged sign of respect. Her eyes settle on Calymore for a moment, an even look giving more acceptance than he usually gets from the trim.
Tonight's in your honor, so enjoy. Smoke 'em if you've got 'em. Aero, you got a nano?

K- Ancients(2) info on Slide - OOC

Jaw tightly clenched, Claymore looks neither left nor right as he pulls his Harley into the Squat, refusing to let his sparkling emerald eyes meet the gaze of any of the onlooking Ancients, friendly or otherwise. The fact that he has been forced into his current position constantly grates on him. The very idea that he is not aware of even half of what was really going down, and is merely stumbling blindly along helplessly in the wake of impending doom colors his every thought.

As the group makes their way through the halls, the warrior's expression doesn't change, his unblinking eyes locked on Tain's back. He reruns the video message on his image link again, looking for any sign he might have missed, the slightest clue that would help him make some kind of sense out of what was happening. Claymore despises all this political bullshit, and not knowing who to trust, and at the moment he has good enough reasons not to trust even one of his companions. The problem is that he really has no good reasons to trust anyone else either.

Slide's greeting breaks into Claymore's thoughts before they can spiral even deeper, inevitably turning once again to anger. He reluctantly nods in return, taking a small swig from the bottle before passing it on, his eyebrow rising inquisitively at the blond chica's gaze.

"Drink it slow. If the mood keeps up, there'll be at least three or four more Challenges to toast, before the sun's up." Tain forces a hint of a smile when he'd rather sigh, as he takes the bottle from Claymore and passes it -- not drinking, of course -- to Haven, on his other side. As rarely as they come, it's hard to tell when he's joking or not. Given the glares still levelled at them from around the room, he might just be serious. "But thanks."

He gives Slide a nod, then lifts his eyebrows inquisitively before she and the mage talk. "Have you seen Sting since everyone got back?"

Looking longingly into the bottle, Haven wants nothing more to escape this reality where his family is riven. He knows, however, that that way lies madness and that he will do no good and much harm if he allows it to overtake him here and now.
The last thing we need is me being one of the challengers. Gods know I couldn't resist taking someone on the way they are looking at me should that happen.
Shuddering a little at the thought, Haven passes the bottle untouched along to Aero and attends to what may happen next.

The walk through the squat is almost depressing seeing the split in the gang that he'd always looked up to and finally earned the right to join. Although he knew some were just worried, some happy for Tain and some just celebrating the entertainment, many were happy or depressed because their side had won or lost. To Aero's mind the gang had lost, there was no winner, sure Vixen had been a lieing, manipulative trog lover but she had still been a important part of the gang and the future wasn't certain. He was happy, very happy Tain was still living and breathing, better him than her, but couldn't it have been better if both had made it back? Maybe, maybe not.... Man I gotta get a load off, or my stupid brain's gonna make me doubt everyone and everything.... or make myself street pizza. Come on get it together Aero.... Oh great now I'm refering to myself in the third person, my day's complete

Nodding to those he knows, either in a happy congratulatory way or a hand of comiseration he follows the others, presumably to wherever they're meeting Sting or whatever, at least they're heading roughly towards his bed. Hmmmm, bed, hard to think of something better right now.... ooo synthol.... and something better arrives on queue

Smiling at Slide as she heads over and at the offered synthol, he's about to answer her question as he gets handed the bottle and Tain speaks up, shrugging slightly he takes a quick swig of the burning liquid before passing it on to Slide to give her time to answer before speaking himself.

Sure, whatcha need? Got places to be, it seems, but a little delay shouldn't hurt. Or I can come see ya later? Ladies choice. he says with a smile and a fake courtly, or at least what he thinks from the trids is courtly, bow.

Rolls

Slide turns to Tain before stepping aside with Aero. Sting'd probably be upstairs, in her loft. SHe went right up when everyone got back. Slide leads Aero aside, having a private word.

Stepping aside with Slide he nods to the others as though he'll be back as soon as he can.

Aero - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:29 - The Squat

Claymore reaches out and grabs the bottle of SynthJack from Slide as she moves to step away with Aero, his cheeky wink in response to her look the first outward display of any emotion other than rage that he has shown for what seems like hours. Taking a larger swig this time, he leans against the wall and after giving Haven a long look, takes another small swallow and then silently hands the bottle to the techie before lighting up a cigarette.

Slide's poke gets a short laugh



And then heads back to the others Soka, we partying, crashing or we headin' for the penthouse? pointing towards the loft as he says it.

Haven accepts the bottle from Claymore.

Oh hell... Not what I need, but dammit this is the first gesture he has made all day that might indicate he doesn't want to collect from me. You can handle it, Haven, you can do this. Just don't take much, and keep cool.

Haven looks like he was going to say something but changes it to a simple nod and a "Thanks." as he takes a swig and passes the bottle back to Claymore.

Returning the nod, Claymore takes another swallow, then glances toward Tain, raising his eyebrow inquiringly as he holds out the bottle. When the Tir ex-pat merely shakes his head in response, the gunslinger instead looks to the freshly-returning Aero, almost shoving the bottle into his hands.

"Dunno 'bout you, but I ain't ready to put this drek behind me. I'm goin' t' see Sting, no matter what."

Taking the bottle as it's thrust at him Aero takes another swallow from it, then hands it back.

I'm with you on that chummer, drek needs to be buried and Tain did a good job of it. Time to see the boss then.

And with that starts to head for the stairs to Sting's province, or the Loft as it's known.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Claymore eyes the dwindling contents of the bottle in his hands. With a small shrug he passes the SynthJack off to Squire without taking another drink. Launching himself off the wall, the elf crushes the smoke beneath his boot as he moves to follow Aero up the stairs.

Haven nods in agreement with Claymore and follows the duo towards the stairs.

Tain waves away the bottle -- predictably -- as it's offered around the second time, shortly after giving Slide a nod of thanks for the heads-up on Sting's likely whereabouts.

He steps aside for a moment, talking to his would-be retinue; Jake and Curly are sent off to have a good time but are told to keep their knuckles unsplit and guns holstered if they can manage it, Squire is given much the same advice but with a half-teasing admonishment about not hitting the synthahol too hard. He ignores he blush -- it hadn't been her fault Claymore'd handed it to her -- and shoots her a rare mischievous wink. "Have fun, we'll be upstairs. But I mean it, you three. No gunplay, aye? Blades, either."

He tosses his head for them to scatter, his eyes and ears but hopefully not his mouths among the day-to-day brawlers of the gang. Tain looks back to the others and nods in agreement, then heads off with them towards the staircase.

Aero/Claymore/Haven/Tain - Wed, Apr 2 - 1:29 - The Squat

Jack and Curly give a chuckel back at Tain's dismissal. Sure thing Dad, we'll be good. The pair laught together as they move in to flank the unfortunate Squire, leading her off, one of them plucking the bottle from her hands.

The quartet head up the stairs, avoiding the tempermental elevators again on the fritz. Sometimes it's worth the gamble, but when time is an issue, the chance at having to climb out the emergency shaft is usually worth braving the stairwell instead. Stepping out on the top floor, the four Ancients step out into a lobby area where, decades ago, a receptionist would have waited to greet appointments. Gone are the sullen and boisterous Ancients, instead replaced by Sting's equivelant of a secretary, a stern looking elf with a mossberg. Real trouble here is unlikely, but Sting hasn't led the Ancients for fifteen years by being careless. Apparently expecting the small crew, the elf in shades (as all truely bad ass thugs must be) raises his head in silent greeting, and jerks his head towards a door, clearly marked with a red Anarchy A.

Entering the room, the four find Sting inside, her jacket carelessly tossed across a desk, talking with the shaman Shalamar. The two women to the door, their conversation stopping as the four enter. By the way things look, Sting is not in a good mood. Shalamar is as unreadable as ever.

Nice of you to make it. Tain, you're looking good, considering. Alright you four, someone wanna tell e what the fuck just happened? I heard the speech. What the fuck happened in the meeting?

As the women look up, Claymore nods a quick greeting, then confidently strides across the room to flop into one of the overstuffed chairs. His eyes hold those of the Ancients leader.

"Which meeting? The one with the Spikes? Or the one with those that set it up?"

As he finishes, the elf casts his gaze dramatically in Shalamar's direction.

Taking his cue from Claymore.

This is odd, Claymore talking voluntarily. He seems to know a bit more about what's going on that I do, if that look he is giving Shalamar is any indication. Looks like I'm following his lead now. Always following...

Haven walks across the room and seats himself as well.

The feel of the room as they entered wasn't good.

Sting was obviously pissed, not surprising having her right hand off'd in a challenge less than an hour ago, Shalamar was harder to read but probably not good either being closely tied to Sting, but hey we're in the right here, right? Damn straight, back stabbing trash. Wow, Claymore volunteers information to start off, although he's been on the boil all night.

Following Claymore in, Aero heads for a chair, sits and awaits Sting's reply, there really isn't much to add until she clears up where she wants to start.

"What you heard in the speeches is what happened in the meeting with Vixen," Tain hooks his thumbs in his swordbelt, as close to a casual stance as he's likely to take any time soon. He knows he should be insulted that she'd even imply otherwise, but in a night as full of drama as this one he just can't muster up the give-a-damn to be offended so easily. "Except for the bit where she accused me of being a traitor. There was absolutely no mention of that in private. She saved it as a means of defending herself in public, of excusing her betrayal, once the gang was assembled and my greivance was aired."

Claymore casts a sharp glance in Tain's direction.

"You ain't the only one she called a traitor."

Sting seems to be holding back some of her own temper, but still seething beneath a hard exterior. She remains standing, Shalamar calmly stepping aside, taking a place on the wall, eyeing Claymore back with an even look, not commiting to anything.

Oh Vixen fucked up, that's for damn sure. Now she's road pizza. What I want to know is why?! Vixen obviously went off the deep end, but even if she was crazy, she's never been stupid. Why the hell would she do something as reckless as throwing Spikes at you? You obviously walked away from it in good fashion. She's not past setting up an ambush, but she'd generally make sure that it's one that works. How close was that brawl?


Sting paces for a moment, the tension and her anxiety showing through, and continues on her stream of thought before anyone gets a chance to answer.
I told her to get a crew together, a crew within the Ancients, not runners. People that could be trusted. I assume that's what the meeting was for. If she was bringing you in for the meet, why would she try to kill you, then still bring you in? What did she tell you about the job I need done? Any of you piss her off enough to give her a reason to try and geek you?

And forget that 'traitor' bullshit. Vixen's been talking about that for months. I've seen nothing to suggest it, besides her suspicions. It's enough to watch on, but nothing I've seen suggests any one of you is a traitor.

"It was six on three, and they did start it with a bomb. But it was over fast." He glances at Claymore, half-shrugging, trying to estimate how long it had taken even while confirming the guess with the other adept. "Twenty seconds, maybe less? But you know Trolls. Left to the offensive, they're almost unstoppable. I think the only reason we made it was that they just couldn't comprehend that we'd attack back. They were surprised, we were fast, and it ended. But the threat was real. If Aero wasn't so talented with healing magic, we'd all be in much worse shape."

It pains him to admit it, that Elves could lose to Trolls -- but it's the truth. If the momentum of the fight hadn't shifted so suddenly, if just one or two of the brutish creatures had landed more solid blows once the melee was joined, if Claymore didn't have that knack of his for dodging bullets... If, if, if.

"And yes, she told us about the job. Told us how important it was, how secret. All right after lying to us, right after betraying us to one enemy. Told us the Spikes were supposed to be a test, to see how we'd handle Ghosts and Paladins." He feels the anger, the ridiculous insult of it, well up in him again. He bites it down. "We made it clear we didn't trust her, and wouldn't take a job like that for her, not after this evening. I told her we wanted to talk to you. She refused. Insults flew, then Voices. We clashed with wills, I won. She chose to take it to blades, instead of, again, letting us talk to you."

"I won again." Tain's broad shoulders shrug, just a bit. His mouth is a grim line, he's not grinning or smiling or crowing about his victory, that's for sure. He just states it all matter-of-factly.

Shaking his head at Tain's stoicism, Haven chimes in with " I don't have much to add really, Vixen asked me to meet her here and told me about the job. I was planning routes and such when the rest of the guys got here and we all went into a conference room to talk. They mentioned the whole Spike thing and I got a little overexcited about it." Haven glances around sheepishly." As I'm sure you know I'm kind of prone to that sometimes, especially if I am upset and well... dammit family shouldn't call enemies down upon family. So, I yelled for a minute, but Vixen basically told me to shut up and then the argument between her and Tain started and well, he described that pretty well.

Claymore lights up another cigarette while the others fill the Ancients leader in on the night's events, giving a small nod at the appropriate times.

Listening to the other filling in the nights activities Aero nodded at the right times and interjects his comments when a break develops.

The pipe bomb at the meeting wasn't a good start. and winces at the memory Was sorta luck she'd picked a know tusker hang out so we were at least ready for something to kick off.

All she'd said about the job was that we had to 'take a nice easy ride' down to Portland, find a hacker a local chapter had been using who was in hiding and bring him back. you could hear the scarasm about the easy ride Seemed a big risk with two boarder crossings each way and a man hunt in a city we have no contacts in, strange but doable, but probably not quick as she hinted there was a serious time limit, something about the government hunting him for what he'd been snooping in.

Sting listens quietly as the tail is unfolded yet again. Her expression is gaurded, but there's enough wear on her nerves from tonight already that her expression changes enough to confirm parts of Vixen's story. There does indeed seem to be a job, and it does seem to indeed be tie sensitive by her look at the end of Aero's explanation.
Perception Test - Visual -2 - All

Sting's quiet for a moment after the dialogue ends, apparently thinking things over. Finally, she nods, rises from leaning her hands on the table, and takes in the group with one sweeping look. Alright, this crew has been through one fragged up night. You all deserve a chance to rest. The three of you've got balls, and Haven, I've gotta say, a special kind of crazy to throw your lot in with them against odds like that when Vixen gets on a roll. You all stood up for our brothers when the drek hit the fan. Frankly we need to see more of that these days.

You've been straight with me, so I'll be straight with you. There is still that job I need done. She says it now as if the word is distasteful to her, disgusted that she has to push on. But the four of you have already had one hell of a night. It's up to you whether or not you want to take it. I know there's going to be some sour blood between you and some of the others because of this mess with Vixen. It'll pass, and you have my word that I'll make sure that it does. I'm not going to let the mess that little fragging slitch started keep tearing holes in the Ancients. It will not happen.

Whether or not you go to Portland for me now, I do need the four of you to do something for me. This isn't like Vixen, it just ... doesn't make any sense. Vixen could be a ruthless slitch, but this is too messy, too confused and contradictory. This must be tied to this 'spy' bullshit. She started in on this a few months ago, just after coming back from a trip into the Tir, visiting Portland and some of the Ancients there. I've got plenty of my own contacts that I feel I can trust there, even though there's plenty more in the Portland Ancients that would like to see their crews on top of Seattle. It might be tied to that, it might be something else. There's always been plenty of people gunning for the Ancients, and there always will be. People always gun for the ones on top.

I want to know where the fuck things went wrong. What made Vixen go off the deep end and jump aboard the Crazy-Both Express. I might be able to find others to run the border for me to take care of the Portland job, but I need someone to look into Vixen's last couple of months. Can I count on you four for that at least?

Despite the soft comfort of the chair, Claymore shifts about restlessly as Sting talks, finally launching himself from the seat before the Ancients leader is even half finished her speech. Pacing the length of the room and back while he listens to her proposal, he takes a few steps after she finishes, before stopping suddenly and looking up at the elven woman.

"But that don't make no sense! I mean, if you want us t' be checkin' out Vixen's comings and goin's and dealin's and all, then what better place to start than the Tir? Being that you say she started actin' strange right after she came back from there."

He pauses for a moment, looking around at the other gangers in the room, the three that had accompanied him and Shalamar haunting the shadows by the wall, but looks back to Sting and goes on before any of them can speak.

"And if this job is supposed t' be so hush-hush, then I'm bettin' you don't really want t' be briefin' a whole new crew when the four of us already know the details. Or most of 'em anyways."

Claymore pauses again and turns to face Sting square on. Taking a couple of steps toward the gang leader, he runs his hand through his short blond hair in frustration.

"Why doncha jus' come right out an' ask us what you want t' ask us. I ain't got no problem at all with either task. I'm jus' sick o' bein' left in the dark, an' I'm fuckin' tired o' bein' manipulated."