[WoD] And All That Jazz.

[Jonas Bellinger]

The city bustled with activity even as the sun set. Cars driving past, traffic jams. Oooh, guy with a hot dog.....

The man, setting his hot dog and his drink down on the park bench beside him for one second, fiddled with his annoying ring tone. He answers the phone. After a few seconds of gesturing, the occasional curse, and several small phrases later, the man hangs up the phone. He reaches for his hot dog, and then looks down when the wrapped frank did not greet his tangible senses. The hot dog was gone. He looked around for a few minutes, trying to see if anyone was there with a hot dog, his hot dog, in their hands. Nope. And not even a dog eating it nearby, tearing into the paper. With a frown, the man continues on his way. Little did he notice the mangy dog, laying quietly in the bushes not even three feet from him, licking the bread crumbs from his chops, savoring the taste of the hot dog. Sucker... Jonas, the consummate Ragabash, chuckled in his mind.

Jonas had heard most of the conversation, the dog did, but simply, not a whole lot of it sounded interesting to him. Trotting out of the bushes, the dog dashes a few hundred yards, before slinking down into an alley. Nosing his way through the trash, he finds a comfortable spot, and settles in. This wouldn't seem unusual to many people: a stray dog getting cozy in a pile of old blankets. But the wolf knew better.

Being a wolf in the Windy City was quite unusual indeed. But he had come from another wolf in the city, one who, to Jonas' knowledge, had been dead for quite some time. He didn't even remember the last time he saw a member of his clan, the Bone Gnawers. But honestly, that was their way: they were seen but not known. Sometimes this was true even to the members of the pack. But he could remember his First Change. It was incredible. He found an intelligence that he had never tapped into before. He found a new sense of self. Everything was about survival, but now it would be easier.....just go to a homeless shelter, and you get a hot shower, a good meal, and a place to sleep for a bit. But he felt more comfortable in his Lupus form, the form of his birth. He was the runt out of a litter of ten. But one wouldn't or couldn't tell now. The wolf was quite large now, about the size of a German Sheperd. And much stronger.

Rolling once more to get the dirt-stained comforter nice and lumpy, Jonas the wolf settled in for a little nap, his belly full from the good score of a fresh hot dog. Anyone who could see the dog would know that, despite being a stray, this dog was happy. Perfectly content....

[Morgan Evanar]

The new gunmetal grey Audi RS4’s Nokian RSi snow tires bit through the snow like a pitbull through a child. A cold front had blown past days ago, importing artic air. Since, the wind had reversed a little, granting Chicago an impressive lake effect snowfall. Martin had the heater on, but not for himself. No, he had stopped caring about cold or normal heat in the early 19th century. The heater was on for his paints. He did not want to rely on the 12v heater he had brought along to thaw them.

Martin was glad that the streets were mostly empty. The lake effect had only fallen in the mid-day, and the commuters had since gone home, the city caught with its pants down. The wind was not supposed to shift until the weekend for a few days before a new front. Confident his paints and brushes were secured, he put the 400 horsepower all-wheel drive Audi into an impressive tail out V8 wailing drift as he ran the blinking red making a left off Ewing Avenue onto 95th. He mashed the throttle as the car straightened, passing a patrol car going roughly sixty-five and did not let up until he was at the beach in Calumet Park. Leaving the car on, he grabbed his paints and 12v heater, setting them on the hood of the car. He retrieved an easel, several set up canvases and a small wooden folding chair from the trunk. Once set up, he sat for a minute, watching the snow fall until it was right.

He began to paint the snow and the markers and the beach and the waves and the sky over Lake Michigan. The pattern of the snowflake’s meanings would be guessed at by many at the next gallery, but only Martin knew. And, in the snow, painted ever so subtly, were the letters L A Y. He got up and mirrored the letters using his feet, making a very temporary mark in the sand and snow with the practical hiking boots. Winter and summer were together. Laugh at yourself. Lie again, yuppie.

Hrm.

[Fiona Devlin]

(ooc note - just doing some interaction to set up things for us. Feel free to find us in chicago ^^)

DOWNTOWN CHICAGO

:: Fiona waited outside in her car, a blue '68 Shelby Mustang GT500KR. Michele's class was finished, but she was running a bit late. Running fingers through her hair, she popped in 2112 and closed her eyes ::

[Michele Hawkins]

Two blocks until home and I can finally ice my fingers. Mrs. Ceffaclio was on the warpath today with working me over. My recital was less then a week away and she wouldm't let me leave until I preformed Beethovan's 5th, Movement 4, perfectly. It was the only part of the piece giving me trouble. After two hours of torture, I was allowed to leave.

God. Even flexing my fingers doesn't help. Least the cold is now a little and I must admit, the snow always made the city look prettier, no matter how many complain about it.

Hmm. Why is the car out in front? Fiona never takes that out unless ... Aha! As I move closer I hear Rush reverberating off the metal.

I knock on the window to get her attention, hoping she wasn't waiting too long. The bus was late today. Again.

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Fiona blinked and rolled the window down ::

"I gave the bike the day off."

:: She ducked her head out to catch a snowflake on her tongue ::

"Hop in!"

[Michele Hawkins]

I chuckled. For as old as Fiona was, she certainly was a kid a lot of the time. It was part of her charm.

"All right." I smiled and cracked the passenger side open. I really wasn't expecting to go anywhere tonight. Makes me wonder if this was one of Fiona's spontaneous moments or if she had something up her sleeve.

I tossed my backpack behind her seat, "Where're we going?"

[Fiona Devlin]

"To the club. I've got a suprise for you."

:: She pet Michele's cheek with a gloved hand ::

[Ezra Khaine]

A lone figure marched down the snow covered sidewalks. It was dressed from head to toe in black with a scarf wrapped around the lower half of its face and a tight beanie covered most of the upper half of his head. Only his eyes were visible in the space between the scarf and headwear. In his hand he carried a long slender cane that tapped along the sidewalk as he moved. A car roared past and threw a wave of icy snow up onto the man. The man used a gloved hand to brush the snow off his thick coat. He did not mind a little snow because all it was to him was water. The cold did not matter and had not mattered for a long time, for he was not human anymore. If anyone had looked close enough they would have noticed that he cast no reflection in the shop windows that he walked past.

Ezra Khaine was not just out for a stroll through town, he was looking for someone or something rather, in specific. He had only been in Chicago for a few months, spending that entire period of time searching. He had spent his time between searching the internet, newspapers, and just plain looking on his own. What was he looking for? Reports of large dogs or wolfs. He had found a few and he narrowed down his search to this area of chicago.

He walked briskly down the sidewalk, looking to the right at two women in a blue Mustang. He turned away and continued down the sidewalk. He turned a corner and continued down anther sidewalk until he turned once again and headed down a wide alley. As he walked he unwrapped his scarf from around his face and removed the beanie from his head, slipping it into his coat pocket until he needed it again.

There on a disgustingly dirty matt lay a dog that looked like its ancestors may have been wolves. Ezra knew better then that. He knew its ancestors had been wolves, or rather werewolves, "Greetings Lupine," Ezra said coolly while taping his cane on the ground a few times incase the wolf was asleep.

[Jonas Bellinger]

The Lupus-formed Jonas smelled the vampire from about half a block away. He didn't expect it to stop, or to come to him. He had expected it merely to pass him by. But not only did it seek him out. It had also stopped and addressed him. And clicked his cane on the ground. Most likely, a weapon. Either just the cane, or a cane sword. Irregardless, Jonas would keep him offguard.

Getting up slowly from the prone position, the large dog stretched, letting out a large yawn, before sitting back on its haunches on the mat. It looked up to the bundled man, and cocked its head sideways, letting out a bewildered yelp, as if he were inquiring.

The dog then turned to the side, and began to walk down the alley. Jonas had a spot in mind where they could communicate, and where Jonas could change into the Homid form and dress himself.

As soon as he was around the corner, the Garou broke into a run. If the vampire wanted to talk or to do something else, he would track Jonas. Otherwise, he would leave it be.

Finding his cache of goods, Jonas began the change. The hair on his body receded slowly, the cracking of bones as they shifted lingering horridly on the air. The muscles shifted, changing their density and tension to match the frame. And the skin shifted, the hair moving to the natural parts of the slowly-becoming Homid form. Once it was done, the wind and cold nipped at his slightly tanned, and dirt-sprinkled skin. Dressing himself in the most intact pair of jeans, and a wool shirt, he threw an old leather trenchcoat around him. It was discarded a few weeks ago, because the buttons were missing. Another man's garbage, another man's treasure. It kept him warm. And finding the matching pair of insulated boots with the wooly insides, Jonas slipped them on. The last thing was a black toboggan and a scarf, pulling the hat down on his head as he wrapped the scarf around his neck. Nice and toasty, Jonas leaned against the wall of his cache, a small alcove just inside an abandoned building. Jonas focused on himself, and willed himself to stay still, only moving to breathe. With the combination of his clothing and the natural gifts of a Garou of his birth, Jonas would blend in with the environment around him. Breathing wasn't, in this case, considered moving, as long as he remained in place. Some called it Blissful Ignorance. Others called it just damn good. Feeling comfortable from the cold, and braced leisurely against the wall, Jonas would reveal himself to the vampire when he was ready, on his terms. Either his way, or the highway. And Jonas was certain that he could either outrun or rip the vampire to shreds....if need be. But only if it need be. Otherwise, it was his tail or no tail. Survival above all else......Jonas waited, to see if the vampire would show, tapping his cane along.

[Ezra Khaine]

"Typical," Ezra whispered as he watched the werewolf run down the alley and out of sight, "Always making things harder," He wrapped his face again and recovered his head. He walked down the alley with his eyes resting on the tracks left in the snow, dirt, and mud. As he walked he had half expected to see the tracks slowly change as the wolf assumed his Homid form, and then melt into a crowd and disappear. No, the werewolf had no morphed, not yet anyways. He was sure he would and he hoped he did. It was much easier to understand a werewolf when they can actually speak. All that barking and growling was far too primitive for the likes of Ezra to understand.

He continued to fallow the path until he came upon an old building, abandoned most likely. He tried the front door and grimaced as the door fell clean off its rusty hinges and onto the floor beyond, "Damn," Ezra exclaimed as he inspected his glove and found a large amount of greasy dirt plastered all over it. He moved through the opening that had housed the door a moment ago, and entered the building. The old floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked across them. He was careful not to let his cane fall through any of the many holes that dotted the floor.

For once in his life he actually wished he possessed the lupines' great sense of smell, it would make it easier to track them. No, all he had was superb vision in the dark, but that did not help him find the wolf either. He was sure the beast was inside the building, but he failed to spot it, "Come out, come out where ever you hide. I wish to speak with you Bone Gnawer; won't you come out and play?" He was not about to mention the great amount of research he had to go through just to find that Chicago had once been dominated by werewolves of the Bone Gnawer Clan, because it would sound like whining and that was bad for his self image.

[Jonas Bellinger]

Damn.....Jonas thought to himself. Not only does he know that I'm a Garou; he knows that I'm a Bone Gnawer as well....This guy was good. Too good. But fortunately, he couldn't see Jonas. Or smell him. But Jonas could see, and smell him. Even with the cold, the scent of fresh blood was on the bundled man. And the smell of the clothing, with fabric softener clinging to them. It made the vampire a target to Jonas, giving him a clear sense of the vampire's location.

Stepping into view, Jonas felt the gift leave him, revealing himself to the vampire in all of his dirt-stained decadence.

"It depends on what you mean by playing, Kindred."

Looking around a bit, Jonas noted, in the reflection of himself in the cracked glass, that something was off. The vampire should've been there, but he simply wasn't. So, that meant, Lasombra, Sabbat. Yikes. Creepy.

"So, how's the Lasombra treatin' ya?"

[Ezra Khaine]

Ezra's eyes danced over the Werewolf for a few moments, taking in its raggedy appearance and smiling inwardly. Even in the Lupines could shape shift and smell, they were still just animals and clearly lack that finesse that came naturally to all vampires.

"I would not know. It has been a over a century since I have been among other Lasombra, but that story is for another time. I come to you not out of hostility; you can see I carry no weapon unless you fear a blunt cane which is more suitable for playing fetch then fighting with. I come to you with a question. Rumor has it that the members of the Bone Gnawers possess a wealth of information of the kind that concerns our kind. But I am not here to ask about the supernatural, I wish information in the whereabouts of a certain group known only as the 'Silver Hand'*. Would you happen to possess any knowledge of them? I am willing to meet nearly any price you want."

Sure Ezra could have simply lashed out and used his power of shadow manipulation to bring the werewolf down and then torture the information out of him, but that was not Ezra's style. He was a gentlemen's Vampire.

*The silver hand is a group I made up so don't bother with searching the internet for it because it only exists here and now. They are a small group of vampire hunters that are growing in size and are based in Chicago.

[Sierra]

Walk down any street in Chicago and there's a 50/50 chance you'll run into a vamp. The place is crawling with them. You can never be too sure, too suspicious, not since a couple of years back when the whole place went to Hell in a hand basket. Things used to be calm on the surface, but now everyone's grievances are out in the open. The vamps are freaking out because the iron grip they once had on the place is slowly slipping away. Lupines, the Sabbat, the Society of Leopold – hell, even the FBI are a threat. Since the Prince was killed, it seems like everyone has been making a grab for Chicago.

We sure do attract a lot attention. Most of it unwanted, like this Lasombra. You know something is up when they start creeping around alleyways, turning to wolves for scraps of info – usually they have their finger right on the pulse, so to speak. I guess that's why I followed him, 'cause there's got to be something important going down. I hang back near the entrance to the alleyway, ducked behind an old dumpster, listening. Shovelhead wants to know about some group called the Silver Hand... just fascinating.

[Michele Hawkins]

I couldn't get even a small hint as to what was awaiting me at the club. Hell, I couldn't get Fiona to cough up which club it was. Eventually I had to admit defeat and would have to be patient.

I yawned, exhausted from my long day at school and watched the building pass by while 2112 still continued to sing out of the speakers. My eyes were growing heavy and between the music and the smooth ride, I eventually was lulled to sleep like a baby.

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Fiona let Michele rest, fully lost in the groove of classic rock as she drove to the Succubus Club. She parked in a secure spot and turned off the engine ::

[Michele Hawkins]

I was out like a light. The car coming to a stop and the engine dying down did nothing to wake me up. I might as well been sleeping at home in our bed with how comfortable I was.

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Fiona watched her sleep for a few moments, then snurfled her ear to wake her ::

[Michele Hawkins]

My shoulders scrunch up as something tickles my ear. With sleepy eyes, I turn my head around to be greeted by the most beautiful of sights. I'm so damn lucky to have a woman like Fiona.

I know that you've probably heard and have said that phrase before, but trust me. No one has a woman like Fiona. No one. She's quite special. Very few can call themselves true Immortal. And no, Vampires don't count. She has lived dozens of centuries and didn't need to drink a drop of blood to do it.

"Hey," I smile and stretch my arms, stiff from not being able to move. "Guess I konked out, eh."

Blinking away the last vestiges of sleep, I look around the neighborhood. It's unfamiliar to me. "Where are we?"

[Fiona Devlin]

:: She points to the sign over the door - 'The Succubus Club' ::

"Or would you rather go home?" she said teasingly.

[Michele Hawkins]

My eyes widened in almost glee. The Succubus Club was one of the premire clubs around. Anybody who was anybody was dying to get into the place. Every night, and we're talking weeknights not just weekends here, a huge line of people begged to be let inside. Sometimes they were choosy, other times they weren't. It depended on what was going on inside the club at the time.

"You gotta be kidding me! It's totally impossible to get in there." I grin ear to ear knowing better, "But lemme guess. You know the owner... or something?"