Furor [Kenna ST]

Andrés
Nicholas has, once again, been invited out to daydrink with a certain Mad Scientist, who is no longer in possession of a proper roof over his head. He has one sure but it's borrowed. He's staying at the Crawford Hotel.

The bartenders are starting to get the right idea about him. Divorced, maybe, or widowed, and in possession of more cash than he knows what to do with, which means he buys rounds for complete strangers and tips absurdly well. Doesn't hit on the women. Doesn't hit on the men, either. Just sits there and drinks and texts and minds his own damned business.

So: Nick got a text. An invitation. Presumably, he answered.

Andrés is sitting at the corner of the bar, busy considering the day of the week. He's wearing his glasses and a cardigan on over a button-down and slacks. He's reading a hardcover book by Thomas Paine.

Nicholas Hyde
Nick got a text, and he did answer.

It's been a while since he saw Andrés last, and perhaps the alacrity with which he replied betrays some concern for the Etherite.  Really, if he hadn't spoken with Margot not too long ago, he might not really have been aware the man was still alive.  He might have wondered if he'd made some breakthrough with Time magick and gotten himself swallowed up in some alternate timeline.

He presents to the hotel around an hour or so after Andrés gets in touch with him, passing through the doors of the hotel with only a modicum of gawping at the interior and at the patrons.  He hides it well; Nicholas Hyde is a composed man if he is nothing else.  He is wearing a pair of brown corduroys and a navy button down shirt, vaguely military in style, underneath his peacoat.  He doesn't remove the coat immediately after walking in; it has been cold lately.

He sights Andrés, and his feet are silent upon the tile so maybe he startles him as he comes up next to him: appears, more like, as though he'd materialized out of the ether.  "Hello, Andrés.  It's good to see you."

Andrés
[perc + aware for shits]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )

Nicholas Hyde
[Ooo, ooo, me too]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Andrés
He is aware of Nick's presence once he enters the bar. Last time they met Nick had actually snuck up on the man, but he had not startled. It isn't as if he has eyes in the back of his head. It's that he is confident enough in his ability to handle anything that might pop out at him.

Call it a healthy combination of arrogance and bravery. Better to be brave than fearless. But he doesn't seem to fear much.

Anyway it's good to see him.

"Nicholas!" he says. Cheer where the last time they met he had been distracted in a way that had almost made him seem depressed. He's happy to see him. Down goes the book without the scientist slipping in a placeholder. "Hello, have a seat, what are you drinking?"

Nicholas Hyde
Nicholas does have a seat; he slides up onto the stool beside Andrés and props up both elbows on the bar, leaning over slightly so that he can scan the bottles available.  "Scotch.  Laphroaig?"

It's one of those sorts of days, apparently.

He turns his eyes to the Etherite after he has ordered, reaching up to undo the top button of his coat.  He pulls one of the lapels sideways, and then after a moment's consideration unfastens the next button down as well.  His hair is wilder today than usual; the coarse strands have tangled and tasseled together in the humidity and are hanging over his forehead like grasping vines, like he's crowned in ivy.

"Why the hotel?  I thought dive bars were more your style."  His gaze flicks sidelong at Andrés, and there's a touch of humor in his voice if not in his expression.

furor
The Crawford Hotel's bar was busy perhaps because the season for conventions and celebrations and tourism had kicked off.  The weather outside was bright and brisk, excellent for roaming the streets and exploring the downtown sector of the city (provided you wore your sweater, but of course many didn't bother anyways).  Many bodies passed before the lobby doors where they could be seen through the glass out on the sidewalk, and foot traffic in and out of the hotel was considerably frequent as well.

Together, a pair of Mages gathered at the long white stretch of bar that still lived within the grandeur associated with the lobby itself.  Andrés with his book and glass, Nick having only just arrived carrying his coat upon his shoulders still and a flush of chill to his face.  They were an experienced enough pair, attentive enough.  Even as they were just beginning with greetings, they felt something off echoing from the grand main entrance.

A man-- there, not immediately  noticeable from a distance though set apart from the crowd when details could be distinguished.  He dressed in jeans and a canvas jacket and dusty tennis shoes, his hair shaggy and dark brown and loosely curled about the ears and neck and forehead.  He walked with his hands in his pocket and his shoulders hunched, and looked strained as though he were carrying a great weight.  Made his way to the bar with a funny jerk to his gait that suggested perhaps he hurt his hip or leg.  He felt like the forest-- like a wild essence of moss and bugs and mulch and filtered light through leaves and fresh trickling creeks, and it misplaced him amid all this white marble tremendously.

He slumped his way up to the bar a good half dozen stools away from where Nick and Andres gathered, latched his elbows suddenly and harshly upon the counter like it was going to support his standing and prevent him from collapsing.  Up closer, they could see that there was a solid couple month's worth of untrimmed growth on his face and jaw and throat, and there were at least two visible patches in his hairline where the curls had been ripped out by the roots.

He was jerky and grated in his voice when he ordered a beer from the bartender and chugged it thirstily when it was set before him.  Paid immediately with crumpled bills from his coat pocket without bothering to break from his drink.

Andrés
"Why?" he asks. He's teasing. "Because I'm Mexican?"

He's about to explain the circumstances surrounding his eviction and his decision to make good use of the fact that if he has to live out of a motel while he figures out his life then it might as well be a hotel and not some rat-infested horror movie set when that wildness tugs at his attention. Scent of grass and breeze where he doesn't actually smell anything.

Green eyes follow him as he lurches. The forensic pathologist adjusts his glasses as he gets a load of this guy.

[life/matter/mind/prime 1: general scan of this dude.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (5, 6, 9) ( success x 3 )

Nicholas Hyde
"Because those are the kind where I've run into you," Nick says, picking up his glass as it's set before him on the bar and retrieving his debit card.  He is relatively toneless, at least until he adds, "I do kind of associate you with cheap beer and tequila now.  I'd say you're like another tio, if you were old enough."

They did after all put away quite a bit of it the last time they truly drank together.

He'd noticed the man before Andrés did, if only slightly before, and he too is watching him.  It may not appear as though he is at first; he glances to the side on occasion, sweeps the room, finds something else to look at.  But there's a stranger there, rough hewn and rough lived from the look of it, and how could he fail to notice that?

"Do you know him?"  His voice is quiet.

Andrés
"Never seen him before."

It's moments like this that the limitations of his Science start to bite him in the ass. He can't trace this guy's Pattern through space the way he can trace it through time. He only recently learned to make sense of change and fate and all that nebulous shit that used to be his wife's arena.

"Looks like he's having a shitty fucking night, though, no?"

Nicholas Hyde
"Shitty night, month, year.  I can't tell which."

Nick, he's a kind man: this has been noted by more than one of Denver's magi, and by many of the ones he was familiar with in New England besides.  He's been called good natured, well meaning, sentimental.  There is some softness that has touched his face here and now, because the man does indeed look rough, and: whatever has happened to him in his Awakened life, his wariness has not overridden that just yet.  Perhaps he is naive; perhaps it is an active choice.

"Think we should say hello?"

furor
Should they say hello?

The man had just finished his beer after having taken only two brief breaks to breathe and look nervously around over his shoulders-- as though afraid of being pursued, even though it was only ever people passing in the distance or occasionally nothing at all (in all actuality, a learned perception of magicks and their presences, a brief and fleeting grasp of the presence of the two Mages up the bar that he sensed but misplaced second later anyways).

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and put the empty glass back across the counter.  Swallowed a few times and rubbed the dark fuzz on his neck.

Couldn't hurt, could it?

Andrés
As of this moment, Andrés is not sure whether whatever he sensed was self-inflicted or whether it was imposed upon the man. That's the drawback of sensation. It doesn't lend itself to interpretation without further data, and that tends to take too much of his time and energy.

His natural curiosity doesn't end just because he's drinking. Neither does his shaky sense of self-preservation.

Think we should say hello?

"Not it," he says as he rummages a device Nick may or may not have seen before out of his pocket.

Nicholas Hyde
If it is the sobering device, Nick has indeed seen it before; he bemoaned its existence once to Pen, the last time the two of them drank together in earnest.  He eyes it briefly, and then spares a look back to the stranger.

Couldn't hurt, could it?  Well, he won't know until he approaches.

The man does not appear to have sighted either of them, or if he has he is too subtle to let it show.  Not it, Andrés says, and so Nick sighs and slides off of the barstool.  He has not thought of what he will say; despite the worries of one of his uncles growing up, he has not grown up to become used to approaching strange men in bars.  He leaves his glass, and he is careful to stay in sight of the man as he approaches, lifting a hand pre-emptively to catch his attention.

He watches for a reaction before he greets him.  It's only sensible - this is a man looking over his shoulder at intervals.

furor
The hand raised did indeed catch the man's attention, and how he quick-snapped his head to look at Nick was a lot like seeing an animal first notice a person.  It looked a lot like approaching a skittish horse, no doubt, with his hand out and palm exposed for the approach like that.  Chestnut brown eyes looked on the verge of panicked, an extreme reaction of startled, but calmed (mostly, after some internal scolding) and nodded his head quick-jerk like in return.

When Nick approached, the half-rasped voice asked abruptly, diving quickly to the point:

"What do you want?"

Andrés
This is why he sent the grief counselor over there instead of going himself: Nick has something Andy doesn't. 'People skills.'

The device he dragged out of his pocket was not the soberizer but the probability calculator. Into the calculator, he punches a few variables.

[entropy/mind 1: how likely is this dude to get violent?]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 3, 3) ( fail )

Andrés
This is why he sent the grief counselor over there instead of going himself: Nick has something Andy doesn't. 'People skills.'

The device he dragged out of his pocket was not the soberizer but the probability calculator. Into the calculator, he punches a few variables.

[entropy/mind 1: how likely is this dude to get violent?]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (3, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )

Andrés
The Mad Scientist scowls at the screen, then thunks it against the counter to make it work.

There we go.

furor
Doc's device may read in numbers or graphs or intensities of some kind of ray or maybe it's just a screen with a smiley face or frowny face, who knows.

Its answer all amounted to the same, no matter how it was interpreted:

Data Not Found

After the thunk and retry, though, it cautioned of a 75% variable for violence.  Pretty impressive violence at that.

Nicholas Hyde
People skills are important, when it comes to noticing magickally inclined strangers in a hall full of sleepers.  Nick doesn't rely on magick to gauge the stranger's potential for violence: he is afraid of something, he is probably hurt, and he may be desperate, and this on top of the wildness that Nick can sense from him besides.  He is out of place here, to the extent that some people may already be drawing away from him.

Nick smiles at him, a warm expression though it lacks the effusiveness of someone who is truly friendly.  He draws near enough to lower his voice for the sake of courtesy, for the sake of privacy, though not too near: he is cautious and the other man is afraid."You just look like you've had a rough couple of days.  I wanted to check and see if you're okay, that's all."  A beat.  "You need anything?"

Andrés
Ah, shit.

It takes him a few seconds to get the answer he was looking for, and when he does, he not only takes Nick's shot but downs his beer and gets to his feet. If things are about to go pear-shaped he wants to be somewhat anesthetized when it happens.

furor
Initially the man looked skeptical and cautious alike, but after looking at Nick for a couple of seconds his eyes widened and welled up almost instantly with tears.  His voice was hushed and hurried and he sat up very straight upon his stool.  Don't worry, guys, he wasn't going to bawl-- partway through his sentence he would snuff and scrub his eyes and continue on his way.

"Oh my god, you know.  You can help me.  Please."  His hands flexed like eagle claws on the counter, itching to reach out and seize Nick's shirt firmly to convince him of the gravity of the situation and how serious this plea was.  He stopped himself, but flexed hands shook and soon grasped together to wring.

"I need to get on a train.  I have to go, I don't want her to find me."

A glance down at the peacoat, down at what shoes Nick was wearing.  Back to his face.  "I've got nothing, I just ran.  Please, can you get me a ticket?"

Nicholas Hyde
The man's eyes well up with tears and Nick takes another half step toward him, almost unconsciously.  He thinks better of it then, halts, and when he steps forward now the movement is deliberate, careful.

They say that in crisis situations you want people present who are trained to run toward gunshots, fire, bombs, select the man-made disaster of your choice: you want people who will run toward them.  Nick is that person, but for crying men on the brink of despair, apparently.

"Who is looking for you?"  His eyes search the man's face, comb over his wild beard and curling hair.  "Maybe my friend and I can help.  I bet it would be nice to stop running."

Andrés
Despite his short stature, Andrés is not a sneaky individual. His approach is slow because he does not want to startle or frighten the wild man. 75% still leaves a whole quarter of a percentage of an odd that things won't go pear-shaped.

He keeps his breathing even. If all it takes is a ticket, there are apps for that.

Andrés
Despite his short stature, Andrés is not a sneaky individual. His approach is slow because he does not want to startle or frighten the wild man. 75% still leaves a whole quarter of a percentage of an odd that things won't go pear-shaped.

He keeps his breathing even. If all it takes is a ticket, there are apps for that.

furor
Half-wild eyes jumped to Andrés when he approached as well and began tinkering on his phone.  He looked worried, trying to decide whether the man in the cardigan was dialing 911 or not.  He appeared somewhat reassured by the fact that the phone didn't go up to his ear, though, and besides his attention was drawn back to Nick.

Who is looking for him?

The man opened his mouth to answer but didn't get the chance to actually form words.  A dry rasping sound came out instead, and his pupils restricted to pinpricks of recognition and fear.  Something was happening-- his very skin seemed to buzz and he suddenly grasped the counter to try desparately to still a tremorous shake in his hands.  The barkeeper glanced over to see what was going on, unsure if he should call an ambulance or not just yet.

The man squeezed his eyes closed and groaned a low, miserable sound and started to slip off his stool, but his right leg went suddenly rigid and pushed against the floor, jammed him upright against the counter instead.  It could be confused fo a seizure, but Andrés and Nick could see the bristly black hair thickening and sprouting on the backs of the mans hands, skin darkening gray on his palms and fingers.  His back twisting and hunching and mouth filling uncomfortably with teeth.

Looked like they probably weren't going to get that question answered, and John Doe probably wasn't getting that train ticket either.

Andrés
"Ah... Nicholas?"

His black bag and his chemistry set all the way up on the fourth floor with the rest of the earthly possessions that aren't crammed in the back of his Wrangler or a storage unit several blocks from here.

That is to say: he can't just jab a needle in the guy's neck and hope for the best.

"What's he need?" A beat. "What'd you need, güey? Train ticket? That's easy, we can get you a ticket if..."

You know. He stops sprouting claws and teeth.

Nicholas Hyde
Nicholas has stepped past the Veil twice, has worked with spirits since before he woke up (though when that was is debatable): of course he is aware of shapeshifters, that they exist.  Maybe somewhere far back in his ancestry, his grandmother's grandmother, there is some trace of that in him and perhaps that is how he can step into the Umbra as though he were born to it because maybe he was.  Regardless, the man's hands and arms start to bristle with black hair and Nick can feel the waving, tingling feeling of his own hair standing on end.

His gun is out in his car, in the glovebox, and useless to him here.  There's a good chance it would be useless to him even if he had it; Nicholas is no marksman.  He has used it primarily for execution.

"We can get you a train ticket," he echoes Andrés.  "Just stay with me, man, okay?"

furor
"Jesus Fucking Christ...."

The bartender was a good dozen feet away and rooted to the spot, staring at what he was witnessing while trying to comprehend.  He couldn't quite do it.  After trembling for a second he took one shaky step backwards, then a second, then turned and bolted away from the transforming wolfman.  He cleared the counter in a jump-- the man was in his forties but running for your life put you in some pretty good shape.  The bar wasn't a deserted place, and other people that had been on stools enjoying their drinks stopped staring and started hustling away from what they were seeing.  It was unfamiliar, deeply unsettling, they couldn't entirely understand or believe what they were witnessing.  What was once a crowded bar became less so very quickly.

Meanwhile, the man who looked drastically less like one and more like a monster grasped the counter so hard that it groaned and a small fissure began to appear in the countertop.  Fingers turned to claws, his face pushed out into some short and stunted not-quite snout and he was now covered in short bristly black-gray fur.  No tail, his ears weren't entirely lupine but not quite human anymore either.  His musclature and overall size had grown considerably, though, and what was previously a man who probably would have looked quite a lot like Nick in better health now instead looked more closely related to a silverback gorilla in build.

He grasped the counter and hunched under it, growling and whining and panting.  When his eyes opened they were bulging and orange but still intelligent, still panicked.

Jesus Christ hide me.

Andrés
[dex: does he eat shit jumping over the bar?]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )

Andrés
Whereas the bartender and everyone else in the immediate vicinity are headed away from the bar, it being the epicenter of something their reptilian brains not only don't comprehend but fear, Andrés leaps over the bar to get behind it.

And nearly lands on his face. But he does land. This side of the bar is less familiar to him than the other side and he has no idea what he's looking for.

A glass. Excellent. Is that mint? Is mint calming?

He's a pathologist, not an herbalist.

[life 3: shh, you sleep now. base diff 6, -1 bc he's taking his time. i believe the threshold is 3.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (1, 3, 4) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Andrés
[THAT IS WHY WE SPEND WP, BABYMAGES. THAT IS WHY.]

Nicholas Hyde
The Sleepers are running for the exit, and Nicholas has no intention of stopping them: this is all to the good.  There are deeply ingrained survival instincts within each human being, and far be it from Nick to discourage those, particularly when it's likely to minimize any body count that comes out of today's encounter.

Nick has to draw in a deep breath himself, one that swells his chest and stomach, and release it slowly as he looks into the orange eyes of the creature in front of him.

Somehow his voice is still soothing.  "Stay calm.  I know you don't want to hurt anyone.  Let's get you out of here so we can all figure this out."

[Assisting Andrés with knocking this dude out, for the love of god.  Life 2, base diff 4, -1 for taking time.  WP.]

Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (6, 9) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

furor
The Etherite's legs knocked awkwardly on the counter when he jumped over it, causing the Wolfman hunched down between counter and stools to jump and bristle and snarl.  He snapped his teeth into the air over his head, but without the lunge or bloodlust of intent in his eyes to indicate it was an attack.  More of a frightened animal in a corner hearing what was almost a Mage crashing down upon its head.

Stay calm, Nick coached the savage beast, and the beast in turn looked back to Nick and whined further.  Tried to crunch further into hiding and made the counter groan in further protest.

The fur that poked out from under his shirt collar and along his neck bristled and stood on end.  An anxious, angry, bloody energy was shivering over those heavy rocky shoulders.  Claws bit into palms until they threatened to give and well actual blood.

Thus far the man's will held, but there was something triggering the change and convulsion of another consciousness buried below the surface now much closer since the change took place as well.  It was difficult to say how long this strenuous control would hold.

Andrés
"Shit, shit, shit, shit..."

Sings the Mad Scientist as he starts dumping liquors into the cup and hoping for the best. He gives the ingredients on the side of a bottle of Sani-Tabs a quick once-over to make sure this won't cause an explosion. Or maybe to ensure an explosion occurs.

The threads of the Tapestry twanged mighty loud a few seconds ago. It was Sepúlveda's Will alone that kept whatever it is he's doing back there from backhanding him into next week.

[extension! +1 diff, if you botch andrés i swear...]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5) ( botch x 1 )

Andrés
[he botched! rolling for backlash.]

Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 7 )

Andrés
[soaking]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 8) ( success x 1 )

furor
When things go wrong, they go incredibly wrong.

Like a chemical reaction in the back of a science classroom, there was a loud bang! and the glass that Andrés had been holding shattered in his hand, cutting it and sending glass and a curious blue liquid all over behind the bar.  Andrés himself was knocked backward, sent a couple of feet before he landed with a hard thump on his back, sprawled with a sharp crack in the lens of his glasses (unless he wasn't wearing them today, in which case nevermind).

A sharp 'yipe!' sounded from the wolfman under the counter and three stools went flying with a loud clatter across the smooth white floor of the empty lobby.  More stools tipped and rattled as he scooted further away, up the bar, scuttling on all fours to huddle around the corner between the bar wall and a tall garbage can at its end.

Nicholas Hyde
This situation all this while has been delicate, balanced on the edge of a razor, and it doesn't take much to tip does it?  Crises are this way.  So he is prepared for the situation to go south, as prepared for that as he is prepared for it to go well.

It would still be inaccurate to say he is prepared for the Doctor's concoction to explode in his hands.  The sound in this space is a thunderclap, is a sonic boom, and it rattles Nicholas Hyde to his core.  Whatever chemicals Andrés mixed together are suddenly vapor, the kind that stings the lungs or maybe that is just his desperate need for more air.

The stranger cannot control himself for much longer, and Nick is looking for a door he can stand in, a circle, though whether or not he can summon anything to help him here in the middle of the city is debatable.  The Sleepers are gone or leaving; it is him and Andrés and the Beast.  His eyes flutter shut for what seems like a longer time to him than it really is: the space of drawing in a breath and releasing.  He centers.  "Andrés, if you're okay then say something."

He does not wait for a reply before moving.  He walks toward the bar wall, and he crouches down closer to eye level.  "Why don't we go back to one of the bathrooms?  It's quieter there.  Will you come with me?"

Andrés
From someone who talks as much as the Etherite does, silence may be the most damning evidence that he is very much Not Okay.

Either the backlash or the connection with the floor or both have injured him to the point that he's enjoying a cocoon of numbness at the moment. His ears are ringing and blood is leaking out of his ears and his nose, to say nothing of the hand that had been holding the glass.

He isn't in immediate danger of bleeding to death, but he does have several deep cuts that need healing if he doesn't want the wounds to become infected, for his blood to go septic.

Andrés says nothing.

furor
Meanwhile, the Wolfman was hidden from view from what vantage point Nick had there with Andrés.  He could hear the change when it happened, though.

Previously the Wolfman groaned and whined and whimpered with panic and panted with slipping restraint.  What he heard that warned him of the situation going from disasterous to iminently worse was an absence of both.

A Quiet.
a quiet.

A pause, at first, then within a dozen seconds the sound of heavy feet upon the floor and the bristle-brush of fur against furniture.  The Wolfman stalked.

Nicholas Hyde
There are times when writers have written about a deafening silence, and Nick never gave much credence to that (chalking it up to artistic license) until he Awoke.  The wolfman ceases whining and it is that sort of silence.  Andrés does not answer him, and it is that sort of silence.

Andrés is either stunned or dead.  It does not enter Nick's mind yet that he may have been struck sufficiently hard by Paradox to enter Quiet, because the explosion didn't seem that severe all told, and because Nick is used to framing Quiet in terms of Jhor and Jhor alone.

He is sure it can hear his heart.  It is the first time he has faced this kind of mortal danger alone and without his cabal or his Traditionmates with him, and he might as well be naked.  His plan involves the exact same plan as he would have had as a lone Disparate, back when he was a lone Disparate: cleverness and tricks and running the fuck away and maybe bargaining with a spirit for help.

He steps beneath an arch (it's a gate, isn't it, of sorts?  a door, a circle?) and: he had already centered himself, and now he expands his focus outward, expands part of his Self outward.  His self in this case happens to be his scent, which goes darting hare-swift into one of the nearby bathrooms.  Hopefully.

[Corr 2 Life 1 rote, coincidental.  Base diff 5, -1 for focus, spending Quintessence -1.  WP.]

Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (6, 7) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Andrés
Stunned, yes.
Dead, not yet.

Snow not entirely unlike that from an improperly set up television falls in his ears, intermittent-interrupted by what is either an air raid siren or a train horn, and he scowls not because of it but because when he opens his eyes - bloodshot - he can't see a goddamned thing.

Lain on his back on the filthy rubber mat, the Etherite holds his sliced-up hand more-or-less in front of his face. Moves it further away. Moves it close enough to almost smack himself in the face. Feels for his glasses. Yanks his hand away for reasons it is better for no one to ever know, then slaps them from his face with his other hand and starts to grope his way off his back.

Everything hurts. He won't be able to move much faster than a crawl when he finally finds his feet. His hands connect with slick metal drainage shelves and a trash can and other things not meant to provide stability. He has no idea how much noise he's making as he tries to get up.

That other noise, the one no one else can hear because it's Quiet, is going to drive him insane.


furor
The wolf-once-man was without much sound to track, for the lobby was empty and the doors outside closed, muffling traffic and bustle beyond.  He whuffed about slowly, hovering between pub-height tables that shared similar space with the bar, clearly intended for more private drinks than the lengthy slab of counter itself.

The whuffing was it searching by another sense-- scent.  Nostrils flaring and sucking up dust and footprints from the floor.  There was a jumble of scent all about, lingering with the passing of many strange feet from many strange places.  These old dull smells had him half-interested and half-confused, but would only hold his attention so well and for so long.  The present, fresh scents would draw him soon enough.

Nick thought ahead, though.  He knew that they couldn't hunch down there forever, because that thing would follow its nose back to them.  He couldn't fight it, so he had to get rid of it another way instead.  Maybe trap it?

Quick thinking, an archway, and the kind of Magick that came deep from the gut and floated on an extra gust of sheer will alone brought about a solution to this.  The Wolfman's heavy shaggy black head lifted, wide wet nostrils flaring in the air toward the back of the counter when-- snuff snuffnsuff snuff -- to the back!  Ears twisted along with the sudden catch of smell, and the Wolfman's head swung about, carrying shoulders and elongated forearms and ultimately the rest along with.  Stalking after his nose which traced a scent through the air, strong and clear and so clearly alive, away along the counter and toward the bathrooms.

The doors had to pull open, and the Wolfman still had the presence of mind to recognize how a door worked.  One dense black claw hooked in the knob and tugged the door open.  It eased closed quietly behind as it slipped inside to go investigate.

Andrés
[-1 WP: does andrés tell Quiet to go fuck itself?]

Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (2, 5, 6, 7) ( fail )

Nicholas Hyde
His chest has begun to ache from trapped air as he listens for the door: this is too nice a place for it to creak on its hinges, and so all he hears is the pad of its feet as it slips behind the door.  He has seen Andrés rise, or try, and here he is torn between priorities.

He makes his decision, and he pulls out his phone, and please pick up Pen please pick up and -

"Pen.  I need you to fuse a door for me.  Now."  His voice is quiet, urgent, and she can doubtlessly hear from the other end that he needs her to not ask questions.  "It's the bathroom door here farthest from me."

Nicholas Hyde
[Rollin' for Pen as our guest star, with Jess's permission.  Corr 2 Matter 2 rote, vulgar as fuck, base diff 6.  +1 working sight unseen, -1 for using wand as personalized instrument, -1 Quintessence.  WP.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (1, 1, 4) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Nicholas Hyde
[Extending that.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (3, 4, 10) ( success x 1 )

furor
Behind the bar, the Good Doctor groaned and tried to drag himself up onto his feet using a garbage can nearby.  His progress wasn't excellent, and he was making some thumping and groaning sounds but thankfully these came after the bathroom door had already closed.

Nick pulled his phone out and begged for an answer that, thank goodness, came.  Hasty instructions that didn't have time for an explanation, and thankfully Pen was dutiful and understood urgency and emergency for what they were.  She worked, from a distance, and she worked hard.  The door frame to the bathroom groaned initially when its fibers began to soften and prepare to grab and mold and fuse.  Within the bathroom the Wolfman gave pause.

A few moments later the door and doorframe reached out on an atomic level and held many, many hands.  The door fused to the frame, the frame buckled sturdily into the wall.  Not a moment too soon, because--

thump!
Aaawwwrrrroooohhhhhh!

The Wolfman had sensed something amiss and charged the door to break free from the bathroom, suddenly realizing its mistake.  Too late it had thrown its weight into the door to barrel back out through, but the door offered no yield and the Wolfman had bounced backward into the garbage can in the corner opposite the bathroom entrance.  The howling was muffled and echoed terribly in his own ears, and soon quieted down.


Andrés
He's getting nowhere pretty fast.

"Nicholas!" he says in a harsh whisper. A brief attempt to beat back the cocoon of insanity. It doesn't work. Nicholas isn't there. Maybe he himself isn't here either.

That howling runs its hand up the skirt of the white noise currently serving as background music to the Etherite's divorce from Reality and translates as a man-beast screaming. It startles Andrés enough that he loses his grip on whatever had been supporting him and crashes to the floor again.

Pain. It's a bitch and it's a distraction and it's enough to keep him at least a couple meters down. Every Sleeper within earshot has taken off already.

Lord knows what Andrés is telling himself. He keeps his mouth shut after that initial outburst. For all he knows that explosion killed Nick and now he's being hunted.

... he's being hunted.

That's enough for Andrés to cease trying to get himself upright and return to the task of creating something with which he can defend himself. All he's finding is broken glass and supplies he can't identify by touch though.

He holds up his hand again. Still can't see it. If anything the blackness is thicker than it was before.

Fuck.

Nicholas Hyde
"Thank you.  I love you.  I'll be home soon."  Click, and he drops it back into his pocket.  There is a sidelong glance spared for Andrés, and Nick's shoulders cannot help but hunch as the howling begins.

Pity stirs within him, because he is a kind man.

Not kind enough to help Andrés first, though.  He remains where he is inside the arch, begins a rapid circuit around its outside: forward, and back, and back again, a circle, and as he moves he reaches beneath his shirt for one of the small bags he carries, and brings his fingertips to his brow and they are blackened with ash and the ash smears there and he comes to stand in its center with his head bowed.  This place is as far from hallowed ground, from whatever Nick's mythical landscape is as can be, and yet he brings it to himself here.  He is silent, he is removed from all that is going on around him.

He ignores Andrés.  For now.

And he does homage to the howl and to the pack and to swift feet and clever minds and dogged persistence.  This isn't the place one would look to find a wolf spirit, but he calls one to him anyway.

[Corr 2 Spirit 2, vulgar, base diff 6.  -1 for personalized instrument, -1 for appropriate resonance, -1 taking time.  WP.]

Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (4, 7) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

furor
This is a very inappropriate place for a Wolf spirit to manifest.  But a Wolfman already came to start the party, so who better to come and bounce his ass back home?

Nick paid tribute to what changed his faith and belief and Will into Actuality, in circles and ash and pushing that heavy lead feeling of importance and ability in his chest.  Even if Andrés wasn't blind to the world around him as we know it, he wouldn't have sensed what came next, not in the same way that Nicholas did.

For Nicholas could sense the Gauntlet, and he could feel his summons going out across it, reaching and seeking a particular type of someone or something like a heat-guided missile.  He could feel when that call snagged an ear, and when it was responded to he could feel the Gauntlet pull and push and make way for Something to come back through.

That Something manifested from behind a support pillar, walking into sight as though it had been crossing the plains of this world casually for some time now.  It was a wolf, but not entirely either.  Taller, leaner of leg and the fur of its pelt seemed almost more blue than gray even though reasonably speaking it really ought to be gray.  That pelt seemed to fade along with the air around it, and it was with eyes pale and sharp and bright as the moon that the Wolf set gaze upon Nicholas.

What is it?

Direct and blunt, but not angry, the question was posed to the Chakravanti.  The Wolf was not bothered by the summons, but it did clearly want to get through business and be on its way.  It didn't look like it much belonged in the pristine white lobby, no more than the Wolfman belonged locked in the bathroom.

Andrés
Maybe five minutes after the explosion, time being fluid like it is, the hallucinations start to kick in.

These aren't your standard hallucinations, the Radio Station from Hell background noise that had been as much a side effect of the concussive effect of his botch as it had been anything else. These are the sorts of hallucinations that come out of the walls, all teeth and claws, wuffling as they come.

"Ay, chingáme," he says when the hobgoblins come for him.

No one else could see them, if anyone else were there. His hallucinations are his own and he can hear them gnashing their teeth and they sound yellow smell sharp are almost right on top of him when he starts to push himself backwards away from them.

A broom topples over and he shouts, once, before grabbing hold of it with his blood-slick hands and pointing the business end outward.

"¡Atrás, lobos de mierda! Get back!" He swings and drops the broom. It's too heavy for him. His back hits a corner, knocks a bottle of wine into his lap. He grabs it by the neck and drops it with another shout when it reveals itself to be crawling with smaller wolfspiderthings.

Time to crawl on out of here.

Nicholas Hyde
Truth be told he has not seen a wolf spirit before.  Up until recently, he could not summon, he relied merely on what he came across as he moved about the world on his own.  He has worked with Coyote and Crow much more often: he's that sort.

So there's a calm sort of regard that he watches the spirit with, something pensive as it steps out in front of him and he takes in its lean frame and maybe-blue-maybe-grey fur.  Andrés' shout draws his eyes, and for a moment he perhaps thinks Andrés means the wolf he has just summoned.  The man is crawling and he either has a head injury or -

Ah.

Nicholas returns his attention to the wolf.  "One of the nightfolk is behind that door," he says, with a nod toward it.  "I'd sooner see him with you and taken to his own kind than dead.  Can you lead him out of here?"

furor
The wolf's head snapped toward Andrés with the weak attempts to fight nothing (no, not entirely nothing, but nothing that anyone else could see certainly), but upon finding the man to be no threat (hardly able to crawl from the ghosts that pursued him) Wolf's attention was cast back to Nicholas.

A request was laid out, and the Wolf flicked an ear before turning its head the other way to regard the bathroom door instead.  As though it could see through to what lay beyond.  Those pale yellow eyes widened, to see more clearly, then relaxed.

Not the nightfolk you believe.  Man, warped and turned to mimic, but the soul is not true.

The wolf didn't move, didn't blink, but there was the distinct impression of a sigh felt in the same space that allowed spirits to speak with the Mages who knew how.

But all the same, I will move him.  Will take the man-not-Wolf away from here.

Where?  If pressed for details there would be none, just a stare and a reaffirmation of away.  The Wolf would cast another glance toward Andrés, who at this point perhaps crawled out from behind the bar and properly into sight.  Or maybe he just made another strangled sound when assaulted by more hallucinations.  No words of advice or offers for cures for him, that was not the Wolf-Spirit's domain. The Wolf-Spirit's domain lay beyond the Gauntlet, and its task lay beyond the bathroom door that it turned and began to approach on ghost-silent steps.

Andrés
For now, the broom will serve as a cane.

He's in a big old pile of shit made deeper by the fact that he's in a bubble of insanity. But the broom: heavy, sure, but not unwieldy, not once he gets it in both hands, if he leans on it he can move at a snail's pace and make sure he doesn't smash into--

He smashes into.

The broom-dowser misses a pub table and gives Nick a sign that Andrés is going further into the bar rather than closer to the fused door, the lobby, escape, when he walks into the table chest-first and loses his grip on the broom and hits the floor again.

He's given up on shouting and swearing. It's enough to keep his wind and his wits about him when those goddamned spider-wolves or whatever they are are prancing around the place.

Nicholas Hyde
The soul is not true, it says, and in truth Nick does not know how this could be, when the shift did not appear to be within the man's power to control.  He's never encountered such creatures in either his wandering in the wilds or in the Umbra, though perhaps one day that will change; he has as yet no understanding of what mechanism would lend itself to mimicry of such creatures without affecting the soul itself.

Still, he does know that there is much he does not understand, and in that impression of a sigh his gaze turns somewhat apologetic.  "Thank you."

And he does wonder after what away is, what it means here, and he hopes the best for the man.  The best is still better than what he would find here, shot down by guards and retrieved by some suit with mirrorshades later to be prodded and picked apart piecemeal like a slaughtered calf.  So: Nicholas does not press.

"Andrés."  Nick's voice cuts through the air and perhaps through the Etherite's madness.  He takes a few quick steps toward him as the broom clatters to the floor with Andrés soon to follow.  He crouches down next to Andrés then, reaching a hand for his shoulder.  "Andrés," he says again, "look at me.  Where are we?"

Andrés
Deflection is one of Dr. Sepúlveda's coping mechanisms. You talk to him for a couple hours, have a couple drinks with him, accept that from time to time he mentions the dead son or the deaf wife or the estranged daughter, you accept that he is open about events but not about their impact.

He is half-collapsed on the floor, bloody right arm held in his lap, blind eyes wide when Nick touches his shoulder.

No place to go but further under the table, but Andrés does shout and spring that way as best he can with one twisted ankle.

... look at me. Where are we?

"Nicholas?" He lets go the broom. Reaches out in a general Nick-ward direction until he connects with something solid of his. His eyes are the faraway blank of a man in the depths of sensory overload. "Nicholas, I must be frank with you, I cannot see a goddamned thing and the Russians have hijacked my brain, it's--" He slaps at an invisible pest on his right shoulder with his left hand. "--fucking distracting."

furor
Meanwhile, the Wolf-Spirit had come to stand square in front of the bathroom door.  It had not trotted or run, didn't appear pressed for time at all though Nick was no doubt all too aware of the impending arrival of authorities of some kind to check out these ridiculous reports of a 'wolf/gorilla/mountain goat' gone loose in the Crawford lobby.

Again, Andrés would miss most of what was happening, but Nicholas was tuned in.  He felt a shift again, like currents in a river changing ever so slightly near one bank to accomodate for land that fell away in the shore, creating a sudden whorlpool.  Spiritual energy was seeping from the room, it felt-- drawing only the smallest amounts in beads here and droplets there.

Then, suddenly, somewhere within the bathroom vicinity, that energy was spent in a burst and something tore.  For Nick and Andrés both the physical response was a popping of ears when the pressure in the big room shifted.

Behind the bathroom door the sound of thick blunt claws scratching in a panic on wood and marble floor started up, accompanied by an animal's miserable and scared moan that bloomed into a wailing howl before startling quiet.  They, neither, could see what was happening on the other side of that doorway, but a few moments after the quiet had settled over the Wolfman trapped within the Wolf-Spirit outside bowed its head to the door that it had been staring at and concentrating upon.  Then, after raising its head and flicking an ear, it turned around and began to walk straight for the wall behind it.  After three steps, the Wolf-Spirit slipped out of sight behind a support pillar once more and didn't reappear on the other side.  Soon after it vanished their ears popped! again, and the strange sense of something unbalanced and torn and open in the Gauntlet vanished along with.

When the Wolf-Spirit left, it must have taken the Wolfman with as promised, for the bathroom door remained fused wood-to-wood into the frame and nothing moaned or howled or battered or scratched any longer.

Now it was just up to Nicholas to try and get Andrés someplace better suited for episodes of Quiet and Delusion than the Crawford Hotel Bar.

Andrés
[KENDRA AND ANDREW YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL THANK YOU FOR SCENE <3]

Nicholas Hyde
Nicholas is not far and Andrés' hand manages to connect with his chest, perhaps his collarbone or breastbone: at the very least something warm and solid and definitely on this side of reality.

There is not even a flutter of his eyelashes.  Nick worked in a crisis center in New England; for some time psychotic and suicidal clients were his bread and butter.  "Right.  I need you to focus on blocking the Russian signal for a little bit, so that we can get you to a safe place where they can't bother you."

The howling begins again, and Nicholas looks up and toward the door, and of course he cannot see what is happening beyond.  Perhaps he is dead, and it is not the outcome Nick might have wished for; nonetheless, it is one he accepts.  He listens to the cries on the other side of the door with a detached sort of air, with eyes that see all in front of him and yet are distant, are elsewhere all the same.

"We need to go."