Hand in A Honeypot, Part One
Summary
Walter and his "ghoul" track corporate bankroller Benjamin Wagner, a man affiliated with a Sureco AG (Sustainable Resources & Commodities AG), a mining company. But it's not his money they're interested in, it's his fancy signet ring that bears symbols of the same suite of imagery found on the Cult of Athanasius. After marking his car at the De Young museum's Damascus Room exhibit speech, they pay a visit to his home near Daly City only to find that he's been waiting for his supernatural visitors. With armed company.
Starring
Log
The Setup...
As the speech wraps and people start to hob-nob, there was some time where Phillip was chopping it up with Carter and Wagner. Soon, the conversation is driven towards one between Phillip and Carter in particular, as Carter is the man with the passion and Wagner the one with the wallet. In the crowd, there's a man wose fashionable suit suggests he's flashy whenever he can get away with it, but tonight, in formality, he's toned it down. Still, his bespoke suit pushes the limits of what 'subtle' can be, in a black, satin-matte brocade that lends a Victorian gothic flamboyance to his presence. This is a man who knows what 'jacquard' means. I personally don't know what the fuck 'jacquard' means. Anyway, his sharp lapels shimmer with silvery counter-stitching, the silk ascot tie he has on is a color like a ritzy merlot, and the two-tone monk strap shoes add that final stroke of panache with their decorative brogueing and shiny buckles. "Oh! Doctor Carter!" The ashen-haired man in his thirties calls across the room, moving in to interrupt the conversation with Phillip, Wagner, and his business partner. This gives Wagner an excuse to depart, and after he tolerates an ear-beating from the fancily dressed man about how wonderful the presentation was and so on, Wagner turns, heading out toward the exit. He's accompanied by two other individuals, both young men, dressed more business casual for a nice presentation night. They flank him on their way to the court-yard, past the CCTV screen in the lobby.
Esther
Esther, dressed in her tech culture all-blacks, pushes herself off of the wall she was leaning on and arcs across the room. She doesn't beeline right after Wagner, but it's her intent to follow him. Just not, you know, too obviously. The fop, while interesting, doesn't got no magic ring and west african blood diamond mines or whatever.
Walter, all dressed up to like sort of civilized, moves to intercept Wagner, since, after all, they just had such a wonderful conversation. After the presentation, while everyone is leaving, is a great time to ambush people! Really, you should try it! So he will gamely talk all about environmental sustainability as applied to biblical commandments.
As Walter makes his appearance to speak with Wagner, the man does give Walter the courtesy of acknowlegement, but he doesn't stop on his desired route. And so, Walter's conversation about Glencore and its sustainable practices and green initiatives gets transposed across the courtyard to the curb directly outside of De Young, where a running car awaits. "Well sir, it's been a pleasure," he says, looking up at Walter with a polite smile as one of the two assistants in his mini-entourage opens the vehicle door for him. "But I have a meeting to attend to." With that, he attempts to slip into the confines of the sedan, and will be followed by the two in his company.
Esther
Meanwhile, Esther followed, keeping her distance so as not to be too OBVI. She isn't well-equipped for a chase, but maybe tracking isn't out of the question. A drawing down of her Will, tracing a rune in the air with little gestures of her hand at her waist while she watches Wagner get into the car. Ideally resulting in the shape of her tracery transposed through the same essence of all things into the paint of the car, a little symbol near the bumper.
Walter smiles broadly, "Of course, of course, I am sure we'll meet again, Mister Wagner. We have a lot to learn from one another, after all!" He steps back so that his little squad of goobers can hustle him away.
"Have a nice evening," Wagner says, in his polite dismissal of Walter. As they get in the car, one of the two men glances Blue's way, attention lingering on her for an instant. Ultimately, he joins Wagner in the car just as soon as there's room to slide in, and the driver slides the expensive sedan off down the tea garden drive and towards other reaches of the park.
Walter glances over at Blue, and then looks for a helpful, all-concealing set of shadows. Large man can go in, tiny, adorable bat can fly out. He gives the lady a wave as he makes his maneuver, going quickly so he can keep track of the car once he is airborne.
As for Blue, well, she leaves the party, heading out into the park to wander somewhere secluded, and with lots of trees. All the better to take a few minutes to track that car.
The front of the De Young is not terribly conducive to an all-concealing set of shadows. The space has well-lit walkways, facing a large concourse with fountains. Trees have been planted through the large space, but they're orderly in their placement and too young to truly shed a reasonable shadow. That said, Walter will be able to find shadows in the park if he leaves the general area, as the thickets of oak and eucalyptus and buckeye await nearby, but the distance is great enough that Walter might lose visual sight of the car. Walter acts fast. Once he takes to the skies, he just barely snatches sight of the car once he gets enough altitude. In the interim, the vehicle has hit a cross-street and taken a turn. He was just on the cusp of losing it!
Walter flies through the chilling skies! Unfortunately, once the vehicle hits the highway, the endeavor of trackign the vehicle through the fog that wraps the San Francisco bay area thwarts his special eyes. The vehicle is most definitely headed south, towards Daly City, or maybe further, but which tail light is it? Walter's target seemingly dissolves beyond the hazy curtains, south bound, but where? What exit? Fortunately, up north in the park, we've got someone tawoling her athodus as plan B.
Blue teaches the rock to remember that we were all once one thing and to reach for that which shares its mark, there in the park. The swaying of the plumb leads her hand south, down the peninsula, down the Great Coastal Highway.
Walter circles a few times, trying to reacquire his target, but, failing flay, banks away, returning to his hogwarts-attending associates. It likely takes him a few minutes to find her, but he has tracked more people on foot than cars by wing and ear in his time, so doubtless he will eventually be hanging from something near where she passes by.
Several minutes pass. Almost an hour of them! Finally, the pendulum stops swinging, falling straight down, and a whisper of the breeze tilts and shifts the paper. The stone points out a residential location out in Daly City.
Blue isn't passing by anywhere by the time Walter returns. She's sat under a big boughy tree, paper map pinned down at the corners with rocks and holding a pendulum in her fist over it. The ambient light of the park and city keeps her company even as the fog rolls in. As Walter arrives invisibly, unnotably, she scratches at her neck and collarbone. Idly at first, but curiously consistently, until she looks up and narrows her eyes, looking out into the dark, as if aware that she's not alone.
Walter, looking quite batty, peeps loudly at Blue. At least the little bat doesn't take up nesting in her hair. It's like a snow white thing, but with fewer bluebirds and more fur.
"Come on. Mark the spot," Blue invites Gualter The Bat, flicking her eyes down to the map, and even gesturing at it with her free hand. "That's where we've got to go. Looks like... an hour by bus? Maybe half an hour with Uber?"
Blue's concentration is interrupted by the peep of incoming diabetes. Constitution saving throw to not get ketoacidosis from how sweet he looks.
Walter is a bat, but one with adorable white fur, and a tiny piggy face. He flutters over to Blue, peering at the map. Bat eyes are not so fantastic, but he can get get up close. So light he barely dents the paper of the map.
It's been some time since we last saw Wagner's beautiful, German face, but he must surely be retired to his jammies in his abode out in a reach of Daly City, closer to Colma where houses actually have yards. Small ones, but any ones. Shocking. It's a McMansion for sure, a nice, well-appointed three story home on a lot, with the sedan parked in the garage, and the lights off.
As the dowsing plumbus keeps swaying toward that one particular house, even as they walk the block, that's triangulation enough to identify it. Blue and Walter find themselves on a street corner down the block to discuss. "Two dudes in polo shirts. Cult security, likely. Grab the German out of his bed and ask him questions? Wait until he goes out for potato pancakes in the morning?"
Walter peeps cheerfully, and makes an adorable little throat-cutting gesture with one winged limb. But he doesn't flutter off, yet. He makes a little gesture towards his eyes, and then flutters off to examine the house from a closer perspective.
As Corinna stands outside and waits for the itching to subside, the piggy flappy flaps around this multi bedroom home. It's a nicely sized house! Suitable for a family with kids and a dog and a need for a privacy fence. Speaking of, a privacy fence wraps the small back yard. Gualter is able to luck out and find that the windows that share the same wall as the front door are slightly cracked. They lead into the same space as the door, unless this place is some crazy Uncle Touchy Puzzle Basement.
There is a very faint chemical smell, like Fabuloso, or some cleaner.
Walter, after finding what he can find, quickly flaps back and sketches. Does Blue have a pencil? Walter is very strong, so even as a puffball he might be able to draw and write with a little pencil, even if it is a whole body effort (and thus, extremely adorbs). He uses this written language to describe the house, the cracks, and the stink.
"Fucking 'course he is," Esther says to herself, well after Walter flies off. "And you're just jealous that not even a dog would hang out with you." With that, she briefly checks her nails, buffs them on her hoodie, and then readies what kit she did bring with her. It's not much compared to what she could carry in her bag, considering the metal detector wand-down in the museum. A couple vials of dried flowers. Some twine. Paint markers. It's one of those that Walter can perhaps borrow to write his notes.
The McMansion with slightly cracked windows out in the airconditionless bay sleeps quietly on.
Walter waits patiently for Blue to suggest a better plan than him adorably sneaking in and then adorably killing the guards inside. "Peep peep!" He peeps encouragingly.
"Jolly cooperation," Esther growls in reply to Walter's writing, presumably, a whole-body affair for the tiny puff of Honduran smoke. "Well, if the window's open, why don't you slither in and take a look? Nobody's going to see a tiny little bat at night. There could be Rabbi Laserbeams though, so... let me see." She closes her eyes and hums to herself quietly for half a minute, nodding her head along with the tune. She hums from the diaphragm, deep in her chest. Finally, she opens her eyes, looking distant, like she's seeing past everything toward something far off, past that house.
As Blue hums and connects to the musical resonance of the world that envelops her she feels a sense of omens looking to the home. The spark of Magick lurks within, before her and above her.
Not directly above her, but like, up tall in the house, as in, second or third story.
"Something wicked there, something sealed with that fake symbol of solomon, probably. Hey, you said it's kabbalah. Kaballah-dabba-doo." Pause. "You think you could win a fistfight against a golem? Hypothetically," Esther asks the air. The bat.
Walter makes a little cheeping sound. It is pretty enthusiastic. It pokes the lady and makes a little shooting motion, mimicing a pistol, then cheeps a question.
I disbelieve. Bats don't have fingers that can do that, the webbies and all that.
Walter can totally mimic fanning a six-gun!
"No, left it behind because of the museum. Not a big deal, though. Better if things go nice and quietly anyway," Esther replies. "While you go have a first look inside, I'll find a way in that hopefully won't set off any alarms." Then she busies herself with those vials of hers, imbibing the appropriate amounts of dried mushroom and eye of newt or whatever, holding them under her tongue to enact change in her mind and body.
Walter cheeps an affirmative, and flaps off to see if he can nose his way into the cracks, or if the evil witchcraft tries to keep his holy presence away from this cursed place.
WalterBat shwimgles into the window crack with relative ease. The interior is just as unhelpfully dark as it was when he was flitting about outside, and with his poorly bat-eyes, looks pretty much like a dark room. Inside the home, the mostly-pleasant smell of cleaner is just a touch stronger, and the furniture is fairly sparse. His Honduran Bat Ears clearly hear the trajectory of foot steps shifting above. The pacing of the foot steps is normal, walking pace.
Walter moves, flitting when out of sight, crawling when he needs to be more circumspect, through the house. He tries to get a layout, and maybe a look at that magic whatsit on the upper floor. Safety first, of course, but he's a tiny flying mouse covered in vampire-powered cloaking powers.
It fukkem dark. Walter's sneaky batconnoisance mission on the first floor yields a living room, den and kitchen area that provide some opportunities for cover such as behind countertops, but nothing sensational. There do not appear to be people down here, so the bat is able to confidently flit from one space to the next. On the second floor, the smell presides, just not exactly as strongly. This up here looks like bedrooms and bathrooms, not all of the doors are open. But, Walter is able to make out figures in the dark, walking across the floor at the landing. One man has a cross bow in hand, and stops to consider the window and the street below on what is apparently a patrol. He's not the only man up here: Walter counts three for a total of four. They're dressed in dark clothing, not saying a word. Walter's little bat eyes can't make out exactly what's on their heads but there is something on their heads. Goggles? It's fumken dark and batcholocation doesn't serve those fine details. The heavy nature of the foot falls is what really tells Walter that they are armed and armored. 863 "That window that's cracked. Just ease that baby up. If the alarm was going to go off it would have by now with how it's already open."
As Corinna approaches the window, she also smells the cleaner, but the dark interior just beyond the slightly parted curtain shows her nothing but THE VOID as she arrives and gets in place to eeeease that window up and eeeease inside.
It is fumken dark, but that omen lurks here. It's close. The sense of foreboding, the compulsion to turn away embedded in the thread of Things lurks, but afar, some several yards away. It's a feeling, a sense, not exactly a vision.
Corinna eases the window up, but on her silent way in, a passing car's headlights slide by. Whatever motions she makes to mitigate the throw of her shadow into the house are for naught, and so her silhouette flows onto the hardwood floor. The glint shows her the dark countenance of two men, both with something in their hands - a net and a bag - trying to ambush the woman on her way in.
"Whoah, hey, yeah, uh, wrong house, man, my bad," the freckled east asian woman says, dip, dive, dodge, and ducking as the two men go to net and put a leather hood on her, like she's on the wrong end of a crime film. She backs up toward the window. She's got some mouves from her parkoeur
Meanwhile, Walter is watching the little patrol upstairs of the one guy checking the street and the other dudes standing at the ready. He hears "Woah, hey, yeah, uh, wrong house, man, my bad", and so do the others, who glance. "Stay put," says one of them. It's delivered like an order.
Amid cries of "What the FUCK!", three of the men have their wits about them to fire, while the remaining ones remain frozen in cognitive whiplash, as something un-unseeable rages through the room, down the stairs. Tok, tok, tok! Their crossbows fire.
Walter flits down the stairs and in a blur of fur and ash. Arrows fly, but he is moving fast and hard to hit. His fur is thick and tangles the quarrels, and seems only slightly injured. The beast knocks into Mister Hood, sending him stumbling, eyes glinting with ruddy light.
As the WOLF crashes into the man, that cute furry face is smacked with the texture of a kevlar vest, and the man's momentum is sent lurching forward by the crashing weight of the monstrosity. This launches him onto Corinna, and soon, Corinna's world plunges into muffling, pitch black darkness that smells like fabuloso.
Esther goes to rabbit-punch the dude with the hood in the face with her very warm, very human hands, but the fumkin, you know, it's so dark in here, mannnnn. She wiffs it, and then he fukkin puts that ether, that damn chloroform hood on her head. Not entirely how she intended that to go, but you know, sometimes fate has shit in store for you. And then, adding insult to injury, a fist hits her in her shiny new leather hood!
Damn, they just don't make things like they used to. Blue reaches up to the leather hood, with its eight panels stitched together, and yanks it down around her neck, where the thug had latched it shut on her. There's a ripping and tearing sound as the stitches give way -- cheap knockoff abduction hoods, man, what're you gonna do? -- and a heavy gasp for air as she stumbles backward to just fukken breathe for a sec. Her face is red and blotchy, whatever chemical they painted the inside of that thing with does not look pleasant.
Walter, having knocked into the hood-wielding meanie, continues his rush, jumping towards him and putting those big furry paws (and their claws) into his torso and then dragging them out while the guy struggles with his shotgun. Bright blood blossoms, which can be smelled but probably not seen, unless you can see in the dark like a big happy wolf.
Esther*heavy metal music quietly gets louder*
Attacked by a wolf's claws, the man who had just tried to sack Esther tries to disassociate through the threat to his life, but his humming quietly fails him - his hands fumble on the shotgun and he starts to drop it.
Netman attempts to save his friend who fumbles the shotgun! He lunges forward with a cry of "DOG!" which, you know, is the peak of intelligent dialogue, but look, things are fast and frantic when fur and fangs fly in the dark.
Walter's claws skitter on the floor as he swiftly ducks past the poor fool with the net, running between his legs, because he's a canine, a fluffy, cheerful and gory one.
Flying through the stairs is a cylinder that tumbles into the melee, crashing into an overwhelming, ear-splitting crack of disorienting light and sound.
The room explodes into an ear-ringing, bright, hazy fireball of sensory chaos. In the disorienting aftermath, the scent of gunpowder and smoke compete with the new blood in the air and in Walter's claws.
Walter, like a certain cereal box mascot, follows his nose. Similarly, he follows it towards the bright red food item he wants to put in his mouth. In this particular case, of course, it is liquid. He does bump his head on a couch, but, nobody saw that. Or at least, no one who survives will!
The man up at the top of the stairs cries something full of conviction. It sounds far off and away, shouted through a wind tunnel. "Suspenders make you lose weight, peon!" That's -- definitely not what he said, is it. Regardless, as Walter the Wolf bumps his head on the couch, the man up the stairs, with his confusing battle cry, fires.
Disoriented, ears ringing, vision full of mostly blotches of white and black, Blue dives toward where she remembers seeing that shotgun fall, patting around for it and adroitly putting her hands in the right places. She lifts to a knee. Despite being deafened, there is perhaps one sound that the two down there with them hear through the ringing: The sound of the pump being worked. *Ch-chk*
"WHAT?" Blue yells like a grandma
As Walter's head hits the couch, he feels something ripple just above his furry brow, but he doesn't *hear* the impact of the arrow thwacking into the couch. Thonk.
Walter, having followed his nose towards the food smell, jumps up on the bleeder, moving.. really quite fast, down in the dark. And he bites down, and starts guzzling blood, as fast as his wolf maw can drain it. So thirsty, and this guy isn't going to need it much longer.
As th man who just fired his crossbow lets his bolt fly, another steps in to relieve him, with a little trade-out system revealed to keep the arrows coming. Footsteps bang around upstairs, suggesting even more people. "Surrender and we won't hunt you down in your dirt beds!" The man takes aim, hefting his crossbow. "We will put down each and every one of the Infernal Legions! You are serving the Devil's Chosen and you must surrender or die!"
"You die first," Esther shouts up at the guy poking his head out, shotgun beads on him. She slowly rises to her feet. "Maybe you'll get us, but you fuckin' die first. You. With the brown hair. We're leaving now. Any of you. ANY of you move a fuckin' inch..." Her hand lifts off the pump briefly to point a finger and a slow, very intense and present nod to the man, "And you die first." With that, her eyes flick around to meet the eyes of the other combatants, and shestarts to back up toward the window she came in.
Walter, savage beast that he is, goes for the throat in the other room. Convienient that he is maybe out of the direct line of sight of the negotiations. He chomps down and guzzles a stronger blood flow. The claw marks are probably still bleeding too, though now maybe it can clot.
"You're already marked!" The man with the net yells, probably louder than his deaf ass intends, as he stumbles back and feigns vision through the visual fog. He clings to that net he'd failed to capture the wolf with.
Walter slurps at the blood, since it's there, he's hungry, and everyone else is extremely distracted.
Blue rolls back through the window, and, hitting the shrubberies or whatever outside, takes a few steps aside so she's out of line of sight of the window and can see clear down that street. She shouts and punches as hard as she can, puncturing a she-sized tunnel through space that congeals into a sickly purple glow and ends literally as far away as she can see.
"Clear the house! Woman and an attack dog!" That's the command shouted, just moments before the flashbang flies to preclude some sweep of the first floor.
Walter's victim has stopped wiggling. Even Walter might have trouble keeping him alive at this point, so the 'attack dog' looks up, and just jumps through the nearest window, with a tinkle of shattered glass. And the creature moves! Quickly! He may or may not spot the magic tunnel thing, but he can track her down momentarily even if he misses the magic exit.
The east asian, freckled "ghoul", with a nice shiner growing on her right eye and that weird contraption flopping like a collar on her neck steps through the Bifrost and ends up in the far off land of... Two or three blocks down the street. And then it's time to hide or look for a car or something and get the hell out of here.
Walter makes a running leap through the portal, hopping down neatly next to her. He pads silently, of course, adorable attack dog that he is. He sniffs and his ears move, as he tries to spot any pursuit.
The tale of a girl and her lovable canine companion bound down the street. Lights are on in houses thanks to the previous two bangs, and as they dart down the sidewalk, they both can see living rooms and bedrooms light up.
The portal closes behind them as soon as Walter's through. From the Cult's perspective, they could've gone anywhere -- and hopefully if nothing else that gives them a head start. And presumably those houses that are lighting up are blocks away, back where they just came from. "You know I didn't," she growls at a presence beside her, on the other side from Walter. To the dog, she says, "They were waiting for us, you know. Get the sense that whole thing was a setup. Some magic, there, though. More than we've seen before. Two things, not including that ring." As they walk, she's looking for a bus stop or a storm drain or _somewhere_ to go.
Walter huffs, but only once, in reply. Just a dog, unleashed, but look how tame he is, really! He sniffs around, but so far seems content to just stay with the lady as she talks to thin air and pets.
Blue hums to herself as they go. Angrily. Angry humming to sooth the pain of her wounds, having gotten punched in the face. And she disentangles herself of that damn collar as they go. "The fuck is a bellator?" she asks herself, rambling like a drug addict. "And what're you doing mooning people? I don't let you get drunk enough to be seen."
The house behind them remains silent. The neighborhood, relatively so, for the instant being.
Walter sniffs about, then thwacks blue with a tail and points back to the silent house with his nose. And maybe looks for more all-concealing shadows.
The bushes whisper as the wolf slips into them, but their negligible rustle must surely justbe the wind.
Walter posts up in the bushes. He hears foot steps. He hears the occasional choppy voice of someone reporting that an area is clear. Someone mentions ETA of the police in a little under 2 minutes. Then, faintly, a muffled voice. It's Wagner. His voice's timbre is unmistakeable. His words, however, are a challenge to discern through the glass, the concrete, and the ambient noise of the city. However, a second voice picks up right after. "Which side of the house? North side? Alright. Tell me if it moves." Walter's penchant for details orients him: he is on the north side of the house.
Walter lies in wait for another couple of minutes. In that span of minutes, the consequences of loud booms in a ritzy neighborhood manifest as the cherries and berries of incoming law enforcement.
Walter is presented with the song and dance of the police rolling up to the block. Two of them get out and take cover behind their cars in preparation for a potential fire fight. A phone rings, and Walter can make out that a conversation is being had. The gist of it is what? Gunshots? No guns here, but we do have a new surround sound system.
Two armed officers, then, at that point, do end up coming up to the door. It seems the due diligence of having to check it out plays out, here. One of the men answer the door, an unfamiliar face in plain clothes. He steps in, shutting the door behind him. Fields it as a noise complaint, apologizes to the officers.
Unless interrupted, this exchange of a handful of minutes resolves in the officers leaving, and the smooth talking stranger returning to the interior of the home. More footsteps of people moving about are heard. Wagner's voice murmurs something upstairs, three syllables, and is echoed on somebody's radio. That somebody happens to be on the first floor: "It's still there."
Walter starts to pad off, leaving by stages to see how far they try to track him, at the very least.
Wagner's voice buzzes up again on the radio as Walter cautiously pads off. "I don't know what it thinks it can achieve here but I appreciate the demonstration of its tactics. Just wait until sunrise." This is the last thing that he hears of value. Beyond that, as he slowly retreats to test the boundaries of their perception, the interior of the house yields nothing of further use.
