Tyrone Allen Greysmith:
d10: Man+Performance: 6,8,2,10,8,2,
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He makes his way to
the warehouse, keeping to the shadows as he does so. A look around, before he
slips in.
Tyrone Allen Greysmith:
d10: Per+Alertness: 7,4,7,8,9,9,4,
Marcel Romer: *
He walks down the street, a well-sized black man of about 35 years of age,
standing just over six-feet tall and quite muscular at around 220 pounds. With
his shaved head, well-trimmed goatee, and professional dress, he looks like a
bodyguard, or perhaps a leg-breaker of some kind. His clothes consist of a white
dress shirt and black slacks, red tie, and a black vest, with an olive-green
trench coat over it all. A small silver loop is in his left ear. He walks with
the confidant steps of a man who knows that anyone who tries to start shit with
him will not be the one to end it. *
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther tromps slowly
to the warehouse his boss had designated. Paranoia apparent. Hard arian eyes
peeled.
Gunther Kasimir Berg:
d10: per+alert: 8,5,5,5,9,5,
Marcel Romer: *
The man waits patiently as he checks his watch. Then as Gunther draws into sight
Marcel trots across the street. * " You nigga's ever use this place for a meet
before? "
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther stuffs his
hands in the deep pockets of his heavy black trench. Pulls one out and slips a
black n mild between his rough lips. Lighting the thing.
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther looks around
the place, speaking in a low voiced rumble "He usually shows up at tha house. Er
pops up all random like."
Marcel Romer:
d10: per+alert: 10,7,7,2,4,
Marcel Romer: *
He gives a slight nod and cracks his knuckles. * " Aight then. "
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He waits quietly
inside, pacing back and forth. Completely 'in character,' so to speak. The slump
is there, the glower...he's all set.
Marcel Romer: {{
Blood spent for STR }}
Marcel Romer: "
We goin in then or we just gona grip our dicks all night? "
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther gives a meek
nod, looking to the ground and taking another puff from the mild. He makes a
tromp toward the warehouse entrance.
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He's watching the
entrance, sullenness on his face. Just waiting. They're approaching the
time...late will come soon.
Marcel Romer: *
The big man follows along behind Gunther, looking for all the world like he
might have called this little meet and greet. *
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther tromps into the
place, with his gaze to the ground. He knew damn well his boss was gonna be
pissed once he set eyes on Marcel.
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He looks up asd
Gunther comes in, brow raising as he sees Marcel. "Romer," he says, with an
upward tilt to his chin. "Whassup?"
Marcel Romer:
" Hopeing that you can shed some light on that, brotha. " * He pauses at the
door and then moves off to take a seat on one of the crates. * " You done fucked
up the way that I see it. "
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther stands his
ground, away from the two. He reaches up to rub the back of his bald head. Still
keeping his eyes acerted. Grown folks talkin. He takes another puff from the
mild.
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: His eyes narrow,
looking from Gunther to Marcel. "Wanna 'splain that comment?"
Marcel Romer: "
Your bitch done lost his feelings for you. You know what that means, right? "
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther winces.
Feelings.. Ickie.
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He blinks, and
looks to Gunther a moment, then back. "That someone been fuckin' with his head,
maybe? Maybe...some fuckin' mage?"
Marcel Romer:
* He rubs at his goatee with one hand and smiles, white teeth gleaming as he
chuckles. * " Nah man. When is the last time you hooked the brotha up? "
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther stands back.
Watching the floor of the place. Nervous. He snorts and takes another puff.
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "S'been a while,"
he admits, frowning. "Almost a month. Been busy tryin' to clean up the mess
Claudius fuckin' left me."
Marcel Romer:
" Fuckin mess is that? " * He rests his hands on the crate, one on each side of
his knees as his fangs extend. *
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther gives the back
of his head another rub.
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He frowns a little
as the fangs drop on the Brujah. "Tryin' ta sort through his information
network. He ain't as organized as I was...or his organiztion ain't somethin' I
call such. Not ta mention the mess with this whole Ita bullshit."
Marcel Romer:
* He nods at that. * " Yeah, thats some bullshit. He say anything about where
she hidin at? While I am thinking about it have you seen Ziggy around? Asshole
be hidin too. "
Marcel Romer:
d10: Charisma/Subterfuge: 1,3,1,4,6,3,
Marcel Romer: *
His eyes go wide as he speaks the last part and the shoot through with blood. *
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther blinks up to
Marcel, confused.
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "I found out where
her and her furball lived at. Already searched th' place...ain't nothin' there.
Seems like they packed in a hurry." He shrugs. "An' who the fuck's Ziggy?"
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther looks over to
Tyrone. "She moved. I can find her if ya want boss. Ya want I should kill er?"
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: ((Oookay, DLP. *S*
And I'm failing to comprehend "the shoot through with blood?"))
Marcel Romer:
* He glares at them both for a long moment and then grins once more. * " I'm
just fuckin with you. We gota get this thing tween you two cleaned up. Gunther
dont keep his mouth shut and you got no leash on his ass. I be here as the man
and thats what I be sayin. "
Marcel Romer: {{
His eyes went bloodshot when he lied. }}
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: ((Ahh, okay. Post
stands, then. I was thinking all sorts of wierd things. *G*))
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther gives
another confused look to Marcel "When I ain't kept my mouth shut?"
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "If you c'n find 'er,
then do it," he says to Gunther, finally addressing him gruffly. "Do whatcha
shoulda fuckin' done long ago. Keep me updated...I don't want yer ass fuckin'
fallin' into some kinda Lupe trap and them makin' ya rat out all the rest-a us."
He looks to Marcel, and nods. "Understood. 'at's somethin' I be takin' care of
right about now."
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther gives a
defensive look to his boss "Gunther ain't gonna rat out shit. They hafta kill my
ass. I ain't say nothin." He squints "I keep gettin my ass beat by tiny folks.
Either a you know a Mary? Er a Spitfire?"
Marcel Romer: *
He turns to look over Gunther for a moment and then laughs. * " You sang like a
little goddamn bird up in the big folks meeting. You aint done nothing wrong
yet, dog. I wana keep it that way. Anyone else fed your ass? "
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "Mary...fuck yeah.
Mary-Margaret." A sharp look to him. "You already told me 'bout her. Who's
Spitfire?"
Marcel Romer: * He nods... * " I know Mary. Bitch workin my domain. "
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther nods to
Marcel "I was told ta go to tha meetin. I met. I ain't say nothin ta folks not a
tha blood. I wouldn't do that. Ain't right." He looks to Tyrone with a scowl
"Some tiny punk ass bitch. Beat my ass.. stole my shit. I called my phone tha
night after though. Got my shit back. He was wantin ta know why I had stakes on
me." He shrugs "He's an alright guy, I guess. Can really take a beatin. I
couldn't bring em down."
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He scowls a little
bit. "Ain't no one I know...means he's gotta be Anarch 'r Sabbat, likely. We
keepin' real close tabs on our folks, these days, eh?" He looks over to Marcel.
"Ain't no one the Warren's heard-a yet."
Marcel Romer:
" Fuckin Sabbat would not let his ass be runin around if they got him carrying
wood. " * He shakes his head at that. * " Bitch better come forward quick. " *
Then he looks back to Gunther... * " Where did you too fight and has Sady or
anyone else been toping you off? Aint gona ask again. "
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther shakes his head
"Ain't ate from no one else. Sady offered.. But I ain't take it. Ain't need it."
He looks over to his boss, then back to Marcel. "We fought outside a strip club
I deal at. Round midtown." He rattles off the name of a sleazy strip joint.
"Little bitch wouldn't leave me lone til I fought em. Guy drives a van. He.." He
gives a discription.
Marcel Romer: *
He draws out a pen and notepad and takes down the discription. * " You run into
him again try and set his ass straight. I never heard of him I doubt that his
princlyness has either. "
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He listens to the
description, taking it in with a frown, then grunts. "I'll put the word out, try
to get his ass brought in. Someone needs to come up and say hi."
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther scratches his
head "Uhh.. whatdya want me ta say to em? Er you want I should call you guys if
I see em?"
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "You see him, call
me. I'll come set him straight, bring him to see Marchlin."
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "Just make sure he
don't fuckin' run off. You know I hate chasin' folks."
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther nods. "I'll
keep em someplace. An call ya boss."
Marcel Romer: *
He hops off of the crate and cracks his knuckles after puting away the pen. * "
Tyrone... good catchin up and shit. Gona be lookin you up again soon on other
business. " * Then he looks back to Gunther... * " You done showed that you cant
take him alone so you might want to call the calvery, yeah. Or just tell him he
best come in and make his ass known. If he dont after that I take his skinny ass
out. "
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther gives a tiny
nod to Marcel "Uhh.. if I call em out like at.. Let em know I know.. Won't he
like.. eat me?"
Marcel Romer: "
Gunther, you was carrying wood. He either thinks you huntin or he knows that you
is a bitch. If he thought you was huntin he would have ate your ass already. He
knows you was gona tell sombody. He trying to make his rep here. "
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "Well, first off,
ya call my ass before ya talk to him. And you tell him, if he tries to eat your
ass, how fucked he is. Try not to get ate, y'know?" He nods to Marcel, in
agreement. "Later, Romer."
Gunther Kasimir Berg: He nods, looking
down to the floor "Fair nuff. Makes sense. I'll let em know. An call tha boss."
Marcel Romer: *
He turns for the door and laughs... * " Coarse I been wrong before. Might wana
jus call a nigga. Im outti. "
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther gives a salut
and an odd look to Marcel before looking back down to the ground.
Marcel Romer:
*Gone*
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He looks away from
Marcel slowly, fixing his gaze on Gunther. "How you doin' on vite. If people
beatin yer ass down, I figure you're low?"
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther gives a tiny
nod "I'm alright fer now. A little low. Ain't been usin it fer tha most part.
They ain't hurt me too bad."
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "S'been almost a
month. You checkin' out shit in the Bronx and dealin' with other fuckers like
this Spitfure. Best you be all full." He pulls out his knife, and walks over to
Gunther. "Ain't gotta glass, so we'll hafta do the ol' fashioned way."
Gunther Kasimir Berg: He gives a tiny nod.
Never used a glass before.. He closes the gap, ready to feed.
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He draws the knife
across his wrist as Gunther's close enough, leaving a pungent line of slick red.
He offers it up to Gunther.
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther drinks, as
he had so many times before. Not wasting a drop.
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He pulls away after
a fair enough amount of time ((About 3 BP worth)). "I ain't had much chance to
keep myself full...I'll try t' get some huntin' done, drop by t'morrow and
finish you off, if that didn't cut it."
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther backs away
with a respectful not to the man "You ain't gotta go outta yer way fer me boss.
I'm straight.." He looks back down to the floor.
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: The wound heals up
easily. "Ain't about that. S'about you gettin' in the thick-a things. I'd best
not see you find yerself in a fucked situation in the Bronx an' find yourself
short. Better safe n' sorry...dangerous times." He looks to the door Marcel left
out, then back. "What exactly you been findin' out over there, anyway?"
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther nods, still
with his eyes to the floor "At's why I been usin at bitch of a mage ta help. She
can dig up infermation without ever goin over there. Gotta way ta pick out vamps
over tha computer. Listen in on em." He looks up defensively "I wasn't tha one
what told er bout vampires, boss. i ain't want you ta think at. She knew..
somehow. Ain't sure who told er. But I been makin sure she's lookin for em out
in tha bronx.. an not where you guys are. I done real good."
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He listens to
Gunther, and nods a bit with a grunt. "I ain't like it none, but as long as
she's helpin..." He shrugs. "You find out who she learned from. I ain't wantin'
this to become some kinda Ita fuckin' situation. If it comes to it, we can get 'er
ass ghouled or somethin'. But if it comes down to it..."
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther nods. "I'll
prod er some more. I know she's not a parta tha treaty. Ain't gotta worry bout
those ritzy fucks when dealin with er. She's fuckin crazy. She'll prolly say
aliens told er.. er some fuckt up shit like at.."
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He snorts a little
bit and nods. "You do that. Fuckin' sorcerers...Tremere bullshit." He shakes his
head.
Gunther Kasimir Berg: He nods with another
nervous look to the floor. "I'll keep er in line, boss. You ain't gotta worry
bout er. I got it on lockdown."
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "Awright. Keep it
'at way." He nods brusquely. "Now, 'bout the Ita situation...you gotta way to
find the skank?"
Gunther Kasimir Berg: "I ain't know if she's
in town still er not. I can try ta get tha mage ta track er. She's good at shit
like at."
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He nods a little.
"Give it a shot. See what comes from it."
Gunther Kasimir Berg: He gives an obedient
nod. "Ja, boss. I'm on it."
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "Good." He nods a
little bit. "Anything else to report on?"
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther thinks for a
second, then shakes his head "Not that I know of boss. You met tha new prince,
yet?"
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "I ain't yet. Ain't
deigned himself worthy-a comin' ta meet me. Guess he can't lower 'imself or
somethin'." A snort. "Toreadors always shit on our people. They think they're
better then us, and they ain't. They're just prettier, and pretty don't mean
shit."
Gunther Kasimir Berg: Gunther nods,
looking back to the floor. "Ja. I know. He was cool to me.. But i know what ya
mean."
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "I'm sure he is,"
he nods. "But don't forget...Toreador are just like the Ventrue, only less
useful and less picky. They'll play you first chance they get, and sell yer ass
out to make 'em look better."
Gunther Kasimir Berg: He nods "I know boss."
he snorts "Anything else ya want me ta do?"
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: "For now, just keep
your eyes and ears open. Do whatcha been doin'...just keep me updated on
everything, a'ight?"
Gunther Kasimir Berg: He nods. "Will do."
He makes to move toward the exit.
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: He waits until
Gunther's gone, and then leaves through another exit.
Gunther Kasimir Berg: (thanks for the scene!
*hugs*)
Tyrone Allen Greysmith: ((Thanks, back!
*Hugs*))