Ricky Prince: The man stalks along an alleyway, eyes narrowed, scoping the area out. He's already successfully hunted tonight, but he's on edge. Too many Cammie brush-ups lately, and the other day, he thought he saw an old face from the Sabbat. He's wrong...he's seeing things. He needs to chill. So for now, he continues through the maze of Queens alleyways, looking for a place to sit down, or another source of food for the night.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: A shape passes through the alleyway. A stranger is walking slowly through the shadows, blending in effortlessly. It's hunting for something, but it doesn't seem to be in any rush.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: Dex + Stealth: 2,5,10,6,9,1,2,4,

Ricky Prince: d10: Per+Alert(Ac. Smell): 2,8,4,3,3,

Ricky Prince: He frowns as he thinks he picked up a faint whiff of...something. Hard to tell. He keeps his eyes alert, his pace slowing, body lowering slightly into a crouch. A lupine growl escapes his throat, low and warning.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: The shape gets closer, searching the alley for a specific target. It's form is distinctly female. The girl has a hole in the knee of her old jeans, a leather jacket that absorbs the yellow flickering lights from the street, and a graceful and powerful predatory gait.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: Per + Alert: 9,9,5,7,

Ricky Prince: "Whoever's there, I can smell yer cheap booze an' pot," he warns, fingers flexing dangerously. He backs up to a wall, so that he can't be snuck up on, eyes goeing down both directions of the alley he's in.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Relax hun." Mary speaks quietly, "I'm not here for trouble." She comes to a stop about four metres away from him down the dark and shadowed alley. The yellow neon lights from behind her flicker, casting shifting shadows on the walls around them.

Ricky Prince: His eyes narrow to slits, and he takes a couple of steps back, turning to face her. "Mary." The word comes out in a rumbling hiss, his posture instantly turning to a defensive stance. "Then ya can not be here for trouble right fucking there, ese. An' ya better be alone...yer gang comes up behind my ass, and they'll be tasting claw and fang." As if to prove the point, he lets the dangerous talons grow from his fingers. ((BP to Wolf's Claws)) He shifts back and forth on his heels, making no offensive action, but definitely ready to react.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "I said relax, hun. No trouble." She puts her hands in her pockets and shrugs, "No one here but us."

Ricky Prince: "Yeah, an' ya were all nice an' calm 'fore ya tried to blow my brains over yer gym shower, too." He half-grunts, half-chuffs. "So what the fuck you want?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She grimaces, "Sorry 'bout that. I was pissed. I shouldn't have tried to kill you." She's still in the darkness of the alley. No stream rose from her lips as she spoke quietly towards the other standing in the shadows of the city.

Ricky Prince: "Naw, y'shouldn't've." He keeps that slow, subtle rocking motion, canine nose pointed in the woman's direction. "Least we agree on somethin'."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "And I'm trying to apologize. I was pissed, and I made a mistake." Her voice is a mere whisper. "Good?"

Ricky Prince: "Oh, yeah, we're all good now." He snorts. "I appreciate yer apology, chica. But considerin' I ain't heard a single fuckin' word to come outa about any Lick's mouth that wasn't two-faced and intended ta slit my throat an' bleed me out since the day I dragged my dead ass outa a grave, I'm gonna have to put an asterisk next ta that one."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She sighs audibly, pushing air out of her lungs, "Yeah, well, you and me both. I've been attacked by crazies that the week before I was fucking, I've been betrayed by friends mixing their blood in my drinks, and I've got Cam fucktards extorting me and ruining my business. Fuck. These last three months have beena nightmare."

Ricky Prince: "Thank I could throw somethin' about reapin' whatcha sow in here." A faint smirk, though his head cocks a little. "Who's fuckin' ya over?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She shakes her head, "From which direction? Everyone is. This is why I've stayed away from all of you's all these years. The moment I started talking to the Cam again, shit's been flying in my face. I figure I should just bury my head again and disappear as best I can." She smiles, "Good bye." She starts taking a few steps back, not wanting to turn her back on the beast.

Ricky Prince: "You's all." He smirks a little. "Yer groupin' me in with the Cammie fucks? Yer kiddin', right?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She stops and shrugs. "What? You grouped yourself in there, 'member?"

Ricky Prince: "Typical. Ain't no one ever listen." He half-grunts, half-growls...not an aggressive sound, just more bestial. "I ain't never called myself a Cammie. Fact is, yer the one who picked C over A in the car. I specifically told that rat-fuck Charles, in yer presence, chica, that I was Cam only 'cause they think I am, like anyone else who ain't a fuckin' Sabbat, and that I didn't want nothin' ta do with 'em."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Well, Romer thought you were in with them." She shrugs casually. "Oh well. Hey, glad we got this cleared up." She takes a few more steps back. "Nice talking with ya."

Ricky Prince: "Romer's a fuckin' dick." He scowls. "Ya belive what ya want." His claws retract, and he turns. "I'm through getting dicked over by every fuckin' side. Ain't nothin' here for me anymore anyway."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She pauses again. "You leavin'?"

Ricky Prince: He pauses, his back still to her, and looks over his shoulder. "Maybe somewhere else, the Cam ain't gonna know me well enough ta hate me for bein' ex-Sabbat, the Sabbat ain't gonna know me well enough ta hate me for turnin' on 'em, and the Anarchs ain't gonna try ta recruit me with one hand an' threaten me with the other. I don't give a shit about any of those putas anymore anyway. Never shoulda let the woman get in my head. Here, I'm just straight fucked."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: The girl waits a moment before repling, "Good luck." She turns away from the beast then, walking toward the exit of the alley ever so casually. She walks into the light.

Ricky Prince: He grunts once more, and looks ahead again, moving on through the alleyways, away from Mary.