Logs:Hear Those Church Bells Ringing
| Hear Those Church Bells Ringing | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-10-24 "We're rolling down Staten Island to pay our respects." (followed by a Swordsfight.) |
| Location
<NYC> Hellhound Bikes - The Hole | |
Located not far from Jamaica Bay in a predominantly Latinx sector of East New York, this garage doesn't look like much from the outside. A low-slung squat dingy brick building with a hand-painted sign over front proclaiming it to be HELLHOUND CUSTOM CYCLES, this garage has a small office area with its own pedestrian entrance from the street at the front, containing a minifridge usually full of beer and beaten down old desk with a ledger and an antique cash register that no one ever seems to use. The rest of the space is roughly L-shaped, its walls lined with racks of tools and heavy workbenches with built-in steel drawers full of hardware and spare parts. There's a raised platform in the wider leg of the space for working on one motorcycle, and there's space in the narrower leg for parking at least three more. The shop is closed, and "church" is in session upstairs, only just getting into gear when there's a stomp of urgent footfalls taking the stairs two at a time. Tian-shin, who is meant to be in the office downstairs doing paperwork, bursts in wide-eyed and breathless. It's shocking enough for such an assiduous prospect to interrupt a meeting like this, and perhaps even moreso for a well-mannered Chinese woman to forgo apologizing for it in favor of blurting out, "The Swords are inducting Huginn and Muninn!" Half a breath later, perhaps realizing that might parse like some kind of Viking word salad with reference to their Norse mythology-obsessed rivals, she clarifies, "The Magnússon brothers." Wolfcub's ears prick up a fraction of a second before the actual stomping begins, then pin back when the door slams open. A low ominous growl issues from his broad chest, whether at the interruption itself or the likelihood that the interruption signals an emergency, but it's only after he hears the news that his hackles raise properly. He braces his hands on the edge of the table in imminent preparation to push to his feet, but holds off with some apparent difficulty. His head whips around to Scramble and his growl quiets, but his eyes still glint hard and furious as he waits for their president's ruling. Their president does push to her feet at once. "Motherfucking traitors," comes out surprisingly even given her recent bout of instability. "Guess they didn't have the good sense to wash out. Real eager to turn up full-fledged Nazis." One of her hands curls into a fist and her eyes sweep over the gathered Mongrels. "They about to turn up full-fledged dog food. Meeting adjourned." She straightens to her full height, already starting to wrap her hair up. "We're rolling down Staten Island to pay our respects." While skipping Church sans Good Reason is usually a fairly grave offense, the Mongrels' remaining sharkpup has probably been forgiven for missing last week's meeting. This week, though, is maybe testing the limits of reasonable excuse, so she is here in her usual seat (the one beside her quite conspicuously empty.) She hasn't been here-here, though, not really, drooped a little listless in her chair and staring blank and silent at the table through the opening of the meeting. She's barely taken notice of her prospect's taboo interruption, just a quick milky blink of slightly clouded inner eyelids. It's only when Crazy Train speaks that she's straightening, quick and wider-eyed, silently double-checking the thick metal cuffs at her wrists as she rises. Ion isn't slow getting to his feet, but there's a definite noticeable lag in his response as compared to the immediate vitriol taking hold of his packmates. He's still a little flummoxed by the appearance of uninducted person in this sanctuary, and even when he's successfully switching gears he's a little lost as to where he's switching them to. "Who the fuck the Magnússon? {We hate them more then other Nazis}, the Swords still gonna be shitheads in two hour, yeah?" Though the assembled dogs have been bristling at Tian-shin's announcement and been quick to rise at Crazy Train's, Ion's question knocks this into a swift and chaotic clamour. The uproar of voices all at once makes it a little difficult to distinguish who is saying what, in the commotion. "-- can't trust guys with that much Norse ink --" "-- {Henney not even in the damn ground and they're signing up with his murderers} --" "-- some fuckers should've rotted in the cages --" "-- like that attack was a recruitment drive --" "-- {from our goddamn home to the beds of those goatfucking Nazis} --" "-- cowards ditched us as soon as the wind shifted --" "Enough." For just a second, one might be forgiven for thinking the other Thing is back from his lack of grave, because it's not his sister's usual soft voice but a commanding and decisive growl. The Sergeant-at-Arms chair is still empty, though, of course it is; if he'd been here to do his job there'd have been no room for disorder in the first place. As a hush falls over the room the other shark is subsiding into quiet as well, but her eyes still fix steely on the group as if daring them to speak out of turn again. One clawed hand tips out to Scramble. Crazy Train goes very still at the sudden cacophony. Her eyes narrow, not focused on anyone in particular, then snap to the empty seat at the call for order. Just for an instant. She gives the surviving sharkpup a small, tight nod for her assistance before turning Ion. "They're these two brothers got dumped out the labs after Lassiter and wound up in Freaktown." Norse as fuck, but supposedly not the Nazi kind." She scoffs. "They been stayed in Thorne House, 'til the Swords attack last Yom Kippur. Just up and left without a word to join the same motherfuckers killed they housemate." She tucks her head wrap tight and pulls on her gloves. "{So yeah, we hate them more than other Nazis. And Wick gonna be there, too.}" Ion has tensed, too. The din washes over him, his eyes also reflexively shifting to the empty seat. He startles at the growled order, looking just a little harder at the vacant Officer's seat and gritting his teeth. "Well, shit." When Crazy Train is done speaking he just shakes his head. Pushes his chair roughly back in to the table. "They make their damn bed, guess we fucking bury em in it." | |
