This old and spacious building was once a fairly large carriage barn, but has been converted first as garage, and then into something else entirely. It once had massive two-story front doors, but they've been permanently closed, and a smaller door built into them. (It seems to have been reinforced at some point recently.) The walls, too, appear to have been reinforced in some way, making them stronger and somewhat soundproof. The size of about two large rooms, the first floor is undivided. It's got wooden plank flooring, and has exercise equipment dotting its expanse, with free weights in one area on the door's side of the building, a punching bag in a corner, and other equipment scattered about. There's a rough ladder up to the second floor loft, which is carpeted, but has unfinished walls, a few dangling light bulbs, and is apparently serving as a somewhat informal bunk area. The lighting is, understandably, somewhat inadequate. The floor mostly consists of mattresses, innumerable throw pillows and bed pillows, warm bedding, and the occasional glimpse of carpet. There are a few shoes resting against the wall near the ladder; clearly, people are expected to take their footwear off once they get up here. One can peer down from the ladder-opening, or from the edge of the loft. (There's about three feet of space between the edge of the loft floor and the barn walls.) A wooden door on the upper part of the garage leads into the second floor landing of the house. There is no exit to the house from the first floor of the barn.
Compact is the word for him: wiry, maybe 5'6" in his beat-up black combat boots, with a sense of compressed energy and imminence like a coiled spring -- or a cocked gun. Never quite still for long, balance flowing through the balls of his feet. There's a striking intensity to his narrow blue-green eyes, the colour contrasting with his fair skin and spiky copper hair; just below the left is what at first appears to be a faint mole, but closer inspection reveals as a small, long-healed scar. His features are appealing, with high cheekbones and a good jawline, but it's the confident mien and roguish smile that most often seem to draw people in.
He's in a well-worn biker jacket of the traditional sort, all fairly closely fit black leather and silvery zippers and snaps. Beneath it, he's got old black jeans with a rip in one knee and the cuffs half walked off, with a faded black band t-shirt ('Anarchy Burger - Hold the Government', parodying the In-N-Out sign) under an open dark red hawaiian shirt. There's a couple leather-and-bead bracelets on one wrist and a length of ball-chain disappearing beneath his collar; his nails were apparently painted black some time ago, since they're starting to show chips. Late teens, most likely, and when he speaks it's in a mellifluous, southern-accented baritone voice.
A teenager, maybe 14 or 15 years old. The whole 5"7 of his somehow spell out "farm boy", with a body that obviously has been subjected to a more or less healthy dose of sunlight and the abs that tell of a young life that has seen quite a bit of labor.
Well, either that or he is one of those that spend a good deal of their youth in a fitness center with a tanning booth.
He is not unpleasant looking, with a cleanly shaven face (or one that needs no shaving just yet to stay that way), well defined chin and high cheekbones, with a pair of grey-blue eyes, a face that could probably be considered cute if he used his facial muscles more than he absolutely has to, almost like trying to give his face a nondescript look. The blond hair he has cut down to a crew cut does nothing to help here, he seems to go for the "practical" style rather than following some fashion trend.
Practical also seems to be the theme of his clothing style, a pair of khaki pants and matching shirt, both slightly worn but clean, along with a pair of boots on his feet that have equally seen a good deal of use but are (usually) kept clean and well cared for.
Shaggy brown hair and darker brown eyes frames this young boy's face. Justin has a slightly tanned complexion with a hint of Puerto Rican from his mother's side, Caucasian from his father's. He has a fairly lanky build that could use a bit of bulking upas he is built like a high school track runner. He wears loose fitted 'destroyed' blue jeans, simple tank tops, and worn down sneakers that are about five months in need of replacement, and during the cold, a thick green military jacket from his Grandpa. He looks like your average, ordinary American young teen that plays outside and is fairly active. Tall at five foot ten, he is a few inches higher than most his age for now.
His scars are the most striking thing about this man. A deep scar circumnavigates his head, cutting his visage into parts. His visage is far from flattering even without the scar, featuring an unevenly flattened nose, cauliflowered ears, and monobrow sheltering sunken eyes, and long, greasy hair bound in a tangle of a rat-tail. His hands demonstrate a history rich in manual labor, with stumpy, thick fingers and fingernails broken to the quick. His right arm is a massive length of scar tissue from shoulder to hand, with the weak muscling of a paraplegic, a strong contrast against the bulk and muscling of his body and other arm. The skin of his torso, usually covered up by a shirt but still appearing at his neck, consists of thick, red skin with peeling scales. Not much of the damage is visible as his long-sleeved, plaid shirt is buttoned up to the last button. His jeans are almost fashionable, being shredded through at the knees. He's wearing a black bomber jacket with a patch of a snake hissing on the back.
Frederick pushes himself off the barn wall and slowly moves over to the Gnawer, moving himself into position. He slowly, almost carefully starts to approach the other teen, and it doesn't even seem to be in some kind of threatening or attacking way. He just keeps walking towards him. Not fast. Nor slow. Almost casually so. The only thing that could be a bit unsettling is how his eyes stay locked at the other one's, peering at his eyes in a rather creepy, if not disturbing way.
As the Fenrir approaches, Justin takes a few steps backwards, then to the left as he looks to keep distance between them. He continues to hold his fists upwards, not looking to make the first move. He stares back at the other, unflinchingly, and that grin does not leave his face.
And then there were three, as Felix saunters into the barn, bearing about half a sandwich, a beer, and a curious expression. When he sees the position of the pair there, their stances and expressions, he grins as well, and settles himself casually on the weight bench to watch. Dinner and a show!
Frederick keeps moving to stay in front of Justin, his move to the left is met with one by the Get to his right, actually almost like trying to dance with him in a rather odd way. He just keeps walking towards the Gnawer, not even bothering to lift his arms for protection, either his self confidence borders on megalomania (though what side of the border he may be is up for debate) or the Get does have a rather unusual fighting style, to say the least. He doesn't seem to be in a hurry, though. He just keeps walking towards the Gnawer, obviously not the person who could respect personal space.
"Hey, Felix." Justin says as he continues to circle, making his way backwards as he does. As he moves, he practically makes no sound as his sneakers whisper along the barn floor. "Got pizza in the car if you want a slice. Went to Pietros. Got the Carnivore." He doesn't break the stare with the Fenrir as he speaks, his voice calm and steady as he keeps his fists up and raised. With a wider grin, he says to Frederick. "Loser has to suck the other's dick."
"Yo, J," Felix replies, getting unreasonably comfortable on the bench. "I got this here sammich, but we'll see how hungry I'm still feelin' afterward. Who's this guy?" Justin's wager gets a snort from him, amused. "I ain't stayin' to watch THAT part."
Frederick growls softly as he keeps circling with the other Gnawer, rumbling a soft "High hopes, kid. But all you gonna lick tonight is your own wounds, ain't gonna give you some dessert." He smirks as he stops, watching the other one. "Say, you gonna fight or did I sign up for a marathon here? Can you at least pretend you wanna fight and not just run 'way?"
Reaching behind him to scratch his ass for a moment, Justin rolls his fist back upwards into proper position as he continues to bounce up and down upon his feet. He continues to grin at him, rolling his tongue across his lips. "Hey, if I lose, I'd happily suck your dick. I'll just make sure to have Felix fetch me a magnifying glass so I can find it first." Then, with a flick of his hand forward, he release something towards the Fenrir that hits the ground and along his feet, revealing a loud: BANG BANG BANG BANG!
Frederick is about to reply to that insult as something explodes loudly between his feet, causing the Get to jump. Quite impressive how high that young teen can leap (though the encouragement certainly helped) and he actually manages to pull up his legs to look like a quirky, hovering balls for a split second before a leg kicks out from within that mass of strained and tense Get, aiming for the Gnawer in front of him. Not quite as aimed as a planned move would probably allow, but it sure beats falling flat on his face in surprise.
As the Get leaps in the air, Justin blurs forward, literally, blurs as he taps into the rage in his throat, lowers his shoulder, and RAMS the Fenrir right in the stomach as he lands upon his feet. He takes the kick in the hip, but the extra motivation of the beast causes him to muscle through it.
Felix jumps slightly at the sound, tensing and briefly losing that perfectly insouciant lean -- and then laughs, relaxing again to watch. Closely, though not so closely the sandwich risks not being eaten.
Frederick lets out a not very Get-like whine as the shoulder to his stomach forces the air out of his lungs, the Get rolling backwards, actually a few more feet than the attack itself would usually cause. He quickly scrambles to get back on his feet, snarling "Fightin' dirty, eh? Figures."
Without a word, Justin continues to move forward as the Get tumbles end over end. Leaping upwards, he snags a low hanging beam of a rafter, swings himself forward and looks to plant his feet hard into the Philodox's chest as he shifts into Glabro with a quick blur of muscle and speed.
Frederick manages to get to his feet just in time to catch the attacking Gnawer, though with little success as he fails to grasp the feet planted into his chest, sending him tumbling backwards again. He does a perfect roll (he seems to be used to falling... for whatever reason), even as he takes another kick to his chest. He doesn't seem too happy about the way the fight progresses, snarling as he flicks his hand at the other one, climbing back to his feet. He does sound a wee bit winded as he asks "You ... you done playin'?"
"You ready to suck my dick? Come on, bitch. You talked all that shit about how much of a pussy I am, and how much of a fucking /Gnawer/ I am. Look at you! I don't even got any dirt on me and you ate the ground twice. Bitch, you're in St. Claire! This ain't Kansas! The enemy isn't gonna fucking fight fair with you. So, step your game up, prove to me that you're a fucking Fenrir, or admit that I got your fucking number cuz' I can do this all damn day!" The glabro Gnawer growls to him as he holds his hands up in tightly clenched fists.
Their audience looks perfectly pleased with the way the fight's going, especially when Justin gets his mouth in on the act. And not in the fight-loser-penalty sense. Felix gives his packmate an approving look, polishing off his lunch and moving on to the beer. Alas for no popcorn.
Frederick snarls at the words of the Gnawer. "Too sorry, but I wasn't trained for some friendly sparring. And it gets increasingly hard not to kick off your nuts, rip out your throat and break your fuckin' spine for that's how we fight at home." He is actually visibly fighting himself more than his opponent as he trembles slightly. "The enemy is not gonna fight fair. True that. But with the enemy, I don't have to worry 'bout some Elder rippin' my throat out if I turn them into fine red mist."
"Mother fucker, no one is gonna give a shit if you kill me here in this barn. Fuck, even Felix over there won't give a shit." Justin says as he continues to bob up and down upon his feet. "And he's my packmate and closest to what I got to a brother these days. What were you expecting outta me? I was gonna throw some weak limp wristed punches at you, that you'd hit me once and I'd fall down and cry over a scraped knee? I told you. I'm an /Ahroun/. I'm a /warrior/. I don't care if you're bigger, stronger, better looking than me. I'm /fucking smarter than you/." He says with a sneer towards him. "And that is why us rats will outlive you big dumb assholes because you're all about rushing head first into battle and not out thinking your opponent. So, come on man. Let's do this, or tell me we're done so I can take a piss cuz' I had too much Mountain Dew."
Frederick grumbles as he shakes the dust off his shirt. "I ain't gonna make my first impression in town by killin' off one of our own. Even if it's a Gnawer." He sneers over at the Ahroun, despite that kicks to the chest must actually HURT. Whether more than the hit his ego took (not that this one would be hard to miss) is debatable. "That big mouth of yours is gonna get you into trouble one day, and your lack of self discipline ain't gonna help you outta it."
"Yeah, but at least I'll die a legend." Justin says as he drops his fists, then turns and heads for the door. "I'm gonna take a piss then. I'm already bored."
Frederick snorts "Some legend you'll be." He looks over to the other person that entered the barn, "Well? Food and show good, eh? Who the hell would you be?"
Felix looks faintly disappointed it's over, but all in all... "Well, that was more fun'n I was expecting over lunch," Felix says, and flashes a roguish grin at the Get. "I the hell WOULD be Johnny Ramone, but seein' as that didn't work out, turns out I'm 'Felix over there'. Felix T. Sinclair, Cliath 'Gnawer Galliard, packed with Tactical Frivolity. His packmate, like he said. An' you're...?"
Frederick watches the other Gnawer deliver his rather odd introduction, eventually grumbling "'nother one, great. Ya breedin' like rabbits here, eh? Can't throw a dead cat over your shoulder without hittin' a Gnawer, can ya?" He straightens a little before giving a fairly terse "Frederick Fisher. Get of Fenris. Forseti. Cliath. Formerly Sept of Iron Rain. Arrived here a week ago." He frowns slightly, quite obviously not happy with something. Probably the way the fight went.
Felix smirks, still managing to look almost insultingly comfortable. One would think he'd practiced it or something. "Yeah, that's what happens when chicks actually want to fuck you, there end up bein' a lot of kids," he replies, "...sooner or later. Quit throwin' roadkill behind you and you might find out yourself someday." He grins again, and stretches, pushing up to his full height, such as it is. "Nice meetin' you, welcome to Saint Claire. You want a beer?" He starts toward the exit, the bottle he just finished dangling from one hand.
Frederick scowls slightly at the commend, muttering "Well, we don't stick our dick into just anything. Some standards, man... I mean, fuck, you shag anything that walks, what?" He grumbles to himself, shaking his head. "An no, I don't drink. The water here's bad enough as it is."
The grin just broadens as Felix glances back over his shoulder at Frederick, "You clearly ain't met my girl. Anyway, if the water's bad, you drink beer, even fuckin' middle ages people knew that. Or wine. Somethin' fermented, anyway. You gonna go up to Valhalla askin' for Perrier?" He snorts, shaking his head. "There's milk an' juice an' shit if you can't handle your alcohol, though."
Frederick rolls his eyes as he watches the Gnawer Galliard. "What would YOU know 'bout Valhalla? Like you'll ever get a glimpse of it." He just keeps scowling, shaking his head. "We've had that talk. There's time for relaxing when the war's over. And when you're kickin' back with the big guys after you go, there's plenty of time for that."
The Ahroun Gnawer heads back into the barn after finishing his business, wiping his hands off on his jeans. As he takes a flop down next to Felix, he gives his pack mate a shoulder bump. "Yo dawg. What's new with you? I got some info by the way on the vampire situation. Was talking to Benny the other day and he says he knows of a crazy preacher who is spouting nonsense that just popped up in the southside. Sounds like the same guy that messed with us the other day. I'm gonna hit up the scanners to see if there is any missing people in the area lately."
"Yeah, and with no practice, you'll get there an' be under the table in two swallows. All the winged chicks are gonna roll their eyes and wander over to the Gnawer homeland just to be able to get a good time. Sad, sad, sad." Felix shakes his head again, unable to entirely quash the grin just now. He's just about out of the garage when Justin gets back, and lifts a 'hold on' finger to the Ahroun, the same hand holding the empty bottle, before disappearing into the house a few seconds. He returns with two full ones, and drops into a suitable spot where Justin can commence with shoulder bumping and the like. One bottle he sets down where either of the others can take it if so inclined; the other he pulls out his pocket knife and opens. "Yeah? What kinda nonsense, anythin' interestin'? I mean, aside from the maybe bein' vampire related aspect."
Frederick rolls his shoulders and just leans against the barn as he shakes his head, muttering "You'n your mouth, one day that's really gonna get you into some trouble. But keep runnin' it, at least it's entertaining while it lasts." He does not seem to be too happy about being made fun of, though. "We'll find out soon enough who's going where and when."
"Is he still posturing? That's hilarious." Justin says as he reaches for the beer and twists the cap off. "Last time, the guy was pretending to be a priest, spouting off nonsense about God and heaven and blah blah. He'd brainwash people into following him into the church, then he'd chain them up in the basement and .. strip them of flesh." He wrinkles his nose. "So, I think we should check this out, see if it's the same guy. Then we should track him, instead of out right attacking like we did last time. This way we can find his lair and then strike during daylight."
Felix laughs at the remark about his mouth, giving Frederick a toothier grin. "You don't know the half of it," he agrees, though he doesn't seem bothered about it, "but sure, I reckon there's some trouble I still ain't managed to get into somewhere." He leans back a bit on the haybale, setting his free hand down on it behind him, and has a drink of his beer, glancing to Justin. "Sounds good to me. You wanna do that tonight?"
The external door opens, allowing in a beefy guy with a lot of feathers. The feathers are all attached to a wild turkey that, to judge by its limpness, its long neck swinging loosely, is quite dead. Reggie's hanging on to the turkey by one leg.
Frederick looks between the two Gnawers and shakes his head. "Ok, anyone care to fill me in 'fore you go off and get your ass handed to you again?" He does seem to be a bit annoyed by now, his sneer actually getting a wee bit lopsided as he is not really very good at not letting on just how he feels about not being talked to. He turns his head as he hears the door again, watching the feathered guy with the limp turkey for a moment before giving a faint sigh. "And I guess now I get to meet the chef?"
"Hey man, show Reggie respect. He is the Sept's longest tenured member, /and/ an Adren." Justin wises up as he straightens upon the haybale he is sitting on. "Good afternoon Reggie-Rhya! How does the afternoon find you?" He gives Felix a bump of the shoulder again. They seem to share a quick, silent conversation between each other. Let's pick this up later? Sounds good! Do you want to get dinner tonight? Sure, how about burgers? Burgers are awesome. Let's do it!
Felix sits up just a little bit straighter, giving the new arrival a fairly respectful-looking nod of greeting. "Been huntin'?" he asks cheerfully. Justin's shoulder-bump draws his glance, and post-silent-dinner-plans, he nods once and looks back to Reggie and the bird.
Reggie waves a hand at the occupants of the garage as he looks for a place to hang the bird, studying the punching bag for a long while, before dismissing it with a head shake and venturing over to the loft ladder. "Afternoon", he replies to Justin, and "Yup", he replies to Felix. Frederick gets a brief glimpse from him while he busily ties the turkey's feet to the side of a rung of the ladder.
Frederick whips around as he is told just who this 'chef' is. Apparently the Get did not quite expect anyone above him to simply walk in like this. His posture changes considerably as he watches the Adren, obviously not quite sure just how to react to the rather unusual display of casual handling of rank. He keeps his eye on Reggie as he mutters, more to himself, "Yup, this sure ain't Kansas anymore..." He waits another moment before stepping forwards a few steps, nodding his head towards Reggie and very obviously waiting for something.
"Nice catch there, Reggie-Rhya. Turkey is a fan favorite of mine. Will you need help cooking it up?" Justin hops up to his feet proper and brushes his knees off.
Felix remains where he is, for the moment, although he watches the handling of the turkey with interest. Possibly it would get crowded if more people were inclined to head over there. Possibly he's just being lazy.
Reggie steps back from the turkey as he observes his knotwork taking the strain of the weight of the bird. He dusts his hands. "I'm sure you'll provide more than enough help eating it up. It's got to hang for a few days, so you can work up an appetite." He regards Frederick. "Hello. I'm Snakepatcher, Ahroun Uktena, follower of Swan. I'm also called Reggie Coward. You're new here, or just been hiding before?"
Frederick does an odd combination of standing to attention and doing a small bow. Actually, it may even seem a little comical but he sure seems to take this whole deal quite serious. He looks at Reggie, announcing "Frederick Fisher of the Get of Fenris. Forseti Cliath. I arrived here last week from the Sept of Iron Rain. My Elders decided that it could be useful to send me over to aid the fight here."
"Yeah, he's a really great guy, Reggie. He told me that he is a huge fan of the Gnawers and what we accomplish in the city to help out the big fight." Justin says sincerely as he gives a nod of his head. "It's great having someone like him around who knows how to really respect all the tribes that fly under the radar at times." He gives the Adren a salute, then takes a long pull from his beer.
Felix lifts his beer toward Reggie in a toast to go with Justin's salute, and joins his packmate in practicing for the synchronized drinking event in the next Olympics. "Speakin' of eatin' things up, I was wonderin'," he addresses the Adren, "did the label work to keep everyone outta your mysterious package? 'cause I been wonderin' just what was in it every time I open the fridge since."
Reggie nods towards Frederick after his introduction. "Where's the Sept of Iron Rain?" Felix's question gives him pause, and he grumbles. "Wish I knew. Package was sealed when I got it and I had to move it on to someone else. I thought leaving a note like that would get everyone to open it so I could say I didn't open it myself. Didn't work so I still don't know."
Frederick looks from Justin to Felix to Reggie and back to Justin, the Get looking quite puzzled at the Gnawer's praise. He knows better than to contradict him, though. "The Sept is near Braunschweig. In Germany." And yes, there is a rather distinct accent noticeable when he speaks. No movement still in the young Get.
Smirking to Frederick, Justin raises his beer upwards to him, then takes another synchronized sip with Felix.
Felix laughs at the grumble, his head dropping back. "Oh, man. You dunno how HARD it was not to see if I could sneak a look in there, too," he tells the Adren apologetically, "Next time I'll give you plausible deniability, promise. 'specially if you, y'know, slip a little hint in there or somethin'..." He grins at the much older Garou, before continuing that practise with Justin.
"That's a long way," Reggie contemplates. "Your English's quite good. Did you start learning it as soon as you heard you'd be coming over here? I've a packmate who's like that." He shakes his head at Felix. "I've got my own place, why would I be leaving packages here? And there were a bunch of you in the kitchen, seeing me. Ah well, best laid plans of wolves," and he leaves the saying unfinished, substituting a shrug instead.
Frederick nods his head to the Adren, but he doesn't seem to be relaxing any time soon. It actually takes him a while to answer since he does expect the other Garou to finish his sentence, it seems. He just, eventually, says "The language itself is easy to learn." He just falls silent for the time being, listening to the conversation instead.
"Oh well. I'd only met you just then, so I didn't have the necessary background, see," Felix says, apologetic again. "Plus, the downsidea seein' you put it there is, makes us all suspect it ain't gonna be pretty for us if we get caught and it really was s'posed to be left alone. Maybe soften things up some if that situation happens again. Do some aromatherapy. Carry a puppy. Y'know, lull everyone into a false sense of security. Or else be a worse actor, 'cause some of us ain't always that bright." The grin is, though, before he finishes off that beer.
Reggie tilts his head and studies the Gnawer, then shakes his head with despair. "A challenge's no good if it's so easy it's not a challenge."
"I'm kinda curious to what you guys are talking about." Justin says with a grin as he finishes the beer, then overhand throws it into the trashcan with a clink. "Nice. Three points."
Frederick nods his head slowly, even though he obviously does not quite follow the conversation. Maybe he's just missing important details. He takes a few steps backwards and leans against the barn wall.
Throwing: >>> You rolled 5 dice at 6 diff (9 9 4 6 9): 4 successes. <<<
"Sure, but if I did it good, you still wouldn't know what's in the package," Felix says reasonably, "'cause assumin' there isn't reason to think you =wanna= be disobeyed, fucked if I'd want you to think I did." One could, if so inclined, take it as an expression of respect. He pauses, eyeing the trashcan a moment after Justin's bottle goes in, then follows suit. It drops in as well, a second clink, and he briefly looks quite self-satisfied about it, too. "...you were there, Justin. Remember, that package he put in the fridge, wrote the label for, day we went wanderin' the bawn an' all couple weeks back?"
"One of my oldest packmate's a ragabash", Reggie relates, "And there wasn't much to hold him back once he'd had a thought. Second thoughts weren't for him. This one time, we were in the Aetherial Realm looking for the World Serpent. We had a scale of the serpent, and we needed to get the scale back where it belonged. So he ups and runs at the serpent, leaps and jumps and manages to get onto the serpent and gets the scale into place, without as much as second guessing himself. He got the job done." Reggie struggles to halt the tale there but continues with, "He got thrown off an and went such a long way. I had to go looking for him. He broke a few things on the landing, but he was fine in a couple of minutes."
Frederick stays with the beam he is leaning against for the longest time, listening to the conversation going on, eventually shaking his head slightly. "I think I'll have to leave ya at some point. Things I gotta take care of." He keeps it vague like that, just nodding slightly to the Adren. "Snakepatcher-rhya, with your permission I will leave now?"
"Oooh, yeah. Now I remember." Justin calls over to Felix with a bob of his head, then glances over to Frederick. "You don't need to ask permission to take off. It was awesome hanging with you. Get lunch tomorrow?"
Reggie looks down at Frederick's feet, then at his hands. "Hm. I don't see the chains. The padlocks." He nods. "Yeah, you're set. You can move, you can go."
Felix leans in a little at the story, looking particularly pleased by it, though afterward, he sighs. "That's the kinda thing they spent pretty much all my cubhood tryin' to break me of. Well. That an' bein' a little smartass shithead, but that took better." Frederick gets a casual farewell wave, and he grins again, "Lotta the time it works, though. Back in Memphis in this one fight there was a Fomor with its heart just sittin' there visible in its chest, like in this bubble of pus-lookin' stuff, so I pulled it out. 'cause I mean it was right there! Worked a treat. Just, also dissolved mosta my hand. So you're not gonna be tellin' me I gotta learn to think shit through like everyone there always was, huh?"
Frederick blinks at Reggie, very obviously not getting the idea. But he understands that he may leave, it's pretty much what he wanted so he bobs his head at the Adren again before turning his head to Justin as he leaves. He seems puzzled with the suggestion of the Gnawer actually wanting to hang out with him, but he gives a small nod to him, muttering "Yeah. well... why not? Sure", as he quickly gets going.
"If you'd done less thinking then I'd know what was in that package", Reggie informs Felix of the problems of thinking things through. "You pulled the heart out of a fomor? Cool! I got to do that to a fomor just last week, only it was made of electronics or something and it crumbled to pieces. Strange stuff."
Justin gives a two fingered salute across his brow to the Fenrir as he departs, then winks back to Felix before he continues to listen to the conversation.
"Yeah, but what I was sayin' was, if I snooped into that shit =right=, you still wouldn't've known, see? Sometimes I do stupid shit, but I still do it the best I can," Felix says, "...but on the other hand =I'd= know what was in there an' I really wish I did, so point taken." He grins again, looking probably more pleased than he'd like to at the approval of the fomor incident; Justin's wink gets a slight chinlift of acknowledgement, or possibly agreement. "Just last week? Where was it? I ain't never seen one that was all roboty. Hard to get to the heart of somethin' like that?"
Reggie shakes his head. "No, It wasn't all roboty. The fomor itself was all black, no bones--like a nightmarish blob of Silly Putty. Clawing through it was like that--just a blob. No acid or anything like the black blob years back that ate my arm", he shows his mangled, muscle-less arm. "That one had no heart, either. This one had a heart that was a tangle of wires that crumbled as soon as I pulled it out."
Felix winces at the arm part, gaze flicking from it briefly to his own left hand, then back to the Adren, and he nods. "That must've hurt like a son of a bitch," he says. "That's a weird configuration... all kinda goo with an electronic heart in there. I don't understand how these things get designed. What kinda shit's it meant to be good at? Though, long's we can kill 'em I reckon it ain't really my problem if the designs don't make sense."
Reggie shrugs easily, points with his good hand towards the turkey, and says "Don't pluck it or prepare it". He waits a beat, then adds in a conciliatory undertone, "That means you can pluck it. Feel free to put in the work." He waves and exits the garage.