Who: Jack, Chris, Fallon, Salem, Mouse
What: Jack comes by the tenement, lounges about, gets asked to pack by Chris, and Fallon drugs them both. All in a day's work.

What's with all these people asking me to pack lately? Do I just give off cuddly family vibes or something? I ain't about to touch his pack with a ten foot pole, anyway.

Man, I still feel out of it. These... these are good, though. Real good. Almost don't want to shift. Though hell, it's not like I can half enjoy it with her poking and prodding at me, jesus.

Fallon oofs as she sets her bag of laundry down on a washing machine, chuckling to herself in the other room. "Oh, I'm sure you saw nothing, of course. I know you boys...I'm just lucky you didn't have a camera on hand, or I'd have to burn your face off." She takes this opportunity to button her coat up, leaving just her long, bare legs showing beneath the hem.

"I may not have a picture.. But I assure you, if I'd seen anything I'd treasure the memory of it forever." Is Chris's somewhat laconic reply as he leans back in his chair and lights up a smoke. Craning his neck slightly, but unable to get enough of an angle to follow those long bare legs as she heads into the laundry room. Disappointed, he blows a smoke ring. "So anyway.. Laundry aside, how goes things?"

There's keys turning in the lock, Jack's visible on the monitors, and a few moments later he pushes inside. He looks... hungover. Horribly so, really. And, while he's trying /not/ to favor his leg more than usual, he really is. Still, he doesn't seem particularly angry or grumbly or pissed; in fact, there's a faint undertone of something darkly pleased under his demeanor. Chris, being the only one he can see, is eyed and given a, "Yo," in greeting. He's not, at least, outwardly visibly injured, though he's perhaps a little ouchy.

Fallon begins sorting her clothes and sighs, a small laugh in her voice. "Of course you would," comes her reply from around the corner of the laundry room, "Which reminds me, I still owe you a birthday present. Any thoughts on that?" She peeks around the corner of the laundry room, folding a blouse as she looks to see who just came in. Her smile brightens, "Oh, hello Jack. Did you not have a good night?"

"Fallon, asking me a question like that with my mind the way it is right now, believe me.. you probably'd slap me for any suggestions I came up with." Chris's grin is still wide although it falters slightly as Jack limps on in. "Ey, Peg-leg. You look rough. Heard there was some excitement bawnside last night- you know anything abuot that?"

"Unless you count dyin' as a good time," Jack drawls to Fallon, heading straight over to the couch and taking a seat, lounging back into it a bit gingerly. He goes into his pocket for a new pack of cigarettes, getting the plastic off easily enough, shoves it back in, rattles around, and pulls out an object; white, gleaming, and sharp, it looks like the canine tooth of something like a bear. Or a crinos. It's held with two fingers, thumb pressed on the broken-off base. "Spirals out in th'woods."

Fallon frowns, concerned. "What? What happened?" She steps out of the laundry room, distracted from her current duties and goes to lean against the security desk. She sets the blouse down and crosses her arms in front of her, giving Chris a slightly exasperated look. "Well, when you think of something that you're not afraid to say, let me know, hmm?"

"Awww, fuck. Sorry to hear you got fucked up, man. You manage to rage back without bits falling off?" Is Chris's somewhat poorly crafted response to Jack's news. It's spoken in a genuinely concerned voice, however- suggesting verbal incompetence rather than piss-taking. "Thought we were about due another visit from the scummy cunts.. Fuck it. I was downtown last night. Missed it all." He then answers Fallon's question. "Hm. I dunno. How about dinner?" Is his final attempt at extricating himself from the situation.

"Ever come back without frenzying? The most fucked up feeling ever, still feel like I got rocks stuffed in my head." Jack snorts, still toying with the canine tooth with his free hand while he lights a cigarette with the other. "By th'way, you go out around th'railroad and down 22? Be careful as fuck for awhile, they got traps laid out everywhere." He drags on the cigarette, eyeing Chris. "Got a pretty scar from it. Sure it'll be all th'rage with the ladies." He snorts, sitting up a little straighter and finally answering them both. "Six of 'em, one popped umbral and got loose. No corpses but theirs."

Fallon chuckles at Chris, "Dinner, then." She turns her full attention on Jack now, brows pulling together. "Traps? What kind of traps? And what are the Spirals doing setting traps in someone else's territory?"

Okay, that wasn't the answer he was expecting. The ragabash suddenly grins, despite the dour topic of the other conversation. "Wow! Er.. sweet!" He interjects before putting his serious-face back on and looking to Jack. "Shit, they actually got onto the edges of the bawn and laid /traps/?" Chris looks both horrified and fascinated by this idea. "Fuck, I should get out there, see if I can find any. Might learn something as well as clean the place up."

Jack, not picking up things as quick as he otherwise might, arches a brow at this and seems a little lost for a moment, before he puts two and two together and just looks almost bemused, though the continuation sobers him a bit. "Ain't nothing too serious. Bear traps, wire traps, snares and shit. No silver, but they had a while to set up." That's dry. "You go out there, don't fuckin' go alone."

Fallon manages to ignore Chris' outburst, considering what Jack has to say, "Was it on the bawn? I was fairly certain the bawn had very serious wards on it to prevent that kind of thing. And what about the Garou that regularly patrol there? Aren't they responsible for making sure that things exactly like that don't happen?"

"Yeah.. That the fuckers were there long enough to set up traps.. that's worrying." Chris ponders. "Though that's right by the borderlands of it, not exactly in the heart.."

"Was on th'edges of the bawn, not on it. They must've been watching patrols or some shit, hell if I know." Indeed, Jack seems remotely annoyed. Tired, annoyed, hungover, and in pain. It's a wonderful combination, really. "Whatever it was, there were all Rite of Silence'd and shit. They were waiting."

Fallon matches Jack's level of annoyance almost perfectly, "But what to do next time? There must be a way to protect against this kind of thing happening again. Did someone just wander into their traps last night?"

"Trouble is, Fallon.. The bawn is huge, there aren't many of us and even fewer guardians." Chris growls. "And if they're outside the bawn.. that's even more ground to cover. Fuck." He sucks angrily on his cigarette, then has a sudden thought. "I'll say this though.. they're starting to fight smarter. Back at the start of this recent shit, it was just random attacks and incursions.. Could mean that they're feeling the squeeze we're putting on them?"

"Or could mean they're getting braver and learning where we can get hit the hardest," Jack says, flatly. "They have the balls to set up huge things like that now? Ain't sure that's so much of a step ahead." He glances over to Fallon, sitting up a little straighter with a bit of a wince that's muted. Oww. "Me'n Q were heading out, saw some shadows moving. There were a few others in the area, too. Followed 'em, tracked 'em, they did a call, fuckin' led all of us into traps they had set out."

Fallon snorts, "But to what end? A simple ambush? From the sound of it, they didn't even put a dent in our forces. All that effort for that small amount of gain...did they think they'd hurt us more?" She notes that wince and stands up, "Do you need some ice, Jack? I think I saw an ice machine in the laundry room."

"If it's an ambush that can kill any of us, that's still a dent. We don't exactly rebuild our ranks that quickly, Fallon." Chris comments. "Shit, we must've gotten lucky that Jack managed to claw his way back to this world and we didn't lose anyone else. They have /far/ greater numbers and shit."

"'m fine," Jack says, to Fallon, but then a beat later he dredges up a half-grin and says, "Unless you just want to play doctor." There's a bit of humor at that, though it fades rapidly enough as he takes a long drag off the cigarette, turning the crinos-tooth in his fingers absently. "Well," he says, "What if we hadn't been lucky and had a lot've us show up?" he points out. "If it'd just been me and Q out there? We would've been fucked. So they were probably hoping for less than six of /us/."

Fallon grunts as she heads over to the laundry room, "I would think the same could be said for them, Chris, unless they know a recruiting secret that we don't. They took a very dangrous, one-time risk, and paid the price for it. Blessed be Gaia's watch over us." She pauses at the doorway and turns a smile back at Jack, "Sorry, I don't have my stethoscope on me." Then she disappears, to finish sorting her clothes.

"They.. play by different rules, Fallon. Think metis. Fuckloads of them. Hell, I don't think I've ever even killed a BSD that went back to homid or lupus form after. Lot easier to get fighters when you can just hothouse them like that." Chris shudders, and then leans forwards to kill his smoke in an ashtray on the table. "Ah well.. Our counter strike's gotta be going in soon. Time for some fucking payback."

"Damn," Jack says to Fallon as she disappears, and then glances back to Chris. "They got more metis. But they got plenty've others. Two were lupes last night, couple homids, couple metis." He rolls a stiff shoulder, and finally leans up with a wince to put out the cigarette.

Fallon finishes sorting her laundry and puts a load of whites into the washing machine. She glances back at the door for a moment...pondering the possibilities. Then she goes over and shuts the door to the laundry room. Removing her jacket, the kin strips out of her shorts and t-shirt, tossing them into the washing machine as well before replacing the jacket. With a smirk, she starts the machine, then heads back out into the lobby, her coat buttoned from collar to hem.

"Not saying they ain't got others, just that they got fuckloads more metis than we do. And all the one's I've ended up scrapping with have been mules." Chris shrugs. "You want some pot or anything to take the soreness off, Jack? I got some vicodin stashed upstairs too." He adds, before giving Fallon a smile as she reenters. "Hell, got enough for everyone who wants a share.." He pulls out a pouch from a pant's pocket and begins almost automatically rolling a joint.

"I've got morphine," Jack says with a bit of a lazy drawl. "Just running upstairs and getting it ain't sounding too exciting right now." Fallon gets eyed for a moment as she returns, but his gaze eventually returns to Chris. "You heard /anything/ about when the scouting's going off?"

Fallon eyes Jack right back, her face the perfect picture of 'What? I didn't do anything.' She shoves her hands in her coat pocket, her curiousity piqued again. "Scouting?" She shakes her head at Chris' offer. "No thank you, not while I'm doing laundry. They say you shouldn't operate heavy machinery under the influence."

"Not had a goddamned word, Jack. Not a word." The frustration in Chris's voice is plainly audible. "Yeah.. BSD hive that's forming up; it's the source of our immediate problems. A load of us raggies are heading out at some point in the near future to scout it, in preparation for assault. Buuuuut.. things seem to be in limbo. Fuckin' sucks." He rolls a joint for himself anyway. "I'm getting itchy goddamned feet waiting to take the fight to the bastards." He eyes Fallon a little more closely due to her hugely innocent expression, mystified slightly.

A draft comes in through an open window and makes the bottom of Fallon's coat flutter wildly. She throws her hands down on the flapping fabric, blushing wildly. "Ummm, excuse me." She scurries quickly back into the laundry room, locking the door behind her.

"Fucking just need to get--" And then, Fallon scurries, and Jack eyes the poor woman as she disappears, an actual grin quirking across his features as he takes a long drag off the cigarette. It's only after the smoke is exhaled and the door is slammed shut that he says to Chris, "/Damn/."

The ragabash lifts his hand as Fallon turns to run, his eyes hopelessly locked on her like a deer in headlights. Once she's gone, he turns back to Jack. "Damn indeed.." The now completed joint is lifted to his lips and sparked as he tries to regain some composure.

Jack lounges back again after actually snuffing out the cigarette, which is nearly burned into the filter. "Now /that/," he muses, looking over the crinos-tooth in his hand, "Is what makes you glad that you don't bite it for good." It's dry and with a certain amount of humor. He seems remarkably unaffected for this 'almost dying' thing, really.

"Yeah.. Damn. Hope I can grab that dinner-date with her before the scouting goes down. I'd hate to run the risk of a horrible death without a chance to try and get into her pants beforehand." Chris sucks on the joint slowly, before offering it across to the battered philodox.
Fallon has partially disconnected.

"Already feel like 'm half drugged already," Jack admits, declining the offer. He leans into the arm of the couch, still rotating the tooth in between two fingers. At the other words, however, he looks almost vaguely amused. "Don't you got a girl?" This doesn't seem like a particular point of moral contention for him, but, well.

"Yeah, funny story, that. I thought I did have one. But then she stopped returning my calls or arranging to meet up, around the end of July. You know all those messages I left her on the night of my 18th? Y'know, that supposedly most-important birthday and shit? Never even got a reply. Not even a text. I know she's alive- like, not disappeared or nothing; she's kinda locally famous and it'd have made the news. But aside from that, she avoids me. So I'm guessin' if Nani don't want me, then there's nothing in my way."

Jack snorts, tipping the canine toward the ragabash. "And that," he says, flatly, "Is why I don't do relationships. Shit like that happens, and all it does is make people miserable." That's said in a bit of a devil may care fashion, and he resumes slowly rotating the tooth in his fingers. "And in this sort've life, you ain't got time to be miserable."

"Would've been coming up on a year now, come halloween." Chris grunts. "Or at least, that's the night we sorta became a couple, Nani and I. We'd been fucking all summer, but we made it official." A wicked grin appears on his face. "Ended up fuckin' her up against the side of the barn at the old farmhouse.. Like, half the sept was listening. Got the biggest thumbs-up from the Fianna elder when I went back in." His face lightens some at the happier memory, before he shrugs. "But yeah.. She don't want any more of me, hell, I've gotta get past the human shit of sobbing about it forever."

Jack quirks a brow upward, a bit impassively, but he does listen. "'til she comes back, and you'll take her back," he says in a mild observance, tipping the tooth back in Chris's direction. It's matter of fact. "She'll get pissed, you'll get pissed, but if she's as hot as you say she is, well." He rolls a shoulder. He doesn't really say it in any sort of judgmental tone, though really any one emotion is hard to pick out from him anyway. "But, shit, have fun 'til then. Ain't worth dyin' wishing you'd done somehin' else."

"She's so hot, she's probably got someone else already, dude. She fucked like, half the tribe before settling down with me, you realise? Maybe the old ways returned." Though Chris speaks with anger, there's a look in his eyes that recognises the probable truth in what Jack is saying. "But what the fuck. I guess it's time to just live for the moment, y'know? State of war and everything. Tin hats, keep on smiling, business as usual and all that." His voice growing considerably 'posher' for the last sentence, making a cultural reference that's about six thousand miles out of place.

Indeed, it flies right over his uncultured head, but, hey. Jack shifts his weight, propping one booted foot up on the table - his left - and with a wince props the other up to join it. He's stiff and sore, and it shows. "You convincing yourself or me?" he wonders after a moment, looking faintly bemused. "'cause if you're convincing me, you're preaching to the choir."

A long drag is taken off the joint, Chris falling silent in thought. "Figuring that out, that's the hard part." He eventually admits, and then shrugs. "Fuck. I need to kill something, I think. Too much time thinking, not enough fighting."

"Fighting's always good. 'specially when you come dragging back in and get a couple chicks falling over you wanting to help." Jack quirks a wry half-grin, but then he knocks it off and goes in his pocket for cigarettes, again. "Lot've shit been going down recently. Knocked off a leech the other night, and now this shit in the woods. Been good for killin' stress, but jesus." That last part is a bit dry, and he lights up.

"Yeah.. I've just been tied up totally with Bobby, recently. Kid's good, but he's a goddamned handful. And when I've not been with /him/ I've been out trying to get my pack's fucking territory cleared out and delineated. Dammit. I need more folk- we used to be the biggest pack in the goddamned city." Chris shakes his head. "That shit just gets in the way of a good scrap."

"Kid needs to get out on the streets," says Jack from around the cigarette. "Needs to figure out shit, how to live out there. As it is right now a damn sewer rat'd have him for breakfast." At the latter, he merely eyes Chris neutrally. "Pack fallin' apart?"

"Not so much fell apart, as shrank. We sorta had two factions in it- urbanites and wilder ones. Kaz was our alpha, but she hadta leave when she got the Sept Alpha position. She's forming up a new pack, and took Zeke and Morgan with her. Right now it's myself, Kevin, Reggie and Aubrey- though she's secluded herself away to have a kid right now. We kinda had two blocs of territory- we run the riverside part of town, all the way down. We also got Arthur Island, out bawnside. So we were sort of forced to be split. I've decided we're gonna cede the Island, so we can focus on the city and be a tighter group. Not so spread out." Chris takes one more hit, then kills the joint. "Besides, we're gonna be playing more to our strengths. We're sneaky fuckers, and our totem's Raccoon, who makes us yet more so. Urban guerrillas for the win." He tails off. "Talking of which.. you ever hear of Dies Ultimae?

Jack arches a brow up to Chris. "'course," the philodox replies to the latter, taking a drag off the cigarette and finally folding his fingers around the tooth, hiding it in the palm of his hand. "Had a faction of 'em up at the Orchid."

"We have none down here. More's the pity. It's a faction I want to hook up with. I hear about them, I identify, y'know? Vendetta would fit in well, and I like their tactics." Chris shrugs. "I dunno. I guess I just want to change things up some. War ain't being fought right in this town, sometimes. Now I got turf to run, can try and bring something of that into it."

"They're crazy fucks," Jack says, but it doesn't seem like so much of a bad thing. "They got a trigger-happy streak a mile wide, but fuck if they ain't good to have on your side." He shifts his weight, sitting up a bit and eyeing Chris. "Old place was small. Factions, see, were /family/. You needed 'em. In a sept this big, you got something of everything. Ain't bad."

"Use of shockingly overwhelming and probably disproportianate levels of force at suitable junctures is something of a stylistic trademark of mine. Y'can sort of see the attraction they hold for me." He shakes out a normal cigarette and places it in his mouth, lighting up. "Yeah, I guess. Here, our packs tend t'fill the same hole, maybe? I mean, we all have such strong 'themes' to 'em all. If that makes sense." Yep, someone's stoned now. "Y'should give Vendetta a think if you're ever getting past the 'no packs, rar' thing, man. Yeah, you're an asshole. But so am I, you're my kind of asshole, and you get shit done."

"I fell in with th'Wise Guys," Jack says in reply, fingers finding the canine tooth and coming up with it again. "Been trained with 'em since I was a cub." Those last words of Chris's earn him a look, and he doesn't react for a moment, instead turning that tooth casually, using his thumb to slowly rotate it between his fingers. "Funny that people want me because I'm a jackass. Seems kinda counter to the norm, eh?" He looks up to Chris at that, both brows casually arching up. Still, he says, evenly and flatly, "But. I don't pack."

"Birds of a feather, man. I couldn't hack hanging around with some coggie-like hugs-and-butterscotch hippy mr friendly type for long. Give me a bitter, twisted son of a bitch who gets shit done anytime. And yeah, I kinda figured that the Wise Guys were your scene." He drags on his cigarette, leaning his head back to gaze at the ceiling. "I know, I know. But y'know. If you ever should change your mind on that juncture, Vendetta'd be fucking glad to have you."

Jack looks amused for whatever reason, looking over to the tooth in his hand, running his thumb up the smooth side of it. "I'll keep it in mind," he drawls finally, looking over to Chris, though it's utterly noncommittal. Apparently, he doesn't exactly anticipate changing his mind. "I ain't never packed before. And with you complaining how much crap you're having to handle while packed?" A brow arches marginally as if that makes a point.

Fallon comes out of the laundry room, finally. She's shed her coat and is wearing a light, form-fitting turtleneck sweater and tan capris along with her heels from before. She looks much more relaxed now, and has taken the time to comb her hair and put it back in a loose ponytail. In the background the washing machine is still running as the kin leans up against the wall unobtrusively, just listening to the conversation for now.

"Meh, that's standard 'time of changes' shit. New leader, changing territory.. Though more bodies'd make it easier." Chris shrugs. "I wasn't born to be a salesman, anyway. Offer remains open." He straightens up a little and then grins, throwing a lazy wave her way as Fallon reenters the room. The smell of burned weed is still rather strong, and the ragabash a little glassy eyed. "Hey, again."

As Chris looks over toward Fallon, Jack does as well, and he gives her a, "Yo," as well. He hasn't moved since she left. It hurts to move. To Chris, he finally says, "Ain't nothin' personal. I just don't pack." Matter-of-fact and frank, as per usual.

Fallon wrinkles her nose at the smell, but the smile doesn't leave her face. "Hey boys, having fun?" She says to Jack specifically, "Is the pot helping the pain at all?"

"Moody bitch didn't wanna have any." Is Chris's comment as he continues on smoking. "But that's okay. I smoked enough for the both of us instead. So things are fun, for a given value of fun." He pats the couch near him. "Yer laundry done? Then no need t'worry about heavy machinery use if I roll us up another. How 'bout it?"

"'scuse me if biting it tends to make my head a little foggy without, y'know, adding to it," Jack replies, with just a quirk of an edge, which is a bit odd, as normally such comments tend to roll off him easier than that. "'m fine," he says to Fallon.

Fallon laughs at Chris' logic, "Actually, I have a few more loads to do. But I may toke up anyways soon, I'll let you know." She still looks worriedly at Jack, "Well, if you like I have a few painkillers in my purse. They're about as powerful as morphine when it comes to knocking out pain, but also directly stimulates seratonin production at a roughly equal magnitude. I hear they're good times, if nothing else."

"Yeah, you died. You're walking around to bitch about it- it ain't so bad. Just pop some painkillers and drift off, man. Y'don't need to be walking around if you're still fucked up from it." He tails off as Fallon describes the pills she offers. "Holy shit.. if he doesn't want 'em, mind if I could snag a couple?"

There's a little spark of something that flares up at that. He rolls the tooth into his palm, fingers closing around it. "Yeah, s'pose you wouldn't know," he says, with a definite edge under those words, but he remains relaxed back. Jack's gaze goes up to Fallon, a definite touch of irriation there, but it's not directed at the woman. "Darlin', you'd be a lifesaver."

Fallon smiles at Jack, letting that glare just roll off her back, and rolls her eyes at Chris. She heads back into the laundry room and comes out a moment later, tapping out two pills into her palm. They're circular, and are about the size of an Advil, with a generic powder pill coating on them. She hands one to Jack. The other one she holds out to Chris before pulling her hand back at the last second and pointing a finger in his face. "Only if you promise me to shift and wait 5 minutes before going outside, after you take this. I don't want you doing whatever it is you Garou do on a happiness overdose out in public."

"Died and came back twice, myself. So yeah.. I do know how much it fucking sucks. It's just better than well.. dying and staying dead." Chris replies- not without sympathy. He grins to Fallon however, taking hold of the pill. "Oh, I'll save it for a special occasion. Heh. Though I don't think we g'roo do anything out of the normal when we're too happy. We more specialise in 'too angry'."

Jack leans up with a bit of effort to take the pill in his hand. A drag is taken off the cigarette, and then he snuffs it out while he's sitting up, grimacing a little and exhaling a breath as he leans back. Ow. "Thanks," he says, to Fallon, and apparently isn't too bothered by experimentation; he pops it down with the experience of someone who's taken quite a number of pills dry. And then, all that's left is to lounge back and wait for it to kick in, but he says in a dry reply to Chris, "Angry happy. Damn straight."

Fallon eyes Chris doubtfully, "If anyone asks, you didn't get it from me. Unless they're willing to buy some, then you can give them my number." She smirks, though, "Well, I'm hoping that this won't send you into shock from endorphine overload, so it's a good thing you can shift, hmm? And anything is a good change from 'too angry' from what I hear."

"Yeah, standard drill and all." Chris secretes it someplace around his person and then goes back to rolling the joint he was working on, sealing it closed with a lick and slipping it between his lips before sparking up. After the first couple of hits, it's handed across to offer to the kinwoman.

"You sell?" Jack asks of the kinswoman with an arch of a brow, settling back into the couch in his previous 'I'm not moving unless the apocalypse happens in the next ten minutes' manner.

Fallon eyes the doobie dubiously, but shrugs and and takes it between her fingers. She puffs twice on it, holding in her breath and passing it back to Chris. The kin coughs mightily, pressing the crook of her elbow against her mouth as her lungs try to force the tar and burning ash out. She nods to Jack, her eyes watering, "Yeah..." she squeaks out, her coughs settling down, "Currently looking for a buyer, too, since *cough* my last deal fell through."

Taking another hit with far more smoothness than Fallon managed, Chris exhales a plume of grey smoke, then grins. "Still on the lookout for acid and RCs, if any of those come your way, myself. Cash or favours, 's all good.."

The door leading to the basement stairs opens. Jack Salem is humming under his breath. Maybe the same thing he was humming the night Jeff started on his Rite of Passage. Maybe something completely different. In either case, the man seems to be in a good mood.
"I wouldn't mind havin' a decent supplier. The guy I'm workin' with right now is flaky as shit." This is said after a moment to Fallon, and Salem's approach is eyed with a, "Yo." He takes in a breath and exhales it slowly, however, relaxing a fraction more, fingers loosening around the white canine crinos-tooth as he resumes toying with it. "Stuff works fast," he comments offhandedly to the kinswoman.

Fallon takes a deep breath and smirks at Chris, "I'll see what I can do. Really, Jack? You deal?" She looks over at Salem and smiles broadly at him, "Ahh, hello Salem. How goes the effort to keep the Tenement from crumbling around our ears." Looking back at Jack, she chuckles, "That it does. It might be good that you're sitting down." She sits down on the coffeetable and leans in slightly, watching his eyes closely. "And how would you say you're feeling right now? On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being no change, and 10 being "Holy crap, Rapture"?"

Salem raises an eyebrow. "Market testing?" He hooks his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and ambles over slowly, head tilting to take in the three, both individually and as a whole.

"Oh, hey Jack.. Er.. other Jack." Chris gives a lazily stoned wave to the older Walker, before Fallon's words get his attention. "This thing gives you rapture? Holy shit, okay. Forget saving it for a special occasion." He pulls the pill out of his pocket, flicks it a couple of feet in the air with a snap of his thumb and then catches it in his mouth. The little showoff.

"Yeah, I--" Jack starts to answer the first question, but waves it off as an annoyance to answer later. "Fuck, ask me later." He lounges, shifting up to shift his weight slightly, giving a lazy grin over toward Fallon - it's the sort that he doesn't exactly give very often. "Forget numbers; more like I think 'm in love with you for giving me this shit." He gives the hand with the tooth a lazy gesture, waving off the thought and apparently content to just shut up and enjoy it for now.

Fallon glances back at Salem distractedly, "Human trials, first phase. Well...Garou trials, but same diff." Chris' antics get a laugh from her, "And we now have doubled our sample size." The kin flicks her finger at Chris and at the spot on the couch beside Jack. "Sit," she commands. The kin makes a mental note of Jack's answer, then stands up and heads over to the security desk. After a little rifling around, she comes back with a pencil and a pad of paper. Glancing at her watch, the kin starts scribbling furiously on the pad. "You don't say?" she comments, a little distractedly.

"Hmmm." Salem's expression is mixed -- a little curious, a little amused, a little concerned. "Who's on guard duty, then?" He glances toward the front door, then at the kin and her two lab roaches.

Long distance to the room: Jack should say that Jack's pretty wounded; though all the wounds are covered up under his clothes and he's just sitting unmovingly on the couch. So it'd probably not be too noticeable. But, yea, just OOC info.

Chris had remained sitting throughout, and instead just tilts his head back, still sucking on the joint he previously lit up- though it's waved in the direction of all the others, in a clear gesture of invitation. He seems slightly blissed out now, already. All is rosy in his world. "We got cover from the cameras, and first bad shit goes down, I'm fit, shifted and sober inside o'five seconds." Chris taps the monitor resting on the table. "Anything gonna take less time than that to get through the door, well those couple of seconds ain't gonna be useful for doing much stone cold sober.

Jack eyes Fallon, wagging the tooth at her. "You're writin' my secrets down, I should charge for that." Otherwise, he just lounges, head resting back against the couch cushion.

Fallon smirks at the both of them and just continues scribbling notes. After a moment, she stands and leans over Jack, pushing his head back and lifting up his eyelids with her thumb. She does the same thing to Chris, saying to him, "Same question, Chris."

Fallon smirks at the both of them and just continues scribbling notes. After a moment, she stands and leans over Jack, reaching out her hand to push his head back. "Let's see those pupils..."

Salem's face tightens as Chris speaks. Unamused, he stalks over and reaches out to snatch the joint out of the Ragabash's hand. "I thought you knew better than that."

Jack shifts away from the kinswoman's hand, reaching his own hand up to ward off hers. "Save th'clinical shit for later," he says, in a voice that might be gruff otherwise but just comes off as a bit of a complaint right now. However, there's also no sign that he'll actually relent, either. Chris and Salem get glanced to, as well, though he says nothing.

Fallon gives Jack a dirty look, but moves on to Chris anyways, reaching out to do the same. "Same question, Chris," she says, "1 to 10, and all that jazz."

From afar, to the room, Fallon had to insert that, so it won't take a whole round to get her inspecting Chris.

Chris lets out a slight growl as Salem stalks over to him, sitting up straighter. "Back off. The monitors are watched, this shit doesn't make you sleepy either." He doesn't fight the stealing of his joint, however. "We're as secure as we ever are when people are behind the monitor." He lifts a hand to hold Fallon back for a moment, away from Salem.

Fallon looks even more annoyed as she's rejected from the inspection of her other guinea pig. Snorting in irritation, she sits herself back down on the coffee table, glancing up at Salem over her glasses. "Is there a problem?" she asks, crossing one leg over the other and lacing her fingers over the pad of paper.

Salem stares down at Chris, upper lip lifting slightly to display teeth. "Secure my ass. First of all, the cameras are less effective after dark. Second and more importantly, cameras can be bypassed. They are /machines/. /Tools/. They are not infallible and they are /certainly/ not as effective as the brain and senses that Gaia gave you." He snaps off his words, making them crisp and curt, though his temper seems well-leashed. Without looking away from Chris, he licks his fingers, extinguishes the joint, and drops it into the breast pocket of his t-shirt. Fallon is ignored for the moment.

Jack has nothing to add. He's currently thoroughly relaxed, though an eye is kept on the pair.

The ragabash's rage flares briefly, and a savage reply forms on his lips- and is then left unspoken as suddenly the world seems just a lot.. nicer. Not distorted, just not as full of frustrations- the boredom of a long shift on guard, missing out on the fight the previous evening, even dealing with a pissed off Jack Salem- suddenly they all seem less stressful. He's quiet for a moment, then lifts his hands. "Yeah, guess you're right. Whatever. My ass has been stuck behind the camera for like, the past six hours. I'm gonna go take a walkabout the block, see what I can see with those senses, then go off-shift." He looks to Fallon. "Oh, and I'd put it at about a six or so. No effects on coordination or anything like that. Change the setting and we'd be looking at a hard eight or nine." He rises to his feet- and indeed, his movement does seem unimpaired.

Fallon's gaze brightens and she stands with him, "Really? Just one moment, please..." She puts out one hand on his shoulder to stop him. She quickly holds up her pencil and moves it back and forth in front of Chris' eyes, pulling it away after only a few moments and stepping away, a smirk on her face. "Eyes still track well, movement doesn't seem impaired...this is good! Come back as soon as you can if you start to lose lucidity." She seems unperturbed that he's disobeying her rules about not going outside while under the influence.

Salem shakes his head and mutters something in a slavic language before going to check the monitors himself. He glances up briefly at Fallon. Calmly but firmly, he says, "In future, miss, it would be better if you not perform your 'trials' on those who are on-duty." He eyeballs Jack sidelong for a fraction of a second, then turns his mismatched gaze back to the kin.

The eyeballing is met by an arched brow, though really Jack doesn't seem to have much attachment to what just took place, for better or worse.

"Call me so we can fix a time for dinner, Fallon, yeah?" Chris calls back over his shoulder as he heads on out of the door. He seems steady enough on his feet. "And I'll keep you posted with a full trip-report if you're gone by the time I get back, yeah?"

Fallon nods solemnly at Salem's comment, "In my defense, Salem, my subject group was originally limited to Jack over here. It was on impulse, I imagine, that Chris added himself to the study." She glances over at Chris as he leaves, giving him a sweet smile before he heads out the door, "I'll call you tomorrow night, okay? We'll arrange something then." With Chris gone, she focuses her attention on Jack now, ducking her head down to look into his eyes. "Still the same has before, or has the euphoria increased."

"And you don't think that your results would be skewed by the fact that he was smoking marijuana before taking your little pill?" Salem settles himself into an armchair and pulls out a very ordinary pack of Camels. As he taps it against the palm of his hand, he looks at the kin. "What the hell are you up to?" As harsh as his words are, his voice remains calm. Stern, but calm.

Jack just gives Fallon a lazy thumbs-up. "'m good," he says, even quirking a half-grin. He doesn't make the best guinea pig in the world.
Fallon chuckles, "Definitely. While I would have prefered a more pure addition to my sample, all data is useful and should be recorded." At Jack's laconic response, she makes a short note and asks again, "And what about your pain?" After she writes down his answer, the kin sets the pad aside, standing up with a stretch. "The very mellow Walker you see before you," she starts, putting on her presentation voice, "Is the first end-user of an anaesthetic drug I've developed, specifically for the use of Garou who have just suffered severe battlewounds and need a little assistance in resisting the effects of a Rage-induced frenzy. Numbing shock-level pain and providing a surge of seratonin and dopamine seemed the most straightforward and effective methods."

Mouse can be heard on the stairs before she's seen, even with the door closed. The reason for this appears to be that she is, quite /literally/, whistling Dixie. Apparently the stairwell echoes some.

Salem reacts to Fallon's explanation with a grimace of distaste. "And the side effects?" He sets a cigarette between his lips, sets the rest of the pack down on the coffee table. His lighter is a buffed chrome color, clearly /not/ disposable.

"Still got some here'n there, but it ain't bad, ain't bad at all." Jack resumes lounging. He's also got a long canine tooth of what could be a bear (or a crinos) that he's absently toying with.

Fallon frowns at Jack's response, underlining something. "How would you say the pain has changed? Has it become duller? Has the area that the pain is localized in shrunk?" She turns her attention to Salem again, "That's what these trials are for. If my did my job right, Jack should come away from this with nothing more than mild withdrawl symptoms, as his body recovers from the overload of seratonin. However, practice often works very different from theory, as I'm sure you know..." The kin looks up and offers Mouse a smile, "Hello, Miss Mouse. How are you?"

Mouse blinks as she pushes through the stairway door, confronted right away with kin greetings. "Oh, hey." There are a few lines under her eyes, and she seems to be biting back an immediate yawn. "What's up?"

Salem exhales a breath of smoke. "Fallon's busily creating Soma, Fallout here is playing lab rat, and Chris thinks that being stoned is perfectly acceptable when on guard duty." He stretches out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. "In short, a typical evening." Sarcastic much?

"'bout the same as it usually is when I take morphine," Jack says with a shrug. Tolerance much? "'s good, don't worry about it." He lifts a hand and waves the tooth - which is caught between two fingers - at Mouse.

Fallon hmmmms and writes down "equiv. to morphine??" underlineunderline, then drops herself onto the couch beside Jack. "Hey, if you want to use my products as a form of mind-control, that's none of my business."

A single eyebrow arches high, while Mouse's opposite eye squints. "Uh...huh. Okay, /nooo/. That's definitely a no. Especially since our friends seem to be getting /antsy/." She meanders across the room, picks a seat that hasn't yet been taken, and flops into it. Then she pulls the laptop toward her just enough so that she can see the video feed.

Salem squints a bit at Fallon. "If you like, Dr. Oppenheimer." He shifts his weight and looks away from her and toward Mouse. And he takes another drag off his cigarette.

Jack glances sideways at Fallon as she sits next to him, arching a brow a little, but he only glances toward Mouse. And, suddenly remembers something; "Oh, shit, yeah. Ruth? Coggie. Been looking for you. Says she's offerin' to help you with talens." His voice is, actually, moderately conversational. The drug must be working.

Fallon gives Salem a wide grin, looking very pleased at that moniker. She turns and says to Jack, "I think now's the time to shift up. Here...look at me a second before you do that..." She looks in his eyes and does the eye-tracking trick again, "Stop glaring and open your eyes...wider..." She checks her watch and jots down a few more notes before leaning back against the couch, satisfied. "Alright, go ahead."

Mouse eyes Fallon sidelong, a faint tic in her cheek, followed by yet another eyebrow raising. After a moment she stuffs a hand into a side pocket, fishing around for what is revealed to be a rather battered pack of cigarettes.

Jack leans away from Fallon a bit, giving her a Look with a brow arched. "How 'bout, y'know, since I currently ain't /feeling/ the fact that I had dancer claws stuck in me last night, I /don't/ shift up and /keep/ feeling that way?" Hmph.

Salem's jaw clenches; the scarred ex-Ahroun radiates tension. He eyeballs Fallon as though she'd just sprouted a carapace and a few extra pairs of eyes. Like she'd just turned into something slimy and alien that really ought to be stepped on. His gaze shifts to Mouse.

Fallon raises her eyebrows at Jack, turning her look Mouse and then to Salem, catching that glare with consternation. Her jaw works in thought, "I'm sorry...did I misinterpret Mouse's comment earlier? I got the impression you wanted the experiment to end."

Mouse calmly sticks a cigarette into her mouth, produces a lighter, and lights it. She puffs for a few moments, before saying, a little dryly, "That was a little creepy, Fallon." Puff.

Jack lounges back again, hand absently going in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, still eyeing Fallon for a moment, but he seems sated for now. And distracts himself with getting a cigarette free.

Salem adds to Mouse's comment with a muttered, "Just a bit."

Fallon looks a little ashamed at that and gives Mouse a small shrug, shrinking into the cushions slightly. "Ahhh, I'm sorry. When there's data to be collected, I sometimes forget where I am." Noting Jack going for his pack of cigs, she looks between Mouse and Salem, and a thought comes to her. "Is it a rule that all Walker Garou need to smoke?"

"Yep," Mouse replies, without missing a beat. "And I mostly meant the whole beaming at Oppenheimer thing. I mean, s'cool you're into your work and all, but caution doesn't hurt. /Anyway/, so Jack, you too stoned to tell me your part of what happened last night?"

The cigarette is parked on his lip and lit lazily with a disposable green plastic lighter. Both pack and lighter are left in his lap, and he drags on the cigarette before answering, "Me'n Q were headed down--" He waves a hand to indicate a general 'down there', "And we saw shit moving. Shadows. Followed it, met up with some others, some howls went up. They pulled us in, me'n Q and th'big coggie metis followed one of 'em out. Ran into some traps, bear traps and shit, and I got into a bit've a brawl. Got him, he got me, all fun shit." That's a bit dry despite the drugs, and he shrugs. "Few more went down with Ringtone's group. We got three in ours."

Salem ignores Fallon's question about the smoking habits of Glass Walkers. Fallout's story definitely helps to distract his attention away from the kin, even if it does make his brows furrow and his frown deepen.

Fallon ahhs and chuckles, slightly, "Oh no, I was more impressed that someone in this sept is educated on their historical scientists, being one myself." She sits back and stays silent for the moment, the kin making an effort to be unobtrusive on the proceedings.

Mouse listens to the recitation as well, and none of it seems to surprise her. "Mmmn." Deep conversation from her end. "How bad are you messed up?"

So much for ignoring; Salem shoots Fallon another look, quick and sharp. Then he shifts his attention away, splitting it between Fallout and the monitors.

"Ain't bad. Be a few days 'til I'm up, but I've already been healed." Jack drags on the cigarette, gesturing absently down to the general area around his torso. "Should see the scar I came away with, it's all sorts of pretty." That's a bit dry, but he doesn't sound angry about it. "Only corpses were theirs."

Fallon looks up as Salem shoots a glance at her, and she returns it with one of injured pride. At that moment, a buzzer goes off in the laundry room, and the kin looks up. "Oh right, I have laundry. Excuse me, sorry to interrupt." She stands, gathering up her notes and preparing to leave the room.

Mouse glances toward Fallon, and then back to Jack. "I heard one of them got away."

"They thought it might've gone umbral," Jack replies. "I didn't see that one."

Salem takes another drag off his cigarette, listening with half an ear.

Mouse's voice takes on just the faintest hint of an edge. "Unless it's left the area, I want it found. Anyone notified the Warder about this yet, do you know?"

Fallon scurries quietly away to the laundry room, mind abuzz with the excitement of new data to analyze and apply as soon as she gets back to her lab.

Fallon pages to the room: Thanks for the RP, everyone. Sorry Fallon was so offputting...she gets like that when there's research to be done.
Jack doesn't sound like he exactly disagrees, though the drugs are muffling any of his own tension. "Ain't sure," he admits. "There was a wendigo there." He shifts his weight to lean heavier on the arm of the couch, thumb touching against his temple. "There're people out there cleaning up th'rest of the traps. --that's another thing, they put enough traps out there to trip up th'whole sept." That is, by his tone, an obvious exaggeration, but. "They spent /time/."

Salem scowls. "How the hell did they /get/ the time?" His gaze flicks from Jack to Mouse and back again. "How far into the bawn was this?"
Fallon has disconnected.

Mouse's lips go very thin, and it's obvious from her expression that she's got the same question as Salem.

Jack rolls a shoulder to the first question, and lifts a brow to the second. "Wasn't. Just off it, out on--" He catches for a moment, "--near th'tracks. Out by 22."

Salem shakes his head and gets up. "I'm going to patrol. Cameras aren't picking up shit anymore." That, and he's clearly tense as hell and restless as same. He looks at Mouse. "You all right here?"

"What're you doing with those traps you're finding?" Mouse asks, and there's just the faintest change in her posture. Salem distracts her for a moment. She glances toward him, nods once. "Oh sure, I'm good. Watch yourself out there."

"Yo, I'm done with Q, so I'll stop by sometime soon," says Jack as Salem starts to leave. Mouse gets regarded; "I didn't go in with th'cleanup crew last night, so I ain't sure. Stacey was th'one calling shots."

Salem takes a moment to duck down into his apartment and grab his coat -- a battered black leather duster which looks like it's been mended and re-mended a few dozen times. He lifts a hand in farewell as he heads out.

Mouse, at that, begins fishing for her cell phone with a tiny amount of urgency, though not the sort that suggests some sort of catastrophe. More, it's a small amount of restrained energy that she's clearly holding in. She starts dialing.

Jack lounges back and merely drags on his cigarette as the phone comes out, uninterrupting.

"Hey," Mouse says into the phone. "It's Mouse. Listen, you know those traps you mentioned you guys ran into last night? If you could pass on to whoever is doing clean-up, that if they got any relatively portable, still functional and intact ones, I would /love/ to get my hands on 'em. I'm thinking specifically the bear traps."

A brow lifts in mild interest, though Jack stays quiet.

Mouse pauses for a moment, before speaking again, "Don't strain yourself, Kavi. It's just an idea popped into my head. But if you could pass it on to whoever is out there, especially Stacey." Another pause. "Thanks. Take care."

After Mouse clicks off the phone, Jack asks, "What've you got in mind?"

Mouse tucks the phone away and looks up. There's a grim little light dancing in her eyes. "Well, you know. Stacey and them were talking about doing raids and shit against the Dancers. Ambushes of our own. I figured, since they were so nice and all to provide us with traps, premade and prebought, we might as well be just as nice and make them /nastier/, and then /give them back/."

Jack rotates the tooth that he still has between two fingers, pointing it toward Mouse in an absent gesture, and he actually quirks a small grin; it's not an oft-found expression. "Now -that-," the drugged philodox drawls, "Sounds /brilliant/."

Mouse's mouth turns up ever so faintly just at the corners. "So yeah, I was asking Kavi to pass along that I'd like to see if we can salvage any of it."

"Cool," says Jack. "There's plenty of 'em." And then, after a pause, "You get what I said b'fore about Ruth?"

Mouse nods once. "Yeah, I did. I'm gonna need to start drawing up a list, and then poking people about what they're doing in /specific/, I think. So we'll have an inventory when it comes time for the actual fighting."

The tooth is looked to and turned over carefully, examined. "Another came by, too. Michelle?" Jack sounds vaguely doubtful at the name, but not so much so as to not hazard a guess. "People're getting restless, too. Ready to get something done. And this ain't gonna quiet them down." That's matter of fact, both brows arched a bit. "Is the scouting group going out soon?"

"Soon," Mouse says with a nod. "Yeah, Michelle I've talked to. And trust me, folks aren't the only ones that are restless. But we've got to do this /right/, so we've got to be ready. Won't be much longer now."

Jack gives a nod and seems satisfied by that. However, he shifts his weight up a bit, looking momentarily uncomfortable though whatever haze he's in. "They had some hard hitters there last night," he finally says, a tad gruffly, and just shakes his head, taking a long drag off the cigarette. "Was stupid. Got careless. Got too fuckin' single-minded." Just what he's talking about isn't clear, but, well.

Mouse tilts her head very slightly, studying the philodox. "You or them?" she asks.

Jack rotates the tooth in his fingers, looking almost bemused by the question. Or, at least, relaxed. "Both, maybe," he answers at length.

Mouse says nothing, but there's a very obvious question in her eyes and her expression, even as she reaches to fish for another cigarette.

The tooth does another full rotation before he drags his attention off it, closing it in his palm and finally reaching over to drop it in his front pocket. "Lesson learned: don't be a moron. Dying sucks." It seems that obvious question goes unnoticed or just unanswered, as he takes another drag and leans over with a bit of a wince as a twinge works through the painkills as he snuffs out the cigarette in the ashtray.

"Sounds like a good lesson," Mouse agrees. She lights up, and gestures toward the laptop with the hand holding her lighter. "'F you could, pass along recreational stuff while on guard duty should be avoided. I know it sucks, but I'd rather be a buzzkill than have people get killed because of slowed reaction times."

Jack waves a hand. "No, it was stupid. I should've said something about it to begin with." He seems mildly put off with himself regarding this, but it passes quickly enough, and he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "I already butted heads with 'em not long ago about his handling've that damn cub. He don't seem to think past th'here and now very well."

Mouse puffs at her cigarette, "He's young. You know. Just so folks know I'll be pretty cranky if it happens again."

Jack gives a nod, and then eyes back over his shoulder. "Anyway, 'm going to go get out've breed and crash for awhile." With a wince, he pushes a hand back and gets on up, favoring his leg a bit more than normal. He still seems relaxed, though not entirely out of it, at least.
"You take care," Mouse says, and she seems more serious when she says this. "I'll see you later."

"Yup," says Jack, and he heads for the stairs, sending a sort of mock-salute toward Mouse. "Later, Boss." And then, he heads on up.