Participants

Gabriel

Summary

After the other Garou drive off with Omar, Gabriel confronts three suspicious security personnel who were planning to grab Omar and Treshawn. When two of them (Frank and "Plaid") flee in their car, Gabriel corners the third man, Richard, AKA Corpo. Gabriel forces the man to reveal:

His name is Richard Martinez
He works for Drilco, a subsidiary of Smith International
Omar is a delivery driver who handles hazardous materials at their chemical storage facilities
Omar has been acting erratically at work, showing up late, smelling weird, being aggressive

Gabriel tosses blessed water on Richard while claiming it's "antivenom" for a fictional flesh-eating bacteria that Omar supposedly carries due to a "rare genetic disease." This completely fabricated story, along with his gift of Persuasion, terrifies Richard into believing he's been exposed to a deadly pathogen. In his panic, Richard provides detailed information:

Multiple Smith International facilities along Houston's Ship Channel
Specific location where Omar works (Building 7, Battleground Road complex in Deer Park)
Additional facilities in Baytown and Pasadena that Omar's delivery route covers
A "rehabilitation facility" on Sheldon Road where they planned to take Omar
The corporate headquarters location in Westchase

Lead-Up

This is a branching scene from Sideshow Freakshow Part 2.

Log

--| Medina - 07:40 PM |-- Just moments ago, Omar was writhing and thrashing in Ajax's iron grasp, his body slick with that sheen of sweat. His struggle is desperate and violent, muscles straining against the Silver Fang's supernatural hold. Gabriel practically materialized before Plaid could whisk Treshawn away, and now Plaid is acting put-off while one of Treshawn's buddies has provided water she's pouring into her eyes. Alas, her glorious makeup and her false lashes are a muddy ruin. "Put him in the car" was a directive that the Cliath stuck to much like you swear loyalty to the throne, not the king!

Ajax, having maintained his crazy vice grip on Omar, con-mans this stranger out of the keys to his Nissan Maxima. One beautiful thing about being an aristocrat is their command of bald-faced self-assured reasonableness that makes even the most ridiculous requests sound /perfectly logical/ and the Galliard delivers in spades.

Tori takes charge of the physical containment, clearing a path to the Maxima and then diving into the backseat to RASSLE Omar into submission. What follows is... an increasingly desperate struggle as Omar's body continues to secrete that disgusting-ass, black-staining fluid. The chemical burns sting and cling to Tori's skin, eating through fabric and leaving angry welts, but her determination eventually wins out over his thrashing resistance. The Maxima's upholstery immediately begins to show the damage and the smell is RANK, dude.

Meanwhile with Gabriel, the man in a plaid overshirt shifts to professional confusion: "I don't know what you're talking about," his denial smooth but not entirely convincing.

--| Gabriel - 05:29 PM |-- "You know what you're up to," Gabriel spends a moment deciding whether he wants to unholster his gun right away or not. He decides to slip into a fighting stance. "Let go of the girl and let's have a conversation. It won't go well for you if you keep her on hand."

He promises with a faint smile, but his eyes have a dangerous glint to them.

--| Medina - 05:37 PM |-- "Let go of the -- " Plaid's nose wrinkles with pure, unadulterated, offended 'what the fuck'. He lets go of the girl indeed, but he responds to Gabriel's fighting stance in a defensive one of his own, hands up and palms displayed about chest height in a double-duty gesture: a placating no-harm signal just as much as a subtle guard. "-- What the fuck, dog, I'm not going to -do- anything to her."

Treshawn is being hovered over by the person who brought that bottle of water just next to Plaid. She looks high school aged, some racer or builder's girlfriend, probably, her relaxed hair tied into a pony tail, in a letter jacket. She keeps the water coming, but when she sees that Gabriel is making hostile promises, she pulls Treshawn away.

Meanwhile, the Maxima's engine fires up, with Ram and Corpo near it. Corpo had just given the keys away, and Ram lets it happen - but Ram is confused as to who the hell these people are while Corpo seems powerfully pleased for the assistance. Ram bolts for the driver's side door with a "HEY!" as he realizes what's happening, but Delia guns it and that car's out the lot like a scalded dog.

--| Medina - 05:40 PM |-- Treshawn is cussing up a storm, meanwhile, but she lets herself be redirected a couple of yard back. Plaid knows better than to insist on keeping her with this guy promising trouble. And as Delia's driving peels out, a few people whip their heads in the direction of the car, watching after, and a few more still linger in morbid curiosity as to Treshawn. "Oh, that burnt!" she says, as she squints through red, raw, stinging eyes, her makeup a running ruin, "what the fuck -was- that?! Does that <individual> chew tobacco, what the fuck!"

--| Gabriel - 05:45 PM |-- "If I were you, I would leave now." Gabriel barks out at Treshawn and her friend before he looks at Plaid, then Corpo, then... Ram. "So, gentlemen, do we have trouble between ourselves or should I consider the matter settled? Or, if there is trouble, why don't we settle it right now and we'll see how we feel about it in a few short moments?"

Something about the Adren is promising more violence than it truly should.

--| Medina - 06:00 PM |-- As Gabriel makes what the path forward should be known, meanwhile off several yards away the chaos of the car getting stolen unfolds: the Maxima speeds off, and a cold wave of urgent panic drenches Corpo's previously compliant demeanor - realization hits him like falling lead while he watches Ram stumble after the car in vain. "SHIT!"

"Frank!" Corpo yells at the man in the dreads - "FRANK!" -- of course, 'Frank' (Ram) is himself yelling at Corpo and calling him a stupid motherfucker, what the fuck did he just do as he fishes keys from his pocket - but Corpo insists, "Gimme the keys so I can use your phone!" as the two bound towards a penny-colored Caprice.

Meanwhile, the high school girl in the letter jacket gets Treshawn out of the way just as Gabriel wants it, and goes to sit her down in someone's car, the owner a concerned onlooker whose voice rises in alarm: "Girl, your face is /red/! That don't look normal -- we need to get you to a doctor or somethin'!"

Plaid, as his two partners in crime rush for the Caprice, glances between Gabriel's threatening stance and the growing medical emergency, clearly torn between whatever beef Gabriel thinks they have and the fact that Treshawn needs medical attention that bottled water isn't going to fix. "We don't have no trouble," Plaid says, "All I wanted to do was get that guy to stop wildin' - he was fidna land someone in a hospital! They take her to the clinic, that is -fine- by me, I don't know what kinda' beef you have but it ain't mine."

--| Gabriel - 06:28 PM |-- "Nevermind, I don't think -you- know what you're up to. Do me a favor." Gabriel stares at Plaid, "Turn around, and leave. I'll talk to your friend going to your other friend's car. You have only one shot at this."

He turns from the man, and then starts moving towards the corporate one, quickening his steps until he's right beside him. "I don't think you're calling home tonight."

He reaches out to grab the man's shoulder, and states: "Let's have a conversation."

--| Medina - 06:40 PM |-- As Gabriel tells Plaid he doesn't know what he's doing, Frank throws open his car door, but bodily blocks Corpo from entering, and shoves him. "I know you did NOT just cost me five hundred fucking dollars! I ain't calling in SHIT!" Frank is quick to clamber into the Caprice as Gabriel's quick strides take him towards the vehicle, where Corpo is punching the window. "I thought he was with us!" As the Caprice's engine growls to life, Gabriel's hand wrenches onto Corpo's shoulder, and he whirls in defensive reaction to face whoever it is.

As Gabriel says, 'Let's have a conversation,' Frank rolls down the passenger window to yell at Plaid. "GET IN THE CAR!" He yells at Plaid.

Corpo is a mixed, partly Black man in plain streetclothes with a light brown complexion and a tight, professional fade that fits in at the office. It's a contrast against Plaid's sharp lineup and Frank's dreads. His hazel-brown eyes search Gabriel's as his hands come defensively up in a gesture similar to what Plaid had done - it's mostly professional instinct. "Who are you? I don't know you, man, I wasn't gambling." --| Gabriel - 06:44 PM |-- "No, you're the guy trying to fuck other people over." Gabriel straightens, seeming to be steadily losing patience as he faces the dude down. "Who do you work for? You're not a local. So don't fucking bullshit me."

"Right now, you -are- gambling. With your life. So, who do you represent, and what the fuck were you doing here that you needed to take the other car -and- the girl? You've about..." And here Gabriel clicks on the stopwatch function of his Casio watch. It starts running. "About twenty seconds to tell me what I want to hear, or I'll knock it out of you."

--| Medina - 06:56 PM |-- Corpo's voice jumps up a few notes in the absolute jumpscare that is just the car door shutting as Frank's buddy gets in. "What?!" He ought to say what one more god damn time. His hired muscle, it seems, has abandoned him for his fuckup. Five hundred bucks in 95? That's more than rent, that's rent and the car payment and the groceries.

"What do --" He jumps gears when he hears sees the stop watch. Though the street racing crowd is still generally here, they've seen worse. Treshawn's sorry state is stealing most of the attention, as someone talks her into accepting a ride to the ER. Gabriel can hear the scraps of their discovery over the background noise of somebody's speakers thumping Check Yourself: 'Cause I'm bad for your health, I come real stealth...'

"Drilco!" His voice finds its normal register. "Or - or Smith International, Drilco's a part of Smith International." He puts his hands up and lets his -palms- tell Gabriel he doesn't want trouble. "I didn't need the girl, she just needed to get separated from Omar before he did something worse - I'm here for /Omar/, but you saw what happened. Omar needs an intervention, he's ruining his life with the drugs he's gotta be tweaking on."

--| Gabriel - 07:17 PM |-- "Drilco, subsidiary to Smith International, you say?" Gabriel squints. "So what did you give Omar? Some new kind of fuel?" He's going to keep pressing. "What's your relationship? You a sponsor? And sure, I could -tell- how -tweaked- he was."

He doesn't know the exact nomenclature for Pentex's version of Banes, but one day he may get in good with a monkeywrencher to tell him all about biokinetic and neurological enhancement systems aka BANES.

He reaches into his pocket again, retrieves that plastic vial, removes the stopper, and tosses dew water at Corpo, muttering a couple of words in an unrecognizable dialect. "Beat it."

--| Medina - 07:39 PM |-- "Fuel? What are you /talking/ about, fuel?" The distant wailing of HPD sirens comes a little louder, but doesn't sound imminent - it's likelier that HPD is focused on the actual race that is somewhere around a quarter mile away.

Corpo continues: "I don't give Omar anything! He works parts delivery at our chemical storage areas! He handles the equipment, not me!" Meanwhile, the car that Treshawn was helped into starts up and drives off to probably take her to the hospital, followed by a couple others whose departure isn't urgent - they probaby just are leaving in general. Someone's asking about how they're gonna get their money with the bookie gone as Corpo stares at Gabriel, looking genuinely bewildered.

His voice rises with genuine panic and confusion. "Look, I don't know what conspiracy shit you think is going on -- ", The Corpo flinches and blinks rapidly when the water hits him, and his face just like, retracts into his chin like a poke-eyed snail for a bewildered second. He wipes his face with obvious confusion and growing irritation. "What the fuck, man?!" He's not burning, he's not -- well, any more upset and confused than a reasonable person should be when an abundantly threatening stranger just tosses mystery fluid on you and starts speaking in tongues. "Uh - listen," he takes a weeeirded out step back, or tries to. "Omar's just a delivery driver who's been acting crazy at work. Showing up late, smelling weird, getting aggressive with people! We're trying to get him help before he hurts somebody or gets fired. If he got exposed to chemicals, that's ... That's an OSHA problem, not something I do anything about."

--| Gabriel - 08:03 PM |-- "Right." Gabriel isn't a mood to kill some corporate joke, but he'll write down the names that Corpo mentioned. "Smith International, is it?" He smiles again. "Just tell it to me straight. You get to walk away, maybe build a life anew somewhere else; where's their headquarters, refineries, et cetera, in Houston?"

"Right now, you are so deep into shit you have no idea. That thing I just splashed on you is antivenom. You see, Omar has a rare genetic disease that makes him predisposed to flesh-eating bacteria. You know what those are, right? It's present in spiders. You saw how red that girl's face is? It's gonna be worse in a week. Then it may or may not get better, if she even lives that much. Guess who else was in spitting distance of him? That was you."

"So help a brother out; they usually don't leave loose ends, but you can go AWOL and I'll figure out where your personnel file is and torch it myself."

With the sirens playing, he makes a back motion with his thumb and then tells him, outright: "Need a couple of addresses, come on, man. Help me help you."

--| Medina - 08:13 PM |-- The man's face goes pale as he processes Gabriel's words, his hand unconsciously touching where the "antivenom" hit his skin. "Jesus Christ... flesh-eating bacteria? From OmAR?" His voice cracks slightly. "I -- I grabbed his arm when we were trying to get him in the car. Oh fuck, oh FUCK." He's breathing faster now, panic setting in as he looks at his hands.

A few more cars pull off of the lot, while meanwhile the engines of the racing cars start to come back into the soundscape, and the stragglers run to those traffic cones to witness the race and see who wins. Someone's yelling about how they have the pot, to come to him instead of Treshawn, that Danae is taking her to the hospital.

"Look, man," Corpo says, "I don't want to die from some spider disease! Smith International's got facilities all over the Ship Channel, the main office is in Weschase, but the chemical storage where Omar works is out in Deer Park. Building 7 at the Battleground Road complex. That's where all the night shift guys handle the hazardous materials."

He's talking faster now, the boon of the Ancestor spirit that braided such sincerity into Gabriel's words stoking his fear. "There's also the overflow storage out near Baytown, and they got a processing plant in Pasadena... Omar's route hits all three locations during his shift. Man, if this company's been exposing us to some kind of... biological weapon shit..."

Cheers and yells of excitement belt out behind him as those four racing cars bear down on the industrial road, imminent. Corpo shakes his head, genuine fear and dawning realization in his eyes. "You're right. I need to get the hell out of here! They don't tell us SHIT about the dangerous stuff. Just 'follow procedures, don't ask questions.'"

As those sirens register to him, he says, I got addresses written down in my car... well, HAD a car! They're gonna take him out to uh, --" He can't remember the street number under pressure, but: "Well it's out on Sheldon Road, where we were suppose to take him, Gulf Coast Wellness and Rehab!"

--| Gabriel - 08:20 PM |-- All of those are destinations, and there's no fucking way in hell that Gabriel's pack can hit them all at the same time. But this is something he can spread out to other packs or packs-to-be that need shit to do. Like those Cliaths. He likes 'em, they need to work together.

"Alright. You said your file is in Westchase? I'll have someone be sent over there to burn some shit."

Whichever facility they hit first must be the most damaging one, so that's something to perhaps learn in due time. He looks from one side to another, then says, "Show me your business card so I know whose records I'm supposed to erase, then burn it with a lighter somewhere and go to Nebraska or something. Take up farming. It's good for the soul. This shit? They were going to burn you up after burning you out."

--| Medina - 08:27 PM |-- "Sure, uh..." Richard takes out his wallet after he pats himself down. He checks his hand, though, the hand that touched the SPIDER DISEASE, and then he fishes out his business card. Richard Martinez. DRILCO, a division of Smith International. His number, his email, the office address. The Drilco logo features one of those industrial, oil rig drill bits designed to crush through rock. "Take it. I don't know about Nebraska but - but yeah," he says, considering it, "Farming ... I used to do 4-H, I always thought it was nice they helped build a future for our kids to go to school..."

As he gives the man his card, he says, "Uh, can I have a ride?" Behind him, the roaring engines of the three street racers blare through the lot and the chaos of delighted onlookers - bustling activity of money changing hands, Omar's Honda still sat there like a cold, metal corpse. The HPD sirens wail distant - seems their call is coincidental, leaving people to pass around their cash.

--| Gabriel - 08:38 PM |-- "Yeah. I got a car nearby," Gabriel upnods to the street his muscle car happens to be. "I'll make sure your name is scrubbed, Richard. But for the love of God, don't stick near those guys anymore than you have to. Get ready to leave, change your life, et cetera. Never enough money for oil and gas, but sure there's a lot of blood, let me tell you."

--| Medina - 08:41 PM |-- Richard follows Gabriel to the muscle car, glancing over his shoulder at the spectacle they leave behind. He pats down his pockets for something he finds he doesn't have, then he just nods, keeping the worries that are obviously on his face to himself instead of airing them. It's clear he's convinced this is his best interest, but surely, the logistics of making that reality are a most troubling question in his head as the night ends.