Summary

Participants

Following their investigation, Solidarity goes to the Rusty Mule to track down RJ, a former cleanup worker with inside knowledge about various 'remediation' operations. They spotted two Smith International workers in the parking lot and, channeling the Ancestor Spirits to hone their powers of persuasion, blended right into the blue-collar crowd to get introduced to RJ.

Meanwhile, Chuck identified a tattooed man that may have been acting as lookout/security and created a distraction by stepping on the man's foot and starting a loud argument, drawing all attention while the others moved inside. Over drinks and pool games, the pack built rapport with the bitter ex-cleanup driver, who revealed what he knew of Smith International and the chemical dumping, namely the exact sites where the barrels ended up.

He also mentioned specific personnel: the cleanup supervisor Aaron Bennet, the Dr. who takes in "sick" workers at Gulf Coast Wellness, and his own nephew who is apparently drawn into a new project at Smith International: XK-52, a "safer formula" in development. The pack realized they were essentially pumping a broken man for information that could get him killed - RJ was loudly confessing to federal crimes in a public bar, painting a target on himself. So, he agreed to come with them for protection, and it is now up to the pack to provide it.

Log

(Medina - 05:39 PM) The Rusty Mule squats like a cinderblock toad alongside the highway, its grimy facade pockmarked with decades of humidity and industry. The neon sign out front flickers with an anemic pink glow over the gravel parking lot where pickup trucks, work vans, and the occasional Harley cluster around the entrance like metal vultures. The fact that it used to be a Circle K or something is all too abundantly clear with the outside 'patio' repurposed from the filling station carport that once was.

Through the haze of perpetual cigarette smoke glows the warm amber tones of beer signs, flickering with the silhouettes of folks who've clearly come here to forget about their shift at jobs that don't respect them. The air conditioning unit mounted on the side of the building wheezes and rattles like a case of emphysema, fighting a losing battle against the sticky sauna that is Houston in the summer.

Even from otuside, Willie's voice is unmistakable. The steel guitar weeps and funks its way through cigarette smoke and the clatter of pool balls: Whiskey River, take my mind, don't let her memory torture me...Whiskey river, don't run dry, you're all I've got to take care of me!

<OOC> Medina says, "Yall headin' straight in?"

<OOC> Ryen says, "I'll activate Persuasion if possible"

<OOC> Etienne says, "Quick look around outside first, methinks. What's the crowd like?"

<OOC> Medina says, "Ryen, give me Charisma + Subterfuge vs 7"

<OOC> Medina says, "as for Etienne, give me also Perception + Streeetwise - you and anybody else who wants to read place, the crowd, who's outside, who's inside etc actually"

(Ryen rolls Charisma + Subterfuge 7 and fails.)

(Todrick rolls Perception + Streetwise vs and fails.)

(Etienne rolls Perception + Streetwise vs 6 for 3 successes.)

(Samson rolls Perception + Streetwise and fails.)

<OOC> Ryen says, "My ancestors are appalled I'm walking into this place lol"

<OOC> Chuck says, "I think my role here is just going to be more one of crowd control. Keep a lid on the rabble so they don't interfere."

<OOC> Samson is going to stay outside with the truck probably, keeping an eye on the comings and goings if possible.

<OOC> Etienne says, "Also activating Persuasion while we wait on results."

(Etienne rolls Charisma + Subterfuge vs 7 for 4 successes.)

(Medina - 05:54 PM) The parking lot's got the easy rhythm of a weeknight shift change, with folks drifting in and out like the tide. It's the kind of crowd where newcomers get noticed but not necessarily hassled, and most of the crowd looks like they've spent the day wrestling with machinery that fights back. Oil-stained jeans, work boots with the steel toes scuffed white, sprinkled with that certain focused disfocus of someone who can't afford the bee and can't afford to stay up late, but by God, if they don't get a chance to relax and sip on a High Life someone's losing their head at the plant tomorrow.

There's a good mix: older guys with gray stubble and sunblasted skin, younger men still trying to prove they belong, and a handful of women who look like they could outwork half the crew if they had a mind to.

The conversations cluster around truck tailgates and lean against fenders, voices mixing Spanish and English. Laughter punctuates the talk, among people bonding here because while they love those they come home to, their wives and kids and so on won't understand what their day was really like. Everyone here punches a clock and takes orders from somebody else. Beer cans sweat in the humid air while cigarettes glow like tiny orange beacons in the gathering dusk.

(Medina - 05:57 PM) In the parking lot is a cluster of shortbox F-150s, a few sedans, a few big pickups. A few people are filtering in and out, wearing things like Dickies coveralls, and a cluster of five men speaking amongst themselves near a rusty Dodge that needs some TLC. A tattooed man is posted by the door, while Whiskey River bleeds through the walls.

<OOC> Etienne says, "Any of those men I spotted got names stenciled on those patches, Medina?"

(Ryen rolls Charisma + Subterfuge vs 8 for 1 success.)

(Medina - 06:02 PM) While it's Chuck who could probably read every damn detail in the parking lot, it's Etienne who is fluent in the social scene here and who's worth reading. The two guys in Dickies stand out to the Galliard thanks to their Smith International patches - they are close enough for Etienne to make out the details. The older one, maybe mid-40s with graying temples and permanently grease-stained fingers, has "MARTINEZ, R." stitched in white thread above his shirt pocket. His younger companion, early 30s, stockier build, nervous energy, sports "DEMBINSKI, P." on his patch.

The Garou here with their gifts of Persuasion aren't just bign 'charismatic' - they're channeling the accumulated wisdom of every smooth-talker, every politician, every snake-oil salesman who ever lived. When a Garou activates this gift, they're calling on ancestor-spirits who understood that the right words at the right moment can open doors that brute force never could...

(Ryen - 06:04 PM) It's not a disguise, it's a lifestyle! Ryen hops out of the truck, putting his Stetson on. Nothing he wears except his boots is new, even the chaps are worn. if his belt buckle was any bigger, you could serve poultry on it. He looks at the parking lot and back to himself. Oh well, it's done now. ooc It's Etienne and Ryen both who are using Persuasion, right?

(Etienne - 06:07 PM) Etienne skims his gaze over the parking lot as he steps out of the truck. He pauses halfway to the door, lighting up one of his smokes. He's close enough to drop eaves on the angry men muttering over by their rusted Dodge. Once his Persuasion Gift is activated, he makes a show of checking out the work trucks and heads towards the two men with the stitched-on names. "Hell of a night," he drawls. "Hotter than a cat roastin' on a shack. How ya'll holdin' up?" ooc awright, noted! I noted you have 1 sucess, and etienne has FOUR, lawd. I invite you to consider - How do they invoke Persuasion? Channelin' the ghost of every used car salesman? Tapping into the working-class spirit?

(Chuck - 06:11 PM) Chuck moves over loiter near the entrance door, keeping an eye over on Etienne as he chats up the locals. He crosses his arms, taking on the affect of a rattlesnake as he applies glares around liberally.

(Chuck, you notice the tattooed guy by the door isn't just hanging out - he's positioned like security, and his eyes keep tracking between the parking lot and the cluster of workers by the Dodge. If you like, give me a Perception + Alertness to read his body language and see if there's tension brewing that might eventually need managing.)

(Todrick, while you can't read the social dynamics of these strange humans just yet, you are CSI Wolf, and I bet you can catch details anyway. Those work trucks aren't just random. Several have the same company decals and accessories! Give me Intelligence + Investigation.)

(Ryen - 06:13 PM) For now, Ryen plays wingman to Etienne. He watches the guys around the Dodge, trying to eavesdrop a little.

(Todrick rolls Intelligence + Investigation vs 6 for 3 successes.)

(Chuck rolls Perception + Alertness vs 6 for 3 successes.)

<OOC> Medina says, "Samson, from your vantage point by the truck, you've got the best overview of the whole scene. You can see your packmates positioning themselves and the various groups in the lot, let me know if you have any questions or want to act at any point!"

<OOC> Samson thumbs up

(Medina - 06:18 PM) Martinez looks up from stubbing out his cigarette, his weathered face creasing into the kind of automatic smile that comes from years of dealing with supervisors and safety inspectors. "Tell me about it, brother," he says, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "AC in the plant's been busted for three days, and management keeps saying 'tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.' Then I come here and all they got here is the window unit. Cooking like damn turkeys in there."

Dembinski shifts nervously, glancing between Etienne and the door to the bar. "You work around here?" he asks, but there's something guarded in his tone. Up close, both men look like they haven't been sleeping well. Martinez elbows his companion. "Paul here's been jumpy as a cat in a dog house all week, can't blame him." He trails off, studying Etienne's face like he's trying to decide something. "You ain't management, is you? Or one of them federal boys asking questions?"

But it's not a guarded way he asks - it seems that the man wants to talk, wants to trust this stranger who sounds like he understands their world. But there's something they're afraid of saying, something that's got them looking over their shoulders even in a parking lot full of their own people.

"...Hell, we could all use a drink," Martinez finally says. "You buying or we buying?"

(Medina - 06:22 PM) Chuck's sharp eyes lock onto the skinny guy with the prison tattoos posted by the door and takes a moment to evaluate him. The way he's positioned gives him clear sightlines to both the parking lot and the road, and his cigarette's gone out, so he hasn't touched it. It's clear he's eavesdropping on Deminski, Martinez, and now Etienne. The casual mention of federal investigators, the nervous glances, the way they're talking around something big - it paints a certain tension on the tattooed man's face and coils it in his shoulders like a guy with something personal at stake.

(Etienne - 06:25 PM) Etienne grins as Martinez complains about the broken AC. "Ain't that the way? Bosses ain't the ones totin' them barges and lifting them bales. Name one place you ever work where they ain't run to fix management's AC when it breaks down." He shakes his head when Dembinski speaks up. "No, lookin' for a new job," he admits. "Just move here last month, and temp work ain't cutting it for a working man." Check it out, he has callouses and everything, and his boots are scarred to hell and back. He grins around his smoke as Martinez mentions drinks. "My buddy's buyin' tonight," he says. "Just got paid." He gestures vaguely in Ryen's direction.

(Medina - 06:26 PM) While everyone else is reading people, Todrick's gaze locks onto the vehicles! The work trucks aren't random - there's a pattern here, and who better to find it than the cyberpunk GQ model who is five whole years old? Three Ford F-250s, all white, all with the same aftermarket toolbox configuration and very similar tire wear patterns. Fleet vehicles, probably leased through the same company? But more interesting are the modifications: heavy-duty suspension that suggests they've been carrying serious weight, and the faint chemical stains around the tailgate latches that standard cargo wouldn't leave... The Dodge that the cluster of five workers are speaking around has Texas commercial plates, but the registration sticker is so fresh the adhesive is still tacky! Someone just re-registered this vehicle, probably within the last week. There's also a long whip of a radio antenna mounted on one of these otherwise identical pickups, but it's strikingly dissimilar to the antennae that he'd come to be familiar with working for Medina's business, so it's not your standard trucker fare.

(Ryen - 06:32 PM) Of course, when Ryen speaks, his scottish accent can't be ignored. He's not Wallace or Fat Bastard, but it's there. "Evenin'." He offers to the pair. At Etienne's gesture, Ryen can't help but laugh a little, "Yeah, I've got this." He tells them. A gesture towards the bar, "Grab a few and come back out or want to wait for me to go in and get them?"

(Medina - 06:38 PM) As Whiskey River reaches its end, Toby Keith's two steppin' Wish I Didn't Know Now is gathering a few couples inside. I never ask you where you're goin', I never ask you where you've been...

Martinez's weathered face breaks into a genuine grin at Etienne's words about management's AC getting fixed first. "Damn right, brother, you got that pegged!" He glances toward Dembinski, who's still fidgeting but seems to relax slightly at Etienne's working-man credentials. "New to town, huh? Well, you picked a hell of a time to come looking for work around here."

"Rick," Dembinski starts, his voice carrying a warning tone, but Martinez waves him off.

"What? Man's looking for work, ain't he?" Martinez takes a long drag from a fresh cigarette, studying Etienne through the smoke.

"Tell you what, friend - you seem alright. But you want a place like Shell, CCS, maybe Petro Tex. Smaller crew, but honest pay. Whatever you do, stay away from Emergency Industrial Services, and Drilco."

The tattooed man by the door takes a half-step closer, his unlit cigarette forgotten between his fingers. His eyes narrow as he strains to catch every word.

"Come on," Martinez says, jerking his head toward the bar entrance. "RJ's inside, and that man's got stories that'll curl your hair. Plus, your buddy's buying, right?" He grins at Ryen. "Hope he's got deep pockets - we been drinking our sorrows all week."

And when Ryen speaks, at first they don't notice - and then they do. The accent, that is. "What?" Martinez asks. Then Dembinski, after a moment to parse the accent, asks with interest and suprise, "Where are you from?"

(Ryen - 06:45 PM) A glance towards the door and then Ryen looks back to Dembinski and Martinez. "I'm from across the pond." He admits. He smiles big though. "Don't worry. My money's good." A slight shrug. "It's green and got zeros on it."

A pat on Martinez's shoulder. "I've got a hollow leg, so let's see if you can keep up." It's a tease. Or maybe not.

(Etienne - 06:46 PM) Etienne shoots the pair a curious look at the mention of the company names, but doesn't get TOO curious. Typical working dude: you can gossip over beers, and not in the parking lot. "Sounds like you're buyin' pitchers all around!" he tells Ryen, slapping him on the back.

<OOC> Etienne says, "The plan: get inside with these guys and see about RJ. The others have their own plans for tattoo dude."

(Chuck - 06:47 PM) Chuck is hard eyeballing the squirrely dude with the prison tattoos for a bit. Then he decides he's paying way to much attention where it might not be best paid. So he walks over and steps on squirrely dude's foot, hard. Then he looks at him indignantly, and asks in a loud voice, "Hey, what'd you do that for? You scuffed my boot!"

(Medina - 06:53 PM) Ryen's response gets a grin otu of Martinez, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Across the pond, huh? Well hell, brother, long as your money spends..." He's about to say something else when Chuck's voice booms across the parking lot! A boot has been scuffed!

The tattooed man jerks back, his cigarette falling to the asphalt as Chuck's boot comes down hard on his foot. "What the hell, man?! You stepped on ME!" His voice cracks with surprise and pain, and everyone in the parking lot is looking RIGHT at them now.

The heads turning include, of course, Martinez and Dembinski. "Not our circus," Dembinski cautions, as he moves for the door, "Nooot our monkies." ooc Do y'all follow them inside or see hwo it plays out with chuck

(Medina - 06:55 PM) Ryen and Etienne follow the two in. The air in the Rusty Mule's is a veritable wall of sound and cigarette smoke layered with decades of spilled beer, sweat, and fried food grease. The music is so loud, conversation has to compete, and that low ceiling is stained yellow-brown from all the nicotine, studded with slowly rotating fans that stir the haze more than actually relieve it. The bar itself dominates the left wall, lined with mismatched stools and backed by a mirror so clouded you can barely make out your reflection. Behind it, neon beer signs paint everything in the electric glow of reds, yellows and blues: Lone Star, Budweiser, Miller High Life, Schlitz. The bartender must have just gotten her hair done at the hairport and there is no fucking way 'Anne' is not somewhere in her name.

A small dance floor is crowded with some couples two-stepping to Toby Keith over dusty plywood: "...I'm not sayin' it's you, you could never be true, I just don't want to know how it ends..."

The far corner houses two pool tables under hanging lights, where men in work clothes lean on cues and nurse longnecks between shots. The various tables and chairs scattered throughout are claimed by various people unwinding. Near the back, past the pool tables, is a table made from a repurposed industrial cable spool, where a heavyset man with graying hair gestures animatedly while talking to two younger guys. Even from the entrance, his voice carries over the music - that's got to be RJ.

(Ryen - 06:58 PM) Not even acknowledging Chuck and his new friend, Ryen takes the lead, "I'm thirstier than a dried out sponge." He does ask, "Do they have pitchers here?" He seems hopeful with that answer! They'll soon find out as they head on in. A pause, Ryen asks, "You mentioned RJ? I'm always up for stories, shall we buy him a round or five too?" Alcohol, best truth serium in the heart of Houston!

"Pool, we definitely need to claim a table." Ryen says with a bit of seriousness. "I'll grab drinks at the bar and meet you at the table."

(Etienne - 07:00 PM) "Hell nah, if I wanted to fight I'd go look up my brother-in-law," Etienne quips, as he stubs out his smoke and follows the others inside. He's not phased in the least by the blaring music: this is a honky tonk, not a church recital! "Beer," he grunts, as he catches sight of the pool table. "And then I'm kickin' your ass at pool," he informs Ryen. "If I win, I get to trade you my wife for your sister." He's laying on the good ol' boy routine effortlessly, like he has in countless honky tonks during the pack's travels.

(Chuck - 07:01 PM) Chuck glares down at the poor little bastard. But probably did something to deserve this, so fuck 'em. "That's not what it looked like to me. So by my reckoning, you owe me an apology. And say it like you mean it."

(Medina - 07:10 PM) Outside, the tattooed man scrambles to understand the fuck is goin' on here as everyone stares, face flushed with anger and confusion. "Are you fucking INSANE?!" But Chuck's intimidating presence and the growing circle of onlookers -- mostly guys who look like they'd rather watch a fight than break one up --- makes him reconsider his approach. His eyes flit arond as he realizes he's outnumbered and outmuscled. "Look, man, I... sorry about your boot, alright? We cool?"

Back inside, When Ryen comes up to the bar, Jo Anne, Sue Anne, Mary Anne --whatever her name is, this woman has been slinging dranks since the Reagan administration and she don't take shit from nobody. She's pouring beers and taking orders for those velveeta cheese santitas nachos with that 'I'll get to you when I get to you' energy but she's bulldozing through barback tasks with nightmarish speed so, she gets to Ryen pretty quick. Over the music she yells less so on account of the music and moreso on account of how decades of this shit will destroy your poor ears. She probably yells all the time. "LONE STAR'S ON SPECIAL. FIVE BUCKS GETS YOU ENOUGH BEER TO FLOAT A BOAT."

Martinez chuckles at Etienne's pool challenge. "Shit, RJ loves an audience, especially when someone else is buying." He nods toward the back. "That old boy, well, just fair warning. Once he gets started, you're in for the long haul."

Once they do weave through the crowd toward the cable spool table, RJ's booming voice carries over Toby Keith: "...twenty-three years I gave that company, and they expect me to keep my mouth shut about what I seen? Hell, I got grandkids who deserve to know the truth!""

(Chuck - 07:15 PM) Chuck shakes his head at captain sorryface. "Well, that was almost good enough. Almost. Wait, did you just call me insane? You know what? I don't think I like your face. Go on, get it out of here. All these nice people here trying to enjoy their drinks, and you're trying to make them look at your face while they do it? Well, that just ain't right. Scram. Go on, git!"

(Etienne - 07:16 PM) 'Steve' grins and shoots Ryen the bird. "Don't talk that way to your stepdaddy," he fires back, before letting out a guffaw and slapping his friend on the back. He weaves his way through the crowd like a pro. "You must be RJ," he says, when he winds up near the pool table. "I hear you got stories and a mean stick game."

(Ryen - 07:19 PM) "I've got a pretty big boat!" Ryen says to -Anne. He slaps a fifty on the bar and slides it to her. A gesture towards the back where RJ's at. "Keep 'em coming till that's gone and let me know." He'll collect a few for now and head back towards the crew. Martinez, Steve, Rick, then RJ. "More's coming." He says to the group. He takes a sip of his beer and has to hold back the tears. This is how you save Gaia, drinking the swill the Wyrm won't even touch.

(Etienne - 07:22 PM) The booze flows, pool games are played (some lost, some won), and of course there's bitching about management to build trust. Etienne's a storyteller, he's heard plenty of tales from other working stiffs in the field. And what he hasn't heard, he can make up.

(Ryen rolls Perception + Empathy vs 4 for 6 successes.)

(Etienne rolls Charisma + Performance + 5 vs 5 for 5 successes.)

(Etienne rolls Intelligence + Enigmas vs 6 for 2 successes.)

(Etienne rolls Intelligence + Streetwise vs 6 for 1 success.)

(Ryen rolls Intelligence + Streetwise vs 6 for 2 successes.)

<OOC> Medina says, "Okay. Thank you for the rolls! I'm going to be writing up your schtuff, and I'm going to do this in a couple of chunks to have some decision making points for you. So to keep you busy while I write the first part - These workers are victims, but some might also be complicit, as you've already met some of them who work for Smith International ... How do you separate the innocent from the guilty? Second - RJ clearly wants to tell his story, but bringing down Smith International might destroy the livelihoods of everyone in this bar. Does that matter?"

<OOC> Etienne says, "Garou answer? Hell no. Uktena answer? Also no. Bayou answer? Get rekt, Smith International."

<OOC> Ryen says, "Seperating the victims from the complacent? Listen to their stories. Use a little empathy. Maybe try to use some subterfuge to manipulate the narrative. But .. in the big picture, the company is complacent. The company is the monster here. Victims will find new employment, hopefully with an opportunity to do something less sketchy or for more reputable employers. Those complacent? Will still be complacent and find somewhere else to do their dirty work."

<OOC> Etienne says, "No one is fully innocent, however... there are things called PR campaigns. Show that mgmt threatened and murdered their workers, and that'll make it easier on these men. lawsuits can happen. reform from enviro groups."

<OOC> Ryen says, "We can offer avenues to help the victims help themselves. The bad guys will be bad guys. Justice will find them at some point."

<OOC> Etienne says, "LOL, Chuck was all 'THE ANSWER WAS UNIONIZING ALL ALONG!' in Discord, and now I'm dyyying."

(Medina - 07:45 PM) The next hour unfolds like a masterclass in working-class camaraderie. Ryen's money flows freely as his laughter does, and Etienne spins tales of job sites from Louisiana to Oklahoma that have RJ slapping the table and excitedly trading his own. The pool games are competitive but friendly, with Martinez loosening up enough to share his own horror stories about safety violations and OSHA inspectors who suddenly stop showing up to facilities...

RJ, three beers deep and feeling like he's found his people, leans in conspiratorially as Toby Keith gives way to Hank Williams Jr. "You boys seem alright, so let me tell you what REALLY happened at Smith International..." His voice carries that mixture of alcohol-fueled bravado and genuine pain. "They didn't just have an 'industrial accident.' Hell no. That shit they were cooking up, it's something /wrong/ with it, it changed everybody I knew to be handling it. They're just not who they were."

He takes a long pull from his beer, eyes growing distant. "I seen shit you wouldn't believe. Last time I saw Jackson, his ... He was sweating like, a color. And when he wiped it off I saw his bandana bleach from it. I think he must've died of something ate him up." RJ's laugh is bitter. "Company says they were never employees...."

The old man's voice is starting to draw glances from nearby tables. "Federal boys keep sniffing around," RJ says, "but they're asking about explosions when they should be asking about the cleanup crews! I tried telling 'em, but..."

As RJ is about to go on, there's a painful moment of clarity for Etienne and Ryen. RJ isn't just telling stories. He's confessing. Loudly. In a bar full of witnesses. To anyone listening, he's painting a target on his back the size of Texas, completely oblivious to the danger he's creating for himself with every word. These two are, essentially, pumping a broken man for information that could get him killed. How do they continue?

Of course, outside, Captain Sorryface over here draws in a sharp breath as he collects himself. Of COURSE he wants to kick Chuck's ass, but the cards just are not there for him. He does scram, turning away, muttering to himself bitterly: "-almost-, what the fuck is that guy's problem..."

<OOC> Etienne says, "I mean, Todd's a media dude. With a radio station."

<OOC> Etienne says, "DUN DUN DUN"

<OOC> Etienne says, "Also, we have a certain Uktena Kinfolk who's a federal agent. Two-Birds, from the Lost Ones plot."

<OOC> Etienne says, "We know she has safe houses, and contacts to assist."

<OOC> Medina says, "Okay. These are good ideas. In the immediate sense, do you continue here in the bar, do you move him to talk somewhere else, do you try to warn him... ?"

<OOC> Etienne says, "Move him, for sure."

<OOC> Ryen says, "I want to try a little subterfuge to minimize the attention he's getting by acting like it's all a good story and everyone's drinking. Then try to get him out the door."

<OOC> Medina says, "Sure thing! You're welcome to pose about it while I write up the rest of the info."

(Ryen - 07:55 PM) Watching the crowd, Ryen calls for his packmates on the pack link, incase things get a little hairy. Ryen makes eye contact with RJ to let him know he's listening, and believing. After another round, Ryen's acting a little drunk. It's acting, he's sober and aware as can be. Stupid Gifts! "I don't believe all of that's true." Ryen says. "Something this big? You can't hide it for long without Big Brother coming down on your head." Right? He shrugs, "But I like your groove. Let's blow this popsicle stand. It's a little too hot in here."

<OOC> Medina says, "OH! chuck I'm sorry, he did."

<OOC> Medina says, "shit"

<OOC> Medina says, "Chuck, since Etienne and Ryen are moving RJ somewhere, I take it you'll follow?"

<OOC> Chuck says, "Yeah, backup inbound."

<OOC> Samson says, "same"

(Medina - 08:04 PM) RJ, still riding the high of finally having someone listen to his story, is a little hard to interupt, but he's ultimately receptive to the redirect. The heat in the honky tonk is enough to pry him out of there anyway - so he follows willingly as Ryen and Etienne draw him out back and around for a bit of 'fresh air'. Chuck and Samson both notice them, and are able to follow.

Once they're outside, away from prying ears, RJ continues on. The levity is gone, as are the snapshots of pranks and complaints and jabs at friends and coworkers. "You know what really gets me?" he says, swaying slightly as he leans against someone's pickup in the back parking lot that shares itself with a quiet Mexican restaurant that is /also/ an ex gas-station. "They think they cleaned it all up, but I think I know where they dumped everything."

Ryen can tell that this is a man who feels he's been underestimated his whole life, and he can see the bitter and defiant spark of victory in his smile when he says he knows. "See, I used to drive cleanup for E.I. before they fired me for 'asking too many questions.' Three sites, boys. Three sites they hit that weekend after Building 7 went up."

He counts them out on calloused fingers, slurring from the beer, but intelligible. "Sam Housssin National Forest - some ranger station area, reeeal remote. Then the Sheldon Road overflow facility. Thass where they store all the off-spec bullshit they can't process right away." A third finger: "Then, --" he pauses, swallows down a burp, and then he looks at them. And Chuck. And Samson.

"You know," he says, "I been running my mouth pretty good in there." The alcohol is still talking, but there's a flicker of something else. Maybe survival instinct. Maybe paranoia. "...And you boys... Are not looking for work." His eyes narrow as he studies their faces in the parking lot's dim lighting. "I'm drunk, but I ain't /stupid/. Whadderyall, investigative journalists? You undercover? Whozyer friends?"

(Samson - 08:09 PM) Samson smiles at RJ warmly "We're...concerned citizens really. We've heard your story and the pain its given you. Corporations and big companies do what they want and think they can get away with whatever they want. Come with us and we can provide you....Leverage."

<OOC> Samson says, "using a gift"

<OOC> Samson says, "Cajole (Level Two)- The character uses this Gift to coax another individual into giving her something, such as food, an item, or a service. Bear- or dog-spirits teach this Gift. Five successes will cajole a human into giving up house and home"

(Ryen - 08:14 PM) Never taking his attention away from RJ, Ryen continues to give the man the attention he's due. To help him feel important, because he is. No matter what he thinks, he's a bit of an upstanding guy asking the hard questions. The weight of it all seems to be resting firmly on his shoulders, "We found the stuff in the forest." Ryen says to RJ. His tone is soft, he's still trying to ply the guy, but most of the illusion is gone now. "Running your mouth in there, is going to get you hurt." It's a caring tone that he's using. A glance over to his packmates and then back to RJ.

"We want to help you." He tells RJ. "We just need names. The bad guys. You want restitution for your fallen comrades, we'll do what we can."

<OOC> Ryen is trying to work to keep RJ engaged and focused.

(Chuck - 08:18 PM) Chuck has pulled off to lean against the hood of the truck. He directs his anger glare (TM) out away from RJ. "Give us names, we'll fuck 'em up proper. You might want to get scarce though. But we can help with that."

(Medina - 08:21 PM) RJ settles his eyes on Samson for a long time, somewhere along the gamut of vision-above-the-age-of-40 and ABV-above-the-legal-limit. "Leverage? Huhh," he says, glancing around like he could find the answer to what, exactly, he meant by leverage. In material terms. But he looks at Ryen, and he blinks in surprise when he hears that they found the shit in the forest. "You did?" He's surprised, but with the rapport that the Fianna has built, there's no doubting him. The old man's hands start to shake - not from the beer, but from something deeper. Fear, maybe. Or vindication. "I knew it. I fucking KNEW they didn't dispose of it proper." He invites his own hand onto Ryen's shoulder to clamp it in appreciation and to steady that shaking.

When Ryen mentions getting hurt, RJ lets out a bitter laugh and removes his hand. "Son, they already destroyed my life. Fired me, blacklisted me from every cleanup company in Houston. My wife's threatening to leave me because she says I won't shut up about what I seen." His voice cracks slightly. "But those boys... They deserve better than being erased like they never existed!"

"Right. Names. You want names? The cleanup supervisor was Aaron Bennett. And then the last place I think they dumped it in, is the canal. Dumped a whole truckload right into the water in Baytown, where it flows into the Ship Channel, ain't that some shit? But Sheldon Road, that's the real prize, I think." And Ryen did a great job keeping him focused, but then he repsonds to basically absolutely nothing nobody said in that rhetorical-ass way drunk people do: "Pfffh, You think management keeps secrets in a plant? Hell, the maintenance crew knows about new projects before the engineers do. Gotta retrofit the equipment, order new parts, modify storage tanks. ... My nephew still works there, at Sheldon, he says they're already prepping storage for, for XK fifty.... fifty two, I think. 'Safer formula,' my ass. Same shit, different day..." <OOC> Samson says, "and we scoop him and head out?"

(Medina - 08:25 PM) As RJ shares the last of his revelations, the Rusty Mule continues its nightly rhythm. Laughter and music bleeds through the walls, the distant clatter of pool balls, the occasional slam of a car door as patrons come and go, a completely different world from RJ's little miserable pocket of the ghosts of disappeared workers and the stench of corporate cover-ups. He pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and continues on in his disjointed drunken confessions. "Never missed a day, never asked for nothing but honest pay for honest work. And this is what I get for asking questions..." A train horn echoes in the distance across the industrial landscape, probably carrying more chemicals, more secrets, more poison through the heart of Houston.

"You boys be careful," RJ warns, stubbing out his cigarette against a truck's tailgate. "They got resources, they got reach, and they sure as hell don't give a damn about collateral damage. Whatever you're planning... make it count."

(OOCly they briefly discuss the prospect of getting RJ and his wife to a federal safehouse, but whether they can remains undeterined).