Smith International: Sideshow Freakshow Part 1

Participants

• Ajax
• Archimedes
• Delia
• Tori

Summary

It's a late Friday night street racing/sideshow in southeast Houston. There are 50+ people, mostly Black and Latino crowd, cars doing donuts while crowds bet and watch and wait on the race. The shifters wait for Omar, who, when he arrives, is some kind of tweaker-looking guy who drives a beat-up Honda CR-V, with an unsettling presence, and raised their hackles when he arrived. Tori sussed out that he was not yet Fomor, but imminently will be one. As a tactic to isolate Omar, Ajax cleverly hooked up an audience for autographs with the bookie, Treshawn. Archie meanwhile quietly disabled Omar's car during a distraction caused by Omar's own proclivity for violence, which doubtlessly saved some people from getting run over. As Archimedes bailed off into the night, the Delia, Ajax and Tori together decide to track Omar while he's isolated, rather than confront him publicly.

Next part: Sideshow_Freakshow_Part_2

Lead-Up

Bone Gnawer Rumors

• "Look, I ain't saying nothing official, but that Omar motherfucker brought his piece-of-shit Honda by last month wanting some work done," Jerry says at the chop shop. "Augh, the interior was... sticky. Everywhere. And it smelled wrong. Not just BO or weed, but like something fuckin' died in there. Asked him about it, he just stared at me and said 'it's just sweat.' Sweat don't look black, man."

• Grande, a dish washer at Monterrey House -- the one with the little Mexican flags you'd raise at your table when you needed service -- is smoking and munching on that fluffy melt in your mouth candy the waiters always brought to your table. "Been to like six races where Omar showed up, right? Dude's pattern is fucked up. He always parks away from everyone else - not like shy, but like he don't want his car near other cars. And he never gets out until the very last minute. Just sits in there with the windows up, even when it's hot as balls outside. Caught him talking to his rearview mirror once. Not like checking his hair or nothing - having a full conversation. Moving his lips, nodding, even laughing sometimes. When I walked by, he stopped mid-sentence and just stared at me until I kept walking. Freaky shit, man."

• Carlos, bartender at a nightclub, has more to say: "Oh, Omar? Yeah that's a fucking weirdo. Oh - and the money, bro... Omar always bets big on himself, but he never collects his winnings right away. Just tells 'em to 'keep it warm' for him. Who the fuck does that? You win three grand, you take your three grand! Unless you know something everyone else don't."

KHOU 11 News

Police are searching for witnesses after a street racing event in northwest Houston ended with multiple fights and property damage early Wednesday morning.

The incident unfolded around 1:15 AM in an industrial parking lot off Highway 290, where approximately 60 people had gathered to watch cars perform stunts and racing demonstrations.

"What started as typical reckless driving quickly escalated into something much more serious," said HPD Lieutenant Robert Chen. "We had reports of fights breaking out, people attacking vehicles with makeshift weapons, and general chaos."

Witnesses described crowds scattering as several individuals began damaging parked cars with tire irons and rocks. Multiple witnesses reported seeing one person attempting to smash the windshield of a silver Honda while the driver was still inside.

"It was like everyone just went crazy," said Maria Santos, who witnessed the event from a nearby 24-hour diner. "One minute people were having fun watching the cars, next minute it was like a riot. I've never seen anything like it."

Three people were treated at the scene for minor injuries, including cuts from broken glass. No arrests were made as perpetrators had fled by the time police arrived in force. HPD's Gang Task Force is investigating whether the incident is connected to ongoing territorial disputes in the Acres Homes community. We'll continue following this story as it develops. Anyone with information about the incident should contact Crime Stoppers at 1800 222 T I P S! And now for a commercial break.

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Fine print speeds by: "Beach house assembly required. Jet ski floats but does not actually move. Brad sold separately.

Log

--| Medina - 05:07 PM |--

Late Friday night in southeast Houston. The waning gibbous moon pushes through a gauzy overcast nighttime sky like a distant streetlight in the fog, and the Gulf air is heavy with the humid heat of summer, even this late at night. The night time city sky glows a sickly orange thanks to the sodium vapor lights of the industrial jungle that stretches for miles. About thirty cars of various makes and models from the modest to the elite wait in a loose perimeter in a sprawling parking lot behind a defunct warehouse surrounded by chain-link fence with convenient gaps. Oil stains, broken glass, and old tire marks litter and stain the asphalt, and the scene is bustling and chaotic like a kicked anthill.

The diverse crowd is easily fifty people or more, mostly Black, and Latino but certainly not exclusively. Racers, girlfriends, and curious hangers-on, each looking for excitement, ranging from high schoolers barely old enough for learner's permits to twenty and thirty-somethings who have been surely around the Loop more'n once. Houston Rap, Miami Bass and and Nawlins Bounce thrive from car stereos with heavy, excitable and thumping beats that make the dynamat wilt and the subwoofers thrive: songs like Dr. Dre's smoky, sexy Chronic album dominate the scene, Geto Boys dare you to bring it on if you wanna play, 2 Live Crew be sittin' at home watchin' Arsenio Hall, and Sporty T raps all the way from New Orleans to tell you how a real brother supposed to live. Tejano pride cuts defiant through the soundscape now and then with the classic brass and aggressive accordion of cumbia like Mazz.

The air is thick with burning rubber, exhaust fumes, and gasoline. Yeah, it's a toxic smell, but it's also somehow intoxicating. A heady incense of horsepower and adrenaline, danger and excitement given scent, all underlaid with that perpetual petrochemical tang that so defines southeast Houston.

A white Chevy Caprice with some kind of lounge-lizard ass burgundy interior is skidding and sliding in circles in the middle of the space, engine screaming like it's Tony Montana's mountain of blow on wheels while its tires lay ribbons and ribbons of burnt rubber. The surrounding crowd is cheering and dancing along as DJ Jubilee's doubledutch rhythm twerks right out of the rolled down windows: c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon! Get it ready get it ready get it ready-ready, we gettin' it ready, get it ready ready!

--| Archimedes - 05:14 PM |--

Archimedes is like a kid in a candy store. Why? Is it because of the fascinating technology, the vehicles, or is it the numerous apes providing a target rich environment? Who knows? The Ratman enters onto the scene, having heard the Gnawer rumors about Omar and wanting to check him out. The rubber and exhaust are disgusting. Archi really hates it, but for now he will play along as if that wasn't the case. "MMMMMM I love the smell of vulcanized polyisoprene!"

Moving among the cars, trying not to freak anybody out TOO much, Archi gives the vehicles all a look, searching for this Omar he heard about. Chances are these Apes will be a little uncomfortable around the Ratkin, his rage coming through like a fine vinagar, giving them the feeling he is something dangerous; unlike the unbridled WAAAAAGH they get from Garou.

--| Delia - 05:14 PM |--

Delia does not have a car. it's questionable if she even knows how to drive. But at least on this little forray into the city, she's left the hunting bow at home and her woodsy flannel is worn open over a tank top, grunge style and her mass of unruly curls been tossed up in a ponytail. "Are hondas like the usual racing car?" She asks over her shoulder to her accomplice.... at least she expects to see a certain silver fang right behind her.

--| Ajax - 05:19 PM |--

He was! "Oh, no. Going by the television I've been watching, they race either Dodge Chargers, Vipers, or Chevrolet Corvettes in the street," Ajax says blissfully ignorantly as he waggles a finger in the air like some kind of cartoonish font of misinformation given physical form. "This must be something like a specialty meet -- these Japanese cars will -never- catch on in a meaningful way once the domestic industry reveals their new generations...that's what my kinfolk tell me, anyway. But, a cultural exchange is just what the doctor ordered, the way I figure it!"

Ajax Best is bloviating as usual behind Delia, all too happy to yak at her until she shuts him up. He looks so happy to witness whatever nonsense was about to unfold.

--| Tori - 05:22 PM |--

There is not a chance on Gaia's green Earth that Tori knows how to drive. Nor does she like giant crowds of people. Nor a whole lot of noise. That is honestly pretty much Tori's idea of a hellscape. And yet.. AND YET.. here she is. Sipping from a giant slushie cup, she's not so far behind Ajax and Delia. Either with them, or having found vaguely familiar faces. She's a silent shadow behind a chattery Silver Fang. ooc Okay! Archi, since you're looking actively for Omar, give me a Perception + Alertness vs 6 or a Perception + Investigation vs 7. Also, each of you, I'd like a Perception + Streetwise vs 5 (Archie included!).

(Archimedes rolls Perception + Alertness 2 successes.)

(Archimedes, you see neither hide nor hair of that silver honda you read about in the news, so you're confident that he's not here ... Yet. These sorts of events don't exactly all have a hard start and stop. Must be a waiting game!)

--| Medina - 05:33 PM |--

Every one notices a skinny kid in an oversized Starter jacket who keeps making quick handshake exchanges near the far fence. Nothing obvious, but the pattern's clear to anyone who's seen it before that he ain't tradin' pogs.

Ajax, Delia and Archie additionally notice that there are three Black guys who keep walking the perimeter, not watching the cars - watching the crowd. They're getting nods and small bills from various people.

Delia notices a woman with "RICARDO" tattooed in script across the left side of her forehead, just above the arc of her eyebrow, she knows enough to guess she isn't just showing love - she's advertising ownership. The marked woman stays close to a heavyset dude in gold chains who clearly runs something here. But what really gets Delia's attention is what her sharp eyes see. Beyond the obvious betting, there's quiet conversations happening around expensive cars. She notices where the real money must be: people pointing at engines, the flutter of subtle movement, people passing folded papers with VIN numbers.

As they check out the crowd, people start unconsciously backing away from the weird little dude who talks like a chemistry textbook. It's not just his strange vocabulary - there's something about him that makes folks' fight-or-flight responses kick in without knowing why. He overhears: "Yo, who's the creepy white boy talking about polymers and shit?" ... ""Man, that dude gives me the fucking willies. Something ain't right about him."

Someone overhears Ajax and Delia and snorts, telling his girlfriend, "Look at these tourists, man. Girl don't even know what a Honda is." Another voice calls out to harrass the Fang from afar with mischief in his grin: "Somebody's lost as hell. This ain't the country club, rich boy!"

Lastly, there's a woman named Treshawn, a fact that is impossible to miss because it's hanging off of her ears. You want 90s? I give you 90s. Treshawn here is wearing an absolute classic: those big-ass gold hoop door knocker earrings with gold nameplate in cursive letters. She's also rocking denim overalls, one strap undone in that casual-but-calculated way that shows her retina-searing pink crop top, and god damn are her braids tight. They hurt to look at. Hell, her edges are fighting for their fuckin' life, she's laid those baby hairs with surgical precision to cover up how much of her hairline she's ripped out through years of snatching her poor hair back like her life depended on it.

Treshawn waves at the (mostly) white sore thumb crew: "Y'all want in on the action? Got odds on the next race - Omar's coming, and that boy's money, but he also crazy as hell!"

--| Archimedes - 05:43 PM |--

Scanning over the area, watching the black men watching everybody, Archimedes moves through the crowd. He flashes smiles at people, though it is more a sneer to be truthful. All of these monkeys in one place, just makes him giddy. The Ratman checks out the 'competition' looking under the hood of any car he can. He DOES seem to know his shit when it comes to the cars. So, even while he sounds like a walking textbook, he seems like one of the smart tech guys.

He spots Delia and Ajax, a little smirk coming to his lips as he approaches them. "Hey Colonel Sanders." he greets the Silver Fang. He gives Delia a nod, not really knowing her so well. "What brings you two here? Going to race?" he asks, brows arching.

--| Delia - 05:44 PM |--

At the accusations of tourist-dom, Delia holds up her own hands in that classic don't-mean-any-harm gesture. "Look, there wasn't much of a racing scene back in West Virginia. Could probably tell you more about tractors than a street car but, even being a country hick like me.... I can tell that that one," She points to the car that seemed to be getting the most attention betting wise. "Seems to be a favorite. Am I right? And don't think he's crazier than this one." Her pointing turns a thumb towards Archimedes. "Think he'll get a chance to race Omar?" She asks Treshawn.

(Tori, you can piece together suspicious activity, like that kid's clearly trading drugs, but you can't quite be 100 percent certain of the shape of some of it, like, are those dudes some kind of security guards? You're not sure, but maybe they know something. Some of these people are clearly gambling, and Treshawn isn making no secret of it. Hell, she was wavin' yall over, and mentioned Omar.)

--| Ajax - 05:49 PM |--

Ajax raises a hand in a congenial puppydog fashion at his haranguer in the crowd. "I'm sure they race Aston Martins and Rolls Royces at the country club, friend, but I haven't been since I was a kid - I hate golf!" He waves a little over Tori's head just to be friendly back, then gives a big thumbs up. That will go over well!

"Sure, I'll get in on the odds! No idea what I'm betting --- what's the minimum buy-in, Treshawn? Sorry, I'm assuming that's your name. It's Treshawn, right?"

At this point, Archimedes is hailing them with some nasty rhetoric. It's true, Ajax had read the little posting the ratkin had made, so he can't play dumb. It takes him a moment to put together what he meant by it, but he eventually gets there. He gives Archimedes a disappointed look. "You aren't clever," he says reproachfully.

--| Tori - 05:51 PM |--

Tori quietly lingers back as Archimedes chats with the other two and settles back with her drink. She moves around the group, offering Ajax a quiet smile to his wave in her own silent and watching way. She'll happily let the others do any talking that might be going on, as she wanders just a little bit further watching the poeple moving around and doing things as the races get themselves sorted.

--| Archimedes - 05:58 PM |--

"Says you." Archi retorts with a grin at the Fang. He glances this way and that before going on to say, "I'm just here looking for Omar. Hear he is pretty good...or pretty damn lucky. My bet is on lucky. That or maybe he knows how to tweak an engine. Or has somebody else who does." The Rat catches sight of Tori, giving her a small wave before turning attention on the other two again. "You know this guy?" he questions, a motion toward Treshawn. Archimedes looks the guy up and down with a sinister gleam in his beady dark eyes.

--| Medina - 06:02 PM |--

The "Colonel Sanders" comment gets some judgmental silence from nearby folks who heard it, the discomfort that would be contempt or heckling if it weren't for the vibe that the Ratman gives off. A couple of the Black men Archimedes was eyeing earlier exchange meaningful looks - they caught that energy and don't like it. One of them mutters to someone near him: "That little dude's got a mouth on him. Somebody gonna check him before the night's over, I don't envy him."

Treshawn looks Delia up and down, and her lipliner-no-lipsticked grin appreciates the honesty. "Country girl got sense. Yeah, that beat-up Honda's been money for two months straight. Owner's a psycho, but the car performs." She flips through her notebook, and she tells them all: "Minimum bet's twenty, but if you really got stones, I got side action too." Her earrings jingle and her braids snake along her shoulders as she looks to Ajax. "Yeah, I'm Treshawn, and you sound like you got money to lose. Omar ain't here yet, but when he shows, the real betting starts." To Archi, "I -used- to know the guy, but he been a little intense. You wanna race, it's in a few minutes. Who you enterin' as?"

Meanwhile over at the donut circle, as the Caprice drives off, the crowd parts for the next performer: a red 87 Camaro IROC-Z that reeks of dad's cigarettes - with two kids who must be neglecting their homework to be here. The car is charmingly fitting: it -also- wants to be cool, and at a glance, it does! Either way, these gangly scrubs are thrilled to be here in their wannabe f-body muscle car, and one of 'em is elated to have a bottle of hennessy he must've stolen from his mom's cabinet. Now he's hangin' out the passenger side of his best friend's ride. The tires smoke, and Inspectah Deck smokes on the mic like smokin' joe frazier, the hell raiser raisin' hell with the flavor, terrorize the jam like troops in Pakistan, swingin' through -- the /CROWD/! The driver swings wide as the tires screech, a rookie misjudging the wheel. As he cuts close to the spectators, the crowd jumps back amid shrieks, yells, curses and laughter!

And while the crowd's still catching their breath from dodging the IROC's amateur hour, laughing and brushing off imaginary tire marks, that's when he rolls up. No fanfare, no revving engine to announce himself, just a beat-up silver Honda CR-V that materializes out of the industrial shadows, like it was somehow always there. That thing's got some dents doubtlesly from a previous, formal challenge of the authority of the double yellow line. Primer spots that tell stories nobody wants to hear. It moves with this weird, predatory stillness that sits uncanny against the car's concept: this car's supposed to be a grocery getter.

Omar himself looks like fifty miles of bad road served ice cold. Skinny in that tweaker way where his clothes hang off him like a scarecrow. Bloodshot eyes that dart around the crowd like he's counting targets. Hands that won't stop moving -- picking at his steering wheel, scratching at his arms, drumming fingers that never find a rhythm, despite the gallery of bass thumpin'. His hair is slicked back by its own grease, and when he finally cuts the engine, the sudden silence from his car feels ... Hungry. Ice Cube's No Vaseline cuts through the soundscape, and its discordant, brooding intro is almost serendipitous.

Soon as his CR-V settles into the parking lot, people start noticing him. Mot because he's doing anything flashy. It's because whispers start spreading through the crowd like ripples in a pond. "Omar's here." "That crazy motherfucker showed up." "Man, I told you he'd come." And somehow, even though his ride looks like it should be in a junkyard, folks are already reaching for their wallets. The IROC kids slide off, and the crowd takes a collective few steps back, making that circle larger.

(Delia - When Omar shows up, something hits you like a punch to the gut - your Rage suddenly resonates with something else, something that feels like your own fury but twisted, wrong. The hair on your arms stands up as the Wolf in your hindbrain starts thrashing, growling warnings you can't quite name. It's not the clean anger of Gaia's children.)

(Ajax - You feel your hackles rise for no reason you can articulate. Every instinct honed by noble breeding and WARRIOR TRAINING is telling you there's a predator nearby, something that doesn't belong in the natural order.)

(Archie - there he is. Omar's presence feels, to you, the paranoid ratkin, like spiritual acid eating at the edges of your consciousness. Every fiber of your being is suddenly alert, that familiar rat-sense of danger-danger-DANGER flooding your nervous system. Whatever just arrived, it's hunting, and everything about it feels fundamentally wrong.)

(Tori - When Omar shows up, you feel unease like when you walk into a room and know someone was just arguing. A gut instinct. And you notice that those men you were watching seem a little more attentive in a... Sharper way, like they expect a fight. And a little bit like they're excited for one, too. You think they might be the vigilante answer to private security, maybe a protection racket - but either way, it's like Omar showing up flipped a mental switch.)

Archimedes pages: Okay. My plan: Archi is going to use his Engineer aspect gift to make a remote detonated bomb. He's going to get in close to check out what is under Omar's hood like they do and plant the bomb subtly. Then when Omar starts the race. BOOM!

(Delia rolls Perception + Occult vs 7 for 3 successes) (Ajax rolls Occult + Perception vs 7 for 4 successes)

(Archimedes rolls Intelligence + Streetwis vs 6 for 4 successes)

(Archie - according to your 4 successes, while it may very well be waht you want to do, you reflect on the fact that bombing a car in front of this many witnesses the same year as the Oklahoma City Bombing not two months prior turns this from 'weird street racing incident handled quietly' into 'federal terrorism investigation.' Timothy McVeigh trial coverage has everyone paranoid about car bombs. FBI/ATF are hyper-alert to explosive devices in vehicles. HPD, FBI, ATF will have a fucking field day. Everyone here becomes a suspect. Are you SURE you want to proceed?)

--| Delia - 06:19 PM |--

When Treshawn mentions the book, Delia also looks to Ajax, giving the Silver Fang an elbow nudge in case he needed any more prompting to cough up some dough. Not like Tori or Delia are exactly living in luxury after all. And then Omar arrives and like the rest of the crowd, the Fury turns to stare at the unsettling domestic car turned somehow monster. "I think we're gonna need to have a little visit with him by the time all is said and done..." she mutters to her companions.

(Tori rolls Perception + Primal Urge vs 6 for 3 successes)

Archimedes pages: Hmmm damn. Not so worried about ME but the others could have problems if there was an investigation. How about make it kill power. So he loses? His fame goes to shit. He's a nobody.

--| Ajax - 06:23 PM |--

Giving Archimedes another rueful side-eye one last time, and taking some comfort in Delia's wry wit and Tori's congenial quiet nature, Ajax starts to answer Treshawn, pointing with his whole arm and big trap torso over at the kids with the Camaro, and is ABOUT to start fishing out some cash when a chill runs up his spine, and his jaw raises to the air, his brow knit in confusion. It's only as Omar comes out onto the pavement to the dulcid, gentle croons of 90s Ice Cube, that he finally gives the guy the attention his presence demanded. He puts his hands on Tori and Delia's shoulders, nodding his head at the Black Fury's assessment. "..."

He suddenly turns to Treshawn, staring at her for a long, blank moment. "Let's make a main and a side. One hundred dollars the kids win -- but 200 on Omar to win, and I don't want to see a cent of it back, I just want you to make him sign my autograph when the race is over. What do you say?"

(Archimedes rolls Intelligence + Crafts vs 6 for 3 successes)

--| Archimedes - 06:25 PM |--

Those around him can see eyes the Ratkin's eyes narrow and ears twitch when Omar arrives. His gaze sweeps to the man in his Honda POS, studying him. "MMmkaaaay..." Archimedes mutters under his breath while he continues to watch Omar. "This must be him." he remarks, subtly splitting from the group. He looks for a little nook to hide for a bit. Any little place out of sight will do. He really is a sneaky little rat.

Taking off his backpack, Archimedes rummages through it for some parts; all manner of scraps. He gets some wiring, circuit board, and only Rat knows what else. The Ratkin Engineer begins to McGuyver the hell out of that stuff. In not even a minute he is finished. Peering at his device, he palms it in his sleeve and begins looking for Omar and his Honda Civic.

--| Medina - 06:31 PM |--

Treshawn's eyes light up at Ajax's proposition. $300 is serious money! Getting Omar to sign autographs after he wins? Easy work. "Hell yeah, rich boy. You got yourself a deal." She scribbles in her notebook and hollers across the lot: "Omar! Got somebody here wants to meet the legend after you school these fools!"

But Omar's already distracted, those bloodshot eyes locked on some kid near his car who got too close while checking out the engine. "Yo! Back the FUCK off my ride!" Omar shoves the teenager hard enough to send him stumbling. The kid's friends step up, and suddenly voices are rising, chest-to-chest posturing starting as the crowd begins to circle! It's just enough distraction to give Archie not only a wide open opportunity to see the car, but to plant his device.

(Archimedes rolls Dexterity + Stealth vs 3 for 8 successes)

--| Tori - 06:35 PM |--

Tori has drifted away a bit, watching the Security folks watching everyone else and then.. like that everyone else.. her attention settles on Omar. She considers him, his car and then him again, taking some slow deep breaths of air as she does. She mmmms softly, nodding quietly to Delia's words, caught just on the edge.

Tori squints at Ajax a moment as he drops more money than she sees in a month on side bets and then goes back to watching.

(Tori - This is very strange - it's a human, ... It's not a Fomor. It's some other thing, definitely wyrm tainted, like maybe imminently fomor, an ongoing possession.)

--| Medina - 06:44 PM |--

While everyone's attention turns to the brewing altercation - Omar getting increasingly agitated, the kid's crew talking shit, Treshawn trying to keep her moneymakers from beating each other bloody before the race, that's when Archimedes makes his move. The little Ratkin slips through the chaos with practiced ease, his improvised device palmed and ready. Later, the crowd shifts like a tide toward the makeshift starting line of two orange traffic cones. Engines rev and rumble cars line up, but Omar's beat-up CR-V, sitting ominous, isn't moving, and Omar is ovviously growing agitated. Treshawn waves a dirty shop rag above her head, her voice cutting through the engine noise: "Alright, y'all! Quarter mile to the warehouse and back! Winner takes the pot!" Omar turns his key.... Nothing.

He tries again, pumping the gas pedal. The engine turns over but won't catch. His face goes from confusion to rage while everyone else flies from 0 to 60. The other cars scream off the line in clouds of tire smoke and exhaust, Omar sits alone in his dead Honda, fists hammering the steering wheel as he curses. The crowd follows the race, whooping and hollering, leaving Omar isolated in his frustration.

--| Medina - 06:52 PM |--

As Omar slams the hood down with enough force to rattle the whole car, his bloodshot eyes scan the remaining crowd with barely contained violence. The race is still going, distant engine noise echoing off warehouse walls, but it'll be back soon, bringing all that chaos and witnesses with it. For now, the gaians know they can't do 'this' here. Too many people, too much heat. But they can't just let him walk away, either. But hey. He's not going anywhere fast in that dead car. Could follow him home, see where he lives, figure out what they're really dealing with. Hell, they even know someone who runs a recovery business. Could always offer a friendly tow and set the trap...

--| Archimedes - 06:56 PM |--

All of the excitement and build up! Then nothing. Omar's Honda sits there like a bump on a log. "Huh, would you look at that? All of that hype and he's just a big loser." Archimedes states, and isn't too quiet about it. Chances are Omar miiiiight just hear him. After all, he is the one with the big mouth if you believe the guys from earlier. "Guess all the talk was for nothing." he adds, throwing some fuel on the fire before turning to glance at the others, "See ya. Don't stay out too late." With that the Ratkin slips away like a damn NINJA!

--| Delia - 07:01 PM |--

"Still want that autograph?" Delia asks Ajax as Omar's car just sits there and the crowd does what crowds do. And she waits until she's close enough to whisper to just Ajax and Tori. "We can't let that problem just sit.... but think I can manage to track him down later. Much later."

--| Ajax - 07:03 PM |--

Ajax looks a little deflated as Delia reminds him how much money he'd just lost, all in a big cash wad too. He was going to catch hell from his kinfolk at home. As he laments his woeful luck, which had gotten worse with every day, he pulls himself together. Maybe it was for the best. "I think we should go collect it anyway," he says airily, turning to Tori to see if she agrees. After all, she was the Philodox here. What she said, went.

--| Tori - 07:05 PM |--

Tori nods quietly. "We can chat no, but more detailed ... conversation.. should probably happen later. Much later." She agrees with Delia. "Because that problem cant' sit for too long, but not here." She glances around and then back to the other pair. "Far far too many variables here."