Marc Mannheimer's Story

Vanessa stood up after sinking her own shot, and felt a pair of arms slip around her waist.

"What are you wasting your time with this loser for, babe?" Dominique Bastien asked. "Didn't you hear him? He's too good for us."

He sniffed at her hair.

"I'm not your babe, Bastien, and if you don't take your arms off me you're going to be missing that bean sized pecker you call a dick come morning," she warned him.

"Hey now," he said as he backed up holding his arms in a mock display of surrender. "No need for any of that..."

With Bastien providing an ample distraction, Marc dropped a beefy hand down onto Bowen's shoulder. Should Bowen turn around Marc was lined up to sucker punch him to get in the first hit.

None too amused at being utilized as a distraction Vanessa drove an elbow back into Bastien's gut while he was still too close to avoid it. He grunted and doubled over and she turned and shoved him back against the wall with the pool cue pressed lengthwise across his throat to make sure he didn't join the fray. Bowen was on his own with Marc though.

The grating sound of a chair being pushed back from a table sounded as another member of the pack rose from his seat. Snow had been treating Vanessa's interactions with Bowen with disinterest until now, but as violence began to erupt, he downed the remainder of his drink, and got to his feet. The white-haired werewolf wasn't as large or intimidating as Marc, but he stared him down without seeming to be remotely cowed by that fact.

"Marc," he called sharply, narrowing his eyes at the other man, "He's not causing any trouble. Leave it. He knows Baron, let Baron deal with him."

He stepped over towards the pool table, but as of yet made no move to physically intervene.

Lost in thought and ancient memories Bowen did not react as he would have, as he should have, or as his decades of military training and muscle memory would have had him act. He turned to face Marc to his right, also Marc's as the other man had touched his right shoulder with his right hand. Marc's strike, a left hook came across his body, and across his right arm as it retreated from Bowen's shoulder. The blow slammed into the right side of Bowen's face with enough force to spin his head back around.

To his credit Bowen did not fall. He did not even stumble away. If Marc didn't press the attack Bowen would turn back around and bring his right hand up to his jaw as if to mock Marc. There was no rage in Bowen's eyes. In fact he had the look of someone who was victorious and he had not even thrown a punch. It was then that Snow called out to Marc and if afforded a moment Bowen would lean his pool cue against a nearby wall.

When and if Marc pressed the attack he would find his follow up blows deflected. The movements of Bowen's body, his shoulders, arms, and hands pushed blows wide and to the outside. The tactic had the side effect of unbalancing Marc and opening up the centerline of his body for precise swift jabs to the bridge of his nose. The first or second jab would bloody Marc's nose, a psychological victory for Bowen.

If Marc threw more than a few more punches and did not back off Bowen would follow up one jab with another swift strike to Marc's Larynx. The interruption in Marc's breathing would likely cause him to reach for his own throat to which Bowen would respond by boxing Marc's ears with the flats of his hands. This would provide Bowen plenty of time to finish the larger man but he didn't. He was taking away Marc's senses one by one. Bowen would back away and let Marc recover if he could.

Despite his massive size, Marc wasn't quite the untrained thug that he might at first appear. Instead of wild and reckless, his swings where controlled, and Bowen would have a hard time exposing him up as he fought with an intuitiveness that came with years of conditioning. Bowen got a few licks in, but nothing solid as Marc leaned his head back out of their path as if he could anticipate which ones he wasn't in a position to deflect.

Bowen's precise blows had caught him off guard as he hadn't expected the stranger to have the military training he appeared to have. He was on his guard now though and from the way he centered his weight and kept his arms squared off to his body, Marc seemed to have some measure of training himself. Military perhaps? Or law enforcement. It was difficult to say where he had learned to fight, but he was a man who knew how to control his size and strength.

Meanwhile strong arms locked around Venessa and pulled her off from Bastien much to her ire.

"Keep her out of this," he told the man holding her before turning to point a finger at Snow. "And you keep out of this too, Snow."

He straightened his shirt before picking up a pool cue from the table and giving it a quick examination.

"Baron's going to have your ass for this, Bastien," Vanessa warned.

"Baron's not here, babe," he replied smuggly before moving in to take a wild swing for Bowen's back with it.

Most of the people in the room seemed content to simply observe, rather than join the fray. In fact, money was exchanging a few hands as quick bets where being laid.

Bastien would find his attempt to strike Bowen in the back with a pool cue futile. Bowen had followed his location through his peripheral so Bastien was forced to come at Bowen from his right side. Bowen was still trading light blows with Marc who he had initially wrote off as a common thug and now realized had some close quarters training. Though for his part, Bowen wasn't really using anything more than basic defensive techniques honed through decades, nay, centuries of practice. When Bastien came in with the cue wound up and ready to swing it forced Bowen to step back and disengage with Marc.

He caught Bastien's wrist at the start of the man's swing. Using his momentum he twisted the man's hand down violently with enough force to break the arm at the wrist. With a pull and a twist of his hips, he would send Bastien sprawling to the floor between the two fighters and the cue clattering and then rolling away, across the floor. Bowen stepped around Bastien which also put some distance between Marc and him.

Bastien rolled on the floor with a groan, holding his broken wrist as Bowen stepped away from him. A few others moved to intervene as Bowen seemed to be holding his own, but a scathing glare from Marc set them back.

The message was clear. This was between him and Bowen now.

Bastien on the other hand, didn't quite get the message. As he saw the smug look in Vanessa's eyes, his own turned to a wolfish golden hue. There was a sound akin to a growl in his throat as he grabbed an abandoned beer bottle that had rolled up against the leg of one of the pool tables.

He smashed it against the pool table leg and made it to one knee as he eyed Bowen up for an opening.

A solid kick impacted Bastien's side before he could move in on the fight, as Snow stepped forwards upon the shattering of glass. He followed Bastien to the floor, grabbing the wrist holding the bottle and shoving it into the floor as he made to pin him down. "Drop the bottle, Bastien, you've gone far enough. This is between Marc and the newcomer." he snarled, his own eyes - themselves perpetually wolfish - meeting the other's feral stare.

Much as he disdained the manner in which this fight had begun, if Bowen was rising to the challenge, he wasn't going to intervene between him and Marc. But Bastien was another matter. "I would have hoped my packmate had more balls than to resort to a broken bottle from behind. That's a coward's tactic."

He moved a bit farther from Bastien least the enraged wolf free himself from Snow. At this point about three meters separated Bowen and Marc. Bowen relaxed his stance ever so slightly. "I did not come here to prove anything. I am just here to talk with Baron and for a drink.", he said calmly. Bowen's breathing came slow and even as if he had been at rest the whole time. He was in his element. Sweet adrenaline coursed through his veins but to those watching him he was still cool, calm, and collected. He was acutely aware of the pack instinct. He knew they were chomping at the bit to protect their pack mates, Marc and Bastien. It was a driving instinct that a few were resisting because of a code of ethics, morality, and/or some illusion of honor.

He trained every day of his life. His welfare, his life, and the lives of those who served under him depended on his physical and mental performance in the face of adversity and extreme violence. Bowen had obtained peak physical fitness and maintained that level for decades and it did show subtely in this fight. If the fight continued it would be indisputable. He was a trained killer, that made a life out of killing those that needed to be put down.

On a lighter note: He even had plans to travel to Wing City this coming summer to take part in the second annual Asland Ninja Warrior competition. Of course he would be running the courses against a handicap. He was happy about it even if he had to run those courses against a handicap.

He really had no reason to advance on Marc. So he waited and if Marc wanted to close the distance again the fight would shift into something much more brutal, much more violent than the previous engagement. Eventually Bowen's constant training and experience would produce an opening that could be capitalized on and this opening would result in a strike to a vulnerable part of Marc's anatomy. Once the larger werewolf was stunned or disorientated the follow up would be a more permanent and debilitating disable. "Easy...", he said calmly.

It was very possible someone was going to walk away from this fight with a permanent limp and it wasn't going to be Bowen unless Marc got extremely lucky, decided to up the ante with a weapon, or shifted.

The fight was short, and brutal. Blows where landed by both as they exchanged holds and grapples to try and subdue the other while ribs and faces absorbed the jarring impacts of fists. Marc had size and weight on his side, and the advantage seemed in his favor, until Bowen ended it with a decisive strike.

The crack of bone was audible even over Marc's shout of pain and anger. The damage to the knee was furthered as he came down hard on it, adding the impact of his own weight to the already damaged joint.

It drew more sounds of pain that he bit off through clenched teeth as he held himself up on the edge of a pool table.

With Marc down though, there was no one to keep the rest at bay. Bowen would find himself alone, in a bar full of hostile wolves that were weighing up the risk of moving in on him.

Baron's return from his run likely couldn't have been timed better as the massive black furred wolf shoved the door open to pad inside. He threw his head from side to side, a warning glance to anyone thinking of continuing the confrontation. His steps stopped beside Marc as he took in the situation. Two of his wolves where down, with Snow atop one of them and a piece of broken glass discarded on the floor beside them.

His fur rapidly receded and Baron stood up from the floor.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

"Marc and Bastien bit off more than they could chew," Vanessa bit out. "That's what happened."

The wolf holding her restrained let her go now that it seemed that the fight was over and she brushed her arms off indignantly.

Baron was well aware of Bastien's behavioral problems, and Marc's unwillingness to pass up a fight, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to sort out what was going on.

"Get them to the hospital," he stated bluntly.

A couple of onlookers moved in to help Marc and Bastien to their feet and from the bar.

Snow stepped back from Bastien as Baron intervened, and moved to slip back to his seat in the crowd. He wanted little part in anything that was to come next. Baron's business with this newcomer was his own.

Unless otherwise addressed, he simply took his seat and ordered another drink. It was over, and time to go back to solemnly brooding.

He turned to Vanessa as she laid blame and then to Snow as he returned to his seat in the crowd. Bowen fixed his collar and yanked his shirt free of his pants as it had been neatly tucked in before and the tussle with Marc had pulled half the fabric free already.

Though he had seemed to be enjoying the fight as it happened caught by the slight and subtle smirk at the corner of his lips. This had been a ruse to infuriate his attackers and a reaction of his own self confidence. Now that the fight was over there was not a hint of it remaining. After Marc and Bastien were pulled to their feet and then helped out of the bar Bowen would speak softly to Baron.

"I need a word with you concerning Ardelean.", said Bowen in a soft tone and with a serious look on his face.

Bowen gave no apology for the damage done to Marc or Bastien as he felt he had nothing to apologize for and to do so would only show weakness. On the flip side he did not necessarily expect an apology from Marc, Bastien, or anyone else as to apologize for one's nature or someone else's actions would be foolish. It was the rule of the strong, common in many packs he had encountered, something he was intimately familiar with, and something that was sometimes at odds with the world as it got smaller and society became kinder and gentler. In many packs this was the case and he had experienced it first hand from his birth into the world and again when he first howled to the moon. He had not always been the lone wolf he was today. His long since dead liege was not the last to betray him.

Also arriving with Snow where Marc, Jacques, Carlisle, and Julienne. Vanessa and Bastien where both notably missing, but given the situation with Sophia that was to be expected.

There where a few others missing also, people who had been out of reach, or in some cases out of town, but for the most part, the brunt of the pack had shown up. A few more stragglers might arrive yet too.

Meanwhile as everyone was filtering in, Desmond kept an eye on Chloe while Snow untied her so she could get dressed. With the pack showing up in force, it would be suicide if she tried anything, but if she wasn't entirely in control of herself as seemed to be the case then sometimes reason didn't really factor into these things.

Carlisle looked grimmer than normal and he threw Chloe only a cursory glance. There was a lot on his mind, and on the minds of the rest of the pack for that matter.

"Vanessa and Bastien aren't coming," Carlisle informed the others as he got off his phone. "Not while Sophia's still missing. And Nieve's still out of town. Anyone seen or heard from Noel?"

"Not since he got out of the hospital after that spat with Ragenard again," Julienne replied with a scowl. "Probably off nursing his pride."

Chloe rubbed her wrists as she was released and slowly stood up, hissing and spitting curses as her side screamed with pain. After the stars cleared from her vision, she slowly got dressed, careful to not jar the wounds and bruises that were healing at a rather rapid pace. The clothes were a bit baggy on her, but would do for now.

The gun no longer concerned her as much as the people in this room did. Outnumbered and alone, Chloe would be killed before she had the chance to fully transform. Not that she'd willingly want to transform in a room full of a pack.

Suddenly, Chloe felt very alone and every instinct that drove her wanted to run. But with Desmond with the gun, and the others close at hand, she wouldn't make it to the swinging doors. So once she endured the torture of getting dressed, she sat tenderly on the floor with her arms out, waiting to be locked up again. She merely listened to the conversation that was going on around her, as it did not include her yet.

"You're gone one week and come back to find everythin's gone to shite"

Muttering angrily to himself, Alfred Fay walked down an aisle towards the stage. "Heaven's forbid I ever decide to go on holiday, I'll return to find everyone wiped out by a plague."

A heavy sigh escaped him as he climbed onto the stage, taking a moment to stand in the center, admiring the ruined remains of a once fairly decent theatre.

"Such a lovely place for this arrangement." He yawned, fishing a flask out of his jacket. "Very symbolic, and I hope it's not an omen of things to come."

He took a swig from the flask and returned it to his jacket before turning on his heels and sliding behind the curtain. When he came within earshot of the others present he spread his arms wide in greeting.

"Well then, what exactly have I missed, my beloved brethren."

"What have you missed?" Julienne bit out as she turned about to face Alfred. "Is that the best you have to say for yourself? Eliotte's dead, or didn't you care?"

Julienne always did have a sharp tongue for Alfred. He wasn't like most of the pack, he kept to himself a lot, and in her eyes he was an outsider here among friends.

"'ey," Desmond interrupted. "We 'ave more than enough trouble at our doors without scrappin' among ourselves. There's some problems that need addressin'. Not the least of which is sittin' right 'ere behind us."

His skin was a few shades paler than normal, likely on account of the mauling and the blood loss and he wiped the back of his sleeve across his brow.

"There's a chance she's the one who attacked that lad," he said as he gestured towards her with the gun still in hand while Snow was re-securing her with the chains.

"Took a bite out of me arm she did."

The boy's story had been all over the news, headlines that where still vying with Sophia on coverage time. The child's prognosis was grim, and as the boys condition deteriorated in the hospital, the outrage among the Lutetian citizens was on the rise. The rogue wolf on the loose was a problem for all of the packs, but with the victims cropping up around Bloodstone territory, it was a matter of some urgency for them in particular. The police, and VINDEX where both beginning to cotton on to the pattern and it was bringing heat down on the pack. And now Baron was cooling his heels in jail.

Once Snow had Chloe secured, Desmond stood back up and reholstered the gun in his back holster.

Chloe's eyes grew wide at the accusation of attacking another. "H-hey!" She exclaimed. "I'll admit that I accidentally attacked you. But I'm not taking blame for something someone else did!" She said.

She had heard about the boy being attacked, and had even been on the case right after Re'Altarm had been attacked. Though with the attack on Desmond, her chances of convincing the rest of the pack was slim unless there was harder proof. "You can't pin that on me." She muttered, glaring needles at Desmond.

"You don't remember doin' this either," Desmond reminded her. "Might be there's other things you don't remember doin'?" he asked.

There was no malice in his words, but it was a serious enough question. Had Snow not happened on the situation, the day could have gone very different. Desmond would have been the newest headlines, and would she have ever known she was the responsible party?

Ulrich had come into the theater with the rest, but he was quiet at first, like Raquette. Backstage with everyone there was slightly stuffy. There was a good amount of dust. He remembered that smell from high school. Theater dust.

The man looked grim, which wasn't much of a statement for Ulrich. He normally seemed a bit down or harried, but it was particularly apparent that day, carving grooves above his brow. So much had happened in the last few weeks. Nothing good. People were missing, dead, and hospitalized. A grim week, it was.

He trained his attention on Raquette, who'd stayed mighty quiet the whole time, as she often did. He hovered near the two Jeans, however.

"This..!" She started off as if she were going to raise her voice but backed off immediately, finding it wise not to tick off most of a pack. "This time.. Was different.." She said, lowering her gaze away from Desmond, furrowing her brows. Why was it different though? She had never lost control during the day.

She would have more problems if she were to remain captive over night as well.

"I don't know how to convince you that I didn't do it.." She said, the note of uncertainty in her voice. Could it be possible that she was involved with the attacks? She couldn't remember attacking Desmond, but she hadn't randomly ended up naked in the middle of somewhere she didn't remember how she got there prior to this event either. But Bowen had been insistent she see the attack site where Re'Altarm had been and has made sure she was locked up from that point on.

Could it have been her?

"It couldn't have been me.." She said, more quietly and less certain that before.