Richard Cunorix's Story

That morning...

Richard frowned at the scene before him, arms crossed, scarred brow heavily shadowing his eyes. His mouth was hidden partially by his palm, not in horror of what he was looking at, but contemplation.

"God damn," he growled, shaking his head. "First a small child and then this?"

The alley lit up as photos snapped of the corpse. Throat torn out. Eyes and mouth open. Arms laid out at his sides. A young man in his early twenties. His wallet hadn't been stolen. It was right on the inside of his pocket. Emeric Michael. Brown-haired, green-eyed. Robust.

"It's so clean," commented another officer.

"He almost doesn't have a neck. Look, the spine is left. Just the spine. If I had to guess, this was a werewolf."

"Pain in the ass."

"The neck, you mean."

"You've got an awful sense of humor."

"I'll say," said a voice that came from behind the officers. Standing there was a rather muscular man dressed down in a black long coat, shirt, pants and boots. At his sides were a pair of custom-built handguns, on the rear portion of his belt hung two strange custom handheld crossbows, and on his back was a very large greatsword.

Aldous was a rather grizzled man, aged into his forties and sporting a salt-and-pepper mane of hair, as well as a rather thick beard of similar appearance. His right eye was missing, and he donned a makeshift eye patch formed from an old bandage to cover up the grotesque scar that injury had left behind. He had refused to get a cybernetic implant from the Society, even though they advised against his decision, as he was well-aware of the dangers that could be presented in doing so. No, he was content with being half-blind.

He could still work just as effectively with one eye as he did with two.

"What've ya got for me, Dick?" he asked, peering through the officers at the mangled corpse before them. He took a few steps closer, trying to examine the body in greater detail. He hung back, however, awaiting to be briefed on the situation, and to acquire permission to perform his own examination.

On one of the two buildings flanking the alleyway, a man crouched in the shadows of a water-tower - hands deep in waistcoat pockets, ragged and torn jeans, a baseball cap pulled low to hide a face riddled with scars, a thin grey beard, and shock-white hair. He watched the officers work, his yellow gaze flitting from face to face, committing them - or trying to commit them - to memory.

The mangled corpse was an eerie match to Jesse's supposed victim, the perpetrator one that Baron had requested he track, personally. As of yet, he'd felt no need to utilize the manpower that Baron had at his disposal.

He didn't trust a werewolf as far as he could throw one.

And wasn't that ironically delicious?

“I doubt humour is the most important part, really, unless you laugh criminals into jail. Which is impressive, I admit.” El chuckled some at her own joke, since she was sure she’d be getting nothing from her partner. That ended with a short sigh which sloped into awkward quietness between the two. The car seemed to be having its own conversation, however. As they made their way into Vargeras where the roads were less smooth, it rattled and bumped along, talking metallically whilst her occupants struggled to find something to converse about.

Luckily, they were saved by a voice emerging from the scratched dashboard.

"Looks like we're not going to find out, either. Higher priority call, take this next left."

Leon breathed through his nose, face scrunching as he tried to muffle a cough.

"Well at least you've got sense of humor, even if its a bad one." Giroux responded as if ten minutes hadnt passed.

---

The knowledge of the increase in werewolf attacks over the past few years, weeks, even, was enough to make El on edge as they drove through their haunt. Lining the streets were buildings which she would describe as shoddy. In her opinion, werewolves did not deserve any care from the state. They were dangerous, unruly, untrustworthy. She pulled in a little way up the street from the scene of the crime which was easily distinguishable by the small gathering partially visible down the alley in the morning light.

If she had to make an initial guess, she’d be putting this straight down to pack conflict. Werewolves really were a bunch of un-peaceful brutes.

She studied the area a bit closer, taking in the sodden rubbish laying in the gutters and trash piled against walls. Messy un-peaceful brutes.

The sun glinted off something half-hidden in the alley. A something which was strapped to someone’s back. Craning her neck, El let out a low whistle at what she judged to be an impressive greatsword.

“Hey, how come you don’t have one of those?” She asked Giroux as she reached to kill the engine.
If it was humour he wanted, then he’d have to get used to being the butt of the joke.

Leon funneled a few more seeds into his mouth. He took a moment to attempt to chew them before speaking, half chewed seeds muffling his words. "What? A svord?"

"Might make you look a bit less..." she watched him munch away. Him, he, this clown who was supposed to be her advisor "useless."

With that, she slung the keys back to him and climbed out of the car, only to step straight into a pile of soggy cardboard.

Leon shrugged. "Looks heavy, I've got back problems." He shoved another handful into his mouth, blowing his cheeks up like a squirrel.

He stepped out of the car, passing the bag of seeds to a vagrant dressed in burlap scraps before rubbing the reside off on his pants. The man smiled, taking the bag and disappearing into an alley.

Leon made his way towards the scene, pulling his badge out from beneath his grey t-shirt shirt and letting it hang against his chest. "Whos the cyclops?" His words were barely audible through his heavy accent. He addressed the other man; "Radio said it was a dog call, Choncey?" He peered down at the grisly corpse. "They're getting pretty brave with these..." He moved his hand to his waist, fingers capping what looked like a long, iron nail sitting in a leather holster.

Richard looked up, then greeted the man with a nod. "Nothing good, Kane. I'm not sure I've ever seen one like this before. Werewolf with sharper teeth, maybe. I don't know. It's why I called you down here. We've had two attacks within the last week. This is the third. It's strange, look-"

He knelt down on the ground next to the corpse, carefully avoiding the large puddle of blood around it. Pulling out a pen from his pocket, he pointed to the space around the bite. "That's a lot of slobber. But the wound almost looks like it's been made with a knife. This is also the only injury we can pick out. Until we get this guy to our pathologist, we won't know much more. What do you think?"

As two more people began to approach, Richard got up and approached them, scowling at the nickname. "It's not Choncey," he growled. "Kane, you know agent Giroux, I'm sure. Ah, who is this?" he asked, gesturing to the young woman.

El had trailed after Giroux, quite ungracefully as she’d been slyly trying to get the saturated cardboard off the bottom of her boot by dragging it along the concrete. She came to a momentary standstill behind the bodies which ringed the corpse before worming her way in besides her partner.

To be honest, the sight made her a bit queasy, she hadn’t seen anything this bad so far, and her discomfort was written across her face.

What did she think?
She was sure they weren’t asking her, but… two attacks within the last week. But from what she’d heard, she’d describe them more as maulings. Whereas this… this seemed purposeful, targeted, there was no denying the fatality of that single wound -

Giroux brought the palm of his hand against his forhead, squinting his eyes "Doh! Forgot we ended up naming you Richard. Choncey was our second choice. Apologies." He smiled before peering over his shoulder. "I dont know, she just kinda followed me here. Get behind the yellow tape, lady."

El shot Giroux a reproachful glare.
“Elodie Blanc, I’m his shadow. Greeny.” She might have smiled if she wasn’t agitated at how this ‘seasoned officer’ was influencing her first impression. Not that her own attitude was helping in any way.

Aldous merely looked over the new arrivals and scoffed; especially at the woman who introduced herself as a greenhorn. "Fine lot you work with, Dick," he stated dryly. He turned his attention back to the corpse. It was quite a vicious kill indeed; Aldous wondered, for a brief moment at least, if the victim felt anything before the lights went out. Instantaneous death, or the slow, bloody kind?

"Emerich Michael..." he said absentmindedly. The name didn't ring any bells, as was expected. He pondered over the corpse, however, the smell of blood and what he could only assume were voided bowels lingering on the air. Despite the horrid stench and gory visuals, Aldous kept his lunch. He'd seen a lot worse in his many years working for the Society; this young man's death was nothing too impressive, if he had to think back.

Still, he had to ask the obvious question: "Do we have any leads?" He was sure he knew the answer to that already, but it couldn't hurt to inquire.

"Eloide. Nice to meet you," said Richard, giving her a nod. There was a short glare given to Leon before he turned back to the hunter.

Raising one hand, Richard flicked the wall beside them. "This is the Den. Hotspot for werewolves. I doubt this murder is linked to them or else they'd of disposed of the body and not left it festering out in the alley, but they might have heard something," he said, motioning for them to move out of the alley as several members from the forensics team came to collect the body. "I'll be questioning the members, and I want you all to do the same. Kane, I know you and werewolves- the Society and werewolves in general- aren't on the friendliest terms, so I'm leaving it up to you if you want to join us. I'll be keeping you up to date on any information we come across."

There should have been no surprise when Richard walked into the Den, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his badge and show it to everyone present.

"You should all be aware that there's been a murder. Surprise, surprise. It was right at your doorstep, so I'd be startled if anyone didn't know by now. All the yellow tape should have been a good indicator, too. We're not arresting anyone, we just need to ask you all some questions. Where's Baron?"

Leon trailed in behind Richard, fingers wrapped around the nail. It remained firmly within its leather housing, but his grip seemed to tighten around it. His hand stung.

He glanced at a few of the bars patrons, nose twitching slightly as he took in their scent. He cupped his nose within his free hand, attempting to calm its movement. As he continued watching the pack, his eyes fell on things they shouldn't. The door, its knob, the windows and the various exits.

"Yeah, what Choncey said."

Baron frowned as the police trailed into his establishment. Their presence turned more than a few heads, and a few patrons made it a point to finish off their drinks to leave early for the night. More than a few of the people who visited The Den where faces that didn't want to be crossing words with the police.

No one seemed to be jumping at talking to the police and those who didn't leave turned back to their drinks and ignored the police entirely.

"We'll talk more later," Baron told Blaze.

Even without anyone aiding the police in their search, it wouldn't take them long to locate him in his usual seat by the window. He had a handful of arrests under his belt, though they had never been able to pin much on him over the years. A handful of misdemeanors, some assault and battery charges, and a few counts of obstructing justice. He had seem some prison time for the latter, but they had only been able to nail him with two years. With his position at the head of the Bloodstone Pack, and his pack members accumulating a far wider range of criminal offenses over the years, the police where always keeping half an eye on his goings.

It was enough to sow some unpleasantness between him and the police, but with far larger concerns going on in the city - including the spread of organized crime among the Crescent Sky pack - Baron's goings on where typically of a far lower priority.

Jesse moved a hand to Blaze's elbow as he nodded his head to guide her away from the table.

"I'm going to check on Re'Altarm," he said to Baron.

The police being in here made him uneasy, and he wanted to check up on her now that the matter of Blaze was taken care of.

Baron only nodded briefly as he withdrew a pack of cigarette's from his pocket. He propped one foot up against the seat of another chair as he lit a cigarette up and took a drag of it and waited for the police to find their way to his table.

The doors opened again, and walking in came yet another detective. She laid a hand on Leon's cheek and pushed him to the side in a rude and unprofessional greeting. "Morning, mouthbreather," Jeanne joked, flashing her badge. She nudged Richard. "Gave the little speech?"

Richard arched a brow. "Yes."

"Not very responsive, mm? You did it wrong."

The scar-faced man scoffed at his senior. How did he get in a department with a bunch of morons?

"I'm going to question Baron. You ain't the one for 'im, Choncey" said Jeanne, walking ahead of him over to Baron's table. She threw out the ends of her long coat behind her before sitting herself down. "Hallo, there. I don't think we've actually formally met, but you've got quite the reputation around the office. I'm Jeanne Bonheur. I'm happy to finally meet you, Baron. So, now." Jeanne gave him a tight smile, raising up her eyebrows. "Is there anything you can tell me about last night? Some strange murder you got in your alley, huh?"

Leon pushed his cheek against her hand, smiling lightly. "Finally, someone shows up without a broom up their ass". His eyes flicked towards the door as a small white rat trailed in behind the officer.

He spectated it for a moment longer, watching it sneak behind the counter top. He looked back towards the officer as she began speaking. He let out a quiet laugh; Looked like his nickname for Dick would catch on quicker than he thought. He made his way towards her, remaining silent. For the first time in a long time, the childish look left his face as he gazed upon Baron.

He didn't dare to speak. He had done enough to hurt his cause the last time he encountered the man.

The hard realization of undeath and finding yourself in a less-than-hospitable city has a tendency to get on someones nerves big time. This reflected in his once savvy small-talk skills being replaced by a void of damp air. Eli took another drink, trying to rack up some sass, but his body just seemed to jump straight to the hangover phase, which did not help his case of post-death crankiness.
And then without warning, the law enters the room.
The law, in this case, was a fancy lad dressed in a jacket, shouting about murder and yellow tape. Not soon after another strapping lawman enters the room, reinforcing the statement the first one was giving. As they walked around, Eli felt uneasy since he was not sure if being undead was a criminal offense in this armpit of Terra, and tried to keep his head down. On the other hand the authorities could get him out of this planet, back to the Old Country, if his ID was still valid. The thought of this suddenly materialized the central problem Eli was having trouble to solve. Eli leaned over the counter to speak to the bartender under his breath.

"What year is it?"

"I don't know anything about it," Baron replied simply. "Other than you've been running my business off all night."

A dead body in an alley wasn't too unusual of an occurrence in Vargeras, but the presence of the the police all over the street outside his bar was deterring some of his more unsavory patrons. They had a fraction of their usual crowd tonight.

"Are you going to be in here long? Or should I just close up for the night, because I'm not going to have any customers left soon."

Cops.

Shit.

Ivan finished committing what the police had said to memory, straightening when the one guy announced his intent to barge into The Den. He took a few steps backwards, belting his waistcoat tightly as he pondered the information.

Three attacks. All from the same markings. The police were chasing the same lead he was, and that meant nothing good for him. Cops sniffing around his business meant answering more questions than he'd be asking, and watching his step far more than he felt was comfortable. He'd need to stew on this a little more, figure out how to proceed.

He leaped the gap between the buildings easily, a dark shape on light sky.

As he opened the door on the roof to head down to the den, his stewing turned to brooding.

Brooding always made him uncomfortable.

"Make yourself at home," Baron replied.

He took another long drag of his cigarette as his eyes shifted to the other officers in his bar that where currently engaged with a number of his customers.

The sooner they finished and left the better...

Sliding out of her seat, Jeanne took a pause, lifting her head. Her eyes narrowed, shifting around the Den.

"... what in the world," she mumbled, a frown drawn upon her face. "What was that?"

"Raccoons have been getting into the cellar," Baron replied dryly. "Going to go report me to the health department now?"

Fortunately the din of the bar meant that most people likely hadn't heard whatever had caught Jeanne and Baron's ear.

Jeanne let out a chuckle. "I don't think the raccoons would be their main concern," she replied, shoving her hands in her pockets. She brought up the UI on her bionic lens, though there was no telling that she was unless one were to look her directly, intently, in the eye.

She moved toward the cellar, checking the scent trails around it. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I poked around," she told Baron.

"Do you have a warrant?" Baron asked bluntly.

The woman hovered her hand above the doorknob, fingers twitching. "I can get one," she warned him, looking over her shoulder at Baron. Her gaze wasn't as friendly as it had been before.

Baron stood from his chair, slapping a hand against the edge of the door as he met her eyes.

"Then you go do that," he told her. "And stop harassing me and my customers."

Even so petite a woman next to the Bloodstone pack leader, Jeanne stood firmly in place as they locked eyes. "Expect me in a few minutes," she growled.

She didn't make it two steps from the cellar door, before the gig was up and a woman's shriek split the air - emanating from the cellar.

Baron kept his hand pressed to the door as he stared Jeanne down, and she could almost see the amber hue of a wolves eyes fixed onto her own.

"This isn't what it's going to look like, she's here of her own decision," Baron told her.

His eyes flicked to Leon and Elodie, but with Leon's gun unholstered and leveled on him things where heating fast. Several of his pack where on their feet as well, but a scathing look from him was all it took to keep them stood down.

A shootout with the police would be disastrous for everyone involved.

And so he laced his hands behind his head and allowed Jeanne to pull the cellar door open. He didn't take the indicated seat though, and his jacket was open enough to leave his sidearm visible in its holster. As the officers converged on the cellar door, and Leon kept his gun trained on Baron, he kept his hands where they where. He didn't particularly want to give the officers reason to think he might reach for his weapon and give them an excuse to shoot him.

"You're making a mistake," he growled lowly as Jeanne moved past him.

Aldous had to let out a light chuckle. "That's putting it lightly," he said with a grunt as he leaned down to peer at the body some more, looking for any traces of hair or anything Richard may have overlooked. Deciding the scene had been thoroughly scoped over, however, he stood once more.

Looking at Richard, he spoke. "I can't go with you, unfortunately. My presence would only make things worse. Go, and good luck." Looking back at the mangled corpse at their feet, he sighed. "I'll make sure you get some assistance on our end. I'll head up an investigation, let you know if we come across anything."

With that, he strode away, heading back to the University. He'd need to run by Thaddeus, but he was confident that he'd get the resources he needed to carry out his own investigation.

Richard pulled his gun, but kept it pointed at the ground. He gave a warning glance to Leon. He really didn't like the guy.

"Stop running your mouth, Giroux," Richard spat at Leon. He directed his voice at the bar, "No one make any sudden moves!"