Daniel Broken Hammer

[Fabienne Bartelle] *The shine and glimmer of the magnificent mile was at its most deceptive tonight. A half moon hung low in the sky, Luna's glowing face reflected across glass giants whenever heavy clouds part in the wind. Winter is struggling to maintain its icy hold on the city, as warmer air moves in, sidewalks slushy, ice slick. Fabienne is returning home, log legged strides eating up the distance as she moves with purpose and measured grace. Home. Home. To the safety and simplicity of her own home. Her private residence. The thought still brought a thrill at the sheer novelty of it. She's wrapped in a bone colored chenille dress, a pale rose cashmere sweater-trench warding off the cold. A deceptively delicate hand rests on her collar, carefully keeping track of a diamond pendant.*

[Broken Hammer] It's a different kind of grace that marks the figure coming toward Fabienne. Swifter, feral, lightfooted, as though he carried his weight largely on the balls of his feet as an animal does. Broken Hammer doesn't walk so much as he strides. Long limbs. Narrow, lean frame, even with his arms folded across his chest for warmth, hands tucked under biceps.

He raises his head when he sees Fabienne, like a wolf scenting something interesting. Quite dark, his eyes, and very direct. He doesn't alter course.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Fabienne is not as observant as some. Wary, but certain recent developments had left her at a disadvantage when noting what was occurring around her. A blonde party boy staggers across the street, glutted on the pleasures of the mile, inebriated and cocksure. He yells something rude across the street as the silverfang kin waits at a light. Fabienne either doesn't hear him, or ignores him entirely. Anatomy referenced none of the drunks concern. The subtle undercurrent of rage approaching her is what puts her on edge, darws her head up, eyes wide and seaching. As lean and graceful as a doe scenting a predator, and so she has, grey eyes lifting to the Fenrir. She dips her head, a hand raised in hello to the tense-cheeked Forseti, even as the blonde across the street warbles something inappropriate and incomprehensible.*

[Broken Hammer] Correction: his eyes don't stay fixed on the kinswoman after all. The first shout snaps the Forseti's eyes leftward. 'Some' would include Broken Hammer. There are few wolves in this entire city so alert, so sharp of eye and ear, as he.

The strap of muscle in his cheek, taut and visible even under the best of circumstances, pulls tighter still. His head swings back, something heavy and animal in the gesture, the neck moving as well as the skull, and he continues toward Fabienne. Closer now, close enough to literally scent her breeding, mad kings and white wolves, so he lets his teeth part, breathes through his mouth instead, as though this would help.

Another shout, rankling on his nerves. Waxing half moon tonight: justice, righteousness. Not quite his moon but close enough. Broken Hammer stops short, turns, snaps. "Watch your mouth!"

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Helped by Broken Hammer's sudden shift of attention, the aristocratic kin turns her head, grey gaze finding the belligerent college kid in time to see him go pale and duck back into the pub he'd stumbled out of. Fleeing in shock. When she regards Daniel once more, its with an eyebrow raised in question, every inch noble incredulity. Infuriatingly proper as she raises her chin, too easy to picture in jodhpurs atop a wet flanked thoroughbred, or at the head of a formal dinner. Her lineage lending a allure her demeanor did not.*

Broken Hammer.

[Broken Hammer] He doesn't even shout like men do. The emphasis is all wrong. Every word was stressed and short, like three quick barks in a row. When the boy blanches and backs down, the Forseti licks the edge of his bared teeth viciously.

The kinswoman addresses his profile. He turns back, distracted by his own quickflaring anger. Weren't the Half Moons supposed to be the balanced ones? Levelheaded. Cool in judgment. Broken Hammer is tightly controlled, tightly wound, but there's an instability at the core. "What," he snaps, as though expecting her to berate him for shouting. Isn't that what all the kin of Chicago do? Berate their betters.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *The man - or more appropriately, this evening - the wolf bares his teeth and snaps at her. Facial muscles pulsing and tense, Forseti's entire form like thick gauge cable drawn too tight. It strikes a chord that has Fabienne stepping backwards, tenseness contagious, wariness settling like a familiar shawl about her shoulders. Her lips are moistened nervously, before she clears her throat with a sharp rasp, eyes shut a moment before she addresses the creature in front of her, saying simply. *

I had intended only to wish you good evening, rhya. I hadn't meant to interrupt. Did you know that gentleman?

*The honorific is a quick rough noise in her throat, a human approximation of an animal sound. Nothing like the wail that rises thinly over the hum and rush of evening traffic. Then another. Yet another joins the muted cacaphony, and another still, screeching voices lifting in terrible unison, even as the first begins to falter, and falls silent. Past Fabienne, in the dead end alley just beyond the silverfang kinfolk, the cries begin to drop off, inhuman. Feline. Tortured.*

[Broken Hammer] "No."

Beneath his battered layers of old hoodies, the Forseti's chest rises and falls with a sharp breath. Another; then he bites back his temper. Literally. The corner of his jaw flexes, releases.

"I apologize."

There might've been more. There's not. There's a screech instead -- the Forseti's head snaps up again, and turns. His expression grows sharp, alert, like a hound scenting the fox. Torturing cats? No end to human depravity. Without another word he starts toward the alley.

[Fabienne Bartelle] No apology necessary, I -

*Then he's off. Moving towards the mouth of the alley. There. In the mirrored space between two skyscrapers. A gangly figure stoops in the long shadows of the corner, headlights of passing cars flashing twofold in warped reflection. Several small cat carriers are strewn about the alley, the lanky stranger dipping to a crouch over something at his feet. Fabienne purses her lips and moves after the Fenrir, ignorant of the faint wailing of cats in agony, unable to hear the weak hissing and yowling of dying felines. She strides several steps behind Broken hammer, assuming their conversation was simply delayed. A guttural chuckle issues forth from the crouching creature in the alley, echoing between two impassive sentinels made of glass and iron, and one of flesh and bone and righteous blood-lust.*

[Broken Hammer] It's not that Broken Hammer is much of a catlover. He's not an animal person, ironic as that may be. He doesn't care very much for the welfare of small furry things, or even of humans. He does not have his Alpha's concern for human life, for protection, for nurturing.

What he does have is a loathing for the perversions of humanity. For the twistedness of a race that's grown apart from its instinct, from moderation, from the reflexive understanding that you take what you need and you leave what you don't. That's an aversion hammered into him so early and so often that it's not entirely clear whether it comes from what he was, where he grew up and how -- or if it's simply who he is.

Broken Hammer. Righteous. Wrathful.

He doesn't say anything; no warning shots. No get lost or what are you doing or get away from those poor animals you sick freak. Nothing of the sort. Not even a snarl. He just starts forward, sturdy boots clomping across melted ice puddles and dirty snow, and when he's within a single strideslength

he kicks the man, viciously, the steel toe of his boot aimed for the soft spot under the breastbone without so much as a hitch in his stride.

[Fabienne Bartelle] [fabienne init! +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Fabienne Bartelle] [gorepup +6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Broken Hammer] +7!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Broken Hammer] [straight str+1 damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Fabienne Bartelle] [soaketh!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Fabienne had not been expecting that. Her hand flies to her mouth in shock at the sudden brutality of her companion on a harmless transient. Wait. Cats writhe in the slush, hot blood melting the snow beneath their wriggling. nail riddled bodies, weakened mewling reaching even the silverfang kin's damaged ears. An audible gasp escapes her lips as the wretch in the corner doubles over, then turns a scarred and leering face towards the alley mouth, bloody warpaint dripping from his leathery brow as he shakes off the kick and begins to rise to his full height. Fists clench as he makes to advance, spiked with painful looking barbed protrusions.*

{order of init - slowest declares first yadda yadda}
Dan
Fab - Back to mouth of alley in alarm. reach for mace.
GorePup - Punch that guy what spoiled my funz

[Broken Hammer] There's more resistance there than he expected. Far more. Broken Hammer expected the give of soft flesh, the crunch of ribs and breastbone; the brief palpable thud of the heartmuscle behind those fragile human bones.

What he gets, instead, is a chest wall as solid as a slab of wood. His foot rebounds back, but his balance is deft and quick, nearly undisturbed. Now his feet are planted wide apart, ready.

"Stay with me. Shout if humans approach."

That's for Fabienne, though his eyes don't leave the ugly thing. And those are the last human words out of his mouth. In another second all semblance of humanity drops from him. The rawboned Forseti suddenly gains half a foot of height; eighty pounds of mass. His clothing barely contains him. A previously narrow frame is suddenly heavy with muscle, heavy with bone. Whatever he may have been named for, the weapon that drops into his hand is an ugly, brutish thing: a heavy cast-iron pry-bar.

He swings the hooked end as the man steps into range.

[1R - Glabro!
1a. De-dedicate prybar!
b. Whack!
R1. Whack harder!]

[Broken Hammer] 1b. dex/brawl, -2 dice. Lethal-club!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4 (Failure at target 5)

[Fabienne Bartelle] [fabienne - moves!]
[Gorey's turn! I'ma punch yew! {dex/brawl}]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Fabienne Bartelle] [damages! + for barbs!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Broken Hammer] (ow! soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 6, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Broken Hammer] For the record, 1b should've been 3 dice, not 4. It's second split, so -3. Not gonna reroll since it failed!

R1. Bash!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Broken Hammer] Damage: Str+1(weapon)+2(glabro)+1(totem)+1(succ) lethal!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Fabienne Bartelle] [ow! I soak that!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Fabienne is already falling back to the alley's mouth, hand in her clutch as she half turns. None too eager to fully give her back to what was unfolding between the mirrored buildings. Mace grasped in one hand, she splits her attention between the busy downtown street and the alley behind her. Broken Hammer gains bulk in an instant, skin impossibly tight over fast twitch muscle as he makes to cleave in the laughing wyrm-thing's face in with a crowbar, over, and over, to no avail. The cat murderer has little more luck, a sloppy punch opening a deep cut along the Fenrir's cheekbone, bloody, but little more. The flash of headlights paints them all in stop motion for half an instant before it passes, gorepup grinning toothily, shallow eyes just now finding Fabienne past Broken Hammer's shoulder.*

[Fab- DODGE!]
[Gorepup -1. punch BH
R1. tackle fabs]

[Broken Hammer] Now he's angry. With a short, sharp snarl Broken Hammer flings aside the crowbar. Useless! It clatters against the brick wall, clamors to the ground. By the time it stills, the near-man is a near-wolf, dappled grey and black and white, leaping at the fomor.

[1R - hispo! 1WP - Resist Pain!
1a. Bite punching arm!
b. Simple bite!
R1. Bite again!]

[Broken Hammer] 1a. -2! dex+brawl+2(hispo), diff +2 (targeted)
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 7)

[Broken Hammer] Damage: Str+2(teef)+3(hispo)+1(totem)+4(succ)!
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[Fabienne Bartelle] [I'ma soak that...]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Broken Hammer] [arrrgh i forgot to split again! -2 damage off that one!]

1b. -3 dice!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Broken Hammer] Damage, +5 this time!
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Fabienne Bartelle] [I said.. I'ma SOAK that]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Fabienne Bartelle] [gore pup! ow! I'ma punch you anyway! -5]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]

[Fabienne Bartelle] [ahem. Adding Str this time to damage..heh. +2 barbs]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 6, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Broken Hammer] R1. Chomp!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Broken Hammer] Damage +1!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Fabienne Bartelle] [I'ma.. soak..that?]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 8, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Fabienne Bartelle] *A mottled grey wolf boils into the narrow space of the alley, blocking the deviant's passage to the kin, a dangerous barrier. Teeth flash sharp and savage, stripping flesh from bone with a snap of teeth. The direwolf's mouth descends again, coming away with a leathery chunk of flesh and little more. The ghoul faced murderer wasn't expecting this turn of events, the delicate crush of the slender woman's flesh under his boots forgotten as he lashes out with a spiked fist, force lost somewhere in the mountain of fur that ends his tainted existence with one more lightning fast stab of wicked teeth. Fangs break through the creatures ribcage and a scream burbles on his lips, not of terror, but of venomous Rage, rasping into breathless nothing. Fabienne too shouts from the alley's mouth, face stricken. Someone was approaching.*

[Broken Hammer] Blood everywhere. Blood on his face, blood on his teeth, blood in his mouth, sour and foul. The kinswoman shouts -- fear? His mind is an animal's, savage and relentless and merciless; his first thought is weak, PREY, but -- no. Not fear. Someone's approaching. Concentrate, focus.

He needs to get out of here. He needs to get rid of the remnant, the body.

Snapshift: the last of his Rage curling away. Crinos now. "Come here." It's a grating, growling command, and whether she steps toward him or not, he's picking up the tattered gorehound in one massive handpaw. Then he's beckoning at her again, impatient. "Come. Up."

Fabienne has a choice here: she can either choose to climb on the Forseti's back, or he'll throw her over his shoulder like the gorehound.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Fear threads through the crisp voice of the curly haired blond, but purpose as well. She's not shrieking in mindless terror, she's raising the alarm, eyes down the street. Focussed on the crowd outside a nightclub, just now taking sincere interest in the ruckus over yonder. A growl rumbles from the Fenrir's throat with all the ominous rumble of a active volcano, her head whipping around, fear spiking the air electric. Crinos. He was growling at her in warform. Her chin lifts and she steps back, hand finding her throat as her pulse jumps. Anubis, Ragnorak, this was a form that stirred deep ancestral memory in any human, only the blood of wolves keeping her from falling to madness at the mere sight of him. He beckons again. Impatient. His meaning becoming clear. Once understanding dawns in pale eyes, her choice is obvious. She makes up for lost time with swiftness, hands gripping to fur as she holds tightly, if awkwardly to Broken Hammer, face buried in the ruff of fur at the back of his neck by necessity, rather than design.*

[Broken Hammer] She might think he'll run somewhere now. Or possibly climb the building.

He jumps.

It's a flat-out leap that takes him straight up, straight into the air, a dizzying height that humans couldn't dream of. At the apex of the jump Broken Hammer digs his claws into the side of the building, concrete crumbling beneath talons, falling down to pitterpatter on the alley floor. Step by step, paw by paw, he climbs then -- not to the top of the towering skyscraper but only so far as an enormous digital sign that blazes Coca Cola commercials silently, day and night.

There's a palpable heat from all the wiring, all the lights. Broken Hammer ducks in behind it, into the shadow. Feet braced on the struts and crosslinks that bolt the sign to the side of the building, he sets Fabienne down first, his dead friend down second.

A moment later he's homid again. He looks monstrous, bloody. He crouches, silent. Composed, actually, calm and alert now, watching the alley some seven or eight stories below. He doesn't seem rattled at the close call. He's done this before.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Its perhaps a good thing the spoiled silverfang kin jumped horses in her leisure time. She does in fact expect Broken Hammer to climb the sky scraper. To climb quickly in fact. But she feels the coiling of muscles beneath her and reacts immediately, thighs tensing around the strange broad muscles of a Crinos back, her body pressing close to cut down on drag. She doesn't scream or gasp into thick fur as they launch into the night air, the only sound from her is that of a high heel snapping as she's set down awkwardly. The metallic rattle of the bolted metal she grabs to steady herself as she takes off her shoes. Fabienne looks.. well.. disheveled. Sweater slightly bloody, covered in stray grey tufts. Not nearly so calm as Broken Hammer, who's crouched, eerily at ease, basking in the warmth of the sign as though nothing had happened. She smooths her dress reflexively. As he watches the alley, Fabienne watches him.*

[Broken Hammer] "Get down," he murmurs. His eyes never leave the alley. The man has incredible perception, incredible peripheral vision -- a near-absolute awareness of his surroundings at all times.

He's not particularly large or strong. He's quick and deft, and that's a point in his favor. But without Bear, he's only as strong as your average human on the street; weak, for a Fenrir. When her knees pressed against his sides, she could feel his ribs beneath a lean, taut layer of muscle. Fur and skin and bone and muscle, and that was it. No waste, almost no insulating fat. A pared-down, wiry creature, not nearly so broad or massive as most his breed and tribe.

His alertness, though: that's his greatest asset. That and his quick, cunning, hunter's mind, with its thoughts so alien sometimes that most don't believe he's truly born of man.

"Don't fall," he adds.

The dead gorehound is draped over a cross-strut. Blood is still seeping slowly from its torn throat, wicks down its clothes, drips off the hems, the tips of its fingers.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Fabienne does just that, crouching low. Without her heels, balance was nothing of an issue, lean athletes body well suited to the task at hand. Deceptively delicate hands grasp a sign strut, voices filling the alley from below. Its dark between the buildings, and while a splash of blood still dribbling down a mirror is examined with wonderment, there is little else to draw the imagination of the small crowd of party-goers who'd broke place in line to check out the noise. Those below them had no idea that a few stories away, a werewolf crouched with a corpse, watching them from his perch like a feral alleycat with a dead rat in its claws. Fabienne winces at the image, watching in interest as she grows more comfortable with the situation. Best not to think how they were getting down.*

[Broken Hammer] The sign shudders faintly in the wind, which is frigid cold, a sharp counterpoint to the warmth leaking from the lights. Broken Hammer doesn't move, crouched calm and waiting, breathing evenly and slowly. Below, the humans poke around, exclaim over a splash of blood, laugh, leave.

Broken Hammer's eyes glint faintly in the dark as he turns to the kinswoman. "You're very brave," he says, too softly for her bad ears to catch. Perhaps she can read it in the dim, changing lights leaking from around the rivets and screws on the back of the sign. "That's a rare thing in kin not of Fenris."

He straightens to his feet, smoothly, silently, inspecting the surroundings. The sign is bolted onto two concrete pylons, but stretches across a span of glass. When it went up, someone's already shitty alley view became an even shitter back-of-sign view. Convenient for Daniel, though.

"I need to dispose of the body," he continues. "If I break this window, can you get out of the building without arousing suspicion?"

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Its a strange thing, being trapped in so alien an environment, with a beast that was familiar and dangerous at the same time. Dove grey eyes have been watching Broken Hammer with an openness that wasn't altogether polite. A curiosity the slender kin either cannot, or doesn't bother to mask. He speaks. She doesn't hear it, so much as watch thin lips and pick up the gist from there. Though staring at a person's lips was impolite. Dreadfully so. Her own form the ghost of a smile, before she replies quietly, turning to look at glass with a roll of narrow shoulders.*

I prefer prudent. Bravery often lends itself to undue pride. Which lends itself to recklessness.

*As the lack of hearing in her left side is proof of. She was a strange creature to be sure. Atypical. A kin, a Silverfang kin, no less, blood that sang promises of mystics and warriors, ivory wolves, strong children, inherent nobility - who despite her breeding, doesn't dazzle with charm or shy from conflict, no gilded lily despite her every right to be. Thin eyebrows pull together in a muted frown, before she looks back to Broken Hammer. Considering their options.*

If an alarm should go off?

[Broken Hammer] Her frown reflects on his face; the first hitch in his otherwise glassy calm. It's as though with his rage expended, taken out on a just target, he's at last achieved the sort of balance that his auspice is meant to embody. This, though: this is an unexpected flaw in the plan, something that he did not and could not have accounted for. Death-justice is much easier without a kin in tow.

He weighs, balances, considers the possibility of an alarm, or worse, a silent alarm; considers the possibility of bystanders, idle eyes. Looks down, thinks of how quickly he could climb to the bottom; how safe it is to leave the body hanging, dripping.

"We climb, then," he decides, and deciding, puts his hands to the concrete pylon

and is a monster in a second or two. Not an rageshift, but something rarer than that: a true shapeshifting, swift and practiced, alluding to a primal nature that escapes most homidborn Garou.

He leaves the body where it is, but growls at her again to hold to him. She doesn't understand or hear this any better than she did in the alley. His English is so mutated in this form that even with her hearing intact she would be hardpressed to comprehend.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *A cool grey gaze settles on him as the garou shifts with little effort into his mottled war-form. Unabashed. Taking in the transformation with interest. Her sure footed approach measured. Fluid. A woman as comfortable in her skin as the great Fenrir seemed to be in all of his. The swiftness of her approach alluding nothing to her familiarity with Garou in their various furry forms. It would surprise many to know that Fabienne has seen a crinos werewolf now just three times in her 20 short years. Those wolves had been white like the snow that remains unmelted at the edge of the concrete overhang, not the dappled grey of the creature whose fur she now buries her hands in. Her dress is light, caught to snap in a gust of wind before she presses close, and there's no room for it to do so any longer. A cultured voice speaks quietly by an overlarge ear.*

We can climb.

*Concise. To the point. And perhaps most amazingly, calm.*

[Broken Hammer] In this form, the great beast's breathing is audible and palpable, both: a quiet deep huffing, and a slow expand and contract of his massive ribcage. Fabienne is an equestrienne, as all good European Fang kin should be expected to be, but this is only very distantly similar to that. The back is far broader, for one, sharply winging outward from a relatively lean waist, expanding to massive shoulders. The fur is thick and deep, for another, and her hands nearly disappear into his ruff. The posture is upright rather than quadripedal.

And most importantly: horses don't do things like jump off buildings.

Which is what he does, rather than climbing sedately down. They don't have time for that. He might've climbed slower if they were going up, but then she'd have to figure out a way down from the rooftop and anyway he was leaving the body where it was and he doesn't want bystanders to walk by and catch a crinos climbing down a building and run screaming into the street.

So he drops. In great bounds, fifteen or twenty feet at a time, the Forseti plummets down the side of the building, stopping his descent each time by digging his claws into concrete. Building renovators are going to be puzzled as hell by the chunks missing every floor-and-a-half. It takes him seconds to get to the alley floor, though, and when he's there he crouches to let her down.

The beast exhales once, a deep resonant sort of chuff of breath that perhaps meant something between Garou, but means nothing at all to Fabienne. He looks to the street, and back.

"Go home." Rumbling words; perhaps he hasn't figured out she can't understand him like this yet. "I explain. To Fang elder."

[Fabienne Bartelle] [dear god Fabbie, hold ON = str ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]

[Fabienne Bartelle] It would be a lie to say she's entirely comfortable with their descent. Her calm is all but obliterated about the time curled talons take chinks out of concrete in a hasty attempt to slow their fall. Make no mistake, its a fall. The jumping was a mere second of force propelling them into the air. It was gravity that was tugging them to the alley floor, like it or not. Her thighs clamp tight. Strong, used to leg reigning over jumps. Hands curled tight in Broken Hammer's fur, she doesn't just hold on, she accommodates his jumping so as to be as little of a hindrance as possible. A gasp never-the-less escapes her lips, muffled by a thick grey ruff as they land with a jarring thud on the alley floor. As much as it seems like a viable means of locomotion for them, Fabienne seems all too happy to dismount the Fenrir and step down onto solid ground. Barefoot. Her broken heels are still somewhere on the 8th floor. She presses a hand to her throat, fingers lingering over a rapid fluttering pulse. She'd bring up her mistake in a moment, but right now he was attempting to communicate with her. She tilts her head, but it does nothing to help her understand words that are barely words at their clearest. There is a long moment where the Silverfang kin simply watches the creature in front of her, waiting for a visual indication of what he's said, before she drops her eyes. Clearing her throat before speaking.*

Broken Hammer. I regret, I have recently lost a good deal of my hearing, and I'm having great difficulty understanding you. Also... I do hate to bring this up, and I do apologize, but... my shoes are still with the body.

*Grey eyes dart from the alley floor to the Fenrir.*

[Broken Hammer] A short growl of irritation escapes him, like a mutter of discontent. Right before her eyes, his body warps, shrinks. In near-man, he repeats himself, guttural but intelligible now:

"I said go home. I'll explain this to the Fang Elder after I'm rid of the body." A pause. "I'll throw your shoes down. Call for a taxi."

He doesn't wait for a response. He grows into his largest form, gathers his feet under him, leaps again. From a ground perspective, the height of his jump is even more surreal. He's far above her when he latches onto the side of the building. Without carrying two bodies, one alive and the other dead, and without worrying about the former falling to her death, the Forseti is that much faster. In seconds he vanishes behind the sign where the dead thing is stowed.

A few seconds later, two objects drop from behind the sign. They grow rapidly larger; one thumps to a snowbank. The other clangs loudly off the top of a dumpster.

Daniel does, after all, keep his word. But the other heel has likely snapped off her shoes.

[Fabienne Bartelle] I'll do that rhya. It has been an interesting evening.

Thank you.

*For what is uncertain. She may be thanking the dour Forseti for agreeing to get her shoes, speaking to Katherine, for the "interesting" evening... or perhaps more likely, thanking him for not dwelling on the reason for him needing to repeat himself. He's irritated, as well he should be. She's rather irritated with herself as well to be honest. A lack of planning on her part was causing undue delays. Granted, she was worried more about theriding of a werewolf off a building than her Jimmy Choos at the time of her oversight. Still, it disappointed. Broken Hammer scales the building like something out of a science fiction movie, and Fabienne attempts to disguise her astonishment by dialing a cab at the same time, tinny beeping of her cell strangely surreal as in the mirrored confines of the alley. Shoes rain from the heavens, gathered up with little attention paid to the broken heels save to find them so they could not become evidence when the body was found by some unfortunate window washer. Broken Hammer clearly not returning with anything further, the slender fencer finds herself a cab and makes her way to the safety of her home to ruminate on the events of the night.*