Territorial
| Territorial | |
|---|---|
"There can be a lot of fuckin' reasons somebody needs to die. Much better to not know more than you have to." | |
| Players | Hyde Park Silvia goes hunting in Solomon's territory. There's an argument over a dead body. Sorry, dead dude. |
The evening has just begun, the sun having sunk below the horizon. The crescent moon a sliver in the clear sky of an evening that unlike the last few, is not terribly cold. Somewhere in Hyde Park, there's a very ordinary man, having just finished work and making his way home. Messy brown hair, a ruffled suit, he's had a long week. He's undone his tie. As he cuts through a small park on the way to his car, like he does every night, he's muttering to himself, not really looking where he's going. It's a kind of angry muttering, annoyed at some aspects of his work. His life. If only he had the courage to do something about it. Unknown to this poor soul, Silvia has been tracking him for some time. Days. She's got her suspicions, and they've more or less been confirmed for her. Now she's there, waiting on his path for him. She picked this spot. He's always here, and there's rarely anyone else around. When she steps out of the dark from behind a tree, her pistol quite clearly visible in her hand, he's naturally surprised. At first it's an annoyed disruption to his routine. Then there's a rising fear. "Sorry mate," come's Silvia soft voice, her Australian accent strong. It's not reassuring really. She's not going to soften this blow. But maybe she is going to justify it in a very unclear way, with a slight sigh. "It just isn't your week, but I can't let them have you." The gun lifts. A sound of protest raises from the man. She hesitates for just a moment. The peaceful night is shattered by the gunshot that echoes from the small park and outwards. And then a second. Just to be sure. It's a delightful thing, to finish work for the day. And the evening is pleasant enough - for a Chicago definition of pleasant - that Sol doesn't go straight to the train station when his classes are done for the day. Instead, he walks, strolling not far from that small park. He's very tweedy; tweed jacket, tweed slacks, button down shirt, and even a tie which, like the victim, he has loosened a bit so that he can enjoy a full lung of polluted air. It's a nice night. And then? The gunshot. Close enough that his nostrils flare like he can smell the blood. He can't. Not just then, but his hearing is sharp - all his senses are on full alert - and he runs. Not away from the sound like a sensible person. Not to find a cop like an optimistic person. He runs _towards_ the gunshot...and from his expression, he is neither sensible nor optimistic. He is angry. He's also quite fast, and arrives just on the heels of that second gunshot, his hands loose, fingers curled like claws. It should look a little silly for a thirty-something man in a tweed suit, but his movements are fluid and spry. Solomon's arrival is not noted by Silvia right away. She really doesn't expect anyone to come running. But she is someone that may be recognized at the most recent All Thing. She didn't say anything. A face in the background. A newcomer to Chicago, who is aware of the Accords. Clearly, not aware enough. The gun is slipped away beneath her jacket, and she leans down to make sure her victim is dead. She waits, just to be sure. "And now I hope the rest of you fuckers see what happens when you keep clinging to people." She says roughly, talking to ... no one, really. But clearly thinks someone can hear her. It takes her a moment before she actually looks around the park again. "Jesus fucking Christ," Sol says as he sees the crumpled body and the woman standing over her. There's a moment where he tenses, about to leap on her from behind - but he gets a moment's look at her face, and there's something there, something that he recognizes. It makes him hesitate, looking from the corpse to the woman. "Who the fuck are you, killing mortals in _my_ territory?" Silvia whirls around, reaching for her gun again. Eyes wide. Company was absolutely unexpected, and she stares at Sol, her expression very unhappy. So much careful planning, and of course in the moment: there's a witness. "That'd be fucking right," she mutters unhappily, but there's that moment there that gives her pause with his question. "Territory? What fucking territory?" She's tense, uncomfortable, and clearly had thought to be making her departure from the scene of the crime already. Solomon paces around Silvia, making a large enough arc to keep the blood off of his shiny leather shoes but trying to spiral in so he can check the guy's vitals, see if there's any chance he's still alive. "_My fucking territory_," he says, like that's helpful. "Hyde Park is mine, in the eyes of the Accords. I've seen you. You are in violation of my territory. I have _two fucking rules_. What did this poor asshole do to you?" Silvia's body turns to keep her eyes on Solomon as he paces around, twitchy, with a bit of a roll of her eyes. "Well maybe you should put up some fucking markings you dumb cunt," she spits back acidly, stepping aside. She's not going to stop him from inspecting the body. "Like I'm going to fuckin' justify myself to you, whatever you are." She follows up, but there's a frown. That dude is dead. Solomon confirms it with a long sniff and no evidence of breath stirring the air above him. He comes out from his crouch in a lunge, swiping at Silvia's face. It _looks_ like an open-handed slap, nothing to be concerned of. His blue eyes are snapping fury, although he doesn't raise his voice. "As a member of the Accords, you are bound to _respect the Landlords_, you stupid mongrel," Solomon shot back, "or are you illiterate? Do I need to fucking piss on the streets to keep you from _shooting_ humans in my fucking space?" Silvia just kind of reacts, the slap comes towards her face, and there's a sound, cracking bone and shifting flesh, and instead of catching her, the slap sails above a large wolf. But just a regular wolf, the fur so grey it could be called blue. Silvia's paws hit the ground and there's a graceful step sideways. She doesn't speak, obviously. Her teeth bare and there's a long growl, low and threatening, her form tensing. Solomon jumps back a little when Silvia shifts, and he falls into a careful, defensive posture. There's a strange background sound, a low and menacing buzz that fills the air for just a second, before it fades. He bares his teeth at her, mirroring it without hesitation even though it looks - let's face it - a lot less menacing on a human face. "You broke my rules. You owe me. Debts _must_ be paid. It can be coin, oath, or blood. I don't give a fuck. But you will pay." All the wolf's body language suggested it was about to spring. Jaws snapping, claws swiping. But -something- gives her pause, and brings her up short. Silvia can't really respond except to growl more, which is a problem really. Once more, with those sounds that really have got to be just a little bit painful, the wolf is an upright human again, her blue eyes still flashing with anger. The worst part is though, she can't really refute what he's got to say about her actions. She -is- still going to try and get out of it, though. "Look, that fucker was about to become duguthim, so as far as I'm concerned I just did you a fucking favour." Solomon is never going to get used to how the wolves slip in and out of their other forms. He twitches and jumps back a little more, and doesn't really relax when the woman starts to reply. Instead, he points a finger at her and hisses, "First, I don't know what that means. Second, that's _not yours to decide_. Do I have to bring this as a formal grievance to the Allthing? Because if I do, my price goes up because you have _annoyed_ me, as well as broken faith." "How can you claim a place and not fucking --" Silvia abruptly cuts off, shaking her head and starting again as she watches him. Her eyes narrow, but it seems that some of her own anger dissipates at the mention of the Allthing. "Look, he was attracting a lot of spirits of anger to him. And violence. And any fucking day now one of those fuckers was going to slip through, and wriggle on in inside him. And then you'd have a -real- fucking problem, if a Claimed starts making trouble around here, okay? And it -is- for me to decide that much at least." Solomon lets out a teakettle hiss. "How do you hunt in a place and not _check_?" he snaps back. As her anger seems a little less, his...does not. He's clearly furious, but he comes out of his defensive stance just a little and looks down at the crumpled body. An emotion - true grief - flickers across his face and is gone. "Not here," he says, heavily. "You've got an entire fucking city to do what you must. But not here. Not without my permission. If you think something is that fucking bad, you talk to the landlord." His eyes flick back up to meet hers. "My name is Solomon Jessup. What's yours?" "I -did- fucking check," Silvia hisses back, anger flashing again. There are moments where it seems like she's unwilling to take any responsibility, flickered through with something else. Realization. "... I checked for other Uratha." Comes the confession. Her anger continues to smolder within her, but it's no longer the defensive bluster that was directed at Solomon, and she glances at the body again, some emotion there. Not grief, but regret. She hardens herself to it. There is some recognition there though, when he gives his name. She's heard it before. "Silvia White." She says quietly. "So what the fuck happens now?" Solomon huffs. He's standing almost entirely straight now, and looks around - maybe realizing through the anger that they've been having this argument over a dead body. Luckily, this is Chicago, so no one's come to check...yet. "Well, Ms. White, you _owe me_, is what happens now. And this poor fucking soul, even if he was an angry asshole. Or his family. So here is my price. You can either give me a Coin, or you can make sure that whoever his family is gets some sort of restitution. I don't care if it's magic or a bunch of cash dropped on their fucking doorstep, but the debt must be paid. If you choose the latter, you will swear to me of your compliance, and tell me when it is done. If you break your word to me, you will see that my temper up until now has been as blithe and gentle as a newborn lamb compared to what it WILL be." "Why's it gotta be so fucking weird," Silvia grumbles, looking aware from the corpse and keeping her blue eyes on Solomon. Still tense. "We could just fucking fight it out, see who wins, call it fucking done." She scowls, and then slowly -- very slowly -- reaches into the pocket of her jacket. "I don't even know if he's got a fucking family," she admits, "and I don't have anything that would be any fuckin' good for them." In her hand she's just grabbed a handful of coins -- most of them regular currency. But there's a real Accords Coin there too, and she collects it, shoving the rest away. "So." It's offered. "Sure." Solomon bares his teeth at her in a smile. "I'm up for it if you are. But the cops will eventually show up here, and the more evidence we leave around, the more likely this becomes something _big_. I'd prefer to keep it small. How about you?" He goes tense again when she reaches into the pocket of her jacket...but let's face it, she's far more dangerous bare-handed than any weapon she might draw. He nods when he sees the Coin, and turns his hand palm up to receive it. "You should know more about the people you kill, Ms White. Your word, as well, that you will not violate my territory again. I have two rules: no killing of mortals or Lost without my permission, and no enslavement of anything." She does actually grin. Silvia obviously wants to be out of this place at the very least, as she'd not intended to linger at all. She doesn't bother answering the question, inclining her head. "There can be a lot of fuckin' reasons somebody needs to die. Much better to not know more than you have to." She counters, dropping the coin into his palm, and then stepping away. Her brows lift up at the follow up request, and she lifts a hand, seeking clarification, "Anything? I bind spirits on the fucking regular, and some would consider it enslavement." Solomon pockets the favor coin. "I disagree. If you're going to take away every choice a person might make for the rest of their lives, you should know who they are. Be sure the cost is worth it." But it's dry, like he's well aware this is a minority philosophy. "Spirits and ghosts are fine, particularly if they're causing harm to humanity. I have no reach into Twilight or Shadow, and do not claim them." "You're wrong," Silvia states flatly. "But his choices were going to be taken away from him anyway. This fate is a far better one than becoming Ridden. They were already trying to urge him." Her hands rest at her sides now, and she shifts. "I won't fuck around on your territory again, and I'll follow your rules if I ever end up back here." The tone suggests she thinks it unlikely. But who knows. "Witnessed and Sealed," Solomon says. He steps away from the body. "Very well, Ms. White. With the coin and the promise, our conflict is ended. And again - if you feel there is someone on my territory who must be killed, give me a call first." He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a card. This is offered to her as he walks by, heading for the park exit. Silvia tilts her head slightly, brows quirking at the words. She reaches for the card though, muttering something beneath her breath about 'who carries business cards around', but just glances at it. "Yeah, whatever." She says flippantly, slipping it into her pocket with everything else, and then moves in the other direction. | |