[@rush99999]

Attempts to find Quincy by conventional means prove futile.  Visits to his haunts, reveal that gunmen, clearly more of Sampson's lizards are watching, nestled in a sniper perch across from Quincy's appartment in the Gloriana Hotel, sitting in a utility van outside the long of the Belle of the South lounge, skulking in an alley outside Little Caeser's Pizza.

It is clear almost at once that he has taken to the sky in that cursed bat form he is so proud of. There are unusual number of crows abroad tonight, beating wings and flashing across the night sky, cawing in raucous amusement that make identifying a single airborne presence almost impossible. 

Luckily Ryder is easier to find. He is where he has been all month. Down in Centennial park the tents of a fair are pitched. Light beams down on their garish colors from overhead floods. Vendors selling unhealthy fried food are set up in food trucks which make informal streets. Tents selling beer from the Octoberfest celebration earlier in the month continue their business and rides are being assembled for the Halloween party in a couple of days. Mortals move around, enjoying an evening of fivolity with their children, oblivious of the tension filling the night. Fireworks crack from someone nearby.

Ryder and for of five of his pack are sitting around a table in front of a haunted house with a garish sign declaring it 'Werewolves of London' in a jagged bloody script backed by a full moon. Several empty bottles of Jack Daniels litter the table and there appears to be a half hearted game of poker taking place between overflowing ash trays. Ryder glances up as you approach, arching a bushy eyebrow.

"Jan my man, need another hook up already?" he calls in a more or less jovial fashion.


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No dice on finding Quincy, he is still in the wind. Luckily Ryder is easy to find and will have what you need. Mark Night.
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