[center][img] https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/314e05be-6f69-47ee-9543-5bbc310ccd84.jpg [/img][/center] [center][h1][color=#7D5CB3]Wulde Riddenhouse[/color][/h1][/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] [center][color=#812442][b]Location: [/b][/color] North outskirts of Gutter’s End. [color=#812442][b]Time:[/b][/color]Early-to-mid evening[/center] [center][color=#812442][b]Interactions:[/b][/color] N/A • [color=#812442][b]Mentions:[/b][/color] N/A[/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] Wulde perched, or more accurately lay, upon a rooftop, because apparently that was something Wardens did. This particular rooftop, he knew, was covered in recently-installed three-tab shingles, which cost about one-fifth as much as the architectural shingles the policyholder had listed on their insurance claim. Said policyholder might soon be in the hands of a police-y holder once Wulde turned in his report. They would certainly want a good lawyer, and not the sort that those TV ads suggest one call to tell the insurance company You. Mean. Business. But this was all day-job stuff. In the meantime, the sun once more had set, and Halcyon, as always, now turned its energies away from everyday human affairs to bend them towards everynight monster nonsense. On this night, Wulde’s assigned piece of monster nonsense involved surveillance of the northern edge of Gutter’s End. Apparently, something was amiss these nights in lycanland, more so than usual. There were rumors of some sort of challenge to Iron Fang dominance, even of targeted killings of its members. Details were sparse, and it was unclear what the two Field Wardens were supposed to be looking for up here. Yes, two. Wulde glanced over at his partner, who lay on the same roof about twenty feet away, peering through a pair night vision binoculars. He hardly knew the guy, nor had he worked with him before yesterday, when they had received this assignment together. The other warden’s last name was “Barton”. Wulde had written his first name down but not bothered to memorize it. [color=#00ced1] “Wake up, Riddenhouse,”[/color] rasped Barton, who probably didn’t know Wulde’s first name, either. [color=#00ced1] “Take a look at this. Just outside that bar on the corner.” .[/color] [color=#ffd700] “I wasn’t sleeping,”[/color] Wulde rejoined with a similar rasp as he sat up. He looked for the bar in question before raising his own binoculars to his eyes. [color=#ffd700] “What am I looking for?”[/color] he asked as he did, giving himself time to find the bar all over again in the device’s magnified field of view. [color=#00ced1] “Looks like two guys giving our dealer a hard time.” [/color] Barton was a few years older than Wulde, and had been a Field Warden for longer; he knew Gutter’s End well, and thus had spotted the dealer in question right away on their first stakeout. Wulde zoomed out until his view was wide enough to see three figures on the sidewalk at the mouth of an alley next to the bar. Then, carefully, he adjusted his angle and zoomed back in. “Our” dealer was turned towards him, and the Warden could see his face. Dark hair and features; Wulde guessed him to be Latino. The two newcomers had their backs to him, and were wearing hoodies besides. Their clothes looked plain, and didn’t match each other. One wore high tops and the other boots. [color=#ffd700] “You spot any colors?” [/color] Wulde asked, as he switched on the record button. [color=#00ced1] “No, nothing I recognize, ” [/color] answered Barton. [color=#00ced1] “No clue who these guys are. Could be anybody.” [/color] Wulde silently agreed. With rumors afoot that the Iron Fangs were under siege, there would be a number of interested parties looking to test the water for blood. The two hoodies certainly seemed to be testing the dealer. They loomed on either side of him, leaning in, crowding him. From their body language, it looked like Left Hoodie was doing all the talking, while Right Hoodie supplied the knuckle-cracking and menacing glower. The dealer was clearly unhappy, but was so far keeping his cool. At some point, something attracted the hoodies’ attention, for they both started back and looked to their left, in the general direction of the bar entrance. Resisting the urge to traverse the binoculars, Wulde instead zoomed out while keeping the field of view centered on the trio. Once he had pulled out far enough, he could see that two men, almost as imposing as the hoodies, had emerged from the bar. They both wore black, collared, short-sleeve shirts with some sort of lettering on them. Wulde didn’t have to zoom back in to guess that the lettering spelled “STAFF”. For a while, the two groups gesticulated and shouted at each other, but eventually, perhaps disappointingly, the hoodies relented and began to walk away from the bar under the watchful glare of Staff One and Staff Two. Wulde felt his phone vibate in his coat pocket, but ignored it, still watching the events unfold in front of the bar. Off to his side he heard the telltale rustles and clicks as Barton pulled out and examined his own phone. The other warden grunted and muttered an oath. [color=#00ced1] “Change of plan, Riddenhouse,” [/color] he announced. [color=#00ced1] “Some kind of dust-up at a warehouse down Gutterbane ways. There’s an address.” [/color] As Wulde reluctantly clicked off record and lowered his binoculars, Barton continued to read his phone and gave another grunt. [color=#00ced1] “This address is one of our safehouses in that neighborhood, so we’re headed to a rally point. I guess we’ll get some sort of briefing there.” [/color] Wulde put the binoculars back in their case and pulled out his phone. He had the same message as Barton, of course. The only detail the other Warden had left out was the gun icons at the end of the message, indicating that they were to come as well-armed as possible on short notice. [color=#ffd700] “Do you know how to get there?” [/color] Wulde asked. He was not looking forward to driving through potentially hostile territory with one eye on a navigation system. [color=#00ced1] “Yeah,” [/color] said Barton. [color=#00ced1] “Tell you what: get whatever you need from your scooter and leave it here; we’ll go in my truck.” [/color] [color=#ffd700] “Deal,” [/color] agreed Wulde, as he began packing up his things. Discerning the activities and intentions of Left and Right Hoodie would have to await another evening. A few minutes later they were in Barton’s canopied pickup, threading their way among the industrial ruins that littered South Halcyon, towards the Wardens’ safehouse. [i]Safehouse,[/i] Wulde snorted mentally as he eyed the dreary hulks of factories and warehouses sliding past them. He was pretty sure any such designation around here was purely aspirational.