Fifth Night. Part 3.
It's stake out time, as Kane watches the Diner waiting for his mark.
Thursday. 00:55am. Outside the Simple Life Diner. Industrial District.
Marked progress on the Elegy.
Should be around 1am now, between getting there, entering, so on and so forth. So there's still night for us to work with. Kane could go follow another lead, but to him it seems patience is the better weapon in his arsenal right now.
It's time for a good and old stake out.
Rolling "Secure Advantage" by using stealth, so vs dex (6). 6, 3, 6. It's a weak hit. +2 focus.Question: is there an alleyway nearby? Likely. 76. No.
Too bad. Kane will climb on the fire escape stair of a near abandoned building, with line of sight to the diner, and hide there. He'll wait for the waitress to leave, and plans on following her home. Let's test the scene rolling vs 5. 10. We're fine.
Question: how long does it take for her to leave? Rolling 1d4 hours. 2. Kane waits, patiently - and he even writes a haiku as he does it.
The bell above the diner door chimed softly as Alexander Kane stepped into the cold embrace of the Industrial District. The warm glow of the Simple Life Diner faded behind him, replaced by the damp chill of the streets and the faint hum of a city caught between rest and activity. The cobblestones gleamed wetly under fractured light from flickering streetlamps, their reflections smudged and distorted by faint trails of mist curling up from unseen grates.
Kane moved with purpose, the strap of his borrowed courier bag pulled tight across his shoulder. Each step was deliberate, the practiced rhythm of someone who knew how to disappear into the background of a city’s pulse. Behind him, the wolves remained oblivious to the predator who had just slipped through their territory, but Kane’s satisfaction was short-lived.
The ache in his stomach had been a dull thrum when he left the diner, but it began to twist and claw at him as he reached a darker stretch of road. His steps faltered, and he leaned briefly against a building, his breath hissing through clenched teeth. The coffee churned within him like acid, a violent rejection of the pretense he had forced upon himself.
His hand shot out, gripping the rusted edge of a dumpster as he doubled over. The first heave was dry, a brutal wrenching that left him gasping. Then came the bitter flood, dark liquid splattering onto the damp concrete, mingling with the faint red streaks of his own blood.
Kane’s gloved hand pressed against the wall, steadying himself as his body purged the lie he had swallowed. The pain was sharp and raw, slicing through his carefully maintained composure, but he endured it with a grimace.
The air around him grew colder, the faint metallic tang of blood mixing with the night’s damp chill. He straightened slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and spitting the last remnants of the coffee onto the ground. His hunger, already gnawing at him earlier, now roared like a caged beast, its claws scraping against his ribs.
For a moment, he stood in silence, his sharp eyes scanning the empty street as he adjusted his coat. The nausea had passed, leaving behind a simmering anger—not at himself, but at the necessity of such deceptions. Still, he allowed himself a small flicker of satisfaction. The charade had worked. The wolves were none the wiser, and the information he had gleaned was worth the cost.
Kane inhaled deeply, the cold air burning faintly in his throat as he stepped back into motion. The fire escape he had scouted earlier loomed just ahead, its rusted ladder a gateway to his next vantage point. He climbed it with smooth precision, the ache in his muscles a dull reminder of his body’s demands.
By the time he reached the first landing, the pain had settled into a low hum beneath his skin. The diner’s warm glow was visible from his perch, the wolves within still cloaked in their fragile arrogance. Kane leaned against the wall, his coat folding around him as he withdrew a notebook and pen from his courier bag.
The words came quickly, each stroke of the pen measured and deliberate:
Shadowed streets hold breath,
Wolves murmur beneath the din,
Patience sharpens fangs.
Satisfied, he set the notebook aside, his sharp eyes returning to the diner below. Time moved differently here, in the space between action and waiting. Kane understood this rhythm, the way silence and stillness could become weapons.
The waitress would leave eventually, and when she did, he would follow. For now, he watched, his figure blending seamlessly into the shadows, a predator biding its time.
Question: when she leaves, does she leaves alone? 50/50. Extreme yes.
Question: what does the extreme yes means? 24, 99. Delightfully weak.
I'm not sure - this could both means that the lycans are weak because they feel too safe in their territory, or it could mean something about her and how she leaves. I'll roll again... 48, 67: Harm path. Ok, now I know. She was perceived as the weakest person in the room not only because she's not powerful, but because she is unhappy with her life among the lycans. Kane watches her leaving in midst of an altercation - some of the lycan guys are rude, she is rude back, there's a lot of rage going on, she slams the door and starts walking.
The fire escape landing groaned faintly beneath Kane as he shifted his weight, leaning forward to better observe the Simple Life Diner below. The warm glow of its neon sign spilled onto the cobblestones, its buzzing red letters humming in time with the distant rhythm of the city. He could see the waitress moving inside, her path weaving between tables with mechanical precision, her face a mask of practiced composure.
But masks crack under pressure.
The tension had been simmering for most of the night. Kane had caught glimpses of it in her stiff shoulders, the way her eyes lingered on certain patrons longer than others. The wolves were comfortable here, too comfortable, their body language loose but edged with the kind of carelessness that breeds arrogance.
Then it happened.
Kane’s heightened senses caught the shift before it became visible. A sharp gesture. A muttered word. The wolves at the corner booth turned toward the waitress, their faces darkening with the kind of irritation that wasn’t casual. One of them leaned back, crossing his arms, his voice raised just enough for Kane to catch fragments of their exchange.
“Always so quick to snap… not like we’re asking for much.”
Her response came fast and sharp, like a whip crack. “Maybe if you picked up after yourselves, I wouldn’t have to.”
The room stilled, the warm hum of the diner’s atmosphere turning brittle. One of the men stood, his stance lazy but charged with threat. The other two smirked faintly, their postures shifting into something that felt like a corner closing in.
“Watch your tone,” the standing wolf said, his voice low and gravelly.
“Or what?” she shot back, her words defiant but edged with something raw—resentment, maybe, or the fraying threads of patience worn thin. Her eyes narrowed, her hand gripping a rag so tightly her knuckles turned white.
The man laughed, a short, barking sound that carried no humor. “You’re lucky we put up with you at all.”
That was when she slammed the rag onto the counter and stormed toward the door, the bell above it rattling angrily as she shoved it open. Her face burned with anger, her lips pressed into a thin line as she disappeared into the night.
Kane’s eyes narrowed. The altercation wasn’t just a spat; it was a fracture, a crack in the wolves’ carefully constructed dynamic. She wasn’t just weak because she wasn’t a full wolf—she was weak because she wasn’t wanted. And that made her dangerous in a different way.
He descended the fire escape with quiet precision, his boots landing softly on the wet pavement below. The damp chill wrapped around him, sharpening his focus as he slipped into the shadows. Ahead, the waitress strode down the street, her pace brisk but uneven, anger radiating from her with every step.
This wasn’t just a hunt now. It was an opportunity.
Kane followed, his figure blending seamlessly into the dark as he trailed her through the labyrinth of the Industrial District.