The Black and the Red
22st of July 2006 A.D.
After parking about thirty feet from the land spaceship masquerading as a car you take out Clippy and start snapping pictures like any dyed in the wool car enthusiast would. But behind the humming phone Clippy is at work in spite of having to make use of she dismissively calls 'howling wilderness' cell reception. The car had shown up on
Roaring Rides, a small enthusiast forum with the pic dated to the twentieth in downtown Chicago with a a couple more being linked in Myspace pages also around the city, nothing around Fulton Market where the crime had taken place, but that is hardly...
"License Plate Match," flashes across the screen in bright blue text, cutting off your view of the last image.
"Katrina Hoff."
Katrina, you do not need to see the next message on screen to suddenly freeze mid picture, but you appreciate is nonetheless.
Priority, Priority, partial match, relevant to present search: Katrina Sigfriddotir.
Alas Katrina Hoff does not have a MySpace page or really anything but the license numbers in Massachusetts and, crosschecking property records, some kind of high value property on the outskirts of Boston so it's probably the same woman, but it is going to take a longer search to find out for sure.
You try to get a feel for the car itself, see if it is warded or enchanted. It could even be something else glamored as one, but no matter how much you squint and struggle all you can see if the sun on fresh black paint and all you can smell is the faint scent of plain old gas.
Lost 1 Willpower
Good enough, if it's a magic horse that eats gas I'm going to be really embarrassed, you think, pushing aside Usum's reflexive proclamations that you would never have anything to be embarrassed about.
This time no verses come to mind, only
raw notes and the memory of a car chase in a movie about living programs pretending to be gods, pretending to be men. Like with the Beige Wagon you get a connection, but not an everlasting one, a nameless ghost of electromagnetism and spite poured into some of the best and brightest artifice on four wheels.
Black Rider, you dub them for another ethereal pursuer that went garbed in the guise of mundane mater on secret roads.
Lost 1 Essence and 1 Willpower
Spirit Bound for 1 Year
Connection Achieved. Downloading...
A boom echoes from the direction of the Matthews house the door smashing open to reveal a woman with hair red as fresh spilled blood flowing over shoulders draped in a studied leather jacket whose studs gleam as so many miniature runes. Her eyes are grey too gleam grey like the sky before the storm in a face that could be any age between a mature twenty and a very well preserved forty, though to look upon her is to know with a dread certainty that she is
much older. You have met one akin to her before... Gard. Whatever she is this woman is as well and you have no doubts.
"Interested in the car are you?" She is smiling, though it does not reach her eyes. "I don't mind if you look, just as long as you don't touch. You didn't touch it did you?"
"What had she sensed?" you wonder, thoughts whirling in your mind.
For that matter what do I look like to her. Gard at least had been able to sense that I'm outside of fate, but that does that mean? At the very least you don't think she is about to challenge you to a duel here and now you can hear the sound of kids playing not far away and cars passing by the bridge, in the distance the church bells calling the townsfolk to worship.
What do you reply?
[] Try to bluff that you had just been passing through and are interested in cars and... the interesting people who drive them (Manipulation+Subterfuge)
[] Offer to take this someplace more private, maybe she thinks she can take you in a fight, you would wager she is probably wrong (Manipulation+Empathy)
[] Write in
OOC: Well on the plus side you got one of your demons in a super-car, though the driver appears to have noticed. Whether she's noticed that you messed with the car or just your general Exalted-ness approaching Molly cannot tell. 
