A Day in the Life of a true Street Shaman

So, you've been up since about 5:30 in the morning. Something about February mornings in Seattle that just gets a guy up early, so'k? The dogs have been restless since you the three of you climbed out of last night's cardboard box (housed some corpy's new trid, so it had some extra styrene warmers to make it a little easier last night). Time for breakfast.
Near the docks, in an area known to the locals as Trodden (don't bother looking for it on a map chummer, it ain't there), overlooking a string of long demolished fishing docks, lies an old 20th century restaraunt called Joe's (least that's what the old sign still says, thoug nobody knows who exactly Joe was). A favorite among the North Seattle dregs, especially this dreg.
When you go in, Fluffy makes a low growl, and you realize that the tensions in the place are higher than normal. At first glance, everything is the same, but something just grabs at your senses. Then you notice it, it is with the soup slingers. They all seem to be carrying weights on their shoulders that looks as if they just pulled a couple all nighters. You look around, and realize that old Camells's makeup is smeared and worn. That old pirate never lets anything get to her, but she looks as if she might have been crying this morning. Something is wrong.
Cheetoze, one of the other regulars, nods you over to his table.

(Lol, moving on without me… I liked that cardboard box.)

First thought on Howler’s mind? Food. The second would definitely be why that ladle waving curse spewing street matron who most of the homeless have come to think of as some sort of surrogate mother would have been crying. Hell, usually she was the one making people cry when they bothered the unfortunate souls on this side of Seattle. Lowering a hand to gently pat Duke’s maw, a pair of fingers silenced the growling Fluffy before the still groggy shaman rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shambled towards Cheetoze.

“Omae, why the aura on this place? I don’t even have to look to know this place’s aura is practically toxic…”

Eggs came over, some scraps of soybacon and some very unpleasant looking soycaf to drink. Muttering to himself, Howler was only now remembering that his credstick actually had enough Nuyen on it to actually have food this morning instead of relying on yesterdays scraps served by these generous souls. His hands don’t even bother reaching for the fork and knife as the grease covered scraps are shoved into his mouth and surprisingly clean teeth chew through the tasteless material.

“I swear… I will never get used to this food.”

"Whacha talkin 'bout Howly?" your friend replies with a grin, "This is praktly royal food."
After catching your return grin, he looks up towards the cooks line and frowns.
"Not sure what's going on, but Gangly tells me that it has something to do with Townsend. Says he didn't show up this morning or something."
You give this a thought for a second and realize that this really shouldn't be anything that should upset the foodsters. Townsend used to have a drinking problem, and now that he is getting on in years, he has missed more than one shift in recent days. Seems more like something that would get the old girl fired up rather than breaking down. Maybe that's not it.

Howler looks over at Camella, that grizzled ladle layer wasn’t easily upset like this. The man across from him was right, she should be throwing tables around and kicking over soup pots. Standing up, and putting what is left of his meal onto the floor for his pups, Howler shambled over to Camella.

“Cam… what’s with this place today? It ain’t normal…”

Howler couldn’t help but look at the others on the soup line ladling soup, coffee, old soybacon and what appeared to be eggs, his mind flipping that switch deep in his subconscious for a look at exactly how bad things were. Blinking, one long blink, he listens to Camella while his eyes slip into the astral realm to check on the aura’s of the people closest to him. Duke is smart enough to look up as the attitude of Howler changes from one of a normal street urchin to the beginnings of a shamanic mask of the dog. When Fluffy looks up from the meal, it is almost like the pair of hounds can literally smell the difference in Howler. Whether or not anyone else noticed didn’t truly matter to the shaman as he unashamedly tried to read this place of refuge and the people who worked here.

She looks up at you, attempting a grin, looking back at the swill she is about to put on old Greasy's plate. She looks as if she is about to reply when she looks away, towards the open floor behind the counter near a stack of dried rice bags.

Your eyes drift off for a second in the the astral plane.

The auras of most of the people in the place are pretty normal (sullen, downtrodden, some even a bit perverse). The auras of the workers, especially Camella, are shaken and even scared. There is a darkness among them, but you have seen this sort of thing before. It comes with victimization. There is hopelessness and dread about them. For a second, to the right, almost directly in what would have to be Camella's line of sight, you see the shape of an apparition rolling and writhing on the floor in pain, with its hand held high in self defense and preservation. It looked for a second like the absent Townsend.

A shade memory. Camella saw that recently. Something has happened to Townsend.

"Sweetie, don't you mind. She grins at your dogs. Bet I have some calciyums for you two."

Howler couldn' help but see the suffering and the darkness in the auras around him. Blinking once to allow his eyes to once again focus on reality, he nodded briefly and started walking back to his table to think for a moment. Cam obviously wasn't going to talk easily about this and Howler was a mutt of a manners for protection rather than social graces. Fluffy and Duke would bark at the offer of treats as Howler would sit down and fold his hands beneath his chin.

These streets were his home and cam was a friend even if Townsend was a lazy good-for-nothing. Letting out a long deep sigh, Howler tried to think of what might have happened to Townsend as his dogs let out small barks of happiness as they pounced around Cam like the pups they were. Apparently a treat from a friend could break their strictly trained stoic nature.

Unwilling to bother a friend by opening up fresh wounds via investigation, the man and his dogs took to the street to decide the best places to investigate. And what better place to start than around the building that Townsend volunteered at. Stepping around to the rear of the Diner took just a handful of steps before Howler peeked for anybody that might be taking out trash whom he could waylay with questions.

You lean against the chipping concrete walls, patiently waiting for some sign of one of the other volunteers. Fluffy sits on his haunches seeming content with Cam's treat. His day was looking up at least. The cold February chills the light rain as it gently dusts the alley, leaving the morning all the more depressing. A friendly sounding shout happens behind the steel door to the feed hall, followed by its unlocking and opening, revealing Kail, a small Japanese ork who Cam was decent enough to bring on last fall. He wears his traditional slop-covered apron and black hairnet, and still seems to be laughing at something one of his co-workers must have said, as he steps out into the alley to light a smoke.

He cups his hands to shield his cigarette from the morning's drizzle as he sees you and your dogs. For a second, you could sense a quick shock of fear run through him, but it dissapates as quickly as it had shown as he recognizes you for who you are.

"Man, you 'bout scared my boils off Howler. What'chu doing back here?"

"Looking for answers, hoping to find a clue or two about what happened to Townsend..." Howler would reply.

The broaching of the subject was brought on carefully and with as much tact as Howler could manage. The spirits and the way of dog left him quite skilled in the astral but his social mannerisms and concepts were a bit stranger than the average homeless person from the streets of Seattle. Flipping up his collar against the rain, he tried a friendly smile towards the volunteer but it might have come out looking just a tad like a snarl.

"I was hoping... maybe you have his last whereabouts and me and the pups might be able to track him down from there...."

"Really?" Kail responds with a large smile, "That is WIZ!"
"So, from what I hear, the night crew got mugged last night as they was leavin the kitchen last night mans, they beat up old Townsy and Cam's husband Marco real bad. The demanded all the kitchen's money, but dem fraks are too stupid to realize this is a free plate mans! Anyo, they took Townsy with them and said that they best have a full bankroll for them tonight or they can feed the old buzzard in tomorrow's soup. Not sure what a buzzard is, but thinking it must be pretty stink!"

"Does anybody have any idea who 'They' are? You're giving me rumors Omae and I need some details before I proceed with my own..... personal.... investigation."

A hand was extended to pat the head of Duke as Fluffy circled around her owner and Duke like a predatory animal carefully guarding her territory. Howler himself was keeping his eyes entirely focused on this too-excited youth before him. The trail needed to be picked up now or never, the rain would surely make sure it was cold by the time Howler even bothered to start searching but he would pursue it regardless until he did right by his friend and the people that took care of him daily.

"Any information would be helpful."

"Nego mans, but Mr. Shanria...sorry, that's Marco, you know, Cam's husband. Anyway, he said he recognized one of the men as a thug that runs with one of the local gangs. In this area, it would have to either be Crimson or the Mad Santas. I'm guessing this isn't big enough for the Crush, but the Santas, its a good maybe, So'k?"

He seems to think about it for a second, and says, "If it is the Santas, some of them hang out at the Tacoz'nsoy stuffer over off of Laizen street. But I ain't saying that is even who it is. Hey, listen chum, they was sayin' there were at least five of them, and maybe another in the old Lincoln they had running at the end of the alley there," Kail gestures back behind you, towards the street at the mouth of the alley.

Howler would nod, turning his back on the man and whistling for the pups. He knew the Taco stand that the volunteer had mentioned and his knuckles were already turning white from the clenched fists he attempted to conceal from the view of other passerbyes on the street. The dogs could probably feel the rage behind their friend, after all... what dog didn't get mad after you harmed it's owner? Howler had the opportunity to catch the bus, but he wanted his feet on the street and his mind in the right place for when he approached this nest of thugs. True, there were five but he could even the odds with a little of his own arcane power.

Turning into an alley briefly, he stopped beside a pair of trash cans and closed his eyes. Lips peeled back slowly, he was growling beneath his breath as he sought out that feeling. In his mind he sent out the howl, that beckoning call to pull beings from the astral plane to his side. He started to go into a low crouch, squatting and continuing his normal expressions as his howl reached out as a silent beacon for the spirits to respond to. He awaited their arrival, his body tensing as he took on the strain of preforming this summoning.

Spoiler:

The member 'lysander' has done the following action : Dice rolls

#1 'd6' : 6, 4, 3, 6, 2, 2, 6, 6, 1

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#2 'd6' : 5, 3, 3, 4, 2

BTW: 4's are considered successes for summoning my city spirit, 2's are considered successes for resisting drain.

At first, several pieces of trash and debris around your feet begin to swirl about the ground as if a small whirlwind were forming as the calling begins to take hold. It collects speed and then vanishes as the trash falls again to the ground. To the mundane, that might not stand out as overly impressive, but to anyone familiar with the spirits of the concrete jungle, something else entirely. The hairs on your arms are the only physical evidence of the spirit's presence, yet you know clearly that you have it under your control.

Would you care to command the spirit?

Howler cannot help but grin to himself as he walks out of the alley and back onto the street. So long as the sun didn't set and he stayed in the spirit's territory it was his to command and bargain with. He would always treat the spirits of the street with respect, but perhaps the spirit could understand EXACTLY the intentions behind the dog shaman and hopefully respect his voracious appetite for personal justice on behalf of his friends. The pups notice the movement of the trash as well and raise their noses before following their owner towards the taco joint with a grin on his mug and a readiness to ask some questions. Politely......... maybe.

A short while later, you find yourself walking down East Anders Street, passing the occasional sprawl dreg along the way. Ahead of you, to the left and set aside from the main street, stands the taco shop. From this vantage, even through the falling drizzle, you can see that there are a half-dozen or so customers. In this neighborhood it is likely that more than half of them are just loitering to avoid the late winter chill. Some distance to the east, you hear the passing thump of someone's base as their unseen vehicle passes just outside of your view. Just another cold, wet, miserable, Seattle morning.

Howler grinned, somewhat resembling the bearing of teeth for any hound ready to start biting, and walked towards the taco hut without any intention to step out of the pouring rain and inside a place where his summoned spirit could not follow him. Nodding towards the building to a passing schlub in front of the shop, the street shaman speaks a single question to him with hopes of striking it lucky and not bothering the shop.

“Any Mad Santas in there or do I need to knock on the door to find out?”

Howler takes a second look at the taco stand, craning his neck to get a better view as he tries to identify any ganger’s wearing the Mad Santas color. It wasn’t likely that he would identify them (Gang Identification: 1) but he thought he would try it anyways just in case he might catch a glimpse of something that might just set him off in the right direction.