This is a write-up of an actual scene from a Werewolf: The Apocalypse game session with a very mismatched group of very messed up characters. All characters belong to the players in that group (Moon Dancer was mine). Werewolf: The Apocalypse is the property of White Wolf Games. Feedback and criticism of anything and everything welcome - there is always room for improvement.
The New York apartment smelled of man-sweat and stale air and the blood shed in the back yard, and even the always calm voice of her alpha in the door only served to annoy the she-wolf's ears. Although in her man-shape, her senses were battle-heightened, her blood burning with joy of the recent kill. She wanted nothing better than to leap, to bite, to tear out throats in the dance of death that is also the dance of life… Looking around the room she saw the same flame burn in her pack brothers' eyes.
James crouched in wolf-shape, an oddly primordial vision against the tacky yellow of a faded couch and the choking grey of a TV screen. Black against bluish black and eyes of brilliant green. Gunther's eyes were half closed as he savoured the taste of the enemy blood he licked as it dripped down his scarred and tattooed arm from his claws; he was still in Glabro, muscles rippling across his broad shoulders, tongue lolling over pointy teeth. The she-wolf felt a now familiar tightening in her belly and between her thighs that had very little to do with battle-longing and all to much with longing of a very different sort. Or not so different all together.
William- Rhya's Jersey burr drifted across the musky quiet of the room from the doorway, mingling with the policeman's thicker Brooklyn accent. The voices raised and the she-wolf struggled to make sense of the still not quite familiar man-speech.
"…I'm tellin' ya, buster, one more word and it's down the house… now move aside…"
"…really no need for this, officer, this is merely a private argument…"
"...'nuff of this, pal, or I'll go bad cop on you…"
A growl of impatience broke the quiet of the three Garou in the apartment. At first Moon Dancer thought it'd come from her own throat, but it was Gunther's body who began to change, jaws elongating, limbs stretching, muscles bulging under grey fur as the tall Fenrir shifted into his Crinos form. The hulking creature took two strides across the room to burst into the corridor.
The cop had only little time to piss his pants before a mighty claw split his ribcage, leaving him to slide down the door jamb like a marionette with its strings cut as his final breath left the shreds of his lungs in a bubbling wheeze.
William turned, calm and furious.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" the slightly overweight, well-dressed, bespectacled young man demanded of the ten-foot monster crouched behind him, calmly picking clots of skin and lung tissue from beneath its claws.
"Took too long", Gunther growled in Garou speech, forcing the words out through jaws designed for killing rather than wordplay. "Waste of time. Could be fighting enemies."
"Well, Einstein, you've just brought us a helluva lot more potential wasted time. Ah, forget it, I don't know why I even try…" William threw up his hands in exasperation, grabbed his wallet and cell and fled his own flat rather than deal with his insane pack.
The slam of the door echoed in the stuffy silence.
Moon Dancer stifled a grin.
"I'll bet a haunch of deer he's going to be mad once he sees Gunther got some pol-ees-man on his carpet."