Ragenard took a few seconds to survey the assembled crowd before beginning to speak. He couldn't help but feel the contrast rising from his memories sharply. Whether from a trick of recollection or grim reality, he couldn't help but feel that compared to the Bloodstones of yesteryear, the current make up of their family were woefully unprepared for what was coming.
Worse yet, his remembrance did not include the newfound feeling of responsibility his new position imposed upon him. Children, some in age and others in mind. Softened by long years of content before a rude reawakening most. Wounded and bitter the rest. But killers? He wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't the only one in the room. And this was the lot he was to take to war?
No, I'm being unfair to them, there's fire here; he thought as his eyes roamed deeper.
They weren't the same manic howlers he remembered bleeding among, but they were Bloodstones nonetheless. They would rise to the life, or the life would leave them. That was still the same.
"Alright, listen up people!" he roared. "First things first," he exclaimed as he shook out a cigarette and lit up. "We're alive. We all got hit with some heavy shit in one way or another recently, but we're alive. They sought to tear us down and apart, and while not all of us made it...we're alive. We persevered, together, as pack."
He took a drag of his smoke and exhale slowly, the silvery white smoke billowing above him.
"We are The Bloodstones and pretty soon we're going to show those Scion motherfuckers, and anyone stupid enough to work for them or through them, that there's a price to pay for fucking with us. You do not start shit with us with impunity, and you sure as fuck don't leave it unfinished if you know what's good for you.
"By the time we're done with them, they'll understand who we are. Whatever dregs of theirs that through dumb luck or divine intervention manage to survive our coming retribution will be able to pick up from amidst the rubble of their lives a stone, and squeeze from it the blood we'll make them shed," he roared out before pausing for another drag.
He could feel his blood heating up as his rage began to build up, could feel it begin to slowly radiate out of him and begin to permeate the room.
Unlike the conflicting cocktail of the leader dispute from the previous night, this was a milder and more focused sensation. The embodiment of his strength and will as pack leader being unconsciously shared with his pack.
"From now on, the tense stalemate you've all been used to for nearly a decade now is over. We're now at war, open and hot. We'll make them pay for what they've the gall to do to us, and show them the error of their ways before they go down and burn in hell.
"From now on, every single one of you old enough is to be armed at all times. Doesn't matter if you don't like it. Doesn't matter if you're scared. We're one pack, one and all. If shit goes down next to you, you're expected to be ready to back up your brothers and sisters, bullet or fang," he paused to bend down and pick up the bag full of guns.
After extracting a lock-box out of it, he lightly threw it at his feet.
"Arm up, folks. Two magazines each at all times, that gives you 17 chances to put a mangy Scion down. It goes without saying, these pieces are illegal and not traceable. Do not get caught by the LPD with them. Speaking of which...
"If you were at the Den when the incident went down and are questioned keep your response simple; 'I was drunk, I didn't see shit' or something to that effect. If you have police trying to get you to say anything about anything pack activity or otherwise; 'I ain't gotta talk to no pig, I know my rights'. You old-schoolers know how this goes, new arrivals take note. They are them, and we are us. We handle our business," he paused for another drag and another look around the room.
Eyes roaming; probing for weaknesses, seeking grit.
"Now, we ain't gonna achieve our purpose overnight. We aren't going to half-assedly bloody the Scions noses, no. We're going to fucking exterminate them, take back our territory, and leave them neutered permanently. And we'll be doing this methodically and systematically. All of you will have a part to play, and the work begins today," another pause, another drag.
"This ain't just a peptalk, everybody is going to be busy pitching in, whether you're brother or cousin. Everybody pulls their weight, so listen up!
"Julienne, Bastien, Quinn, and Connor. You four are going to go get us our 'war room' set up. Go to that old warehouse of Jean's near Rue Vive. Julienne knows the one," he added with a wink at Julienne as he remembered a particularly well used mattress on the top platform.
"Split up the work how you see fit, there's only a rusty old chain chain and giant padlock blocking it up. You need to get in, get the truck in there running and back here, and load most of our armory here and truck it over," he paused to crack open the lockbox he still held, and from within extracted a hefty bundle of cash in a rubber band.
"You'll also need to stock the place up with basic living essentials. Water, non-perishable food, camping gear and what not. Prepare it for the long haul, that's going to be our base of operations for the foreseeable future," he finished before tossing Julienne the money.
"Oh, and take the cat. He can work as lookout while you guys work," he added with a pointed look at Seri.
"Now, not everyone is going to be hanging out over there. Our wounded obviously have to stay here, as do the pups. And there's also work to be done around here. Ulrich, Damon, and Jean Pierre. You three are on security detail here. Take a rifle or shotgun each from the armory and plenty of ammo. Keep the place secure and orderly so Reinhard and Jesse can do their work.
"Raquette, Humbert, and Re'Altarm. You're in charge of stocking up the Med Center," he paused to throw another bundle of cash for Raquette.
"Similar deal as the warehouse list, but also tack on medical supplies. Bandages, antibiotics, whatever else. Re'Altarm can make a list, she should have an idea of the basics.
"Desmond and Brendan," he said with a pause as a grin spread across his face. "You're on cleaning up detail. I want all outside evidence that we were ever here disappeared. That means the wrecked cars, the puddles of blood as we came in, everything. We've been lucky so far that the LPD had their attention on the casino and I haven't picked up any chatter looking this way yet, but not taking any chances.
"Cass, you're to stay around the place and help as needed. Whether that's helping the louts clean, or putting stuff away when the supplies get here, or making the pups lunch. I dunno, be useful wherever."
He took another pause to take a couple of drags off his cigarettes before his face took on a more serious pall once again.
"Draaven and Snow. You guys go pick up some more serious firepower from the armory and wait for me here. I got a couple of things to take care of here and then we'll be going out to find where Jacques disappeared to," he said, shooting Aimee a look.
"Finally, there's some serious work for you remaining Iverian cousins. You ain't from around here, and that's your strongest asset in this. Skye, Fiona, and Kian. You three are going to scout out Cascastel. I don't expect any of you to be reconnaissance experts, but I want you to go see what you see. How many Scion drug pushers are at the corners, tacky blacked out SUVs moving around, whatever. Get a feel for how Scion activity is out there. But keep a low profile.
"As for you, Seamus, you're going to go scout out the casino. Take note of whatever you can there. Maybe play up the part of sad tourist and see what the LPD lets slip out. Visit some nearby shops while you're at it, see how business is going. All the money flowing there is Scion money, and want to know how they're moving it without their casino," he paused once more and took the last hit of smoke left, down to the filter.
"That about covers it, any questions?"
