A detective comes by a seedy club to ask one of the new girls a few questions

June 7th, 2013

Squatting down as he examined the chalk-outlined victim one more time, Detective Eric Walker inhaled deeply on his third cigarette. He'd been careless. Got a little blood on the cuff of his pants. If they actually gave a shit about doing their jobs, CSI might bitch at him about it.

In the purely hypothetical scenario where the Tallahassee CSI team were staffed by something other than useless humps, he might tell them 'You try and spend five minutes in a slaughterhouse like this scene without getting any on you.'

Eric looked down at the young man laying on the floor of the dingy kitchen again. No shirt to soak up the blood - which meant it had gone everywhere. Could've been a home invasion gone wrong, maybe - but it'd have to have been a junkie absolutely wired to the gills on PCP to have done something like this. At least twenty stab wounds to the chest and abdomen, and ragged slashes across the throat.

"Who did you piss off badly enough to do this to you?" the tall blonde police detective shook his head.

"Gang hit, maybe?" he spoke to the brutalized corpse as if the man had anything to say. "You just graduated college a year ago. Squeaky clean record. Graduated with honors. Had a good job at a graphic design company. Shit... six years ago I would've killed for a cushy job like that. Have to be pretty dumb to throw that all away getting mixed up in dealing."

He took another drag of the cigarette. "I've seen vics who got themselves killed doing dumber shit than that, I guess. But that's not the feeling I get from you, buddy. A cholo would've just popped you with a nine mil, not this slasher movie shit." He chewed the filter of his cig a little. "And no signs of **** entry. No attempt to make it look like a burglary. This was something else."

Eric raised his voice and called out to the bored, overweight uniformed cop standing near the front door. "Hey! You said that the CSI guys at least managed to collect some hair from the bedsheets before they fucked off, right? And the vic was last seen at a house party twelve hours ago, before his roommate found him like this?"

"Yup. Airtight alibi on the roomie, too. At work with a dozen people when it would've happened." the cop chuckled. "I've seen some pretty brutal shit before, and let me tell ya, 19 times out of twenty, the worst ones are when a guy was fucking somebody else's wife or girlfriend. This has 'crime of passion' written all over it, you ask m- Hey! Are you leaving cigarettes on the goddamn floor? Jesus, detective..."

"Mm." Eric stood back up. "Sounds like I've got some interviews to do."

The other cop shook his head. "Why the hell did you want this case anyway? No offense Walker, but I heard your clearance rate is in the shitter. You should be working street deals gone bad, easy things like that. These crimes of the heart are a real pain in the ass. And frankly, they ain't good for the soul, either."

The detective dropped to one knee again and took hold of a white cotton crew sock, a splash of clean white over the constellation of dark red bloodstains on the floor. There was a bit of resistance as the dried blood underneath it gave way. "Whoever left this here dropped it after our room-temperature friend got turned into swiss cheese." he murmured thoughtfully, holding it up to his face, examining it closely.

"You thinking it was from our guy?" the sergeant scratched his chin idly. "Damn lazy CSI - did they get around to bagging anything, or did they just chalk the vic, take a few photos and fuck off? Maybe there's a toenail stuck in there?"

"Sure, but that's not what I was thinking of." the detective set his jaw and narrowed his eyes. "How many men do you know who wear socks with a pink stripe on the cuff?"

....

Author's note: The World of Darkness isn't just "the real world with vampires and ghosts and such". It's pretty close to our world, but it's not quite the same, even if you were to take the monsters out. It's a cinematic gothic horror version of our real world. Even when there is nothing supernatural involved, there are differences. It's not just the world where vampire dramas can be reality. It's also the world of psychological thrillers, soap opera melodramas, and action movies. There are more murders, more street ****, more unwanted children, more spooky old abandoned buildings, more muggings, more of everything that makes up the dark, violent, seedy side of life. The shadows are darker. The streets are dirtier. All forms of society and human endeavor are driven less by reason and more by emotion.

In the real world, cops like this would be seen as shockingly unprofessional and likely to lose their jobs. In the World of Darkness, they're the norm.

....

August 29th, 2013

A college town is one of the best places for a strip club to operate. Plenty of horny young guys with disposable income, and an ample supply of hot young women who need some of that cash... girls who want a little bit extra to go out partying on spring break, and girls who partied a little too hard and wound up dropping out.

Of course, this was a "red state", not one of those Godless immoral cities of vice on the left coast. In this city there were rules against such things. No strip club in city limits is allowed to serve ****, the jacked-up-prices of which is the lifeblood of titty bars the world over.

So there were no strip clubs. Instead, there were 'cabarets', which were, of course, completely different.

One example of such a fine, upstanding, family-friendly establishment was called "The Moon Rabbit Cabaret". No neon signs with female silhouettes - just a blocky two-story building with no windows and a sign with classy cursive letters. There was no stripping or pole dancing here. Just a couple dozen 'cocktail waitresses' dressed in skin-tight vinyl playboy bunny outfits. There were no "lap dances". Just private VIP rooms where patrons could order overpriced drinks and tip one of those girls to 'sit next to them' on a couch for an evening. And if one of those girls happened to occasionally go home with a guest who proved to be particularly flush with cash, well, there was no law against that.

Detective Walker grinned humorlessly as he strode into the place. Wood-paneled floors and sophisticated piano music. All of the 'waitresses' had perfect, pearly-white teeth with not a single case of meth-mouth in sight. Hell, most of them didn't even have more than a couple of tattoos. Some had none at all.

"Hiiiii mister," a curvaceous dark-skinned girl with a bunny-ear headband sticking out of her frizzy hair flounced over and gave him a rehearsed giggle. "Welcome to the Moon Rabbit. Are you meeting someone, or are you here by yourself?" she added a suggestive lilt to that last question.

Eric stayed silent, his eyes scanning the room. "I was hoping to get to see a particular waitress that a friend told me works here. Nickname of 'Jewel'?"

"Oh, I dunno... I'm kinda new here, to be honest." the girl giggled and flashed her most seductive smile at him. "Why don't I just show you to a table and- HEY!"

Not one for chivalry, Eric clapped a hand on the waitress's shoulder and pushed her aside as he began walking with purpose to the other end of the room. "Bingo."

The one who he was looking for was another young girl in a bunny costume, which she filled out as nicely as anyone in the room. She'd just wobbled over to the bar, cursing the whole way, and slid into one of the seats.

"Fuck, shit, god damn fuckin shit," she muttered the whole way, trying to keep her balance. "Jeff, can you get someone to cover table 7 for a minute? I gotta go get a replacement." she pointed down to one of the black stiletto heels she was wearing, which had snapped off.

The bald, burly man in a vest behind the bar grunted. "Again?! Jesus, Jewel. This is the fourth time this week. How many times do I have to tell you, you're supposed to be walking slow and sexy, not stomping around like bigfoot." Jeff, the club manager, folded his arms and glowered at the tall, short-haired young woman. "I'm knocking an hour off your pay for tonight. Next time it's gonna be two."

"An hour?!" the tan-skinned beauty barked loudly, drawing a few glances from other waitresses and patrons. "That's bullshit!"

"You're on thin ice already, Jewel." the manager narrowed his eyes. "Consider your next words very carefully."

The girl slammed her palms down on the bar with a heavy thud. The scantily clad girl tending bar gasped and almost fumbled the glass she was pouring. "Okay! On careful consideration, you're an asshole, Jeff! It's not my fault that-"

Eric had been just about to clear his throat, but the tall young woman whirled around before he got close. Her indignant snarl instantly shifted to a flirtatious smile. "Heeeey there. I was just about to go freshen up. There's an open VIP room right now. Just twenty bucks to get in. How about it? I'd love to get a chance to serve such a handsome guy." she stuck her tongue out, trying to be cute.

The detective looked her up and down. From the little bounce in her chest as the dark-haired girl shimmied from side to side, leaning against the bar, it was clear that those melons on her chest were all natural, unlike a lot of the other girls. Not only that, but compared to a lot of the waitresses here, she was clearly a regular of the gym. Under the softness of her skin there was a visible swell of muscle in her thighs, and the hint of firm abdominal muscles could be seen through the skin-tight surface of her bunny outfit. A runner's physique.

As much as he tried to fight it, Detective Walker couldn't stop the shiver of desire that ran down his back, looking at her up close like this. The photographs he'd seen in his investigation didn't come close to doing the reality of this girl justice. He was no choir boy - he'd seen hot women before. But something about this one was different in a way that went beyond her knockout figure. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood up the moment she talked to him.

The detective couldn't explain it, but the only other time he'd had that chilling tingle spread across his skin within moments of speaking to someone before, it wasn't with a beautiful woman. It was with a schizoid psychopath who'd wound up having two dead prostitutes and a nosy neighbor in his crawlspace.

"Yeah. That sounds good." Eric said flatly, slapping down a bill on the bar. The manager gaves her a hard look, then drifted off to the other end of the bar and found an excuse to talk to the bartender.

Rather than go off to change, the young woman kicked off her remaining heel and clutched both shoes in her hand, walking up the stairs barefoot. "Hey, you're not staring at my ass back there, are you?" she said in teasing voice as she led him up.

"Not yet." Eric said flatly... which was the truth. It was certainly a nice ass. Maybe one of the nicest he'd ever seen. But at that moment his focus was on her bare feet. She had big feet, alright. Ideal for a runner. At least a size 11. He nodded silently.

The girl sighed heavily, sounding relieved, as he sat down in the private second-floor booth. "Dude, you came along at just the right time. Don't tell him I said this but my boss was being a total asshole." she said in a relaxed voice as if talking to a friend rather than a guest at a thinly-veiled strip club. "Talk about a pleasant surprise, in more ways than one. A guy like you doesn't look like you need to be coming to a, you know, a cabaret. You look like you stepped out of a fashion catalog or some shit."

"Mm. It's important to take care of your appearance, in my line of work." Eric said. "I'm sure you can relate. You having some problems with the management?"

"Yeaaah," the girl blew air through her lips and rolled her eyes. "This place is a little uptight for me. They keep getting on my back for breaking all the little rules." she looked him up and down, and seemed to really like what she saw. Her smile got a mischievous cast to it, and she licked her lips sensually. "Maybe if you order something expensive, I might... break one of the bigger rules before the night is over."

A smirk formed on the corner of Eric's mouth and he narrowed his eyes. "Ohhh. A bad girl, are you? What's your name, bad girl?"

"My friends call me Jules." She was clearly trying to do a sexy pose for him, but for anyone who could look past her gorgeous body, she clearly had an awkward and inexperienced hesitancy. "...it's a good name, don't you think? Because I can really shine, and stuff."

"Jules Lopez?" Eric said, sitting stiffly.

The young woman blinked several times and cleared her throat, then **** another giggle. "Uh... I dunno if I should..."

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Eric pulled out a golden police badge that gleamed menacingly in the dim light. "Detective Eric Walker." he said, his voice suddenly serious. "I'd like to ask you a few questions, Miss Lopez."

Immediately, the short-haired girl's eyes flicked towards the hall, and the stairs leading back down to the club floor. "T-that asshole Jeff told me that this was allowed. He said that anyone over 18 is allowed to serve drinks in this state. He's the one you should-"

"I'm not here to charge you with anything, Miss Lopez." Eric said, tucking the badge back into his jacket and pulling out a notepad and a pencil. "Although there has been a sudden surge in reports of petty theft in this establishment and several others nearby over the past seven weeks," he saw Jules visibly stiffen up when he said that, "I don't give a shit about that. I'm not here to do the job of those washed-up jackoffs in the property crimes for them. I'm a homicide detective."

Detective Walker uses his "Empathy" skill to scrutinize Jules's reaction. This is obviously an important skill for a detective, so he has a very impressive dice pool - four from his "Wits" attribute, three from having three dots in the skill. He also has the same "Striking looks" merit as Jules, due to being an especially attractive man, adding one more dot to social rolls with most women, and a specialization in noticing guilt, bringing his pool to 10. It is opposed by Jules's abysmal "Composure" attribute of 1, for a final pool of nine dice. WoD games use pools of ten sided dice. An eight or above is a success. Tens explode, allowing you to roll another dice for each 10 rolled, which also succeed on 8+ (but can't generate more bonus dice). https://orokos.com/roll/987147 He gains 3 hits, succeeding, and thinks she is surprised and confused by a homicide detective tracking her down (which she is), or she's a good actor.

"Homicide? The fuck?" Jules wrinkled her nose. "Did somebody get killed around here? I didn't hear anything about that."

"Statistically, there's a homicide in the Tallahassee metro area once every two days." The handsome blonde detective's smirk came back. "To start with, would you mind if I ask why you're working in a strip club? You have a full ride athletic scholarship at Florida State. I'm not sure if you're aware, but classes started over two weeks ago, yet according to the registrar, you have not yet registered for any classes, let alone attended one."

"I sure as hell do mind." Jules narrowed her eyes.

This now becomes a 'social maneuvering' encounter, i.e. social combat. This is one of the most important types of game mechanics, even in a relatively action-oriented gameline like Werewolf: the Forsaken. Even though Jules is the protagonist, since this is a solo RPG, she will be treated a bit more like an NPC for the purpose of social maneuvering, which means she can be beaten in social contests and made to do something or reveal secrets, within reason, just like any other character.

Normally, Jules and Eric would be able to make rolls to try and improve one another's first impressions. However, in this case, Eric has been investigating her for weeks, so his impression of her is locked at "average". Her initial impression of him would've been "excellent" due to his good looks and fortuitous appearance but his aggressive tone has knocked it down to 'good'. But, he also has "leverage" against her due to his status merit as a police detective, pushing the effective impression back up to 'excellent', so he can make one attempt against her per hour. He must state a goal for the maneuvering, which is, of course, to get her to divulge everything she knows that may be relevant to the killing.

Each character has a number of "doors". Unfortunately for Jules, the base number for this is the lower of her resolve or composure, which is a 1, making her woefully **** to manipulation of all kinds. If this was against one of her anchors ("Blood" and "Bone" - more on those later) or one of her aspirations (which she doesn't have yet - she needs to get some ASAP, as they are very important to a WoD character mechanically as well as narratively) she would get more doors. Since she doesn't have those extra defenses her chances of resisting the questioning are very, very slim. Which is a good thing, since this is a launching point for the plot.

Detective Eric Walker rolls his manipulation (3) + empathy (3, as he also has a specialization in interrogation) plus 1 for striking looks, minus Jules's resolve of three, for a total of 4 dice.

He really wants to get this girl to talk so he will use a point of willpower, which he has a total of six available. Using willpower is a VERY important concept in WoD games as it improves your rolls significantly, and the ways you can regain it are inducements to good roleplaying and characterization. This adds three to his roll, making it seven. Jules could hypothetically also spend will defensively to add 2 to her resistance, but cannot to for now, as her willpower is currently depleted, with zero out of four maximum (she's had a hard time recently). https://orokos.com/roll/987155 He gets 1 success and opens Jules's only door.

"Alright. I'll note it down - 'prefer not to comment'." The detective scribbled on his notepad and then fixed his gaze on Jules again. His eyes locking onto hers made her feel like she had ler leg caught in a steel trap, somehow. "How long have you lived in this city?"

"My whole life." Jules looked down her her feet. "You gonna order anything, man? Jeff is gonna be pissed if I spend a bunch of time up here and you walk out without getting a drink."

"I'm on duty right now, Miss Lopez." Detective Walker said. "But you know what? Screw it. I could use a drink. Bring me a glass of whatever this overpriced shithole has on tap."

A few minutes later when Jules returned with a tray with a glass of beer and wearing a fresh pair of black heels, there was the cherry red dot of a lit cigarette in the detective's mouth as he slouched back in his seat.

"Ugh," Jules wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. "Do you have to smoke? I can't stand that stink."

"Do I have to smoke? No." Eric took a deep drag and held the cigarette in two fingers before taking his pencil back up. "So this is your hometown. I'm from Chicago, myself. Moved here to the sweaty nutsack of America for my ex-wife's job."

"Snrk." Jules suppressed a chuckle and couldn't help but smile. "I guess you're frustrated working in a city where there's not like a thousand murders a year huh?"

Detective Walker thursted his cigarette at her. "I spoke to a young woman named Yolanda Rheinhardt. She said that you missed quite a lot of school. Of course, since you turned 18, your juvenile criminal records have been sealed, but medical records aren't. She said you were responsible for breaking her hand."

Rather than looking insulted, Jules's smirk split into a toothy grin. "Bitch should've kept her hands to herself."

"For your last two years of high school you were attending a fairly prestigious private academy, weren't you?" the detective asked. "I spoke to your grandmother and grandfather. They said that they dug deep into their savings to put you through a good school to make sure you were able to make something of yourself. And in spite of incidents like with Miss Rheinhardt, it seemed like that was working."

Pausing for dramatic effect, the blonde man swiveled his head around, looking at the wood-paneled booth. "And now you're blowing off college and working in a strip club."

"Yup." Jules said simply, sitting down across from him in the booth. "You mind if I sit? These stupid heels are killing my feet."

He nodded - and then raised an eyebrow as the buxom young woman immediately slid over and pressed her hips up against him, stretching an arm over his shoulder. He felt the soft, yielding pressure of one of her breasts pushing up against his shoulder.

"Sorry - I'm 'on duty' too. If Jeff sees that I'm not doing my job and making the customer comfortable he'll give me even more shit." she leaned a bit harder into him.

"Alright, Miss Lopez," the detective said, unable to keep a bit of a shudder out of his voice, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray, "let's cut to the chase. Did you know a man by the name of Nathaniel Gray?"

Jules rolls intelligence + wits to remember, with a pool of four dice. https://orokos.com/roll/987167 She does.

A blush rose in Jules's face and she turned her face to the side. She swallowed deeply. "Uh... I think I met a Nathaniel a while ago. Not long after I graduated. At a house party."

The detective reached into his jacket and pulled out a small envelope. Opening it, he pulled out a small printed photograph of a smiling, handsome young man with messy, shoulder-length brown hair, wearing a metal band t-shirt. "Is this him?"

Jules swallowed heavily, and scooted a little away from Eric. "Yeah, that's him. Oh shit... you don't think that he... fuck, is he being investigated for... he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would do something like that. I kind of ghosted him afterwards I guess..." she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Eric made an inscrutable sound halfway between a chuckle and a grunt. "Interesting choice of words."

"Huh?" Jules cocked her head to the side.

"Nevermind," Eric continued. "Were you in his house the night of June 6th?"

"Uhhh... that would've been, what, two weeks after the last day of high school? Yeah, that sounds about right." Jules nodded. "He said his parents were out of town."

"It was a rental house, but that's not important. What happened while you were at Mr. Gray's house?" Eric asked, his voice low and severe once again.

Jules let out a deep, annoyed groan. "Do I have to answer that?"

Eric moved over to the other side of the booth, scooting further away from the girl, bringing his notepad and the envelope with him. "I strongly suggest that you do, Miss Lopez. You may be called upon to testify in court about it."

The short-haired young woman slumped forward and bonked her forehead on the table, groaning again. "What do you THINK happened there, you smartass?"

"You went to bed with him?" the detective asked matter-of-factly.

"Yeah?" Jules replied in an annoyed, exasperated voice.

"This was the first and only time you interacted with Mr. Gray?" Eric hunched over to scribble in his notes, averting his eyes from the girl sitting across from him. She nodded. "And nothing went wrong? There were no disturbances, no phone calls, no one else arriving at the home, nothing of that nature?"

Jules shook her head.

"Now Miss Lopez, this is very important. Please tell me when you left, and if Mr. Gray was still there at the time."

"I dunno what time it was. I left after I woke up. It was still dark. I told Nate I needed to use the bathroom, and snuck out." Jules was clearly growing more uncomfortable with each new probing question.

"Why did you leave?" Eric's questions, meanwhile, were getting quicker and sharper. His hand tensed up, into a white-knuckle grip on the pencil.

"Just... so I didn't have to do the walk of shame in broad daylight I guess?" Jules sighed.

"We found traces of blood on Mr. Gray's bedsheet when we searched his home. Was that yours? Did he hurt you, or try to **** you to do anything?"

"No, he didn't do anything like that." Jules buried her face in her hands. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"So the blood was the result of a consensual act, is that correct?"

"Alright! That's it. I'm done with this shit." Jules threw her hands up and jumped to her feet. "Fuck you, asshole. Fucking pig." she raised a middle finger at him. "I was there practically all night so tell Nate I'm his alibi. I'll have Erina bring you your receipt for the beer."

"Mr. Gray doesn't need an alibi. He's dead."

Jules stumbled in mid-step, letting one of those damned high heels slip off again, forcing her to catch herself against the edge of the table so she didn't tumble to the floor in a heap. "What?!"

Dumping the envelope open on the table, Detective Walker pushed forward the photographs of the crime scene. The smashed up kitchen. The pieces of broken furniture and glass shards laying everywhere. Nate's eyes frozen wide open in horror. And... his chest...

Jules suddenly looked like she was in severe pain. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head from side to sides. It looked like she was moving her jaw as if she was trying to say something... but to the detective's flinty eyes, it looked less like she was mouthing words, and more like she was gnashing her teeth. It was rapid, almost uncontrolled looking, like an epileptic fit.

Her breathing was quickening. Jules's breaths came in ragged gasps through bared teeth. Just like the first time he'd seen her, a red gleam momentarily appeared in her eyes, until she blinked.

"I'm going to be frank with you, Miss Lopez," Detective Walker said in a low, unsympathetic voice, "You are currently the lead suspect in a homicide investigation. I have statements from five former classmates and educators of yours regarding incidents where you violently lost your temper and assaulted others, several of which led to hospitalizations. My advice would be that you find a lawyer to speak to." He wrote on the opened envelope, and pushed it in her direction. "This is my phone number. Please contact me if you recall anything else about the morning of June 7th."

After leaving it untouched for the entire conversation, the blonde detective suddenly grabbed the glass of beer and tipped it back, chugging down the entire thing rapidly, polishing off the whole thing before slamming it back down onto the table. Then he pulled out his wallet and slapped a hundred dollar bill down on the table. "Consider that generous tip a donation to your legal expenses. As I'm sure your lawyer will explain, you have an excellent chance of convincing the jury to accept that it was self defense, especially if you happen to recall that there was any sexual **** involved. The conviction rate for female **** defendents is low when the victim is a man they went home with."

As the young woman stood there is shock, looking like she was on the verge of breaking down, the detective calmly tucked away his wallet and his notebook. "I mean, I have to wonder if the tenth-through twentieth stabs were necessary. Or slitting his throat from ear to ear, for that matter. But the dead guy seems like kind of a sleazy prick, to be honest - crashing parties and bringing cases of beer and bottles of Jack Daniels to parties full of teenagers, et cetera."

He brushed past Jules, as she stood there as if paralyzed. "I'm sure a decent defense lawyer can dig something up on him. If you cooperate with me, I'll even string out the investigation a little longer so I can help you do exactly that. Aside from that, you should also speak to a psychiatrist, if you can. Considering your family history of mental illness and your troubled childhood, any defense counsel who knows his ass from a hole in the ground could get you 'diminished capacity' and institutionalization."

The stiff, swaggering silhouette of the arrogant detective paused in mid stride, and he threw a contemptuous glance back at her. "I'll be frank with you again: I don't really give a shit if you go to jail or not, Miss Lopez. I just want the clearance. Murders in back alleys, crackhouses, and places like this are one thing, but this was a brutal **** in a nice suburban neighborhood. The story has been on the nightly news five times already, and I'm sure the city council would appreciate if we closed the book on it."

"But - but - " Jules choked out.

The tall blonde man didn't even turn to glance at her as he walked to the down stars. "Have a good evening."

Do it. A throaty, hissing, voice said.

Jules took a deep, ragged breath.

Don't let that lying pig speak to you like that and get away with it. No one will hear in the stairs. Show him.

Yes! YES! YAY! Whooo! Yeah! Do it, do it! A chorus of chirping, reedy voices like old-time cartoon characters chimed in with the raspy voice.

"You're not real." the young woman said. Suddenly, her skin felt... tight. A throbbing pain reverberated through her jaws.

Another voice came to her from the other side, higher, trilling, more feminine. "Listen to Ragged Red Lip. He knows what he's talking about. Just deal with that dirty piggy. We will help you. We will protect you. No one will know."

"Shut up." Jules said more loudly.

Tear his throat out.

"SHUT UP!" The sexily-dressed young cabaret waitress throw the empty beer glass at a wispy figure with long, clawed hands, at the edge of her vision. But when she looked right at that spot, there was nothing there. Just a pile of broken glass shards dripping overpriced beer.

A minute later when Jeff the manager thundered up the stairs he found Jules kneeling, pounding her first on the floor, tears pouring from her eyes. He looked at the shattered glass and huffed. "Jewel?! What the hell is wrong with you? Calm down for christ's sake!"

Jules rolls composure + intelligence to think clearly and not do anything rash. Alas, she has no willpower. https://orokos.com/roll/987176 She fails.

This is a good time to discuss dramatic failures. Unlike in some RPGs, the latest edition of Chronicles of Darkness/WoD gives players a fair amount of creative agency, but it is creative energy centered around their own character, specifically, rather than changing the setting around them. One of these ways is by accepting dramatic failures, which are a sort of 'critical failure'. Yes - the game wants you to voluntarily make things worse for your own character.

That's because this is one of the primary ways you get experience points. One of the things that sets NWoD 2.0 apart from other RPGs is that 'the worse, the better' - the more bad things that happen to your character, the more experience you get.

In this case it's the difference between telling the insensitive manager off, and physically attacking him. Note that at this point (spoiler warning?) the main character does not have the werewolf template and cannot transform.