An Encounter With Gina and a Fenrir

[Gina McClaren] *Cabrini was no place for a girl like Gina to be walking alone. Thugs prowled the streets like predators in the long grasses of the savanna, scenting for prey that was weaker or sickly to bring down. Pimps cruised slowly in low-riding caddies, eyes on their women, minds on their profit. And the women, oh the women. Stalking the streets in boots as high as their self esteem was low, spreading venereal disease to overworked housewives with every hasty slam of a john’s car door.

Gina shouldn’t be walking alone. Gina isn’t walking alone. A pair of stiletto thin blades tucked in the sleeves of her jacket keep her company, and give her the confidence to walk back to her hotel from the home of the Get widow she was visiting. Red jacket a beacon, but no more so than the whisper of strider blood carried along with each swing of wide hips. Road dust, spices, and the faint underpinning of owl to accompany dark skin and long hair. Kohl rimmed eyes taking in her surroundings carefully. Confident – not stupid*

[Remy de Tournieres] Sunday night’s not a traditional night for drinking, but then very little about Remy is strictly traditional. So there he is, under a blown-out streetlamp — his big grey-and-blue ski jacket mostly grey in the shadows, the collar snapped up to his nose and the hood pulled forward over his head. He’s facing the wall, one hand planted on the icy brick. He ignores the lowrider rumbling past behind him, ignores the calls of a hooker down the street hawking her wares. He might just be too plastered to realize they’re there.

Even if it weren’t for his distinctive wide-legged stance, the positioning of his free hand, it’d soon be unmistakable to poor passing pedestrian Gina to notice Remy’s taking a good long piss against the foot of the wall. He’s also humming tunelessly to himself under his breath, muttering a word or two here and there as they come to him. And occasionally, he snickers at himself.

Any woman, particularly a confident but unstupid woman who’s seen her share of trouble, would be crossing the street to get away from him now. Before she gets a chance to step off the curb, though, Remy abruptly throws back his head and bellows:

Fuck ME, I needed to piss! YEAH!

[Gina McClaren] JAYSUS.

*One word, in a voice that on a person from a more respectable background would slot them for a life as a songstress or politician. It slips out in shock before Gina can call it back. Remy’s pure joy at his own urinary release startling a pikey. She’s unsure whether to be alarmed or impressed, taking a blind step back in case the drunken fool turns and marinates her well worn boots, and knocking over a dented trashcan with a clatter. *

Jaysus fookin christ.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] You know, when you put a bullet in a giant squishy suckery wurm thingy and it just so happens to be the bullet that put said thing down, you tend to get a confidence boost. (Let’s not argue over the fact that she basically tapped the thing after three ahrouns had ripped the shit out of it. That’s TOTALLY not the point, and besides, who the hell are you to say? You weren’t there. So nyah.)

Anyway, where were we? Oh, right. So yeah, kill a wurm monster thing, get a confidence rush. And when your confidence is already near the point that people call you foolhardy (if they’re high-talking Silver Fangs, anyway…most just call you fucking nutrs), that confidence boost is probably NOT a good thing. It’s liable to get you killed.

Hey look! Walking target, making her way down the street. Sarita’s dressed in her usual duster and a little bit of extra OOMPH in her “I own these streets” walk. She doesn’t really own the streets, but she’s willing to lease. That can be negotiated later. She takes a drag off her cigarette, humming that new Lonely Island song about having just had sex…even though she didn’t. It makes it ironic, see.

As she walks along, she heard Remy’s roar, and looks that way. She also sees Gina and hears her, and she crosses the street without looking both ways (see? FOOLHARDY!) to get over to her kinfolk. “Hola, you.”

[Remy de Tournieres] [btw folks, don’t wait on me. i’m operating on 3.5 hrs of sleep and wonky as shit *LOL*]

[Gina McClaren] Och, fookin hola.

*Gina’s accent mangles the spanish word into something closer to “Hula”, pikey not caring one wit as she puts a trashcan to rights. Streets were filthy enough without her dumping a full can across the road – still, she doesn’t exactly tidy what fell out so much as put the thing upright. There were needles in there, she was willing to bet her shirt on it. The slight chill of cloudy night has caramel cheeks pinking coral, annoyance setting a brightness to dark eyes. Steamy breath puffs from her lips, a loop of deep chestnut hair rising and falling as she attempts to huff it away from her face. Belatedly, the pikey looks to traffic, and back to Sarita.*

Gintae gi’ yerself het by a damn car. Ye kain tha?

[Remy de Tournieres] Remy’s back stays turned. He doesn’t seem to care that he scared the Jaysus — the Jaysus fookin Christ, to be exact — out of some passing Pikey, either. He finishes his piss, and when he’s done there’s a sizeable patch of melted snow at the corner of the building, which he looks at with some pride.

Hah.” And he laughs at himself, uneven little chuckles under his breath, swaying. “Nice.”

Then he’s tucking away, zipping up. When he turns around his gait is loose and heavy: too much strength, not enough coordination. He looks at Gina and Sarita with some surprised.

“The fuck. Haven’t you heard of — of giving a man a little privacy?”

A yard or so sideways from his makeshift urinal, Remy lets his back thump heavily against the wall. Tugs the collar down from his mouth and pushes the hood back. Even completely wasted he’s a sight for sore eyes. The world’s too blurry to look at with two eyes, though, so he closes the left one, peering at the females through the other.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins widely to Gina as she crosses the street and gets scolded. One imagines that the Latina woman wouldn’t mind getting hit by a car. It’s just another adventure after all, and she’s all about adventure. Besides that…

“Let ’em hit me.” She winks as she hops up on the sidewalk. “If I’m lucky it’ll be a Porsche, and I can dent their Eurotrash piece of shit AND sue them for bookoo bucks.”

She takes a drag off of her cigarette and looks over at Remy. The grin widens, and she gives a light shrug. “I have, but I don’t believe in it. I’m a priv-atheist.” It comes out sounding like prive-atheist.

[Gina McClaren] *The curvy strider kin snaps her head around in a double take. Well now, the man looked like a drunken slug from the back, but from the front, he was hardly unpleasant to look at. That was a shocker, like realizing your dreaded highschool math teacher was actually a part time stripper, and was good at it. Sarita is spared whatever else the churlish kin was no doubt going to cluck at her about, as Gina darts a dark eyebrow up at the drunken hotness.*

Lookin like ye dae darlin, reckon ye dinnae need any privacy. Asides, tha’s why thes area yer takin a wizzer en es called “Public”. Awn account o ets nae “private.” Ye catchen wha ah’m sayen tae ye?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Gina scolding the pretty Fenrir man seems quite amusing to Sarita. Not that the category of “Things that Amuse Sarita” is a particularly exclusive club, but…okay, misisng the point. The point is, she grins a little and shifts her weight to one hip, exhaling a drag of smoke.

“I think the kids today call that ‘being pwned.’ That’s what I hear, anyway.”

[Remy de Tournieres] The Strider kin’s mouth opens…

…and what comes out may as well be gibberish to Remy. Shoulderblades heavily to the wall, feet planted wide for balance, jacket still rumpled up where he’d fumbled it aside, he sort of just stares at her blankly. A few seconds go by after she finishes. Then he computes that last sentence, at least.

“No.” He shakes his head for emphasis. “I have no idea what just came out of your mouth.” He turns that one dark eye to Sarita — the other’s still closed, as if too much depth in the world would result in his harfing up his cheap booze — “Is she one of yours? She smells like one of yours. Can you translate?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] A little shrug to Remy and she chuckles. “I think I can do that, yeah. Rough translation, chico… ‘You wan’t privacy, don’t drop trou in public. No matter how much some of the lay-dees may appreciate it.”

[Gina McClaren] *There’s a certain fire to Remy that Gina’s only just beginning to register. Coupled with his comments to Sarita as to her smell, a goodly portion of the gutter-snipe’s own incomprehensible snark rings in her ears as folly. When next she singsongs, its calmer, and slower.*

Och. Reckon, ah’d best be gi’en along soon, aye?

*A glance up to Sarita, Gina’s smile gone thin.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The grin fades, just the tiniest bit. Dark brown eyes roll upward and right for a second as she searches her brain to backtrack over the last few moments. She’s coming up empty, but she knows something happened.

“I….said something wrong, didn’t I?” She’s not above asking.

[Gina McClaren] Nae darlin. Jes nae sooch a beg fan o’ trueblooded strangers these days.
Easier tae ‘ave em die when ye dinnae kain their names.

Ah’ll see ye aroond, aye?

*Hearkening back to a conversation the two striders had shared previously, Gina offers Remy a half apologetic smile, and it would seem thats that. A wiggle of fingers to Sarita and the buxom pikey is headed to the nearest bus stop. Making her escape.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches Gina go, sighing a little. Well, you can’t win ’em all. Sometimes you can win most of them…a fair amount of the time you can win some of them, and it’s not that tough to win a few of them. Winning none of them is unfortunate, but it happens. But not all of them. That’s how the saying goes…and as everyone knows, ALL sayings are correct, right?

Once her kin is gone, she looks back at Remy, looking him over. “So, hola. S’up?”

[Remy de Tournieres] While Sarita is ‘translating’, Remy’s tipped his head back against the brick. Is staring straight up at the orange clouds over the city, closing the right eye now and opening the left. He wonders which eye it was Odin gave for the gift of wisdom. Someone taught him that once, surely. Beat it into him. Lost it a week later like he lost everything else, over and over again, eight years of that bullshit running until finally someone managed to cram his head full of enough things, enough wisdom and knowledge and tricks and spells, that they could rush him through a Rite of Passage before it all leaked out his ears again.

When he lowers his chin Gina’s gone. Remy looks a little surprised, a little disappointed. “You scared her off,” he says accusingly. “What a shame. Fine-looking piece of tail, too, and she was totally into me.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks him over, amused. The New Mexican normally loves hanging around guys who are wearing eau de oblivous…but only really when there’s someone else to help her enjoy the whole thing. On her own, she has WAY too much tendency to try and get the potential target in on the joke, and that usually results in her ass being served up fricasseed.

Still, there’s no one else around, so instead of being disappointed, she stays amused. Remy gets a sympathetic look. “Aww, don’t take it too hard there, cowboy. I’m sure there’s several young lasses who will be all sorts of into you that can take her place.” She walks over, even if she very clearly is NOT one of those particular young lasses in question, and extends a hand. “Sarita. Nice t’meetcha.”

[Remy de Tournieres] Remy shifts, rolling one shoulder off the wall to extend that arm, that hand. The final outcome of that heavy, felt motion: his gloved hand wrapping around Sarita’s and giving it a staunch shake. It’s hard to see much of him under that big ski jacket, but there’s strength in that hand. He moves like someone’s who’s strong, athletic.

“Rémy,” he says, the accents French, not English. He’s apparently too drunk to follow that up with the usual warning not to mock the name. Settling back against the wall the way the truly exhausted settle into a comfortable armchair, he eyes her through his one open eye. “What kind of name is Sarita? Doesn’t sound Egyptian to me.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah, that’s ’cause it’s a special dialect of Egyptian. We call it, ‘Spanish.'” She grins and performs a smooth side step, 180 degree body rotation and then backward lean so that she’s against the wall right next to him. “I’ve never been Egypt in my life. Or Africa, for that matter. Or east of the Atlantic.”

She shrugs, chain lighting a new cigarette off the old one. “My mother was Mexican and Navaho, and my father was…I think full-blooded Mexican. You’d have to ask Amy about that to be sure.” She looks at Remy. “I’m a rebel, and I break the rules. We don’t need no steenking Egyptian names.” A little wink and grin follows.

[Remy de Tournieres] Special dialect, she says. Both of Remy’s eyes open. For a second, he looks genuinely intrigued. “Really?” — she informs him it’s called Spanish, and he scowls. “Oh, ha ha.” The left eye closes again. She takes up position by the wall and he eyes her new cigarette, holding his hand out for a drag. If she offers it, he takes it, sucks on it like it’s a bong, and then explodes into a chain of coughs.

“Awful,” he chokes out. “Thought it was a joint. Guuh.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She does offer when he asks. When he takes a hit off it and starts hacking up, she grins a little. The Strider certainly knows the difference between the two and she knows his confusion before he vocalizes it by the way he tries to get a hit off of it.

“Shit, dude.” A light chuckle comes from her throat. “If you’re looking for that, lemme know. I just donated more’n I probably should have to a good cause, but I still got some left.”

[Remy de Tournieres] Privately, Remy is glad Sarita doesn’t ask how the fuck anyone could mistake a cigarette for a joint. It’s not even like he has some deep dark secret to blame it on: I’m a metis and I was born with NO NOSE! I lost all my olfactory cells in a horrible accident involving a toaster and a broomstick! It’s just that it’s cold. And his nose is running a bit. And he’s pickled every last brain cell in his head. All one of them, if that slick fuck from the cafe the other day is to be believed.

His thoughts float randomly along, pinging off one association after another like a pinball. Remy’s still coughing a little as he hands the cigarette back: low little coughs in his chest.

“I don’t trust you anymore,” he rasps. “But if you want to donate more to a good cause I live at the Brotherhood. Room … shit, I don’t remember. Four or five.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She takes the cigarette back, shaking her head with a smile as she takes a drag. She’s not really the donating kind as a rule…she’s gotta make some scratch somehow, and Amy’s been too busy recuperating to pull her usual money-making schemes. But Sarita’s also a smart enough girl to know that it’s wise to make nice with the locals–or at least, the more-local-than-her-at-this-point–and she gives Remy a light shrug.

“Well, if I’m feelin’ charitable at any point, I know to stop by. I’ll just knock at doors until I hear you yell at me.” That doesn’t seem like something she’s unused to–getting yelled at, that is–by the way she says it.

She gives a sigh and looks around. “On that note…I should go make my rounds. The pot-smokers ain’t gonna give their money to the air to get high.” She pushes off the wall and grins to Remy. “I’ll see you around, ey?”

[[Gettin’ late-ish for me. Thanks for the scene!]]

[Remy de Tournieres] “Yeee-ah,” Remy says, like her goodbye was actually a question to be considered, pondered, and responded too. “I’ll see you around.” A pause. “Just in case I don’t recognize you when these beer goggles come off, don’t take it personally, okay?”

He returns something that looks sort of like a grin. White teeth … a smile that might be even otherwise, but is crooked as all hell right now. He snaps his collar back up to his nose to protect himself from the chill, then dunks the hood back on his head. Without further ado, he heads off in the opposite direction. Or maybe just in some random direction. Sarita can hear him singing something as he goes — both the melody and the words are slurred beyond recognition.

[same here, falling asleep at keyboard *dies* thanks!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Laters! *Poof Flees!*]]

Coming In At The Tail End of the Wake

[Rory] She watches as he prepares the joint, green eyes following each movement, and how quickly he does it. Then he slides it over to her, and the bites her lower lip, anxiously. It takes a moment, and then she reaches out timidly for the lighter, the joint, as if expecting one or both of them to snatch it away and say that they were just kidding, ha ha ha the mule gets nothing… When they don’t, she peeks up through her curls, and offers a little smile.

She lifts the joint to her lips, and sets flame to the other end, lighting up. She exhales the first drag quickly, before taking a deeper one and holding. She passes it along, and manages only to cough a little bit. She’s been practicing somewhere…

[Quinn] Both women watch Hunter work, one more intently than the other. Resting her elbows on the bar, she leans forward and waits.

Rory gets to do the honors of lighting up and taking the first drag. When she only coughs a little, Quinn smiles. “See? You’ll be a pro in no time.” It’s her turn next. Like Hunter, this is something she’s practiced with, but was done more in her sordid youth than in her adult years. The last time she smoked was at Christmas.

The fact that it’s awakened makes her wary, though. She holds it a moment, looks at Hunter with brow raised. Then she shrugs. No guts, no glory. The drag she takes is shallow, has her brow tensing, and then she passes it next to Hunter. Blowing out the smoke, she says, “Whoaholy crap.”

[goin’ afk for a bit, post around me!]

[Hunter] The joint gets passed around. Rory does exceptionally well considering her previous claim that Howard had laughed at her coughing. There is no laughter from either the Fianna kinfolk or the BoneGnawer Ahroun. They are all friendly smiles and silent waiting for now, soon there will be laughter though. It can’t be helped. That’s half the fun in it.

Quinn takes the joint and looks at it sceptically, Hunter can’t blame her, this shit is rough as balls. But she’s a big girl and she takes her puff regardless, uttering a smoke filled whoaholy crap.

Hunter doesn’t hold the joint between index finger and thumb, he just holds it like a cigarette, like he has done this far too many times to warrant a unique style. It is lifted lazily to his lips and he sucks on it, puffs twice then blows out a cloud of smoke. His eyes close up into triangles and his lips curve into amusement.

“Forgot how fucked up this shit is,” he says once he has caught his breath. The joint gets passed on.

[Rory] They aren’t laughing at her. She smiles, softly, her head tucked to hide it behind her curls, as she reaches for to take the pass from Hunter again. She inhales deep, holds it, and exhales again, her eyes closing as she feels the awakened weed work it’s way through her system. She sighs contentedly, something very few people have ever heard, and passes it again.

While they take another toke, she reaches down to the guitar leaning against her hip, removing it from it’s case, and letting the cloth cover fall to the floor. She lays the guitar across her knee, and strums it lazily, pausing to tune the strings carefully, like this is the most precious thing she owns.

Because it is.

She’s not good – she only knows one song, really, though she practices long and hard at the five chords she knows. She has experimented in putting them together differently, and discovered to her shock, it sometimes sounds like the music that Ruarc left her on her ipod to learn from. She’s practiced till her fingers bled, and then practiced some more.

All for tonight. She glances up, to make sure she’s not offending anyone, and then bends her head again. This time when she starts to play, a very decently passable Danny Boy results.

[Hunter] The weed has gone circles now, twice, back to Hunter and he holds the little of what is left in the joint while he watches Rory tune her guitar. It’s mellowing, his head feels lazy and his gaze turns to Quinn as Rory begins to sing but there are no raised eyebrows, no questioning glance. He just looks at her and smiles then returns his attention to the bard for this evening.

He has heard the song before, once or twice. It’s not really his thing, or so he would have thought, but he enjoys it. Sitting in his stool with his back up against the bar and incidentally to Quinn though she stands more between them than directly behind the Gnawer. Occasionally he glances at her over his shoulder and when the joint is finished he licks his fingertips then puts it out before placing it on next to his drink.

His drink which never seems to empty.. every time he or the Metis begins to near the bottom of their glass, they miraculously find it refilled by the kinswoman.

He raises it in salute at the end of the song.

“To Howard!”

[Rory] She doesn’t sing. She plays. She can’t sing – or rather, she refuses to try, because she cannot get her words straight, and cannot correct it because she doesn’t hear the mistakes. She’s smiled at, but she doesn’t see it, concentrating instead on placing her fingers correctly, hitting the chords, and strumming with careful timing, and a delicate touch.

The last note lingers, and then Hunter toasts, and she smiles shyly, sadly, tears in her eyes. She doesn’t look up enough for them to be seen, instead reaching for her beer and lifting it in toast. “Howard.” The word is soft, but no less heartfelt, as she takes a drink.

[Quinn] Despite how carefully Quinn drags off the joint, her physiology being different from the Gnawer and especially the Fiann means it still hits her more strongly. She feels giddy and lightheaded first. It doesn’t stop her making sure that glasses remain full.

Rory retrieves her guitar, tunes it, and plays. She’s no expert, her skill comes from hard work and dedication before natural ability, but the song is lovely all the same. Leaning into the bar, Quinn smiles. When Hunter looks over his shoulder at her, her eyes are for the redhead, but they glance to him occasionally.

When Rory finishes, Quinn straightens, lifts her glass to join them in a toast. “Howard,” she echoes, and drinks.

Setting the glass down, she sighs, content. “Do you know any other songs, Rory?”

[Tabitha Reese] (Where are they?)

[Rory] [At the Winchester, all seated at the bar]

[Tabitha Reese] The Fury looks ill at ease as she makes her way into the building, moving to the side as soon as she enters in order to keep her back to a wall as she looks around the place slowly.

[Rory] She wrinkles her nose slightly, and takes another drink of her never emptied beer, and sets the mug carefully on the bartop again. “Lust jearning…”

But she does have a couple other songs that she can play passably well. Celtic in nature of course, because that is what Ruarc left her – an MP3 player with instructions and songs that she’s listened too near constantly since he left. It turns out that she has a pretty good ear, and can pick out other things as well. It’s amazing how many songs one can put together with five simple chords…

So she plays. She plays everything Ruarc taught her, everything she’s taught herself.

For Howard, she plays.
[…somewhere, he’s laughing at her…]

[Quinn] It’s difficult to enter The Winchester unnoticed on a normal night. Tonight, the bar is closed only to family, to remember and celebrate a fallen…brother? Friend? Heir of the Ruined Day was different things to different people. Regardless, they’re here to remember him.

So when the Black Fury enters, and tries to keep her back to the wall, she sidles over to the booths, and the bar’s owner, the pretty Fianna kinfolk behind the bar, smiles to her. Lifts a hand to invite her to join them at the bar. By now, she’s the only one left of the establishment’s employees still around. A glass is filled with beer, like it’s some sort of pre-established menu for the night (it is), and set before an empty bar stool.

“Hey,” she greets. Rory is still just learning, and Quin nods.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The VW Bus pulls up outside the Winchester, Stephen Lynch’s “For the Ladies” cutting off only when the engine dies. The perpetually-grinning Strider–who tonight at least has the good sense to not be grinning while she attends a wake–slides out of the driver’s side and flicks the remnants of a joint away as she shuts the door. She comes around the van, looking the Winchester over as she approaches. There’s a bit of a smile but nothing more as she slips inside.

[Hunter] The toast is had, the brew is drunketh, and Hunter is high as a mutherfuckin’ kite. He shouts Howard’s name loudly in the toast and slams his empty vessel down upon the bar top. The tears aren’t missed, they just aren’t allowed.

“No crying here!” He says to Rory, then looks to Quinn, back to Rory, back to Quinn. “What are we gonna do about this? I think… yeah!.. you got another song Rory?”

And she does have another song. Excellent.

Hunter gets up to dance. Or what would be dancing if he didn’t spot another Garou wandering into the place. She is unknown.. wait.. no he knows her.. maybe.. He narrows green eyes on the Fury, squinting. It isn’t because he’s blind.. well it is sort of. Everything is a little blurry. “Hey!”

[Tabitha Reese] “Hey…” She looks Quinn over quickly, relaxing a fraction when she recognizes the girl from the gathering house. “Is this… I’m not sure if….” Her shoulders hunch a bit, hand jammed even harder into her pockets.

[Adamidas] No one knows where Adam comes from. Sometimes, people love each other very much. They do things. They have babies. Those babies become children like Alethea Adamidas.

Which means that children come from the depths of the umbra bringing god-knows-what with them. Today, she enters as she usually does.

With a loud pop and exiting the women’s room.

… It’s good to be Adam.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks around once she gets through the door, getting the lay of the land. She recognizes Tabitha of course, as well as Rory who she met the other night and Hunter. Quinn she knows only very vaguely, and Adamidas she doesn’t know at all. They all get little nods though, with smiles to those she’s met before she’s moving toward the bar.

[Quinn] More people are entering the bar, including, thankfully for Quinn, her redhaired bartender, Tom. The tall Fiann enters almost on Sarita’s heels, waves to Quinn.

“I forgot…are you high?” he asks, brow quirked, and he looks at Hunter, then Rory playing her guitar.

“Yes,” says the tall pretty Fianna kinswoman behind the bar. Quinn gathers up her belongings, shrugging into her coat as Tom heads back to grab something from behind the bar, as well. As she passes him, Quinn gives him a high five, which is actually more like a wrestler tagging in a teammate to deliver the finishing blow. “Close up for me, will you, hon? I’ll owe you so big.” Banter is exchanged, and Quinn leaves her bar, exiting out into the chilly winter night.

[sorry, guys, i’m falling asleep at the keyboard. Tom will be your bartender, info on The Winchester’s in my gallery. if you break anything i will find you! and i will wag a finger in your face menacingly! thanks for the RP and good night!]

[Rory] Hunter says no crying, and Rory does what Rory usually does – she blushes, and protests. “Not.”

Then she shrugs it off and plays what she knows while Hunter pretends to dance, but really eyes those that enter the bar. Quinn leaves, and Rory’s fingers soon fall still, having played everything she knows already. So she simply holds the guitar like it’s her only friend [ is..] and drinks. Things are a bit fuzzy, thanks to all she’s partaken of tonight, but it doesn’t make her any more likely to speak when she doesn’t have too.

Though hunter is treated to one of her very rare smiles…

[Hunter] Quinn begins to leave, Hunter would be following her movements but he’s stuck looking at the new comers. Tabitha gets a once over, followed by Adam and Sarita.

“Sup ladies, Yo Adam! Hows my fav’ greek home-girl doin?”

But he catches flight of the Fianna kin disappearing from the bar and Hunter pauses to watch her leave. His gaze goes back to Rory just in time to catch that smile and he grins his own weed-induced one.

“Be right back, gotta’ check on somethin’!”

And he darts for the door.

[I gotta cook dinner!! might be back in a little bit!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She raises an eyebrow as Quinn leaves and then Hunter soon after. A little shrug and she takes a seat at the bar, orders a couple tequila shots. One gets raised, held there for a moment as if in a salute and then downed. After the rim of the shotglass is placed against the bar, she finally speaks.

“Well, I showered today, so I know it’s not me.” It’s meant as a joke, obviously. Only a certain kind of person jokes at a wake. Sarita is that kind of person.

[Adamidas] Hunter gets a grin out of her. She’s too young to be in a bar, and everyone in the city knows it. Adam is no longer the youngest garou in the city, but she is the youngest Fostern. She is the youngest theurge in the city. She is also one of the most experienced. If we’re going to get too technical, Adam was also there when Howard. died. (didn’t do anything. Didn’t do enough. Alas, alas. Woe is us.) She grins and parks it at the bar. She crosses her legs, she straightens her spine, she smiles like she belongs and she smiles like she’s joyous.

Because, you know, she is.

“How’s the party been? C’mon, we should be doing something. Pissing off that pretty Fenrir or something else that’s Howard-appropriate.”

[Rory] Sarita has a seat, and Rory looks at her, shyly, and rolls a shoulder into a shrug. She always has that effect on people, so the fact that Quinn and Hunter have sat with her this evening is something of a minor miracle, and something she’ll cherish – though she’d never admit it aloud.

She pulls up the cloth case for her guitar though, and goes about putting it away, carefully. She sets it on the floor, leaning the neck against her hip as she reaches for her never ending beer.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey, I’m all sorts of game, chica.” She grins at Adam. She may have toned herself down a bit, but she’s still Sarita. “I just got here, after all. And you’re right, this place needs a bit of livening up.”

She downs the second shot and turns, leaning back against the bar. “So what’s the plan then?”

[Adamidas] “How did you guys know him?”

She asks. Her attention doesn’t waver, but she catches the posture that Rory has. her always, always shy demeanor. She notices that Sarita is gorgeous, that she is appealing and sexy and downright lovely in her own right. Adam looks at the bar and orders a shot. the bartender gives her a look

She orders a Shirley Temple instead. Doesn’t matter that she’s a Fostern, she’s still a damned kid.

“We need stories!

She says it as though Gaia herself commanded this.

[Rory] She waves off Tom when he goes to refill her drink again, and stands, tugging on her coat. She slings on her pack, and the guitar. She’s been here hours already, and her streets won’t patrol themselves. A shy look for those that recently arrived, and a wave of her fingers as she weaves her way through the tables toward the door.

A breath, a final goodbye, and she slips out into the night.

[night, ya’ll – it’s bedtime for lessa!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches Rory go, giving her a little smile and nod, then looks to Adam. “First time I saw him, he was being helped out of the bathroom of the Brotherhood with his ass bleeding. Didn’t really talk to him much then though. That came at a coffee shop. Tabitha was there.”

She looks at Tabitha and grins a bit. Sarita’s sure Tabitha knows the day in question.

[Adamidas] “Tell me more,” she says, and she sits on top of the bar at this point. Her feet are ont he stool and her butt is planted firmly on the bar. the bartender doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, Adam takes a long drink off of her distinctly non-alcoholic beverage, and she’s grinning. She’s grinning like a child at story time.

“What was he doing at the Brotherhood? Did he get into a fight? Did he slip in the shower?”

She kicks her legs.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I don’t honestly know.” She chuckles and shrugs. “It was like, my second day being here. I showed up to explore the upstairs. All I know is that Quinn was in there, Patrick was in there, Hunter was and Bridget too. There were towels involved, some yelling, a yelp of pain, and they just walked on by and left like it was all perfectly normal.” She smiles, looking over at Adam.

“So yeah, my introduction to Howard. Which, of course, was an appropriate introduction.” Her head cocks. “How about you? I knew him all of two weeks. You’ve probably got some actual stories.”

[Adamidas] “I can’t say that I really knew him that well. I can’t say he was solid. I can’t say a lot of things except that I was where when he died. And he fought, and he did what he did well. Howard was Howard, and now he’s in his ancestral homelands and livin’ it up,” she takes another drink. She smiles. She seems at peace.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “And he’s a lucky bastard for that, in some ways.” She smiles a little and nods, getting another shot. “I guess I just appreciate what he did. Hell of a Ragabash, for a Theurge.” She pauses, downing the shot.

“And I mean that in the best possible way.”

[Adamidas] “To one of the best ragabashes the Fianna have seen,” she says. She raises her glass and grins wide.

She downs the drink.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins widely at that, getting yet another shot so she can join in. “Hear fuckin’ here.”

One more down the hatch, and she looks around with a sigh. “I always hate being the last to a party. But then, if I wasn’t irritated and amused, it wouldn’t be a good Howard wake, so it fits.”

[Adamidas] “Irritated or amused? Which is it?”

She’s grinning wide, and ever-so-curious tonight. She’s watching Sarita, she’s paying attention. She can’t look away just yet.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “What, you can’t be both?” She matches the Fury’s grin with one of her own. “I’m frequently irritated and amused at the same time, myself. Haven’t you been?”

A little cock of her head, as she puts the ball back in Adamidas’ court.

[Adamidas] “I’ve been a lot of things,” she says, “but usually? It’s hungry and tired. I’m pretty much like a cholicky baby.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Ahh, I see.” She chuckles. “You should try swaddling yourself. I heard that does wonders.”

[Adamidas] “Have you ever tried to swaddle yourself in anything? It’s difficult. Not only that, but you end up- okay. Swaddling is uncomfortable. And what if my butt itches, huh?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, that’s why you set up a Rube Goldberg-esque device with a button that you can press with your nose that will scratch your butt for you.”

She shrugs her shoulders, as if it’s an obvious answer. “Problem solved.”

[Adamidas] “Can you find me three frying pans, two eggs, a candle, and seven yards of twine?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Seriously?” She grins. “Chica, gimmie like a half-hour. Forty-five tops. I’ll even throw in a wooden spork and four mouse traps.”

A Fight With a Wurm

[Cracka’Jack] *Snow drifts lightly on the streets of Bronzeville, dusting the slums magical for a few spare hours. Darkness is falling over the ghetto, and the predators are coming out to play. Thugs loiter on corners, breath puffing as they speak in low tones, eyes slanted wary at each passing car. There are things out tonight higher in the food chain than those in gang colors.

One of them is a scrawny ghetto diva, a pink bubble popping loudly between her lips as she cases an abandoned parking lot. Once upon a time, this had been a park. Lou’s little sister had chipped her teeth on the metal monkey bars years ago. Now it was 2 stories of cement and exposed rebar. Hoop earring flicker in the dying streetlight as she shakes her head.*

[Tongue Twister] Somewhere between bronzeville and chinatown is a hidden little apartment building that once was a packhouse for the Bogeymen. Now it holds only the lone Bogeman left, by the generous donations of a certain Shadow Lord Kin, who digs skinny, shy redheads. Said redhead is currently headed home from whatever mischief she’d gotten into today – which is to say not much, as sometimes she is not very much like her Tribe, at all.

Battered boots, tattered jeans, a light jacket and all those vibrantly red curls turns the corner in the form of Rory. Her pack is on her shoulders, her hands shoved deep into her pocket, her lithe form keeping close to the shadows, as all good Bogeymen do…

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s walking down the street, having absolutely no problem with the slums in which she finds herself. The woman is used to traveling through the scuzzy parts of society, and she walks along like she owns the place. It’s a level of confidence that would be considered foolhardy on anyone but the most capable of individuals. Is she that level of capable? We may find out soon enough.

A hand-rolled cigarette is pressed between her lips as she walks along, having just pocketed some cash. The Strider needs a place to ply her trade, and there’s no shortage of pot buyers around here, she’s learned in the last three weeks. She rolls her shoulders, setlling the duster a little better on her shoulder as she moves along.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] As a matter of fact, there’s a familiar figure talking to one of those pot dealers right now. Well, familiar in breeding at any rate. Familiar if the broad shoulders and back were remembered from times glimpsed around the Brotherhood of Thieves, around the city. Patrick Llewelyn is standing, hand in one pocket, hood drawn back from his blond head and lit cigarette between the fingers of the other, talking in undertones to a young Hispanic kid.

The kid has a cigarette between his lips, and neat cornrows; running over his skull and ending at the nape of his neck. There are more tattoos on his body than many people ever see at once in their natural lifetime. A handful of bills emerge from Patrick’s pocket, and to Sarita, or anyone else who knows what to look for can glimpse the baggie that’s handed over and that the Galliard tucks into his coat.

He starts away from the kid with a brief nod.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She glances over when she sees Patrick, doing a double take. She grins a little and hops playfully off the curb, then back on as she makes her way over to him. The expression on her face is mock-hurt, the upturned lips belying any actual hurt feelings as she walks toward Patrick with arms going a little wide.

“Dude! How am I supposed to run my perfectly legitimate business when my potential customer base is out shopping at my competitors?” She smirks. “That’s just straight out harsh, chico. S’up?”

[Cracka’Jack] *There was an electricity in the air that seemed to war with the whirling frost. It was what had drawn the gnawer here, though she hardly knew it. The tingle of wrongness that set her teeth on edge. Dingy leather boots scuffed across cracked cement. Lou snorted at the fault lines underfoot. This was no doubt the reason this place had been abandoned in the middle of construction, something in the concrete hadn’t set, and rather than do it right, the company had just slapped a for-sale sign on the ruined structure and walked away.

Dark eyes skate across the street at the low murmur of voices. The gnawer’s hit by one shock of celtic breeding followed by another. A strider easing up the street as though this was her regular haunt.
A snort as Lou leans from the second story of the car lot, elbows braced on concrete as she hollers to the pure blooded garou beneath.*

Sheeyit, what we got here? Got us a fuckin’ party?

*Behind her, a sign vibrates unnoticed*

[Cracka’Jack] [will be faster now. Had to deal with baby!]

[Tongue Twister] Someone calls out at her, and she looks up, almost expecting to be hit… She blinks, once, twice for good measure, then ducks her head away, curls sliding over her face to hide her expression. She sees Patrick, and Sarita, and hesitates a moment, like she’d like to go say hello, but isn’t sure if she should.

She scuffs her foot against the walk, and stops, just watching them…

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Cliath doesn’t seem fazed as he’s hollered at from above; then again, he clearly had some familiarity, at least in passing, with being in the neighborhood. Mostly, the Galliard found if you projected an aura of confidence you were left well enough alone. It helped, naturally, when you felt as unnatural as Patrick did, with his highly potent Rage.

Just like the shy Fianna noticing them; she was cute and curly haired; but she gave off the impression of lethality none the less.
Of wrongness.

Sarita calls him dude, and the Fianna lets out a snort of smoke; it curls from his nostrils, the corner of his lip. “I was in the neighborhood,” he defends without much in the way of caring, one way or another and his blue eyes flit upwards to the Bone Gnawer, leaning over the edge of the second story lot. “Depends,” he calls back; his voice betraying his youth, the lack of a definable origin outside of American.

“What sort you looking for?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks up when the shout comes from on high, head cocking sideways. She grins a little, looking at Lou. “I got some disco balls I can bust out of we need, and some Abba burning up my glove compartment. Come on down, we’ll party like it’s 1979.”

She looks over at the Fianna watching them, nodding a little bit, and looks back to Patrick. “You are quite possibly the best deadpan foil in existence, you know that?” The unsmiling man’s refusal to give into her sense of humor only seems to spur her on more. It’s like reverse psychology, only probably not intended. “I like that. We should be our own two-man comedy team. How well do you know ‘Who’s on First’?”

[Cracka’Jack] *In the world of garou, there was seldom room for coincidence. Four of Gaia’s warriors gather in the shadow of the carlot, the pulse of their righteous anger enough to herd away even the most street hardened gangbanger. That sense of the strange is growing. Helped along by a tickle along the spine. A tenseness without reason.

Lou smirks down to the Fianna as smoke coils from his mouth, her chin jerking in his direction as she bawls to he and the strider.*

Baby that chronic you fuckers doin up? Shit boy, don’t you know sharin is carin? We don’ need no disco, just do a bitch a solid! None for homegirl there though, she spooky as is.

*The gnawer is nattering from her higher perch, a bubble popping obnoxiosly. The advantage of perspective however, is to those on the ground. The edge of something coasting past the roof’s lip, like a shark scenting blood.*

[Per alert! excluding lou, as she’s mine! :P]

[Tongue Twister] Something feels off – and she tips her head slightly, her brow furrowing as she searches for the source…

(percept+alert! I SEE U)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Strider Senses, ACTIVATE!]]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [Whats segmented and grey and probably bigger than lou? Whatever the hell that was!]
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Per + Alert!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [roll inits if you’re leaping into action. *laughs* Lou’ll be a step behind to keep things fair.]

[Tongue Twister] She swallows, hard, and then is moving, heading toward the (wormwhyWORMSwhywhy) grayish segments yelling as she does “Patrick?!”

Because surely he sees it too.
She doesn’t hesitate. Things like that aren’t natural. Of course, neither is she…

(Yeah, boy! GONNA SERVE YA UP FRIED! er, inits. How close is it, by the way? +8)1
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Cracka’Jack] [for expediency’s sake, lets say you can get to it this turn.]

[Tongue Twister] (my favorite answer! 🙂 )

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She doesn’t get a good look at it, but whatever it is, it’s big and not good. “HEADS UP!” she shouts, pulling out…is that a gun? The Garou is using a gun? Oookay…

[[Beat-Down Order Selection Roll FTW! +6]]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Prayers to Broken Stone] “Hey, man, I–”

There’s a loaded pause; the Fianna’s blue eyes narrow and then widen. He tosses his smoke aside with a sharp intake of breath, and then he’s tugging at the Strider’s sleeve and starting to jog: “Fuck my life.” As Rory falls in as well, the Fianna is already beginning to change; his eyes glowing, his voice dropping into something more like a snarl than speak.

“I see it.” He doesn’t even hesitate; the Cliath. He just yells: “Sarita, see if you can distract it with the gun,” well, she’s already on it. “Rory, you see if you can flank this… whatever the fuck it is. I’ll take point.”

Why? Because it was Patrick, that’s why.

[-1 Instashift to Hispo!
+8 (boo, no totem any more)]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Cracka’Jack] [Lou -2 penalty due to surprise +5]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Cracka’Jack] **Declare slowest to fastest. Roll Fastest to slowest. Order as follows!

Sarita (15)
wurm (11)
Pat (9)
Lou (6)


Lou might be oblivious to the creature overhead, but she is ~not~ deaf. Everyone starts flipping shit and running towards her, and the ghetto diva does what she figures sensible. She runs out of view and pops fur, boiling to crinos near the stairs to the roof, snarling something that might have been FUCK! but is now more of a high pitched snarl.**

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Patrick is gonna:

1a. Bite the Wurmy
1b. Repeat and Rinse
R2. — both bites!]

[Cracka’Jack] *Rippling grey skin marks the Worm’s movement towards the stairwell, girth scraping slowly across chipped cement. All the sudden movements and yelling having made it through to even its limited senses, and its tactics are now simple. Snag whatever jumps out of the concrete burrow. Eat it.*

[1a. Grab! 1b. Bite!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] To call it a “gun” would not be the most accurate thing in the world. Instead, it’s more like a hand cannon. Ever seen Dirty Harry? Yeah, that’s it. She takes aim at the thing, a little smirk curling the corner of her lips as she intends to shoot the fuck out of it.

[[Shootie shootie, Single shot]]

[Tongue Twister] (grossgrossgross

-1R to insta Hispo shift, split first action, 1 rage action

1a: flank
1b: bite
1c: bite

(1a flank, rolling 1b bite:
split 2: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 -4 for split = 5 diff 5-1 for flank – reroll 10s)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[Tongue Twister] Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + (1)
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Tongue Twister] split 3: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 -5 for split = 4 diff 5-1 – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 8 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[Tongue Twister] Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + (1) DIE.
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Dex+FA]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[That was damage]]

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [1a- wurm – snag Rory! Grapple!!! dex/ath dif 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Tongue Twister] ERK! AVOID! dex+ath per st request…
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [Wurm – oof! NO! grab again!! Dinner!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 9 (Failure at target 7)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1a. Bite! [Dex + Brawl + Hispo, -2 Split]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 0]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1b. Repeat! [-3] Split]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 7 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [What is with this lack of damage, Kahseeno?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soaaak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)


Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 diff 5-1 (flank) – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 4) [WP] Re-rolls: 1

Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 7
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soak. dur dur dur.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [RAGE AGAINST THE WURM, take 1.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm soak. I AM SPARTICUS!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [AGAIN!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Damage + 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [I SOAK IT! I AM WURM?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] *There was no way this situation wasn’t going to be a huge veil clusterfuck if it wasn’t kept contained. The deserted street is all that saves them as Patrick boils into his powerful dire wolf form, surging into the shoddy concrete structure and streaking up the stairs behind the lightning quick form of his Metis Tribesmate. Lou’s skinny frame is bulking up as the Fianna dashes past her, all teeth as she tears into the rubbery outer skin of the wurm’s.. well.. she’d suppose it was its flank? IT all seemed the same really.
Sarita’s gun goes off with a blast that would have the cops out in force were it anywhere else in chicago, though the bullet seems to sink harmlessly into segmented blubber.

Enraged, clear foul smelling plasma spurting from bitten fles to steam in the frosty air, the wurm lashes at Rory, its tentacles clinging and slapping to no avail against thick fur, finding no purchase as a lampry mouth sucks at air.

Patrick bounds up the steps, and lights upon the wurm, teeth snapping and splitting segments apart with no small amount of effort, he and Rory coming at the abomination from either side, Lou belatedly bounding up the stairs behind them.*

[Declare slowest to fastest. Roll Fastest to slowest. Order as follows!

Sarita (15)
wurm (11)
Pat (9)
Lou (6)

*Lou dives into the fray, clawing at seeking tentacles, attempting to distract the maw.*
[1a – claw tentacles. 1b. Claw tentacles. Rage1- claw tentacles! Rage 2-Claw tentacles!]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1a
1b — same as before!
R2. — yep, same deal.]

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm – ORLY?! 1a- Grab at Pat! 1b Grab at lou! R1-eat Pat! R2. eat Lou! r3. Eat who ever didn’t get ate!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] It takes everything that the Latina can muster not to rush forward and join in with her fellow Garou in hand-ripping it to shit. Christ knows that it’s gonna be a pain to shoot around them. But she contents herself with the knowledge that she would probably ruin a perfectly set of new boots if she did. So instead, she takes aim, letting her Rage speed to get an extra shot off. [[1. Shoot. R1. Shoot]]

[Tongue Twister] Split first action, 2 rage RARSHAMSH DIESTUPIDWURM!

1b: BITE


split 1: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2 = 9 -2 for split = 7 diff 5-1(flank) – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1


Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 6
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [I can totally soak that.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)


split 2: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2 = 9 -3 for split = 6 diff 5-1(flank) – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 4) [WP]

[Tongue Twister] SUCK IT, BITCHES!
Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 6
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 9 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [I’m completely soaking that too. eat it carrot-top.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[BANG BANG]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 7, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[FUCK OFF KAHSEENO]]

[Cracka’Jack] [Wurm! 1a Grapple PAT! (wp, I’ma eat SOMEONE)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 7) [WP]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Gerrof me. Dex+Ath to avoid!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [Muahahah! I’ma also grab Lou! go go gadget tentacles!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [or FAIL, as the diff should have been 7. >.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Re-declaring!
1a. Break free! +1 Diff for Grappled
1b. Again!]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1a. Break Free! Strength roll!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 10 (Failure at target 7)

[Cracka’Jack] [KEEP the MEAT!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1b. This is so gross. -3, oops. Forgot that on 1a. DURR.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Cracka’Jack] [NO! stay! I will love you and pet you, and call you george]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [Lou – claw tentacles! ugh! + 1 dif called shot -2split]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 8 (Failure at target 7)

[Cracka’Jack] Lou 1b SERIOUSLY NOW.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Cracka’Jack] [thats more like it. DAMAGE!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [wurm – i soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)


Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 diff 5-1(flank) – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 4) Re-rolls: 1


Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 5
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [I soak?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 7, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Go Go Gadget-Damage Pool!]]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 5, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [I eat guns for breakfast?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Cracka’Jack] [WURM… is dead!?!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[In Soviet Russia Guns Eat You!]]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [WOOHOO!]

[Tongue Twister] (WHOOOHOOO!)

[Cracka’Jack] **The roof of the shoddily constructed carport is not up to supporting this much weight, it cracks and groans under the claws of the collected garou, Sarita can see pressure fissures appearing along the columns beneath. Above, rory is a tornado of toothy destruction, biting until her teeth sink into something more solid, a writhing rope of bone.
Sarita’s gun fires wide of the mark in all her careful aiming not to hit the other fighting gaians. Tentacles slither around the back of furred hocks, tightening and dragging Patrick off his feet, worm creature suddenly seeming more like a terrible squid monster from a horror flick, albeit one intent on consuming itself a Fianna galliard. Lou manages to avoid being entangled, but only one lonely tentacle is shorn from around Patrick’s body as the worm writhes and slithers across the crumbling rooftop. Quick as thought, Rory is on its hind quarters, stripping, peeling off thick insensitive hid from the beast in great mouthfuls – and still it seems the thing is unaffected. PAtrick can feel an unwholesome circle of suckers and chitinous teeth working through the fur of his hind-quarters, feel them scrape with stinging acidity against now bare skin – and then a single shot rings out, and he’s dropped hard to the floor, a worm-creature half crushing him, oozing sicklly yellow fluid as it tremors in its death throes.*

[Cracka’Jack] *Lou is quick to shift forms, perhaps only so she can better bawl.*

Well Sheeyit. Ain’t that a bitch. You okay dawg?

*A black ooze slicked hand offered down to the crumpled galliard beside her. A boot toeing a tentacle as she does so, ensuring ts a fatality.*

[Tongue Twister] She is poised to tear another chunk out of the thing, only to skid to a stop and fall against the worm as it crashes down in death. Ears flick forward, head cocks to the side, and she makes a confused sound deep in her throat… even as she noses it to make sure it’s dead…

When she has assured herself it is… she scrambles up and over it to see if Patrick is ok, panic clear in her eyes… the last of Caldera’s own that she befriended died. Everyone leaves, everyone dies. She’d prefer it not happen again… let alone so soon. So she scrambles, sliding in the ooze to get up and over and find the man who’d promised to teach her guitar..

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins as the thing drops from her bullet, and she can’t help it…she brings the barrel toward her lips and blows for effect. You gotta have style, after all. Of course, she’s doing it AS she runs toward Patrick to check on him. “Yo, chico and chicas!” She yells to the group, putting her gun away. “Y’all wanna get your culos off that carport. Trust me.”

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The tawny Hispo beast on the ground beneath the creature gives a half-disgusted snarl as it collapses upon it; sensitive nostrils flaring at the stench of the liquid oozing sluggishly from its hide. With the Bone Gnawer’s aid, he is pulled free of it and rises to his feet; shaking off a massive fur coat with a bristling.

When Patrick changes forms; he becomes a tall, blond haired man with black ooze coating patches of his clothing where the creature had grappled him in another form. He looks around for Sarita, and Rory; and finding both holds up a thumb in a clear signal of s’all good.

Rory clambers toward him, and the Galliard flashes her what passes for a grin. “Nice teeth work, killer.” Sarita gets another. “Look at the aim on you, thanks.” Then, sniffing, coated in sticky crap, the Fianna starts patting down a pocket in search of his cigarettes.

“Christ, I think it ate my smokes.”

[Tongue Twister] He’s fine. He even almost grins at her, and if the Hispo form could blush at that coupled with the compliment, then it is almost certain that she is. She ducks her head, and settles back into herself, sliding into Monkey skin with a little shake that turns to a shiver, her pack settling on her back again, her slender form crouched by the wurm.

She blinks at Sarita, and tries to figure out what a culos is.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smirks a little and shakes her head, chuckling. “I’m just upset I didn’t have time to say ‘Are ya feelin’ lucky, punk?’ Also, this is why you get to be happy I got smokes on me.” She reaches into her duster and pulls out a pack, holding it out to him.” She plays it off well, but Y’sure you’re okay?”

[Cracka’Jack] Think it pissed all over you, hommes.

*The ghetto diva is teasing a strange sucker out of her hair, flinging it to the ground as the building groans underfoot. A wide eyed look to Sarita and the Fianna, before the Gnawer is jogging down the stairwell, hollering*

Shit, bookit!

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah, like I said…abandon ship.” She gives a wide grin and moves to follow Lou. “The slimy suckery thing can be the captain that goes down with it.”

[Tongue Twister] The building groans, and Rory snaps her head up, and looks around at the carport, and the thing on top of it, and her brows furrow slightly, as she glances to Patrick. “..burn?”

A legitimate question – if he thinks it can burn away all the evidence, she’ll see to starting the fire to do so, before the building collapses…

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Sorry guys, phonecall! 🙂 Patrick will abandon ship too and suggest burning seems the best option!]

[Tongue Twister] He nods, and turns to run. Rory gives them a head start, and then settles her nerves with a breath… and

[Create Element – GN diff 6)]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[Tongue Twister] …sets the wurm on fire – stands, and runs to catch up with the others.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Gaah. Stupid chat not updating. :P]]

Once she gets off the thing, she turns around from a safe distance to look the ruined carport over, and then looks back to Lou and Rory. “Soooooo, hi.” She extends a hand to them in succession. “I’m Sarita. I shoot things, but you already know that.”

[Cracka’Jack] Aw see? Don’ be trippin, gurl Got this.

*Croons Lou to Sarita and Pat, as Rory makes with well timed arson. Narrow shoulders jog as though she wasn’t the one who’d yelped and ran the hell away, as though she’d been cool and calm and – *

That some nasty assed wyrm shit up in there. Knew I smelt some bad ass bizniz.

*Lou snorts fishing around in her pockets for a peice of gum. *

You bussa cap in that thing like a gansta, Sari-baby. I’m Lou. Cracka’Jack, full moon howling original BeeGee. So who you fine fianna fuckers? You done tore that shit UP.

[Cracka’Jack] *Sar’s hand is slapped in a ghetto handshake, before Lou pops gum back in her face and chews thoughtfully, going hipshod.*

[Tongue Twister] Rory is shy. It’s odd – as even with the rage spent, she burns with the fire of the full moon, her cheeks warm still with the simple delight in Patrick’s compliment for her. It’s not hard to imagine she doesn’t get such kind words often.

Lou introduces herself, as does Sarita. Rory looks down at the offered hand, then back up again, before she slips her fingers – pale and delicate looking – into Sarita’s briefly. She never quite meets their eyes, never quite that daring, or strong. She offers her name, softly. “Rory.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins at Lou, thoroughly amused by the woman. “You, I like.” When Rory takes Sarita’s hand, the Hispanic Strider smiles, her expression softening some, and nods her head. She tones back her usual larger than life attitude for a moment.

“Nice to meet you, Rory.” She doesn’t grip the Fianna’s hand too tightly, just a light squeeze before she lets go. “Nice going up there.”

[Tongue Twister] Rory’s grip is stronger than one expects – one of the many surprises in the soft-spoken Fianna. She flushes with pleasure at the compliment, ducking her head to hide behind her hair as she tucks her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

Not one for many words on the best of days, she sums it all up with “you too.”

Because some things are easier said than others.

[Cracka’Jack] Tyeah. Shit, you HAD that fuckin crawler done the fuck in, till the Strider here gots all Doc Holiday on a mother fucker. BAm. one shot one kill. What?! Fuckin bullshit.
What that piece you got on you anyway? Let a bitch see that shit….

*And no. She doesn’t seem to ever shut up. Quite a contrast to Rory as Lou shakes out dragon lady fingernails and begins to clean them, grinning madly as she gestures the group into an alley with a shake of her head.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Rory gets a little smile, before Lou starts in again. The Strider grins and reaches into her duster as she starts for the alley, pulling out the .44 Colt to show the Gnawer. She doesn’t hand it over, though. There’s no wariness toward Lou…it’s a thing for her. “Lou, meet Harry. Harry, meet Lou. He’s my oldest and best friend. More reliable than a boyfriend and he only shoots off when I tell him to, which is another way he’s better than a guy.”

[Tongue Twister] She looks around, making sure things are burning well, and even if – no, when – the carport collapses, there will be nothing left of the thing that attacked them. She follows into the alley, though a bit behind, a little more timid. This is not the rage machine they saw just moments ago against the enemy – no. This is the shy girl, who’s been hurt far too often, far too much, far too recently.

She remains quiet, looking at the gun curiously.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [back! Typing!]

[Cracka’Jack] *A bony shoulder jostles into Rory’s pushing her off-balance as Lou grins a shit eating grin. Lips work a moment, before a bubble blows large in the Fianna’s face. For all its obnoxiousness, its a playful sort of harrassment afforded the Metis. Then Sarita brings out a gun, and the gnawer is eyeballing it with a smirk.*

How many papers that cost you? Shit. Dirty Harry?

[Cracka’Jack] [heads up! my power just flickered, usually a sure sign its about to ditch me! If I disappear, assume Lou hears sirens and bolts.]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Lou asks who they are, and Patrick shakes her hand, his grip around her wrist more than her hand itself. It seemed a strange action, but then — Celtic, who knew. “Prayers to Broken Stone, Cliath Galliard Fianna, you can call me Patrick, though.” He’s taken up one of Sarita’s earlier offered cigarettes, and lights it with a cupped palm over the flame.

It dances over the Galliard’s face, revealing the cheekbones, brow and eyes of his tribe; his features were not those of the Sons of Stag to Ireland, or Scotland but those of the Welsh born.

[Ack, noted! Thanks for STing if you drop, Punkin!]

[Tongue Twister] (ditto! 🙂 )

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Indeed, thank you!]]

Sarita chuckles to Lou. “Got it off of this fuckstain scumbag selling meth to eight-year-olds way back when, in Arizona. He wasn’t using it anymore once I was done with him.” She puts the gun away and looks back to Patrick. “So how’ve you been? You and Bridget get shit sorted out from the other day?”

[Tongue Twister] Patrick introduces himself, and he and the other girls talk, while Rory does what she normally does – takes a step back and listens, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] It doesn’t take a scholar of human behavioral patterns to notice the changes that have been born in the Fianna, Patrick. He’s hanging around Bronzeville, buying weed from the same dealers as Howard had. He’s wearing some of his pack-mates T shirts around, beneath his jackets — the rare few he can fit into, that is.

He’s smoking not sometimes, but all the time. The scent of it clings to him 24/7.

At the very least, he’s shaved in the last day, so he doesn’t look entirely scruffy and without means. But he’s still hurting, that is evident and clear whenever he’s not killing monsters, or sleeping with near-strangers, or getting into arguments with Kinswoman who had been physically intimate with his Alpha. Sarita mentions Bridget, and for all that he’s burned through his rage — there’s a flicker of agitation the trembles through him — he drops his head forward, grimaces and turns away a minute, blowing smoke.

“Same old, same whatever. Night falls, daylight follows it.” A beat, he twists back, and shrugs. “Don’t think Bridget knows how to sort out what’s wrong, not sure there’s a way to fix how she feels.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She winces a bit. “Sorry…I do have a wee bit of a taste for my own boot soles from time to time.” She gives the man a light cuff to the shoulder. “You can only try, man. Don’t let it get to you. There’s more’n enough other shit that’ll pile up on top of it, you know?” She looks back at Rory and smiles giving her a friendly wink as if to include her as part of the conversation without actually forcing her to get involved, and then gives a quick sigh.

“Okay, peeps. That was fun…what do we do for an encore?”

[Tongue Twister] Patrick turns away, twists back, brushes off the thoughts, and Rory watches it all through lowered lashes. She was there when he buried his brother. She helped, once Joey pulled her over to do so. She mourns Howard more than Patrick can ever know – and she will not tell him…

She doesn’t say she understands the loss, either, though she does. She simply watches, quietly, and understands far deeply than any could imagine.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Strider cuffs him on the shoulder, and he endures, rather than responds to it. His tendency to become despondent, and withdrawn apparently was making itself known and Patrick remains a silent figure frowning away into the distance for a long moment after the Strider asks after an encore.

He taps at the end of the cigarette in his fingers; flicks a blue-eyed glance Rory’s way.

“Think I’m gonna head off, back toward Lake View. Maybe grab some beers on the way.” He can hear the distant whine of sirens, as the carcass of the animal burns behind them; and the Bone Gnawer lets out a yelped shit, gotta go! and sets off like the cars were about to take the corner in pursuit.

“We should get outta dodge, anyway.”

[Tongue Twister] She nods, slightly, then lifts her fingers in a little wave, before she ducks back toward the back of the alleyway.

Bronzeville streets are her home. She knows 15 different ways to get home withing being detected, losing any that would follow in the meantime. She looks back once, just before slipping out of sight.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] A faint look of irritation passes over her face, flitting through like the shadow of a bird passing overhead. Blink and you’ll miss it. Luckily, she doesn’t give up that easy and doesn’t give a shit if she earns someone’s enmity. She gives a little nod, grin ratcheting up a good ways. “Sounds like a plan.” She nods and starts to walk along in that direction.

“Safety in numbers, after all. Right?”

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [thanks for scene, guys! switching up for LV! 🙂 ]

[Simon Zahradnik] He watches the other two leave with a silent and Empty look on his face and then he watches Lukas through the window. He wasn’t going anywhere… He would wait and do as he is told/directed by his elder.


[Oliver] [woo thanks for the scene, ya’ll!]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] People in Lake View are accustomed to seeing some strange things.

Sometimes, usually when there’s a full moon in the sky some really odd occurrences happen, too. Tonight there’s barely a sliver of one left yet it didn’t stop the Ahrouns having a fist fight in the middle of the Cafe. It also doesn’t, apparently, prevent a Fianna Galliard from appearing around the corner of a block covered in drying black goop; it dots his coat; the shirt beneath which was some lurid colored abomination that set off the uncanny blue of the Fiann’s eyes.

He’s broad-shouldered, bares the breeding of a son of Stag and is accompanied by a Silent Strider who, while not as coated in grime as he, also bears the signs of a recent battle. The blond has his hands in his pockets; his eyes downcast; though every now and then he raises them to glance at his companion and frown.

He does not slow down, as they come upon the Cafe. Or seem to care, particularly, if he gets the odd glance, an up and down of uneasiness.

[princess] Asha is napping in the backseat of Lukas’ car. It’s almost sweet. Her dark head is pillowed in a cloud of gleaming back hair, and she’s curled up in a fetal position – sleeping the sleep not of the dead, but of wolves – which is to say, she’ll be deeply asleep until she’s startled awake by movement outside.

And then she will be immediately, utterly awake.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s walking along at Patrick’s side, in a much better mood from the looks of it than the Fianna. “…don’t worry. You loosened the lid of the jar, so to speak. I just finished it up.” Whether Patrick was worried or not about that may be a completely different story, but she’s putting it out there anyway as they walk along. If Sarita is worried about what people think of her and Patrick’s odd appearance, she sure as hell isn’t showing it. In fact, when someone on the corner gives them a strange look, she pauses turns her head in their direction.

“OIL! Go tell J.P. Morgan, we struck black gold! Texas tea, right here in River City!” The now thoroughly-wierded out person gets the excuse they need to escape their rage, and Sarita grins and speeds her steps to make up the small amount of lost ground.

[Lukas] Lukas is back outside in record time. It seems no one in the cafe wants to delay his order. He’s fasttracked to the front of the line, and then his drink is fasttracked past a row of empty waiting cups. Two, three minutes tops and he’s coming back out with a steaming cup of joe in hand. If he’s surprised to see Simon still waiting, he doesn’t show it. He tilts his head toward the car, holding his hand out for his keys as he goes.

The front doors unlock. Asha comes instantly awake, and then Lukas climbs in, depressing the car on its shocks.

“Have you met Asha? Asha, this is Simon Bone-Grinder, my tribesman, fellow Ahroun, and current Wyrmfoe of the Sept. Simon, Asha K&+257;lar&+257;tri, my packmate, also an Ahroun.”

[princess] Too bad Thomas wasn’t asleep in the front seat. He’d introduce Asha properly. Instead, she’s to be contented with two names and a moon-sign. The creature straightens, pushes a hand through sleep-tousled hair and yawns once, revealing perfect rows of sharp white teeth before she snaps her mouth closed and shakes free of the lingering hints of sleepiness, chasing them from the edges of her consciousness like cobwebs burned from the darkest corners of the room.

“Hi.” Asha says, making a mental note that they’ve not been properly introducted. Keeping it mental so as not to shame her Alpha.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon follows… Why Lukas would be surprised if at all would be beyond him! The Full Moon had asked him to stay so they could speak! It would actually be rather impolite to disobey his elder like that would it not? Still he walks to the door and glances in at the sight of Asha. He smiles a little and he nods his head…

“She distracted a dragon for me once… But Adam scared it off before I could strike the killing blow. Ruined what woulda been a great story to tell my eventual children about their father. Still we made it out alive so it’s all good!”He says with a grin.”It’s a pleasure to meet you Rhya…”He did not know if she was his elder or not, the rank was not mentioned but she was Packmate to his alpha so he opted for respectful.

His smile showed as he looked her over. Cautious and curious to see if she recalled that little bit of history.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] She’s trying to comfort him about the gigantic garden worm from Hell they just slaughtered and set on fire in Bronzeville; and the Fianna walking at her side slants her a rather incredulous look, and punctuates it with a snort. It’s good natured, though, at least as good natured as you were likely to receive from Patrick right now.

Ahead of them, a blaze of Rage in the form of the current Ahroun Elder walks out of a Cafe with coffee in hand, and gets into a car where another two Garou sit — he recognizes the passenger in the front seat, and one of his eyebrows crawls upward a little. “What the Hell,” he says under his breath; a mixture of genuine bemusement and irritation.

“They conduct meetings in their cars, now?”

Patrick comes to a stop outside the Cafe, slouches his back against the brick facade and promptly pulls another of Sarita’s cigarettes out — he’d held onto the packet, what a prince — he lights up; fostering nothing to disguise his interest in what was going on inside the car. “Whose the guy in the front seat with Bone Grinder?”

This, an aside to Sarita, like she’s expected to know.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The semi-sorta good-natured snort from Patrick gets a little twinkle in the mischievous Latina’s eye. She’s making headway. She pulls out another couple of cigarettes and passes Patrick one before she lights up.

“Who, what?” She looks ahead, squinting a bit at the car. “Oh…that’s Simon–obviously–and Lukas. Simon’s tribe. Ahroun. Master of the Challenge’s packmate, and I think he’s the tribe elder if I remember my conversation with him right. I was a tiny bit stoned at the time, but I think I got that right.”

[Lukas] It’s still warm in the car — lingering effects of the heater. It gets warmer when Lukas fires up the engine, but they don’t go anywhere. He thumbs down the window on his side a little to vent. Too much rage, too much body heat.

“You’re both Cliaths,” Lukas says, sips his coffee, and then passes into the back in case her highness wanted some. “Anyway, Simon, I wanted to talk to you about taking on a more active role. For a long time Wyrmfoe’s been largely a ceremonial role, but you’re a Shadow Lord, and we’re pragmatists. I doubt you would have taken it on if you didn’t want to do something with it.

“So this is the first thing I want you to do. I want you to go around to each pack and assess their combat ability. I don’t care if this means fighting them, taking them out to fight with you, or giving them a questionnaire — as long as you get answers and those answers are reliable. I want to know how good they are, and I want to know if you’d classify them as scouts, warpacks, or something else altogether.

“Then I want you to start training Garou who need training. I don’t expect a Child of Gaia Theurge to be at the caliber of a Get of Fenris Ahroun, but I want everyone in the Sept to be competent.”

A pause, another sip.

“I know you wanted to take a bigger role in actually getting packs to mesh, too, but I’m going to put someone else on that. Maybe Joey, if she wins her challenge. It’s not that I doubt your conviction, Simon, but you’re a warrior. A weapon. Social graces aren’t your strong suit, and you’ve got a strong, polarizing personality. Someone like Joey, someone who gives off the impression of being laid-back and easy to talk to, will ruffle feathers much less as she goes around sussing out conflicts and how to mend them.”

[princess] Naturally, Asha assumed that Simon addressed her as -rhya out of natural deference to her breeding, her blood, her tribe. She nearly tells Lukas that when he mentions it, but thinks better of it when he passes his coffee back to her highness.

Lately, she’s preferred her eminent highness, thank you very much. So: her eminent highness takes a deep drink of coffee, mouth curling. It is perhaps here that Lukas might rethink giving that girl caffeine.

Still, she flashes him a winning grin, all razor-wide, all white teeth – and bounces experimentally on the back seat. “That’s good,” Asha tells Lukas, opening the back passenger’s door already. “I’m gonna go get it in Super Extra Venti with a double-shot and some chocolate sauce. Be right back!”

[princess] (this is liz going to bed! night guys!)

[Simon Zahradnik] He draws in a little breath and he nods his head. You see there was a little glimmer in his eyes, and a nod of his head. The job of the Wyrmfoe was, in his mind, largely a position taken by young Ahrouns seeking to earn a name. So when Lukas offered him something to do for the sept with his position he nodded his head and smiled slightly.”I will assess each pack to the best of my ability.”He already found himself formulating opinions he also thought about all those who were not claimed or members in an active pack. They could be addressed later. For the moment he had something to do with his position so he wasn’t just waiting for a Moot.

He then nods his head.”If someone else can work on coordination I do not care. I am more interested in survivability… A pack can hardly claim a territory that is swarming with Wyrm creatures is truly under their control. Territory is something a pack can manage on their own and so long as this hive remains a threat we can hardly claim most of this city is ours. I have personally slain at least a Dozen of them and that hasn’t even dented their population. As I see it this is their city until we drive them out… I would rather we all work together to drive them out then we can start dividing the city into our own personal regions. It doesn’t make sense to fight over territory we don’t even own.”He says with a nod of his head. Something he has given thought to…

He smiles just a hint.”I am looking forward to reporting something back as soon as possible. I suppose I should begin assessing the packs strengths and weaknesses.”He pauses to think on this then smiles just a tad.”I am assuming you will be taking care of your pack? Or would you like me to assess them as well?”He asks with a hint of a grin. You see Simon was a Shadow Lord and so that meant that he could devise all manner of sneaky tricks if Lukas wanted his pack tested as well.

[Lukas] Their conversation is interrupted, albeit briefly, as the Fang princess — and she is, annoyingly enough, an actual princess — in the back bounces once and then rockets out the door for something sweet and caffeinated. Lukas watches her go, wondering if he’s making a mistake. Then he turns back to Simon.

“I’ll handle the Unbroken. If I don’t even know my own pack, I don’t deserve to be Alpha of anything. As for territory — I’ve never been a fan of packs claiming firm turf and nailing up KEEP OUT signs. It turns the Sept against itself. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want Garou to take care of patches of protectorate, as long as they realize they’re warders, not owners.

“The Caern comes first. But I do want Dark Sky and the Vanguard to work together cleaning Bronzeville up. It’s too bad Hunter had to leave so fast, but when you go talk to his pack, set some time aside to work with him on divvying up the patrols in the area. He talked about something afoot in the area too — Wyrm companies, maybe. Said he’d get back to me when he had more details. You’ll want to talk to him about that too so you can better mesh your efforts there.

“Sooner or later we’ll have to turn our attention back north. The Knights were doing all right for a while, but Mica’el reported pretty heavy losses the last two weeks. So I might send the Vanguard up for a look, or I might go myself. So get those packs into fighting trim for me, Bone Grinder. We’ll need them soon.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He nods his head at the mention of speaking to Hunter.”I will do what I can… We need to begin cutting off the Hive’s resources. You can bet they have allies and potential allies scattered about the city. I have been doing my best to root them out but better and direct coordination and communication would make this all work better.”He says with a little smile. His eyes follow Asha for a second before looking back at Lukas.

He Mentions Mica’el… Was he referring to that Angel Thing? It honestly did not matter. If they were fighting their enemies then that made them allies and a valuable resource for the moment. Honestly he hadn’t minded the one that… Worked with them.”I will make certain the packs are ready and those who are not will be pressured towards doing so.”He smiles just a little.”I will also look into classes or training of some sort… Perhaps hunter and some of the other Full Moons would be willing to assist.”He says with a little smile.

“I look forward to the day we bring this fight to the Hive itself… I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when we destroy that abomination and collapse what remains in around their heads.”His eyes spoke of delight. He would not rest… He might hide, he might run, he might retreat, when it was necessary but he would not rest until the Black Spiral Dancers in this city were hunted down to the last man and exterminated.”Give me time and I will teach them the true meaning of fear.”He says with a little nod of certainty.

He was delighted. The young Full Moon was getting a responsibility. Something more to pile on his plate and that meant he would be a very busy man. He’s been looking for more to do as Wyrmfoe anyway.”I will do the position, my tribe, and my sept proud.”He says with a nod of his head.

“Was there anything more Rhya?”

[Lukas] “I’m willing to teach as well,” Lukas adds, “but sometimes it feels like if I step up it suddenly becomes an inspection, not practice. I’m here, though, if you want me to help train our Septmates.”

Lukas takes one more sip of coffee, then sets it down. “Yeah,” he replies, “just one.” He looks Simon in the eye, solid and direct. “Thank you. A lot of others in your position have chosen to take the backseat, to be led rather than to take initiative. Or worse: to wait for their leaders to fail. I know I was hard on you before, but … I’m happy you stepped up. I’m proud to call you my tribesman and auspicemate.”

[Prayers to Broken Stone] “Huh.”

Ever the eloquent one, Patrick. The Fianna pushes off the wall in a surprisingly fluid motion; given his frequency for being a less than adequately elegant Galliard. He walks a couple of steps nearer, watches the Silver Fang dash back toward the Cafe with a strangely fixated purpose; then swings his gaze back on the pair in the car.

Staring; watching — he looks the picture of disapproving youth with his battle-smeared clothing, and rumpled hair. Smoke trails from his nose before he addresses Sarita again. “Figured he’d be bigger or something. I hear Shadow Lord I see the evil guys in Disney flicks, y’know.”

He sniffs again. Is he catching a cold, or is it a habit. “Probably the way they hear Fianna and figure we’re all drunks who can’t figure one end of a klaive from another.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He smiles just a hint.”We have responsibilities… One day I will be in your position. One day the weight of these decisions will fall in my lap. I can either reach for them and embrace what I am to become or I can run from it. I only run when it is necessary.”He says with a nod of his head.

“I thank you for your praise and I look forward to living up to it.”You see there were a lot of things to be said about the Shadow Lords. There would always be a chance that Simon might one day seize power from his elder by force. This was their way… Lukas must maintain his strength for his people if he cannot then it will be taken from him. But there was also an understanding that Simon came to as a garou.

“We will hope that it will be many decades before I have to step into your shoes. In the meantime… Someone must always stand ready to step forward. This is our life…”Simon was showing Ambition… It was a Shadow Lord trait but it was more than that. He knew that he would one day have to lead and he wasn’t shying from it. There was a slight glimmer though, it was nice to be acknowledged for ones actions.”I look forward to serving under you for many years if not decades to come.”He says with a nod of his head. Proud, headstrong, certain… Failure would not happen… Even if one day it would.

“You will make us proud when this battle finally is brought to the Hive. I look forward to the celebration when it finally falls.”He nods his head one final reassurance. He wasn’t being mushy, he was returning a compliment from his elder.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Mmm.” She smirks, watching both Patrick and the car. “Well, if you like I can buy him a black cape, a hat with a feather in it and a big mustache that he can twirl. I’m sure he’d love it. He does look like a traditionalist, after all.” She chuckles.

She takes a drag off of her cigarette and takes a lean against a stop sign. “You know, they’re probably gonna see us at some point and assume we’re spying. They may have to kill us if they think we know too much.” There’s just a touch of wryness to it.

[Lukas] The subtle reminder of the way of their tribe — the ambition, the constant temptation of power — brings a wry smile to Lukas’s face. He leaves it where it is: they both know how it works. In the end, all he says is, “As do I.

“I’ll see you around, Bone Grinder. Keep me informed.”

[i’m gonna put Lukas on semipause for now — gotta focus on challenge! if you guys are around in a bit i might trot him out again, though. thanks for the RP!]

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Fianna lets out a bark of laughter; it is as darkly entertained by the notion as his answer is. “Yeah, well, at least we’ll be remembered for more than being another blood-smear on the ground when our time comes.” The Galliard finishes his cigarette; flicks it into the gutter where it sparks and hisses, and reaches a hand into a pocket; turning his back to one side so he’s facing away from late night Cafe patrons.

The plastic bag in his pocket rustles as he takes out paper, and a collection of herb, and proceeds to roll it.

“How many of these,” he says flatly; conversationally for Patrick; his blue eyes lifting to meet hers, “you think I’ll take before my head completely empties out.”

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [*It’ll, not I’ll. Tsh.]

[Simon Zahradnik] [Are you two watching Simon and Lukas chat?]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, that’s sort of a vague question.” She looks down the street a moment and then back to him, her lean against the sign post still present and casual. She gestures to the joint-in-progress. “I mean, let’s start with the shit itself. It depends entirely how good the quality is. Most of the dank I’ve encountered here is pretty shitty, to be frank. Barely above the quality of shake. But let’s assume it’s above that, you gotta ask what kind it is.”

She shrugs. “Blends are important. Some stuff, like hash, you can smoke more or less non-stop and it’ll leave you at a certain high, keep you there and just extend it the more you smoke it. Some shit will push you into getting sick. Some shit’s just flat-out weak and you’ll be lucky if you get a buzz off it.”

“And that aside,” she adds, “What terms are we talking about? The number of joints? Depends on how much you put in them. And do you mean just stone you out of your fuckin’ mind, or like, zombify you? The last…well, hate to break it, but I don’t know if you have enough money to get that much from someone.”

[Prayers to Broken Stone] “I mean reach a state where the next fucking person who says my Alpha’s name doesn’t make me want to do anything at all but laugh.” He lights the joint; and takes a hit, breathing out slowly as he passes it over to the Ragabash.

“I’d really like to get there.”

He leans his head against the cool brick.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Ahh…that much.” She takes the joint and pulls a hit off of it, holding it down for a second. She seems like she’s considering for a moment, then lets it come out in a slow, lazy exhale and passes it back. “You know…I like you, amigo. You’re good peeps, even if you’re totally bumming me out by refusing to go to Improv Comedy night at the Charcoal Lounge next Thursday night. So here you go.”

She reaches into her pocket and comes out with pretty a sizable baggie. She holds it for a second, considering Patrick and appearing to do some quick math in her head. “Yeah. That’ll about do it for a good long while.”

She tosses it to him.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] “I’m a funny guy,” he says without inflection, and catches the baggie, stowing it away in a pocket. It’s minus three outside; they must be freezing. Patrick doesn’t appear to care much, if he is. Perhaps his grief sustains him; much as people suggest hate will preserve.

“I’d make you look better just sitting in the corner, alluding apathy.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] In Sarita’s case, she’s just too damn stubborn to recognize cold. The woman the doggedly obdurate type who refuses to acknowledge what she doesn’t feel like acknowledging. When something finally does her in, it will likely be because she was too stubborn to avoid staring death in the face, and she won’t even refuse to acknowledge she’s dead for months. But then, Silent Striders have that familiarity with the Dark Umbra, so maybe she’s just following the natural course of things into ghosthood.

“That’s what I’m saying, m’man. You’re hilarious. You make deadpan a fine art, the way Michelangelo made paintings transcendent.” She nods sagely. “It’s a gift, hommes, I’m telling you.”

[Prayers to Broken Stone] “Yeah,” he says without much in the way of feeling — that might be the weed kicking in, nice — and takes another hit. Then one more before he passes it to the Strider. “You know what, the only piece that’s missing is beer. You wanna tag along, or whatever?”

He straightens; and a passing couple deliberately speed up and avoid eye contact with him.

He starts off toward the nearest alleyway, slouching broad shoulders; a trail of pungent smoke following after his wake.

[which is Jacqui’s way of noting she’s kinda brain dead and exiting Patrick for now!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Always.” She smiles and nods, heading off with him. [[Yeah, it’s late…sounds like a plan.]]

Checking Up With the Kin

[Patrick Llewelyn] It’s not until the afternoon hours that the Fianna finally makes his way back to the Brotherhood of Thieves.

He has not set foot in the establishment since Howard died; since he became a card carrying member of the Sept of Maelstrom. When he walks in, quietly, coming through the kitchen rather than the front most entrance; the two owners are discussing an order of stock at one window. Jenny and Reuben Coltrane turned jointly at the sight of the [showered, but not shaved] Galliard they knew had lost a pack-mate.

The female squeezed his hand as she went past, Patrick managed a tight smile. Reuben thumped a meaty palm on a shoulder, clasping it for a beat and meeting the blue eyes of the Garou long enough to nod. Then; it was done and he moved on, through the swinging door and into the restaurant proper. It was still the Cliath’s moon outside, and his Rage swarmed the air around him as he climbed the stairs to the common area.

In his hand was an object of some sort, clasped tight.

When he raps his knuckles on Bridget’s door; they are no longer bruised, wearing the signs of some manner of physical abuse. He does not reek of alcohol, but instead of shampoo, faintly of cigarettes. “S’Patrick,” he says through the door, as if his Rage didn’t announce what, if not who, he was.

[Bridget Geroux] “A false sincerity, a liar and a thief, my pulse and memory, a comfort within grief.”

The Brotherhood seems relatively hollow tonight. Downstairs, patrons are just beginning to pile in for the dinner rush, followed by the bar rush. Upstairs is not much different. The light in the common room is off, but the hallway is dimly lit by two lights in other rooms. A fluorescent glow emerges from the gap beneath the bathroom door. A softer, incandescent glow beckons from the barely-cracked door of Room 8.

Within that room at the end of the hall, no one is present. Amidst the retail carnage of two young independent women are some identifying markers between what might belong to Bridget and what might belong to Cordelia, although the mess is strewn about so that it’s difficult to say, really. An acoustic guitar rests on one bed among a bunch of sheet music, a familiar overstuffed canvas bag, and other accoutrements belonging to the Canadian bumpkin.

The dim scent of alcohol, cigarettes, and a fresher scent of blood taint the air so perfumed by the ambient smell of two different women of strong Warrior breeding. The only ambient noises are from beneath the dorm-style loft area and quiet, mouthy breathing. It’s nearly imperceptible, but eventually the sound of running water would catch Patrick’s ears.

A quiet spat of hissing and whispered expletives comes from the bathroom.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s sitting in her room…well, Kyle’s room to be specific. But it was the room that she and Amy were crashing in and Kyle didn’t really sleep in there, so it might as well be called their room. Besides, isn’t possession 9/10ths of the law? Well, she’s in possession at the moment, so it’s her room. Nyah.

…AAAAANYWAY, she’s in her room, and the door is open. So she heads Patrick’s footsteps as they approach Bridget’s door, only two down from her own (let’s include door possession in as part of the room, so as not to get on another side-tangent) and hears his voice. She sits up, walking to the door and stepping outside to note Patrick. The Strider’s expression is not pitying, but it is sympathetic and minus its usual snark. “Hey.”

[Patrick Llewelyn] The Galliard’s blond hair was tousled, he’d clearly been doing what Sarita ventures out of her own room and discovers him mid-process of a lot. Which was running his fingers through it in what must have been agitation at not finding Bridget in her room. The object in his hand appears to be an old harmonica, and he shifts it from one hand to the other as he turns; his blue eyes finding the Strider.

He grimaces a little in memory of the last time they met; though for all she knows, it’s because she’s speaking to him, or Bridget isn’t home or — it could be any number of reasons. Maybe he’s just hungover as hell and her voice seems louder to him than normal. “Hey,” he echoes quietly, in response to her expression and her greeting. He’s becoming accustomed to seeing that look on their faces.

He wants to resent it; their caring; their anguish about Howard.

But he cannot seem to muster it, so he simply accepts it and moves on. “Seen Bridget?” He gestures at her door and then turns his head slightly at the running water, the muttered cursing. There’s a slight upturn to the corner of his lip, and he moves across the hall, and tries the door to the communal showers.

“You in here?” He doesn’t say who he’s asking after; but he can smell her.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Not since she was here yesterday.” She frowns. If Bridget is potentially missing, the Strider is concerned. And while Patrick didn’t exactly say that, Sarita is clearly not taking any chances. There’s a lot of people fucked up around here, and she doesn’t think they know her well enough to let her help in any substantive way. So she can at least keep an eye on them, and keep things from getting worse.

She shuts the door to her room and starts to move after Patrick.

[Bridget Geroux] So, apparently the loft was not as hollow as it appeared at first sight. Patrick finds Room 8 unoccupied currently, but a girl just doesn’t leave without her purse… bag… whatever. Patrick is looking for Bridget, but finds a concerned, well-meaning Strider instead. The concern, the grief, the mixed emotions might not have been what Howard wanted, but what Howard may or may not have wanted doesn’t nullify the facts of life.

The facts of life being that even monsters sometimes care for their fellow monsters, or are disheartened by the expendability of other monsters like themselves. Kinfolk are simply too varied to really gauge their reactions. Kinfolk tend to be a harder lot than the rest of humanity, more accustomed to loss.

Sometimes, part of that means going on a bender regardless of the consequences. Even if that means stalking the grimy streets of Chicago like a lost sheep tempting Fate to throw them a curveball. Shit happens. Sometimes that shit involves getting into scraps with the wonderful samaritans of Chicago.

When the combined Rage of the two Garou descend upon the door to the communal showers, there is no need for a knock to announce their presence. Within, the kinswoman pauses in her attempt to clean herself up. A moment before they found her out, a fresh nosebleed began gushing into the sink. Bridget was trying to see if she had a broken nose, prodded things the wrong way, and the fresh wound reopened readily.

“Gimme a sec,” a nasal groan replies over the roar of running water.

When she finally opens the door, Bridget looks the worse for wear. She looks like she’s had a shower also, but under her eyes there is a fresh bruise from the knock to the nose. Her face has the pallor of those recovering from a night under the mixed blessing of Dionysus.

Eyes go to Patrick first, since his footballer build would take up most of the doorway, then to Sarita. She’s holding a wad of toilet paper to her face, using it to pinch her bleeding olfactory appendage with.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She pauses when she hears Bridget’s voice, relaxing a bit since she knows that Bridget isn’t actually…you know. Missing and presumed trying to snorkel in a ditch. Without the snorkel. She takes a lean against the wall, letting Patrick be most prevalent. That gives Little Miss Laughter a chance to watch him, study his features. She’s a pretty good judge of character, or she likes to think so.

She doesn’t study long though, before she looks down at her feet. The woman is normally not worried about irritating people with her long, curious stare. Now…probably not the best time, though. She looks back up when the door opens, giving a smile that drifts away when she notices the toilet paper and scents blood.

“Hey there chica, howwwwoah…kay. What did you get into a fight with?”

[Patrick Llewelyn] The Strider comes down the hall after him, concerned about her friend. Patrick doesn’t appear quite so stressed when he calls out into the bathrooms; nor does his face melt into an expression of relief, either. It remains a passive thing, only signaling its mood in the faint furrow lines marring his brow. What Sarita sees in her study of his profile is a young man who has been forgoing shaving for the past three days; though with Patrick’s fair complexion, the bristle on his jaw is not as prominent.

It merely gives him a scruffier edge.

For a musician, hell, for a mechanic, it’s not such a strange sight. But on someone like Patrick, who had always been clean-shaven, it seems a clear indication that wherever he’s been, or whatever he’s been doing — he has not been taking great care of himself. The clothing he’s wearing is the same as what he was in when Bridget saw him last night; they’re rumpled, but smell only faintly now of the bars he’s been haunting.

When Bridget pulls open the door, the Garou’s nostrils are flaring at the scent of blood.

Sarita speaks, asking what she’d gotten into a fight with. Patrick, on the other hand merely studies her face acutely; silently. His eyes roving over her face, absorbing the fresh bruise beneath her eyes. He slips the harmonica into a pocket, and slides his arms over his chest. “Is it broken?”

[Bridget Geroux] “Some crackhead tried to mug me,” comes a nasal response. “Hit me, I hit back. He ran off.”

Bridget looks to Sarita when she’s addressing her, not too swayed by the Strider’s Rage as much as Patrick’s. Last night the kinswoman had the bravado of the drunk, but today it’s gone. She’s wary for more reasons than just the spark of divine wrath.

It’s uncertain whether she’s checked her voicemail, or if it mattered at this point. Patrick’s concern elicits movement from the kin, a flinch, a smirk. She grants her desire for movement by moving back to the sink for a minute to make sure no bloodstains were left in the sink before she returns to the doorway, still holding the paper wad over her nose.

“Dunno. It’s fine,” she answers Patrick at last. Sarita would recognize the same deadpan expression she had yesterday when The News was broken. Her countenance is a grey stone, a far cry from the colorful, shifting thing she’s known for.

The kinswoman stands in the doorway before them, blinking as she points her gaze at the doorframe, tilts her head up a bit to let the blood drain down her throat.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, as long as you hit harder, at least.” She offers up a little grin. She’s not the kind that layers on sympathy after sympathy after sympathy. Sometimes, it’s too much for people, and a little respect and normalcy is what they need in the short term. Sarita would never accuse herself of normalcy, but respect she can do, and some levity can still go a long way.

“How’re you feeling other than that? Betting you had a fair amount of a hangover…”

[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick, honestly, aside from smelling less like the inside of a bar, seems much as he was last night. His rage is not diminished by any means, though there is less anger prominent in his gaze, now, as it remains on the face of the Kinswoman as she crosses back to the sink, then returns to stand before him.

He is uncertain, that much is clear in the manner he uncrosses his arms, sets them at his side and then flicks a quick look at the Strider. Back to the Kinswoman. “Listen, I need to talk to you for a minute.” A beat; he jerks his head in the direction of her room and moves out of the road.

Sarita gets a brief nod, but it’s about all the Galliard seems to be capable of managing.

He pushes the singer’s door open, and moves into the space, his hands delving into the pockets of his jacket as he comes to a stop at the cluttered desk that separated the beds. He leans against it, focusing on some speck on the carpeted floor while he waits for Bridget to follow. For all he knew, he’d be waiting an hour or more.

[Bridget Geroux] “Yeah, shoulda punched him in the dick,” Bridget returns the gesture with one of her own in an attempt to show Sarita that the girl wasn’t going to fall the fuck apart.

Patrick needs to speak with the kinswoman. Kinfolk don’t much have a choice, or rather… the desire to rebel against these minor things should be strong enough to be worth any reprisal. Patrick shuffles off to her room, leaving Bridget and Sarita standing in the doorway. The Canadian quirks a brow at the Strider, then rolls her eyes a little bit.

A hand goes to the other woman’s arm, a small touch of reassurance. “I’m okay. Gimme a sec to see what he needs.”

His. Needs. Bridget isn’t particularly thrilled to fulfill them, but she trots along anyway, wad of slightly bloodied toilet paper still at her face. Once she trails back to the shared bedroom, she grabs the guitar by the neck and props it against her headboard, shuffles some of the junk off her bed, and takes a seat.

She checks the paper wad carefully, taking a white part to check if she’s still gushing. She isn’t, but she pinches her nostrils with it for a few moments longer anyway. A silence grows between them, and the kinfolk isn’t the one to break it first except for a slight sniffle.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She provides a warm smile to Bridget and nods. “Hon, do your thing. You know me…I’m just chillin’.” She watches the two head off, and then moves to her room. She pauses, looking over at the door to Bridget’s room as the two walk in, and then heads into her own room for the moment. She only spies on her non-friends. And her sister. Though that latter one made her wish for brain bleach.

[Patrick Llewelyn] She doesn’t break the silence.

Well, that’s alright. Patrick takes a moment after she steps inside and settles herself, sniffing and dabbing at her nose to check to see how badly she’s still bleeding before he does so much as lift his eyes off the floor. He’s frowning, but that may simply be the manner that he collects his thoughts. Tonight, with his rage as high as it is, he is overly cautious of lingering long here.

It’s simply too risky.
He still wants to lash out and hurt people too badly.

“I’m gonna be honest.” He says bluntly, without any warm up speechifying that was atypical of his auspice. “I’m too fucked up, Bridget, to be a shoulder to cry on about Howard.” He holds up a finger to ask for patience. Or understanding, or — something. “Not that you seem the crying kind, or, whatever but I can’t — ” He breaks off, turns and leans his weight on the chair back; his fingers curling around it; shoulders rounded back.

“I came here to say sorry for being a jerk last night, but now I’m here and it’s not gonna work because I am gonna be a dick again. I don’t know if I even mean to be but right now, it’s all I can manage. Telling you how it is, for me.”

He turns, straightening, and takes an object out of his pocket; turning it over in his hands. It’s the harmonica he’d been holding when he came in. He leans over, and sets it on the bed beside her. “It was Howard’s.” Gruff. “I can’t play it, and he knew you did and I guess I thought he’d have wanted someone to get use out of it, so.”

He grows silent, turns toward the door.

“That’s it. S’all I wanted.”

[Amunet Trujillo] Amy is making an effort to get up, shirt off as she slowly untapes her ribs to prepare for a shower. She glances up when Sarita looks in, but doesn’t say anything.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles a little. “Hey chica, you’re awake.” She grins as she shuts the door to the room and takes a lean against the wall next to the door. “Looks like you’re healing up well. Are we at a point when I can jump up and down on the bed to jostle you?” She smirks. “Or is that too soon?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Only if you want me to fucking murder you.” She offers a tiny smile. “You got any more of those pills?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Of course.” She pushes off from the wall and heads to her bed, taking a seat on the floor next to it and reaching under. She’s grasping for several moments and swearing under her breath in Spanish and English both before she comes out with the bottle, which she tosses over at Amy.

“There you go. Take two of those, call me if your face turns red and you start choking or some shit.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I need a fucking shower.” She tries to catch the bottle but misses, having to slap her hands down onto it in her lap before it falls to the floor.

[Bridget Geroux] Two brows go up when he starts talking. He toes the line of control and oblivion, and it’s obvious by his flustered words. He warns her he’s going to be a dick, he gives some sort of gesture that he cares. There’s an apology, which is more than was expected. He gives her a trinket belonging to his packmate, which he probably debated about for a while.

Patrick has something exactly right: Bridget never cries. Not that there’s been much reason until recently for anyone to witness that useless, saline rain fall from her face, but even with her recent heartache, they don’t appear. She turned to no one for her grief, no one but Mister Jack Daniels. Patrick fights his inner demons, so Bridget doesn’t stir the pot. Not that she would anyway, giving the circumstance.

The Welshman turns to leave before Bridget has had time to process the brief interlude. She takes the bloodied wad from her face finally, wraps it up carefully, and sets it on her dresser for now. Only her arm moves in this endeavor, so she stays fairly still overall.

“You’re not in the mood to talk, but I have something to say. Please just hear me out, you can lose your shit, hit me, or whatever. I don’t care anymore.”

Let’s just hope it isn’t inspired by a deathwish. A small, mouthy breath fills the strong lungs of the young woman, then exhales to relieve more than just hot air.

“I know you’re trying to not be a dick, and I appreciate it. I don’t pretend to understand your grief, your loss, what you’re going through. I couldn’t possibly know what goes on inside your head, your heart. I don’t particularly want to; I don’t really understand what’s going on with mine.

But I found out just last night because someone spilled the beans. Everyone was going to just let me sit and drink myself blind because part of me is a stupid, foolish girl and I read too much into things. I was about to go drink myself stupid because the last time Howard saw me, he ran the other direction like I was some plague.

I don’t know what I felt about him. But the reason why I got so wasted last night was because it hit me all at once that I am absolutely alone here. There is not one person here I can remotely relate to. There are, however, a few people that small parts of me can relate to small parts of them. You, Howard, Simon, Cordelia, even Sarita out there. Still? For the first time in my life I feel completely lost.”

She stops and takes a deep breath, holds it, then exhales for continuing, “I don’t want to seem like I’m whining. There are worse things. All I’m saying is that you were right last night. I shouldn’t let myself be toyed with. I shouldn’t get involved. I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe finding some answers or some sort of connection or understanding… when I came here. You were right, even if you didn’t mean to be a dick like that.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well then go take a shower, bitch.” She grins a little bit and looks her over. “What the fuck do you need my permission for?” It’s a good-natured insult, like their banter usually is, instead of the occasional screaming matches that they have. She gestures to the door in a grandiose sweep.

[Amunet Trujillo] “I fucking hate you. Are you going to make me say it?” She pries off the lid of the bottle and dry swallows three pills.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She gives Amy a look, as if to say ‘what the fuck?’ She sighs and shakes her head, getting up off the bed and picking up some of her clothes to sort through them. “Yes, I’m going to make you say it, since I have no fucking clue what you’re babbling on about.”

She looks up at her. “Just come the fuck out with it. Jesus.”

[Amunet Trujillo] Her nose wrinkles, and she looks pained. “I need help. I can barely fucking move still.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Sarita blinks. “Oh. So…you need help getting to the bathroom? No problem…”

[Amunet Trujillo] She sighs, scowling. “I’m probably going to need help in the shower. Fuck. I forgot how much this fucking sucked.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Wow. Um, okay.” She nods, moving over to help her. “No prob…I got this.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Sorry. I can’t get the fucking tape off.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Don’t be sorry, I’m a-comin’.” She walks over and reaches out, puttin her arm around Amy’s mid-back and helping her. “Okay, go.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She struggles to get up, then gives Sarita the loose edge of the tape. “Want to hold and I’ll spin?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “That works.” She grins. “Just imagine youre a ballerina. Without all the psychosis and lesbian sex.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Maybe just a little of the psychosis.” She twists slowly, but still gets dizzy. When the bandage is off, she struggles out of her pants and grabs a towel to wrap around her. “Shall we?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Let’s.” She head back over and slips an arm around Amy’s back, letting her lean and helping her along.

[Amunet Trujillo] “We are so fucking getting high after I shower.” She moves along slowly now that her ribs are free.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I knew it…you just got hurt so you could get into my good shit, didn’t you?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Oh, yeah. You know me. Fucking druggie so bad I want the shit kicked out of me.” She laughs, then winces. “Fuck.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Careful, nutty one. Don’t laugh too hard, you might lose a rib.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Take the broken fuckers out. Fuck.” She turns the water on in one of the showers, waiting for it to heat.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Why, are you that desparate on becoming a big, tough guy that you’re trying to refulfill the ultimate guy fantasy?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [fulfill, not refulfill]

[Amunet Trujillo] “Okay, that was just fucking creepy. Stand here and make sure I don’t fall on my ass, okay?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You set me up for it.” She grins and nods, letting her go.

[Amunet Trujillo] “You’re a bitch.” She grins and setps into the shower slowly. “So what should we do tonight?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Um, not get our asses kicked is a good start.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Okay. So what are we going to do that won’t get our asses kicked?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Fuck if I know.” She snickers. “We’re not good at not getting our asses kicked.” She pauses. “You called Casey yet?”

[Amunet Trujillo] There’s a long pause. “Yeah. I left him a message a couple of days ago.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “He call back?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “No. Fuck him.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, shit.” She frowns. “You told him you got fucked up and he didn’t even bother to check up on you?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I just told him that some shit came up. Who fucking cares. He was a lay, that’s it. You know how fucking hard it is to wash your hair with one hand?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Probably pretty damn tough.” She shrugs. “I can kick his ass if you want.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Whatever. I don’t give a fuck what happens to him. Where’d my fucking towel go?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey, fair enough. Hold on a sec.” SHe goes and retrieves the towel, holding it up for her.

[Amunet Trujillo] Stepping out of the shower, she lets Sarita help with the towel with a minimum of grumbling.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She isn’t as much “helpful” as she is facilitating the passing to Amy, though if need be she helps with as much as is needed.

[Amunet Trujillo] The towel is wrapped around her without much real drying, and she shuffles her way back to the room.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She follows along behind. “So what would you like to do?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Get drunk. Get high. Get something.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I’m good with any and all of the above. I don’t think your meds make either a problem.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Let’s do both, then.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You are SO my sister.” She grins and does a knucklebump for the sheer cheese factor. “Word.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She laughs and returns it, making her way into the room. “We should go out and get laid.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You can barely MOVE, bitch. How the fuck are you gonna get laid.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I’d figure it out.” She digs through her bag for the tape, handing it over to Sarita.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She takes the tape and sighs. “Okay, raise your arms. I’ll try not to make this hurt too much.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fuck the painkillers have kicked in. I’m not feeling shit right now.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “If you say so.” She tapes Amy up carefully, making sure that it’s tight and and giving Amy proper support.

[Amunet Trujillo] “I forgot how much broken ribs fucking hurt. So what kind of shit have you got?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I have just the regular. Lots of booze and some pretty serious weed. I will say one thing about him, my hookup doesn’t fuck around. He’s spendy, but worth it.” This is why they stay on the verge of poor; too much smoking their product. But at least they’re not in debt.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Outside, then?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Outside it is.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She struggles into some clothes and a jacket, then heads outside.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She helps Amy on out, leading her onto the van.

[Amunet Trujillo] She climbs in slowly, settling into the seat. “So what did you do today?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh shit. Not a huge amount.” She its down and pulls out her tin box, pulling a plastic baggie of pot and her pipe. “Went looking for Bridget after the shit that went down yestrday. And then found her here.” She rolls her eyes.

[Amunet Trujillo] “How was that?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Didn’t talk to her much. Patrick was there too, and he needed to talk to her.” She shrugs. “They have shit to straighten out or something. Long as she’s okay.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “So she was fucking him or what?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Who, Patrick?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “The dead guy.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh.” Her nose wrinkles as she loads the pipe. “Not…I don’t think so. There was something there, though.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fucking men.” Her nose wrinkles and she looks out the passenger window.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well…in all fairness, he got gacked by reanimated Spirals or some shit. It’s not like he woke up in some hooker’s bed or something.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Well, I feel bad that he died and shit, but…” She shrugs “They’re still all fuckers.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh, no doubt.” She grins. “That’s part of their use.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fucker.” She scowls a little. “Are you going to light that fucking thing or what?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Bad joke.” She takes the first hit, holding it in for several beats as she hands it over.

[Amunet Trujillo] She reaches for it across her body to use her non broken side, taking a long drag and closing her eyes as she leans her head back against the head rest.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles a tiny bit. “Better?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Getting there.” She takes another drag before finally handing it back

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Good.” She kicks the minifridge open. “What do you want to drink?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Something fucking strong”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Straight shots it is!” She grins and grabs the jager out of the fridge and hands it over. “You’re gonna be fucked up tonight.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Thank fucking god.” She grins and grabs for the bottle, gulping down a mouthful.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She chuckles. “My GOD are you going to be hungover tomorrow. But at least it’ll distract you from the rest of the pain.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Can’t we find somebody to heal this shit already?” Another gulp, and she hands the bottle over too

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “We can try. If you’d ever found a Theurge, it’d be easy.” The wryness in her voice is heavy. She pulls out the Cuervo, taking a shot.

[Amunet Trujillo] “If you ever got off your fat, lazy ass and learned the ritual it would be easy too. What’s her fuck is a Theurge, I think. The weird new girl.” She’s happy to keep the Jager, taking another drink

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Wierd new girl.” She pauses and frowns, then shakes her head. “Nope. I am not a Theurge.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fucking slacker.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Blow me.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I choke on small bones.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She snickers. “You learn that in the last week or two?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Yep.” She takes another drink.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She practically chokes on a swallow of tequila. “Oh my fucking god, Amy.” She tosses her head back and out and out cackles.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Hey, you asked.” She scowls out the window again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The laugh mellows, and fades. “It’s bothering you.” It’s not a question, more an observation.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fuck him.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You should call him again.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “No. I’m not going to go chasing any guy. Fuck that.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shrugs. “At least to tell him off then, if nothing else.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She shrugs, taking out her phone and sending a quick text message.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You’ll feel better,” she says as she watches her send the text. She takes another good hit off the pipe and passes it over.

[Amunet Trujillo] “I don’t feel shit. That’s the point. Not feeling shit about them.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Okay.” She gives a little nod. “Just making sure.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She turns her phone off and tosses it into the back.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “We gotta get you back on the horse then. Once you’re able to ride, anyway.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Lots of guys here for it, that’s for sure.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “All Garou, though.” She smiles. “Least it’s good odds for you.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Yeah, till I run into another one thinking he’s going to fucking mark his territory with me.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “At which time I kick their ass.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I can kick their ass myself, thanks.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Then I’ll kick them when they’re down.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Deal.” She gives a smile, the weed and the alcohol starting to set in.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles, noting the change. “Okay, NOW we’re feeling better, I see.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I feel pretty fucking fantastic”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Good.” She sighs. “Feels like we’re on the road right now. Just chillin in the van, high and drunk.” She smiles, eyes shutting. “Good times.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “You want to get the fuck out of here? Not like we have any ties.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Not really.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I kind of like it here. Other than the death, but that’ll be anywhere. You?”

[Amunet Trujillo] She shrugs, taking another drink.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “If you want to go, we can go.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I don’t give a fuck. I can get into bar fights anywhere”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “We can, yeah.” She’s quiet a bit. “Okay, next time, you decide how we go in. Since you’re the one who gets laid up. Deal?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Next time, we just don’t take on more than we can handle”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I’ll buy that for a dollar.” She shrugs a bit. “Sorry.”

[Amunet Trujillo] *She half laughs, wincing* We need to find some fucking Get or something. Get some back up

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah.” She sighs. “I need to get packed.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “We. We need to get packed. You can’t go joining some fucking pack that won’t let me play too.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, yeah. Obviously…”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I fucking hate telling people I’m kin. I look like a dumbass, all beat to shit.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, get better, bitch.” She grins. “Then it won’t be a problem.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fuck me, I’m trying. Fucking bones.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She chuckles and sits back, shutting her eyes to enjoy the buzz. “Soon enough.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She snorts suddenly. “I probably should have fucking eaten something. Jesus, no wonder I feel fucked up already.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh? When did you eat last?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I don’t know. When did you bring me that sandwich?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Um. Yesterday.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Oh. Well. Fuck.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Jesus H. Christ, Amy. You’re unbelievable.” It’s not truly reproachful, just amazed.

[Amunet Trujillo] “I forgot. Christ. I was sleeping and shit.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Stay here. I’ll go in and getcha something.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Good. Don’t move. Or something.” She shuts the door and heads off to get food for them both.

A Grinning Woman and a Gypsy Meet In a Chinese Dance Club (Tell Me If You’ve Heard This One Before)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s not yet been to Chinatown. Sarita prefers to be the one who can speak in languages people around her can’t understand, not the other way around. But she’s certainly willing to give anything a try. She pulls the VW Bus up to the curb outside the club, turning it off and killing the Pink song blasting from the stereo. She gets out on the street, taking a drag off her smoke and looks the place over before she heads for the door.

[Gina McClaren] *Ming’s was a subpar dance club and bar in east chinatown, lost amidst residences and squeezed into the end of a locally owned stripmall. Techno and Jap-pop thudded from behind brick walls spiced up with artistic graffitti, and several bored youths smoked their cigarettes outside the door, chatting idly to a fat necked asian bouncer. Likely one of the local On Leong, given the tattoos crawling across his forearms.

Inside, its not exactly crowded. A dozen dedicated barstars flail and bump each other on the small dance floor. A bartender watches a small corner tv, images flashing strange in the dim blacklit depths of the club. In a back booth the thick frame of a curvy indian woman sits curved over a crossword puzzle, a drink in one hand, a pencil in the other.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles a little as she slips inside past the bouncer, into the darkness of the club. She’s perfectly comfortable in seedy places, and she moves like she belongs in them. She makes her way through, nodding a bit to the beat in order to fit in until she sees Gina and heads that way. She slides in across from her.

“Five Down is Galapagos.” She has no idea if it is, she just likes the word.

[Gina McClaren] Hmm. Island wi’ beg fuckaft lizards. Sae et es.

*Gina smirks, setting her pen down and closing her book, The better to appraise the woman in front of her, brown eyes near black in the dim of the club. The pikey isn’t dressed for clubbing. A long cotton gypsy skirt and satinny tank top hardly the “is it a dress or a pillowcase” sort of costume she preferred for such things. No, she’s dressed for comfort’s sake.

A sip of cherry whiskey swallowed hard.

She’s drinking for comfort’s sake too.

Her head tilting, Gina lullabies above the music.*

Sae, how’s yer necht?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh Christ. Let’s see…my sister’s dozing from painkillers which is good ’cause she’s kinda bitchy right now when she’s not, a Gaian kin got all freaked when a Ragey Fury showed up, I had to break some heartbreaking news to another kin who just wandered off, I had to leave so I didn’t hit said Ragey Fury in the back of the head and then get my ass kicked by her and her packmate, and…yeah, that about covers it.”

A little shrug. She’s had better.

“How about you?”

[Gina McClaren] Och christ, who died the now?

*Dread and exasperation in equal measure, Gina’s head falling back into the cushioned booth. Tired.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Howard.” She doesn’t beat around the bush with it. It’s certainly not uncaring…the Strider is sad he’s gone. She just doesn’t do Gina the disfavor of pussyfooting around the topic.

[Gina McClaren] Och. Dinane kain hem. Thank christ.

*That wasn’t entirely the truth. Gina had met Howard once before, but she couldn’t be bothered remembering him or his obnoxious cohort. Met and dismissed as irrelevant to her life. Her response is a bounce of shoulders and a sigh.*

Were ye close?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles a bit. “Chica, I’m not what I would consider ‘close’ to anyone in this city yet except my sister, Bridget, you, and Kyle.” She shrugs. “I knew him a bit, and I liked him. He was a pain in the fuckin’ ass, but then so am I, so it fit.”

[Gina McClaren] *The pikey nods, fingers tracing along the edge of her glass as she tries to reconcile being straightforward with the Strider in front of her. The ~strider~. She grasps for chitchat, eyes on the dancefloor.*

Sae who’s yer sister?

*It figured. She left town, and when she got back it was crawling with Striders. Things seemed to work that way in Chicago. People came and went, met by marvelous coincidence and disappeared without a trace. City a whirlwind, no doubt the fault of the greedy totem at the heart of things. Maelstrom. A nine letter word for Fucking Drama. *

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Amy. Or Amunet. She prefers Amy. She’s kin, and my half-sister.” She flags down a cocktail waitress and orders a “tequila on the rocks, no ice.” After the confused waitress heads off, she looks back to Gina. “Awesome person. Except when we’re at each other’s throats.”

[Gina McClaren] O’ course. Reckon tha’s the way o et wi’ women. Leave tae o oos en a room taegether tae long, an’ ye’ll find nae but bones left.

*Gina’s smirk is wry. A hand teasing long hair loose from its ponytail. Tonight was about as much comfort as she could afford herself. Her smirk broadens into something warmer and more genuine as she watches a giggling asian girl kiss up on her nerdy boyfriend, before dragging him to the bar.*

S’human nature, reckon.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “A little bit, I suppose.” She leans back in her seat and follows Gina’s attention to the girl and her boyfriend. A little smile lights her face and she chuckles, then looks back. “So how about you? How was your day?”

[Gina McClaren] Aulrecht. Borin, but ah’d rather tha than wyrmy fookin madness, sae ah’ll count me blessings. Took meself on a hunt fer a flat. Hotels are drainin me savin’s recht quick.

*Her glass is brought to her lips, pressing the color from them as the tawny Indian enjoys the chill against her mouth. *

Stell, dinnae reckon ah’m sae fond o stayin en wan spot fer tae long. Tae easy tae find.
Ah’ve a fang wha wan’s me tae move entae a place near hem, but reckon tha’s askin fer trouble n’ than some.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Why is that?” Her head tilts, watching the kinfolk curiously. She’s not trying to be coy, or at least not overly coy. Certainly, there are reasons she can imagine why someone would find that to be asking for trouble, but she’s not familiar with the situation. Thus, she asks for clarification, with a bit of a smile.

[Gina McClaren] Well, ee’s a silverfang darlin. Trouble enough, but ee’s also a Silverfang lookin tae be mated. An’ ah’m the sort o lass wha ‘as a reputation. Wan ah reckon a Fang kin esnae gintae like ‘avin walk through tha door tae borrow a cup o sugar.

*Gina laughs darkly, taking a sip of her whiskey. Lips pinched together as she considers the topic at hand, and finds it leaves an unpleasant taste in her mouth whiskey can’t quite dispell. A burn in her stomach that had more to do with deep dissatisfaction than sweet corn-liquor. Brown shoulders bob dismissively.*

Es jes trouble ah’ll nae court, effen ah can avoid et. Ah’ll find meself another place, oor buy meself a plane ticket, an’ start anew.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She nods a little. She’s more the type to say ‘fuck formality’ and anyone who has a problem with a reputation is not someone she thinks she needs to work to impress, but she knows some people are past that point…burned one or twelve too many times. “Fair enough. So no luck finding another place yet?”

[Gina McClaren] Well, need tae be a place me warder willnae look fer me. An’ as me darlin Fang pointed oot, those places are oot o me price range.

Sae ah’ve tae be a gypo aboot et, an find me an easy mark fer a bit o’ hard dealin. Tha’s aul.

Jes takes time.

*One thudding techno song has given way to tonal wailing, and with the pause in conversation, Gina’s ears focus in on the next available sound – terrible jap-pop. Suddenly aware of the horror being passed off as music, she squeezes her eyes shut with a grimace, exclaiming in labored singsong.*

Jaysus fookin christ, they skinnin a cat en tha back? Fer fooks sakes, wha es thes bollox?!

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins at that, apparently able to tune out the music. That’s what happens when you have a habit of blasting Ke$ha while heading down the road.

“It’s pretty fuckin’ terrible, no argument.” She gives a casual shrug and leans back. “What would be a better option is if we got said Warder to fuck the fuck off and leave you alone. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

[Gina McClaren] Fancy fookin chance o tha. Ee’s a madman. Best ah can hope fer es tae fin’ me a mate, oor tae scrub tha owl aft me.

*A bitter snerk. Or to kill him, but the last garou vs kin battle she’d witnessed had ended in cannibalism. Caramel colored skin washes a shade whiter in the dark as she swallows. A forlorn glance to her empty whiskey glass. Her cellphone rings, and one glance at the number tells her its going to be a long conversation.*

Strider loves, ah’ve tae take thes. Ken en mournin, needin a shoulder.

Ye’ll be aulrecht on yer own?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She gives a little nod. “I’ll be fine. If it’s Bridget, Rain or Cordelia, tell them I said hi and I’ll see them around.”

[Gina McClaren] Ets nae, but ah’ll dae jes tha effen ah see em.

Goodnecht, n’ good luck. Ye seem an aulrecht sort.

*Seem. That much she could do. A tilt of her head in goodbye, and the pikey is weaving towards the door. Ducking under arms and between bodies with the confident ease of anyone under 5’3, in a big kid world.*

Hanging With The Wounded Kin and Breaking Some Bad News

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She walks into the Broho after a brief foray out to score some more groovy painkillers with just a bit of speed to her step. She’s got the ever-present grin on her face and she certainly doesn’t look rushed, so to speak. She’s just not lingering behind to make small talk as she goes to deliver the meds to her sister.

[Amunet Trujillo] She half dozes on the couch, ribs taped so that she’s sitting stiffly. The television is on, though she doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to it.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She tromps up the stairs and walks over, sitting down next to Amy and shaking the bag in front of her. “The drug fairy is here.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I fucking love the drug fairy.” She manages a small smile, very carefully and slowly sitting up to reach for them. “What did you get?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She hands it over. “Homey didn’t have the best stuff. But it’s good still. Not brand-name Vicodin, but it’s still hydrocodone.” She smiles a bit. “Plus I have some good smoking stuff so we can make it last. How’re you feeling?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Like shit.” She grins a little, dry swallowing two of the pills.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She chuckles a little bit, settling in next to Amy. “Well, I meant besides the torso-splitting pain.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “It was nice to get out in it again. You hear anything about what’s being done for the hunt?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Not yet, no.” She frowns a little. “I imagine something will be forthcoming.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Hopefully not too soon. I’ll be pissed if I miss it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I don’t imagine it will be.” She sighs. “Honestly, I don’t know what will happen. He wasn’t actually part of the Sept or anything, I guess.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “He wasn’t?” She settles back against the couch again, wincing. “Fuck me…”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah, apparently not. Careful, you’re gonna make it worse.” She looks at Amy with a raised brow, then sighs.

“I guess we should probably do that ourselves. You know…get official. Since it looks like we might actually last more than a month here…”

[Amunet Trujillo] “So far so good. I wouldn’t mind staying a few months.” Her tongue worries at her split lip, opening it again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks exasperated. “You know, if you keep opening it up, it’s not going to heal.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “It always heals eventually. Least I didn’t get my nose broken. That’s a pain in the ass.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smirks. “Kind of missing the point there, Tylerette Durden.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I can’t help it. Hurts like a bitch.” She worries at it for a moment longer, then stops. “You’re all right as rain again?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah, pretty much.” She looks over at Amy and smiles a bit. “I gotta get someone to teach me Mother’s Touch so you don’t have to stay all fucked up.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Yeah, you do. Fucking slacker” She grins, opening the cut again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She sighs. “Oh for Christ’s sake. Just…stop moving. Maybe you won’t bleed as much.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I can’t. I’ve been hurt worse. I’m fine.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Just do me a favor and don’t tell me if you’re getting turned on by it.” She smirks, the tone a fairly gentle tease. “I might have to leave the couch.”

[Amunet Trujillo] Her eyes narrow, and she looks back at the tv.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She sighs. “Sorry, it was a joke.” She nudges her sister lightly. “You know I don’t have a problem with that.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She shrugs, eyes on the television.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She makes an exasperated sound again and leans back, looking to the TV herself. “Fine.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I don’t want people knowing about it. I didn’t even want you knowing about it. I still don’t know how the fuck you found out.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, I’m not telling anyone, so unless you or Boy-Toy get loose-lipped, the secret stays safe.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I guess I should probably call him or text him or something. We were supposed to do shit last night.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Mmmm, might be a good idea.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Later.” She reaches for the remote too fast. “Fucking OW.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She sighs. “Here, let me move the half a foot it would take me to get it, rather than have you rebreak your ribs trying to get it.” She gets the remote and hands it over.

[Amunet Trujillo] “I don’t think I can break them any more. Fucker with the boots did a pretty good job of it.” She takes the remote and flips channels.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “He did at that. Cheesedicks knew how to hit better than I gave them credit for, I’ll admit.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Next time I pick who we fuck with. You kind of suck at it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “No, I just pick too well.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “We could take Casey next time…” She says it very casually, eyes still on the tv as the channels continue to scroll by.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She throws Amy a sidelong look. “Wait…is this becoming more than fuckbuddy territory?”

[Amunet Trujillo] She snorts, then winces. “Fuck no. Eew. He’s a good fighter, though. Can’t hurt to have another set of eyes, so that shit doesn’t happen again.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Is She Lyyyyyyyyying?]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Amunet Trujillo] (Nope. 😛 )

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shrugs a little and nods. “Maybe, yeah. I was just trying to keep as few people ass-kicked as possible.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Either way” She shrugs the shoulder opposite the broken ribs. “Go make me a sandwich.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins and gets up. “Yes, Massa. Whateva youse say, Massa!”

[Amunet Trujillo] She makes a face. “You totally ruined it. You were supposed to say ‘what’s the magic word?’ and then I could say ‘fucking go make me a sandwich!'” She grins, chuckling and wincing.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “My bad. Set me up better next time.” She sighs a little when Amy winces, and heads off to go get her some food.

[Amunet Trujillo] It takes several minutes for her to get positioned lying down on the couch, legs draped over the arm, channels still switched in her complete ADD state.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She comes back a few minutes later with a sandwich and a beer for Amy, handing it over before she sits back down. “Dinner is served.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “You’re the best fucking wife ever, Sar.” The sitting up is another long process, and the beer is drained in almost one gulp. “So we gotta go outside to smoke, right?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Probably a good idea, yeah.” She looks over. “You need help getting up?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I don’t need any fucking help.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Okay, okay. Jesus, chill.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Sorry. Painkillers make me bitchy.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “It’s cool.” She grins. “Next time I’ll lace them with acid. That should be fun.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Serious? Can you do that? I suppose so, with the liquid shit…”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah, it wouldn’t be tough, honestly. A few drops, let it dry, you’d be none the wiser until the TV started talking specifically to you.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I’ll keep that in mind. How bad could it be, right?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She arches a brow at Amy. “Um, very bad. I was kidding. Again.”

[Amunet Trujillo] Her nose wrinkles. “This is why you’re not getting laid. You’re just a tease.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s totally why.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Hey, I put out, I get laid. You’re not all fucking ragey. You could pick up somebody next time we go out.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “No, Amy…the reason I don’t get laid is because I’m sick of playing the ‘Will this random guy at the bar be able to ring my bell’ Slot Machine and coming up with two cherries and a lemon.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Then what’s your solution?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She gives a frown, then shrugs. “If I had one, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I’d be laying in a sweat-soaked pool of post-orgasmic bliss.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “So not getting laid at all, is better than a bad fuck?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Despite what they say, it ain’t like pizza. Do you really want me MORE frustrated then I currently am?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “So buy a fucking vibrator and I’ll stay at Casey’s tonight.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I have a couple. I’m not talking about just getting off. If that was all we needed, we’d not have been going to bars every town in the first place. The booze is overpriced and watered-down and we can get into fights everywhere.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Bar fights are the best fights, though. Where else are we going to find shit like we did last night?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “True that. Double true, even.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I’m sorry I took the only eligible kin. I didn’t know that he was one of ours.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shrugs. “In retrospect, it’s probably best. I don’t think Casey and I are particularly compatible like that.” She smiles a bit. “‘sides, you never know. Maybe there’s a kin in one of the other tribes I can snipe. The drama would be fun.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “There are some cute guys running around. What about that little Coggie that’s scared of his own shadow? You could break the fuck out of him.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Wait, who?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I don’t fucking remember. Some hipster name. Cute kid. Dark hair.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah, okay. Well, get back to me on that. Every time I see a kin, they’re of the persuasion that would require me playing for the other team to be involved.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Which you ruled out?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shoots Amy a deadpan. “I am firmly and vehemently all about the cock, Amy.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Okay, fuck. How the fuck am I supposed to know what your fucking kinks are?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Maybe the several times I’ve said that I’m straight.” She shakes her head. “Anyway.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Anyway. Guy kin. Coggie. Breakable. If you’re not going to go after him, I just might.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Bitch, calm down. You got your legs wrapped around one guy already, and I don’t even know who the fuck you’re talking about. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen ANY Children of Gaia around here yet.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She shrugs, finally taking a bite of the sandwich.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You don’t know ANYTHING else beyond dark-haired breakable Coggie kinfolk afraid of his own shadow?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Which is apparently about four fucking things more than you know. Five, if you count the fact that I know he fucking existed five minutes ago.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Who does he hang out with? Where did you see him? Jesus, give me SOMETHING.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I saw him here when I was passing through. Jesus FUCK get off my dick.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, you can’t say ‘Hey, you could go after this guy, but I’m not going to tell you anything about him and if you don’t find him before I do then I’ll make sure he’s balls-deep in me’ and not expect a little pissiness.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I’m not going to fuck him. Christ. I AM fucking capable of seeing a guy and not ending up with his cock in me.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You just SAID you were going to. What do you expect me to think?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I said if you weren’t. Jesus fuck. Who pissed in your fucking cheerios? I’m the one fucking still all fucked up from your dumb ass don’t take on the biggest guy first plan.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well what the fuck happened to ‘That was awesome?'”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Have you not noticed that everything is awesome after a bottle?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You know what…” She shakes her head. “Fine. Whatever.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She’s quiet for several minutes, angrily flipping channels before tossing the remote aside. “I’m sorry. It was awesome.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s quiet for a few seconds after that, arms folded in a sulk. “Thanks.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “You gotta get off my ass about who I know and who I don’t, okay? Jesus. How many people do you want me to piss off before we’re official?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “That wasn’t why I was asking. Christ.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Well, I don’t know his name. I’ve only seen him, not met him.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Okay, fair enough.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Does the shit with Casey bug you? Be honest. You’re way more fucking important than a fuckbuddy.”

[Rain] There’s the heavy sound of boots on the stairs, steps taken slowly but solidly. No thump of her guitar against her leg today, just the Gaian songbird, hands in her pockets, still wearing her hat and scarf along with that chocolate brown coat. Rain crests the landing and glances about. There were voices that had echoed down the stairs, but they were not familiar to her.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “No, it doesn’t bother me. Not the way you think.” She looks like she’s about ready to continue, and then she hears the footsteps. She looks over as Rain comes up, not having met her before, and she gives her an appraising once-over before she tosses the Gaian kin a smile. “Hola.”

[Amunet Trujillo] Her eyes look Rain up and down slowly, before nodding at her. “Hey.”

[Rain] The girl pulls her hat from her head, freeing a curtain of long brown hair to respond willfully to the resident static. She slides her fingers through it to calm it somewhat.

“Hola. Que pasa?” she returns, in a surprisingly un-accented Spanish. Given that her English is colored right through with a gentle Southern sweetness and drawl, it may be a little strange to hear.

The kin moves away from the top of the stairs, unwinding her scarf from her neck and unbuttoning her coat as she goes.

“I’m Rain. I don’t think I’ve met you two before…”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “We’re the Strider sisters.” She gets up, offering a hand. “Sarita Ecos de la Risa, Cliath No Moon, et cetera. That’s Amy. Forgive her for not getting up, her ass got a little kicked last night.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “A fucking lot.” She nods, face bruised, eye black at the edges, lips split. By the way she’s moving, there are further injuries under her clothing.

[Rain] She’s only five and a half feet tall, and the brown-eyed look that sweeps from one sister to another is at once welcoming and wary, respectful and reserved. The smile, though, remains a brilliant and inviting thing. It warms to them, and is inclusive.

“Rain McKellar,” she expands on her introduction, shaking Sarita’s hand. “Unicorn’s kin.” There’s a glint of gold at her neck, a small heart inscribed with confirmation of the same.

“It’s a pleasure. To meet ya both.”

As she steps back from greeting Sarita, the Gaian’s attention sweeps once more over her sister, and the delicate way she moves to favor those injuries.

“Looks like you had a rough day,” she says, with a measure of sympathy and compassion weighing down her tone. “Anyone look at those hurts for you yet? I’m not Gifted, y’know, but I know my way around a first aid kit.”

The offer is implicit. Like most of her Tribe, this Unicorn is more than ready to help where she can. Even strangers. Well, near strangers. They have names and connections to the Brotherhood, and that’s good enough for Rain.

[Amunet Trujillo] She waves a hand at Rain, looking at Sarita. “Well there you fucking go. Coggie. They do exist.”

Her eyes sweep over Rain again, and she nods. “I got hauled to the ER last night, but thanks. Would have said no, but I wasn’t exactly verbal. You some kind of nurse or something?” The wheels in her head clearly turning.

[Rain] “No, ma’am, Miss Amy. But my first Warder was a Theurge, and we were light on folks at that Sept and far from any emergency rooms. Everyone did what they could to help, and this was something I could,” she explains.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh sweet, a Child of Gaia. Amy, describe this mythical guy. Maybe we can figure out who the hell he is.” She moves to take a seat somewhere besides next to Amy, so that Rain can check her out.

[Amunet Trujillo] Her eyes shift to Sarita, then Rain, then back twice more before she sighs. “Just Amy. I’m kin too.” From her expression it seems like the words may be physically painful to force out.

[Rain] Rain drops the assortment of winter clothes she’s been shedding onto a corner of the sectional. Her brown coat is accompanied by a blue knit scarf, hat and gloves that look like they were all purchased at one time, or possibly made as part of a set.

Then the CoG crosses to Amy, and if there are no objections, begins a cursory inspection of whatever the ER attendings left untouched so that she can make recommendations, or offer assistance. It may all come down to asking Saint Jenny for some ibuprofen and collectively complaining that a split lip makes drinking down a shot of whiskey for the ache of things a bad solutions.

“A mythical guy? Oh, fun,” she says, tossing them a mock-wry smile. “Like I need more guy trouble, right?” That was a sentiment that sisters everywhere could at least echo, or express sharp and sympathetic amusement for.

[Douglas Anderson] There was nervousness in the air about this one. Thankfully it was not a variety detectable by more than one sense (which was importantly not smell). It’s definitely there though as the building sees a fresh entry from the street. The doorway eclipses with someone a bit shy of six feet tall and flirting with half as wide eases it open and takes in the sight behind.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Nobody needs guy trouble. They’re so goddamned fun though.” She lets Rain inspect her, apparently not at all shy. “Younger kid. Scared as fuck of everything. Kind of cute, belongs to you guys. Ring any bells?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well apparently, I do.” She grins, watching Amy work. “My sister here wants me to get laid so I’ll shut up about her getting laid and she thinks she has just the guy, but doesn’t know anything about him. I think she’s just trying to give me the opportunity to be all…” She affects a Valley Girl accent, complete with head flip. She’s fairly adept at it. “‘So, there was this guy that I like, totally got with. But you know, you don’t know him, we like, met when I went to Niagra Falls…'”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Oh fuck off.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I’m trying to, but I gotta find a guy first, bitch.”

[Rain] Rain’s too busy taking careful note of Amy’s injuries to catch the headflip, but the affected accent makes her chuckle. It’s a warm thing, resonant and easily pushed toward laughter if the opportunity presents itself.

“I’m sorry Miss Amy,” she says, apparently not having taken the memo to heart about titles. “I can help if you want to retape your ribs, but really it’s gonna be just some time to heal.” It’s a shame, really, that they don’t heal as quickly as their cousins.

She glances back to Sarita, and then to Amy again. She is careful never to meet the True’s eyes. Her attention always lands on her cheek bones, or the bridge of her nose instead.

“Ah… Well, Mr. Harmony and Mr. Roman are younger, but Mr. Milo’s kinda wide-eyed. Looks startled a lot. Pretty blue eyes?” she offers. With a slightly softened sort of smile. Like Rain may have given a little bit of thought to those eyes being pretty herself, now and again.

“And Mr. Jackson just got here, but he’s the only other Unicorn kin I know in town. ‘Sides Miss August, and I dont’t thinks he fits your description. But she is pretty.”

[Rain] [Grr. Typos. Edit: ‘Sides Miss August, and I don’t think she fits your description.]

[Amunet Trujillo] “That’s him. Fucking startled like a fucking rabbit.” She nods, wincing as she’s examined and scowling. “That bitch needs to learn how to fucking heal, and then I won’t have to not fight. What if they do the Spiral hunt in the next couple of days? I’m fucked.”

[Douglas Anderson] There were a few moments of ambling. Looking about the room. Being looked back at. Finding one or two returned glances that spoke of possibly being agreeable to helping one acclimate.

It wouldn’t take too long overall. A few questions. Declining a drink for the moment. Did they need help on the grill in back? That manner of thing. Oh and there was more building upstairs, just for their sort. Upstairs? The footfalls are heavy. The knock isn’t.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She affects a mock look of bewilderment. “Why the hell does everyone keep assuming I’m gay? Do I give off some kind of a Melissa Etheridge, Ellen Degeneres vibe or something?” She’s really amused underneath, and it’s not ~that~ difficult to tell that she’s joking. The slight grin that betrays the bewilderment gives that hint off.

[Amunet Trujillo] “You do run around shouting about how much you like dick a fair amount. Like you’re trying to convince someone.”

[Rain] “Oh, no, I didn’t mean,” her hands come up, innocent, warding off any misunderstanding. The Gaian’s eyes go wide and then… She glances between the sisters again, putting a few things together. The worried innocence shifts toward a smirk, a little shake of her head and then Rain smiles again and offers:

“Mr. Milo has a room here. I think he’s in Room Five. Actually, I’ve… I’ve kinda come to see if he or Miss Quinn were in. But it doesn’t sound like they are.”

She pauses a bit, then breathes in a quick little breath and offers a bit more: “There’s a first aid kit in the bathrooms. Miss Amy, do you want me to see if there’s somethin’ in there you can take?”

[Douglas Anderson] Alright. No answer. But supposedly the extended family as it was was allowed up here? Fine then. This doorway gets much the same treatment as the one below. Eased open while the frame behind it occupies as much of the available space as it’s willing to give up. The expression a mix of curious and still just a bit uncertain. One eyebrow perks as it clears into view. Then the other. “Err, hello there?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[I don’t think there’s a door from the stairs to the common Room, Quasi. 🙂 ]]

[Douglas Anderson] ((I’m looking at that now. The only room I see with a stairwell has the pool tables, table tennis, tv?))

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Christ, at this point maybe I should give girl-lovin’ a try since everyone’s so convinced I’m already going that way. Y’all have convinced me.” She looks over at Rain. “Milo…room five, you say? Oh, I may be saved from living a life that men fantasize all women really want after all.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[That’s the one! They’re around the couch area right now.]]

[Rain] ((Stairs open right into the common space. Rain’s winter clothes are in a pile on the sectional. The three gals are clustered…somewhere in line of sight.))

[Bridget] [Open?]

[Amunet Trujillo] (Yes!)

[Amunet Trujillo] “Jesus fuck, you know more about this guy than I do.”

[Rain] Room five? Sarita asks. Rain confirms again with a little nod and a “Yes’m.”

Thought there’s some sort of reticence in her voice, mirrored in her eyes. Rain isn’t fool enough to think she can keeps what she feels quiet, and what she feels just now is a little spike of sadness at that pretty Strider’s interest in her Tribe-mate.

“He’s a No Moon, too,” she offers, still trying to be helpful.

And then her attention slides past the sisters to the newcomer at the top of the stairs. Rain’s smile extends to him, now, and she waves a bit.

[Amunet Trujillo] Amy bursts out laughing, which only lasts about three seconds before she’s whimpering. “Ow ow fucking OW!!”

[Douglas Anderson] Well, doorway or not.. The space is taken up. Given the lack of a dent in the conversation though he opts to get comfortable if possible. Glancing back down the stairwell, and sniffing given the odors of food below, but then actually stepping into the room proper.

Rain being the first to get a moment to look away from things.. There’s a thick-fingered hand waving back shortly after. As well as a broad smile attached. “Hey. Uhm. Got directed up here after finding the place?”

The eyebrow does not go down. It gets a bit worse in fact given the sudden whimpering.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks over at Douglas, about to say something before Rain’s comment catches her attention and her head whips around. “He’s Garou?” A beat, and a blank expression from her. She just stares at Rain, then Amy, then Rain. Then she sighs.

“God fucking damnit. I guess it’s lesbianism for me. Anyone got some good tips on cunnilingus?”

[Rain] The Brotherhood conversations could get exceptionally colorful. Sarita asks what she does, and Rain finds herself inadvertently exchanging silent wide-eyed greetings with Doug, the newcomer and substantial shadow at the top of the stairs.

“Um,” she echoes. “Hey.”

And the blush that creeps up from her neck comes slowly enough at first, then utterly overwhelms the Gaian. So it’s like that no, no she does not have tips to share.

[Bridget] A rustling of movement emerges from the stairway access to the roof. A bleary-eyed, frizzy-haired Canadian emerges from the cold, blinking against the light. The Fianna-kin hasn’t been seen much lately. She’s been gone in more ways than just her absence. The pallor of her skin, which should be red against the cold, is suggestive enough.

The way the half-wild kinfolk pads into the room speaks of her intoxicated state in a way her bleary eyes couldn’t. The jests between Sarita and the others don’t even make a blip on her radar. The tall, lithe, daughter of mountain wolves gives them a hazed once over before she pads quietly towards one of the spare cushions. She collapses into the comfort of it, a fifth of Jack has been indulged in already. It rests in the crook of her arm.

[Bridget] [hasn’t been seen around much lately*]

[Douglas Anderson] “Wow. Apparently whatever I missed was good. Hi there, I’m Doug. Just moved to the area.”

At least he moved out of the way of the stairs. Amazingly disarming as the conversation could be (to say nothing of Bridget’s arrival) nobody was going to keep him from finding something to sit on (poor, poor seating) very soon.

((Grr. Still cannot seem to get into chilltank.))

[Amunet Trujillo] She finally manages to catch her breath, taking long, slow gulps of air and watching the others as she waits for the stabbing pain to recede.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks over at Bridget as she comes in, and the levity and false exasperation drops out of her expression. She looks…concerned. She lets someone else do introductions to Douglas, giving him a brief wave and walking over to plop down on the couch next to Bridget. “Hey, you. Looks like you’re getting the party started early today…”

[Rain] And that is her excuse to except herself from the sisterhood’s debate about her Tribes-mate (and interest). Rain’s attention tracks Bridget as she moves through the room and settles on one of the floor cushions. The Gaian rises and heads over toward her.

Along the way, she offers a smile and a “Nice to meet you,” to Doug, but it’s a bit distracted.

Unicorn’s kin crouches next to Stag’s and says, “Hey, I heard…” (about Howard is implied) with a weight to her voice that suggests she’s felt the loss, too. And if Bridget doesn’t object, she might just find herself hugged.

[Rain] [… I may have misread, if Bridget’s on the couch, then strike “floor” and replace “crouches” with “sits” ]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[And if I misread, then replace “couch” with “floor.”]]

[Douglas Anderson] He spreads some when he sits. As well as leaning forward slightly and resting his arms in front of him. Between Bridget and Amunet he kind of wonders for a moment. Musing to himself, but audible to anyone listening. “Maybe I picked the wrong time to come get acquainted.. Seems serious.”

[Kyle] It might not be the most comfortable of places but Kyle had been sitting alone in the laundry room for most of the afternoon. Sketching and drawing as he waited for his washing to be done. It also helped cut out the sound of the sisters when they argued, not that it bothered him. It was just hard to concentrate with some of the classy remarks they threw at each other when he wanted to make snappy quips. Now that the load had finished he wanders back to his room and a few minutes later makes his way into the common. Seeing everyone there he gives that casual smile he always has before moving over to sit on one of the pool tables.

[Bridget] Suddenly, a kinfolk she doesn’t know very well is up in her business with a sad look on her face. The Canadian’s face furrows into a confused scowl as the daughter of Unicorn embraces her. Usually, Bridget is fairly touchy-feely, so she doesn’t object, but the look on her face clearly suggests she has no idea what’s going on.

A man in the corner seems to smile to himself. Bridget watches him for a minute before she touches Rain’s shoulder.

“Hello,” she says to Rain. “But I don’t know what you’re talkin about.” There’s a slight slur to her speech.

[Amunet Trujillo] She moves slowly to make room for everyone, finally nodding to Douglas. “Hey.”

[Douglas Anderson] The smile didn’t last too long. Bridget’s mood and the other’s injuries made that a bit inappropriate. Though he’d start again given half a chance. It’s more measured now though. Amunet and Kyle alike on the receiving end of that much. “Hi there.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She frowns a little as her attempt to talk to Bridget gets eclipsed, but doesn’t get up from her spot next to her and Rain. She looks over at Kyle and gives him a little upward head-tilt of a nod.

[Rain] Bridget doesn’t know what she means, and Rain’s sadness melts toward confusion. After what Quinn had said, and the news circulating around the Caern in the wake of Patrick’s howl… she’d assumed. Perhaps incorrectly.

The look she gives Bridget is rather similar to the Canadian’s scowl, less the irritation.

“Um, then nevermind. You just…” Another confused glance to Stag’s far more feral daughter. “Looked like you could use a hug.” Rain pulls her limbs back toward her own center, and runs her fingertips through her hair.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Who are you?” She watches Douglas, and the words are apparently directed at him.

[Bridget] Bridget forces a small smile at Rain before she moves her hand off the girl’s shoulder. “Thanks. I’m just hung up, that’s all. It’s a stupid thing, really. I’m sure he’ll call.”

It’s… a sick, sad sort of thing that raises up a person’s spine. It’s almost like watching a mother cat dragging around her stillborn children. A dog that lies next to the grave of his master. Maybe she really doesn’t know, but that doesn’t change the fact.

Bridget is aware that Sarita said something to her. She turns her eyes to the Strider and waves the bottle a little bit. “Hey.”

[Douglas Anderson] Directed at him got a fairly prompt reply. “Doug Anderson. New here.. Well, that’s obvious. Was told that ‘extended family’ met up here and then sent upstairs. Since then.. well, seemed like more important things than introductions were happening? Figured I’d just be patient.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey, chica.” She smiles a little bit, giving Rain a quick look that broadcasts Go with the flow. “Yeah…yeah, I’m sure he will. How you doin’?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Who’s your extended family?” She makes herself sit a little straighter, almost staring Douglas down.

[Rain] “You wanna talk about it?” Rain offers, with a small and still faintly confused smile. “I mean, the three of us were just on about boy trouble before you came in…” so offers, glancing over to Sarita for an assist.

And there’s something to the Gaian’s features that are both worried and haunted in that moment. Worried that Bridget might not yet know; haunted that she does and isn’t processing it.

Her attention flicks to Doug, to Amy (lingers there a moment longer), and then back to Bridget. Not for the first time this evening, she wishes either Quinn or Milo were around.

[Douglas Anderson] Being this.. open about the matter doesn’t seem to sit entirely well with him. At all. It takes a moment to swallow the hesitation and just get the answer spoken already. He’s not winning any staredowns. Almost or otherwise. “That’d be the Furies.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Goddamn. You got a hard fucking life, son.” She grins a little. “Welcome to Chicago.”

[Kyle] “Oh that’s subtle Amunet.”
Kyle’s voice barely noticable as he smiles and watches them all. Absently he picks up his sketch pad and pencil and starts to draw, legs dangling absently over the edge of the pool table.

[Bridget] There are introductions going on. Bridget waits until Doug and Amunet are done before she shrugs and takes another swig of Jack. Something in her glazed eyes or her slumped posture or both is suggestive enough that she’s concealing a lot of heaviness.

“I doubt it. The last time he saw me, he bolted the other direction.”

[Douglas Anderson] The tension breaking is like a cord snapping. Apparently that cord had been holding his shoulders together and tied to a light fixture overhead because they fold down and he leans forward (causing him to widen a bit more about the middle) His head shakes, long curly brown hair hanging haphazard about his face. There’s a matching weak grin though. “One copes, heh. Great to be here. I imagine it’ll stop freaking me out someday.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Fuck me, Kyle. Subtle? Did you just meet me?” She grins at the kin, making her lip split yet again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey, can I get a hit off that bottle?” She reaches out for it, but doesn’t take it if Bridget seems to react poorly or says ‘No.'”

[Kyle] Now that gets another smirk from Kyle as he shakes his head. He could make any number of comments but refrains due to the company they have. Can’t have everyone thing Striders are weird….Mind you this coming from the happy goth.

[Rain] And so there’s this. Rain can either suggest the name, walk into the situation and quite possibly get trapped into being the one to give (or reinforce) bad news, or she can play along and possibly offer the Stag false hope.

There’s another conversation going on in the room, and once in awhile her attention flicks that way, but Rain’s focused on Bridget just now with a sort of tunneled awareness that suggests something very serious is afoot.

“… Are y’ talkin’ about Howard?” she asks, bracing herself for either the answer or (hopefully) laughter at the suggestion.

[Douglas Anderson] He does react some to Kyle. Mostly though? It’s another perked eyebrow. Wasn’t like the girl was wrong. But hey! Some things helped. (Like cake.) There’s a heavy exhale that’s one more means of shedding tension. “Wonder if they need anyone else to cook downstairs here..”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Sar? Fess up with the pills, bitch. I’m going to go lie down.” She begins the long process of getting up off the couch.

[Kyle] “If you need some strong stuff, front pouch on my duffle bag. Careful though they’ll knock you out.”
Grins as he looks to Amunet

[Bridget] The Fianna kin offers Sarita the bottle, then hugs her knees. She’s drunk, but not utterly wasted. She’s still freezing from her excursion upstairs. Rain asks about her business. Bridget isn’t ready to really open up about how she feels about Howard. There’s a lot that she feels that doesn’t rely on what happened between them, things he probably never knew.

“Yeah. Him. He keeps… toying with me.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “All right.” She tosses the bag of pills over to Amy. “Try not to hurt yourself as you sleep.”

[Kyle] Looks to Douglas as tries to get his attention since his voice is barely above a whisper.
“They usually have a rush weekends. Sure they’d appreciate any help and the perks are good. All the left overs you want usually.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She catches the pills, but looks over at Kyle. “Goddamn, kid. I knew I liked you.” Nodding to everyone, she makes her way slowly out of the room.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks at Bridget and then to Rain, chewing on her lip a little. “Sweetie…why don’t we get you to your room? We should talk about something…”

[Douglas Anderson] “Err, later.” This to Amunet. Kyle though? He does hear. Paying attention helps. So there’s a nod there and some consideration. “Weekends would work. Who would I talk to about that kinda thing?”

[Rain] Rain swallows. She glances up to Sarita, and then back to Bridget. “Sarita’s got a good idea, hon’,” Rain says, and the gentleness in her voice is underscored with a very big other just now. It’s one part encouragement, and another that heaviness and sadness. Her smile tweaks upwards at the side, encouragingly.

[Tabitha Reese] She looks pissed at the world, stomping up the steps with her hands jammed into her jacket pockets.

[Kyle] Kyle rattles off a few of the key staff to talk to for Douglas. He’s pretty good friends with most of them since he’s just that sort of person. All the while he’s sketching in his pad as he ponders what’s going on with Bridget

[Douglas Anderson] Oh dear. Pissed at the world storming up the stairs lets the disarmed back in. He trails off and looks her way. Then looks back to Kyle. The expression spoke volumes. (Is it always like this?) Somewhere amidst this.. he’d take down the notes given. By way of texting them to himself.

[Bridget] Bridget isn’t oblivious. She may be drunk, she may be half-wild, she may be a bumpkin, or many other things… but something in the way two women are talking to her like she’s five years old makes Bridget suspicious.

“The fuck’s going on?” she says.

[Tabitha Reese] At the top of the stairs she stops and takes stock of who’s there, looking from person to person slowly.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks over, seeing Tabitha, and looks back to Rain with an ‘Oh hell’ look on her face. “You help her there. I’ll follow if and when I can. Cutting off a problem.” She gets up and walks over toward Tabitha. “Hey, you. What’s up?” She holds a finger to her lips as she does so, pointing in Bridget’s direction.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Subtly pointing, natch. Not like, frantically waving that way or anything.]]

[Tala Whitedeer] She practically runs into Tabitha as she stops. Wait, not practically. Actually. She actually runs into Tabitha as she stops suddeny.

[Tabitha Reese] “What?” She scowls at Sarita, then over to Bridget.

[Rain] “It’s about Mr. Howard,” she says, and her voice isn’t so much belittling as it is reassuring. Though Bridget is also a trained performer, and she knows that they both have the skills to communicate effectively with very few words at all. Rain tips her head toward the privacy of the individual rooms.

“You might want your privacy when you hear, that’s all we’re sayin’. Walk with me a bit? Or if no, I’ll tell you plain, just here. Your choice, Miss Bridget.”

[Douglas Anderson] Trying to look like he’s not there is preposterous. There’s too much there to not be there. He does at least avoid leaving his mouth hanging open or any other such thing. Otherwise though? When Tabitha gets to his position in who’s there there’s a sort of acknowledging lack of eye-contact.

There’s also, somewhere under the weight, at least a few obvious traits of what the newcomer is if not who.

[Tabitha Reese] Her hand reaches back to grab Tala’s arm and steady her, stepping aside and tugging her up to the top of the stairs.

The look she gives Rain is pure death, eyes tracking the woman now.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I said, ‘What’s up?'” As she mouths with her back to the couch,in that over the top way, ‘Don’t mention Howard yet. She doesn’t know.’

[Tabitha Reese] “Who doesn’t know? Didn’t everybody hear the howl?”

[Tala Whitedeer] “What’s going on?” Sh follows Tabitha up, like usual.

[Kyle] From his spot on the pool table, the cheery goth gives a casual wave to Tala and Tabitha before going back to his sketching. He’s starting to put things together now as he listens

[Tabitha Reese] “I don’t know, Tal.” She puts her arm around the girl protectively, eyes still on Rain and Bridget.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks like she’s about to hit Tabitha. It’s clearly a warning look, the kind that proclaims Shut up.

[Tala Whitedeer] She looks over at Kyle, vaguely confused. “Is this about whats-his-name?”

[Erek Skulason] ooc/locations? is there room for one more?
to Bridget, Douglas Anderson, Kyle, Rain, Sarita Ecos de la Risa, Tabitha Reese, Tala Whitedeer

[Rain] Excellent. There is a Monster glaring at her, and though the kinswoman cannot know the Auspice or Tribe attached to the Rage that entered the room, the very shift of her spine and shallowing of her breath indicates that she’s felt it. That she is aware that she is quarry and prey to something very large and fatal.

The wide-eyed kinswoman slides her attention over to the gathering at the stairs for a moment. She keeps her line of sight low, so it does not risk meeting anyone’s eyes. And then, ruefully, worriedly, she pulls it back to Bridget.

The last thing Rain McKellar wants to do is turn her back or blindspot to the Monster in the room. But Bridget deserves better than half her awareness and compassion.

[Douglas Anderson] Listening was basically a good three quarters of what he’d been able to do since he got here. Figuring out what was going on in the background? Maybe. He lacked some context.. Or maybe a lot of it.

Suffice to say there was still some confusion. Mostly he kept himself seated at the far end of the sectional. Though he couldn’t help glance at the Rage once in while.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Calling for a closed scene at this point after everyone in here gets in IC. This room filled up way too fast for my sake.]]

[Bridget] Now things are getting ridiculous. Bridget watches the women, then looks to Rain, then back to the rest of them. Volumes could be interpreted from the hushes and the kid gloves with which she’s being handled. Bridget blinks a few times and there is silence.

Unexpected movement comes from her after a long, awkward pause. Bridget lauches herself to her feet, steadies herself for a minute, then pads over towards Room 8.

However, what Tabitha says aloud… Bridget stops in her tracks. She hasn’t been around, she’s been gone again, vanishing like some Strider kin.

A dark wave washes throughout the room. A silent, dark, heavy wave… a moment when they each hold their breaths for fear of eliciting a burst of Rage from one of the present Garou, or fear of being The One To Break The News. No one can quite see Bridget’s face once she starts to suspect, but they can read her body language. She is perfectly still. She doesn’t flinch an inch, and she is utterly silent except for the soft sound of her even breathing.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Erek: Sarita, Tala and Tabitha at the top of the stairway, Rain & Bridget on the couch, and Douglas and Kyle somewhere else in the room, I’m sorry I don’t know where.]]

[Douglas Anderson] ((I mentioned in my last post in his case. Edge of the sectional seating.))

[Tabitha Reese] Her eyes narrow and she looks back to Sarita, then around the room, finally nodding and tugging Tala along with her to move toward the couches.

[Kyle] No need to explain to him to get out of dodge. Seeing the tension rise in the room, Kyle casually gets up off the pool table and looks to Tala. A few simple hand gestures indicating he’s not sure but most likely is. Gathering up his stuff he makes his way past Tabitha and Tala at the stairs and heads up to the roof.

[Kyle] (Cheerful Goth heading up to the roof. I’ll drop back in later when things have settled 🙂 )

[Tala Whitedeer] She follows. “Tabitha. What’s happening?”

[Douglas Anderson] There was an absolutely horrid realization here. All of this mess? Was between him and the stairs. (Gaia help me.) There were so many good things on the other side of those stairs! Alcohol. Hamburgers. Fresh air that was not being steadily warmed by anger..

Possibly cake. He almost gets lost enough in that thought to miss Kyle taking his own way out. Given the options? He wrenches himself up from his seat (this takes a few moments.. and is utterly impossible to do inconspicuously) and starts to head for where Kyle did. ((Alright if I keep watching in the meantime?))

[Bridget] ((Sure))

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Sarita was blocking the stairs. Tabitha and Tala would have to push her aside to get up. Please let me know if they are doing that.]]

[Tabitha Reese] (Tab would totally push her aside.)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Okay.]]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks back at Bridget when she stands, and there’s something akin to Sarita’s face falling. She gives Tabitha a look when she gets pushed aside and follows behind, looking like she’s about to punch the woman in the back of the head.

[Erek Skulason] * Unbeknown to Erek… (who was about to walk into trouble?), he found through word of mouth the place for wayward Garou to go. With the directions given to him, he made his way to the BroHo, going around the back of the building were the patron’s entrance was and glanced around with a curious eye. Someone helps the lost boy, directing him out of the kitchen and towards a set of stairs that go up. Hearing noise, the tall blond makes his way up, boots hitting hard on the steps as he makes his presence known, stopping if someone blocks his path*

[Rain] The fear that sweeps over Rain isn’t about telling Bridget. It isn’t about anything going on at the couch until Tabitha and Tala push past Sarita and head toward them.

Rain pulls a deep breath and, because Bridget doesn’t seem to be keen on moving, because no one else has said anything to the poor woman, she says:

“Bridget. Howard’s probably not gonna call you back, love. I’m so, so sorry.” And there’s an apology in her deep brown eyes. She rests a hand on Bridget’s shoulder. If the other woman needed more of an explanation, Rain could give it.

[Tala Whitedeer] “Oh.” Who she’s talking to isn’t clear, but she looks, and sounds, enlightened suddenly. “Ohhhh.”

[Bridget] “Sarita.”

Three even, deadpan syllables are given out to the air as the Strider was making her escape. It sits heavily there, the slightest edge of a reaction. Maybe she’s fed up with being toyed with, or maybe she just has a death wish.

Rain makes her way forward and touches her. Bridget shrugs it off and turns to look in the direction of the stairs, towards the escaping Garou. Towards a stranger who just stumbled in on this dramatic mess.

“Come here and tell me what happened.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Okay. *L* Sarita wasn’t ~leaving~. She went to the stairs to stop Tabitha and Tala from coming up and ruining the easy letdown. That failed, clearly. Tabitha and Tala pushed by her TOWARD the couch and Sarita headed TOWARD them, toward the couch.]]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She is still stalking behind Tabitha and Tala, and she actually has her arm raised before Bridget sees her and calls to her. She stops, suddenly, and pushes by Tala and Tabitha to beat them to the coach. She stops in front of Bridget, her expression somber and sympathetic, but giving the kin the respect of not sugar-coating it.

“Howard got killed by some kind of Spirals the other night, sweetie. I wasn’t really clear on the details.” She gives Bridget a sad smile. “I’m sorry.”

[Erek Skulason] *Erek’s heavy steps can be heard as he makes his way up them from the kitchen. His movements slowing to a pause at the very top as the crown of blond shaggy hair is the first thing they see, followed by the lean frame kid attached to it. Blond eyebrows rose up, meshing into the folds of skin that wrinkle across his forehead, a questioning look shining in his eyes. His tongue darts out, wetting across the chapped line of a lower lip*

What the hell?

*Their voices prick his ears, their breeding assaults his nose, the high amount of rage and estrogen brimming from the Black Fury is enough to make the Get of Fenris stand at the top of the stairs and move no further into the room as he looks at the couch with the girls on it*

[Tabitha Reese] Tabitha lets out an explosion in some other language to follow Sarita’s news breaking.

[Rain] The Gaian has gone stiff-limbed and noticeably anxious by now. Her attention strays ever more often to the Fury, and if she could close her eyes and wish herself out of existence then she damned well would just now. Anyone in the room can read her fear off her as plain as daylight just now, a withering and diminishing thing that damps even the warm and usually inclusive spark of her personality.

Tabitha comes closer, and Rain can’t even force herself to stay put any longer. Once the Fury passes, she hurries across to gather her coat and things up in a blue-and-brown armful and would have dashed straight down the stairs but Erek was in her way.

So she looks, from him, to the couch, like a cornered thing. Skittish. Waiting for an opportunity to slip past someone and out of the room.

[Bridget] Sarita is kind enough not to handle her with kid gloves, to not give some bullshit excuse or sugar coat things. Sarita watches Bridget staring back into her eyes without a trace of fear, or a trace of anything, really. A skin tab on one top of her pouty lip is chewed on. Her lashes blink a few times.

Sarita might have been expecting a reaction, but there really isn’t one. The frightening silence is broken by one Fury shouting. Bridget looks around, still deadpan, and levels that same eerily calm gaze to Erek before she slowly steps by the Get and moves down the stairs without so much as a word.

[Tala Whitedeer] She looks uncofortable at Tabitha’s outburst, hands folding and unfolding in front of her.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She takes a deep breath, cussing up about the foulest imagery imaginable under her breath in Spanish as Bridget just walks off. She gives Tabitha a look…at least a little less angry than she was before…and looks between Rain and Bridget. Two very emotionally traumatized kin, and she can only be one place at a time.

“C’mere, chica.” She reaches out to put a hand on Rain’s shoulder, reassuringly. “Let’s go talk to Bridget. Downstairs. In a place that isn’t here and now.”

[Tabitha Reese] “How exactly was I supposed to know she didn’t know? Who the fuck IS she, anyway?”

[Tala Whitedeer] “I don’t know. How should I know?”

[Tabitha Reese] “Not you, Tal.” She looks around the room again to see who’s still where. (Because I’m confused now)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Because I told you not to say anything. Which of course, you then proceeded to say something.” She sighs. “Someone close to Howard is who. C’mon, sweetie.” She guides poor Rain through the people, toward the downstairs.

[Douglas Anderson] ((Doug had headed to follow toward the upstairs [roof?] when the other Kin went that way by way of retreating. He has not gotten too far due to stopping mid-way to sit.))

[Rain] There’s a hand on Rain’s shoulder, and her attention snaps to that, sharply, then softens as it tracks Sarita’s voice. The Gaian breathes out a shaky exhalation and nods. She lets herelf be led offstage by an unfamiliar Garou, because it puts more distance between her and the bundle of Rage that frightens her most.

[Tabitha Reese] “Lots of people were close to him” She scowls at Sarita, then the kin she’s ushering, then to Douglas, watching him now.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She clearly has a comment for Tabitha, but she bites it back. Now is not the time. Down the stairs she goes.

[Douglas Anderson] He had made it to the stairs up. He’d then sat down there and gotten a bit.. shaky. Tabitha looking at him did not help. He looks back for just long enough know that yes she was aiming at him. Then there’s that ingrained instinct not to look like he was challenging anything. Faint smile. Lots of effort. And a bit of a wave.

[Tala Whitedeer] “Tabitha. Why are people acting like this?”

[Tabitha Reese] “Because somebody is dead, Tal. People get edgy when somebody dies.” She doesn’t look away from Douglas.

“You okay there, buddy?”

[Rain] ((Sorry my kin freaked out on everyone! Thank you for the scene.))

[Erek Skulason] *Erek continues to hold his silence, leaning on the banister, shifting his weight forward as his hands brace on the top rail watching*

[Tala Whitedeer] “He’s either an ancestor-spirit or he’ll be reborn.” She shrugs, looking on edge.

[Douglas Anderson] “Err, been better? Heh.”

One heavy arm reached up and he rubbed absently at the back of his neck.

“This was apparently an eventful day to pick to show up here for the first time.”

[Tabitha Reese] She glances back to Tala, her gaze trailing to take in Erek before returning to Douglas. “New, hey? Who are you with?”

Getting To Know Gina

[Gina McClaren] *After an afternoon of pacing her hotel room and gritting her teeth, Gina had called Sarita. Resolved to the reality that the bothersome Strider female was going to find her anyway. The remote countryside of Italy had never looked better, if only for its remarkable lack of were-mutts. So long as Thoth did not, the pretty pikey would grin and bear the ragabash’s apparent good intentions. So it is that her pleasant singsong gives directions to the chess and checker tables in the middle of Grant Park. A place public enough to avoid altercation, but deserted in winter, so that the pair might speak privately. Its here she sits impatiently, mittened hands around a steaming coffee, (and a health dollop of whiskey for courage).*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She is totally find with that environ. She shows up right on schedule, wearing a pair of sunglasses and being a little less cheerful-annoying then when she last met Gina. But not out and out pissy like she was near the end…just a wee bit dampened overall compared to then. She’s smoking as she walks along, looking around and then heading over to Gina with a nod. “Well, there you are. Howdy!”

[Gina McClaren] Aye. Allo darlin.

Ah’m here, aye. Pecked tha place an’ aul. Now wha was et ye wanned tae talk aboot, specific like.

*Cutting to the chase, our pikey. She was leaning heavily on one elbow against the chessboard, dark eyes tired as she watches Sarita through the steam of her drink.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well…” She takes a seat across from her, giving the other her space. The sunglasses come off. “I wanna know about you. I wanna know what our tribe did wrong that ruined your opinion of it. And, Owl willing, I wanna help turn that around.”

She shrugs, pocketing the shades. “I’m not a bad person once you get to know me. A little snarky, a little overprotective at times, and I have my mood swings like anyone who has two times of the month, one of which is based off la luna. But I promise, I have no intent of making the same mistakes others of our tribe has.”

[Gina McClaren] *Lips twitch sideways. Gina considering the woman in front of her for several long moments, before setting her drink down and sighing heavily. Long hair brushed back from her face, a tawny hand rolling in idle accompaniment to her words.*

A whole ball o trouble darlin. Reckon effen ye’ve been tauld anytheng aboot me, me word esnae gintae count fer much anyhow. But ah’ll gi’ ye the story asides. .. M’nae even one hundred percent certain ah’m ~en~ yer family club o thes point. Last warder said ee’d kicked me oot.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, lemme know what the story is, and we’ll find out. And if not but I feel like you should be, and you want to be? I’ll raise hell to get you back in.”

[Gina McClaren] Mm. Aulrecht than. Strider number wan, tauld me ee’ ‘ad nae interest en matin me oonless ah was aul fer et, an tha ah could dally wi’ whoever ah liked, so long as they were o’ the Sept, n’Nae a Metis. (Whech ah figured was rubbish, on account o Metis are fine folk, but ah went along wi’ et anyhow).

Anyhow… Ah reckon ee meant “as long as they’re me” as when ee found out ah was bumpin hips wi’ a felly ee didnae care fer, ee locked me oop wi’ hes fookin wives, n’tauld me ah could either be hes mate, oor gi’ the fook oot the city.

Then ee kecked et. Good Fookin Riddance.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Okay, wait.” She looks a bit incredulous. “So let me get this straight, because I’m ~hoping~ there’s something lost in translation here, or I’m getting your accent wrong. But he said everything was all good, then got pissed because you were screwing some guy, and locked you up…with his wiveSSS? As in, multiple wives, who were also locked up?”

[Gina McClaren] Felly had a full hand’s worth o em, aul wi’ wee wans on their hips.

*Gina nods, taking a sip of her drink before clarifying.*

But reckon ah was the only wan under fookin house arrest, oontil ah decided either tae mate wi’ hem oor fook aft out o tha cety fer good.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, okay. Yeah, I woulda put a bullet into his head myself. That’s fucked up, chica.”

[Gina McClaren] Second Strider shows oop. Ah’ve nae warder. Says she doesnae wan tae protect me, but daes track toxic fookin muck aul through me house. Finally decides she’s me “co-warder” when an Uktena lass decides tae start daen the job fer her – an than promptly fooks aft wi’ oot a word.

Wha’ever. Striders come n’ gawn.

Therd Strider, only drops en frem time tae time tae en order tae eat me food, n’tell me tha me friends are dead, an’ have tae a good laugh aboot me bein oopset by et. Ee fooks aft, wi’oot a word.

Fourth Strider – an thes es the fookin peach…

*A deep breath, Gina’s voice – previously exasperated, takes on a darker tone. Lips purse as she pauses long enough to dump a double shot of liquor from a pocket flask into her cup.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grows more and more troubled as the tales go on, and she’s practically gaping at this point. “Fuck’s sake.”

[Gina McClaren] Fourth fooking Strider, breezes entae town when ah’m en a bit o a bad way. Ah’d a nice lettle set oop o sorts. Tae Shadowlords an a Get, aul thenkin ah’m sweet as cherry cobbler, an’ more oor less agreeable tae tha fact tha ah’m everywan’s an’ naewans. Problem es, ah reckon ah’m en a bit o a childbearin way.

*An uneasy shrug, this part of the story she’s none too proud of, but it was a part of the story never the less. The Indian looking woman is teasing her hand through her hair, and taking a sip off her flask before tucking it away and settling on her coffee mixture.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her brow furrows…clearly disturbed, but looking sympathetic. “Um…mamacita, if this story goes into the mated, fucked and/or impregnated against your will territory, all you really need to do is tell me where he is.”

[Gina McClaren] Ah agreed tae be hes mate, n’ gi’oop me boys wha were keepin me safe, effen tha babe’ll be able tae kain et’s Da. Ee’ en turn says ee’ll protect me.

Ah should o kained the fooker couldnae dae et. Ee’ nearly let a dead theng mindfook me -whech ah’ HATE- when ah met hem. Uktena lass ‘ad tae save oos. Ah should o fookin kained. But nae, ah decide tae gi’ a Strider a chance, an’ head oot tae the woods wi’ hem. Where we run entae three fookin Fomori’s, what take hem down an’ … haul me aft tae the bushes.

*She doesn’t elaborate. She hasn’t the stomach for it yet, hands white around her coffee cup. Chessboard suddenly interesting as she sings.*

Ee didnae heal me oontil mornin. Was angry tha ah didnae wan tae keep on walkabout, when ah’m crampin an’ bleedin, an mayhaps losin a babe. Left me en the woods tae call wan o me Shadowlords fer help, an’ ee ran aft tae hunt down fomori… Ah went back tae me Lord, he healed me oop. Kept me safe.

*Lips licked sadly.*

Next time ah saw Thoth was weeks later. Ee demanded ah gi’ hem a second chance as a warder, sayin ah was bein’ cruel tae hem. Ah said nae. Ee’ said effen ah didnae let hem defend me honor, he’d ‘ave tae commit suicide by jumpin en a wyrm hive, oor soome sooch. Ah tauld hem tha was fookin retarded, but ee didnae lesten.

Sae.. ah let hem thenk ah didnae ‘ave any honor tae die fer. Tauld hem ah was being kind tae hem as a joke.

*The next seems a little random, rushed as she moves to sip liquid courage hastily.*

Sae ee’ threw a bag o dead dicks o’ me, called me a whore, an tauld me ah wasnae a strider nae moore.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s actually quiet after that. She’s pretty much been stunned into it. There’s a couple beats, before she sighs and shakes her head. “Well, first of all, fuck that. Near as I know, unless he was pretty high ranking, he doesn’t have the authority to do that. More importantly, he’s a fucking moron. For many, many things. If you want, I will hunt his ass down and beat him silly. If not, that’s cool too.”

She looks like she wants to stand up and walk over to her, just to give her a comforting touch. But it’s clear to Sarita that wouldn’t go over very well, and she stays where she is. “I’m really fuckin’ sorry, chica. That’s a whole bunch-a bullshit. I think ~I~ might hate us just after hearing all that.”

[Gina McClaren] *Gina looks weary. She’d told her story a total of three times now. Once to the theurge who’d broken land speed records to get to her battered form in the woods that day. Once to the warders of the kin Thoth had tried to poach a month later. And now, to the Strider across from her. Her voice is a sad lullaby as she nudges a finger across the table and shrugs.*

Used hes fookin musk on me. Ah’m plenty enough a harlot on me own. Ah dinnae need wolf-magick fookin wi’ me mind on top o’ thengs. Hate fookin mind fookers.

*She tongues her teeth, words suddenly dripping with pure poison. Anger more productive than sorrow as dark eyes roll up to Sarita.*

Ever woken oop aside somewan ye hate, Strider?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Something gets real dark in her eyes, her demeanor shifting a bit. She doesn’t have a lot of Rage…she could never be mistaken by people who know the signs for anything but a Ragabash or maybe a Theurge. But what she has, it’s rolling. She keeps it in check enough that she doesn’t let it completely stray her thoughts though. “I can’t say that I have, no. I’m sorry that you have. I wish I could have been here and made sure you didn’t.”

She pauses there, taking a breath. Down, red killing feeling. Ain’t gonna help right now “And I don’t blame you for how you feel about us. I would be the same way if I were you.”

[Gina McClaren] *Breath exhaled steamily through her nose, the strider kin swallowing whatever words she had on the topic of her tribe with a gulp of cooling coffee. Gross. The cup is slid across to Sarita. Peace offering perhaps. A start.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She reaches out and takes the cup, giving her a nod of thanks. She takes a swallow, not minding–how many times has she had coffee left in the pot all night, after all?–and sets it down, sliding it back. “Listen, chica. I’m gonna lay out for you what I’m hoping for. You can take it, or you can not. I’ll be honest…if you really, truly don’t want to have anything to do with me because I’m a Strider, that’s fine. I kinda understand. Hell, I got reasons to be a bit bitter myself.

“My dad was one of those travelin’ kinds…you know, like 99% of us. I didn’t know him for a long time, ’cause my mom was basically a one or two-night fling. I didn’t meet Esteban until after my was dead. Turns out, he had a whole other family. Kinda makes him a shitty guy, in a lot of people’s opinion. He knew about me–they all knew about me–but I knew nothing about them until after she died and I had my First Change. I’ve had a lot of time since then, but I’ve really always felt like I had an outsider’s perspective, since I spent all those so-called formative years knowing nothing about all of us, and all of this.” She smiles a bit.

“There’s some fucked-up shit about the Striders, don’t get me wrong. Maybe being forced into being without a home makes us that way, but it doesn’t make what happened to you forgivable. There are people I want to beat the tar out of sometimes…my own sister among them…” She grits her teeth a bit, briefly. “…especially right now, and those Striders who fucked you over.

“So here’s what I’m gonna tell you. I would like the chance to get to know you. I will not promise you that I will make it all okay. I won’t promise you that I’ll always be perfect. I’m a very particular kind of bitch and I do have my flaws. But I can promise you that anything that happens, it won’t happen because I’m like those you’ve met before. And it won’t ever happen because I’m putting my welfare, my ego, my pride or my motherfucking-pretencious-false-si-te-follan-con-el-pretexto-de-que so-called ‘Honor’ above you or your well-being.”

[Gina McClaren] *Sarita tells a story that is all too familiar, and Gina takes her time in considering it, her head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed in suspicion. *

Ah’ll gie tae kain ye.

*A deep breath, and a decided nod.*

Stell hopin tae mate meself oot o thes fookin tribe o’ the earliest conveinance. Ah’m nae ‘avin a babe grow oop wi’ Striders around. Nae offense darlin.

But Ah’ll gi’ ye as mooch a chance as ah’m able.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Thank you. I appreciate that.” A brief pause, and she grins just a little. “And you can be sure of one thing, at the very least. I’m not going to try and mate you. My fence swings decidedly in the male appendage-loving direction.” Said to lighten the mood, even if it is true.

[Gina McClaren] Well, reckon tha’s a relief o’ least.

*The last Female Strider had not been so decided. It had made for further awkwardness.*

… ye wannen yer piece back, than?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She actually brightens a bit. “If you got it with you and don’t mind giving it back over, yeah…”

[Gina McClaren] *The contents of an overlarge leather satchel clunk and jingle, until Sarita’s gun is produced and slid across the table. Gina content to make unimportant chitchat a few moments longer, before the Striders part ways.*

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