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 [..it 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!

Twister(18)
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
R1.
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
1R: OMNOMNOMNOM)

(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)

[Tongue Twister] RAAAAAAGE! DIE YOU SOAKING BASTARD!

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

[Tongue Twister] DONT YOU DARE SOAK THIS BITCH!
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!

Twister(18)
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!
R1.
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!

1a:BITE
1b: BITE
1R:NOMNOMNOMDIE
2R:YOUDIENOW

NOMNOMNOM!

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

[Tongue Twister] YUMMYWURMCAN’TSOAKTHIS!

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)

[Tongue Twister] NOMNOMNOM! YER MAKIN ME MAD!

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)

[Tongue Twister] NOOO! YOU CAN’T HAVE PATRICK! DIE YOU MOTHERFUCKINWURM!

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

[Tongue Twister] DIE RIGHT NOW! NO SOAK FOR YOU!

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)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[FUCKING FUCK OFF YOU FUCKING WURM FUCK! BOOOM!]]
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.

LAKE VIEW

[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. 🙂 http://www.chicagodusk.com/index.php?jove=systems&page=62 ]]

[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.*

A Longer Talk With Tabitha and Tala

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She cocks a brow, grinning. “Yeah, I do. Why, what or who did she do this time?”

[Azra Dzananovic] Azra’s makeup looks almost professionally done: from the blue of her eye shadow to the cat eye liner around her blue eyes. Her hair is swept together low at her neck, a few longer bits are brushed to the side out of her eyes.

Her eyes consume the entire room in one sweeping glance. She notes the placement of the only male and the newly arrived females – one of which she has met if only briefly. She’s in the room, her Rage a wall of heat that announces her arrival long before any real sound does.

Azra nods to Sarita and Tabitha before letting one hip come to rest on the arm of the couch on which Ray sits.

[Tabitha Reese] Her head cants and she takes in Sarita with one long, unblinking look before answering. “Nothing. Should she have?”

The stare is interrupted only by Azra’s entrance, at which point it’s turned on the Lord.

[Ray Ostermann] The man gets no answer from any of the women who enter the room, and that situation gets a perplexed look before the man chuckles to himself and takes another sip of the bourbon. His eyes however do fall upon Azra, the woman having seated herself as far away from Ray as humanly possible.

He gestures to the couch proper with an award winning smile despite the wave upon wave of rage that came from her and the other woman and spoke. “There is plenty of seating you know. And I don’t tend to bite.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Not necessarily. Just checking.” She looks over, noting Azra and smiles. “Hey, you from the bar. You got here, awesome. Usually my directions are for shit; glad it worked out.”

She looks at Rey, head cocking, and chuckles. “Well that’s no fun.”

[Tabitha Reese] She moves around the couch to find a seat, the smear of blood on her jeans standing out faintly against the dark denim. There’s a moment of deliberation before she chooses a spot, putting herself where she can have all of them in her line of vision.

[Azra Dzananovic] Her attention turns to Ray then, once he speaks. Her gaze sits squarely on his handsome face. That he says he doesn’t bite induces the faintest of smiles – just an edging of one side of her mouth upward, really.

“No.” She says quietly, “But I do.” Having said that she moves toward the open space Ray offered.

“I did, thank you for your assistance.” The smile given to the Strider tries very hard to be friendly, but there’s something in Azra’s gaze that says she is not capable of being anything remotely close to friendly. At least not genuinely.

“You seem comfortable here. ” Blue eyes cut to Ray. From where she sits, he can very probably smell the Chanel No. 5 she’s wearing. “Maybe you can assist me?”

One leg crosses the other at the knee and Azra doesn’t sit fully back on the couch. Shes sits on the edge of the cushion, hands neat in her lap.

[Ray Ostermann] Ray smirks as Sarita says that hes no fun and he shrugs. “I don’t tend to…I find it a bad idea to bite the wild life.” He gestures back to Azra to emphasize. “They tend to bite back, sometimes in ways I might not enjoy.” He gives Azra a wink before he takes another savouring sip.

Ray laughs and holds his arms out before him, one hand still holding the tumbler of bourbon which flashes in the light. “I am known as a man who can do such things yes.” He says as he lets his arms fall back to the couch and inclines his head ever so slightly towards her. “The multi-million dollar question of course is…what is it that you need assistance with?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She chuckles as Ezra heads toward the kin and shrugs, moving to pick up the remote and take a seat somewhere. Tabitha gets a glance. “What happened to you?”

[Tabitha Reese] “What do you mean, what happened to me?” She hunches a little, hands jabbed further into her pockets.

[Azra Dzananovic] Wild life. When he says this Azra’s top lip twitches just faintly. Blue eyes remain focused on Ray. He is lounging, she sits with her spine straight and posture perfect.

“I need to find my family in your city, yes?” Her accent is a strange mix of something near to Russian and French. “I was told of this place, but no names. I’d like to have names.” Lips painted mauve break apart as she smiles, exposing teeth.

“My name is Azra Dzananaovi&+263;. I’m a child of Thunder.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She points at the blood smear. “Either you rag from your knee, or something happened.”

[Tabitha Reese] She seems less concerned once Sarita points out the blood. She looks down at the still slightly damp in the middle smear and shrugs a shoulder. “Accident.”

[Ray Ostermann] “Ahhhh.” Ray says as he sets the bourbon down on the arm of the couch and sits up a little straighter. “Well that I can certainly help with as he gestures to himself. “A child of Thunder by birth myself.” He says as he pulls a pad of paper and a pen out of his inner coat pocket and goes to write down a few names.

“My name is Ray Ostermann, Kin mind you..the man you will want to find however is named Lukas, most people know him as Wyrmbreaker, hes would be the Tribal elder.”

He keeps writing, getting a list of names going for the woman. “There are a few trueborn of thunder around. I’m sure you’ll meet them in good time.” He says tearing off the paper as he stood and walked to her, offering the paper from between two fingers.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, next time try shaving with a razor, not a broadsword.” She grins. “That might help.”

[Tala Whitedeer] Figures. She sighs heavily to herself as she comes into the room. Her entrance is a bit timid, until she spots Tabitha. She scowls and stomps in that direction.

[Azra Dzananovic] When he gets close enough to hand her the paper she leans in to take it, casually, and closes her eyes to soak up the smell of him. Blue eyes open slowly, like a cat too long lounging in summer sun rays. “You donot smell like Thunder’s blood.” She whispers. The paper is folded and Azra stands, one hand smoothing down the side of her pressed slacks.

“Thank you…” She says, tipping her head to one side. “Enjoy your drink Mr. Ostermann.” Her voice is as quiet and as purposeful as her steps. She directs the sound toward Ray and it doesn’t travel very far if she doesn’t want it too.

(My belly is growling and dinner is DONE *G* I’m off to eat, be back after dinner and Jersey Shore!)

[Tabitha Reese] “It isn’t my blood.” By her tone, she’s missed the sarcasm and just thinks Sarita to be slow.

Tala’s glare is matched with one of her own, but she holds a hand out to her packmate when she gets closer.

[Ray Ostermann] Ray chuckles as she heads off, he himself enjoys the fine smell of her perfume and the quality of her upbringing before shrugging as she heads off. “Not all of us were lucky enough to be born with a class vintage.” He says as he waves professionally to her. “It was a pleasure Ms. Dzananovic.” He says before returning to his seat.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “‘Smell like Thunder’s blood’?” She arches a brow, watching Azra head off before she looks at Ray. “That’s it. I’m bottling a new cologne called “Thunder’s Blood,” just so you can wear it and call bullshit.”

[Ray Ostermann] Ray laughs as his head tilts back ever so slighty and he looks between the women still present and leaned a little closer. “As I said…by birth, right now you could say I’m on permanent loan to another team.” He says with a wink as he leans back and points at Sarita like he likes what shes taking about.

“However…I think I could market that very…very easily.”

[Tabitha Reese] Her eyes flicker to Ray and narrow, very slightly.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smirks at Ray. “I’ll get right on that.” She looks over at Tala. “Hola, chica. S’up?”

[Tala Whitedeer] “You could have said you were going somewhere.”

[Tabitha Reese] “You could have too, and not made me spend all night looking for you.”

[Ray Ostermann] Ray’s no slouch and he notes Tabiltha’s narrowed eyes and he gives her a curious look. “If you have something to say my dear…say it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Ooh, shit. Girl spat. She subtly focuses her attention back to Ray, letting them have their time. “So, we haven’t actually met yet.” She rises and heads over, offering her hand. “Sarita. No-Moon of the Striders.”

[Tabitha Reese] Her attention is abruptly focused on Ray “I. Am. Not. Your. Dear.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Real mature.” She nods at Sarita. “Hi. Sorry. Tabi’s just being a bitch right now.”

[Ray Ostermann] Ray’s attention held briefly on Tabitha, that smile still on his lips even as his eyes grow slightly darker. But then his attention slips to Sarita and the warmth spills back into his eye’s as he holds out a strong hand and gives her a shake. “Ray Ostermann, currently Kin to the Bone Gnawers.” Does he look it, nope, smell it, certainly not…

His eyes then turn back to Tabitha and inclines his head towards her, as if in apology. “My apologies, what do you prefer?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Tala gets a smile and shrug. “Hey, s’between y’all. Me meto donde me necesiten.” A pause. “Or where I might enjoy it.”

She looks back at Ray. “Pleasure to meet you, Ray.” She doesn’t seem wierded out by the Gnawer association. Stranger shit has happened.

[Tabitha Reese] Ray is spared by Tala’s comment, and the Fury’s eyes pin instead on her packmate “I had to clean up your mess, Tala. That’s where I was.”

[Ray Ostermann] Ray also offers his hand to Tala the man used to moving about the room and shaking hands. “The pleasure is mine.” He says in that smooth voice, his face all smiles as he looks at Tabitha one more time. “I’m used to such things, its quite alright.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Yeah. MY fault. Sure. Whatever.” She rolls her eyes and sits.

[Tabitha Reese] “He was a witness, Tal.” She pulls her hand out of her pocket to rake it through her hair, more blood covering her wrist that she doesn’t seem to notice as Ray offers his hand to Tala. She’s on high alert suddenly, watching for trouble that only she can see coming.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Witness? She can’t help but look over at that.

[Ray Ostermann] Ray also perks up at the womans sudden attentiveness wondering precisely what was happening now. His cool was still his however as he picked up what remained of his bourbon and downed it.

[Tala Whitedeer] “You’re just paranoid.”

[Kyle] (Where is everyone?)

[Tabitha Reese] “No such thing.” She relaxes visibly when Ray moves away, hands jammed in her jacket pockets again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Common Room. Sarita near couch, Tabitha and Tala sitting elsewhere, Ray moving away from the two]]

[Tabitha Reese] (Tab and Tal are on the other end of the couch, I thought. Either way!)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “If you guys need an alibi, lemme know.” She grins good-naturedly “I’m good at those.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Yeah. There is. There really is.”

[Tabitha Reese] “I might.” She seems frighteningly serious as she looks at Sarita again.

[Ray Ostermann] Ray checks his watch and looks at the women gathered around him. “If you’ll excuse me ladies, I need to be off myself. Work to be done, and money to be maid…though I’m sure I will see you all quite soon.”

He waves to them all before heading for the stairs. “It’s been a pleasure.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Go wash your hands, Tabitha.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Later, Ray. Nice meeting you.” She lets him go, then turns her direction back to the packmates. “What happened?”

[Kyle] His heavy foot falls on the stairs announce his presence. After all he can’t exactly call out and his humming sure isn’t going to be heard by anyone unless they stood next to him. As he enters the common room people who know him are going to be a little surprised. He’s wearing a rather expensive black suit. Something he could never truely afford given his travelling ways. The suit is tailored and fits him perfectly. Unbuttoning the jacket he dodges around Ray and gives a casual smile and wave before looking to everyone else in the room. He wasn’t expecting people which is obvious from the look of surprise on his face.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her head swivels around to Kyle, and she blinks before smiling. “Well, holy shit.” She smiles and stands, cocking her head to the side. “You clean up nice, you know that?”

[Tabitha Reese] “Why?” She asks Tala, but doesn’t take her eyes off of Ray.

[Tala Whitedeer] “They’re bloody.” She shrugs at Sarita. “Tabitha either hurt or killed someone. You get used to it.”

[Kyle] Gives that grin he has and shrugs as he starts to undoe the blood red tie around his neck.
“Thanks people keep telling me that. Still prefer my casual gear. How’s things?”
Looking to Tala and Tabitha with a confused look.

[Tabitha Reese] “Oh.” She pulls her hands out of her pockets long enough to scowl at them, then jams them back in and hops up to go to the bathroom.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Eh. Got shit hashed out with Ames last night. There was much in the way of yelling, and possibly some middle fingers. But I think we’re cooler now.”

Tala gets another look, curious now. “Anyone who had it coming?”

[Tabitha Reese] She glances back over her shoulder, looking Kyle over before answering Sarita. “He’s a rapist.” There’s a slow, satisfied smile before she amends. “WAS a rapist” And she’s off to the bathroom to wash her hands.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh. Well, then, all good.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Like I said. You kin of get used to it.”

[Kyle] Now he seems even more confused as he watches the ladies. Looks to Sarita and gives a thumbs up.
“Good to hear. Back in a sec. Going to go change.”
Wanders off and vanishes into his room.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She cringes to herself as Kyle heads off. “I hope he doesn’t mind the mess…” She smiles a bit and sits down, nodding to Tala. “Well, like I said. You need an alibi, lemme know. I got lots of alibi skills.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “I don’t know if she does. I’m fine. Thank you, though.” She smiles at Sarita. She seems oddly calmer without Tabitha directly in proximity.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “O’ course.” She leans back, extending her feet as she stretches them. “So let me remember…forgive me, I’ve met a LOT of people so far. From South Dakota, right?”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Well. Not originally but yeah, I was there for a while. From the Qualla originally.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Right. North Carolina, my bad. I’ll take a half-point for a partially correct answer.” A grin. “What brought you two here?”

[Tabitha Reese] She’s examining her hands to make sure she’s gotten all the traces of blood when she gets back, putting them back in her pockets before going to sit on the couch again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her phone vibrates and she checks it, a bit of a frown coming over her face. She texts back and sets it away.

[Tala Whitedeer] “Tabitha did. She knows someone.” She quiet down a little as Tabitha comes back into the room. One can almost literally watch her shrink.

[Tabitha Reese] Oblivious to the shrinking, she settled next to Tala and pats her leg gently. “What are you guys talking about?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks up, looking between them silently for a moment. “Just what brought you guys here.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Just. Like I said. Tabi knows someone.” A quick shrug.

[Kyle] Now he feels human. Wandering back in he’s wearing what he refers to as his casual gear. Long sleeve black shirt and jeans. In his hands he holds his heavy black boots. Around his neck is his familiar black leather collar. His hair remains tied back and neat. Casually he slumps into an available chair and listens.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks over at Kyle and smiles at him when he comes in.

[Tabitha Reese] “Yeah. Tribemate.” She watches Kyle but apparently doesn’t see him as a threat, leaning into Tala a little as she settles in.

[Tala Whitedeer] “I still haven’t met her though.” She wriggles out from under Tabitha. “Where’s the bathroom?”

[Tabitha Reese] She manages to point with her elbow. “Down the hall.”

[Tala Whitedeer] She scurries down the hall.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Did AIM just die for you?]]
to Tabitha Reese

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches Tala go and then looks back to Tabitha. “That’s cool. Nice to know people in the city you’re headed to…”

[Tabitha Reese] AIM and ICQ, yeah.
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Good, not just me then.]]
to Tabitha Reese

[Tabitha Reese] “What did you say to her?” Her tone is nothing less than accusatory as she glares over at Sarita.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I didn’t say anything, chica.” She seems unoffended by the glare, smiling it off. “Literally, just got a reminder where she’s from and asked what brought you guys here.”

[Tabitha Reese] “Then why is she cowering?”

[Tabitha Reese] Not even Express on the AIM site is working. Bah.
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Kyle] Rasises a brow as he watches the unsuual conversation. HE’s not sure what he’s missed but can see in his eyes he’s wondering if he should get out of the way.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “That’s a very good question.” She looks right at Tabitha. “Didn’t start until you walked back in.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Try now, mine are back]]
to Tabitha Reese

[Tabitha Reese] “Bullshit.” She settles in on the couch, looking Kyle over again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’.”

[Tabitha Reese] “We’ll see”

[Tala Whitedeer] She comes back down the hall, sitting back down carefully.

[Tabitha Reese] She gives Tala a quick smile, reaching up to muss her hair. “You okay?”

[Tala Whitedeer] She allows Tabitha to muss her hair, then readjusts the flowers. “I’m fine.”

[Tabitha Reese] “I’m sorry, okay? I should have told you where I was going, but you would have tried to stop me.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She just shrugs and sits back, looking to Kyle. “So, what was with the penguin suit?”

[Tala Whitedeer] She shrugs at Tabitha.

[Tabitha Reese] “Don’t be mad, okay?” She puts an arm around Tala and pulls her closer.

[Tala Whitedeer] “I’m not mad.” She gets pulled closer to Tabitha, not resisting.

[Tabitha Reese] She settles in with her packmate, giving Sarita a satisfied smirk.

[Tala Whitedeer] “So. Um. Anyway.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She pretends to ignore the smirk, though there’s no way that’s possible. This one…she saves shit away for later, and then drops memory grenades when they’re at their deadliest.

[Tabitha Reese] “Anyway what?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Did we lose you?]]
to Kyle

[Tala Whitedeer] “I don’t know. What were we talking about?”

[Tabitha Reese] “Sarita thinks that I make you uncomfortable.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks back at Tala and Tabitha. “Not a hell of a lot, really. So other than killing rapists…A+ on that, by the way…how’s the city treating you?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Party foul. I’m callin’ five seconds rule on those words…they were totally on the floor for more than that before you put them in my mouth.”

[Tabitha Reese] She appears to be about to say something about Sarita’s first statement, before blinking in utter confusion at the second.

[Tala Whitedeer] “I…Huh?” She looks confused, then apparently decides to focus on one set of words. “The city is nice. As cities go I guess.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You. Put words. In My Mouth.”

[Tabitha Reese] “Isn’t that what you said though? That she wasn’t uncomfortable until I came back?”

[Tala Whitedeer] She speaks up, tone clearly desperate. “I don’t know about the food, though. I don’t know how you people get by with that crap.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Not exactly. But let’s let it drop, cool?” She smiles at Tala. “Ain’t my choice-a food, I swear. Definitely different than back home.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Yeah. I don’t care for it.” There’s definitely still desperation in her tone, and she’s not quite looking at Tabitha.

[Tabitha Reese] “Jesus, Tal. Relax.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “I’m -fine-.”

[Tabitha Reese] She reaches over, gently grabbing Tala’s chin and turning her head to make the other woman look at her. “You’re not acting fine.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Stop.” Her tone becomes a bit whiny, almost childish.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She sighs, letting them work it out. Probably for the best.

[Tabitha Reese] She scowls and lets go of her chin.

[Tala Whitedeer] She looks back at Sarita. “Where are you from?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “New Mexico, originally. A little tiny place outside of Albuquerque. Been all over since then.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Oh. That sounds nice.”

[Tabitha Reese] Tabitha settles in to stew, watching Tala.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “It was pretty cool…I enjoyed growing up there, I guess.” She smiles. “Good as any other place, I guess. Better’n most, even.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “I’ve only seen pictures.” She shrugs, obviously making an effort to ignore Tabitha’s stare.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Totally different world than here.” Her tone is warm and fond as she talks about home. “I know a lot of people look at the desert in a bad light, but growing up there…fantastic. I loved it.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “It sounds very lovely.”

[Tabitha Reese] “I’ve never been to the desert.” Her gaze moves from Tala suddenly, fixing on Sarita now.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, I ain’t gonna lie…there were shit parts of it too. Happens all around, no matter where you go. Meth heads, cops more concerned with border jumpers than murderers and so on.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “That’s everywhere you go.” She shrugs.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “True.” She looks at Tabitha. “You should go some time. You can get away from all this city shit for the most part. It’s peaceful. Free.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[The “ture” was to Tala]]

[Tabitha Reese] “Nowhere is peaceful. There is evil everywhere you go.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Jesus, Tabi.”

[Tabitha Reese] “What? It’s true. I was tortured in one of the most peaceful places in the country. You can’t escape it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “No, she’s right.” She nods. “I ain’t saying there isn’t evil there. Note that I did say, ‘for the most part,’ chica. But it’s not all hell, like some of the rest of the world.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “No wonder you’re so pissy, if that’s how you feel.”

[Tabitha Reese] She scowls at Tala “I’m not pissy.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “You realize how ridiculous that was with you glaring at me, right?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] And this is one where the jokester girl is smart enough to stay quiet and let them argue.

[Tabitha Reese] “How are you and your sister getting settled in?” She looks to Sarita, trying to calm her growing irritation.

[Tala Whitedeer] “Now you ignore it. Great.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Fairly well. Only one major screaming match so far.” She grins, arms folding over her chest. “I consider that to be a very good start.”

[Tabitha Reese] “Screaming match?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah, screaming match.” She nods. “We’re sisters. Fairly new to being sisters, but sisters nonetheless. Therehow, we are biologically implanted with the ability to piss each other off in ways that no one else in the WORLD can.” A smirk. “That’s just kinda how it work, y’know?”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Which one is your sister?”

[Tabitha Reese] “No. I don’t have any siblings. My mother died when I was very young.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Amy,” she says to Tala. “She’s crashin’ in Kyle’s room with me. …when she’s actually crashing here, anyway.”

She looks at Tabitha and nods. “I didn’t either, until a year ago. Grew up an only child. My mom died when I was fifteen and dad wasn’t around…not the same, but I know what that’s like, in a way.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Oh. I don’t remember her.” She shrugs, looking over at Tabitha.

[Tabitha Reese] “Tal and Rollie are the closest thing I’ve ever had to siblings.”

[Tala Whitedeer] She grits her teeth. “Tabitha.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Um…maybe a new topic?” She purses her lips, looking between the two. [[Sorry, got busy there for a few.]]

[Tabitha Reese] She sighs at Tala. “Fuck’s sake, Tal. I loved him. I’m not going to go the rest of my life not talking about him because he died.” She nods to Sarita. “A new topic might be good. Have you found any packs to look into yet?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She snorts in amusement. “I wish. I know of lots of individuals, but like one pack. And they got enough issues without me crowding my own in.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “You two fought ALL the time.”

[Tabitha Reese] “That doesn’t mean I didn’t love him.” She shrugs at Tala, then nods at Sarita. “Seem to be a lot of floaters around here. That might be good for forming something new.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “ALL the time. Over everything. You got in a fistfight over fucking pizza toppings.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “That could have its benefits, yeah.”

[Tabitha Reese] “He wanted to put pineapple and tomatoes together, for fuck’s sake”

[Tala Whitedeer] “You don’t fistfight people over that.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I’ve heard of fistfights over worse…”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Hell, she’s HAD fistfights over worse, not that she’ll mention it. You put my gun in the sock drawer, you crazy bitch was not a quote anyone but her sister ever needed to know came out of her lips.

[Tabitha Reese] “He was a Fenrir. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t fistfight over.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Whatever.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You just described…well, at least three tribes off the top of my head, chica.”

[Tabitha Reese] “They’re the worst offenders, though. Generally.”

[Tala Whitedeer] She’s sitting back in the couch, arms crossed tightly over her chest, scowling at the world.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, if you include the word fist instead of claw, yes.” She shrugs and sits back. “Anyway. What about you guys? Who’ve you met so far?”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Pretty much you. Some pretty boy child of Fenris.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “That’s it?” She blinks. “Jesus.”

[Tabitha Reese] “Remy” She nods. “And Hunter, and Howard.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “Who are those people?”

[Tabitha Reese] “Remy is the pretty boy Fenrir. Hunter is Howard’s friend.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hunter and Howard I know. Let’s see…and Howard’s packmate Patrick. A ton of kinfolk. Um…Mila, Lukas, Katherine…couple others, I think.”

[Tala Whitedeer] “So you’re close to Howard now?”

[Tabitha Reese] “I wouldn’t say close…”

[Tala Whitedeer] “What WOULD you say?”

[Tabitha Reese] “You know what I say? I say I’m going back to the motel” She stands up, scowling. “Sarita, nice to see you again.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “See you, Tabitha.” She nods to her. “Have a good one.”

[Tala Whitedeer] She stands as well. “This isn’t over.”

[Tabitha Reese] “It should be, since there’s nothing to even argue about.” She nods to Sarita, and heads out.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches the two. It’s like watching a boxing match without a ring, referee, or any actual punches being thrown, really.

[Tala Whitedeer] “Good night.” She scowls and heads out after Tabitha.

While Amy Pisses Off a Cop and Just Gets Pissed, Sarita Finds Her Quarry

[Amunet Trujillo] (Scene in a random trashy bar okay with you guys? Or is that not something that Izzy would be in?)

[Izzy Montoya] (*L* she lives in random trashy bars. 🙂 )

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Trashy bar is ALWAYS good for Sarita. :D]]

[Amunet Trujillo] (Woo!)

“Get your fucking hand OFF of my ass, or you’re going to lose it!” The dark haired Kin shouts the threat to be heard over the music, and it’s accompanied by the ‘Please, PLEASE fuck with me’ expression that Sarita has come to know well.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins widely, stabbing through a french fry with a toothpick as Amy bitches some poor sap out. “You’re way too nice, you know? Giving warning an’ all that shit. Most people our kind, they just take the hand as a fuckin’ trophy.” The duster is back on today, though her top and pants are the same ones from last night; the tank top white with “Destination: Grassy Knoll” printed on it where the ‘o’ is a set of crosshairs.

[Izzy Montoya] One of the less savory parts of investigation involves trying to get answers out of folks that do not want to get involved. It’s not their business, their place; they worry that to say anything makes them suspect, they fear the law, they fear she’ll see more than they want her too, they worry that she’ll shut them down, figure out that they’re skimming the till, scamming the patrons, dealing drugs out the back door, beating their girlfriend. It’s not easy, is the point, and most think it’s not fun.

Izzy lives for this shit.

Someone, someone yells at another person to remove their hand or lose it, and Izzy is leaned against the bar, leaning toward the current tender – who hates the Sunday afternoon shift more than life itself. Loud music beating on Saturday hangovers and people still trying to put their hands where they don’t belong, and the tips are shit, as they already gave it all away in the wee hours of the morning. There’s a photo on the counter in front of him, and she points to it.

“Focus. When?” Her attention is on him, seemingly on him alone. But she misses very little of what’s going on around her just the same.

[Amunet Trujillo] There’s another yell a few seconds later. This one comes from the man, when his fingers are suddenly yanked back and snapped. Oops.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She snorts in amusement, reaching out with a long leg and shoving the guy, now cradling his fingers in pain, back. “Shoulda taken the warning, dick cheese. Run along and be happy you still got fingers left period.”

[Amunet Trujillo] He considers doing something about it, but then just slinks away cradling his broken fingers in his other hand. Amy looks pleased with herself, slapping another ten on the bar and signaling for two more shots. “Hey! Sugar! We’re dying down here. Flirt and pour at the same time.”

Either she’s unaware that he’s being questioned by a cop, or just doesn’t care.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You know,” she says conversationally, lighting up a cigarette. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you stuck said ass out a little, just to invite people to get a hold. Some would call that entrapment.”

[Izzy Montoya] The tender looks down, and mumbles something. Izzy nods, and with barely a glance down the way at the ruckus, until they summon the guy she’s talking too. Izzy doesn’t bother looking, just holds up her badge. “You’ll continue to die until I’m finished, or I’ll have to look into assault charges.”

Everything about Izzy screams cop, from the way she stands to the way she talks, even to the way she dresses – business casual, slacks, tailored blouse, subdued and functional. Not to mention the bulge at the small of her back under the leather jacket.

For Sarita, it also screams something else: Fenrir. The blood that flows through her is ripe with history of warriors and heroes that show no mercy and kick copious amounts of ass.

To the tender again, she asks another question, this time while picking up the photo and tucking it back into the inside pocket of her jacket. He speaks, she nods, then tosses a couple of bills on the table. “Whiskey. Neat. Keep the change.”

Well paid for his information, he serves her, first.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Some can go fuck themselves” She grins at Sarita, then loks to the bartender again. “Who do I have to fuck to get a drink?”

[Izzy Montoya] She picks up her drink, and salutes Amunet with it. “Me, apparently.” Then, with a smirk, she lifts her glass to her lips, taking a healthy swallow or two.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Well then haul it over here!” She laughs, waving the ten at the bartender.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks down the bar at Izzy, brow furrowing as she tries to place her from somewhere. She’s seen her once or twice before, she’s sure of it…she’s just not sure WHERE. There was a fair amount that went on last night after all, and her focus wasn’t on Izzy. her head does tilt to the side though, and she smiles, nodding to the Fenrir.

“You know…you’d think I would be able to remember a face. I used to be good at that…”

[Izzy Montoya] “In your dreams.”

She settles to the seat where she’s at, pulls out her phone, scrolling through the messages there with the practiced ease of someone firmly connected to her job via mobile devise. If she’s aware that she’s being studied, it doesn’t seem to bother her. Or she’s choosing to ignore it. For now.

[Amunet Trujillo] “I thought you didn’t go for skinny bitches, sis.” She nudges Sarita as the woman studies the Fenrir kin.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I don’t go for bitches period, remember? Straight and narrow here. Now behave, you.” It’s good-natured, not a serious order and more of a tease. Sarita doesn’t order her sister around, at least when frivolity comes into play. They’re perfectly capable of being equally frivolous, and Sarita would never deny Amy that. “I know her from somewhere. And she’s extended fam.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Oh.” She twists around to study the other Kin.

[Izzy Montoya] “Hey!” Fortunately it’s the tender she’s signaling again. “Gimme a phone book, and when you deliver those – tell them to take a fuckin’ picture, will ya? Lasts longer.”

He smirks, slaps the phone book down in front of her, before heading down to the sisters to serve them and pass on the message they could hear perfectly well themselves.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She chuckles when the message is relayed, taking her shot and moving down the bar a little so she’s within closer-than-shouting distance to Izzy. “Problem is, I prefer moving pictures. And since a video camera won’t film itself…well, I might as well be here without the easily stolen and pawned-item.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “You can set them up to film by themselves, though. Remember that guy in Phoenix with the…” She lets it trail off, moving along with Sarita and nodding at Izzy. “Hey.”

[Izzy Montoya] She hears the part about stolen and pawned items, and comments dryly.

“Missed the fuckin’ badge, did ya?” It’s said with a smirk, though she doesn’t look up from the phone book she’s thumbing through.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey, I wouldn’t be the stealer and pawner in this case. I’d be the victim.” She takes a lean on the bar next to Izzy at this point. “So maybe I got a crime to report.” There’s a definite humor in her tone. She’s kidding. Probably. Or she finds it hilarious that she’s been stolen from.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Should report those fucking pants she’s wearing to the fucking Fashion Police.” She takes her shot, slamming the empty glass back down on the bar.

[Izzy Montoya] “Call 911. I’m Homicide.”

Helpful bitch, ain’t she? She finds the number she’s looking for, and keys it into her phone and hits save before she closes the phone book and slides it back across the bar.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She actually looks like she’s considering pretending to report a homicide, but even Sarita’s not quite that crazy. “Sounds like a fun job.”

[Izzy Montoya] She arches a brow, slightly, and turns to study Sarita for a long moment.

“Really.” It’s said dryly, without hint of humor. Her dark eyes show none, either, though she has the look of one who’s well used to keeping her thoughts to herself, without letting them be read through her gaze. “How so?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh, you know. Plenty of mysteries and puzzles to suss out. Bad guys to catch. Get to carry a gun and not be arrested for it.” She grins. “I imagine the fam’s proud of you, ay?”

[Izzy Montoya] “You watch too much TV.” As for the family, she smirks. “Doubtful, at best.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Why not? You’re useful, in a good position. All the shit your type is supposed to be, right?”

[Izzy Montoya] She arches a brow, slightly. “And what, exactly, is ‘my type’? A well trained dog is also useful, and presumably in a good position at least once in a while.” A beat. “Are you calling me a well-trained bitch?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “I’m calling you relation. Kin, you might say. Whether or not you’re a well trained bitch isn’t any of my business.” She signals for drinks again, with a twenty this time. “Her too.”

[Izzy Montoya] Something tightens in her brow, around the corner of her mouth, before it clears away.

“You may call me Detective Montoya.” Not kin, the insinuation. It serves as much as an introduction as she’s going to give at the moment, as well.

[Casey Steward] Arguements, chatting, music and the general din of the bar mingles ever so briefly with the sound of the door opening. Fresh off the boat, or maybe the plane, or hell maybe the back of a pickup truck is the best way to describe the tall 6’2 fella who steps through the door. He looks fresh from the road, from somewhere not here, his leather jacket faded and dusty, his jeans faded and patchy.

He steps to the bar with a slow even pace and tosses the duffle in against the foot banister as he slides up onto a stool. “Dear god give me a beer.” He says to the bartender, his voice is tired, strained and very very thirsty.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey, if it helps any, I call this one a poorly-trained bitch.” She nods her head to Amy with a smirk. “And I’m just a bitch, period.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “We can pretty much call you whatever the fuck we decide to call you, Sugartits. That’s how this works.”

[Izzy Montoya] “Not at all how it works. Nice try though.”

She stands, and slips her phone into her pocket, and turns to head toward the door.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She pauses, looking over her shoulder to Casey, and then back to Amy with a raised brow at her half-sister’s comment. “Hay que ser agradable…

[Casey Steward] His eyes linger on the bartender only long enough for the beer to reach his hand, and then sight is forsaken for a long, thirsty chug of alcohol, its barely even relished, barely tasted, the man just needed to get the thing in his system and then he’d take the time to feel the ground under his feet.

The drink set down, now nearly half empty the blue eyes beneath his short blonde hair takes a moment to survey his surroundings, his eyes falling first and foremost on the three woman down the bar who were chatting, bickering, or maybe getting ready to brawl.

He listens to Sarita speak as well, and for a moment it seems like he might very well understand her, but if he does, he gives no further sign of it as he picks up that beer and takes another drink.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Estoy siempre es agradable.” Her eyes follow Casey as he picks the beer up and drinks.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Dar órdenes no es ser amable.” She moves to follow after Izzy. “Detective. Hold up.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Ella empezó.” She doesn’t move from her spot, attention divided between Sarita and Casey now..

[Izzy Montoya] She smirks, slightly, as they resort to another language to her back. She shakes her head, and mutters to herself as she dials the phone and lifts it to her ear.

Only to be told to wait. She lifts her free hand to press her thumb and forefinger on either side of the bridge of her nose, and to whomever has answered the phone. “Montoya. Hang on.”

Then she turns, the phone against her should. She arches a brow, slightly.

[Casey Steward] Casey watches with mild amusement as Izzy heads for the door. His tired eyes ever so briefly meeting the anger in her’s before a small tired chuckle issues from his lips. He takes a moment then, a long moment to wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve before looking back down the bar to the other two and shakes his head.

When Sarita tries to stop her…its an honest moment of surprise for the man and hooded eyes open slightly wider before he looks at Sarita. “You know its usually not wise to play with the rattlesnake once it’s started to rattle.” He says in an unconcerned voice, a slight smirk registering on his lips.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Forgive my sister. She sometimes forgets her manners. Or what manners are. And sometimes, how to eat with utensils.” She smiles a bit. “Wasn’t trying to chuck any weight around or anything like that, okay? No harm, no foul. Cool?”

[Izzy Montoya] “I don’t believe in forgiveness, nor will I forget it. I, however, have no intention of alerting the Jarl that you cannot keep your kin in line. It is not my place, nor do I give a fuck. I simply have better things to do with my time than shoot every foul mouthed little bitch who forgets she has manners.”

A beat. And a smirk. “Besides – it’d be a waste of bullets. She has the look of one that won’t learn shit anyway.”

[Casey Steward] Casey turns, and with a sigh leans back against the bar and crosses his legs watching the moment unfold….sure as hell wasn’t his place to interfere.

[Amunet Trujillo] More of her attention turns to Casey now, as Sarita explains to yet another person that Amy can’t behave in public, blah blah blah.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her expresions takes on a heightened look of amusement. “In all honestly, I don’t give a rat’s hot patootie, bless my soul, et cetera who you were planning on informing. I was talking to you as a person, since I figured you deserved the respect of that. This was me playing nice and trying to treat you like a person, and you kinda throwin’ it back in my face. No offense, but that’s kind of a shitty thing to do, y’know?”

[Casey Steward] The man’s head cants slowly and almost lazily to the side as he looks from Sarita, to Izzy and then finally in a long lazy swoop over towards Amunet that small smirk still upon his lips, not going anywhere, much like the man who owned it.

“Should I be moving further away?” He asks Amunet, a hand casually gesturing towards the pair before him. “I like front row seats, but I don’t like being labeled as collateral.”

[Izzy Montoya] It’s kind of a shitty thing to do. She actually chuckles. “Welcome to Chicago.”

And she lifts her phone to her ear, again and turns on her heel to start her way to the door again. “Finn – meet me at Roys. I don’t give a shit, 30 minutes, Roys.”

She turns off the phone and slips it into her pocket again.

[Amunet Trujillo] “I doubt either of them can fight for shit, so it’ll probably just be a lot of hair pulling and name calling.” She slides closer to him, half watching the discussion again.

[Casey Steward] “You’d have lost that bet.” He says Idly as he folds his hands across his stomach and watches Izzy turn to go. “Unless your friend is going to pull one out from behind.” He cracks his neck to one side and sighs as his gaze slowly travels over to Amunet once more.

“Casey.” His voice oh so casual as one hand comes up from his stomach to offer a shake.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Amy.” She offers her most charming smile and hand to shake, giving his a slight squeeze. “Sarita has a few tricks up her sleeve”

[Casey Steward] His smirk neither rises nor falls as she offers him a charming, and certainly appealing smile. Infact the man almost looks like hes ready for an afternoon siesta if anything. He returns the squeeze, his hands calloused and slightly rough before he rests his hand on his stomach once more.

“No tricks of your own?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] He hand goes up, the bird directed back at Amy without looking that way. Which, really, could probably be interpreted at aimed at Casey if her aim is bad. “Listen, I been to a lot of shithole places, Detective. And I’ve learned that it’s not the shithole that deserves the blame for being shitty. It’s those who makes it that way.” She shrugs. “You wanna take a single comment and never let it go, you feel free. But after this, we’ll both know that I tired to make it right, and it was you who decided to make a problem.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Oh, I’ve got a few.” She looks him over once more before turning her attention back to Sarita.

[Izzy Montoya] She waves over her shoulder as Sarita talks. “This is me walking away, which by definition ends the problem. Otherwise I’d have already shot her.” And with that, she slips out the door.

She might be joking.
Doubtful, but possible.

[Casey Steward] The finger, quite possibly aimed at Casey simply gets a brief lazy wave and an ever so slight chuckle as the man reaches around behind himself slowly to grab his beer. “Mmmm beer and a show.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shakes her head and turns, coming back. “If she tries to shoot you Am, I don’t give a shit if she’s a cop or not. Shoot her ass back.”

[Casey Steward] Another tired laugh issues from the blonde after he licks some beer foam from his lips. “Sounds like a sound strategy, though the smarter strategy is always to shoot first.” It comes off like a moto, or a slogan, or it might have if the man didn’t seem so laid back he might be in a coma.

He then looks casually up at Sarita and cants his head over to the side once more. “You must make friends everywhere you go.”

[Bridget Geroux] [May I join?]
to Amunet Trujillo, Casey Steward, Izzy Montoya, Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Amunet Trujillo] “She’s a charmer, that’s for sure.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[I’m cool wit it!]]
to Amunet Trujillo, Bridget Geroux, Casey Steward, Izzy Montoya

[Casey Steward] “Oh the height of charm, I can just see the charm school training in her.” He says with a casual wave of his hand, gesturing in her direction that smirk never fading. His gaze slipping over to Amunet to give a barely noticeable wink.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She chuckles and shrugs. “Oh, I totally make friends. I made at least three of them last night.” She pauses. “Friends are people who threaten and-slash-or yell at you, right? I always get confused about that…”

[Amunet Trujillo] She laughs, head back for a minute, sliding just a touch closer to Casey in the process.

[Bridget Geroux] Heavens only know how Bridget gets around Chicago like she does with a low income and no car, but good goddamn, she does. This particular shitty bar happens to only be a few blocks from Legends, and their Very late night fiasco last night nearly turned into a full-scale brawl on several occasions. Maybe Sarita threw her a text a while ago and she’s only now getting here. Who knows?

Bridget enters this random shitty bar with a pair of highly reflective shades reminiscent of Jackie-O. She hasn’t changed since last night, but she has showered. The Fianna kin stumbles over the doorstep into the bar, wearing the same navy tee, black vest, dark-wash jeans, kitten heels, and studded leather jacket as the night before. An overstuffed canvas bag hangs from one shoulder. It looks heavy. The Canadian makes her way to the bar and immediately orders up the least shitty bottled lager they have available.

She spots Sarita and waves.

[Casey Steward] “Oh most certainly, the very best of friends are the one’s who use guns, so you and that lady are just bosom buddies.” He shakes his head, ever smirking as he picks up his beer and holds it up.

“To your new found friendship.” The sarcasm roiling of his tongue, even as he seems to be filled with good cheer, despite the sleepy nature of the man.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins at Casey, then looks over and notices Bridget. The kin gets a smile from her and a wave. “Hey, chica. How’d you wake up this morning?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “We could be friends.” She doesn’t even bother to hide her direct suggestion, reaching and plucking the beer out of Casey’s hand to take a sip before handing it back.

[Dina OOC] (Does anyone mind if I pop in a playtest character for about a little bit? I only have about 40 minutes to an hour?)
to Amunet Trujillo, Bridget Geroux, Casey Steward, Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Casey Steward] Casey’s gaze shifts over to Amunet, who snuck his beer right out of his hands, and the man chuckles. “I’m afraid I left my gun in my hotel. But if you think we can work around it.” He says before taking another lazy drink.

[Kyle] (Mind if I join in and were is everyone?)

[Bridget Geroux] The chick groans and makes her way over to Sarita. She doesn’t know… most of the people here, but she’s unphased. The Canadian groans a complaint of how she woke up this morning.

“Unnnngh. Jack and Jane don’t play nice.”

[Amunet Trujillo] (Just a random, crappy bar, and the more the merrier!)

[Bridget Geroux] [I don’t mind. Some random shitty dive bar.]

[Casey Steward] [Dont mind at all Dark, and they are all at the bar inside, Amunet sitting next to Casey, Sarita standing a little off talking to Bridget.]

[Amunet Trujillo] “I didn’t know that they were detachable like that.” Another twenty is waved to signal for another round.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Fine with me too. 🙂 Though I will ask for a close for now Kyle and Dina/Azra. Any more would make it a wee bit crowded for me in my present capacity.]]

[Casey Steward] “Oh they’re versatile alright, concealable for easy travel, but packing a punch that surprises.” Casey finishes off his beer with a contented sigh as he looks at the twenty in Amunet’s hand and the round that was in the works.

“Am I about to bite off more then I can chew?” The smirk holding true as he stretches ever so slightly.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles and reaches out, gently squeezing Bridget’s shoulder. “No, they usually don’t. And Jose don’t play nice with anyone as a rule. He’s a snippity little fucker. I’ll take it easy on you though and not mercilessly tease ya.”

[Bridget Geroux] Sarita elicits a toothy grin from the part-feral chit. She bumps into the Ragabash lightly, then sips her beer sheepishly.

“I appreciate it. I get enough of it from my own Tribe, but then there’s Hunter and Simon. They kick my ass to keep it real now and then.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Very, very possibly.” Se gives a cheerful nod, glancing over to Sarita and Bridget, then back to the bartender.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Yeah. Kinda got a taste of that last night.” She pauses, the smile mellow just a touch. “You think everyone’s gonna be okay. Patrick seemed…well. He seemed like he seemed.”

[Casey Steward] “Goody, I always liked jumping in feet first.” Another chuckle as he slides his empty back across the bar his gaze languidly sliding up to look at Sarita and Bridget before his head gently rolls back to Amunet.

“Now those two…they must hate each others gut’s to be that friendly.” His voice still audible to all, yet conspiratorial for Amunet as he gestures in their direction with a thumb.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Yeah. I don’t know who the fuck that is.” She scowls a little, clearly not comfortable with the fact.

[Azra Dzananovic] This random, crappy bar just happened to be in Azra’s path. When she moves through the door, the electricity within the confined space of the building seems to double. Azra’s a woman of delicate of stature – 5’4 and no more than 110 pounds. A pair of high heels give her height and the A-line of her skirt (hem resting just above her knees) gives off the illusion of legs that are longer than they truly are.

There is something inherently wicked about Azra. Blue eyes fringed with dark black eyelashes are too cold, her lips are perfectly painted a blood shade of red. Her well manicured nails are the same color. Dark hair hangs in perfect waves to the middle of her back. Even though this bar doesn’t seem a glove fit for the young woman, she manages not to seem too out of place.

Just above the hum of conversation and other bar noise her heels click on the flooring.

“Vodka.” She says to the bartender once at the bar. Jacket removed, it exposes a long sleeve black shirt made of a very fine, linen material. A hip rises to meet the stool and she sits, a red fingernail drawing a bowl of salty pretzels and peanuts closer to her reach.

[Bridget Geroux] Bridget wasn’t privy to Patrick’s tirade, so she doesn’t really know what’s going on in that respect. She does know that she missed out on something, that she has words for both of them that don’t involve talking down to a couple of Garou who are already constantly inebriated as well as being slightly fucked in the head.

The Canadian smirks, shrugs, and finds a chair or stool to collapse in. She notices two people she doesn’t know staring in her direction. Maybe she’s been chillin with Caldera too much, because she simply stares right back with her Jackie-O shades, then makes a box with her forefinger and thumb, making a camera clicking motion close to her right eye before she goes back to her beer.

“I don’t know what Patrick’s issue is. Howard is just as fucked up. They won’t talk to me, and they’re basically the only …ya know… family members of mine in the city that I can actually get a hold of. It’s somewhat disheartening.”

A dark edge of excess Rage entering the room causes the Fianna kin to look around, but she doesn’t find the source.

[Kyle] Most everyone knows the gothic Strider for his casual and carefree attitude. But tonight he’s finding it a little tricky to smile as he makes his way into the bar. A quick glance and he spots who he needed to speak to, a rather rough looking thug siting alone at a table in a corner. Passing around patrons and ignoring the usual looks he gets given he nods absently to the guy before sitting down without asking. The pair seem to be talking for a while when Kyle reaches into his trench and slides an envelope across the table. The guy opens it up and reads the letter it contained. Solemnly the guys then stands and walks around to Kyle who simply remains seated and looking at where the guy had been sitting. A large hand placed on Kyle’s shoulder in silent thanks before the guy leaves the bar. Leaving Kyle alone now at the table in silence.

[Casey Steward] Casey’s face shifts ever so slightly into something that might…might be amusement as his eyes roll from Amunet over to Bridget and Sarita before he turns about on the barstool and gives Amunet a few slow pats on the leg.

“Well then you better go find out hmmm?” He say’s it like its an idea, an idea which might amuse him, at the same time his eye’s suggest otherwise. “Or you could switch your order to Jose and see how you stand against the man.”

[Amunet Trujillo] She snorts. “Cuervo? That’s the best you can do, boy?” She nods, signaling for the tequilla shots. “You’re on.”

[Casey Steward] He slowly pulls himeself up into something that resembled a straight backed position and uttered one more sigh as he cracked his neck back and forth. “Lock and load.” He says cheerily with a hooded smile as he picks up the first shot and downs it smoothly. His eyes on Amunet, amused to be certain now.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Three each.” She points between the two of them. “Curevo. Straight up. None of that pussy assed salt and lime shit.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She glances up at Azra as she comes in, brow arched a moment as she gives the woman an appraising look. It’s short though, followed by a grin and nod before she looks back to Bridget. “Oh shit…yeah, you woke up right after that bit, huh? Or in the midst, tail-end…something.”

She pauses, not quite sure how to explain. What’s the polite way to say Your Tribemate was a pretty freakishly suicidal nutbag last night? That’s not the right wording, Sarita…think, think. She opens her mouth and shuts it, then opens it once more and pauses for a second before speaking.

“Patrick…kinda lost it. And in a…not exactly safe for himself way. Willingly, sweetie.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Kyle also gets a notice, and she throws him a brief, warm smile as well as a quick inquiring look that asks if he’s okay after last night without actually vocalizing it.

[Kyle] Now that his job was done his brain kicks into gear and looks to Sarita just as she looks his way. Forcing that smile back onto his face he slowly stands and makes his way towards her. The cheerful goth now noticing Bridget and Amunet. Not sure who Casey was and curious about the slight gap around Azra as he walks over to Sarita. A casual nod to both ladies as he stops near them.

[Azra Dzananovic] With her Vodka on the bar Azra takes a drink and chases it with a handful of peanuts. Her eyes begin to wander across the bar. There aren’t many candidates willing to take a seat next to the Rage filled Ahroun – though that doesn’t seem to be a major concern at the moment.

Sarita had offered a nod and a grin when she walked past and Azra offered the same – though her expression seemed more thought out. It was less effortless. Money is left on the bar and with the vodka in one hand the brunette Garou moves closer toward Sarita.

There is a very precise saunter to Azra’s movements, like she has at one time perhaps studied dance. Blood red lips slice a gash across her face exposing white, dangerous, perfect teeth.

Not interrupting at first, her eyes take note of every body within arm’s reach of where she stands. To most it’s an uncomfortable stare that leaves them adjusting their weight in their seat.

[Amunet Trujillo] The bartender lines six shots up and Amy slides over the cash to cover them, plus a generous tip to ensure that any that follow come quickly. Fingers around the first glass, she’s entirely too amused as she looks over Casey and makes a guess as to how long before he calls it quits. “Ready, sugar?”

[Amunet Trujillo] (Jesus christ, that was about twice as much punctuation as was necessary.)

[Bridget Geroux] Bridget notices Kyle and waves him over before turning to look back at Sarita.

“Whaddya mean? Like… ling Simon something awful about his mom sorta lost it, or is it something like I should haul ass over to the Packhouse to make sure none of them have overdosed on H sorta lost it?”

That source of Rage she felt previously makes its way over to where Sarita and Bridget are. The kinfolk, startled, jumps and nearly spills her beer. No party foul occurs, but it’s close.

Saint-ciboire de tabarnac!” the Quebecois hisses in a low voice, clearly taken aback.

[Bridget Geroux] [telling Simon*]

[Casey Steward] Casey eyes the six shots, and shakes his head slowly before his blue eyes fall on Amunet once more. “If you insist I’m sure I can manage.” He says as he picks up a shot as well and winks one more time for Amunet. “I wouldn’t hold it against you if you tossed in the towel you know.”

He shivers for a moment, as his eyes move instinctively to Azra, before he shakes out his shoulders and looks back to Amunet. “1….2….3.” And it begins.

[Marni] So, here’s the thing. There’s a thousand places in Chicago where one can get a decent batch of fries – but there’s only one that happens to be open and close to where she now stands. Run down dive bars should be the very last place she frequents at this point, but here she is, anyway. The door opens, and she walks (do NOT tell her she waddles… dangerous words, those) and enter one so-pregnant-she-could-pop-at-any-moment Gnawer off the street.

She unbuttons her coat, and sets a hand on her swollen midsection, before making her way toward the bar and hoisting her girth to the barstool. The bartender gives her a look, and she snorts. “I ain’t drinkin – I know. But couldyawouldyapleaaaaase get me some fries?”

No one argues with the pregnant woman. “And water. God I miss beer…”

[Amunet Trujillo] She snorts again, downing her three in quick succession, each glass slammed noisily on the bar when she’s emptied it.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Like…” She frowns, looking around. Azra’s presence near them clearly doesn’t bother her…but then, Sarita’s the kind of person who’s crazy enough to face down a Shadow Lord Ahroun and literally ask them to kick her ass. Bridget can vouch for that as an eyewitness. She looks back, lowering her voice as she leans in close to Bridget.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Like he pissed me off and I got in his face, and he literally told me to kill him. ‘Obliterate’ was the exact word. And he meant it.”
to Bridget Geroux

[Casey Steward] Its a sound much like gun fire as the pair of them rattle off their shots. Both are of course…standing at the end. “Well…that was tasty.” He says wiping his hands on his pants before smirking at Amunet as he pulls out another twenty to sit ontop of hers. “I don’t know about you but I’m still thirsty.” He says languidly as another row lines up before them.

[Amunet Trujillo] “I’m surprised, since this shit is like water.” She smirks and raises the first of the second round, then swallows it down.

[Casey Steward] Casey of course follows suit, his tongue licking the excess from his lips as he returns her smirk and raises a hooded brow in question. “Well I wouldn’t assume to think that an innocent young woman like you would know of anything better, but by all means, name your game…and of course..your stakes.”

[Azra Dzananovic] Azra is well aware of her Rage and she doesn’t seem all too apologetic. Briefly, her eyes adjust so they come to rest on Bridget and then Sarita. It isn’t until the whispering has ceased and each woman has returned to their own personal space before the stranger speaks.

“I am sorry, for interrupting.” She begins, her accent an odd mix of clipped Russian and smooth French. “I am new to your city, I was hoping you could point me toward a…eatery..The Brotherhood?” Her brow relaxes and she takes another drink of her vodka.

[Kyle] Looking to Azra he can’t help but take a step back. A casual nod to all three ladies and then he spots Marni as she enters. A casaul wave in greeting to her before he looks at Azra and listens to the conversation

[Bridget Geroux] What Sarita says causes the kinfolk’s face to grow pale. She nearly chokes on her beer, but covers her mouth. She utters some expletives in Quebecois French that are NOT good for polite company.

The Rage-filled Ahroun asks about the Brotherhood. Kyle looks even paler than usual. At the bar, Amunet is downing enough pure agave toxin to give herself alcohol poisoning. Marni convinces the bartender to order up some fries.

Bridget remains wisely quiet for now and goes to drink her beer.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Swears in unspeakable terms for my post being eaten. One sec, Azra]]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She reaches out and settles a hand on Bridget’s shoulder, nodding but looking optimistic before looking at Azra. “The Brotherhood? Yeah, I think I can help you with that. You just go…” She proceeds to give directions that are as accurate as a chronic wanderer can do. Which is to say that she’ll get there, even if she has to cross the same intersection a couple of times. She looks Azar up and down, slowly, and smiles. “Yeah, that’s where you wanna be.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Well shit, sweetheart. If you want to try to drink me under the bar, you can at least buy me some Everclear and make things interesting.” The other two shots are downed, and she fishes more money out of her pocket. “As far as stakes… I don’t know what you’ve got to gamble with.”

[Azra Dzananovic] Azra nods. She tips the vodka back and finishes it off, her tongue swiping across the red color of her lips to remove left over moisture. “Thank you.” It’s said with the faintest tip of her head.

With that, the brunette turns back to the bar and replaces her glass on the wooden surface. After that she turns and exits the bar.

(So sorry…I had a little less time than I thought guys. See ya again soon!)

[Kyle] Seeing Azra leave he looks to Sarita and gives an absent shrug. His voice soft as always as he speakes.
“Obviously she loved your directions.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She lets Azra go and then looks back to Bridget. “I’m sorry, sweetie…I didn’t tell you last night because I didn’t want you going after him. There’s a chance it wouldn’t-a been safe for you or him, it wasn’t right to take that risk. If anyone was gonna be good for him last night, it was his asshat of an Alpha.” The ‘asshat’ comment is made with a hint of good-natured tone to it. She doesn’t hate Howard, nor is she even that irritated with him even after last night. The New Moon has an appreciation for someone else acting under their auspice and doing it well, albeit without any discernible purpose.

[Casey Steward] The man’s quiet sleepy eyes pause on Amunet at the mention of Everclear and its a moment before he shakes his head slowly chuckling as he did so. “Well if under the table is your destination, that will certainly get us there.” He says as he pulls out some more bills and lays them on the steadily growing pile, the bartender just looks at them like they were idiots but goes for the bottle.

“Oh you mean besides for funsies?” He tilts his head back slowly and seems to think. “I have a car, it’s nothing to look at but it runs.” His sleepy eyes look her over before he seems to dismiss the idea.. “But for the young at heart, I always find the offer of bitch duty to be a winner.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks at Kyle and grins. “Hopefully she will after she’s done traveling them. …I think it was accurate. Mostly.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Bitch duty.” She nods. “I like it. You’re on.”

[Bridget Geroux] Bridget finishes her beer and makes an obnoxious show of tossing it in the trash.

“Fuck,” she exclaims. “Well, you’re right. I guess we’re the only ones who speak Welsh in the whole city, so maybe he’ll talk to me about it later. For now, I’m gonna go get some chow and pass out back at the Broho.”

She offers Sarita a terrorist fist-bump. “See ya later, homegirl.”

[Marni] Her fries arrive about the same time as a phone call – she mutters, grabs the box of fries and scoots off the stool, answers the phone with the other hand and slips out of the bar, and away again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Sounds good.” She fist-bumps back. “Don’t have too much fun.”

[Casey Steward] “Damn….good thing I look good in a maid’s outfit.” His voice is casual as he rests his head on one curled fist as he watches the Everclear get slowly poured out.

He smirks though and looks over at Amunet. “Last chance to back out?” He offers in that same tone, its hard tot ell if hes hopeful…expectant.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Nope. You want to? No shame in admitting you can’t handle it.” Well, maybe a little….

[Bridget Geroux] Bridget waves an arm over her head before heading out. “I will!” she promises.

[Casey Steward] “Dearly. But I can never seem to say no to a foolish idea.” The smirk draws a centimeter higher as his first shot slides lethally towards him and he snatches it up. “To our health…and the benevolent porcelain gods we shall be praying to.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] He watches Bridget leave and then looks back to Kyle. “So how’s you after last night’s excitement?”

[Kyle] Waves to Bridget and then looks to Sarita with a shrug
“Doing good. Takes more than a room of angst to get me down.”
Plus he’d only had time for a drink before he’d had to take off and do some stuff.

“How you hold up today?”

[Amunet Trujillo] She laughs, then holds her breath and does the shot, eyes flickering to Sarita to see if her built in voice of reason is even paying attention.

[Casey Steward] The man has no one to tell him to stop, and as he said, foolish idea’s are just so tempting. He downs his own shot, and in the moment afterwards he looks considerably more awake then he did before.

He coughs slightly as he sets the empty glass down. “Well now..” Clearing his throat. “That…brings back memories.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Then you weren’t drinking enough of it, sunshine.” She winks and slides over the money for two more.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] If she is paying attention to Amy and Caset, she’s not showing it. Of course, that would HARDLY be the first time she’s pretended not to. “I’m fine. I didn’t have a t on to drink, I just got in everyone’s faces and challenged half the freaking Nation to beat my ass.”

[Casey Steward] “Ahhhh so that was the problem, I was wondering.” He smirks in her direction and bumps her shoulder with his before looking over to Sarita. “I believe your friend will need a carry home.” He says to her as he picks up his second shot and tries to remain steady as he turns. “For that matter, better make it two.” He then drinks the second, daring his body to say uncle.

[Amunet Trujillo] “So what’s the cut off point here? Puking, or passing out?” Her’s is downed too, though her head is starting to swim a little.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She speaks up without looking back to Casey. “You mean my sister.” It’s funny, the way “sister” can be pronounced in such a way as to spell out ‘Behave or you’ll know the taste of your own femoral artery.’ And even more amazing how it’s still said with a premise of pleasantness.

[Kyle] “SO a fun time then?”
Chuckles as he looks over at Amunet and ponders what trouble she’s getting into now.

[Casey Steward] He shakes his head, this time it happens rapidly, and its not the best idea hes ever had, as his vision spins slightly. “Oh, I was thinking the straight line test.” He says as he pushes to a stand. “The first to make it to your…sister?” He looks at Amunet for confirmation before. “Win’s our little wager. Apparently there might be a bonus prize in this for me if your sister’s to be believed.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Sister and attempted cockblocker” She nods, turning around to face Sarita very, very slowly. “Shall we?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “A fun time was had by all, yes,” she says to Kyle with a grin, and then looks over to Casey and Amy, curious to see who’s actually gonna make it..

[Casey Steward] “Sisters are always so helpful.” He attempts to straighten up a bit, something more akin to a straight up and down posture coming into view…a soldiers posture before he slouches slightly and gestures forward. “We shall.” And he takes the first tentative step forward, his smirk still on his lips as his eyes slide to Sarita with an unknowable look.

[Kyle] Wathing the two nutters as they attempt to walk he shakes his head and glances to Sarita.
“Do you think they realise they’ve been drinking water this whole time?”
Smirks as he just watches

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She raises her finger to her lips at Kyle’s comment, just grinning.

[Amunet Trujillo] She takes a tentative step, then another

[Casey Steward] Casey matches her step for step, but if either looks shaky it is most certainly he. But all the while he smirks as he walks, trying very hard to keep himself upright.

[Amunet Trujillo] Highest wins!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Casey Steward] [Oh me oh my.]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Amunet Trujillo] (Uh oh.)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Sarita didn’t even have to cheat!]]

[Kyle] (LOL)

[Amunet Trujillo] Amy lurches forward, somehow managing to stay upright and reaching the table a few steps ahead of Casey

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] They DID leave it ever so open for Sarita to rig. First one to each her? Well, that wasn’t tough. But as it turns out, she doesn’t have to move toward Amy because her sister wins anyway. She taps Amy’s arm and grins. “You just outdrank him. You are TOTALLY my sister.”

[Kyle] “First to the table and she’ll probably be the first to hurl.”
Snickers as he watches them.

[Casey Steward] Casey isn’t quite as graceful, he lurches forward as well, but he misses the mark and stumbles to his knee’s with a full hearted laugh before reaching forward the last few steps to lay his hand next to Sarita’s foot and taps outand looks at the pair of them. “Well… there we have it.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Goddamn, that sounds like it hurt. Come on, stud. I’ll make sure you get home.” She gives a cheery wave to Kyle, and reaches to help Casey up.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “So I shouldn’t expect you home any time soon?” She looks at Amy.

[Amunet Trujillo] “Well, I hope not.”

[Kyle] Just watches them all as he keeps that casual smile on his face.

[Casey Steward] Casey is still chuckling as he takes the offered hand and rises to his feet, a smirk all for Amunet as he shakes himself out and looks over to his bag and then back to the sisters. “Give her time, all things in good time.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She rolls her eyes, looking irritated. “So how goes that trying to make friends with someone we need to make friends with?”

[Amunet Trujillo] “Come on. Unless you want to sit and drink until you pass out and I tell everyone.”

[Casey Steward] “No no… I know when it’s time to take a bow.” He sighs as something pops in his back as he picks up his duffle and smirks to Sarita. “I hope you don’t mind if I pass…just this time however.” He then brings himself back to Amy and sets to leave.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The irritation is gone as quickly as it came, the grin coming back. “Naah. Do your thing, cowboy.”

[Amunet Trujillo] “You heard her, Cowboy. Let’s go.” She waves to Sarita and Kyle, and heads out with Casey.

[Casey Steward] Casey gives one last lazy wave to the pair, before heading off to another place.

[Casey Steward] [Thank you all for the scene, I will catch you soon.]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Thanks!]]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches them go, and the bottom drops out of the grin. She shakes her head, mood clearly suck, and nods to the bartender. “Another drink, please.”

[Kyle] “Does she really have to get a guy drunk to get him into bed?”
Smirks as he watches the drunken pair wander off

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “No.” She shakes her head. “It’s just part of the fun.”

[Kyle] “Really?”
Seems a little confused as he slides up onto a bar stool deep in thought.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She frowns and nods, taking the drink and downing a fair amount of it in a swallow. “Yeah.” She looks over at him, head cocked. “Why?”

[Kyle] “Never been in that situation I suppose so can’t put things into a quantifiable value. Oh well”
Shrugs as he motions for a beer to the bar tender and then glances at Sarita
“You seem rather unimpressed with her actions though. You worried about her?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Nah.” She shakes her head, fishing out a cigarette and lighting up. “I’m a little pissed and–although I’ll deny it if you tell anyone–a fair bit jealous. But I’m not worried, she can handle herself.”

[Kyle] “Jealous? Why would you feel jealous of her? I mean you have an amazing figure matched with an astounding appearance. You have a sense of grace that most don’t have. I don’t see why you’d be jealous?”
Tilts his head slightly as he grabs the beer that’s slid in front of him and sips from the bottle.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks over at Kyle and smiles. not one of her snarky smiles, a sincere and warm one. “You’re really sweet. Seriously.” She takes a breath and sighs, taking another drink. “I’m jealous because she’s got the ability and freedom–or at least, the lack of presence of mind–to just up and do shit like that. Somehow…and believe me, this completely throws me…I became the responsible one.” She furrows her brows, as if baffled how that happened.

[Kyle] Chuckles as he nods absently while nursing his beer.
“Just being honest. Think you’ll find it comes with blood. You’ve seen the bigger truth. You know that every shadow holds a dark secret. I’m only guessing mind you but I know people I grew up with started to become serious when they hit their first change. Always wondered about that but never knew since I couldn’t experience things like they did.”

[Gina McClaren] *Gina bumped the door open with a wide hip, both arms wrapped around a clinking crate of Guinness. Her coat askew over her dress, boots tracking in slush as she makes her way to the bar a ways away and huffs wearily at the bartender.*

There. Tha covers wha’ever ye figure ah owe ye fer tha room. N-

*A tawny finger held up as the tender begins to protest, pikey’s near unintelligible singsong cutting him off.*

Dinnae start ye tosser. Could o’ got a proper fookin hotel room fer wha these cost me.

*Not that they cost her anything, the curvy strider kin stole the wallets that paid for them, but she was hardly going to tell him that. The crate is pushed towards a grumbling employee, as Gina drags a hand through dark hair and surveys the barflies. Recognition sparking as eyes land on Kyle. .. Shit.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shakes her head. “I been the New Me for a good long while. It’s only recently that this shit started happening.” A shrug, and she smirks. “Something changing, and I don’t like it, ’cause I ain’t gotten laid in longer than I care to s…” She looks over when Gina comes in, and looks from her to Kyle, then back. Her brow furrows. “Uh…hi?”

[Kyle] “Again wouldn’t know what that’s like.”
Takes a swig from his beer and looks around. Now that was a voice he hasn’t heard in a long time. Being a Strider though he knows how it is to just up and vanish without word for lengths of time. Seeing Gina he can’t help but grin as he motions for her to come over. Normally he’d go up and give her a hug but he’s not sure how welcoming that might be for Gina.

[Gina McClaren] Och… allo Darlin. Nice tae see ye again.

*Just perhaps not so soon. Leave it to a strider to be where you didn’t expect to find them. Lips quirk sideways in a conflicted smirk. Kyle was grinning, and she was genuinely pleased to see he was still alive and well despite the meat shredder that Chicago was for members of the nation. A sigh as she moves towards him, dark eyes wary on the stranger with whom he converses. The mark of owl playing subtly under her skin, scent of road dust and spices apparent as she nears. She nods.*

Allo.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hi.” She smiles a little at Gina, who is lucky enough that Sarita is mellow enough to not have the snark look. She notes a hint of similar features, and her head tilts. “I’m Sarita.” A hand is extended.

[Kyle] The beer is set down and he gets up to giver Gina a hug in greeting. He’s happy to see her in one piece. After giving Gina a hug he winks at her and sits back on the stool. Letting the two ladies do the introduction thing.

[Gina McClaren] *Once, Gina McClaren had been a friendly sort of creature. Too friendly, if you asked the more prudish of Chicago’s inhabitants. Now she tenses visibly as as the pasty goth kid hugs her. Backing quickly away with a short smile, to sit on a barstool, booted feet dangling. The handshake she offers to Sarita is brief, business-like, and – as kyle would likely note – bereft of any pleasantly tinkling bangles or jewelry.*

Nice tae meet ye Sarita loves. How es et ye kain Kyle here?

*A singsongy voice calls to the bartender.*

Pubsmith, a cherry whiskey, effen ye would?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “We’re family.” She tilts her head. “Sorry, not meaning to pry…but you are?”

[Kyle] “Family as well.”
Looks to Gina with a concerned look. He’s not her keeper but he knows something is wrong. Mannerisms and body language all say that easily for someone who’s known her. But he’s not about to pry at the moment. There’s a time and place. Sips his beer as he watches the pair.

[Gina McClaren] *”They’re family.” Eyebrows dart upwards, and lips press tight. Perfect. The pikey sucks on her teeth a moment before clearing her throat and lullabying.*

Reckon ah left aul the family ah have back en Kirkcauldy darlin, n’ ye dinnae ‘ave the look o a pikey about ye.
Me name’s Gina.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] That quirks her interest. “Gina McLaren?”

[Gina McClaren] *Dark eyes narrow in response.*

Tha very same.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles warmly. “I’ve been looking for you. In a good way, not a bad one.” She puts a hand up. “Promise.”

[Kyle] Absently he sips from his beer as he looks at Gina. Despite the black circles around his eyes and his always pale skin only a fool would miss the concern showing in his face. Something had happened to Gina and despite wanting to ask and find out he wasn’t going to pry. He’d let her talk when she was ready.

[Gina McClaren] Been my experience anytime a Strider’s lookin fer ye, ets en a bad way. Come hook oor by Crook.

*She gives her head a shake and looks to Kyle a moment, before turning back to the threat at hand. Er.. Sarita.*

Wha es et ye’ve been lookin fer me fer?

*This was not the same Gina that asked Kyle to help put together a flophouse for passing Striders and the dispossessed garou of the city. This was a curt, suspicious woman in the pikey’s tawny skin. Whiskey is delivered just in time, definitely needed as its downed in one harsh gulp, glass clanking on the bar with finality.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, to be honest…someone mentioned that you were kin and were around, but had kind of a rough time. Didn’t get into details.” She cocks her head to the side. “I don’t like seeing my fam having a rough time of things, so I’ve been trying to track you down and see what I could possibly do to help you out.”

[Gina McClaren] Mmm. Well ye can stop tracken.

*A dark eyebrow rises. Pikey touching her lips to sooth the burn of whiskey there. Sarita looked over carefully.*

[per/emp – uh-huh. Help me eh? What are your motives!?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Gina McClaren] [*laughs* and so she’s just as lost as before! DOH!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[:D]]

She certainly seems honest. There’s nothing looking like deceit in her expression, her body language, her posture or her tone.

[Kyle] Looks at Gina and motions for the bartender to get another drink for Gina. Then he looks to Sarita and shrugs before finishing his beer and setting the bottle aside. Okay he can’t help but ask.
“You okay Gina?”

[Gina McClaren] *A deep breath, and Gina’s looking into her glass moments before its taken away. Yup, for more booze. the best kind. Free. A thankful quirk of her lips to Kyle*

Ah’m alright. Sae nae need tae fuss o’er a lass, either o ye. Reckon ah’m nae wan’s family but me own. Aulrecht?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She furrows her brow, nodding just a little. “All right, that could be the truth. Fuck family then. You’re someone who’s doesn’t seem to be doing very well. I can see that, and I’ve known you for about three minutes, seventeen seconds. I want to help you get some joy back in your life.”

[Kyle] “Oh…”
And for the second time tonight his smile fades. Instead of dwelling on things he simply orders another beer and just watches the counter.

[Gina McClaren] Ye seem a clever enough lass. Reckon ah was daen jes fine up entel ah saw me a couple o Striders hangin aboot. Piss n’ Vinegar.

Yer folk are poison. Effen ye wan tae help a lass wi’ her joy, jes dinnae banter me name aboot wi’ any o yer tribesmates, n’ leave a lass tae her –

*Whiskey. Downed in three seconds flat.*

– tae her own devices.

*A glance at Kyle has regret spelled plain on exotic features that wore suspicion like an illfitting mask, face designed for softness and bawdy laughter. Nimble fingers find the buttons of her coat, preparing for the cold as she sings.*

M’saerry darlin. Didnae mean tae ruin a good time fer ye. Jes keep on yer toes, aye. Good tae see ye stell ‘ave em.

*And digging in a battered leather satchel at her hip for a tip, the churlish kin prepares to leave.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches Gina get ready to go, smiling a bit. “You know, sweetie…whether you believe it or not, I wanna help you. We ain’t all poison. And you are not happy. No offense, but that’s obvious.” A pause. “And now, I know you. So you kinda have two choices. You can let me, or you can refuse and I’ll do it anyway and just be a pain in your ass.”

[Kyle] “Didn’t realise. Sorry for being a bother.”
And in a reaction people probably will never really see from Kyle he slams money down on the counter and storms off towards the door. For once the gothic look he’s wearing suits as he takes off. He’s not running but some of the regulars that know of Kyle all get out of his way as he heads outside.

[Gina McClaren] Grand.

*A puff of breath moves her bangs off her face, a few dollars slapped on the counter as well, bills jumping as Kyle storms off in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. Gina watches him in surprise, before waking a dismally naked wrist and sliding off her barstool.*

Ah’d be moore concerned wi’ tha kin wouldnae jes as soon ‘ave yer guts fer garters.

*Gesturing to the Kyle’s hasty exit as she gathers her purse and moves towards the back room, ignoring the snarling protests of the bartender, man too busy to do much about it.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “One step at a time. First I have to get some that wouldn’t.” She says it in a gently teasing manner and pays for her drink, following after Gina.

[Kyle] (Kyle’s going to be outside for a while. Just have a few things to do RL here 🙂 )

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[No prob. 🙂 ]]

[Gina McClaren] *Two women meandering behind the bar was ENOUGH for the burly tender, pair of females getting the last of an angry rant as the door closes behind Sarita into the alley. Alley. Gina’s arms cross, fingers finding the insides of her coat sleeves. Reassured by the cold steel there. Would were it silver.

Her footfalls sharp on ice, pikey glancing behind her and slumping her shoulders in irritation.*

Sometimes folks ‘ave a bit o trouble wi’ the accent, sae ah’ll talk slower.

Fook. Aft. ‘ave enough mutts followin me home.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I can understand you just fine, chica. But you understood me too earlier.”

[Gina McClaren] Ulch.

*That about sums it up. Gina trekking down the sidewalk, trying to fathom the best possible way to lose a garou following her. With her breeding? Fat chance. Her mood going from bad to worse as her frustration grows exponentially with every pursued step. Its half a block before she whirls on her heel, hands lifting and falling in exasperation the ragabash is no doubt familiar with.*

Honestly, wha tha hell d’ye wan’ o me?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Are you not bothering to pay attention to what I’m saying?”

[Gina McClaren] Daes et look like yer helpin?

*Retorts the pikey in challenge, stubborn as a mountain.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “No. Because it’s kinda hard when you ain’t willin’ to be helped.”

[Gina McClaren] Sae yer jes gintae follow a lass around makin ‘er miserable, oontil ye figure ye can ‘elp?

Fantastic logic darlin. Nae wonder yer tribe’s headed straight down tha shitter.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey. You know what?” She jogs ahead of Gina, then turns around so that she’s walking backward. She doesn’t look to be smiling anymore. “Do you actually know anything about YOUR tribe, other than that you’ve encountered a whatever really fucked up ones have passed through here?”

[Gina McClaren] Ah dinnae ‘ave a tribe darlin, an ye can say et aul ye’d like, but as soon as ah find a way tae scrub these fuckin Owl’s mark aft me, oor wha’ever tha hell, ah’m gintae. Aul yer followin me like a fookin nutjob es helpen wi’, es me lookin entae becomin cozy wi’ a theurge even quicker.

*Sarita’s kin had a voice for singing. It was distractingly potent, attention grabbing. Even as it raises shrill, dripping with poison.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Way to now answer the question. Stop, PLEASE.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[now = not]]

[Gina McClaren] *And so the pikey stops, but rather than going hip shod and glaring, she remains balanced on her feet. Arms crossed, fingers in opposite sleeves, touching hidden steel. Thank the Shadowlords for that much. For all the good she knew a blade did against a garou.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Okay.” She huffs, stopping herself…luckily, just before she backed into a street sign. “Now. You don’t know me. From the sounds of it, you don’t know much about the Striders. And I don’t know a lot about you.” She considers a moment. “Hey, I’ll tell you what. I wanna talk with you. Not now…later. We’re both a bit on edge, and my reason doesn’t have all that much to do with you. So later, at a place AND time of your convenience and choice. And to prove I’m going to be good and not do anything evil, or what-have-you…you can keep my most prized possession until you’re satisfied that I’m not gonna fuck you over.”

[Gina McClaren] [willpowah – for curiosity flaw 1st!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Go Go Gadget-Convincingness!]]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[Gina McClaren] *The stare Sarita gets is flat. Why were striders always trying to give her their “most prized possessions” as though that amounted to anything to a kin? Still, curiosity begins to gnaw at common sense as it was want to do in the kinfolk. An eyebrow up, her protests silent for the moment. The Strider seemed reasonable, and another time and place was easier to avoid if need be than the wolf following her home like a dangerous stray.*

Lets see et than.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She pauses. “I need you to promise that you won’t freak out. I am not going to hurt you. Understand?”

[Gina McClaren] Aye.

*Curiosity sparking in dark eyes, the pikey lets her hands drop from her sleeves. Posture guarded.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Okay.” She drops slowly down to her knees, reaching into her duster. Out comes the hand, in a slow, non-hurried motion…carrying with it a pretty enormous handgun. It’s a .44 caliber revolver, the kind Clint Eastwood holds when he asks punks if they’re feeling lucky. She sets it on the ground and rises, then takes three steps back.

[Gina McClaren] *A shrill wolf whistle escapes Gina before she has a chance to call it back. That was a BIG gun. The shorter woman crouches, fingers playing in the air over top the weapon a moment before she singsongs.*

There a spirit oor anythen en et ah need tae take care o?

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Nope. Just a regular gun.” A brief pause, and she actually looks almost comically awkward and hesitant. “It’s name is Harry. Um…if you have gun oil, just clean it once a week, if you’re okay with that.”

[Gina McClaren] ..Ye’ve another? Ah’m nae takin yer only gun than?

*Gina Scott McClaren. You were not supposed to care if it WAS her only weapon. Remember? Let her die in a fire fight and its one less strider to mess with your life. The pikey cringes at herself, before rising to stand. Not waiting for an answer to her stupid question, shaking her head and tucking the gun into her handbag.*

Ah’ll see wha ah can dae. Effen ye’ve a number, ah’ll take et down. Arrange a place tae chat.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I got other ways to defend myself. And honestly, the fights I get myself into? Won’t involve guns probably, if the last 24 hours are any indication.” She nods, giving over her number. “Whenever’s good.”

[Gina McClaren] Fine than.

*Beeping as the number is programmed into a dinosaur of a cell phone. Hell, that thing probably was cutting edge when “texting” was a new feature. The phone slid away, she gives a shake of hair far longer than was practical or fashionable, and the strider kin backs out of the alley. Fleeing towards another bar, her hotel room would wait until later.*

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She lets her go, and turning and heading back to go into the bar. She has a tab to settle..

[Gina McClaren] [z’awesome! thanks for rps! here’s hoping DB is back soon for you!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Yay! 😀 Thank you too!]]

[Kyle] (Been here the whole time 🙂 )

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[She’s coming back if you still wanna play Kyle.]]

[Gina McClaren] [Shenanigans!!! *dashes*]]

[Kyle] (Later 🙂 been nice seeing you again)

[Kyle] While the ladies have been negotiating things, he’s been sitting inside again at the bar. HE’s on about his fourth straight scotch. Which for him was unusual. Even his pale face has some colour for a change. Sitting there he’s absently watching his drink as he twirls the ice around in the glass.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s looking to be in a sketchy mood when she goes back in. She sees Kyle and nods to him, changing her mind on settling up…she could use another drink too. She flops down on a stool next to Kyle. “Hey.”

[Kyle] Tilts his head slightly and nods as he downs the drink and another is poured. He’s probably rather smashed by now thanks to his already small frame and lack of body mass. Motions for the bartender to pour Sarita one as he speaks in that raspy voice of his.
“Hey. How’d it go?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shrugs. “I got her to talk to me later. Only cost me my best friend as collatoral.” Yeah, she’s grumpy. “What happened to her? Do you know?”

[Kyle] Shrugs as he twirls the glass in the counter.
“No idea….She’s not a saint….Probably caused her share of trouble…..I heard she had troubles with all tribe trues…..Then she just upped and vanished…..Not a word….But hey she don’t need any of us….We’re jsut scum compared to her….”
And here’s why he doesn’t drink. He tends to speak rather freely

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “She’s got issues. But she said something about talking to a theurge to get rid of me, so she’s not completely isolated.” She shakes her head. “She’s hurtin’, I guess. But Christ.”

[Kyle] “One of us obviously did a number on her….I mean hell I probably said hi one too many times when I saw her….”
Downs the drink and grumbles when the bartender pours him a coke instead of another scotch.
“Maybe she’s better off around others….I mean if we hurt her so badly….”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Uh-uh. She’s not happy.” She shakes her head, downing her drink. “We can fix that.”

[Kyle] Looks at Sarita and nads absently as he downs the coke and sighs.
“Broke my own rule…..Don’t get attached to anyone…..Stupid me huh?….Well hope you can help her cause I sure can’t….”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey.” She sets a hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Ain’t no problem with getting attached. I know we’re solitary and wandering folk, but we always gotta try, you know? Otherwise we start to lose sense of who we are and why we fight.”

[Kyle] “Yeah suppose so….”
Lets out a ragged sigh as she feels his shoulders slump.
“Guess I’m being stupid…..”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles and squeezes his shoulder. “No, mi hermano menor. You’re being human. Which is how you show us big furry fuckers how to be the best of what we can be.”

[Kyle] Now that gets a raised brow as he tilts his head ro look at her.
“You sure about that?…. I mean most True tend to treat us as little more than extras in a movie….Women kin especially seen simply as baby makers….”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Pretty damned sure. Most True do what most people period do. Take shit for granted.”

[Kyle] She can see in his eyes he’s trying to think that over but at the same time his eyes are trying to focus and not doing a good job of that.
“Suppose so…..Why do we as a collective whole…..all have to be as idiotic as those we….claim to be fighting against?…. I mean when we piss each other off…..aren’t we just making the job easier for the enemy?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Because we’re human.” She smiles a little, shrugging. “Well, some of us part human, but still. And humans make huge mistakes. It doesn’t make us wrong though as a whole, or not worth it.”

[Kyle] “Guess I over reacted then….”
Looks at his empty glass and shakes his head.
“Been a rotten night…..Had to deliver news to a guy that his only child was dead…..He took it so calmly but I know he must feel like hell….And then to have Gina act like that….All I need now is to have a nightmare and things will be perfect….”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She winces. “Ooh, that’s rough….sorry you had to deal with that.” Her head cocks. “Nightmares a common problem?”

[Kyle] “Yeah….Side effect of being killed…..Probably won’t dream tonight thanks to these….”
Grins as he holds up the empty glass.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Getting killed.” She blinks. “Like, metaphorically, or spiritually, or…?”

[Kyle] “Shredded, chewed up and spat out dead…..Technically I died four times I think they counted in total…..Entire family killed by an ambush…..step-aunt got me stable…..I make Frankenstein’s monster look like a pinup….”
Motions to his clothing which is used to conceal rather than be fashionable.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Jesus, man.” She looks troubled and a little sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear.”

[Kyle] “Thanks….Harshest part was loosing my voice….Wasn’t much to look at but least I could sing.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She nods, sighing. “I assume it’s past the point that our usual healing methods would work on that.”

[Kyle] “They tried for years…..Took too much to fix the rest of me….Was either the voice or walking….Kind of prefer walking….Cross country in a wheel chair isn’t something I’d care to try.”
Smirks as he picks up another glass of coke and sips it.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Rough choice. Can’t say I wouldn’ta done the same though.”

[Kyle] “Yeah….”
Sips his drink and lets out a sigh before looking to her again.
“So seriously no guy has propositioned you in a long time?….Find that hard to beleive.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shrugs. “I’ve been traveling with Amy for a year now. She’s…very proactive.”

[Kyle] “Meaning she gets the guys before you?”
Snickers as he winks at her

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smirks. “Basically, yeah. I’m usually busy doing superfluous things like finding places to park where we won’t get towed, trying to figure out who the locals are that we need to meet…setting up some contacts so I can get some money…you know, frivolities.” She snorts.

[Kyle] “So while she’s off with some guy you’re here stuck with some gothic nutter….Gee raw deal there….Go find a guy or hell a couple of guys if you need to and have fun….I can help organize things for you if needed….After all that’s what family does….”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Psssht.” She smiles a bit. “I ain’t saying I’m happy that I’m getting less orgasms than a Spartan Roman Catholic priest in an all-girls octogenarian nursing home, but I’m perfectly fine hanging with you.”

[Kyle] Now that gets him laughing which results in a coughing fit. After he catches his breathe he downs his drink and nods absently.
“The thing is if you need help with day to day stuff let me know….Can talk to people and know folks who may be able to help….. That way you can go party for yourself….”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Thanks, man.” She smiles to him, sighing. “You’re good people. Don’t let anyone tell you different, okay?”

[Kyle] “If I always listened to people I’d never wear what I do.”
Chuckles as he winks at her.
“Besides got to help out some way and can’t fight for peanuts so may as well do what I can.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey, fuck ’em all. I like your style.”

[Kyle] “Thanks….Not many people do…”
Grins as he staggers to his feet and sways a little.
“Time to head home I think….Need to sleep this off….”

[Kyle] (Going to have to bail. Have to sort dinner out and round kids up 🙂 thanks for the scene )
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[No prob. Thank you!]]
to Kyle

[Kyle] (Catch you later. Thanks again )
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles and nods to him. “You bet. Have a good night. Be careful.”

Let’s Jam!

[Kora] “You’ve seen the mucus glands of a moose, have you?” Kora returns, casting her packmate a – deeply doubtful look – as she pushes her winter gear into the booth and folds herself in after it. There’s a certain ease to the motion, though she does not bend perhaps as deeply as she ones might, and her center of gravity has already started to change.

“Don’t tell me your grandpappy raises them on the farm,” she finishes with a doubtful expression that would be a smirk on someone else’s face. There’s something lighter though, about the expression, that keeps the darkest expression of irony at bay. ” – because that I won’t believe.”

The street outside is dark and the windows here are tinted. It’s such a cold night, with swirls of flurries fallen from a dull orange, that the cold leaches through the insulated windows, making these booths chilled and rather less popular with the patrons. She likes the view, though, the comfort of it. Her packmate can watch the entrance, and she can watch the street. She glances out, now, dark eyes lilting over their reflections to the street beyond before looking back at Roman. Quietly, a furrow of speculation between her pale brows.

“Heard from Sparrow, lately?” Her eyes remain fixed on the younger Garou’s face with the question, quick and watchful and sure.

[Bridget Geroux] [Cha+Perf + PB 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Roman Turner] “Raised Buffalo too. Steaks are pretty good if it’s a fresh slaughter and not over cooked.”

He got situated and started fiddling with the salt shaker while looking all over the place like he’d never seen such a place. Kora asked about Sparrow and for a split second something akin to pain flicked in those faded denim eyes of his.

“No, I guess she’s busy or something.”

[Izzy Montoya] Not many people would figure Detective Montoya for a music fan – let alone for Blues. Or Jazz. Or anything other than head banging screaming metal. Fact is, she has a healthy appreciation for all things music. So she’s hear tonight, already in a booth, not far from where Kora and Roman decide to sit.

She’s in the shadows of a booth, though it is certain that won’t hide her for long, as Kora has the uncanny ability to find her in any crowd. She has a beer in front of her, though she has yet to order anything to eat. Her hair is down, her dress business casual, as usual. Even off duty, she looks to be on alert.

She watches as Roman and Kora take their seat, and should they turn this direction, lifts her beer slightly in hello, before tipping it back to drink deeply of the icy cool liquid. Sometimes this is as good as it gets. sometimes that’s all she needs.

[Kristiana Coleman] The blond kin walks in dressed to impress in a shortish skirt and soft lightweight sweater. Maybe not exactly appropriate for the venue, but it’s not club wear. Her hair is pulled back with clips at the sides, and she strides in after being carded and once again successfully passing. Phone out, she texts Bridget rather than spend the time and energy to look for her.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon takes the time to look them both Over. First there is Bridget, and his eyes slip all the way down and then back up before meeting her eyes.”I just got your call, sorry I am late.”He says before turning his head in the direction of Patrick. His smile grew and he nodded his head.”You like? I thought it’d be nice to dress up a little, you know look nice and pretty?”He asks as he holds out his arms and spins a little for Patrick. When he turns back around he looks in the direction of Bridget.

“I think I saw Kora and Roman but not too sure… I mean I was just passing through. Not sure who else might be on their way.”He says this with a nod of his head and a tiny little grin.”So am I umm… Too late? You already done?”He asks before glancing in the direction of the minibar.”I suppose I should get myself a drink.”He says.”I’ll umm… Be right back.”He says excusing himself for just a moment to wander past and grab himself a drink.

[Bridget Geroux] Downstairs, the next band finally starts in. They make a slow start, but maybe it will pick up. Some of the more inebriated patrons attempt to dance. The smell of fried southern food is mouth-watering. Soon enough, the waitress will return with their appetizer and ketchup.

Upstairs in the lounge, Simon finds the kinfolk and Galliard drinking bourbon and making small talk. She slowly sips at the bourbon, sets the glass on the table, and picks up her harmonica. The metal instrument gets polished briefly while the kinswoman looks off.

“I’m not going to even ask what you mean by Howard’s porn stash. So no, I haven’t seen it. He’s been acting weird lately, and I kinda lost my temper and said some shit that Hunter had to kinda kick my ass for. Figuratively. I deserved it. But anyway, I’ve been keeping myself busy working.”

She blinks a few times at her own rambling. Simon’s attire is… well, it gets quite the appreciative look from Bridget. She shifts a bit in her seat as she sits there. Bridget is a performer, but she doesn’t like to hear herself talk, not ramble on like this. The Canadian lifts the harmonica to her mouth and starts to play, following that same urge of movement as before.

Bridget starts to play a rowdy tune, George Thorogood’s Madison Blues. It’s quite the rendition, considering it was made for electric guitar. She leans into Patrick at some point, gesturing with her eyes at his guitar.

[Ivers] By the time he remembers he was supposed to be somewhere tonight he’s already had most of a pitcher of beer and Christ knows how many doses of drugs not worth mentioning in polite company; there’s no telling what reminded him, after all of that, but he looked at a clock or heard a song on the jukebox or maybe just took the world’s most head-clearing piss, but at some point he said to himself, “SHIT!” and then hauled his skinny ass out of wherever he was and started over to Buddy Guy’s.

Whereupon he realized that American assholes card for entrance into places like this.
Whereupon again he realized that breaking and entering isn’t terribly difficult.

Though he did not come in the front door like the rest of the world, Howard stumbles out of the bathroom as though he has been in there for some time, a curly-haired twenty-something Rip Van Winkle. Stumbling is never indicative of intoxication for him, being as he walks like a sloppy drunk even when he hasn’t touched a drop all day, and he looks worse than he smells; he does not reek, though he looks as though he does. He wears probably the worst outfit anyone has seen him in yet: black Converse sneakers, seafoam green twill pants, a bright orange t-shirt likely older than he is advertising Reese’s peanut butter cups, a black-and-blue scarf, and a black leather jacket. It goes without saying his hair is a mess, and his sunglasses are in place.

Patrick was late for undisclosed reasons; Howard’s lip is split.

He stands still a moment, looking around as though he’s attempting to figure out where the fuck he is, where the fuck he’s supposed to be. There are Fenrir everywhere, an underdressed Fang kinswoman nearby, and Howard starts aimlessly wandering in the blind hope he’ll find Patrick before he gets into another fight.

[Kora] “No way,” Kora returns, with a snort of disbelief. “There’s no way you raised moose. I’m pretty sure they’re like caribou, you know? Or reindeer in Lappland. They need cold weather to live, yeah? They’re adapted to it.” At the end of it, she offers Roman the slow, brief curl of a half-smile and drops her voice by a good ten decibels, finishing softly, ” – like Fenrir.”

The waitress has returned by now, with their drinks and the huge basket full of appetizers – chicken wings and fried oysters, fried okra and fried peas, fried pickles and fried twinkies.

Well, maybe not the twinkies.
Or the peas.

The woman has that harried look to her, bruises underneath her eyes, her hair flat from the heat in the room, from her sweat, from the long night of work. She puts the beer down in front of Kora and the milk down in front of Roman thoughtlessly. Kora does not switch them until the waitress leaves the booth, but switch them she does, picking up that tall glass of whole milk to return the quiet toast to Izzy.

Underneath the table, she bumps her toe against Roman’s calf; acknowledging that frisson of pain without indulging it.

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Per + Charisma: Guitar playin’.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Patrick Llewelyn] [That was just depressing, Patrick.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 6, 8, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7) Re-rolls: 1

[Roman Turner] “Yessum, my family’s ranch has all sorts of odd things on it that ya don’t expect to find. Ostrich, Llama’s, even some of them fainting goats. Course, after a while I wasn’t able to get too close, so ended up shoveling stalls when they were empty.”

He might be pulling Kora’s leg on the Moose part but he sure wasn’t admitting it if he was. The waitress returned and got an even bigger smile when she absently put the milk in front of Roman. Though Kora snagged the milk before he managed to stick his tongue in it or anything. Still receiving a beer in exchange was a good deal in his head. About the time Kora saluted Izzy was about the time she bumped his leg beneath the table so he thought one had something to do with the other and was twisting in his seat to locate the recepient of the salute to which he saluted too with his beer. Izzy got a devilish smile with the beer salute.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon finds himself watching. Settling in and watching when the two of them start to play. His eyes shifting as he pulls up a seat and settles his glass on the nearest table and just decides to watch. Patiently and quietly, let the Fianna do what the Fianna do best right?

I mean you wouldn’t want them barging in when you are torturing or betraying someone ruining your fun now would you Simon? So let them do their thing and they will let you do your thing and in the end everyone wins.

[Izzy Montoya] Kora salutes her with milk, which makes the corner of Izzy’s lips lift in the briefest, smallest of smiles. While she has no wish for ankle biters of her own, she knows Trent is excited – and that’s enough to have her at least appreciative of Kora’s condition. That devilish grin of Roman’s however – that twists the smile into a huff of amusement.

She must be tired to let it be seen like that.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Simon is twirling and speaking of feeling pretty and the Fianna glances at him and simply —

pauses for a moment, mid swallow. He stares at the Shadow Lord from under a furrowed brow and then simply nods, and samples what might once have resembled a friendly smile but honestly rather looks more like an awkward grimace. That might also have something to do with, truth be told, the large amount of whiskey he just imbibed. Bridget responds with something about Howard’s behavior and her own and then starts up with her harmonica.

And, well, it’s easier for Patrick to play, then try and figure out why an Ahroun would tell a Galliard he feels pretty. He takes up his guitar, and starts picking up the chords to accompany Bridget’s tune; it takes him a moment, perhaps two, and then he has it — he taps his foot against his leg in time to the beat.

Downstairs, his Alpha has arrived and Patrick feels the familiar tug at his senses telling him he’s nearby: We’re upstairs, man Howard hears, along with a mental projection of the room, and the staircase leading there.

[Ivers] “Whoa.”

This, out loud, as though Patrick had sneaked up on him and not projected an image of where it is he’s supposed to be going rather than yelling it in his ear. As tempting as it likely has to be for him to go over to the seated kinswoman who insisted he call her Detective Montoya instead of whatever obnoxious nickname he would have come up with for her, or to the pregnant Skald who had threatened to geld him when last their paths meet, the brightly-colored Theurge does not wander over and attempt to ruin their nights.

Either he can be taught, or he has simply reached the point of being inebriated where his perception of his surroundings is completely nonexistent.

Up the stairs he goes, grabbing the railing so he doesn’t wipe out attempting to ascend, and when Howard arrives at the VIP lounge he identifies himself in a relatively sober-sounding voice. Patrick and Bridget have started playing already, and there’s Simon, parked at a table dressed like a 70’s flashback in his denim jacket. A grin of forewarning comes over his lips, the barely-formed scab on his lower lip threatening to crack and bleed again if he isn’t careful, and he ambles over, bumping into a chair before hauling it back and dropping himself down right next to Simon.

“Dear Jesus are you handsome tonight,” he says, and reaches out to steal the Ahroun’s beer.

[Kora] Kora shakes her head doubtfully, somehow imagining Roman’s family ranch as a cross between Noah’s Arc and Dr. Doolittle’s lab. Her laughter rises underneath her breath, and disappears just as quietly – brief and charming before she dives into the giant basket of deep fried – well, deep fried anything on the table between them.

“The Sept where I fostered – Vindur und Ringing – it’s off on the north Atlantic, on this barrier islands, my people call it Hjaltland, right? And the only thing that could survive on that turf grass, in the winter conditions, was sheep. So the kin there raised sheep, and fished for a living. Winter was pretty much mutton or dried fish, dried fish or mutton in endless combinations. Every piece of both, too. It was – ”

There’s a brief, far away look – though her ruminations are interrupted by the vision that is Howard Ivers – and when she looks back to Roman, her dark eyes are shot through with a certain ironic light, the nostalgia subsumed beneath the surface of her pale skin, bleeding through only in the shape of her half-smile. “Stark. And so far north that winter was dark and long. Sometimes you could see the northern lights, though – scintillating across the sky.”

[Bridget Geroux] Indeed, Simon. Indeed.

The Fianna make child’s play of the song collectively. Even if it takes a second for Patrick to get into gear. Somewhere towards the end of the song, a cheap black cell phone on the coffee table buzzes, vibrating against the glass. It lights up with the name “Kris” on the outer screen.

Bridget eyeballs the cell but doesn’t go to pick it up until they’re done. Howard, man of the hour, stumbles in the VIP lounge in a drunken stupor, collapses on a chair, and starts flirting with Simon. This elicits a throated chortle from the young woman a few seconds after the last note.

She grabs the phone with one hand, then bumps Patrick with her shoulder lightly.

“You’ve got some mad skills there, Slick,” she says before punching some letters into the phone and clicking SEND. The phone gets dumped back onto the table, the glass of bourbon goes to her lips. A deeper sip warms her belly.

Bridget stretches her legs out, kicking off her black kitten heels. “So, what’s next?”

[Roman Turner] For his part, he was working on draining the beer as Kora talked about home and cold and fish and sheep. Boy he had some sheep jokes not fit for mixed company that he had to keep to himself. In the middle of talking Kora paused to look at someone and that had Roman turning to see who it was. He didn’t know Howard from Jesus, so wasn’t so sure that’s who Kora looked at when she did that little pause in her story before continuing.

“I miss flat land with an unobstructed view. All this traffic, snow and folk rushing around is just plum crazy. I would of likely ended up in love with a Sheep if I’d lived where you grew up and that would of been baaaad.

[Patrick Llewelyn] As Bridget’s song tapers out, the Galliard’s fingers soften on the chords; he grins despite himself when Howard makes an instantaneous bee-line for the Shadow Lord and starts hitting on him and keeps his head lowered so as not to distract himself from the riff he starts evoking out of the strings.

Bridget nudges into him and he mmphs, glancing across at her without ceasing in his gentle, aimless play. “Back at you, I don’t think I’ve seen someone elicit those sounds from a harmonica since — ” he looks momentarily blank — “Well, ever.” Patrick then returns to his bluesy playing, alternately his time with thumps of his palm against the side of the instrument for a dull, rhythmic backing.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The perpetually grinning one slips through the door, stepping into the establishment. Perhaps surprisingly, she’s not dressed in the same motif as she usually is. The duster’s been left at home tonight, with a brown leather jacket replacing it. She’s got a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses on, a white tank-top that reads “Destination: Grassy Knoll” with the o in ‘knoll’ consisting a crosshair target. Torn, well-worn blue jeans and a pair of cowboy boots complete the the ensemble.

She steps a few paces inside and then off to the side, so as not to block traffic to and from the door as she looks around the place.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon was watching Bridget mostly, transfixed by the kin as she and Patrick play so he didn’t notice when Howard came wandering up to join him. His eyes shifted towards the Theurge and his smile grew a little. He pulled the hat off his head and nodded back to him before looking back in Bridget’s direction.”Thanks… I thought I would at least try to look decent seeing as how I got the invite and all right?”He asks before flicking his eyes back to Howard.

Simon wasn’t the kind to be weirded out or creeped in the slightest by comments like this.”You get your lip bit?”He asks him with a little smile as he watched Howard steal his drink.”It’s rum… I thought you kind were more the scotch sorts.”He says before looking back up to his face and finally back to Bridget.

“It’s nice just to get a chance to settle back and relax now and again.”He says, those green eyes just watching, admiring, the kin as she played. Quiet and reserved. The full moon wasn’t terribly talkative or speechy at the moment it would seem.

[Kora] “The dude with the bad fashion sense is Fianna,” explains the woman who wore the same blood-stained jeans for six-months straight, and had a no more than two other changes of clothes until a kinfolk espied the lack, and brought her a new wardrobe she usually eschewed in favor of her dedicated things. She further explains: “Loudmouth.” – with a brief, narrow little smirk.

“Anyway, I didn’t grow up there,” returns Kora, making that clear distinction between her fosterage and her childhood. She is making steady progress through all the deep fried treats delivered to their table, employing Roman’s hard-won ketchup only sparingly. “It was an accident of circumstance, really. I was in Edinburgh when I changed, and that was the closest Fenrir Sept. Linus and I, we moved around alot when we were kids. Sort of like military brats, without being in the military, yeah?

“Lived almost anywhere you can think of. Florida, Kentucky, upstate New York, southern California. We were in Missouri when I graduated high school. Then they moved up north somewhere. I think they were in Montana when Linus’ dad came looking for him.”

[Ivers] Here’s the joy and beauty of being in the presence of the Ahroun of this Sept: they will talk and talk and talk and eventually forget having asked Howard a question in the first place, eliminating the number of instances in which he could potentially be caught fabricating some wild story to be teased apart and dissected as his companion searches for the truth amidst all the bullshit that comes out of his mouth every night.

Simon asks if his lip was bitten, and while it’s a nasty cut, the Theurge doesn’t answer the question. There’s a question as to whether or not he was a scotch drinker, and Howard flicks his heavy brows up over the edge of his aviators before tossing back a mouthful of Simon’s drink. To his credit he doesn’t put his cut lip on the glass or straw, although that may be more due to a desire to avoid the sting of alcohol on exposed tissue than to avoid getting germs on the other man’s drink.

“You should do it more often,” Howard says, to the matter of settling back and relaxing. “Take that stick out of your arse, yeah? Although if you did that I don’t know what I’d do with myself. That whole uptight prick thing really works for you.”

[Izzy Montoya] When the waitress swings her way again, Izzy still does not order food, though the scents of the cooking are enticing enough. Maybe she’s already eaten, or perhaps the more plausible truth is she has decided to drink her dinner tonight. Thus, it’s another drink she orders – another beer, this time with a friend – whiskey, neat – to keep it company.

She doesn’t change tables, doesn’t move to interrupt Kora and Roman’s conversation, doesn’t move upstairs. If she saw Howards entrance – and she did, she misses very little – it doesn’t get more than a glance. Instead, most of her attention seems to be for whoever is on stage – right up until she grabs a file folder from the briefcase beside her, opening it up and littering her night off with work.

[Roman Turner] “I lived in Clearwater my entire life till I came with Sparrow to here. Who would of thought I’d still be here and she ain’t?”

For a moment his face screwed up like he bit in to something sour. The beer was polished off and he waved down a waitress to shove the leftovers in a box before he rose and started replacing his winter wear. One hand was held out to Kora to pull her out of the booth.

“Ok, back to the grind. Here, let me help ya with your coat.”

He made sure Kora was bundled and grabbed the box of leftovers with a wave to Izzy before the pair made for the door. They stuck close together, touching now in the familiar way of Packmates.

“I think we should get some ice cream on the way home, watcha think?”

His words soon swallowed by the howling wind and sound of the street as they stepped out.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She heads to a table as close to the stage as she can, taking a seat and taking the aviator shades off. She smiles at a waitress and orders a tequila sunrise, watching the stage for a moment before she looks around the room, looking for faces that she knows.

[Roman Turner] (( thanks ))

[Kora] (night folks!)

[Bridget Geroux] ((night))

[Simon Zahradnik] He laughs back at Howard and shakes his head.”Dressing to impress is for special occasions. Practicality is for most occasions.”He says with those eyes breaking from Bridget long enough to look back at Howard. His eyes focusing on that lip before he shrugs his shoulders.

“You and Patrick doing okay? No troubles or anything? Life is… Alright?”He asks, small talk was about the best he could hope for with these two. Anything more than that and there was likely to be fists flying and lots of yelling. Simon hadn’t come to fight, and for Bridget’s sake he would play nice with her Tribe tonight. It only seemed respectful.

[Bridget Geroux] The eyes of the Ahroun under the sign of his change–also sandwiched between the two other Garou– causes Bridget to fidget. Patrick strums his guitar, Simon’s eyes fondle the kin, Howard flirts behind his aviators.

The Canadian rises and takes a giant step over the coffeetable, then pads barefoot back to the bar. She grabs the bottle of whatever bourbon they were drinking before, two spoons, then returns with it in a similar manner, sits down, and pours herself another glass.

The bottle of Jefferson’s Reserve rests on the glass countertop before Bridget gets comfortable again. Her fingers clasp around the two metal spoons and she does a couple warm up excercises with them to keep herself from going nuts. Her eyes flick to Simon. The bumpkin is appreciative of his outfit and the way he wears it.

Bridget tries not to look at Howard, whether it is because she doesn’t want to provoke him, or because she might still be angry (which is unlikely, but possible), is uncertain.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She notes Howard at the table that he’s at with Simon, raising a hand to wave toward him before she looks back to the stage. She tilts her head when Bridget busts out the spoon, her usual smile becoming something a bit more intrigued. The tequila sunrise arrives and she thanks the waitress before pushing a chair out at the table she’s at so she has something to put her feet on.

[Ivers] Life is… alright?

“Lemme tell you somethin’, gat,” Howard says, his voice a little louder than is absolutely necessary yet not at a volume that will overpower the two playing, oddly cheerful despite the subject matter he’s suddenly decided to discuss, “life fuckin’ sucks. I don’t care how many times you go ’round sayin’ we have a purpose or the fuck ever. Either you appreciate the things that don’t suck–”

He turns his head towards Patrick and Bridget, his eyeline obscured by black plastic and thus the intended object of his attention uncertain; it could be his brother, it could be the woman he’s scorned this month, it could be the idea of them, the tribe, music, some other abstract concept he can’t possibly articulate at this point in his bender. Whatever it is, Howard only looks at them for a second or two before he looks back and steals Simon’s drink again.

“–or you end up wallowin’ and this whole thing becomes completely fuckin’ pointless. Yeah, sure, maybe you could do what you seem fond of doin’ and pretend life is amazing despite all the crap that goes on and go around wavin’ your pom poms tryin’ to get everybody pumped the fuck up, but that takes way too much effort and if you ask me it’s slightly fuckin’ delusional. If it’s workin’ for you though… cheers, mate.”

He’s got to be high on something. Howard never talks this much.

[Bridget Geroux] Howard’s brilliant and loud tirade makes the Albertan stop short in her practice. She grabs the drink off the table and downs a shot. The first, having been imbibed slowly, is slowly inching its way towards numbing her perceptions. Her eyebrows raise in protest at Patrick, and by the look of the slight clench in her jaw while she moves her lips into a smile, she’s stifling herself from chiming in.

Another flinch of her facial muscles and a slight noise of protest from her throat, and the expression is gone. She turns her head again over at Simon for a second, blinks a few times before looking back to Patrick. She puts the spoons down just as she notices Sarita made her entrance.

“Oh, thank God you came,” she says to the Strider.

Bridget is glad the testosterone quotient in the room is thinning out; she’s glad to know someone here might be holding MJ so that things will calm the fuck down before they even get started. The Canadian smiles and gestures to the minibar before picking up her harmonica again.

She starts to play an old tune, done several times by several people, but made famous by Mister Muddy Waters: I Just Want to Make Love to You.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick is playing almost mindlessly.

Which is not to say that he plays without timing, or a degree of competency, but that his fingers on the strings seem almost a disconnected thing from the rest of his body. He’s listening now to the conversations going on around him; in particular to what Simon is asking and Howard is telling so that Patrick is in fact looking in their direction when Howard turns his head toward them and the Galliard frowns; and his eyes slip away, back down to his guitar and then across at Bridget as the fiery brunette downs a shot.

Picks her way cross the room to allow the Silent Strider entry.

Patrick gives up picking out tunes without starting, and sets the instrument aside in favor of finishing his drink, and venturing to the small bar to procure a second. “Hey, Doc, I say we outlaw talk of anything that is not related directly to getting drunk, or jazz music. Why don’t you play something?”

He gestures at his guitar, then at Bridget. “Do us proud.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He rolls his eyes.”If life sucks so much big guy there’s a way out…”He says this with a shrug of his shoulders.”I for one wake up each day, and take a breath and you know what that feels like? It’s pretty nice… Cause unlike you I have an appreciation for the fact I am still alive right? A lot of folks don’t get that luxury…”He doesn’t look at Howard as he speaks.

“You keep whining… See how far it gets you. I dunno it might be a good approach.”He laughs a little and sets his hands on his glass to take a sip and close his eyes to relax and focus.”Seems to be our approach anyway so what the fuck does it matter right? I’ll get my ass killed and everyone will say some shit and not a single one of you will have learned a goddamn thing.”He settles his glass down.

“It’s the way of the world.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Howard’s diatribe isn’t completely caught by Sarita, but she does hear just enough to get the gist. She looks over his way, her brows bunching into a furrow, before she looks back to Bridget and smiles.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” The tone is warm and friendly. She looks at the minibar that Bridget gestures to and nods in acknowledgment. She pulls a battered tin case out of her pocket and flips it open, pulling out a filterless cigarette and lighting up. Only AFTER she lights up does she go ashtray hunting.

[Bridget Geroux] Is Patrick trying to make a joke or is he actually inviting Howard and Bridget to jam? Simon and Howard are seriously dragging down the mood of things. Bridget stops playing, sets her harmonica down, and raises her eyebrows at Sarita. Wide-eyed, as if it is a cue for something.

Frustrated, the kinswoman falls back to one side on the couch. She eyeballs Sarita’s cigarette as she goes ashtray hunting.

“Best just use a glass. Hey,” she follows up. “You holding?”

[Ivers] Howard holds up a finger to indicate he hasn’t finished yet when Patrick comes over to intervene. When the Shadow Lord starts talking, the Theurge barks out a laugh and looks toward the ceiling, as though he’s attempting to figure out where he placed something that has no logical reason for being up there in the first place. He pushes his hand up underneath his shades to rub at his face, groaning loudly when Simon tells him to keep whining.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, sitting back up, “Now I’m whinin’. You people just don’t like hearin’ anythin’ that isn’t ‘GAIA IS BLESSED AND WONDERFUL’ or ‘WE’RE GOIN’ TO WIN THE WAR’ or ‘IF WE ALL JUST FUCKIN’ WORK TOGETHER…'”

Howard pushes back from the table, nearly losing his balance as he gets to his feet.

“Maybe if you tried listenin’ to other people they’d fuckin’ learn somethin’ from you you bombastic twat.

And there he goes, back towards the stairs.

[Patrick Llewelyn] I’ll get my ass killed and everyone will say some shit and not a single one of you will have learned a goddamn thing.

Behind the bar, Patrick’s lips twitch. “Careful, Simon,” he notes with idle flippancy and mouthful of whiskey, “you’re starting to sound like me.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks at Bridget and nods. “Chica, I’m always holding. It’s just a matter of what I’m holding that’s in question. Smokes, “smokes,”–complete with air quotes–“my collection of vintage Nelson and Heart CD’s, someone’s spleen…” She shrugs, then smiles. “I’m holdin’ what you’re askin’ about though, yeah.”

She pauses in the midst of picking up an empty glass for said ashtray purposes, hearing Howard’s rant. “Whoa. Hey, hombre…wait up.” She gives Bridget a little wink, as if to say Don’t worry…I got this as she follows behind him.

[Bridget Geroux] And that seems enough for Bridget to rise up from the couch, shooting Howard a glance. “Howard!” the voice isn’t angry or overly loud, but enough to get his attention.

“Come on, guys. I’d like to just chill with you guys and not think about this heavy shit for a while. This doesn’t help anything.”

[Izzy Montoya] She reaches for her whiskey, and tosses it back with a grimace. She doesn’t ruin the taste by being a wuss and following it with a beer either. She simply sets the glass to the edge of the table to be picked up by the waitress her next trip around, and goes back to the work in front of her.

[Patrick Llewelyn] “I’ll toast to that,” the Galliard murmurs and takes his glass back to the sofa; sinking down on it, the Fianna nurses the glass idly upon one knee, resting it on the coffee table and staring rather glassy-eyed ahead of himself at nothing and everything at once. Howard has wobbled his way back downstairs and for all the reaction his pack-mate gives to this, you’d wonder if they were truly pack-mates at all.

But then, how was anyone to know that they hadn’t been conducting their own conversation for the better part of the hour or so Patrick had been hanging about upstairs in the lounge with Bridget. They didn’t; they couldn’t. He does turn his head lazily to one side as first one, then another of the females call out after his Alpha.

The Welshman’s brow creases in bemusement.

“Gotta give him props, he knows how to make an exit,” it appears Patrick is addressing an empty room — or Simon — or his glass. Across the totem link, all Howard hears is his pack-mate’s amusement, and: they’re coming after you, run faster.

[Simon Zahradnik] “If there is nothing in this world worth fighting for. Then there’s nothing in this world worth living for…”He mutters before opening his eyes and meeting Patrick’s as Howard walks away.”We’re not the same Patrick. We’re not even close…”His eyes lock into Patrick;s own and he stares with such piercing, penetrating fury.

Simon was being quiet and reflective right now but there was no hiding a trace of contempt as it grew on his face. He listened to Howard’s footsteps carrying him away and he slowly shook his head.”Never… Ever… Ever run from a predator.”He mutters under his breath before going back to his drink.

Cold, quiet, and dismissive. He wasn’t here to fight.

[Ivers] [And let’s stay Howard somehow manages to evade capture despite being dressed like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade float. Thanks for the scene, all!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She sighs as he makes it to the stairs before she can get to him, a chair blocking the more direct route between two tables that would have let her intercept. She watches him go with a frown, but it’s quickly wiped away before she turns her face back to the others. The smile is back on, and she makes her way toward Bridget.

“Just needs some chill time, I’m sure.” She shrugs, picking up a glass on the way and ashing into it. “Happens to the best and worst of us, so whichever of those he is I’m imagine he’ll be just fine.”

[Bridget Geroux] Bridget never really left the couch. She lets the Strider handle it and pours herself another glass. Simon grows suddenly… cold and dark, which honestly is to be expected but not something Bridget has witnessed firsthand from the Shadowlord.

She blinks a few times, slams back another shot, then goes to stretch herself out on the couch. There’s still plenty of room for others, and there’s additional seating besides.

“Tabernak,” she mutters an expression of frustration. She runs her fingers through her hair as Sarita comes back to save the day– or night, as it is.

[Izzy Montoya] She finally looks up, pushing her hair back from her face with her fingers. A last notation on the papers she’s working on, and she closes the file, and places it back into her briefcase. Moments later, she stands, slips on her coat, takes up the case, and makes her way out of the establishment.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Tabernak?” She chuckles, sitting next to Bridget and setting the glass down. She balances the filterless on the rim and pulls out the same battered tin case to open it. Once open she runs her thumb along the inside, pushing down in a spot which causes a click and the false bottom to open. Underneath is the far less legal smoking substance.

“Ain’t heard that particular curse word in a while.” She starts rolling a joint. “Not since I took a quick jaunt north of the border.”

[Kyle] (Mind if I wander in? )
to Bridget Geroux, Izzy Montoya, Patrick Llewelyn, Sarita Ecos de la Risa, Simon Zahradnik

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[I don’t!]]
to Bridget Geroux, Kyle, Patrick Llewelyn, Simon Zahradnik

[Patrick Llewelyn] The Shadow is staring across at Patrick, telling this creature, of all creatures that if there is nothing in this world worth fighting for, there was nothing worth living for. He tells him they’re nothing alike and Patrick’s slumped chest gives a sharp exhale of bitter amusement.

The Galliard’s pale eyes glint as he stares back at the Ahroun.
He isn’t shying away, though unlike Simon, Patrick’s Rage is dim; diminished.

“Damn right we’re nothing alike,” he holds up his glass, peering through the amber liquid at the distorted reflection of Bone Grinder. “You care about this War, man. You probably have some great, inspiring spiel about where your deed name came from, hell, I could recite for you about a dozen different stories and make you feel a dozen different ways about our existance.

But it doesn’t change shit.”

He takes a sip, runs the tip of his tongue over his lips, tasting the bitter aftermath of the whiskey. “I care about people, if some dick came up and hassled Bridget, or Howard or anyone I’d fight to help them. But I wouldn’t do it because it’s what some higher than thou entity instructed for me.

I’d do it because it’s the right fucking thing to do. There’s things that I care about, what makes us Monsters, just isn’t one of them.”

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Shadow… lord. Hee.]

[Kyle] He’d intended to arrive a lot early than he has, but other things kept him distracted. Making his way into the VIP room he nods to everyone as he sets his guitar case and trench aside out of the way. It was the lack of sleep that made him look like he was wearig makeup. The black circles around his eyes natural and the pale skin was just how he looked. The traditional top to toe in black included a set of fingerless leather gloves tonight. The other odd thing he’s wearing tonight is a top hat. He’d forgotten to take it off and chuckled as he now realised why people had looked at him oddly on the wander over. Seeing Sarita and the others he makes hiw way over and gives that casual smile and wave as he looks for a spot to sit down.

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Charisma + Expression, for shits and giggles. +1 tough crowd, also slightly drunk]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Failure at target 7) Re-rolls: 1

[Patrick Llewelyn] [worst. galliard. ever. / ]

[Kyle] (LOL)

[Bridget Geroux] The click inspires the chit’s interest. She rises up enough to rest her head on the Ragabash’s shoulder. And maybe Bridget is just that friendly with people. It’s happened with her Fellowship sisters, the last time she tried with Howard he flipped a god damn bitch, and she went climbing with Victor’s help (although it’s doubtful anyone is aware of that).

So Bridget smiles like a cozy cat curled up in the sunlight, biting a pouty bottom lip. Patrick, the drunk at the bar talking to himself, tries very hard and makes a good point, but it’s just not effective. Maybe he’s slurring more than he things, but it’s just not the grand speech one expects from a Galliard.

A Strider kin not seen in a long time makes his way inside and takes a seat. Bridget’s eyes light up, but she doesn’t take her cheek from Sarita’s shoulder.

“Haven’t seen you in forever. Where’d you blow in from?” she asks, half-interested. It’s not because she’s not interested in seeing the kin so much as the illegal substance Sarita’s about to light up.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles at Kyle, waving him over. “Hey, you. Good to see you. Have a spot to place yourself wherever.”

She clearly doesn’t mind being a headrest for Bridget, looking over at her with a faint smile. There’s a friendly demeanor to her face, something akin to a protective big sister feel to the way she reacts with both Bridget and Kyle around her. She finishes rolling the joint and hands it over to the Fianna kin. “Here you go. You get the honor of first hit on this one.”

[Kyle] “Hey Bridget. Been around you know me.”
Grins at her as he leans back in the chair. His voice soft as usual as he looks at her to ensure she can read his lips.
“Would have bene here sooner but been helping a few guys out. Their drummer broke his hand and they had a performance to do tonight. How’ve you been doing?”
He then looks to Sarita and again that warm smile is given as he adjusts his top hat.
“Same to you. Having a fun night I hope?”

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon took another sip of his drink and his attention fell on Patrick. He waited quietly and he watched, and he waited, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in thought. Those green eyes were so full of bitter fury as he watched the man quietly. He didn’t speak for some time but his silence made certain the heat of his rage radiated off him like a furnace. He took in every word and each word spoken to him was mulled over within his skull.

What he was hearing was more than upsetting it was downright heretical. Still Simon wasn’t a Philodox so correcting that wasn’t his job, nor was he a Galliard. What he was, was an Ahroun. That alone stood for something to him if no one else.

“My deed name came from the fact I took a man apart… Bit by bit. With a pair of pliers and some other fucking house tools. Plucked, cut, and slowly separated him from his body while he screamed in agony for almost two hours before he died. Terrified and trembling in agony. He begged me… He begged me again and again to kill him, to show him the tiniest hint of humanity. He begged me to be the better man… The honorable man… He begged me to be the thing that he never was to anyone.”He shrugs his shoulders and then looks back at his drink.

“I got my name because I show my enemies the same respect they show the weak and helpless. I’m not a man Patrick, I am hell made flesh and mark my word before long the night sky will reek with the smell of burning traitors. Let them cackle and laugh all they please…”He lifts his drink to his lips and takes a sip as his eyes settle back on Patrick’s own.”Hell will soon reclaim it’s own.”

“I’m not here for you Patrick I am here for them and I will die fighting them. That is all there is to it.”

[Bridget Geroux] Sarita… catches Bridget off-guard with her offer. She blinks, then reaches into her back pocket for a lighter. While Kyle is speaking, Bridget listens, but her eyes drift to the Shadowlord. She flicks the flame into being and smolders the tip of the joint.

Not the classiest thing out there, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

She inhales, holds onto the smoke, and offers the joint out to whoever. She tries to close her eyes, but the things Simon is saying are going to give her nightmares. Images float up of the man–No, Monster– who has been so courteous and has even served her coffee like a civilized, even hospitable human being, talks about dismembering a dude with fucking house tools like it ain’t a thang.

There’s something about his Rage, his burning stare at Patrick, or about his voice that makes Bridget believe him absolutely. She remains quiet and shivers without realizing it before she nestles against Sarita again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins in Kyle’s direction. “Having as much fun as a barrel of monkeys. Unfortunately, in this case the monkeys are rabid, emo little fuckers that managed to get out of the barrel and had too much to drink, so they’re getting pissy, shouting, stalking off and shit.”

She glances in Simon’s direction, rolling her eyes at his story. “Or telling long stories and being especially emo. We gotta do something to lighten the mood around here before an All-American Rejects concert breaks out. As it is, I think we’re about three eyeliner strokes and a little cutting short of a Fall-Out Boy opening act at the most. It’s condition-fuckin’-critical.”

[Kyle] Smirks as he raises a brow and looks at Sarita.
“Well that’s no good. So do we need to play a game of twister or do we need to pick up the tempo of the music playing tonight?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey, don’t think I won’t. Bridget here was kickin’ some serious ass onstage with Patrick, but I am ~not~ afraid to get up there and bust out some bad-ass rhymes, Eminem-style.” Is she kidding? It’s kind of hard to tell, considering that she’s always grinning.

[Kyle] “So we going hip-hop or street base or do you have a specific request?”
That constant smile stays on his face as he stands and makes his way over to check on the instruments. Seeing what they had available to use.

[Simon Zahradnik] He hears Sarita and his eye twitches and his attention goes to his drink for a moment. He takes it and draws it to his lips taking a long drink before slamming it back on the table and standing.”Ridicule… Funny…”He says back to her with little more than contempt in his eyes.

He reaches into his pockets and pulls out his gloves, one by one he pulls each of them onto his hands.

“I suddenly find myself overtaken with an overwhelming feeling of disgust.”He says before turning his attention to Bridget.”Sorry I can only take so many insults and stomach so many cowards for one night. If you have another show I would love to come but I can’t stay here.”He says back to her before heading for the door. His hate bubbling up within him, raw seething contempt was all he felt right now.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She chuckles, watching Kyle walk over to the instruments. However, when Simon takes offense, she makes a sound like frustration. Not a growl–she’s not overtly angry, per se–more incredulous and annoyed. “¡Oh, por todo lo que es santo y profano en este mundo. ¿Estás bromeando?

She pats Bridget’s shoulder and gently but quickly extricates herself from under the kin’s head, rising to follow. “Dude. Seriously now, fucking STOP.”

[Kyle] And the spike of rage causes him to stop and simply stay out of the way. Absently watching as he keeps his eye on the situation. Waiting to get out of the way for good if needed

[Bridget Geroux] [Manip+Emp +PB. Dif +1 due to inebriation.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 7)

[Bridget Geroux] The girl can do nothing to argue with Simon, so she merely sighs and looks defeated. Since her talk with Hunter, she’s been less bold with the Garou. She’d probably try to say something if he hadn’t just regaled on how he took a man apart with a pair of pliers.

That, and his Rage is enough to make her leery of even saying much. Finally, she sits back in the couch, looks to the ceiling, and sighs.

She draws a shaky breath before a pained sound emerges. While not over the top, her mouth is drawn in a pout that could stop any mortal man in his tracks. Does she know what kind of power she holds over them? Simon thought once. She probably doesn’t most of the time, but that fact makes it no less effective. Her mother was a Class A Heartbreaker (unbeknownst to her), and Bridget definitely has had something of those traits as her birthright.

“S’il vous plaît. Un instant de paix,” the Albertan reverts to her native Quebecois. The inflection of tone is soft, pleading without being desperate.

“Simon,” she continues. “You don’t have to go.”

She looks at him with those brown eyes and whether it is her expression or the marijuana that has her eyes somewhat glazed, it’s just…

Unfair.

The little unpretentious charmer could probably lull serpents to sleep or sly away diamonds from a jeweler with that sort of pout. The thing is, it doesn’t seem at all devious, because it likely isn’t.

[Simon Zahradnik] “Stop…”He says when she gives him an order. He stops and he turns around and looks directly into her eyes.”You can’t tell me to stop. In fact after that passive aggressive bullshit a second ago you are lucky I haven’t put your skull through a wall…”His fury is shining through as he approached her. So much fury in those eyes as he met her gaze directly. So much loathing and contempt.”You don’t have the right to give me orders.”He says as his body tenses and he rises up into his full height fully prepared to lash out at anyone who gets too close. He was a full moon… Whatever he might say with his mouth it was with his fists he expressed himself most clearly.

Bridget, however, gets more leeway. She knows him, he knows her… Watching her, seeing her, hearing her all of these things pull his eyes off Sarita and back towards her. Her voice and the look on her face did appear to have a somewhat soothing effect and he looked back into her eyes. He wanted to put someone through a wall… He wanted to smash someone’s face under a very very heavy brick… He wanted to crush and smash and destroy. he wanted to unleash his fury like the primal force of nature he was meant to be. Yet he couldn’t… Because Bridget was pouting and it was fucking adorable! What a bitch!

“I came to listen to music… Not be insulted at every turn. If I had known this was the plan for the evening I would have opted out of showing.”He continues.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She doesn’t shy away from his stare, his fury or his words. For all that she’s a jokester–and make no mistake about it, she is–there’s something serious deep in those dark brown eyes. And, whether it indicates her insanity or not–she’s showing absolutely no fear as she returns the gaze. Her lips are still quirked upward in a faint smile.

“Listen. I don’t know who you are exactly, because we haven’t been introduced. My name is Sarita. But if we had been, you would know that I have a one storming-out per social event rule, and Howard beat you to the punch. And frankly, I am not willing to let you be unleashed on the world out there with the emotional state that you’re in, homeboy. So the way I see it, you have three options. A, you can sit down, realize that I meant no offense to you and was just trying to lift the mood and we can return to a state of semi-pleasantness. B, you can kick my ass and we can return to a state of semi-pleasantness. C, you can kick my ass and then leave.”

With that, she–wait, she didn’t, did she? Yes, she actually reaches out and puts her hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Leaving without any of those occuring? NOT an option.”

[Bridget Geroux] “But I–” Bridget is almost dumbstruck by his Rage. She may be a part-feral, purebred, adorable bitch, but she’s still human. She blinks, looking hurt for about half a second before she takes another hit from the joint she’s been holding.

Okay, that’s better.

“Simon, I’m sorry. How could I know it would be this way? I can’t do anything to stop you all when you’re like that.”

The thing is, Bridget knows that Killer brooding in the corner has the capabilty of being civilized, or at least doing a damn good show of pretending. Now she’s hoping to call him on it, let him remember that rather than getting violent or leaving, he has a third option to choose.

[Simon Zahradnik] However much calmer Simon might have been, the hand reaching out to settle on his shoulder brings out a flare of heated passionate fury in his eyes. Whatever she had said, whatever she had intended went out the window with the sudden and uninvited gesture. Simon was a wolf and she had just invaded his personal space… She was a Stranger, an unknown, and she was in his territory, among his people and now she was in his face putting her hand on his shoulder. His eyes met her own directly and oh how serious they were.

“Take… Your hand… Off my shoulder and back the fuck away.”That was said between his teeth, that was said in the deep and slow tone that implied there was quite a bit of concentration pushing though him just to maintain that state. He looked into her eyes with all the seriousness of a warrior who was not asking, he was not suggesting, he was telling.

He was doing his best to be civilized but these were not a civil folk. Wolves in sheep’s clothing… Or rather men’s clothing. They were playing at the game of being men and right now one of those wolves was invading another’s personal space.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shrugs, her expression not changing, and the hand is removed. She doesn’t back down, and from her posture, the look in her eyes and so on, nothing has changed for her. But she gives him that courtesy out of respect. Even if she doesn’t know who he is, she knows that she took a step too far and there is still no fear in her.

“Sorry, Simon. Again, ain’t no offense meant. I wasn’t trying to get all up on your ass and light a fire. I still ain’t gonna let you step out in your state. Wouldn’t be right. So do what you gotta do. No foul, no offense taken. If beatin’ my ass for a bit will chill you the fuck out, I’m okay with that. But again I tell you–and believe me when I say this–you’re not walking out of here angry.”

She spreads her arms wide, fingers moving in to her palms a couple of times as if to say ‘bring it on.’

“So get to throwin’ your punches, or come sit down and have a drink with us. I really ain’t so bad once you get to know me. At LEAST thirty-seven percent of people I’ve ever met can vouch for that.”

[Bridget Geroux] Simon doesn’t respond. This is the call for Bridget to look to Kyle and get up off the couch very slowly. The wolves are about to have a spat and they’re scaring the kinfolk. Bridget pads backwards towards the raised aisle. The back of her legs bump into it. She’s still holding the joint, but she climbs up onto the aisle and tries to put a lot of space between herself and the Garou.

Her bare toes press against the smoothed fibers of the reclaimed wood while the fingers of one hand guide her to the door leading to the recording booth. She doesn’t say anything. It’s gotten beyond words at this point.

[Kyle] Kyle has stayed well out of the way. If he could pass through walls he doubted that would get him away from them. Seeing Bridget heading out of the way, Kyle makes his way around to follow her. Silly really that he’s in fact putting himself between Bridget and the true borns but he’ll mentally kick himself later. That casual smile thrown to Bridget letting her know things would be ok.

[Simon Zahradnik] Sarita speaks and he looked back at her as if she was speaking Chinese the entire time. He just watches her, quietly, looking her over from head to toe. Quiet and rigid… He was powerfully built and his stance showed that he knew well how to carry himself. Simon was, after all, a full moon and this much showed through in everything that he did. He blinked several times before drawing in a deep breath to calm himself.

He notes Bridget skulking back, he also notes the way Kyle protectively places himself between them. Simon was nothing if not brilliant at reading posturing and body language. It was one of the talents of the True Born though with Simon that talent seemed to shine through impressively.

It was watching Bridget shy away that affected him more than anything and his attention shifted once more back to Sarita. Before he sighed and stepped around her making his way back to the Mini Bar while shaking his head.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She blinks, her expression changing to one no one in this city has yet seen, except perhaps her half-sister Amy. The expression is shock. She obviously expected to be crawling back to the couch trying to hold her ribs together…and apparently, she would have been okay with that. She lowers her arms and turns around, the smile ratcheted up a couple of notches and makes her way back toward the couch. A sidelong look is thrown at Kyle and Bridget and she gives them a wink.

“You da man, Simon. Muchas gracias.” She smiles his way, the tone of her voice having lost its usual tease. The girl may be crazy, but she knows when to not push her luck. Aside from that though, there is honest gratitude in her voice. “Now, back to chilling out.”

[Llewelyn] [Let’s play where is Howard?

1-3 Alley
4-6 Bathroom
7-10 Somewhere else]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Bridget Geroux] Bridget reaches out to Kyle with her eyes and gives each person in the room a long thoughful glance before she decides to drunkenly pad back over to the couch. She drops off the raised aisle onto the lounge inset floor, stops to get her balance.

Soon enough she passes over the remainder of the roach to Sarita and flops down on the couch beside her. The glazed bon bon finds a comfortable niche in the couch to chill the fuck out.

For the time being.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She takes the roach and gets a hit off it, holding it in for a good three seconds before letting the smoke curl out of her mouth and nose. Some of the tension that Sarita hadn’t noticed was there melts away, and she relaxes with a deep sigh. She rolls her head left and then right, a few popping sounds coming forth before she leans in to murmur quietly to Bridget, keeping it low so as not to carry past the couch.

“Sorry, chica…didn’t mean for shit to get intense. Better me than some poor shitbag on the street who didn’t have it comin’, y’know?” A little grin. “I mean…odds are, I have it comin’ for something I did.”

[Llewelyn] At some point after he’d lectured Simon about All The Ways Your War is Fail™ by Patrick Llewelyn, the Galliard had gotten up off his plush little sofa and wandered downstairs in search of his oft-missing Alpha. You would imagine, given their level of connection that locating Howard could not possibly be so hard.

Clearly, if you deem this accurate, you do not know our characters that well at all.

It takes Patrick some time — minus a break to linger outside in the alleyway and smoke a joint — to track down the Theurge, when he does, he finds him in the strangest place imaginable. Or perhaps not, when Howard’s tendency toward long-spanned visits to said plumbed facility was taken into account. Patrick smacks a fist against each toilet stall in order downward from the sinks.

He gets two fuck offs! before saying in an ever so slightly dreamy voice.

“Howard Ivers, get your skinny ass out here.”

[Kyle] Good thing he’s already pale or people might worry since if he had colour in his cheecks they’d have washed out thatnks to the micro rage fest that just happened. Seeing everyone move back to being relaxed he removes the top hat he’s been wearing and tosses it over near his stuff before heading over to the bar himself. That warm smile still plastered on his face as he looks to Simon. When he speaks his voice is just above a whisper and sounds a little raspy.
“Hey I’m Kyle. Nice to meet you.”

[Ivers] The roar of water rocketing down the pipes, and Howard emerges from the stall moments later, buttoning his pants and staring at Patrick with a smile threatening to burst onto his lips. Whatever he was doing in there would probably have him arrested if he were to be caught; he sniffs, wipes at his nostrils with the back of his hand, and plants both of them on his slim hips.

“Oh look at you,” he says, his voice marveling, “you’re so stoned.”

He wanders right into the Galliard’s space, leaning closer to inspect his eyes for redness or glazing, then reaches up to pop the collar on Patrick’s shirt, the action strangely loving considering he follows it up with a playful slap to Patrick’s cheek and a gum-chewing grin. Given how fat the moon has become he ought to know better.

“Last time I gave one of those meatheads the ole big-word-‘twat’ combo I couldn’t walk right for the rest of the night. Made out pretty good that time, yeah?”

[Simon Zahradnik] When he returns to the group he has a glass in hand. Half of which he has downed already. His eyes go to Bridget and then to the others. He stops, however, long enough to acknowledge Kyle and present his hand out to him.”Simon.”He says back to the somewhat shy lookin’ guy. Likely not a True Born… Not enough balls, but that wasn’t so bad. After Howard’s little speech Simon almost welcomed his company.

He then hears Howard and his eyes close a second or two as he draws in a few breaths. Then looks down at Bridget.”I didn’t intend to fuck up your get together.”He was apologizing not to anyone else. In fact he still looked like he could punch someone, but he felt it was appropriate to extend the little gesture back to the kin. If nothing else to ease her fears and worry.

[Llewelyn] Patrick stoned is not so vastly different from Patrick sober, only the stoned version tended to smile more frequently and cared less for controlling his mouth when it came to — well, everything. Howard comes out of the stall buttoning his pants and staring at Patrick, and his pack-mate stares back at him with raised brows. The expression is comically demanding until his Alpha tells him how stoned he is and loosens his black shirt.

It’s long sleeved, and pressed to perfection; though by this point of the evening it’s starting to rumple.

Patrick smacks away the cold hand that slaps his cheek; and grabs Howard by the scruff of his neck, forcefully walking him to the sinks. “Wash your goddamn hands you dirty fuck.” It’s as playful as the slap, and Patrick lets loose his pack-mate without causing him any harm but a few tugged out hairs.

With the amount he had, Gaia knew he could spare a few to rough housing.

Patrick leans against the sinks while he washes up, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk laying heavy over his lips; another stoned feature typically absent. “Yeah, try it now after I told him again how the war sucked.”

[Ivers] It’s almost a given at this point that Howard will shriek if he’s grabbed or punched and the effort does not result in grievous injury: it’s a truncated, quiet sound meant to convey false alarm, and he is easily marched over to the row of sinks despite his height advantage and Patrick’s fuzzy perception of the world around him. Once at their destination Howard sniffs again, then stares at the sink for several seconds before spinning the hot water tap and lazily rinsing his hands, which tremble slightly.

Before he can be reprimanded, he pumps soap into his left palm and scrubs both of his hands. It doesn’t last nearly as long as medical professionals insist upon in order to reduce the spread of bacteria, but he still makes the attempt.

“Again?” Howard asks. “Man, you tell him that story every fuckin’ time.” He rinses quickly. “Maybe you ought’a tell him you’re ready to be a–” Instead of paper towels, he wipes his hands on the empty seat of his pants. “–fine, upstanding–” A pause to flick residual moisture from his fingers. “–give-a-fuck member of the community, yeah? No more nay-sayin’. Bet he’d shit a fuckin’ crow.”

[Bridget Geroux] Simon does his best to be civil, to pass his Rage. It’s a struggle, and Bridget knows it. The expression on her face when he speaks to her with that edge of anger in his voice is somewhat like that of a deer in the headlights. A small thing that is keenly aware of a big thing.

That too, is adorable. The kicked puppy look is not something she gets very often, either. “You didn’t?” she replies quietly. “Nothing’s broken, no one’s bleeding. I think that calls for a toast.”

To that, the girl rises up again like Lazarus, grabs the rest of the whiskey, and pours herself another glass. This one will for sure push her down the sobriety staircase, but Gaia help anyone who tries to take it from her.

[Bridget Geroux] To Sarita, Bridget simply shakes her head. “No, I get it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] There’s a smile to Bridget at when she says that she understands. She looks up at Simon as he approaches, rising to stand. It’s not an aggressive move at all; she’s not moving toward him, just getting to her feet. However he may take it…for her, it’s a sign of respect. And that’s not something that she extends very often. (Coincidentally, it does slightly happen more often when she has an Ahroun potentially pissed at her. Complete and total coincidence.)

“We should probably do official-like introductions. Sarita Echos-of-Laughter. Cliath No-Moon of Owl’s Brood. She holds out a hand to Simon. “No hard feelings?”

[Llewelyn] Patrick seems sincerely thoughtful on this point, a palm flashes to cover his chest in abject despair. “Oh no,” he laments with very little real sincerity. “Am I becoming repetitive in my mockery and loathing of everything we were created for?”

The eyes widen theatrically.

“The horror.”

The Galliard pushes Howard out the door, and then starts toward the stairs, leading them back up to what is, by this stage, no doubt a full blown party — or something god awful. Either way, Patrick’s guitar was up there and he’d be damned if he left without it. “C’mon, cheesedick, upstairs, if you’re real lucky the Shadow Lord will still be around to flirt with.”

He trumps up the steps noisily.

[Simon Zahradnik] He smiles a little back at Bridget and his head nods a little, he lifts his glass to Bridget and nods his head slowly. The full moon joined her in his toast then downed the rest of his glass. When his drink was finished his eyes fell back upon the Kin. Heavy was the weight of rage especially as his moon rapidly approached. Thinking straight got harder and harder, and it showed especially as the moon drew fuller and fuller.

Sarita pulls his attention away, and his eyes look her over.”Simon… Bone-grinder… Cliath, Ahroun grandchild of Thunder.”He says before eying her hand a moment then reaching out to take it gently enough and shake. She wasn’t so much the focus of his fury as others were. Their faces, their smug little grins, the kinds of grins that would take more than a fist to wipe away.

[Ivers] “You do tend to repe–whoa!

With a jolt, Howard stumbles forward, his sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as he’s ushered towards the door. He bursts through without pausing to see if anyone will be knocked over, and when he tried to go for the door, Patrick shepherds him in the opposite direction: the stairs.

Whaaat,” he moans, as though this is the last place he wants to go right now.

All it takes is the last nine words to convince him to hustle his ass back up into the VIP lounge, where he reappears with about as much bustle and boisterousness as he had earlier, which is to say, not much at all. He had been almost quiet when he first appeared, as though he was afraid of startling a creature of a moon that grows exceedingly touchy this time of the month. A pause to look around, and Howard rolls his head on his neck, once, before approaching Simon.

This is probably going to result in his nose being broken. He just doesn’t fucking learn.

“Simon, man, I’m sorry. Truly, I am. What do you say we kiss and make up, yeah?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her handshake is firm, far from ladylike. She nods a little, a bit of her good-natured mirth returning. “A pleasure and honor, Simon…”

The words trail off when she hears Howard and Patrick come up the stairs, and she quite literally facepalms as she heads Howard’s comment. It’s not tough to see that she’s not getting in the way of this particular ass-kicking. She’s not a peacemaker by nature, and calming down an Ahroun once is against her nature as it is. Doing it twice within the span of a few minutes? Not happening.

[Llewelyn] Patrick, coming in ahead of Howard is smiling, a strange sight in and of itself, when he steps to one side and flourishes the path toward Simon at Howard — all bets should have been well and truly off. He’s clearly not in his right mind, if ever he has been to date. Though generally, Patrick did tend to be the side of Caldera approached for more … rational answers.

Presently, the Galliard is leaning back on his heels and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Bridget.
Er, right.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon blinked when he heard Howard. His eyes didn’t leave Bridget’s face, he tried to focus on her eyes. He tried to bite down on his own tongue for a second or two. He took the time to draw in his breath slowly, get his lungs nice and full before slowly exhaling. He tossed the ice around in his glass and looked down at it, before slowly turning to face Howard.

His eyes met Howard’s own, and he took that glass and held it a little closer to him, dumping the ice out at his feet.”I stepped out of my house this morning thinking to myself that today was going to be exactly like every other day and for the most part it was. If your hope is to infuriate me just a little more so I will beat the shit out of you once more… Forget it. Kicking your ass would mean I gave a flying fuck whether you lived or died. It would mean I gave a crap about your feelings or opinion. Kicking the shit out of you would imply you were worth raising my fist in anger.”He says with a shrug of his shoulders. His eyes met Howard’s own beautiful eyes(What? They are pretty!) and his lips curled into a little smile.

The words were spoken coldly and with such bitter contempt for the Theurge. He contained his rage, in fact just letting that out seemed to let out the steam.”Now if you will excuse me I need another drink.”He says once more to him before turning and walking away. Normally he wouldn’t present his back to someone he just insulted like that, but that too was it’s own little message. He didn’t even consider Howard a threat, and while that might not mean much to some any Shadow Lord would understand how deep an insult that was.

[Ivers] Anyone with a shred of shame, dignity, or self-respect would have been insulted or even hurt after what Simon said. He would have sat his ass down or turned around and walked out of there and made an effort not to cross paths with the Shadow Lord ever again. Heir of the Ruined Day has terrible impulse control and an even shittier sense of self-worth, but by god is he stubborn, and anyone who has known him as long as Bridget, or Simon, or Patrick, would be able to state with utter certainty that he just doesn’t know when to quit.

Simon starts off, giving his back to a creature who, were he taking his auspice role seriously, were he taking anything seriously, could have rained down any number of punishments upon him with the opportunity presented to him. There were not a great deal of Shadow Lords in Boston, or London, or wherever the fuck Howard was before either of those places, but he has to know the significance of one of Thunder’s grandchildren giving him his back.

Undeterred, without even pausing to do much more than execute an about face, Howard calls, “Infuriate you? Why would I want to infuriate you? You’re much cuter when you’re calm!” He starts after Simon, following him back to the bar if he has to. “Y’know, if I infuriate you, maybe you ought’a be askin’ yourself why that is, yeah?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Simon’s response to Howard draws an arching of her eyebrows, and a wide grin. “Nicely done,” she says to him. When Howard decides to push the issue, she rolls her eyes. “Hey, chico. You’re ruining a good party here, yeah? Dial it back down a bit, you mind?”

[Llewelyn] The Galliard’s flick to the Black Fury, he says easily, “Leave him be, he’s not going to do any harm,” a beat and the Welshman starts toward the sofa, and his guitar, to properly stow it.

“Unless Bone Grinder has any reason to be afraid of my pack mate.”

[Llewelyn] [Man, just [insert tribe here] I don’t even care any longer.]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Kinda completely missed the point there, but whatever.” She shrugs and goes to make herself a tequila sunrise.

[Simon Zahradnik] “A bee…”He says with a soft tone as he approaches the bar.”Is born, and it like does shit. It doesn’t really know why I was born, it doesn’t ask. It was born and it does as is needed for all the other bees and a little while later it dies. In its entire life it processed as much in its tiny little brain as you think every second. Yet that bee stood for something. It believed in something and it might have very well died for that thing… That stupid fucking thing that meant absolutely nothing to any of us cause we just wanted her honey.”

“It’s funny… Cause I’m thinking on it just a minute ago. About the world and all the terrible things in it. Like Black Spiral Dancers.”He says this with a little smile.”You know traitors… They’re turned their backs on everything they believe in. They’ve forsaken everything and everyone in favor of their alien agenda. Yet even they are deserving of a brutal, painful, terrified screaming death. Cause at the very least they have the balls to stand up for something… Forsaken or not at the very least they hold on to something that you know… Means something to them.”He shrugs as he reaches the bar.”They fight for their hive…”

“I think it’s funny cause I mean… I don’t really like… Even pity the terrible disgusting thing you have become. Because you’re not even willing to fight for your fucking honey. You just bounce around in life callin’ people names until they drive your ass off for being a prick.”He pours his drink and tosses a couple more ice cubes in the glass.

He then presents the glass to Howard as well as a smile.”I don’t have to ask myself why you infuriate me… Because for all that everything inside your brain you don’t even have the dedication of an insect. You’re like a little mosquito buzzing around my face only you don’t even have legs or a stinger or wings… You’re more like a really loud earthworm.”He says with an almost warm little smile.

[Llewelyn] “Oh, yeah?” He snaps, the Galliard, not his moon, his personal moon, but the Gibbous none the less in the sky outside, at the Strider female. He’s stoned and his capacity for bullshit is at an all time low. “What was the point, then? That he should hold his tongue so you and Bridget here can play dress up some more about not being a),” a gesture at her, “a Monster in woman’s skin and b),” at Bridget, “in denial of pretty much everything?”

He snorts; snapping shut the locks on his guitar case and lifting it up, setting it against a wall.

“I’d rather be the asshole that ruins the fantasy, sorry to say.”

Then — then, there’s Simon’s speech to Howard and Patrick’s Rage — on a dull to middling simmer all night sparks and ignites. He walks up to the Ahroun and shoves him, without preamble. “Stop fucking presuming you know everything about us, Ahroun!”

He’s shouting, abruptly.

[Hunter] Hunter is late.

Not that kind of late, he doesn’t do shark week, he has a penis. But he is late for the jam night. So late in fact that he’s missed it completely. Except he doesn’t know this of course. He doesn’t know it when he comes stomping up the stairs with something disgustingly resembling a kazoo in his hand. It’s shiny blue, like the kind of blue that a stripper wears. It has sparkles on it.

He blows it loudly, puts it in his mouth and toots the descending melody for Rainy Day Women no 12 & 35.

br brp brp brrP Dooooooooooooo doooooooo doooooo dooo

[per+1dif]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 7 (Failure at target 7)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She pauses, turning around and giving him a look. That ever-present grin of hers grows, to something approaching maddening levels…maddening both for others around and for her as well. She turns around from making her drink, leaving the half-finished sunrise on the bar. The effect will be ruined by the time she gets back. She makes a slow walk to Patrick, eyes not shying away from him, and something shifts in her, subtly. Without any noticeable or quantifiable change, she’s distinctly less human now. And she doesn’t stop walking until her face is inches away from Patrick’s, her finger coming up to rest on the hollow of his throat.

“And don’t you presume,” she purrs, there something distinctly threatening in the amused tone of her voice. “…to know a single thing about me, Patrick. It’ll be the worst fucking mistake of your life. Comprende?”

[Ivers] He doesn’t have a chance to offer a witty, homoerotic retort to what Simon just said to him. The fact that it took him so long, and so many words, to build up to calling Howard annoying and yet not even worth paying the slightest bit of attention to would only serve as a contradictory counterpoint to everything that the Shadow Lord has said just now, and though the green eyes that Simon finds so pretty are hidden by dark black sunglasses, the light in the room high enough that he would be rendered useless if he were to take them off. No one can tell, exactly, whether he’s stricken or distraught or hernia-provokingly amused.

Drawing a breath to respond, Howard is jostled out of the way by his brother, the buzz of the cannabis not enough to take the edge off of his Rage tonight.

Oi!!

Up the stairs comes Hunter, tooting away at his kazoo, as Howard darts between the shorter yet considerably deadlier Garou and puts a hand out on either side of him, not touching the Galliard or the Ahroun but prepared to–attempt to–push either of them back should they come at each other again.

At which point Sarita gets in Patrick’s face.

The Theurge groans, then drops his arms.

“What’s with all the fuckin’ cock waving? Christ!” He points at Simon. “That was the sweetest fuckin’ thing anyone’s ever said to me.” He points at Sarita. “You need to calm your tits.” He points to Patrick. “You… you.”

And then he sees Hunter, towards whom he bolts.

[Llewelyn] His fingers reach out, snap lock around that finger.

“Then make it the last one I make,” he (begs) taunts; his eyes dilated with drugs and adrenaline and Rage. “Finish me off, c’mon. I won’t even fight back.” He spreads his arms wide, beating his chest once at both the Shadow Lord and the Strider. Howard begins to — and then doesn’t — and Patrick’s voice catches in his throat, turning hoarse.

“He isn’t gonna stop you. Do it. Obliterate me.” He pants.

[Hunter] The horrible tune from the kazoo comes to an abrupt halt, dying off in a quick, wallowing and disheartening shriek that ends with a rather depressing sad little

toot!

He removes the ‘instrument’ from his mouth when Howard starts talking and puts it in his pocket. Something is definitely wrong here, tempers are high. Anger is almost palpable in the stale bar air. Patrick starts telling people to obliterate him and Howard starts running in Hunters direction.

He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns.

“The fuck??!”

[Simon Zahradnik] “You know my mom was a pretty tough lady. I used to whine about things and she would tell me to suck it up and accept it. She was one hardcore bitch… Then one day about this time last year I earned the rank of Cliath.”He shrugs his shoulders.”When that happened she cried for the first time in my life. Cause for all her hardcore tough love bullshit she was still a mom and her baby boy was about to go off and get his ass killed for some stupid war she never understood. But even she knew that this was who I was, and like it or not this was how things would be.”He says sideways to Patrick, his voice was almost soft.

Howard’s response gets a little smirk and he watches him walk away. A slight smirk taking shape as he makes his way away. He doesn’t bother to say anything more. He looks at Sarita and he smiles as he looks at Patrick.”Do not suffer thy people… Tend to thy sickness.”He mutters softly at the man in a dark and cold tone. He was not a Half Moon. In fact no Half Moon was present. In fact! IF EVER there was a Time for a Half Moon to be present it should be right now. He was simply reminding the Galliard.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The shift in the dynamic is so sudden, Sarita practically gets whiplash. She rolls with the punches easily, though, and just shakes her head. “I said worst mistake. I didn’t say last. I ain’t that nice.” She puts her hand on his chest and pushes him, gently, backward toward Hunter and Howard.

“I also don’t do suicide by Sarita, and you aren’t that good of a goader. Go…best you get out of here. You can thank me…well, probably never, but I ain’t used to being thanked, so you won’t be hurting my feelings none.”

[Ivers] As he’s done several times before, Howard tears ass towards Hunter and then uses him as a shield between himself and the rest of the world. His outfit is, in all likelihood, the worst one Hunter has seen him wear yet: sneakers, seafoam-green pants, an orange vintage Reese’s cup t-shirt, that blue-and-black plaid scarf that matches nothing he owns, and his leather jacket. When he claps his hands on Hunter’s shoulders, it’s the thickness of his jacket that keeps him from feeling how cold Howard’s hands are.

The fuck??!

His left arm stretches over Hunter’s shoulder, continuing to point as he explains what the fuck’s going on.

Simon. “I pissed him off–”
Sarita. “She’s snarkin’ up a storm–”
Patrick. “He’s stoned–”
Simon. “He thinks I’m cute–”
Sarita. “The Great Cuntrag Shortage of 2011 takes another victim–”
Patrick. “I’m about ninety-nine percent certain he’s tryin’ to commit suicide without actually havin’ to do it himself.”

At which point Sarita pushes his brother back in their direction. Howard sighs, quick and loud, and lets go of Hunter’s shoulders with a harsh sniff. For the first time… well, likely ever, Howard gives Patrick a command that leaves very little room for argument, if one is willing to ignore the fact that Patrick could beat Howard’s ass in a heartbeat.

C’mere!” he says, in a hoarse stage whisper, waving his arm. His tone, though his volume is disastrously low, has an edge to it that none present have ever heard before.

[Llewelyn] “My sickness is simply that I don’t want to fight for what you do,” the Fiann says, still panting, sweat dripping from the ends of his hair.

“You all… you just don’t want to stop and think that maybe, maybe I’m not fucking sick. I just don’t agree with with your principles. God forbid those chosen by Gaia stop and think for themselves.” He mutters, and as Sarita pushes at his chest he swings, grabbing up his jacket and guitar.

“I’m so gone.”

He confirms, and glances at Howard as he passes and he hisses c’mere in actual challenge.

Patrick keeps walking, down the stairs.

[Hunter] Hunter listens to Howard with a face that changes emotions rapidly. RAPIDLY.

I pissed him off — Orly? Feigned surprise.
She’s snarkin’ up a storm — Don’t be a dickhead Howard
He’s stoned — Contemplative.
He thinks I’m cute — Sigh. Ugh.
The great cuntrag.. — HOWARD!
Ninety-nine percent — Concern.

And the concern stays there when Patrick ignores his Alpha’s commands. Truth be told, Hunter Matthews doesn’t really care what happened at the bar now, he looks at Simon, looks at Sarita, sees no threat. His attention goes back to Patrick and Howard.

“You gotta’ make em do it man.. one way or another..” He says the words like he doesn’t really want to have to say them to Howard, but feels it’s necessary.

[Bridget Geroux] Like Lazarus, the Fianna kin suddenly takes a sharp breath in and sits upright. A few adorable blinks and wide doe-eyed looks around the room causes the Canadian to grimace. A blink pushes back emotionless tears– her eyes are watering from the case of Drunk.

“Jesus! the young woman cries, it’s not pained, but soft and high pitched.

“I can’t leave you guys alone for a second! What’s going on? Why is Caldera here, and Hunter?”

It’s damn adorable, that fucking Canadian bitch. She rubs her eyes and frowns.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She spins around and tenses, reacting to the exclamation from Bridget like it was a gunshot. When she sees and hears Bridget, all the residual hostility she may have carried and what was left of that other-than-human look she had flits away. She puts on a smile and sighs. There’s something about the kin being conscious that certainly invokes that change.

“No worries, chica. Things just got a bit intense. We’ll be good boys and girls, promise.” She heads toward the minibar. “Who needs a fuckin’ drink?” And she raises her hand. “That’s right…I do, I do!”

[Simon Zahradnik] He keeps his smile as Patrick speaks now. He watches quietly and he shrugs his shoulders.”Believe what you like… I am honestly past the point of caring. I put my life on the line because I believe in something. You choose not to believe in that thing. That’s cool it just means I can be a little more selective on who I put my ass on the line for.”He says with a nod of his head as Patrick storms out.”Night princess!”

He then turns his attention to Bridget.”I think they are leaving.”He says before giving a little smile.”Well I can’t speak for Hunter. You wanna stay man? Grab a drink?”He asks the Full moon, inviting him in. Hunter was… Well he didn’t know him well but one Full Moon can respect another usually.

[Ivers] This is the longest any of them have known Howard where he has been absolutely silent for this long.

Patrick not only doesn’t C’mere but he keeps right on walking, carrying his guitar case and his jacket without stopping to collect his Alpha, and Howard just watches him, skinny shoulders slumped, hands at his sides, lips parted as though he’s attempting to find the words but can’t get them to line up properly. There’s the totemphone, of course, but he utilizes that far less frequently than he utilizes, say, prophylactics or language appropriate for all audiences, and he’s silent there, too.

It’s shock. He’d joked about it, had tried to make light of it, but having Patrick walk away from him like this doesn’t seem to have any previous mapping in his brain. It isn’t as though they’re in the living room, or the common room, and he’s storming off to their bedroom after Howard has sufficiently annoyed him. He just attempted to goad two Garou from other tribes into obliterating him, and then ignored what was, effectively, an order.

With his back to the room, his attention on the empty space where his brother was a moment ago, when he answers Hunter he doesn’t attempt to hide, at first, the fact that he’s confused.

“I can’t… I’m not…”

A hand goes to his forehead, kneads the wrinkle-free flesh there, and then the realization that there isn’t a single person in this room who he hasn’t pissed off in the last twenty-four hours strikes him. He draws a breath, effectively pulling it together.

“The fat fuck just can’t handle his weed, is all,” Howard says, his voice a degree of cheerful that is so forced it bears no resemblance to his typical brand of not-a-single-fuck-given speech; he even adds a forced Hah, hah! as though it’s in the script and he just doesn’t feel the damned line during this particular rehearsal.

Without waiting for anyone else to speak, he starts after Patrick.
Unlike every other time this has happened, he doesn’t shout for him.

[Hunter] Hunter stands there looking at Howard, he sees the confusion, the hesitation and Hunters face falls. He shakes his head slowly and after a few moments he just claps the Theurge on the shoulder, gives him a friendly smile.

“Good luck.” And it sounds sad.

He can’t follow, he can’t help him, what would be the point? He has to do it himself, and if he can’t do it himself then he shouldn’t be the one giving orders.

Howard bolts out after Patrick and Hunter looks around the rest of the room. He sees Bridget, gives her a wave. “Guess I’m late ye? Shit. Night ladies. Oh you too Simon.” He sighs, gives a wave of his hand and then he’s heading back out. He won’t stop to find the Caldera’s, he won’t stop even if he walks right into them.

Home time.

[Bridget Geroux] It’s her own party and people don’t even say goodbye to her. Bridget is, however, strangely used to this. It doesn’t surprise her, but she does continue to blink and pout in her semi-conscious state. The poor kinfolk whose party was kind of ruined like a friggen tantrum of 6th graders from both sexes who have reached puberty just waves her hand at Caldera… you know… like they’re actually looking or like it matters at all.

“Bye guys.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She picks up the tequila sunrise, sighing as she sees that, indeed, the sunrise has already faded away. She swirls the liquid in the glass a little bit, mixing it all the way, and then heads over to sit down next to Bridget. “I’m sorry. Here I thought I’d made the whole thing better for half a second, and then it took a huge, Greg Louganis-style dive. Horrific head-smack and all…in a metaphorical way, anyway.” She looks at the kin, her expression apologetic.

[Bridget Geroux] It takes a few more minutes for the Canadian to actually wake up. She might go after them if she was privy to that whole Harano-filled tirade. No, she definitely would go after them if she knew about it.

Things being as they are, she doesn’t. Bridget wakes up bleary-eyed, gets up, goes over to the plate of finger food. The plate gets brought over to the couch and set onto the coffee table before her. She’s still drunk, so it’s slightly less graceful than she thinks.

“This sucks,” she mumbles. “If shit is always this dysfunctional everywhere but home, it’s no wonder you guys keep saying the world is ending.”

She doesn’t mean anything smart-assed by it. It’s wisdom from the Bottle that every one of the guests so far has indulged too heavily in.

“Can’t even… fucking… jam. I mean, goddamn.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He waves to Hunter and then glances at Bridget. He frowns a little and just watches her quietly and seemed to look like he wanted to say something. He even opened his mouth to start to talk once, and then a second time, and then a third. He holds up his hand then looks around. Then finally back to her.”You can’t umm… Jam… On your own?”He asks softly and so very cautiously. He wasn’t a musician and didn’t realize how stupid this question was. He didn’t realize there would be multiple people performing here. He just thought he was here to see Bridget and probably a few others!

[Bridget Geroux] [Cha+Perf+PB. Dif +2 drunk. Keep posting, I just want to know what I need to start typing.]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Bridget Geroux] [Well fine. -2 dice then]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles, a sadder smile than she’s usually seen with. “You know…” She takes a drink of the cocktail, then sets it down before turning on the couch to face Bridget. “I grew up without any connection to all this shit. My father…more or less a one night stand with my mother. That kind of thing is fairly common among my tribe. You’re on the road a lot, you don’t really get into a lot of committed relationships, you know?”

Her words aren’t said with any bitterness. A trace of sadness, perhaps, but it’s faint and more for what she had and no longer does than what she never got the chance to experience. “Turns out, Esteban 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 my mom 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 pauses, thinking a moment. “There’s some fucked-up shit about the nation, and yes, there’s a lot of dysfunction. There are people I want to beat the tar out of sometimes…my own sister among them, and even a few people I’ve met here. But you know that all of that aside…we’re still a family. An enormous, seriously fucked-in-the-head family that sometimes tries to kill each other, but a family nonetheless. And when the chips are well and truly down, most of us will always have each other’s backs.” She looks at Simon and grins. “Hell, if I can end up on the same semi-side as this guy, anything can happen.” She throws him a wink, then looks back at Bridget. “Don’t get down. You’ll have your chance to jam…sometime soon, I bet.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [GO GO Gadget-Manip+Emp+PB!]]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Helps if I properly type the number in]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[One More ’cause I’m dumb!]]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3 (Failure at target 6)

[Bridget Geroux] To this, Bridget simply sighs and blinks. Simon doesn’t get it, but that’s fine. Sarita makes a pretty convincing argument, which inspires her to play. She clears her throat, looking quite serious while she searches for her harmonica, fingers floating through the crevices of the couch. Alas, it is there.

She holds it up to the dim light, then polishes it off with the corner of her shirt and brings it to her mouth. She starts playing. It is a pretty good job, but her heart just isn’t in it like it was before when she was playing beside a member of her Tribe, without tempers flaring through the room.

The song that starts is Wayfaring Stranger, and it is pretty convincing to the Garou. Bridget herself doesn’t hear it quite the same. She can’t see herself, so she feels disappointed with her own notes. She smirks when the soulful traditional melody is done.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The song strikes a particular chord in Sarita who seems clearly familiar with it. She smiles a tiny bit, silent as she watches and listens. When the song is done, she tilts her head a bit to the side. “Interesting song choice, chica. And nicely done.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He listens at first to Sarita and then he looks at Bridget wondering what she is thinking. He is quiet for some time and he just watches her standing still and quiet as he listens quietly and pauses just to think. She was a beautiful creature and just watching her perform was pleasure enough on its own. He is quiet and respectful and he let her have her performance before giving a little smile.

“We’re not a family… Not right now.”His eyes said he was thinking about other things. He was thinking about many things, and his eyes seemed to stare off just Past Bridget as a bittersweet smile showed.”We’ll get there… One way or another we’ll get there.”His tone was somber and somewhat annoyed. Even Bridget’s song couldn’t erase the pang of guilt that rolled through him as he settled back into a seat and wondered what the pair of Garou was up to.

Simon was still young. Still full of ideals, and hope… That little spark that this war could still be won still glowed within him. He could be cold and brooding now and again but the innocence of youth, that misguided sense of wonder still showed through now and again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She gives a suffering sigh, leaning back across her side the couch and letting her head fall backward over the armrest, so that she’s looking at Simon upside down. “Look at that…the Strider No-Moon and the Shadow Lord Full-Moon disagree on something. Someone get a Galliard, this rare occurrence needs to be transcribed into the Silver Record.”

Again, the words are gently teasing instead of having any malice behind them, the tone entirely good-natured. “Next thing you know, a Fury and Fenrir might start fighting, or a Fang might condescend to a Bone Gnawer.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He shakes his head.”It’s not that it’s… Something else. I’m just… You know. Being my usual asshole self.”He says softly even giving a little smile.”No you are right somewhere in the end we need to be able to depend on one another.”He sighs.”I’m just being, thinking stuff it’s complicated.”

[Bridget Geroux] Simon watches Bridget’s performance with his intense method of admiration. He wonders what she’s thinking. It’s difficult to read, perhaps because of her concentration, her current level of sobriety, or even because she’s too moonbrained to ever have one thought at any given time.

The song mentions family, so of course her thoughts stray there. Her father and his big hands, the sound of his voice, the way he taught her everything. The mother she believes is dead, who she doesn’t remember at all except in photos and the way her father’s voice pinched and strained when he thought of her. The stiffness in Meuric’s demeanor when he thought of Lily, the way he could communicate without words all his heartache.

Bridget is thinking about the lovely black woman in Toronto who she distinctly remembers taking care of her when she was very young. She vaguely remembers the faces of Mama Gayle and her foster children. She remembers Mama Gayle’s voice, remembers the kinfolk nanna’s lullabies, the way she sang the kids to sleep. She called the little wayward Fianna girl blackbird.

Bridget is thinking about how much she misses the deep mountains, the clear air, the thrill of hunting in the wilderness with a set of wolfish eyes watching her prey on rabbits and deer. The warmth of furry bodies in a winter dogpile, the smell of Wolves. These are all childhood memories, so she doesn’t remember the fighting, the negative.

Lastly, Bridget is wondering whether she will ever find a place where she feels at home. Even with her fellowship sisters, there is a virtual abyss between them sometimes. She wonders if she’s ever going to settle down (even though she doesn’t want to). She wonders if there’s going to be a point when Caldera leave and take a piece of her with them. If Simon is going to do the same somehow. And what of her fellowship sisters? They all have lives to return to when their time in Chicago is done…

Just like Bridget does. Did she ever think this was going to be permanent? Why then get attached to anyone? Is this why Howard pushed her away, basically? All these and more flash through the kinfolk’s mind in a matter of short minutes.

The kinfolk lowers her head in deep respect to each of her two audience members. She sets the harmonica down and picks up those two spoons again. She clanks them back and forth, trying to think of something. It takes a moment before anything comes to her. A succession of clinks and clanks and rattling noises come out before her eyes light up.

“Hey, this is a jam. So I’m eliciting your participation. C’mon.”

She starts clicking the spoons and tapping her feet to a certain beat, looking at the two of them to see if the Upside Down Ragabash and the slumping Ahroun will pick up on it. If they don’t, that’s their deal. She will continue with the song anyway.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles a little bit when Bridget calls for some audience participation, and she sits back up. “Silly rabbit.” She has no training with musical instruments…when she was 15, she had her legs pretty persistently wrapped around a singer/guitar player who thought he was the next Kurt Cobain and she picked up a trick or two from him, but that’s the last time she touched one. Still, she has been known to be able to follow a beat from time to time and she kicked ass playing Rock Band in a Best Buy once–until she had to run away for smashing the guitar against the ground at the end of her performance, anyway–so she’s not afraid to get involved. She starts to tap out the beat on her leg that Bridget is setting, the smile widening as she does.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon wasn’t exactly feeling like making a fool out of himself by showing his total lack of musical talent but there was still guilt there. After all he did kinda ruin Bridget’s evening. So as the beat starts he does the best to join in with his own foot and hands. Tapping his foot and bringing his hands together.

[Bridget Geroux] The song goes on with a sort of chant feel. Bridget teaches children’s music lessons, so leading the two of them along is not overly difficult. Her bare foot slaps against the foor with the same rhythm, while the spoons vary a bit to polish up the chant a bit.

Eventually, she will chime in with some singing. It is light, soft, slow. The perfect ending song to this little fucked up shindig to end on a somewhat positive note.

“Why you wanna fly blackbird you ain’t ever gonna fly.
No place bif enough for holding all the tears you’re gonna cry
Cos your mama’s name was lonely and your daddy’s name was pain.
And they call you little sorrow cos you’ll never love again.”

A long stretch of the song goes between this and the next portion.

“So why you wanna fly blackbird you ain’t ever gonna fly.
You aint got no one to hold you you ain’t got no one to care.
If you’d only understand dear nobody wants you anywhere.
So why you wanna fly blackbird you ain’t ever gonna fly.
You ain’t ever gonna fly.”

At this the song tapers off and Bridget slows with the spoons until she stops altogether.

[Bridget Geroux] [And they jam into the wee hours of the uneventful morning.

End scene!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Yay! Thanks for scenes!]]

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