[Cordelia] She looks at her cautiously… but mostly, her expression just confused. Her eyebrows are knit together, then pushed upward. One eye is a little more open than the other, and her lips are pressed into a line. Her arms unfold and rest on her knees.
“Why… would… anyone..? Eh?”
[Hunter] “I ain’t done this before!” comes shouting back. A long pause ended by a sound from hunter that vaguely resembles shocked disgust.
“I can’t! It’s IN TOO DEEP I CAN’T GET IT OUT. QUINN GET OVER HERE PLEASE HELP ME!”
[Patrick] When Patrick spots Bridget, he almost looks a touch startled. Or was that guilty? It’s something and it might occur to the Kinfolk that Howard has either spoken to, or Patrick knows of her time with his Alpha. He is quick enough however, to school away his expression into something far less pointedly aware and cants her a lop-sided, tired half-grin.
“Hey, Bridget.” He gestures at the bottle as he comes fully into the common area, glancing in passing at the Silver Fangs gossiping in a corner. He still wasn’t sure what to make of that tribe, honestly. “Drinking solo tonight?” Then, there’s a distinctly familiar squawking from the bathrooms, and Patrick’s eyebrows crawl toward his hairline.
“Uh,” Hold that thought. “Bridget, maybe you should wait.”
Then, repressing a smile, Patrick rubs the edge of his thumb over his eyebrow. Howard? Whatever you’re doing, finish up before you destroy the coping mechanisms of everyone living here.
[Kristiana Coleman] “Just. You know. People telling people that I’ve done things that I haven’t… That sort of thing.” She picks up a silky tank top, looking it over before tossing it in the opposite pile.
[Patrick] [Whatever. I can’t fucking keep up with you lot. Patrick is where ever he is, ignore that SF Kin. Or… don’t. Whatevs, man.]
[Bridget] It’s written on Patrick’s face. He knows, the bastard gossip hens!! Really, the feral kin couldn’t give a hair off Stag’s tail about who knows. She just doesn’t care. And the bathroom situation is just too intriguing for her to wait. Besides, she’s already near the door when he says something.
Pandora. Box. Open Sesame!
[Cordelia] “Kristiana,” her voice is stern, “is that a pointed comment or are you actually concerned?”
[Howard] [FUCKING IE ATE MY POST FUCK HANG ON]
[Howard] Once Quinn turns off the shower head, whatever’s going on in the bathroom becomes considerably more audible to the rest of the floor. Even the kinswomen in Room 8, if their door is shut, are not spared. Howard is goddamn loud even when he’s calm and sitting still. Right now he’s neither.
“Look, man, you fuckin’ started this. Don’t pussy out on me now!”
[Quinn] “You need a better grip on his hip.” Compared to the squawks of the boys, Quinn’s voice practically floats out of the bathroom. “Here, put your hand here.”
[Hunter] “Put my hand WHERE?” Hunter whines. “And you shut up Howard, you started this. You practically begged me for it.”
[Bridget] A few steps into the bathroom provides no clues, so she follows the loud shouting until she finds the source.
“What the fuck is going on?” she asks loud enough to be heard.
[Kristiana Coleman] Cordelia can see the panic starting to seep in. “Why? Are people saying something? Did he tell people that we did something? Because we didn’t. I knew he was going to do that. Guys like that always do that. Oh my GAWD, what if Mattieu hears that we did something?!?” She wails, burying her face in a pile of Calvin Klein cardigans and Michael Kors sweaters.
[Howard] “You want me to keep beggin’ you? Christ you’re sick… here.”
He says this, but then he clears his throat. There’s a rustling to accompany his speech.
“Please Hunter Jesus I need you fuck!”
[Cordelia] She stands up and sighs. Who would have thought her to play the older sister role. Who would of thought her to be the nurturing, somewhat protective type. Then again, she’s proven her metal recently. The young woman sits down beside Kristiana and she pats her on the shoulder. She notices panic, she notices a lot of things. The female pushes her glasses up.
“Calm down, it’s okay… breathe…”
“Did you know my sister’s a philodox?” she has a train of thought there.
[Quinn] A few steps into the bathroom, at least from where she’s entering, and Bridget gets nothing more than the benefit of the trio of voices echoing off the bathroom walls. If she steps in further, moves around the sinks in the center of the room, she still sees nothing.
Unless she looks down.
There are two, no three pairs of feet beneath one of the shower curtains. One set, which can’t be anyone’s other than Quinn’s, is bare and facing inward. There’s a sneakered foot, a booted one right along side it, facing out.
“Now you’ve got it. Howard, do you need a hand?” One of the bare feet shifts forward.
[Kristiana Coleman] “She is?” That doesn’t seem to make her feel any better.
[Hunter] “So help me howard, I’ll turn this fuckin’ car around.” He warns and then there’s a bit of silence followed by grunts. “Shit Howard, it’s tighter’n’a nuns holy place. Ugh, oh oh there I think–”
A huge sigh of relief and a slippery sound.
“DONE!” Triumphant, proud.
Silence, drip drip drip.
“WE GOT A LEAKER!, QUINN! GET A TOWEL!”
[Howard] [I don’t know where the hell Jacqui went but I’m giving her 15 minutes before I post again!]
[Cordelia] “She is,” she tells Kristiana, “and some people say that circular, adament denial… especially in the way you’re denying… doesn’t do well to prove the strength of one’s case. Your response is paranoid, and leads me to believe one of two things- one being that something did happen between you and your nameless mister and you are feeling the impact of buyers remorse… or you didn’t do anything, and you genuinely are afraid of what the perception of your feminine virtue will say about your family and will decrease your prospects of doing what you were sent to Chicago to do.”
A beat passes. She sighs and reaches over. The female runs her fingers through Kristiana’s hair. She sighs and relaxes. There’s a certain worth in what she says.
“If it is either of those possibilities, then it determines your next course of action.”
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She seems to be in a good mood as she opens the door and slides into the main room, a little grin as if she’s managed to amuse herself with some private thought. She’s shivering under her duster…the girl is used to warmer climates. Thus, the door is quickly shut and she shakes off the chill, rubbing her hands as she glances around.
[Patrick] [SORRY. TYPING.]
[Kristiana Coleman] She leans into Cordelia, sighing. “Is that not how you were raised? A Kin is worth more if they’re pure.” She chews on her bottom lip for a moment. “It seemed like a really good idea at the time.”
[Patrick] Patrick follows after Bridget, more out of expectant amusement than horror. He’s well acquainted to Howard’s tendency to pick, uh, public places to get amorous and can only trail behind with one arm over his chest, the other resting against his chin. Eventually, Bridget will come upon the three sets of feet sticking out from under a shower curtain.
Patrick rocks back on his heels a little.
Considers; then says in a carrying voice. “Should I get you three some Vaseline?”
[Cordelia] How was Cordelia raised? She keeps stroking the other young woman’s hair, and she thinks about this… she’s unsure of how she should act next. She looks down, and Cordelia exhales. Slowly, deeply, and she inhales through her nose. Takes in the air, “you need to define, for yourself, what you are worth and what purity is.”
If seemed like a really good idea at the time.
“Why? Did you want to?” she’s cautious with this question.
[Howard] Somewhere amongst all that noise there’s a sharp, histrionic noise that isn’t quite a scream and isn’t quite a moan. Coming from most of the other people in this building it would either be stoically muffled, or there would be little doubt that this was genuine pain being expressed.
DONE! Hunter says, and Howard can be heard panting under Patrick’s question.
“You’re such a bloody stoppered-up twat,” he says, sounding utterly indignant. “Don’t fuckin’ stop, fuck!”
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She purses her lips to the left, eyes narrowing a bit. She’s seen all of the downstairs already, and nothing too exciting is going on…time to explore. She pauses a moment, trying to remember the directions she got on the tour of the upstairs, and then shrugs as she trots over to the stairs. They get ascended with every other step skipped.
[Kristiana Coleman] She looks around, slipping into French just to be sure the conversation stays private. “Vous ne pouvez pas dire à personne, Cordelia. Promets-moi. Si Mattiew découvre … Non pas que je pense qu’il me prend pour un compagnon, mais je voudrais au moins à la date de lui pendant un certain temps. Je ne veux pas qu’on sache que j’ai fait une erreur comme ça.”
[Hunter] There’s a pause and then a clinking as something falls down on the shower floor. It looks like a claw. “I swear ta’ god I’d put it back in if it weren’t such a fuckin’ hassle gettin’ it out.” He throws open the shower curtain and storms out leaving a bleeding Howard and a nearly naked Quinn.
[Howard] “YOU’RE NOT EVEN GONNA STAY AND CUDDLE?!”
[Patrick] Patrick watches the progress of the Bone Gnawer as he stalks out of the communal bathrooms, dropping his hand from his face and its adopted pose of nonchalance and tucking both hands into the pockets of his work clothing. Revealed with Hunter’s departure is a nearly nude Quinn and a bleeding and somewhat suggestively positioned Howard.
Patrick’s face forms itself into something of resigned bemusement.
He glances at Bridget, “it’s honestly easier just to accept it at face value than to try and comprehend it.”
[Quinn] “Another towel’d be nice,” Quinn calls. “We’ve only got the one and it’s, uh, sort of in use.”
A claw drops to the floor, the shower curtain is pulled back. Hunter is seen first, then Quinn, her long hair dripping wet, a white fluffy towel wrapped around her body. Until tonight, the only person in Chicago to see this much of Quinn’s body had his own burned to his Homelands. Now, Bridget, Caldera and Hunter can see: the trail of birds working around her right forearm, the outline of a star on the inside of her left wrist, claw marks that start at her right shoulder and trail nearly to her elbow and, when she turns, the branch of some tree in blossom, stretched across her upper back.
She smiles at Howard in sympathy. “Are there anymore?”
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Into the common room she heads, peering around with a swipe of her hand through her hair. She pauses a moment to try and remember which way is what, then just gives up and follows the sound of voices.
[Hunter] It’s then he sees Bridget, standing there. He looks at her with raised eyebrows. “Go give em’a cuddle, he’s like a big baby.”
Then he stops, turns around, looks at Howard and cracks up laughing. “You’re fuckin’ ridiculous.”
“I can’t believe I just pulled a claw outta’ya ass. I’m hungry, and I need a fuckin’ drink. I also wanna’ get the fuck outta’ this place. Who’s comin’?”
[Bridget] The Canadian gawks with a bottle of liquor in hand. She unscrews the bourbon then sips at it.
“What the hell happened?” she asks.
[Howard] Once he thinks he doesn’t have an audience anymore, Howard turns his back to the shower wall and doesn’t so much let himself slide down as he just collapses. Quinn is close enough to see that his hair froze from taking a shower and then going outside for far too long, that his corduroys–previously yellow–are drenched in blood. It seems to have originated from his left sacroiliac region, but the entirety of his leg and backside has turned a stomach-turning red, and it’s stained his torso as well, as though he was lying in blood for a good amount of time. Pain has turned his skin dusky, and there is blood on his hands as well; hand prints coat the walls of the shower, and there’s a trail of prints where he was marched across the floor.
He’s still panting as he rests on the wet floor of the shower. To his credit he doesn’t attempt to peek up Quinn’s towel; with his sunglasses on no one can see he’s squeezing his eyes shut.
Quinn wants to know if there are anymore.
You’re fuckin’ ridiculous.
“Oi!” Howard snaps, his rancor feigned, before lifting a bloody hand to flip Hunter a bird.
All the Theurge does is laugh a high-pitched, almost hysterical laugh and rest his head against the wall of the shower.
[Cordelia] “… Le plus gros problème ici, c’est que vous n’êtes pas s’accepter soi-même et vous n’avez pas à accepter vos décisions. Les gens font des erreurs. Les gens grandissent. You are human,” she doesn’t chide. Maybe it’s the nature of the language, it sounds softer. Something about the way Cordelia handles the language makes it gentle.
She sighs, and her voice drops to the realm of almost inaudible.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She makes a slow walk down the hallway, the grin ratcheting up a touch for no immediately apparent reason. Maybe it’s just an involuntary reaction to approaching trouble.
[Kristiana Coleman] She nods slightly, her voice quiet. “Il vient de quitter après. Je n’avais pas honte avant qu’il vient de quitter.”
[Patrick] Patrick studies his pack-mate, his mouth thinning with something like distaste for the state of him, then cuts a glance at Quinn. It’s short, but considering. He takes note of her scarring, of her tattoos. If ever a man could make you feel at once attractive and an oddity simultaneously, it was the Galliard.
Still; he doesn’t leer.
That must be a point in his favor.
“I think there’s more towels in the hall closet, if I remember right. I’ll get you one.” He takes up Bridget’s bourbon, first, however, downs a gulp and gestures toward Howard. “Get some into him, he needs it. He looks like something’s chewtoy.”
Eyes back to Howard.
“What the hell were you fighting with, anyway?” This as he ventures into the hall to return with clean towels.
[Quinn] “No clue,” Quinn says in answer to Bridget’s question. With one hand holding her towel in place, she carefully squeezes her knees together as she lowers herself to her knees beside the Theurge. Her eyes take in the hair, the sunglasses, and the bloody trousers. Rather than looking overly concerned, her mouth quirks. when she first met Howard, she was both amused and confused. Now, she just looks at him with a kind of sad amusement.
Reaching out to at least attempt to knock a frozen curl back from his forehead, she looks at his face and says in a voice not meant to carry, “I think you’ll be okay if you shift. A claw to the ass really isn’t that bad.”
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She pauses, head tilting as she sees Patrick come out of the bathroom, and gives him a quick appraising look and a grin. “Hola.”
[Cordelia] “Pas tous les hommes sont comme ça. Votre point de vue sur le sexe es différent que le sien. Je pense que … vous recherchez un lien affectif, et que vous voulez quelqu’un pour vous faire sentir aimée,” she sighs, and just strokes her hair still, “Je ne pense pas que moins de vous.”
[Bridget] There is a huge bloody mess everywhere. The Canadian just blinks. Her sequin top does indeed look ridiculous at this point. That’s neither here nor there. Quinn seems quite concerned, so she kneels down to where the Fiann lies on the floor. Patrick instructs her to take him the whiskey and temporarily conviscates it without asking and returns it to her. The girl swishes the liquor bottle into his field of vision.
“You need to stop getting your ass handed to you. I already carried you here once all bloodied up,” she says quietly.
And after a moment of thinking about it, she adds, “Are you alright?”
[Kristiana Coleman] “I ruined everything. I should have just listened to you.”
[Howard] What the hell was he fighting with, anyway?
“My feelings,” he says.
Quinn ducks down next to him, her towel secured, and he doesn’t horse around as he tends to, doesn’t try to flip her hair into her eyes or loosen her towel. She tells him he’ll be fine, and he doesn’t argue with her, exactly, but neither is he in any great hurry to get up and haul himself out of there either.
“Oh, no, the ass would’ve been fine,” he says, his own volume dropping so as not to overpower the kinswoman’s, “but there’s bone, Quinn! So much bone!”
And there’s Bridget. Howard draws a breath; the finger of one hand splayed on the floor involuntarily twitches.
“Well, tell ya the truth, Hunter’s a tad selfish. Didn’t exactly give me a reach-around just now. Sooo, unless you’re offerin’ to finish the job…”
[Patrick] He has to duck his head around the side of the closet door to glimpse the Hispanic woman who addresses him at random. Patrick was a tall guy, though not as tall as many of the male Garou in Chicago at 5’11. He had quite vividly blue eyes and a head of blond hair to match that was kept short no matter the season.
Currently, he was also covered in car grease, his overalls soiled from time spent beneath vehicles.
The stranger grins at him; and the Galliard, who in truth almost matched some Ahrouns for sheer force of Rage turned, shutting the door with his back. His arms were full of towels, and voices carried from the bathroom. “Hey,” he replied with a quiet, somewhat restrained tone.
He hesitated a beat. “You lost, or? If you’re looking for a place to sleep,” was he about to offer to share a bed with her? “I think the owners are downstairs. Ask for a Jenny.” Then the broad-shouldered Welsh-man vanished back into the showers in time to hear Howard’s final words. He offered a towel to Quinn, and tossed the latter at Howard’s head.
[Bridget] An eyebrow turns upward, a sigh escaping her. He’s joking, so he’s fine. But he does not take the bourbon, and instead kind of lashes out at her with his brilliant sense of humor. She takes a long swig of the bourbon and sets the bottle down on the floor of the shower stall.
She’s in a strange mood today. Howard is okay, so the cabin fever rolls back over her like a heavy cloak. She’d do for a good night’s worth of sleep, but that will never happen here it seems.
“Nice,” is all she says before rising back up to her feet.
[Cordelia] “No,” she sighs, and she hasn’t taken her hand off of Kristiana’s hair, “no, you did what you thought was right and you made your own decision. All you can do now is learn from it and move on. If you don’t want me to say anything, I won’t say anything.”
[Kristiana Coleman] “Don’t. Please. I don’t want people to know.” She reaches up and pats Cordelia’s hair too. “You can take whatever clothes you want.”
[Quinn] She quirks a brow, tilts her head, and she smiles. There are things she could say. Questions she could ask.
But just like that night on the roof, Quinn doesn’t close that distance. For one thing, they’re not really alone in this stall. There’s an audience, just over Quinn’s shoulder. For another…well, who knows.
She pats his shoulder. “Finishing what he started means he started something. I thought you weren’t into men’s manly muscles.” Rocking back, she rises to her feet just after Bridget. She shakes her head to the offer of another towel. “Thanks, but I’m covered.” Hah.
“Hunter, I’d be super happy to head out with you if you’ll give me a couple minutes to put some clothes on? This extended leave of absence crap is making me crazy.”
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She opens her mouth to answer, but just grins when he’s gone quicker than she can do so. She reaches out and opens the door slightly so she can get her response out. “Ain’t you ever seen the bumper sticker? Not all who wander are lost. Think it’s in some kinda book, too. But no, I’m just explorin’ a bit. Thanks, though.”
[Hunter] He sighs, looking at Howard, and then makes a blergghh face.
“Jesus H Christ.” And he steps back into the shower, grabs him by the front of the shirt and pulls him to his feet.
“C’mon dick face.” He says to Howard. “Quinn, I’ll meet ya’ downstairs, bring a coat.”
And begins manoeuvring the stubborn Theurge out of the shower and hopefully out of the bathroom, back to his brother.
[Cordelia] “I’ll hand it to him, Ivan Press is nothing if not discreet. So, if you don’t say anything, he won’t… and I gave you my word.”
[Howard] By the time Hunter gets back to Howard he has quite literally curled up on the floor of the shower stall to cuddle with the bottle of bourbon Bridget left behind to keep him company, as if he’s just planning on going to sleep in a pool of bloody water. His momentary respite from being asked if he’s alright is interrupted by a meaty hand grasping the front of his drenched shirt and hauling him to his feet.
“Whoa!” he shouts, louder than is absolutely necessary, not grabbing the Ahroun for support this time. “What! No! Fuck! Where are we going!”
He’s limping, but he can actually assist in the walking task now, his left Converse squelching with blood every time he steps off of it.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Hearing people approaching the door, she lets the door close the crack that it had been opened and takes a few steps back, simply so as not to block traffic.
[Kristiana Coleman] “I was worried about that. Good.” She pulls away to stand. “I should go back to the hotel and get the rest of my things.” (Which is Angelina for “I’m exhausted and it’s past my bedtime”)
[Cordelia] “You need to get rid of some of this,” she chides. Her heart’s not in it; she can’t stop grinning, “go get your things.”
[Kristiana Coleman] She scrambles up, leaning to kiss Cordelia on both cheeks before heading out.
[Bridget] As for bloody messes, she’s seen it before a few too many times to get all worked up right away. Bridget knows Howard is fine now, so she retreats back into the original pensive, quiet state she was in prior to all this. Part of her is sick of the city, sick of being cooped up like a goddamn bird.
Hunter marches past her into the stall to go have another potentially-homoerotic-themed spat. Bridget blinks, then follows. She just keeps walking past all the mess and straight into room 8, where she shuts the door behind her. The girl doesn’t even look at the two blonde kinswomen before she does an epic swan dive onto her own mattress.
She could actually get out of here for the night, but frankly she’s kind of tired of the Garou antics. She’s exausted, homesick, and tired of the big city and all it’s unwild mess. Rotting, Simon had described it.
So the kin mumbles into her pillow, sounds like singing, but it’s half-hearted.
“Shu shu shu shu shu shu, Sugar town.”
[Quinn] Quinn goes back into the shower she’d used just a bit ago. When she comes out she just smiles, doesn’t even pause to tell Hunter Adoy. Of course she’ll be bringing a coat. It snowed today for Christ’s sakes. Quinn will be going out in full on tundra gear, hat, scarf, gloves, sweater and leather jacket, jeans. And she’ll leave her heeled boots behind in favor of shoes with traction.
The tall kinswoman disappears into room 4 to make that outfit happen.
[Patrick] Sarita follows after Patrick a few steps to respond to him, but the Galliard’s focus has by this point been drawn back to the scene at hand before him. He watches Hunter drag Howard up and out of the showers by his shirt front; the latter leaving bloody foot prints in his wake and glances around, then at the towel in his hand.
He mutters to the air, and moves over to turn the facet on in the stall Howard had curled up in; blood begins to wash down the drain, and Patrick leans his body against one side of it, towel slung over his shoulder. The Galliard does not follow after his Alpha and the others just yet.
He watches the water turn pink, then clear.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She just leans against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed as she watches the various people emerge from the bathroom head in their own directions in their various physical and emotional states. She looks more bemused than anything else. “It’s like watching a clown car empty,” she says quietly to herself.
[Cordelia] Cordelia looked at the pile of clothes on her bed, and then at the pile of clothes on the floor. The female sighs, and she starts to strip out of whatever it was she was wearing. Cordelia rummages through her drawers to find something to throw on. Alas, the female doesn’t find anything.
Bridget’s closet yields better results. The female ends up sleeping in a tee shirt that isn’t hers and a pair of camoflage underwear. Given that there’s a giant pile of clothing on her bed, she blends right in.
[Hunter] “You got a car? Need’ta sleep man.” He asks Howard.
“Either that or you’re growin’ some fur, either way ya’ gettin’ better for’I’leave.”
[Bridget] The noise picking up in the bar and carrying through the floor makes the Canadian glare angrily into the dark. She watches a naked Cordy raid her closet, turns her head, and sighs. She plays at trying to sleep some more, but it won’t come easily. After staring for a while, she drags herself to her feet and goes back out the door. She tiptoes out and closes the door quietly, then slumps down with her back against the wall, just staring.
[Patrick] At some point, whenever the next to arrive does so in the showers; they find them quite deserted and empty. Patrick had never re-emerged after the others, and there’s a clean towel neatly folded beside a stall that smells, faintly, of recent blood. The coppery tang lingers in the air.
There was, of course, an abundance of mirrors.
One can only assume where the Cliath had vanished to.
[Howard] Howard is not exaggerating the difficulty he’s having with walking; if anything he’s attempting to downplay the fact that he doesn’t have the Gift necessary to ignore his wounds nor the constitution of a man who can endure being stabbed by just grinning and spitting in his attacker’s face. As he’s shuffled down the hallway, he keeps clutching the bourbon bottle to his chest; being asked direct questions has even less effect than usual.
“Your concern is touching,” he says, “really, it is.”
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She tilts her head as she sees Bridget come out and then sit against the wall, glancing around before she shrugs and approaches. “Hola. Y’okay?”
[Patrick] [Thanks for play, all! :D]
[Bridget] A lovely Hispanic woman she hasn’t met before addresses the Fianna kin. A blink. She looks up, then nods. There is undetectable rage, but stranger things have happened.
“Can’t sleep,” she says. “I think I’ll just throw on another coat and go for a walk.”
She hoists herself vertical, then looks to the other brunette again. She’s so preoccupied that she doesn’t introduce herself until she re-emerges from the room with a studded leather jacket to cover the gold sequin tunic over black stovepipe jeans. She’s wearing combat boots this time, and has a tube of lipgloss in her hand the color of rich burgundy. The hippie headband is missing, allowing her waves to fall wildly.
She offers her spare hand. “Haven’t seen you before,” she says. “I’m Bridget.”
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles a little as Bridget heads off into the room, then back out. She takes the offered hand. “Sarita. My and my sister arrived just last night. Nice to meet you.”
[Bridget] “Nice to meet you.” She puts on a smidge of the gloss, staining her lips a sort of berry hue.
“I should probably make sure they’re not punking each other out again,” she says absentmindedly. “Things can get rough around here. Sorry, I’m a bit out of it today.”
She trudges off in the direction they were headed when last she saw the two Garou, a look of confusion on her face. Quinn’s gone, Patrick has vanished.
“Where the fuck?” she mumbles. “Howard.” The last stated somewhat loudly while she looks around.
[Hunter] “Yeah yeah.” Hunter says as they limp towards the stairwell in the common room. “I’mma take ya’ ta bed big boy, give ya’ that reach around ya’ wanted. Just fuckin’ don’t talk please.”
The words drift away in the air as he hoists the Theurge down the stairs.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey, no worry. I been there before. And rough is just my style, really.”
When Bridget looks confused, she points down the hallway. “One guy was helping another guy walk down the from the bathroom. I think that’s them down the hall.” She points her thumb in the direction of the voices. “The guy who came out for towels didn’t come back out after you all did.”
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Delete the first of the points. I can make sense, I swear! 😛 ]]
[Howard] [Thanks for the scene, ladies!]
[Bridget] Aha! Voices. Sarita points things out to her just as she puts things together. The homoerotic flirtation continues as the half-wild Fianna girl comes trudging after them as if she’s been invited. She doesn’t even bother asking. At this point she will snap if someone tries to keep her pent up in this place.
“Hey, wait up,” the chit calls down. “If I don’t get out of here I am going to lose my goddamn mind.”
Her combat boots come thumping down the stairs after the two in more rapid succession until she catches up.
[Bridget] [Okies you too Jamie]
[Howard] [Ack! Didn’t see you posted hang on!]
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches Bridget head after them, chuckling. She just grins and lets her head off, then looks around to figure out where to resume exploring.
[Howard] At the door leading out into the alleyway, Howard hears hollering down the stairs. He thrusts the bourbon at Hunter and forcibly peels himself away from the Ahroun to turn around and face Bridget. He’s favoring his left leg, for rather obvious reasons, and he looks back over at Hunter once as she rounds the bottom of the stairs.
“Goin’ to what?” he asks, as though he missed what she said. Must have water in his ears. Howard tries to clear out his ear canal with a finger, tipping his head to one side as he does so, then jerks a thumb at Hunter. “Catchin’ a ride home with this prick, my ass is killin’ me.”
Stepping just outside the kitchen door, Howard stumbles a bit as he tries to remember which room is Quinn’s, whereupon he cups his hands and yells “OI!! QUINN!! MOVE YOUR ARSE WOMAN THE BUS IS LEAVIN’!!”
[Hunter] It doesn’t take much for Howard to peel himself off Hunter when bourbon gets put in the Gnawers hands. He takes it and wanders off slowly, leaving the two Fianna to their own devices as Howard begins talking. He spends his time looking in the fridge, picking out bits of meat and chewing on them.
“You wanna steak?” He absently shouts over at Howard. “HEY QUINN YOU WANNA STEAK?” He offers the kinfolk still upstairs.
And then just shrugs, puts it back in on it’s plate, wanders out through the door to the alley.
[Bridget] Howard faces her, not understanding what she says. Bridget looks to Hunter before looking back to Howard. Her face is twisted with a bit of worry.
“I’m coming with you. Anyone who wants to keep me here will have to tell it to my hunting knife.”
She’s joking, right?
The punk chick folds her arms over her chest and looks to Hunter with a quirked brow. She scratches the back of her head, then looks to the injured Theurge.
“You better come along, sugar. Your ride is leaving.” The kinfolk approaches her kinsman and loops an arm around his torso so he can brace himself a little if need be.
Quinn tags along or doesn’t.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] And she’s out of sight, having wandered off somewhere upstairs. [[Thanks for the scene. 🙂 ]]