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.

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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!]]

Dance Hall Nights

[Bridget]
Meet me at the Metro! Kristiana’s phone gets a text message sometime during the day. The Metro is a prominent night club at the north end of the Lake View area. Early Thursday night brings little in the way of crowds, but the music within is pretty kickin when Kristiana arrives. The street entrance is somewhat posh, and the interior is large enough to house large shows.

The guest DJ tonight is a girl named SuperDre, a dark-skinned young woman with a glorious mane of dark, frizzy curls tamed partially from her face by a set of silver and white headphones. Her simple white sundress is starkly set to glow by blacklight. A technicolor dreamscape of lights and sound radiate through the nightclub. In the back hosts a famous red-lined photo booth where groups too large for the small stall pile in for photographic evidence of their escapades.

Bridget is somewhere among the crowd, wearing glow-in-the-dark shutter shades, a neon white tee-shirt with a pastel-green-and-pink monster that declares I AM THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED, a pink sequin scarf accessory that looks about as functional as her shades, a smear of cotton-candy lipgloss, a leather miniskirt, and ragged Rodarte tights from the Kristiana collection (or swapped with someone for something she had) layered over another set of dark purple tights that are nearly black in this light.

She has a colorful-looking martini drink in her hand, her hair is tossed up with oodles of hairspray. She’s laughing, caught between a weird, bug-eyed, frizzy-haired Lebanese man wearing all black and a black hat that reads FUCK YOU in white; the other looks like he could be a football player, except he’s too well-dressed and has a sheen of fine glitter in his hair.

[Kristiana Coleman]
Krist is dressed in California club. Skin tight white jeans flare just slightly at the ankles, and are paired with silver platform heels that give her a full four inches over her normal height. The scrap of fabric that serves as a clingy half tank top matches the heels, and her hair is plaited into two braids that rest just over her shoulders. After making her way into the loud, throbbing bar she wiggles her way through the crowd, on the lookout for Bridg.

[Bridget]
The girl is not difficult to find. She’s pretty and charismatic enough that eventually, someone will try to get the boozehound away from the bar, she will tell him to shove off, and she goes in search of her friend, waving her drink over the crowd, set aglow slightly by the din of her tacky (but totally awesome) shades.

Bridg almost knocks into the pretty blonde. A quick spin and the girl shrieks with delight. It’s not obnoxious, it’s a quick shrill noise followed by a sort of glomping hug. A bit of her drink threatens to slosh over the sides, but doesn’t get quite close enough to spill.

“Hey dollface!”

[Kristiana Coleman]
“HI! I need a drink!” She’s apparently very familiar with the fine balance of yelling and hand gestures that are required to make oneself clear in a club environment. Grabbing Bridget’s arm, she pulls her along to the bar. “How long have you been here?”

[Bridget]
Duely noted, Bridget is yanked compliantly along towards the bar. They push through more people. The Canadian shrugs her shoulders in the dark. She came for a purpose: to get the hell out of the Broho and as far as she could think of from the intruding presence of Rage. Her Fellowship Sister was gracious enough to join her. In turn, the brat links arms with the sheltered rich girl.

A toned stomach presses flat against the bar rail while the feral-looking chit tries to grab the bartender’s attention. She gestures at her own drink, then to Kristiana.

“Two sea monkeys!” she shouts, then grabs at a wad of rolled-up bills in her boot, setting the nearly-empty martini glass on the bar. The muscular bartender continues looking appropriately indignant while he does his job, but he does try to throw a trick or two into the process.

Bridget rises gloriously after some fumbling with the platform heels (another of Kristiane’s, in all likelihood, or else it is a very lucky find from a thrift store). A slap brings the appropriate amount of money to cover both drinks plus tip.

[Kristiana Coleman]
“I’ll get the next one!” She nods, shouting over the music again and signaling for two more as soon as the first two are delivered. “What are they?”

[Sean Douglas-Pinkerton]
Like all prominent night clubs that cater to the entranced crowds that mob the floor, the VIP overlooked the floor. Thursday nights were not normally the most crowded, mostly packed with only hardcore clubbers and the college co-eds that wanted to drown out whatever learning they did for the week.

“Any one of them…”

Sean looked out at the crowd as the thrall moves and grinds to the beats that fill the floor. A couple of his friends snickering as if he was just being an ass, his closest friend, Bruce, knew better to say anything. But Harry, always one to jump at a bet in the making comes up to the railing, handing over another grey goose and red bull to Sean smirking.

“Anyone? How ’bout we test it eh? I choose, you bring her number in tomorrow at the office….

One of the guess chimed in “if he makes it in…” laughing once again.

Smirking Sean couldn’t help himself. “Deal.”

A challenge, a new thrill. “Which one shall it be?”

[Bridget]
The girl lifts the obnoxiously glowing shuttershades from her face so she can see. They go atop her head like some sort of nightclub tiara. Her hair, not the usual flyaway set of waves, is actually somewhat fitting, think a modern take on ’60s volume, without the virtual shield of hair, a bump, or a ridiculous beehive. Bed head done right. Her makeup is just a simple catseye and mascara without eyeshadow.

She finishes the first cocktail and nudges it away once their first drinks arrive. The bartender slides the money and the empty martini glass and is off again in a flash. Kristiana’s drink looks appropriately fruity, so it is likely potent.

Bridget laughs as she raises the next to her friend. “I have no idea,” she grins ear-to-ear, shrugging her shoulders to emphasize the statement.

[Kristiana Coleman]
She shrugs, drinking the thing down in a series of long gulps, then pushing her glass forward and waiting for another.

[Bridget]
Bridget drinks hers and slinks with her back against the bar. Her eyes go towards the stage and across the crowd.

[Kristiana Coleman]
“HEY!” She yells at the bartender, waving money at him and leaning on the bar. “How do you know about this place?” This, apparently directed at Bridget, as she leans into the other girl while saying it.

[Sean Douglas-Pinkerton]
The term agreed on and the wager set, Harry scans out the crowd, looking over one woman and then the next. Making sure to keep get the best possible target, he spots the glowing shades, like a lighthouse, calling to him.

“Agreed?”

But before Harry could finish his statement, Sean was down the stairs, making his way to the bar. He wasn’t hard on the eyes in the slightest, part of the reason he was so good at what he did, his suit jacket left upstairs, still dressed in his suit from the office. He gets to the bar, waving down the bartender for some drinks and some info, motioning at the Kristiana and Bridget as he drops a 50 on the counter top.

[Bridget]
Kristiana’s shouting breaks the girl’s daze. She tilts her head closer to Kristiana while still being able to watch SuperDre. The Canadian shrugs her narrow shoulders. She doesn’t notice the Glass of Water who flags them down, at first. She links arms with the blonde of similar lithe build.

“Don’t care,” she replies. “I had to get OUT of that place.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
“Because of Howard?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She makes her way through the front door, dressed about the same as she always does. Despite her propensity for a garish and over the top style, Sarita doesn’t get clubbed out for nightclubs…frankly, she really doesn’t have to. The duster is settled firmly on her lithe frame with a simple black tank top that reads “it’s not pms, it’s You” and matching color jeans underneath.

She pushes past a couple people, ignoring looks her way, and with a bit of a playful grin she makes her way toward the bar. Someone wants a drink.

[Bridget]
Garou… Can’t live with them, can’t– no, pretty much can’t live with them. Bridget might not feel quite like the other kinfolk because of her wildness, her mercurial mood swings and deep passions, she may have been raised among them, but she certainly will never feel truly welcome with the Wolves.

The brunette leans into the blonde, pulls her glowing shutter shades over her 60s catseye lids. The bartender returns at last with the drinks, Bridget takes hers and gives the other to Kristiana.

“Crazy! Il me rend fou.”

Anyone might guess by the sweeping motion of her spare hand that the girl is gesturing at the lovely DJ, but she isn’t. She shakes her head a couple times– which the glow makes her slightly dizzy– and then she slams back the martini and sets the glass aside.

This would be number three. She is a Fianna, but even those girls have their limits. She doesn’t notice the slight press of Rage coming from the Ragabash, not at first.

[Sean Douglas-Pinkerton]
Sean makes his way passed a few other people to get himself next to the pair of girls. His neon green looking drink in hand as he finally gets next to Bridget, leaning back against the bar as he tries to get her attention.

“Should’a seen her in Grand Rapids.”

His voice is intoxicating, even through the pulsating beats that echo across the room.

[Kristiana Coleman]
She knocks her fruity alcohol bomb back all at once again, the first one already seeping into her bloodstream. With as little as she’s used to drinking, two should be her limit. Whether or not she realizes this is another matter. The man talking to Bridget gets a slow once over, before she looks slightly guilty and forces her attention onto Bridget instead.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She sidles up to the bar, leaning over exceptionally well and attracting the bartender’s attention. She shouts something to him and gets a nod, then steps back and turns around, looking over the club. She notes Kristiana, Bridget and Sean a bit further down the bar and tilts her head a bit, watching them with a faint grin.

[Bridget]
A silky sound like milk-and-honey catches her attention. It’s difficult to tell what she’s staring at from behind the neon green glow of her plastic shutter shades, but her face is directed towards Sean. She squints while she thinks she notices Sarita. Bridget leans towards the handsome Whoever This Is, extends an arm to wave the Strider over.

She withdraws soon enough, turning with her back settled next to her Fellowship Sister, looking quite content based on her posturing. Shades point down, then back up.

“Yeah?” she doesn’t mention that she has No Clue where this mysterious place is located. It could be a city, could be a club for all she knows.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
The grin quirks and she shrugs, making her way down to the trio. Bridget and Kristiana get nods as she approaches. “S’up, chicas? Unexpected pleasant surprise. How’s it goin’?”

She looks at Sean for a second, giving him an appraising once-over and then a lopsided smile. “Hola.”

[Sean Douglas-Pinkerton]
“She tore the whole place down…”

He offers his hand to her, a polite smile as he made his introduction. Eyes moving over from Bridget to Kristiana, then back to Bridget.

“Sean.”

But in the middle of the exchanging pleasantries, something seemed to shoot up his spine, a shock of recognition that he hasn’t felt in some time. Unsure of where it was coming from he opted to ignore it, even if that feeling still lingered. Old scars and unsettled wounds.

[Kristiana Coleman]
“Hi Sean!” She is VERY cheery, adding a wave as she beams at him.

[Bridget]
Bridget stares at the hand, wiggles her nose, then looks back at his face. After a second, she returns the gesture.

“Bridget. You shake hands at a club?”

Just then, he loses some of his bravado–or something– and Kristiane nudges against her back. This draws laughter from the Canadian, who leans her head back towards her girl. The long stretch of her neck is exposed, the green and pink cartoon monster on her shirt proclaims its identity.

She brings herself upright after giggling, then touches Kristiana’s shoulder, then gestures to the stranger.

“This is Kris.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
“Hi!” The alcohol is already hitting her, and hitting her hard.

[Sean Douglas-Pinkerton]
He downs the rest of the neon green mixture that makes up his drink and leaves the glass on the bar top. He couldn’t help it the rage might have been minimal, but he remembers what happened last time he dealt with… them.

“Can’t help it, seems only polite.”

He looks over at Kristiana again, a light smirk crosses his lips.

“Can I get you ladies another drink?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She quirks an eyebrow as her greeting to Sean is ignored, and turns as the bartender brings over her order…which looks to be several shots. She winks at him and nods, lining them up and knocking one back.

[Kristiana Coleman]
“Yes!” She nods rapidly, slipping into flirt mode without really thinking about it or meaning to.

[Bridget]
“Sure thing,” she says, then makes herself laugh again. “Oh, oh!”
“This is Sarita,” Bridget points to the slightly taller, dusky-skinned Hispanic woman behind him.

[Sean Douglas-Pinkerton]
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa
(Sorry, I missed your post when I Pm’ed myself a roll)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
to Sean Douglas-Pinkerton
[[No prob. 🙂 I’m not annoyed, she is.]]

[Sean Douglas-Pinkerton]
Turning to Sarita.

“Hola.”

Almost instinctualy he doesn’t meet eyes with her. Maybe he recognizes exactly where the rage is coming from, or maybe he is just trying to suppress the thought as a recurring nightmare. His let hand pulling out a Grant as he waves it at the bartender.

“So what can I get you ladies?”

The situation seemed to get tougher, but nothing was impossible.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She looks over quickly and gives a big wink, smile and thumbs up like she’s posing for a 1950’s print ad or something. Truth be told, it’s the same look she gave during her junior high yearbook photo. It mellows into a regular-sized grin, dark eyes flashing in amusement, and she downs another shot while playing observer.

[Bridget]
Bridget shrugs her shoulders and blinks a few times. The alcohol is affecting her already, clearly.

“We were having Sea Monkeys, but I have to slow down. A bit. Honestly, I’m fine with a Blue Moon.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She takes note of Bridget’s state and chuckles, giving the kin a little nudge with her elbow.

“I know someone who’s not driving herself home tonight.”

[Sean Douglas-Pinkerton]
“And for you Sarita?”

He could feel Sarita eyes on him, maybe it was the alcohol that was impairing his judgment, or the constant thrum of the music that kept him from pinpointing her as the source of rage. Turning to the bartender seemingly waiting on his order, unlike he does with others. Ordering up the drinks for himself, Bridget and Kristiana.

[Bridget]
Her redneck is showing. At least she didn’t order a fuckin’ Pabst. A nudge. The Glow points in the direction of the Strider Ragabash. Up to her face. Bridget chuckles again.

“Oh, you’re so silly. I don’t have a car,” she admits.

How she gets around is one of those great mysteries of the universe, but the Canadian isn’t revealing all her dirty little secrets just yet. Her state is decreasingly less sober, but that’s somewhat expected. She needs to forget, needs to shake off her stress, the chill of Rage, the frustration of simply Being. Garou have rough, harsh lives, but Kinfolk must survive it, endure the horror and pain, the duty and constant thankless responsibilities, the threats, and sometimes… the abuse.

Bridget loops an arm around the teetering, giggling Trust Fund daughter, finding some comfort. The cacophony of sound is another welcome addition, with the floating of her brain marinating in vodka and fruit juice.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“I got my drinks for the night, thanks.” She waves her hand over the four remaining shots she has. Her Rage isn’t as radiant as most of Gaia’s warriors; that could possibly be contributing to Sean’s lack of narrowing it down to her. She takes a sideways lean on the bar, fishing a hand-rolled cigarette out of her pocket and putting it in her mouth.

“Of course, if you’re buying ’em, I won’t complain none.” She gives a chuckle and a shrug.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She laughs at Bridget’s response. “Well, good for that, in tonight’s case at least.”

[Sean Douglas-Pinkerton]
“Its no problem.”

He motions to the bartender as his fingers circle around at the shots lined up at the bar, nodding to him as he changes the 50 for a 100 bill. Passing the drinks back to the pair of women and as Bridget seems to become pals with Sarita, he moves over and starts up some small talk with Kris.

[Bridget]
Bridget unlinks with Kristiana and scoots over with Sarita. She simply leans her lithe form against the Garou’s and places the side of her head against her shoulder. At some point, the Glow focuses up towards her, but really more like towards the ceiling.

“You should give me your number, so we can ….FUMAR.” A cognate stands out to her, maybe Cordie’s native tongue is rubbing off a bit.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Fumar?” She smiles and shakes her head, putting her arm around the kin’s shoulder and settling a hand on the opposite one. It’s a simple and congenial gesture, a friendly attempt to stabilize Bridget so that she doesn’t lose balance and fall. She reaches with her free hand and takes one of her shots, knocking it back.

“Yeah, I can do that. I tend to keep stocked, for personal as well as business.” She fishes into her pocket and comes out with her cell. “Gimme your number, I’ll text you and then you got mine.”

[Bridget]
The kinfolk reaches for a pen to no avail. She looks around the bar– yeah, fat chance– then to Sean. He looks like the type maybe to carry a pen? Bridget taps his shoulder and leans towards the handsome, silver-tongued devil.

“Sean, do you have a pen?”

[Sean Douglas-Pinkerton]
When Bridget and Kristiana unlink, he moves in to create a private conversation between the two of them, letting the other two girls start to gossip or what not. He puts some more money on the bar top as he gets another two drinks for them.

The thrill starting to dim, until Bridget acknowledged them again.

“Err.. sure.”

Quickly fishing through his pockets, he finally finds a silver pen engraved with his name along the side. Sean Douglas-Pinkerton

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She grins. That works too. She tilts her head, watching as Bridget retrieves the pen and gives Sean an appreciative nod.

[Bridget]
The young woman leans in close, lifts her shades again. She gives Sean a hazy look like the good little heartbreaking Frenchie she is. Her hand reaches for the pen, brushing her fingers against his. It’s just a brief contact before she takes the pen, lightly grabs a napkin from the bar, scrawls her number down, and hands it to Sarita, who asked for it.

As for Sean? She places the pen on top of her right ear and stares at him.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She takes the number, looking it over before slipping it into her pocket and then programming it into her phone. She then sends off a text of “This is Sarita’s number. She wants you to program it into me” and pockets the phone. It’s all done surprisingly effectively with just the one hand, her other hand staying as a stabilizing force on Bridget’s shoulder.

[Sean Douglas-Pinkerton]
He whispers something into Kris ear once more as he downs another shot with her smiling an all too charming smile before looking back at Bridget and Sarita. A little bit of a gloss-over has gotten into his eyes. Normally he could hold his licqour. Just not tonight.

“Would you like another drink?”

[Bridget]
Bridget in fact swoons over into Sarita with a giggle. She takes Kris by the arm and hauls her off to the dance floor to shake the stress off. There may or may not be more drinks in tow. The girls shriek and move to the rhythm. Unfortunately, they abandon the two there.

[Sorry guys, it’s way past my bedtime, I have to get going before I pass out on y’all.]

[Bridget]
[Thx for the scene]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
[[Yeah, kinda late for me too. Thanks for the scene!]]

[Sean Douglas-Pinkerton]
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa
(cool its like 3am for me. We can call it a scene)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
to Sean Douglas-Pinkerton
[[Sounds good. Thanks much and have a good night!]]

Chatting Up The Sisterhood; Meeting Katherine & Lukas

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She makes her way in through the front door, running a hand through her hair. Despite the chill in the air, she hasn’t altered her style of dress at all. She looks around the front room to see if there’s anyone interesting here before she might go to make her way upstairs.

[Bridget Geroux]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Bridget Geroux]
Nothing interesting is happening at six pm in the brewery’s main floor. There are, however, noises emanating from the upstairs. A harmonica wails brilliantly, masterfully. It is a lonesome expression, something unwritten and unrecorded. It is a gift.

The music floats down the staircase, reaching desperately. And just as soon as it pulls the heart strings, the melody changes… it becomes playful, flirtatious, even. Eventually, the unwritten, unrecorded masterpiece tapers off into a rhythmic beat for a long while, and then slowly fades away.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
Her attention drawn to the upstairs, she passes through the main floor quickly and takes up the steps two at a time.

[Bridget Geroux]
Sarita witnesses the tail end of the performance, of a young woman bent over like some raggety, Caucasian, Canadian Kokopelli. A fitted white tee reveals new ink on her wrist of the legend. The tattoo is fresh enough that it looks as if the bandages have been removed within a day or so. The black ink is swollen, surrounded by irate red skin. It will soon heal over completely.

A pair of jeans with a small horizontal rip on her outer thigh are pulled over the usual combat boots. Her hair has some of that winter frizz going on, shiny from a recent shower.

Footsteps up the stairs catch her attention once she’s close to finished. Sarita enters her view while she still has her mouth attached to the tin whistle.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She stops when she hits the landing, smiling a little and moving to take a seat at a seemingly random spot on the floor, letting her finish up. Once she’s done, Sarita nods. “Very nice. Been wondering where you been, ain’t seen you in a week or so since we first met. Hola.”

[Bridget Geroux]
“Hey.”

The pale Canadian eyes the tanned Strider. Her Rage isn’t immediately perceptible, so she’s not sure what to make of it. Bridget tucks her instrument into a pocket of her jeans, then takes a seat on the couch, pulling up her legs to sit Indian-style.

“I had to get out of here,” she tries to explain as simply as possible. “Things get pretty intense.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She nods a little bit. “I can dig that. You get this many inherently angry people people all in one little spot, and there’s always gotta be some kind of down time away from here. S’probably at least a fifth of why I’ve always stayed on the road as a rule. Everything okay though?”

[Bridget Geroux]
Is everything okay? Tough one. She’s been bouncing back and forth between these little flirtations with a Shadowlord Ahroun and a Fianna Theuge who couldn’t possibly be more different. Both of whom are equally appealing to the moonbrained, part-wild creature before Sarita now.

She has a point… many angry people in small quarters. But that had almost nothing to do with it. Passion is more like it. When passions run this wild and dangerous, with very strict control, things are guaranteed to get tense, explosive.

“Kind of a loaded question,” she laughs. “I’m alright. I’m teflon.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She grins a little at that, though there’s a bit of a look of concern underneath. “Hey, keep in mind chica…eventually, something sticks to everything. The Teflon Don got life.”

[Bridget Geroux]
The Canadian simply shrugs and turns on the television to rot out her brain some. She has another valid point.

“Yeah, well… we’ve all got flaws. How’s your week been?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She settles back, looking on to the television to watch along with Bridget.

“Been all right. Less productive than I think I’d have liked it to be. Thought I’d either know a ton of people or already be run out on a rail.” She sighs, popping her neck to either side. “That’s par for the course, anyway. Instead, I kinda know a few and no rails yet.”

[Bridget Geroux]
Hockey seems to be the decision. A game recap of the Calgary Flames. Bridget is intensely interested, but distracted. She does her best to answer, regardless.

“That’s good. Kind of the same here. I wish I could kick the crap out of a certain someone, but not… not really.”

A fight ensues among the players. Bridget’s eyes are glued.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She smirks by how entranced Bridget is by the game. Hockey clearly isn’t Sarita’s thing but she seems to find the fighting amusing, at least. “Well, let me know if you need anyone held down. I’m always up for that.”

She shifts her position so she can lay on her side and watch both the television and Bridget. “Is wanting to kick the crap out of certain someones a regular occurrence around here? Been noticing a lot of it in my short time.”

[Bridget Geroux]
“It depends on how much of a dick that person decides to be.”

Soon enough, the recap is over. Bridget passes the remote to the Strider and sits back into the sectional.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She takes the remote and flicks it through several channels, settling it on some channel playing Black Dynamite before setting it down and looking away from it. “You wanna talk about it? I tend to listen pretty decently. Even the big words, though I might need a dictionary.” She grins.

[Kristiana Coleman]
(Heh. Black Dynamite)

The Fang kin strolls in in all of her hot blondness, looking considerably more relaxed than she has since arriving in the Windy City. She’s wrapped in a warm wool coat with gloves and matching scarf, but no hat so that her hair isn’t mussed. After glancing around the bar area, she heads upstairs to check out what clothing is still in room 8.

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

[Bridget Geroux]
[Post around me for now while i catch up]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
[[We can let Kristiana come on up. Not sure how to post around with Sarita, but it’s cool, I don’t mind waiting. 🙂 ]]

[Bridget Geroux]
Bridget has no clue what this movie is, but she watches it anyway. She is in desperate want for a stiff drink or something to do.

“It’s not really something that unusual. Boys will be boys, dicks will be dicks. It just struck me the wrong way at the wrong time. If we didn’t have survival mechanisms, all women would be lesbians.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
Which, naturally, makes her stop dead still at the top of the stairs. “We would?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“I’ll debate that. I’ve been accused of not having a survival mechanism many a time, and I’m all about the cock.”

She looks over at the top of the steps, noting Kristiana, and gives the new (to Sarita, anyway) face an appraising look. “Hola.”

[Bridget Geroux]
Her fellow Sister retorts at the top of the stairs. Bridget smiles finally and perks up a bit.

“Hey there, fille. Come on over.”

She pats the couch, then returns a laugh to Sarita.

“Yes, well. Cock is nice, except when it is attached to a pair of shoulders.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
She turns several shades of red, nodding and smiling to Sarita as she scoots over to sit next to Bridget. “Hi”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Meh.” She shrugs. “That’s why you do what they do. Get laid, get gone. The look on a guy’s face when they get kicked out of bed is priceless, especially if they’re the ones used to doing the kicking.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
She watches her fingernails. “Not all guys are like that.”

[Bridget Geroux]
“That is a marvellous idea, woman. I will definitely keep that in mind.”

Certainly, a heartbreaker in the making. She will be taking notes. Kristiana looks justifiably uncomfortable, so Bridget wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Oh no, they pretty much are. Just give them a chance, drop in on a conversation with their friends. They’re all pigs.”

Just a touch bitter?

[Kristiana Coleman]
“Not all of them.” She looks a little panicked though, leaning into Bridget. “They can’t all be like that.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
A little shrug, expression casual. “There’s one or two good guys out there. Unfortunately, they’re usually looking for the same thing we are.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
“But…. if they’re going to be like that, then they leave after, right? They don’t have you stay over and stuff. Right?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She looks at Kristiana a moment, light dawning. “Yeah…that’s the rule. Otherwise, they’re probably okay.” Well, maybe. But she’s being nice.

[Bridget Geroux]
“No, some just fuck with you because they have no control over their lives.”
Another touch of bitterness. Bridget excuses herself politely and goes into Room 8 for a few.

[Kristiana Coleman]
She takes the two responses collectively, and seems oddly reassured by both. “Oh. Okay.” Nodding, she watches Bridget leave before looking to Sarita. “I’m Kristiana.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Hi.” She smiles and waves. “I’m Sarita, the new Strider Raggie ’round these here parts.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
“Nice to meet you, Rhya.” Old habits die hard, after all.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She pauses and looks around, like she honestly didn’t expect that Kris was talking to her. “Oh, wait…” She grins. “Sorry. Ain’t no one called me Rhya in a long…well, nearly ever.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
“I’m sorry.” It isn’t really clear if she’s apologizing for doing it, or apologizing that no one else has.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Don’t be.” She smiles. “I’m not.” She stretches out on the floor, arching her back in a cat-like manner for a moment before relaxing. “Didn’t mean to put you on edge about the guy sitch. I promise, there’s a couple good folks out there. Just gotta wade through a lake o’ shit to get to ’em sometimes.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
She nods a little, looking uncomfortable again.

[Bridget Geroux]
Finally, Bridget returns from Room 8. Her eyes look a bit red, her face blotchy. She plops down on the couch b etween the two women, stretches her long legs out. There is something in her fingers. A joint and a cheap lighter, to be exact. The Canadian doesn’t look to the others for approval before lighting up and taking a hit.

It’s not Howard’s good shit, but it’ll do. Yessir, it’ll do.

[Bridget Geroux]
[between*]

[Kristiana Coleman]
“Did you and Cordelia have a chance to look through the clothes that I left?” Her eyes get big at the joint, nose twitching at the smell.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She arches a brow at Kris. “Y’okay?”

She looks at Bridget and grins. “Ooh, now you’re talking. Bet my supply is better though.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
“I’m fine, thank you.”

[Bridget Geroux]
“Mine’s been a Theurge lately, but he’s being a total cuntface since we fucked.”

She says it plainly. Surely, it will turn Kristiana’s delicate sensibilities. The Quebecois holds in the smoke, then passes it to the Ragabash.

[Kristiana Coleman]
Predictably, she turns red. “That’s really not a nice word, Bridge.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Yeah, I got sources. Girl’s gotta make a living.” She takes it from Bridget and takes a hit, holding it like a pro as she passes it back.

“Not too bad,” she says once it’s exhaled. “I’ll hook ya up though.”

[Bridget Geroux]
She offers it to Kristiana, holding it out to her.

“You gotta live. Sure thing, Sarita. I’d love to not be dependant on him for the stuff.”

Kristiana doesn’t approve of her language. She kisses the blonde on the cheek amiably. “I’m sorry. I feel strongly about it… and total jerk does not cover it.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
She eyes the joint longingly, but shakes her head. “I probably shouldn’t… Who is the…you know what face?”

[Bridget Geroux]
Bridget takes another hit quickly, holding the smoke in. She waggles it at Kristiana, eyebrow quirked as if to say, You sure?

If she rejects it, it will get passed back to the Strider. The Fianna kin exhales slowly, then smirks.

“Howard, who do you think? Frankly, I have no clue what I find particularly magnetic about him. It definitely is not the way he treats people, or that garbage mouth of his.”

[Katherine Bellamonte]
It has been some time since the Silver Fang Elder made an impression on the Brotherhood of Thieves. Once upon a time, she’d in fact resided within it with her new-come pack-mates to the Sept. Her room had been perhaps the neatest it was ever likely to be again, and true to that, long since Katherine Bellamonte resided here has it been so clean.

Tonight, she does not come merely to mingle, or to pay visits to those of her kind who still residing within its walls — oh, no no.

She is after the female Kinswoman that another of her tribe had passed mention existed, and had, for some weeks without paying her Elder a call. As fastidious a tribe book-keeper as the Half Moon was, she could not allow such a situation to be prolonged endlessly and so sought to meet, in person, this Kristiana Coleman. So it is that she’s moving through the restaurant from the cold; a fur-lined hood over her blond hair; her feet encased in high leather heels.

Her stature, and the high level of her breeding draw gazes; she lowers her hood, and exchanges some in return, her lips curving in a red painted smile. But she does not linger downstairs, rather she makes a bid for the stair-well, her heels clicking on each new step. The Silver Fang is trumpeted by her blood, and by the cloud of her Rage, as present as the hint of the perfume she wears.

It’s Chanel, by the by.
Of course.

At the entrance to the common room; Katherine halts and daintily slips her gloves off each finger in turn; tucking them away. “Hello, ladies,” there’s no hiding those Aristocratic features, the proud line of her nose, the high-sculpted cheekbones, She was a child of Falcon all right, and such a child. Her hair was a golden shade of blond, warm and sun-kissed and fell becomingly against her shoulders.

Outside; the moon was hers precisely; a perfect half.

It radiated in her aura, in that sense of lethal potential about the Fostern. As she arrives, they are sharing a joint and the woman in question is asking who is the you know what face. Katherine’s eyes find Kristiana; they are very clear, a very pale shade of blue.

“You would be Kristiana.” A hint of french rippled through her speech.

[Kristiana Coleman]
“He’s not very nice. Why are you sleeping with somebody that you don’t want to be mated to?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Shades Boy?” She looks about to say something further, when Katherine interrupts. She arches an eyebrow, looking her over. “Hola.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
Her eyes get the size of dinner plates, and she freezes in Katherine’s gaze for a moment before nodding vigorously. “Yes Ma’am.” Hopping to her feet, she gnaws at her bottom lip for a moment” Kristiana Coleman. It’s very nice to meet you, Ma’am.” Not that she has any idea who the woman is…

[Bridget Geroux]
Bridget has seen Katherine once, maybe twice before. One would be the night of the eclipse. Since then, Bridget’s started to make a bit of a name for herself. Kristiana tenses at the presence of all that Divine Rage, the perfect sculpted splendor that is Truth’s Meridian. Maybe she should have taken up that joint, after all.

The bumpkin mountain girl, the Albertan Fianna kin of equally strong breeding as the kinswoman beside her, the Queen before her. Bridget blinks a few times, her normally fierce, wild eyes glazed over a bit.

Howard was the conversation, now it has diverted to Kristiana, her Sister in spirit. Bridget only wishes she could be so composed, in-control. She wishes she had an answer for her question. A better question would be: Why are you drawn to two opposite men you don’t intend to be mated to?

Bridget simply looks down and hands over the joint to the Ragabash.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She takes it back and takes another hit before passing it back over, giving Bridget a “what’s this about” expression.

[Bridget Geroux]
If Bridget was alone with Kristiana, there might be some gossip. If Cordelia was there, there would definitely be. So far, she’s seen Sarita twice as well. Bridget takes back the joint and takes another hit. She has a mind to offer it to the Lady before them, and merely looks at her from her seated position, holding it out but not outstretched.

If the daughter of Falcon wanted to take the joint, she could very well. Otherwise, she could turn her nose at it if she wanted to. As for Sarita’s look, Bridget pretends not to notice.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
The Silver Fang, as the Strider knows very well is such already, as Katherine can detect what she is in return, though perhaps not as strongly, takes a moment to unbutton her hooded coat and slide it off. Beneath it; the young woman’s [for she seemed, in body, no older than perhaps twenty-two or three] wore a very fine silk blouse in warm peach, paired with jeans and knee high boots. They had zippers running along one edge, and the heel made her already impressive height more so again.

She takes a moment; then returns Sarita’s greeting with a head-tilt, a little smile bewitching her lips.

“Oh, bonjour indeed, how sweetly short an introduction you give, stranger. Allow me to present my own self, though pardon me if I do run on with things.” Her attention deserts the Cliath in favor of the Kinswoman. Her attention quite fierce, but without reproach.

Presently.

“I am Katherine Isabella D’Albret Bellamonte, daughter of the House of Bellamonte, of the House of Wyrmfoe, and also by lieu of my good maman jointly a child of the House of Gleaming Eye. I am known as Truth’s Meridian, Honor’s Compass, Fostern Philodox to the Unbroken and Silver Fang tribe and I am your Elder in this city. I am also the Master of Challenges, and the Elder for all Philodox within city walls.”

A beat; she sighs with delicate charm.

“So much to get through at first meetings. Now,” she says, swatting the air before Kristiana playfully. “You arrived, when? And to whom are your House loyalties? I wish to know all about your time so far in the city. Do you have concerns? What do you desire to know of myself?”

She sits, then. Crossing long legs and folding her hands in her lap with an air of expectancy.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Right. Hi. I’m Sarita. You’re busy, so we’ll do intros later.” She gets up, brushing herself off, and nods to Bridget before heading toward the door, off to the bathroom.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
The daughter of Falcon raises an eyebrow at the joint, and politely defers. The Silent Strider departs, and the Fostern’s eyes travel with her for a moment, she can feel the pressure between her shoulder blades before it slides away, back to those before her.

[Kristiana Coleman]
“Oh.” Oddly enough, she seems less nervous upon finding out who the woman is, but her posture and manners remain firmly intact. “I arrived just before Christmas. You no doubt spoke with our representative before my arrival, as my family did not wish to have me arrive unannounced. I have no concerns with my time in the city, and have found everyone to be very hospitable.” Some more than others….

[Bridget Geroux]
Bridget takes note and politely shuffles off towards the bathroom after the Silent Strider. There is some Tribal thing going on here, and as fascinating as it is…. this is NOT Bridget’s cup of tea.

[Asha Singh]
The door downstairs opens and shuts. Whoever is coming up the stairs after Katherine is now taking them in a headlong manner – heedless and fast, stomping on the risers if only for the pleasure of making some fucking noise. Katherine will sense the arrival before the others see her: a sharp, slight creature who seems to be the Frenchwoman’s opposite in every way – dark skinned, black-haired, with dark wild-eyes – except for the haughtiness that seems to be carved into the bones of her face. The girl is wearing a bronze sequined dress that sends a wash of painted colors sparkling around the room and carrying something bloody in a ziplock bag.

As you do.

“Hello Kate.” – says Asha, with a bracing familiarity, though her black eyes are affixed the whole time on Kristiana, as if they girl were a tasty morsel – a mouse, say, in a field – and she the raptor that stands as patron to their mad tribe.

[Kristiana Coleman]
She holds her ground, though her gaze respectfully drops to the floor when Asha’s eyes fix on her.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She’s not in the bathroom when Bridget gets there. Probably came in just for the mirrors.

[Bridget Geroux]
Damn, she mutters to herself. Bridget sighs and shuffles off to finish her joint in Room 8 and give the scary women in the common area some privacy.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
Kristiana tells her that she would have spoken to her family’s representative and Katherine’s fair brow furrows as if she’s straining to recall such an event. Whether or not she in fact had spoken to Ms Coleman’s spokesman does not, in truth, appear to overly concern the Silver Fang. She is present now, and accounted for and the Half Moon; whose very one blazed in the sky outside, gifting her a more suffocating presence than ever, can update her records.

She was no Galliard; but she kept a tight ship.
This was known enough, by those of her ilk in Chicago.

“Mm,” she comments, finally, a fine noise woven from her throat and runs the tip of a finger along her jawline, thoughtfully watching the girl. Asha; fierce, dark, carrying a warrior’s fresh kill in a bag joins the meeting of Falcon and like the pair of her children they are; the dark and fair Garou watch their cousin with such eyes.

Such razor sharp attention.

“Asha, meet Kristiana Coleman, she is a new comer to our family in the city. Kristiana, I would have you know Asha Singh, my pack-mate and Full Moon to the Nation.” The finger drops from her skin, and she settles once more. “There are others, of course, to be aware of. Some you might have met, some not. At present there only a handful of us to keep note of. Matthieu Louvel de Ponthieu, is a Galliard, known as Mirror’s Whisper, there is Ivan Press, Resplendent Dusk, a Ragabash, and there is myself.”

A moment, she cants her head.

“Are any of these names familiar yet to you?”

[Kristiana Coleman]
Apparently, given the dark shade of red that she’s currently turning. “Yes, Rhya”

[Asha Singh]
“I met her before,” Asha informs Katherine. Still staring at Kristiana, with the sort of fixed attention some Victorian lady might give to her collection of butterflies pinned against velvet. There is a certain lethal potential about the girl, though perhaps it arises from nothing more than her utter lack of regard for ordinary human body language. Take the staring, for instance.

“There was a very common person who was going to give her drugs, so I told him if he did I would string him up by his intestines from the Hestia. The small ones.” Asha continues, with a quicksilver sort of smile, at last turning away from Kristiana to Katherine – beaming now. There is a flash of that vicious smile. “I told him I’d stuff the large ones in his mouth so he wouldn’t starve to death while he hung up there.” Clearly, Asha considers that a magnanimous gesture. A sort of noblesse-oblige.

“Thomas is coming up. He can introduce me when he gets here.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
Now she remembers Asha. Howard and Bridget and. Oops. She looks increasingly uncomfortable, forcing herself to stand absolutely still.

[Cordelia]
Someone is tromping up the stairs. Surely, this must be Thomas coming up the stairs- Asha’s herald. the one who gets to make with the introductions and announce her like she really deserves. Alas, when somene comes up the stairs, it’s Cordelia… not Thomas. Which has to be a disappointment, because instead of someone who knows how to do introductions properly there is a tall, wispy blonde with awkward glasses and flushed cheeks.

Cordelia comes in the common room and looks from Katherine… to Asha… to Kristiana…

“… is everything alright?”

[Kristiana Coleman]
(Oh thank god 😉 )

“Cordie!” The relief in her voice is evident, and must have something to do with the bright maroon that she’s blushing.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
Now, Katherine was a quick witted creature; she was a Philodox, after all and her capacity to spot a falsehood a mile away was perhaps second only to a few notable others currently in the city area. She watches the manner the Kinswoman turns red; a clear sign of discomfort if not comprehension of her actions creeping up on her.

She is, therefore, making a study of the girl and her body language, perhaps plucking from her mind the name likely to have caused such a reaction. Asha informs her then she’s met her before, and that some common person tried to issue her with drugs and she threatened to hang him up by his intestines.

She smiles; and Katherine returns it briefly, a flash of white teeth.

“Which name, Kristiana, do you know?” Cordelia comes in, and Katherine does not turn her face directly, but raises a finger to signal patience. “One moment, Cordelia. I am chatting with your Cousin.” Katherine blinks, slowly.

“Do go on.”

[Kristiana Coleman]
She swallows hard, pulling up all of her charm school training to keep from stammering. “I am familiar with Matthieu, Rhya.” Not Matthieu Rhya, not Mirror’s Whisper Rhya. Just Matthieu.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
[guys, do post! I’m just sending an email and then I’ll have Kate respond. 🙂 ]

[Kristiana Coleman]
(I think we’re kind of at a stand still until you respond, though…)

[Asha Singh]
Thomas is just on Cordelia’s heels. His footsteps are nearly silent, which is something important he learned in butlering school. Which is an actual school he attended. Also taught there: how to tie a cravat, how to maintain composure, a stiff upper lip while your master descends into blood and madness. How to serve tea to both harridans and tittering little girls. How to starch a collar. How to get the blood out.

So: Thomas, a handsome man, in his forties, blond hair graying at the temples, with smoke-blue eyes, a solid jaw, and a certain presence that is both solid and unobtrusive. He is wearing an excellent bespoke suit, crisp on his frame. Asha gives Cordelia a look because she can, but then retreats to Thomas’ side. And nudges him.

Wisely, Thomas does not interrupt Katherine despite Asha’s nudge. She whispers, sotto voce, “Why didn’t you bring your stick?” And he replies, “I did not deem it appropriate.”

It should be noted, Thomas’ whisper is approximately 75 decibels softer than Asha’s.

[Katherine Bellamonte] The Half Moon nods, and takes from her purse a small card; it has neat print on one side; listing Katherine’s own name and beneath it simply an address in Lake View. “This is my personal home, it is called the Loft. It is also a safe haven of sorts for our tribe in Chicago.

Should you find yourself in danger,” the pale eyes are very focused, now. “Or merely need my council, you are welcome there, Oui?”

Her eyes stray to Cordelia, she nods.

“Ms Diego knows its location, also. She is a competent member of our tribe here, you should look to her for advice if you need another Kin’s knowledge.” With that, the Elder rises, draping her coat over her arm, smiling down at Kristiana with her red, red lips.

“I shan’t keep you any longer tonight, but our meeting was long overdue.”

[Kristiana Coleman] “Yes, Rhya. I apologize. Ivan Rhya offered to pass your contact information along, but I wasn’t able to reach him again after that night.”

[Cordelia] She’s paying attention to whatever it is that Marni says. You can have coffee, but in moderation. You shouldn’t be drinking anything too much or too little or nothing of the fact. She perks up and looks over at Katherine. She stands up a little straigther, and she feels… pride. Something that swells and resides firm and comfortable in her chest.

Cordelia doesn’t say anything to Katherine, she just smiles. It’s… thankful.

[Marni] Cordelia stands and looks over at Katherine, who calls the kin a competent member. She looks like she was handed a cookie. Marni manages not to snort out loud, just goes back to eating her food.

[Marni] [dashing to pick up the kid from work – brb]

[Katherine Bellamonte] “I did not realize you were familiar with Ivan,” she says with some small amount of surprise overlaid in her voice. She pauses, coat in her hands and her eyes flit thoughtfully from Kristiana to Cordelia; rest there a moment as if she would say things with the weight of her gaze, then flit back.

She does not depart quite yet.

“What happened on this night you mention that you should no longer have contact with a member of the tribe?”

[Kristiana Coleman] Breathe, Krist. Just breathe. “He escorted me back to my hotel to make sure that I made it safely.”

[Marni] [back]

[Kristiana Coleman] “It isn’t that I don’t have contact with him, it’s just that I’ve been doing other things and haven’t caught up with him.” She offers a smile again, this one extra, extra charming.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s figuring that enough time has to have passed by now, and she hops her way back up the steps. She’s whistling some ungodly, shrill and annoying song as she does so, all the way until she sees that the whole thing is still going on, and freezes in midstep. Her facial expression is in midwhistle, the sound dying out as her eyes scan from person to person.

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Per + Alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine tilts her head to one side; it’s almost avian, the manner she cocks it like that more than wolfish. She’s still smiling a little, which is at once discomforting and reassuring. Her Rage thrums around her, ebbing and rising like the waves against the shoreline.

“Aha,” she says lightly, nodding as if that made sense. “So there is no other reason why you do not have contact with him, after this night that he escorted you home, then.” She lifts her brows, as if curious.

[Kristiana Coleman] “I’ve been busy with meeting people, and Matthieu….” She blushes again, ducking her head.

[Marni] Marni – well. She watches this little exchange like it’s a tennis match, her head turning back and forth, her curls bouncing. She kicks off her shoes, and sets her feet up on the coffee table with a sigh of relief, and rests her plate on her belly as she eats and listens.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She coughs, clearing her throat, with a short, weird whistle-like sound emerging in the process. Something like that of a songbird being strangled and having its head beat repeatedly against piano keys. “Ooh…ahem. Sorry ’bout that. Frog in my throat, and shit.” She straightens up, moving away from the steps.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Now, there’s a genuine flicker of amusement in the Philodox’s eyes. Her lips thin to a line and she lets out a little sigh.

“Very well, Kristiana. I am not here to bombard you questions regarding your personal life. I am here to facilitate your safety while you are in Chicago. You do understand this, yes?” She waits for a nod before going on. “If you have things of a delicate, or personal nature, do not bring them to my door unless they threaten your life, or the lives of others. If they are breaking some law, you may consult me.

If you are needing my protection, it goes without saying.

But I am not your mother, or your sister. I do not have the time or inclination for meaningless chit chat, or skirting around issues. I have asked, you have answered as you see fit. There lays the end of it.” She flits a hand.

[Cordelia] Cordelia sits down and gets fairly comfortable near Marni. Whatever it is, the female seems content to watch the same tennis match as the Bone Gnawer. Realistically, there can’t be that man differences betweent he two, except that Cordelia’s probably half a foot taller and decidedly underweight while Marni… well. Marni has a whole ‘nother person living inside of her. Suffice to say, it’s a little cramped. What they have in common, however, seems to be their vague interest in the verbal tennis match. Cordelia’s attention, however, wanes.

“So,” she starts, “does the baby do the same thing with warm things?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She walks over to the table, snagging the remote and giving a smile to Marni and Cordlia. “Evening.” She takes a seat on the floor, flicking her way through channels. “S’up?”

[Kristiana Coleman] She swallows hard “Yes, Rhya”

[Marni] A whole ‘nother person, that’s due in just a couple weeks, even. Which means said little person is considerably cramped, and Marni shifts her position slightly as Cordelia sits. Not to get away or get closer, just to try and get The Bean to shift slightly and get off her spine. Or kidney. Or whatever it’s currently crushing.

She offers some of her fries to the kin, and shakes her head. “Not exactly – The Bean tends to curl up closer to the warm stuff, instead of actively kick it off. Before I got so blasted huge – i look like a fuckin WHALE, don’t I? – he’d chase light too, when we shined a flashlight on my belly. Now there just ain’t much room…”

[Kristiana Coleman] (Sorry guys, I’m crashing out and I need to be up in about six hours. Krist will head up to room 8)

[Cordelia] Now, she knows good and well that she shouldn’t decline food, and down the hatch it goes. They’re friees. They’re good fries at that- Cordelia isn’t aware that Marni’s a Bone Gnawer, but if she did she’d know that they don’t just share food with anyone. Food’s a sacred thing. She does know, however, that pregnant women will eat the ever-loving crap out of some french fries.

“You don’t look like a whale,” she says, “I don’t think you’d be very mobile in water at all.”

She just grins, ear-to-ear and so much fake innocence there.

“When’s the Bean due?”

[Marni] “Actually!” she says, with that incorrigible grin… “Water is awesome – takes a lot o’the weight off, and pressure too. An’ well, since we’re pretty sure that’s where we started th’Bean anyway… well. We like water. A lot.”

She wiggles her brows, and then chuckles. “February 3rd.” She pats the belly, and shakes her head. “Though if ‘e wants t’ make an’ early appearance, I wouldn’t be opposed. I miss seein my feet…”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She glances back at Marni and Cordelia, then smiles to herself and just leans back, continuing the channel flipping. She tosses a look over to Katherine now that Kristiana’s gone, watching her.

[Cordelia] “Well, they’re still there,” she looks at Sarita and raises her brows, “verdad? I’m not lying to her and they are there.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She glances back now at Cordelia, then makes a show at looking for Marni’s feet. “Oh…yeah, there they are.” She grins. “Yeah, ya got feet, chica. No worries.”

[Marni] She laughs, and nods. “Yeah, else it’d be a problem walkin in, I figure. Though I give up on tryin t’tie my shoes, or anything that involves bendin over the Bean. ‘e ain’t like it much. Figure’s ‘e’s all smooshed up in there enough.”

She wrinkles her nose, and then chuckles. “Ain’t all that bad. Jus’ been a while. Ain’t like feelin like I ain’t able t’protect shit, ya know? Specially The Bean. February cain’t come fast enough.”

[Lukas] The nights Lukas spends in the Brotherhood has been gradually diminishing over the past year or two. He’s here tonight, though, coming up the stairs with herb-crusted lamb from the kitchen. Best in the city, he swears, and given the amount of lamb he seems to devour, one may as well believe him. There’s a bottle of red under his arm, a copy of the latest Economist in his right hand, and … a wineglass in his mouth, stem held delicately in his teeth.

He stops at the top of the stairs, seeing the common room occupied. Then he makes some sort of vague hello sound at Katherine, nods to everyone else, and goes to sit …

well, in his usual spot. Dead center on the long arm of the sectional, putting his heaping plate down in front of him.

“Thought I heard you putting the fear of Falcon into some kin,” he says, ripping off three lamb ribs to hand to his packmate. “Did you scare her off already?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She throws her attention to Lukas when he walks in, head tilting as he gets an appraising once over.

[Marni] And enter Lukas.

There’s a moment, where the expression is clear on Marni’s face, though it’s there an’ gone so fast it’s as if it didn’t exist at all. It helps that she was shoving the last bit of fries into her mouth about that time, too, but it exists. She sets her plate aside, pulls her feet back, and slips them into her boots by feel.

“Speakin’ of – it’s time I got home. Jus’ had cravin for some fries, an’ since I done killed the plate of em..” She winks at Cordelia, and goes about trying to leverage herself out of the couch. No easy doing. “Give us a push, will ya?”

Push or not, she gets to her feet, and pulls on her sweatshirt, her coat. She grabs her empty plate, and with a general wave, heads out the same way she came.

[Cordelia] Wyrmbreaker’s a good looking man, let’s make no mistake about that. However, there is only so far raw looks and prowess can go before it gives way to ridiculous. Then, of course, Marni is asking for a push up, the female positions her arm under marni, and gets a good hand on her rear.

Cordelia gives Marni a nice, healthy shove up… which is to say it isn’t quite a shove, because even if she is a fairly strong young woman, Cordelia is a bird-boned young woman, and strong for her frame is probably not strong enough to do more than give a pregnant woman a little momentum.

“Goodnight… Marni, yes?” she waves.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks back to Marni, getting to her feet when it becomes clear the Gnawer is trying to get up and offering a hand. “Here, lemme help.”

[Marni] “Yeah.” she says – it’s Marni, and for their help leveraging her oddly balanced frame up.. “Thanks!” Because, believe it or not, she has it in her to be polite – when she wants too.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Kristiana has had enough, perhaps, of Katherine. Or she’s simply in need of a respite from the constant aura of Rage around various individuals in the room. Whichever it is, she excuses herself with Katherine’s blessing and the Silver Fang is then left to her own devices — for a few moments.

Then Sarita is eying her, and gets the privilege of a lifted brow in response.

Lukas appears, and there’s a fondness in the female’s voice as he carries his lamb and accessories toward the sectional. “Oh, you know Lukas, it’s my monthly scare sense into my subjects event.” Then; the pregnant Gnawer is rising to leave, and Katherine bids her stay only long enough to add:

“I have some left over baby items like formula at the Loft from August Grant’s stay before she gave birth. They are yours, should you need them.” Then she’s offered lamb chops, and sits down, coat aside to carefully nibble at one.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “You bet.” She smiles to Marni and sits down, taking a moment to look back to Katherine with curiosity. Apparently, the Fang intrigues her.

[Lukas] “Mmf,” Lukas says, mouth full, A lamb bone falls by the side of the plate, picked clean. He wipes his hand quickly on a napkin, then twists a corkscrew into his bottle with quick, practiced turns of his wrist. When it’s in the Shadow Lord — because he is that, unmistakably so, never mind that he’s apparently on good terms with this Silver Fang he’s sharing his meal with — pulls the cork free with utter, thoughtless ease. Still impaled on the corkscrew, it goes by the wayside. Lukas pours himself a glass of wine, then passes the bottle to Kate as if he really expected her to drink directly from it.

“You get all the hot kinfolk and the juicy drama. I’m jealous.” He doesn’t sound it one bit.

Lukas takes a sip, catches a spilled drop of wine off his lip with the side of his thumb. It’s discreet. He eats with a sort of innate, thoughtless ease; a carnivorous grace that isn’t quite the same as Katherine’s well-entrained courtesy. When he lifts his eyes, they go with instinctive unerring directness to Sarita. Now there are two pairs of pale, piercing eyes on the Strider, both blue. Lukas gestures at the lamb on the platter, invitational, as he sits back with a rib in hand.

“Care for a bite?”

[Katherine Bellamonte] The Strider is fascinated by the Silver Fang, perhaps she has not seen so many of them since she hit the city. In truth, their number had dwindled somewhat of recent months. Katherine somehow manages to devour a chop neatly, and sets a little pile of bones before her on a napkin.

She dabs at her lips, and finally gives in the constant staring.

“Am I so strange a thing to you, Sarita?”

Lukas’ jibe about being jealous is very deliberately ignored; as is the bottle he passes to her, she reaches out and takes up his wine glass instead.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins, her gaze swiveling smoothly to Lukas. “That depends, mi amigo. M’I gonna get my hand back if I do?” She winks and then looks back over to Katherine. “In all honestly…lil’ bit. Not sayin’ that’s a bad thing, just haven’t been in one spot long enough to get a good look at class in the wild. Sorry if I’m staring.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Although, in all honestly, she doesn’t sound ALL that sorry. Maybe just a tiny bit.

[Sinclair] The footsteps that come out of Room 1 and down the short stretch of hallway to the common room would be silent, if not for the faint scratch-tap of little claws. The wolf that enters, leaving her bedroom door ajar with the confidence that most people know better than to trespass in her territory — or will learn, should they be so ignorant — is a strange one, stranger still to be seen indoors. Or rather: would be strange, were the indoors anywhere but here.

Is strange, even here.

The fur is thick with wintertime, charcoal-colored with tufts and tips of black, flashes of white. The eyes are a blue so pale and opaque it seems colorless compared to the intensity of both Lukas and Katherine’s near-matching gazes. But what makes her strange isn’t the lack of breeding being brought into the room with her presence, nor is it the predatory dread every footfall brings closer to them — though that is noticable, a different feeling from Rage, a sense that makes the animals in them get their hackles up —

it’s the metal rings through the wolf’s ears, really. They glint and glisten under the overhead lighting as she pads into the room tail swinging slowly behind her. There’s another hint of metal in the top of one foreleg, glinting through her fur.

She goes straight towards the table, puts her paws on it, and sniffs at Lukas’s food before swiveling her head over and peering at him.

The wolf makes a whining noise. To a human, it would seem like begging. They might make a dog shake or do a trick. To the ears of the Garou in the room, it’s just a question.

[Lukas] Kate’s absconding with his wineglass is intercepted: the Ahroun’s hand falling quickly, smoothly, firmly atop hers. He takes the wineglass back, drinks himself, and then — with a subtle deliberation that anyone but Katherine and Sinclair might well miss — hands it to Kate. An offering, this time.

If she takes it, he sits back again. Lukas’s manner here is casual, easy, familiar. He’s lived here a long time, and he likes it here. Even if there’s something intrinsically dignified, old-world about his face, even if he’s feasting on a crown rack of lamb and red wine — he’s casual. At home. Dressed in drawstring lounge pants and a dark t-shirt, as if he might’ve just rolled out of bed, his feet bare, his hand —

not bare. There’s a ring on his left hand, matte black, a thin rim of gold encircling the lower edge. Elegant; subdued.

“Go ahead,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up. That applies to both Sarita and Sinclair. This is for the former, though — “I wouldn’t extend the invitation if I was going to bite.”

[Sinclair] She pushes herself up on the table a bit more, grabs a lamb chop in her teeth, and then jumps up on the couch between her packmates, coiling herself up with the chop on her forepaws to start tearing the meat off. Her eyes go to Sarita, but she just thumps her tail against the cushions she’s sitting on, ears perked in curiosity despite her attention to what she’s eating.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I didn’t say nothin’ about getting bit. Lotsa ways to lose a hand, and I know enough to pay attention to what’s not said as much as what is.” The grin takes a distinctly lopsided tilt to it, and she gets back to her feet.

She eyes Sinclair as she heads over, eyes doing a once-over on the wolf. She gets a little not before Sarita takes just a small chop. “Thanks,” she says to Lucas with a quick wink and a smile. “You’re already on my good side.”

[Cordelia] It’s an entire watching and observing procedure. She’s managed to get Marni out the door, and the young woman becomes accutely aware soon enough that she’s the only kinfolk in the room. Sarita is a different sort of creature. Lukas is distinct. Katherine is Falcon’s (terrifying, awe inspiring. The ability to inspire some kind of visceral fear is part of the majesty.) And, of course, there is a literal wolf padding through.

There’s silence, a look at Lukas again. Probably a little longer than a glance, she looks like she’s going through a mental grocery list.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I keep seeing you and I have no idea what your name is.”

[Katherine Bellamonte] [BRB, dinner! Kate is nomming and sipping and scratching Sinclair behind the ears.]

[Lukas] “It’s pretty hard not to good-side someone when faced with the city’s best rack of lamb,” Lukas quips. A glance at Cordelia, then — the truth is, better or worse, Lukas rarely pays attention to kin unless there’s reason to — and then back to Sarita to include her in the introduction.

“I’m Lukáš,” he says. Accent on the second syllable, aspirated s at the end: a distinctly non-american name, which he pronounces with the absolute perfection of a native speaker. “Called Wyrmbreaker. Fostern, Alpha of the Shadow Lords, Alpha of the Ahrouns, Alpha of the Unbroken. These are my sisters Katherine and Sinclair.” And, since Sinclair was in no shape (ha.) to introduce herself to a kin, “Sinclair’s a Glass Walker Fostern Galliard.

“What about you two? You’re one of Katherine’s,” Cordelia, “but I could almost swear you’re a Strider.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Ooh, right.” She sets the chop down and, with a little half-step back and a lower her shoulders, gives a bow…complete with a flourish to her arms. “Sarita Echoes-of-Laugher, or Ecos de la Risa if you prefer. Cliath Moonless of Owl. No pack, just a half-sister who’s floating around here somewhere and probably pissing someone off half as well as I could.”

[Sinclair] Sinclair is, in point of fact, in excellent shape to introduce herself. It’s not her fault that the Brotherhood is in the city and it’s after dark and people would freak out if she started howling. Sinclair doesn’t bother grousing at Lukas in his mind or nipping at him with her teeth. Her eyes loll back as Katherine reaches over and starts scritching her behind one ear, setting that tail of hers to thumping faster and with more satisfaction.

Yeeeaaaah.

She’s distracted for a moment, her teeth stuck mid-gnaw in her lamb and her eyes falling closed and her tail wagging to beat the stuffing out of the couch, but then she opens her eyes and barks. It’s a combination of sounds, a warping of traditional lupus to include concepts no wolf knows at birth. It’s a name. It is not meant to translate clearly for Sarita

so much as remind Lukas he forgot something.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[a lowerING OF her shoulders. I fail at typing.]]

[Cordelia] She doesn’t seem to bat an eye at any of it. And she sits through the introduction, most of it making some sense, and she pieces together a few very, very important things. This is Lukas. Yes, that Lukas.

“Oh,” Cordelia starts, and for frame of reference, “you’re Christian’s alpha.”

And she’s met Sinclair before. Her gaze goes there, and the female gives her a once over. Looks at the metal in her ears and whatever other details there are and pieces things together. Carefully, though not so slowly. Cordelia isn’t having as much difficulty translating back and forth, but rest assured the young lady has an accent. Quite a bit of one, but luckily she manages to avoid that infamous Castilian lisp.

“I’m Cordelia, Cordelia Eulália Maria Sarafin-Diego-” it’s not as much of a mouth full when you’re talking to people with deed names “-es nice to place faces with names.”

[Lukas] “It’s good to have another of Owl’s in the city, if only for a while.” Lukas doesn’t bother to ask if she’s staying — it’s usually pointless to ask that of a Strider. “Last I heard one of your kin lived here. Gina McClaren was her name. She had some hard times, though. I’m not sure if she’s still in town.”

Sinclair barks. Lukas blinks, then adds, “Oh. Sinclair’s known by Warcry, or Brutal Revelation.” And he shifts his knee over, nudging her. “Sorry,” exaggerated, grinning.

That grin fades a notch, sharpens into curiosity, as Cordelia answers. “Yeah,” he replies simply, “I am.” Tense is important, here. “You knew him?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She nods, recognizing the name. “Kyle mentioned her, said she’s not been seen in months. I might just see if I can track her down. Never want brethren left alone after rough times, after all.”

She looks at Sinclair, nodding in recognition of the Deed Name, before going quiet to let Lukas and Cordelia talk over their mutual acquaintance.

[Lukas] “If you could,” Lukas replies to Sarita, “I think she’d appreciate it. She was a bright, happy thing when she came here, but Chicago tends to chew those people up first and hardest.”

[Sinclair] This time Sinclair goes ahead and nips at Lukas when he gives her that exaggerated sorry. She does not act like a dog, rolling onto her back and exposing her belly for Katherine or Lukas to scratch at. She does, however, behave like an animal, returning her attention to her food, gnawing and licking at the lamb chop. She tears meat off right down to the bone, laps up every speck of juice as she goes at it. There’s a harsh efficiency to the way she eats, an instinctive ruthlessness.

[Cordelia] “I know him, yes,” because tense is important here, and Cordelia and Lukas are speaking in two different ones. She looks at him incredulously, “we’re dating.”

There’s a sort of tenuous composure there, and she keeps it. Or, at the very least, is good at faking keeping it. “You haven’t heard from him?”
Now, what it sounds like she said, was this: you haven’t heard from him either.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She gives Lukas a little nod, appreciation shining in her eyes. She stores the information away in her head, giving them their time to talk before questioning him any further about it.

[Katherine Bellamonte] [back!]

[Lukas] “We haven’t heard from him,” Lukas says. There’s a gentleness in his tone, even if the truth he gives her is just that: the truth, plain and harsh.

Then, “He never mentioned you. I’m glad, though. That he had someone, I mean.”

[Sinclair] The next time they look at Sinclair, her eyes have fallen closed again, but her tail has gone still. Kate’s fingers in her fur — and the lamb chop bone still being gently, unconsciously gnawed between her teeth — have effectively soothed Warcry for the time being. She is a large, heavy lump of furred warmth on the couch cushions, sleeping the way a wolf sleeps in the middle of its pack, surrounded by heat, and rage, and loyalty.

[Sinclair] [thanks for the rp! thanks for letting me driveby! :D]

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine stirs here; a hand on Sinclair’s fur; a warm, vital reminder. Lukas beside her and every now and then a sip from her Alpha’s wine glass. There’s a great deal of meaning here, to it all. Watching the Unbroken an outsider has a very strong vibe from the three.

They are united; and almost move without consideration in sync with one another.

A true wolf pack, then. “We miss him,” she says to Cordelia, her voice gentled. “His room awaits him.”

[Cordelia] He never mentioned you.
She blinks, and reaches up to adjust her glasses. Her cheeks have lost some of their color, and she’s not so much palid as… well… she looks like she migth have eaten something that didn’t agree with her.

“Oh.”

She inhales, and perks up a little, even smiles a little. “Well, he thought the world of you,” she informs Lukas, “he’s resilient. I’m sure he’s giving someone Hell somewhere.”

Kate chimes in, says that they miss him. She smiles, but the color is absolutely refusing to return to her cheeks.

“I should get to sleep,” she says. She stands, she even straightens herself out.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her brows furrow a bit, head tilting just a bit to the side at Cordelia’s reaction. She looks between the kin and the pack quickly, eyes settling back on Cordelia.

Beunos nocas, chica.” She smiles faintly, a bit more tenderness than her usual mischievous expression carries. “Sleep well.”

[Lukas] “Hey — ”

Lukas is a creature accustomed to command. Just listen to his introduction, that list of Alpha ofs after his name. He knows how to command without bellowing, to catch attention without shouting. It’s not even conscious anymore. There’s something different in his tone; it demands attention.

When he has it, he quiets: “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. Christian’s entitled to his privacy, and some things are so precious you don’t even share them with your pack. Just because we didn’t know about you doesn’t mean he didn’t care about you. If anything, it was the opposite.”

He nods at Sarita as she stands to go, then. “Night,” He says. “You staying at the BroHo?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[She didn’t stand to go, Cordelia did. 🙂 ]]

[Cordelia] He says hey, she turns, and he has her attention. Because she knows when people are commanding, and damned if she’s not one to pay attention. She is tall, unapologetically so, and seemingly aware of the smace she takes up. This little patch of land is hers and someone requires her attention.

Lukas’ voice quiets, and she nods. Her left hand goes up to her glasses to push them back up the bridge of her nose.

“I appreciate the clarification… it makes a big difference,” there’s not an ounce of sarcasm there. Leave it to the Spaniard to appreciate and understand translation errors.

[Lukas] [i’m an ijjit.]

[Lukas] [Night is for Cordelia then! BroHo question is still for Sarita.]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Naah. 🙂 ]]

She nods at Lukas. “Ames and I are crashing in Kyle’s room for the time being. Hey, about this Gina…any idea where a good place to start searching might be? I’d go outside and start shouting for her, but it probably wouldn’t be real effective. Where she was, anyone she might know…that sorta thing.”

[Lukas] Lukas grimaces a bit, not in displeasure but in thought. He glances at Kate for confirmation — “Where was she staying? Bronzeville?” — and then back, “I think it was Bronzeville. The best thing might be to find yourself a Theurge and see if they can make you a Questing Stone, start from there.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She purses her lips and then nods. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.” She gives a half-smile. “Thanks for the heads up. If she can be found, we’ll find her.”

[Lukas] “Good luck,” Lukas replies, and then drains the last of his wine, setting the glass down in case Kate wants it. “I’m in Room 2, by the way. Sinclair’s next door to me, Room 1. Kate has her own place, but if you need any of the Unbroken, find one of us and we’ll be able to pass the message on.”

[Katherine Bellamonte] “Yes,” Katherine confirms almost absently, her attention still with Cordelia. She is watching the young noble-bred female with the keen awareness of a lion who has noticed a cub in distress and not quite certain if it should approach or leave it to tend to itself. Some would never learn without the experience.

She leaves things with a kinder smile than usual for her, and glances at her Alpha as he rises, unsettling the drowsing Sinclair; she merely rolls, and sleeps on.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Muy apreciado.” She gives Lukas a smile, and then nods to both him and Katherine. “Well, I should get to bed. Girl’s got to get SOME beauty rest before here mid-afternoon wake-up call.” Her lips quirk upward in a smirk, and she taps two fingers to her brow before flicking them forward in a casual salute.

“Have a good night. Nice meeting you both.”

[Katherine Bellamonte] So, they are mostly alone, the Unbroken. Katherine raises an eyebrow at her Alpha. “Going to bed, old man?”

[Cordelia] “Buenas noches, no se meten en muchos problemas,” she tells Sarita. She even smiles, and there’s a quiet pleasure in that. Not just that, but the woman makes the Spanish language seem like something that is lovely and poetic simply by being.

“Good night,” she says to those who don’t have the benefit of understanding precisely whatever it is she’s saying in some foreign language. With that, she takes a step and is on her way to bed.

[Cordelia] (thanks for the scene, sorry about that! I thought I hit enter on that post a LOT earlier)

[Lukas] “Likewise,” Lukas replies, and then grabs a last rib from the rack, gnawing on it as he stands. He smirks as Kate addresses him, “Maybe not to bed, but I thought I might try to catch Dani&+269;ka before she gets up for class. I’ve got a couple hours, though. You sticking around a while?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins at Cordelia and gives a little shrug, as if to say ‘How else am I to have fun,’ and makes her way off to room 10.

[[Thanks for the scene!]]

[Lukas] [thanks!]

A Brief Interlude: Bridget and Hunter

[Bridget Simone]
[It’s cold. There’s more snow than even yesterday. It doesn’t matter. Chicagoans are hearty creatures to have to deal with such bitter wind and nasty weather. Bridget is a Canadian, so this weather is somewhat balmy. She’s perched on a park bench in winter gear, writing on some tableture.

She’s furiously scribbling, revising, entirely wrapped up in her work. It’s strange, really… considering her recent explosive mood swings. Right now, her hair is tossed by the wind, pulled as much as possible over to one side. She’s wearing what looks to be an expensive pair of jeans, a down coat that looks like she stole it from a department store. There’s still a thrift-find blue-and-black tartan print men’s scarf around her neck. Fingerless mittens allow her to write, but leave her fingers pink from windchap.

Streetside, cars speed through the plowed streets like they’ve forgotten how to drive. Some plainly don’t know how to navigate increment weather. Sludge sprays up onto mounds of snow piled onto sidewalks.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
Sarita’s 1961 Volkswagon Bus makes its way down the street, windows open and Kanye West’s “Runaway” is blasting out the window. Whether it’s because she actually likes it or just appreciates how much of a douchebag Kanye is…totally up for debate.

The van is a dusty orange color, and like any VW Bus worth owning has a little mural on the side. In Sarita’s case, it’s of a unicorn being ridden by a Boris Vallejo-style female warrior–complete with barely-there golden armor–beheading a dragon while galloping along a double rainbow in space. Basically, the most garish thing she could think of. Underneath, it bares the lines:

“You’re out of your mind.”
“That’s between me and my mind.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
As she drives along, she pauses in her singing along with Kanye–“Let’s have a toast for the douchebags…let’s have a toast for the assholes…” to notice Bridget. She grins a little bit, pulling the Bus along to the side of the street and killing the engine and (thankfully, to some) the CD deck. She slides out of the car, lighting up a hand-rolled cigarette as she comes around the car toward the kinfolk.

[Hunter]
Hunter is jogging. Who the hell goes jogging in weather like this? Apparently he does. He’s wearing red sweats, grey hoodie pulled up over his head and beneath it all there are most likely thermals. I mean, there has to be right? How else can a man stay warm wearing cotton on a day like today? Well, the reason is Hunter Matthews isn’t a man. But he jogs just like one, darting down through the middle of Grant Park and weaving around it’s many paths and lanes.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t talk to anyone, doesn’t make eye contact with people and they don’t make eye contact with him. They step aside, they shuffle off the paths when they feel him coming towards them. They move out of seats when he’s running past… well all except that one.. that ones just..

“Bridget!” He says, panting a little and this time he does stop, sits down right next to her and drapes his elbows over the back of the bench. “Hows things?”

[Bridget Simone]
Someone breaks her funk. A body positions itself on the bench next to her, a man says her name, and immediately the girl scrambles to hide her notes. It takes her a few seconds before she knows what’s going on. The Canadian blinks, then turns to look at the Ahroun. He’s panting and asks her how she is.

Funny how they… basically have radar for kinfolk. The Canadian shrugs her shoulders.

“Um…?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She arches an eyebrow as Hunter sits down next to Bridget, and she smiles a bit. “Hola amigos.” She hops up onto the curb, taking a lean against a road sign. “How’s it hangin’?”

[Hunter]
Um indeed Bridget, um indeed. But he has no time to reply to her straight away. His head tilts up to Sarita and he blinks a few times. Oh yes, her. He remembers her now from the Broho. They met briefly. “Yo.” He says, gives her a smile and a lazy salute.

Kinfolk sit, garou come running. It is the way of things.

“S’good.” He replies to Sarita, “W’bout’chu?”

[Bridget Simone]
“Just working,” she explains. “How are the two of you?”

She pushes her hair behind an ear, looks to Sarita. What the fuck is that van? It’s like…. some 80s music video Brought To You By: Mescaline.

“Hunter… I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I know you’re not the one I should be apologizing to, but Howard…. has a way of bringing out the worst in me.”

A beat.

“I think I’m going to stay far away. It’s a shame Caldera’s the only bunch of Fianna I can get near. I can’t… Hatchet is scary, and I can’t even find Rory.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She gives a little shrug, looking down the length of her smoke at the two. “M’all right. Got myself a task, so I’m all buzzing with proactivity.”

She looks over at Bridget. “Speaking of sorries, sorry about leaving you high and dry the last night. Nervous habit.”

[Hunter]
Bridget has apologies, Sarita has apologies, Hunter looks like maybe he should apologise for something. He’s not entire sure what though, so he just stays quiet for a moment, eyes narrowing on Bridget to study her face. He could talk more about it but it can wait, and she can tell that he has something to say about the matter by the look he gets before turning that gaze on Sarita.

“What sorta’ task ya’ got?” He asks, genuinely curious.

[Bridget Simone]
High and dry…. Bridget giggles quietly, then slips her hands into her pockets, the tablet notebook shoved between herself and an arm.

“Yes, it was quite the meeting of Fangs. I didn’t really know what to do. Such a buzzkill, but I didn’t want to like… ruin whatever that thing was, so I just went to my room.”

Hunter seems like he has something to say, but Bridget doesn’t inquire.

“Yeah, what task?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Tracking down a family member. Name-a Gina.” She exhales a drag of smoke. “Heard her name from a couple of folks and someone said she was in a rough way last she was heard from a couple of months ago. That ain’t something I can let lie.”

[Hunter]
“Gina? Shit.. sounds famil– oooh Gina.” He grins. “Tribe mate’mine names Winston hangs’out with her a lot I think. If I catch em I’ll make sure ta’ pass the message along.”

He frowns and looks at Bridget.

“That goes for Rory too, I’m sure she can be found if ya’ really wanna speak to her.”

[Bridget Simone]
“Oh, I remember her!” Bridget chimes in.

“She was the… the dancer? She did bellydancing, I think? We jammed out in the park a couple times right after I moved here, but I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

The Canadian perks up a bit.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“I’d appreciate that.” She smiles a little to Hunter. “I’ll never claim to be a model member of the Nation–though I do have the proper articulated parts–but fuck if I’m gonna leave one-a ours down and out.”

[Hunter]
“Well shit ye, if she’s hangin’ out with Winston she musn’t be doin’ too fuckin’ good at all can tell ya’ that.”

He laughs, of course he can laugh about this. It isn’t his tribes kinfolk and in his tribes eyes she is probably doing just fine in life.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“I’m just glad I know someone who knows someone who knows her. So far what I heard was ‘Uhh, she lives in this generic area,’ which unfortunately isn’t as helpful as one might think.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Or ‘lived,’ I should say.”

[Bridget Simone]
Bridget shivers and says nothing, trying to conserve warmth.

[Hunter]
“Oh she lives, saw her few days ago in this here very park. Didn’t seem too cheerful, but she didn’t seem like she was fuckin’ dyin’ of the plague or nuthin’.”

He stuffs his hand into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out a red sweat-band, chucks it on his head. He looks ridiculous.

“I’ll get in touch with Winston though, make sure everythin’s fine. You said you’re family?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
That brightens her expression considerably. The best she’d heard, Gina hadn’t been seen in months. “Yeah. In the general family line kinda way, not direct relation. How ’bout I give you my cell, you can pass it on?”

[Hunter]
Her expression brightens, and Hunters brightens along with it. He didn’t know that she thought the kinfolk might be god damn dead, if he had he might have been quicker about telling her that he had seen her recently. He hadn’t noticed anything too off about the owlet when he had seen her, but she had been awfully quiet.

Then again, most owls are.

“Ye,” He says lazily and nods his head. “Ain’t got no phone on me though, you’ll have’ta write it down for me.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Sweet.” She holds up a finger to ask for a moment, and heads over to the VW Bus. The passenger door is open and she leans into it, half hanging out as she gets a piece of paper and scribbles on it.

[Hunter]
He stretches while he waits, and not the athletic type of stretches. He lifts his arms over his head and yawns, mouth stretching wide while his whole torso tenses and then relaxes.

“Aaaaoahhhoooo” He says, then pats is mouth briefly. That felt good.

It’s only early evening, but Hunter Matthews looks like he could have been in bed hours ago. Garou live strange lives.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She comes back with a piece of paper with her phone number written on it, as well as a note:

“Gina — Got your name from locals. I’m Sarita, one of your kinswoman. Gimme a call when you can, I’d love to talk to you and see how you’re doing. Tribesmates gotta stick together. Love, S–”

She hands it over with a nod and smile. “You da Man.”

[Hunter]
He takes the note, doesn’t even pretend to show it any privacy. He just blatantly reads it right in front of her. At least he’s honest. Hey, if he’s sending messages he wants to know what they say.

After he’s done he smiles, folds it in half and stuffs it into his pocket.

“No probs Sarita, that why you came into town? Lookin’ for Gina? Or other way round?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She doesn’t seem to mind that he read it. Hell, if she’d not wanted him to, she’d have sealed it up, or written it in invisible ink or the like. She smiles a bit and shakes her head.

“Naah, we actually came here more looking for a new place to hang our hat, get in on some action. I just heard about Gina couple times over the last week, and like I said, I ain’t one to leave brethren out in the cold.”

[Hunter]
“Ah, I see’s.” And he nods his head a few times, pushes himself up off the chair. He takes a few deep breaths, stretching his right arm across his left shoulder while his eyes drop down to Bridget sitting on the bench.

“I’mma finish ma’ run.” He states, then when he’s finished stretching his arm he holds out his hand to Sarita. “Nice meetin’ ya again, hope Chicago treats ya’ well ye?”

[Bridget Simone]
Bridget also excuses herself, checking a new, nice-looking watch. “Yes, I have a lesson I have to teach in about a half hour. If I don’t start walking now, I won’t make it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She nods. “Nice seeing you both. I’m sure I’ll see you around later.”

[Hunter]
[Sceeeneee! Sorry have a one shot to do in under an hour and need to get some lunch thanks for the play!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
[[No worries. 🙂 Any play is good! Thanks for the scene.]]

A Brief Chat With Kyle and Amy

[August]
August gathers the infant from the carrier as she stirs and makes a few cooing noises in the baby’s direction before turning her attention back to Amy.

“How long have you been in Chicago? Do you like it so far?”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“About a week. Came with my sister. I like it enough already. How do you know Kyle?” She tries desperately to ignore the baby, seeming almost unnerved by it.

[August]
The baby made some content noises and began sucking on it’s fist (yes, she was trying to put the whole thing in her mouth). Yup, it was gonna be cute.. almost as if to further bother the other kin!

“Awesome.. welcome. Your sister kin too?” A beat. “I’ve known Kyle since shortly after I got here. He’s always been super sweet to me and helped save my behind from a spiral once.. so I’ll always owe him.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“I never said I was kin. We’re Striders. He mentioned that. Showed me the scar.”

[August]
“Sorry.. guess I just assumed since I don’t see Kyle chatting with many Trueborns..” She shrugged apologetically.

[Amunet Trujillo]
She wrinkles her nose up, then sighs. “I’m Strider kin.”

[August]
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of or anything Amy.. there’s a lot of us around here – we kinda look out for each other.” She smiled softly.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Thanks, but I don’t need anyone to look after me. I can handle myself.”

[August]
“I’m not saying you can’t..” She just trailed off, shaking her head some. August wasn’t going to bother to try to explain her point to the woman – clearly it wasn’t going to be heard.

“So.. are you staying here?” She clearly meant at the Brotherhood.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“For now, yeah. We’re crashing in Kyle’s room. He’s a good kid”

[Kyle]
The smell of food preceeds Kyle as he wanders up the stairs. He’s got a tray piled with food. Ther’es potatoe wedges, sandwitches, cakes and a few bottles of soft drink. Wanders in with that usual smile and sets the tray down so eveyrone can get at it.
“Well I don’t think she complains as much as most babies do.”
Thinks they’re talking about the baby

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Goddamn, kid.” She flashes a grin at Kyle, reaching for a sandwich and soda. “That’s service there.”

[August]
Mmm.. potato wedges. Damn those looked good. Kyle knew exactly how to get to a pregnant woman’s heart.

She glanced down at the baby in her arms who was just happily eating her own fists as Kyle mentioned little Ella. “Na.. for a possible ahroun.. she’s a good kid. Too good to be True.. despite what the spirit speakers say..”

[Kyle]
Grins as he sits down and grabs some food.
“Hope it’s to everyone’s liking. Oh they say Ella is a full. Gee that’ll be fun for you when she can start talking. Remember a few kids I grew up with always having an interesting temper. No surprise they were all fulls.”

[Kyle]
(damn. brb)

[August]
“Here’s hoping her having to be a big sister will give her somewhere to focus all that pent up angst and what not. Still.. ” she playfully poked the baby’s nose, which got a grin in response. “I still don’t really buy it. She’s too sweet.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
She concentrates on her sandwich, still trying to ignore the small human that August is holding.

[August]
August scooted on the couch some – and somehow.. ended up a little closer to Amy with aforementioned small human. However, it wasn’t some plot to annoy her.. it just happened to be how it worked out so that August could get some nummy fried potato goodness.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She ascends the stars up to the common room, skipping every other step. She grins a bit as she looks around, seeing the three in the vicinity of the couch, and slides the duster off her shoulders as she approaches. “Buenos nochas, amigos and amigettes. S’up?”

[August]
“Well hello!” Comes the cheery response from the blonde kin on the couch.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“August, this is my sister. Sar, August. She’s friends with Kyle.” Amy scoots away from small human again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She looks August over appraisingly and smiles. “Well, so far any friend of Kyle’s is a friend of mine, so pleased to meet you.” She drapes the duster over the back of a chair and moves to take a seat on the floor, stretching slightly before she offers her hand to August. “Sarita Ecos de la Risa. Strider No-Moon, Cliath, et cetera, et cereta.”

[Kyle]
Gives his customary wave and broad smile in greeting to Sarita. Then realises something and while everyone is distracted quickly puts his leather collar back on. Now he realises why the guys in the kitchen kept looking at him oddly.

[August]
“Always good to have new friends.” She remarks quite honestly.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sarita.. I’m August Grant.. a Child of Gaia kin.. and mother of this little bundle here..” whom she lifted on cue so the other woman could see the light skinned, hazel eyed and reddish haired infant. “Ella.”

[Kyle]
to August, Sarita Ecos de la Risa
Kyle’s throat is a massive mess of scar tissue. He’d forgotten to put his leather collar back on after showing Amunet

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She smiles widely at seeing the infant. “Cute. Good genes, clearly.” If she noticed what Kyle was trying to cover, she at least calls no attention to it, just giving Kyle a smile instead. “Hope we’re not ruinin’ the room while we’re crashing. I told Ames that the yak was a bad idea.”

[August]
Mid chew through a potato wedge. “Yak?”

[Kyle]
“Nah the room is fine. Just next time leave the otters outside. They upset the koala you left under the bed.”
Smirks as he takes a bite from some food and looks to August with a grin.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“I told you the otters were a bad idea.” She nudges Sarita with her foot.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“But they’re so cuddly! And they do those cute little human things with their hands….”

[August]
August just grinned, shook her head and continued munching on the food Kyle brought up. She was pretty sure that if they wouldn’t let her and her baby stay here.. the Trueborns wouldn’t be good with other animals..

[Kyle]
Looks to August as he notices her smile
“Nice to see you smile. You weren’t in a good place when we last say each other. Things improving for you I hope?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She leans over to Amy while Kyle and August talk, keeping her voice low so as not to override their conversation. “Have a good day?” She pulls out a small wad of cash and hands it over.

[August]
“Yeah. I’m in a better place.. and he hasn’t tried to show up and bother me.. which is always a plus. There’s always going to be some hurt as long as we’re in the same city.. but things are going fairly well considering.”

“I got this job down at a bar downtown.. it’s a blast. Gets me out and meeting new people all the time. This lady I used to work with at the shelter watches Ella.. and I get to make some cash and have fun – it’s a win win really.”

[Kyle]
“That’s great. I’m glad things are looking up for you. Just be sure to keep an eye out. I hear there’s a few more nasties wandering around.”
There’s something honest in the way he talks. He was happy for her but also concerned.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Goddamn, Sis. How many tricks is that?” She grins, taking the cash and stuffing it in her pocket. “Yeah, but not as good of a day as you did, apparently.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She chuckles. “Yeah, well, a couple of those bills almost turned into a shootout, so be appreciative. Potheads are morons.”

[August]
She chuckled a bit and snagged another fry like item. “You do recall my excellent bad guy radar.. right?” Clearly, a bit sarcastic, but in a playful manner.

[Kyle]
“Oh that’s right. If they’re shirtless and charming then they’re not bad guys. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Snickers as he winks at her and grabs one of the sodas.

[August]
“Right..” She nodded with a grin. “I appreciate the concern though..” It was more than what her own tribe was offering.. but.. eh, she was doin her best to avoid most of them at the moment.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“We knew that though, right?” Her eyes flicker over August and Kyle quickly before she looks back at Sarita with a nod. “I’ve got the appointment with that guy for the apartment tomorrow. So that’ll be good.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Which guy and which apartment again?”

[Kyle]
“Well if you ever get stuck and need a hand let me know. The guys here can track me down in no time.”
Motions downstairs since given his voice there was no point owning let alone using a mobile phone.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“The guy that thinks we’re undercover and are going to bust his ass if he doesn’t make us a sweet deal.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Oh, right.” She snickers. “Awesome.”

[August]
“Thanks Kyle, you’re a real sweet heart.. and I mean that in the most sort of masculine way I can..”

[Kyle]
Takes a look at his rather skinny self and chuckles.
“Got to make up for the lack of outer muscles don’t I?”

[August]
She just grinned. “We all do what we have to I suppose..”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Goddamned right awesome. You’ve got your thing, I’ve got mine.”

[Kyle]
Glances at Amunet and Sarita, unsure exactly what they’re going on about before looking back to August.
“Oh and should ask how bub 2 is treating you. No problems I hope there.”

[August]
“So far so good.. not sure how I’m gonna handle two on my own – but I guess I have two hands, so it’ll be fine.”

She wrinkled her nose. “ew.. Alright, I’ve got to go change the little one.”

As she stood, “Nice to meet you Amy and Sarita.. I’m sure I’ll see you around. And Kyle, have a good night.. we should get together for lunch or something sometime soon.”

With that, she gathered her things and disappeared into the bathroom.
{I gotta head to bed, night all!}

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Yep. We’re like the Wonder Twins of petty street crime.”

[Kyle]
“Sure thing August. Take care.”
Gives a wave to August as she heads off.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She looks at August ans smiles. “Adios, chica.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“So. She was nice.” The kin is considerably more relaxed now that the child is gone.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“She seemed so.” She looks at Amy, brow raised curiously.

[Kyle]
Looks to the pair and gives a casual shrug.
“SHe’s had a rough time. All sorts of problems from her tribe. I really should keep in touch with her more often just to make sure things are ok with her.”
Absently nibbles on some of the food in his hand.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Ay. That sucks…”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“She sure seems happy to be popping them out.”

[Kyle]
Shakes his head at Amunet’s words.
“Complicated situation that one. But that’s only what I have from her side. So you both manaaged to find a place in the city to call home?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She shoots Amy a sidelong glance at that comment, before looking back. “Maybe. Depends on mi hermana here.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Working on it.” She nods. “Guess we’ll find out if I still have the magic touch tomorrow.”

[Kyle]
“No comments”
Chuckles as he shakes his head and looks at the pair.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“I’d bet money against her, but if I lose then it’s pretty counter-intuitive to our plans.” She winks.

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Hey, a girl has to make a living somehow.” She smiles back at Kyle.

[Kyle]
“Hey it’s your life. Not one to judge.”
Sips his drink with that casual grin

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She tosses a grin Amy’s way. “You see why I like this guy so much?” She winks at Kyle, settling back to lay on the floor.

[Kyle]
He can’t help but blush at Sarita’s response. Lots of reasons in that reaction but it’s good to see his face get a little color for a change. Absently eats another couple of wedges.
“Oh I forgot to mention. If you’re looking for me and I’m not here, let the guys downstairs know. They can track me down pretty quickly.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“They know where your secret lair is or something?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Or you could just give me your cell number and I can text or call you if we can’t find you…”

[Kyle]
“I haven’t got one since I can’t talk on them…”
Yeah he tried the whole cell phone thing and it was more trouble than it was worth

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“They got this great thing called Texting these days. Fantastic.” She shrugs. “But point made…sorry, my bad.”

[Kyle]
“Yeah I got tired telling people not to call me.”
Chuckles as he sips his drink

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She grins. “Okay, I can totally see that.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Way to be insensitive, you bitch.” Amy nudges at Sarita.

[Kyle]
Now that gets him laughing, doing his best not to laugh too much so he ends up in another coughing fit.
“It’s all good. It’s the people who keep telling em to speak louder that I tend to want to punch.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Hey, I’m always game for punching someone if you want me to.” She smirks. “Just sayin’.”

[Kyle]
“I’ll keep that in mind. Must say it’s nice to have family around with a sense of humour. Seen way too many all sour and gloomy in my travels.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
She shrugs. “We’re the irrepressible sort. Ain’t no point in staying all dour and pissy, y’know?”

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Irrepressible. Irresponsible. Incorrigible. Pick one.” She nods.

[Kyle]
“Tripple I. Sounds like a good way to live.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa]
“Or all of the above. We’re not the kind to get locked down.”

[Kyle]
to Amunet Trujillo, Sarita Ecos de la Risa
(I’ve got to bail. Thanks for a fun scene 🙂 )

[Amunet Trujillo]
“Tied, maybe. But not locked.”

[Amunet Trujillo]
to Kyle, Sarita Ecos de la Risa
(That works. I should be in bed by now. 🙂 Thanks for the scene.)

[Kyle]
“No I doubt anyone could lock you both down and that sounds kinky.”
Standing he stretches a little and smile.s
“Well I need a shower. I’ll catch up with you ladies later.”
Grins as he heads out of teh common room

[Kyle]
(Night all. Thanks again 🙂 )

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

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