An Offer She Can Refuse, But Should She?

[Lukas] Tuesday morning and there’s a note in Sarita’s mail cubby: Grab coffee tonight, 10pm? I can drive. Provided she accepts, here they are now, pulling up on the curb on Grant, a block or so from the heart of the Mile. Lukas steps out first, glancing westward along Grant for a moment before turning toward Michigan Ave. There’s snow in the gutters, snow on the curb, snow on the buildings and snow in the sky.

“Just around the corner,” he says of the cafe, button his overcoat up for the short walk nonetheless. It’s bitterly cold.

[Sinclair] [for a split second when i logged in everything was black serif text on white. i had an SEaChat flashback.]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She does not accept! Scene over! …oh wait, no that’s not right. She does accept, and so they find themselves right where we just mentioned. Sarita slips out of the car, looking around as they get out and rolling her shoulders to resettle her duster. She’s still hating the cold. Always will. But she’s getting used to it. hey, it’s better now than a week ago, so there you have it.

“Cool,” she says, flexing her fingers to get circulation pumping preemptively. Yes, cool. Hah hah, a pun. Leave her alone, it’s the middle of the week. Your jokes would be running short too. She moves to walk with Lukas, letting him lead the way.

[Sinclair] There’s a figure waiting outside the cafe for them. Waiting for them, it’s obvious, because one of them is her packmate. Waiting there because, well. He’s her packmate. She could track him across the city by thought if she had to. When she asked him tonight what he was up to, sounding bored herself, it was more a pulse of query, a nudge, than words themselves. That is how Sinclair’s mind works, when it touches the minds of her packmates. For a Galliard whose ‘tales’ are given like reports rather than songs, inwardly she is far more primal than her appearance could ever come close to being.

And some days, it is very primal indeed. She hasn’t seen much of Sarita, but didn’t seem disinclined to joining them for some …whatever. Coffee. Cognac in it, knowing Lukas. She hasn’t been around him much since he got back from Stark Falls, either.

The woman outside the cafe is in her early twenties, a smattering of freckles across her cheeks more evident with the lack of a tan. She remembers where she was around this time last year. She tries not to. She tries to make her body forget but knows that it can’t, and it won’t, and that by her own making this is so: every patch of ink on her skin is hidden now by cloth of some kind, warmth of some kind, but she can always feel the marks. Her hair is long, straight, and wheat-colored; her eyes are blue, like Katherine’s and like Lukas’s, but not like theirs, too — they have a searing, percing quality. Sinclair does not. Looking in her eyes is as easy as looking at the sky on a drowsy summer day.

She’s wearing a pair of black suede boots adorned with a few buckles here and there, lined with cream-colored faux fur. Her jeans are tucked into them, and she’s moved on from Army Coats these days: underneath her black peacoat is a red hoodie, a splash of bright color down her shoulders. She’s got a slim black scarf wrapped around her neck, and a pair of red earmuffs, black fingerless gloves.

When she does see them, she ambles over and, circling around behind Lukas, grabs his shoulders and jumps on his back as though she is either going to demand a piggy back ride or force him to wrestle her off. One or the other.

Her pocket whirrs.

[Lukas] Lukas’s mouth tilts wryly at the joke. “My packmate,” he mentions, “might be joining us.” He taps his temple. “She radioed to ask where I was a little while ago.”

Not exactly what happened — something far more implied and subtle than that — but all the same, they round the corner and there Sinclair is. Jumped on, Lukas neither wrestles her off nor quite deigns to give her a piggyback ride, though he does grip her arms with his hand and duck his head to pretend to gnaw on her. Gnarrr, he says.

“This is Sinclair,” he introduces then. “Sinclair, this is Sarita. She’s new-ish in town. I asked Sarita to grab coffee with me because — well, I liked what I saw from you so far.” Mid-sentence, he goes to addressing Sarita directly as she becomes the focus of conversation. “I wanted to get to know you better, maybe invite you to run with us.”

At the cafe now, he stops and pulls the door open — Sinclair still hanging off his neck, possibly. He nods Sarita in first, then follows.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She notices Sinclair when they approach the cafe, recognizing her from the bar the other night with Katherine. She grins to the other woman raising two fingers to her brow and flicking her wrist forward in a salute as they head inside. “FYI, if I’m about to be kidnapped and ransomed? Just don’t scuff my coat with the zip ties.” She winks and comes up.

When Lukas does introductions she nods a little…and then Lukas drops a bombshell of sorts on her. She blinks, a bit surprised by that. “Oh. Well…okay, cool. I’m all about the getting to know you.”

She slips inside with a smile of thanks to Lukas, rubbing her hands for circulation again when they get inside. She looks over the place to get the lay of the land and find her eyes drawn to the menu. She starts looking it over while the other two come in behind her.

[Lukas] He laughs to see her surprise — “Sorry. I tend to be blunt about these things. I don’t see the point in pretending it’s not my purpose when it is.”

Inside, it’s the sort of cafe where all the lighting is mood and all the drinks are overpriced; the decor all trendy stone, and the baristas all lean and dressed in black. Lukas orders — well, he orders exactly what Sinclair thought he might: an espresso coretto a cognac. Sometimes he’s dreadfully predictable. He also orders an iced lemon scone, though, and stands there holding his yums while waiting for the other two to order their own drinks. He offers to pay for them all; if Sarita refuses, it doesn’t seem to particularly insult his hospitality. Eventually, they’re all seated around a table in the back, in the corner, in a private little sector of the cafe that they can now be reasonably sure no one will ever want to walk into while they’re occupying it.

“Everything work out with your friend the other night?”

[Sinclair] Hanging off his shoulders is more like it. Sinclair is several inches shorter than Lukas, so her feet don’t drag, but a few steps before the cafe she hops down. Her attention is on Sarita after he tells the Ragabash that he’s liked what he’s seen from her. Even before he tells her that he wanted to get to know her better, Sinclair is focused, her pale eyes fixed on the other female.

She goes in before Sarita, a front line. She looks over her shoulder as she does so: “Zip ties? We use duct tape,” she informs the Uktena mildly, and unbuttons her coat as she enters the cafe. Heads towards a table as she unzips the hoodie underneath, but doesn’t remove either peacoat or sweater. The shirt she has on looks like it bears Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album art.

Sinclair doesn’t order anything. She sits with one booted foot drawn up and planted on the seat of her chair, knee up, leaning back. For now, it seems that she’s content to keep her mouth shut and listen.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s never one to turn down hospitality. She gives a grateful smile and gets something fairly simple. She’s not a complex girl, just a good, solid caffeine jolt is all she needs out of a coffee most nights. And tonight is one of those nights.

Once they get seated, Lukas asks about her friend. Sarita gives a rueful grin and groans. “My sister, actually. Half-sister. It was fairly dramatic, but it worked out for the best, I think. And hey, I only got punched once, so…it worked out as well as I could have expected.” She chuckles. Thanks for asking.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[The “Thanks for asking” is spoken. 😛 ]]

[Lukas] “Simon and I were discussing honor and duty and what to do when your honor conflicts with your duty to a commanding entity,” Lukas fills Sinclair in, unwrapping his scone and breaking off a bite before offering the remainder to the Glass Walker. “We were in the middle of some pretty interesting discourse when Sarita had to go kick a wall and issue a cease-and-desist.”

He offers Sarita the scone, then. After she’s helped herself, he sits back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. Lukas is quite tall. His long bones are, in a word, long. There’s a lot of length of thigh and shin there. A lot of length in those deft, scone-demolishing fingers.

“You looked like you had something to add, actually,” he says to Sarita. “But I had to take off, so I couldn’t stay to listen.”

[Sinclair] “A cease-and-desist to what?” Sinclair asks, furrowing her brow. Her pocket whirrs again and she — somewhat thoughtlessly — unwraps a napkin from a set of silverware and puts the fork in her pocket. Her pocket suddenly goes Eee!

and then there’s a muffled clanking.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I did at the time, yeah.” She nods slightly, remembering back. That, as only three days ago, but it’s been a busy three days. John could have well knocked the memories right out of her head. She thinks for a moment though, taking herself back to the conversation and what point she had her own thoughts.

“A cease-and-desist to carnal acts that would prevent me from sleeping in the room unless I be driven crazy…er…by the smell after the fact,” she says to Sinclair as she thinks back.

“Oh, right. Simon had been talking about tornado and the city, and the whole thing about how the city wasn’t built to last forever. Which is true…nothing does. But too often, I’ve heard people say things like that as an excuse to tear something down before it is the right time for it to go down. Not that I think Simon is necessarily that kind of person. It’s simply an argument that always berks my ears up. I mean, if you put it that way, that more or less in this truly permanent, then you can take that through to the logical argument of ‘what does anything we do matter?’ You have to look at something and judge whether it’s time to tear it down because it’s gotten to rotten and it’s in danger of crushing everything when it collapses under its own weight, or whether it still has time to go before the natural cycle causes it to hit that falling apart stage.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Wow, I’m off tonight with the typos. “It’s simply an argument that always perks my ears up. I mean, if you put it that way, that more or less nothing in this world is truly permanent…”]]

[Lukas] “Annnd that’s why I didn’t go into detail,” Lukas puts in after Sarita, well, goes into detail. Another bite of scone pops into his mouth.

Then Sarita has found her train of thought again, and Lukas listens. When she’s finished, he nods. “Simon probably would have said Twister grants him the wisdom to know when it was something’s time, and when it wasn’t. Which might be true. I don’t know, though. Sinclair packed under Twister before joining us; that’s about as close to that totem as I’ve gotten.

“Regardless, then there’s the added complication of never quite knowing if your judgment is sound. Which brings us full-circle back to Simon’s original question: what do you do if you’re ordered to do one thing, but your personal judgment says it’s the wrong thing to do?”

[Sinclair] “Oh, ew,” Sinclair says instantly to Sarita, though who knows how she’d react if she knew that they were talking about a pure-blooded kinswoman and a metis. She looks about ready to gag, but then something distracts her. ‘Something’ looks like an oncoming headache, if Garou got those. Maybe Sinclair’s special.

Maybe there’s a reason she’s looking spaced out for a moment, processing some unseen thing. She reaches in her clanging pocket and rubs her fingertips against something, creating a faint buzzing noise before she takes her hand out again, listening to Sarita and then Lukas in turn.

“I guess my problem with that mindset,” she says to the Ragabash, “is that Twister isn’t necessarily about destruction as part of the natural cycle. That, and: that was the Wyrm’s job, before it went mad. The system is broken. I don’t think there necessarily is a point now where any of us can sanely say that we know, totem or not, when the time has come for something to be brought down.”

She lowers her bent knee, unfolding her leg to get more comfortable, a little more settled. “The wisdom of Twister’s destructiveness is for the sake of change. For the sake of stirring people out of habits. And other things, too, but it’s not always — or even often — about the new growth that comes afterward or the reparation of stifling overgrowth.”

The Walker removes her fingerless gloves, laying them out in front of her. “So, yeah. Since we were not created to do the job the Wyrm can’t do properly anymore, and since obviously Gaia’s creation to do that job — the Wyrm — wasn’t infallible, no. We’ll never know if our judgement is sound.”

She shrugs. But she doesn’t answer the original question. It was, it seems, posed more at Sarita. Maybe as a test. Who knows.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She considers that. “Well, I’d say, like almost anything, it depends on the situation. If you’re in the middle of battle, obviously it’s the wrong time to start talking back and arguing. You put your trust in the person leading you into battle, or you don’t go to battle with them. Now, let’s say that they snap out of nowhere due to some kind of outside influence, then we’re talking something different and he or she is no longer a capable leader. They might as well have been fallen at that point, because mentally they have. And the next in charge takes control.”

She shrugs, looking at her fingernails and pulling out a penknife to clean under them. “Now, if it’s not in the midst of battle? Obviously, you got more options. It all comes down to what you do. We’re warriors and soldiers. We gotta fall in line when we need to. But like Simon said, ‘following orders’ didn’t help at Nuremburg. And in my case, if I thought that someone had given me an order I was bound to obey that would lead to disaster?”

She looks up at the two. “If I truly thought that was the case, which I would hope would never happen, ’cause I tend to think I’m pretty reasonable…I think it would be worth self-sacrifice to put a stand in the way of the disastrous course of action and get mowed down, if it meant the battle was won as a whole.”

“It’s all about judgment. Soldiers yes…but we have free will for a reason.”

[Lukas] Lukas listens to his packmate, listens to Sarita. His brow faintly knits sometimes, listening. Other times, he nods. Once, in the middle, he holds up a couple fingers, pausing conversation for a moment because he sees the waitress arriving with his coretto, Sarita’s plain coffee. As she straightens he smiles, nodding a quiet thank-you.

Then it’s back to the discourse, Lukas lifting his espresso to sip while Sarita finishes her point. “Yeah,” he says when she’s done, “that’s essentially what I was trying to say to Simon. First he needs to figure out why he feels like shit. If it’s because he made the right choice but it was painful … well, such is war. If it’s because he made the wrong choice and didn’t speak out of fear, then that’s something to change.

“But anyway,” the Ahroun shrugs, leaning forward to set his cup down. “We probably shouldn’t keep raking Simon’s dilemma over the coals while he’s not even at the table. I just wanted to hear your take on it.

“What’s the deal with you and your sister, by the way? Are you guys actually sticking around for a while, or just passing through?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She pauses when Lukas notes the waitress approaching of course, and she gives the woman a little grin and a thanks. When Lukas explains where he was coming from, she takes the opportunity to do her own coffee-drinking. When Lukas asks if they’re staying, she takes a breath and nods.

“That’s the plan, yes. We’ve been looking for a good city to settle in, and from what we’ve seen, Chicago could be just that place. We like the people, we like the city itself….” She chuckles as she glances outside. “The weather’s not our usual style, don’t get me wrong, but we’ve been in worse. From what we’ve seen, we like it. It’s a place we think we can call home for a good long while.” It sounds almost weird for her to say it, like someone who’s speaking a language they haven’t been familiar with in a while, even if it is simple English. She runs a hand through her hair, glancing between the two packmates.

“I’ve been wandering around for the better part of a decade, a year of that with Amy. Sure, we’re a wandering folk, but at some point you’ve got to stop and catch your breath. This place looks as much like home for her and I as it can be. So we’re setting up to lay down roots for a good long while, see how the city treats the both of us and how we can treat it.”

[Sinclair] Sinclair gives a faint huff at the word ‘soldiers’, but that’s about it. She leans over and sniffs Lukas’s coretto, does not ask for a sip. Leaning her elbows on the table, she listens to Sarita speak of her and ‘Amy’, this sister she had to tell to stop fucking in their shared room.

[Lukas] “It’s a good city,” Lukas replies. “I like it. I’m out of New York, myself. Sinclair’s out of Kansas by way of So-Cal. But this is home now. It can be a rough place, though, and it’ll chew you up if you let it. Keep your sister close. Keep her safe. A lot of kinfolk seem to end badly in Chicago, especially those that start out headstrong.”

He’s already told her that. She’s already seen it, for that matter — in Gina, if nothing else. Lukas is quiet a moment; then, “You mind if I ask why only a year with Amy? You two seem close.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She nods a bit when Lukas says to keep Amy close. That’s the battle she’s already fighting, and though for the most part she hides it well, there’s perhaps a brief shadow that passes over her expression, perhaps indicating that she’s losing a bit of ground.

When he asks about why she and her sister have only been together a year, she half-smirks. “Well, that’s thanks to dear old dad. Amy grew up in our father’s family. I was more or less the result of a one-night stand. Amy knew about me from the time she was able to know about such things, while I had no clue of anything–another family, being what we are or the whole shebang until my Change. Then Esteban found me, gave me the basics and sent me on my way to the local sept.” It”s said in a casual way…not flippant, just as matter-of-fact as Sarita ever gets. It’s been a long time, after all.

“I didn’t know about Amy until she found me after Esteban and her mother died. That was a year ago, and we’ve been together ever since. We’re sort of a package deal in that respect. Drive each other nuts like only we can, but…” She shrugs. “We’re sisters.”

The last two words are said as if that explains the closeness in and of itself.

[Sinclair] Sinclair ordered nothing. She listened more than she talked. And then she kicks Lukas’s shoe under the table, for some reason.

She does not comment on Kinfolk. Kinfolk relations. Sisters. Keeping kin close. She doesn’t even seem to pay attention to that part.

Sinclair does, however, listen to Sarita’s story. Half-sisters, then. Just now found each other, it seems like. Sinclair smiles a little, makes a little hmm sound crossed with a heh. Then reaches over and claps Sarita on the shoulder as she shoves back her chair and rises. A few humans around the cafe startle at the sound of the chair’s scrape, at the movement of the blonde.

Their heads come up. They perk, like deer hearing a twig snap, waiting for the predator to lunge. It takes them a moment to relax again.

Sinclair ignores them, as she mostly ignored talk of Kin. “All right. You should come run with the Unbroken for awhile. We’ll hunt. You can get advice from Katherine on dealing with your Kin. It’s a perfect fit. I am going back to the Loft to get in the hot tub. Latah.

And she’s zipping up her hoodie, buttoning up her coat, turning on her heel to head for the door. A thin, tiny, slinky-like arm reaches out of her coat pocket, a few cylindrical metal fingers wrapped around a cafe fork, using it to wave bye-bye to Lukas before the fork is dropped on the floor and the arm vanishes.

The bell over the door chimes as Sinclair heads out.

[Sinclair] [Thanks for the RP!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks over at Sinclair as she rises, her suggestion drawing a bit of a lopsided smile and a little tilt of the head. “Hasta la pasta,” she says in response, and watches the Glass Walker head out. She keeps curious eyes on the Galliard until after the door is shut and she’s out of view, and then looks back to Lukas.

[[Thank you too!]]

[Lukas] There’s sort of an answering glimmer in Lukas’s eyes, a kind of warmth, when Sarita speaks of sisters. Sticking together.

“I get that,” he says. “I’ve got a sister. I mean, daughter-of-my-parents type sister. She’s older, she drives me insane, and she just brought home this ridiculous weak-chinned moron, but — ”

at this point Sinclair more or less makes the offer that Lukas had alluded to earlier, making the Ahroun blink. Then she’s getting up, and he’s grabbing his scone and offering it to her over his head, and she’s sniffing it and going ew, no, and he’s laughing under his breath and dropping it back on his table. As she heads out, he takes another sip of coretto, puts it down.

“I actually,” he says, “had a big speech planned that was going to lead up to what Sinclair just said. I was going to talk about how Anežka’s my sister no matter what, so I love her. And it’s the same deal with my packmates. The core of my pack, anyway, those of us that have stuck around and stuck together long enough to grow together. I was going to tell you how we’re not like those packs that get together for convenience, that act more like colleagues than family. We’re blood. Asha, Sinclair, Katherine — even Christian, wherever he is now — we’re tight.

“And then I was going to tell you if you’re interested, I want you aboard. You can run with us a while, see how you fit in with us. See how your sister likes us. We need a Ragabash, and we need one that doesn’t seem to think their sole job is to run around being obnoxious. Which, obviously, you don’t.” He grins, crookedly, wryly. “It was going to be a pretty badass speech. But the sentiment still stands.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins when Lukas talks about losing his speech. “See, now that was just mean of her. Completely ruined the theatrics of the whole thing.” She chuckles warmly and gives him a wink.

“I need to talk to Amy about it. I know this probably sounds freaking insane to most people, but because we are a package deal, I need her to be cool with the idea too. I don’t see any problems with it though. Y’all will definitely need to meet her; she’s not your average kin. She worked herself up to being able to go out with the Cliaths on simple stuff at her home sept, so she’s…” She shrugs. “…not what a lot of us think of when we think of ‘normal’ or, y’know, ‘sane’ when it comes to kin.”

She smiles a bit. “But yeah. I’ll chat at her first thing tomorrow, and get back at you immediately.” She flips out her cell phone. “You got digits?”

[Lukas] “It’s fair enough,” Lukas replies. “You sign on, she ends up allied to the pack as well. If you want her input, that’s your prerogative.”

Lukas recites his digits. He gives her two: his cell phone and his landline at the Brotherhood. Then he adds, “If I’m not at the BroHo, you can always try Sinclair. She’s next door to me. Or if you get ahold of Asha or Kate, either of them can totemphone me.

“If Amy wants to talk to me,” he adds, “you’re welcome to send her by.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I probably will. I imagine she’ll want to meet you.” She programs the numbers into her phone and pockets it, then finishes her coffee. “Thanks for the coffee. And the offer, of course. I should get back home, get some sleep. Got woken up early, and that makes for a not-happy Sarita if I don’t get my beauty sleep.”

She smiles and rises. “I’ll be in touch real soon. Have a good one.”

[Lukas] “Likewise,” Lukas replies. If Sarita were human, or kin, some deeply-ingrained streak of courtesy might have Lukas rising as she departs. She’s not, though. She’s Garou. She’s a potential packmate. He stays seated, comfortable, returning her smile and waving with one hand as the other reaches for his scone.

“Night, Sarita.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] A little grin goes his way, and she makes her way out, back to the Broho. [[And Finit!]]


Hanging Out With the Sister and In-Law (Fragment)

[Amy] “We should go find a fight.”

[Leon Davenport] He smile at Amy “We should never look for a fight, they usually find us soon enough.” He finished his beer “Well if oyu really want a fight, we can always go out and hunt”

[Amy] “I really want a fight.” She nods, draining her beer and standing up.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “A fight it is.” She grins and rises. “This should be fun.”

[Amy] “Fan fucking tastic.” She grins again. “Where to?”

[Leon Davenport] He got up “I don’t know the hotspots of the city. Sarita, any idea?”He ask the Strider as he picked his jacket up

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “I know of a certain skinhead bar that would LOVE to see us again…”

[Amy] Her eyes get big and she nods. “Fuck yes. Let’s go.” Without really waiting for the others, she’s on her way to the door.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh dear.” She grins maniacally. “This should be fun. C’mon, Ahnuld. Don’t get left behind…” She follows after.

[Leon Davenport] He smiled and went to follow them “We take one car or two?”He ask once they were outside

[Amy] “We should probably take the van, in case anybody gets left for dead again. Your car is too nice. It would get jacked.”

[Leon Davenport] He smiled “Yeah, then again if my car get jacked, we would have another fight coming. With people dead at the end of it” He say letting them lead him to the van

[Amy] Gaia bless her, she actually seems to be considering it now.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh Christ. Yeah, we’ll just take the van. Easier getaway.” She hops in the driver’s seat of the VW Bus. “Leon, don’t break anything.” Honestly, it would be hard for Leon to see if he was breaking anything, the back area was more or less a mess.

She starts it up and waits till the others get in before taking off.

[Amy] Her head tilts to each side, neck popping. Her eyes are lit up now, obviously looking forward to the pending fight.

[Leon Davenport] “All right, I’ll try” He say to Sarita, not saying anything about the mess as he got in. He wa on his best behavior as well tonight after al. He tried to find a safe place to sit and hold on

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The woman drives like a bat out of hell. Amy’s used to it by now of course, but how the woman has not gotten them both killed is a mystery. or at least how she avoids getting pulled over. Leon is in for quite a ride as they head off, ending up well into the shitty part of town before she kills the engine outside a rowdy-looking bar.

[Leon Davenport] He did grab to something. All right, maybe what they say about no moon was true. They aren’t all quite sane. When Sarita stop the fan, he steps out, jsut glad to have his feet on the ground and be in control again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Oh, and it didn’t help that she was blasting Ke$ha over the stereo, either. Girl has some wacky-ass taste in music.

She slides out of the van, looking over the bar and grinning, though she looks to Amy. “All right, you’re the one with the plan this time. What is it?”

[Leon Davenport] He unzipped his jacket and left it in hte car, standing in the cold, wearing only his t-shirt. He wondered if he should have brought a gun, but he had a feeling he might find one inside. It could be fun. He look at Amy “So what now, fearless leader?”

[Amy] “Find some assholes beat the shit out of them?” She twists in her set so that she can see both of them

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well yeah. But…I mean fine, I can smack the smallest friend of the biggest guy again, but that didn’t go so well last time…”

[Amy] “I just vote that I not wake up in the hospital again.”

[Leon Davenport] He tilt his head “There is more asshole in there then there is of us. And let’s face it, I’m not going to shift in there.”Ok..might not be the truth. He mgiht lose it, especially if Amy ogt hurt, or even Sarita. “Maybe we should divide and conquer. We get in, we drink, some troubel will find us, then we head out and deal with it without the bar jumping us”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Amy…” It’s a plaintive whine, though clearly teasing. “He’s trying to fight with his brain…”

[Amy] “Um. What?” She laughs, head shaking.

[Leon Davenport] He grinned at the sisters “Well maybe you should try you know. I don’t wake up in hospitals often that way” He grin “All right ladies, let’s go in and make me look like the luckiest man on this side of the planet at least, by being with you” He say with a smile, though his hand moved to Amy’s lower back. He wouldn’t dare prented to look like he’s with Sarita, even as a joke.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She grins and shrugs. “I guess I’ll have to find my date in there.” And on she walks, into skinhead heaven.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Hits pause!]]

[Leon Davenport] (pause)

That Sister of Mine Got Me Punched

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s actually semi-up. By “semi-up,” that means that she’s in the common room, half-dozing and half-staring at the television. Sarita has problems sleeping in a room by herself, with the amount of traveling she’s done with her sister these days. God have pity on her poor sleep schedule if one of them ever moves out and leaves the other one behind.

At this point, it’s informercial time. She’s blinking, awake JUST enough to be flipping through the channels and mumbling.

“Don’t need a bigger dick…don’t need jullianne fry maker…don’t need Soft Rock of the 70s…don’t need industrial-strength carpet cleaner…”

And so it goes.

[John] In about twelve hours, the males of Defiance will be incapable of going out in public without scaring the majority of humans whose paths they come across.

That isn’t what the Fenrir of the pair is thinking about as they mount the stairs for the second time in twenty-four hours, he once again taking the lead, as if acknowledging that this is his bed that he has made, that he is the one who has to lie in it. At this point he just wants to push the bed into the fucking river and start sleeping on the floor like he used to, but that’s neither here nor there. He isn’t here to talk to Amy. He has determined already that there is absolutely zero point in talking to Amy.

It’s hard enough to get other people to listen to him when he can’t fucking talk, but when they won’t read what he writes, either, that makes the endeavor all the more fruitless and frustrating.

At any rate, the two males–one green-eyed and bulky and the other blue-eyed and unshaven–appear at the head of the stairs as Sarita is bemoaning the lack of engaging programming at 7:30 on a Tuesday morning. John’s eyes only briefly flick to the large television to frown at what it is she’s doing, then lifts his head in a nod. It isn’t as gregarious as the one he tossed her the last time they met, yet he isn’t slinking, either. He simply isn’t in a mirthful mood this morning.

He gestures between the Ragabash and himself with a questioning expression, then furrows his brow and makes a gabbing motion with his left hand. The closest translation is Can we talk?

His Alpha and translator’s presence wouldn’t suggest that it’s actually a choice she has, but at least the hulking Modi is attempting diplomacy.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She blinks twice, sitting up when she hears footsteps coming up to the landing of the common room. She looks over John and Hunter and then rubs at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Oh hey, hola…” She yawns and pops her neck to either direction.

When she realizes that this isn’t a casual ‘Yo, what’s up’ type visit, she blinks once more to get a little more alert. As John does the gesturing, she seems to get the gist of it and sighs. She has that look on her face of weary resignation, like you know that a piece of birdshit is about land on your head, but you also know that you can’t avoid it. Might as well put of the Wile E. Coyote sign that says “Ulp!” and get the shampoo ready. Sarita sighs and nods in acknowledgment of the request to talk.

“What did she do this time?”

[Hunter] “Let’s get some air ye’?”

He says this to Sarita, flicks his head towards the stairs and then waits for the two of them to hustle their way first up towards the roof. The door pushes open and there’s actually the faint glow of sun on the horizon, today might be a nice day despite the fact that it is freezing cold. The weather doesn’t bother the Modi nor the Gnawer though he tips his chin down into the popped collars of his coat and reaches inside his pocket.

A packet of cigarettes is taken out, Camel no filters and a worn zippo. He pops one in his mouth, lights it and then offers the pack to the two of them once the door has closed behind him. The rooftop has snow in places, a lot of it has been lost by the few reasonably pleasant days since the epic storm but it is there in patches, in the corners and shadow of the building. There are blood stains up here, tales of fights long since passed.

“So we gots ourself a problem.”

[John] John accepts the cigarette. Knowing sign language from any country known to man would not help him if the rest of the Nation doesn’t know it, either; his hands are as useless as his throat in engaging in a conversation like this, and as much as the stereotypical Modi loathes asking for help, asking his people to tend to his sickness, this isn’t a sickness. That’s on his parents, so far as most emotionally stable Garou are concerned, and he does the best he can with what he has to work with.

Unfortunately, this means using his bound packmates as a mouthpiece when he has to have a serious discussion with another Garou. For what it’s worth, he looks at Sarita when Hunter talks, and at Hunter when he’s relaying what it is he wants said. He doesn’t wince when Hunter speaks, though he knows damned well that he’s going to put his own delightful flourish on the information.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She follows along to the outside, popping her own cigarette into her mouth. She squints, looking around the outside as she lights up. She has a feeling this is not going to be a very pleasant conversation, but she’s an optimist. She’s hoping to be surprised.

“What, because my sister has a thing for you and doesn’t know how the hell to deal with it?” She gets the just of what’s going on here, and she’s looking at John when she speaks, though she throws an occasional glance to Hunter so that she’s not ignoring the Gnawer. She’s not hostile or defensive around these two. She’s just a little tired at the moment.

[Hunter] He nods his head to Sarita’s words, hands over the lighter to John and pulls his own cigarette from his lips after inhaling. A breath of smoke filled with frosty steam, bill hicks would be waiting for Hunter to pass out from exhaling. He doesn’t.

“S’part’a it. She knows what John here is, keeps on houndin’ him anyway.”

His eyes flick to John and he nods confirmation.

“John gotta’ text ta’ show ya’. Says it’s dishonourable for her ta’ be tryn’a get more’n a mistake outta’ John, dishonourable for ya’ ta’ let her.”

A quick puff.

“I agrees.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She frowns. Trying to get more than a mistake out of John? Something about that sentence doesn’t seem to register to the woman. Whatever it means, she’s sure that she’s going to find out, so she doesn’t bother asking. She just gives a little nod, exhaling a drag of smoke, and holds out her hand.

“A’ight. Let’s see it.”

[John] The Modi plugs the cigarette between his lips and pulls the cell phone, already scratched and battered despite being less than a week old, out of his hip pocket. Frowning against the drifting cigarette smoke, he awkwardly pecks through the screen with his index finger until he finds the last message he received, sometime yesterday afternoon. Rotating the phone, he hands it off to Sarita.

From Amunet, it reads:
Just.. fucking let me know if you want this to be something or not. I’m not going to make an ass of myself any more than I already have. I told you how I feel. Ball’s in your court. Text me back if you want something. Don’t bother if you don’t.

[Hunter] “This from yesterday,” Hunter adds.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She takes the phone, reads the message. Her brow furrows, a bit of a frown coming up on her face. She looks between the two, eyes hitting John first, then Hunter and back to John. And then she hands the phone back to John. The Strider obviously understands the words on the phone, but there’s confusion there.

“So you guys think it’s dishonorable…what? That she’s interested in John and wants to be in a relationship with him? That she’s chasing him? I’m not getting the dishonor here.”

She looks at John. “She has a romantic interest in you. She knows what you are. It doesn’t matter. She has problems expressing such a thing, and as such she may be a bit…” She pauses. “Poorly-worded about it. But she’s asking if you are interested in being involved with her. If you don’t want to be, then tell her that. Just please don’t NOT tell her. Because all that does is leave her hanging.”

[Hunter] A tick across Hunter’s jaw as it clenches, eyes narrowing upon the Ragabash and his nostrils flare to the smells of cold wind and cigarette smoke.

Eyes turn to John.

“It does fuckin’ matter cause there ain’t no sumthin’ ta’ be had. It’s dishonourable cause he can’t give her what she wants but she keeps fuckin’ askin’ for it anyway like that’s somehow gonna change anythin’.”

A pause, he licks over his teeth.

“John wants ta’ know why she think it don’t matter what he is.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Because she’s not looking to be mated and settle down and have kids.” She sighs and shakes her head, looking at the ground. There’s something a little bit angry there…not at Hunter and not at John. Not at anyone, really, just…generally so. She takes a drag off the cigarette and looks up.

“Listen, my sister? She’s not like normal kin. She doesn’t want what everyone else wants, and she’s not going to have a normal kinfolk’s life. When she was growing up? She earned her way into going out to do certain missions with the Cliaths. And that wasn’t even enough for her. But the point is, she had earned it back at her home sept. And because of that, she’s never going to be the stay at home, raise kids and such kind of girl. You dig?”

She shrugs. “She wants someone who she can spend time with. Who she can care about and who respects her. It’s not dishonorable any more than it is when two kinfolk get involved. There’s not going to be any of us bred from that. Does that mean it’s wrong? No. She doesn’t want what John can’t give her. She wants what he can. If you think that’s dishonorable, then fine. But don’t do her the disservice of figuring she’s like every mousy kinfolk out there who just wants security and a home. Truth be told, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that she might die before I do.” Her jaw juts out a bit at that.

“And I’ve had to accept that. Because that’s who she is.”

[John] John looks absolutely flummoxed. He looks between Sarita and Hunter not as though she has started speaking Spanish. Even Spanish, incomprehensible to him, seems to make sense, its cadence and intonation getting across that some human thought is occurring. This doesn’t translate at all even though it’s in a language he has been exposed to his entire life and speaking for half of it.

The largest of the three of them scrubs his face, as if he’s developing a headache, and looks at Sarita with a look that’s part plaintive and part flint as he talks to Hunter.

[Hunter] How brow creases, eyebrows narrowing along with his eyes when Sarita begins to talk about what it is that drives Amy, what the kinswoman really wants. John’s voice sounds in his head a moment later and he doesn’t take his eyes off the Ragabash even in the silence.

“John don’t like it, her thinkin’ it’s okay ta’ bed a Metis n’tha Nation won’t care. Does she care about John? Would she care what fuckin’ Katherine Bellamonte would do ta’ him if she knew bout’ some Metis bangin’ kinfolk? I know Kate, fought with her before many times, she’s a good chick but she’d have his fuckin’ balls for bangin’ a bred kinfolk.”

A brief beat.

“No offence John.”

“If she cares about him she needs ta’ get this foolish shit outta’ her head cause it don’t matter what she thinks it should be like, it only matters what it is like.

If she cares about him she needs ta’ leave em’ tha’ fuck alone. N’I swear ta’ fuckin’ god Sarita, if ya’ stupid fuckin’ sister fucks with one’a ma’ pack n’gets him inta’ trouble I will smear ya’ fuckin’ brains all over fuckin’ bronzeville till ya’ given what ya’ cost ma’ pack.”

His finger points at her, but it falls now and his expression softens.

“None’a this needs ta’ be done. She just gotta’ accept that tha’ Nation don’t think it’s right – what she’s askin for n’all – n’that she’s fuckin’ puttin’ his life on tha’ line with her thinkin’.

She needs ta’ fuckin’ quit it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] None of it seems to faze her. The statement of what Katherine would do, the threat, she listens to it all. Her jaw is still set solidly from when she spoke, like she knew this was coming. The most reaction they get is a hardening of her gaze when Hunter places a threat on her life. When it’s all done, she just smirks and shakes her head, giving a little chuckle.

“And of course, since you guys don’t want to be the one to tell her, you’re telling me to tell her.”

She gives a little shrug, taking a drag off of her cigarette, and looks between the two. There’s been something lost here, no doubt. She exhales the smoke into the air, where it dissipates into nothingness, and nods.

“Fine. I will tell her. I’ll say this, though. This wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t decided to play bounce the bed back and forth and kiss her on top of it like it meant something. While Katherine’s packmate was in the other room with me, no less. She could have let it all go, but she’s felt something she hasn’t felt before. Ever. So before we all go about talking about how my sister is the bitch here for putting John in a tough spot, let’s remember that it takes two to tango, and that the blame isn’t all on her. She’ll be upset and I’ll clean up the mess, that’s fine. But don’t you fuckin’ threaten my ass again. I may seem all happy and big with the jokes, but I don’t expect to have my hide threatened by those I fight alongside. And I take that shit seriously.”

She licks her fingers and snuffs out the cigarette, pocketing it to be deposited somewhere later.

“We done?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[John] [I’M SORRY SAM 😦
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Hunter] [Sarita

[John] [Kahseeno knows his cause is unjust.
1: shove. Don’t ask me what this is supposed to accomplish besides looking manly and intimidating.
R1: punch.]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[No dodge. She’s not moving, even though she sees it coming.]]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] When she gets shoved, she kind of expects it. She she sees the punch coming. She doesn’t dodge (though she is glad she snuffed the smoke so it doesn’t roll away or get in anyone’s eye–that shit fucking SUCKS). Instead, the corners of her mouth twist up in a trademark, faint lopsided grin.

[John] Which apparently just makes him want to botch EVEN LESS.

[Mod’s telling me nix the R1, have 1 be the punch.
1: Brawl+Dexterity: I’M SORRY 😦 ]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]

[John] [Strength +3 (Eagle) +0] [B]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 6, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Soaky soaky, artichokey?]]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[John] The only time Hunter has seen John strike another Gaian was the night he called him “Dibs” in the coffeehouse and he attempted to punch him in the throat instead of saying Hey man I hate that name. Granted, that night he didn’t have someone there who could translate for him, and he was bereft of pen and paper and the patience to procure some just to make a point. His fists, he felt, would suffice, and he was accused of not being kept busy enough by an Adren he has not seen again.

What his problem is right now, Hunter could articulate even without John repeating it for likely the nineteenth time this week: he told Amy, the best way he knew how, that he could not be with her. Even if the best way he knew how was to tell her he was metis, or to tell her to date Leon, he made the attempt.

With Hunter right there, he could have repeated this without punching Sarita in the eye, which is what he ends up doing. When he turns away from her he doesn’t look victorious, or mindless, or even irritated. He doesn’t look like anything. The Modi draws a heavy breath, shakes out his hand, and walks–not storms, or stalks, or stomps, but walks–back to the doorway leading downstairs.

[Hunter] Hunter’s stance becomes alert as soon as the Modi pushes Sarita, maybe even before. He prepares for a fight but it becomes obvious that the Strider isn’t going to fight back, at least not with her fists. She gets socked in the eye and then John turns around and walks calmly back towards the doorway.

The Gnawer crosses his arms over his chest.

“That was him tellin’ ya that he told her. Came ta’ ya’ because she ain’t gettin tha’ message.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] And just like that, she’s spun around and on her knees a stunned squawk. She stays there, motionless for a moment, and wipes at the blood coming from where his knuckle made contact with bone and cut her. She takes a beat, and then looks back. She’s not angry about the punch. She expected that. She just looks up at him.

“Funny, she seems to have thought otherwise. Because he never said, from anything I’ve seen or heard, ‘I don’t want to date you.’ I guess that would be too easy. And none of it changes the fact that he got down and to my knowledge, he didn’t have a gun to his head.”

She shrugs. “I ain’t saying Amy isn’t at fault. She deserves her share of the blame. But if it had been spelled out this way to her? We’d have never had this conversation. Now, if you don’t mind, I hear a Cialis informercial calling my name.”

[Hunter] “Ain’t my job ta’ be teachin’ kinswomen how ta’ act. Ya’ should have explained it to her if she didn’t get it.”

Now that John is out of earshot he speaks plainer.

“You got any fuckin’ idea what it’s like ta’ be a Metis? Cause I sure as shit don’t but I’ve known quite’a few of em, respected quite a few of em too. Maybe ya’ should think bout how it is for John ta’ be asked ta’ explain himself bout’ what he is n’why he can’t have what he wants.”

He raises an eyebrow.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She leans in a little. “And do YOU have any idea what it’s like to be a kinfolk who was constantly told she was less then a sister she never met for over twenty years and tried to be greater than anyone said she could be, and has actually been able to accomplish what most kinfolk can’t? I don’t, but I’ve know one for the last fuckin’ year, and I love her to death. Maybe YOU should think about what it is for Amy to not even be told why she can’t have what she wants.”

She’s defensive, yes. You can do whatever you want to her, but her sister, she takes punches for without batting an eye…even when it’s been beaten in. “You just try and tell someone who was allowed to accomplish what people told her was impossible that she can’t be allowed to care for someone. And it’s not your job to teach Amy how to act, true. But if you’re his alpha, I sure as fuck hope he at least got bitched at for actually fucking her in the first place. I’ll do my part, but I will not let you demonize my sister and sanctify him. He could have said no when they were in our bedroom.”

[Hunter] With that he sighs, turns around and walks towards the door. “Fuckin’ ain’t tha’ problem Sarita.” He pries it open with one hand. “Plenty’a people be fuckin’ n’keepin’ behind closed doors. Not expectin’ anythin’ that ain’t possible.” It sounds like he speaks from experience and his head turns over his shoulder to look at her again.

“If she ain’t got told ya’ only got ya’self ta’ blame.”

He disappears down the stairwell.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She makes a strangled sound, hands clenching. “Satan in a handbasket boning Saddam Hussein with a pineapple…Hunter!”

She moves to the stairwell, but doesn’t go down. She’s not going to chase after them, but the sound of his name does have a ‘come back’ tone to it.

[Hunter] He emerges from the stairs, eyes find John and he nods his head to that drinking motion. Hunter could use one despite how fucking early it is. The bar isn’t usually serving people this early but there will be workers down stairs for breakfast, a beer won’t be hard to find.

Steps don’t take him far from the stairs, instead he just rounds the corner and starts heading down towards the kitchen.

[John] [Thanks, Sam!]