Of Lineage, Shadow Lords and Buckets Of Cold Water

[Sofie Janssen] After an adventure back to the Brotherhood, which had her covered in snow and more than a few falls off the back of a sled, Sofie had showered, changed clothes and grabbed something to eat. That was hours ago. Now the Kinfolk was sitting on the couch, television off, taking advantage of the fact that plenty of Garou are out on a Saturday night and not lounging around like herself.

White ear buds sit in the young womans ears, strings sliding down to the mp3 player, not iPod, laying on her stomach. Blonde hair dried and falling over the arm of the couch, she’s resting the back of her neck over the arm and had her eyes closed. Sweat pants and a t.shirt is warm enough in the Brotherhood and bare toes tap to a regular beat, tucked up onto the couch with her, knees bent and looking comfortable.

“Unmade bed.
Makes me feel.
Like a failure…”

She’s singing louder than she realizes, and Hunter need not defend himself after hearing the Fenrir Kin’s voice.

[Hunter] At least there is that; at least Sofie doesn’t sound as bad as Hunter does. He of course thinks he sings perfectly lovely, which makes the Fenrir kin’s voice sound like an angel. Footsteps are heard on the stairs but they don’t come from below, they come from above and she sees his feet appear before his face.

He moves heavily, the grace of a predator but not the inhuman litheness that she had witnessed in him even in his drunken state. Something about him seems different, stronger, more resolved and it continues into his face when it appears. His eyes are perceptive, scanning the room even as he enters. It had been empty when he had gone upstairs, now there is someone sitting in it. He wears Jeans, boots, his rough and long brown jacket buttoned tightly around his body.

His hair is ruffled by the winter winds, flecks of snow can be seen in parts of it though he doesn’t brush his hand through it to remove them.

“Yo,” he announces, eyes narrowing for a second, waves his hand if he hasn’t got her attention yet and then unceremoniously dumps himself on the couch beside her. “Whatcha’ listenin’ to?”

[Sofie Janssen] Her eyes snap open when she feels the presence. It’s less about hearing anything or seeing anything, obviously, and more to do with a gut instinct. She looks around and then over to him as he’s strolling out from upstairs. Briefly she wonders what’s up there. By the looks of it just the roof.

Then she’s studying him, her singing ceased, as she tries to place what was different about him. It’s hard to pin point since she’s seen him once before only. She doesn’t move where she’s sitting, shoulder into the back of the couch and lounging back like that against the arm, looking for all the world like a girl tucked up at home in front of the television. Except for those eyes and that blood, and those features.

He can hear the music, pouring out with a lot of guitar, but she reaches up and tugs the buds gently from her ears with one hand and slides the volume lower with her other. “Veruca Salt. Earthcrosser.”

Sitting next to her has her shift to sit taller, and move her toes so that he doesn’t place his ass on them. They wiggle into the space between the cushions, forcing her knees to tuck higher and fold her more in half. “Want to listen?” she asks, offering him out the headphones.

[Hunter] He doesn’t sit on her toes luckily, that would be slightly awkward for both of them. It has nothing to do with his placement of himself though and more to do with the fact that she tucks her feet up at the last minute. He leans back into the couch, eyes closing after he asks that question with his neck curled into the top of the sectional. One eye peels open when she asks him if he wants to listen, he has never heard of the band but then again she had never heard of Bradley and Lou dog so all is fair.

The other eye opens and he nods with a tip of his chin. “Ya’ sure,” a hand reaches out, takes hold of one of the buds and he places it to his ear closest to her. He sways his head back and forth a few times, hmms, vibrating from between pursed lips and then he removes the ear bud, hands it back to her.

“Sounds aight, dunno if it’s my kinda thing tho. How’s this fine establishment been treatin’ ya’?”

[Sofie Janssen] While he listens, she sits there and merely watches him. Sofie doesn’t stare, but lets her gaze flit back and forth across his features as he absorbs the music not to his taste. There really was pretty foreigners in this city, she’s already decided, Hunter confirms this. Sofie’s beginning to firmly believe that Chicago must be an ugly place in dire need of attractive genetics and that’s why there’s a warm of handsome Garou in town, most of them men – who, no doubt, are around to spread their seeds like wildfire.

“Yeah,” she says, taking back the ear bud. “Screaming girls on guitars are an acquired taste.” Tucking the earphones up, wrapping them around her now switched off player, she seems content to be social for the time being. “You wouldn’t know how to play a guitar would you?” There’s a brief grin at that, before she goes on to answer his question.

“It’s alright. No complaints.” Yet. Her gaze roams around the room, then dart back to him. “I was expecting much worse.”

[Hunter] There are pretty men in Chicago, pretty girls. There are also troublesomely pretty girls, though Sofie doesn’t give Hunter that idea. The Fangs are the worst, socialite monsters each and everyone of them, even the nice ones. Apparently screaming girls is an acquired taste and Hunter’s lips quick into something of a grin. His hands start to unbutton his coat and he has to lift forward off the couch to shrug out of it. It’s warm in here for the Ahroun, toasty. Could make a man with as much Rage as Hunter Matthews feel drowsy.

Beneath is just a plain black t-shirt, fitted but without any apparent markings. He drapes his jacket over the arm of the chair while he’s listening to the Fenrir kin talk.

“What did ya’ expect? Like fuckin’ orgies n’loud idiot’s every night?” He grins, clearly joking. The brotherhoods loud idiot died last month.

[Sofie Janssen] A small huff is amused. She watches him take off his jacket, and while he’s leaned forward, takes the opportunity to shift the way she’s sitting so that her knees are to one side, resting into the back of the couch, and her spine is straighter so she doesn’t feel like she’s eating a kneecap. While there had been plenty of room for the Garou to sit elsewhere he had decided to sit right next to her, which doesn’t bother her as much as it might others, understanding that Garou have different boundaries to humans.

“Yeah, more or less. Some of the girls here give that impression to tell you the truth.” Shrugging a shoulder, she’s back to watching his face, his grin. Her own doesn’t come then, though, because she doesn’t think much of folks like that.

[Hunter] He raises eyebrows to that comment, lips curling with incredulous amusement despite the fact that hers do not. It has been awhile since he heard a kin-folk talking about the others around her like that.

“They ain’t so bad, I mean not all of em’. Some good ones n’here for sure. I ain’t ever seen not a single orgy in here before if it makes ya’ feel better.”

[Sofie Janssen] “Really?” The look she gives him is complete disbelief. Not at the orgy comments, but at the not so bad part. Her look is wry, and her low chuckle matches it. “Please. The first time I walked in here, you remember that girl giving you and John the eye? I know you saw her. Pretty as a doe.”

This sort of talk needs beers involved.

“But I’m glad to hear about the orgies. Even if there was, at least I have a decent headset here.” Lifting the player for emphasis then tucking it into her sweatpants pocket with a chuckle. Sofie certainly does not seem to be the type like plenty of others. She hasn’t given out a single come hither vibe to anyone. Then again, don’t Fenrir go about it differently? Probably punch someone in the mouth before kissing them.

[Quinn] It’s early yet for the owner of The Winchester to be returning to The Brotherhood, but then she went in earlier than usual. And on a slow, cold winter night like tonight, they didn’t need so many people manning the tavern.

So Quinn bundled herself up against the cold, and she made the trek north to the place that, for now anyway, is home. She’s been around for a while, has already showered away the smell of the bar and changed into clean, dry clothes. Voices in the common room, faint enough to be acknowledged but not loud enough to be understood, draw her out at last.

The two out there hear a door open, and then there she is, dark hair twisted up into a clip, dressed in a t-shirt and black cotton lounge pants. They can see the trail of birds winding its way up her right forearm. Hunter may notice that her ears are bare.

She stops in the doorway leading into the common room with a, “Whoa hey.” Then she frowns, wears an expression that openly wonders if she’s intruding, especially when she catches orgies. She quirks a brow at Hunter, an unspoken question there.

[Amunet Trujillo] She doesn’t exactly stomp, but she’s no graceful thing either. A career as a ballerina is definitely not in her future. Coming down the hall from her room, she glances around the gathering area and scowls deeply as something is muttered just under her breath.

[John] John comes up the stairs not like an ogre or another mythical beast but like a soldier, his steps controlled and purposeful, boots clomping but not crashing against the wooden stairs as he ascends. Behind him, there is little din from the kitchen. His Rage is half its normal strength, hardly the overwhelming wall of anger and nerves that it tends to be. It doesn’t cause the senses to scream and the ironclad to shy away, though humans, the majority of them, still cannot tolerate him.

This is nothing new. He cannot even understand humans, let alone begin to know how to tolerate them.

It’s cold as hell outside, cold enough to kill, and when John arrives at the top of the stairs, he looks somewhat frozen. Compared to last night, he does not look as though he wishes he were dead; his lips still have a bluish tint to them, and his skin is pale as the moon overhead. There are blisters on his hands that he popped hours ago, draining into the bathroom sink at the warehouse while he scowled, leaving flattened patches that would likely grow infected if he were human.

He didn’t bandage them. Rinsing them off with whiskey is the only thing he could have done to possibly make his own self-inflicted first aid manlier, but he hadn’t wanted to waste alcohol.

So, when John appears, he looks cold. He is cold, but he isn’t here to warm up. He’s here because he finally had the chance to look at his text messages and realize what it is that Amunet was going on about last night. Hunter, at least, is aware that his packmate has arrived before he has to turn around and find him with his eyes. The Modi doesn’t acknowledge anyone out in the common room, save for a cursory flick of his eyes and a shrugging out of his jacket. He tosses it over the arm of the sofa, revealing his uniform of boots and jeans and a tame-colored thermal shirt, and keeps walking.

Whereupon he nearly runs right into Amunet.

He doesn’t stop, and he certainly doesn’t speak. He takes her by the upper arm, the expression on his face hidden from the congregated by his direction, and urges Amunet to walk with him back down the hall. His grip is so light it’s barely worth mentioning; but he is also far stronger than he looks, now, which ought to be a frightening prospect for most people.

[Hunter] A Fenrir would most definitely be more likely to punch someone in the mouth than kiss them, a fury too perhaps, another reason why their tribes are not as different as they claim to be. This Fenrir talks about a girl and Hunter narrows eyes, trying to recall a girl who had made eyes at him. Truth be told he had been intently focused on recruitment rather than relaxation, the girl had probably escaped his notice. Maybe she had, but he has seen her since and he knows with a sudden realisation that blooms on his face of which girl Sofie is talking about.

“Ooohh.. makin’ eyes at me?” He blinks, “Really? Don’t remember that.. I seem ta’ recall she was–”

He pauses, Sofie can see the slightest motion of his nostrils taking in a breath before his head turns and his eyes fall upon the Fiann in the doorway. Whoah she says, hey. An eyebrow is raised at Hunter in question but he isn’t looking at her eyes, they have found their way to her ear and its lack of jewellery. She might notice a difference with the Gnawer too, the way his shirt bunches on his body and the strength of an arm that curls up along the back of the couch in her direction.

“Quinn.” He says in a rumble and seems lost in thought for a moment before he continues. “Was just tellin’ Sofie bout’ tha’ serious lack’a orgies here.” A smile that reaches his eyes, something warm yet amused. Just then there is another girl behind Quinn, scowling and muttering.

Hunter isn’t watching her though.

“Have ya’ met?” He flicks eyes back to Sofie then to Quinn, questioning glance. He barely even looks at John though he knows what is occurring outside his line of sight. They have a totem phone now, he doesn’t have to say anything out loud.

[Amunet Trujillo] Her mouth opens, then closes again. Scowling just slightly, she allows herself to be propelled down the hall without as much as a grunt of protest.

This is not good….

[Sofie Janssen] Giving a glance over to Quinn and Amunet who’s came in behind the tall woman, Sofie watches them a second and takes in both their expressions before giving a quick look to Hunter. Her voice drops, but it’s certainly not a whisper. “One of those your girl?” Unable to help herself, her teeth flash in a sudden and rather fierce grin.

Suppressing her chuckle.

Then John comes in, dumps his jacket and walks out to take Amunet by the arm and off down the hall. “Oooo,” she whispers softly, then does make a snicker of a laugh under her breath. “Someone’s got to tell that guy we’re supposed to have better taste.” We being the Get of Fenris, of course.

Quinn gets a nod and an actual smile from Sofie, though it doesn’t make her expression soft by any means. Gentle and soft doesn’t mix with this Kinfolks features. Her eyes aren’t the sort that can get all bedroom nor pleasant either. “Hey,” she greets.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The Strider comes from the hallway, freshly dressed. her hair is wet and somewhat tangled, having just showered and gotten her still-healing wounds from the other night cleaned up. She’s wearing a black tank top and jeans, and generally seems to be in a good mood. Even if she is walking a bit gingerly. She heads down the hallway to the common room, pausing only briefly when she sees John and Amy heading in the opposite direction. She locks eyes with her half-sister, an unspoken message passing between them before she smiles and nods to John and continues on her way.

Once she makes it through the door into the common room, she looks around at those present and grins. “Hola, chicos and chicettes. What’s shakin’ like bacon?”

[John] Now, he hadn’t made a scene last night though there are plenty of other men, let alone Garou, who would not have taken kindly to being toyed with, whether it was merely his perception or whether there was anything rooted in reality to substantiate the notion, nor being walked away from. John, however, is not a hot-headed young buck who has something to prove. He does not attempt to intimidate or dominate every other male Garou he comes across, though with his height, his breeding and his presence he would likely be capable of it without much trouble. Beyond that, he actually seems like he has a decent sense of humor, takes very little that doesn’t require seriousness seriously, and actually has respect for someone other than himself.

It’s a rarity, given what has been blowing through Chicago in recent years, but given that he can’t talk, he doesn’t do a lot of blowing up of his own ego.

So, last night, John had just laughed at what had happened because he didn’t understand it and walked out. It wasn’t until after sobriety hit him like a bucket of water that it occurred to him that wires were crossed, perhaps. Lord knows what he was thinking.

Passing by Sarita, John looks somewhat amiable considering he’s pedaling her sister down the hallway towards their room. He gives her a lift of his eyebrows and a nod, the light in his eyes seeming to say Oh hey what’s up! as though they’re in a park in the middle of June on a sunny day and not the halls of a hostel.

They continue around the bend of the hall, and a moment later, a door opens and closes.

That’s when he lets her go.

[Quinn] She laughs when Hunter says he was telling Sofie about the lack of orgies here. The sound is low, more of a huff through her nostrils than anything so defined as a hah. “Hi, Amy…” is all she gets before Guy strongly insists the other kinswoman head back down the hall with him. She steps out of the doorway, fully into the common room.

“Is that a bad thing?” she asks, and heads for one of the chairs rather than the sofa.

“Quinn,” she gives as introduction.

[Hunter] Eyes follow the movements of Quinn intently and it wouldn’t be an illusion if she saw his jaw clench and his lips press together in a flat line when she drops herself down into one of the chairs. But he doesn’t say anything and although that eyebrow of his threatens to raise questioningly, it doesn’t.

Sofie has a question, a low murmur as this is all happening, not a whisper at all but not normal tones either. She wants to know if one of those girls is his and Hunter just straight up does not answer her.

“I dunno, depends on ya’ point’a view. Orgies in here though? Ain’t no place for them sorta’ games.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Okay, seriously. If I’m getting left out of orgies, I’m gonna start kicking some serious ass.” She grins and moves toward the couch. “S’bad enough that my sister gets laid more than I do, but I gotta at least have the opportunity to be competitive.”

She sits carefully down on the couch and sighs. “So we’re all exciting, being shut-ins on Friday night, huh?”

[Sofie Janssen] “Well met, Quinn.” Sofie doesn’t move from where she’s sitting in the corner, back to the arm of the couch and knees pressed together, resting against the back of it. The t.shirt she wears is a simple navy blue and it’s loose enough to sleep in. Her sweatpants are a lighter shade of gray. Bare feet are tucked in with toes curled between the cushions, separating herself and Hunter.

Looking back and forth between the two, and then to the woman that enters calling them names of another language and talking about shaking bacon, Sofie decidedly stays out of any further talk about orgies and sex, especially with the more explicit talk about being laid. There are some lines she doesn’t cross, though these aren’t clear cut.

[Asha Singh] Someone is coming up the stairs. Two someones, actually. There is the sound of some – crazy foreign tongue, that sounds functionally like nothing anyone in the room has every heard before. Like a spider-scrawl of a tongue, seventeen accents and an extra umlaut per vowel that you cannot even tell from the consonants.

One of two people is stomping.
The smaller one of the two.
Actually.

[Quinn] “Nice to meet you, too, Sofie,” she replies with a polite incline of her head. Quinn draws herself up into the chair, wraps an arm around upraised knees, curls a hand around an ankle. She’s friendly, open, not exactly gregarious, but she tries not to leave people out.

“Ah hah, yeah, if any orgies break out spontaneously, Sarita, you can have at it. I’ll be the stick making a beeline for the door.”

Someone is stomping up the stairs. The Fianna kinswoman lets go of her legs, lets her knees drop down so that one presses into the arm of the chair, and she twists to get a look at the stairway. Before anyone appears, though, she looks back at the gathered, casting about a confused Do you know what that’s about? kind of look.

[Asha Singh] And soon enough: a girl emerges. Dark-skinned, slight, with coils of crisp black hair falling in elegant, shampoo-ad worthy waves around her exotic features. She’s wearing a strapless gown of bronze sequins that falls perhaps four inches above her knee, and a single gold bracelet liquid around her wrist. Her feet are bare.

She is carrying a doughnut.
It has sprinkles.

In her other hand, a plastic sandwich bag, the kind that ziplocks closed, smeared with a gelatinous red. It could be cherry pie filling oozing out of a deep-fried crust. It could be an ear.

God only knows.

Behind her a tall, well-dressed man in a tailored suit, crisp lines, black and white. A cravat, subtle diamond cufflinks through the cuffs of his monogrammed white shirt. He has a stick.

At the top of the stairs, she takes a survey of the people in the room, checking them off against some mental list. She pauses when she sees Hunter, waves, rather peppily, and turns to the tall, dignified gentleman with gray curling at his blond temples. Says, leaning as if she were whispering, for all that she is perfectly audible to all. “He’s one of the ones I need a proper introduction to!”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shrugs a little to Quinn’s unspoken question. She seems intensely curious as to who it might be herself, and she glances to the stairwell before she looks back to the kinfolk.

“No clue, but we may wanna call an exorcist. And suggest that they put split pea soup on the menu for tomorrow.”

When Asha and her companion arrive, she looks back, examining the two. Each of the participants in the room are summarily dismissed by the newcomers, except Hunter. That brings a cock of the eyebrow, and Sarita leans back a bit to watch with a grin that can only be described as Cheshire-like. And possibly worrisome.

[Hunter] “Yo’ Sarita.” He throws it out casually with a nod of his head.

Stomping is heard, voices, or what are presumed to be voices. The only thing that marks them as such is the phonetics that vaguely resemble some unknown language and the audibility of it all. His eyes drift past Sofie, past Quinn to the stairs and he actually steps up off the couch to wander over to that exit almost protectively of the kinfolk.

He doesn’t get very far though and he stops before she even emerges. Ancestry strikes him like a blow to the head and causes his lip to curl but it relaxes a moment later into a smile for the woman when she makes her way into the room. There is someone at her side, someone Hunter has never seen before and he looks the man over.

He’s one of the ones I need a proper introduction to!

One brow lowers, the other rises and his lips quirk at the corners, he crosses his arms over his chest. This is unusual. He waits to see how it all plays out.

[Sofie Janssen] There’s little talk that follows the new arrivals into the common room, where Sofie had been listening to her player not but ten minutes ago, alone. Now coming up the stairs is someone speaking gibberish to someone else equally qualified in the language, and moments later Hunter is up to go and see what it’s all about after Quinn’s partially worried glance and Sarita’s quip.

Sofie merely glances over and watches the woman enter along with the man, both of which are dressed in a set of clothes that costs more than her whole closet stuffed in her closet. Its this she notices more than anything else, and the way the woman speaks to the man. Brows raise. Eyes stare.

And her mouth quirks at Hunters stance.

[Asha Singh] “His name’s Hunter,” Asha tells Thomas. The kinsman – whose blood is rather less fine than his rather young mistress’ own – has a certain dignity of purpose about him that makes up for what he lacks in raw breeding. He inclines his well-groomed head to listen as Asha “whispers” to him. “Burnout.” And gives her a smile of approval when she manages to refrain from informing Thomas that Hunter Burnout is very common.

Good girl!

The gruesome little package in her hand is sealed firmly, dark against the striking brilliance of her dress, which sends dancing motes of light all across the floor around her as she moves. “Yes ma’am,” Thomas says, pronounce it mum in his oh-so-posh British way. Then he smiles, magnanimous, toward Hunter.

And raps his stick, once, against the wooden floor. (Asha loves this part, so much.) As if everyone in hte room were not already staring at her. “Mr. Hunter Burnout, sir. I believe you have been casually introduced before. However, do allow me to make an informal introduction.

“I have the deep, abiding, personal pleasure of introducing you to Her Eminent Highness Arundhati Sunyana Elevarisi Asha Priyamvada Natajaran Singh.

“Daughter of Alexander Harrison, Vision of the Fall, Scion of House Wyrmfoe.

‘”Great grand-daughter of Sri Padmanabha Dasa Vanchi Pala Karthika Thirunal Rama Varma Dharma Raja Kulasekhara Natajaran Singh, Svatantrya to the Nation, of the Sept of the Broken Sky.

“Descendent of the Maharahajadhiraja Bahadur, Great Prince of Princes, Elder Philodox of the Silver Fangs, House Blood Red Crest.”

All this for a “Cliath Ahroun, House Blood Red Crest, kalaratri to the Nation. Which means both night of death, and death of night, in your own human tongue.” Asha beams at Thomas, all approving. Apparently, that’s all she wanted.

Flashes a glance at Hunter. “Hi!” And takes a bite of her doughnut, the ear swinging casually from her hand, blood contained, but dripping against the sides of the bag. Then, she glances back at Thomas. “I’ve been thinking about moving in here.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her mouth drops open. There’s no other reaction that is remotely attainable for the Strider than a jaw-dropped, googly-eyed stare at the pomp and circumstance of the whole thing. It’s not pure shock, though…the corners of her mouth are upward turned. Her eyes are both disbelieving and glittering with mirth. Either her usual grin has been sublimated by the stunning introduction, or the whole sequence that just unfolded is so funny to her that the wires in her head have crossed and she can’t quite express it.

It takes several moments before her voice finds her again. “Holy fucking hell, I gotta stop doing drugs. Or at least the ones that cause flashbacks. Because I swear, it looks JUST like that actually, seriously happened.”

[Sofie Janssen] The Kinswoman looks like she’s swallowed a fly. Her features do this weird contorted sort of thing, where she’s really trying to stop her eyes from bugging out their sockets, while trying to keep her tongue from flapping and all the while trying not to do what she really wanted to do and bust out laughing. She is going to give herself a hernia with the effort, to be sure.

She can’t be serious. He can’t be serious. Sofie looks between them, and sure enough, they are.

Leaping off the couch, like her pants are on fire, Sofie pads barefoot around the back of the couch and takes a direct path towards and through the hallway door. The moment she’s out of sight, she’s jogging down the end of the hall, biting the heel of her hand as snorting starts to come out her nose.

[Quinn] There is no worry, no concern drawn into the kinswoman of Stag’s face, merely confusion. She doesn’t recognize the language, not even enough to say that it’s one or another. And she doesn’t recognize the young woman who steps into the common room with an escort, though she does recognize what she is.

Hunter rising is noted, drawing her attention pointedly away from the girl in the pretty dress that’s probably worth more than her bar. Blue eyes travel over the Ahroun, lingering a touch longer than necessary before shifting back over to the girl and her announcer.

An intro begins. Quinn turns in her seat to watch. Though she knows she and the other females in the common room have been dismissed with just a glance, she is patient and respectful and not at all wishing to get up and walk out of the room to read or break into a bottle of bourbon.

Her eyes, though, are starting to glaze by the end of it. These aren’t names she needs to know, and yet the kinswoman will remember them, the ones she hears anyway, the ones she pays attention to.

Asha’s looking to move in here, well fantastic. “I must’ve inadvertently shared whatever you had,” she quips to Sarita, unfolding herself from the chair and rising. “I think we’re having the same hallucination. I think I’m going to go walk it off.” And the third kinswoman of the evening makes her exit. This one reappears a few minutes later, bundled up for the winter cold despite the hour and the neighborhood and all of it. She bypasses the Fangs, heads down the stairs, and disappears into the night like a goddamn ninja.

[sorry guys, it’s 2am and I can’t handle life @_@ thanks for the play!]

[Lukas] The thing about Asha’s introductions is — even if you’re, say, in your room, kicking back in your bed, reading a book or writing a letter or something — you still have plenty of time to get up and get over before it’s finished.

So by the time Thomas is done, Lukas is leaning against the doorway that leads out to the halls and the rooms. His arms are folded across his chest. Or well. They are, until he raises one hand — very gradeschool — and asks in apparently utter seriousness:

“I’m sorry, your Eminent Highness, but I’ve forgotten my table of genealogies. Could you remind me of the full ancestry of His Royal Majesty Maharahajadhiraja Bahadur?”

[Simon Zahradnik] Have you ever stabbed your own mother in the back with a rusty knife again and again while listening to her scream I love you so much why are you doing this to me?!? all the while twisting the knife around and laughing? Well neither has Simon and yet why does he feel dirty. Like the kind of dirty that doesn’t wash off? The kind of dirty that clings to the soul and cannot be erased. Simon has always done what was necessary… He has always stood ready to put his duties and responsibilities before himself. Yet the stench of betrayal hung heavily around him. Rage coursed through him and yet it was an entirely unsettling kind of rage. A kind of bitter self hatred that he still couldn’t seem to chase away.

He could still taste the chill of frost upon his tongue. The kiss of freedom… Of boundless, limitless power wanting to be unleashed only to watch it whimper and fade as the Garou turn their backs upon the very forces that feed their inner rage. Their boundless destructive potential, the churning belly of the mother who gave them life… Her skies, her seas, her beautiful mountains.

Funny… Simon has never been a part of such an impressive victory and yet was left feeling like it was a complete failure. In the end though this was the kind of thing that hardens the heart and helps awaken the Shadow Lord to the true nature of the world right? He was learning that sometimes you had to destroy hope cause… Your elder doesn’t like it? What the fuck does that even fucking mean!?!.

“Before you can truly understand what you are fighting for you must stab it in the face Simon! That will teach you the value of… Something something…”He mutters as he swings the door open and makes his way upstairs.

He needed something to calm himself, so why in the fuck did he come here?

Eyes scanned the area. Looking about the Common area. Pool… Pool will help. Right? The darkly clad Ahroun made his way towards the tables. Who in the hell knows what he needed. He should be out smashing something evil’s face in that’s what he fuckin’ should be doing.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks over when Lukas is suddenly there, and he asks Asha to go through this full ancestry. Her eyes widen to silver dollars, and she looks back. She looks back at Asha and Thomas, smiling like a little kid on Christmas day. It’s not often she looks this giddy, ’cause it’s not often she gets to be this amused.

…no. No, she’s not normal.

[Hunter] A commoner takes part in something he has never before been subjected to in all his years under Luna’s smiling face. If there are words to describe the thoughts that run through Hunter’s heads in this moment then they escape this writer like sand through a sieve. Outwardly he smiles at first when it all begins, this ageing gentleman speaks like it is an honour for Hunter Matthews to receive this special attention and effort from the undoubtedly royal Ahroun at his shoulder.

But it all begins to fall apart because let’s face it, Hunter is no member of the court, he is no Prince of Persia or even the stable boy of such a man. He is a Jackal, a Gnawer of Bones both proud and yet without the restraints of believing that pride is worth anything. His arms go slightly slack, one falls to his side before the other and he stands there lop sided with a hand tucked to his ribs and his mouth slightly open in shock.

It doesn’t end, it really never ends. He wants to scream out HELP HELP IM BEING OPPRESSED , but he really doesn’t have the energy or the cognitive ability to form words right now. She is the daughter of some Indian dude with a name consisting of more letters than the alphabet and all Hunter got out of it was that somehow this is meant to mean something, that this doesn’t happen for everyone.. surely.. she surely doesn’t do this to every person she meets. His eyebrows raise in alarm and confusion How does she get anything done??

About halfway through it he stops looking at the man and starts studying the female at his side, she preens and beams and smiles like this is exactly how things should be all the time. No Asha, this is not how things should be all the time. The look is written all over Hunter’s face and he barely gets a chance to react before all the kinfolk in the joint go running for the hills, hiding faces and bellowing out their sudden disarray at this assault on their senses.

“I..” He stumbles and then Lukas is there, goading her on. The look Hunter flashes him is not one of kindness at all, it is a look a bro might give another bro when he just set him up with a particularly disgusting blind date in order to score the hottie. Hunter growls and his lip curls but his eyes go back to Thomas.

His face says one thing to Thomas, I swear ta’ god if ya’ keep talkin’ imma’ rip ya’ god damn throat out. But somehow it is without simple anger, more frustration and amusement and a totally dominating sense of pleading. He begs, don’t do it!

[Asha Singh] Asha snorts, part-way through her bite of the doughnut. Which is sugar: with sprinkles in multicolors scattered over lavender icing. Then she chews, with a sort of prim precision, like she were listening to some childhood governess in her ear telling her that it’s not polite to slip treefrogs into the folds of your obnoxious sister’s sari before she’s meant to go meet the the eligible young men of whatever is the latest Sept to which she has been paraded for the purpose of Catching a Man’s Eye and Making New Babies for a Dying House while she sits there trying to figure out how to produce more fucking tree frogs now that all the cliath Ahrouns in the Sept slew the ones she had with their stupid little swords (which: mind, were not nearly as cool or bejeweled as her own pata.)

“-rhya” says Asha, with that bored emphasis on the word. “I only wanted an informal introduction. Why, Thomas has his stuck, but he doesn’t have his sword OR his hat.” Neither of which Lukas himself has ever seen. “Anyway, it takes like three days and nights to recite so it’s not very practical, is it? If you want, though,” conceding, at last, something to Lukas’ greater rank. “I can have Thomas write it down for you so you won’t forget. Or he can come by, uhm, if it’s three hours every evening, it will take one turn of the lunar cycle, so maybe 8 p.m. tomorrow?”

Then she wiggles the bag at Lukas.

“Has you see the other one of these? I had a matched set.”

“Maybe you left it in the car, ma’am,” Thomas suggests. Steers, giving Lukas as much of the eye as he dares. “Shall we go have a look?”

“Oh, bother,” declares Asha. “I did not. I suppose I’ll have to get another one.”

AND before you know it, our heroine and her entourage are trooping back down the stairs!

[Sofie Janssen] Down the hall, room seven has busted its door open and partially shut, and a Kinfolk has barely made it to the bed when she’s howling out laughter, with sinuses burning from the previous, snorting effort. She knows don’t laugh. Don’t laugh in front of Garou, which is why she had tailed it out of there the moment she felt it coming on. It’s that bewildered laugh that has turned into something hilarious because of the effort of being suppressed. At least she has mind to roll and bury her face into her pillow to muffle anymore and tries hard to get it under control, while practically crying.

What the fuck was that!

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches the whole thing with a look of amazement. This is the most surreal thing that’s probably ever happened to her, and considering that her half-sister likes to pretend she’s a Garou from time to time, plus other random misadventures, that says a lot. She blinks when they bloody ear is waved about, and she looks around the room, as if asking them if they’re seriously seeing the same thing. Then she looks back.

And then, like they were never there, except for the dumbfounded faces, Asha is headed back down the stairs. Sarita is speechless for a couple of moments until finally she nods.

“Yeah. Totally gotta stop doing the flashback drugs.”

[Lukas] “I — ”

before Lukas can tell her that no, no, it was quite all right, he doesn’t need the full introduction, and no, he hasn’t seen the other severed ear she left lying around someplace, Asha is turning and trooping out again.

“If you want to move in,” he calls after her, “I think the only room left is nine!”

Also, following her in mind if not in body: Weren’t you Her Exalted Highness before? Did you get demoted?

[Asha Singh] Stupid Anchal had a baby. Asha grumbles back in his mind. Maybe she has been demoted. It looks like a wizened monkey’s shriveled head.

Then, moments later when he can feel them wandering through the kitchens.

Hey! Do they have a blender down here!

[Hunter] After that storm of names that mean nothing to the Gnawer it is in a flash that her Highness leaves the building. She talks about swords and hats and ears and all sorts of other things before stomping off back down the stairs with her entourage.

Hunter is left with a foul taste in his mouth and a headache.

“What tha’ fucks’a Pad man asa Dasi fuckin’ Vanny Vichi anyway?” He shouts rather belated and confused like.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Hunter’s exclamation causes a spout of laughter from the Ragabash. “Wait wait…I know this.” She pauses, as if to think. “Vinny Vichi V.D.. I came, I saw, I got gonorrhea.”

[Sofie Janssen] After collecting herself and wiping tears from her eyes, Sofie flings her legs off the beds and sits up. She breathes out and double checks she’s got herself under control before she gets up and leaves the darkened room, thankful she hasn’t even seen signs of her supposed roommate.

In the bathroom she takes a moment to splash cool water on her face to help get rid of the flush on her skin, and wonders where it is John and Amunet had ran off too. At first she’s thankful she couldn’t hear anything down the hallway, until she reminds herself, with a snicker, that John’s a mute. The imagery after that is best left unsaid and even makes herself shake her head and stare at herself in the mirror.

“This weather is driving you crazy,” she tells her reflection in a low voice, cautioning.

[Lukas] Over in the doorway, Lukas’s eyebrow flicks up. He shifts his weight, straightening. Rage pushes ahead of him like a storm front as he comes across the room to drop down on the couch — his usual place facing the TV.

“Asha is one of the last scions of a dying House,” he says mildly. “Rather than hiding in her ancestors’ palaces counting kin and waiting to go mad, she’s chosen to dedicate her life and honor to a war she knows her House won’t live to win. For this, her House considers her a deserter. And because of her perceived shame, she’s sacrificed every ounce of renown she’s earned to her tribe’s totem for the last year. She’d be most of the way to a Fostern by now if she hadn’t.”

A beat of pause.

“Laugh at her ways to her face if you want. She’s not so proud that she’ll mind. But don’t mock her when her back is turned.”

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon watches Lukas, and listens to his defense of his packmate. Simon isn’t about to say anything… Lukas has the majority of the Silverfang tribe under his boot. That means the Shadow Lords run the show in this Town. But he gets so defensive when you say anything about his pet Fangs! Simon’s learned the best thing to do is keep your mouth shut. Besides Asha was pretty goddamn nice to look at and Simon… Well Simon is shallow as hell!

“Honestly the Romans were pretty damn clean by comparison to some soldiers… I mean sure they caught their share of diseases off the locals but that’s what happens when you let soldiers do whatever they want to the locals as a reward.”Simon finally says as he lifts a pool Cue and begins to examine it.

“Hey… Anyone know anything about history?”He asks as he wanders over to the table and begins collecting balls.

[Hunter] Simon is ranting in the corner by the pool table and it bashes on his senses, his eyes are for Lukas though.

“Couldn’t fuckin’ laugh even if I wanted to, she do that often?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She’s still grinning a little, her mood not dampened by Lukas’s shift in conversation to a much more serious tone. She dials back a bit, just as a natural reaction, and looks Lukas over. The man is of course her superior, and she respects that. But she’s not not the kowtowing, tail-between-the-legs type, especially when she doesn’t think she did anything wrong.

“Couple things, with all due respect. A, I wasn’t sayin’ anything that I wouldn’t say to her face. B, I ain’t judging her, ’cause I don’t know her. I don’t make fun of people until they know my name.” Admittedly, the fact that she may have well not existed in the room to Lukas’ packmate irked her, and a bit of that shows on her face, but it doesn’t factor into the situation.

“And C, I wasn’t mockin’ her. I was mocking Hunter for his mispronunciation of the names.”

She grins, sitting back. “But your point is noted.”

[Lukas] “No,” Lukas puts his bare feet up on the coffee table. Wry, “I think she was actually honoring you with a proper introduction, since I gave you two an improper one the other day.”

He yawns, then — a big, jawcracking ho-hum, as though his late night was finally winding to a close. With both hands he scrubs his face, then directs his glance over to Sarita. “You ever manage to track Gina down?”

[Hunter] Thoughtful, far too thoughtful for an Ahroun but he is a Gnawer after all. He is still standing there, now with his back to the stairs though both his arms have managed to fall back to a reasonably comfortable state.

“Fought tha’ fuckin’ Naugh wit’ her, she crushed it like’a champ.”

A ponderous pause, he licks over a canine then closes his mouth like he has come to a decision about the whole matter before he speaks again.

“Ta’ each their own ye’? I’mma grab somethin’ ta’ drink, any takers?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks over at Simon when he asks about history. “I got a high school education in it…that’s about all, though. Why?”

Lukas then grabs her attention, and she looks over at him. She leans back, wincing just slightly, and nods. “Yeah, couple days after. I’ve been working on her…it’s slow going. Pretty understandably considering her history, she’s not too trustful of her own.” A shadow passes over her face then. Sarita is not serious too terribly often. You don’t earn the Deed Name ‘Echos of Laughter’ unless you know when to laugh at life. But something there is distinctly unpleasant as she mentions Gina’s history. And one might pity those others of her tribe that have contributed to that history if Sarita ever found them, if one pitied those who earned their spots in hell.

The shadow is gone quickly though, and she smiles again. “But it’s going well, all things considered. Long as I don’t get shot in the face by her at any point, I should be fine.”

[Sofie Janssen] “Yeah, I’m coming,” says Sofie as she appears around the corner, having come down the hall from the bathroom with impeccable timing. She’s glad to see Asha is gone and that there’s none of that lingering around, because she’s not sure how she’d handle it. At least she’s composed now. Right back to normal.

She makes a bee line for the stairs to head down.

[Simon Zahradnik] He smiles back to Sarita.”I was just wondering if anyone knew how that whole Nazi thing ended. I mean… Of course they lost blah blah but what happened with the rest of them? You know all the soldiers who were all like… “We were just following orders!” how’d that turn out for them in the end exactly?”He asks with a hint of a smile finally taking shape on his face as he lines up his first shot.

He waits, gives anyone who wants to a chance to answer.

[Lukas] A ghost of pride over Lukas’s face. “Yeah,” he says, “she’s a lot deadlier than she looks.”

A nod then – to each his own. Hunter and Sofie head down for a drink; Lukas turns his attention back to Sarita. “I don’t know exactly what went down with her,” he says, “and it’s not my business. But she’s not the same woman that came to town a year and a half ago. It’s good that she’s got someone to keep an eye out for her now, even if it’s just temporary.

“If you need a hand getting even, let me know.”

Simon’s question makes Lukas quirk an eyebrow. “Strange thing to ask,” he comments. “What’s really on your mind, Bone Grinder?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Ooh, ooh. I know this.” She does, actually. She loves pissing off skinheads, and pointing out that you know more of their history than they do is a great way to do it. Especially when you’re darker-skinned.

“Three got acquitted. The rest got ten years to death. And one of them was found guilty of asking a rhetorical question. Don’t remember his penalty, though.”

She looks to Hunter. “Rain check. Totally wanna go drinking with you some day. But on a day when i can get into a bar fight and not have a couple strikes against me.”

[Hunter] She is a lot deadlier than she looks, Hunter learnt that when he was hanging from the fist of a giant and she near cut it in half with one bite. It gave him the slightest window of opportunity and that’s all it takes. He rumbles a confirmation and agreement of Lukas’ words then starts heading towards the stairs though he is looking over his shoulder at Sarita as he does so.

“Ya’ sure thing, Joey’ll come lookin’ for ya’. Night boss.” He lazily salutes the Shadow Lord without bringing his hand anywhere near his forehead and then disappears into the stairwell.

[Simon Zahradnik] He smiles at Sarita and nods his head.”You and I gotta go out to the Hangar to test your your skills one of these nights soon lady.”He says with a little smile and a nod of his head before taking his shot.

His attention then turns to Lukas.”I am just curious when a man is supposed to know if an order is something he is supposed to carry out and when he is supposed to know to stick his middle finger up and say fuck you ya know?”He asks curiously.”I mean… We don’t challenge our elders in the heat of a battle. I would kill someone for putting peoples lives on the line cause they don’t feel like listening to me. But when is an order the wrong order to follow?”He asks, maybe Lukas knew. He’d been around the block a few times.

[Lukas] For whatever reason, this line of conversation seems to strike a chord in Lukas. The interest is immediate and apparent – flickering through his eyes like a shadow. His eyebrows draw together. He sits up, putting his feet flat on the floor.

“When you feel it in your bones,” he replies. “When you know you shouldn’t follow because the cost of blind obedience is higher than the cost of honorable disobedience — not to yourself, but to everyone around you. That’s when you stop following orders. But the Litany is still the Litany. And if a wolf didn’t catch his leader’s weakness before battle began, then I say he deserves to be punished for rebelling even if his rebellion was just.”

A pause. Then he asks again, quieter, “Why? This can’t be just idle speculation. What happened?”

[Simon Zahradnik] He smiles a little and shrugs his shoulders.”The Snow has ceased falling… The ice no longer collecting on our rooftops. No longer keeping people from wasting their hard earned cash on useless goods. We’ve opened the way for commerce to continue and for parents to buy their kids junk food to get fat… Everyone can go back to their lives because the threat has passed.”He shrugs his shoulders.”And yet you don’t get to come back from that…”

“The storm is a gift… It brings destruction, and renewal. Standing in the way of that…”He trails off and looks down at the table for a second.

He shrugs his shoulders.”Would you stand before Thunder Himself and demand he stand down if it was he who decided our city must be wiped off this earth? Would you fight nature itself in the name of this scab whose very existence is an insult to our creator?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks at Simon, talking in metaphors and then generalities and then like he’s composing the Charge of the Thunder Brigade or some shit. It is plain on Sarita’s face that while she gets what Simon is saying, she is completely lost on the path of conversations…like, walked into the La Brea Tar Pits behind the Bates Motel levels of lost.

“Okay…did I forget to eavesdrop on a meeting and did the Incarna decide the city needs to be wiped out? Just checking…I need to make sure I got gas in the tank and enough Twinkies to last Amy and I a few days.”

[Lukas] Lukas’s eyebrow flicks up. He thinks for a moment, eyes flicking briefly to Sarita. Her comment makes the edge of his mouth tug upward for a moment, but then he’s serious again, looking at Simon.

“Yeah,” he says, “I would. Because Thunder and Gaia put me on this earth to protect it. To fix it. To fight in it, and for it. So if something that looked like Thunder or Gaia showed up and told me to stand aside because he was going to level this city, this city that I know has worth, whose worth I’ve seen, then I’m going to question who the fuck that actually is and what their true motives are.

“On the night of the eclipse, Simon, I met a spirit that called itself the embodiment of Gaia, and she was powerful. And good. And she gave me a gift that I didn’t think I could get, and I am thankful to her. But was she Gaia? I don’t know. I don’t … think so. Not really.

“Not too long before that, you and I stood before spirits that called themselves the archangels of the Judeochristian god. And they were powerful. And maybe not so very good. But were they truly angels? No. Probably not.

“My point is this, Simon. When you stand before the Earth-Mother and the Sky-God, I believe there will be no doubt in your heart, none, that you stand before your creator. The fact that you even have to ask this question tells me you doubt. And that tells me you already know whether or not you should listen if whatever you met told you to stand aside.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She listens to Lukas talk. Her head tilts to the right, watching him and taking in the words. She smiles a little…not her usual snarky grin, just a standard sort of amicable smile. She’s not huge with the spirits, herself. Being on the road for years, either alone or just with a kinfolk, means that you don’t get to spend a lot of time with Theurges, and Sarita didn’t have the greatest grounding in Umbral knowledge herself. But it’s always nice to hear perspective.

“And knowing is half the battle,” she says when he’s done. Somehow, it sounds more like a compliment than a joke.

[Simon Zahradnik] He glances at Sarita and shakes his head.”It’s not that complicated… Bad.”He says with a smirk. Had Thunder, or Twister come to this city to destroy it Simon would not stand in its way.

He then listens to Lukas, and once more he hears Adamidas… A different face, and yet he heard Adamidas no less. He drew in a slow and deep breath.”So then we’re all heroes then… We saved the day and we protected the innocent denizens of Chicago against the wrath of nature. Go team…”He trails off. These were not the kinds of answers he had hoped to hear.

He lowered himself to take another shot before sighing to himself and standing up tall.”I should excuse myself Rhya.”He says before offering a bow to Lukas and then Sarita and settling the pool cue on the table before him.

[Lukas] “That’s not quite what I said,” Lukas says — not quite willing to let Simon leave on that note. “What I’m saying to you is: I don’t think it was even ‘Nature’ you faced but the Wyrm by some other name. Even if the spirit itself did not realize it, to call for the blind genocide of millions of souls, every human in the city, is an act of mindless destruction. And what is the Wyrm, if not mindless destruction?

“Simon, I think it’s easy to hate humanity, seeing the havoc they can wreak, seeing how lazy and weak they have become. But if we were not part human, you would not have the drive or the ingenuity we need to win this war. An animal would gnaw its leg off to escape a trap. But a human would dismantle the trap. Don’t fall into the trap of thinking humans are worthless and evil. That’ll open you to precisely the sort of temptation you faced from … whatever it was that masqueraded as the storm.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Some people might expect Sarita to be bored by the conversation. After all, she’s known more for spouting off pop culture references and the seventy-five different variations of her grin than getting involved in deep, overreaching conversations about the nature of the War and the philosophy of evil. The truth of the matter though, as one who looks closely enough to her expression as she listens to the Shadow Lords debate, is that she finds the conversation deeply intriguing. Not only does it give her different perspectives on the deeper questions that the Nation faces, but it gives her a lot of perspective on the two children of Thunder in front of her. And that is information that Sarita finds far more valuable than any game of banter or “So how do you like the city so far” conversations.

So instead of popping in with a witty quip, she stays quiet for the moment, listening and learning. Her attention shifts to Simon, watching him closely for his words and/or reaction.

[Simon Zahradnik] “It’s not about hating humanity… It’s about shattering their misconceptions. I bound to twister because I understood why Twister destroys. I understood that Twister shattered the safety and the silence… He brings destruction. But in the wake of his destruction he leavers a shattered world torn to pieces. A world where people had given up and lost hope…”He shrugs his shoulders.

“Don’t you see? Twister takes… But in the process Twister renews hope. He takes from those who have nothing to fear and he teaches them not to give up and not to become complacent and to always push and struggle. The destruction Twister asks us to bring is not blind. It is beautiful… It reawakens the dying soul and instills hope. It refreshes and invigorates…”

“Twister isn’t about hurting people… Twister is about teaching people to live every moment to its fullest because any second it could be snatched away from you.”

“That is what I saw and that is what I felt… It wasn’t a Wyrm Creature… It was a force of the Wyld. It did not hold malice or contempt in its heart. It only wished to do what it does. What it brought was a gift, for in the wake of the Wyld’s destruction there is new life, there are tears but there is new hope. The weaver doesn’t offer hope… It doesn’t offer anything but an empty soulless meaningless existence. Nobody deserves that fate.”

“I’m not some bloody mindless vengeful asshole… Twister chose me because I understand and feel this. In the wake of destruction… New life arises. These buildings were not intended to last forever. Nothing lasts forever.”

[Lukas] Now it’s Lukas’s turn to listen, and if Simon looks between them, he’ll see a startlingly similar expression on the Shadow Lord’s face and the Strider’s. Interested. Intrigued.

Perhaps it’s ironic that of all the wolves in this city, the ones having this debate — discussion — whatever it is, are Shadow Lords. Are Ahrouns at that, often accused of being blunt instruments. Blind weapons, rising fast and dying young, brutal and mindless tools for smarter garou to direct.

Simon rebels verbally, explicitly against this. I’m not some bloody mindless vengeful asshole, he says, as though aware — painfully so — that that’s sometimes his exact reputation. There’s a look that skates across Lukas’s face then, part wryness and part empathy, gone almost too quick to catch. Nothing lasts forever, he finishes, and Lukas nods.

“I can agree with that,” he says. “All of it. I don’t … follow that creed myself, life out of destruction, but I see its worth. But why the doubt, then? You sound so sure of what you’ve just told me. Why the questions of right and wrong, when to follow and when to rebel?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] And her attention shifts back to Simon. Sarita has her own input that she could offer here, her own opinion. But it is her decision to hold back. Her contribution would probably derail things a bit, and she’s intensely curious to see how this plays out.

So she remains quiet, looking to Bone-Grinder, to see what his volley back consists of.

[John] Without warning the trio in the common room, minding their own business, in the midst of a conversation, become aware of a muffled thump as what sounds like something bigger than a breadbox is pushed–not slammed–against a door on the other side of the wall.

[Simon Zahradnik] He was a little surprised that Lukas did take the time to listen. It’s not like full Moons to do that. He ponders the question himself and shrugs his shoulders.”I followed my orders… And yet I am left feeling as if I should have gone the other way. The Weaver won and what do we get to show for it? Nothing… The weaver will hunt us and give it a reason and its minions will actively destroy us without hesitation. We are its enemy…”He shrugs.”The Wyld is not our enemy and it is weak… It is our hopes and dreams, and the fuel that makes life possible. It doesn’t hate… And next to Gaia it is one of the only pure things left in this world. It might not be our friend and it might never learn to appreciate anything we do for it. But in the end strengthening it weakens the hold of our enemies on the world…”

“People are going to die in our war one way or another… People are going to die. But without the Wyld… No one will truly get to live. With out the Wyld there is only stagnation and death.”

“The Weaver won because we took it’s side. Now we go back to our lives as if nothing happened… Whatever that thing brought to our city for good or ill it brought change. Nothing more, nothing less. We helped the weaver and the weaver destroyed it without mercy. Whatever potential was there… Is no more.”

“I followed my orders and yet… I feel responsible for destroying what could have been. I feel I intervened in a step that could have helped crush weaver and wyrm and open this city up to us and ours.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her head jerks up at that sound, and her eyes narrow. She looks to the wall…she knows what room that is. Her jaw clenches and she shakes her head, before doing a literal facepalm.

“Fucking A, bitch,” she mutters. It’s not a pleased sound. She rises and looks to the two. “Excuse me for just…uno momento, por favor.” She slowly, carefully walks back into the hallway, with a purpose.

[Lukas] The thump doesn’t even make Lukas look up. He’s lived here a long time; is used to odd noises and occurrences at all hours. He does, however, glance briefly at Sarita as she gets up — offering her a half-smile as she goes.

“We should talk sometime,” he says.

Then, leaning his elbows on his knees, he presses his palms together for a moment, thoughtful. When he looks at Simon again he says, “I think first and foremost you need to figure out what it is you’re feeling guilty about. If you’re feeling guilty because you feel you did the right thing but at a terrible cost — well, sometimes that’s how this war is. You’ll learn that again and again as you gain rank, and believe me,” there’s a raw note here, like a recent wound scraped up again, “every single lesson is a cruel one. We give so much for so little gain, but in the end, it’s worth it. It has to be.

“For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing, because even if you let the Weaver destroy a Wyld creature, you probably saved hundreds, if not thousands of lives. The Wyldling might have had the best intentions, but you know what they say about the road to hell. It might have wanted to break the denizens of the city from the grasp of the Weaver, but that storm hurt far more than it helped. Maybe it’s because of our idealistic differences, but … I say destruction in the name of good ends where innocent lives are lost. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t have hesitated to stop the Wyldling however I could.

“That said … maybe there was another way. However I could doesn’t imply letting it die. Perhaps there was a way to stop it that didn’t involve destroying it, a way that your war-party overlooked. And if you do feel guilty because you did the right thing but paid too high a price, then you need to take that lesson and learn from it. You need to learn how to avoid that price in the future. How to do better, not do differently.”

There’s a small pause. Then — and this is ironically gentler:

“But if you feel bad right now because you feel like you did the wrong thing, and you did it simply because you followed orders … well. Then you have a tougher question in front of you. You’ll have to weigh whether or not you should have done differently. Whether you should have disobeyed orders in a battle, broken the Litany, and suffered every consequence you reaped, all in the name of your principles. You’ll have to take yourself and your own self-interests out of the equation entirely and weigh whether or not that course of action would have resulted in greater devastation to your allies and to innocents or not. And ultimately, you’ll have to ask yourself, too, if you backed down from that because you decided the cost was too high — or because of cowardice.”

Another short pause. Then — because this is difficult to say — “Simon, I hope to god there’s never a battle when I lead in such a way that compels you to act against me for the sake of doing what you believe is right — because if you rebelled mid-battle, I will not hesitate. I will cut you down.

“At the same time, we can never know whether our course of action is truly right or not. We can only follow our conscience and our deepest principles — selflessly, and faithfully. So while I hope the day never comes, if there ever comes a day when your honor truly and genuinely compel you to rebel mid-battle, I do hope you have the courage to do so. No matter what the outcome.”

On that note, Lukas gets up. “I have to go,” he says. “It’s almost dawn, and I want to see my mate before the new day begins. Will you think on what we’ve spoken about and let me know what you decide — whether you were right or wrong to destroy the Wyldling?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Footsteps sound, for those who are paying attention and has good hearing, along the wall on the other side of the common room. The footsteps are not stomping, nor are they particularly light. They continue all the way along, until they reach the approximate location where the thud came from. Coincidentally, it is the wall near the pool tables, where Simon currently is. Anyone who might be fanciful might imagine something terrible, like Michael Myers walking along instead of a very pissed-off Silent Strider.

The footsteps stop suddenly, and after a couple moments, there are three loud pounds upon the door. “No está permitido tener relaciones sexuales en la sala! Y no a todos hasta que hable con nuestros familiares, perra! No creo que no voy a entrar con un balde de agua fría!” A pause.

Then three more pounds, and the footsteps make their way back along the hallway. Sarita appears back at the common room door, smiling again. “Sorry about that.” She moves to take a seat.

[Simon Zahradnik] He listens to the words of his elder… Nodding. Call it a lesson. Lukas always seemed a little softer hearted than he which wasn’t necessarily bad for a Shadow Lord, after all he was stronger than Simon. Well… Simon wasn’t about to challenge him anyway. Simon… Believed Lukas was stronger so it didn’t matter if Lukas was softer hearted or not in the younger Full Moon’s mind what mattered was that Lukas has strength Simon did not. That meant there was always something to be gleaned from him.

He nodded his head slowly.”Always stand up for that which you believe in… Noted Rhya.”He says with a nod of his head.”Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. I will think on the matter.”He adds with a nod of his head and a little smile.”I will do what I can to put the matter behind me. You take care.”He says with a nod of his head before grinning a little and turning his attention on Sarita.

“No problem… Glad to have you back.”

[Amunet Trujillo] Sarita is almost back to the common room before there’s any sort of answer, which comes in the form of a fist slamming back into the door, then it’s quiet again.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Have a good evening, Lukas.” She nods to him, giving him a little grin as she moves to take a seat on the couch. “Or….morning. Or whatever.” She’s still got that underlying pissed-offness to her, but when Sarita gets angry, the snark just comes out a bit more. She’s not so filled with Rage that people cringe at her presence. Maybe they should, but compared to the other two in the room, she’s freaking mellow.

She leans back, wincing a bit, and looks to Simon. “Sorry I missed the end of that conversation. I was enjoying it.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] And then she frowns when she hears the bang. “Do me a favor, Simon? Hit the wall there for me, right about lined up with the the far corner pockets?”

[Simon Zahradnik] He smirks a little at Sarita’s request. With a roll of his eyes he walks over and hits the wall with enough force to send the noise straight through the wall. At least so it is heard.”There happy?”

[Lukas] Perhaps there’s some truth in that: Lukas has gentleness in him, rarely seen by outsiders but present.

Though, two years ago he didn’t ever show it. Not to anyone not of his pack, anyway. Not to his family, even, except maybe his sister — certainly not to the woman who became his wife. He was a harder, more vehement creature then, filled with the fearless conviction of youth.

Those harsh, cruel lessons he spoke of has tempered that. Made grey out of black and white. Given him a sort of depth and patience, too, that he didn’t have before.

He returns Simon’s faint smile, and the nod. “You too, my brother,” he says. Then, to Sarita on his way out, by way of goodbye — “Hope things work out with your friend in there.”

His footsteps thud down the stairs, not so much noisy on purpose as by simple dint of his size, his height, his breadth. A little later the kitchen door opens and shuts; a little later that, the BMW starts up in the parking lot, then departs through the predawn blue.

[thanks for the RP, guys! really enjoyed it!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “No. I probably just pissed her off enough to make my bed the one with the wet spot.” She shrugs. “But if she’s smart she’ll come out soon, before I go in.”

A little smile, and she looks at the man. “So how you feeling after the other night’s festivities? Sounds like you’ve been extra busy since…”

[Simon Zahradnik] He watches Lukas leave before looking back at Sarita.”You want me to go in there and…”He glides his index finger across his neck while asking the question.

He then ponders the rest of her question.”I’m great… How about you? All healed up and shit?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Dude, that’s my sister. No offense, ’cause I like you and all…but you kill my sister and I’m gonna have to kill you. And then someone’s gonna have to kill me. And it’ll be a whole big killing…thing.”

A pause. “And John would bleed all over the room. I don’t want that.”

She shrugs in regard to his question. “Not yet. I still got a little ways to go.” She grins. “Pain is good, though. It reminds you that you’re alive. And more importantly, that you can say, ‘Yeah, but you should see the other guy.'”

[Simon Zahradnik] He chuckles.”I’m just extending the offer… Fuck don’t kill the messenger lady.”He says with a little laugh before shrugging his shoulders and leans against the pool table.”You should see the other guy… What is left is worm food.”He says with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I don’t dick around with Wyrm creatures… They wanna play in my court they will learn that I have one rule. There ain’t no rules. I am bigger, meaner, and nastier than anything they got to throw at me. I have no problem playin’ Doctor with some asshole who thinks it’s funny to chop up little kids or drag folks off into the woods to… Do whatever.”He says with a shrug of his shoulders.”When I make war it’s total and absolute… Gimme time and I will teach the minions of the Wyrm they have something to fear. There ain’t nowhere the Wyrm can run or hide… If I were them I wouldn’t worry too much about Hell cause it’s right here and it’s comin’ to get ’em.”He says with a little grin and a flare in those eyes.”No mercy, no surrender, no forgiveness… I am coming for every last motherfuckin’ one of them and when I’m done with them I will hunt down their friends, and family and their fuckin’ dogs and chickens and every piece of shit who ever thought it was funny to back their asses up.”He laughs a little.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Well, aren’t you just Keyser Soze.” She gives a slight chuckle. The woman doesn’t look surprised by Simon’s words, and her comment may have humorous intent, but it’s not meant to be insulting in any way. Quite the contrary.

“I can’t say that I disagree as a rule. You have to hit them where it counts, after all. Do what you can.” She pauses, and the grin widens. “You know…just think. Not long ago I was trying to convince you to kick my ass. Now we’re hanging out and chatting. That’s why I love this city. So far, there’s no end to the surprises. I’m a fan of the unexpected.”

She looks over at the wall, and checks her watch. She seems to be timing something. That time is drawing closer.

[Simon Zahradnik] He shrugs his shoulders.”I am a Full Moon… I get in a lot of fights with a lot of folks. Doesn’t mean anything most of the time. I get pretty goddamn pissed off sometimes…”He laughs softly.”It’s nothing personal.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh, totally nothing personal for me either. If it was personal, I would have thrown the first punch. Or, more likely, knee.” She waggles her brows.

Another check of the watch. She pauses, looking up as she does some math, and rises. “So what else have you been up to? Besides killing and pool and awesome conversations with your tribal Elder, that is?”

[Simon Zahradnik] He grins a little and laughs.”You knee me in the balls and we might not be on such friendly terms anymore!”He says with a little grin as he looks her over.”That’s about the extent of what I do around here. I am either talking, killing, or…”He rolls his eyes a little and choses not to finish that. There’s a lady present.

“Pretty boring guy most of the time.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “If you were gonna say ‘fucking,’ don’t feel the need to hold back. I am very fluent in George Carlin-ese, believe me. The seven words are like the ten commandments to me.”

She walks over to the wall and pounds four times, loudly. “Esta es la última advertencia antes de que consiga el cubo!

[John] [Alertness+Perception: DOO DOO DOO… -1 pool (2A), +2 diff (out of sight).]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 4, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Simon Zahradnik] He laughs a little and shrugs.”You seemed like a… Refined and sophistocated woman I didn’t wish to…”She pounds aon the wall and screams a little and Simon folds his arms over his chest as he listens.”El Cubo… That sounds pretty serious.”

[Amunet Trujillo] TXT: Back the fuck off, please? I really like him…
to Sarita Ecos de la Risa

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her phone lights up, playing a snippet of “Pocketful of Sunshine,” and she slips it out of her pocket. Simon can actually see her shoulders bunch up on frustration. She stabs at the keys, typing a message back, and puts it away before looking back.

“El Cubocapra. It’s like the bloodsucking bat, but plastic and with a handle. And walruses often get them stolen and then are sad.” The snark is definitely kicked up now. “Anyway. Yeah, I’m one sophisticated bitch, that’s for sure.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] TXT: You shouldn’t have fucked him in our room. You realize that I’ll be smelling that all morning now? Thanks for making me sleep in the van. You get this one time. I’m not pleased.
to Amunet Trujillo

[Simon Zahradnik] He nods his head.”I see… This is like some important cultural shit or something?”He asks her with a little grin. He then looks at whatever she is typing a message into.”Careful those things break way too easy.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve only broken, like, seventeen since I met Amy.” She shrugs, coming over and hopping up to sit on the pool table. “Three more and T-Mobile owes me a set of steak knives.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He grins a little.”Steak knives are pretty sweet. I mean for steak or like… Whatever… I dunno.”He says with a little grin.”She pisses you off a lot? That like a sister thing? Or is she just a bitch?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Mmmm…” She runs her tongue over the edge of her teeth while she thinks. “Right now? I would say it’s because she’s just a bitch. But the truth is, it’s a sister thing. I piss her off as much as she pisses me off. I wouldn’t be pissed if I didn’t care, y’know?”

And in truth, there is a deep caring for her sister underneath Sarita’s anger. The bond with the kin is the thing Sarita has that is unbreakable, and that hasn’t been able to be taken from Sarita. They’ll fight and they’ll argue and irritate from time to time, but there’s a definite sense in the way Sarita talks about Amunet that she’d move heaven and earth for the girl.

As long as she doesn’t let guys pound her in a room where Sarita will be smelling it all day, anyway. Details.

[John] One of the occupants of the room, it seems, has some semblance of sense: the noises from Room 10 stop.

Of course, a shower turns on in the bathroom a few minutes after the last assault from Sarita’s fist against the wall, but that’s a minor detail. She isn’t disturbed again, and when she goes back to her room tonight, there won’t be a tall, apparently-attractive-to-Simon Modi anywhere near the place where she lays her head.

[Simon Zahradnik] He nods.”I see… So that’s like something from your DNA like binds you and shit? Some kinda magical DNA power or something?”He asks her with a little grin. In the back of his mind he thinks John is a pretty attractive Modi and if he were a kin and into dudes there might be somethin’ goin’ on… Unfortunately chicks still seem to have that unhealthy hold on him. Damn… If only!

He then forces a little frown back up when Sarita mentioned not being pissed if she didn’t care and Simon nods his head.”Right. I get it now.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She sighs when she hears the shower. “I better go check and make sure I’m not getting stabbed in my sleep or anything. And possibly get some sleep. It’s been good talking to ya though. We should go kill shit again some time.”

She throws Simon a wink as she heads for the hallway, Room 10 her destination. “Hasta.”

[Simon Zahradnik] He grins and enjoys the view as Sarita walks away. A little grin showing before he turns and heads for the exit with a bitter little smirk. If Gaia didn’t want you to fuck ’em… Why’d she make ’em so goddamn curvy? Bitch is crazy.

A Fight With a Wurm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He starts away from the kid with a brief nod.

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

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

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

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

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

*Behind her, a sign vibrates unnoticed*

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What sort you looking for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Tongue Twister] (my favorite answer! 🙂 )

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twister(18)
Sarita (15)
wurm (11)
Pat (9)
Lou (6)

—-

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

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [Patrick is gonna:

1a. Bite the Wurmy
1b. Repeat and Rinse
R1.
R2. — both bites!]

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

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

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

[[Shootie shootie, Single shot]]

[Tongue Twister] (grossgrossgross

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

1a: flank
1b: bite
1c: bite
1R: OMNOMNOMNOM)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Tongue Twister] RAAAAAAGE! DIE YOU SOAKING BASTARD!

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

[Tongue Twister] DONT YOU DARE SOAK THIS BITCH!
Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 7
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 9 at target 6)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twister(18)
Sarita (15)
wurm (11)
Pat (9)
Lou (6)

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

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [1a
1b — same as before!
R1.
R2. — yep, same deal.]

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

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

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

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

NOMNOMNOM!

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

[Tongue Twister] YUMMYWURMCAN’TSOAKTHIS!

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

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

[Tongue Twister] NOMNOMNOM! YER MAKIN ME MAD!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[FUCKING FUCK OFF YOU FUCKING WURM FUCK! BOOOM!]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]

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

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

[Cracka’Jack] [WURM… is dead!?!]

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

[Prayers to Broken Stone] [WOOHOO!]

[Tongue Twister] (WHOOOHOOO!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Christ, I think it ate my smokes.”

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

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

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

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

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

Shit, bookit!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because some things are easier said than others.

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

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

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

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

She remains quiet, looking at the gun curiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Tongue Twister] (ditto! 🙂 )

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We should get outta dodge, anyway.”

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

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

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

“Safety in numbers, after all. Right?”

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

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

LAKE VIEW

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then she will be immediately, utterly awake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They conduct meetings in their cars, now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause, another sip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was there anything more Rhya?”

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

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

[Prayers to Broken Stone] “Huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d really like to get there.”

He leans his head against the cool brick.

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

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

She tosses it to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!]