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!]

Advertisements

Exploration Leads To Shower Wackiness

[Cordelia] She looks at her cautiously… but mostly, her expression just confused. Her eyebrows are knit together, then pushed upward. One eye is a little more open than the other, and her lips are pressed into a line. Her arms unfold and rest on her knees.

“Why… would… anyone..? Eh?”

[Hunter] “I ain’t done this before!” comes shouting back. A long pause ended by a sound from hunter that vaguely resembles shocked disgust.

“I can’t! It’s IN TOO DEEP I CAN’T GET IT OUT. QUINN GET OVER HERE PLEASE HELP ME!”

[Patrick] When Patrick spots Bridget, he almost looks a touch startled. Or was that guilty? It’s something and it might occur to the Kinfolk that Howard has either spoken to, or Patrick knows of her time with his Alpha. He is quick enough however, to school away his expression into something far less pointedly aware and cants her a lop-sided, tired half-grin.

“Hey, Bridget.” He gestures at the bottle as he comes fully into the common area, glancing in passing at the Silver Fangs gossiping in a corner. He still wasn’t sure what to make of that tribe, honestly. “Drinking solo tonight?” Then, there’s a distinctly familiar squawking from the bathrooms, and Patrick’s eyebrows crawl toward his hairline.

“Uh,” Hold that thought. “Bridget, maybe you should wait.”

Then, repressing a smile, Patrick rubs the edge of his thumb over his eyebrow. Howard? Whatever you’re doing, finish up before you destroy the coping mechanisms of everyone living here.

[Kristiana Coleman] “Just. You know. People telling people that I’ve done things that I haven’t… That sort of thing.” She picks up a silky tank top, looking it over before tossing it in the opposite pile.

[Patrick] [Whatever. I can’t fucking keep up with you lot. Patrick is where ever he is, ignore that SF Kin. Or… don’t. Whatevs, man.]

[Bridget] It’s written on Patrick’s face. He knows, the bastard gossip hens!! Really, the feral kin couldn’t give a hair off Stag’s tail about who knows. She just doesn’t care. And the bathroom situation is just too intriguing for her to wait. Besides, she’s already near the door when he says something.

Pandora. Box. Open Sesame!

[Cordelia] “Kristiana,” her voice is stern, “is that a pointed comment or are you actually concerned?”

[Howard] [FUCKING IE ATE MY POST FUCK HANG ON]

[Howard] Once Quinn turns off the shower head, whatever’s going on in the bathroom becomes considerably more audible to the rest of the floor. Even the kinswomen in Room 8, if their door is shut, are not spared. Howard is goddamn loud even when he’s calm and sitting still. Right now he’s neither.

“Look, man, you fuckin’ started this. Don’t pussy out on me now!”

[Quinn] “You need a better grip on his hip.” Compared to the squawks of the boys, Quinn’s voice practically floats out of the bathroom. “Here, put your hand here.”

[Hunter] “Put my hand WHERE?” Hunter whines. “And you shut up Howard, you started this. You practically begged me for it.”

[Bridget] A few steps into the bathroom provides no clues, so she follows the loud shouting until she finds the source.

“What the fuck is going on?” she asks loud enough to be heard.

[Kristiana Coleman] Cordelia can see the panic starting to seep in. “Why? Are people saying something? Did he tell people that we did something? Because we didn’t. I knew he was going to do that. Guys like that always do that. Oh my GAWD, what if Mattieu hears that we did something?!?” She wails, burying her face in a pile of Calvin Klein cardigans and Michael Kors sweaters.

[Howard] “You want me to keep beggin’ you? Christ you’re sick… here.

He says this, but then he clears his throat. There’s a rustling to accompany his speech.

Please Hunter Jesus I need you fuck!

[Cordelia] She stands up and sighs. Who would have thought her to play the older sister role. Who would of thought her to be the nurturing, somewhat protective type. Then again, she’s proven her metal recently. The young woman sits down beside Kristiana and she pats her on the shoulder. She notices panic, she notices a lot of things. The female pushes her glasses up.

“Calm down, it’s okay… breathe…”

She says.

“Did you know my sister’s a philodox?” she has a train of thought there.

[Quinn] A few steps into the bathroom, at least from where she’s entering, and Bridget gets nothing more than the benefit of the trio of voices echoing off the bathroom walls. If she steps in further, moves around the sinks in the center of the room, she still sees nothing.

Unless she looks down.

There are two, no three pairs of feet beneath one of the shower curtains. One set, which can’t be anyone’s other than Quinn’s, is bare and facing inward. There’s a sneakered foot, a booted one right along side it, facing out.

“Now you’ve got it. Howard, do you need a hand?” One of the bare feet shifts forward.

[Kristiana Coleman] “She is?” That doesn’t seem to make her feel any better.

[Hunter] “So help me howard, I’ll turn this fuckin’ car around.” He warns and then there’s a bit of silence followed by grunts. “Shit Howard, it’s tighter’n’a nuns holy place. Ugh, oh oh there I think–”

A huge sigh of relief and a slippery sound.

“DONE!” Triumphant, proud.

Silence, drip drip drip.

“WE GOT A LEAKER!, QUINN! GET A TOWEL!”

[Howard] [I don’t know where the hell Jacqui went but I’m giving her 15 minutes before I post again!]

[Cordelia] “She is,” she tells Kristiana, “and some people say that circular, adament denial… especially in the way you’re denying… doesn’t do well to prove the strength of one’s case. Your response is paranoid, and leads me to believe one of two things- one being that something did happen between you and your nameless mister and you are feeling the impact of buyers remorse… or you didn’t do anything, and you genuinely are afraid of what the perception of your feminine virtue will say about your family and will decrease your prospects of doing what you were sent to Chicago to do.”

A beat passes. She sighs and reaches over. The female runs her fingers through Kristiana’s hair. She sighs and relaxes. There’s a certain worth in what she says.

“If it is either of those possibilities, then it determines your next course of action.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She seems to be in a good mood as she opens the door and slides into the main room, a little grin as if she’s managed to amuse herself with some private thought. She’s shivering under her duster…the girl is used to warmer climates. Thus, the door is quickly shut and she shakes off the chill, rubbing her hands as she glances around.

[Patrick] [SORRY. TYPING.]

[Kristiana Coleman] She leans into Cordelia, sighing. “Is that not how you were raised? A Kin is worth more if they’re pure.” She chews on her bottom lip for a moment. “It seemed like a really good idea at the time.”

[Patrick] Patrick follows after Bridget, more out of expectant amusement than horror. He’s well acquainted to Howard’s tendency to pick, uh, public places to get amorous and can only trail behind with one arm over his chest, the other resting against his chin. Eventually, Bridget will come upon the three sets of feet sticking out from under a shower curtain.

Patrick rocks back on his heels a little.

Considers; then says in a carrying voice. “Should I get you three some Vaseline?”

[Cordelia] How was Cordelia raised? She keeps stroking the other young woman’s hair, and she thinks about this… she’s unsure of how she should act next. She looks down, and Cordelia exhales. Slowly, deeply, and she inhales through her nose. Takes in the air, “you need to define, for yourself, what you are worth and what purity is.”

If seemed like a really good idea at the time.
“Why? Did you want to?” she’s cautious with this question.

[Howard] Somewhere amongst all that noise there’s a sharp, histrionic noise that isn’t quite a scream and isn’t quite a moan. Coming from most of the other people in this building it would either be stoically muffled, or there would be little doubt that this was genuine pain being expressed.

DONE! Hunter says, and Howard can be heard panting under Patrick’s question.

“You’re such a bloody stoppered-up twat,” he says, sounding utterly indignant. “Don’t fuckin’ stop, fuck!

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She purses her lips to the left, eyes narrowing a bit. She’s seen all of the downstairs already, and nothing too exciting is going on…time to explore. She pauses a moment, trying to remember the directions she got on the tour of the upstairs, and then shrugs as she trots over to the stairs. They get ascended with every other step skipped.

[Kristiana Coleman] She looks around, slipping into French just to be sure the conversation stays private. “Vous ne pouvez pas dire à personne, Cordelia. Promets-moi. Si Mattiew découvre … Non pas que je pense qu’il me prend pour un compagnon, mais je voudrais au moins à la date de lui pendant un certain temps. Je ne veux pas qu’on sache que j’ai fait une erreur comme ça.”

[Hunter] There’s a pause and then a clinking as something falls down on the shower floor. It looks like a claw. “I swear ta’ god I’d put it back in if it weren’t such a fuckin’ hassle gettin’ it out.” He throws open the shower curtain and storms out leaving a bleeding Howard and a nearly naked Quinn.

[Howard] “YOU’RE NOT EVEN GONNA STAY AND CUDDLE?!”

[Patrick] Patrick watches the progress of the Bone Gnawer as he stalks out of the communal bathrooms, dropping his hand from his face and its adopted pose of nonchalance and tucking both hands into the pockets of his work clothing. Revealed with Hunter’s departure is a nearly nude Quinn and a bleeding and somewhat suggestively positioned Howard.

Patrick’s face forms itself into something of resigned bemusement.

He glances at Bridget, “it’s honestly easier just to accept it at face value than to try and comprehend it.”

[Quinn] “Another towel’d be nice,” Quinn calls. “We’ve only got the one and it’s, uh, sort of in use.”

A claw drops to the floor, the shower curtain is pulled back. Hunter is seen first, then Quinn, her long hair dripping wet, a white fluffy towel wrapped around her body. Until tonight, the only person in Chicago to see this much of Quinn’s body had his own burned to his Homelands. Now, Bridget, Caldera and Hunter can see: the trail of birds working around her right forearm, the outline of a star on the inside of her left wrist, claw marks that start at her right shoulder and trail nearly to her elbow and, when she turns, the branch of some tree in blossom, stretched across her upper back.

She smiles at Howard in sympathy. “Are there anymore?”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Into the common room she heads, peering around with a swipe of her hand through her hair. She pauses a moment to try and remember which way is what, then just gives up and follows the sound of voices.

[Hunter] It’s then he sees Bridget, standing there. He looks at her with raised eyebrows. “Go give em’a cuddle, he’s like a big baby.”

Then he stops, turns around, looks at Howard and cracks up laughing. “You’re fuckin’ ridiculous.”

A pause.

“I can’t believe I just pulled a claw outta’ya ass. I’m hungry, and I need a fuckin’ drink. I also wanna’ get the fuck outta’ this place. Who’s comin’?”

[Bridget] The Canadian gawks with a bottle of liquor in hand. She unscrews the bourbon then sips at it.

“What the hell happened?” she asks.

[Howard] Once he thinks he doesn’t have an audience anymore, Howard turns his back to the shower wall and doesn’t so much let himself slide down as he just collapses. Quinn is close enough to see that his hair froze from taking a shower and then going outside for far too long, that his corduroys–previously yellow–are drenched in blood. It seems to have originated from his left sacroiliac region, but the entirety of his leg and backside has turned a stomach-turning red, and it’s stained his torso as well, as though he was lying in blood for a good amount of time. Pain has turned his skin dusky, and there is blood on his hands as well; hand prints coat the walls of the shower, and there’s a trail of prints where he was marched across the floor.

He’s still panting as he rests on the wet floor of the shower. To his credit he doesn’t attempt to peek up Quinn’s towel; with his sunglasses on no one can see he’s squeezing his eyes shut.

Quinn wants to know if there are anymore.

“Wha?”

You’re fuckin’ ridiculous.

“Oi!” Howard snaps, his rancor feigned, before lifting a bloody hand to flip Hunter a bird.

Who’s comin’?

All the Theurge does is laugh a high-pitched, almost hysterical laugh and rest his head against the wall of the shower.

[Cordelia] “… Le plus gros problème ici, c’est que vous n’êtes pas s’accepter soi-même et vous n’avez pas à accepter vos décisions. Les gens font des erreurs. Les gens grandissent. You are human,” she doesn’t chide. Maybe it’s the nature of the language, it sounds softer. Something about the way Cordelia handles the language makes it gentle.

She sighs, and her voice drops to the realm of almost inaudible.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She makes a slow walk down the hallway, the grin ratcheting up a touch for no immediately apparent reason. Maybe it’s just an involuntary reaction to approaching trouble.

[Kristiana Coleman] She nods slightly, her voice quiet. “Il vient de quitter après. Je n’avais pas honte avant qu’il vient de quitter.”

[Patrick] Patrick studies his pack-mate, his mouth thinning with something like distaste for the state of him, then cuts a glance at Quinn. It’s short, but considering. He takes note of her scarring, of her tattoos. If ever a man could make you feel at once attractive and an oddity simultaneously, it was the Galliard.

Still; he doesn’t leer.
That must be a point in his favor.

“I think there’s more towels in the hall closet, if I remember right. I’ll get you one.” He takes up Bridget’s bourbon, first, however, downs a gulp and gestures toward Howard. “Get some into him, he needs it. He looks like something’s chewtoy.”

Eyes back to Howard.

“What the hell were you fighting with, anyway?” This as he ventures into the hall to return with clean towels.

[Quinn] “No clue,” Quinn says in answer to Bridget’s question. With one hand holding her towel in place, she carefully squeezes her knees together as she lowers herself to her knees beside the Theurge. Her eyes take in the hair, the sunglasses, and the bloody trousers. Rather than looking overly concerned, her mouth quirks. when she first met Howard, she was both amused and confused. Now, she just looks at him with a kind of sad amusement.

Reaching out to at least attempt to knock a frozen curl back from his forehead, she looks at his face and says in a voice not meant to carry, “I think you’ll be okay if you shift. A claw to the ass really isn’t that bad.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She pauses, head tilting as she sees Patrick come out of the bathroom, and gives him a quick appraising look and a grin. “Hola.”

[Cordelia] “Pas tous les hommes sont comme ça. Votre point de vue sur le sexe es différent que le sien. Je pense que … vous recherchez un lien affectif, et que vous voulez quelqu’un pour vous faire sentir aimée,” she sighs, and just strokes her hair still, “Je ne pense pas que moins de vous.”

[Bridget] There is a huge bloody mess everywhere. The Canadian just blinks. Her sequin top does indeed look ridiculous at this point. That’s neither here nor there. Quinn seems quite concerned, so she kneels down to where the Fiann lies on the floor. Patrick instructs her to take him the whiskey and temporarily conviscates it without asking and returns it to her. The girl swishes the liquor bottle into his field of vision.

“You need to stop getting your ass handed to you. I already carried you here once all bloodied up,” she says quietly.

And after a moment of thinking about it, she adds, “Are you alright?”

[Kristiana Coleman] “I ruined everything. I should have just listened to you.”

[Howard] What the hell was he fighting with, anyway?

“My feelings,” he says.

Quinn ducks down next to him, her towel secured, and he doesn’t horse around as he tends to, doesn’t try to flip her hair into her eyes or loosen her towel. She tells him he’ll be fine, and he doesn’t argue with her, exactly, but neither is he in any great hurry to get up and haul himself out of there either.

“Oh, no, the ass would’ve been fine,” he says, his own volume dropping so as not to overpower the kinswoman’s, “but there’s bone, Quinn! So much bone!

And there’s Bridget. Howard draws a breath; the finger of one hand splayed on the floor involuntarily twitches.

“Well, tell ya the truth, Hunter’s a tad selfish. Didn’t exactly give me a reach-around just now. Sooo, unless you’re offerin’ to finish the job…”

[Patrick] He has to duck his head around the side of the closet door to glimpse the Hispanic woman who addresses him at random. Patrick was a tall guy, though not as tall as many of the male Garou in Chicago at 5’11. He had quite vividly blue eyes and a head of blond hair to match that was kept short no matter the season.

Currently, he was also covered in car grease, his overalls soiled from time spent beneath vehicles.

The stranger grins at him; and the Galliard, who in truth almost matched some Ahrouns for sheer force of Rage turned, shutting the door with his back. His arms were full of towels, and voices carried from the bathroom. “Hey,” he replied with a quiet, somewhat restrained tone.

He hesitated a beat. “You lost, or? If you’re looking for a place to sleep,” was he about to offer to share a bed with her? “I think the owners are downstairs. Ask for a Jenny.” Then the broad-shouldered Welsh-man vanished back into the showers in time to hear Howard’s final words. He offered a towel to Quinn, and tossed the latter at Howard’s head.

[Bridget] An eyebrow turns upward, a sigh escaping her. He’s joking, so he’s fine. But he does not take the bourbon, and instead kind of lashes out at her with his brilliant sense of humor. She takes a long swig of the bourbon and sets the bottle down on the floor of the shower stall.

She’s in a strange mood today. Howard is okay, so the cabin fever rolls back over her like a heavy cloak. She’d do for a good night’s worth of sleep, but that will never happen here it seems.

“Nice,” is all she says before rising back up to her feet.

[Cordelia] “No,” she sighs, and she hasn’t taken her hand off of Kristiana’s hair, “no, you did what you thought was right and you made your own decision. All you can do now is learn from it and move on. If you don’t want me to say anything, I won’t say anything.”

[Kristiana Coleman] “Don’t. Please. I don’t want people to know.” She reaches up and pats Cordelia’s hair too. “You can take whatever clothes you want.”

[Quinn] She quirks a brow, tilts her head, and she smiles. There are things she could say. Questions she could ask.

But just like that night on the roof, Quinn doesn’t close that distance. For one thing, they’re not really alone in this stall. There’s an audience, just over Quinn’s shoulder. For another…well, who knows.

She pats his shoulder. “Finishing what he started means he started something. I thought you weren’t into men’s manly muscles.” Rocking back, she rises to her feet just after Bridget. She shakes her head to the offer of another towel. “Thanks, but I’m covered.” Hah.

“Hunter, I’d be super happy to head out with you if you’ll give me a couple minutes to put some clothes on? This extended leave of absence crap is making me crazy.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She opens her mouth to answer, but just grins when he’s gone quicker than she can do so. She reaches out and opens the door slightly so she can get her response out. “Ain’t you ever seen the bumper sticker? Not all who wander are lost. Think it’s in some kinda book, too. But no, I’m just explorin’ a bit. Thanks, though.”

[Hunter] He sighs, looking at Howard, and then makes a blergghh face.

“Jesus H Christ.” And he steps back into the shower, grabs him by the front of the shirt and pulls him to his feet.

“C’mon dick face.” He says to Howard. “Quinn, I’ll meet ya’ downstairs, bring a coat.”

And begins manoeuvring the stubborn Theurge out of the shower and hopefully out of the bathroom, back to his brother.

[Cordelia] “I’ll hand it to him, Ivan Press is nothing if not discreet. So, if you don’t say anything, he won’t… and I gave you my word.”

[Howard] By the time Hunter gets back to Howard he has quite literally curled up on the floor of the shower stall to cuddle with the bottle of bourbon Bridget left behind to keep him company, as if he’s just planning on going to sleep in a pool of bloody water. His momentary respite from being asked if he’s alright is interrupted by a meaty hand grasping the front of his drenched shirt and hauling him to his feet.

Whoa!” he shouts, louder than is absolutely necessary, not grabbing the Ahroun for support this time. “What! No! Fuck! Where are we going!”

He’s limping, but he can actually assist in the walking task now, his left Converse squelching with blood every time he steps off of it.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Hearing people approaching the door, she lets the door close the crack that it had been opened and takes a few steps back, simply so as not to block traffic.

[Kristiana Coleman] “I was worried about that. Good.” She pulls away to stand. “I should go back to the hotel and get the rest of my things.” (Which is Angelina for “I’m exhausted and it’s past my bedtime”)

[Cordelia] “You need to get rid of some of this,” she chides. Her heart’s not in it; she can’t stop grinning, “go get your things.”

[Kristiana Coleman] She scrambles up, leaning to kiss Cordelia on both cheeks before heading out.

[Bridget] As for bloody messes, she’s seen it before a few too many times to get all worked up right away. Bridget knows Howard is fine now, so she retreats back into the original pensive, quiet state she was in prior to all this. Part of her is sick of the city, sick of being cooped up like a goddamn bird.

Hunter marches past her into the stall to go have another potentially-homoerotic-themed spat. Bridget blinks, then follows. She just keeps walking past all the mess and straight into room 8, where she shuts the door behind her. The girl doesn’t even look at the two blonde kinswomen before she does an epic swan dive onto her own mattress.

She could actually get out of here for the night, but frankly she’s kind of tired of the Garou antics. She’s exausted, homesick, and tired of the big city and all it’s unwild mess. Rotting, Simon had described it.

So the kin mumbles into her pillow, sounds like singing, but it’s half-hearted.

“Shu shu shu shu shu shu, Sugar town.”

[Quinn] Quinn goes back into the shower she’d used just a bit ago. When she comes out she just smiles, doesn’t even pause to tell Hunter Adoy. Of course she’ll be bringing a coat. It snowed today for Christ’s sakes. Quinn will be going out in full on tundra gear, hat, scarf, gloves, sweater and leather jacket, jeans. And she’ll leave her heeled boots behind in favor of shoes with traction.

The tall kinswoman disappears into room 4 to make that outfit happen.

[Patrick] Sarita follows after Patrick a few steps to respond to him, but the Galliard’s focus has by this point been drawn back to the scene at hand before him. He watches Hunter drag Howard up and out of the showers by his shirt front; the latter leaving bloody foot prints in his wake and glances around, then at the towel in his hand.

“Yeah, whatever.”

He mutters to the air, and moves over to turn the facet on in the stall Howard had curled up in; blood begins to wash down the drain, and Patrick leans his body against one side of it, towel slung over his shoulder. The Galliard does not follow after his Alpha and the others just yet.

He watches the water turn pink, then clear.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She just leans against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed as she watches the various people emerge from the bathroom head in their own directions in their various physical and emotional states. She looks more bemused than anything else. “It’s like watching a clown car empty,” she says quietly to herself.

[Cordelia] Cordelia looked at the pile of clothes on her bed, and then at the pile of clothes on the floor. The female sighs, and she starts to strip out of whatever it was she was wearing. Cordelia rummages through her drawers to find something to throw on. Alas, the female doesn’t find anything.

Bridget’s closet yields better results. The female ends up sleeping in a tee shirt that isn’t hers and a pair of camoflage underwear. Given that there’s a giant pile of clothing on her bed, she blends right in.

[Hunter] “You got a car? Need’ta sleep man.” He asks Howard.

“Either that or you’re growin’ some fur, either way ya’ gettin’ better for’I’leave.”

[Bridget] The noise picking up in the bar and carrying through the floor makes the Canadian glare angrily into the dark. She watches a naked Cordy raid her closet, turns her head, and sighs. She plays at trying to sleep some more, but it won’t come easily. After staring for a while, she drags herself to her feet and goes back out the door. She tiptoes out and closes the door quietly, then slumps down with her back against the wall, just staring.

[Patrick] At some point, whenever the next to arrive does so in the showers; they find them quite deserted and empty. Patrick had never re-emerged after the others, and there’s a clean towel neatly folded beside a stall that smells, faintly, of recent blood. The coppery tang lingers in the air.

There was, of course, an abundance of mirrors.
One can only assume where the Cliath had vanished to.

[Howard] Howard is not exaggerating the difficulty he’s having with walking; if anything he’s attempting to downplay the fact that he doesn’t have the Gift necessary to ignore his wounds nor the constitution of a man who can endure being stabbed by just grinning and spitting in his attacker’s face. As he’s shuffled down the hallway, he keeps clutching the bourbon bottle to his chest; being asked direct questions has even less effect than usual.

“Your concern is touching,” he says, “really, it is.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She tilts her head as she sees Bridget come out and then sit against the wall, glancing around before she shrugs and approaches. “Hola. Y’okay?”

[Patrick] [Thanks for play, all! :D]

[Bridget] A lovely Hispanic woman she hasn’t met before addresses the Fianna kin. A blink. She looks up, then nods. There is undetectable rage, but stranger things have happened.

“Can’t sleep,” she says. “I think I’ll just throw on another coat and go for a walk.”

She hoists herself vertical, then looks to the other brunette again. She’s so preoccupied that she doesn’t introduce herself until she re-emerges from the room with a studded leather jacket to cover the gold sequin tunic over black stovepipe jeans. She’s wearing combat boots this time, and has a tube of lipgloss in her hand the color of rich burgundy. The hippie headband is missing, allowing her waves to fall wildly.

She offers her spare hand. “Haven’t seen you before,” she says. “I’m Bridget.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She smiles a little as Bridget heads off into the room, then back out. She takes the offered hand. “Sarita. My and my sister arrived just last night. Nice to meet you.”

[Bridget] “Nice to meet you.” She puts on a smidge of the gloss, staining her lips a sort of berry hue.

“I should probably make sure they’re not punking each other out again,” she says absentmindedly. “Things can get rough around here. Sorry, I’m a bit out of it today.”

She trudges off in the direction they were headed when last she saw the two Garou, a look of confusion on her face. Quinn’s gone, Patrick has vanished.

“Where the fuck?” she mumbles. “Howard.” The last stated somewhat loudly while she looks around.

[Hunter] “Yeah yeah.” Hunter says as they limp towards the stairwell in the common room. “I’mma take ya’ ta bed big boy, give ya’ that reach around ya’ wanted. Just fuckin’ don’t talk please.”

The words drift away in the air as he hoists the Theurge down the stairs.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] “Hey, no worry. I been there before. And rough is just my style, really.”

When Bridget looks confused, she points down the hallway. “One guy was helping another guy walk down the from the bathroom. I think that’s them down the hall.” She points her thumb in the direction of the voices. “The guy who came out for towels didn’t come back out after you all did.”

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] [[Delete the first of the points. I can make sense, I swear! 😛 ]]

[Howard] [Thanks for the scene, ladies!]

[Bridget] Aha! Voices. Sarita points things out to her just as she puts things together. The homoerotic flirtation continues as the half-wild Fianna girl comes trudging after them as if she’s been invited. She doesn’t even bother asking. At this point she will snap if someone tries to keep her pent up in this place.

“Hey, wait up,” the chit calls down. “If I don’t get out of here I am going to lose my goddamn mind.”

Her combat boots come thumping down the stairs after the two in more rapid succession until she catches up.

[Bridget] [Okies you too Jamie]

[Howard] [Ack! Didn’t see you posted hang on!]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches Bridget head after them, chuckling. She just grins and lets her head off, then looks around to figure out where to resume exploring.

[Howard] At the door leading out into the alleyway, Howard hears hollering down the stairs. He thrusts the bourbon at Hunter and forcibly peels himself away from the Ahroun to turn around and face Bridget. He’s favoring his left leg, for rather obvious reasons, and he looks back over at Hunter once as she rounds the bottom of the stairs.

“Goin’ to what?” he asks, as though he missed what she said. Must have water in his ears. Howard tries to clear out his ear canal with a finger, tipping his head to one side as he does so, then jerks a thumb at Hunter. “Catchin’ a ride home with this prick, my ass is killin’ me.”

Stepping just outside the kitchen door, Howard stumbles a bit as he tries to remember which room is Quinn’s, whereupon he cups his hands and yells “OI!! QUINN!! MOVE YOUR ARSE WOMAN THE BUS IS LEAVIN’!!”

[Hunter] It doesn’t take much for Howard to peel himself off Hunter when bourbon gets put in the Gnawers hands. He takes it and wanders off slowly, leaving the two Fianna to their own devices as Howard begins talking. He spends his time looking in the fridge, picking out bits of meat and chewing on them.

“You wanna steak?” He absently shouts over at Howard. “HEY QUINN YOU WANNA STEAK?” He offers the kinfolk still upstairs.

And then just shrugs, puts it back in on it’s plate, wanders out through the door to the alley.

[Bridget] Howard faces her, not understanding what she says. Bridget looks to Hunter before looking back to Howard. Her face is twisted with a bit of worry.

“I’m coming with you. Anyone who wants to keep me here will have to tell it to my hunting knife.”

She’s joking, right?

The punk chick folds her arms over her chest and looks to Hunter with a quirked brow. She scratches the back of her head, then looks to the injured Theurge.

“You better come along, sugar. Your ride is leaving.” The kinfolk approaches her kinsman and loops an arm around his torso so he can brace himself a little if need be.

Quinn tags along or doesn’t.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] And she’s out of sight, having wandered off somewhere upstairs. [[Thanks for the scene. 🙂 ]]