Daniel:
Sometime late last night, Daniel seeks Kemp out. The Forseti is grimfaced and bloodyhanded. He carries what looks very much like a kill on his shoulder, but when he lays his burden at the Adren’s feet, it’s a woman. Still alive. Fenrir blood is strong in her veins. Her face is a ruined mess, as though someone had slammed it repeatedly into a brick wall.
Which… is exactly what happened.
Broken Hammer bends his head, eyes to the ground before the Adren.
“This is a Kinswoman of Fenris. I did this to her. I brought her here unhealed so you can see what I have done.
“We met on the street last night,” Broken Hammer explains, tone neutral and uninflected, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “We exchanged a few words; then I called her Kinswoman, which is what she is. She spat curses at me and screamed at me to call her by name. I attempted to beat her for her disrespect. She dodged. I told her to stand still for her punishment. She cursed me again, and I slammed her face into the wall twice. I then demanded apology. She spat her name at me instead, utterly unrepentant.
“At that point I ran her face into the wall three times. It was sheer luck that kept her alive. I do not think I would have pulled a killing blow.
“Standing witness were Dirge of the Covenant of the Fangs, Moira kin to the Fenrir, and Gabriella kin to none. Though none interfered, Dirge of the Covenant, to his credit, attempted to counsel wisdom toward the end. To my shame, I did not heed him.
“I believe she deserved a beating, Jarl. She has no respect for the Trueborn and for the sacrifices we make. But I do not believe she deserved to die. In light of my previous sins, my loss of control was utterly unacceptable.
“I ask punishment for my weakness.”
[For the record: Izzy is at 12 bashing –> 5L, 2B, which has probably degraded to 6L, 1B en route to Kemp.]
Kora:
[I hope that this is okay! If it doesn’t work, I will delete it. Thank you! 
]
Broken Hammer finds the Adren Rotagar at the storage locker that serves as his den. It is the dark of night, but another is there, too. The female is seated on the cold concrete floor a half-dozen feet from an electric heater humming on low, cross-legged, a Coleman lantern not far from her right knee, a notebook open in her lap. Blood is in the air. She looks up, sharp, still, from the Jarl to Broken Hammer, then down to the bloodied kinwoman at his feet.
Kora stands then, a neat uncoiling like a rope pulled to use, picks up the lantern and crosses the distance to the trio, the soft slap of her bare feet on the concrete floor. She doesn’t mind the cold.
The cold light of the lantern casts the woman’s injuries in stark relief – a pulp of flesh and bone, mucus and blood bubbling from the woman’s broken nose with each shallow breath. “This woman,” the Skald sinks to her haunches, then drops one knee to the ground, holding up the light over the kin’s face as she studies Izzy’s injuries. ” – requires a doctor. Or a healer. She should not be moved.”
In a gesture that would be tender were it not so matter of fact, Kora touches the kinswoman’s temples with the tips of her long fingers, smoothing a few stray hairs away from the ruin of her face. She looks from Broken Hammer to the Truth-in-Frenzy again, her features still with thought – or memory, clearly awaiting the Adren’s permission to speak.
Kemp:
He was caught in the process of pulling on a clean shirt when the unexpected guests arrived at his luxury home, aka the storage shed.
To keep the chance of being seen to a minimum, he stepped back, allowing Daniel to enter and lay his burden on the cement floor at Kemp’s feet.
No, he was not alone, so when Daniel spoke, it was in front of the Tribal sister, Kora. Before he got more than a grunt out at the bloody gift, Kora came over and made her observation.
“This woman requires a doctor. Or a healer. She should not be moved.”
Kemp slowly looked from the smashed woman to Kora with a quirk of one brow.
“Ya think?”
“Daniel, if you have not met her, this is Kora. You two can do your introductions to each other, but first, if neither of you has a means to keep this one from croaking on my floor, then you Daniel, find it now. I want her alive enough to hear me out.”
Daniel:
Broken Hammer nods once, a curt and wordless jerk of his head. He kneels and — not particularly gently — clamps his hand over Izzy’s forehead.
He is not an accomplished healer. He is, however, one of Bear’s. Spiritual energy ignites somewhere deep within the Forseti; a moment later, the worst of the kinswoman’s injuries heal. The crumpled-in scaffold of her cheekbones and nosebridge reassert themselves. A tooth, knocked free, spontaneously regenerates. Ruptured arteries bleeding out into sinus spaces reseal.
She’s nowhere near fully healed. But she’ll live. That accomplished, the Forseti stands upright again.
[snail
Wed 6:13 pm
Roll valid
to Theron Locke
(Daniel healing Izzy!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
Izzy is now at 4L, 1B]
Kemp:
Kemp watched as Daniel patched Izzy together, somewhat. Then glanced to Kora, one brow lifting as he waited for Izzy to stir.
“Let me guess, you have a story that goes with this? One that involves a Foresti who beat a mouthy Kinswoman to a pulp?”
Izzy: The first thing is pain. Blinding explosions of agony through her face, her skull, her mind. She doesn’t groan though – she does not make a noise as she wakes – not at first. Then, she sniffs, and then gags on the blood in her mouth, and rolls to spit the bloody phlegm from her mouth, then makes a sound low in her throat, and does it again.
Quiet then, she listens, to hear where she is, who all is here. She could likely deduct where she was taken, but Kemp’s question confirms it. Fuckin’ wonderful.
Had she heard the story told, she would have corrections to make, the truth to be told. Had she heard… but naturally she did not. She is no where near healed, though it is enough that she may not need medical attention, but the night is still young. Her eyes are black and swollen, mere slits her lips cut and bruised, her face mottled colors that no face should be. She was no great beauty to begin with. This doesn’t help.
She pushes herself up to sit, and begins the ritual check of her pockets, silent but for the harsh sound of breathing through her mouth. The search is two fold – it allows her to find her badge, her cuffs, her ID, her gun all where they should be – and it allows her to find her pack of cigarettes which is what she really wants. She shakes one out, and props it between her lips with a hiss, and digs the lighter out of the pack too. Pack returns to her pocket, she pulls her knees up, and braces her arms on them – holding the lighter in her right, and pulling the cigarette from her lips with the other, her head bowed as she clears her throat and spits on the floor again.
Charming.
Kemp:
Izzy moved. She spit, she coughed, she fished out cigarettes and she spit on Kemp’s floor yet again. It was the last straw. In a flash of movement his hand shot out, the smokes snagged, crushed in his hand as he leaned in towards her battered face and spoke in an oh too soft, level tone.
“You are in my home, such as it is. You will honor it, even if ya don’t honor your own survival at this moment. Spit again on my floor and I will clean it with your body. Are we clear?”
Kora:
“No – ” Kora snorts softly. She looks up at the Adren then, her dark eyes glimmering with reflected, her mouth twisting wide with a lively – albeit decidedly grim – sort of humour. “I’m afraid, Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya, that it is not quite that specific. Still, if you’ll hear it – ” the Skald goes silent at first to ensure that the Rotagar’s sardonic question was also an invitation to speak. She remains so, watching the exchange between the Adren and the kinwoman as the latter comes to, sits up, and pulls out a cigarette.
The grim smile stills, her features smooth over with thought, and her tone quiets. She pushes herself up from her crouched posture, standing to her full height. Then, she continues: “When Thorvald Shield-breaker beat a kinwoman into stupidity, Kveldulf Giantsbane – the Allseer – laid the wergild upon him to replace what he had stolen from Fenris and Gaia. Since none other would have her, Thorvald Shield-breaker mated her, and gave her care otherwise to his mother’s daughter. In doing so, he restored that which he had taken from the tribe.”
Izzy:
“Oh for fucks…”
Only it sounds more like uhfafuh.
She grabs the waist of her blouse, destroyed already, and tears the buttons loose. Belatedly – not exactly clear thinking at the moment – she shrugs out of her coat, and then pulls her fuckin’ shirt off to swipe at the spit because heaven forbid it mingle with her blood already all over the fucking place. Clad only in blood splattered bra, she pulls her coat back on, and tosses the shirt between her feet and braces her arms on her knees again.
The woman there says something, though it’s not exactly clear through the buzzing in her own head. Stories names mating something. thumb idly slides over the wheel of the lighter, as she clears her throat again, leans forward and spits the wad of bloody phlegm into the ruined ball of her shirt, carefully wiping her mouth with the back of her hand afterward.
Daniel:
Daniel tenses visibly, flicking his eyes from the ground to Kora.
“I am mated, Skald. She may have been taken from me on account of my failures, but when I have reclaimed my honor I will return for she who is mine. Do not think to dishonor me by forcing a second kinswoman on me.”
(Then moved to the chats)
[Broken Hammer] (i’m still at work and will be for probably another ~2 hrs, so you are forewarned!)
[Broken Hammer] (also i posted again to forums, so read before you post:
http://www.chicagodusk.com/smf/index.php?topic=7255.0)
[Kemp Oates] He listened to Kora’s story and where he had been leaning over Izzy in menace, he now straightened with a horrible gleam in his eyes.
“You, shut up and listen.”
He snagged the lighter from Izzy and threw it to the back of the small room as he spoke.
“You and you, introductions.”
He indicated Kora and Daniel with a lift of his chin.
“We start throwing away order and we will be as bad as this willful Kinfolk.”
Then he crouched down in front of Izzy and spoke.
“This is not a debate. There is no fairness here. We are wolves, not humans. So listen to me, and listen well for I have seen ya in action already. Twice now I have and twice now I have not been pleased. This is damned near strike three.”
[Broken Hammer] “Daniel Broken-Hammer, Forseti and Cliath, fostered in the Sept of the Seventh Isle.” Daniel has a faint, odd accent; something vaguely european but indistinct. Kora, with her Icelandic(?) ear, might pick up a hint of Scandinavia there, but it’s adulterated, blended.
[Kemp Oates] “Bravery is one thing. One is brave when they risk themselves for a greater good. Even if that risk is because in their heart they too wished they could flee like everyone else. Mouthy is not bravery. I don’t care what your ulterior motives were. I don’t care if someone taught ya to be this way, or if ya have P.M.S. I don’t care if this is your version of trying to show you are brave.”
He remained crouched in front of Izzy, speaking in a soft even tone the entire time. His arms rest on his spread thighs, hands dangling loosely between.
“There’s Brave and there’s plain stupid and there’s also instinct. Instinct….let me put it this way. A roach is a smart insect. It comes out when no one is up or home. It comes out in the dark, parties, has a great time. But when the lights come on, those with instinct, scatter. Those with a big mouth and balls, remain out in the light and get squished. Right now, you are the squished. Why? Because ya don’t use the common sense instinct gives a roach.”
[Kora] Her chin rises briefly, then she nods to the Adren’s direction, turning back to Daniel. “I am she who offers sorrow, Skald and Cliath, fostered in the Sept of Vindur og Rigning, in Hjaltland. Our kin call me Kora Eyjólfsdóttir.” Kora’s own English is virtually unaccented, almost wholly American, except for the faint lilt that someone might bring back after an extended period abroad.
The Skald meets Broken Hammer’s regard clearly and steadily, neither bristling nor turning away. The humor is long gone, however, and her glint in the lantern light. “It is an often-told apologue in the Sept where I fostered, Broken Hammer-yuf – ” she responds quietly, surely. ” – not literal advice, nor an attempt to dishonor you.”
[Izzy Montoya] Were they able to actually see her eyes, there would be something there, a spark, a flare, something. As they are near swollen shut -there is nothing. A muscle flexes in her cheek, sending a whiteflash bright light of fresh pain through the bone, and she makes no sound – just a huff of breath through clogged nasel passages.
It’s her name.
It’s a simple thing.
It’s a simple request she’s made repeatedly – with growing ire. She did not even scream it. Exasperated snap, much as one of them would should she call them other than by their name. […there’s an idea…]
They know nothing of her – and she is not about to fill them in. Far from broken, far from squished. Aside from ragged breath through injuries, silence.
[Kemp Oates] “What I see here is either an uneducated Kinfolk, or a Squished Roach.”
One finger jabbed at Daniel.
“I see there a hot tempered Garou. I see someone that would die for your kind, one that has lost brothers and sisters just this past week because they put their lives on the line every single moment of every single day. I see one of a dying race who deserves simple respect simply because of what he is.”
He held up a hand to stop anything Izzy might be ready to cough out.
“Yes, you put your life on the line. I ain’t discounting that. I am however questioning your respect and your instinct for simple survival. When Broken Hammer called ya Kinswoman, that was a sign of respect. It is not an insult. To take umbrage to it is one thing. To get hit and then still insist on being an ass, is asking to get exactly what ya got. Once again….instinct. The simple common sense of a Roach.”
He smoothly rose, looking at Daniel again.
“Ya came to tell me that a Fang had to talk sense into ya. Ya came to confess and dirty my floor with this. Ya wanted punishment. Where it is.”
He pointed at Izzy.
“This one is your responsibility now. You are to take her. Train her. Teach her. Protect her. If ya have to beat her, do not kill her. I will take umbrage to killing her.”
His attention shifted to Izzy.
“Ya force this from me, just so ya know.”
Once more he looked to Daniel.
“There is another ignorant Kinfolk named John Thorton. I don’t think this one and that Kinfolk should be alone with each other. From this moment on, if she has anything to do with him other than work, you are to supervise it. Until she proves she is not a bad influence on a weak mind, I don’t want them spending private time together.”
[Kemp Oates] “In case ya haven’t noticed, I don’t care for Fangs having to consul my Tribe in anything. Anything. I don’t care to know that the most insane one I have ever laid fuckin eyes on, had to be the voice of common sense.”
He was staring at Daniel as he spoke.
“Your challenge is to make something of this mess.”
He jabbed a finger at Izzy again.
“Don’t disappoint me.”
[Broken Hammer] This is the first time Broken Hammer and Sorrow have met. It is likely that ever thereafter their memories of one another will be marked or tainted by this single incident. It will not matter that Daniel was, until now, largely known for his few words and iron control, his devotion to the traditions of a bygone world. It will not matter that he counseled a brutal wisdom to his own packmate, nor that he stood against Truth in Frenzy in a Jarl challenge that was purely to honor the Adren and the tradition.
What will matter is that she sees him now, a Garou with a short temper, dark eyes snapping with rage, hands bloody from bashing a kinswoman’s face against a wall repeatedly.
And, more importantly: a Garou who could not control himself.
The muscles at the corner of his jaw flex when punishment is laid down. He would have preferred a beating to this. He would have preferred a public shaming to this. It is quite possible he would’ve preferred anything to this, but in the end Broken Hammer only nods once.
“It will be as you say, Jarl. I ask only one thing. If I am to teach her and ward her as my own, then I ask that I am her sole and only guardian on all matters short of life and death. Henceforth let her be accountable to me alone.”
[Kemp Oates] “Of course she is will be accountable to only you and of course, the Jarl. It is as it should be. What she does shames not just you and our Tribe, but me. I am sick to death of shame at another’s hands.”
His voice was steel.
“We are clear on this? I don’t want her influencing the soft mind of John Thorton nor any other Kinfolk with a bad example. If she learns something, let me know.”
”
[Izzy Montoya] Something in there amuses her – but there is barely a twist of her lips, before she’s clearing her sinuses again, and voiding the mess from her mouth to the shirt.
Otherwise, she remains silent.
She’ll have plenty to say, no doubt about that, but for now…
[Kora] The Skald stands quiet now, holding her counsel in close rein. Her arms are crossed and her hair loose, bare feet spread shoulder-width on the cold concrete floor. The lantern on the floor casts them in wild, looming shadows, but her attention flashes neatly between their faces – the bloodied Forseti and the steel-voiced Jarl.
[Broken Hammer] Again that tension in the side of his face. “No Jarl,” he says quietly, “I mean — accountable only to me. I pledge not to kill her, and if I do then that shame is mine to bear. But otherwise, let her be my kin and mine alone if I am to teach her. If she knows the Jarl stands above me, she will run to you every time she disagrees with what I say to her.”
[Kemp Oates] He shook his head slowly.
“You heard me. I will not budge in this. Though I will give ya this much.”
He looked down at Izzy.
“Ya come running to me? Remember first the Roach. I will accept no whining.”
He looked back up to Daniel, dead in the eyes as he spoke in a even tone.
“What I said stands.”
[Broken Hammer] The Forseti’s lean cheeks flush with color. For the first time, his eyes flick to the Rotagar’s, but hold only a second before dropping away.
“It will be as you say, Jarl,” he repeats.
[Kemp Oates] He nodded once, curtly.
“Now, if you require further healing for your Ward, I will call in help. Otherwise, get her out of my sight after she wipes her mess from my floor.”
[Broken Hammer] Daniel looks at the kinswoman for a moment, then returns his eyes to the floor between Kemp’s feet.
“That won’t be necessary, Rhya. She doesn’t need further healing.”
He reaches down, though, picking up the bloody mess of Izzy’s shirt in one hand, hauling her to her feet with the other.
“Wait for me outside,” he instructs.
[Kemp Oates] He might be Jarl right now, but he was also a Ragabash. It suited his own sense of justice and that weird sense of humor to make each of them responsible for the other. He watched as Daniel hauled Izzy up. She liked to show she was strong, she was above it all. This was another one of those chances.
“Remember Izzy Montoya, Kinswoman of the Fenrir. What you do reflects on Broken Hammer and it reflects on me. I won’t take any more shit. Show me you are worthy of the blood in your veins and smarter than a Turkey drowning in the rain. Show some respect and you will gain some.”
[Izzy Montoya] He reaches for her, and she grits her teeth, the flash of agony white hot between her eyes, across her skull as he hauls her up.
She jerks her arm free the moment she’s on her feet, straightens her coat, doesn’t bother to button it, and when she’s sure she can see the door, she stalks out – mostly in a straight line. She does not stumble until she hits the door, over the lip of the storage unit that she couldn’t see, but she catches herself with a grip along the side, and steps past the doorway and outside.
At least someone knows how to use her motherfuckin’ name.
[Kemp Oates] “WAIT!
He bellowed as Izzy jerked her arm free.
“Already you start on the wrong foot! Don’t…piss…me….off!”
[Kora] The female stands back from the pair of them now, watching. Her arms remain crossed in front of her lean torso, her feet flat on the bare floor. Then Izzy jerks her arm free and the Adren bellows at the kinswoman’s back as she stalk/weaves toward the door. The Skald’s mouth flattens into a narrow line, but her expression is largely lost in the mottled darkness.
[Kemp Oates] He was on the verge of doing something ugly to Izzy himself. His voice was nothing more than the grinding growl of gravel tumbling from the back of a dump truck.
“You do not jerk your arm from his grasp. You show humility Izzy Montoya, or I will show you what frightened really is. Now, turn around, apologize and then get out of my sight in a courteous manner.”
[Broken Hammer] Daniel, bloodsoaked shirt in hand, waits silently.
[Izzy Montoya] Again, the grit of her teeth as she turns. Oh she will have plenty to say. It is bottled for now as she grits out. “My apologies.”
And out again.
Daniel will find soon enough that touching her will never be pleasantly received.
[Kemp Oates] He didn’t wait for her to get out of eyesight before he spoke to Daniel.
“I take it back. If you find it impossible not to kill her, I might not take umbrage to it. Sure I will frown a bit and make noises, but this one shows no sense of survival instinct. It might be a lost cause.”
[Kora] The skald-woman does wait until Izzy out of the door. Then, in a low voice that suggests a sort of leashed, subsumed fury, she speaks. “Respectfully, Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya, Broken Hammer-yuf – that woman is a tool to be used like any other, not destroyed. Before you kill her – ” she looks from the Rotagar to the Forseti, and back again. ” – give her to me.”
[Kemp Oates] “She is a fucked in the head, thick skulled, stubborn fool who lacks the instinct survival. If I gave her to you, how long before she was doing just as she is now? I don’t think she needs coddling, I think that’s what’s wrong with her now. Someone filled her head with M&M’s and the fuckers are melting.”
[Broken Hammer] Broken Hammer watches her go. His eyes flicker Kemp’s way again, an impression of darkness and alertness. He says nothing; bends to scrub blood and phlegm off the floor, grimly silent. When he’s done, he wads the shirt up in his hard hands and stands.
“Weak swords are returned to the fire, Skald.” There’s a hardness in his tone; he does not shy from her gaze at all. A beat, and then he nods to Kemp. “Jarl, I’m taking my leave.”
He waits for dismissal.
[Kemp Oates] “Broken Hammer?”
He waited till he was sure he had Daniel’s full attention.
“I can understand why you lost your temper and beat her. I really can. I just expect better of ya. You don’t need someone of another Tribe advising ya not to kill your Kin. What you need is to learn to control your urges, no matter how fucking good it feels to give in to them at that moment. Punishment is not really a learning thing. Ya can’t just do something and then say, oh I was wrong, punish me. It’s not like confession and Hail Mary’s.”
He spoke softly, then lifted his chin, letting Daniel go.
“If it becomes too much, come to me before ya kill her. I will take the shame first.”
[Kora] “Swords at not the only tools at hand, Forseti,” the woman responds, her attention direct and clear. ” – if the weapon breaks when you use it as a lever to lift a heavy stone – is the weakness in the weapon? Or in the hand that wields it?”
Then, to the Adren. “Jarl, I do not ask for the woman. I have no desire to keep her. I would not coddle her. But before you endorse the death of a pure blooded kin of the tribe, I ask that you give her to me.”
[Kemp Oates] He turned his head to look at Kora.
“No, not at this time. Let us see how they grow together, if they can grow.”
[Kora] Kora looks at the Adren, her dark blue eyes gleaming. Then, she simply lowers her head, blonde hair loose, spilling over her shoulder as she does so: acceptance, submission.
[Broken Hammer] (hey, can i get a post in?)
[Kemp Oates] ((Do it!))
[Kora] (Apologies!)
[Broken Hammer] Kora receives no response: Kemp ends the debate; speaks to Daniel.
Again that muscle flashes in Daniel’s cheek, the Forseti so lean and hard that the motion is clear under his taut skin.
“Rhya,” he says quietly, every word hardbitten, “I was cast out from my Sept and the Hand of Tyr for inability to control my wrath. I know very well what my weakness is. It is how to conquer it that I have yet to learn.
“I have given my word. I will strive to teach this kin, not to kill. If I fail, then the shame is mine.”
There is no farewell; he simply turns away, stepping out of the storage shed. A thin crust of snow crunches beneath his feet. Near Izzy, that snow is red.
“Let’s go,” he says to the kin.
[Kemp Oates] As the door closed behind Daniel, Kemp smiled. Then he chuckled.
“Ya know.”
He turned to look at Kora.
“I find casting out such a pussy way out of doing what ya should of done in the first place. This one I will not cast out. I might have some altercations with him, but I ain’t giving up as easy as his old Sept.”
[Izzy Montoya] He appears, and she slips her hands into the pockets of her unbuttoned coat. She needs a cigarette like whoa – but has another pack in her car. A long fuckin’ walk away.
The snow under her feet is red, but she pays it no mind. He doesn’t touch her. He doesn’t call her kinswoman. He says too words and she starts to walk – back straight, ramrod thing, thrumming with tension and pain, chin lifted, head held high.
She is Fenrir, after all.
“I need to get to my car before questions are asked.” It sounds considerably less clear than that, but hopefully understood enough.
[Kora] There is still something leashed and fierce about the Skald’s expression. Her features are sharp, and her expressive mouth is still. The grim good humour that drifted to the surface earlier in the encounter has long since subsided, and the tension in her body is clear – in the set of her narrow shoulders beneath the close-fitting thermal she wears, in the iron-straightness of her spine. The Cliath looks at the Adren though, her dark eyes focused on his features as his face melts into a smile and a chuckle thrums through her chest.
She is still keyed up when: Ya know – he addresses her, and her head cants sidelong, the gesture distinctively lupine, the blonde hair spilling further loose as she listens. Something eases in the set of her shoulders, then – not wholly, but just enough to lower the sprung tension stiffening her spine. Kora flashes a look – more tooth than smile. Her voice is intense and sure. “I’ll remember that, Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya.”
She is a Skald. Of course she will.
[Kemp Oates] “Heh. Ok, blow my mind with your tales. I could use the sound of a voice other than my own.”
He made himself comfortable on the old twin mattress crowded in the small space and promptly closed his eyes.
[Kemp Oates] (((Thanks folks))
[Kora] (And thanks for letting me poke my nose in!)
[Izzy Montoya] (thanks for the play! :) )
[Broken Hammer] Broken Hammer does not slow. He does not appear to change his heading, either.
“Follow. Don’t speak. Listen.”
They leave Kemp’s makeshift den behind, such as it were, and the Forseti’s strides are the same determined long pace they always are. He has no vehicle — no car, no motorcycle, nothing. He made the journey from the Quebecois shore to Chicago on his own feet, two and four. He is used to walking.
“It is not to my joy that you are my kin. I doubt it is to yours either. Nevertheless, here we are, and there will be rules.
“There will be a hierarchy. I rank above you, just as Truth in Frenzy-rhya ranks above me. Your human mind may not like it, may believe in equality and democracy and all those lies, but that is how it is. The day you manage to best me in combat, you will rank above me. I would not hold my breath for it.
“Because I rank above you, you will treat me with respect. If you do not, if you attempt to dishonor me, I will exact my price on your hide. You will not shout at me. You will not curse at me. You will not attempt to command me anything. And you will cease this idiocy in demanding that I call you by your human name. It is a stupid name, and tells me nothing about you. I did not call you broodmare, sow, cow, bitch, or any such term that may have justified indignation. I called you what you are. Until you earn a better title, Kinswoman is what you are.
“Because I rank above you, I will treat you with what respect I deem you deserve. I will not command you frivolously unless you show me that you are worthy of no better. I will not degrade or demean you for my own pleasure. I will not make a slave of you, the way other tribes do their kin. Contrary to what you may think, I have not treated you like offal, Kinswoman. Don’t tempt me to.
“Because you are my responsibility now, I will protect you from genuine threats. I will also punish you for any mistakes you may make, in or out of my presence. Don’t think to act one way to my face and another behind my back. If you dishonor me, I will react as if your insult were to me, personally.
“Finally, so long as you are my responsibility, you will live where I do. You will move into the Brotherhood of Thieves and take up a bed there. And until a Garou or kin sees fit to challenge me for your hand, your whoring will stop.”
[Izzy Montoya] It is the last that she bristles at – the rest she expected because he is most certainly predictable. “I cannot live there. You are welcome to live in my home – even have the fuckin’ bed, but I cannot live there.”
There’s something under it, something under her words, something she can’t quite control, even as slurred and mushed a they are.
As for her whoring.
Well. She says nothing.
[Kemp Oates] ((Ok, I Must sleep. Let me know if I need to build that funeral pyre. Someone else has to bring the marshmallows and hotdogs. I will provide the roasting sticks and flame.))
to Broken Hammer, cricket, Izzy Montoya, spirits
[Broken Hammer] Broken Hammer stops dead, turning on Izzy.
“Did I fail to make myself clear? I rank above you, Kinswoman. So long as you are in my care, you will obey me. You will move in yourself, or I will drag you there by the hair. It’s your choice.”
[Izzy Montoya] She grits her teeth. “And I am ASKING you not to make me do that. I said nothing of anything else. Just that.”
[Broken Hammer] And Broken Hammer’s fist meets Izzy’s battered face again.
There’s this, at least: this time he’s holding back. She ends up on the ground, dazed, not dead. He hauls her back to her feet.
“You will not shout at me,” he says flatly. “And your request is denied. You will move into the Brotherhood until I can trust you elsewhere.”
(my ass is going home! pause for 30 min or so!)
[Izzy Montoya] He hits her. Again. It matters not that he’s holding back, due to the amount of damage already done – she sees stars, she sees white flash agony, she falls again.
And is hauled upwards.
Mind switches tracks. Tickticktickticktickticktickingtimebomb….