[Izzy Montoya] 1am: It’s late. The bar is closed, the restaurant too. That doesn’t mean the restaurant is unoccupied, however. As has become her custom since this ridiculous farce began, she’s in th back booth, in the company of her laptop and a mess of files from work. At the edge of the table, a plate that holds the remnants of her dinner, and in front of her, a glass of whiskey that she keeps filled from the bottle that’s also on her table.
She’s not sleeping, but for catnaps, and the occasional collapse at work, and she looks like hell. It doesn’t help that she also looks like she’s had her face smashed repeatedly into a brick wall recently – which, incidentally, she has.
But the rules only state she must be here when she is not at work – not necessarily in the bed provided for her. And so here she sits, the dedicated cop, pretending this is just another day.
[Lila] Lila enters through the kitchen — just like all the after hours guests; the guests who are practically permanent fixtures at the Brotherhood of Thieves [until one dies. They never do seem to get their shit together and just move out, do they?]. The galliard considers making food, too, but something pauses her. Perhaps the fact that this isn’t just some kinfolk’s house — some kinfolk who has an open policy on midnight refrigerator raids. This is a restaurant. This is a business. The money goes to: what? Building repairs? Salaries? Bills? Keeping all those freeloaders? So she doesn’t make food, not in he end. And she doesn’t have a room here, either, but she was in the neighborhood, and it’s so late, and she’s so tired, and there’s that couch in the common room…
And so. Lila enters through the kitchen and it is very late. Izzy is in the main restaurant, and, perhaps because it is so late, rather than going straight up to the common room [crash time], the golden-haired young woman wanders her Bohemian [is this the real life? is this just faaaantasy?] ass into the restaurant, and espies an Izzy, who looks like shit, a bottle of whiskey, and a mess of files.
Lila isn’t what anybody’d call shy. She goes right over to Izzy’s table, puts a hand on the back of a chair, and says, “Hi! May I sit?”
[Izzy Montoya] She doesn’t look up – not until Lila is close enough to ask if she can join Izzy in her booth. There’s the slightest arch of a brow, a micro-expression that is barely seen, though sends a spread of fire under bruised skin. Up close, the injuries are staggering. That she keeps working at the staggering pace she does is a testament to her blood, to the fact that she’s very. very. very. stubborn.
She looks up and studies Lila for a long moment, and then gestures to the other side of the booth with a shrug. “As you like.”
After all, it’s very doubtful that she would be stopped anyway. Izzy collects the files, and sets them aside, and closes the laptop.
And waits.
[Lila] [Aw, what’choo feelin’, Izzalicious, why you lookin’ at me like that! Percept+EmpathySPECIALTYc’mon don’t suuuck]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Izzy Montoya] While Izzy is the master of micro-expressions, there’s a lot that can be told by the perceptive, by those who actually take the time to look. Lila takes that time – and finds that Izzy is extremely frustrated, and beyond that, she’s furious. It’s not the kind of anger that burns bright and flashes and lets everyone know it’s there, but something far worse, far deeper, simmering and [ticktickickticktickingtimebomb] boiling in the background.
And she doesn’t trust Lila.
She trusts precious few, and this? This is just another interrogation that will lead to another lecture. And so she waits for it. And simmers.
[Lila] The injuries are staggering, and they do seem to stagger Lila. For a second, the galliard is silent (gets real quiet), and her eyes trail across Izzy’s features. Touch on bruises where they shouldn’t be. Touch on dents where there should be no dents. Izzy’s blood sings to her, speaks of her ancestors noble deeds: Fenrir. Must’ve been a Fenrir, then, who did this to her?
“I’m Lila,” she says. “Thank you. I just want some company. You look really tired. I’m sorry? Should I not observe that?” The woman (lovely) grimaces, touching both hands to her head for a second, pushing her hair back, away from her face.
[Izzy Montoya] There’s a slight smirk, lips curling slightly into it, though not quite enough to split her lips again, though the uncomfortable stretch registers quickly and the expression fades. “I look like shit – everyone else is observing, I don’t see why you should be any different.”
Bitter. There’s such bitterness that traces under her words.
your bitterness doesn’t become you.
She reaches for her briefcase at her side, finds her bottle of advil, and liberates a few -more than 2, less than 10 – and swallows them with a swig of whiskey from the glass. She drinks like a Fianna, she’s undeniably Fenrir, and clearly in a lot of pain – pain that she’s gotten used to carrying, but for the whiteot flashflares of agony that still bring her almost to her knees. It’s only been five days. She’s a long way to go till healed.
Finally, she relents, and offers her name. “Izzy.”
[Trent Brumby] Through the kitchen door he came, just like everyone else. Garou had a tendency to be up late at night, which also meant that they would be out rather then in, but he could always hope. He had planned to stay in touch with those of his Tribe, but something always came up. If he were to be honest with himself, he’d say he was almost avoiding them. But being that he’s their senior, and the run-ins from days before now, he’s not too eager to be around all that often.
Voices in a closed restaurant has him pause. He couldn’t hear anything upstairs, not like the last he was here, and for a moment he’s standing in the kitchen debating which way to head first. It can’t hurt to check the restaurant and save a trip up, or back down. So the door to the restaurant slides open, just long enough for a mess of black hair to poke in and curious, light coloured eyes to slip around the room.
[Lila] “Well. I suppose I don’t see why I shouldn’t be different? Is everybody else asking you what happened, too? Or are they being sensitive flowers, like me?” The door to the restaurant slides open and Lila glances thataway for a second. The garou has placed her elbows on the table, is resting her chin in the palm of her hand (cupped). Her eyes go back to Izzy, though, and she’s not particularly a creature of obfuscation. She looks [simmer (rage)] a little worried. A little concerned. A little something else, maybe.
[Izzy Montoya] “I’m shocked you haven’t already heard.” There’s that smirk again, even as she lifts her gaze toward the door, and sees Trent.
….fuck. More explanations. The simmering rage under her skin boils up again, though it only shows in the clench of her jaw [whitehotagonystab]. “But yes. A lot of questions. Might as well get ’em out there.”
She lifts a hand toward Trent. May as well kill two birds with one stone.
[Trent Brumby] Two people. Two women — yes, two women. One of them has a familiar voice and indicates a greeting or a wave over, he’s not sure which. Either way, he comes through the door and closes it quietly behind him. Leather loafers squeak softly on the clean floor, slightly covered by the hem of light blue jeans, fitted well enough to show solid thighs and a backside. A black winters coat is the expensive wool sort, the buttons undone over his dark, collared shirt.
“Good evening ladies, ” he’s greeting before he even gets over to where they’re sitting. “How are–”
Never mind the rest. He can see for his goddamn self. Trent pauses in step, abruptly. He’s struck silent, mouth slightly opened, as his gray eyes flicker over Izzy’s form, taking in what he can see of injuries and doing a quick assessment. There’s no disguising the man’s expression, which are open and honest on his face. He’s shocked, and maybe even, a little dumbfounded. The rest will follow in short order, once he’s registered the damage.
[Lila] “You don’t have to tell any story you don’t want to,” Lila says, “But … Of course, I’ll listen.” The woman doesn’t blink very much. She isn’t blinking very much right now. She’s staring, wide-eyed, and she is still [too still (mythic creature)]. Then there was Trent. Trent, who began with a smile, pretty Trent, whose words just get smacked out of his throat by the trainwreck that is Izzy Montoya. Lila blinks once (once) at him. There! A movement. Then, back to Izzy, the full weight of her attention.
[Izzy Montoya] She snorts. Maybe it’s amusement, maybe something else. Trent comes near, and can’t quite get the words out as he stares at her. She starts to say something, and then she just sighs, and reaches out to slide her hand into Trent’s squeezing gently.
“Look worse than it is.”
She’s not much of a liar.
[Trent Brumby] At least she can still move, he thinks. Though he’s not sure how. People like this are in hospital, have just came out of hospital, and are generally locked away on bed rest. But here she is, grabbing and lightly squeezing his unresponsive hand, as if to reassure him. The very idea strikes him as ridiculous, but that’s somewhere in the back of his current thoughts. He’s being bombarded with unasked questions.
Lila, the dear soul, is largely ignored, even for all her Garou heritage. Trent doesn’t bother taking off his jacket, nor his (now) larger eyes from Izzy’s face, as he slides to sit on the next available chair next to her. His mouth is closed by now, but he’s struggling to find the words. This hurts him on levels that he doesn’t even quite understand, and yet, he’s left to deal with it. After all, he can’t just stare.
“Do you want a foot massage?” He manages, but it doesn’t sound at all funny. In fact, the tone he uses is light and almost… weak. He’s begging to ask. Begging to know. It’s all there in his face. But his concern for her comes first, even as lame as his offer is. It was more then that – a simple need to make her feel better.
[Lila] …well. The question sounds a little funny to Lila. Lila folds her arms across the table and tilts her head to the side, looking up [not imploringly] at the older kinswoman. Waiting, listening, quiet, searching, thoughtful, wide-eyed, what?
[Izzy Montoya] do you want a foot massage… she blinks, and then – astonishingly, she’s laughing. It’s sudden and full and real, and almost beautiful for how very rarely it is heard. She lifts her other hand to her lips, the skin there splitting again as she laughs, even as she pulls him closer and moves to rest her head [ohchrispychristlaughinhurts] on his shoulder, her hand still in his, as she can’t quite catch her breath…
It takes a while, but finally her laughter trails off to the occasional chuckle, and she grabs for her napkin to press it against her lips as she lifts her head. “jesusmarymotheroffuck I needed that.”
A beat, and then. “Trent, Lila.”
[Trent Brumby] Now he does squeeze her hand, the moment she’s laughing, and again when she rests her head on his solid shoulder. The jacket there is cold from the outside still, not yet warmed up, but it’s firm and a good pillow when she needs it. The wool fabric is scratchy on the outside, nothing like the lining inside, that’s soft and silk against his shirt.
An impulse has him kiss her brow, oh so very lightly and brief. He’s swallows down as he takes in her injuries from close up, and averts his eyes before she can see how horrible he thinks they are. How horrible it is to see a woman beat up so bloody. Izzy helps distract him by introducing the woman across from him.
He extends a hand to her, the one not taken up by Izzy’s curled fingers. If taken, he shakes Lila’s hand casually. “Nice to meet you Miss,” he says, solemnly.
[Lila] The galliard is terribly glad when Izzy smiles [laughs], when tension breaks in her [like a wave], when she rests her head on the black fury kin’s shoulder. See how it shows? Her mouth curves, generous, and it touches her wide eyes. “Well, I’m damned glad you showed up,” she says, and of course she takes Trent’s hand, and of course she shakes it [I can be human]. “Hello!”
[Izzy Montoya] The last of her laughter falls away, though the lingering agony of it doesn’t. She reaches for her glass, and slams back the rest of the whiskey in there, and pours herself another. The only indication of her pain is the shaking of her hand and the bottle as it rattles against the lip of the glass. She’s become accustomed to keeping things under control, to keeping it all hidden. She always was good at locking it all away. It’s very few who have seen past it all, who have seen glimpses of her…
Trent is one of the. Her lovers have seen, they know. One has seen to the very core of her, and lived to tell the tale. None of them are ones that did this to her…
And she doesn’t let go of his hand – Daniel be damned. After she takes another swallow of her drink, and refolds the napkin to apply pressure to the splits in her lip, only then does she finally say. “May as well ask before you fuckin’ burst.”
[Trent Brumby] Lila’s enthusiastic greeting gets the edge of his mouth to lift, but it doesn’t quite reach that worry in his eyes. He may not be vocalizing that, pressuring Izzy into spilling the beans – goddess knows she’s spilled more then enough by the looks of her, but it’ll stay there until she’s ready to tell him. He won’t let this lie. It may be in a month, but he’d ask, eventually.
His thumb brushes the side of Izzy’s hand gently, back and forth, reassuring himself more then she was her. It was a habit, meant to be soothing, physical comfort. A simple acknowledgment that he’s holding her hand and supports her. Little things, they matter.
He looks from Izzy and back to Lila, letting her talk first.
[Lila] Lila didn’t think the question was directed to her, but Trent, or anyone, looking at her to take the lead, means that Lila steps up to the plate (so to speak). “Why don’t you tell, then, Izzy. Izzy Willy Nilly; you ever read that book? Please don’t bap me. I won’t call you Izzy Willy Nilly ever, unless you specifically request such a silly nickname.”
[Izzy Montoya] “Just…. Izzy.” And there’s something there, something in the way she says that, the way her hand tightens around Trent’s. It shows in her spine, in the tension in her shoulders until she forces it away again. That’s a silly nickname, from a book she’s never heard of.
Breathe, Izzy, breathe.
“It was the Fenrir, Daniel. I’d asked him repeatedly to call me by my name, rather than “Kinswoman” – from simple and easy, to when I snapped. When I snapped, he went to hit me, and I ducked. It enraged him further – he shifted and beat me unconscious. He drug me to the Jarl, who also has decided I’m a mouthy waste of flesh, since I answer his questions honestly, instead of what he wants to hear. He gave” And that comes out in a growl. “Me too Daniel – in hopes he’d learn control and I’d learn to be a pliant useless thing. I’m on full lock down here since he doesn’t appreciate my whoring – I can go to work, and here. No where in between. Thus… “She gestures to the files and paperwork before her. “I don’t sleep here when I can help it, and lately all my energy goes to attempt to keep the entire police force from finding out who did this, so that they can kill him themselves.” A snort. “I’m not even allowed to fuck – ain’t that grand.”
She did anyway. Thus, the increased lockdown. “I’m interrogated every night, I’m questioned and then punished for my answers, told i’m wrong and stupid to think. Who knows how long it’ll last.”
[Trent Brumby] It’s not really what he wanted to hear. It enforced the idea of rivalry between the Get of Fenris and his own Tribe and all the rumours that fly around about stereotypes. At first there’s not much he can say without sounding angry, upset, and like a male chauvinist, so he stays quiet and continues to stroke Izzy’s hand that he has resting on his thigh.
There’s enough silence for Lila to have her say first. But when that’s over, or the silence has been too thick to fill the room, he glances to Izzy and takes in her injuries. “No one has the right to do this to you. There’s no excuse. And I know I’m preaching to the choir here… ”
“… do you want me to talk to my Tribe?” He has no power. They might.
[Lila] “Why don’t you sleep here if your only other option is to sleep at work?”
The question is gentle [concerned]. Lila listened to the story, watched Izzy’s expressions, felt them [always, always, always with the empathy: I understand]. But after her question, Trent says what he says: that noone has the right to do this to Izzy Montoya. Noone has the right to beat her. To dicate where she goes. What she does. Lila eyes Trent when he suggests talking to the Black Furies. Black Furies and Get of Fenris, at war, is just what the sept needs right now. “Are there many of your tribe in the city, Trent?”
[Izzy Montoya] She shakes her head slightly, as she moves to lean slightly against Trent, her shoulder against his, gathering strength from his form, his presence. She doesn’t know that tomorrow she will have to face John, she doesn’t know that tomorrow she’ll have to calm down a kinfolk already angry with the treatment of the ‘lessor’ of the tribes. If she did… she might be inclined to cut this conversation short, to put it off till then.
But she doesn’t know.
Instead, softly. “That would only cause more problems. There are three of yours living here -they aren’t inclined to interfere.”
Lila’s question, though. There’s something clearly more than just… sleeping. Izzy swallows hard, and considers whether or not to answer honestly, and if so – how much. Trent might know, might be able to figure out part of it, as he’s been to her home before, and seen her avoid the elevator, noted that her apartment is a very open, spacious design, doors always opened. Finally, softly. “The rooms are too small.”
Especially room 8, with three garou, one who hates the very sight of her and is begging for a chance to finish what he started – who’s bunk is under her own. “I have a home. I’ll sleep in my car before I ever sleep fully in that room. I manage a couple of hours while they sleep before I have to get out. The couch in the breakroom at work is fine.” There, her co-workers, her true family, can watch her while she sleeps.
And most importantly. “I refuse to let him break me.”
[Trent Brumby] “There’s four that I last checked, and three of them I have met,” he answers Lila easily. Then corrects himself with a quick: “That’s the Garou. I’m not sure about our Kinfolk.”
Izzy tells him that his Tribe won’t interfere, and maybe she knows them better then he, but he’s willing to have a word with them. He still might in a round-about sort of way. Just to get some advice if anything, and Izzy needn’t know about that part.
He’s listening as she’s talking, explaining why she doesn’t sleep here and how she’s going to refuse to let Daniel break her down. Its admirable, even if he thinks it’s not going to happen. Izzy will die for her cause before that, is his belief – at least at this point of time, while his emotions are running deeper, and he’s still trying to register this awful turn of events.
“Try some herbal remedies to help you sleep and calm?” Trent suggests. “Sometimes it’s better to step back, let yourself heal, regroup and tackle the problem from a different angle.”
[Izzy Montoya] .
to Izzy Montoya
[Izzy Montoya] She shakes her head. “The rooms are too small. I can’t.” She goes to rub her temple, frustrated, and barely stops herself in time. She’s made that mistake before. “He says it’s justa weakness – like I was throwing a temper tantrum when I begged him to not make..” pause. stop. shakes her head. “I just can’t.”
And admitting that weakness – for it is, but a completely uncontrollable one – is not easy for her, at all. Even to Trent, when she knows he’ll understand. “I manage what I can. Then I sleep at work.” And showers. And eats. And generally lives out of the locker room and in her car.
[Lila] Now. Lila does not know Daniel. Lila does not even know of Daniel, beyond whose pack he is a part of. Lila reaches across the table to touch Izzy’s hand, or her wrist, because Lila is an unthinkingly (thoughtlessly, callously) compassionate creature, whatever else she is [monster], and she certainly understands fear. A slow pause. A slower blink. “Does it bother you down here? Maybe you could just make a nest. I have something I’m so afraid of I can’t deal with it,” she admits, but only after a brief hesitation. It isn’t something she’s in the habit of sharing, not even to make somebody feel better. The slowest blink of all: “You’re a cop?”
[Trent Brumby] “It’s okay Izzy, you’re allowed that.” He doesn’t judge her on her fears. Its just another point against Daniel that Trent will hold. Really he shouldn’t be that quick to judge some others, but, he’s full of testosterone and he’s from a Tribe that’s full of female supremacy, where a woman should never be beaten by a man. His judgments are clearly flavored by that.
He’s quiet as the two talk. He’s that silent, steady support at Izzy’s side. With his free hand, he reached out for the bottle on the table and poured her a new drink.
[Izzy Montoya] “I camp out here from the time I get here late, till the first cooks arrive in the morning. It’s a restaurant, I can’t rightly make a bed in the corner.” She shrugs, slightly. It’s taking its toll on her, these past five days. She’s clearly exhausted, as much as she’s in pain, too.
But she won’t let them see her break.
She’ll never let them see her break down.
Safer question. “Yeah. Detective. They want him dead.” Having to protect him… the cruelest irony of all.
[Lila] Lila sinks her teeth into her lower lip (plush, sweet [sensuous]) and worries at it. “I’m sorry, Izzy,” she says, quiet. Then, a quirk of her mouth: “But I’m sure that they’d tell you to budge up politely when they came in for the morning. The staff, that is. If you’re a cop, being tired all the time, sleeping on the job, that’s no good to you, to the people of Chicago, or to … well, the people. Us people. Your people. What’s … can I ask you a personal question?” She bites her lip again.
[Trent Brumby] Lila continues to ask questions, to offer up an empathetic ear and suggestions. Trent is gauging Izzy’s reactions, the way she’s moving and the way her eyes, red as they are, are heavy with pain and tiredness. The bottle of alcohol is pushed out the way and the glass is pushed towards her. Its probably not the best thing, but its what comforts her.
Trent leans back in the chair.
[Izzy Montoya] “My people? you mean the same fuckers that keep telling me they don’t ever fuck up so don’t NEED me to do ANYTHING for the nation but pop out a couple dozen kids? THOSE people?”
Oh. the. bitterness. She takes the drink Trent poured for her though, and tosses it back with a grimace, and then simply nods. “Yeah, ask.” Like these question weren’t personal to begin with.
[Lila] Her eyebrows both rise at Izzy’s ire. Lila isn’t surprised, mind you, but still: there’s something in the words; something in the tone. It’s like a slap, like a smack. And Lila is most certainly not Fenrir (or is she? Izzy does not know, and neither does Trent. Do they even realize she’s garou? Her rage is well-hidden beneath will). “I guess those are the people I mean.” Beat. “What’s the thing you value about life? What do you — what makes you happy? Or made you happy? Is it work?”
[Trent Brumby] He listens with his gaze shifting between the two of them. They’re good questions and better coming from a woman, right? At least he thinks so, for the moment. He’s there, clearly, as a friend. Izzy’s still clinging to his hand like it’s a comforting teddy. He’s happy to fill that role.
[Izzy Montoya] That’s… not a question she was expecting. It’s clear in her gaze, in the sharp look of suspicion, of caution. She doesn’t answer right away. She doesn’t say anything. Then. “I’m really fuckin’ good at my job. Really fuckin’ good. And doing that, and coming home with whoever I choose to spend my evening with, or just relaxing with the xbox and a beer… that makes me happy.”
A beat.
“You all” she knows… “keep taking that away from me. And I’ll keep fighting to keep it. I’ll take a beating every fucking day of my life before I’d ever admit to being less, to being worthless – before I’ll become weak and pliant and let the Nation have it’s way with me simply because I don’t have claws. My body. My choice. My job. My duty. My honor comes in doing what I’m good at, despite the fact that it’s unnoticed, and that I’m kept being told it’s useless and unneeded. I know better – no matter what you fuckin’ say.”
A pause. “I… we matter. For more than our fucking breeding.”
[Lila] Lila drums her fingers on the table. Onetwothreefour. Not impatient. Just deliberate. Then, sad: “Do you really believe that’s the only reason we see for kinfolk to abide?”
[Trent Brumby] His brows raise a little, glancing sharply to see how Lila would react to that. It was something hard to throw in the face of a Garou. Trent didn’t know she was Garou, he could have a guess, but it would be a fifty fifty shot. Izzy is determined that Lila is one of them, and by the sounds of that, them is a very bad thing to be at the moment.
“Izzy? Izzy, she’s not your enemy,” Trent says quietly but with an undercurrent of strength.
[Izzy Montoya] “That’s what they keep telling me. Look at my face, Lila. Why wouldn’t I fuckin’ believe it? He didn’t care that…”
and Trent speaks, and she closes her eyes briefly and sighs. “If they don’t want me to fuckin’ answer questions honestly, then they need to stop fuckin’ asking me questions.”
But she just stops, right there.
[Lila] “It’s okay, Trent,” Lila says, giving him a sweet smile. “I don’t mind. I don’t think Izzy was yelling at me, specifically, anyway. Do you think I’m the enemy? I wanted to call you Iz right there, but I didn’t. I have a bad habit, with names.” Lila scrubs at her face, and blinks again. Then she is watching Izzy again, still wide-eyed (maiden). “What do you think our reason for abiding is? Just claws and beatings?” A brief smile, not sweet, just — pale (sad). “I do actually want honest answers.” Gee: guess what tribe she is, anybody?
[Trent Brumby] Trent nods his head slightly and takes the back seat again. His hand slides out of Izzy’s just long enough so he can get up and take off his jacket, leaving it on a spare chair before he returns to his place beside Izzy. He felt better with that off, being that it was relatively warm inside.
[Izzy Montoya] She’s tired. Exhausted. And this is pulling more from her than she can handle right now. She’s so… so very tired. She slides her folders together, and into her briefcase, her laptop following before she answers the question.
Then, her hand back in Trent’s, she finally answers, softly. “Iz or Izzy is fine. Calling me “kinswoman” like I’m a possession to be owned or a slave is not.” And then. “I believe in the war, Lila. I do. And I know that your duty is to fight that war – to be the front lines. We’re not equipped for it – we are support crew. But support does not mean being mated at 13, and popping out a kid every year, and keeping the home fires burning. IF that’s what the kin wants, then more power to them. It’s not what I want, and I am consistently punished for it. Every time they scream that they don’t fuck up, that they don’t need us, it’s… maddening. It chips away at the faith and the belief that what we fight for is worth it. You need us to help cover your ass – it’s not the old days anymore – we have to adapt or die, change or fail. Daniel is a fanatic about the old ways – I will never submit to him – not in the way he wants. Not completely. I only do this now so that I can get the fuck away from him…alive.”
[Lila] [doo doo doo ignore this roll allala]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Lila] [one more!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 5, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Izzy Montoya] .
to Izzy Montoya
[Lila] We’re not equipped for it, Izzy says, and Lila holds up a hand, as if to stop her there, but she does not do anything other than that. Her eyebrows draw together, and she listens to the rest, head canted to the side, no longer resting cradled in her arms.
“We all fail sometimes,” she says, when Izzy is done, and really, Lila gives the two kinfolk a look like — well, like her heart’s breaking. It’s an eloquent look. The golden-haired galliard looks just this side of (yearning [wistful]) balladry. And her heart? is breaking for Izzy, for Daniel. Not for Trent, but for this kind’ve thinking. “And I don’t know what that means. Not submitting completely. You don’t sound like you’re pretending to be meek. You don’t look like it, either.”
“I’m really sorry, Iz.”
[Trent Brumby] “What you need is a good sleep,” without the fear, “… why don’t we head upstairs, and I’ll sit with you on the sofa’s up there?” Trent suggests to Izzy quietly. “You can have a nap in relative quiet, and I’ll try and make sure that you’re not disturbed. It’s not home, but it’s not the room either, and you’re not being left alone with … . someone who’s trying to push you into a corner.”
This was well after Lila’s had her say.
[Izzy Montoya] “I’m not pretending to be meek, but I’m allowing him to control me, somewhat, until I can figure a way out of this.”
Lila says she’s sorry, and Izzy studies her for a long moment, and then – believes her. Then Trent makes his suggestion, and after a moment’s thought, she nods. “Yeah. Ok.” She could use a couple hours solid rest… she’s about to drop right were she is. She gathers her things, and then… “Thank, Lila.” For listening, for understanding maybe for being the first that actually did either, in any way shape or form.
And then she’s standing, and once Trent has his coat, heading upstairs to face the monsters, and hopefully manage some sleep with someone she trusts nearby.
[[And I’m out! thanks for the play guys – 6am comes way too early. *L* see ya in a few hours!]]
[Lila] ooc: thanks for the play, you fools!
[Trent Brumby] Before he’s walking with Izzy up stairs to the second floor, he stops to glance at Lila. “Thank you, really. I’d love to talk to you again, some other time,” says the Black Fury Kinfolk. He meets her pretty gaze, takes in her features and finds himself smiling at her, only quietly, but that’s the sort of man he is.
Then he’s heading up to the second floor to play protector.
[Trent Brumby] (ooc: thanks too! )