[Kora] “It’s a game of expectations, I think – ” Kora’s features are settled, but there’s a curl of amusement that twists her mouth and sparks in her eyes as the thought occurs to her. She reaches up to push her hair away from her face, to tuck loose strands behind her ear. There’s one earring there, a thick ring pierced through the inner cartilage, with a long tapered charm the size of a child’s fingerbone mostly hidden behind the shell of her ear. Her fingers are long and strong, with blunt nails painted a peeling black. There is the suggestion of ink on the inner hollow of her wrist, beneath a handful of braided leather bracelets. “How many people look up? You see what you expect to see in your world, and find a way to explain away the rest. If I see her again, though, I’ll give her a bus pass.”
Kora shoots Eddie another look, tipping her head in his direction. “Friend of yours, doc?” There’s something tight in the inquiry; leashed and alert.
[Imogen Slaughter] “He’s Kin.” Imogen answers the implied question, not the actual one, casting Emil a glance, her gaze resting there briefly.
“Detective Vaako, this is Kora,” she feels that she does introductions more frequently now, and it is not all at the fault of the detective. “Garou. She’s o’ the same tribe as Detective Montoya.”
[Eddie Vaako] Restless, huntsman’s eyes- as the two… women… spoke, Eddie’s attention had passed with swift discipline from point to point. Ear ornament, wrist, profile, whether her knees were straight or bent. The veritable catalogue of what those in his line of work do upon meeting someone who doesn’t exactly fade immediately into a crowd. There being no crowd at all gives a touch more time, and he’s half through before he realizes he’s begun the process.
he drops the cigar from his mouth, holding the thing at waist level and apparently about to speak up before Imogen does him the courtesy anyway. His attention flicks from the Doc to the Monster and he nods a bit.
Good voice- might add a touch of gloss to features that are a few years past handsome. Eddie’s voice is a contra basso rumble that can be felt in the chest as it pours across ears.
“evenin..” Another shifted look as Imogen clarifies tribe.. or at least as far as Eddie’s understanding will allow. “Call me Eddie if you like.” The manners are extra, and don’t seem a casual addition to his speech. Too forced, a touch awkward. They all seem to make him a weasel in a snake pit.. too many places to look all at the same time. What would usually be the sort of boneless confidence one would see carried by a person with pretty frayed morals is instead coiled, and not quite at ease.
[Kora] Imogen mentions Detective Montoya; a twist of irritation thins the creature’s mouth. The expression settles through her sharp features and stays there. Kora’s eyes flicker to Eddie’s face as the good doctor finishes the introduction, and remain there. She is a watchful animal, Kora; her attention is close and focused. Her eyes drop once, as Eddie removes the cigar, then drift back up to study his face again.
“Cheers – ” is her low-voiced greeting, accompanied with an ironic twist of her left wrist, as if she had a beer in hand. If nothing else, she reads the tension in the kinsman’s body and gives him his space. “You can call me Kora.” There’s a pause; the Fenrir woman looks away, then, her eyes narrowing as she surveys the darkened street, the reflection of the stoplight on the wet pavement. “You two here in a professional capacity?”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen shakes her head slightly, “No,” she says. “Merely coincidence.”
She takes another hit from her cigarette before dropping it to the ground, exhaling her smoke into the cool night air.
“And you? Just out for a walk, or patrolling?”
There’s a distinct shift from the norm for Emil. The way Imogen asks the question, enquiring about patrolling as if it were an every day thing, something she understands or expects. It is not a phrase that would ever be uttered this way among humans. Not this way.
[Rory] She isn’t on this side of the city very often, especially now that she has a place to take a shower that isn’t the Brotherhood, and a place to sleep that isn’t in this area either. There are, however, a couple of people she’d forged relationships with, in order to do a little work on the side, in exchange for a little cash to help feed her pack.
It’s from the door of one of the eateries that she steps now, a shy little grin as she nods to the big burly cook that follows her to the street. He dwarfs the shy little metis, as he talks to her briefly, then lets her go. She pockets the few bills that he’d give her, and then slides her arms through the straps of her pack, settling it on her shoulders. She pulls a knit hat from the pocket of her threadbare coat, and pulls it down over bloodred curls, and then starts the long walk home.
Which, conveniently, will take her past the garou and kinfolk standing near the mouth of an alley.
[Eddie Vaako] Eddie shakes his head resolutely, the cherry of the slim little cigar scribing an arc back and forth.. and he takes a bit of interest in it for the moment.. resolutely keeping his eyes from a dove grey split level a short ways up the street.
Not real professional, no.. but if Mikey doesn’t have my money it’ll have to get pro..
Pale eyes swing up to Kora, and pass between she and Imogen as the undercurrents of a code he suspects he’ll need to learn waft close enough to his understanding to perk him up a bit.
“Patrol?” He looks back to Kora again. “Like a…scheduled sorta thing, or what?” He rolls one powerful, lean hand through the air as he speaks.
[Kora] “Bookstore.” Kora hooks a thumb in the direction of the store from which she emerged, across the street – and offers the kinswoman a half soft-of-smile. The place is closed, now, shutters drawn over the narrow display windows fronting the street. The city is not silent, but there is a sort of stillness around them – on a cold winter’s night, the temperature below freezing and falling. Kora watches the arc of Imogen’s cigarette before it hits the damp concrete, sparks from impact, then gutters from the damp.
The next question draws a shake of the Fenrir woman’s blonde head. Both, she means by that gesture. Neither. Stiff-armed against the cold, Kora stuffs her hands back into her pockets. The wind carries the scent of snow from the lake; it blows clean and strong here, through the manicured streets of the wealthy enclave. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a city. I’m just – ” she pauses here, tasting the next word before she utters it. “learning this one.”
Her pale brows lifting in unison over her dark eyes, Kora sweeps her attention back to Eddie. One shoulder curls upward, lifting her dark wool coat in an eloquent little shrug. Up close, the damn thing is dark plum, with black buttons, half of them missing. “Like a cop on a beat,” the Garou woman affirms in response to his question. ” – except we look for things a little darker than drug dealers or taggers.”
[Imogen Slaughter] A glance toward Eddie with his question, then Kora for her answer.
“Garou form packs,” Imogen says. “And packs claim territory. Packmates’ll patrol the territory to keep it clean o’ wyrm. And some Garou patrol wherever they can fer the same purpose.”
A glance toward the Garou.
“If yeh’re interested in books,” she says, “there’s a good one on Wabash.”
[Rory] Where most Trueborn who walk down the street take a center path, a direct line, knowing that the path will open before them, she is not the same. She clings to the outskirts, the shadows, does her best not to get into anyone’s way. Perhaps by doing so, she attracts even more attention to herself…. perhaps not.
While she’s no great beauty – in her opinion – if her hair and complexion did not give away her affiliations, the deep scent of celtic highland warriors and heroes within her blood would. While she carries no scent of her own, but that the city lays on her, there is no denying the strength of her […wasted…] breeding.
She knows Imogen, and her shy little grin reappears when she sees the Detective with her. The other she doesn’t know, and it shows in the hesitation of her steps as she draws closer.
[Eddie Vaako] “Yeah.. I know what you guys are looking for.. just a bit lost on how you go about it.” The clarification is lightly given, and the rangy cop relaxes in smooth, even increments. He kicks a subtle look to Imogen, but the once he’d brushed close against their Wyrm was enough to spike the frayed protective instincts he still harbors for Chicago… steely bitch that the city is. The Fenrir knowing where she’s going and when seems like a good idea to him.
Eddie jerks a battered brass card holder from the pocket of a stylish black leather coat. Long fingered hands dance briefly and efficiently across it and he extends a card toward Kora.
“Um.. I don’t know how you feel about phones, but if you ever need directions or.. got questions.. something..” he shrugs.
“I’ve been around a while. Might be able to help out.”
Movement in the corner of his eye. Two fingers of his left hand drum rapidly against his belt buckle for a moment as vulpine features swing toward the mouth of the alleyway again.
Bouncing blood red hair. Cute hair. He knows that one.. Rory. But watches her like a puzzle he has yet to solve.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen turns her head to glance in the direction Eddie does, regarding her with something resembling disbelief.
“Garou are everywhere tonight,” she observes.
[Kora] “Oh – ” a neat, closed little look swings between Imogen and Eddie. There’s a twist of something in her mouth, a spark of ambivalence that livens the creature’s gaze, quickly shut down. Introduction to the Nation 101? Kora has been there before, not so long ago. Her teachers were somewhat less pleasant than Doctor Slaughter, however. “That part I can’t explain; not precisely. In the Scab, though, it’s hard not to find something wrong, everywhere you look.”
Eddie offers his card; Kora reaches out and takes it, between her fore and middle fingers. “I’ve got nothing against phones,” she says, with a passing grin as slides the detective’s business card into the front pocket of her jeans. ” – thanks.”
The Fenrir woman’s attention lifts as Rory approaches; the scent of breeding is strong in the air, the heroes in her line all end with the metis. There is nothing like it to mark out Kora. The Fenrir is plainblooded. Her coloring suggests her tribe – the blonde hair, the pale skin, the dark blue eyes. More than that, though, is her body language, the confident way she stands, her booted feet shoulder’s width apart, her hands tucked back into the pockets of her wool coat, her chin lifted, her attention alert, her eyes narrowed. “Evening.”
[Rory] She wraps her hands around the straps of her pack. Her fingers are long, slender, pale things, with nails that are so short they seem all but non-existent. Her hands tighten briefly, nervously, before she offers Imogen a little smile hello, her head ducking shyly as she does so.
She studies Kora for a moment through dusky red lashes, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot, before she falls still, and for Eddie and Imogen, who she knows, a soft “Hi.”
For Kora, it is different. For Kora, there’s a tilt of her chin, up and to the side – a subtle baring of her throat, as her eyes do not come anywhere close to meeting that of the other Garou. Silent, this submission – and automatic. And softly, when those eyes narrow.
Eddie has seen this – only to a greater degree. He’s seen her cower and scrape before an Ahroun bearing down on her, he has seen her apologize for something not even her fault, words misconstrued by the other party. And he has seen her wait for a beating, and seen her wounded so badly that she should not have lived. Of those wounds there are not even scars left on her pale skin – not that one can tell the way she’s bundled up. But the submission – that is very real, and very much the same, if of a more subtle variety this time around.
[Eddie Vaako] That’s always just interesting. The wall of Rage thrumming from the Fianna, considered against her demeanor.. it used to startle.. made Emil wait for the other shoe to drop. Its that sort of waiting force that always means a bad search let a knife into an interrogation room- and it always has the hound of a detective on point.
Now, he leans back, one snake- swift hand drifting to his side again amidst a quiet creak of leather. Rarely has he seen two of these creatures interact with each other.. he fascinates himself with the attempts to see the fur, the animal, gleaming through the skin. Definitely, some kin must stick around for the rush. He nods amicably to Rory, eyes slipping across her form and hunting for a hitch, a hiss of breath, anything at all to remind him of the sucking chest wound he’d last seen her with.
Bullets don’t stop them? Greeeeeeeeat.
[Imogen Slaughter] “Rory,” Imogen greets the metis simply before absently casting a glance down to her wrist watch, casting another glance to the gathered.
“S’about time I got on,” she says to no one in particular.
“Detective,” as she starts to exit, “I’ll give you a call a bit later, shall I?”
[Kora] “Night doc,” The blonde spares a glance for the slighter of the two redheads, a look dark-eyed, considered. The Fenrir’s gaze lifts from Imogen to cover the dark, now quiet street beyond her. “Be safe.”
Kora’s gaze soon returns to the metis, tracing a line down from the downslant of the Fian’s averted gaze to the twist of her fingers through the straps of her bag, nail beds blanched from the strain of her grip. There’s a trace of a frown flattening the natural curve of Kora’s mouth; it could be mistaken for irriation, but is instead simply thoughtful. Once more, Eddie is given a brief, spare look, then something clicks as she makes the decision.
“Rory,” Kora echoes Imogen’s greeting. Her voice is low both in pitch and in color, with an undercurrent of intensity now that may simply be a byproduct of her rage. “I’m Kora. Eyjólfsdóttir to the kin in Hjaltland, where I Fostered. she who offers sorrow to the Nation, Cliath Skald and Daughter of the Great Fenris”
[Rory] For Imogen, there’s a soft “..night.” and Eddie will note there’s not a single hitch of breath, or any indication that Rory is still injured, despite the severity of the wound he helped her bandage not long ago. She stands and breathes easily, if nervously.
When Kora gives a full introduction, Rory nods, slightly, and does the same, her own voice soft and pitched only for them, her submission evident even in this, despite the heat of her rage that pulses hot and heavy under her skin. “Rory O’Bryne, Fianna cliath mull foon, Bogeyman.”
She doesn’t seem to notice the twist of her words, the odd way they fall from her lips – as if she hears what she intended to say, rather than what she did.
[Eddie Vaako] For a moment, Eddie had seemed ready and willing to take off, once the Get’s stern eye had fallen on him. It seems a learned response, rather than the knee jerk foolishness that can spring from fear. He comes nowhere near interrupting, however- aside from offering a brief farewell to Imogen.
“Sounds good- the cell is best until around tuesday, Doc.”
Past that- he seems content to watch.
Avidly.
[Imogen Slaughter] (thanks for the scene, guys!)
[Rory] (thank you!)
[Kora] The tension evident in the Fenrir woman dissipates by degree; there’s no test here, no contest, nothing against which she must brace herself. The metis stands there, uncertainty writ large across her open features, her eyes averted, cast down – rising only through the scrim of her ruddy lashes. Kora’s mouth remains still – a long flat line at odds with the natural shape of her face. The expression could be taken for approbation, but is instead simply considered.
It lifts only with the slip of the metis’ tongue. “It’s a pleasure,” – mull foon is on her tongue, but she stops herself before repeating the Fiann’s transliteration. “This,” Kora’s hands are back in the pockets of her coat, the elbows stiff, nearly straight. She incidates Eddie with a tip of her head, the messy coil of her hair shifting against her neck with the gesture, the charm attached to her ear ring swinging free against gravity. ” – is Detective Vaako. Detective Vaako,” there is a resonance to her voice, now, and a minute, ironic little twist to her mouth as she continues, the overt formality of the introduction undercut by the expression on her open face. ” – this is Rory O’Byrne.”
Miss Manners would be proud.
[Rory] There’s a brief blush painted across her cheeks as she’s introduced to Eddie again, as if it’s the first time they’ve met. At least this time is so far less violent than the last. She lifts her gaze briefly, the smile a quick timid thing across her lips.
“We’ve met. He melped he bandage wome sounds a while back.” Again, there’s no thought behind her words, no hitch that shows any recognition that she’s made a mistake – which makes it impossible to fix them.
She lifts a hand to rub a finger along side her nose, briefly, then tucks her fingers back around the straps of her backpack. For Kora, a curious question. “You’re new?”
[Kora] Kora’s head cants to the side; she sucks on her tongue as she ravels out the puzzle of Rory’s word-salad of a sentence, mentally switching the phonemes around until she arrives at something intelligible. When the meaning clicks home, the creature casts another look toward Vaako, then back toward Rory’s face. They eyes don’t meet. The metis gives deference, offers submission – despite the beat of rage underneath her skin. Kora still searches the other Garou’s features when she speaks directly to her.
Then: “yeah – ” a soft huff of a laugh in affirmation. “I came to town not long after the last full moon, by way of – ” an expression twist of her shoulders, ” – a few different places, actually. You’ve been in Chicago a while?”
[Kora] (I… don’t want to be a spoil sport, but I’m turning into a pumpkin soon! So Kora’s gonna make an exit shortly. :) )
to Eddie Vaako, Rory
[Eddie Vaako] (No problem! My apologies if I’m holding things up- I’ll get speedy.))
to Kora, Rory
[Rory] (No worries! We promise not to make you into a pie. A tasty, tasty pumpkin pie… :) )
to Eddie Vaako, Kora
[Kora] [(grins) you are not holding things up! my natural speed is molasses. I am just sleepy. :)]
to Eddie Vaako, Rory
[Eddie Vaako] Eddie’s reaction to Rory isn’t the same coiled- snake, unfamiliar wariness Kora may well take as her due. A touch too familiar to be entirely strangers, the corner of the older man’s mouth twitches upward to the Fianna as words boil from him again.
“We’ve met.. ehm.. I call you Kora?”
[Rory] She nods, slightly. “A mew fonths.”
A beat, and a quick glance upwards to meet Kora’s gaze, then away again – just an acknowledgment that she knows Kora is watching her, studying her features. She doesn’t protest, of course. She never would.
“From Arizona.”
Some phrases come easier than others.
[Kora] “Yeah – ” her attention swings back to Eddie with his question, dark eyes sweep over his features again, noting the points of tension in his face absently, the way the muscles and tendons knit themselves beneath his skin, over the bone. There’s a twist to her mouth again; in spite of the rage, the blood-on-the-snow memories of her ancestors coiled in the dark folds of her brain, she’s a thoughtful thing. ” – Kora works. And thanks for the card. If I need anything, I’ll give you a call.”
Then: “Rory,” it is an address and a farewell, ” – just now, I need to split. We’ll have to speak again, though. It was a pleasure meeting you both.” With that, Kora simply, steps away from and around the small trio, now duo, of kin and Garou, and continues down the street. The wind scours through, colder and sharp now, a metallic undertinge in the air. She opens her arms to her, hands still in her pockets, the dark peacoat flaring wide with the gesture as she continues down the street.
[Kora] (Thank you both for the RP! I hope we play again. :) )
to Eddie Vaako, Rory
[Rory] (thank you! anytime! :) )
to Eddie Vaako, Kora
[Rory] .
to Rory
[Rory] .
to Rory
[Rory] Kora says they’ll have to speak again, and she nods her agreement, that she will be available for one obviously higher than her in station, in the eyes of the nation. After Kora has stepped away, there’s a slight difference in her stance – her fingers relax a little around the straps of her pack, her shoulders aren’t tensed and ready for a blow that never comes, and she’s able to breathe.
Finally.
[Rory] (whoops, didn’t mean to hit send. Was just writing ahead. *L* Oh well. Work.)
to Eddie Vaako
[Rory] (and well. after waiting over an hour ditched again.)
to Rory