[Mateo Marshall] The weather here was unseasonably warm, as it had been for weeks. Snow gradually melted, sending small rivers of run-off down the center of streets and into gutters. Luckily for the West-Coast transplant, he’d been able to miss the truly frigid part of the Midwestern winter. This wasn’t all that different from Portland, really, except for the copious amounts of snow-drifts that still lingered in spite of the melt.
Mateo was walking down the sidewalk in Lakeview. A blue-eyed Australian Shepherd puppy trotted along on a leash that he held loosely in one hand. She was infinitely curious about everything around her, and thus, the walking was a bit of a slow process. Everywhere they went was full of new sights and smells. Occasionally she’d start to wind the leash around her owner’s legs, but he seemed used to this, un-wrapped himself without complaint.
As for the kin himself, he was on the verge of tall, with shaggy looking brunette hair, large blue eyes, and the shadow of a day’s worth of facial hair lining his chin and jaw. The man looked younger than he actually was, and could easily have been mistaken for a college student, especially given the way he dressed: in jeans that were well-worn and frayed in a few places, and multiple layers of shirts. The top two layers were thin hoodies (white underneath, navy blue on top), and he had an assortment of bits of leather and string and beads tied around his wrists.
[Izzy Montoya] The rain that had splattered her earlier as she was on a bust has finally stopped, though she didn’t seem to mind it overly much. Her hair is still damp, as she steps out of a coffee shop, a Styrofoam cup in hand, warming her fingers as she replaces the lid onto the cup. An oddity, the liquid inside, in that it’s just black coffee, with several sugars and a couple creamer packets added to it. Nothing fancy for Izzy – she likes things simple. Plain. Easy. Likely, because nothing else in her life is easy.
She makes her way to the car by the curb – a shitbrown affair that is so much the undercover cop car that it’s a wonder why they didn’t just give up and mark it instead. Likewise, everything about Izzy scream cop as well – the way she stands, the way she dresses – business casual with sensible shoes – the bulge of a weapon at the small of her back under her long coat.
She leans a slim hip against the front fender, and takes a sip of her coffee, before digging in her pocket for battered pack of cigarettes, in order to go through the ritual of lighting up. The window of the car is down, the radio heard from within. She tips her head, listens, and then is apparently satisfied that it doesn’t refer to her, because she simply goes about flicking her bic and taking that first long drag.
[Edward Bellamonte] The puppy was infinitely curious about everything around her until she came across a smell that set the hair at the nape of her neck on fire, set her tail lowering, set her scenting the air, set her heeling to her master’s side rather than ranging ahead as far as the leash would allow, or lingering too long behind to check for messages. This is an odd part of Lake View – between the stadium and theatres on one side and the repurposed warehouses and factories on the other, there lies a swath of coffee shops and restaurants and bookstores and the like, not quite so upper middle class and higher oriented as those closer to the entertainment district.
Here lie the comedy clubs that just barely escape being dives. Here lie quaint bistros that avoid the prices of the Mile and similar places by virtue of having lower rent.
And look, there. A Silver Fang in conversation with . . . someone, and not particularly interested in it – he perks at something, a glimpse of Izzy, a hint of Breeding, and bids his adieus.
Poor puppy. He simply grins at her on his way by, and she whimpers, tail falling truly between her legs as she slips behind Mateo. “Hi,” he says to the kin, and there’s Breeding there, too. “You should come along. But your dog won’t like me much.”
He is, of course, heading Izzy-wards.
Bloody Ragabash.
[Mateo Marshall] Indeed, the puppy did hide behind her master’s legs. The delicate prickle of rage that rolled off of the Silver Fang was too slight to be noticeable by the people milling about, but a dog’s senses were much keener for these things. The Australian Shepherd’s nose had been buried in some bit of trash when it happened, and Mateo was in the midst of a large yawn when suddenly the telltale sounds of a high-pitched whine alerted him to the canine’s tension. When he looked back, she was crouched down and sniffing the air, shivering.
“Aw, hey… it’s alright.” The gentle-eyed man made a soothing sound with his voice as he bent down to pick her up, snuggling the puppy neatly against his chest. That helped, and she buried her nose under his arm and stayed like that while the stranger walked by and said hello. Mateo glanced at Edward, and he seemed briefly taken aback, but this was not the first encounter that he’d had with the way that rage affected animals (no, not by a long shot), and… after giving the matter some thought, he did indeed follow along after Edward. Though there was a slight hesitance that one always showed when dealing with complete strangers.
Izzy was regarded with a curious expression, and he nodded to her and offered a small, honest smile of greeting. “Hey.”
Then, to Edward. “Why am I following you, exactly?”
[Izzy Montoya] .
to Izzy Montoya
[Edward Bellamonte] ((On fire? On edge . . .))
[Izzy Montoya] Bloody Ragabash indeed.
She hasn’t seen him since that night in the Brotherhood, when he discovered that it wasn’t the enemy that had beat her near to death and incarcerated her in the Broho, but one of their own. He growled, he left, and she hasn’t seen him since. Part of her wondered if she would, and if it was because of her he’d disappeared – did he agree with them? Disagree? But then, along with everything else, it was buried beneath the overworking and careful toeing of the line in order to regain her freedom.
She catches the movement, the dog, the boy, and then, of course, Edward. She exhales off to the side, and lifts her cup again, so that she can take a sip as they close the distance. She crosses her arm over her belly, holding the cup against her, as that little lopsided smirk appears again. “Long time no see…”
And for Mateo, there’s a lift of her chin in hello, gaze dropping to the poor puppy, then back up to meet his gaze evenly for a moment. Then she tips her head toward him, catching Ed’s gaze. “Who’s your friend?”
[Izzy Montoya] .
to Izzy Montoya
[Edward Bellamonte] Why am I following you, exactly? “To meet Izzy, of course. May as well start making friends right away, right?” This as if it’s all common sense, and coming from a man in trousers and a button down shirt and tie that may well have cost most people’s monthly salary. He could be some corporate schmuck, but for that hint of near-manic to his smile (and even that doesn’t kill it – he could be a corporate schmuck on uppers, or . . .), but for that low tingle of Rage. Because it’s there, and it prickles even if it doesn’t poke and burn as it does in some of the True.
Long time no see . . . “I know. I . . . well, I did warn you.” He takes in the protective stance and leans in just enough to place a fond kiss at her temple before backing off and allowing her the space it seems she might want. “This is . . . I don’t know. But he’s one of us.”
Not one of us, as in like him, but . . . well, anyway. And for the new guy, “This is Izzy Montoya, who is amazing. And I’m Edward Bellamonte.”
[Mateo Marshall] These two knew each other, the man and the woman(cop). Mateo didn’t know either of them, but then, he didn’t know anyone at all in Chicago just yet. Another sort of person may very well have just kept walking, at this point, but the Gaian kinsman was more than a little used to chance encounters with strangers who turned out to be more than they appeared.
Briefly, his gaze dropped to the puppy in his arms, and the man uttered a soft, soothing sound. There was something intrinsically calming about this particular kin. More than just his tribal lineage (peace-keepers, all). And his fingers seemed to pull the nervous tension away from the frightened puppy as he ran them gently through its fur. Shhhh. After a moment, she quieted, and even went so far as to pull her head out from its hiding place and watch Ed and Izzy uncertainly as she huddled against her owner’s chest.
Introductions were made, and for this, Mateo looked up and took in the information he was given. One of us, Edward said. And now hesitant assumptions became easy conclusions. “Mateo Marshall. Nice to meet you.” He shifted the puppy to one arm and reached out to offer his hand to Izzy with a warm smile. “Amazing is a pretty enthusiastic recommendation, I’d say.” And there was a brief glitter of something kind and genuine in his eyes. (He had the sort of eyes that tended to emote near-constantly, whether he wanted them to or not.) To Edward then, he offered the same, giving a nod of recognition and holding out his hand.
“Children of Gaia, if you were wondering.”
[Izzy Montoya] To meet Izzy. Who apparently is amazing. She chuckles and leans into that kiss along her temple, her grin softening a bit, almost into a smile as she winks at Ed. “You did. Lot’s gone one in the meantime…” A lot. They’ve some catching up to do.
As for his friend – he is… “Pleasure is mine, Mateo. And it’s Detective Montoya -but you can call me Izzy.” A beat, and a soft chuckle as she nudges Ed. “And he’s easily swayed by my all to forward and often crass charms – he likes that I don’t pull punches. Oh, and Fenrir for me. Fang for him.”
[Edward Bellamonte] “Well,” he says frankly, “the crass could use some work. I love you, darling, but I think you’d make my mother faint, were I to introduce you. And yes, I am Silver Fang,” comes added as he sketches a little mock bow and shakes the offered hand. He is, physically speaking, completely average – an inch shorter than Mateo, normal looking (but my, doesn’t he look like a certain British actor with a fondness for blackjack and the Beatles?), normal build.
“It’s a pleasure. Have you been in Chicago long? If you haven’t yet, you’ll want to meet . . . Lila, isn’t it? Pretty blonde.”
[Mateo Marshall] The interaction between Edward and Izzy proved amusing, and Mateo laughed gently as references were made to crass charms. “Fenrir are known for that, aren’t they? I don’t mind crass. At least it’s a kind of honesty.” And then there was Edward, and talk of Silver Fangs, and Mateo seemed like he was about to say something, but upon second consideration, decided against it.
Instead he reached down to scratch gently behind one of the puppy’s ears as Edward asked him how long he’d been in the city. “Oh, not long. About a week. I just moved from LA. Originally from Portland though.” (And he looked it, too. Mateo’s sense of fashion was very Pacific Northwest.) “You’re actually the first garou I’ve met here. But if you know someone I should get in touch with, I’d love the advice.” And if said garou was pretty and female, that didn’t necessarily hurt things.
[Izzy Montoya] She scoffs. “Your mother would faint just knowing you’ve been consorting with a Fenrir at all – let alone one that’s crass and unschooled in the fine art of Fangian Etiquette.” Though it should be noted – shockingly so – she hasn’t said ‘fuck’ even once.
Yet.
Even so, there’s an ease there, between her and Edward. He doesn’t expect more of her than she offers, more than what is there, and she accepts him as he is – no matter what side of the emotional spectrum he’s riding that day.
She nods as Edward mentions Lila, and after Mateo says he’d appreciate any leading, she nods. “There’s a place called the Brotherhood. Restaurant downstairs, kind of a dorm for the Nation upstairs. Lila – she’s a fostern Coggie – doesn’t reside there, but checks in. They can point you in the right direction easily enough.”
[Edward Bellamonte] “Mmmm, there are other things she may faint over as well. I’ll have to figure out how and when to tell her, I suppose,” he muses, briefly [perennial adolescent] distracted; he is the youngest of their trio, by several years. This moment makes him seem all the younger. But then, there! Snap, and back in the moment.
Yes, he is Silver Fang.
“Yes, the Brotherhood’s not so bad, depending upon who you run into there. And the food’s quite good. I stayed there for a while when I first came here.”
There is an ease between Edward and Izzy; in fact, there is an ease between Edward and almost anyone. He is [seems] remarkably laid back for a Silver Fang – a bit on the entitled side, perhaps, but not painfully so.
[Mateo Marshall] Directions were offered: the name of an establishment that housed a number of the city’s werewolf population. It was an encouraging sign, and all the more lucky that he happened to run across family so quickly (not tribal family, but distant family nonetheless.) Mateo listened, then reached into the pocket of his jeans to fish out a napkin and a pen. He moved to lean against Izzy’s unmarked police car, glancing up briefly to give her an apologetic smile (you don’t mind, do you?) before he shifted the puppy in his left arm again and rested the base of his shoe against the door, knee up. The bit of napkin was pressed against his knee, and notes jotted down. Then he stuffed it back into his pocket along with the pen.
The puppy sneezed. (And why was it that when baby animals sneezed, it was literally the cutest thing in the world?) Mateo laughed and placed a little kiss on the top of her head. “This is Lucy, by the way.” Because she deserved an introduction too. And then, regarding Izzy and Edward once more… “That’s kindof sweet to see, actually. The two of you, I mean.”
[Izzy Montoya] She doesn’t stop him from using the side of her car to write, and while he’s taking notes, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out one of her business cards. It’s very much like she is – straight forward, no nonsense. “That bottom number is my cell. If you need anything – even to help find Lila.”
And then, he says that she and Edward are sweet, and she blinks, and looks at Ed, and blinks again, and then searches a brow. “He called me sweet. Should I shoot him now or later?”
She’s kidding.
Maybe.
Then she relents and a shoulder rolls into a shrug. “Ed and me are old friends. Well, I’m old, and he’s a friend.” She reaches for the puppy, scritching her little ears at the introduction, and then tucks her hand back around her cup of coffee, taking a swallow or four.
[Edward Bellamonte] “Well, you haven’t shot me for the same yet, so may as well give him a bit,” he says, amused – and doesn’t reach out to pet the dog, but does meet her eyes. It’s she who looks away, of course; there’s no doubt who’d be the boss there, but Mateo has her calm, soothed, and Edward does nothing to jeopardize it. There’s no need, and it’s not worth it for dominance over a puppy, of all things.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you. Not a day over twenty-six, she.” It’s teasing, with a roll of his eyes and a light bump against her hip. “And thank you. Vous prend plus de mouches avec du miel, Maman says – you catch more flies with honey. Usually, it’s true.”
There’s a bit too much energy to his smiles, to the way he bounces there between the two kin, but he seems genuine enough; not an insufferable snob, not obviously lost in some sort of inbred derangement. Perhaps he’s lucky, or perhaps he’s good at keeping such things hidden.
[Mateo Marshall] He laughed when Izzy suggested she shoot him, giving a slight shake of his head. “Actually, I just meant it was sweet to see that not everyone gets too caught up in tribal politics. I’ll reserve my judgment of your personal character once I get to know you better, though… under threat of gunfire? I’m sure you’re a complete, psychotic menace. I can picture Chicago criminals fleeing in terror whenever the name: Detective Montoya is mentioned.”
The smile that touched Mateo’s face was charming in its playfully wry humor as he reached out to accept the offered business card. He pocketed it with a nod of thanks.
Edward looked at Lucy. Lucy looked away almost instantly, though she poked her eyes back out from behind the crook of Mateo’s elbow a few seconds later. She was still nervous. Still shy. But… curious.
“I turned 27 in November. If 26 is old, I don’t even want to know what that makes me.”
[Izzy Montoya] That brings the smirk back in full force – she’s amused – as he mentions the fear on the streets. “I like you. I won’t shoot you yet.” It’s clear she’s very proud of her job, and she likes to think she does strike fear in the hearts of Chicago riff-raff.
“I’m a far cry from 27. But I don’t want the poor boy here to realize he’s crushing on a geriatric. Then I’d have to hit him with my cane.”
She sobers briefly though. “There are plenty of politics going on around here. I try to avoid it when I can.”
[Edward Bellamonte] “I’m twenty-three,” he says, and that’s probably not much of a surprise – that he’s still in his early twenties. Never mind the hints of silver (not gray) that already sing through his dark hair, or the wrinkles around eyes and mouth that are mostly from smiles and laughter, but not all. He’s Garou. This ages a person.
“She’s right, there are politics all over the place. But we’re friends, so they’re not so in our faces.” Not right this second, anyway, though Ed has his fair share of political problems that are completely unrelated to his association with Izzy. “And I’m not particularly keen on the political game either, honestly, except where it’s my job to be. What about you, Mateo? What do you do?”
[Mateo Marshall] “Oh, please. Everyone knows that older women are sexy.”
Mateo was the sort of person who seemed fairly well able to follow along with the dips and turns of a conversation, even amongst strangers. Friendly, outgoing when it suited him, and generally likable without being uptight. Given his tribe, that wasn’t surprising at all. When Edward mentioned a disinclination toward politics, Mateo’s eyebrows went up slightly. Then the Fang asked him what he did, and he offered that information up easily enough. “I’m a landscape architect, and I run my own business. Small, but we did pretty well in LA so I was hoping to try for a repeat here once spring comes along. Already working on some drafts for a few businesses.”
[Izzy Montoya] “Jesus, you’re only 23? Robbed the cradle with you a couple times, didn’t I?” Though it’s clear she’s amused – and she DOESN’T give her actual age.
“Oh we’re definitely keeping him.” She says of Mateo when he mentions older women are sexy. She finally takes the last drag of her cigarette and flicks the butt into the gutter to sputter and die, before she slides up to sit on the hood of her car.
She listens to what he does for a living, and nods, slightly. “Nice. His sister just had a park redone out Bronzeville way. So it’s certainly possible.”
[Edward Bellamonte] “Do you handle residential clients as well? I’ve a townhouse that could use the attention of someone with less of a black thumb than I have.” Or more patience with these things, and time to handle them . . . and needless to say, he’d rather keep his business in the family, as it were, than pay some regular humans to come putter around with the bushes and shrubs and garden. “And we,” he means the sept, “own a small park or two that may well need groundskeepers. My sister, Katherine Bellamonte, is a good one to approach about that. I’m sure you can do quite well, come spring.”
It’s not a complete disinclination towards politics, his, but towards the ones that are divisive, and cause internal strife where that sort of energy would be better spent on outside threats and problems.
“And,” he adds, all stage whisper and waggling eyebrows, “she really is sexy, isn’t she? But don’t tell her I said so. She might make good on that shooting threat.”
[Mateo Marshall] Being a landscape architect was a step above your average gardener or groundskeeper, but that didn’t mean that Mateo was too proud to do that kind of work himself. Frankly, he enjoyed it. Working outdoors was his favorite part of the job. So when Edward offered him the possibility of work for the Nation, the kin brightened considerably. “Oh, absolutely. I’d love to. My background is in environmental planning, and I do everything green and organic. Once the snow finishes melting, I’d be happy to come out, and you can let me know what you’d like to have done.”
He and Izzy had that in common: pride in their work. Mateo loved working with the earth; loved the smell and the feel of it; loved the way that the plants responded to his expert tending. He even loved the drafting and the creative aspects of it. This man could easily become completely absorbed in these things for hours on end and barely notice that the time had passed.
Izzy decided they were keeping him, and Edward picked up the the compliment that Mateo had playfully tossed about. The Gaian seemed to take the Fang’s question seriously, because he looked at Izzy for a long moment, brushing a flop of hair out of his eyes so that he could see her clearly. After a pause, he nodded. “Definitely.”
[Izzy Montoya] She’s suddenly being looked at, studied, and complimented – and she reaches out and smacks Ed on the shoulder. “I’m going to shoot you. You won’t even know when it’s coming either, just one day? BANG. You?” Mateo, of course. “You get a free pass tonight cuz you’re new. Next time? TOTALLY shooting you to.”
She shakes her head, and finishes off her coffee, tossing the cup into the nearby trashcan when she’s finished with it.
[Edward Bellamonte] “Oh, you love me,” he answers the detective, amused and pleased that she’s . . . well, amused, and hopefully pleased. “I’m going to tell you a secret about our Izzy, here. She talks a lot of shit,” and the swear, even as mild as that, sounds strange on his lips, doesn’t quite shape properly before falling out, “and is really good at what she does, from what little I understand about it. But she’ll help out in any way she can. And she listens when you talk. And, as we’ve already covered, she’s sexy. Those . . .”
There’s a twist of his lips, distaste, but he stops himself from saying anything too terrible about Chicago’s Fenrir – likely a good thing. “Anyway. Izzy’s a great friend to have, was the point, and . . .” He rummages in a pocket and comes up with one of Kate’s cards, plain, simple, unbearably rich and classy. “This is my sister’s, and,” pen, meet paper, scrawl out a series of numbers on the back, “this is mine. Not a bad start on a contacts list, hmm?”
[Mateo Marshall] “Don’t compliment the cop. Got it.” And if he still had that pen in his hand, he likely would have pretended to jot it down along with the rest of his notes. He took the threat in easy stride, though, as he did so many things. Edward’s assessment of the cop seemed plausibly accurate, given what little Mateo was able to divine about her from this first casual meeting, and he smiled at the two of them once more – the way people sometimes did when they found something about others to be oddly endearing.
Then Ed handed him both his own and his sister’s contact info, and the Gaian pocketed this as well with a nod of agreement and a soft laugh. “Looks like I met the right people. Thanks a lot. I suppose I should get going before Lucy decides to run off without me.” And there was some reluctance there, but it was getting late, and the poor dog had probably had enough of her first taste of Rage, even with the calming energy her owner had sent her way. “It was great meeting you both. Have a good evening.”
And with that, and one final, warm smile, Mateo set Lucy on the ground and began to head back down the sidewalk in the direction his house lay. The puppy was hesitant at first, glancing back toward Edward skittishly, but soon she fell in step with Mateo, and the pair of them disappeared around the corner.
[Izzy Montoya] Ed keeps going on and she just groans, and actively reaches for her gun – though it’s clear it’s in jest. Maybe.
She nods at Mateo as he takes his leave. “Take care.”
And then she smacks Ed a good one on the arm. “You’re incorrigible – and because of that you are SO buying me a fucking drink. Or ten.”
[Edward Bellamonte] “Nice meeting you too, Mateo,” he answers the Gaian, and watches briefly as he and his puppy leave before turning his attention to Izzy. “I’m bringing over a fifth or three, but not tonight,” he says, and there’s a hint of whatever scared-little-boy blues had come to his face earlier.
“Soon. You’re back at home now, aren’t you?”
[Izzy Montoya] She studies him a long moment, and then just nods. She’s always been accepting of when he just needs to talk, and it’s clear there’s something that has him scared, and off kilter.
“Yeah. Only have to be interrogated once a week now, though there’s still a long list of rules and regulations.” Some of which she willingly breaks, other’s she keeps because she made a promise to the one man who could get such a thing from her, the one man she trusts above all else.
Coincidentally, also the one man she’s not ‘supposed’ to see, despite the fact she does so with Daniel’s conditional blessing.
[Edward Bellamonte] “Alright, then. I’ll be by. And in the meantime, if you need anything I can provide, the offer’s still there,” he says, and comes in again – to wrap an arm around her, a friendly hug, before stepping back. “I’ve got some things to do. But have a good night, you. And don’t get into any trouble if you can help it.”
[Izzy Montoya] This time, she doesn’t give off the ‘back off’ vibe. This time she lets him pull her into a hug, and she curls close under his arm for a long moment, before she let’s him pull away again.
And then the smirk returns as she chuckles. “I’m always in trouble. Got shot earlier today.”
She might be kidding.
[…she’s not.]
She just winks at him though, and moves to the driver’s side door of her car, and climbs inside. “Take care, Ed. I’ll see you soon.”
And with that, the car rumbles to life, she closes the door – and she heads home.
[Edward Bellamonte] [And, it’s a wrap!]