[Izzy Montoya] Her morning has been quite busy, and so it’s not until after lunch that she’s managed to finally swing by the building that houses Monty’s office. His office on the 9th floor. As much as she hates the idea of going up all those floors in metal death traps again, she has already made the decision. It’s just putting it into practice.
She flashes her badge and ID at the security desk, strides toward the elevators with purpose, and waits until she has one all to herself. Inside, the button pushed, and whiteknuckled grip on the back wall railing, she forces herself to breathe, just count the dings of the floors, just[omfggetmeoutofhearhurryhurryhurryhurry]breathe. The door opening on floor nine is a relief and she propels herself out of the metal coffin with purpose, stopping in the lobby there to catch her breath, to settle herself, to curse the very existence of the fucked up assholes who built this fear into a full blown paranoia.
Five minutes later, she makes her way to Monty’s office, and raps lightly on his door – ignoring any look of curiosity her little mini-episode gained her.
[Monty] Monty pauses in the process of lunch. He has, spread out before him, a wide array of different pate’s, crackers, triscuits, jams, jellies, pickled meats, gerkins, vegetables, spreads, hams and smoked salmon, caviar and cheeses. Each is set out on a little paper plate, with the respective bottle or container arrayed behind it, all of them radiating out from his central cutting board. A napkin tucked over his tie, he frowns at the sound of the rap on the door, sets down his rather murderous chef’s knife, and rises.
Moves with his customary grace, floating lightly on his feet, to stand by the door, undoing the hasp of the opaque fire extinguisher case that’s set beside it, and slipping his hand over the grip of the shotgun within. Slips the chain over to lock the door, and then cracks it open to see who’s outside.
“Ms. Montoya!” he exclaims, pleased. A moment to check that she’s not at gunpoint or unduly strained or stressed by some menace he can’t forsee, and then he undoes the chain, closes the fire extinguisher case, and welcomes her in.
“I was just about to enjoy a light repast. Please, come in, join me. I have fine meats, a little smoked salmon and caviar, not sturgeon, I fear, but still, I find that a number of the finer beluga sources are quite up to par, and the salmon is wild Alaskan, which is quite nice, none of that farm raised Chilean stuff. Nasty. Did you know they die it pink to make it look more ‘salmony’? The work of the Wyrm, if you ask me. Revolting.”
By this point he’s closed the door behind her, and is looking at her with an appraising eye. “Drinks? Shall I call my assistant Frederick and demand that he give you a footrub? Hot towel for the eyes? Or just a little bit of natter before you head out on your way?”
He’s clearly enjoying going a little over the top, smiling and drifintg toward the mini-bar as he does so.
[Izzy Montoya] She waits, patiently. Well, as patiently as she can wait anyway, for the door to open, and chuckles at the greeting. “Detective Montoya.” Not Ms. “And I thought I told you to call me Izzy?” A wink, as she follows him into the office and takes in his ‘light repast’ as he gleefully offers her everything but the moon.
“I’d love a drink – but I’m on duty for a few hours yet, so that’ll have to wait. Coffee’d be nice though.” Then she looks at him. “They dye it pink? Definitely revolting…”
He amuses her, that much is clear in her gaze, even as she slips from her coat, the handle of her weapon gleaming at the small of her back as she drapes her jacket over a chair. And she gets right to the point, even as she reaches and snags a bit of ham from one of those plates. “I hear you had quite the conversation with a Shadowlord recently… Ray Ostermann?”
[Monty] “Hmm, indeed, Mr. Ostermann came by yesterday, being vouched by Gina herself.”
Monty takes out a small, brightly colored little cup, the size of a thimble, and inserts it into a hole in the top of a designer espresso machine. Pulls a lever, presses a button, and the little, green lacquered contraption hums to life. Almost immediately a dark brown liquid begins to pour down into the espresso cup, and a delicious, deep, chocolately aroma begins to fill the air.
“And yes, it was a very interesting conversation.” Monty’s tone is a little more guarded now, or perhaps he’s simply recalling what was said. “He had some astute advice. If,” he says, turning to smile at Izzy, “That were the direction I wished to go.”
[Izzy Montoya] She watches him, sees the guarded expression, and considers the possibilities behind it – but it’s the final statement that brings back her chuckle, as she nods. “I am glad to hear that. He and I had quite the spirited debate on his idea vs. me telling him he’s an idiot over dinner last night. We’re both equally hard headed – I doubt he’ll see my point of view on it all.”
She leans a hip against the corner of his desk, still snagging little bites of things here and there on occasion as she inhales, and lets the scent of espresso fill her senses.
“So, is it safe to assume then, you’re not going to hand over co-chairman reigns to the lovely – if misguided – Ms. Musil?”
[Monty] Monty doesn’t answer straight away. Instead, he focuses on the espresso machine, and flicks off the switch when the little cup is full. Takes it, places it on a saucer, and brings it over to Izzy, to whom he hands if off politely.
That done, he moves over to the couch, takes a seat, leans back and lets out a ponderous sigh. Considers the array of delicacies before him, but makes no move to take any of them up.
Finally, he looks up at the Detective.
“He made some persuasive points. Heal the rift, delegate the side of the organization to her that I do not wish to busy with myself.”
Sinks his chin, laces his fingers, considers.
“I’ll be frank with you, Izzy.” Voice serious now, shorn of all play. Low, almost grave. “The number of people who voted was dismally small. What was the final tally, five to three? Two of whom were the principles? There is no enthusiasm or trust amongst the kin that this Coalition will accomplish anything worthwhile, or will prove to be anything but a waste of their time.
“A large part of that disillusionment lies with Danicka Musil’s antics. One moment she is voting for me, the next she is calling me ‘utterly unfit’ to lead the Coalition, the next she is warmly wishing me the best of luck and acting as if nothing had taken place. The woman is driven, intelligent, but does not have the skills to unite. I fear that making her a ‘co-chair’ would serve to only drive away the few kin who yet remain interested in this organization.”
Finally he looks up, and meets her gaze. “So, no, I will not be offering her a position. I not only believe she doesn’t deserve it, but also don’t think she represents any sizable number of kin. Offering her a position now would only destabilize us further, worsen people’s regard of my leadership skills, and allow a dangerously unstable woman into a position of power.”
[Izzy Montoya] She takes the coffee with a “Thanks.” and then follows him toward the couch, settling into a chair opposite him as she takes the first drink – more than a sip, but not quite a full swallow – of the scalding hot liquid. She runs her tongue over her lips, capturing the last of the liquid there, before she settles the cup and sauce on her lap, between her hands, and listens.
She nods, then. “They’re the same points he tried to impress on me – while completely ignoring the sense of what I had to say. The bottom line for me – and others, I would presume – is this: No one nominated Danicka for the position of leader. No one. In fact, I’m pretty sure she orchestrated John’s nomination instead. Then she throws her little snitfit when you’ve been in the position for a grand total of 20 minutes and challenges for a position she nether was nominated for nor wanted enough to orchestrate her OWN nomination and garnering the votes needed?”
She shakes her head, slightly, and chuckles. “It’s ridiculous, is what it is.”
[Monty] “Agreed,” says Monty tiredly. “I do not understand this ‘challenge’ business at all. If the chairperson has been elected, then I think we should be able to follow normal democratic procedures, and have him removed if enough people sustain a vote to have another election. Challenging… is very strange. I only agreed to this ‘challenge’ because it took the form of a vote. Something, you can believe, I shall change soon once this latest furor dies down.”
He reaches forward then, and with delicate stabs of finger and fork, mounts a small slice of white bread with folded salmon and caviar, and plops it into his mouth.
“So–no Danicka. That’s the upshot, and enough time has been spent and wasted on her. What I am going to focus on from hence forth is the future, and what tangible, practical advances I can help spur through the team leaders for the Nation’s cause, and our own number’s safety. GPS, perhaps a financial safety net, employment opportunities, a number of discrete safety houses, and eventually a mobilization of our united powers and influences to aid the Garou in their war against the Full Bloods.”
[Izzy Montoya] She nods. “Challenging is the way of our cousins, not us. It seems to me she just got a little carried away and too big for her britches. I told John after the first meeting that she wouldn’t settle for anything less than herself being in charge, no matter what pretty words she put into her speech. He owes me dinner now.”
That smirk is amused, and partially triumphant too. She does like to win, Izzy – but there’s something else there as well. Something… softer. So she moves on.
“Ray, once he gets over this little idea, likely has quite a bit of financial pull. I did a brief background check on him this morning. He’s quite ruthless in the financial arena. Useful, but keep in mind he is a Shadowlord – and how do you know a Shadow Lord is lying? His mouth is moving…”
[Monty] “The key will be to mobilize our assets effectively, and to pull recalcitrant kin into the fold. Imogen, for example–have you met her? She’s shown no interest in this Coalition, but she’d be a vital member. Others who have drifted away. And the only way to get them back is through substance, not rhetoric.”
Monty leans forward once more, and assembles an impressive little sandwich composed of gherkins, ham, baby swiss and thinly sliced tomatoes.
“I’m going to need a week or so to orient myself, and discover our full capabilities. Reach out to those who have abstained from joining, and see if I can’t get a sense of our abilities and areas of influence, exactly. I’m also going to, well, attempt to arrange a meeting with the Ahroun Elder. The… chap in charge of the war. See if we can’t begin coordinating our efforts.” From Monty’s expression, this is hardly something he’s eager to do.
“But yes. Tangible results. We need to identify problems and weaknesses, and start attacking them.” He nods once to himself, and pops the little sandwich in his mouth.
[Izzy Montoya] Wry, that smirk. “Yes, I’ve met Imogen. We have worked together before, but also on occasion outside of the force. She and I are supposed to have a bit of coffee at some point. I understand her reluctance – to be perfectly honest, I began attending as a form of rebellion. I refused to tell my ‘warders’ that I was doing so. It was my only real form of rebellion available to me at the time – until a fang bitch busted my ass in front of Daniel.” She rubs her temples lightly, and then takes another swallow of the espresso before continuing.
She nods, slightly. “Be aware that the Ahroun Elder is Danicka’s mate. And if you’d like backup, I’d be happy to join you if I’m available.” She notes his lack of eagerness for the meeting, and as she has met with Lukas herself on occasion, she understands it.
“And if there’s anything I can do to help you along, don’t hesitate to ask. While I’m not all about being second fiddle to the True, I am most certainly about keeping ourselves safer, and fighting the fight as we are able.”
[Monty] Monty nods, considering.
“A good point. Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Given your role in law enforcement, and your obvious knowledge of security and such, what do you think are the most effective ways to ensure our safety? You’ve heard my ideas on GPS and such–but beyond basic training with firearms and medicine and the phone tree, can you think of anything else I’ve not thought of?”
[Izzy Montoya] She nods, slightly. “The GPS was something I hadn’t thought of, but certainly is a good idea. It would have been very useful for me in Miami, though I am not really comfortable telling that story to those who live here. To many would judge because of it. However, I do support that idea, as I’m sure John would too. He worries about me too much as it is.”
There it is again, that smirk that is almost softened into a smile. She catches herself, and clears her throat. “I think you’re on the right track, and while I can’t think of anything else immediately, I’m sure things will occur to us as we go along. Have you met with Detective Thornton? He’s quite a few of his own ideas that could be useful to, I’d wager…”
[Monty] “No, I’ve not met with him, though I’ve been meaning to. Could you help me set up a meeting?”
[Izzy Montoya] Ah, she can’t help it. It’s an actual almost smile. “Yeah, I can do that.”
She pull her phone from her pocket, and within seconds has sent a text message through to the man in question. “I’ll have him call you for a time. Suit?”
[Monty] “Perfect, my dear, absolutely divine. Now. Let’s get down to business. You simply cannot leave without first trying a little of this hazelnut chocolate spread with crumbled ganache.”
Monty indicates a little tub with a wooden spreading knife balanced ontop.
“Shall I serve you a slice? I fear you may not be sufficiently generous with yourself.”
[Izzy Montoya] She finishes the text, sends it off, and tucks her phone away again, before chuckling. This is the kind of business she can really get behind – without it ever really going TO her behind. Such is the blessing of a high metabolism and good genetics.
“Serve away – I’d hate to let you think I’m starving myself. Though if you keep feeding me, you may never be rid of me…”
[Monty] “Hardly, my dear, hardly.”
Monty takes up a triangular wedge of white bread, and then liberally slathers what is clearly a boutique version of Nutella across it, ending with a swirling flick that leaves a food commercial-perfect curl at the top of the spread. He sets it on a plate, and hands it over to her.
“Enjoy, Izzy, enjoy. Mail ordered direct from Sicily. Ab-so-lutely divine.”
[Izzy Montoya] [and thassawrap! :) Thanks for playin!]