[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Aye lad, tha’ I did.”
Ruarc chuckles, shaking his head some.
“Ah think ye need some water tae clear th’ fog. Ye cousin is likely tae hunt me down if’n ye get home in th’ state ye in lad.”
Said and done, Ruarc rises, emptying his own glass, shaking his head. He does not take Roman’s glass however, leaving the young coggie with it. Drunk is not a bad thing if you ask the Fianna. He moves to the bathroom, soon returning with his glass fileld with water which he places on the table in front of Roman.
“I can see we goin’ tae need tae practice ye drinkin skills lad.”
[Roman Turner] He had managed to get himself under control while Ruarc was gone. Fortunately his fog would eventually wear off and if he had to, he could burn it off quickly, but for now he was comfortably relaxed and fine and dandy half dangling off the chair. Though Ruarc came back and mentioned practicing drinking skills and straight as a preacher Roman said.
“Yessir, I need lots of practice on putting stiff in my bone.”
And that started an entirely new round of laughter for him.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] That brings another round of laughter from the Irishman himself as he takes a seat, putting away his instruments, zipping up the large bag once more.
“Ye a sturdy young lad Roman. I don’t see ye havin any trouble with the stiff part. The’e bound tae be some sexy lil bit o’ a kin who’s fancy ye caught. Stories about the Children o’ Gaia’s kin are legendary afte’ all.”
He shakes his head, chuckling deeply, smiling at the young man.
“Ye jus’ need tae ge’ ove’ ye giggles, o’ th’y be likely tae treat ye like a young kid instea’o’ a young stud”
[Roman Turner] Every word from Ruarc just made it worse, he laughed till he started begging for mercy, holding his stomach like it might burst.
“E..enough! Stopit! I can-can’t t-take anymore! K-k-keeling me!”
He was going to die from laughing, he knew it and the guy just said the funniest shit. He had no idea Fianna were such jokers.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Ruarc shakes his head, grinning. He was quite serious, and looking at the young man, Ruarc thought there might be a thing or two the young coggie could stand to learn. He wisely doesn’t mention those right now. Instead, thinking back, he brings up a subject likely to bring the no-moon around a little.
“So ye cousin, she is true-born a’ well?”
[Roman Turner] He swiped at his eyes, flushed and out of breath, it took him a moment to get his words out.
“Yessir, same as you. Only..only…stiffer!”
There he went again.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”I think ye are a wee bit lost tae the naughty thoughts lad. We need tae get ye laid me t’inks. Bu’ pe’haps bette’ not tae tell ye cousin, ye?”
The Fianna is holding back his own laughter, shaking his head some, just watching the young coggie. Had this kid come to a Fianna caern, he would have been stripped of that innocence in moments, and come out wide-eyed and stunned more then likely.
[Roman Turner] “Oh no, no, no.”
He shook his head, struggling to sit up straighter in his chair.
“I like ya Ruarc, I really do, but I er, I like girls better.”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Ruarc laughs, shaking his head.
“Oh lad, ye a’e fine n’all, but I was thinkin’ mo’e along th’ lines o’ getting a girl fer ye. I’m partial tae th’ women me own damn self.”
Ruarc leans back, grinning, body shaking from laughter that he holds within.
“Ye have’nae been wi’a lass yet, have ye?”
[Fiona Sullivan] There is activity coming from the communal bathroom. Steam rolls along the tile floors, running out from under the curtain drawn closed on one of the shower stalls, the water is eventually turned off with a twist of the faucet handles as the blond Fianna exits. She pulls a towel up to dry off and wrap it around herself, pausing in front of the mirrors over the sink. A hand smooths across the glass, smearing away the thick condensation of fog that blocks her image. She examines herself, half-turning to peer at her back, right hand rose up to poke and prod at the fresh wound on the back of her left shoulder.
Nostrils flare with a heavy grunt of air expelled out. Fiona shakes her head, moving away from the sink to retrieve her bag and a fresh pair of clothes out of it and gets dressed. Muscles ripple as she pulls on the only other pair of clean jeans she owns, tattered and ripped at the knees and across the thighs. She fished out a tank top, pulling it on over and then gathers up her dirty, bloodied laundry and pads out of the bathroom on bare feet, heading towards the washers.
Blond hair clings to the sides of her face and shoulders, dampening the shirt at the back as it soaks up her wet hair.
[Roman Turner] “I er, well to tell ya the truth, I got someone I’m interested in. I don’t want to ruin my chances by messing around with no lady of the night, if ya know what I mean?”
He was starting to come down, though the thought of his Angel bought a huge smile to his face.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Oh, got a sweet lil’lass ye taken a likin tae eh?”
Ruarc’s smile widens a little.
“Tell us ‘bout her then. She o’ the blood a’ well?”
The activity in the showers makes Ruarc glance around slowly, but soon enough his attention is back on Roman, looking expectantly at the young man, figuring that if someone wanted to join them, they would.
[Roman Turner] “She is beautiful. Little bitty thing. Red hair like a rising sun. Fair skin. Smart, so smart it’s almost scary. And she has a pet name for me too.”
He nodded slowly as his dreams ran the gauntlet.
“Shot a monster just to save me.”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Ruarc listens, smiling and nodding a little.
“She sounds like a sweet lass tae b’ sure. She got her eye on ye’self the’ as well I take it? Ye should’nae let ‘er go cold.”
Then he raises a brow slightly, as if it just occurred to him.
“Wha’does she call ye lad?”
[Roman Turner] “Bleeding Idiot.”
He nodded slowly, even as his attention drifted towards the sounds of movement as someone moved down a hall in the place.
“I think it is a special endearment that means, I love ya.”
[Fiona Sullivan] She studies the washing machines, glaring at the settings and the box of laundry detergent in her hand. A scowl forms, twisting pretty features into an ugly mask. Her upper lip pulls back into a snarl, Fiona snorts once, emptying the dirty clothing from her bag and tossing it and the bag itself into the washer. She twists the dial for a setting, tossing in the powder and puts it aside.
The lid slams shut with a loud bang before the Fianna walks away from it. Her head turns at the sound of laughter and conversation, an eyebrow quirked as she moves off in that direction towards the commons.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Roman had only thought Ruarc laughed before. When Roman reveals the pet name, the fianna nearly drops out of the recliner, only saved by the arm rests. His laughter a thunderous roaring thing, echoing through the whole floor. It takes near enough a minute until he catches enough breath and sense to speak again, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Oh lad… She sound like a spitfire o’ a woman, she does. Ye be a lucky lad to have caught her eye me t’inks.”
He shakes his head, grinning wide. He does not have the heart to even think of stating the thing that is so obvious to everyone except the love-struck no-moon. Of course, he IS a no-moon. This might all be a wonderful joke from the young man, but either way, it has Ruarc laughing and smiling in a very real way. The bang from the washing machines makes him look around again, listening to the footsteps that approaches before glancing back at Roman.
“So what is th’ plan lad? How will ye woo th’ woman tae yer side then?”
[Rory] Rory doesn’t come to the Brotherhood often. There are reasons for her desire to stay away, reasons that go all the way back to her first week in Chicago, right up until the last humiliation in room two, in front of everyone who decided to burst in and view her shame. But sometimes – sometimes it’s wiser to come here and clean up before making the long trek home.
Which leads us to one, blood-covered Fianna creeping near silently down the stairs from the roof, where she’d spilled over from the other side to land with a thud. Her jeans and t-shirt are shredded, showing bits of pale freckled skin beneath. They’re also bloodcovered, the scent thick in the air as she moves. Only the scent of the blood, of course, as Rory has none of her own.
She is barefoot, having taken off her shoes in hopes of not leaving too much in the way of footprints as she slinks through the hallway, to the second floor, headed – of course – for the showers, her backpack slung negligently across her shoulder.
[Roman Turner] He watched Ruarc laughing so hard and even joined in, laughter in his voice as he completely agreed with Ruarc.
“I know! I mean, how many guys could be that lucky? Ever have a smart woman kill a monster for you? It’s like a one in a million thing. I can’t wait for the folks to meet her one day. Though for now, I gotta wait cause well, she’s kind of involved with someone and, well I wouldn’t step in and cause her no problems, ya know? I just have to bide my time and be there when she needs me.”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Aye, tha’ be th’ smart t’ing tae do fer sure lad. But ye should’nae leave it tae long eithe’… If’n she be claimed, I’ might be bette’ tae challenge fer her love and yer right, before it turns bitte’.”
Ruarc smiles encouragingly to the young man.
“Find out if she feels th’ same way as ye do, an’ act o’ it. Ye be better o’ doin’tha’ rathe’ then sittin by the sidelines wi’a broken heart. Bette’tae have Love n’ lost, then nae havin loved at all, as some wise man once said.”
[Fiona Sullivan] “If’n she’s involved with someone else, how ya know she really likes ya at’ll?”
Her voice flits through the air from the doorway, it carries the faint tellings of an accent, but it isn’t too hard to pick up what ancestry the girl may carry if you listen to her speak after awhile. The brogue in her voice isn’t as thick as Ruarc’s or Imogen’s. Arms pull up to fold under the heavy swells of cleavage, her head tilting to the side to touch the wall, green eyes swimming over the two males as they speak of a woman she isn’t familiar with.
She keeps one ear to the hallway, listening to make sure nothing sneaks up behind her. There is a constant broil of heat that swelters feverishly from her skin, always burning hotly like the sun during a summer afternoon in July.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] (adds)
The rage of Fiona brings Ruarc’s attention like a beacon. The sound of her voice, the nuances of it brings a small smile to his lips. He looks the woman over, then nods to her in greeting, making a motion with his hand towards the recliners.
[Roman Turner] He started to explain to Ruarc all about things when the other voice joined in with a question. In that moment his attention went towards the woman and there came an instant change over him. Smiles fled, the laughter and love in his eyes was shuttered close and every bit of him turned bright glowing embarrassed red.
“Just know.”
Mumbled as he pushed to his feet.
[Rory] She is not the sneakiest of the Bogeymen, her steps not as silent, her tendency to trip over her own feet when trying to be quite usually drawing more attention to herself than she’d rather.. but she tries. Her backpack clanks and clatters and despite the ease with which she carries it, is clearly heavier than one would expect. Her steps are soft, but still make a bit of noise, and of course, she smells of spilt blood. Clearly, not her own.
She steps into the second floor hallway, and starts to make her way toward the showers, listening, as voices and laughter ring from the common room…
[Fiona Sullivan] The innocence of youth and a young, unsullied mind paints the image of Roman in the back of Fiona’s mind. She crinkles up her nose, watching the sudden change in his demeanor as if she had been the one to dash the young man’s hopes of ever seeking favor of his lady love. She tilts her head to the side, remaining by the door as she scrutinizes Roman.
“Nay need to get all embarrassed now. I just asked ya a question as to how ya know.”
Her nose twitches again, face lifting up to sniff at the air as the blond stands upright quickly, she turns away from them immediately poking her head out into the hall as the smell of blood faintly taints the air. It is the pull of purebreed that alerts her to Rory’s presence and a rather large smile blossoms on the blond’s face.
She knows that scent.
“Rosie love, is that ya sneaking down them all ways?” She calls out.
[Roman Turner] Mortified. A woman he didn’t know was asking him about his heart and he was mortified. A WOMAN was asking him about things shared with another guy. This was not a place for a WOMAN to ask things like that. He was just going to die. He knew how girls were, they made fun of you and laughed and told each other EVERYTHING. He was doomed.
“I gotta go. Thanks for the music and drink Mister Ruarc.”
He nodded towards Fiona’s direction.
“Ma’am.”
And that fast he beat a line for the exit, placing his hat on at the last moment as he stepped out and fairly ran down the sidewalk, red face and all.
[Roman Turner] ((I gotta go find food! Thanks!))
[Rory] She blinks, and then color splashes along her cheeks, staining her skin a far fresher red than the blood that covers her skin.
“Rory.” not Rosie… though even the protest is soft. She peeks don the hall at Fiona, and then ducks her head, blood encrusted curls sliding to hide her face, as she hesitates, unsure whether to continue toward the shower, or move to say hello to Fiona first…
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Aye lad, take ca’e o’ yeself now. I will see ye aroun’.”
He says to the retreating young man, shaking his head a little, still smiling. He gets up, moving over to the recliner next to where Roman was sitting, picking up the guitar there and putting it back in its case, closing it carefully and then brings it back to his own seat, placing it next to the large bag already on the floor.
“Poor lad ‘s got mo’e ho’mones then he knows what tae do with, he does.”
His gaze goes to Fiona once again, looking at the woman as she calls out to someone else, waiting now, relaxing back. He grabs the whiskey glass from the table, still half full like Roman left it. He shrugs his shoulders and takes a sip, settling back once more.
[Fiona Sullivan] Roman makes his hasty exit, Fiona looks back to glance in his direction. She arched an eyebrow at the boy, but only lifts a hand to wave in his direction. She looks to Ruarc for a second, green eyes flicking up and down at the man in the chair, her tongue pokes into the left side of her cheek as she stares a bit too long for her gaze to be comfortable.
“One moment… I have to see someone.” She excuses herself to Ruarc.
Rory corrects Fiona on her name, even if it is a soft protest. Fiona moves away from the door, abandoning Ruarc for the lovelier Fianna peeking down the hall. Fiona makes her way towards Rory, wet hair clinging to bare shoulders and her cheeks, fresh from a shower. She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, shaking her head.
“Ah, bonnie, but ya cheeks still get red when ya blush so prettily, thus ya turn all rosie, eh.” She croons out in a purr of words at Rory, coming to her side and brushing up against her in greeting, circling around her as she takes in the sight of the gore. “Out having a bit of fun, eh.” she reaches out to touch one of Rory’s blood encrusted curls.
[Rory] That, of course, makes her blush harder still, the color spreading under her skin that already burns like a raging inferno. Fiona brushes up against her in greeting, and Rory peeks at her briefly, lifting her eyes to somewhere around Fiona’s cheekbones, before dropping them again…
“Watrol pith the Warders.”
A bit of fun indeed…
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Take yer time lass.”
Not that she needed his permission. The Irish glances after Fiona, then takes another sip of his whiskey, looking to the other side, to the guitar case there. He picks it up, placing it over his lap and opens it. He runs ahand over the guitar, then pulls it up, laying the case down on the floor again before shifting the guitar to its proper position.
One foot up against the table as he runs his fingers over the strings, the other hand on the head, tuning the instrument. It didn’t need much. Roman had a good ear after all. Once it is done, he lets his fingers dance, coaxing soft notes out of the instrument, eyes half closed as he listens. Nodding to himself, he reaches for the whiskey glass again, taking another sip before going back to idly pluck at the guitar strings.
[Casey Steward] Footsteps resound on the stairs, someone climbing the stairs in a hurried, but not panicked fashion perhaps the person was simply use to climbing stairs quickly just incase something was chasing you.
When the man comes into view, its the tall blonde headed visage of the cities newest Kin, Casey’s hands are shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans as he comes through a rackish grin spread across his lips as he looked about and took in the sights of the common room, he had been downstairs before, but he hadn’t bothered with the uptstairs quite yet, today was a good day to so, perhaps the AC was better upstairs.
He was missing his usual, old sand blasted leather coat, but then, could one really blame him? It did almost feel like 99 degree’s out there.
[Fiona Sullivan] Her nostrils flare out, breathing in a bit heavier of Rory’s scent as Fiona chuckles. She pauses beside her, bending down to lower her head, trying to catch Rory’s gaze as the other barely lifts her eyes to Fiona’s cheekbones. “Don’t do that. I want to see ya pretty eyes. Ya never need to lower them to me. I am not the one that won the challenge I issued.”
She looks her over, “Ya right mess ya are. Go freshen up and come to the commons. There’s more of our brood mucking about.”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Ruarc looks up from the guitar as Casey comes up the stairs, offering the man a nod and a friendly smile, looking him over up and down as his fingers play softly over the strings.
“’Ello.”
Seated comfortably in the recliner, leaning back, casual, if it were not for the rage that burns in him. A torrent of heat.
[Casey Steward] [Just so those who don’t know, know…Casey has PD 2 Fianna]
[Casey Steward] [Er PB]
[Ruarc o’Conaill] (Then amend Ruarcs greeting to)
“‘Ello lad. Join me?”
[Rory] Rory’s scent causes as much conflicting information as the rest of her does – she has none of her own. There is nothing that is of Rory, but for the purity that tugs at the senses in a far more primal way than mere scent. What she smells of now is the blood of their enemies, thick and heady and coating her from head to toe. Of Rory herself though – nothing.
Fiona tells her not to lower her gaze, reminds her of the challenge won, and Rory, predictably, blushes. She tries to look up, to meet her gaze, and does so… briefly, before admitting softly.. “Habit.” And then with a shy little grin, slips past to make her way toward the showers again…
[Casey Steward] “Aye ello friend, wha’s tha word?” He asks, his own accent distinctly Irish as well, making it all the more clear just what tribe this Kin belongs too. He takes another moment to look about before he steps forward towards the couch.
“No a bad spot up ‘ear aye?” He asks as he steps towards the couch, quickly hoping over the back and seating himself with a casual ease and a grin. “Name’s Casey, Casey Steward.” He says holding out his hand.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Ruarc extends his hand, taking Casey’s in a firm grip. Calloused palm. The handshake is firm, but brief, and the smile Ruarc gives the kinsman warm and genuine.
“Aye, indeed lad. Name’s Ruarc o’Conaill. ‘s a pleasure.”
He leans to the side, reaching down to unzip the large back next to the recliner Ruarc is seated in. A little rummaging, showing the bagpipe stuffed inside, as well as some other small cases if Casey looks, before he pulls out a bottle of Irish whiskey. He places it on the table, nodding to the empty glass on the table.
“Help ye’self Casey. Good tae meet a fella Irish so far from oua shores.”
[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona stands in the hall watching Rory leave as she goes to get clean up. She turns on her bare feet, walking back to the common room. The sound of voices drift back to her, one of whom she recognizes instantly as that of the press boy. She peeks in, walking through the entry towards them.
Her hands come up to the back of her head, fingers catching the damp blond hair to twist it up into a knot at the nape of her neck. Green eyes move between the men as she pauses by the couches.
[Casey Steward] “Aye won’t min a bit if I do, thank ya.” He says as he unscrews the lid and pours some of the irish brew into glass, stoppering the bottle before picking it up. “Ta ya health.” He says before drinking down a good healthy gulp of the amber liquid before setting the glass down once more.
“Ahhh no to shabby Ruarc, no to shabby at all.” It is at that point that Fiona, the blonde haired woman he had met only once before pads her way into the room. Casey’s eyes widen in delighted surprise, but he doesn’t jump up to greet her.
“Fiona, how are ya lass. Tis been a goo few days, was wonderin how ya been. I jus had nae way ta get ahold a ya.”
[Rory] To the showers….
She slips into the bathroom, moving to the line of showerstalls on silent feet. Her pack is hung on a hook there, and without any sense of modesty at all, she simply strips from her bloodsoaked clothing, dropping it into a wet mess on the floor. She has no concept that her skin is something attractive to others, or that it is something that would excite others at all – to her, it is simply skin…
[…unless others are touching it, smoothing fingertips over freckles, sliding against her…]
Her body is long and lean, her curves there, feminizing her form, though still somewhat sparse. Despite the amount of blood, there is not a mark on her, pale skin freckled and uninjured. She turns on the water, and steps under the spray, not bothering to close the curtain as she begins to wash the blood from her slender form.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Ruarc is a tall young man, a bit over 6 feet. His hair is dark with only a slight tinge of red in it, shaved to the sides and a mane of short cropped hair in a Mohican hairstyle. His eyes are stormy grey and blue, intense much due to the rage that flows strongly in him. Dressed in a worn pair of blue jeans that have seen better days. A simply grey tee that lets monochrome tattoos peek out along the wide arms. A pair of hiking boots, long ago probably light brown but now a more permanently dark color from years of using them on dirty roads and in the wilds.
Ruarc looks up to Fiona as she comes back to the common room, once again nodding to one of the recliners for her to join them if she wishes. She is given the same look as Casey had gotten, as if seizing her up. But within Fiona flows a strong rage that identifies her to the Irish man.
His attention returns to Casey, and his grin is wide, nodding as he raises his own glass to take a long sip from it before putting it back on the table, hand once more coming to rest on the strong of the guitar in his lap.
“Aye, one cannae be withou’ th’ taste o’ home jus’ cause one don’ get tae run along th’ green fields. Drink up.”
Ruarc falls quiet however as Casey names the other garou, slowly looking between the two.
[Amelia Conway] Business had been frantic this weekend. Come to think of it, it hadn’t only been the weekend, but ever since the weather had brightened up enough to enjoy the outdoors. People desired nothing more than to enjoy the beautiful summer weather, and what better way than with a barbeque? She’d finished up all that she needed at the shop herself, trusted her employees to finish closing and left on an errand she’d been meaning to run.
The kitchen door, the ‘VIP Access’ as she thought of it, swung open to admit the sturdy Kinfolk woman. She moved to the staircase immediately, casting only the barest of glances through the kitchen on her way up, and appeared soon enough at the top of the stairs that emptied out into the common room of what she thought of as ‘Chicago’s Garou Hostel’.
She appeared as an average woman, somewhere in her mid or late twenties, with common height and measurements. Her pale blonde hair was cut short and swept back from her brow, make-up was sparse and mostly faded away from the passing of the daytime hours. Her face was plain, but her mouth was wide and expressive. She wore a pair of denim capris and a white A-shirt silver stars splashed down one side (the fourth was only yesterday after all), had a tote bag over one shoulder and rested at her hip, and had a pair of white strappy sandals on her feet.
Light hazel eyes were hopping from face to face, hoping to see one of the two she could count as familiar, but upon failing she instead lifted her right hand to shoulder height and held it with her palm showing, a stationary version of waving. When she spoke, her voice had a twang of the Southwest to it, present without being overwhelming.
“There really are a lotta y’all here. They weren’t joking.”
[Fiona Sullivan] There is a bit of a defiant lift to Fiona’s chin as her green eyes slide up and over Ruarc again. Casey has seen her do it before, when out on the street with Rory. The blond squares her shoulders straight, tilts up her chin and raises her eyes as they flash with a predator’s gleam. She is silent and fierce, her skin always burning, muscles always twitching – needing to move, if albeit restlessly, as she can’t seem to calm the beast within.
It is the purity in Ruarc that sets her off a little, just as it does in Casey and Rory. Fiona lacks any thing that would relate her to a distant ancestor, bastard child and sin-born that she is. She was the end of a Warrior’s legacy – his sins revisited in her flesh. She snorts once, lowering thick blond lashes over her eyes as they slide towards Casey. One corner of her mouth tucks upward in a tiny grin just for the kin.
“I come and go as I please, Casey, ain’t nothing that ties me down. Not a bed, nor a land, not even a bloody Weaver’s communication device. If’n I want ya to find me, I shall come to ya.”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Spitfire, tha one.”
Said to Casey with a grin, clearly remarking on Fiona. His smile and gaze amused. Then Amelia draws his attention. He raises his head to the woman with a friendly smile, in stark contrast with the heavy rage in the man.
“’Ello.”
He takes the time to look her up and down before answering her comment.
“Aye, we be havin a wee bit o’ a tribal meet’n’greet here. Yer welcome tae join us lass.”
A motion of his hand to one fo the recliners before he places it back against the guitar strings, tapping at them to provide a very soft note as he looks back to Fiona with a warm grin.
“Well, ye migh’nae be tied down lass, but perhaps a whiskey will calm ye nerves a wee bit.”
A nod to the bottle on the table before he takes a sip of his own glass, taking the time to let the whiskey slowly run down his throat, spreading its warmth trough his body. It’s the second bottle he has started today after all, and it is beginning to warm him up right and proper.
[Casey Steward] Casey watches the woman raise her chin, straighten her shoulders, and it made him smile ever so slightly as well, and when she looks to him, and gives him that smallest of grin’s the Kinsman picks up his glass with a laugh and raises it towards her. “Than ta ya Fiona, who no force on tha world will move ya, less ya tink it would be worth ya time.” He says with a wry wink before downing whats left in his glass.
Its at that point that Amelia steps through the door and into the common room, and the man turns with a look of surprise. “Well allo Lass, good ta meet another friendly face.” He says before looking back to Fiona and Ruarc in turn. But he speaks to Ruarc. “Yer righ there ma friend, no matter where we are, we shoul always remember where we’ve been.” He then looks at Fiona with a smile, one with a hidden meaning. “Ain’t tha right lass?”
[Rory] While she showers, she kicks her clothing into the stall with her, so as to rinse out the majority of the blood from them, before she puts them into the washer.
She doesn’t take long – she doesn’t exalt in the slide of soap and water over her skin, she is efficient and quick as she washes out her hair, once, twice, then conditions it with the special stuff Gina had found for her, something that manages to keep her curls under some sort of control.
Once she is finished, and all last traces of the bloody enemy are removed from her slender form, she steps out of the shower and into the warm embrace of a towel from the closet, scrubbing her skin till it is red and glowing healthily. She grabs her pack then, and pulls out a pair of cut off jean shorts and steps into them, slipping them over her slender hips, before she tugs on a clean t-shirt too.
Still barefoot, she tosses the towel over the soggy soaking clothing, and wraps it all up into a dripping bundle, grabs it up in one hand, her pack in the other, and makes her way to the laundry room, sneaking past the door to the common room, quietly. The wet clothing goes into the washer, soap following only after she sniffs it experimentally, washer is started and then she – and her backpack, and the brush she liberates from a pocket, head toward the common room and the voices therein…
[Ruarc o’Conaill] (brb post around me)
[Amelia Conway] Those light hazel-toned eyes, some odd blend of green and amber, slipped from one face to the next– from the statuesque woman to the men seated with their glasses of whiskey. Each greeted her with smiles and bright attitudes and, for some reason, brogues. She couldn’t differentiate between Scottish Irish or Welsh very well, but she understood that all were from the Isles. She blinked, adjusted the shoulder strap, and shifted her weight between her feet. Unpainted lips parted to make way for words, but these were stalled by the appearance of another coming out the opposite hall, another woman, this with bold curling red hair and a small face with large features upon it.
“Ahhh,” the Kinwoman started, lifting a hand to sweep her hair back, making sure it kept out of her eyes. “I figure I could take a pretty good guess at what kinda ‘tribal meeting’ is going on here.” She looked to the whiskey bottle, that mixed with the accents was a pretty heavy giveaway.
“…And if I’m right, would any of y’all know a ‘Robbie’? Said he’s Galliard.”
[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona’s voice rumbles out in a purr of laughter. It is a husky, growling sound that erupts from the blond’s lips. She shakes her head at the men, snorting indignantly. Her green eyes pin on Amelia, and she suddenly straightens up even more, her chest puffing out slightly to posture.
She has to force herself to calm down, crinkling up her nose, causing the freckles that splash across her cheeks and nose to dance over sun-kissed skin. Fiona moves towards the sectional couch, she flops down into the cushions beside Casey, and sprawls across the man’s lap if he allows her to.
She answers Amelia, “Nay, do not know Robbie personally. Does he stay here at the brotherhood?”
[Casey Steward] Casey can’t help but chuckle as Fiona claims the seat next to him and then annex’s his lap to her purposes. He simply looks down at her with a raised brow and nods. “Gla ta see your gettin comfy lass.” He says as he reaches around her and pours another glass of whiskey before offering it to her.
He then turns back to to Ameila and shakes his head. “Sorry lass, I’m still far ta fresh in this area, jus got off the plane pretty much, otherwise I’d help ya best as I could.”
His eyes then travel to Rory, and they widen with delight once more. “Allo lass.” He calls with a wave. “Join us won’t ya?”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Robbie? Aye, ive seen th’ man once, bu’I dinnae know his current whereabouts, sorry lass. Bu’th’ way t’ings are goin, he is bound tae show up soone’rathe’ then late’.”
Ruarc has a thick Irish accent, with more than a little trace of Scottish in it.
“Sae join us lass.”
The Irish man looks to Fiona and Casey, chuckling a bit and offering them both a grin. Then Rory enters and draws Ruarc’s attention. Another fountain of rage to fill the common room. But this one is clearly of the Fianna tribe. It is the blood in her that draws Ruarc’s attention, his smile widening.
“’Ello lass.”
A motion to the comfortable seats.
“Aye, come join. Have a drink wi’us.”
[Rory] Rory peeks around the door toward the common room, and is greeted by Casey – which, predictably, makes her blush. Seeing Fionna sprawled across the kinsmen lap like that causes the blush to heighten, and Rory steps into the room, silent on bare feet.
“hi.”
Soft, so soft the greeting, as she slips inside and debates on where to sit, all while hiding behind those curls… She takes a breath, her fingers tightening around the handle of her brush, as she sets her pack down, and finally settles into an empty beanbag chair, sinking into it’s depths as if she wills it to swallow her whole. It doesn’t, so instead, she attempts to run that brush through damp and misbehaving curls…
[Amelia Conway] “Pretty keen on liquoring the collective up, ain’tcha?”
She peered at Ruarc with only the smallest upward quirk at one corner of her generous mouth, but moved forward anyways. She found the empty side of the sectional, one where Fianna weren’t sprawling across cushions and one another, and set down the tote bag, shrugging the strap from a bare shoulder that was touched only lightly with freckles formed from sun damage rather than a normal complection and built strong from what had to be a life of manual labor, sturdy rather than defined like those who spend much time of their time sculpting themselves at a gym.
“Well, I was looking for him, but I suppose that’s only because he was the only other Fianna I knew of. Seeing as you folks are tribe too, I guess this’ll serve you too.”
She fished around in the tote, but took her time about it. Curiosity was an entertaining thing to watch.
[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona accepts the glass of whiskey, drawing it down to her face as she sniffs at it. Elbows tuck into her sides, wiggling a bit to get more comfortable. She looks up to Casey, arching an eyebrow, “Ya bit lumpy for a pillow.” this snorted out as she takes a swallow of the alcohol in her glass. Green eyes turn immediately to settle on Rory, blond eyebrows arc high as she watches the other try to decide where to sit.
The lush line of her bottom lip pulls in as she chews on it, another swallow and the glass was emptied. She hums to herself, glancing around at the others in the room as it begins to swell up with rage and purebreed. The empty glass is handed back to the kin she uses as a pillow, her legs swinging down to plant her feet on the floor and Fiona sits up. She scoots off the couch, gravitating over to Rory’s bean bag chair and sits next to her.
She extends a hand out for the comb, “Here, let me help, Rory.”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Ruarc watches Rory, eyebrows raising slightly at the shy womans behaviour. Quite a ocntraditcion. Her tribe and her rage and her breeding did go right against that shyness. Curious. And Amelia works on that curiosity, Ruarc’s attention moving from the curious flame haired garou to the apperant kin woman, his eyebrows raising.
“Ohh whatcha got there lass? More Whiskey fer us?”
As if responding to the anticipation of what Amelia is going to reveal, his fingers strum out a “dun dun duun” tune on the guitar in his lap.
Said with a grin. Liquring them up? All he had done was produce some whiskey. Had this been a real party? There would have been fianna mead on the table, and things would be quite a bit rowdier already.
[Casey Steward] Casey watched as the woman in his lap drowned the whiskey, and comments on how lumpy he is, which draws a chuckle from the man’s lips. He wasn’t even flustered when the woman left his lap and moved to help Rory, he was becoming used to the dynamic that existed between them, and how Rory took a certain amount of priority. He watched her go, and then looked over to Amelia.
“Careful thar lass, anyting ya bring outta tha bag could be used against ya in the public forum…we reporters are a wee bit tricky like that.”
[Rory] She can feel Fionna’s eyes on her, and Ruarc and Casey’s as well – the latter getting a shy smile and brief wave even as it serves to heighten the blush across her cheeks, color spreading along her shoulders, dipping under her clothing until one wonders if it is possible for the shy mule to blush clear to her toes… […it is…]
Then Fiona is beside her, and offering to help with her curls, and Rory glances up at her, meeting her eyes briefly, shyly, before she hands her the brush and shifts position on the chair a little to make it easier for Fiona to attack the tangled curls into some form of submission.
[Amelia Conway] “No, it’s not whiskey,” she commented, looking to Ruarc once again, mouth still quirked in that odd barely-there smirk, though her eyes were a little more stern than what the rest of her expression was portraying. She watched Fionna go to help the mousy red-haired one with her hair, stared at that display for what might be a second too long to be polite, then looked to Casey next. She shook her head and tossed a couple of red plastic cards out on the cushion next to her tote bag– if you looked carefully enough they’d be identified as Target gift cards.
“I provide what y’all might need, not what yer whims might pull your wants toward. Yet, I figure I don’t actually know what anyone needs and y’all are adult enough to figure that out yourselves.”
One was picked up and slipped into her back pocket, and she swept her hair out of her eyes again before tucking other things (like a folded up shirt and a bottle of water) back into the bag.
[Fiona Sullivan] The blond and the redhead are similar in ways and yet different as night and day. One burns as hotly as the sun and is in constant motion, the other reclusive and quiet as the night, despite the bright flame that dances in a tangled mess around her pretty face. They are both ahrouns and metis, yet still opposites. She settles down on her knees behind Rory, taking the brush from her. She glances over Rory’s shoulder, touching her mouth close to Rory’s ear.
“Ya getting a little bright there, Rosie.”
Chuckling, she pulls back after teasing the redhead Fianna, and busies herself with the task of attacking Rory’s tangled curls. Fiona’s touch is gentler than one might expect, it is… careful in the way she manipulates and teases the tangles out of those curls, smoothing the fingers of her other hand over the damp hair to help get the water out as the brush runs through it.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] His gaze goes to the red cards, and his brows raise somewhat.
“Red plastic ca’ds? Wha’ a’e they used fer?”
That’s right, the Irish has never seen a Target store. He reaches for his glass, taking another sip of whiskey then leans back, glancing over at Rory and Fiona, watching the two women with curiosity for a moment, then looks back to Amelia and Casey with a warm smile.
“An’ ye askin a bunch o’ drunken bastards like the fiann tae figure o’t wha’ we wan’? That’s easy enough. A fine whiskey, good music, a nice romp with a pretty lass an’ a good scuffle. Which one do ye think tae be providing lass?”
Said with an impish smile at Amelia, going so far as to wink at her.
[Rory] Fiona breathes a tease across her ear, and Rory ducks her head, her skin warmed by both rage and the power of the other to tease her into a fever pitch of shy embarrassment. But she doesn’t pull away, submitting to the other and the brush as Fiona works to smooth her curls into something resembling order.
She flicks her gaze upwards to Amelia, and then to the target cards on the table, curious. Green eyes dart to the others in the room as well, Casey – who she knows – and Ruarc who thankfully asks the question she was wondering herself – even as he finishes with a direct question that causes her to duck her head, and hide her little smile behind her curls as he all but propositions the blond kin.
[Victor Oseragighte] He’d been out late into the night and through the morning looking. When he’d finally gone to bed, it was to collapse. He wakes now, pulls on a pair of jeans and a blue tank-top, and pads into the room groggily, barefoot, headed for coffee.
[Casey Steward] Casey slips a seat over and snatches up one of the cards, turning it over in his hand with curiosity. “Ah, aight I know of this store.” He says casually as he nods to the woman. “Ma thanks lass.” Then he laughs when Ruarc talks of which particular method of providing the woman wishes to give him, shaking his head at that.
“Jus remember fella, they can be jus as deadly as tha men ya know.” He says as he pushes up from the couch and starts to move around, picking up the glass after refilling it once more and moving over towards the pair of Metis, kneeling down infront of Rory as she gets her hair done by Fionna.
“Would ya care for a drink lass?”
[Amelia Conway] Her response was a rather well-placed scoff, and to turn to sit where she’d had her tote bag a moment ago, dropping down onto the sofa in a manner that signified weariness even though her stance and voice did not. She sat like a person who had not done so since they got up out of bed that morning. The tote bag was set next to her hip, and she leaned back with a sigh and seemed to melt into the couch for a couple of seconds before she leaned forward again, this time to loosen the sandal straps about her ankles.
As she did this, she looked over to Ruarc and follow up on that scoffing sound she made.
“Hard as it might be to believe? It takes more than muscley arms and a glass of fire to get me into someone’s bed. Fianna or not.”
The sandals were dropped one after the other to the floor, and she leaned back again and drew the water bottle out of her bag, unscrewed the top and brought it to her mouth for a good long drink. It was set back where it belonged when she was finished, cap returned to station to prevent leaks, and she let her head tip onto the back of the sofa, but didn’t relax enough to close her eyes. She liked and typically loved family, but that didn’t mean she’d trust those she just met with a few glasses of whiskey enough to take an eye off them.
“Not to say there ain’t willing girls probably housed up in these very walls just waitin’ for a fine boy like yourself to make an offer.”
[Fiona Sullivan] “Sometimes it is better to play hard to get than to just toss one’s self out there like a worm on a hook waiting for the first fish to come along and eat ya up.” Her voice flits over Rory’s head, shifting her position as she continues to kneel behind Rory and comb out the tangles. Her eyes move to Casey first, before moving off to the couch as her words were meant more for Amelia and Ruarc, than the others.
“It is the thrill of the hunt that is more appealing than the catch at the end.”
[Victor Oseragighte] He had not expected the room to be so full of others, pausing in his path to the coffee pot, a hand rising to push back his hair and then scratch at his beard a bit, blinking sleep from dark eyes as he looked to faces both familiar and new. He offers them each a nod in turn, any who look his way.
[Rory] Casey kneels down in front of her and offers her a drink, and Rory – oh the poor thing – blushes brighter, as she peeks up at him through dusty lashes. She doesn’t drink much, which he may remember from before – but she doesn’t turn down the offer either, no more than she did that of a beer the night they met. She is, after all, true to her blood in so many ways, despite the shyness that near overcomes her.
She reaches out, her fingers slender and fragile looking, and takes the glass with a softly murmured “…thanks.” Single words are easier.
She lifts the glass to her lips, and takes a sip of the whiskey, letting the fire burn across her tongue, and down her throat without so much as a grimace… she looks up at victor as he stumbles through, and then tips her head slightly, listening. Another sip of the whiskey, and she meets Casey’s gaze, just briefly, her smile something shy and fleeting as it dances across her lips, just before she drops her gaze again.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Ouch… Ye got fire lass. Nae tae worry. I was jus’ teasin a little. No’tha I woul’ kick ye outta me bed. Ye got spirit.”
He raises his glass to Amelia, offering her another smile and a wink. Playful and teasing, not very serious at all. Well, almost not serious. The Fianna do enjoy their women as much as they do their whiskey and their songs after all. He takes a drink, emptying the glass, then leans to the bottle that’s already half empty, filling up the glass with two inches of the rich amber liquid.
His attention stolen by Fiona, and she is also offered a warm grin.
“Aye lass, quite right ye are, but she did ask us fer wha’ we wanted afte’all. An’ fiann may be many t’ings, but hard tae figure out we are nae. Speakin of, where is ye sense o’ humor? Ye are way tae serious lass. ‘ave ano’er drink wi’me.”
He looks to Victor, offering the familiar man a warm smile and a nod up of his chin.
“Victor, good tae see ye again. Join us fer a whiskey?”
[Casey Steward] Its then that his phone rings, then that the friendly camaraderie is shattered by his phone, the man pulls it from his pocket and looks at it. “Damn…producers.” He says looking at Rory and Casey. “Tha bane o ma life, and the butter on ma bread.” He says with a sorry smile.
“Guess I have ta run folks.” He says as he stands upright before looking down at Rory and Fionna. “Ladies.” He says with that rackish grin on his lips. “Take care now.” He says before waving to the others and heading off towards the stairs. He pauses before he steps out of sight and speaks up to Fiona once more. “Best o luck with tha chase there lass.” Another wink, before the man descends the stairs.
[Victor Oseragighte] Coffee. Whiskey. They sounded… similar. Both would certainly wake you up. He shrugged and switched paths, headed over now to join Ruarc and company. Those who notice such things will mark that his feet bear nearly as many scars and marks as his hands do.
[Amelia Conway] “Mmmmmhm.”
The Kin lifted a hand (with a few scrapes and cuts and healing scabs to be seen, these were the hands of someone who worked, with short unpainted nails and dirt still finding a way underneath of them) to rub at the back and side of her neck, then sighed with a sound that was almost resignation before leaning forward and snatching up a glass for herself, gesturing toward Ruarc for the bottle by wagging a couple of fingers from his direction to hers in indication.
“If you don’t mind, please.” When he complied, she’d fill her glass up about one third of the way, set the bottle back in Ruarc’s palm, then leaned back again and crossed her legs so that her left ankle rested on her right knee. Her left arm folded over her stomach to rest there, elbow of her right arm cupped in the palm. She held the glass of whiskey close to her mouth at all times and settled for watching Casey go, holding her glass up to him as he went.
“Good to meet ya, whoever ya are,” and a sip was taken from the glass.
[Fiona Sullivan] “Something wrong with me being serious?” She snorts at Ruarc, arching an eyebrow at him. She ignores his request to come have a drink with her, other thoughts gathering in a dark cloud in the back of her mind of what else she would like to do with him. Possibly putting his head through a wall or something more vigorous.
Casey has to make his leave and Fiona looks his way, “Take care, Casey, I will come hunt ya down when later on. We have unfinished business to take care of.”
Once the tangled mess of Rory’s hair has been dominated, she offers the comb back to the redhead and looks up at Victor.
[Rory] Casey leaves, and Rory watches him go, tipping her head slightly, until she realizes that Fiona has managed to tame the wild mane of curls. She lifts her hand and takes the brush with a shy little grin. “Thanks.”
And then, shifts her position slightly so that Fiona can join her on the beanbag if she wishes, instead of remaining behind her.
She makes no comment on her seriousness, no more than she’d comment on her own shyness, or Casey’s open grin, or Amelia or Ruarc or Victor. Few of words, the shy metis.
[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona accepts the invite to sit with Rory in the bean bag chair. The press of her rage colliding up against Rory’s as she settles in, brushing a hip or leg up to hers. She tucks her arms behind her head, slouching down as best she can, legs stretched out in front of her.
She exchanges glances with Rory every now and then, wiggling eyebrows at her and grinning.
[Victor Oseragighte] Noticing Fiona’s look, he offers her a smile and a nod, then looks around again before he pulls up a seat and drops into it. “Sorry I don’t know everybody here. Have a glass to spare?” He’d settled onto the chair backwards, arms folded atop the back, chin resting on them.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Amelia has barely had to ask before Ruarc offers the bottle to her with a grin, then fills up another glass and hands it to Victor with a wide grin. He raises his glass to Amelia and victor, sipping it before looking to Fiona with a slight chuckle.
“Nae lass, jus’that ye need tae relax some. Serious is all good an’ well, but ye among friends here. If ye need a scuffle, I’ll be glad tae offer ye one after I get some more o’ the fine spirits in me. But tha’ is fer later. Fer now it is time fer another round o’ introductions me thinks.”
He had caught Amelias comment to the retreating Casey.
“Me name is Ruarc, or if ye prefer, Blood-Song. An’despite the fine guitar in me lap here, I am a Full-moon.”
He strums a few notes of the guitar after his introduction to the room, grinning. He may claim to be a full-moon, but he has a rich, deep baritone voice that could probably carry a good tune, and his fingers play the strings with practiced ease and natural skill.
Spoken to all of them it seems. He looks around, offering that warm smile. Despite the rage that is thick around the Irish man, his demeanor is warm and friendly. It is hard not to feel warm when one of those easy smiles are directed at you.
[Rory] Fionna settles beside Rory, slouching and getting comfortable, and while they share a moon and Tribe, they are different even in this. Fiona is slouched, comfortable, stretching out and open. Rory is curled tighter into herself, her knees pulled up until she can wrap her arms around them, her chin finding a place to rest on her knees as she watches the rest of the room. She is very aware of the clash of heat, her rage against her seatmates, as well as the slide of thigh against her own, the press of the body close to hers.
Fiona is a creature of touch – animalistic and easy. Rory has hardly known the same, and is caught between enjoying and being terrified as she waits for the first blow to fall against her.
Even so, she offers a soft introduction when it’s called for. “Rory. Tongue Twister. Cliath Fianna Mull Foon.” she doesn’t seem to notice the switch in her words, hearing what she intended to say instead of what she did, but perhaps it explains why she so rarely speaks when it’s noticed as more than just a quirk.
[Victor Oseragighte] An introduction is given and he responds in his own quiet way, his tone not shy or lacking in confidence, simply… that of a man who does not tend to speak more than he must. “Victor Oseragighte. Ken’tarakonha:ka. Half-moon of the Wendigo. Cliath.”
He accepted the glass with a grateful nod and drank it slowly but smoothly, downing it in one very long swallow and feeling that fire burn its way down his throat. “Wow. Wakes you up.”
[Amelia Conway] So here she sat in a room full of full moons. She shifted her gaze between Fiona and Rory, the girls sitting practically stacked atop one another in the armchair, to Ruarc and he guitar he cradled in his lap. The man with the unpronounceable name gave his own, and she stared at him for a few seconds before chuckling, quietly, and shaking her head. “Bless you. My brother’s a half-moon.”
She took another drink from her glass, barely grimaced as the liquor seared its way down her throat and settled to warm her belly, then leaned back more comfortably and let her right hand fall so that it was more relaxed and the glass was on the top of her thigh. She licked the burn off her lips and offered her own name in return of this round-the-table introductions game.
“I’m Amelia Conway. Fianna Kin. Simple as that.”
[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona is the last to speak her introduction, even allowing Amelia to go before her. She is half-distracted by the redhead sitting next to her, curled up in a small ball with her knees tucked to her chest. There is an urge to fight against as Fiona – a sensual primal creature of touch and animal ferocity – wants to uncoil her auspice mate and use her very much like a pillow as she’d done with Casey. Her body shivers, small bumps running along bronze skin feverishly as she is always burning with heat.
The blond pushes up against Rory’s boundaries, testing the other’s comfort levels and shyness, as if meeting a quiet challenge to get the metis to come out of her shell. She clears her throat, speaking in the same throaty purr her voice always carries in, “Fiona Sullivan, Strength of Nehmain, Child of Danu, Full Moon.”
A brush of a thigh here, a touch of a knee there. A gentle nudge of her shoulder into Rory’s arm, Fiona stretches her arms out from behind her head, laying one across her stomach as the other arm finds itself snaking across Rory’s lower back and digging into the beanbag chair. Fingers resting on Rory’s spine and gently poking her.
[Simon Zahradnik] Simon leaves his car behind. A grin on his face as he slips in through the back door of the Brotherhood. He had been explained they preferred if the Garou entered from that direction and so he was more than happy to do so. He found himself an Apple, or rather had one of the kin run and fetch him one. He takes thew time to wash the apple then grips it gently in his hand as he heads up the stairs. His usual baseball bat has been slung over his shoulder and the young man climbs the stairs quickly to get to the second floor where the Garou could most often be found.
Blood stains his neck and cheek and darkens the front of his shirt. He is wearing a pair of shades which mask where his eyes might be glancing at any given moment. His stance when he slips into the room to join the others is tall and full of proud. He was new here but already the Full Moon was earning himself a reputation… He had a reason to be proud, as the old guard was filtered out he joined the ranks of the new and rising guard. So much promise in that creature… Though the life of the Ahroun was one that could literally end at any given moment it was their second greatest flaw the greatest, of course, being their tempers.
Simon stood in his own area. The scents of the Fianna caught his attention and the full moon couldn’t help but smile to himself as he laid his bat gently on his table and glanced across the room at the gathering. He lifted his apple to his lips and bit in deeply. The loud crunch was wet as he tore into the apple then drew it from his face to chew the bite he had taken from it.
There was no telling where his eyes were going, but he didn’t sit. He remained standing, well rather leaning against a table. Slow controlled breaths, rigid frame, the Full Moon might look as if he was relaxing but the Full Moon never really got a chance to relax it wasn’t in the job description and Simon was not exactly the kind to sit around doing nothing.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Simple? The’e aint be such a t’ing as a ’simple’ Fianna kin lass.”
Said to Amelia with a grin. Then he lets his gaze roam around. Stopping as he watches Rory and Fiona. He holds his gaze on them for a little while longer then what is strictly necessary. Polite does not even enter into it with a creature like Ruarc. Too much fire and rage and instinct in the garou for such a thing to be of note to him. Curious, thoughtful, but still smiling. One is very shy, the other working to get close to her. It is hard to tell if that closeness is more then just trying to coax the other out of her shell. Ruarc’s stormy grey gaze drifts away to victor, offering the Wendigo a wide smile.
“Aye. Fire in th’ belly, Stiff in ye bones, tha’s wha’ Irish whiskey does fer ye.”
He reaches for the bottle and offers to refill Victors glass before putting the dark bottle back on the table. Then Simon enters, and Ruarc looks over at the other. Recognising him from the other night as well, he tips his chin up at the man, offering a smile.
“’ello friend. Where ye hidin the stuffed critters?”
He had been talking to the stuffed animals after all.
[Rory] Fiona takes it on herself to push against Rory’s boundaries, seeing if she can pull her out of her shell, get her to relax. there’s the touch of her thigh, a press against a hip, and the fingers along her spine, playfully poking against freckled skin. Rory tucks her head into her knees, before turning her head slightly to peek at Fiona through damp curls and dusty lashes.
A touch of her shoulder, her knee, and Rory is most certainly blushing under the hiding curtain of her curls, even as a shift of her weight changes her position slightly, her back curling into the fingers of her auspice and tribemate. Perhaps to still them. Perhaps not. Likely only Fiona knows or notices the shift at all…
[Victor Oseragighte] He gives a small laugh at Amelia’s response and nods to her briefly. “Swallow, in English.” That crunch had his had turning, but he recognizes the source once he spies Simon and turns back again, holding his glass out to Ruarch, the message clear. More? And there the bottle was, already offered. His smile broadens just a little as he watched it fill again with the amber liquid and retrieved it to take only a small sip this time before letting the glass dangle from his fingers before him, atop the chair back.
[Amelia Conway] Another sauntered its way up the stairs, and Amelia’s iron grip on her presentation of herself was tipped off the balance and set to slump heavier to the side of nervousness. Her eyes hopped to the dark-haired man with the baseball bat, followed him sharply as he moved about to the table in front of the sectional sofa she sat on, watched him lay that baseball bat down, watched him bite into an apple, watched how the blood splash on his face and neck moved while muscles worked to chew and swallow.
Ruarc addressed her, and she cleared her throat as she pulled herself up into a tighter sit, with a straight back and with those strong shoulders squared. “I might be th’one to prove ya wrong on that. I ain’t hidin’ nothin’, just as plain and honest as my face.” The smirk she flashed him was similar to what it had been, but laced with a touch of nerves now. She was on edge, and the animal-souled people in the room could probably smell that on her. She smelled how she felt– like prey.
It was cause for her to down the whiskey in her glass, lean forward, and refill it higher this time.
Maybe she wouldn’t drive home tonight.
[Fiona Sullivan] A bright smile blossoms at the corners of mouth, a feral gleam caught in the way the light shines in her eyes as she allows her fingers to continue to poke and dance up Rory’s spine. She looks up, her attention pulled from the redhead that leans into the comfort of the blond’s hand. Her eyes moving from the familiar faces of Victor to pause on Simon, and then to Ruarc and finally settling on Amelia.
She latches onto the kin’s discomfort, that smell of fear that teases a low rumble on her lips. She has to swallow it to keep the sound down, clearing her throat a few times as Fiona stares at the kin – like she were a morsel to gobble up.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] It is with infallible animal instincts that the room’s attention turns on Amerila, much to the kinwomans chagrin more then likely. Even Rurac’s gaze fixes on the woman, those stormy gray and blue eyes intent and intense as the feeling of the woman changes. It was not surprising. Not with the amount of rage in the room as it was.
Ruarc seems to focus on the kin at the expense of the entire room for a few moments, until he speaks, his voice low and deep baritone.
“Lass… Ye need tae take a deep breath an’ calm yeself befo’e ye make us all nervous. Or If’n ye want, ye can come wi’me fer a breath. I’ve got ano’er bottle stashed away in me room.”
She had taken the last from the bottle on the table, leaving two empty bottles now. Ruarc empties the rest of his own glass, eyes still fixed on Amelia over the rim of his glass.
[Rory] Rory chews her lower lip as she watches Fiona for a moment, then ducks her head again, hiding away behind her knees and curls. Then Fiona growls, and swallows it back, and Rory blinks, looking between her tribemate and the kin, before hiding her smile away again. She still doesn’t move from the tease of fingers along her spine, relaxing just a touch more under the playful hand, the comfort of touch without pain.
Ruarc’s long stare isn’t missed either, despite the fact she keeps pretty well hidden, wrapped in a cocoon of shyness. Then he’s offering to spare the kinfolk their attention, though her own has been one of a bare glance, without any intention to gobble her up at any point.
She’s got other things to focus on at the moment.
[Simon Zahradnik] Another bite crunched deep into the apple, and he chews with a bit of a smile on his face savouring the sweetness and simplicity of the apple within his hand. He eyes the apple and then shifts his attention towards Ruarc. His lips lifts slightly when he hears that. He chews and swallows before shrugging his shoulders in response to the man.”Probably in the car…”He trails off in response to the man’s question.
“Some kinda tribal gathering?”He asks as his eyes take the time to glide over each of the faces present. First Ruarc, then Amelia, then Victor and finally Rory and then Fiona. It was hard to tell where his eyes landed his head didn’t move in the slightest. The Full Moon stood perfectly still as if he had been sculpted from smooth stone, his flesh painted with all manner of lovely decorations. The Shadow Lords smile spoke of violence, of broken promises and treachery. The Shadow Lords presence oozed something between savage ferocity and looming menace. He was every bit a monster in the purest sense of the word. Sure he laughed and smiled and played all manner of human games but make no mistake the only thing about him that remotely resembled a human was the skin he wore.”If I didn’t know better I might suspect you all were planning on taking over…”He says softly before taking another bite of his apple.
It was hard to tell where he was looking, those shades reflected all attempts that might be made to see past the barrier it was funny the way the shades gave everyone the feeling he was looking in their direction simultaneously. Though, he could only truly look at any one person at a time. Simon was a creature of habit and no doubt those eyes of his were not the kind to wander far from that which interests him most at the moment.
[Victor Oseragighte] Even Victor, calm Victor, gets that whiff of fear and it alerts the predator in him. His head swivels and he fixes on Amelia, but is clever enough to realize his mistake and rein himself in, eyes dropping to his glass as he takes a long draught from it, using the whiskey to help push instinct aside.
[Amelia Conway] Amelia was leaned forward now, coiled as though ready for a race or a fight. She had her knees apart, elbows braced at the tops of both of them, whiskey glass clasped with both hands in between. She looked over to the armchair piled up with female Garou, met Fiona’s eyes for a moment, and her spine stiffened further. Conversation occurred, and through that someone was addressing her. She shifted her attention to Ruarc, watched him warily, then sniffed a bit and took another hard swallow of whiskey before she set her glass on the table and leaned down to strap her sandals back onto her feet. As she did this, she answered.
“A breather sounds just like what I could use right now. But I’m just gonna warn ya now before you go trying anything funny: I’ve got pepper spray in my bag, a mean right hook learned from my momma, and a brother who’ll race out to break any kneecaps he has to. You hear?”
By that time she has her shoes on, her glass in her hand, and is standing and brushing her way past Simon, thick muscles in her shoulders and back visible and knotted tense from proximity to the beast of war, head ducked only a little as she slipped on by. She had her tote bag slung back onto her shoulder and the bottle of water out, lid unscrewed and held between two of the fingers cradled about the bottom of her tumbler. Her head tipped back so she could swig the water in an effort to keep the balance between liquor and hydration. She had to work tomorrow, she didn’t need a hangover to nurse in the office.
[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona shifts her body, pushing up against Rory as she sits up, leaning on her auspice mate now as the blond’s chin finds a perch on the redhead’s shoulder, peering over at the others through the curtain of flaming curls that obscure Fiona’s vision. Her nose twitches once, sharing in the comfort of touch and familiarity of Rory without fear of persecution. Her hand falls flat against Rory’s back and remains there.
She flicks her gaze to Ruarc, chuckling under her breath as he suggests Amelia go off with him for a new bottle, “Moving in a bit fast, don’t ya think, boyo, with the wee one there.”
The blond has been aware of Simon’s presence, her green eyes dancing back in his direction as she cuddles up to Rory. Raising an eyebrow at him, “Aye, we are having a tribal meet, trying to decide on how to bounce those dirty storm chasers from the ‘hood and take over. Mutiny is afoot I tell ya.”
[Victor Oseragighte] He watched Amelia go, finally lifting his head, sighing, feeling moderately guilty at her flight. He might have to apologize later, alone.
He hears Fiona then and chuckled dryly, adding. “Didn’t you know, Simon? I’ve defected to the Irish side. Top of the evening to you.” Victor hefted his glass in an irreverent little salute.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] A glance to simon and then to the other Fianna and victor before his gaze once more settles on Amelia as she answers him. He gives a slight smirk and stands, putting the guitar to the side of the recliner as he does. He leaves the large bag and the guitar with its case there for now.
“Aye, duly noted lass.”
Said with something of a dark humor in his voice as he moves after the kin woman, stepping up to her, and then overtaking her to lead her out of the common room, into the hallway and towards room 10, which was now his room.
“But ye might wanna consider th’ peppersp’ay. Tha’an th’ right hook be foreplay where I come from.”
He barely glances behind as he moves to the room, opening the door and stepping inside.
[Rory] Fiona pushes against her, and finds Rory a stable perch to be pushed against, even as she peeks shyly out the corner of her eye as Fiona’s chin finds her shoulder and rests there. She curls her back into the warmth of her tribemate’s palm, and then shifts her gaze to the others in the room, shly bouncing from one to another.
Then Fiona says they’re considering mutiny, and Rory makes a soft whimper in the back of her throat, very likely unheard by any other than the one sitting so close to her, worried that someone might take that as truth..
even as Victor adds his comment too. Then her green eyes are watching Ruarc lead Amelia to his room…
[Simon Zahradnik] He takes another bite from his apple as Amelia brushes past him. His head doesn’t shift, if he had even bothered to look the kin over it did not show in the slightest upon his face. He remained perfectly still, allowing the kin to flee from the other Garou present. There was a smile on his face, however, after hearing Amelia’s words.
Fiona then gets his attention and he finds his hand gripping a little more tightly against the table in response to the woman.”Well in that case, best of luck to ya. I am sure you all are quite deserving and all that bullshit…”The corner of his mouth curls up slightly.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean Victor? If the Wendigo heard you even joke about that they’d up and scalp your ass right here. Hell I’m not even a Wendigo… I can’t stand the fuckers and I’m half tempted to scalp you just to teach you a lesson.”He says with a little laugh.
His hand glides back and he gets a grip on his bat. He swings the thing up and over his shoulder and his smile is presented to the others.”I just came to get a snack you all enjoy your revolution and tell me how it went.”He says lifting his apple as if it were a glass before taking the final bite. A twirl of his bat and one final glance before turning his back to the Other Garou present and heading back in the direction he came.
[Victor Oseragighte] He shrugs and smiles a bit at Simon’s ‘threat.’ The man did not know the truth of his own words. There WERE members of his tribe who did not entirely feel he belonged. Mostly hardliners, but there were others who simply distrusted somebody born of a more modernized tribe. So he takes it all in stride and downs another swallow of whiskey before glancing ro Fiona and Rory, smiling.
“For the record, I only came for the whiskey. Still Wendigo.”
[Rory] Then Simon considers scalping Victor, and Rory’s gaze narrows and a low, low growl starts at the base of her throat. It’s not that she knows Victor any better than any of the others, but she does not like the treat against one of their own for what was clearly something said in jest…
…but Victor takes it in stride, and that somewhat soothes the Fianna as he smiles at her and Fiona. Somewhat. There’s still a weaving of tension in her spine, under the heated warmth of Fiona’s hand.
[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona bites Rory on the shoulder, a sharp nip to stifle the redhead’s whimper. She rolls her eyes upward to the ceiling as Simon spits out at them, a loud snort erupting with a deep exhale. She doesn’t move from her seat on the beanbag, even as the commons starts to clear out and Ruarc leaves with Amelia.
Green eyes narrow on the fleeting form of the Shadow Lord, “I never saw a bigger pussy of a man, than the fucker leaving a room with his widdle beat stick.” This called after Simon.
[Rory] Fiona bites her shoulder, and Rory falls silent, before she’s shifting her weight again, slightly, to lean into Fiona just a little. There’s submission there, though she is the one who won the challenge on her own territory. This is not her territory. This is not her home.
Then Fiona calls after him, and it’s Rory’s turn to turn her head and tuck it against Fiona’s shoulder, hiding what might be a real, amused, smile – if only it were seen instead of hidden away…
[Victor Oseragighte] Victor does laugh at Fiona’s challenge; if Simon had been trying to goad him, he’d find that Victor knew that game and did not play. He was a competent combatant, but knew where to draw his lines, especially when it came to hardcore Ahrouns like Simon and Fiona.
[Simon Zahradnik] The words spoken by Fiona cause the man to pause. He chews slowly, his back still presented to the group, but he pauses no less, a hand reaching out to toss the apple core into the trash. The words were jammed like a spike right into Simon’s back. A popping sound came from Simon’s neck as he popped it in one direction and then the other. Rising up to his full six foot height he turned slowly around and there was no mistake that his eyes were looking directly at Fiona.
“That’s funny… How you called me a pussy and everyone laughed. Did you think that up all on your own Fiona?”He asks her curiously as he tosses his bat on the nearest table and crosses his arms over his chest while staring back at her. There was fire in the air, boiling and bubbling as the Full Moon turned his attention towards Fiona. White hot and threatening the tension that grew was directed solely in her direction.
“Cause while you’ve been here… I dunno… Cuddling your tribemates… I’ve been out there doing my job which is to kill shit. So what was that about me being a pussy? How do you figure that I am a pussy exactly?”
[Casey Steward] “Aye, Aye, I hear ya Mac an I don give two shakes of a dea dog if tha’s the case. I’m here now, I’m fuckin stayin here for a while, fuck ya an your world cup piss. I got betta things ta do buddy.” The reporter is heard on the staircase below, even as Simon begins his descent, his voice isn’t angry, infact he almost seems like hes joking with whoever is on the other end of the phone.
“Mac, listen…no Mac, I gotta go, in a meetin here…no I aint gettin a new producer, stuff it Mac…Mac, goodbye fella.” He says as he comes up into the common room once more and looks around with that rackish grin, his eyes falling in particular on Rory and Fiona as they sit together.
“Wha did a miss?” He says…before the smile falls from his face as he feels, and see’s the hostility coming off of Simon.
[Fiona Sullivan] Simon doesn’t go far, his words lash out as he attempts to whip at the blond with harsh words. The corners of her mouth pull back into a human sneer. She makes a sound that vibrates in the back of her throat like a growl, low and threatening. She uncoils her arms from around Rory, pushing upright to stand. Her bare feet make little sound on the carpet as Fiona starts to move towards the Shadow Lord.
Blond hair snaking along her shoulders now dry from airing out. She lifts up her chin in absolute defiance, narrowing her eyes on Simon. “While ya were not here a several minutes ‘efore I showed, asshole, I had already been out doing my patrols and cleaning the blood from my clothes. I do my job and I do it a lot fucking better than ya seeing as I wiped your face across the floor.”
She pokes a finger into his chest, stretching up on the tips of her toes to breath out into his face with a loud snort, “What’s wrong, Simon, jealous cuz she’s more cuddly than you are… got nicer tits that’s for sure.”
[Rory] She narrows her gaze, slightly, as Simon declares them 1. cuddling and 2. Fionna as lazy, and Fiona uncurls from the beanbag chair and stands, lethal intent in her every move. Rory stands as well, flanking her tribemate as she stalks the Shadowlord…
Rory’s hair is still damp, her clothing still in the wash, the blood from the enemy still traveling the drains from where she washed it from her skin, scrubbed the scent of death and decay from her hair, her being. Yet she did not feel the need to flaunt it, or to accuse others of being weak, of being lazy, of not doing their duty. She does not assume.
“Don’t.”
One word. One single word. Don’t suggest she does not do her duty, or that her tribemates slack either, or that they are less than their moon. It drips with challenge, it drips with fury, it drips with rage.
One.
Single.
Word.
And then Fiona is in Simon’s face, and declaring Rory’s tits to be better, and even in that flash of anger brought on by the Shadow Lord’s words – Rory blushes.
Always a contradiction, Rory.
[Victor Oseragighte] He realizes his mistake too late, from Simon’s reaction, from Fiona’s continued goading of him. Rising, he heads for the Ahroun, setting his glass down and snatching up an empty one and the bottle of whiskey. “Hey. Okay. So you two beat your chests. Howled and growled. How about relaxing for a few with whiskey. We’re all out doing our job, right?”
There was a marked difference between healthy competition, a good rivalry, and something entirely out of control, and he senesed that this could get there. He looks from Fiona beside him to Simon, still holding out some hope of smoothing this over.
[Casey Steward] Casey is now trapped in a room full of rage that seems ready to be unleashed, how had he NOT seen this coming, he curses under his breath at the whiskey he’d been drinking and simply moves around the group, heading for a spot where he has a clear shot on Simon, he doesn’t do anything more then that…he just waits to back up his Tribe.
“I really don think tearin this place up is gonna get anyone in tha ancestor’s goo books here folks…but hey, I’m jus kin.”
[Rory] .
to Rory
[Simon Zahradnik] He removes his glasses and his eyes meet Fiona directly, he was staring with his own fiery hot gaze directly into her eyes. He didn’t care that he was surrounded by Fianna, she had brought forth a challenge to his courage and he wasn’t about to step down as he gazed directly into her eyes.
His hands ball into fists and he stares directly into her eyes. That fiery threatening gaze doesn’t dare break as he draws in a deep breath. His entire body was tensed and ready to strike as she came to confront him rose up and got directly into his face.
“You tricked me… You got the best of me once. I went easy on you, held back and I got my ass kicked for it. It’s sure as fuck not a mistake I will make again not for you or anyone.”He growls back at her as if no one else in the room even existed. There were only these two Full Moons staring back at one another. He could hear their words but he already knew them, what they wanted and what they were trying to do.
They didn’t know him, they didn’t know who or what he was. So far they had only ever seen the laughable friendly guy that he wore on the surface but there was something dark and sinister behind those eyes. The kind of dark frightening and sinister beast that turned honorable combat into screams of horror and agony. The Shadow Lord stared back into the womans eyes and his breath drew in deeply.”I’m not jealous of shit. To be jealous I would first have to give a flying fuck about anything and I think that is where you’ve made your first incorrect assumption about me. I am not a man… I am a monster. Any time you wanna see what that means I am more than willing to show you.”He says back to her in a bitter tone. Eyes never shifting from her gaze.
[Rory] Rory watches. Her gaze only flicks away when Casey speaks, and reminds them he’s only kin – and then she moves. Not to interfere between Fiona and Simon, as he was the first to make assumptions no matter his sanctimonious tone – but to place herself between Casey and any fight that may (likely will) occur.
She remains closer to Casey than the others, but her gaze returns to her auspice mates, her tribe mate. Her hands clench lightly at her side, and the tension screams through her slender form. But she has years of practice in control, and it is control she exerts now, as easily as she breathes.
[Mila Davis] She’d felt the increase of rage crackle against that mystical pack link. And, lucky [or maybe unlucky] for Simon.. Mila was downstairs, having a nice little drink [or three]. A long while ago, she’d seen him go upstairs, but hadn’t said anything. Afterall, she wasn’t his mother.
But now, with the increase in his tensions.. Mila snagged her glass of tequila on the rocks and headed for the stairs. Tonight, the dark haired Lord was dressed in a pair of dark wash jeans, flip flops and a white tank top. Her hair was down, and make up dark.. like usual.
What in the hell was Simon getting himself into now?
[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona is silent; her eyes never leaving Simon’s as she continues to breath in and out sharply. She can feel the press of the others at her back, hear the words they speak. Even the Wendigo goes so far as to try and diffuse the tension in the air that seems to darken a black cloud between these two ahrouns. There is something under the surface, lying dark and hidden, as Simon starts to show his true colors against the ferocity of the passionate Fianna.
“So, ya went easy on me did ya, Simon, well then… Looks like I should not have been so gentle on ya the last time.” She can feel her heart beating heavily in her chest, eyebrows narrowed now as she watches him. “So, round two is it then, boyo?”
[Victor Oseragighte] He marks Rory’s move to protet Casey, grateful, as he also marks Simon’s total focus on Fiona. And Fiona’s challenge. Damn. He steps in, bottle and glass in his hands still, though not offered, muscles bulging and limbs lengthening as he takes on the moral feral Glabro state. His voice comes out more guttural, more assertive.
“If this is going to happen, it should happen properly. We can’t afford to throw away lives here. Either call in the Master of Challenges or,” he glances to Rory, hoping to get her backing, “or I’ll officiate. As Philodox. But this needs to end.”
No, no simple rivalry. Not any longer.
[Casey Steward] Casey watches the woman come to stand between him and the potentially explosive situation like a shield, it was hard to believe that such a lithe, slender thing could be any safety against such violence…but Casey knew better.
He stood there for a moment before stepping forward and whispering to Rory.
“I uh…forgot ma piece back a tha hotel….sorry.” He says as he waits for the outcome.
[Sinclair] “III’M A CUCUMBER!”
Sinclair is singing. Sinclair is also drunk, tromping out of the bathroom after a shower, wearing — oddly enough — exactly the same outfit as Mila. How embarrassing.
“III’M A CUCUMBER!”
She rounds the corner and flip-flops down the hallway, bopping her head from side to side. “PLEASE DON’T TAKE ME TO THE PICK-LE FARM!”
And in the archway between hall and common room, stops. Flicks her eyes around. Her eyebrows quirk.
[Simon Zahradnik] A breath lifts in his chest. He wasn’t showing any signs that he was about to back off from the Fianna before him. Whatever was shared between them, was apparently between them and not the kind of thing that could simply be diffused with a few words or even a threat. He waits for Fiona’s response and his smile grows oh so slowly.”Anytime and anywhere…”He says back to her. The fiery look in his eyes never fading, never breaking he wasn’t about to show the tiniest hint of weakness before the woman.
He looked as if he was already itching for a fight as it was. The fact the Fianna was so willing to present him with something to fight only made the Shadow Lord that much more eager to accept.
[Rory] He steps closer, and murmurs, and Rory.. well. she flashes Casey a brief smile, meeting his eyes for just a moment, as he admits to have leaving his piece at home. She un-clenches a fist, and reaches to touch his hand. Silent, that communication, before she returns her full attention to the dueling pair across the room.
Victor looks to her for backup, and she arches a brow slightly. It is their way to brawl. It is their way to fight and demand submission (even if it is her personal way to submit more often than dominate when it comes to sept mates). She does however, nod, slightly. She supports his claim as Philodox – but she makes no move to stop her tribemate.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] He walks out, and into chaos.
The tall Fianna pulls to a stop in the door to the common room, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring.
“What theFOOK is goin on here?”
That deep baritone voice cuts hard, made only more potent by the lineage of heroes and champions in the Irish Full-Moon. His gaze sweeps over those gathered in the common room, a good deal more than he had left them, and a good deal more tense.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] In this tense situation comes Lukas, heading up the stairs with a plateful of noms — probably lamb. There’s a pause at the top, a black eyebrow quirking. Then he mounts the last step, glances around, and heads for the sectional. It doesn’t seem to matter to him if he cuts through the complex web of tension surrounding Simon, Rory, Fiona, everyone.
The Ahroun drops down in his favorite spot: right near the bend in the couch, facing the TV. His feet go up on the coffee table. They’re bare. His pants are soft drawstring slacks. His t-shirt is plain and white. He eats the last of a string of grapes out of the palm of his hand, then drops the stem on the tabletop.
“If you throw down in here,” Lukas puts in, rather evenly at that, “it won’t be the first time and it won’t be the last. Loser cleans the bloodstains, though. Unless you want to explain to our resident Black Furies why Saint Jenny’s down on her knees scrubbing up your mess.”
A pause while he rips meat free from a lamb rib. He points the bone at Fiona.
“Also, who’s that?” Ruarc enters; roars. “And that?”
[Mila Davis] Mila came up stairs not long after Lukas – sipping on her drink. Blue-grey eyes land immediately on Simon and the clump of people near by. Something was going on..
And why was Sinclair wearing the exact same outfit? Well.. apparently it was a popular choice! Oh well, they looked hot.. that’s all that mattered.
Her mind wandered back to the matter at hand. “Simon – what is going on?”
[Casey Steward] Casey accepts Rory’s hand ever so briefly, squeezing it, before taking a step back and leaving the Garou to her watch, and to the situation beyond, along with all the others who were gathering drawn to the scene like cops to a murder scene. He suddenly wishes he had his camera gear as well.
[Sinclair] There’s a strange new Fianna standing behind Sinclair now. She glances over her shoulder at the accented Ruarc and raises her eyebrow a little more pointedly at him, roaring and nostril-flaring right behind her in the doorway. “Mind taking a step back there, buddy, and maybe not shouting in my ear next time?”
[Victor Oseragighte] Damn. More people shouting, inserting themselves into this, and the tension is all that more likely to break, he recognizes.
“People. Calm down. More confusion is not going to help this. At all.” He cuts a look to the other Ahroun who blithely sanctions a brawl right then and there, then Ruarch and his bellowing.
[Fiona Sullivan] It is a game. This has happened before and will likely play out again on similar grounds, Fiona snorts softly, pulling her arms up to fold them across her chest tightly. Tension running through the length of lean muscles that start to show in her arms and back the longer she stood there.
“This ain’t going to ever end, Victor,” Fiona replies to the Wendigo in a softer tone of voice, not looking at him, “It’s the nature of the beast… Won’t be the last time, I can assure ya of that.” Simon agrees to another round and she knew he would not back down from the challenge, just anticipated his response as to when. She quirks an eyebrow in Lukas’ direction as he came up the stairs, and then her head was turning at Ruarc’s booming voice.
Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth, too many wolves in one room, it was sweltering with rage and anger. She looks to Simon and then to Victor, “Ain’t going to wreck the furniture in this place. I’ll paint his face somewhere else, but not here. Same place, Simon?”
Ruarc goes unanswered for now as her attention is directed upon Lukas, “Fiona Sullivan, Strength of Nehmain. Child of Danu, Full Moon.”
[Simon Zahradnik] In seconds the common room is flooded with people. They came out of the woodwork like termites and yet they weren’t on the forefront of the Full Moon’s attention, even his elders with their strength could not give him back his pride. They could sure as hell take it away but that wasn’t the concern right now! In fact Lukas’ words only lend further support to Simon’s desire to throw down whenever the Fianna was ready.
He smiled a little when she made the offer and he nodded his head.”Unless you’d rather pick the venue…”He adds. Letting her introduce herself to Lukas.”I think we’re okay… I might be an asshole but I’m not going to kill another Garou without a damn good reason.”He says snapping his eyes towards the Mistrustful Victor.
Finally his alpha gets his Attention.”Mila meet Fiona, Fiona meet Mila. I’m out…”He says, turning once more to head for the exit, though not before snatching up his bat. The weapon wasn’t often used by him in combat but something about just having it in his hand almosat brought the full moon comfort.
[Mila Davis] Lips pursed. Mila just eyed Simon.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] A glance to Sinclair, but no more then that before he moves past her, towards Simon, Fiona and Rory, stalking up to them. His voice drops down to a more normal tone, but it is still deep and sharp.
“Ye goin tae scuffle? Ye go right ahead. I’m all fer it, but if ye do it with the kin right here, I’ll drag ye by the nose ‘til ye learn tae t’ink afore ye act.”
He doesn’t quite go right in between the threesome, but at 6’3, the figure is quite imposing even standing just to the side, stormy grey and blue gaze sliding between Simon and Fiona.
“Now take ye gruff someplace where th’ aint be kin in th’ line o’ fire, both o’ ye.”
There were at least two Fianna kin in close proximity, one of them right in the room.
Then simon is turning away, and Ruarc shrugs, nodding and looking to Casey for a moment.
[Sinclair] Ruarc glances at Sinclair without responding. And then turns sideways a bit to nudge past her. She lifts her eyebrows. “Oh no, after you,” she says, as he moves over to the other Ahrouns.
[Rory] One of the kin is right in the room – but protected, and obviously so by Rory. Her gaze narrows slightly, as she looks at Ruarc, and then she ignores it what could be perceived as a slight and returns her attention to Fiona and Simon, and their decision to move to another place and scuffle.
You’d think that would make the tension bleed from her form, but with Lukas and Sinclair arriving, she’s all but trembling, the clench of her fists at her side all that keeps it from being visible. Careful control, always.
[Casey Steward] Casey was till well behind Rory still shielded somehow by the shorter Fianna. He looked at Ruarc and nodded in return…and while his look is appreciative, it also has that defiant, ‘I can look after myself’ hint in his eyes.
He is however slightly concerned that his shield is trembling, others might not notice…but his proximity lets him know…he however is not stupid enough to touch her at that moment.
[Victor Oseragighte] “There’s a reason why we do things like we do. What you intend isn’t always what happens. I’ll tag along,” he asserted quietly, wondering if he should have done so last time now. Perhaps that had been his big mistake, not keeping a watch on this previously. Then again, Fiona may well be right, that they would go around again and again. And that, too, was one reason why there were Half-Moons.
[Simon Zahradnik] Simon looks up at Ruarc for only a second, a smile is offered back to the Full moon but those eyes peel away from the Fianna without saying a word. He simply continues on his way towards the exit. Soft steady breaths allowing him to focus and control his rage.
Something caused Simon to pause and tense. He choked back the urge to growl but he shot a look in Mila’s direction that could kill a lesser creature. Fury and hatred flared within him and his eyes narrowed sharply in her direction. Whatever that look was it sent a frighteningly clear message to his Alpha. Something had infuriated the full moon though what was something only she would know. That glance lasts a few seconds before he walks past and around Mila heading for the exit from the common room.
[Mila Davis] Arms crossed at her chest as she leaned back against the wall and just watched. Her gaze lingered over Fiona – the girl got a little up nod in acknowledgement. There was no distain or anger there in her eyes – not for the woman. There was a good chance Simon deserved it. If not – well, he was an ahourn and young. Fighting was in his blood. She wasn’t about to stop it, especially if it was a challenge, as her packmate had stated.
She didn’t say anything aloud to either of the challengers – what she had to say to Simon was just for him.. and she knew he heard her. The look told her that much.
[Fiona Sullivan] The situation seems to have diffused itself. The Ahrouns have agreed to move the fight off site, Simon turns to go just as his alpha arrives and leaves Fiona to stand there glaring at the Shadow Lord’s back. Her arms drop, hands pulled up to run fingers through her hair as her cheeks puff out, holding her breath. A flush of color stains her face, darkening the bronze skin.
She pivots on the balls of her feet, looking first to Victor, and then past him to Rory. A frown creases her brow as watches the tension in her fellow auspice mate. “Rory, can ya take care of Casey for me whilst I go deal with Simon?” She calls over to the redhead, not quite waiting for an answer before she’s turning to answer Victor.
“Fine. I cannot stop ya from tagging along, it is yar bloody right…” her voice trails off, looking back over a shoulder towards Rory again and snorts.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Ruarc walks past Rory, looking at Casey with a slight smile. Something of his humor seeming returned now that the fighters have agreed to move on to another venue. His words are low, for Rory, but he isn’t exactly whispering either.
“Good head on ye shoulder’s Tounge-Twister, keepin Casey shielded.”
He had indeed noticed she was shielding the kin. But there was just one of her, and two fighters, as well as two Fianna kin, one in the room, and one very much close by. His thoughts had been for both of them, not just Casey.
He stops beside her, turning around to look after Simon and Fiona, thoughtful now, more than anything. It is as if he had never raised his voice at all. Another glance to Sinclair, looking at the woman for a moment before offering her a slight nod.
[Rory] Fiona shoos her a look, and a question, and Rory presses her lips together, and nods, slightly. She would have anyway, though there’s a part of her that wants to follow, wants to see, wants to watch, wants to join. But in this, she submits easily.
When her tribe mate shoots her the second look, Rory’s lips quirk into the slightest of grins, though it fades, almost as fast as it arrives. Instead, she takes a breath, and then turns to look at Casey, meeting his gaze, briefly as teeth worry over her lower lip, absently.
[Rory] (adds briefly)
She flushes under the praise of Ruarc, ducking her head to hide behind her curls, again as he stops beside her.
[Victor Oseragighte] He’s said his piece and now actions speak louder. A nod is offered to Fiona before he falls in behind the pair. He’s still not used to Hummingbird’s gift, causing him to move far more fluidly than he used to, a bit blatantly so.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [ack! *catches up*]
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] For the most part, the Shadow Lord on the sectional is quiet, watchful. His pale eyes go to Fiona at her introduction. They rest on Ruarc a moment as he speaks again; then again.
Then, as Fiona and Simon agree on their means and methods, he speaks up. “Hey.” It’s quiet, but there’s a certain weight there. It’s given by rank. It’s given by title. “Wait for me. I’d like to observe.”
His attention turns to Victor, then. “I understand you’re a Half Moon, and as such, feel obligated to mediate disputes. But these are Full Moons, Swallow, and Full Moons will fight. It’s how we stay sharp. It’s how we determine hierarchy. It’s how we blow off steam that would otherwise be turned on our loved ones and those too weak to defend themselves against us.
“Not every brawl needs to be a Challenge. Sometimes making it so will deepen the resentment, not dispel it.”
And lastly, to Ruarc, and plainly now so that it cannot be mistaken:
“Who are you?”
[Casey Steward] Casey looks to Rory and then back over to Fiona as she prepares to go. “If ye wan ta go with her lass, go. I’ve passed through rougher places than Chicago afore withou naery an aid or shield.”
He says tot he woman with a reassuring nod. “If it was ma choice, I’d wanna see wha happened as well.”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Ruarc turns his head to look at Lukas. He recognizes the rank within the other without much difficulty, offering him a respectful nod before he replies.
“I’m Ruarc o’Coneill, Blood-Song, Ahroun o’ Stag, cliath.”
That stormy grey and blue gaze on Lukas face, but not quite meeting the others gaze. He responds easily enough to the others question, voice low, a deep baritone. He reaches up to scratch at the thin goatee on his chin, then lets his arm fall to his side.
[Rory] Two things make the decision for her. First, Lukas wants to observe – which would make two Shadow Lords, a Wendigo, and her Tribe Mate. Second, Casey understands her wish to go, and tells her to go ahead and do so. She graces Casey with the slightest of smiles, one that lights up her eyes and softens the lines of her face as she tries for a compromise.
“Hait were?” If he’ll wait for her here, she’ll go. Otherwise, she stays, and holds true to her promise.
[Casey Steward] “Aye lass, I’ll wait here for tha two o you ta finish up with tha fella.” He says with a nod. “No like I have anywhere else ta be ah tha moment.”
He says as he shrugs casually, smiling as he looks over to Fiona and smiles. “When ya ge back…I’ll have a drink ready an waitin ta toast ta your victory.”
[Mila Davis] Somedays.. she wondered why she bothered to take on that troublesome packmate of hers. Somedays, he proved his worth. Now why was it he liked to prove to the rest of the world that he was a hothead who got beat up by girls?
Another sip of her tequlia. It burned. Just the way she liked it. Mila turned and headed back down the stairs – not after the group.. Wyrmbreaker and the guy she didn’t recognize would make sure it didn’t get out of hand.
[Theron Locke] There is a lean figure that arrives from the corridor. Dark wavy hair being finger combed from his face as he begins to look around the common room. He’s dressed in a pair of dark trousers and a white shirt that currently remains untucked.
Theron Locke , Theurge of the Shadow Lords seems to hold himself with more assuredness today, a more commanding presences than he once did. Perhaps a lot had changed in the time of his absence from Chicago
“Evening all….. what seems to be all the commotion?” Eyes continuing to search the room and finding many new faces but also several familiar ones.
[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona Sullivan
Tue 12:52 am
to Casey Steward, cricket, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Mila Davis, Ruarc o’Conaill, Simon Zahradnik, Sinclair, Theron Locke, Victor Oseragighte
((Just an OOC Note: The scene for the fight is not taking place until after Midnight site time Tomorrow, so just letting you all know if we’re going to be picking up an audience, or if someone’s character is going to take some kind of action.))
to Rory
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] “Blood-Song,” and a courtesy to Fiona, too, whose introduction he’d never responded to in the chaos of the moment, “and Strength of Nehmain, welcome to the Sept of the Maelstrom. I’m Lukáš Wyrmbreaker, Fostern, Alpha of the Unbroken, Alpha of the Shadow Lords, Alpha of the Full Moons. You’re busy, so I’ll make this quick: we’re at war. Join a pack quickly.”
His attention centers on Ruarc, then. “Ruarc, leadership in this Caern is earned by deeds, not by volume of voice or blood of ancestry. You’re a Cliath. Simon and Fiona are Cliaths. It’s not your place to command them until you’ve earned the right. Furthermore, that Cliath,” he adds, nodding at Rory, “is a stone’s throw from Fostern. When you praise her, do so with the respect you would give someone who stands above you, not below.”
[Sinclair] Ruarc gives her a nod, but Sinclair’s look back to him is somewhat at a loss. Lukas is talking now, or was, so she had no intention of interrupting, but when she feels her packmate starting to come up behind her, she turns her head over her shoulder and gives him a little smile, moving so that there’s enough room in the doorway for them both to occupy the space. Leaning on the frame, she looks back into the common room and starts to clean out the dirt from under one of her fingernails. Well, not dirt so much as this one really annoying speck that won’t come out without her messing with it.
She flicks her eyes up as Lukas speaks to Ruarc, and then — quite abruptly, and without apparent reason — she elbows Theron hard and sharp in the ribs.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [don’t wait for me when you guys throw down — Lukas mainly wants to see how they spar and offer suggestions if necessary, and to make sure they don’t come away with a huge bitter resentment toward each other. which i don’t think is the case, anyway!]
to Casey Steward, cricket, Fiona Sullivan, Mila Davis, Rory, Ruarc o’Conaill, Sinclair, Theron Locke, Victor Oseragighte
[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona had waited until Lukas had addressed her, when that comes, she listens to what he has to say to Ruarc, absorbing it all in with curiosity. Her gaze swings back to Rory with anewed interest at discovering that she was nearly a fostern. It made everything all the more intriguing.
Once no one needed to address her for anything, the blond fianna moves off with anyone else in tow for a showdown with the shadow lord.
[Casey Steward] When Fiona and Rory are both gone, Casey seems to consider his options, he had promised he would remain here in this place until they returned fro this fight. And he would hold himself to that. For now though, the man goes to take a seat on any unoccupied section of the sectional couch. Kicking up his feet to catch a few winks while he waited for the two ladies to return.
[Rory] She is looking at Casey, when Lukas speaks to Ruarc, and turns just in time to catch the comment about her, and her rank. She blinks, and then flushes, and ducks her head. It’s as if she had not realized she was so close to anything of rank. She has always simply done her duty. Such as placing herself in front of a kinfolk, so that he is out of the splatter zone. Such as backing up a Tribe Mate who’s in the right when being dressed down by someone making assumptions. Such as fighting, and killing, and doing everything that has made her an Ahroun of the nation – an Ahroun that’s close to achieving something she had been told she’d never, ever manage, that she’d never ever deserve.
It’s a conflicting batch of emotions that dance nakedly across her face, hidden by the fall of her hair. She hesitates, though, and with another look at Fiona, nods. She’ll be along when Lukas is – until then, she remains in the room.
((Rory will be there – but as I’m not ready for bed, I’m not ditching the scene just yet. *L*))
[Sinclair] Her brows flick together. The good-natured rib-jab with her elbow was one thing. The second time she does it, it’s harder, and it’s less good-natured. She frowns, quite pointedly, at Theron.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Ruarc listens to what Lukas has to say, his full attention on the foster as he speaks. At the end of it, Ruarc respond simply with a:
“Aye, Wyrmbreaker-rhya.”
And completely mangling the pronunciation of Wyrmbreaker with his dialect. He does not try to offer excuses or reasons for his behavior. They do not matter at the moment, and Ruarc has no need for them. Another nod to Lukas, and then Ruarc glances to Rory, curious and thoughtful as he looks to the shy full-moon. When she leaves after Simon and Fiona Ruarc turns to join Casey, taking a seat in the recliner beside his large bag and the guitar with its case, putting the instrument away.
[Rory] (or, since everyone is posting me leaving, I should go now, hm? *L*)
to Casey Steward, cricket, Fiona Sullivan, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Ruarc o’Conaill, Sinclair, Theron Locke, Victor Oseragighte
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [i’m staying too!]
[Ruarc o’Conaill] (*L* sorry, stay!)
to Casey Steward, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Rory, Sinclair, Theron Locke, Victor Oseragighte
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] To Ruarc’s simple response, an even simpler reply: a single nod, and the faint onesided curve of his mouth. For what it’s worth, the half-smile is genuine, and there’s something almost like encouragement in it.
Then Fiona and Simon are heading out to rumble, and the crowd is beginning to disperse. Just like high school, only Lukas never made it to high school. The War interrupted. He doesn’t rush to follow the Ahrouns, though. It’ll take them a while to get to wherever they were going. He’s got a fast car.
He returns to his dinner, instead, picking up his plate as he gets up and heads over to where his packmates are silently elbowing each other. As he approaches, his eyebrows rise in question.
[Theron Locke] Theron cops one friendly rib jab and is about to offer a shoulder bump back when he finds himself on the receiving end of a second more solid blow . “Guess I deserved that one ?” and then follows up with his original plan of a friendly bump back into her
[Rory] Though she stays until the Ahroun Elder follows the dueling full moons, she is not exactly comfortable doing so. There’s a subtle tension as she follows Casey to the couch, weaving through her slender form. She’s more tense than she was with Fiona here, even more so than when she and Simon started to argue. There’s something else there, something that has her on edge, that has her on uneven footing.
So she does her best to ignore them it, and follows to the couch, looking curiously at the guitar as Ruarc puts it away, almost disappointed that he does so.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [Why you tense?]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
to Rory
[Rory] [You can see nothing!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Ruarc catches Rory’s glance, offering the shy ahroun a warm grin.
“Ye wanna play lass?”
He taps the guitar case with a finger, eyebrows raised slightly in question. Leaning comfortably in the recliner, his gaze on Rory and Casey.
“Or ye wan’me tae thrum a tune for ye? I hav’th’ guitar o’ the pipes.”
His finger moving from the guitar case to the large bag beside it.
[Rory] She looks over as Casey settles in for a nap, and then back to Ruarc who had caught her look. She chews on her lower lip, absently, and then creeps closer, and settles down into a crouch by the guitar case, and the bag, thus keeping them between her and him. She wraps her arms around her knees, loosely, and with a glance to be sure Lukas has not left without her trailing behind, she glances up at Ruarc, curiosity in her gaze.
“I knon’t dow how.” Again, she doesn’t seem to notice the mixup in her words, she simply hears what she intended to say, adding softly, achingly shy… “please?”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Well, we cannae hav’tha’ now can we.”
Said with that easy, friendly smile directed at the shy woman. He reaches down and opens the guitar case, plucking the guitar up from its case and putting it in his lap.”
“Here… I can show ye.”
He shifts slightly and pats the armrest for Rory to come even closer, waiting to see if she does before he goes on. Fingers easily finding their places on the guitar, two easy notes picked out and played.
[Rory] He reaches for the case, opening it, and she watches curiously, tipping her head, slightly. She still doesn’t quite meet his gaze, despite what Lukas said of her impending rank, even when he pats the armrest and invites her closer. She chews on her lower lip, absently, and then curiosity overpowers timidness, and she unfolds from her crouch, and takes that step closer. She sinks to perch on the edge of the armrest, doing her best not to invade his personal space, even with his invitation to come closer. If it weren’t for the naked curiosity about the instrument, and his playing of it, she would not be this close at all.
He plucks out two easy notes, and they don’t look at all easy to her, though she watches his hands, and the placement on the strings carefully. She lifts a hand to rub at the side of her nose, absently, glances up to meet his gaze briefly – then back to the guitar. “…pretty.”
Not one to use many words, for obvious reasons.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] He takes his time, making sure he is twisted enough for Rory to get a good look at what he does. He takes his time, clearly showing each note before playing it. He goes through a total of five different ones, slow. Then he plays them quicker, the melody of ‘Danny Boy’ soft and quite beautiful. Ruarc is a skilled player, at least for a full moon. He plays the first piece, then winks at Rory, starting over. This time, he sings softly, in that deep baritone voice.
“Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer’s gone, and all the flowers are dying…”
The ballad is slow and soft, and he finishes it, never taking his eyes from Rory as he performs.
[Rory] He winks at her, and she – predictably – blushes, and ducks to hide behind her curls. She watches his fingers, carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration as she listens to the medly that he plays, one she recognizes. He sings, and she looks up to meet his gaze but for a moment, before her hands fall back to watch his hands and listen as he performs for her.
It’s a sad song, it always has been, and Ruarc performs it beautifully. Soon she isn’t so much watching his fingers perform the mechanics of the song, such as falling into the beauty of the melody itself, instead. When the last notes fade away, she chances another look up, oh so briefly, before offering the softest of compliments.
“You’re gery vood.”
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The three wolves of the Unbroken, having gathered, are now almost wholly silent. Any who have shared a totem bond would recognize that should of shared quiet that speaks of a communication deeper than words. They become a unit unto themselves.
When the Fianna begins to sing, though, the Ahroun turns from his packmates. His head, first; then the rest of him, turning until he faces the pair of Fianna. He drifts back toward them, standing just behind the sectional.
Ruarc’s voice is lifting into the second verse when, perhaps unexpectedly, Lukas’s joins him. The Shadow Lord is an unpracticed singer of no great skill, strictly amateur. His singing voice is only pleasant insofar as his speaking voice is level, and low, and smooth. Still, he keeps the right key and manages a basic harmony with the Fianna:
“And when you come, and all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
You’ll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an Ave there for me.”
The last lines, and he falls silent again, listening to the Fianna finish his song alone. Rory praises him, and Lukas nods in agreement.
“One of my favorite songs, that one.” A pause, and then a whim he doesn’t pause to question, “If our people gather for my Departing Rite before they do yours, will you sing that over my pyre?”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] Ruarc is surprised by Lukas as he joins in, but not enough to loose his place, instead singing the song as a duet with the other ahroun. When the song is finished, Ruarc looks over his shoulder at Lukas, brows slightly furrowed.
“Aye, I woul’be hono’ed tae sing it fer ye Wyrmbreaker-rhya.”
Again with the mangling of the name, crushing those R’s.
“But I am nae Galliard. Ah just play fer th’ joy o’ it.”
His gaze goes to Rory then, offering her a warm smile.
“If’n ye woul’ like, I will teach ye how tae play Rory. It’s nae hard t’ing once ye get the hang o’ it.”
[Sinclair] There isn’t much singing that can go on around Sinclair without her being drawn into it, or to it. After elbowing Theron twice she went quiet, but then Ruarc started playing and she turned away from Theron, watching the two Fianna instead.
Lukas sings with him. Rory praises him. Sinclair closes her eyes. And when Lukas mentions his pyre her brows tug tightly together, then her eyes open and her brow smooths. She looks over at the Shadow Lord Ahroun for a long moment. During that moment, Ruarc answers. And Sinclair shoulders away from the doorframe to head down to the kitchen, flipflops…well. Flipflopping on the stairs.
She gives a general nod to those in the common room before she goes, but doesn’t announce where or why she’s going.
[Sinclair] [Thanks for the RP guys! Dropping out of here.]
[Rory] Lukas joins in and Rory’s head snaps in that direction, openly surprised for half a moment, before she flushes at her audacity and drops her gaze with a sheepish little grin. She is silent as they talk of Gatherings and singing, and Sinclair leaves. Then Ruarc is offering to teach her…
She bites her lower lip, nervously, a moment, and then reaches a hand to touch the gleaming wood of the guitar, sliding her fingers over the smooth surface briefly, then, with a ache of longing forming in her belly for an answer she expects, she asks oh so softly… “Would I have ro tead music?”
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] “The Galliards can sing other sings,” Lukas replies, smiling. “The honor would be mine, if you’d sing that one.”
The Fianna return to their conversation, then, and Sinclair flipflops her way down the stairs. Lukas looks after her thoughtfully for a moment. Then he picks up his plate — his dinner cooling on it — and heads for the hallway.
As he passes Theron, he reaches out and claps his hand to his brother’s shoulder, a nameless and wordless gesture of welcome and solidarity and … whatever else it is that that might mean.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Nae unless ye wan’tae lass. I didnae learn tae read sheet’s until I knew th’ twelve epics by melody n’ heart. I can show ye what tae practice an’ how tae practice step by step.”
Ruarc looks back to Ruarc, gaze following him as he goes or his plate and when he returns. When he claps his hand over Ruarc’s shoulder, the Fianna ahroun nods slowly, looking up at Lukas, thoughtful.
“By oath, I shall sing it fer yer pyre, should ye fall befo’e I.”
His voice low, soft and quite serious. He watches Lukas move away, than looks back to Rory, offering her a smile.
“They say tha’music has the ability tae convey more than words. Ye should’nae fear tae try it. He’e…”
He lifts the guitar, offering it up to rory with that easy smile.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] (Misread, remove the part about the shoulder and Lukas *chuckles* he just says the oath)
[Theron Locke] Theron watches Sinclair depart in silence, tempted to follow but refrains for now. Head turning to his Alpha with a nod and a smile as a hand is laid on his shoulder. Nothing needed to be said, just a simple acknowledgement of one brother to another , now equals but perhaps not for long.
Watching as those gathered discuss music and melodies, the Theurge listening out of interest but knowing he was out of his depth in this area.
[Rory] If it were a case of wanting, then it would be easy, but it is worse than that. She doesn’t explain though, nor does she hide the sense of relief at not having to read anything.
When she reaches for the offered guitar, it is with hands that are steady, yet shockingly careful, gentle even. She bites her lower lip, and arranges the instrument across her lap as Ruarc had held it, running her hands over the whole of the guitar, familiarizing herself with the feel, the bits and bobs, the knobs and strings, every little bit as if she is memorizing it on a deeper level than musically – on base functionality, as if by doing so she could likely replicate it in some fashion, make something work that hadn’t worked before.
Her hands are almost shockingly fragile looking – her fingers slender, her nails all but non-existent. Looks, however, can be a lie, and she handles the guitar with care that she does not inadvertently damage it.
“…dat who I do?”
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas is faintly surprised when Ruarc makes it an oath. It’s not the surprise of someone who finds such a thing quaint or unnecessary, though. It’s more a recognition, and a surprise to find such a thing recognizable and recognized in someone so different from himself. A different tribe. A different continent. A different life.
“Thank you,” he says, and he means it. “If you think of something I can do for you if our places are reversed, let me know.”
Then he’s moving on to his packmate, whose shoulder he clasps before moving on. The door of his room opens, then closes quietly.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] A look after Lukas. Ruarc has nothing to add for now, simply nodding after the foster ahroun.
Ruarc gets up after Rory takes the guitar. He shifts, hands coming to Rory’s waits, shifting her slightly to the side so her back is more towards him, then he just presses up against her back, strong arms wrapping around. He takes it slowly, as to not startle the other ahroun, or push if she moves away from him. If she lets him, he places his hands over hers, guiding her fings to the first position.
“Alrigh’ lass. This is the first.”
He guides her fingers, playing the note two times, then moves on to the next. He takes his time, showing her all five notes in that fashion before moving back from her, standing and moving to crouch in front of her, looking at the woman with an encouraging smile and nod.
“There ye go lass… Try I’ now.”
[Adamidas] Somewhere, something pops. The Gauntlet doesn’t shred so much as it bends, moves and she pops through. Why she was on the other side, however, isn’t important. What a woman does in the privacy of her own shared room isn’t really important. Or, for that matter, anyone’s damned business.
What does matter, though, is that she’s headed to the common room. One door opens, and another closes. Literally. People come in and out of this place; since the Badasses took over patrol, Adam’s become more aware of people coming and going.
it’s the sound of voices, one that’s unfamiliar, that brings her out. Attire is comfortable. Shorts, tank top. No shoes. She’s got bone in her hair. Or it might be talc (it’s bone. She’s a Black Fury. She takes her warpaint seriously, even if there is only one other Fury here.)
So, she heads to the common room, a little under five and a half feet tall and a little messy. It works.
[Rory] She falls very, very still as he comes up behind her, pressing against her, and only he can feel the slight tremble of trepidation as he lays his hands over hers. She has not known much kindness – any kindness – before coming to Chicago, and a lifetime of pain has taught her to expect it. To accept it as her due. Chicago has been different, and strange and that is something frightening in and of itself… and she still fears the other shoe will drop anytime now.
But it doesn’t fall right now. Right now, she lets him guide her fingers, her brow furrowing in concentration as she strives to remember every little nuance of what he shows her. He helps her play each note two times, showing her each of the five required.. then he moves away [and she breathes again] and crouches before her [and she forgets once more] and encourages her to try on her own.
A shaky breath, and then she tries, surprising herself that while she struggles and it is obvious that she does, and with a little help on the hardest of the five, she manages to at least get them all right, once.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Ve’y good lass. Ye go’th’ hang o’ it now.”
He offers her that open and friendly smile once more. She is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but there is no telling when it will. After all, no one has told the newcomer Rory’s birth yet, and she certainly looks healthy. Her speech is hardly worth noticing in a place such as this where dialects mix and match freely.
“Now, wha’ ye need tae do I’ practice. Practice an’ practice some more. Now ye got the tools fer th’ job. Is jus’ a matte’ o’learnin how tae use ‘em. So, fer now… Keep th’ guitar, and keep tae practice wheneve’ ye get a chance. Ye’ll be playin like a rocksta’ in nae time lass.”
[Rory] She flushes and blushes bright at his praise, even though she knows it wasn’t that good, and she’s far from having the hang of it at all. It will take practice, and she doesn’t have the…
her eyes widen and she shakes her head vigorously “Keep it? But… is yours…” not even ‘for now’ would she dare take something so valuable…
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”’is al’ight lass. I trust ye tae take good care o’ it. Ye need it tae practice with after all, don’t ye?”
Said with that easy grin of his. He straightens up, then moves to sit back down in the recliner next to Rory, leaning back.
“Ye are family afte’ all. If’n I cannae trust ye with me guitar, how would ye expect me tae trust ye at me side in battle? Nae, nae argument. Keep it fer now, and I expect ye to be improved enough tae play the first verse in a week o’ two.”
He glances down at his big bag, then back to rory with that smile still present.
“’sides, I still got th’ pipes ‘n flutes tae play, so I’s nae like ye are takin me only instrument.”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] (Add, if Adamidas actually enters the common room)
Ruarc looks up as Adamidas enters, his brows slightly raised, but offering the diminuative woman a friendly enough smile.
[Rory] She’s… shocked, really. Stunned to say the least, even as she claims her family, and that he trusts her for that simple reason. He tells her no arguing, and she snaps her mouth shut obediently. Where she held the guitar carefully before, she now holds it as if it is something more precious than gold, more priceless than the finest gift one could imagine – she holds his trust in her hands, and she silently vows not to violate that.
He settles back into the chair, and leans back, and she remains perched on his armrest, a look of fierce determination on her face – her lower lip between her teeth, her brow furrowed – as she goes through the notes again. After all, he said practice whenever she could – now is as good a time as any.
[Adamidas] She comes back out, and looks at the people in the room. She knows Rory, sort of. They haven’t shared hotdogs together or tangoed or anything, but she recognizes Rory. she comes out in time to… well… see people. One she recognizes, one she doesn’t. And it’s the overwhelming feeling of Stag’s presence that keeps her attention. The place is run and owned by their kin. She wonders, briefly, about things. Little things, big things, things that make no –
Oh, hey, there’s a person smiling.
So, she waves.
“Hi, haven’t seen you before,” she says. She’s personable.
[Theron Locke] Theron seemingly distracted from the goings on in the common room. His eyes glazed and seemingly distant as if his mind was elsewhere. Turns and heads back down the corridor towards his room.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [thanks for the play, folks!]
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”’Ello. Nae, I’m th’ new bloke o’ the block I am. Names Ruarc, o’ Blood-Song if’n ye prefer. Full-moon o’ Stag and cliath.”
He offers it to the woman with that easy and friendly smile, looking away from rory momentarily as she practices. His gaze goes back, and he reaches out, quickly touching Rory’s arm, the one that holds the neck of the guitar.
“Ye need tae relax th’ arm, but keep ye finger’s stiff tae pu’ pressu’e o’ tae strings lass… That’s the way, ye getting it.”
Easily instructing the girl, as if he had done it plenty of time before, and it is quite possible that he has.
Ruarc is a tall Irish, a bit over 6 feet tall. His dark hair is shaved on the sides, with a short cropped, wide Mohican mane. A small goatee and whispers on his lips. There is a tinge of red to the hair, but not a full blown bright red as one would expect from the sense of purity flowing freely in the man. His eyes are stormy grey and blue, intense much due to the heavy rage that flows in and around the full-moon.
[Rory] He touches her arm, and she snaps her ehad up to look at him, though she offers a shy grin as instructs her, and she makes the adjustments, her brow furrowing again as she does her best to comply.
At some point she glances up at Adam, recognition flickering through her gaze, before she bends her head again to the task she’s set for herself – painstakingly plucking the notes from the guitar as he’s shown her how to do…
[Adamidas] “Alethea Adamidas,” she says. Dear God that is a Greek-sounding-name. It’s not just a little Greek, it’s a lot of Greek, “Rain of Brass Petals. Black Fury cliath, Theurge, and member of the Squad of Ultimate Badasses. We live here.”
She’s not very tall. Compared to the garou? She’s downright short. In comparison to other women, however, she’s of an average height. She watches Rory play for a second. She watches and comes back to reality.
“You’re getting it,” she assures. Supports.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”’s pleasure lass.”
It is directed at alathea. It would be easy to take the word lass as some form of derogatory term if it was said by anyone else. But coming from Ruarc? There is a simple open warmth to him. An easy friendly demeanor that makes it hard to consider the word even close to derogatory. It sounds more like a variation of –yuf then anything else.
“Ye play?”
His brows raised as he questions the newcomer, flashing her that warm smile.
“Rory ‘ere is one fine student, she is. Soon, I’ll be th’ one askin fer lessons. The lass will be playin duets wi’th’ galliards.”
[Rory] Adam is supportive, assuring the metis that she’s doing well, and Ruarc offers praise, and Rory is blushing brighter under the force of it. She hides her face by bending to the guitar, keeping her eyes and attention on making her fingers do what she wants them too.
He says he’ll be asking for lessons, that she’ll be playing duets, and she flushes brightly, and shakes her head in denial, even as she struggles to make sure each time she plucks a note it’s the right one, done the right way. She’s awful single-minded when she’s decided to learn something new…
[Adamidas] “I do not play. My sister does, but… she’s the one who does things with stringed instruments. I just have a healthy appreciation for music. Makes the spirits happy,” she says. Not even forced. It just comes. She likes music because it makes the spirits happy.
She shrugs, and catches the blush. Brings a brighter, more vibrant smile to her face.
“So, do you guys know each other or..? are you really, really new, Ruarc?”
[Rory] Ruarc doesn’t answer the question for a bit, and Rory shifts her position on the arm of his chair slightly, before realizing that he must want her to answer. She pauses in her plucking and shyly offers…
“Ne’s hew. Met tonight.”
[Adamidas] (brb, people!)
[Adamidas] (back!)
“Ah,” she says, “well, if you need anything, let me know? Your kin run this place, and my pack’s patrolling the ground right now. Help however you can. Lemme just say, this place is Fianna hospitality at its finest.”
[Rory] Then, she looks up, and realizes that she’s been here far longer than she planned, and that look can only be the one of someone sheepishly speaking to her Alpha over they mystical totem bond. She stands, and carefully – so very carefully – puts the guitar in it’s case, latching it closed, and then dashes to the laundry room to grab her now clean clothing [St. Jenny put it in the dryer for her] and her backpack, and coming back for the guitar. She hefts the case easily in her hand, and then, softly -shyly…
“Cack palling. Thank you… I’ll come sack boon.”
and then, with a last, achingly shy smile, she turns and heads out of the room and to the streets. She’s a long walk home still.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”I arrived a couple o’ nights ago, so p’etty new, aye.”
Offered to Adamidas with a smile, then he looks after Rory. When she comes back, Ruarc is holding the guitar case for her to take.
“Ye take care now lass, an’ don’ forget… Practice ‘n practice.”
Then Rory dashes off, leaving Ruarc alone with Adamidas. There is a large bag on the floor next to the recliner Ruarc occupies.
“Will ye have a seat wi’me?”
[Rory] (thanks for playing! bedtime for Lessa’s!)