[Kora] The sky is still pink in the west, just visible between the office towers – bright against an ominous skyfull of billowing clouds. The sort that would have campers trying to remember when a red sky is a sailor’s delight, and when it is a warning. Sounding out the remembered rhyme to decide whether the extra work of a rain canopy is necessary, or if the tent is sufficient on its own.
The evening’s warmer than it has been, and though the Millennium Fountain is still turned off for the season, there are shoots from spring bulbs coming up through the dirty mire of snow and mud in the plainting boxes. And mud – everywhere, the turf torn up by optimistic college students on the few warmer sun-lit afternoons, coming out of hibernation for a pick-up game of flag football or ultimate frisbee.
Kora is seated on the table of a wooden picnic table, feet on the seat, close to the edge of a pier. She squints out over the darkness toward the dark, quiet, reflective waters of Lake Michigan, waiting for Roman to return from the vending carts with their dinner.
Or at least mid-evening snack.
[Roman Turner] “Ok, one rootbeer, one coke and four hot dogs, fully loaded. I wasn’t sure if ya wanted the beans on there or not, but figured if ya didn’t like them ya could dump them on mine. I like the pickle slice the best, but second best is them little black beans.”
From one pocket came the Rootbeer, from the other, the Coke. Carefully both were set on the picnic table along with the sack he had been carrying.
“Got lots of napkins too.”
[Janis Ian] One moment – Janis is a shadow against the dying sunlight as dusk settled across the Park. The next second, she is gliding with an animal’s grace into the peripheral of Kora’s eyes. Her hair; a bright flame that dances across her shoulders to tumble down her spine in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, stray wisps tease and curl along the structure of her jaw.
Her head tilts, skimming brown eyes across the water as she paces her way towards the table that Roman walks towards. She pulls her eyes back to them, arching a brow in silent inquiry as she tips her head in a nod.
“Romany and Kora.”
[Kora] “What,” the creature says, turning to regard him with a sidelong look, dark eyes in a pale face, an animal flash of light across the surface of her gaze. Generous mouth twisting in a slow-moving curl, as if she had been caught daydreaming. As if she were just waking up. ” – no chips?”
Kora’s dark eyes drop from the young Gaian’s face to the meal, then flicker back to his face. “And napkins,” a chiding note in her low, rich voice. “Real Fenrir don’t need table manners, kid.” The last with a certain, clear-eyed affection. “Napkins were totally unnecessary, yeah? Superfluous.”
The Skald is wearing a dark gray hoodie; the hood’s drawn up, over her pale blonde hair, which is scrapped back from her pale features and twisted against its own weight in a not at the nape, visible as a misshapen appendage, of sorts, beneath the hood. The sweatshirt is unzipped just to the apex of her pregnant stomach, a sort of tension holding it open between shoulder and torso.
She glances up as Janis approaches, lifts her chin in a vague gesture of greeting to the Rotagar. “Rides Like Cowboy.” The deeper edge of the affectionate smile she offered her packmate filters back into a more neutral sort of half-smile. “Hey.”
[Rory] Rory has always been something of a loner, flourishing slightly only with the support of pack around her. She has been without, now, for longer than she was with, and still has found no real place to call home. In fact, many have assumed she had moved on, had left the city. She is too stubborn for that, though. Disappointing as some things here have been, she is a creature well used to disappointment. Expects it even.
She is, however, lonely. Sure, she expects that too, having spend so much of her life such – but once one tastes of companionship, it is natural to seek it out again. Unfortunately, the normal sod cannot stand to be around her, and her own frequently disappoint her. So, that leaves Rory – alone.
Alone near the pier where the Last Watch debate the necessity of chips vs. napkins, though she does is not close enough to hear the conversation. No, her attention is firmly wrapped up in the headphones she wears, and the chords she is learning to pick out with some ease on the guitar in her lap.
Ruarc’s guitar. Not hers. Never hers.
At least now, she is competent enough to play a few recognizable melodies, so the soft sound is far less jarrin than it might be otherwise…
[Roman Turner] “Ya need napkins unless ya expect me to lick the droppings off ya.”
With that he put a napkin in her lap. Janis appeared and called him the wrong name and earned.
“Roman. The name is Roman. Not Romany.”
He took a seat across from Kora on the other side of the table.
[Rory] [great, now I got that song stuck in my head!]
[Janis Ian] She clears her throat, wrinkling up her nose as the smell of the hot dogs and its condiments fills her nose. She smirks as Roman corrects her, eyebrows dancing over her eyes widening them slightly.
She extends her arms out, “Roman, right, small mistake. Ye certainly don’t look like a gypo.” The Rotagar draws closer to the tables, but doesn’t sit, she just stands placing her hands back into her coat pockets and looks away.
“‘Tis getting warmer, it’ll be nice to ‘ave it.”
[Roman Turner] “You’re right, small mistake so I forgive ya, Janet.”
His smile was pure faked innocence as he raised an arm to wave at Rory.
[Janis Ian] Roman was all saccharine smiles towards Janis, she casts her eyes up to the sky, tilting her head back to study the blanket of stairs cutting across the night sky. She snorts softly, a faint rumbling sound passes for a chortle in the base of her throat. One corner of her mouth peels back into a ghost of a smile.
“Whatever ye say, Michael.”
She pivots slowly; head swinging around to follow her body as she looks Rory’s way, watching the other redhead with a curious gaze.
[Roman Turner] “Michael is an Arch Angel, that works for me, Sally.”
He nodded then dug in to his hot dog.
[Rory] She closes her eyes, her brow furrowing as she puts what she hears into practice, opening green eyes again to look down and place her fingers correctly, and play the chord. She smiles, triumphant, as it sounds like the right one, nodding her head – which is enough to catch Roman’s wave out of the corner of her eye.
She turns her head to more fully look in that direction, hiding a smile behind a quick duck of her head. She peeks through her curls – vibrant red and indicative of her heritage – and lifts a hand to return the wave.
She chews on her lower lip a moment, indecisive. Rory is a curious creature, painfully shy and withdrawl, prone to blushes and quiet, awkward in her skin – where in battle she is everything opposite. A skilled battle bot, well adept at taking hits for her fellow warriors, and dealing death with every vicious bite.
The spirits speak of her, too, of this animal, this beast that hides behind genuine shyness. They speak of her battle prowess, they speak of her honor, of her wisdom. They speak volumes of her glory. They speak of deeds that would have ranked higher than that of which she holds. They speak. More than she knows.
And truth be told, for her? walking up to a group – even one that contains someone she might someday call friend – takes more bravery than facing down the biggest agent of the wyrm. But she does so. Because Roman waved. She slips the guitar back into its case, stands and slings it over her shoulder so the strap cuts across her torso. Earbuds are pulled from her ears, and the precious MP3 player – filled with lessons put there by the owner of the guitar – is tucked away into a pocket.
Only then does she approach.
[Kora] On her thigh, anyway. Kora does not have much of a lap these days. Even less of one when she’s sitting as she is now, near the edge the wooden picnic table, sitting forward now with her meal pulled to one side. Hot dogs and root beer.
The exchange between the pair of no-moons earns a quiet, sotto voce snort – but Kora cannot quite swallow the frission of irritation the extended exchange draws out in her. The sort of thing she might normally swallow to expend later in the hunt now lingers underneath her skin, a constant, prickling irritation. Her hunting is circumscribed; nearly wholly proscribed. The moon’s waxing somewhere above those cumulous clouds. It’s not hers, not yet, but she can feel the promise of it underneath her skin. The gibbous moon is coming.
This will be harder, then.
So there: that half-smile lingering at the edges of her mouth, that neutral expression flattens into a brief, hard line, lips pressed together from edge to edge. She cuts a dark eyed glance from Michael to Sally to Janet to whomever and then breathes out, a long, quiet exhalation, the frustration stillborn underneath, but not expended.
The pregnant Garou has not touched her hot dogs. Instead, she looks beyond the pair and lifts her chin to Rory if the Fianna notices them; then cuts a glance back to Roman.
“I was glad to see you stand up and take responsibility for you kin at the moot,” but he knew that; felt the brief, fierce glow of her approval when he did. Felt something of that, though more muted, for Patrick when he did the same. With Roman, it was more personal. ” – you’re gonna leave for your rank challenge soon, yeah?”
That’s quiet; low-voiced for Roman before Rory has joined the small group. Then, when she approaches at last, the Skald greets her, quiet. “Rory. You met Janice?”
[Roman Turner] Kora’s question and Rory’s approach eased some of the devilment (as his mother called it) out of him. Kora got a low voiced.
“Thank ya” Though he knew of at least one of his Kin that didn’t trust him enough to come to him personally with a problem. And she got a “Yessum.” In regards to his intentions to leave for Rank Challenge.
Rory had him rising to his feet to properly greet her with a.
“Howdy Miss Rory.”
Before he reseated himself.
[Janis Ian] Janet/Sally/Janis catches the irritation rolling through the Skald, she sucks in a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she continues to face Rory’s direction, offering the Fianna a curling tilt of a smile that doesn’t quite carry a lot of emotion. She shakes her head slowly, unsettling the long tail of auburn hair that runs down her spine.
She extends out a hand to the Fianna, “Nay, afraid not. Janis Ian.” Her brogue rings around her words, it’s not so thick that you couldn’t understand what she says, it acts more like a flavor to her speech.
[Rory] “Roman.” Roman stands and greets her, and Rory – predictably – blushes. Kora is the recipient of a softly murmured “Hi.” That is at once unbearably shy, and deeply respectful. In answer to the question, she shakes her head slightly – she doesn’t remember meeting Janis, and when the other confirms it, she offers her a slightly different – though no less genuine shy smile.
“Rory.” the obvious, of course, offered in introduction. She hesitates a moment before offering her hand though. Such casual touch is something to beware of, as it so often leads to something else. It’s a brief moment though, before ragewarmed fingers slide into Janis’ grip for a brief shake.
[Kora] “I didn’t know you played guitar,” the Skald says to Rory, dark eyes cutting from the painfully shy metis to the instrument she carries, in a brief gesture. Her voice is low and vibrant, offered in passing as she glances between Janice and Rory. Then the creature lifts her chin, looks over her shoulder, back toward the fountain square where the food cart man is packing up his wares for the evening.
There are humans in the park for sure; but none of them are coming close to the group.
“I think you owe each other a rather more formal introduction, yeah?”
There’s that movement still under her skin, the need to move that drives her from bed and leashes her, at the same time, closely to the center of the pack’s territory these nights. She rarely leaves without a packmate at her side. And even then, she is both acutely conscious of her need to hunt, and deeply ambivalent about it. The desire underscored by her feral consciousness of every potential risk to the kid she cannot ignore.
A supple glance back at Roman when he takes his seat. Sort of withdrawing from the space between Janis and Rory, briefly. Letting them sniff each other out. Figure out where they fit. “Pack’s getting bigger,” she says instead, to Roman, still low-voiced. A lingering look on the young Rotagar’s features. “And you know I’m out of action for another couple of moons, at least, Trent figures.”
Because the closest she’s been to a doctor was a drug-store pregnancy test. Or twelve. A brief nudge, thigh to thigh, familiar. Affection surfacing as the ripple of irritation subsides. “Need a Beta ready to step in, you know.”
[Rory] She flushes with delight gained from what to most would be an idle comment. That Kora, a galliard, would think her plucking a few chords as playing….
well then.
“Ruarc tas weaching me. Patrick nelps how.” As always, she doesn’t seem to notice the mix up in words, though the underlying frustration with speaking so many in a row, suggests she knows it must happen, if not how or where. Nothing to help her correct it – she hears nothing wrong, only what she intended to say, rather than what she did.
Kora says there needs to be a more formal introduction, and she complies, immediately. “Tongue-Twister. Mull Foon. Fianna.”
[Janis Ian] Janis was being cautious with the introductions. Her eyes pull away as does her hand to glance around at their surroundings, she sniffs once, arches an eyebrow at Kora’s question as the Skald deemed it alright for the two women to proceed with more formal introductions. She returns her eyes to Rory, dipping her head in a deeper nod to the Fianna.
“Rides like Cowboy. Rotagar. Fenrir.”
Janis looks to Kora to see if that met her approval. Her weight shifts, rolling from one foot to another on the thick soles of motorcycle boots.
[Roman Turner] “Yeah?”
He licked his lips, took a sip from the straw of his drink and then pushed his remaining dog towards Rory without for once, offering someone his wiener. Casually using the napkin to scrub at his lips before wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans. He’d grown a little more, which meant these stiffly starched Wranglers were so dark because they were brand spanking new.
“Think I could handle it?”
A lean to the side came as he fished in a back pocket and pulled out a deck of cards that he began to shuffle before dealing them out between them. War had taken on a whole new meaning between them lately.
[Rory] She offers a shy grin toward Janis, and nods, then Roman shoves his other hot dog toward the metis, and Rory’s belly grumbles it’s appreciation. Rory hesitates only a moment, before slender fingers, fragile looking, dash out to take the dog, with a softly murmured “thanks.”
She takes a bite, eyes closing briefly, happily, as she chews, before she peeks up again at Janis.
“New?” a wealth of questions in the single word.
[Janis Ian] “Aye.”
Janis answers simply, tucking her arms behind her back, she watches Rory with a bit of amusement twisting at the curve of her lips. She arches an eyebrow at the Metis, seeming to study her with a curious interest that might make the Fianna uncomfortable or shy, as the Rotagar was a bit bold in the way she just stares.
[Roman Turner] Where he came from, hospitality was part of what you did. In a case like this, he’d invited Rory over with his wave. It was then his duty to offer her comfort. Comfort here was what food he had to share. He winked at Rory when she murmured her thanks. Then he flipped over the first card, timing it with Kora’s move in the game of War.
[Kora] When Janis looks back at Kora, she finds the Skald looking up and at her, over the rather more intimate space defined by the seats she and Roman have taken on the picnic table. Briefly, her attention falls, drawn by the movement of Roman’s hand as he pushes his second hot dog toward Rory. Flicks a look upward at the metis, watches the subtle shift of expression underneath her skin. Like she’s trying to find the monster under there; beneath the blush.
A half-second later she makes a similar gesture toward Janis. “If you don’t like the beans,” Kora tells her, somewhat solemnly, “Roman says he’ll eat them.”
A brief, narrow glance back toward Roman, dark eyes dropping as he begins to turn over the cards. Nostrils flare as she lifts her gaze back to his face.
“I do,” she tells him, without coyness, without preamble. The challenge comes, after. “Can you?”
[Rory] Janis’s stare, uncomfortable as it was, has nothing on Kora’s brief look that tries to put the pieces of Rory’s extremes together to match a whole. There’s a story there, buried behind green eyes, behind a tongue that twists until words are ineffective and confused. There’s a tale there that remains untold, heard only in pieces by one or two in the entirety of her existence here in Chicago.
A tale. A mystery. A story. A life unwritten. All buried beneath the skin of one that seemingly walks in contradictions.
Right now, though, Rory’s attention is on the hot dog. It’s likely the first thing she’s eaten today, with the gusto that she puts into chewing and swallowing. Roman says he’ll eat the beans if they don’t like them, and Rory turns slightly away so as to guard hers from his reach – just in case he wants them back. Because she likes them. She likes everything.
Janis answers in a single syllable, and is still watching Rory. She looks up mid bite, and then blushes brightly, before ducking her head to hide behind her curls as she snags the dog between her teeth, rips and chews.
[Roman Turner] “I can and will.”
Blue-gray eyes met Kora’s in a steady look before the corners crinkled after several seconds and he added.
“Just like I am gonna beat your hind end at this here game. Can ya handle that?”
There was his challenge.
[Janis Ian] She lays a hand across the flat plain of her stomach, which doesn’t bulge out like Kora’s, making her appear like she swallowed a basket ball. Slowly she shakes her head, upsetting the fall of bangs along her brow, causing them to sweep into her eyes. She tilts her head to look back at Rory, gesturing to the second hot dog.
“I’m good, Kora,” she replied, “Rory’s welcomed to it if Roman isn’t going to scarf down the beans.”
[Roman Turner] “Beans are full for gas. How do ya think we warm the Church? Good ole natural gas.”
[Kora] There’s a raised berm just behind them, shielding the approach to the pier from the city. Evergreens brooding over trampled piles of muddy, melted snow, fading into a rolling, carefully tended approximation of a middle-latitude forest, the trees young, thin and narrow. Mostly leafless except for the dark presence of pines in amongst the deciduous trees, underbrush a tangle of half-fallen leaves and poorly raked mulch.
“This here game,” she holds that steady, direct look for several long seconds before the glance changes. Cards in hand, she gives the younger Ragabash brief look, bemusement cresting into her expression. ” – is nothing but luck. No skill, yeah?”
Then Roman makes his bean joke and goes still, looks away, dark eyes closing as she presses her mouth against her shoulder. Swallowing back sudden, sure sense of nausea the no-moon’s joke inspires in her. There she is, still, head turned away, mouth closed, shoulders set as she fights down the heretofore largely unfamiliar sensation.
[Imogen] The kinswoman approaches without fanfare, dressed in dark washed jeans and a dark coat. Only her pale skin and red hair sets her starkly apart from the night.
She has her phone in hand, glancing at it every once and a while as she walks, the screen a faint back-lit glow. At first, it had appeared as if the slight kinswoman had intended on skirting the table entirely, walking around it, though it meant stepping on the muddy and cold park lawn, skirting the stubborn remainders of snow.
It changes, however, as she sees precisely who they are – her intent shifting as she walks toward the picnic table.
She takes another glance at the phone screen as she closes in on them, a faint contraction of her brow coming, then fading. Imogen glances at the gathered Garou.
“I don’t suppose any o’ you ha’ seen a severed arm, ha’ you?” she enquires without preamble. She might have been asking if they had seen her gloves.
[Rory] She tips her head, slightly. Roman is known for teasing (and for attacking perfectly innocent freshly made mowsnans thinking they’re ninjas, but still) but she’s still never quite sure. The night Rory was there, the Church was warmed with a bonfire. There were no beans in sight, just other food stuffs. Logic dictates…
teasing.
Rory smiles a little, at the joke. Then blinks as Kora looks a little green… She tilts her head, obviously concerned, as well as – well, curious. She’s never been around someone so obviously pregnant. Not that she’d ever mention it.. ever.
Enter Dr. Imogen. Rory tips her head toward her in a hello, and finishes off the first dog and reaches for the second, chomping into it just as Imogen asks her question. Rory shakes her head no, but starts looking around, anyway. Because lost arms are just as important as lost gloves.
[Eli Booker] Whatever Eli happens to be doing in Grant Park right now, he’s doing it alone. For whatever reason he’s without his (first love) Harley or the wrecker that he has to suffer on certain occasions.
Casual in a dark green hooded sweatshirt and low slung faded jeans, Eli walks the twisting paved paths of Grant Park with a cigarette hanging lose from between his lips.
It takes a while for Eli to realize that Fate’s hand has guided him straight toward a picnic table full of Garou – nearly all of which he immediately recognizes through strands of pungent gray smoke wafting up from his cigarette.
Still, this does not hurry his pace. He continues forward at a steady pace, his swagger filled with equal parts confidence and crazy.
[Roman Turner] Imogen approached and asked one of those questions that should of made his mouth hang open, but Kora had beat her to it. The reaction to mentioning gas amazed him. So what Imogen got was auto-pilot. He looked beneath the table and responded with.
“No ma’am.”
[Rory] [I SEE IT!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Imogen] Perception+alertness
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 5, 5, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Roman Turner] per+alert
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Eli Booker] per+alertness
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Janis Ian] Janis responds to two things – the presence of Eli coming down the path way as her eyes cut off to follow his movements. There’s a twisting of her lips that curls them even wider as her nose scrunched up, nostrils flaring as she breathes in the warm air surrounding them, ingesting the aroma of hot dogs that Rory scarfs down, the cigarette smoke lacing around the male kin, and those of the Garou presence.
Brown eyes eventually stray away to tilt her head at Imogen, leveling her eyes upon the smaller woman and arched a red brow. “If t’wasn’t attached to an effeminate Chinese crackwhore I ‘ave nay a clue.”
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Kora] A flash of something pale, apparently between the branches of a dark pine tree on the berm. The too opaque to be snow; with a crust like dried blood over the skin. Must be that severed arm she’s looking for.
to Rory
[Kora] Kora: per + alertness
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Rory] She tips her head slightly as she looks toward the bushes. There’s a dark pine tree on the berm, and…. there.
She heads in that direction, turning to offer Imogen a shy smile, before tipping her head toward the pine, shoving the last of her second dog into her mouth as she moves.
[Roman Turner] His nose might of told him the arm was laying about, if he had really believed there was an arm laying around. Instead he had given the look beneath the table, declared it clear and turned his attention towards giving Imogen’s backside a wistful look.
[Eli Booker] Eli’s eyes wander from the gathered group to Rory (who he does not know) and Imogen (who he’s never seen). Beyond that his attention drifts, behind the Garou and over the reaching pine resting still as a sentinel behind them.
Night changes the look of everything. Shadows lean longer and it’s not hard to see movement where there is none. Eli, however, is a man that more often than not errs on the side of caution. While his pace doesn’t change his attention does – it veers away from the gathering at the table and focuses just above their head.
The kin drops his hands to near his waist, near the holster there that’s semi-hidden by the long white t shirt beneath his sweatshirt and the hem of the sweatshirt itself. He doesn’t reach for the weapon, though, instead his hands are shoved into the open ended pocket on the front of the heavy sweatshirt he’s wearing.
“What’s up buttercup?” He says, to no one in particular as he approaches the group. Rory’s eyes seem to follow his, but Eli doesn’t say anything. At least not right then.
[Imogen] Imogen’s head turns before Rory has the opportunity to tip her head that way, but her gaze flicks briefly toward the gesturing acknowledging it.
A brief pause, before Imogen very carefully, sets her phone down (they can see the GPS screen open, the degrees and coordinates of their very location) reaching out to catch Rory’s shoulder before she can pass her.
The other hand is reaching beneath her jacket, but already, Imogen is stepping back out of the way of the Garou.
“That,” she says very definitely, “is not a severed arm. There’s something rather large over there.” Her gun slides out from beneath her jacket, the safety clicking off.
Eli speaks, and Imogen’s gaze flicks toward him, her eye narrowing briefly. “I hope yeh’re a half-blood.” she says before turning her attention back.
[Kora] Roman is astonished by Kora’s reaction; then again, he is not pregnant, and she is nearly ten years older than he is. Different sensibilities, her senses – and sensitivity – sharpened by pregnancy. When Imogen walks up and asks about a severed hand she has just recovered. There’s a moment where she sets her shoulders, closes her eyes, then glances back at Imogen. Her hotdog still uneaten. She’s hungry; this is why she should start carrying saltines around with her, like someone suggested. Hungry but the hot dog no longer smells right.
Still, after that moment of bracing, the pregnant creature stands. Her feral elegance made awkward by pregnancy. That extra strength required just to haul herself up from sitting to standing, booted feet on the ground now, glancing up at Imogen, once, then Booker. “Eli,” it’s both a greeting for the kinsman and an explanation for the kinswoman. Kora offers it in a low voice. ” – meet Dr. Slaughter. Doc, my kin.”
She’s on her feet now, braced, turning.
[Janis Ian] Roman’s checking out the table for signs of a severed arm to find it is all clear. Janis, on the other hand, looks back at Eli, features twisting in a mask of confusion as she lifts an eyebrow at him, reading his expression, following the placement of his hands. Her head swings up as Imogen speaks, moves to stop Rory and the Rotagar is beginning to scowl.
[Roman Turner] He barely resisted the urge to help Kora up from the table by giving her an extra lift with the push of his hands. Though the fact she was rising and Imogen was making comments on something not being a severed arm and everyone else was looking towards the trees, made him rise himself. Rise to put himself in front of Kora.
“What is it? What am I missing? If it’s not an arm, is it a leg?”
[Rory] Imogen touches her, and she falls very. very. still. She likes the kinswoman, but she is well versed in what comes after causual touch – and it usually is pain.
But not from the Doc. A blink as she filters in the information, and then watches the way Imogen steps back. She nods, understanding, and removes the guitar case from her back and sets it against the table. Hopefully it’ll be safe – if it is not, or is stolen, she will be crushed.
Maybe the kin will protect it, like the precious thing she believes it to be. She doesn’t ask them though, already accustomed to a great deal of loss. It will be as it will be.
So she turns, back toward the trees, and puts herself between it and Imogen – without blocking her view or shot. Protective, yes. Stupid, no.
[Janis Ian] The others were becoming alert with attention. Janis swings her focus on Imogen and Rory, her feet bracing apart, shoulders drawing back with a roll. A line of tension pulling down her back, the scowl only darkens as she watches Rory and then Imogen.
Her tongue moves to slide into the left side of her cheek, nostrils flaring to inhale the air slowly.
[Eli Booker] Eli’s cigarette is tossed away, to the side, and as everyone gathered tenses and readies for whatever might be lurking in the large pine at their back, Eli just watches. He is still, unmoving, save for his hand which now rests on his hip at the ready.
Imogen hopes he’s a half blood and Kora saves him breath and conversation by introducing him as her Kin. He seems quite alright with that introduction.
[Kora] What happens is:
First fingers, digging into the morass of ice and dirt, ragged, pale. Then an inch or two of hand, just visible beneath the low canopy of the dark every green. Rory turns and runs toward the find, dog and bone, when the first hand is jointed by a second, the knuckles clearly visible, stark against the pale, waxy skin. Effort obvious – as if someone were pulling themselves up to level over the edge of a cliff, straining against both the weight of their own body and a sort of thoroughgoing fatigue.
Then a head, dark, greasy brown hair, ragged and somewhat long, a wide, pale face, and bulbous, staring eyes. There’s blood – stark, dark – on his pale lips, but otherwise little color in his face by the pale pinpoints of his blue eyes, and a swollen tongue, black as a slug, bulging from his mouth as he looks up and stares – sees shapes but something about it tells them that he is mostly unseeing.
“Oh – god.” He can barely squeeze out the words, drags himself another few ragged inches forward, chest compressing the tramped morass of melting ice and mud. ” — HELP. ME.”
[Kora] The ragged man pulls himself forward another painful few inches, and the needles of the evergreen shake in sympathetic movement – caught on something, held back. It is clear – in that moment – why the dying man is crawling towards them.
His back has been torn out, legs mostly severed, and a pale, waxy-skinned thing – corpse white, with dead black eyes and the naked musculature of fucking gollum is clinging to his back, dipping pallid, webbed fingers into the grotesque wounds, pulling pieces of ropey intestines up through the skin and stuffing them furiously into its blooded, sharp-toothed maw.
[Eli Booker] He squints. Dark eyes narrowing to peer at the source of movement he spied on his way toward the gathered Garou. Eli’s gun does come out now, the semi-automatic rests in one relaxed hand against his thigh – thumb on the safety.
Eli tilts his head, looks at the thing (man?) as it begs for help. Even still, he is quiet. Observing more than reacting.
[Kora] Thing 1: +4
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Rory] [+8!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Imogen] +9 HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
[Kora] Thing 2: +6
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Janis Ian] Her head snaps back, reeling at the sight of the … man? thing? whatever the hell it was crawling along the ground towards them. The pitiful cry for help twitches in her ears; brown eyes darting back and forth over the pale creature.
The muscles in her shoulders and arms coil reflexively, it is instinct that has her feet skidding across the ground to change her positioning. Her stance moving back to be closer to Eli, sliding down into a crouch in one graceful movement to keep the kin behind her. One hand laying flat on the ground as she starts to tremble, a low sound rumbling in the back of throat.
7+
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
[Kora] Great Big Thing +6
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Eli Booker] 5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Kora] Mr. Severed Arm: +2
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Roman Turner] int +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Kora] KORA! (homid!) +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Kora] Imogen: 15
Thing 1: 14
Janis: 13
Mr. Severed Arm: 12
Kora: 12
Eli: 10
Rory: 9
Roman: 9
Great Big Thing: 8
Thing 2: 7
[Kora] Thing 2 [Behind the tree.] 1. Leap out at Roman! 2. Bite Roman! 3. Bite Kora!
[Kora] Great Big Thing: 1. Chaaaaarge. 2. Body Slam Rory. 3. Sup on Rory’s Gizzard. (IE: BITE.)
[Kora] (Note: Great Big Thing is also behind the Tree.)
[Roman Turner] Instana shift to Warform
Block thing from Kora
Block it again
[Rory] She blinks, sees the thing eating the man, who’s pretty well guaranteed not to survive at this point and Rory? Hesitates about half a second before reacting. Not because she is frightened, but because she defers easily to the leadership of others.
Then? It’s all business, all the time.
[-3 rage, split first action. Instashift – Hispo]
1a: bite
1b: bite
1r: CHOMPITY!
2r: DIE!
– all on BIG BADDA THING – MAH GIZZARD!]
[Eli Booker] No split, shoot whatever’s headed for Kora.
[Rory] (amends – 1a CHARGE!)
[Kora] Kora: Reflexive: Resist Pain. 1a/b Dodges; Rage 1: ALSO dodging.
[Kora] Mr. Severed Arm: Reflexive – shouts, “OH GOD KILL ME.” 1. Continue to crawl forward.
[Janis Ian] Reflexive Action: -1wp Resist Pain, Instant shift Hispo
Splits, 1a bite 1b bite on Thing 2 Rage1 more biting – Thing 2
[Roman Turner] ((Adds in, Resist Pain because he is brain dead.))
[Kora] Thing 1: 1. Keen. 2. Nom more on Mr. Severed Arm. 3. Continuing eating Mr. Severed arm: bird in the hand is worth 17 Garou in the bush (or around the picnic table, as the case may be.)
[Imogen] a. Shoot Mister Severed Arm.
b. Three round burst – Thing 1
[Imogen] (dex+firearms – 2)
HAIL KAHSEENO
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 6, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 3
[Imogen] Damage!
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Mr. Severed Arm: x.x (gratefully)
[Imogen] Thing 1!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 4) Re-rolls: 4
[Imogen] Damage! HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Thing 1: SOAK!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6 (Failure at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 1: Keen!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Imogen] Erk.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 1, 3 (Botch x 2 at target 6)
[Rory] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Janis Ian] Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kora] Kora: soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 7, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Roman Turner] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 6, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Eli Booker] soak
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Janis Ian] Split 1 bite 9 -2 split Thing 2
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Janis Ian] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] Thing 2: I SOAK U
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Janis Ian] Split 2 bite 9 -3 split Thing 2
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Janis Ian] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Kora] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 2: x.x
[Janis Ian] Soak 1
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)
[Janis Ian] Soak 2
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 3, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] The half-eaten half-human corpse Imogen shoots first digs his fingers into the ground, mouth open, choking on a mostly lost breath. Demands that someone kill him; and when Imogen does, he collapses to the earth dark with his own blood, washed over with a foul smell – watery sort of blood from the Things – nearly peaceful. Grateful at least, for the surcease of pain.
[Eli Booker] Shootin’ Thing 1!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Eli Booker] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Thing one! I soak U
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Rory] 1a: CHARGE! – Ima comin for yew, big thingy!
1b: CHOMPITY! +wp
split 2: Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2 = 9 -3 for split = 6 diff 5 – reroll 10s
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) [WP] Re-rolls: 1
[Rory] Damage:
Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 4
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Kora] Great Big Thing: soak!!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6 (Failure at target 8)
[Roman Turner] Remains in Warform in blocking position to protect Kora.
[Rory] Soak! Patooey! taste bad!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Kora’s ears are bleeding. Like Imogen’s. Like Eli’s. It’s not so much visible as it is pungent, wrapping their sense of smell; blood other than the old, tired, dying blood of the man one of those fish-like things is eating. The action happens in a stutter-step, and just like the the creature that was charging them is down, torn in half by Rides Like Cowboy. Rory faces another one alone. Roman stands in front of Kora. Who accepts the protection, feels – sharp and helpless in this goddamned soft skin – but when the pallid, multijointed thing charging them is torn in half, Roman remains in front of her. She snaps at him. “Go on.” Hand coming away blood from her ear. “Make sure it doesn’t yell again. I’m fine.” The frustration as much with her own helplessness as anything else.
[Roman Turner] Kora said go get it and nearly as she said it the muscles of his legs bunched and he was launching through the air, all claws as he swiped at the monster.
Claw!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Roman Turner] damn
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] Thing 1: Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Kora] Thing 1: incapped!
[Janis Ian] Thing 1 : overkill?
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5)
[Janis Ian] Damage
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Kora] Thing 1: totally x.x
[Janis Ian] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Rory] She feels the taste burning – literally through her – but doesn’t care. It doesn’t stop her.
R1 – CHOMPITY!
Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9 diff 5 – reroll 10s
DONT LET THE FENRIR SHOW ME UP KAHSEENO! HAAAAAAAIL!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Rory] Damage:
Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + (6)
ATTABOY! ONE MORE TIME!
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 8 at target 6)
[Kora] Great Big Thing:
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Failure at target 8)
[Rory] [soak! TASTES SO BAD!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Kora] STILL BE LIVING. GBT Action 2: Bodyslam Rory!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] GBT: stay on feet!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Rory] [dex ath 7
OH NO YOU DON’T! I WANNA BITE YOU AGAIN!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Failure at target 10)
[Kora] GBT: Damage: (bashing)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Rory] THAT DIDN”T HURT.
Soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Rory] I do believe, good sir, I told you to DIE!
Bite:
Dex + Brawl + Hispo = 3+4+2= 9-1 (ow!) diff 5 – reroll 10s
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 5)
[Rory] SO DIE ALREADY!
Damage:
Str + Hispo + Bite + (suxx-1) = 4+3+2 = 9 + 4
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kora] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Rory] [MAN you taste YUCKY! – Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Kora] GBT: x.x
[Kora] The space of three heartbeats. Maybe four. Take in two breathes; or just hold it through the quiet spasm of violence. Eli’s ears are ringing with more than his own gunshot; and Imogen’s, and Kora’s. There is a warm trickle of blood tracking quiet down their ears. Kora is on her feet, standing up, pale features splashed with a vicious, inhuman sort of anger that wants to pull her flesh into another form – but there she stands – human, pregnant, infuriatingly vulnerable, holding back instinct with some deeper sense of instinct.
She breathes out, opens her fists. The cards Roman was dealing out are spilled across the park bench. Someone’s soda has been overturned. There’s the half-eaten corpse of a dead man – Imogen’s severed arm – peeking out from underneath the skirt of that everygreen; a pair of pallid, naked, vaguely – and only vaguely – humanoid creatures, with opaque white flesh and blood like fetid riverwater, muddied and foul, but not read. Like lakewater tinged with an oilslick.
And then another, this one larger, misshapen, like two or three of these shrunken corpses fused togeter, like some weird transporter accident in the deck of the USS Enterprise.
The scent of gunpowder in the air, acrid, mingles with the foetid reek of the corpses.
[Roman Turner] His attention had shifted back towards Kora just to assure himself she was well even though he would of felt it along their bond if something had seriously injured her. Imogen and Eli were considered next even as he went to help push the smelly thing off Rory and offer her a hand up.
[Imogen] The thing keens and Imogen flinches, her free hand snapping up to clap to her ear, her neck cocking to the side as if it might relieve the sudden pressure in her ear. When she pulld her hand away there is a small smear of blood on her palm, which she wipes on the thigh of her jeans.
By the time this action is done, it is over. She swallows several times trying to clear the pressure in her ear, but there is little effect. A small trickle of blood seeps out the cup of her ear. She lowers her weapon, letting it stay in her hand, and slowly walks forward to the corpse of the dead human, sinking to a crouch before him, to briefly touch a pair of fingers beneath his jawline.
He is dead, of course. It is almost absent the way she closes his eyes, getting to her feet again.
“I’ll go get my car,” she says, her voice sounding more muffled than usual to her own ears, which also ring from the memory of her gun’s reports.
[Eli Booker] Eli holsters the gun in his hand only after everything BAD has stopped moving. Or breathing. Or both. A hand lifts and wipes at the trickle of blood coming from his ears. Despite the ringing in his ears, Eli’s eyes scan the area to look for injured before finding Kora and giving her a good once over to be sure she’s alright.
[Rory] She makes a face, even in this form, when the thing dies and falls on her, it’s blood like acid in her throat, searing her from the inside out. It doesn’t stop her though. Nothing ever does. She is pushing at the Great Big Thing when suddenly it’s pushed harder, as Roman helps. She rolls to her side, coughing in the aftermath of the disgusting slime she’d inhaled, before she shifts down again to her monkey skin. It is in this form, she accepts the hand up, her own small, pale, freckled in his larger than life Warmform.
She grins shyly, though there is pride in her eyes as she looks up at Roman. She doesn’t brag though, she doesn’t point out that she took down the biggest of the bad – because she is Full Moon. It is her duty. It is her purpose. Instead, she looks past him… “alright?” Everyone she means.
[Roman Turner] He couldn’t resist it, it was just impossible to resist. So as he helped Rory up and looked her over, he turned towards the others and mouthed.
“How’s your ears?”
He didn’t give voice to the words, just moved his lips. Rory was treated to a pat on her back.
“Ya done good.”
And with that touch and those words, he used his small gift in an attempt to ease some of the damage to Rory.
Mother’s touch.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 6, 10 (Success x 3 at target 3) [WP]
[Janis Ian] Her throat burns, it aches with pain as it had done before when she had bitten into the zombified corpse of Whistler’s dead girlfriend. The growl that rises up in her throat is hoarse; painful. Auburn fur spikes at the collar and along her spine in a small ridge, tail stiff as the large hispo stands over the torn bodies of thing 1 and thing 2.
She snorts, nostrils flaring as Janis chuffs out. Her form begins to melt instantly, back into her human guise as she looks around. Kora is remains unharmed, Eli is bleeding from the ears. She sucks in a deep breath, letting it roll out in a sigh. She’s one of the injured but for now, she can’t feel the pain. But the corners of her eyes crinkle up.
[Rory] She blinks, surprised when she suddenly feels better. Despite her injuries, she would be the first to insist she be last to feel any healing touch. In fact, more often than not, she does not take it. Roman is sneaky, however, and knows – and with the pat on the back…
She feels better. Lots better. In fact, right as rain.
The smile she gives Roman is shy and soft. Her eyes shine with his praise, and she almost bursts with satisfaction that she did him proud. Not pack, not tribe – but perhaps, someday, friend.
She ducks her head as the blush creeps up along her skin, and only then does she look toward where she left Ruarc’s guitar. She breathes a sigh of relief to see it whole and untouched.
[Roman Turner] Rory got a solid nod then a wink before he was stepping towards Janis, rubbing his hands together. Janis got her hair pushed back from her eyes as Roman looked in to her eyes, glancing at her ears.
“Ya doing ok?”
And just like he had with Rory, he sent his small gift dancing along with his touch to her brow in a tingle.
Mother’s Touch
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 6, 8 (Success x 4 at target 1) [WP]
[Janis Ian] “That tickles.”
She scrunches up her nose at Roman, casting him a wry grin as she can feel the warm of the healing gifts take over. She breathes easier, the pain no longer etching in her eyes as she takes in a deeper breath, holding it and exhales out. She sifts through her jacket pockets, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the blood from her mouth and throat, tilting her head away to spit out onto the ground.
[Eli Booker] Roman mouths something and all Eli catches is ‘ears’. It earns the kid a sarcastic grin and a good old flip of the bird. Eli’s head pounded and his ear drums ached. He runs the back of his hand against his forehead and walks toward Janis just as Roman is working his mojo.
“You ok?” He asks, one brow arched.
[Kora] Kora’s moving, blood on her thumb and forefinger, a narrow trickle of it from her ears. The world audibly receding. She straightens, thumbs over the trickle of blood, scrubbing at her skin, then glances down at her thumb and wipes it off on the waistband of her jeans. New ones, fastened low, under the swell of her stomach. Dark eyes touch on Imogen as she bends over the corpse of the now dead human.
He survived much, the kinswoman can tell just how painful his injuries must have been with a flicker of her eyes. What sort of determination it took him to keep moving, looking for something – some end to all this as he struggled away from the swarm of misshapen things.
It’s dark here; darker than the city proper, anyway, the lights a wash of white against deeper shadows that give the muck and murk of the Things’ oily blood a grotesquely iridescent glow. Kora glances up, away from Imogen, the pull of her breeding like a lambent flame, bright against the dark, and finds Eli’s eyes on her.
Her hood is askew, pushes back, she is pale, and stiff with tension – clear in the shoulders and the spine. But she returns both the look, dark eyes flickering over him just as they had Imogen, before settling on his face. “You okay?”
Does not just mean tonight, not really. Though the deepening tone that includes the near-past is probably long in the ringing of their ears.
[Eli Booker] (ack! Addendum to my post!)
His eyes caught Kora’s for a flash of a second. It was so quick that if you weren’t Elijah or Kora you might of missed it. He grins and offers the pregnant Fenrir a wink and a grin that masks whatever pain it is he’s feeling. It mirror’s her own – and Imogen’s – but Eli is not complaining.
“Right as rain.” He says to the Jarl before averting his attention somewhere else.
[Rory] He winks at her, and the blush deepens, hidden behind her hair, the duck of her head as he moves on to help the others. Rory helps with cleanup, and then – takes up her guitar and heads on home.
[feel free to use Rory as cleanup as necessary, she’ll help until shoo’d off or everyone disburses – thanks for STing Liz! was fun! and now I must sleep…]
[Imogen] There is blood on her hands from where she had touched the human whom she’s killed – not the first, and not the last. She gets to her feet, and makes her statement, turning her head to find Kora looking at her. Her gaze holds the Jarl’s for a moment, then she turns away, walking back the way she had come, plucking up her cell phone as she goes.
Soon, she will return with her car and its ever stocked trunk of body disposal paraphernalia.
[Janis Ian] “Right as rain.”
Janis echoes Eli’s words, stepping away from Roman to move over to the kin. She brushes up against Eli, shoulder and arm connecting with his, lingering closer than she normally does. Her head lifts, crinkling her nose as she reaches up to run a finger along one of his left ear. She says nothing, but turns to face Kora, leaning on Eli slightly.