Joss | briefly…

2am and the Mag Mile is hoppin’. The stores are all closed but still
bright. Global warming? Energy conservation? What’s that? The bars are
open, and so are the clubs — the theaters, the coffee houses. Music
rumbles through the walls of some nightclub called SAIGON,
down at the end of the Mile where the Mile gets less Magnificent. It’s
across the way and about half a block down from a hole in the wall
bookstore where Alexander never goes.

Alexander does, however, go to SAIGON. Tonight, anyway, he’s leaning
against the outer wall, slouched down, enjoying the cool night, a beer
bottle dangling from his fingers. He looks a little more than tipsy; he
looks a little more than drunk. His pupils are a little dilated when he
rolls his head to the side without lifting it from the brick. It takes
him a moment to recognize Wendy, though surely she’s one of the most
distinctively mousy faces in the city.

“…heeey.” Alexander’s mouth curls at the edges. “It’s the bookworm.”

And she just got thrown out. She’s not the only one. A man is held in
the bouncer’s other hand. He obviously doesn’t care what the two do to
each other once they’re outside. As soon as his back is turned, Líadan
pounces on the other man’s back, getting him in a headlock. “Say it
again, asswad! I dare ya!” The man staggers, lowers to the ground in
defeat. As soon as his knees touch the pavement, Líadan goes to adjust
her grip. The man breaks free, and bolts.

“YEAH YOU BETTER RUN!” She turns around, brushing off her bare arms, and then she spots a familiar face. “Aaaaaaleeeeex! How are you?” His attention was on the mousy brunette with the glasses. “And who is this
cute li’l thing?” When the Fiann walks she sways drunkenly, but she’s
not so far gone she stumbles. And she doesn’t fall. She never falls.

The guy’s too freaked out, too beat-up, too damn cowed to fight. He
scrambles to his feet and runs. Alexander aims a kick at his ass, which
misses, and, laughing, sinks back against the wall.

“Babydoll.” Maybe it was a day/night thing. Maybe it’s how
she’s dressed. Another swig of beer, and then he points the butt of the
bottle at Liadan. “This’s the hottest piece of ass in the city, as long
as she’s not throwing shit at you.” And at Wendy. “This’s the biggest
geek in the city, as long as …. well, there’s really no qualifier
there.” And he shrugs.

It’s all lights and bustling fun in the Mile near SAIGON, and Joss has
the look of a little girl at Christmas with all the glitz and glamour,
and noise and… She spins in a slow circle, her skirts fluttering
around her calves as she does so, her hand resting on the bag that
hangs at her hip, the strap disecting her torso diagonally. Her heavy
dreads are pulled back with a leather thong, hanging heavily down the
back of her sweater. All her clothing is earth toned, and her shoes of
the light slip on type, and of little note.

The lights glitter in the deep brilliant blue of her eyes, and a little smile lingers along her lips. It’s just all so pretty!

But then, Líadan can appear to be many things.

“Evenin’, princess.” She smiles, and it is perhaps not the most charming thing Wendy has ever seen.

It is a male and female, the latter of which is laughing into the face
of the male, clutching at his arm as she holds a half-consumed bottle
in the fingers of her other hand. The woman, whose face was
half-concealed by a loose jumble of blonde waves was dressed for the
occasion in a black mini skirt and silver sequined top that glittered
in the light when she moved; her feet housed in stilettos that gave her
height she truly did not require but emphasized the long legs that ran
to mid-thigh before they vanished beneath the snug fabric of her skirt.

“Fantastique!,” rejoiced the woman in a language that
sounded rather like french, her words slurring together only slightly
and her presence — indeed the presence of both — swirled around the humans, almost staggering for a moment before the air seemed to return.

“You cannot dance at all well, Samuel.” She teased, straightening with a smile still twitching her lips.

The glitz, the lights, the cool breeze in the summer weather the comes
refreshing off the lake and the statuesque blonde beside him are all
reminders of a time when they’d all been just a little more care free.
Tonight though is about having fun, Katherine had assured him, that
burning out much of his Rage in battle this afternoon might be a
blessing, rather than a liability.

The two of them even to human eyes are really something to be seen
together. They stand tall, proud, there’s a fury about both that either
pushes one away or draws one in like an electromagnetic inferno
depending on your particular polarity. They’re good looking, both, and
blonde, regal though he wears it easily like a layer of skin, the
female Garou does it with the polish and poise of decades spent in
royal circles. A queen and her Rook, out for an evening on the town.

Garou see the same, they only have the added benefit of knowing exactly how well bred the two are.

They’re happy, it looks like, coming out of the place. Her suggestion
it seems has taken. They always do. She’s in silver and swirling around
and into the man in blue who holds her around the waist and slurs back
a “Can so…”
When she jests at his ability. “I think I dance just fine!” He releases
only moments later, assured she’s back upright, as Katherine is always
upright. Falling, even as inebriated as the two have gotten so far is
not an option.

“Oh my gosh I know that girl.” Sam points. One isn’t supposed to point.

The glitz, the lights, the cool breeze in the summer weather the comes
refreshing off the lake and the statuesque blonde beside him are all
reminders of a time when they’d all been just a little more care free.
Tonight though is about having fun, Katherine had assured him, that
burning out much of his Rage in battle this afternoon might be a
blessing, rather than a liability.

The two of them even to human eyes are really something to be seen
together. They stand tall, proud, there’s a fury about both that either
pushes one away or draws one in like an electromagnetic inferno
depending on your particular polarity. They’re good looking, both, and
blonde, regal though he wears it easily like a layer of skin, the
female Garou does it with the polish and poise of decades spent in
royal circles. A queen and her Rook, out for an evening on the town.

Garou see the same, they only have the added benefit of knowing exactly how well bred the two are.

They’re happy, it looks like, coming out of the place. Her suggestion
it seems has taken. They always do. She’s in silver and swirling around
and into the man in blue who holds her around the waist and slurs back
a “Can so…”
When she jests at his ability. “I think I dance just fine!” He releases
only moments later, assured she’s back upright, as Katherine is always
upright. Falling, even as inebriated as the two have gotten so far is
not an option.

“Oh my gosh I know that girl.” Sam points. One isn’t supposed to point.

Both of them are looking at Wendy. Lee was leaning over her like a
predator a moment ago. Alex is still slouched against the wall, which
means he’s not quite as in Wendy’s face as Lee was — but then, Lee’s
just fucking smashed. Alexander is … not quite as smashed, but a
little more hopped up.

He rolls his balance to one shoulder. Leans against the wall like that instead, facing Wendy now.

“So where you going, peach?”

She finishes her little circle, and picks a direction in which to
meander. It, of course, takes her toward the SAIGON and those exiting
and in nearby areas including nearby bookstores. She stands out, in her
earthy colored and slightly (ha!) out of touch fashion sense, but she
doesn’t seem to notice, or mind, at all. Some would wonder if she’s
even paying attention to anything but the pretty lights…

Sam points, rather indiscreetly toward that girl that he
knows and his once-Alpha turns her head [and the rest of her body as
well] toward the girl in question, loitering it would seem with two
others. Katherine Bellamonte, drawing herself straighter cocks her head
toward the Modi. “Shall I ask how you know her, Samuel? Ah–,” She
lifts a painted nail and holds it out against his lips so he cannot
interrupt her.

Filled with alcohol, the Philodox’s eyes gleam more than ever, their pale depths filled at present with mischief. “Non, but I shall ask her myself. Come along, Sam.”

She instructs, as if he were an errant pupil, pulling him along by the
hand and rapidly walking toward the trio of drunken Kinfolk, her
expression one of devious enthusiasm.

“Oh? Are you calling me a liar, sir? Is there some test you would like
for me to take to prove my geekishness. Geekiness? Geekery?” She breaks
into a fit of the giggles.

The Modi is about to explain to his returned friend where, in fact he’d
been the previous night. Sam never actually gets the chance though and
quickly he’s being led over toward Lee and the others. Joss catches his
eye as they tread toward the group and he raises one hand in an
exaggerated hello far above his head. “Kat. Thassa….thassa Fostern
over there.”

But he’s got his other hand and Sam would never deny her so they continue crossing toward the tiny pack of kinfolk.

Drunken predators amidst flat-toothed apes who know no better than to stay in when the sun goes down.

And he comes up off the wall, steps a few steps across the sidewalk and
tips his head back, his spine curving backward so he can look up at her
flat as though he were looking at a skyscraper; at mount everest.

“You live up there, huh?” And he straightens up. “Nice. Looks cool.”
Liadan wants to know if there’s a test to take. Alexander’s hazel eyes
flicker to her, hold for a moment, come back to Wendy. “Can we come up?”

Her steps even, and graceful, she’s clearly the only in the group that
has had nothing to drink, except for the poor panicked girl that’s
trying her best to crawl through that door- open or not.

“Non.” She says it almost crossly, her brow certainly
lined, eyebrows drawn down over her pale lashes. “I must ask this girl
a most serious question first.” And how must she appear, must they both
appear to these strangers — stalking — or, rather in Katherine’s case
loping with the graceful ease of a cat toward their impromptu
gathering. The air prickles a little around her, the blonde with the
fierce expression that, as they descend on the drunken trio half shouts:

“Arrêt!”

And then, with a little half-run, half-hop-skip, her bottle slopping
its contents, she levels those pale eyes on Liadan. “Pardon me, but I
must ask you a question.”

To Wendy she says, obviously impressed, “You live in a bookstore? Nice! Do you get–”

Someone says Stop in French, and Líadan’s more than a
little inebriated brain immediately switches gears. Sam and Katherine
are upon them, and the beautiful blonde woman is looking at Lee,
telling her she has a very serious question.

“Oui? Comment puis-je t’aider, mademoiselle?” Her accent is flawless, if a bit slurred with alcohol.

Then Wendy has her lock undone. “Sweet.” Alexander
shoulders it open almost before she can pull her key back out. He
nearly precedes the girl into her own home, though he pauses, head
turning, when Katherine comes running after them.

It only takes one glance to see that Alexander is fucking plastered.
And hopped up. And quite possibly on the prowl. He’s a compact man,
medium height, quite athletic; there’s a lazy ease to his motion
tonight. His pants are heavy, rather baggy, off-white. He wears a
brilliant orange shirt over it, which fits close to his body, showing
off the sort of tight, ripped musculature that must take him hours and
hours and hours at a gym every day to maintain.

His eyes flicker carelessly from the blonde to the blond to the
redhead. Then he says, “Babydoll, I’m heading up first. You wanna bring
your pretty french friend, that’s cool with me.”

Shhh. Sam doesn’t know that didn’t stay in his head. Still he’s a
little taken aback when Lee responds to whatever Katherine said
with…well similar sounding words that Sam can’t make out more than
one in ten of. He’s stopped when she has and stands behind quietly,
save for the random outburst he seemingly still doesn’t know he made.

Eyes flick back and forth between Alex, Wendy and Liadan, each getting
different measures, each different intensities. None though stay too
long because he can’t stop looking back to Katherine, just waiting for
her to open her mouth and embarass him again and knowing there isn’t
much he can do about it at this point.

scared.

Closer, and closer still, and outright, obviously, listening…
(wait, whats that over there? Oooooooh… no.. back and listening…)

As it stands however — she is not — and gives a rather intimidating
display of white, white teeth that unbeknownst to her make her suddenly
all the more a predator than a well groomed aristocrat. “Oh ! Vous parlez du français? Très bon!,”
she returns in rapid french, her voice gurgling with purred laughter,
her throat warm with the beer she’s consumed as if she were nothing
more than a commoner.

Then — Alexander Vaughn chimes in and Katherine casts him the briefest
of looks up and down — before returning her blue eyes to Liadan, a
hand reaching to lay against Sam’s sleeve. “Mon
ami dit qu’il vous sait et j’ai décidé de le taquiner un peu. Me dire,
vous bien êtes mis au courant ? Il ne parle pas de français et j’admets
qu’il me plaît de le partir se demandant que je dis.” She is smiling as she finishes, and the look she casts Sam is equal parts amusement and anticipation.

“Bonsoir, Sam. Venez-vous ici souvent?” Her tone is bland.

The blonde woman asks her something in French. Líadan smiles.

“Nous ne sommes pas bien connaître. Il est un bon garçon. Excuse-moi. Je dois garder un oeil sur cet homme.”

And with that she turns to follow Wendy and Alexander into the shop.

But then Lee greets him and the incredibly tall drink of water stands a
little straighter. “I don’t speak French but that sounded nice.” He
closes his eyes and makes a face that seems to be holding back a less
pleasant face and leans from foot to foot. “I didn’t ge-” And then
she’s saying something to Katherine and he’s stopping halfway so as not
to interrupt. Even drunk he’s polite enough to waste a perfectly good
opportunity and just let her walk back inside.

“Aw. Man.” Upper lips rises just enough to express disappointment and he kicks the ground. “What just happened?”

And shoots her co-conspirator a sharp-eyed glance. “Nothing that
prevents from following through. Come!” And with a half-gasped laugh
the elder Bellamonte daughter is shooting through the doorway before it
shuts closed, and pulling her former packmate along with her for the
ride.

And she continues on.

So when Wendy heads up the stairs, he’s two steps behind. And then the
door opens again, and Alexander’s halfway up, and he turns to look over
his shoulder and it’s Babydoll, who’s also known as Lee, who was also
the woman who tried to brain him with a fucking laptop.

What are you, fucking crazy?
The answer being, quite obviously: yeah.

It’s pretty dark in here. He flashes her an indistinct grin. Then he’s
talking to Wendy again, catching up by a step, quieter now. “Hey,” he
says, “relax, peach. You look like you ate a goddamn grenade and found
the pin stuck in your back teeth. We just wanna chill for a while. You
don’t need to look like you’re going to the gallows.”

…and then the door bursts open again. And both the blonds spill in.