[Imogen Slaughter] “I can’t believe yeh’ve never seen jellyfish in person,” Imogen speaks upward toward the much taller man – who is also much younger than she, as they round a corner together within the aquarium, coincidentally just down the glass-lined corridor, her eyes passing over the creatures within absently.
Dressed in jeans, a blouse beneath a dark brown trench-coat (passingly familiar to Joey, who has felt the fine fabric of it against her bare skin), she cuts an elegant figure in the child-littered aquarium, pausing here or there at the glass walls to watch its occupants, glance briefly down at the name. The elusive jellyfish are not yet been found, however.
“I know they’re around here somewhere.” Coincidentally, they’re approaching the tank of gliding turtles, the knot of Garou and Kinfolk there.
[Kemp] “The only jelly worth seeing is grape and on my peanut butter samich.”
He was here because she invited him. Or maybe he’d wanted to come all along and never had a reason? Either way, he was in his new jeans and a clean long sleeved deep forest green tee. And though he peered through long shaggy hair that hung over his eyes and collar, he was secretly watching for jelly fish. Wondering if the fish would look like fish, be colored or flavored because fuck if they shouldn’t be. As they got close enough to spot the group near the turtles, his head turned that way for a brief moment. He knew Drew, knew Joey and there it was, that uncontrollable urge that rose in him.
“Where’s the shark tank, is it close?”
Questioned not so quietly.
[Beth Clemensen] There might have been a point to admitting that she hasn’t been in town for very long, that she’s still learning where everything in, rather than coming out and saying that she is trying to find the Trueborn Fenrir in the city when there is a cluster of humans standing nearby. What had tipped her off to the fact that it was alright to talk to Imogen and Maija about the Brotherhood was the fact that she had heard the words ‘Kinfolk’ and ‘Fenrir’ leaving the skinny blonde’s mouth before she walked up and joined them.
The two girls take the conversation in a different direction though, talking about the dolphins and the other exhibits housed within the aquarium, before Drew decides that the Oceanarium and the dolphins are something she’d like to check out before she leaves today. She takes off, and Beth raises a ringless hand to wave in farewell as the smallest of them takes off.
Beth looks back to the slightly-taller girl, a mutedly expectant expression on her open face, before she squares up her shoulders and smiles.
“I’ve got to be honest,” she says, almost as in apology, “yesterday was the first time I’d met anyone from the Nation in this city and I didn’t get much of a chance to talk. Do you have somewhere to be?”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen turns her head to glance toward Drew’s departure, then Beth and Joey, a little farther up.
Kemp asks his not so quiet question and the slight redhaired woman turns back, her eyes narrowing upward at the wiry once-teen.
“No,” she answers firmly, though it’s tough to say if she means that no, there are no tanks, or simply saying no to whatever plan his New-Moon brain might concoct, involving shark tanks and what he sees up ahead.
[Schala] As the kids start to reference Giratina and Sky Forme, talking about Arceus and Shaymin…Schala realized she was in over her head. She just nodded and smiled, realizing she should have just kept her mouth shut. Then one of the kids starts asking her if she played…if she liked Pearl or Diamond more…
“Uh…I like…um…Squirtle.”
A few start saying how weak Squirtle is, others starting to lose interest in talking with the blue haired not quite adult not quite kid person.
Wow….I actually feel old school. Frightening.
[Kemp] He gave his best innocent look, which she had seen so many times before.
“Awcomeon, ya know I don’t mean nothing by that. I just wonder how often people fall in and get et.”
Though even as he gave the innocent act, his gaze followed Drew’s drifting off and in a second his attention was on Joey and Beth. Last time he had seen Joey was when Imogen gave the girl her coat to cover up with.
“Ever get your coat back?”
[Joey Oliver] Joey watches Drew depart, not offering a wave because, quite frankly, the girl wouldn’t see it, anyway. And now it’s just the two of them, or four, now that she sees Kemp and Imogen. But her attention is quickly back on the kin before her, the woman who moved here maybe a month ago, who hasn’t had a chance to talk to anyone about the Nation until yesterday.
Joey tilts her head a little to the side, thinking. About the things she has planned for the day, which pretty much include eating, reading, and maybe horsing around with Charlie again. Her head swivels so that she meets Beth’s green eyes.
“Nope, I don’t have anywhere to be. If you want, I can take you to The Brotherhood. There’s a bunch of us there, and the food’s good.”
She’s still careful to keep tells from her conversation. They can talk, at a restaurant, with lots of people. Nothing out of the ordinary about that.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s eyebrow arches slightly at the innocent act, clearly not believing it for a second. “No,” she says again. Once more, there are two possibilities – again, that she is saying no to his perceived plan, or this time, that no one falls into the shark tank and gets eaten.
Ever get your coat back? Imogen inclines her head, reaching up with a hand and flicking the lapel of her trenchcoat with her fingers. “I did,” she says, glancing back toward the now two Fenrir a little distance away.
A pause, and Kemp, at least can see the small measure of tension drawn at the corner of her mouth, there, then gone.
After it has faded: “C’mon,” she says, tilting her head toward the two, and stepping that way.
[Kemp] “Wait, why did you make that sour grapes look with your mouth? I didn’t fart or nothing. So had to be something else.”
Still he started towards the pair, though soon as he found out it was a Kin with Joey, he likely would wear Imogen’s sour grapes face.
[Beth Clemensen] “I was there for a little while last night.”
Though she does not have an animalistic alertness of what is going on around her, is not constantly looking away from the taller woman in order to make sure that she knows who and where everyone is, she becomes aware of the presence of a shock of red hair and a tall, dangerous-feeling young man coming up behind the Rotagar as they’re speaking.
Her eyes flit over Joey’s shoulder for a moment, taking the two of them in quickly, before she finishes her thought.
“It seemed kind of quiet. I didn’t go upstairs, though. The bartender said people live there?”
[Imogen Slaughter] “I did not make a sour grapes look with my mouth.”
A lift of her chin indicates Beth, at least one assumes so, as she cannot be referring to Joey with her next words, “Th’blonde yeh don’t know is a Kinfolk o’ yer tribe.”
A sideways glance toward the lanky Garou – and they’re still just far enough to be out of hearing range – “Don’t run.”
[Schala] Schala feels a little crowded now as the kindergarten kids were after all there with their sponsor and starting to get fidgety. She almost flails a little, feeling like she’ll drown in the gathering of them…not much taller then the lot while she was squatted. She finally felt on her butt from squatting for so long, grimacing as she disappears amongst the shin kickers, the flash of crayola bright blue hair vanishing.
[Kemp] Imogen was really short and he was fairly tall. There was about a foot and a half difference between the little red head and the shaggy haired young man behind her. She walked in elegance, his was more an easy prowl that was meant to look like a casual saunter. Long muddy brown hair hung down pass his collar and made a curtain over eyes a murky green in shade. As soon as Imogen murmured to him, he grabbed his throat with both hands, made a choking sound and staggered as if he were dying.
“You’re killing me here!”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen stops, and watches Kemp as he staggers around.
“If you want t’be truly dramatic, fall on the floor,” she suggests. “But I don’t recommend it. Children come through here.”
[Joey Oliver] She was there for a while last night, but didn’t go upstairs. If she had gone upstairs, it’s highly likely she would have met with anyone from any number of tribes.
“Yep! That’s where I live, actually. We’re mostly all on the second floor, though there’s folks with their own places, of course. You’ll wanna talk to Decker at some point, but he’s not there. He’s the Jarl here.” She nods her head once as she says this.
There’s a press of rage at her back as Kemp approaches, and she turns, twisting at the waist to look over her shoulder. The pair are given a smile of greeting and a wave before Joey steps back and out of the way.
[Kemp] He actually paused for a moment with a droll look for Imogen that said a world of shit as far as what he cared if a kid came through and in the next moment, grabbed his throat again, gasped, gagged, fell on the floor and twitched for a good 5 seconds. All of this about the time Joey turned to look at them.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen draws in a slow, long-suffering breath, glancing up at a single passerby, giving both her and her rage-filled companion a wide berth. “Don’t worry,” she says, “I’m a doctor.” The passer-by gives Imogen a skeptical glance, but hurries on, further fuelled by the combined weight of Joey and Kemp’s rage.
She pockets her hands, watching Kemp as he twitches and flails on the slightly damp floor, his unkempt hair sprawling over the rubber covering.
Joey waves and Imogen raises a hand in return, before turning her attention back to her over-dramatic – she has no word for him. Friend, acquaintance, none of them fit.
“Finished yet, are you?” when the twitching is done.
[Kemp] He gasped, groaned and twitched and paused for a bare second and in a stage whisper replied.
“You’re suppose’a give me mouth to mouth, duh.”
And just for effect, he made sure to flop on her foot when he started twitching again.
[Beth Clemensen] The tall kid walking with Imogen flops onto the floor and starts twitching. Were not for the fact that his companion seems wholly unimpressed with the act, Beth might have been more concerned. As it is she simply glances at the two of them, then looks back to Joey.
“Do you know where to find him?” she asks.
[Imogen Slaughter] “I will gi’ yeh mouth to mouth when pigs fly,” Imogen retorts, prodding him with the toe of her expensive shoe. “C’mon, get up.”
[Schala] Schala crawled from the throng of children…thinking it was time to retreat before the heathen horde started talking about Spongebob. She could handle Pokemon…but Squarepants would make her brain ooze. She found herself about eye level with Kemp…putting a finger to her lips before she continued across the floor until she was near the exit.
[Joey Oliver] Joey turned and stepped back, just in time to watch Kemp comically drop to the floor. The sight makes her laugh, one short chuckle, before she turns back to the kin. “Yeah. Well, kinda. I can point ya in the right direction, though.”
She pats her pockets down, as if she might find a pen or pencil and something to write on there. Of course, she doesn’t.
“You got somethin’ to write on?”
[Kemp] “Well how about her?”
He stopped, sat up and pointed towards Beth with a sweep of one hand to brush the hair from his eyes before letting it fall back into place. In that moment of clear vision he found himself looking at someone else on the floor that made a shushing motion and crawled across the floor. So he pointed it out.
“Shit and ya thought I was weird. Look at that shit.”
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The schooling fish are a whirlwind of silver in the deep, gemlike blue of their aquarium. Lukas is where he usually is when he spends the afternoon, or a couple hours, or twenty minutes in Shedd: on the bench in front of them, watching.
The Storm Chasers had a note under their door this morning. Their presence was requested; one or the other. It didn’t really matter which. There wasn’t a time set, either. Lukas, iPod in pocket and earbuds in ears, was apparently prepared to wait as long as necessary.
[Joss Lehrer] She likes fish. In fact, she likes anything right now that is calm, and soothing, and keeps her mind from running off on wild tangents of how to kill the Valet – which is not nearly as pretentious as it sounds. She’s been wandering about the aquarium for a while now, watching the fish, while working her way through a big fluffy pile of cotton candy. It’s been reduced by half, already, and her fingers are sticky and stained red from the dyed sugar. Her lips and tongue too.
She deosn’t seem to be watching where she’s going, or moving in any one particular direction, until she sees a certain Eagle Kinfolk, and decides to head that way rather than continue aimlessly wandering. Only to find Kemp writhing on the floor, then sitting up again. She plops another bit of the sweet treat into her mouth, letting it melt against her tongue as she closes the distance between her and Imogen- and Kemp – and others.
“Hey, want some?” This offer to Imogen, of course, though she doesn’t necessarily look to be the cotton candy type.
[Beth Clemensen] She got something to write on.
“Uh huh,” she says, far more cheerfully than the situation really calls for, and slides one of the straps of her purse down off of her shoulder to open up the gaping leather maw of her bag. Her left, ringless hand sneaks inside to rustle around the contents, and she pulls out a small ringed tablet of paper and a pen. Flipping the pad open, she clicks the pen alive and looks up at Joey.
[Imogen Slaughter] “She’s not giving you mouth to mouth either.” This said without actually checking with Beth, which one might consider rude. Then again, it might be considered kind.
He points at something she cannot quite see at her angle, and the young Rotagar is given a withering look before she sinks to a crouch to look.
“Odd,” is all she has time to say before Joss comes up behind her, offering cotton candy. Imogen does not yet stand, instead twisting at the hip to look up at the Fenrir Theurge, her offering. A moment of consideration – the decision is by no means automatic, and she reaches out with a single hand and plucks a small swath of cotton candy from the untouched side of the Godi’s treat.
“Ta,” she says, popping it into her mouth.
A glance toward Kemp, “But not quite as odd as you.”
[Schala] Schala managed to get to the exit without interference, picking herself up. Her chest was starting to hurt a little…it felt tight. It wasn’t the kids fault…she shouldn’t have gotten them excited or distracted from their tour. Her hand went to the middle of her ribs, pushing on it slightly as if that would make the sensation go away. Then she was moving out the side exit to get outside.
[Sinclair] The Storm Chasers are, in many ways, like college roommates. They share a room, which is small. They are roughly the same age, they are rather equal in terms of experience in both the world and the Nation, and they are both bending a great deal of their daily energy towards Figuring This Shit Out. They do not spend all their time together, they do not have the same circles of ‘friends’, but they get along well enough to work together and share the same space. It hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that Joey spends most of her time with the Theurge of the Sentinels, or that Sinclair is occasionally seen in deep conversation or walking away someplace with John Thornton.
Nor has anyone failed to notice that in battle, Joey follows Sinclair’s lead impeccably, and that the two of them share kills, rip open enemies, and get joyfully, delightedly saturated in blood and ichor only to howl happily afterward in voices that regardless of form are actually quite lovely. There are times when it’s obvious why the two of them are in a pack together.
When she woke up today there was a note stuck to the bulletin board that she and Joey have on the inside of their bedroom door. Joey had gotten it first, left it there for Sinclair’s viewing pleasure. The slightly older but equally madcap blonde doesn’t know if her packmate’s at the Shedd right now or not, but she’s headed inside and downstairs to the schooling fish. Unlike many teenagers or young adults, she doesn’t scuff her feet along but walks with a near-silent deftness. She’s wearing her green and gray knit hat with the earflaps and the puff-ball on top and the long ties that she never bothers to knot together under her chin. She’s wearing jeans and blue sneakers and about four layers of upperwear, from thermal shirt to t-shirt to hoodie to peacoat.
Her gloves are fingerless. Doesn’t matter. When she approaches Wyrmbreaker, her hands are shoved in her coat pockets.
“A’ight?” she says, by way of greeting, by way of Okay, I’m here, by way of Whaddya want?
[Kemp] He watched the woman on the floor a moment longer and stood when Joss turned up. Something about his head being lower than Joss that bothered the fuck out of him. Even as he brushed his hand off to offer it to Imogen, he eyed Joss and gave an absent greeting.
“Hey.”
And instantly started asking Imogen.
“So you know her? The kin?”
[Joey Oliver] Joey accepts the tablet and pen and writes out an address. Her handwriting is bold and somewhat blocky, but still easy to read. When she’s finished, she hands it back. “If you go there, there should be someone who can point ya at Decker.”
They are joined by yet another of Gaia’s chosen, this time in the form of the Theurge elder. Joey grins and waves to her new friend. She turns back to Beth. “You should check out the local wildlife section.” She rocks back on her heels and jerks her chin in the direction of that particular exhibit.
[Joss Lehrer] Kemp gives her an odd look (…she’s used to it…) and doens’t like being shorter than the not very tall Godi, and Joss just grins. She offers him some Cotton Candy too with a tip of the stick in his direction. “Heya.”
Then Joey waves, and Joss’ smile warms, though it was already warm and friendly to begin with, despite the level of rage that burns through her right now. Thankfully, she tends to be unnaturally calm even on the worst of days, and is well in control of herself. For now. At any rate -she returns the wave to Joey, and plucks some more candy free, to pop between her lips.
[Kemp] “It’s not blue, but ok, thanks.”
That was his reply to the offer of cotton candy and the piece he took was far from a small pluck. The entire wad stuffed in his mouth at once only to melt instantly on his tongue.
“Nothing like ninety nine point nine percent sugar to make a day.”
[Imogen Slaughter] “Met her th’once, yesterday,” she says, briefly taking Kemp’s offered hand, but not pulling it at all as she gets to her feet under her power, and releasing him.
“She’s from Indiana, we were th’first o’ the blood that we’ve met in Chicago. Name’s Beth. Fenrir. As I said.”
[Beth Clemensen] Accepting the pen and pad back, Beth quickly reads over the address and nods to herself, either to indicate that she understands Joey’s writing or simply as a force of habit, before she’s closing the notebook and clicking the pen to sleep and secreting them both away in a purse that looks heavier than its small size would otherwise indicate.
The aquarium won’t be closing for another several hours, and there are more people, is more Rage, than there was a few minutes ago; but she’s not here for recreation, nor is she here for socialization. This is something of a scouting expedition, a test run to see if a motley group of kindergarten students can understand the exhibits and reach the interactive displays and manage not to break something that the school can’t afford to replace, and now she’s being directed out of here for purposes that she’s not going to question.
It could be innocuous assistance, or there could be other reasons that this girl who carries herself like a warrior is suggesting that she go check out an exhibit that isn’t in the reef section. Beth seems to take it at face value, and she gives another smile, this one showing teeth, before hoisting her purse up higher on her shoulder.
“I think I will.” A small wave, and then she adds, “Thanks for your help, Joey. I’ll see you around.”
With that, the previous unknown turns and starts off away from the gathering of Garou, heading towards the local wildlife.
[MTing is once again breaking my brain. Thanks for the RP, y’all!]
[Kemp] And just like that the kin in question took off like grease through a goose that ate Ex-Lax by the ton.
“Ok, so where is the shark tank?”
Imogen was the center of attention again.
[Joss Lehrer] “They was outa blue.” Kemp thinks sugar makes his day, and she grins her agreement. Like she possibly needs more sugar on any given day… like as not she’ll be bouncing off the walls in no time. She doesn’t object to the size of his bite either. She’d offered, and he could have taken the whole thing and she wouldn’t have protested – just snatched a last bit on the way by. She’s easy like that – easy like Sunday morning, as the songsters say.
And he outranks her. But mostly, she’s just that friendly. She doesn’t know the kinfolk in question, so listens instead.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas pulls the earbuds out of his ears as he sees Sinclair approaching, alerted less by her movement or her footfall than by the crackle of rage that comes from the rather ferocious Galliard.
“Hey, Sinclair,” he greets her, nodding her to the bench beside him. “I wanted to talk to you about your pack and mine.”
He keeps his voice down, needless to say. But he doesn’t bother with euphemisms and code; those humans passing near them are usually in a hurry to get away, anyway.
“I like the Stormchasers’ strength,” he says. “I like your ferocity. I even like your attitude, that sort of wild joy that most of us have forgotten.” There’s a slight pause; it’s barely noticeable. “But I want you to disband and join the Unbroken under Perun. Will you hear why?”
[Joey Oliver] Joey waves good bye the kinfolk, and checks the watch at her wrist. It’s not nice, nor expensive. It’s a thick band of leather with an analog face. Then she looks up and around, and starts trying to find her alpha and the alpha of the Unbroken. Her hands are in her pockets, and she wanders around. She hadn’t really planned on being at Shedd to talk to Wyrmbreaker about, well, whatever it was that he wanted to talk about. But since she’s here anyway, she’ll stick around. Maybe try to catch Sinclair on her way out to find out what’s up.
Until then, she really wants to see the Polar Play area again. The kids in their dress-up are just too cute.
[And Joey’s out. MTing breaking my brain. Thanks for the play!]
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen tilts her head slightly, gesturing the direction they’d been headed before Kemp’s antics had slowed them down. “C’mon,” she says.
As Kemp turns away to head that way, she remarks, “Yeh ha’ paper or somethin’ stuck t’yer back.” The observation is mild.
Down the corridor they head, Imogen reaching into her purse for a folded map as they go.
[Joss Lehrer] “Oh! Sharks!” Imogen knows the way, and she turns to follow along with them, unconcerned that she’s invited herself along. “Have you seen the dolphins yet? I always save them till last.”
She grins at them, and follows their lead. She’s been wandering for the better part of the afternoon, she seems content to wander along some more. There is a glance spared for Lukas and Sinclair. Idly she wonders what they’re talking about, though ultimateily it’s none of her business, really, so she has nothing to say about that. instead, she addresses the paper stuck to Kemp’s back – or rather, ther eason it’s there. “Why were you floppin around, anyway?”
Even as she asks the question, she knows she probably doesn’t want to know the answer.
[Sinclair] The schooling fish zip away from the glass as Sinclair comes to stand in front of it. Behind her is nothing but aquamarine, filled with the rocks and plants that make up the habitat of the schools. They skitter at the edges, dart behind rocks and coral, leave an expanse where she stands. It isn’t her Rage. Were she in the water with them, she may as well be a piranha. A shark. A giant sea snake.
A predator. A monster.
She doesn’t sit down on the bench by him just yet. He’s seen her around. She’s got a galling amount of energy, even if she doesn’t bounce up and down or fidget much. She does listen, though, her eyebrows quirking upward a bit when he mentions pack matters. One corner of her mouth goes up in a half-smirk when he mentions their strength, their ferocity. That’s a pleased smirk, not a condescending one.
Your attitude. That actually makes her grin, her white teeth flashing.
…I want you to disband…
The grin snaps out of existence. She frowns, more in confusion than anything else, though there are traces of displeasure. Sinclair is not hard to read. She wears everything on her sleeve. She wears some things on her skin. In her flesh.
“I would love to hear why,” she says.
[Tyler Norman] Shedd Aquarium. He’d been in Chicago for a year almost and he’d never been to the Aquarium. Now, he was there with a rag muffin of a kid – a female somewhere between 9 and 10, wearing second hand clothes and a beat up jacket. Of course, Tyler doesn’t seem dressed in anything better. His jeans are faded and bear a hole in one knee, his jean jacket’s wool lining doesn’t keep him as warm as it used too.
“She’s late again.” The little girl says as they stroll down one corridor and into another.
“Yeah. She’ll be here. We’re meeting at the sharks… remember?” He says with a ruffle of the girls hair. She’s clinging to a stuffed killer whale, her feet dragging in dread that her absentee mother might not be there.
[Kemp] For a second he too glanced towards Lukas whom he had not seen outside of Moots in months and months and Sinclair whom he did not know outside of moots, at all. Then Joss and Imogen had his attention again as they ambled on towards the Sharks.
“I like paper, never know when there won’t be any in the john, so gotta carry spares along. Hey…”
He glanced back at Joss a second.
“Ever hear of anyone falling in the shark tank and getting ate?”
[Joss Lehrer] She blinks. “Good plan, I suppose.” She takes the last bite of her cotton candy treat, throwing the stick away as they move past a trash bin, before she makes sure to suck all the sweet residue off her sticky fingers. Sometimes, she really is such a child.
Kemp wonders about shark tank deaths, and she arches a brow. Then laughs and shakes her head.
“Nope. Not lately anyway. Why, thinkin’ of going for a swim?”
[Kemp] “Nope, just….wondering.”
He left it at that for the moment, though there were dreams of shoving Kin into tanks, dancing through his head.
[Imogen Slaughter] “More likely,” Imogen’s tone is deadpan, flat. “He wants to pitch someone in th’tank and if it happens frequently, he has a good cover story.”
The Wild Reef section is ahead – with it, the shark exhibit, as well as other, alien animals – moray eels, whiptail rays. Creatures that have lines and frames which are wrong to their land-locked eyes.
[Kemp] “Awcomeon, do I look like I would do that?”
He made a halo over his head with both hands and batted his lashes.
“Accidents happen.”
[Joss Lehrer] She glances between the two of them, and then laughs, delightedly mortified at the though. “Oh Kemp, girl troubles?!”
And then she’s distracted… “Ooooooooh LOOK!” Some of these animals – fish – are really strange looking, and appeal to her freak loving nature.
[Joss Lehrer] (at the thought. cuz i kin type.)
[Kemp] “More’n girls fall in shark tanks.”
His attention was diverted towards whatever Joss was pointing at for a moment. A glance given down towards Imogen.
“It could happen.”
Mouthed.
[Tyler Norman] (Gah, I’m distracted! (sad) I’ll try to break Tyler in another time. Thanks all!)
to Imogen Slaughter, Joss Lehrer, Kemp, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair, snail
[Imogen Slaughter] (*murders Kemp for post jumping.*
*cheerfully*)
[Imogen Slaughter] “You look precisely like yeh would do that,” flat, an eyebrow arching. “So stop fluttering yer eyelashes at me.”
He mouths something at her, and her eyebrow arches further, “Did no one ever teach yeh the concept o’ turn th’other cheek?” Then again, he’s Fenrir. Even if he was taught it – it wasn’t in his makeup.
oooh, look! Imogen turns her head automatically, her gaze moving to take in the – “Dragon Moray Eel,” she reads off the plate in front.
[Joss Lehrer] She laughs at the two of them, shaking her head. “Long as I ain’t th’one goin swimmin…”
Imogen reads off that she’s looking at a Dragon Moray Eel, and Joss wonders aloud, almost absently. “Wonder if Decker’d let me have one as a pet…” though gaia knows what she’d do with it.
[Kemp] “It don’t look like a dragon to me. Does it eat people?”
That last part sounding a little too hopeful.
[Imogen Slaughter] A glance over her shoulder at Joss, “Somehow, I don’t think he’d expect to need to gi’ you permission.”
Her attention returns to the plaque as Kemp speaks. “I doubt it,” she says, “says it swallows its – Jesus.” something she reads pauses her, eyebrows arching upward in reaction. She lifts her gaze to regard the eel with renewed interest, tilting her head slightly as she does, before continuing, “Says it swallows its pray whole and then ties itself into a knot, squeezing its prey in its digestive system t’flatten it out.”
A pause. “That would be somethin’ t’see.” Almost reflective, before she turns her head to glance at Kemp, “Nothin’ about eatin’ people though. Just fish. Sorry.”
[Joss Lehrer] She laughs and shrugs – Imogen is probably right. Though she has enough other odd things going on at the packhouse in her attic, they probably wouldn’t even bat a lash at a tank of coral and dragon morey eels.
Imogen reads the information, and Joss is completely engrossed in watching the ugly weird little thing, until she gets to the eating part. She blinks, and looks up at her, then back down. “Oh that’s groooooooooooooss…”
Somehow she seems more delighted at the prospect than grossed out though.
[Kemp] It wouldn’t leave much behind, would it?”
He paused, rocking back and forth on his heels before adding with a big ole shit eating grin.
“Except floating fish shit.”
[Imogen Slaughter] It’s a strange combination. Kemp and Joss’s obvious youth tempered by Imogen’s reticence.
Kemp asks about fish shit, and Imogen regards him narrowly before tilting her head sharply to indicate a few tanks over. “Sharks are o’er there.”
[Joss Lehrer] She turns away from the ugly little thing that squeezes his prey to death in it’s stomach, to head toward the sharks. Sleek and deadly, cold and single- minded. She stares at them circling, and moving and circling curiously.
Her voice is quiet, soft as she muses in a tone that isn’t easily overheard. “Some folks follow Shark. It seems so… impersonal… to me…”
[Kemp] “See how dead their eyes look? No lids, no blinking. And then consider how cold blooded they are. I remember some following shark in the past, here in the city. Always made me think about loan sharks and shit.”
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (yaaagh. *finishes cooking, posts!*)
The Shadow Lord’s eyes are fixed on the Glass Walker, keen, as her smirk vanishes. Truth be told, he wasn’t entirely certain she wouldn’t fly into a rage and attack. Truth be told, he isn’t sure he wouldn’t do just that, put in her place.
But she doesn’t. She wants to know why. He looks at the fish in the tank, their endless whirling. The light is pale and luminous on his face; it makes them look ethereal, almost, though they are anything but.
They’re werewolves. They’re a full moon and a gibbous, some of the most rage-ridden, raw, redblooded creatures of their kind. On this planet. In the world. They’re solid and visceral, and dominance and violence are in their blood.
Though, they might pretend otherwise.
“Because,” Lukas says, “our packs are suited to one another. Not because we’re the same, but because we’re different. We bring different and complementary things to the table. We’re imbalanced right now, the both of our packs.
“The Unbroken needs vigor. We need to tap more into the Wyld, which we’ve somehow lost touch with along the way. We need that sort of wild drive and reckless energy I see in the Stormchasers. I need a packmate that’ll push me forward when I want to hang back and plan, and plan, and plan.
“And as for your pack — you need direction. You’re mighty warriors; there’s no doubt of that. I don’t dispute that your battles have significance, that your victories advance our cause. But I can see nothing that connects one skirmish to the next. What cause are you fighting for, Sinclair, besides the most amorphous banners of Wyld and Gaia? What are the Stormchasers doing with their lives that will matter after they’re dead and gone?
“You’re too much of the Wyld. We’re too much, I suppose, of the Weaver. But somewhere in between there’s a balance. And then we’ll be a force the Wyrm will dread.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen follows the two to the black-tip reef sharks, coming to stop in front of the glass and the plaque. The animals are between twenty and thirty feet, moving constantly, slowly swimming within the confines of their glass cage.
There is absolute silence from them, an absolute lack of emotion. She reads the plaque before looking up, tracking one of the animals slowly with her eyes – no reaction apparent. The conversation of the two grabs her attention seconds later.
“‘Follow shark’?” she repeats, an eyebrow arching. There is a certain way she pronounces it which strips the word shark of its reverence. It is not the way a Garou would speak of a totem, far from it. To Imogen, it is merely a noun.
[Joss Lehrer] Joss nods, slightly. “Like Eagle.” She tips her head, still watching the large predators behind the glass. “There’s all manner of totems to follow, and Shark is one. I’ve never known any without access to the ocean to follow though. Chicago would seem an odd place for such a thing.”
Weird, but not impossible. Kemp mentions loan sharks, and she laughs softly. “I dunno. It’s just not my style, but I can’t begrudge anyone for wanting to follow. I’m sure there’s something that appeals to some folks. I’m just not one of them.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s eyes are on the shark as it passes through the water, tail slicing as it moves.
“Does it change you?” the question is sudden, almost unexpected, even on her own part. A sideways glance at the Theurge, a small, wry smirk. “I’ve seen a symptom or two.”
[Joss Lehrer] She looks over at Imogen as she asks the question, then back to the water ahead as she contemplates the answer. She’s seen a symptom or two, and that makes her grin. “In a way, I suppose it does. Following a totem doesn’t change who you are fundamentally, at the core, but we’re drawn toward those totems that will help enhance our strengths, that have traits we admire and will help us grow in specific ways. Sometimes, in exchange for that, we also inherit and enhance some of the weaknesses too.”
She rubs her forehead, absently, and then catches herself, and drops her hand. It itches, but not too badly today. Hopefully it will fade in time. “There are different categories of totems – war, wisdom, cunning. A pack’s mission often dictates what they’ll fall under. Eagle is war.” That can’t hardly be surprising for the great bird of prey, or it’s followers. “It can make us strong, but there are conditions attached, no matter which you follow.”
[Sinclair] Sinclair sucks at pretending. When she’s performing for a sept it may be a different story, but in general, she can’t feign humanity. She can’t act like she isn’t what she is. She doesn’t attempt false politeness, insincere submission. She is an awful, awful liar. She’s pleased that a Fostern Ahroun likes the way her sister and she behave in combat. She’s suspicious and wary and not terribly happy that he wants them to break up their pack and come toddling along to The Unbroken. The reasons for that are impossible to read; the emotion itself is impossible to miss.
Just like the way she raises a dubious eyebrow when he says that their packs are suited to one another. Even when he explains what he means, she looks like she doesn’t buy it. Like she doesn’t quite get why a Full Moon is talking about balance.
She frowns when he says the word reckless. She crosses her arms over her chest. The frown becomes more thoughtful. Wild she may be, reckless and impetuous almost certainly, but neither Sinclair nor Joey are exactly…stupid. Or thoughtless. They follow a totem of Wisdom, not War. It’s just wisdom expressed violently, viciously, destructively.
Her jaw clenches when he tells her that they need direction.
“That,” she says when he’s done, “was a pretty good speech.” She means it; there’s no sarcasm there, or dismissal. “Points for cohesion, but demerits for presumption.” Again: she means what she’s saying, as though she’s analyzing a performance. Which it might have been. In Sinclair’s world, though, something being performed does not make it any less sincere, any less meaningful.
She thinks for a moment. “Can you really say that because you don’t see a thread of connection between one battle and the next that it means we don’t have direction? Or, really, that a pack devoted to Twister would or should be terribly worried about which way we’re going?” She cocks her eyebrow at him, half-bewildered, still dubious. “On top of that, did you plan plan plan to insult my packmate and I by implying that what we are doing won’t matter after we’re gone — or, again, that this should be a great big concern of ours?”
Sinclair licks her lips. “I’m still listening. But so far what you’re saying seems like you’ve decided what we both need. I believe you know exactly what your pack needs. To be honest, though, I’m not sure Joey or I need to hook up with a Fang who runs crying from dirt and a Lord who used to follow her.”
[Imogen Slaughter] A long pause. Imogen watches the water. There is something hypnotic about aquatic life. Something utterly still in the silence, the steady movements of the creatures within.
“What are Eagle’s restrictions?”
Imogen has been aligned, at least according to the Nation, according to the Sept, for nearly a decade. Yet, it appears she has never asked these questions.
There is a deliberate casualness in the way she asks them now.
[Joss Lehrer] For all her youth, one of the things Joss has always been is a teacher. She enjoys speaking of the spirits, explaining things that so few people ever see. If she thinks it odd that Imogen is asking now, after all this time, or even weird that she’s asking Joss in particular, it doens’t show. They’re honest questions, good questions, and Joss treats them as such, and answers as honestly as she can.
“At times, depending on our strength of will, it can be easier to frenzy then it is on a day to day basis.” a pause, and an admission. “I dreamt the other night – as you did before? The Valet came to me this time. I’m… drained. It’s why I came here today, to watch the fish, to relax in the silence of constant motion without hectic stress. I tend to be calmer than most anyway, but every bit helps.” A beat, then a grin. “Don’t worry, it’s working. I’m well in control.”
[Imogen Slaughter] (*chains Kemp down*)
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (FUCK’S SAKE.)
[Joss Lehrer] (*LMAO* that… didn’t work.)
[Imogen Slaughter] The valet, Joss says, and Imogen’s eyebrow arches, a prelude to a question which is answered by the subsequent explanation.
The subject changes.
“No luck in solvin’ that, then?” If Joss’s admission concerns her, it doesn’t show.
[Kemp] Part of this conversation was something that no longer had anything to do with him. Something he had lost and something that had left a hole bigger than his heart in him. Something that might not ever heal, he was pretty damned sure. So the converstation about Eagle was shut out as hard as he could make it shut out. Infact, he had drifted off when the conversation started and headed down towards a turn in the corridor. So the part about a Valet whatever, didn’t even reach him because he was no longer listening to anything around him. Time to go, that’s what was in his mind and deepest wishes.
[Joss Lehrer] She shakes her head. “We’re closer. We had a meeting of the minds to get as much information as possible.” It didn’t go as well as she hoped, but at least there’s been SOME progress. “Charlie and I have a plan – we’ll get their asses in gear and make a run at solving that little dilemma soon.” A beat, as she catches herself reaching for her forehead again. “Very soon.”
She turns and looks at Imogen, briefly. “He fucked up. The Valet. Tried to appear as Rune – as a Godi.” She snorts, chuckling. “Like I don’t know my Eagle history better than that…”
[Imogen Slaughter] There’s a distinct pause, deliberate and defined. Then, almost reluctantly, Imogen says, “Let me know if I can be of any help.”
Kemp makes to leave and Imogen turns her head, looking at his departing back.
“Kemp,” she barely raises her voice, but pitches it to be heard farther. “Th’jelly fish are in th’next exhibit o’er.”
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] For the most part, Lukas’s eyes remain on the fish in the tank. They’re a rather mismatched pair, the man well-dressed and somber in cotton and wool, black and grey; the woman pierced, wild-eyed. They are obviously not a couple. They sit too far apart for that, and anyway, the air between them doesn’t read that way.
At all.
Lukas considers Sinclair’s words for a moment before he replies. Then, “You’re right. I did presume. I presumed based on what I could see of you. If you have a direction, tell me what it is. If you don’t feel you need one, I’d like to hear why.
“As for the rest of it: no, I didn’t mean to insult you. Yes, I suspected you might feel insulted nonetheless. But Sinclair,” he does look her way now, “if I had no respect for you and your packmate at all, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.”
A pause.
“Did you mean to insult my packmate and I?”
[Joss Lehrer] She smiles at Imogen and nods. “I will. Thank you.”
The jelly fish are down the way and she turns to watch Kemp heading toward them, shutting out their conversation. Her voice, quiet, reaches only Imogen. “He still misses Eagle.”
[Imogen Slaughter] She watches Kemp as he leaves or stays or responds.
Then, to Joss, “Did he tell you that?” an eyebrow arching.
[Sinclair] They don’t even sit together. Sinclair stands in front of the tank, facing him, watching him. They’re far enough apart that she doesn’t exactly loom over him; wouldn’t anyway, not when she’s over half a foot shorter than he is. She’s dressed in denim as well as (thinner) cotton and (cheaper) wool, the colors mismatched and her pale hair sticking out from under an almost childish — or simply hipster-chic — ski hat. They don’t belong together. His eyes are a penetrating sort of blue; hers are, oddly, more reminiscent of summer skies and robins’ eggs. They are the least wild thing about her, the softest, and if they are truly windows to the soul, then no one looking in them would think she were a monster.
So she surrounds them with eyeliner and mascara and shadow. She makes them smoky and dark and intense. She shutters and curtains them, if they are windows, until a passing glance over her features makes her more of a monster. It is, oddly, a sort of honesty, for her to alter the inherent softness of her eyes.
She considers his words, and his question. She uncrosses her arms from her chest and picks up the puffball-ended strings hanging down from her unused earflaps, bopping them together carelessly.
“Not really,” she admits. “But sorta.” Sinclair pauses, flicking the ties of her hat around some more, and looks across the way at him. Her tone of voice maintains that sense of admission, which is not confession: “I was pretty fuckin’ disgusted after the fight with the worm. That was some weak shit right there, man.” Another pause, this one giving her time to change the cadence, the sense, of her words. “So now you’re here talking about our strength and ferocity and vigor and I can’t exactly help but wonder if it’s appealing because it’ll compensate for your packmate’s apparent tendency to get squicked out and bolt.
“I mean… Wyld we may be, but Joey’s and I have both been tainted, and not by a force of creation. And respect you may have, but…” she trails off, and shrugs. “I’ll be blunt: you I’m fine with, but everything I’ve seen of Katherine in battle and at moots doesn’t exactly impress. I’m more than a bit wary of binding myself to her.”
Beat. “And Joey and I already dealt with one Fang who was more likely to get us killed than anything else.”
[Joss Lehrer] She shakes her head, slightly. “No. I recognize the look. I have seen it before. He’s been alone a long time, and part of you always aches for your first totem, no matter how many you follow later on – and he’s never chosen another.”
She pauses, takes a breath and shrugs, looking back to Imogen with a lopsided grin. “I could be wrong. I am on occasion.”
[Imogen Slaughter] She shakes her head slightly. The grin, of course, is not returned – but that is to be expected. Still, the defined edge to her voice, perhaps, not quite.
“In this particular case, you ha’ no right to make assumptions.”
[Joss Lehrer] She blinks. And after a moment, she nods, and looks away. “You’re right. I apologize.” She takes a breath, holds it, and then lets it go, slowly. “It won’t happen again.” a beat. “Ya know, I think I missed an exhibit. Think I’ll go see.”
Chastised, she tuck her hands into the pockets of her skirt, and glances at her companion, before she starts to move away.
[Imogen Slaughter] A pause. She should feel a little ashamed, maybe. A little chastised herself.
“Enjoy th’rest of the aquarium, Joss,” her simple comment is on the edge of politeness. After a moment, she returns her attention to the sharks, her eyes tracking their slow and deliberate movements. Her hands slide into the pockets of her jacket, and she has some awareness of pedestrians, no longer turned away by the presence of Rage, coming to the tank to study its contents, and disappearing. She has awareness, too, of a few of them – mostly men, looking at her.
A time or two, she is alone. The moving sharks comfort her, obscurely – as much as the silence and solitude does.
Eventually, she walks away. Pays attention to no other exhibits, and simply heads for the exit.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] When Sinclair wonders aloud if Lukas means to compensate for Kate, the Ahroun laughs aloud.
“Shadow Lords don’t compensate for weakness, Sinclair,” he says; there’s as much wryness and self-mockery in this as there is seriousness. “If I didn’t think I had the strength to lead you and your packmate, I wouldn’t be discussing this with you.
“As for Katherine — I won’t make excuses for her. She is mad. She does have a crippling phobia, one that must always be kept in mind if you venture into battle with her. But having a weakness doesn’t necessarily make her utterly weak and useless, no more than being tainted once makes you ikthya. Besides which, the bottom line is I’m the Alpha of the Unbroken. It’s my duty to know my pack and its strengths and weaknesses. It’s my duty to utilize the first and — ” irony, ” — compensate for the latter.
“I know Truth’s Meridian’s worth. I know she won’t get me killed out of stupidity. I know to plan for her limitations. And most importantly, she knows her limitations. There’s a reason she has not spoken of leadership since she … abdicated. And believe me, for a wolf like Katherine to deliberately hold back from attempting to seize as much power as she can is nothing but true strength of will.”