[Moira Murray] The cold weather was something that she would never get used to, despite the few years she had lived in this city before leaving – escaping was more like it.
Now, a little older, perhaps a little wiser, a dark haired young woman finds herself standing outside of a coffee house that has been existed in the Lake View area. Her arms folded across her stomach with her hands tucked under her arms, pressing into her ribs. Her breath warms the cool air in a fine mist as she waits outside, her head turning to look up and down the sidewalk.
She placed the call earlier in the day to meet with Dr. Slaughter at the coffee house. It was the first person she had thought to contact when she came to the city and the first person she had a great desire to see again.
She has grown in the past two years, her hair longer but retaining its glossy blackness, which Moira’s dyes it to. It fell in a long braid down the center of her back, brushing against the navy blue woman’s pea coat that she wears. The fair skin of cheeks and nose flushed with color from the nipping chill, which hasn’t quite lost its cherub roundness.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s hair has likely never seen the touch of dye, and if it has, it was certainly not in the time that Moira Murray has known her. Fiery red, violent in its colours and chaos, it is barely tamed back into a chignon at the base of her neck. It is usually the first impression someone gets of her – that hair. The first thing anyone sees.
Following that, her slightness, her pale skin. Her dark eyes and her prepossession of movement. The way she walks as if she knows where she is going, the way every movement she makes has a purpose, a goal in mind. Nothing is wasted.
She lets the coffee shop door swing shut behind her, absently adjusting the fall of her brown leather coat over her body. The hem of it reaches her knees, skims her body as if tailored. Beneath it, a pair of beige slacks, a black silk blouse.
She crosses the coffee house, which is sparsely populated, quiet enough that the click of her heels are audible on the hardwood. There is no smile of greeting for this returned acquaintance, two years later, but nonetheless, at least there is familiarity as she pulls back the chair across from her, slides her purse to the floor.
“Moira,” she says. “Welcome back.”
[Moira Murray] Moira’s eyes – a bright vibrant shade of cobalt, draws to the color of flame that crown the older kin’s face and then follow down to settle on her face. There is no smile to greet the younger kin, nor is one expected of Imogen Slaughter as her cool demeanor and steely expressions were almost legendary.
She offers up her brightest smile in greeting when Imogen joins her at the table, settling forward in her chair as she pressed her elbows to the table and cupped her hands together, rubbing at them absently.
“Imogen,” tipping her head in a small nod, “I’m glad to see you again.”
[Imogen Slaughter] She takes her seat, drawing the chair up beneath the table, and crossing her legs at the knee. A moment’s study of the younger woman allows a beat of silence to fall between them.
Imogen has not changed much – her styles and preferences have remained, if her hair is longer or shorter, it is hidden by the braided bun pinned low. Her facial structure is much the same, her weight has not fluctuated. Her details are still present.
She was in her thirties when Moira left, and she is in her thirties still.
Moira, however, has gone from her teens to her twenties, and while her structure has remained the same, some of the lingering softeness of youth has begun to fade away, hardening to something resembling adulthood. Her skin has grown closer to the bone, her self-possession has altered slightly. Had Imogen seen her once a week, or even once a month over the intervening two years, she might never have noticed. But as she hasn’t, the difference between the Moira now and the memory the kinwoman holds of her is startling.
The review lasts only a few moments. Then Imogen turns away, catching the eye of a waitress.
While she waits for the twenty-something hipster to make her way over to them, she speaks again to the young woman across from her. “Back to stay, are you?”
[Moira Murray] Imogen hasn’t changed at all in appearance or disposition from what Moira can remember. The image of this kin has always remained in the back of her mind; likely never to be forgotten whenever the day comes that she will no longer see Imogen. The redhead, whether she realizes it or not, had left an impression on Moira.
Physically and outwardly, she has changed, but some things remain. Like the way she smiles so easily, or seems soft and unhardened by the rough life of a kin that has experienced what she has.
She considers the question for a moment, pursing lips together in thought, her head tilting to the side as she casts her eyes towards the waitress, “Possibly,” she replies, “Didn’t think I would come back to Chicago, but it doesn’t surprise me that I have. It’s the only real home I ever had.”
The corner of her mouth curls up slightly, “I’ve had the good fortune to travel around a bit and not get killed. I hadn’t expected anyone to still be around, though, there’s been quite a few stories floating around about a certain unnamed redhead from this city that’s getting a little famous.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s mouth twists slightly, not quite amusement. “So I’ve heard,” she says, a little wryly. “You’d think they’d have something better to talk about.”
A pause. Then, “A few are still ‘ere. Kemp, Rohl. S’all tha’ come to mind at the moment, but I imagine there are others.”
[Moira Murray] Eyebrows lift high over her eyes at the mention of those still around, her bottom lip tucking inward to chew on it at the mention of Kemp. The smooth skin of her forehead begins to wrinkles up, drawing pretty features into a small frown.
“I’m surprised and yet not surprised that he’s still alive.” The frown softens immediately, a smile tucking at her mouth, “I imagine he hasn’t changed a bit, ranked up at all? And Decker, still with him?”
[Joss Lehrer] The van drives like a dream, and the driver couldn’t be more pleased with it – and the balance of her day today, what she’s accomplished. And, she hasn’t had to deal with… well. Let’s just say she’s had the day pretty much to herself, and she is perfectly content with that turn of events. She’s been to the bog, she’s finally completely recovered from the earlier… er… adventures. She’s in fine spirits.
The van has the distinctive purr of a Volkswagon, and the most gariously awful painted by kids paint job ever – which Joss, of course, adores. The tie dye curtains complete the look.
It pulls to the curb, and she kills the engine, and a few minutes later, on Godi emerges and slams the door shut. She pats the hood, and plunks a quarter in the meter before heading into the coffee shop, and to the counter. Her skirts swish about her calves as she moves, and she tugs the edges of her sweater down over her hips as the bell above the door chimes her arrival. A messenger bag hangs at a hip, the strap dissecting her torso diagonally, and she digs into it for her wallet, as she waits at the counter to order.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen shakes her head slightly. “I don’t know if he’s ranked up or not. Yeh’ll ha’ to ask him, I’ve not kept track.” The second question draws a glance. “What,” she says, a smirk twisting her mouth, “the rumours didn’t fill in tha’ tid-bit?”
Joss enters – Imogen glances up, her eyes moving to follow the Godi as she heads for the counter.
A lift of her chin, “S’one o’ the new Eagles,” she says.
[Moira Murray] “If I remember correctly… any mention of the intimate details of you and Decker were strictly taboo and never up for discussion. I’ll assume by that smirk you’re still together.”
She continues to lean forward in her chair, elbows still pressed into the table, even as she shifts her body slightly to face the counter more. Her eyes settle on the Godi watching her as Imogen does.
A look of surprise writes into her expression, “Oooh!” blinking, “They are still here. Is Evan still with them as well?”
[Joss Lehrer] She doesn’t look around at first, intent on ordering and paying for her coffee – even as she feels the eyes on her from across the room. Only when the waitress turns to fill her order does Joss turn to see who’s looking her way. And she smiles.
She lifts her hand and waves briefly to Imogen, clearly happy to see her, and she turns to wave the waitress back over and point to the corner, as for where she’ll be for a few moments at least – Until Imogen is tired of her (again) and tells her to go away (not in so many words) or something else captures her attention (something shiny).
At least she’s left the little police car at home.
[Imogen Slaughter] Moira assumes they are still together by Imogen’s smirk. The redhead’s eyes cut back briefly. Her only answer is, “We are.”
Certainly, Moira and Imogen have never shared girl-talk. It seems likely that the trend is going to continue.
Joss is pointed out, reacted to. The young Godi motions to the waitress to indicate where she intends to be, and Imogen answers Moira’s question. “He is. Has a son, if you weren’t there fer that.”
The dread-locked, be-skirted Godi draws up to their table, and Imogen inclines her head, indicating her companion, “This is Moira,” she says. “Kin o’ yer tribe. Moira, meet Joss.”
[Moira Murray] Girl-talk was not something that ever transpired between the pair of kin and likely never will. The subject changes to Joss as she becomes the center of their attention Pointed out and reacted to by Imogen.
She watches the Godi curiously, the way she is dressed and wears her hair. It brings the eyes up and down before they settle on Joss’ face and her smile. Moira offers the Godi a smile in greeting.
“A pleasure to meet you, Joss.” Her hand draws up from the table, extended out to Fenrir in offer of a shake. Her head bobbing in a nod to affirm her introduction, “I used to be one of the Eagle’s kin.” – or still was.
[Joss Lehrer] “Hi Imogen.” first, and then she studies the young woman she’s with, who’s blood sings of heroes and warriors in the past – just as Imogen’s does. She could not of mistaken her Tribe if she tried.
“Did you?” She says with a happy smile, and slides her hand into Moira’s to shake briefly. Her fingers are warm, and slender, with a deceptive strength hidden inside. Joss does not fit the prefect picture of the Fenrir – or perhaps she does. She is content, happy, smiling, and the embodiment of what happens when a Godi is raised and prepared for what she will become.
Imogen might notice that there are still shadows there – hidden in her eyes. She’s not quite 100% herself, though she is afar cry more so than the last they met. Something had clicked, something had helped. But back to Moira. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you staying long?”
[Imogen Slaughter] Introductions complete, Imogen gets to her feet, walking over to the counter to make her own drink order.
[Moira Murray] The happy smile was becoming infectious as Moira’s own brightens up when Joss accepts the handshake. She can feel the warmth of the Godi’s hand against her cold, slim fingers. A deceptive strength hidden in the Godi’s grip.
Joss is on the opposite spectrum of what one might think a Get of Fenris would be. Happy and smiling and content.
“I don’t think I have ever met a Godi like you before.” Moira comments, “You are very vibrant and happy.” Her head turns to watch Imogen get up before returning her attention to Joss, nodding, “For now I am.”
[Joss Lehrer] She laughs as easily as she smiles, humor dancing in the vibrant blue of her eyes. “I get that a lot. I’m one of the lucky ones – grew up with both parents, and a secure knowledge of what I’d become. I was raised in Storm Hammer.”
Which makes it all the more surprising that she’s so content. She leans in and stage whispers “I’m pretty sure Decker and Imogen think I’m completely off my rocker.”
[Moira Murray] Moira stretches up in her chair, tilting her face up to Joss so she can return the stage whisper as the Godi leans in. “I’m pretty sure they would think that.”
She settles back down, pulling her elbows off the table and rests her hands in her lap, playing with the cloth belt attached to the thigh-length navy pea coat she wore.
“I remember hearing about Storm Hammer, but I never got to visit up that way. It’s been a few years, has much changed in Chicago?”
[Imogen Slaughter] It does not take long for Imogen to return, a mug of tea in hand. She retakes her seat without fan-fare, setting her mug down and leaving it to steep.
She arrives early enough to hear the tail end of Moira’s question – the entirety of Joss’s answer.
[Joss Lehrer] She lifts her shoulders in a shrug as she wraps her fingers around the strap of her bag, only to let go in order to take her coffee as it’s delivered, wrapping both hands around the cup with a content smile.
“I don’t know if I can answer that, exactly. I’ve only been here a few months – I answered the call for a Godi when the Eagles needed one. I’d heard all the stories and while it’s not exactly like the tales say, it’s still an honor to be here with them. I like Chicago, though. The wind is playful.”
[Imogen Slaughter] “The Eagles ha’ rejoined the Sept,” Imogen says, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Yeh probably won’t recognize half th’faces anymore.”
A faint twist of her mouth, “S’about typical, after a two year absence.”
(hereby swears to fall into post order from now on)
[crow] ((Anyone mind if I lurk a bit?))
[Joss Lehrer] (s’fine by me. :) )
[Imogen Slaughter] (nope, go ahead! It’s also an open scene!)
[Moira Murray] “The Eagles rejoi–” a look of disbelief twists over her features. She has a hard time accepting this, giving the bloody history of the Eagles. She blinks at them, sitting there in silence and looks genuinely surprised.
“I never thought I’d hear that. Decker still leads doesn’t he?” Her question is for either of the two, waiting for Joss or Imogen to answer. Moira shakes her head to clear her mind, glancing around at the two other empty chairs on either side of the table.
“How rude of me. Joss would you like to sit with us? I wouldn’t mind your company if Imogen doesn’t. I originally came to see her and catch up. Seems I have a lot to relearn apparently.”
She brings a hand up to her forehead, rubbing the back of her hand across it. The faint lines of a frown begin to wrinkle up smooth skin. “I have missed a lot.”
[Joss Lehrer] She smiles, brightly. “Thank you.” Unless Imogen voices her disapproval (thus crushing the hopes and dreams of her adoring fanclub) Joss pulls up a chair and takes a seat, hooking her foot on the edge of the chair, her knee caught between the table and her chest as she sips her coffee.
“Of course Decker leads.” Anything else wouldn’t be the Eagles, is what that tone of amusement says. “Though he’s gone for a bit, and Evan is holding down the fort.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen does not object. The hopes and dreams of her fan-club remain intact, at least for the immediate future.
Moira’s disbelief draws an amused glance as she reaches forward, picking up her mug of tea and drawing it closer, fingers wrapping around the string of the tea bag to draw it out. She holds the bag over the hot water for several seconds, allowing the excess to drip down then lays it on the edge of the accompanying plate.
“Hopefully yeh won’t try and fill in all th’gaps o’ what’s happened since you’ve left.” An eyebrow arches slightly, “yeh’ll be spendin’ the next two years just catchin’ up wi’ everyone.”
[Moira Murray] She starts to laugh. Her eyes flicking across the table to watch Imogen, her hand dropping back into her lap, “I’m going to have to get the cliff notes from you on what all has happened.” This spoken to Imogen.
She hasn’t left her seat yet to go to the counter to order. Realizing this as she notices she is the only one not drinking and yet is still cold from being outside. Moira starts to stand up, the chair skidding back on the hardwood floor a little.
“I should go order something, I’ll be right back.” She heads off towards the counter, padding down her coat pockets for her small billfold and takes it out, pausing to stare up at the menu before speaking to the employee behind the counter and ordering a coffee.
[Joss Lehrer] She watches as Moira gets up to get her coffee, and takes a sip of her own, her foot swinging lightly under her chair. She could be anyone, a teenager enjoying a late night out, a simple girl who likes simple pleasures – but she’s not just anyone. She is Godi, she is monster barely human, she is…
…well, some days, she simply a teenage girl, more than anything else. Today is one of those days.
“Oh – btw. My van is running like a dream now- complete with hideyholes on both sides. If you ever need it to haul anything, let me know – sprays out easier than the trunk of your Volvo, I’d wager.”
[Thomas] Wandering knuckles had found the printed nails into his palms for the better part of the night. A fancy way of saying he’d been fighting. Evident in the hollow of his eye sockets, surrounded by the vague dark of something tired and frenetic. Livid eyes kept wide by some ingrained instinct, drift across the glossy lettering of the coffee shops exterior, hand moving up within the confines of a dark black hoodie, fingers trailing across the glass briefly as dark eyes cast inward.
…Had he been following someone or simply sniffed out the world of Fenris congregated? Had there been a motive or simply a convergence of fates? A Coincidence? Or a Skald’s luck and instincts?
The Coffee bell chimes gently overhead, what few eyes lifting to catch the newcomer, drifting back to coffees and conversations again. The hooded man, slight of height (for a man) and wiry fierce in presence. A choke presence, that pushes people to lean away and quiet down slightly as he passes.
Coal black eyes find Joss, gaze narrowing and jaw set and the Feet begin to move.
[Imogen Slaughter] There is a brief pause after Joss speaks. Doubtless, the redhead is trying to decipher the acronym and its meaning. Either she does, or she simply moves on.
“Keep it in mind, shall I?” she says, taking a sip of her cooling tea, taking another deeper swallow as she confirms the taste and temperature to be adequate.
One imagines that Imogen will only call when it’s utterly necessary. Not before.
“Yer van th’ hippy one out front?” she enquires mildly. Whatever Joss’s answer, the conversation is likely cut short by Thomas’s appearance. Imogen lifts her eyes to the Skald’s gaze.
[Imogen Slaughter] (err. Skald’s approach!)
[Joss Lehrer] “Yup! Isn’t it awesome? I got a killer deal on it, Randi helped me fix it up. Just had to promise the old man that I’d keep the paint job – his grandkids did it.” she adores the old beat up thing – that much is clear. She probably wouldn’t change the paint job anyway.
She makes a face though, amused. “Decker makes me park it out back, just in case someone might think he’s a hippy.” Of course he said something else too, but she doesn’t repeat it. Imogen’s known him long enough – like as not she can fill in the blanks.
Thomas enters, and heads their way, and a pierced brow arches slightly, curious.
[Moira Murray] Tingling sensation crawls its way up Moira’s spine, she can feel the muscles in her back tighten with tension. Her head lowers briefly, turning to the left to cast her eyes over a shoulder to peer at the door. They follow the hooded figure as he makes his way into the coffee house, the bell above the door announcing his presence.
He seems interested in the pair sitting at the table that Moira left, her focus redirects back to the employee behind the counter once her coffee cup was set down in front of her. A credit card exchanges hands and is swiped before it returns to its home in her small billfold.
Moira picks up the cup, gathering up a few condiments in her free hand, she turns slowly and makes her way back to her seat. Head kept down as the cup lifts to her face, blowing at the hot steam that rises up to greet her.
By the time Thomas comes to the table, the black haired young woman resumes her chair, setting the coffee cup down in front of her and begins to load it up with sugar and cream.
[Thomas] The voice that emerges as the Skald walks up to the pair is truncated and harsh; a crackling sort of twist, enunciation broken by the giggling Jackal that haunts the back of his throat.
“…Wing~rhya-” And a flickering glance cast down at Imogen, meeting the stoic Kin’s gaze with a zealot’s. “Slaughter.” And then around to Moira-
Where it freezes in place, tight lines appearing around his mouth as the lips part slightly, lower jaw thrusting forward enough to reveal the tips of eye-teeth. The gaze narrows and the jaw works slightly as if he were searching for words of some sort…only to have them bark back down his throat in search of others more suited to the task, to replace them. The gaze intensifies if at all possible, lids flickering in and out of a tremble around coal dull eyes.
[John Thornton] Another cold draft flows in through the room, unsettling those seated nearest the front of the coffee shop as the front door of the establishment is opened. A little bell sings dulcet tones to notify the proprietors, as a man in a black trench coat enters the shop to escape the frigid Autumn touch in the air…
He was stocky of build, though that was harder to tell with the trench coat to lengthen the look of his frame. A mop of unruly brown hair, furrowed with the frequent passage of fingers, framed piercing hazel eyes ringed in sockets so dark as though blacked by unnamed fists. His expression was neutral, an unreadable deadpan, as he strode to the counter to order his coffee.
His order was simple. Coffee, unblemished liquid night marred by neither cream nor sugar, piping hot.
While he waits, an errant hand unbuttons the trench coat, as the hazel eyes begin wandering about the room with unswerving vigilance. As the trench falls open, it reveals a white dress shirt, navy dress pants, and a matching necktie striped in navy, black and gray. He almost appeared to have come straight from whatever work he does, save for the unbuttoned collar on the dress shirt and the tie hanging askew.
While letting his eyes peruse the room, a glint is seen from the polished, five pointed star hanging on his belt near his hip.
The eyes stop on Thomas, and on the table where Imogen, Joss, and Moira are seated… The feel of the Rage flowing from the garou drawing his eyes like iron to a magnet… Before they resume their ceaseless vigilance…
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen blinks as Thomas speaks, his voice maligned and marred by his punishment. By the time she is addressed, her expression is controlled; but the reaction had been there.
“Evening.”
Thomas stares at Moira, unspeaking, perhaps for longer than is strictly polite. After several seconds, the good doctor comments, a little dryly, “I don’t believe the two o’ you ha’ met.”
John enters. Imogen’s eyes move to the door. Her mouth draws briefly tighter than it had been several seconds ago. It is not John in particular, but that hardly matters.
[Joe Holst] The flare of nostrils and the easy step of one who follows a brother might likely explain Joe’s entrace.
He doesn’t seem to care whether it does or not. The symmetry is perfect. The Skald goes. The Modi goes too. Perhaps it is enough. Regardless- one making his presence known in the diner sees the other snuffing and talking at the register and ordering for two. The two of them, they swirl in the wake of another, far more- but for his simple seeming, and the Adren makes sure the two of them take care of the other. Not that they’d needed his help. Joe’s fist had opened the door, at least for himself- chill blue eyes had made certain, and the two wolves had made themselves known.
The burly, skinhead modi kept apart. He even delivers Thomas’ plate without preamble. Should the Skald slide into a place, JOe would toss a plate in his direction, to skate across the table. Then withdraw, to watch the door. He’d made a declaration of the Black Furies, and would make sure they met only eyes and teeth, should they make a counter offer.
[Joss Lehrer] It seems that tonight is going to turn into a regular Fenrir party. She doesn’t correct Thomas, asking that he use her whole name, correctly. Perhaps it’s because of the punishment, or because she’s in a good mood. Either way, she doesn’t correct him. Instead, when Imogen points out they haven’t met, she chuckles, softly, and handles the introductions.
“Moira, this is Thomas. Thomas, Moira.” a beat, and. “She’s Eagle.” The contraction could mean is, or was. Joss doesn’t clarify, and let’s him infer what he wishes from it.
Then, a soft redirect. “What can I help you with, Thomas?”
[Joe Holst] Joe lunges one thigh, then the other up on top of a barstool. He sits several steps away and as near to the door as he can manage- he seems more intent on it- but more than a little deference seems paid to the Garou who is second only to a king.
[Joe Holst] ((Ehm, sorry- joined hasty- Joe’s paying deference to Thomas, otherwise is watching the door.))
[Thomas] “…We’ve met…” Something husky and distracted as Joss’ speaks of her, though not at all on purpose, written in the back of a throat that tries instinctively to sound evocative and is crushed into a rasp of dry and ugly humour. His gaze finally leaves Moira (with pained reluctance) to regard Imogen briefly at her dry commentary.
Yet rather then a reply, his gaze shifts twice more, once back toward Joe as the Bullish Modi steps to and from the counter with intent, as if he might break from some brief planned course of action, and then back around on Joss again, Out of respect for the elder or his vocal condition or perhaps the second to explain the first.
“My Brother tells me you paid him a favour in gifts. Items to smooth our journey into the spirit.” It is a hallowed thing, reverent and pained for the disruption his voice gives his faith. Still, onward.
“We both go on this journey of his and face the same threats and dangers. I would assure you that such paid is to be done in kind, Wing~rhya. You may name your price or I will give you the worth of my own imaginings.”
[Moira Murray] Moira’s eyes – bright and cobalt – shift upward quickly to catch the hard stare of Thomas. Color begins to flush her cheeks, warming smooth fair skin. The longer he stared the quicker her eyes will drop away.
She holds her tongue silent by biting down on her bottom lip, tucking it in. The harsh crackle of his voice drawing her eyebrows forward into a slight frown; Moira looks up to Imogen first and then to Joss as she adds to the introduction.
She looks up at the Skald questioningly when he says “We’ve met…” but doesn’t answer. His attention is distracted away from the dark-haired kin as is hers when Joe makes his presence known to the patrons of the coffee house. Her eyes snap up to stare in his direction.
Her hands wrap around the sides of the cup, bringing it up to her mouth as her head tilts down, sipping it. Only her eyes remain centered on the Modi waiting by the door.
[Joss Lehrer] She looks toward the door when Joe enters, and then back to Thomas. He speaks his intentions, and nods, slightly. “I had told Joe that it was my pleasure to help, as it is my duty. My only request is that if I need help, that you stand by me at such a time – which is part of the duty of us all.”
It’s a marked difference now, the way she speaks, the way she holds herself. In this conversation, she is not simplky an 18 year old girl – she is Fostern, she is Godi. There is more steel here than flesh, more monster than woman.
“but if you insist, I will be happy to see what your imagination comes up with.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s tea is half finished, and she drains it by half again with a few deep swallows, getting to her feet. “Enjoy yourselves,” this comment is meant to all, a flick of her gaze toward Moira, “Welcome back once again.”
The time, the company, another engagement, whatever it is prompts the kinwoman to take her leave, retrieving her purse from the floor and taking her dishes back to the counter.
(sorry folks! falling asleep!)
[Moira Murray] Before Imogen can make her hasty retreat, the eyes of the younger kin lift up to meet hers. A smile touches the corners of her mouth.
“Thanks,” she replies, looking at Imogen like she’s being abandoned to the wolves. “We’ll have to schedule another function soon. I’ve a lot to catch up on with you.”
[John Thornton] The hazel eyes swing to Joe almost instantly upon his approach, as though being pinned by Rage in two directions caused him to consider their sources, if only momentarily.
The coffee arrives, black and piping hot, just as asked, and he withdraws an billfold filled to bursting with scraps of paper. Phone numbers, names, times, addresses… A plethora of information that made no sense save to the one who knew how to find what he was looking for. Disconnected bits of information that made no sense save if you knew what you wanted to find.
He opens the wallet to the dollar bills with little difficulty; whatever the organization was, it was obviously understood by John at least. Placing a couple on the counter, he replaces the billfold and begins sipping the coffee.
As though the scalding heat bothered him not at all… Or perhaps, as though the terrible brew he’d grown accustomed to drinking was best piping hot, so as to dull the taste buds.
Imogen gets a nod in parting, as the hazel eyes, blue in the dimly lit coffee shop, return to their steady meanderings. Pausing momentarily again on the largish garou nearby (Joe).
[Joe Holst] As Imogen moves to leave, Joe leans foreward slightly. He does far more than sniff the waft of the woman for wounds, he opens the door for her. Steps outside. He neither interrupts her progress nor slows her with greetings. To any mortal in the world it would look like he’d leaned forward in her passage and paused outside for a time for a smoke. Only he doesn’t. Smoke, that is. He only waits, swinging his bull neck one way, then the other. “Night, ‘Doc,” Is all he’d offer. But it would not be until the Vanquish had rumbled down the street that he’d come back inside and take the burger to hand again.
[Thomas] Thomas seems to relax slightly as Joss’ offers her terms; the request for help has his face set sharply, a curt nod both abrupt and suggestive of reflex, something of Joe’s own eagerness there, less ecstatic, more fierce; the passing of her desire to hear what he has to offer. It is enough to lean him back on his heels, the muscles in his calves loosening as the boy in the dark hoodie, plain of face but for the vivid demand of attention and the details of a vicious life, settles into place.
Slaughter stands and receives a nod, brief and distracted, before Thomas returns his gaze to Joss and clears his throat unsuccessfully.
“…I bare a Forefather, Dread~Hollows~the~Weak, Adren, Godi of the Fenrir. His wisdom was considered the strength of mountains, the kin of dragons and the riddles at the centre of the world Ash. He bore many sons and daughters well into his elder years and delighted in many tales and conversations of spirit things in the long hours of the morning, by fires and with those of his moon.”
A pause, breath creeping out once more as the Skald nods along with his own logic, a reflex.
“…Were you willing, I would bring forth Dread~rhya that you and he might discuss the spirit laws of our people freely. A voice of the ice and laws of long before for you to know and wonder at.”
[Joe Holst] That guy.. also, the woman- right over there. Never given to much in the way of leading with his man- senses, Joe’s chill blue eyes glaze for a moment as he considers the both of them. His eyes pass from one to the other. Kin, and no mistaking. Slowly, with the sort of rhythmic timing of one well used to the pace of such things, Joe tosses one piece of gum after another into his face- and a well muscled jaw beings to slowly grind them into what he thinks he needs. Kin. Kin are always trouble. The Wyrmfoe had said.
[Joss Lehrer] She smiles up at Imogen as she takes her leave. “Goodnight.”
And with a glance at Moira, she remains seated. She won’t abandon her to the Wolves- so to speak. At least not yet.
She listens to Thomas, as he offers his payment, and as he goes on, she’s actually dropped her foot to the floor, and leaned foward, acutely interested in what he has to say, and what he offers. Knowledge to a Godi – there is little that can compare to that. They are creatures of curiosity, always searching for more, always grasping for understanding for something more, something… extra.
Her eyes shine, her smile warms, and when he is done, her voice is soft, awed at the offer. “I would be honored to speak with your elder. It’s a great gift, and I will do my best to be worthy of such. Come see me when you return – I know Joe is most eager for his quest – and we will sit by Maelstrom, where we can converse with complete freedom.”
A beat, and a warm smilie. “Thank you for this opportunity, Thomas.”
[Imogen Slaughter] (thanks for the RP, guys!)
[John Thornton] After a few moments spent working upon the coffee, John takes an empty seat some few feet away from Joe. The eyes seem to wander of their own accord, looking as though they could not stop, for… Something. Something out of place. Something that didn’t fit. Something, anything that might draw his attention within the small shop.
After a few moments, his eyes focused on the kitchen area behind the counter, he speaks… Just loud enough so that Joe could hear.
“That was polite… I’m certain Decker will appreciate the gesture.”
[Joe Holst] “Shuwah ‘e wouldt. But dat don’ change wha’ she done.” Joe tosses his thick, savage neck toward where Imogen had gone, then swings it around again so he can regard John out of the corner of his eye… to the boy’s credit, it never rises above a dull, donkey- Jersey murmur. When chilling blue eyes swivel back to John.. his perfect posture, his exact poise.. exactly lackadaisical. Joe’s broad features squint slightly.
“Who ah’ yew?”
[Thomas] Thomas doesn’t grin or flash a smile of pleasure at his offer’s warm acceptance. Instead, he nods (one can almost see him clapping a fist to his chest in that gesture) and pulls back from the table as if extracting himself from the moment that he’d interrupted. It does not come with much else but a-
“Of course, Wing~rhya. I will report to you the moment we return.”
And then his attention is being pulled back toward Joe (halting briefly half-way to garner another stare, more narrowed of eye, at Moira) to regard the Modi nearby. His jaw looks to begin working around words, when John speaks up and the Skald’s attention turns to the man for the first time…the narrowed view vanishing before an instant’s recognition.
“…Excuse me…” It does not sound polite. Not in tone. More of an ‘We’re done now’ acceptance of a concluded negotiation. He is turning, hands emerging from the hoodie’s front pocket and steps taking him toward the older Kinsman to the tribe, slow around tables, patrons and chairs, lips slightly parted in that wondering sort of way.
He doesn’t speak, simply watches as the pair converse.
[Joe Holst] Joe’s features twitch from John, to Thomas, then back. Of ~course~ there’s nothing wierd about that.
[Moira Murray] Moira is left to stare at Thomas’ back, his stare – the slight narrowing of the eyes – brings hers up. She lowers the coffee cup down to the table, her hands remain curled around it, seeping heat into her otherwise cold hands.
She leans to the side, closer to Joss, without taking her eyes off the Skald as he goes to Joe and John. She speaks, her voice dropping in tone to keep it low and only for the Godi’s ears.
“Who is that?”
[Joss Lehrer] “I look forward to hearing the tale of your journey. Goodnight, Thomas.”
He steps away, and she watches him for a long moment, before turning back to Moira, and shaking her head slightly. She leans back in her chair, her foot hooking back on the seat as she is instantly more relaxed – this the teenage girl, rather than Ranking Fenrir.
She chuckles softly. “That is Thomas. Skald. He’s a little… intense.” What a shocker, in a Fenrir.
She lifts her coffee, and takes a sip, before indicating Joe. “That’s Joe. Modi. They’re to pack together after their quest. With Kemp, or so I heard. The man there, that’s Detective John Thornton. Kin.” she grins at Moira. “Seems it turned into quite the Fenrir party.”
Just no bloodshed. Yet. “Thomas said you’d met – you looked confused…”
[John Thornton] “Detective John Thornton… C.P.D…
At least, that’s what’s on the business card.”
Then the hazel eyes turn to Joe for a short time as he speaks, his look almost clinical… That of a scientist dissecting some newly discovered and alien species…
“Who are you? And what… specifically did she do?”
And then Thomas approaches…
The hazel eyes swivel to him as soon as the older kinsman realizes his approach, the growing sense of being pinioned between the Rage and the Rage of the two Fenrir undeniable.
“Hello again…”
Through it all, his face is expressionless… Neither smiling nor frowning… Untelling to the fullest extent it could be made so.
[Thomas] “…Mmm…You seem less drowned…”
The hitch in his voice is heedless to the Youth. Not necessarily accepted as much as weathered with hard grace. Or conviction. Choose one. His gaze leaves John and travels to Joe, head angling at the detective briefly.
“…Stands with Joey sometimes. She’s protective…”
[Moira Murray] Moira straightens up, her voice humming in the back of her throat, “Hmm,” to Joss’ explanation. She brings her cup back up to drain it completely, setting it down on the table. The back of her left hand presses against her mouth, wiping away any liquid residue.
She cuts her eyes away from John, Thomas and Joe to fix her eyes on Joss. Slender shoulders lift up and roll back in a shrug under the navy fabric of her pea coat. The confusion is there in her expression, the way she frowns.
“The name and face is not familiar to me. I don’t know him and yet seems to know me,” she replies to the Godi, “Now I’m curious as –”
Kemp. They were packing up with the Rotagar.
“Do you think it’d be unwise to question Thomas?” her head nodding in his direction.
[Joss Lehrer] She glances over at Moira, and then something clicks – with the offer and with.. “Oh! I bet I know! He carries Ancestors. perhaps one of them know you. If you like, I’ll question him when we have our meeting on his return.” A beat, “Not saying it’s unwise for you too, you certainly can if you like, just offering.”
The girl’s been cut off at the knees by Imogen a time or two or ten, and hastily backtracks so as not to seem like she’s telling Moira what to do.
“Oh, that reminds me.” She lifts her voice. “Hey, Joe! Commere, a sec before you leave, would ya?” Then falls back to the comfortable soft conversation. “Joe’s actually acting Jarl while Silence is away. I don’t think anyone was more surprised than he was at that.”
[John Thornton] A curious brow raises as Thomas mentions Joey, and not for the first time, John finds himself wondering at something… Something as of yet unvoiced.
“I… was shown another point of view, recently. Maybe it put things in perspective.”
Which wasn’t to say the haunted cast had entirely left him either. The dark circles around his eyes were proof enough of how little John slept…
Darker than before… Before the dream changed.
Still, Thomas was right. There was no sign of lingering inebriation, no hangover or bloodshot eyes to give away any recent attempts to crawl back into the bottle.
[Joe Holst] Its the slight hitches in the face that tells the tale. Joe is perhaps off- put by the simple addition of initials after John’s name… but cants an eye at him in serious and intent interest as he slides from the stool. His Jersey bray is muted- a rumble at the man’s back before he leaves. “Ah’m innerested. Hang out a sec.. someone’s callin’ me….” He hesitates. “Nah.” Distrust.. the mislead notion of any hoodlum halts him, but he jerks his head toward the table. “Nah. Come wit me, den.” Oddly good at command- the boy’s insistence seems a thing of the sky and clouds. It is there, so, it is done.
With that, Joe’s brutish form finds his way across the diner with a savage boil. He seems ill suited to careful maneuvering. Thus, he blunders ahead. Any hint of grace is something one notices only in passing. He hadn’t knocked anything over. The thrust of his presence upset no plates. Certainly his rage is starting to rise, and the play of muscle under his thick neck reddens the battlescar the Godi had given him. There would be moons yet, before he was fully Joe.
“Ak’ting?’ Th’ fuck issat, Gossamah- Wing~rhya… Ah gib yew yoah dew.” Chill blue eyes find Joss’ before sliding to Moira, then back. “Someone takes it, deah da Jarl. Dat’s ‘ow it goes.”
[Thomas] “Good.”
A low ripple of something crosses his features, the narrowing of his eyes seeming to vanish as that flash of instinctive emotion bleeds away and leaves behind the young eighteen year old again. The jackal continues to echo in his voice.
“…You’ve blood enough not to waste being defeated by a bottle and it’s contents, no matter the cause.” He turns to regard Joe’s lumbering gait across the diner, pulling into the Modi’s wake with a reflex so natural one could mark him a second shadow. His gaze remains on John a moment, before a lip curling sneer sends a couple at a nearby table rushing slightly more to clear their coats from chair backs and their feet out the doorway.
He nods, sharply toward the Detective, an indication to step forward so he could hear better. Or an indication to step forward so that he could bare witness. Or maybe for some other reason, the youth’s features were not entirely readable with so much projected grimness.
[Joss Lehrer] She laughs softly. “My apologies, Jarl. You know I respect the position rightfully won. I simply have confidence in my Alpha as well. I follow you every bit as willingly as I do Silence. I was beaten, fair and square.”
It really is difficult to be angry with her. She smiles, she’s warm, she’s easy to trust, and she speaks the truth – that much is evident.
“It’s actually why I called you over – as Jarl. There’s a kinfolk, she is often helping at the Brotherhood. Her name is Jeremiah – she contacted me recently about one of ours that she has in her care and keeping – the son of an old friend of hers. Given the circumstances, I told her he could remain in her care, and that I’d come meet him as soon as possible. I know you have your quest soon – would you like me to wait until you return, so I can take you to them?”
A beat, and a grin. “And this is Moira. She’s Eagle.”
[Thomas] Jeremiah-
“…the fury.” It is a murmured thing on Thomas’ face and lips, husked by the Jackal against his will, and spoken not to Joe’s back but for his own recollection.
[Moira Murray] The press of animal ferocity and heat begins to raise as Joe crosses the coffee house to the table Moira sits at. She shifts uncomfortably in the chair, her cobalt-blue eyes growing wide like saucers with each step that brings Joe closer. Her nostrils flare slightly as she takes in a deeper breath.
Tongue darts out to wet across her lips quickly, tucking in the bottom lip to chew at it nervously. Her eyes stay low, focusing the empty coffee cup sitting in front of her on the table. Slender fingers grasp the cloth belt attached to her pea coat, twisting and wringing it in her hands.
Her head snaps up, flicking her eyes up to Joss as soon as her name spills from the Godi’s mouth. She is bold in the eye contact she dares to make with the Modi that claims to be Jarl in Decker’s absence. Her gaze doesn’t stay up for long, however, it redirects away, flicking to Thomas when he squeaks out in speech and then to John.
Moira is young, fair in skintone and dark of hair. Nearly pitch-black as it falls back in a thick plait down her back in a braid; there is a sensation that only those of the wolf would feel, the richness of her lineage that sings of ancient Celtic witches and Viking kings in the blood running in her veins.
[John Thornton] John answers quietly while doing as bidden by Thomas…
“The bottle was a just a symptom… What I fought was something else entirely.”
Taking the cup of scalding coffee with him, he moves closer as Thomas indicated, and claims one of the vacated seats with an apologetic shrug to the fleeing couple.
As the word Jarl is mentioned, a curious brow raises again… The hazel eyes considering Joe anew, if but momentarily.
John sips the coffee silently, watching the exchange without interrupting. Then, as Moira is introduced, he nods to her as though in greetings…
[dust] ((would it be ok if I bring Callie in here?))
to Joe Holst, John Thornton, Joss Lehrer, Moira Murray, Thomas
[Joss Lehrer] (Open scene, coffee shop, come on in.)
to dust, Joe Holst, John Thornton, Moira Murray, sumbitch, Thomas
[Joe Holst] Joe’s neck jerks. Just to the side. Just for an instant. But in that, his attention is give wholly to the Skald. A grunt, and a nod. Nothing other. He sours his face slightly at Joss, the blessing or failing of a Godi of their own could mean as much as that of a Skald…but for symmetry. Thomas Speaks, Joe’s head jerks. That is either the mark of a good Jarl- or the mark of a disgrace…
Depending on the Skald. “Dealin’ wit da Fury. Tell ya latah.” To Joss- “Nope. Geddim away from dem hippie pieces uh’ shit as fast as yew can.”
Joe’s attention soon sweeps to the focus of their gathering- John, and Moira. Chilling, is the boy. Absent, but for the sense that there may be something other than bloodshed behind the chilling eyes. He doesn’t acknowledge Joss’ change in introduction- but the kid is not comfortable under the godi’s gaze… clearly, she is more than a voice. He seems very aware of her attention, and when it moves away, he seems more comfortable.
Bright, savage blue eyes sweep to Joss. “Yew… yew met me… Long time ago.” He clears his throat. “Yew weh Eagles den tew.” With a suddenness that could only come of true born, JOe’s glacial eyes swing to John. “Yew a cop. Don’ know wha’ ta tell yew..” He stops, and squares up to John a bit. A tribute to the man’s courage, or his own? “Yew don’ look so squishy as I hoyd.”
[Joe Holst] ((Bright, savage eyes sweep to MOIRA, not joss.))
[Callie] *The door scrapes reluctantly open, something catching underneath so that Callie has to shove it hard to shift it with the result that she almost falls across the threshold. Copper-red hair slightly damp, forming spikes across her forehead where it emerges from the hood of her faded green top. Glancing round it seems she doesn’t see what she was looking for, but shrugs to herself and by the fact that she’s shaking her hood back and studying the list on the wall, it would seem she still intends to stop a while*
[Joss Lehrer] He snaps, and her brows furrow. “Don’t you think…”
She stops, and then clears her throat. He spoke as Jarl, though she has experience that he often defers too. “I’ll go speak with them as soon as possible, then. He is a 15 year old boy who’s been traumatized by the loss of everyone he knows. He will need a guardian, an adult benefactor. Where do you propose we house him?”
The question is two-fold, as she tries to get him to consider the child’s feelings in letting him stay, but also giving him the option of placing the child with her – for all she’s only 3 years older than Connor.
[John Thornton] “Squishy?”
Joe was indeed something of a terror to behold… Most garou were, when they chose to be. It was all he could do to fight off the sense that Joe and Thomas… Meant danger. Something not to be trusted…
Every cop instinct within him seemed to scream for him to draw his gun and cuff the both of them.
But then, John knew better. He knew first that it would never work, second that it would be pointless to do so. Third that it would be a very dumb idea.
Instead, he stands his ground, meeting the bald Fenrir’s gaze with unflinching hazel eyes… Eyes that seemed to stare into Joe’s soul, as though to lay bare his secrets.
His mouth widens into a wan ghost of a smile, not really a smile at all, exactly…
“Who did you hear it from, specifically?”
[Moira Murray] “You’ll have to forgive my shoddy memory…Jarl.” Moira says finally after Joe tells her they had met, “It’s been a few years since I have been in Chicago, I don’t remember faces or names as well.”
She offers Joe a small smile, “I was affiliated with the Eagles at one time, you are correct.” A glance back to Joss, she straightens in her chair before her eyes return to the men. John Thornton hadn’t gone unnoticed by the woman, it was just hard to focus on so many people with the distracting press of rage assaulting her senses.
Slender fingers lift up to toy with a stray wisp of black hair, tucking it back behind her left ear as she looks at John briefly, watching the exchange between Modi and Kin with a curious tilt of her head.
[Callie] *It comes as something of a surprise to catch sight of the instantly recognisable figure of Joe, just as she’s ordering her coffee with extra sugar and whatever-the-hell-it-is they squirt on top in a sticky brown lattice work effect. Not that there’s any particular reason why he shouldn’t be here, but somehow it just seems a bit incongruous. And that’s when she spots Thomas, and Joss . . recognised mainly from the Moot . . chatting to a couple of others who she can’t place sitting just across the room*
[Joe Holst] That sparks his attention, but Joe seems far more familiar with the circumstance than he lets on. His attention swings back to Joss. He rumbles quietly. “Den he an’ all uh us got a lot moah in common den he ‘tinks…” Joe turns toward Joss slightly. This is a gesture of difference. One could see a boy’s reaction to a Seidr-cona in this. Rumbles paint the diner… but quiet. “Joss.”Chopped, and a flash of neck gives her her due, Kin present or not, she is fostern. “Eldah. Geddim. Soon. Awright? Uddahwise, I dew. An’ it aint gon’ be pretty.” He allows his gaze to linger in the elder godi’s.. but only to a point. The flame of zealotry carries him so far- the rest, is the definition of the she- wolf nearbly- and what her patronage means.
Joe jerks his neck toward Thomas- oddly like he were the only friend present. A grappled bite of words before Joe sat, himself. “Deaf da Fiana.” The brutish kid points to John, then points to the seat next to Moira. The gesture, oddly, allows little room for interpretation. “Sit. Oah, Ah kin chase yew. Wan’ answers, oah a woykout.”
[Joss Lehrer] She smiles, softly. “Of course, Joe. I’ll see to it immediately.”
And she drops the subject. It’ll be done. He then demands that John sit, and Joss arches a brow, chuckling before she takes a slow drink of her Coffee. Once he does. “Evenin’, Detective.”
Her eyes wander then, taking in the last of the late night patrons, who are then joined by Callie. A brief flicker of recognition, she’s seen her at moots, and a lift of her chin in greeting for it. Then her attention returns to the gathering of Fenrir about the table.
[Thomas] Thomas doesn’t offer much of a reaction to Joe’s declarations, pulling his attention away from the gathered momentarily to turn and suddenly push past the lot of gathering Fenrir in response to the entrance of another. Callie is offered a rather intense gaze from the Skald, as he departs the collective, head tilting slightly even as he forms a spot not far from the gathered behind him between the mass of tables nearby and the chairs surrounding them, blockading the waitress’ pathway through toward the table and booth the Fenrir are gathered around.
…As well as any other.
“…You wander far, black moon…” It was…a greeting of sorts, paid to the Fianna.
[Moira Murray] It takes Moira a moment to decipher what Joe was saying, his accent a bit thick that she had a little trouble at first figuring out what he said. When he indicates for John Thornton to sit in the chair next to hers, she lifts an eyebrow questioning. Her gaze focused fully on the detective now.
Thomas blocks the path of the Fianna, her eyes drifting briefly to acknowledging Callie’s presence before they return to Joe. A lot has changed in the past few years these were not the Garou of Chicago that she remembers.
She shifts in her chair to get more comfortably, drawing up a left leg to cross it over her right knee, leans in to the table with an arm propped up on the surface. Her hand cups against her cheek as she watches the exchange.
[Callie] *She turns, coffee in hand, as the skald speaks to her. She had no real expectations of being recognised here, let alone addressed directly and it shows in her face, a certain surprise . . Overlong sleeves half hide her hands, fingers appearing as she tucks that rain-darkened copper hair back off her face. It occurs that she may be trespassing, unintentionally* If you’d rather I left . . just say the word, I can do take-out . .
[Joe Holst] Joe’s only acquiescence seems a scowl at Callie. A flinty, dagger- heavy regard that promises pain should she come too close.
But quick enough, Joe’s juvenile, but too- swollen chest creaks against the Formica table top. Massive, angry hands curl about themselves as he leans foreward a bit. A bit too much larger than life as he addresses the kin- with what seems more than complete regard. Joe is a zealot. One can see it in the way he holds his hands, the complete, unyielding regard as he considers the two of them…
the bald head…
the swastika at his neck…
maybe the SS emblem at his other shoulder? No? Doubtless its there- and displayed to make sure the Kin know they are protected. Only their own guard them now. Their own Reiksguard.
Uh oh…
One thick finger rises and wavers toward Moira. Then John.
Joe’s donkey bray exhudes from a neck clearly meant for such force. He speaks as quietly as he is able- and probaly, more quietly, should the Godi shush him- but his neck flexes and bunches as he speaks.
“Moira.” He begins in his quiet, but horribly mutilated New Jersey bray. “She been heah befoah. She knows shit.” Oddly enough, despite the language, Joe jerks his chin toward her. The kid carefully keeps his own chilly blue eyes away from cobalt. Any sort of cobalt. That will not go well.
A snort, and Joe returns his gaze toward John… its odd… but he almost views the man with trepidation.
“CPD. Wha’ depahtment?”
[Thomas] A rolling grunt is his only reply as the Skald’s hands vanish into the front pocket of the hoodie, staring at the young Fianna with something akin to firm displeasure. One might expect hatred or even prejudice of some sort from the Fenrir, but then, he seemed to behave in that manner to everyone so it was easy enough to assume Thomas was simply…
…Belligerent.
He remains quiet to her query, neither moving from his current position unless she tried to approach within adequete hearing range of the table of Fenrir. He simply stood and watched her. Quietly.
[John Thornton] “Somehow, I suspect your workouts are more intense than other personal trainers’…”
John smiles that wan not-a-smile, even as he makes the… joke? Could a man that doesn’t smile do that? It was weird, but it had happened nonetheless.
It was like seeing something you just couldn’t believe happen before your very eyes.
He takes the seat that Joe had suggested, nodding to Joss and Moira in turn.
“Good evening, Joss… To you as well, Moira.”
Hazel eyes focus on each woman independently as he greets them for a moment, before they turn back to Joe.
“Vice.”
The hazel focus on Joe’s again for a few moments.
“What happened to Decker?”
[Joss Lehrer] What happened to Decker? “Silence is away on business for a while. As is custom, the strongest leads the tribe – Joe won that right.”
Her smile is warm – she got her ASS handed to her that night. And somehow, there’s the sense that it was… almost.. fun. Or would have been if she wasn’t so run down at the time.
[Callie] *It doesn’t tale an empath to pick up on the vibes here. The level of hostility directed her way from both Joe and Thomas is almost physical enough to see. She holds up her hands, mock defensive, and smiles sweetly* ok, ok! . . it’s a business meeting . . I get the message. I’ll be going then . . have fun!
[Moira Murray] She’s been heah befoah. She knows shit. Her attention drawn to the speaker when she hears her name, she can place the location of Joe’s accent now, a homegrown Jersey boy transplanted to Chicago.
She continues to regard the bald Modi that holds the title of Jarl now. Her eyes cutting away every now and then to watch John Thornton before sliding back to the Modi, one corner of her mouth curled up slightly as Joe is careful to keep his eyes away from hers, which seems to amuse her greatly.
The Modi was correct to assume she knew things. Things a common kinfolk shouldn’t – wouldn’t dare to know. She carried knowledge of things that a cliath still wet behind the ears may not know.
Her smiles almost mimic Joss’s, bright and vibrant, not quite as happy as the Godi, but there was something odd with this kinfolk. One only had to stare long enough to see it, the strange quirkiness often found in those touched by spirits. Moira shifts in her chair again, angling her body more towards the detective sitting next to her, uncrossing her legs under the table, but keeps them pressed together as she stretched them out.
[Joe Holst] There is a sense that Joe’s chin finds its way to the table by several milimeters.
Milimeters.
Perhaps canted toward Joss. Maybe. It is held there a moment. An acknowledgement, before Joe’s beligeerent eyes sweep to John.
“Heah’s wha’ yew gahtta know. Joey’s a good kid.” Joe moves one broad, scarred hand “Too et’ up wit dem Glass Walkahs.. an..” He watches John closely for this “Uddah Urrahs But she still owah’ own. She mattahs. Keep dewin whatevah she’ ben tellin’ yew ta dew… cuz it aint ben ‘er dat said yew was wasted. huh?”
Anytime, ol’ lady..” Joe’s eyes skate from John and Moira to the departing Fiana with a smile. It has too many teeth. There is too much hostility. It flashes in the gloom like a lamp- until one notices that Joe’s teeth might be the brightest thing in the room.
[Thomas] (Alright folk, I’m dead on my feet. I gotta hit the sack. Thomas’ll stand guard for the Fenrir collective until Joe’s ready to leave.)
[Thomas] (night! Thanks for the play!)
[Callie] ((got to go too, daughter requiring feeding. Thanks for letting me join you))
[Joe Holst] ((Guys, I’m realy sorry, but given my schedule I don’t think I can continue. Earlier in the day, sure, but right now I gotta take off on a call. *S* Please catch me later?))
[Moira Murray] ((Gotcha. Take care.))
[Joss Lehrer] (We’ll write ya’ll out nicely and we can pick up again later. Night!))
[John Thornton] ((I’m out too folks… It’s 4 am here.))
John raises a brow, taking a swig of the still warm coffee while considering. His eyes had turned to Joss as she spoke to Decker’s situation, and then to Joe as he discussed Joey.
A few moments pass thus, before his cell phone begins to vibrate in his pocket. Removing it, hazel eyes turn to the garou.
“I have to take this…”
And without another word, he starts toward the back of the coffee shop to take the call.
[Joss Lehrer] John moves away to take his call, and Joss waves. Joe and Thomas have a quest to leave on, and they shortly take their leave as well. Where there was so much rage, too much rage, in one place, the absence of all but Joss’ seems a welcome relief.
She chuckles softly, and looks over at Moira with a grin. “Welcome home.”
[Joe Holst] Joe bursts out of the door quickly. It is so much easier to be lead.. the first rule the boy may learn.
[Moira Murray] Moira suppresses the urge to shutter, straightening up suddenly in her chair as Joe smiles. It was a dangerous grin, the mouth peeled back too wide like a wolf attempting to smile, but ends up flashing rows of sharp teeth.
She drops her gaze away again, watching the front door as Callie left. John Thornton is the next to make an exit and as the coffee house begins to thin out of the Fenrir presence – Joe and Thomas making their exits – it only left Moira with the bubbly Joss.
Moira snorts softly when they are alone. “Welcome home indeed.” A glance offered to her empty cup as she glances outside.
“It is getting late. I should depart as well and get back to the motel,” spoken as she rose up from her chair and looks back at Joss.
[Joss Lehrer] She nods, and pulls her bag into her lap, digging for her pen. She scratches out her number on a napkin, and offers it to Moira. “If you need anything, gimme a call.”
She tucks the pen back away again – and lets the bag hang at her hip. It clanks and rattles and rustles and who knows what variety of things she has in that bag – it’s probably safer not to ask. She picks up her coffee, and takes another long sip of the cooled beverage.
“Be safe out there, Moira.”
[Moira Murray] She accepts the napkin with the phone number, folding it up carefully before tucking it away inside her coat pocket. She offers Joss a smile and nods her head to the Godi that was younger than she was. “I’ll be sure to do that,” she replies, stepping away from the table. She starts to leave, pausing long enough to look back at Joss.
“Hey, Joss, let Evan know I’m in town will you?” without waiting for an answer, Moira continues on out the front door, a bell chiming in her absence and slips off into the night.
[Joss Lehrer] (aaaaaaaaand thassa wrap.)