Izzy | A walk in the park. [multi]

[Lonna Larson] scale of 1 to 10, how slutty are we today?
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
to Izzy Montoya

[Lonna Larson] Some people ran in skimpy shorts and tight tank tops and what-have-you.

Lonna Larson, today, was not one of those people. Tonight, Lonna Larson was wearing a pair of sweatpants- something gray and comfortable looking, coupled with a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of running shoes, Lonna Larson looked like… well… like she was going to actually be working out. Her hair was back in a ponytail, pulled back and full of wild looping blonde curls.

Lonna looked food, even in her sweats. She was an attractive woman.

And she was an attractive woman who was on the grass in the middle of the park and very… very comfortable.

Overall, it was a decent day.

[Izzy Montoya] Today, the last day off she expects to have in a while, she had a checklist of things to do. Now, nearing 5pm, the to do list is just about finished. What’s left? Find a decent coffee shack which will serve the dark life-giving swill just the way she likes it: hot.

She’d found once such place just inside Grant park, and once the cup of black coffee is shoved her way, and she’s dosed it with a couple of sugars before putting the lid back on, she’s moving along the paths of Grant Park, checking out the differences, the similarities, the changes made in her time away.

While many are dressed to work out, comfortable in sweats like Lonna, Detective Montoya is entirely comfortable in a different way – dark slacks, a light blue tailored blouse under a leather suit-styled jacket. For those that look hard enough, there is a slight bulge at the small of her back, suggestive of a weapon. Her hair is dark, her eyes too. She’s not a stunning beauty, all lean lines, slight curves, strong jaw – but she’s pretty enough. She looks strong. And like someone you shouldn’t fuck with, despite her being of the “fairer” sex.

And then there’s that mouth. She takes a sip of the coffee and mutters “Holy mary mother of fuck that’s HOT.”

And then she takes another drink anyway.

[Drew Roscoe] Lonna had been relaxed in a patch of grass amongst trees, between winding running trails, for some indeterminable amount of time now. She’s had time to catch her breath from jogging and now simply rested, perhaps idle because she couldn’t find the sense of urgency to push herself to get up and do anything else. It was chilly outside, but a good jog and a sweatshirt remedied that with ease. She figured herself alone, safe. She was last time she opened up those bluebonnet-meets-lilypad eyes of hers to check, anyways.

That didn’t ever last, though, never as planned. Not in this city.

All was quiet, and perhaps the Child of Gaia was relaxed enough to let herself drift. Not quite sleep, but let herself retreat into her mind to play out fantasies and recall stories. Then, the next moment, there was a thump of footsteps, quick ones, and a whoosh of very close movement. Someone was on top of her all of a sudden, hands outside of her shoulders, knees on either side of her waist. The sensation would be more threatening and startling if the body hovering over hers wasn’t so small, so feminine.

And the voice that growled out playfully was too familiar, and associated with things far from danger.

“Grrrrr, monsters be roamin’ here!”

Drew Roscoe was there, all of a sudden, dressed in jeans and a big red hoodie with some witty statement or another on the chest in bold white letters. Her cheeks were flushed, her nose red from the cold, and her face was split with a wide grin that charmed plainly on the high degree of ‘adorable’ it maintained.

[Curata] A loud wolf whistle slices through the air in Izzy’s direction, coming from behind her, followed by male laughter and a bit of talking in Gaelic. Two men were leaving the same coffee shack that she had, walking down the same pathway to check her out. They stood several yards back, stopping by a bench and glancing around everything now and then.

The taller of the two, stands out with his short dark hair and bright blue eyes, a worn leather bomber jacket draped across his thick muscled frame, dressed in his usual attire of loose-fit carpenter jeans and a two-layers of shirts in a dark green color. The man beside him kept a bit of space between him and the taller one, yet seemed friendly towards him. His face was pudgy, covered in freckles, and had bright orange hair that stuck up in all angles.

[Lonna Larson] Nothing ever goes the way that we plan. Lonna was calm and relaxed in the grass. She was enjoying her day, she was taking a moment of serenity in aging, fading grass and partly cloudy skies. She was comfortable. Her mind was drifting off into things like happier times and-

Holy mary mother of FUCK!

– Saints. And Coffee. Saints of coffee and fluffy sheep and whatrever else it is that Children of Gaia dream about. Which was interrupted, immediately, by being pounced upon by the singlemost adorable Fenrir kin in the city. She didn’t do much, except when she realized what was going on. She curled up as best she could.

“Ack! Ohmigawd Drew!”

She mock chastized, then did her best to shove her decidedly smaller friend off of her.

[Izzy Montoya] A brow twitches as she watches a small girl pounce on the blond prone on the grass, watching just long enough to ensure that it is in play. Which is right about the time the loud whistle slices through the air. She lifts her cup to her lips, takes a huge swallow, and grimaces at the heat, slightly, all before she turns back around.

She eyes the a moment, two, before her lips twist into a wry smirk. “Didn’t I already tell ya in there to stop starin’ at my fuckin’ ass? What, ya never seen a girl before?”

She doesn’t seem offended though. Bemused, maybe.

[Drew Roscoe] The Fenrir Kingirl didn’t put up a fight or protest to being shoved off. She was laughing too hard to bother, but even through that she had enough control of her facial muscles to wiggle her eyebrows up and down at her decidedly more attractive friend. The girl rolled in the grass, accomplishing a sideways summersault that looked remarkably like something a bear cub would do rather than the kind of maneuver a gymnast would pull off. This left her sitting with the flat bottoms of her sneakers pressed together and her knees pointed outward, up into the air. Her hands wrapped around her ankles over the loose denim cuffs of her pants, and she grinned brightly at the blonde, snickering still.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. It was just too perfect to pass up.”

Her weight rocked backward some, her eyes shifted to the officer chastising men that were staring at her with goofy grins on her faces. She then rocked her weight forward again, leaning over her own lap, and switched her attention back to Lonna. “Little cold to be sunbathing, don’t you think? Little cloudy too, for that matter.”

Her eyes would crawl back over to the men and the policewoman. Something looked unnervingly familiar about the tall rugged one with the dark hair.

[Curata] The pair of Fianna – kin and Garou – suddenly erupts in a fit of laughter as Izzy confronts them. The shorter redhead is practically in tears as he dabs at his eyes with his knuckles, reaching up to slap the taller man on the shoulder, patting it.

“I think the bonnie’s caught ye ogling ‘er sweet goods, Mac,” his mouth cracked into a wide cheeky grin exposing white teeth as he looks back at Izzy Montoya.

The taller man snorts, nostrils flaring out as the heat of his breath rolls out into the chilly air. He watches the woman with interest, his bottom lip curling in to make another appreciative whistle at her and comments to his redheaded friend, which sends the man into a giggle fit.

“Nay, bonnie, we’s just critiquing the foine lines o yer city’s structures. They’re quite well-made…” Curata calls back to Izzy, not able to finish the sentence, as the shorter man beside him can’t seem to contain himself. He’s starting to bend over, his face red and swollen, hands forced to grasp his knees as he tries to breathe.

“Shut ye bleeding mouth, Sean, I don’t think she’s buying.” Curata hisses at him, a boot coming to kick at the kin. Sean just shakes his head, “I wouldn’t either, Mac, wi’ a line like that. Ye describing a skyscraper or the bonnie’s tits?”

[Lonna Larson] Which didn’t stop there. She was content to let the Fenrir get off of her, but it wasn’t quite enough. Lonna was, maybe twenty pounds heavier than Drew, and rolled over in a sort of unathletic, mock ferocity, and half tackled her friend. More of a half hearted push, coupled by her sitting indian style shortly thereafter.

Lonna didn’t rock like Drew; her balance was terrible. She was probably going to fall over if she tried, so ir was fortunate that she liked being stationary. She was comfortable. in sweats and, well, a little sweaty to prove it. There was grass in her hair. “I ws tired, I was running and I’m a wuss, Drew.”

She sighed contently, and her attention turned to the officer chastizing the men… and, well, she stopped long enough to really get a look at the people there. Or, well, at least to try.

“I met her,” she remarks quietly, “can’t place the redhead, though.”

And after a second of listening, and really looking at the other, she waited, she thought, and she reflected, “and I know I’ve seen him before.”

Understatement.

[Izzy Montoya] She smirks, again, brow arching as she starts to close the distance between them. “Ain’t nuthin’ sweet about these goods, Mac, well made or not.”

She eyes the poor redhead that’s near choking to death, laughing till he cries. She doesn’t say anything until she’s closed most of the distance and stands in front of them, her hand sliding into the pocket of her slacks as she takes another swig of her coffee. “First time outa your mom’s basement, is it? Finally see a woman outside your computer screen an don’t quite know how to fuckin’ handle it?”

She still sounds vaguely amused, and not offended. There’s a beat, as she watches them both, and then smirks. “And they’re call tits, boys. Tits and ass.” City’s lines and skyscrapers. What will they think of next.

[Liadan] Nothing has changed.

Of course nothing has changed. The tall redhead has only been out of Chicago a month, not long enough for drastic changes to alter the city. At most the trees are stripped of trees. The grass, despite the excess of rainfall in recent weeks, is turning brown. There are fewer people as many beginning flocking to Caribbean islands for the oncoming winter. But it’s still Chicago. It’s still the place she’s lived in for about seven months.

It’s still, in it’s own way, home.

Líadan’s only been back in town a day, and already she has so much to do. There was a letter at the post office with the rest of her held mail, something from the Homeowner Association waiting for her. Apparently they don’t take kindly to people doubling their homes as workplaces. Lee suspects it has more to do with the types of people coming and going from her condo at all hours of the day and night. Even though her work is perfectly PG, she can guess what the other tenants assumed she did to be able to live in such a nice part of town.

She needs to sell her home and find a new place to live. She needs to visit The Brotherhood, see if Charlie’s still around and her frog with him.

But first she wants to walk around and see all the ways that Chicago is still the same, when it feels like in that month everything should have changed.

It doesn’t take her long. As she cuts through Grant Park, enjoying its closeness while she still can, she sees a familiar figure sitting on the grass with a girl she vaguely recognizes. Lee alters her course to intercept. She hasn’t seen the Fiann or his friend or the woman they’re talking to.

[Drew Roscoe] Lonna looked over in the same place that she was after that small bout of half-assed wrestling in the grass. Drew lifted a hand to touch the center of her palm to her cold-reddened nose, rubbing at it a little before dropping her hand to close about her ankle once more. She’d rock back, forward again, and look to the woman that Lonna said she’d met. Drew lifted her eyebrows, thoughtful, but shrugged. “Can’t say I know her.”

She didn’t know the redhead either, though. But Lonna swore she’d seen the dark-haired guy before, and Drew cast her a side-long glance before focusing on the three again. She watches the man with red hair roar with laughter, watched his face turn the same hue as his hair, watched him slap at his knees and prod fun at the taller man, who frowned a bit to his friend but put on his best flirt face for the lady officer. She leaned in some and strained her ears to hear them speak.

It was the brogue that reminded her.

Might cure yer nerves.

She blinked once, then slapped her hands together and pointed unabashedly at the Isle-boys. “Cur–.. Um. Shit, I don’t remember his name, but he’s one of the family.”

[Curata] ”Ah fook me…” Sean curses when Izzy starts to close the distance between them. He coughs, covering his mouth with a fist as he straightens up and shakes his head. He winks at the taller Fiann, “Thanks fer the loan o Marjorie’s truck, ye’re on ye own.” With that, the redhead was making a hasty retreat back the way they walked, leaving Curata to be the one to eat a bullet.

“Go on then, ye blood gal!” He bellows after Sean, his voice raising a bit, humor flashing in his eyes as Curata folds his arms across his chest. His brogue different from Sean’s accent slightly, an eyebrow lifts up at Izzy.

“Och, Christ ye got a bit fire in yer gullet and mouth to run rampant and make the ears bleed. ‘ave ye no control, woman?”

[Lonna Larson] “Curata,” she added. She did know his name, and associated him with the smell of leather and losing phone calls. And, strangely enough, spicy buffalo wings. Of all the things to associate a warrior of the nation with, she associated him with fabrics and bold snack foods.

Which, well, her attention changed to a different person heading over. She saw Liadan and her face lit up. She beamed- “Lee!”

The sound was excited, and with that the blonde was starting to get up. She turned and talkd to Drew, “ohmigod, you have to meet her. She’s a fashion photographer, took some amazing pictures of the rockies.”

[Izzy Montoya] The redhead beats feet out of there, and score one for Detective Montoya. Her eyes are dark, and spark with intelligence, and her lips are far more suited to smirks rather than smiles. Her brow is one that easily furrows, and she’s got the stance of one very comfortable in her own skin.

She studies the area, briefly, before returning her attention to Curata, and his little judgment on her control, the answer to which is simply a snort, at first. Then, after a beat. “Well now, I seem to remember it wasn’t me oogling my ass, and sending my companion into a teenage giggling fit before he ran off – and you’re worried about my fuckin’ control?”

She lets her eyes drop over him, from his eyes, down to his feet, and lazily back up again. “I can control myself jus’ fine, Mac. Ain’t fuckin shot ya yet, have I?”

[Curata] “Is that so?” He muses, lifting an eyebrow at the cop. Now that she was close to him, he could take in the finer details of her appearance, his eyes cutting up and down her body sharply, pausing briefly to settle his gaze on certain attributes of hers. He brings a hand up to scratch blunt nails under his chin.

“I’d watch who ye point yer iron at, woman, some folks wouldn’t think it polite. Me especially…” he takes a step closer to her, breaking the space that was set between them and leans down to speak more quietly to her.

“I could smell ye bloody pedigree a mile away, Fenrir.”

[Liadan] Lonna remembers her, calls out to her across the distance, and a corner of Lee’s mouth twists up in a crooked grin. It’s a nice feeling to be remembered.

With her long stride and easy gait, it takes no time at all for Lee to arrive in front of the woman. Seated as they are, she towers over them in boot cut jeans, a plain blue hoody, black and white Chucks on her feet, her long red hair plaited into a pair of messy braids. With her rectangular glasses and her leather messenger bag, she looks like a geek. Or a librarian.

“Lonna,” she says, and that sounds alright. It’s what comes next that sounds weird. “Hou’ve ye bin?” Reddish brows hop up, startled and momentarily embarrassed. She takes a deep breath, lets it out on a sigh, and tries again, carefully articulating her words. “I mean, how are you? Are you still doing volunteer work?”

[Lonna Larson] (lie to her, Lonna! Smile pretty!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]

[Liadan] [I’M the liar here]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]

[Drew Roscoe] Some chick with red-hair that looked vaguely familiar was walking forward, and Drew was picking her mind to remember who she was, why that face looked familiar, and why she remembered a terrifying situation going hand-in-hand with this woman’s presence. Lonna said she should meet, her, she was a fashion photographer and for some godforsaken reason that meant she took pictures of mountains. In a distracted tone of voice, Drew murmered this confusion.

“How are the Rocky Mountains fashionable?”

But Lonna was hauling herself up to her feet to greet and catch up. Drew stayed sitting on the ground for now, comfortable and content to stay that way. She was peering up at Liadan for a few long hard seconds before she snapped her fingers and uttered a low ‘aha!’.

“Zombie girl,” she declared. “I remember now.”

[Liadan] [I’m the liar and I see you lyin’]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Izzy Montoya] “Prefer the cuffs then, do ya, Mac?” It’s no real threat, of course, at least not at the moment.

She doesn’t move to cover or expose herself further under the scrutiny, instead choosing to simply take another swig of her coffee. She stands her ground as he takes a step closer, and leans into her personal space to murmur of her pedigree. She chuckles, softly. She’s not a small woman, by any means, just above average at 5’9″, yet he still towers over her. Somehow, it doesn’t seem to bother her one bit – like she’s used to it.

Because she is.

“Could ya? Then I suppose a proper introduction is warranted, hm? You first.”

[Liadan] [Mindy told me to re-roll my perception]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Curata] “Ye could say that, bonnie.” He murmurs to Izzy, whether his answer is to her first or second question, she isn’t quite sure. He grins at her, stepping away to stand beside her and looks away over the park.

His eyes drink in his surroundings, features pulling in on themselves into a deep furrow as he spies the three women on the grass. “Madoc MacBruin o the Fiann,” thus where the ‘Mac’ came from that Sean addressed him by and what Izzy calls him now, “Curata the Grim Heart – full moon and fostern, and ye are?”

He continues to keep the same low tone as he makes proper introductions first.

[Ben] Ben was Ben. Geeky and adorable in his own awkward way. With an intense focus on whatever he was looking at and something that drew the eyes like a compass needle to North. He often got looks and didn’t know why. Tonight he was out with his camera. A nice little digital SLR that wasn’t cheap, but wasn’t top end. He had intended to take pictures of the city at night. Add more to his little photoreel of places he’d been and people he’d seen. The jelly bean was already well photographed, he was looking for something else.

He weaved a little as he walked. He snapped pictures of cute girls. Of intimate moments people were having. And he bopped along to a tune being pumped into his ears by white ipod buds stuck in his ears. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was touseled. He smelled vaguely of a high end bar with alcohol and a bit of cigar smoke. Along with the usual scents that lingered around him.

His eyes were a little blurry, his feet mostly steady. His leather jacket was wrapped tight around his thin frame, all clean lines and brown leather. Black stone washed jeans and converse sneakers. A cream knit sweater on underneath. He kept tucking his hands into his pockets to keep them warm in between pulling them out and lifting the camera on its strap to snap photos.

He nearly blundered right into Lee. He rolled to the side. Muttered something about being sorry. Laughing shyly and smiled at her. Then blinked. Looked her over. Glanced around at where he was and recognized this little knot of women he’d bumped into. He seriously needed to hide behind his camera.

[Izzy Montoya] He grins, and that little knot of tension at her lower back slides away. He steps to the side, and watches the park, much as she does, and introduces himself. As he does, she pulls her hand from her pocket, in it a small folded case that she opens and pluck a business card from the case, and shoves it back in her pocket.

When he’s done, she hands him the card. “Detective Izzy Montoya. Chicago Vice.”

She steps back to the bench, and steps up on the seat, turns and settles her ass on the back of the bench, leaning foward, her elbows braced on her knees, her coffee cup between them. “And you just lost me a bet, Mac. Told a friend it’d take a LEAST a week before I was fuckin found out in public.”

[Lonna Larson] She looks at her and her brows perk up. The blonde looks surprised. Genuinely surprised at that, if for no other reason than it’s a sound she’s not ever heard from Liadan Whelan.

“I’m great,” she says, “it’s been really busy out here, but I’ve been pretty good. Still doin’ the volunteering thing, it’s pretty nice. What about you? Where did you go off to, you were gone for a couple months.”

She looked back and stood in such a way that the girls made a minor triangle. Two really tall women, and Drew sitting down.

“I was just out running, ran into Drew,” she said, gesturing to her other friend, “she’s… kind of my apartment mate? We live in the same building. Party on weekends. Generally good times.”

[Curata] “I’ll buy ye a cup o coffee to make up for it,” he remarks, his gaze shifting when the card slides into his peripheral. The hand scratching at his chin drops down to accept the card, turning it over a few times and then finally reads it. He snorts.

“Chicago vice, how cute,” she moves away to take a seat on the bench he and Sean had stopped by, Curata turns a bit to face the woman, tucking the card away into his coat pocket.

“It’s not like ye can really hide that sort o scent, bonnie, it attracts attention, most o the time the wrong type.” He gestures to the trio of women with a hand, his eyes narrowing again as Ben starts to come upon the scene.

“The little one wi’ dark hair.” Pointing out Drew to Izzy, “Is o yer family, her name’s Drew Roscoe, she’s associated wi’ two other brutes that are like me. An arrogant fuck called Thomas that likes to flap his gums, and a bulky kid named Joe Holst. Joe’s the one ye will want to meet, seeing as he’s the head man o yer family.”

[Liadan] Neither woman comments immediately on Lee’s outburst of an Irish accent, or the over enunciaction that follows in order to hold it back. It took her eight years to swallow that accent so that it only showed up when she was drunk, or being around other Irish people drew it out. And it only took a month of complete cultural saturation to make it this difficult to hide.

As soon as Drew says, “zombie girl,” Lee remembers where she saw her. At a train station on the north side, where she, Drew and Lonna and two other Kinfolk were attacked by zombies. Lee had almost died that day.

The wolf who healed her is talking to a policewoman several yards away behind her, where she hasn’t seen him. Her attention shifts to Lonna, who rises from the ground and tells her she’s great.

Lee watches the Child of Gaia, notices things about her she hadn’t before the crash course in Nation history and information she’d been subjected to in Ireland. But more than the physical, she easily sees through Lonna’s words to their intent. She’s lying, and whatever her reasons, Líadan leaves that alone.

“Well, I,” she stops when a stranger nearly bowls her over, sidesteps a little to ensure she’s out of his way. Her eyes are just sliding back to Lonna when she catches that appraising look on the young man’s face. She frowns, and returns it, dark eyes taking in the details of his clothing, the camera in his hands, the ear buds, the quality of clothes that were no less put together in geek fashion.

“Can I help you?” she asks sharply.

[Izzy Montoya] “Deal” she says, right off, as he offers coffee. “Throw in a muffin and I’ll unbutton a bit.” She’s kidding. Maybe. Depends on if there’s chocolate chips involved. She’s not cheap, after all.

“Better than my old job. Ya say “Miami Vice” and fucks start lookin’ for those asswipes Crocket and Tubbs.”

He points out the trio of woman, and Ben, and explains who they are, and more importantly – what – they are. She makes mental notes of the names, and who they’re connected with. “Gotcha. The redhead one of yours?” Way to perpetuate stereotypes. “What about the others?”

[Drew Roscoe] Lee glanced down at her, but didn’t say anything, and instead looked back to Lonna. This had Drew’s brow creasing, but subtly, and only for a moment. She hiked one shoulder up in a shrug and adjusted her position in the grass, planting her palms on the cool ground behind her and leaning her weight backward. Her legs unfolded and settled so her feet were planted on the ground rather than together, bottom to bottom. Her knees were in the air, tossed lazily apart in a plainly unladylike way.

Ben came strolling in with a sloppy momentum in his gait that suggested some kind of inebriation. He appeared a little lost, glanced from her to Lonna to Lee and all around. Lee snapped, and Drew spoke up, her voice a little louder than she’d originally intended, bright brown eyes on Ben.

“Ben! What’re you up to?” Far from scolding, but rather cheery instead. Like she’s glad to see him or something.

[Ben] He blinked at Liadan. At her sudden brusqueness and attitude. His eyes, only a little unfocused, turned and looked at Drew. His face lights up in a big smile and he waves a hand to her at waist height. “Ohey Drew!” Voice slightly louder than he intended. He blinks again, swallows and his smile returns.

His eyes survey over Lonna. “And Lonna too!” And they keep traveling back over to Lee. He looks her over again briefly and smiles again. “And you! Whoever you are.” He’s smiling. And apparently happy. He tilts his camera up from where it rests around his neck and fingers the shutter, snapping off a picture, though there’s no flash.

He turns the camera and clicks it a couple more times and Lonna and Drew. “Fancy…” Pausing to burp, rather cordially, with his lips closed and a little whuff of air. Swallowing again. “mm, Fancy seeing you folks here!” Then again to Lee. “And whoever you are.”

[Curata] “Ye make a very odd Tubbs,” he comments dryly, the glint of humor that had been in his expression before now gone as he watches the three other kin and Ben.

He is distracted for a moment, when Izzy’s first comment finally sinks in about the muffin. Curata just stares at the woman for a moment, blinking, and then smirks. “I wonder wha’ ye do for a steak dinner and a pitcher o beer.”

She goes on to ask about the others, he tilts his head, nostrils flaring out as the question of Lee being one of his. “Red is Liadan Whelan,” pronouncing her name in its proper accent, “Fashion photographer and one o mine. The Blond …” he pauses to focus on Lonna a bit, and then shakes his head, “Is Lonna Larson, she – gets around, lets just say. Cog, don’t know the guy.”

[Liadan] [perceptionness]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles and arches a brow at him. “Better make it whiskey – and the good kind – if ya wanna find out. I ain’t some cheap fuckin’ slut, you know.”

She must be kidding. Right? If she is, she isn’t telling, she just redirects her attention to the others, watching his reactions as much as cementing the names to the faces in her mind for future reference. She lifts her coffee cup to her lips and takes a long swallow, grimacing at the cooled taste. Doesn’t stop her from taking a final swig thought, as she crumples the cup, and tosses it into the nearby garbage can.

She leans forward again, elbows pressed to her knees. “Fru-fru photog and town bike. Gotcha.”

A beat. “So, other than that – what else I gotta know with the current buncha fuckers? Been a few years since I lived in Chicago.”

[Liadan] When Ben approaches, Lee glances down at Drew, and frowns. Her chest constricts, and she takes a small step back.

The girls know the man, and the man knows the girls, and Lee realizes suddenly she’s intruding. She shifts her feet, wraps her arms around herself to hug her torso. When Lonna gets a phone call, Lee opens her mouth as if to say something. Closes it. Her attention goes to Lonna’s friends.

The young man keeps looking at her. Lee imagines it has something more to do with her snappish greeting than anything else. She tips her chin down in a kind of bob and murmurs, “Sorry.”

Lonna is still on her call, so Lee turns to Drew. “Well, I need to go. I have…I have some things I need to take care of, and um. So yeah, I’ll see you around,” she concludes awkwardly, and she pivots on the balls of her feet so she can walk away, despite not having gotten either Drew’s or Ben’s names.

[Curata] “Northside is more Fenrir, centered round the sept to protect it. There’s a brewery that runs a hostile for kin and wolves wi’ out a home called The Brotherhood o Thieves. Good food, decent folk run the place, the upstairs residence… eh, goes only if ye’re curious. Members o two packs stay there.”

He is ticking things off in his mind as he continues to watch the gathering, he can’t read body language from this distance, his main concern seems to be filling in the detective on what has happened. “Also watch out for a wandering Rotagar called Kemp Oates, drive ye bat shit crazy wi’ his wit. Might give ye a run for yer money, and then there’s the Doc. Imogen Slaughter, good one to call if’n ye ‘run into trouble’ and need a clean up.”

Curata folds his arms back over his chest, smirking at the notion of this loudmouth woman being any cheaper than some of the women he’s known. “Oh,” a snap of fingers, Curata turns to look at Izzy with a very serious stare fixed on her, “City’s at war, if’n ye ‘aven’t heard by now, bloody monsters running round all o’er the place and it has gotten worse o’er the years, makes me think something is cooking.”

[Lonna Larson] She was having quite a conversation with the person on the other end of the line. She put a hand on her hip, and looked vaguely irritated in her vaguely unflattering clothing. She managed to make sweats look attractive, yes, and she managed to make irritation look lovely. However, Lonna Lason was not aware of this.

When she hung up the phone a few moment slater, with a heavy sigh and frustration, she looked like she might want to throw her cell phone.

She looked at it for a very long time before shoving it back into her pocket.

The blonde came back to the group, in time to see Liadan leaving. mouth was shut for a second, brows knit, then raised “Sorry.”

Then?

“Well, uh, guess I’ll see you later, Lee.”

[Drew Roscoe] Ben waved, Drew grinned and lifted a hand up above her head, arm stiff, to wave back by rotating her wrist back and forth. her hand found the grass again, and her eyes jumped to Lonna when the blonde’s cellphone rang. She murmered an apology, smiled, and turned and walked a few steps away to take the call.

The girl with red hair and glasses suddenly looked outstandingly uncomfortable, which had Drew interested. People weren’t terribly uncomfortable around her too often, usually they talked to her, were easy to slide into a deep conversation and find points of common ground and, from there, friendships with her. No such thing with this Lee girl. She stumbles over a flimsy excuse for a reason to leave and turns, not bothering to actually introduce herself to Ben or her. Drew lifted an eyebrow and watched the girl go in a swirl of red hair, then rolled her shoulders, arched her back to stretch it, and slipped down to lay on her back in the grass.

Her hands folded behind her head, her right ankle propped up on her left knee, and she commented to the sky. “Kinda rude, wasn’t she?”

[Ben] [Tell me your shecrets]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Izzy Montoya] She listens, and absorbs what he says, filing away the names, the information. She doesn’t interrupt to say she’s been to the brotherhood already, she doesn’t interrupt at all. Kemp Oates. Dr. Slaughter. One to avoid, one to call.

Then he turns to face her, and gets VERY SERIOUS. She sits up straight, then starts patting down her pockets until she finds a pack of gum, and goes about extracting a piece, and folding it into her mouth, tucking the wrapper back into her pocket.

“What the fuck is it with you guys? Guy last night was all WAR IS SERIOUS BIZNES too. Ya think the war is a new thing? Of course Chicago is at fuckin’ war – always has been. It ain’t stop jus’ cuz my fine ass came home.” She smirks and shakes her head. “I ‘eard it got worse. S’why I came home.”

Part of the reason.

There’s a beat. Then two. “Thinkin’ an attack? Large scale? Like when ya’ll raised the new home grounds what was it… 7 years ago now?”

[Ben] He looks from one woman to the other. Smiling in a vaguely I’m-drunk sort of way. The kind of slightly goofy smile that drunks pull off with aplumb. He grins over at Drew as the woman waves to him. Smiles at Lonna. “Hay Lonna!” Raises a hand in greeting.

Lee mutters her little goodbye and he looks her over again with only slightly bleary eyes. He puts an arm out around the redhaired girl. He doesn’t know her, oh wait the blond said it. Lee! He puts his arm around her shoulders all friendly and hey-there-how-you-doing like. Apparently he’s a little handsy when drunk.

“Now now, don’t gotta go running off. All of the family. All one big happy Nation. Let’s sit down and talk! I think I can manage sitting down. The ground kind of moves here doesn’t it? It’s really strange. But I think I can hit it with my ass, even if it’s moving. I’m really talented at sitting.” And he smiles.

[Liadan] Lee hasn’t even gone one step when Drew calls her rude. Which only serves to confirm whatever conclusions she jumped to when she saw the girl furrow her brow and roll her shoulder.

Those watching can see the redhead’s shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t turn around. Instead she finally takes that first step forward.

Which turns into a simply stretch and swing of her right leg when she finds the arm of the young man thrown around her shoulders, steering her backward. She lets out a grunt, and when she turns around to the group, they can see that her pale face is red in the cheeks. Lee is not wonderfully attractive like Lonna, or even adorably cute like Drew. She’s plain at best, ordinary, her attire and her glasses giving he a girl-nextdoor look. When she blushes, it is not as prettily as some might, but comes out in blotches.

Ben wants to sit with the family, and Lee finds herself being used to support him on his way to the grass. She’s too embarrassed to attempt eye contact with the small brunette.

[Curata] “Five years…” he starts to say, his attention pulled away from Izzy.

The impulse was there. To make cut his way quickly across the grass the moment Ben throws his arm around Lee’s shoulders when she tries to leave. A muscle ticks in Curata’s jaw, tension stretching down into his throat and shoulders as the skin becomes flushed with color not caused by embarrassment.

Leather creaks as his arms drop to his sides, fingers curling inward to press tightly into his palms, the knuckles turning white. He starts to place one boot in front of the other, body jerking forward to walk away and just drop the conversation with the detective…

However, Curata stops himself. He continues to glare and growl, mouth pressed into a grim line. “War, Detective Montoya, is serious business, not a child’s game.”

[Lonna Larson] [What’s goin’ down, Ms. Whelan?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Lonna Larson] There were orders of business to attend to. Step one? Unwind Tribemate A from Fianna B. This step takes several substeps which can be described as such.

Step one: take tribemate’s arm- “C’mon, Ben, let’s sit you down.”
step two: lift and move arm away from Fianna as well as possible.
(caution, please try not to let your breasts hit aforementioned Fianna, as that it’s rude)
step three: attend to other situation.

“I think we’re getting off to a bad start, it’s… kind of hectic. Lee? Drew? You guys want to try and grab lunch sometime with me? What do your wednesdays look like?”‘

step four: insert olive branch. if ineffective, substitute other appropriate greenery.

[Izzy Montoya] She doesn’t miss the reaction. She also doesn’t stop him from starting to walk away. She watches the group and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out if he and Liadan weren’t an item anymore, they certainly were once. And recently, too.

But back to SRS BIZNESS.

She rolls her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. You fucks do have a penchant for the dramatic, don’t you.” She snorts, and shakes her head. “I ain’t sayin it’s not serious. However, anyone with the sense of a gnat knows it, and repeating it over and fuckin over ain’t gonna make it no better or worse. It just points out the obvious.”

A beat. “And you didn’t answer my question. I ain’t gonna be able to keep an eye out for shit unless I know what you’re expecting, if it’s the same, or different this time around.”

She shakes her head, muttering. “Ya seem t’think it’s just fuckin Chicago too. There’s a whole wide world out there getting fucked by the other side. Chicago’s just another place on the map.”

[Drew Roscoe] Oh Lonna. Drew loved her, really truly and dearly she did. She was a Child of Gaia through and through, inserting the offer of peace, stepping in to diffuse and make everyone happy and comfortable. She typically did a great job of it, Drew typically was easy to forgive and forget and move right along. It was a part of what made her so amiable.

Yet Lee appeared shame-faced, eyes focused determinedly on absolutely nothing. Ben threw an arm around her, dragged her back around, and tried to use her as a stable thing to help him sit down. Lonna took his arm away, moved to help him sit instead, and while doing this addressed her and Lee both at the same time. Drew lifted a hand to tug at her lower lip thoughtfully.

“Depends on the Wednesday. In a couple’a weeks I’ll be done with my school semester. Typically I’m alright between ten and two. Y’know. Work.” Lonna knew work. She knew that Drew liked the Artisan, and that she hated Xang’s but refused to quit for some reason. She patted the grass beside her, then, and looked over to the Child of Gaia man with the camera about his neck instead. “C’mon, sit on down before the ground comes up and slaps you in the face.”

[Ben] He laughs and smiles at Lonna. More than willing to put an arm around her instead. The redhead was pretty cute but Lonna kind of out shone her. It was certainly true. As drunk as he was, he was still coordinated enough to manage his own moving about without groping anyone inadvertently, which meant when he did grope somebody it would be with intentional.

He mozied on over to the amiable Drew. Turned around and glanced behind him to make aim his rear end, then squatted and sort of flopped down. He rolled halfway onto his back, wobbled, and stretched his legs out in front of him to right himself. Bobbing back up to a sitting position and sticking one hand back behind himself. His other arm went around Drew in a rather familiar way.

“Oh hay again Drew.” He smiles over at Drew, then turns his brilliant smile and intense happy eyes on Lonna and Lee. Regardless of inebriation, or maybe because of it, he was still somehow intense and attractive. Lee go to smell the scent of fresh woodshavings and some sort of deoderant on him when he’d gotten close. Now Lonna, and then Drew, get to enjoy the woodsy scent of him as he flops down next to her.

“Oh hey, I have Wednesday’s free too. I should come with y’all!” Grinning up at them. His throat works, his clenches his mouth closed and lets out a little chuff of air again, burping a cloud of sweet smelling alcohol that drifts away. He covers his mouth and mutters, “Scuse me.” Then resumes grinning at the trio.

[Curata] Sometimes ahrouns, and yes even men, were not the most perceptive of creatures. Izzy steals his attention away from the group, forces Curata to redirect his focus as he takes a step back to the bench and pivots on his boots, facing the woman.

She berates at him, and he starts to fume. Curata stalks over to the detective, scowling down at her as he leans in to bring his face close to hers. One might think he was ready to snap-shift and chew her face off with the glare he pins on her.

“I know its bloody everywhere, woman, and I can’t do a damn thing about that, can only focus on the shite in m’own backyard,” he snaps at her, his voice growling in irritation.

“Just keep yer eyes open, its not one central thing. It’s a lot of small things ‘appening at once that could lead to something bigger. Zombies, Fomori, Spirals, the fucking Pekinese down the street that shite’s in yer yard at six o clock in the morning.”

[Izzy Montoya] She doesn’t flinch. He starts to fume and he gets in her face, breathing her irritation across her skin, and possibly ready to chew her face off with his murderous gaze alone. Very patiently, she speaks, slowly and distinctly. “So don’t. act. like. I’m. stupid.”

She shakes her head, and smirk. “I ain’t one of your mindless tarts. I know what’s going down, and have known it my whole fuckin’ life. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Mac. We’re always at fuckin war. Stating it makes ya sound like a pompous dickwad.”

To the rest, she nods. “A couple a fuckers mentioned Zombies last night. That’s new. And I hate them fuckin yappin dogs. Ain’t good for nuthin but target practice.”

A beat, and she digs in her pocket and offers him a piece of gum with that lopsided smirk. “Gum?” Maybe he needs it. He definitely does if he’s gonna keep growling in her face like that.

[Liadan] Lonna peels the Ahroun from Lee’s shoulders. The lessening of the weight bearing down on her keeps her up on her feet rather than joining the others in the grass. At least at first. She had no real excuse to bolt off to. When Lonna tries to fold her back into the conversation, tries to smooth things over between Lee and the girl who thinks she’s rude, Lee can’t think of a reason to try to escape again.

So she crosses her ankles and lowers herself to the ground, pulling her leather messenger bag into her lap. Lonna inquires about their Wednesdays so they can have lunch sometime, the three of them. Or four, if Ben comes along. Lee’s dark eyes flick to him often. There’s just something about the awkward looking geek that draws her attention.

“Well, I,” she starts, and hesitates as she roots through her bag for her BlackBerry. Ignoring the missed calls, messages, and voicemails that vie for her attention, she finds her schedule. “I can’t next week. Or the one after that.” She frowns at her phone for a moment, the drops it back into her bag.

It looks like it takes all the willpower in her tall, lean frame to turn her head toward Drew. It’s easier by far to look at Ben, but she does her best to keep her eyes away from him. “I’m Lee,” she says, finally able to introduce herself without people getting phone calls or drunken young men almost careening into her.

[Drew Roscoe] The red haired woman eased herself into a seat on the cool grass as well, grass that would, in several hours, become hard and crunchy, frozen over with frost and turned from green to a blanketed white. The grass, the trees, the bushes, all of it would be white, and then it would melt away into browns, dull yellows, and fading greens again come into play once the sun had had a chance to warm the earth. She leaned over after giving Ben a few good stares, in toward Drew, and introduced herself. The Get of Fenris Kinfolk lifted her eyebrows, turned her head in the chilly grass to look at Liadan, and grinned. The smile was warm, it was friendly, and it drew you in without you being able to help it.

“Hey, Lee. I’m Drew. I’m kind of a badass.” The grin broadened, to show she was joking, and her hand moved from behind her head not to stick out for a handshake (because those were for formal situations, and this was far from formal), but to shove into the stomach pocket of her hoodie. She produced a little plastic container with brightly colored balls of candy in it. The container was offered to the bespectacled woman.

“Sweetarts?”

[Lonna Larson] “Well, what days are you free?”

The general you, that is. The blonde was making an attempt. She is, at her core, a Child of Gaia. She lives her tribe, breathes it, bleeds it, loves Unicorn with every fiber of her being. She had experiences to back it up, but none that she was willing to share just yet with people. No sunshine, no rainbows, no peace pipe.

The likelihood of all three girls getting closer to Gaia via ganja was very slim.

This was, however, going decently. For now, she was oblivious to the tense conversations going on between the Ahroun and the Detective. For now, she was content to stay with her friends and listen.

“Which is something you two have in common,” Lonna chimes in, “Lee’s got Chucks that were blessed by the Gods, and Drew is my new favorite shooting range partner.”

A pause.

“Congrats, Drew, you beat out Larry the NRA guy for the spot.”

[Drew Roscoe] “You bet your ass I did!,” Drew exclaimed while still holding out the offer of candy to the Fianna Kinfolk.

“You know what I did the other day?” A brief flick of eyes cast a precursory check of the people in their proximity. Garou, Garou, person Garou was talking to that wasn’t running away, so probably Kinfolk. Kinfolk, Kinfolk…. We’re good. She only had to lower her voice a little bit.

“You know those monsters that look like our Boys but is all evil and warped and stuff? I blew one’s brains out with one bullet. One! Ka-blewy, head bits everywhere.” Her grin was sharp. Of course, she wasn’t nearly so cocky at the time. She was horrified, fighting to survive, not to be a hero. Now, though, when everyone was alive and well (everyone that wasn’t a monster, anyways, a real monster at least) it was easy to boast.

[Curata] Curata snorts, hot breath chuffing out into a fine mist on the chilly air as he shakes his head, pulling back to just continue glaring at Izzy in silence. He folds his arms over his chest again and turns his head away to glance over the park at the three girls and Ben.

The Fianna just remains quiet unless Izzy says something to irk him into a response. The muscle in his jaw ticking away as he seems to reigning his anger in.

[Ben] He smiles at Lee. In his inebriated state, her staring is kind of appreciated and isn’t connected with all the awkwardness he should be feeling. His eyes drift over to Drew and he gives her shoulders an affectionate squeeze. He laughs at her boasting.

“Thatagirl Drew! Blast them fucker’s heads clean off.” Laughing. His voice a little louder than it should be, perhaps. He smiles over at Drew for a moment, before his eyes wander over to Lonna. My isn’t she purty? His eyes flick up and down her body briefly, even with sweats on she’s mighty purty. He smiles over at Lonna and lifts his arm to put it around Lonna.

Now he’s got an arm around Lonna and an arm around Drew. All friendly like. One tribemate, one not. Peace, love, tranquility, and beer. Or alcohol of some sort. His breath smells sweet and liqoured up. Maybe a martini or something.

He smiles over at Lee again. That silly sort of affable smile drunks often have. And he leans back a bit. But with no support, he wobbles a bit, jerks, tries to right himself and finds himself falling over back slowly. “Oh shit, tiiimmbbeerr.” He laughs and clutches at Drew and Lonna’s shoulder as he slowly falls backwards despite his effort. Maybe the girls will catch him. Or maybe they’ll fall right over too. At least he wasn’t too heavy.

[Izzy Montoya] He doesn’t take her gum, and continues to stare at her, and when he turns away, she just tucks the package back into her pocket, and resumes her carefully negligent pose. Feet on the seat of the bench, her ass planted on the back, and her elbows on her knees. He works on packing his anger away, and she watches him. She doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she does – as she notices the little details, from that ticking muscle, to where his gaze keeps falling.

The smirk still lingers, and finally, she chuckles. “Guess that steak and whiskey dinner is out, ey Mac?”

[Liadan] Lee smiles politely, shakes her head and says, “No thank you,” to the offer of candy. To Lonna she has to shrug a shoulder.

When she speaks, there is still a faint lyrical cadence to the way her words flow, but for the most part the Fiann is able to stamp down her accent. “I don’t really know. This week is mostly full for me, and I’ll be doing shoots most of the week after that.” She’s a busy girl, that Lee. It’s her main argument against carrying weaponry on her person, and she has no vehicle to stash them in, either.

Lonna says Lee and Drew have bad assery in common, and it makes color fade into Lee’s blush. It’s faint, and therefore not as splotchy as when she’s embarrassed, or worse, when she’s angry. Coupled with the faintly shy smile, her hair in sloppy braids that cover her ears and fall to her ample chest, make her seem prettier. Not by much, mind you.

Drew boasts her shooting skills, and Lee is appropriately impressed. “Nice,” she says, and means it. She knows now, after her brief stay with the Fianna in Ireland, how Kinfolk are generally regarded as useless in fights and battles. They’re supposed to be protected, kept safe so they can breed. Or so the Fianna would have her believe.

Lee is sitting beside Lonna when Ben calls out and starts to drag the girls back. Reddish brows rising, Lee reaches out to grab at Lonna’s arm. Her fingers slip off the Gaian, and Lee finds herself leaning over to try to throw an arm around Lonna’s shoulders.

[Drew Roscoe] Ben’d tossed his arm over her shoulder, squeezing a hand that’s grasped and crushed enemy throats more times than she was aware of into tense, surprisingly well defined muscles whose strength he’d pick up on even through the thick fabric of her hoodie. It wasn’t because she was a brawler, it wasn’t that if she threw a punch she’d knock out somebody’s teeth. It was simply because she was an athlete, and in her line of… performance? work? whatever you may call it, she needed to be able to lift her body weight on one arm and throw it about as she pleased. That required muscle.

He left it there, and she rolled her shoulder some into his armpit, a subtle signal for him to remove the arm. He didn’t pick up on it, was already too preoccupied with Lonna, who he’d trapped under his other arm. He wobbled, leaned, and started to fall. Lee grabbed at Lonna to try and keep her from falling, so this left Drew free to escape without feeling guilty for letting Lonna be the only one to go down with the ship named Ben. She ducked out from under his arm, even as he grasped at her hoodie to try and keep herself up, turned and grasped his elbow, yanked him back upright. He wasn’t too heavy, really, it was easy enough to correct his balance.

“Ben, why don’t you just find your way home, huh?”

[Lonna Larson] “Ohhh, Ben you’ve had a few too many,” she tells him. Not quite chiding. Not chastizement, just a statement of fact, “we’re gonna have to get you home soon.”

Because, well, he was a Child of Gaia. Not only that, but he was the one who dragged her home recently when she’d had too much to drink. She’s starting to go down on the HMS Ben, and she manages to not go toppling backwards with him.

“Hey, let’s play it by ear then?” sound good to everyone else? Yes? She was hauled up by Lee, and she shoots her a small smile. It’s something pleased, it’s something relieved. It’s something grateful.

[John Thornton] A widening silver crescent of moon shone down from a clear November night sky, as the streetlights of Grant Park hummed steadily. To Curata and Izzy, the sound of steady footfalls approaching would become louder, as a man with a disheveled mop of brown hair and a long black trench coat approached.

Narrowed hazel eyes stared out from a furrowed brow and nigh black eye sockets… Fatigue seemed to follow in the man’s wake like a shadow, rested upon him like a lead weight. Concern had etched deep lines in his forehead; lines that would become wrinkles someday as John aged.

Gloved hands rested in his coat pockets as he walked, his face an expressionless deadpan.

He seems to walk as though in a daze almost, as though he wasn’t entirely there… Until the gaze falls upon a familiar figure…

He stops a few feet away from Curata and Izzy, a curious brow raising.

[Ben] He laughs and is yanked upright again with the combined effort of the little knot of women he’s sitting with. Drew mainly tugs him back into place, Lonna just sort of… barely escaped certain doom in the form of falling over backwards. He wobbles and shakes his head. Smiles over at Drew.

“Hey thanks!”

He leaves his arm around Lonna and gives her a squeeze. Then glancing over at Lee. To no one and everyone in particular.

“Yeah, this nice woman bought me some beers. I was hanging out at a bar and can’t buy beer. Too young and stuff. But she came over and brought me some drinks. Started chatting me up. She was real nice. Kinda handsy though. Kept grabbing my thigh and telling me her room number.” He seems oblivious to what any of that meant. He was more entertained by the fact someone bought him alcohol.

[Curata] Curata hasn’t commented on the steak and whiskey question as of yet. He looks like he is about to, when John starts to approach the pair. The tall brooding Fianna glaring at the activity going on across the park, in-between frequent frustrated glimpses at Izzy.

He finally turns on her, ignoring Thornton, “Ye better not be a light-weight and can handle yer whiskey, woman.”

[Izzy Montoya] That gets laughter – soft and easy. “I can handle way more than just my whiskey, Mac. Only question is if your man enough to find out.”

Footsteps gather her attention, and she turns her head, and watches as John comes to view. There’s something in her expression then, something that Curata might recognize if he looks. It’s fleeting, as recognition occurs, and then the smirk softens, just a touch, just enough to let any watchers know that this is a man she has feelings for.

Feelings of friendship, of partnership. Not everything has to do with sex, after all. She is connected to him in some way, though, still.

She no longer has her cup of coffee, having already finished and tossed the cup, and suddenly her hands have nothing to do. She sits up and tucks them into her pocket, and lips slide into that little smirk he’ll remember. “Took ya fuckin long enough t’find me, Thornton. I figured th’guys would have spilled the beans hours earlier than this…”

A beat. “You look like shit. Tell Mac here I can handle my whiskey just fine.”

Same ole’ Izzy.

[Liadan] Lee’s arm falls away from Lonna’s shoulders once she’s sure the blonde isn’t going to wind up pinned to the tottering Ben. She doesn’t think about the protectiveness of her actions, why she does things to keep others from getting hurt. Sometimes she just reacts. Like with the people tied up in the basement of a building on the south side. Or with Alexander fucking Vaughn of all people, when she saw him about to get eaten by a zombie.

She told him later she should have let the woman give him a kiss.

The prospect of running into Alex as soon and as abruptly as she stumbled over other Kinfolk fills her with a kind of dread. And she still doesn’t know that Curata is near, that he’s had his eye on this gathering for some time now. Who knows what she would do if she found out.

The Victory Fanfare from the Final Fantasy series of games suddenly announces itself from the depths of Lee’s bag. She’s a geek, and for as timid as she can sometimes seem, the fact that she’s a geek is something she tends to display like a badge. It’s written across whatever shirt is hidden beneath her zipped up hoody.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t dig through her bag quickly to find the source. A corner of her mouth twists up in spite of herself at Ben’s drunken recitation of how he came to be inebriated. When she finds her phone, she presses a button, lighting up the display. And she frowns before she drops the gadget back into her bag.

Looking up to the trio with her, she appears genuinely disappointed. “I really do have to go now. Work,” she says vaguely, with a shrug of her shoulders. “It was nice to meet you Drew. Ben. If you need me to, I can call a cab for you?” She’s already pulling herself up to her feet.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew let go of Ben when she was certain that he wasn’t going to tip back over again. Though, really, her concern wasn’t him falling over, he’d survive that. It was more her worrying that he’d tip over and grab onto her and drag her down with him. She was okay with the kid, didn’t want to go over to his house and hang out and watch movies or anything, but she didn’t despise him either. He was in the yellow, as opposed to the green or the red. Yet she didn’t really want to have him grabbing on to her. That was a bit too friendly for her liking, especially when his breath smelled like sweet fruit-flavored liquor.

She pushed herself up onto her feet, dusted grass off her rear end and the sleeves of her big red hoodie, then nodded to Lonna, he poor girl, who had her Tribe-brother, her Boy, hanging onto her like she was a life raft and his bestest buddy in the whole wide world all at once. The smile she gave was slanted and sympathetic to her situation. “Yeah, just text me or something. I’m pretty good to go on short notice.”

Her hands jammed into her hoodie pocket, one returned with the little container of Sweetarts, and she flicked the lid with her thumb, dumped some of the candies into her mouth, and then tucked the container back away, chewing happily. Liadan checked her phone, some sort of reminder told her she had to go to work. Photographing women in big billowy dresses or something, from what she’d gathered from Lonna. She said it was nice to meet her. Speaking around the grape-lemon-apple mess in her mouth, shoving it into one cheek so she didn’t spit and show food when she talked, she addressed Liadan in return. “Nice to meet you too.”

[Lonna Larson] “Keep safe, okay? It’s great to see you again,” and this time, it was clear that, whatever came out of her mouth, was honest.

[John Thornton] “I have my reasons…”

John’s voice seems drained, tired… Grave, almost…

Then, frowning as though this were something unexpected, John’s curious brow raised upon his forehead.

“When did you get back, Izzy? Why are you here?”

Then, the hazel gaze turns to Curata.

“She may well have a higher tolerance for whiskey than you, if my memory is to be trusted….?”

He then lets it drag out as a question, as though inviting Curata to introduce himself…

[Thomas] The smile had become a grin in Luna’s face, spreading slowly with the wax of nights. Long lines of calm illumination spread throughout the park, splintering into factions and sects that mill about in glades or the open swathe of clearings where the path lights fail to shed. Through the winding mess of markers and design of architectural nature, landscaped beauty, he moves. Careful and at ease.

The sound of voices is a minimal thing, but a detail hard to miss. Whispers and murmurs become voices and distinction and from the gathered in the park, a swarm of good byes and boisterous happy. Not necessarily alien but hardly what one could call ‘his scene’.

So perhaps that’s why Thomas hangs back from the lot, as Lee makes her good byes, Lonna struggles with her Tribesman and Drew pops back some candies. A silhouette twenty yards off, draped in black hoodies and black cargos with a touch of white and blue sticking out from under the pant cuffs.

His hands are in hoodie pockets and his gaze slightly narrowed. Patient, it would seem.

[Ben] When Lee’s phone goes off he snaps his fingers. Pointing at her bag and snapping his fingers. Like he’s trying to remember something. And he is, he really is trying. “Fuck, I know that song. I’ve heard it before.” He snaps his fingers a few more times. “Fuck, what is it…” He snaps his fingers one last time and then throws his hand out, “Aww fuck it.” And he gives up. His hand flops back down to the grass.

Drew hops to her feet and he wobbles a bit to one side. Leaning more heavily on Lonna than he’d intended so he can look up at Drew. Then looking back at Lee. “Awww, everybody’s leaving? Fuck.”

He lifts himself slowly up onto one leg, tucking it under. Then he leans forward a bit and presses one palm into the grass. He leverages himself up slowly to his feet. Wobbles a little and smiles at the girls. It’s a shy, self-conscious sort of smile. Awkward and cute. “Nice meetin’ y’all.”

[Liadan] Lee nods, to Drew telling her it was nice to meet her, as well, and to Lonna to let her know she’ll stay safe. Or it’s good to see her, too. Or to simply nod her head without needing to offer more words than necessary. Except she still speaks.

“Final Fantasy,” she says to Ben when he’s finished snapping his fingers in an attempt to jog his memory.

“I’ll call you when I know for sure when I’m free for lunch.” This to Lonna, who, she remembers now, has a car and is likely perfectly capable of getting Ben home without any interference on the part of Líadan Whelan.

She turns to leave them, and that’s when she sees him. The familiar tall dark-haired Ahroun with the blue blue eyes and the Scottish brogue. Lee tenses, presented suddenly with a situation she has absolutely no prior experience with.

So she pivots again, and heads off in the opposite direction of the Fianna Ahroun.

[Liadan] [and i’m out. thanks for the scene, guys!]

[Curata] Lee and the others are forgotten as Curata’s attentions are directed to the two kin of the Get of Fenris. He hasn’t moved from his position, his stands with legs braced, arms folded across his chest and an annoyed look on his face.

There are things that tell him a story – a connection between this man and that woman. They share a profession, a tribe, and a history he is not privy to.

Izzy taunts the full moon. “The answer to yer question, bonnie, is ye woman enough to ‘andle a wolf such as me.”

He lets that comments go, anticipating whatever barb Izzy’s tongue lashes at him. John receives a grunt and a narrowing of blue eyes, “We ‘aven’t met ‘efore.”

Curata doesn’t seem to notice Lee’s passage, not until he looks away from the Fenrir kin to glance back over the group. He does a double-take, arms dropping from his chest immediately and swears under his breath.

[Drew Roscoe] Ben pushed himself up to his feet, slowly and uncertainly, but managing. She sniffed a little bit and rubbed the palm of her hand against her nose again. It didn’t have to be freezing cold for extremities to chill, and the first thing that did was her nose. The poor thing was red, though rather than unattractive and splotchy it simply came off as endearing, bless the strength of her demeanor and how well it was executed.

It seemed the crowd was dispersing, which was fine with Drew. She peered after Lee, swallowed the candy mass in her mouth, and nodded to Lonna. “Good luck with mid-day tipsy there.” Nodding her head to Ben and grinning. “Just call him a cab or something, huh? I’ll see ya later.” And the girl turned, as though to head off, but paused. Some sort of weight in her stomach combined with a tickle of the light hairs on her arms had her glancing around. Her mind told her to be wary, on some level she didn’t quite understand but rarely questioned. This was a ‘being stalked’ sort of feeling. It was similar to what had stopped her the other day when Charlie and Joss were staring at her from off the trail.

Eyes skimmed the area, then landed on the cause. Big hoodie swallowing a familiar, somewhat gangly frame. Same intensity, even if it was sanded down at the sharp sharp edges by the mercy of the thin moon. She tipped her head to the side, just a bit, then offered a smile and an upward nod of the head before jamming both hands in her hoodie pocket and heading on over.

“Hey.”

[Izzy Montoya] He has his reasons. “Ya always do.” And then he wants to know why she’s there, when she came back, and she smirks. “Got in late last night. Start work officially in the morning. As for fuckin’ why?”

She pauses. She glances at Curata, then back to John, her brow arching slightly. She’s got word from the higher ups that he’s been found, that he knows – and really, she can’t resist. “Don’tcha know it’s a fuckin war out there?”

…its a wonder she doesn’t get smacked more often. Then, she tells him the truth. Likely, only he could tell the difference. “Heard some shit. Figured ya might need an old friend.”

Then she smirks up at Curata. “It’ll cost ya steak and whiskey to find out.” Simple enough.

[John Thornton] John nods to Curata…

“That is correct. We’ve yet to be properly introduced.

John Thornton. Get of Fenris…”

Given that Izzy and the obvious garou were speaking, he could only assume that Izzy was a kinfolk as well. It made sense; there were many things about her that it explained. Things at the time that he had chalked up to not his business.

Now, it seemed, business was booming.

The hazel eyes then turn back to Izzy.

“Strange… It seemed like a war back when we were beat cops. Now, it’s just the same. Only there’s more of it.”

The curious brow raises again.

“What specifically did you hear?”

[Thomas] “…Mmmmm…”

Vaguely distracted, stepping clear of the small copse of well spread out trees he’d been lingering around. Three to her dozen and a half to reach his place, gaze flicking up without subtly to watch the dispersal of the other three that wander off to their various destinations and needs. There is no sneer or snarl or forming line of a scowl. A meager frown is all, something reflexive that diminishes to a phantom when his gaze falls back to Drew.

“We’ve somethings to discuss.”

And he’s walking already, on toward the path, an indistinct direction picked for Cabrini’s northern shores. His hands dig deeper into the pocket of his hoodie, gaze falling forward and away from her, while the sneakers squeak in the vague dampness clutching to the grass.

[Thomas] It’s a moment within his steps, that his voice chimes in again.

“How comfortable are you with the cold?”

[Lonna Larson] Good luck with mid-day tipsy.
“I’m gonna need it,” she offers.

The blonde is soon enough hauling bBen up and trying to make sure that all is well and that he is in decent condition. Her attention flickers, from where Drew was heading to the outward grouping of people. Two vice detectives and a Fianna.

One of which used to be Charlie’s room mate. Not knowing better, the blonde starts to relocate Ben in that direction so she can start with interrogations.

“Ben? You know, if someone buys you drinks, you don’t have to drink them.”

[Drew Roscoe] Thomas took a few steps forward to meet her, and she stopped when there was a comfortable cushion of distance between them. Close enough to have a private conversation, far enough away that she wasn’t craning her neck and poking her chin out to look up at him. Boundaries. She remembered well the snarls that shook her floorboards when she got too close, and kept them in mind. Thomas had a bubble, and that was okay by her.

They had something to discuss, and she took that it was private, judging by how he turned and started walking. She followed after, matching her stride to his, stretching out her short-legged steps if necessary to keep up. “Alright,” she’d said amiably, and waited for him to continue.

He started by asking about the cold, and she lifted an eyebrow in question, turned her head to look at him, but answered easily enough. “Alright, I suppose? I mean, if it gets cold I put on a coat. Colder, I put on thermals.” She paused to lick at her lower lip, which was starting to dry out from the encroaching shift from autumn to winter. “…Why..?”

[Curata] Curata lets John and Izzy make acquaintances as he turns away from the both of them, his hands come up to his mouth cupping the sides as he calls out to the little Fenrir kinfolk that he has named “Longshot”.

“Drew!” the Scottish brogue is thick, ringing in his voice as he calls out to her.

[Ben] He leaves his arm around Lonna, leaning on her only a little and smiling. He seems fine and content to plod along next to Lonna. He’s not quite as wobbly as his demeanor would suggest. He’s a little wobbly, but not to the point of falling down.

“I know, but she was nice and I like getting a little tipsy now and then. I just wasn’t comfortable with the way she was stroking my leg and stuff. I gots a girlfriend now, see? So it’s not right.”

[Izzy Montoya] She tips her head toward Curata and adds for John. “S’Mack. Curata. Fianna.” Anymore and he can fill it in on his own. She reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear, though her gaze doesn’t shift away from Johns. He wants to know what she’s heard…

“Heard ya been found. Figured ya might have a few questions for me about some shit that happened back in the day.” There’s that lopsided smirk again as she hops down from the bench, to close the distance between them, as little as it is. “An’ word filtered through t’me that ya had a bad way of it past few months. Figured my face – not a friendly one, of course..”

She trails off and then gestures absently. “Fuck, man. I just missed ya like hell. Ain’t that enough?”

[Thomas] He doesn’t answer.

Instead, the hooded creature’s gaze turns with an effortless demand for identification of the individual shouting Drew’s name. It takes a quick moment before his eyes centre on Curata, distant yet visible on the street length that brushes up against the Park’s eastern edge. Thomas’ gaze narrows again reflexively, even as his eyes adjust to absorb the presence of John and-

“…Come on.”

It is a sudden thing. A hard thing, head snapping back toward Drew, a hand moving out almost as if he’d ask for her’s to help with the hurry. Instead, his fingers flick to hurry her along, even as his feet pull up a gait faster then a walk, but not quite a jog.

More blood. More Legends. More of the Past come back. Something in Thomas sang. Like Dread and Glory intermingled. His face? A mask of lines, hard and resolute.

[Lonna Larson] “You can tell someone to stop, you know. She was hitting on you. If you say you’re not comfortable with something, people should respect that,” said the older Child of Gaia to another.

Then again, she’s been in enough bars to know that this is easier said that done. So, she kept on walking with the less-than-wobbly Warrior of the nation.

[Ben] “Well, yeah, but it seemed kind of rude. I mean, she was a little older than me and I’m sure she was just lonely and wanted someone to talk to. So I sat and talked with her for a while. She kept telling me her room number and went up there eventually. I hope she gets some sleep.” He gives Lonna’s shoulders a squeeze and smiles over at her.

[Drew Roscoe] The voice that had tickled her memory earlier called out her name, and Drew stopped walking, turned to look back to Curata. Thomas paused and turned to look at him as well, and for a few seconds their motions were in sync, though Thomas frowned and narrowed his eyes and Drew blinked, then smiled and lifted her hand to wave. She was all about having friends, and Curata seemed like a good one to have. But…

Come on.

Thomas held a hand out, twitched fingers for her to come along, and she looked at him, furrowed her brow a little, more in question than disagreement really, and watched as he turned to start walking briskly. His legs didn’t work enough for the movement to be a jog. She’d call it a determined march, or plowing along. She cast a look back to Curata, her face speaking apologies loudly, and she called after him. “Sorry! Later!” She pointed after Thomas, shrugged helplessly, then turned and jogged to catch up. To keep up.

“What’s the rush?” She’d puff at him.

[Drew Roscoe] [ DLP. Misinterpreted. ]

[John Thornton] “I guess it is… From the way things went when you left… I just didn’t expect I’d see you back in Chicago again.”

John smiles that wan not-a-smile… Somehow, it seemed even less of a smile today than it was before. It hardly seemed possible, given how little it had been seen before. However… It was nonetheless true.

“And yes… It has been difficult of late. Ever since I was found… It seems tragedy finds my company irresistible.

As for the past… A number of things now make sense. I’m surprised I didn’t see it sooner. But until now, I hadn’t the time to consider it.

Too much war to deal with.”

After a few moments, he glances at the moon… before glancing back to Izzy.

“I’m sorry… How are you?”

[Drew Roscoe] The voice that had tickled her memory earlier called out her name, and Drew stopped walking, turned to look back to Curata. Thomas paused and turned to look at him as well, and for a few seconds their motions were in sync, though Thomas frowned and narrowed his eyes and Drew blinked, then smiled and lifted her hand to wave. She was all about having friends, and Curata seemed like a good one to have. She was about to call out when Thomas gestured for her to hurry along, twitching fingers at her before taking off toward John, Curata, and the woman she’d never seen before in her life as a gait that wasn’t a jog because his muscles weren’t working hard enough for it to be one, but was too fast and determined to be a walk.

She made a quiet noise of some kind of protest, a non-verbal ‘wait up!’, and jogged along after him. To catch up, to keep up. As they got closer, she lifted her hand again to hail Curata.

“Curata, how are ya?”

[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles softly. “Yeah, well. I didn’t expect to come back either. Built quite a name for myself down in Miami, though – So when I broached the subject of maybe comin’ back, there were some wheels greased, and eventually they accepted me back with open arms.” a beat. “Sorta. Close enough, anyway.”

Then they’re being approached by two more – the one Curata called for and another. She clasps her hands behind her back, lightly, and waits, even as she answers John’s question.

“I’m fine. Fuckin’ cold as shit though – I’d forgotten how much it fuckin’ sucks up here in November.”

[Thomas] …And the Skald slows to a near crawl as they climb through the last fifteen feet or so to the Trio, gaze resting with a level of frankness both uncommon and what some might consider inappropriate on the young detective Montoya. The features are hard lines, wreathing age in the wear of a lifestyle of the war the two Fenrir so comfortably and nostalgically bandy about; A youth left behind for a world of Hate and Monsters.

His jaw is thrust forward slightly, mouth hung slightly agape, the hood pulled back with both hands to expose a shaved scalp. The gaze is not wonder-struck nor is it disrespectful. There is no awe there nor is there disdain. It is something more of a scrutiny. A Calculation. A fever-swift dissection of Izzy that doesn’t travel past her features.

At last six feet separate him and the detectives, facing both with a firmness that made small talk not much of an option. He was a declarative fellow. An orator. There is not ‘chat’ in his speech.

“….Thornton.”

An eye travels to the older Man, nod brief and curt, jaw clapping shut around the name, even as his gaze travels back to Izzy.

“…Legends like memory. Stories of old.” The gaze narrows again, lips clenching around further enunciation. These were not Garou. They did not need-

“…Your name.” Perhaps it came out a little too harsh, the crackle of Rage, a hound in his shoulders, coiled and pacing.

[Lonna Larson] She sighs again, and the blonde looks at him with a sort of quiet defeat.

“Ben? No. It’s not rude to tell someone that you aren’t interested in them, and if they don’t get the hint, tat they should leave you alone.”

She looked at him and her lips were pursed and she seemed genuinely distraught again. As that misery loved company, she started to head over. Lonna didn’t know that she and Thornton had a lot in common, that misery loved company, that, if there was one person in this city who had crappier luck than Lonna? It was John.

So, their new trajectories put them headed over to make a large group yet again.

And put her with Drew. again. She shrugged a little.

[Curata] There is a pair of Fenrir kin speaking behind him with both a badge and a gun hidden in their belts. He listens to part of their conversation, turning back to fix a look on Izzy, “Don’t go anywhere. Ye meetin Thomas and Drew.”

By the time the Fianna can turn around to see Drew, he notices that the Fenrir is bringing her along in tow. One corner of his mouth quirks up as he casts a glance down at her, “I’m right as rain, Longshot,” he chuckles, “How’s the trigger finger? I ‘ear ye ‘ad plenty o practice over the past few weeks.”

[Ben] “Aww, it wasn’t that bad.” Trying to comfort Lonna with a little squeeze of her shoulders. “She wanted some company and I got some free drinks. It seemed like a fair trade to me. I mean I didn’t mean to get this drunk. But it was fun for a while. I got to meet a couple of really cute girls and stuff.” He pauses, and bumps his hip against hers. “Say, you’re pretty cute too ya know.” Along with a goofy grin.

But they’re approaching people and he looks forward. Glancing over the strange group of people they’re approaching.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew stopped trotting when Thomas did, and cast a glance to him that would be irritated if she had any actual hostility behind it. Huffing just a little bit, she moved her hands out of her pocket to tug her hood up over her head, pulling at her hair so it spilled out over one shoulder instead of sticking out at funny angles and clinging to her face with static electricity. Fingers smoothed at the dark locks for a second, somewhere between short and long, until the static dispersed, and she came to a halt a few feet from Thomas’s side.

Her eyes cut to Lonna and Ben, and she laughed. “Oh hey, Lonna, Ben. Fancy seeing you here.”

Curata addressed her then, with a grin and laughing eyes, and she looked up at him, beaming brilliantly. Little ray of sunshine, right here. She owned the T-shirt. “Oh, getting a little worn out. Frankly, I’m tired of washing the blood out of my clothes.” The grin tweaked to something a little more bashful. “Not a warrior or a gloryhound, just trying not to die, y’know?”

[Izzy Montoya] She sticks out her tongue at Curata. “Wasn’t goin’ anywhere. Too busy starin’ at your ass.”

She winks up at John, and then turns to watch Thomas hone in on them, directly. A brow quirks, slightly (Oh this one was a charmer. ) but she doesn’t flinch away from his scrutiny. In fact, it doesn’t look like she flinches away from much.

Your name, he demands. “Detective Izzy Montoya.” and once again, she’s fishing out her card, and offering it between her fingertips to Thomas. “Yours?”

[John Thornton] Hazel eyes surrounded by blackened sockets turn to the new arrivals curiously, as the rumpled detective considers each in turn. Thomas gets a nod in greetings, as does Drew…

Lonna likewise gets a nod in greetings…

Then, the detective’s gaze seems to stare off into space, his focus seemingly lost to the wayward expanses of his own mind.

[Thomas] “G-”

It starts and Ends. Hard and useless in the back of his throat. Garou courtesies for mortal minds were a waste of time and effort. Imogen had proven that. Drew remains nearly and Thomas seems content with it.

“Thomas.” Spoken like it meant something. Like it defined someone. He offers a nod after the fact, head canting slightly to one side, meeting Izzy’s gaze with that same unflinching design.

“Your parents…?” Their names, as well.

[Izzy Montoya] He demands the basis of her pedigree and she clears her throat, muttering in an aside to John and Curata. “Ya didn’t say there’d be a fuckin pop quiz…”

And then, she clears her throat. “Ryan and Maria Montoya, of Chicago. Grandparents Justin and Janis Montoya on my father’s side, and Lee and Anissa Shannon on my mother’s side. If ya want more in depth than that, your barkin up the wrong tree – I ain’t a fuckin’ fang, after all.”

[Curata] Curata smirks down at Drew, nodding his head. He takes a step back away from those that are gathering, near Drew but not close enough that it might set Thomas off. Whatever interests the Fianna had in the tiny kin wasn’t romantic.

“Sounds as if ye need a vacation, Drew,” he replies, “A nice long one.”

[Thomas] (Int 3 + Garou Lore 2. Gonna say 5 diff. for decent Rank)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Lonna Larson] “Hey, Drew, it’s been forever,” she tells her. She can’t help but frin at her. It’s playful, to say the least. She looked at John and gave a little wave, and her attention went to study him quietly. Misery loved company, and John… well… John seemed to be misery’s type. Mouth set for a second brows quirked, and questions went unspoken, but asked anyway.

She had no idea what was wrong. Given that a rather unsettling Skald was talking, though, Lonna kept her mouth shut.

[Drew Roscoe] “Shit, do I ever,” she agreed and plunged her hands back into the belly pocket of her hoodie. It was an oversized garment, what she’d substituted for a jacket tonight. It fell to cover her rump, touched the top of her thighs, was probably about the length of some skirts that Lonna wore (rimshot!). Bright red, new looking, with bold white letters that said “Working Hard or Hardly Working” on the chest. One of her crew members thought it was hilarious for unknown reasons and gifted it to her. He called it an early birthday gift. She appreciated it because it was red, so if it was doused in blood it wouldn’t matter one bit.

The little plastic container of chewy Sweetarts was pulled out, and she flicked open the top and held it out in an offering to the tall Fianna Ahroun while she spoke. “I could definitely handle migrating for a month or two. Hawaii or the Bahamas or something. I could stomach that.” She grinned broadly, and if Curata accepted the offer she’d tap out a few of the little candies into his big palm. Regardless, she would end up bringing the container to her mouth and tapping a few out there as well before glancing over to Thomas and watching him put this Izzy woman in a verbal, inquisitive corner.

[Thomas] [i]Ryan and Maria Montoya. Justin and Janis Montoya-”

“…Justin Montoya. Athro, Forseti of the Fenrir. Called, Grip~of~Gallows, the Wringing Judge. Breaker and final breath for Loki’s kind. Tore the throats from those accused and snapped clean the rot at the heart of the Weeping Green Hive’s elders.” An oration from memory, flickering across the Skald’s face, pouring free those lines that etch him and exploring the thoughts and images of a War Hero. A Fenrir Lord and Jarl.

It is a startling transformation, from furious scrutiny to intense fascination, head canting to the opposite side. His jaw hangs slightly ajar again, teeth bared briefly whilst the coal and dull black eyes remain guile-free. This was a moment to the Gibbous Moon, despite the lack of importance it might have for others. The Blood of a Champion. A Hero. Present and living.

It gave hope.

“…Your Grandfather was Fenris’ Law.” A pause, as if searching for something to say of the woman herself. “…That you hold the badge, is proof in your veins.” He lifts a hand to pluck the card, finally from her grasp, tucking it away without paying it a glance.

[Curata] The little plastic container of candy is offered up to the Fianna. He stares down at Drew incredulously, before extending his large calloused hand down to accept the offer. Listening to her speak makes him smirk more and starts to chuckle. His eyes lift up as Thomas starts to recant Izzy’s history, lifting an eyebrow, thoroughly impressed.

[Thomas] Ryan and Maria Montoya, Justin and Janis Montoya-^

[Ben] Ben leans on Lonna. One arm around her. It looks like she’s supporting him, but less so than she realizes. He grins at the new people he’s showed up with. He smiles over at Drew and waves from the hip again. “Hay again!”

Then his eyes shifting over to see Curata. Then around to Izzy, John and Thomas. He smiles at them all and nods to them a little blearily. Lifting a hand to wave at them awkwardly.

[John Thornton] John, for his part, just seems lost… Staring off into space…

Then, abruptly, he runs a hand through his scalp and sighs deeply. The tired eyes blink, and then narrow… As though he were frustrated at his lack of attention while Izzy and Thomas spoke before him.

Wordlessly, he begins checking pockets, before withdrawing a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and placing one in his mouth. Then, he absently began to search for a lighter.

[Lonna Larson] She didn’t say a word. She just looked at him. Brows raised and, for a second, Lonna forgot why she was standing there. For a second, she was lost in things like words and stories. Strangely enough, and most importantly enough, she was lost in the names. Things that were important, integral to who a person was.

If you name something, you give it power. You give it right to exist and be. Certain names implied strenth, and people lived into them. Or, rather, people were given names and it gave them strength. Chicken and the egg. Any way, Lonna was interested in the names. In the words.

Words like Forseti were lost on her, but she knew there was more there.

The blonde bit her lower lip; it kept her from asking questions.

[Izzy Montoya] For the first time, she looks slightly uncomfortable. Thomas goes on about her heritage, knows of her grandparents, knows more than she would have admitted, or mentioned otherwise. Fiercely independent, she has clawed her way through the ranks of first Chicago, then Miami, and for a female cop that is no small feat. They claim equality, but it’s still a fight every single day. Now the CPD has accepted her back – and she must fight again, only this time it is the rumors of her past on the force.

And still, she has John to protect, in ways he wasn’t aware of before, but now? Now he might have an inkling of just how far she pushed the limit before.

Finally, she clears her throat, slightly. “Yeah. Thanks.” She is proud of her heritage, though not exactly used to having it spread open like that. “You hang out with the Jarl, Joe was it?” A brief glance at Curata for confirmation “Right? Pass the info on that card to him, too, if you would.”

She regains her equilibrium as John searches for a lighter, and with a slip of her hand into her pocket, she provides him with one. “Thought you quit?” She doesn’t smoke herself – but always has a lighter, as she always seems surrounded by those who do. Curse of the job.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew chewed quietly on her mouthful of strawberry and lemon flavored candies, watching Thomas with an expression best described as passive interest as he ticked off the deeds of this woman’s grandfather based on his name alone. An eyebrow quirked up, and a faint grin touched at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She wondered what he’d blurt out about her family. Then, remembering how Beth had described the word ‘Ronin’ to her, she decided she didn’t really want to know.

Instead, she smiled and waved from the hip at Ben, tipping her hip into the gesture to exaggerate it a little more, and settled her hands into her pants pockets this time around, pushing the hem of her sweater up in order to do so, showing a flash of a bright yellow shirt under the over garment. A low whistle sounded from her lips, and she spoke quietly, to Thomas directly rather than just musing aloud.

“Impressive.”

[Thomas] …A snap gaze is cast at Drew, the youth surging back into his features as he suddenly does a quick scan of her own face for signs of mocking. A brief thing, fierce and zealous, before it calms with a wave of ease, returned to the tense young man of before.

“The Jarl will see.” Is Izzy’s only reply, Thomas seemingly content with the information dug up and where on the Totem line Izzy sat. Somewhere in the woe Tree, a Grandfather hung, grim eyes, iron blood and the Gallows on his fingertips. It would be the images brought to mind every time he found the young detective’s face from this moment on.

His gaze finally lifts from Drew with a nod, appreciation one of his weaker suits, a flicker-quirk at his lips, before his gaze travels to John, narrowing on the cigarettes produced.

“Fenrir names and deeds are the business of me and mine. To know them is to find the courage to walk and stand as they would have us and did.” A brief pause, not a hesitation, the Skald’s gaze lifting to John’s face, disapproval in there, before turning back to Drew to finish.

“…They are the lessons through which we learn.”

[Thomas] …And then a flicker of something lifts to regard Curata, no higher then the chin, no lower then the brow.

“…Grim~rhya.” and a nod.

[Curata] “Gut-song,” there is a tip of his chin, head bobbing in regards to Thomas when he acknowledges him, the candy that Drew gave the Fianna eaten during the Skald’s recanting of Izzy’s heritage. His arms draw back up to cross over his chest, resting over each bicep.

“I ‘ave tae admit. I’m fairly impressed wi’ yer technique, Skald.”

[Izzy Montoya] John takes the lighter, and then steps aside so that he can light up without offending those nearby. Izzy watches him a long moment, gaze narroed, before she turns back to the group in front of them. She relaxes enough to unclasp her hands from behind her back, and tuck them, instead, into the pockets of her slacks.

Curata compliments the Skald, and she arches a brow slightly – but for once, for now, the Fenrir kin is quiet.

[Thomas] Thomas offers a sharp nod. Half ‘I Know’, Partly ‘I earned that’ and a smidgen of ‘As it should be’ in that single gesture.

“Blood hangs beneath the flesh, maps of the World as it was before. Shadows that bite. Dragons in the sky. Hate like Gods come to life. The old ways made fallacies of the things we call trouble today.”

A hand flicks out brushing something intangible aside, brow furrowing under thoughts lost to other times and moments.

“…All the more reason for us to remember, that we cease with our complacencies.” Something like disgust? No, not so heated. More disgruntled. Displeased.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew’s eyes had widened when Thomas was shooting a sudden glare of intensity at her, surprise and caution apparent on her face to start. She wasn’t exactly sure with Thomas, not ever. He could reach out and cuff her, could sweep away and leave her there without a word. Instead, though, he explained that this was his job. He was supposed to know, so that way he could teach lessons, prompt today to act as the heroes of tomorrow did. She understood that, and displayed that by nodding a little after he did.

Don’t think she missed that flutter-fast quirk of his mouth, though, it had her grinning a little bit, jamming her hands deep enough into her pants pockets that her elbows straightened, and glancing from face to face. Lonna and Ben. They got a smile. Upward glance to Curata when he commented on Thomas’s technique. John and Izzy were observed, blankly, for a couple of seconds. They seemed to know each other, she let them be. She licked her lips, ate some more candy, and shivered, just a bit.

Her eyes would fall back onto Thomas and stay there. She didn’t say anything, didn’t try and pull him away or interrupt him. But she did that thing that women do so well– that is, she bored holes into the side of his head until he got the point. They were talking about something, and he left her hanging. They had ‘something’ to discuss.

[Lonna Larson] The blonde kinswoman was in an awkward place. She watched, and she kept her mouth shut, looking from the Skald to the Ahroun, to the other Ahroun, and back again. She was listening. She wasn’t saying much, obviously, and her weight was evenly planted. She wasn’t dressed to kill, unless we meant in the literal sense. It was non-descript and unflattering. Drew got a smile, but it was tinged with something else.

Interest, yes, but somewhere between tension and confusion.

She regarded those she was with again, and the blonde knew better than to interrupt.

[Izzy Montoya] The talk continues around them, and she steps back to retake her seat on the bench – feet on the seat, her ass on the back, and leans forward to rest her forearms on her knes, her hands clasped lightly between her knees.

Thomas is clearly a skald, and when he suggests they must remember, she glances at Curata, her eyes widen and she mouths “it’s WAR” without saying a word – and while the Skald’s attention was directed elsewhere.

Not HER fault he called Thomas what he did earlier. It just fits. And there’s a twitch at the corner of her lips, sliding into a smirk as her mirth rests in the darkness of her eyes.

[Ben] Ben may as well have been playing with himself. He knew one guy was a Fostern but he was staying quiet. Better not to interrupt the two of them having fun talking about… whatever. Shit his parents would talk about. Shit he doesn’t really care much about. His eyes roam around a little blearily. They find Lonna and he gives her shoulders a light squeeze. Then they find Drew. He makes a nod towards her candy. Makes a little hand motion asking if he can have some.

[Curata] The Fianna doesn’t have a response for Thomas. His eyes cut back to Izzy, narrowing his gaze on her for a moment. The Ahroun snorts rather loudly, his arms dropping away from his chest to shove them into the pockets of his coat.

He rolls his eyes closed a moment and then opens them, stepping away from the group. He tilts his head, casting Lonna a side look, nodding towards Ben.

“Ye need a ‘and, Lonna, getting him home?”

[Izzy Montoya] She turns to find John again when his phone rings. She nods and waves him off, miming that they’ll ‘talk later’ – and they will. In depth. In private.

Then Curata snorts as he ask about taking Lonna home, and it’s HER turn to snort. “So much for my whiskey, huh? Chickenshit.”

Oh but that amused smirk is still playing around her lips, dancing in her eyes.

[Thomas] …He turns in kind toward Drew, those eyes boring into him, receiving something akin to a balk or a flinch; which for Thomas equates to something like a hard perked brow and an answering scowl.

“Right.”

He lifts his gaze toward the pair of Fenrir Kin, nodding once in fairwell and otherwise, before glancing over to Curata.

“Grim~rhya.” A similar good-bye as a Hello.

And finally down at Drew with a hitch of his head C’mon, turning to begin the walk North once more without another word or expression.

[Lonna Larson] “I might need some help getting him to his place, and making sure he says there,” she said, which was more pointed at Ben than Curata.

She bumps her tribemate with one of her hips, and offers a half smile. She find herself looking between Izzy and the Fianna.

[Drew Roscoe] And so they disperse.

Thomas got the point, and Drew grinned just a little bit, fishing the candy container out of her hoodie– it was about halfway full still– and making a sharp but quiet whistling noise and nodding her head upward at Lonna. When she’d caught her friend’s attention, she tossed the candy lightly to her, underhand. “You guys can have the rest. See ya later.” She glanced after Izzy and after John, then lifted a hand to swat Curata lightly with fingertips on his arm, just below the shoulder. “Catch you later too. Don’t die first, folks have a habit of doing that these days.”

Grim, just a little.

Thomas jerked his head and started walking, and Drew moved to make and keep pace alongside him.

[Ben] Ben watches the candies hungrily as they’re tossed to Lonna. And darts a hand out to snag them from the air. He bobbles them for a moment, bounces them off his hand, arm, and finally slaps his arm against his body to stop them there. He gets his hand on the candies and dumps a few in his mouth. Chewing happily.

Then Curata is looming over them and Lonna is bumping his hip. He blinks and looks over. “Oh hey, -rhya.” Blinking again and looking at Lonna. “Oh no, I like home. Especially if you’re taking me there.” He grins cheerfully.

[Curata] Izzy asks about her whiskey, Curata regards her for a moment or two in silence, seeming contemplative. He runs a hand across his jaw, waiting for Lonna to get Ben to his feet.

“Wha’s yer schedule look like for the week, detective?” he gives her a roguish grin, “I’m curious to see ‘ow ye ‘andle some Scottish in ye.”

[Izzy Montoya] That smirk widens into a grin, as she nods as she stands up again, and tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket. He has her card, already, so she just chuckles

“I’m sure you are, Mac.”

A beat, and the smirk returns. “Gimme a call, and I’ll make time.” Then to the others. “G’night.” And she turns and starts to walk away.

[Lonna Larson] She was gathering her tribemate up, and she let half a grin cross her face. She shook her head and tried her damnedest not to… well… snicker. Gathering Ben up so they were ready to go was easy enough. She handed him a sweetart and popped one in her mouth as well.

Candy was left in her pocket with her car keys.

“C’mon, I drive a black grand Am. It’s easy to miss.”

[Ben] “Mmmkay.” He mumbles. Nods to Curata with a grin. Bumps his hip against Lonna to let her know he’s ready to go and weaves a bit following her off to her car.

[Curata] Curata laughs, shaking his head at Izzy as he begins to walk away with Lonna and Ben, helping her carry the drunk Coggie across the park and back to her car.

“Women will be the death o me yet.”

[Lonna Larson] “Can’t live with us, and sex is incredibly awkward without us. You’re in a catch twenty-two, Curata,” she tells him with a shrug.

It’s off to take Ben to the car. There was not very much fanfare. He was light, and he was fairly reasonable to deal with.

“So, Ben? This is curata, Curata? This is Ben. You guys, I think, have a moon in common.”

Ever the greeter, this one.

[Ben] He looks up. Nods to Curata and grins. It’s a rather boyish funny grin. But he’s drunk and confident for once, at least. “Nice to meet ya Rhya. M’name’s Purifier. Same as her tribe.” Tilting his head towards Lonna.

[Curata] “Curata the Grim Heart.” He says his full deedname to Ben, “Fianna.” As if it weren’t obvious, but you never knew these days. He doesn’t respond much the boyish grin, an eyebrow quirked, but he otherwise remains quiet.

[Lonna Larson] She gets to her car, and the blonde unlocks it with one of those remote keyless entry things. It doesn’t beep the first time… or the second. Eventually, it does give some indication that it’s unlocked.

A pause, and a look at Curata.

“Hey, I have a favor to ask of you,” she said.

[Ben] He pauses and leans against the car. Weaving a bit on his way over to the car. His hand comes up, pulls on the door handle. Takes him a second or two of shuffling to get the door open. With a glance and a nod back to Curata, he slides down into the passenger seat in Lonna’s car and shuts the door.

[Curata] Curata looks over the roof of the car at Lonna, Ben climbs into the passenger seat of Lonna’s car, shutting the door. He just shakes his head, “Wha’ favor is that?”

[Lonna Larson] She’s quiet for a long moment.

“Liam died. And Art died,” and a hitch, “and Evan died… and… Randi isn’t in town anymore so… I was wondering… if you could take me to visit and take care of things?”

She stopped.

“I know the Eagles will take care of Evan, but… Aquae Sulis is gone. Completely. I wanted to make sure things didn’t… you know…”

[-1wp, be calm, kiddo]

[Curata] Liam died. Art died. Evan died… the Children of Gaia were being picked clean. He looks down at the drunk one sitting in Lonna’s car, reaches for the handle of the back door and pulls it open. The Fianna intended to chaperone this field trip to take Ben home.

He considers her request, “Foine, we can go in the morning after breakfast.”

He leaves it at that and gets inside the vehicle.

[Ben] Ben blinks when Curata climbs in the car. Swiveling around in his seat to look in the back. Blinking again. “Oh, you’re coming?” He turns back to look over at Lonna. Blinking once. Then letting his eyes go down to the spot next to his seat. He reaches up, fumbles with the seat belt, and pulls it down across his body.