[Daniel Ingenssen] “Because it’s the polite thing to do,” Daniel replies, vexed. “And the smart thing. If Spirals came I’d know you were an ally instead of trying to take your head off along with theirs.”
The Forseti, who has the thin, wiry look of someone who’s lived close to the land, close to the bone, looks at Charlie as he approaches. His mind reaches out to the Theurge’s: a wordless greeting.
“This is my packmate, Charlie Lights-Out,” he says to Callie. “And I am Daniel Broken-Hammer, a Forseti.”
[Drew Roscoe] You’d think that after Drew’s weekend she’d want to just stay inside for the following five days and recover. Just keep her arms wrapped about her bristly-furred dog, proper her feet up in front of a space heater, and watch horrible movies that she loved so dearly and shamelessly until the memory of barn stables and screaming, dying werewolves was faded out from her memory. But she heard Lonna leave her apartment, peeked out the window and watched her friend get in her car and putter on away to do goodness-knows-what, and Drew came to a decision– why the hell should I waste precious minutes of my life lingering on the bad? To hell with that, I’m going out.
So Drew had patted her canine, left the radio on for him, and departed.
She’d come to the park rather than going off to the mall or stopping in at The Artisan for a free meal and a smile and hug to everyone that was working. Outdoors rather than indoors, she wanted to feel fresh air and smell freedom (and exhaust, and greasy rolled tacos from vendors, everything that reminded her she was back in Chicago and not lost out in the rural Illinois hills), so she went to Grant Park.
The little Fenrir Kin was trotting merrily along one of many paths that whipped and wound through the space, hardly aware of the face that the only Metis she’d had the pleasure of meeting (aside from one that was now dead with pieces of his flesh still stuck in Joe and Curata’s teeth) was up ahead along with two other wolf-folk. She had a pair of ice skates strung together by the laces like this was the forties, tossed around her neck and thumping off the chest of her nicely insulated red winter jacket. Hands were in her pockets, earbuds jammed into her ears, and her pace was bopping along to whatever music she was listening to.
Wasn’t being alive nice?
[Callie] and then obviously, I could just go around introducing myself to Spirals by mistake. *seeing Charlie she holds up her still slightly smeared and sticky hands in acceptance* ok . . ok . . fair enough, well, I didn’t know. Hi Charlie
[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel looks irritated as his introduction fails to garner a return of the favor, but he says nothing more about it. Instead, the Forseti continues to eat his sandwich, leaving conversation to the Theurge instead.
If it can even be called a sandwich at this point. He’s removed the top slab of bread, torn it up and fed it to the birds. Pigeons are still swarming at a radius of two or three yards at him, occasionally darting in closer to snatch a crumb of bread up. Sitting on the bottom loaf of bread is a stack of sliced beef and absolutely nothing else; no sauce, no vegetables, nothing.
He’s eating the meat with his fingers. And when he finishes, one expects he’ll throw the second piece of bread to the birds as well.
[Charlie] Daniel is almost as thin as Charlie, who has the build of a Bone Gnawer and the stubborn tenacity in fights to match. It’s why he’s often mistaken for one. That, and his perceived perpetual deference to those around him. Most people mistake him for either a Bone Gnawer or a Child of Gaia before he bites the bullet and offers up his tribe. Even then people aren’t always immediately convinced that he’s actually a Fury.
If he were truly convinced of his own worthlessness and weakness, one would have to imagine that he wouldn’t be choosing to spend any amount of time around Daniel after the confrontation that had occurred after their last battle this weekend. Yet he doesn’t slink up to the bench with his metaphorical tail between his legs. He walks up with his shoulders back and his head up, and he stands beside Daniel as though they are in a pack and not as though he fears or expects domination.
“Hey,” he answers Callie, reaching up to scratch at his sternum through the weight of his coat. He sniffs, then asks, “How much did that sandwich cost?”
[Callie] *she looks at what remains of something that was once a fairly substantial sausage and salad and goodness-knows-what-else sandwich and grins* less than you might think! . . they sell them over there *she points to a stall in the distance* they got all the prices set out so you can pick and choose as much as you want to spend
[Daniel Ingenssen] “About three dollars if you don’t get any of the fancy toppings,” Daniel adds; no cheer, no commentary, just the facts.
(sorry folks, kinda busy!)
[Drew Roscoe] This is what an average teenager looks like when they aren’t letting themselves get wrapped up in the average troubles of a young soul– homework, boys, girls who get the boys, fashion, Wyrm monsters trying to devour your essence… They looked like Drew Roscoe in this moment, happy and healthy and young and bright. Or they were supposed to, at least. And who cared if she technically wasn’t a teenager? Semantics, semantics.
Her lips moved to whatever she was listening to as she bopped on up the path, and she stopped a couple dozen yards shy of where Charlie, Daniel and Callie made a lot of Rage for one little bench outside of a tiny little sandwich stand. She wasn’t looking toward them, though, didn’t recognize the blast of Rage in the icy air just yet– it wasn’t quite strong enough to strike fear into her weathered (still weathering) heart just by proximity alone. She was busy looking out behind the stand at what lay beyond the light slope of a small hill. Surrounded by tightly knit young trees, branches bare, looking cold as a sweaterless chihuahua would on a day like this, was a pond. With snow on top of it. Which meant ice.
She flashed a grin that looked mostly victorious and ducked her head to pull the ice skates from off her neck, and stood right where she stopped, feet spread apart and hips switching left to right with whatever she was listening to while cold, mostly numb fingers worked to undo the laces.
[Charlie] The Theurge’s eyes lazily jaunt down the street to follow the Ragabash’s pointing, the rest of him leaning somewhat so that he can get the place in his sights. She gives a roundabout answer whereas the Forseti’s is more straightforward. He nods, ceases his aimless scratching of scar tissue that is hidden from view thanks to his layers of clothing.
“Sweet,” he says, and troops down the sidewalk without another word. Apparently he’s made up his mind.
[Joe Holst] Sullen muttering wafts like smoke from the corner of the bullish Modi’s mouth as he tromps down one of the paths. Eyes red rimmed, nose cherry red from the cold, he’s dutiful if unhappy about it. He’d told Marrick he’d patrol Grant Park- so patrol he did, with broad shoulders hunched and fists punched like heavy stones into the pockets of his flight jacket.. the flight jacket that could use some lining, for fuck’s sake.
Grumblegrumblegrumble. He stares hard at a happy, passing couple- begrudging them the right to be so happy outside of a heated enviornment. The strange part is he’s Fenrir. The Great Wolf made them- but bitter cold whelped them.. it seems less the temperature and more hidden concerns that take his humor away.
[Callie] *Charlie drifts away again, as he so often does, and Callie finds herself once more with the Fenrir. She sucks the last vestiges of sauce off her fingers and slides round on the bench, slippery with rain and sleet, facing him* ok . . Callie Walks-the-Line. Ragabash. So, there you are. Introductions made.
[Moira Murray] The afternoon spent in the park is a stolen bit of time away from her duties. The morning wasted on the boring task of playing errand girl for someone at Hill House. Moira had called in after her lunch break and made up a story just to get the rest of the day off. She spent that freedom wandering Grant Park.
Stepping out into the cold after visiting the museum, she huddled up into the heavy layers of a black wool trench coat. Her hair bound up in its usual style of a long single braid that escaped the confines of a snug wool knit cap to fall over her left shoulder. The sturdy flat-soles of worn combat boots thrum against the pavement, crunching down snow as she escapes the pathway to cross over snow-filled lawns.
She twists her head, turning to watch the people that linger in the park, eyes taking in the sights and wonders of how different the city look painted in winter. For as long as she has lived here, the southern born kin has never grown used to it. Often reveling and swearing about the cold.
[Daniel Ingenssen] Charlie walks off to get food. The ‘polite’ thing for Daniel to do now would be to resume conversation with Callie, particularly since she’d offered an introduction.
But he doesn’t. The Forseti’s attention is caught elsewhere — so firmly and so suddenly that it draws his wiry, lean frame upright; furrows his brow. He stares for a few seconds. Then, without so much as an excuse-me, he gets up and walks directly, purposefully toward the Fenrir-bred kin with the ice skates.
Drew is just bending to put her first skate on when Daniel reaches out to pluck her earbuds out of her ears.
“Kinswoman of Fenris,” he addresses her, as though this were her name.
[Callie] *Another shrug, Callie slips off the bench, scrunching the remnants of a paper napkin up into a ball and wanders off after Charlie in the direction of the sandwich stall where at least they have a bin*
[Drew Roscoe] Drew’s cold-numb fingers were nimble enough in the end, the laces had come undone, and she hummed a verse to herself from the iPod tucked away securely in a pocket somewhere on the inside of her coat, grinding a little strain into the last note when she dropped down to sit on the pavement, where at least the snow was cleared away, even if her ass would chill through the denim that covered it, and started to go about untying the shoelaces that kept her sneakers on.
It was about that point that a set of shoes and knees came directly in front of her, and a hand moved toward her face.
Can you blame the girl for her immediate response? I’d hope not. After all, she’d shot down a Black Spiral Dancer in this park before, it was a dangerous place to be, and while she had scolded herself and promised to just take it easy and have some fun today, that didn’t stop her from being ready and alert. She reached up to swat the hand away, jerked her head to the side to try and keep his fingers away from her face, and rocketed up to her feet, nose and forehead crinkled up in a ‘what the hell?’ expression.
Kinswoman of Fenris, he called her. This had her blinking, expression smoothing just enough that it went from offensive, fight-or-flight, to cautious suspicion. “….Yeah?”
[Joe Holst] Crunch crunch crunch.. the boots keep a loud cadence as he tromps aimlessly, everything zipped and clipped and buckled to his chin. A stutter step and his boot whisks through a snow covered pile of leaves, sending drifts of snow to float through the air.. the brief sparkles seem to pick him up a bit. His attention continues to slide through the trees until a small clearing around a fountain reveals some of the other’s enjoying an Illinois winter day. The terrible donkey bray will never be interrupted by anything as debilitating as a cold, so it remains just a bit too loud. The hunting horn of a dangerous lower middle- class.
“Ey MOIRA! Yoah shit fallin’ off yet?”
[Moira Murray] The bray of the Jersey drawl snaps Moira’s attention immediately, she isn’t used to hearing her name screeched across the park like that. The statement almost has her hackles raised as she expected the mouthy Rotagar to be yelling it, but is a bit surprised to see Joe instead. Her nose crinkles up, pausing to stop and stare back at him.
She starts to laugh, pink color blossoming in her cheeks standing out in bright contrast to pale features and bright blue eyes. “No, Joe, I’m bound rather securely, but thank you for asking… I think.”
Nothing else holds her attentions, so Moira redirects her path to walk to the young Jarl, meeting up him halfway. She grins at him, “I’d think you of all people would be used to this weather, Jersey boy.”
[Daniel Ingenssen] Now that he had her attention, this ‘kinswoman of Fenris’, Daniel seems at a loss. He stands there frowning at her, her earbuds in his hand.
The Forseti is not particularly tall; an inch or two under six feet, one might guess, and narrow across the shoulders. Narrow in the hip. Narrow, narrow, all of him lean and tough as jerky. His eyes are dark, and the slant of his orbits — pure scandinavia — combined with the downturn of his mouth give his face a permanently mournful look. If Rage weren’t burning off of him, as strong as an Ahroun’s, it would be easy to write him off as the downtrodden, the weak, the neglected and dejected.
His hair is cut close, a sandy blond. And he’s rather underdressed for the weather in jeans and a fleece-lined hoodie. The cold doesn’t seem to bother him.
Fenris made them, after all. And the cold whelped them.
At length he releases her earbuds. Unless she catches them, they fall to the snow, almost soundless. “Do all purebred kin of Fenris wander this protectorate openly?” Dark eyes flick around; return. “The Scab is dangerous.”
[Drew Roscoe] He stared at her, and she stared right back. Whatever examination he was making of her while trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with himself after actually bringing himself to the girl’s attention wouldn’t yield an awful lot. Her lower lip was busted open and scabbed over, like someone had landed quite the blow to her face a few days ago tops. Her skin was lightening up now that the sun was spending most of its time hiding behind clouds and she was bundled up under clothes. Her hair was brown, rich not bland, and bound at the nape of her neck with bangs falling helter skelter about her face. Her eyes were also brown, and about as strong as you’d hope a Get of Fenris Kinfolk’s would be.
One eyebrow crawled a little higher as she waited for him to say something, then a small yelp of “Hey!” was exclaimed when he dropped her earbuds after having yanked them out of her ear. She reached out to catch them, did so (barely), then wound them up around a hand to tuck away in her pocket.
His question was met with a sniff and a sideways tilt of her head. “You telling me I should have an armed guard wherever I go, or that I should just stay inside all my life?”
[Joe Holst] “Foyst Wintah like-” Joe blinks and clears his throat- put your head together, Joe.. screamin’ out shit like that.. He tromps closer to the dark haired witch and chucks his chin up a bit before he continues, voice lower. He turns to walk with the slender Seidr-cona and speaks as bright eyes continue to swivel against the winter glare, watching the park. “Et’s mah foyst wintah on tew feet since I hit mah secon’ pub’aty, yeah?” He cocks an eyebrow and nods a bit.
[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel’s head tilts too. No; it cocks, like an animal’s. Suddenly his eyes are very direct, utterly unwavering.
“It was a question, kinswoman. At the Sept of the Seventh Isle, where I was born, our kin lived close to the bawn where they could be watched and protected.”
[Moira Murray] If Moira realized that the Fenrir beside her regarded her as witch, she would have laughed outright. The notion was very far from the truth, she did possess a cauldron, and an ancient textbook filled with herbal remedies and potions… and owned a cat, which wasn’t black.
It takes her a moment to decipher his accent, Joe always made her brain work overtime, having to think on his choice of words. His second pub’aty, brought a confused look to her features, dark lashes sweeping down against her cheekbones in confused blinking.
“Second pub’aty?… oh, Oh! Right,” she shakes her head, “Your first change…” she murmurs the latter. Her eyes sliding away to glance over the park as his did. “I grew up in the south, in Florida. We don’t have snow ever… just every other act of God known to mankind.”
[Moira Murray] (very close to the truth – blah, not far)
[Drew Roscoe] “Dude.”
..obviously this girl wasn’t raised on etiquette and proper terms with which you should address what could be considered your ‘betters’.
“I don’t know what a ‘bawn’ is, for one. For another, I’ve got my protectors, thank you very much, and I can call on them if I find myself needing them. So far that system’s worked out pretty well, seeing as how I’m still alive.” She tipped her chin down some, spread her arms open in a gesture to her own physical well-being (busted lip aside, of course), then looked back up to him with an expression torn between ‘See? Told you so’ and something more pleasant, what really should be there when you’re meeting someone new.
“Don’t suppose we could, like, exchange names or something? I’m sure you’re about as keen on being called ‘Wolfman’ as I am being called ‘kinswoman’.”
[Callie] *Callie tosses the screwed up napkin into the bin and starts walking through the slush, all that remains of the formerly neat edged path and grassy spaces, heading for the exit that will place her closest to home*
[Daniel Ingenssen] “Are you not a kinswoman?” Transiently, the corner of Daniel’s mouth crooks up. “Am I not a wolfman? I call things as they are.
“But for the sake of the Veil, you can call me Daniel.” Before she quite gets a chance to respond, he points at her lip. “What happened there?”
[Izzy Montoya] Coffee. She lives on the stuff, and has quickly relocated every coffee shop, every coffee stand, and has learned which ones to avoid, which ones are passable, and which ones are the best. This little stand in the park is by far only passable, but it’s closest to her, and they at least brew a cup that’s hot and mudlike, vs. lukewarm at best.
As she stands at the window, waiting for her cup, there’s no mistaking what Izzy is; Most obviously, to all, she’s a cop. She holds herself like one, her look seems to scream it even if her badge is currently in the pocket of her sleek trenchcoat, and the astute would even notice the bulge of her holster at the small of her back. She wears sensible shoes, dark slacks, a light colored blouse that is tailored to fit her slender form, and finishes the look with leather gloves that fit her hands like a second skin. To others, those born True in the nation, she is more – so much more. She is the daughter of Heroes and Warriors, of those filled with bravery, courage beyond measure, honor and wisdom and glory above all. It fairly thums through her being, her blood, singing to those who glance her way. She is a Daughter of Fenrir, and one of note.
To Izzy, though? She’s simply cold. “Hurry the fuck up man. Seriously. Coffee, black, four sugars one cream – it’s not fuckin’ rocket science!”
It’s bloody cold here in Chicago. Moving back in November? Not one of her brightest ideas.
[Joe Holst] “Dassright. FLahrida, huh? Hip Hop land? Wouldn’a t’ought it ta lookit ya.” Steam floats away from Joe’s unhandsome, heavy jawed mug as they walk.. he blinks again as he spies Drew down near the pond, and the lean, hard lined man with her. There’s pure breeding, and then there’s raw Scandinavia shrieking from your skin. The difference might be subtle but as they draw closer it becomes more and more telling. Something hitches gleefully across Joe’s shoulders.. Drew seems as comfortable as she’s likely to get around a stranger for a while.. could it be? More of Great Fenris’ own?
[Moira Murray] “Where did you think I came from? Bellow war cries and brandishing a spear while riding wolf-back like some Valkyrie down the cliffs of the Scottish Highlands?”
Amusement writes itself into her voice, shaking her head a little as she glanced his way, studying the pit-bullish heavy features of the Fenrir she walks with. She follows his eyes to the pond, her attention drawn there now. A hand pulls out from a coat pocket, bound in soft leather, lifting up to rub across her brow, sweeping aside black bangs to tuck them along the rim of her knit cap.
“Seems as if Drew is a magnet for strangers, is he one of ours?” The question pressed quietly, focusing her gaze fully on Daniel as she watches him, trying to gauge his mannerism and attitude through the expressions of his body language.
[Drew Roscoe] “Yeah, I guess, but still…” She furrowed her brow just a little, but the frown was more comical than it was true, staged for effect, to try and coax a full smile out of the sandy-haired guy perhaps. Sandy-haired, but she could call him Daniel. She greeted this offering of a name with a broad smile, one that was bright enough that the urge to reach out and pat her on the head eclipsed most other for half a second. Her hands jammed into her coat pockets, both at the same time, while she put the earbuds away, even if that was only necessary for the one hand.
“Awesome. I’m D–…”
She’s cut off by his lifting a hand and pointing to her face, asking what happened. She blinked and pulled her lower lip in to hold it gingerly between her teeth, running her tongue over the scabbed-up area. Oh, that. She let go of it so that she could talk again, finishing the sentence she was trying to get out when he jumped in with inquisition. “Well, I’m Drew, so you can call me that. And this is a story I probably shouldn’t tell in a park. But let’s suffice to say that it wasn’t exactly friendly fire, y’know?”
[Dominick Crane] It’s cold outside. Too cold for hanging out in the park, or walking the trails or passing a blissful day in repose. Not that he’d partake of any such activity. Hot, or cold. He steps off the bus at the corner, clipping the metal latch of his messenger bag shut as he slings it over one slender shoulder. The Chicago wind blusters his ebon hair, revealing a shock of pale white skin, and a glitter of baby blues before he lifts a half gloved hand and rakes his shaggy hair back into place over his eyes. “WTF is up with this wind?” He says into the blue tooth that hangs from one ear as he starts toward the park.
Just because he wouldn’t partake of a lazy day in the park, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have reason to go there. Black and white striped Converse sneakers have a choke hold on thick wool socks which in turn strangle the sleek black denim of skinny jeans. Skinny jeans take on a whole new meaning when they’re encasing the twiggy legs of a pubescent male whose voice has barely made it through the awkward crackling stage of puberty. “Fuck that noise. Reznor’s a pussy. Did you see the numbers Crainus put up last week? That’s what I’m talking about. Pure pwnage man.” A pair of metal balls adorn in full lower lip, a fact that is almost hidden by the sheer volume of the black and pink paisley scarf he wears. A three quarter length wool jacket flaps around his knobby knees as he veers into the park, baby blues sweeping the landscape as he goes. “Bring it asshat. I’ll be online by six. Fuck no… I am not doing Ulduar again.”
[Joe Holst] A smirk colors his face as he tilts his chin to respond to Moira. All teen, no reverence. “Dunno- but dat’s HOT, so youse outta tell dat one instead. Flahrida’s feh pussies. Heh.”
Holy… Joe’s considerable forward momentum is reigned in with a haphazard scrape of boots through snow and ice- he blinks past Moira to Izzy- a swivel of eyes to compare the two before he scowls slightly in confusion.
” ‘Ey Em- yew know dat broad?” Joe tilts his chin at Izzy.. jaw slackening somewhat at the BLAZE of breeding surrounding her motions in shades of hard winter and harder swords.
[Izzy Montoya] Finally, coffee in hand, paid for and mixed to her specifications, and she turns away from the stand and starts off on the path. She plucks the lid off the coffee cup, dropping it in the nearby can as she starts to walk toward the pond – for no other reason than that’s the direction she’s headed in.
She lifts the cup, steam washing over her face as she takes a sip, than hisses as it burns her tongue. “Motherfucker…” and then takes another swig anyway. Sometimes you gotta burn your tongue to save you the travesty of taste.
[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel doesn’t give a full smile. If anything, he goes the other way, the corners of his mouth turning down again. “And that’s exactly why the Seventh Isle kept their kin close to home. Your breeding makes you a beacon for the Wyrm. Even those as wretched as Jormangandr’s own know the strength of Fenris and covet it for their own.”
The lean Forseti’s eyes are everywhere at once, perceptive in a way few humans would dream of being, and few Garou even managed. That Moira and Joe are watching him catches his attention sooner or later. Makes him turn, makes him look right at them. A beat; then he leans down and picks Drew’s ice skates up. Apparently she was done skating before she even began.
“Come with me, kinswoman.”
[Dominick Crane] Motherfucker…
Baby blues life behind a veil of shaggy black hair, and settle on Izzy briefly. A slow smirk forming on pierced and lightly glossed lips as a half gloved hand comes up again to sweep hair from his eyes. Black fingernails color the pale tips of his fingers as he adjusts the scarf around his neck and taps the blue tooth at his ear to shut it off. “Newb.” He mutters under his breath in response to his phone conversation as he finds a bench and sets his messenger back atop it. Peering around the park, he pauses before unclipping the metal latch of the bag and flipping the flap open.
From inside he pulls a digital camera. A laptop. A connecting wire. Expensive equipment for an for a kid to be toting around.
[Moira Murray] “Tell you what, Joe, I’ll go find a spear and you give me a ride and I’ll scream battle cries just for your amusement.”
She ends up walking a few paces past the Fenrir before stopping completely, turning back to look at him in surprise as he is stopped in bewilderment. She looks around, first in the direction of Drew and Daniel, and then back to Joe.
When he asks her about Izzy, she tilts her head furrowing her eyes a little. Moira knew some people, but not many of the recent faces. “No, I have never seen her before in my life, why?”
[Drew Roscoe] “Jormund–” she thought she’d try out that crazy new word for herself, but messed it up before she even reached the middle. Her brows dipped in close together as a frown of serious thought, genuine this time, settled onto her face. She shivered a bit and moved her hands to tug the fur-lined hood of her coat up, then looked down to follow this new guy’s movements when he leaned down to scoop her ice skates up in one hand and insisted that she come along with him wherever it was that he was going.
“Hey! Again, it’s Drew. One syllable, ain’t that tough, Daniel. And you wanna know what I got for extending my trust to some stranger last time? No, ya probably don’t. I don’t what you are. Could be putting up a really good act for all I know.”
She half-squinted about, then paused at the image of two familiar faces up an adjacent path from them.
“Here, look.” One hand swatted Daniel’s elbow to catch his attention (as though that was necessary), then that same hand pointed over to Moira and Joe. “Big bald kid? You met him yet?”
[Dominick Crane] Setting up his “rig” he kneels next to the bench, skinny legs bent at the knee, pale black nailed fingers picking away at the small laptops keyboard. When he’s through, he lifts the camera and plugs the connector into it before turning it on. Checking the screen on the laptop to make sure the picture is good, he starts taking aim and shooting.
Naked branches. Wind torn litter. Iced pond. Drew and Daniel. Joe and Moira. Izzy.
Whatever crosses his view finder.
[Joe Holst] “Cuz we outta. Like right away. She’s fambly- an’ mebbe him tew-” Never one for manners when brutish gusto will suffice, Joe thrusts a thick finger at Izzy, then at Daniel.. who gets a doubletake, and the hint of a scowl that seems oddly solemn. His attention remains on the man long enough for him to drop the hand pointing at him, and bullish Joe gives the lean man a faint nod. Good. Everyone coming together.
Joe spreads his hands and claps them together as he nods from Moira to Izzy. “Yew get her. I’mma say hi tew da new guy. We all needa know each uddah.”
He chuckles a bit, teeth flashing from behind thin lips as he responds belatedly to what Moira herself had said. “An’ don’ t’ink I dint catch dat. Any moah outta youse an’ imma tell Joss on YEW.”
The smile explodes across his face almost manic, then he drops it again and turns to Drew and Daniel, waiting for them to arrive. Yes.. that man isn’t completely human. Joe’s stony hands slip from his pocket with the unconscious over-preparedness of any Fenrir who still carries a bit of the patina of the Fostering. Their tribe makes a hard lot… and it only gets harder.
[Moira Murray] “You are a big boy, Joe,” she grins at him when he responds to her comment, “You don’t need to hide behind Joss to handle me.”
With that, Moira walks past him, giving the young Jarl a friendly nudge in the arm with her shoulder as she does as she is asked, making her way towards Izzy. She watches the woman, moving as quickly as the snow will allow her to, boots flattening a pathway with each snapping crunch.
A tilt of her head, warm breath steaming in the air as she exhales, calling out to Izzy, “Excuse me, Miss?”
[Izzy Montoya] She is the observant type. In her line of work, she has to be. Perceptive, aware, and despite her brashness, good at her job. She has noted the group ahead, as well as the boy on the bench. While the equipment is expensive for a kid to be toting around, it’s not necessarily a warning sign. Not in today’s electronic world. She simply notes him, his position, and scowls as his camera is aimed her way.
As she’s deciding whether or not to approach that bench, she is called too. Politely even. She takes another swig of her coffee, and when Moira has closed most of the distance, answers. “Can I help you?”
Aw, she CAN be polite.
[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel is nothing close to human.
He walks on two legs. He has opposeable thumbs. The hair on his head, the bristle of his beard, and a light dusting of body hair is all that remains of his mammalian fur. Other than that, he shares almost nothing with humanity.
His eyes are too direct, too unwavering. There’s something about the way he moves, too, light on his feet, wolf-lean. As Drew follows along, prattling like the girl she is, Daniel says to her quietly — not rudely, though rather firmly — “Be quiet, kinswoman.”
Then they’re within the Modi’s range, and Daniel drops his eyes quickly, but significantly, from the other’s. It’s a rare Fenrir that will defer to another without even a show of might-testing; but then, Daniel is not entirely like most Fenrir.
“War-Handed, I saw you at the moot.” Once he begins, there’s no stopping; it all comes out, laid forth with no hesitation, no pride, no fear. “My name is Broken Hammer, a son of Fenris shamed by his own blind wrath. I have stolen from Fenris. The theft was that of the life of one of his True warriors, wrongly slain for a crime he did not commit. I will never be able to repay Great Fenris, but you are Jarl in this protectorate. If wish to exact a price from me, it’s yours to ask.”
[Moira Murray] Moira stops a few feet away from Izzy, enough to be a considered a polite distance when approaching a stranger to converse with them. She looks back over her shoulder once, to see how the encounter with Daniel and Drew is playing out. She swings her gaze back to Izzy, flicking her eyes up and down quickly, and then offers her a rather pleasant smile.
She points over her shoulder to Joe, “My friend, Joe, would sent me over. He’d like to make your
[Drew Roscoe] Daniel was walking off with her ice skates anyways, muttering to her a quiet but firm and direct ‘be quiet’. Drew stood, blinked once, and opened her arms to no one in particular in a ‘What the fuck?’ gesture, palms turned skyward. She huffed some, indignant, and shook her head, then walked along after him.
Not because he said to follow, but because he was heading over to Joe, and because that asshole was still carrying her ice skates.
“It’s Drew,” she insisted yet again to his back, and jammed her hands back into her pockets as she trotted to catch up, then came to a stop beside the too-lean man, reaching out to snag her skates back from him while he was glancing down and launching immediately into some explanation of how he killed someone and wanted to pay Joe fifty bucks to make up for it or some shit like that.
“Hey, don’t you think you should contain that? Since this is kind of a public arena and all?” She fully expected another ‘be quiet kinswoman’, but didn’t seem deterred by that at all. Instead she glanced to Joe, flashed him a smile and lifted her hand in a silent ‘hi’.
[Moira Murray] She points over her shoulder to Joe, “My friend, Joe, would sent me over. He’d like to make your acquaintance, that is, if you aren’t busy.”
(finishes sentence…)
[Izzy Montoya] She arches a brow, slightly, and looks past Moira to Joe. There’s an awful lot of Joes in a city as big as Chicago, and she gives him a slow once over – and then smirks, slightly.
“Alright. Any particular reason why?”
She takes note of the others speaking with the bullish kid, and then returns her gaze to Moira, closing the distance between them, a gesture with her cup letting her take the lead in the groups’ direction.
[Joe Holst] “Drew. Shaddap a minit.” He nods to reinforce the heavy order before he returns his eyes to Daniel. “At’s a story I’ll have in full, Broken- Hammah.” His reception of the other’s introduction is wolf- swift.. a thing easily missed by any not very aware of the often dangerous underpinnings of body language. The bullish kid is receptive, polite enough, and precise- the rest is missed for the wintery glare even under Chicago’s muddy sky. A gust of air preceeds what else he says, then Joe’s muted Jersey honk skates between them again.
“Ah’m new ta dis. Ta mah role. Buh’ I dew know yew reprimand in private. If Maelstrom owah yoah folk demand a price from yew we’ll deal widdit back home. Tanight, when I’m shuwah yew aint awready paid twice. Ok? Inna meantime welcome ta da Scab, Forseti.”
[Moira Murray] She clasps her hands together, curling leather-bound fingers over the knuckles as her arms draw up to her chest. She waits until Izzy has closed the distance between them, stepping to the side and turning, walking when Izzy starts to join her.
Her voice is low, “He’s the Jarl,” she says with a grin, “And identified you as family?”
[Joe Holst] ((Guys I am really sorry but I have to run off for about 40 minutes. Truly very sorry. I look foreward to continuing with you all later though.))
to Daniel Ingenssen, Drew Roscoe, Izzy Montoya, Moira Murray
[Izzy Montoya] She arches a brow slightly, and gives him the once over again. The smirk returns, and she takes another swig of her coffee. It really does taste like shit – the other guy does it better.
“Ah. That Joe. Christ, he’s just a motherfuckin’ kid.” She runs leatherclad fingers through her hair, and lets it fall back over her shoulders. They get younger every fuckin’ year. “I figured he’d find me sooner or later. Met a friend of his… Thomas… a week or so back.”
Yeah, that went swimmingly. “Name’s Izzy. Detective Izzy Montoya. I take it you’re a member of this family too?”
[Drew Roscoe] Be quiet, shut up. Shhh, big kids are talking, just stand there and look chilly for a minute.
Drew lifted her eyebrows a little, then sighed her defeat and shrugged. Sounded like business anyways, the kind of stuff that maybe she should be paying attention to so that she could learn details, become more educated… but it was political. Garou politics were made of centuries old meetings around fires in European woodlands and pacts made over shields. They were primal and outdated, though rooted in simple, functional logic, she had to admit. She didn’t much care for many of them, but she didn’t argue openly with them either.
Instead she clicked her teeth together once, glanced down, then knelt and set her skates up on her thighs so that she could re-lace them. Looks like she wasn’t ice skating any time soon after all.
[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel nods to that, once, grim and sharp.
Then the bullish young Jarl is moving off; Daniel is rounding on Drew. “Does your mouth never stop, girl? Learn to keep it shut when the Trueborn are talking, or one of these days a wolf with a harsher temper than mine will shut it for you.”
[Drew Roscoe] Joe excused himself with some sort of murmer that was too low with that thick Jersey muck of his for even her to make out, and she typically did a pretty bang-up job of getting around it to understand what he was getting at. Soon as the boy with hulking muscles and a gap in his front teeth was a dozen yards or so off, Daniel spun about to berate her.
She looked up at him with a crease of irritation on her face. Her mouth tugged at one corner, pulled back in something that looked like it might be half of an obviously forced smile, but in truth was simple restraint. Her eyes narrowed a touch, then closed when she forced lines smooth by pushing her eyebrows up and shrugging.
“Alright. Whatever you say, chief.”
[Moira Murray] “Yes, as a matter-of-fact, I am,” Moira says without looking at Izzy, her attention on Drew mostly, narrowi-eyed as she watches her and Daniel together. Joe has to make a hasty retreat and she sighs, her head drops down and shakes slightly.
“She may need rescuing,” this murmured to Izzy with a bit of fondness, glancing to her. “Moira Murray, I work with Hill House, a kinfolk organization here in Chicago.”
Moira clears her throat, lifting her voice up over the park so it reached the other kin clearly, “Hey, Drew, have you met…” indicating to Izzy, who walks beside her.
[Izzy Montoya] “Pleasure.” It comes across as something simply said, that she has no real investment on if meeting Moira is a pleasure yet or not. She can be polite. She simply rarely is. “I’ve heard mention of the ‘House, though haven’t looked very deep into it.”
Then Joe slips off, and Moira suggests Drew may need rescued. “Goody. I haven’t fuckin’ shot anyone today.” A beat. “Yet.” It might be a joke. It might not. Izzy doesn’t clarify.
[Daniel Ingenssen] Amazing; she actually shut her mouth. Daniel looks nonplussed. Then he looks down; her ice skates are still in his hand. He holds them out to her.
“There are many of the tribe in the vicinity, so you might as well go have your fun. But go straight home after. The Scab is no place for a purebred kin to wander about recklessly.”
(i gotta take off soon! will be back laterishly.)
[Kemp Oates] If he had heard the babysitting he would of choked to death. What little he knew of Drew, it was that she thought she was a God and never EVER listened. And he had little tolerance, it grew shorter by the day. It had gotten to the point that mostly he turned away rather than deal with the urge to splat. Fortunately Kemp turned up some distance from all of them. Just in time to catch a glimpse of Joe walking off in the distance and the sight of Drew and Daniel (who he had yet to met other than seeing him at the moot) and Moira over there with another he didn’t know. Worse part was, out of those he saw 3 out of 4 was female Kin. It made him twitch.
So, despite his height, he worked at that one thing he did best, he tried to blend in with his surroundings, despite the puff of his breath in the cold.
[Drew Roscoe] “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” she responded to him and snatched her skates back, completed lacing them together, and slung them about her shoulders carelessly enough that one might have a momentary jolt of panic for her that she’s going to thrust a blade through that coat and into her chest. It doesn’t happen, though, the ice blades click off one another and lay still and harmless on her chest.
She straightened up and glanced over to Moira when she spoke her name, blinked, then smiled. She remembered Moira quite well. Get of Fenris Kinfolk, one that apparently had some sort of history with Kemp. From what she picked up, anyways, and she didn’t pick up much. They knew each other as kids or something like that. What she knew about Moira, though, was that the girl had to be claravoyant or something since she sensed danger that night in the dance club, she knew that the girl was practical, fairly smart, and what she would deem to be ‘easy to get along with’. She’d decided she liked Moira when the girl had tossed her a gun and let her do her thing as opposed to running away along with the crowd.
“Hey Moira!” She cut a glance up to Daniel, briefly, as though checking to make sure he wasn’t going to breathe down her neck for talking to Moira and this new woman or something, then turned her attention to Izzy. She had to look at the woman for a moment, had to think. She looked familiar but she couldn’t place why immediately. Two seconds tick by, though, and it clicks. “Yeah! You’re the gal that Thomas, like, gave a ballad about. Sorry, I didn’t really catch your name so much as your grandpa’s that day.”
She smiled apologetically and shrugged, grabbing a hold of an ice skate with either hand and letting her arms relax like that, hanging by her chest.
[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel, doubtlessly to Drew’s relief, does not chase after her to berate her for some other wrongdoing or other. When she looks back, the Forseti is watching her go, frowning.
Then he too is turning away. He catches sight of Kemp — but they’re a ways apart, and the Adren looked like he was trying to be inconspicuous. After a hesitation, Daniel decides to leave him be. He nods to his elder; when he moves, though, he walks the other way, out of the park, toward the Brotherhood.
(thanks for the RP, folks! taking off for a while!)
[Moira Murray] Moira’s considered many things amongst the people that knew of her. A resident of Chicago, she has seen and experienced many things in the past four years of her life since running away from her birth sept that has shaped and defined her as the woman she is today.
Witch. Clairvoyant. Wise-woman. Seidr-cona…
The smiles she wears when she greets people, especially Drew, is genuine and understanding, considerate of those around her. It is no surprise to her when Daniel makes his hasty exit, running off to wherever he needs to be. Not a word of acknowledgment to Moira, she inhales deeply of the cold air, holding it for a second and then exhales out.
“Good, you two have met, that saves me from having to make introductions.” She replies to Drew and Izzy, glancing between the two of them.
Something twists in her gut, her attention is drawn away, becoming vague as cobalt blue eyes scan the horizon, searching across snow-filled lawns and ice-paved pathways. He slid into her peripheral, distance kept at great length. Her eyes narrowed, watchful on the tall figure of the Rotagar. Moira presses her lips together, debates about calling out to him, and then a side-glance to Drew, thought better of it.
Moira just goes back to watching Kemp.
[Izzy Montoya] She brings up the ‘ballad’ and Izzy groans. It’s the first time she’d looked uncomfortable, been uncomfortable, when Thomas had waxed poetical about her family line. She prefers to make a name for herself, by herself, and doesn’t get caught off guard like that often. It won’t happen again.
However, to Drew, she simply nods. “Yeah. Detective Izzy Montoya. CPD – Homicide.”
Introduction made, and she nods toward where Daniel disappeared. “Lost your shadow, did ya?”
[Kemp Oates] He didn’t get out much, at least around others. The Moots were about the most contact he had with others. So, he had no idea Daniel was somehow involved in Drew’s life. Last he’d seen she had Joe and Thomas dancing to whatever melody she played. He returned the acknowledgment from Daniel as he departed with a faint lift of his chin. A dark stocking cap kept his head warm, leaving long muddy brown hair sticking out all the way down over his collar. He wasn’t much for hair cuts.
As Drew went to join Moira and the other female, he watched and then point blank stared when Moira seemed to sense him. He stared for several long heart beats before he gave a faint cant of his head and his teeth shown in a brilliant smile that from this distance she would never notice was completely show. After all he was Rotagar and it was all about the show.
[Drew Roscoe] “I thought you were a cop,” she said with a chuckle and a nod. “That much confidence and the way you hold yourself? That or a gym teacher, and you look like you’re more honest dignity than puffed-up self importance to me.”
Cop, that was respectable enough. Maybe that’s what she could do? Help keep crime and dredges and stuff under control, that could be her contribution to the war. …But then, cops were supposed to arrest for murder. Technically, according to the law, what the Garou were doing was murder. Those monsters might be monsters, but they had names and social security numbers, a lot of them, and cops had to clean that up, work with missing persons reports, and find someone to blame when they turned up dead and decaying in pieces in the lake.
…Maybe not. Detective Montoya could handle the cop work for Fenris, she thought. Her and that Thornton fellow. Izzy mentioned that she’d lost her shadow, and Drew blinked, then turned to look over her shoulder at Daniel’s retreating back. Her brow twisted into a frown and she huffed a visible breath after the man. “Yeah, can’t say I’m too torn up about that, though. That guy’s got less of a sense of humor than Thomas does, and that’s saying something.”
[Moira Murray] Kemp was too far away for Moira to really discern his facial expresses. He is quite the showman with the false grin that plays across his face. She clears her throat, lips pressed together as Moira glanced back over her shoulder at Izzy and Drew. She jerks her head in a direction.
“I need to go make nice with someone, maybe bring the tortoise out of his shell,” she laughs, her breath condensing to form a warm mist on the air.
Before they can say anything to her, she cuts away from the herd of female kin, leaving Drew to Izzy as they seem engrossed in conversation and walks away in Kemp’s direction.
[Izzy Montoya] Drew thought she was a cop. A brow arches, slightly. “That so.”
She turns to follow the direction of Moira’s gaze, seeing Kemp in the distance. She studies him a moment, and then returns her attention to Drew. Another swig of the rapidly cooling coffee, and she grimaces at the taste – finishes it off in two swallows and tosses the cup into the nearby can. Leather clad fingers rub together idly, before tucking into the pockets of her trenchcoat – which, despite the fact she’s fuckin’ cold – is unbuttoned. All the better to reach her gun.
[Laila Frolich] (Would you mind another joining? :) )
to Drew Roscoe, Izzy Montoya, Kemp Oates, Moira Murray, Thomas
[Moira Murray] (it’s an open scene!)
to Drew Roscoe, Izzy Montoya, Kemp Oates, Laila Frolich, Thomas
[Drew Roscoe] Drew blinked when Moira mentioned she had to go make nice, and her eyes followed in the direction of where she was walking. She squinted, hunting for a body, and found it trying to blend in amongst the naked trees. Kemp, the ‘Adren’ (whatever that was). Something seemed to deflate out of her, like she was accepting defeat before any sort of conflict began, and she called after Moira with half a smile on her face, to show that she was only half joking.
“Or you could just leave the shell alone.”
Izzy was unbuttoning her coat, looking out toward Kemp with the same wary eye she used when she wasn’t sure if she should be reaching readily for her own pistol or not, and Drew watched her for a second before shaking her head and unzipping her coat a bit as well. “You don’t need to worry about that. It’s Kemp. Won’t do any of us any harm.” She was unzipping her coat for another reason, though. She remembered that Daniel had yanked her earbuds from her ears, but that didn’t mean her iPod had shut off. She dug around inside her coat until bare, gloveless fingers found the mp3 player and switched it off.
That accomplished, she could zip her coat back up, adjust her hood, and shove her hands away into her pockets once more.
[Izzy Montoya] Then her phone rings, and she pulls the cell from her pocket, looks at the number, and with a nod. “If you’ll excuse me a moment.” Though there’s the sense that she doesn’t give a shit if she’s excused or not. She simply steps a few feet away, hits the button and barks. “Montoya.”
(running pickup for the kids at school – back in 30 and I’ll hop back in. Until then, Izzy’s off to the side on the phone.)
[Izzy Montoya] (her coat was already unbuttoned, actually. *L* but yeah. *dashes* bbs)
[Drew Roscoe] Or rather…
“You don’t need to wo–”
Ring ring!
Excuse me.
“…worry.” She shrugged and was suddenly rather alone. Her shoulders shrugged up in something of acceptance of this new development, and she took to rocking her weight back and forth from the heels of her feet to her toes. Even going so far as to whistle a bit.
[Kemp Oates] He watched as Moira approached. The smile was long gone, but he forced another as she drew close enough to hear. Soon she would be close enough to feel the heat that radiated from his body.
“Whatcha doing out in the cold? Gonna freeze your parts off and I’m not picking them up. Though if I do, I ain’t returning ’em.”
[Laila Frolich] It’s cold, but that doesn’t deter Laila from sneaking in a run in one of her favorite places in Chicago: Grant Park. She is dressed for the weather – insulated running pants, a sweatshirt and running shoes. Gloves are on her hands and while her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, there’s a wide headband keeping stray strands from finding a place in her eyes.
Rounding a curve, she spots Drew and starts to slow. A smile already finding its way to her lips.
[Moira Murray] “I was drawn over here, oh great and mighty Rotagar, to try and steal your body heat…” She teases him, wiggling her eyebrows. Her nose and cheeks were flushed with a pink stain of color, mostly from the cold, indicating she has been out here for some time. She shakes her head, reaching up to adjust the knit cap on her head, pulling it down lower over her forehead to rest a few inches above her eyebrows.
“I was conversing with family it seems. Joe was just here but had to piss on a tree I guess,” she shrugs her shoulders, “If any of my important parts manage to freeze and fall off, you’re more than welcome to them, it probably means I had no use for them in the first place.” She clucks her tongue, “I swear, big bad Fenrir and you all whine about the cold weather.”
[Kemp Oates] “Ain’t my tits that are going to freeze off.”
He shrugged, his breath clouding out when he spoke.
“You on the other hand are going to look strange without them.”
He reached out and grasped the edges of her knit cap on both sides of her head, gently pulling it down for her a little more before tapping her on the nose with a warm finger tip. Like his kind, he was warmer than a human.
“So I see Drew over there, who’s the other female?”
Indicating Izzy with a pointed look.
“And for that matter, who’s the jogger?”
[Drew Roscoe] Drew stood alone for a little while, thought about plugging her iPod back in and trudging over to the little pond she’d discovered, returning to her original plan of testing out the ice the brave way– by launching herself out onto it. If it cracked she’d back off quick, or get wet. One or the other, these ponds weren’t so deep that she couldn’t climb back out, properly shame-faced and teeth chattering, and get herself back to her truck before any real risk of hypothermia set in.
But then a face that she’d seen once, but was minutely familiar because she’d held conversation with the voice behind it, rounded a corner and smiled at her. Drew blinked, looking a little surprised, then smiled and lifted a hand to wave.
Familiar, yes, but she couldn’t quite remember why. Maybe she served her a couple of times at The Artisan and she left a good tip? Hard to say
[Thomas] Flesh bled through shadows, drifting around the edges of the dark with careful consideration for the deeper parts, like wells to fall into or portals to sink through. He cast glances of paranoia from the edge of every bush to the stalk of trees gargantuan, brow furrowed in the midst of the cold that swarmed the air and bit at the throat, pulling a steady drip from expose noses and pink into features where the blood rose.
Steps were fine, unconcerned grace maintaining a nerve-taut sort of preparation, even as he skirted paths and wound around landmarks in search of Brothers and little sisters. When at last the street corners push into view, from the edge of parkways and stretches of landscape, his gaze finds not only Drew, distant yet and converging with…another…but off to one side and closer still, the presence of Moira (……) and the Adren.
Dressed in the dark and thick folds of hoodie upon hoodie and cargo pants, hands wrapped in cheap felt gloves and brow tucked beneath a toque. Steps took him forward, gaze flicking toward Drew even as his steps carried him to the priority presence of Kemp.
[Moira Murray] Moira laughs, her eyes sliding inward to stare at the bridge of her nose when he pulls the cap down lower on her head and taps her nose. It wrinkles up cutely, tilting her head back to look up at him better. She sighs, shifting her stance to step up beside him, just to leech said body heat from the Rotagar.
Her head turns, regarding Drew and Izzy in the distance, the small group she had just left behind. “The woman on her phone is Izzy Montoya, she is a police detective and Fenrir kin, Joe recognized her immediately… and sent me to get her before he vanished. The man that was just there, I have no idea who he was…”
She squints, staring now at the jogger, blinking. “I have no idea never met her.”
[Laila Frolich] The apples of her cheeks are red, as is the tip of her nose. She has slowed to a slow walk now, her head tipped to one side. Her eyes skirt over everyone milling about in the vicinity near or around Drew as she moves to close the distance between them.
“Hey Drew…” She remembered the other woman immediately, for whatever reason. “How are you?”
[Kemp Oates] “Well the man that just left was one of us, Daniel.”
Thomas appeared and he canted his stocking capped head to the other Fenrir.
“Did ya know there was a kin around that’s a cop by the name of Montoya?”
He looked between Moira and Thomas, figuring Thomas knew her because he seemed to know all the female Kin.
“Do ya think she’s looking to kill the one that killed her father?”
Wondering if either would get what he meant.
[Izzy Montoya] “Jesus, Mary mother of FUCK. I work with a bunch of IDIOTS.” It’s not exactly muttered quietly as she flips her phone closed and shoves it into her pocket with a growl worthy of the blood that thrums through her veins. Some days, it doesn’t pay to get out of bed.
She’d kept an eye on where everyone went, well aware of her surroundings, even when dealing with idiocy. She steps back to the path and starts walking, in the direction of Kemp, Moira and Thomas, though it’s more accident than plan.
[Thomas] “Yes.”
To his first question concerning the Female Fenrir Kin.
“She bares the blood of Grip~of~Gallows, Athro Forseti of the Tribe, from ages past. Strong bred and pure…” At which point Thomas’ brain catches up with the Rotagar’s second question, bringing a rich and deep frown to his features, head canting toward the side to regard Monyota, still conversing to someone over the phone.
“…Her Father is….was kin. Strong of blood. I was not aware he was dead or had been slain. Was it spirals you think?” His regard doesn’t waver as it remains with Izzy’s approach.
[Moira Murray] Moira blinks, she looks away from Drew and Laila. Her eyes snap up to Kemp, her mouth twisting into a wider smile, “How many six fingered men have you seen as of late?”
[Kemp Oates] “Ya see! She knows what I mean! Gah!”
He was gesturing, indicating Moira while exclaiming to Thomas, then speaking slowly.
“The six fingered man did it. I mean, duh. Where have ya been?”
Then in a very back accent he started.
“Hallo, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my fadder, prepare to die!”
[Thomas] Six…fingered…Thomas’ frown on further darkens as he gazes up at The Rotagar.
“…Was he Metis then?”
[Drew Roscoe] As far as the vicinity of Drew went, there was a woman yelling about the idiots she worked with. That was about it, up until she turned and walked away. Apparently there was a skinhead floating around somewhere, but he wasn’t anywhere in sight. As for the others, Moira and Kemp, they were far enough away that conversations could not be heard, that you’d have to actually look for them to pay them any notice.
Drew blinked after Izzy when she turned and walked off without so much as an acknowledgment, and something akin to hurt flickered briefly on Drew’s face before she chased it away. Don’t take things personal when they were coming from nigh-perfect strangers, Drew.
She looked to where they were going, to where Kemp and Moira and… Thomas? Where’d he come from? It was starting to feel kinda lonely here, except for the girl that Drew thought was your regular human remembering her name when she couldn’t return the favor. The young Kin took a deep breath, shoved awkward and otherwise negative connotations off her shoulders, and flashed a smile of greeting at Laila. It seemed off, something looked a little tight to it, but at least she tried.
“Hey Layla… Laila! Sorry, sorry.” At least she remembered that much, and had the good grace to grin sheepishly and apologetically for the slip. “I’m… alive. How’re you?”
Though she tried for polite conversation, her gaze kept flicking over to where the convergence of her people had shifted.
[Kemp Oates] “Ya know, I think he was.”
Deciding to string him along for a bit.
“Don’tcha think he might of been Metis, Moira? I mean, that pointy little chin, the streak of coward and them fingers. Though I bet they added extra friction when jacking off.”
[Kemp Oates] ((Gah, typoville! My appologies))
to breeze, Drew Roscoe, Imogen Slaughter, Izzy Montoya, Laila Frolich, Moira Murray, Thomas
[Izzy Montoya] Izzy catches the tail end of Kemp’s statement, and smirks. “Yeah, haven’t ever fuckin’ heard that one.” Then he waxes poetic about the fact that it must have been Metis, with a pointy little chin, cowardice, and the fingers.
and jacking off.
Nice.
[Moira Murray] Moira is doing her best not to burst into laughter. Her hands pull out of her coat pockets, lifted up to cup over her mouth and nose as Kemp begins to string Thomas along. She giggles a little, nodding her head as she quirks an eyebrow at the two Fenrir.
“Why, I think he was. I’m pretty sure of it,” she agrees.
And then, Izzy suddenly bursts out with her statement. Moira loses it and laughs out loud.
[Laila Frolich] (perception + empathy – should I bug off?)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] ((RP it, don’t Roll play it *s* If ya want to join in, do so. *s* ))
to breeze, Drew Roscoe, Imogen Slaughter, Izzy Montoya, Laila Frolich, Moira Murray, Thomas
[Laila Frolich] ((Oh sorry … I didn’t know. My bad)
to Drew Roscoe, Imogen Slaughter, Izzy Montoya, Kemp Oates, Moira Murray, Thomas
[Kemp Oates] His smile was a big and wide as a shark’s as he turned it on Izzy.
“Well then, if ya ain’t never heard it.”
Deliberately misunderstanding her.
“Let me tell ya all about it.”
[Thomas] A rumble begins in the Skald’s chest, even as Izzy completes crossing the distance, the Skald turning briefly to catch Izzy’s gaze before rounding on Moira, a befuddled confusion riding the edge of her laughter and finally around on Kemp again, confusion turning to determined conviction.
“If the perpetrator is still alive we should speak with her family and perhaps hunt him down. No Metis should get away with such things..”
[Kemp Oates] (( No need to apologize. I’m just saying, if you want to play, please do. Don’t depend on a roll of the dice to tell you what you want to do. *s* I am like the worse one for dice throws, I think it ruins the fun. Just go with your gut. *s* ))
to breeze, Drew Roscoe, Imogen Slaughter, Izzy Montoya, Laila Frolich, Moira Murray, Thomas
[Izzy Montoya] Her smirk grows, and she bows, mockingly. “As you wish…”
Then she blinks at Thomas, and her smirk grows into a chuckle. “They’re fuckin’ with ya. It’s from a movie, The Princess Bride. I’ve the dubious pleasure of sharing a last name with one of the main characters, who was searchin for the 6 fingered dude who killed his pops. S’a classic. An’ somethin’ I’ve heard about eight million fuckin times.”
A beat, and then. “My folks are dead – but nothin’ ya need t’worry about.”
[Izzy Montoya] .
to Izzy Montoya
[Kemp Oates] “Heh he’s dead Thomas, don’t worry about it. It was a long time ago. Like, well before I was born.”
He knew the movie was an old one, but the fact that Thomas was clueless was just rich.
“One day do a little research into a movie called The Princess Bride, then ya’ll get it.”
He took a step closer to Thomas, bumping him with his shoulder in the way of wolves communicating.
Then he waved towards Drew, calling out in a great puff of breath.
“Yo! Drew! Bring your little friend and get your ass over here!”
[Laila Frolich] Laila follows Drew’s line of sight toward where Izzy stalked off too. There’s a moment of looking back and forth between them before she nods to the other woman. “I’m fine…I thought I’d stop and say hey…” There’s a pause, brief and just long enough for her to get a decent gulp of cold air in her lungs.
“I should be headed off though before I freeze…it was good to see you again though.” Her tone of voice is genuine, and she offers the other woman a smile in parting.
[Moira Murray] The rumble coming out of Thomas was enough to sober Moira up rather quickly, she coughs, nearly chokes back her laughter and sucks in a sharp gasp that comes out like an eep and steps back from him, moving a little behind the tall figure of Kemp.
She crinkles up her nose, amusement dancing in her eyes as he goes on to explain to the Skald about where the reference came from. She shakes her head, dropping her hands to her sides.
[Kemp Oates] Then his attention was back on the trio around him and he sized Izzy up.
“I’m Kemp.”
Plain and simple.
“I bet if ya give me a moment, I can gather enough of you girls around here with all that breeding, that it’ll make even the coldest dick stand up and wave.”
Yup, he noticed.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew looked a little surprised when Laila started to swoop away already, and a spasm of guilt flickered across her face. Aw hell. She didn’t intend to put the girl out. “Hey, wait a second,” Drew started, but then Kemp was yelling out, pulling her attention over toward him. She blinked a little bit, looking surprised in part by the invitation to come join whatever festivities were happening there, and also by his inviting her to bring Laila.
Wasn’t this a normal chick? Didn’t they generally keep their distance from average people?
Ah well, his wish, her command, and all that.
“Hey, I guess they wanna meet you. You don’t gotta go loping off. Y’wanna,” and she nodded her head toward the group, “come on over?”
[Thomas] The Skald remains looking up at Kemp as if the Rotagar had grown an extra head since last he’d seen him, one brow perked and the muscles of his face contorted, jaw half-open as if for a reply that just…wasn’t…there.
Movies. Princess Bride-
“…That’s…well…” Looking down as the confusion grows, gaze narrowing at the space, somewhere around mid-drift level, the Skald’s hand moving up to scratch at the space just beneat his chin, flickers and flecks of facial hair beginning to peek out here or there. Shaving would soon be a necessity but not as yet.
He remained quiet for the Dick’s at Attention parade idea, trying to puzzle his way through the joke that had been played. Probably more for the idea of a Skald watching movies rather then speaking of Heroics. Alien in it’s design.
[Izzy Montoya] “Izzy.” And damned if she doesn’t deliberately drop her gaze to see for herself. “Will I need a magnifyin’ glass?” A beat and she looks up and meets Kemp’s gaze again. “Or am I supposed to just pretend to be fuckin’ impressed?”
She shifts her position within the group, instinctively, to keep them – and Drew and Laila – in an easier line of sight.
[Moira Murray] “I wonder what kind of omen Fenris is trying to send with all this pedigree floating around,” she comments wryly, drawing on the assumption of what Kemp says about breeding that everyone here must have it in some capacity.
Hot breath rolls out of her mouth and nose with each long inhale and exhale, eyes dancing around to each of the faces that start to swim into her view. Her smile is bright and amusing, lighting up pretty features.
She addresses Thomas, “Haven’t you ever seen the movie?”
[Kemp Oates] “Naw, you’ll need a fuckin lost and found. Ain’tcha heard? Lost my dick during one of the Caern battles.”
He leaned towards Izzy and in a very loud whisper said.
“Ain’t nothing there to stand up.”
[Laila Frolich] She looks briefly toward Kemp, his holler for Drew to bring her with leaving her if nothing else curious. Kemp and Thomas’ Rage are thankfully just a distant undercurrent at the moment – were they any more pronounced her answer might of been a resounding no as she scampered off and out of the park. Likely swearing off her favourite place for the remainder of her time in Chicago.
“Really?” Her eyes again cut toward Kemp’s gathered group. “Sure…yeah that’d be great, thanks…” Only when they start to walk does Laila again speak. “These are friends of yours?” She asks.
[Izzy Montoya] She leans in and murmurs just as loudly “Such a shame. An’ her I was all ready t’do my Kin-ly duty an’ fuck ya senseless right here…”
The smirk reappears as she stands tall again. “I got the fuckin’ handcuffs and everything.”
Clearly, she’s not the most reverent of kin.
[Izzy Montoya] (her=here)
[Thomas] “…What?”
It is curt. Sudden. Sharp and abrupt, the Skald’s reverie brought up from below to shift and stand in Moira’s eyes, the lines of war in Gut~Song’s features pulling the youth from him with startling speed. He’d be aged by twenty five if he lived that long. He regards the Purebred ‘Witch’, head tilting to one side even as she speaks of the…Movie…
He frowns.
“…The Gibbous carry the stories of old. Ancestral blood tied to the realms of Wars fought against Dragons and Wyrmspawn. Hatred given the shape of giants and titans, clashing and struggling in the Jotunn song, Loki’s breath like a fine sliver beneath the flesh and caving in the hearts of true births and hungry Warriors. My fathers and their fathers and Mothers strode war fields in search of Glories you cannot imagine and that I have the privilege of re-living in word and song…”
The head tilt straightens slowly.
“…No. I have not seen it…”
[Kemp Oates] In the next moment his attention was back to Thomas as he murmured quickly.
“Quick Skald, what can you tell me of these females?”
Putting Thomas to the test so it seemed. Though Izzy got his attention again and he shifted gears.
“I ain’t got no sense, so seems no need to worry if I had one. Though Thomas here might take ya up on it.”
[Drew Roscoe] “Friends, family, what have you.”
Drew started walking with a bit of a smile, and reached up to adjust her hood once again, as the wind kept catching it and blowing it back off her head (the coat didn’t fit quite right, it was a little too big for her, but then most things were). She sniffed some against the chill and glanced back to Laila, pointing and giving the rundown on the way there. She would gesture to each person as she explained.
“That’s Izzy Montoya, she’s a cop. Homicide department. That’s Moira, she’s a doll. That one’s Thomas, he’s hardfaced but respectable. And the one that hollered is Kemp. Not sure what to think of him all the time, but everyone seems to like him alright.” She shrugged, scuffed a finger under her nose, and kept on walking.
When Drew joined the crew, she took up a spot beside Thomas, that seeming the most comfortable place for her to be. She flashed him a grin that faltered when it occurred to her that he was mid-explanation about… something she wasn’t keeping up with, that she came in too late on to have a chance of understanding. He came to a close, and she patted him once on the back in greeting. “Hey.” And her hands went back into her pockets.
“This’s Laila, guys.”
[Thomas] (alright folks bare with me on this one, heh. That’s four Purebreed Kin, Thomas has to go through right quick…)
to Drew Roscoe, Imogen Slaughter, Izzy Montoya, Kemp Oates, Laila Frolich, Moira Murray
[Thomas] (Laila: Wits + Garou Lore)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Thomas] (Drew: Wits + Garou Lore)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Thomas] (Moira: Wits + Garou Lore)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Kemp Oates] “Heya.”
He looked Laila over with the introduction. He could sense what she was and gave her a brief break before launching into making fun of her name like he did Izzy.
[Thomas] The Skald’s attention is a rapidfire thing, vicious and quick as it takes up first Kemp, and then around on each of the Kinfolk present. Each in turn is plucked into the Skald’s eyes and his memories suddenly open like the great doors of a Lodge, gaze narrowing in thought and consideration, even as he stands a little straighter, sniffing hard and once. He nods once at Izzy, before turning to Laila and Moira.
“…The Names of your Parents and Forebearers…” It was as much a demand as a request. This was his to know by title. By Moon. It was obvious in his demeanour and the seriousness of his features.
[Izzy Montoya] Thomas might take her up on it. She smirks. “He should be so lucky.”
Overall, she doesn’t seem offended – just tossing back what she’s dealt. In her line of work, it’s not surprising, really. She’s had to claw her way through a male dominated field – and can take what she dishes out, and then some.
She steps to the side as she watches Drew and Laila join as well – and then Thomas goes into his recite their deeds mode. She returns his nod, slightly. He’s already recited her’s once. He knows, and she has no need to tell him her ancestors again.
[Laila Frolich] There was something all together different about Drew’s friends. It wasn’t something she was familiar enough with to put her finger on, but she knew there was something off about the men at least. Blue eyes shift between each person as Drew points them out, she’s nodding …attempting to commit each name and face to her memory. Sniffing too, she casts a curious gaze up at Drew’s face when the way she described them finally sinks in: friends and family.
She’s introduced and offers them all a nod and a smile in greeting.
“Hi…nice to meet you..” she says to Kemp. To Thomas’ words, she looks totally perplexed. Her eyes darting to Drew and then back to Thomas as if she’d been pulled into the group as some sort of joke. “I’m sorry?”
[Thomas] Thomas brow furrows and darkens, gaze regarding Laila directly.
“Your Parents. Grandparents. Sires. Name them.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen approaches on heels, her steps even and not quite silent as she rounds the corner in time for her to see Thomas fire questions at Moira and an unfamiliar woman. Her gaze lingers on Izzy briefly as she approaches, pausing several feet away at a standing ash tray, crushing it out on the near clean edge and dropping among the the burnt out butts of smokers before her.
The woman is slight, dressed in black slacks, a black wool coat, a scarf loose about her throat, hardly there at all for warmth. Her coat is open, revealing the blouse beneath, despite the temperature.
Her cigarette extinguished, she walks up, coming along side Kemp and arching an eyebrow at him, as if expecting him to offer an explanation.
[Drew Roscoe] “Ah… Thomas?”
She glanced at Laila, then looked back up to the kid whose blood she’s mopped up out of her carpet once before. She tongued at the scabbed-over split in her lower lip for a second, trying to think of the best way to put this while eyeballing Laila almost apologetically.
“I don’t think she really knows. Like how I didn’t, y’know?”
[Kemp Oates] He tried really hard not to snicker, deciding to ease things up a little.
“Now, now Thomas. Ya don’t just jump a girl and start humping away. Give her a reason to tell you anything. She don’t ya from Adam, does she? Gonna scare the piss out of her and it’s too damned cold to piss yourself out here.”
[Thomas] Drew is about to be turned on with something from the fanatic’s repatoire of the righteous when Kemp chimes in alongside her, easing the Cliath’s impulses behind the steady hand of Rank and Age. The muscles in his frame unclench and his gaze settles before it reaches Drew, jaw setting once more and a nod at the young kin offered…then ’round on Laila again.
“…Listen to the worth of the blood you hold, for your ignorance is not a Shield, but a curse. You do not know but you will…”
[Laila Frolich] “Josef and Ingrid Frolich?” Though now she’s aware that that isn’t exactly true. Something in Thomas’ eyes leaves her correcting herself, “I mean…my mother was Bergitte Müller…I don’t know my father…” Her eyes dart from Drew to Kemp and then to the redhead that now stands by Kemp.
Thomas turns to address her again and she finds herself holding her breath.
“Ok..” Is all she says.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s brow furrows briefly and she regards Thomas evenly, “Perhaps if she has absolutely no idea at all, your stories would not particularly be the best introduction.”
[Izzy Montoya] Izzy watches, listens. There’s a nod for Imogen as she joins, while she reaches into the inside pocket of her trenchcoat and pulls out a pack of gum, plucking a piece free and unwrapping it.
Some days, she wishes she still smoked.
((Izzy will remain here and listening – phase 2 of my taxi-ing about to begin, back in a bit. If you all move on -simply have her answer her phone again.))
[Kemp Oates] He draped an arm around Thomas’ shoulders, starting to lead him a little to the side. Giving Imogen a brush of his shoulder with a murmured.
“Damage control. I done stirred the shit, gotta fan the fumes.”
Then as he lead Thomas a short distance off he put his head down close to the Skald’s. Tall enough to need to lower his head.
“Now Thomas, this is one of those fine examples where ya got to learn from old age and experiance. I admire your focus on duty when asked, but ya got to woo them ya don’t know. It’s like a date. A girl don’t want to open the door and have ya fuck her on the spot. Ya got to warm her up. Chocolates, flowers, sweet words, a light caress and eventually she will open to ya. Stories and information are much the same. Ya learn more by listening as much as demanding. Wheedle it out, don’t rip it out.”
[Moira Murray] To Laila, Moira offers her a pleasant smile; she lifts a gloved hand to waggle fingers at her. Her attention drawn instantly to the Skald, Kemp’s ordered him to speak their lineage. Her eyes widen slightly, lips pursed together in thought as she considers his question.
She only knew so much about her family, she opens her mouth to speak when he asks her. “My father was Bulvine Tasgall – the Cantankerous, Adren Modi… I don’t know his father’s name, but all I can tell you is that there is a Harald MacCleod, a kinfolk and a very distant forefather that bears the exact gifts as I do… My mother is Caitlan Murray, Fianna kin and twin sister to Morag~Dreamspeaker~ Murray, Fianna and Athro Theurge to the nation, but I doubt that will help you very much as I am descended from a long line of seers and celtic witches on my mother’s side gifted with the Sight.”
For those that knew her of her special gifts, she looks around at the gathering as it has grown immensely. She waves to Imogen, looking rather excited like a child at story time.
[Kemp Oates] He patted Thomas a good thump on the back and turned him back towards the women.
“Look at that, a sea of women and they are all looking at us like we are the freaks. Know your enemy before diving in.”
He kept murmuring near Thomas’ ear.
“Remember, they smell sweet. They look great and they got big as fuckin sharp teeth and claws and ya don’t want to startle them. Caution my friend. Gently inquire. Keep the Zealot in the closet with the other shit.”
[Joe Holst] Mooks with cameras. They’re maybe the worst. Oh and cops. Cops too. The bullish Modi had chased that nosy kid for six blocks before his Trent Renzor lookin’ ass had given the formidable Fenrir the slip. Built for speed and strength Joe may be- but he had a long way to go before grace would worm its way into the program. Rumbling angrily, Joe’s steadily tromping form resolved itself from among the trees as he made his way back to where he’d left the family.
[Kemp Oates] “Ya ready?”
He was steaming up Thomas’ ear with his coaching.
“Take a deep breath, cover your important parts and let’s go smile and make nice. Ask, feel them out and for fuck’s sake, learn that I ain’t always so serious. When I throw a challenge out like that, it just might be me poking a little fun at ya.”
[Thomas] Kemp’s arm is given a brief flicker of something in the Skald’s eyes and features before his own gaze lifts to regard him. Much like a lot of what Thomas says in the old ways and ancient traditions, a lot of what Kemp’s implying seems to fly over the young Skald’s head. His brow darkens and furrows further as thoughts of chocolates, flowers and sweet words, drift aimless past his ears which search fruitlessly for signs of some sort of order or demand. Listen, yes, but…to what specifically-
He exhales, lower jaw thrust forward a slight droop creeping into his shoulders under the Rotagar’s powerful arm, confusion continuing to cloud his features even as Moira offers her own lineage, his gaze lifting to regard each name before she dips into the Fianna, a nod cast across Bulvine’s own, though something else…flutters past.
“…But…” Brow furrowed, a faint spike of Rage colliding with the need to listen. Cage the Zealot and be Gentle…Gentle with–
The Jaws clap shut again, hands jamming into the front pocket of his hoodie, gaze falling away from the various Kin before them.
“…The World of of war is not for them to know least they ask…my voice is for the True but no less for the favour of the Bold…” A murmured thing, lips falling open to ghost breaths on the wind, trying to get around mental blocks and social niceties not thought…necessary. Failing…failing…slowly…
[Moira Murray] Moira raises an eyebrow, watching the Rotagar warily as he begins to murmur in a conspiratorial way to the Skald. She bounces forward on the balls of her feet, boots crunching over the snow. She spies Joe in the distant, flags him down with a wave of her arm as she sidles up next to Drew.
Moira tucks on the short kin’s sleeve, leaning down to cup a hand over her ear and then points down at the snow.
[Laila Frolich] Moira waves and Laila smiles. It’s a nervous smile. If she were sure one of them wouldn’t insist she stay, Laila might excuse herself …rush home and lock her doors. This was, after all ,rather new to her. She could talk about the weather or something else equally unimportant…but at the moment her head was already full of things that were all terribly important.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew had, for the most part, fallen into silence. She wasn’t expectant, didn’t wait anxiously for Thomas to recall the deeds of her great-great-grandmother or somesuch. She knew her parents. She knew that her father was an overweight carpenter and that her mother had died on the day she was born. Sacrifice was the name of the game there. She was watching Kemp whisper to Thomas, or more to the point, watching the conflict and struggle on Thomas’s face while he listened. Her face was set in something a little more serious than what was proper for the cute little Kinfolk’s features, but seemed to be falling that way more and more often these days.
Moira tugged on the sleeve of her red coat and leaned in to whisper to her. Drew blinked, swiped a hand at her hood to brush it back, and tipped her ear toward Moira’s mouth to listen. She blinked once at Moira, then shook her head and murmered back, but paused when she heard crunching and tromping and mumbling coming in from behind.
A glance was cast back toward the approaching hulk figure of Joe Holst, and one corner of her mouth curled up. There we go, the smile suited her much better. That was the Drew we recognized. She nudged her elbow back toward Joe in indication and nodded and murmered more.
[Joe Holst] “AH’M comin’…” Its a short bray through the trees in response to Moira’s wave- but the youthful modi’s form shifts slightly, almost opens a bit as he speeds up. Brightening at seeing Kemp and Thomas over there too. With Drew. That’s quite a group.. but as he slows, coming up alongside to join the bundle of Fenrir braving the Illinois winter, Joe’s attention is drawn toward Lalia as well. Bright blue, warlike eyes skate across her, and the accompanying scowl seems focused inward rather than at the woman herself.
Joe tosses a kid- brother wink at Drew and grins broadly at Kemp. “T’ought I smelled sumpfin.” The voice is thick New Jersey, and hideous.
[Drew Roscoe] The wink that Joe threw out was greeted with a big smile. Big enough that it actually managed to re-split her lip. God damnit, when would she learn? She made a small noise that was half irritating, half pain, and sucked her lower lip into her mouth to sooth away the bleeding and sting with her tongue.
Not to be deterred, however, she flicked a glance at Moira, quirked an eyebrow up, and still managed to pull a one-sided grin even with her lip caught firmly between her teeth.
“Now?”
[Kemp Oates] He lifted his head, gracing Joe with a big ass smile.
“It’s Thomas ya smell. His brain is frying about now. Trying to grind some temperance into him.”
And Thomas had his attention again.
“Don’t be so serious. These are Kin. Ya scaring the fuck out of some of em.”
[Drew Roscoe] (( typo city… irritation**, soothe** ))
[Moira Murray] “Hello Joe.” Moira calls in a sweet sing-song voice to the Modi.
She looks at Drew, there is an expression of pure mischief dancing in her eyes and in the impish grin on her lips. She was up to something… “Yes, now.”
She steps back, dropping down behind Drew to scoop up two handfuls of snow between gloved hands, pats together as quickly as possible to make a couple of snowballs and jumps up.
“Hey, Joe!” Throws a snowball at him.
[Thomas] Thomas’ gaze flicker lifts to regard Joe, some of the warring insides dissipating as the Modi draws to a close with the collective of Fenrir. Blood of blood, Legends abound, this circle could probably account for nearly a dozen and a half ancient Heroes throughout the last half dozen centuries and the Skald…
…Stares, swallowing, brows coming together before his gaze lifts up to Kemp and the war breaks open.
“…Their blood houses Fenris” It is a whispered thing, almost a plea of desperation mingling chaotically with the zealot’s demand “…There shouldn’t be any Fear of their own!”
[Laila Frolich] Kemp is talking to Thomas, Joe approaches Kemp and Thomas and Moira and Drew whisper conspiratorially before hurling a ball of snow at Joe. Laila isn’t sure if she should laugh or cry or scream. At least she’s smiling, which is better than the startled deer in headlights look she’d been wearing only seconds ago.
But, there’s so much commotion. Her eyes dart from the quiet Imogen to Izzy. Slowly, Laila takes a step back from where she’d been standing. Then another. She lifts a hand and waves toward Drew. “I really should be going…I’ve got…a thing…tomorrow…” It’s spoken softly, so Drew may or may not hear her as she starts to back peddle slowly away before turning fully to leave.
[Imogen Slaughter] Laila turns to leave, and the Briton raises her voice, “Wait a minute, will you?” Imogen takes a step back, ostensibly away from the snow ball fight, gesturing for Laila to follow.
She pockets her hands and tilts her head slightly, the movement pushing flaming hair back from her eyes.
“What’s yer name?”
[Kemp Oates] He almost pointed out that one was leaving already, but was afraid Thomas would spring and make the girl pee her pants. He continued to speak softly to Thomas.
“Dedication is to be admired, but ya got to learn to temper it Thomas. Temper it. Consider it like a battle. To rush in like a crashing airliner is not the best approach. Ya got to get a hold on yourself.”
[Izzy Montoya] (back)
[Drew Roscoe] Moira crouched down behind her, using her as a shield from prying eyes. Sure, anyone could tell that she was crouched down behind her, but she could be tying her shoelace or checking out Drew’s ass or something… The confusion was fine, but so long as there wasn’t much of a warning, that was the idea. Moira sprung up, launched a snowball, and Drew barked out a laugh, hunkered down to start packing snowballs herself.
Laila looked completely lost. Totally, utterly, and it had Drew pausing midway through packing a snowball and looking up at the girl. She remembered that stage. …Sort of. Not really, actually, she had been indoctrinated suddenly, violently, with absolutely no room left for doubt or dismissal. She released her lip, let the opened split sting in the air until it healed back up, and frowned sympathetically.
But Imogen was taking care of damage control, and the doc was far more an authority than Drew was. She just grinned and tossed a snowball to Laila, underhand rather than throwing it at her, danced her eyebrows up and down at her playfully (and it was hard to deny that girl at least a smile in return, she was so damn adorable), then took to launching the other couple of snowballs she’d packed after Joe one after the other– pop!pop!pop!
[Izzy Montoya] Izzy has been quite for some time. To those who know her – this is likely a miracle. She chews her gum contemplatively, and puts names to faces as they’re bandied about.
Then Moira throws a snowball, and Izzy takes a step backwards, her hands remaining in the pockets of her coat as she watches, idly. She watches Joe, mostly – as this is apparently the Jarl she’s yet to meet.
[Thomas] “..But don’t you-!”
A hand is snapping out at the air, the motion caught and brought back to his side just as quickly. He puffs a breath out past his cheeks, turning from the Kinfolk, stepping broadly from the circle of gathered even as the Snowballs begin to hurtle, the flush of red come to his features no less due to the cold. Names…Deeds…Figures of prominence worthy of idolizing simmer and drift through his mind, collecting in pools of memory and all one really had to do to get a glimpse was to take a look around. One Look!
The entire span of his thoughts were plain as day in his features, a hand rising to grip the edge of his hood and pull it back from his face, the heat of his Rage spiking again, even as he distanced himself from the Group, putting Kemp between him and the rest of the Gathered, eyes leaping out into the environment and surroundings, hands turned to fists and jaw pushed so far forward, it would be impossible for him to close his mouth at this point.
Pacing in the snow.
[Laila Frolich] Despite her age, Laila carries herself with a striking sense of maturity. Only when faced with tense situations such as the one mere seconds ago does she truly seem to act her age. Imogen – who had really up until then been on the peripheral of her attention – speaks and that’s all it takes for Laila’s feet to change their direction and move with Imogen. Drew tosses her a snowball and she manages to catch it without thought, a slight smile working its way across her mouth. Laila genuinely liked Drew, so she doesn’t deny the woman a smile – even now. She holds the snowball in gloved hands…too unsure of everyone present to dare throw it at anyone.
“Laila.” Her eyes are blue and they cut toward the pretty red head gradually. “Laila Frolich. I feel as if I should apologize…to someone. ”
[Joe Holst] The big teen watches Kemp and Thomas for a moment, nostrils flaring in an odd questing expression more at home on another skin. For a moment it seems he’d pace around the two of them.. confusion and agitation is there.. draws him closer. At the last moment he stops himself and directs his attention to the departing kin-
“Uh..” He raises a broad hand. “Ah’m Joe.. yew don’ gahtta-”
Moira has good aim, and the snowball paints one side of Joe’s flight jacket in a powdery white circle. He barks a roughhouse- ready aside at the woman. “Jussa sec yew!”
Then drops whatever it was he was going to say as Imogen’s faint lilt slips into the scene… and more round balls pepper him.
The usual fallback, considering what Decker would do.. it doesn’t really fit. Decker doesn’t seem the type to get hit with snowballs. So he gives Imogen a quietly growled “T’anks, Doc..” And draw’s the girls fire away far enough so as to leave little change of splash hitting the two skinny women making the necessary introductions.
Joe’s return fire is, for a moment, half hearted. His lips draw into a line, making sure Imogen had the new girl’s attention before he gets down to the serious business of not being serious.
[Joe Holst] Unfortunately.. the kid doesn’t seem well cut out for frolic. His own run through snow leaving blood in their wake, and the clash and violence of a life turned toward war asserts itself quickly. He cheats, aims for faces to get closer, pulls ankles to dump one or the other into the snow. His movements are clipped and swift. Though he’s smiling, his eyes gleam a bit too seriously.. and unfortunately he’s more than a bit too rough.
[Kemp Oates] Snow started flying and he did the natural thing, he moved so Thomas would be between him and any stray missles. Just about to the point of deciding that talking to Thomas was less effect than smacking the fuck out of him first. Good Gaia this guy was thick skulled and fanatical 200% of the time.
“Thomas! Snap out of it. Shit man, ya got to get a grip and stop being such a fanatic. I’m getting to the point that I’m afraid to joke with ya, or ask anything cause ya’ll start fuckin foaming at the mouth. Stop and fuckin breathe.”
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen glances down at the snow ball, but will not speak unless Laila makes shift to throw the ice weapon.
She offers her name, then speaks a little more. Imogen’s eyebrow arches slightly, and rather than returning the favour of her name, focuses on that instead. “For what?”
The kinwoman stands easily in modest heels, black boots, a well dressed woman with pale skin, as fragile as glass. Her eyes are dark, rimmed with copper lashes. There is no doubt that she’s a natural redhead – all her colouring matches, and there are so many layers to her colour that it would be impossible to match, even in the most expensive salon. Roan, red, rust and the faintest hint of a blonde strand, here and there, an undertone of oak-hues.
Joe thanks her, and Imogen merely glances his way, then returns her focus to the younger girl.
“Do you understand why th’folks ‘ere might ha’ wanted yeh t’stay around?”
[Drew Roscoe] Poor Moira. She just wanted to lighten the mood, have a good snowball fight. Her original intent, no doubt, had been to lighten the little stormcloud brewing over Thomas and Kemp’s heads, generated directly from under the dark hood that covered the Skald’s almost perpetually brooding visage. And here the two people that she was playing with just didn’t seem to have their hearts in it. Joe was focused on Imogen and the new girl, concerned about the proper indoctrination of a purebred Kinfolk amongst their ranks. Drew, on the other hand, was splashed with loose snow from Joe’s return fire, but didn’t do much besides brush it away from her face, because her eyes had dragged over and glued to Thomas.
She watched with concern etched visibly into her features, along the lines of her shoulder and the hunch of her crouched-down figure. Thomas took a few steps back, eyes wide with something that wasn’t really panic, but had the same sense of urgency to it, and they danced between everyone gathered, landing on herself for a moment only to fly onto Moira.
She sniffed a bit and pushed herself up to her feet, abandoning the snowball game to take a few steps over toward Thomas and Kemp. She didn’t step in, didn’t say anything, but she was closer, hands actually, quite literally wringing in front of her. She kept glancing to Kemp, like she was waiting for a solid and resolute ‘fuck off’ or permission to proceed, but most of her attention was stuck on Thomas. Poor Thomas.
[Moira Murray] “Ah HA!!” Moira calls out after the Modi. She launches the remaining snowballs in her hand at Joe, dodging behind the tiny figure of Drew who was nearly five inches shorter than Moira. She drops down to the ground once more, looking around as she packs more snow into balls and huddles up.
Her eyes dance over to the Rotagar and Thomas, eyebrow lifted as she considers Kemp as her next target, and then it swings over to Izzy and Imogen. She calls out to Laila, “Don’t be afraid of anything… and throw the snowball at the big bald guy.”
Joe starts playing dirty, running at Drew and Moira. She eeps and laughs, no match for the young Jarl as he rushes at them quickly. Whatever brunt force impacts her and sweeps her off her feet, she takes in stride, grunting and snort. Moira crawls back up to her feet, more tenacious than she appears and attacks Joe, tossing snow at him and determined to get a snowball down the back of his flight jacket and into the collar of his shirt.
[Izzy Montoya] Her dark eyes miss very little. Thomas’ reactions, Kemp’s talking, Moira egging the Jarl into a snowball fight, Imogen speaking to the new girl, and Drew’s handwringing worry over Thomas. Whatever her reactions, they are not writ across her face – she keeps them to herself.
[Imogen Slaughter] “I would prefer to finish our conversation rather than ha’ you throw a snowball at ‘the bald guy,'” Imogen interjects mildly, her voice never raising beyond what is onsidered polite between two conversationalists. Nor does she look toward Moira, even as she comments on something the playful girl says.
[Laila Frolich] “I don’t know. I feel like I should be something that I’m not. That I’m not…the person I was meant to be.” One shoulder lifts and falls in a shrug. The chestnut haired kin casts a backward glance toward Joe just as he gets pelted with white balls of snow. Her eyes dart toward Moira – Laila is still holding her snowball and despite Moira’s urging to throw it at Joe Imogen would likely get the strong inclination that the kin at her side has no intention of doing that. Why she’s holding it still could be anyone’s guess.
“I think I do.” She nods, turning her eyes on Imogen. “I’m just … it’s all a little fantastic to believe…isn’t it?” One brow arches high above a blue eye before falling slowly back into alignment with the other. “I didn’t realize Drew was…y’know…”
[Joe Holst] He plays like he fights, images flashing in front of glassy eyes demanding action and reaction- before a familiar and recent one brings him up short. Joe straightens after a skid in the snow, holding up a hand toward Moira and calling a halt to the fun she’s trying to encourage.
Doubtless he is peppered with more snow before it comes to a stop. He takes it rather well, really.
“Wait wait wait.”
Splat splat.
“Fah serious. Hold it.”
Bright eyes skate across Kemp and Thomas.. Imogen.. the unfamiliar form of Laila. Finally come to a stop at Izzy. She has that look. The one that gave pause to people like the formidable skinhead long before he came to understand two feet was not the only option, and his eyes narrow.
“Hiya.” He drops fists like cold, heavy stones into his jacket pockets, then moves toward Izzy after a moment of hesitation.
[Thomas] He sucks in a hard breath as Kemp’s words reach forward, chains of precision to a wayward mind, fists formed like a reflex, the song of Fury in his stomach bubbling. The blood of the pure could do that sometimes…
…The heels of palms rise to grind into his eye sockets, a momentary thing as if he could push back the beast, shove it down into the ribcage and stay put. His hands fall away and he marches, clean and clear toward Kemp again, though the intent seems to have washed away much of the former Zealot and left behind a young man…all too serious. All too dedicated to something that…wasn’t this. Snowballs and Laughter.
“…This many of us gathered in the snows of Chicago, Truth~rhya. The blood of legends that took me years to learn at the knees of harsh Mentors and Teachers all. Each of them told me that you and yours were to be respected and revered, given the due your blood demanded as much for the deeds you stood for.” A fist has formed, a grip of tenacity to emphasize his point, hovering between Adren and Cliath.
“…And here you are, each in turn a reminder of all those Heroes, so thick it…” And he pauses. Hesitates, gaze leaning around the Rotagar, the passion of the Zealot draining out of his system briefly as the snowball fight continues in the background. Gaze flicks to Drew briefly, catching her eye, brows furrowing in response but nothing more.
“…It chokes me sometimes, as if we’re waiting…waiting for something to occur rather then moving to claim it as we should…” The grim boils in his features, gloved hands falling to his sides once more, eyes up at the Rotagar.
“…Something should be done. Heroes do not sit, You-” Firmer now “-Do not sit, Brother. Not Kin, Not True not any of us. Fenris gathered our Blood to these walls of False Rock and Snow to do something, can’t you see that?” A finger points at the gathered kinfolk. Fenrir one and all.
“Each of them a blood blessing of old times and…and…” Fumbling for words. Something new. Something foreign to the Skald, who’s head shakes as if in disbelief of it, eyes narrowing.
“…Fenris wants us to do something…” It is the only thing he has left.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen tilts her head sharply toward Izzy Montoya. “She’s a police officer. We’ve worked together a few times since she came t’the city.”
A pause. “I only just now realized what she is.” A twist of her mouth. This is a smirk which does not quite reach Imogen’s eyes. Humour for appearance’s sake.
“It happens no matter how new yeh are to things.”
A beat. Her jaw moves a little, a tendon flexing outward, then easing. “How new are you?”
[Moira Murray] The fun was over with as quickly as it had started, Moira sighs a little. Everything coming to a halt as Joe raised up a hand. She wrinkles up her nose, dropping in the snow to sit on her ass, which was starting to grow numb from the cold. She reaches up to grasp the wool knit cap that had come loose during the fight and pulls it off.
She smooths a hand over her hair, trying to tame the wild wisps that have escaped from the long black braid hanging down her back. She sucks in a deep breath, her chest rising and falling quickly under her winter coat. Her face flushed red as she listens to her heart race wildly, trying to calm it down.
Her attention has swung towards Kemp and Thomas, angling her head as she watched Drew stand back curiously. Moira wets her tongue across dry, cracked lips and winces.
[Kemp Oates] He crossed his arms across his chest as he watched Thomas speak. Listening to him his full attention on Thomas. Then quick as lightning his attention snapped to Drew.
“Step back please. I’m trying to have a serious talk here.”
Just as quick his attention was back on Thomas, purposely keeping the same pose as he spoke as calm as he could.
“Tell me Thomas. At this very moment when you begin to lose it in front of all these Kin, tell me what we should do. What do you think Fenris is demanding us to do at this very moment in time?”
[Laila Frolich] Laila swallows. Her brow knitted tightly together as she considers the question. “Less than a week?” Turning her head, her eyes ghost over Izzy before turning to Imogen once more. “I don’t understand a lot of what they’re asking me or why they do what they do…sometimes – most of the times – it’s unsettling.” Both hands lift to tighten her ponytail as it threatens to slip down from the crown of her head. “Are you…one of them?” It’s asked with a jerk of her head back toward the group they’ve just left.
[Izzy Montoya] When Imogen tilts her hear Izzy’s way, she glances that directly, though her gaze returns to Drew as Kemp snaps. She steps toward her, and takes her elbow – it’s not the touch of a friend, but the escort of an officer. There’s a world of difference, and very little chance for her to resist.
“Let’s join Dr. Slaughter and you’re friend. I’m sure Kemp has this under control.”
[Izzy Montoya] (Gah – I missed Joe’s post. *L* DLP!)
[Izzy Montoya] She arches a brow as Joe – the Jarl, as she was told – braves the distance to speak with her. Her lips curve into a smirk that rests easily along her lips, even as she glances toward Drew, Kemp and Thomas. She looks as if she wishes to move that way and escort the girl to the side, but she resists.
She’s been addressed by Joe, and so she meets his gaze evenly instead. “Evenin. Joe, is it”
[Drew Roscoe] There we go. That was the solid (though surprisingly polite, she’d expected much crueler) fuck off that she was looking for. Drew furrowed her brow, though not in disagreement or irritation, looked to Thomas again, then turned and edged away from the pair, back to where the others were gathered in the snow. Imogen was speaking with Laila, Joe had approached Izzy for what looked like an Official Talk, and Moira was left snow-tossuled with a few stray snowballs here and there, snow all in her hair and washed over her clothes.
That was where Drew went, one hand moving to sweep a bit of snow out of her own hair, then off Moira’s shoulder. Her expression was a little on the grim side all of a sudden, and she sniffed against the cold. She’d settle to stand beside Moira for now, with her head ducked and focus on the ice skates about her neck. She toyed with the skates with her cold, red fingers and murmered to Moira. It was hard to take a girl seriously when she was unintentionally pulling as much cute out of her hat as small child trying to be like their father and drink grown up coffee.
“You’ve been at this for a while, the whole Kinfolk thing. It common to genuinely worry for their sanity ten outta the thirty days of the month?”
[Imogen Slaughter] The tendon in her jaw moves again, before Imogen answers, “No,” she answers, “I am kinfolk, as you are.
“A week,” she repeats. “And I imagine that no one has explained much to you, have they?” It is a resigned question, one which hardly requires an answer.
“C’mon,” she says, simply, in the wake of Kemp snapping at Drew. “We’ll grab a coffee, get out o’ this weather.” For it has begun to mist, the fine droplets clinging to her bright hair, the weave of her woollen coat. “I’ll fill in th’blanks as much as I can.”
[Joe Holst] (Is cool- I have a fix.) For the space of a breath a wary animal watches Izzy from behind what should be human eyes. In the next moment they’re calm, flat.
“Yeah. S’Joe..” He cocks an eyebrow before he huffs once to clear the taste of dirty Chicago snow from his mouth and tosses an aside to Imogen. “Kay.”
His attention returns to Izzy smoothly. “Yew wanna be called ‘offisah’?”
[Thomas] Something quiet in his regard, the Zealot receding in the face of the youth. The Cliath. He falls back onto the heels of his boots, adorned again for the weather that’s come. His gaze remains on Kemp, the confusion creeping back into his features.
“I don’t know…” The pause is interrupted. “-Not yet. I…need to speak to him.”
And just like that. With a simple phrase, the Skald’s features crack. The idea, the thought, bleeds through his being like a flashfire and stirs something in his stomach, frothing the cauldron. Faith turns to conviction turns to a solidity that would be difficult to deny. He lifts his gaze toward the Rotagar again, fists unclenching and breath a cloud.
“…Theft~of~Throats~Rhya, Talesinger of the Fireheart Sept has recently obtained his Athro Rank. He…was my most learned and understood Mentor during my raising. I will be returning to the Fireheart Sept briefly for the Moot to see the ceremony.” He nods around Kemp toward the Gathered. “I’m going to introduce Drew to some of the Fenrir there and help to expand her knowledge as well as Joe to give him some better idea of how our Tribe does things…” Narrowed gaze, slight “…Differently. While there, I will think on your question and find the answer.”
A pause.
“…Would…” Pause. “…I understand your duties here are many, as Adren and No Moon Elder but if you are able, I think if only for a few nights, you and Theft~rhya might benefit from one another’s experiences.” It was an invitation.
[Izzy Montoya] She smirks, slightly. “If I did, it’d be Detective.” A beat, and then she reaches into the inside pocket of her coat again, pulls free a small case and removes her card from it, and offers it to Joe. “Gave one of these to your friend over there.” Thomas, that would be. “a couple weeks ago. Detective Izzy Montoya, CPD Homicide.”
A beat, and a slight arched brow. “And Izzy is fine, as long as we’re being informal.”
[Moira Murray] Snow war-torn Moira blinks, canting her head up as she looks at Drew approaching her, her features begin to soften immediately. She sits forward, drawing up her knees to her chest and rests her arms over them. Her cap dangling between her fingers as she taps it against her shin.
“Drew, darling,” she smiles, clearing her throat and trying to sound serious, but doesn’t quite achieve it. “I grew up home-schooled in a sept where my teachers were Garou, I know a little more about Garou society than some cliaths fresh from their rite of passages…”
She casts a glance over her shoulder at Thomas and Kemp, “It doesn’t matter what they say and what you do. You will always worry over them, twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty days out of the year. It is what we do, as kin, but.” She tucks in her bottom lip, chewing on it, “You do have to give them their breathing space, let them do what they need to do and wait… can’t be impatient.”
[Joe Holst] He watches Izzy’s face closely. The wash of rage confusing the fact that he’s curious, rather than openly hostile.. but the boy wears openly hostile quite naturally. He takes the card between two fingers and scrubs one under his nose before he turns his palm over and looks at it- candor thick in his voice. “Case yew din’t know, Joe woyks feh formal an’ uddahwise…” Something on the card hardens his eyes and they flick almost offended back to the woman. “Wh- ‘Montoya’? Wha’th hell? Yew marry a ‘spic uh sumpfin?”
[Laila Frolich] There’s a release of tension from her shoulders as Imogen says she’ll explain. It’s visible and even affects the way she walks – rather than her spine being painfully straight, it’s now relaxed though not so much as to leave her slouching. “I met a man that was like…us…and he explained a little. I think he scared me more than anything. But he told me just…that I was family to Get of Fenris and that this city was dangerous.” She spares the briefest of glances over one shoulder toward the now splintered group. The cold mist leaves a fine glistening sheen on her skin but she doesn’t seem to mind – they’re getting out of it now, after all.
“Thank you.” It’s added as an afterthought. “I’ve been really afraid of this …but maybe it’s because I’m just ignorant?”
[Izzy Montoya] She snorts, and shakes her head. “Ain’t fuckin married to no one, let alone a ‘spic.” There’s a sense she’s mimicking him, rather than rather than actually having anything against Hispanics – especially after working Miami for years.
She arches a brow. “You are aware they call the US the motherfuckin’ melting pot, right? My folks is as red-blooded American as yours likely are, despite my fuckin’ last name – and every fuckin last bit the Fenrir that bred me. So let’s speak of the dead with a bit a’ mother fuckin’ respect.”
Got quite a mouth on her, don’t she…
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s mouth twists slightly. There is no humour behind it, false or otherwise. “No,” she says simply, “Some things about this are simply frightening.”
A pause. “What was the man’s name?” There is an edge to the question.
Imogen begins to walk away, tilting her head for Laila to follow her as she heads toward the park’s edge. The kinwoman moves with an unconscious grace – the beauty of her movement in the economy of it. Each step has a purpose, each movement of a hand or arm is necessary. She wastes nothing.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew huffed a sigh and watched Thomas and Kemp for another few seconds before glancing over to Joe and Izzy. Moira sat down, and Drew followed suit, letting her legs stick straight out in front of her like she were a child rather than folding them or bringing her knees to her chest. Her ice skates were in the way anyways.
You’ll always worry, Moira told her. You just gotta accept that.
Drew sighed some and nodded. “I guess. Just kinda sucks that you’ve gotta love ’em so hard, you know? Shit, whenever Joe comes through my door he’s got some brand spanking new shiner or cut or bloodstain and I don’t even want to think about what he looked like before he showed up, y’know?”
Speaking of… Joe’s prejudice shined through brilliantly across the small patch of snow between he and Izzy, and Drew and Moira. Drew blinked, then groaned, and then proceeded to blink and choke back a chuckle when Izzy told him exactly how it is. Mother fucker.
“…Ahhh god.”
[Kemp Oates] His brows drew together as he watched Thomas closely. The thought of being stuck with Drew for several days while trying to deal with Thomas’ sometimes zealot intensity was enough to shrink his balls up tight against his body.
“You want me to come with you and Joe and you are bringing the girl, to another Sept? What’s up with you and her?”
[Beth Clemensen] Up until she rounds a certain corner in the midst of the park on her way home tonight, Beth had not seen a great number of people milling about the park or the sidewalks surrounding it. It’s too cold out, the weather too unpredictable and the precipitation too biting, for most sane people to consider doing much more than passing through the park en route to wherever they left their cars or to their apartments. Tonight the park is just a shortcut for her.
She’s wearing thick-heeled boots, dark-washed jeans, and a black peacoat without a sign of a purse anywhere on her person. Hands are in her pockets, hair is in its typical state of half-up, half-down, breath is steaming away from her body, and in an instant she goes from being the only person in sight to the only person not off the path.
There is a huge group of people milling about in the park, and it grabs the purebred kinswoman’s attention as she slows.
[Joe Holst] Joe nods- slow at first, but more and more rapidly as Izzy rapid fires her response at him.
Its sort of wierd.. but the kid looks almost engaged. Eager for this. On the other hand, his eyes track her relentlessly, and the skin under his torc looks awfully red.
“Yeah… yeah? I give fuck all whadey CALL it, an’ my folks is from Germany like real people! As feh dead people I don’ mind bein’ respekful at ALL ‘less deah SPICS, huh? HUH?”
Oddly.. this looks a lot like a recording. Something that has gone before.. and the burly kid doesn’t even rock toward Izzy. It looks like he’s gearing up for a good old fashioned shouting match.
[Laila Frolich] “Jeff.” They walk, Imogen’s purposeful strides full of grace. Laila’s steps are fluid, though they pale incomparaison to the other woman’s. “He actually put his neck on the line and saved my butt from a weird one…” she jerks a thumb back toward the group they’ve left behind. “…of them.” Laila is quiet for a few spaces in time before she speaks again. “I spoke to my father…he knew all along I think. He just never got around to telling me.”
[Moira Murray] “Drew, I speak from experience… you will love them so hard that it’ll hurt a lot.” Moira begins to frown, tearing her eyes away from the Skald and the Rotagar, she looks down at the scuffed toes of her combat boots, the laces wet from the snow. She sucks in another intake of cold air, letting stay in her lungs long enough to cause her to cough and sighs again.
They looked like a pair of kids in the snow, sitting beside each other talking. “We should get together some time and have a talk. I am sure there are a lot of questions on your mind, maybe I can help with some answers.”
Izzy starts to go off on Joe and she blinks, not used to the Jersey Modi’s brashness which reminded her of Kemp. She sniffles, rubs the back of her hand against her nose and then turns to push herself up.
“My ass is numb and I’m getting cold.” Frowning now.
[Izzy Montoya] “Really?” Oh no he didn’t. She takes a step closer, and lowers her voice. It’s a dangerous sort of lowering, one that’s intended to get the attention of a thief, a witness, someone clear in her sights. This time, it’s Joe. Jarl or not, she won’t back down.
“You’re from motherfuckin JERSEY, boy. It’s all over your voice, as much as I’d bet you got fuckin tattoo’s all over your body. Lemme tell ya about a fuckin’ “spic” – if it hadn’t been for him, an the rest of the force, i wouldn’t be here trying to educate your fuckin ignorant white-bred ass. No matter who my fuckin folks are, you will show them the respect heroes deserve. Ask your boy about it. And then watch you’re motherfuckin’ mouth.”
[Kemp Oates] He almost said the first thing to come to mind. Like…he rather pull the hairs of his balls off with his teeth than spend days with Drew who was way too….something….for him to survive days in her company. He might end up like Wahya, and make a snack out of the girl because she pissed him off beyond tolerance.
Instead he waited to hear Thomas’ reply while fighting the urge to blurt out about the balls and hair and teeth thing. Maybe he could say he had an appointment to skin himself alive and couldn’t go?
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen’s breath exhales sharply, a soundless scoff. “Charming,” she answers, leaving it open as to whether or not she means Laila’s father, her friend Jeff or the Garou whom Laila calls a ‘weird one’.
They move away, the sound of Joe’s and Izzy’s heated conversation fading behind them. Imogen adjusts the fall of her coat around her body, trapping the warmth, though she leaves it open.
“Perhaps we should start wi’ what he told you.”
[Thomas] He blinks, gaze flicking to Drew and then back to Kemp again.
“She’s Fenrir Kin, Kemp. Regardless of anything you or I may want, that deserves attention. She’s blooded pure as well.” A pause. Frowning. “Part of my teachings were to ensure the Pure Blood be kept strong. Right to the end days. That means each and every one of you is as important as the Stories I speak of about your Forefathers and Mothers. Everyone, True or Kin.”
His gaze flicks to Drew again, then on toward Joe.
“I also think some time away from Chicago would do her well. The Kin here have been coming under nearly as much attack from the Wyrm as the Garou.” A dark snarl threatens his features then. “…She needs to understand where she comes from. Why she’s here and where she can go and I can’t do that for her. Neither can Joe. She needs to learn from Fenrir Kin, older and wiser then me. Then her.”
A pause again, regarding Kemp, face melting back into that pot of resolution and faith.
“…If anything to do away with her Human sentiments as much as teach her the Truth of Fenris’ way.”
[Drew Roscoe] “Oh I’m already there, sister.” Drew looked over to Moira, who was looking at her boots, and grinned a little bit. She had an urge for a moment to lighten the mood by flopping back and making a snow angel, and she contemplated it while Moira suggested they get together sometime. Drew nodded enthusiastically and smiled, but was careful to contain it, to keep her lip healed long enough for the scab to go away and for it to get back to normal. Then she could work without her boss pulling her aside and asking her in his thick Greek accent from behind that giant gray mustache of his– Drew, you are not well. I can see it, your face? Make-up does not hide that. Do you have a boyfriend and he beats you up? Do I need to come talk to him? Certainly not what she needed, especially not when her friends and family looked and felt like monsters.
And then… Joe was yelling right back at Izzy. Drew blinked, Moira stated that her ass was getting cold, and Drew nodded and pushed herself up to her feet, offering a hand to help Moira up as well. She said in a tone that was almost as casual: “And my boy’s getting ahead of himself. Think I should curb that?”
[Kemp Oates] “She can learn from Imogen if she’d fuckin take time to ask.”
He shook his head.
“Ya speak of the pressure everyone here is under, but we would be taking 3 of Fenris’ own from the strength of the Sept for this trip. But that still ain’t what I meant. Why does she think ya need protecting by her?”
[Joe Holst] “Whul remin’ me’da T’ANK im- cuz I’d HATE ta miss makin’ YOAH mudda’fuggin’ aquaint’ince!” He stops then.. considers the woman’s face, then glances down at the card again, fighting off a smirk.
“Yeah YOU’LL Dew. Jus’ needa fin’ a big asshole fah yewda gedda hots feh.” Joe raises the card and flicks it with his finger. “Don’ go meltin’ an yew seem stoydy enough.
[Laila Frolich] Afk a sec
[Moira Murray] The yelling had started, Moira lifts her head up, climbing to her feet as Drew did. She sighs, starting to brush the snow from her hair and her coat, bending over to dust off her pants with the quick sweep of the knit cap. She thinks for a moment on what Drew just said.
My boys…
“It must be nice… to have them worry over you. I used to hate having wolves bother me and tried to avoid them,” she chuckles a little, “Now I just scare them all off. I kinda miss being bothered, it made me feel more needed. You should count yourself lucky to have ‘your boys’. Kemp and I were close friends once… not so much nowadays.”
[Thomas] “Imogen was not born Fenrir…”
It comes out without a hint of hesitation or even a regard of correction.
“Though her deeds speak of strength and I’ve cautioned Drew about speaking to Her at some point.” He shakes his head and returns his attention to Kemp. “It’s as you’ve said, Truth~rhya. My control is not what it could be and if that makes me a danger around the Kin then…”
And on toward Joe as the Bullish Modi makes ‘acquaintances’ with Izzy.
“…I’m cliath. So is Joe. Fenris stands in our paths and wakes each time but there is more to learn. More to know.” A Frown. “Would that we could learn a better hand of control or tolerance in any chance given us…I think it would be worth the effort.”
A deep breath.
“Fenris is not so weak in number here that the Wyrm not remember the Terror we bring. You are right, though. We would weaken the Sept to correct our own faults. You are needed here, Brother. As Elder. As Howl and Fury. If you stay the Walls of Maelstrom for a short time, we will bring you back the Warriors worthy of a Pack.”
[Kemp Oates] Now it was his turn for his brain to go Huh? Sometimes Thomas spoke in what could only be called Greek to his ears.
“Ya still ain’t explained why she comes running to ya with big ole Doe eyes when she thinks something is wrong with ya.”
[Drew Roscoe] Something sparked sad in Moira’s face, and Drew hesitated, glancing back towards Joe. He wasn’t red in the face, didn’t appear angry, wasn’t looming. Matter of fact, he looked like he was enjoying himself. A small grin tugged the corner of her mouth. She’d let him be. For now she focused on Moira instead, and dusted off the rear and back thighs of her jeans as well, bent over while she spoke.
“Is nice. I can’t count the number of times they’ve pulled my fat out of the fryer. Hell, just this weekend, Joe?” She nodded toward him, straightened up, and jammed her hands back into her pockets. “…Well, god bless him gettin’ that dinky ass cell phone of his. Chances are high that I’d still be somewhere I shouldn’t be if he hadn’t come for me, y’know?” There was a beat, her mouth pressed into a thoughtful line, and she nudged Moira lightly with her elbow, more of a friendly jostle than a jab.
“I bet both my frozen asscheeks that Kemp’d do the same for ya. He’s really been not much more than a prick to me, but I think he knows his own. Y’know, Joe ‘n Thomas… that Delmar doofus, Daniel the Smileless? Any of ’em, I’d bet my next five paychecks, they’d do it for any of us. S’what family’s all about, right?”
[Thomas] He stares at Kemp, the dawn of the Rotagar’s question slowly forming in Thomas’ features and eyes.
“…Joe and I take care of her. She sees to some of our needs as well” He plucks at the clothing he’s dressed in. “…Does what is required.” The confusion is evident in his speech. The question…difficult.
“…She’s Kin.” Tilting head. “As much a Ward to take care of as she is a Comfort to our Anger and…” Frowning again. Deeper this time. “I…give her reason enough to be concerned when my ire grows past my tolerance.”
[Moira Murray] A shadow flickers across Moira’s expression, it darkens the blue in her eyes, making her seem vacant as Drew tries to speak cheerfully, perhaps to jostle the Fenrir kin. It doesn’t help, she glances at Drew, the sadness is there. She swallows the lump forming in her throat, shakes her head to brush it all aside.
Moira feigns a smile, pretending like nothing had changed in the conversation. “It is what family is suppose to be about,” her eyes swing over the gathered, shrugging her shoulders. “I think Kemp’s damsel-in-distress rescue days are quite over with. He grows agitated with kinfolk that can’t seem to help themselves, are too brash or like to get into trouble.”
[Izzy Montoya] You’ll do, he says. Just need to find her a big enough asshole… “Why, cuz ya ain’t fuckin man enough yourself?” But that smirk… it slides into something… almost warmer, as if she knew exactly what was going on the whole time.
She lifts her chin, slightly, and studies him. “You remind me of H…someone I once knew, kid.” Somehow, it comes across as almost a compliment. “He was a fuckin’ raciest asshole too.” a beat. “Shot his ass – an’ I ain’t th’fuckin’ meltin type.”
[Kemp Oates] “Then ya need to teach her that it’s fuckin stupid to come stick her face in between two Garou when they are trying to have a talk. Either one of us could of flipped and used her for fodder. Common fuckin sense.”
He snorted and shook his head.
“I’m gonna give this trip idea some thought. When ya leaving? Cause I gotta tell ya. My instincts are to stay with the Sept and not deal with a little girl for days.”
[Laila Frolich] “Well.” she draws in a deep breath and then exhales, the rise of Joe’s voice whipping her head back round toward the park before dismissing it for the moment entirely. “He said that I was kin to the Get of Fenris…and that they were more dominant and would try and insinuate themselves into my life..” She shrugs, “He said they were protective of their family…”
(Sooooooo sorry)
[Imogen Slaughter] “Anythin’ about kinfolk? Garou? The war?” Imogen prods, her question unhesitating, but hardly rapidfire. Just one question after another.
[Thomas] His frown bleeds away as Kemp offers his reasons, Thomas’ solidity returning with the Adren’s commands.
“Something I will address during the Trip, Truth~rhya.”
He lifts a hand to wipe negligently at his running nose.
“In a week, ten days at most. We have to catch the next Full Moon for the Moot and the Ceremony and it will take a number of days for us to get out there.” He regards Kemp. “The Skald in me would wish to see what Wisdom and Stories might come of you and Theft~rhya meeting, Kemp, but your instincts are nothing to be ignored. The Sept needs you.” They had but to look back on the most recent of Moot’s to know that truth.
[Laila Frolich] “He did say there were bad things…I mean, I asked if I could just avoid them and he told me I’d be better with them than without them…” Her eyes shift toward Imogen then look away quickly. “He did tell me there was a difference between them and us…is there a war?” She asks, looking confused and, oddly, interested.
[Kemp Oates] “Ya got my number. See to it the girls have it. Let me know when you are leaving and I’ll think about this until then.”
He clapped Thomas on the shoulder.
“Listen, just loosen up a bit, ok? Breathe, take a nice long shit with a book and relax for a bit.”
[Joe Holst] “Fuck y- oh? Shot ‘im?” Joe’s eyes skate back to Izzy’s face, then to Drew. “Yew an’ dat one needa get aquainted. Bitch shot me once. DREW!” He turns to lead Izzy toward the two kinswomen, pointing a finger at Izzy. “She’s a shootah tew. Youse guys outta get along real goodt.”
Joe’s bullish neck swivels between the two of them- Izzy, then Drew, back again. “Youse goyls get aquainned-” He hooks a thumb at Izzy. “Izzy heah’s like.. sensitive, in-tune wit’ da pulse uh society.. gaht no fekkin use fah racists. Sah youse try an’ not make ‘eh cry. I needa tawk wit my bruddahs.” He cocks his head back toward Kemp and Thomas, and starts to move off with one last smirk.
[Drew Roscoe] She peered over at Kemp when Moira mentioned his newfound (newfound to Moira, anyways) outlook on life and Kinfolk, and the cheer melted off her features to match Moira. Fake smiles hurt to look at worse than honest sadness. Drew pulled her mouth to one side, shook her head, and sighed.
“Yeah, I noticed that one.” She paused, glanced up to Moira, and sighed. “Think he–… Eh, nevermind, not my place.” She shook her head again and hitched her hands on her ice skates, leaned her weight back into one leg so the other was popped at the knee, and glanced to Joe and Izzy briefly, checking up– they were smiling, good– before looking to Kemp and Thomas once more.
Thomas had calmed down, but the tones they spoke in were dire, Thomas’s face was as easy to read as a large font book. She found herself caught up in watching the pair, wondering what the hell they were talking about, and lapsed into silence.
Then Joe bellowed her name, and she blinked and looked over at him. “Hey, I’m standing right here. Don’t gotta shout.” He said they should get acquainted, and she looked to Izzy, blinked once, then looked back to Joe. She might have more smart aleck comments to throw out at him, but he wanted to go talk to Thomas and Kemp, so she didn’t keep him with half-grinned jests. Just watched him go before looking at Izzy and shrugging.
[Izzy Montoya] She snorts. “That little thing makes me cry an I’ll fuckin buy ya a case of beer. Sensitive my fuckin’ ass.”
Chicago’s gonna drive her to smoke again. She can feel it. She tucks her hands back into the pockets of her jacket, and meets Drew’s gaze evenly. Bitch shot him once. “Too bad ya fuckin’ missed. Aim for the head next time.” But it’s said with a smirk – and more for Joe’s ears than hers.
[Thomas] He stares. Takes a breath as suggested and…rolls his shoulders by way of having listened. Loosen up. Relax. Take a-
“I will try.” A glance is cast at the ‘Girls’ before he spies Joe approaching, the Modi’s presence something of a lodestone. Strength unbending. It brings a settling to his mind and breathing. Where Kemp’s words were wisdom and thought. Joe’s presence was Will and Strength.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew blinked, then grinned. “I didn’t miss. Got his… shoulder, I think? And in my defense, that one–” and she gestured toward Kemp, “was shakin’ my platform while I was trying to line up the shot.”
“But naw, I can’t aim for the head. Heads tend to explode when you shoot ’em.”
No shit, sherlock.
[Joe Holst] Joe slaps his head lightly as he moves toward Thomas and Kemp. The gesture is light hearted, but the formidable Modi’s demeanor is intent.. the seriousness that hints at using more than just eyes and ears to see if the conversation has opened up at all. He paces a half circle, moving closer before moving directly into a space Kemp had claimed for his own..
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen draws a slow breath, and she steps off the path and onto the sidewalk bordering on Michigan avenue. She runs a hand over her hair, bound back away from her eyes and rather damp now from the rain.
“Let’s wait ’till we get inside, shall we?”
For a time, she says nothing else. They walk down the street until they reach the kinwoman’s intended destination – a diner with great large bay windows, slightly fogged from the humidity outside and the warmth inside. She pulls open the door, stepping inside, with a cursory hand on the door to hold it until Laila catches it.
One should note that the slight woman is hardly friendly. Polite, yes, but she does not smile, she does not try and make Laila feel better, really. She is remote, reserved. At times,
(frequently)
she is referred to as cold.
The heat of the diner is pleasant after the damp chill of the night. Imogen moves toward a booth, running a pale hand over her face before she takes her seat, removing her coat and setting it on the bench beside her.
A waiter comes promptly – Imogen orders a coffee and nothing else, then waits for Laila to make her order.
She waits until the waiter is fully out of hearing before she speaks, and when she does, her voice is quiet. The diner is not heavily occupied – and still, she speaks low.
“First thing tha’ you should know is tha’ the Garou ha’ laws. I don’t know them all, and I imagine they don’t all apply t’us. However, one yeh should burn into yer mind is tha’ no human should ever learn anything that you have learnt this week and will learn in the future. We call the ignorance o’ humans ‘the Veil’. The law, specifically, is ‘The Veil shall not be lifted.’ So, should yeh ha’ a best friend, colleagues, anyone like tha, as of now, yeh’d best learn to lie to them and keep that life separate from this.” A slender finger taps the table between them, referring to the conversation. Imogen has an artist’s hands – a musician’s. Long fingers, slender jointed and bones. The nails are all cropped short, but carefully shaped, naturally coloured.
“There is no leeway in this. Humans cannot know. There are too many o’ them, and they ha’ suspicions and superstitions that are best focused on each other, leavin’ the Garou and the others alone.”
The waiter comes by with Imogen’s coffee, and whatever Laila has ordered. The redhead stops speaking, thanks the waiter simply and picks up her coffee cup, inhaling the fragrent steam. It is yet too hot to drink and she sets the ceramic cup down with a sharp click on the plastic table.
“Can you handle that?”
One has to wonder what Imogen would do if Laila said no.
[Imogen Slaughter] (oops.)
[Kemp Oates] Joe approached and stepped right in to his space. So he did the only thing he could think of at that moment. He grabbed Joe in a bear hug and planted a big ole noisy kiss on each cheek before dropping his hold on him.
“Don’t worry so much. Life is a brief little trip, enjoy what ya can of it.”
He thumped Joe’s shoulder as he stepped away.
“Teach Thomas to relax some. I gotta go drop the kids off at the pool.”
[Moira Murray] Izzy joins Moira and Drew, who has fallen quiet as she listens to Drew recant her tales of gunslinger glory. It makes her wince visibly, nose scrunching again as she sniffs. She slaps the knit cap against her thigh, shaking out the remains of any snow and then begins to smooth it out. She pulls it back on over her head, fixing it low and glances around to regard who all was still there.
Imogen and Laila had wandered off, Moira blinks turning away to scan the park for any trace of the red head. “I think Imogen took Laila off, probably for the better.”
[Joe Holst] Joe’s eyes are wide and crazed as Kemp gives him a smootc- no, two smootches. For a second he just blinks. And squirms.
“Ah feh chrissake!” He scowls- but soon enough the humor becomes apparent. “Jus’ no tongue!”
[Izzy Montoya] Heads tend to exploded when.. “An’ that would be the fuckin’ point, Captain Obvious.” She takes a breath, and then huffs it out in a moment’s irritation. She lifts a hand to push dark hair back over her shoulder. Moira asks about Imogen, and Izzy gestures in the distance.
“Headed that way. There’s a few diners and the like down there.”
[Kemp Oates] “Damn, there goes all my fun!”
He snickered with a wink to both Garou.
“Keep in touch. Give the girls my number just in case. I gotta go man. See a man about a horse. Drop the kids off at the pool. Ya know, take a shit.”
With a wave he headed off into the dark park.
[Kemp Oates] ((Thanks! Night! way pass my bedtime! ))
[Thomas] Thomas offers a solemn nod that is given an attempt at a smile, half quirked and patient, before his gaze pulls up toward Joe, the bullish Modi’s reaction during a deeper humour, both amused and relieved at once.
“Kemp’s going to think about the trip. He raised some good points about us leaving Maelstrom too weak of a Fenrir presence. With Silence~rhya gone we might just be doing that so he may well stay behind.” A flicker of a glance is cast off toward Drew and the other Kin.
[Drew Roscoe] “Y–”
Drew bit off the sound as soon as it was born in her mouth, shaking her head and deciding not to instigate. She didn’t feel like fighting, didn’t want tension riding her shoulders and spine anymore. So she glanced off where Moira and Izzy were looking, shrugged, and murmered: “Poor Laila.” and left it at that.
She tugged at her coat and the ice skates that set overtop of it, uncomfortable with how everything was fitting her all of a sudden. The ice skates were removed from her neck and held in her left hand instead, clicking together when she swayed herself forward and backward, rocking on her tennis shoes again. She looked off in the distance, where Imogen and Laila had wandered off, then over to the Boys. Her eyes followed after Kemp, then landed on Thomas and Joe.
Her head tipped in question.
Is it safe to join the adults at the big kid table now?
[Thomas] “…I heard you and that one-” He nods at Izzy.
“…Seems rather fierce, aye?”
[Laila Frolich] They walk in silence, Laila’s face set in what could only be described as a perpetual state of deep thought. Her brows are knitted together, her lips pursed tight. Imogen doesn’t smile, she doesn’t go out of her way to make Laila feel as if she had found a new best friend and that was fine. The woman was giving her a little knowledge on whatever it was that made her kin to people like Thomas and Joe and Kemp and that to her was better than finding a new best friend.
“I haven’t told anyone.” She says firmly. “They’d think I’m crazy anyway.” Inside the diner, they sit and when the waiter takes Imogen’s order Laila orders herself a hot chocolate. “I won’t say anything…to anyone.”
[Moira Murray] Moira strains her ears, she can’t help but over hear something that seems to make her frown a little. She clears her throat, raising an eyebrow at Drew. “Imogen isn’t that bad. She is rather wise for her years and experienced. You would do well to listen to anything she has to say, Drew, I mean that wholeheartedly. I have learned a lot from Imogen and as a kin to the Eagles.”
She returns her gaze to the Garou, Kemp gone without so much as a good-bye. She rubs gloved hands together, before angling her head to the side with a thought, watching them. “Hey, Thomas, do you have a moment.”
[Joe Holst] “Heh. Yeah. Not a bad one dough.. needs some sammiches.. uddah’n dat she’s Fenrir.” Joe’s thick neck swivels to Thomas and the boy nods, certain. “Maybe gotta watch ‘er a bit.. name’s ‘Montoya’ sah who knows..” The breeding returns obvious and strong in the Modi’s nose when he looks back to her though.. he frowns in consternation. Were her genes not struck by Wyrmfolk, who knows what she’d have been?
Joe’s brow clears a moment later as he meets Thomas’ eyes again, but he remains every bit as intent. “Maelstrom’ll need some of us.. even jus’ feh dat little while weah gone. Less Fenrir means moah Children. Dat don’t seem a real hot choice dese days.”
Joe punches his fists into his pockets and cants his chin toward the Kinfolk. “Yew uh…” Solemnity flashes quick across Joe’s face as he tries to phrase something sacred in ordinary words. “Yew seein’ well enough ta keep comp’ny? S’thick ovah deah.. Even makes me get a little distracted.”
[Drew Roscoe] Drew blinked a little bit, then turned her attention to Moira. She looked completely taken aback by the girl’s talk about Imogen, how she was wise and experienced and smart and good to listen to. The surprise on her face was genuine, undeniable, it was doubtful that she knew how to act well enough to feign something like that.
“Wha–… Yeah, Moira, yeah. I know.” Her tone was still surprised, just like her face was, and the words certainly were not dismissive.
“I’d trust whatever she told me. I mean, Doc’s a little bit of an iceburg, but I respect the lady as much as I do anyone.” Moira called out for Thomas, and she glanced over to the pair, then back to Moira. “…Where’d that come from?”
[Thomas] “Aye, I’m well enough now. Kemp saw to to…that..?”
He interrupts himself as his name is called. Thomas’ attention moves around Joe to regard Moira. The addressing is a little…off-putting after the recent conversations, the Skald’s gaze narrowed slightly out of some innate reflex even as he lifts a hand toward her and Drew motioning them both forward. It’s safe, apparently.
“…Maelstrom will make do with the numbers. The trip is a necessary one. There’s a lot to know and learn in the Fireheart Sept, even more to keep us busy.” His gaze flicks around the various Kinfolk present, before Moira and Drew have a chance to arrive.
“…This is important. What we do there. What we do here. There’s a purpose…” Something distant in the Skald’s voice. Distant and remembering. Or trying to at least.
[Izzy Montoya] Moira calls for Thomas, and Drew looks a bit like deer in the headlights after Moira’s talk of the Doc. For her part, Izzy simply listens, once more. The groups disperse, and seem to be combining again.
And that’s about when her phone rings once more. With a muttered curse, she steps back, answers it, and snaps. “Montoya.”
((Time for the VERY LAST TAXI run for the night. bbiab!))
[Joe Holst] Joe’s gaze rests heavily on the side of Thomas’ face as the wyld skald seems to grow away from himself. Curiosity.. but it will wait for now. At least until Thomas knows more.. or they find more in this far off place. Joe turns a gap toothed grin on the kinfolk as they come on over.
He leans around the three of them to introduce Izzy. “Cop, dis’s Thomas. Named Gut Song. He’s a Skald. Thomas, Cop’s named Izzy.” He nods, carefully avoiding the fiery new kin’s eyes.
[Moira Murray] Moira turns to look down at Drew, wiggling her eyebrows at her. “It’s safe to go over.”
She glances to Drew, “You coming?” the question proposed before Moira was stuffing her hands into the deep pockets of her wool trench coat and making her way over to the Garou when she sees Thomas wave them over. Long black braid swishes against her spine with the subtle gestures of her head and comes to a halt in front of the Fenrir.
She pokes her tongue inside her left cheek, a lowering of her eyelashes, if a bit coyly to show no brazenness or disrespect.
[Joe Holst] ((Sorry- dlp please, I’m very distracted. Joe’d not do that. Guys I need to take off for a bit, be back later.)) As the kinfolk approach, Joe’s eyes sink in concentration toward the ground. He seems content to think on whatever is chewing at his mind, and keep a casual sort of guard over the group of them. His. His folk. The feeling is a good one.. but he’s careful not to let it distract.
[Drew Roscoe] Moira wagged her eyebrows at Drew, which had the small Kinfolk blinking once, then cracking a grin, laughing, then lifting a hand to touch at her lip and hissing out: “Damnit! Again? Yeah, of course I’m coming.” Still grinning a little, though now behind the cold, red-knuckled hand, she wandered over alongside Moira, looking much less dignified of the two.
Moira: More breeding, taller, thick long black hair tied in a braid that looked sexy while being tossuled about at the same time. Pretty face, nice trench coat (though the boots were scuffed, a nice Fenrir touch thrown into the mix).
Drew: Breeding, but only a whisper of it. Choppy brown hair that fell just past her shoulders, cute beyond belief but it was a stretch of the imagination to call her beautiful or sexy like you could with someone like Moira. Her coat was a bit too big, bright red with tan fur around the hood, and her sneakers were squishing with melted snow.
But they got along grand, this wasn’t high school and there weren’t cliques. The two came upon the Garou while Izzy barked into her phone back where snow was disturbed by the brief but vigorous snow-battle. Moira glanced down because she was raised by Kinfolk and Garou knowing what she was and how to behave, while Drew strolled up and looked both of them right in the face with a smile that was now hidden only by two fingers that touched to the center of her lower lip.
Joe’s eyes dropped some, and Drew watched him for a few seconds before deciding to let him be. Let sleeping dogs lie, let thinking Monsters ponder their shit out.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen nods slightly, merely acknowledging Laila’s agreement. After that, there is a brief silence.
She picks up her coffee mug again, and takes a tentative sip, then a deeper one as the liquid proves not to burn her tongue. A line forms between her eyebrows – recedes.
She sets the coffee cup down. “Well,” she says abruptly, a decision made, “As you’ve learnt now, werewolves exist. They call themselves Garou. Most humans cannot stand ’em. They certainly cannot see them when they’ve become monsters. Their minds cannot handle it. They run or wet themselves and go inert. Yeh’ll see it too – wi’ some Garou, humans will never approach. When they do, they’re frightened as if yeh were seated wi’ the worst sociopath in history.”
Her hands curve over her mug. The nails of the left are filed shorter than the right; cut closer to the quick to accommodate pressing guitar strings to a fretboard.
“Not everyone who carries this blood – we’ll call it Garou blood fer simplicity – becomes a Garou. There are those who cannot change, but have just a little bit more. Yeh can see a Garou in its war form. Yeh can stand the way it feels t’stand next t’them – if only just a little better than humans. Some kinfolk can be recognized fer what they are, simply by the … aura they carry around them.” A pause. “I rarely meet a Garou who does not know what I am. S’inside me, from my family, my history. It will be this way until I die.” If there is resignation or pride there, it is well hidden.
“There are more o’ us, we’re called Kinfolk, Kinswomen or men, or just Kin, than there are o’ them. I don’t know th’exact ratio, but s’got t’be at least ten or fifteen t’one. We can live among humans. Make money.” A pause, her mouth drawing a little tight, before she takes a sip of her coffee to wet her lips. “We can have children who are born true – another way t’refer t’Garou – if th’circumstances are right. We do things tha’ the Garou cannot.”
A beat. “You should know tha’ Garou are not meant t’breed with each other. It produces monstrosities. When they breed wi’ humans, it is hard fer all the reasons I’ve already mentioned, and they are not likely t’get a full-blooded Garou. So kinfolk are ideal to them.
“But don’t focus too much on tha’ jus’ yet.”
[Laila Frolich] She’s nodding, soaking up everything that Imogen has to offer her. Her gloves have come off at some point and sit on the table next to her left elbow. Her own nails are clipped neatly and are left just long enough to scratch and itch should the need arise. Her palms and fingers wrap around the mug she’d been brought, warming them almost instantly.
“That one…the one that sniffed at me…he said I should go home to my mate. I’m not married…is that some sort of code word?” It sounds almost ridiculous, this cloak and dagger mystique in their conversation …but if that is what was called for, she wasn’t complaining.
[Imogen Slaughter] “Mate is the word that Garou use fer the kinfolk they sleep with.” She does not mince words. “It generally means a Kinfolk they’ve claimed as their own.”
[Laila Frolich] “Hmm.” She says, then sips her hot chocolate. She didn’t understand but then again that wasn’t surprising to her. Laila didn’t think to hard on the whole ‘mate’ thing…that wasn’t something she even wanted to entertain.
[Moira Murray] There is something in the way that Moira carries herself, it is a subtleness that most may or may not recognize of guarded emotions and actions; the way she thinks or responds, the sudden shift in her emotions comes so quickly it is hard to gauge her real feelings at times. This very night she has gone from the calm to playful to sad and then respectful in a matter of moments.
Intelligence glistens in her blue eyes along with the spiritual connection that every Garou has with Gaia. It reflects in hers the way it would in a Godi. It was scary. Her head lifts a notch, now out of bravado but to address Thomas, Moira has learned her place by trial and error.
She wears the scars of her lessons upon her skin, carved into the white scars that encircle both wrists, old injuries… rope burns.
She breathes in, letting the air exhale slowly from her lungs before speaking. “Joss spoke of you to me, and your abilities to speak with the ancestors. When Kemp had asked you to recount our lineage, I was rather excited. For a few months now, I have desired to speak with you… because there are things you can tell me, about myself… my family that I don’t know of.”
She tucks in her bottom lip, chewing on it, “If the request still stands, perhaps, another day when you aren’t so frustration. You can help peace together the clues to my history that I have spent two years trying to discover and turned up with nothing.”
[Moira Murray] (peace= piece)
[Izzy Montoya] “Oh for the love of purple spotted donkey dicks. I’m not your fuckin’ mom. Deal with it!” She snaps the phone closed, holding it to her forehead a moment as she lowers her head, staring at the ground. The phone tap tap tap’s against her forehead, and then with a frustrated growl she shoves the phone back into her pocket, gives her gloves a little tug back into place, and turns to rejoin the party of Fenrir that seems to have regrouped once more.
[Imogen Slaughter] Hmm, murmurs Laila, and Imogen pauses a moment to see if more questions are forthcoming. If none are, she continues.
“Get of Fenris is th’name o’ a tribe. Th’Garou consider themselves a ‘Nation’, but beneath that, they are broken into different tribes. There are quite a few, wi’ some yeh’ll never meet and others of which there are plenty. Silver Fang, Child o’ Gaia, Bone Gnawer, Fianna are names o’ other tribes, but there are more than that.” A twist of her mouth, “S’just not worth it fer yeh to memorize them at just this moment, even if I could name them all. Tribes are generally defined by blood line, though there are tribes who will accept anyone. Kinfolk – we’re born into whatever blood line we ha’, and are considered that tribe by the Nation. Should a Garou from another tribe claim you, yeh change tribes in the Nation’s eyes. Fer Garou, this lineage is very important – and fer quite a few kinfolk as well. It defines some o’ their character traits, their pride, who they are.”
A faint smirk, “Yeh should know tha’ Fenrir are known fer bein’ warlike, violent, incredible in a fight. They align themselves wi’ Nordic traditions and ideals. They are also stubborn, and short-tempered.
“Garou will also align themselves wi’ packs – a group o’ Garou who live together, sometimes, and fight together, who are closely bound so tha’ sometimes it’s like they can read each other’s thoughts. They ha’ loyalty to each other, connections that are different than that o’ tribe.
“Yeh’ve likely seen Werewolves in pop culture. Full moon, uncontrollable change? S’not quite what it is, but under th’full moon, and in some cases, the days leadin’ up to it, Garou are more quick t’anger than at other times.”
Another indrawn breath, another sip of coffee. “Yeh should pay attention to that. If they lose their temper, they could kill you.”
A moment is given to allow that to sink in.
[Laila Frolich] Her hot chocolate cools as she listens to Imogen explain the world of werewolves to her. It’s a cliff notes version she’s sure, and that’s okay. Throughout the tutorial Laila is as quiet as a mouse. She watches Imogen carefully, listens with keen ears and every once in a while gnaws on her bottom lip.
“What does this all mean for me? What do I do?” She asks, her forefinger drawing slowly back and forth across her chin while her elbow props on the table top. “I’m twenty two and to be honest I’m in a business that doesn’t afford me…jealous or over protective family members…” After a drink of her hot chocolate she sighs. “The very first time I met one of them, I knew instantly that respect was in order. The sort of respect a child should afford a parent? I can’t imagine giving them any reason to …use me as an excuse to vent their anger.”
[Thomas] Moira strode forth as Joe went quiet, the Skald’s attention fixing on the lovely Young Kin and his demeanour is…perhaps, terrible. Not for the fear it could inspire, but for the shade of something telling that had transpired tonight. Moira’s own eyes and senses had discerned it and a quick glance from her to Joe, who’s own comment had brought a thought of…caution and finally down toward Drew who had held concern.
Three opinions with Legends in their blood wove themselves unknowingly around Kemp’s words. Relax a bit. Loosen up. What would happen-
“Your Ancestors were touched.” He offers, smoother then Thomas’ normally is, a struggle to keep the old Ken from his words as he spoke to Moira. Not at her, but to.
“…It would be difficult to explore every avenue of approach without a proper telling, but from what I’ve gathered, there are portions and parts of similarity in you that beckon to stories I’ve heard before. Not here-” And he touches his ear briefly “-but…here…” And he taps his head then his heart, gaze losing itself in the fog of memory, Moira and the others might as well be a ghost.
“…But…” And back again just as quickly. “…You’re right. Tonight is not a night for revelations. I will think on your request and what knowledge I have will be available to you when I have made…more of myself and less of what I believe should be.” A Grimace rides his features, less guilt and more caution, something oddly out of place on the Skald’s features and framework. Some might call it doubt, but that was for the elderly.
In this, it was learning.
[Imogen Slaughter] (*slaps pause on Laila and Imogen and FLEES to bed* Thanks for the RP, everyone!)
[Drew Roscoe] Drew remained quiet, for the most part. She’d had a question, one of concern, and it read clearly on her face when she turned it, slowly from Joe’s enormous back, the Modi having swiveled to wander off and clear his mind, to Thomas.
Are you alright?
But she didn’t need to ask aloud. He was breathing evenly, he looked to Moira, listened, and replied. Spoke with her rather than preached, and that was the key. His eyes weren’t wide, his tone wasn’t manic. He was alright, and so Drew relaxed.
[Moira Murray] She understands the struggle that Thomas must be going through that had caused Kemp to pull him aside. She pulls her hands from her pockets, lifts up the right to brush fingers across her forehead and tuck damp black bangs out of her eyes.
“I will consider it a great honor when we have time to sit down properly, Thomas. It’s been a while since I have had the pleasure of listening to a tale sung by a Skald.”
She is polite, perhaps flattering him a little. Moira gestures to Drew absently, “I know Drew takes care of you and Joe, and you guys will be packing up with a dear friend of mine, in Kemp. So, if there is anything I can do to help in anyway; please do not hesitate to call me. Kemp has my number and I’m sure after tonight, so will Drew.”
[Izzy Montoya] She doesn’t interrupt when she is close to the group again, only listens quietly as they talk of songs and tales, and Moira flatters the Skald, and Drew fawns silently over him in concern. A brow hitches slightly, but that’s the only outward indication of any inward thoughts.
She is quiet, and does not interrupt.
[Thomas] A rippling flicker of something drifts across Thomas’ features as Moira goes on, finally arriving with a sharp cut of his hand in the air halfway through ‘I know Drew takes care-”
“Kemp’s words aside, I do not require the assurances you offer. The heroes that cling to you-” And he encompasses both Izzy and Drew in that sentence, with a flicker of a glance and a nod “-are part of my duty and upbringing just as much as they are part of you. I want to ensure that each and every one of them is remembered and honoured for who and what they did, even if you are unaware of them. It is your choice on whether you wish to know what we deem so important in your blood…”
A level of grimness creeps over his features, all reflexes seeming to fight that statement, despite it’s sincerity.
“…But you should understand that knowing these things does not give you privilege or right to stand against your Family. It gives you the opportunity to know why we fight, why you’re important to us and why every inch we give is as much for you as it is for Gaia.”
He steps off to one side, peering over his shoulder to the space where Joe had wandered. The Modi could be mercurial at times, drifting through hazes. It was at these times that he could use a voice, if not a wall.
“I’ll find you when I’m ready. Be sure you’re willing to listen.” It serves as a good bye and a promise both, Thomas pulling his hood back up, gaze flicking at Drew briefly before he moves into the footprints in the snow of Joe’s wake.
[Drew Roscoe] Thomas cut Moira off, and Drew’s mouth tugged at one corner in something that threatened to be apologetic. He’d done that same damn thing to her several times before, interrupting her by slicing his hand through the air like he was going to karate chop a piece of wood in half or something. He gave speech about the blood of heroes, how he wanted to make sure that the ancestors of all three of them were remembered. How he would teach, he would tell, but he would do it only so that they could better understand why they were supposed to love Gaia.
…or something along those lines, anyways. He was a tough guy to follow on occasion.
Thomas told Moira that he would find her, and there was a note in his voice and a shift in his posture that Drew recognized as farewell. His eyes flickered to hers, settled there for a second, but it gave her long enough to flick her eyebrows up at him, smile a bit, and lift a hand in goodbye. He turned about and stalked off after Joe, and Drew adjusted her coat and hummed.
“So.” And she glanced to Moira and Izzy. “Don’t suppose either’a you ice skate?”
[Izzy Montoya] Thomas takes his leave, and she rolls her shoulder, briefly. It’s a negligent move, something done without thought, an easing of any tension that might have arisin over the evening. She snaps her gum, absently, her attention snapping to Drew as she asks her question.
Her lopsided smirk returns. “No. I don’t think it’s been cold enough t’trust the ponds, even if I did. Least I fuckin’ wouldn’t – but then again, I can’t fuckin stay on my feet with skates on, either.”
[Moira Murray] Moira stood in stony silence as she listens to him speak, she cannot find any words to comment. Her chin lifts slightly, eyes narrow briefly, a flicker of boldness erupting as she did meet the Skald’s gaze as he spoke to her.
She waits until Joe and Thomas have parted ways with the remaining Fenrir kin, finally releasing the breath she has held. She turns on Drew immediately, almost suddenly. Moira draws up her hands, peeling off the leather gloves she has been wearing all night. She tucks them under her chin and reaches out to cup Drew’s face, holding it steady.
The palms of her hands were soft and cool, despite being bound in insulated gloves. Moira focuses for a moment, staring at the smaller kin long enough to hold her gaze. Drew will feel it, a warm liquid sensation that seems to flow against her skin with a healing touch.
[mother’s touch on drew]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]
[Moira Murray] “I wouldn’t recommend it. I’m sure there’s a professional ice rink set up somewhere in the city, possibly closer to the pier.” She breathes out, pulling her hands back from Drew’s face, and begins to pull her gloves back on.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew looked startled by Moira yet again, a second time that evening in just a cluster of minutes The pretty girl with the thick black braid peeled off her gloves and reached out to her. Hands that were cool and dry while Drew’s would have been clammy and sweaty inside of nice leather gloves like that touched her cheeks, cupped her face and held it still. Normally Drew might have recoiled, but she trusted Moira pretty strongly, and she knew of another that tended to do stuff like this.
The split in her lip stitched itself closed immediately, as did the residual damage to her midsection that she’d been ignoring, a large black bruise that had blossomed over her upper stomach fading away under layers of clothing. Drew blinked as Moira spoke of a professional ice rink and started putting her gloves back on, then tongued at her lip where the split had been to feel nothing but what was supposed to be there, healthy and uninterrupted skin.
“…Forgot you could do that,” she said almost distantly, and reached up to rub a thumb over her lip next. “Thanks.” She cracked a bit of a grin and sniffed. “Would’a been opening that bitch for the next week, I wager.” A glance was cast over to Izzy then, and she nodded. “Alright, both of you have your points. Ice skating’s out.”
[Izzy Montoya] She watches Moira and Drew, and that brow quirks up higher, and she finds herself studying Moira more intently than before.
“That’s quite the fuckin’ lil trick there…”
[Moira Murray] “Call it… magick.”
Moira laughs, her voice growing soft and husky. She looks at Drew with a satisfied nod, “I wasn’t going to ask about how you sustained the injuries, and I was biding my time until they left. I’m not supposed to be doing that all willy nilly, makes people suspicious.”
She looks tired suddenly, the vague impressions of shadows forming under her eyelids. It is obvious something drains out of her every time she does it. “I tend to be a one-trick pony, Detective Montoya, but it comes in handy when it’s needed.”
The cold air seems to way on her now, like she can feel it creeping into her bones through her skin. “It’s growing late, I should be heading home. I’ll have an upset Rufus trying to destroy my shoes since I missed his dinner.”
She nods her head to Drew and Izzy, “It’s been an interesting night.”
[Drew Roscoe] “Good,” Drew said to Moira with a bit of a smile that didn’t match the words that followed, that was far too cheery and good-natured to be paired with such a serious topic. “Wasn’t something that I much felt like discussing just yet anyways.” Not in the least.
Her eyes flicked toward Izzy, studying the way that she studied Moira, but that relented easily enough. Moira had exhausted herself with that trick, which she understood. Lonna was exhausted and beaten after healing people too, needed to go rest. So Drew nodded in agreement with the pretty witch of a Fenrir Kinfolk; it was indeed getting late. She slung her ice skates about her neck again and dipped her hands deep into her coat pockets.
“Sure has been… Think I’m gonna take my not getting my butt beaten or having to shoot anything at face value, appreciate it, and head on home myself.”
[Izzy Montoya] The women discuss going home, and Izzy simply nods. She does, however, fish out a business card for each of them. “If you need me.” A beat, and then she turns and lifts a hand in a wave. “Goodnight.”
And with that, she turns and makes her way out of the park – and likely to the nearest bar.
[Moira Murray] Moira accepts the business card, filing it away into her pocket along with her hands. She bids the other kin a farewell, pivoting on her flat-soled boots and begins to walk away, back towards the direction she had come from.
[Moira Murray] [Thanks for the crazy ass scene!]
[Izzy Montoya] [Ditto! :) ]
[Drew Roscoe] […Trio! (right?) ]