Make it Rain [Wayha]

And as it seemed that he started to draw something, something about an 18-pack or something. He looked a little puzzled before he could say anything. And before he could speak, it seemed that James had joined them.

“Ahh hello James.”

He shifts his gaze over to James, lifting a crooked eyebrow up at the other man. His chest lifting up with each intake of breath, the foul smell of the short vagrant growing more stagnant the longer he sits still, clothes flavored by the stench of the city, dried sweat and unwashed body odor…

She makes a stop at the bar, and via her whiteboard asks for and receives a beer, and then says she’ll be down for her sandwich order in a while – if someone isn’t busy and wants to run it up stairs, she’ll be there. If not, she’ll return for it, either way seems to be fine with her.

Beer and whiteboard in hand, she moves through the kitchen, up the back stairs, and into the common room. Silent, as always. Those who have the capacity to notice such, will scent the dried blood that clings to her, despite the fact that she holds herself as proudly as ever.

After all – she is Fenrir.
It is merely a scratch.

She’d arrive to find James sitting on the couch, eyeing the Wendigo-in-Bone Gnawer’s clothing a bit in askance. When Wahya uttered his word, ‘wasichu,’ he responded with “Bless ye,” murmured as he turned his attention for the moment to nod again at Evan and once for AnneMarie. He did not nod ‘up,’ as the others were wont to do. It was an American thing, and James was certainly not one of those.

There is no pedigree that bleeds off the short man, not like Evan and the others that have been here prior to James’ arrival. Wahya simply taps the piece of cardboard, extending it to the pair and shrugs his lean shoulders. AnnMarie’s arrival is met with head tilt and a quick gaze of scrutiny.

He taps at the glyphs. One each represents his introduction, the cartoonish drawing of a cat with horns and snake’s lower body, a crescent moon, and something else that was hard to describe. “Mahnee Tongue.” His broken English was not the best that they have heard.

She makes her way to an empty chair and settles to sit comfortably. Or gives the impression that she sits comfortably, at least. She sets her beer on the table, her whiteboard and pen next to it, before she crosses one knee over the other and smooths the denim along her thigh absently. She does not remove her leather jacket, using it to hide the bulk of bandages underneath the cream colored cotton blouse she also wears.

She is the picture of casual elegance, and holds herself as one with royal bearing – though her blood hold nothing but memories of theives and whores. Sometimes appearance IS everything.

James was a Galliard, so it was more or less his business to try and figure out what in the blazes people were saying so that he’d remember the a tale for a later date.

Ruhiger. Fenrir Modi.

He brings one dirty hand up to his mouth, the tips of his index and middle finger touch against his lips, then slide down to his throat, head tilting up to expose his own neck to her. He brings his other hand up to slide it across his throat in a cutting motion, and then points at her with a questioning gaze. As if trying to ask her if she speaks at all.

(..there is also the scet of blood, coying and fresh.. that she ignores)

She watches his hands and there is a slight quirk of her lips into a bit of a smirk. Her own hands lift, and she touches her throat, and shakes her head. She cannot speak at all. She taps her ear, though, with a slight nod.

Mute, not deaf.

To quote an earlier narration: “there was so much going on in his head that he could write a novel.”

Setting down the bottle, he closed his eyes for a moment and massaged the bridge of his nose between two fingers, as if perhaps he had a headache. More than likely, he did.

His fingers are long, palms broad, his hands large. He begins to gesture to her, no longer bothering with vocal words, gesturing more fluently with his hands at her to see if she understands sign language.

“You speak the silent words?” he gestures to her, his motions slow to make sure she sees them, ”Monkey tongue not first language, speak not good.”

Somehow Gabriella Bellamonte had managed tos neak up to Aidan’s table, appearing almost out of nowhere. Probably because he had his eyes closed, he didn’t see her approaching. She spoke softly, though, so she wouldn’t startle him, and smiled when he glanced up at her greeting.

She was dressed smartly, in a pair of trouser-cut shorts, gray and cutting off an inch or two above her knee. A loose, almost billowing white blouse was worn to go with it, high fashion-esque frills on the front, tucked into the high waist of the shorts, and on her feet she wore a pair of simple but elegant can’t-go-wrong black heels. Her hair was done up nicely, and she’d worn a touch of blush, mascara, and lipstick. She must just be coming in from somewhere nice, professional even.

With a gesture made by a hand now absent of lilac nailpolish (he may notice her toes had lost the polish in favor of a clear coat as well), she asked permission to join him physically as well as verbally. “May I?”

ASL Yes, I do. It has been a long time since I have met another with the ability.

Sitting up, he shook his head and gestured towards the chair across from him. “No, no…go ahead. Don’t mind me. I was just…” (feeling sorry for himself? trying to drink away his problems?) “…thinking.”

The place had quieted down a bit. He appreciated the lack of shouting and screeching chairs. And in spite of himself, Gabbie’s presence did seem to cheer him up…just a little.

Wahya immediately comes to life with movement; he looks around, turning in place a few times before finally settling up the carpet before AnneMarie’s feet. Once comfortable with his legs curled beneath him, he brings up his hands to gesture back at her.

ASL ”I no see many use silent words also. Amusing to make hand gesture at monkeys. Makes one think Wolf is dumb.” makes the sign for wolf, pointing at himself. ”The voice of my Elders call me Many Tongues, those ones that speak the vocal tongue, name me Wolf” he does speak on the last word, pronouncing it as Wah-yah as he makes the hand sign for wolf. The word sounding nothing like AnneMarie had ever heard in English.

She didn’t hail a waitress, not yet. She was content, not hungry or thirsty, so she simply sat with her hands, for the moment, folded over one another and rested on the tabletop in front of her. She sat straight in her chair, but leaned back into her chair so she was comfortable rather than stiff.

“Thinking of what? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

The way that she smiled so brightly and genuinely, it was difficult not to open up to her.

Her pack would be surprised to see the expression with which her hands move – it’s graceful, it’s silken smooth, it’s more expression than she ever lets cross her face in front of anyone.

It’s beautiful.

ASL In years here, 2 kinfolk learned to speak with silent words. They lack Totemphone. Pack prefers it. Lack of privacy can be draining. Nice to enjoy silent words with another. To the Nation I am Ruhiger. To others, AnneMarie. How long have you been in Chicago?

“You ever think your life can’t possibly get more complicated, and then, one day… you are proven woefully incorrect?” Aidan raised his arms up slowly, in a gesture that implied ‘really, I can’t even begin to describe it.’

“I guess it’s just been one of those days.” He sighed, and it looked like the air just whooshed out of him. When he wasn’t actively trying to hide his emotions, the kinfolk’s face could be extremely expressive. And someone like Gabbie would probably read him like an open book.

He pauses in his signing, hands falling into his lap as he stares at some vacant space on the wall beyond AnneMarie’s head. His dark eyes almost become glassy, quietly he ticks off the tips of his fingers on his left hand, holding up two fingers, then three fingers at her.

”Couple of moons. Travel from far to edges of great Scab. Wolf is on quest for Uktena. Meet tribe-brother and little sister.” he brings his other hands up to continue gesturing. Face scrunching up as he wiggles his nose, ”You first to really speak to Wolf. Do not know laws of engagement for this Scab. New territory with different type of wolves.”

After a few moments, she smiled at him, and this time the expression was a little too sad and a little too understanding to be on an eighteen year old girl’s face.

“I understand exactly where you are. Better than you may think.” There’s a pause, where she considers reaching for his hand but decides against it. She instead just reached out with words and that everlasting smile of hers. “Knowledge of our world is incredibly overwhelming, I can imagine. I was raised in it, I wouldn’t truely know, but I do know that it is a lot, and very different from what people are normally brought up to believe is or is not real. However, unfortunately, there is no running from it. It’s best to simply accept it.” Her smile broadened a little. “I love it, being informed. I wouldn’t trade it for a mundane life any day, under any circumstance.”

Then a pause before she tapped into the other things she sensed. “You’ll find a stronger sense of commradery here than you’ve ever experienced in your life, I’m certain. Everything is stronger here– even the love.”

[i]Your quest has taken your far. Have you been to the Caern? The Eagles are not part of the Sept here, we have not been for some time, but all others you meet gravitate to Maelstrom. There are many there that would help as well. I will answer what questions you have to the best of my ability, I have just recently returned home. [i]

Your quest has taken your far. Have you been to the Caern? The Eagles are not part of the Sept here, we have not been for some time, but all others you meet gravitate to Maelstrom. There are many there that would help as well. I will answer what questions you have to the best of my ability, I have just recently returned home.

He sighed again. Breathed in and out slowly through flared nostrils. “Thank you…for trying to cheer me up. I know you mean well, it’s just..the things you talk about…they don’t really register with me. It’s like… themes in a movie.” If that explanation even made any sense. But hey, at least he was making the attempt to be honest, which was more than he usually did. Likely the alcohol had loosened him up a bit, as well.

“Besides, how can you love something you don’t respect? We aren’t even adults, to them. We’re like…children. Things to be protected and ordered about. You know what the fucking first thing Taggart said to me was? ‘You. Come Here.'”

As he said the last bit, his voice took on a rather convincing impersonation of the fianna. Which said something, in and of itself. That he’d been paying very close attention to someone he barely knew.

She sees his eyes light up with some shifty gleam, the crescent smirk only widening more into a fool’s grin. To offer answers to an Uktena, is like offering the very key to Pandora’s Box. Wahya actually clears his throat, bringing a fist up to couch into it. So unused to vocalizing his words that some irritation always came about when he talked.

He thinks on her words, nodding his head at her. Tell me of this Maelstrom. Proper protocol and what is expected of one when they find her, Matron of Eagles

And she spoke patiently, never seeming offended, but certainly not talking down to him as though he were a child.

“What you have to understand, Aidan, is that they’re not human. They have this…. deep, deep anger in their hearts. It affects almost everything they do. In Taggart, it’s stronger than what it is in many, so it can make him seem harsh or impatient at times.” She paused, looking for the right way to continue, then pushed forward. “We’re not children to them. We’re parents, siblings, children and lovers. We are their only family aside from one another. We’re precious to them, and would have no harm come to any of us. They want us protected and safe, and sometimes that makes them seem like parents to us, in how they are firm and sometimes restricting.”

Beat.

“He’s said worse to me.” The smile she gives here is curious, difficult to figure out. “But he rarely ever means to belittle any of us. He wouldn’t, without reason.”

His excitement about her answering his questions is akin to her own in being able to converse without the world knowing what she speaks of. One might suggest that she even looks… content. But it’d be a bad idea to voice it out loud like as not.

Maelstrom is a Caern of Sacrifice. The Bawn is not far from here. Approach umbral, and howl at the boundaries, the Warders will meet you and direct you farther in once they clear you. The sacrifice is offered to the Totem, it appears as whirlpool. It should be something personal, something meaningful to you, to bond you to the Scab. Many give blood – though that is considered bland, expected. Something close with meaning is desired.

The animal part of his mind is troubled by what she signs to him, about the totem of this Scab’s caern. It is nothing like he has dreamed of. He is young, with little experience, both as a Garou and as a Theurge. What does an animal know of sacrifice? It is more of human conception than mammal nature.

He lets out a long sigh, his head dropping down to allow his chin to brush across his chest, lean shoulders hunched forward. His brow creases with deep lines of confusion.

What is sacrifice?

For people who knew Aidan… all the signs of impending rage were present. In particular, the way his voice suddenly dropped to a cold and very quiet note. His mother used to call it the calm before the storm… the way he’d get so deathly quiet when he was really, ferociously upset.

“I know. I know all about the anger. I re-mem-ber.” The last word spoken syllable by syllable, not to imply any slowness on Gabbie’s behalf, but rather to enunciate the importance of it. Then, after letting his breath out through his nose again, slowly.

“I have a deep, deep anger in my fucking heart too.” And oh, this was spoken with such *venom*…. it was shocking to hear it coming from someone who up until now had projected a rather pleasant and charming nature. “Guess it doesn’t matter though. It’s not the same.”

Not the same. But perhaps, no less important. At any rate, every inch of him practically shouted ‘don’t pry into this any further.’ Hopefully she would take the hint. He really didn’t want to take out his anger on her. So, with another clench of his jaw, he looked away…. and when he looked back, the tension had eased up…just a little. “I’m sorry,” he said gently, and he meant it.

Sometimes, she can be a little slow. She slows down then, taking the time to decide how to explain the concept. Sacrifice is when you offer something important to you in service of another, to incur a benefit, or create a bond. For example, to give up of your last meal to one hungrier than you – that one then gives you something in return, he repays you at another time.

Her brow furrows. It is not an easy concept to explain to one lupine born. While the Eagles were part of the Sept of Maelstrom, I had taken a sabbatical, a quest. When I returned, I had to rebind myself to the Totem. My Sacrifice was a staff, one that I had carved with my own hand, and gifted to one that I loved, who did not survive the quest. It was the last I had to remind me of them, so it meant something to me, it almost pained me to give it up. But I did, to prove my intentions to the Totem of the Caern. Does that help?

He vented, and she calmly listened, not appearing insulted or shocked by his rise in temper, at his cursing or the cold, venomous notes in his voice. She recognized that they weren’t directed at her personally, they were directed at memory and the assumed attitude of Garou in general. Again, she could understand that.

Then, finally, he apologized, and she shook her head and smiled gently. “Don’t be.” And she let that subject be, instead pushing on to a different note. “So, would you like to discuss the other reasons for you attempting to drink away your woe tonight? I find that talking about it is much more gratifying than drinking to forget. A.) You remember in the morning. B.) You remember with a headache and vomitting. C.) It doesn’t cost anything.”

Wahya is a clever wolf. Or so he likes to think of himself as one. He is smarter than the average lupine of his species. He was like a sponge absorbing knowledge during his puppy years of training.

He gestures to her, You give away material object that possess emotional value. A gift from loved one. Wolf no have material object, place little value on such things. What can Wolf offer as sacrifice? This… will need time to think… on.

“Good advice.”

There was a pause. Perhaps, attempting to clear his head. “Taggart’s with Ryan, isn’t he?” Prior to leaving his Garou family in New York, Aidan had been too young to know about or understand the Litany, so he didn’t quite have the concept of just why that particular pairing was so taboo. He did know that it wasn’t exactly en vogue among werewolves for men to sleep with other men. His father had done a right good job of teaching him that bit. Too good a job.

He is clever, and he will think on it. She accepts this, and lets her hands fall in her lap. Ironic that one not part of the Sept would be the one to explain. The elders at the Caern may be of assistance to you in this as well.

Taggart’s with Ryan, isn’t he?

If she had a drink, she would have sputtered it out her nose. Knowing Gabbie, it would have been Sprite and it would have stung so bad that her eyes would water and she’d have a coughing fit. She was surprised enough by the question on a situation so strange it was akin to someone asking her if she was ‘with’ Sampson. She blinked at him like a doe in the headlights for a few seconds, then shook her head.

“Ryan…? You mean the man from Texas? No! Heavens no, Ryan has children. And they can’t do that anyways. Their laws don’t… It’s not…..” She’s at a loss for words, so stunned (and stung) by the image that a pair of iron doors slammed on it before it had the ability to manifest completely in her mind. Then, with finality:

“No. I don’t believe so.”

To whom is Master of Rites? That is named so I can address them properly?

I have just returned from a quest of my own. I am unsure who the mistress of rites is at this moment. There are many new wolves in Chicago since I left, I have yet to meet them all. The Grand Elder, I believe is still Balance Without Fault. He would know better than I.

He *almost* disagreed with her. Almost told her about the look he’d seen Taggart’s face earlier in the evening. The one that had, quite shockingly to Aidan, damn near ripped a hole in his heart. He was still…confused, about that. (Hell, he didn’t even really like Taggart. Did he? Certainly he didn’t know him.)

But he thought better of it. Maybe the moment of anger had cooled enough to bring back a bit of clarity. “Ah…my mistake. I must have just been confused.”

After a beat, he asked, “what do you mean…about the laws?”

He asked about the laws, and, though still seeming a little shocked and shaken, Gabriella smiled a little and launched into explaination. “They have their own set of laws. I don’t know them by heart, but I do know this one. It’s the first and the most important–” Her voice dropped a touch lower, because now she was using ‘special words’. “Garou Shall Not Mate With Garou. It’s one of the worst ones to break, along with the violation of a Caern one.”

Now she waved her hand in vague circles in the air, a sort of ‘yadda yadda’ gesture, if you will. “Of course, there’s more… About ten or twelve or something like that, I think. I don’t know all of them, but I know that one for sure.”

Signing, There is a broken waterfall in cave of shiny stones. It does not want to give water. Has two knobby things sticking out of wall, smell is beginning to get bad.

There is a pause in his signing, lifting up one of his arms to take a sniff of himself. He cringes, eyes rolling shut and coughs. Get in trouble when take paths in cement pools in park. How make broken waterfall work?

And all of a sudden… a whole lot of things made so much more sense.

“How come? I mean… what’s so wrong about it?” He hated sounding ignorant, but his innate curiosity got the better of him. (It usually did.)

It does take half a moment before she realizes what the cave of shiny stones is, but the rest cements is, so that she understands completely. Come. I will show you.

She stands, then, a little stiffly, with a flicker of some reaction to the pull of barely healed injuries under bandages, before she is upright, and the brief flicker is gone. She is stubborn. She is Fenrir. She does not press her hand to her side, to any of the bandages that pepper her body under her clothing. She simply picks up her whiteboard and pen and tuck it into her pocket, before signing again. Show me the cave, I will teach you how to fix the waterfall.

Then the why, which was inevidable. She answered in the same tone she’d just used– matter of fact. The pen is blue.

“Because whenever two Garou come together and have a child, that child is born insane, mishapen, and sterile. They are a genetic dead-end, sad and horrible.” Because this is what she was raised to know.

He takes her into what she can guess is the bathrooms of the establishment that the residents could use in the common rooms on the upper floors. Something he discovered in his exploring of the building the last time he had been here. His tribe-brother’s little sister had attempted to explain such things, but they only went in one ear and out the other as Wahya had stared at her stupidly in his wolf form that was before she threatened him with dog shampoo.

He stands to one side of a shower stall, pointing at the offending contraption with a wave of a dirty hand. “Broken waterfall.” He speaks to her in his gravelly voice.

Her second response, on the other hand…set his eyebrows arching in shock. “Really? Wow, that’s…awful.” You really couldn’t argue with that, either. It had nothing to do with ideals or beliefs. It was a cold, hard, physical consequence. And it made a lot more sense to him than her previous explanation.

“So that’s why they have us, then, I suppose.” Breeding stock. He didn’t say it out loud this time, though.

She signs with the same fluidity as she has all evening, though one gets the feeling that it is far slower then she could if she wished – or if she were pissed. It is not broken, but turned off so as not to waste water. The two knobs here, one is for hot water, one for cold. See the letters? If you turn them to the right, they will activate the waterfall. To the left turns them off. Use both to find temperature that is comfortable for monkey skin.

Once she is done signing, she moves to the side, and gestures that he can move too, and still be able to see, and demonstrates what she had just told him, uncaring if she get splattered in the process.

Aidan didn’t have to say it, she knew that topic and she knew it well. She was, after all, a Silver Fang Kinfolk. Not to mention very well bred, from a strong, established, prestigious family in the American Silver Fang community, pretty, and relatively sane to boot. She even showed signs of nurturing, which suggested she would be a great mother to the future’s warriors.

He wouldn’t say it, but she would. “They need us to survive. Without us, they wouldn’t be born. This would be the most important reason that we are so precious to them.”

Wahya is like a child with a new toy. He steps into the stall, looking up at the shower head. Reaching out to turn the knobs left and right as AnneMarie instructed. He doesn’t seem to pay any attention to the fact of getting soaked as the water hits him, playing with the knobs as he turns it off and on repeatedly.

He looks up at her, signing, Monkeys make rain! his hands lift up, pointing in wild circles at the water pouring from the shower head. He makes for a comical appearance. One corner of his mouth turns up in a lop-sided grin, adding a bit of charm to his average, scraggly features.

She smiles.

It transforms her, really. She is far from ugly, but wins no prizes either, but the smile softens her somehow, makes her approachable, makes her all the more human, the less rage filled beast. Which is likely why it is such a rare occurrence, of course.

Exactly. The hot water will not last forever, so when bathing it can get cold after a time. Much better than bathing in cement pond in park. There are other machines which will clean your clothing, as well.

“I don’t recall signing up for this gig. I don’t even *want* children.” Not now, not ever. “I mean, seriously…what kind of father would I be?”

Now he did look at Gabbie, half serious and half in jest. The point was obvious. He was a whore. He was…somewhat unhinged emotionally. He had issues. “Anyway, I’m not exactly a paragon of werewolf virtue. Although… Taggart did say something about my being ‘dipped in fianna perfume.’ Or something.” He had a quizzical look on his face when he said this. Somehow he understood that it meant good things, on the breeding stock front…but the details were a bit fuzzy.

He can remember another time of playing in the rain. The slick droplets seeping into his fur, it was such a different sensation. A shiver passes over him; the baggy clothes begin to soak up all the water, growing heavier. They sag against his lean wiry frame, sticking to his skin. Once a smelly vagrant, Wahya looks more like a drowned rat now. The matted tendrils of dreaded hair fall forward to curtain most of his face, hiding his some of his expression. He steps out of the shower, leaving the water to run.

Loud soppy squishing noises echo in his steps as he turns to look up at the shower head once more to study it. Water gathering in a large pool at his feet. He signs to her, You know much of monkey ways. Can show Wolf more things, yes?

“Tell me about it,” she started, and suddenly sounded much more like a teenager, which she honestly was, than what she has yet. “My family, I suppose you could say, is royalty. I’m expected to bear children. And the bad part is that I won’t even get to chose who with.”

Here, a faint smile, this one a little more genuine. “Consider yourself one of the lucky ones, Aidan.”

He enjoys the ‘rain’, though it soaks his clothing to the skin. Do you have dry clothing? If not, you can wrap in a towel when you are finished. Shed those, and get clean. I will start them in the washer, so that your clothes are clean too. And yes. I will teach you more.

Ever practical, AnneMarie. He’s already wet – may as well be clean too.

“No offend with Wahya’s monkey-skin?” he asks, remembering how his tribe-mate’s litter sister had turned several shades of pink when Wahya has shifted into his human form to speak with Adam and Sage. He didn’t care about being naked, but he was being considerate. Humans were such complex creatures.

((i have to dash and get my son from work – brb!))

“That sounds so…. medieval. Can’t you just tell them no? I mean… you’re not their property. You’re worth *more* than that kind of life, Gabriella.” He seemed to speak with genuine passion and empathy. Moreso than most men might have for a woman in her position.

“Oh, I know I’m worth more. I’m worth so much more than raising babies and nothing more.” For a second it seemed like she was going to launch into an elaborate plan that she was coming up with about her escape, about how she and her secret (not-so-secret) lover were going to break away from it all and go live happily ever after. However, the next words are very serious.

“But to say ‘no’, to refuse, would mean breaking away from my family, and I can’t do that. I love my sister and brother very dearly. I love my mother more than I can say. Were my father alive, he’d want to see me carrying on our bloodline as true as it ‘deserves’ to be, and I love him and his memory so much that I couldn’t dishonor him by so flatly refusing my duty.”

A sigh.

“As much as I wish for the ability to run, I won’t take the chance if it’s offered, for my family.”

Wahya cleans up well, or as well as you can get him, despite the tangled mess of his hair. The tiny braids, so thick and matted, you’d have to come at him with a pair of shears to make him look less scruffy. There is a nod of appreciation given to the Fenrir woman after Wahya is back in his cleaner clothes and the showers are left with the linger smell of wet dog.

He probably shouldn’t brag about it, that she saw him naked and did not flush, that she washed his clothing and helped him make rain. Perhaps he’ll pick up on that idea. Perhaps not. She’ll deny it anyway.

Once he is more [humanly] presentable, she nods, slightly. Much better. You are staying here? The rooms are free, there is food downstairs. I must soon see to my patrols.

“Would you play something for me? On your violin?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere, but that was a common thing with Aidan. He’d let his mind wander and then something would just…pop out. Without indication of how he’d gotten there.

“Sure, if you would like.” She gestured toward the kitchen doors with her thumb and a flick of the wrist it tapered into. “It’s upstairs, if you’d like to follow I could give you a tour of the facilities. Being what you are, you’re welcome to them at any time.”

And she was already getting to her feet, so softly sliding her chair out, rising, and then tucking the chair back under the table where it belonged.

She speaks of food, his eyebrows twitch up into a slight arc above his eyes. He will have to see to this at a later hour. Weariness hung over his body after all the excitement from earlier and his travels through the city. She questions his place of residence, mentioning how rooms were free here. He signs to her, seeing AnneMarie to the back door of the Brotherhood and out into the street.

This is where they would part ways, Wahya steeled with a bit more knowledge. He would seek this werewolf out again, a useful ally she may prove some day down the road. Friendships, especially for a lupus, were rare and hard to find. It made him long for something Wahya couldn’t describe to her in words or hand gestures. He looks distant.

Signing, I will sleep and feed here, visit Little Sister later to let her not worry, and then journey to Maelstrom to make proper rites. Too long gone without contact, one begins to feel, unnatural without others. Alone.

He makes a passing hand gesture over AnneMarie, muttering something in a human language that is not English, perhaps blessing her. I hope we meet again. Much learning ways I need of Scab. If not embrace change, one cannot survive long, thank you again, Matron of Eagle.

“I was up there earlier, briefly. But it got…a little crowded for me.” She would understand what he meant. Not simply crowded. Crowded with *rage*. Which was a lot for a new kin to take all at once.

Well spoken, Many Tongues. We will cross paths again.

And with that, she turns on a well placed heal, and makes her way into the darkened streets of the City.

She chattered away as she led him through the kitchen doors and up the staircase to the second floor of The Brotherhood of Thieves. She wouldn’t linger in the common room, since he said he’d been up here before, and because this was where the Garou usually hung out, but instead cut back into the hallway, turning when it came to an end, and entering the third door on the left in that hallway.

Her room sported what looked like a twin sized bed, covered in a quilt of all colors, nothing bright or showy, but in yellows, greens, blues, reds, and whites in calming patterns that made you think of something you’d find in a farmhouse rather than a rich girl’s room. A desk, a wardrobe, and a closet, and that was about all there was. Pictures were on the walls, mainly photos of people that looked like they may well be related to Gabriella, and an oil painting framed by the door.

“Sit wherever,” she would invite, which meant her bed or the chair, she didn’t care which, and would open the closet to pull her violin case from one of two sets of shelves.