[Grace] Grace was the smallest of her litter, but not to say that she did not make up for it in other ways. In fact, she was quite, quite clever.
She had been instructed to go to the brotherhood, most of her clothes were in the washer, and for now the Fianna was lounging on the sofa. Yes, lounging. She was taking up as much sofa as she possibly could, and was thoroughly content to call this her own. The brotherhood, however, was neutral territory. She couldn’t rightfully claim much of anything, given her rank and the fact that this is neutral territory.
Grace, however, eventually got the bright idea that there were a lot of Garou here, one of them had to be a fostern. So, clad in a tee shirt and a pair of tiny, tiny shorts, she made her way down the hall, knocking on doors, intent to find a fostern.
She wanted to go exploring.
[Echo Quinn] The door to room 8 thuds open and a very sleepy, very grumpy Glass Walker Ragabash sticks her head out. “What?” She thunders, rubbing at her eyes. If Grace was in tiny shorts and a shirt, Echo Quinn was her match in black boxer shorts and a white tank that barely reached her navel. Her dark hair was uncombed, and wildly stuck out in every direction.
Her dark eyes, now cleared of sleep, registered clarity and she peered out at the Cub.
“Can I do something for you?”
[Grace] She looks at her. They were similar in some regard, hair a mess and very… very alert.
“I woke you up,” she states.
There is silence. She is looking at Echo, and the wheels in her head are turning. It seems that these people are nocturnal; she is starting to get used to this idea.
“Are you a Fostern?” straight and to the point, this one. The words are foreign on her tongue, getting more familiar with each use.
[Echo Quinn] She yawns hugely and speaks through it. “Prize for stating the obvious, kid, goes to you.” Arms held above her head, Echo leaves them there, baring her protruding hipbones to the world at large. Are you a Fostern, comes next and there’s a shifting in the No Moon’s stance, her features turn a notch more serious.
“The answer to that is gonna depend a huge amount on who it is that’s doing the asking. Who are you?” She demands bluntly, cocking her body to one side and leaning it against the door-frame.
[Grace] Sarcasm is completely lost on the Fianna. She looks at Echo, head cocked to the side and her mouth shut. There are demands made, brows knit for a second and she stood very… very still. The Fianna looked at the Glass Walker.
“Grace,” she said. She blinks, and hte rest of her makeshift introduction comes with her. She’s talking, she’s interacting, and the largest portion of her expression comes from mimicry. The posture she adopts is similar to Echo’s, “stag’s blood, no moon, cub.”
A beat.
“I will buy you waffles.”
Bribery is a human thing, she tries it anyway.
[Echo Quinn] There’s a sort of mental gear-shifting inside Echo Quinn’s head and for an instant it appears as if she’s staring off into the distance — or conferring with her pack-mate’s. After a beat, her attention switches back and a wide grin stretches over her face. “Grace! Oh YEAH, El Cap–er, my Alpha, Buried Hatchet mentioned you the other day but I kinda switched off then.” Her deed-name suddenly makes sense.
“So, you’re one of Hatchet’s, huh?” She folds her arms over her slim chest and laughs abruptly, with little purpose, snaking the fingers of one hand back through her dark hair. “Poor bastard. Alright, so you’re also one of my Auspice. I’m Echo Quinn, known as End Transmission.” She pauses for a beat. “Fostern No Moon of the Glass Walker tribe, but all that shit probably ain’t gonna mean much to you, is it?”
She looks Grace over curiously, perhaps a touch sympathetically.
“You know what, fuck sleep, waffles sound awesome. Just gimmie a sec to put some clothes on.”
[Grace] “You are a fostern,” she says, “and you are a Glass Walker. Glass Walkers know cities. You are perfect.”
She grins, and it’s a feral gesture, though tinged by the fact that she is… well… not quite human. She’s never been quite human or any bit human. This sort of form was not familiar to her in the least bit, but it’s one that she is becoming more accustomed to. They are not all wolf. They are not all human, they are Garou, which means they are both and neither at the same time.
“Clothes are necessary to this adventure, rhya,” she tells Echo. She nods.
She keeps the grin on her face. Mission complete: she acquired a Fostern, and now could go explore the city.
[Echo Quinn] Echo snorts at being called perfect as she leaves the doorway to wander into the semi-black of her bedroom. “Oh hell, don’t be calling me perfect, girl. I’m so far from perfect it’s crazy I even managed to Rank up.” There’s a rifling through a drawer, and the sound of clothing rustling as it’s pulled on.
At some point, Echo glances over her shoulder at Grace. “You better put something more on than that, too. Not that I mind the natural look but you’re gonna freeze your parts off dressed like that out there.”
Echo’s body was lean, and both her hipbones and right shoulder-blade bore tattoos, not to mention a pair of eyes that were inked to her lower back; as an urban primitive, the young Garou had no issues whatsoever with decorating her body with representations of her life thus far. When she finally fully emerges into the corridor, she’s attired in jeans, a black and white knitted sweater two sizes too large for her frame and a page boy cap pulled down over her short locks. There were heavy duty boots on her feet and Echo pulled on a pair of red finger-less gloves.
“So, not that I mind, exactly, but what’s the occasion for the walkabout? You don’t like being house-broken or something?”
[Grace] Last night, Hatchet had told her that his dick was going numb standing out in the freezing weather talking to her. Then, Echo said that she was going to freeze her parts off if she didn’t put on more clothes. She wanders off to the laundry room, looking back at the Fostern briefly before going off tothe nearest dryer.
She picked up a few things. Jeans, first, then a tank top, then a tee shirt, then a sweater, then a hooded sweatshirt, then (finally) a coat. She flipped the hood up on the sweatshirt, wearing enough clothing up top that her core should be fairly warm when the head out.
“I need an escort,” she says, “preferably fostern. Too constricted here.”
[Echo Quinn] The Glass Walker frowns slightly, then nods, slower, comprehension on her face. “Yeah, guess I can buy that. You must find this whole place kinda wig-inducing, huh? All the buildings and roads and cars and shit. I don’t know if I’ve ever really spoken to a wolf-born before so this is kind of novel for me, too.” She flashes Grace that same bright, enthused grin that she tosses to most of her acquaintance.
It’s somehow reassuring and amusing at once and as they slowly make their way down the stairs toward the door to the Brotherhood; the No Moon has not really stopped speaking for air. Grace is going to struggle to keep up with this urrah.
“So, like, where’s your family? Your guardian… mentor… whoever was looking after you?”
[Mary] She’s there. She must have walked up the stairs at some point, because now she’s walking down from the roof, where it’s cold and the wind is blowing and it’s only 18 degrees. Her dress is white – old fashioned and long, reminiscent of a wedding gown, sometime in the 1930s. It’s satin and flowing and she holds folds of the skirt in her hand as she moves downstairs. The other hand holds her shoes – she was out there, barefoot.
Odd.
Her crowning glory though, is her hair – long and blond and flowing in a heavy curtain almost to the small of her back. It catches the light, almost glowing. She is – quite honestly – a beautiful woman.
[Grace] “Wigs are false hair pieces,” she tells Echo, as though she is trying to pick up precisely what she said about it being wig-inducing. There were details there that were lost on her, like slang and the like. Echo talked fast, and the lupus focused, and tried her damnedest to keep up.
She is headed to follow Echo, but she stops. She finds herself looking at a woman, with her white dress and blonde [silver] hair. Long and flowing. She looks at her, and Grace inhales the scent of the female as best she can. Her name is not caught.
Echo asks where her family is. There is a high pitched sound that comes from her- half of a whine. Discomforted. There is a taste, brightandwaterridinbloodandteethand-
Nothing. The sound stop sand she shakes her head. she lives denial beautifully.
“I beat them here,” she said, “they are coming.”
[Echo Quinn] [Percept + Empathy: wazzat noise yer makin mean?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Echo Quinn] (sorry guys! I swear I’m gonna post, I’m just multi tasking so slow *LOL*)
[Mary] Grace comes face to face with Mary, and inhales as she stops. Mary simply smiles, and lifts a hand to flip her hair behind her shoulder. She smells of wind and cold and the Chicago air, of good things and promises. Her voice, when it sounds, is like bells at Christmas, pastries for breakfast fresh from the oven, a hot cup of tea late in the evening.
It’s Home. Earthy. Comfort. Comfortable. And all she says is this: “Oh! Hello there…”
[Grace] She looks at Mary, head cocked tot he side and she steps a little closer. The female inhales, taking in a scent of comfort and what-have-you. She sighs, and it is a sound that is quite pleased.
“Are you new?” she asks
[Echo Quinn] Echo is frowning hard at Grace for a long moment before her attention is finally captured by Mary, wandering around in a — what the hell? The Fostern runs her eye over the blond. “Hey. You escape from a wedding party or something, girl? What’s the deal with the no shoes when it’s in the minus’ out there?”
Direct, that was Echo.
[Mary] She smiles at Grace, and is about to answer when Echo asks her question, and her beautiful face crumples, tears flooding her eyes, those beautifully pale eyes as she lifts her hand – the one holding her shoes – and presses her fingertips to her lips, holding back her cry.
“We…it was a party, and we were dancing… and then he…” She sighs deeply, the sigh of the truly brokenhearted…
[Echo Quinn] “He what?” The No Moon’s eyes narrow a fraction, and then widen in clear discomfort when the tears come. “Aw, hell no. Don’t… do that, oh jeez. C’mere and like, sit down.” The Glass Walker directs Mary to the sofa, and pulls off her fingerless gloves.
“Who’s this he and what did he do?” She sits down, then bursts out with: “And how the hell did you get here, anyway? I ain’t never seen you around before.” Suspicion and concern, at war.
[Grace] She looks at the woman, with her flood of tears. Grace follows, and something pulls at the wolf. She observes, and she feels a pang of something unfamiliar. A pain, it hurt… it was strange, to say the least. Unfamiliar, but concern none the less. she looks at Mary with bright concern, and the sound she made was a little lower than before, not pained but something else entirely.
[Mary] “He was so a…angry… he broke up with me…” She sighs, so deeply, so dejected, so overwhelmingly hurt by the thing this man did to her, in the middle of the dance floor, in the middle of the party
[…in the middle of time…]
She sniffs, once, and follows to the sofa, settling to sit on the edge of the cushion, her knees pressed together demurely, her hands folding in her lap over her shoes. “Allen. That’s his name… He thought I was… but I wasn’t, of course, I never would!”
Confusion, brief… “I got here through the door… didn’t you?”
[Echo Quinn] [Percep + Empathy at you, too, cuz ya’ll confusing Echo Quinn.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 4, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Grace] [Per+empathy: I don’t understand…]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Mary] [for the record, Lessa is being a pain. This is diceless ROLEplay, not Roll-play. :) Welcome to my world. You have questions, ask them.]
to Echo Quinn, Grace, Jason Daws
[Echo Quinn] Echo removes her page-boy cap and scratches at her scalp beneath it, then jams it back on her head and pulls a chair over, turning it backward and straddling it, her arms criss-crossed over the top of the backrest.
“So Allen, what? Thought you were a hussy, thought you were gonna give up the goods for him and when you didn’t got pissed and dumped you in the middle of some old school dance, that it?”
[Grace] She is looking at Mary, and the blonde looks… well.. as blonde as she is, really. The Flaxen-haired waif cocks her head to the side and folds her arms across her chest. she’s seen others do this before, she finds herself with little prospect here. Difficult it seemed. Difficult, it remained. This was neither here nor there, though, and she spends her time with her mouth shut trying to make sense of what was being said.
[Mary] She nods, lowering her gaze, respectful and so very, very sad, as she agrees that Echo has the gist of it. “When… when I said no, he thought I’d been with his packmate…” and she looks up, her eyes wide and innocent, shimmering with unshed tears. “I never would.. I wouldn’t! George is just a friend, one of the boys, and I’d never… Allen though.. he thought… he…he…”
And she drops her head again, sniffling.
“He said I had to find my own way home.”
[Echo Quinn] The Fostern’s dark eyes narrow, a spark, a thought beginning to burn. She runs with it, allowing the spark to ignite into a flame of comprehension; of understanding. “So, Allen and George were both Garou, both pack-mates.” She reiterates slowly, thinking furiously as she does.
“Did something happen to you on the way home?”
[Mary] She shakes her head at first when asked if something bad happened – and then lifts her shoe and sighs. “My strap broke. And the cabs didn’t want to stop. Someone said here was a safe place to rest while I waited for a ride…”
She pauses, and tips her head slightly. “It is safe… right?” and then, after another moment, she sighs. “I should be going home soon…”
[Grace] “No,” she tells Mary. She perks up and looks at the lady. She is stag’s blood, and her intent and concern for this particular kinfolk seemed to set her alight, “you should stay here. It’s safe. Don’t be alone.”
She is trying to make her words clear, even though they don’t come naturally. The Fianna does not seem too familiar with the English language, so making a snap call to say something was difficult at best. Still, she tries anyway.
“You are upset.”
[Echo Quinn] Echo leans back on her chair, it squeaks woodenly. “What tribe were Allen and George, do you know? What was their pack’s name, their rankings? Can you tell me any of that stuff?”
A beat, she glances at Grace, and makes a non-committal sound of agreement in her throat.
“It’s as safe here as anywhere you’ll find, chick. You’re in a space with a buncha Garou who’d give up their lives to protect you. Well,” She laughs. “Most of ’em probably would, anyway.”
[Mary] She sighs, softly. “Maybe a little while… but I have to get home. They’ll miss me.”
Then she smiles. “There are five of them, together.” Her smile softens, warms, and it’s as if the sun breaks from behind the clouds, dries up the rain, and gives one a reason to live again. “They’re amazing, they really are, even when they’re…” she gestures absently, and then comes back to the questions.
“They are all Bone Gnawers lead by Allen, my…” a beat… “Fostern. Streets of Fire, Bloodrunner – that’s George, beta – then Tears of Gaia, Runs the Rails and Rides the Wind. Together they are the Chicago Times. Silly I know, but it was George’s idea. Ragabash, you know..”
[Grace] “We could walk you home!” the lupus perks up at the thought of helping this woman out. She has been pulling for ideas, hurting for knowledge and hunting for something to say that would help Mary in some way.
[Echo Quinn] The Ragabash files all this information away, and then pushes herself to her feet. “I dunno if that’s such a great idea, Grace.” A beat, Echo’s responsible, former Alpha side emerges. “You’re a Cub, and a new arrival to the city to boot, maybe it’d be best if you stayed here at the Brotherhood.”
The Fostern No Moon heaves a sigh. “Plus, Hatchet would beat my ass if anything happened under my watch, but she’s right, you know, on the walking you home part. I could do that, if you want. Have a word with this Streets of Fire-yuf. Ain’t right for him to be giving you a hard time.”
[Mary] “Oh you are so sweet!” This to Grace, and then Echo chimes in and she shakes her head slightly… “It’s a very long way, though. All the way past Chinatown to the Loop… The lady downstairs said she could find me a cab, one that would stop for me.”
And then Echo mentions talking to Streets of Fire – calls him yuf, telling Mary of her rank, and her eyes widen slightly. “Oh, oh dear! I… really should be getting back, but don’t tell him I told you… oh please don’t…”
and while she speaks, she stands, gathering her shoes, and then she heads toward the stairs. “It’s ok.. I’ll be fine, really.. I’ll see about that ride…” and then she’s outright fleeing… racing on barefeet down the stairs…
…though curiously, if they listen the footsteps don’t quite seem to last long enough to get her to the floor below…
[Grace] There is a sound there, and it is equal parts concerned and displeased and she looks between Echo and Mary. The cub’s brows are knit, and she looks downright confused.
The sound didn’t seem right, though, and the cub was up quickly to investigate. She made that little whine of a sound again, and it didn’t seem to quite fit the rather human form she was standing around in.
[Mary] And when she investigates – Mary is gone. Should they ask those in the kitchen, she’s met with blank looks, and confusion.
…crazy garou, always seeing things…
[Grace] Grace saw no one. Grace saw nothing when she went downstairs.
The blonde headed back up the stairs to go see Echo, and the ragabash was displeased.