[Imogen Slaughter] It is unseasonably warm for mid April, but there has been much of this year which has been unseasonably warm. The sky is overcast, blotting out the stars, and there is no moon to cast any illumination.
She sits out on a patio, one of half a dozen others, a cigarette held loosely between her fingers as she turns the page in a book, a half eaten meal of a sandwich and salad pushed aside, near a half-finished glass of wine.
The air smells of cheese grease and thick rich dough, a smell which intensifies when the neighbouring pizza place's door opens, admitting patrons or permitting them exit.
Her nostrils flare faintly as the breeze shifts, thickening the smell another layer. She will not likely patron this restaurant again.
[Kora] There is a thigh-high wrought iron fence all the way around the restaurant patio. It is not intended to corrall the patrons in or impede their movement, though it has that secondary effect. Instead, it serves as a clear barrier between the customers and the sidewalk foot traffic, the homeless kids who work the street, the shuffling veterans with old wars still livid in their eyes, stuffed into layers of ruined clothes soiled with scent, shaking empty cans at passers by.
One of these - a wild-eyed, wild-haired man of indeterminate age, with ruddy cheeks and a blunt, vein-filled nose is sitting, at present, directly against the gate, planning to grab for Imogen's half-finished sandwich and perhaps whatever tip she might tuck under the plates should she leave before the waiter has returned. He stiffens, though - shakes his head, his low, constant slipstream of word salad becoming more agitated when Kora walks by, pauses, not missing the breeding - not missing, either, the familiar face, the first she's seen of the kinswoman since the rite.
The creature stops at the fence, leaning so that the iron-work digs into her left thigh. "Doc - " she calls out, low, lifts a chin toward the spare seats at the table, " - mind if I join you?"
[Imogen Slaughter] Doc, the familiar appellation turns Imogen's head.
Imogen fits her cigarette between her lips and draws the smoke deep into her lungs before making a faint gesture toward the chair, a wordless go ahead.
She turns her head as she exhales smoke, lowering her cigarette to tap its ash into the ashtray. She looks up again in time to see Kora pulling out the chair and taking her seat.
"How are things?" she enquires in lieu of a more traditional greeting.
[Kora] "Quiet enough," Kora allows, her voice low, the smoke from Imogen's cigarette drifting in a pale stream away from her, illusorily solid where the light from the interior windows shines out, illuminating it. She is dressed in her dedicated clothing - the PIXIES t-shirt, the old jeans, the heavy black boots solid her feet, shanks laced firmly up her calves. The night is warm, faintly humid - an echo of summer too early in the year - and the city's scents are thicker for it, rich and rotten in the back of the throat.
Seated, she leans back, casts a glancing look at the doctor's profile, then looks past her, toward the dark of the street, the pattern of traffic movement through the downtown artery, the glimpse of the park in the distance, evident between buildings, and the lake beyond. "Feels like summer out here. Weird, you know? Winter to summer in one giant step." There is a thoughtful pause before she continues, lower, her dark eyes returning to the kinswoman's profile. " - what about you?"
[Colt Montgomery] He walked down the path, Exotic ostrich skin Nocona boots crush the small stones on the asphalt. low-rise, deep indigo rinsed jeans look expensive, finished with fading and whisking to enhance their appeal. His steele colored long sleeved burberry classic fit shirt was left unbuttoned revealing the bleached white tee shirt that fit snug across his chest, his body chiseled, the outlines of his well defined muscles visible.
He stands six foot three, dark curls hidden beneath the straw cowboy hat that sat low on his brow, an iced coffee in his hand, his stomach growled, it was over due for some food, the street was lined with options~
[Imogen Slaughter] "El Nino," Imogen says, an absent reply to Kora's commentary on the weather. "They say it's been an El Nino year. Makes it warmer."
The conversation is deliberately casual. Mundane.
"Well enough," a few seconds later, Kora asks how she is in return, and Imogen answers, lifting her cigarette back toward her mouth. There is a pause as she takes her drag. She closes her book absently, setting it face down.
Her mouth twists faintly, a smirk which does not quite reach the eyes. "Enjoyin' the weather."
[Colt Montgomery] ~he spotted some sunglasses that must have fallen out of someone's purse, he bent down and swept them up from the ground, he looked around to see if anyone around looked like they might have dropped them, he walked over to a man near the cafe~ "Howdy, I think someone might have dropped these, maybe from your cafe"
[Kora] "You may be," Kora avers, her voice low. " - but if the trend keeps up, I'm not looking forward to summer."
In the junkyard. That will be hot.
She cuts a glance at the spine of Imogen's book as she puts it down, dark eyes narrowed to pick the title out against the glare over the gloss of the cover, then gives up. Asking, instead, " - what're you reading?"
The kinswoman and Skald sit out on the patio, on the darkened street. Kora is ordinary enough - tall and blonde in well-worn, well-fitted jeans from some mass-market store several seasons old, and a concert t-shirt that declares her love for late 80s indie rock. Or Edmund Spenser. It is likely the former.
Her hair is pale; dull in the darkness, without lights to pull out the colors, to make it shine - twisted at the back of her neck, secured by a pair of rubber bands and a yellow No. 2 pencil with teeth marks on the shaft. Her skill is similarly pale - northern coloring, awash above the black t-shirt and washed out jeans. She has long limbs, long arms, long legs, and sits casually back, without a meal or drink to occupy her, watching the street.
She doesn't miss Colt; she can sense his breeding. "They're mine," her voice rises in volume if not in pitch as Colt walks up to the startled busboy on the patio. There's no similar sense of heroes singing in her own blood. " - you want to join us?"
[Colt Montgomery] ~he heard the womens voice, those hazel eyes land on the girl who it belongs to, he flicked the tip of his straw cowboy hat and walked over to the table, his hand palm up with the sunglasses laying in it~ "Here ya go, might need those in the mornin, hopefully not and umbrella" ~he smiled politely between the two, and then pulled out the chair~ "Thank ya, I'm trying to get my barings in this city" ~he noticed the skald as well~ "Just been here two days now, I'm Colt Montgomery"
[Helen Moore] She had been in the pizza place, not far from where they were. They had decided to eat in rather then take it away, but when the place became full of patrons, Roman had left. She had insisted he take the rest of the pizza with him, packed away in a box and had watched him go. Helen stayed in the restaurant for another ten minutes after, drinking water from a bottle as though it could purify her of all the grease she had just ingested. She had wanted something vegetarian or a little gourmet, but a teenage boy had wanted something else entirely.
Leaving had her walking past the gathered Garou and Kin on the patio next door. Although it was cooler now then it had been when she first arrived, it was still warm enough to make her feel like the buttoned blouse and the skirt she wore was still too much. It felt like summer out, and the recent rain had made her feel sticky. The grease in her belly wasn't improving her overall sense of well being, either.
Blonde curls, stylish clothes, and a height that models envy, the Fianna Kin headed towards her car parked further down the street.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen is a contrast to Kora. Her hair vibrant and red, her eyes dark, her skin luminously pale. She is slight, slender, without the same wiry strength to her own, lean frame. She sits poised in her chair, a half finished sandwich and mostly finished salad set aside, a glass of wine near by, and a cigarette in hand.
She has breeding, herself. Pure blood that speaks of heroes and glorious deaths. Of a bloodline of leadership, promised beneath her skin. No rage, though. Not a drop.
She turns the thin book over, letting Kora see the title. She is reading Shakespeare's King Lear.
The suddenly approaching Garou draws her attention, her eyebrows drawing together as he speaks. Imogen's eyes shift toward Kora when she speaks, one eyebrow cocking upward.
It remains up as Colt introduces himself. The kinswoman does not return the favour.
[Kora] Sitting up, leaning easily forward by extending her middle spine, Kora reaches for the sunglasses - which are not hers - with her left arm, and plucks them easily from Colt's hand, palming them and setting them thoughtlessly aside on the table. She isn't carrying a purse, though perhaps she has stowed one underneath her ironworked chair.
"Good to meet you, Colt," her voice is low, distinct and direct. Her dark eyes are steady on him, across the table, over Imogen's book and half-finished meal. There is a small smile on her expressive mouth - even at its most neutral her mouth curves, just - which does not quite reach her somber eyes. "I'm Kora." She does not introduce Imogen.
The busboy bustles past, and Kora watches him, tracks his passage until she deems that he is out of earshot. Then, back to Colt. "There's no Jarl, just now - but you should find Joe War-Handed to make yourself known to the tribe. I can get you in touch with him."
[Colt Montgomery] ~well would ya look at all the breeding and at just one table, how did he get so lucky, Luna must be shining bright for himonce more, he looked over at the red head with a smile, though he wrinkled his nose at the cigerette a bit, she didn't look old enough to smoke or drink, one was at least a bad habit~
"Pleased to meet ya Kora.. and I'd appreciate ya gettin me in touch with Joe" ~he'd been doing his darndest to meet the right people, he'd been told to check out the brotherhood, but nothing panned out. he looked over at the kin~ "Howdy"
~eyes back to the Skald and that rage, it felt like home~ "Do ya thinkin that waiter might come back and round me up a steak sandwich and a coke?" ~sometimes the rage was enough to keep the mortals at bay, he hoped sittin and chattin with two pretty lookin ladies might make him seem less menacing~
[Helen Moore] (ooc: gah. stupid thing.)
[Helen Moore] Having just left Roman, a country boy, she finds herself amused that right there, sitting with a bunch of -- wait, is that Imogen? Helen's feet slow their walk as she begins to pass by closer. A hand is lifted, perhaps to catch attention, as she called out, softly: "Imogen!"
[Imogen Slaughter] "Hullo," the kinwoman offers as she crushes out her cigarette, picking up her book from the table and purse from the back of her chair.
"A waiter should be by soon," a tilt of her head indicates the cash stuck beneath her plate. "He has a bill t'pick up."
The homeless man his hopes dashed of retrieving either the remains of Imogen's meal or her cash, has already begun to wander off.
"You'll ha' to excuse me," she says. "I ha' work to do." A flick of her gaze toward Kora. "See you later, I imagine.
Then Colt, "A pleasure to meet you."
Etiquette paid the merest of lip service, she gets to her feet. Helen calls her name, and Imogen turns slightly, glancing at Helen before exiting the patio.
"I can't stay, sorry," she says as she begins past the other, before casting a glance at the two Garou, "They're Garou, if you're interested in meetin' more o' the Nation. Fenrir."
[Helen Moore] She's not surprised that Imogen has to go, ahead. If anything Helen thinks the other may be avoiding her. That, too, wouldn't be surprising given their first and only meeting and their histories. "Of course. Keep well," she calls after the other woman.
Paused in the street, she looked up and over to Kora and Colt, considering her options.
[Colt Montgomery] ~he looked over at Helen, tipped his hat again and offered her a smile, well at least he knew what the red heads name was now~ "Evenin" ~he said to Helen.....he was just another good ole boy, fresh off the ranch, full of manners and pride of course~ "and have a good night Miss Imogen"
[Kora] "He's my Alpha," says Kora, her voice low, sitting up once more in the chair, pale arm hovering over the table until she finds and plucks the cheap bic left behind by the waiter from the last check from the edge of the table, steals an unused paper napkin. Then, leaning forward, she writes out both a phone number and an address. Her handwriting is neat and angular, not unlike her tall frame - the long limbs, the right angles of her elbows, the upright posture now, when she sits up, shoulders level - and hands him the napkin.
" - that's his phone number, though. We stay in a junkyard in Bronzeville, too. The address is there. You need a place to crash and don't like the Brotherhood for it," leaning back when he takes the napkin, "I'm sure you'd be welcome. It's not," a faint quirk of her mouth. Again, it does not reach her eyes. " - the Ritz."
An understatement.
"Night 'doc," the creature calls out, as Imogen stands and walks away. Her dark eyes track the kinswoman, Fianna to Fianna. Then, to Helen. "You'd be welcome to join us."
[Helen Moore] That settled it. She really couldn't say no when Garou have invited her over. With a small smile she made her way up to the patio and towards the recently vacated seat. Her small purse slips off her shoulder and is set down before her, fingers pushing Imogen's plate off to the side and out from beneath her face.
"Hello," the Londoner greets both of them, looking at one then the other to give each a nod. She offers her hand to the woman first. "I'm Helen." It's short as far as introductions go, but she didn't worry about heritage or last names, or even what Tribe she was from.
Colt would get an offer at a handshake too.
[Imogen Slaughter] (thanks for the play, guys!)
[Colt Montgomery] ~he watched and studied the napkin, picking it up and putting it into his back pocket, he was grateful for all the help~ "Thank ya" ~he didn't know it was possible to stay in a junkyard, but hey maybe they liked to play wolf more than the city folk. He missed his ranch about now, all this moving from hotel to hotel was wearing on his nerves, he'd like to make his introductions and offer his aid in the war~ "Right now me and my packmate are stayin at the Drake, but lookin to find something a lil cheaper"
~he accepted the handshake, his own was firm, his hand full of calouses, as he was a bullrider and worked the ranch as soon as he could walk~ "Colt Montgomery, pleased to meet ya Helen"
[Mila Davis] A dark haired, curvy, yet slender figure rounded the corner heading in the direction of the resturant patio. She hadn't wandered this direction for any real reason, other than it was the shorest path between two points.
The rage that slid off of her form was moderate - nothing that would indicate she was a monster on the verge of a frenzy.. but it was up there. She looked the part of a scary chick as it was (which didn't help the mortals and their skiddishness). Her makeup was dark, hair a mess, windblown and all. She wore a sexy black leather jacket (and not the biker kind!), a tight white tank top, a pair of skinny jeans and heeled knee high boots.
Hands slid into the back pockets of her jeans as she stalked down the sidewalk..
[Kora] "Kora," sitting up, though not standing up, Kora takes the kinswoman's hand. Her own is long-fingered, faintly calloused at the thumb and fingertips, with dark bracelets - the handmade, homeade sort - of knotted leather, braided fiber, twisted suede and the like - circling the fine-boned wrist. Her nails are bare and short, her skin warm. "It's a pleasure. You know the doc, eh?"
The creature's dark eyes flash from Helen to Imogen, watchful as the latter disappears down the street. "If you need creature comforts, the Brotherhood has rooms for kin and Garou." This must be for Colt, though Kora's attention remains fixed in Imogen's wake until she disappears, returning to her companions only then. "Pay what you can pay. It's free if you've no money."
[Helen Moore] "You could say that," she tells Kora, having shook both of their hands and settled back in her chair. Long legs cross under the table, her knees shifting aside to allow each of them room. Her hands drop down into her lap, her small bag having been pulled there, giving her fingers something to grasp. "We're related." She could simply mean that they're both Fianna and that would be fine with her, she wasn't going to elaborate.
[Colt Montgomery] ~the dark haired woman caught his eye, well mostly it was the rage that tickled his nose, things couldn't get better, if only his packmate had decided to wander the streets with him tonight, oh well, he didn't blame her, she wasn't as social as he was~ "I think i might have frightened her off" ~he said to Helen, speaking of Imogen~
"Do ya happen to have the address of the brotherhood as well... Kora?" ~he pulled out the napkin and offered it to her, he'd take all the leads he could get, but his first would be to introduce himself to Joe~
[Mila Davis] Hrm.. new faces. Mila was new enough to not have met all of the Sept. A light smirk touched her darkly hued lips.. she must have thought something was a little amusing. The young woman took a small detour and slid in through the unlocked gate towards those gathered.
[Kora] By now, the only other patrons on the patio - a young couple folded together like an accordian over a chocolate dessert - have decided that the walk home sounds romantic and bracing. Something's changed about the atmosphere at the cafe. Instead of waiting for the waiter to make his return trip outside, they stuff a handful of bills underneath the half-empty plate and duck out, brushing past Mila with a faint shiver.
Kora looks up, tracks their path through the patio, gives Mila a direct look followed by a faint cant of her head in invitation. Then, her eyes narrow in thought, a line appears bisecting her pale brows, just, trying to put together the pieces of Mila's familiarity. No - it isn't there, she can't name it, and so shakes it off, taking the napkin back from Colt without sitting him, reaching for the discarded pen once more and carefully writing out the address to the Brotherhood in her angular script before passing it back to Colt. "There. They have good food, too. Laundry, showers. Whatever you need."
She doesn't voice an opinion on Imogen's abrupt departure, but does cut Helen a look as she sits back. "What brings you to the States?"
[Helen Moore] "I don't think it was you, Mr. Montogmery," she assures Colt with a small smile. But doesn't get into it either. They hadn't been on the best terms from the beginning and she's sure her presence brings up some things Imogen doesn't want to deal with.
Then Kora is asking her why she's in the States. "I'm here for work," she answered. There's nothing more to it.
[Colt Montgomery] ~he was used to people rushing off quickly, he chuckled softly as the couple brushed passed Mila, again he accepted the napkin, pocketing it quickly, Fianna always had good food and drinks, he was sure to check it out, and it would be nice to have a place to do some laundry, he'd stick out like a sore thumb in a laundramat~ "thank ya Kora" ~hazel eyes move to Helen as she speaks to him, glad that it wasn't him, he totally showered today too. he grinned at her reasons for the move to the state~
~he wanted to ask what she did, but maybe it was rude~ "I just moved here from Texas, never been out of the country before, how do ya like this here windy city?"
+
[Helen Moore] "Really? I was just speaking with a young man from the country. I'm not sure where about, exactly, but he came here with his cousin, Sparrow," she offers them. They were Garou, and she's sure the others were too, though it really hadn't come up. Her money is on Sparrow being Garou but she hadn't figured out if Roman was too. She liked the boy. Not in *that* way. He had a refreshing charm, an innocence not yet tainted by the city. Not an ordinary teenager compared to those she had dealings with. Sixteen year olds in London or LA were very different.
[Mila Davis] A chair was casually snagged and pulled over to where the trio sat. She'd caught Kora's look of invitation - and if one thought she could join them, then.. well, the rest could just go with the plan.
Once the chair was in an acceptable spot, the Shadow Lord slid around the chair and sat. Long legs crossed and she sat back - her gaze (eyes the color of approaching stormclouds) shifted between the three and she offered a nice enough smile. "Good evening.."
[Kora] "Cheers," offers Kora, in response to both Colt's thanks and to Mila's greeting. And, even, to Helen's explanation. The expression is useful, all-purpose. Quiet. Her accent is wholly American, though without regional specification - like the blade narratives of cable television, broad and uninflected, at least to American ears. Perhaps there is a hint of a lilt, enough that an observant person might wonder if she were Canadian. Or a hockey fan.
The patio is empty, now, except for Garou and the kin. The waiter hovers inside, eyeing the payment left by Imogen, debating whether or not to disturb the group. The tip, though, spurs him onward. He swoops up behind Helen, mutters an apology, snags the money and plate adroitly, returning a moment later with a pair of menus that he slides onto the iron table.
Kora does not grab for a menu, but she does shift her tall frame in the chair she has chosen, subtly including Mila in the barely defined circle of acquaintance. "I'm Kora." This to Mila. "Colt," a tip of her head toward the cowboy, " - and Helen." And the Londoner.
[Colt Montgomery] ~he perked up at the name Sparrow~ "Kansas" ~he offered~ "I met Sparrow last night, but missed her cousin by 8 seconds" ~he chuckled, sure it was his own joke, the others probably didn't even get it.....what a small world, he looked up at Mila, his index finger and thumb come together and pinch the soul patch~ "and it keeps gettin better.. Montgomery" ~he offered up his last name~
~he watched as the waiter came and went, leaving the menu, and he did snag one up, his belly was growling earlier, and he didn't want anyone to hear it now, he ordered a coke and a steak sandwich, rare~
[Helen Moore] So many Garou, it wasn't making her feel very comfortable here, especially with the arrival of another one, who looked - and acted, far less kindly than the rest of them. She had looked to Mila and offered a small nod. The others may note she does not offer her hand to the other woman. Maybe it's because she wasn't introducing herself personally.
She turns back to Colt and the conversation. "Ah, you know of her then. Quite an intense young lady."
[Mila Davis] "Mila." She responded to the grouping of first name only introductions - it worked, for now at least. "A pleasure to meet you all. I haven't had the chance to meet many of the extended family here.."
Mila was in fact, a nice young lady. Tonight, she had had business to deal with, and well.. you don't get anywhere in Shadow Lord society looking, or acting like a pussy girl. So, she was still working on coming down from that frame of mind, as she took the seat with the group.
[Colt Montgomery] ~he looked back to Helen~ "I didn't reckon people would be so friendly here, but I've been put in my place, the windy city offers hospitality just like some of the southern states" ~he nodded at Mila and her introduction, seemed she was fairly new as well~
[Helen Moore] "I think you've just met the right people," she tells Colt, smiling over at him. "There's a big difference between the city and the country life. Though I can't speak from experience, much, and certainly not about Texas or Kansas." Helen was definitely a city dweller, aside from a few vacations. She had to admit, though, she really enjoyed her time out of the concrete jungle.
[Colt Montgomery] ~eventually his luck would run out, it always did, but he'd be prepared, he could give it back just as good as they could dish it out~ "Be if gaefa or luna's persistant eye, I'm glad I'm meeting the right people now, better than walking in on a jarl of oathbreakers first day out" ~he grinned, he loved a good fight, but he'd like to know his allies before his enemies at this point~ "Sparrow told me there's a hive and that we just lost some brothers recently"
[Mila Davis] "Yeah, there's quite a bit of shit going on around here. It's gonna take awhile for us to clean it all up. The more, the merrier.. " A pause. "When did you arrive, Colt? And, did you bring any others with you?"
The kin was apparently focused on ignoring her, which was fine - it didn't hurt her feelings or anything. Not everyone could be friends..
[Kora] The conversation ebbs and flows around her; Kora is quiet. She looks up, just, when the waiter returns, and watches her tribesmate and the kinswoman discuss city life versus country life. There is a subtle twist of her expressive mouth - the right corner just higher than the left - which does not reach her eyes except faintly, the subtle crease of the fine skin at the corners, her expression otherwise lost in the shadows.
The street sounds are muffled, distant. The air has the ripe summer smell the city will develop - some mix of car exhaust and heat, garbage and the supple thread of lakewater - warm and humid, green with an undercurrent of decay. Colt's comment about the Hive, though, draws her dark gaze directly back to him. "My Alpha," she supplies quietly. "Kemp Oates. Adren Rotagar." Her voice is a low thread, though the undercurrent is intense as a riptide. "The Jarl." That is why they lack one, for now - assuredly. She does not look away from Colt through the whole of the spare recitation, reducing a life to a handful of words. A rumor, passed along. A legend, soon. "He raised the Caern."
There's a distinct pause, a brief frission of a look toward Mila, the spark of a match against the darkness. "Show some respect for the dead."
[Helen Moore] "I don't know," she says quietly. "All I know is I've been asked to be careful." Helen didn't know the inner workings of the Garou and what they were up to. She wasn't meant to know, not really. She very well could end up being a liability in the wrong hands, unaware.
When Kora offers up that her Alpha had died, Helen is respectfully quiet.
Rage is stirred and she looked between Kora and Mila. It's about now that she's determining whether it's wise sitting at this table with three strange Garou. If Imogen hadn't vouched for them she would have never have sat here in the beginning.
[Mila Davis] Quietly.. neither threatening, or defensive. "I do respect the dead. Kemp fell in honorable battle - he will be honored, and remembered. But, in the mean time, the more of us that are here to help, the better. There is nothing disrespectful about the statment, Kora."
A pause.. "I went along and watched the replay of the battle in which he fell. We fought our own version, and saw where his team differed in their plan. I did not know the man, but I respect what I saw him do for his team that day.. and even though I never met him, after that evening, I felt I did. He will be missed."
Nope, Mila had no intention of starting anything with the presumed Get.
[Colt Montgomery] ~he adjusted his straw hat and looked over at Mila~ "Arrived yesterday, I only brought one other, my packmate Cara, we lost our other Modi and Godi to some Shield brothers of adders, minions of the dogs of war. We tracked the last of them to Iowa and took care of them" ~he smirked, the taste of blood still on his mind, the words spoken by the skald, caught him, he knew that feeling, the loss, it was his alpha who was taken as well~
"The tribe and Caern has suffered a great loss, I'm sorry that I wasn't able to meet such a hero, but I...." ~he looked at Mila~ "What do you mean you replayed the battle in which he fell?"
[Helen Moore] "Excuse me," she says softly.
Rising from the table, the kinswoman put her purse strap over her shoulder. She offered a small smile to them, her gaze more apologetic to Colt, who she had been conversing with on more mundane topics. She doesn't say why she's going and really doesn't need to. She was not going to be between arguing Garou, no way and no how.
Polite, she sought to make herself scarce, pushing her chair in before stepping around the table. She doesn't interrupt Mila or Kora to say her goodbyes, but would nod if they looked her way. She left them to garou business.
[Colt Montgomery] ~he looked over as Helen excused herself~ "It was a pleasure Helen, hope to see you around" ~it was genuine, the kin always knew what was going on, and he treated them well~
[Kora] There is a moment of tension, tight in Kora's jaw, evident in the lean shape of her body - the curve of coiled whip, the line of her spine. Then, her eyes on Mila's face, Kora repeats softly - " - you went to Battleground?" - otherwise holding her tongue, her features still, her body taut. She waits only for the subtle moment of confirmation in the other woman's face, the faintest nod, then rises, a dip of her chin to Colt.
"Give Joe a call. I'll see you around."
[Kora] [and exit! I'm sorry for being spacy tonight. :) but, sleep calls. thank you all for the play!]
to Colt Montgomery, Helen Moore, Mila Davis, snail
She sits out on a patio, one of half a dozen others, a cigarette held loosely between her fingers as she turns the page in a book, a half eaten meal of a sandwich and salad pushed aside, near a half-finished glass of wine.
The air smells of cheese grease and thick rich dough, a smell which intensifies when the neighbouring pizza place's door opens, admitting patrons or permitting them exit.
Her nostrils flare faintly as the breeze shifts, thickening the smell another layer. She will not likely patron this restaurant again.
[Kora] There is a thigh-high wrought iron fence all the way around the restaurant patio. It is not intended to corrall the patrons in or impede their movement, though it has that secondary effect. Instead, it serves as a clear barrier between the customers and the sidewalk foot traffic, the homeless kids who work the street, the shuffling veterans with old wars still livid in their eyes, stuffed into layers of ruined clothes soiled with scent, shaking empty cans at passers by.
One of these - a wild-eyed, wild-haired man of indeterminate age, with ruddy cheeks and a blunt, vein-filled nose is sitting, at present, directly against the gate, planning to grab for Imogen's half-finished sandwich and perhaps whatever tip she might tuck under the plates should she leave before the waiter has returned. He stiffens, though - shakes his head, his low, constant slipstream of word salad becoming more agitated when Kora walks by, pauses, not missing the breeding - not missing, either, the familiar face, the first she's seen of the kinswoman since the rite.
The creature stops at the fence, leaning so that the iron-work digs into her left thigh. "Doc - " she calls out, low, lifts a chin toward the spare seats at the table, " - mind if I join you?"
[Imogen Slaughter] Doc, the familiar appellation turns Imogen's head.
Imogen fits her cigarette between her lips and draws the smoke deep into her lungs before making a faint gesture toward the chair, a wordless go ahead.
She turns her head as she exhales smoke, lowering her cigarette to tap its ash into the ashtray. She looks up again in time to see Kora pulling out the chair and taking her seat.
"How are things?" she enquires in lieu of a more traditional greeting.
[Kora] "Quiet enough," Kora allows, her voice low, the smoke from Imogen's cigarette drifting in a pale stream away from her, illusorily solid where the light from the interior windows shines out, illuminating it. She is dressed in her dedicated clothing - the PIXIES t-shirt, the old jeans, the heavy black boots solid her feet, shanks laced firmly up her calves. The night is warm, faintly humid - an echo of summer too early in the year - and the city's scents are thicker for it, rich and rotten in the back of the throat.
Seated, she leans back, casts a glancing look at the doctor's profile, then looks past her, toward the dark of the street, the pattern of traffic movement through the downtown artery, the glimpse of the park in the distance, evident between buildings, and the lake beyond. "Feels like summer out here. Weird, you know? Winter to summer in one giant step." There is a thoughtful pause before she continues, lower, her dark eyes returning to the kinswoman's profile. " - what about you?"
[Colt Montgomery] He walked down the path, Exotic ostrich skin Nocona boots crush the small stones on the asphalt. low-rise, deep indigo rinsed jeans look expensive, finished with fading and whisking to enhance their appeal. His steele colored long sleeved burberry classic fit shirt was left unbuttoned revealing the bleached white tee shirt that fit snug across his chest, his body chiseled, the outlines of his well defined muscles visible.
He stands six foot three, dark curls hidden beneath the straw cowboy hat that sat low on his brow, an iced coffee in his hand, his stomach growled, it was over due for some food, the street was lined with options~
[Imogen Slaughter] "El Nino," Imogen says, an absent reply to Kora's commentary on the weather. "They say it's been an El Nino year. Makes it warmer."
The conversation is deliberately casual. Mundane.
"Well enough," a few seconds later, Kora asks how she is in return, and Imogen answers, lifting her cigarette back toward her mouth. There is a pause as she takes her drag. She closes her book absently, setting it face down.
Her mouth twists faintly, a smirk which does not quite reach the eyes. "Enjoyin' the weather."
[Colt Montgomery] ~he spotted some sunglasses that must have fallen out of someone's purse, he bent down and swept them up from the ground, he looked around to see if anyone around looked like they might have dropped them, he walked over to a man near the cafe~ "Howdy, I think someone might have dropped these, maybe from your cafe"
[Kora] "You may be," Kora avers, her voice low. " - but if the trend keeps up, I'm not looking forward to summer."
In the junkyard. That will be hot.
She cuts a glance at the spine of Imogen's book as she puts it down, dark eyes narrowed to pick the title out against the glare over the gloss of the cover, then gives up. Asking, instead, " - what're you reading?"
The kinswoman and Skald sit out on the patio, on the darkened street. Kora is ordinary enough - tall and blonde in well-worn, well-fitted jeans from some mass-market store several seasons old, and a concert t-shirt that declares her love for late 80s indie rock. Or Edmund Spenser. It is likely the former.
Her hair is pale; dull in the darkness, without lights to pull out the colors, to make it shine - twisted at the back of her neck, secured by a pair of rubber bands and a yellow No. 2 pencil with teeth marks on the shaft. Her skill is similarly pale - northern coloring, awash above the black t-shirt and washed out jeans. She has long limbs, long arms, long legs, and sits casually back, without a meal or drink to occupy her, watching the street.
She doesn't miss Colt; she can sense his breeding. "They're mine," her voice rises in volume if not in pitch as Colt walks up to the startled busboy on the patio. There's no similar sense of heroes singing in her own blood. " - you want to join us?"
[Colt Montgomery] ~he heard the womens voice, those hazel eyes land on the girl who it belongs to, he flicked the tip of his straw cowboy hat and walked over to the table, his hand palm up with the sunglasses laying in it~ "Here ya go, might need those in the mornin, hopefully not and umbrella" ~he smiled politely between the two, and then pulled out the chair~ "Thank ya, I'm trying to get my barings in this city" ~he noticed the skald as well~ "Just been here two days now, I'm Colt Montgomery"
[Helen Moore] She had been in the pizza place, not far from where they were. They had decided to eat in rather then take it away, but when the place became full of patrons, Roman had left. She had insisted he take the rest of the pizza with him, packed away in a box and had watched him go. Helen stayed in the restaurant for another ten minutes after, drinking water from a bottle as though it could purify her of all the grease she had just ingested. She had wanted something vegetarian or a little gourmet, but a teenage boy had wanted something else entirely.
Leaving had her walking past the gathered Garou and Kin on the patio next door. Although it was cooler now then it had been when she first arrived, it was still warm enough to make her feel like the buttoned blouse and the skirt she wore was still too much. It felt like summer out, and the recent rain had made her feel sticky. The grease in her belly wasn't improving her overall sense of well being, either.
Blonde curls, stylish clothes, and a height that models envy, the Fianna Kin headed towards her car parked further down the street.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen is a contrast to Kora. Her hair vibrant and red, her eyes dark, her skin luminously pale. She is slight, slender, without the same wiry strength to her own, lean frame. She sits poised in her chair, a half finished sandwich and mostly finished salad set aside, a glass of wine near by, and a cigarette in hand.
She has breeding, herself. Pure blood that speaks of heroes and glorious deaths. Of a bloodline of leadership, promised beneath her skin. No rage, though. Not a drop.
She turns the thin book over, letting Kora see the title. She is reading Shakespeare's King Lear.
The suddenly approaching Garou draws her attention, her eyebrows drawing together as he speaks. Imogen's eyes shift toward Kora when she speaks, one eyebrow cocking upward.
It remains up as Colt introduces himself. The kinswoman does not return the favour.
[Kora] Sitting up, leaning easily forward by extending her middle spine, Kora reaches for the sunglasses - which are not hers - with her left arm, and plucks them easily from Colt's hand, palming them and setting them thoughtlessly aside on the table. She isn't carrying a purse, though perhaps she has stowed one underneath her ironworked chair.
"Good to meet you, Colt," her voice is low, distinct and direct. Her dark eyes are steady on him, across the table, over Imogen's book and half-finished meal. There is a small smile on her expressive mouth - even at its most neutral her mouth curves, just - which does not quite reach her somber eyes. "I'm Kora." She does not introduce Imogen.
The busboy bustles past, and Kora watches him, tracks his passage until she deems that he is out of earshot. Then, back to Colt. "There's no Jarl, just now - but you should find Joe War-Handed to make yourself known to the tribe. I can get you in touch with him."
[Colt Montgomery] ~well would ya look at all the breeding and at just one table, how did he get so lucky, Luna must be shining bright for himonce more, he looked over at the red head with a smile, though he wrinkled his nose at the cigerette a bit, she didn't look old enough to smoke or drink, one was at least a bad habit~
"Pleased to meet ya Kora.. and I'd appreciate ya gettin me in touch with Joe" ~he'd been doing his darndest to meet the right people, he'd been told to check out the brotherhood, but nothing panned out. he looked over at the kin~ "Howdy"
~eyes back to the Skald and that rage, it felt like home~ "Do ya thinkin that waiter might come back and round me up a steak sandwich and a coke?" ~sometimes the rage was enough to keep the mortals at bay, he hoped sittin and chattin with two pretty lookin ladies might make him seem less menacing~
[Helen Moore] (ooc: gah. stupid thing.)
[Helen Moore] Having just left Roman, a country boy, she finds herself amused that right there, sitting with a bunch of -- wait, is that Imogen? Helen's feet slow their walk as she begins to pass by closer. A hand is lifted, perhaps to catch attention, as she called out, softly: "Imogen!"
[Imogen Slaughter] "Hullo," the kinwoman offers as she crushes out her cigarette, picking up her book from the table and purse from the back of her chair.
"A waiter should be by soon," a tilt of her head indicates the cash stuck beneath her plate. "He has a bill t'pick up."
The homeless man his hopes dashed of retrieving either the remains of Imogen's meal or her cash, has already begun to wander off.
"You'll ha' to excuse me," she says. "I ha' work to do." A flick of her gaze toward Kora. "See you later, I imagine.
Then Colt, "A pleasure to meet you."
Etiquette paid the merest of lip service, she gets to her feet. Helen calls her name, and Imogen turns slightly, glancing at Helen before exiting the patio.
"I can't stay, sorry," she says as she begins past the other, before casting a glance at the two Garou, "They're Garou, if you're interested in meetin' more o' the Nation. Fenrir."
[Helen Moore] She's not surprised that Imogen has to go, ahead. If anything Helen thinks the other may be avoiding her. That, too, wouldn't be surprising given their first and only meeting and their histories. "Of course. Keep well," she calls after the other woman.
Paused in the street, she looked up and over to Kora and Colt, considering her options.
[Colt Montgomery] ~he looked over at Helen, tipped his hat again and offered her a smile, well at least he knew what the red heads name was now~ "Evenin" ~he said to Helen.....he was just another good ole boy, fresh off the ranch, full of manners and pride of course~ "and have a good night Miss Imogen"
[Kora] "He's my Alpha," says Kora, her voice low, sitting up once more in the chair, pale arm hovering over the table until she finds and plucks the cheap bic left behind by the waiter from the last check from the edge of the table, steals an unused paper napkin. Then, leaning forward, she writes out both a phone number and an address. Her handwriting is neat and angular, not unlike her tall frame - the long limbs, the right angles of her elbows, the upright posture now, when she sits up, shoulders level - and hands him the napkin.
" - that's his phone number, though. We stay in a junkyard in Bronzeville, too. The address is there. You need a place to crash and don't like the Brotherhood for it," leaning back when he takes the napkin, "I'm sure you'd be welcome. It's not," a faint quirk of her mouth. Again, it does not reach her eyes. " - the Ritz."
An understatement.
"Night 'doc," the creature calls out, as Imogen stands and walks away. Her dark eyes track the kinswoman, Fianna to Fianna. Then, to Helen. "You'd be welcome to join us."
[Helen Moore] That settled it. She really couldn't say no when Garou have invited her over. With a small smile she made her way up to the patio and towards the recently vacated seat. Her small purse slips off her shoulder and is set down before her, fingers pushing Imogen's plate off to the side and out from beneath her face.
"Hello," the Londoner greets both of them, looking at one then the other to give each a nod. She offers her hand to the woman first. "I'm Helen." It's short as far as introductions go, but she didn't worry about heritage or last names, or even what Tribe she was from.
Colt would get an offer at a handshake too.
[Imogen Slaughter] (thanks for the play, guys!)
[Colt Montgomery] ~he watched and studied the napkin, picking it up and putting it into his back pocket, he was grateful for all the help~ "Thank ya" ~he didn't know it was possible to stay in a junkyard, but hey maybe they liked to play wolf more than the city folk. He missed his ranch about now, all this moving from hotel to hotel was wearing on his nerves, he'd like to make his introductions and offer his aid in the war~ "Right now me and my packmate are stayin at the Drake, but lookin to find something a lil cheaper"
~he accepted the handshake, his own was firm, his hand full of calouses, as he was a bullrider and worked the ranch as soon as he could walk~ "Colt Montgomery, pleased to meet ya Helen"
[Mila Davis] A dark haired, curvy, yet slender figure rounded the corner heading in the direction of the resturant patio. She hadn't wandered this direction for any real reason, other than it was the shorest path between two points.
The rage that slid off of her form was moderate - nothing that would indicate she was a monster on the verge of a frenzy.. but it was up there. She looked the part of a scary chick as it was (which didn't help the mortals and their skiddishness). Her makeup was dark, hair a mess, windblown and all. She wore a sexy black leather jacket (and not the biker kind!), a tight white tank top, a pair of skinny jeans and heeled knee high boots.
Hands slid into the back pockets of her jeans as she stalked down the sidewalk..
[Kora] "Kora," sitting up, though not standing up, Kora takes the kinswoman's hand. Her own is long-fingered, faintly calloused at the thumb and fingertips, with dark bracelets - the handmade, homeade sort - of knotted leather, braided fiber, twisted suede and the like - circling the fine-boned wrist. Her nails are bare and short, her skin warm. "It's a pleasure. You know the doc, eh?"
The creature's dark eyes flash from Helen to Imogen, watchful as the latter disappears down the street. "If you need creature comforts, the Brotherhood has rooms for kin and Garou." This must be for Colt, though Kora's attention remains fixed in Imogen's wake until she disappears, returning to her companions only then. "Pay what you can pay. It's free if you've no money."
[Helen Moore] "You could say that," she tells Kora, having shook both of their hands and settled back in her chair. Long legs cross under the table, her knees shifting aside to allow each of them room. Her hands drop down into her lap, her small bag having been pulled there, giving her fingers something to grasp. "We're related." She could simply mean that they're both Fianna and that would be fine with her, she wasn't going to elaborate.
[Colt Montgomery] ~the dark haired woman caught his eye, well mostly it was the rage that tickled his nose, things couldn't get better, if only his packmate had decided to wander the streets with him tonight, oh well, he didn't blame her, she wasn't as social as he was~ "I think i might have frightened her off" ~he said to Helen, speaking of Imogen~
"Do ya happen to have the address of the brotherhood as well... Kora?" ~he pulled out the napkin and offered it to her, he'd take all the leads he could get, but his first would be to introduce himself to Joe~
[Mila Davis] Hrm.. new faces. Mila was new enough to not have met all of the Sept. A light smirk touched her darkly hued lips.. she must have thought something was a little amusing. The young woman took a small detour and slid in through the unlocked gate towards those gathered.
[Kora] By now, the only other patrons on the patio - a young couple folded together like an accordian over a chocolate dessert - have decided that the walk home sounds romantic and bracing. Something's changed about the atmosphere at the cafe. Instead of waiting for the waiter to make his return trip outside, they stuff a handful of bills underneath the half-empty plate and duck out, brushing past Mila with a faint shiver.
Kora looks up, tracks their path through the patio, gives Mila a direct look followed by a faint cant of her head in invitation. Then, her eyes narrow in thought, a line appears bisecting her pale brows, just, trying to put together the pieces of Mila's familiarity. No - it isn't there, she can't name it, and so shakes it off, taking the napkin back from Colt without sitting him, reaching for the discarded pen once more and carefully writing out the address to the Brotherhood in her angular script before passing it back to Colt. "There. They have good food, too. Laundry, showers. Whatever you need."
She doesn't voice an opinion on Imogen's abrupt departure, but does cut Helen a look as she sits back. "What brings you to the States?"
[Helen Moore] "I don't think it was you, Mr. Montogmery," she assures Colt with a small smile. But doesn't get into it either. They hadn't been on the best terms from the beginning and she's sure her presence brings up some things Imogen doesn't want to deal with.
Then Kora is asking her why she's in the States. "I'm here for work," she answered. There's nothing more to it.
[Colt Montgomery] ~he was used to people rushing off quickly, he chuckled softly as the couple brushed passed Mila, again he accepted the napkin, pocketing it quickly, Fianna always had good food and drinks, he was sure to check it out, and it would be nice to have a place to do some laundry, he'd stick out like a sore thumb in a laundramat~ "thank ya Kora" ~hazel eyes move to Helen as she speaks to him, glad that it wasn't him, he totally showered today too. he grinned at her reasons for the move to the state~
~he wanted to ask what she did, but maybe it was rude~ "I just moved here from Texas, never been out of the country before, how do ya like this here windy city?"
+
[Helen Moore] "Really? I was just speaking with a young man from the country. I'm not sure where about, exactly, but he came here with his cousin, Sparrow," she offers them. They were Garou, and she's sure the others were too, though it really hadn't come up. Her money is on Sparrow being Garou but she hadn't figured out if Roman was too. She liked the boy. Not in *that* way. He had a refreshing charm, an innocence not yet tainted by the city. Not an ordinary teenager compared to those she had dealings with. Sixteen year olds in London or LA were very different.
[Mila Davis] A chair was casually snagged and pulled over to where the trio sat. She'd caught Kora's look of invitation - and if one thought she could join them, then.. well, the rest could just go with the plan.
Once the chair was in an acceptable spot, the Shadow Lord slid around the chair and sat. Long legs crossed and she sat back - her gaze (eyes the color of approaching stormclouds) shifted between the three and she offered a nice enough smile. "Good evening.."
[Kora] "Cheers," offers Kora, in response to both Colt's thanks and to Mila's greeting. And, even, to Helen's explanation. The expression is useful, all-purpose. Quiet. Her accent is wholly American, though without regional specification - like the blade narratives of cable television, broad and uninflected, at least to American ears. Perhaps there is a hint of a lilt, enough that an observant person might wonder if she were Canadian. Or a hockey fan.
The patio is empty, now, except for Garou and the kin. The waiter hovers inside, eyeing the payment left by Imogen, debating whether or not to disturb the group. The tip, though, spurs him onward. He swoops up behind Helen, mutters an apology, snags the money and plate adroitly, returning a moment later with a pair of menus that he slides onto the iron table.
Kora does not grab for a menu, but she does shift her tall frame in the chair she has chosen, subtly including Mila in the barely defined circle of acquaintance. "I'm Kora." This to Mila. "Colt," a tip of her head toward the cowboy, " - and Helen." And the Londoner.
[Colt Montgomery] ~he perked up at the name Sparrow~ "Kansas" ~he offered~ "I met Sparrow last night, but missed her cousin by 8 seconds" ~he chuckled, sure it was his own joke, the others probably didn't even get it.....what a small world, he looked up at Mila, his index finger and thumb come together and pinch the soul patch~ "and it keeps gettin better.. Montgomery" ~he offered up his last name~
~he watched as the waiter came and went, leaving the menu, and he did snag one up, his belly was growling earlier, and he didn't want anyone to hear it now, he ordered a coke and a steak sandwich, rare~
[Helen Moore] So many Garou, it wasn't making her feel very comfortable here, especially with the arrival of another one, who looked - and acted, far less kindly than the rest of them. She had looked to Mila and offered a small nod. The others may note she does not offer her hand to the other woman. Maybe it's because she wasn't introducing herself personally.
She turns back to Colt and the conversation. "Ah, you know of her then. Quite an intense young lady."
[Mila Davis] "Mila." She responded to the grouping of first name only introductions - it worked, for now at least. "A pleasure to meet you all. I haven't had the chance to meet many of the extended family here.."
Mila was in fact, a nice young lady. Tonight, she had had business to deal with, and well.. you don't get anywhere in Shadow Lord society looking, or acting like a pussy girl. So, she was still working on coming down from that frame of mind, as she took the seat with the group.
[Colt Montgomery] ~he looked back to Helen~ "I didn't reckon people would be so friendly here, but I've been put in my place, the windy city offers hospitality just like some of the southern states" ~he nodded at Mila and her introduction, seemed she was fairly new as well~
[Helen Moore] "I think you've just met the right people," she tells Colt, smiling over at him. "There's a big difference between the city and the country life. Though I can't speak from experience, much, and certainly not about Texas or Kansas." Helen was definitely a city dweller, aside from a few vacations. She had to admit, though, she really enjoyed her time out of the concrete jungle.
[Colt Montgomery] ~eventually his luck would run out, it always did, but he'd be prepared, he could give it back just as good as they could dish it out~ "Be if gaefa or luna's persistant eye, I'm glad I'm meeting the right people now, better than walking in on a jarl of oathbreakers first day out" ~he grinned, he loved a good fight, but he'd like to know his allies before his enemies at this point~ "Sparrow told me there's a hive and that we just lost some brothers recently"
[Mila Davis] "Yeah, there's quite a bit of shit going on around here. It's gonna take awhile for us to clean it all up. The more, the merrier.. " A pause. "When did you arrive, Colt? And, did you bring any others with you?"
The kin was apparently focused on ignoring her, which was fine - it didn't hurt her feelings or anything. Not everyone could be friends..
[Kora] The conversation ebbs and flows around her; Kora is quiet. She looks up, just, when the waiter returns, and watches her tribesmate and the kinswoman discuss city life versus country life. There is a subtle twist of her expressive mouth - the right corner just higher than the left - which does not reach her eyes except faintly, the subtle crease of the fine skin at the corners, her expression otherwise lost in the shadows.
The street sounds are muffled, distant. The air has the ripe summer smell the city will develop - some mix of car exhaust and heat, garbage and the supple thread of lakewater - warm and humid, green with an undercurrent of decay. Colt's comment about the Hive, though, draws her dark gaze directly back to him. "My Alpha," she supplies quietly. "Kemp Oates. Adren Rotagar." Her voice is a low thread, though the undercurrent is intense as a riptide. "The Jarl." That is why they lack one, for now - assuredly. She does not look away from Colt through the whole of the spare recitation, reducing a life to a handful of words. A rumor, passed along. A legend, soon. "He raised the Caern."
There's a distinct pause, a brief frission of a look toward Mila, the spark of a match against the darkness. "Show some respect for the dead."
[Helen Moore] "I don't know," she says quietly. "All I know is I've been asked to be careful." Helen didn't know the inner workings of the Garou and what they were up to. She wasn't meant to know, not really. She very well could end up being a liability in the wrong hands, unaware.
When Kora offers up that her Alpha had died, Helen is respectfully quiet.
Rage is stirred and she looked between Kora and Mila. It's about now that she's determining whether it's wise sitting at this table with three strange Garou. If Imogen hadn't vouched for them she would have never have sat here in the beginning.
[Mila Davis] Quietly.. neither threatening, or defensive. "I do respect the dead. Kemp fell in honorable battle - he will be honored, and remembered. But, in the mean time, the more of us that are here to help, the better. There is nothing disrespectful about the statment, Kora."
A pause.. "I went along and watched the replay of the battle in which he fell. We fought our own version, and saw where his team differed in their plan. I did not know the man, but I respect what I saw him do for his team that day.. and even though I never met him, after that evening, I felt I did. He will be missed."
Nope, Mila had no intention of starting anything with the presumed Get.
[Colt Montgomery] ~he adjusted his straw hat and looked over at Mila~ "Arrived yesterday, I only brought one other, my packmate Cara, we lost our other Modi and Godi to some Shield brothers of adders, minions of the dogs of war. We tracked the last of them to Iowa and took care of them" ~he smirked, the taste of blood still on his mind, the words spoken by the skald, caught him, he knew that feeling, the loss, it was his alpha who was taken as well~
"The tribe and Caern has suffered a great loss, I'm sorry that I wasn't able to meet such a hero, but I...." ~he looked at Mila~ "What do you mean you replayed the battle in which he fell?"
[Helen Moore] "Excuse me," she says softly.
Rising from the table, the kinswoman put her purse strap over her shoulder. She offered a small smile to them, her gaze more apologetic to Colt, who she had been conversing with on more mundane topics. She doesn't say why she's going and really doesn't need to. She was not going to be between arguing Garou, no way and no how.
Polite, she sought to make herself scarce, pushing her chair in before stepping around the table. She doesn't interrupt Mila or Kora to say her goodbyes, but would nod if they looked her way. She left them to garou business.
[Colt Montgomery] ~he looked over as Helen excused herself~ "It was a pleasure Helen, hope to see you around" ~it was genuine, the kin always knew what was going on, and he treated them well~
[Kora] There is a moment of tension, tight in Kora's jaw, evident in the lean shape of her body - the curve of coiled whip, the line of her spine. Then, her eyes on Mila's face, Kora repeats softly - " - you went to Battleground?" - otherwise holding her tongue, her features still, her body taut. She waits only for the subtle moment of confirmation in the other woman's face, the faintest nod, then rises, a dip of her chin to Colt.
"Give Joe a call. I'll see you around."
[Kora] [and exit! I'm sorry for being spacy tonight. :) but, sleep calls. thank you all for the play!]
to Colt Montgomery, Helen Moore, Mila Davis, snail
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