[Imogen] Rain has begun to fall, pounding pavement, splashing on the lake, which is, itself, black and roiling, waves splashing against themselves, against the rocky foundations of the pier.
She can see the city from here, the brightly light, distinctive skyline of Chicago. The same buildings she can see from her expensive, spartan apartment, but from a different perspective. Still, by now, after all these years, it is almost as familiar to her as the smell of the ocean.
It is one of those tourist finds - one that isn't really clearly marked, but is in the guidebooks that reference locales off the beaten path. Still, tonight there is no one. Well, almost no one.
She stands away from the nearby park bench, closer to the water, protected from the rain by an umbrella. Her free hand holds a cigarette, which she fits between her lips, filling her lungs.
[Joe War- Handed] (I'm crashing! Can I crash? *helps self*)
to Imogen, Kora
[Kora] crash away!
to Imogen, Joe War- Handed
[Kora] Kora does not have an umbrella to protect her from the cold rain falling from the bilious clouds scudding over the city. Instead she walks, her narrow shoulders shunted forward, as if that would protect from the weight of the rain, somehow. From a distance, she is a tall, dark figure pacing down the path near the pier, a dark figure - jeans and a black t-shirt underneath a dark hoodie, the hood pulled up over her head, concealing her pale hair. Just her face, then - a pale wash in the darkness, the four inches or so of her hands visible between the cuffs of the cotton jacket and the front pockets of her jeans - are catch the light and give her away. That and her presence, the way she walks, the long sure strides she takes, the subtle suggestion of the animal in her, clear to the kinswoman even from a distance.
Closer, then, her pace slows. There is a moment where she cuts a sidelong look at Imogen - that familiar animal cant of her head that so many of them share, the way the motion bleeds over from animal to human skins, and back again - enough to reveal the line of her jaw, a loop of pale hair falling from whatever dubious thing she has used to secure it tonight, the edge of her mouth, generous thing that it is, and the gleam of ambient light across the surface of her pale eyes.
"Doc." The greeting and the voice are unmistakable by now. Perhaps the kinswoman has heard them both too often of late. "How are you?"
[Joe War- Handed] Some nights, Chicago aint that bad. Like now. It gleams across a lake Joe can assume on, but not see. Rather, it is a scattering of jewels glinting through the branches and budding growth of trees. He likes it, when the place will remove itself like that. Be 'over there' instead of all around him. The bark of the tree at his back is rough and cold. The sparkle of City is warped and runs together as rainwater falls in sheets across open, half lidded eyes. Drops of water tap tap tap like fingers on the Modi's bald head.
Yeah. Sometimes Chicago's alright. Joe doesn't so much relax there, not during a moon that thick behind the clouds. Rather, he waits. Somewhere between carefully sculpted trees, growing wrath throbs and threatens all around him.
A pricking at the edge of senses that have grown more and more animal in the wake of Hermodr's influence. Bright blue, half lidded eyes swivel slowly to the side. Dwell for a time between the trunks of trees. His hands twitch now and then- outlets for the electric, addictive song of violence that sings along his nerves.
Though gentle enough, the transition between standing still and walking, it nevertheless seems almost explosive for the terrible weight it brings with it. He knows that voice and the presence that goes with it. He moves closer to both before he's aware of the decision.
[Imogen] Imogen glances over as Kora flanks her, her cigarette held between her lips, drawing the smoke into her lungs. As Kora greets her, she turns her head away, exhaling smoke in the opposite the direction. Her habit is futile tonight. The wind merely blows it back in their mutual direction.
She lowers her hand, the cigarette held between two fingers, tapping ashes toward a ground which is dark at her feet. "Well enough," she answers.
Another glance, a flick of her dark gaze. "A little damp, are you?"
[Kora] "I won't melt," the creature says, her mouth twisting at the rightmost corner, hooking just upward in a familiar pattern. The expression does not entirely reach her eyes. Then she straightens her hunches shoulders, stands straight through the spine, too, and looks directly up into the sky, opening her face to the rain, her eyes half-lidded, her mouth just open, watching the rain fall directly on her so that when she looks back at Imogen, her brow, her cheeks, her nose are shining where the light hits her face, raindrops running down her skin. " - I like the rain. Not for poetic reasons, either. I don't like rain-poetry."
The prickle of awareness at the base of her spine has her casting a look off into the darkness, Joe's direction, before he emerges, a subtle nudge of acknowledgment across the connection that they share, no more silent greeting than that.
"I just like the rain." Turning back to Imogen, then, before craning her neck, turning her head about within the confines of the dark, damp hood to look at the vista of the city seen from the edge of the lake. "You here for the view?"
[Imogen] Imogen's breath exhales sharply, hinting at some amusement. "And what, praytell, is 'rain poetry'?"
Kora's cast look into the darkness causes Imogen to turn her head. She does not have the pack connections that Joe and Kora have. It takes her a little longer to see the figure as he emerges from the trees, bullish and bare-headed in the rain.
She turns back.
"Hm." The sound she makes is one of acknowledgement, as she turns her eyes back toward the city's skyline. "S'not bad, is it?"
[Joe War- Handed] It had been the sense that Sorrow was near- That comfortable sureness that had drawn him by the nose from the safety and quiet of water- soaked trees. He's surprised to see Imogen here as well, in the vague, distant parts of him that would be moved or concerned by such things as Luna turns her face back to those she's blessed with her strengths.. but once he sees the slender Fianna, the quiet clip of bootheels become more focused, the kid finds motivation that carries him directly toward her.
Canvas jacket scrapes against Kora's hoodie as Joe's form brushes hers in greeting. It is at once intimate and, to an ordinary human, remarkably cold- or aggressive. Warmth amongst the True can perhaps seem just as ominous as its lack.
"Heyas, Doc." It sounds like a second greeting, rather than the first. Joe's face is a blank series of planes and bulges. Lacking in humanity. Just a mask, covering something 'other' that is far closer to the surface these days. Nothing screws up or twists to animate his question, but pointed curiosity flickers briefly in his hooded eyes.
"How long've yew been in Chicago? Like, some yeahs?" Out of the blue, but it seems a preamble.
[Kora] "Rain-poetry." Kora offers a quiet shrug, her voice low. The explanation comes between Imogen's response and Joe's arrival. " - you know, where rain becomes Rain, expresses all the sorrows in some adolescent's soul. Where rain becomes Something Meaningful instead've - "
Then Joe is beside her, brushing past her, his presence stronger, more immediate than her own as the moon waxes toward the full. She cuts him a sidelong look, rocking her body back against his, returning the physical greeting like for like. Her explanation of rain-poetry is left half-finished, though perhaps it does not need any more explanation. Instead, her dark eyes rise from the Modi to the kinswoman, her mouth stilling, a supple note of query at the corners of her eyes.
[Imogen] Joe comes with his question and Imogen turns her head to look at him as his greets her. There is a dearth of those of the blood who call Imogen by her first name.
"Some," she answers, after a moment. "Why do you ask?"
[Joe War- Handed] Joe's broad jaw lifts and falls once. A sharp nod, made sharper by the razor glint of moonlight refracted from hard, rain slickened fingers. His eyes never move from hers as he bashes on with whatever's on his mind.
..Five minutes. Its about all that's really needed to understand why the skalds do the talking.
"Yew evah heah of a Fenrir named 'Odin's Eye'? Its... uh.. Mattias..." He trails off, face swinging toward Kora.
[Imogen] Imogen meets Joe's gaze without flinching. She has a directness which is rare for Kinfolk. Rare even for Garou of lesser strength.
"I believe there was a Garou called Matthias a while ago," she says, "but I don't know much about him." A pause, her mouth drawing fractionally tighter.
"Yeh might ask Rohl," she says, before supplementing, "Silence."
[Kora] (brb! changing computers)
[Joe War- Handed] Two things happen. First, a subtle tightness unwinds itself from the thick muscles wrapping Joe's neck and back at Imogen's explanation. Pressure released. In its wake, questions remain. The sort that hang unspoken in youthful eyes, before a snort chuffs briefly from deep in the Modi's chest, clearing away what could have become a heavy sort of waiting silence.
Silence. For now, much comes back to Silence.
Joe's attention lingers on Chicago's twinkling lights, the look of someone setting down a burden for a moment, then picking it back up again.
"T'anks, Doc. Dat's goodt ta heah." The boy flickers a glance at Kora, and blows against raindrops dripping from his lips. Strange both for the relative politeness and thuggish disregard for same, Joe points his face away from both women, rather than spatter either.
[Imogen] "Don't mention it," she says, mildly, before turning her attention away and back toward the cityscape. She studies it briefly. There is rage all around her.
She carries an umbrella while the other two expose themselves to the elements. The rainwater ticks on the drum-tight nylon.
"I'll leave you both to the view," she says stepping back. "S'getting late." Her farewell is not overly directed to either of them. "Have a good night."
[Kora] "Yeah," Kora echoes quietly, in the wake of her Alpha's rather less dulcet tones. " - appreciate it, Doc."
The Skald lifts her dark eyes to the city, shrouded by the rain, gleaming beneath it, both obscured and revealed by the weather. Then, as the kinswoman steps back, begins to take her leave, Kora acknowledges her with a faint cut of her chin upward. " - be safe, Doc."
[Joe War- Handed] The formidable Modi's thick neck swivels to follow Imogen's form as it flickers down the path. Lit, then dark as she passes from one rain- drenched puddle of light to the black that is the park's mainstay at night. Plenty of rumors and tales of her deeds follow in her wake... the woman has killed more Spirals in one sitting than Joe's ever even seen in one place at one time.. she'll be just fine, and he knows it.
He turns back just enough to look directly at Kora- the questions return, riding in menacing eyes as he rolls his tongue along his teeth, checking for points. Ridges meant for killing. Nope. Only the smooth squares he was born with. Sometimes as the moon thickens, its hard to keep them that way.
A moment of quiet before he speaks.
"Still havin' trouble makin' sense of alla dis.. ahmean.. is theah.." He rolls one thick, scarred knuckled hand between them, as though he'd pull knowledge from the Skald without the words that don't come so easy of late.
"...like, any kinda precedent feh a cliath holdin' Jarl when an Athro's around?"
[Imogen] (thanks for the scene!)
[Kora] Imogen walks off, the rain drumming down on her umbrella, a constant tattoo. When they are alone again, Kora steps up onto the convenient park bench, her feet on the seat, sitting herself on the back. One might call it perching were she the sort of creature who perched - but she is a wolf, underneath her skin, not a bird or a bee, and so she sits - or crouches, her feet braced on the seat of the bench, her forearms across her thighs, her hands between her knees, the hood insufficient to the rain, but good enough for the Fenrir woman, so it seems.
"I can't think of one." She says this plainly; clearly. " - though they say that Halfdan the Old was insane with grief, murderous, for a year and a day after his pack died around him in the first battle to take back Hjaltland from the fallen ones.
"It was," she looks up, then, her pale face clear, rainstreaked beneath the dark hood, her eyes sheened with light. " - sickness of a sort, though not one the tribe had to tend. Others led while he fought. There wasn't - " a frown ticks over her fine brow, considered, " - such a gap in ranks, you know? Not then. Not that I can remember."
[Joe War- Handed] Let there be no mistake.. it is not fear that paints hard, formidable limbs with hesitation. This is clear enough. To the eyes of one who holds moments for posterity, feeds them to those who would know what came before, it reads as easily as a book. Subtlety is not something one could ever ascribe to Joe. Understanding him is as simple as knowing why a bear knocks down trees. Thought to action is a single pass, deliberation is a choice he makes to prevent mistakes.. not to hide. Joe watches Kora's wide mouth intently as she speaks, switches his gaze to her eyes, then his own glaze over.
Heavy hands drop like stones into his pockets, one comes out with several pieces of hard gum. Each is tossed into his mouth as he watches the Skald speak- and watches in the way that cubs watch. Drinking in every word. Muscles in his jaw pulse as he grinds teeth relentlessly into the pink chunks of gum.
"Its right? Ahmean.. dis aint jus' t'inkin' tew much of myself?"
Honor. It is honor he is concerned with. Honor, and straight fucking up. Blue eyes slide from the lights back to Kora's face. There will be more. More questions. Difficult ones, at least for him. That is easily seen too.
[Kora] "If Silence-rhya wanted it," the creature says, her voice always low, her attention rising again to her Alpha's face. Her perch gives her several inches on him and a fine view of the city spread out beyond his bullish frame, the high rises gleaming in the darkness, the way the slanting rain distorts the light, catches it with a sort of painterly brilliance. " - he'd take it.
"When - " here her mouth curls, a fine thing, the expression, the supple thread of humor as subtle as Joe is not. " - he wants it, he'll take it back. Until then, though - someone has to lead the tribe, ward the kin, greet the new arrivals, stand as their Alpha. You'll take whatever challenges come your way. It's not - "
Briefly, here, her brow creases right down the middle; then, clears, " - you know, if you're concerned about the law, we could ask the new Forseti, too."
[Joe War- Handed] As he listens, Joe rolls and uncurls his fingers. Hand to fist back to hand then to fist again, as though the flex and tension of muscle and sinew pumped his mind along as it followed her logic. Its common enough- Modi taught to control their wrath by controlling their bodies- soon enough the body is a filter through which the whole world is tasted, tested, and understood. Joe's eyes don't leave her again, and her words relax his worry. Perhaps they'd come close enough to his own thoughts..
Sharp, decisive, one finger jabs toward the ground between them. The sudden animation startling, perhaps- to those who don't know how fast they can move.. but not to Kora. She'd felt the sudden excited agitation bubbling up in the Modi as soon as she'd mentioned the sept's new Forseti.
"DAT one's comin' widdus. Ahmean- if she don' already got a pack. Dat cowboy got a pack, but she don't. We want 'er."
[Kora] Kora's response is a brief, clear laugh, appreciative of her Alpha's decisiveness and enthusiasm. The suggestion of lightness remains in her shoulders and her eyes much longer than it lingers in her throat, a neat sort of tension tying one narrow shoulder to the other, along the sloping archicture of muscle and bone.
"She doesn't," the confirmation is quiet, " - have a pack. She brought her family, though. Four kids and a pair of sisters, all kin. Seemed solid, though - grounded, you know what I mean? I think that's a smart choice, boss."
The light cuts neatly, scored along the planes of her face, patterned reflections from the lights lining the park's jogging path. Her clothes are dark with damp, now, and Joe is soaked, too - neither seems to take much notice.
[Kora] [and pause!]
She can see the city from here, the brightly light, distinctive skyline of Chicago. The same buildings she can see from her expensive, spartan apartment, but from a different perspective. Still, by now, after all these years, it is almost as familiar to her as the smell of the ocean.
It is one of those tourist finds - one that isn't really clearly marked, but is in the guidebooks that reference locales off the beaten path. Still, tonight there is no one. Well, almost no one.
She stands away from the nearby park bench, closer to the water, protected from the rain by an umbrella. Her free hand holds a cigarette, which she fits between her lips, filling her lungs.
[Joe War- Handed] (I'm crashing! Can I crash? *helps self*)
to Imogen, Kora
[Kora] crash away!
to Imogen, Joe War- Handed
[Kora] Kora does not have an umbrella to protect her from the cold rain falling from the bilious clouds scudding over the city. Instead she walks, her narrow shoulders shunted forward, as if that would protect from the weight of the rain, somehow. From a distance, she is a tall, dark figure pacing down the path near the pier, a dark figure - jeans and a black t-shirt underneath a dark hoodie, the hood pulled up over her head, concealing her pale hair. Just her face, then - a pale wash in the darkness, the four inches or so of her hands visible between the cuffs of the cotton jacket and the front pockets of her jeans - are catch the light and give her away. That and her presence, the way she walks, the long sure strides she takes, the subtle suggestion of the animal in her, clear to the kinswoman even from a distance.
Closer, then, her pace slows. There is a moment where she cuts a sidelong look at Imogen - that familiar animal cant of her head that so many of them share, the way the motion bleeds over from animal to human skins, and back again - enough to reveal the line of her jaw, a loop of pale hair falling from whatever dubious thing she has used to secure it tonight, the edge of her mouth, generous thing that it is, and the gleam of ambient light across the surface of her pale eyes.
"Doc." The greeting and the voice are unmistakable by now. Perhaps the kinswoman has heard them both too often of late. "How are you?"
[Joe War- Handed] Some nights, Chicago aint that bad. Like now. It gleams across a lake Joe can assume on, but not see. Rather, it is a scattering of jewels glinting through the branches and budding growth of trees. He likes it, when the place will remove itself like that. Be 'over there' instead of all around him. The bark of the tree at his back is rough and cold. The sparkle of City is warped and runs together as rainwater falls in sheets across open, half lidded eyes. Drops of water tap tap tap like fingers on the Modi's bald head.
Yeah. Sometimes Chicago's alright. Joe doesn't so much relax there, not during a moon that thick behind the clouds. Rather, he waits. Somewhere between carefully sculpted trees, growing wrath throbs and threatens all around him.
A pricking at the edge of senses that have grown more and more animal in the wake of Hermodr's influence. Bright blue, half lidded eyes swivel slowly to the side. Dwell for a time between the trunks of trees. His hands twitch now and then- outlets for the electric, addictive song of violence that sings along his nerves.
Though gentle enough, the transition between standing still and walking, it nevertheless seems almost explosive for the terrible weight it brings with it. He knows that voice and the presence that goes with it. He moves closer to both before he's aware of the decision.
[Imogen] Imogen glances over as Kora flanks her, her cigarette held between her lips, drawing the smoke into her lungs. As Kora greets her, she turns her head away, exhaling smoke in the opposite the direction. Her habit is futile tonight. The wind merely blows it back in their mutual direction.
She lowers her hand, the cigarette held between two fingers, tapping ashes toward a ground which is dark at her feet. "Well enough," she answers.
Another glance, a flick of her dark gaze. "A little damp, are you?"
[Kora] "I won't melt," the creature says, her mouth twisting at the rightmost corner, hooking just upward in a familiar pattern. The expression does not entirely reach her eyes. Then she straightens her hunches shoulders, stands straight through the spine, too, and looks directly up into the sky, opening her face to the rain, her eyes half-lidded, her mouth just open, watching the rain fall directly on her so that when she looks back at Imogen, her brow, her cheeks, her nose are shining where the light hits her face, raindrops running down her skin. " - I like the rain. Not for poetic reasons, either. I don't like rain-poetry."
The prickle of awareness at the base of her spine has her casting a look off into the darkness, Joe's direction, before he emerges, a subtle nudge of acknowledgment across the connection that they share, no more silent greeting than that.
"I just like the rain." Turning back to Imogen, then, before craning her neck, turning her head about within the confines of the dark, damp hood to look at the vista of the city seen from the edge of the lake. "You here for the view?"
[Imogen] Imogen's breath exhales sharply, hinting at some amusement. "And what, praytell, is 'rain poetry'?"
Kora's cast look into the darkness causes Imogen to turn her head. She does not have the pack connections that Joe and Kora have. It takes her a little longer to see the figure as he emerges from the trees, bullish and bare-headed in the rain.
She turns back.
"Hm." The sound she makes is one of acknowledgement, as she turns her eyes back toward the city's skyline. "S'not bad, is it?"
[Joe War- Handed] It had been the sense that Sorrow was near- That comfortable sureness that had drawn him by the nose from the safety and quiet of water- soaked trees. He's surprised to see Imogen here as well, in the vague, distant parts of him that would be moved or concerned by such things as Luna turns her face back to those she's blessed with her strengths.. but once he sees the slender Fianna, the quiet clip of bootheels become more focused, the kid finds motivation that carries him directly toward her.
Canvas jacket scrapes against Kora's hoodie as Joe's form brushes hers in greeting. It is at once intimate and, to an ordinary human, remarkably cold- or aggressive. Warmth amongst the True can perhaps seem just as ominous as its lack.
"Heyas, Doc." It sounds like a second greeting, rather than the first. Joe's face is a blank series of planes and bulges. Lacking in humanity. Just a mask, covering something 'other' that is far closer to the surface these days. Nothing screws up or twists to animate his question, but pointed curiosity flickers briefly in his hooded eyes.
"How long've yew been in Chicago? Like, some yeahs?" Out of the blue, but it seems a preamble.
[Kora] "Rain-poetry." Kora offers a quiet shrug, her voice low. The explanation comes between Imogen's response and Joe's arrival. " - you know, where rain becomes Rain, expresses all the sorrows in some adolescent's soul. Where rain becomes Something Meaningful instead've - "
Then Joe is beside her, brushing past her, his presence stronger, more immediate than her own as the moon waxes toward the full. She cuts him a sidelong look, rocking her body back against his, returning the physical greeting like for like. Her explanation of rain-poetry is left half-finished, though perhaps it does not need any more explanation. Instead, her dark eyes rise from the Modi to the kinswoman, her mouth stilling, a supple note of query at the corners of her eyes.
[Imogen] Joe comes with his question and Imogen turns her head to look at him as his greets her. There is a dearth of those of the blood who call Imogen by her first name.
"Some," she answers, after a moment. "Why do you ask?"
[Joe War- Handed] Joe's broad jaw lifts and falls once. A sharp nod, made sharper by the razor glint of moonlight refracted from hard, rain slickened fingers. His eyes never move from hers as he bashes on with whatever's on his mind.
..Five minutes. Its about all that's really needed to understand why the skalds do the talking.
"Yew evah heah of a Fenrir named 'Odin's Eye'? Its... uh.. Mattias..." He trails off, face swinging toward Kora.
[Imogen] Imogen meets Joe's gaze without flinching. She has a directness which is rare for Kinfolk. Rare even for Garou of lesser strength.
"I believe there was a Garou called Matthias a while ago," she says, "but I don't know much about him." A pause, her mouth drawing fractionally tighter.
"Yeh might ask Rohl," she says, before supplementing, "Silence."
[Kora] (brb! changing computers)
[Joe War- Handed] Two things happen. First, a subtle tightness unwinds itself from the thick muscles wrapping Joe's neck and back at Imogen's explanation. Pressure released. In its wake, questions remain. The sort that hang unspoken in youthful eyes, before a snort chuffs briefly from deep in the Modi's chest, clearing away what could have become a heavy sort of waiting silence.
Silence. For now, much comes back to Silence.
Joe's attention lingers on Chicago's twinkling lights, the look of someone setting down a burden for a moment, then picking it back up again.
"T'anks, Doc. Dat's goodt ta heah." The boy flickers a glance at Kora, and blows against raindrops dripping from his lips. Strange both for the relative politeness and thuggish disregard for same, Joe points his face away from both women, rather than spatter either.
[Imogen] "Don't mention it," she says, mildly, before turning her attention away and back toward the cityscape. She studies it briefly. There is rage all around her.
She carries an umbrella while the other two expose themselves to the elements. The rainwater ticks on the drum-tight nylon.
"I'll leave you both to the view," she says stepping back. "S'getting late." Her farewell is not overly directed to either of them. "Have a good night."
[Kora] "Yeah," Kora echoes quietly, in the wake of her Alpha's rather less dulcet tones. " - appreciate it, Doc."
The Skald lifts her dark eyes to the city, shrouded by the rain, gleaming beneath it, both obscured and revealed by the weather. Then, as the kinswoman steps back, begins to take her leave, Kora acknowledges her with a faint cut of her chin upward. " - be safe, Doc."
[Joe War- Handed] The formidable Modi's thick neck swivels to follow Imogen's form as it flickers down the path. Lit, then dark as she passes from one rain- drenched puddle of light to the black that is the park's mainstay at night. Plenty of rumors and tales of her deeds follow in her wake... the woman has killed more Spirals in one sitting than Joe's ever even seen in one place at one time.. she'll be just fine, and he knows it.
He turns back just enough to look directly at Kora- the questions return, riding in menacing eyes as he rolls his tongue along his teeth, checking for points. Ridges meant for killing. Nope. Only the smooth squares he was born with. Sometimes as the moon thickens, its hard to keep them that way.
A moment of quiet before he speaks.
"Still havin' trouble makin' sense of alla dis.. ahmean.. is theah.." He rolls one thick, scarred knuckled hand between them, as though he'd pull knowledge from the Skald without the words that don't come so easy of late.
"...like, any kinda precedent feh a cliath holdin' Jarl when an Athro's around?"
[Imogen] (thanks for the scene!)
[Kora] Imogen walks off, the rain drumming down on her umbrella, a constant tattoo. When they are alone again, Kora steps up onto the convenient park bench, her feet on the seat, sitting herself on the back. One might call it perching were she the sort of creature who perched - but she is a wolf, underneath her skin, not a bird or a bee, and so she sits - or crouches, her feet braced on the seat of the bench, her forearms across her thighs, her hands between her knees, the hood insufficient to the rain, but good enough for the Fenrir woman, so it seems.
"I can't think of one." She says this plainly; clearly. " - though they say that Halfdan the Old was insane with grief, murderous, for a year and a day after his pack died around him in the first battle to take back Hjaltland from the fallen ones.
"It was," she looks up, then, her pale face clear, rainstreaked beneath the dark hood, her eyes sheened with light. " - sickness of a sort, though not one the tribe had to tend. Others led while he fought. There wasn't - " a frown ticks over her fine brow, considered, " - such a gap in ranks, you know? Not then. Not that I can remember."
[Joe War- Handed] Let there be no mistake.. it is not fear that paints hard, formidable limbs with hesitation. This is clear enough. To the eyes of one who holds moments for posterity, feeds them to those who would know what came before, it reads as easily as a book. Subtlety is not something one could ever ascribe to Joe. Understanding him is as simple as knowing why a bear knocks down trees. Thought to action is a single pass, deliberation is a choice he makes to prevent mistakes.. not to hide. Joe watches Kora's wide mouth intently as she speaks, switches his gaze to her eyes, then his own glaze over.
Heavy hands drop like stones into his pockets, one comes out with several pieces of hard gum. Each is tossed into his mouth as he watches the Skald speak- and watches in the way that cubs watch. Drinking in every word. Muscles in his jaw pulse as he grinds teeth relentlessly into the pink chunks of gum.
"Its right? Ahmean.. dis aint jus' t'inkin' tew much of myself?"
Honor. It is honor he is concerned with. Honor, and straight fucking up. Blue eyes slide from the lights back to Kora's face. There will be more. More questions. Difficult ones, at least for him. That is easily seen too.
[Kora] "If Silence-rhya wanted it," the creature says, her voice always low, her attention rising again to her Alpha's face. Her perch gives her several inches on him and a fine view of the city spread out beyond his bullish frame, the high rises gleaming in the darkness, the way the slanting rain distorts the light, catches it with a sort of painterly brilliance. " - he'd take it.
"When - " here her mouth curls, a fine thing, the expression, the supple thread of humor as subtle as Joe is not. " - he wants it, he'll take it back. Until then, though - someone has to lead the tribe, ward the kin, greet the new arrivals, stand as their Alpha. You'll take whatever challenges come your way. It's not - "
Briefly, here, her brow creases right down the middle; then, clears, " - you know, if you're concerned about the law, we could ask the new Forseti, too."
[Joe War- Handed] As he listens, Joe rolls and uncurls his fingers. Hand to fist back to hand then to fist again, as though the flex and tension of muscle and sinew pumped his mind along as it followed her logic. Its common enough- Modi taught to control their wrath by controlling their bodies- soon enough the body is a filter through which the whole world is tasted, tested, and understood. Joe's eyes don't leave her again, and her words relax his worry. Perhaps they'd come close enough to his own thoughts..
Sharp, decisive, one finger jabs toward the ground between them. The sudden animation startling, perhaps- to those who don't know how fast they can move.. but not to Kora. She'd felt the sudden excited agitation bubbling up in the Modi as soon as she'd mentioned the sept's new Forseti.
"DAT one's comin' widdus. Ahmean- if she don' already got a pack. Dat cowboy got a pack, but she don't. We want 'er."
[Kora] Kora's response is a brief, clear laugh, appreciative of her Alpha's decisiveness and enthusiasm. The suggestion of lightness remains in her shoulders and her eyes much longer than it lingers in her throat, a neat sort of tension tying one narrow shoulder to the other, along the sloping archicture of muscle and bone.
"She doesn't," the confirmation is quiet, " - have a pack. She brought her family, though. Four kids and a pair of sisters, all kin. Seemed solid, though - grounded, you know what I mean? I think that's a smart choice, boss."
The light cuts neatly, scored along the planes of her face, patterned reflections from the lights lining the park's jogging path. Her clothes are dark with damp, now, and Joe is soaked, too - neither seems to take much notice.
[Kora] [and pause!]
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