[Kora] "I know my people," Kora responds, low-voiced and assured. "We're the no-exceptions sort." There's an ease to her manner, a physical confidence that marks her out as Garou and perhaps even Fenrir when nothing else does - neither blood nor dress nor manner. Late on a Friday night, Brewster's is jnust half-full. The universities are no longer in session, and the summer term has not yet started. The crowd is quiet, the little stage near the front empty. There's a certain lively noise that thrums up even from the sparse crowd. To be inside, warm on a cool night, cool after a warm day, with a beer in hand and the lights low enough that they bathe you in a rich amber glow - that opens you up, somehow, in the eyes, at the mouth, somewhere under your skin.
Kora avoids the hostess' stand and claims an empty booth close to the front. Mistrusting the likelihood of good service, she is halfway through, "What'll you have?" when the door swings open behind them. If Victor is sitting down, he receives a nudge, the two of Kora's boot against his foot. If he is standing, she gives him a discrete elbow, then nods toward the door. A low whistle, under her breath. "Look who just blew in." Pause, the faint curve of her half-smile, "That your doing?" There is a certain level of irony in her tone. It might just be a joke.
[Victor Oseragighte] (( But those are the best kind! ))
[Victor Oseragighte] He feels the nudge as he has just settled down and turns to lean out of the booth and crane his head around, spotting who she is speaking of. His dark eyes widen a bit as he understands now Kora's reaction and his smile spreads a little wider, amused at this turn of events. He shakes is head as he leans back into the booth again and whispers. "Never seen her before. Do you think she is looking for us," he asked, not seeing any OTHER reason for her to be here. Well, he supposed there could be others, but he was drained of coincidence for the night.
[Kora] "I do not think," Kora's laughter is under her breath, under her skin, alive somehow in her body. Very little of it is voiced. She huffs out a breath, which is just a hint more forceful than the one that preceded it, and is a sort of placeholder for a laugh, "that she's looking for us," her dark gaze cuts between Victor and Fabienne, then back again, "no. My guess is that she is either lost, or in distress. Or both."
There is nothing abashed about her regard. Other patrons glanced at the door, turned around from their perch at the bar and turned back. Fabienne is lovely, but so are a half-dozen other girls in the bar. So is Kora, for that matter - though the wolf in her subverts the regularity of her features into something more primal than prettiness. Not a pretty girl, then - a healthy beast. Shining hair. Good bones.
No, the most remarkable thing about Fabienne lives under her skin, in her blood and in her bones.
One moment, Kora is discussing beer with Victor. The next, she's crossing the floor of the bar, back toward the front door. There is something keen about the Fenrir woman - she has a lean, animal grace, all long legs and long arms, but her clothing is worn. Black t-shirt, old jeans, leather bracelets at the neck and both wrists, her blond hair long, pulled sharply back from her features. "'scuse me, Miss," her voice is rich and low and direct, "but you seem a bit out of your element, and my cousin and I would appreciate it if you joined us. I'll even," the blond tips her head toward the bar, then, " - buy you a drink."
[Fabienne Bartelle] (She gets her accostin's done on Tuesdays. she's particular like that. :-P))
*Kin. Those inherently mad mortals for whom the monsters weren't under the bed, but in it. Fabienne Bartelle certainly brought such things to mind upon a glance, not because of any stunning beauty, no, in truth while she had lovely features she lacked the hip and bust to please the eye as many others did, but because of the blood coursing blue, saturated with the howled promise of trueborn and the continuation of an insane line. Glass grey eyes slide discerning over the crowd. Identifying possible concerns to her well being first, objectionable characters second, Kora and Victor third, observed with an air of self assurance that could only the result of a lifetime of being told one is the master of all they survey. Ah. Fangs. The delicate lace of a crisp white blouse is flicked free of an intruding bit of lint, before Kora approaches, and Fabienne is tilting her head to hear her speak, grip tightening on her handbag.*
That is very kind of you, miss. I regret, I don't intend on lingering over long. I would however, be willing to sit with you until such time as I acquire a cab, if you please.
*Her voice is crisp and polite, appraising eyes moving from Kora to Victor as she moves with an athletes fluid grace to the table. What the hell. A few minutes of slumming couldn't hurt.*
[Kora] "Generous of you," says Kora, her voice low, her mouth curving into a neat expression, well-framed, which hints at the laughter underneath her skin, in her body, defining it openly. With a tip of her head toward the bar, she continued, " - any preferences on drinks?" There is a supple pause, and the suggestion of laughter finds a voice, "Within my price range, of course."
Waiting just long enough for the order, whatever it may be, Kora then gives another efficient little gesture toward the booth. "That's Victor. Have a seat and I'll get the drinks." The Fenrir woman then turns and heads toward the bar. The small crow parts around her, all unconscious, finding reasons to move, to take another table, or head to the restroom, or or or, until Kora manages to find a place at the crowded bar and gestures for the 'tender.
[Fabienne Bartelle] [and - its gettin late and Vic's mia! sooooo... Fabbie gets a water, doesn't drink it. Then catches a cab! woo!]
[Victor Oseragighte] His price range was probably even lower than hers, all told, and so he was willing to accept charity on thiis account, especially for something to chase away the chill. Het let Kora do the ordering and studied the woman while she waietd for her cab, as out of place in this bar as he was, if not moreso. When she is gone he finally murmurs, "Fang?"
[Kora] "That's what she smelled like to me," Kora replies, quiet, when Fabienne has gone back out the door, ushered back into her cab by one or the other Garou. They both have draft beers, now, the Bell's Two-Hearted ale, as promised, which has a rich, hoppy aura and tastes like filtered summer. Fabienne's empty water glass remains on the table. No has has come to take it away. "Kin, I expect, since I have never seen her at the docks or the at the full moon."
A minute pause, the edge of her mouth curving upward as Kora leans over the brew. "Kin are barred from the docks, by the by. One of ours tried to shoot someone, and they've been banned since."
[Victor Oseragighte] He tilted his head at this piece of information, brand new to him. "Really? Just because of one of them?" That did not seem wholly logical to him. Surely there was mroe to it. On the other hand, this town did seem to have some rather strong-minded kin... but what of those who needed to make use of the docks? Questions to consider once he knew more.
[Kora] "I think - " Kora's faint smile is rueful, drifting over the mouth of her beer mug. " - that the crime was considered egregious, rather," she offers, with a faint, lilthing shrug by way of explanation. " - though in truth, it was before I arrived in town, and I've only heard the story in snippets. The warder did allow two kin in for my Alpha's funeral, two moons ago, but only," the blonde woman is looking down, into the gleaming surface of the beer now that the head has fallen back. It smells like bread, like good bread. " - on sufferance, and at the stake of my honor."
[Victor Oseragighte] News of her alpha's death was also fresh to him, and he bowed his head a moment in respect before nodding and sipping at his glass. "I am sorry for your loss. I should think... a proper argument... and due restraint... should fix this. Kin are vital for so much. Banning them from the area... strips us of their aid. All for the act of one." He shook his head again, clearly finding the measure extreme.
[Kora] Kora's eyes are dark, and the grief far less fresh now. Subsumed underneath the surface of her skin. There's a faint flash of it, though, in the direct look she sends across the table at Victor, her eyes stark and direct, always. "I'll tell you his story sometime, though not," she glances up, looks around the bar by way of emphasis, " - here, I think. On the lakeshore, near the graves."
Then, she crooks a look back toward Victor. "I'm not sure it's unwise. They're unwelcome in the bawn, yeah?" her brows lift in question, and she gives a faint, flat gesture with her free hand. "I just use docks as a euphemism. I'm not sure they need to go - " there is a faint, thoughtful pause, "except maybe to tend a grave. And we can do that. Should do that."
[Victor Oseragighte] "I would like that," he said simply. It was all that was required, his acceptance of that tale, his sincere desire to hear it.
"Yes, but without them being able to go there, it makes it more difficult to keep other away from the docks. A light touch is sometimes best for this. Kin in the proper places, silently supporting. It is not as if this is a sacred place hidden away in the wilds," he pointed out carefully, looking around them for emphasis.
[Kora] The story is for another time. She dips her pale head, though, faintly.
"You may well," she continues, still quiet, a low laugh curving through the surface of her voice, " - have a point on that score. I'll leave you to make that point, if you'd like, to the elders."
- and so on. Kora springs for another round, and the conversation continues, amiable, rambling. Trust a Skald for all the gossip. When the second beer is finished, she excuses herself. The bar is closing soon, and Kora has a visit to make. She parts ways, easy, assured and quiet, in front of the bar, or leaves Victor to shut down the place, and disappears off into the slums.
[Victor Oseragighte] (( Good place to fade. ))
[Kora] transcript!!
to Kora
Kora avoids the hostess' stand and claims an empty booth close to the front. Mistrusting the likelihood of good service, she is halfway through, "What'll you have?" when the door swings open behind them. If Victor is sitting down, he receives a nudge, the two of Kora's boot against his foot. If he is standing, she gives him a discrete elbow, then nods toward the door. A low whistle, under her breath. "Look who just blew in." Pause, the faint curve of her half-smile, "That your doing?" There is a certain level of irony in her tone. It might just be a joke.
[Victor Oseragighte] (( But those are the best kind! ))
[Victor Oseragighte] He feels the nudge as he has just settled down and turns to lean out of the booth and crane his head around, spotting who she is speaking of. His dark eyes widen a bit as he understands now Kora's reaction and his smile spreads a little wider, amused at this turn of events. He shakes is head as he leans back into the booth again and whispers. "Never seen her before. Do you think she is looking for us," he asked, not seeing any OTHER reason for her to be here. Well, he supposed there could be others, but he was drained of coincidence for the night.
[Kora] "I do not think," Kora's laughter is under her breath, under her skin, alive somehow in her body. Very little of it is voiced. She huffs out a breath, which is just a hint more forceful than the one that preceded it, and is a sort of placeholder for a laugh, "that she's looking for us," her dark gaze cuts between Victor and Fabienne, then back again, "no. My guess is that she is either lost, or in distress. Or both."
There is nothing abashed about her regard. Other patrons glanced at the door, turned around from their perch at the bar and turned back. Fabienne is lovely, but so are a half-dozen other girls in the bar. So is Kora, for that matter - though the wolf in her subverts the regularity of her features into something more primal than prettiness. Not a pretty girl, then - a healthy beast. Shining hair. Good bones.
No, the most remarkable thing about Fabienne lives under her skin, in her blood and in her bones.
One moment, Kora is discussing beer with Victor. The next, she's crossing the floor of the bar, back toward the front door. There is something keen about the Fenrir woman - she has a lean, animal grace, all long legs and long arms, but her clothing is worn. Black t-shirt, old jeans, leather bracelets at the neck and both wrists, her blond hair long, pulled sharply back from her features. "'scuse me, Miss," her voice is rich and low and direct, "but you seem a bit out of your element, and my cousin and I would appreciate it if you joined us. I'll even," the blond tips her head toward the bar, then, " - buy you a drink."
[Fabienne Bartelle] (She gets her accostin's done on Tuesdays. she's particular like that. :-P))
*Kin. Those inherently mad mortals for whom the monsters weren't under the bed, but in it. Fabienne Bartelle certainly brought such things to mind upon a glance, not because of any stunning beauty, no, in truth while she had lovely features she lacked the hip and bust to please the eye as many others did, but because of the blood coursing blue, saturated with the howled promise of trueborn and the continuation of an insane line. Glass grey eyes slide discerning over the crowd. Identifying possible concerns to her well being first, objectionable characters second, Kora and Victor third, observed with an air of self assurance that could only the result of a lifetime of being told one is the master of all they survey. Ah. Fangs. The delicate lace of a crisp white blouse is flicked free of an intruding bit of lint, before Kora approaches, and Fabienne is tilting her head to hear her speak, grip tightening on her handbag.*
That is very kind of you, miss. I regret, I don't intend on lingering over long. I would however, be willing to sit with you until such time as I acquire a cab, if you please.
*Her voice is crisp and polite, appraising eyes moving from Kora to Victor as she moves with an athletes fluid grace to the table. What the hell. A few minutes of slumming couldn't hurt.*
[Kora] "Generous of you," says Kora, her voice low, her mouth curving into a neat expression, well-framed, which hints at the laughter underneath her skin, in her body, defining it openly. With a tip of her head toward the bar, she continued, " - any preferences on drinks?" There is a supple pause, and the suggestion of laughter finds a voice, "Within my price range, of course."
Waiting just long enough for the order, whatever it may be, Kora then gives another efficient little gesture toward the booth. "That's Victor. Have a seat and I'll get the drinks." The Fenrir woman then turns and heads toward the bar. The small crow parts around her, all unconscious, finding reasons to move, to take another table, or head to the restroom, or or or, until Kora manages to find a place at the crowded bar and gestures for the 'tender.
[Fabienne Bartelle] [and - its gettin late and Vic's mia! sooooo... Fabbie gets a water, doesn't drink it. Then catches a cab! woo!]
[Victor Oseragighte] His price range was probably even lower than hers, all told, and so he was willing to accept charity on thiis account, especially for something to chase away the chill. Het let Kora do the ordering and studied the woman while she waietd for her cab, as out of place in this bar as he was, if not moreso. When she is gone he finally murmurs, "Fang?"
[Kora] "That's what she smelled like to me," Kora replies, quiet, when Fabienne has gone back out the door, ushered back into her cab by one or the other Garou. They both have draft beers, now, the Bell's Two-Hearted ale, as promised, which has a rich, hoppy aura and tastes like filtered summer. Fabienne's empty water glass remains on the table. No has has come to take it away. "Kin, I expect, since I have never seen her at the docks or the at the full moon."
A minute pause, the edge of her mouth curving upward as Kora leans over the brew. "Kin are barred from the docks, by the by. One of ours tried to shoot someone, and they've been banned since."
[Victor Oseragighte] He tilted his head at this piece of information, brand new to him. "Really? Just because of one of them?" That did not seem wholly logical to him. Surely there was mroe to it. On the other hand, this town did seem to have some rather strong-minded kin... but what of those who needed to make use of the docks? Questions to consider once he knew more.
[Kora] "I think - " Kora's faint smile is rueful, drifting over the mouth of her beer mug. " - that the crime was considered egregious, rather," she offers, with a faint, lilthing shrug by way of explanation. " - though in truth, it was before I arrived in town, and I've only heard the story in snippets. The warder did allow two kin in for my Alpha's funeral, two moons ago, but only," the blonde woman is looking down, into the gleaming surface of the beer now that the head has fallen back. It smells like bread, like good bread. " - on sufferance, and at the stake of my honor."
[Victor Oseragighte] News of her alpha's death was also fresh to him, and he bowed his head a moment in respect before nodding and sipping at his glass. "I am sorry for your loss. I should think... a proper argument... and due restraint... should fix this. Kin are vital for so much. Banning them from the area... strips us of their aid. All for the act of one." He shook his head again, clearly finding the measure extreme.
[Kora] Kora's eyes are dark, and the grief far less fresh now. Subsumed underneath the surface of her skin. There's a faint flash of it, though, in the direct look she sends across the table at Victor, her eyes stark and direct, always. "I'll tell you his story sometime, though not," she glances up, looks around the bar by way of emphasis, " - here, I think. On the lakeshore, near the graves."
Then, she crooks a look back toward Victor. "I'm not sure it's unwise. They're unwelcome in the bawn, yeah?" her brows lift in question, and she gives a faint, flat gesture with her free hand. "I just use docks as a euphemism. I'm not sure they need to go - " there is a faint, thoughtful pause, "except maybe to tend a grave. And we can do that. Should do that."
[Victor Oseragighte] "I would like that," he said simply. It was all that was required, his acceptance of that tale, his sincere desire to hear it.
"Yes, but without them being able to go there, it makes it more difficult to keep other away from the docks. A light touch is sometimes best for this. Kin in the proper places, silently supporting. It is not as if this is a sacred place hidden away in the wilds," he pointed out carefully, looking around them for emphasis.
[Kora] The story is for another time. She dips her pale head, though, faintly.
"You may well," she continues, still quiet, a low laugh curving through the surface of her voice, " - have a point on that score. I'll leave you to make that point, if you'd like, to the elders."
- and so on. Kora springs for another round, and the conversation continues, amiable, rambling. Trust a Skald for all the gossip. When the second beer is finished, she excuses herself. The bar is closing soon, and Kora has a visit to make. She parts ways, easy, assured and quiet, in front of the bar, or leaves Victor to shut down the place, and disappears off into the slums.
[Victor Oseragighte] (( Good place to fade. ))
[Kora] transcript!!
to Kora
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