[Kora] The air conditioned interior of Detective Montoya's apartment building is a sharp contrast to the swampy night outside the glass and metal building. The heat has returned, and the sauna-like humidity. Domestic violence, murders of passion - or at least irritation - rise on nights like this, when the heat lingers well past sundown, and urban kids marooned in an asphalt sea long for even an errant finger of hot breeze to relieve the monotony of a long hot summer.
That's elsewhere, though. Here the glass is clean and the air is crisp, dehumidified. It is so cool that Kora - in her black t-shirt, darkened with sweat at the collar and waist, down the back - almost shivers at the first blast from the industrial a/c. Izzy received call from Kora a handful of nights ago. Maybe as much as a week or two. The Skald said, I need to speak with you. Look for me. And now, a week later. Another message: If you're home, I'll come by tonight.
--
Two hours later, halfway through the news on WGN, the security guard downstairs rings up Izzy. "There's a girl here to see you. Says you're expectin her. Want me to buzz her up?" And five minutes after that, a sharp rap on the front door of Izzy's apartment.
Knock knock.
[Izzy Montoya] She's home. Well, what passes for home now, as she's surrounded by boxes, all in some state of being packed. It's a mess, and quite frankly, driving the poor Detective's OCD tendencies crazy.
She had gotten the message, and then the second. A quick reply agreed that she would be home tonight - not even on call, which explains her mode of dress as she moves through the apartment to the phone - "Yeah, Bri. Send her up." - and answers the door after the knock. Her feet are bare, long legs too - all the way up to a pair of shorts slung low on her hips. A white tanktop clings to her lean torso, and her hair is pulled back into a simply ponytail to get it off her shoulders.
She takes a moment, and then steps back to gesture Kora inside. "Come on in. Wanna beer?"
No matter the answer, she slips into the kitchen to get one for herself, and her guest as needed, before leading the way to the couch in the corner. "Sorry about the mess." She's not, really.
[Kora] "Sure," Kora accepts the Detective's hospitality easily. Some things are important to her, and this is one of them. The creature is wearing the clothes Izzy has seen her wear from winter to spring to summer - a black concert t-shirt, PIXIES emblazoned in white letters across the front, worn jeans and old Doc Marten's. There's a black choker of braided leather around her neck, and a handful of fiber or leather bracelets on either wrist. Peeling black fingernail polish on her short, blunt fingers, evident against her hip where her fingers are curled, half in, half out of her front pockets.
Her hands stay there. They stay still against her body as she walks into the apartment, letting the door swing closed behind her, forestalling its final slam with a nudge of her foot. The rest of her moves: like an animal, like a predator, she picks her way through the boxes. It is a hot evening, and there's sweat drying on her brow, a certain gleam in her eye as she surveys the mess, as Izzy terms it.
With a sorry she does not mean.
Passingly, Kora's generous mouth ghosts into a half-smile. It is not-quite-bemused, and her dark eyes linger on the kinswoman's back as she follows her through the apartment. "Thanks."
When the beer is offered, Kora inspects the label and drinks from the bottle if that is what she has been given. She takes a glass, though, if offered and pours off the beer into the glass, careful of the head, the angle of the pour.
"Where are you going?" she asks then, lifting a chin toward the boxes.
[Izzy Montoya] She offers a glass to Kora, but drinks straight out of the bottle herself. Good beer, expensive beer. Izzy's always had expensive tastes, in the few things she indulges in. She kicks her way past a couple boxes, before flopping onto the couch, bare feet finding purchase on the coffee table. She's the picture of relaxation - but Kora can tell the lie. She is uneasy, cautious - but willing to give the Skald a chance.
For now - and it is more than Joe ever got, truth be told.
When the question comes, it's Izzy's turn to allow a ghost of a smile to pass over her lips - softer and warmer than one might expect. "John's. Though we're still arguing over whether or not I can use the stairs instead of the elevator there."
[Kora] Kora drinks from the glass. She lifts it in passing toast to her hostess. The liquid gleams in the lights of the apartment, though no more than it does in her gaze - animal then, when she lifts her chin, when her narrow body is turned, just so, her pale lashes shadowing the dark depths of her eyes. "Hmmm." The noise she makes is thoughtful, is non-committal. It lives in her throat and touches her eyes, considered, as she casts sidelong glance to take in, again, the boxes scattered about.
The debate over elevator versus stairs receives only a flick of a look back at the kinswoman, up and down.
Softly, then. Or rather, quiet, because for all her consideration and care, there is nothing soft about Sorrow. "Do you know why I'm here?"
[Izzy Montoya] She watches Kora, without bothering to hide the fact that she does. She always has been that way, and it has gotten her in trouble with more than one trueborn in her day - on both sides of the war. Not even Daniel could persuade her differently, no matter the fierceness of his beating. She is, as always, direct and unflinching.
She catches the flick of a gaze - but the Skald does not ask, and Izzy has never, ever willingly volunteered additional information of any kind, so she does not do so now.
When a question does come though, she chuckles, briefly and without mirth. "I can't say that I do. The last time you came..." she lets it end there. It was to tell her of a death - though perhaps that this meeting wasn't unexpected, or filled with necessity as it could wait a week or soe, she does not expect the same.
And she already called John, just to be sure he's alright.
"I expect this is an official visit of some sort, though, so spill it." Said with a wry grin, and without demand. She knows the other will tell her in her own time.
[Kora] The wry edge of a half-smile, when Izzy utters an order without a demand. Kora is tall and lean and nordic - her pale blonde hair is lighter from the work of the sun, and her pale skin will not hold anything more than the most basic of tans. She is kissed with sunburn across the bridge of her nose and her brow, but the burns always heal.
"Joe War-Handed has gone," Kora says this evenly. A handful of others saw her in the raw days after her Alpha left, when the last link to the spirit they sought with Kemp was broken. She was sharp, raw with anger, with this sort of feral grief that could not have any outlet other than violence.
That has passed. There is a certain discipline to her features, the curve of her mouth, the spark of her eyes. The anger is evident underneath, but only if one goes looking for it. "Karl Holds the Line challenged for Jarl, and beat him in the challenge. He left, after."
The story is not a fine one, and the kinswoman receives the barest bones of it. Kora's eyes remain fixed on Izzy's face, watching the subtle shift of expression. "I challenged Karl Holds the Line, and won. I stand as Jarl of the Fenrir in the Sept.
"And," faint, pause, the still-curve of her mouth. "therefore, as your guardian."
[Izzy Montoya] Her expression is carefully neutral as Kora begins to speak. There's a flick of a brow, perhaps a tightening at the corner of her lips when she gets the bare bones of the story. Karl challenged, and when he lost, Joe left. That is not the Fenrir way - to walk way. It's not her way. The slight expression though, is all that she spares that part of the story - a story she doesn't know the whole of, and might never know completely.
At the end though, the brow arches slightly, again. "I see." a pause, as she takes a swallow of her beer, followed rapidly by two more. "Congrats, then." and to the heart of the matter... "What does that change for me." pause. "And John."
What will be expected of them now...
[Kora] (PAUSE!!!!)
[Kora] Izzy asks what changes now. Kora’s eyes are dark and direct on the kinswoman’s face. She stands leaning against something, this hipslung postured that is defined by her height, by the way her body moves from shoulder to hip, a not-quite-elegant curve of absence, a parabola approaching its limit. The beer is in her right hand, and she lifts it to take a drink, dark eyes closing as she savors the subtle shift of flavors across her palette, the yeast in the beginning, the hops at the finish.
“I stand as your guardian in the city now, Detective. In that: nothing changes. I expect you to act as a woman of Fenris. I will not treat you as a child, and I will not coddle you. Do your work and honor your blood, and I will defend you as if you were my own mate. If another Garou offends you, bite your tongue and come to me. If a Garou is offended by you, if your dishonor yourself by word or deed, I will answer to the Nation, and you will answer to me.”
This is quiet, and straightforward. It is not pleasant. Izzy is a professional woman with an apartment, a car, a gun and a license. Kora is a homeless twenty-something who dropped out of college after two weeks and has become a literal monster. Most nights, she sleeps on the floor of an abandoned church. These nights, she sleeps alone there, the packhouse-to-be empty and echoing except for the birds she feeds in the belltower, except for the crickets infesting the overgrown greenery between the church and the street.
“I wanted to start there, Detective. I want to be sure that we understand each other on these points before I speak further.”
The creature’s dark eyes are grave and direct. They linger, sharp and watchful, on the kinswoman.
[Izzy Montoya] There is a wariness that’s primal, that’s unrestrained, unhidden – it rests in the darkness of her eyes, it rests in the way she’s deceptively slouched, in a way that looks comfortable but is far more ready than not. She doesn’t trust Kora.
But then again? She doesn’t fully trust anyone.
[save one]
But something here is different than it was with Kemp. With Joe. It’s something so simple, something oft requested and even more often ignored. Kora calls her by her title, by her name. In that, everything changes. There’s a subtle shift of weight, a slight press back into the cushions -just the slightest relaxation, before she lifts her beer and takes a long swallow. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and then meets Kora’s gaze again, unflinchingly.
She wants to make sure they understand each other. The obvious… “Of course.” the subtle undertone simply that of one waiting for more.
[Kora] There is a faint twist of her mouth. The right-most corner rises. The expression would be familiar if Izzy knew Kora better. If she knew the Skald at all. Instead – it is minute, the edge of a smile that could easily bloom into something lovely, or fade into something quieter still.
“I am aware of your relationship with Detective Thornton. I don’t disapprove. Should a Garou of some other tribe challenge me to claim you or Detective Thornton as a mate, I will refuse all such challenges categorically.”
The beer is cool in her hand. The head is sparking as carbonation is slowly released, deflating, leaving skeletal bubbles burst against the sides of the glass as Kora slowly drinks it down. Her right hand is spread wide around the rim of the glass, her nails black against the reflection of light captured in the curve.
“I will not protect you from Garou of the tribe. If a son or daughter of Fenris challenges me to claim you – or Detective Thornton – as a mate, I am honorbound to accept an honorable challenge. I will not refuse such a challenge. I want you to understand that, too. So that we will go forward clear-eyed on this point.”
[Izzy Montoya] She accepts the first – who wouldn’t? But the second… that gets a reaction.
“The FU..” she snaps her mouth closed, and is suddenly in motion. What little was gained moments ago, is lost instantly. The tension is back, as is something far darker, far more intense boiling in the pit of her belly, at the base of her spine.
To the window then – where the bottle in her hand finds the windowsill somehow, and her hands the bottom of the open window, which she pushes up just that much further.
[can'tbreathe] Her spine is rigid, her shoulders tense, her breath shallow.
A moment. Two. There are far more Trueborn, far more kin, far too many mundanes that do not understand Izzy, than those who have ever made an attempt to know her. So much.. so many stories… but she tells none of them – despite the sudden onslaught of memory, of fear, of emotion wrestled into some sort of control again until she is able to turn and settle to sit on the edge of the sill, her face carefully composed, her voice carefully controlled, once more.
“I will refuse. You may not, and I’m sure most would view you as having every right to attempt to force me into such a situation should it arise. I will refuse by any and every means possible.” A beat, and the barest lift at the corner of her lips. “Just so we go forward clear-eyed on that point.”
[Kora] “You know as well as I do, Detective, that you have a choice in such matters – ” there is something gentle about Kora’s voice, now. The kinswoman’s violent reaction, her anger, the goading repetition of Kora’s own words, back at her, all call to the rage underneath her skin, deep insde her body. She holds them back; her will is stronger than her rage, and still she strives for more control. Still: there is something gentle, and there is something pitiless in her voice. There is no give in her. ” – only when we give it to you. In such matters, you have no right of refusal.”
The Skald remains still, her narrow shoulders set. Her spine is straighter, though, her chin high. Her body language is no longer soft. There’s iron, underneath. There’s steel.
“I’ll force nothing on you, though. Should the challenger win, you will be his to claim or punish, as he sees fit. This is, Detective, nothing more than that with which you have lived your whole life. I am simply being honest with you, out of respect for your blood and your name and your work.” Then, a pause. It is not quite pregnant. It is quiet, though, the young woman’s eyes fixed speculatively on the kinswoman. “And, because I have some advice for you, if you’re strong enough to hear it.”
[Izzy Montoya] She snorts. Not exactly ladylike, Izzy, but then again, it’s not altogether shocking considering her chosen line of work, and those she works with, that truth be told she would trust her skin too before any of the Tribe.
There’s iron and steel in Kora, and unsurprisingly there is the same in the kinswoman who stands before her. There’s a sharp glint in her gaze, a rebellion that’s clear as day. This is one thing they will never, ever see eye to eye on, and Izzy is content to leave it at that, for now. So she says nothing. Nothing about who may claim, or what choice she will have in the matter. She will refuse, and any who would challenge for her as mate will find themselves wishing they had not. Simple as that. Somethings are black and white, to her.
Instead, she folds her arms lightly across her belly, leaning to the side to grasp the neck of her beer bottle between her fingers, rolling the beer into her hand again.
“None of you have the first clue of how strong I am, Kora.” soft that. Almost musing, but it ends in a shrug. “Go on.”
[Kora] “If you want the tribe to look at you and respect the pairing you have made with Detective Thornton,” the advice is quietly offered. Kora’s right arm is tucked across her narrow torso, the beer in her hand half-empty now. She is loose again. The tension that wound its way around the base of her spine has eased. Or she has eased it. ” – honor your blood.”
She waits a spare moment, and a spare moment only, before clarifying. “Have a child. Garou will be more likely to honor your connection as if you were mated, if you honor your blood and have a child.” A faint pause, a spare smile ghosting across the girl’s generous mouth. “Or two. We die faster than you know. If there is not another generation, the world will die after us, and everything we fight for will be lost.”
[Izzy Montoya] “Oh for the love of..” She laughs. She has too, really. It’s ridiculous, this child – and all the other children – telling her to have kids in order to be respected. As if spawning makes one somehow worthy, as if spreading her legs is the only thing any kin has to offer the nation.
So many others have said the same thing, have proven that the only thing of worth she owns is found at the apex of her thighs. That everything she has done, all that she will continue to do is so very pointless if she does not procreate at their demand.
Idly, almost mild. “And when will you be having a child, doing your duty for the Nation, Kora?”
[Kora] “I’ve claimed a mate, Detective.” For the first time all evening, the Skald’s voice is sharper than she intends it to be. It is an instrument, pointed now – the honed edge of a blade in the hands of a feral thing. “And if you want me to consider your relationship an honorable pairing in the eyes of the Nation, you’ll heed my words. Otherwise, I wish you luck in avoiding the eye of a true born son of Fenris. I stand by my word on the other tribes.”
Her beer is nearly three-quarters gone, but Kora no longer has the taste for it. She puts it aside, on the counter or a table. Atop some handy box, filled and sealed for the move.
Reaching into her back pocket, the Skald fishes out an index card, and hands it over to Izzy. “You have my number already, I think. There’s a second number. If you cannot reach me, call that one. Trent will give me the message. I’d like to hear from you every week. Every few weeks, at least. If a strange Fenrir approaches you, direct them to me. If you meet new kin, send them to me. If you require assistance, cleansing, healing, call me. If another Garou presumes on your hospitality, call me.”
[Izzy Montoya] “As have I.” softly – but no less pointed. “You avoid the question – but I believe that it is no one’s business but you and your mates when you decide to spawn. I expect the same consideration, despite the bullshit you and yours peddle.”
She takes the offered card, and sets it atop a random box, before finishing off her beer on the way to her front door, where her hand rests on the handle, and she levels another look on the other woman.
“Assumptions are a dangerous business, Kora. You don’t know me, or anything of my life, or the choices I have made, or what I have already overcome – but I can tell you this: I am so much more than my twat.”
A beat, and she opens the door, and steps back. “If there is nothing else, I have packing to finish.”
[Kora] “In the future, Detective,” the Skald’s voice is low and controlled. It is an instrument. It is a weapon.
It is a choice she has made -
her shoulders squared now, her spine straight, the suggestion of impending violence liminal around her, like a heat haze.
- not to strike back. ” – you will speak to me with the respect I have given you. Goodnight, Detective. I’ll speak with you soon.”
[Izzy Montoya] She says nothing, at first. She watches, and she watches carefully, and then she shakes her head, slightly, the corner of her lips curling into a slight smirk, as she steps away from the door, and allows Kora to show herself out.
Respect is a two way street – but they will never see eye to eye on what it really means. The True expect to be obeyed, fucked, mated, protected, so very many thing from their kin, and the kin are taught to expect nothing at all. She has learned better, learned more – she expects more from the children that seek to rule over her life.
She says only two words – truth as she sees it, as she forever will see it. She respects the other woman enough to give her honesty.
“I have. Goodnight, Kora.”
That's elsewhere, though. Here the glass is clean and the air is crisp, dehumidified. It is so cool that Kora - in her black t-shirt, darkened with sweat at the collar and waist, down the back - almost shivers at the first blast from the industrial a/c. Izzy received call from Kora a handful of nights ago. Maybe as much as a week or two. The Skald said, I need to speak with you. Look for me. And now, a week later. Another message: If you're home, I'll come by tonight.
--
Two hours later, halfway through the news on WGN, the security guard downstairs rings up Izzy. "There's a girl here to see you. Says you're expectin her. Want me to buzz her up?" And five minutes after that, a sharp rap on the front door of Izzy's apartment.
Knock knock.
[Izzy Montoya] She's home. Well, what passes for home now, as she's surrounded by boxes, all in some state of being packed. It's a mess, and quite frankly, driving the poor Detective's OCD tendencies crazy.
She had gotten the message, and then the second. A quick reply agreed that she would be home tonight - not even on call, which explains her mode of dress as she moves through the apartment to the phone - "Yeah, Bri. Send her up." - and answers the door after the knock. Her feet are bare, long legs too - all the way up to a pair of shorts slung low on her hips. A white tanktop clings to her lean torso, and her hair is pulled back into a simply ponytail to get it off her shoulders.
She takes a moment, and then steps back to gesture Kora inside. "Come on in. Wanna beer?"
No matter the answer, she slips into the kitchen to get one for herself, and her guest as needed, before leading the way to the couch in the corner. "Sorry about the mess." She's not, really.
[Kora] "Sure," Kora accepts the Detective's hospitality easily. Some things are important to her, and this is one of them. The creature is wearing the clothes Izzy has seen her wear from winter to spring to summer - a black concert t-shirt, PIXIES emblazoned in white letters across the front, worn jeans and old Doc Marten's. There's a black choker of braided leather around her neck, and a handful of fiber or leather bracelets on either wrist. Peeling black fingernail polish on her short, blunt fingers, evident against her hip where her fingers are curled, half in, half out of her front pockets.
Her hands stay there. They stay still against her body as she walks into the apartment, letting the door swing closed behind her, forestalling its final slam with a nudge of her foot. The rest of her moves: like an animal, like a predator, she picks her way through the boxes. It is a hot evening, and there's sweat drying on her brow, a certain gleam in her eye as she surveys the mess, as Izzy terms it.
With a sorry she does not mean.
Passingly, Kora's generous mouth ghosts into a half-smile. It is not-quite-bemused, and her dark eyes linger on the kinswoman's back as she follows her through the apartment. "Thanks."
When the beer is offered, Kora inspects the label and drinks from the bottle if that is what she has been given. She takes a glass, though, if offered and pours off the beer into the glass, careful of the head, the angle of the pour.
"Where are you going?" she asks then, lifting a chin toward the boxes.
[Izzy Montoya] She offers a glass to Kora, but drinks straight out of the bottle herself. Good beer, expensive beer. Izzy's always had expensive tastes, in the few things she indulges in. She kicks her way past a couple boxes, before flopping onto the couch, bare feet finding purchase on the coffee table. She's the picture of relaxation - but Kora can tell the lie. She is uneasy, cautious - but willing to give the Skald a chance.
For now - and it is more than Joe ever got, truth be told.
When the question comes, it's Izzy's turn to allow a ghost of a smile to pass over her lips - softer and warmer than one might expect. "John's. Though we're still arguing over whether or not I can use the stairs instead of the elevator there."
[Kora] Kora drinks from the glass. She lifts it in passing toast to her hostess. The liquid gleams in the lights of the apartment, though no more than it does in her gaze - animal then, when she lifts her chin, when her narrow body is turned, just so, her pale lashes shadowing the dark depths of her eyes. "Hmmm." The noise she makes is thoughtful, is non-committal. It lives in her throat and touches her eyes, considered, as she casts sidelong glance to take in, again, the boxes scattered about.
The debate over elevator versus stairs receives only a flick of a look back at the kinswoman, up and down.
Softly, then. Or rather, quiet, because for all her consideration and care, there is nothing soft about Sorrow. "Do you know why I'm here?"
[Izzy Montoya] She watches Kora, without bothering to hide the fact that she does. She always has been that way, and it has gotten her in trouble with more than one trueborn in her day - on both sides of the war. Not even Daniel could persuade her differently, no matter the fierceness of his beating. She is, as always, direct and unflinching.
She catches the flick of a gaze - but the Skald does not ask, and Izzy has never, ever willingly volunteered additional information of any kind, so she does not do so now.
When a question does come though, she chuckles, briefly and without mirth. "I can't say that I do. The last time you came..." she lets it end there. It was to tell her of a death - though perhaps that this meeting wasn't unexpected, or filled with necessity as it could wait a week or soe, she does not expect the same.
And she already called John, just to be sure he's alright.
"I expect this is an official visit of some sort, though, so spill it." Said with a wry grin, and without demand. She knows the other will tell her in her own time.
[Kora] The wry edge of a half-smile, when Izzy utters an order without a demand. Kora is tall and lean and nordic - her pale blonde hair is lighter from the work of the sun, and her pale skin will not hold anything more than the most basic of tans. She is kissed with sunburn across the bridge of her nose and her brow, but the burns always heal.
"Joe War-Handed has gone," Kora says this evenly. A handful of others saw her in the raw days after her Alpha left, when the last link to the spirit they sought with Kemp was broken. She was sharp, raw with anger, with this sort of feral grief that could not have any outlet other than violence.
That has passed. There is a certain discipline to her features, the curve of her mouth, the spark of her eyes. The anger is evident underneath, but only if one goes looking for it. "Karl Holds the Line challenged for Jarl, and beat him in the challenge. He left, after."
The story is not a fine one, and the kinswoman receives the barest bones of it. Kora's eyes remain fixed on Izzy's face, watching the subtle shift of expression. "I challenged Karl Holds the Line, and won. I stand as Jarl of the Fenrir in the Sept.
"And," faint, pause, the still-curve of her mouth. "therefore, as your guardian."
[Izzy Montoya] Her expression is carefully neutral as Kora begins to speak. There's a flick of a brow, perhaps a tightening at the corner of her lips when she gets the bare bones of the story. Karl challenged, and when he lost, Joe left. That is not the Fenrir way - to walk way. It's not her way. The slight expression though, is all that she spares that part of the story - a story she doesn't know the whole of, and might never know completely.
At the end though, the brow arches slightly, again. "I see." a pause, as she takes a swallow of her beer, followed rapidly by two more. "Congrats, then." and to the heart of the matter... "What does that change for me." pause. "And John."
What will be expected of them now...
[Kora] (PAUSE!!!!)
[Kora] Izzy asks what changes now. Kora’s eyes are dark and direct on the kinswoman’s face. She stands leaning against something, this hipslung postured that is defined by her height, by the way her body moves from shoulder to hip, a not-quite-elegant curve of absence, a parabola approaching its limit. The beer is in her right hand, and she lifts it to take a drink, dark eyes closing as she savors the subtle shift of flavors across her palette, the yeast in the beginning, the hops at the finish.
“I stand as your guardian in the city now, Detective. In that: nothing changes. I expect you to act as a woman of Fenris. I will not treat you as a child, and I will not coddle you. Do your work and honor your blood, and I will defend you as if you were my own mate. If another Garou offends you, bite your tongue and come to me. If a Garou is offended by you, if your dishonor yourself by word or deed, I will answer to the Nation, and you will answer to me.”
This is quiet, and straightforward. It is not pleasant. Izzy is a professional woman with an apartment, a car, a gun and a license. Kora is a homeless twenty-something who dropped out of college after two weeks and has become a literal monster. Most nights, she sleeps on the floor of an abandoned church. These nights, she sleeps alone there, the packhouse-to-be empty and echoing except for the birds she feeds in the belltower, except for the crickets infesting the overgrown greenery between the church and the street.
“I wanted to start there, Detective. I want to be sure that we understand each other on these points before I speak further.”
The creature’s dark eyes are grave and direct. They linger, sharp and watchful, on the kinswoman.
[Izzy Montoya] There is a wariness that’s primal, that’s unrestrained, unhidden – it rests in the darkness of her eyes, it rests in the way she’s deceptively slouched, in a way that looks comfortable but is far more ready than not. She doesn’t trust Kora.
But then again? She doesn’t fully trust anyone.
[save one]
But something here is different than it was with Kemp. With Joe. It’s something so simple, something oft requested and even more often ignored. Kora calls her by her title, by her name. In that, everything changes. There’s a subtle shift of weight, a slight press back into the cushions -just the slightest relaxation, before she lifts her beer and takes a long swallow. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and then meets Kora’s gaze again, unflinchingly.
She wants to make sure they understand each other. The obvious… “Of course.” the subtle undertone simply that of one waiting for more.
[Kora] There is a faint twist of her mouth. The right-most corner rises. The expression would be familiar if Izzy knew Kora better. If she knew the Skald at all. Instead – it is minute, the edge of a smile that could easily bloom into something lovely, or fade into something quieter still.
“I am aware of your relationship with Detective Thornton. I don’t disapprove. Should a Garou of some other tribe challenge me to claim you or Detective Thornton as a mate, I will refuse all such challenges categorically.”
The beer is cool in her hand. The head is sparking as carbonation is slowly released, deflating, leaving skeletal bubbles burst against the sides of the glass as Kora slowly drinks it down. Her right hand is spread wide around the rim of the glass, her nails black against the reflection of light captured in the curve.
“I will not protect you from Garou of the tribe. If a son or daughter of Fenris challenges me to claim you – or Detective Thornton – as a mate, I am honorbound to accept an honorable challenge. I will not refuse such a challenge. I want you to understand that, too. So that we will go forward clear-eyed on this point.”
[Izzy Montoya] She accepts the first – who wouldn’t? But the second… that gets a reaction.
“The FU..” she snaps her mouth closed, and is suddenly in motion. What little was gained moments ago, is lost instantly. The tension is back, as is something far darker, far more intense boiling in the pit of her belly, at the base of her spine.
To the window then – where the bottle in her hand finds the windowsill somehow, and her hands the bottom of the open window, which she pushes up just that much further.
[can'tbreathe] Her spine is rigid, her shoulders tense, her breath shallow.
A moment. Two. There are far more Trueborn, far more kin, far too many mundanes that do not understand Izzy, than those who have ever made an attempt to know her. So much.. so many stories… but she tells none of them – despite the sudden onslaught of memory, of fear, of emotion wrestled into some sort of control again until she is able to turn and settle to sit on the edge of the sill, her face carefully composed, her voice carefully controlled, once more.
“I will refuse. You may not, and I’m sure most would view you as having every right to attempt to force me into such a situation should it arise. I will refuse by any and every means possible.” A beat, and the barest lift at the corner of her lips. “Just so we go forward clear-eyed on that point.”
[Kora] “You know as well as I do, Detective, that you have a choice in such matters – ” there is something gentle about Kora’s voice, now. The kinswoman’s violent reaction, her anger, the goading repetition of Kora’s own words, back at her, all call to the rage underneath her skin, deep insde her body. She holds them back; her will is stronger than her rage, and still she strives for more control. Still: there is something gentle, and there is something pitiless in her voice. There is no give in her. ” – only when we give it to you. In such matters, you have no right of refusal.”
The Skald remains still, her narrow shoulders set. Her spine is straighter, though, her chin high. Her body language is no longer soft. There’s iron, underneath. There’s steel.
“I’ll force nothing on you, though. Should the challenger win, you will be his to claim or punish, as he sees fit. This is, Detective, nothing more than that with which you have lived your whole life. I am simply being honest with you, out of respect for your blood and your name and your work.” Then, a pause. It is not quite pregnant. It is quiet, though, the young woman’s eyes fixed speculatively on the kinswoman. “And, because I have some advice for you, if you’re strong enough to hear it.”
[Izzy Montoya] She snorts. Not exactly ladylike, Izzy, but then again, it’s not altogether shocking considering her chosen line of work, and those she works with, that truth be told she would trust her skin too before any of the Tribe.
There’s iron and steel in Kora, and unsurprisingly there is the same in the kinswoman who stands before her. There’s a sharp glint in her gaze, a rebellion that’s clear as day. This is one thing they will never, ever see eye to eye on, and Izzy is content to leave it at that, for now. So she says nothing. Nothing about who may claim, or what choice she will have in the matter. She will refuse, and any who would challenge for her as mate will find themselves wishing they had not. Simple as that. Somethings are black and white, to her.
Instead, she folds her arms lightly across her belly, leaning to the side to grasp the neck of her beer bottle between her fingers, rolling the beer into her hand again.
“None of you have the first clue of how strong I am, Kora.” soft that. Almost musing, but it ends in a shrug. “Go on.”
[Kora] “If you want the tribe to look at you and respect the pairing you have made with Detective Thornton,” the advice is quietly offered. Kora’s right arm is tucked across her narrow torso, the beer in her hand half-empty now. She is loose again. The tension that wound its way around the base of her spine has eased. Or she has eased it. ” – honor your blood.”
She waits a spare moment, and a spare moment only, before clarifying. “Have a child. Garou will be more likely to honor your connection as if you were mated, if you honor your blood and have a child.” A faint pause, a spare smile ghosting across the girl’s generous mouth. “Or two. We die faster than you know. If there is not another generation, the world will die after us, and everything we fight for will be lost.”
[Izzy Montoya] “Oh for the love of..” She laughs. She has too, really. It’s ridiculous, this child – and all the other children – telling her to have kids in order to be respected. As if spawning makes one somehow worthy, as if spreading her legs is the only thing any kin has to offer the nation.
So many others have said the same thing, have proven that the only thing of worth she owns is found at the apex of her thighs. That everything she has done, all that she will continue to do is so very pointless if she does not procreate at their demand.
Idly, almost mild. “And when will you be having a child, doing your duty for the Nation, Kora?”
[Kora] “I’ve claimed a mate, Detective.” For the first time all evening, the Skald’s voice is sharper than she intends it to be. It is an instrument, pointed now – the honed edge of a blade in the hands of a feral thing. “And if you want me to consider your relationship an honorable pairing in the eyes of the Nation, you’ll heed my words. Otherwise, I wish you luck in avoiding the eye of a true born son of Fenris. I stand by my word on the other tribes.”
Her beer is nearly three-quarters gone, but Kora no longer has the taste for it. She puts it aside, on the counter or a table. Atop some handy box, filled and sealed for the move.
Reaching into her back pocket, the Skald fishes out an index card, and hands it over to Izzy. “You have my number already, I think. There’s a second number. If you cannot reach me, call that one. Trent will give me the message. I’d like to hear from you every week. Every few weeks, at least. If a strange Fenrir approaches you, direct them to me. If you meet new kin, send them to me. If you require assistance, cleansing, healing, call me. If another Garou presumes on your hospitality, call me.”
[Izzy Montoya] “As have I.” softly – but no less pointed. “You avoid the question – but I believe that it is no one’s business but you and your mates when you decide to spawn. I expect the same consideration, despite the bullshit you and yours peddle.”
She takes the offered card, and sets it atop a random box, before finishing off her beer on the way to her front door, where her hand rests on the handle, and she levels another look on the other woman.
“Assumptions are a dangerous business, Kora. You don’t know me, or anything of my life, or the choices I have made, or what I have already overcome – but I can tell you this: I am so much more than my twat.”
A beat, and she opens the door, and steps back. “If there is nothing else, I have packing to finish.”
[Kora] “In the future, Detective,” the Skald’s voice is low and controlled. It is an instrument. It is a weapon.
It is a choice she has made -
her shoulders squared now, her spine straight, the suggestion of impending violence liminal around her, like a heat haze.
- not to strike back. ” – you will speak to me with the respect I have given you. Goodnight, Detective. I’ll speak with you soon.”
[Izzy Montoya] She says nothing, at first. She watches, and she watches carefully, and then she shakes her head, slightly, the corner of her lips curling into a slight smirk, as she steps away from the door, and allows Kora to show herself out.
Respect is a two way street – but they will never see eye to eye on what it really means. The True expect to be obeyed, fucked, mated, protected, so very many thing from their kin, and the kin are taught to expect nothing at all. She has learned better, learned more – she expects more from the children that seek to rule over her life.
She says only two words – truth as she sees it, as she forever will see it. She respects the other woman enough to give her honesty.
“I have. Goodnight, Kora.”
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