[Kora] Sunday evening at the Fox and Feather. It was a blisteringly hot and humid day, and the air has barely cooled since the sun went down. No one's out on the patio today except for the odd smoker, smoking their cigarettes quickly, with a sort of fierce efficiency. The usual crowds are thinned as most Americans are off at July 4 festivities.
I'm getting a drink, Kora said to Roman when she ran into him two blocks away, lifting her chin in the direction of the pub. - and some dinner. And, here she offered the kid a faint half-smile, some air conditioning. Join me, yeah?
She didn't warn him that Imogen might be there; although she does stop, pausing just inside the door, using her height to her advantage as she scans the interior of the pub, searching out familiar faces. The lighting is dim and warm, the wood buffed and the brass polished. The air conditioning is a constant, welcome hum, but is a stark, arctic blast after the swimming heat outside.
"You having a beer?"
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen, one imagines, is not particularly the type of person for July 4th festivities. She does not particularly care for fireworks, has no connection to this day of Independence.
(And in fact, if pressed, might point out that the Declaration of Independence had not even been signed on the 4th, and perhaps whoever was pestering her go find a history book and let her be.)
In either case: The crowds are thinned out, drawn to festivities, and Imogen is in the dining room of the Fox and Feather, a sweating cold beer on the table, a book in her hand. There is no live music tonight; the music is entirely piped through the PA system, some nondescript independent music, a female folksinger sounding like just about every other female folksinger does, at least if they want to be played on Grey's Anatomy.
Kora's eyes scan the crowd and perhaps through coincidence or perhaps through a preternatural perception, Imogen glances up as well. She meets the Skald's eyes across the room, her attention flicking lower to touch upon the young Rotagar. She pauses, unmoving, before absently tilting her head toward the empty chairs across from her in silent invitation.
[Roman Turner] "Sure."
Was his response on the invitation. He was feeling no pain other than acute embarrassment from the woman back at the Broho. So he feel in to step of a sort with Kora and did his best to walk a straight line and not crash in to her backside when she stopped before going in the place. She asked about beer and he said.
"If you buy it, I can't."
Fortunately for him, he was short and couldn't see Imogen just yet.
[Kora] Kora's nods, her generous mouth curving into a familiar, half-turned smile as Imogen tilts her head in spare invitation.
Then, dropping her chin to Roman, "I got you." Her response is low and wry as Roman reminds her that he has a good half-decade before he is legally allowed to purchase alcohol in the States. She gives the kid a look - rather more direct now, her dark eyes narrowed, thoughtful, on his young face. The look lingers, but the question behind it remains unspoken. There's a certain opacity to her dark eyes in such moments, only because she is carefully withholding judgment.
"The doc's over there," she tells him, lifting her chin in the direction of Imogen's table. "Grab a seat while I get our beers, yeah?" They aren't likely to get good service, not, at the least, when the Skald is sitting with them. "I'll be over in a minute."
With that direction, she cuts away from him, insinuates herself in at the bar and summons the bartender with a brief greeting and a rap of her knuckles against the wood.
[Trent Brumby] Trent had a call. Dinner out sounded like a plan, so did a beer. He had left the apartment and went in hunt for the Fox and Feather, enjoying the air conditioned drive on the way through city streets. Parking was easier to find then he expected, and after locking up the car he took his time making his way to the pub. He was healing under the buttoned down, short sleeved shirt he was wearing, but he still didn't push his limits. At least now his movement wasn't as restricted as it was a week ago, it was still tender and warned him about stretching or bending certain angles, but he was able to get back to a relatively normal lifestyle - minus the gym.
Jeans were too hot for outdoors, but the air conditioning of the pub would take care of that the moment he stepped inside. He glanced around for the familiar face that had invited him out, and found her over at the bar. Smiling to himself, he headed towards her.
"Hey Kora," his voice is low and familiar as he approaches by her side, reaching a hand to touch her lower back automatically.
[Roman Turner] She said the Doc was over there. All the color left Roman's face to rush back in the blink of an eye till he was as flushed as if he had sat under the sun all day.
"I um, yessum."
Was his response to Kora before he headed towards Imogen's direction. Along the way he stopped and snagged an extra chair. Fortunately he didn't see the guy approach Kora or he might of been concerned, just a little. Up to this point he knew very little about Kora that did not involve fighting or territories. Like, he didn't know she had a piece on the side.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's gaze flicks toward Trent, his approaching Kora, her eyes lowering to touch his hand on her back. She looks away, not swiftly, but simply, setting aside her book, face down as Roman approaches.
"Not out enjoyin' yer Independence Day?" she asks as she picks up her beer bottle, tilting it up to swallow deep. The label is of some local brewery, the fluid inside is dark and rich.
[Kora] There are three beers on the polished wood of the bar in front of Kora - both a deep, rich chocolate color that catches the low light in the room and gleams with a subtle amber finish - when Trent arrives. Her vantage point at the bar gives her a peripheral view of the front door. Her mouth twists into a faint curl, and she cuts him a sidelong look, just her eyes. "Make that four," she instructs the bartender, pushing back a handful of bills when he brings her her change.
Trent is behind her, then, his hand on the small of her back. She lifts her chin and gives him an intimate half-smile over her narrow shoulder as he joins her, then drops her dark eyes down the line of his body, back up to his eyes. The look is brief, appreciative, and the half-smile deepens as she lifts her gaze again, finding his eyes, and finally returning his greeting with a " - hey you," of her own.
There are four foaming beers on the bartop, by now, and no more money to be exchanged. Kora tilts her head in their direction, "Gimme a hand with these, yeah? There's some folks I want you to meet. C'mon - " With that, she picks up too of the near-to-overflowing drafts (a decent, though hardly perfect pour) and leads Trent through the crowd toward Roman and Imogen.
[August Grant] While a beer wasn't on her agenda, the greasy goodness of bar food was. Onion rings, french fries with seasoned sour cream dipping sauce.. maybe some chicken strips or some nachos.. now that's what brought the young woman here tonight.
Like usual, she was alone. The kinswoman knew it wasn't the best plan to be out alone - but really, she couldn't take sitting alone at the house with Erza any more. Plus, he didn't cook and she just wasn't in the mood for it tonight. Slender fingers pushed the door open and she headed towards the bar for a seat.
The woman was young, early twenties, with blonde hair and bright hazel eyes. The Coggie had enough breeding to make most Garou look twice - but, it was usually the very obvious baby belly ( 32 weeks) that caused them to look away. She wore a knee length pink skirt and a modest enough white top. Her flip flops were sparkly and there was a flower pinned in her hair.
[Roman Turner] "I did yesterday, went and watched the fireworks down Navy Pier."
He politely removed his hat as he placed the chair at Imogen's table and followed her look towards Kora and he went very still for several long moments before he seemed to remember he had been about to sit down.
"Who's that fella up there?"
Finally completing the act of sitting as he asked Imogen about Trent.
[Imogen Slaughter] "Trent," Imogen answers mildly, without glancing back toward the pair. Her beer is nearly empty. She drains it with another swallow. "A half-blood. Beyond tha', I don't know much else."
[Roman Turner] "What's a half blood? He come across the border or what?"
He turned to watch and quickly looked away. Besides the view across the table was better. Infact.....
"I better make more room."
He moved to the seat right next to Imogen, squeezing in another to make room for both Kora and Trent.
[Trent Brumby] He wants to steal a kiss from her, but he finds himself smirking a little instead at her greeting. She's already paid for the beers, which he would have insisted on had he got there sooner and mind sharper. She had distracted him with that look of hers. Now he reached for the other beers, obediently following after her, careful not to spill a drop.
August had received a small smile the moment he noticed her belly, as he passed on by, following the Garou that was heading towards the other two sitting over yonder. He nods to Imogen and Roman, setting the beers down after Kora has done the same with hers and seated herself. It's only after she's sitting does he ease down and sit himself. Despite the groomed scruff on his face and the slightly unruly black mop of hair, he has the air of a gentlemen.
[Imogen Slaughter] She shakes her head slightly. "S'slang fer kinfolk." Roman moves closer to her to give, ostensibly, Kora and Trent more space when they come to the table. The kinwoman casts the young Garou a sideways glance before adroitly shifting further toward the wall, creating a space between them.
August has arrived, large bellied, fertile and heavy with it. The redhead's gaze comes to rest on her briefly. A tendon in her jaw shifts, tightens, then eases, her mouth a too-even line, before that, too, eases.
"Seein' as this is a gathering of sorts," she speaks of this with irony, picking up her book to slip it into her handbag at her feet, "Should yeh invite yer kin?" A lift of her jaw indicates the pregnant Child of Gaia Kin.
[Roman Turner] He rose from his seat when the pair approached and remained standing until Kora was seated. Then with his hat in his lap, he sat again. For a moment his gaze had swept over the pregnant girl he had met before, the one who said the baby daddy had no rights. And even though she could of told him she was 32 weeks, it would of meant the same at 102 to the kid. A big baby belly was a big baby belly in his book. Imogen asked if he should invite August over and why not? It meant he had to squeeze in even tighter to Imogen despite her attempt to escape.
"Howdy Miss August!"
He called out.
"You're welcome to join us!"
His knee bumped Imogen's as he pushed in closer to make that room.
[August Grant] Trent's polite smile was returned - her's was the sort of smile that was sweet, charming and said that she was just a kind person. The young woman made it almost all the way to the bar (she was kinda slow now days..) before she heard Roman call out.
She turned, looking for the young woman. Her gaze finally landed upon him. August smiled brightly and a hand rose in greeting. Fingers even wiggled in a wave. "Hi Roman.." She spoke even as she headed towards their table. Aww, that was so sweet.. inviting her over and all.
[Kora] "Doc," Kora greets Imogen when she reaches the table, " - you've met Trent, yeah?" She's placed the two full beers she's carrying on the warm, polished wood of the table top, and slides them both over, one to Imogen, one to Roman. Both are full, the top quarter of the glass dominated by a frothing head that threatens to overspill the glass with too much jostling.
Then, she takes her seat, folding her body easily into the space available and sliding over to allow Trent to sit beside her. Introductions are briefly interrupted as Roman rises and calls out over the evening's small crowd. When Trent sets down the last two beers, she takes one, her mouth twisting as she glances from Roman to August and back again. There is a certain watchfulness in her eyes,as she looks from the pregnant kinswoman to the young Child of Gaia, then back again.
When Roman as finished the invitation and retaken his seat, Kora continues, still low-voiced as always, "Roman, this is Trent. He's - " she cuts a glance over at the dark haired kinsman, her dark eyes finding his face, her mouth quirked, faint and wry. " - mine." Then, back to Roman, and Imogen, " - my mate, yeah?
"And this is Roman. He and his cousin have been helping me out, right? - since Joe left." The first bit is spoken easily enough, but the last phrase is clipped and short, accompanied by a tight twist of her mouth that she has to work to even out, with the sort of patience and fortitude a fisherman would apply to a particularly intricate knot.
[Roman Turner] He nodded to Trent politely extending his hand.
"Pleased to meetcha."
Though he was in shock that Kora had a mate and he'd of never guessed it. And for a second his mind went places it never wanted to go. Like when he thought about his parents ever having had sex. Ewwwwie!
Then he rose to wait for August to sit.
"Miss August, nice to see ya. Ya know Miss Doctor Slaughter? This here is Miss Kora and her beau, Mister Trent. Everyone, this is Miss August of the same family as my cousin and I are related to."
[Trent Brumby] "Miss," Imogen gets a greeting with a small smile and pleasant nod. He's settled next to Kora, not possessively close or any such thing, casual and ordinary, resting against the back of his chair. When Roman is introduced he offers the younger man a hand across the table, leaning slowly forward in order to do so. "Roman, it's good to meet you," he tells the much younger man. Trent is in his mid to late twenties, possibly the oldest at the table. He won't guess at Imogen's age.
He's also not from across the border, though he does have an olive tan to his skin, but from Seattle instead. After shaking Romans hand he settles back and picks up his drink, which is set back down as he rises up when August arrives. He smiled at her, pulled over a seat from the next table for her.
"Nice to meet you Miss."
[Imogen Slaughter] "Trent," she greets the once-Fury kinfolk mildly, "August." Someone here might mention it's a pleasure once again. If this were a first time meeting, Imogen might keep up the pretext. This time, she merely lets her greetings hang there.
"Might want t'pull up another table, too," Imogen remarks mildly, "Before Roman decides to try and share my chair."
The Child of Gaia Ragabash sits rather within the redhaired kinwoman's sphere of personal space.
[Roman Turner] Imogen's comment made his face flame and it took him a moment to squeeze out a reply.
"I'm sorry Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am. I wasn't trying to take your seat, ma'am."
[August Grant] August made her way through the tables to the one where the others had gathered.
"Hello." The young woman continued the smile, one hand on the purse over her shoulder. "Roman, it's good to see you." She reached over and gave him a brief, friendly hug - she was just the hugging sort of person.
She remained standing.. and decided to stay standing, as Imogen commeted. "Oh, I don't need to stay - I just wanted to come for a little dinner.. not to intrude on your gathering. Don't you all worry about the other table.."
[Roman Turner] He endured the hug that made his face all the hotter and made him have to contort to keep from touching anything boob or baby-ish. And assured August it was her choice to stay or not.
"Well the invite is there if ya want it, ma'am."
Always polite.
[Kora] "It's Kora," the Skald corrects or appends to Roman's introduction. "Just Kora, August." There's another look, August to Roman, brows raised in a silent question. She's leaning forward, her forearms braced against the edge of the table, her fingers laced around her beer in a posture that might otherwise be considered meditative.
Except: she'd be meditating on beer. Her shoulders and spine are both straight underneath her casual clothing - not the usual clothes dedicated to her spirit - but others, the fabric far less worn. There are bracelets at her wrist that pull against the joint as she flexes her wrists, lifting the beer from the bottom of the glass.
That silent question dies as quickly as it was born. Kora glances at Imogen, then cuts a look back at Roman, blushing furiously now. Beside her, Trent can sense the subtle change in her posture as she unfolds and extends one of her long leg, reaching out underneath the table to tap Roman on the ankle. She's not playing footsie. The touch lingers, familiar and animal, both quelling and reassuring. In that moment Kora finds and holds the young Garou's gaze, right through the blush.
"You're more than welcome to stay, August," Kora interrupts as August remains standing, cutting neatly through the young kinswoman's series of extended apologies. " - please." Her tone is brief, direct, and she nods at the chair procured for August by Trent, "Sit." With the last, she lifts her glass in the gesture of a toast, clinking Trent's glass as she offers the wordless toast to the pregnant August.
[August Grant] "Kora." She repeated - again with the smile - "Thank you." August caught sight of Roman's blush. Aww, she hadn't meant to cause him embarassment - he was just one of the few people who was consistently nice to her.. and that she appriecated.
The offered chair was taken, carefully mind you.. sitting was beginning to be a task she had to think about. Dang baby getting in her way and all. Was there a menu around?.. If so, she snagged it if it wasn't being used. Her real reason for being here tonight: Greasy goodness - could not be forgotten!
[Trent Brumby] The chair has been offered out and before he sits, he lingers between the decision of whether they want another table or not, but as Kora decides for them all, he pushes his own chair back and moves over to the table next to them. Despite his hidden injuries he begins to slide the table across to meet their own, making it fit enough for them all, and made sure that August was right with taking her seat before he moved back to his own, back at Kora's side.
Now he picks up his beer and toasts with Kora before taking a sip from it, quickly licking the foam from his lip after. Settling back, he seems content to be silent for the moment, letting himself unwind.
[Roman Turner] The touch beneath the table made him stiffen for the briefest of seconds before he figured out it was Kora and not one of the snaking tentacles from the Carnival. Those things still chased through his dreams. As the color slowly faded to normal in his face, he made with the small talk to August.
"So Miss August, ya look about to foal. I bet with the heat and all, ya can't wait to get the little critter out."
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's phone chimes then, causing her to turn and reach down for her purse, getting to her feet as it continues to chime in rapid succession and growing urgency.
"Excuse me," she says, without offering much by way of explanation. "Enjoy your meals."
She places cash down by her barely touched glass of beer; though this one had been paid for, the earlier one had not. Though it's hot and humid, the kinwoman wears a light blazer over her camisole and jeans. She adjusts it over her body as she starts toward the door.
(sorry folks, Mei's brain has gone to bed ahead of her, so she's going to follow. Thanks for the RP!)
[Roman Turner] He jumped up like someone just prodded him with an electric cattle prod.
"Pardon me, I need to see Miss Doctor Slaughter out."
Didn't matter he turned red when he said it. He grabbed his drink, guzzled the beer down in one long chug and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth before nodding to the group.
"Appreciate the drink and company."
(And this boy has to be up and at it at 4am Thanks!))
[August Grant] A hand came to rest atop her belly for a moment as she considered it. "Another six to eight weeks.. or so the doctor says - though this heat is going to kill me. Why must it be so miserable this far north?"
[Kora] Kora is looking at Roman across the table, level and direct until the blush that has suffused his features begins to fade. Someone else would look away, give him private space in which to be an embarrassed boy with an abiding and wholly unreasonable crush. Her instincts are different, entirely more feral.
Her dark eyes sharpen on Trent as he begins to shift the extra table closer; there is a brief, hidden tension to her mouth as her eyes flick from the table to his pale eyes, then back again. She doesn't stand, but she does lean across the table, extending her long, lean frame until she has grasped the edge of the spare as Trent moves it into place, pulling as he pushes, withdrawing her fingers just before they might be pinched between the two tables.
The Skald's attention strays to Imogen as she returns the her beer to the wooden tabletop, but is then snagged by Roman's slang. " - foal?" she asks, rather incredulous, a low snort of laughter suppressed as she tries swallow rather than inhale her mouthful of beer. Only when she's cleared her senses does she finish, " - that's an - interesting figure of speech."
--
Then Imogen is excusing herself to the chiming of her phone. Kora's attention tracks the slight kinswoman as she rises and makes her brief apologies. "'Night, doc," the Skald says, her low voice carrying through the crowd, " - see you later Roman."
[Roman Turner] August managed to stall him for the briefest of moments.
"Well that's right nice ma'am. I'm sure you'll look back on these times with a fondness. If you will please excuse me?"
[Roman Turner] (( I gotta sleep. Thanks for the play!))
[Trent Brumby] The others are leaving or have left, and he bid them both a good night, before his attention is back on Kora and August. He takes another sip from his beer glass before setting it down and pushing it a little to the side.
"Do you know what you're expecting, August?" Trent asks her about the baby. They haven't discussed it too much but he's looking forward to when Kora has hers, when her belly is swollen with their child. He hopes that Kora lives long enough to enjoy that and after. These thoughts are quiet things, shown only in the thoughtful pale of his gray eyes.
[August Grant] Roman got a little wave on his way out.. before her gaze shifted back towards the couple she now sat across. Perhaps she should leave them to their night?
"It is an odd figure of speech.. but, I shall not let a little interesting choice of words to get to me." A slight shrug.
"No.. I don't know what I'm expecting. I figure there are very few surprises in life - might as well enjoy it when it is going to be a surprise. Secretly, I'm hoping for a little girl.. but whatever I am blessed with will be wonderful.."
[Kora] Kora tracks the Roman and Imogen until the pair disappear out the front door of the bar. The air outside is hot and humid enough, pushed by the winds that blow across the lake, that faint threads of swampy air insinuate themselves into the air conditioned interior every time the door swings open. Outside, the night air is thick, nearly visible under the streetlights, and the hum of traffic is intercut with the occasional sound of fireworks as folks set off their Roman candles and bottle rockets and everything in between.
Trent and August exchange questions and answers about her due date; Kora's eyes drop from the door, linger briefly on her reflection over the surface of her own brew, the head now dissipated enough that her reflection is captured in the liquid and distorted by the surface tension. While August answers, Kora lifts her chin, her eyes linger on Trent's profile, studying the subtle shifts in his quiet expression.
Then, she looks over the table at August, her mouth still, her own expression spare, just the neutral curve of her generous mouth. She doesn't ask about the baby, or the due date. Instead, she says, to August, "Your mate must be pleased. Do I know him?"
[Trent Brumby] His smile comes easily and warms the pale colour of his eyes. "Wonderful and healthy," he lifts his glass to her, giving a toast to that and a small, silent prayer that the child does reach full term, fully formed, whole and healthy. Drinking from his glass he had shifted a glance to Kora as she asks on the mate, licking his mouth as he sets the glass back down after.
He waits for the answer, before he slips in a quick question: "What are we ordering for dinner?" Trent will take care of that, getting their orders on to the staff to get food cooking and onto their table. It gives him something to do other then to sit there itching to place his hands where they shouldn't be. Feeding a Garou and a pregnant woman was his first priority.
[August Grant] Now was when she wished she had food - or a drink. Because if she did, she would have stalled the answer to that not usually uncomfortable question by taking a bite or sip. But instead.. she just licks her lips ever so slightly. "Uh.. mm.. no. You don't know him. And he doesn't know about the baby. But, if he did know.. I doubt he would care much, he already has sixteen other children.."
Yup, there was more to that story. Much more - but, most people didn't want to hear it.. so she didn't bother to tell her story.
[Kora] "Hear hear," Kora's alto echoes Trent's deeper voice, immediately on the heels of his toast. Her concurrence is hearty, offered without hesitation. She lifts her glass, too; there is a sort of echo to the gesture, which is both immediate and ancient.
There is a certain sheen to her dark gaze, then. Her attention lingers on August, in that moment, and the light in her eyes would be difficult for the pregnant kinswoman to read except as an animal thing. Garou are animals: make no mistake. The meager evening crowd has shifted away from their diminished table, now, in unconscious response to the Skald's presence. The shift is so subtle as to be barely noticeable, particularly on a slow night like this - but it is enough to give them a measure of privacy.
Trent asks what they're having, and Kora looks up at him them, her mouth twisting into a subtle suggestion of amuisement. "Fish and chips," she informs him, " - they even serve it in British newspapers, here. Imported specially." Of course she's having something deep fried.
"Sixteen? He's not from this Chicago, is he?" Kora inquires when she looks back to August, her brow furrowing now, her generous mouth pressed together into a faint line. "August, yeah?" she says, repeating the kinswoman's name, pausing only long enough to receive some sort of non-verbal confirmation that she's remembered the name correctly. "Is there someone here who is watching over you? Do you know Lila?"
[Kora] (did not mean to bold that!)
[Kora] "Hear hear," Kora's alto echoes Trent's deeper voice, immediately on the heels of his toast. Her concurrence is hearty, offered without hesitation. She lifts her glass, too; there is a sort of echo to the gesture, which is both immediate and ancient.
There is a certain sheen to her dark gaze, then. Her attention lingers on August, in that moment, and the light in her eyes would be difficult for the pregnant kinswoman to read except as an animal thing. Garou are animals: make no mistake. The meager evening crowd has shifted away from their diminished table, now, in unconscious response to the Skald's presence. The shift is so subtle as to be barely noticeable, particularly on a slow night like this - but it is enough to give them a measure of privacy.
Trent asks what they're having, and Kora looks up at him them, her mouth twisting into a subtle suggestion of amuisement. "Fish and chips," she informs him, " - they even serve it in British newspapers, here. Imported specially." Of course she's having something deep fried.
"Sixteen? He's not from this Chicago, is he?" Kora inquires when she looks back to August, her brow furrowing now, her generous mouth pressed together into a faint line. "August, yeah?" she says, repeating the kinswoman's name, pausing only long enough to receive some sort of non-verbal confirmation that she's remembered the name correctly. "Is there someone here who is watching over you? Do you know Lila?"
[Kora] ack! :(
[Kora] ohoh: one more time.
"Hear hear," Kora's alto echoes Trent's deeper voice, immediately on the heels of his toast. Her concurrence is hearty, offered without hesitation. She lifts her glass, too; there is a sort of echo to the gesture, which is both immediate and ancient.
There is a certain sheen to her dark gaze, then. Her attention lingers on August, in that moment, and the light in her eyes would be difficult for the pregnant kinswoman to read except as an animal thing. Garou are animals: make no mistake. The meager evening crowd has shifted away from their diminished table, now, in unconscious response to the Skald's presence. The shift is so subtle as to be barely noticeable, particularly on a slow night like this - but it is enough to give them a measure of privacy.
Trent asks what they're having, and Kora looks up at him them, her mouth twisting into a subtle suggestion of amuisement. "Fish and chips," she informs him, " - they even serve it in British newspapers, here. Imported specially." Of course she's having something deep fried.
"Sixteen? He's not from this Chicago, is he?" Kora inquires when she looks back to August, her brow furrowing now, her generous mouth pressed together into a faint line. "August, yeah?" she says, repeating the kinswoman's name, pausing only long enough to receive some sort of non-verbal confirmation that she's remembered the name correctly. "Is there someone here who is watching over you? Do you know Lila?"
[Trent Brumby] [LMAO.]
[August Grant] "No. Kansas. He had four other wives.. and I feared for my life and my child's life. So - now I'm here." She nodded in response to Kora's question about her name. If Trent wanted to know what she wanted to eat: she mentioned something about onion rings and fish and chips too.. if not, she'd order herself in a moment.
"I do know Lila. I met her once over brunch. Seems nice.. haven't seen her or heard from her since. I live with Erza at the moment - the rest of the pack has disappeared.. including my boyfriend.."
[Trent Brumby] Of course she was going to order something that was greasy and without little nutritional value. It makes him smirk, though, to hear about the news paper and the like. Shaking his head he pushed up and out of his seat, waiting long enough for August to order hers. "And you ma'am, what can I get you?" She was a pretty woman, he discovers, pregnancy suits her - not that he knew her at any moment before now. But he doesn't fawn over her or anything of the sort, he wasn't interested in that way, more then happy with the mate he had. Claimed as he was.
Onion rings with fish and chips, he takes that order and leaves the women by the table, moving towards the bar for some drinks and food to be placed. He makes some small talk while he's there, about the heat, about the fourth of July, and pays for their rounds of food and drink without a bat of an eye; it's expected of him and something he enjoys doing. He's a simple man.
[Kora] The creature's sharp, pale features are nearly impassive as August offers her a brief, verbal sketch of her history. Dark eyes - the color indistinct in the warm shadows of the interior - remain fixed on August, glancing away briefly, lingering on Trent as he cuts through the crowd, back to the bar to make their orders.
When August remarks that she's living with Ezra, though, Kora's gaze tracks back to him - this sharp look, all-at-once, intent and intense. There is something feral about the way she lifts her chin and cants her head, something animal in the direct look she gives the kinswoman, her gaze naked and sharp with decision.
"Not anymore." Kora informs August, in a tone that brooks no argument. "You're moving out tonight." Then, after a pause, a glance back to Trent where he stands at the bar, she continues - " - we can take you to the Brotherhood, if you don't have other options. Or to Roman and Sparrow. You're not staying with Ezra another night."
[August Grant] "He's odd.. but he's ok. He doesn't bother me much. Paul would be upset if I moved out while he was gone.." It wasn't really an argument - just a minor protest. She didn't quite have the nerve to meet Kora's gaze and flat out say 'no' - she wasn't that sort of kin.
[Trent Brumby] [post around me a moment.]
[Kora] "Paul will understand." Kora responds, with this faint, ghosting smile that does little enough to hide the tension underneath. "If he doesn't, I've made the decision, and I will take the responsibility, answering any challenge he lays at my feet. Ezra is not okay. He held one of your kinswomen against her will," she continues, unflinching, unsparing in the details. "The dispute ended only because the kinswoman was killed by a cursed human. That's reason enough for you to move out."
There is a minute pause, then, before she continues, " - we'll take you to the Brotherhood tonight, unless you prefer to go to Roman and Sparrow's."
[August Grant] Lips pursed just slightly.. and then the young woman sighed. "I would rather go to the Brotherhood again - I don't wish to show up like an unwanted child on Roman and Sparrow's doorstep. I have things I must get from home though.. clothes and the like."
"I had no idea about the kin Erza held. He's never hinted at such.."
[Kora] (Ack! Site stopped refreshing for me.)
"Tomorrow," Kora responds quietly, "I'll take you to retrieve whatever you've left behind. Tonight, we'll take you to the Brotherhood. I'm sure the kin have clothing that you can wear until we've retrieved your things from the abandoned packhouse. We'll leave word for Lila, too. You understand why you need to stay away from him, yes?"
[Kora] Okay: I need to go sleep shortly!
to August Grant, Trent Brumby
[August Grant] "Not exactly. I've lived with him for a few months now without incident.. I understand about the kin before - but he knows I'm Paul's girl.. so, he doesn't try anything funny."
A hand grasped a water on the table and she brought it up for a sip. She grinned just slightly. "All those skinny little kin? Oh.. I don't think they'll have anything that'll fit my fat self.."
[August Grant] (Okies!)
to Kora
[Trent Brumby] Trent returns with some drinks for them all, beer for Kora and himself and some soda with ice for the pregnant woman. He settles back into his chair, quiet as they continue talking, as he catches up to the current topic of conversation. Nothing is offered on his part, since Kora has everything under control and he's missed part of what they're talking about.
He drinks his beer, content to sit back in the air conditioning and be in the so called background while the women have a chat.
[August Grant] "Thank you, Trent.." August adds quietly
[Kora] "You just told me that Paul's gone, and you're alone." There's a certain sharpness to Kora's tone, then. Her first beer is finished, and Trent has brought her a refill. She takes a brief, grateful sip, finishing perhaps half of it before she's lost her taste for it now. "You had such care for your life and your child's life that you ran away from your - mate, or lover, or whatever he was - and came all the way to Chicago, show something of that now." Then, a quick shake of her pale head, as if to clea it of cobwebs. "Look: they'll have maternity clothes. You're not the first person in the Nation to be pregnant. Nor the last."
With that, Kora unfolds herself from the seat she's claimed, and stands, sliding her right hand along Trent's shoulder. When she reaches the back of his head, she pushes her long fingers familiarly through the closely cropped black hair. "Cmon," she tells him. "We'll take the meal to go, yeah?" the question is for the kinsman, quiet, familiar even intimate underneath the tension that infected her tone, which is mirrored, further, in the direct set of her narrow shoulders, in the tension that bleeds through her lean spine. " - I want to give August a ride to the Brotherhood. Make sure she arrives okay, and leave a message for Lila, in case she comes by before I find her.?"
Giving August a ride means: Trent will drive the three of them to the Brotherhood. Kora defers the front seat to the heavily pregnant August, and sits in the back, her mouth watering at the heavy scent of fried fish and french fries that diffuses through the interior from the "to go" pouches wrapped up in British newspapers. The pair remain at the Brotherhood long enough to see August settled back into a room; long enough for Kora to leave a note to Lila, with a promise on Kora's part of a return on the morrow to retrieve August's possessions.
Then, Trent and Kora disappear, back out into the warm, humid night. They don't hold hands like human lovers might. Instead, half-way to the car, Kora bumps Trent with her hip, hooks her left index finger neatly into his waistband and - pulls him along after her.
[Kora] how does that work for an exit? (grins)
to August Grant, Trent Brumby
[August Grant] {Yup! It's good. August would tell Kora not to go into their packhouse.. that it's warded and dangerous for her to so.. but August would agree to get a ride there to get her stuff herself - given that Erza doesn't interfere.. which he may - he is spying on August afterall}
to Kora, Trent Brumby
[August Grant] {Ok guys - thanks for the scene! I have to get to bed.}
to Kora, Trent Brumby
[Kora] (Thanks! night!)
to August Grant, Trent Brumby
[Trent Brumby] [that works, sorry I was on the phone again.]
I'm getting a drink, Kora said to Roman when she ran into him two blocks away, lifting her chin in the direction of the pub. - and some dinner. And, here she offered the kid a faint half-smile, some air conditioning. Join me, yeah?
She didn't warn him that Imogen might be there; although she does stop, pausing just inside the door, using her height to her advantage as she scans the interior of the pub, searching out familiar faces. The lighting is dim and warm, the wood buffed and the brass polished. The air conditioning is a constant, welcome hum, but is a stark, arctic blast after the swimming heat outside.
"You having a beer?"
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen, one imagines, is not particularly the type of person for July 4th festivities. She does not particularly care for fireworks, has no connection to this day of Independence.
(And in fact, if pressed, might point out that the Declaration of Independence had not even been signed on the 4th, and perhaps whoever was pestering her go find a history book and let her be.)
In either case: The crowds are thinned out, drawn to festivities, and Imogen is in the dining room of the Fox and Feather, a sweating cold beer on the table, a book in her hand. There is no live music tonight; the music is entirely piped through the PA system, some nondescript independent music, a female folksinger sounding like just about every other female folksinger does, at least if they want to be played on Grey's Anatomy.
Kora's eyes scan the crowd and perhaps through coincidence or perhaps through a preternatural perception, Imogen glances up as well. She meets the Skald's eyes across the room, her attention flicking lower to touch upon the young Rotagar. She pauses, unmoving, before absently tilting her head toward the empty chairs across from her in silent invitation.
[Roman Turner] "Sure."
Was his response on the invitation. He was feeling no pain other than acute embarrassment from the woman back at the Broho. So he feel in to step of a sort with Kora and did his best to walk a straight line and not crash in to her backside when she stopped before going in the place. She asked about beer and he said.
"If you buy it, I can't."
Fortunately for him, he was short and couldn't see Imogen just yet.
[Kora] Kora's nods, her generous mouth curving into a familiar, half-turned smile as Imogen tilts her head in spare invitation.
Then, dropping her chin to Roman, "I got you." Her response is low and wry as Roman reminds her that he has a good half-decade before he is legally allowed to purchase alcohol in the States. She gives the kid a look - rather more direct now, her dark eyes narrowed, thoughtful, on his young face. The look lingers, but the question behind it remains unspoken. There's a certain opacity to her dark eyes in such moments, only because she is carefully withholding judgment.
"The doc's over there," she tells him, lifting her chin in the direction of Imogen's table. "Grab a seat while I get our beers, yeah?" They aren't likely to get good service, not, at the least, when the Skald is sitting with them. "I'll be over in a minute."
With that direction, she cuts away from him, insinuates herself in at the bar and summons the bartender with a brief greeting and a rap of her knuckles against the wood.
[Trent Brumby] Trent had a call. Dinner out sounded like a plan, so did a beer. He had left the apartment and went in hunt for the Fox and Feather, enjoying the air conditioned drive on the way through city streets. Parking was easier to find then he expected, and after locking up the car he took his time making his way to the pub. He was healing under the buttoned down, short sleeved shirt he was wearing, but he still didn't push his limits. At least now his movement wasn't as restricted as it was a week ago, it was still tender and warned him about stretching or bending certain angles, but he was able to get back to a relatively normal lifestyle - minus the gym.
Jeans were too hot for outdoors, but the air conditioning of the pub would take care of that the moment he stepped inside. He glanced around for the familiar face that had invited him out, and found her over at the bar. Smiling to himself, he headed towards her.
"Hey Kora," his voice is low and familiar as he approaches by her side, reaching a hand to touch her lower back automatically.
[Roman Turner] She said the Doc was over there. All the color left Roman's face to rush back in the blink of an eye till he was as flushed as if he had sat under the sun all day.
"I um, yessum."
Was his response to Kora before he headed towards Imogen's direction. Along the way he stopped and snagged an extra chair. Fortunately he didn't see the guy approach Kora or he might of been concerned, just a little. Up to this point he knew very little about Kora that did not involve fighting or territories. Like, he didn't know she had a piece on the side.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's gaze flicks toward Trent, his approaching Kora, her eyes lowering to touch his hand on her back. She looks away, not swiftly, but simply, setting aside her book, face down as Roman approaches.
"Not out enjoyin' yer Independence Day?" she asks as she picks up her beer bottle, tilting it up to swallow deep. The label is of some local brewery, the fluid inside is dark and rich.
[Kora] There are three beers on the polished wood of the bar in front of Kora - both a deep, rich chocolate color that catches the low light in the room and gleams with a subtle amber finish - when Trent arrives. Her vantage point at the bar gives her a peripheral view of the front door. Her mouth twists into a faint curl, and she cuts him a sidelong look, just her eyes. "Make that four," she instructs the bartender, pushing back a handful of bills when he brings her her change.
Trent is behind her, then, his hand on the small of her back. She lifts her chin and gives him an intimate half-smile over her narrow shoulder as he joins her, then drops her dark eyes down the line of his body, back up to his eyes. The look is brief, appreciative, and the half-smile deepens as she lifts her gaze again, finding his eyes, and finally returning his greeting with a " - hey you," of her own.
There are four foaming beers on the bartop, by now, and no more money to be exchanged. Kora tilts her head in their direction, "Gimme a hand with these, yeah? There's some folks I want you to meet. C'mon - " With that, she picks up too of the near-to-overflowing drafts (a decent, though hardly perfect pour) and leads Trent through the crowd toward Roman and Imogen.
[August Grant] While a beer wasn't on her agenda, the greasy goodness of bar food was. Onion rings, french fries with seasoned sour cream dipping sauce.. maybe some chicken strips or some nachos.. now that's what brought the young woman here tonight.
Like usual, she was alone. The kinswoman knew it wasn't the best plan to be out alone - but really, she couldn't take sitting alone at the house with Erza any more. Plus, he didn't cook and she just wasn't in the mood for it tonight. Slender fingers pushed the door open and she headed towards the bar for a seat.
The woman was young, early twenties, with blonde hair and bright hazel eyes. The Coggie had enough breeding to make most Garou look twice - but, it was usually the very obvious baby belly ( 32 weeks) that caused them to look away. She wore a knee length pink skirt and a modest enough white top. Her flip flops were sparkly and there was a flower pinned in her hair.
[Roman Turner] "I did yesterday, went and watched the fireworks down Navy Pier."
He politely removed his hat as he placed the chair at Imogen's table and followed her look towards Kora and he went very still for several long moments before he seemed to remember he had been about to sit down.
"Who's that fella up there?"
Finally completing the act of sitting as he asked Imogen about Trent.
[Imogen Slaughter] "Trent," Imogen answers mildly, without glancing back toward the pair. Her beer is nearly empty. She drains it with another swallow. "A half-blood. Beyond tha', I don't know much else."
[Roman Turner] "What's a half blood? He come across the border or what?"
He turned to watch and quickly looked away. Besides the view across the table was better. Infact.....
"I better make more room."
He moved to the seat right next to Imogen, squeezing in another to make room for both Kora and Trent.
[Trent Brumby] He wants to steal a kiss from her, but he finds himself smirking a little instead at her greeting. She's already paid for the beers, which he would have insisted on had he got there sooner and mind sharper. She had distracted him with that look of hers. Now he reached for the other beers, obediently following after her, careful not to spill a drop.
August had received a small smile the moment he noticed her belly, as he passed on by, following the Garou that was heading towards the other two sitting over yonder. He nods to Imogen and Roman, setting the beers down after Kora has done the same with hers and seated herself. It's only after she's sitting does he ease down and sit himself. Despite the groomed scruff on his face and the slightly unruly black mop of hair, he has the air of a gentlemen.
[Imogen Slaughter] She shakes her head slightly. "S'slang fer kinfolk." Roman moves closer to her to give, ostensibly, Kora and Trent more space when they come to the table. The kinwoman casts the young Garou a sideways glance before adroitly shifting further toward the wall, creating a space between them.
August has arrived, large bellied, fertile and heavy with it. The redhead's gaze comes to rest on her briefly. A tendon in her jaw shifts, tightens, then eases, her mouth a too-even line, before that, too, eases.
"Seein' as this is a gathering of sorts," she speaks of this with irony, picking up her book to slip it into her handbag at her feet, "Should yeh invite yer kin?" A lift of her jaw indicates the pregnant Child of Gaia Kin.
[Roman Turner] He rose from his seat when the pair approached and remained standing until Kora was seated. Then with his hat in his lap, he sat again. For a moment his gaze had swept over the pregnant girl he had met before, the one who said the baby daddy had no rights. And even though she could of told him she was 32 weeks, it would of meant the same at 102 to the kid. A big baby belly was a big baby belly in his book. Imogen asked if he should invite August over and why not? It meant he had to squeeze in even tighter to Imogen despite her attempt to escape.
"Howdy Miss August!"
He called out.
"You're welcome to join us!"
His knee bumped Imogen's as he pushed in closer to make that room.
[August Grant] Trent's polite smile was returned - her's was the sort of smile that was sweet, charming and said that she was just a kind person. The young woman made it almost all the way to the bar (she was kinda slow now days..) before she heard Roman call out.
She turned, looking for the young woman. Her gaze finally landed upon him. August smiled brightly and a hand rose in greeting. Fingers even wiggled in a wave. "Hi Roman.." She spoke even as she headed towards their table. Aww, that was so sweet.. inviting her over and all.
[Kora] "Doc," Kora greets Imogen when she reaches the table, " - you've met Trent, yeah?" She's placed the two full beers she's carrying on the warm, polished wood of the table top, and slides them both over, one to Imogen, one to Roman. Both are full, the top quarter of the glass dominated by a frothing head that threatens to overspill the glass with too much jostling.
Then, she takes her seat, folding her body easily into the space available and sliding over to allow Trent to sit beside her. Introductions are briefly interrupted as Roman rises and calls out over the evening's small crowd. When Trent sets down the last two beers, she takes one, her mouth twisting as she glances from Roman to August and back again. There is a certain watchfulness in her eyes,as she looks from the pregnant kinswoman to the young Child of Gaia, then back again.
When Roman as finished the invitation and retaken his seat, Kora continues, still low-voiced as always, "Roman, this is Trent. He's - " she cuts a glance over at the dark haired kinsman, her dark eyes finding his face, her mouth quirked, faint and wry. " - mine." Then, back to Roman, and Imogen, " - my mate, yeah?
"And this is Roman. He and his cousin have been helping me out, right? - since Joe left." The first bit is spoken easily enough, but the last phrase is clipped and short, accompanied by a tight twist of her mouth that she has to work to even out, with the sort of patience and fortitude a fisherman would apply to a particularly intricate knot.
[Roman Turner] He nodded to Trent politely extending his hand.
"Pleased to meetcha."
Though he was in shock that Kora had a mate and he'd of never guessed it. And for a second his mind went places it never wanted to go. Like when he thought about his parents ever having had sex. Ewwwwie!
Then he rose to wait for August to sit.
"Miss August, nice to see ya. Ya know Miss Doctor Slaughter? This here is Miss Kora and her beau, Mister Trent. Everyone, this is Miss August of the same family as my cousin and I are related to."
[Trent Brumby] "Miss," Imogen gets a greeting with a small smile and pleasant nod. He's settled next to Kora, not possessively close or any such thing, casual and ordinary, resting against the back of his chair. When Roman is introduced he offers the younger man a hand across the table, leaning slowly forward in order to do so. "Roman, it's good to meet you," he tells the much younger man. Trent is in his mid to late twenties, possibly the oldest at the table. He won't guess at Imogen's age.
He's also not from across the border, though he does have an olive tan to his skin, but from Seattle instead. After shaking Romans hand he settles back and picks up his drink, which is set back down as he rises up when August arrives. He smiled at her, pulled over a seat from the next table for her.
"Nice to meet you Miss."
[Imogen Slaughter] "Trent," she greets the once-Fury kinfolk mildly, "August." Someone here might mention it's a pleasure once again. If this were a first time meeting, Imogen might keep up the pretext. This time, she merely lets her greetings hang there.
"Might want t'pull up another table, too," Imogen remarks mildly, "Before Roman decides to try and share my chair."
The Child of Gaia Ragabash sits rather within the redhaired kinwoman's sphere of personal space.
[Roman Turner] Imogen's comment made his face flame and it took him a moment to squeeze out a reply.
"I'm sorry Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am. I wasn't trying to take your seat, ma'am."
[August Grant] August made her way through the tables to the one where the others had gathered.
"Hello." The young woman continued the smile, one hand on the purse over her shoulder. "Roman, it's good to see you." She reached over and gave him a brief, friendly hug - she was just the hugging sort of person.
She remained standing.. and decided to stay standing, as Imogen commeted. "Oh, I don't need to stay - I just wanted to come for a little dinner.. not to intrude on your gathering. Don't you all worry about the other table.."
[Roman Turner] He endured the hug that made his face all the hotter and made him have to contort to keep from touching anything boob or baby-ish. And assured August it was her choice to stay or not.
"Well the invite is there if ya want it, ma'am."
Always polite.
[Kora] "It's Kora," the Skald corrects or appends to Roman's introduction. "Just Kora, August." There's another look, August to Roman, brows raised in a silent question. She's leaning forward, her forearms braced against the edge of the table, her fingers laced around her beer in a posture that might otherwise be considered meditative.
Except: she'd be meditating on beer. Her shoulders and spine are both straight underneath her casual clothing - not the usual clothes dedicated to her spirit - but others, the fabric far less worn. There are bracelets at her wrist that pull against the joint as she flexes her wrists, lifting the beer from the bottom of the glass.
That silent question dies as quickly as it was born. Kora glances at Imogen, then cuts a look back at Roman, blushing furiously now. Beside her, Trent can sense the subtle change in her posture as she unfolds and extends one of her long leg, reaching out underneath the table to tap Roman on the ankle. She's not playing footsie. The touch lingers, familiar and animal, both quelling and reassuring. In that moment Kora finds and holds the young Garou's gaze, right through the blush.
"You're more than welcome to stay, August," Kora interrupts as August remains standing, cutting neatly through the young kinswoman's series of extended apologies. " - please." Her tone is brief, direct, and she nods at the chair procured for August by Trent, "Sit." With the last, she lifts her glass in the gesture of a toast, clinking Trent's glass as she offers the wordless toast to the pregnant August.
[August Grant] "Kora." She repeated - again with the smile - "Thank you." August caught sight of Roman's blush. Aww, she hadn't meant to cause him embarassment - he was just one of the few people who was consistently nice to her.. and that she appriecated.
The offered chair was taken, carefully mind you.. sitting was beginning to be a task she had to think about. Dang baby getting in her way and all. Was there a menu around?.. If so, she snagged it if it wasn't being used. Her real reason for being here tonight: Greasy goodness - could not be forgotten!
[Trent Brumby] The chair has been offered out and before he sits, he lingers between the decision of whether they want another table or not, but as Kora decides for them all, he pushes his own chair back and moves over to the table next to them. Despite his hidden injuries he begins to slide the table across to meet their own, making it fit enough for them all, and made sure that August was right with taking her seat before he moved back to his own, back at Kora's side.
Now he picks up his beer and toasts with Kora before taking a sip from it, quickly licking the foam from his lip after. Settling back, he seems content to be silent for the moment, letting himself unwind.
[Roman Turner] The touch beneath the table made him stiffen for the briefest of seconds before he figured out it was Kora and not one of the snaking tentacles from the Carnival. Those things still chased through his dreams. As the color slowly faded to normal in his face, he made with the small talk to August.
"So Miss August, ya look about to foal. I bet with the heat and all, ya can't wait to get the little critter out."
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's phone chimes then, causing her to turn and reach down for her purse, getting to her feet as it continues to chime in rapid succession and growing urgency.
"Excuse me," she says, without offering much by way of explanation. "Enjoy your meals."
She places cash down by her barely touched glass of beer; though this one had been paid for, the earlier one had not. Though it's hot and humid, the kinwoman wears a light blazer over her camisole and jeans. She adjusts it over her body as she starts toward the door.
(sorry folks, Mei's brain has gone to bed ahead of her, so she's going to follow. Thanks for the RP!)
[Roman Turner] He jumped up like someone just prodded him with an electric cattle prod.
"Pardon me, I need to see Miss Doctor Slaughter out."
Didn't matter he turned red when he said it. He grabbed his drink, guzzled the beer down in one long chug and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth before nodding to the group.
"Appreciate the drink and company."
(And this boy has to be up and at it at 4am Thanks!))
[August Grant] A hand came to rest atop her belly for a moment as she considered it. "Another six to eight weeks.. or so the doctor says - though this heat is going to kill me. Why must it be so miserable this far north?"
[Kora] Kora is looking at Roman across the table, level and direct until the blush that has suffused his features begins to fade. Someone else would look away, give him private space in which to be an embarrassed boy with an abiding and wholly unreasonable crush. Her instincts are different, entirely more feral.
Her dark eyes sharpen on Trent as he begins to shift the extra table closer; there is a brief, hidden tension to her mouth as her eyes flick from the table to his pale eyes, then back again. She doesn't stand, but she does lean across the table, extending her long, lean frame until she has grasped the edge of the spare as Trent moves it into place, pulling as he pushes, withdrawing her fingers just before they might be pinched between the two tables.
The Skald's attention strays to Imogen as she returns the her beer to the wooden tabletop, but is then snagged by Roman's slang. " - foal?" she asks, rather incredulous, a low snort of laughter suppressed as she tries swallow rather than inhale her mouthful of beer. Only when she's cleared her senses does she finish, " - that's an - interesting figure of speech."
--
Then Imogen is excusing herself to the chiming of her phone. Kora's attention tracks the slight kinswoman as she rises and makes her brief apologies. "'Night, doc," the Skald says, her low voice carrying through the crowd, " - see you later Roman."
[Roman Turner] August managed to stall him for the briefest of moments.
"Well that's right nice ma'am. I'm sure you'll look back on these times with a fondness. If you will please excuse me?"
[Roman Turner] (( I gotta sleep. Thanks for the play!))
[Trent Brumby] The others are leaving or have left, and he bid them both a good night, before his attention is back on Kora and August. He takes another sip from his beer glass before setting it down and pushing it a little to the side.
"Do you know what you're expecting, August?" Trent asks her about the baby. They haven't discussed it too much but he's looking forward to when Kora has hers, when her belly is swollen with their child. He hopes that Kora lives long enough to enjoy that and after. These thoughts are quiet things, shown only in the thoughtful pale of his gray eyes.
[August Grant] Roman got a little wave on his way out.. before her gaze shifted back towards the couple she now sat across. Perhaps she should leave them to their night?
"It is an odd figure of speech.. but, I shall not let a little interesting choice of words to get to me." A slight shrug.
"No.. I don't know what I'm expecting. I figure there are very few surprises in life - might as well enjoy it when it is going to be a surprise. Secretly, I'm hoping for a little girl.. but whatever I am blessed with will be wonderful.."
[Kora] Kora tracks the Roman and Imogen until the pair disappear out the front door of the bar. The air outside is hot and humid enough, pushed by the winds that blow across the lake, that faint threads of swampy air insinuate themselves into the air conditioned interior every time the door swings open. Outside, the night air is thick, nearly visible under the streetlights, and the hum of traffic is intercut with the occasional sound of fireworks as folks set off their Roman candles and bottle rockets and everything in between.
Trent and August exchange questions and answers about her due date; Kora's eyes drop from the door, linger briefly on her reflection over the surface of her own brew, the head now dissipated enough that her reflection is captured in the liquid and distorted by the surface tension. While August answers, Kora lifts her chin, her eyes linger on Trent's profile, studying the subtle shifts in his quiet expression.
Then, she looks over the table at August, her mouth still, her own expression spare, just the neutral curve of her generous mouth. She doesn't ask about the baby, or the due date. Instead, she says, to August, "Your mate must be pleased. Do I know him?"
[Trent Brumby] His smile comes easily and warms the pale colour of his eyes. "Wonderful and healthy," he lifts his glass to her, giving a toast to that and a small, silent prayer that the child does reach full term, fully formed, whole and healthy. Drinking from his glass he had shifted a glance to Kora as she asks on the mate, licking his mouth as he sets the glass back down after.
He waits for the answer, before he slips in a quick question: "What are we ordering for dinner?" Trent will take care of that, getting their orders on to the staff to get food cooking and onto their table. It gives him something to do other then to sit there itching to place his hands where they shouldn't be. Feeding a Garou and a pregnant woman was his first priority.
[August Grant] Now was when she wished she had food - or a drink. Because if she did, she would have stalled the answer to that not usually uncomfortable question by taking a bite or sip. But instead.. she just licks her lips ever so slightly. "Uh.. mm.. no. You don't know him. And he doesn't know about the baby. But, if he did know.. I doubt he would care much, he already has sixteen other children.."
Yup, there was more to that story. Much more - but, most people didn't want to hear it.. so she didn't bother to tell her story.
[Kora] "Hear hear," Kora's alto echoes Trent's deeper voice, immediately on the heels of his toast. Her concurrence is hearty, offered without hesitation. She lifts her glass, too; there is a sort of echo to the gesture, which is both immediate and ancient.
There is a certain sheen to her dark gaze, then. Her attention lingers on August, in that moment, and the light in her eyes would be difficult for the pregnant kinswoman to read except as an animal thing. Garou are animals: make no mistake. The meager evening crowd has shifted away from their diminished table, now, in unconscious response to the Skald's presence. The shift is so subtle as to be barely noticeable, particularly on a slow night like this - but it is enough to give them a measure of privacy.
Trent asks what they're having, and Kora looks up at him them, her mouth twisting into a subtle suggestion of amuisement. "Fish and chips," she informs him, " - they even serve it in British newspapers, here. Imported specially." Of course she's having something deep fried.
"Sixteen? He's not from this Chicago, is he?" Kora inquires when she looks back to August, her brow furrowing now, her generous mouth pressed together into a faint line. "August, yeah?" she says, repeating the kinswoman's name, pausing only long enough to receive some sort of non-verbal confirmation that she's remembered the name correctly. "Is there someone here who is watching over you? Do you know Lila?"
[Kora] (did not mean to bold that!)
[Kora] "Hear hear," Kora's alto echoes Trent's deeper voice, immediately on the heels of his toast. Her concurrence is hearty, offered without hesitation. She lifts her glass, too; there is a sort of echo to the gesture, which is both immediate and ancient.
There is a certain sheen to her dark gaze, then. Her attention lingers on August, in that moment, and the light in her eyes would be difficult for the pregnant kinswoman to read except as an animal thing. Garou are animals: make no mistake. The meager evening crowd has shifted away from their diminished table, now, in unconscious response to the Skald's presence. The shift is so subtle as to be barely noticeable, particularly on a slow night like this - but it is enough to give them a measure of privacy.
Trent asks what they're having, and Kora looks up at him them, her mouth twisting into a subtle suggestion of amuisement. "Fish and chips," she informs him, " - they even serve it in British newspapers, here. Imported specially." Of course she's having something deep fried.
"Sixteen? He's not from this Chicago, is he?" Kora inquires when she looks back to August, her brow furrowing now, her generous mouth pressed together into a faint line. "August, yeah?" she says, repeating the kinswoman's name, pausing only long enough to receive some sort of non-verbal confirmation that she's remembered the name correctly. "Is there someone here who is watching over you? Do you know Lila?"
[Kora] ack! :(
[Kora] ohoh: one more time.
"Hear hear," Kora's alto echoes Trent's deeper voice, immediately on the heels of his toast. Her concurrence is hearty, offered without hesitation. She lifts her glass, too; there is a sort of echo to the gesture, which is both immediate and ancient.
There is a certain sheen to her dark gaze, then. Her attention lingers on August, in that moment, and the light in her eyes would be difficult for the pregnant kinswoman to read except as an animal thing. Garou are animals: make no mistake. The meager evening crowd has shifted away from their diminished table, now, in unconscious response to the Skald's presence. The shift is so subtle as to be barely noticeable, particularly on a slow night like this - but it is enough to give them a measure of privacy.
Trent asks what they're having, and Kora looks up at him them, her mouth twisting into a subtle suggestion of amuisement. "Fish and chips," she informs him, " - they even serve it in British newspapers, here. Imported specially." Of course she's having something deep fried.
"Sixteen? He's not from this Chicago, is he?" Kora inquires when she looks back to August, her brow furrowing now, her generous mouth pressed together into a faint line. "August, yeah?" she says, repeating the kinswoman's name, pausing only long enough to receive some sort of non-verbal confirmation that she's remembered the name correctly. "Is there someone here who is watching over you? Do you know Lila?"
[Trent Brumby] [LMAO.]
[August Grant] "No. Kansas. He had four other wives.. and I feared for my life and my child's life. So - now I'm here." She nodded in response to Kora's question about her name. If Trent wanted to know what she wanted to eat: she mentioned something about onion rings and fish and chips too.. if not, she'd order herself in a moment.
"I do know Lila. I met her once over brunch. Seems nice.. haven't seen her or heard from her since. I live with Erza at the moment - the rest of the pack has disappeared.. including my boyfriend.."
[Trent Brumby] Of course she was going to order something that was greasy and without little nutritional value. It makes him smirk, though, to hear about the news paper and the like. Shaking his head he pushed up and out of his seat, waiting long enough for August to order hers. "And you ma'am, what can I get you?" She was a pretty woman, he discovers, pregnancy suits her - not that he knew her at any moment before now. But he doesn't fawn over her or anything of the sort, he wasn't interested in that way, more then happy with the mate he had. Claimed as he was.
Onion rings with fish and chips, he takes that order and leaves the women by the table, moving towards the bar for some drinks and food to be placed. He makes some small talk while he's there, about the heat, about the fourth of July, and pays for their rounds of food and drink without a bat of an eye; it's expected of him and something he enjoys doing. He's a simple man.
[Kora] The creature's sharp, pale features are nearly impassive as August offers her a brief, verbal sketch of her history. Dark eyes - the color indistinct in the warm shadows of the interior - remain fixed on August, glancing away briefly, lingering on Trent as he cuts through the crowd, back to the bar to make their orders.
When August remarks that she's living with Ezra, though, Kora's gaze tracks back to him - this sharp look, all-at-once, intent and intense. There is something feral about the way she lifts her chin and cants her head, something animal in the direct look she gives the kinswoman, her gaze naked and sharp with decision.
"Not anymore." Kora informs August, in a tone that brooks no argument. "You're moving out tonight." Then, after a pause, a glance back to Trent where he stands at the bar, she continues - " - we can take you to the Brotherhood, if you don't have other options. Or to Roman and Sparrow. You're not staying with Ezra another night."
[August Grant] "He's odd.. but he's ok. He doesn't bother me much. Paul would be upset if I moved out while he was gone.." It wasn't really an argument - just a minor protest. She didn't quite have the nerve to meet Kora's gaze and flat out say 'no' - she wasn't that sort of kin.
[Trent Brumby] [post around me a moment.]
[Kora] "Paul will understand." Kora responds, with this faint, ghosting smile that does little enough to hide the tension underneath. "If he doesn't, I've made the decision, and I will take the responsibility, answering any challenge he lays at my feet. Ezra is not okay. He held one of your kinswomen against her will," she continues, unflinching, unsparing in the details. "The dispute ended only because the kinswoman was killed by a cursed human. That's reason enough for you to move out."
There is a minute pause, then, before she continues, " - we'll take you to the Brotherhood tonight, unless you prefer to go to Roman and Sparrow's."
[August Grant] Lips pursed just slightly.. and then the young woman sighed. "I would rather go to the Brotherhood again - I don't wish to show up like an unwanted child on Roman and Sparrow's doorstep. I have things I must get from home though.. clothes and the like."
"I had no idea about the kin Erza held. He's never hinted at such.."
[Kora] (Ack! Site stopped refreshing for me.)
"Tomorrow," Kora responds quietly, "I'll take you to retrieve whatever you've left behind. Tonight, we'll take you to the Brotherhood. I'm sure the kin have clothing that you can wear until we've retrieved your things from the abandoned packhouse. We'll leave word for Lila, too. You understand why you need to stay away from him, yes?"
[Kora] Okay: I need to go sleep shortly!
to August Grant, Trent Brumby
[August Grant] "Not exactly. I've lived with him for a few months now without incident.. I understand about the kin before - but he knows I'm Paul's girl.. so, he doesn't try anything funny."
A hand grasped a water on the table and she brought it up for a sip. She grinned just slightly. "All those skinny little kin? Oh.. I don't think they'll have anything that'll fit my fat self.."
[August Grant] (Okies!)
to Kora
[Trent Brumby] Trent returns with some drinks for them all, beer for Kora and himself and some soda with ice for the pregnant woman. He settles back into his chair, quiet as they continue talking, as he catches up to the current topic of conversation. Nothing is offered on his part, since Kora has everything under control and he's missed part of what they're talking about.
He drinks his beer, content to sit back in the air conditioning and be in the so called background while the women have a chat.
[August Grant] "Thank you, Trent.." August adds quietly
[Kora] "You just told me that Paul's gone, and you're alone." There's a certain sharpness to Kora's tone, then. Her first beer is finished, and Trent has brought her a refill. She takes a brief, grateful sip, finishing perhaps half of it before she's lost her taste for it now. "You had such care for your life and your child's life that you ran away from your - mate, or lover, or whatever he was - and came all the way to Chicago, show something of that now." Then, a quick shake of her pale head, as if to clea it of cobwebs. "Look: they'll have maternity clothes. You're not the first person in the Nation to be pregnant. Nor the last."
With that, Kora unfolds herself from the seat she's claimed, and stands, sliding her right hand along Trent's shoulder. When she reaches the back of his head, she pushes her long fingers familiarly through the closely cropped black hair. "Cmon," she tells him. "We'll take the meal to go, yeah?" the question is for the kinsman, quiet, familiar even intimate underneath the tension that infected her tone, which is mirrored, further, in the direct set of her narrow shoulders, in the tension that bleeds through her lean spine. " - I want to give August a ride to the Brotherhood. Make sure she arrives okay, and leave a message for Lila, in case she comes by before I find her.?"
Giving August a ride means: Trent will drive the three of them to the Brotherhood. Kora defers the front seat to the heavily pregnant August, and sits in the back, her mouth watering at the heavy scent of fried fish and french fries that diffuses through the interior from the "to go" pouches wrapped up in British newspapers. The pair remain at the Brotherhood long enough to see August settled back into a room; long enough for Kora to leave a note to Lila, with a promise on Kora's part of a return on the morrow to retrieve August's possessions.
Then, Trent and Kora disappear, back out into the warm, humid night. They don't hold hands like human lovers might. Instead, half-way to the car, Kora bumps Trent with her hip, hooks her left index finger neatly into his waistband and - pulls him along after her.
[Kora] how does that work for an exit? (grins)
to August Grant, Trent Brumby
[August Grant] {Yup! It's good. August would tell Kora not to go into their packhouse.. that it's warded and dangerous for her to so.. but August would agree to get a ride there to get her stuff herself - given that Erza doesn't interfere.. which he may - he is spying on August afterall}
to Kora, Trent Brumby
[August Grant] {Ok guys - thanks for the scene! I have to get to bed.}
to Kora, Trent Brumby
[Kora] (Thanks! night!)
to August Grant, Trent Brumby
[Trent Brumby] [that works, sorry I was on the phone again.]
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