[Kora] " - she's got a mate, you know." It is late evening, and they are sitting on the wide stone steps of the ruined church Kora and Joe found and claimed in the midst of old Eagle territory. The sky is painted smoke-gray and gleaming, the air is hot and humid. It's impossible not to sweat, on a night like this. The portico of the church is still covered, the roof untouched by the fire that blasted through parts of the interior, opening the nave to the sky. All around them: unaccountably, trees, the trashy little scrub things that grow everywhere - the first stage of the long, slow battle to reclaim the mortar and stones, the glass and grounds where human beings once stay in the scattered beams of light cutting throug the high rose windows.
A handful of those stained glass windows are still intact. There's a battered yellow cooler set back on the porch, beer and coke and water inside. Kora is eating an egg salad sandwich - the sort that comes in a clamshell from a gas station - and has a bag of Frito's open between them. It was the second time Roman had told her the story of Imogen's heroism, and she says it - mildly, really, with this generous sidelong look as she finds and holds the young Ragabash's gaze. "Off in the north, someplace."
[Roman Turner] Despite the heat he was in a long sleeved shirt, buttoned all the way up, jeans and his hat that was pulled way down till it shadowed most of the upper half of his face. He sat stiffly, now and then reaching for Frito's in a careful movements. When Kora mentioned Imogen, his head turned towards her.
"I heard. I heard he decided duty somewhere other than this place and his mate was more important to him, otherwise he wouldn't have walked off in the middle of this battle. He would of taken his mate with him instead of leaving her here."
He chewed a moment while looking out towards the street before adding softly.
"I know she thinks of me as a kid. She ain't interested even if I were the last man on the planet. I know this. I ain't entirely stupid."
[Kora] "Hey," her voice is low. The bag of Frito's is between them, and her eyes are on the street, alert for anything that look or feels like trouble. She has nearly a decade on him, and a good handful of inches heightwise, too - but she's beginning to fit herself against his shadow, to find out how they move in concert, in battle and on the street. " - that's not what I meant."
Her voice is low and serious and direct. Her bare arms gleam with sweat. Unlike Roman, Kora is dressed for the heat, in a white ribbed tank top that clings to her narrow torso, and well-fitted jeans, well-worn. There's a moment of stillness, then she scoots two inches closer so that the Frito's are just at her feet, sways across the divide between them, bumping shoulders, some animal reassurance. She's all quiet. "I just wanted to make sure you knew."
Then, another bite of egg-salad on industrial white bread is chewed and swallowed before she continues, casting him a sidelong look in the dying shadows. " - you're gonna burn up like that."
[Kora] Hey! (grins) welcome. The scene is open. Do you have AIM? If so, my name on there is istioname and if you ping me, I'll work to get your chick into the scene.
to Erika Alexander, Roman Turner
[Roman Turner] "Well, it don't make it no easier inside me, but I know these...."
She gently bumped against him and for a moment he went still before pressing back without breathing till he straightened fully.
"Best if I dress this way, heat or no heat."
They ran hotter than humans and he could feel the sweat trickling down his spine making his shirt stick to him.
[Kora] "You should talk to Bleeding Heart," the creature says, her voice low, shading her eyes against the glare of the sun as it sets between a pair of derelict old brick buildings. " - about those, yeah?"
Kora has now finished half of the egg salad sandwich. The second half remains in the plastic packaging. She licks her fingers off, one by one by one, then wipes them carefully on the thighs of her jeans. The leather and hemp bracelets around her wrists pulla against the denim with the gesture. "Might be, she could help you with those. It's better sweating to death." Then, she reaches behind her for the half-empty bottle of beer sweating on the concrete step, nudging the remaining half of the sandwich toward Roman.
" - you want the other half?"
[Roman Turner] "Naw, ain't too hungry, you eat it."
He was nursing a beer, his third so far.
"I was thinking maybe I could use these to the Sept's advantage, maybe infiltrate the Hive cause I got the secret passwords all over me."
[Erika Alexander] A typical citizen wanders down this sleazy district of Chicago, apparently lost. It is written on her face, but instead of the panic of most well-to-do urbanites, this woman of about 30 has the stillness of the jaded. She stands about five-three, small build, with bottle-blonde, short hair intentionally messy. Although on a humid night like such, it would be difficult for anyone to maintain neat hair.
This well-groomed woman searches the numbers on the residences, occasionally going back to her phone to make a call. Oddly enough, she doesn't carry a purse, but she does sport unseasonally warm clothing: a bright blue scarf over a no-fuss white blouse and neat, grey jeans that could pass for office casual.
Traffic passes as she moves between apartment buildings, daring to ask a couple of senior tenants about an address. Being caucasian and obviously not from this part of town, she is met with suspicion. After a while, she seems frustrated and moves along towards an old, disheveled church.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] The small figure of the bleached blond Gnawer appears on the perimeter of the church, wandering the sidewalk as her boots clomp on the cracked pavement. She wobbles from side to side, a heavy nylon book back sagging between her shoulder blades, full to nearly bursting as the bottom of the bag swelled out with its contents. The weight seems to unbalance her a bit as she moves, but it doesn't stop the unnaturally swift gait of Mama Ankle-Biter.
She stops when she sees the pair of Garou, hands cupping over her mouth to call out to Kora and Roman, asking for permission to cross over into what serves as their pack turf. She waits for an answer, "Helloooo.... seek permission to come aboard?"
[Kora] The creature offers a faint, subtle snort and a minute shake of her head. "If I eat the other half, I'll ruin my appetite for dinner." There's a subtle twist of her generous mouth, as she returns the beer bottle to the concrete steps. The light is changing every few minutes, but the air remains close, humid and hot even as the sun sets.
"No." Kora's negation is absolute. " - you know how some of us can sense the hand of the unmaker on people, in things? I'm confident that the cursed ones have a similar gift. They'd sense your breeding, and they'd taste your spirit - they'd pull you apart to make sure you were put together right before you got inside. We'll get them fixed. End of story."
There are two more blondes on the street then. When Mama stops at some invisible boundary in the distance, cupping her mouth and calling out to the pair of them, Kora straightens, wipes the condensation from her hands on her thighs, and lifts her chin by way of invitation. "C'mon in." The gesture is accompanied by a faint wave. Then Kora's gaze glides from the Bone Gnawer toward the other woman, a stranger, too well dressed for the neighborhood, her blood singing a supple song in the night.
"I bet you she's lost." This to Roman, the direction of her gaze suggests she doesn't mean Mama. "Gimme a sec," this is louder, to both Garou, "I'll be right back."
Kora stands up and begins jogging down the front steps of the ruined old church, her booted feet heavy on the concrete risers. Once she hits the sidewalk, she's on a clear intercept course toward Erika.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] She notes Kora's chin lifting in the air, inviting the small Gnawer to cross that invisible boundary and enter the yard. She turns her head, walking forward while watching backwards as Kora runs past her, heading towards the other blond that has also appeared. Seeing as Kora has it under control, the small woman (shorter than Roman) heads up to him, jogging up the pathway to the porch, the bag on her back jiggling loudly as she goes.
"Roman, baby, ya up to no good?" Her nose twitches as she can smell food, blond brows lifting up high on her head, "That edible?"
[Roman Turner] He really didn't like egg salad, he just hadn't told Kora that was why he didn't want the other half. It smelled like farts and if he ate it with the beer, he would make farts that could melt the bricks. Mama turned up, called and Kora invited her up and took off to go talk to some blond woman. So when mama asked about the sandwich he nodded.
"Howdy miss Mama, I'm always up to mischief ma'am."
He touched the brim of his hat giving her a polite nod.
"Ya can have the sandwich, there's drinks in the cooler too. Come sit a spell."
[Erika Alexander] Doesn't hear Kora's approach at first, but when she notices it, Erika turns towards the street. Her face quite clearly reads alarm, and she seems unsure of whether to cross into traffic or let the jogging woman approach.
Erika opts to not play in traffic. She is an adult, after all. Her phone returns to her pocket, and she crosses her arms, waiting for the other to come within range or pass. As she gets closer, she may notice some mottled discoloration on the right side of her face, partially concealed by the scarf and her hair.
Her dark eyes and angular features seem a bit too familiar, a bit too intense. "Yes?" she asks with no trace of accent.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] She offers Roman an easy-going smile. Her hands pulling on the straps of the heavy book bag to peel it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor at her feet. She tilts her head at the sandwich, crinkling up her nose and lifting her head up to sniff the air. Never one to turned down an offer of free food, she curiously approached the plate, eying it like a dog might as it was getting ready to run off with its master's plate.
When Roman offers it to her, she squeals in delight, having no idea what egg salad tastes like and picks up the sandwich. It is scarfed down in two bites, she chews on it heartily for a moment, and then slows down. Eyebrows arching up to stare at Roman in confusion, swallowing a few times.
"What.." swallow... "is this?"
[Roman Turner] "Egg salad. They take eggs, boil 'em up, chop 'em and throw in stuff like mayo and it kind of smells like the pig walla, don't it?"
He grinned, enjoying what he was saying completely. Jean clad legs dangled over the side of the porch and a condensation covered bottle of beer sat next to the youth.
"Just ya wait till later, ya'll get gas that will smell worse than the pig walla on a hot August day."
[Kora] The sky has changed again, no longer blazing - just this smoke-bright color in the sinking west. The shadows are long, and the night is full of the unexpected song of cicadas. There are fireflies, amongst the trashy-greenery growing up around the old church, gleaming in the dusky glow.
The woman approaching Erika is tall and lean - nearly six feet with the chunky heels on those Doc Marten's she wears - and she does not cheat her height. Her pale hair is pulled back and twisted into a messy knot at the nape of her neck, and her pale skin is sheened with sweat. There's a narrow band of braided leather wrapped tightly around her neck, perhaps an inch above the hollow of her throat, and a half-dozen similar bracelets - leather and rope, suede and thread, nothing metal - at either wrist.
She's not well-dressed, but the ribbed tank she wears shows off strong if narrow shoulder, the subtle definition of biceps and triceps in her upper arms. She walks with a sort of animal confidence, but there's nothing particularly aggressive about her posture.
Dark blue eyes and a curving, expressive mouth dominate her features. The eyes are trained on Erika now, a certain intensity to the regard that eases when Kora reads the alarm in the microexpressions around the woman's mouth and eyes.
"I didn't mean to startle you," Kora begins, her voice low, rich. Her eyes remain on Erika's face. " - but you looked lost, yeah?"
[Mama Ankle-Biter] Her cheeks puff out. The color draining from her face as the Ragabash recounts what all goes into the egg salad. She looks like she might be sick for a second. Her stomach growls and churns in protest to whatever Mama has put into it, but the egg salad can't be as bad as the other things the Gnawer puts into her belly, worse things have come out of a dumpster and into her mouth.
She balls up a fist, patting it against her tummy as her nose wrinkles up. She opens up her mouth, releasing a loud, monstrous belch that seems impossible for her to achieve. "Woo..."
Ankle-Biter grins at Roman, "Sucks, had worse," running her tongue across her bottom lip, "Ain't exactly tasty. Anywho... how ya fairing?"
[Erika Alexander] Paying a glance to the dying light, Erika takes a breath and ponders a cigarette. She calms a bit, but still somehow tense. She seems confused, but remembers her mission.
"Ah-- yes. I'm with a group that treats veterans with PTSD. A few of them didn't show, and I'm trying to find them. Where the hell is the 5000 block of South Cherry Street? Please, tell me I'm not way off."
The therapist looks upward towards the amazonian Swede-- as she might guess. Erika doesn't seem intimidated by her height, rather familiar with it. On closer inspection, the odd coloration on the side of her face is an old, pale scar, although it is difficult to tell by the newly lit, grimy-orange skyglow of city light.
[Roman Turner] He waved his hand in front of his face, waving the stench of the belch away from him.
"Dang, ya smell like....something not so good."
He started to pray she didn't fart cause he was sure it would start a fire.
"I think ya just burned my eyebrows clean off. I would of said I was faring fairly well all things considered, then ya done went and released the septic tank of doom on me."
He had been watching Kora with the woman most of the time. It was now he lifted his chin that way.
"Ya know that woman?"
Asking Mama.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] She grins at him, shaking her head as she turns look in the direction of Kora and Erika. "Nope."
The bag not forgotten, she scuttles over to it, crouching down around it and drags it over to Roman, she flops down beside him on the porch, crossing her legs underneath her.
"Brought ya some stuff. Seeing as the Great Trash Heap said to fatten ya up."
[Kora] There's a moment when she's quiet, thinking, considered - trying to place the address on the map in her head, the cross-hatched pattern of derelict streets and run-down apartment buldings, of abandoned brownstones and empty brick storefronts, warehouses echoing and empty - all of it.
Finally, shereplies, "You're a good eight or ten blocks away," Her voice has a certain quiet - music to it. Not lilting, but a low, rich undertone that gives the words resonance, that makes them carry. " - maybe more. I couldn't swear to it, though." Kora's accent is wholly American - the rounded tones of cable newscasts and suburban schools everywhere. Her mouth is curved in its most neutral position, but now it twists faintly at the corners in response to some half-hidden thought.
"That's a long walk through a bad neighborhood, though," her gaze lingers on the planes of Erika's face, " - and I wouldn't be doing right by your blood-kin if I left you to wander lost in a neighborhood like this one." The dark eyes, color lost as dusk descends to night, remain fixed on Erika. There's a minute, watchful pause - as Kora examines the kinwoman for the faint flicker of recognition at the archaic euphemisms. "Especially since it's my territory."
[Roman Turner] "Ya know, I think everyone took that wrong. I think the spirit was just noting I was smaller than some. I got a long way to grow still. Besides, what good is a fat Ragabash? What am I suppose ta do, roll over my enemies?"
He did wonder what she had, but at that moment he was busy sweating like a pig and eating wasn't exactly something he wanted to do.
"Tell ya what, have a beer with me. It's fattening and ya need fuel for your tooting."
[Erika Alexander] The delicate internal workings of mortals are often like ships on the ocean. Sometimes, they go right through the worst of the storm without so much as noticing a wave. Other times, however, the slightest bit of chaos could sometimes sink the ship. Something sank in the pit of Erika's stomach, a chill going down her spine. It's been years since anyone has recognized her, and already.... it seems she's been found.
The woman goes wide-eyed for a moment, then sighs, nodding. "Right. I didn't think anyone would be this far into the city. Thank you.... and I hope I'm not intruding?"
[Mama Ankle-Biter] "Beer?"
She tilts her head at him, staring at Roman with all the curiosity of a animal would at a human. She looks around, her eyes finally falling down to the bottle beside him and she sniffles. Her head bobs in a frenzied shake, upsetting the frizzy halo of blond curls from around her shoulders, causing it to collapse into her eyes.
"Stuffs nasty, puts hair on ya chest and tastes like a urinal." She drags the bag over to her side, fingers running along the zippers to peel it open and parts the metal teeth to look inside. "Didn't really bring anything food wise. Got some stuff that Sean left me that Mama can't really use anymore. But... maybe ya can, also brought along more gnosis water for ya and Kora to use. Kinda Mama's way of saying thanks for the help."
[Roman Turner] ((Ha, got the washer going!))
to Erika Alexander, Kora, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Roman Turner] "Ya don't need to thank me Mama. Ya fought side by side with me, that's all that matters. It don't come with no price tag but ya can tell me who's Sean?"
He reached for the bottle, taking a long swig. His goal was to stay as numbed up as he could and at the rate he burned up calories and alcohol, it wore off pretty fast.
[Kora] "You're not intruding." This part is quiet; it is not meant as empty reassurance. Kora misses little in the world around her. Certainly, she doesn't miss the subtle twist of alarm across the woman's face, the way her eyes widen, the way she goes still, just so - "C'mon."
That part, the last bit - c'mon - that could be an order, it could be an invitation. Either way, it's monosyllabic and difficult to read. Kora hasn't removed her hands from her front pockets, and just stands there, easy and physically confident. Except for the rage, she could be a college student - a graduate student, maybe - somewhere in her early to mid twenties. She's lost the curves of babyfat in her cheeks and under her jaw.
The creature stands there a moment, waiting for Erika to join her, then walks alongside her, headed back toward the steps of the ruined church. As they walk, Kora explains in a quiet, careful voice. "There's a - well, there's a Sept here, yeah?" Maybe the kinswoman doesn't know the word, so she clarifies, "A protecterate. You'll find a small number of us in the city. My name's Kora."
'
[Mama Ankle-Biter] She fishes out a bottle of water from the bag, twisting the cap as the seal breaks and looks at Roman curiously. Head tilts back as the bottle touches her mouth and she gulps it down, washing away the last bit of egg salad. Her throat ripples with each swallow.
She sighs, "Sean's Mama's..." a pause, narrowing her eyes as she searches for the right word, "Kin. He's some lost kin she done found, has money and fancy place to live and fast cars. Does some kind of security work, or is a big man or something for some kind national security place."
[Erika Alexander] Erika nods and follows, besides she didn't really have a reason to refuse her command/invitation. Somewhere midway between this location and the church, she remembers to introduce herself. Perhaps the heat is distracting her, or her own stubborn head.
"Oh, My name is Erika." She volunteers nothing else, seemingly distracted, not intentionally rude. She's seen many patients lately between her own age and Kora's, but she still seems a bit on-edge.
[Roman Turner] "Ya talk like he's done run off or vanished."
He was still watching Kora and the woman intently from beneath the brim of the stetson even as he spoke with mama.
"Dang, I'm sweatin like a pig."
He tugged at the neck of his shirt.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] There is a roll of the Gnawer's eyes as she grins at Roman. "Ain't done run off. He's found. Ya don't know what a lost kin is?"
She tilts her head, her eyes swimming across the neighborhood settling on Kora and Erika as they head over, "Lost kin kinda like lost cubs... ones don't know their own history, or they's related to us."
[Kora] They walk in not-quite-tandem. Kora has a long-legged stride, used to walking longdistances - ground-devouring - but this is a summer evening full of heat and humidity. There's a half-digested egg salad sandwich in her stomach, and half a beer buzzing pleasantly through her veins. She can walk more slowly. She can accommodate the kin; and so she thinks about it, and they walk, mostly silent except for the briefly exchanged introductions half-way up to the steps.
Well, and this - "If you're knew to the city, you'll want to be in contact with your cousins. I don't have a number, but you can check in at the Brotherhood of Thieves and leave her a message." - half-way to the bottom of the steps.
--
There's Roman and Mama sitting on the porch, at the top of the steps. Behind them, the double-doors of the old ruin are intact. Above the doors: a rose window, huge and round, washed in ugly orange light now that the sun has set, gleaming like a dead eye. In sunlight, it is brilliant. There's a cooler, and an open bag of Frito's, and a mismatched couple of kids in Mama and Roman, the former in her patchwork finery, the latter in his Stetson and long-sleeved buttoned-up shirt, despit the heaviness of the heat in the air.
"Erika, this is Mama Ankle-Biter and Roman Turner. Folks, this is Erika," a faint pause, a sideswept glance. " - one of Kate's."
[Mama Ankle-Biter] Patchwork finery, indeed. Mama Ankle-Biter was a short, frizzy-haired bleach blond that wore a mismatch of short-skirted summer dresses and stockings fished out of the bottom of a bin at the local Goodwill. She wore thick knee-high socks over the bright pink stockings, tucked into a pair of worn black boots that have seen much abuse over time. A black knit cap was pulled down low over her ears.
She waves a hand to Erika, tilting her head up in a small nod and grins - all sweet and friendly like, "Hello."
[Roman Turner] "What? No."
He shook his head looking at mama again.
"Ya said it was some stuff Sean left ya that ya couldn't use anymore. Left means he is no longer there. That's why I asked what happened to him."
Kora introduced the woman when they drew close enough and Roman stiffly pushed himself to his feet to touch the brim of his hat, speaking.
"Howdy Miss Erika, pleased ta meetcha."
He was polite as could be, his youth somewhat hidden beneath the hat and growing dark.
[Roman Turner] ((Ok kids, I gotta go to bed. I would like to stay, but two nights in a row of all night gaming and a 4am start in the morning makes this boy late for bed.))
to Erika Alexander, Kora, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Roman Turner] "If you ladies will excuse me? Though it pains me to leave such beautiful company, I'm afraid I got a powerful need to spend a little time reading."
More like he had to do a sit down and that involved a magazine to give him something to do while sitting on the pot.
[Erika Alexander] Follows the long-legged amazonian woman, managing to keep up on her own. She has a long stride as well for her height, like any typical urbanite. She appears overdressed and sweltering in the heat. Most of what Kora said was lost on her. She had no idea what this Brotherhood is, or who the hell Kate might be, but assumed it would be explained in time.
"I'm not here with anyone," she mentions after Kora says something about the cousins.
Erika smiles at the young man, then at the other amiable blonde woman who waved at her. "Hello. Ah... who's Kate?"
The dizzying heat crawls under her skin, and so Erika loosens the blue scarf around her neck and unbuttons her blouse a bit until her simple undershirt shows. Her brow arches at the younger man while he goes to leave, smiling a bit.
[Kora] "See you later tonight, yeah?" This is both Kora's greeting to and farewell to Roman, as the young Ragabash stands - stiffly - in his sweltering clothes and makes his excuses.
[Victor Oseragighte] Tracking his Alpha down is not terribly difficult, though it does take him into new territory. He calls to her again mentally, searching for her as he walks the streets, still riding high on their undeniable victory over a superior foe the previous evening.
[Roman Turner] "Yessum."
He answered Kora's question. Then with a touch to the brim of his hat, he winked at mama before stiffly heading inside.
((thanks for the play guys, I would stick around but it is late for me with work so early Night))
[Erika Alexander] ((If I dc I'll be right back))
[Mama Ankle-Biter] The Gnawer snorts out loud at Roman's display of gentlemanly courtesy. She rolls her eyes up at the sky, grinning from ear to ear. Her head tilts as she watches Kora speak to Erika. She waggles her fingers at Roman as he scuttles off to do what needs to be done.
She kicks her legs out from under her, swinging them from side to side as she takes a couple more swallows from the bottle of water. She notes the way the kin seems to swelter in the heat and dives back into the heavy book bag she lugged along with her to fish out another bottle of water and offers it up to Erika.
"Victor's about." She murmurs, more to herself than anyone. She stares off into the distance, her thoughts pulled elsewhere, fluttering quickly over a totem link as she touches thoughts with the Wendigo, planting a direction inside his brain so he may find her easier. Images of the ruins that she sits under flashing in his mind.
[Kora] There's a certain quiet at the base of the steps of the church. The place is large, all stacked stone and concrete, one of those human monuments to an inhuman god. And it is falling apart, the grounds are overgrown, locust and princess trees shoot up from the grounds, morning glories and Virginia creeper vining around them. The sound of insects, the subtle glow - here and there - of fireflies in the overgrown weeds.
Kora watches as Roman disappears inside - climbing through a broken window rather than opening the heavy wooden doors - then drops her gaze to Mama Ankle-Biter. "We need to do something about those scars." Her voice is low, with a subtle flare of her nostrils at the end. "He was talking about trying to infiltrate the Hive. And he can't be seen in public with them. I told him to speak with Bleeding Heart-rhya about it, but if there's anything you can think of - "
Then, back to Erika, this slantwise look as they stand nearly shoulder to shoulder. It is darker here, too - green shadows, the rustling of the trees. The lights from the streetlamp are diffused by the trees, and there's nothing on inside to dispel the gloom. "Kate's your elder. Your guardian in the city." A pause, considered, then the faintest of frowns marring her brow. " - you know what you are, right?"
[Mama Ankle-Biter] The small Gnawer is easily pulled back to earth by Kora's words. She finishes off the water, recapping the bottle and tosses it back into the bag. She keeps the second unopened one in hand for Erika to take when the kin wanted it. Her tongue darting out to lick across her bottom lip, tasting the remnants of plastic and sweat and water.
She knew what the Fenrir was talking about. "Imagine Roman told ya the story about what happened the other night. He rode a Great Trash Heap spirit like it was a mechanical bull sitting on its shoulder just waiting for that damnable Spiral Adren to come bust his way back out. Nearly kilt the boy."
She wrinkles up her nose, sniffling, "Can see what Mama can do, ain't ever known them to mark others like that. Have a bit of knowing about Wyrmie things... have to check Roman out, part of the reason to come here."
[Erika Alexander] The quiet stillness of the church gives her solace. She gladly takes the water and consumes it on the spot, not aware until that moment how thirsty she is. For the last few hours, she's been roaming all the wrong sides of town for the shell shocked vets who missed their appointments and needed checking in on... She forgot completely of her own needs.
When Kora speaks to her, she listens and has a seat on the steps. She nods and laughs, tilting the right side of her face towards her so she could get a better look at the scars on the side of her face and neck. They aren't horrible, just old pale scars.
Her laughter isn't really bitter, just somehow empty, ironic. She smiles at Kora. "Yes, my kid brother had his first change when we were teenagers."
[Victor Oseragighte] Directions help considerably, and he makes his way swiftly along toward the church now, curious as to what he will find there. It was evident anyhow that she was well enough off, from what he felt.
Arriving, he does not enter immediately but pauses to look up at the structure, whistling to himself. This place... could be a blast. For somebody like himself especially.
But Mama is inside, and there he heads, by the swiftest route possible. Okay, the swiftest route that maybe lets him get a little climbing in.
[Kora] "Not the whole of it," this to Mama Ankle-Biter. The story of the night before, "I've had it in bits and pieces, and you can't miss the scars. I'm sure I'll get the whole of it later." The faint curve of her mouth, a half-hidden smile. " - maybe next time I get him drunk." Kora lifts her chin in the direction of the church, into which Roman disappeared. "If he doesn't make it back out before you leave, I'll tell him to look for you, too."
The Fenrir wouldn't hide from a battlescar, but the tormented glyphs burned into the young Ragabash's skin are hardly a battlescar. Her brows furrow, then - the spark of a question in her eyes - "did anyone do a Rite of Cleansing on him? After."
Then Erika tilts her head, the pale threads of old scars catch the ambient light, gleam against her skin. Kora cuts another look, not sidelong this time, tracing the old lines with the flicker of her eyes. Her dark eyes catch the light as she flicks a look from the scars to the kinswoman's eyes. Erika's laughter pulls the edge of a generous half-smile back into the line of Kora's mouth. "I didn't think that your people would lose track of their kin," her narrow shoulders twist into a expressive little shrug, " - but stranger things have happened."
She offers this with a fervent sort of invocation that makes it rather more than the cliche at the heart of the phrase.
"The Brotherhood's a brewpub, run by kin. It's an easy way to get a message to your tribe that you're in town."
--
Victor will find the trio sitting on the exterior steps. Or rather, he'll find his Alpha perched at the top of the steps, Erika and Kora staning below. When he arrives, looking up at the ruin, Kora cuts him a look back over her shoulder, dark-eyed, watchful. "Victor," by way of greeting. A lift of her chin toward the kinswoman beside her. "Erika."
[Mama Ankle-Biter] A shiver passes over the small woman, her hands pull up, arms crossing over the flat expanse of her chest to rest hands on her arms, she rubs them up and down as the cooler breeze of evening starts to settle in, chasing away the heat of a sweltering summer afternoon. She can feel the presence of her pack, grins widely at the Wendigo and extends her arms out, waving hands to snare his attention as she hoots at him.
To Kora - "Performed the rite of cleansing mahself, we did the whole scrap yard just to be safe. And a bit surprised he didn't tell ya the whole story, seems like Roman loves to talk." It is still a fresh memory in the back of her mind, the way they had dispatched the spirals, the exertion of her energies to control the spirits, to see aid from those that would help... to summon the god damn totem of the Great Trash Heap! (Whoops!) She lets it all tumble over in her mind.
"Wouldn't want to bear scars like that on the boy, not when some stupid ijit of a Gaian could mistake him for a Spiral and kilt him on sight."
[Erika Alexander] She listens, and thanks the other blonde for the water. When it is appropriate for her to interject, she merely replies quietly. "It's a bit difficult to get your Masters halfway across the country with children. I spent a lot of time with some cousins at Columbia, but largely I think Nikolas feels guilty."
Erika tenses again when Victor is introduced. She hadn't heard a thing... then again she didn't hear well out of one ear. She watches the dark for a figure, but doesn't spot him. Instead, she sits and watches the oddly-dressed blonde woman. "Maybe I could help. Those cases are... kind of my specialty."
[Kora] The flash of Kora's teeth, white in the darkness - as she offers a brief but full-throated laugh to Erika. There's something ironic, wholly self-aware about the way her mouth curves as she glances at the kinswoman. "I'm sorry; I wasn't clear. I wasn't suggesting that you were lost - I - I meant, I was relieved that you knew what the hell I was talking about. Listen, I'll buy you a beer sometime to make up for it."
Then Mama; Kora just listens to Mama, all traces of mirth disappearing from her fine features, the wide mouth and gleaming eyes. She nods once, when the theurge notes that she performed the rite of cleansing herself, and then offers a faint huff of affirmation when she says she wouldn't want scars like that. Kora apparently agrees, and she does so silently, standing in the warm summer evening. The church is dark, but she ips her head back, her pale hair nearly uncoiling down her back, picking out the shadow of the belltower against the night sky.
"What's your Master's in?" This is to Erika, without a downward glance. Kora's eyes linger on the belltower, the shadow against the darkness, the orange sky beyond.
[Victor Oseragighte] (( Darn it, it lost my post. ))
Victor arrives out of the darkness, fluid and silent, pausing at the acknowledgement and nodding his head in return. There'sa conversation on, though, so he does not interrupt further yet, merely moving to settle on the steps by his Alpha and smile to her briefly.
[Erika Alexander] ((That sucks, sorry man))
[Erika Alexander] "Psychiatry," she says. "My specialization is with rape and trauma victims. The clients I'm looking for right now are Afghan-Iraqi conflict vets."
Erika searches for such a shadow, but doesn't spot Victor until he emerges from the dark. Satisfied, she then relaxes a bit and allows conversation to flow around her.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] (kicks the refresh button!)
[Kora] "These scars we're discussing," at last Kora looks down from the belltower, all the way down to Erika, " - are pretty manifestly physical." Her smile is like a sickle, this supple, elegant little hook-curve, neat and clean. There's a hint of light over the surface of her eyes, reflection from the skin, the gleam of something inside the church. " - but I appreciate the offer."
[Kora] (I need to crawl off to bed folks, so I'm about to post out. Kora will come back to walk Erika back to her car, or whereever, though!)
to Erika Alexander, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Mama Ankle-Biter] She is silent for a moment, tapping fingers across her chin as her arms remain folded across her chest. It is easy to see that she's thinking on them scars. "Gimme some time to see what can dig up on removing them scars. Make sure he keeps them hidden if possible. Don't want the others to see it. Need to speak to the Rite's Mistress and see if she can help."
She starts to stand up, glancing down at the bag. She retrieves another bottle of water for herself, then shuffles the bag in Kora's direction. "There's some normal water bottles in there. And some glowy blue ones... like a six pack of it. It's gnosis water, thought I'd bring some along for ya and Roman."
She makes her way down the stairs, waiting for Victor to join her before making her leave.
[Victor Oseragighte] (( Sorry I could not get in earlier. ))
to Erika Alexander, Kora, Mama Ankle-Biter
[Kora] (Well, maybe Victor and Mama can walk Erika to her car? I didn't mean to end the scene!)
to Erika Alexander, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Victor Oseragighte] Roman's scars. It had to be. He remembered them all too well, a final spiteful act from the leader of the Spiral pack before he fell beneath their righteous anger. Victor wonders what Mama has in mind for them, as they surely needed curing.
[Erika Alexander] ((Whats going on and why is Erika being pawned off to a car she doesn't own? She's proper city dweller and doesn't own a car.))
to Kora, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Kora] (I'm heading to sleep. I didn't want to end the scene for you all, but they are on the steps of Kora's packhouse! So: y'all can hang out on the steps, just fine with me, or walk - someplace. Or stop! ack. Sorry, I really need to sleep! Is too late already!)
to Erika Alexander, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Erika Alexander] ((Okay, she'll leave if they all go inside. Bye, Kora.))
to Kora, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Victor Oseragighte] (( 'night, and I think Mama and Victor can stay to talk to her for a bit yet. ))
to Erika Alexander, Kora, Mama Ankle-Biter
[Kora] Victor arrives, and Kora's dark eyes trace over the Wendigo quietly. She is still standing, her hands in her pockets, her shoulders back. There's a cooler on the porch, and a half-eaten bag of Frito's on the steps. The night sky above is clear - somewhere beyond the light pollution - but there's a haze in the air around the streetlamps from the humidity in the air.
The look drops to Mama then, a glance at the bag where the bottles of water. Both pale brows rise in passing surprise. There's a moment when Kora is not wholly sure what to do, but then she snags the handles and lifts up the bag, feeling the weight of the water bottles inside. The flicker of her gaze over Mama is quiet and serious, is still - " - thanks." she says, with some feeling, then lifts the bag by way of explanation. " - on both points."
The water and the discussion of the scars.
Before Erika leaves, Kora scrawls a phone number on the back of a business card for a local pizza place. Tells her that she's welcome in the territory, asks her to give a call sometime. Victor and Mama are left on the steps of the church with a vague gesture toward the cooler where a beer and a coke or two remain. "Help yourselves, yeah? I have some business," a glance upwards again, the bag swinging against her thigh, " - upstairs."
If they look, they can see the winging shadow of a bird against the darkness of the night.
[Kora] (night guys! thanks for the scene!)
A handful of those stained glass windows are still intact. There's a battered yellow cooler set back on the porch, beer and coke and water inside. Kora is eating an egg salad sandwich - the sort that comes in a clamshell from a gas station - and has a bag of Frito's open between them. It was the second time Roman had told her the story of Imogen's heroism, and she says it - mildly, really, with this generous sidelong look as she finds and holds the young Ragabash's gaze. "Off in the north, someplace."
[Roman Turner] Despite the heat he was in a long sleeved shirt, buttoned all the way up, jeans and his hat that was pulled way down till it shadowed most of the upper half of his face. He sat stiffly, now and then reaching for Frito's in a careful movements. When Kora mentioned Imogen, his head turned towards her.
"I heard. I heard he decided duty somewhere other than this place and his mate was more important to him, otherwise he wouldn't have walked off in the middle of this battle. He would of taken his mate with him instead of leaving her here."
He chewed a moment while looking out towards the street before adding softly.
"I know she thinks of me as a kid. She ain't interested even if I were the last man on the planet. I know this. I ain't entirely stupid."
[Kora] "Hey," her voice is low. The bag of Frito's is between them, and her eyes are on the street, alert for anything that look or feels like trouble. She has nearly a decade on him, and a good handful of inches heightwise, too - but she's beginning to fit herself against his shadow, to find out how they move in concert, in battle and on the street. " - that's not what I meant."
Her voice is low and serious and direct. Her bare arms gleam with sweat. Unlike Roman, Kora is dressed for the heat, in a white ribbed tank top that clings to her narrow torso, and well-fitted jeans, well-worn. There's a moment of stillness, then she scoots two inches closer so that the Frito's are just at her feet, sways across the divide between them, bumping shoulders, some animal reassurance. She's all quiet. "I just wanted to make sure you knew."
Then, another bite of egg-salad on industrial white bread is chewed and swallowed before she continues, casting him a sidelong look in the dying shadows. " - you're gonna burn up like that."
[Kora] Hey! (grins) welcome. The scene is open. Do you have AIM? If so, my name on there is istioname and if you ping me, I'll work to get your chick into the scene.
to Erika Alexander, Roman Turner
[Roman Turner] "Well, it don't make it no easier inside me, but I know these...."
She gently bumped against him and for a moment he went still before pressing back without breathing till he straightened fully.
"Best if I dress this way, heat or no heat."
They ran hotter than humans and he could feel the sweat trickling down his spine making his shirt stick to him.
[Kora] "You should talk to Bleeding Heart," the creature says, her voice low, shading her eyes against the glare of the sun as it sets between a pair of derelict old brick buildings. " - about those, yeah?"
Kora has now finished half of the egg salad sandwich. The second half remains in the plastic packaging. She licks her fingers off, one by one by one, then wipes them carefully on the thighs of her jeans. The leather and hemp bracelets around her wrists pulla against the denim with the gesture. "Might be, she could help you with those. It's better sweating to death." Then, she reaches behind her for the half-empty bottle of beer sweating on the concrete step, nudging the remaining half of the sandwich toward Roman.
" - you want the other half?"
[Roman Turner] "Naw, ain't too hungry, you eat it."
He was nursing a beer, his third so far.
"I was thinking maybe I could use these to the Sept's advantage, maybe infiltrate the Hive cause I got the secret passwords all over me."
[Erika Alexander] A typical citizen wanders down this sleazy district of Chicago, apparently lost. It is written on her face, but instead of the panic of most well-to-do urbanites, this woman of about 30 has the stillness of the jaded. She stands about five-three, small build, with bottle-blonde, short hair intentionally messy. Although on a humid night like such, it would be difficult for anyone to maintain neat hair.
This well-groomed woman searches the numbers on the residences, occasionally going back to her phone to make a call. Oddly enough, she doesn't carry a purse, but she does sport unseasonally warm clothing: a bright blue scarf over a no-fuss white blouse and neat, grey jeans that could pass for office casual.
Traffic passes as she moves between apartment buildings, daring to ask a couple of senior tenants about an address. Being caucasian and obviously not from this part of town, she is met with suspicion. After a while, she seems frustrated and moves along towards an old, disheveled church.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] The small figure of the bleached blond Gnawer appears on the perimeter of the church, wandering the sidewalk as her boots clomp on the cracked pavement. She wobbles from side to side, a heavy nylon book back sagging between her shoulder blades, full to nearly bursting as the bottom of the bag swelled out with its contents. The weight seems to unbalance her a bit as she moves, but it doesn't stop the unnaturally swift gait of Mama Ankle-Biter.
She stops when she sees the pair of Garou, hands cupping over her mouth to call out to Kora and Roman, asking for permission to cross over into what serves as their pack turf. She waits for an answer, "Helloooo.... seek permission to come aboard?"
[Kora] The creature offers a faint, subtle snort and a minute shake of her head. "If I eat the other half, I'll ruin my appetite for dinner." There's a subtle twist of her generous mouth, as she returns the beer bottle to the concrete steps. The light is changing every few minutes, but the air remains close, humid and hot even as the sun sets.
"No." Kora's negation is absolute. " - you know how some of us can sense the hand of the unmaker on people, in things? I'm confident that the cursed ones have a similar gift. They'd sense your breeding, and they'd taste your spirit - they'd pull you apart to make sure you were put together right before you got inside. We'll get them fixed. End of story."
There are two more blondes on the street then. When Mama stops at some invisible boundary in the distance, cupping her mouth and calling out to the pair of them, Kora straightens, wipes the condensation from her hands on her thighs, and lifts her chin by way of invitation. "C'mon in." The gesture is accompanied by a faint wave. Then Kora's gaze glides from the Bone Gnawer toward the other woman, a stranger, too well dressed for the neighborhood, her blood singing a supple song in the night.
"I bet you she's lost." This to Roman, the direction of her gaze suggests she doesn't mean Mama. "Gimme a sec," this is louder, to both Garou, "I'll be right back."
Kora stands up and begins jogging down the front steps of the ruined old church, her booted feet heavy on the concrete risers. Once she hits the sidewalk, she's on a clear intercept course toward Erika.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] She notes Kora's chin lifting in the air, inviting the small Gnawer to cross that invisible boundary and enter the yard. She turns her head, walking forward while watching backwards as Kora runs past her, heading towards the other blond that has also appeared. Seeing as Kora has it under control, the small woman (shorter than Roman) heads up to him, jogging up the pathway to the porch, the bag on her back jiggling loudly as she goes.
"Roman, baby, ya up to no good?" Her nose twitches as she can smell food, blond brows lifting up high on her head, "That edible?"
[Roman Turner] He really didn't like egg salad, he just hadn't told Kora that was why he didn't want the other half. It smelled like farts and if he ate it with the beer, he would make farts that could melt the bricks. Mama turned up, called and Kora invited her up and took off to go talk to some blond woman. So when mama asked about the sandwich he nodded.
"Howdy miss Mama, I'm always up to mischief ma'am."
He touched the brim of his hat giving her a polite nod.
"Ya can have the sandwich, there's drinks in the cooler too. Come sit a spell."
[Erika Alexander] Doesn't hear Kora's approach at first, but when she notices it, Erika turns towards the street. Her face quite clearly reads alarm, and she seems unsure of whether to cross into traffic or let the jogging woman approach.
Erika opts to not play in traffic. She is an adult, after all. Her phone returns to her pocket, and she crosses her arms, waiting for the other to come within range or pass. As she gets closer, she may notice some mottled discoloration on the right side of her face, partially concealed by the scarf and her hair.
Her dark eyes and angular features seem a bit too familiar, a bit too intense. "Yes?" she asks with no trace of accent.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] She offers Roman an easy-going smile. Her hands pulling on the straps of the heavy book bag to peel it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor at her feet. She tilts her head at the sandwich, crinkling up her nose and lifting her head up to sniff the air. Never one to turned down an offer of free food, she curiously approached the plate, eying it like a dog might as it was getting ready to run off with its master's plate.
When Roman offers it to her, she squeals in delight, having no idea what egg salad tastes like and picks up the sandwich. It is scarfed down in two bites, she chews on it heartily for a moment, and then slows down. Eyebrows arching up to stare at Roman in confusion, swallowing a few times.
"What.." swallow... "is this?"
[Roman Turner] "Egg salad. They take eggs, boil 'em up, chop 'em and throw in stuff like mayo and it kind of smells like the pig walla, don't it?"
He grinned, enjoying what he was saying completely. Jean clad legs dangled over the side of the porch and a condensation covered bottle of beer sat next to the youth.
"Just ya wait till later, ya'll get gas that will smell worse than the pig walla on a hot August day."
[Kora] The sky has changed again, no longer blazing - just this smoke-bright color in the sinking west. The shadows are long, and the night is full of the unexpected song of cicadas. There are fireflies, amongst the trashy-greenery growing up around the old church, gleaming in the dusky glow.
The woman approaching Erika is tall and lean - nearly six feet with the chunky heels on those Doc Marten's she wears - and she does not cheat her height. Her pale hair is pulled back and twisted into a messy knot at the nape of her neck, and her pale skin is sheened with sweat. There's a narrow band of braided leather wrapped tightly around her neck, perhaps an inch above the hollow of her throat, and a half-dozen similar bracelets - leather and rope, suede and thread, nothing metal - at either wrist.
She's not well-dressed, but the ribbed tank she wears shows off strong if narrow shoulder, the subtle definition of biceps and triceps in her upper arms. She walks with a sort of animal confidence, but there's nothing particularly aggressive about her posture.
Dark blue eyes and a curving, expressive mouth dominate her features. The eyes are trained on Erika now, a certain intensity to the regard that eases when Kora reads the alarm in the microexpressions around the woman's mouth and eyes.
"I didn't mean to startle you," Kora begins, her voice low, rich. Her eyes remain on Erika's face. " - but you looked lost, yeah?"
[Mama Ankle-Biter] Her cheeks puff out. The color draining from her face as the Ragabash recounts what all goes into the egg salad. She looks like she might be sick for a second. Her stomach growls and churns in protest to whatever Mama has put into it, but the egg salad can't be as bad as the other things the Gnawer puts into her belly, worse things have come out of a dumpster and into her mouth.
She balls up a fist, patting it against her tummy as her nose wrinkles up. She opens up her mouth, releasing a loud, monstrous belch that seems impossible for her to achieve. "Woo..."
Ankle-Biter grins at Roman, "Sucks, had worse," running her tongue across her bottom lip, "Ain't exactly tasty. Anywho... how ya fairing?"
[Erika Alexander] Paying a glance to the dying light, Erika takes a breath and ponders a cigarette. She calms a bit, but still somehow tense. She seems confused, but remembers her mission.
"Ah-- yes. I'm with a group that treats veterans with PTSD. A few of them didn't show, and I'm trying to find them. Where the hell is the 5000 block of South Cherry Street? Please, tell me I'm not way off."
The therapist looks upward towards the amazonian Swede-- as she might guess. Erika doesn't seem intimidated by her height, rather familiar with it. On closer inspection, the odd coloration on the side of her face is an old, pale scar, although it is difficult to tell by the newly lit, grimy-orange skyglow of city light.
[Roman Turner] He waved his hand in front of his face, waving the stench of the belch away from him.
"Dang, ya smell like....something not so good."
He started to pray she didn't fart cause he was sure it would start a fire.
"I think ya just burned my eyebrows clean off. I would of said I was faring fairly well all things considered, then ya done went and released the septic tank of doom on me."
He had been watching Kora with the woman most of the time. It was now he lifted his chin that way.
"Ya know that woman?"
Asking Mama.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] She grins at him, shaking her head as she turns look in the direction of Kora and Erika. "Nope."
The bag not forgotten, she scuttles over to it, crouching down around it and drags it over to Roman, she flops down beside him on the porch, crossing her legs underneath her.
"Brought ya some stuff. Seeing as the Great Trash Heap said to fatten ya up."
[Kora] There's a moment when she's quiet, thinking, considered - trying to place the address on the map in her head, the cross-hatched pattern of derelict streets and run-down apartment buldings, of abandoned brownstones and empty brick storefronts, warehouses echoing and empty - all of it.
Finally, shereplies, "You're a good eight or ten blocks away," Her voice has a certain quiet - music to it. Not lilting, but a low, rich undertone that gives the words resonance, that makes them carry. " - maybe more. I couldn't swear to it, though." Kora's accent is wholly American - the rounded tones of cable newscasts and suburban schools everywhere. Her mouth is curved in its most neutral position, but now it twists faintly at the corners in response to some half-hidden thought.
"That's a long walk through a bad neighborhood, though," her gaze lingers on the planes of Erika's face, " - and I wouldn't be doing right by your blood-kin if I left you to wander lost in a neighborhood like this one." The dark eyes, color lost as dusk descends to night, remain fixed on Erika. There's a minute, watchful pause - as Kora examines the kinwoman for the faint flicker of recognition at the archaic euphemisms. "Especially since it's my territory."
[Roman Turner] "Ya know, I think everyone took that wrong. I think the spirit was just noting I was smaller than some. I got a long way to grow still. Besides, what good is a fat Ragabash? What am I suppose ta do, roll over my enemies?"
He did wonder what she had, but at that moment he was busy sweating like a pig and eating wasn't exactly something he wanted to do.
"Tell ya what, have a beer with me. It's fattening and ya need fuel for your tooting."
[Erika Alexander] The delicate internal workings of mortals are often like ships on the ocean. Sometimes, they go right through the worst of the storm without so much as noticing a wave. Other times, however, the slightest bit of chaos could sometimes sink the ship. Something sank in the pit of Erika's stomach, a chill going down her spine. It's been years since anyone has recognized her, and already.... it seems she's been found.
The woman goes wide-eyed for a moment, then sighs, nodding. "Right. I didn't think anyone would be this far into the city. Thank you.... and I hope I'm not intruding?"
[Mama Ankle-Biter] "Beer?"
She tilts her head at him, staring at Roman with all the curiosity of a animal would at a human. She looks around, her eyes finally falling down to the bottle beside him and she sniffles. Her head bobs in a frenzied shake, upsetting the frizzy halo of blond curls from around her shoulders, causing it to collapse into her eyes.
"Stuffs nasty, puts hair on ya chest and tastes like a urinal." She drags the bag over to her side, fingers running along the zippers to peel it open and parts the metal teeth to look inside. "Didn't really bring anything food wise. Got some stuff that Sean left me that Mama can't really use anymore. But... maybe ya can, also brought along more gnosis water for ya and Kora to use. Kinda Mama's way of saying thanks for the help."
[Roman Turner] ((Ha, got the washer going!))
to Erika Alexander, Kora, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Roman Turner] "Ya don't need to thank me Mama. Ya fought side by side with me, that's all that matters. It don't come with no price tag but ya can tell me who's Sean?"
He reached for the bottle, taking a long swig. His goal was to stay as numbed up as he could and at the rate he burned up calories and alcohol, it wore off pretty fast.
[Kora] "You're not intruding." This part is quiet; it is not meant as empty reassurance. Kora misses little in the world around her. Certainly, she doesn't miss the subtle twist of alarm across the woman's face, the way her eyes widen, the way she goes still, just so - "C'mon."
That part, the last bit - c'mon - that could be an order, it could be an invitation. Either way, it's monosyllabic and difficult to read. Kora hasn't removed her hands from her front pockets, and just stands there, easy and physically confident. Except for the rage, she could be a college student - a graduate student, maybe - somewhere in her early to mid twenties. She's lost the curves of babyfat in her cheeks and under her jaw.
The creature stands there a moment, waiting for Erika to join her, then walks alongside her, headed back toward the steps of the ruined church. As they walk, Kora explains in a quiet, careful voice. "There's a - well, there's a Sept here, yeah?" Maybe the kinswoman doesn't know the word, so she clarifies, "A protecterate. You'll find a small number of us in the city. My name's Kora."
'
[Mama Ankle-Biter] She fishes out a bottle of water from the bag, twisting the cap as the seal breaks and looks at Roman curiously. Head tilts back as the bottle touches her mouth and she gulps it down, washing away the last bit of egg salad. Her throat ripples with each swallow.
She sighs, "Sean's Mama's..." a pause, narrowing her eyes as she searches for the right word, "Kin. He's some lost kin she done found, has money and fancy place to live and fast cars. Does some kind of security work, or is a big man or something for some kind national security place."
[Erika Alexander] Erika nods and follows, besides she didn't really have a reason to refuse her command/invitation. Somewhere midway between this location and the church, she remembers to introduce herself. Perhaps the heat is distracting her, or her own stubborn head.
"Oh, My name is Erika." She volunteers nothing else, seemingly distracted, not intentionally rude. She's seen many patients lately between her own age and Kora's, but she still seems a bit on-edge.
[Roman Turner] "Ya talk like he's done run off or vanished."
He was still watching Kora and the woman intently from beneath the brim of the stetson even as he spoke with mama.
"Dang, I'm sweatin like a pig."
He tugged at the neck of his shirt.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] There is a roll of the Gnawer's eyes as she grins at Roman. "Ain't done run off. He's found. Ya don't know what a lost kin is?"
She tilts her head, her eyes swimming across the neighborhood settling on Kora and Erika as they head over, "Lost kin kinda like lost cubs... ones don't know their own history, or they's related to us."
[Kora] They walk in not-quite-tandem. Kora has a long-legged stride, used to walking longdistances - ground-devouring - but this is a summer evening full of heat and humidity. There's a half-digested egg salad sandwich in her stomach, and half a beer buzzing pleasantly through her veins. She can walk more slowly. She can accommodate the kin; and so she thinks about it, and they walk, mostly silent except for the briefly exchanged introductions half-way up to the steps.
Well, and this - "If you're knew to the city, you'll want to be in contact with your cousins. I don't have a number, but you can check in at the Brotherhood of Thieves and leave her a message." - half-way to the bottom of the steps.
--
There's Roman and Mama sitting on the porch, at the top of the steps. Behind them, the double-doors of the old ruin are intact. Above the doors: a rose window, huge and round, washed in ugly orange light now that the sun has set, gleaming like a dead eye. In sunlight, it is brilliant. There's a cooler, and an open bag of Frito's, and a mismatched couple of kids in Mama and Roman, the former in her patchwork finery, the latter in his Stetson and long-sleeved buttoned-up shirt, despit the heaviness of the heat in the air.
"Erika, this is Mama Ankle-Biter and Roman Turner. Folks, this is Erika," a faint pause, a sideswept glance. " - one of Kate's."
[Mama Ankle-Biter] Patchwork finery, indeed. Mama Ankle-Biter was a short, frizzy-haired bleach blond that wore a mismatch of short-skirted summer dresses and stockings fished out of the bottom of a bin at the local Goodwill. She wore thick knee-high socks over the bright pink stockings, tucked into a pair of worn black boots that have seen much abuse over time. A black knit cap was pulled down low over her ears.
She waves a hand to Erika, tilting her head up in a small nod and grins - all sweet and friendly like, "Hello."
[Roman Turner] "What? No."
He shook his head looking at mama again.
"Ya said it was some stuff Sean left ya that ya couldn't use anymore. Left means he is no longer there. That's why I asked what happened to him."
Kora introduced the woman when they drew close enough and Roman stiffly pushed himself to his feet to touch the brim of his hat, speaking.
"Howdy Miss Erika, pleased ta meetcha."
He was polite as could be, his youth somewhat hidden beneath the hat and growing dark.
[Roman Turner] ((Ok kids, I gotta go to bed. I would like to stay, but two nights in a row of all night gaming and a 4am start in the morning makes this boy late for bed.))
to Erika Alexander, Kora, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Roman Turner] "If you ladies will excuse me? Though it pains me to leave such beautiful company, I'm afraid I got a powerful need to spend a little time reading."
More like he had to do a sit down and that involved a magazine to give him something to do while sitting on the pot.
[Erika Alexander] Follows the long-legged amazonian woman, managing to keep up on her own. She has a long stride as well for her height, like any typical urbanite. She appears overdressed and sweltering in the heat. Most of what Kora said was lost on her. She had no idea what this Brotherhood is, or who the hell Kate might be, but assumed it would be explained in time.
"I'm not here with anyone," she mentions after Kora says something about the cousins.
Erika smiles at the young man, then at the other amiable blonde woman who waved at her. "Hello. Ah... who's Kate?"
The dizzying heat crawls under her skin, and so Erika loosens the blue scarf around her neck and unbuttons her blouse a bit until her simple undershirt shows. Her brow arches at the younger man while he goes to leave, smiling a bit.
[Kora] "See you later tonight, yeah?" This is both Kora's greeting to and farewell to Roman, as the young Ragabash stands - stiffly - in his sweltering clothes and makes his excuses.
[Victor Oseragighte] Tracking his Alpha down is not terribly difficult, though it does take him into new territory. He calls to her again mentally, searching for her as he walks the streets, still riding high on their undeniable victory over a superior foe the previous evening.
[Roman Turner] "Yessum."
He answered Kora's question. Then with a touch to the brim of his hat, he winked at mama before stiffly heading inside.
((thanks for the play guys, I would stick around but it is late for me with work so early Night))
[Erika Alexander] ((If I dc I'll be right back))
[Mama Ankle-Biter] The Gnawer snorts out loud at Roman's display of gentlemanly courtesy. She rolls her eyes up at the sky, grinning from ear to ear. Her head tilts as she watches Kora speak to Erika. She waggles her fingers at Roman as he scuttles off to do what needs to be done.
She kicks her legs out from under her, swinging them from side to side as she takes a couple more swallows from the bottle of water. She notes the way the kin seems to swelter in the heat and dives back into the heavy book bag she lugged along with her to fish out another bottle of water and offers it up to Erika.
"Victor's about." She murmurs, more to herself than anyone. She stares off into the distance, her thoughts pulled elsewhere, fluttering quickly over a totem link as she touches thoughts with the Wendigo, planting a direction inside his brain so he may find her easier. Images of the ruins that she sits under flashing in his mind.
[Kora] There's a certain quiet at the base of the steps of the church. The place is large, all stacked stone and concrete, one of those human monuments to an inhuman god. And it is falling apart, the grounds are overgrown, locust and princess trees shoot up from the grounds, morning glories and Virginia creeper vining around them. The sound of insects, the subtle glow - here and there - of fireflies in the overgrown weeds.
Kora watches as Roman disappears inside - climbing through a broken window rather than opening the heavy wooden doors - then drops her gaze to Mama Ankle-Biter. "We need to do something about those scars." Her voice is low, with a subtle flare of her nostrils at the end. "He was talking about trying to infiltrate the Hive. And he can't be seen in public with them. I told him to speak with Bleeding Heart-rhya about it, but if there's anything you can think of - "
Then, back to Erika, this slantwise look as they stand nearly shoulder to shoulder. It is darker here, too - green shadows, the rustling of the trees. The lights from the streetlamp are diffused by the trees, and there's nothing on inside to dispel the gloom. "Kate's your elder. Your guardian in the city." A pause, considered, then the faintest of frowns marring her brow. " - you know what you are, right?"
[Mama Ankle-Biter] The small Gnawer is easily pulled back to earth by Kora's words. She finishes off the water, recapping the bottle and tosses it back into the bag. She keeps the second unopened one in hand for Erika to take when the kin wanted it. Her tongue darting out to lick across her bottom lip, tasting the remnants of plastic and sweat and water.
She knew what the Fenrir was talking about. "Imagine Roman told ya the story about what happened the other night. He rode a Great Trash Heap spirit like it was a mechanical bull sitting on its shoulder just waiting for that damnable Spiral Adren to come bust his way back out. Nearly kilt the boy."
She wrinkles up her nose, sniffling, "Can see what Mama can do, ain't ever known them to mark others like that. Have a bit of knowing about Wyrmie things... have to check Roman out, part of the reason to come here."
[Erika Alexander] The quiet stillness of the church gives her solace. She gladly takes the water and consumes it on the spot, not aware until that moment how thirsty she is. For the last few hours, she's been roaming all the wrong sides of town for the shell shocked vets who missed their appointments and needed checking in on... She forgot completely of her own needs.
When Kora speaks to her, she listens and has a seat on the steps. She nods and laughs, tilting the right side of her face towards her so she could get a better look at the scars on the side of her face and neck. They aren't horrible, just old pale scars.
Her laughter isn't really bitter, just somehow empty, ironic. She smiles at Kora. "Yes, my kid brother had his first change when we were teenagers."
[Victor Oseragighte] Directions help considerably, and he makes his way swiftly along toward the church now, curious as to what he will find there. It was evident anyhow that she was well enough off, from what he felt.
Arriving, he does not enter immediately but pauses to look up at the structure, whistling to himself. This place... could be a blast. For somebody like himself especially.
But Mama is inside, and there he heads, by the swiftest route possible. Okay, the swiftest route that maybe lets him get a little climbing in.
[Kora] "Not the whole of it," this to Mama Ankle-Biter. The story of the night before, "I've had it in bits and pieces, and you can't miss the scars. I'm sure I'll get the whole of it later." The faint curve of her mouth, a half-hidden smile. " - maybe next time I get him drunk." Kora lifts her chin in the direction of the church, into which Roman disappeared. "If he doesn't make it back out before you leave, I'll tell him to look for you, too."
The Fenrir wouldn't hide from a battlescar, but the tormented glyphs burned into the young Ragabash's skin are hardly a battlescar. Her brows furrow, then - the spark of a question in her eyes - "did anyone do a Rite of Cleansing on him? After."
Then Erika tilts her head, the pale threads of old scars catch the ambient light, gleam against her skin. Kora cuts another look, not sidelong this time, tracing the old lines with the flicker of her eyes. Her dark eyes catch the light as she flicks a look from the scars to the kinswoman's eyes. Erika's laughter pulls the edge of a generous half-smile back into the line of Kora's mouth. "I didn't think that your people would lose track of their kin," her narrow shoulders twist into a expressive little shrug, " - but stranger things have happened."
She offers this with a fervent sort of invocation that makes it rather more than the cliche at the heart of the phrase.
"The Brotherhood's a brewpub, run by kin. It's an easy way to get a message to your tribe that you're in town."
--
Victor will find the trio sitting on the exterior steps. Or rather, he'll find his Alpha perched at the top of the steps, Erika and Kora staning below. When he arrives, looking up at the ruin, Kora cuts him a look back over her shoulder, dark-eyed, watchful. "Victor," by way of greeting. A lift of her chin toward the kinswoman beside her. "Erika."
[Mama Ankle-Biter] A shiver passes over the small woman, her hands pull up, arms crossing over the flat expanse of her chest to rest hands on her arms, she rubs them up and down as the cooler breeze of evening starts to settle in, chasing away the heat of a sweltering summer afternoon. She can feel the presence of her pack, grins widely at the Wendigo and extends her arms out, waving hands to snare his attention as she hoots at him.
To Kora - "Performed the rite of cleansing mahself, we did the whole scrap yard just to be safe. And a bit surprised he didn't tell ya the whole story, seems like Roman loves to talk." It is still a fresh memory in the back of her mind, the way they had dispatched the spirals, the exertion of her energies to control the spirits, to see aid from those that would help... to summon the god damn totem of the Great Trash Heap! (Whoops!) She lets it all tumble over in her mind.
"Wouldn't want to bear scars like that on the boy, not when some stupid ijit of a Gaian could mistake him for a Spiral and kilt him on sight."
[Erika Alexander] She listens, and thanks the other blonde for the water. When it is appropriate for her to interject, she merely replies quietly. "It's a bit difficult to get your Masters halfway across the country with children. I spent a lot of time with some cousins at Columbia, but largely I think Nikolas feels guilty."
Erika tenses again when Victor is introduced. She hadn't heard a thing... then again she didn't hear well out of one ear. She watches the dark for a figure, but doesn't spot him. Instead, she sits and watches the oddly-dressed blonde woman. "Maybe I could help. Those cases are... kind of my specialty."
[Kora] The flash of Kora's teeth, white in the darkness - as she offers a brief but full-throated laugh to Erika. There's something ironic, wholly self-aware about the way her mouth curves as she glances at the kinswoman. "I'm sorry; I wasn't clear. I wasn't suggesting that you were lost - I - I meant, I was relieved that you knew what the hell I was talking about. Listen, I'll buy you a beer sometime to make up for it."
Then Mama; Kora just listens to Mama, all traces of mirth disappearing from her fine features, the wide mouth and gleaming eyes. She nods once, when the theurge notes that she performed the rite of cleansing herself, and then offers a faint huff of affirmation when she says she wouldn't want scars like that. Kora apparently agrees, and she does so silently, standing in the warm summer evening. The church is dark, but she ips her head back, her pale hair nearly uncoiling down her back, picking out the shadow of the belltower against the night sky.
"What's your Master's in?" This is to Erika, without a downward glance. Kora's eyes linger on the belltower, the shadow against the darkness, the orange sky beyond.
[Victor Oseragighte] (( Darn it, it lost my post. ))
Victor arrives out of the darkness, fluid and silent, pausing at the acknowledgement and nodding his head in return. There'sa conversation on, though, so he does not interrupt further yet, merely moving to settle on the steps by his Alpha and smile to her briefly.
[Erika Alexander] ((That sucks, sorry man))
[Erika Alexander] "Psychiatry," she says. "My specialization is with rape and trauma victims. The clients I'm looking for right now are Afghan-Iraqi conflict vets."
Erika searches for such a shadow, but doesn't spot Victor until he emerges from the dark. Satisfied, she then relaxes a bit and allows conversation to flow around her.
[Mama Ankle-Biter] (kicks the refresh button!)
[Kora] "These scars we're discussing," at last Kora looks down from the belltower, all the way down to Erika, " - are pretty manifestly physical." Her smile is like a sickle, this supple, elegant little hook-curve, neat and clean. There's a hint of light over the surface of her eyes, reflection from the skin, the gleam of something inside the church. " - but I appreciate the offer."
[Kora] (I need to crawl off to bed folks, so I'm about to post out. Kora will come back to walk Erika back to her car, or whereever, though!)
to Erika Alexander, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Mama Ankle-Biter] She is silent for a moment, tapping fingers across her chin as her arms remain folded across her chest. It is easy to see that she's thinking on them scars. "Gimme some time to see what can dig up on removing them scars. Make sure he keeps them hidden if possible. Don't want the others to see it. Need to speak to the Rite's Mistress and see if she can help."
She starts to stand up, glancing down at the bag. She retrieves another bottle of water for herself, then shuffles the bag in Kora's direction. "There's some normal water bottles in there. And some glowy blue ones... like a six pack of it. It's gnosis water, thought I'd bring some along for ya and Roman."
She makes her way down the stairs, waiting for Victor to join her before making her leave.
[Victor Oseragighte] (( Sorry I could not get in earlier. ))
to Erika Alexander, Kora, Mama Ankle-Biter
[Kora] (Well, maybe Victor and Mama can walk Erika to her car? I didn't mean to end the scene!)
to Erika Alexander, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Victor Oseragighte] Roman's scars. It had to be. He remembered them all too well, a final spiteful act from the leader of the Spiral pack before he fell beneath their righteous anger. Victor wonders what Mama has in mind for them, as they surely needed curing.
[Erika Alexander] ((Whats going on and why is Erika being pawned off to a car she doesn't own? She's proper city dweller and doesn't own a car.))
to Kora, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Kora] (I'm heading to sleep. I didn't want to end the scene for you all, but they are on the steps of Kora's packhouse! So: y'all can hang out on the steps, just fine with me, or walk - someplace. Or stop! ack. Sorry, I really need to sleep! Is too late already!)
to Erika Alexander, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Erika Alexander] ((Okay, she'll leave if they all go inside. Bye, Kora.))
to Kora, Mama Ankle-Biter, Victor Oseragighte
[Victor Oseragighte] (( 'night, and I think Mama and Victor can stay to talk to her for a bit yet. ))
to Erika Alexander, Kora, Mama Ankle-Biter
[Kora] Victor arrives, and Kora's dark eyes trace over the Wendigo quietly. She is still standing, her hands in her pockets, her shoulders back. There's a cooler on the porch, and a half-eaten bag of Frito's on the steps. The night sky above is clear - somewhere beyond the light pollution - but there's a haze in the air around the streetlamps from the humidity in the air.
The look drops to Mama then, a glance at the bag where the bottles of water. Both pale brows rise in passing surprise. There's a moment when Kora is not wholly sure what to do, but then she snags the handles and lifts up the bag, feeling the weight of the water bottles inside. The flicker of her gaze over Mama is quiet and serious, is still - " - thanks." she says, with some feeling, then lifts the bag by way of explanation. " - on both points."
The water and the discussion of the scars.
Before Erika leaves, Kora scrawls a phone number on the back of a business card for a local pizza place. Tells her that she's welcome in the territory, asks her to give a call sometime. Victor and Mama are left on the steps of the church with a vague gesture toward the cooler where a beer and a coke or two remain. "Help yourselves, yeah? I have some business," a glance upwards again, the bag swinging against her thigh, " - upstairs."
If they look, they can see the winging shadow of a bird against the darkness of the night.
[Kora] (night guys! thanks for the scene!)
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