[Cigney North] It's a beautiful late summer day...for some people. O'Reillys gym is just off the Mile with the doors wide open. It used to be just for boxing back in the late 30's. But when the Mile became upper class, so did the establishment. Now you've got an air conditioned state-of-the-art gym with your pilates, yogalates, and piloxing all because of the corporate sponsorship money it brings in. There's one more appointment today before she gets to go home. In the meantime she's taking a break just outside the door with a wheat grass smoothie.
[Kora] so: I confess, without your chica having pure breed, I'm not sure how/why Kora would interact with her. hah. so: maybe give me some help after I post in?
to Cigney North
[Cigney North] Yeah no problem. ;p
to Kora
[Kora] Yesterday's storms have washed away the heat and humidity - for a day, perhaps, for two - that has engulfed the city since mid-June, sometime, when the summer changed, somehow - went from hot to blistering, from humid to cloying. The sky is clear, really clear, with the pollution that hangs over the busy city like a caul washed away. The sun is bright and warm, and the air is a balmy seventy-two degrees. It is one of those days that seems crystalline, shined to an impossible polish, perfected.
There is Cigney, enjoying a wheat-grass smoothie in front of a popular local gym, offering any number of combinations of hip fitness classes between appointments. Here is Kora: alike and nothing like her, exiting the pharmacy next door, a hemp shopping bag in her hand. Nearly 5'10", dressed in well-worn-jeans and a loose men's tank top, ribbed cotton, which shows off both the hint of a farmer's tan and rather well-defined shoulders and upper arms, the subtle curve of earned muscle over the distinctive architecture of bone, the swoop of her collar bone beneath the slope of her trapezius.
The stranger doesn't belong here. It is possible that she has never had a wheatgrass shake. She spent the night fighting a construct out of nightmares, and now has more body parts than the morgue to dispose of. It is best not to ask what is in the bag. She is clean, so freshly showered that her hair is damp and dark with that, pulled sharply back from her face, twisted in a loose knot on the nape of her neck. Outside the front door of the pharmacy, she narrows her eyes against the glare of the sun, then shifts the bag in her hands and starts down the street past the gym.
Passers by avoid her without thinking about it. She glances at Cigney briefly because she - is careful of her surrounding, because she is alive to the environment around her, the way the sun casts shadows on the street just after midday, the pattern of the brick on this storefront, the impressionistic smear of color in that picture window.
[Cigney North] And that's when it happens, a round of cat calls and whistles from behind the plate glass windows of the gym and the cardio machines behind it. Overly excited men who bask in the biochemical ocean of testosterone and adrenaline. Cigney's silvery gray eyes meet that of the stranger before moving to the corporate hogs who have gorged themselves on self entitlements...hogs that she makes sweat, and they pay her for it.
She remains silent, wondering as to how this woman will reacte. She doesn't seem like the ordinary day to day working woman...
[Kora] The strange looks at the plate glass windows, filled with corporate sharks who are now struggling to get through a basic cario workout on doctor's orders, likely. Direction from the cardiologist, who said - heart attack by fifty if you don't get in shape, Bill.
Kora looks up, dark eyes narrowing sharply at the men in the windows. She is not made-up; she doesn't wear clothing to flatter her figure. There are heavy workboots on her feet, old and worn and stained. The black leather hides the blood. Multicolored laces circle her calves, securing the boots. Her only other adornments are similarly dull, practical - knotted bracelets at her wrists, leather, hempen rope, twisted or braided, dark, a half-dozen at either wrist, and a braided leather choker at her throat.
There is an iron ring secured through the inner cartilage of her left ear, an old, oxidized iron charm hanging from it, the size of a child's fingerbone. The earring is carved with angular runes, and does not have a mate on the other ear.
So - Cigney watches, silent, used to this maybe. Kora looks up, her reflection ghosting across the plate glass, her eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun on the windows, the catcalls clearly audible through the open windows given the fine weather. And stops, still. Flips the men off. Smiles the sort of smile that is not a smile at all, but an animal baring of teeth.
[Kora] (Charisma + intimidation! + totem!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Cigney North] ((*blinks* Wow, do I respond to that or is there a follow up coming...))
[Kora] (that roll was for the smile/growl at the dudes in the window. (grins) it's narrated in the post. go ahead and respond!)
[Roman Turner] It was about when Kora flipped off the men in the window that another figure jogged up to join her. This one pushed back the front edge of his Stetson with one finger so he could better see the men inside. He wore stiff dark jeans, Wrangler's of course, cowboy boots and a button down western cut shirt.
"Who ya waving to?"
That he took the FINGER as a wave, said something about his comfort around Kora. He was still leaning from side to side for a better look as he shifted a backpack from shoulder to shoulder. Like Kora, he had his load to tote.
"Someone ya know?"
[Cigney North] ((My pleasure...*evil grin*))
Cigney felt her back press against the door behind her having caught the power of the almighty flip off. And so too did the hogs...one having actually missed a step on the treadmill and ending up on the floor. A moment or two, and Cigney finds herself smiling. She then calls inside the door "INTENSITY INCREASE +2 FOR THE NEXT 5 MINUTES". They wince and then does as she says. She's the boss after all.
"Had too much air in their lungs I guess...."
The words meant for the passing woman.
[Kora] "Roman," this is an aside to the sixteen year old kid who comes up behind her. He's a head shorter than the twenty-something Kora, who has nearly a decade on her young packmate, for all that they are still the same rank. The woman's voice is low, decidedly American without regionalisms. There is a certain intensity to it, and a wry undertone evident when she speaks to her packmate. " - are you telling me that you really don't know what that gesture means?"
Kora speaks four languages, including one long-dead except for a few hundred Fenrir and their kin on a handful of islands in the far northern Atlantic Ocean. She can flip people off appropriately in a good half-dozen more cultures. It's the first thing she learned, once upon a time, backpacking around Europe, north Africa, even the middle East before all this happened. Before she changed.
Now, she looks up to Cigney, dark eyes gleaming, sure, something animal in the undergirding of the motion, the cant of her head, that feral confidence of her stance. "Their fitness instructor, are you?"
[Roman Turner] He was all innocence and big ole gray-blue eyes fringed with lashes a woman would kill for. His Ma said it weren't right that boys got such lashes while girls had to work to create the illusion. Right now he batted those lashes with a big ole innocent look on his teenage face.
"Why sure I do, it means Howdy in big city sign language."
Then he turned that charm on Cigney. Touching the brim of his hat with two fingers and a cant of his head as he spoke in that low southern drawl meant for the lady folk.
"Well howdy Ma'am."
[Cigney North] At the woman's question, Cigney blinks before lowering the drink from her lips and getting a glimpse of the dark eyes before instinctively gazing at the teenage boy. There's a familiar discomfort about the look of the woman, and it makes her wonder a bit. She knows they're hear, in this city...it's why she came. But right here and now? It's not very likely.
"I am...I apologize for their rudeness. You're welcome to stay and watch their lungs burst".
The sounds the men are making are becoming laborous...the eyes of pigs watching the conversation between the two women that they can not hear above the din of the gym and the pounding of their excelerating heart rate.
Wait...wha? Did the boy just call her m'am? She's not even twenty yet...
"Hello". She replies and nods her head to him in return. The oddness of the pairing...two people who didn't look lik they could ever have anything in common..strange...
[Roman Turner] He smiled just a pleased as punch with the offer to linger a bit to watch the men suffer. Infact, he touched the brim of his hat again and said.
"Don't mind if I do."
And slipped around so he was just within the doorway enough to block an easy view of Kora, turning his back on the workout room.
[Cigney North] Don't suppose you'd allow a perception roll based on Cigney's observations?
to Kora, Roman Turner
[Kora] (grins) Go for it! I think she's got enough clues to start piecing it together. :)
to Cigney North, Roman Turner
[Roman Turner] ((I just Role Play. LOL! So I don't care. ))
to Cigney North, Kora
[Cigney North] ((Perception + Intelligence = Be these wolfies?))
to Kora, Roman Turner
[Kora] Roman's response, that huge innocent look on the boy's still too-young face, has Kora's gaze drawn sidelong, a look that would be sly on another face flashes neatly across the mouth, the gleaming that that just snapped sharply at the sweating men lost in the intensity of their workout. She laughs; it's a low thing, one that barely finds voice in her throat, that lingers in her strong shoulders, in her easy, alert stance, this thread of movement under the skin.
"You got that right, kiddo," she returns easily to Roman. Somehow, kiddo doesn't sound like a dimunitive when she addresses him like that. There's a certain concordance between the two - the still-growing Southern-gentleman of a teenage boy - and the loosely feral blonde in her mid-twenties that adds another sliver of information to the coincidences Cigney has already picked up. Roman moves to block the view of his packmate, and Kora shifts wordlessly out of his way, as if they were a unit, used to working in tandem, away - viscerally, subconsciously - of the way each takes up space.
"You've got no reason to apologize for them," Kora says, looking to Cigney directly now. Her voice is a rich alto, low and clear. "they're adult men. Responsible for their own transgressions." Lifting her chin, Kora flicks a look back over Roman's head by way of emphasis, her dark eyes narrowing, her features stilling. The shopping bag still swings in her hand. There are supplies inside. Gloves. Bleach. Discrete black plastic trash bags, thick enough and strong enough to hold body parts. Her nails are painted a peeling black. Underneath, there's a bit of dirt, as if she had been working in the soil today.
[Cigney North] As the boy draws nearer to the doorway, something about the presence, the aura...whatever it is, makes up her mind for her. Her eyes go blank for a moment before she snaps to and moves away from the door and out of their way. She touches the bak of her neck, and then pushes a tendril of golden blonde hai from her temple. The moment to make a decision...let them go? Or make herself known? Her lack of breeding makes her hard to detect, unlike her older sisters..
"I take responsibility for them as their instructor".
She takes in a deep breath, one that expands her rib cage before slowly exhaling. Thinking quickly, they might be dangerous for all she knows. Her watch goes off and she moves to yell in through the door.
"STOP! COOL DOWN...NEXT WEEK AT 8 P.M."
She then mumbles quietly to both the woman and the boy just a fw years her junior...
"...what brings you this way?"
[Roman Turner] What brings you this way? She asks.
"Sidewalk mostly. As for them Fellas, you are their instructor. Maybe ya seek to be a guide or protector because of this? What it comes down to is, they be responsible for themselves. Man acts without respect, man is responsible. Same for a woman."
[Kora] The shifting light slants across Kora's sharp features; a strong jaw, a generous mouth, dark eyes that must define themselves. She has pale brows and pale lashes, Kora, and wears no make-up. Her skin is good, clear, pale. There's a hint of a summer tan, but it's the sort of complexion that burns easily in the summer sun. Even her shoulders, which are paler than her forearms and hands, are pinkening from the sun in which they stand. She burns, but never peels. The damage of a sunburn heals easily when she shifts, and then her skin is whole again.
Cigney recognizes certain signs, stands their presence better than most. More than that, she continues the conversation. Kora's attention is closer now. She watches the way the woman's fingers push through her har, the deep breath, the thoughtful expression on Cigney's face -
- with a sharper interest, now, that hints at the wolf underneath Kora's skin. She has made no decisions, yet. She does glance sidelong at her packmate as he remarks on the sidewalks, a huff of laughter in her shoulders, under her breath. Her stand is easy, confident. There is a sort of compact power to her tall, lean frame, the animal grace that skims beneath her skin.
She looks back to Cigney, some gleam of interest in her dark blue eyes. "Cleaning supplies," she returns, there's something quiet, wry about her choice of words. By way of explanation, she lifts the hemp shopping bag. It dangles heavily in her hand. Cigney gets a glimpse of the bottle of bleach inside. There's nothing else. No Pine-Sol, no dish detergent, no specialized cleaners for toilets or windows or bathrooms. Just bleach is visible, two big bottles of it. Industrial size.
[Roman Turner] ((And Roman is going to be quiet for a bit because I have to run down and move the log splitter for my folks. Sorry))
to Cigney North, Kora
[Cigney North] ((Sorry room ate my last post))
[Kora] (I hate it when that happens! and no worries, take your time! am now working on eggplant lasagne. :) )
[Cigney North] "Must be a pretty big mess". The words are quiet but steadfast.
"Why bleach? It's so toxic...why not something more natural and less detectable like lemon juice and baking soda"?
By less detectable she means of the noxious fumes it will produce.
"You carry a hemp bag, so you obviusly care about our Mother..."
[Cigney North] Mmmm...eggplant lasagna!
to Kora
[Kora] "Cleaning isn't my strong suit." Attention sharpens with Cigney's words; the creature's dark eyes flash with reflected light, and there's another faintly feral cant of her head, dark eyes fixed surely on Cigney's face, searching the young woman's expression. Her generous mouth is pulled into a faint, wry twist, deeper at the right corner than the left. " - and," humor underscores the words, "I suspect I'd need a whole lemon tree for this mess."
Relaxing her fingers, she allows the bag to drop, so it dangles heavily against her calf, her thigh from her left hand. Her inner forearm is almost startlingly pale, emphasizing the the tan that warms the other side. Nestled in between the bracelets at her left wrist is a single, small tattoo, the sharp lines of an angular norse rune. Memory.
"We all have different ways to serve the Mother," Kora continues at last, sliding her right hand into her right hip pocket. "Mine is more direct than some. Though if you're interested, I know someone who's organizing a work day to clean up some of the trash from banks of the Chicago River."
[Cigney North] Feeling the womans eyes upon her, Cigney looks up slightly. She's 5'8" with a strong set of shoulders. Cigney's has a nice natural looking tan, a friend of the sun no doubt. The body is long and lean, but quite feminine with healthy curves. Meeting the gaze now, her chin lifts a little but not too much...noting the rune, having a similar one branded into her ankle as a family mark.
"We are more similar than you think".
Her fingertips now graze over her breast bone, her features soften.
"Do you need help?"
[Kora] "This clean-up isn't something I'd inflict on a new relation arriving in the city," the wording is subtle, but perfectly clear within the scope of their lives as kin and Garou. " - near or distant. Let me buy you a beer first." Nevermind that Cigney is not yet of legal drinking age, and Roman statistically unlikely ever to reach it. Kora's older than the both of them. She can buy that beer, legally even. No one's likely to turn her down.
"There's a pub on the corner. Good deep booths where we can talk. And you," a sharp glance at the wheat grass smoothie, which looks rather like something Trent would consume. " - can bring that green thing, if you prefer it to beer. Though I'd like to buy you something," here, she glances at the boy with her, quiet now in the sun. There's a moment of silent communication between the two, registered on both their faces, before Kora glances back to Cygney.
"As a gesture of hospitality."
There's a certain formality to that, at odds with the young Garou's serviceable tank, the frayed jeans, the stained boots. Older than these trappings of modern society.
[Cigney North] She blinks at Kora's words, but nods just the same. What in the hell had these two been up to? And how many other were there? A point of no return had been reached. To say no would be an insult, and that's not the first impression she is about to make. Cigney motions to someone inside that she's taking off now that her appointment is done, picking up her gym bag.
"I don't drink for personal reasons...but I'll be happy to sit with you and talk for awhile".
Cigney glances at the teen before continuing to sip on her organic smoothie.
"My name is Cigney North...but just my relations call me swan".
[Kora] "Then," Kora returns, with a sort of unerring precision and a hook-curve of a smile that does find resonant light in her dark eyes. "I'll buy you a Shirley Temple. With organic cherries," this neat sort of simmering humor underneath the words, but there's solidity too, there. As if the offer were the ritual it is, underneath. A remnant of the old ways, despite the warm summer afternoon, the hard immediacy of the concrete, steel and glass in the city's business district. " - and raw sugar. Or a limeade."
"I'm Kora. My relations called me Eyjólfsdóttir once." The patronymic has the harsh, clear sounds of someone who speaks one of the Scandanavian languages fluently. If Cigney is familiar with Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, Kora's accent seems Icelandic. If Cigney is familiar with Icelandic, she knows the inflections to be just off. Something close, but wrong. Maybe Faroese. Maybe -
"Here," they are walking, in easy step. Roman a step or two behind, likely with a last glance toward the men in the gym. " -they mostly just call me Kora. It's easier.
The introductions complete, Kora's quiet then, mostly. Though passersby on the streets tend to walk around the trio thanks to the effect of Kora's rage, there's always someone passing by.
Just as she promised, there's a pub on the corner, dark and cool in constrast to the bright warmth of the summer afternoon. It's a lazy Sunday. There's no jam session today, so the dark wooden interior is mostly empty, except for a few diehards watching football highlights on the televisions over the bar.
True to her word, Kora insists on buying Cigney something, even if it must be non-alcohoic. A mineral water, maybe, San Pellegrino in its distinctively shaped green glass bottle with a tall, narrow glass full of ice and lime and orange wedges edging the glass. Some organic juice.
Maybe the joked-about Shirley Temple. Something - some gesture of hospitality that she will not allow to be overlooked, even with a strange girl, likely kin to someone in the city, on a warm summer afternoon when she should be cleaning rotting body parts out of the non-working freezers of a madman, disposing of them carefully, always thinking of the Veil.
She buys beers for both Roman and herself. Both are drafts, one darker than the other - it only just. They're summer beers. A Heifewiezen and a pale ale. When she returns to the booth chosen by Roman and Cigney - the far booth, alone, close to the jukebox - she sets down the two beers and the non-alcoholic drink of Cigney's choosing, then slides into the booth beside Roman.
"Forgive my bluntness, Swan. If you prefer Swan. You're kin, to what tribe?"
[Cigney North] Cigney takes the drink with a soft smile and nods her head. "Thank you". It's a simple bottled water served with both lemon and lime, pulp floating amidst the bubbles. You don't get much more than that in a corner pub. But it suits her needs just fine. She sips from a straw slowly, listening to Kora attentively. She does not know nor does she recognize the inflections of Kora's speech. Only that it sounds much like everything else she was raised with since birth.
"Fenrir"
She looks to Kora seeming confident that her assumption was correct that they were relation. Cigney tilts her head slightly to the boy...uncertain of his own affliation and wanting to know before saying anything more.
[Kora] "So am I," Kora returns, with a perfect directness, her dark eyes fixed on Cigney's features now, as if - no matter that the girl had no pure breeding to speak of - Kora might be able to trace out the history of her ancestors from the shadow of her bones beneath her skin. "Welcome to Chicago."
The pub is dark; there's a distinctive scent of wood and brass polished, fried fish, and beer in the air. The football highlights on the television are the English premier league. The place did great business Sunday afternoons during the world cup, but that has passed, and now it is mostly empty. Nick Cave is on the jukebox. Kora sits with her beer in hand, leaning forward to brace her forearms on the edge of the table.
"This is Roman Turner. He's not Fenrir, but he's my packmate. A no-moon, if you know what that means. And," here, a certain hint of irony in her tone. "you're in luck. Not only am I Fenrir, I'm Jarl of the tribe here, such as it is."
[Cigney North] The silvery gray eyes watch the women intently, nodding to show that she understands the lexicon being used. The straw is still between her lips, and she chews on it a little as she thinks to herself. This is what she had wanted since coming here. She wouldn't have admitted to anyone, but she missed hearing the words only she and few others could ever understand.
"I was born under the No Moon..."
She offers Roman something of a nod, as if to relate that she understands.
"It's a pleasure to meet you both".
Her eyes look off into the distance for a moment before returning to Kora. She wants to say something but isn't sure if it's her place. The need to belong resonates deeply in her chest. She has a pack mentality. But there is a part of her that knows her place, and withdraws to a safe quiet understanding.
"I'm very fortunate to have met you".
[Kora] "You picked us out on the street, Cigney. Or," a pause, Kora's pale brows are drawn up, and furrow neatly. Her courtesy is not learned, but rises instead of an innate sort of reserve rare in both her tribe and her moon. She's considered, thoughtful, her voice - except for the brief, wholly foreign pronunciation of the wholly foreign patronymic she attached to herself - is entirely American. So: that faint sense of - easing about Cigney, so subtle that she herself might not admit it or regonize it - registers. " - do you prefer Swan?"
Kora voice is quiet. It is not soft.
"I suspect you would have found us soon enough. I'm glad for the coincidence, though. And for your sharp eyes. As Jarl, I stand as your guardian in the city, with the Garou of the Sept. Your transgressions are mine to punish, your favor mine to ask. Your honor is mine to defend from any who would besmirch it, and I pledge to you that I will defend you as if you were my own mate as long as I lead here, and as long as I breathe." There is a gleam in Kora's dark eyes as she says this, a certain intensity to her body language, leaning forward, the shopping bag tucked underneath the table, the beer in her hand.
And there's Nick Cave in the background, his deep voice resonant from the juke box against the wall. "So," a neat, supple pause, this change of her demeanor, a lowering of the intensity. " - where are you from, and what brings you here?"
[Kora] Hah. Blu just disappeared from my AIM, so we can assume that he wandered to the restroom or something. I suspect that he was assigned more chores than just moving the log splitter once he got to his folks' house. :)
to Cigney North
[Cigney North] The words and the tone in which they are spoken have a mesmerizing affect on her. Her expression is calm, but nothing else shows...just calm and peace. A vow was made, and deserved her complete honesty. Truthfully if Kora had been male, she isn't sure this would have worked. There is something about Kora that she likes, something that she wants to take into herself and make apart of her. Time would tell what exacty it was, and if she'd ever fulfill that want.
"It was your...your rage I think. You both feel familiar. I was raised amongst you. I know that feeling anywhere. But it was still hard to tell, I couldn't be sure until something just made sense".
Her voice speaks steadily in a soothing voice now, quiet and still all in the same breath. Pausing only to take a sip of her citrus flavored water.
"As for my name, Swan is just a nickname some call me...it isn't necessary if Cigney feels more natural to say".
The eyes now study the wood of the table top, her neatly trimmed fingernails tracing the grooves there in.
"I moved here from northern California. My fathers family left for a sabbatical back to Sweden with my sisters...step-sisters". Her nose scrunches a little...but she continues. "My presence was not needed, so I decided to spread my wings and find my own way in the world". She nods at this. It's how she has come to terms with what has happened. "My fathers family as a fine history of training warriors. I have decided to do the same".
[Kora] (Blu is back! Warning was premature. He's skimming the backscene, and should catch up soon. :) )
to Cigney North
[Cigney North] (Cool! Thanks for the update btw. :)
to Kora
[Roman Turner] He finally came out of his silent listening after taking a drink from the beer he was still years from legally being permitted do drink according to human law. His hat he'd removed when they sat down and now with hat hair the color of chestnuts, he started peeling the label from his bottle with his thumb nail.
"Why they call ya Swan? Why not something else?"
[Kora] There is a certain directness to Kora that is undeniable. Cigney studies her well-trimmed fingernails, traces the heartlines of the felled wood in the polished tabletop. Kora's eyes are on the young woman's face, clear and keen, a fine dark blue, the color of the sky at twilight perhaps, though the color is lost in the filtered shadows of the warm wood-and-brass light of the fake English pub. The intensity of her regard, the care of it: these things are not lost to the shadows.
There's a certain balance to Cigney's story. Her father's family. Her step-sisters, all going overseas and leaving behind a young kinswoman to make her way alone. Roman asks her nickname, and Kora gives him a familiar glance that can only be described as fond. They are packmates. They sit close together, in tandem. The bond is new, but strong for all that.
She nods quietly when Roman speaks, an echo of his query in her body language, not her voice. Then, she adds another question, more quiet than any of the ones that have gone before. "And your father?"
[Cigney North] At the question of her father she frowns a little.
"He gave me my name, but I never learned his true name..." Cigney shrugs slightly and now sits back in her seat, looking at the two of them, her eyes somewhat guarded but dead calm. "His name was Sven Albeister".
Another drink and small exhale. A small chuckle then occurs as she looks at Roman. "Cigney is something akin to Cygnus I guess". She swallows the water half heartedly. "Or it's a quiet insult that I've suffered unknowingly for most of my life".
[Roman Turner] "I don't get it. How's it an insult and why Swan?"
He wanted to know for a couple of reasons. Right then he sat with his leg against Kora's, touching from thigh to foot. They were Wolves and touch was like breathing for them, bringing reassurance and comfort.
"I mean, I know a Sparrow and a Swallow, so I want to know, why Swan? I'm starting to think I should change my name to Robin, but then I'd have to make Kora, Batman."
[Kora] "Then I'll call you Cigney," returns Kora, with that same quiet surety. "rather than echo the subtle insult of another. The name your father gave you." Cigney frowns, and Kora's expression does not soften. There is a certain terrible strength demanded of their kin by these wolves, by the wolves of winter, and where a human might retreat from the hint of tragedy in the air, bracketed by the lines of Cigney's frown, the calm, guarded look in the young woman's gray eyes, might find some other, lighter subject to dispel the hint of a frown from the stranger's face.
Anyway, humans haven't got Ragabash to lighten the atmosphere. She says, as an aside to her young packmate, "I'm not wearing a cape." - with this even look that is serious, except for the passing gleam of humor in her eyes.
Then she looks back to Cigney, considered. And, briefly, quietly, returns to the subject of her father. "He was Garou?"
There are two questions, really, wrapped into the one.
[Cigney North] Her eyebrow twitches...her eyes darken like a coming storm...was he making fun of her name?
"Cygnus is ancient Latin for swan..." the words expel themselves from between tightened lips. She then clears her throat a little and answers Kora's question. "Yes. I know this because he told my human mother before taking me to be raised with a pack mother. When I didn't turn, I was returned to her. My father was already mated to another kin you see".
[Roman Turner] "Wait, I am confused. Forgive me, ma'am if I seem to be dissecting this, but, you call yourself Swan, your name is Cigney, but ya say it's akin to Cygnus ya guess or a quiet insult. I am so confused. Which is the insult? And ya think your name is bad, try mine. Ever since I came here I got folk asking me if I'm Roman, or a Roman and had one guy even jerk my leash saying he was Roman too."
He shook his head.
"Crazy folk in this world."
[Kora] "Careful, Cigney. You're hearing insults where there are none. We have," a faint, " - as Roman said, rather a number of compatriots named after birds. His cousin, my packmate - her parents named her Sparrow. The Nation named her Resistance."
Kora casts a glance between the pair, from Roman to Cigney, before she continues, still low-voiced. "And you'll forgive me for insulting your kin, but your father should have acknowledged you as his, true-born or kin, you're Fenrir, not human. I will not hold his transgressions against your mate against you."
[Roman Turner] "There's power in names ya know. My Cousin Sparrow earned the deed name of Resistance. Myself, Fate. This here is Sorrow."
He bumped shoulders with Kora, obviously very content to crowd in on one side of the booth with her. On the outside he was young and most wouldn't see past that. Inside he was aging at a terrifying rate that would turn a human's hair white. Like experiences had a way of aging Garou beyond their years. When he shifted his weight, his foot bumped his pack which gave a faint clanking noise was the tools he'd stuffed in shifted around. Clean up wasn't always just bleach and this one required extra tools.
[Cigney North] As she listens to Roman she scowls, then blinks...then shakes her head a little and eventually tilts her head back and laughes. It was hard not to be so serious sometimes when people asked her about her up bringing. She had no fancy pedigree to fall back on. Because of this she's gone the extra mile to prove herself a capable Fenrir kin. No less than another.
"I'm sorry Roman. A swan is everything opposite to a wolf. Non-predatory, soft, lovely but by no means useful. It doesn't do anything...it's an insult. But I accept it cause in some way I hope it shows a bit of humility considering my situation".
As Kora warns her, Cigney puts up her hands and lowers her head nodding. "I know...please forgive my defensiveness, it happens sometimes". She looks to Kora and Roman. "I do not hate my father. I love him dearly because he made me what I am. I wish things could have been different....but I can't change these things so I have to find peace with it". A deep centering breath. "Thank you for your acceptance".
[Roman Turner] "Ya got that wrong. A swan is a fierce warrior. They beauty throws folks off, but come near their young, near their nest and ya gonna have a tangle with it it. Ain't a soft name at all, it's a deceptive name. Camouflage name. Ya see beauty with the name, not the steel beneath. It's a good thing."
He lifted his bottle in a little salute and swigged down more of the beer.
[Kora] Kora's attention lingers on Cigney now, watching the quick, sure change in her expression, the way her defensive frown resolves itself into a moment of undeniable surprise, then melts away into laughter. There's a quick, answering curve on the Fenrir woman's expressive mouth - which deepens with a subtle shake of her shoulders that does not dissolve into laughter proper, caught behind the surface of Kora's native reserve.
"That," the creature returns, when Cigney apologizes for her defensiveness. "I can accept, especially since you've not allowed it to harden into bitterness."
And the lot of their kin can be bitter indeed.
Roman offers their names - their Names, the ones that will be remembered if they are remembered at all, and Kora glances at him as he bumps shoulders with her. She returns the gesture. Her skin is warm, warmer than a human's would be, the rage underneath. Her dark eyes return to Cigney as Roman corrects him about the strength of swans.
[Cigney North] "Someday you'll have to do me the honor of telling me how your deed names were chosen for you".
Hearing the clank, she blinks and resists the urge to look under the table. Cigney presses her lips together. No questions. Not at this time. As he compliments her name, she gives a reserved smile...then stiffles a chuckle. "If I ever start to honk...then we'll know it's completely true". She then laughes and lifts her glass before taking another long sip, nearly draining it to the bottom.
"I like to know a persons philosophy. It's more important to me that I know how someone views the world and what it is they feel they were born to do, what they need to accomplish. I like to know people this way". Her fingertips brush over her breastbone again as she looks deeply at Kora, holding her gaze but in no way a stare. "I can't know people this way if I harden myself". She swallows a little..."hate is a powerful thing, and it has its place in the spirit. It must balance with love. I feel at harmony in my spirit..."
Her eyes questioningly gaze at Kora as if to ask if she felt balance...
[Roman Turner] "I don't hold hate inside. Don't feel it. Everything's got a reason. It might make no sense, but hate is one of them things I can't let in for no reason. It's a weakness Miss Cigney, one that lessens the one it takes and one that exists only if permitted."
He changed the subject like Mercury.
"I was named Fate because it was fated that I would go through the change. It was fate that saw me survive my right of passage just as it was fate that brought me here to Miss Kora. Fate that had me come to Chicago with my Cuz Sparrow. Life begins and ends with Fate and it is Fate that moves us along life's many journeys."
For all the seriousness of that, he gave a big cheesey grin at the end.
[Kora] "I'm a Skald," Kora returns to Cigney, the faint curve of her mouth deepening. "I'll be pleased to tell you those stories. Someday." Her beer is slowly disappearing. She doesn't slide out from the booth to go order another as she might on an easier day. Instead, she nurses the remains of this one, inhaling the hoppy aroma of the pale ale, watching the way the remnants of the head cling to the sides of the glass. "Mine's a bit longer than Roman's, I think. Requires at least two drinks for the telling."
Then, that gesture again. Cigney touches her sternum. It's one of the strongest bones in her body, the cage behind which her heart lies.
"I'm not sure most of our tribe would use the word love," Kora replies, keenly attuned to the depth of the look with which Cigney favors her; aware, too, of the girl's care to keep that deep look from becoming a challenging stare. " - all many of us are lost in rage. We follow the strength that lives in our modis, the rage that drives them, that fuels them, can easily overwhelm them, burning everything away."
Here, she lifts a glance toward Roman, her dark eyes tracing the boy's features. "I work hard not to lose myself like that. I think we have to fight; and remember what we're fighting for - which is the world after Ragnarok - returned to its first balance. The golden fields that the seer saw, yes?" The allusion to the Voluspa is brief, but there's an undercurrent of conviction in Kora's words that suggests how much that vision of the world - after - means to her.
[Bridget] (Open?)
to Cigney North, Kora, Roman Turner
[Kora] Yes! We're in a pub! I'm going to desert you guys for about 15 minutes to go buy dogfood right now, but i will be back!
to Bridget, Cigney North, Roman Turner
[Kora] (So: post around me while I'm off buying dogfood please. It shouldn't take long!)
to Bridget, Cigney North, Roman Turner
[Cigney North] Listening to Roman speak of his philosophy, his deed name, his journey here and the relationships he's made for himself, Cigney gives a warm smile and nods. "I don't see any weakness in it at all. But if that's true ...what pushes you to fight, to violence, to war?" There had to be some motivation behind these actions that all Garou must eventually take.
Her eyes return to Kora again, her hands back to either side of her seat. "Love by any other name can be felt just the same...I'm sure of it". She looks thoughtul for a moment. "Love and Hate can sometimes feel the same...can't they?".
Putting her chin in her hand, elbow propped on the table, Cigney watches the bar become brighter as the day steals away. "I hope you will let me buy you that second beer when you have the time".
[Bridget] Wind from the lake forces the door open once it's been cracked. A twenty-something teeters inside, having been yanked in with her hand on the door. She laughs a bit and uses it as an excuse to rush over towards the bar. The bartender eyes her suspiciously until she gives him a big smile and digs for her ID. Soon enough, the suspicious man pours her a beer and leaves her alone.
The black, athletic tank reveals two portions of ink scrawled across her skin. A bear cub's head peeks out on one shoulder, while a blackbird haunts the other. The strength of her blood makes it easy to identify her as Fianna kin, but there's something aloof and feral about how she moves. She doesn't notice the others, and since they haven't been introduced, there's no one to recognize.
[Roman Turner] His rage was such a low thing that sometimes he was mistaken for Kinfolk. While most Coggies were gentle seeming, it did not mean they were weak or not capable of violence. So when Cigney asked her questions, he leaned forward with his arms resting against the table top and spoke in that soft southern drawl of his.
"Well Miss Cigney. I don't see it as violence. What I do is not uncontrolled. What I do, I do for the survival of our Race as a whole. I don't do mindless and I do understand that each and every war that has been fought throughout history can be said somewhere along the line, it was for survival. So I suppose ya have to make your own calls on this. I don't do what I do for Glory, to conquer to gain. I do it so one day after the dust settles, there's a place for my children's, children's, children might have peace and a place to call home."
[Cigney North] She's receptive to the rage, and it causes her to draw back slightly. Her eyes dip slightly for a moment, and she's quiet. The sound of the door captures her attention for a moment has a woman breezes in. She watches her a moment or two before turning back to the two hosts.
"My greatest wish is to help that fight anyway I can. I don't demean it by calling it servitude. It's my calling, my destiny."
She gazes around. "I'm not keeping the two of you from your chores am I?"
[Kora] "I would never refuse the hospitality of my kin," Kora's response to Cigney's invitation, for the second beer, some other night, is easy and sure as everything about her seems to be. Her dark eyes linger on the young kinswoman's face as she muses over the balance between love and hate, these human words that seem - to Kora, the Skald, the daughter of Fenris, with her duty to regale the living and remember the dead - almost too human.
"You're probably right. They can be the same; they can diverge. I think the words themselves feel wrong to me. What we are feels deeper and broader than human language can encompasse, so I shy from abstractions like love and hate, and stick to the concrete. The beer in my hands. The packmate beside me. The kinswoman sharing my table. The music in the air. The memories I carry, of both the living and the dead."
Like the rest of them, Kora looks up as Bridget breezes in and orders her beer. Unlike the others, Kora goes a step farther. "Fianna," she tells them, her voice low. " - kin, likely. I can read her breeding in her bones."
Then, that wry look curves across her mouth again. "Our chores will take us a few days. The respite is welcome. Though we should be on our way, shortly, I owe you a bit more information, I think. Hand me that napkin, would you?" she continues, gesturing to napkins, closer to Cigney's hand than her own.
[Roman Turner] His rage was such a tiny thing compared to most, so when Cigney drew back slightly it had puzzlement then a flash of quickly veiled pain darting through his faded denim colored eyes. The opening of the door was a good reason to glance that way as a woman bearing breeding he didn't know, entered.
Cigney spoke and drew his attention back to her and once more a big ole stupid smile was thrown up like a shield.
[Bridget] The Fianna remains at the bar for now. Unable to remain still, she merely sets her canvas bag with its various pins and patches on the stool. She remains standing, shuffling back and forth on each foot. Should any be able to read body language, she has a strong urge to move around, go running perhaps. It's difficult for her to restrain it. So, after a moment she grabs her bag and takes her cold mug towards the jukebox and pours some spare change into it.
After making her quick selections, she reads some of the band pamphlets located in the back of the place, then moves back towards the bar again. Something bluesy makes the jukebox flare to life. There's something of a sheepish grin coming from the kin as she makes her way back.
[Cigney North] She takes the napkin and hands it to Kora. She then moves to her gym bag and searches through it for a business card. Oh yes, a professional she is. Sliding the card to Kora on the table, she nods and smiles at Kora's description of life. "It's almost poetic I think, your words". Cigney looks again at the woman as Kora identifies her as a kin. She watches a moment or two, then sinks back into silence.
"I wish you the best of luck in your chores. Again, I'm grateful for your hospitality. If you do need any help..."
[Kora] Kora accepts the business card, glancing down to read the kinswoman's name and title briefly, with a passing look at the phone numbers attached. Then, she slips it wordlessly into her hip pocket, digging out a stub of a pencil from somewhere. Later, she will transcribe the numbers on the business card into her phone, but it is a testament to her distance from human society that she does not do so sitting here, now. That she prefers to write them down, to read them inscribed on paper.
"This," she says, writing a number on the paper. " - is my phone number. And this," a second number, the name Trent beside it, " - is my mate's number. His name is Trent, and if you cannot get me on the phone, he's likely to see me soon, and should be able to get a message to me. The tribe's numbers are few in Chicago. There are two Rotagar, one named Karl, one named Delmer. I'll let them know you're here. We have a few kin, as well. Adrian is an archaeology student, Izzy and John are detectives. Moira is an herbalist. I'm not sure we have enough for a moot, but maybe a barbecue, soon.
"There is a restaurant here called the Brotherhood, run by kin. If you need to find others, kin and Garou both live there, in a dorm above the restaurant, though my pack does not. I'll give you a call in a few days, show you the way to our packhouse in case you've need to find us have haven't got a phone.
"And," lingering, the pause, "I'll make a talen you can break if you run into trouble. The spirit will find the nearest Garou. Give me a few days, yeah?"
"As for this," a glance down at their supplies. "I'd welcome your help, though I think it's something I'd like to spare you. You might give Trent a call, though. He's interested in organizing a river clean-up, a sort of work day to pick up the trash from the Chicago River. I'd like it if you got involved."
The shift in music, the wail of the blues draws Kora's dark eyes to Bridget again. Her look lingers, sure and dark and clear, longer than another's would. She turns back to Cigney, though, pushing the napkin with its numbers across the table to the young Fenrir kinswoman.
[Bridget] It finally occurs to her that she's being watched. It's not an oppressive thing, so it's not overly obvious, but she still gives the deer-in-the-headlights look, nut-brown eyes scanning the room. It rests on their table, but not for too long. She sips at her beer and plays at watching them. After a moment, she decides to make her way over.
"Hey, do any of you know of a decent live venue around here?" she asks, not really towards any one of them.
[Roman Turner] He looked up at Bridget's approach and his mouth worked a few times with her question before he just said.
"Huh? Live what?"
[Cigney North] Cigney shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I'm kind of new to the city so I don't know much about the entertainment". She looks at Roman, then smirks and rolls her eyes a little. Too funny.
She takes the napkin and folds it quickly but carefully into her palm, then moves it to her lap, having listened attentively to Kora. All of this...such kindness. Cigney smiles and nods her head. "Yes...I will help however I can. I can't begin to even thank you enough".
The napkin is placed into the business card holder to keep it safe amongst her things.
[Kora] "She's looking," Kora explains to Roman, her voice low and sure as it always is, "for a bar that has live music." It seems as if she is always explaining these things to the young Ragabash, with his southern drawl and his fine, country manners. Unlike Cigney and Roman, Kora does have a suggestion.
"The Fox and Feather. They have acoustic music Sunday afternoons into the evening. A mix of styles, really. And then there's a place called E-Sixx, that used to be owned by one of your kin. I think it's a bit edgier in style, and still has live bands, even after the owner's death."
A brief, passing glance toward Cigney, then. Kora's eyes gleam, and her smile warms. "I told you. I'm glad you're here in Chicago. We'll talk more, soon."
[Kora] I think I have another post or two in me for this scene, and then I need to finish some things around the house. Bridget: I feel like I owe you a scene, so if you're still around when I get back we could do something brief! :)
to Bridget, Cigney North, Roman Turner
[Kora] (just FYI: I've really enjoyed the scene, I hope we'll play more, soon. Can always feel free to grab me on AIM. My name is istioname there.)
to Cigney North
[Roman Turner] ((as for me, a short time more and I must sleep because I am cross-eyed))
to Bridget, Cigney North, Kora
[Bridget] She smiles and tilts her head a bit, finding Roman's confusion amusing. She sips her beer, then shrugs.
"Ah well, a bit much to hope for I guess." There's a trace of French Canadian in her accent, should one have an ear for it.
However, seeing as they're apparently in the middle of some conversation or going their separate ways, Bridget's attention wanders off. A rowdy patron backs into a server, sending the tray and a glass to spill on the floor. If Bridget's ears could twitch, they would. For a second, until she realizes what's going on, there's a posture of mild alarm.
However, what Kora says catches her attention. Kin is not a word used often in this part of the country. A dawning of recognition.
"Ah, sure thing. Thanks. I'm Bridget."
A hand stretches towards the Fenrir. There's no hesitancy, but it's not confrontational either.
[Bridget] ((Ah, that's fine. I got invited to this cookout today, so I might not be here when you get back.))
to Cigney North, Kora, Roman Turner
[Cigney North] As Kora explains the entertainment options, Cigney is busy remembering them for another time. Feeling that they have reached the end of the evening, she finishes what's left of her melted ice cubes and then gets up from her seat. "It's nice to meet you Bridget". She offers her hand after Kora's or Roman's.
"If you'll excuse me, have a bit of a walk ahead of me".
She thanks her to hosts once more.
[Cigney North] (Thank you so much for the scene. My AIM is MiamiVStyle)
to Kora
[Kora] "Kora," the Fenrir introduces herself, clearly reading recognizing in Bridget's face. "And this is my packmate, Roman." They are bit separated from the bar here; the booth was clearly chosen its isolation from the other patrons in the room. The bar is filling up now, though, and Kora and Roman still have a ... warehouse full of body parts to clean up, to cleanse, to burn - bloody, grotesque work that will take them not hours, but days.
Then, Cigney rises, excusing herself. Kora flashes her a half-smile, easy and confident. "Goodnight, Cigney."
"I haven't seen you before, Bridget. If you need help getting in touch with your tribe, I'd be happy to provide it. If not, I'll have to offer you hospitality some other night. Roman and I have neglected our work rather too long, tonight, already."
[Kora] Brilliant. I've added you! :)
to Cigney North
[Bridget] Bridget shakes Kora's hand and looks to Roman. She nods her head, still smiling. She listens while Kora explains what's going on. Another nod comes from the Fiana kin. "Sure thing, haven't run into any of them here. I don't have a phone yet, but I know where the Brotherhood is."
Bridget watches Cigney with an amiable expression as she moves to leave. She shakes the other kinswoman's hand without hesitancy. "You, too."
[Roman Turner] He rose when Cigney did, canting his head to her.
"I'll be seeing ya again Miss Cigney."
He waited till she left then nodded his head to Bridget with the introduction from Kora.
[Cigney North] With that, Cigney heads towards the door. She pulls on a track jacket and slings her gym bag across her body. It was a nice evening, and she had arranging to do back to the new apartment.
[Cigney North] Goodnight everyone, thanks for the scene!
to Bridget, Kora, Roman Turner
[Bridget] Night
to Cigney North, Kora, Roman Turner
[Kora] "No?" Kora returns to Bridget, her pale brows lifting as the young Fianna reports that she has not run into her tribe here. "I'll find them for you." The Skald offers the Fianna kinswoman the faintest hook of a passing half-smile. "Check in at the Brotherhood in a few days. Hopefully, they'll make contact with you.
"And, if you can, get a phone. Preferably a prepaid phone, the sort you can pay for in cash and discard easily. The city's dangerous. It helps to have an easy way to stay in touch. I'm glad to have met you, too, Bridget. Even in passing. You'll never find me at E-Sixx, but sometimes we go to the Fox and Feather, when duty does not keep us elsewhere."
Their beers are on the table, finished now. Both Kora and Roman have bags. Kora's is help, two huge bottles of bleach inside. Roman's clanks with nameless tools.
[Bridget] The kindolk nods and lets the two go on to their business. From the looks of it, something that would keep them busy for a while. Bridget doesn't ask: it's not her business. She's polite, but not like so many cowering, half-fractured kin. She looks like the sort who can take care of herself well enough.
"Sure thing, ma'am," a polite, respectful nod. "Thanks."
[Kora] so: I confess, without your chica having pure breed, I'm not sure how/why Kora would interact with her. hah. so: maybe give me some help after I post in?
to Cigney North
[Cigney North] Yeah no problem. ;p
to Kora
[Kora] Yesterday's storms have washed away the heat and humidity - for a day, perhaps, for two - that has engulfed the city since mid-June, sometime, when the summer changed, somehow - went from hot to blistering, from humid to cloying. The sky is clear, really clear, with the pollution that hangs over the busy city like a caul washed away. The sun is bright and warm, and the air is a balmy seventy-two degrees. It is one of those days that seems crystalline, shined to an impossible polish, perfected.
There is Cigney, enjoying a wheat-grass smoothie in front of a popular local gym, offering any number of combinations of hip fitness classes between appointments. Here is Kora: alike and nothing like her, exiting the pharmacy next door, a hemp shopping bag in her hand. Nearly 5'10", dressed in well-worn-jeans and a loose men's tank top, ribbed cotton, which shows off both the hint of a farmer's tan and rather well-defined shoulders and upper arms, the subtle curve of earned muscle over the distinctive architecture of bone, the swoop of her collar bone beneath the slope of her trapezius.
The stranger doesn't belong here. It is possible that she has never had a wheatgrass shake. She spent the night fighting a construct out of nightmares, and now has more body parts than the morgue to dispose of. It is best not to ask what is in the bag. She is clean, so freshly showered that her hair is damp and dark with that, pulled sharply back from her face, twisted in a loose knot on the nape of her neck. Outside the front door of the pharmacy, she narrows her eyes against the glare of the sun, then shifts the bag in her hands and starts down the street past the gym.
Passers by avoid her without thinking about it. She glances at Cigney briefly because she - is careful of her surrounding, because she is alive to the environment around her, the way the sun casts shadows on the street just after midday, the pattern of the brick on this storefront, the impressionistic smear of color in that picture window.
[Cigney North] And that's when it happens, a round of cat calls and whistles from behind the plate glass windows of the gym and the cardio machines behind it. Overly excited men who bask in the biochemical ocean of testosterone and adrenaline. Cigney's silvery gray eyes meet that of the stranger before moving to the corporate hogs who have gorged themselves on self entitlements...hogs that she makes sweat, and they pay her for it.
She remains silent, wondering as to how this woman will reacte. She doesn't seem like the ordinary day to day working woman...
[Kora] The strange looks at the plate glass windows, filled with corporate sharks who are now struggling to get through a basic cario workout on doctor's orders, likely. Direction from the cardiologist, who said - heart attack by fifty if you don't get in shape, Bill.
Kora looks up, dark eyes narrowing sharply at the men in the windows. She is not made-up; she doesn't wear clothing to flatter her figure. There are heavy workboots on her feet, old and worn and stained. The black leather hides the blood. Multicolored laces circle her calves, securing the boots. Her only other adornments are similarly dull, practical - knotted bracelets at her wrists, leather, hempen rope, twisted or braided, dark, a half-dozen at either wrist, and a braided leather choker at her throat.
There is an iron ring secured through the inner cartilage of her left ear, an old, oxidized iron charm hanging from it, the size of a child's fingerbone. The earring is carved with angular runes, and does not have a mate on the other ear.
So - Cigney watches, silent, used to this maybe. Kora looks up, her reflection ghosting across the plate glass, her eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun on the windows, the catcalls clearly audible through the open windows given the fine weather. And stops, still. Flips the men off. Smiles the sort of smile that is not a smile at all, but an animal baring of teeth.
[Kora] (Charisma + intimidation! + totem!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Cigney North] ((*blinks* Wow, do I respond to that or is there a follow up coming...))
[Kora] (that roll was for the smile/growl at the dudes in the window. (grins) it's narrated in the post. go ahead and respond!)
[Roman Turner] It was about when Kora flipped off the men in the window that another figure jogged up to join her. This one pushed back the front edge of his Stetson with one finger so he could better see the men inside. He wore stiff dark jeans, Wrangler's of course, cowboy boots and a button down western cut shirt.
"Who ya waving to?"
That he took the FINGER as a wave, said something about his comfort around Kora. He was still leaning from side to side for a better look as he shifted a backpack from shoulder to shoulder. Like Kora, he had his load to tote.
"Someone ya know?"
[Cigney North] ((My pleasure...*evil grin*))
Cigney felt her back press against the door behind her having caught the power of the almighty flip off. And so too did the hogs...one having actually missed a step on the treadmill and ending up on the floor. A moment or two, and Cigney finds herself smiling. She then calls inside the door "INTENSITY INCREASE +2 FOR THE NEXT 5 MINUTES". They wince and then does as she says. She's the boss after all.
"Had too much air in their lungs I guess...."
The words meant for the passing woman.
[Kora] "Roman," this is an aside to the sixteen year old kid who comes up behind her. He's a head shorter than the twenty-something Kora, who has nearly a decade on her young packmate, for all that they are still the same rank. The woman's voice is low, decidedly American without regionalisms. There is a certain intensity to it, and a wry undertone evident when she speaks to her packmate. " - are you telling me that you really don't know what that gesture means?"
Kora speaks four languages, including one long-dead except for a few hundred Fenrir and their kin on a handful of islands in the far northern Atlantic Ocean. She can flip people off appropriately in a good half-dozen more cultures. It's the first thing she learned, once upon a time, backpacking around Europe, north Africa, even the middle East before all this happened. Before she changed.
Now, she looks up to Cigney, dark eyes gleaming, sure, something animal in the undergirding of the motion, the cant of her head, that feral confidence of her stance. "Their fitness instructor, are you?"
[Roman Turner] He was all innocence and big ole gray-blue eyes fringed with lashes a woman would kill for. His Ma said it weren't right that boys got such lashes while girls had to work to create the illusion. Right now he batted those lashes with a big ole innocent look on his teenage face.
"Why sure I do, it means Howdy in big city sign language."
Then he turned that charm on Cigney. Touching the brim of his hat with two fingers and a cant of his head as he spoke in that low southern drawl meant for the lady folk.
"Well howdy Ma'am."
[Cigney North] At the woman's question, Cigney blinks before lowering the drink from her lips and getting a glimpse of the dark eyes before instinctively gazing at the teenage boy. There's a familiar discomfort about the look of the woman, and it makes her wonder a bit. She knows they're hear, in this city...it's why she came. But right here and now? It's not very likely.
"I am...I apologize for their rudeness. You're welcome to stay and watch their lungs burst".
The sounds the men are making are becoming laborous...the eyes of pigs watching the conversation between the two women that they can not hear above the din of the gym and the pounding of their excelerating heart rate.
Wait...wha? Did the boy just call her m'am? She's not even twenty yet...
"Hello". She replies and nods her head to him in return. The oddness of the pairing...two people who didn't look lik they could ever have anything in common..strange...
[Roman Turner] He smiled just a pleased as punch with the offer to linger a bit to watch the men suffer. Infact, he touched the brim of his hat again and said.
"Don't mind if I do."
And slipped around so he was just within the doorway enough to block an easy view of Kora, turning his back on the workout room.
[Cigney North] Don't suppose you'd allow a perception roll based on Cigney's observations?
to Kora, Roman Turner
[Kora] (grins) Go for it! I think she's got enough clues to start piecing it together. :)
to Cigney North, Roman Turner
[Roman Turner] ((I just Role Play. LOL! So I don't care. ))
to Cigney North, Kora
[Cigney North] ((Perception + Intelligence = Be these wolfies?))
to Kora, Roman Turner
[Kora] Roman's response, that huge innocent look on the boy's still too-young face, has Kora's gaze drawn sidelong, a look that would be sly on another face flashes neatly across the mouth, the gleaming that that just snapped sharply at the sweating men lost in the intensity of their workout. She laughs; it's a low thing, one that barely finds voice in her throat, that lingers in her strong shoulders, in her easy, alert stance, this thread of movement under the skin.
"You got that right, kiddo," she returns easily to Roman. Somehow, kiddo doesn't sound like a dimunitive when she addresses him like that. There's a certain concordance between the two - the still-growing Southern-gentleman of a teenage boy - and the loosely feral blonde in her mid-twenties that adds another sliver of information to the coincidences Cigney has already picked up. Roman moves to block the view of his packmate, and Kora shifts wordlessly out of his way, as if they were a unit, used to working in tandem, away - viscerally, subconsciously - of the way each takes up space.
"You've got no reason to apologize for them," Kora says, looking to Cigney directly now. Her voice is a rich alto, low and clear. "they're adult men. Responsible for their own transgressions." Lifting her chin, Kora flicks a look back over Roman's head by way of emphasis, her dark eyes narrowing, her features stilling. The shopping bag still swings in her hand. There are supplies inside. Gloves. Bleach. Discrete black plastic trash bags, thick enough and strong enough to hold body parts. Her nails are painted a peeling black. Underneath, there's a bit of dirt, as if she had been working in the soil today.
[Cigney North] As the boy draws nearer to the doorway, something about the presence, the aura...whatever it is, makes up her mind for her. Her eyes go blank for a moment before she snaps to and moves away from the door and out of their way. She touches the bak of her neck, and then pushes a tendril of golden blonde hai from her temple. The moment to make a decision...let them go? Or make herself known? Her lack of breeding makes her hard to detect, unlike her older sisters..
"I take responsibility for them as their instructor".
She takes in a deep breath, one that expands her rib cage before slowly exhaling. Thinking quickly, they might be dangerous for all she knows. Her watch goes off and she moves to yell in through the door.
"STOP! COOL DOWN...NEXT WEEK AT 8 P.M."
She then mumbles quietly to both the woman and the boy just a fw years her junior...
"...what brings you this way?"
[Roman Turner] What brings you this way? She asks.
"Sidewalk mostly. As for them Fellas, you are their instructor. Maybe ya seek to be a guide or protector because of this? What it comes down to is, they be responsible for themselves. Man acts without respect, man is responsible. Same for a woman."
[Kora] The shifting light slants across Kora's sharp features; a strong jaw, a generous mouth, dark eyes that must define themselves. She has pale brows and pale lashes, Kora, and wears no make-up. Her skin is good, clear, pale. There's a hint of a summer tan, but it's the sort of complexion that burns easily in the summer sun. Even her shoulders, which are paler than her forearms and hands, are pinkening from the sun in which they stand. She burns, but never peels. The damage of a sunburn heals easily when she shifts, and then her skin is whole again.
Cigney recognizes certain signs, stands their presence better than most. More than that, she continues the conversation. Kora's attention is closer now. She watches the way the woman's fingers push through her har, the deep breath, the thoughtful expression on Cigney's face -
- with a sharper interest, now, that hints at the wolf underneath Kora's skin. She has made no decisions, yet. She does glance sidelong at her packmate as he remarks on the sidewalks, a huff of laughter in her shoulders, under her breath. Her stand is easy, confident. There is a sort of compact power to her tall, lean frame, the animal grace that skims beneath her skin.
She looks back to Cigney, some gleam of interest in her dark blue eyes. "Cleaning supplies," she returns, there's something quiet, wry about her choice of words. By way of explanation, she lifts the hemp shopping bag. It dangles heavily in her hand. Cigney gets a glimpse of the bottle of bleach inside. There's nothing else. No Pine-Sol, no dish detergent, no specialized cleaners for toilets or windows or bathrooms. Just bleach is visible, two big bottles of it. Industrial size.
[Roman Turner] ((And Roman is going to be quiet for a bit because I have to run down and move the log splitter for my folks. Sorry))
to Cigney North, Kora
[Cigney North] ((Sorry room ate my last post))
[Kora] (I hate it when that happens! and no worries, take your time! am now working on eggplant lasagne. :) )
[Cigney North] "Must be a pretty big mess". The words are quiet but steadfast.
"Why bleach? It's so toxic...why not something more natural and less detectable like lemon juice and baking soda"?
By less detectable she means of the noxious fumes it will produce.
"You carry a hemp bag, so you obviusly care about our Mother..."
[Cigney North] Mmmm...eggplant lasagna!
to Kora
[Kora] "Cleaning isn't my strong suit." Attention sharpens with Cigney's words; the creature's dark eyes flash with reflected light, and there's another faintly feral cant of her head, dark eyes fixed surely on Cigney's face, searching the young woman's expression. Her generous mouth is pulled into a faint, wry twist, deeper at the right corner than the left. " - and," humor underscores the words, "I suspect I'd need a whole lemon tree for this mess."
Relaxing her fingers, she allows the bag to drop, so it dangles heavily against her calf, her thigh from her left hand. Her inner forearm is almost startlingly pale, emphasizing the the tan that warms the other side. Nestled in between the bracelets at her left wrist is a single, small tattoo, the sharp lines of an angular norse rune. Memory.
"We all have different ways to serve the Mother," Kora continues at last, sliding her right hand into her right hip pocket. "Mine is more direct than some. Though if you're interested, I know someone who's organizing a work day to clean up some of the trash from banks of the Chicago River."
[Cigney North] Feeling the womans eyes upon her, Cigney looks up slightly. She's 5'8" with a strong set of shoulders. Cigney's has a nice natural looking tan, a friend of the sun no doubt. The body is long and lean, but quite feminine with healthy curves. Meeting the gaze now, her chin lifts a little but not too much...noting the rune, having a similar one branded into her ankle as a family mark.
"We are more similar than you think".
Her fingertips now graze over her breast bone, her features soften.
"Do you need help?"
[Kora] "This clean-up isn't something I'd inflict on a new relation arriving in the city," the wording is subtle, but perfectly clear within the scope of their lives as kin and Garou. " - near or distant. Let me buy you a beer first." Nevermind that Cigney is not yet of legal drinking age, and Roman statistically unlikely ever to reach it. Kora's older than the both of them. She can buy that beer, legally even. No one's likely to turn her down.
"There's a pub on the corner. Good deep booths where we can talk. And you," a sharp glance at the wheat grass smoothie, which looks rather like something Trent would consume. " - can bring that green thing, if you prefer it to beer. Though I'd like to buy you something," here, she glances at the boy with her, quiet now in the sun. There's a moment of silent communication between the two, registered on both their faces, before Kora glances back to Cygney.
"As a gesture of hospitality."
There's a certain formality to that, at odds with the young Garou's serviceable tank, the frayed jeans, the stained boots. Older than these trappings of modern society.
[Cigney North] She blinks at Kora's words, but nods just the same. What in the hell had these two been up to? And how many other were there? A point of no return had been reached. To say no would be an insult, and that's not the first impression she is about to make. Cigney motions to someone inside that she's taking off now that her appointment is done, picking up her gym bag.
"I don't drink for personal reasons...but I'll be happy to sit with you and talk for awhile".
Cigney glances at the teen before continuing to sip on her organic smoothie.
"My name is Cigney North...but just my relations call me swan".
[Kora] "Then," Kora returns, with a sort of unerring precision and a hook-curve of a smile that does find resonant light in her dark eyes. "I'll buy you a Shirley Temple. With organic cherries," this neat sort of simmering humor underneath the words, but there's solidity too, there. As if the offer were the ritual it is, underneath. A remnant of the old ways, despite the warm summer afternoon, the hard immediacy of the concrete, steel and glass in the city's business district. " - and raw sugar. Or a limeade."
"I'm Kora. My relations called me Eyjólfsdóttir once." The patronymic has the harsh, clear sounds of someone who speaks one of the Scandanavian languages fluently. If Cigney is familiar with Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, Kora's accent seems Icelandic. If Cigney is familiar with Icelandic, she knows the inflections to be just off. Something close, but wrong. Maybe Faroese. Maybe -
"Here," they are walking, in easy step. Roman a step or two behind, likely with a last glance toward the men in the gym. " -they mostly just call me Kora. It's easier.
The introductions complete, Kora's quiet then, mostly. Though passersby on the streets tend to walk around the trio thanks to the effect of Kora's rage, there's always someone passing by.
Just as she promised, there's a pub on the corner, dark and cool in constrast to the bright warmth of the summer afternoon. It's a lazy Sunday. There's no jam session today, so the dark wooden interior is mostly empty, except for a few diehards watching football highlights on the televisions over the bar.
True to her word, Kora insists on buying Cigney something, even if it must be non-alcohoic. A mineral water, maybe, San Pellegrino in its distinctively shaped green glass bottle with a tall, narrow glass full of ice and lime and orange wedges edging the glass. Some organic juice.
Maybe the joked-about Shirley Temple. Something - some gesture of hospitality that she will not allow to be overlooked, even with a strange girl, likely kin to someone in the city, on a warm summer afternoon when she should be cleaning rotting body parts out of the non-working freezers of a madman, disposing of them carefully, always thinking of the Veil.
She buys beers for both Roman and herself. Both are drafts, one darker than the other - it only just. They're summer beers. A Heifewiezen and a pale ale. When she returns to the booth chosen by Roman and Cigney - the far booth, alone, close to the jukebox - she sets down the two beers and the non-alcoholic drink of Cigney's choosing, then slides into the booth beside Roman.
"Forgive my bluntness, Swan. If you prefer Swan. You're kin, to what tribe?"
[Cigney North] Cigney takes the drink with a soft smile and nods her head. "Thank you". It's a simple bottled water served with both lemon and lime, pulp floating amidst the bubbles. You don't get much more than that in a corner pub. But it suits her needs just fine. She sips from a straw slowly, listening to Kora attentively. She does not know nor does she recognize the inflections of Kora's speech. Only that it sounds much like everything else she was raised with since birth.
"Fenrir"
She looks to Kora seeming confident that her assumption was correct that they were relation. Cigney tilts her head slightly to the boy...uncertain of his own affliation and wanting to know before saying anything more.
[Kora] "So am I," Kora returns, with a perfect directness, her dark eyes fixed on Cigney's features now, as if - no matter that the girl had no pure breeding to speak of - Kora might be able to trace out the history of her ancestors from the shadow of her bones beneath her skin. "Welcome to Chicago."
The pub is dark; there's a distinctive scent of wood and brass polished, fried fish, and beer in the air. The football highlights on the television are the English premier league. The place did great business Sunday afternoons during the world cup, but that has passed, and now it is mostly empty. Nick Cave is on the jukebox. Kora sits with her beer in hand, leaning forward to brace her forearms on the edge of the table.
"This is Roman Turner. He's not Fenrir, but he's my packmate. A no-moon, if you know what that means. And," here, a certain hint of irony in her tone. "you're in luck. Not only am I Fenrir, I'm Jarl of the tribe here, such as it is."
[Cigney North] The silvery gray eyes watch the women intently, nodding to show that she understands the lexicon being used. The straw is still between her lips, and she chews on it a little as she thinks to herself. This is what she had wanted since coming here. She wouldn't have admitted to anyone, but she missed hearing the words only she and few others could ever understand.
"I was born under the No Moon..."
She offers Roman something of a nod, as if to relate that she understands.
"It's a pleasure to meet you both".
Her eyes look off into the distance for a moment before returning to Kora. She wants to say something but isn't sure if it's her place. The need to belong resonates deeply in her chest. She has a pack mentality. But there is a part of her that knows her place, and withdraws to a safe quiet understanding.
"I'm very fortunate to have met you".
[Kora] "You picked us out on the street, Cigney. Or," a pause, Kora's pale brows are drawn up, and furrow neatly. Her courtesy is not learned, but rises instead of an innate sort of reserve rare in both her tribe and her moon. She's considered, thoughtful, her voice - except for the brief, wholly foreign pronunciation of the wholly foreign patronymic she attached to herself - is entirely American. So: that faint sense of - easing about Cigney, so subtle that she herself might not admit it or regonize it - registers. " - do you prefer Swan?"
Kora voice is quiet. It is not soft.
"I suspect you would have found us soon enough. I'm glad for the coincidence, though. And for your sharp eyes. As Jarl, I stand as your guardian in the city, with the Garou of the Sept. Your transgressions are mine to punish, your favor mine to ask. Your honor is mine to defend from any who would besmirch it, and I pledge to you that I will defend you as if you were my own mate as long as I lead here, and as long as I breathe." There is a gleam in Kora's dark eyes as she says this, a certain intensity to her body language, leaning forward, the shopping bag tucked underneath the table, the beer in her hand.
And there's Nick Cave in the background, his deep voice resonant from the juke box against the wall. "So," a neat, supple pause, this change of her demeanor, a lowering of the intensity. " - where are you from, and what brings you here?"
[Kora] Hah. Blu just disappeared from my AIM, so we can assume that he wandered to the restroom or something. I suspect that he was assigned more chores than just moving the log splitter once he got to his folks' house. :)
to Cigney North
[Cigney North] The words and the tone in which they are spoken have a mesmerizing affect on her. Her expression is calm, but nothing else shows...just calm and peace. A vow was made, and deserved her complete honesty. Truthfully if Kora had been male, she isn't sure this would have worked. There is something about Kora that she likes, something that she wants to take into herself and make apart of her. Time would tell what exacty it was, and if she'd ever fulfill that want.
"It was your...your rage I think. You both feel familiar. I was raised amongst you. I know that feeling anywhere. But it was still hard to tell, I couldn't be sure until something just made sense".
Her voice speaks steadily in a soothing voice now, quiet and still all in the same breath. Pausing only to take a sip of her citrus flavored water.
"As for my name, Swan is just a nickname some call me...it isn't necessary if Cigney feels more natural to say".
The eyes now study the wood of the table top, her neatly trimmed fingernails tracing the grooves there in.
"I moved here from northern California. My fathers family left for a sabbatical back to Sweden with my sisters...step-sisters". Her nose scrunches a little...but she continues. "My presence was not needed, so I decided to spread my wings and find my own way in the world". She nods at this. It's how she has come to terms with what has happened. "My fathers family as a fine history of training warriors. I have decided to do the same".
[Kora] (Blu is back! Warning was premature. He's skimming the backscene, and should catch up soon. :) )
to Cigney North
[Cigney North] (Cool! Thanks for the update btw. :)
to Kora
[Roman Turner] He finally came out of his silent listening after taking a drink from the beer he was still years from legally being permitted do drink according to human law. His hat he'd removed when they sat down and now with hat hair the color of chestnuts, he started peeling the label from his bottle with his thumb nail.
"Why they call ya Swan? Why not something else?"
[Kora] There is a certain directness to Kora that is undeniable. Cigney studies her well-trimmed fingernails, traces the heartlines of the felled wood in the polished tabletop. Kora's eyes are on the young woman's face, clear and keen, a fine dark blue, the color of the sky at twilight perhaps, though the color is lost in the filtered shadows of the warm wood-and-brass light of the fake English pub. The intensity of her regard, the care of it: these things are not lost to the shadows.
There's a certain balance to Cigney's story. Her father's family. Her step-sisters, all going overseas and leaving behind a young kinswoman to make her way alone. Roman asks her nickname, and Kora gives him a familiar glance that can only be described as fond. They are packmates. They sit close together, in tandem. The bond is new, but strong for all that.
She nods quietly when Roman speaks, an echo of his query in her body language, not her voice. Then, she adds another question, more quiet than any of the ones that have gone before. "And your father?"
[Cigney North] At the question of her father she frowns a little.
"He gave me my name, but I never learned his true name..." Cigney shrugs slightly and now sits back in her seat, looking at the two of them, her eyes somewhat guarded but dead calm. "His name was Sven Albeister".
Another drink and small exhale. A small chuckle then occurs as she looks at Roman. "Cigney is something akin to Cygnus I guess". She swallows the water half heartedly. "Or it's a quiet insult that I've suffered unknowingly for most of my life".
[Roman Turner] "I don't get it. How's it an insult and why Swan?"
He wanted to know for a couple of reasons. Right then he sat with his leg against Kora's, touching from thigh to foot. They were Wolves and touch was like breathing for them, bringing reassurance and comfort.
"I mean, I know a Sparrow and a Swallow, so I want to know, why Swan? I'm starting to think I should change my name to Robin, but then I'd have to make Kora, Batman."
[Kora] "Then I'll call you Cigney," returns Kora, with that same quiet surety. "rather than echo the subtle insult of another. The name your father gave you." Cigney frowns, and Kora's expression does not soften. There is a certain terrible strength demanded of their kin by these wolves, by the wolves of winter, and where a human might retreat from the hint of tragedy in the air, bracketed by the lines of Cigney's frown, the calm, guarded look in the young woman's gray eyes, might find some other, lighter subject to dispel the hint of a frown from the stranger's face.
Anyway, humans haven't got Ragabash to lighten the atmosphere. She says, as an aside to her young packmate, "I'm not wearing a cape." - with this even look that is serious, except for the passing gleam of humor in her eyes.
Then she looks back to Cigney, considered. And, briefly, quietly, returns to the subject of her father. "He was Garou?"
There are two questions, really, wrapped into the one.
[Cigney North] Her eyebrow twitches...her eyes darken like a coming storm...was he making fun of her name?
"Cygnus is ancient Latin for swan..." the words expel themselves from between tightened lips. She then clears her throat a little and answers Kora's question. "Yes. I know this because he told my human mother before taking me to be raised with a pack mother. When I didn't turn, I was returned to her. My father was already mated to another kin you see".
[Roman Turner] "Wait, I am confused. Forgive me, ma'am if I seem to be dissecting this, but, you call yourself Swan, your name is Cigney, but ya say it's akin to Cygnus ya guess or a quiet insult. I am so confused. Which is the insult? And ya think your name is bad, try mine. Ever since I came here I got folk asking me if I'm Roman, or a Roman and had one guy even jerk my leash saying he was Roman too."
He shook his head.
"Crazy folk in this world."
[Kora] "Careful, Cigney. You're hearing insults where there are none. We have," a faint, " - as Roman said, rather a number of compatriots named after birds. His cousin, my packmate - her parents named her Sparrow. The Nation named her Resistance."
Kora casts a glance between the pair, from Roman to Cigney, before she continues, still low-voiced. "And you'll forgive me for insulting your kin, but your father should have acknowledged you as his, true-born or kin, you're Fenrir, not human. I will not hold his transgressions against your mate against you."
[Roman Turner] "There's power in names ya know. My Cousin Sparrow earned the deed name of Resistance. Myself, Fate. This here is Sorrow."
He bumped shoulders with Kora, obviously very content to crowd in on one side of the booth with her. On the outside he was young and most wouldn't see past that. Inside he was aging at a terrifying rate that would turn a human's hair white. Like experiences had a way of aging Garou beyond their years. When he shifted his weight, his foot bumped his pack which gave a faint clanking noise was the tools he'd stuffed in shifted around. Clean up wasn't always just bleach and this one required extra tools.
[Cigney North] As she listens to Roman she scowls, then blinks...then shakes her head a little and eventually tilts her head back and laughes. It was hard not to be so serious sometimes when people asked her about her up bringing. She had no fancy pedigree to fall back on. Because of this she's gone the extra mile to prove herself a capable Fenrir kin. No less than another.
"I'm sorry Roman. A swan is everything opposite to a wolf. Non-predatory, soft, lovely but by no means useful. It doesn't do anything...it's an insult. But I accept it cause in some way I hope it shows a bit of humility considering my situation".
As Kora warns her, Cigney puts up her hands and lowers her head nodding. "I know...please forgive my defensiveness, it happens sometimes". She looks to Kora and Roman. "I do not hate my father. I love him dearly because he made me what I am. I wish things could have been different....but I can't change these things so I have to find peace with it". A deep centering breath. "Thank you for your acceptance".
[Roman Turner] "Ya got that wrong. A swan is a fierce warrior. They beauty throws folks off, but come near their young, near their nest and ya gonna have a tangle with it it. Ain't a soft name at all, it's a deceptive name. Camouflage name. Ya see beauty with the name, not the steel beneath. It's a good thing."
He lifted his bottle in a little salute and swigged down more of the beer.
[Kora] Kora's attention lingers on Cigney now, watching the quick, sure change in her expression, the way her defensive frown resolves itself into a moment of undeniable surprise, then melts away into laughter. There's a quick, answering curve on the Fenrir woman's expressive mouth - which deepens with a subtle shake of her shoulders that does not dissolve into laughter proper, caught behind the surface of Kora's native reserve.
"That," the creature returns, when Cigney apologizes for her defensiveness. "I can accept, especially since you've not allowed it to harden into bitterness."
And the lot of their kin can be bitter indeed.
Roman offers their names - their Names, the ones that will be remembered if they are remembered at all, and Kora glances at him as he bumps shoulders with her. She returns the gesture. Her skin is warm, warmer than a human's would be, the rage underneath. Her dark eyes return to Cigney as Roman corrects him about the strength of swans.
[Cigney North] "Someday you'll have to do me the honor of telling me how your deed names were chosen for you".
Hearing the clank, she blinks and resists the urge to look under the table. Cigney presses her lips together. No questions. Not at this time. As he compliments her name, she gives a reserved smile...then stiffles a chuckle. "If I ever start to honk...then we'll know it's completely true". She then laughes and lifts her glass before taking another long sip, nearly draining it to the bottom.
"I like to know a persons philosophy. It's more important to me that I know how someone views the world and what it is they feel they were born to do, what they need to accomplish. I like to know people this way". Her fingertips brush over her breastbone again as she looks deeply at Kora, holding her gaze but in no way a stare. "I can't know people this way if I harden myself". She swallows a little..."hate is a powerful thing, and it has its place in the spirit. It must balance with love. I feel at harmony in my spirit..."
Her eyes questioningly gaze at Kora as if to ask if she felt balance...
[Roman Turner] "I don't hold hate inside. Don't feel it. Everything's got a reason. It might make no sense, but hate is one of them things I can't let in for no reason. It's a weakness Miss Cigney, one that lessens the one it takes and one that exists only if permitted."
He changed the subject like Mercury.
"I was named Fate because it was fated that I would go through the change. It was fate that saw me survive my right of passage just as it was fate that brought me here to Miss Kora. Fate that had me come to Chicago with my Cuz Sparrow. Life begins and ends with Fate and it is Fate that moves us along life's many journeys."
For all the seriousness of that, he gave a big cheesey grin at the end.
[Kora] "I'm a Skald," Kora returns to Cigney, the faint curve of her mouth deepening. "I'll be pleased to tell you those stories. Someday." Her beer is slowly disappearing. She doesn't slide out from the booth to go order another as she might on an easier day. Instead, she nurses the remains of this one, inhaling the hoppy aroma of the pale ale, watching the way the remnants of the head cling to the sides of the glass. "Mine's a bit longer than Roman's, I think. Requires at least two drinks for the telling."
Then, that gesture again. Cigney touches her sternum. It's one of the strongest bones in her body, the cage behind which her heart lies.
"I'm not sure most of our tribe would use the word love," Kora replies, keenly attuned to the depth of the look with which Cigney favors her; aware, too, of the girl's care to keep that deep look from becoming a challenging stare. " - all many of us are lost in rage. We follow the strength that lives in our modis, the rage that drives them, that fuels them, can easily overwhelm them, burning everything away."
Here, she lifts a glance toward Roman, her dark eyes tracing the boy's features. "I work hard not to lose myself like that. I think we have to fight; and remember what we're fighting for - which is the world after Ragnarok - returned to its first balance. The golden fields that the seer saw, yes?" The allusion to the Voluspa is brief, but there's an undercurrent of conviction in Kora's words that suggests how much that vision of the world - after - means to her.
[Bridget] (Open?)
to Cigney North, Kora, Roman Turner
[Kora] Yes! We're in a pub! I'm going to desert you guys for about 15 minutes to go buy dogfood right now, but i will be back!
to Bridget, Cigney North, Roman Turner
[Kora] (So: post around me while I'm off buying dogfood please. It shouldn't take long!)
to Bridget, Cigney North, Roman Turner
[Cigney North] Listening to Roman speak of his philosophy, his deed name, his journey here and the relationships he's made for himself, Cigney gives a warm smile and nods. "I don't see any weakness in it at all. But if that's true ...what pushes you to fight, to violence, to war?" There had to be some motivation behind these actions that all Garou must eventually take.
Her eyes return to Kora again, her hands back to either side of her seat. "Love by any other name can be felt just the same...I'm sure of it". She looks thoughtul for a moment. "Love and Hate can sometimes feel the same...can't they?".
Putting her chin in her hand, elbow propped on the table, Cigney watches the bar become brighter as the day steals away. "I hope you will let me buy you that second beer when you have the time".
[Bridget] Wind from the lake forces the door open once it's been cracked. A twenty-something teeters inside, having been yanked in with her hand on the door. She laughs a bit and uses it as an excuse to rush over towards the bar. The bartender eyes her suspiciously until she gives him a big smile and digs for her ID. Soon enough, the suspicious man pours her a beer and leaves her alone.
The black, athletic tank reveals two portions of ink scrawled across her skin. A bear cub's head peeks out on one shoulder, while a blackbird haunts the other. The strength of her blood makes it easy to identify her as Fianna kin, but there's something aloof and feral about how she moves. She doesn't notice the others, and since they haven't been introduced, there's no one to recognize.
[Roman Turner] His rage was such a low thing that sometimes he was mistaken for Kinfolk. While most Coggies were gentle seeming, it did not mean they were weak or not capable of violence. So when Cigney asked her questions, he leaned forward with his arms resting against the table top and spoke in that soft southern drawl of his.
"Well Miss Cigney. I don't see it as violence. What I do is not uncontrolled. What I do, I do for the survival of our Race as a whole. I don't do mindless and I do understand that each and every war that has been fought throughout history can be said somewhere along the line, it was for survival. So I suppose ya have to make your own calls on this. I don't do what I do for Glory, to conquer to gain. I do it so one day after the dust settles, there's a place for my children's, children's, children might have peace and a place to call home."
[Cigney North] She's receptive to the rage, and it causes her to draw back slightly. Her eyes dip slightly for a moment, and she's quiet. The sound of the door captures her attention for a moment has a woman breezes in. She watches her a moment or two before turning back to the two hosts.
"My greatest wish is to help that fight anyway I can. I don't demean it by calling it servitude. It's my calling, my destiny."
She gazes around. "I'm not keeping the two of you from your chores am I?"
[Kora] "I would never refuse the hospitality of my kin," Kora's response to Cigney's invitation, for the second beer, some other night, is easy and sure as everything about her seems to be. Her dark eyes linger on the young kinswoman's face as she muses over the balance between love and hate, these human words that seem - to Kora, the Skald, the daughter of Fenris, with her duty to regale the living and remember the dead - almost too human.
"You're probably right. They can be the same; they can diverge. I think the words themselves feel wrong to me. What we are feels deeper and broader than human language can encompasse, so I shy from abstractions like love and hate, and stick to the concrete. The beer in my hands. The packmate beside me. The kinswoman sharing my table. The music in the air. The memories I carry, of both the living and the dead."
Like the rest of them, Kora looks up as Bridget breezes in and orders her beer. Unlike the others, Kora goes a step farther. "Fianna," she tells them, her voice low. " - kin, likely. I can read her breeding in her bones."
Then, that wry look curves across her mouth again. "Our chores will take us a few days. The respite is welcome. Though we should be on our way, shortly, I owe you a bit more information, I think. Hand me that napkin, would you?" she continues, gesturing to napkins, closer to Cigney's hand than her own.
[Roman Turner] His rage was such a tiny thing compared to most, so when Cigney drew back slightly it had puzzlement then a flash of quickly veiled pain darting through his faded denim colored eyes. The opening of the door was a good reason to glance that way as a woman bearing breeding he didn't know, entered.
Cigney spoke and drew his attention back to her and once more a big ole stupid smile was thrown up like a shield.
[Bridget] The Fianna remains at the bar for now. Unable to remain still, she merely sets her canvas bag with its various pins and patches on the stool. She remains standing, shuffling back and forth on each foot. Should any be able to read body language, she has a strong urge to move around, go running perhaps. It's difficult for her to restrain it. So, after a moment she grabs her bag and takes her cold mug towards the jukebox and pours some spare change into it.
After making her quick selections, she reads some of the band pamphlets located in the back of the place, then moves back towards the bar again. Something bluesy makes the jukebox flare to life. There's something of a sheepish grin coming from the kin as she makes her way back.
[Cigney North] She takes the napkin and hands it to Kora. She then moves to her gym bag and searches through it for a business card. Oh yes, a professional she is. Sliding the card to Kora on the table, she nods and smiles at Kora's description of life. "It's almost poetic I think, your words". Cigney looks again at the woman as Kora identifies her as a kin. She watches a moment or two, then sinks back into silence.
"I wish you the best of luck in your chores. Again, I'm grateful for your hospitality. If you do need any help..."
[Kora] Kora accepts the business card, glancing down to read the kinswoman's name and title briefly, with a passing look at the phone numbers attached. Then, she slips it wordlessly into her hip pocket, digging out a stub of a pencil from somewhere. Later, she will transcribe the numbers on the business card into her phone, but it is a testament to her distance from human society that she does not do so sitting here, now. That she prefers to write them down, to read them inscribed on paper.
"This," she says, writing a number on the paper. " - is my phone number. And this," a second number, the name Trent beside it, " - is my mate's number. His name is Trent, and if you cannot get me on the phone, he's likely to see me soon, and should be able to get a message to me. The tribe's numbers are few in Chicago. There are two Rotagar, one named Karl, one named Delmer. I'll let them know you're here. We have a few kin, as well. Adrian is an archaeology student, Izzy and John are detectives. Moira is an herbalist. I'm not sure we have enough for a moot, but maybe a barbecue, soon.
"There is a restaurant here called the Brotherhood, run by kin. If you need to find others, kin and Garou both live there, in a dorm above the restaurant, though my pack does not. I'll give you a call in a few days, show you the way to our packhouse in case you've need to find us have haven't got a phone.
"And," lingering, the pause, "I'll make a talen you can break if you run into trouble. The spirit will find the nearest Garou. Give me a few days, yeah?"
"As for this," a glance down at their supplies. "I'd welcome your help, though I think it's something I'd like to spare you. You might give Trent a call, though. He's interested in organizing a river clean-up, a sort of work day to pick up the trash from the Chicago River. I'd like it if you got involved."
The shift in music, the wail of the blues draws Kora's dark eyes to Bridget again. Her look lingers, sure and dark and clear, longer than another's would. She turns back to Cigney, though, pushing the napkin with its numbers across the table to the young Fenrir kinswoman.
[Bridget] It finally occurs to her that she's being watched. It's not an oppressive thing, so it's not overly obvious, but she still gives the deer-in-the-headlights look, nut-brown eyes scanning the room. It rests on their table, but not for too long. She sips at her beer and plays at watching them. After a moment, she decides to make her way over.
"Hey, do any of you know of a decent live venue around here?" she asks, not really towards any one of them.
[Roman Turner] He looked up at Bridget's approach and his mouth worked a few times with her question before he just said.
"Huh? Live what?"
[Cigney North] Cigney shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I'm kind of new to the city so I don't know much about the entertainment". She looks at Roman, then smirks and rolls her eyes a little. Too funny.
She takes the napkin and folds it quickly but carefully into her palm, then moves it to her lap, having listened attentively to Kora. All of this...such kindness. Cigney smiles and nods her head. "Yes...I will help however I can. I can't begin to even thank you enough".
The napkin is placed into the business card holder to keep it safe amongst her things.
[Kora] "She's looking," Kora explains to Roman, her voice low and sure as it always is, "for a bar that has live music." It seems as if she is always explaining these things to the young Ragabash, with his southern drawl and his fine, country manners. Unlike Cigney and Roman, Kora does have a suggestion.
"The Fox and Feather. They have acoustic music Sunday afternoons into the evening. A mix of styles, really. And then there's a place called E-Sixx, that used to be owned by one of your kin. I think it's a bit edgier in style, and still has live bands, even after the owner's death."
A brief, passing glance toward Cigney, then. Kora's eyes gleam, and her smile warms. "I told you. I'm glad you're here in Chicago. We'll talk more, soon."
[Kora] I think I have another post or two in me for this scene, and then I need to finish some things around the house. Bridget: I feel like I owe you a scene, so if you're still around when I get back we could do something brief! :)
to Bridget, Cigney North, Roman Turner
[Kora] (just FYI: I've really enjoyed the scene, I hope we'll play more, soon. Can always feel free to grab me on AIM. My name is istioname there.)
to Cigney North
[Roman Turner] ((as for me, a short time more and I must sleep because I am cross-eyed))
to Bridget, Cigney North, Kora
[Bridget] She smiles and tilts her head a bit, finding Roman's confusion amusing. She sips her beer, then shrugs.
"Ah well, a bit much to hope for I guess." There's a trace of French Canadian in her accent, should one have an ear for it.
However, seeing as they're apparently in the middle of some conversation or going their separate ways, Bridget's attention wanders off. A rowdy patron backs into a server, sending the tray and a glass to spill on the floor. If Bridget's ears could twitch, they would. For a second, until she realizes what's going on, there's a posture of mild alarm.
However, what Kora says catches her attention. Kin is not a word used often in this part of the country. A dawning of recognition.
"Ah, sure thing. Thanks. I'm Bridget."
A hand stretches towards the Fenrir. There's no hesitancy, but it's not confrontational either.
[Bridget] ((Ah, that's fine. I got invited to this cookout today, so I might not be here when you get back.))
to Cigney North, Kora, Roman Turner
[Cigney North] As Kora explains the entertainment options, Cigney is busy remembering them for another time. Feeling that they have reached the end of the evening, she finishes what's left of her melted ice cubes and then gets up from her seat. "It's nice to meet you Bridget". She offers her hand after Kora's or Roman's.
"If you'll excuse me, have a bit of a walk ahead of me".
She thanks her to hosts once more.
[Cigney North] (Thank you so much for the scene. My AIM is MiamiVStyle)
to Kora
[Kora] "Kora," the Fenrir introduces herself, clearly reading recognizing in Bridget's face. "And this is my packmate, Roman." They are bit separated from the bar here; the booth was clearly chosen its isolation from the other patrons in the room. The bar is filling up now, though, and Kora and Roman still have a ... warehouse full of body parts to clean up, to cleanse, to burn - bloody, grotesque work that will take them not hours, but days.
Then, Cigney rises, excusing herself. Kora flashes her a half-smile, easy and confident. "Goodnight, Cigney."
"I haven't seen you before, Bridget. If you need help getting in touch with your tribe, I'd be happy to provide it. If not, I'll have to offer you hospitality some other night. Roman and I have neglected our work rather too long, tonight, already."
[Kora] Brilliant. I've added you! :)
to Cigney North
[Bridget] Bridget shakes Kora's hand and looks to Roman. She nods her head, still smiling. She listens while Kora explains what's going on. Another nod comes from the Fiana kin. "Sure thing, haven't run into any of them here. I don't have a phone yet, but I know where the Brotherhood is."
Bridget watches Cigney with an amiable expression as she moves to leave. She shakes the other kinswoman's hand without hesitancy. "You, too."
[Roman Turner] He rose when Cigney did, canting his head to her.
"I'll be seeing ya again Miss Cigney."
He waited till she left then nodded his head to Bridget with the introduction from Kora.
[Cigney North] With that, Cigney heads towards the door. She pulls on a track jacket and slings her gym bag across her body. It was a nice evening, and she had arranging to do back to the new apartment.
[Cigney North] Goodnight everyone, thanks for the scene!
to Bridget, Kora, Roman Turner
[Bridget] Night
to Cigney North, Kora, Roman Turner
[Kora] "No?" Kora returns to Bridget, her pale brows lifting as the young Fianna reports that she has not run into her tribe here. "I'll find them for you." The Skald offers the Fianna kinswoman the faintest hook of a passing half-smile. "Check in at the Brotherhood in a few days. Hopefully, they'll make contact with you.
"And, if you can, get a phone. Preferably a prepaid phone, the sort you can pay for in cash and discard easily. The city's dangerous. It helps to have an easy way to stay in touch. I'm glad to have met you, too, Bridget. Even in passing. You'll never find me at E-Sixx, but sometimes we go to the Fox and Feather, when duty does not keep us elsewhere."
Their beers are on the table, finished now. Both Kora and Roman have bags. Kora's is help, two huge bottles of bleach inside. Roman's clanks with nameless tools.
[Bridget] The kindolk nods and lets the two go on to their business. From the looks of it, something that would keep them busy for a while. Bridget doesn't ask: it's not her business. She's polite, but not like so many cowering, half-fractured kin. She looks like the sort who can take care of herself well enough.
"Sure thing, ma'am," a polite, respectful nod. "Thanks."
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