[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's eyebrow moves slightly, a suggestion of an arch. "I see," she says, the words a polite restriction of anything else she might say.
She picks up her cup again, taking a deeper swallow of the coffee.
"You might see if Hill House has need o' you," she suggests. "I'm not sure if yeh can be paid, but," she moves her shoulders in a sketch of a shrug, "At worst, it's volunteering for the cause."
[Cigney North] She decides to order before it gets much later. A gyro with tzatski sauce with a sparkling ginger tea.
to Imogen Slaughter, Kora, Trent Brumby
[Cigney North] She decides to order before it gets much later. A gyro with tzatski sauce with a sparkling ginger tea.
[Kora] Neither her neighborhood nor her territory, but Kora has learned her way around the city now: the way the buses run through the streets like blood through its veins, the El trains criss-crossing between the buildings, clattering past in stutterstep, the lights in the cars flashing like strobes when seen through the guard barriers that keep the cars in and the more adventurous of Chicago's citzen's off the tracks.
It's bright and clear outside, cooler but still humid, the sky sunk past dusk, though there are still streaks of blue in the distant went, that smoke-colored blue that feels lik it is just on the edge of transparent. The city's lights gleam in the plate-glass windows of the greek restaurant, turn the colored awnings into a uniform orange. It is still early enough that people are out on foot, window shopping past stores that are just closing, iron bars being drawn across the brilliantly illuminated picture windows. In these surroundings, Kora looks like one of those graduate students studying the more useless subjects - literary theory, theater, eastern european history - the sort who does not quite belong here, but can slide in about the edges. Dressed in jeans and a washed orange Edinburg Fringe Festival t-shirt, with its tone on tone printing, her hair pulled loosely back from her face, twisted into knot, secured with a twist of leather and a piece of polished wood, more disarray than artful, she opens the front door of the restaurant with her body, hip against the glass, always in motion.
And stops, just inside the front door, brow furrowed as she looks around. It takes the sparest moment, because Imogen's breeding is like a flame, and Trent is seated with her, not a conflagration but a different sort of spark against the back of her mind. Cigney takes longer to find. It's easier for her to blend in, slip past the sharp Garou's senses into the stream of humanity.
[Kora] Cigney's waitress is leaving her table, headed back to the kitchen, ticket in hand. She cuts this sort of unerring direct line, then swerves, ducks behind the counter rather than continue through the dining room. The hostess gives Kora a polite smile that spreads a hint too tautly over her mouth, which eases when the Garou shakes her head. "I'm meeting people here already," she says, slipping past the hostess' station, walking through the tables and booths toward the kin.
[Cigney North] Cigney is in a separate booth currently from Trent and Imogen. As she watches the waitress walk off, she notes the movement of the waitress, and see's Kora. Cigney gives her small wave and a warm smile, then glances over at Trent and gives a shrug...moving over in the booth if Kora is of a mind.
[Trent Brumby] "Hill House?" he's heard of it, just not all that much, "I'll give them a call or drop in, and see if they can use a hand." Between everything else that he's got on his plate, that is. Erick, Kora, his job, the River clean up, bird baths and feeders, now he throws Hill House on top of it. It's certainly going to keep him busy, less time for drinking in any case.
[Imogen Slaughter] "Ask for Mary Alice," she says, her gaze flicking up as the rage forces a hush over the somewhat occupied dining area. She watches Kora approach them, and then says, mildly to Trent.
"Perhaps you should ask your friend," meaning Cigney, "to join us, as it seems we're gathering here."
[Kora] Kora does not return Cigney's wave. She doesn't seem to be the type to wave. She does, however, return the young kinswoman's warm smile with one of her own, easily curling across her expressive mouth. Her hands are still in her front pockets, and she walks with one of those hip-centered gaits, low and easy and confident. "Doc," she says, to Imogen as she passes their table, "Trent." The smile deepens, briefly. She must have heard some portion of Imogen's mild invitation, because she stops long enough to say, "I'll ask her over - " before sauntering past, to Cigney's booth.
And pauses there, not lowering herself into the space Cigney has vacated, but instead tilting her head back at Imogen and Trent. "C'mon over. You should meet the doc." A pause, a glance at the table. The deepening of humor on her mouth. "Bring your tea, yeah?"
[Cigney North] Cigney looks up at Kora, then over at the other table. She then nods and grabs her drink...shuffling out of the booth with her gym bag. She quietly follows behind Kora.
[Trent Brumby] "Yeah, I will." He throws a glance over to Cigney, accompanied with an apologetic smile. But before he even gets out of his chair, Kora had arrived behind him and greeted them, and is already moving over to the other Kinfolk. He is careful about not looking at his mates behind, even though his eyes are drawn there, and to where her slender back meets the waist. Hmm, she had great legs, too. That walk she had, almost a swagger, was definitely eye catching. Since she's returned, they haven't had much quality alone time.
Drawing himself out of his thoughts, he rises up as the two return towards the table, moving to pull out a chair for his mate followed by Cigney. "Sorry Miss North. I shouldn't have taken so long to invite you over."
[Cigney North] Cigney shakes her head a little and doesn't say anything, giving him a half smile before taking a seat. She's tired now, and it's begining to show. The young woman looks at the red haired woman across the table a moment or s before speaking. "Good evening, it's nice to meet you".
The sparkling iced ginger tea now sits in front of her, nibbling on the slice of peach that had been resting on the side of the glass.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's mouth twists, ever so slightly, "I don't believe we have, yet," observes the woman, her voice low with a European accent, though she's been mistaken for New Zealander and Australian as well. Cornish is not particularly an accent well known to Americans - particularly when muddled with the 'pony'n'pims' accent as hers is.
"I didn't catch your name. Miss North, is it?"
Kora takes a seat and Trent retakes his. Imogen picks up her book from beside her coffee mug and leans down to slide it between the open lips of the brief case at her feet. As she straightens, the redhead lifts a pale, slender hand to her temple, pushing back errant strands of hair from her eyes.
"Imogen Slaughter."
[Kora] "Thanks, babe," Kora says casually, quietly to Trent as he brings her a chair, followed by one for Cigney. The diminutive is accompanied by a quick, lilting grin she casts back up at him as she sits, and a chaste brush of her mouth against his cheek if they're close enough for the little affection. It is private, nearly inaudible. She sits easily, half-slouching, her lower back curved inside the hard right angle of the chair.
"Cigney North," Kora supplies, as Imogen inquires after the young kinswoman's name. "Dr. Imogen Slaughter. And vice-versa. Cigney's just arrived, fitness instructor here on the mile. Doc's a forensic pathologist for the city, yeah?" Kora's dark eyes linger on the pale skinned kinswoman, brief and searching, before she sits up rather more straightly, leans across the table, and pulls over a menu to peruse. "Oh, man. Do they have that lemon soup here? I can't remember what it's called."
[Cigney North] She smiles as Kora introduces her, and then watches the woman putting away her book while she eats the peach slice. "You're a doctor? I took phlebotemy...going to be a full fledged physical trainer. I've been studying kineseology and biochemistry when I get the time". She thinks a moment. "You study bodies that have been dead awhile, right?"
[Trent Brumby] Kora gets a small smile and a light brush of his hand to her back as she moves to sit down, before settling into his own seat. He sits back as people give their introductions and Kora reaches for the menu. A small smile appears at the edge of his mouth as he listens to her declare what she wants. "I'm not in the habit of having lemon soup," he tells her quietly, smirking, "you're on your own there." He has no idea what it's called. He may be descended from Greeks but clearly he's not up to par with their dishes.
He watches her out the corner of his eye, looking more relaxed now that his mate is here, more at home around the other women too. Even if they're talking about dead bodies. "You want me to order you a drink?" He asks Kora, since the other two already have theirs.
[Imogen Slaughter] "They ha' avgolemono, if that's what you mean," Imogen answers Kora as she sets back down her coffee. "I've not had it here."
Imogen's finely carved face might well be of porcelain for all it reveals. Her dark eyes pass briefly over the affection that pass between the mated pair before turning toward Cigney again.
"Well," she says her mouth twisting slightly, "I try not t'limit myself t'those tha' ha' been dead 'a while', but I do deal wi' the deceased yes. Cause and manner o' death, among other things. Do your schoolin' at U o' C, do you?"
[Kora] "That's it," Kora confirms when Imogen supplies the name of "that lemon soup." Nevermind that it is summer outside, and something sharper, brighter, cooler - all cucumber and tomato would be more seasonal. The memory of near-endless winter is still in the forefront of her mind. "It's not just lemons, mind. It's lemons and rice and broth or something, like a lemony chicken soup maybe? I want the avgolemono - " the creature has a passable imitation of the Greek word supplied by Imogen, and now she passes it on to him, " - and a beer, I think. Something Greek if they have that, and the souvlaki." Trent's smirking, and Kora's dark eyes flash over the twist of his mouth. "Bet you you taste it and like it," she tells him, of the avgolemono. Terms, it seems, to be named later.
When a Garou is at the table, it's often easier to order at the counter, where you cannot be avoided. One adapts.
Then her attention cuts back to Cigney, as Imogen asks about her schooling; there's a certain interested light in her dark gaze, which is quick and keen, attentive between, stealing back to her mate now and then.
[Cigney North] It's a bit hard for Cigney to pick up on the accent...an make out the words. She listens really really carefully. At the mention ofuniversity, Cigney shakes her head. "No..I'm not really prepped for college. I just study on my own". She looks down at the table and then slowly rises.
"I'm sorry, I need to get going. I've got a busy day tomorrow. I'm going to take my gyro to go".
She puts the strap of her gym bag on her shoulder. "It was really nice meeting you Trent and Dr. Slaughter". Cigney gives a soft smile. "And it was good to see you again Kora". She pauses a moment. "I'm really happy to hear about the river clean up initiative, and I'll be happy to help and pitch in". Not being able to think of anything else, Cigney gives another curt nod of her head and excuses herself from the table.
"Goodnight".
[Trent Brumby] Cigney is already running off and Trent wonders if it has something to do with how he was rude, without meaning to be. He rises up from his chair as she's leaving and nods to her in a solemn sort of way. "I look forward to seeing you there. It was nice meeting you Cigney." Then she's leaving.
And he's looking back to Kora with a light smirk again. "It wasn't about that. We can discuss it later." Something else then, a private joke he wasn't willing to share with the Doctor or anywhere in public. "I'm going to order. Can I get you anything Miss Slaughter?" He pushes his chair back in as he steps around it, waiting long enough to see if she wants something else, before he's walking off to the counter to make his order.
He's only getting a souvlaki himself, lamb with the salad works and garlic sauce. Beers for both him and Kora, a refill for the doctor unless she's asked for something else specifically, and he's there long enough for Imogen and Kora to exchange a few words before he's heading back.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's eyebrow lifts slightly, but she merely says, "Goodnight."
Trent asks if she wants anything, and Imogen shakes her head. "I've eaten, thank-you," she says, picking up her coffee cup and draining it. "I probably should be on my way, myself."
[Cigney North] [thank you very much for the scene everyone! let's play again soon]
to Imogen Slaughter, Kora, Trent Brumby
[Imogen Slaughter] (absolutely!)
to Cigney North, Kora, Trent Brumby
[Kora] "Night, Cigney," Kora returns as the young kinswoman excuses herself from the table. "Be safe, yeah?" The creature turns her pale hed to track the kinswoman's path away through the restaurant, lingering as she stops at the counter to request her meal to go. She glances up at Trent as he rises, then looks back to Imogen. "What do you think she meant?" lifting her chin toward Cigney, exchanging money for her meal, wrapped in a white paper bag, "that she wasn't prepped for college?"
[Kora] (Absolutely! Thanks for the scene, and sleep tight. :) )
to Cigney North, Imogen Slaughter, Trent Brumby
[Imogen Slaughter] She shakes her head slightly, "Poor scores, perhaps. Grades. Or maybe she's a perfectionist or not finished high school." A tilt of her head, "She's young, though I'd ha' thought her twenty or so."
[Trent Brumby] He returns to his seat, sitting down by Kora and settles back. Having come from work, he'd changed his polo shirt to a t.shirt out in the parking lot. The cologne has been freshly sprayed, though not a lot of it, and clings more to his clothing then it does his skin. He feels under dressed, despite that Kora's wandering around in jeans and a t.shirt.
Like most men, he seems content to sit in the background while the women talk. Their beers would be here in short order, and a refill for Imogen.
[Kora] Kora makes a musing sound in response, her features take on a sort of narrowed, thoughtful cast as she considers that, then glances back at the counter, where Trent is entering their order, the souvlaki, the soup, the beers. When her focus is drawn back to Imogen. "If you have some time in the next few days, Doc, give me a call, yeah?" Her mouth curves, the edge of it ghosting toward the wry, though her eyes are stark. "We raided this place over the weekend. We're still cleaning up. If nothing else, I'd like the all-clear from you when we're done, make sure we've thought of everything, yeah?
"I don't think there's much danger of it being found out in the interim, so it's not an urgent sort of them. Just, when you've got time." A faint pause, narrow, inflected.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's expression stills as Kora speaks, which is not to say that it was mobile to begin with. In either case, there is a certain intentness to the doctor's features while Kora speaks, though the explanation is brief.
"What is your sleep schedule like?" she enquires, her mouth twisting slightly. Her gaze moves to Trent as he rejoins them, then back to the Garou. "I can either do very early in the morning - before six am, or late at night, after ten pm."
The kinwoman's sleep schedule, it seems, is sporadic.
The drinks do come in short order, including a refill for Imogen. She lays a hand over the top of her cup to stop it, flicking a glance up to say simply, "Just the bill, if you please." The waitress casts a glance to Trent, then back to the Doctor, and then merely moves away.
Imogen reaches around to pick up her purse from her chair, taking out a billfold to count out her cash, estimating her bill and a tip while waiting for her receipt.
[Trent Brumby] When the waitress looks at him, he nods a little. Imogen didn't want another and that was more then fine with him. He doesn't mind. Still quiet, he reaches for his own beer and takes a slow drink from it, followed by another, letting his gaze cast out towards the window.
[Kora] "That's ideal," Kora replies, her voice low. Her dark eyes follow Imogen's gaze to Trent, and naturally her gaze lingers on his face a split-second longer than Imogen's eyes remain there. Her smile edges minutely wider, the shift of expression so subtle as to be nearly indistinguishable, particularly when he's unaware of her gaze on him. Back to Imogen, then, waiting until the waitress disappears again, incising neaty between the moments so that the conversation remains private. " - we're trying to minimize the potential of being spotted there, so we're working mostly at night. Maybe a few more days yet, since we're cleansing as we go."
As opposed to cleaning, a wholly different ritual.
She picks up her beer, then, tipping back a drink directly from the bottle as the waitress returns with Imogen's check. "I'll give you a call. Or you can, me. I'll meet you there, show you around."
[Imogen Slaughter] The glance had not quite been permission - from the waitress. It had been confusion, having been asked for one thing, and then upon arriving, discovering it was completely another.
"Call me," Imogen says, "since you'll know when you're ready."
The waitress returns with her bill. Imogen passes over her cash as she gets to her feet.
"I'll leave you both to your dinner, then," she says, stooping to pick up her brief case. "Ha' a goodnight."
She starts toward the door.
[Trent Brumby] His gaze snaps back to the table when the waitress comes with the bill and Imogen is already paying for it. Setting his beer back down he rose from his chair just after the Doctor did. He nods to her with a small smile. "Thank you, Miss Slaughter. You have a good night, too."
When she's gone, he settles back down into his chair and reclaims his beer, sliding his gaze to look at Kora. "Is she going to help out with the warehouse?" He asks this quietly.
[Kora] "Night, doc," Kora says quietly as Imogen rises, nodding briefly at her request. "Be safe." No yeah? attached to tha instruction, as she had done wth Cigney. The hour is growing later, and the restaurant is emptying slowly. Here and there large tables linger over their meals. Someone orders dessert, someone else insists on the sampler platter. Except for the waitress, Imogen is the only person up, walking through the tables and booths at that moment, and Kora watches her, her expression spare, her gaze thoughtful, until Imogen is at the front door.
Trent asks if Imogen is helping with the warehouse, then, and Kora's attention slips back to him, neat and coiled, the spare edge of her expression softening. When they are alone, she stretches out, the edge of her boot against his foot, this supple suggestion of contact between thm. "Yeah," Kora returns, just as quiet. She's returning his look wth a direct one of her own. "She is."
[Trent Brumby] Nodding, he seems happy to let that go. It wasn't really his business. He didn't ask any further questions about it, simply took another drink of his beer and let himself unwind. It had been a long, long day today, and he had finished early which is why he'd dropped by to see Cigney in the first place. At home Erick awaits him, the thought has him reaching up and scrubbing a hand through his thick, dark hair.
"Imogen is going to give me a call with a number for Erick, someone to talk to," he tells Kora, keeping his voice quiet and looking from the table up to meet her steady gaze, "maybe it might help him out a bit. It's not something he can keep to himself."
[Imogen Slaughter] (thanks for the scene!)
[Kora] "Kin, yeah?" The question is one she almost does not ask, her dark eyes on his face, the subtext easy, obvious. She's making conversation, and her low voice is a rich counterpoint to the filtered murmurs of other conversations in the background. Other dinners, other diners, other lives, all apart from their own, so separated by blood and circumstance that no one else in the restaurant could begin togather what she is, and what he is, and what they are, together.
"That's a good idea, I think," she continues, shifting her beer from her right hand to her left, holding her hand out to him, expectently. Her fingers are damp from the condensation on the glass. "Help him find his balance, so he can begin to find his strength. You know? Get back out on his own." There's a brief pause as she swallows back another mouthful of her beer. She can read his weariness, the strain in every line of his face. The long days and the long nights. Then, her voice drops, easily finding a more intimate pitch. " - you know I appreciate what you're doing. Don't you?"
[Trent Brumby] "Yeah." He pauses and considers, then shrugs, "Well, I think so. I made sure that Imogen knew that it would have to be someone in the know, regardless. I'd assume it would be a Kinfolk." It may not be, but the chances that they are are high.
Reaching over, he curled his hand around hers, lifting it and bending to kiss the back of her knuckles before leaning back again. This is as casual as she touches him or demands of him.
"Of course I do, Kora, you need not even ask that." A small frown appears, creasing between his dark brows, accompanied with a small shake of his head and a gentle squeeze of her hand. "Anything I can do to help out, I'm more then willing."
[Kora] "When we're done cleaning up the warehouse," Kora tells him, her eyes dropping from his face to their hands, intertwined. Her bracelets are dark against her skin, as are his tanned fingers, his blunt hand, against her own. "Roman's going to work on fixing up the electricity and plumbing in the church, yeah? Making it a bit more habitable, so that he can his cousin can let their lease on their house lapse when they're finished.
"I told him about your offer of the spare room - remember that? - for the pack." The last pack, she means. Kora has learned enough not to identify which one it was. She never says, Joe did or Joe thought around him anymore. Her former alpha has been excised from this part of her vocabulary, even if she cannot excise him from her life.
Or their lives.
"He was," she's straightening now, leaning closer to the table and closer to him. " - not remotely interested." And closer. " - didn't want to hear us. Said it made him think of his mom and dad. Regardless," she continues, giving his hand a faint, provocative squeeze. Enough that he can feel the strength of her grip. "Maybe you could give him a hand now and then." Then, with a lazy flicker her attention back toward the counter, watching for their orders in the pass-through window.
"Maybe we should get that stuff to go."
[Trent Brumby] Through all of this he listens without interruption, squeezing her hand back, much more gentle then she had his. His pale eyes stay locked onto hers, searching them and sometimes, also, her face. Imogen had suggested he help out Hill House, and now there is Roman that needs a hand. But he nods, accepting, easily. "I will. I'll see what needs to be done and set to work. As long as I'm not stepping on his toes."
He follows her glance over to the counter, then looks back to her. "You want me to get it to go?" Normally he would just agree and go and do it, without questioning. But he's reluctant to leave right now, to head back to where Erick awaits. Who will also need to be fed, and Trent will feed without complaint or bad thought. But right now he wouldn't mind a few moments alone with her. Still, if she wanted to go, he'd get up and make sure their food was ready to come with them.
[Kora] "Yeah," she says, her mouth hooking upward at the corner. If she reads reluctance into his question at the end, there's no flicker of that in her eyes. Her hair is pulled away from her face, and she's sitting at a ninety degree angle from him, so he has a perfect view of her profile, the curve of her ear, the firm line of her jaw, the soft hollow of her throat. The choker there, black against her pale skin. "They close the public beaches at dusk, you know? But I can climb a fence. So I want to get it to go. We can pick up a bottle of something on the way, and have a picnic, just you and me and the stars.
"Well," she continues, after a lingering pause that twists her mouth into a faint little smirk, one that does nothing to dim the sheen of light across her gleaming eyes. "you and me and the three stars visible through the haze of the city, and the light of the moon." On nights like this, when the moon skims heavy through the sky, leaves a long trail through the dark waters of Lake Michigan like a comet, her calm is deceptive. He can read, though, the promise of movement underneath her skin. Then intensity of her regard beneath that faint, skimming smirk, sharpening the longer her dark eyes linger on his body.
[Trent Brumby] "Good idea." She need not try and convince him, the moment she had mentioned the beach and grabbing something on the way there, he was already uncurling his hand from her own and leaving his beer on the table again.
He smiles at the twist of her mouth, and as he raises from his chair, he leans over to kiss it. It's a little less chaste then her earlier one on the cheek, a little more opened mouth and lingering, but he pulls back after he lets his intention be known. "I'll get it to go, won't be a moment." His fingers brush her shoulder as he steps by and heads towards the counter.
The promise invigorates him. He moves with more purpose, eagerness, where before he was practically dragging his feet. Dinner would be packed away, and he'd come back to walk her from the table out towards the car parked in the lot. He'd be happy to drive her out, head to the beach, and settle down with her to eat.
It's there that he'll pop the question.
[to be continued!]
[Kora] transcript!
to Kora
She picks up her cup again, taking a deeper swallow of the coffee.
"You might see if Hill House has need o' you," she suggests. "I'm not sure if yeh can be paid, but," she moves her shoulders in a sketch of a shrug, "At worst, it's volunteering for the cause."
[Cigney North] She decides to order before it gets much later. A gyro with tzatski sauce with a sparkling ginger tea.
to Imogen Slaughter, Kora, Trent Brumby
[Cigney North] She decides to order before it gets much later. A gyro with tzatski sauce with a sparkling ginger tea.
[Kora] Neither her neighborhood nor her territory, but Kora has learned her way around the city now: the way the buses run through the streets like blood through its veins, the El trains criss-crossing between the buildings, clattering past in stutterstep, the lights in the cars flashing like strobes when seen through the guard barriers that keep the cars in and the more adventurous of Chicago's citzen's off the tracks.
It's bright and clear outside, cooler but still humid, the sky sunk past dusk, though there are still streaks of blue in the distant went, that smoke-colored blue that feels lik it is just on the edge of transparent. The city's lights gleam in the plate-glass windows of the greek restaurant, turn the colored awnings into a uniform orange. It is still early enough that people are out on foot, window shopping past stores that are just closing, iron bars being drawn across the brilliantly illuminated picture windows. In these surroundings, Kora looks like one of those graduate students studying the more useless subjects - literary theory, theater, eastern european history - the sort who does not quite belong here, but can slide in about the edges. Dressed in jeans and a washed orange Edinburg Fringe Festival t-shirt, with its tone on tone printing, her hair pulled loosely back from her face, twisted into knot, secured with a twist of leather and a piece of polished wood, more disarray than artful, she opens the front door of the restaurant with her body, hip against the glass, always in motion.
And stops, just inside the front door, brow furrowed as she looks around. It takes the sparest moment, because Imogen's breeding is like a flame, and Trent is seated with her, not a conflagration but a different sort of spark against the back of her mind. Cigney takes longer to find. It's easier for her to blend in, slip past the sharp Garou's senses into the stream of humanity.
[Kora] Cigney's waitress is leaving her table, headed back to the kitchen, ticket in hand. She cuts this sort of unerring direct line, then swerves, ducks behind the counter rather than continue through the dining room. The hostess gives Kora a polite smile that spreads a hint too tautly over her mouth, which eases when the Garou shakes her head. "I'm meeting people here already," she says, slipping past the hostess' station, walking through the tables and booths toward the kin.
[Cigney North] Cigney is in a separate booth currently from Trent and Imogen. As she watches the waitress walk off, she notes the movement of the waitress, and see's Kora. Cigney gives her small wave and a warm smile, then glances over at Trent and gives a shrug...moving over in the booth if Kora is of a mind.
[Trent Brumby] "Hill House?" he's heard of it, just not all that much, "I'll give them a call or drop in, and see if they can use a hand." Between everything else that he's got on his plate, that is. Erick, Kora, his job, the River clean up, bird baths and feeders, now he throws Hill House on top of it. It's certainly going to keep him busy, less time for drinking in any case.
[Imogen Slaughter] "Ask for Mary Alice," she says, her gaze flicking up as the rage forces a hush over the somewhat occupied dining area. She watches Kora approach them, and then says, mildly to Trent.
"Perhaps you should ask your friend," meaning Cigney, "to join us, as it seems we're gathering here."
[Kora] Kora does not return Cigney's wave. She doesn't seem to be the type to wave. She does, however, return the young kinswoman's warm smile with one of her own, easily curling across her expressive mouth. Her hands are still in her front pockets, and she walks with one of those hip-centered gaits, low and easy and confident. "Doc," she says, to Imogen as she passes their table, "Trent." The smile deepens, briefly. She must have heard some portion of Imogen's mild invitation, because she stops long enough to say, "I'll ask her over - " before sauntering past, to Cigney's booth.
And pauses there, not lowering herself into the space Cigney has vacated, but instead tilting her head back at Imogen and Trent. "C'mon over. You should meet the doc." A pause, a glance at the table. The deepening of humor on her mouth. "Bring your tea, yeah?"
[Cigney North] Cigney looks up at Kora, then over at the other table. She then nods and grabs her drink...shuffling out of the booth with her gym bag. She quietly follows behind Kora.
[Trent Brumby] "Yeah, I will." He throws a glance over to Cigney, accompanied with an apologetic smile. But before he even gets out of his chair, Kora had arrived behind him and greeted them, and is already moving over to the other Kinfolk. He is careful about not looking at his mates behind, even though his eyes are drawn there, and to where her slender back meets the waist. Hmm, she had great legs, too. That walk she had, almost a swagger, was definitely eye catching. Since she's returned, they haven't had much quality alone time.
Drawing himself out of his thoughts, he rises up as the two return towards the table, moving to pull out a chair for his mate followed by Cigney. "Sorry Miss North. I shouldn't have taken so long to invite you over."
[Cigney North] Cigney shakes her head a little and doesn't say anything, giving him a half smile before taking a seat. She's tired now, and it's begining to show. The young woman looks at the red haired woman across the table a moment or s before speaking. "Good evening, it's nice to meet you".
The sparkling iced ginger tea now sits in front of her, nibbling on the slice of peach that had been resting on the side of the glass.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's mouth twists, ever so slightly, "I don't believe we have, yet," observes the woman, her voice low with a European accent, though she's been mistaken for New Zealander and Australian as well. Cornish is not particularly an accent well known to Americans - particularly when muddled with the 'pony'n'pims' accent as hers is.
"I didn't catch your name. Miss North, is it?"
Kora takes a seat and Trent retakes his. Imogen picks up her book from beside her coffee mug and leans down to slide it between the open lips of the brief case at her feet. As she straightens, the redhead lifts a pale, slender hand to her temple, pushing back errant strands of hair from her eyes.
"Imogen Slaughter."
[Kora] "Thanks, babe," Kora says casually, quietly to Trent as he brings her a chair, followed by one for Cigney. The diminutive is accompanied by a quick, lilting grin she casts back up at him as she sits, and a chaste brush of her mouth against his cheek if they're close enough for the little affection. It is private, nearly inaudible. She sits easily, half-slouching, her lower back curved inside the hard right angle of the chair.
"Cigney North," Kora supplies, as Imogen inquires after the young kinswoman's name. "Dr. Imogen Slaughter. And vice-versa. Cigney's just arrived, fitness instructor here on the mile. Doc's a forensic pathologist for the city, yeah?" Kora's dark eyes linger on the pale skinned kinswoman, brief and searching, before she sits up rather more straightly, leans across the table, and pulls over a menu to peruse. "Oh, man. Do they have that lemon soup here? I can't remember what it's called."
[Cigney North] She smiles as Kora introduces her, and then watches the woman putting away her book while she eats the peach slice. "You're a doctor? I took phlebotemy...going to be a full fledged physical trainer. I've been studying kineseology and biochemistry when I get the time". She thinks a moment. "You study bodies that have been dead awhile, right?"
[Trent Brumby] Kora gets a small smile and a light brush of his hand to her back as she moves to sit down, before settling into his own seat. He sits back as people give their introductions and Kora reaches for the menu. A small smile appears at the edge of his mouth as he listens to her declare what she wants. "I'm not in the habit of having lemon soup," he tells her quietly, smirking, "you're on your own there." He has no idea what it's called. He may be descended from Greeks but clearly he's not up to par with their dishes.
He watches her out the corner of his eye, looking more relaxed now that his mate is here, more at home around the other women too. Even if they're talking about dead bodies. "You want me to order you a drink?" He asks Kora, since the other two already have theirs.
[Imogen Slaughter] "They ha' avgolemono, if that's what you mean," Imogen answers Kora as she sets back down her coffee. "I've not had it here."
Imogen's finely carved face might well be of porcelain for all it reveals. Her dark eyes pass briefly over the affection that pass between the mated pair before turning toward Cigney again.
"Well," she says her mouth twisting slightly, "I try not t'limit myself t'those tha' ha' been dead 'a while', but I do deal wi' the deceased yes. Cause and manner o' death, among other things. Do your schoolin' at U o' C, do you?"
[Kora] "That's it," Kora confirms when Imogen supplies the name of "that lemon soup." Nevermind that it is summer outside, and something sharper, brighter, cooler - all cucumber and tomato would be more seasonal. The memory of near-endless winter is still in the forefront of her mind. "It's not just lemons, mind. It's lemons and rice and broth or something, like a lemony chicken soup maybe? I want the avgolemono - " the creature has a passable imitation of the Greek word supplied by Imogen, and now she passes it on to him, " - and a beer, I think. Something Greek if they have that, and the souvlaki." Trent's smirking, and Kora's dark eyes flash over the twist of his mouth. "Bet you you taste it and like it," she tells him, of the avgolemono. Terms, it seems, to be named later.
When a Garou is at the table, it's often easier to order at the counter, where you cannot be avoided. One adapts.
Then her attention cuts back to Cigney, as Imogen asks about her schooling; there's a certain interested light in her dark gaze, which is quick and keen, attentive between, stealing back to her mate now and then.
[Cigney North] It's a bit hard for Cigney to pick up on the accent...an make out the words. She listens really really carefully. At the mention ofuniversity, Cigney shakes her head. "No..I'm not really prepped for college. I just study on my own". She looks down at the table and then slowly rises.
"I'm sorry, I need to get going. I've got a busy day tomorrow. I'm going to take my gyro to go".
She puts the strap of her gym bag on her shoulder. "It was really nice meeting you Trent and Dr. Slaughter". Cigney gives a soft smile. "And it was good to see you again Kora". She pauses a moment. "I'm really happy to hear about the river clean up initiative, and I'll be happy to help and pitch in". Not being able to think of anything else, Cigney gives another curt nod of her head and excuses herself from the table.
"Goodnight".
[Trent Brumby] Cigney is already running off and Trent wonders if it has something to do with how he was rude, without meaning to be. He rises up from his chair as she's leaving and nods to her in a solemn sort of way. "I look forward to seeing you there. It was nice meeting you Cigney." Then she's leaving.
And he's looking back to Kora with a light smirk again. "It wasn't about that. We can discuss it later." Something else then, a private joke he wasn't willing to share with the Doctor or anywhere in public. "I'm going to order. Can I get you anything Miss Slaughter?" He pushes his chair back in as he steps around it, waiting long enough to see if she wants something else, before he's walking off to the counter to make his order.
He's only getting a souvlaki himself, lamb with the salad works and garlic sauce. Beers for both him and Kora, a refill for the doctor unless she's asked for something else specifically, and he's there long enough for Imogen and Kora to exchange a few words before he's heading back.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's eyebrow lifts slightly, but she merely says, "Goodnight."
Trent asks if she wants anything, and Imogen shakes her head. "I've eaten, thank-you," she says, picking up her coffee cup and draining it. "I probably should be on my way, myself."
[Cigney North] [thank you very much for the scene everyone! let's play again soon]
to Imogen Slaughter, Kora, Trent Brumby
[Imogen Slaughter] (absolutely!)
to Cigney North, Kora, Trent Brumby
[Kora] "Night, Cigney," Kora returns as the young kinswoman excuses herself from the table. "Be safe, yeah?" The creature turns her pale hed to track the kinswoman's path away through the restaurant, lingering as she stops at the counter to request her meal to go. She glances up at Trent as he rises, then looks back to Imogen. "What do you think she meant?" lifting her chin toward Cigney, exchanging money for her meal, wrapped in a white paper bag, "that she wasn't prepped for college?"
[Kora] (Absolutely! Thanks for the scene, and sleep tight. :) )
to Cigney North, Imogen Slaughter, Trent Brumby
[Imogen Slaughter] She shakes her head slightly, "Poor scores, perhaps. Grades. Or maybe she's a perfectionist or not finished high school." A tilt of her head, "She's young, though I'd ha' thought her twenty or so."
[Trent Brumby] He returns to his seat, sitting down by Kora and settles back. Having come from work, he'd changed his polo shirt to a t.shirt out in the parking lot. The cologne has been freshly sprayed, though not a lot of it, and clings more to his clothing then it does his skin. He feels under dressed, despite that Kora's wandering around in jeans and a t.shirt.
Like most men, he seems content to sit in the background while the women talk. Their beers would be here in short order, and a refill for Imogen.
[Kora] Kora makes a musing sound in response, her features take on a sort of narrowed, thoughtful cast as she considers that, then glances back at the counter, where Trent is entering their order, the souvlaki, the soup, the beers. When her focus is drawn back to Imogen. "If you have some time in the next few days, Doc, give me a call, yeah?" Her mouth curves, the edge of it ghosting toward the wry, though her eyes are stark. "We raided this place over the weekend. We're still cleaning up. If nothing else, I'd like the all-clear from you when we're done, make sure we've thought of everything, yeah?
"I don't think there's much danger of it being found out in the interim, so it's not an urgent sort of them. Just, when you've got time." A faint pause, narrow, inflected.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's expression stills as Kora speaks, which is not to say that it was mobile to begin with. In either case, there is a certain intentness to the doctor's features while Kora speaks, though the explanation is brief.
"What is your sleep schedule like?" she enquires, her mouth twisting slightly. Her gaze moves to Trent as he rejoins them, then back to the Garou. "I can either do very early in the morning - before six am, or late at night, after ten pm."
The kinwoman's sleep schedule, it seems, is sporadic.
The drinks do come in short order, including a refill for Imogen. She lays a hand over the top of her cup to stop it, flicking a glance up to say simply, "Just the bill, if you please." The waitress casts a glance to Trent, then back to the Doctor, and then merely moves away.
Imogen reaches around to pick up her purse from her chair, taking out a billfold to count out her cash, estimating her bill and a tip while waiting for her receipt.
[Trent Brumby] When the waitress looks at him, he nods a little. Imogen didn't want another and that was more then fine with him. He doesn't mind. Still quiet, he reaches for his own beer and takes a slow drink from it, followed by another, letting his gaze cast out towards the window.
[Kora] "That's ideal," Kora replies, her voice low. Her dark eyes follow Imogen's gaze to Trent, and naturally her gaze lingers on his face a split-second longer than Imogen's eyes remain there. Her smile edges minutely wider, the shift of expression so subtle as to be nearly indistinguishable, particularly when he's unaware of her gaze on him. Back to Imogen, then, waiting until the waitress disappears again, incising neaty between the moments so that the conversation remains private. " - we're trying to minimize the potential of being spotted there, so we're working mostly at night. Maybe a few more days yet, since we're cleansing as we go."
As opposed to cleaning, a wholly different ritual.
She picks up her beer, then, tipping back a drink directly from the bottle as the waitress returns with Imogen's check. "I'll give you a call. Or you can, me. I'll meet you there, show you around."
[Imogen Slaughter] The glance had not quite been permission - from the waitress. It had been confusion, having been asked for one thing, and then upon arriving, discovering it was completely another.
"Call me," Imogen says, "since you'll know when you're ready."
The waitress returns with her bill. Imogen passes over her cash as she gets to her feet.
"I'll leave you both to your dinner, then," she says, stooping to pick up her brief case. "Ha' a goodnight."
She starts toward the door.
[Trent Brumby] His gaze snaps back to the table when the waitress comes with the bill and Imogen is already paying for it. Setting his beer back down he rose from his chair just after the Doctor did. He nods to her with a small smile. "Thank you, Miss Slaughter. You have a good night, too."
When she's gone, he settles back down into his chair and reclaims his beer, sliding his gaze to look at Kora. "Is she going to help out with the warehouse?" He asks this quietly.
[Kora] "Night, doc," Kora says quietly as Imogen rises, nodding briefly at her request. "Be safe." No yeah? attached to tha instruction, as she had done wth Cigney. The hour is growing later, and the restaurant is emptying slowly. Here and there large tables linger over their meals. Someone orders dessert, someone else insists on the sampler platter. Except for the waitress, Imogen is the only person up, walking through the tables and booths at that moment, and Kora watches her, her expression spare, her gaze thoughtful, until Imogen is at the front door.
Trent asks if Imogen is helping with the warehouse, then, and Kora's attention slips back to him, neat and coiled, the spare edge of her expression softening. When they are alone, she stretches out, the edge of her boot against his foot, this supple suggestion of contact between thm. "Yeah," Kora returns, just as quiet. She's returning his look wth a direct one of her own. "She is."
[Trent Brumby] Nodding, he seems happy to let that go. It wasn't really his business. He didn't ask any further questions about it, simply took another drink of his beer and let himself unwind. It had been a long, long day today, and he had finished early which is why he'd dropped by to see Cigney in the first place. At home Erick awaits him, the thought has him reaching up and scrubbing a hand through his thick, dark hair.
"Imogen is going to give me a call with a number for Erick, someone to talk to," he tells Kora, keeping his voice quiet and looking from the table up to meet her steady gaze, "maybe it might help him out a bit. It's not something he can keep to himself."
[Imogen Slaughter] (thanks for the scene!)
[Kora] "Kin, yeah?" The question is one she almost does not ask, her dark eyes on his face, the subtext easy, obvious. She's making conversation, and her low voice is a rich counterpoint to the filtered murmurs of other conversations in the background. Other dinners, other diners, other lives, all apart from their own, so separated by blood and circumstance that no one else in the restaurant could begin togather what she is, and what he is, and what they are, together.
"That's a good idea, I think," she continues, shifting her beer from her right hand to her left, holding her hand out to him, expectently. Her fingers are damp from the condensation on the glass. "Help him find his balance, so he can begin to find his strength. You know? Get back out on his own." There's a brief pause as she swallows back another mouthful of her beer. She can read his weariness, the strain in every line of his face. The long days and the long nights. Then, her voice drops, easily finding a more intimate pitch. " - you know I appreciate what you're doing. Don't you?"
[Trent Brumby] "Yeah." He pauses and considers, then shrugs, "Well, I think so. I made sure that Imogen knew that it would have to be someone in the know, regardless. I'd assume it would be a Kinfolk." It may not be, but the chances that they are are high.
Reaching over, he curled his hand around hers, lifting it and bending to kiss the back of her knuckles before leaning back again. This is as casual as she touches him or demands of him.
"Of course I do, Kora, you need not even ask that." A small frown appears, creasing between his dark brows, accompanied with a small shake of his head and a gentle squeeze of her hand. "Anything I can do to help out, I'm more then willing."
[Kora] "When we're done cleaning up the warehouse," Kora tells him, her eyes dropping from his face to their hands, intertwined. Her bracelets are dark against her skin, as are his tanned fingers, his blunt hand, against her own. "Roman's going to work on fixing up the electricity and plumbing in the church, yeah? Making it a bit more habitable, so that he can his cousin can let their lease on their house lapse when they're finished.
"I told him about your offer of the spare room - remember that? - for the pack." The last pack, she means. Kora has learned enough not to identify which one it was. She never says, Joe did or Joe thought around him anymore. Her former alpha has been excised from this part of her vocabulary, even if she cannot excise him from her life.
Or their lives.
"He was," she's straightening now, leaning closer to the table and closer to him. " - not remotely interested." And closer. " - didn't want to hear us. Said it made him think of his mom and dad. Regardless," she continues, giving his hand a faint, provocative squeeze. Enough that he can feel the strength of her grip. "Maybe you could give him a hand now and then." Then, with a lazy flicker her attention back toward the counter, watching for their orders in the pass-through window.
"Maybe we should get that stuff to go."
[Trent Brumby] Through all of this he listens without interruption, squeezing her hand back, much more gentle then she had his. His pale eyes stay locked onto hers, searching them and sometimes, also, her face. Imogen had suggested he help out Hill House, and now there is Roman that needs a hand. But he nods, accepting, easily. "I will. I'll see what needs to be done and set to work. As long as I'm not stepping on his toes."
He follows her glance over to the counter, then looks back to her. "You want me to get it to go?" Normally he would just agree and go and do it, without questioning. But he's reluctant to leave right now, to head back to where Erick awaits. Who will also need to be fed, and Trent will feed without complaint or bad thought. But right now he wouldn't mind a few moments alone with her. Still, if she wanted to go, he'd get up and make sure their food was ready to come with them.
[Kora] "Yeah," she says, her mouth hooking upward at the corner. If she reads reluctance into his question at the end, there's no flicker of that in her eyes. Her hair is pulled away from her face, and she's sitting at a ninety degree angle from him, so he has a perfect view of her profile, the curve of her ear, the firm line of her jaw, the soft hollow of her throat. The choker there, black against her pale skin. "They close the public beaches at dusk, you know? But I can climb a fence. So I want to get it to go. We can pick up a bottle of something on the way, and have a picnic, just you and me and the stars.
"Well," she continues, after a lingering pause that twists her mouth into a faint little smirk, one that does nothing to dim the sheen of light across her gleaming eyes. "you and me and the three stars visible through the haze of the city, and the light of the moon." On nights like this, when the moon skims heavy through the sky, leaves a long trail through the dark waters of Lake Michigan like a comet, her calm is deceptive. He can read, though, the promise of movement underneath her skin. Then intensity of her regard beneath that faint, skimming smirk, sharpening the longer her dark eyes linger on his body.
[Trent Brumby] "Good idea." She need not try and convince him, the moment she had mentioned the beach and grabbing something on the way there, he was already uncurling his hand from her own and leaving his beer on the table again.
He smiles at the twist of her mouth, and as he raises from his chair, he leans over to kiss it. It's a little less chaste then her earlier one on the cheek, a little more opened mouth and lingering, but he pulls back after he lets his intention be known. "I'll get it to go, won't be a moment." His fingers brush her shoulder as he steps by and heads towards the counter.
The promise invigorates him. He moves with more purpose, eagerness, where before he was practically dragging his feet. Dinner would be packed away, and he'd come back to walk her from the table out towards the car parked in the lot. He'd be happy to drive her out, head to the beach, and settle down with her to eat.
It's there that he'll pop the question.
[to be continued!]
[Kora] transcript!
to Kora
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