[Sarah Madison Kerensky] Her brows arch, just a hint, as if waiting for him to say something. He does, then, but it's a changed topic, and makes her mouth curl at the edges once again, bemused this time, rather then soft. It's comfortable, like this, resting as she is, leaned against her knee, propping herself up with it and her cheek resting on it. Although it gives her a slanted vision of the world, tilted far from being upright, the posture is relaxed, and although she's vulnerable, wounded as she is (and how wounded is hard to tell), she seems uncaring about that.
But that remark, something she finds funny has her head lifting from where she rests and makes a pointed look at her shoulder. There's a little surprise there, registered only in a curious blink as she notices that its now started to bleed through her shirt, something that happens over a course of such a long time that the increase of size happens too slow for the eye to watch. "So I am," she tells him, darting her gaze back towards him.
"What others?" Following his line of sight, she glances down the path, into the darkness around her. She doesn't twist to look behind her, it would pull on her skin more, uncomfortable and painful. Only after looking in the vague direction, she's glancing back to him.
"It's a few days old, " she tells him, "and it wasn't here that it happened. You're safe." This has come more seriously, thinking he was worried about the enemy that had caused her the problem rather then a pack of wolves that she should, by every right, be with.
[Dr. Alexander] The woman continues along the sidewalk, oblivious to the din of gossip and whose diamonds are passe, whose little pampered hellspawn is up to what new outrage, etc. There are two other blondes beside a park bench, both well-groomed and well-dressed as she. This isn't unusual. What is unusual is the spot of red she barely notices in this light.
Blood on a woman's shirt. An urbane man in a business suit peers towards the injured woman. The kinswoman stops and leans in to say something, not caring that she has no business butting in. Good Samaritan laws and allthat.
"Excuse me," she glances quickly to the man with his sharp suit and proud jaw. Her attention and dark eyes return to the blonde, injured woman.
"Are you alright?" she queries.
Her suit is too costly for someone of her practice. Clinical psychiatry pays well, but not as well as some industries, especially for one as young as thirty.
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] [to make clear, Will is standing away from the bench Sarah is sitting on. Is Alexander approaching Sarah close enough to be leaning in?]
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] [and sarah is in safari shorts and a t.shirt.]
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] repost: Bleeding through gauze, spots on her left shoulder, close to her neck and down her shoulder blade, are darkening the blue fabric. The same is on her opposite side, down by her ribs, small and subtle, growing over the space of the day. It's not yet too obvious to a passing eye.
[Katherine Bellamonte] (Hey guys! Can I slip into this scene with you or have you enough folk already? I don't want to overcrowd!)
to Dr. Alexander, Sarah Madison Kerensky, Will Talbot
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] [it's an open scene. just a slow one. :) you can come on in.]
to Dr. Alexander, Katherine Bellamonte, Will Talbot
[Dr. Alexander] ((Yes she would approach that closely, but not like... terribly close or quickly))
[Dr. Alexander] ((Right, sorry about that. It was difficult for me to tell))
[Dr. Alexander] ((Well, still... either that or she keeps walking and vacates the scene))
[Will Talbot] "That's not what I - " this is the beginning of Will's reponse to Sarah's assurance that he is safe. The look he sends her is sharp and controlled. It sharpens when Erika approaches, well-dressed in the park on a warm dark night, in a clothing best suited to the crisp air conditioning of the museum's interior rather than the humid paths of the park. Not unlike his own. He's a tall man, with cropped blond hair and pale blue eyes that glitter but do not gleam in the darkness.
He is not an animal. He is only kin to the wolves.
Whatever else he meant to say is lost. Instead, he remains where he stands, by the railing overlooking the dark, glittering expanse of the lake, Blackberry in hand, still at the moment, though he holds it rather like a weapon in his strong hand. "She's fine," he answers for Sarah, then, glancing from Erika to Sarah in quick succession.
[Will Talbot] (Welcome to join but I am MTing! and slow! :()
to Dr. Alexander, Katherine Bellamonte, Sarah Madison Kerensky, snail
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] Suddenly, there's a woman that approaches her. It's not anybody that Sarah knows, and yet the woman, filled with Silver Fang breeding, is walking at her. Uncurling from where she sat on the bench, Sarah stood. She's not tall, but taller then Erika. Nostrils flare and muscles become rigid, prepared.
Then, she's being asked if she's alright. "I'm fine," she answers. The wording is curt, barely concealing the snappish edge to it. Will's tone is much nicer. Walking past Erika then, giving the other a small berth, she keeps eyes on the older woman as she begins to approach Will, moving to intercept any path from the stranger to the Kinfolk she does know.
"Who are you?" She asks of Erika, coming to stand still only a few feet from the tall, suited man. Her back is to him, but she hasn't blocked his line of side. She puts him to her injured shoulder instead. Subconscious as the positioning is, it's driven simply by instinct. The wolf in the woman strong enough to guide her better then human social graces.
[Dr. Alexander]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Dr. Alexander] ((wits + emp))
[Katherine Bellamonte] "Her name is Erika Alexander," comes a voice in response to Sarah's curt demand for identity. The voice comes in tandem with the clip of yet another pair of heels against the pathway winding from the Art Museum and its glittering function lights. The figure is taller in her heels, but then, she was already quite there on her own bare toes, her figure sheathed in a white cocktail dress with a plunging neckline modestly pinned together with a glittering clip.
The long strand of pearls wound several times around the neck perhaps gave Honor's Compass away as surely as her breeding did, to another wolf. That, and the familiar glossy waves of blond hair, secured back from her face behind an ear with the aid of a matching silver clip.
Red lips have twisted in some semblance of humor at the other Garou's query; her pale eyes flick between Sarah, Erika and then stray to Will. There's no disguising that her gaze softens a touch on the man, but only briefly. There and gone.
[Dr. Alexander] There are some subtle gestures most are not privy to... some that some even perceptive people can feel aren't quite right without knowing why. Today, Falcon's eye is on her side. Her finely-honed skills as a specialist in the psychoanalytic field dealing with shell shocked soldiers, rape victims, and the like means she knows certain signs like the back of her hand. Being a seasoned kinfolk only sharpens her skills with experience.
Yet with body language as obvious as Sarah's, Erika didn't have to have sharp eyes.
At this range it's quite easy to see the scars on the right side of her face and neck, the ones hidden partially by her hair and the dim light. Erika's body language changes entirely. Immediately, but slowly, she pulls back, eyebrows go up and eyes go down. Her hands turn upward in a non-threatening sign.
A voice rings out in the dark, one that's familiar to her. But she doesn't turn her head.
"Yes," she says softly. "Ms. Bellamonte is right. I am merely a psychiatrist, but I am well-trained as a medical assistant also."
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] Another Silver Fang comes out of nowhere; this time it's a Garou.
Her eyes dart from Erika to Katherine, who answers a question not directed at her. Sarah isn't a fan of being flanked by strangers, even of her own Tribe, and certainly not in the mood she's in. Honey-browns glitter as she looks from one to the other, and her spine straightens that little more. Katherine eyes soften, Sarah steps a small step back, slightly over, blocks more of Will from view.
"How lovely." This, after Katherine's answer. Her heart is thudding under, quickening her pulse in her throat, creating a fine flush across her pale neck.
Erika continues with it, confirming who she is and what she does. It also tells her who the unknown Garou is, the leader of the Tribe here. Psychiatrist. Her mouth quirks, briefly; come and gone. She knows a few people that could use one of those. Herself is not included in that little tally. But the knowledge of it, makes her posture become less defensive, her shoulders sink a little, spine eases.
She steps aside, leaves Will in view again but she doesn't step away from him. "Nice to meet you both," she tells them, without a smile but a more pleasant tone then the earlier snap. "I'm Sarah Kerensky."
[Dr. Alexander] The psychiatrist doesn't move. Not an inch. Not knowing if this person before her is Garou or merely an unstable bystander. When in doubt, it is best not to stir the pot. Her downcast eyes flick over towards Will's shoes, then back to center on Sarah's clavicle.
"Yes, good to meet you, Sarah." The psychiatrist is careful not to provoke. She's not exactly comfortable being flanked by Katherine and a possible Garou (or else a hostile bystander).
Ah, well... such is the life. "Are you sure you don't want me to take a look?" the kinswoman asks softly. Her countenance is soft, non-threatening, relatively calm. Her brow drops a bit, and the edges of her mouth form a slight smile.
[Sinclair] It is hard to imagine a being like Warcry in a dress. Upon learning that she not only owned a skirt but would willingly and gladly wear it, her ex was almost in shock. The truth is she doesn't own a lot of skirts, or a lot of dresses. The truth is that tonight, when Katherine so graciously invited her packsister along with her to the benefit or opening or whatever the fuck that would have free champagne awesome I'm there, Sinclair didn't have anything that would be appropriate to wear.
So borrowed something. Which is why she's wearing the only thing Katherine could find that fit the occasion, fit the packmate, and covered up -- at very least -- the tattoo on her packmate's right thigh, if only because it would distract so much from the art. The fabric is some silk or satin blend. The length is just past her knees. The heels are also Katherine's. They aren't quite the same size but close enough. The makeup, however, is Sinclair. Dark, intense eyes. A light lip. Hair more windblown-looking, more wild, than an updo.
She's coming a few yards behind the Silver Fang Elder, muttering as she nearly falls, "...mother-fucking goddamn piece of shit high heel trying to break my fucking ankle..."
[Will Talbot] "Katherine," Will greets her over Sarah's shoulder, as the philodox approaches, the tone familiar, warmer, perhaps even fond. The kinsman does not remain half-hidden behind Sarah for long; and as she attempts to conceal him, she wll feel his hand lightly on the small of her back as he steps out from behind her. There are strangers, here. A glance from Katherine to Erika, lingering briefing on the blond woman - whose blood he cannot read, whose name he does not know - for a moment before it shifts to shoot from Sarah to Katherine.
Quite frankly, he assumes that they are packmates until Sarah introduces herself to Katherine. This pulls up his pale brows. He cuts a look between the two young Garou, something closed about his pale eyes, in the set of his crisp mouth in his rough jaw, the faint bristle of a beard the only thing at odds with his otherwise perfectly appropriate attire, the bepoke suit and the tailored white shirt, the silk tie, hand-made, hand-dyed, pulled loose around his collar.
Then, brows drawing together he glances down at the screen of his blackberry, clicks over and lifts it to his ear "Zdrastvuyte " he says, low, to whoever is on the other end. There's a moment of quiet, then another and he's nodding as if the person on the other end of the connection could see him. "If you ladies will excuse me," he says at last, holding the phone away from his ear. "I have to take this call." Russia's burning, after all. Sarah overheard him earlier: commodities, the price of wheat, the positions one has to extend, the shorted futures to be dumped not yesterday, but last fucking week.
"Katherine, you have my number." He says, as he fishes out business cards, offering one to Sarah, first. And then perhaps merely for politeness' sake - to Erika. "Good evening, ladies."
[Will Talbot] The business card reads:
William Edward Boone Talbot, III
Managing Director - Chicago Operations
Olyphant Templeton, LP
Private Equity Partners - Wealth Management
There are two numbers on there, too. One has a Chicago area code. The other appears to be the cell, with an NYC area ode.
to Sarah Madison Kerensky
[Will Talbot] William Edward Boone Talbot, III
Managing Director - Chicago Operations
Olyphant Templeton, LP
Private Equity Partners - Wealth Management
There are phone and fax numbers, both with Chicago area codes.
to Dr. Alexander
[Will Talbot] (Sorry folks! My chariot turned into a pumpkin an hour ago. :( )
[Dr. Alexander] ((That's ok))
[Ivan Press] "That may be true," it seems Silver Fangs have a habit of simply appearing, all dapper and dashing, out of thin air tonight, "but I think they make your ankles look very nice. Also, your ass."
A beat.
" -- Rhya."
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] "I'm fine," she reassures Erika, "really. The gauze needs a change is all."
Will is leaving then, and she takes the card from him with a quick glance over it and slides it into the pocket of her shorts. "Take care," she tells him, watching him begin to walk off before she looks to the other two, no - three now, women. And a guy.
She's the only one that's in casual gear, fitting for a walk in the park. Canvas shoes and a blue t.shirt over safari shorts. Her hair is bound in a loose plait, strands of it escaping by the sides of her temples. She watches them for a moment, lifting her right hand to tuck it behind her ear.
It's Erika she focuses on then. "Thanks for the concern, though." It's not just for politeness sake. Perhaps there's a bit of an apology in the tone, too.
[Katherine Bellamonte] (ack, sorry all! had a phone call!)
But that remark, something she finds funny has her head lifting from where she rests and makes a pointed look at her shoulder. There's a little surprise there, registered only in a curious blink as she notices that its now started to bleed through her shirt, something that happens over a course of such a long time that the increase of size happens too slow for the eye to watch. "So I am," she tells him, darting her gaze back towards him.
"What others?" Following his line of sight, she glances down the path, into the darkness around her. She doesn't twist to look behind her, it would pull on her skin more, uncomfortable and painful. Only after looking in the vague direction, she's glancing back to him.
"It's a few days old, " she tells him, "and it wasn't here that it happened. You're safe." This has come more seriously, thinking he was worried about the enemy that had caused her the problem rather then a pack of wolves that she should, by every right, be with.
[Dr. Alexander] The woman continues along the sidewalk, oblivious to the din of gossip and whose diamonds are passe, whose little pampered hellspawn is up to what new outrage, etc. There are two other blondes beside a park bench, both well-groomed and well-dressed as she. This isn't unusual. What is unusual is the spot of red she barely notices in this light.
Blood on a woman's shirt. An urbane man in a business suit peers towards the injured woman. The kinswoman stops and leans in to say something, not caring that she has no business butting in. Good Samaritan laws and allthat.
"Excuse me," she glances quickly to the man with his sharp suit and proud jaw. Her attention and dark eyes return to the blonde, injured woman.
"Are you alright?" she queries.
Her suit is too costly for someone of her practice. Clinical psychiatry pays well, but not as well as some industries, especially for one as young as thirty.
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] [to make clear, Will is standing away from the bench Sarah is sitting on. Is Alexander approaching Sarah close enough to be leaning in?]
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] [and sarah is in safari shorts and a t.shirt.]
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] repost: Bleeding through gauze, spots on her left shoulder, close to her neck and down her shoulder blade, are darkening the blue fabric. The same is on her opposite side, down by her ribs, small and subtle, growing over the space of the day. It's not yet too obvious to a passing eye.
[Katherine Bellamonte] (Hey guys! Can I slip into this scene with you or have you enough folk already? I don't want to overcrowd!)
to Dr. Alexander, Sarah Madison Kerensky, Will Talbot
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] [it's an open scene. just a slow one. :) you can come on in.]
to Dr. Alexander, Katherine Bellamonte, Will Talbot
[Dr. Alexander] ((Yes she would approach that closely, but not like... terribly close or quickly))
[Dr. Alexander] ((Right, sorry about that. It was difficult for me to tell))
[Dr. Alexander] ((Well, still... either that or she keeps walking and vacates the scene))
[Will Talbot] "That's not what I - " this is the beginning of Will's reponse to Sarah's assurance that he is safe. The look he sends her is sharp and controlled. It sharpens when Erika approaches, well-dressed in the park on a warm dark night, in a clothing best suited to the crisp air conditioning of the museum's interior rather than the humid paths of the park. Not unlike his own. He's a tall man, with cropped blond hair and pale blue eyes that glitter but do not gleam in the darkness.
He is not an animal. He is only kin to the wolves.
Whatever else he meant to say is lost. Instead, he remains where he stands, by the railing overlooking the dark, glittering expanse of the lake, Blackberry in hand, still at the moment, though he holds it rather like a weapon in his strong hand. "She's fine," he answers for Sarah, then, glancing from Erika to Sarah in quick succession.
[Will Talbot] (Welcome to join but I am MTing! and slow! :()
to Dr. Alexander, Katherine Bellamonte, Sarah Madison Kerensky, snail
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] Suddenly, there's a woman that approaches her. It's not anybody that Sarah knows, and yet the woman, filled with Silver Fang breeding, is walking at her. Uncurling from where she sat on the bench, Sarah stood. She's not tall, but taller then Erika. Nostrils flare and muscles become rigid, prepared.
Then, she's being asked if she's alright. "I'm fine," she answers. The wording is curt, barely concealing the snappish edge to it. Will's tone is much nicer. Walking past Erika then, giving the other a small berth, she keeps eyes on the older woman as she begins to approach Will, moving to intercept any path from the stranger to the Kinfolk she does know.
"Who are you?" She asks of Erika, coming to stand still only a few feet from the tall, suited man. Her back is to him, but she hasn't blocked his line of side. She puts him to her injured shoulder instead. Subconscious as the positioning is, it's driven simply by instinct. The wolf in the woman strong enough to guide her better then human social graces.
[Dr. Alexander]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Dr. Alexander] ((wits + emp))
[Katherine Bellamonte] "Her name is Erika Alexander," comes a voice in response to Sarah's curt demand for identity. The voice comes in tandem with the clip of yet another pair of heels against the pathway winding from the Art Museum and its glittering function lights. The figure is taller in her heels, but then, she was already quite there on her own bare toes, her figure sheathed in a white cocktail dress with a plunging neckline modestly pinned together with a glittering clip.
The long strand of pearls wound several times around the neck perhaps gave Honor's Compass away as surely as her breeding did, to another wolf. That, and the familiar glossy waves of blond hair, secured back from her face behind an ear with the aid of a matching silver clip.
Red lips have twisted in some semblance of humor at the other Garou's query; her pale eyes flick between Sarah, Erika and then stray to Will. There's no disguising that her gaze softens a touch on the man, but only briefly. There and gone.
[Dr. Alexander] There are some subtle gestures most are not privy to... some that some even perceptive people can feel aren't quite right without knowing why. Today, Falcon's eye is on her side. Her finely-honed skills as a specialist in the psychoanalytic field dealing with shell shocked soldiers, rape victims, and the like means she knows certain signs like the back of her hand. Being a seasoned kinfolk only sharpens her skills with experience.
Yet with body language as obvious as Sarah's, Erika didn't have to have sharp eyes.
At this range it's quite easy to see the scars on the right side of her face and neck, the ones hidden partially by her hair and the dim light. Erika's body language changes entirely. Immediately, but slowly, she pulls back, eyebrows go up and eyes go down. Her hands turn upward in a non-threatening sign.
A voice rings out in the dark, one that's familiar to her. But she doesn't turn her head.
"Yes," she says softly. "Ms. Bellamonte is right. I am merely a psychiatrist, but I am well-trained as a medical assistant also."
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] Another Silver Fang comes out of nowhere; this time it's a Garou.
Her eyes dart from Erika to Katherine, who answers a question not directed at her. Sarah isn't a fan of being flanked by strangers, even of her own Tribe, and certainly not in the mood she's in. Honey-browns glitter as she looks from one to the other, and her spine straightens that little more. Katherine eyes soften, Sarah steps a small step back, slightly over, blocks more of Will from view.
"How lovely." This, after Katherine's answer. Her heart is thudding under, quickening her pulse in her throat, creating a fine flush across her pale neck.
Erika continues with it, confirming who she is and what she does. It also tells her who the unknown Garou is, the leader of the Tribe here. Psychiatrist. Her mouth quirks, briefly; come and gone. She knows a few people that could use one of those. Herself is not included in that little tally. But the knowledge of it, makes her posture become less defensive, her shoulders sink a little, spine eases.
She steps aside, leaves Will in view again but she doesn't step away from him. "Nice to meet you both," she tells them, without a smile but a more pleasant tone then the earlier snap. "I'm Sarah Kerensky."
[Dr. Alexander] The psychiatrist doesn't move. Not an inch. Not knowing if this person before her is Garou or merely an unstable bystander. When in doubt, it is best not to stir the pot. Her downcast eyes flick over towards Will's shoes, then back to center on Sarah's clavicle.
"Yes, good to meet you, Sarah." The psychiatrist is careful not to provoke. She's not exactly comfortable being flanked by Katherine and a possible Garou (or else a hostile bystander).
Ah, well... such is the life. "Are you sure you don't want me to take a look?" the kinswoman asks softly. Her countenance is soft, non-threatening, relatively calm. Her brow drops a bit, and the edges of her mouth form a slight smile.
[Sinclair] It is hard to imagine a being like Warcry in a dress. Upon learning that she not only owned a skirt but would willingly and gladly wear it, her ex was almost in shock. The truth is she doesn't own a lot of skirts, or a lot of dresses. The truth is that tonight, when Katherine so graciously invited her packsister along with her to the benefit or opening or whatever the fuck that would have free champagne awesome I'm there, Sinclair didn't have anything that would be appropriate to wear.
So borrowed something. Which is why she's wearing the only thing Katherine could find that fit the occasion, fit the packmate, and covered up -- at very least -- the tattoo on her packmate's right thigh, if only because it would distract so much from the art. The fabric is some silk or satin blend. The length is just past her knees. The heels are also Katherine's. They aren't quite the same size but close enough. The makeup, however, is Sinclair. Dark, intense eyes. A light lip. Hair more windblown-looking, more wild, than an updo.
She's coming a few yards behind the Silver Fang Elder, muttering as she nearly falls, "...mother-fucking goddamn piece of shit high heel trying to break my fucking ankle..."
[Will Talbot] "Katherine," Will greets her over Sarah's shoulder, as the philodox approaches, the tone familiar, warmer, perhaps even fond. The kinsman does not remain half-hidden behind Sarah for long; and as she attempts to conceal him, she wll feel his hand lightly on the small of her back as he steps out from behind her. There are strangers, here. A glance from Katherine to Erika, lingering briefing on the blond woman - whose blood he cannot read, whose name he does not know - for a moment before it shifts to shoot from Sarah to Katherine.
Quite frankly, he assumes that they are packmates until Sarah introduces herself to Katherine. This pulls up his pale brows. He cuts a look between the two young Garou, something closed about his pale eyes, in the set of his crisp mouth in his rough jaw, the faint bristle of a beard the only thing at odds with his otherwise perfectly appropriate attire, the bepoke suit and the tailored white shirt, the silk tie, hand-made, hand-dyed, pulled loose around his collar.
Then, brows drawing together he glances down at the screen of his blackberry, clicks over and lifts it to his ear "Zdrastvuyte " he says, low, to whoever is on the other end. There's a moment of quiet, then another and he's nodding as if the person on the other end of the connection could see him. "If you ladies will excuse me," he says at last, holding the phone away from his ear. "I have to take this call." Russia's burning, after all. Sarah overheard him earlier: commodities, the price of wheat, the positions one has to extend, the shorted futures to be dumped not yesterday, but last fucking week.
"Katherine, you have my number." He says, as he fishes out business cards, offering one to Sarah, first. And then perhaps merely for politeness' sake - to Erika. "Good evening, ladies."
[Will Talbot] The business card reads:
William Edward Boone Talbot, III
Managing Director - Chicago Operations
Olyphant Templeton, LP
Private Equity Partners - Wealth Management
There are two numbers on there, too. One has a Chicago area code. The other appears to be the cell, with an NYC area ode.
to Sarah Madison Kerensky
[Will Talbot] William Edward Boone Talbot, III
Managing Director - Chicago Operations
Olyphant Templeton, LP
Private Equity Partners - Wealth Management
There are phone and fax numbers, both with Chicago area codes.
to Dr. Alexander
[Will Talbot] (Sorry folks! My chariot turned into a pumpkin an hour ago. :( )
[Dr. Alexander] ((That's ok))
[Ivan Press] "That may be true," it seems Silver Fangs have a habit of simply appearing, all dapper and dashing, out of thin air tonight, "but I think they make your ankles look very nice. Also, your ass."
A beat.
" -- Rhya."
[Sarah Madison Kerensky] "I'm fine," she reassures Erika, "really. The gauze needs a change is all."
Will is leaving then, and she takes the card from him with a quick glance over it and slides it into the pocket of her shorts. "Take care," she tells him, watching him begin to walk off before she looks to the other two, no - three now, women. And a guy.
She's the only one that's in casual gear, fitting for a walk in the park. Canvas shoes and a blue t.shirt over safari shorts. Her hair is bound in a loose plait, strands of it escaping by the sides of her temples. She watches them for a moment, lifting her right hand to tuck it behind her ear.
It's Erika she focuses on then. "Thanks for the concern, though." It's not just for politeness sake. Perhaps there's a bit of an apology in the tone, too.
[Katherine Bellamonte] (ack, sorry all! had a phone call!)
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