[Rain McKellar] Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am is wearing brand-name sports clothes, but the Gaian she's slowing to greet is sporting a hodge-podge of Good Will's finery. It keeps her warm, so it's a valid wardrobe choice. She waves to the flame-haired kinswoman, when she recognizes her. It takes a moment to recognize her, of course, as Rain's not that familiar with any of the True or kin in town just yet.
"Evening, Miss Kora," she says, when the True speaks up and catches her attention. Rain's gone from skittish around her to downright comfortable. Her smile broadens, like she's greeting a friend, or distant family. It seeps like lamplight into the cold winter's night. "And I like that one m'self. Sounds real old to me, the melody. Makes one thoughtful."
Then for Imogen: "Evening, Doctor Slaughter, Miss." She managed to get most of the words of Imogen's unofficial title into that greeting, if not quite in the order that Roman had taught it to her.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen slows to a walk a dozen steps away, and closes the distance with even, unwearied strides. She rolls her head slightly to stretch her neck, one hand grasping the opposite rest behind her back to stretch her shoulders. Each movement is without ostentation. They are subtle, deliberate and she moves not one inch more than she must.
She gives the Gaian Kin a brief narrow eyed glance, her mouth twisting, though the expression does not quite reach her eyes. "Please," she says dryly, "do not follow Roman's habit o' multiple honorifics. S'tiresome enough from one."
A glance to the blond, savage beneath the skin, even in her human form. "Kora," Imogen greets her.
[Kora] "It's just Kora," explains the Fenrir, dryly, patiently, evenly, without hope that Rain will actually take the correction to heart. Her own packmate still calls her Miss Kora, as if she were a maiden aunt in a Jane Austen knockoff, or a governess in a regency romance. "Never met so many people who called me Miss in my life - " The laugh she breathes out is brief and short, but not sharp. "It has the shape of a lament," she continues after a moment. " - even when the chorus demands that rejoicing. It feels older than their god."
The human one.
Then, quiet, dark eyes lifting to touch on the doctor. "Doc." Her hands are still buried in her front pockets, but the hood has been tipped back now, enough that they can both see the crown of her head, her features in shifting shadows of the park path. Otherwise, she stands tall, shoulders back, her spine straight rather than huddling forward for warmth, - "Bit cold for a jog, isn't it?" Wry, her dark eyes linger on Imogen for a moment or two longer than is strictly necessary.
"There's a coffee shop across Lakeshore a block away. I was headed for a bite to eat. You're both welcome to join me."
[Rain McKellar] "'Sjust how I was raised," she tells them, with a little shrug. She would try to remember, and Rain would inevitably forget. Roman was reinforcing her manners (there had been times in her life when she swore she had none), and all those honorifics.
"But I'll try to remember that you all don't much like them." It's some manner of truce. Rain's hands find her pockets, then come out again to rub together. She blows into them, then puts them back in her pockets again.
"And, sure. Inside sounds nice, whichever inside you're heading, too Mi--"
A pause.
"Kora."
Just Kora. She caught herself, this time.
[Imogen Slaughter] It has the shape of a lament, and Imogen lifts an eyebrow, "What does?" she asks. When either of them, inevitably answer her, giving her the context she had missed on her approach, she has little in the way of response, a mere sound - Ah to acknowledge this awareness. She offers no opinion on the carol, herself.
Kora notes that it's cold, and looks at her longer than is necessary. Imogen regards her in return, resulting in a brief beat in the rhythm of their conversation, an extra half-measure where there should be none. "S'warmer than it will be," she says with a slight shrug, an absent, mirthless smirk. "I'm dressed fer it. Join yeh fer a coffee, at least, shall I?" The question is rhetorical.
Rain explains her reasons for the honorifics and Imogen's eyes come to rest on the other's face. Her gaze is even, direct.
"S'not the politeness I object to," she says, off-hand, starting to turn in the direction of Kora's coffee shop.
[Kora] "I fostered at a Sept in Hjaltland - " It is full dark now, and away from Millennium square, and away from the usual tourist attractions, now dressed up in holiday lights, artificial wreaths, snowflakes - a half-dozen non-specific nods to the holiday season - pedestrians are rare at this hour.
The impromptu concert drew strangers to linger, to take comfort in the strange camaraderie of crowds, but now that the group has broken up and the last ringing note has faded on the horizon, the trio are nearly alone. Most other people out in the park at this hour are cutting through, walking with sort of brisk purpose one hopes will drown out the shadows -
- or at the least, keep them at bay for a while.
Still, Kora's voice is quiet; not musical, just confident, and she has the trick of speaking carefully, under the bite of the wind when she wants. " - after I changed. The kin there wouldn't think of calling one of us by a first name, only. It was all patronymics, yeah? Like Russians. Like some - who is it - Chekov play, where everyone gets 12 different names, plus a diminutive. They called me Kora Eyjólfsdóttir - " and here the trick with language is absolute. She pronounces the patronymic not like a native-born speaker of some northern language, but with the care and attention of a fluent late-comer to the words.
Underneath the padding of hoodie and thermal and all the rest, kora shrugs her narrow shoulders. She doesn't have the powerful build expected of those of her blood, just an effortless, animal ease to her physicality. A glance at Imogen, this glittering light across the surface of her dark gaze, then Rain, and then the shadows unbounded around them.
"Because I didn't know my father's name. And because my stepfather's name was Doug. Dougsdottir just doesn't work." Another half-voiced sound, more expelled breath than laughter. " - but it does sound a bit more fierce than Miss." Wry. "You're from the South somewhere, yeah?"
[Rain McKellar] Kora had a way with stories, with words, with people. Rain understands how her voice keeps low, just below the bite of the wind, and how that softness draws them both further into listening. For her part, she is an avid listener. Her shoulders are bent a little to the cold; she does not wear it like a native. It is not natural to her to weather this sort of chill for day on end.
The shadows reach toward them, rake across them as they walk, and Rain pays them little mind. They do not frighten her. Kora does not frighten her, either (though Imogen might, a little).
"I was born in Savannah, but I've traveled a bit since then. Found my way into the Nation at River Fork, in Louisiana," the place names are shaped by her accent, shaded away from the Chicagoan pronunciation. They're gentled. This isn't Paul's Bayou accent, or even Roman's that echoes out his Stetson and occasional boots. Hers is honeyed, slow.
She says she Found her way into the Nation. It's a polite enough euphemism, for one who had been Lost. Rain doesn't dwell on it if it passes in conversation. The girl keeps a little back from Miss Doctor Slaughter and Miss Kora, as if observing her place. Not so far behind that they need speak up for her to hear, or that the wind would rake her words away before they reached them.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen scares quite a few. And rarely engenders friendliness. Even Kora, with whom one might say that Imogen has something resembling a connection, does not call the doctor by her first name.
Rain, at this moment, does not even know it.
Kora and Rain speak of their upbringing, though each means something slightly different as they speak. Rain means her childhood; Kora means her indoctrination into the Nation. Imogen does not speak at all, instead reaching into her jacket pocket. She with draws a repeatedly folded cigarette packet, worn and rumpled, and a cheap bic lighter. She retrieves the last cigarette from the packet, her steps shifting their metre as she turns slightly to chuck the empty packet into a bin as they pass it.
She lights up, and offers nothing. When she exhales, she turns her head, blowing the smoke away from the others.
[Kora] "Is that where you hooked up with Eve and her pack?" asks Kora, still quiet, familiar with the paths of the park the way a palm ready knows the lines of her own palm, which means a long life lived well, which means and early death, which means love, which means love lost. Soon they are cutting through a copse of hardwoods planted to recall the idea of forest, the limbs bare, the lights of the city visible through the skeletal canopies, the low, constant rush of traffic along the boulevard.
Kora keeps herself between the wood and its underbrush and the two kinswomen. "River Fork?"
Civilization looms ahead, though not many of the storefronts remain open and the lights of the coffee shop spilling through wide picture windows onto the cold sidewalk are a welcome respite from the shadows of the park, promising warmth, a place out of the wind.
[Rain McKellar] "Yeah," Rain says. She dosen't like talking about it much, the chapter of her life that began and ended in the River Fork Sept. She reaches up to tuck some hair behind her ear; it puts her hand between Kora's line of sight and Rain's eyes for a moment. It's the only way she has to shelter them, since she's trained more to convey emotion than evade. The kinswoman breathes out, and he breath hangs like a frozen cloud before her for a moment, then dissipates.
"Eve's pack found me, y'know. Weren't pretty. I had no idea what I was, and then they were there, in the middle of this nightmware." She shrugs, breathes out again, keeps her eyes cast toward the network of branches and the shadow-light they cast against the overcast sky. "Mr. Roman's Tribe took me in; none of the others wanted a stray, they said. I've been with Eve's pack, or Eve, on and off like, ever since."
It's a terse history, and it doesn't offer up much more than suggestions of the life she'd lived before. Rain could school her voice toward story telling, she could brighten up a room if she wanted to, but these weren't fond memories. She had no desire to breathe life into these ghosts and have them walk anew.
She glances over at Imogen, who is smoking. Rain's glance trails from the tip of the cigarette back to the dark of her eyes, then down and away.
"Folks are nicer here," she observes, idly.
[Imogen Slaughter] It is a little counter productive. Mere minutes after exercise, something good for her body, Imogen does something so obviously bad. She must know this; the details of the poison she puts in her body.
Still. Suck on the filter, exhale grey smoke, a few moments later.
When Rain says folks are nicer here, the kinswoman casts her a brief, unreadable glance. The conversation, she leaves between the other two.
[Kora] The tall blonde is sharp-eyed - that's clear even in profile. Rain lifts her hand to brush away her hair and shade her eyes, as if she were looking off into some evening sun, falling beneath the horizon. Kora's dark, direct gaze touches on the curve of the young kinswoman's hand, the compressed C defined by the line of her thumb folded against her hand.
The look lingers, then shifts away.
Kora has the long, loping gait of someone used to ranging long distances, all under her own power, the movement of her own legs, the surge of her own body. With her hands forward, tucked into the pouch-pockets of her hooded sweatshirt, her center of gravity is changed just a bit, shifted forward and higher, which makes the swing of her step nearly syncopated, a subtle echo of a heartbeat.
"That takes a certain sort of strength," murmurs the Fenrir, quiet, meeting Imogen's eyes as the latter shoots Rain one of her trademarked unreadable glances. She doesn't pry though.
"I was in Edinburgh - " she offers, instead. Edinborough, she says, like a native, or at least like a well-trained tourist, " - when the Nation found me. Though I knew before then, even if I didn't have the words for it." The corner of her generous mouth twists into a sort of hook-curve smile.
Rain asked, once, if Kora played guitar.
And Kora said, I used to. Meaning, some other life.
"The soup and sandwiches here are half-price after nine." She says, when they finally gain the coffee shop, reaching to open the door for Imogen and Rain. The place isn't crowded, not at this hour of the night, but the little sign near the door says that they'll be open until 1 a.m. Thursday-Saturday. " - the potato chowder is delicious."
[Rain McKellar] Kora strides, and her legs carry her forward with surety and grace. Rain is sure-footed when she lengthens her stride enough to keep up with Kora. Her footfalls are evenly placed and don't hesitate. Last Watch's alpha brings a few things forward in her that she's forgotten during her time with the Gnawer, and the Gnawer's pack, and the strays they took in.
Kora may have noticed that there are offerings; whenever Rain has gone out to work for the day she comes back with food, or money, to leave on the packhouse table. Food is often day-old scones or other handouts from the coffee shops she's played at. When she's had a job helping set up for a larger project, she'll have extra money to share around. She brings a share of things to Eve, too, but that's less evident to Last Watch, though Roman knows she's still keeping in touch with the Gnawer.
Imogen's glance is inscrutable and Rain, who usually gets a decent read on people, feels wary of trying to read into it too much. So she offers back the only defense she has: a smile. It's warm, despite the weather.
When they three sweep into the cafe, the youngest is already tugging her scarf loose and working at the buttons of her coat. It's strange, being bundled up, swaddled like a babe, suffocating in layers just to keep the cold out. She's not learned the art of it yet and shedding her jacket makes it easier for Rain to breathe, for the warmth to sink back into her bones.
"Is Edinburgh pretty?" she asks, matching the syllables Kora pronounced in cadence, but not quite shape. "I've heard it's lovely." There's a pause, and really, for a moment Rain is just a curious kid. She's not that much older than Roman. "Do they really have a castle?" Because castles are preponderous things to a child raised in the States. If she realizes how naive she sounds, Rain doesn't seem to care. There's enough Wonder to smooth over what she doesn't know that she doesn't know, and warmth enough to carry them across the threshold and toward a booth.
[Imogen Slaughter] She speaks up finally, as she settles into one side of the booth, pushing up the sleeves of her jacket, rather than removing it.
"Edinburgh has several castles," she says. "And yes, it's quite beautiful."
[Imogen Slaughter] (sorry, I was totally going to write more and then ... it didn't seem necessary. *LOL*)
[Kora] "Pretty isn't the right word," returns Kora, tugging down the hood and unzipping the hoodie, without bothering to begin peeling off her layers as Rain does. She leaves them on instead, and together they're enough to obscure the thickening of her waist, the other - still subtle - changes in her body. "It's pretty spectacular, though - you can read the city's history in the layers of architecture. There's this street called the royal mile that goes from Holyrood Palace to Edinburgh Castle, lined with medieval houses packed with pubs and restaurants.
"You should go," Kora continues, quiet. " - there's this huge arts festival there in August, the Fringe Festival. You could probably find a gig for the month, hook up with some other performers for a flatshare. It's a brilliant time. Just - " a point of dryness, here, a twist of her generous mouth. " - promise me you won't take the Haunted Edinburgh tour in the undercity, okay?"
[Kora] (alas alas - i am going to need to duck out shortly. is sleep-time for me. (grins) )
to Imogen Slaughter, Rain McKellar
[Rain McKellar] ((You're firing up my wanderlust, lethe. I'm headed back to Edinburgh next summer (during the Fringe)! :) And also, sleep sweet when you go. And thank you for the scene!))
to Imogen Slaughter, Kora
[Imogen Slaughter] (unfortunately, I need to sleep too. we may want to work out a way to end the scene, or at least gloss it!)
to Kora, Rain McKellar
[Kora] (Hah. I would LOVE to go back to Edinburgh during the fringe, so I'm jealous. and pfft, thank you both shall we just - gloss it? I'm okay with a soft ending. :) )
to Imogen Slaughter, Rain McKellar
[Rain McKellar] "Oh, no," Rain says, eyes a little wider, head shaken to emphasize her agreement. "No ghosts for me, thank you, ma'am." She may be a smidge superstitious, even, with the quickness of that reply, but it spreads out into a smile which could be infectious under the right circumstances.
"I'd like to travel, and that sounds like a great place to try it. Can't say I'd turn down a place in a festival, so long's I'm allowed to go." Just talking about being part of something like that lifts her spirits a little, brings her smile all the way into her eyes.
"Have you traveled too, Doctor Slaughter," she asks, pairing it down to one title this time. And if they let her, Rain will ask them questions about far flung places all throughout dinner. Or until they grow weary of her curiosity, and then she's just as happy to keep companionably quiet.
There are a few Misses and Ma'ams, but she's better about it, on a whole.
[Imogen Slaughter] (I'm totally like looking at all the castles in Scotland going: I WANNA GOOOOOOOOOOOO.)
to Kora, Rain McKellar
[Rain McKellar] ((I wrote a bit toward a potential wrap/gloss there at the end... tell me if it works. And everyone's welcome to stow away in our suitcases. :) We're traveling with friends and staying in a flat for a week... there's room! And good company! *G*))
to Imogen Slaughter, Kora
[Imogen Slaughter] (It's good! I'm gonna toss out one more reply, 'cuz I wanna. *grin*)
to Kora, Rain McKellar
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's mouth twists slightly, but it is not genuinely unkind, more a habit. "I was born in England," she says. "Travelling in Europe is not so hard, when you're already there."
She orders a coffee, notably not a decaf, when she's given the opportunity, and does not get anything to eat. As Rain asks questions, it is likely that Kora answers more than the redhead does. Imogen is contained, reticent on her side of the booth, speaking only at seemingly random intervals, whenever she has something, truly to say.
Even with the questions she does answer, little is revealed of the kinwoman, except that yes, she did do some travelling as a teenager and later when she was in University. With whom or why is vague, but she handles such things with such adroitness that one might not even realize they're given little personal details, or perhaps, only realize it in retrospect.
At some point, her phone rings. She is called away, explaining it simply as "Work", despite the hour, and departs, leaving a few dollars to cover her coffee.
"Ha' a good night," she says, and leaves for whatever emergency a doctor might have.
Their night continues - more questions, perhaps on both sides, as Kora handles the back and forth of conversation much better than the departed kinwoman. And perhaps Rain slips a time or two with the over politeness. One imagines, she gets away with it, more or less.
[Kora] Kora orders more than a coffee, and eats more than a bowl of soup - consumes what she orders quickly, hungrily, savoring the food as if she were starving. After the brief brush with the suffering past, with the living ghosts of the past, the conversation remains - well - light enough. She talks about the year and a half she spent backpacking around Europe freely and openly, as if she were telling someone else's stories, from someone else's life.
When she's devoured the half-price meal she ordered, Kora offers to walk Rain wherever she's going. Out there in the cold, dark Chicago night, she's rather more quiet, alert, watchful - animal. So it goes.
[Kora] transcript!
to Kora
[Kora] (there we go. (grins) thank you both for the scene. I'm going to flee to bed now. ;) )
to Imogen Slaughter, Rain McKellar
[Imogen Slaughter] (why are we PMing when we're the only ones in here?
Thanks for the scene, everyone! Zzzzz.)
to Kora, Rain McKellar
"Evening, Miss Kora," she says, when the True speaks up and catches her attention. Rain's gone from skittish around her to downright comfortable. Her smile broadens, like she's greeting a friend, or distant family. It seeps like lamplight into the cold winter's night. "And I like that one m'self. Sounds real old to me, the melody. Makes one thoughtful."
Then for Imogen: "Evening, Doctor Slaughter, Miss." She managed to get most of the words of Imogen's unofficial title into that greeting, if not quite in the order that Roman had taught it to her.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen slows to a walk a dozen steps away, and closes the distance with even, unwearied strides. She rolls her head slightly to stretch her neck, one hand grasping the opposite rest behind her back to stretch her shoulders. Each movement is without ostentation. They are subtle, deliberate and she moves not one inch more than she must.
She gives the Gaian Kin a brief narrow eyed glance, her mouth twisting, though the expression does not quite reach her eyes. "Please," she says dryly, "do not follow Roman's habit o' multiple honorifics. S'tiresome enough from one."
A glance to the blond, savage beneath the skin, even in her human form. "Kora," Imogen greets her.
[Kora] "It's just Kora," explains the Fenrir, dryly, patiently, evenly, without hope that Rain will actually take the correction to heart. Her own packmate still calls her Miss Kora, as if she were a maiden aunt in a Jane Austen knockoff, or a governess in a regency romance. "Never met so many people who called me Miss in my life - " The laugh she breathes out is brief and short, but not sharp. "It has the shape of a lament," she continues after a moment. " - even when the chorus demands that rejoicing. It feels older than their god."
The human one.
Then, quiet, dark eyes lifting to touch on the doctor. "Doc." Her hands are still buried in her front pockets, but the hood has been tipped back now, enough that they can both see the crown of her head, her features in shifting shadows of the park path. Otherwise, she stands tall, shoulders back, her spine straight rather than huddling forward for warmth, - "Bit cold for a jog, isn't it?" Wry, her dark eyes linger on Imogen for a moment or two longer than is strictly necessary.
"There's a coffee shop across Lakeshore a block away. I was headed for a bite to eat. You're both welcome to join me."
[Rain McKellar] "'Sjust how I was raised," she tells them, with a little shrug. She would try to remember, and Rain would inevitably forget. Roman was reinforcing her manners (there had been times in her life when she swore she had none), and all those honorifics.
"But I'll try to remember that you all don't much like them." It's some manner of truce. Rain's hands find her pockets, then come out again to rub together. She blows into them, then puts them back in her pockets again.
"And, sure. Inside sounds nice, whichever inside you're heading, too Mi--"
A pause.
"Kora."
Just Kora. She caught herself, this time.
[Imogen Slaughter] It has the shape of a lament, and Imogen lifts an eyebrow, "What does?" she asks. When either of them, inevitably answer her, giving her the context she had missed on her approach, she has little in the way of response, a mere sound - Ah to acknowledge this awareness. She offers no opinion on the carol, herself.
Kora notes that it's cold, and looks at her longer than is necessary. Imogen regards her in return, resulting in a brief beat in the rhythm of their conversation, an extra half-measure where there should be none. "S'warmer than it will be," she says with a slight shrug, an absent, mirthless smirk. "I'm dressed fer it. Join yeh fer a coffee, at least, shall I?" The question is rhetorical.
Rain explains her reasons for the honorifics and Imogen's eyes come to rest on the other's face. Her gaze is even, direct.
"S'not the politeness I object to," she says, off-hand, starting to turn in the direction of Kora's coffee shop.
[Kora] "I fostered at a Sept in Hjaltland - " It is full dark now, and away from Millennium square, and away from the usual tourist attractions, now dressed up in holiday lights, artificial wreaths, snowflakes - a half-dozen non-specific nods to the holiday season - pedestrians are rare at this hour.
The impromptu concert drew strangers to linger, to take comfort in the strange camaraderie of crowds, but now that the group has broken up and the last ringing note has faded on the horizon, the trio are nearly alone. Most other people out in the park at this hour are cutting through, walking with sort of brisk purpose one hopes will drown out the shadows -
- or at the least, keep them at bay for a while.
Still, Kora's voice is quiet; not musical, just confident, and she has the trick of speaking carefully, under the bite of the wind when she wants. " - after I changed. The kin there wouldn't think of calling one of us by a first name, only. It was all patronymics, yeah? Like Russians. Like some - who is it - Chekov play, where everyone gets 12 different names, plus a diminutive. They called me Kora Eyjólfsdóttir - " and here the trick with language is absolute. She pronounces the patronymic not like a native-born speaker of some northern language, but with the care and attention of a fluent late-comer to the words.
Underneath the padding of hoodie and thermal and all the rest, kora shrugs her narrow shoulders. She doesn't have the powerful build expected of those of her blood, just an effortless, animal ease to her physicality. A glance at Imogen, this glittering light across the surface of her dark gaze, then Rain, and then the shadows unbounded around them.
"Because I didn't know my father's name. And because my stepfather's name was Doug. Dougsdottir just doesn't work." Another half-voiced sound, more expelled breath than laughter. " - but it does sound a bit more fierce than Miss." Wry. "You're from the South somewhere, yeah?"
[Rain McKellar] Kora had a way with stories, with words, with people. Rain understands how her voice keeps low, just below the bite of the wind, and how that softness draws them both further into listening. For her part, she is an avid listener. Her shoulders are bent a little to the cold; she does not wear it like a native. It is not natural to her to weather this sort of chill for day on end.
The shadows reach toward them, rake across them as they walk, and Rain pays them little mind. They do not frighten her. Kora does not frighten her, either (though Imogen might, a little).
"I was born in Savannah, but I've traveled a bit since then. Found my way into the Nation at River Fork, in Louisiana," the place names are shaped by her accent, shaded away from the Chicagoan pronunciation. They're gentled. This isn't Paul's Bayou accent, or even Roman's that echoes out his Stetson and occasional boots. Hers is honeyed, slow.
She says she Found her way into the Nation. It's a polite enough euphemism, for one who had been Lost. Rain doesn't dwell on it if it passes in conversation. The girl keeps a little back from Miss Doctor Slaughter and Miss Kora, as if observing her place. Not so far behind that they need speak up for her to hear, or that the wind would rake her words away before they reached them.
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen scares quite a few. And rarely engenders friendliness. Even Kora, with whom one might say that Imogen has something resembling a connection, does not call the doctor by her first name.
Rain, at this moment, does not even know it.
Kora and Rain speak of their upbringing, though each means something slightly different as they speak. Rain means her childhood; Kora means her indoctrination into the Nation. Imogen does not speak at all, instead reaching into her jacket pocket. She with draws a repeatedly folded cigarette packet, worn and rumpled, and a cheap bic lighter. She retrieves the last cigarette from the packet, her steps shifting their metre as she turns slightly to chuck the empty packet into a bin as they pass it.
She lights up, and offers nothing. When she exhales, she turns her head, blowing the smoke away from the others.
[Kora] "Is that where you hooked up with Eve and her pack?" asks Kora, still quiet, familiar with the paths of the park the way a palm ready knows the lines of her own palm, which means a long life lived well, which means and early death, which means love, which means love lost. Soon they are cutting through a copse of hardwoods planted to recall the idea of forest, the limbs bare, the lights of the city visible through the skeletal canopies, the low, constant rush of traffic along the boulevard.
Kora keeps herself between the wood and its underbrush and the two kinswomen. "River Fork?"
Civilization looms ahead, though not many of the storefronts remain open and the lights of the coffee shop spilling through wide picture windows onto the cold sidewalk are a welcome respite from the shadows of the park, promising warmth, a place out of the wind.
[Rain McKellar] "Yeah," Rain says. She dosen't like talking about it much, the chapter of her life that began and ended in the River Fork Sept. She reaches up to tuck some hair behind her ear; it puts her hand between Kora's line of sight and Rain's eyes for a moment. It's the only way she has to shelter them, since she's trained more to convey emotion than evade. The kinswoman breathes out, and he breath hangs like a frozen cloud before her for a moment, then dissipates.
"Eve's pack found me, y'know. Weren't pretty. I had no idea what I was, and then they were there, in the middle of this nightmware." She shrugs, breathes out again, keeps her eyes cast toward the network of branches and the shadow-light they cast against the overcast sky. "Mr. Roman's Tribe took me in; none of the others wanted a stray, they said. I've been with Eve's pack, or Eve, on and off like, ever since."
It's a terse history, and it doesn't offer up much more than suggestions of the life she'd lived before. Rain could school her voice toward story telling, she could brighten up a room if she wanted to, but these weren't fond memories. She had no desire to breathe life into these ghosts and have them walk anew.
She glances over at Imogen, who is smoking. Rain's glance trails from the tip of the cigarette back to the dark of her eyes, then down and away.
"Folks are nicer here," she observes, idly.
[Imogen Slaughter] It is a little counter productive. Mere minutes after exercise, something good for her body, Imogen does something so obviously bad. She must know this; the details of the poison she puts in her body.
Still. Suck on the filter, exhale grey smoke, a few moments later.
When Rain says folks are nicer here, the kinswoman casts her a brief, unreadable glance. The conversation, she leaves between the other two.
[Kora] The tall blonde is sharp-eyed - that's clear even in profile. Rain lifts her hand to brush away her hair and shade her eyes, as if she were looking off into some evening sun, falling beneath the horizon. Kora's dark, direct gaze touches on the curve of the young kinswoman's hand, the compressed C defined by the line of her thumb folded against her hand.
The look lingers, then shifts away.
Kora has the long, loping gait of someone used to ranging long distances, all under her own power, the movement of her own legs, the surge of her own body. With her hands forward, tucked into the pouch-pockets of her hooded sweatshirt, her center of gravity is changed just a bit, shifted forward and higher, which makes the swing of her step nearly syncopated, a subtle echo of a heartbeat.
"That takes a certain sort of strength," murmurs the Fenrir, quiet, meeting Imogen's eyes as the latter shoots Rain one of her trademarked unreadable glances. She doesn't pry though.
"I was in Edinburgh - " she offers, instead. Edinborough, she says, like a native, or at least like a well-trained tourist, " - when the Nation found me. Though I knew before then, even if I didn't have the words for it." The corner of her generous mouth twists into a sort of hook-curve smile.
Rain asked, once, if Kora played guitar.
And Kora said, I used to. Meaning, some other life.
"The soup and sandwiches here are half-price after nine." She says, when they finally gain the coffee shop, reaching to open the door for Imogen and Rain. The place isn't crowded, not at this hour of the night, but the little sign near the door says that they'll be open until 1 a.m. Thursday-Saturday. " - the potato chowder is delicious."
[Rain McKellar] Kora strides, and her legs carry her forward with surety and grace. Rain is sure-footed when she lengthens her stride enough to keep up with Kora. Her footfalls are evenly placed and don't hesitate. Last Watch's alpha brings a few things forward in her that she's forgotten during her time with the Gnawer, and the Gnawer's pack, and the strays they took in.
Kora may have noticed that there are offerings; whenever Rain has gone out to work for the day she comes back with food, or money, to leave on the packhouse table. Food is often day-old scones or other handouts from the coffee shops she's played at. When she's had a job helping set up for a larger project, she'll have extra money to share around. She brings a share of things to Eve, too, but that's less evident to Last Watch, though Roman knows she's still keeping in touch with the Gnawer.
Imogen's glance is inscrutable and Rain, who usually gets a decent read on people, feels wary of trying to read into it too much. So she offers back the only defense she has: a smile. It's warm, despite the weather.
When they three sweep into the cafe, the youngest is already tugging her scarf loose and working at the buttons of her coat. It's strange, being bundled up, swaddled like a babe, suffocating in layers just to keep the cold out. She's not learned the art of it yet and shedding her jacket makes it easier for Rain to breathe, for the warmth to sink back into her bones.
"Is Edinburgh pretty?" she asks, matching the syllables Kora pronounced in cadence, but not quite shape. "I've heard it's lovely." There's a pause, and really, for a moment Rain is just a curious kid. She's not that much older than Roman. "Do they really have a castle?" Because castles are preponderous things to a child raised in the States. If she realizes how naive she sounds, Rain doesn't seem to care. There's enough Wonder to smooth over what she doesn't know that she doesn't know, and warmth enough to carry them across the threshold and toward a booth.
[Imogen Slaughter] She speaks up finally, as she settles into one side of the booth, pushing up the sleeves of her jacket, rather than removing it.
"Edinburgh has several castles," she says. "And yes, it's quite beautiful."
[Imogen Slaughter] (sorry, I was totally going to write more and then ... it didn't seem necessary. *LOL*)
[Kora] "Pretty isn't the right word," returns Kora, tugging down the hood and unzipping the hoodie, without bothering to begin peeling off her layers as Rain does. She leaves them on instead, and together they're enough to obscure the thickening of her waist, the other - still subtle - changes in her body. "It's pretty spectacular, though - you can read the city's history in the layers of architecture. There's this street called the royal mile that goes from Holyrood Palace to Edinburgh Castle, lined with medieval houses packed with pubs and restaurants.
"You should go," Kora continues, quiet. " - there's this huge arts festival there in August, the Fringe Festival. You could probably find a gig for the month, hook up with some other performers for a flatshare. It's a brilliant time. Just - " a point of dryness, here, a twist of her generous mouth. " - promise me you won't take the Haunted Edinburgh tour in the undercity, okay?"
[Kora] (alas alas - i am going to need to duck out shortly. is sleep-time for me. (grins) )
to Imogen Slaughter, Rain McKellar
[Rain McKellar] ((You're firing up my wanderlust, lethe. I'm headed back to Edinburgh next summer (during the Fringe)! :) And also, sleep sweet when you go. And thank you for the scene!))
to Imogen Slaughter, Kora
[Imogen Slaughter] (unfortunately, I need to sleep too. we may want to work out a way to end the scene, or at least gloss it!)
to Kora, Rain McKellar
[Kora] (Hah. I would LOVE to go back to Edinburgh during the fringe, so I'm jealous. and pfft, thank you both shall we just - gloss it? I'm okay with a soft ending. :) )
to Imogen Slaughter, Rain McKellar
[Rain McKellar] "Oh, no," Rain says, eyes a little wider, head shaken to emphasize her agreement. "No ghosts for me, thank you, ma'am." She may be a smidge superstitious, even, with the quickness of that reply, but it spreads out into a smile which could be infectious under the right circumstances.
"I'd like to travel, and that sounds like a great place to try it. Can't say I'd turn down a place in a festival, so long's I'm allowed to go." Just talking about being part of something like that lifts her spirits a little, brings her smile all the way into her eyes.
"Have you traveled too, Doctor Slaughter," she asks, pairing it down to one title this time. And if they let her, Rain will ask them questions about far flung places all throughout dinner. Or until they grow weary of her curiosity, and then she's just as happy to keep companionably quiet.
There are a few Misses and Ma'ams, but she's better about it, on a whole.
[Imogen Slaughter] (I'm totally like looking at all the castles in Scotland going: I WANNA GOOOOOOOOOOOO.)
to Kora, Rain McKellar
[Rain McKellar] ((I wrote a bit toward a potential wrap/gloss there at the end... tell me if it works. And everyone's welcome to stow away in our suitcases. :) We're traveling with friends and staying in a flat for a week... there's room! And good company! *G*))
to Imogen Slaughter, Kora
[Imogen Slaughter] (It's good! I'm gonna toss out one more reply, 'cuz I wanna. *grin*)
to Kora, Rain McKellar
[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's mouth twists slightly, but it is not genuinely unkind, more a habit. "I was born in England," she says. "Travelling in Europe is not so hard, when you're already there."
She orders a coffee, notably not a decaf, when she's given the opportunity, and does not get anything to eat. As Rain asks questions, it is likely that Kora answers more than the redhead does. Imogen is contained, reticent on her side of the booth, speaking only at seemingly random intervals, whenever she has something, truly to say.
Even with the questions she does answer, little is revealed of the kinwoman, except that yes, she did do some travelling as a teenager and later when she was in University. With whom or why is vague, but she handles such things with such adroitness that one might not even realize they're given little personal details, or perhaps, only realize it in retrospect.
At some point, her phone rings. She is called away, explaining it simply as "Work", despite the hour, and departs, leaving a few dollars to cover her coffee.
"Ha' a good night," she says, and leaves for whatever emergency a doctor might have.
Their night continues - more questions, perhaps on both sides, as Kora handles the back and forth of conversation much better than the departed kinwoman. And perhaps Rain slips a time or two with the over politeness. One imagines, she gets away with it, more or less.
[Kora] Kora orders more than a coffee, and eats more than a bowl of soup - consumes what she orders quickly, hungrily, savoring the food as if she were starving. After the brief brush with the suffering past, with the living ghosts of the past, the conversation remains - well - light enough. She talks about the year and a half she spent backpacking around Europe freely and openly, as if she were telling someone else's stories, from someone else's life.
When she's devoured the half-price meal she ordered, Kora offers to walk Rain wherever she's going. Out there in the cold, dark Chicago night, she's rather more quiet, alert, watchful - animal. So it goes.
[Kora] transcript!
to Kora
[Kora] (there we go. (grins) thank you both for the scene. I'm going to flee to bed now. ;) )
to Imogen Slaughter, Rain McKellar
[Imogen Slaughter] (why are we PMing when we're the only ones in here?
Thanks for the scene, everyone! Zzzzz.)
to Kora, Rain McKellar
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