Ornature

Kora:

It's snowing.
In winter.
In Chicago.

- fancy that. The gray sky sends drifting currents of gray snow into a gray world. Already the snow has covered the tire tracks over the sidewalk, between the rusting chain-link fence posts, leading up the walk to the abandoned church; there's been no more than an inch or two since morning, but it's enough to cover up a multitude of sins. Kora stands on the wide stone-porch that fronts the old cathedral, wearing a black wool coat, sheltered from the slow-drifting snowfall. The hood from her cotton jacket is pulled up over the crown of her head, and her hair is loose, pulled over one shoulder, spilling out from beneath the hood, over the lapels of the old coat, a bright counterpoint to her dark clothing and the snow drifting down from the sky.

Hands in her pockets, she hunches forward to conserve heat and watches the street, listening to the city's sounds, muffled as they are by the snowfall.

[Imogen] The kinswoman had been at the church until the wee hours of the morning and left, simply to go to work, the wear of the night showing beneath her eyes.

What she has done in the interceding hours between then and now are not details available to the Garou, though there are certain facts which offer the opportunity for conclusions to be drawn. She has changed, dressed now in work attire, despite the late hour, and her fatigue is hidden artfully by makeup, carefully applied.

She parks her Volvo much where she had parked it in the past, and shuts the door firmly, glancing up at the snow-strewn sky before walking up the uneven walk way toward the stone porch. She is dressed in charcoal slacks, a black wool coat open over her dark blue blouse.

"Kora," she greets the other when they are near enough for polite speech.

[Roman Turner] The soft thump of the big door heralded his arrival just before he bumped against Kora's shoulder. A steaming cup was offered to her. His head tipped to Imogen as he spoke to Kora.

"Soup in a cup, careful, it's hot."

His breath fogged out and already he was regretting leaving his hat inside as flakes gently landed on his head.

"Howdy Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am. Ya got a hankering for some hot soup?"

[Kora] There's still blood under her nails. Dark now, and in the gray shadows here no more remarkable than dirt under her nails. Kora unearths one of her hands from her pockets and reaches out to take the steaming cup of soup, giving her packmate a sidelong glance, brief and still, as he bumps her shoulder.

She bumps back, carefully lifting the cup of soup to her mouth for an experimental slurp. Finding it so hot that it burns off the first layer of her taste buds, she asks - " - chicken noodle?" with a lilt of inquiry at the end of the phrase.

Kora watches Imogen close the door of her Volvo; watches her walk through the slow drifting little snowstorm, her footsteps incising a precise line in the new-falling snow. Then looks up, flicks a glance at the city behind her, what is visible of the downtown skyline from here a dark silhouette against a sky the color of orange sherbet rolled in volcanic ash.

"Doc - " says Kora, her voice quiet, but not so quiet that it does not carry to her companions. "No trouble, I take it?" She narrows her eyes, gives the sidewalk, the quiet streetscape another moving glance, then hooks her head at the door. "C'mon, let's go inside."

[Linus] "Mnnggghhh..."

It's the sound Linus makes as he pulls himself from the back of one of the pews, where he'd promptly passed out after the excursion from the previous night. The clean up had taken it's sweet time and effort and he'd been no where to be found for the last leg of it all, vanished inexplicably into the umbral domains on a hunt for some 'Elusive fucker with a funny bone' as he'd artfully put it. The Godi had been there upon the rest of the group awakening or returning from whence they'd come and was only now just waking up.

He clambers, clatters and ultimately pours himself into the aisle, dressed only in a pair of long johns (gray), a white T-shirt and the borrowed (stolen) flannel blanket appropriated from who knew where, wrapped pretty firmly around his shoulders and lanky frame. A cigarette dangles in one hand, face a mask of crushed and narrowed everything, one eye still refusing to open while the other is a fiercely thin thing. His hands curl protectively around the edges of the blankets, while he goes tumbling out toward the small set of stairs.

"Mneed a fugg'n light'r.." Are his first words of the day.

[Roman Turner] "Yessum, Cup O Soup, chicken noodle."

He anwered Kora and moved to open the front door for the women, washing frigid air in towards Linus in his thermal drawers. He was beat, sure enough, running on fumes, but he was young, not pregnant and they had survived. Add to that, here was the Goddess Imogen and he was about to show her Linus in his long underware in all his glory.

"Nice drawers Linus, they got a flap on the backside?"

That door was shoved wider so Imogen would be sure to see it while he air-conditioned Linus further much to his own glee.

[Imogen] Her shoes today are heeled. The shoes she had worn last night, aware of potential trouble, had been flat. The kinwoman's grace is the same, a sharply contained and concise way of moving, beautiful in its simplicity.

"Roman," she greets the boy, flicking a gaze toward the mug he offers. "No," she says to his offer. "Thank you."

Her breath mists as she speaks, and her skin is pale with cold, and she smirks faintly as Kora speaks. "One o' the eyes exploded rather messily; caused a bit o' a mess. Apparently the wyrm can have flammable vitreous fluid. Who'd ha' thought." Her question is clearly rhetorical.

Roman speaks, opening the door wider so Imogen can see Linus in his nightwear. "Charming," she observes, though the comment is directed more to Roman than Linus's choice of attire.

[Kora] "Morning, beautiful," Kora says to Linus, her shadow against the open door a handful of seconds after Roman pulls it open. She's awake, dressed, showered at some point, as the coil of her hair down from underneath her hood is soft and fine, the color of plaited moonlight in the indirect, indifferent light around, not stiff with blood. There's something wry to the tone, the sort of affection buried beneath noogies and accusations of wild improprieties just before a bedroom door is slammed, and someone's shouting for MOM with all the breath in their lungs. " - you made it back."

Her footsteps are a quiet against the solid marble floors. There are new stains close to the door, where blood soaked its way into the porous stone. Without direct light, though - they just look like the mottled imperfections of the marble. "We still need to figure out what to do with their truck, Doc. Roman's got it stashed around back. There's enough junk back there that it won't draw suspicion, but I don't like having it on our land. Or anywhere close. And I want to know who the fuck owns that house Drew went to tour. There's something - "

Kora pauses, mid-complaint, and remembers her manners. Not the way Roman does, tipping his hat, addressing everyone respectfully, but the way Fenrir do. "Hey - " a glance back at Imogen, when the kinswoman follows into the great open space of the old sanctuary, warmed by the glow of a few dubious spaceheaters here, underneath the choir loft. " - you want a beer?"

[Roman Turner] "Did ya hear that?"

He asked Linus beaming ear to ear. It was so true, Imogen loved him, she found him charming. He waited till the women both entered, then closed the door behind them.

He had gone unscathed the previous night and even if he had been half dead, he'd be walking on air right now just because he believed Imogen called him charming in completely different light than really meant.

[Linus] "..Mmfugiscold!"

He doesn't yell. Doesn't really have the capacity for it right now, eyes screwing shut against the frigid blast that claps through the church and forces him to hug the flannel blanket tighter around himself. He doesn't retreat though, or step out of the cold air, pushing bravely forward still in search of a lighter, the flicking thumb over a fist signal made at Roman, Imogen and finally Kora without any real thought behind it's reflexive gesturing.

"...No back flap. S'pain in the ass, really..." A little more coherent now, one eye widening enough while the other remains crushed shut, to regard Roman "...You wish you were this Stylish, Kid..."

And then on to Imogen who gets a "Sup sexy..." and finally around on Kora as the newly minted Fostern and Jarl declares a bunch of stuff, while offering Imogen a Beer. Obviously he isn't going to get his lighter from this lot, or at least not immediately and he stashes it behind his ear. He moves forward to kick the doors closed...then shove them when his legs fail to produce enough power to do the former, alongside Roman.

"...Yeah. Found who I was looking for. They like the proposition..."

A pause, features growing confused.

"Wait...Beer? What fuckin' time is it?" And he glances out one of the windows, barking loudly.

"Where the fuck did the sun go?"

[Imogen] She climbs the steps to the stone porch and enters the church, glancing at Roman as he passes, her eyebrow arching slightly, though she does not disabuse him of his perceptions.

Imogen fixes her gaze on Linus when he addresses her, "Find something else t'call me," she says mildly, "if you please. 'Doctor' seems appropriate for our current relationship."

Kora speaks of the truck and Imogen takes a seat on the edge of one of the pews, balancing herself on the carved wooden side. "I know o' a bloke who will take care o' the truck. S'illegal, so more or less untraceable."

She's offered a beer, and Linus demands to know where the sun has gone. The kinswoman merely nods at the offer, accepting it.

[Roman Turner] Linus asked where the fuck did the sun go and what self respecting Ragabash could pass up an opener like that?

"Miss Doctor Slaughter Ma'am, said she fancied the sun. So I done roped it and pulled it down from the sky so she could wear it on her fanger."

Sometimes his accent came out a thicker hick sounding, especially when he told a whopper.

[Rain] It might have seemed odd to them when Rain packed up her guitar and left this afternoon, like she usually does on a Friday night, like nothing so terrible after all had come crashing through their front door just last night. But it's the only way the little Gaian knows to cope with the sort of thing that did happen, and the long and bloody night that followed, and the press of extra Rage in their house and people and ...

So off she goes, to the places where mortals gather, and she sings for her supper like it's any other Friday. She gets lost in it for a moment, long enough to convince everyone around her that she's just somebody's songbird.

It's a good night. Good enough for her to get groceries on her way back -- real food, not cider packets, hot cocoa and a bag of day old pastries. Rain's lugging them all back from the nearest bus stop, which is a bit of a walk on a good night, with her guitar in one hand, stopping every block or two to smooth out the lines that the plastic handles wear into her palms despite her knit gloves. She's redfaced and tired by the time she makes it to the Church's steps. And of course the steps go up first. It's always onward and upward when you're tired.

The door scrapes open again, and there's the clumsy sounds of someone carrying too much trying to work their way through the doorway. Then it closes again. Rain leaves her guitar by the door and trucks the blissfully lighter weight of just groceries back toward the kitchen. It brings her across the great sanctuary with its aging pews. Her hair is unruly under her cap, blown about by the wind and the cold. Her nose is a little runny.

The bus stop is far from the wolves' den. There used to be one closer. No one stops there now.

[Kora] Kora huffs near-silently at Roman's tall-tale, and gives the younger Garou a brief, wry look. The particulars of her expression are lost in the shadows; it's just a twist of her mouth, the native good humor - the easy curve - subsumed by the sobriety of her steady gaze, just a hint of laughter steady evident in her dark eyes.

She nearly sang some half-remembered line from the Sound of Music back at Linus when he questioned the sun's whereabouts; but then Roman made his move and the moment passed. This is what she settles for, Kora - the truth, unvarnished. "It's night. You slept all day."

One she's reached the scattering of benches, the used couch someone rescued from a dumpster, the yellow bean-bag chair gradually losing its beads - that serves as a loose knit living room for the pack and its guests, Kora sets her cup o soup aside, unbuttons her dark wool coat and sinks to her haunches in front of a cooler tucked beneath a folding table, pulling out a couple-three dark bottles of beer.

"No chance your guy'd pass on the particulars up north, right doc?" Kora asks, passingly, looking back over her shoulder at Imogen as she straightens, stands.

"Hey Rain - " Kora calls out as the Gaian kinswoman enters the sanctuary, arms full of groceries. " - want a beer?" She hasn't closed the cooler yet.

There's enough for everyone.

[Rain] "Yes, please," Rain calls back, even as she heads toward the kitchen's cooler with her offerings to the pack's combined foodstuffs. If she doesn't stop moving, if she doesn't sit down and pretend that it's time for her to rest, then she'll make it through getting home somehow.

"I got stuff for spaghetti!" she calls back to Kora, pleased with this. It sounds more like s'ghetti, by the time the word clears her scarf, and her accent, and makes it across the room to the Alpha, but Rain's been kin long enough to know to choke pasta sauce full up with meat to make it suitable for wolves wearing human skin. And that hiding a few extra vegetables in the sauce won't hurt the healing kin who slept in Kora's bunk last night.

Once divested of her food offerings, Rain will make her way toward this promised beer, unwinding her scarf from her neck and pulling off her gloves as she goes.

[Imogen] Imogen steadily meets Kora's gaze. "I wouldn't use him, if I thought there were," she remarks, mildly.

[Linus] His thoughts seem to be out to lunch for the moment, the prior necessity of socializing taking a brief backseat to the need to find his clothes again. He doffs the flannel blanket onto one of the nearby pews, muttering and gritting his teeth in the chill of the air even as he reaches the pile of clothes he'd left on the floor, rifling through the inside out bits and pieces.

"Always figured the Doc for a Moon and Stars sort of girl. Learn somethin'-...tha' hell did my left shoe go?"

Under and over several of the pews, until a brief 'aha!' moment and he's near fully dressed in the space of thirty seconds. That the clothes are from yesterday (and probably a few days before that) doesn't really matter much to him apparently. He comes winging out of the dark of the Church's corners, the flannel blanket deposited on the pew closest to the dinner table. His clothes are a touch ruffled, jacket pulling on and eyes scrubbed simultaneously.

"Need to go check on a few things flip side. You need me for anything right now?" A flick glance up at Kora.

[Roman Turner] He rushed off towards Rain to help relieve her of her packages as soon as she entered. Calling over his shoulder.

"The sun is a star."

Then he was helping Rain, sticking his nose in the bags as much as carrying them.

"Here let me help with that. Whatcha get? Ya need help making it? I made Cup O Soup."

[Linus] Linus blinks and then scowls, hooking a thumb in the direction Roman vanishes.

"I'm pretty sure No Moons aren't allowed to be that smart ass..."

[Rain] "Got more juice, for Miss Drew. And some stuff for spaghetti. Lots of meat for the sauce, and some eggs for breakfast -- we got more people, and folks are healing up, so we need some more food, right?" she asks Roman as he helps lighten her load. They get all the groceries put away.

"You want me to make s'ghetti tonight, or tomorrow? If you've already got noodles, it can wait til tomorrow," she tells him. In Rain's book, there's nothing wrong with Cup O Noodles, if everyone's happy.

There's a few other things to find. Some cereal, but no milk as it would have been too heavy to carry amongst the other things. Some cans of tomato sauce. Things that look suspiciously like fresh vegetables. Bread and garlic to go with. No attempts at salad fixings; she knows better.

[Kora] "And garlic bread?" This to Rain, as she fishes another from the ice. "I think I could eat my weight in garlic bread tonight."

Probably dipped in chocolate. With a chicken noodle soup chaser.

So it's four beers that Kora pulls from the cooler; that she lines up on the gate-legged table that would wobble if someone hadn't wedged half a torn phone book underneath the right back leg. They're slick and cold from being buried among the ice cubes. Unbuttoned, Kora's wool coat hangs stiffly open , revealing the horizontal stripes of her hoodie underneath. She balances forward easily, as she goes searching for one last beer, in a dark bottle like the rest, with IBC in raised lettering across the front.

It's not the same, but at least with her long fingers wrapped around the long-necked, dark brown bottle, she can pretend she's drinking along with the rest of them.

Straightening, Kora reaches to pick up the beers by the necks, threading her fingers through them with the remembered expertise of someone who spent an awful lot of time drinking in bars, once upon a time. She leaves a pair out for Roman and Rain, and offers a third to Imogen, followed by a bottle opener in her free hand.

"Not now - " Kora tells Linus, with a shake of her pale head that sends the hood of her cotton jacket falling backwards and leaves her loose hair to uncoil over her shoulder. Her look is direct, considered, flickers from Linus to Roman and back again. " - but you and me and Roman need to get a few things done, Li. Tonight, yeah?" The statement is quiet, mild really.

"They're getting bolder." That comment, quiet, is as much to Imogen as it is to Linus. "Did you hear about the Winchester?"

[Roman Turner] "I think tonight would be good. Soup only goes so far. And ya heard Miss Kora, she's got a mighty craving for garlic bread and who are we to deny Mr. Trent that treat when he kisses her next?"

He was smiling, but it was more with the thought of Trent's face when garlic breath hit his tongue on that kiss.

[Imogen] Imogen smirks faintly. "Good luck tryin' to stop him." The kinswoman absently rolls her neck, stretching the muscles of her shoulders. When Kora re-enters, she speaks to the Fenrir Skald again.

"I thought yeh should know, Simon's asked me to tell him if I find any cursed ones. Somethin' about it's time t'stop bein' the hunted and become the hunter. What's the Winchester?"

She reaches out to take the bottle, "Ta," she says, taking the bottle opener and snapping off the cap expertly, before handing the opener back.

[Rain] "Yes'm, and garlic bread. It's not spaghetti night without garlic bread," she says, in all seriousness.

"What about Miss Quinn's place?" Rain asks Kora, interjecting where maybe she shouldn't. But Rain's familiarity with the Winchester is hard to miss. So is the worry that flits across her features.

[Linus] "...Yeah, I did." There's a cloud there. Something flickering and dark, but not for the body that went Valhalla's way. Something else (One less Godi to stand the tide, pay respects). He adjusts his collar and begins to wrap a scarf about his neck, even as he's replying to Kora's mention.

"I have a few eyes I can talk to before tonight's over. Might be able to put a pair there on the Flip to keep an eye on things but...that's a long ass way from our neck of the woods. Ain't my sort of fun dealing with shit outside of our boundary, let alone our Tribe when there are perfectly good bodies in this Sept who could." Another flicker of that same cloud, a frank sort of disapproval that he doesn't do anything to hide.

"I'll be back soon. I just need to make sure He hasn't flown off and left me hanging dry again. Gonna talk to those Scab birds of yours too and get some things straight-" A sneer, unpleasant and vaguely disgusted "-and then try and find something for the Uni' I pulled service from last night to do- Oh yeah..."

He flicks a glance to Roman and Kora both, brows perked.

"He's strong and friendly but don't go thinking that's going to last long. He says he'll help with healing and keeping this area clean of any Taint but he's not fighting for us. Never will. Part of the agreement so don't ask him to. He'll be squatting the Church grounds in the meantime-" And then on toward Rain, a chin up nod. "...Might think about playing a little more here in the Church. I think he might like that..."

And then finally back to Kora again, eyes settled in.

"You, me 'n Roman can figure out that shit when I get back. I gotta have a talk to Hermodr to while I'm off..." A grunt, a breath sucked in. "'n Figured out what stupid shit I wanna throw off into that flippin' Maytag whirlpool of a Caern Totem..."

[Roman Turner] Maytag whirlpool of a Caern Totem. He almost said something disrespectful along the lines of how the swirling reminded him of a demented toilet when flushed. Instead he was in the doorway of the kitchen, looking back at Rain.

"Wait, Miss Quinn's place? Ain't that the place you came back from all hurt one night?"

It hadn't even clicked in his head about the Winchester.

[Imogen] Imogen's gaze sharpened, glancing toward Roman, then to Rain. "You've been hurt at th'Winchester as well?" Though her previous question had made it clear she was not familiar with either the scenario nor even the bar, she is quickly connecting the dots.

[Kora] Kora takes the bottle opener from Imogen and tosses it underhanded to land on the table. Her root beer is a twist-top, and she opens it with a faint grimace, and a twist of her wrist. She sits on the flat arm of one of the old pews, long-since unmoored from its original place facing the altar, and swings a look between Imogen, Roman and Rain. "Trent likes garlic breath." - she says, without much inflection to Roman, just a faint curve to her mouth that smooths out a stutter-step later.

Imogen mentions Simon's requests, and Kora breathes out again, a quiet flare of her nostrils; something on the border between frustration and laughter. "I sure as hell hope he doesn't go on a kamikaze run up north." - she says under her breath.

"The Winchester," clarifying, with a glance at Imogen. "It's a pub owned by a Fianna kin. A mile or so from our territory. Apparently her staff are all kin, too." Then Kora glances up, meets Rain's eyes across the gloomy interior expanse of the church, steady. "Quinn was attacked by a pack of cursed Garou, right outside, after closing. One of them tried to seduce her. Night's Reprieve was killed protecting her, and she brought his body back to the Caern, but two of them got away."

Kora's expression narrows briefly; thoughtfully at Rain. She doesn't repeat Imogen's question, but it's clear she's waiting for the answer.

[Kora] A moment's afterthought, then - Kora sends Linus a winging look. "Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya and I saved a unicorn gaffling before the spring equinox, Li. Said it owed us, after. I dunno if they're all connected, but if you need to you can cash in my chit. I don't want you spread too thin. Not right now."

[Rain] Rain looks to Roman, and then to Kora as if she was expecting the question that ultimately came from Imogen. She doesn't look trapped or surprised at being asked for an explanation, but there's a skewed and somewhat displeased touch to her expression.

No one likes getting shot. That had been a bad night.

"Ah, yeah. It is. I was going over to the Winchester to help before opening night -- Miss Quinn's sort of a friend, I met her at the Brotherhood. Her and Mr. Howard and Mr. Patrick and Mr. Ennar were all fixing up the place before it opened. Some guys grabbed me when I got off the bus not far from the bar, block and half away maybe. I got free and ran, thinking that the True'd be there, or that at least Miss Quinn's shotgun would be.

"There weren't touched or tainted though, that we could tell. Just human folk, doing hateful human things. They're both gone now," she says, but there's no ambiguity there. She means dead.

[Rain] Something in Rain's memory flagged and she adds quickly: "It was the night of the eclipse. Something was wrong with N.R. He couldn't change, he said. Were a bad night for everyone, I guess."

[Linus] "I ain't gonna be thin just..." He looks more annoyed. Aggravated. Like the kid being forced to hug their moustache wearing Aunt, rather than a Godi pushed into a difficult bargain. "I'll deal with it."

He leaves the collective there to push and interrogate Rain on the matter, deciding the fate and function of Quinn's Winchester route and just how safe they all were. It isn't until Rain pops in with something about the 'Eclipse' that Linus attention returns to her with a frown.

"...That ain't right..." An eye flicks toward Kora, brow furrowed. "...Least that ain't what's supposed-...fuck's sake, later later..." And he turns, one of the nearby mirrors serving as a goto. The air balloons, ears feel the pressure and Pop. Linus is off on errands.

(I'll be a bit slow here folks so it's a good time for me to take a break. If you guys are still going in an hour or so, I'll bring Linus back in.)

[Imogen] "I don't think he knows what he's going to do," Imogen answers Kora absently, referring to Simon, her answer almost as quiet as Kora's mutter. "Given that he was asking me fer advice on how to find 'em."

She listens as Kora explains, and there are a steady shift of reactions, minute over her features. A lift of an eyebrow as the Winchester is explained to her. A careful attention as the attack is explained. Then, a frown, a bare line between her brows as she is informed of Night's Reprieve's death. Her gaze shifts away, then returns, shifting to Rain as she explains what happens.

"It sounds to me like Quinn has chosen a very bad place fer her bar."

[Rain] "I don't think she chose it," Rain says, her expression creasing for a moment. "I think it was her family's, and now it's hers. Something like that. Might be hard to get her to give it up, if it's inherited like that," she says, thinking aloud.

There's a lump in her throat now that the Godi's passing has been brought up so baldly. It's a hard thing to swallow down.

"I heard two votes for s'ghetti night, so I'mma start cooking," she says, rolling her shoulders a bit under the weight of everyone's scrutiny. Cooking gives her something to do, although it'll be far from gourmet -- let's say it's more like rustic home cooking -- or fancily prepared.

[Roman Turner] He looked from Rain to the others with a frown marring his brow.

"I think this place is like a bad magnet. Like one of them Devil Triangle places, but in this case it's a Spiral shopping mall where they go looking for breeding material."

[Kora] Kora listens - quite seriously - to Rain's explanation. Her dark eyes are quick on the kinswoman's features, dropping down with the movement of the young woman's mouth, the subtle physical movements of muscles underneath her skin. There's nothing invasive about the regard, just this close-eyed attention to the details of things. When Rain finishes - Kora cuts a glance to Imogen, a flicker of a look. Then Rain offers an addendum, and the Fenrir looks back to Rain, the right corner of her mouth moving upward.

"That night - " with a brief current of familiarity embedded in the tone. "That was messed up. It sounds like that one was coincidence, yeah? A block and a half away from the door."

"This one, though." Kora looks away, cuts a glance back to Imogen, voice "Three of them, lying in wait outside at 3 a.m. The place isn't safe anymore. If I was them, I'd have eyes on the place. A kin in the apartment across the street, a couple of spirits - something. I told Quinn to stay away for the time being, and sid we'd try to get eyes on the place, but we're spread thin. I suggested Simon get in touch with Rory, see if her tribe was interested in getting in on it. Maybe that'll give him something to do."

[Roman Turner] "Has Miss Quinn told her own Family about this? Seems to me there's been a whole bunch of them blow in to town recently."

He still had that thoughtful crease between his brows as he leaned against the door frame with crossed arms.

[Rain] "She's probably told Mr. Patrick and Mr. Howard," Rain tells Roman. He's the intermediary between her place and the greater living space. There's nothing certain in the girl's statement, though. She hasn't talked to Quinn about what happened. "They were livin' at the Brotherhood last time I was there, if y' need to talk to 'em."

Rain uses the busy-ness of getting a meal started to distract from how unsettled this is making her, but the Ragabash knows her well enough to see through that if he wants to. She starts cutting up vegetables -- the onion might be pungent enough to bother his delicate senses.

[Roman Turner] "Yeah, right. That's where I would be if ya told me there was trouble coming to the church. Yessiree I would say, well why don'tcha go see that there Jarl from that there other Tribe and maybe she will help ya cause well see, it's cold out there and we got things to do."

He shook his head slightly, sending chestnut hair sweeping across his furrowed brow.

"I'm hoping that ain't the case, that they ain't knowing what has happened over there. I also hope I'll win the Lotto even if I don't buy no tickets."

[Kora] "I don't know - " Kora says, low-voiced, firm back to Roman. " - and I don't know that we have much time to find out. There's something brisk underneath it; something efficient. That some part of her is willing to let this go. The sound of rain in the kitchen is a quiet background sort of noise, domestic in a space made for other things - which softens in the vast space of the sanctuary. In places, the roof is a ruin, and snowflakes drift downward in soft, outward spirals.

"Doc," Kora frowns, her brow creasing minutely with thought. " - did you hear all of Drew's story about the attack?" A brief pause, as she expels another faint breath. "Or any of it?"

[Imogen] Imogen shakes her head in answer to Kora, "Only tha' she'd been attacked, and tha' there was expected t'be trouble here."

[Roman Turner] "She turned up here out front lastnight with Eve in this old truck that I'm guessing is Miss Drew's. Both were seriously injured. I still ain't sure how they climbed in the truck under pursuit and Miss Drew managed to drive and not kill 'em."

[Rain] It's harder to slip things like vegetables past a sixteen year old Ragabash who's watching you cook, so Rain doesn't even try to hide it from Roman when she cuts the carrots, onions and celery into little bits and heats it up in the bottom of the second biggest stockpot she finds. When they're limp, she adds the ground meat she brought and cooks that until it's brown, then dumps in the spaghetti sauce (and something that looks suspiciously like chopped up spinach) and leaves it to heat through.

Meanwhile, she gets the larger pot ready to switch onto the hotplate so she can heat up water for the pasta. She makes garlic bread. Soon it smells like a real meal's brewing in the kitchen, and that it might just be an edible one too.

All the while Rain's quiet, seems focused, until she gets to a place when she can just be still for a bit. Then she rests her hands on the countertop, stares blankly at the cupboard before her, exhales slowly. And finally gets around to drinking that beer that Kora handed her.

[Kora] "She was looking for a house to rent," Kora explains, tipping back the bottle of root beer as if she were drinking the real thing. A glance back at Roman, then Kora drops herself from the arm of the pew to the seat, dragging over a handy stool by snagging it carefully with her booted toe and pulling it back to herself.

They are still in the circle of warmth created by the space heaters. Deeper in the bowels of the church, the warmth would be more complete. The walls are solid, the windows antique, but well-made. Even the social hall - an addition added by some optimist in the 1950s - is solid masonry, bricks manufactured right here in Chicago, stacked and mortared by union men, layers of insulation stuffed into the plaster walls. In the sanctuary, though - even the 'living room' underneath the choir loft is like standing around a bonfire. Half of you roasts while the other half slowly freezes. "And was ambushed by the rental agent or the owner. Something like that, when Eve showed up. Since I can't imagine a cursed Garou making a living as a real estate agent - it had to be a set-up. Or something. Maybe they've got some interest there.

"I'd like to know who owns the property - or - well," Kora gives Imogen a brief, faint look, nearly a smirk. " - whatever you can find out, really. If there's some connection we can follow now that we've taken that pack out, I want to follow it. I want to know who's pulling this shit."

[Drew Roscoe] Some time in the wee morning hours earlier today (or way late last night depending on who you asked) Drew had climbed into Kora's bed and fallen into the deep kind of sleep that follows way too much excitement and staying away some handful of hours past when your normal schedule dictated you would. She's been up there since that time, sleeping like a log, back turned to the door and the interior of the room, curled up with an arm under the pillow and the covers pulled up to her ear. Nothing but a lump with a lot of brown hair on the pillow.

It wasn't until the sun had gone down that she awoke again, the entire day slept away while she recovered. She woke with a hell of a headache and her eyes hurting as they tend to do when you sleep too heavy for too long. The clothes she'd borrowed from Rain last night after the shower would be what she'd wear still today, so she'd tug on the jeans that she'd left off so she could sleep comfortably and make her way down to the kitchen, hoping she saw a coffee pot somewhere in the mix.

Drew doesn't enter through the doorway Roman's blocking, but another in the back of the kitchen. She's got her thick chestnut hair pulled up into a loop at the top of her head, it would be a regular ponytail if she'd pulled her hair completely through on the last tuck. She's got on a plain gray long-sleeved tee that was intended more for layering than solo wear, a pair of jeans that are too long at the leg (and so rolled twice at the cuff), and a pair of soft white socks. She's scrubbing the pad of her right thumb against the corresponding temple and squinting into the room, at Rain and Roman both as she walked in and shuffled about on the hunt for coffee, and if she doesn't find the things for that, anything else to drink. She was parched.

"How long was I out?" She asks, and follows up with her manners as an afterthought. "How're you guys doing?"

[Imogen] Several strands of hair have fallen free of the clasp at the base of her neck, and Imogen lifts a hand, pushing hair back from her eyes and tucking them habitually behind her ear. At this moment, Drew enters, and Imogen glances over, saying simply, "Hello," without answering either question.

Her attention returns to Kora, "I can look into it," she says, getting to her feet. "I don't imagine I'll hear much 'till early next week, but I'll see what I can find."

Her gaze shifts once more to Drew, "Would yeh be so kind as to get me the address o' the rental house where you were attacked?"

[Rain] "All of today," Rain answers, when Drew wanders into the kitchen that smells more like dinner than breakfast. That poor hotplate's getting a work out tonight, trying to do the duty of a full range top. Rain's making do, she's good at that. Her hair is loose, all puffed up on the top from being recently released from her knit cap. She glances over at the other kinswoman, and they're features are similar enough that it's like looking at a sister.

Or a cousin.

"How're ya feeling?" Rain asks. "I'm makin' spaghetti, but there's lighter stuff, too. Brought you more juice. Ms. Kora's got beers. They're talkin' 'bout what happened," she cautions, in case Drew isn't awake enough to rehash the previous night.

[Drew Roscoe] No coffee, but juice sounded good. Sounded smart too. She smiled at Rain, and it was a cloudy half-asleep expression that still managed to give good feelings that spread like pollen on the wind in springtime. She went to the cooler, hunted down some juice, and stood leaning against the doorway not too far off from Roman and the doorway he blocked, making a lopsided triangle between herself and the two Children of Gaia. "'Preciate it, Rain. I'm sore as hell but doing alright. I'll skip the beer, feel close enough to hungover as it is."

There's something of a shake of her head, and she looks to Imogen. The other Kin is requesting an address, and Drew acquiesces by gesturing for Imogen to head on over, holding the juice bottle by the rim with her teeth (her dad would smack her in the back of her head for wracking up a dental bill for doing that-- holding things with her teeth so she could free up her hands-- through her childhood and teenage years). A wallet was extracted from her back pocket, something simple slim and brown, and flipped open to look through receipts and other such things.

In the front of the wallet where a driver's license normally goes is a picture, a snapshot somewhere outdoors of Drew and some man whose shoulders absolutely dominated the shot, with a bald head, ice blue eyes, a gap between his teeth and some offensive scrawl of hateful tattoos across his throat and arms. One can only venture to guess where his roots trace back to.

A folded over purple post-it note is removed from the wallet and held out for Imogen to take. It has an address written in pen that corresponds with the twelve-or-so blocks southwest that Drew said this whole mess had begun.

[Imogen] "Ta," Imogen says, reaching out to take the post it note, glancing at it before she pockets it. She takes another swig from her beer, letting her arm swing down to her hip, her attention flicking toward Kora. "I should go. Touch base wi' you next week, shall I?"

[Rain] "I'm glad you're doing better," she says, and there's enough infectious good will in the room between the pair of them to brighten up even this dark Friday of doomspeak and war councils.

Rain won't say that this foray into actual food for dinner is more for Drew than the Changing types. They have other ways to recuperate, to build back what they've lost. Kinfolk just had to make do with what their bodies naturally knew how to do: heal in human ways, at somewhat inhuman rates. But something solid in their stomachs was good for everyone's piece of mind.

While Drew's passing on an address, Rain's draining the pasta and mixing it all up with the sauce. It's an inelegant presentation -- everything in a bucket-sized stockpot -- but it's a meal large enough for their Stone Soup family. She finds plates and cutlery, then has the Ragabash relay to Kora that food's ready.

"You want some dinner before you go?" she asks Dr. Slaughter, and there's an invitation there but Rain won't be offended or surprised if the more efficient, effective, restrained kinswoman declines. Offers don't come with strings around this part, at least not from the Gaians.

She'll eat last, because Linus has a thing for her to do while the kitchen is stuffed up with people. Also, because she's used to eating last in mixed company. It's just another hallmark of the places she's been before.

[Kora] "Thanks, Doc." Kora's voice is low. While Imogen gets up, crosses the space to get snag the address Drew's written down for her, the Skald remains where she is, seated a pew in the middle of the sanctuary, listening to the sounds of cooking in the background, watching the snow spiral down from the ceiling.

She should shift. She doesn't, but she knows she should. Her minor wounds are half-healed, but this form does nothing to regenerate itself, so the shallow claw marks she sustained last night remain a faint pink wound on her shoulder where the skin should be otherwise whole. She can feel Roman, his presence in the space, and she glances up as he figures out that Miss Doctor Slaughter Ma'am is about to leave and dashes up from where he's guarding the kitchen door to clean off Miss Doctor Slaughter Ma'am's windshields of the snow that has accumulated over them in the last hour, pausing long enough to relay to Kora that the food is ready.

"Next week," she affirms, lifting the dark bottle she's drinking in ironic salute. "Root beer's on me." Then, she swings her legs down from the pew and stands up, and easy arc of motion, ambling back toward the kitchen, the scent of cooked meat low and rich in the air.

"Smells great - " Kora tells Rain, when she rounds the door into the kitchen, a genuine note of appreciation for the warm meal in the pack's space. She's keen eyed enough to note the spinach in the sauce, and it makes her mouth curl into a bemused half-smile. " - all of it, thank you." There's another look for Drew, then, an assessing glance that ends with the young (wolf) woman's dark eyes on the slight kinswoman's familiar features. In contrast to the kinswomen's infectious charm, Kora's a reserved thing. Still, her mouth is wide, and even when neutral it seems to curve in a faint half-smile. That neutral expression is made serious tonight by the watchfulness in her dark eyes. "Evening Drew."

[Imogen] "It's a deal," Imogen replies to Kora, before detouring to the kitchen to drop off her beer bottle, now drained. Rain makes her offer and the kinswoman turns her head to look at the Gaian kin. "No, thank-you," she answers simply, "Good night," this last to everyone and no one in particular, and then she departs, headed out the front door of the church.

For some time after her departure, they can hear the sound of Roman's voice, talking a mile a minute in Imogen's direction, and much quieter, Imogen's dry reply, attempting to disentangle herself from the Gaian Ragabash. Eventually, she is permitted to enter her car and leave.

(thanks for the RP guys! sorry, I am EXHAUSTED!)

[Drew Roscoe] Imogen's off with the post-it note that Drew had scrawled the address down on while stopped at a gas station somewhere in South Dakota. Roman rushes outside to brush snow and scrape frost off a windshield if any had gathered, making sure the pretty red-headed kinswoman was seen to all the way to the end of the block before he'd relent and come back home.

Kora gets up and moves into the kitchen, and while Linus is in the Penumbra this left the women alone in the church, the kitchen, together. The Skald's eyes hop to Rain, compliment the smell of her cooking, then land on Drew. The Kin caught herself eyeing the picture at the front of her wallet for a few lingering moments too long, juice bottle to her lips so she could chug a few more deep drinks from it. The Fenrir Kin looks up from lost eyes to the ones in front of her, then smiles a weak, sheepish grin and shrugs loosely, turning the picture to Kora to show it off for a second and explaining: "Oregon. It wasn't nice, but they did have some pretty trees and big ass forests."

The wallet was put into her back pocket again, and she crossed her ankles, leaning more comfortably into the wall and looking to Kora's shoulder, where she remembered claws or teeth or something like that drawing blood. Her sniff was a little concerned and a little skeptical both. "Shouldn't you be worried about getting back to 100% yourself?"

[Rain] "You're more 'n welcome, Miss Kora. I just hope it tastes as good as it smells," she tells Kora, but the compliment definitely buoys her somewhat. Rain is less certain than they are in the face of this darkness and doom. She's making do, but it's not without its wariness. Having helpful hands is one of the few blessings she knows she brings to the pack's complement, so she uses them to their fullest extent when she knows how.

"Help yourself," she tells them, letting them take the first portions from the fortified pot of spaghetti. Hopefully there was enough good stuff in it to help their bodies mend.

Her attention does land on that picture that Drew's lost in, for a moment, and there's a question that forms in Rain's eyes but doesn't make it to her lips. The table is returned to its usual station, now. They can eat around it like, well, almost like family. She brings her beer to the table and pulls out a seat for herself.

[Kora] That's a strange moment. Drew holds up that picture of herself with Joe, outlined against some suggestion of green, the big rainforests of the coastal northwest. Kora is hungry enough tht she eats standing up, leaning back against the chipped formica countertops, her Doc Marten's heavy, black, wet from the snow outside. There are places in the sanctuary where the snow curves and drifts when the wind blows; so you can sit on the couch, warm from the heaters, watching the snow drift town through a half-broken stained glass window, St. Anne, St. Agnes. Some female saint with a plate behind her head and that beaitific look in her eyes, as if she could see the light beyond the stars.

Already sober, Kora flickers a look down at the snapshot when drew holds it up. It is a mercy that she has a mouthful of spaghetti to swallow just then. Swallow it she does, as her dark eyes cut upward again to Drew's.

"We lived in Oregon for about 3.25 seconds when I was a kid. After Linus was born, but before the twins. I just remember this lake, so blue it looked like it had been irradiated. Like it was made of melted chalk and glacial melt."

When Rain finally takes a seat, so does Kora. She puts down her plate and shrugs off her winter's coat, after, catching it and putting it on one of the hooks by the door. Underneath, she's wearing her hoodie - large enough for her torso - and her old dedicated tee and thermal, which are decidedly too small.

Tonight, Kora doesn't correct Rain about the Miss. Does not tell her: it is Kora. Just Kora. Or utter that other name, the foreign name she pronounces with easy facility of someone not native born, but sunk in the language without options for an age: Eyjólfsdóttir. She just flashes her the edge of a curving half-smile as she returns to the table - like a family and sits down properly to her meal.

"You're welcome here as long as you need to stay, Drew."

[Kora] A brief pause, fork poised in front of her mouth, noodles unfurling from the tines in a slow avalanche toward the plate. Kora is pregnant and Kora is hungry and Kora is eating with a sort of animal gusto - but look.

She pauses, glances from Rain to Drew, back again. "I'd actually prefer it, really," low, quiet as always. " - I've asked the Doc to check up on the owner of the property you were looking to rent. For the next while, I'd prefer if you at least did a background check on your future landlords before touring prorties, too.

[Drew Roscoe] Rain ushers them to the table with open body language and by setting out utensils and crowding the food as well as she can onto the table. Bottles of beer set up along with plates and forks and pasta and sauce, and Drew moves away from the wall to sit while Kora goes about gathering herself food and starting to eat while still on her feet. Drew heaps noodles and sauce onto her own plate, then does the same for the setting in front of where Rain sits down. Each get a piece of garlic bread, and only when plates for all ladies present had food on them did Drew sit back and twist pasta up in her fork.

She had a few bites to eat while Kora spoke of living in Oregon while very young-- it had to be because Linus was born but these previously unknown twins were not just yet-- and of this lake that she'd found, how it looked like perfection painted onto the scenery by a master's hand. Drew just smiled, wiped sauce from the corner of her mouth with the back of her wrist, and nodded. "Thanks." Her eyes hop to Rain while she speaks on background checks, then she takes a bite of garlic bread, chews and swallows, and mixes the spaghetti sauce and noodles more thoroughly while explaining her thoughts.

"Not a bad idea, but honest-to-god background checks cost money and time, and I don't have a lot of either tucked under my belt right now. I've got some saved up, enough for a down payment and a month or two of rent, groceries, and bills." Another bite chewed and swallowed. "I've got an interview lined up and two more houses left to view and choose from.

"I've got my ducks in a pretty little row. That nonsense was just a hiccup and a hearty Chicago 'welcome home'."

[Drew Roscoe] [[ Correction, strike Rain speaking up from that post, thought the Kora addendum was Rain. ]]

[Rain] Rain has tried to pronounce that other name. She's tried so many times that she's lost track of the true sound of it in her head. She's close to telling Kora it'd be easier for her to learn if Kora sang it to her, and there's actual truth to that, but she doesn't.

When she remembers, Kora is just Kora. And Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am is just Doctor Slaughter. When she doesn't, they're all Miss So-and-So, or Mister This-and-That. It's not about distancing herself from them, that much is easy to tell, the titles do not create unnecessary space between them. The only person who is always only their own first name is Eve, the Gnawer Philodox. The one that, when she came near to Rain, Roman saw some need to interpose himself between them.

Drew heaps dinner onto Rain's plate, despite Rain's intention to wait until the other True of the packhouse had eaten. The girl wasn't really in the mood to argue manners, or stand on ceremony. The boys could eat whenever they got back.

Rain pushes her spaghetti around her on her plate to mix it up a bit better, twirls some noodles around her fork, and pauses to talk before she eats: "I've been saving what I can toward a place. If Kora and her crew don't mind me staying longer, you can have what I've got to check the other two places on your list."

No matter how hard Rain works toward getting out from underfoot at the packhouse, she seems destined to overstay her welcome. She'd been getting things set up, saving while she remembered to contribute to the packhouse's stores as well, when she'd gotten jumped and had to re-buy some of her winter things. Now her gig at the Winchester was off limits, and she'd have to find another steady offering of places to play. Didn't seem to bother the Gaian, much. So long as Kora and Roman were happy to keep her around.

[Linus] The air begins to gain that familiar sensation of added volume and with an almost disjointed rupture, a slow motion pop sounds the air and Linus comes pushing through and into the Church aisle between the rows of pews. His head cranes on his neck, head newly shaved and face a house of lines that bely his age. There's no exhaustion, but a tiredness seeps through the slim creature evidenced more in the way he pauses upon reaching the physical again. Just that.
Pauses. In place. Not moving.
Then, the moment gone, he opens his eyes, a dark brown, almost black and sucks in a slow breath. A hand, gloved, reaches between the folds of his black jacket and hoodie, to rub at a spot along bare chest. Then he's moving forward, following his nose to the smells of fresh, warm, good eats.

"Pardon..." It's the first word off his lips, vaguely distracted and carrying very little of the usual standard for Linus in it's utterance, as he comes upon the collective around the table, spaghetti on forks and in plates. The nearest empty chair is sucked up and he scrapes the chair inward with nary a wince, sets his elbows on the table and flicks a glance at Kora.

"...Deals done. We've got some offerings to do. Unicorn's happy and I let the scab birds go on the condition that they can continue to roost in the Church so long as they don't go getting in the way of their replacements. Said they'll do us messenger service from time to time if we need it." He rolls his neck, eyes closing again as a faint crack creeps out from between vertebrae.

"...Hermodr and I are still good. S'waiting for the good ahead from you before we make things official..." And that same vague solemnity dances about his features, eyes already searching out the pot of pasta, one hand for an empty plate and the other reaching to a fork.

[Drew Roscoe] Attention hops to the Godi when he walks into the kitchen, mutters a single-worded 'excuse me' and pulls the spare chair at the table out to sit. Elbows prop up on the tabletop but no one here seems to care about that tiny detail of table manners. His focus is obviously on the dealings of the spirits and explaining all this to Kora before it's on food. Lines in his visage and the kind of tired that was bone deep as opposed to what follows a long day or a good hard work out said it would be there soon enough, though.

So before Linus has much of a chance to grab his empty plate and fork Drew's already leaned forward and heaping pasta and sauce onto his plate, complete with a piece of garlic bread topped on top of the pile. There's enough left for the kind of portion that a 16-year-old boy demands. A part of family is that sometimes you just don't get seconds, and you'd have to be okay with that.

She waits, of course, until he's done talking before she speaks up, leaning back and going for her bottle of juice, one hand scrubbing her stomach (bruised in the deep and ugly way, but no longer open with no residual scars to speak of) through the gray shirt she wore as she spoke. "We didn't introduce properly, not much of a chance. You're Linus?"

She didn't give her name back. He knew it already. She didn't get much of a chance to really peg his face to the name, not officially, she'd only surmised who he had to be by process of elimination and by thinking back to the warm crowded apartment for the Yuletide gathering.

[Kora] (oh gosh guys! it was not refreshing!)

[Kora] (heh, I must have totally zoned, too.)

[Drew Roscoe] [ Been there a hundred times and I still haven't learned. :) ]

[Simon] The sound of Simon's car was soon followed by the slamming of a door as he made his way out of the car and towards the entrance that the truck had attempted to enter through the night before. Simon gave himself a little smile, first time he's ever stabbed a man with a Tire Iron, and he made his way to said door to knock provided the door was still there.

His arms were folded behind his back and despite still being relatively wounded he was well enough that it didn't bother him much more than the occasional groan of pain. Mostly he just wanted to check in and see what the locals were up to... Checking in was important these days.

[Rain] She eats slowly. Rain's had a long day on a scant few hours of sleep. She's not injured and mending, but she spent a good part of her evening being thrown wide-open in a room of strangers by virtue of her craft. It's that craft that pays her way, just now. It elevates her; it wears her out. There's been no rest for her since she pushed out the Church's wide doors that afternoon; the day had not been all that restful either.

Now they're gathered around the table, like a family, with the cooking heat and that of their bodies to help keep the space warm, with the press of Rage and Personality near enough to make them feel something other than alone. She bows her head over her meal and makes sure to chew her mouthfuls, not to eat like she's starved or trying to choke something down before the next Thing arrives.

She looks up when Linus wanders in, and Drew goes immediately about appropriating his dinner, Rain doesn't have to reach across the table to do it herself. She casts a grateful look to Drew, a smile that speaks to the unintended synergy of their sometimes parallel and unspoken thoughts.

"Welcome back," she tells the Godi, after she swallows her bite of garlic bread and pasta.

[Kora] There's Izzy, too. Though - " the hook-curve of Kora's half-smile is cut with a dry little snort. " - that might not be the best option. I want to make sure you're not being targeted, yeah? That that wasn't deliberate. That you're not walking into - I don't know - a string of rentals owned by god-knows-what. Your brush with that pack was too close for my comfort, too - specific, you know? Since when did the cursed ones invest in real estate, anyway?"

Rain's generous offer has Kora's blue eyes steady on her face again. This time, the faint curve of her mouth isn't wry; it's still, but easy. They have a few electric lanterns in the kitchen, maybe the odd deal with a glowworm for all Kora knows. The space is warm; there's electricity enough for the stove and ovens, and the walls are solid, as is the roof. A pair of multipaned 1950s windows look out onto the grounds of the building, a tangled riot of growth in the summer - a weedy expanse that provides the pack with a measure of privacy when the the opportunistic trees and vines are in full leaf. Now, dark as it is outside, with all those bare limbs, a shambles of a brick wall and the old chainlink fence to obstruct the view, they can just see two long icicles formed on the window and the occasional snowflake drifting down as the flurries begin to subside.

"You're welcome here, Rain." The half-smile lingers, as Kora breathes out, pausing long enough to swallow a mouthful of spaghetti and sauce. There's something speculative in her eyes, briefly narrowing in thought. "It's - " but that's not where she wants to start, so Kora shakes her head quietly, and begins again. "Ever heard of the Eddas?" Kora pauses long enough for a flicker of recognition or a negative shake of Rain's head.

"Fire is needed by the newcomer
Whose knees are frozen numb;
Meat and clean linen a man needs
Who has fared across the fells.

Water, too, that he may wash before eating,
Handcloth's and a hearty welcome,
Courteous words, then courteous silence
That he may tell his tale."

When she recites the words, it has the sing-song feel of memory, the arcing rhythm of it. She does it with her eyes half-closed, her attention distant until the air things and Linus appears in their midst. He's already reaching for a plate of spaghetti. "Linus, meet Drew. Drew, meet my little brother, Linus Ulricson." She looks back to Linus then, a settled glance when he remarks briefly on the chat he had with their totem spirit.

"Tonight then," and now her gaze is steady, the color of the sky at twilight. "Hermodr, then our guests." Mouth still, her eyes serious. "Then Maelstrom."

[Kora] (er, and sorry for giant post!)

[Linus] "Yeah..."

He breathes, the thrum of the front doors erupting through the Church's acoustics. It brings a moment of irritability to Linus' face and before he rises to answer it, he shovels a generous chunk of pasta and sauce into his mouth, wiping at the excess that drips down his chin with a gloved hand. He's up and marching for the double doors, hand already vanishing into the folds of his clothing to produce the long length of his favoured weapon from a seemingly impossible angle.

The Godi slaps a hand on the double doors, but doesn't open them.

"Seriously, If this is another bunch of Punk kids or some fuckin' Jehovah Saints on a reclamation project, i'm gonna gut you like a fuckin' Chicken..." He yells through the doors, waiting for some sign or reply.

[Simon] [Linus is yelling through the door at Simon?]
to Linus

[Drew Roscoe] The Kin's attention swings to the door when there's a knock at it, echoing through the large room made for the preaching sort of acoustics through the doorway. Linus rises to answer it without much of a word to any, and Drew's mouth presses into a hard-to-read line as she watches him go. She leans back in her chair, watches the door for a second, then hefts a tired sounding sigh and takes another drink of her juice before working on her spaghetti again.

A few bites in she looks to Rain across the table, wipes her mouth with the back of her wrist once more, then shakes her head before she speaks.

"I won't take your money away from you. I've got enough to get me started, and when I'm back working I'll have more than I need with an empty house and no mouths to feed." She adjusts how she sits, tucks one foot up under her rear end and lets the other dangle. She's petite to the point that if she's sitting back in her seat-- as she is now-- her feet don't touch the ground much beyond the tip of her toe. So the left leg swings idly, loose and comfortable.

"You save up and you get yourself an apartment." Another bite, a pause as she rethinks her words and decides to explain them. "Someone once told me that a packhouse is no place for a Kin. Last night is a fine example of why that's the case-- too much blood, too much Business, too much War. We support, but we're not them. We're there when they need us, but to be in the thick of it.... It's not where we oughta be."

[Drew Roscoe] As for Izzy... The mention of the Kinfolk that served as a detective for Chicago's police department had Drew casting a look at Kora. She didn't seem inclined to speak ill, but she didn't need to use her voice if her face spoke as loud as it did in its stead.

[Rain] Kora might think Rain's offer was generous, but it was the Gaian being as pragmatic as she knew how. She was used to going without; she was used to tithing everything to Shark's followers and getting back what fell to her when the pack handed out portions. She'd been saving to get a place for her and Eve, but the likelihood that Roman would see her go back into the Gnawer's keeping -- the way he'd stood between her and Eve the night before spoke to that probability being thin, a tiny, slipping margin.

She didn't want to live on her own. She didn't want tell Eve that she could stay with her. She might have looked to Quinn for a roommate, but the Fionn woman seemed danced about by Spirals and bad news just now. So the little mound of something that Rain had built up needed to go somewhere it'd do some good, toward the pack or the packhouse, toward Drew. It was just money, after all. Money never healed over anything for Rain, so she doesn't see a problem with putting it where it was needed.

All the same her head shakes, No, when Kora asks her about the Eddas and she sets her fork down and turns her attention fully toward the Skald when she recites. Because of this, she's slower than the others to turn her awareness toward the front doors and then, in time, to bring it back to Drew.

She doesn't have anything spoken to answer Drew with, rather an oddly numb little nod and the quick transition of her attention to her spaghetti plate again. Rain chews on what the other kin's offered, then pushes her plate a bit away from her. It's still half full of spaghetti.

[Linus] (Yeah he is)
to Simon

[Simon] Simon can't help but smile a little when he hears someone reply."I promise no proselytizing!"He shouts back to the man on the other end a smile written on his face."Now open up it's Simon! I came to check on how you all were doing out this way."He shouts back through the door."And hurry up it's fuckin' fifty below out here!"

[Linus] "For fuck's..."

Linus begins, wheeling the door open with a shoulder and a single arm. The spear remains in hand, almost as if he were half-tempted to use it anyway, but the Godi relents and head nods the Ahroun inside with a grunt and a

"Close the door behind you."

He's already turning to head back to the kitchen, wiping more sauce off his chin and licking it clean from the fingers that did it. The walk through the church is a little hurried and he's back to his chair and the pasta waiting without much effort or trouble, except before he digs into the noodles and sauce once more his gaze flits up toward Drew with something akin to directness.

"Nice to meet you."

Then toward Kora:

"After I'm done eating."

And finally around on Rain:

"Thanks for the Grub."

Oh and:

"Simon's here."

And then he begins scarfing down huge portions of the meal in front of him, the only one starving enough to forego manners and careful mouthfuls at the table it would seem.

[Hunter] [church or apartment?]

[Hunter] [OH CHURCH DUH READ PLEASE NOMEY]

[Kora] "Rain can decide where she oughtta be, Drew." Kora says, quietly and firmly. Maybe she likes the day old scones, the occasional chocolate croissant that show up in the pack's kitchen. Maybe it's something else. Kora does not give voice to her reasons, and the remark is steady, even, accompanied by a twist of her generous mouth. When she continues, her eyes are on Rain. "Yesterday was an anomaly. It's a packhouse, not a - not a fortress we have to hold against all comers. If packs of cursed ones show up on our doorstep more than once, we're moving.

"In the meantime," a narrow shrug, the easy movement of her shoulder beneath the layers of cotton. Her attention sharpens just once, at the shouted exchange at the front door. " - we've got the space."

Linus returns for his grub; Kora stands. Somehow, her plate has emptied itself without anyone noticing that she was eating, nevermind how much she ate. Which was: a lot of food. And extra garlic bread. "You want your garlic bread?" she asks Linus as he sits down, passing behind him and going to greet Simon properly. Fenrir hospitality - " - hey. You want a beer?" She gives the Ahroun a brief, flickering glance - a field assessment - but does not shame him by commenting on his remaining wounds.

Instead, "Thanks for the claws, yesterday." She has exited the warmth of the kitchen, stands in the sanctuary proper, the cold air and the drifting snow through the ruined roof giving the place - despite its domestic touches, the old couches and space heaters scattered beneath the choir loft - a fantastical feeling. "We're eating. You hungry?"

[Drew Roscoe] Resolutely brown eyes study Rain's face as it sets with conflict and thought and her appetite seems to flee, that or she's filled up early on the meal of carbs and more carbs, then go to Linus when he returns with a report and a 'nice to meet you' (which she answers with a nod), then to Kora when she reminds Drew that Rain's choices were her own.

"Gotcha," is her answer to that before Kora's up and greeting someone at the door. Drew works on finishing off her food in silence, killing off the spaghetti then cleaning the plate of sauce with what's left of her garlic bread before that's finished too. Once done eating she doesn't push her plate forward or stand to go wash it, not immediately at least. Rather she pushes her chair back from the table some and leans forward, scrubbing at her face with the palms and heels of her hands.

The quiet in the kitchen is made up of Rain's heavy thought and Drew's somewhat grouse manner from all the headaches and sore muscles that follow a day like the one she'd had. It's broken by Kora and Simon in the sanctuary and the smacking sounds Linus made while he ate like he was starved.

[Hunter] There isn't much peace and quiet to be had at the Fenrir church tonight. First Simon comes barrelling in and then two of possibly the loudest stupidest mother fuckers in Chicago roll up on a motorbike that has no business being as powerful as it is. 1400CC's of power roar to a stop next to the curb and one tall curly haired dumb ass and a shorter stockier gnawer disembark from the death machine.

"This the fuckin' place?" Hunter says, pulls out a piece of paper and looks at it then back up at the closed church doors.

"Looks like it's the fuckin' place."

A pause.

"No wonder fuckin' Joey never wants anythin' to do with her tribe. They're fuckin' nuns'n'shit."

[Simon] The door opens and Simon is waiting just outside. He glances at the spear and then back at the man with a little sparkle showing in his eyes."You ever think about getting those doors properly reinforced? I mean seriously a place like this could be a fuckin' fortress in the right hands."He says as he makes his way into the Church.

He swings the door shut behind him and locks it before turning to follow Linus. Apparently Kora's little Brother or Cousin or whatever managed to make his way back after that whole thing at the Circus after all! See I told Roman he could look after himself!

He followed shortly behind Linus, and into the room where the others had gathered. He pauses to nod first to Kora paying her the respect that both his Elder and the local Alpha and Jarl should be payed."No thanks... Just stopped in to see how everyone was tonight and make sure everything is alright. Not really necessarily my job but I still like to make sure someone is keeping up communications."He says with a little laugh before looking to the others and greeting them all with a nod of his head.

Whatever wounds he might have he wasn't showing them. He was a Shadow Lord and he sure as fuck wasn't about to show off any sign of weakness in front of anyone."Don't mention it... I happened on the crash and I wasn't gonna let you all go into battle without a little backup. Thanks for being here to distract 'em a little cause I was wondering how in the hell I was gonna take a whole damn pack down all by my lonesome."He laughs a little.

[Linus] The smacking sounds of Linus' eating do not last very long. He is down to bits and pieces within moments, the garlic bread picked up and split in half. A chunk is handed to Kora as she makes her way out into the Church aisle to meet with Simon while the other section (smaller) is sopped up in the sauce with quick, polishing abandon. He glances up at the pair of Kinfolk as silence reigns for all of a few precious moments. Then-

"Pair of you should think about living together if you're gonna be attached to this Pack." It's the sort of frank observation that comes with dispelling awkward or tense crashes with a blunt force traumatic regard. His words make it sound like a suggestion while something more traditional says it's simple common sense.

"Less money to spend. No trueborns around all the time to keep you hollowed out. Keep each other safe 'n cozy 'case shit happens and it makes sure we know where the both of you are without putting one eye to the East 'n West."

A little more slurping. Then he's pushing back in his chair to regard the pair of girls, gloved hand wiping at his maw once more which opens to say something else-

-Then the sound of an Engine in the midst of the night and he twitches. Visibly. A sort of full force tick to cheek and jaw that pulls him from his chair and has him reaching for the Spear he left up against the nearby kitchen wall. A flare of Rage, actual, dashes off of his shoulders and brow with none of the power that someone like Kora or Simon can summon. This was simple brazen aggravation. Not another word spoken and Linus is on his heel and moving out into the main Church aisle, intent on the doorway.

[Howard] At some point Howard decided to metaphorically retrieve his collarbone from where it had landed three houses down after it was hit by what felt like the fist of an angry god and dragged his ass back into the land where no mortal man dares venture. At some other point Hunter made good on his promise to continue his strange, bone-shattering lessons later.

The less time spent discussing how much time it did, in fact, take to convince Howard to go out into the subzero weather for purposes his partially-drunk brain was having difficulty conceiving, the better. Suffice to say, there isn't a soul in this city who has a story that ends in Howard complying with a reasonable request on the first three attempts; there are, however, plenty of stories that speak of compliance in the aftermath of being backhanded or dragged by his substantial mop of hair wherever the other person would like for him to end up.

"Remind me, again," Howard asks, once he's toppled off the bike and regained his footing, "what part of this you thought was a good idea?" He doesn't give Hunter much chance to respond. "I've had some stupid fuckin' ideas in my day, but this--" A grandiose pointing gesture in the general direction of the front door ends up making him sway like a sapling. "--is like, borderline mentally retarded. Should I be worried about you? Are you suicidal?"

[Rain] This is all Rain has to say on the matter:

"If trouble's gonna come to my door," and it sounds like it has, in the past, "Then I'd rather not be alone when it drops by."

The Gaian lifts herself from her chair when it looks like Drew's done. She extends a hand to take that plate over to the sink, to start washing up. There's plenty of cooking things to get cleared up before Rain heads for bed, and as the Rage count in the room rises, her departure becomes more and more inevitable. She'll stick around when Last Watch and Linus are here, when there's maybe one more unfamiliar face, but that's when she's feeling friendly and a little safer.

Simon's presence attracts her attention for a moment, but it doesn't linger. Like with all the other True, Rain's eyes never lift to meet his. He's welcome with a smile, but it's thinner tonight than usual. Linus speaks to another suggestion while Rain's washing up. She glances over her shoulder for a moment, and then back to her tasks. It's just long enough to catch his tick, and then his hasty escape from the table.

"Wonder what that's about..." she says, softly, to no one in particular.

[Hunter] There is something not quite right about Hunter Matthews. And it's strange because it's very hard to pin it down to a particular thing that he does or says. He sticks around Howard when the guy is a superior asshole in need of thumping more often than talking to, he does very odd things like sleep on top of ovens where there are perfectly good couches nearby, more importantly though is the fact that he comes across as a complete and utter moron until those brief moments of brilliance shine through.

This is apparently not one of those moments.

"Fuck fuck you talkin' bout? Suicidal? Want me ta' hold yer hand?" He laughs, begins his ascent of the steps and lifts one meaty hand before knocking heartily on it.

"Heellllooooo, Get's? Best Get on over to the door and open it." He blinks and covers his mouth then starts laughing.

He has been hanging out with Howard for far too long.

[Simon] Simon nods his head in agreement with Linus."I agree... We're better off not living alone whenever possible. Maybe you're not my kin but I wanna make sure everyone in this city has somewhere relatively safe to crash. I should also get you two my address and contact info. Dark Sky runs in Lake View so if you're ever out that way you'll know where you can run or who you can call if you need a little backup."He says with a little nod of his head though his eyes manage to follow Linus and he tenses a little. Simon was a full moon and a storming like that set him on edge naturally.

He found himself peeking back into the other room. He could smell food... He certainly heard his stomach grumble but this was his nature. If there was going to be a fight or something akin to it Simon was not about to be caught off guard. This wasn't his territory but one thing about respecting another's territory meant that if you were in their territory and they needed a hand then you damn well offered it. Pulling your own weight was important to the Shadow Lord even more important than food! For the moment anyway.

[Drew Roscoe] Simon floats into view through the doorway, casts a nod of greeting into the kitchen that Drew doesn't notice because she's busy pressing at her closed eyelids with the heels of her hands. At about that same time an engine roars somewhere outside, Linus spasms visibly and after his Rage washes like the heat finally kicked in and was making up for lost time he's up and surging out toward the door to greet whoever he thinks is attached to the sound of that engine.

This leaves the Kin in the kitchen, quiet save for the soft spoken-aloud thoughts of the Child of Gaia Kin.

Drew doesn't start to clear the table, there's still food left to be eaten and there was still Roman, and if he wasn't back in time certainly the extra voice she heard out in the sanctuary would be happy to eat his fill for him before it grew cold. She sits instead, and finally lifts her face from her hands, props her chin in them instead with her elbows on her knees and feet hooked onto the bottom rung of the chair in which she sat.

"It's not a bad idea, Linus's. I'd extend the invite... but not just yet. I've got some things I need to sort out on my own before I'm sharing space that constantly." The tone is somewhat apologetic, but at the same time firm. She liked Rain, but she needed a place to recoup on her own still. Somewhere that she could sit in silence and stare out a window without someone asking her what was wrong or feeling awkward that she wasn't smiling at them or striking up conversation.

As far as what was going on out in the sanctuary, she glanced out again in time with the second pounding of a fist on the door. "...The hell is going on out there?" She stood, jammed her hands into the hip pockets of her jeans, and took a few steps toward the doorway before pausing, looking to Rain with a lift of one eyebrow that questioned: Are you coming? It'd be rude to just leave her behind like that.

[Kora] "You're welcome," returns Kora, evenly, with a certain overt formality belied by the way her mouth curls around the words. "And we're well." She is dressed casually, jeans and combat boots, a hoodie, the cuffs pushed up her forearms while she ate revealing the waffle weave of an old thermal beneath.

There are a handful of tracks up and down the steps of the huge old church in the new-fallen snow. Simon's heavy boots, recently. Imogen's heeled shoes, which have already half filled as the evening's flurries continued apace. It is fucking frigid outside, the sort of night that freezes pipes and bodies - human or otherwise - left out too long. The building itself looks solid but derelict, long-abandoned, and incongruous in the otherwise industrial neighborhood. It is neogothic in the finest sense, low and gray and immediate against the sky.

Linus pushes away from the table, headed toward the huge wooden doors near the front. Kora's a step or two ahead of him; but there's no answering flare of rage from her. She hasn't seen the moon tonight. She has garlic bread in hand. Her long-legged gait through the sanctuary is sure, not yet unbalanced by pregnancy for all that she's showing. Her hair, usually bound, is loose tonight, mostly coiled over her left shoulder, half-hidden by the hood of her jacket.

At the top of the steps, the iron-banded wooden doors swing open. They're well-oiled, in excellent repair, and move silently except for the effort required to open them. Behind: Kora, tall and blond, arms crossed firmly beneath her breasts. Unamused.

"I beg your pardon." Levelly to Hunter, her expressive mouth narrowed into a frown as she cuts a look from Hunter to Howard. Back again.

[Rain] "I'm sort of in the same place," she tells Drew, glad to be able to talk to someone who understands. They can talk about it more, when Rain isn't tired and wringing her hands out in the sink. She casts a look past Drew, and it's a wearied sort of Dear Gaia, what now? look, and then pulls her gaze back to meet the Fenrir kin's.

I'm coming.

Rain pulls her jacket off the back of her chair and tips her head toward the sanctuary. If they wander in and hang back in the pews, they'll be able to see what's going on, at this decibel level to hear everything exchanged, and still have the advantage of an easy sprint to ready exits if things go South.

"Sounds like we get dinner and a show," she quips, lifting her eyebrows a bit in borrowed mirth as they wander toward the commotion.

[Howard] "You come anywhere near my hand I'll grab your balls," he says, pointing, with the somber tone of one making a death pact, and doesn't so much as move to follow Hunter to the door.

The pounding, the hollering, has Howard sighing a rattling smoker's sigh from where he's standing on the sidewalk. With his combat boots and his tight black jeans and his leather jacket, his aviator shades, he looks like he could be the owner of such a vehicle, if one is willing to ignore the fact that he would likely be the skinniest male to ever pilot a motorcycle and he's wearing a sweater that could best be described as "a dragon threw up" in terms of its pattern and color choice.

It makes Milo's hat look fashionable.

That's where he's standing when Hunter makes a joke so bad that the Fiann groans, loudly.

"Mate, honestly, that's the best you could come up with?"

And then there's Kora, unamused and begging Hunter's pardon.

"I tried to stop him!" Howard calls from the sidewalk.

[Hunter] Hunter peers back over his shoulder at Howard "You ain't do shit." He says and then smiles at Kora, it is a very brief smile. "Hi, I'm Hunter Matthews, I'm here to see.. fuckin' I don't even know what you lot call it.."

He pauses and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Take me t'your leader yo."

[Howard] "Jar Opener," Howard supplies, in a hoarse stage whisper. "They call it a Jar Opener!"

[I'M GOING TO SHUT UP AND LET HARV POST NOW SORRY HARV]

[Linus] "...I know that fucking voice..."

The snarl is loud and semi-human, Linus half-way through a bad mood that's worsening with each new interruption of what's supposed to be a quiet time. The Spear hangs at one shoulder, even as he marches into place down the Church Aisle, face a cloud of aggravation seeking satisfaction. He doffs the jacket and hucks it over one of the pews, regardless of the chill let in by the frigid night without.

Kora is in the doorway. With an unknown and he slows, pauses and stops full. The pair are between him and that voice and that's enough to keep his senses firmly in place for the moment. The sneer refuses to leave his features, telling tales of a possible umbral detour and a street ambush but...but...

"Hey Jackass. You're talking to her." It's all he says to Hunter, his eyes not bothering to touch the Ahroun, in favour of the the poorly dressed creature he can barely see on the sidewalk behind him.

[Hunter] "Right, Jar Opener." He nods. "Take me to yo Jar ope-- HOWARD YOU CUNT."

[Rain] I tried to stop him!

Recognition flicks across Rain's features. She knows that voice. That's Howard's voice. And if Howard was telling someone else that their idea was a bad one...?

"This... might get ugly," she says, in a quick aside to Drew, as she's pulling her jacket on and tucking her hands into her pockets.

"One of 'em's Mr. Howard. He's..." She's not quite sure how to describe Howard to anyone. "Brightly colored," seems to be the best way to start.

[Howard] Without a noise, Howard thrusts both gloved fists into the air and starts to amble off down the sidewalk, presumably to take the world's smallest victory lap.

[Simon] Simon was following soon enough. This wasn't his packhouse but if there was trouble it was his responsibility to be there. What he discovers is Hunter and Howard just outside and a slight smile takes shape when he hears what Hunter says. There was a certain line that even Bone Gnawers should understand and Hunter had just crossed that line. He glances between the two and then back to Kora and just crosses his arms before him... Deciding to be perfectly still to let Kora handle the matter. This was her territory, and her response to the matter was one of personal choice.

[Drew Roscoe] Rain and Drew hover just past the kitchen, only a few scant feet deep into the sanctuary to watch what was unfolding. Rain called it dinner and a show, and that elicited a small smirk on the Fenrir Kin's face. Drew would call it 'keeping an eye on things'. Granted there wasn't a whole lot that she could probably do if things came down to blows, but that had rarely stopped her from trying. She's been relatively successful in Garou affairs up to this point, after all.

...that is, neverminding her going stabbing at one with a broken beer bottle after breaking her fist on his jaw.

Rain advises that things would likely get ugly and pointed out that the one in the background, with the mass of dark hair behind the particularly mouthy man with lighter, shorter hair, was named Howard. Drew acknowledges this with a quiet humming sound, then started to look around, half-asking the other Kin and half wondering out loud: "Where's my guns?"

[Hunter] "Shouldnt'a brought him, fuck." He says and scrubs his face with a palm. "K, Miss, I's just here cause some kin'o'yours told me bout' some shit that's goin' on in my territory. She said she's bringin' it to you, I'm here ta' say thanks, but ma packs got it no disrespectin' yo station or whatever."

A pause.

"But we got it."

A second pause.

"And if ya' really scared bout' some other tribe dealin' with shit then my Beta's Joey Oliver." He nods. "We got it."

[Kora] Howard hollers. Briefly, Hunter has the impression that Kora is looking beyond him. The glance is subtle, sharpening over the edge of his muscled shoulder, down toward the sidewalk where the motorcycle is parked. Her dark sharpen before flashing back to Hunter's face.

Kora's arms remain crossed, and her shoulders are level. Tall as she is, she is not physically imposing, broad-shouldered, musclebound. Narrow shoulders are firmly set underneath her hoodie, though, and her spine is absolutely erect. Somewhere in the second trimester of pregnancy, there is no hiding the shape of her stomach against the thin cotton jacket she's wearing.

The Jarl of the Fenrir smells like garlic and rootbeer, up close. She still has a piece of garlic bread in her right hand, tucked up against her elbow.

The moment when yells back at Howard - you cunt - she visible bristles, pale lips peeling back from her blunt human teeth. The shadow of an animal snarl or her curving mouth, a flash of fire underneath. She opens her mouth ready to say something more -

- but then Hunter mutters that he shouldn't've brought the other one, the one on the sidewalk. The expression stills, and she regains her composure with obvious effort, dark eyes quick on the Bone Gnawer's face as he says his piece. Only when he suggests that she might be really scared about some other tribe dealin' with shit does her impassive expression break, upwards at the right corner, like an ice floe being folded against a continental shelf.

"You have all of it, do you?" A flicker down toward Howard on the sidewalk. Her eyes soon return to Hunter. "The whole story."

[Kora] There's a certain reflective quality to Kora's eyes. The light is uncertain enough that he cannot read color from them; just that reflection, the glittering of the streetlights reflected back at him as the Fenrir woman looks up at him - just, for she's a tall thing - a dark twist of leather at her throat, blood under her nails, garlic bread in hand. "You know about the boutique in the Mag Mile, too. Right? How it's connected to the issue in your territory that you're handling."

[Simon] Something was going on that Simon didn't understand. He didn't know the conflict or argument only that there was something involving a kin and they had it. He was surprised that Kora hadn't at least broken a nose or the like but then she wasn't as vicious as the Fenrir were known to be.

Simon wasn't exactly a Philodox so if there was an argument between the groups it wasn't his place to seek to solve them. However he does recognize the mention of the Boutique. His attention is piqued.

[Rain] She has to think for a moment, a rather significant moment, about where Drew's firearms ended up. Rain lands on an answer and then looks over at the Fenrir woman, "With your jacket. 'Bout fifteen paces from your bunk."

She draws a little map of the room with her finger on the air in front of them. There are only so many places Drew's guns could have ended up in that room. Even without a picture, a 15-paces radius wouldn't take long to search out, and Drew's jacket had been fairly brightly colored. And salvageable, somehow, unlike her shirt and jeans.

Rain's attention doesn't stray far from Kora's interaction with Hunter, though. She's slowly able to place him as the loudmouth who'd come up to roof that night, at the Brotherhood -- it's not a clear enough description to pass on beyond:

"I think their both ours, well, I mean, in a broad sense. I've seen 'em at the Brotherhood." She's telling Drew they're not Spirals, they're just sort of special-touched when it comes to communication skills. She's still fairly sure this will end in blows, even if they're all more or less on the same team.

[Drew Roscoe] [Too tired to even type a proper outro-- Drew fades into the background like batman to go find her guns and maybe explore/clean shit later. Who knows.]

[Hunter] "If you got somethin' ta say then say it, don't care bout' no mag mile. Folks there are fuckin' Oprah rich."

[Rain] [Rain's out, too. I'm exhausted, and she'd be even more so. Thanks for the scene, guys!]

[Simon] [Aww! G'night y'all!]

[Howard] [Night ladies!]

[Linus] "...Kor' We've got shit to do..."

Linus murmurs at Kora's shoulder, rolling one shoulder to release some semblance of tension that has been creeping through spine and back for the last while. The night was not young by any means and they still had a lot of ground to cover in two worlds. Hunter's response only serves to bring a grunt of displeasure and dismissal, the Spear scraping on stone before sliding back into place beneath cloth and into flesh.

"Little shit wants to mouth off, he can do it in his own turf." And he's turning toward the Kitchen again, plucking up his jacket along the way, a glance up at Simon offered and a brief pause.

"...Gonna be doing something later tonight. Stick around, may need you to do a guardian spell while I cement a deal."

[Kora] "There was a high-end boutique selling the same shit. It's like a hydra. Cut off one head, and two grow back.

"If you want to know more, you can talk to the Wyrmfoe," Kora says, evenly, dark eyes settled on Hunter, essentially unmoved, essentially unmoving. "Now, if you are capable of treating my territory with respect, you're welcome to join us for a meal and a beer.

"Otherwise, I have garlic bread to finish."

Not to mention spirals to gut and flay and hang from poles around her territory as a warning to all comers, and a unicorn to pet.