[Patrick Llewelyn] The last time most of the people present that know of Patrick saw him -- glimpsed him -- he had either been exceptionally drunk, exceptionally angry or seeing fit to ignore most of his surroundings. But on each occasion, spare perhaps the Detective, they had seen him while his Alpha, his best friend had been alive. Had been, typically, present to pull Patrick back -- to taunt him, tease him, distract him from his melancholy; his aggression; his warpath toward his own demise.
Tonight, he is less one Theurge pack-mate, having come to the city less one Philodox Alpha to begin with.
They are wolves; the female Fenrir that comes forward to greet him, and the Fianna that lifts his chin and nods at her; his expression somber; perhaps even a degree wary. Kora can no doubt read much of his current state straight from his rumpled clothing, his tousled hair and the healing cuts to the knuckles, the fingers of which brace the pockets of his jacket.
"Rhya," he says, the touch of deference seems alien on the Fianna's tongue, a sentiment he is not familiar with using all that often. "Nice digs." The corner of his mouth pulls, attempts a smile. "Great acoustics."
[Izzy Montoya] She sets the bags on the counter, and goes about emptying them. There's a collection of random types of Thai food, and a bunch of it, as well as two six-packs of beer to refresh the cooler. If anyone was to ask her what the occasion was, she wouldn't be able to answer. She's never randomly showed up with food before, though she has picked up the tab around town on more than one occasion. If it were anyone else, they might think she wanted company.
But it's Izzy.
She grabs one of the beers, opens it and takes a swallow or four, as she moves to take a seat in the corner of the kitchen - out of the way.
[Imogen] Imogen regards the gathering, the Jarl taking a Fianna off to the side to speak, a Ragabash, drawing the others toward the kitchen. She does not know that she was not considered a guest - is not privy to the mental conversation - and truthfully, it is hard to say, precisely what her reaction would be to that knowledge.
If there were any at all.
Something muted and indescribable passes her expression as she looks about at the goings on, before she reaches into her jacket pocket, retrieving a cigarette case, catching Roman's eye briefly (it takes a moment as the boy snorts and snortles at Drew's misfortune and Erek's antics) and lifting the case in indication.
With that, the kinswoman turns and steps back outside, leaving the tepid warmth behind her for the cold stone stoop and lungs she can fill with tar and poison.
[Ki Mondblume] *Despite his own car, he STILL walks most places. He all but jogs towards the place. Backwards. It leads to problems in some places, but this place seems to be okay. He is holding a paper plate of three hot dogs. He eats with a great deal of relish. Well. Enjoyment. Food is BLISS.*
*He shoves half of one into his mouth, swelling his cheeks. His eyes widen slightly, at the cars. SO many cars. He cants his head idly, and he raises his head to the sky, sniffing idly. He pulls his backpack around his front, and shoves the two remaining hot dogs into the bag, as he finishes off the first. Defend the food. At ALL costs. He does smell cigarette smoke.*
[Drew Roscoe] The tall Rotagar that looked every bit the part of what his blood said he should be moved to stand behind Drew and clapped one hand onto her shoulder. You'd think, for a second, that he was being supportive or affectionate in some way. Noticing how tension had hitched up along her shoulders and at the back of her neck, how humor and cheer had dropped from her demeanor like flies that just got hit with a cloud of Raid.
Then that snowball he's been packing idly between his gloves for the past several minutes is dropped right on top of her head, smashed into her hair so that it crumbles and falls over her face and shoulders onto the floor. Roman barks out a laugh, no one else seems to look terribly amused.
Drew sighs, for a moment it seems she's only going to be upset with the cold wet surprise, but a small smile effects one side of her mouth and she shakes her head some, reaching up to shoo the Rotagar's hand off her scalp and brushing what's left of the snowball away. An elbow goes back, aimed to bump into his stomach. There's not nearly enough momentum or emotion in the gesture for her to be truly attempting to hurt or attack the Rotagar, it's just playing around is all.
"'Ppreciate that," she chuckled a bit and shook her head, touching the wet spot on the top of her head with the tips of her fingers.
[Roman Turner] He was still smiling when he acknowledged Imogen's motion that she was going outside to smoke and he turned back to join Izzy before she could eat all the food, as if. Snickering as he joined Izzy.
"Did ya see that? Right smack on the noggin. I bet she gives him a good shove when they go back out on the ice."
[Imogen] There is a red-haired woman on the stoop of the church, an ember now burning between her fingers. She does not sit, but leans against the doorjamb. She's dressed better than here - certainly better than a squatter who might have appropriated a place like this.
The slight woman has pure breeding. It's heavy as silk, a smell, a taste, a touch. And at some point, as the other walks along the street, she appears to be watching him, lifting her cigarette back to her lips, inhaling deep.
[Ki Mondblume] *His nostrils flare, and he chews on the last bit of hot dog. He watches the woman. His own breeding is fairly clear, though thinned down a bit. It seems he's trying to figure her out for a moment. And then he grins.*
HEY! Didn't anyone ever tell you smoking's bad for you?
[Erek Skulason] *Erek grunts as Drew's elbow connects with his stomach. He releases his grip on her, pulling his arms back to hug his sides as his hands move to rub over the spot of impact. He looks down at the smaller kin, puckering his bottom lip out in a pout at her, using his own humility to get a smile on Drew's face. When he sees that she's grinning just a little, he laughs again, shaking his head*
Move your ass, Ms. Roscoe, to get some grub or I can haul you over like a sack of potatoes.
*His stomach rumbles in protest, the smell of the Thai filling his nostrils as Roman and Izzy were digging into the food. He didn't want to leave Drew by herself, so makes harmless threats at her*
[Izzy Montoya] She lifts her bottle in slight toast, but doesn't have much to say on the subject of shoving, or Drew, or the new kid. Aside from the obvious question: "Who is he?"
She hasn't been about much - which is no different than usual - and has yet to be introduced. She does manage to bite back another comment, hiding it behind a swallow, and a gesture toward the food. "Help yourself. Didn't know what you liked, brought a little bit of everything."
[Roman Turner] "He's your family. Erek."
There was no way he could say the last name correctly, so he coughed while saying it, making it sound sort of like Skullsomething.
"New Moon. Want me to ask if he's single?"
[Izzy Montoya] He's her family. She snorts. Roman is well aware of her views on Tribe. Or, if he isn't, he should be by now as she never makes an attempt to hide it. Kora has earned her respect - something Kemp also had, though others are few and far between.
Want him to ask if he's single? She arches a brow, slightly, and deadpans. "Why, you lonely?"
[Imogen] There is a brief silence - the woman turns her head, exhaling smoke into the wind, letting it blow away. Another drag, then she steps off the stoop and walks toward him.
Imogen does not yell across a front lawn.
The slight kinswoman moves with an utter ease a visceral knowledge of the boundaries of her body. She navigates the uneven snow, the unplowed walkway, her boots crunching through the ice and snow. Her jacket is open, and her free hand slides beneath it to the small of her back, then slides out, empty again. She does not come up to him entirely, but closes to a speaking distance.
She pauses there, taking another drag of her cigarette, and turning her head away to blow the smoke. She lowers the fag, tapping the ash toward the snow - it hisses nearly inaudibly.
"Do you want to exchange witticisms about cigarettes and its effects on human health or do you want to talk about my blood and yours?" she asks, evenly, an eyebrow arching.
[Drew Roscoe] Familiarity was something that was both sweet and sour for Drew right now. It was nice having another body in the house to warm it, to come home and not stare at blank walls and listen to absolute silence and wonder how the hell she was going to keep pushing through the days with things remaining as empty and mundane as they were. The Rotagar provided company, conversation and something to keep busy with as well (taking care after a teenage boy was time consuming, ask anyone).
Yet, at the same time, time alone was crucial. She still needed to be able to shove off the weight of playing like she wasn't grieving or hurt, to stop pretending that everything was okay and sit quietly, looking at pictures or having the occasional cry. She needed these moments of non-judgment, with no one staring at her looking sympathetic or uncomfortable to make her pull up the act once more. They were precisely as crucial as the company was, oxymoronic as that may seem.
It's the familiarity born from this agreement that makes Drew acquiesce to the teasing, that has her donning the grin easier. It's the only reason she's walking toward the kitchen at all. She liked beer as much as the next midwestern twenty-something, but alcohol right now could really only be trouble.
Still, regardless, she walks to the kitchen, shaking her head at Erek and grinning as she went. "Sure, you could. But then you'd be cooking your own meals and washing your own dishes for god knows how long."
[Kora] There's a brief glance at Drew when she says something about who her father is. Mental note: ask later. Otherwise, Kora's perfectly content to give over guest-duty to her packmate. He says yassum in the back of her mouth, and before he disappears back toward the kitchen, whatever food Izzy brought as offer, Roman will catch the edge of a fond glance, a generous sort of twist to her curving mouth. Which deepens into a smirk when Erek calls her snookums-rhya.
He earns himself a look of warning perfecly matched to that smirk, before Kora's attention returns to the newest guest.
The Skald takes Patrick in a glance, missing little. The blood, the grief, the disshevelment. Her footsteps echo quietly in the stark interior of the old church, all the way up to the half-broken rafters, and she glances up, following the arc of his glance when he says nice digs.
"Thanks." Her voice is quiet; the power subsumed, contained, constrained in the undertones. She isn't a singer, but she still knows how to use that particular instrument, in her own quiet way.
She comes closer to Patrick than a human ever would, but does not quite touch him. They're wolves: there's a certain concordance there. A certain awareness.
"C'mon." She tells him, brushing past toward the tables. The coolers underneath, crouching down to pull the lid off one, looking back up at Patrick over her shoulder as she digs through the slurry of ice. "You want a beer?"
[Roman Turner] He considered Erek a moment then murmured around a mouthful of food to Izzy.
"You're right, he is kinda comely. Ok, dibs! You get your own man."
[Ki Mondblume] *He snorts at that.* Well, MY conversation was a lot more fun. Not sure I want to talk blood. *He starts to pace slowly, back and forth, examining.*
If I'm in the way, I can move. But I couldn't help but smell it. Ash. *He wears flip-flops in the snow. And socks with said flip-flops. The socks are a lovely shade of pink, as if they were washed with red clothing.*
[Imogen] "Your conversation is one I've had a hundred times before." Not that the other conversation she proposed was any different.
She's small - her heels make her taller, but it does not hide the basic petiteness of her. Small bones, gracile joints. A slim body, half hidden beneath the fall of her open jacket. She wears jeans, a sweater beneath the jacket. Her skin is pale in the poorly light night. The clouds hide the stars. Cabrini Green has more burnt out lamps than lit ones.
"Other than that, I imagine blood is all we ha' in common."
Her accent is foreign. She's been asked if she's Irish, Scottish, Australian. Any number of British colonies, and even British itself. They rarely get it exactly right, though some get it close enough.
[Erek Skulason] *It takes a lot of restraint to follow through with the threat that he gave Drew, twitching his nose at her once, but the desired effect is still the same as she walks over to the kitchen area that the others reside in. He follows after her, long legs carrying him across the room quickly, slipping around the kin to hit the tables. He just barely catches Roman's remark, looking over at the other with a confused expression*
You checking my ass out, man?
*He asks, looking through the containers of food. He jerks his head in Izzy's direction, giving her another glance over*
Who are you? Besides the fact I can tell that you'd pop out an army of furry bastards with that pedigree of yours.
[Patrick Llewelyn] Kora comes close to him, closer than she needs to and with a flare of his nostrils the second Galliard takes note of the first. Her swelling belly is the most obvious thing about her right now and as such is the last to be focused on. A thing known, but not his concern, not his business. He instead traces her face as if to sketch its likeness later on -- his eyes remain on her until she is too near, and it has been bordering on too long to be considered polite to continue.
He rounds back his shoulders instead; digs his fists back down into the pockets of his worn in jacket; the leather carries its own scent, but it is faint, barely a trace beneath the tang of smoke that clings to him when he comes near; when she brushes past him and he turns, twisting to observe her.
"Yeah," he admits, a hand emerging to scruff over his head; it does little to tame his hair, growing longer and in need of tending to but ignored in favor of most every other thing. Patrick's hands are stained; the nail-beds dark with car grease; motor oil. He does not smell particularly strongly tonight of his human occupation but the hint is there, mingling with that of leather, and cigarettes.
"Wanted to talk to you," no shit, Patrick. "Now that Ho--", he pauses, licks his lips and looks down at his worn sneakers; frowning. "Now my pack is gone, I been trying to figure out where I might fit. Given, we don't know one another that well and I know my brother never exactly endeared himself, but," he shrugs shoulders, as if helpless but to spit it out.
"You got need of another body to run with you, I could try."
[Ki Mondblume] Likely. *He smiles, pacing back and forth.* Well. Similar blood, at least, but definitely not the SAME. *His nostrils flare, and he wrinkles his nose.* It's STINKY, *he complains, idly, before peering behind her.*
What's going on over there? Are you having a party? Are there snacks? I'm hungry. *Yes. He has two hot dogs in his bag. Yes. It seems he's had more than this before. And yes. He IS still hungry.* I like french fries, in case you want a suggestion.
[Izzy Montoya] She lifts the bottle in slight toast, giving Roman his 'dibs' on Erek, easily enough. She does not remind him she has chosen her own man, because that would lead to questions, and to wondering, and to another night without sleep for her while she tried to dig up information on the case he was working on, why it had him so deep under cover that he couldn't (or - god forbid - wouldn't) get some sort of message to her. In other words - only heartache would come from actually speaking about him.
Instead, she turns her attention to Erek as he demands to know who she is, and decides she can raise an army of bastards, all at once. She smirks slightly, and answers only "Detective Montoya."
[Roman Turner] Erek asked if he were checking out his ass and the first thing that came out of his mouth was.
"Well, considering I ain't seen your backside yet, I'd be a mite leery asking that particular question just yet cause I might get a bit confused on what's what."
Then he was watching the play between Izzy and Erek. Last time he stepped in on the behalf of one of the Fenrir Kin, he'd had to remind Remy that this was the home of the Last Watch and all guests were to be respected while within the walls. This time he said.
"Lady present, ain't polite to start talking about reproducing before ya get to the hand shaking point."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew was nudged past, Erek slipping lightly around her to enter the kitchen first. He made a beeline for Izzy after catching some quip about being dibsed upon from Roman and returning it in kind. It must be that breeding again, he's commenting on how Izzy could likely produce an army of True Born.
Drew, in the meantime, tugs open a cooler and pulls out a bottle of beer. Rather than joining up at the table she plants a palm on the edge of the counter and hops up easy, effortlessly, without a grunt or a 'hup' to announce the physical exertion. She might be short, thick about the thighs with muscle and firm on the belly and arms from athletic passtimes as well, but it all worked toward something besides detracting from the commonly more appreciated 'tall and leggy' build.
The top of the bottle was snapped away, and the lid rubbed idly between the fingers of her left hand while her right controlled the path of the bottle to and from her lips for periodic sips.
[Imogen] He points out there are differences in her blood, and Imogen merely arches an eyebrow. Her response to the clarification is perhaps best described as a silent: 'Whatever'.
The details don't matter to her.
"S'not my place to invite you in," she says. "But come wi' me a moment."
And she turns to walk, but not toward the maindoors, instead around the building and toward the kitchen window.
[Erek Skulason] Detective.... Montoya?
*Oh, there's a devil playing in Erek's expression now, one that is going to get him killed. But Roman seems to be stepping on the no moon's fun right before he can shoot off any fireworks. He changes his demeanor, ducking his head and fluttering his blond lashes at Izzy, trying his best to put on the boyish charm*
Out of respect to the Jarl, I might behave, but I'll state that Ms. Montoya is a tad older than me, and I'm likely to get Chicago's Finest in a heap of trouble if I'm caught fraternizing with Law. Though, I'm sure she packs some really nice guns...
*He gives Izzy a thoroughly look over* Just ain't sure where she's hiding them.
*He laughs, seizing one of the containers of food for himself and finds some utensils, he points them at Roman*
If Miss Kora wants me to run with you all, we better play nice, pumpkin. Two no moons under one cathedral's going to raise some kinda hell.
[Ki Mondblume] *He doesn't see anything wrong with her. He begins to whistle the opening song from the Disney version of Robin Hood, looking pleased with himself. He walks to the beat, quite cheerily. He should be watching her hips move. He does not.*
[Imogen] Her hips, in either case, are hidden beneath the fall of her jacket. She glances over her shoulder, briefly as the Garou fairly ... skips after her, whistling, her glance wry, but more tolerant than in good humour.
As said, she is slight - the window is high enough that is a reach. Still, she lifts up easily on her toes, rapping on the window perfunctorily. Thrice.
[Roman Turner] Oh he couldn't wait for this guy to run in to Linus. On the heels of that thought the devil whispered in his ear and out of his mouth came.
"Pumpkin? That's Linus' pet name. Just ask him."
He wasn't going to touch the guns comment cause he figured Izzy might show him how that gun could fit up certain orifices just before she pulled the trigger. He'd leave Erek to find that out on his own also.
[Izzy Montoya] "Detective." Not Ms. It's her preferred title, her preferred form of address, and she says it with quiet intention, though she does not comment on much of the rest of it. Not even her age.
Those who knew her before might think she has mellowed, might think she has grown content with her lot in life with the Chicago Fenrir. They may think many things, and she lets them think them. If they want to know, they'd have to actually take the time to discover it.
Her only comment is... "Oh, I could show you my guns." Likely, her thought process is similar to Roman's there. She confirms it with "...but you wouldn't like it."
[Ki Mondblume] *He looks curious at that, and his whistle is interrupted by his own words.* That's a rather boring secret knock. This a clubhouse? But girls are allowed. WEIRD clubhouse.
*He stands on his tippy-toes, perfectly balanced, watching the window, as if expecting something to happen. He should not look this excited.*
[Roman Turner] He immediately looked towards the window with the knock and in the flash of an eye, reached for it and yanked it open to stick his head out.
"Why howdy Miss Doctor Slaughter Ma'am. Ya lose your key or trying out the drive thru?"
His gray blue gaze landed on Ki.
"Pay at this window, then please drive through."
[Erek Skulason] Linus the Chimney Sweep? Met'im already, he was here the last time I was covered in soot. Real nice chap that one is.
*Erek digs into the food with ferocious appetite, inhaling it in until his cheeks began to compact with food, puffing out like a puckerfish. It takes a few swallows to clear his mouth, washing his tongue across his lips to clean the sauce away. He smirks at Izzy, but his comment is all for Roman*
If pumpkin is out of the question. How about Peaches? You look like a peach, all smooth and perty-like. *Erek mimics the twange that he hears in Roman's voice, chuckling under another mouthful of food. He looks around, his eyes drinking in the other occupants in the room, namely Patrick who speaks with Kora, and then finally settling on Drew, noticing how quiet she's become. He gives her a questioning look, tilting his head*
[Kora] "You're welcome here." There is a certain formality to the way she shapes those words. They aren't placeholders, pro forma human throwaways. He tells her that he's looking for a place where he fits. And Kora, settled on her haunches, digging through the ice to produce a beer and a root beer in the sort of brown glass bottle that at least feels like a beer bottle in the hand, between the fingers, tells him you're welcome here. - immediately, automatically. Seriously.
Then she stands, holding out the bottle of beer to him, keeping the root beer for herself, before levering herself up to sit on the table. Which bows, a bit, at the middle under her weight, but does not bend or break.
"I lost my Alpha not long after the spring equinox. Then my pack just after the solstice. Roman and his cousin, Sparrow, came and held the land we'd claimed with me until we made it official then, yeah? A real thing." There's a certain rough empathy there, which does not devolve into sympathy or - worse yet - pity. Her dark eyes are sure on him; she doesn't share his specific grief, but she knows the shape and weight of it, and that shapes and weights her voice.
"Right now, it's Linus, and Roman, and me. We follow a Fenrir totem. Harder, I think, for folks outside the tribe to understand Hermodr, but right now - after all that loss, you're still here. You made a sacrifice, more than one for this land.
"And I think that means something. Both to me and the big guy.
"So yeah," Kora says, now sliding from the table to stand. " - run with us, yeah? Fight with us. Get to know my pack, our territory. Our totem."
[Ki Mondblume] *He frowns at that, curiously.* But my truck wouldn't start up this morning. So I can't drive through. Can I pay at the door instead? *He seems quite serious at this.*
[Roman Turner] He glanced back at Erek with the hint of a smile.
"Sure thing. And I'll call ya cream cause ya all pale and smooth like cream."
He winked and turned his attention back to the window.
"Pay at the door? Why sure ya can. Come on around. Just remember, no refunds."
He leaned out further and pointed towards the corner of the building.
"Back door is that way."
[Imogen] "Don't you ever stop talking?" Imogen asks Kiernan almost absently. It is worth noting she's not asked him for his name.
Roman appears and offers his joke, the rhythm slightly damaged by the long way he handles her name, all the extra syllables. Imogen ignores it. "I've found a stray," she says, mildly. "Who would like to be fed. Since he looks unfamiliar, I thought one o' yeh might want to talk with him first. Though," a brief glance at the young Uktena and his earnest expression, "I don't think he's much risk."
She talks, easily, as if the other were not there.
[Ki Mondblume] *He scratches at his stomach, and he actually seems to consider Imogen's words.* Yes, occasionally, *he says idly. He hasn't asked for hers either.* And I've been around for a LITTLE bit. I keep TRYING to meet new people, but they either go away, don't say anything, or we end up sparring. *He doesn't seem displeased at this last bit.*
[Roman Turner] "What's yer name?"
He was letting all kinds of cold air in with handling the conversation through the open window.
"Ya smell like hot dogs."
He sniffed, leaning out further.
"Yep, I smell wieners."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew was letting the three talk, lending an ear to Kora and Patrick out in the sanctuary half of the time as well. Her hearing wasn't so sharp as to pick up more than the low rumble of low voices and an occasional recognizable word or two, but that wasn't what she was after. She wasn't eavesdropping with honest interest in what was being said, she wasn't nosy, it was just something to listen to. Background noise, like when you put on the History Channel when you lay down for a nap.
Erek casts an eye toward her while Roman pokes his head out the window to talk to Imogen and some unknown other person, another boy judging by the voice. One blond eyebrow lifted on the Rotagar, and Drew answered it by lifting both, closing her eyes in a dismissive and 'what can ya do' signal, and shrugging her shoulders to tie the whole thing together. She relaxed from that once more, cast her eyes past Erek to Roman at the window, and took another drink from her beer.
She was nursing it, but constantly. Already half the bottle was gone.
[Ki Mondblume] I'm Ki, *he says, rather cheerfully, though at the sniffing, the change in expression is quite rapid, as his face goes cold. He holds on tightly to his backpack, and a low growl starts in his throat.* MY hot dogs.
[Roman Turner] Both his brows lifted with the growl
"Now son, we don't want to be rude and start to growling like that when folk are offering to feed ya in their home. Ain't good manners to get all ruffled up like that. If ya got a problem with your temper, best keep yourself outside cause we don't cotton to that in here. We straight with that?"
[Ki Mondblume] *He holds tightly to his bag, and he watches Roman suspiciously. He nods only once, though he still looks QUITE possessive of his bag.*
[Roman Turner] "I ain't pullin your tail here. I'm as serious as a heart attack. Ya come in here thinking I want to harm ya, steal from ya when I, out of the goodness of my widdle heart, invited ya inside to warm up and eat, then we got a problem from the get go. Just so ya know it up front. I won't cotton to it in here. And I'm the nice one."
He watched Ki closely.
"Do ya understand the words coming out my mouth, Ki?"
[Imogen] Imogen, now, remains silent, waiting. Her phone chimes, and though she reaches into her jacket pocket to silence it, she does not take it out.
[Erek Skulason] *Erek caught the cream comment, snorts out in laughter at it, passing a quick glance to Roman, but he doesn't remark back. There'd be time for that later, Roman was directing traffic out the window to someone else, and Drew was quietly verbalizing with Erek with facial expressions. He holds up the container of food in Drew's direction, pointing at it with a plastic fork as he licks his lips again, then half-turns his face away to smear what sauce remained onto the sleeve of his new coat*
You should eat, Drew, food's not bad and the beer'll go to your head pretty fast for such a wee thing. Already know you can't hold your liquor as well as me. *He winks at Drew before looking away*
So! Detective Montoya, I haven't forgotten about you, ma'am. You sure I wouldn't like to see them guns? How much you bench press on a daily basis? Two, maybe three pounds of donuts?
[Ki Mondblume] *He pauses. And then the corner of his mouth twitches. He snorts, and he starts to laugh.* REALLY? Did you MEAN to quote that movie, or was it by accident? *He is CLEARLY trying to calm down, though the possessive state he displays over his belongings is quite clear.*
[Izzy Montoya] She just watches Erek, blandly as he asks about her doughnut pressing prowess. At least he caught the hint and called her Detective. Sometimes Fenrir can be taught. Rare, but sometimes.
"Positive." That he wouldn't want to see them. She has the perfect deadpan, really. Not even a twitch of reaction at the stereotypical jab. "Six."
....wonder where she puts it all, if there's even an inkling of truth in it...
[Roman Turner] "Oh I meant to. Though I gotta tell ya son, ya ain't exactly filling me with confidence that I should hold to my invitation to come on in. Take a deep breath and say to yourself. If this fella meant me harm, I would be in a world of hurt before the growl cleared my throat."
He smiled his most tolerant smile, counting to ten himself.
[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick is silent, watchful, perhaps cautious as the Fenrir Skald speaks.
He does not know much of other tribes; yet he knows everything about them in the past. Their pasts; his own tribe's past. The Fianna has a connection to his own ancestors, though it is a frail, and inconsistent connection. But sometimes, he has felt their presence, called upon them in his time of need and discovered a reasurrance beyond the scope of words.
She passes him a beer bottle, and Patrick's hands emerge to grasp it; his knuckles rough with fighting; unknown if its brawling for sport or the result of some battle against the enemy. When the Fenrir invites him to fight with her pack; to get to know them; there's a gleam of surprise in Prayers to Broken Stone's eye, his sandy brows rise.
"Alright." A beat, he steps closer, seats himself.
"Half expected you to laugh, to be honest." He studies the beer label.
[Ki Mondblume] *He breathes slowly.* I can't help it, *he says with a wince.* I'll behave, though. And if I don't, well, I'm sure you can kick the shit out of me. *He blinks at that.* But they ARE my hot dogs. I'm saving them for later, though. For when I get REALLY hungry. *Good lord - there's a REALLY hungry for him?*
[Erek Skulason] Six... really? Only six?
*Erek squints at Izzy, peering at her searchingly as if he's trying to make out something. He flicks his gaze up and down the length of her frame, setting the now-devoured container down on an available table space*
Six isn't that impressive.
[Roman Turner] He turned his head, speaking to someone in the kitchen, meeting Erek's eyes.
"There's a fella out here what seems to be a bit feral. I'm letting him come in to warm up and eat, but I'm gonna depend on your good sense to make sure he minds his manners."
He lowered his voice.
"Do what ya think ya consider best."
Leaving that door wide open for Erek as he turned back to the window.
"Well then, come on in son. Back door is around there. Ask for Erek."
With that he closed the window.
[Imogen] Her phone chimes again. This time Imogen removes it, lifting it to Roman in indicate it. "Tell Patrick t'make his own way back, will yeh?"
A flick of her gaze toward Kiernan, before she turns and starts to walk away without farewell.
[Drew Roscoe] Through suggestions that she come eat and insisting that she's a lightweight, Drew just grins from around the rim of her beer bottle, shifts it away from her mouth to speak clearly. "No, you have one watered down drink and I kept going. Size isn't all there is to holding liquor." There's a dismissive wave of her hand. "Anyways, the metabolism and healing abilities on you guys, you probably burn it off like it's just water anyways."
The offer to food is overlooked or ignored. Drew remains planted with her rear on the countertop, legs swinging and the heels of her boots bouncing quietly, rhythmically off the cabinets beneath her.
She wasn't worried about crossing legs or anything like that because she wore jeans, it wasn't a common thing that she'd wear a skirt outside of summertime. She reached up to undo the buttons of her coat, opening it up to reveal a very simple white long-sleeved tee underneath. A bit of ventilation couldn't hurt.
[Izzy Montoya] "You specified donuts. Perhaps you were thinking of something else?"
She arches a brow, slightly, and lifts her bottle to take a drink.
[Ki Mondblume] Thank you! *he says cheerily, and he goes around back, quite curious. He looks back to Imogen.* Aren't you coming too? *He furrows his eyebrows, and then he goes back to the back door.* Weird girl. *He knocks on the back door. Shave and a haircut.*
[Roman Turner] He nodded to Imogen with a touch of his fingers to his brow in salute. In the next moment he was making his excuses and thanks to Izzy. Saying his farewells to Drew and Erek before stepping out. It was time for his rounds.
[Roman Turner] ((Sorry folks, I am up at 4am for work, I gotta sleep. Thanks for the play!))
[Imogen] "Not tonight," she answers, before heading back towards her car.
[Erek Skulason] Why are you suddenly directing traffic at me, Peaches? This ain't my home!
*Erek makes eyes at Roman, staring at him like he has two heads for a second, but the other no moon was leaving. He sighs, shaking his blond head and picks himself up. He rolls his shoulders up in a shrug at Izzy, lifting a hand to press the tip of his index finger to his left temple*
Detective, I was referring to donuts, though I'm sure you could drink me under the table as well.
*Erek shakes out the bit of cold that started to creep into his bones, shuffling his way over to where Drew sat on the counter and leans up against it, eying her quietly* We'll have to test that theory, Mrs. Robinson, to see if you can outdrink me.
[Izzy Montoya] "Will we, then?"
There's a huff of amusement, as she shakes her head. "I am not that old." a beat. "But I could drink you under the table. Twice. But it would be contributing to the delinquency of a minor."
Because that's stopped her before when it comes to Garou. Not.
[Ki Mondblume] *He frowns at the door, then, and he does not let himself in. He ducks back at that. Curious. He'll come back later.*
[Erek Skulason] *Erek barks out in laughter, his shoulders shaking under the heaviness of his coat. Tiny lines crinkle at the corner of his blue eyes, he lifts a hand up to shove back the blond hair that is constantly falling down to obstruct his vision, too lazy to cut it. Or too stubborn to wear it short*
Yes, we should. Just so I may test your prowess in a friendly sport of binge drinking.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew just huffed a breath out over the rim of her beer bottle, and it was rough to determine what it was in response to, or just a gathered up response to the whole flurry of activity going on about her. Some stranger was coming in, Roman was taking off and leaving Erek to handle the new kid, even though Erek was dreadfully new himself. Wasn't Kora just out in the Sanctuary? Shouldn't she be handling the new faces instead?
It wouldn't matter, he wasn't coming inside, but Drew didn't know this.
Instead she just tipped her chin up toward the ceiling when Erek took up post beside her, killed what was left in her beer bottle, and let it rest sitting on top of her thigh, kept from falling only by the loose grip of her fingers near the bottom.
There's a second, then a total change of topic. An f.y.i. for Erek. "Probably Saturday I'll be heading down to Peoria. I'll likely spend the night there. Just so ya know. So, ah, no crazy parties, right?"
[Erek Skulason] *Drew snags the boy's ear immediately with the detail that she was leaving town for a night, and warned him against crazy parties. He folds his arms across his chest, tilting his head to the side to look at her*
What's in Peoria? Should be fine, can always crash here if I get lonely. Or pester Sofie.
[Izzy Montoya] "Ah, but Erek, if we did that..."
And here, she pauses, and finishes her beer, before she stands and goes to retrieve another. She opens it, as Drew makes a change of topic. Then Izzy brings it back once again. "...you would invariably end up face down on my bathroom floor, thanking it for being cool on your hungover brow. There are easier ways to get to my XBox."
And that little smirk admits she knows exactly what that sounds like. She lifts the bottle again, and turns to make her way back toward the sanctuary, and likely the front door soon after.
[Kora] The beer's an IPA - Goose Island - a warm, clear color - amber through the dark glass, gleaming through the neck. A local beer, though the label he thumbs is fading from being immersed in that slurry of ice and water for so long. Kora's dark eyes flicker down at the label, following the movement of his hand, the settled way his fingers curve around the bottle.
Her own bottle is label-less, a sharp, sweet, fizzy scent makes a sort of undercurrent in the air.
Half expected you to laugh, to be honest. says Patrick.
She does then, Kora. A brief, narrow sound. The supple humor of it is mostly contained in her body. In her throat, behind her eyes, which gleam in the low light. The air is sharp, bright with cold, with the promise of a coming storm that the animal in each of them can sense in some formless, nameless way. The shifting pressure, the movement of wind. The way the barometer drops.
"Yeah?" says Kora, lifting up her bottle of root beer to clink his in a spare toast. "Well, that's where you miscalculated. Get of Fenris don't laugh." The gleam of humor lingers behind her eyes. There's a certain gravity to her, though, behind it. A certain awareness that is both light and dark. "Mostly we growl. Sometimes we snort. But we don't laugh." The low noise she makes in the back of her throat gives lie to that.
"So, Prayers to Broken Stone. Tell me a story."
It sounds like the beginning of a long night.
to Ki Mondblume
[Kora] The beer's an IPA - Goose Island - a warm, clear color - amber through the dark glass, gleaming through the neck. A local beer, though the label he thumbs is fading from being immersed in that slurry of ice and water for so long. Kora's dark eyes flicker down at the label, following the movement of his hand, the settled way his fingers curve around the bottle.
Her own bottle is label-less, a sharp, sweet, fizzy scent makes a sort of undercurrent in the air.
Half expected you to laugh, to be honest. says Patrick.
She does then, Kora. A brief, narrow sound. The supple humor of it is mostly contained in her body. In her throat, behind her eyes, which gleam in the low light. The air is sharp, bright with cold, with the promise of a coming storm that the animal in each of them can sense in some formless, nameless way. The shifting pressure, the movement of wind. The way the barometer drops.
"Yeah?" says Kora, lifting up her bottle of root beer to clink his in a spare toast. "Well, that's where you miscalculated. Get of Fenris don't laugh." The gleam of humor lingers behind her eyes. There's a certain gravity to her, though, behind it. A certain awareness that is both light and dark. "Mostly we growl. Sometimes we snort. But we don't laugh." The low noise she makes in the back of her throat gives lie to that.
"So, Prayers to Broken Stone. Tell me a story."
It sounds like the beginning of a long night.
[Drew Roscoe] "My dad."
The answer is simple, matter-of-fact. Completely devoid of the discomfort that came up when she told Kora it wouldn't be okay if Roman tagged along.
He said he could crash at the church, sleep there rather than at her house so that she wouldn't have to worry about him doing what animals left at home alone do-- chew things, rip up doors, break stuff, go on the rug, ect ect. Back to Sophie again, Drew chuckles a bit, quietly, and shakes her head, tapping her shortly clipped fingernails on the sides of her empty beer bottle. "If she gets your goat so much, why do you keep going around her?"
[Imogen] hassle
[Imogen] (... please ignore)
[Erek Skulason] *Erek becomes slackjawed by the Detective's admission, his head snaps away, pulling his attention from Drew to focus on the Detective woman. Eyebrows lift high on his head, nearly touching the hairline as he stares - and half chokes as he watches Izzy leave. He reaches out to grab at Drew's lap, clinging to her like a frighten child.
He turns his head to whisper conspiratorially to the kin he clings to*
...did she just suggest... do I... would...
*He never finishes the sentence, peering up at Drew with a grin before shaking his head*
I'm a dumb male that's interested in playing with her Xbox, or that Detective lady's, or who knows? Do you have an Xbox?
[Imogen] (I AM GOING TO BED NOW)
[Kora] (dies)
[Kora] (THAT TURNIP IS SO CONSPICUOUS.)
[Inconspicuous Turnip] (*rolls in through an open window*)
Tonight, he is less one Theurge pack-mate, having come to the city less one Philodox Alpha to begin with.
They are wolves; the female Fenrir that comes forward to greet him, and the Fianna that lifts his chin and nods at her; his expression somber; perhaps even a degree wary. Kora can no doubt read much of his current state straight from his rumpled clothing, his tousled hair and the healing cuts to the knuckles, the fingers of which brace the pockets of his jacket.
"Rhya," he says, the touch of deference seems alien on the Fianna's tongue, a sentiment he is not familiar with using all that often. "Nice digs." The corner of his mouth pulls, attempts a smile. "Great acoustics."
[Izzy Montoya] She sets the bags on the counter, and goes about emptying them. There's a collection of random types of Thai food, and a bunch of it, as well as two six-packs of beer to refresh the cooler. If anyone was to ask her what the occasion was, she wouldn't be able to answer. She's never randomly showed up with food before, though she has picked up the tab around town on more than one occasion. If it were anyone else, they might think she wanted company.
But it's Izzy.
She grabs one of the beers, opens it and takes a swallow or four, as she moves to take a seat in the corner of the kitchen - out of the way.
[Imogen] Imogen regards the gathering, the Jarl taking a Fianna off to the side to speak, a Ragabash, drawing the others toward the kitchen. She does not know that she was not considered a guest - is not privy to the mental conversation - and truthfully, it is hard to say, precisely what her reaction would be to that knowledge.
If there were any at all.
Something muted and indescribable passes her expression as she looks about at the goings on, before she reaches into her jacket pocket, retrieving a cigarette case, catching Roman's eye briefly (it takes a moment as the boy snorts and snortles at Drew's misfortune and Erek's antics) and lifting the case in indication.
With that, the kinswoman turns and steps back outside, leaving the tepid warmth behind her for the cold stone stoop and lungs she can fill with tar and poison.
[Ki Mondblume] *Despite his own car, he STILL walks most places. He all but jogs towards the place. Backwards. It leads to problems in some places, but this place seems to be okay. He is holding a paper plate of three hot dogs. He eats with a great deal of relish. Well. Enjoyment. Food is BLISS.*
*He shoves half of one into his mouth, swelling his cheeks. His eyes widen slightly, at the cars. SO many cars. He cants his head idly, and he raises his head to the sky, sniffing idly. He pulls his backpack around his front, and shoves the two remaining hot dogs into the bag, as he finishes off the first. Defend the food. At ALL costs. He does smell cigarette smoke.*
[Drew Roscoe] The tall Rotagar that looked every bit the part of what his blood said he should be moved to stand behind Drew and clapped one hand onto her shoulder. You'd think, for a second, that he was being supportive or affectionate in some way. Noticing how tension had hitched up along her shoulders and at the back of her neck, how humor and cheer had dropped from her demeanor like flies that just got hit with a cloud of Raid.
Then that snowball he's been packing idly between his gloves for the past several minutes is dropped right on top of her head, smashed into her hair so that it crumbles and falls over her face and shoulders onto the floor. Roman barks out a laugh, no one else seems to look terribly amused.
Drew sighs, for a moment it seems she's only going to be upset with the cold wet surprise, but a small smile effects one side of her mouth and she shakes her head some, reaching up to shoo the Rotagar's hand off her scalp and brushing what's left of the snowball away. An elbow goes back, aimed to bump into his stomach. There's not nearly enough momentum or emotion in the gesture for her to be truly attempting to hurt or attack the Rotagar, it's just playing around is all.
"'Ppreciate that," she chuckled a bit and shook her head, touching the wet spot on the top of her head with the tips of her fingers.
[Roman Turner] He was still smiling when he acknowledged Imogen's motion that she was going outside to smoke and he turned back to join Izzy before she could eat all the food, as if. Snickering as he joined Izzy.
"Did ya see that? Right smack on the noggin. I bet she gives him a good shove when they go back out on the ice."
[Imogen] There is a red-haired woman on the stoop of the church, an ember now burning between her fingers. She does not sit, but leans against the doorjamb. She's dressed better than here - certainly better than a squatter who might have appropriated a place like this.
The slight woman has pure breeding. It's heavy as silk, a smell, a taste, a touch. And at some point, as the other walks along the street, she appears to be watching him, lifting her cigarette back to her lips, inhaling deep.
[Ki Mondblume] *His nostrils flare, and he chews on the last bit of hot dog. He watches the woman. His own breeding is fairly clear, though thinned down a bit. It seems he's trying to figure her out for a moment. And then he grins.*
HEY! Didn't anyone ever tell you smoking's bad for you?
[Erek Skulason] *Erek grunts as Drew's elbow connects with his stomach. He releases his grip on her, pulling his arms back to hug his sides as his hands move to rub over the spot of impact. He looks down at the smaller kin, puckering his bottom lip out in a pout at her, using his own humility to get a smile on Drew's face. When he sees that she's grinning just a little, he laughs again, shaking his head*
Move your ass, Ms. Roscoe, to get some grub or I can haul you over like a sack of potatoes.
*His stomach rumbles in protest, the smell of the Thai filling his nostrils as Roman and Izzy were digging into the food. He didn't want to leave Drew by herself, so makes harmless threats at her*
[Izzy Montoya] She lifts her bottle in slight toast, but doesn't have much to say on the subject of shoving, or Drew, or the new kid. Aside from the obvious question: "Who is he?"
She hasn't been about much - which is no different than usual - and has yet to be introduced. She does manage to bite back another comment, hiding it behind a swallow, and a gesture toward the food. "Help yourself. Didn't know what you liked, brought a little bit of everything."
[Roman Turner] "He's your family. Erek."
There was no way he could say the last name correctly, so he coughed while saying it, making it sound sort of like Skullsomething.
"New Moon. Want me to ask if he's single?"
[Izzy Montoya] He's her family. She snorts. Roman is well aware of her views on Tribe. Or, if he isn't, he should be by now as she never makes an attempt to hide it. Kora has earned her respect - something Kemp also had, though others are few and far between.
Want him to ask if he's single? She arches a brow, slightly, and deadpans. "Why, you lonely?"
[Imogen] There is a brief silence - the woman turns her head, exhaling smoke into the wind, letting it blow away. Another drag, then she steps off the stoop and walks toward him.
Imogen does not yell across a front lawn.
The slight kinswoman moves with an utter ease a visceral knowledge of the boundaries of her body. She navigates the uneven snow, the unplowed walkway, her boots crunching through the ice and snow. Her jacket is open, and her free hand slides beneath it to the small of her back, then slides out, empty again. She does not come up to him entirely, but closes to a speaking distance.
She pauses there, taking another drag of her cigarette, and turning her head away to blow the smoke. She lowers the fag, tapping the ash toward the snow - it hisses nearly inaudibly.
"Do you want to exchange witticisms about cigarettes and its effects on human health or do you want to talk about my blood and yours?" she asks, evenly, an eyebrow arching.
[Drew Roscoe] Familiarity was something that was both sweet and sour for Drew right now. It was nice having another body in the house to warm it, to come home and not stare at blank walls and listen to absolute silence and wonder how the hell she was going to keep pushing through the days with things remaining as empty and mundane as they were. The Rotagar provided company, conversation and something to keep busy with as well (taking care after a teenage boy was time consuming, ask anyone).
Yet, at the same time, time alone was crucial. She still needed to be able to shove off the weight of playing like she wasn't grieving or hurt, to stop pretending that everything was okay and sit quietly, looking at pictures or having the occasional cry. She needed these moments of non-judgment, with no one staring at her looking sympathetic or uncomfortable to make her pull up the act once more. They were precisely as crucial as the company was, oxymoronic as that may seem.
It's the familiarity born from this agreement that makes Drew acquiesce to the teasing, that has her donning the grin easier. It's the only reason she's walking toward the kitchen at all. She liked beer as much as the next midwestern twenty-something, but alcohol right now could really only be trouble.
Still, regardless, she walks to the kitchen, shaking her head at Erek and grinning as she went. "Sure, you could. But then you'd be cooking your own meals and washing your own dishes for god knows how long."
[Kora] There's a brief glance at Drew when she says something about who her father is. Mental note: ask later. Otherwise, Kora's perfectly content to give over guest-duty to her packmate. He says yassum in the back of her mouth, and before he disappears back toward the kitchen, whatever food Izzy brought as offer, Roman will catch the edge of a fond glance, a generous sort of twist to her curving mouth. Which deepens into a smirk when Erek calls her snookums-rhya.
He earns himself a look of warning perfecly matched to that smirk, before Kora's attention returns to the newest guest.
The Skald takes Patrick in a glance, missing little. The blood, the grief, the disshevelment. Her footsteps echo quietly in the stark interior of the old church, all the way up to the half-broken rafters, and she glances up, following the arc of his glance when he says nice digs.
"Thanks." Her voice is quiet; the power subsumed, contained, constrained in the undertones. She isn't a singer, but she still knows how to use that particular instrument, in her own quiet way.
She comes closer to Patrick than a human ever would, but does not quite touch him. They're wolves: there's a certain concordance there. A certain awareness.
"C'mon." She tells him, brushing past toward the tables. The coolers underneath, crouching down to pull the lid off one, looking back up at Patrick over her shoulder as she digs through the slurry of ice. "You want a beer?"
[Roman Turner] He considered Erek a moment then murmured around a mouthful of food to Izzy.
"You're right, he is kinda comely. Ok, dibs! You get your own man."
[Ki Mondblume] *He snorts at that.* Well, MY conversation was a lot more fun. Not sure I want to talk blood. *He starts to pace slowly, back and forth, examining.*
If I'm in the way, I can move. But I couldn't help but smell it. Ash. *He wears flip-flops in the snow. And socks with said flip-flops. The socks are a lovely shade of pink, as if they were washed with red clothing.*
[Imogen] "Your conversation is one I've had a hundred times before." Not that the other conversation she proposed was any different.
She's small - her heels make her taller, but it does not hide the basic petiteness of her. Small bones, gracile joints. A slim body, half hidden beneath the fall of her open jacket. She wears jeans, a sweater beneath the jacket. Her skin is pale in the poorly light night. The clouds hide the stars. Cabrini Green has more burnt out lamps than lit ones.
"Other than that, I imagine blood is all we ha' in common."
Her accent is foreign. She's been asked if she's Irish, Scottish, Australian. Any number of British colonies, and even British itself. They rarely get it exactly right, though some get it close enough.
[Erek Skulason] *It takes a lot of restraint to follow through with the threat that he gave Drew, twitching his nose at her once, but the desired effect is still the same as she walks over to the kitchen area that the others reside in. He follows after her, long legs carrying him across the room quickly, slipping around the kin to hit the tables. He just barely catches Roman's remark, looking over at the other with a confused expression*
You checking my ass out, man?
*He asks, looking through the containers of food. He jerks his head in Izzy's direction, giving her another glance over*
Who are you? Besides the fact I can tell that you'd pop out an army of furry bastards with that pedigree of yours.
[Patrick Llewelyn] Kora comes close to him, closer than she needs to and with a flare of his nostrils the second Galliard takes note of the first. Her swelling belly is the most obvious thing about her right now and as such is the last to be focused on. A thing known, but not his concern, not his business. He instead traces her face as if to sketch its likeness later on -- his eyes remain on her until she is too near, and it has been bordering on too long to be considered polite to continue.
He rounds back his shoulders instead; digs his fists back down into the pockets of his worn in jacket; the leather carries its own scent, but it is faint, barely a trace beneath the tang of smoke that clings to him when he comes near; when she brushes past him and he turns, twisting to observe her.
"Yeah," he admits, a hand emerging to scruff over his head; it does little to tame his hair, growing longer and in need of tending to but ignored in favor of most every other thing. Patrick's hands are stained; the nail-beds dark with car grease; motor oil. He does not smell particularly strongly tonight of his human occupation but the hint is there, mingling with that of leather, and cigarettes.
"Wanted to talk to you," no shit, Patrick. "Now that Ho--", he pauses, licks his lips and looks down at his worn sneakers; frowning. "Now my pack is gone, I been trying to figure out where I might fit. Given, we don't know one another that well and I know my brother never exactly endeared himself, but," he shrugs shoulders, as if helpless but to spit it out.
"You got need of another body to run with you, I could try."
[Ki Mondblume] Likely. *He smiles, pacing back and forth.* Well. Similar blood, at least, but definitely not the SAME. *His nostrils flare, and he wrinkles his nose.* It's STINKY, *he complains, idly, before peering behind her.*
What's going on over there? Are you having a party? Are there snacks? I'm hungry. *Yes. He has two hot dogs in his bag. Yes. It seems he's had more than this before. And yes. He IS still hungry.* I like french fries, in case you want a suggestion.
[Izzy Montoya] She lifts the bottle in slight toast, giving Roman his 'dibs' on Erek, easily enough. She does not remind him she has chosen her own man, because that would lead to questions, and to wondering, and to another night without sleep for her while she tried to dig up information on the case he was working on, why it had him so deep under cover that he couldn't (or - god forbid - wouldn't) get some sort of message to her. In other words - only heartache would come from actually speaking about him.
Instead, she turns her attention to Erek as he demands to know who she is, and decides she can raise an army of bastards, all at once. She smirks slightly, and answers only "Detective Montoya."
[Roman Turner] Erek asked if he were checking out his ass and the first thing that came out of his mouth was.
"Well, considering I ain't seen your backside yet, I'd be a mite leery asking that particular question just yet cause I might get a bit confused on what's what."
Then he was watching the play between Izzy and Erek. Last time he stepped in on the behalf of one of the Fenrir Kin, he'd had to remind Remy that this was the home of the Last Watch and all guests were to be respected while within the walls. This time he said.
"Lady present, ain't polite to start talking about reproducing before ya get to the hand shaking point."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew was nudged past, Erek slipping lightly around her to enter the kitchen first. He made a beeline for Izzy after catching some quip about being dibsed upon from Roman and returning it in kind. It must be that breeding again, he's commenting on how Izzy could likely produce an army of True Born.
Drew, in the meantime, tugs open a cooler and pulls out a bottle of beer. Rather than joining up at the table she plants a palm on the edge of the counter and hops up easy, effortlessly, without a grunt or a 'hup' to announce the physical exertion. She might be short, thick about the thighs with muscle and firm on the belly and arms from athletic passtimes as well, but it all worked toward something besides detracting from the commonly more appreciated 'tall and leggy' build.
The top of the bottle was snapped away, and the lid rubbed idly between the fingers of her left hand while her right controlled the path of the bottle to and from her lips for periodic sips.
[Imogen] He points out there are differences in her blood, and Imogen merely arches an eyebrow. Her response to the clarification is perhaps best described as a silent: 'Whatever'.
The details don't matter to her.
"S'not my place to invite you in," she says. "But come wi' me a moment."
And she turns to walk, but not toward the maindoors, instead around the building and toward the kitchen window.
[Erek Skulason] Detective.... Montoya?
*Oh, there's a devil playing in Erek's expression now, one that is going to get him killed. But Roman seems to be stepping on the no moon's fun right before he can shoot off any fireworks. He changes his demeanor, ducking his head and fluttering his blond lashes at Izzy, trying his best to put on the boyish charm*
Out of respect to the Jarl, I might behave, but I'll state that Ms. Montoya is a tad older than me, and I'm likely to get Chicago's Finest in a heap of trouble if I'm caught fraternizing with Law. Though, I'm sure she packs some really nice guns...
*He gives Izzy a thoroughly look over* Just ain't sure where she's hiding them.
*He laughs, seizing one of the containers of food for himself and finds some utensils, he points them at Roman*
If Miss Kora wants me to run with you all, we better play nice, pumpkin. Two no moons under one cathedral's going to raise some kinda hell.
[Ki Mondblume] *He doesn't see anything wrong with her. He begins to whistle the opening song from the Disney version of Robin Hood, looking pleased with himself. He walks to the beat, quite cheerily. He should be watching her hips move. He does not.*
[Imogen] Her hips, in either case, are hidden beneath the fall of her jacket. She glances over her shoulder, briefly as the Garou fairly ... skips after her, whistling, her glance wry, but more tolerant than in good humour.
As said, she is slight - the window is high enough that is a reach. Still, she lifts up easily on her toes, rapping on the window perfunctorily. Thrice.
[Roman Turner] Oh he couldn't wait for this guy to run in to Linus. On the heels of that thought the devil whispered in his ear and out of his mouth came.
"Pumpkin? That's Linus' pet name. Just ask him."
He wasn't going to touch the guns comment cause he figured Izzy might show him how that gun could fit up certain orifices just before she pulled the trigger. He'd leave Erek to find that out on his own also.
[Izzy Montoya] "Detective." Not Ms. It's her preferred title, her preferred form of address, and she says it with quiet intention, though she does not comment on much of the rest of it. Not even her age.
Those who knew her before might think she has mellowed, might think she has grown content with her lot in life with the Chicago Fenrir. They may think many things, and she lets them think them. If they want to know, they'd have to actually take the time to discover it.
Her only comment is... "Oh, I could show you my guns." Likely, her thought process is similar to Roman's there. She confirms it with "...but you wouldn't like it."
[Ki Mondblume] *He looks curious at that, and his whistle is interrupted by his own words.* That's a rather boring secret knock. This a clubhouse? But girls are allowed. WEIRD clubhouse.
*He stands on his tippy-toes, perfectly balanced, watching the window, as if expecting something to happen. He should not look this excited.*
[Roman Turner] He immediately looked towards the window with the knock and in the flash of an eye, reached for it and yanked it open to stick his head out.
"Why howdy Miss Doctor Slaughter Ma'am. Ya lose your key or trying out the drive thru?"
His gray blue gaze landed on Ki.
"Pay at this window, then please drive through."
[Erek Skulason] Linus the Chimney Sweep? Met'im already, he was here the last time I was covered in soot. Real nice chap that one is.
*Erek digs into the food with ferocious appetite, inhaling it in until his cheeks began to compact with food, puffing out like a puckerfish. It takes a few swallows to clear his mouth, washing his tongue across his lips to clean the sauce away. He smirks at Izzy, but his comment is all for Roman*
If pumpkin is out of the question. How about Peaches? You look like a peach, all smooth and perty-like. *Erek mimics the twange that he hears in Roman's voice, chuckling under another mouthful of food. He looks around, his eyes drinking in the other occupants in the room, namely Patrick who speaks with Kora, and then finally settling on Drew, noticing how quiet she's become. He gives her a questioning look, tilting his head*
[Kora] "You're welcome here." There is a certain formality to the way she shapes those words. They aren't placeholders, pro forma human throwaways. He tells her that he's looking for a place where he fits. And Kora, settled on her haunches, digging through the ice to produce a beer and a root beer in the sort of brown glass bottle that at least feels like a beer bottle in the hand, between the fingers, tells him you're welcome here. - immediately, automatically. Seriously.
Then she stands, holding out the bottle of beer to him, keeping the root beer for herself, before levering herself up to sit on the table. Which bows, a bit, at the middle under her weight, but does not bend or break.
"I lost my Alpha not long after the spring equinox. Then my pack just after the solstice. Roman and his cousin, Sparrow, came and held the land we'd claimed with me until we made it official then, yeah? A real thing." There's a certain rough empathy there, which does not devolve into sympathy or - worse yet - pity. Her dark eyes are sure on him; she doesn't share his specific grief, but she knows the shape and weight of it, and that shapes and weights her voice.
"Right now, it's Linus, and Roman, and me. We follow a Fenrir totem. Harder, I think, for folks outside the tribe to understand Hermodr, but right now - after all that loss, you're still here. You made a sacrifice, more than one for this land.
"And I think that means something. Both to me and the big guy.
"So yeah," Kora says, now sliding from the table to stand. " - run with us, yeah? Fight with us. Get to know my pack, our territory. Our totem."
[Ki Mondblume] *He frowns at that, curiously.* But my truck wouldn't start up this morning. So I can't drive through. Can I pay at the door instead? *He seems quite serious at this.*
[Roman Turner] He glanced back at Erek with the hint of a smile.
"Sure thing. And I'll call ya cream cause ya all pale and smooth like cream."
He winked and turned his attention back to the window.
"Pay at the door? Why sure ya can. Come on around. Just remember, no refunds."
He leaned out further and pointed towards the corner of the building.
"Back door is that way."
[Imogen] "Don't you ever stop talking?" Imogen asks Kiernan almost absently. It is worth noting she's not asked him for his name.
Roman appears and offers his joke, the rhythm slightly damaged by the long way he handles her name, all the extra syllables. Imogen ignores it. "I've found a stray," she says, mildly. "Who would like to be fed. Since he looks unfamiliar, I thought one o' yeh might want to talk with him first. Though," a brief glance at the young Uktena and his earnest expression, "I don't think he's much risk."
She talks, easily, as if the other were not there.
[Ki Mondblume] *He scratches at his stomach, and he actually seems to consider Imogen's words.* Yes, occasionally, *he says idly. He hasn't asked for hers either.* And I've been around for a LITTLE bit. I keep TRYING to meet new people, but they either go away, don't say anything, or we end up sparring. *He doesn't seem displeased at this last bit.*
[Roman Turner] "What's yer name?"
He was letting all kinds of cold air in with handling the conversation through the open window.
"Ya smell like hot dogs."
He sniffed, leaning out further.
"Yep, I smell wieners."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew was letting the three talk, lending an ear to Kora and Patrick out in the sanctuary half of the time as well. Her hearing wasn't so sharp as to pick up more than the low rumble of low voices and an occasional recognizable word or two, but that wasn't what she was after. She wasn't eavesdropping with honest interest in what was being said, she wasn't nosy, it was just something to listen to. Background noise, like when you put on the History Channel when you lay down for a nap.
Erek casts an eye toward her while Roman pokes his head out the window to talk to Imogen and some unknown other person, another boy judging by the voice. One blond eyebrow lifted on the Rotagar, and Drew answered it by lifting both, closing her eyes in a dismissive and 'what can ya do' signal, and shrugging her shoulders to tie the whole thing together. She relaxed from that once more, cast her eyes past Erek to Roman at the window, and took another drink from her beer.
She was nursing it, but constantly. Already half the bottle was gone.
[Ki Mondblume] I'm Ki, *he says, rather cheerfully, though at the sniffing, the change in expression is quite rapid, as his face goes cold. He holds on tightly to his backpack, and a low growl starts in his throat.* MY hot dogs.
[Roman Turner] Both his brows lifted with the growl
"Now son, we don't want to be rude and start to growling like that when folk are offering to feed ya in their home. Ain't good manners to get all ruffled up like that. If ya got a problem with your temper, best keep yourself outside cause we don't cotton to that in here. We straight with that?"
[Ki Mondblume] *He holds tightly to his bag, and he watches Roman suspiciously. He nods only once, though he still looks QUITE possessive of his bag.*
[Roman Turner] "I ain't pullin your tail here. I'm as serious as a heart attack. Ya come in here thinking I want to harm ya, steal from ya when I, out of the goodness of my widdle heart, invited ya inside to warm up and eat, then we got a problem from the get go. Just so ya know it up front. I won't cotton to it in here. And I'm the nice one."
He watched Ki closely.
"Do ya understand the words coming out my mouth, Ki?"
[Imogen] Imogen, now, remains silent, waiting. Her phone chimes, and though she reaches into her jacket pocket to silence it, she does not take it out.
[Erek Skulason] *Erek caught the cream comment, snorts out in laughter at it, passing a quick glance to Roman, but he doesn't remark back. There'd be time for that later, Roman was directing traffic out the window to someone else, and Drew was quietly verbalizing with Erek with facial expressions. He holds up the container of food in Drew's direction, pointing at it with a plastic fork as he licks his lips again, then half-turns his face away to smear what sauce remained onto the sleeve of his new coat*
You should eat, Drew, food's not bad and the beer'll go to your head pretty fast for such a wee thing. Already know you can't hold your liquor as well as me. *He winks at Drew before looking away*
So! Detective Montoya, I haven't forgotten about you, ma'am. You sure I wouldn't like to see them guns? How much you bench press on a daily basis? Two, maybe three pounds of donuts?
[Ki Mondblume] *He pauses. And then the corner of his mouth twitches. He snorts, and he starts to laugh.* REALLY? Did you MEAN to quote that movie, or was it by accident? *He is CLEARLY trying to calm down, though the possessive state he displays over his belongings is quite clear.*
[Izzy Montoya] She just watches Erek, blandly as he asks about her doughnut pressing prowess. At least he caught the hint and called her Detective. Sometimes Fenrir can be taught. Rare, but sometimes.
"Positive." That he wouldn't want to see them. She has the perfect deadpan, really. Not even a twitch of reaction at the stereotypical jab. "Six."
....wonder where she puts it all, if there's even an inkling of truth in it...
[Roman Turner] "Oh I meant to. Though I gotta tell ya son, ya ain't exactly filling me with confidence that I should hold to my invitation to come on in. Take a deep breath and say to yourself. If this fella meant me harm, I would be in a world of hurt before the growl cleared my throat."
He smiled his most tolerant smile, counting to ten himself.
[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick is silent, watchful, perhaps cautious as the Fenrir Skald speaks.
He does not know much of other tribes; yet he knows everything about them in the past. Their pasts; his own tribe's past. The Fianna has a connection to his own ancestors, though it is a frail, and inconsistent connection. But sometimes, he has felt their presence, called upon them in his time of need and discovered a reasurrance beyond the scope of words.
She passes him a beer bottle, and Patrick's hands emerge to grasp it; his knuckles rough with fighting; unknown if its brawling for sport or the result of some battle against the enemy. When the Fenrir invites him to fight with her pack; to get to know them; there's a gleam of surprise in Prayers to Broken Stone's eye, his sandy brows rise.
"Alright." A beat, he steps closer, seats himself.
"Half expected you to laugh, to be honest." He studies the beer label.
[Ki Mondblume] *He breathes slowly.* I can't help it, *he says with a wince.* I'll behave, though. And if I don't, well, I'm sure you can kick the shit out of me. *He blinks at that.* But they ARE my hot dogs. I'm saving them for later, though. For when I get REALLY hungry. *Good lord - there's a REALLY hungry for him?*
[Erek Skulason] Six... really? Only six?
*Erek squints at Izzy, peering at her searchingly as if he's trying to make out something. He flicks his gaze up and down the length of her frame, setting the now-devoured container down on an available table space*
Six isn't that impressive.
[Roman Turner] He turned his head, speaking to someone in the kitchen, meeting Erek's eyes.
"There's a fella out here what seems to be a bit feral. I'm letting him come in to warm up and eat, but I'm gonna depend on your good sense to make sure he minds his manners."
He lowered his voice.
"Do what ya think ya consider best."
Leaving that door wide open for Erek as he turned back to the window.
"Well then, come on in son. Back door is around there. Ask for Erek."
With that he closed the window.
[Imogen] Her phone chimes again. This time Imogen removes it, lifting it to Roman in indicate it. "Tell Patrick t'make his own way back, will yeh?"
A flick of her gaze toward Kiernan, before she turns and starts to walk away without farewell.
[Drew Roscoe] Through suggestions that she come eat and insisting that she's a lightweight, Drew just grins from around the rim of her beer bottle, shifts it away from her mouth to speak clearly. "No, you have one watered down drink and I kept going. Size isn't all there is to holding liquor." There's a dismissive wave of her hand. "Anyways, the metabolism and healing abilities on you guys, you probably burn it off like it's just water anyways."
The offer to food is overlooked or ignored. Drew remains planted with her rear on the countertop, legs swinging and the heels of her boots bouncing quietly, rhythmically off the cabinets beneath her.
She wasn't worried about crossing legs or anything like that because she wore jeans, it wasn't a common thing that she'd wear a skirt outside of summertime. She reached up to undo the buttons of her coat, opening it up to reveal a very simple white long-sleeved tee underneath. A bit of ventilation couldn't hurt.
[Izzy Montoya] "You specified donuts. Perhaps you were thinking of something else?"
She arches a brow, slightly, and lifts her bottle to take a drink.
[Ki Mondblume] Thank you! *he says cheerily, and he goes around back, quite curious. He looks back to Imogen.* Aren't you coming too? *He furrows his eyebrows, and then he goes back to the back door.* Weird girl. *He knocks on the back door. Shave and a haircut.*
[Roman Turner] He nodded to Imogen with a touch of his fingers to his brow in salute. In the next moment he was making his excuses and thanks to Izzy. Saying his farewells to Drew and Erek before stepping out. It was time for his rounds.
[Roman Turner] ((Sorry folks, I am up at 4am for work, I gotta sleep. Thanks for the play!))
[Imogen] "Not tonight," she answers, before heading back towards her car.
[Erek Skulason] Why are you suddenly directing traffic at me, Peaches? This ain't my home!
*Erek makes eyes at Roman, staring at him like he has two heads for a second, but the other no moon was leaving. He sighs, shaking his blond head and picks himself up. He rolls his shoulders up in a shrug at Izzy, lifting a hand to press the tip of his index finger to his left temple*
Detective, I was referring to donuts, though I'm sure you could drink me under the table as well.
*Erek shakes out the bit of cold that started to creep into his bones, shuffling his way over to where Drew sat on the counter and leans up against it, eying her quietly* We'll have to test that theory, Mrs. Robinson, to see if you can outdrink me.
[Izzy Montoya] "Will we, then?"
There's a huff of amusement, as she shakes her head. "I am not that old." a beat. "But I could drink you under the table. Twice. But it would be contributing to the delinquency of a minor."
Because that's stopped her before when it comes to Garou. Not.
[Ki Mondblume] *He frowns at the door, then, and he does not let himself in. He ducks back at that. Curious. He'll come back later.*
[Erek Skulason] *Erek barks out in laughter, his shoulders shaking under the heaviness of his coat. Tiny lines crinkle at the corner of his blue eyes, he lifts a hand up to shove back the blond hair that is constantly falling down to obstruct his vision, too lazy to cut it. Or too stubborn to wear it short*
Yes, we should. Just so I may test your prowess in a friendly sport of binge drinking.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew just huffed a breath out over the rim of her beer bottle, and it was rough to determine what it was in response to, or just a gathered up response to the whole flurry of activity going on about her. Some stranger was coming in, Roman was taking off and leaving Erek to handle the new kid, even though Erek was dreadfully new himself. Wasn't Kora just out in the Sanctuary? Shouldn't she be handling the new faces instead?
It wouldn't matter, he wasn't coming inside, but Drew didn't know this.
Instead she just tipped her chin up toward the ceiling when Erek took up post beside her, killed what was left in her beer bottle, and let it rest sitting on top of her thigh, kept from falling only by the loose grip of her fingers near the bottom.
There's a second, then a total change of topic. An f.y.i. for Erek. "Probably Saturday I'll be heading down to Peoria. I'll likely spend the night there. Just so ya know. So, ah, no crazy parties, right?"
[Erek Skulason] *Drew snags the boy's ear immediately with the detail that she was leaving town for a night, and warned him against crazy parties. He folds his arms across his chest, tilting his head to the side to look at her*
What's in Peoria? Should be fine, can always crash here if I get lonely. Or pester Sofie.
[Izzy Montoya] "Ah, but Erek, if we did that..."
And here, she pauses, and finishes her beer, before she stands and goes to retrieve another. She opens it, as Drew makes a change of topic. Then Izzy brings it back once again. "...you would invariably end up face down on my bathroom floor, thanking it for being cool on your hungover brow. There are easier ways to get to my XBox."
And that little smirk admits she knows exactly what that sounds like. She lifts the bottle again, and turns to make her way back toward the sanctuary, and likely the front door soon after.
[Kora] The beer's an IPA - Goose Island - a warm, clear color - amber through the dark glass, gleaming through the neck. A local beer, though the label he thumbs is fading from being immersed in that slurry of ice and water for so long. Kora's dark eyes flicker down at the label, following the movement of his hand, the settled way his fingers curve around the bottle.
Her own bottle is label-less, a sharp, sweet, fizzy scent makes a sort of undercurrent in the air.
Half expected you to laugh, to be honest. says Patrick.
She does then, Kora. A brief, narrow sound. The supple humor of it is mostly contained in her body. In her throat, behind her eyes, which gleam in the low light. The air is sharp, bright with cold, with the promise of a coming storm that the animal in each of them can sense in some formless, nameless way. The shifting pressure, the movement of wind. The way the barometer drops.
"Yeah?" says Kora, lifting up her bottle of root beer to clink his in a spare toast. "Well, that's where you miscalculated. Get of Fenris don't laugh." The gleam of humor lingers behind her eyes. There's a certain gravity to her, though, behind it. A certain awareness that is both light and dark. "Mostly we growl. Sometimes we snort. But we don't laugh." The low noise she makes in the back of her throat gives lie to that.
"So, Prayers to Broken Stone. Tell me a story."
It sounds like the beginning of a long night.
to Ki Mondblume
[Kora] The beer's an IPA - Goose Island - a warm, clear color - amber through the dark glass, gleaming through the neck. A local beer, though the label he thumbs is fading from being immersed in that slurry of ice and water for so long. Kora's dark eyes flicker down at the label, following the movement of his hand, the settled way his fingers curve around the bottle.
Her own bottle is label-less, a sharp, sweet, fizzy scent makes a sort of undercurrent in the air.
Half expected you to laugh, to be honest. says Patrick.
She does then, Kora. A brief, narrow sound. The supple humor of it is mostly contained in her body. In her throat, behind her eyes, which gleam in the low light. The air is sharp, bright with cold, with the promise of a coming storm that the animal in each of them can sense in some formless, nameless way. The shifting pressure, the movement of wind. The way the barometer drops.
"Yeah?" says Kora, lifting up her bottle of root beer to clink his in a spare toast. "Well, that's where you miscalculated. Get of Fenris don't laugh." The gleam of humor lingers behind her eyes. There's a certain gravity to her, though, behind it. A certain awareness that is both light and dark. "Mostly we growl. Sometimes we snort. But we don't laugh." The low noise she makes in the back of her throat gives lie to that.
"So, Prayers to Broken Stone. Tell me a story."
It sounds like the beginning of a long night.
[Drew Roscoe] "My dad."
The answer is simple, matter-of-fact. Completely devoid of the discomfort that came up when she told Kora it wouldn't be okay if Roman tagged along.
He said he could crash at the church, sleep there rather than at her house so that she wouldn't have to worry about him doing what animals left at home alone do-- chew things, rip up doors, break stuff, go on the rug, ect ect. Back to Sophie again, Drew chuckles a bit, quietly, and shakes her head, tapping her shortly clipped fingernails on the sides of her empty beer bottle. "If she gets your goat so much, why do you keep going around her?"
[Imogen] hassle
[Imogen] (... please ignore)
[Erek Skulason] *Erek becomes slackjawed by the Detective's admission, his head snaps away, pulling his attention from Drew to focus on the Detective woman. Eyebrows lift high on his head, nearly touching the hairline as he stares - and half chokes as he watches Izzy leave. He reaches out to grab at Drew's lap, clinging to her like a frighten child.
He turns his head to whisper conspiratorially to the kin he clings to*
...did she just suggest... do I... would...
*He never finishes the sentence, peering up at Drew with a grin before shaking his head*
I'm a dumb male that's interested in playing with her Xbox, or that Detective lady's, or who knows? Do you have an Xbox?
[Imogen] (I AM GOING TO BED NOW)
[Kora] (dies)
[Kora] (THAT TURNIP IS SO CONSPICUOUS.)
[Inconspicuous Turnip] (*rolls in through an open window*)
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