Ornature

[Janis] It's a clear night out, stars splash across the sky above the skyline of the Cabrini, twinkling like a treasure trove of tiny diamonds. One or two are in constant motion, airplanes that could be mistaken for shooting stars or ufo... Some of those stars were planets or satellites that roamed just outside the earth's atmosphere. The Rotagar watched them from the roof as she collects her resolve, digging deep down inside her gut to summon up the courage to face the courage to seek out the Jarl.

Kora, though, only a rank above her was impressive to behold - she reminded Janis of her Uncle who shared the birth moon as the Skald, and he was frightening. She clears her throat, pulling at the fiery tendrils of hair that run across her face, escaping the loose knot of hair at the base of her scalp.

With silent steps, the Rotagar climbs down from the belfry, back into the warmth of the church to seek out the Alpha of the Last Watch.

[Kora] The relative warmth of the church. The vast, lofty spaces of the sanctuary are nearly as cold inside as without. The stone walls keep out the winter wind, though, and repairs or tarps over the largest holes in the roof keep out most of the wet - rain, storms, thundersnow - now. Janis exits the belfry as Kora enters the church. The huge wooden doors swing silently on their well-oiled hinges, cutting a band of orange light across the dark stone floors. Though there is no breeding about her to define her from a distance, to the sharp sweep of someone's feral senses, Kora's figure is still distinctive. Pregnancy, advancing, makes it so.

Inside the doors, Kora tips her head back to dislodge the heavy hood covering the crown of her pale head, the tips of her ears. Strips off gloves as she walks, and begins unwinding a long, hand-knitted scarf. Fair Isle patterned, that, made of hand-carded lambswool. Both scarf and gloves are tossed over a chair in the scattering of derelict couches and easy chairs near the front of the sanctuary, and Kora begins unbuttoning her winter coat with one hand while lifting the lids of the remnant pizza boxes with the other. She looks up, as Janis crosses the cold stone floor. Offers the Rotagar the ghost of a smile, the edge of it, evident in the dim light every from a distance.

"Janis." Quiet, her voice, a certain richness, though her accent is plainspoken, broadly American. The English of cable news and suburban high schools rather than anything regional. "Evening."

[Janis] Janis was very much in touch with her wolf, the primal side of her mind more active than her human self at times. She angles her head down, earlobe and then chin brushing across her shoulder as she looks in the direction of the door open that her ears had picked up first. She runs a hand over her face, catching the red tendrils of hair to tuck it behind her ears.

Her steps are light on the stone floor; quick-paced and agile as her path seems to be crossing with Kora's sooner than she had anticipated when she had summed up the courage to go seek her out. Kora's distinctive form swims across her vision, instantly, Janis looks at the Skald's swelling stomach, a wan of a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Kora..." she stops abruptly at the greeting, dipping her head down in a tiny bow, "Sorrow-rhya, I was just coming down from the belfry to look for ye.'" her brogue is not difficult to understand, it accentuates her speech more than hinders her English. "If ye 'ave a moment, I'd enjoy a chat with ye, I 'ave questions that I wanted to ask."

She is apprehensive, not wanting to seem too eager, but neither was she shy. It's a controlled mannerism as she shows the Skald respect where it is do. Kora will read it in the posture that Janis keeps, her head bowed and turned, eyes never quite fully meeting hers, her portion of her throat exposed - submissive.

[Kora] (Per + Linguistics: what part of Ireland!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 3

[Kora] "I think I found the fresh one," the Skald remarks, thumbing open one of the top-two pizza boxes. There's a sharp, brief wash of the savory scent of the cooling pizza in the bright, cold air before whatever had steam had built up in the cardboard dissipates around them. "Sausage and pepperoni, looks like."

Then she's quiet, dark eyes reflective in the shadows, a moving gleam across the surface as she studies the Janis, her own head canted with considering - an answering gesture, just as feral as the subtle signs of reserve and respect evident in Janis' posture, the sweep of her head.

A twist of her generous mouth, just upward at the rightmost corner, the sort of expression that could easily curl into a deeper smile. "Yeah, sure," the Skald replies, sliding a hand underneath the fresh(er) box, picking up a pint of chocolate milk alongside. "Grab yourself a beer if you want one, and C'mon," she continues, with a gesture toward the couches. "Have a seat."

With that invitation, she carries pizza box and milk over to her favorite couch and sits, tucking a leg underneath her torso, tossing the open pizza box on a tottering, three-legged coffee table. "What's on your mind?" she says, when both are settled.

[Janis] Janis' interest perks as Kora mentions the pizza that still remains. She had broken into the pizza boxes earlier, scavenged enough to appease her growling belly and left the remains for the others. Now, she waits for Kora to take the choicer box before stepping up to the tables to pick through the leftovers.

She compiles a few difference slices into a box, tucking it under her right arm and palms two beers to bring along with her to the couches. Her boots leave a quiet echo in her wake as she looks through the abundance of seating, she sets the box and bottles down on the floor, walking over to another couch to pull two of the cushions from it, pacing back to drop them on the cold floor in front of Kora's favorite couch and flops down on. Her legs crossing underneath her thighs as she reached for the box.

"We never got to talk about what 'appened with me and my former pack. I can only assume yer aware of what's been going on since Eli rescued as I spoke with yer brother. Charming lad, Bone-Writer is."

She smirks at this, the corners of her mouth curling into a small reflection of the thin crescent moon that lingers over their heads. Snippets of it caught through the patches in the tattered roof.

"Since then, I 'ave time to reconcile my issues with reasoning from the kin. Linus told me of the city's plight, its enemy... 'Tis not good for a wolf to be alone, I 'ave been swallowing a lot of things in the past week..." a pause, sucking in a deep breath, her eyes cut down to stare at the pizza box in her lap before lifting up to meet Kora's.

"I want an opportunity to try out with Last Watch." There is a seriousness in the quiet disposition of the Rotagar, one born from hours of private conversations with herself and hearing the opinions of others. Kora will notice the subtle edge of emotion when Janis mentions Eli, the fondness that shows in her eyes or the small twisting smile that grows without Janis realizing it was there. Whatever the male kin had spoken to the Garou, it seems to have affected her decision to approach the subject.

[Kora] "I heard part of the story. From Linus and from Eli," Kora returns, pulling up a free leg to sit cross-legged on the couch. It's warmer here, the glow of the space heaters banished a fair portion of the chill from the stone hall, and the couches are dotted with blankets that smell - for the most part - relatively fresh. The subtle scent of earth-friendly phosphate-free detergents suffused in the fabrics. She's serious now, dark eyes on Janis' face, studying the Rotagar with a quiet awareness, watching not just her expression, but the way the electric glow of the heaters frames her face; the way muscles move beneath her skin. " - beginning with Eli finding and freeing you, more or less."

A brief twist of her mouth. "Ending with the visit paid him by Joey and Hunter." The results of which are obvious. Eli's moved into the Church; and brought Janis back with him. The twist fades, the Skald sobers, her low voice a quiet background note. "I'd like to hear the story of your pack, though. If you've a mind to tell it."

Quiet again, the pale-headed creature nods once as Janis remarks that she has had to swallow much in the last few weeks; and then once more, when she observes that wolves were not meant to run alone.

"If you talked to Linus and you still want to join us - " the humor there is subtle, bound up with a quiet irony. Kora is well aware of her brother's opinion of both the Sept and their place within it. "I'd be honored to have you run with us. You've already been taking up patrols, yeah? Step one. And you've met all my packmates, yeah? I think - " a moving pause, mouth pressed firmly together in consideration. Then another twist of her mouth, dark, gleaming eyes alive with the clear memory of loss. "Standing here, strong, after losing your pack - I think you already know what Hermodr expects of us. That strength of purpose in the darkest hour. In the last fucking days, until Ragnarok and beyond."

[Janis] A twitch of her nose when her nostrils flare to breath in a scent, or when the beer and pizza finally assault the olfactory glands in her brain, to the arch of a red eyebrow that rode up or down over brown eyes work the muscles in her face. Much of it hides behind the untamed red tendrils that fight to be free of its restraints, to frame the pale contours of her features.

Like Kora, Janis had no pure breeding, there was nothing regal about her bone structure, nor did it hint of the luscious ancestry of long ago Valkyries that flew across war torn battlefields. She rolls her shoulders forward at one point, becoming relaxed in the presence of the Skald, weathering Kora's scrutiny and expressions with raptured interest. A small sense of pride sparks in eyes when the Jarl tells Janis how strong she stands after her experiences.

She inclines her head in a bow, hands picking at the cold pizza, tearing it to pull it into her mouth to chew and swallow, but it doesn't hold her attention for long, neither does the beer.

Her voice is clear as she speaks, "Rebel's Yell was our pack name, we drove under the moonlight into the sunrise and across Umbra and the roads of the United States, both dirt and cement pathways. Just three cliaths in an old muscle car flying the banner of General Lee. Cecil Stone-thrower was alpha and Juju Bee our beta and theurge. They were Gnawers that I met when I was living in the Carolinas when I was sixteen. I ran away from 'ome and we all went up to New York to join the Sept of the Green with dreams of being pack mates and fighting the good fight. Bunch'a 'opeless romantics we were, kids."

Janis sucks in a deep breath, even now the pain of their memories surfaces, her eyes crinkling up at their corners, her face flattening into a scowl. "My first change came in New York, word got to my mother, who in turned called my Uncle in Ireland. Harrowing~Guillotine 'e's called from the Sept of the Dark Hart, he's a frightening Skald. Anyway, I trained under 'im, gained my first deed name which got changed when I returned back to the States to the one I go under currently.

"My folks are kinfolk, my mother's native born Dubliner, my father and brother served as Naval officers during their time. I was a bit of a military brat, which bred that rebellious streak in me. But that's a different story... We came to Chicago on our way to California, Jason my brother lives here in Chicago with 'is wife. When we made a pitstop along the Riverfront for Juju to take a piss we were jumped by the Fomori. I could 'ave sworn there was pure breed amongst one of them, a kin perhaps."

Janis reaches for the beer, kissing it to her lips as she takes a long swallow to wet her throat and then continues her story, "Cecil fell first, Juju and I were overpowered by our wounds and their strength, we took as many as we could. We were taken to an auto shop, I was unconscious in a cage whilst they tortured and killed Juju for information we didn't 'ave. When I woke up, Eli found me."

[Kora] "You'll have your vengeance," Kora promises, a note of steel in her low voice. "For Cecil Stone-Thrower and Juju Bee, make no mistake there." She is sitting rather more straight now, a certain intensity in her eyes, listening - closely, head canted, her food and drink forgotten in her hands. As the story continues, the Skald shifts sideways, unfolding her legs, finding the cold stone floor with her boots, like she needs to be connected to the goddamned earth for this. Once, then twice, she makes a fist, but otherwise her features are nearly seamlessly still, just the glittering light of her dark eyes on Janis' features as she tells the story.

"We'll start with the site where Eli found you and work from there. I'd say they wouldn't be arrogant enough to stay there knowing you were rescued, by the cursed ones are sometimes just that arrogant. If not there: we'll hunt them whereever they've taken refuge, put them in the ground and howl the fact of it loud enough that your packmates will hear it in their homelands, yeah?"

[Janis] Janis nods her head in agreement, shifting on the cushions to move the box of pizza out of her lap. "I would like that for them, Sorrow-rhya, 'tis the least they deserve."

She looks from the Skald, tilting her eyes to study the beer in her hands, and then slides them back up to focus on Kora. She watches the Skald, committing her image to memory, her scent drawn in with a flair of nostrils. Janis swallows as her throat ripples, finding her voice has grown a little quiet.

"Sorrow-rhya, may I speak of Eli?" she is uncertain how Kora will respond to her question of the kin, "He is of yer protection as all kin are under the Jarl. He's a good man, albeit a bit brash at times when 'is 'ead isn't on straight. I disapproved of the way Joey spoke of 'im like 'e were a pile of dog shite to be scraped off 'er boot. She paid me little kind as well, calling me a stray. I'd not be 'ere because of 'im... I owe Eli that much gratitude."

[Kora] When Janis asks to speak of Eli, Kora's dark eyes sharpen with interest on the Rotagar. There's something attenuated about the interest, a certain watchfulness backgrounded by something deeper. The flash of the wolf in her; that animal interest, keen and sure.

Then she continues; and Kora's pale head cants. She nods once, grimaces a half-moment later. Straightens her shoulders near the end, and replies, "Eli came to see me, too. I had much the same story from him. That Joey and Hunter treated him as if he were a child and insulted you in his house. I understand that they claimed his old home as territory, and felt justified because he was in their territory." Here, Kora offers a narrow, one-shouldered shrug. "Though he said that this was the first time they had been to see them.

"They treated you - and he - poorly. For that, I'm sorry. I think they also behaved foolishly. Had he stayed in their territory, Eli could've been an asset to them. Instead, they drove him out. A foolish consistency, there. If either of you have further problems with them, let me know."

[Janis] "Defiance lost that wild card that Eli could 'ave dealt them. With Last Watch, 'e makes a better ally and asset to 'elp, I know. I 'ave watched 'im around the church. 'e wants to set up a place for halfway place for others if they need it, so we aren't endangering the church and compromising the pack's safety."

Janis understands the wolf in expressed in Kora; her own rides close to the skin at times. Her nature leaning more towards feral instincts than human logic, but tonight? Tonight she speaks with a human reasoning, trying not to let her emotions and feral instincts get in the way.

Her tongue darts out to wet across her bottom lip, still tasting the beer. She sets the bottle down, rubs her hands across her thighs anxiously, "Sorrow-rhya, it is my 'opes that I can continue to work with this kin, to stay with Eli as I feel I owe 'im a debt for what's 'e's done. I know our kin 'ave a duty that's expected of 'im, but it's - " Janis sucks in a deep breath, releasing out quickly through her nose, "I do carry a strong fondness for 'im, there's a desire to seek yer permission to take 'im as my own when ye'd deem it so."

"Newly arrived to the city, it's foolish to just challenge ye for the rights to claim Eli for myself."

[Kora] "Are you asking my permission to court him?" returns the Skald, her attention sharpening on Janis again. Except for that hint of attentiveness - the faint narrowing of her dark eyes, the twist of her mouth, the upward lilt of pale brows - her expression is still, her mouth neutral now, her tall frame still. "Or are you challenging for him now?"

[Janis] "I am seeking yer permission to court him, Sorrow-rhya."

Her head lifts, brown eyes shining as they meet the sharp attention of the alpha female in front of her. Her shoulders straighten a bit, face angling to tilt as she sits still upon the cushions. Not a muscle twitching to move, her breath held in anticipation.

[Kora] Sorrow offers a quiet snort, the quiet mask of her pale face breaking into a brief, curving sort of smile. The sort that finds expression in the fine skin around her eyes longer than it remains on her mouth. She's still half-smiling, something withheld in the expression, when she tells Janis, "You have it, then."

[Janis] Kora can see the tightness in Janis' body as she waited. When she hears the answer, when permission is granted - she is relieved. The corners of her mouth pulling back into a silly grin that makes her appear young and girlish for a second. She tries to quickly compose herself, to not look so foolish and giddy, bowing her head in a deep nod to Kora.

"Thank ye."

A low rumbling purr echoes softly in the base of her throat, rising up somewhere from inside her chest - it's content. She reaches for the box of pizza and the beer. Her eyes lifting to peer at Kora with a smile, "If I 'aven't worn ye out too much, rhya, I would love to 'ear one of yer stories."

It's request - she sits like an eager pup before her mentor wanting anxiously to hear glorious passionate tales that the Skalds were infamous for... it would be a fine way to spend the remainder of the night to get to know the woman that would be her alpha.

[Kora] "Let me tell you about Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya, yeah?" Kora begins, sitting back into the couch. "He was an Adren of your moon, Jarl of the tribe when I arrived. Packed under the Eagles for years with Silence-rhya, but left them when they left the Caern. Fought to raise Maelstrom, and fought for Maelstrom ever since." Quiet, there, Kora pulls in a breath, the note a somber one after Janis' giddiness. It is the first story she tells though, Sorrow. Almost always the first story she tells.

She draws in a deep breath-exhales, all at once, pulled back into herself by memory, and begins, reciting in a quiet, insistent voice, sure and metered as the doubled beat of a hear, resonant as a drum.

"I remember a warrior, Alpha, Jarl, shadow-grinned.

The Caern-raiser, the bane-slayer, Odin’s son.
The firm kernal of courage; the heart
of the maelstrom. The bright limb and the blooded
hand of Fenris - who stood over a roaring sea
of corpses, now spent his last breath
in darkness. The foundling lost no more,
who offered fires to the outliers. The fool who
nourished the wise. The shadow who stood
first in battle when even full moons
quailed. Gone now with the daughter
of the mists, the swan-blooded, the slaughter
maiden to dwell in the house of the gods
until Ragnarok come.

He treads the Hel-way and returns, raging."

[Sorrow] There is a low band of clouds over the city tonight, the sharp, metallic scent of rain in the air. From the derelict caern the bright lights of the mile are occluded by an interval curtain of rain that does not quiet reach the lakeshore. The wind is constant here, scouring the concrete tarmac, battering the derelict guard shacks, the old hangers, the dry docks, the warehouses, the listing old ships rearing up from the lakeside flats like ancient bohemeths.

The pair of Fenrir are near the graves, tonight. Just a flat desolate stretch of damp earth beneath the broken tarmac, twenty or thirty feet from a low sloping pebbled beach covered in hoarfrost. The ground here is flat like the plains, the soil thin and damp. The markers in the physical world are few enough. Old stones slashed with glyphs, the odd piece of twisted metal. Nothing that a human would recognize as a shrine to the dead. And yet, here they are. Walking a path among the graves. Sorrow cleans off detritus from the graves of the Fenrir - and there are many Fenrir buried here - starting with the newest, the raw, half-frozen earth still mounded, and moving steadily back. The work is quiet, nearly meditative, and she performs it steadily, accepting whatever assistance Melody has to offer. There shadows move in vague tandem, multi-partite and indistinct.

[Melody] Melody's wearing a tan jacket, somewhat battered and bulky jeans, and purple sneakers. She certainly doesn't - in the words of Kora - "look like Barbie" tonight, though she's still a far cry from Kora's own more... bohemian look. As they walk, she generally keeps her arms crossed tight around her torso, whether from the cold or because she finds wandering amidst the dead to be overly creepy, well, it's hard to say.

She also lets Kora take the lead as they make their rounds, though she offers help where necessary. After all, honoring the dead is far more the work of a Skald than a Rotagar. And besides, Kora's been here longer. She's known some of these people - felt connected to some of these people - in ways Melody simply never will.

Of course, the work of a Skald also includes telling the dead's tales...

"So, how many of them did you know? Personally, I mean."

[Sorrow] "Fenrir?" - asks Sorrow in response, straightening from a crouch with a bit of an assist from a long-fingered handplaced lightly on the tarmac. "Or the rest of them?"

Her clothing is dark tonight, non-descript. The dark gray U of C hoodie that has become her newest winter garment. It hangs shapeless over her upper torso. The shoulder seams hit her an inch down her upper arms, and the thick cotton just looks lumpy over her arms, breasts and back. It is even loose - still - around her stomach, and the lower band is rather empty over her hips. On the whole it makes her seem larger, more ungainly, her frame defined by its widest point in profile rather than the narrowest. The hood is up, shrouds her features, casts a dark, defined line of shadow over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

That line moves sas she looks back at Melody, up, generous mouth twisting in consideration of her younger sister. Hard - still - for Kora to imagine her a Rotagar. To adjust to a world where she's not this lone satellite of a creature, defined by two entirely divorced worlds of Before and After.

"Of the Fenrir, I knew Night's Reprieve, Wrath," she indicates the graves with a gesture of her chin, " - and Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya. Night's Reprieve was a sin-born Godi. He died defending a Fianna kinswoman from cursed Garou. Wrath was a feral-born Ahroun. Died in battle against some abomination the enemy was trying to raise in the woods. And Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya," a brief, supple twist of Kora's mouth, and a lifting glance up. Winnowing, her ability to remember. "he was my Alpha. Jarl of the tribe when I came. An Adren Rotagar, fucking badass. Probably the biggest loss to the Caern since the raising, though I - " she continues, a winging, sidelong look. "Am admittedly biased."

[Melody] She smiles faintly at the last part, a look that's more sympathy than amusement. "Linus mentioned him to me, I think."

And then her lips quirk into an expression that's half a cross between smirk and frown, and maybe a bit of sucking on a lemon thrown in - not an entirely uncommon expression when talking about their brother. "Of course, Linus had a lot of things to say about..." And she sort of gestures, vaguely, in implication sort of taking in the entire area around them. "...things in general."

And then she smiles again, and it's warm like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "I should probably ask you about things at some point, see how much he got wrong."

[Sorrow] "Li has rather alot of opinions," returns Kora, grabbing her small bag of debris - mostly stray leaves, the odd bit of trash tumbled over the tarmac by the wind, but also the occasional tribute. An old egg roll wrapper from Kemp's grave, an empty bottle of vodka poured out over another - and standing, shoving hands into the pockets of her heavy cotton jacket. "Not all of them wrong. Some of them, though - " Here, Kora gives a narrow shrug, the gesture mostly lost in the wealth of fabric in her hoodie.

"I knew others here too. Sandman was Silence's last packmate. Died the same day Kemp did, and between the two of them it nearly drove him insane. I was half-convinced he was going to slaughter me when I told him. Probably the only reason he didn't was that his mate was there. Imogen - " a brief, narrow frown, considering. "Slaughter. Have you met her yet?" She makes a quiet noise in her throat. "Most of those left don't remember him, not really. Not in a way that matters, yeah? But she does."

A sharp, sidelong glance, back to Melody. "C'mon," she continues, swinging the bag toward the dancing lights of the barrel fire they can see in the middle distance. "Let's get warm. And you can spill the sort of misinformation Li's spreading."

[Melody] She nods, apparently taking it all in. What she makes of it inside the privacy of her own thoughts, however, she certainly doesn't enunciate.

And then she's trailing along behind Kora as she starts off towards the fire, and Melody perhaps bites back another comment about the "homeless" motif that seems to define so much of Garou life in the city. Are you sure this isn't a Bone Gnawer Caern...?

"Well, you know. For one thing, I'm pretty sure he's halfway convinced he should be conking you on the head and dragging you off for your own good."

[Sorrow] This earns someone a quiet snort, a low laugh, mostly withheld, contained inside the cage of her chest. There's a cold wind tonight, the damp sort that gets under one's skin, into one's joints. Sorrow hunches her shoulders forward as ward against the cold as they walk, her hands in the pouch pockets of her hoodie, the bag swinging with her gait, bumping against her thigh with each moving stride.

"More than half-way. He wouldn't even make his sacrifice to Maelstrom until I earned my rank. Spent his first two months here telling me everything that was wrong with the place, and still does that regularly."

Then Kora shoots Melody a hooded glance, lifting her chin in a glancing movement. Light shines across the surface of her dark eyes. "Why do you think I'm here?"

[Melody] "So how long before he goes out and slays some giant monster solely so he can try and get 'promoted' over you, then try and pull rank and order you home?" The smile and the tone of her voice probably help blunt some of the potential bite from that comment, but still, Kora almost certainly knows it might not be as ridiculous a thought as she's made it sound. Or, at least, it might rankle a bit because he's certainly got an opportunity to try and steal himself some glory while she's effectively sidelined by her "condition".

She starts to open her mouth, probably to throw out a comment about Linus' litany of "everything that was wrong with the place", but stops when Kora asks her own question. And then she looks at her with a sincere (and seemingly sincere sincerity, not feigned innocence or deliberately implied ignorance) look, meeting her eyes.

"To be perfectly honest, I have absolutely no idea why you're here. No judgment, no assumption that this is a horrible place to be, or an important place to be, or anything. Bias free. Tabula rasa." And then she smiles faintly. "So, why ARE you here, Kora?"

[Sorrow] "Whatever he is," returns Kora, a certain narrow twist to her mouth. "Linus isn't a gloryhound. Trust me. I've seen my share of them, especially since I've been in Chicago. A place like this attracts them like a lodestone, yeah? Every misfit cliath with a half-baked idea about taking the war to the Wyrm, making a name for him or herself hears the story of Caern, it's founding, rewrites the story with him or herself in the starring role, and bam. Here they are, passing through for a moot or two before moving on.

"I'm here for that story, too. On the most basic level. I'm here because I have a duty to those dead. Here because Fenrir raised the Caern, because more of us died defending it than any other tribe. I'm here because my Alpha's buried here; because I stood in front of the Sept and told them his story, then burned his corpse in a fucking rowboat we reclaimed from one of those boats.

"When I came back to the States, I flew in on some military cargo ship from an airbase in Iceland. Could've taken a moonbridge from my home sept to one of the big ones up north here, but I wanted to find a place that was both mine and Fenris', yeah? All those years at Vindur und Ringing I was both awed and smothered by the weight of history. So," a glance over at Melody, here. "Chicago. First day I was here, Kemp, he was Jarl, then, offered me a place to stay. I've been here ever since. Stormhammer and all the rest, they've got more defenders than they need. Here, every hand means something. This place is a fucking promise, a reminder that we can still win battles, even wars, and I'm here until I die."

[Melody] She's quiet as Kora offers her own explanation. Her own attempt at putting meaning to her choices.

"So you're just a gloryhound too, in a way. Just not your glory." Smiling again, defusing what could otherwise be taken as insult or mocking with mood and tone. Joking. Slathering unpalatable observations with a warm chocolate coating.

"Suppose the question of the hour is, do you think any of those hands actually accomplishes something? Or is it just a case of feeding hands into the grinder until you run out of hands?" Again, her tone doesn't sound judgmental, or even dismissive. Certainly not the way it would have sounded if Linus had asked. If anything, Melody almost sounds like a therapist, asking overly neutral questions about your relationship with your mother. "And would you say that you can make more of a difference here, than, say, somewhere else?" She frowns a bit again. "After all, if there's any truism about Garou, it's that there's always a dyke somewhere in need of some fingers."

She pauses for a moment after saying that, a slightly odd look passing across her face, as if realizing after she said it that a cruder person could read double entendre into that. And possibly make comments about Black Furies or something.

[Sorrow] "Jesus, Dee. I'm starting to wonder if I'm on the Oprah show," returns Kora, winging a sweeping look back at the younger Ragabash. When Melody calls her a gloryhound (for someone else's glory) Kora offers a faint, narrow sort of shrug. Just one shoulder, up and down beneath the oversized hoodie.

There's a faint, subtle hill here, in the physical realm, mirroring the hill leading to Maelstrom's place in the center of the Caern, at the heart of the thing. Kora's chin lifts in the direction of the hill. The edge of the the hood pulls back, disinters the twist of her hair at the nape of her neck, spilling fine strands down underneath the oversized hoodie she wears.

"Ever seen a totem like that, a spirit of the Wyld, living and thriving in a place like this?" Kora asks, quietly. Question with a question. Answer for an answer. "I've not. And imagine, ten years ago, that thing was - sleeping, or buried under the earth, inert, dormant. The Caern's a fucking miracle, every day it lasts. It's a promise that we can still win the big battles, no matter what the hell else is going on in the world. It's the first blow, maybe in the last battle. Maybe just in the next last battle, like when Half-dan the Old took back Vindur und Ringing from the fallen ones, yeah?" Her passion is quiet, rich and low. Still: it's there, in every syllable, every phrase, every movement of her voice.

To the last question, Kora merely shrugs. Breathes out a quiet breath. "I don't think about that. I made the sacrifice and pledge to Maelstrom. My word's my word. That's all."

[Eli Booker] Roman was young. It was the weight of what he was and the responsibility that knowing brought with it that aged him. Regardless of this, kids got homesick. Eli casts a quick glance the Garou's way and then returns his attention to nothing at all - the crumbling facade of the church or the coolers that held their drinks and other necessities.

"Ever been to Zion Illinois?" Eli shifts his weight and leans forward a little moving his muscles a little so that they didn't grow too stiff. "It's about an hour outside of Chicago. My club has a chapter out that way I think. Flat land, lakes ...hiking...as rural as you can get that close to the city."

[Roman Turner] "No, ain't been out of Chicago but twice since I got here. One time?"

He too leaned forward on his seat, resting his forearms across his thighs with the bottle of beer held between his knees as he shared a tale.

"Linus and Simon and I headed out of town in my cousin's car we borrowed? We went in search of this Carnival freak show? And let me tell ya, once ya entered that place you were way, way out of town. I think it was in one of them alternate realities to be honest."

[Eli Booker] "No shit?" Is Eli's reply. His head turns slightly so that his attention is on Roman. "I'll bet you never get used to it...to seeing the bullshit you guys see...." Reaching down, his fingers brush away dust from the toe of his steel toed boots.

"When I found that other Fenrir, Janis?" He pauses to see if Roman recalls the name, "Rides the Cowboys," He adds in case the Garou doesn't. "Anyway, I couldn't believe the shit. There's this fucking Toyota man ...and inside the Toyota? You ready? A body and a severed goddamn head." Eli sits up straight, shaking his head. "I couldn't fuckin' believe it. Then, she's in a cage right? A cage."

[Roman Turner] He was once again wondering what the hell kind of deed name was Rides the Cowboys and wasn't so sure he wanted to know how it was earned when Eli mentioned the headless body and cage.

"Yessir, there's some twisted stuff out there, but I gotta ask this. How the devil did she come to be in a cage with a headless guy in a truck? Was she human or a wolf? I mean, if I was gonna go through the trouble of taking off a head, I'd take the prize in the box too, ya know?"

[Eli Booker] "Yeah..." Eli nods, sighs and shakes his head. "I don't know Roman. All I know is she was in a cage - almost naked and human - with some weird ass collar around her neck." He rests his forearms on his thighs.

"This guy comes out shooting at me, the dogs attack her and she can't move. It was pretty fucked up. I've seen some shit in my time, but that ranks up near the top of the list for pretty fucked up things."

[Roman Turner] "Wow, I ain't never heard of nothing like that before. Makes the vampire boy sound like nothing now."

He chuckled, setting the bottle down between his feet.

"I ain't met this Cowboy rider yet, and with that name, I ain't so I want to get within spittin distance. I ain't wearing no saddle and ain't gonna sit still for bare back neither."

[Eli Booker] Eli laughs at that, canting his head and throwing a humored expression the Rotagar's way. "Vampire boy? Now that's gotta be a story." To the comment about Janis' dead name, the kin just shakes his head.

"What's that song?? Save a horse and ride a cowboy?" He laughs, then grins mischievously. "Gotta wonder right?"

[Roman Turner] "That's Big and Rich and well maybe if she weren't dual natured I might consider it, but she's one of them two headed baby gals, ya know?"

[Eli Booker] He laughs, shaking his head. "You're fucking crazy." It's meant as a compliment, in Eli's crazy brain rather than an insult. "She's got a nice rack though...Cowboy Rider." Eli whistles long and low, a hand rising to run across the top of his head.

"I mean ...as far as racks go, it ain't half bad."

[Roman Turner] "No, no, her rack is just fine for a Kin, but she's too close on the hormazone chain for me to be looking at her rack. Touch it and next thing ya know ya done broke the litany and the reason it's on the list is cause ya get two headed babies that thank God can't have more or you'd have six toes, two navels and three eyes among them two heads. They'd sit there and argue over who got to use the spare eye. And really think about it. With three eyes, how do ya know exactly which ones to look at?"

[Eli Booker] Eli belly laughs. It's loud and echoes off the church walls around them. Slowly he stands and holds one hand out to Roman - the universal offer to give another person ' five'. "It'd be real fuckin' hard to argue with anything with two heads and three eyes. I'll leave that to you and your moon ...you're better equipped."

Stretching, the kin points at Roman with one long finger.

"I..." He begins, "...am going to go. I have a shit load of packing to do so I can get the fuck outta dodge before the troublesome twosome decided to come back and give me anymore shit. But, I'll be back." He offers in his best Schwarzenegger voice.

"We gotta hang out more Roman, you're funny as fuck."

[Roman Turner] He rose, slapping his hand against Eli's with a wide smile that took another couple years off his face.

"It's been right nice to make your acquaintance Mr. Eli. Ya need any help moving, ya call me."

[Eli Booker] "You got it." He says, pointing at the kid again before turning fully and heading out of the church. Elijah's step is far lighter than when he had first arrived at the Last Watch's stronghold.

"Stay gold Ponyboy!" He yells over his shoulder before ducking out the front door and heading for his bike.

[Roman Turner] That made him shudder. Ponyboy. Because he thought of the Cowboy rider name.

"Lordy, I ain't gonna sleep for a week."

He waved Eli off, closing the door behind him.

[Drew Roscoe] The low rumble of a diesel engine in an otherwise (relatively) quiet neighborhood is the first indicator that Drew had arrived. She hadn't been by for a while, but really, how many people drove diesels in a city this big? It's perhaps a minute after the engine dies that the front door opens with no preceding knock and Drew Roscoe steps inside, knocking snow-slush off her boots at the door.

Eli's greeted in passing with an upward flick of eyebrows, surprise at running into him, and a warm smile, a few brief friendly words before he's on his way. He was on his way out, had places to be and things to do. Drew was on her way in, she had her own things to address.

The door had no sooner closed had Drew stepped through. She found Roman's back a dozen yards away or so, and grinned at him, lifted her hand to wave and then to doff her winter cap and work on undoing her coat, top button first, working her way down. "Roman! Hey, you busy?"

[Kora] "Come on, I'm starving - " urges Kora, pulling open the wooden doors to the sanctuary. She has a pair of flat boxes in hand, topped with a pair of white paper bags. The smell of Italian food - not the usual pizza - but actual Italian food, sausage and onions, pasta, garlic breadsticks, and the like - rises from the containers, sharp and savory in the cool, bright air. Melody is left to juggle the rest of the bags and a tray full of warm drinks in a molded cardboard drink carrier, enough to fill her hands and challenge her balance, especially since the drinks do not all fit perfectly into the carrier. Her voice rises, sheers off. Is carried a bit by the wind. It's lower than Drew's, quieter - but there's a certain resonance to it, and the truth is - she knows how the pack house resonates.

"And if you hold the tiramisu that close to the hot chocolate it's gonna fucking melt. The whipped cream and shit."

If nothing else, Kora's pregnancy has ensured the packhouse a rather more varied menu of takeout.

[Roman Turner] "Well howdy Miss Drew. What brings you out in this cold? Ya know they are predicting another big ole snow storm, right?"

He came forward with a welcoming smile.

"Come in, come in and warm yourself. Sure I got a minute."

That was about when he not only felt Kora drawing close, but heard her.

"And here comes Miss Drew."

[Melody Himinndottir] "I'm sorry, some of us weren't born with four hands. And I never learned to juggle."

Yes indeed, Melody is trailing along behind her sister, completely overloaded and looking somewhat exasperated. One assumes that if Kora could have figured out a way to balance something on her head, she'd be doing that, too.

"Also, you worry too much."

[Drew Roscoe] Drew's tucking her hat in her coat pockets once the heavy blue winter garment has been unbuttoned. The gloves were already in the pockets, it was chilly outside for sure but not enough that she really needed the gloves. Hands take a second to sweep her hair out of her eyes, tuck it behind her ears so it'll stay out of the way, and then disappear into her coat pockets. She leaves it on for now, helped maintain warmth in the place, so she wouldn't feel the need to hoard a space heater.

"Thanks," she offers the friendly teen, letting the door close behind her and stepping on in as suggested. Her eyes crawl up to the ceiling and the holes in it, regarding for a moment, then drop down again, past Roman's shoulder to where Kora's voice flooded from. It wasn't loud, but it filled a room and caught the ear anyways. The Kin nipped her lower lip idly, lifted a hand to wave her greeting to the Skald and those that would enter behind her, and shifted her attention back to Roman.

She just looks at him for a few seconds, like she's remembering exactly how young he was, and that's changing her mind about something. Finally, though, she shakes her head a bit and smiles, half-apologetic but mostly just warm. "Had a question but I think I just gave myself the answer. Was also gonna ask if Rain was around but I can figure that one out myself." Her head nodded, then, toward the procession of food making its way in, playing a balancing act with take-out boxes and drinks. "Think we should offer a hand?"

[Linus] "People are Loud!"

It's the wake-up call from the Godi, who's hours seem to be the most sporadic of the lot, fishing in and out of the umbra on any given day. The walk back to the pack turf after Kora's brief check in of the new Kinfolk was uneventful, as was the several hours of explorative patrolling and convincing of Hrafn to go out in the rain and keep watch and eye from the relative shelter and comfort of several safe havens. His own comfort level had been less than pleasant, having been forced out into the rainy streets several times just to prove to the Hrafn that it wasn't so bad. This had resulted in no small amount of laughter on the Blackwing's part for repeated performances and the Godi returning after the patrols were done in something of a 'mood'.

He sits up, face slightly bedraggled, jaws clapping, from inside his favoured pew, where the mix and match of his clothes piles sit, the various odds and ends of his duties and what few personal possessions he cherishes and keeps safe (fewer and fewer still these days). The sodden remnants of his clothing hang on the wall nearby, while the various layers of flannel he keeps himself bundled in are pushed off, revealing a wife-beater over a lanky frame and the comfort of a pair of black long johns. His feet touch the cold stone floor and he winces slightly, flicking toes around until he gets comfortable, murmuring a

"Refreshing!" under his breath, at the sensation before standing with a stretch and a yawn and a sniff.

"I smell Gnocchi?!"

[Prayers to Broken Stone] From inside the Church proper come the distinct sounds of a guitar.

Sitting on top of a wooden pew with his feet braced on the seat is the Galliard known as Prayers to Broken Stone, a twenty-something blond haired boy with the broad shoulders and handsome features better suited to a college footballer. Perhaps, in another life, in another reality where there was no War, or Werewolves for the cause, he would have been precisely this.

As it stands, he is a lone individual with the Rage to make any full moon proud and the weight of it; all of it; war, death, his own mortality; sitting square on his shoulders. Some days, more than others, the weight becomes staggering, sinks the Cliath's feet way down into the mud. Tonight, he's sitting not far at all from the slumbering Linus, a notebook open on one knee; his former Alpha's guitar resting across his body; pick in hand. Indeed, it's very likely it's the Fiann's idle strumming that wakes the Fenrir.

"Tends to happen," is Patrick's distracted response, head bent over a chord. "Evening, Princess." He greets his new brother, without looking up.

[Linus] "Eveni-"

Linus head snaps around toward one of the broken windows, voice carrying the sort of punctuating loudness he was complaining of a moment ago.

"Where the Fuck Did the Sun Go?!" The Godi has trouble keeping track of it these days it would seem.

[Kora] "Hey Drew," says Kora, walking in after her younger sister. The family correspondences are buried there; in a certain sharpness about the eyes, a certain length of their limbs if nothing else. In the pale, straight lines of fine blonde hair. Kora is taller, with a wider mouth and darker eyes. Older by half a decade or more. The truth is, they're half-siblings, without breeding that might mark them more strongly to Garou senses.

Both are laden with take-out, the scent of it so absolutely distinctive in the cold air. "We're doing Italian, you're welcome to join." Then Linus wakes up, to the breakfast of champions. Do I smell Gnocchi? "Morning sleepyhead. You very well may. I can't remember everything I ordered, and I might have ordered one of everything."

A glance back at Melody, a hint of sharpness. "About important things, yeah. Like my fucking dessert."

"Hey Patrick. Patrick, Drew, this is my sister Dee. Dee, Patrick's my packmate, Drew's our kin." A subtle nudge of a look, sideways. "Why don't you introduce yourself." A strange echo, that, accidentally on purpose.

[Roman Turner] "That ain't so nice Miss Drew. Ya done got my hopes up that maybe ya came to ask for a date and now ya done got cold feet."

He teased with a glance towards the direction the smell of food and sounds came from.

"Let's go help them....eat it."

His smile widened as he rubbed his hands together in an entirely greedy manner.

[Melody Himinndottir] "It is freezing out. Your dessert is almost certainly frozen. Any warmth left in your cocoa is probably only serving to restore it to its natural state. You should totally thank me." Rambling? Not quite. Though offered up in a deadpan tone.

"And I will introduce myself as soon as you tell me where you want me to put all of this stuff, unless you are expecting me to hold it all night long. In which case, you will soon be eating off the floor, because I am beginning to cramp."

[Drew Roscoe] Roman gets a chuckle and a shake of the head at the jest about cold feet, and she hums a quiet affirmation, agreement that they should go help eat all this food, and walks to meet where Kora and Melody were headed to set the food down, intercepting part way to hold her hands out to the newest sibling in offering to take something out of her hands, help with the balancing act, so that Kora's dessert didn't melt.

"Nice to meet you, Dee. Let me help ya out some, huh?"

Patrick gets a sweep-toward by the Kin's doe-brown eyes, and she smiles for him, but it's more of a one-sided corner of the mouth thing. Linus is glanced toward next, he gets what's leftover of Patrick's smile before she's focusing more on this new Rotagar once more.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon's car pulls up at the Church and he slips out with a little smile worn on his face. It was strange how easily he melded into the neighborhood... He wasn't Urrah by tribe but he was certainly Urrah by birth. His clothing, his equipment, and his comfort within the confines of the city all painted the image that Simon was as much a part of this city as this city was a part of him. He was a new kind of predator, a hunter who stalked the streets of the city. The concrete beneath his feet was simply a new form of terrain, on which he was comfortable enough within. Garou weren't typically fond of the city but Simon was simply one of a new breed of young men and women born in response to the Garou's need to hold a larger presence within these melting pots of human ingenuity and corruption. The city was a place as wondrous as it was filthy and dangerous and who understood duplicity better than a Shadow Lord?

The Full Moon carried himself to the entrance to the Church with a little smile taking shape. His hand reaching up to pound against the heavy door. He loved this door, it always made him feel so much more awesome. Why can't more Garou choose giant concrete fortresses as their Pack houses?

Tonight he didn't come for battle, and he sure as fuck didn't come into someone else's territory to make trouble. Maintaining good terms with local packs was an important thing in a Sept and it would seem Simon knew this much. He was the consummate soldier and treated everything he did as a war. That meant keeping on good terms with his allies. It would be a bad idea to alienate one of the more important packs in the sept now wouldn't it?

He could come here and run his mouth, maybe wave his dick around and spew crap out his mouth but that would only get him un-invited. This was not his territory, despite his comfort in the area, and he would treat it with the same respect he expects within his own territory. This was Kora's house, she ran the show and as long as he was here she was in charge.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick does glance up at that, his mouth twisting in Linus' direction. "Got tired of waiting on you, went home." With the closing distance of other pack members the Fianna's blue eyes swing that way and he's watching the door as first Kora, then another fair-haired creature, followed by Drew Roscoe and Roman enter.

"Hey, Dee; Drew."

He doesn't get up immediately, but does slip the guitar strap over his head and carefully set it against the wooden seating. Slapping closed the leather-bound notebook with its weather-worn pages all curling and yellowing at the edges, the song-keeper wedges a pencil into it and sets it beside the guitar; sliding to his feet and scuffing a hand through his hair as he does.

[Linus] He snaps his fingers, climbing out of the pew, the pounding of the Door creating echoes throughout the interior.

"Five bucks says it's the Maytag guy. Dishwasher's been on the fritz..."

And he's struggling to put on a pair of loose trackpants, the elastic loop of such seemsbroken or much too large for his all too slim frame.

[Roman Turner] He sounded put upon, but he went for the door, calling.

"I'll get it."

In a long suffering voice. Once the door was opened, he greeted Simon with.

"Howdy Simon. Oh wait, how come ya always know to turn up when there's food? Ya smelled the garlic didn't ya? Dang it!"

Another faked long suffering sigh as he waved Simon in.

"Come on, Supper's waiting."

[Melody Himinndottir] "Drew, is it? Oh, I will love you forever if you free me from bondage." And thus begins the complicated dance that is trying to pass a number of bags from one to the other without dropping or spilling anything. By some miracle, this is accomplished with a modicum of grace and a fair amount of speed.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] "Dude," Patrick starts after Linus; spreading out his arms. "I told you I could fix that, where's the trust? I'm going to look at it right now." The Galliard deviates from the path toward the door and makes a beeline for the kitchen.

[Linus] "Dude! I was kidding! We don't have a Dishwasher!"

He's cracking up mid-way through the sentence.

"You are so new!"

[Kora] "You've been washing your boxers in it again, have you?" returns Kora to Linus. Then, she lifts her voice. "OPEN." - to carry back to Simon, knocking. On the theory that the Wyrm wouldn't knock, and with the whole pack about they can handle anything that comes through without needing the heavy wooden doors as shield. Roman's already walking over to the door, and Drew comes over to relieve Melody of her burden.

"Over there," though, she says to Melody, indicating the tables with older, abandoned pizza boxes near the couches and space heaters as the appropriate place to leave the feast. Kora's beginning to clear off the pizza boxes, find some space to spread out her feast.

"Oh, hey - Booker's moving in," she informs Linus, the retreating Patrick. "Until he can find someplace new to crash, yeah?"

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick stops, frowning.

"Then what the hell was I putting dirty dishes in last night?"

[Kora] "Simon!" Kora here, turning and glancing over her shoulder at the Shadow Lord. "Everything's fair game except my hot chocolate and Tiramisu."

[Linus] Linus blinks and looks at Patrick. Then snaps around to Kora.

"When the Fuck did we get a Dishwasher and why the fuck didn't anyone tell me?!" He's dropped his track points back to his ankles and is pointing rather insistently toward the Kitchen.

[Melody Himinndottir] "Oh God, Kora. I know you live with a bunch of guys, but doesn't anyone throw garbage away around here?" She wrinkles her nose a bit at the pile of old pizza boxes.

[Kora] "You eat breakfast lunch and dinner out of a pizza box, Li," Kora explains, patiently. Faux-patiently. "Pizza boxes don't go in the dishwasher. Like Dee says, they go in the trash." Though to Dee, the Skald shakes her pale head once. And intones, solemnly.

"Chiminage, man. Ask Li."

[Drew Roscoe] This is the chaos of a crowded home- doors being knocked at, someone (typically the youngest, this holds true here) running to get it, two or three conversations going on at once, none of them quiet. Drew was an only child, she didn't grow up in a house full of siblings and chaos, this wasn't something she was intimately familiar with, this sort of ruckus. However, she's worked in crowded kitchens, pressed herself through slim gaps in crowded hallways and participated in college campus events where the mayhem was so much more.

She could handle it. Her eyes hopped between Patrick and Linus as they have an exchange about a dishwasher that no one seemed sure of whether it was real or not, Linus with his pants about his ankles, half-composed, not trying to be in the first place. Patrick caught between kitchen and open room, Roman and Simon at the door, Kora setting her boxes down on a table or two after empty pizza boxes were pushed away.

Drew was quiet, largely, letting Melody decide which bags to hand off to her, and once they were she set them on a corner of table before rolling her shoulders and setting to gathering up the pizza boxes and other food bags and carriers that were left behind.

One bit of the conversation catches Drew's ear though, and she's glancing up to Kora with an inquisitive eye. "Booker? What happened to his house?"

[Simon Zahradnik] He finds himself grinning when food is mentioned. He followed Roman into the church with his eyes looking around for signs of their recent battle."So how's everyone holding up since the whole... Thing?"He laughs a bit to himself cause no one was dead so obviously folks were good but it still seemed polite to ask."And when did you grow balls in place of a brain?"He asks Roman with a little smile remembering the New Moon's bold leap back into the Fray after their battle.

When he gets closer to the others his attention shifts to Kora."Please woman... I might be a full moon but I'm not stupid enough to steal food from an expecting mother. That shit'll get your ass killed."He says with a little grin presented back to her.

His attention turned on Melody."Guys can't throw garbage away... It's one of those Physiological differences between men and women I think. Women have breasts... Men can't throw garbage in the trash. I don't understand it I just accept it."He says with a knowing nod, the secrets of men were sacred and it was impressive enough that he would share these secrets with a woman he's never met before!

[Melody Himinndottir] "The spirits demand you live in filth? Just which spirits are you trying to placate here? The Trash Heap from Fraggle Rock?" The words might sound harsh, maybe even insulting, but the tone is anything but. If anything, she almost sounds amused.

[Roman Turner] "Varmits. Eli is moving out of his house cause he had varmits coming in. We invited him to come sit a spell with us."

He headed towards food as soon as he let Simon in. Knowing better than to wait in line when it came to food around here.

[Melody Himinndottir] She raises an eyebrow and gives Simon a look which quite possibly speaks volumes, but leaves it at that.

[Linus] "Close, Dee" Linus offers, finally getting around to belting up his Track Pants. A piece of the inner elastic is pulled out and drawn taut with a knot to ensure it remains in place. The Wife-beater is hidden under a second hoodie, this one a deep brown and ratted about one cuff, like it had been mauled by some vicious dog. The tattered sleeve is rolled up and pinned just behind his elbow while the Godi scratches his head and glances at the younger of his Sisters.

"Rat." He flicks a hand out and around the area. "Not worth the effort of getting into a bargain and a pinch with the little fucker, but having and cultivating the smell of so much food in and around the territory, keeps them coming back thinking they might get a scrap or some crumbs to pinch. Nothing we're not willing to part with either. It ain't proper chiminage but their presence also helps to keep the wyrm on his toes. If anything in the City promotes Gaia's 'Do Not Fuck With' moniker, it's the Rodent Pop. Keeps the Weaver off our backs almost completely."

And he draws a wide ouroborean circle in the air.

"Circle of Life, and all that." He yells on his way to the double doors, still bare foot and waddling slightly. "Taking a Leak! Don't eat my Gnocchi!"

[Prayers to Broken Stone] There's a grimace as the Fianna turns around to stare back at his brother. "Ugh, man. Pants. Pants." He's waving a hand, and vanishing into the kitchen to, as promised, investigate the potentially phantom dishwasher. When he emerges, wiping his hands free of grease; earned not in the kitchen but during the course of the day, the Galliard's attire was that of overalls, half covered by a jacket thrown atop them but the scents of a garage lingered on him; he's answering the Fostern's comment regarding Booker.

"Yeah, okay. Was meaning to say -- " a beat, Patrick's gaze hones in on the Shadow Lord for a moment, there's a tightening around his eyes as they fall away, return to his Alpha.

"I'm still living in the place I shared with Howard, it's got a working kitchen, plus room for another if someone needs a place to crash outside of here." Patrick's mood, as volatile as his Rage these nights, seems to dip for a moment as he adds: "I've cleared out all his things."

[Roman Turner] He about choked to death with Simon's words.

"Oh man, the first part? I got them in the womb, they come as a matched set, part of the basic equipment, though they ain't got a warranty. Which is what ya should remember when ya got a room full of gals and ya go on about how women folk can clean up."

[Melody Himinndottir] Melody opens her mouth, as if she's about to say something to Linus. Closes it again. Opens it. Closes it again.

Then she shakes her head, as if deciding there is nothing she can possibly say that is worth whatever sort of response she'd manage to get out of him.

[Kora] Kora unloads two flat boxes. They look like small pizza boxes, but when she opens them up they contain big aluminum containers of baked pasta. One is lasagne, the other is baked ziti. Both of them are covered in enough cheese and sauce to clog the arteries of the entire defensive line of the Chicago bears. In other words, delicious.

The last bag she sets down is full of garlic rolls, and the scent - of yeast, butter, bread and garlic - that opens up from the package is fucking heavenly. There's nothing to match it, not really, in the world.

"I think he had a visit from the neighborhood watch." Kora tells Drew, with a brief, narrow twist of her shoulders. "Found them less than hospitable, so he decided to seek his fortune in more welcoming quarters. That's my take on it.

A glance back to Simon, this one rather more level as she peaks back the foil and reaches to swipe a fingerful of sauce from the lid. "We're well, thanks Simon. Body and mind. This is my sister, Dee. Dee, this is Simon. Shadow Lord and Ahroun. And Simon," a twist of her mouth, brief. "Trent's perfectly capable of taking out the trash." Among other things. She is pregnant.

That hint of a gleam in her dark eyes changes though. She cuts a glance from Simon to Patrick, back again. There's a leveling there, a certain awareness of the subtle physical signs of tension in his eyes and stance.

Her look is straight, so direct, her dark eyes reflective and her pale features sober. Just a narrow twist of her mouth, the border of bitter and sweet, that. "You need a hand with shit like that, you let me know. Be good for you and Eli to meet, though. He's driving a tow truck. Maybe some business opportunities for you both, there."

[Simon Zahradnik] His smile grew in response to Kora's comment."I am sure he is..."He adds with a little knowing nod of his head."So I thought I would inform folks. I'm starting up a little class... Next month. I am thinkin' we'll meet Wednesday nights. Combat training essentials. Lukas thought it'd be good to help people get prepped for battle but I don't think runnin' around trying to train one person at a time how to fight was as efficient as possible. Either way I'm hoping everyone will show up... This isn't just about teaching cubs how to fight. This is about prepping a sept for war so I'd call it mandatory cept I can't force anyone to do shit they don't wanna."He says this to everyone present before smiling a little."I'm also thinkin' we'll set up a friday night self defense class for Kin."He says before taking a seat.

His attention then shifts back to Roman and his grin grows brilliant as does the sparkle in his eye."Survival of the fittest... It's how it works. If you don't survive to reproduce then you weren't fit enough to reproduce right?"He asks with a little smile.

His attention then turns back to Mellody."Got a piece? Should teach most boys right quick to clean up after themselves. That's how I'd handle it anyway... They're garou they'll live, and it'll get the message across right?"He asks her with a little smile. He could be all kinds of helpful when it came to advice!

[Kora] (phone! brb!)

[Melody Himinndottir] "I'll... keep that in mind." The smile she offers isn't quite genuine, though it's probably close enough that no one other than Kora or Linus would notice.

Though it becomes slightly more genuine as she turns to look at Linus, and one assumes images of childhood are playing through her head, as she imagines their mother yelling at him to clean his room, and then shooting him when he complains. Ahh, is there anything imagination can't do?

[Drew Roscoe] Roman's answer is met with a curious raise of eyebrows and not much else. Kora's is met with a nod and a distracted look glazing over her face as she took to stacking up pizza boxes in a more orderly fashion against the wall. If they were supposed to be for a spirit then she wouldn't throw them away and risk offending it, but she was pretty sure the spirit would accept them stacked up and out of the way just as well as it would were they sprawled across a tabletop.

Once things were neater, when there was more room for the food to be set out, Drew helps herself to one of the garlic rolls and settles for that, for now, stepping back out of the fray of hungry Garou.

She was pretty sure she'd seen someone lose a hand getting in the way of some beast's feeding frenzy before.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] There's a moment, his meeting her gaze when he seems as if he's on the verge of something; some confession; some words to speak on what's been going on inside that pretty head of his. But then he stalls, and reaches out to snare a piece of hot bread, tearing some away with his teeth in a very wolfish gesture.

"Yeah, will do."

He settles for it itself, the simple, aimless confirmation and shoots a glance at Drew as she snags some bread. "You want a drink or something? I'm gonna get some of that whiskey Imogen left behind." Melody gets the benefit of those impossibly blue eyes next: "Drink? You might need it."

Whatever orders he takes, the Fiann shuffles off in the direction of the kitchen; it's hard not to breathe a little easier when he's out of sight, it's in nobody's imagination that his presence has gotten worse, that the rage that had been high to begin with now seemed stifling. It was equally in nobody's imagination that the change seemed to have occurred in the days after Heir of the Ruined Day's death.

[shadows] ((Do you guys mind one more? I promise to bring Rain in carrying dessert for the pack party ;) ))
to Drew Roscoe, Kora, Linus, Melody Himinndottir, Prayers to Broken Stone, Roman Turner, Simon Zahradnik

[Prayers to Broken Stone] (Go for it!)
to Drew Roscoe, Kora, Linus, Melody Himinndottir, Roman Turner, shadows, Simon Zahradnik

[Roman Turner] He listened to Simon and thought about it as he went to get plates and silverware. In the kitchen he murmured low to Patrick.

"Ya gonna be just fine. Ya part of us now. It's a solid thing, this."

He winked before turning to return to set the main room and set the items on the table before digging in to one of the pasta dishes.

"Well, I reckon folk might benefit by training classes, if they have a mind to sign up or whatever. I think it could be a good place for some of them that ain't packed to find others of like mind and maybe become more solid by connecting with others if they ain't packed."

He paused to take a bite of garlic roll, talking around the lump he pushed in to his cheek between chewing.

"Some of the Kin might benefit from combat training, though maybe not so comfortable with a True teaching em, ya know?"

[Linus] Linus is gone for a few minutes and when he returns his mood has settled to a calm boil. He shoves the door open and closed behind him, moving back into the Church while pausing every so often to wipe the wet from the bottom of his feet on the cold stone floor which is not as cold as it used to be after being outside for a few minutes. He sniffs at the air again, moving through the Church proper, around the appropriate bodies as necessary until he reaches the couches. He steps up onto the cushions and moves quickly past those standing around with digging hands and reaching limbs, hitting the end of the table with a few motions at those in the way to move...move...move...

Linus plucks up the Pizza box stacks, murmuring with the effort and teeters dangerously before slumping off the Couch arm and back onto his feet. He carries the pile of near a dozen boxes, on over toward one of the Church Corners, tucked away in the shade and shadow of the flickering kerosene lamps that line the support pillars of the Church itself. Several are dumped there. He then moves around the Kitchen passageway and the Altar, and deposts a few more in the next corner. He repeats this for the other two corners of the Church and returns to the tables with a quick yawn and a glance around at those present.

"Alright you Fuckers. Since You're all so complain Mcbitch pants about the Boxes, here's the deal. You stick boxes, but only those large enough to feed a family, in the corners of the Church. Each box has to remain in place for exactly a month after which they can be thrown out. Makesure there aren't any leftovers inside before you do this or we're going to get a lot of unwanted attention. If you see-" He pulls down an eye lid and stares around the congregation, stepping up onto a nearby Pew to get some height and oration "-any Rats or Rodents scurrying about the place, that's normal. Do not, I repeat, Do Not harm or hurt. They ain't friends but they do us good service."

A pause, as if to measuring if that was getting through to everyone. Then:

"Secondly, we've got a standing pact with the Ravens in the Belfry. No one here should be going up there, unless they talk to me first. All pack members know and understand the requirements to keep them Appeased. Do not piss them off or go looking to talk to them on your own. They will find as many different ways of taking advantage of you as possible and that's my Job." A firm frown. "And if you make my job any harder than it needs to be, I will bind a fuckin' Fire Giant to your ass hairs."

And he holds up a Third finger, though he'd failed to do so for One and Two.

"There are scratched in Glyphs along the foundation of the entire Church now-" And he points, around the lower stones of the Church walls, where the carved and chipped stonework indeed bares the rough and rudimentary symbols of the Garou language. Much of it is common knowledge among the Garou, but there are some if inspected, that do not correspond to any easily recognizable symbols. "These are part of an on-going Ritual of mine that requires some very delicate and precise, measures. Do not wreck, scuff or harm them in anyway. If you notice even one of them is in some state of dis-repair, you come and tell me. If something gets damaged, you come and tell me. If you spill some Cola on the ground in the middle of the church and it threatens to spread toward the Walls, you come and tell me. This shit is important and the more free favours I have to do, the less capable I am of serving this Pack..."

A pause, again, scanning the crowd of bodies around who may or may not be listening to him.

"That said...if any of you would like to lend a hand with Spiritual endeavors? Then I will see what I can do about giving you a list of possibilities. Do not." And here, Linus' features seem to drift into something...serious. Fierce, even "Do Not, fuck around with my Bargains or this Pack's umbral turf without telling or talking to me first and I give you the go ahead. Notice anything wrong, tell me. Simple simple..."

And he finally leaps down off the Pew, with a glance up at Roman and a pointing finger.

"Teach the Kin to fight? Fuck yeah!"

[Roman Turner] ((Lord, my brain is going, that made no sense ))
to Drew Roscoe, Kora, Linus, Melody Himinndottir, Simon Zahradnik

[Rain] It is not quite yet freezing outside. Not quite. The temperature lingers barely a degree and some decimal point above, but Rain keeps valiantly holding out hope for Spring. There were a few devilishly warmer days, just enough to get her hopes up, and then right back into the white-heart of winter's madness.

The heavy door of the Church pushes open again -- Rain doesn't knock to announce herself, nor does she stop at the threshold when she hears a cacophony of voices -- and one of the pack's kinfolk carries a bag of groceries and her guitar into the entryway with her. Of those voices that reach her, all she can really make out of them, anyway, is Teach the Kin to fight? Fuck yeah! from the Godi who hates to babysit.

The door closes, shouldered firmly and pushed until it latches, and then she finds a place to lean her guitar for now.

[Simon Zahradnik] He turned his attention on Kora."If one of your kin is gettin' hassled by the locals I can go take care of that shit for ya..."He offers with a little nod of his head."This city's pretty fucked up but most people like not living their lives in a wheelchair. You just gotta know how to politely to tell them to back the fuck down. If you cave they'll take it for weakness and keep pushing."He adds politely enough."You wanna push our kin around that's cool I just want folks to understand I will tear these streets up if they wanna start crossing our kind. Aggression might not be welcome to some but it's the only thing some of these punks understand. They know violence and they respect it."

He turns his attention back to Roman when he returns."Not some folks... And not the packless. Every single fuckin' garou in this city can benefit from training and working with his peers. Especially other packs. Even if you're the toughest fuckin' full moon in town you always have something to learn from someone else and if you don't then you have skills you can teach others."He nods his head."We're going to war and I'm not gonna sit back and let another soldier go out onto that battlefield unprepared."

His attention then shifts to Linus and he listens to quite a bit of important Pack information. He didn't need to know this so much since he rarely fucked with people's territory. However, there was a little at the end that involved him and his head nodded.

"Kin too... We don't want most of them to fight or whatever but whether we like it or not they are a part of this war and sooner or later there's a chance every single one of them will find their ass alone in a dark alley with someone. I'd like to see our kin prepared for that eventuality not just my tribe... All tribes. This is war and it's not about any one tribes blood cause in a war all our blood gets spilled and mixed up in the same greasy slimy fuckin' puddle."

[Kora] There are bowls in there, sturdy, cardboard. Silverware, and when Linus returns and begins giving the pack - the full pack, here - his instructions about the bargains and deals he has made, the spirits he has cultivated, the rituals he is unleashing on the unsuspecting stones of this great shambling solid wreck of a home-to-wolves, she dishes herself out a bowl of baked ziti. This takes eight trips back to the foil-covered container with the small spoon she has, but she makes each one while Linus speaks, watching him with the considered attention of dark, direct eyes.

A winging glance at Drew as she starts to straighten up. Kora's generous mouth twists at the rightmost corner, and she looks up as Patrick picks out a hot roll, slathered in garlic and butter. Bites into it. She holds his eyes for a stilling moment, nevermind the large group around them, it feels wholly private until her gaze flicks wordlessly back to Simon and Roman.

"He's right," Kora remarks, in her low alto. "I'm not sure the kin need to learn self-defense from an Ahroun. You wouldn't begin to - " a sharp kind of breaking off here. An indrawn breath. " - to know the limits of a human body anymore. What it's like to be stuck in one.

"Maybe recruit a kin or two, let them teach directly. You could observe, offer advice if you feel the need, but Roman's point is a good one."

A fork hovers over the ziti. "Hey Dee, hand me the parmesan, would you?"
Her half-smile is deepening, a twist of her mouth. She glances over her shoulder, lifts the bowl like a toast to Rain. Mouths, "Lasange" by way of invitation without raising her voice over the interval distance, then picks up her own hot chocolate and finds a place to park it. Near a heater.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew blinks at Patrick when he offers her a drink, then grins in good spirits and shakes her head. "Naw, I'm alright, thanks though." He accepts that easy enough, it seems, and moves on to offering Dee something to drink as well. Linus goes off on a speech about his doings with the spirits and the laws-- don't hurt the rats, don't bother the crows, don't fuck with the glyphs, things like that. She pays half-attention at best, the spirits didn't pay mind to her, she couldn't see or interact with them unless there was deliberate force on their end to make communication come through and reach her.

They're talking about teaching Kin to fight, and she's grinning a little at the thought, but not piping up. Instead she's finishing the garlic roll, rubbing her fingers clean of the grease and butter on her pants, and moving toward the door, pausing only briefly to touch Kora at the shoulder when she passed and explaining: "Just remembered something, I'll catch up with you guys later." From there she's heading to the door, but pausing when she sees Rain.

Rain's leaning against the door, pressing it closed, and Drew catches up with her before she gets too far into the church, speaking in a low tone of voice while she pulls her hat and gloves on and buttons up her coat.

"Rain. About the night at the coffee shop, I owe you an apology. Stole your night away and dashed it on the sidewalk, and then left you with your kinsman and woman to deal with them when I got their tempers up and going. I owe you somethin' to make it up. You call me and let me know what you'd like to settle us even and friendly again, okay?" She smiles an apologetic and sort of goofy manner for the Child of Gaia Kin, reaches out to pat her lightly on the arm, and goes for the door. "I'd hang out but I've got an agenda for the night. We'll catch up, okay?"

And gone. We call this drive-by-making-amends.

[Kora] A brief glance back at Simon, then. Kora shakes her head, quietly. "I appreciate the offer, but neighborhood watch was a metaphor, man." There's a hint of humor, there, a brief twist of her narrow shoulders.

[Linus] "...A good metaphor though. Bout as fuckin' useful, the lot..."

He goes digging into one of the bags in search of the Gnocchi.

[Simon Zahradnik] He shrugs back at Kora."That's the thing though... When something comes for them it's not gonna be pretty or nice. Especially those whose blood makes them a target. It's gonna be big and nasty and capable of tearing your heart out and showing it to you while it still beats. We shelter our kin from what we are capable of then they're not gonna get a taste of what they need to expect right?"He asks Kora curiously."I would like to believe the world is fair but it's not and the monsters that are gonna come after our kin aren't gonna be annoying dudes in night clubs. That's not what I want to train the kin to prepare themselves to face off against."

[Rain] There's some hullabaloo going on about Ahrouns teaching kin to fight. That's as far as she's gotten into the Getting Home routine of sorting out the pack's whereabouts (and going ons) when Drew wanders up to her, apparently on her way out.

Rain offers her seeming sister an understanding smile.

"You didn't dash my night on the sidewalk, lovely. But I'll take a girls' night, no drama, someday if you want to make ammends for nothin'." Her voice is evenly tempered, more than warm for Drew. Whatever happened that night hasn't changed how Rain feels about her. "Stuff gets complicated. I get it. We're good."

She moves out of the doorway to let the Fenrir pass.

"Don't let me keep ya."

[Drew Roscoe] Before Drew's out the door, Rain's answer has her pausing and smiling. Relief spreads on her face like butter on hot toast, and she wraps her scarf more snugly about her neck before nodding to the girl that's so easily mistaken as a sibling, even once as a twin.

"Girl's night it is."

The breeze is cold only for a moment, Drew's quick to close the door behind her and prevent heat from escaping.

[Melody Himinndottir] Melody, for her part, brings the requested foodstuff to her sister without protest. And without the sort of whining Kora might have remembered she would have gotten had she asked the same thing years ago. If anything, she seems a bit distracted.

If anyone actually took the time to really study her, they might notice she's listening intently. Not just to what everyone is saying, but how they're saying it. Maybe even filing it all away in some deep folder in her brain, profiling these new personalities for future reference.

"What? Oh, no thank you." That to Drew, when she offers her a drink.

[Rain] There's only one thing to do in this circumstance. Finding herself abandoned by her fellow kin, and about to wander into a group of wolves discussing what terrible things could befall her as a lesser citizen of this great Nation, Rain hefts the bag of groceries, wraps one arm under it to balance it, and calls out to the gathering:

"I'm making brownies for the war effort, holler if you want anything from the kitchen."

And off she goes. This Unicorn knows better than to get in the middle of their conversation, free pasta or not.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Roman's aside to him in the kitchen is greeted with a sidelong glance; and eventually a shoulder nudge against the Gaian. "Yeah," he confirms quietly, "I know, man." Then it's back to discovering the location of the -- not Welsh, but serviceable -- whiskey the flame-haired Doctor of his blood had brought to the Church in weeks past.

He discovers it hiding away behind an assortment of odds and ends and pours himself a generous offering; collecting both bottle and glass and maneuvering back toward the door. He stops short at the sounds of the Shadow Lord making another of his grand speeches about Kinfolk and the War and -- some things never changed.

I've never heard anyone enjoy the sound of their own voice more than Simon, man. Howard's voice echoes in his memory so clear that for a moment, he's sure he's about to turn and glimpse the curly haired Theurge shaking his head beside him, peeping to see if the coast was clear. I have, he'd idly retorted at his brother, I'm looking at him now.

He times himself well, Patrick, so that when he emerges with his own private supply, it seemed, of alcohol he's catching the tailend of Linus' public service announcement and raising his eyebrows at Simon. Which seemed to often be his reaction to all things to do with Bonegrinder. "Did I miss the Rah Rah Go Team speech," he asks drolly as he passes Kora. "Drat."

Rain is approaching, and Patrick's eyes shoot to her; he pauses, then nods. "Hey."

[Roman Turner] Rain came through and tried to do her usual slip off and hide thing, only this time Roman was jumping up to take the bag from her.

"Ya need to have some supper. Come eat. Ain't no one here's gonna hurt ya. Besides, got news for ya. We got another coming to live with us for a bit. Ya know a fella named Eli? He's moving in, so don't be scared if ya run in to him."

Patrick came through and asked if he missed the Rah Rah Go Team speech and added his Drat and that set Roman off to cackling.

[Kora] "Love 'em with nuts -!" says Kora. "Walnuts!" Calling out her own preference for brownies as Rain passes by, offering brownies for the war effort.

"It's in that one," Kora directs Linus with a movement of her fork. There's a fat roll of pasta speared on the tines, covered in sauce, peppers and onions and cheese. "The gnocchi, Li. I didn't forget you. I promise. The next bag over." She huffs a quiet, subvocal laugh when he remarks on the neighborhood watch, and shakes her head. The strands of her fine hair glide over her shoulder, mostly loose tonight, catching here and there on the weave of her new, dark gray sweatshirt. A size or seven larger than the last hoodie she'd been employing.

The hood has fallen back, leaving her sharp features out of the shadow. Kora draws in a deep breath, sparks a look at Patrick - that steady, moving, watching look, dark eyes following his path though the rest of her remains still - and glances back to Simon. "My point is that you won't know the best way for them to survive. You think like a Garou, like an Ahroun, not like a kin. You train them like an Ahroun, and you'll have a helluva lot of kin who are overestimating their ability to survive whatever's thrown at them; who fight like they need to kill or die, not disable or escape.

[Rain] "Careful with that--" It's too late, the Ragabash has taken the bag from her, as if a dozen eggs and some boxes of brownie mixes were actually a burden to carry. It's belated by the point she gets her mouth around the words: "There's eggs."

She's wearing jeans and well-worn boots, the now familiar brown coat. Milo's awful hat. The scarf that Roman gave her. Rain's got a small messenger bag, and her guitar is leaned against some out of the way place near the mouth of the Nave. She reaches up to loosen the scarf now that her hands are free, to cast Roman a small, slightly skewed but largely humoring smile.

From the Ragabash, she looks to the Jarl. Her smile spreads, warms and other nuances slip forward. Then the sweep of her brown eyes move on, to Patrick (there's sympathy here, something open and quiet), to Linus (patient, level, polite), to Melody (suspicious, just friendly enough), to Simon (wary).

So much for brownies, at least just now. Rain pulls her gloves off and tucks them in her pockets as she follows Roman back toward the group.

"I know Eli," she says to the Ragabash. "Seems to be good folk," she adds, with a warm enough touch to her voice to indicate they'd probably actually had a conversation, not just traded names in passing. "Evening everyone," she says to the group.

[Linus] "Sup Rain!"

He yells it, while following Kora's directions to the Pasta dish of choice. He pulls open several of the bags and finally 'Eurekas!' while pulling out the large dish of tin, covered in a styrofoam plate. He fishes a plastic fork out and peels back the plate to reveal the steaming primevera Gnocchi which is sniffed, smelled and appreciated with a grin all in one quick go. The Godi wastes little time, spooning a bunch onto the plate that had covered it before, licking excess sauce off his fingers. He pulls up a nearby lawn chair, plucked from some dumpster toss and without much else of a word or otherwise, digs in with the sort of boyish greed normally associated with after-school hockey appetites.

[Roman Turner] He peeked in the bag he'd taken from Rain and immediately set it down on the corner of the table before guiding her towards the food. A plate was shoved in her hands and a garlic roll was stuck on that plate.

"Here, ya gotta eat this cause we all did and ya know the saying. A family that stinks like garlic together, repells the neighbors."

He raised his voice enough to be heard next.

"Miss Kora's right Simon, ya ain't the right one to teach the Kin to defend themselves. It needs to be someone they might relate to. Just like Packs are more effective in combat if they work as a Pack."

[Simon Zahradnik] "You're a pretty fuckin' funny guy there Patrick. I like the way you totally mocked me for holding a discussion about current matters."His attention shifts to Patrick and his eyes immediately narrow at the comment."If you have a problem with the fact that we are under attack near nightly and struggling just to survive then you are sure as fuck welcome to get our ass out there and kill all our fucking enemies with your impressive and overwhelming might Patrick. In fact I would love it if you would handle that for me! Might give me two minutes to sit in a corner and have my ass a good cry and lament the hopelessness of this war."He says in a cold tone in response to the Galliard.

He turns his attention back on Kora."I think like a Full Moon and so I fight like a full moon. That's my point, and that's what I would like to teach them to counter. If you're going to fight a garou you need to learn how to limit his mobility and keep him at a range and you're going to learn that, best of all, from working close and actively with an Ahroun right?"He asks her curiously."Just as I seek to deny my enemies every advantage I can I expect to work towards training kin to counter the strengths of the garou and use their weaknesses against them."He says back to her with a little smile."I'm not gonna teach kin to go toe to toe in a fist fight with a Werewolf. That would be as foolish and get kin killed."He says with a smile.

"Either way I said I am arranging classes... I am looking for anyone and everyone who wishes to Contribute. I've already got three Full Moon's on board but anyone who feels they have something to contribute, kin or garou, is welcome."

[Rain] Rain's standing there, holding a plate with a garlic roll on it, with her jacket still on and her messenger bag still slung across her body (and none of them likely know that she is carrying, today, like any other day she goes out into the city on her own), looking like a college brat just recently returned from campus.

"Beg pardon," she says, interjecting into a conversation that's not her own. "Are things getting worse, or is this a more, um, proactive conversation?"

Her tone is calm, almost conversational. As if Simon and Patrick's Rage didn't each eclipse the bounds of what she could handle. As if she weren't the demographic they were most directly discussing.

Sup, Linus had called her way. She glanced his way, made a toothy smile and lifted her plate with its garlic roll in some show of solidarity or greeting.

[Melody Himinndottir] Melody turns as Rain greets everyone, offering a friendly (if somewhat distracte) smile and a bit of a wave with her right hand (her left currently holding a plate of ziti) before turning back to the interplay between Simon and the others.

She offers no opinions of her own (does she even have any?), because at the moment, of all the people in the room, she may have the least ground to stand on when it comes to holding strong stances on city politics.

Now, give her another few weeks, and she might never shut up...

[Roman Turner] "So what is it you hope to do? Teach the Kin to use guns to keep a Garou at a distance? There's a few Kin that are mighty fine with firearms, they might be best to teach each other, right? As for two minutes to sit in a corner to give your backside a good cry? Mr. Simon, this is our home."

He waved at the air in general.

"This is where my Pack lives. Mr. Patrick is part of my Pack. This is his home. Ain't polite to be rude in another's hospitality zone. Though please, if ya have a need to sit in the corner and cry right now, it's over yonder and so are the tissues."

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick downs his shot; his smile a wincing mockery as he turns; chuckling. The sound disputes the fire in his eyes; the unsteady burn of Rage spitting out from him. "I do sure as fuck have a problem with it, Bone-Grinder. I especially have a problem with you."

He turns back, grabs his bottle of whiskey and slings his guitar over his shoulder.

"So I'll go sit over in my corner and let people who don't deal with you. Let me know if my not giving a fuck gets too loud, I'll tone it down."

[Starla] It's colder than a witch's tit outside as the bundled form of the Gaian kin tromps her way up the sidewalk to the chain link fence that surrounds the church yard, she ducks down to slip through a hole in the fencing, making her way around until she hit the porch. A gloved hand rose to hook fingers into the hood of her jacket, the wool lining brushing along her cheek sends a shiver down her frame.

She sags against the door, pressing a hand and shoulder into it and pushes, her head peering through the opening she makes, peering around at the sound of voices. Her head pulls back just before she slips through without widening the gap that was just enough to let her through, and shuts the door with her back. Hands begin to work loose winter gloves from her fingers, tucking them away into a coat pocket as she walks away from the door.

[Simon Zahradnik] He smiles."That's also why I want to do a class involving kin Separately because we're going to teach them different things. It wouldn't make sense to have Garou and Kin in the same class."He says with a smile."I mean I did give this idea quite a bit of thought over the weeks I have been working on it."

[Linus] Linus swallows down a good collection of the Pasta, wiping his mouth on the untattered sleeve of his brown hoodie. Then he's turning in his chair to stare up at Simon, pausing briefly to regard Patrick with a diced up narrowing of eyes before returning to Simon.

"You got the permission of all the Tribal Elders in the City? To deal with and train their Kinfolk? You gonna take responsibility for any of them dying after you've trained 'em?"

[Kora] "Simon." Low and level and precise, that voice. As precise as a scalpel in the hand of a trained surgeon. "Patrick's my packmate. He's Hermodr's now, and he earned his place with us," a twist of her mouth. "Treat him with respect in my house. If you can manage that, grab yourself some ziti."

A faint flicker of Kora's eyes as Rain approaches, "Did you talk to any kin about this?" A lift of her chin toward Rain. "Might be worth consulting them while you work on your lesson plan, yeah?"

[Rain] Kora lifts her chin and looks to Rain. The latter would fold her arms across her middle if she weren't holding a plate. A plate with a forlorn looking garlic roll on it. Instead Rain's eyebrows lift a little, her chin lifts a little in acknowledgement.

Since her question has gone unanswered thus far, she looks to Simon and waits on an invitation to speak to his training program. To that end, she clears her throat quietly.

[Simon Zahradnik] He turns his attention back on Roman."Then you will deal with him when he insults your guests..."He says back to Roman before pushing back from his seat and standing slowly."It's called hospitality. You show respect for your guests so long as your guests show respect for you. I have not insulted your pack and yet one of your pack has insulted me..."He says before turning his attention on Kora."So I will excuse myself from your territory until it is dealt with. Thank you for the invitation to dinner and I am sorry things went this way."

His eyes then snap back to Kora."Until the matter has been settled I politely ask you keep Patrick out of Lake View. That is Dark Sky territory and if this is the game we are playing he is not welcome there."With his rather abrupt conclusion Simon turns to show himself out. He's been here enough that he knows his way to the exit and can show himself out.

[Roman Turner] He started shoveling pasta on to Rain's plate. Simon had a cow and marched for the door.

"I think there were disagreements on both sides Mr. Simon. Running off in a huff doesn't settle anything, though it does give Mr. Patrick the chance to feel satisfaction in driving ya off. Do ya want that?"

[Starla] "Geez Louis..."

Pale green eyes cut across the assembly of Garou, catching snippets of their conversations that only manage to confuse the kin. She wrinkles up her nose, starts to unbutton her coat with one hand, and tucking a lock of brown hair out of her eyes with the other. She looks at everyone, her eyes cutting over to and planting firmly on the Shadow Lord that was heading her way as he was showing himself out.

Her features harden, eyebrows furrowed until they nearly touched, "Fabulous."

[Roman Turner] He waved Starla in and towards the food, still offering a few words to Simon.

"A leader leads. A leader leads by example. A leader expects controversy and learns how to deal with it. If you leave now in on disgruntled notes of I won't come to your yard, you can't play with my toys till my feathers are smoothed, what kind of lesson are you as a leader, teaching now?"

[Kora] Then something shifts in her expression, Kora looks back at Melody, a flickering look, head to toe. "You done going walk-about, Dee? I heard from one of the guardians that you went to Caern. That mean you're staying?" Kora eats not unlike Linus. Like a boy, a teenaged boy feeding a constantly growing body.

She puts it aside, though, when Simon stands up. She stands, too. There's a certain hitch in the movement - an unbalanced place where the weight of her pregnancy requires an extra brace, a hand against the cushion, nothing more, but a shadow of what's to come.

"Stop, Simon." Her voice is low, but it carries. She knows the resonance of the place; the pitch to use. The overtones. A brief glance around the room, pausing once on Linus, then again on Roman before she walks in the Shadow Lord's wake, meets him as he stops. Pulls him aside if he's willing. Kora's looking up, the sweatshirt loose on her frame, except where it hugs the swell of her stomach. Her pale hair is loose, her eyes reflective in the muted shadows, her pale features still.

"I'll be frank," she begins, low. This conversation is mostly private, a moving murmur of sound, though her pack will have some sense of it from her body language. "I didn't hear him insult you. What's your grievance."

[Rain] Roman stopped shoveling food on Rain's plate. Which gives Rain the opportunity to turn around hand it to Starla (or try to, at the very least).

"Roman made you up a plate already," she says, handing it over.

[Roman Turner] He didn't miss a beat. Another plate was filled as he made sure both Kin were fed, reminding both that they had garlic so the Kin had to eat it or suffer alone.

[Linus] ...And as Kora stands and Roman and Rain welcome to the new addition, Linus face comes up and stares at the slender CoG with the Breeding and Eyes and his mouth hangs open a little. He stares for a good few seconds before finally turning to look over at Roman with something like disbelief.

"Who the Fuck is that?" Scratch disbelief. More like Another one?

[Roman Turner] It was time for him to give Linus a confused look.

"Who, who? Starla? She's my cousin, been staying here for near on two weeks. Where ya been? Starla, this is Linus, I figured somehow y'all would of stumbled across each other by now. Dang, ain't that just something?"

[Melody Himinndottir] Her eyes have more or less been on Simon, intent. Maybe waiting to see how he responds to the comments directed his way. Maybe because, on some level, she doesn't necessarily trust him. When Kora addressed her directly, her eyes snapped back to her, mouth opened slightly as if on the verge of answering... and then closed again as Kora is standing, attention shifting back to Simon.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick, now re-seated on a pew with a piece of bread in his mouth and his guitar once again re-situated on his lap raises his eyebrows at the Wyrmfoe as he gets to his feet; quoting back the reasoning of the Litany itself as he talks of the Fiann not being welcome in Lake View any longer.

Something about respecting your guests, in truth the Cliath's lip has curled a little in disgust, he murmurs something under his breath in a language not English, but not altogether unheard of coming from Patrick; in times of utter anger, or despair, or, like now from some source of unspoken irritation he retreated behind it, as if one language simply could not contain him. He is watching closely the interaction between Kora and the Wyrmfoe; his eyes flitting from Starla, to Rain then to Roman.

His brother gets a slight smile; the irritation peeling away but a little. He nods toward Kora and Simon, breathes out and starts tuning his guitar.

[Linus] "When the hell did-"

Linus interrupts himself with a grunt and a brief flailing of hands. He looks back at Starla and offers a grim lined smile and a two finger wave of 'Hello' before, eyes rolling, he throws himself back into his meal, already peeling back the Gnocchi again to dig for some more of the cherished meal and pasta.

[Starla] "I've lost m'appetite now that I've seen this here polecat fussing around."

Starla mutters as she shakes her head at Rain, refusing the offer of the plate that the other kin tries to pass onto her. She sets her hands on her hips, eyebrows shooting up high on her forehead, pivoting to face Linus. She gives the Godi an incredulous look, before glancing at Roman as he explains.

She looks nothing like the Ragabash, despite there being a relation. Roman was light where she was dark, her facial structure hinting at more of a native american blood than caucasian. "Linus? Like the Peanut's Gang Linus, the one that cuddled the security blanket wherever he went."

[Rain] Dinner is an inescapable reality at this point. She finds herself a utensil and finishes filling out her own plate in the way she'd prefer. Then Rain takes her plate over to the rage-filled corner of Not Giving A Fuck where Patrick is tuning up his guitar. She can feel the emboldened wash of tension and anger sweep across her nerve endings when she draws nearer. That brings her footfalls to a slow, and then a stop.

She settles on a nearby pew, seated sideways in it so she can watch him over its back.

"Hey," she says, finally getting around to returning his greeting.

[Linus] "Yes that Linus!"

He declares around a mouthful of pasta, bits of it dropping out of his mouth as he gnashes the air angrily at the mention.

[Melody Himinndottir] Knee-jerk reflex. It's amazing how some things have almost become instinct, how they can cut into our awareness and prompt a reaction even when we're completely off-guard.

And so it is that, even while almost entirely focused on Simon and Kora, some part of her brain hears Starla's comment, and responds accordingly. She turns, just for a moment, smile on her lips:

"Oh, he stopped carrying the blanket around at least two years ago."

And then she's back to watching.

[Linus] "Shut up! You're Adopted!"

[Starla] "Two years ago!"

Starla feigns a shocked expression, puling her hands up to cover her mouth as she tries her best not to laugh. She casts an amused look towards Melody.

"Ya don't happen to have pictures do ya? I bet Linus looked real adorable."

[Melody Himinndottir] "Pssht. You're the one mom and dad brought home from the pound." That time, she didn't even bother to turn around. Just sort of... waved a hand idly over her shoulder and shrugged. Then nibbled a bit more ziti.

[Simon Zahradnik] Kora stands in his path and he halts. His eyes on hers and his smile grows when Roman continues to speak. He shrugs his shoulders and looks back at Kora. She took the time to halt him and so he paused to give her the answer she sought."Your pack mate insulted me... I responded... I was informed I am not allowed to do so but the pack will also do nothing about it. There is your problem and I would advise you to address it. I have been nothing but an ally to this pack since even before it's formation. I have afforded this pack respect as well as fought by it's side..."He shakes his head then when she asks him to explain.

"I don't really think it needs an explanation. I've been informed I have no rights in your packs territory... That is not a situation I can stomach and so I will excuse myself from it."

[Linus] Linus' grips his knife and fork in hand, fists on the table, head tilted to one side and eyes narrowed over bared teeth. He sucks in a quick inhale and lets it out explosively, kicking his chair back and standing ominously. He turns then with those same narrowed eyes to stare at Melody.

"That's it!"

He points his sauce ladden fork at her.

"You're going in the lake Teenie Bopper!"

[Melody Himinndottir] "As if." She turns back long enough to make eye-contact with him, offering a slight nod towards Starla. "Try it and I'll have mom send me the album with all your baby pictures, and I'll go out of my way to show them off to every female Kin in town."

And then she sticks her tongue out at him before turning back to "the show".

[Kora] "Simon," Kora explains, with quiet patience - with that steady alertness that defines her. There are few physical correspondences between them. She's tall, but he's taller. She's pale headed, and he is dark. The blood of his ancestors surges under his skin; she has only the memories of her ancestors, not the bones. His shoulders are broad, his strength obvious. Hers are narrow, her once-boyish frame swollen with pregnancy.

Still, there's the sense memory of authority about her. The sharp-eyed animal awareness. "I'm telling you that I did not hear him offer you any insult. And asking that you tell me what he said to insult you.

"I cannot correct him unless I know what your grievance against him is. I have not barred you from my territory; I have invited you into my home, to my table, more times than I can count. You owe me at least this much: the courtesy of explanation before you storm off, severing ties. This - " a gesture between them, into the air. " - you're better than this."

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick's attention, even if not in the visual sense, is highly attuned to the discussion between the Fostern Galliard and the Ahroun making plans to exit. Bread swallowed, he does glance across at Rain as she takes a seat not far from him; her tension is noted, the way she puts some space between them.

Patrick's eyes read his comprehension of why that is, though his mouth dips a little in bitterness as he answers her. "Been a while, how are you, Rain?" Better than me I hope, seems to be the unfinished sentiment there, as he holds up one of the picks she'd gifted him. "Still going strong." He reaches over and pours himself another shot, dribbles of liquid running over the rim of the glassware as he throws it back; tonguing the inside of his cheek and glancing finally, over at the Shadow Lord.

There's a fixed interest in the Fiann's stare.

[Kora] "If it's serious enough," finishes the Skald, with a twist of her shoulders. "We'll find a Philodox or Forseti and the two of you can settle it with a challenge. If not, you're unwise to be so ready to sever ties when packmates defend their pack. I know what it means to lose a packmate; and the strength it takes to stand in the place where he fell. You can respect Patrick for that if nothing else." She forges oneward, still, her dark eyes gleaming, her generous mouth settled into a quiet, serious expression.

[Linus] There is a general clatter of pointing and pantomime behind Melody just then. No real words, but a profoundly moving performance that involves Linus pulling her head off, juggling it a few times with a clownish sort of professionalism before finally kicking a field goal through some distant Arches and performing a minor booty dance of celebration. A instant later and he's throwing his hands in the air and dropping the utensils he's been holding onto the entire time.

He scoops out another load of pasta into his mouth, sucking sauce off fingers and finally casts a glance at Starla-

"-Everything she says is a lie."

Before checking the exterior from one of the broken windows as if he might tell the time solely by that glance.

"Going on patrol. I'll be back in a few hours after the Hrafn are settled..."

[Roman Turner] He had half his attention on Kora and Simon. Finally excusing himself from the entertainment of Linus, Melody and Starla, Passing Rain who had gotten away from him quickly to join Patrick. Quietly he approached Simon and Kora to speak low.

"I'm sorry your feelings were hurt Simon. Really I am. All I can advise is that ya think over what I said. A leader leads by example. If the example ya want to give is going in to a huff after a Rah Rah comment and reminder to remember ya ain't in your home, then that is the lesson that will be learned. If we were in your home and someone reminded us to keep it civil on your home, I promise I wouldn't get my panties in a bunch. If ya hope to teach others to work together in combat, ya have to first overcome social situations like this. Learn to adjust and work through what ya might consider an uncomfortable situation, not use the insult, don't come to my territory card."

He shook his head slightly.

"I'm sorry. Now I'm gonna take myself off to my shift on rounds. Maybe I'll see ya again."

He nodded to Kora.

"Keep in touch."

Tapping the side of his head then turning to gather his coat and hat with a wave towards the gathering.

"Later folks!"

[Roman Turner] ((Thanks for the play!))

[Rain] Rain's attention is likewise pulled, torn, shredded between the two white-hot points of Rage in the cavernous space of the packhouse. There are other bright places, centers of tension and potential at each of the Garou.

His Rage is stronger than the last time they saw each other, but she's fighting the way that it pulls her shoulder blades together. That she's even come this close is saying something; it welcomes him in ways without her having to say a word. There's something, too, in the way that she watches him. Familiar. Warm. It's companionable; they might have been friends once.

"I'm gettin' by," she tells him. It says nothing of the handful of minor indignities that have passed her way since they last spoke. It's as much as he could hope for. He glances past her to Simon and Kora. She eats a bit of the pasta off her plate. "Kora mentioned you'd joined the crew. It's good to have you about," she says.

She says this even though his Rage makes her uncomfortable. Even though she has to pay attention to calming her fight-or-flight nerves. For now she's okay. It isn't easy, but maybe that only means it's a worthwhile fight.

[Simon Zahradnik] "I came into your home with an invitation... I came to your home to discuss matters which relate to current events pertaining to a war which I was mocked for discussing. When I chose to mock back I was informed that I do not have the right."He says this as his arms fold before his chest. This apparently bothered him quite a bit."If someone wishes to test my rage I am full well and ready to respond but I will not stand alone to be ridiculed when I feel I am due a little more respect than that."

His attention shifts to Roman then back to Kora."And now another joins the fray. Hounding and ridiculing me because he knows I cannot defend. And so if you will excuse me rather than putting his skull through a wall... I must continue on my path."

"Roman... Any time you wish meet me in the assembly area."

[Starla] There is a serious undertone in the words spoken between Kora and Simon. She can sense it, hear it, and sighs as she acknowledges it. Roman is quick to leave, his cousin barely has time to waggle fingers at him in farewell before he to vanishes. She crinkles up her nose, casting her eyes about to see who was left.

Linus with his comical performance sheds the impression of a smile on to her lips, but this fades quickly. She watched the antics of siblings with a shake of her head.

[Kora] "Roman isn't hounding you, Simon. He's a Ragabash, and he's offering you advice you would be wise to hear. There was no insult there. I don't mind give and take. Call and response." A faint glance back at her siblings, who had just exchanged such a serious of insults. "But I did not did not hear the insult you heard from my packmate; I've asked you twice to tell me what it was so that I could address it.

"All I heard was diatribe from you, directed at him. You're making more of this than I can see, than I heard, but that's your choice, Simon." A faint pause here, a certain stillness as she shakes her pale head.

"Not mine." A brief, supple, expressive twist of her narrow shoulders. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my ziti's getting cold. And my tiramisu is melting." So saying, she turns and walks back to the couches. Simon is left to stay or go as he pleases.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] "Yeah?," he asks her with a smile forming up on his face. "I hope they still feel that way after tonight," he adds in an undertone, his eyes flicking back to where Kora is now turning her attention from the Shadow Lord. The Fianna sighs, his chest rising and falling with the inhale and pushes himself to his feet.

"Scuse me a minute, Rain."

He follows in Kora's wake; his hand reaching briefly for the elder Galliard's elbow. "Kora, I'm --" His brows knit, agitation riding high with his desire to make himself clear. "I got issues with Bone Grinder." A beat. "They go back before I joined the pack. If I got in the way of dealings, then I'm sorry."

[Rain] Patrick got up and left. Roman had gone on rounds. Linus (He Who Does Not Babysit) was elsewhere seeing to his Rats, and Ravens, and whatnot. Kora and the Ahroun(?) who wanted to train up the kin-soldiers were winding down their unpleasant chat. Rain got up a few moments after Patrick, left her mostly untouched plate of pasta on the pew, and headed back to the table to collect her bag of groceries.

"I'm making brownies," she tells Starla, as if this were somehow important in the broader scheme of things. "With walnuts," she adds, glancing over to Kora. And without further ado, the Unicorn kin makes for the kitchen.

Not with a whimper, or at a run, but at a nice polite clip. If Rain ever earned herself an honorary deed name, it would probably run along the lines of she who offers baked goods (with a nod, of course, to Sorrow [renders bone]).

[Kora] "So I gathered," the Skald returns, cutting Patrick a sidelong look, dark eyes lifting to grave his profile. Her own features are serious, still and settled. Light sheens across her dark blue eyes, shadows cut lines below her sharp cheekbones, pool beneath her jaw. The lighting in his is ambient. Flickering kerosene lanterns affixed to the stone pillars, the glow of the heaters, red in the darkness, the gleam of a handful of camping lanterns in the living area.

She looks away from his profile just once, touching on Rain as she leaves, goes walking up the aisle toward the kitchen to make brownies (with walnuts). Then she looks back, dropping a speculative look down his features. "Did you intend to offer him insult?"

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon's eyes are flaring now... His rage wasn't just present it was threatening to explode. First it was Patrick but it is apparent that Roman's continued goading has infuriated him to the point where the Full Moon is, in fact, struggling to keep from grabbing a hold of the New Moon and doing something rash. He watches Roman leave with fury in those eyes then turns his attention back to Kora.

He stands there listening quietly to her. His eyes were far from calm they were furious, the rage within him could be quite difficult, and sometimes downright impossible to contain. Still he managed to do so well enough. He listened and it was apparent he didn't like what he heard.

He kept his arms folded and he watched her wander off. It was apparent there was a lot left unresolved in his eyes as she wandered back to her seat. He turned, and looked over the others who had gathered. Rain, and Starla had entered and he bowed his head politely."Goodnight ladies."He says before nodding his head to Kora."Good evening Rhya... I should go find something to do. You enjoy your meal."

Finally he turns to head back out into the cold. It might make things a little better anyway.

[Melody Himinndottir] Melody, for her part, is still watching him. Quiet. She's still holding a plate in one hand but she certainly hasn't been eating any of it for a while now. Tense. Aware.

If anyone were watching her, they might notice her relaxing fractionally once Kora moved away, but who would be watching her at a time like this?

[Starla] "Hmm."

Rain distracts the kin long enough to pull pale green eyes onto her, she dips her head down to drop her gaze to Rain's groceries. She steps up to help her tribe mate carry them to the kitchen. Her spine stiffening at Simon's farewells to them, she glances over her shoulder at him, dusky-skinned complexion flushing with heat and color as eyebrows furrow into a scowl.

She mutters under her breath, Rain can likely hear it as Starla stalks angrily into the kitchen behind her. "No good stupid sonuva bitch, who the hell does he think he is anyway... Mr. Crabby-ass, cross-eyed chicken-fucker."

[Rain] "Y' need to vent?" Rain asks her, setting the bag down on the counter and offering Starla a slip-sided smirk. The other Gaian was already halfway through her rant by the time Rain offered. There's mirth on her lips, but seriousness behind her eyes.

She turns the oven on to whatever the box prescribes and goes about getting things set out to make brownies. Two metal single-use pans worth of brownies. One with nuts, the other with extra chocolate chips mixed in.

"Sounds like you got history with 'im. Or maybe he's always this charming."

[Prayers to Broken Stone] "I don't like him," he admits, it's raw honesty and one of the Galliard's better qualities -- depending on the timing. He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, and turns to look his new Alpha square on; his face somber, though the tell tale signs of his despondency are creeping into his expression once more. "I didn't say anything he hasn't heard me say before, I didn't do it with the intention to make him take his war talk and go home, though.

To be honest I didn't even think that hard about it. I know he's the Wyrmfoe and hey, maybe I should respect him but I haven't seen anything in him worth of it yet. Sure, he can fling the Wyrm around in battle but for what he's here for?

I see a guy walkin' around telling everyone to stand up straight and salute the War every five seconds." He frowns, another shrug. "When I see different, maybe that'll change."

[Starla] Starla works her fingers over the buttons on her coat again, finishing the job that she had started at the door. Rain can see her pacing the length of the kitchen, shrugging out of the suede jacket and throwing it on the ground. She turns suddenly, spinning on her boots to face her kinswoman.

"THAT... that... hair ball! had the audacity to proposition me to screw him in his shower the first time I met him."

Green eyes narrowing, her nose scrunching up as she snorts loudly, her voice harsh in its speech as she starts to talk faster in agitation. Starla's chest lifts up, shoulders squaring back, her left hand jerking up into the air to point at the door in the direction of the room they had just left.

"And then! Oh ya won't believe what he did next." She is nearly growling at this point, "He's got the nerve to make some other Garou his personal messenger boy to deliver a box... a box! of abandoned puppies to the Brotherhood for me. I wouldn't have known about it if'n it weren't for one of the employees there, calling me to come git'em." She throws her hands up in the air, "Puppies, Rain!"

[Kora] "If it helps," Kora tells Patrick, "He came to ask my advice - " a pause, a mild one, somewhat withdrawn, a dark-eyed flicker over the Fiann's features. "Some time ago. About you, I think. How he might inspire you. What he could do. We all have our limitations, yeah?"

A brief, narrow shrug is inserted here.

"I think that you're going to need to find a philodox and settle this grievance with Simon. If you were Fenrir I'd tell you to fight it out. But you're not, and I don't know that that would do it.

"Beyond that, Simon made his choice. There's not much I can do about that."

A close look beyond Patrick, to Melody. "You can breathe now, Dee." A flickering look at her younger sister. "I don't know where you've been staying, but you should hang out. Spend the night."

Then a glance back to Patrick, a twist of her generous mouth. "Can you believe a Rotagar kept her mouth shut for that long? I'm gonna give Trent a call. Give me a few and I'll give you a tour of the residential wing."

[This is Liz's OMG must sleep post. :) ] O