[Sofie Janssen] A small huff is amused. She watches him take off his jacket, and while he's leaned forward, takes the opportunity to shift the way she's sitting so that her knees are to one side, resting into the back of the couch, and her spine is straighter so she doesn't feel like she's eating a kneecap. While there had been plenty of room for the Garou to sit elsewhere he had decided to sit right next to her, which doesn't bother her as much as it might others, understanding that Garou have different boundaries to humans.
"Yeah, more or less. Some of the girls here give that impression to tell you the truth." Shrugging a shoulder, she's back to watching his face, his grin. Her own doesn't come then, though, because she doesn't think much of folks like that.
[Hunter] He raises eyebrows to that comment, lips curling with incredulous amusement despite the fact that hers do not. It has been awhile since he heard a kin-folk talking about the others around her like that.
"They ain't so bad, I mean not all of em'. Some good ones n'here for sure. I ain't ever seen not a single orgy in here before if it makes ya' feel better."
[Sofie Janssen] "Really?" The look she gives him is complete disbelief. Not at the orgy comments, but at the not so bad part. Her look is wry, and her low chuckle matches it. "Please. The first time I walked in here, you remember that girl giving you and John the eye? I know you saw her. Pretty as a doe."
This sort of talk needs beers involved.
"But I'm glad to hear about the orgies. Even if there was, at least I have a decent headset here." Lifting the player for emphasis then tucking it into her sweatpants pocket with a chuckle. Sofie certainly does not seem to be the type like plenty of others. She hasn't given out a single come hither vibe to anyone. Then again, don't Fenrir go about it differently? Probably punch someone in the mouth before kissing them.
[Quinn] It's early yet for the owner of The Winchester to be returning to The Brotherhood, but then she went in earlier than usual. And on a slow, cold winter night like tonight, they didn't need so many people manning the tavern.
So Quinn bundled herself up against the cold, and she made the trek north to the place that, for now anyway, is home. She's been around for a while, has already showered away the smell of the bar and changed into clean, dry clothes. Voices in the common room, faint enough to be acknowledged but not loud enough to be understood, draw her out at last.
The two out there hear a door open, and then there she is, dark hair twisted up into a clip, dressed in a t-shirt and black cotton lounge pants. They can see the trail of birds winding its way up her right forearm. Hunter may notice that her ears are bare.
She stops in the doorway leading into the common room with a, "Whoa hey." Then she frowns, wears an expression that openly wonders if she's intruding, especially when she catches orgies. She quirks a brow at Hunter, an unspoken question there.
[Amunet Trujillo] She doesn't exactly stomp, but she's no graceful thing either. A career as a ballerina is definitely not in her future. Coming down the hall from her room, she glances around the gathering area and scowls deeply as something is muttered just under her breath.
[John] John comes up the stairs not like an ogre or another mythical beast but like a soldier, his steps controlled and purposeful, boots clomping but not crashing against the wooden stairs as he ascends. Behind him, there is little din from the kitchen. His Rage is half its normal strength, hardly the overwhelming wall of anger and nerves that it tends to be. It doesn't cause the senses to scream and the ironclad to shy away, though humans, the majority of them, still cannot tolerate him.
This is nothing new. He cannot even understand humans, let alone begin to know how to tolerate them.
It's cold as hell outside, cold enough to kill, and when John arrives at the top of the stairs, he looks somewhat frozen. Compared to last night, he does not look as though he wishes he were dead; his lips still have a bluish tint to them, and his skin is pale as the moon overhead. There are blisters on his hands that he popped hours ago, draining into the bathroom sink at the warehouse while he scowled, leaving flattened patches that would likely grow infected if he were human.
He didn't bandage them. Rinsing them off with whiskey is the only thing he could have done to possibly make his own self-inflicted first aid manlier, but he hadn't wanted to waste alcohol.
So, when John appears, he looks cold. He is cold, but he isn't here to warm up. He's here because he finally had the chance to look at his text messages and realize what it is that Amunet was going on about last night. Hunter, at least, is aware that his packmate has arrived before he has to turn around and find him with his eyes. The Modi doesn't acknowledge anyone out in the common room, save for a cursory flick of his eyes and a shrugging out of his jacket. He tosses it over the arm of the sofa, revealing his uniform of boots and jeans and a tame-colored thermal shirt, and keeps walking.
Whereupon he nearly runs right into Amunet.
He doesn't stop, and he certainly doesn't speak. He takes her by the upper arm, the expression on his face hidden from the congregated by his direction, and urges Amunet to walk with him back down the hall. His grip is so light it's barely worth mentioning; but he is also far stronger than he looks, now, which ought to be a frightening prospect for most people.
[Hunter] A Fenrir would most definitely be more likely to punch someone in the mouth than kiss them, a fury too perhaps, another reason why their tribes are not as different as they claim to be. This Fenrir talks about a girl and Hunter narrows eyes, trying to recall a girl who had made eyes at him. Truth be told he had been intently focused on recruitment rather than relaxation, the girl had probably escaped his notice. Maybe she had, but he has seen her since and he knows with a sudden realisation that blooms on his face of which girl Sofie is talking about.
"Ooohh.. makin' eyes at me?" He blinks, "Really? Don't remember that.. I seem ta' recall she was--"
He pauses, Sofie can see the slightest motion of his nostrils taking in a breath before his head turns and his eyes fall upon the Fiann in the doorway. Whoah she says, hey. An eyebrow is raised at Hunter in question but he isn't looking at her eyes, they have found their way to her ear and its lack of jewellery. She might notice a difference with the Gnawer too, the way his shirt bunches on his body and the strength of an arm that curls up along the back of the couch in her direction.
"Quinn." He says in a rumble and seems lost in thought for a moment before he continues. "Was just tellin' Sofie bout' tha' serious lack'a orgies here." A smile that reaches his eyes, something warm yet amused. Just then there is another girl behind Quinn, scowling and muttering.
Hunter isn't watching her though.
"Have ya' met?" He flicks eyes back to Sofie then to Quinn, questioning glance. He barely even looks at John though he knows what is occurring outside his line of sight. They have a totem phone now, he doesn't have to say anything out loud.
[Amunet Trujillo] Her mouth opens, then closes again. Scowling just slightly, she allows herself to be propelled down the hall without as much as a grunt of protest.
This is not good....
[Sofie Janssen] Giving a glance over to Quinn and Amunet who's came in behind the tall woman, Sofie watches them a second and takes in both their expressions before giving a quick look to Hunter. Her voice drops, but it's certainly not a whisper. "One of those your girl?" Unable to help herself, her teeth flash in a sudden and rather fierce grin.
Suppressing her chuckle.
Then John comes in, dumps his jacket and walks out to take Amunet by the arm and off down the hall. "Oooo," she whispers softly, then does make a snicker of a laugh under her breath. "Someone's got to tell that guy we're supposed to have better taste." We being the Get of Fenris, of course.
Quinn gets a nod and an actual smile from Sofie, though it doesn't make her expression soft by any means. Gentle and soft doesn't mix with this Kinfolks features. Her eyes aren't the sort that can get all bedroom nor pleasant either. "Hey," she greets.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The Strider comes from the hallway, freshly dressed. her hair is wet and somewhat tangled, having just showered and gotten her still-healing wounds from the other night cleaned up. She's wearing a black tank top and jeans, and generally seems to be in a good mood. Even if she is walking a bit gingerly. She heads down the hallway to the common room, pausing only briefly when she sees John and Amy heading in the opposite direction. She locks eyes with her half-sister, an unspoken message passing between them before she smiles and nods to John and continues on her way.
Once she makes it through the door into the common room, she looks around at those present and grins. "Hola, chicos and chicettes. What's shakin' like bacon?"
[John] Now, he hadn't made a scene last night though there are plenty of other men, let alone Garou, who would not have taken kindly to being toyed with, whether it was merely his perception or whether there was anything rooted in reality to substantiate the notion, nor being walked away from. John, however, is not a hot-headed young buck who has something to prove. He does not attempt to intimidate or dominate every other male Garou he comes across, though with his height, his breeding and his presence he would likely be capable of it without much trouble. Beyond that, he actually seems like he has a decent sense of humor, takes very little that doesn't require seriousness seriously, and actually has respect for someone other than himself.
It's a rarity, given what has been blowing through Chicago in recent years, but given that he can't talk, he doesn't do a lot of blowing up of his own ego.
So, last night, John had just laughed at what had happened because he didn't understand it and walked out. It wasn't until after sobriety hit him like a bucket of water that it occurred to him that wires were crossed, perhaps. Lord knows what he was thinking.
Passing by Sarita, John looks somewhat amiable considering he's pedaling her sister down the hallway towards their room. He gives her a lift of his eyebrows and a nod, the light in his eyes seeming to say Oh hey what's up! as though they're in a park in the middle of June on a sunny day and not the halls of a hostel.
They continue around the bend of the hall, and a moment later, a door opens and closes.
That's when he lets her go.
[Quinn] She laughs when Hunter says he was telling Sofie about the lack of orgies here. The sound is low, more of a huff through her nostrils than anything so defined as a hah. "Hi, Amy..." is all she gets before Guy strongly insists the other kinswoman head back down the hall with him. She steps out of the doorway, fully into the common room.
"Is that a bad thing?" she asks, and heads for one of the chairs rather than the sofa.
"Quinn," she gives as introduction.
[Hunter] Eyes follow the movements of Quinn intently and it wouldn't be an illusion if she saw his jaw clench and his lips press together in a flat line when she drops herself down into one of the chairs. But he doesn't say anything and although that eyebrow of his threatens to raise questioningly, it doesn't.
Sofie has a question, a low murmur as this is all happening, not a whisper at all but not normal tones either. She wants to know if one of those girls is his and Hunter just straight up does not answer her.
"I dunno, depends on ya' point'a view. Orgies in here though? Ain't no place for them sorta' games."
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] "Okay, seriously. If I'm getting left out of orgies, I'm gonna start kicking some serious ass." She grins and moves toward the couch. "S'bad enough that my sister gets laid more than I do, but I gotta at least have the opportunity to be competitive."
She sits carefully down on the couch and sighs. "So we're all exciting, being shut-ins on Friday night, huh?"
[Sofie Janssen] "Well met, Quinn." Sofie doesn't move from where she's sitting in the corner, back to the arm of the couch and knees pressed together, resting against the back of it. The t.shirt she wears is a simple navy blue and it's loose enough to sleep in. Her sweatpants are a lighter shade of gray. Bare feet are tucked in with toes curled between the cushions, separating herself and Hunter.
Looking back and forth between the two, and then to the woman that enters calling them names of another language and talking about shaking bacon, Sofie decidedly stays out of any further talk about orgies and sex, especially with the more explicit talk about being laid. There are some lines she doesn't cross, though these aren't clear cut.
[Asha Singh] Someone is coming up the stairs. Two someones, actually. There is the sound of some - crazy foreign tongue, that sounds functionally like nothing anyone in the room has every heard before. Like a spider-scrawl of a tongue, seventeen accents and an extra umlaut per vowel that you cannot even tell from the consonants.
One of two people is stomping.
The smaller one of the two.
Actually.
[Quinn] "Nice to meet you, too, Sofie," she replies with a polite incline of her head. Quinn draws herself up into the chair, wraps an arm around upraised knees, curls a hand around an ankle. She's friendly, open, not exactly gregarious, but she tries not to leave people out.
"Ah hah, yeah, if any orgies break out spontaneously, Sarita, you can have at it. I'll be the stick making a beeline for the door."
Someone is stomping up the stairs. The Fianna kinswoman lets go of her legs, lets her knees drop down so that one presses into the arm of the chair, and she twists to get a look at the stairway. Before anyone appears, though, she looks back at the gathered, casting about a confused Do you know what that's about? kind of look.
[Asha Singh] And soon enough: a girl emerges. Dark-skinned, slight, with coils of crisp black hair falling in elegant, shampoo-ad worthy waves around her exotic features. She's wearing a strapless gown of bronze sequins that falls perhaps four inches above her knee, and a single gold bracelet liquid around her wrist. Her feet are bare.
She is carrying a doughnut.
It has sprinkles.
In her other hand, a plastic sandwich bag, the kind that ziplocks closed, smeared with a gelatinous red. It could be cherry pie filling oozing out of a deep-fried crust. It could be an ear.
God only knows.
Behind her a tall, well-dressed man in a tailored suit, crisp lines, black and white. A cravat, subtle diamond cufflinks through the cuffs of his monogrammed white shirt. He has a stick.
At the top of the stairs, she takes a survey of the people in the room, checking them off against some mental list. She pauses when she sees Hunter, waves, rather peppily, and turns to the tall, dignified gentleman with gray curling at his blond temples. Says, leaning as if she were whispering, for all that she is perfectly audible to all. "He's one of the ones I need a proper introduction to!"
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shrugs a little to Quinn's unspoken question. She seems intensely curious as to who it might be herself, and she glances to the stairwell before she looks back to the kinfolk.
"No clue, but we may wanna call an exorcist. And suggest that they put split pea soup on the menu for tomorrow."
When Asha and her companion arrive, she looks back, examining the two. Each of the participants in the room are summarily dismissed by the newcomers, except Hunter. That brings a cock of the eyebrow, and Sarita leans back a bit to watch with a grin that can only be described as Cheshire-like. And possibly worrisome.
[Hunter] "Yo' Sarita." He throws it out casually with a nod of his head.
Stomping is heard, voices, or what are presumed to be voices. The only thing that marks them as such is the phonetics that vaguely resemble some unknown language and the audibility of it all. His eyes drift past Sofie, past Quinn to the stairs and he actually steps up off the couch to wander over to that exit almost protectively of the kinfolk.
He doesn't get very far though and he stops before she even emerges. Ancestry strikes him like a blow to the head and causes his lip to curl but it relaxes a moment later into a smile for the woman when she makes her way into the room. There is someone at her side, someone Hunter has never seen before and he looks the man over.
He's one of the ones I need a proper introduction to!
One brow lowers, the other rises and his lips quirk at the corners, he crosses his arms over his chest. This is unusual. He waits to see how it all plays out.
[Sofie Janssen] There's little talk that follows the new arrivals into the common room, where Sofie had been listening to her player not but ten minutes ago, alone. Now coming up the stairs is someone speaking gibberish to someone else equally qualified in the language, and moments later Hunter is up to go and see what it's all about after Quinn's partially worried glance and Sarita's quip.
Sofie merely glances over and watches the woman enter along with the man, both of which are dressed in a set of clothes that costs more than her whole closet stuffed in her closet. Its this she notices more than anything else, and the way the woman speaks to the man. Brows raise. Eyes stare.
And her mouth quirks at Hunters stance.
[Asha Singh] "His name's Hunter," Asha tells Thomas. The kinsman - whose blood is rather less fine than his rather young mistress' own - has a certain dignity of purpose about him that makes up for what he lacks in raw breeding. He inclines his well-groomed head to listen as Asha "whispers" to him. "Burnout." And gives her a smile of approval when she manages to refrain from informing Thomas that Hunter Burnout is very common.
Good girl!
The gruesome little package in her hand is sealed firmly, dark against the striking brilliance of her dress, which sends dancing motes of light all across the floor around her as she moves. "Yes ma'am," Thomas says, pronounce it mum in his oh-so-posh British way. Then he smiles, magnanimous, toward Hunter.
And raps his stick, once, against the wooden floor. (Asha loves this part, so much.) As if everyone in hte room were not already staring at her. "Mr. Hunter Burnout, sir. I believe you have been casually introduced before. However, do allow me to make an informal introduction.
"I have the deep, abiding, personal pleasure of introducing you to Her Eminent Highness Arundhati Sunyana Elevarisi Asha Priyamvada Natajaran Singh.
"Daughter of Alexander Harrison, Vision of the Fall, Scion of House Wyrmfoe.
'"Great grand-daughter of Sri Padmanabha Dasa Vanchi Pala Karthika Thirunal Rama Varma Dharma Raja Kulasekhara Natajaran Singh, Svatantrya to the Nation, of the Sept of the Broken Sky.
"Descendent of the Maharahajadhiraja Bahadur, Great Prince of Princes, Elder Philodox of the Silver Fangs, House Blood Red Crest."
All this for a "Cliath Ahroun, House Blood Red Crest, kalaratri to the Nation. Which means both night of death, and death of night, in your own human tongue." Asha beams at Thomas, all approving. Apparently, that's all she wanted.
Flashes a glance at Hunter. "Hi!" And takes a bite of her doughnut, the ear swinging casually from her hand, blood contained, but dripping against the sides of the bag. Then, she glances back at Thomas. "I've been thinking about moving in here."
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her mouth drops open. There's no other reaction that is remotely attainable for the Strider than a jaw-dropped, googly-eyed stare at the pomp and circumstance of the whole thing. It's not pure shock, though...the corners of her mouth are upward turned. Her eyes are both disbelieving and glittering with mirth. Either her usual grin has been sublimated by the stunning introduction, or the whole sequence that just unfolded is so funny to her that the wires in her head have crossed and she can't quite express it.
It takes several moments before her voice finds her again. "Holy fucking hell, I gotta stop doing drugs. Or at least the ones that cause flashbacks. Because I swear, it looks JUST like that actually, seriously happened."
[Sofie Janssen] The Kinswoman looks like she's swallowed a fly. Her features do this weird contorted sort of thing, where she's really trying to stop her eyes from bugging out their sockets, while trying to keep her tongue from flapping and all the while trying not to do what she really wanted to do and bust out laughing. She is going to give herself a hernia with the effort, to be sure.
She can't be serious. He can't be serious. Sofie looks between them, and sure enough, they are.
Leaping off the couch, like her pants are on fire, Sofie pads barefoot around the back of the couch and takes a direct path towards and through the hallway door. The moment she's out of sight, she's jogging down the end of the hall, biting the heel of her hand as snorting starts to come out her nose.
[Quinn] There is no worry, no concern drawn into the kinswoman of Stag's face, merely confusion. She doesn't recognize the language, not even enough to say that it's one or another. And she doesn't recognize the young woman who steps into the common room with an escort, though she does recognize what she is.
Hunter rising is noted, drawing her attention pointedly away from the girl in the pretty dress that's probably worth more than her bar. Blue eyes travel over the Ahroun, lingering a touch longer than necessary before shifting back over to the girl and her announcer.
An intro begins. Quinn turns in her seat to watch. Though she knows she and the other females in the common room have been dismissed with just a glance, she is patient and respectful and not at all wishing to get up and walk out of the room to read or break into a bottle of bourbon.
Her eyes, though, are starting to glaze by the end of it. These aren't names she needs to know, and yet the kinswoman will remember them, the ones she hears anyway, the ones she pays attention to.
Asha's looking to move in here, well fantastic. "I must've inadvertently shared whatever you had," she quips to Sarita, unfolding herself from the chair and rising. "I think we're having the same hallucination. I think I'm going to go walk it off." And the third kinswoman of the evening makes her exit. This one reappears a few minutes later, bundled up for the winter cold despite the hour and the neighborhood and all of it. She bypasses the Fangs, heads down the stairs, and disappears into the night like a goddamn ninja.
[sorry guys, it's 2am and I can't handle life @_@ thanks for the play!]
[Lukas] The thing about Asha's introductions is -- even if you're, say, in your room, kicking back in your bed, reading a book or writing a letter or something -- you still have plenty of time to get up and get over before it's finished.
So by the time Thomas is done, Lukas is leaning against the doorway that leads out to the halls and the rooms. His arms are folded across his chest. Or well. They are, until he raises one hand -- very gradeschool -- and asks in apparently utter seriousness:
"I'm sorry, your Eminent Highness, but I've forgotten my table of genealogies. Could you remind me of the full ancestry of His Royal Majesty Maharahajadhiraja Bahadur?"
[Simon Zahradnik] Have you ever stabbed your own mother in the back with a rusty knife again and again while listening to her scream I love you so much why are you doing this to me?!? all the while twisting the knife around and laughing? Well neither has Simon and yet why does he feel dirty. Like the kind of dirty that doesn't wash off? The kind of dirty that clings to the soul and cannot be erased. Simon has always done what was necessary... He has always stood ready to put his duties and responsibilities before himself. Yet the stench of betrayal hung heavily around him. Rage coursed through him and yet it was an entirely unsettling kind of rage. A kind of bitter self hatred that he still couldn't seem to chase away.
He could still taste the chill of frost upon his tongue. The kiss of freedom... Of boundless, limitless power wanting to be unleashed only to watch it whimper and fade as the Garou turn their backs upon the very forces that feed their inner rage. Their boundless destructive potential, the churning belly of the mother who gave them life... Her skies, her seas, her beautiful mountains.
Funny... Simon has never been a part of such an impressive victory and yet was left feeling like it was a complete failure. In the end though this was the kind of thing that hardens the heart and helps awaken the Shadow Lord to the true nature of the world right? He was learning that sometimes you had to destroy hope cause... Your elder doesn't like it? What the fuck does that even fucking mean!?!.
"Before you can truly understand what you are fighting for you must stab it in the face Simon! That will teach you the value of... Something something..."He mutters as he swings the door open and makes his way upstairs.
He needed something to calm himself, so why in the fuck did he come here?
Eyes scanned the area. Looking about the Common area. Pool... Pool will help. Right? The darkly clad Ahroun made his way towards the tables. Who in the hell knows what he needed. He should be out smashing something evil's face in that's what he fuckin' should be doing.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks over when Lukas is suddenly there, and he asks Asha to go through this full ancestry. Her eyes widen to silver dollars, and she looks back. She looks back at Asha and Thomas, smiling like a little kid on Christmas day. It's not often she looks this giddy, 'cause it's not often she gets to be this amused.
...no. No, she's not normal.
[Hunter] A commoner takes part in something he has never before been subjected to in all his years under Luna's smiling face. If there are words to describe the thoughts that run through Hunter's heads in this moment then they escape this writer like sand through a sieve. Outwardly he smiles at first when it all begins, this ageing gentleman speaks like it is an honour for Hunter Matthews to receive this special attention and effort from the undoubtedly royal Ahroun at his shoulder.
But it all begins to fall apart because let's face it, Hunter is no member of the court, he is no Prince of Persia or even the stable boy of such a man. He is a Jackal, a Gnawer of Bones both proud and yet without the restraints of believing that pride is worth anything. His arms go slightly slack, one falls to his side before the other and he stands there lop sided with a hand tucked to his ribs and his mouth slightly open in shock.
It doesn't end, it really never ends. He wants to scream out HELP HELP IM BEING OPPRESSED , but he really doesn't have the energy or the cognitive ability to form words right now. She is the daughter of some Indian dude with a name consisting of more letters than the alphabet and all Hunter got out of it was that somehow this is meant to mean something, that this doesn't happen for everyone.. surely.. she surely doesn't do this to every person she meets. His eyebrows raise in alarm and confusion How does she get anything done??
About halfway through it he stops looking at the man and starts studying the female at his side, she preens and beams and smiles like this is exactly how things should be all the time. No Asha, this is not how things should be all the time. The look is written all over Hunter's face and he barely gets a chance to react before all the kinfolk in the joint go running for the hills, hiding faces and bellowing out their sudden disarray at this assault on their senses.
"I.." He stumbles and then Lukas is there, goading her on. The look Hunter flashes him is not one of kindness at all, it is a look a bro might give another bro when he just set him up with a particularly disgusting blind date in order to score the hottie. Hunter growls and his lip curls but his eyes go back to Thomas.
His face says one thing to Thomas, I swear ta' god if ya' keep talkin' imma' rip ya' god damn throat out. But somehow it is without simple anger, more frustration and amusement and a totally dominating sense of pleading. He begs, don't do it!
[Asha Singh] Asha snorts, part-way through her bite of the doughnut. Which is sugar: with sprinkles in multicolors scattered over lavender icing. Then she chews, with a sort of prim precision, like she were listening to some childhood governess in her ear telling her that it's not polite to slip treefrogs into the folds of your obnoxious sister's sari before she's meant to go meet the the eligible young men of whatever is the latest Sept to which she has been paraded for the purpose of Catching a Man's Eye and Making New Babies for a Dying House while she sits there trying to figure out how to produce more fucking tree frogs now that all the cliath Ahrouns in the Sept slew the ones she had with their stupid little swords (which: mind, were not nearly as cool or bejeweled as her own pata.)
"-rhya" says Asha, with that bored emphasis on the word. "I only wanted an informal introduction. Why, Thomas has his stuck, but he doesn't have his sword OR his hat." Neither of which Lukas himself has ever seen. "Anyway, it takes like three days and nights to recite so it's not very practical, is it? If you want, though," conceding, at last, something to Lukas' greater rank. "I can have Thomas write it down for you so you won't forget. Or he can come by, uhm, if it's three hours every evening, it will take one turn of the lunar cycle, so maybe 8 p.m. tomorrow?"
Then she wiggles the bag at Lukas.
"Has you see the other one of these? I had a matched set."
"Maybe you left it in the car, ma'am," Thomas suggests. Steers, giving Lukas as much of the eye as he dares. "Shall we go have a look?"
"Oh, bother," declares Asha. "I did not. I suppose I'll have to get another one."
AND before you know it, our heroine and her entourage are trooping back down the stairs!
[Sofie Janssen] Down the hall, room seven has busted its door open and partially shut, and a Kinfolk has barely made it to the bed when she's howling out laughter, with sinuses burning from the previous, snorting effort. She knows don't laugh. Don't laugh in front of Garou, which is why she had tailed it out of there the moment she felt it coming on. It's that bewildered laugh that has turned into something hilarious because of the effort of being suppressed. At least she has mind to roll and bury her face into her pillow to muffle anymore and tries hard to get it under control, while practically crying.
What the fuck was that!
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches the whole thing with a look of amazement. This is the most surreal thing that's probably ever happened to her, and considering that her half-sister likes to pretend she's a Garou from time to time, plus other random misadventures, that says a lot. She blinks when they bloody ear is waved about, and she looks around the room, as if asking them if they're seriously seeing the same thing. Then she looks back.
And then, like they were never there, except for the dumbfounded faces, Asha is headed back down the stairs. Sarita is speechless for a couple of moments until finally she nods.
"Yeah. Totally gotta stop doing the flashback drugs."
[Lukas] "I -- "
before Lukas can tell her that no, no, it was quite all right, he doesn't need the full introduction, and no, he hasn't seen the other severed ear she left lying around someplace, Asha is turning and trooping out again.
"If you want to move in," he calls after her, "I think the only room left is nine!"
Also, following her in mind if not in body: Weren't you Her Exalted Highness before? Did you get demoted?
[Asha Singh] Stupid Anchal had a baby. Asha grumbles back in his mind. Maybe she has been demoted. It looks like a wizened monkey's shriveled head.
Then, moments later when he can feel them wandering through the kitchens.
Hey! Do they have a blender down here!
"Yeah, more or less. Some of the girls here give that impression to tell you the truth." Shrugging a shoulder, she's back to watching his face, his grin. Her own doesn't come then, though, because she doesn't think much of folks like that.
[Hunter] He raises eyebrows to that comment, lips curling with incredulous amusement despite the fact that hers do not. It has been awhile since he heard a kin-folk talking about the others around her like that.
"They ain't so bad, I mean not all of em'. Some good ones n'here for sure. I ain't ever seen not a single orgy in here before if it makes ya' feel better."
[Sofie Janssen] "Really?" The look she gives him is complete disbelief. Not at the orgy comments, but at the not so bad part. Her look is wry, and her low chuckle matches it. "Please. The first time I walked in here, you remember that girl giving you and John the eye? I know you saw her. Pretty as a doe."
This sort of talk needs beers involved.
"But I'm glad to hear about the orgies. Even if there was, at least I have a decent headset here." Lifting the player for emphasis then tucking it into her sweatpants pocket with a chuckle. Sofie certainly does not seem to be the type like plenty of others. She hasn't given out a single come hither vibe to anyone. Then again, don't Fenrir go about it differently? Probably punch someone in the mouth before kissing them.
[Quinn] It's early yet for the owner of The Winchester to be returning to The Brotherhood, but then she went in earlier than usual. And on a slow, cold winter night like tonight, they didn't need so many people manning the tavern.
So Quinn bundled herself up against the cold, and she made the trek north to the place that, for now anyway, is home. She's been around for a while, has already showered away the smell of the bar and changed into clean, dry clothes. Voices in the common room, faint enough to be acknowledged but not loud enough to be understood, draw her out at last.
The two out there hear a door open, and then there she is, dark hair twisted up into a clip, dressed in a t-shirt and black cotton lounge pants. They can see the trail of birds winding its way up her right forearm. Hunter may notice that her ears are bare.
She stops in the doorway leading into the common room with a, "Whoa hey." Then she frowns, wears an expression that openly wonders if she's intruding, especially when she catches orgies. She quirks a brow at Hunter, an unspoken question there.
[Amunet Trujillo] She doesn't exactly stomp, but she's no graceful thing either. A career as a ballerina is definitely not in her future. Coming down the hall from her room, she glances around the gathering area and scowls deeply as something is muttered just under her breath.
[John] John comes up the stairs not like an ogre or another mythical beast but like a soldier, his steps controlled and purposeful, boots clomping but not crashing against the wooden stairs as he ascends. Behind him, there is little din from the kitchen. His Rage is half its normal strength, hardly the overwhelming wall of anger and nerves that it tends to be. It doesn't cause the senses to scream and the ironclad to shy away, though humans, the majority of them, still cannot tolerate him.
This is nothing new. He cannot even understand humans, let alone begin to know how to tolerate them.
It's cold as hell outside, cold enough to kill, and when John arrives at the top of the stairs, he looks somewhat frozen. Compared to last night, he does not look as though he wishes he were dead; his lips still have a bluish tint to them, and his skin is pale as the moon overhead. There are blisters on his hands that he popped hours ago, draining into the bathroom sink at the warehouse while he scowled, leaving flattened patches that would likely grow infected if he were human.
He didn't bandage them. Rinsing them off with whiskey is the only thing he could have done to possibly make his own self-inflicted first aid manlier, but he hadn't wanted to waste alcohol.
So, when John appears, he looks cold. He is cold, but he isn't here to warm up. He's here because he finally had the chance to look at his text messages and realize what it is that Amunet was going on about last night. Hunter, at least, is aware that his packmate has arrived before he has to turn around and find him with his eyes. The Modi doesn't acknowledge anyone out in the common room, save for a cursory flick of his eyes and a shrugging out of his jacket. He tosses it over the arm of the sofa, revealing his uniform of boots and jeans and a tame-colored thermal shirt, and keeps walking.
Whereupon he nearly runs right into Amunet.
He doesn't stop, and he certainly doesn't speak. He takes her by the upper arm, the expression on his face hidden from the congregated by his direction, and urges Amunet to walk with him back down the hall. His grip is so light it's barely worth mentioning; but he is also far stronger than he looks, now, which ought to be a frightening prospect for most people.
[Hunter] A Fenrir would most definitely be more likely to punch someone in the mouth than kiss them, a fury too perhaps, another reason why their tribes are not as different as they claim to be. This Fenrir talks about a girl and Hunter narrows eyes, trying to recall a girl who had made eyes at him. Truth be told he had been intently focused on recruitment rather than relaxation, the girl had probably escaped his notice. Maybe she had, but he has seen her since and he knows with a sudden realisation that blooms on his face of which girl Sofie is talking about.
"Ooohh.. makin' eyes at me?" He blinks, "Really? Don't remember that.. I seem ta' recall she was--"
He pauses, Sofie can see the slightest motion of his nostrils taking in a breath before his head turns and his eyes fall upon the Fiann in the doorway. Whoah she says, hey. An eyebrow is raised at Hunter in question but he isn't looking at her eyes, they have found their way to her ear and its lack of jewellery. She might notice a difference with the Gnawer too, the way his shirt bunches on his body and the strength of an arm that curls up along the back of the couch in her direction.
"Quinn." He says in a rumble and seems lost in thought for a moment before he continues. "Was just tellin' Sofie bout' tha' serious lack'a orgies here." A smile that reaches his eyes, something warm yet amused. Just then there is another girl behind Quinn, scowling and muttering.
Hunter isn't watching her though.
"Have ya' met?" He flicks eyes back to Sofie then to Quinn, questioning glance. He barely even looks at John though he knows what is occurring outside his line of sight. They have a totem phone now, he doesn't have to say anything out loud.
[Amunet Trujillo] Her mouth opens, then closes again. Scowling just slightly, she allows herself to be propelled down the hall without as much as a grunt of protest.
This is not good....
[Sofie Janssen] Giving a glance over to Quinn and Amunet who's came in behind the tall woman, Sofie watches them a second and takes in both their expressions before giving a quick look to Hunter. Her voice drops, but it's certainly not a whisper. "One of those your girl?" Unable to help herself, her teeth flash in a sudden and rather fierce grin.
Suppressing her chuckle.
Then John comes in, dumps his jacket and walks out to take Amunet by the arm and off down the hall. "Oooo," she whispers softly, then does make a snicker of a laugh under her breath. "Someone's got to tell that guy we're supposed to have better taste." We being the Get of Fenris, of course.
Quinn gets a nod and an actual smile from Sofie, though it doesn't make her expression soft by any means. Gentle and soft doesn't mix with this Kinfolks features. Her eyes aren't the sort that can get all bedroom nor pleasant either. "Hey," she greets.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The Strider comes from the hallway, freshly dressed. her hair is wet and somewhat tangled, having just showered and gotten her still-healing wounds from the other night cleaned up. She's wearing a black tank top and jeans, and generally seems to be in a good mood. Even if she is walking a bit gingerly. She heads down the hallway to the common room, pausing only briefly when she sees John and Amy heading in the opposite direction. She locks eyes with her half-sister, an unspoken message passing between them before she smiles and nods to John and continues on her way.
Once she makes it through the door into the common room, she looks around at those present and grins. "Hola, chicos and chicettes. What's shakin' like bacon?"
[John] Now, he hadn't made a scene last night though there are plenty of other men, let alone Garou, who would not have taken kindly to being toyed with, whether it was merely his perception or whether there was anything rooted in reality to substantiate the notion, nor being walked away from. John, however, is not a hot-headed young buck who has something to prove. He does not attempt to intimidate or dominate every other male Garou he comes across, though with his height, his breeding and his presence he would likely be capable of it without much trouble. Beyond that, he actually seems like he has a decent sense of humor, takes very little that doesn't require seriousness seriously, and actually has respect for someone other than himself.
It's a rarity, given what has been blowing through Chicago in recent years, but given that he can't talk, he doesn't do a lot of blowing up of his own ego.
So, last night, John had just laughed at what had happened because he didn't understand it and walked out. It wasn't until after sobriety hit him like a bucket of water that it occurred to him that wires were crossed, perhaps. Lord knows what he was thinking.
Passing by Sarita, John looks somewhat amiable considering he's pedaling her sister down the hallway towards their room. He gives her a lift of his eyebrows and a nod, the light in his eyes seeming to say Oh hey what's up! as though they're in a park in the middle of June on a sunny day and not the halls of a hostel.
They continue around the bend of the hall, and a moment later, a door opens and closes.
That's when he lets her go.
[Quinn] She laughs when Hunter says he was telling Sofie about the lack of orgies here. The sound is low, more of a huff through her nostrils than anything so defined as a hah. "Hi, Amy..." is all she gets before Guy strongly insists the other kinswoman head back down the hall with him. She steps out of the doorway, fully into the common room.
"Is that a bad thing?" she asks, and heads for one of the chairs rather than the sofa.
"Quinn," she gives as introduction.
[Hunter] Eyes follow the movements of Quinn intently and it wouldn't be an illusion if she saw his jaw clench and his lips press together in a flat line when she drops herself down into one of the chairs. But he doesn't say anything and although that eyebrow of his threatens to raise questioningly, it doesn't.
Sofie has a question, a low murmur as this is all happening, not a whisper at all but not normal tones either. She wants to know if one of those girls is his and Hunter just straight up does not answer her.
"I dunno, depends on ya' point'a view. Orgies in here though? Ain't no place for them sorta' games."
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] "Okay, seriously. If I'm getting left out of orgies, I'm gonna start kicking some serious ass." She grins and moves toward the couch. "S'bad enough that my sister gets laid more than I do, but I gotta at least have the opportunity to be competitive."
She sits carefully down on the couch and sighs. "So we're all exciting, being shut-ins on Friday night, huh?"
[Sofie Janssen] "Well met, Quinn." Sofie doesn't move from where she's sitting in the corner, back to the arm of the couch and knees pressed together, resting against the back of it. The t.shirt she wears is a simple navy blue and it's loose enough to sleep in. Her sweatpants are a lighter shade of gray. Bare feet are tucked in with toes curled between the cushions, separating herself and Hunter.
Looking back and forth between the two, and then to the woman that enters calling them names of another language and talking about shaking bacon, Sofie decidedly stays out of any further talk about orgies and sex, especially with the more explicit talk about being laid. There are some lines she doesn't cross, though these aren't clear cut.
[Asha Singh] Someone is coming up the stairs. Two someones, actually. There is the sound of some - crazy foreign tongue, that sounds functionally like nothing anyone in the room has every heard before. Like a spider-scrawl of a tongue, seventeen accents and an extra umlaut per vowel that you cannot even tell from the consonants.
One of two people is stomping.
The smaller one of the two.
Actually.
[Quinn] "Nice to meet you, too, Sofie," she replies with a polite incline of her head. Quinn draws herself up into the chair, wraps an arm around upraised knees, curls a hand around an ankle. She's friendly, open, not exactly gregarious, but she tries not to leave people out.
"Ah hah, yeah, if any orgies break out spontaneously, Sarita, you can have at it. I'll be the stick making a beeline for the door."
Someone is stomping up the stairs. The Fianna kinswoman lets go of her legs, lets her knees drop down so that one presses into the arm of the chair, and she twists to get a look at the stairway. Before anyone appears, though, she looks back at the gathered, casting about a confused Do you know what that's about? kind of look.
[Asha Singh] And soon enough: a girl emerges. Dark-skinned, slight, with coils of crisp black hair falling in elegant, shampoo-ad worthy waves around her exotic features. She's wearing a strapless gown of bronze sequins that falls perhaps four inches above her knee, and a single gold bracelet liquid around her wrist. Her feet are bare.
She is carrying a doughnut.
It has sprinkles.
In her other hand, a plastic sandwich bag, the kind that ziplocks closed, smeared with a gelatinous red. It could be cherry pie filling oozing out of a deep-fried crust. It could be an ear.
God only knows.
Behind her a tall, well-dressed man in a tailored suit, crisp lines, black and white. A cravat, subtle diamond cufflinks through the cuffs of his monogrammed white shirt. He has a stick.
At the top of the stairs, she takes a survey of the people in the room, checking them off against some mental list. She pauses when she sees Hunter, waves, rather peppily, and turns to the tall, dignified gentleman with gray curling at his blond temples. Says, leaning as if she were whispering, for all that she is perfectly audible to all. "He's one of the ones I need a proper introduction to!"
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She shrugs a little to Quinn's unspoken question. She seems intensely curious as to who it might be herself, and she glances to the stairwell before she looks back to the kinfolk.
"No clue, but we may wanna call an exorcist. And suggest that they put split pea soup on the menu for tomorrow."
When Asha and her companion arrive, she looks back, examining the two. Each of the participants in the room are summarily dismissed by the newcomers, except Hunter. That brings a cock of the eyebrow, and Sarita leans back a bit to watch with a grin that can only be described as Cheshire-like. And possibly worrisome.
[Hunter] "Yo' Sarita." He throws it out casually with a nod of his head.
Stomping is heard, voices, or what are presumed to be voices. The only thing that marks them as such is the phonetics that vaguely resemble some unknown language and the audibility of it all. His eyes drift past Sofie, past Quinn to the stairs and he actually steps up off the couch to wander over to that exit almost protectively of the kinfolk.
He doesn't get very far though and he stops before she even emerges. Ancestry strikes him like a blow to the head and causes his lip to curl but it relaxes a moment later into a smile for the woman when she makes her way into the room. There is someone at her side, someone Hunter has never seen before and he looks the man over.
He's one of the ones I need a proper introduction to!
One brow lowers, the other rises and his lips quirk at the corners, he crosses his arms over his chest. This is unusual. He waits to see how it all plays out.
[Sofie Janssen] There's little talk that follows the new arrivals into the common room, where Sofie had been listening to her player not but ten minutes ago, alone. Now coming up the stairs is someone speaking gibberish to someone else equally qualified in the language, and moments later Hunter is up to go and see what it's all about after Quinn's partially worried glance and Sarita's quip.
Sofie merely glances over and watches the woman enter along with the man, both of which are dressed in a set of clothes that costs more than her whole closet stuffed in her closet. Its this she notices more than anything else, and the way the woman speaks to the man. Brows raise. Eyes stare.
And her mouth quirks at Hunters stance.
[Asha Singh] "His name's Hunter," Asha tells Thomas. The kinsman - whose blood is rather less fine than his rather young mistress' own - has a certain dignity of purpose about him that makes up for what he lacks in raw breeding. He inclines his well-groomed head to listen as Asha "whispers" to him. "Burnout." And gives her a smile of approval when she manages to refrain from informing Thomas that Hunter Burnout is very common.
Good girl!
The gruesome little package in her hand is sealed firmly, dark against the striking brilliance of her dress, which sends dancing motes of light all across the floor around her as she moves. "Yes ma'am," Thomas says, pronounce it mum in his oh-so-posh British way. Then he smiles, magnanimous, toward Hunter.
And raps his stick, once, against the wooden floor. (Asha loves this part, so much.) As if everyone in hte room were not already staring at her. "Mr. Hunter Burnout, sir. I believe you have been casually introduced before. However, do allow me to make an informal introduction.
"I have the deep, abiding, personal pleasure of introducing you to Her Eminent Highness Arundhati Sunyana Elevarisi Asha Priyamvada Natajaran Singh.
"Daughter of Alexander Harrison, Vision of the Fall, Scion of House Wyrmfoe.
'"Great grand-daughter of Sri Padmanabha Dasa Vanchi Pala Karthika Thirunal Rama Varma Dharma Raja Kulasekhara Natajaran Singh, Svatantrya to the Nation, of the Sept of the Broken Sky.
"Descendent of the Maharahajadhiraja Bahadur, Great Prince of Princes, Elder Philodox of the Silver Fangs, House Blood Red Crest."
All this for a "Cliath Ahroun, House Blood Red Crest, kalaratri to the Nation. Which means both night of death, and death of night, in your own human tongue." Asha beams at Thomas, all approving. Apparently, that's all she wanted.
Flashes a glance at Hunter. "Hi!" And takes a bite of her doughnut, the ear swinging casually from her hand, blood contained, but dripping against the sides of the bag. Then, she glances back at Thomas. "I've been thinking about moving in here."
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Her mouth drops open. There's no other reaction that is remotely attainable for the Strider than a jaw-dropped, googly-eyed stare at the pomp and circumstance of the whole thing. It's not pure shock, though...the corners of her mouth are upward turned. Her eyes are both disbelieving and glittering with mirth. Either her usual grin has been sublimated by the stunning introduction, or the whole sequence that just unfolded is so funny to her that the wires in her head have crossed and she can't quite express it.
It takes several moments before her voice finds her again. "Holy fucking hell, I gotta stop doing drugs. Or at least the ones that cause flashbacks. Because I swear, it looks JUST like that actually, seriously happened."
[Sofie Janssen] The Kinswoman looks like she's swallowed a fly. Her features do this weird contorted sort of thing, where she's really trying to stop her eyes from bugging out their sockets, while trying to keep her tongue from flapping and all the while trying not to do what she really wanted to do and bust out laughing. She is going to give herself a hernia with the effort, to be sure.
She can't be serious. He can't be serious. Sofie looks between them, and sure enough, they are.
Leaping off the couch, like her pants are on fire, Sofie pads barefoot around the back of the couch and takes a direct path towards and through the hallway door. The moment she's out of sight, she's jogging down the end of the hall, biting the heel of her hand as snorting starts to come out her nose.
[Quinn] There is no worry, no concern drawn into the kinswoman of Stag's face, merely confusion. She doesn't recognize the language, not even enough to say that it's one or another. And she doesn't recognize the young woman who steps into the common room with an escort, though she does recognize what she is.
Hunter rising is noted, drawing her attention pointedly away from the girl in the pretty dress that's probably worth more than her bar. Blue eyes travel over the Ahroun, lingering a touch longer than necessary before shifting back over to the girl and her announcer.
An intro begins. Quinn turns in her seat to watch. Though she knows she and the other females in the common room have been dismissed with just a glance, she is patient and respectful and not at all wishing to get up and walk out of the room to read or break into a bottle of bourbon.
Her eyes, though, are starting to glaze by the end of it. These aren't names she needs to know, and yet the kinswoman will remember them, the ones she hears anyway, the ones she pays attention to.
Asha's looking to move in here, well fantastic. "I must've inadvertently shared whatever you had," she quips to Sarita, unfolding herself from the chair and rising. "I think we're having the same hallucination. I think I'm going to go walk it off." And the third kinswoman of the evening makes her exit. This one reappears a few minutes later, bundled up for the winter cold despite the hour and the neighborhood and all of it. She bypasses the Fangs, heads down the stairs, and disappears into the night like a goddamn ninja.
[sorry guys, it's 2am and I can't handle life @_@ thanks for the play!]
[Lukas] The thing about Asha's introductions is -- even if you're, say, in your room, kicking back in your bed, reading a book or writing a letter or something -- you still have plenty of time to get up and get over before it's finished.
So by the time Thomas is done, Lukas is leaning against the doorway that leads out to the halls and the rooms. His arms are folded across his chest. Or well. They are, until he raises one hand -- very gradeschool -- and asks in apparently utter seriousness:
"I'm sorry, your Eminent Highness, but I've forgotten my table of genealogies. Could you remind me of the full ancestry of His Royal Majesty Maharahajadhiraja Bahadur?"
[Simon Zahradnik] Have you ever stabbed your own mother in the back with a rusty knife again and again while listening to her scream I love you so much why are you doing this to me?!? all the while twisting the knife around and laughing? Well neither has Simon and yet why does he feel dirty. Like the kind of dirty that doesn't wash off? The kind of dirty that clings to the soul and cannot be erased. Simon has always done what was necessary... He has always stood ready to put his duties and responsibilities before himself. Yet the stench of betrayal hung heavily around him. Rage coursed through him and yet it was an entirely unsettling kind of rage. A kind of bitter self hatred that he still couldn't seem to chase away.
He could still taste the chill of frost upon his tongue. The kiss of freedom... Of boundless, limitless power wanting to be unleashed only to watch it whimper and fade as the Garou turn their backs upon the very forces that feed their inner rage. Their boundless destructive potential, the churning belly of the mother who gave them life... Her skies, her seas, her beautiful mountains.
Funny... Simon has never been a part of such an impressive victory and yet was left feeling like it was a complete failure. In the end though this was the kind of thing that hardens the heart and helps awaken the Shadow Lord to the true nature of the world right? He was learning that sometimes you had to destroy hope cause... Your elder doesn't like it? What the fuck does that even fucking mean!?!.
"Before you can truly understand what you are fighting for you must stab it in the face Simon! That will teach you the value of... Something something..."He mutters as he swings the door open and makes his way upstairs.
He needed something to calm himself, so why in the fuck did he come here?
Eyes scanned the area. Looking about the Common area. Pool... Pool will help. Right? The darkly clad Ahroun made his way towards the tables. Who in the hell knows what he needed. He should be out smashing something evil's face in that's what he fuckin' should be doing.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She looks over when Lukas is suddenly there, and he asks Asha to go through this full ancestry. Her eyes widen to silver dollars, and she looks back. She looks back at Asha and Thomas, smiling like a little kid on Christmas day. It's not often she looks this giddy, 'cause it's not often she gets to be this amused.
...no. No, she's not normal.
[Hunter] A commoner takes part in something he has never before been subjected to in all his years under Luna's smiling face. If there are words to describe the thoughts that run through Hunter's heads in this moment then they escape this writer like sand through a sieve. Outwardly he smiles at first when it all begins, this ageing gentleman speaks like it is an honour for Hunter Matthews to receive this special attention and effort from the undoubtedly royal Ahroun at his shoulder.
But it all begins to fall apart because let's face it, Hunter is no member of the court, he is no Prince of Persia or even the stable boy of such a man. He is a Jackal, a Gnawer of Bones both proud and yet without the restraints of believing that pride is worth anything. His arms go slightly slack, one falls to his side before the other and he stands there lop sided with a hand tucked to his ribs and his mouth slightly open in shock.
It doesn't end, it really never ends. He wants to scream out HELP HELP IM BEING OPPRESSED , but he really doesn't have the energy or the cognitive ability to form words right now. She is the daughter of some Indian dude with a name consisting of more letters than the alphabet and all Hunter got out of it was that somehow this is meant to mean something, that this doesn't happen for everyone.. surely.. she surely doesn't do this to every person she meets. His eyebrows raise in alarm and confusion How does she get anything done??
About halfway through it he stops looking at the man and starts studying the female at his side, she preens and beams and smiles like this is exactly how things should be all the time. No Asha, this is not how things should be all the time. The look is written all over Hunter's face and he barely gets a chance to react before all the kinfolk in the joint go running for the hills, hiding faces and bellowing out their sudden disarray at this assault on their senses.
"I.." He stumbles and then Lukas is there, goading her on. The look Hunter flashes him is not one of kindness at all, it is a look a bro might give another bro when he just set him up with a particularly disgusting blind date in order to score the hottie. Hunter growls and his lip curls but his eyes go back to Thomas.
His face says one thing to Thomas, I swear ta' god if ya' keep talkin' imma' rip ya' god damn throat out. But somehow it is without simple anger, more frustration and amusement and a totally dominating sense of pleading. He begs, don't do it!
[Asha Singh] Asha snorts, part-way through her bite of the doughnut. Which is sugar: with sprinkles in multicolors scattered over lavender icing. Then she chews, with a sort of prim precision, like she were listening to some childhood governess in her ear telling her that it's not polite to slip treefrogs into the folds of your obnoxious sister's sari before she's meant to go meet the the eligible young men of whatever is the latest Sept to which she has been paraded for the purpose of Catching a Man's Eye and Making New Babies for a Dying House while she sits there trying to figure out how to produce more fucking tree frogs now that all the cliath Ahrouns in the Sept slew the ones she had with their stupid little swords (which: mind, were not nearly as cool or bejeweled as her own pata.)
"-rhya" says Asha, with that bored emphasis on the word. "I only wanted an informal introduction. Why, Thomas has his stuck, but he doesn't have his sword OR his hat." Neither of which Lukas himself has ever seen. "Anyway, it takes like three days and nights to recite so it's not very practical, is it? If you want, though," conceding, at last, something to Lukas' greater rank. "I can have Thomas write it down for you so you won't forget. Or he can come by, uhm, if it's three hours every evening, it will take one turn of the lunar cycle, so maybe 8 p.m. tomorrow?"
Then she wiggles the bag at Lukas.
"Has you see the other one of these? I had a matched set."
"Maybe you left it in the car, ma'am," Thomas suggests. Steers, giving Lukas as much of the eye as he dares. "Shall we go have a look?"
"Oh, bother," declares Asha. "I did not. I suppose I'll have to get another one."
AND before you know it, our heroine and her entourage are trooping back down the stairs!
[Sofie Janssen] Down the hall, room seven has busted its door open and partially shut, and a Kinfolk has barely made it to the bed when she's howling out laughter, with sinuses burning from the previous, snorting effort. She knows don't laugh. Don't laugh in front of Garou, which is why she had tailed it out of there the moment she felt it coming on. It's that bewildered laugh that has turned into something hilarious because of the effort of being suppressed. At least she has mind to roll and bury her face into her pillow to muffle anymore and tries hard to get it under control, while practically crying.
What the fuck was that!
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She watches the whole thing with a look of amazement. This is the most surreal thing that's probably ever happened to her, and considering that her half-sister likes to pretend she's a Garou from time to time, plus other random misadventures, that says a lot. She blinks when they bloody ear is waved about, and she looks around the room, as if asking them if they're seriously seeing the same thing. Then she looks back.
And then, like they were never there, except for the dumbfounded faces, Asha is headed back down the stairs. Sarita is speechless for a couple of moments until finally she nods.
"Yeah. Totally gotta stop doing the flashback drugs."
[Lukas] "I -- "
before Lukas can tell her that no, no, it was quite all right, he doesn't need the full introduction, and no, he hasn't seen the other severed ear she left lying around someplace, Asha is turning and trooping out again.
"If you want to move in," he calls after her, "I think the only room left is nine!"
Also, following her in mind if not in body: Weren't you Her Exalted Highness before? Did you get demoted?
[Asha Singh] Stupid Anchal had a baby. Asha grumbles back in his mind. Maybe she has been demoted. It looks like a wizened monkey's shriveled head.
Then, moments later when he can feel them wandering through the kitchens.
Hey! Do they have a blender down here!
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