Ornature

[Roman Turner] It was freaking cold and the wind gusts with newly piled up snow, did not help. Accidents happened all over the city. Commerce was down to a crawl with the blizzard that had hit the place. More than once people had been swept off their feet with wind gusts of 50mph and more. It was in this mess that a lone figure trudged through the snow in a part of town most only passed through in the day light hours out of necessity. Black against white, bundled from head to toe like some strange mummy. His entire back was crusted white where he'd slipped a time or two and landed flat on his back. The wind gusted and one arm started to pinwheel wildly for balance. He was off balance, lugging a big red can in the other hand that seemed to give him a definate lean.

[Jackson Montgomery] The Gaian kin doesn't come down this way often. More times than not, if he's in this area it's because he got lost. This time, for once, it wasn't, as he makes his way down the street dressed as heavily as he can manage. His grey wool longcoat is buttoned up, a scarf protecting his neck. He's shivering something fierce as he walks along, still trying to smoke. It's an exercise in futility to be frank, as the cigarette is damp and keeping it lit is a pain.

As he moves along, he turns around a street corner to see Roman coming along his way. He squints a bit, thinking he recognizes the man. As Roman gets closer he gets that sense of Rage that confirms his suspicions and he heads toward his tribemate, raising a hand to wave. "Hey...need a hand?"

[Roman Turner] "I need a wind break."

His words were muffled behind the scarf he had wrapped around his face and neck. It wasn't until he paused to set the can down that he tugged the scarf below his mouth and spoke again, this time in a white puff that the wind whipped away instantly.

"I swear it's colder than a witch's tit here. So nipplely that I could etch glass with em if I had a mind to."

He stomped his feet, dislodging some of the snow that came all the way up to his knees with his smaller stature.

"My third trip hiking out to get supplies today. I'm headed for the Church if ya want to come along."

[Jackson Montgomery] "Hey, I'm from Los Angeles. Believe me, you don't have to tell me how cold it is."

He nods a little bit, apparently taking that request for a wind break seriously as he moves to get between Roman and the wind gusts. He gives up on his cigarette and flicks it into a nearby, ice-rimmed garbage can before his arms wrap around himself to keep warm. He smiles a bit to the Trueborn and nods.

"Lead on," he says, raising his voice above the wind. "I got you covered.

[Roman Turner] Those words I got you covered. Got a split second's hesitation and earned Jackson a look from eyes that watered from the wind. The look was first a blink of surprise, then a wide smile.

"Why, thank ya kindly."

A Kin that didn't expect to be taken care of was darned near a first since he came to Chicago. The can was lifted again and the struggle continued towards the Church.

"I fell flat on my back a couple times already. I tell ya, I ain't never seen nothing like this in all my born days. Did ya hear the thunder when the storm started? It was like summer only whiter and colder.

[Jackson Montgomery] "Yeah, I know...it's insane." He shakes his head as he walks along, looking around. For Jackson, this is like stepping into another world entirely and it shows in the disbelief on his face.

"I mean, it got seriously cold in New York when I was there a couple years ago, but nothing like this. It's enough to make one worry pretty seriously."

He ducks his head down as the wind renews its tantrum, screaming at them, and then raises it again when it dies down for a second.

"So I'm out because I'm insane enough to think it made for a good movie day. What about you?"

[Roman Turner] "Spirits were disrupted with the storm, we lost power. Had to stay warm with a bonfire lastnight and body heat. So, I went out and got some kerosene heaters and now coming back with the fuel."

He indicated the 5 gal can he lugged along. After a moment he eyed Jackson through eyes blurred with tears from the fierce wind.

"Ya find anything to film?"

Instantly he was adding.

"Where's your camera?"

[Jackson Montgomery] He chuckles and shakes his head. "No, not filming...I'm not risking my camera in this weather. My insanity has its limits and I haven't picked up anything yet that is sure to be okay in something like this."

He keeps pace with Roman, hands buried in his pockets to try and get some feeling back in them. "There's a theater down this way showing a few independent films I haven't seen yet. School was shut down, so I thought I'd try and catch them. The theater's closed too, though."

[Roman Turner] "Yeah, pretty much everything is closed up. Reminds me of home. We got snow like this and the town would of closed up for a week."

He walked, leaning in to the wind. Up ahead the church came in to view.

"Ya finding a niche here then? What I mean is, ya know if ya need something, or just need to be near family, ya can always give me a holler. Don't have to call ahead to come over either. You're always welcome where I am."

[Jackson Montgomery] "Well, a niche that is hanging out with Rain and occasionally August, but yes, I suppose so." He smiles a little as he walks along, noting the church when it becomes visible through the wind and snow.

"I've met pretty much everyone of the Tribe, with the exception of Lily, Harmony and...Paul, I think? Spent some time at the Brotherhood, met some of the other people. So far, not too bad. And thank you...I appreciate the invitation."

He smiles at Roman, the expression as warm as it is cold out here.

[Roman Turner] "I ain't seen Paul or Harmony for a couple of months. Lily, well I ain't seen her in a coon's age and only at a Moot then."

He huffed and puffed through the snow a few moments before asking.

"How are Miss Rain and Miss August? I ain't seen nor heard from Miss Rain since she got all mad at me the night I met ya. And well Miss August ain't none too pleased with me either. I reckon I got a way of making the Ladies want to avoid me."

[Trent Brumby] There's a car parked outside the Church. Roman would recognize it as Trent's very common sedan. The Kinfolk had already unloaded some supplies into the church, his footsteps come back and forth from the vehicle, from the back door to the trunk and once from the drivers side.

Inside there's more blankets, more supplies - simple things like toiletries and the like. Food was in containers, some stews, fresh breads and the like. New drinks included sodas, milk, juice and water. There's a second, smaller stash, but that's all Kora's favourite foods and he'd make sure that they got to his mate before her pack could devour any of it.

Wiping his sleeve across his mouth, Trent looks over to the closed doors from the inside, debating whether or not he was going to get out there and shovel some snow. It would only come back a couple of hours later, but he'd rather do it himself then see his pregnant mate trying to waddle- er walk through it.

[Jackson Montgomery] "Well, while I haven't met him, from what I understand I'm not missing much by not meeting Paul. With all due respect, of course," he adds quickly.

"August is good. I've seen her out a couple of times with her baby. We haven't talked much, but we've got acquainted. I've been hanging out a fair amount with Rain, and she's...better than that night." He smiles a little, seeming glad for it. "And trust me, you're not alone on getting the ladies avoiding you. I've got my moments too."

He continues along as Roman's buffer against the wind, looking ahead to see the car outside.

[Roman Turner] They neared the steps of the church and the sight of the car out front. His brows furrowed slightly as he murmured to Jackson.

"I'd like to know whatcha heard about Paul and from whom. Also, remember to always hold judgment till ya get a chance to met him yourself."

He was not going to start gossiping but he had to say.

"He's a wee bit different. I hope August ain't still hurting too much over the entire thing and can look from the outside in now."

"Ok, get ready to meet Miss Kora's mate. That car belongs to Miss Trent. He ain't too fond of me, but hopefully he likes you. You're probably more his lifestyle level."

[Roman Turner] (Um..MR Trent LOL!!! It was an accident. really it was!))

[Trent Brumby] [uh huh. LOL. Suuure. Not only vomits on Trent's shoes, but calls him a woman now!]

[Jackson Montgomery] [[ :D ]]

"I would say it's a safe bet to say that she's is," he says with a nod. "Neither August and Rain were particularly complimentary. Of course, I know there has to be another side of it though." A little shrug. "Always is."

When he mentions Trent, Jackson looks at the other Gaian and listens, then looks back to the car. "Gotcha. I'll keep my fingers crossed, then." A little good-humored grin is directed to his tribemate.

[Roman Turner] He paused another moment to face Jackson, speaking low.

"Truthfully, there ain't no good light to put this in, but the child Miss August has is not Paul's. She ran off from the child's father, I ain't never heard the entire story on that. Paul came along and took her and the unborn child as his own. Then shortly after the babe was born, he found some other woman and in a moment of poor judgement, was dishonorable. He tells me he never loved Miss August, he felt sorry for her and tried to do what was right. But he did what was wrong in the end. Now she is pregnant with Paul's child, so she's gonna have two children within a year, two fathers and she's understandably bitter. I just hope for her sake and that of the children that she centers herself, cause bitterness can rot a soul from inside and it spreads like a poison."

[Jackson Montgomery] He listens, frowning. What Roman said certainly hasn't endeared the Gaian Jackson hasn't yet met to him at all, that is certainly. After the Garou is done, the kinfolk nods a little.

"I can see why August is bitter, and why Rain didn't speak highly. At the same time, everyone makes mistakes..." A shadow passes over his face, and he shakes his head. "Well, if he hasn't been around, it won't be an issue anyway. Thanks for the heads up."

[Kora] The storm raged on both sides of the gauntlet and even the city's reflection is coated with evidence of winter. The weaver's brilliance temporarily dimmed, dragged down by the wild (wyld) the confluence of ice and wind and thunder and snow. The solid church seems coated in ice. Linus' flock of Hrafn refuse to leave the belltower and huddle together, feathers ruffled like their flesh-born counterparts.

The interior of the church is cold; a drift of blown snow has filtered in through one of the broken windows, and is carved out in the south transpect, sculpted smooth by the wind, it looks like nothing so much as one of those undulating Saharan dunes photographed in sun and shadow made in miniature against gray stone and white marble rather than an impossibly blue sky.

Trent and Roman and Jackson are outside when the gray-brown wolf pushes through the gauntlet, nose-first, and pads soundlessly into cold, quiet space.

There's still some smoke from the bonfire Linus lit last night to warm the huge space, drifting in coiling spirals up toward the rafters. And new things: the supplies Trent has ferried in already, some left in his eco-friendly reuseable bags on the tables near the couches, others stowed away deeper in the structure. The kerosene heaters Roman braved the wind and snow to purchase, unfired as yet. They need fuel.

She pads through the space, warm enough in a body made for winter, catches the traceries of scent. Brushes her flanks by the bags Trent left, some deep-down instinct to mingle her scent with his.

Roman, telling Paul's story to his tribesmate, can feel her closeness, a tug at the back of his mind, a tingle of awareness at the base of his spine. Trent's unaware. The space was empty when he went back to his car for the next load. While he's contemplating the shoveling the steps, though, the heavy wooden door swings open. Kora half-emerges, wearing her dedicated clothes - dark jeans, heavy black boots, a thermal and gray t-shirt. She'll need new ones, soon. Her stomach strains the fabric, pulls the seams.

She lifts her chin by way of greeting to Roman, holding the door open with hand and hip, not exiting precisely, waves to Jackson, and curves a subtle smile for Trent.

[Kora] (wow, I misread. Trent's inside! reposting. :) )

[Kora] The storm raged on both sides of the gauntlet and even the city's reflection is coated with evidence of winter. The weaver's brilliance temporarily dimmed, dragged down by the wild (wyld) the confluence of ice and wind and thunder and snow. The solid church seems coated in ice. Linus' flock of Hrafn refuse to leave the belltower and huddle together, feathers ruffled like their flesh-born counterparts.

The interior of the church is cold; a drift of blown snow has filtered in through one of the broken windows, and is carved out in the south transpect, sculpted smooth by the wind, it looks like nothing so much as one of those undulating Saharan dunes photographed in sun and shadow made in miniature against gray stone and white marble rather than an impossibly blue sky.

Trent and Roman and Jackson are outside when the gray-brown wolf pushes through the gauntlet, nose-first, and pads soundlessly into cold, quiet space.

There's still some smoke from the bonfire Linus lit last night to warm the huge space, drifting in coiling spirals up toward the rafters. And new things: the supplies Trent has ferried in already, some left in his eco-friendly reuseable bags on the tables near the couches, others stowed away deeper in the structure. The kerosene heaters Roman braved the wind and snow to purchase, unfired as yet. They need fuel.

She pads through the space, warm enough in a body made for winter, catches the traceries of scent. Brushes her flanks by the bags Trent left, some deep-down instinct to mingle her scent with his. Then finds his scent, warmer, deeper than the trace of it left on the bag, and pads through the space to find him. Her flanks against his legs: warm, distended from pregnancy. Otherwise, her wolf form would seem nearly adolescent.

Roman, telling Paul's story to his tribesmate, can feel her closeness, a tug at the back of his mind, a tingle of awareness at the base of his spine.

[Roman Turner] "No, no. I ain't defending him and it weren't a mistake. It was a damned disgrace, that's what it was. But would you want to be stuck with some fella that was bumping uglies with other women? That would shame ya more. It's ok to be a little bitter, but this ain't her first rodeo, ya got to remember that too."

He added as they started inside with Kora's presence in his face. He smiled, stomped off his feet and set the fuel can down inside the doors. Then he was burying his frozen face in to Kora's furry neck, inhaling deeply while sharing his cold with her.

"Mr Trent, nice to see ya. This here is Jackson Montgomery. He's one of my Kin. Mr. Jackson, this here is Mr Trent, he's Kora's mate. And ya know Miss Kora."

He indicated Kora as he straightened and started to unbundle.

[Trent Brumby] Glancing down to the wolf, he can guess who it is by the closeness of the Garou. Reaching down, he runs fingers over her fur, but only briefly. He's not in the habit of petting Garou because as much as she might look like an animal currently, that is the woman he sleeps with, who has his human child growing in her belly. He does not pet her in human form, either. Well, not like that.

Roman and Jackson comes in, leaving him looking at them. Trent's wearing some jeans, some boots, and several layers of shirts as well as a watch cap. His gloves are still on, but he pulls them off now in quick jerks, shoving them into a pocket to extent a hand to Jackson.

"Nice to meet you, Jackson."

Trent is not a small man. He's tall, broad and solid.

[Jackson Montgomery] Roman's words bring a nod from the man...understanding and agreeing, from the expression on his face. "Fair enough," his all he says before they head inside.

Once through the doors, Jackson almost instinctively takes the backseat. Garou in the house, and packed Garou to boot. He smiles at Trent, reaching out and taking the other's hand with his own. "Nice to meet you too, Trent." Once the handshake is out of the way he unwinds the scarf around his neck and shakes the snow off of him.

Kora gets a respectful smile and nod. "Kora-rhya. Nice to see you again."

[Hunter] A Gnawer walks through the territory of the Jarl. A Gnawer that she knows, but a Gnawer all the same. He doesn't look around awkwardly; he doesn't shy from the shadow of that ancient structure they call home; he walks calmly up steps of stone towards a door that should have probably long since fallen off its hinges. It's not that it looks uncared for--the Fenrir have put a lot of work into this abode--but it just seems old to the Gnawer, used, spent, like a relic from a time that will never come again.

The weather has been abysmal, but that hasn't kept the Ahroun of the streets. Even though today he knocks upon the surface of the door with a gloved fist, even though the collar of his jacket is popped up around his neck and buttoned tightly against the winds, even though that Rage if his burns on the surface more these days than it ever has before -- he still looks cold. His skin is pale, his eyes bright green yet frozen, the stubble along his jawline is both neat and neglected and narrowly avoids looking unkempt. Dark hair, thick, wild in the winds of a storm that brings change.

A child of the City knocks upon the door of the Church and waits.

[snowstorm] (Is there room for one more?)
to Hunter, Jackson Montgomery, Kora, Roman Turner

[Roman Turner] (Always open like 7-11))
to Hunter, Jackson Montgomery, Kora, snowstorm, Trent Brumby

[Kora] (Always! :))
to Hunter, Jackson Montgomery, Roman Turner, Trent Brumby

[Kora] Miss Kora is a wolf named Sorrow, dark gray over lighter gray touched with tan, and sharp, amber eyes. The light's uncertain. Trent touches blunt fingers to the crown of her head, down her spine. Acknowledgment of her presence; then Roman comes in and wraps his arms around her, his skin breathing cold. She chuffs ones, animal, swings her lupine head to look at Jackson. Her eyes are in her human form are a fine dark blue, the color of the sky at twilight, both dark and backlit somehow. In lupus, they're brown, nearly amber, mute and alert above a narrow snout.

Sorrow shakes herself free of her packmate after the greeting, pads deeper into the sanctuary - and her body finds its natural shape. The one she was born in. The one she'll die in. The one she'll wear constantly - sooner than she thinks - when her other forms can no longer accommodate the wholly human child still forming in her womb.

There's some gesture toward privacy for the change. She's further away from the group, amongst the pews; a wolf on all fours one minute, a woman half-crouched on the floor, just balanced, the next.

When she returns to the small group, Kora's wearing her dedicated clothes - dark jeans, heavy black boots, a thermal and gray t-shirt. She'll need new ones, soon. Her stomach strains the fabric, pulls the seams. Her hair's loose. Chopsticks and broken ball point pen barrels, pencils, twigs - they don't make the trip with her, so it coils at the back of her neck, the central support of the structure of the knot gone, the rest falling apart.

She lifts her chin by way of greeting to Roman. "Jackson," a half-smile of acknowledgment for the Gaian kin as she comes up alongside Trent, rises on her toes to brush a warm, chaste kiss against his cheek. "Hey. You guys are just meeting, yeah?"

When Hunter knocks, Kora cuts a glance to Roman.

You want to get the door?

[Roman Turner] He sighed, all put out sounding despite the smile he had on his face.

"Yeah that's me, the doorman. I'll get it. No body move."

Not that they were. It was to the door he trudged to crack open the slot in the door and look out.

"Who goes there?"

[Trent Brumby] When Kora returns in a thermal and a t.shirt, Trent immediately unbuttons his large, wool jacket and takes it off. Roman is going to have to answer the door, since his Alpha's mate is busy throwing his jacket over her shoulders with this look at her that holds some sort of mild humour and a little disapproval beneath it. His jacket holds his heat and warmth, swallowing her smaller frame.

Left in a sweater and a tshirt with a thermal beneath, he's still plenty warm. "This place is freezing," he tells her quietly, and once again, wants to argue with her to bring her back to his apartment. He hates her living here, especially pregnant, but it's still that conversation that hasn't really reached the table.

[Hunter] "Hunter." Comes the reply, he doesn't move, doesn't step into the line of sight of the slot in the door if he isn't already in it, doesn't step out of it if he is. "Here ta' see Kora."

[Roman Turner] The door whipped open and a hand shot out to grab Hunter by the arm, tugging him inside before the door slammed again with a heavy thump.

"Boy howdy Hunter, get in here before ya freeze! I can't recall us meeting off the top of my head. I'm Roman."

He stuck out his hand.

"Miss Kora's packmate."

[Jackson Montgomery] "Just met, yes." He nods a little at the question, looking briefly over his shoulder when the door sounds in a knock and Roman goes to get it. He looks back, smiling to the couple as he settles his weight back on one heel a bit.

"So how are you guys weathering the storm? This is just a little bit insane, if you ask me." So says the California boy who's used to 50 degrees being cold. Still, he's pretty sure it's insane for anyone.

[Rain] It is damned cold. Cold enough that Rain cannot remember why she went out into the great white of winter in the first place (save that she knows, damn well, that she was looking for Eve). The buses and trains have been backed up all across the city, complicating her circuitous route back to the packhouse. The light behind the stained glass looks almost like sanctuary in the middle of the snowfall. She can still make out the shoulders and ridges of the roof line. The steps are clear enough, and incline marked with the firm placement of other people's foot falls.

The door slammed shut again as she rounded the last corner to the packhouse and makes her way down the block. Rain trudges up the stairs. She doesn't knock, but she does fumble a bit with numb fingers to get the latch to release so she can pull the door open and let the cold in again.

[Lukas] The Shadow Lords might be the only mad creatures in the world more pleased than rattled by a thunder-snowstorm. Even so, Lukas is pragmatic enough to drive slowly and carefully, sitting a little straighter than usual so his keen eyes can scan the road ahead for obstacles.

He makes it to Cabrini-Green without incident. When he parks by the side of the road, his BMW is the only car there whose original shape, size and color hasn't been obscured by a layer of snow. It'd be a ripe target for hijacking, except there's no one out here.

His overcoat falls halfway down his shins as he gets out. His bootheels crunch over the snow as he takes the steps up to the abandoned old church, setting solid shoulder to door to push it open. Inside, he takes off his newsboy cap, tucking into one deep pocket, leaving his leather gloves on. It's not much warmer in here -- at least out near the edges of the church. He looks around; at least some of the pack and its guests are in the nave.

The door starts to open again behind him. Lukas reaches back, pulling it smoothly open, pushing it shut again after one more snowbattered creature comes in out of the cold. He looks at -- her? it? -- with some amusement, then back at ... well, whoever there was in the nave.

"Hi." He loosens his scarf with one hand, letting it hang from his neck. "Kora around?"

[Lukas] [just fyi folks, i gotta jet in 50 minutes!]

[Roman Turner] Talk about knock him over with a feather. He's just let Hunter in when the door opened and in came Lukas and Rain. He blinked twice and yelled.

"Miss Kora! Mr. Lukas has come calling!"

Then he almost sheepishly shuffled from one foot to the other as he faced Lukas. What the heck was the war leader doing in their humble packhouse? His brain raced. Nope, he couldn't think of one thing he had done to draw attention recently.

"Howdy Mr. Lukas, Rhya."

[Hunter] A door is whipped open, a hand grabs Hunter by the front of his jacket and yanks on him. His feet step with that tug and he is hustled inside in a timely fashion. Slam. The door closes. He squints at first, adjusting to the lack of a blizzard inside the church. He has never really been in here before, though he has seen it through the doorway. Maybe it isn't quite as bad as he thought and his eyes peruse the high walls and ceiling while Roman is offering introductions.

His gaze doesn't snap back to Roman, instead it drifts down slowly, resting on the ragabash lightly before lowering to that hand of his. Hunter smiles, shakes the hand offered. It isn't a vicious shaking, nor a brutal squeeze, but it is hearty and comforting. Like this is the only handshake they will have, and it is the only one they will need.

"Nice ta' meet ya' Roman--" Abruptly the sounds of the weather outside reverberate around the halls of the Jarl as a pillar of Rage steps in. Hunter turns, slowly, eyes finding those of Lukas. A quirk of the lip perhaps but that is all in the Gnawer's face. "Evenin', was just askin' tha' same thing ma' self."

Mean while Roman is yelling, shuffling, dancing on the spot.

Howdy Mr. Lukas, Rhya.

Hunter tries to look past Roman to see if he can spot his Alpha.

[Jackson Montgomery] He looks over his shoulder when he hears the door open and voices call out--voices, as in more than one. Everyone's converging on the place it would seem, which considering the last time he was here doesn't surprise the film school-attending Gaian kin. Roman announces Lukas, who Jackson hasn't met yet.

Jackson he takes a step to the side to allow for people to come in. After all, he can feel the Rage building from the direction of the door, and--well, he's not the crazy-ass Strider kin he met the other night. Jackson knows well enough to not block a Garou's way when they're coming out of the cold.

[Starla] It's one of the 3rd worst snowstorms in the history of Chicago, people are trapped, the city is encased in a mountain of snow, and the world stops moving for a couple of days while humans dealt with the tragedy. Communications and electricity likely cut off by power outages send the city into a phase of white noise. It was harsh and cruel one end, yet blissful and serene when the drifts had stopped.

City folk had forgotten how to survive in the snow. a passing thought that runs through the mind of the girl that hikes up the snow-bound hills, dragging a weather-beaten suitcase behind her. Her face hidden under the wet layers of colorful scarves, the furred hood of her winter coat pulled down low over her head to keep out the biting wind. She waddles as she treads, snow boots crunching down the snow, taking the extra effort to lift her feet as she plods along.

The buildings all looked the same to her, grey and bleak, in the Cabrini. The only thing standing out was the abandoned church that looms over the neighborhood like a forgotten beacon, a promise of shelter. She manipulates a gloved hand into her coat pocket, pulling out the crumbled card that held the description of the place she would find assistance. Pale colored eyes slide upward as she mutters behind the scarf.

[Rain] She was too numb to feel much of anything, really. Not her nose. Not her toes. But the creep of something feral and menacing, up her spine, tickling at her ribs and stealing away her breath? Rain couldn't get cold enough to miss that. Wide brown eyes sweep tentatively up take in the man (Monster) beside her and stop before they ascend to even his cheekbones. Her line of sight lingers somewhere near his jaw. Her mouth twitches, faintly, in something that ought to be a smile.

For others, it was far warmer.

And yes, she is tense and yes, every last muscle in her small frame seems ready to break with weary logic and spend itself running as fast and as far as she can to get away from him.

Her attention strays, not very far, but to Hunter now. With a similar wariness. One gloved hand sweeps her hat off her head, revealing a spill of long, brown hair.

"Hi," she echoes, and the sound is far less resonant and warm and welcoming that it has been for most of the others present. It's a bit strangled. It says: Don't eat me. Again the corners of her mouth flex, and with every bit of focus she has, Rain tries to keep from bolting from the entryway like a startled doe.

It doesn't work.

She finds an excuse to hurry past them, toward the kitchen, before she's even unwound her scarf from her neck. That is, if the combined Rage in the room would allow her such improprieties.

[Kora] "Jackson's a - film student, yeah?" she looks to Jackson for confirmation, then supplies, quietly to Trent. "Roman's kin." Trent removes his coat and drapes it around Kora's shoulders. She accepts the coat with good grace, if only because it has his scent sunk into the woven fibers.

"Trent's a jack of all trades," Kora continues, " - and a kick-ass cook." Trent comments that it's freezing in here, and she lifts her chin, looking back over her shoulder toward the smoldering remnants of the bonfire. "Li built the bonfire last night after we lost power. Roman's brought back some kerosene heaters, though. Soon as we get them hooked up, it'll be better in here."

Then another look, back to Jackson. "I fostered at a Sept in Hjaltland - the Sheltlands, yeah? Stormed there all the time, but I've never seen anything like this. Linus could get the Hrafn to leave the belltower. Half of them are still roosting up there. They won't brave the wind."

Hunter, Roman - Lukas - and now Rain are in the nave. There's shelter here, of a sort, beneath the choir loft. Further, the space opens, derelict, soaring. The remnants of a still-smoking bonfire, black with carbon, settle into ash in the chancel. The stains from the smoke barely obscure the hand-painted icons some squatter added to the curving wall long after the space was abandoned by its staid congregation.

"'Scuse me," Kora murmurs to Jackson and Trent, giving the former a half-smile of apology that deepens into something more intimate when she looks up at Trent. "That's Lukas. Shadow Lord. And Hunter, Bone Gnawer. Gimme a few."

And Lo, Kora detaches herself from the knot of kin, and towards the doors, her frame swallowed by her mate's coat, except for the firm, prominent curve of her stomach. A glance from Lukas to Hunter, and back again. "C'mon in - " she says, offering them the dubious comforts of the abandoned space. "Lukas. Hunter. Have you met our kin? And can I get either of you a beer?"

[Roman Turner] He broke focus, watching Rain scoot pass like the devil might grab her soul. He'd announced Lukas' request first, what with the rank and surprise. Once Kora came forward, he moved back a couple steps, closer to the gathered Kin. God help him, he couldn't help giving Trent's shoes a quick look.

[Lukas] "Fate," Lukas returns, nodding to Roman. "Thanks for the welcome. I'm glad to be a guest in your territory."

There's a certain formality in that; hospitality observed, no matter how casually given. He's ill-fit amongst this pack: they're casual, close to the streets, bundled up in denim and flannel and fleece and cotton. Sturdy, durable. Lukas's coat is wool dyed deep and black. His gloves are leather. His scarf is wool, and his sweater is silk, and -- well, he's wearing jeans, but even that is a wholly different sort of denim.

Still. In a way, he fits these spaces, these austere, derelict arches of stone and felled oak. He tips his head back to look at the interior of this church; he's never been here before. As Kora makes her appearance, he looks at her, directly at her, and smiles.

"No thanks. I'm not here very long. Just wanted to pass through, see how your pack and territory were doing. Seems solid." There's a hint of question in that.

[Jackson Montgomery] "A film student, yeah." He smiles a little bit in confirmation of Kora's words. "Ahh, nice," he says to Trent. "Always good to be multi-talented. I wish I could be, but I get too much tunnel vision. Found my calling and I was stuck to it like nothing else."

When Rain races by, he furrows his brow in recognition of her distress but smiles in greeting. He's holding his ground, if only for the moment and because it would be improper to flee before being introduced. And Jackson does give a lot to propriety. When he is in the mood for it, anyway.

[Trent Brumby] "Not that great," Trent interjects when Kora goes on about his cooking, giving Jackson a mild wry look. It's hard to imagine the guy cooking anyway. He looks more like a criminal if physical attributes were anything to go by. It's in direct contrast to his usual mild manners.

Kora excuses herself, and he throws a glance to the newcomers, nodding at that. Business, he understands. This is pack territory and not some place to get all personal. Little does she knows that her mate has decided he's staying with them the night. While she may be Garou, he's still a male and has this need to try and make his pregnant mate comfortable as he can, and look after her in this big blizzard. These are unvoiced things.

Roman finds Trent's shoes are not some nice leather loafers today. They are work boots, suitable for trudging through snow. He probably wouldn't mind so much if these got dirty with the contents from a Garou's stomach. His other ones he threw out.

Nodding to the back of the church, where Rain has disappeared, Trent offers Jackson. "There's some food and drinks out there. Why don't we go back there?" And leave Garou to their talks.

[Starla] Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Snow flattens beneath her boots, the suitcase cutting a trail behind her. She pauses on the street corner, peering up at the abandoned church, wondering why people could live in such places. She skirts around to the pathway hidden by snow to make her way up the steps to the double doors.

The card is crushed in her hand, closing gloved fingers to make a fist and rap on the one of the doors. Thump. Thump. Thump.

[Jackson Montgomery] Trent suggests that they further back into the church, and Jackson offers a welcome nod. The Gaian is a bit more used to high Rage than some might, but it's still a bit unnerving to him from time to time, and this is one of those times. He's good at hiding it though, and he just gives Trent a thin smile. "Sounds like a plan. I can say hi to Rain, too."

He gestures, as if for Trent to lead the way.

[Roman Turner] It was like an electric shock went through him with the knocking at the door. It had become his duty to answer the door and he was sure at this rate he was going to start dreaming it was knocking. Quietly he excused himself and slipped around Lukas and Kora to open the door slot and peer out. Surprised to see a girl standing there. So the door was opened and he stood in the crack.

"Boy howdy, ya ain't selling cookies are ya?"

[Rain] Once she makes it back to the relative safety and anonymity of the kitchen, Rain can pretend she was there for a reason. She can put a pan of water on the stove to warm, to make something to offer their guests. To pretend, like playing house, that it doesn't make her hands shake to be crammed into a small space with so many of their Changing cousins.

Rain pulls her gloves from her hands and brushes the snow off them. She unwinds her scarf. Her jacket's shoulders will leave a little mess of ice and damp and cold on the floor when she shrugs out of it. All of these are things she can deal with. They're simple. By the time the other kin have found their way back to the kitchen, Rain is watching the kettle and rubbing her hands together until they stop feeling so numb.

[Hunter] Kora offers up dubious comfort and slightly less dubious beverages. Hunter accepts both. "Would love'a beer thanks Kora." He says after Lukas has politely declined the offer. After that? He just waits. Kora will get to him when Lukas is done.

[Starla] She waited for someone to answer, rapping her fist in louder thumps on the door until Roman pulls it open. He startles her, making her jump back with a startled expression. Breath rasping out in a small squeaking sound that catches in her throat, she stares at him in silence, blinking in confusion.

"Cookies?" She clutched the handle of her suitcase, hauling it up to her side. "Hai, this ain't the residence of Romeo Turner is it? I've got'a address that says he stays here."

[Kora] "It is," Kora agrees, her voice easy, low and confident. She too turns back, looking up at the broken roof. There's still snow drifting in, through the rafters, blown by the high winds through the broken places in the roof, through the shattered stained glass windows. Others are intact, and nevermind the seventy-mile per hour gusts coursing off the land, over the flat lands of the Caern, churning the placid lap of the half-frozen lake into waves huge enough to engulf an onlooker and pull him out to see like a huge breaking wave at high tide on some storm-tossed ocean: they don't even rattle in their frames. "The kinswoman who came in behind you is called Rain. That's Jackson," she's not introducing them; doesn't stop the kinfolk from retreating to the kitchen, just supplying the names to Lukas in a low voice. " - both are Gaian. And Trent's my mate."

Then, a glance at Hunter who accepts the beer. "Sure thing." She circles about to one of the coolers they've filled with snow rather than ice lugged from the convenience store. They're leaving the beer in the coolers so it won't freeze solid, rather than to keep it cold. When she returns - she hands Hunter a dark bottle of Great Lakes' Brewing Company's Edmund Fitzgerald stout. It's not a screwtop, but she trusts an Ahroun doesn't need a bottle opener.

"Our Hrafn wouldn't go out in the storm last night, but otherwise we're solid, this side and the next." She curves her narrow shoulders in an eloquent little shrug underneath her mate's winter coat. "I've asked Prayers to Broken Stone and a few others to run with us. If they join up, we'll start taking back more of the old Eagle territory."

[Roman Turner] He looked from Starla's face to her suitcase and back up. Fortunately he knew for a fact he didn't get no girl in trouble, so it couldn't be one of those calls.

"Come on in out of the cold. I'm Roman Turner."

He wasn't much to look at. At least in stature he wasn't much. He was a little above average in looks, but at 5'6", many overlooked the teen. Chestnut flattened from where the hat had mashed it most of the day. His eyes were a faded blue-gray like old denim. Though when he smiled, the room came to life and he was smiling right then.

"I reckon whoever sent ya my way knew what they were doing."

[Lukas] Lukas's lips quirk briefly as Kora mentions their Hrafn refusing the storm. He's too polite to crow about the supremacy of Thunder's ravens vs. Fenris's, but the quip is there in his eyes, a bright flicker in that incandescent blue.

There's a near-audible hum of power around him. Stormborn, stormbearing. A creature of winter and the tempest; stronger now in the heart of the storm. Or maybe that's not entirely it. It's something about his carriage too, the way he stands: greater than he was the last time he saw...

well, any of them.

He nods to the not-quite-introductions, pale eyes flicking toward each kin as they're named. Then back to Kora. "Good," he says. "I'm glad Broken Stone is joining up somewhere. I've actually asked Hunter," he nods to his auspicemate, "and Simon to work together in getting Bronzeville under control. Simon at least might ask your pack's assistance.

"I also asked Simon, as Wyrmfoe, to start coming around to the packs to assess their war-readiness. I know he can be blunt and overbearing. But if he comes here and sounds as though he's demanding that your pack prove its readiness to him, don't take offense. He's here by my request, and he'll help train your packmates if they need it."

[Starla] He couldn't make her features out very well under the damp scarf that protects her face. Pale colored eyes, a light shade of green, crinkle, staring at him in confusion. She blinks once, leaning in past the door to look inside, "This ain't some kind'a halfway home is it? I got'a letter here from Irene by way of Elizabeth, to look for a Romeo?"

She holds up the card, trying to read the blurred writing, which has smeared from one too many coffee stains. Starla stands about eye-level with Roman. He smell the purity in her blood, like an announcement to his kind that she was indeed one of this hippy kids related to Unicorn. Starla steps inside, pausing at the door to shake the snow off her suitcase, and pulls back her hood. "Roman sounds better than Romeo, Thomas' boy right?" When she speaks, her drawl is heavy and slow as if honey rolled off her tongue. Shaking off the hood, a single braided plait of brown hair falls over one shoulder, her skin a permanent dusky bronze that has more to do with genetics than a natural tan.

[Hunter] A bottle is received and Hunter reaches for a lighter in his jacket. The cap is off a second later and he pockets it along with the lighter. "Cheers." He says to her and takes a sip. Though he doesn't interrupt or offer up any sounds at all other - his eyes focus on the conversation intently.

Simon at least might ask your pack's assistance.

Cheeks are sucked in and lips purse, perhaps eyes narrow but other than that there is no reaction.

[Trent Brumby] In the kitchen Rain will find some recycled bags with food and supplies in them. There's some large containers on the bench that have stews ready to eat, and a couple loaves of bread and the like. Milk, soda's, bottled water. Toiletries, too.

Heading into the kitchen with Jackson, Trent looks to where Rain is boiling the kettle. "Hello Miss."

They had met when Trent hosted Yule dinner at his apartment. She would know from being in his home how he keeps things tidy, how even with plenty of guests, he'd tried to keep it somewhat formal rather than like some barnyard shindig, and that Trent's one of those hosts that doesn't like their guests doing a damn thing other then sitting back, drinking, eating and socializing. The pile of dishes he had been left with took him hours to get through that night.

"There's some beef stew over here and some bread from the bakery."

[Jackson Montgomery] He looks to Rain as they hit the kitchen, smiling to her. He's met several people here and befriended a few, but Rain's the one he's had the closest association with and the smile he gives is warm, open. "Hey, you. I think we can officially call it 'Holy shit' cold now."

He grins and heads over, taking a lean against the wall near here. "Good to see you haven't gotten buried in the snow for good. How are you holding up in all this?"

[Roman Turner] "Roman, yes. I ain't no Romeo, that's for certain."

His ears had started to blaze bright red as he reached for the card to open it.

"Elizabeth and Thomas are my folks."

He motioned Starla in further as he opened the letter.

"What was your name?"

Half of him head Lukas mention Simon and he clearly recalled the last time Simon come to their territory. His attention shifted to the card to read.

[Kora] Kora cuts a brief look at Hunter; her dark eyes are quiet, still. The shadows here are deep enough that the color is lost in the shadows. Blue becomes just: dark. "Simon's a friend of the pack. We've fought together, more than once. The last time on the very steps of this church, less than a moon ago. He's been eager to take a more active role in the Sept, to bring the fight to the enemy for some time."

Another brief, narrow shrug, the shape of the gesture lost beneath the coat she's wearing, sized for her broad-shouldered, broad-chested mate. "I'm glad to know you've seen his worth beneath the bluster." A glance back, touching once on Hunter, then on Roman. "I'll be out of the fight soon," this is quiet, her only concession to pregnancy. "but my pack is ready for war."

[Rain] They'd met briefly over the holidays. Rain had been quiet and mostly stuck to the outskirts of the festivities. Now she's rubbing her hands together, and tucking them under her equally cold arms, anything to help hasten the pins-and-needles stage of defrosting up. The smile she offers Trent is far warmer than anything she coudl have managed out in the church proper.

"Mr. Trent, wasn't it?" she asks, offering him and all but frostbitten hand. He might not accept, if his fingers were warmer, Rain would understand. "'Sgood to see you again," she adds, without letting her teeth chatter too much.

"Hey Jackson." She's dropped the honorific with the other Gaian, not out of disrespect but in familiarity. There's a wider cant to her smile, but they're both well received. Jackson is just the more familiar. "I was out lookin' for Eve. I'mma go back out, once I warm up some."

Which sounds like a terrible idea, of course, to anyone with sense.

[Starla] The card looks like one of those cheap blanket ones you find in the dollar store, it's scrawled all over with writing, giving simple instructions on where to go. A folded up letter sits in the middle of the card, the edges worn from constant wear of being folded open and closed. She lets go of suitcase handle, hands free now from the card. She starts to pull off her gloves and scarf.

"Starla Irene Navarro, mama's side of the family. She wasn't married to Willy Turner, but they sure as hell had fun together. Letter explains it, shipped up here at the wrong time I see, all that white stuff out on the lawn."

[Starla] *blank

[Trent Brumby] He does take her hand, shaking it gently. "Just Trent is fine," he assures her with a warm smile. "There's some blankets out there. I carried some in." Nodding towards the door he indicates vaguely back the way he'd come. "You should grab one and warm up, not head back outside." But this is a light suggestion, talking some common sense.

"If someone is missing, a Garou can go and look for them." He doesn't press and ask who Eve is.

"Go sit down. I'll handle some tea and coffee. There's some hot chocolate around here somewhere." This way Trent can keep busy, Rain can warm up, and she and Jackson can have a talk. They're clearly familiar with each other.

[Jackson Montgomery] He raises an eyebrow. "You're going back out there? Alone?"

The school-attending kinfolk's expression clearly reads My ass, you are. He'd kind of self-appointed himself as Rain's older brother-figure, and as such he was a little protective of her. He crosses his arms over his chest, shaking his head.

"Lemme know when you're ready to go, I'll go hunting with you."

Trent gets an appreciative look at the hospitality offerings, and a smile.

[Lukas] "I know he's been eager," Lukas replies - just a hint of weariness here. "He also thinks it'll be possible to destroy the Hive entirely in a few short months. He has worth, but it'll have to be tempered with wisdom and patience first. But," a wry smile, "you seem to have plenty of that, so maybe you can teach him something in return.

"I have to be going," he says. "Best wishes to you and yours. Hunter," this, while he turns, meeting the other's eyes on his way out, "I'd like a word with you too at some point."

[Lukas] [okay, i gotta jet! thanks for the speed-scene!]

[Roman Turner] He looked up from the card and that smile shown again right before he swept the girl in to his arms and squeezed the wind out of her.

"Well hot damn y'all, I swear! Welcome. How the blazes did ya find your way in this storm? Ain't it just something else? I swear, I ain't been warm since Halloween! Come in! Come on, I'll introduce ya around."

[Starla] Roman catches Starla by surprise, sweeping the girl in his arms to knock the wind from her sails. She grunts, blinking again cracking a smile as she hugs him in return. "Don't get too excited now. I's suppose to check in wit'cha." She rolls her eyes.

"Don't get me started on the weather. Damn city folk don't know what to do wit' themselves, get'n stuck like they is." Once released, she reaches for the handle of her suitcase, still smiling as she looks around, and then at Roman.

[Rain] Rain glanced from Trent to Jackson, taking in the calm tones of common sense and the protective crossed arms with an equal measure of good-natured not listening. She was younger than either of them, and not used to winter.

She crosses her arms, too.

"Hmm." The unamused sound was hardly an agreement. Then, to Trent, "I've got some of those hot cocoa packets and cider ones and stuff in a drawer around here somewhere. If you want something that's not caffeinated, that is."

She shuffles away from the main bit of the kitchen, but rather than seeking out a blanket and a place to rest, Rain pulls one of the metal chairs free from under the table and lowers herself into it.

[Roman Turner] He watched Lukas leave and in his most quiet bellow announced to Kora and everyone within ear shot.

"This here is Starla Navarro, one of my hundred and one cousins. Come all the way from Clearwater to pay us a visit in the middle of a blizzard."

He pointed out Kora.

"That there is Miss Kora, she's my Alpha. And that there is Hunter. Now come on back to the kitchen so I can show ya off to the other Kin."

He reached for the suitcase in her hand, taking hold of it.

"Here, let me carry that."

[Kora] The look Kora gives Lukas is level, still and direct. Perhaps too direct, since his rise in rank. She follows the Shadow Lord to the door, barely registering the meeting of relatives between Roman and Starla. Pulls open the heavy door, pauses there, the door half-open, watching as he walks down the wide stone steps, lumpen with drifts of snow. In places, the snow blown up against the tangle of vegetation at the fence rises to chest height. In others, it has been winnowed to a spare inch or two by the carving winds. Still, the shape of the steps are mostly lost in the drifts, their presence defined by the trudging footsteps through the mess.

After a moment, she turns back into the sanctuary, pushing it firmly shut behind the Ahroun when he disappears around the gate, off to his BMW parked on the street. "That's a long way to come in a blizzard," Kora comments to Starla, with a glance at Roman. "Be welcome here."

Then she looks back to Hunter, shaking her head, quietly, the gesture narrow, contained.

[Jackson Montgomery] "You can argue it all you want, but you can't stop me from following you if and when you head out," he points out. He's clearly not upset or angry, and he's even smiling a little. He givesa Rain a 'Try and stop me' look, head cocking slightly to the right.

Yes, he can be stubborn when he wants to. He gets it from his mother.

[Kora] That is the third time Lukas spoke to me. A soft, quiet snort, substrate. What the hell was that about?
to Roman Turner

[Roman Turner] For a brief moment his focus left, his step faltered then he seemed to come back to himself with a little snort.

[Roman Turner] He's worried. He had to come make sure everyone knew of the change in him. Storm added strength. But more than that, he has likely heard rumors, this has become a gathering place for many. Our numbers are likely to swell to rival his Pack. So he had to check out the place for himself.
to Kora

[Hunter] Lukas' order that he wants to see Hunter later is acknowledged by a grunt, a slight nod of the head. He looks like he wants to sigh and when the Adren has officially left the building he does just that. He sighs. Kora looks at him and shakes her head very discreetly.

That there is Hunter.

A turn, a glance. He half waves a hand awkward and smiles at the new comer and Roman. "Yo." He offers before his attention reverts back to the Jarl.

His head tips to the side a little, an eyebrow raises.

[Rain] This is... He is... Jackson reminds her so much of her absent older brother just now, that it's everything Rain can do to bite her tongue and loft an eyebrow warningly. This is the preamble to a kinfolk staredown, and it's exactly what Roman will be walking his family member into when he comes around with her for introductions.

Jackson's expression says try and stop me, Rain's pursed mouth says why are you being such a butt about this? and poor Trent is caught in the middle of it.

At least it's practice for parenting. About twenty years ahead of what he'll need to know, right away, but a good flash forward to more headstrong years.

"That's not even logic," she tells Jackson, rolling her eyes a little. "How's somebody 'sposed to even ... ugh. You're not coming. Y'said yourself it's awf'ly cold out there."

[Starla] "Quit that!" She hisses out at Roman, not letting go of the suitcase, "Done lugged it this far already."

She'll fight Roman for possession unless he's adamant about carrying it for her, which Starla will give up and roll her eyes, grinning. Her attention turns on Kora and the others, following after Roman to the kitchen. "Thank ya, ma'am It'sa long walk from the bus that got caught in the mounds. Snow ain't nothing big."

It was difficult to see any resemblance to Roman at all, since he was white as they came, and she was a red as they come. The mixed heritage of native blood easily read in the complexion of her skintone and the round structure of her face. Her eyes and hair color speak a different story.

[Trent Brumby] "There's no reason for the two of you going out there." Trent will be a good parent. His voice isn't hard. It's even and mild. "You try and tell Kora or Roman that you are and see how far that gets you." Tea, coffee, hot chocolate, he's making up orders of them.

"What would you both like to drink?" He's currently making a hot chocolate for his mate, just the way she likes it. Plenty of milk and plenty of chocolate, just this side of hot. It's in the biggest mug he could find in the place, too.

[Roman Turner] "Starla this is, Mr Trent, he's Kora's mate. That there is Jackson and Rain, they are family. Everybody, this here is Starla, she's one of my cousins from back home. I'm sure I done saw her when we were little, but I got so many relatives I can't recall off the top of my head. Anyway, everyone say welcome."

[Jackson Montgomery] "Yes, it is awfully cold out there." His shoulders square up, keeping his eyes on Rain. He's clearly not letting this one go. "Better yet, I'd say it's fucking freezing out there. Which is why, if you must go out there--and I can see why you would be--you're not going out alone."

He looks over at Trent for a moment. "I'm fine with anything to drink. Thank you though. And I need to leave at some point anyway, so if I do it might as well be when she does. Safety in numbers, and..."

He looks back to Rain. "...she's not going out alone." He's so wrapped up in this back-and-forth that he doesn't notice the ground approaching the kithcen.

[Jackson Montgomery] At least, until Roman speaks and his attention is drawn to them. He flushes for a moment, surprised that he was caught unawares, and gives Starla a smile and nod. "Hello Starla. Nice to meet you."

[Rain] Rain's good at the back and forth around a family table. She doesn't miss a beat of the conversation, which is all shades of no and you can't just now. She doesn't miss that it inconveniently continues just long enough for Roman to get wind of what she isn't going to do when he wanders through.

"Hot chocolate would be nice, please," she interjects, somewhere between the lines of the duet the naysaying males were performing. So the expression she's wearing is just a bit exasperated when she hears her name and glances over...

... To smile, and wave, at Roman's cousin.

"Hey," she says, as warmly as one can manage in the middle of a blizzard of apocalyptic proportions. "Nice ta meet ya. I'm Rain." She pulls her things off the chair beside her and into her lap, just in case Starla wants a seat at their table.

[Trent Brumby] Looking over to the new arrival, he abandons his station at the bench and walks over to offer a hand to the girl. "Nice to meet you Starla." It's an odd name, but not the weirdest he's ever heard. There's plenty of hippies in the Black Fury Kinfolk category, about second to CoG's and Striders.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Turning back after hand shakes, he goes back to making hot beverages.

He's not going to argue with Rain and Jackson. He'll just slip a small word to Kora and let her deal with the Kinfolk. It's not really his business, and if he was going to argue about the things that. If he was going to argue with everything he disagreed with, he'd not be with Kora.

[Roman Turner] "What's so important that ya feel the need to go running around out in winds that are strong enough to blow the lake up over the road?"

He and Rain had not seen each other, nor spoken since the night he tried to give comfort to her and failed one hundred and ten percent.

[Kora] There's a low huff of air, a hidden sort of laughter, at the antics of Starla and Roman as the latter picks up her suitcase and the former objects. Her dark eyes track them back through the sanctuary toward the door to the kitchen - a more solid room in the more solid brick structure - the old Social Hall added onto the church sometime in the 1950s.

She gives Hunter a brief curl of her mouth, the right corner. He doesn't know her well, but her mouth is the softest of her features, generous, set into a faint curve even at its most neutral, a supple contrast to the sharper lines of her face. Though those are softened now, her body adding subtle layers of fat to support her pregnancy.

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

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

She - well, intones, from memory, with that rhythmic sense that arises from the stepped rhythm of oral traditions. Then lifts her chin toward the scattered couches under the choir loft. "I don't have a fire, or water for you to wash in, but beer and a couch and a warm blanket can stand in, I think. Not what the ancients would have expected, but we make do." With that, she leads him toward the couches, letting him take his pick. "You wanted to talk, yeah?"

[Starla] She offers Hunter a waggling wave of fingers in greeting after stuffing her gloves into a pocket and nods her head to Jackson and Rain, offering them a quick smiling "Hai!".

Starla taking the hand Trent offers, grinning even more, "Nice to meet ya to. Anything super hot and chocolate-y will be fine."

[Rain] "I wanna find Eve," she says, about as plainly and directly as anyone could. Even still, there's an unvarnished note of worry and anxiety to it. Rain doesn't want her out in this alone. Rain doesn't know where she is, or how she is. It gnaws at the Gaian kin, even though she rarely speaks of it.

They haven't really talked since that night, but their paths have traced through one another's. She's been here, off and on. Her guitar has come and gone. Baked things and money have found their way to the table. He's know that she exists, if not much more.

She glances from Roman, to his cousin, to Jackson, and then shrugs. It isn't the time to talk about this.

[Roman Turner] "Rain, I gotta say this. Eve is not Kinfolk. She's well capable of caring for herself, as ya know. And she knows where this place is. She's smart enough to come here if she wanted to. I appreciate your worry for her, but how do you think she would feel if you went out in this looking for her and something happened to you because of it? That'd be like a kick in the gut to both her heart and her pride."

[Starla] She finds a place to sit quietly, wiggling to shrug off her coat. Starla brushes the snow off, wrinkling up her nose and then folds it across her lap. She looks between the kin in the kitchen, and then back to Roman in silence. Head bouncing left to right as she watches the conversation like it was a tennis match.

[Jackson Montgomery] "And I'm totally understanding of and down with that. I'm just not okay with you going out by yourself. Two people going out to search is smart, in case something happens to one of them, the other can get help. One, not so much."

He looks to Roman. "I'll go with her, it's fine. The two of us together can make sure nothing happens to each other. I'm going to have to leave eventually, and there's no telling when it'll let up out there or if it'll get even worse. It makes the most sense for me to go when there's someone for me to go with."

[Roman Turner] "You are welcome to stay here Jackson."

He looked from Jackson to Rain with a faint narrowing of his eyes that was gone in a flash.

"I'm serious as a heart attack Rain. Consider the woman's pride and her heart break if something happens to you in this storm because ya didn't give her credit for being capable. Just consider that, will ya?"

[Rain] It's one thing to be told no by another kinfolk. It's another thing when Roman tells her. The arms folded across Rain's middle tighten a bit, but she nods before her gaze drops to the table and she tucks her chin a bit.

"No. Mr. Roman's right," she says. Really, this argument was over when Trent brought up either True's name. Jackson's offer is left as it stands, but there's something complicated in the younger kin's expression when she glances up at him. Rain's easy to read, but this is not so simple to untangle.

"I guess she'll be fine."

[Starla] "Ah don't think it's safe for anyone to jus' run around in the city wit' all this snow." She looks to Rain, canting her head to the side, watching the way Rain hugs herself, and falls quiet again.

[Hunter] He listens patiently, there is no sign of annoyance on his face. His eyes almost seem interested, like he's actually listening to what she has to say. She bops to her own beat, forming words from lips that are soft in a face that is decidedly sharp. Hunter watches her eyes not her lips, but he hears the softness, hears the rounding circular pattern of sound-waves as they echo slightly in the high ceilinged church.

She explains herself a moment later, offering the couches and Hunter wanders with her before dumping himself down into one. He never intended this to be a long visit, things got side-tracked somewhere along the way but he is here now.

"Cleared outt'a nest last night." He begins casually and the words should sound strange to Kora. He looks different, feels different, he lacks that edge of the comic jester that usually surrounds him. Something has changed. "Was apartments six months ago."

That about sums up the extent of what is happening in bronzeville to the Gnawers eyes. Places that were once good are now bad. He didn't just clean out some vagabond wandering abominations, he cleaned out a nest, a lair, they were living there, breeding there, eating there. This is not the way it should be.

He hasn't been looking at her while he talked but now he does, with a sigh. "I'm makin' changes." He states to the Jarl. "Thought ya' should know since we supposed ta' be helpin' each other n'all. I'm pickin' up some more muscle, I'm sick of goin' out every week n'findin' last weeks shit in another fuckin' house."

And he really does look sick of it, he looks tired and angry and rather frighteningly resolved despite it all.

"I'm sick'a some fuckin' shadowlord yuf tellin' me what's what in my own turf because his elders the god damn boss."

A pause, his eyes fix on her. He licks his lips.

"I want my god damn corners Kora. Just like you."

[Jackson Montgomery] "Not that I don't appreciate the offer of hospitality Roman, but I need to get back to my own place. Sooner rather than later."

He looks to Rain, giving her a sympathetic look, and then back. "If I'm not going out with Rain then cool, I'll just take off now before it gets any worse." He's not being bitter about it or anything, he says it as good-naturedly as he usually is. "Thank you for the offer."

He looks at Rain. "I'll call you and let you know when I get home, just so you guys don't worry."

[Trent Brumby] Hot chocolates are spread around. Kora's is waiting for her on the bench, though he's tempted to go on and take it out to her. He doesn't say much a word in it all, just listens and watches the gathered in the kitchen. It's probably warmer in the other room, where they had built a bonfire the night before, and where kerosene heaters wait to be lit.

[Roman Turner] "Oh good lord. I'm not grounding anyone. I want folk to actually think beyond their own needs right now. Consider Eve's pride and her pain if something happens. Use your heads, not your hearts to think."

He stepped over to rub Rain's shoulders.

"And lord have mercy, stop looking like you're a prisoner here. I swear, I can't do nothing right with ya lately."

He shook his head as he stepped away, shoving one hand back through chestnut colored hair.

"I'll fix ya up a place to sleep Starla. Make yourself at home."

With that he left the kitchen to join Kora and Hunter where he might not feel like a villain.

[Rain] When Roman rubs at her shoulders, Rain reaches up to lay one cold hand atop his. It isn't a brush off, or a way to make him stop. It's a small, human thing. Contact. A reassurance that it isn't him she's frustrated with, just now. It's small and unexplained, so it will likely go misinterpreted -- like so much between the pair of young Tribemates.

Her hand falls away when his withdraws. She brings her mug of cocoa toward her, takes its handle up with one hand and tucks her coat and things beside her with another.

"I should go hang these up to dry out," she says. Like as not, changing into something drier and less freezing is on the immediate horizon, too.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] It's minus 8 degrees outside.

It's also storming. Yet, finding perhaps the only relatively wind free alcove out front of the Church where the Last Watch make their home is the Garou known by others as Prayers to Broken Stone. There's a cigarette between his fingers and his back is braced against the old, crumbling wall. A trail of sweet smoke curls off into the air by the doors from his vantage point and the Galliard; one knee propped up on a loose piece of debris left in place has his eyes closed to the elements.

He seems quite unperturbed by the elements rushing by around him; his hood drawn up around his face so there is merely the suggestion of his profile; his cheek, the fair hair. The less glamorous burn of his Rage.

[Kora] "You're better off with Simon as an ally than an enemy," returns the Skald, quiet. She gets that out of the way, first thing. There's a certain - muted vibrance to her voice, which opens in the chest and throat, no nasal overtones. The couches she offered are comfortable, broken in, blankets everywhere.

Some recently washed, soft with it, smelling like one of those organic fabric softeners, marked with a complex wash of scents underneath, most too faint to be detectable by their human senses. She pulls one from the back of the spine of the couch, wraps it around her. Her frame looks bulky with the heavy coat underneath. "He's a blunt instrument, but he's an instrument. Fought to defend my packhouse less than a moon ago; was cut down by a cursed one on the steps. He was out there alone while my pack was on the porch, just inside the doors. You see?" A quick, narrow shrug. "He's got his failings. They're not the same as his elders' failings."

Then, a look of sharper interest, intent, alive. "This is a city, Hunter. A blight. The unmaker and weaver fucking each other, and fucking each other over. There's always going to be another nest." Still quiet, somehow. "How much territory are you claiming in Bronzeville, anyway?"

[Jackson Montgomery] Roman heads off one way, and Jackson sighs a bit. He totally didn't mean to cause frustration, but the kinfolk does occasionally have that particular talent with Trueborn, if his siblings and father are to be believed. He watches the Ragabash go and then looks to Rain.

"If I see her on my way back, I'll let you know. I'm sure she's fine, though. I'll call you either way" He looks to the new faces for him amongst the kin. "Trent, Starla, nice to meet you both. I'm sure we'll see each other later."

And with that, he withdraws to leave.

[Starla] Trent passed out the hot chocolate, Starla accepted hers with another mumbled "Thank you" and finishes most of it while watching in silence. She drinks it down rather quickly just as Roman's about to head off, standing up and sets the empty cup down somewhere it can be washed out. She gathers up her coat and suitcase, bobbing her head to the others. "Think ah'm gonna go find that place to sleep and get some shut eye, pretty tired. Nice meet'n ya."

People were already making hasty exits out of the kitchen, Starla manages to stifle a yawn and shakes her head a little, heading off after Roman.

[Trent Brumby] "Roman," Trent cuts in gently. "Can you point me to some things around here that might need a little fix up?" There's plenty around, he knows that, but the CoG will have an idea of what's more immediate compared to the others. He hadn't come here to just lounge around. He'd come to lend a hand through the storm and do what he could to make Kora's life a little easier, and by default, the packs.

[Rain] "I appreciate it," she says, softly, to the film-maker and friend. "We'll talk soon," she promises. It's no idle thing.

"I'm headed back to the bunks and what not, if you want to come with me," she offers to Starla. "I'm sure we can get ya something set up while the grown ups talk," she offers a smile, a little cajoling and easier to fall in line with than one might guess. Rain's naturally warm, and she usually means well for everyone. Either way, she heads back for her quiet (colder) corner of the packhouse rather than hanging close to Hunter and the rest of the gathering.

[Roman Turner] He paused, looking back at those in the kitchen. Meeting Trent's eyes even as he opened one arm to pull Starla closer in a little hug, murmuring.

"Hang on a moment."

"Has Kora mentioned anything to ya yet about hunting down the possible owner of this place Mr. Trent? I am thinking it might be the city for delinquent taxes, but there's a chance it's a private owner. I think we need to see if we can get hold of the place all legal like. Then we can make it clear someone stays here. Repair the roof proper, fix windows and all. For now though, I'd say the windows and roof are the most important. I been working on bathrooms and fixing up the nursery school rooms for folk to sleep in. Only problem right now is a lack of heat so we're pretty much bunking around the fire."

[Roman Turner] ((oops, should of read Rain's post as I typed. Sorry))

[Rain] ((Thanks for letting me crash your scene for a bit! ))
to Hunter, Jackson Montgomery, Kora, Prayers to Broken Stone, Roman Turner, Slaughter, Starla, Trent Brumby

[Starla] (It's alright. I need to head out anyhow, falling asleep)

[Hunter] He is better off with Simon as an ally than an enemy. That much is obvious by the grunt of assent and the nod of his head, he knows this. The story of Simon's defense of the pack house isn't exactly new to him but the details from the mouth of the Jarl have heavier weight, sink in deeper.

"Down to bout, 8 by 8 block tween mandrake'n southside. I'd say that's a fuckin' stretch as it is too, I ain't no optimist. I can't hold it with just Jo, so I'm makin' a few changes, pickin' up some muscle like I said."

A pause and he eyes the Skald with something of a shadow of that former amusement lifting the corner of his lips.

"What's this bout' his elders failin's?"

[Slaughter] The door opens without a knock or fanfare, just a rush of blowing snow and Imogen Slaughter, the folds of her coat filled with snow, her red hair rimmed in white, steps in. She does not redden with the chill, instead she grows paler, as if her blood were rushing inward. She shakes the snow from her clothing, careful to keep the bulk of it out-of-doors, standing on the threshold.

There is a blizzard of apocalyptic proportions and it appears that Imogen went off and took a walk in it. There are some who would merely shrug and say figures.

She pulls the door shut behind her, and glances up at Hunter and Kora, casting them both a look that with widened eyelids and a discrete eyeroll that silently says something like: Can you believe this weather?

"It's bloody snowing out there, have yeh noticed?" she says, ironically. Of course they've noticed.

[Trent Brumby] "No, she hasn't." But then Kora isn't always discussing those sort of things with him and it's been a busy past few days. "I'll see what I can find out, but I'm not all that good with that sort of thing." He's a handyman after all, not even savvy with computers unless it's got to do with mechanics and machines of that like.

Nodding, he offered a small smile. "I get onto the windows. The roof after the storm has passed." He's not going to get out there and break his neck in a snow storm.

Picking up the hot chocolate from the bench, the big tall one, he walks out to go and find his mate to make sure she has something in her hands to warm them up.

[Roman Turner] "I'll be happy to help ya. Thing is, we ain't gonna find a hardware store open in this crap and chalking won't hold in these temperatures. It's gonna be more like a slow work in progress."

He followed Trent out, waving Jackson to follow.

"So Mr Trent, I bet you're excited for the baby to come. Gonna be something else, ain't it?"

He smiled, then got the blast of cold when Imogen came in. Somewhere Patrick was lurking.

[Rory] She has never, ever, in all her born days, seen ANYTHING like this. There's gazillions of feet of snow and the wind and the blowing and the THUNDER during a SNOWSTORM and... well. She finds it utterly, completely, totally, 100% fascinating. She has trudged through the snow, threadbare and beat-up old coat held closed against the wind, boots pushing through the snow with something akin to a childlike glee.

At some point, just about when she realizes that hey, it's kind of cold, even when warmed by a tremendous amount of rage, she looks up to find herself near the territory of The Last Watch. She's been there once or twice, and after a moment's hesitation, she pushes her way through the snow, and wanders up to the door...

And unlike Imogen - knocks lightly.

[Kora] "They're not his." There's a certain settled caution there; a quiet undercurrent beneath the words. Kora meets Hunter's eyes; her own are dark and level - quiet. She's has always been a thoughtful creature, perhaps too cerebral for her own tribe. There was a time not long past when she was the leash that bound a pair of madmen to the earth on which they stand. Now they're gone, one dead, the other disappeared beyond the horizons of reason.

He describes his territory, and she cuts a sideglance at him, a sharp look that yields by a degree or two when he admits that his territory is already a stretch. "There's a junkyard near - what was it? King Boulevard, you know it?" A brief pause, for him to acknowledge or deny, "Joe and Thomas and I claimed territory there, before Silence-rhya left. It's probably cleaner than anything else in the Bronze - you know? Residual. Might be worth reclaiming. Shift your boundaries north a bit, pull it in." Another, brief pause. "You need a theurge, though. If you want to keep your territory clean. What muscle are you bringing in?"

The door opens: a swirl of snow. Kora glances up. She's not got a drink in her hand. "Doc," a greeting, "I hadn't noticed. There's beer in the coolers to keep it from freezing, though." Maybe that's humor. The remains of a bonfire litter the chancel. In some errant corner, exposed to the elements, a Galliard is smoking.

Kora glances up, back, touches dark eyes on the figures emerging from the kitchen, and flashes her mate a smile. She's still wearing his coat, bundled up further beneath a blanket.

[Trent Brumby] "I have a few supplies in the trunk," he tells Roman with a glance over and a brief smile. "I'm sure we can find some wood around here, some planks to cut down to size. With a few nails hammered in we can board up the windows and stop the snow getting in. It won't do much for the wind sliding through the cracks, but this way we won't have wet puddles for pregnant women to be sliding through." Which was his concern. He'd already spotted one such snow cluster that he was going to clean up.

Talk about the baby has this unexpected softness go across the otherwise hard lines of his gruff features. "Yeah. It's going to be something alright," he agrees with no small fondness. He looks around then, lowers his voice as he pauses to speak to Roman. "I don't know what she's planning when comes the birth. Has she talked to you about it?"

[Kora] And a half-second later, Kora lifts her voice with the knock on the door. "Come in!"

She does not have to shout for her voice to carry.

Apparently she agrees with the theory that the wyrm does not (usually) knock. Except the Beast of Etiquette and Cotillion Schools, a rarely seen manifestation in this day and age.

[Rory] She hears Kora, and after a moment's hesitation, pulls open the door and slips inside, shoving the door closed behind her. Once she's sure it's shut, she takes a moment to shake all the snow off her - pulling the knit hat off so that blood red curls fall in a tangled mess about her face, the ends damp with snow where they were exposed to the winter air. She shakes her shoulders, and snow falls from her - top to bottom. She even stamps it off her feet before she even thinks to venture farther inside...

Green eyes sparkle with delight, a child's thrill in something every sane person is griping about. So much so she even speaks before being spoken too, in astonished and unadulterated glee...

"I made a MOW SNAN!"

[Hunter] They're not his. She refuses to say more on the topic than she has already said though the look in her eyes and the finality of the statement tells Hunter there is more. Kora has more to say, she just doesn't want to say it. Hunter doesn't press her.

"King Boulevard?" He asks, lifting a hand and scratching over his chin. "Ye' sure. North ya' say.."

A smirk.

"Well some'd like us ta' all be lookin' north'a bit more wouldn't they?"

The door swings open. Kora says Doc, Hunter says Imogen.

Attention reverts back to the Jarl. "Few names, few plans. I'll keep ya' posted when shit starts happenin'--" Rory made a Mow Snan. Hunter does not look particularly amused, but he doesn't bristle with anger either. He just sips his beer and looks in the direction of disturbance.

[Slaughter] Kora offers Imogen beer and the kinswoman's mouth curls as she pulls a hand out from beneath her jacket, holding a papered bottle. "I brought whiskey," she says, her gaze flicking toward Kora's swollen belly. "Save yer share for a few months, shall I?"

She is moving out of the way, when Rory bursts in, declaring her glee. Hunter, who greeted her by first name, appears to be attempting to get back to business.

"Did you then," she does not quite put enough effort into the words to make it appear as if she were humouring the girl.

"Come on, I smell hot chocolate."

[Prayers to Broken Stone] At some point quite after the others have made their entrances the door is opened again with minimum fuss and Patrick slips inside; shaking out the inside of his jacket and lowering his hood. His blond hair is still dusted with snowflakes; though they quickly begin to melt as he exits the storm.

The Galliard brings with him the wash of his presence and the strong cloying aroma of cigarettes.

No question, then, where he's been. He stamps his boots together without bothering to glance up at who was around him; breeding already ironed out the what for most. When he does glance up, it's to Kora his focus goes first; he nods at her and moves into the Church proper.

[Roman Turner] He waved to Imogen and when Rory came in he smiled and waved, though for the moment he kept towards the corner with Trent, murmuring.

"Most of the spare wood has been going to the fire to keep the cold out lastnight and tonight."

Then Trent asked if Kora had mentioned the birth to him and his eyes nearly popped right out of his head.

"Or Lord no. We are close, but she don't talk about them womanly things to me. I'm right sure my hair would turn white."

[Trent Brumby] "We'll find something." Spare wood went into the fire, but maybe he could pull apart something around here and see what could be done. Some hunting for materials wouldn't go astray. A patch up job would have to do now and he could look at hiring someone to look into finding about the Church. There's people that do that sort of thing for a living.

He finds himself laughing low at the way Roman's expression turned. Reaching out, he squeezed the younger mans shoulder briefly. "I didn't mean like that, Roman. I meant plans for after the child is born." Dropping his hand away, his voice lowers more and his eyes become more serious. "I don't want a child raised in an abandoned church when I have a warm apartment. But I don't want to separate child from mother either." Which is going to be the big problem here. It's only a matter of time before everything comes to a head.

[Rory] She waves at Roman in return, and smiles shyly at Imogen, even as she nods. the doc isn't humoring her, but she doesn't seem to care - the moon is dark and the world outside is white, and she's like a kid in a candy store.

"And someone showed me how mo take angels too!" Sometimes it's the little things...

She follows Imogen into the church proper, in search for hot cocoa, shoving her hat into her pocket, followed by mismatched gloves she'd found somewhere.

[Roman Turner] "Um, I think she will want the babe to be in a safe place. As you can see we are kind of like a church, we're open twenty four seven and all sorts of lost souls come and go. I betcha the little one will spend a lot of time in your home. Then again, I ain't Fenrir nor a new mommy. Like as not she would kick our butts if she heard us talking about her like this right now."

He was actually whispering, cutting a look in Kora's direction.

"So don't let her hear."

He lifted his voice to cover the low conversation.

"I betcha we could steal part of the buildings down the street to try and board up some of them windows. But too much and we're gonna die from smoke and fumes."

[Kora] "Mmmmph." The sound is subtle. Her voice is an expressive instrument, but there's a certain reserve to the Skald, rarely broken. Rage coils around the base of her spine, but doesn't spark her blood with every contraction of her beating heart. "If you decide to pull it in, I can come by. Walk you through the grounds, on this side and the other. I can't renew the few deals we had on the other side - those contracts are personal, in a way I hadn't realized. But I can give you a sort of relief map, yeah?"

A short, narrow glance up. That noise of agreement in the back of her throat. "Targeted strikes. Coordinated. Strategic," there's a twist to her mouth. "That campaign starts with good intel. If it becomes a war of attrition," she looks at Rory, delighted over her Mow Snan. Imogen, Patrick. The space, and offers Hunter another quiet shrug, " - that's a war we lose, yeah? We haven't got enough bodies to fill the breach up with our English dead."

Imogen's remark about the whiskey gets a low, moving laugh. "I'll donate my share to Patrick here, yeah?" a lift of her chin toward the Galliard as he comes in the door, smelling of cigarettes. "Buy me another in a few months."

[Trent Brumby] "You're right. Let me give this hot chocolate to her, and I'll grab back my jacket, then I'll go out and have a look around." He claps Roman on the back and walks past with the mug in his hand.

Glancing to the others, he nodded a silent greeting and approached his mate directly. She was offered out the hot chocolate. "I'm going to steal my jacket back," he tells her with a quick smile, "and go and look for some more wood. Won't be long." Well, as soon as she gave him his jacket from off her frame.

[Roman Turner] "I will go with ya. Two sets of arms are better than one. Though if I vanish in a snowdrift, ya can't just leave me there."

[Trent Brumby] [phone! brb.]

[Kora] refreshing?
to Kora

[Hunter] His eyes follow Imogen even as Kora is speaking, Silence.. he mumbles almost parroting her and he seems thoughtful. It's obvious he is listening despite the lack of eye contact because he responds swiftly without a hint of distraction in his voice. Silence

That's a war we lose, yeah?

"Yeah. That's one we'd lose." His eyes return to her. "I'm makin' a list'a places I need ta' get. I'll add ya' junk-yard to tha' top of it. If you got more ideas, more places, feel free ta' chuck em' in there. Ain't snoopin' no more, maybe if I bash some skulls n' take some land back right quite it'll stir some shit up for ya', they might get sloppy somewhere, ya' might be able ta' get some more'a that info."

[Slaughter] Kora says that the kinswoman can give her share to Patrick - the doctor's gaze flicks toward the Fianna then back again, a faint smirk twisting her mouth, a lift of her shoulder indicating a shrug. Then, she is off toward the kitchen and does not appear to notice, or more likely, acknowledge, Hunter's eyes as they follow her. Imogen does not wave, but she does nod in Roman's direction as she walks with Rory into the kitchen, setting her bottle on the table.

"I think it's on the stove," she says over her shoulder to the Bone Gnawer, peeling out of her jacket and throwing it over a chair. There is a weapon at the base of her spine - no, it's two, a double holster maintaining two glocks, the shape of it clear beneath her sweater, the holster peeking out in a gap between sweater and jeans.

She pulls the bottle from the bag and sets it atop it on the table, a crackle of the paper as she does.

[Slaughter] (FIANNA)

[Hunter] [WHAT THE HELL IS ON THE STOVE]

[Slaughter] (Imogen's just in denial that she is now in the presence of two Fianna. Yes. That's it.)

[Rory] She follows Imogen, happy enough with the suggestion of warm hot chocolate to do so. And also, for all she doesn't encourage the metis, she has never shunned her either. In Rory's world, that is something quite special and rare indeed.

Imogen says it's on the stove, and Rory heads that way, pausing to locate herself a mug first. Once found, she pours her cocoa, and wraps her fingers around the cup with a soft little sigh of delight. She lifts the steaming cup to her lips, pausing to inhale the scent and let the steam wash over her face. She smiles - without hiding it away.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Galliard glances at Imogen, his expression showing a mild interest as something is donated to his cause. "Oh yeah?" The Cliath ambles after Rory and the Doctor, a hand rising to salute at Hunter as he passes, with a very cryptic remark idly passed on as he heads toward the kitchen.

"Those boots are still waiting, man."

He finds Imogen peeling off her jacket, and notes absently, his penchant for finding women who carried firearms on their persons around him. It was not what most men would call a comfort, but it merely draws a quirk of Patrick's lips as he looks away; down at the bottle on the table and flicks up a brow.

"I hope it's a good, Welsh brand." He's pretty certain it's not, and shrugs out of his leather jacket with a rustling of fabric and smoke, clinging faithfully to fibers.

[Kora] "Thank you," says Kora, twisting on the couch to accept the hot chocolate from Trent's hand. She lifts her face to him as he comes close, canting her head just sidelong, offering him her cheek for a kiss. Then he tells her that he needs his jacket back; her thoughtful half-smile deepens into something bemused but somehow private.

She hands the mug back to him. "Hold this for me, then, yeah?" And unfolds her legs, rising from the depths of the couch. It takes a hint of extra effort, visible perhaps to Roman, Trent, even Imogen - likely invisible to the rest. Her weight is more forward, now, her center of gravity changed and changing. First, the blanket is unwound from around her body, dropped back onto the couch. Then she shrugs out of Trent's winter coat and offers it back to him even as she accepts the hot chocolate from his hand. She touches him lightly, familiarly on the ridge of his obliques above his waist, touches his knuckles as the mug is exchanged again.

"Okay," she says, quiet. "Be careful in the storm, yeah? If the wind dies down and Li gets the Hrafn out again, I'll come back with you tonight."

A quiet thought filters into Roman's mind. I'm glad you two are getting along.

When she folds herself back onto the couch, Hunter has her attention again. There's a subtle twist to her mouth. "Good intel isn't about them being sloppy," she cautions, that sharp awareness in her eyes. "They're always sloppy, somehow. It's about us being smart. Don't waste yourself tilting at windmills, Hunter. Targeted strikes. The joints, the knees. Their fucking eyes." A brief, thoughtful pause as she looks up, at the rafters, imagining the rise of the belltower above it. "Actually, if you've got a target in mind, this storm would be perfect cover. If the Hrafn won't brave it, you can be sure as hell whatever tainted shit they have is grounded by the wyld, the storm, the ice and snow."

[Trent Brumby] "I'm staying the night." Trent calls over his shoulder with a rare grin, and a little glint in his eyes. Swinging his jacket on he heads out of the Church with Roman to go and find what they need.

[still on phone!]

[Slaughter] "It is a serviceable American brand," she says, casting a sharp glance at Patrick as if she expected his protest, or perhaps his judgement, "it wasn't originally fer me."

Rory enjoys the smell of hot chocolate nearby, Imogen's gaze flicks there, but does not remain.

[Roman Turner] There was a wary twist to his lips as he sent a thought back to Kora while following Trent out the door.

Yeah, well just wait till the next time I get sick on his shoes. Besides, can't let him freeze his parts off out there or Linus won't have anymore nieces and nephews.

[Rory] She offers Patrick a very shy smile in greeting, before she takes the first sip of her hot cocoa. There's a sound in the back of her throat, pleased with the taste, the warmth as it spreads through her, radiating out from her belly.

She has nothing to add in terms of serviceable whiskey, though.

[Hunter] Patrick gets a grin, a flick of his chin on greeting. "One day, one day patty." He chimes back to him before continuing the discussion with Kora. She warns him of sorts, or gives advice at least, tells him to put his efforts to good use, don't just swing at nothing.

"Ya' sound like fuckin' Joey." He grins to the Jarl. "I know though, gotta make em' count. Can't do that till I gots'a target though can I? I'm just sayin' I'mma stir the pot a bit s'all. If I roll around bold as fuckin' brass now hittin' anythin' and everythin' then when it comes time ta' hit somethin' worth while - they'll be taken by surprise by tha' sudden shift in my game plan. Ya' feel me?"

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Garou makes a hmming noise; vibrated from his chest as he crosses arms over it; interrogating the American brand with his pale eyes. They lift, brow furrowed: "Serviceable might as well mean we'll sell it but we don't want to drink it ourselves." Still, for his complaints he still takes it out of the paper bag and undoes the lid; sniffing it.

"You gonna join me, or make me into the absolute stereotype of every Fianna, drinking alone?"

Rory gets a brief smile, the flare of Patrick's amusement extending to her. "Hey, Red."

[Slaughter] Her mouth twists faintly as she crosses to the kitchen, reaching up for a cupboard. The handle, a small knob on a screw comes off in her hand. Imogen looks at it, faintly surprised before reaching up to screw it back in place, and opening the cupboard properly.

She takes out two plastic cups - the kind you would find at Target or a similarly cheap store and sets them down.

"If I weren't going to drink," she says, "I wouldn't ha' brought it out."

A flick of her glance toward Rory, "Yeh don't want any o' this, do you?" she asks, offhand, an eyebrow arching, "Bit o' whiskey wi' yer cocoa?" True whiskey drinkers everywhere turn in their graves.

[Hunter] [D:]

[Rory] She blushes when Patrick calls her Red, and she ducks her head to hide it behind damp curls. Then she watches Imogen get the cups, and offer a taste. Though so shy, Rory is an incredibly curious creature as well. She holds the cocoa closer though, not willing to sully it's perfect taste with something like whiskey, but well.

She is Fianna. And she nods, slightly. "Can I sry tome?" Though clearly in a different cup.

[Kora] Wisely, our heroine does not inform Roman that she has at least three younger siblings - half-siblings - capable of giving Linus more nieces and nephews. Apparently, she prefers Trent's parts intact as well. Puke on his shoes again and I'll kick your ass. Affection, warning, twined.

Trent receives - for his pains, his promise that he's staying the night - an expression of supple, quiet pleasure. A certain dark-eyed gleam that follows him as he exits. It is like a window - suddenly, briefly, narrowly - opened on her features. It closes nearly as quickly, as she looks back at Hunter.

Dark eyes shadowed by pale lashes, the glint there is quiet, assessing. Then she makes a low noise in the back of her throat - a sort of acknowledgment.

"You want my share of the Doc's whiskey?" Kora asks, rising from her place on the couch. The blanket around her unfurls as she stands, that hint of awkwardness in the balanced moment between sitting and standing glossed over by her inherent - animal - grace.

Hot chocolate still in hand, she lifts her chin toward the kitchen. "C'mon."

[Trent Brumby] [sorry guys, gotta bail. back later if peeps are around.]

[Roman Turner] ((Well, that makes me out. Thanks guys!))

[Prayers to Broken Stone] "Touche." He says with a vague suggestion of humor, and finds a place to lean his frame. The handle of the cupboard comes off easily in Imogen's hand and Patrick watches; amusement apparently growing if the glitter to his eyes is any indication as she screws it back in place.

Rory blushes and proves the Galliard's affectionate nickname quite appropriate and like any red [or alcohol infused] blooded Fianna asks for a sample of the whiskey. "Saw you in action last night," he says, apropos of nothing and so vaguely it could, on the surface mean he saw her buying a coffee before he adds.

"That shooting." He studies her face a beat; inquisitive. "Tough."

[Hunter] Business is over, perhaps not agreement but acceptance was found. It's all Hunter can really ask for from another Alpha, even if it's one he respects more than most. She offers him her whiskey and the corners of his lips bend in a wry smile. "Thought that was Patty's." A raised eyebrow but he pushes himself up off the couch and follows after her regardless.

"How long?" He asks on the way to the kitchen, eyes flicking down to her belly and back up to her face.

[Slaughter] "The barley's from Scotland, if it helps," she adds, pouring three fingers of liquid into each cup with practised ease, as if she could actually see the liquid level within - the cups are opaque and brightly coloured. The amber drink disappears into them to remain as only a shadow.

Rory would like to try some. Imogen gestures with a hand toward the cupboard. "Cups are in there. Yeh might want to try it wi' a bit o' water first. Cuts the burn. Put about this much," she holds up two slender fingers, the nails cut close, and carefully shaped "water in and then I'll pour yeh whiskey."

Patrick speaks of seeing her in action, and Imogen glances at him, frowning. Several seconds of silence indicate the time required to identify what he might be talking about. "Oh." The sound is quiet, restrained. "The domestic violence case." A pause, and then without gloating or grandstanding, "I found it rather routine."

[Rory] She hides her grin as Imogen tells her she can have some to try, and reaches up to get a cup, and do as she was instructed, carefully measuring out the liquid as if it were life or death important, even though it's simply her first taste of whiskey.

Shameful, for a Fianna, isn't it?

She turns off the water, and then sets it back near the other glasses so that her's can be poured. She scoops up her cocoa in the meantime and takes a drink.

[Adamidas] Adam is coming to the church.

Adam is coming to the church to see people.

Adam is coming to the church and she hasn't quite done her research.

When the female arrives, she wasn't expecting to see people. She wasn't expecting much other than Last Watch, to be honest, but she heralds her arrival with a pounding on the door. Hits once, twice, three times and the fourth is done with a flat palm. The cold sticks to her skin, hits her eyelashes and hangs in her lungs. Even this theurge can't insist that the cold leave.

[Kora] "I'll give Patrick my share of the beer," she offers, a wry twist to her mouth. "I bought a six pack of Bell's Two-Hearted just before this fucking storm hit." Even if she can no longer drink, she can buy it. There's a certain pleasure there, epicurean, indulgent even. A brief flash of memory: a park in the summer, a six pack, a bullish tattooed modi eyes gleaming with the reflected lights of the loop when she told him, gravely, that life was too short to drink cheap beer.

She was right.

The space is vast; Trent, maybe Roman have taken to cleaning up the snow, to remedying the hazards the abandoned, once fire-engulfed structure presents to a pregnant woman. There's a certain decayed grandeur, though, in its great neogothic lines. In the strange confluence of the white christ and wolf pack who have come after. The chill in the center of the nave is teeth numbing, and Kora keeps her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, sets her jaw against the bitterness.

Hunter flicks a look down at her stomach, firm against the stretched fabric of the gray t-shirt, stretched enough that the shadow of the waffle weave from the thermal under is visible through. Her dark eyes follow that flicker, down, then up. "I don't know," is the quiet answer. She does not touch her stomach, as many women might wth the question. But a moment later, there is a certain, subtle give. "Quickened, though. Starting to kick, too." Low and confidential.

The knock comes before they've made it to the door leading toward the kitchen; she cuts a glance back over her shoulder, then lifts her chin in that direction. "I'll get that. You go on. The kitchen's just down the hall beyond that door," set into the stone, just outside the chancel. "Can't miss it."

A half-minute later, Kora's opening the door. "Adamidas," a note of surprise in her pale brows, a twist of greeting to her fine mouth. She pulls the door open further, a whirl of snow preceding the Black Fury. "C'mon in."

[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Fianna is still looking at her when she answers, and only deviates from his attention when she offers over one of the cups. He studies the liquid within it; nostrils flaring slightly at the strong aroma before he looks back at her; frowning. "That might be upsetting," he says without fanfare; matching her honest assessment of her work.

"Or really disgustingly well adjusted." Patrick toasts his cup toward both Fianna women and downs it in one fluid motion. It has to burn, but aside from a pinching around his eyes he doesn't seem too perturbed. "I guess it's serviceable." He concedes, without inflection to accompany the remark.

[Slaughter] The doctor picks up the whiskey bottle and pours Rory's drink. "Take a sip," she advises. "Not a swig." This is advice she knows by rote. Rory is not the first she has introduced to whiskey.

The galliard comments that it is either upsetting or well-adjusted and she turns her head sharply to look at him, the corners of her mouth twisting slightly. "Pardon me, but yeh must realize the irony when yeh tell me that my ability to handle gore and blood is either well-adjusted or upsetting?" Her eyebrow arches, "Last I checked yer kind was the cause of much, much worse, aren't they just?"

It's not with rancour that she speaks. It is more like a thrust of wit.

[Hunter] Quickened, starting to kick too.

It seems like it should be strange that Kora doesn't know when she is due, Hunter has no experience with the subject but it seems odd for some reason. It confuses him but he doesn't have time to respond really. She tells him the direction of the kitchen and then wanders off towards the door.

Hunter doesn't actually wander off to the kitchen, he rather awkwardly follows the Jarl. When the door is opened he peers out and seems to relax when he sees that it is only Adam.

"Yo Adam."

[Adamidas] "Kora," she says, and her lips are chapped. Her expression isn't grim. her expression isn't anything, really, but it seems to make sense that she is proceeded by snow. She comes in and shakes her hair out. The snow flies and she kicks the snow off of her boots. When she has time to thaw out, she grins.

"Gah, this place is bangin'," and it sounds right when she says it. Her attention snaps back to Kora, or rather Kora's belly, then it's back up, "I need to talk to you."

Hunter gets a wave, her wrist twists back and forth. If it looks like this in the physical realm, imagine what it looks like in the umbra, "hey Hunter. Holding up?"

[Roman Turner] The door opened for Adamidas and before it could close something white and cold rushed through the door like a ferret with it's tail on fire.

"I hate snow! Did I fall in a snow drift? Noooooo. I fell in three of them!"

He was stripping as fast as he could, shaking snow out of his coat.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] "Unfortunately, yes." He says immediately, without skipping a beat. He's holding his empty cup against his chest and lifts his shoulders as he speaks as if his body would apologize despite his words. "We're born to be the cause, though. There isn't much choice there, we either do it, or walk away and still do it, just not to what deserves it."

Patrick's expression is grim, suddenly. "We stub our toe, and someone is torn to pieces.

Someone dies, and we're in the wrong place at the wrong time, still grieving." He glances away, straightens. "Another round?"

[Rory] She takes the advice to heart, and nods, reaching to take the cup. She sniffs the whiskey experimentally, and had made no attempt at all to hide that she watched Patrick take his drink. Call it progress, perhaps. Or rabid curiosity.

She tips the cup up and takes a sip, as cautioned, and her eyes widen slightly at the heat slipping down her throat, into her belly, in a much different way than the cocoa. She coughs, a little, and closes one eye to look into her glass, as if it holds the mysteries of why people can drink it straight and barely react like Patrick, or Imogen. So, in effort to discover why, she takes another sip. The taste isn't bad, per se, its just different, and distinctive.

then, much to the dismay of whiskey drinkers everywhere, she follows it with a swig of chocolate.

[Adamidas] Her eyes are wide, and the young theurge finds herself looking at a snowy, snowy ragabash. She blinks once, twice, and-

"... three?"

She blinks.

"You have to really... and...three?!"

[Roman Turner] Leaving a trail of clothing in his wake he paused just long enough to blink at Adamidas.

"Three, yeah, ya know. One, two, three? Who are ya anyway?"

And he kept right on talking as he tugged a boot off to dump snow out of it.

"Not only that, there was this fella out there all dressed in white and he had like a really small head and got fatter the further down ya went. Ran right in to him and sure enough, it was like running in to a wall of snow. By the time I got untangled, I couldn't find him the snow. It was like he just became part of it. Darndess thing I ever seen."

[Slaughter] Imogen's mouth twists as Rory takes a sip of hot chocolate. "I cannot imagine those flavours blend well."

Patrick says a lot. In the end, Imogen merely looks at him, evenly, and does not answer any of it. She's invited to another round, and the kinswoman glances at her as yet untouched cup. "Not even had my first yet." With that, she picks it up to take a swallow. While she had recommended that it be sipped and not swigged, this kind of whiskey is not meant to be savoured. At least not by those who consider themselves true connoisseurs of the water-of-life from across the pond.

[Kora] "Sure," Kora accedes, low-voiced. She steps back as Roman comes tumbling in, shaking free of the snow. A brief glance over her shoulder at Hunter as he follows her - awkwardly - to the door. There's a certain native humor in the shape of her mouth, that half-seen half-smile visible over her shoulder, not as intent as the look she gave her mate, just watchful.

Adam flicks a look at Kora's stomach. She's five and a half months, maybe six months pregnant, showing less than many women would at this stage - but showing now, without question. Kora says nothing, does not seem to acknowledge the look. "Like I said, c'mon in - " she's already turning around, leading Adam (and Hunter, and Roman?) back toward the couches. Where she pauses, sinking to her haunches beside a cooler. "You want a beer, Adamidas?" Lingers there long enough to get a beer, "Or a root beer?" belatedly, a memory flash.

If Adamidas accepts, she'll have her choice cool in hand a moment later, melting snow curling down the neck of the bottle. Kora makes a gesture toward the couches - an invitation to sit - after Roman has finished his story. Her humor's quiet, an undervoiced huff. When her packmate's done, she asks, "What did you need, Adamidas?"

[Hunter] "I gotta jet, say bye to Imogen for me will ya'?"

Hunter tosses the request out to all three of the Garou emerging around the door. Maybe there is an acknowledgement, maybe there isn't. Either way Hunter is pushing back open that huge door.

"Take care Kora." He shouts back at her over the winds and pulls the door closed.

[Roman Turner] The second boot was removed and he waved to Hunter with it, giving a warning.

"Look out man, there's some weird things out there and I ain't sure where that fella in white went. He might be waiting to fall on ya."

Rory's snowman was history.

[Rory] The look on her face suggests that Imogen was definitely right about that - the tastes don't mingle, at all. She lifts a hand to rub at her nose, absently, and then looks between the two glasses. She isn't one to not finish something she's started, and so she grabs the watered down whiskey and lifts it up to drain the rest of it, before she sets the cup in the sink, and moves to take a seat at the table, cradling her cup of cocoa to her chest.

It's not like the expensive wine's that Ray has shown her, at all. She'll stick with her chocolate for now.

[Adamidas] "You're pregnant," she says, "we need to talk about your challenge. And some other things, but it can wait for now."

She says. She nods, and waves goodbye to Hunter, "don't fall in a snow drift."

[Prayers to Broken Stone] "Pathetic." He says lightly to the notice she hasn't yet had her first, without malice and then chuckles; the warmth a rumble from his throat as much as actual laughter as Rory tries out the whiskey and evidently isn't that pleased with the taste. "Next time I'll find some of the stuff my Dad brings home for you to try," he tells the shy Stag.

"It'll leave you crying." Which did not seem, on the surface, much of an advertisement.

[Kora] "Night, Hunter," Kora says, a brief glance at Roman. As he warns Hunter about strange things in the storm. " - you walked into someone's snow man?"

Adamidas says, you're pregnant, and Kora's mouth twists, mild, mildly ironic. "I am pregnant, yes - " She nearly makes a joke of it, lifting her voice at the near-end of the statement, but swallows that touch of humor at the end. Her features shift, touch of dark eyes on Adamidas' features. "Go on. What's on your mind?"

[Hunter] [Thanks for scene ya'll!]

[Rory] She wrinkles her nose and considers that advertisement that it'll leave her in tears... then decides to ask Imogen. As far as Rory knows, the redheaded kin has never lied to her. Patrick, she doesn't know too well yet...

"...is gat thood?"

[Slaughter] Pathetic, Patrick says, and Imogen's glance is wry, and half challenging, an arch of an eyebrow, but little more than that.

Rory turns to Imogen, who has never lied to her. Imogen's mouth quirks, a twisting smirk, "Tha' depends on yer perspective. To serious whiskey drinkers it is."

She drains her cup.

[Adamidas] She looks up at Kora. She isn't tense and she isn't overly concerned. The Fury drops her voice and she tries to keep it between them. the Fury is patient, but... decidedly more mature than she had been when they had first issued this challenge.

"I remember that I had passed you under the conditions that you teach me about the Fenrir and I would teach you about the Furies. I've come to make good on my half of the arrangement," she tells the female.

[Roman Turner] "Snowman?"

He paused in the middle of fighting his way out of his Wranglers, frowning as he considered Kora's question.

"No, why would I walk in to someone's snowman? I tell ya, it was some guy with a big hind end all dressed in white. He must of been one of them negative Ninja's cause he vanished by the time I got back up."

There were the red long johns, completely visible by the time he got his shirt off. The flesh coming up out of the neck of the long johns was mottled, purplish like fingers reaching upwards where he'd had a minor mishap at the river one day with Kora. In a moment he was hunting around for those bear claw slippers of his and snagging up a blanket.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick is pouring himself another cup of the American brand as the Kinswoman directs her wry, challenging glance his way. He answers it with a little toast but doesn't immediately down this one, rather he takes it and holds it as if it were a good red in need of airing first.

The Galliard's knuckles, as he braces one arm behind him on a counter-top, are now fully healed, and free from bruising. It's a little niggling reminder, as are so many tiny things about his kind that tell of the need for privacy, of discreet maneuverings when it came to the public eye. Scratches, could be overlooked.

But broken bones healed at the speed by which a Werewolf did them was dangerous. "If you're not cryin', the whiskey ain't tryin'," Patrick recites into his cup as he gives in and takes a sip. "A very original creation by my father."

[Kora] "Someone's snowman," Kora returns to Roman, a twist of her mouth, good humor evident in the shape of it. "Three layers, fat head, fat middle, fat ass. Carrot for a nose, yeah?" Kora gives Adamidas a quick, dark-eyed look. There's a certain stillness there like a lacuna. She might have asked if Adam, too, was getting cabin fever to brace the storm to fulfill her half of the challenge. Instead, she just says, "Cool."

A moment of - something like attunement, follows. As if she were listening to something just beyond her ken. "Give me a few, yeah? And I'll be back. Meantime, there's whiskey, bread and stew in the kitchen if you want some. Roman, make sure Adamidas gets whatever she wants, alright?"

[Kora] (hah. AKA: OMG, I NEED TO SLEEP.)

[Kora] (night all, many thanks for sceneage!)