[Janis Ian] Janis just laughs more, shifting her body until her ass meets the cold stone of the porch, legs drawn up to her chest. She draws her arms around her calves to hug them. Muscles twitching reflexively in her tattooed skin.
She quiet as she listens.
[Owen DeTerizzi] *Another gruff nod, and the tightening of lips that must pass as a smile among Glasswalkers. Or perhaps only the DeTerizzi family. His card is from Bulgur's greenhouse - presumably where he works if the plant was any indication. Another nod to Fireclaws.*
I leave you to your rabbits. I'm in the caern, or on top of the brotherhood most days. Find me when you want to court that spirit.
*Eyes a strangely luminous green rise to the jarl as Owen takes her information in a dirt stained hand, tucking it in his back pocket for safe keeping, turning to go. Business concluded.*
Goodnight and Good luck.
[Kora] Then, a subtle sort of inattention as she focuses inward. Listening to Patrick, her attention drawn out, before she returns. He might owe you that for a while, man. Some fucker's - it is rare to hear her curse, particularly in their mind. There's a sudden, immediate viciousness to it though. - tried to claim our mom.
Little wonder, since the woman with no pure breeding produced three true born garou. At least.
He's gone home to deal with it.
---
Even sharpened with that spike of inborn rage, Kora's smile is more natural, more full than Owen's. Her mouth is wide, naturally curved. He wishes her good night and good luck. She wishes him, "Good hunting."
[Owen DeTerizzi] [G-dub OUT! thanks for scene!]
[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick shifts his cigarette from one hand, placing it in his mouth as he reaches out to accept the folder; his fingerprints will be left on it; smeared bloodily across it. He balances it on his knee and glances down at it without yet opening it.
"A shit storm, huh? Tell me about it."
He raises his eyebrows in expectation that she will do just that, as Kora tells him -- "What the fuck," a mutter, directed at nothing that makes sense around them, Patrick's expression distant, hazy a moment. What the fuck, repeated silently across the totem link.
I hope he kicks whoever it is around the neighborhood a few times. Izzy is showing me some info about something that went down the other night, you wanna come hear first hand or you trust my storytelling skills. He seems dubious about them, himself.
[Fire Claws] He watches the Glass walker depart the church while Kora still holds onto the rabbits. She made some sort of comment about cooking hers and he doesn't say much to that. He just watches her as she picks at the bag. And as he stands there before the Jarl, something seems to spark in his mind. Something he wonders about.
He listens to the reason for Linus' disappearance. But soon that is forgotten in place of his uncertainty about how to go about the subject that sits in his mind. Something that has wondered for some time. Maybe Kora can feel it across the link, an uncomfortable issue pressing his thoughts. She could certainly see it in his stance. He bounces on the balls of his feet, rolling his feet forward and back as he wonders how to say it.
"Fate~rhja. Aye gotta question for ya. Ok? Sumtin aye need ta ask ya."
[Fire Claws] (err.. Sorrow~Rhya. Sorry)
[Janis Ian] "What sort of shite?"
Janis isn't privy to the thoughts tumbling over a pack totem phone, she blinks as she stretches to stand, looking between the Fianna and the Fenrir kin out on the porch with her.
[Remy] [whoops, sorry guys, gonna drop ivan into the strip joint instead *LOL*]
[Izzy Montoya] The folder is far from pristine, with a coffee stain from her own cup, with pastry icing and crumbs from the moments in Kora's possession. She's not worried at all, then, that Patrick will add further grossness to the simple folder. Inside, is a sheet of paper, with typed information. Descriptions. A name - partial, and a name - full. Addresses. Times.
But it's the pictures that draw the eye, instantly. They show a break in a concrete path, a....thing - animated corpse at best - crawling out of it, snarling, screaming. And Izzy, gun drawn, hand steady, firing, in multiple frames. Close up. Dark eyes focused, determined, jaw tense and set. Another shot of her firing again, into the thing after it was killed.
She never forgets to double tap.
[She is strangely beautiful in these pictures, intensity bleeding from them. She is fierce. She is Fenrir.]
Other pictures are of a little girl, dancing, and posing proudly afterward with someone presumably her mother, in a self portrait of sorts.
"I was walking through Grant, and the paths were fuckin' blocked off, forcing a group of us to a single path. Broken water main, something, whatthefuckever. A woman - this one." she points to the mother in the picture. "Went past, then there was a scream. There was a kin - Delilah - and two Trueborn" Descriptions here, as she didn't get names - she describes Kieran and Natalie, to a T. "They approached from other paths. I saw a woman crawling from the concrete, intent on getting at that one." The mom. "I drew and fired. Delilah did as well. Almost shot the garou, as they jumped in the line of fire. They didn't shift, but they would have soon - could fuckin' feel it, you know?"
She pauses for a drag on her cigarette, and then nods as she exhales. "Delilah got in a good shot, then I killed it. Then saw the camera flash. Sent the True to deal with it, as I took that last shot, to make sure. The true asked for the camera, grabbed it, broke it. She told the Garou she was Olivia, and part of the Western Illinois Society for Paranormal Investigation and Research. There's the info I could get on it - not much. Bunch of fuckin' crazies looikin for the crazier shit. She wanted to keep the pictures as 'proof' of supernatural presences." She snorts. "The garou bickered back and forth, and then wandered off, pleased they'd gotten the camera. Olivia ran off, but looked back. Both Delilah and I saw where she was lookin - knew she stashed something. Delilah found the memory card. Those are the pictures that were on it."
She pauses, and takes another drag. "I dunno if ya wanna go find this chick, but if ya do, out of the 39 dance studios in Chicago that teach tap dance, 7 had recent recitals. I included all the addresses and class times for that kids age groups. Should help ya find her if ya need to."
Thorough, that's Izzy.
[Kora] I trust your storytelling skills. The Fenrir returns, mind-voice wry in the aftermath. She does not add to Patrick's wishes about Linus success, though there's a certain non-verbal response in the back of her mind, like a greek chorus, hear hear, hear hear. Fervent, tinged with the rage she swallows rather than spends these nights.
"Lemme put these in the cooler, yeah?" she remarks to Fire Claws, bending carefully over, picking up one of the spare coolers from underneath the card table and loading the fresh kills into the cooler. There's a moment half-way through when the smell of raw meat and blood just hits her wrong; wrong entire. She grimaces, mouth pulling flat across her teeth and swallows hard, then finishes the task and leaves the feral Garou's back empty on the floor beside the table.
"C'mon," quietly to Fire Claws when she's finished. There's blood on her hands now; she wipes it off on the thighs of her jeans, the gesture familiar and remembered. "Let's walk." And so she begins, walking back toward the altar through the vast, open space of the sanctuary. "What's on your mind?"
[Janis Ian] (needing to bail out! sorry)
[Fire Claws] There is a sort of unease about walking along your elder while you have a question that needs to be addressed, something that was.. almost a question of her authority to the lupus born. He knew his duty was to council, that was what a forseti was there for, but part of him readied himself. A challenge brewing at the edge of his mind.
He walks with his alpha as she suggested they do so. His pace matching with her own, his steps just slightly behind her own, giving his alpha potential for leading if she so decided to do so. A natural action ingrained in the feral born brain of Fire Claws.
"Aye 'erd word dat ya feel useless, dis tru'?"
His eyes were on her now, sharp and intense. Still not meeting with her own, not openly challenging her right to lead, merely focused on her cheek at the moment as he listens and waits.
[Kora] Her reaction is sharp and immediate. She's a half step ahead of him, somehow both waddling and prowling, expending energy that has no place to go except into her body and back out. Some law about conservation of energy, some fucking lay of physics comes to mind.
"Who the hell told you that - " it's a question, but her voice does not rise at the end to mark it out as such. He is looking at her cheek, her eyes are on his face. Direct and without filter now. There's a way she bristles, squares her shoulders and pulls herself further upright, expanding her spine to give her further illusion of height. The voice is low and intense.
[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick is silent, a smoking figure as Izzy talks of her experiences in Grant Park. He examines the pictures she's drawn, shifting his stance a little and flipping pages, the cigarette smoking, held gingerly between two fingers while he holds open the folder and reads; glances up at her sharply once or twice when she mentions some Paranormal Investigation Unit.
Some chick with a camera.
A child dancing.
He's silent for a moment longer when she's done, contemplating everything. "Ghost Hunters and all, huh," he surmises, scratching his cheek with blunt fingertips. Patrick's eyes in the dark are twin points of vivid blue. "Fucking fantastic," he breathes out, chuckles lowly. Then closes the folder, hoists it up a minute.
"I'll look into the kid. S'good work, Detective."
He's smiling vaguely, without more than what he says. Must be a compliment.
[Izzy Montoya] She shrugs, slightly. "It's what I do." It's who she is.
She flicks the ashes from the edge of her cigarette, takes a final drag and kills the cigarette against the step at her hip. She scrubs her hands across her face, and takes a breath - then simply lets it go again. "Didn't know if you'd consider ehr a loose end, or whatthefuck ever. The other two idiots were too busy fighting, an' fuckin telling me to quit being a jerk to realize the bitch got one over on them." A shrug. "So yeah. If ya need anythin' else, lemme know."
She stretches slightly, then looks up to meet his gaze, a little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Wouldn't consider a Halo rematch, tonight, would ya?" That she asks, speaks to how deep the need of company she feels tonight, even if she doesn't say it, even if she doesn't ask for what she really needs.
Company. Time spent with someone who gets her.
[Fire Claws] In the wild, when a lesser wolf addresses a greater wolf there is a certain dance involved, even more so within a pack. A careful test of boundaries and status, should the line be crosses violence occurs. Challenges are set forth in such a manner. Status either established, or disrupted.
To Fire Claws there is no difference even among true born, two-leg and feral born alike. He listens to her response, process how she reacts and pushes the boundary that much more. A need to council, to defend the standard of the Fenrir. Leaders must be tested and proven, it keeps the pack strong, keeps them hungry. Keeps them well among the best.
Kora meets his question like a proper predator should, making her bigger, seem more fierce. Determined to shake him from his course. But he was not mere prey, no wuss. He met her reactions with fery intensity. His voice deeper, more vicious in its snap. A low, gutteral retort.
"Does aint matter. Is dis tru?"
[Patrick Llewelyn] Prayers to Broken Stone tucks the folder under one arm, and straightens; stretching slightly. A grimace knits his brow as the movement reopens the slashes in his side. "I'll go show this stuff to Kora, get her take on it first before I do anything with it." A beat, she wants a Halo re-match and the Fianna's eyes -- well, to coin a cliche -- twinkle.
He studies her a moment.
"Tell you what, come inside and have a beer with me, need to slap something on my cuts and bruises, oh," he glances down at his pocket. "And give these to the right spirits or whatever." With that, the Galliard moves up the steps and pushes into the Church itself; the door wearily giving to the Garou's pressure against it with a creaking the reverberates inside.
[Kora] "It does matter," Kora returns, hands on her hips now. It's all part of the dance; and it's enough to bring the riding tension in her body forward, to pull it out of her. Make it part of her stance. She has an attractive face; sharp jaw but a generous mouth, dark eyes framed by blond brows and pale lashes, a certain openness that seems human, inviting. But the curve of her mouth is flattened, now - a flash of white teeth evident between her unpainted lips as she draws the expression wider. " - because it's not true."
That's a flash; another gleam of teeth in her mouth before she presses her lips together and lifts her chin dismissively toward something in the middle distance. "I'm a liability in a fight with the enemy right now. There's no question about that. But I'm not useless." Dark eyes refocus on Fire Claws, then. "Now, who told you this?"
[Izzy Montoya] "What, no sponge bath from Janis?" Lips curl into a smirk, as she pushes to a stand, and studies him for a moment. Then, she shakes her head, slightly.
"I'm gonna head home. Have Kora call if she has any questions." A beat, and then the slightest curve of her lips. "I think I'll indulge in bath, myself. You know your way, if you decide to join."
And with that, she watches him push the door open, and inside, before she turns and heads back down the walk, and toward her car, and the hot water that awaits her at home.
[it's bedtime for Lessa!]
[Izzy Montoya] [thanks for the sceneage. Night!]
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Night Lessa! Thanks for RP!]
[Kora] (chases!)
[Fire Claws] There is nothing seemingly more opposite than the way Kora and Fire Claws look. He is a beast, a monstrousity within human skin. There is no beuaty in his features, nothing that would even be remotely considered human, or inviting. He was feral born and it was painted within everything he did. Only the dark, intense gaze of there eyes and the reaction of teeth bared with teeth shown are all that seem common between the Jarl and the forseti.
His tongue plays with the weak, insults called caninies as she explains away his question. That she is not worthless, that her purpose for the time being has merely shifted. And in this, Fire Claws takes a step back, no longer pressing the thin line between challenge and mere council. Instinctly he recognized the importance of the alpha-female during birthing. How it kept the pack strong for future generations, that was why he made sure all his hunts came to her first, even when there was only enough for one mouth to feed. It was ingrained in his DNA, to provide for her so she could make them stronger.
He ponders this once more and thinks about the source, was it a trick or was the rotagar testing him? Seeing if he could catch the no moon within a lie. If so... he had failed, badly.
"Mayba aye be'n fooled."
A scowl across his face now.
"DAMN ROTAGAR. Aye will fine dat womin and kic' her ass."
[Kristen Burke] She hadn't been to the Church in a while. Well, truly she'd only been the once to visit Adara. But she'd been told she could come back and so she did today. Besides, she knew Patrick had clothes there and she had that niggling question that was bothering her.
She came bearing cookies that she baked earlier. A good idea when coming unannounced to bring gifts. It softens most toward you and keeps your head from getting bit off right away. She steps up in her lovely green dress with leafy embroidery and knocks gently on the door.
[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick, headed into the Church makes a bee-line at first to some out of the way corner, high up, wedged above one of the windowpanes he reaches up and with a grunt, drags his body up til his nose is eye-line with the top most edge of it; reaching into his pocket with his other arm he takes out the pair of eyes; lidless and monstrous; deposits them above the window for whatever spirit it was Linus kept chiminage with therein and; muscles corded with the strain, lowered himself down.
Dropping, the Fianna collected up the files Izzy had handed him and headed for the kitchen.
--
When he emerges, Prayers to Broken Stone has more objects stowed under his arms; cigarette gone from between his lips and replaced with a wad of what appeared to be bandages; or talens disguised as such. He sets himself up along one of the many pews and deposits his items.
Drags the soiled shirt over his head with a grimace, twists to examine his side; four jagged claw marks marring his skin. The Fianna's back was a testament to more such encounters, there were several smaller scars tracing it; many situated across his lower back; some criss-crossing his spine. On one shoulder, a black dragon breathed out fire, rearing back on its legs. Beneath it, a foreign phrase was etched into Patrick's skin.
So this is how Kristen discovers the Welshman; sans his shirt, patching himself up. "Come in!" He hollers; his voice muffled, teeth gripping a wad of cotton as he wipes clean his side.
[Kristen Burke] She pushes open the door slowly and steps inside. Her eyes land on Patrick and she starts to smile then sees the wounds and frowns a touch instead. "Would you like some help with that?"
Without waiting for an answer she moves closer and sets the box of cookies to one side and looks over the wounds though she does not try to take over yet. She waits for a reply before she will actually do anything.
[Kora] There's tension drawn between the pair of them; that much is obvious to Patrick from the crackling energy along the totem link, from the way the pair of Fenrir stand - too close to be simply conversing. Then it - eases. Fire Claws steps back, and Kora breathes in, shoulders lifting with the breath. Her whole body lifting with it: gravid stomach pulling the shape of her hooded sweatshirt forward, zipper pulls dancing quietly with the lifting breath.
"That's between you and her," Kora returns when he threatens to beat the damn Rotagar, a brief shake of her pale head. A supple twist of her mouth follows, wry and half-human, followed by a lilting half-shrug before she concedes. "It's just possible that I needed this reminder, though. I'm gonna go check in with the Hrafn." A glance back toward the front door, then. She can smell the cookies. " - save me a cookie, yeah?"
[Kora] (and that! I think is my exit post. is late and lizes are long since pumpkins on nights like these!)
[Fire Claws] (Thanks for the scenage)
She quiet as she listens.
[Owen DeTerizzi] *Another gruff nod, and the tightening of lips that must pass as a smile among Glasswalkers. Or perhaps only the DeTerizzi family. His card is from Bulgur's greenhouse - presumably where he works if the plant was any indication. Another nod to Fireclaws.*
I leave you to your rabbits. I'm in the caern, or on top of the brotherhood most days. Find me when you want to court that spirit.
*Eyes a strangely luminous green rise to the jarl as Owen takes her information in a dirt stained hand, tucking it in his back pocket for safe keeping, turning to go. Business concluded.*
Goodnight and Good luck.
[Kora] Then, a subtle sort of inattention as she focuses inward. Listening to Patrick, her attention drawn out, before she returns. He might owe you that for a while, man. Some fucker's - it is rare to hear her curse, particularly in their mind. There's a sudden, immediate viciousness to it though. - tried to claim our mom.
Little wonder, since the woman with no pure breeding produced three true born garou. At least.
He's gone home to deal with it.
---
Even sharpened with that spike of inborn rage, Kora's smile is more natural, more full than Owen's. Her mouth is wide, naturally curved. He wishes her good night and good luck. She wishes him, "Good hunting."
[Owen DeTerizzi] [G-dub OUT! thanks for scene!]
[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick shifts his cigarette from one hand, placing it in his mouth as he reaches out to accept the folder; his fingerprints will be left on it; smeared bloodily across it. He balances it on his knee and glances down at it without yet opening it.
"A shit storm, huh? Tell me about it."
He raises his eyebrows in expectation that she will do just that, as Kora tells him -- "What the fuck," a mutter, directed at nothing that makes sense around them, Patrick's expression distant, hazy a moment. What the fuck, repeated silently across the totem link.
I hope he kicks whoever it is around the neighborhood a few times. Izzy is showing me some info about something that went down the other night, you wanna come hear first hand or you trust my storytelling skills. He seems dubious about them, himself.
[Fire Claws] He watches the Glass walker depart the church while Kora still holds onto the rabbits. She made some sort of comment about cooking hers and he doesn't say much to that. He just watches her as she picks at the bag. And as he stands there before the Jarl, something seems to spark in his mind. Something he wonders about.
He listens to the reason for Linus' disappearance. But soon that is forgotten in place of his uncertainty about how to go about the subject that sits in his mind. Something that has wondered for some time. Maybe Kora can feel it across the link, an uncomfortable issue pressing his thoughts. She could certainly see it in his stance. He bounces on the balls of his feet, rolling his feet forward and back as he wonders how to say it.
"Fate~rhja. Aye gotta question for ya. Ok? Sumtin aye need ta ask ya."
[Fire Claws] (err.. Sorrow~Rhya. Sorry)
[Janis Ian] "What sort of shite?"
Janis isn't privy to the thoughts tumbling over a pack totem phone, she blinks as she stretches to stand, looking between the Fianna and the Fenrir kin out on the porch with her.
[Remy] [whoops, sorry guys, gonna drop ivan into the strip joint instead *LOL*]
[Izzy Montoya] The folder is far from pristine, with a coffee stain from her own cup, with pastry icing and crumbs from the moments in Kora's possession. She's not worried at all, then, that Patrick will add further grossness to the simple folder. Inside, is a sheet of paper, with typed information. Descriptions. A name - partial, and a name - full. Addresses. Times.
But it's the pictures that draw the eye, instantly. They show a break in a concrete path, a....thing - animated corpse at best - crawling out of it, snarling, screaming. And Izzy, gun drawn, hand steady, firing, in multiple frames. Close up. Dark eyes focused, determined, jaw tense and set. Another shot of her firing again, into the thing after it was killed.
She never forgets to double tap.
[She is strangely beautiful in these pictures, intensity bleeding from them. She is fierce. She is Fenrir.]
Other pictures are of a little girl, dancing, and posing proudly afterward with someone presumably her mother, in a self portrait of sorts.
"I was walking through Grant, and the paths were fuckin' blocked off, forcing a group of us to a single path. Broken water main, something, whatthefuckever. A woman - this one." she points to the mother in the picture. "Went past, then there was a scream. There was a kin - Delilah - and two Trueborn" Descriptions here, as she didn't get names - she describes Kieran and Natalie, to a T. "They approached from other paths. I saw a woman crawling from the concrete, intent on getting at that one." The mom. "I drew and fired. Delilah did as well. Almost shot the garou, as they jumped in the line of fire. They didn't shift, but they would have soon - could fuckin' feel it, you know?"
She pauses for a drag on her cigarette, and then nods as she exhales. "Delilah got in a good shot, then I killed it. Then saw the camera flash. Sent the True to deal with it, as I took that last shot, to make sure. The true asked for the camera, grabbed it, broke it. She told the Garou she was Olivia, and part of the Western Illinois Society for Paranormal Investigation and Research. There's the info I could get on it - not much. Bunch of fuckin' crazies looikin for the crazier shit. She wanted to keep the pictures as 'proof' of supernatural presences." She snorts. "The garou bickered back and forth, and then wandered off, pleased they'd gotten the camera. Olivia ran off, but looked back. Both Delilah and I saw where she was lookin - knew she stashed something. Delilah found the memory card. Those are the pictures that were on it."
She pauses, and takes another drag. "I dunno if ya wanna go find this chick, but if ya do, out of the 39 dance studios in Chicago that teach tap dance, 7 had recent recitals. I included all the addresses and class times for that kids age groups. Should help ya find her if ya need to."
Thorough, that's Izzy.
[Kora] I trust your storytelling skills. The Fenrir returns, mind-voice wry in the aftermath. She does not add to Patrick's wishes about Linus success, though there's a certain non-verbal response in the back of her mind, like a greek chorus, hear hear, hear hear. Fervent, tinged with the rage she swallows rather than spends these nights.
"Lemme put these in the cooler, yeah?" she remarks to Fire Claws, bending carefully over, picking up one of the spare coolers from underneath the card table and loading the fresh kills into the cooler. There's a moment half-way through when the smell of raw meat and blood just hits her wrong; wrong entire. She grimaces, mouth pulling flat across her teeth and swallows hard, then finishes the task and leaves the feral Garou's back empty on the floor beside the table.
"C'mon," quietly to Fire Claws when she's finished. There's blood on her hands now; she wipes it off on the thighs of her jeans, the gesture familiar and remembered. "Let's walk." And so she begins, walking back toward the altar through the vast, open space of the sanctuary. "What's on your mind?"
[Janis Ian] (needing to bail out! sorry)
[Fire Claws] There is a sort of unease about walking along your elder while you have a question that needs to be addressed, something that was.. almost a question of her authority to the lupus born. He knew his duty was to council, that was what a forseti was there for, but part of him readied himself. A challenge brewing at the edge of his mind.
He walks with his alpha as she suggested they do so. His pace matching with her own, his steps just slightly behind her own, giving his alpha potential for leading if she so decided to do so. A natural action ingrained in the feral born brain of Fire Claws.
"Aye 'erd word dat ya feel useless, dis tru'?"
His eyes were on her now, sharp and intense. Still not meeting with her own, not openly challenging her right to lead, merely focused on her cheek at the moment as he listens and waits.
[Kora] Her reaction is sharp and immediate. She's a half step ahead of him, somehow both waddling and prowling, expending energy that has no place to go except into her body and back out. Some law about conservation of energy, some fucking lay of physics comes to mind.
"Who the hell told you that - " it's a question, but her voice does not rise at the end to mark it out as such. He is looking at her cheek, her eyes are on his face. Direct and without filter now. There's a way she bristles, squares her shoulders and pulls herself further upright, expanding her spine to give her further illusion of height. The voice is low and intense.
[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick is silent, a smoking figure as Izzy talks of her experiences in Grant Park. He examines the pictures she's drawn, shifting his stance a little and flipping pages, the cigarette smoking, held gingerly between two fingers while he holds open the folder and reads; glances up at her sharply once or twice when she mentions some Paranormal Investigation Unit.
Some chick with a camera.
A child dancing.
He's silent for a moment longer when she's done, contemplating everything. "Ghost Hunters and all, huh," he surmises, scratching his cheek with blunt fingertips. Patrick's eyes in the dark are twin points of vivid blue. "Fucking fantastic," he breathes out, chuckles lowly. Then closes the folder, hoists it up a minute.
"I'll look into the kid. S'good work, Detective."
He's smiling vaguely, without more than what he says. Must be a compliment.
[Izzy Montoya] She shrugs, slightly. "It's what I do." It's who she is.
She flicks the ashes from the edge of her cigarette, takes a final drag and kills the cigarette against the step at her hip. She scrubs her hands across her face, and takes a breath - then simply lets it go again. "Didn't know if you'd consider ehr a loose end, or whatthefuck ever. The other two idiots were too busy fighting, an' fuckin telling me to quit being a jerk to realize the bitch got one over on them." A shrug. "So yeah. If ya need anythin' else, lemme know."
She stretches slightly, then looks up to meet his gaze, a little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Wouldn't consider a Halo rematch, tonight, would ya?" That she asks, speaks to how deep the need of company she feels tonight, even if she doesn't say it, even if she doesn't ask for what she really needs.
Company. Time spent with someone who gets her.
[Fire Claws] In the wild, when a lesser wolf addresses a greater wolf there is a certain dance involved, even more so within a pack. A careful test of boundaries and status, should the line be crosses violence occurs. Challenges are set forth in such a manner. Status either established, or disrupted.
To Fire Claws there is no difference even among true born, two-leg and feral born alike. He listens to her response, process how she reacts and pushes the boundary that much more. A need to council, to defend the standard of the Fenrir. Leaders must be tested and proven, it keeps the pack strong, keeps them hungry. Keeps them well among the best.
Kora meets his question like a proper predator should, making her bigger, seem more fierce. Determined to shake him from his course. But he was not mere prey, no wuss. He met her reactions with fery intensity. His voice deeper, more vicious in its snap. A low, gutteral retort.
"Does aint matter. Is dis tru?"
[Patrick Llewelyn] Prayers to Broken Stone tucks the folder under one arm, and straightens; stretching slightly. A grimace knits his brow as the movement reopens the slashes in his side. "I'll go show this stuff to Kora, get her take on it first before I do anything with it." A beat, she wants a Halo re-match and the Fianna's eyes -- well, to coin a cliche -- twinkle.
He studies her a moment.
"Tell you what, come inside and have a beer with me, need to slap something on my cuts and bruises, oh," he glances down at his pocket. "And give these to the right spirits or whatever." With that, the Galliard moves up the steps and pushes into the Church itself; the door wearily giving to the Garou's pressure against it with a creaking the reverberates inside.
[Kora] "It does matter," Kora returns, hands on her hips now. It's all part of the dance; and it's enough to bring the riding tension in her body forward, to pull it out of her. Make it part of her stance. She has an attractive face; sharp jaw but a generous mouth, dark eyes framed by blond brows and pale lashes, a certain openness that seems human, inviting. But the curve of her mouth is flattened, now - a flash of white teeth evident between her unpainted lips as she draws the expression wider. " - because it's not true."
That's a flash; another gleam of teeth in her mouth before she presses her lips together and lifts her chin dismissively toward something in the middle distance. "I'm a liability in a fight with the enemy right now. There's no question about that. But I'm not useless." Dark eyes refocus on Fire Claws, then. "Now, who told you this?"
[Izzy Montoya] "What, no sponge bath from Janis?" Lips curl into a smirk, as she pushes to a stand, and studies him for a moment. Then, she shakes her head, slightly.
"I'm gonna head home. Have Kora call if she has any questions." A beat, and then the slightest curve of her lips. "I think I'll indulge in bath, myself. You know your way, if you decide to join."
And with that, she watches him push the door open, and inside, before she turns and heads back down the walk, and toward her car, and the hot water that awaits her at home.
[it's bedtime for Lessa!]
[Izzy Montoya] [thanks for the sceneage. Night!]
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Night Lessa! Thanks for RP!]
[Kora] (chases!)
[Fire Claws] There is nothing seemingly more opposite than the way Kora and Fire Claws look. He is a beast, a monstrousity within human skin. There is no beuaty in his features, nothing that would even be remotely considered human, or inviting. He was feral born and it was painted within everything he did. Only the dark, intense gaze of there eyes and the reaction of teeth bared with teeth shown are all that seem common between the Jarl and the forseti.
His tongue plays with the weak, insults called caninies as she explains away his question. That she is not worthless, that her purpose for the time being has merely shifted. And in this, Fire Claws takes a step back, no longer pressing the thin line between challenge and mere council. Instinctly he recognized the importance of the alpha-female during birthing. How it kept the pack strong for future generations, that was why he made sure all his hunts came to her first, even when there was only enough for one mouth to feed. It was ingrained in his DNA, to provide for her so she could make them stronger.
He ponders this once more and thinks about the source, was it a trick or was the rotagar testing him? Seeing if he could catch the no moon within a lie. If so... he had failed, badly.
"Mayba aye be'n fooled."
A scowl across his face now.
"DAMN ROTAGAR. Aye will fine dat womin and kic' her ass."
[Kristen Burke] She hadn't been to the Church in a while. Well, truly she'd only been the once to visit Adara. But she'd been told she could come back and so she did today. Besides, she knew Patrick had clothes there and she had that niggling question that was bothering her.
She came bearing cookies that she baked earlier. A good idea when coming unannounced to bring gifts. It softens most toward you and keeps your head from getting bit off right away. She steps up in her lovely green dress with leafy embroidery and knocks gently on the door.
[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick, headed into the Church makes a bee-line at first to some out of the way corner, high up, wedged above one of the windowpanes he reaches up and with a grunt, drags his body up til his nose is eye-line with the top most edge of it; reaching into his pocket with his other arm he takes out the pair of eyes; lidless and monstrous; deposits them above the window for whatever spirit it was Linus kept chiminage with therein and; muscles corded with the strain, lowered himself down.
Dropping, the Fianna collected up the files Izzy had handed him and headed for the kitchen.
--
When he emerges, Prayers to Broken Stone has more objects stowed under his arms; cigarette gone from between his lips and replaced with a wad of what appeared to be bandages; or talens disguised as such. He sets himself up along one of the many pews and deposits his items.
Drags the soiled shirt over his head with a grimace, twists to examine his side; four jagged claw marks marring his skin. The Fianna's back was a testament to more such encounters, there were several smaller scars tracing it; many situated across his lower back; some criss-crossing his spine. On one shoulder, a black dragon breathed out fire, rearing back on its legs. Beneath it, a foreign phrase was etched into Patrick's skin.
So this is how Kristen discovers the Welshman; sans his shirt, patching himself up. "Come in!" He hollers; his voice muffled, teeth gripping a wad of cotton as he wipes clean his side.
[Kristen Burke] She pushes open the door slowly and steps inside. Her eyes land on Patrick and she starts to smile then sees the wounds and frowns a touch instead. "Would you like some help with that?"
Without waiting for an answer she moves closer and sets the box of cookies to one side and looks over the wounds though she does not try to take over yet. She waits for a reply before she will actually do anything.
[Kora] There's tension drawn between the pair of them; that much is obvious to Patrick from the crackling energy along the totem link, from the way the pair of Fenrir stand - too close to be simply conversing. Then it - eases. Fire Claws steps back, and Kora breathes in, shoulders lifting with the breath. Her whole body lifting with it: gravid stomach pulling the shape of her hooded sweatshirt forward, zipper pulls dancing quietly with the lifting breath.
"That's between you and her," Kora returns when he threatens to beat the damn Rotagar, a brief shake of her pale head. A supple twist of her mouth follows, wry and half-human, followed by a lilting half-shrug before she concedes. "It's just possible that I needed this reminder, though. I'm gonna go check in with the Hrafn." A glance back toward the front door, then. She can smell the cookies. " - save me a cookie, yeah?"
[Kora] (and that! I think is my exit post. is late and lizes are long since pumpkins on nights like these!)
[Fire Claws] (Thanks for the scenage)
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