Ornature

[Gabriel Ferreira] It's difficult to get word to someone when someone else isn't in possession of a great number of means of getting said word out to said someone. Never mind if one is direly injured, if one finds himself waking up unaware of what time of day it is or where the hell he is, if rumor has it that when he wakes up he's gasping the name of someone none of them have ever met before.

Joce doesn't need to worry about that. What she has, though, is that at some point between Wednesday night and Friday evening, word came from her mentor that he had been badly injured and that he would contact her when he was physically able to resume her lessons with her. Given that his brother is a Theurge, that he is tribesman to a female belonging to one of the strongest packs in Chicago, it is a valid assumption that whatever has happened to him could have been healed easily.

She knows, though, that her mentor is stubborn as a goddamn mule. If she's going to see him before he's good and ready to be seen, she's going to have to go to him.

[Jocelyn Burkhart] Ali told her where they were staying, way back when she last talked to him. It's been a while though, so as she makes her way to the Loft it's with a bit of doubt that she'll find him there.

Still, there she is on the doorstep, kitty hat firmly in place and holding a blue and white striped bakery box.

[Gabriel Ferreira] As Jocelyn is coming in, Gabriel is coming out. It's fortuitous, in that she doesn't have to have Lucille go collect him, but it also means that this is the first time she's seeing him since whatever happened that he's hiding out of sight for fear of anyone seeing him.

He still has all four of his limbs, and his organs are still safely housed within his abdominal cavity, at least as far as she can tell; what's different, though, is that in addition to his dry clean-only pants and his Oxfords, he's wearing a black zip-up sweatshirt, the hood pulled up to cover his head, and he has a dark gray handkerchief tied over his face, concealing all but his eyes. The left one is having a hard time telling if it wants to be closed, or open; when it's the latter, its sclera is blood red, and its iris is bleached white.

When he opens the door, Gabriel almost immediately ducks back inside.

"Shit," he says, voice muffled, and tightens his hold on the door to keep from fleeing out of sight. His dominant left hand comes up to his face, covering the handkerchief though it's already doing a good enough job of concealing what's beneath. Drawing it away, he says, "Jocelyn. Hi. Uh... you coming in?"

[Jocelyn Burkhart] She squeaks when she sees him. As one will.

"OhmyGAWD they like, totally said you got hurt and stuff but I figured that like you've been hurt before like before when your guts almost came out and then you were still fine and like, you didn't show up today and so I figured that there might be something like REALLY wrong only they wouldn't say what happened to you only that you were all messed up and so I wanted to come see if you were okay but I haven't like talked to Ali in a long time so I wasn't sure if you were still even like here but I thought I would come anyway and see if you were okay I mean are you okay?"

[Gabriel Ferreira] "Jesus Christ, Jocelyn," he grouses, his good eye squeezing shut as his hand moves from his face to the corresponding side of his head, "my head is pounding, would you dial it back a bit?"

[Jocelyn Burkhart] She blinks slowly. Then again. Bakery box lifted by it's string, she swings it a bit and the sweet fragrance of something freshly baked waft out.

"I like, brought cupcakes."

[Gabriel Ferreira] "Great."

Either he wants her to go the fuck away, or he wants her to realize what it is she's going to be dealing with after the redness and swelling and general pus-y weeping goes away; maybe she just made him nauseous swinging baked goods in his general area and is trying to retaliate because he's in a bad goddamn mood and she just happened to make it worse.

Gabriel takes his hand, unshaking despite the pain he's in, and knocks the hood of his sweatshirt back. A second later, he wrenches the handkerchief off of his face. What appears to have happened is that he caught a claw from something larger and meaner than him right in the goddamn eye, and then that claw kept right on moving through his cheekbone, his upper jaw and into his mouth. The left side of his face is still present, but it can hardly be called 'intact' anymore. That eye is going to be permanently blind when he's done healing, and his face is mangled beyond ever appearing normal again.

"I'm not hungry," he tells her.

[Kora] "This way - " the Skald says, quietly. She is in the passenger's seat, a needle dangling from a string she holds carefully in her right hand. The street is quiet, sleek. She doesn't belong here, but the passenger does. Kora looks out the window, which is cracked open, letting in the damp, cool spring air. Her pale face reflects in the glass, but the reflection is ghostly, incomplete, overlaid with the dim green glow of the dials on the dash, the smearing lights of the streetlamps.

She breathes in, concentrating, distant.

"We're close."

[Jocelyn Burkhart] "Eat them later."

There she goes again, from entirely too fucking chipper teenager to actual Garou in thirty seconds flat. He's got to know now that it's a quarter youth and three quarters calculated act. Her thumbnail is chewed though, the only less than composed reaction that she'll allow.

"What got you?"

[Gabriel Ferreira] Now, he can either tell the truth, and reveal himself to be in possession of no small amount of weakness, or he can lie and protect what little amount of dignity he has left in this moment. Gabriel has his right hand on the door, either for balance or so that he does not lose his orientation with half of his world shut out, and if she's paying attention Jocelyn can see it tighten on the frame as he stares at her. He pushes the handkerchief into the left pocket of his sweatshirt using spatial memory rather than his eyesight to accomplish this, taps his right thumb on the door one two three times, then sighs.

"I don't remember," he says. "Everything's fuzzy."

He pauses a moment longer, and has to visibly stop himself from rubbing the left side of his face. That will just make a mess.

"Do you want to come in, or are you just dropping off cupcakes?"

[Imogen] The car is sleek, mean looking. Its edges are curved, its grill sharp-edged. It is a small car, though it seems to take up much space, both in sheer size and power. And noise - the engine is a continuous growl, though the sound proofing of the doors and windows dampens it to a mere mutter. At least inside the car.

The red-haired woman's glance is the only thing that answers Kora's comment. A brief, searing look at the needle. She has, from time to time turned to look at it, her gaze drawn there like a positive charge drawn to a negative. Curiosity as the needle twists in a way that cannot be explained by the pull of gravity, the sway of the vehicle as it turns a corner.

She turns when she is told to turn. Stops when she is told to stop.

And when she is, she pulls into a parking space. "Yeh want company?" she enquires.

[Jocelyn Burkhart] Bullshit.

Her look says it, but she's blessedly silent. Instead, she moves to take his arm, close enough to support his weight if that's why he's leaning, but far enough to not be completely invading his personal space if he doesn't.

"Let's go sit down."

[Kora] "I do," the Skald affirms, quiet. There's a thread of humor there, though it is dryly made, dryly spoken, and dryly felt. The gleam of her eyes touches Imogen's reflection in the rearview mirror. The right corner of her mouth glides upward, the expression has a grim cast. These nights Kora feels like a cross between an incubator and a cotillion instructor and a fucking hall monitor.

With a goddamned yen for bacon double cheeseburger Pringles.

"Might need the muscle." Certain that she knows the last pull of direction, she breaks the lingering concentration necessary for the right, unclips her seatbelt, opens the door, and steps out. Lifts herself out of the passenger's seat. It takes work, these nights, the great muscles in her thighs, the long muscles flanking her spine to counterbalance the weight of late pregnancy. No longer does she walk with anything approaching her native, feral grace.

The Fenrir makes up for it in determination, though.

So there she stands, waiting for Imogen to exit as well before she starts walking toward the front door.

[Gabriel Ferreira] Gabriel doesn't push Jocelyn off of him or fight to maintain his balance and his personal space. At first, he does let her take hold of his arm and start to lead him inside, as he had when he was eviscerated after the first time he had to use his Rage to stay on this side of the Gauntlet in her presence--ever, actually, but that much is difficult to tell without memorizing the layout of his body, the placement of Battle Scars--but then something tugs at his senses.

It's breeding, at first; then it's Rage.

"Hold up," he says, and pulls his handkerchief back out of his pocket with a degree of precision and dexterity that persists despite his half-blindness and the injury causing it. Instead of untying and retying it, Gabriel slides it over his head and secures it in place before groping his way back out onto the front stoop.

If Jocelyn decides to help him navigate, he doesn't shrug her off. At some point, the injured Silver Fang recognizes the Skald; her companion is a stranger to him, but he doesn't pay her any mind.

"-rhya," he says, voice muffled by the handkerchief. Whatever's underneath has to be worse than what's visible, which is his destroyed eye. "Hi."

[Imogen] She might need the muscle - and a line forms briefly between the kinswoman's copper eyebrows. Imogen exits the low car with apparent ease. The door shuts with a well-refined click. She's dressed in jeans, a brown leather coat the skirt of which brushes her thighs.

She pockets her hands, glancing briefly at Kora before tilting her head for her to lead the way.

The Jarl is acknowledged but the Kinfolk is not. It does not appear that Imogen minds much.

[Jocelyn Burkhart] She stays by her Mentor's side, guiding him back to the door, holding her own as the Jarl bears down on her and keeping her mouth shut.

She's still wearing the damned hat, though.

[Gabriel Ferreira] He seems belatedly aware of the fact that Jocelyn is wearing that goddamn hat; once he realizes, though, Gabriel sluggishly reaches out to pluck it off of her head.

[Kora] The Jarl is wearing jeans, black Doc Marten's, and a pale gray maternity top. Which is as basic as it can be: maternity only because it is cut to fit the swell of her late pregnancy. The sleeves are long, but pushed halfway up her forearms to reveal a good half-inch of bracelets, all made of soft materials, no metal. Leather, suede. Hemp fiber, nylon thread: whatever was on hand. Some are knotted, others twisted, others braided. They cut off the pale length of her forearms like dark leather cuffs from a distance. Most are loosened from time and wear.

"Resurrection. Tell me you got whatever it was worse than it got you." - the Fenrir returns Gabriel's greeting, lifting her chin when she's close enough to speak without shouting. "This is Doctor Imogen Slaughter. Doc, this is Gabriel. One of Kate's, yeah?" Though perhaps Imogen picked that up given the neighborhood. It wasn't where one usually found Kora's tribe. Then her dark eyes cut past Gabriel to settle unerringly on Jocelyn.

She does not offer a greeting, though. Just that dark eyed look before she glances back to Gabriel.

[Jocelyn Burkhart] He gets The Look. It shouldn't be a surprise though, as it's the same look he's given every time she shows up with the hat and it's plucked from her head. It's become a game, really.

And she keeps her mouth shut, neck offered toward Kora when the woman's eyes land briefly on her, eyes down.

[Imogen] Imogen nods slightly in Gabriel's direction. "A pleasure," she says, her voice even. It is an attractive voice, pleasant on the ear, though in tone it offers little by way of warmth.

[Gabriel Ferreira] "It's ashes now."

It's ashes; he's still standing, even if he has to cover his face until he grows comfortable enough with his new mien to walk out in public without the damned kerchief. Gabriel stuffs the cat-ear hat into his pocket as best he can, though he's attempting to do it by muscle memory and not by sight, so he ends up fumbling a few times before he manages to cram it into the pocket. A pause for introductions, and Gabriel, who appears either under the influence of some sort of controlled substance or in a considerable amount of pain, lifts his unheld arm to wave to Imogen.

Normally he would lift his chin. He looks as though he wants to avoid even acknowledging his head still exists, let alone move it, at the moment.

"To you, as well," the Fang tells the kinswoman, then casts his one good eye back to the Jarl. Indicating the Cub with a slight movement of his held arm, he asks, "Are you here for her, -rhya, or...?"

[Kora] She’s smiling now; eyes shining, breathless with the unfettered promise of the Völuspá. “Ragnarok doesn’t have to be the end. If we fight and if we win, even if we die, we make the world anew.”

"Her, yeah." Another flicker of a glance at the cub. This one is not softer, but it is lighter somehow, flickering over the younger Garou's dropped eyes and submissive posture thoughtfully. Kora's dark eyes are keen on Gabriel when they return. She must be able to read the obvious signs of pain; the hazy, imprecise movements. The tension in his mouth as he holds himself upright. She does not appear to acknowledge it, though. Not openly.
Not yet.

But her hands, or at least the first knuckles of the fingers on either hand, have found their way into the front pockets of her jeans, slung low enough to cut underneath her stomach. More or less. There are no goddamned maternity panels, in any case. The posture is nearly casual, an odd counterpoint to the still formality of her sharp, pale features. "She wasn't in my territory and wasn't in the Caern. So I asked the Doc for a ride, she obliged, we came looking."

Another flicker, then back to Gabriel. "I don't suppose you invited her over?"

[Jocelyn Burkhart] Her eyes roll up to the side, so that she can watch Gabriel without lifting her head. Best to minimize the damage. Please say yes please say yes please say yes....

[Gabriel Ferreira] "Not exactly."

Just like a Philodox, to split hairs.

The majority of his pain, it's worth mentioning, is contained to his eyes; his face, everything below his cheekbones, is concealed by a charcoal-gray handkerchief. It's the sort of disguise one might use to rob a bank, the protection that would be helpful while moving through a sandstorm. All this manages to do is conceal the bulk of the damage done to the left side of his face. His eye is bad enough. That is clearly where the claw found home and proceeded to rake downward.

He has to keep adjusting his feet on the sidewalk to convince himself he's going to remain upright. When he leans on Jocelyn, which he does, it's only for a few seconds. Gabriel is much too heavy, too muscular, for Jocelyn to even think about holding upright, Fenrir or not.

"We were supposed to meet this morning," he says. "I begged off, so she came over."

[Kora] (OM FG. The first line was from another post I had on the notepad. hah. IGNORE PLEASE. )

[Imogen] (I thought that was REALLY RANDOM)

[Gabriel Ferreira] [I totally ignored it *LMAO*]

[Jocelyn Burkhart] Her position changes subtly, offering support when he needs it, clearly standing by just in case when he doesn't.

Even after he all but rats her out.

"I was told that he was hurt bad, Rhya. I wanted to check on him and stuff." Minimum words, and not a 'like' among them.

[Kora] Pale brows rise over the dark discs of her eyes in twin arches. Kora's gaze cuts back to Jocelyn when she speaks.

"And the bakery box?"

[Imogen] Imogen's attention moves slightly, elsewhere - almost as if she were before a private conversation upon which she intrudes. She watches their surroundings instead of the conversation in front of them.

[Jocelyn Burkhart] "Cupcakes."

Because, of course it is widely known that cupcakes cure all.

[Gabriel Ferreira] Like Imogen, Gabriel isn't more than peripherally aware of the conversation; once Jocelyn leaps in, and Kora intercepts, the Philodox lets the conversation drift along on its course. It wouldn't do to discipline her in front of her Jarl, perhaps, or else he's too slow on the uptake and now there's no point cuffing her or clapping a hand over her mouth.

[Kora] Jocelyn's reply has the Skald straightening. She pulls her narrow shoulders forward, her fingertips from the front pockets of her jeans. The subtle openness of her features shifts; tightens. Dark eyes narrow into closer focus.

"On the way, was it? The goddamned cupcake shop?"

[Jocelyn Burkhart] "Um." She nods, very slightly, starting to look panicked at the edges.

[Gabriel Ferreira] Oh, dear.

Gabriel shuffles his feet again, regains his bearings, takes what little of his weight was against the Cub to begin with to stand of his own volition. He doesn't wrench his arm out of her grasp, though; he seems well aware of the fact that his constitution is somewhat weakened, that he might run into something or be caught unawares without her here for the time being.

"It's alright, Jocelyn," he says. "Just tell the truth."

[Kora] "He's right," Kora echoes Gabriel. "Lie to me and it'll hurt a helluva lot worse."

[Jocelyn Burkhart] "It's. Like. Kinda?"

Her eyes flicker from Kora to Gabriel and back again, thumbnail gnawed at until the cuticle bleeds.

"It's on the way otherwise I wouldn't have seen it and I wouldn't have thought that maybe it would be nice if I brought Gabi cupcakes because like EVERYBODY likes cupcakes right and he was all sad when his guts almost fell out and I thought that maybe he would be sad now but I didn't know what happened to him and that his like, face was all cut off and stuff and so I don't even know if he can eat cupcakes but it's not like I knew that and I didn't go all over or anything I just stopped by to get him some cupcakes because I saw it."

Breathe, Joce.

[Gabriel Ferreira] The cuticle doesn't get a chance to start to bleed; Gabriel has his head turned to look at her when she's speaking, rather than relying on his eyes to turn toward her, and when he sees her start to chew, he reaches out his free hand and slowly, carefully, aligns his hand with her wrist and eases it away from her face.

[Jocelyn Burkhart] As always, there's no resistance when Gabriel urges her into anything. Her hand jams into her pocket, and she leans into the Philodox for a moment before offering her neck to Kora again.

[Imogen] he was all sad when his guts fell out - This earns a brief, sharp glance from Imogen, a shadow of reaction over her mouth. It is faint and fleeting. An acknowledgement of the absurdity of their world.

Her attention returns to her surroundings. She does not shift or fidget. The conversation merely flows around her, as if she were merely a facet of the scenery rather than a participant.

[Kora] "Stand up straight." The Skald's dark eyes cut to Gabriel as he intercepts Jocelyn's half-chewed thumb, bats it away from her mouth. The corner of her mouth rises, minutely. The expression does not quite find its way to her eyes, though, which are steady and direct. She stands with her feet more than shoulder width apart, her shoulders pulled back to counterbalance the weight of her stomach. Glances back to Jocelyn a moment later.

"The rules are, Jocelyn, you don't leave my territory or the Caern without my permission unless you are sent under leadership of another Garou to deal with a threat to the Caern.
"There aren't cupcake exceptions. There aren't sick visit exceptions. There isn't even an exception for that fucking Rotagar stuck my kitty hat two feet beyond the boundaries and I want it back. Not without my sayso.

"If you want to visit Gabriel, or buy another idiotic hat and it takes you a half inch outside of those boundaries, you have to come find me first. You've earned yourself two more weeks of home confinement before I'll even consider lifting the restrictions." A brief pause, and here she flicks a look back to Gabriel. " - but since you're here you have my permission to stay until midnight, or until your host wants you gone."

[Jocelyn Burkhart] Which she clearly expects to be now. Her posture straightens though, eyes still carefully avoiding Kora's

"Yes Rhya."

[Lukas] It's a vaguely bizarre experience to catch an afternoon nap at the Loft and wake up to the sound of strangers downstairs. Some instinctive, primitive part of Wyrmbreaker is instantly alert, instantly bristling, the very second he becomes aware of them. The part of him that's human, or at least raised amongst humans, keeps him from racing to meet the intruders with teeth bared and hackles raised. Snapping and snarling. Driving them out, out, out of his territory before pissing on the nearest tree to re-mark the boundaries.

He still comes downstairs to see what's what, though. The Ahroun appears in degrees: bare feet first, then blue jeans. Comfortable and old, not at all the sharp designer gear he wears under tailored vests and button-down shirts sometimes. His t-shirt is logoless, dark brown. His hair is mussed. There's a crease on his cheek where his face pressed to a seam on the couch.

He stares at them, the Fang and the Fenrir and the cub and the kin. Unsmiling and unblinking, a thoroughly feral regard.

[Gabriel Ferreira] [FYI: we're outside on the sidewalk.]

[Lukas] [what the hell, liz told me you were in the loft! *kicks* okay, well, he'll just go stare at them on the sidewalk.]

[Kora] (You said are they AT the loft. not IN the loft!)

[Lukas] [i'm still too lazy to change my post. *LOL*]

[Gabriel Ferreira] [We STARTED with Gabriel in the Loft and Joce at the door. YOU GUYS KNOW I CAN'T BE FUCKED CHANGING MY TAGS.]

[Lukas] [BACK IC. *punts everyone*]

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The Strider hasn't been seen around the Loft since Wednesday night when she, Kate and Adara fought off some nasties together. She had made sure that Adara was back to the Brotherhood, headed home with Kate and then that night, after waking up screaming an hour after she went to bed, she headed out on her own. She's been quiet, over the pack link as well. No one at the Loft has seen hide nor hair of them.

Until now.

She's walking down the street. No van. Who knows where the Bitchmobile is. She looks very, very tired. But she's not drunk. She's chain smoking, one of her other sets of clothes that she keeps inside the van on as opposed to the ones that got torn up fighting the things two nights ago. And her steps slow, brow furrowing when she sees a coalition of Garou around the front of the Loft.

"What in Loki's asscrack is this?" she says, more to herself than anyone else, and she stops about a quarter of a block down to get a gauge on the situation before she comes closer.

[Kora] A brief flicker of the Fenrir's dark eyes as Lukas appears in the hallway behind Gabriel and Jocelyn. It's chilly, the threat of rain hanging in the air, a bank of orange clouds overhead. Kora's left her coat behind in Imogen's car, and stubbornly refuses to acknowledge the chill. Or the fact that she is standing here, eight months, eight and a half months pregnant, on the stoop of some Silver Fang's swank residence, disciplining a Modi who was wearing a kitty had until a Silver Fang philodox swiped it off her head.

"I'll leave that to you," says Kora, flickering a glance back to Gabriel. "Her charming company for another few hours, or blessed silence in which to enjoy your cupcakes. And heal."

[Gabriel Ferreira] Wednesday night is about the time that a Fostern Bone Gnawer and one or the other Cliath--Shadow Lord or Child of Gaia, Kate's tribesman can't damn well remember; it could have been any of them--carted Resurrection back to the Loft with his head half-caved in and his memory thoroughly obliterated even after healing. Though he himself hasn't kept a room here, they had been looking for his brother, the Theurge with the bizarre countenance and affinity for the spirit world, with whom he has been staying the last two days.

'Staying,' in that he avoids leaving his brother's room unless absolutely necessary. Were not for the fact that someone at some point alerted Honor's Compass to the fact that she had company, they might not have even realized he was here. Resurrection doesn't make a whole hell of a lot of noise.

While he isn't facing that direction, the press of Rage, the niggling of breeding, from the Adren Lord behind him tugs at his attention. Gabriel doesn't turn; he's looking at the Fostern of his student's tribe as she addresses him.

There aren't a lot of people out this time of night, and the handkerchief is blowing bloody breath back in his sinuses. Gabriel reaches up to yank it down away from his nose and mouth, revealing the hamburger mess that is the left side of his face, and rubs the back of his neck.

"It looks like we have a makeup lesson to tend to," he says, without looking at the Cub.

[Jocelyn Burkhart] "Yes, Rhya."

Because, really, it's the absolute safest thing that can come out of her mouth, and she'll limit it to that and shift to heal her tongue from being bitten nearly through later.

[Kora] "Midnight, Jocelyn." Kora says, fixing the young modi with another look. Her voice brooks no disagreement. "No later."

Then, at last, she lifts her chin in acknowledgment of Lukas' presence behind Gabriel and Jocelyn. "Wyrmbreaker-rhya." Her voice is low, clear and direct. The name is both greeting and leavetaking, so it seems. "Apologies if we interrupted you sleep. Goodnight."

And with that, the Skald turns around to take her leave, cutting a look to Imogen as she does. "Thanks for the ride, Doc." That's even more quiet than her usual low tone. "Do you know if there's a Dairy Queen around here?"

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She flicks her cigarette out into the street, pulling out another one on instinct but hesitating and putting it back. People are dispersing and she approaches, giving nods to Kora, who she knows, and Imogen, who she doesn't as she makes her way to the door.

Gabriel and Jocelyn get passing nods as well. The Strider doesn't look very talkative today. She only slightly double-takes at Gabriel's new look.

[Imogen] Imogen glances briefly toward Lukas, appearing in the hallway beyond, somewhat sleep rumpled. The touch of her eyes serves as a greeting, before she offers a brief 'Enjoy yer evening' to both Fang and Cub, glancing at Kora as she turns with the Fenrir.

"I believe you've mistaken me fer someone else," is the response to the question regarding Dairy Queen. In more words than necessary, then, she means: No, I have no idea.

[Jocelyn Burkhart] "Midnight, Rhya. Not a second later. Thank you."

[Lukas] None of the three Garou gathered near the front of the Loft look at Lukas for more than a split-second. Two of them don't look at him at all. It's impossible to ignore his presence there though -- dark, towering, rumbling with understated rage.

It always seems overcast and stormy over the Loft these days. Umbraside, falcon gafflings wing overhead, surfing thermals, cutting through the wind. Cockroaches with faintly metallic sheens -- possibly to Kate's great dismay -- skitter along the cracks and the crevices. These days, on occasion, owls roost under the roof overhangs.

Kora addresses him eventually. That's when he steps down from the stoop, crossing the distance out to the small gathering. His footsteps are quiet; leisurely. He returns Kora's greeting with a nod.

"Aren't you going to greet your elder?" This is to Gabriel and Jocelyn. His tone is low, uninflected. Hard to tell if it's meant at all in jest. "What's going on here?"

Whatever the answer is, he seems only mildly interested. He speaks to Kora instead, "You see the land developments near the Caern?"

[Jocelyn Burkhart] She's going to keep her goddamned mouth shut as much as possible is what she's going to do. The tilt of her head changes just a bit, so that her neck is offered to Lukas instead of Kora now. Just in case.

"Good evening Rhya"

[Gabriel Ferreira] Aren't you going to greet your elder?

When Resurrection turns around to face Cold Victory, no one would blame the Adren for not recognizing him. Those are his shoes, and he's dressed like he typically does, in well-tailored monochromes, but--yeah I'm done describing the fact that he's fucked up if it isn't abundantly clear by now it won't be with another repetition. He doesn't look familiar, unless one only focuses on the right side of his face.

"-rhya," he echoes Jocelyn.

What's going on here?

Lukas is only mildly interested, and ends up addressing Kora before the Silver Fang can summon the inner fortitude necessary to make his face move to answer. No matter. He turns to Jocelyn, and says, "C'mon, walk me to the Caern. I'll carry the damn cupcakes."

He says 'damn' with some fondness.

"I'm keeping the hat, though."

[Jocelyn Burkhart] There are so many things that would usually cause a protest in that. She's walking a tightrope right now though, so instead she sucks it up.

That's two kitty hats down, two to go now.

"They're red velvet." This as she takes his arm, nodding to Lukas without looking at him, so that she doesn't irritate anyone else any further.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] After a moment, her nerve gives out for whatever reason and instead of hitting the door, she just continues on down the street.

[Gabriel Ferreira] "Really?"

And they're off, Gabriel walking more or less of his own volition. Letting the Fenrir teenager hold his arm seems to be more for her benefit than for his, but he doesn't have as much pride to swallow as her tribe does.

"Have you been talking to Hanna? You're the best student ever, don't let anyone ever tell you different."

[I'm being kicked out of the cafe, I'll see you assholes when I get to work tomorrow! Thanks for the scene, all!]

[Kora] When Sarita comes around the corner, heading toward the loft, the Skald lifts her chin by way of acknowledgment. The gesture is accompanied by a brief touch of her dark eyes on the Silent Strider's face. Kora steps out of the way, clearing the path for Sarita to head toward the pair on the stoop.

"I mean - " to Imogen. "if there was a Dairy Queen close by, you might've been there. Probably would've been a half-dozen murders there over the years. Ice cream headaches. Fucked up orders. Robberies gone wrong. Blood in the soft serve machine, yeah? Marshmallow creme in the butterfinger Blizzards."

Here, Kora flickers a look back to the contrite Jocelyn. She is about to say something when Lukas steps around the pair, past them, down the stoop. So the heavily pregnant Skald's attention swings, lifting upward to match Lukas' walk toward her. She turns, pivots, hands finding their way back to the front pockets of her low slung jeans. The gray cotton maternity tee pulls over the swell of her stomach, and is long enough to reach her hips. Her elbows are narrow against her body, framing her stomach.

He asks about the land developments. Kora shakes her head, "No. What land developments?"

When she goes to the Caern these days, she walks through the umbra. She cannot fit through the chain link fence. And somehow it seems a helluva lot more suspicious with a pregnant woman ducking into abandoned docks than a teenager in worn cloths and combat boots.

[Imogen] "They all blend together after a while," she answers Kora - and had been, perhaps, about to say more when Lukas addresses the Fenrir Jarl. Kora turns to speak, and Imogen's gaze moves once more around their surroundings.

An unknown Garou starts toward the door of the loft, but then, for whatever reason, changes her mind, turning and heading back down the street. Imogen watches absently, a hand lifting to push hair back from her face.

This time, her attention is not quite so deliberately averted. Though she keeps her awareness to their surroundings, there is no impression of her ignoring the conversation between Shadow Lord and Fenrir.

[Carter Roth] The Loft, to many garou it was a place of safe harbour. A place that was worth your time to come in, have a seat, have a chat with the those who lived there, if of course you were invited. Carter for his part, had recently if perhaps not entirely of his own volition, become a resident there. And as was so often the case in such places, smoking was strictly forbidden within the loft itself. Or at least Carter like to imagine this was the case so he could take a bit to step outside and stroll the neighbourhood, never wandering to far.

It seemed that it was time for a smoke break, as the door to the loft suddenly swung open and Carter stood framed in the doorway, combat boots, combat pants, his old leather jacket and a cigarette hanging from his mouth, the lighter just lit so that he could light up.

The presence of the garou just beyond the confines of the loft gave Carter pause, a momentary lapse in his step. But he recovers quickly, and perhaps to the surprise of those gathered there. He steps out and closes the door behind him, lighting the smoke as it clicked close. He grins crookedly at the gathered individuals and let a puff of smoke clear through his nose before speaking.

"Huh, its a convention."

[Lukas] "Go have a look for yourself next time you're there," Lukas says. He's -- distant for a moment, his pale eyes drifting past the women to his packmate. Then back. "In short, there's some land development company breaking ground to put in a 'waste repurposing site'. Last month one of the kin - Starla - stole a USB drive that turned out to contain some pretty sensitive information. Apparently the mob's behind new toxic waste dumpsites along the river and the shore. Seems like this might be one of those sites.

"I've no doubt the Garou of the Sept are going to want to go in there and break some heads, but I'm not entirely sure that'll help. I'm going to keep a lid on that, at least barring any emergency we have to respond to immediately. It's best if we let our people pull strings and play this in the mortal arena for now.

"That angry kin of yours. Izzy Montoya. I had an interesting discussion with her the other day. She's hardly anyone's sweetheart, but she seemed hardy and willing to help. It might be useful to put some police pressure on the Scarpescis. Keep them distracted while others look into throwing a wrench into their plans. Could you ask her to look into it, and get in touch with Dani&+269;ka or Matthieu to keep the kin on the same page?"

[Imogen] Imogen glances up briefly toward Lukas, though she's not been addressed. Her eyebrow arches slightly at the description of Izzy. "Yeh make her sound a bit like a goat," she says, offhanded, more observation than anything else.

"S'likely better t'get any interested kinfolk t'gether to talk about their plans and get them on th'same page rather than askin' our liaisons t'play operator in a game o' chinese whispers. Ha' a concentrated plan tha' the liaisons can then pass on t'the Garou."

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She disappears around the corner, throwing a quick glance back at the people assembled just before she does.

[Kora] "You mean the Black Hole Sun people, yeah?" There's a spark of recognition, then, in the dark-eyed Fenrir woman's gaze. The light sheens across the surface of her eyes as she cuts a to Imogen, then back to Lukas. "Roman's been in and out already, monkeywrenching. He took out most of their heavy equipment, made it all look like pretty juvenile vandalism. Still, it'll delay the work by a few days. Maybe a week or more. Hell," Kora shrugs, narrowly. " - maybe longer. Depends on how deep their pockets are."

The Skald cuts a sideglance at Imogen as the kinswoman speaks, then lifts her chin as she sweeps a look back to Lukas. "I'll see what Izzy can spark in the Police Department. She'll need whatever information you have on the Scarpesis. Though she's in homicide, not organized crime. Won't have as much control on where things go from the outside, I imagine," here she looks back to Imogen to confirm or refute her assumptions. Kora's entire knowledge of the criminal process comes from reruns of Law and Order on Icelandic television.

In Icelandic, natch.

[Kora] In Icelandic***, natch.

*Which she doesn't actually speak.
**Badly dubbed, no less. Icelandic Iron Chef was her favorite. Translated from Japanese to English and English to some godforsaken -

[Carter Roth] Carter had gone unnoticed so far, but then...he was simply standing at the door, and his words had largely been for himself. He took several steps forward then, feeling the rage pushing against his skin, and for once....it didn't bother him quite so much.

But that of course doesn't undo years of problems, and as Carter addressed the gathered individuals it was made clear that that was the case. "Sounds like your planning a full blow puppeteer campaign." He said in that gruff, rumbling voice of his as he stepped up to the group.

"Sounds like fun."

[Lukas] "I'll put a copy on GW.net's secured FTP, courtesy of my packmate. We'll get her a temporary passcode so she can download it. Tell her to watch her back, though. Starla apparently got threatened."

His kin -- by far his most troublesome kin -- is coming up the path. The hesitation at seeing Garou is less than one might expect. Lukas notes this; he notes Carter as well, and nods him over.

"Carter, why don't you listen in. Maybe you can offer some insight." That's unusual. For the past couple weeks, Lukas has been keeping Carter away from other Garou and kin whenever possible.

Imogen addresses him directly. If this surprises the Shadow Lord -- the Adren, the Ahroun that even other wolves don't look directly at for long -- it's only in the quickness with which his glacial eyes flick to the kinswoman.

"I work with what I have," he says. He's a different breed of Ahroun: there's a measuredness to his words, a steadiness in his manner. "I'd love if the kin could get themselves organized enough to turn out a single coherent plan, but the last progress I heard of the coalition was at that meeting the other night. As far as I know, there's no leadership and not much of a coalition to speak of, and I can't wait for them to get themselves sorted out before putting people on this issue.

"The Grand Elder spoke well of you that night though," he adds. "There was some expectation that you'd spearhead the coalition after that. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised that you haven't yet. Did no one tell you?"

[Lukas] [gah! i didn't see carter's post. delete the part that addresses him, i'll rewrite.]

[Lukas] "I'll put a copy on GW.net's secured FTP, courtesy of my packmate. We'll get her a temporary passcode so she can download it. Tell her to watch her back, though. Starla apparently got threatened."

Imogen addresses him directly. If this surprises the Shadow Lord -- the Adren, the Ahroun that even other wolves don't look directly at for long -- it's only in the quickness with which his glacial eyes flick to the kinswoman.

"I work with what I have," he says. He's a different breed of Ahroun: there's a measuredness to his words, a steadiness in his manner. "I'd love if the kin could get themselves organized enough to turn out a single coherent plan, but the last progress I heard of the coalition was at that meeting the other night. As far as I know, there's no leadership and not much of a coalition to speak of, and I can't wait for them to get themselves sorted out before putting people on this issue.

"The Grand Elder spoke well of you that night though," he adds. "There was some expectation that you'd spearhead the coalition after that. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised that you haven't yet. Did no one tell you?"


His kin -- by far his most troublesome kin -- is coming up the path. The hesitation at seeing Garou is less than one might expect. Lukas notes this; he notes Carter as well. He's lived at the Loft a while now. Seen enough of the pack, and of Lukas, to know that sometimes the Shadow Lord is amicable. Friendly, playful with his pack, almost gentle.

Not when he wakes up to strangers congregating on the lawn, apparently. Not when he wakes to heavy machinery banging on the proverbial walls of the Caern. There isn't much patience in him tonight as he regards Roth.

"Carter, if you'd like to contribute to solving the problem we've got on hand, I'd gladly welcome whatever input you have. But if you're just going to snark, go bother Lucille."

[Imogen] Kora glances in her direction and the doctor nods. "She won't be able t'investigate them fully, but there are undoubtedly several ways we can mire 'em in paperwork. Slow them down, inspect their property, invalidate their permits."

When Lukas speaks of his surprise, Imogen's mouth twists into a narrow smirk. "That is likely not the first nor the last time I will ha' disappointed a Full-blood's expectations."

The irony of that - speaking of disappointment that Garou may have in her, in the same moments he speaks of the Grand Elder of the Sept speaking well of her.

"But my comment wasn't idle advice. Half-bloods ha' gotten together t'come up wi' a coherent plan before, wi'out the word 'coalition' applied. I imagine we can do it again. I'll need as much detail as possible, and some assistance in gettin' the word out, but it's better than everyone runnin' off individually."

[Imogen] The kinswoman glances briefly at Carter when he speaks, when Lukas addresses him, but she does not speak to him yet.

[Kora] Kora shifts, pulls her shoulders back, stretching her back to relieve some of the burden the weight of late pregnancy puts on her spine. Her hands slip from her front pockets, long fingers splay over her hips as she stretches. This is her only concession to the discomfort. After, she crosses her arms beneath her breasts, over the swell of her stomach, watching and listening to Lukas, a subtle frown tugging the corners of her mouth downward.

A flicker of a look toward Imogen when she speaks, is followed by a supple twist of her mouth. "I'm not sure you need all the kinfolk involved, either. Just those who have something to contribute. There's that proverb about cooks and soup, and chains and weak links."

[Carter Roth] Carter laughs at Wyrmbreakers words, and to some, it might sound sour and unkind, but then that just might be Carters way. He looks at Wyrmbreaker directly, something he has never been afraid to do, looking the man in the eyes before he speaks once more.

"What snark? I was being honest...it sounds like fun." He lets a crooked, some might say rakish grin cross his features as he regarded the others. "And a Puppet Campaign has never been a laughing matter. They're deadly, effective, and only dangerous to those who are doing the immediate string pulling." Of course...this meant the kin, but amazingly Carter says nothing in regards to that.

"It targets resources, infrastructure, and specialized personnel offensively, while using politics and figureheads to erode the support of the enemy." He looks up at Lukas like he should know these things.

"I prefer to slash and burn...but thats just me, and I don't think explosives are readily available in Chicago." He looks directly at Kora then and shrugs. "Every person has something to contribute, even if its just a body. That being said, it all depends on what exactly you want to do."

[Lukas] "Not everyone needs to contribute in the doing," Lukas replies, "but I want everyone in the know. Otherwise you get redundant or counterproductive efforts.

"Keep the Liaisons in the loop, whatever it is you end up doing." This is to Imogen. "They'll do the rest and spread the word amongst everyone else, and I'll check in with them occasionally. As for the information, Dani&+269;ka has the files if you don't want to download them off FTP. Simon was spearheading the investigation last month, too, but it may have stalled a bit since."

It takes some amount of trust for Lukas to even consider letting Carter -- he who was not so long ago banned altogether from Kora's territory, amongst other things -- join the little discussion. He watches Carter cautiously when the kinsman starts to speak. When it doesn't turn out to be another rant against the tyrants, Lukas's shoulders relax a notch. He seems faintly surprised.

"I think most the Garou would agree with slash and burn, but the problem with that is then they come back in greater numbers. And with guns. Or worse, lawsuits. We'll fight this one on human turf as much as we can. Which reminds me, Sorrow -- Roman's little sabotaging mission might have been a success, but it's a temporary measure at best, and will likely just make them increase their security. Tell him to hold off on that until we really need him to cut some wires."

[Kora] "If they aren't involved in the doing, -rhya," the Skald returns, a subtle twist to her mouth. "They won't be creating redundant or counterproductive efforts. Respectfully, this sort of thing should be restricted to those who will or can contribute. Keeping everyone in the loop just erodes the loop. You want a comprehensive plan and a group willing and able to implement it, not a flash mob of half-informed, questionably skilled people with a step by step knowledge of our plan to deal with the enemy.

"One foolish slip of the tongue, one wrong turn, one well-meaning but poorly trained ally," a supple, half-made shrug. "One kidnapping, and all bets are off. They have not just everyone, but everything, and therefore the means to counter it. You need an open call to those who have the time, energy, and skills to contribute. If they need bodies, they can reach out and pull others in."

To the last, Kora offers a narrow shrug. "I'll talk to Roman."

[Lukas] [sorry bout the silence - waiting on imogen!]

[Imogen] She is quiet briefly, her gaze moving aside, touching the street. She is a delicate woman, slight in height, but strong, supple, the power of her body clear in the flat plane of her stomach, the set of her shoulders, the arch of her back. She does not, nor will she ever, look quite like a warrior, though some of her grace is born from the same root of strength. She is economical. No extra moment of energy is wasted. No movement is unnecessary.

When she looks away, it is a moment to think. Kora speaks, and Imogen hears her, though she does not look.

"I suspect," she says, "tha' the group o' us could talk technique until the sun came up, and th'only benefit we will get from it is th'lack o' sleep."

A turn toward Lukas, "I would appreciate th'same password and details yeh intend fer Detective Montoya t'make their way to me as well. I will get th'word out tha' I am lookin' fer kinfolk o' a specific skillset or tha' are already workin' in this manner. If yeh ha' passed directions on t'others, I'd appreciate their names so I can make sure they are included.

"I will make sure the liaisons are invited, as i am familiar wi' their intended role in the Sept. My view in this case would be tha' they would pass on th'details o' the plans to you, and those o' the Sept who must know, and tha' if they discover a kinfolk or Garou makin' efforts toward the same goal - namely the slowing or the haltin' o' the work near the caern - they will direct them t'me, so I can keep track o' who is doin' what, why and how.

"The goal will be t'coordinate and share ideas and provide a forum fer communication. Make sure everyone knows what everyone else is doin' so they can work together or keep things separately as necessary. I expect t'be able to do tha' with a minimum o' lecturing and interference."

A pause.

"Is that agreeable?"

[Carter Roth] "Wrong type of Slash and Burn." Carter says as he folds his arms infront of himself. "Burn refers to the acquisition or termination of enemy resources. Slash refers to the speed at which you do so. Which is fast. Puppet Campaigns take years to set up and execute." He explains it casually like its something common for others to know.

"The methodology differ's massively, explosives are fun, but bribery, blackmail and hostage taking aren't bad ideas either." He pauses and looks about one more time as he inhales on the cigarette. "My professional opinion? Target the these peoples families, it doesn't have to get messy...but a few key hostages can pave the way for all kinds of fast, clean solutions. You just have to do it right." He offers in counter point to Kora's words as he tossed the cigarette asside.

"Eitherway...your going to do what your going to do....I'll just be headed back to my cell, I mean my room." He says with another grin as he turned to walk away headed back to the Loft.

[Lukas] [gah! i didn't see carter's post. delete the part that addresses him, i'll rewrite.]

[Lukas] "I'll put a copy on GW.net's secured FTP, courtesy of my packmate. We'll get her a temporary passcode so she can download it. Tell her to watch her back, though. Starla apparently got threatened."

Imogen addresses him directly. If this surprises the Shadow Lord -- the Adren, the Ahroun that even other wolves don't look directly at for long -- it's only in the quickness with which his glacial eyes flick to the kinswoman.

"I work with what I have," he says. He's a different breed of Ahroun: there's a measuredness to his words, a steadiness in his manner. "I'd love if the kin could get themselves organized enough to turn out a single coherent plan, but the last progress I heard of the coalition was at that meeting the other night. As far as I know, there's no leadership and not much of a coalition to speak of, and I can't wait for them to get themselves sorted out before putting people on this issue.

"The Grand Elder spoke well of you that night though," he adds. "There was some expectation that you'd spearhead the coalition after that. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised that you haven't yet. Did no one tell you?"


His kin -- by far his most troublesome kin -- is coming up the path. The hesitation at seeing Garou is less than one might expect. Lukas notes this; he notes Carter as well. He's lived at the Loft a while now. Seen enough of the pack, and of Lukas, to know that sometimes the Shadow Lord is amicable. Friendly, playful with his pack, almost gentle.

Not when he wakes up to strangers congregating on the lawn, apparently. Not when he wakes to heavy machinery banging on the proverbial walls of the Caern. There isn't much patience in him tonight as he regards Roth.

"Carter, if you'd like to contribute to solving the problem we've got on hand, I'd gladly welcome whatever input you have. But if you're just going to snark, go bother Lucille."

[Imogen] Kora glances in her direction and the doctor nods. "She won't be able t'investigate them fully, but there are undoubtedly several ways we can mire 'em in paperwork. Slow them down, inspect their property, invalidate their permits."

When Lukas speaks of his surprise, Imogen's mouth twists into a narrow smirk. "That is likely not the first nor the last time I will ha' disappointed a Full-blood's expectations."

The irony of that - speaking of disappointment that Garou may have in her, in the same moments he speaks of the Grand Elder of the Sept speaking well of her.

"But my comment wasn't idle advice. Half-bloods ha' gotten together t'come up wi' a coherent plan before, wi'out the word 'coalition' applied. I imagine we can do it again. I'll need as much detail as possible, and some assistance in gettin' the word out, but it's better than everyone runnin' off individually."

[Imogen] The kinswoman glances briefly at Carter when he speaks, when Lukas addresses him, but she does not speak to him yet.

[Kora] Kora shifts, pulls her shoulders back, stretching her back to relieve some of the burden the weight of late pregnancy puts on her spine. Her hands slip from her front pockets, long fingers splay over her hips as she stretches. This is her only concession to the discomfort. After, she crosses her arms beneath her breasts, over the swell of her stomach, watching and listening to Lukas, a subtle frown tugging the corners of her mouth downward.

A flicker of a look toward Imogen when she speaks, is followed by a supple twist of her mouth. "I'm not sure you need all the kinfolk involved, either. Just those who have something to contribute. There's that proverb about cooks and soup, and chains and weak links."

[Carter Roth] Carter laughs at Wyrmbreakers words, and to some, it might sound sour and unkind, but then that just might be Carters way. He looks at Wyrmbreaker directly, something he has never been afraid to do, looking the man in the eyes before he speaks once more.

"What snark? I was being honest...it sounds like fun." He lets a crooked, some might say rakish grin cross his features as he regarded the others. "And a Puppet Campaign has never been a laughing matter. They're deadly, effective, and only dangerous to those who are doing the immediate string pulling." Of course...this meant the kin, but amazingly Carter says nothing in regards to that.

"It targets resources, infrastructure, and specialized personnel offensively, while using politics and figureheads to erode the support of the enemy." He looks up at Lukas like he should know these things.

"I prefer to slash and burn...but thats just me, and I don't think explosives are readily available in Chicago." He looks directly at Kora then and shrugs. "Every person has something to contribute, even if its just a body. That being said, it all depends on what exactly you want to do."

[Lukas] "Not everyone needs to contribute in the doing," Lukas replies, "but I want everyone in the know. Otherwise you get redundant or counterproductive efforts.

"Keep the Liaisons in the loop, whatever it is you end up doing." This is to Imogen. "They'll do the rest and spread the word amongst everyone else, and I'll check in with them occasionally. As for the information, Dani&+269;ka has the files if you don't want to download them off FTP. Simon was spearheading the investigation last month, too, but it may have stalled a bit since."

It takes some amount of trust for Lukas to even consider letting Carter -- he who was not so long ago banned altogether from Kora's territory, amongst other things -- join the little discussion. He watches Carter cautiously when the kinsman starts to speak. When it doesn't turn out to be another rant against the tyrants, Lukas's shoulders relax a notch. He seems faintly surprised.

"I think most the Garou would agree with slash and burn, but the problem with that is then they come back in greater numbers. And with guns. Or worse, lawsuits. We'll fight this one on human turf as much as we can. Which reminds me, Sorrow -- Roman's little sabotaging mission might have been a success, but it's a temporary measure at best, and will likely just make them increase their security. Tell him to hold off on that until we really need him to cut some wires."

[Kora] "If they aren't involved in the doing, -rhya," the Skald returns, a subtle twist to her mouth. "They won't be creating redundant or counterproductive efforts. Respectfully, this sort of thing should be restricted to those who will or can contribute. Keeping everyone in the loop just erodes the loop. You want a comprehensive plan and a group willing and able to implement it, not a flash mob of half-informed, questionably skilled people with a step by step knowledge of our plan to deal with the enemy.

"One foolish slip of the tongue, one wrong turn, one well-meaning but poorly trained ally," a supple, half-made shrug. "One kidnapping, and all bets are off. They have not just everyone, but everything, and therefore the means to counter it. You need an open call to those who have the time, energy, and skills to contribute. If they need bodies, they can reach out and pull others in."

To the last, Kora offers a narrow shrug. "I'll talk to Roman."

[Lukas] [sorry bout the silence - waiting on imogen!]

[Imogen] She is quiet briefly, her gaze moving aside, touching the street. She is a delicate woman, slight in height, but strong, supple, the power of her body clear in the flat plane of her stomach, the set of her shoulders, the arch of her back. She does not, nor will she ever, look quite like a warrior, though some of her grace is born from the same root of strength. She is economical. No extra moment of energy is wasted. No movement is unnecessary.

When she looks away, it is a moment to think. Kora speaks, and Imogen hears her, though she does not look.

"I suspect," she says, "tha' the group o' us could talk technique until the sun came up, and th'only benefit we will get from it is th'lack o' sleep."

A turn toward Lukas, "I would appreciate th'same password and details yeh intend fer Detective Montoya t'make their way to me as well. I will get th'word out tha' I am lookin' fer kinfolk o' a specific skillset or tha' are already workin' in this manner. If yeh ha' passed directions on t'others, I'd appreciate their names so I can make sure they are included.

"I will make sure the liaisons are invited, as i am familiar wi' their intended role in the Sept. My view in this case would be tha' they would pass on th'details o' the plans to you, and those o' the Sept who must know, and tha' if they discover a kinfolk or Garou makin' efforts toward the same goal - namely the slowing or the haltin' o' the work near the caern - they will direct them t'me, so I can keep track o' who is doin' what, why and how.

"The goal will be t'coordinate and share ideas and provide a forum fer communication. Make sure everyone knows what everyone else is doin' so they can work together or keep things separately as necessary. I expect t'be able to do tha' with a minimum o' lecturing and interference."

A pause.

"Is that agreeable?"

[Carter Roth] "Wrong type of Slash and Burn." Carter says as he folds his arms infront of himself. "Burn refers to the acquisition or termination of enemy resources. Slash refers to the speed at which you do so. Which is fast. Puppet Campaigns take years to set up and execute." He explains it casually like its something common for others to know.

"The methodology differ's massively, explosives are fun, but bribery, blackmail and hostage taking aren't bad ideas either." He pauses and looks about one more time as he inhales on the cigarette. "My professional opinion? Target the these peoples families, it doesn't have to get messy...but a few key hostages can pave the way for all kinds of fast, clean solutions. You just have to do it right." He offers in counter point to Kora's words as he tossed the cigarette asside.

"Eitherway...your going to do what your going to do....I'll just be headed back to my cell, I mean my room." He says with another grin as he turned to walk away headed back to the Loft.

[Lukas] [...er.]

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon arrives at the Loft quietly enough. He stands just outside the door, and he knocks three times before waiting to be let in. Things were heating up a little at the moment and Simon's eyes flared with anger to reveal what the Full Moon was thinking. He had come out here intent on speaking to Lukas in person and so there he was standing just outside waiting... Being patient. However the patience of the Full Moon was wearing thin. The sheep have come knocking at the wolves door... And still they must continue to wear their pretty woolen coats. Somewhere the line must be drawn and this was where the discussion needed to go. He was here to speak to the war leader of the sept because so far as he sees it the Mob has declared war on their sept. These are not your typical men... They play in the Shadows.

In the tribal homeland they were known by names names and in many regions. The Russian mob had crossed them, the KGB had crossed them, all manner of local criminals and rogue military forces had crossed them. These were people who knew... Perhaps not what they were dealing with... But they knew that there were certain people you simply did not cross. The kinds of people who made people disappear. The kinds of people who made the most battle hardened soldier tremble in fear screaming when forced to confront the memory of what it was forced to witness. In their homeland they were known by many names to many people but among themselves they were known simply as Shadow Lords.

The mob has not known them. Perhaps they have not crossed them? Perhaps they simply do not know... Whatever the case a lesson must be taught. There are those people in this world who no one crosses and Bone-Grinder stood ready to remind them, or at least teach them in the first place.

[Lukas] [BTW, we're out on the porch!]

Before Carter takes off -- "Hold on a second, Carter."

He listens to Kora and Imogen, then. Something about what Kora says sends a frisson of rage through Lukas. He controls it. He always does. Almost. Imogen is attended to as well. Heard, even after Kora -- her warder -- has spoken. Afterward, there's a beat of thought.

"You and yours aren't the only ones who'll want to do something to defend their homes, Kora," he says, then. "Imogen - if you manage to get some kin together to work on this, then I'll make sure the liaisons and whoever else is interested show up at your planning session. I'm more than willing to do that.

"But the bottom line is others will jump to help, Kora. And they won't all fall neatly in line. Imogen didn't make it to the sept kin meeting the other night. Who's to say Simon might not make it out to whatever meeting Imogen plans? That's not even taking into account differences in personality and approach. If no one knows what everyone else is doing, we'll have a dozen different approaches and nothing will get accomplished.

"I understand your concerns about security. Unfortunately, they don't outweigh this Sept's need for unity against a threat. I'll take your thoughts into account when deciding how to distribute information, but at the end of the day, I want your kin keeping the Liaisons informed. I'd ask nothing else of anyone else working on the problem."

-- and there's Simon. Lukas nods him over as well.

"You see the mess outside the Caern?"

[Carter Roth] Carter holds up, and looks back over his shoulder at Lukas with a momentary sense of annoyance as he waits.

[Simon Zahradnik] He takes in a breath and nods his head."I had hoped we'd be able to stop this before it became a problem, but they're going to push ahead. So far we've found no evidence this is anything more than coincidence... Whatever the case they're going after the Brotherhood now and soon enough it'll be the Caern. I can't allow that to happen."He says back to Lukas.

"These people aren't your usual sort. If they can't get their way one way or another they'll use something else. Whether that means hiring thugs to beat up our kin... Burning down our territory... Or anything else. They will neither bend or break and will not hesitate to break the law to get their way. Even if they're using the law at the moment."He says softly.

"I don't give a flying fuck what they wanna do... But people need to know not to fuck with the docks in this city. Someone needs to teach them a lesson."

[Kora] "You misunderstood me. I never said that anyone should be excluded. I said that the planning sessions should be self-selecting. Those people who want to do something and have the skills and contacts to be involved should come. But the rest of the Sept, the kin who look out the window at the site and have no idea how to help shouldn't attend. Clearly, the liaisons should attend the planning meetings as well. I'm sure I have no intention of excluding them, and I'm not sure where you got that idea."

[Kora] (also with mei, I need to sleep a half-hour ago!)

[Lukas] "If I misunderstood you, Kora, then that's my mistake." A pause; then, "Your tribe's never been the open sort. I can empathize; the same could be said for mine. And to be sure, there's a hell lot of resentment and distrust between our people. If I wrongly mistook something you said as some sign of insularity or possessiveness, then accept my apology.

"The bottom line is this. I want anyone who wants to help, who can help, to get in on the action. They're talking about possibly putting a toxic waste dump next to the Caern. The Caern. I want everyone we have working on this.

"Which includes you, Carter. You've been on house arrest for ... what, two weeks now? Semi-miraculously, you haven't blown the place up yet, and you sound like you have ideas, whether or not you have the means. If you want to pitch in, then I'll clear you to go to this meeting Imogen's planning."

[Carter Roth] Carter smirks at the words Lukas offers him and he nods in agreement. "I'll see if it fits into my oh so busy schedule...but I might be able to make it.

He looks to Imogen and gives her a nod before turns to walk back to the loft, done with socializing for the evening it seems.

[Sorry guys, outta juice I'm out! thanks for letting me play.]

[Lukas] [night man! thanks for coming in!]

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon's attention turns on Carter as the man walks away."There are plenty of kin who actually have a use to people. A kin without loyalty and a respect for authority is as dangerous to us as any enemy. I can't recommend putting Carter on much of anything Rhya. It is, of course, your choice but I have no faith in a man who is incapable of accepting and respecting authority. Especially in the middle of a war."

[Kora] (gah, Sorry. I was kinda waiting for mei, I think, and she was waiting for me.)

[Imogen] (sorry you guys, I'm like. Dead over here. This was completely my bad.)

[Simon Zahradnik] [This makes me a very sad panda :( ]

[Kora] Kora's dark eyes flicker once toward Simon as he opines on the enemy's mob connections. The look is spare, passing, reserved. When she looks back to Lukas, her expression is mostly unchanged: still. The faintly curving mouth, the clear dark eyes, the sharp lines of the bones of her face underneath her pale, northern skin.

"I think we were saying nearly the same thing. In different ways. If you'll excuse me, now - " here she stretches, stiffly. It's cold outside, and her coat is still in Imogen's car. Kora holds her shoulders firm against the chill so as not to shiver, but the tension in her frame leaves her muscles pulled tight, and aching after standing so long outside. "Good night."

There's no grace left in her when she turns; it's hard to see the wolf in the way she walks. Everything thing about her body is thrown off by the weight of her late pregnancy. Still, she glows with it; her hair is longer, gleaming, her skin pale and clear. She has gained weight, a new fullness even to her cheeks and jaw. Halfway back to the car, she stretches again, plants her hands in the small of her back and arches her spine, not luxuriously, but thoroughly so that she draws in a sharp breath near the end.

"If there was a dairy queen," she says, as they walk back to Imogen's car. A bit mournfully. " - I bet they're closed by now."

[Lukas] [thanks for the RP, sleeping ones!]

[Imogen] The kinswoman is still now - after Lukas's comment, she had no reply. There is none necessary. She is quiet as Kora and Lukas speak, Simon as well, her attention briefly resting on Carter's departing back.

Kora turns to go, and Imogen does as well, offering a brief, "Goodnight," to no one in particular. She does not stop as Kora does, apparently not all that solicitous of her late pregnancy and in fact, quite the opposite. She glances up from finding her keys in her handbag, an eyebrow arching slightly.

"I imagine so," she says, as if it were not strange that a Fenrir Skald was lamenting the lost chance at a blizzard.

The Aston Martin doors open, and both women step inside, entirely different in the way they move and get into the low-sitting vehicle. The engine roars to life, and a moment later, pulls away from the curb headed - elsewhere.