Showing posts with label Drawn in Blood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Drawn in Blood. Show all posts

Possession.

[Drawn in Blood] [Gnosis]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 10, 10

[Memory] Roman's arrival was prompt. He was the first to arrive shortly ahead of the others and the scene was decidedly vacant. It wasn't unusual for a street to be left Vacant let alone a park! But it was unusual for two police cars to be parked on the side of the road with doors wide open... Abandoned. Without so much as a light flashing overhead. It was also strangely suspicious to find a corpse just lying on the road... Long enough that the steam rising from it was not visible to the naked eye. A small puddle of cool blood formed near the storm drain.

Joey arrived shortly after and Roman's keen observational skills can easily pick her out.

The small park area seems abandoned though it's hare to tell without any stable light. Trees perhaps... Some rocks? It's too dark to make out specific features of the landscape.

[Roman Turner] He wasn't so familiar with Joey, having seen her at a few Moots maybe? So when she arrived she found him closing the doors on the cop cars after looking inside them to see if the weapons and keys were gone. So far he had not approached the body and storm drain but he had a feeling about it. It was too much like a horror movie setting where the mutants came out of the sewer to eat your face off. Of course, this city was like a horror movie most times.

[Killswitch] [dlp!]

[Burnout] [percep+alert]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Burnout] [gnosis]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 10

[Killswitch] Defiance rolls onto the scene. Joey hops out and gives the scene a gander, looking at that corpse and those cop cars. She looks at Roman, nods a greeting as she steps past him to peer inside those darkened cop cars.

"Hey," she says in greeting. Even without the full introduction with all the bells and whistles, the way Joey carries herself speaks of a higher rank. She looks back to her Alpha, one of decidedly lower station than she herself is. "Somethin's wrong with the power. Is EmmyLou still workin'?"

Stepping back a little, away from the pooling blood and the dead body, she crouches down to press her bare palm flat to the pavement. She frowns. "Anybody else feelin' that?"

[Roman Turner] He returned Joey's greeting as he closed the last door on the cop car.

"Howdy. The shotguns are still locked in place so they weren't spooked. Ain't sure where they went nor why this guy is laying there like that. Figure they called it in?"

[Kalaratri] Asha breaks out her Ducati for the trip. Nevermind that it is 37 degrees outside, the air sharp with salt and ice and cold and cinders, the foul effluvia that starts to wake up during the first days of a broken frost. The ice on the lake and the river is breaking up. There's little melting rivulets winding down the filthy piles of snow shoved up by the snowplows. Nevermind, nevermind, nevermind that she's not the world's best driver: the creature looks like a commercial in Italian Vogue - black hair, dark clothes, a fine white scarf waving out behind her. Kickstand and stuff is BORING but the Ducati is bright red and - well, she does all the usual stuff. They can see her from down the street, this slight creature with the delicate precision of a bird of prey and enough breeding to float the titanic, slipping off her sleek, crimson bike (which is spattered with mud and filth now. Have fun cleaning it, Thomas!) and walking down the sidewalk to meet up with the other Garou.

A flash of a grin, like a razor. Asha looks around.

[Burnout] Hunter strolls up with Joey, Roman gets a nod of his head in greeting and a little "Hey dude." His face is grim, lips firmly set and eyes watching the lamp posts flicker on and off for a few seconds.

"Somethin' is fucked up. Seriously. I mean this is all fuckin' way wrong. You all prepped?" His eyes fall onto Asha and can't help but grin back. She's infectious like that.

"Sup girl."

But that's it, then it's back to business.

"Seriously though guys, tha' fuck is goin' on? I'm gon' get ready for a fight, I'm too pretty ta' die on fuckin' valentines day."

And he does. A strip of crusted bandage and a sheriffs badge, reused from the last time John had it.

[-1G BB -1G SOAK WHAT HTE FUCK IS GOING ON]

[Drawn in Blood] John must think it's summer: he isn't wearing a jacket when he peels himself out of the car and walks up to the scene with his pack. A sweatshirt, he's decided, will suffice. It's above freezing, and he's not exactly a twig.

When he ceases walking, the Modi lifts his chin in a nod, a silent Sup? to the Child of Gaia he fought with one of his first nights in the city, and flicks his eyes between the congregated. The only ones who can hear him are the ones to whom he is bound.

[-1G, +3 soak from talen!]

[Burnout] "What tha' fuck??"

A blink, eyes turn between all of them.

"You guys hear that? Someone just fuckin' yelled GO AWAY!"

[Drawn in Blood] At his Alpha's outburst, the Modi does not startle or flinch, but neither does he stare at him like he's speaking Klingonese like he normally does. He looks over, brow furrowed in questioning curiosity, and then casts his eyes about at their surroundings. Though he shakes his head in denial, John doesn't argue with him. He pulls his hands out of his pockets as if preparing to either go after the source of the noise or clap Hunter upside the head.

[Primal-Urge+Perception]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[Killswitch] Joey is momentarily distracted from her continued investigation by the familiar roar of a Ducati's engine, and a Ducati's bright red paint job. When she looks over at the Ahroun she's met but once before, the Fostern Rotagar's hang-dog eyes may as well have become hearts.

It's her Alpha's voice that startles her out of her ogling. A shake of her head, and she rises from her crouch, brushes her hands off on the thighs of her dark-wash jeans. She's wearing a fake-fur-lined black hoodie and a black wool cabbie hat with a button (ALL GROWN UP AND STILL WAITING TO BE A ROCK STAR) pinned by the brim. She adjusts the fall of her bag against her hip.

"I got talens if anyone needs 'em. Ground feels alive. You know, this's where that Valentine's Day massacre shit happened, like, back in the prohibition days." She sighs. "My kingdom for a goddamn Theurge. An' was prob'ly called in, otherwise cop cars wouldn't be here in the first place."

[Roman Turner] He greeted the others as the arrived,all with polite touches to the brim of his stetson. John got a wide grin besides the hat brim salute. Burnout asked if they heard something and his reply was.

"Er, I ain't heard no yelling, yet."

Joey mentioned the St. Valetine's massacre and that had him going.

"Al Capone and all that stuff?"

[Kalaratri] " - yufs," says the slight Ahroun, black eyes quick as a bird's (though it must be said, rather less observant) as she joins them, looking around with this faint, almost pouty frown marring her little bow mouth. That is her think-y face. " - rhya," to Joey, at the last. "I don't think we've been informally introduced!" There at the end, with a quick (shit-eating?) grin for all but Hunter, who has suffered through the "informal" introduction. "I left Thomas at home, though. He's doesn't like the way I drive."

Which -

...

From deep inside the inner pockets of her crisp leather blazer, Asha pulls out an equally grotesque bandage and starts to wrap it around her midsection, as if she were playing Doctor, or dressing up like a Mummy for Halloween. There are two narrow gold bracelets on her wrist, moving in the light. She can virtually smell the gnosis in the air; her sweeping gaze moves and lands, at last, on Roman. "I have a talen," she's already worming the bracelet off her wrist. "Make you tougher, too. Want one?"

[-1 Gnosis. BB. Offering Roman a soak talen.]

[Roman Turner] This was his first experience with a bunch of folk pulling out talens and such. He gave a faint shake of his head with the offer.

"I appreciate it Ma'am, but I ain't the strongest when it comes to spiritual connections and such. Might be I ought to save what little I got for a real pinch instead of maybe wasting one of your special things, ya know?"

[Burnout] Hunter pauses dead in his tracks, he misses the grin from Asha to everyone about formal introductions, if he hadn't he would have groaned and looked worried yet slightly amused. Instead his face goes pale, his eyes go wide, his mouth drops open and the only word that comes out is a questioning stutter.

"H-h-howard??"

[Drawn in Blood] John snaps his fingers to get Roman's attention when he hears the topic shift to his lack of spiritual energy, then gestures. It seems as though he wants the teenager to stay close to him; he has seen the boy fight, knows he is hardly a Cub, but without the capacity to speak he can't voice his motivation, and so that is all he has. A moment later his gaze is being snapped back to Hunter.

His furrowed brow becomes a frown.

[Killswitch] "Yeah," she answers Roman, "bunch'a guys got shot the hell up over there," she nods her head to the empty space between the two buildings where 2122 North Clark Street should be. She grins back at Asha, "Nah y'haven't. You'll have to hit me up with that sometime." She heard from Hunter about the informal greeting. Honestly, even just his description of that made her curious for the formal version.

Whatever she might've said next, it dies in her throat. Her attention, too, snaps to Hunter. She's no stranger to the voices of the dead calling out to the living (Is that what this is called? Love?).

She shakes her head at something. "Where's it comin' from?" Her voice is low, stern, serious. She, at least, doesn't believe her Alpha has lost his marbles.

That would imply him having them in the first place.

[Roman Turner] In his mind two things happened at that moment. Drawn in Blood snapped his fingers for attention and in Roman's brain something said..."oh yeah, he wants me to guard his back. I can do that." Never once imagining anything else. And the second thing was Burnout stuttered Howard. Howard, he never even met Howard when the guy was alive, but sure as Hell it seemed like Howard would chase him through the rest of his days. First there was the entire thing with Rain, now this?

"Ya see him too, or just hear him?"

Oh crap, ghosts.

[Burnout] He casts a sharp look at Joey, eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, it's just a reaction to her shaking her head and he grits his teeth, grinds them slowly. Nostrils flare and he waits with all his patience while she asks that question, fists clenching at his sides.

It takes him a good few seconds before he does anything, like he can't believe he's doing it, like this is ridiculous. He is stronger than this, he doesn't bow to voices nor follow them. Today he does.

"WHERE ARE YA'?" He shouts out and it sounds deranged yet powerful. "Whaddya' want?" He adds slightly quieter.

[Kalaratri] "Give it a try?" suggests the Silver Fang, dark eyes on the Coggie. They're nearly of an age, the pair of them. There's something vicious and bright about the Ahroun, though, particularly with the moon waxing in the sky, with the breeding underneath her dusky skin. The gold bracelet glimmers, moving in the light. Hunter starts to should and Asha's nostrils flare, sharp with awareness, with this liquid sense of predator about her. The creature's grin is slipping away, but it briefly surfaces as she looks back to Roman. "You oughta. I stole 'em from Aanchal to use for talens. IF she finds out - "

Goes unspoken. "Just in case! It's not like it's got blood on it." Not like the bandage she wrapped right 'round her midsection, twined tightly. "I promise!"

The side conversation is quiet; Asha does not know their living or their dead.

[Memory] Silence... Darkness... The strange haunting feeling that each and every one of them is surrounded. There is something here. It's hard to tell what, nothing readily visible. Only the darkness around them. Only the haunting presence and a dark and bloody past. The group comes to the sudden realization of this place's past but there doesn't seem to be anything even pertaining to this spot directly... Save the violence... Save the bloodshed.

Hunter calls into the night and nothing is returned to him. Only silence only the wind seems to blow through the air. Soft and chillingly cold. Somehow seeming a hint colder than the rest of the world around him with the lingering of a familiar voice.

[Roman Turner] "Aanchal?"

He reluctantly accepted the bracelet like taking a snake offered for a kiss. It was so..so...girlie looking. And it was all he could do to try to keep from making a face as he whispered.

"I gotta wear it, where folk would see it?"

His ears flamed.

[Kalaratri] Gnosis!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 3, 10

[Kalaratri] WITS PLUS ZE OCCULT. (so figuring this out!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 8 (Failure at target 7)

[Burnout] Hunter catches something out of the corner of his eye, his head tilts, his eyes narrow and suddenly he begins walking seemingly towards nothing.

"Howard?" He questions again.

[Drawn in Blood] John has difficulty interacting with humans for a number of reasons. He doesn't understand them, for starters; he does not have a feral or lupine demeanor, but there are nuances of behavior that he misses out on on the best of days. There is a reason Garou are not to mate with Garou: half spirit to begin with, the body they create in union cannot handle that much energy. Moments like this when there are things happening that he cannot see or smell or hear, when all he has is feeling and his Alpha's distress, he ceases to seem human.

The Child of Gaia mistranslates what it is the Fenrir wants, and he becomes summarily distracted by his Alpha's walking. It seems more like wandering. John's nostrils flare, his eyes flashing, and he darts forward, grabbing the shorter yet heavier Ahroun by the upper arm to keep him from getting too far ahead.

[Killswitch] Nothing but silence echoes back from the darkness when Hunter shouts, but there's that creeping feeling of being watched. They're surrounded, though by what, they don't know.

Frowning at Hunter, Joey slips her hand into her bag and pulls out a small compact mirror. Flipping it open, she holds it up and stares at it like a tricorder. Though, she probably wouldn't get that reference.

[Peeking! diff I don't know, -1 (mirror)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[Kalaratri] "Naw," Asha asserts with a quick shake of her dark head like she was confiding a secret. "You can break it if you wanna. Or you can just - like, push it with your head and the spirit inside pops out. Uhm, kinda like gum in one of those foil wrappers? The candy-coated gum." She sighs, quiet, the patter moving. Gum's very common. Chewing's not lady like. Or Princess like. Or Silver Fang hero like.

"Aanchal. That's my sister, she's all impressed with herself because she got a baby. Maybe a true-born. From our House." A note of distaste, there - quiet underneath it all - grievance underneath the gossip about strangers Roman could not possibly know or care about. "She's so obnoxious," the complaint continues. " - is that the ground? Or the air?"

To Roman; then a sharp look upward, frowning at Hunter, sweeping a look toward Joey and Drawn in Blood. Asha leaves the bracelet in Roman's hand and walks forward, her flat black boots nearly silent on the sidewalk, the grass and mud. Shadowing the forward movement as Hunter makes it, frowning at the nothingness.

- something solid, too, about her presence, the sort of thing that reinforces the spine.

[-1 Gnosis, Inspiration!]

[Roman Turner] He knew a bit about the St. Valentine's murders. It was part of the history his Ma made him study before he could come here with Sparrow some ten months before. He knew the legends of the spot being haunted, that the bricks that had once stood here were said to be bad luck. That people reported if they walked their dogs here that the dogs became agitated, even barking and howling. Now though, two cops were gone, a body lay dead here with blood flowing towards the sewer grate and Burnout was hearing Howard's voice.

As for himself, he was being offered a shiny girl's bracelet to wear, which so didn't jive with his Stetson and sheep's wool lined coat, cowboy boots and stiff pressed Wranglers. And he was about to go nose around the dead body to see what sort of get up it wore and exactly how it died. That's about when Burnout started talking to the air again and Drawn in Blood went after him and Kalatri gave him TMI and a bracelet.

"Ah, horse shit."

Was muttered and the bracelet slipped on and tucked up under his sleeve out of sight and his own curiosity took him towards the body and the sewer grate.

[Memory] Lights flicker and suddenly one of the police car's comes to life. The brights of it's lights blaring down on the group and the blue and red begin flashing before the sudden flare of it's siren's blaring deafeningly upon the group. The car, which had been dead only seconds ago, surges to life with sirens blasting as the engine of one of the cars begins to rev. Suddenly the entire area is alight with a brilliant glow as a second car snaps suddenly to life... The second police car joining in the show. Blinding lights assaulting the senses for anyone looking in their direction... Deafening sirens making it difficult to hear one another.

The lights also shine a glow upon the two corpses of police officers scattered around one of two trees in the small grassy area.

Hunter walks towards something that isn't there and Joey stares off into space at nothing at all.

Asha complains about her sister, and this is doubtless an important matter for her and her tribe though!

John... John doesn't speak. The modi just watches. Ever ready and alert as the area around them suddenly comes to life.

[Roman Turner] Bracelet roll
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[Kalaratri] STAMINA!!!!!!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Burnout] [stam]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 3, 5

[Drawn in Blood] [Stamina]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 7

[Roman Turner] Stam.homid +bracelet
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Drawn in Blood] [+3 because I am a dumbass]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 6, 9

[Burnout] [+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 4

[Roman Turner] And again...stam....
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 4, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Killswitch] [WP!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Killswitch] "Ugh," Joey says, and snaps that compact closed. "That was...HUNTER NO!" she shouts to her Alpha, eyes wide. It's not the first time she's shouted at Hunter out on the street, but this time there's genuine fear in her voice, a genuine concern for his safety.

[Burnout] The grip of a fenrir encloses his arm and it isn't his Beta's, she's busy peeking into the Umbra. He stops, looks down at that arm almost expressionless but it isn't until he hears Joey's voice that he actually looks like he isn't going to keep going. His head turns back to her over his shoulder and he frowns.

"What's wrong?"

[Roman Turner] He clapped his hands over his ears and squinted something fierce with the cars came to life. Likely no one would hear him over all the noise but he was yelling.

"Look out!"

That was about when the cop's bodies registered in his brain. Though he was more concerned about getting run over.

[Killswitch] "There's somethin' on the other side," she says to the group. "Like a ghost, bound to the earth. On the otherside, you'd be headin' straight into it."

She looks over her shoulder at the cop cars going nuts, squints a little. "What the fuck? Did those start goin' off when you started walkin'?"

[Burnout] "I guess so, I mean I wasn't payin' much attention n'all."

He winces, face screwing up as he looks at the cars.

"Someone shut those fuckin' things off yea? Rip out tha' god damn horns if ya' have to, smash tha' lights."

[Killswitch] "Whatever it is, it's fuckin' pissed as hell. Come back this way, maybe movin' away from it'll shut off the cars."

Even so, she walks back to one, opens the driver's side door to see those keys Roman mentioned, see if they're in the ignition and if taking them out will shut off the sirens.

[Kalaratri] Now Asha has creative destruction to unleash. She runs toward the police cars, shifting to Glabro half-way there, Crinos if it is clear that no one human is around, and grabs the lights from the roof, tearing them away. RAWR.

[Roman Turner] He was having a hard time hearing what people said with all the noise and flashing lights. At this rate he was sure he was going to top John by going deaf and blind. Between the two of them they could cover See, Speak and Hear no Evil.

Part of his brain expected to get run over by a cop car as he raced towards the one the others didn't go for. He knew one thing, he knew how to crawl up under the dash, remove the fuse box cover and yank out all the fuses.

[Drawn in Blood] He clearly doesn't trust his Alpha to not keep moving across the street toward whatever it is Joey sees. His own eyes are widened and focused on the tantrum-tossing police cars, as though he isn't entirely certain what the hell it is they're doing. Maybe he's never seen a police cruiser before, or he's never heard one in action, or he is halfway to being convinced they're possessed and about to perform Christine reenactments. Whatever the case happens to be, John keeps a strong hand on Hunter's arm; he starts to step back, giving the shorter male little choice about moving with him.

And then Roman takes off.
John sighs, lets Hunter go, and races after him.

[Burnout] Hunter doesn't need guiding any more, he saw what Joey saw and now he looks fucking pissed. He snarls and stomps and makes his way to Joey's car and if required he will literally shift to crinos and throw the car at a building.

[Memory] Whether keys are removed or cars are literally smashed it is only a matter of seconds before the police cars were silent, quiet and they found themselves bathed in darkness once more. Something was still out there and they could feel it's presence. They could feel eyes upon them seething with vengeful rage. But for the moment the urgency and the chaos of the moment has passed making it possible to think straight and collect their thoughts.
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Kalaratri] "You said - " a flashing look toward Joey, now. The Silver Fang is in Glabro, heavier, taller, her breeding like a musk that hangs around her, the echo of the ancients all the move visible in her bone structure, evident in the echo of her deepened voice. "That there's something on the other side. Bound into the earth. Right?

"We all feel it. There's nothing here to fight, right?" She is not the most observant, so our Asha gives them each a direct look to confirm. "We need to cross over, regroup, and tear the spirit out from the roots of the earth, cleanse the other side.

"I know the Rite. Unless there are other ideas?"

[Roman Turner] Chaos stopped, yet still something watched them. It made his skin crawl and made his mouth kick in as he headed back towards John.

"Scared of an eight second ride? This ain't my first Rodeo. Ya want a taste of this? I guarantee, I'm hotter than a Halbenaro, twice as likely to burn going down and coming out!"

He called in to the night.

"Enough cat and mouse! Ya got something to say? Chicken shit!"

[Burnout] He gets about halfway to the car when the lights and sirens stop and suddenly he pauses. He rubs at his face, he rubs at his chest and suddenly he throws his jacket to the ground and starts dancing on the spot. Well it's not exactly dancing, it's more like scratching himself and shaking all over the place. He falls over onto the ground and rolls around like a poison log.

[Drawn in Blood] When they get to the car, John stops his forward momentum with his palms, the smack of flesh against the cold metal as close to a violent outburst as he's going to get. A huff of breath, not flustered enough to be exasperation, and he looks around as if to confirm what it is that Kalaratri has decided, or that Fate's hollering hasn't negated it. Searching eyes find nothing here beyond the dead human lawgivers, beyond shadows and his--

John pushes his tongue into the back of his incisor when Hunter starts convulsing, staring without expression on his face. At this rate he's going to end up going gray before he hits Fostern. The Modi pushes off of the car and strolls over to the Bone Gnawer, not rushing as he had when the Child of Gaia tore off toward the car.

[Killswitch] "If we cross, we go in ready to fight. It's one ghost, but a zillion tentacles." She grins at Roman, unaccountably proud of her auspicemate.

She watches Hunter with more than a little concern. Something tonight is out to get her Alpha. That something is about to get ripped to shreds. She shifts, up and up, to Glabro and then to Crinos, all the scars visible, and finally down to all fours in Hispo, a grey-furred dire-wolf ready to fight.

[Roman Turner] One moment he was issuing a challenge at the night and the next he was on the ground, thrashing around, back arching, body trembling, rolling, screaming in pure agony.

[Roman Turner]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)

[Kalaratri] Oh, what the hell. When Roman starts yelling, Asha stops her Very Serious Recommendations and throws in a few heckles of her own: "&+2309;&+2352;&+2366;&+2332;&+2325;&+2340;&+2366; &+2348;&+2306;&+2342; &+2325;&+2352; &+2342;&+2367;&+2351;&+2366;, &+2347;&+2367;&+2352; &+2349;&+2368; &+2309;&+2349;&+2368; &+2349;&+2368; &+2313;&+2344;&+2381;&+2361;&+2375;&+2306; &+2325;&+2369;&+2331; &+2342;&+2375;&+2326;&+2366; &+2341;&+2366;. &+2351;&+2361; &+2313;&+2360;&+2325;&+2368; &+2340;&+2381;&+2357;&+2330;&+2366; &+2325;&+2381;&+2352;&+2377;&+2354; &+2325;&+2367;&+2351;&+2366; &+2324;&+2352; &+2325;&+2375; &+2352;&+2370;&+2346; &+2350;&+2375;&+2306; &+2313;&+2344;&+2381;&+2361;&+2379;&+2306;&+2344;&+2375; &+2332;&+2377;&+2344; &+2325;&+2368; &+2323;&+2352; &+2357;&+2366;&+2346;&+2360; &+2309;&+2343;&+2381;&+2351;&+2325;&+2381;&+2359;&+2340;&+2366; &+2350;&+2375;&+2306; &+2313;&+2360;&+2325;&+2375; &+2350;&+2369;&+2306;&+2361; &+2354;&+2366;&+2340; &+2348;&+2344;&+2366;&+2351;&+2366; &+2361;&+2376;. &+2319;&+2325; &+2310;&+2336; &+2342;&+2370;&+2360;&+2352;&+2368; &+2360;&+2357;&+2366;&+2352;&+2368; &+2325;&+2366; &+2337;&+2352;? &+2351;&+2361;!"

God only knows what it means, as the creature is - like Killswitch - shifting into Crinos, then Hispo, heavy pawed on the ground, padding forward, her coat pale in the moonlight, nearly white but marked with silver.

[-1 WP, Resist Pain]

[Burnout] He gives himself one last shake -- no scratch that. NO DON'T SCRATCH IT JESUS

Hunter's player has gone insane from Seb's mind games, but luckily Hunter is still quite capable. He pushes himself to his feet but he's shifting as he does it, elongating and popping joins, bones expanding, muscles bulging and a hand snakes out for his jacket just as he bursts through into crinos. The garment disappears into his fur and he remains on all fours, sinking down again into Hispo.

A snarl, a god damn horrific growl from the entirely unamused Alpha of Defiance and he looks at Asha, looks at Joey, tips a head and looks at Roman. He doesn't bother telling them all about the insects, poor bastards would find out soon enough.

To victory, to the death of this foul beast, ASHA ARE YOU WITH ME, JOEY ARE YOU WITH ME, JOHN ARE YOU WITH ME, ROMAN GET OFF THE GROUND.

He lashes his tail, gnashes his teeth, bristles his fur.

[-1 WP resist pain]

[Drawn in Blood] John sees his Alpha getting to his feet and decides to let the Ahroun handle himself. The Ragabash, though, has a Modi on him like white on rice: John doubles back, grabbing the screaming teenager by the front of his shirt and, as gently as one can expect a Fenrir to do such a thing, hauls him off the ground and onto his feet. If he doesn't stay on his feet, John damn well holds him there until he does. It isn't until Roman is back in the game that John bursts into his war form.

It isn't an order that comes over the totem phone, but a request.

[Killswitch] First Hunter, then Roman drop to the ground, rolling about to rid themselves of, something. Joey shakes out her fur in sympathy, but then Hunter's up again. Calling them to arms.

The Rotagar's jaw drops open in a lupine grin, her tails gives a happy little swish, and she lets out a woorrrrooorrrrrooorrrr.

[-1WP Resist Pain, -1G Soak!]

[Burnout] Tails wag and Hunter returns that woofing howl to Joey, muzzle lifting into the air woorrroooorrooorrr. He's about ready to go when his eyes turn to John and the other Ragabash.

Roman, he barks, Stick with the Modi.

[Roman Turner] Burnout could issue orders till the cows came home. Roman couldn't hear them over the sounds that were felt more than heard in his mind and body. He thrashed wildly, sweat soaking his face. His hat had rolled off, he was nothing but screaming agony. Could he scream like a girl? Hell yes. Could he scream like a soul tossed into Hell? You betcha. He screamed like the damned, his voice growing hoarse already. Even when hauled up, he was a wildly thrashing tangle of arms and legs that was desperately trying to pull away and run from something.

[Roman Turner]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Killswitch] Everyone is preparing for war, yet the Ragabash remains on the ground, thrashing and flailing. Joey doesn't wait for orders from Hunter, but trots quickly over to the boy, looking him over for the cause of his distress.

Tipping her snout down, she nudes him unless he thrashes her away, nudges and pushes and tries to help his escape from an (unseen?) assailant.

[Drawn in Blood] Okay so John's still in homid. They don't usually breed Full Moons this patient. Common sense says not to hold still a body in the throes of an epileptic convulsion but Roman's screaming, and people having seizures don't scream.

John looks around at the others, visibly perplexed. The only other person this happened to was Hunter, and Hunter has been largely quiet about what the hell happened to him. The Modi hauls Roman across the street, away from the police cars.

[Killswitch] [peeking!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Memory] [1-2 Hunter, 3-4 DiB, 5-6 Kalaratri, 7-8 Killswitch, 9-10 Roman!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Roman Turner] John grabbed hold to haul him off and Roman fought like a hooked Swordfish on a line. Thrashing, hoarsely screaming, flailing as if his life depended on getting away from something that was agony few ever survived.

[Roman Turner]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 7 (Botch x 2 at target 8)

[Killswitch] Joey peeks across, hoping to see if those tendrils have hold of Roman from the other side, hoping to find some answers.

What she sees is that face. Tempting her. Offering her something someone else might fall all over themselves to accept. But not Joey. At her throat, beneath the layers of her clothing worn in Homid is a necklace made of a green stone pulled from the Umbra. On the other side it pulses faintly. The living heart. Family. A reason to keep her mind closed.

She peers across the Gauntlet into that face, and her lips peel back from dangerously sharp teeth. Killswitch snarls, and she pushes forward. Through the barrier.

[crossing!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Burnout] Hunter is a step behind her, without speaking, just a growl in his throat.
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Burnout] [2 more]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 2 (Botch x 1 at target 5)

[Kalaratri] Asha - Crossing!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 7, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 5) [WP]

[Drawn in Blood] This kid is fighting like a goddamn salmon. John clearly has no idea what he's supposed to do to help him, other than what it is he does: he hooks his arms, effectively putting the No Moon into a restraint, and marches him a full block away from the police cars. So far as he can tell there are no bystanders, nobody who cares enough to peek out the windows and try to figure out what the hell is going on. He seems to be going on the fact that the two of them are close enough in age that they can pass for family, on his Rage, to keep humans from investigating too closely.

He sits the both of their asses down on the cold ground, securing Roman's arms and legs so he doesn't hurt either of them, and he waits.

[Roman Turner] There seemed to be no awareness of movement, restraint, anything, he fought regardless. Fought like a wild cat with it's tail in a bear trap. And he screamed in that high pitched wail of agony like a damned soul.

[Roman Turner]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7 (Failure at target 8)

[Kalaratri] With a sharp, moving frown, Asha leaves the Child of Gaia under the watchful eye of the hot (not that SHE knows that. She prefers the Beebs.), silent Fenrir and slips across the gauntlet, through the curvilinear movement of her reflection in a piece of mirrored jewelry she has hanging from a narrow gold chain, hidden beneath the crisp lines of her white Oxford. POOF. She pops across.

[Memory] The three emerge on the other side and they find themselves outside the cityscape they had expected. A thick fog was cast over the region which was largely dirt beneath their feet. There was a powerful stench surrounding them, it was enough to bring tears to the eye and force all who stood on this side to choke back the urge to vomit. Death... Decomposing flesh. The ground itself was mixed with blood, and the writing of maggots laid by the twisted fly spirits who likely called this place home. They could see around them the shattered broken graves of hundreds... If not thousands of souls. They were shattered, splintered... Some were uprooted and tipped over some corpses simply lay in the mud half buried. They were no longer in the heart of the city the spirit realm often learned to reflect the impressions of that which was left upon it and despite the fact that Chicago had grown, moved on, and changed... The spirit world still reflected Lincoln Park's forgotten history.

So many memories... So much death. So much abandoned, and forgotten. But not tonight... Was it chance or the knowing doing of some criminal who brought death to this place? So much emotion and history. The taste of violence, the taste of murder has fed the ancient soil, whatever sleeps beneath this place rumbled and shifts in it's slumber. Some ancient forgotten thing writhes it's tendrils and reaches for the surface hungry. Sucking away life, and memory, and energy... Draining everything in it's path in it's eternal hunger. Something threatens to awaken beneath their feet and the brave Garou find themselves face to face. Not with the beast itself but with a manifestation of it's will. It's dark and twisted living nightmare hovers with tendrils stuffed up and under it like a puppet before them. With hollow empty eyes it hungers for their very lives. It hovered before them with hollow empty sockets for eyes... They had brought themselves to it a feast served up on a plate. Surely they would prove a far more satisfying meal than a drug addict and a few lousy police.

[Kalaratri] The Silver Fang snarls when she reaches the other side of the gauntlet. The air stinks, the twisted corpses in the broken ground have the hispo-beast stepping lightly, almost delicately, over the churned muck of the soil. She shakes her gleaming fur, and in an instant she is gleaming all the more, so bright that she is a beacon from a distant, a sharp, blurred smear of light up glow.

With a snarl, she launches herself at the spirit.

She's angry.
It was movie night.
And Valentine's or something.

[Burnout] [+10]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Killswitch] [+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Memory] [+10]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

[Roman Turner]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[Kalaratri] 9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[Memory] [Nightmare 17
Burnout: 17
Kalaratri: 13
Joey: 12

We'll start declares and the like while Roman posts :) ]

[Memory] [Declare in reverse!]

[Burnout] [1a
1b
1c
r1
r2 - bite a tentacle]

[Roman Turner] He was wildly thrashing, screaming and suddenly the hoarse screaming cut off. He went limp, just laying there for several seconds as his chest rose and fell with his panting. While he was still trying to catch his breath, trying to swallow pass the pain in his throat, that he lifted his hands to study them. He felt his body as if feeling for damage. Memory is a weird thing, he knew for a fact he was burning to charcoal, his flesh had crackled, popped, split and crisped like bacon before blackening. Yet he couldn't see that now through eyes that would of turned to liquid qoo before evaporating.

[Memory] [Umm Burnout is second not last!]

[Kalaratri] [Resist Pain, Lambert Flame already active. 1a. 1b. 1c. Rage 1: Rage 2: BITES. Tentacles.]

[Killswitch] [1a:
1b:
1c:
R: Bite tentacles!]

[Memory] [1A: Nightmare! On... Everyone!]

[Roman Turner] ((Seriously would not just pop up and leave John, but player is afk? So er, feeling lost))

Tries to cross when he has half a wit and says something to John and shifts to Crinos?
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]

[Memory] [Be afraid! WP Diff 7]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8

[Memory] The beast draws in it's breath and sucks in the air around it... Until all the air around them seems to disappear and the garou are left with nothing to breathe. It sucks inward and it's chest swells to massive proportions and then suddenly an overwhelming surge of an explosion bursts from the creatures mouth erupting like a volcano as it sends a whitehot surge of searing flame rushing over each and every one of them! Enough to instantly sear fur and send pain surging through each and every one of them...

Everyone soak 3 Agg diff 9(Cept soak it with WP and yes... You do get +1 auto success)

[Kalaratri] Willpower - soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 9) [WP]

[Burnout] [>_> wp soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 7, 7, 8

[Killswitch] [WP Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 8 (Botch x 1 at target 9)

[Killswitch] [1a: Bite: -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 8, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Killswitch] [dam: +3]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Memory] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10

[Killswitch] [1b: Bite: -4]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Killswitch] [dam: +1]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 10

[Memory] [Soak again!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 8, 10

[Killswitch] [1c: Bite: -5]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 3, 7 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Killswitch] [dam: +0]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 8, 8, 10

[Memory]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10

[Kalaratri] 1a. -3
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Kalaratri] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10

[Kalaratri] 1b. -4
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Memory] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Failure at target 60)

[Kalaratri] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10, 10

[Memory]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 5, 9, 9, 10, 10

[Kalaratri] 1c. -5
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Kalaratri] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10

[Memory] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10

[Burnout] [1a - 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Burnout] [dmg+4]
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9

[Memory] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10

[Burnout] [1b -4]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 10 (Failure at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Burnout] [1c -5]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[Burnout] [dmg+4]
Dice Rolled:[ 16 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 10

[Memory] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10

[Killswitch] [R: Bite tentacle!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Killswitch] [dam: +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10

[Memory] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10

[Kalaratri] Rage 1: CHOMP. (Mmm. Calamari!)
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 8 at target 5)

[Kalaratri] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[Memory] [Soak that shit!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10

[Burnout] [r1 bite]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Burnout] [dmg+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Memory] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10, 10

[Kalaratri] ASHA. Rage 2:
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Kalaratri] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8

[Drawn in Blood] [Gnosis: I WANT TO JOIN YOUR WORLD ROMAN]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 7, 7 (Failure at target 5)

[Burnout] [R2]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Memory] [Soak! Asha's!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8

[Burnout] [dmg+2]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10

[Memory] [Soak Huntaur's!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10

[Drawn in Blood] [NO SERIOUSLY. Diff 6.]

[Drawn in Blood] [... might help if I put dice into the dice roller.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 6

[Drawn in Blood] [I'm just going to keep going until he botches. Diff 7.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 7

[Drawn in Blood] [Derp derp derp 8.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 7, 9

[Drawn in Blood] [Derrrp derp derp derp 9.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 7, 8, 10

[Drawn in Blood] [Watch him get three 10s.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 7, 8

[Killswitch] [+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Burnout] [+10]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[Kalaratri] [+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[Burnout] [swapping inits with Joey!]

[Roman Turner] +8
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[Memory] The creature's fires surge through the others though Asha remains unharmed. The three garou do not seem to mind the flame which might be somewhat surprising to the thing which still stands despite their best attempt. Those tentacles have been culled and their number now dwindles. As the Garou tear at more and more they are scked back under the earth where they disappear. Soon the things tentacles are barely holding it aloft and yet still it stares. Empty hollow eyes as it hovers before them.

[Memory] [+10]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[Memory] [Tie Breaker!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Memory] [Nightmare:19
Burnout:19
Kalaratri:18
Fate: 11
Killswitch:10

DeclaRE IN REVERSE!]

[Killswitch] [1a
1b
R: Bites on tentacles!]

[Roman Turner] 1a claw puppet/doll thingie
1b do it again
1 r yep, do it again.

[Kalaratri] [1a. BITE. 1b. BITE. 1c. BITE. Rage 1. BITE. Rage 2. BITE]

[Memory] [Odds boy, evens girl]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Burnout] [1a
1b
1c
r1 - bite]

[Memory] [Odds Joey, Evens Asha!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Memory] [Attempt to possess Joey!]

[Killswitch] [JOEY'S NOT A BOY]

[Memory] [Shit sorry! Umm Odds Hunter Evens Roman!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Memory] [This'll be fun roman! Just open up your brain wiiiiiide! *Dives*]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10

[Memory] The others perpare to attack... Getting into position as Roman comes racing back. Fond memories are shared between Roman and the spirit. He's so young, so brave, so full of hope and life! It finds itself drawn to him... It literally dives at him in a final desperate attempt to spare itself the fate the Garou would likely deliver upon it. Soon enough Roman Snarls, bursting to his war form and facing the Garou. Tentacles bulging from his skull... Connected by the same bonds to the same entity and yet the spirit itself is still hidden somewhere within those eyes which look out at the world only with malice. They will likely win this battle... But it will take one of them down with it tonight!

[Burnout] [1a -3]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[Burnout] [dmg+3]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10, 10

[Memory] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9

[Burnout] [1b -4]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Burnout] [dmg+1]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10

[Memory] The tendrils are severed and the link to the spirit is instantly shattered. Roman's eyes seem to clear and control is instantly restored... However something is still off. Roman can feel it... Deep down within the depths of his Psyche. There is something still lurking within him. Another mind, a dark and wicked thing. It's connection to it's creator severed and yet it finds itself bound, instead, to a new host. It's control shattered but it is still there inside him.

In the meantime the earth beneath their feet rumbles in pain and soon enough the tentacles are sucked back beneath the earth. The thing, the walking nightmare born of some ancient tentacled beast is forced into slumber. Without an outlet to the world, without a means by which to leech the energy of the living world it finds itself rapidly falling back into it's own ancient slumber.

Soon enough the Garou are standing alone... In a quiet foggy umbral graveyard. Not exactly the most romantic place to spend Valentine's day!

Coffee and kin.

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] her staredown with the Mac user is long since forgotten, and she puts her cup down and straightens to a more formalized posture. This is what it's like when royals meet, one would think that he was entering her throne room when, in reality, he was just coming to a coffee shop that they've both agreed upon. She smiles, and stands up to greet him.

He gets one of those air kisses on the cheek and a hug before, finally, she settles back down in the booth.

"Hace freaking freezing, Derek, what is this?"

She sits back down in her corner with her coffee and her comfy position and she smiles.

"Has work kept you inside?"

[Derek Anderson] He gave her a friendly hug back and smiled as she sat back down "Well msotly. But Ihad to stand an hour and half in an alley this morning."He doesn't say why for. He doubt it's something she want or should know about. "I thought I would lose the uses of my fingers and my nose felt liek it would fall off"He say with a small gring

He put his jacket on the back of one of the chairs, not sitting yet "I think the city is too broke to pay hte heating bill. That's why we have colds liek this" He say in a playful tone "By the way, what drink would you suggest me here?"

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] "The city is having to cut costs," she informs him, and she sounds so matter-of-fact that it has to be true, "so they just turned down the thermostat a few degrees... or... I can't even... it's just too cold to be witty, Derek. I'm not used to this."

She takes another drink of her coffee.

"Get the cappuccino. Es okay, and you should like it. If you don't like girlie coffee, get a shot of espresso and a regular coffee."

She laughs.

"I'm a coffee snob."

[Derek Anderson] Hechuckled "Well get you warmed up and you witswill come back, I've no doubts."He offer her a warm smile "I'll be back" He moveaway and head for the counter. Many head had turned in their direction as they chatted. They looked good, each of them, and good together too it seem..or so he heard from someone. Many were envious of one or thother..and two were envious of both..go figure.

He ordered the cappucino, comfortable enough with his masculinity to drink a "girlie"coffee.He bought a piece of brownies too and came back with it and two forks. Placing the cake down with the forks beside it, he sat smoothly, facing her

"You said you aren't used to colds like this. Where are you from?"He ask her looking into her eyes

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] "Madrid," she says. It's a little offsettling. They are two obviously attractive, obviously articulate people. They're educated, regal, and they seemed... well... Cordelia and Derek were well-bred salt-and-pepper shakers. Both blonde. Both well bred. Male and female. A matching set.

She takes the fork in one hand, and pokes a corner of the cake. She puts the little bite in her mouth and chews. She closes her eyes and, for that brief moment, looks definitely pleased. She pushes her glasses up with the back of her hand.

"This is my first trip to the United States," she informs him.

[Derek Anderson] He took a drink from his cup "Madrid? Nice. I heard it's beautiful. Well I'veseen pictures and it is. Yet form what peopel told me, pictures aren't doing justice to the city. Any truth in that?" He ask with a smile as she took a piece of the cake. He was glas his instincts were still good. He had a feeling she might enjoy something with chocolate.

"How long have you beeen in the States?"He ask, putting down his cup and reaching for a fork, thne broke a piece of of the brownirs to taste it.

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] "It's been seven months," she says, and tracks the date all too carefully at that. She stabs another fork full. Cordelia crosses her legs at the ankle, "and it is. The night life in Madrid es... eh... es different from this. The parties go all night, the universities aren't so old as the ones here. The architecture is beautiful... though if you want real architecture, go to Barcelona. There's a cathedral that looks like a sand castle."

She has to stop herself there. Her eyes have lit up, her attention is direct and her pace picks up and rolls and moves forward and she has to stop herself before she gets carried away. Before she gets tied up in the moment and rambles.

[Derek Anderson] He had smiled even more at her enthusiam about her homeland. He placed his arm on the table, forearms crossed, leaning slightly forward, getting comfortable "Go on, it's really interesting"

His eyes watches her when she speak and only her, as if she was the most interesting person in the world. Given her beauty, it might actually be what he thinks, or just maybe, he always care about what someone say to him. He look away only where the're's a pause, his eyes always coming back to hers.

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] "I'm of the belief that people build buildings in such a manner as to say what is important in society. In the middle ages, the emphasis was on the church and as such, churches were to be the most opulent and involved and tallest structures in the city. Over time, the emphasis was placed elssewhere- public buildings, city structures, until finally we have skyscrapers, and they're what we notice on the skyline and it's private homes and corporate structures that we place our interests in, because that is what society deigns to be the most important. I think it's interesting, but I haven't actually had a lot of chance to actually do research on the matter," she leans forward and goes on in her speech. It's all theory, but she's... thinking.

She does a lot of that.

[Derek Anderson] He smiled as she talked, not drinking nor eating. Just listening. Once she was done, he took a sip from his cup, letting her words sink in. "I don't know if it's the truth, but it certainly seem like it. After all, Palaces during empires, Senates during Republics, Castles during Monarchy and Churches during darker times have been the biggest and tallest buildings..beacons of power. Nowaday, people: business men, celebrities, success stories are the new kings and gods in the society of the self. Hence why private mansions and corporate headquarters are so tall and eye catching. S0 they can look odwn upon their subjects"

He leaned slightly back "I think you're right in your assessment..but I"m a cop, what do I know?"He say with a light shrugh and playful smile

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] "You're a detective," she chimes in, and she's grinning at him from the top of her coffee cup, "you know a lot of things."

A beat.

"Speaking of: what's the most interesting thing you've found on a job site?"

[Derek Anderson] His eyes looked at her for a moment, searching for something maybe. He drank form his cup, the pause stretching slightly. "Even if I don't work homicide, I don't find interesting things most of the time."

He tilt his head with a grin "Though I have to admit that we did had a kidnapping case that ended up being someone locked in his own basement. It was sad, but kinda funny as well"

[Joey Oliver] Joey Oliver doesn't know that two Silver Fang kinfolk have made an arrangement to meet in this particular coffee shop on this particular day, at a time set several minutes ago. She doesn't know Cordelia and she doesn't know Derek, and quite frankly, she doesn't care that she doesn't know them. What she cares about is parking Cassius before she wraps him around a light pole. She cares about going inside somewhere warm and cozy and sitting, just sitting until she can feel her toes inside her old black work boots.

The door to the coffee shop opens, and those closest to the door sit a little straighter. Their backs stiffen and they don't know what it is that puts them on edge, and they're strangely unwilling to turn and look to see

an athletic young blond woman. Her face is obscured by the black wool cabbie hat she wears tugged low over her eyes, and there's a scarf done in multiple shades of orange wrapped around her lower face. This gets tugged down soon enough, and her hands are brought up to her face, cupped so she can breath into them as she looks around the room, looks for

there. In the corner. A veritable clusterfuck of Silver Fang breeding she could almost feel before she even stepped inside. She watches the couple a moment, curious. Then, a shiver takes over her shoulders, seems to rattle that black hoodie she wears, and she steps up to the counter to order a hot chocolate.

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] "Wait," she says, and she looks at him as though he's speaking some odd foreign language... because to her, he actually was speaking an odd foreign language, but we digress. She looks at him like he can't possibly be serious... but he is. She blinks once, "he was locked... in his basement... did no one think to look in the house for him?"

She has to laugh at it. and she does. It's a nice sound, which slows and she catches a look at the door. There's an athletic young blonde woman walking through the door. Cordelia's eyes follow her for a second. Joey watches the group. The group watches Joey. She waves, and it's a wiggle of her fingers and a little smile.

The problem is, here, that she doesn't know Joey. She doesn't know Joey from Adam, as a matter for fact, but she figures that... maybe...

"... do you know her?"

[Derek Anderson] He had smiled at Cordelia's laugh, showing white perfect teeth. "Go figure huh?" He then turn to look toward the entrance as he felt Joey's presence before she actually saw her. He thought COrdelia knew her from the wave she had given her but when she asked if he knew her, his assessment changed

"No, I don't. Then again, I don't know many people here"

He offered a polite smile and nod to Joey. He didn't know her tribe or her position, not that it mattered. He was well raised and you're always polite ot a trueblood..at least in their face.

[Joey Oliver] One of them waves. The other smiles and nods. If they didn't want a Rotagar planted at their table, these were not the things to have done to Joey. The girl's wave is one thing, the look from the man is another thing entirely. He recognizes her, not herself, not Joey Oliver, she doesn't know that guy and that guy doesn't know her. But there's a recognition, and, as if she hadn't already been planning on striding over to say hello, she definitely intends to do so now.

She orders her drink and steps to the side. Unlike her Alpha, she doesn't mind being out amongst the mortals. Her Rage is like a gentle yet angry push against them, giving her a tiny pocket of space, but she doesn't let it bother her. She's different from them, but she wasn't always.

When the drink is made and set out for her, she takes it up and heads to the table in the corner.

"'Sup," she greets, and up close they can see a few freckles that haven't been swallowed by the flush of her cheeks from the cold. They can see warm brown, slightly hang-dog eyes and, when she tugs at her scarf a little more, they can see the edge of scars. "Dude, it's colder'n a witch's cunt out there." Setting her cup down, she holds out a hand first to Derek, then to Joey. If accepted, they'll notice the arm warmers peeking out from beneath the cuff of her hoodie. Her grip is warm, firm and strong yet strangely gentle. Like she has to think about it, and be careful lest she accidentally snap the delicate bones of their hands. "Name's Joey, an' I fuckin' hope neither've you're Lost."

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] (brb, family needs!)

[Derek Anderson] He watched as Joey came closer. His smiled widdened slightly when she spoke ot them, kind blue eyes taking in the stranger with the colorful language. He took her hand on his big one, giving her a firm handshake. His skin was warm from being inside, hand not calloused nor soft. There was rougher skin inside his hand at the base of the fingers and his knuckled weren't soft either.

"Pleased to meet you Joey, I"m Derek"He said in a deep,warm voice. "And no I"m not lost Ma'am"

He did look at Cordelia with a brow raised thoguh. It seem she was kin as well, something he hadn't known about her..the world was small and there went another beautiful woman he probably would never date. Why were all the kin he met in this city looking like models and friendly to him? Then again, the truebloods he had met were beautiful and quite nice aswell. Might just be something about the city that attracted the friendly and beautiful

"And you're right, it's pretty cold outside. You get used to it though" He say with a smile and small shrugh

[Imogen Slaughter] Truly, no one pays attention to the goings out and in of the bathroom. The pair in an unfortunate booth by the door do not even bat an eye - their minds fill in the gaps and explain them away. They didn't see them. They forgot, they weren't paying attention.

That is if they even notice the two women exiting at all.

However, for those of the blood - it is a little stranger. After all, Imogen's pure breeding. Kora's rage. Two women (one woman, one monster) like this likely would not have walked through the cafe unnoticed.

Still - there they are, pushing out the door for the ladies' washroom. Imogen has her coat on, one hand lifting the cuff as she absently brushes a blemish on the sleeve beneath, pausing to study it, before concluding the leave it be.

(Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?)

The slight redhaired woman - kinfolk, bred, glances at the taller blonde. An eyebrow lifts. "Might as well ha' something warm while we're here."

[Kora] There are subtle things off. Water spattered on Kora's black boots, a darker place visible on the thigh of her dark jeans, just beneath the hem of the winter coat, flecked with pieces of brown paper towel from the good solid scrubbing it received. Her winter coat is half-buttoned, revealing a handful of layers beneath - a half-zipped hoodie over a gray t-shirt beneath that wool coat, a hand-knitted sweater patterned in the Fair Isle tradition trailing behind.

Still drying her hands - the scent of the pink soap is strong on her skin - the tall blond stops long enough to give the slight redhead a look mildly ironic, mildly incredulous. "That's efficient, doc."

Still, she doesn't object. Glances up at the menu board, frowning at the insane array of drinks. Then looks back, lifting her chin toward a certain corner of the room. "You know Joey, right?" Back to the menu, the frown buckling her brow. "What are you having?" A pause. " - wait, let me guess. Earl Gray, yeah?"

[Joey Oliver] "Ma'am," says Joey, lets out a huff of laughter. It's not so charming to the ears as Cordelia's, it is not the tinkling of bells or any such beautiful nonsense as that, but nor is it a donkey's bray. Say what you will of Joey, that she's crude and vulgar and brash, at least she doesn't laugh like an ass. She looks at Cordelia. "Listen to this guy, such manners." She smiles, though, and the smile is genuine, full of perfect pearly whites.

"And I've been tryin' for ages, man, you don't even know."

She might explain to him so that he does know, but the door to the bathroom opens, and out come two familiar figures, one seen more recently than the other. If they pass by close enough, Joey greets them both by name and just their names. Imogen, Kora. If not, she smiles in their direction.

"What were you guys talkin' about?"

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen is tidier than Kora, but her coat is closed despite the warmth of the coffee shop. Her hair is damp toward the temples, and more carefully arranged than usual, as if she had only just pulled it back with damp hands, and clipped it in place.

Most of these are pointless details. The brain ignores many incongruities. Kora remarks that Imogen's technique is efficient. The doctor's mouth twists and curls, "It's downright British," she replies. There had been tension before, not between them, but within the kinswoman, in the wake of it all. It is faded now that she is public. The facade firmly in place.

A flick of a glance toward the table Kora indicates. "We've met," she says, mildly. "She was handin' out rings fer the protection o' -" a pause as someone passes them, "half-bloods, at one point."

Earl Grey?

"What else," this with dryness.

[Derek Anderson] He noticed the redhead and the blond when Joy looked at them, they were hard to miss, especially the redhead. He watched them for a moment before settling his eyes on Joy again "Just how I wasraised"He offer her a friendly smile. We were jsut talking about nothing and everything really. Nothing earth changing."He shrugh

"Would you liek to join us?"He offer her, looking at an empty seat near them "Or you prefer joining your friends over there?" He say glanicng in the direction of Imogen and Kora

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] "You're going to have to tell me this story about the man locking himself in the basement... then again, there's no cell phone reception there, so I can see where it would be hard to... wow," she shakes her head and has to laugh at it.

Joey comes by, Joey swings by and Cordelia smiles, grins, and seems ever-too-pleasd to meet another person. John does get another look, and she seems confused and surprised for a second and her attention goes back to the group, "not lost... and he was telling me about a missing person who ended up just being locked in the basement."

[John] It's Bathroom Party Night here at the Something Something Cafe.

Perhaps a minute after a tall blond Skald emerges from the women's bathroom with a heavily pureblooded kinswoman brushing at a spot on her sleeve... a heavily pureblooded kinswoman emerges from the same door with a tall brunet Modi wiping at his scruff-covered cheeks with the back of a hand.

Suffice to say, for the Fenrir in the room who are well aware of this particular male's particular peculiarity, his silence is not a surprise. Once they've returned themselves to rights, he tugs the hem of his thermal to free it from where it was unfairly caught in the waistband of his jeans and looks around.

Oh, hey, Joey.
He lifts his chin in a nod that, brightly, says Sup!

[Kora] There's a glance of acknowledgment for Joey; it's distant, a bit restrained. A touch of eye contact across the coffee shop, mostly lost for those surrounding. The conversation between the two women is low; tension has left Imogen's frame, she's used to this façade. It lingers in subtle ways in Kora's. Rage opens up other currents; spikes the blood with stress hormones, changes the subtle washing of neurotransmitters in the brain. So she's brighter than she should be - that spark in her eyes - and sharper, but controlled.

A wash of half laughter in the wake of Imogen's comment, then a flicker of a glance from Imogen to Joey, and back again. "When was that?" The rings for half-bloods. Kora's voice is low; she glances up as John emerges from the bathroom, lifts a glance toward the menu as they edge toward the counter, offering him a drink.

Something about the way she moves, the way, rather, the half-buttoned coat moves, the tension in the line of the hoodie underneath - is awkward. She's pregnant, late in the second, or early in the third trimester.

[Joey Oliver] "Hahawhat?" she asks, laughing, attention moving from one kinfolk to the other, incredulous and amused. "No windows to crawl through, or was he too fat to fit?"

More people, not just people, but people enter into the coffee shop, and not through the front door. Or maybe they did enter there originally, and somehow all wound up having a party in the women's restroom. Joey doesn't know, and she's not entirely sure she's sad she missed it. Here comes her brother with one a purebred kinswoman that Joey remembers very well, though the two women have rarely spoken.

She looks from John to Izzy and back again, with a smug smile on her face that clearly announces Yeah boy!

"Aw, I'm not stayin' long, just 'til I can feel my fingers 'n' toes again, y'know?" As if to emphasize the statement, she looks down at those beat to hell boots of hers, picks one foot off the ground and sets it back down again.

[Izzy Montoya] It's not the first time she's exited a bathroom with a Fenrir. Or a ShadowLord. Or a.. well. Those that know her wouldn't think anything of this - or think too much of it - when she exists behind a Fenrir. If they dared ask questions, she would lie. Or not. And they'd still not know for sure why she is exiting this particular bathroom, with this particular man. Despite the belief of some, she's always been discreet, and keeps her secrets to herself.

Even if it involves her walking out of a bathroom no one seemed to remember her walking into.

She has her hands in her pockets, and dark eyes sweep the room, noting those she knows, especially when they are with those she doesn't. Then she tips her head toward the counter in unknowing mimic of Kora, and asks John "Hungry?"

[Imogen Slaughter] "Somewhere 'round th'time a state o' war was declared," the kinswoman's voice is low and even. John or Izzy, if they come closer can hear her.

"After one o' yers was kidnapped."

The line begins to dissipate, several who were planning on staying choosing to instead take their drinks to go.

[Derek Anderson] He smiled at Joey "Just very old and a little mixed up"He said about the man who had locked himself in his basement and was declared missing. He did nod at Joey when she said she wouldn't stay for long "As you wish. There'saseat here if you ever cahnge your mind"

He did noticea woman coming out of the bathroom with a man and he fronwed. That was rather inappropriate. But no one seemed to have noticed too much or complained. So he guess it was fine, beside, he wasn't worknig right now.

He finished his cappuccino and took a bite of what's left of the brownies, looking at Cordelia "Want a refill?"He ask motioning to her drink

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] "Yes please and thank you?" and she even throws a biiigi smile on top of that. Cordelia pushes up her glasses.

She then looks at Joey, and her expression is somewhere between grave and comical. She shakes her head vigorously, to the point that her glasses slip a little and her curls go flying.

"Es freezing," and another moment, and she lights up, "those look so comfortable, where did you get them?"

[John] When he catches his packmate's smile from across the room, the Modi's blue eyes go wide with shock and the expression on his face transmits a humorously appalled What?! No! For some strange reason there appears to be a direct correlation with the amount of time John spends out on the streets, the phase of the moon and his Rage: a significant portion of humans can tolerate his presence, but for a select few, he is like being in a room with a serial killer. Maybe it's his eyes, or the fact that he doesn't talk, or a vague, niggling aura of otherness around him.

Humans have an uncanny sense for weirdness in their environment. They rarely pay any mind to it.

The Jarl offers him a drink, and he nods, visibly grateful; when Izzy asks him if he's hungry, a nod would have sufficed, but his stomach issues not a manly roar of agreement but a muted grumble of emptiness, as though the mere thought of food has it perking to life. His nod this time is no less grateful, but his stomach has already answered for him; John cuts Izzy what might have been a smile if the muscles in his face had any indication of how to perform such an action in public, then briefly turns his attention back to what Kora and Imogen are discussing, heavy brow furrowed.

[Kora] "Do you still have it?" Kora asks, still low-voiced. "The ring?"

There's a brief nod of acknowledgment of the timing. When the state o' war was declared. "Matthew Oliver," Kora supplies.

The gods only know where he is. Dead is the best that can be hoped for. Worse is likely, and for a moment a brief cast crosses Kora's features, sour. A subtle twist moves across her mouth, and that lingers, but, no more than that. Then, they're at the counter. Kora orders Imogen's Earl Gray, and a chai for herself. Says: yes to whipped cream, and yes to whole milk, and requests one of those things pointing at a Asiago-Cheese-Pretzel that will not, under any circumstances, to any one with a normal palette go with chai.

"Sweet or not?" To John, mid-order, and then adds on another drink to the order. Black Coffee if he did not want something sweet. Hot chocolate if he did.

[Izzy Montoya] His stomach growls in reply, and her lips threaten to curve into a smile - though the closest they get to is an amused smirk. She listens to Imogen and Kora, and their topic of discussion, and waits a beat, or two.

Kora orders, and Izzy takes the moment to address Imogen. "I've a favor to ask, if your willing."

Then, on the heels of Kora's order, she's pulling out her wallet from her inside coat pocket, and adds a couple sandwiches to the order for her and John. Her's is a job where she has to eat when she can. Right now, she can. To Kora. "It's on me, tonight."

[Derek Anderson] He nodded and got up "All right" He look at Joey "Would you like something?"He ask her then, after he got his answer, he headed toward the counter and the Fenrir waiting fo their own drinks. If their rage bothers him, it doesn't show on his good looking face.

He stand tall behind them, about 6'3"/6'4", muscular in jeans, boots and long sleeve shirt. His kind blue eyes lookedat them all, trying not to stay too long on any of them, even if it might be hard. So instead of staring at anyone's back, he look up, or down, or around, not in any hurry.

[Imogen Slaughter] First a shake of her head, "Gave it back," she answers. Just then, John's stomach growls and Imogen turns to glance at him over her shoulder, her gaze flicking briefly to Izzy, whom she had heard speak.

"Best feed him," she advises.

Her phone chimes, once in her pocket, and Imogen's hand reaches inside, pulling it free without looking at it. Izzy says she has a favour to ask, and Imogen is already stepping back. "Gi' me a call about it tomorrow," she says, a glance touching on Kora to include her in what she says next. "I ha' to go. Pass on the tea, shall I?"

With that, she is stepping away and turning to leave. She will nod in Joey's direction as she goes, should the Rotagar catch her eye.

(sorry folks, gotta get to bed!)

[Joey Oliver] "Thanks," she says, in response to the offer of a seat. It sounds like he's offering her the seat near him for all time, always and forever. Only time will tell if the Rotagar will take him up on it again at any point in the future.

For now she is content to stand at the table, rudely making the kinfolk look up at her as she shifts her weight from side to side, restless. Derek rises, verifying what Joey already suspected. That he's another of Chicago's clan of goddamn giants. There was a time when being 5'8" made Joey tall. Not here, not in this place, at least not often. Tipping her head up, he can see a bit more of the scarring at her throat, but not enough to tell the severity of it.

"Nah, thanks, still got this," she says, lifting her drink again for a sip. When he's gone, her attention is focused on the kinswoman. "Uh, I dunno, my mom sent 'em to me, long time ago. They're warm, though."

Holding out the arm with the drink, she tugs up the sleeve of her hoodie, revealing to Cordelia a black arm warmer in a purple and grey argyle pattern. It doesn't match the scarf. Joey doesn't appear to care. "I can ask her next time I talk to 'er if y'want."

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] It is at that moment, where she's revealing the argyle and grey arm warmer, that Cordelia instantly and irrevocably, fell in love with Joey Oliver. It wasn't her eyes, though they were pretty, and it wasn't her blonde hair or her different demeanor, it was her arm warmers. The princess melts, and she grins ear to ear.

"Oh! I'm Cordelia" Cor-deh-lia, "es nice to meet you Joey."

Joey. Pronounced more like Cho-ey. The J sound isn't kind to her, not at all.

"My mother refuses to visit because it's cold-" and being in Spain doesn't hurt "-please tell me it gets better."

[John] Sweet or not?

John holds up one large hand in a thumb's down, eyes flicking between Kora and the minimum wage slave behind the counter. It takes a special breed of human to work in retail beyond the holiday season; whoever is back there doesn't quaver from him, exactly, but it's abundantly obvious to anyone with eyes that the tall young man--not quite so tall as the other muscular blue-eyed presence in the place, but to Joey that is likely minor consolation--is neither uncomfortable in humans' presence nor entirely certain how to behave. He simply exists, like a bird that has somehow flown into a store through the pneumatic door and isn't in a major rush to escape.

Imogen mentions feeding him, and he scoffs, lightly, yet lacks the capacity to quip back that he isn't a canine or a houseplant. Given the way he dresses, the general Mountain Man look he either seems to be going for or doesn't know how to deviate from, it's entirely possible he's still trying to figure out how to procure food in this city without the green paper humans shuffle around constantly. He's doing a lot of scrounging and pride-swallowing, lately.

When the slight kinswoman makes her escape, John waves, the motion restrained, and looks around the room again. Carefully, he taps Izzy on the upper arm, as though this is somehow preferable to her shoulder; once her attention has been captured, he gestures across the room to the Silver Fangs and makes a questioning face. He wants to know if she knows them, as if all the Kinfolk in the city know all the other Kinfolk in the city.

[Kora] "You shall," says Kora, a side glance at Imogen as she demures on the hot tea, then a lifting movement back toward John as she considers whether or not she can pawn off a pot of Earl Gray in the Modi. And decides against it, shifting forward at the counter, still looking over her shoulder. "Be safe, Doc, yeah?"

"Nix the Earl Gray. Just the chai and a black coffee -" a gesture toward the kinswoman and modi behind her. "She's paying." And then Kora reaches to pick up the pretzel, steps aside to await her drink, making room for Izzy and John to order whatever else they'd like. She watches Derek as the tall man walks through the room, a level look, dark eyed and direct, unwavering - from this strange woman in sturdy, inexpensive clothing, pale haired and pale skinned, six months pregnant, blood spatter from a kill artfully daubed from her jeans, otherwise hidden underneath her coat, picking at a pretzel as if she had not just -

Well, and when Izzy glance her way, Kora lifts her pretzel in a vague toast, acknowledgment of her offer to pay, and thanks, all in one.

[Imogen Slaughter] (thanks for the RP all!)

[Derek Anderson] He looked at Kora as he stopped nearby, offering her a smile and a nod "Ma'am"He wait until they all got their order before getting a refill for Cordelia and one for himself. His eyes followed Imogen as she left then as he looked forward, he notice John looking at him. He wasn't sure who was trueblood or kin in that group, the rage spilling all over, so he simply nodded to the other man with a polite smile.

[Izzy Montoya] Call her tomorrow. Izzy nods. "Will do. G'night."

Kora lifts her pretzel in thanks, and Izzy simply nods. There are few Fenrir that she has grown to respect. Kora is one of them, and by virtue of that, the rest of her pack. She shows it in small ways. Picking up a tab. Showing up at the church more in the past month then she has to any in years. Actually reporting in, despite the pregnant Jarl's desire for Imogen and John to procreate.

Neither here nor there. She pays the tab, tucks the wallet into her coat, and steps aside to wait with kora for their order to be made.

John touches her arm, a strangely intimate gesture to see for those who know Izzy, as she is not prone to physical contact at all outside of closed doors, unless it is necessary. She doesn't seem to mind it here - mainly because it is necessary, because she expects it. Wordless question crosses his face, and she answers with a shake of her head.

"No. Should I?" Even though the answer is obvious, purely for his asking.

[Joey Oliver] Joey's smile turns rueful at that. "Oh yeah, it'll get better. In like, June or somethin'." That's when the heat and the humidity will bring the temperatures close to what they were like back home. It'll be stifling and unbearable. It'll be fantastic.

She notices the way Cordelia, Cordehlia, speaks, with an accent that she would maybe place as heard on the Spanish channels they get at the warehouse. Of course, her mind goes to Mexico, not to Spain, which clashes in her mind with the breeding.

Falcon's children, kings, in Mexico? Drug lords, maybe. Maybe Cordelia's...Joey looks the pretty blond with the glasses over...related to a drug lord.

"Winter here sucks, but the guy's right, y'get used to it, sorta. People get by, anyway."

[Izzy Montoya] (Ahem. EDIT: IZZY AND JOHN. JOHN THORNTON. TO PROCREATE. omg. *cracking up)

[Kora] (KORA HAD LINUS REPLACE IZZY'S BIRTH CONTROL PILLS WITH SMARTIES. FYI.)

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] [I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN WHEN THEY TASTED FRUITY]

[John] [THE SURGEON GENERAL SAYS MIXING SMARTIES WITH TOBACCO CAUSES DIABETES LINUS HOW COULD YOU]

[Izzy Montoya] [Pills? what pills?! :) ]

[Tabitha Reese] "I know, Tal. But jesus christ, did you see how much it was? I can buy three sweaters for that, and we can still have enough to eat for a couple days." There's a high end boutique bag in her hand, which looks completely out of place with her.

[Derek Anderson] He pay for the refills, nodding at the clerk, then turning to go back and join Cordelia and Joey "Evening all" He say to Kora, Johnand Izzy, in a deep warm voice "If you feel like it, you can join us"He say indicating where Joey is standing, talking with COrdelia. His tone is very polite as he didn't want to assume that Truebloods would liek ot join kins at their table, though they would join one their friends or acquintance as well. "If not, then have all a good night"

He nodded to them. A friendly offer never hurt right? That is, unless a Fenrir took offense, or so the rumors go. Not that he has any idea that these particular Garou are Fenrir. If he had known, he might ont have risk it.

[Tala Whitedeer] "So? It's nice. I don't want to take it back." She looks sullen, following Tabitha.

[Tabitha Reese] "Yes. It's nice. It's three hundred and fifty dollars nice." She sighs, slowing and reaching back to let Tala catch up. "It's not that I don't like it. It's just a lot of money, Tal."

[Tala Whitedeer] "So?"

[John] Should she?

John's face shrugs where his shoulders normally would, the expression gamely uncertain, but he doesn't pull loose a writing implement or piece of paper to attempt to explain why it was he was asking in the first place. Given the Full Moons' stereotypical stoicism, hardly illustrated by the current sample populace's propensity for talking at length and in such ranting fervor that many of them can be easily mistaken for Gibbous Moons, perhaps this one's lack of drive to make himself understood is fitting. It seems as though even if he could talk, he wouldn't choose to do so excessively.

The kinsman walks up to them about the time it's being determined that their identities are unknown. A coffee is pushed across the counter, and John gives Izzy another of those almost-smiles before looking back to the newcomer. Steam rising from the surface of the cup warns him not to bolt it back. His eyes flick to find his packmate and Beta, and at the offer of joining them, John glances at the other two females. Not one to let others make decisions for him, apparently, or else exercising that spine of his, John bobs his head in a nod. Even without gesticulating, it comes across as a Yeah, okay.

[Tabitha Reese] She sighs. "Okay. I won't take it back if you don't want me to."

[Tala Whitedeer] "No, you want to. Fine. I'm not taking MINE back."

[Tabitha Reese] "I never said you had to."

[Tala Whitedeer] "Yeah, well, you're trying to make me feel guilty." She pulls the sweater tighter around herself.

[Kora] Kora's tall, tall enough that she need look up only fractionally to meet the kinsman's gaze. Her eyes are direct, clear and dark - the color is indiscernible in the shadows - a wide mouth the primary softness in otherwise sharp features, the slanting jaw, the moving curve of her mouth. Pale northern skin, pale northern hair, lent a certain fullness, a certain glow, a certain presence by pregnancy. It's an animal thing: that lustre. She's breeding. She's healthy. She's alive.

The barista is rather more afraid of the silent John than she is of the watchful Kora. She skitters away from the counter, fidgets making the drinks, spills half of the first coffee and mutters a curse beneath her breath. It's the worst hour of her night. Kora pulls a flat, folding something from the hip pocket of her jeans and digs out a five dollar bill from its pages. Stuffs that into the tip jar as she reaches for her chai and then turns to navigate an ambling passage through the coffee shop in Derek's wake.

"Joey," a greeting, then, "Cordelia." Then, a dark-eyed glance at Derek. "You two - " a gesture from Derek to Cordelia. "Directly related, or - distantly?" Then, almost belated. "I'm Kora, by the way. Thanks for the invite, though I can't stay long."

[Tabitha Reese] She sighs again. "Come on. I'll keep it, okay? Where did you get the money for it anyway?" Motioning her along, she moves to enter the coffee shop and make the poor barista's night even worse.

[Tala Whitedeer] She follows Tabitha inside. "I told you. The Kin paid for it."

[Izzy Montoya] Derek invites them to join them, and Izzy waits for the others to answer, without letting her preference show in her face. Either one that is decided, she will go with, for the time being. The transfer has her off kilter, a little [..lot...] out of sorts, and willing to spend time with Tribe, in order to have something familiar close by. It's likely a phase. It'll pass.

For now, though, she follows in John and Kora's wake, but only after the barista manages to get their order together. She gets the sandwiches and coffee on a tray, and makes her way to join the others. She sets the sandwiches and coffees down on a nearby table, and goes about unbuttoning her coat. She nods to the others, to Joey in greeting, then slips off her coat, and hangs it over the back of a chair. There's the dull gleam at the small of her back as the lights catch the handle of her weapon holstered there, just before she sits and smooths her slacks over her thighs. A reach to touch John's arm - much as he did hers - shows him that his food is there, before she goes about rolling up the sleeves to her blouse.

Other than that, she remains quiet. Watchful.

[Derek Anderson] As he was heading to the table with Kora, John and Izzy, he noticed Tabitha entering with Tala. He offered the Black Fury a smile and nod, and guessed he will know tonight if his text to her will get him punched. He nodded politly to Tala.

When they stopped at the table, what Joey said earlier was confirmed by Kora acknowledging Cordy by name and hten her question about being related "Well to be honest, I had no idea were were until Joey said something earlier. So we're distantly related it seem" He say tilting his head at Cordy with a would you bleieve that, expression. The world was small..or the city at least

"Well Cordy, guess we jsut learned something about each other" He grinned then offered his hand to Kora, then John and Izzy "I'm Derek, pleased to meet you"

[Tabitha Reese] She shakes her head. "I can't believe you did that. They're going to be up our asses about it, you know. What do you want?" Her eyes dart around as soon as they're through the door, and she moves so that her back is against the wall while waiting for the counter to clear.

[Tala Whitedeer] "I don't know. Coffee? She offered. Kind of."

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] She laughs a little. At that moment, she looks like she might say something, but her phone rings. The female blanches and scoot out of her side of the bench.

"I'm so sorry I have to go take this," she tells Derek.

[Tabitha Reese] "Kind of HOW?" Derek gets a nod, and she moves to order once it's clear. "Large drip and a medium Americano."

The barista's anxiety level should just about qualify her for disability insurance, with all of the Trueborn that are gathered in the space.

[Tala Whitedeer] "She was holding the stuff when we went up to the counter."

[Hunter Matthews] A bristling of Rage and a stirring of wind is what announces the entrance of Defiance's Alpha. He doesn't head for the counter but the table in the back where a gathering begins. He looks like he knows exactly where he is going, like he knew where he was going before he even entered the establishment. The Uktena and the Black Fury get side stepped and he half turns over his shoulder as he travels past them.

Eyes find Joey, John, Kora, Izzy. They settle on Cordelia and he blinks.

"Hey guys."

[Hunter Matthews] [UGh should be something abou Turns over his shoulder and smiles with a nod of some sort you know actually acknowledging them not just staring at them like a weirdo]

[Joey Oliver] "Kora," she greets brightly. "Izzy." She steps aside to make room for Derek to reclaim his seat should he so desire. The kinfolk that came here for a simple drink and a chat find themselves surrounded by more of the Nation. It could be the breeding that calls them all together, or some other happy coincidence. Happy for them.

Not so happy for the humans that happened to be near to this particular corner. The weak-willed nearby find excuses to get up and leave, or at least move to other locations, closer to the door perhaps. Closer to a means of escape. Cordelia rises and moves in that direction, as well, far enough that she can take her phone call in peace.

"'Sup, cap'n," she greets Hunter.

[Derek Anderson] He frowned at Cordy's expression "Are you ok?" He ask with concern in his voice. Kin of the same tribe or not, friends or not, he was worried about her. She was a really nice girl and her face spoke of trouble right now. Still he let her go take her call.

He nodded as Hunter come closer, knowing him slightly because Starla gave him the Garou's name yesterday. He tilt his head at Izzy "Ok, coincidences are rare but hey, it could be...are you detective Montoya?" It would be incredbly funny if she was. He didn't have to look for her to meet her "If you do, Starla told me about you, as we're both detectives" He tell her with a friendly smile

[Tabitha Reese] She nods at Hunter as he passes, waiting for the coffees and motioning Tala along as she heads back toward Derek and his assembled.

[John] The touch to his arm doesn't have the male flinching or jerking away from it; he turns his head, curious, and then sees the sandwich-bearing plate has been set down for him. This time she gets what actually appears to be a smile from a Fenrir Modi, ladies and gentlemen: it doesn't show teeth, but it crinkles the corners of his eyes and seems about as genuine as one could expect, given that it also looks as though the muscles in his face are going to creak and groan from misuse. He frowns more than he smiles but the bastard doesn't exactly have to worry about degeneration of collagens any time soon.

He does not sit, but rather remains on his feet, boots planted just under shoulder-width apart as he starts eating. Though he doesn't verbally introduce himself, when Derek holds out his hand to make his introductions mid-chew the heavier man doesn't eye him with suspicion or mistrust. Neither does he supply a name. He dusts the crumbs off his hand on the seat of his jeans a few times, then clamps his hand on the kinsman's wrist instead of slapping it into his palm. It's too tight, at first; then he realizes who it is he's dealing with and loosens up, pulling a quick Sorry man face and returning to his dinner.

Eyes flick to the two dark-haired females as they move through the coffee house.

[OH MY GOD YOU PEOPLE TYPE SO FAST]

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] She's digging through her purse to get the ringing phone, and she has it out- Hunter notices that she's carrying a little POS phone at the current instead of her normal phone. She looks at him. He blinks. She blinks. She even smiles a little.

It rings a little longer, and she looks down at the phone. She winces and her look becomes apologetic. She looks back at Hunter, "international call."

When she takes a few more steps towards the womens room and erupts into Spanish. Very... very... fast Spanish.

[Tala Whitedeer] She follows Tabi, looking uncomfortable suddenly.

[Kora] "You just bumped into each other?" The lilt of question at the end has a clear note of disbelief. "That's almost too good to be true, you know?" Her remark is quiet, and her dark eyes linger on Derek with a new, darker interest. As if she could pull down whatever mask he might be wearing, revealing the bones of the thing underneath.

But he's not her blood; they are in a full (emptying) café. As Cordelia rises, phone in hand, Kora stands too. Murmurs, "Best double-check with Katherine," to the kinswoman before she slips away. About Derek, she means.

"Hunter," a quiet greeting, our heroine standing now, mug and pretzel in hand, the latter nearly gone, the former barely touched. "Excuse me," she says, not offering further excuses. She needs to get the clothes home before the blood sets. She wants to see her mate before sunrise. She has a sudden craving for Bacon Double Cheeseburger Pringles. "Good night all."

A farewell to arms.

[Drawn in Blood] Even in the haze of a desolate winter wasteland, the landscape covered in snow that ought to be pristine and white yet has gone tainted and gray in the places where technology and progress have pushed it up off the sidewalk in heaps--which are few, admittedly; this is not downtown, this is not the Heart of Chicago but is one of the forgotten places--even when the world is blanketed in a sort of hush, nothing but the distant whisper of tires over the slushy asphalt, the crack and groan of massive church doors seems like its own entity.

He's coming up the sidewalk, winter jacket zipped up but no hat, no scarf, no gloves to protect him from the cold. He does not need it. Though his Rage burns not so hot that it threatens to char away at his humanity, it is enough of an internal fire that it keeps him from feeling the chill as anything other than an irritant. It will not kill him in the amount of time it takes to walk from where he's coming to wherever it is that he's going.

The Alpha of the Last Watch, the city's Jarl, appears as a figure cut against the bright backdrop of what could easily be the set of a post-apocalyptic battleground, and the Modi lifts his head. In this form his nostrils threaten to freeze with each haul of subzero air into his system; the cold burns his lungs when he breathes through his mouth. This is a miserable walk, but the expression on his face, with its heavy masculine features and its grizzled quality, his skin weathered and his facial hair unshaved since before he arrived in the city, is almost serene.

It's an acceptance that of all the things in this world that he has no control over, weather ought to be the last of his concerns.

Silent, he pulls his left hand out of his pocket to lift it in a motionless wave to Kora, and almost imperceptibly picks up the pace.

[Erek Skulason] You know if you put salt down on the path, might eat up the snow and make it more walkable.

*The gruffness of Erek's voice greets the Jarl, blue eyes peering out from between the brim of the knit cap pulled low over his forehead to cover his ears and force tufts of blond hair to spike out, and the layers of thin scarves wrapped around his throat and his chin like some kind of ninja mask. The dark colors of his clothes, a beaten up wool long coat and gray sweatshirt beneath layer over faded Dickies pants and work boots. The bits of skin revealed to the chill in the air become reddened and chapped.

Kora comes down the steps, she'll find the young Get of Fenris just off to her side some distance, crouched on top of a small mound of snow. It's likely he's been out here for a little bit, packing and padding it into a ball. His head lifts up, tilting to an angle as he spies Drawn in Blood, slowly standing with rim of that knit cap dancing up and down as his brows rose*

Company. *He snorts*

[Sorrow] "Breaks down stone, too," says Sorrow, her breath a warm cloud around her features, generous mouth lifting over the edge of the scarf she's wrapped around her neck and chin. There's a certain ease to the expression, lilted upward more at the right corner than the left. Her nose is already tipped with red from the chill, cheeks bright. Dark eyes - the color leached out by the shadows, the orange glow of the street lamp - gleam with ambient light as they touch on Erek. "So I've heard."

There's a rich, low lilt to the one of her voice; she doesn't need to raise it to carry over the scour of the winter wind - it just carries. "Washes off into the river, too. Leaches down into the water supply. Not that what we'd put down would do more damage than the city does itself." She twists her shoulders, the movement mostly lost underneath the weight of her coat. "Trent came and shoveled the steps the other night. He might come for the path tomorrow after work." A glance up, then. She lifts her chin by way of acknowledgment to Drawn in Blood, and gives Erek a half nod - south, toward the Lake, into the wind. Toward the Caern.

"I'm headed for the Caern if you want to walk with me." A glance includes Drawn in Blood in the offer. "You've made your sacrifice?" Another glance includes Erek in the question.

[Drawn in Blood] He is only just now closing in on the conversation, wind wicking words away from his ears as his footfalls crunch down snow and threaten to slip out from underneath him, his pace steady and slow. As tall as he is, as innately and almost primally graceful as he is, Drawn in Blood--John, to the humans--is a large man. If he fell it would be a hard fall.

He doesn't fall, although he does look mildly uneasy as he treads the last few steps to join the Rotagar and the Skald on the sidewalk. Breath steams away from him as though his life force is being hauled away from him, yet for obvious reasons he isn't complaining. A nod, stiff from the cold rather than from his demeanor, is given to the two of them, and he tries to flash a smile that indicates his willingness to head to the Caern with the two of them.

It's too cold to smile. For a Modi, though, especially for one whose Rage is as high as his own is, he does not seem like a live wire snapped from a line waiting for something to strike. Maybe they breed them differently where he comes from.

You've made your sacrifice?

A flick of eyes between the two of them, and Drawn in Blood nods, quicker than his nod of greeting.

[Erek Skulason] *Erek leaps off the little snow mound, likely the base for something he was going to make out of the snow, playing in it like a kid. It's something not lost on him, the ability to keep those boyish mannerism, like a pup that's grown into its fur and legs, but not quite into adulthood. The way he covers his face manages to elude any signs of facial expressions save for his eyes. Kora can feel the way they stay on her when she addressed him, asked him if he's made the sacrifice*

No, ma'am, haven't made any contributions to the maelstrom as of yet. Haven't found anything worthy yet to seal the bond, sacrifice is a big thing, has to mean something. Can't just be blood I wager.

*Erek's quick to follow Kora, eyes turning down to focus on her footwork, watch her steps and manipulate his own long strides to pace behind hers, dancing in her shadow (as her shadow). He regards DiB's silence with an upturned nod of his head in greeting to acknowledge him*

What did you throw to the maw of the blood-red whirlpool? *this to DiB*

[Sorrow] "Some people throw in blood," Kora returns to Erek. "Cut themselves and bleed into the already-blooded waters." There's a note of something there. "But you're right; sacrifice should mean something to the person making the sacrifice. Blood seems a hollow gesture, somehow. Given how quickly we regenerate it."

Kora's stride is more measured, tonight. Her balance is changing; her center of gravity. She's careful when she walks, her long strides shortened. Neither Erek nor Drawn in Blood have seen her as anything but: six months pregnant, her once-boyish frame changed, padded with a subtle new layer of fat at the hips and breasts, even some new fullness in her face. Still, with the heavy layers of winter things, her pregnancy is not obvious. She does not show the way a less-fit woman might by this stage. There's a subtle, pungent scent in the air underscoring her own. A certain blood-rot, metallic and old, and a soft bulge in the left pocket of her coat. She leaves her arms swinging free, glances from Drawn in Blood to Erek and back again.

After a moment's mild consideration, Kora taps her temple. "I can connect us three," evenly to Drawn in Blood. "Make it easier to communicate."

[Drawn in Blood] Erek wants to know what John gave Maelstrom. The Modi's expression does not turn hard, or defensive, but there is a sense of quarantine about his thoughts, his actions, that has more to do with his inability to speak than with any great desire to remain unknown or separate. While he is, for the moment, unknown, that is not by choice. He has been here a week, now, and already has fought so many battles that they're beginning to crowd the space reserved for counting on his hands. His hands stay in his pockets; the Rotagar is just given an indecipherable, nearly blank look, as if his silence is supposed to be enough proof of his deformity.

The notion of a Rage-heavy Full Moon refusing to speak or lacking the intelligence to do so with any semblance of confidence is hardly novel, yet Kora knows he does, on occasion, possess thoughts and exercises his right to share them with the rest of the world.

She can connect them. John considers this, but doesn't tap his temple in kind. Burrowing down deeper into his jacket, the Modi nods. Alright. Thank you.

[Erek Skulason] Fire Claws explained to me how the caern was found on the blood and backs of our tribe and the others that build it around some mystical thing, didn't give a full tale, but cut to a point. You say some people throw in a little blood, I imagine others will part with a material objects that has held some meaning to them, personal or otherwise.

*He presses on, a gloved hand lifted to dig into the top layers of the scarf to yank it down. Hot breath rolling out of his mouth as chapped lips move. Erek keeps his eyes on Kora's shoulders as he walks behind her, never beside or in front of her as it was not his place to do so. He returns his eyes to DiB eying him with a twitch of curiosity.

Kora says she can connect them to speak, Erek seems more than willing to fill up the conversation to make up for the ahroun's lack of speech as he has to shut himself up or he'd keep on rambling. His thoughts toiling around in his head a mile a minute with the swift capacity of a washing machine*

Yeah, that's fine. *he huffs out*

[Sorrow] They're on the sidewalk now, three nearly abrest. Erek has to ghost along, watching her footsteps, matching his stride to hers. And sometimes he has to range out - move around an obstacle like a lamppost or a shattered parking meter. Kora's left arm swings free, but she slips her right hand into her right front pocket, holding her elbow close against her ribs. The coat she wears is wool, a peacoat, the dark color shows a deep purple only when they pass under the direct light shed from one of the few working streetlamps on these half-abandoned streets.

The ghosts of warehouses - squat brick shadows against the orange night, some derelict, others merely rundown - haunt their path. She takes a turn, a sidestreet leading toward the riverwalk, and then down like an arrow toward the lakeshore and the Caern.

"I threw in a journal," the Skald tells them, maybe unexpectedly. " - from before my change. Kept it while I was traveling, like a scrapbook, yeah? Pictures, with friends, stories. Drunk musings. Letters from home. Letters I never sent home. Just everything."

Both Garou accede to her offer, and so she closes her eyes - a moment's concentration - and draws them together.

The gift is less natural than the spirit bonds of a totem. It requires this little - shard of concentration from each of them. Not enough to unbalance, but enough to distract.

A sharp glance back at Erek, and Kora nods in agreement with Fire Claws' explanation of the Caern and the sacrifice it requires. "He was right. Fenrir fought to raise the Caern, and have been the backbone of the Sept ever since. These lands - " a gesture around her. " - have been held by Fenrir since the Caern was raised, too. When Silence-rhya left, my pack claimed them. I can tell you the whole story sometime, if you'd like to hear it."

Even with the gift, Kora speaks aloud; Drawn in Blood, though, can project some ghost-voice into their minds.

[Drawn in Blood] There is no structural damage, no torn or bruised tissue to explain why he won't speak. As far as anyone else can tell, it is no vow of silence that has driven him to withhold his thoughts; were he to have undertaken some vow, it is entirely possible he would have come out and said that at the first opportunity, or turned down Kora's offer to make communication between the three of them easier. Though he seems perfectly content to simply walk through the blistering cold, silent yet attentive, and do little more than listen, that it is an option to him is not taken for granted or sloughed off as something that is beneath his efforts or his appreciation.

Yet as Kora explains the history of the lands, what the Caern has been through since its birth, he does not jump in to offer his thoughts. They can tell the Gift has taken hold because of the effort of maintaining it; he simply chooses to remain quiet until he has something of worth to contribute to the conversation.

[Erek Skulason] *Erek twitches under the new sensation that racks inside his head, he wonders to himself if this is what pack feels like. He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his worn leather glove across his brow. Smoke taking form in front of his face every time he breathes out and in again. He listens; forcing himself to remain quiet, less he start speaking in a tangent*

What did that sacrifice mean to you? Why the journal? What was it about that journal that made you want to give it up? How does it affect you still?

*Questions and more questions tumble out at Kora. He doesn't lose his stride, despite readjusting it. His quick agility allows him to move around or over objects as if they never existed, and he always went a straight path without curving*

[Sorrow] Kora breathes out a sharply exhaled breath; it sounds like a laugh propelled from her diaphragm, somewhere deep in her voice. Unvoiced, though - and quiet - it could double as a sigh were it not for the wry twist of her mouth around the sound. The mute glow from the streetlamps pulls out pale threads of brilliance in strands of her long blond hair - pulled sharply back from her face, sharp enough to reveal the cut of her jaw, the curvilinear line of her ear, the hollow beneath.

"That was a long time ago." There's a steadiness to her voice, a low, thrumming grace. Light gleams across her gaze as she shoots Erek another look, nearly reaching out, physically, to end the moving stream of questions he asks her. "The journal," less eloquent when speaking of herself, her past, her own life, than her dead, she pauses, glancing up and away, down the snow-hushed sidestreet toward the slice of the Chicago River visible between the warehouses lining the way. "It was - " another pause, liminal, " - private, yeah? What it meant then, it doesn't mean now. I pledged my life to Maelstrom, and gave it those pieces I thought precious in retrospect. That would be lost when I threw it in. But I took that sacrifice seriously, Erek. Buried my Alpha, watched another one leave, looking for glory, and stayed, because a miracle like this place is worth defending with every fiber of one's being.

"That a Caern can be raised in a city like this - " she offers a leashed, quiet gesture toward their surroundings, the concrete-and-brick, the asphalt, the trash moldering in the dark maw of the alley they just passed. " - in these late days." A sharp sound, another rush of air expelled from her nostrils.

The rest of unvoiced. The liminal passion in her voice speaks for itself.

Her eyes find the younger Garou's profile; Dawn in Blood's a moment after. "What about you? Why have you come?"

[Erek Skulason] *True to his auspice, Erek is a child full of questions and Kora is like the mother that he constantly nags for answers. He hits her again and again repeatedly until it makes her want to physically shut him up. The young Get of Fenris is wise to hang back, stay out of the Jarl's reach, watching the pregnant woman cautiously as he's been warned of her temperance. Though, the faintest quirk of a smile draws on the corners of his lips, the left one rising higher than the right to reflect the curved horns of a crescent moon and split his face in half*

I'll pledge myself to Maelstrom if I can toss Remy into it as my offering.

*He spits this out suddenly, irritation ringing in his tone along with a sharp explosion of laughter. His eyes dart off to silent ahroun, biting on his tongue to keep from speaking further, giving Dib a chance to answer*

[Drawn in Blood] Though he doesn't speak, John isn't off in his own world, thinking of battles long past or yet to come, or remembering the scent of an otherwise forgotten figure's hair and skin. He's in the present, where he belongs, listening to the Rotagar's questions, waiting for Kora's answers. All the sound he makes comes from his boots, his body, the trampling of snow beneath his soles and the huffing of breath drawn by lungs not at all equipped to handle this degree of soul-numbing cold.

Yet he doesn't complain. He would not complain if he were in a camp with a group of urrah.

There's a light in his eyes that seems to flicker when Kora speaks of the purpose of her sacrifice, the trials she has endured since coming here. There is steel in her spine, fire in her veins, and he does not shy away from it even though, being what he is, ranked as he is, he does not meet her gaze. It isn't fear--it's respect.

Then she's asking why he's come. There is a sense of stirring across the mental link, flimsier and more inclined to snap under the whims of its participants than a totemic bond, as if John is drawing a breath to collect his thoughts. It has been far too long since he shared his thoughts with others. What they receive isn't exactly words as they would appear in written form, yet as pictures form, projected memories, there is a hazy sort of narration to it, explaining what they see.

The voice they hear in their heads is deep, yet young. A baritone. It's as weathered as his skin.

The pack I've known since I earned the right to be called Garou has turned to ash. Their remains are North. My home was South.

South: untouched desert, watercolor skies at dusk, a Caern left leveled and burning. There is nothing for him to return to.
North: an endless white expanse in the winter, lush and green and under attack in the summer. There was nothing keeping him there.

My route took me through this city. It is the first city I have ever seen. I see what is happening here. I cannot bring myself to leave. So I gave Maelstrom what I had that I do not need to live.

What he does not need to live: the contents of his bag. He had had a knapsack when he got here, filled with maps covered in years' worth of notations and routes; journals filled with the thoughts and memories of a creature that has lived its entire life within the Nation; photographs, flimsy reminders of things that do not exist anymore. He has no intention of leaving, he'd said. One day, the ground will swallow up what Maelstrom didn't. He doesn't say that, but he doesn't have to.

[Erek Skulason] Jarl...

*The word cuts through the ice in the air, it sounds soft and secretive in the way Erek says it, but loud enough for it to catch Kora's attention. He picks up his pace, stepping up to catch her stride and walk at her side on the sidewalk. His eyes darting back over his shoulder to peer at Drawn in Blood when the ahroun's thoughts mesh with his own, if briefly*

Kora, I need word with you in private about some shit when you get a chance.

*A glance to her and he's dropping back out of pace, losing the ground he's gained on her to muttering to her ear, and to dance in her shadow once again*

[Sorrow] Sorrow makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat; a voice laugh, one she interrupted in the mouth, swallows back down into the cage of her chest. Eyeing Erek, she shakes her pale head evenly, looking away, mastering her expression, the sharp twist of her curving mouth that suggests some awareness of irony.

"Maelstrom wants something that you'll miss, Spinebreaker." A supple flare of her nostrils, a withdrawn, withheld breath. The iron's underneath, in the steady tone. "Something you'll miss, some ache you'll remember when you curl yourself up to sleep at night. Not someone you want to get rid of."

Then the hints filter away - the humor and the irony - leaving just this sober edge. "You know she's a widow, don't you? Recent. I expect you both to give her time to grieve." There's an undercurrent beneath her voice, barely expressed - just there. "We understand each other, yeah?"

They have reached the riverfront by now; there's ice formed over the running water like a skin, but not fully. It is cracked, a channel down the center bubbles over with water running - paradoxically - away from Lake Michigan, not toward it. The jogging path is barely trampled, though a few anonymous someone's have broken trail for them. The road here has been plowed, and huge drifts hug the narrow lanes carved out by the snowplows.

Erek requests a private word; Kora's dark eyes trace his features briefly. She nods, once.

As he drifts into the shadows, (since I think neme is going to sleep? otherwise she'll maintain it) she drops him from the loose connection of the gift she's initiated.

There's a stillness to her, listening to the images drifting over the link. Her eyes are on the horizon, the lake in the distance, where the flat plains of the city begin to slope toward the waterfront.

Then she looks up, Drawn In Blood's features in profile, outlined against the brilliance of the downtown business district. "Tell me about them." Quiet. "Your pack."

[Erek Skulason] ooc/thanks for the scene! I'm off to face planting in pillows
to Drawn in Blood, Sorrow

[Drawn in Blood] For someone who has just professed to have left the pack he's known since his Rite of Passage behind in a place more desolate yet, given his home, not nearly so unfamiliar as this cityscape he's wandering through with little clue of how to set down roots when there is concrete everywhere, there is not a heavy caul of sadness over the Modi. There are those in this city who have suffered such profound losses recently, themselves: mates and lovers have perished off-screen or while lying broken and beyond hope or help in their arms, Alpha after Alpha has fallen to battle until the last one standing could not keep himself on a straight, moral path. He is young, that much is obvious by his enthusiasm and his almost subdued demeanor in spite of his Rage, yet his body showcases the path he's walked.

Physically, he does not appear to be a teenager; on the contrary, he looks as though he's approaching if not already in his human thirties, yet given the way his breed ages, it's entirely possible he could still be a teenager. The gravity in him, though, betrays the fact that however many years this earth has seen him walk upon it, they have not been easy.

When she looks at him, Kora finds his eyes, color a mystery in this light, cast out over the occluded surface of the river. The stubble on his face is as much a protection as anything else, yet without anyone to tell him to shave, to tell him that he looks like a barbarian strolling into a store with a beard growing onto his jaws, it's as much an indication of solitary laziness. Eyes, watering with the wind and the cold, blink and flick to her, once.

The quietude of her voice makes him swallow.

Too much to tell, is what his voice says, yet the feeling she gets from him, the flitting strings of imagery that he has to hold onto with the sacrifice of concrete reminders, suggests he doesn't have enough.

There were four of them, all male. They were young, by human standards, yet so far as the Nation was concerned they were well beyond maturity: mid-twenties, mostly, the oldest among them appearing no older than Drawn in Blood. Missing amongst them was a Rotagar, a questioner, yet the rest of the auspices saw representation within the pack. It might explain his reticence. Perhaps they had to learn to question themselves.

Before them I knew little. Had less. I don't think I could have had more if we were blood brothers.

He swallows again, though he isn't talking, though his throat doesn't work. His hands are numb in his pockets. The Modi parts his lips to draw in the air, as if there's a memory there he can't do without, but he lets it go.

I'm sorry. I'm no Skald.

Despite their tribe's image as the staunch, stoic Vikings of myth and legend, they were not cold, or detached. There is affection in his thoughts, and love, and the bitter acceptance of the fact that they died fighting a war they all believed in. It was not for nothing. He doesn't have the words to express this.

They were all I had. They made me better. It would be a disservice to their spirits to say that now that their bodies are gone I have nothing. They were Fenrir. I don't know what else to say about them.

[Sorrow] There's no one on the street. They could walk in perfect silence, as silent as the city ever could be. The snow cusions sound, absorbs it. There is only the harsh immediacy of their breath, the quiet shuussh of their boots through the mounded snow from the blizzard earlier in the week. Here are there are cars abandoned during the worst of it, now buried, hemmed in by the huge drifts plowed up by the snowplows, covered in a skin of ice from the melt and freeze that happens every day and night.

They are half-visible through the drifts, and look like great behemouths from some bygone age, foundered on the flooded plains.

She listens, Kora. There's a certain attentiveness to her, a rare sort of quiet. When he looks over and finds her eyes, he's reflected there, in cheated three-quarter profile. She is looking up, just - her pale brows arches at the center, her features clear except for the tip of her nose, the reddened apples of her cheeks. Light shines in the moist conjunctiva of her eyes, but the angle of her glance makes the iris and pupils dark.

Then she looks down again; as their feet plow through the snow the way a ship's prow courses through breaking waves.

"I don't expect you to be a Skald," she returns, her voice touched with a rich awareness of the places where the present turns into the past. "Just a Modi who remembers his dead." There's a sorrowful twist to her mouth; her expression could be melancholy were it not for the strength underneath - the winnowing acceptance of loss - that makes it rather more still, rather more solemn, rather more solid. "Thank you for sharing them with me."

They can see the boundaries of the Caern in the middle distance, now. The river running to the abandoned dockyard, the chainlink fence surrounding the concrete tarmac of the old shipyard. As they walk, she reaches into her left coat pocket and begins to pull out a winding piece of muslin or cheese cloth. The metal scent, clotted, half-rotted blood - blooms sharply against the cold air. The bandage comes out, in big, messy loops, dried and stiff in her hands. Even as they walk, little flakes fall off into the snow, scattering like ash, like cinder, flecks of paint against the muted white of the drifts.

"Joe War-Handed took Alpha of my pack after Kemp Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya died in battle." A faint, subtle twist of her mouth. "He gave me this talen back then. A modi-trick, yeah? Then he left before the next moot. I released the spirits long ago.

"I was pissed the fuck off when he left." The vehemence there betrays an old wound. Dark. "He had been talking about going to Portland, trying to save a lost Caern, like defending this one wasn't glorious enough for his blood anymore. He didn't leave until lost a challenge for Jarl, though. A Rotagar beat him. beat the Rotagar. He was already gone. Wanted to find some deed worthy of his pure blood.

"He was Drew's mate, yeah? He died out there, packless and septless as far as I can tell. No gathering. No memorial. No grave among his fellows. I figured - after Kemp - that we'd die together, here. We didn't." A brief, narrow twist of her mobile mouth.

"He died packless and Septless. No gathering. No monument." A sharp exhalation, near the end, nearly like a sigh. "Never fulfilled the promise of his blood. No son to carry it on, to redeem him somehow. Just an end. Whatever my differences with him, he deserved better than that.

"But I have this bandage.
"And it has his blood."

By now, she has tugged off her left glove, twisted the bandager around her palm and fingers so that it will not trail along the ground.

"I'm going to burn it. Give the ashes to Maelstrom."

A sharp, glancing look. Here, her eyes are bright, sure, grave. "You're a modi. I'd like you to help me. Stand witness.

"Maybe it'll help him find his way home."