Ornature

[Kora] Some gray spring night, rainy and cold - there's a lull in the storms now, and so the rain simply falls instead of pelting the windows. If Drew has the radio on, she'll hear the drone of the National Weather Service warnings - flash floods, thunderstorm warnings for outlying communities, all robo-voiced, endless sometimes.

The moon is waxing. Oh, she cannot see it, somewhere up above the constantly moving gray clouds. Cannot feel it the way Garou feel it - in their blood and bones, some tidal rhythm, each movement a sea change. But she's known them long enough to keep track of its pattern. To note the full moon not with the surprise, the way humans do - glancing up at the sky while taking out the trash, or picking up the kids from ballet, or walking the dog and saying, oh my, look at the moon. - but with awareness, nearly but never quite subconscious.

So: a cold rainy night capstones a gray spring day. And lo, there is a knock at the door.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew has been a quiet thing lately. She'd gone out of town for a weekend from what Kora would have understood-- just to visit her father, nothing too far away that she couldn't return within a few hours when called. She'd been focused on work, busy there, but not too busy to swing by occasionally to drop off essentials-- flour, sugar, bread, eggs, some lighter clothes of all sizes and genders that would be better suited for the oppression of a humid midwestern summer that would be upon them sooner than they knew.

There isn't a radio on tonight, surprisingly instead Drew's watching the television. The quiet pitter-patter of raindrops on her window is overtaken by the quiet voices on the television. She's watching a movie, something bland and forgettable, not engrossed in it so much as just resting for the evening. She's got a dish with apple slices in her lap, crunching on them contentedly, dressed in a pair of faded out blue-gray pajama pants that are cut off at the calf and a white wifebeater. Her long hair is drawn up into a ponytail, her face clean of make-up. It's certainly an evening in after a long day at work.

Knock-knock.

It's answered within twenty seconds, after a preliminary glance out the front window to be sure of who was at her door. The pale blond hair, the swollen figure of fertility, she knew immediately who was there. After the curtains fluttered the door opened without hesitation, wide enough to immediately allow the Jarl to step inside.

"Kora, how ya doin'?"

[Kora] There's no mistaking her, not these nights. She's dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, the shoulders and yoke dark from the rain. Her hair's dry, the hood pushed off the crown of her head when she stepped onto Drew's stoop.

That rush of city sounds floods in when she opens the door. The rain, the quiet roar of a car plunging through the rivulets and puddles pooling on the blacktop of Drew's side street, the smear of headlights across the crystalline darkness.

And of course she's huge now; her pregnancy has finally advanced enough to make her awkward. No matter the wolf that Drew can still see in the way her gaze fixes on the kinswoman - drawn inexorably by the subtle potency of her blood - no matter the native grace of her tall frame: she's awkward now, shoulders back to counterbalance the weight of her pregnancy, her gait - well, pigeontoed. Waddling. Ungainly.

Kora pauses on the thresholds to stamp the rain from her books, then waddles inside, hands coming out of the pockets of her oversized hoodie, one reaching up to start unzipping the sweatshirt, at least partway, revealing a pale green cotton tunic underneath, and of course the black leather choker - narrow, a few strips of leather braided together - she always wears.

"Drew," she returns, low-voiced, aware. Somber, too, her attention keen on the kinswoman, taking in the details of her appearance before cutting away to the living room. The flicker of light from the television. The dish of apples on the couch. A supple twist of her mouth follows, the natural curve deepening, but the sobriety lingers even there. "I'm well enough. And you look well."

[Drew Roscoe] "I'm doing alright, yeah. It's feeling like the calm before the storm these days, but I'll appreciate the still while it lasts."

Drew closes the door behind Kora, then steps back to give the Skald room to stomp her boots on the welcome rug and undo the sweatshirt she was wearing in place of a winter jacket on these warmer spring days. She stands behind her couch, leans over it for the remote control that was sitting behind the apple dish, and mutes the television. As she straightens back up, she does so with the bowl of apples in her hand, and offers them out to Kora with a stretched arm and stationary feet. One hip tucks against the back of the couch and holds the majority of her weight.

Her smile is bright and cordial, as it is known to be, eyebrows lifted a little, chocolate brown eyes resolutely on Kora's face.

"So, what's the occasion? Not that I don't appreciate company-- and damn it's been a while since I've had any-- but you're a busy lady. Typically you arrive with business."

[Kora] "Not quite as busy as you'd think these days," Kora returns, reaching out to take a couple of the apple slices from the bowl when Drew offers them, the gesture automatic, nearly thoughtless. "I'm a bit of a liability on the martial front. So I have to leave that work to the rest of the pack, yeah?"

The Skald offers the observation lightly, but there's a restlessness underlying the fact of it. The enforced idleness does her little enough good. Some days, all she wants to do is move. Some nights, she dreams of nothing but driving instinct, blood and the hunt.

All that's unspoken; burrowed beneath the surface of her low voice. Living there with other, darker things. "But you're right," and this is low as the rest of it, her dark gaze level on the much smaller kinswoman, sobriety evident in her face, stark and still, in the measured directness of her look. In her voice. She breathes out, a full exhale that flares her nostrils. "Remy's dead." Soberly offered, "I thought you should know. I know you and he were getting close. Earned a deedname, though, at the last. Summons the Inferno, Mourned by Flame."

[Drew Roscoe] A couple of apple slices are surrendered to Kora's fingertips, the remaining are brought back closer to the Kinswoman. One slice is brought to her mouth and crunched on, gone in a few quick bites. She nods sympathetically when Kora talks about hanging back from the fight. Drew couldn't understand the sort of restlessness that Kora felt, she didn't know the need to be out with the pack, to have the power of the Wolf in your muscles and legs, the thrill of the chase or the satisfaction of a successful hunt. All she could do was hear the heavily pregnant Garou out.

Then came the news. Drew stopped chewing the slice of apple in her mouth when Remy's dead was let to hang in the air. Jaw stilled, mashed up fruit pressed into her cheek. It's difficult to swallow, and her eyes drop from Kora's face to the bowl with the two remaining apple slices in it. There's a moment where she wonders if she'd get away with spitting it out, but shakes that thought off quickly enough and forces herself to clear her mouth by swallowing her food instead.

She takes in a deep breath, through her nostrils, enough that her lungs fill to capacity, then exhales slowly with a shake of her head.

"Did he go well?"

As she asks, she turns sideways, eyes still down, and sets the bowl back on the couch cushion for now.

[Kora] "As well as any of us." Kora returns, her attention keen on Drew for another pair of heartbeats after Drew has turned away. Then she withdraws. Looks away, off through the living room past the flickering light of the muted television, toward the kitchen, some indeterminate point of reference in the middle distance.

It's a platitude, the good death; one to which she herself does not perhaps subscribe in the requisite Fenrir manner. But she respects the question, answers it with a quiet, rooted conviction that rises from the circuit of centuries. A half-hundred memories of a half-hundred blooded and bloodied deaths. "He died in battled. Summoned a fire spirit to his aid and won enough of its loyalty that it came to find his tribe. The spirit destroyed whatever remained of his enemies."

There's another way to tell his story. A lone wolf who died alone, or near enough to it by the tribe's estimation; in the company of a Bone Gnawer he didn't know, who left town before his body could be burned, before his rite could be spoken.

That story remains inside Kora. Her voice is calm, still, bracing.

"We'll have his rite at the Caern tonight, or tomorrow. If you want to attend, I'll stake my honor for you with the Grand Elder so that you can see him off to Valhalla."

[Drew Roscoe] The fact that he died in battle seems a quiet sort of reassurance. The fact that his enemies fell just as he had, that he'd earned a deedname in his final act, all of that had her nodding slowly while Kora gave her a short, abridged version of the story. The fact that she didn't call him a lone wolf and explain that the only person to see him go fled town was a kindness to the Kinfolk. People didn't go as they were supposed to these days. Even if you were able to accept the fact that the Fenrir died in youth, fighting as they were meant to, that they were wronged in these last battles in any way was difficult. That lives were wasted, that they could have kept on for greater goods, was difficult to swallow.

She's invited to the Rite, and Drew nods again, lifts her eyes to Kora's. There's no tears, but the congeniality is gone from them, the sparkle and mirth. She's stark for the moment, digesting hard news, but not broken or devastated. Part of being Kin, of being Garou, was learning to take this news with a stalwart face and let it hit you only when no one was around to see you bend so far.

"I'd... appreciate that, Kora. Just let me know the time, I'll make it." There's another pause, and a frown presses her lips thin. Hands come together in front of her abdomen, fingers interlinking, thumbs sliding together, the pad of the right stroking the nail of the left. "Thank you for lettin' me know instead of lettin' me just find out."

[Kora] "If I know who your friends are, Drew," Kora returns with a quiet, sure, immediate conviction. "I will never let you just find out. That is the least of my duty to the living and the dead. " There's a stark passion in Kora's voice, unadorned but vibrant, wrapped about with conviction that few see these nights.

She's looking back at the kinswoman again; that moment's privacy has passed, but the direct look is neither judging nor assessing; just away. Of the way Drew receives the news - somber, but dry-eyed. The sparkle gone from her mouth and eyes. Just once Kora glances down, dark eyes touching on Drew's hands. she who offers sorrow earned her name from a moment like this; in another room, on another shore, bathed in the light of a fire from an ancient hearth rather than the flickering glow of the muted television, the smell of the salt-sea every-present in the air, blood on her own hands, under her nails. In her hair. Stiffing the bottom six inches of her jeans. Soaking into the seams.

Now her hands are clean; empty at her side. Now the room smells of wood polish and Drew's evening meal, smells of rain, and apples. Death is the only constant.

"I'll come for you before the rite. It'll be soon." A flicker of a glance here, down toward Drew's interlaced fingers, then back up to her face. Here, the Skald pauses as if she were listening to something quiet in the distance. "You shouldn't be alone tonight, Drew. You should call Eli. Or Rain, if he's out of town."

[Drew Roscoe] A weak tug occurs at one corner of her mouth when Kora assures her, sternly and passionately both, that she will never simply 'find out' so long as Kora has any indication that Drew was friends with the soul that had passed in a flash of the night, as so many do. Her eyes return to resting downcast, she nods again. That attempt at a thankful smile flutters by like a dead leaf on the breeze, and there's a moment of following quiet.

The home smells empty save for one. The meal she'd cooked had been simple, without garnish, something that would save well as leftovers for the next day's lunch at work. She didn't have mouths to feed besides her own to justify cooking much. There's the smell of apples, for certain, the rain outside, the vague scent of lemon cleaner and a scented plug-in elsewhere as well. It was too quiet in here, Kora picked up on the silence and knew exactly what needed to be done about it. She advised the Kinfolk to call somebody for company.

Drew's lips tug again, this time at both corners, and her chin lifts enough for her to look back up at the taller Skald, the Jarl of the tribe, the bastion of her people.

"Yeah, you're right. I'll give Eli a call." There's a pause, and Drew claps the heels of her hands together sharply. It's to jar herself out of melancholy, at least for the time being. The sound stands as a punctuation between muted shock and returning to proper function. "Kora, you want anything before you're on your way? I could re-heat some stew for you, fetch you a drink, whatever you like?"

[Kora] "Stew sounds divine," Kora returns; her smile is ghostly, bittersweet, but present nonetheless. "Lately it seems like I'm always hungry. Sometimes for the most awful things you can imagine." She breathes out, a subtle, half-withheld laugh. There's little mirth in it, precisely. Just a kind of quiet humor, self-deprecating. Wry beneath the awareness of death in her keen dark eyes. "Not that your stew is awful. I was just thinking it would go great with a yoohoo and some bacon double cheeseburger pringles."

[Drew Roscoe] Drew's got her cellphone pinned against her ear with her right shoulder, held tipped down to help meet partway. Top floor of a busted up apartment building, surrounded by half-demolished boxes of similar shape and design-- this was going to be a revitalization project one day, when the city found spare funds to finish its work. For now, though, it was a ghost of a street. Out front there was a vehicle blocking one side of the street, having collided with a parked, old, rusted abandoned looking thing. The trail of blood that went from the vehicle to the front door of the building is pretty much dry by now, the overcast skies never delivered the rain that it promised would wash the stain away.

Drew gives shaky directions to Roman into her cellphone, gathers children to her best she can, and moves them over to Eli's side with her.

Get them out, he'd struggled to tell her. That could wait, she couldn't leave her Kin like this, absolutely couldn't. What if her bullets weren't as sure as she thought? What if one of the monsters came to and decided to finish their work with Booker while he was paralyzed and unable to defend himself? What if he stopped breathing? She'd be gone, unable to defend him, to perform CPR, to do anything. So she'd stayed, and after hanging up with Roman she'd shushed quiet comfort noises to the children while keeping one hand at Eli's chest, having to feel it move up and down when he breathed to be sure.

The side door is where she'd told Roman to go, the one with the boards torn off. Upstairs, they were impossible to miss.

Please hurry.

[Eli Booker] They are not hard to miss. The muffled cries of terrified children, the scent of blood and gun powder that lingered in the air and the trail of blood outside that led upstairs...they were all like a trail of bread crumbs leading Roman to where they were.

Eli breathed like a man deep in the throes of nasty asthma attack. His chest struggled to lift as his lungs strained to take in and hold a breath. When he exhaled, it always seemed like it'd be for the last time. He's shaking - muscles twitching and trembling in response to the poisonous toxins released into his system by the Fomori they fought only a handful of minutes ago.

They are in a dark room - what would be this apartments living room - and behind them is a bedroom. One glance would tell Roman bad things happened her. Unless he physically looks, he'd see a foot laid out and still peeking from behind the corner of one wall.

[Janis Ian] Janis is still a prospective member. She isn't bound to the totem as of yet, though, she's around the church as often as she can be, picking up the patrols through the pack's turf. It isn't the bat signal that snares her attention to something going on.

It's Roman himself - the reactions of his body when he skids to a halt at the doors of the front stoop of the Church and starts to run down them, a phone in hand. The Rotagar side-steps out of his way as she was walking up the steps to the church, watching him run like a wild bull. Red brows furrow together, the one sided conversation plucked out words that she recognizes as 'wounds' and 'Drew'. Her nostrils flare as she looks up at the Church and then to the fading form of the CoG running down the street.

It doesn't take much for her to spin on the ball of her foot to turn, it takes even less effort for her to break into an urgent run to follow after the other no moon.

[Roman Turner] It was a dead run that passed in a blur for him. Once he'd knocked a man clean off his feet, making it so Kora had to leap over the man. His Alpha had responded right away, so as they ran Roman acted as blocker, knocking anyone out of the way that didn't move fast enough. His coat tails flew out behind him, hat long forgotten.

It wasn't too hard to find them, he found the car, found the trail of blood and what might seem like life time for those waiting passed in minutes for him. Soon enough the sound of boots came as he ran up the stairs two at a time to burst in on the scene, panting like a dog.

[Drew Roscoe] What they find is a mess, the kind that suggested there really ought to be casualties on both sides. There's blood all about the place, the smell of gunpowder as thick in the air as the blood is. There's a body whose foot is poking out of a back room, still as the grave. There's another figure face down at the back of the room, near a corner filled with shadows and the scent of despair and children, blood pooling from its head. A lump of deformed lopsided muscle and pink flesh is on the floor with its brains painting a picture on the ceiling above and along the back of his shoulders. The last body visible is that of what appears to be a vastly oversized, mutated scorpion, exoskeleton cracked with multiple gunshot wounds and vibrant yellow-green pus leaking from these wounds, while blue venom only recently stopped leaking sticky goo from the tail.

Near the door that Roman burst through first, followed close behind by Kora and Janis (who the fuck's that? whatever, if she's with Last Watch she's fine), some odd number of feet to the right, are five still-warm, still-breathing bodies.

Eli's on his back with his head near the wall, Drew had moved him so he wasn't slumped back but laying flat instead, aware that this would make it easiest for him to breathe. She's on the ground, beside him, with a four year old in her lap and a six and nine year old at her sides. They're all crying, quiet hoarse sounds now, unable to process what they'd seen, what had happened to Mommy and Daddy, clinging to the pretty woman with the blood-speckled face, the warm coat and the long hair that smelled of floral shampoo and gunsmoke alike.

Her eyes fly up to the cavalry, wide and bright with fear but without tears (just yet, she'd have time for that later).

"He's worse," she informed Roman.

[Roman Turner] "Holy cow. We got youngins in here. Lord have mercy."

He thought quickly, pulling his cell phone back out and with one thumb had a game up and going in a flash.

"Here,come over hear and play. See? Angry birds. Ya just have at it and Uncle Roman will buy ya some icecream and suckers when it's all better."

He was hearding the kids out of the way so he could get a good look at Eli. Kneeling next to the Kin to examine his wounds.

"Oh man, tell me ain't no stings below the belt, cause if poison's gotta be sucked out, I'm afraid ya might not make it unless one of the girls is feeling adventuresome."

[Janis Ian] Roman wasn't alone. The redhead was on his heels, following behind him as her breath remained steady, unlabored - as it rolls out in a stream of mist, her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her eyes narrow as they pass the car, the scent of blood pulls a growling rumble from the pit of her stomach.

She looks to Kora and then to Roman as the CoG is the first to burst through the door, she skids in behind him. Brown eyes scanning still-warm bodies that were laying close by, until her head turns and the Rotagar stops - dead in her track. "ELI!" It's the first panic-stricken thing she utters as her eyes move to the fallen kin, and then to Drew and back again.

There were kids crying, huddled together as they were being herding out of the way. She blinks once, "Roman, can ye heal 'im?"

[Drew Roscoe] The six year old is bold enough out of the three to accept Roman's invitation, they allow themselves to be ushered because they're shellshocked, they're too young to know to retaliate, to run, to do much of anything really. Authority's what they seek, promises of ice cream and suckers are lost upon them for the most part, the game is barely paid attention to, but the kids will leave Drew and Eli when she lets them go and huddle together elsewhere so the Ragabash Medic can do his thing.

Janis yelps Eli's name, this earns her a snap of a glance from Drew, a startled blink, and a moment's worth of a stare. Then she's shaking her head and moving one hand to Eli's shoulder, the other to tug down his shirt, down to the point that a kevlar vest is able to peek out at his collarbone.

There are two sting marks at his neck, one at the side the other more centralized on his throat. They look as awful as they should to do this much damage. "There. His armor, it did it's job, but it only covers so much..."

[Roman Turner] "I surely hope so."

He heaved the biggest sigh of relief when the wounds weren't belong the belt in the "No man goes there on another bro, zone." Calmly he reached for his belt, flicking open a small Gerber pocket knife which he moved to the wounds with.

"Ya with me Mr Eli? I'm gonna try and suck some of this poison out, so don't start to thinking I'm just trying to give ya a hicky. Hold still if ya can."

[Eli Booker] He wheezes. His breath whistles through his lungs in a sound that could very nearly pass for the infamous death rattle old people are said to posses before they pass away. Whatever toxins were introduced to his system are effecting his muscles, because they twitch and his respiratory system, because he cannot breath easily and Eli was no asthmatic.

Janis yells his name, Roman asks if he's with him and Eli can only make his head move slightly - enough that Roman can just barely see the motion.

He was talking before, albeit with great effort. Now, he says nothing.

[Roman Turner] It was just the pointed tip of the knife and he worked quickly to score across the stings. In a moment he was bending over Eli, sealing his mouth the wounds to suck. And no, he didn't suck and swallow, he was more the suck and spit sort. Inwardly he gathered himself. One hand was splayed flatly on Eli's chest, the other across the wounds he worked on.

"This might hurt some. Gaia please bless me, be with me on this."

[Janis Ian] There is a moment's stare that is shared between Janis and Drew - the kin gives a startled blink, Janis' mouth flattens into a thin line. She's moving quickly to the other side, sliding into a crouch at Eli's legs on the same side as Drew. She watches with a soft furrow of her brow, her nostrils flaring.

Eli's head moves slightly - Roman has the assurance that he's still there. Janis skirts her eyes away to try and assess what happened, the children taking into regard, but her attention keeps returning to what Roman's doing - arching an eyebrow at the other no moon.

[Roman Turner] His breath deepened with his eyes closed as he drew on his own spirit and the Gift of Mother's touch. He leaned down close to Eli's neck, just where he had been sucking poisoning out and pressed his lips against the wound with a faint whispered breath of sound. Giving it his best go at using Mother's Touch on the Kin.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 4, 5 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]

[Kora] The truth is: Kora doesn't run as fast as Roman. Not on two legs. Not any longer. And so she sends the young Ragabash running ahead of her, Rotagar in tow. Roman bursts into the door a solid minute or three ahead of the pregnant Skald, but arrive she does. She's developed the beginnings of a waddle, all things considered. All her weight forward, now, heavy on her tall, narrow frame. The reflexive twist of rage in her blood is good for neither her nor the child she carries now - but there is nothing to be done for it.

When she sees the children, her mouth tightens. She breathes out, once, sharply. "They cannot see any more." Kora says, sharply. A lifting glance toward Janice, then, a movement of her chin toward the children. "Move them. One of the other apartments. No names, no words in their presence, understand? Nothing more."

The healing work she leaves to Roman, but while he works - after a shooting glance toward Drew. Pulling her aside with a brief, moving glance toward Eli, her generous mouth a thinned line across her sharply defined features. Low, the question. She asks it only when the children are out of the room. "I want to know what they saw."

[Roman Turner] What passed from Roman in to Eli might not be much, it might feel like a tickled that started out soft and warm, but them it might burn as it reached the poison to do battle with it. And Roman knew it wouldn't be enough. He whispered near Eli's neck. I'm gonna have to try again. Stay with me partner."

[Janis Ian] Her hand drops to Eli's calf, squeezing it as Kora's breath draws out once, sharply, gaining the redhead's attention. She wears a similar tight mouthed expression, her head turning over her shoulder to regard the children.

Auburn hair falls across her shoulder as she slid back up to her feet, withdrawing her hand, and moves away. It distracts her - the task. She swallows the lump forming in the throat, offers the children a rueful smile as her voice drops into a crooning sing-song voice, the brogue accentuating her words sweetly, gently.

"C'mon, my darlings..." she says to the children, trying to herd them away so they won't continue to watch, like a mother goose herding her ducklings into a pond. "C'mon o'er 'ere."

[Roman Turner] He didn't much like how quiet Eli was, nor how labored his breathing was. It was one of those times you wished you had one of those adrenaline shots. All he had was a minor gift that took every bit of his spirit to work. He spoke softly to Eli, just as he had to Drew the time he held her and sent healing through her body.

"Ya ain't getting out of working on the Kin house this easily. Just remember that."

Once more he bent to the wounds to breath out against them so close his lips touched open flesh.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[Drew Roscoe] Drew slides away, to give Roman space, and after a moment of hesitation she pushes herself up onto her feet and watches what Roman does. He flicks the knife out and works to suck the venom from Booker's wounds, and Drew furrows her brow some, thinking that perhaps she should have done that herself. But then, if she had maybe she'd have wound up on the floor twitching and struggling for air too? No, no, she did right.

Janis kneels down by Booker's legs, Drew's eyes bounce off the female Ragabash again for a second, then she's leaning down to pick up a couple of guns off the floor-- hers first, the big heavy Dirty Harry revolver, which goes right into the holster at her back, under her coat, and Eli's smaller handgun second. This she checks for a second, the flicks the safety on and sticks in the deep pocket of her winter coat.

Kora arrives and takes charge. Roman is left to do what he's doing, Janis is told to move the children, and Drew is pulled aside to explain what the witnesses saw. Her answer takes a moment to surmise, but it given after she licks dry lips that taste like splashed blood and brain matter.

"I don't know... not all of what they saw, not for sure. Their screaming and crying is what made me and Eli take notice and come looking in the first place. Heard a man pleading and a woman crying-- I haven't gotten to check for them yet. Safe to guess that they're dead, 'cause they sure didn't leave." She shivers a bit and presses on, gesturing to each dead body in turn.

"Saw this one take several shots to the head before it died trying to choke me out. Saw this one stab and lash at Eli and try to come after me before I put it down. This one--" to the gray thing sprawled out face down in a corner, "Came out of the back room, I expect it took the parents. Tried to grab up one of the kids and make a break for it, but I put it down before it could touch them again.

"They saw me and Eli bust in with guns, saw us kill some monsters, and saw Roman suck some poison out of Eli's stings...."

Another moment of quiet, and Drew's eyes drift after the kids. Her arms wrap tightly around her chest, clenching back the crushing sensation within it that tended to follow evenings such as this where loss came so close to home. "You guys... you have a way to fix their memories, yeah?"

[Roman Turner] He was checking Eli's breathing, coloring and responses with each warm thrust of his Gift in to the Kin. "Ya with me still? I can't work on another hicky, ya can tell all the fellas some kinky story on how ya got them."

[Eli Booker] Kora's face is as grave as the situation had been.She ushers Drew to the side and instructs Janis to move the children away. They had seen their mother and father drained dry. Should Kora look in the room just behind them, she'd see the mother splayed on the floor next to her long dead husband. There blood is drained, though the floor isn't coated in it.

While Roman works, Eli's breathing becomes less haggard - less forced. His heart races in his chest with the force of both adrenaline and fear. A finger twitches, then a foot. Eventually, Eli is able to move his extremities, and lifts his eyes toward Roman.

"I...usually only go to first base...on a first date..." He says quietly with a voice full of gravel.

[Janis Ian] [persuasion gift?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]

[Roman Turner] "Son, for another nuzzle against your neck, I'd bring flowers and the ring."

His chestnut head lowered again and this time as he breathed across the wounds, he poured the last of what he had in to healing.
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 2 (Failure at target 6) [WP]

[Roman Turner] "I'm afraid I'm drained. I owe ya a better date than this one."

[Janis Ian] The three children have seen horrors that they shouldn't ever be exposed to. Janis does what she can to keep their attentions, divert their focus to something else. She keeps talking, asking simple questions to the youngest, or watching the six-year-old with Roman's phone.

Her voice is as soft and pleasant as she can keep it, drawing on more persuasive gifts to aid. She takes them away into one of the apartments, out of sight and out of mind, not once breathing a word about what just happened.

[Eli Booker] Roman's remark earns him a smile that doesn't quite work itself into a full fledged smart ass grin. Eli can move, his body aches in places still though. Dragging himself up, he leans against the wall and flexes his fingers, hands, into fists and then relaxes them.

"I owe you kid." He says to the Child of Gaia.

[Kora] There's a dark moment in the nascent seconds when Drew has finished her story where Kora is closed off from the pack. She cuts a glance back over her shoulder, out into the hallway in the Janis' wake, considering the whole of the story Drew has just offered. Something hard about her face in that moment, something steely in the depths of her dark eyes. Her left hand clenches into a fist, and her nostrils jaw sets firmly, grinding, as she considers What Is to Be Done.

Her first thought is death.

She is still with it, stark with it. Holds it inside her like she could swallow it herself, make it whole if she were to consume it somehow. Then, the moment passes, she breathes out all at once. It's not relief, but something else. Some easing that comes with decision.

"We'll look for them," says Kora, of the parents. Lifting her chin toward the place Drew indicated. "I need you to take the children out of here before there are cops anywhere close. I want you to take them to Hill House. Have Janis help you keep them in line of out of sight. Don't get pulled over, don't be seen, and don't get caught. Give them to Mary Alice and make sure she knows they are going to be cared for by kin and only kin; kept out of the public eye until whatever search the police make for them is over. And then sent away, someplace quiet and rural, adopted into the family.

"The only way to keep them from being a veil breach is to raise them as kin."

[Drew Roscoe] Drew doesn't question Kora's choice, doesn't protest the fact that her truck isn't outside-- it's only a short two blocks away, she was sure that she and Janis (a name to go with the face, there we are) could manage walking the three back to her house, find a way to pile them into the truck and get them to the Hill House like it was ordered. Sure, her truck only had the bench, but she was sure she could squeeze her own petite self and three smaller children in without any trouble. Two would just have to share a seatbelt, and Janis would either hang behind for clean-up or ride in the back of the truck, whichever.

Drew's attention is split, though, when Roman leans back and Eli's voice grinds to join the teen's in the air. Her posture straightens, back stiffens, and weight shifts forward some, indicating that she was about to move but stopped herself.

Instead, quickly, she glanced up to Kora and flicked her eyebrows up, like asking permission to deviate from the task set before her for a moment to see the Gaia-given recovery herself.

[Roman Turner] "You're not kidding ya owe me."

He helped Eli prop himself up against the edge of the sofa.

"I need ya for your painting skills. Besides, after sucking poison out of ya, I think we're engaged. So ya sit here and I'l find ya some juice, then we'll see if we can get ya out of here."

[Kora] Drew's raised eyebrows are met by another lift of the pregnant Garou's chin. It's like permission. Go on.

[Janis Ian] Roman's phone was retrieved from the six-year-old as Janis finds a trinket from her pocket to distract the child with. A brightly polished piece of brass shaped like a coin. The print minted on it long faded. She tells the child it's a good luck piece, lets him hold on to it and motions for them to stay there.

She reappears in the hallway, making her way towards the others as she caught a portion of what Kora says. Brown eyes quickly fall to Drew, her tongue slid inside her left cheek. "Roman, I 'ave yer phone." She says, offering it up to the Child of Gaia as she casts Eli a look.

[Roman Turner] "Thank ya kindly."

He held up his hand from where he had retaken his seat next to Eli on the floor. At that moment he'd been trying to encourage Eli to drink orange juice.

[Eli Booker] Eli doesn't quite laugh. Rather, he huffs out a breath of air that would of been a laugh if only he had more energy to behind it. Roman helps him and he is accepting of it.

"Those kids ok?" He asks, dark eyes shifting around the room. That's when his eyes light on Kora's face for a beat. Just a beat, because he can't make himself catch her eyes and hold them.

"You're alright in my book Roman...I'll paint the fuckin' city for you if you need it..." He groans and shifts, plants the sole of one heavy boot on the ground for leverage as if he's testing his legs to see if he can stand. Instead he just sips the orange juice and tries not to throw it up as his stomach churns.

[Drew Roscoe] The Kin doesn't rush over or fall so her knees crack the floor so she can drop down beside Booker once he's sitting up and talking, she isn't one for those kinds of dramatics. Instead she walks over, sneakers quiet save for the occawsional squelching noise when she steps in a bit of carnage, and remains standing while Roman helps Eli sit up and get propped so he can lean back against something sturdy. First the Kin's fingers push through Roman's hair, a quick and thoughtless gesture.

"Thanks, Roman. Two of our lives you've saved now. Can't thank you enough."

For Eli, she fishes his gun out of her pocket and leans down, tucking it into the vest pocket she knows he tends to keep it in. "Janis and I, we're gonna see those kids into the right hands. I guess you, Kora and Roman have clean-up duty." A bruise is already blossoming about her neck and throat, up close to her jaw as well. That she'd withstood the beast of a misshapen man trying to squeeze the life out of her so well was a testament to her ancestry, really, or just her stubborn determination to live. That didn't mean she'd escape without any marks, though. Frankly, she considered herself lucky that she could speak and it only hurt a little to breathe.

[Roman Turner] "We'll get ya home. Maybe I will call a cab this time. And get ya some rest, you'll do ok. But them youngins are gonna have a hard time and will have to be kept sheltered while working through this stuff.

[Roman Turner] 'Just doing what I was born to do Miss Drew. I had a little more in me I could tend to ya too, but gonna take a bit to recover."

[Eli Booker] "You ok?" It's spoken to Drew, quietly, as a heavy hand reaches out and touches her calf. She was bruised, she'd be sore, but she saved his life and Eli is more than aware of this. There's a familiarity to his touch with Drew, it lingers for longer than it should

Eli's face falls when Roman speaks. There are lines at his mouth, creasing his brow. It ages him considerably. He is worried after the trio of youngsters and it couldn't be more obvious on his expression.

"Thanks Roman..." He says again and uses his back against whatever he's against to try and leverage himself to standing.

[Janis Ian] Janis tilts her head in a nod to Roman, her hand falls back to her side, nearly disappearing under the cuff of the sleeve to her leather blazer. Her shoulders roll back once, straightening her frame as the Rotagar turns her head at the sound of her name coming from Drew. Her throat ripples, swallowing quietly - "Aye," is all she can say about the task to handle the children.

She shakes her head, casting her head down as a fall of red bangs shadows the expression of her eyes. She steps away to move back towards the apartment where the children were waiting - "Best get them out of 'ere while we can, Drew."

[Drew Roscoe] "Goddamn peachy," is her answer to Booker, accompanied by a grin that was as warm as ever, accented with a bit of wild that makes teeth look sharp and lips stretched a bit too far-- adrenaline was kicking in, and she was smothering the sort of hysteria that followed nearly dying, others nearly dying, and the rush of victory to boot. Booker puts his hand on her calf, she lays her hand on top of his, then moves it and tucks her other hand under his armpit to help him regain balance while he tries to stand. She can't lift him, no, she's not nearly so strong, but she can at least help with balance until he finds it on his own.

Once he does, she nods and lets him go with a squeeze of his hand, and flashes that grin to Roman in turn. "Nah, this is nothing, just a mugging story for work and extra foundation is all." She sounds like a battered wife-- Kin usually do when trying to explain battle wounds no matter where they came from.

From there, her attention is on Janis, and there's a solemn kind of nod before she moves to join the No Moon, to go with her wherever she'd taken the children.

"C'mon kiddo's, we're gonna get some hot chocolate and meet one of the nicest ladies on earth."

[Kora] Kora cuts a glance back over her shoulder as Janis comes back into the apartment. Steps back, turning to following the curl of gunsmoke through the half-finished rooms, considering the next room. Corpses - human or otherwise - laid out on the floor. She holds herself just apart here; that sense of inhumanity sharper in this moment than it ever is on an ordinary day. There's nothing close to a smile on her generous mouth, the sense of the animal is clear, alive underneath her skin, the monster in her - now - not just the wolf.

"She'll recover," Kora corrects Roman with a quiet sort of stillness, after a narrow, critical sweep of Drew's bruises; the way she moves. There's a question subsumed in the statement, which Drew is left to answer or not as she pleases.

"They'll live." The Skald tells Eli, taking a step back into the hall, watching the next room over as Janis returns. Her arms are crossed, beneath her breasts, over the swell of her stomach, underneath that is a feral tension imprinted on every muscles of her body.

"We're not calling a cab here, Roman." She contradicts her packmate, brief, quiet. "Don't want someone investigating this scene finding about a cab run. Call the Doc and Izzy. See if the Detective can run interference with whatever investigation comes next." She's still talking as Drew and Janis leave to round up the children, but she steps them both for a brief, quiet look. And a serious, direct, "Thank you." - before she lets them go.

[Roman Turner] He nodded, listening to his Alpha and makes the calls. First to Imogen, then to Izzy.

"This is Roman, we could use a ride and some help on clean up if ya could come."

[Eli Booker] The apartment is a 'shotgun' style unit. When you enter the door you're in the living room. Were you to turn to your left, you'd be faced with the dead and crumpled bodies of two middle age, middle class parents. They're dressed nicely - a wrong turn, bad directions on the GPS, probably brought them to this place. Most might say fate. Eli would just say their luck was just fucked today.

Turning to the left is a hallway. A bathroom is on the right. The kitchen is straight ahead. Kora and Roman and Janis can smell death. This place stunk of it. Nothing here, in this space, has died naturally. Not even the rats.

The strongest stench seems to roll from the bathroom...though neither Drew nor Eli had managed to venture that far into the unit.

Janis and Drew are taking the children to the nicest woman on earth. He watches the two Fenrir, then looks at the children before nodding to what Kora has said.

"I'll be fine." He says. And he would, because he had too.

[Roman Turner] If Eli wanted a ride with him, he'd beg it off Izzy or Imogen to get them back to the church. Either way, he would come back to help clean up. And they'd have to get hold of Linus for a cleansing.

[Janis Ian] The Rotagar can hear the rumble of noise in the back of her mind, the questions that want to know answers to what just happened, how Kora was going to handle the mess, the clean up, and then there are others when she peers back at the faces of the three children Drew and Janis must sneak three blocks to the kin's house to take them to Hill House.

A part of her is relieved that death does not have to come to such young faces - that she doesn't have to kill them.

She stops when Kora stops them with a brief quiet look. "Any time, rhya." She replies and leaves with Drew.

[missing some]

[Roman Turner] If Eli wanted a ride with him, he'd beg it off Izzy or Imogen to get them back to the church. Either way, he would come back to help clean up. And they'd have to get hold of Linus for a cleansing.

[Roman Turner] ((And I have over stayed my sleep time. Sorry so short, but appreciate the play. Thanks folks!))

[Eli Booker] Thanks Blu!

[Janis Ian] The Rotagar can hear the rumble of noise in the back of her mind, the questions that want to know answers to what just happened, how Kora was going to handle the mess, the clean up, and then there are others when she peers back at the faces of the three children Drew and Janis must sneak three blocks to the kin's house to take them to Hill House.

A part of her is relieved that death does not have to come to such young faces - that she doesn't have to kill them.

She stops when Kora stops them with a brief quiet look. "Any time, rhya." She replies and leaves with Drew.

[Detective Montoya] It's an odd thing, really. No one would guess that she would answer such a call, let alone make her way to come to their aid when it was asked. No one, of course, expects her to do anything but be trouble. Of course, she fosters such beliefs with her attitude, because it works for her. It keeps them at a distance. It makes it easier - for her.

She does, however, say three words into the phone. "On my way."

She's already in motion, getting the directions as she slips on her coat, long strides carrying her down the hall, out and too her car. By the time she's unlocked the door and settled inside, she's already flipped on the radio, to dispatch, to hear if she's going to have to do any interference before arriving, pulling out into traffic smoothly to head toward the apartment in question.

[Kora] "This place is deserted, yeah?" Kora asks Eli, dark eyes flickering ever so slightly up at Eli when he makes it to his feet. The height different between them is negligible, and she has a way of standing - a way of looking up - that makes her seem taller than she is.

Roman is dispatched downstairs with a moving though to await the arrival of reinforcements necessary for clean-up. She herself remains in the room, walking down the hallway toward the kitchen, feeling her gorge rise with the scent of death in the air. It's enough that she lifts a hand to her mouth, presses the back of her hand against her lips as she walks, puts her free hand on the door of the foul-smelling bathroom and listens as she holds herself away from the foul scent that comes from underneath the door.

"You and Drew heard something and came up?" A glance back down the hall at the kinswoman, dark eyes in a pale face, reflecting the ambient light spilling in through the windows. Head tipped then, meditatively considering whether the sirens she hears in the distance are coming here or just part of the urban landscape.

"I'm trying to figure out whether this is a rush job," that twist of her mouth, dry and distant. The clean up, she means. The inevitable grotesquerie of it. "Or if we have time to take our time."

[Eli Booker] This apartment building houses two units - one up and one down. It's empty and by the looks of it has been for some time. Every window is covered with plywood and the only light that bleeds in comes from cracks and gashes in the wood. She walks into the kitchen and there are dead rats, sucked dry of their blood and discarded like so much trash across the kitchen floor.

The bathroom, where Kora has to hold a hand to her mouth and nose to keep from taking in the reeking smell, is awful. There are two bodies in the bathtub - both pale with a lack of blood, their once dark brown skin faded, their mouths twisted into a grotesque grin. They are young men, dressed in common street attire and complete opposites from the family ambushed in front of the building.

Eli is standing, broad shoulders pressed to the wall bracing him up. His palms are rubbing his face as he listens to her walk ...bears her gaze on him and processes her words.

"Heard screams...then a car crash." Roman left him juice and Eli drinks it now finding his throat dry and sore. "We made it here but...we were too late for their parents I think..." Dark eyes cut toward where Kora should be, down the hall at his left.

"No one was here...this street was like a ghost town."

[Detective Montoya] There doesn't seem to be anything on dispatch - but that doesn't mean their won't be. She calls in and tells dispatch she's going to dinner, is thus off duty for a while, perhaps even the rest of the night. Then, she lights a cigarette, and takes a round about route toward the place in question. Just in case.

Soon enough, however, she arrives at the building in question, dark eyes sweeping the area as she parks the car. She pulls out a pair of gloves from the glove box - latex, blue [hands of blue, two by two] - and takes a final drag off her cigarette. She gets out, pausing to tuck the gloves into her pocket, before heading up the walk.

[Kora] Kora gives a dry husked laugh. There's no humor in it, nothing light. Just that grim certainty as she walks back down the hall, careful of the debris in the room now, alert but not rigid with it, as she steps over the debris, booted feet making a quiet, solid noise on the floor with each careful footfall.

She's back in the room now, at the end of the hallway, hands in the front pockets of her jeans, arms close to her body - mostly concealed by her dark gray hoodie. It's cold in here; the night coming in through the plywood boarding over the windows, cold enough that they can see their breath. Not cold enough to keep the dead from rotting, though. Sinking into themselves, deliquescing in the stark, cold air.

"Probably for the best," she says, of the parents. A winnowing sort of certainty there. "The parents would've been a problem, if they'd lived." Another flicker of her gaze - not precisely to his eyes, but over his face; the lines of care in it; or rather, the lines of care underneath the skin, evident only from this angle. From that expression.

"I'll have Izzy give you a ride back to the church, then. See if you can can get the parents' car out of here. Find someplace to dump it so this disappearance doesn't come back to this neighborhood, yeah?" A flickering look, up and sidelong, gaze shearing away toward a shuttered window. sO there aren't implications. So there's no investigation - not a close one, anyway.

"That tow truck of yours will come in handy." She pauses, quiet - that hint of a far away look - before she refocuses on the immediate. "You're alright, then?"

She pauses, waiting for the affirmative that is sure to follow. "Good, I'll have Linus check you out. We'll do a cleansing if necessay before the night's over. I'll want to hear the story too, you know."

A twist of her mouth, straightening her head as hidden communication writes itself across her face. "Izzy's here." Roman tipping her off.

[Kora] alright darlings, I need to sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep. :) but lo! there is a scene where izzy and eli can keep playing and/or hook up with drew/janis later. while kora roman and NPC imogen clean up.
to Detective Montoya, Eli Booker, Peek

[Eli Booker] Thanks Liz!
to Detective Montoya, Kora, Peek

[Detective Montoya] [Sleep well! :) ]
to Eli Booker, Kora

[Eli Booker] Roman was young. It was the weight of what he was and the responsibility that knowing brought with it that aged him. Regardless of this, kids got homesick. Eli casts a quick glance the Garou's way and then returns his attention to nothing at all - the crumbling facade of the church or the coolers that held their drinks and other necessities.

"Ever been to Zion Illinois?" Eli shifts his weight and leans forward a little moving his muscles a little so that they didn't grow too stiff. "It's about an hour outside of Chicago. My club has a chapter out that way I think. Flat land, lakes ...hiking...as rural as you can get that close to the city."

[Roman Turner] "No, ain't been out of Chicago but twice since I got here. One time?"

He too leaned forward on his seat, resting his forearms across his thighs with the bottle of beer held between his knees as he shared a tale.

"Linus and Simon and I headed out of town in my cousin's car we borrowed? We went in search of this Carnival freak show? And let me tell ya, once ya entered that place you were way, way out of town. I think it was in one of them alternate realities to be honest."

[Eli Booker] "No shit?" Is Eli's reply. His head turns slightly so that his attention is on Roman. "I'll bet you never get used to it...to seeing the bullshit you guys see...." Reaching down, his fingers brush away dust from the toe of his steel toed boots.

"When I found that other Fenrir, Janis?" He pauses to see if Roman recalls the name, "Rides the Cowboys," He adds in case the Garou doesn't. "Anyway, I couldn't believe the shit. There's this fucking Toyota man ...and inside the Toyota? You ready? A body and a severed goddamn head." Eli sits up straight, shaking his head. "I couldn't fuckin' believe it. Then, she's in a cage right? A cage."

[Roman Turner] He was once again wondering what the hell kind of deed name was Rides the Cowboys and wasn't so sure he wanted to know how it was earned when Eli mentioned the headless body and cage.

"Yessir, there's some twisted stuff out there, but I gotta ask this. How the devil did she come to be in a cage with a headless guy in a truck? Was she human or a wolf? I mean, if I was gonna go through the trouble of taking off a head, I'd take the prize in the box too, ya know?"

[Eli Booker] "Yeah..." Eli nods, sighs and shakes his head. "I don't know Roman. All I know is she was in a cage - almost naked and human - with some weird ass collar around her neck." He rests his forearms on his thighs.

"This guy comes out shooting at me, the dogs attack her and she can't move. It was pretty fucked up. I've seen some shit in my time, but that ranks up near the top of the list for pretty fucked up things."

[Roman Turner] "Wow, I ain't never heard of nothing like that before. Makes the vampire boy sound like nothing now."

He chuckled, setting the bottle down between his feet.

"I ain't met this Cowboy rider yet, and with that name, I ain't so I want to get within spittin distance. I ain't wearing no saddle and ain't gonna sit still for bare back neither."

[Eli Booker] Eli laughs at that, canting his head and throwing a humored expression the Rotagar's way. "Vampire boy? Now that's gotta be a story." To the comment about Janis' dead name, the kin just shakes his head.

"What's that song?? Save a horse and ride a cowboy?" He laughs, then grins mischievously. "Gotta wonder right?"

[Roman Turner] "That's Big and Rich and well maybe if she weren't dual natured I might consider it, but she's one of them two headed baby gals, ya know?"

[Eli Booker] He laughs, shaking his head. "You're fucking crazy." It's meant as a compliment, in Eli's crazy brain rather than an insult. "She's got a nice rack though...Cowboy Rider." Eli whistles long and low, a hand rising to run across the top of his head.

"I mean ...as far as racks go, it ain't half bad."

[Roman Turner] "No, no, her rack is just fine for a Kin, but she's too close on the hormazone chain for me to be looking at her rack. Touch it and next thing ya know ya done broke the litany and the reason it's on the list is cause ya get two headed babies that thank God can't have more or you'd have six toes, two navels and three eyes among them two heads. They'd sit there and argue over who got to use the spare eye. And really think about it. With three eyes, how do ya know exactly which ones to look at?"

[Eli Booker] Eli belly laughs. It's loud and echoes off the church walls around them. Slowly he stands and holds one hand out to Roman - the universal offer to give another person ' five'. "It'd be real fuckin' hard to argue with anything with two heads and three eyes. I'll leave that to you and your moon ...you're better equipped."

Stretching, the kin points at Roman with one long finger.

"I..." He begins, "...am going to go. I have a shit load of packing to do so I can get the fuck outta dodge before the troublesome twosome decided to come back and give me anymore shit. But, I'll be back." He offers in his best Schwarzenegger voice.

"We gotta hang out more Roman, you're funny as fuck."

[Roman Turner] He rose, slapping his hand against Eli's with a wide smile that took another couple years off his face.

"It's been right nice to make your acquaintance Mr. Eli. Ya need any help moving, ya call me."

[Eli Booker] "You got it." He says, pointing at the kid again before turning fully and heading out of the church. Elijah's step is far lighter than when he had first arrived at the Last Watch's stronghold.

"Stay gold Ponyboy!" He yells over his shoulder before ducking out the front door and heading for his bike.

[Roman Turner] That made him shudder. Ponyboy. Because he thought of the Cowboy rider name.

"Lordy, I ain't gonna sleep for a week."

He waved Eli off, closing the door behind him.

[Drew Roscoe] The low rumble of a diesel engine in an otherwise (relatively) quiet neighborhood is the first indicator that Drew had arrived. She hadn't been by for a while, but really, how many people drove diesels in a city this big? It's perhaps a minute after the engine dies that the front door opens with no preceding knock and Drew Roscoe steps inside, knocking snow-slush off her boots at the door.

Eli's greeted in passing with an upward flick of eyebrows, surprise at running into him, and a warm smile, a few brief friendly words before he's on his way. He was on his way out, had places to be and things to do. Drew was on her way in, she had her own things to address.

The door had no sooner closed had Drew stepped through. She found Roman's back a dozen yards away or so, and grinned at him, lifted her hand to wave and then to doff her winter cap and work on undoing her coat, top button first, working her way down. "Roman! Hey, you busy?"

[Kora] "Come on, I'm starving - " urges Kora, pulling open the wooden doors to the sanctuary. She has a pair of flat boxes in hand, topped with a pair of white paper bags. The smell of Italian food - not the usual pizza - but actual Italian food, sausage and onions, pasta, garlic breadsticks, and the like - rises from the containers, sharp and savory in the cool, bright air. Melody is left to juggle the rest of the bags and a tray full of warm drinks in a molded cardboard drink carrier, enough to fill her hands and challenge her balance, especially since the drinks do not all fit perfectly into the carrier. Her voice rises, sheers off. Is carried a bit by the wind. It's lower than Drew's, quieter - but there's a certain resonance to it, and the truth is - she knows how the pack house resonates.

"And if you hold the tiramisu that close to the hot chocolate it's gonna fucking melt. The whipped cream and shit."

If nothing else, Kora's pregnancy has ensured the packhouse a rather more varied menu of takeout.

[Roman Turner] "Well howdy Miss Drew. What brings you out in this cold? Ya know they are predicting another big ole snow storm, right?"

He came forward with a welcoming smile.

"Come in, come in and warm yourself. Sure I got a minute."

That was about when he not only felt Kora drawing close, but heard her.

"And here comes Miss Drew."

[Melody Himinndottir] "I'm sorry, some of us weren't born with four hands. And I never learned to juggle."

Yes indeed, Melody is trailing along behind her sister, completely overloaded and looking somewhat exasperated. One assumes that if Kora could have figured out a way to balance something on her head, she'd be doing that, too.

"Also, you worry too much."

[Drew Roscoe] Drew's tucking her hat in her coat pockets once the heavy blue winter garment has been unbuttoned. The gloves were already in the pockets, it was chilly outside for sure but not enough that she really needed the gloves. Hands take a second to sweep her hair out of her eyes, tuck it behind her ears so it'll stay out of the way, and then disappear into her coat pockets. She leaves it on for now, helped maintain warmth in the place, so she wouldn't feel the need to hoard a space heater.

"Thanks," she offers the friendly teen, letting the door close behind her and stepping on in as suggested. Her eyes crawl up to the ceiling and the holes in it, regarding for a moment, then drop down again, past Roman's shoulder to where Kora's voice flooded from. It wasn't loud, but it filled a room and caught the ear anyways. The Kin nipped her lower lip idly, lifted a hand to wave her greeting to the Skald and those that would enter behind her, and shifted her attention back to Roman.

She just looks at him for a few seconds, like she's remembering exactly how young he was, and that's changing her mind about something. Finally, though, she shakes her head a bit and smiles, half-apologetic but mostly just warm. "Had a question but I think I just gave myself the answer. Was also gonna ask if Rain was around but I can figure that one out myself." Her head nodded, then, toward the procession of food making its way in, playing a balancing act with take-out boxes and drinks. "Think we should offer a hand?"

[Linus] "People are Loud!"

It's the wake-up call from the Godi, who's hours seem to be the most sporadic of the lot, fishing in and out of the umbra on any given day. The walk back to the pack turf after Kora's brief check in of the new Kinfolk was uneventful, as was the several hours of explorative patrolling and convincing of Hrafn to go out in the rain and keep watch and eye from the relative shelter and comfort of several safe havens. His own comfort level had been less than pleasant, having been forced out into the rainy streets several times just to prove to the Hrafn that it wasn't so bad. This had resulted in no small amount of laughter on the Blackwing's part for repeated performances and the Godi returning after the patrols were done in something of a 'mood'.

He sits up, face slightly bedraggled, jaws clapping, from inside his favoured pew, where the mix and match of his clothes piles sit, the various odds and ends of his duties and what few personal possessions he cherishes and keeps safe (fewer and fewer still these days). The sodden remnants of his clothing hang on the wall nearby, while the various layers of flannel he keeps himself bundled in are pushed off, revealing a wife-beater over a lanky frame and the comfort of a pair of black long johns. His feet touch the cold stone floor and he winces slightly, flicking toes around until he gets comfortable, murmuring a

"Refreshing!" under his breath, at the sensation before standing with a stretch and a yawn and a sniff.

"I smell Gnocchi?!"

[Prayers to Broken Stone] From inside the Church proper come the distinct sounds of a guitar.

Sitting on top of a wooden pew with his feet braced on the seat is the Galliard known as Prayers to Broken Stone, a twenty-something blond haired boy with the broad shoulders and handsome features better suited to a college footballer. Perhaps, in another life, in another reality where there was no War, or Werewolves for the cause, he would have been precisely this.

As it stands, he is a lone individual with the Rage to make any full moon proud and the weight of it; all of it; war, death, his own mortality; sitting square on his shoulders. Some days, more than others, the weight becomes staggering, sinks the Cliath's feet way down into the mud. Tonight, he's sitting not far at all from the slumbering Linus, a notebook open on one knee; his former Alpha's guitar resting across his body; pick in hand. Indeed, it's very likely it's the Fiann's idle strumming that wakes the Fenrir.

"Tends to happen," is Patrick's distracted response, head bent over a chord. "Evening, Princess." He greets his new brother, without looking up.

[Linus] "Eveni-"

Linus head snaps around toward one of the broken windows, voice carrying the sort of punctuating loudness he was complaining of a moment ago.

"Where the Fuck Did the Sun Go?!" The Godi has trouble keeping track of it these days it would seem.

[Kora] "Hey Drew," says Kora, walking in after her younger sister. The family correspondences are buried there; in a certain sharpness about the eyes, a certain length of their limbs if nothing else. In the pale, straight lines of fine blonde hair. Kora is taller, with a wider mouth and darker eyes. Older by half a decade or more. The truth is, they're half-siblings, without breeding that might mark them more strongly to Garou senses.

Both are laden with take-out, the scent of it so absolutely distinctive in the cold air. "We're doing Italian, you're welcome to join." Then Linus wakes up, to the breakfast of champions. Do I smell Gnocchi? "Morning sleepyhead. You very well may. I can't remember everything I ordered, and I might have ordered one of everything."

A glance back at Melody, a hint of sharpness. "About important things, yeah. Like my fucking dessert."

"Hey Patrick. Patrick, Drew, this is my sister Dee. Dee, Patrick's my packmate, Drew's our kin." A subtle nudge of a look, sideways. "Why don't you introduce yourself." A strange echo, that, accidentally on purpose.

[Roman Turner] "That ain't so nice Miss Drew. Ya done got my hopes up that maybe ya came to ask for a date and now ya done got cold feet."

He teased with a glance towards the direction the smell of food and sounds came from.

"Let's go help them....eat it."

His smile widened as he rubbed his hands together in an entirely greedy manner.

[Melody Himinndottir] "It is freezing out. Your dessert is almost certainly frozen. Any warmth left in your cocoa is probably only serving to restore it to its natural state. You should totally thank me." Rambling? Not quite. Though offered up in a deadpan tone.

"And I will introduce myself as soon as you tell me where you want me to put all of this stuff, unless you are expecting me to hold it all night long. In which case, you will soon be eating off the floor, because I am beginning to cramp."

[Drew Roscoe] Roman gets a chuckle and a shake of the head at the jest about cold feet, and she hums a quiet affirmation, agreement that they should go help eat all this food, and walks to meet where Kora and Melody were headed to set the food down, intercepting part way to hold her hands out to the newest sibling in offering to take something out of her hands, help with the balancing act, so that Kora's dessert didn't melt.

"Nice to meet you, Dee. Let me help ya out some, huh?"

Patrick gets a sweep-toward by the Kin's doe-brown eyes, and she smiles for him, but it's more of a one-sided corner of the mouth thing. Linus is glanced toward next, he gets what's leftover of Patrick's smile before she's focusing more on this new Rotagar once more.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon's car pulls up at the Church and he slips out with a little smile worn on his face. It was strange how easily he melded into the neighborhood... He wasn't Urrah by tribe but he was certainly Urrah by birth. His clothing, his equipment, and his comfort within the confines of the city all painted the image that Simon was as much a part of this city as this city was a part of him. He was a new kind of predator, a hunter who stalked the streets of the city. The concrete beneath his feet was simply a new form of terrain, on which he was comfortable enough within. Garou weren't typically fond of the city but Simon was simply one of a new breed of young men and women born in response to the Garou's need to hold a larger presence within these melting pots of human ingenuity and corruption. The city was a place as wondrous as it was filthy and dangerous and who understood duplicity better than a Shadow Lord?

The Full Moon carried himself to the entrance to the Church with a little smile taking shape. His hand reaching up to pound against the heavy door. He loved this door, it always made him feel so much more awesome. Why can't more Garou choose giant concrete fortresses as their Pack houses?

Tonight he didn't come for battle, and he sure as fuck didn't come into someone else's territory to make trouble. Maintaining good terms with local packs was an important thing in a Sept and it would seem Simon knew this much. He was the consummate soldier and treated everything he did as a war. That meant keeping on good terms with his allies. It would be a bad idea to alienate one of the more important packs in the sept now wouldn't it?

He could come here and run his mouth, maybe wave his dick around and spew crap out his mouth but that would only get him un-invited. This was not his territory, despite his comfort in the area, and he would treat it with the same respect he expects within his own territory. This was Kora's house, she ran the show and as long as he was here she was in charge.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick does glance up at that, his mouth twisting in Linus' direction. "Got tired of waiting on you, went home." With the closing distance of other pack members the Fianna's blue eyes swing that way and he's watching the door as first Kora, then another fair-haired creature, followed by Drew Roscoe and Roman enter.

"Hey, Dee; Drew."

He doesn't get up immediately, but does slip the guitar strap over his head and carefully set it against the wooden seating. Slapping closed the leather-bound notebook with its weather-worn pages all curling and yellowing at the edges, the song-keeper wedges a pencil into it and sets it beside the guitar; sliding to his feet and scuffing a hand through his hair as he does.

[Linus] He snaps his fingers, climbing out of the pew, the pounding of the Door creating echoes throughout the interior.

"Five bucks says it's the Maytag guy. Dishwasher's been on the fritz..."

And he's struggling to put on a pair of loose trackpants, the elastic loop of such seemsbroken or much too large for his all too slim frame.

[Roman Turner] He sounded put upon, but he went for the door, calling.

"I'll get it."

In a long suffering voice. Once the door was opened, he greeted Simon with.

"Howdy Simon. Oh wait, how come ya always know to turn up when there's food? Ya smelled the garlic didn't ya? Dang it!"

Another faked long suffering sigh as he waved Simon in.

"Come on, Supper's waiting."

[Melody Himinndottir] "Drew, is it? Oh, I will love you forever if you free me from bondage." And thus begins the complicated dance that is trying to pass a number of bags from one to the other without dropping or spilling anything. By some miracle, this is accomplished with a modicum of grace and a fair amount of speed.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] "Dude," Patrick starts after Linus; spreading out his arms. "I told you I could fix that, where's the trust? I'm going to look at it right now." The Galliard deviates from the path toward the door and makes a beeline for the kitchen.

[Linus] "Dude! I was kidding! We don't have a Dishwasher!"

He's cracking up mid-way through the sentence.

"You are so new!"

[Kora] "You've been washing your boxers in it again, have you?" returns Kora to Linus. Then, she lifts her voice. "OPEN." - to carry back to Simon, knocking. On the theory that the Wyrm wouldn't knock, and with the whole pack about they can handle anything that comes through without needing the heavy wooden doors as shield. Roman's already walking over to the door, and Drew comes over to relieve Melody of her burden.

"Over there," though, she says to Melody, indicating the tables with older, abandoned pizza boxes near the couches and space heaters as the appropriate place to leave the feast. Kora's beginning to clear off the pizza boxes, find some space to spread out her feast.

"Oh, hey - Booker's moving in," she informs Linus, the retreating Patrick. "Until he can find someplace new to crash, yeah?"

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick stops, frowning.

"Then what the hell was I putting dirty dishes in last night?"

[Kora] "Simon!" Kora here, turning and glancing over her shoulder at the Shadow Lord. "Everything's fair game except my hot chocolate and Tiramisu."

[Linus] Linus blinks and looks at Patrick. Then snaps around to Kora.

"When the Fuck did we get a Dishwasher and why the fuck didn't anyone tell me?!" He's dropped his track points back to his ankles and is pointing rather insistently toward the Kitchen.

[Melody Himinndottir] "Oh God, Kora. I know you live with a bunch of guys, but doesn't anyone throw garbage away around here?" She wrinkles her nose a bit at the pile of old pizza boxes.

[Kora] "You eat breakfast lunch and dinner out of a pizza box, Li," Kora explains, patiently. Faux-patiently. "Pizza boxes don't go in the dishwasher. Like Dee says, they go in the trash." Though to Dee, the Skald shakes her pale head once. And intones, solemnly.

"Chiminage, man. Ask Li."

[Drew Roscoe] This is the chaos of a crowded home- doors being knocked at, someone (typically the youngest, this holds true here) running to get it, two or three conversations going on at once, none of them quiet. Drew was an only child, she didn't grow up in a house full of siblings and chaos, this wasn't something she was intimately familiar with, this sort of ruckus. However, she's worked in crowded kitchens, pressed herself through slim gaps in crowded hallways and participated in college campus events where the mayhem was so much more.

She could handle it. Her eyes hopped between Patrick and Linus as they have an exchange about a dishwasher that no one seemed sure of whether it was real or not, Linus with his pants about his ankles, half-composed, not trying to be in the first place. Patrick caught between kitchen and open room, Roman and Simon at the door, Kora setting her boxes down on a table or two after empty pizza boxes were pushed away.

Drew was quiet, largely, letting Melody decide which bags to hand off to her, and once they were she set them on a corner of table before rolling her shoulders and setting to gathering up the pizza boxes and other food bags and carriers that were left behind.

One bit of the conversation catches Drew's ear though, and she's glancing up to Kora with an inquisitive eye. "Booker? What happened to his house?"

[Simon Zahradnik] He finds himself grinning when food is mentioned. He followed Roman into the church with his eyes looking around for signs of their recent battle."So how's everyone holding up since the whole... Thing?"He laughs a bit to himself cause no one was dead so obviously folks were good but it still seemed polite to ask."And when did you grow balls in place of a brain?"He asks Roman with a little smile remembering the New Moon's bold leap back into the Fray after their battle.

When he gets closer to the others his attention shifts to Kora."Please woman... I might be a full moon but I'm not stupid enough to steal food from an expecting mother. That shit'll get your ass killed."He says with a little grin presented back to her.

His attention turned on Melody."Guys can't throw garbage away... It's one of those Physiological differences between men and women I think. Women have breasts... Men can't throw garbage in the trash. I don't understand it I just accept it."He says with a knowing nod, the secrets of men were sacred and it was impressive enough that he would share these secrets with a woman he's never met before!

[Melody Himinndottir] "The spirits demand you live in filth? Just which spirits are you trying to placate here? The Trash Heap from Fraggle Rock?" The words might sound harsh, maybe even insulting, but the tone is anything but. If anything, she almost sounds amused.

[Roman Turner] "Varmits. Eli is moving out of his house cause he had varmits coming in. We invited him to come sit a spell with us."

He headed towards food as soon as he let Simon in. Knowing better than to wait in line when it came to food around here.

[Melody Himinndottir] She raises an eyebrow and gives Simon a look which quite possibly speaks volumes, but leaves it at that.

[Linus] "Close, Dee" Linus offers, finally getting around to belting up his Track Pants. A piece of the inner elastic is pulled out and drawn taut with a knot to ensure it remains in place. The Wife-beater is hidden under a second hoodie, this one a deep brown and ratted about one cuff, like it had been mauled by some vicious dog. The tattered sleeve is rolled up and pinned just behind his elbow while the Godi scratches his head and glances at the younger of his Sisters.

"Rat." He flicks a hand out and around the area. "Not worth the effort of getting into a bargain and a pinch with the little fucker, but having and cultivating the smell of so much food in and around the territory, keeps them coming back thinking they might get a scrap or some crumbs to pinch. Nothing we're not willing to part with either. It ain't proper chiminage but their presence also helps to keep the wyrm on his toes. If anything in the City promotes Gaia's 'Do Not Fuck With' moniker, it's the Rodent Pop. Keeps the Weaver off our backs almost completely."

And he draws a wide ouroborean circle in the air.

"Circle of Life, and all that." He yells on his way to the double doors, still bare foot and waddling slightly. "Taking a Leak! Don't eat my Gnocchi!"

[Prayers to Broken Stone] There's a grimace as the Fianna turns around to stare back at his brother. "Ugh, man. Pants. Pants." He's waving a hand, and vanishing into the kitchen to, as promised, investigate the potentially phantom dishwasher. When he emerges, wiping his hands free of grease; earned not in the kitchen but during the course of the day, the Galliard's attire was that of overalls, half covered by a jacket thrown atop them but the scents of a garage lingered on him; he's answering the Fostern's comment regarding Booker.

"Yeah, okay. Was meaning to say -- " a beat, Patrick's gaze hones in on the Shadow Lord for a moment, there's a tightening around his eyes as they fall away, return to his Alpha.

"I'm still living in the place I shared with Howard, it's got a working kitchen, plus room for another if someone needs a place to crash outside of here." Patrick's mood, as volatile as his Rage these nights, seems to dip for a moment as he adds: "I've cleared out all his things."

[Roman Turner] He about choked to death with Simon's words.

"Oh man, the first part? I got them in the womb, they come as a matched set, part of the basic equipment, though they ain't got a warranty. Which is what ya should remember when ya got a room full of gals and ya go on about how women folk can clean up."

[Melody Himinndottir] Melody opens her mouth, as if she's about to say something to Linus. Closes it again. Opens it. Closes it again.

Then she shakes her head, as if deciding there is nothing she can possibly say that is worth whatever sort of response she'd manage to get out of him.

[Kora] Kora unloads two flat boxes. They look like small pizza boxes, but when she opens them up they contain big aluminum containers of baked pasta. One is lasagne, the other is baked ziti. Both of them are covered in enough cheese and sauce to clog the arteries of the entire defensive line of the Chicago bears. In other words, delicious.

The last bag she sets down is full of garlic rolls, and the scent - of yeast, butter, bread and garlic - that opens up from the package is fucking heavenly. There's nothing to match it, not really, in the world.

"I think he had a visit from the neighborhood watch." Kora tells Drew, with a brief, narrow twist of her shoulders. "Found them less than hospitable, so he decided to seek his fortune in more welcoming quarters. That's my take on it.

A glance back to Simon, this one rather more level as she peaks back the foil and reaches to swipe a fingerful of sauce from the lid. "We're well, thanks Simon. Body and mind. This is my sister, Dee. Dee, this is Simon. Shadow Lord and Ahroun. And Simon," a twist of her mouth, brief. "Trent's perfectly capable of taking out the trash." Among other things. She is pregnant.

That hint of a gleam in her dark eyes changes though. She cuts a glance from Simon to Patrick, back again. There's a leveling there, a certain awareness of the subtle physical signs of tension in his eyes and stance.

Her look is straight, so direct, her dark eyes reflective and her pale features sober. Just a narrow twist of her mouth, the border of bitter and sweet, that. "You need a hand with shit like that, you let me know. Be good for you and Eli to meet, though. He's driving a tow truck. Maybe some business opportunities for you both, there."

[Simon Zahradnik] His smile grew in response to Kora's comment."I am sure he is..."He adds with a little knowing nod of his head."So I thought I would inform folks. I'm starting up a little class... Next month. I am thinkin' we'll meet Wednesday nights. Combat training essentials. Lukas thought it'd be good to help people get prepped for battle but I don't think runnin' around trying to train one person at a time how to fight was as efficient as possible. Either way I'm hoping everyone will show up... This isn't just about teaching cubs how to fight. This is about prepping a sept for war so I'd call it mandatory cept I can't force anyone to do shit they don't wanna."He says this to everyone present before smiling a little."I'm also thinkin' we'll set up a friday night self defense class for Kin."He says before taking a seat.

His attention then shifts back to Roman and his grin grows brilliant as does the sparkle in his eye."Survival of the fittest... It's how it works. If you don't survive to reproduce then you weren't fit enough to reproduce right?"He asks with a little smile.

His attention then turns back to Mellody."Got a piece? Should teach most boys right quick to clean up after themselves. That's how I'd handle it anyway... They're garou they'll live, and it'll get the message across right?"He asks her with a little smile. He could be all kinds of helpful when it came to advice!

[Kora] (phone! brb!)

[Melody Himinndottir] "I'll... keep that in mind." The smile she offers isn't quite genuine, though it's probably close enough that no one other than Kora or Linus would notice.

Though it becomes slightly more genuine as she turns to look at Linus, and one assumes images of childhood are playing through her head, as she imagines their mother yelling at him to clean his room, and then shooting him when he complains. Ahh, is there anything imagination can't do?

[Drew Roscoe] Roman's answer is met with a curious raise of eyebrows and not much else. Kora's is met with a nod and a distracted look glazing over her face as she took to stacking up pizza boxes in a more orderly fashion against the wall. If they were supposed to be for a spirit then she wouldn't throw them away and risk offending it, but she was pretty sure the spirit would accept them stacked up and out of the way just as well as it would were they sprawled across a tabletop.

Once things were neater, when there was more room for the food to be set out, Drew helps herself to one of the garlic rolls and settles for that, for now, stepping back out of the fray of hungry Garou.

She was pretty sure she'd seen someone lose a hand getting in the way of some beast's feeding frenzy before.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] There's a moment, his meeting her gaze when he seems as if he's on the verge of something; some confession; some words to speak on what's been going on inside that pretty head of his. But then he stalls, and reaches out to snare a piece of hot bread, tearing some away with his teeth in a very wolfish gesture.

"Yeah, will do."

He settles for it itself, the simple, aimless confirmation and shoots a glance at Drew as she snags some bread. "You want a drink or something? I'm gonna get some of that whiskey Imogen left behind." Melody gets the benefit of those impossibly blue eyes next: "Drink? You might need it."

Whatever orders he takes, the Fiann shuffles off in the direction of the kitchen; it's hard not to breathe a little easier when he's out of sight, it's in nobody's imagination that his presence has gotten worse, that the rage that had been high to begin with now seemed stifling. It was equally in nobody's imagination that the change seemed to have occurred in the days after Heir of the Ruined Day's death.

[shadows] ((Do you guys mind one more? I promise to bring Rain in carrying dessert for the pack party ;) ))
to Drew Roscoe, Kora, Linus, Melody Himinndottir, Prayers to Broken Stone, Roman Turner, Simon Zahradnik

[Prayers to Broken Stone] (Go for it!)
to Drew Roscoe, Kora, Linus, Melody Himinndottir, Roman Turner, shadows, Simon Zahradnik

[Roman Turner] He listened to Simon and thought about it as he went to get plates and silverware. In the kitchen he murmured low to Patrick.

"Ya gonna be just fine. Ya part of us now. It's a solid thing, this."

He winked before turning to return to set the main room and set the items on the table before digging in to one of the pasta dishes.

"Well, I reckon folk might benefit by training classes, if they have a mind to sign up or whatever. I think it could be a good place for some of them that ain't packed to find others of like mind and maybe become more solid by connecting with others if they ain't packed."

He paused to take a bite of garlic roll, talking around the lump he pushed in to his cheek between chewing.

"Some of the Kin might benefit from combat training, though maybe not so comfortable with a True teaching em, ya know?"

[Linus] Linus is gone for a few minutes and when he returns his mood has settled to a calm boil. He shoves the door open and closed behind him, moving back into the Church while pausing every so often to wipe the wet from the bottom of his feet on the cold stone floor which is not as cold as it used to be after being outside for a few minutes. He sniffs at the air again, moving through the Church proper, around the appropriate bodies as necessary until he reaches the couches. He steps up onto the cushions and moves quickly past those standing around with digging hands and reaching limbs, hitting the end of the table with a few motions at those in the way to move...move...move...

Linus plucks up the Pizza box stacks, murmuring with the effort and teeters dangerously before slumping off the Couch arm and back onto his feet. He carries the pile of near a dozen boxes, on over toward one of the Church Corners, tucked away in the shade and shadow of the flickering kerosene lamps that line the support pillars of the Church itself. Several are dumped there. He then moves around the Kitchen passageway and the Altar, and deposts a few more in the next corner. He repeats this for the other two corners of the Church and returns to the tables with a quick yawn and a glance around at those present.

"Alright you Fuckers. Since You're all so complain Mcbitch pants about the Boxes, here's the deal. You stick boxes, but only those large enough to feed a family, in the corners of the Church. Each box has to remain in place for exactly a month after which they can be thrown out. Makesure there aren't any leftovers inside before you do this or we're going to get a lot of unwanted attention. If you see-" He pulls down an eye lid and stares around the congregation, stepping up onto a nearby Pew to get some height and oration "-any Rats or Rodents scurrying about the place, that's normal. Do not, I repeat, Do Not harm or hurt. They ain't friends but they do us good service."

A pause, as if to measuring if that was getting through to everyone. Then:

"Secondly, we've got a standing pact with the Ravens in the Belfry. No one here should be going up there, unless they talk to me first. All pack members know and understand the requirements to keep them Appeased. Do not piss them off or go looking to talk to them on your own. They will find as many different ways of taking advantage of you as possible and that's my Job." A firm frown. "And if you make my job any harder than it needs to be, I will bind a fuckin' Fire Giant to your ass hairs."

And he holds up a Third finger, though he'd failed to do so for One and Two.

"There are scratched in Glyphs along the foundation of the entire Church now-" And he points, around the lower stones of the Church walls, where the carved and chipped stonework indeed bares the rough and rudimentary symbols of the Garou language. Much of it is common knowledge among the Garou, but there are some if inspected, that do not correspond to any easily recognizable symbols. "These are part of an on-going Ritual of mine that requires some very delicate and precise, measures. Do not wreck, scuff or harm them in anyway. If you notice even one of them is in some state of dis-repair, you come and tell me. If something gets damaged, you come and tell me. If you spill some Cola on the ground in the middle of the church and it threatens to spread toward the Walls, you come and tell me. This shit is important and the more free favours I have to do, the less capable I am of serving this Pack..."

A pause, again, scanning the crowd of bodies around who may or may not be listening to him.

"That said...if any of you would like to lend a hand with Spiritual endeavors? Then I will see what I can do about giving you a list of possibilities. Do not." And here, Linus' features seem to drift into something...serious. Fierce, even "Do Not, fuck around with my Bargains or this Pack's umbral turf without telling or talking to me first and I give you the go ahead. Notice anything wrong, tell me. Simple simple..."

And he finally leaps down off the Pew, with a glance up at Roman and a pointing finger.

"Teach the Kin to fight? Fuck yeah!"

[Roman Turner] ((Lord, my brain is going, that made no sense ))
to Drew Roscoe, Kora, Linus, Melody Himinndottir, Simon Zahradnik

[Rain] It is not quite yet freezing outside. Not quite. The temperature lingers barely a degree and some decimal point above, but Rain keeps valiantly holding out hope for Spring. There were a few devilishly warmer days, just enough to get her hopes up, and then right back into the white-heart of winter's madness.

The heavy door of the Church pushes open again -- Rain doesn't knock to announce herself, nor does she stop at the threshold when she hears a cacophony of voices -- and one of the pack's kinfolk carries a bag of groceries and her guitar into the entryway with her. Of those voices that reach her, all she can really make out of them, anyway, is Teach the Kin to fight? Fuck yeah! from the Godi who hates to babysit.

The door closes, shouldered firmly and pushed until it latches, and then she finds a place to lean her guitar for now.

[Simon Zahradnik] He turned his attention on Kora."If one of your kin is gettin' hassled by the locals I can go take care of that shit for ya..."He offers with a little nod of his head."This city's pretty fucked up but most people like not living their lives in a wheelchair. You just gotta know how to politely to tell them to back the fuck down. If you cave they'll take it for weakness and keep pushing."He adds politely enough."You wanna push our kin around that's cool I just want folks to understand I will tear these streets up if they wanna start crossing our kind. Aggression might not be welcome to some but it's the only thing some of these punks understand. They know violence and they respect it."

He turns his attention back to Roman when he returns."Not some folks... And not the packless. Every single fuckin' garou in this city can benefit from training and working with his peers. Especially other packs. Even if you're the toughest fuckin' full moon in town you always have something to learn from someone else and if you don't then you have skills you can teach others."He nods his head."We're going to war and I'm not gonna sit back and let another soldier go out onto that battlefield unprepared."

His attention then shifts to Linus and he listens to quite a bit of important Pack information. He didn't need to know this so much since he rarely fucked with people's territory. However, there was a little at the end that involved him and his head nodded.

"Kin too... We don't want most of them to fight or whatever but whether we like it or not they are a part of this war and sooner or later there's a chance every single one of them will find their ass alone in a dark alley with someone. I'd like to see our kin prepared for that eventuality not just my tribe... All tribes. This is war and it's not about any one tribes blood cause in a war all our blood gets spilled and mixed up in the same greasy slimy fuckin' puddle."

[Kora] There are bowls in there, sturdy, cardboard. Silverware, and when Linus returns and begins giving the pack - the full pack, here - his instructions about the bargains and deals he has made, the spirits he has cultivated, the rituals he is unleashing on the unsuspecting stones of this great shambling solid wreck of a home-to-wolves, she dishes herself out a bowl of baked ziti. This takes eight trips back to the foil-covered container with the small spoon she has, but she makes each one while Linus speaks, watching him with the considered attention of dark, direct eyes.

A winging glance at Drew as she starts to straighten up. Kora's generous mouth twists at the rightmost corner, and she looks up as Patrick picks out a hot roll, slathered in garlic and butter. Bites into it. She holds his eyes for a stilling moment, nevermind the large group around them, it feels wholly private until her gaze flicks wordlessly back to Simon and Roman.

"He's right," Kora remarks, in her low alto. "I'm not sure the kin need to learn self-defense from an Ahroun. You wouldn't begin to - " a sharp kind of breaking off here. An indrawn breath. " - to know the limits of a human body anymore. What it's like to be stuck in one.

"Maybe recruit a kin or two, let them teach directly. You could observe, offer advice if you feel the need, but Roman's point is a good one."

A fork hovers over the ziti. "Hey Dee, hand me the parmesan, would you?"
Her half-smile is deepening, a twist of her mouth. She glances over her shoulder, lifts the bowl like a toast to Rain. Mouths, "Lasange" by way of invitation without raising her voice over the interval distance, then picks up her own hot chocolate and finds a place to park it. Near a heater.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew blinks at Patrick when he offers her a drink, then grins in good spirits and shakes her head. "Naw, I'm alright, thanks though." He accepts that easy enough, it seems, and moves on to offering Dee something to drink as well. Linus goes off on a speech about his doings with the spirits and the laws-- don't hurt the rats, don't bother the crows, don't fuck with the glyphs, things like that. She pays half-attention at best, the spirits didn't pay mind to her, she couldn't see or interact with them unless there was deliberate force on their end to make communication come through and reach her.

They're talking about teaching Kin to fight, and she's grinning a little at the thought, but not piping up. Instead she's finishing the garlic roll, rubbing her fingers clean of the grease and butter on her pants, and moving toward the door, pausing only briefly to touch Kora at the shoulder when she passed and explaining: "Just remembered something, I'll catch up with you guys later." From there she's heading to the door, but pausing when she sees Rain.

Rain's leaning against the door, pressing it closed, and Drew catches up with her before she gets too far into the church, speaking in a low tone of voice while she pulls her hat and gloves on and buttons up her coat.

"Rain. About the night at the coffee shop, I owe you an apology. Stole your night away and dashed it on the sidewalk, and then left you with your kinsman and woman to deal with them when I got their tempers up and going. I owe you somethin' to make it up. You call me and let me know what you'd like to settle us even and friendly again, okay?" She smiles an apologetic and sort of goofy manner for the Child of Gaia Kin, reaches out to pat her lightly on the arm, and goes for the door. "I'd hang out but I've got an agenda for the night. We'll catch up, okay?"

And gone. We call this drive-by-making-amends.

[Kora] A brief glance back at Simon, then. Kora shakes her head, quietly. "I appreciate the offer, but neighborhood watch was a metaphor, man." There's a hint of humor, there, a brief twist of her narrow shoulders.

[Linus] "...A good metaphor though. Bout as fuckin' useful, the lot..."

He goes digging into one of the bags in search of the Gnocchi.

[Simon Zahradnik] He shrugs back at Kora."That's the thing though... When something comes for them it's not gonna be pretty or nice. Especially those whose blood makes them a target. It's gonna be big and nasty and capable of tearing your heart out and showing it to you while it still beats. We shelter our kin from what we are capable of then they're not gonna get a taste of what they need to expect right?"He asks Kora curiously."I would like to believe the world is fair but it's not and the monsters that are gonna come after our kin aren't gonna be annoying dudes in night clubs. That's not what I want to train the kin to prepare themselves to face off against."

[Rain] There's some hullabaloo going on about Ahrouns teaching kin to fight. That's as far as she's gotten into the Getting Home routine of sorting out the pack's whereabouts (and going ons) when Drew wanders up to her, apparently on her way out.

Rain offers her seeming sister an understanding smile.

"You didn't dash my night on the sidewalk, lovely. But I'll take a girls' night, no drama, someday if you want to make ammends for nothin'." Her voice is evenly tempered, more than warm for Drew. Whatever happened that night hasn't changed how Rain feels about her. "Stuff gets complicated. I get it. We're good."

She moves out of the doorway to let the Fenrir pass.

"Don't let me keep ya."

[Drew Roscoe] Before Drew's out the door, Rain's answer has her pausing and smiling. Relief spreads on her face like butter on hot toast, and she wraps her scarf more snugly about her neck before nodding to the girl that's so easily mistaken as a sibling, even once as a twin.

"Girl's night it is."

The breeze is cold only for a moment, Drew's quick to close the door behind her and prevent heat from escaping.

[Melody Himinndottir] Melody, for her part, brings the requested foodstuff to her sister without protest. And without the sort of whining Kora might have remembered she would have gotten had she asked the same thing years ago. If anything, she seems a bit distracted.

If anyone actually took the time to really study her, they might notice she's listening intently. Not just to what everyone is saying, but how they're saying it. Maybe even filing it all away in some deep folder in her brain, profiling these new personalities for future reference.

"What? Oh, no thank you." That to Drew, when she offers her a drink.

[Rain] There's only one thing to do in this circumstance. Finding herself abandoned by her fellow kin, and about to wander into a group of wolves discussing what terrible things could befall her as a lesser citizen of this great Nation, Rain hefts the bag of groceries, wraps one arm under it to balance it, and calls out to the gathering:

"I'm making brownies for the war effort, holler if you want anything from the kitchen."

And off she goes. This Unicorn knows better than to get in the middle of their conversation, free pasta or not.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Roman's aside to him in the kitchen is greeted with a sidelong glance; and eventually a shoulder nudge against the Gaian. "Yeah," he confirms quietly, "I know, man." Then it's back to discovering the location of the -- not Welsh, but serviceable -- whiskey the flame-haired Doctor of his blood had brought to the Church in weeks past.

He discovers it hiding away behind an assortment of odds and ends and pours himself a generous offering; collecting both bottle and glass and maneuvering back toward the door. He stops short at the sounds of the Shadow Lord making another of his grand speeches about Kinfolk and the War and -- some things never changed.

I've never heard anyone enjoy the sound of their own voice more than Simon, man. Howard's voice echoes in his memory so clear that for a moment, he's sure he's about to turn and glimpse the curly haired Theurge shaking his head beside him, peeping to see if the coast was clear. I have, he'd idly retorted at his brother, I'm looking at him now.

He times himself well, Patrick, so that when he emerges with his own private supply, it seemed, of alcohol he's catching the tailend of Linus' public service announcement and raising his eyebrows at Simon. Which seemed to often be his reaction to all things to do with Bonegrinder. "Did I miss the Rah Rah Go Team speech," he asks drolly as he passes Kora. "Drat."

Rain is approaching, and Patrick's eyes shoot to her; he pauses, then nods. "Hey."

[Roman Turner] Rain came through and tried to do her usual slip off and hide thing, only this time Roman was jumping up to take the bag from her.

"Ya need to have some supper. Come eat. Ain't no one here's gonna hurt ya. Besides, got news for ya. We got another coming to live with us for a bit. Ya know a fella named Eli? He's moving in, so don't be scared if ya run in to him."

Patrick came through and asked if he missed the Rah Rah Go Team speech and added his Drat and that set Roman off to cackling.

[Kora] "Love 'em with nuts -!" says Kora. "Walnuts!" Calling out her own preference for brownies as Rain passes by, offering brownies for the war effort.

"It's in that one," Kora directs Linus with a movement of her fork. There's a fat roll of pasta speared on the tines, covered in sauce, peppers and onions and cheese. "The gnocchi, Li. I didn't forget you. I promise. The next bag over." She huffs a quiet, subvocal laugh when he remarks on the neighborhood watch, and shakes her head. The strands of her fine hair glide over her shoulder, mostly loose tonight, catching here and there on the weave of her new, dark gray sweatshirt. A size or seven larger than the last hoodie she'd been employing.

The hood has fallen back, leaving her sharp features out of the shadow. Kora draws in a deep breath, sparks a look at Patrick - that steady, moving, watching look, dark eyes following his path though the rest of her remains still - and glances back to Simon. "My point is that you won't know the best way for them to survive. You think like a Garou, like an Ahroun, not like a kin. You train them like an Ahroun, and you'll have a helluva lot of kin who are overestimating their ability to survive whatever's thrown at them; who fight like they need to kill or die, not disable or escape.

[Rain] "Careful with that--" It's too late, the Ragabash has taken the bag from her, as if a dozen eggs and some boxes of brownie mixes were actually a burden to carry. It's belated by the point she gets her mouth around the words: "There's eggs."

She's wearing jeans and well-worn boots, the now familiar brown coat. Milo's awful hat. The scarf that Roman gave her. Rain's got a small messenger bag, and her guitar is leaned against some out of the way place near the mouth of the Nave. She reaches up to loosen the scarf now that her hands are free, to cast Roman a small, slightly skewed but largely humoring smile.

From the Ragabash, she looks to the Jarl. Her smile spreads, warms and other nuances slip forward. Then the sweep of her brown eyes move on, to Patrick (there's sympathy here, something open and quiet), to Linus (patient, level, polite), to Melody (suspicious, just friendly enough), to Simon (wary).

So much for brownies, at least just now. Rain pulls her gloves off and tucks them in her pockets as she follows Roman back toward the group.

"I know Eli," she says to the Ragabash. "Seems to be good folk," she adds, with a warm enough touch to her voice to indicate they'd probably actually had a conversation, not just traded names in passing. "Evening everyone," she says to the group.

[Linus] "Sup Rain!"

He yells it, while following Kora's directions to the Pasta dish of choice. He pulls open several of the bags and finally 'Eurekas!' while pulling out the large dish of tin, covered in a styrofoam plate. He fishes a plastic fork out and peels back the plate to reveal the steaming primevera Gnocchi which is sniffed, smelled and appreciated with a grin all in one quick go. The Godi wastes little time, spooning a bunch onto the plate that had covered it before, licking excess sauce off his fingers. He pulls up a nearby lawn chair, plucked from some dumpster toss and without much else of a word or otherwise, digs in with the sort of boyish greed normally associated with after-school hockey appetites.

[Roman Turner] He peeked in the bag he'd taken from Rain and immediately set it down on the corner of the table before guiding her towards the food. A plate was shoved in her hands and a garlic roll was stuck on that plate.

"Here, ya gotta eat this cause we all did and ya know the saying. A family that stinks like garlic together, repells the neighbors."

He raised his voice enough to be heard next.

"Miss Kora's right Simon, ya ain't the right one to teach the Kin to defend themselves. It needs to be someone they might relate to. Just like Packs are more effective in combat if they work as a Pack."

[Simon Zahradnik] "You're a pretty fuckin' funny guy there Patrick. I like the way you totally mocked me for holding a discussion about current matters."His attention shifts to Patrick and his eyes immediately narrow at the comment."If you have a problem with the fact that we are under attack near nightly and struggling just to survive then you are sure as fuck welcome to get our ass out there and kill all our fucking enemies with your impressive and overwhelming might Patrick. In fact I would love it if you would handle that for me! Might give me two minutes to sit in a corner and have my ass a good cry and lament the hopelessness of this war."He says in a cold tone in response to the Galliard.

He turns his attention back on Kora."I think like a Full Moon and so I fight like a full moon. That's my point, and that's what I would like to teach them to counter. If you're going to fight a garou you need to learn how to limit his mobility and keep him at a range and you're going to learn that, best of all, from working close and actively with an Ahroun right?"He asks her curiously."Just as I seek to deny my enemies every advantage I can I expect to work towards training kin to counter the strengths of the garou and use their weaknesses against them."He says back to her with a little smile."I'm not gonna teach kin to go toe to toe in a fist fight with a Werewolf. That would be as foolish and get kin killed."He says with a smile.

"Either way I said I am arranging classes... I am looking for anyone and everyone who wishes to Contribute. I've already got three Full Moon's on board but anyone who feels they have something to contribute, kin or garou, is welcome."

[Rain] Rain's standing there, holding a plate with a garlic roll on it, with her jacket still on and her messenger bag still slung across her body (and none of them likely know that she is carrying, today, like any other day she goes out into the city on her own), looking like a college brat just recently returned from campus.

"Beg pardon," she says, interjecting into a conversation that's not her own. "Are things getting worse, or is this a more, um, proactive conversation?"

Her tone is calm, almost conversational. As if Simon and Patrick's Rage didn't each eclipse the bounds of what she could handle. As if she weren't the demographic they were most directly discussing.

Sup, Linus had called her way. She glanced his way, made a toothy smile and lifted her plate with its garlic roll in some show of solidarity or greeting.

[Melody Himinndottir] Melody turns as Rain greets everyone, offering a friendly (if somewhat distracte) smile and a bit of a wave with her right hand (her left currently holding a plate of ziti) before turning back to the interplay between Simon and the others.

She offers no opinions of her own (does she even have any?), because at the moment, of all the people in the room, she may have the least ground to stand on when it comes to holding strong stances on city politics.

Now, give her another few weeks, and she might never shut up...

[Roman Turner] "So what is it you hope to do? Teach the Kin to use guns to keep a Garou at a distance? There's a few Kin that are mighty fine with firearms, they might be best to teach each other, right? As for two minutes to sit in a corner to give your backside a good cry? Mr. Simon, this is our home."

He waved at the air in general.

"This is where my Pack lives. Mr. Patrick is part of my Pack. This is his home. Ain't polite to be rude in another's hospitality zone. Though please, if ya have a need to sit in the corner and cry right now, it's over yonder and so are the tissues."

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick downs his shot; his smile a wincing mockery as he turns; chuckling. The sound disputes the fire in his eyes; the unsteady burn of Rage spitting out from him. "I do sure as fuck have a problem with it, Bone-Grinder. I especially have a problem with you."

He turns back, grabs his bottle of whiskey and slings his guitar over his shoulder.

"So I'll go sit over in my corner and let people who don't deal with you. Let me know if my not giving a fuck gets too loud, I'll tone it down."

[Starla] It's colder than a witch's tit outside as the bundled form of the Gaian kin tromps her way up the sidewalk to the chain link fence that surrounds the church yard, she ducks down to slip through a hole in the fencing, making her way around until she hit the porch. A gloved hand rose to hook fingers into the hood of her jacket, the wool lining brushing along her cheek sends a shiver down her frame.

She sags against the door, pressing a hand and shoulder into it and pushes, her head peering through the opening she makes, peering around at the sound of voices. Her head pulls back just before she slips through without widening the gap that was just enough to let her through, and shuts the door with her back. Hands begin to work loose winter gloves from her fingers, tucking them away into a coat pocket as she walks away from the door.

[Simon Zahradnik] He smiles."That's also why I want to do a class involving kin Separately because we're going to teach them different things. It wouldn't make sense to have Garou and Kin in the same class."He says with a smile."I mean I did give this idea quite a bit of thought over the weeks I have been working on it."

[Linus] Linus swallows down a good collection of the Pasta, wiping his mouth on the untattered sleeve of his brown hoodie. Then he's turning in his chair to stare up at Simon, pausing briefly to regard Patrick with a diced up narrowing of eyes before returning to Simon.

"You got the permission of all the Tribal Elders in the City? To deal with and train their Kinfolk? You gonna take responsibility for any of them dying after you've trained 'em?"

[Kora] "Simon." Low and level and precise, that voice. As precise as a scalpel in the hand of a trained surgeon. "Patrick's my packmate. He's Hermodr's now, and he earned his place with us," a twist of her mouth. "Treat him with respect in my house. If you can manage that, grab yourself some ziti."

A faint flicker of Kora's eyes as Rain approaches, "Did you talk to any kin about this?" A lift of her chin toward Rain. "Might be worth consulting them while you work on your lesson plan, yeah?"

[Rain] Kora lifts her chin and looks to Rain. The latter would fold her arms across her middle if she weren't holding a plate. A plate with a forlorn looking garlic roll on it. Instead Rain's eyebrows lift a little, her chin lifts a little in acknowledgement.

Since her question has gone unanswered thus far, she looks to Simon and waits on an invitation to speak to his training program. To that end, she clears her throat quietly.

[Simon Zahradnik] He turns his attention back on Roman."Then you will deal with him when he insults your guests..."He says back to Roman before pushing back from his seat and standing slowly."It's called hospitality. You show respect for your guests so long as your guests show respect for you. I have not insulted your pack and yet one of your pack has insulted me..."He says before turning his attention on Kora."So I will excuse myself from your territory until it is dealt with. Thank you for the invitation to dinner and I am sorry things went this way."

His eyes then snap back to Kora."Until the matter has been settled I politely ask you keep Patrick out of Lake View. That is Dark Sky territory and if this is the game we are playing he is not welcome there."With his rather abrupt conclusion Simon turns to show himself out. He's been here enough that he knows his way to the exit and can show himself out.

[Roman Turner] He started shoveling pasta on to Rain's plate. Simon had a cow and marched for the door.

"I think there were disagreements on both sides Mr. Simon. Running off in a huff doesn't settle anything, though it does give Mr. Patrick the chance to feel satisfaction in driving ya off. Do ya want that?"

[Starla] "Geez Louis..."

Pale green eyes cut across the assembly of Garou, catching snippets of their conversations that only manage to confuse the kin. She wrinkles up her nose, starts to unbutton her coat with one hand, and tucking a lock of brown hair out of her eyes with the other. She looks at everyone, her eyes cutting over to and planting firmly on the Shadow Lord that was heading her way as he was showing himself out.

Her features harden, eyebrows furrowed until they nearly touched, "Fabulous."

[Roman Turner] He waved Starla in and towards the food, still offering a few words to Simon.

"A leader leads. A leader leads by example. A leader expects controversy and learns how to deal with it. If you leave now in on disgruntled notes of I won't come to your yard, you can't play with my toys till my feathers are smoothed, what kind of lesson are you as a leader, teaching now?"

[Kora] Then something shifts in her expression, Kora looks back at Melody, a flickering look, head to toe. "You done going walk-about, Dee? I heard from one of the guardians that you went to Caern. That mean you're staying?" Kora eats not unlike Linus. Like a boy, a teenaged boy feeding a constantly growing body.

She puts it aside, though, when Simon stands up. She stands, too. There's a certain hitch in the movement - an unbalanced place where the weight of her pregnancy requires an extra brace, a hand against the cushion, nothing more, but a shadow of what's to come.

"Stop, Simon." Her voice is low, but it carries. She knows the resonance of the place; the pitch to use. The overtones. A brief glance around the room, pausing once on Linus, then again on Roman before she walks in the Shadow Lord's wake, meets him as he stops. Pulls him aside if he's willing. Kora's looking up, the sweatshirt loose on her frame, except where it hugs the swell of her stomach. Her pale hair is loose, her eyes reflective in the muted shadows, her pale features still.

"I'll be frank," she begins, low. This conversation is mostly private, a moving murmur of sound, though her pack will have some sense of it from her body language. "I didn't hear him insult you. What's your grievance."

[Rain] Roman stopped shoveling food on Rain's plate. Which gives Rain the opportunity to turn around hand it to Starla (or try to, at the very least).

"Roman made you up a plate already," she says, handing it over.

[Roman Turner] He didn't miss a beat. Another plate was filled as he made sure both Kin were fed, reminding both that they had garlic so the Kin had to eat it or suffer alone.

[Linus] ...And as Kora stands and Roman and Rain welcome to the new addition, Linus face comes up and stares at the slender CoG with the Breeding and Eyes and his mouth hangs open a little. He stares for a good few seconds before finally turning to look over at Roman with something like disbelief.

"Who the Fuck is that?" Scratch disbelief. More like Another one?

[Roman Turner] It was time for him to give Linus a confused look.

"Who, who? Starla? She's my cousin, been staying here for near on two weeks. Where ya been? Starla, this is Linus, I figured somehow y'all would of stumbled across each other by now. Dang, ain't that just something?"

[Melody Himinndottir] Her eyes have more or less been on Simon, intent. Maybe waiting to see how he responds to the comments directed his way. Maybe because, on some level, she doesn't necessarily trust him. When Kora addressed her directly, her eyes snapped back to her, mouth opened slightly as if on the verge of answering... and then closed again as Kora is standing, attention shifting back to Simon.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick, now re-seated on a pew with a piece of bread in his mouth and his guitar once again re-situated on his lap raises his eyebrows at the Wyrmfoe as he gets to his feet; quoting back the reasoning of the Litany itself as he talks of the Fiann not being welcome in Lake View any longer.

Something about respecting your guests, in truth the Cliath's lip has curled a little in disgust, he murmurs something under his breath in a language not English, but not altogether unheard of coming from Patrick; in times of utter anger, or despair, or, like now from some source of unspoken irritation he retreated behind it, as if one language simply could not contain him. He is watching closely the interaction between Kora and the Wyrmfoe; his eyes flitting from Starla, to Rain then to Roman.

His brother gets a slight smile; the irritation peeling away but a little. He nods toward Kora and Simon, breathes out and starts tuning his guitar.

[Linus] "When the hell did-"

Linus interrupts himself with a grunt and a brief flailing of hands. He looks back at Starla and offers a grim lined smile and a two finger wave of 'Hello' before, eyes rolling, he throws himself back into his meal, already peeling back the Gnocchi again to dig for some more of the cherished meal and pasta.

[Starla] "I've lost m'appetite now that I've seen this here polecat fussing around."

Starla mutters as she shakes her head at Rain, refusing the offer of the plate that the other kin tries to pass onto her. She sets her hands on her hips, eyebrows shooting up high on her forehead, pivoting to face Linus. She gives the Godi an incredulous look, before glancing at Roman as he explains.

She looks nothing like the Ragabash, despite there being a relation. Roman was light where she was dark, her facial structure hinting at more of a native american blood than caucasian. "Linus? Like the Peanut's Gang Linus, the one that cuddled the security blanket wherever he went."

[Rain] Dinner is an inescapable reality at this point. She finds herself a utensil and finishes filling out her own plate in the way she'd prefer. Then Rain takes her plate over to the rage-filled corner of Not Giving A Fuck where Patrick is tuning up his guitar. She can feel the emboldened wash of tension and anger sweep across her nerve endings when she draws nearer. That brings her footfalls to a slow, and then a stop.

She settles on a nearby pew, seated sideways in it so she can watch him over its back.

"Hey," she says, finally getting around to returning his greeting.

[Linus] "Yes that Linus!"

He declares around a mouthful of pasta, bits of it dropping out of his mouth as he gnashes the air angrily at the mention.

[Melody Himinndottir] Knee-jerk reflex. It's amazing how some things have almost become instinct, how they can cut into our awareness and prompt a reaction even when we're completely off-guard.

And so it is that, even while almost entirely focused on Simon and Kora, some part of her brain hears Starla's comment, and responds accordingly. She turns, just for a moment, smile on her lips:

"Oh, he stopped carrying the blanket around at least two years ago."

And then she's back to watching.

[Linus] "Shut up! You're Adopted!"

[Starla] "Two years ago!"

Starla feigns a shocked expression, puling her hands up to cover her mouth as she tries her best not to laugh. She casts an amused look towards Melody.

"Ya don't happen to have pictures do ya? I bet Linus looked real adorable."

[Melody Himinndottir] "Pssht. You're the one mom and dad brought home from the pound." That time, she didn't even bother to turn around. Just sort of... waved a hand idly over her shoulder and shrugged. Then nibbled a bit more ziti.

[Simon Zahradnik] Kora stands in his path and he halts. His eyes on hers and his smile grows when Roman continues to speak. He shrugs his shoulders and looks back at Kora. She took the time to halt him and so he paused to give her the answer she sought."Your pack mate insulted me... I responded... I was informed I am not allowed to do so but the pack will also do nothing about it. There is your problem and I would advise you to address it. I have been nothing but an ally to this pack since even before it's formation. I have afforded this pack respect as well as fought by it's side..."He shakes his head then when she asks him to explain.

"I don't really think it needs an explanation. I've been informed I have no rights in your packs territory... That is not a situation I can stomach and so I will excuse myself from it."

[Linus] Linus' grips his knife and fork in hand, fists on the table, head tilted to one side and eyes narrowed over bared teeth. He sucks in a quick inhale and lets it out explosively, kicking his chair back and standing ominously. He turns then with those same narrowed eyes to stare at Melody.

"That's it!"

He points his sauce ladden fork at her.

"You're going in the lake Teenie Bopper!"

[Melody Himinndottir] "As if." She turns back long enough to make eye-contact with him, offering a slight nod towards Starla. "Try it and I'll have mom send me the album with all your baby pictures, and I'll go out of my way to show them off to every female Kin in town."

And then she sticks her tongue out at him before turning back to "the show".

[Kora] "Simon," Kora explains, with quiet patience - with that steady alertness that defines her. There are few physical correspondences between them. She's tall, but he's taller. She's pale headed, and he is dark. The blood of his ancestors surges under his skin; she has only the memories of her ancestors, not the bones. His shoulders are broad, his strength obvious. Hers are narrow, her once-boyish frame swollen with pregnancy.

Still, there's the sense memory of authority about her. The sharp-eyed animal awareness. "I'm telling you that I did not hear him offer you any insult. And asking that you tell me what he said to insult you.

"I cannot correct him unless I know what your grievance against him is. I have not barred you from my territory; I have invited you into my home, to my table, more times than I can count. You owe me at least this much: the courtesy of explanation before you storm off, severing ties. This - " a gesture between them, into the air. " - you're better than this."

[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick's attention, even if not in the visual sense, is highly attuned to the discussion between the Fostern Galliard and the Ahroun making plans to exit. Bread swallowed, he does glance across at Rain as she takes a seat not far from him; her tension is noted, the way she puts some space between them.

Patrick's eyes read his comprehension of why that is, though his mouth dips a little in bitterness as he answers her. "Been a while, how are you, Rain?" Better than me I hope, seems to be the unfinished sentiment there, as he holds up one of the picks she'd gifted him. "Still going strong." He reaches over and pours himself another shot, dribbles of liquid running over the rim of the glassware as he throws it back; tonguing the inside of his cheek and glancing finally, over at the Shadow Lord.

There's a fixed interest in the Fiann's stare.

[Kora] "If it's serious enough," finishes the Skald, with a twist of her shoulders. "We'll find a Philodox or Forseti and the two of you can settle it with a challenge. If not, you're unwise to be so ready to sever ties when packmates defend their pack. I know what it means to lose a packmate; and the strength it takes to stand in the place where he fell. You can respect Patrick for that if nothing else." She forges oneward, still, her dark eyes gleaming, her generous mouth settled into a quiet, serious expression.

[Linus] There is a general clatter of pointing and pantomime behind Melody just then. No real words, but a profoundly moving performance that involves Linus pulling her head off, juggling it a few times with a clownish sort of professionalism before finally kicking a field goal through some distant Arches and performing a minor booty dance of celebration. A instant later and he's throwing his hands in the air and dropping the utensils he's been holding onto the entire time.

He scoops out another load of pasta into his mouth, sucking sauce off fingers and finally casts a glance at Starla-

"-Everything she says is a lie."

Before checking the exterior from one of the broken windows as if he might tell the time solely by that glance.

"Going on patrol. I'll be back in a few hours after the Hrafn are settled..."

[Roman Turner] He had half his attention on Kora and Simon. Finally excusing himself from the entertainment of Linus, Melody and Starla, Passing Rain who had gotten away from him quickly to join Patrick. Quietly he approached Simon and Kora to speak low.

"I'm sorry your feelings were hurt Simon. Really I am. All I can advise is that ya think over what I said. A leader leads by example. If the example ya want to give is going in to a huff after a Rah Rah comment and reminder to remember ya ain't in your home, then that is the lesson that will be learned. If we were in your home and someone reminded us to keep it civil on your home, I promise I wouldn't get my panties in a bunch. If ya hope to teach others to work together in combat, ya have to first overcome social situations like this. Learn to adjust and work through what ya might consider an uncomfortable situation, not use the insult, don't come to my territory card."

He shook his head slightly.

"I'm sorry. Now I'm gonna take myself off to my shift on rounds. Maybe I'll see ya again."

He nodded to Kora.

"Keep in touch."

Tapping the side of his head then turning to gather his coat and hat with a wave towards the gathering.

"Later folks!"

[Roman Turner] ((Thanks for the play!))

[Rain] Rain's attention is likewise pulled, torn, shredded between the two white-hot points of Rage in the cavernous space of the packhouse. There are other bright places, centers of tension and potential at each of the Garou.

His Rage is stronger than the last time they saw each other, but she's fighting the way that it pulls her shoulder blades together. That she's even come this close is saying something; it welcomes him in ways without her having to say a word. There's something, too, in the way that she watches him. Familiar. Warm. It's companionable; they might have been friends once.

"I'm gettin' by," she tells him. It says nothing of the handful of minor indignities that have passed her way since they last spoke. It's as much as he could hope for. He glances past her to Simon and Kora. She eats a bit of the pasta off her plate. "Kora mentioned you'd joined the crew. It's good to have you about," she says.

She says this even though his Rage makes her uncomfortable. Even though she has to pay attention to calming her fight-or-flight nerves. For now she's okay. It isn't easy, but maybe that only means it's a worthwhile fight.

[Simon Zahradnik] "I came into your home with an invitation... I came to your home to discuss matters which relate to current events pertaining to a war which I was mocked for discussing. When I chose to mock back I was informed that I do not have the right."He says this as his arms fold before his chest. This apparently bothered him quite a bit."If someone wishes to test my rage I am full well and ready to respond but I will not stand alone to be ridiculed when I feel I am due a little more respect than that."

His attention shifts to Roman then back to Kora."And now another joins the fray. Hounding and ridiculing me because he knows I cannot defend. And so if you will excuse me rather than putting his skull through a wall... I must continue on my path."

"Roman... Any time you wish meet me in the assembly area."

[Starla] There is a serious undertone in the words spoken between Kora and Simon. She can sense it, hear it, and sighs as she acknowledges it. Roman is quick to leave, his cousin barely has time to waggle fingers at him in farewell before he to vanishes. She crinkles up her nose, casting her eyes about to see who was left.

Linus with his comical performance sheds the impression of a smile on to her lips, but this fades quickly. She watched the antics of siblings with a shake of her head.

[Kora] "Roman isn't hounding you, Simon. He's a Ragabash, and he's offering you advice you would be wise to hear. There was no insult there. I don't mind give and take. Call and response." A faint glance back at her siblings, who had just exchanged such a serious of insults. "But I did not did not hear the insult you heard from my packmate; I've asked you twice to tell me what it was so that I could address it.

"All I heard was diatribe from you, directed at him. You're making more of this than I can see, than I heard, but that's your choice, Simon." A faint pause here, a certain stillness as she shakes her pale head.

"Not mine." A brief, supple, expressive twist of her narrow shoulders. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my ziti's getting cold. And my tiramisu is melting." So saying, she turns and walks back to the couches. Simon is left to stay or go as he pleases.

[Prayers to Broken Stone] "Yeah?," he asks her with a smile forming up on his face. "I hope they still feel that way after tonight," he adds in an undertone, his eyes flicking back to where Kora is now turning her attention from the Shadow Lord. The Fianna sighs, his chest rising and falling with the inhale and pushes himself to his feet.

"Scuse me a minute, Rain."

He follows in Kora's wake; his hand reaching briefly for the elder Galliard's elbow. "Kora, I'm --" His brows knit, agitation riding high with his desire to make himself clear. "I got issues with Bone Grinder." A beat. "They go back before I joined the pack. If I got in the way of dealings, then I'm sorry."

[Rain] Patrick got up and left. Roman had gone on rounds. Linus (He Who Does Not Babysit) was elsewhere seeing to his Rats, and Ravens, and whatnot. Kora and the Ahroun(?) who wanted to train up the kin-soldiers were winding down their unpleasant chat. Rain got up a few moments after Patrick, left her mostly untouched plate of pasta on the pew, and headed back to the table to collect her bag of groceries.

"I'm making brownies," she tells Starla, as if this were somehow important in the broader scheme of things. "With walnuts," she adds, glancing over to Kora. And without further ado, the Unicorn kin makes for the kitchen.

Not with a whimper, or at a run, but at a nice polite clip. If Rain ever earned herself an honorary deed name, it would probably run along the lines of she who offers baked goods (with a nod, of course, to Sorrow [renders bone]).

[Kora] "So I gathered," the Skald returns, cutting Patrick a sidelong look, dark eyes lifting to grave his profile. Her own features are serious, still and settled. Light sheens across her dark blue eyes, shadows cut lines below her sharp cheekbones, pool beneath her jaw. The lighting in his is ambient. Flickering kerosene lanterns affixed to the stone pillars, the glow of the heaters, red in the darkness, the gleam of a handful of camping lanterns in the living area.

She looks away from his profile just once, touching on Rain as she leaves, goes walking up the aisle toward the kitchen to make brownies (with walnuts). Then she looks back, dropping a speculative look down his features. "Did you intend to offer him insult?"

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon's eyes are flaring now... His rage wasn't just present it was threatening to explode. First it was Patrick but it is apparent that Roman's continued goading has infuriated him to the point where the Full Moon is, in fact, struggling to keep from grabbing a hold of the New Moon and doing something rash. He watches Roman leave with fury in those eyes then turns his attention back to Kora.

He stands there listening quietly to her. His eyes were far from calm they were furious, the rage within him could be quite difficult, and sometimes downright impossible to contain. Still he managed to do so well enough. He listened and it was apparent he didn't like what he heard.

He kept his arms folded and he watched her wander off. It was apparent there was a lot left unresolved in his eyes as she wandered back to her seat. He turned, and looked over the others who had gathered. Rain, and Starla had entered and he bowed his head politely."Goodnight ladies."He says before nodding his head to Kora."Good evening Rhya... I should go find something to do. You enjoy your meal."

Finally he turns to head back out into the cold. It might make things a little better anyway.

[Melody Himinndottir] Melody, for her part, is still watching him. Quiet. She's still holding a plate in one hand but she certainly hasn't been eating any of it for a while now. Tense. Aware.

If anyone were watching her, they might notice her relaxing fractionally once Kora moved away, but who would be watching her at a time like this?

[Starla] "Hmm."

Rain distracts the kin long enough to pull pale green eyes onto her, she dips her head down to drop her gaze to Rain's groceries. She steps up to help her tribe mate carry them to the kitchen. Her spine stiffening at Simon's farewells to them, she glances over her shoulder at him, dusky-skinned complexion flushing with heat and color as eyebrows furrow into a scowl.

She mutters under her breath, Rain can likely hear it as Starla stalks angrily into the kitchen behind her. "No good stupid sonuva bitch, who the hell does he think he is anyway... Mr. Crabby-ass, cross-eyed chicken-fucker."

[Rain] "Y' need to vent?" Rain asks her, setting the bag down on the counter and offering Starla a slip-sided smirk. The other Gaian was already halfway through her rant by the time Rain offered. There's mirth on her lips, but seriousness behind her eyes.

She turns the oven on to whatever the box prescribes and goes about getting things set out to make brownies. Two metal single-use pans worth of brownies. One with nuts, the other with extra chocolate chips mixed in.

"Sounds like you got history with 'im. Or maybe he's always this charming."

[Prayers to Broken Stone] "I don't like him," he admits, it's raw honesty and one of the Galliard's better qualities -- depending on the timing. He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, and turns to look his new Alpha square on; his face somber, though the tell tale signs of his despondency are creeping into his expression once more. "I didn't say anything he hasn't heard me say before, I didn't do it with the intention to make him take his war talk and go home, though.

To be honest I didn't even think that hard about it. I know he's the Wyrmfoe and hey, maybe I should respect him but I haven't seen anything in him worth of it yet. Sure, he can fling the Wyrm around in battle but for what he's here for?

I see a guy walkin' around telling everyone to stand up straight and salute the War every five seconds." He frowns, another shrug. "When I see different, maybe that'll change."

[Starla] Starla works her fingers over the buttons on her coat again, finishing the job that she had started at the door. Rain can see her pacing the length of the kitchen, shrugging out of the suede jacket and throwing it on the ground. She turns suddenly, spinning on her boots to face her kinswoman.

"THAT... that... hair ball! had the audacity to proposition me to screw him in his shower the first time I met him."

Green eyes narrowing, her nose scrunching up as she snorts loudly, her voice harsh in its speech as she starts to talk faster in agitation. Starla's chest lifts up, shoulders squaring back, her left hand jerking up into the air to point at the door in the direction of the room they had just left.

"And then! Oh ya won't believe what he did next." She is nearly growling at this point, "He's got the nerve to make some other Garou his personal messenger boy to deliver a box... a box! of abandoned puppies to the Brotherhood for me. I wouldn't have known about it if'n it weren't for one of the employees there, calling me to come git'em." She throws her hands up in the air, "Puppies, Rain!"

[Kora] "If it helps," Kora tells Patrick, "He came to ask my advice - " a pause, a mild one, somewhat withdrawn, a dark-eyed flicker over the Fiann's features. "Some time ago. About you, I think. How he might inspire you. What he could do. We all have our limitations, yeah?"

A brief, narrow shrug is inserted here.

"I think that you're going to need to find a philodox and settle this grievance with Simon. If you were Fenrir I'd tell you to fight it out. But you're not, and I don't know that that would do it.

"Beyond that, Simon made his choice. There's not much I can do about that."

A close look beyond Patrick, to Melody. "You can breathe now, Dee." A flickering look at her younger sister. "I don't know where you've been staying, but you should hang out. Spend the night."

Then a glance back to Patrick, a twist of her generous mouth. "Can you believe a Rotagar kept her mouth shut for that long? I'm gonna give Trent a call. Give me a few and I'll give you a tour of the residential wing."

[This is Liz's OMG must sleep post. :) ] O