Ornature

[Erek Skulason] *Erek hasn't paid attention to what phase of the moon it is in, he hasn't been able to keep his head on straight for the past week it seems. The young Get of Fenris has taken to the umbra in search of the Jarl of the tribe, she who brings sorrow. Tension lines the young pup's jaw and cuts a rigidness in his shoulders and chest that makes him swell up with caution. He seeks her out on the edge of her own territory, away from the church and where others could tear him to pieces if they so felt the needed.

He needed this to be between just them, the jarl and himself. Erek fidgets like a child that has done wrong, knows that what he has done, and isn't sure how to make amends. His nostrils flare as his heart beats like a loud drum in his ribcage, throat rippling as he swallows, Adam's apple bobbing up and down each time. His paces tracks into the ground, staring about at the umbral landscape with a wary eye*

[Sorrow] Dark wings wheel against the umbral sky. Erek can see the dance of the Hrafn, just out of reach, the ripple of black feathers that gleam beneath the waxing gibbous moon. The territory here, in the umbra, is still and bare and sullen - clean, yes, but the hard sort of clean that comes from blood and bleach and constant battle. There are trophy poles further out, blocks away, marking the the furthest expanse of the Eagles once-claimed territory. The bones are bare, bleaching, shifting in the umbral wind. Sorrow's pack has not retaken all that the Eagles once held. Just the core of it.

She comes on four feet; a ripple of movement in the distance. Gray dominates her coat, thick for winter, but the soft underfur has a creamy-tinge, and around her ruff at the tips of her ears, there's a sheen of brown. There's bulk to her mid-section. The growing unborn child remains human when she shifts. Sometime soon she won't be able to do this any longer. Still, here she is - her eyes a dark, dappled brown, her footsteps soft on the pavement, swift and sure.

She circles him, black nostrils flaring wet as she steals the scent of his tension from the air around him, then comes to a stop in front of him. This steady, animal regard for a long moment, tail tucked around her haunches. Then she shifts, her frame just - changing. Human, immediately, human, all at once, rising from her crouch even as the exited cells of her skin rearrange themselves into the right order.

"Spinebreaker." Her voice is quiet, steady. A flicker of a glance, up and down. "What do you need?"

[Erek Skulason] *She comes to him in the form other than her birth one. Small shadows wheel across the sky, flapping on wings of ember and nightfall. The young Get of Fenris lifts his head up, tilting it back until blond hair falls across his shoulders and back, blond eyebrows furrowing with the dance of the birds in the sky. His lips move, murmuring incoherent sounds that take no shape of words. When he looks again, Kora is before him, wearing human skin.

He remembers what moon it is now. His features hardening, as she asks him what he needed, the sound of his deed name upon her lips makes him scowl*

One of the kin in that castle of yours is likely going to yelp over something I did. Seems I can't get along with any of your folk here in this place. Scared the shit out of that little kin Rain earlier in the church. She threw a boot at my head. Figured you should hear it from me personally seeing as I'm the nightmare that shook the doe up.

*He casts his eyes up to the sky to watch for those dark fluttering shadows again*

I also want to know who told Drew that I wasn't allowed at her place. She informed me in a round-about way that I wasn't welcome there. I guessed more than she verbally told me, but it's the impression I got.

[Sorrow] "So you've come - " the Skald says, her voice low and even now. Her winter things are not dedicated - the coat, the scarf, the gloves. Not even the hoodie she wears so often. She's dressed in jeans, worn low beneath the swell of her stomach, and a low gray t-shirt, tunic length, with a wide boat neck revealing not the sharp line of her collarbones, but the white texture of a waffle-weave thermal. Her gaze is steady, but something in her stance has hardened. She stands straighter, expanded through the spine, her shoulders level, her arms at her side. " - to confess on the one hand; make demands on the other."

A twist of her mouth, the expression still, ungenerous. "Let's start with Drew." A movement of her chin, rising, her gaze even. "I offered you a bed in my packhouse. My territory is open not just to pack, but to tribe, and I have offered you hospitality. If you need a place to stay, why don't you stay there?"

[Erek Skulason] I preferred the warmth and comfort of her home and the company of the kin over those that reside at your church, rhya. Dark moon am I? Always the sinner and never the saint? Wearing the devil's grin.

*He drops his head down again, bringing his eyes to level with hers. His shoulders roll back again, a shrug under the weight of the long winter coat that shrouds his frame*

I don't like it at your church. It is no concern of mine that you and yours wish to live in a place like that. It just isn't for me.

*He can read the change in her stance, her gaze is steady upon him, hardening even still*

[Sorrow] "Her home," this is softly, steadily spoken. "Her home, is my territory. The warmth and comfort of her home is mine to offer, not yours to take. You refuse the welcome of my hall, the hospitality that I have offered you, then steal away to bed down in the home of one of my kin. How long before you start pretending that her home - my territory - is yours?

"Until and unless you offer me honorable challenge for the kinswoman, you will not sleep under her roof. Because she isn't yours." Then a sharp movement of her chin, rising. The cant of her jaw visible underneath the bright wash of light from the moon.

"I trust we understand each other."

[Erek Skulason] Why is it you disallow the duty of your kin to provide for their tribe, rhya? Is this how you keep them in line? You try to coddle everyone under one roof in hopes that they'll get along, that there'll be peace and harmony in that rundown stone fortress of yours?

*Erek squints, his gaze stays on hers, the corners of his mouth flatten into a thin line. He tilts his head to the side, one eyebrow raising in a quizzical gesture*

I wonder how far long you'll continue to manage with your pregnancy. Soon you won't be able to shift in another moon or two, don't want to risk losing the pup, be quite unfortunate if that happens.

*He purses his lips together, whistling softly.* We have an understanding, rhya.

[Sorrow] Per + Primal Urge
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Sorrow] There's a moment - a spare, moving moment - where the Skald is the picture of half-leashed violence. Her generous mouth flattens and her nostrils flare, twin dark points in the pale wash of her face. A moment's inattention, this flicker of focus. Then she straightens, her chin rising, her mouth twisting in an inhuman half-snarl.

"I have offered you shelter; prey to hunt. Food and drink when you were hungry and thirsty. The comfort of everything but the fucking bed of a kinswoman who belongs to me until you stand as more than an interloper and a stranger, until you offer challenge for her.

"I have offered you advice; a place with my pack, until you suit, or find another. And you offer me - threats?

"Get out. You are not welcome in my territory. If we see you inside it, we will hound you out. Two nights hence, when the moon rises, you'll come back here. I will bring the Forseti and my packmate, and we will settle the matter of the "doe" you offended." A narrow movement of her dark eyes, a certain firm texture to her jaw. "Is that clear?"

[Sorrow] Snarl of the Predator! Charisma + Intimidation
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]

[Erek Skulason] *He barely registers the words that rumble from Kora's lips, his attention is drawn to the twist of her mouth in a half-snarl. Blue eyes cut to her mouth, squinting as they focus on it, attempt to concentrate on the first strain of thought that comes to his mind.

There is nothing.

His body reels with tension, feet shuffling as instinct takes over and the desire to flee compels him to move several steps back from Kora. His head dips down, chin nearly touching his collarbone. His nose flares out, breathing heavier than he did before. He continues to walk backwards, not once answering her if every thing were clear*

[Sofie Janssen] "Hey, Erek." The words aren't flat, and they are quiet, but not necessarily soft. Soft isn't something that's associated with her other than the feel of her skin, or the promise of underlying organs.

Her pale eyes drift over his face, back over his clothes and to the ink peeking out along his stomach, and slowly flit back up along his clothing to look at his eyes again. It's strange, watching someone that's effectively upside down. For the first time, Sofie's expression is harder to read. There's a small etched frown between fair brows and the edges of her mouth are neutral rather then shifted up or down.

Then she breathes in and lifts her chin, looking away and over to the television to see what it is he's watching. "I thought someone left the tv on," she says, in way of explaining why she's just come to stand there. She hadn't expected him or anyone to be in the room.

Her sweatpants are comfortable, loose, the sort worn for actual running or working out. The colour is a light gray, and her t.shirt is a baby blue, and even in its soft shade, her eyes are still paler than it. Neither item is meant to flaunt a figure she may or may not have any them. But its less clothes than he's seen her in yet. She's tall and lean, with a definite curve of a hip and bust that heavy winter jackets hide.

[Erek Skulason] *He's got the Cartoon Network on (which may or may not be typical of him), animated figures flicker across the screen in speed lines and outlandish body types. It figures that he would have a secret fondness for anime. But Erek wasn't paying attention to it, he was focused on Sofie, he actually misses the highlight of the story's plot line that it had been building up to for the past twenty minutes.

She hadn't been expecting him, or anyone's presence for that matter. It turns the corners of his mouth down, he removes his gaze from her frame, tosses it back on the television as he shuffles his position on the couch, attempting to get comfortable. He finds it difficult to do so, uncertainty budding up inside of him*

You probably saw me get my ass kicked last night, I imagine that must've been pretty exciting to see. Two against one. Felt like I got pummeled by a freight train with that fucking Gnawer rearranging my organs.

*There's a bittersweetness resounding in his words, the humiliation of what happened to him still hanging in the air. He rolls his shoulders into the cushions*

Don't have any place to stay and figured the couch is better than sleeping in the snow.

[Sofie Janssen] Swinging her attention back to him, she watches his face as he recounts what happened the night before. It makes her brows hitch a fraction of an inch. "Nah," she murmurs with a thoughtful purpose of lips, "I didn't see it. I caught the tail end of you being carted out the back door when I was coming in."

"John snarled at me to get going, so I didn't stick around." This is added with less thoughtfulness and a little bit of flint. "Glad you're alright though."

Moving from where she's standing, she steps so that she's facing him, between the table and the couch, but lower so she's not blocking his view of the television and is actually now looking up along his body at him. "You wanna talk about what happened, or leave it there? And you can always stay here at the Brotherhood. If there's no spare rooms, you can camp out in room seven." Where she is.

[Erek Skulason] *Erek had braced for the worst with Sofie, anticipated a conflict to stir because of the way they had been around each other in past encounters. He coughs, surprise edged into his features, pulling his eyebrows up, making his eyes widen and his jaw drop when she offered to allow him to camp out in her room or what he presumes is hers. He knew she was staying here and had been wary about running into her.

He lifts his head off his arm, legs pulled inward to bend as he swings them down to plant socked feet on the carpet, his torso swung as he sat up. Hands run through his hair, shaking it out, causing it to lay any way it wanted to on his head. He leans back raising his chin to look up at her*

I really don't want to discuss it. It's kinda one of those embarrassing guy things we don't want girls to know about. Doesn't look good getting my ass kicked, not very impressionable.

*His chest lifts, air exploding out of his mouth in a husky laugh as he speaks* I wouldn't mind a place to put my stuff. I'll remember to keep my hands to myself.

[Sofie Janssen] Following his movements with her eyes, she didn't say anything until after he had, speaking about impressions. A shoulder lifts in a quick shrug. "Can't always be the big wolf." She doesn't know what happened and doesn't go and try and figure it out. He had said he doesn't want to talk about it and so she doesn't. Instead she had offered that some battles had to be lost and said in such a way that it was a fact, that there isn't any need to be ashamed about it. At least that's how she meant it.

Nodding once, she accepts that and begins to walk out from between the couch and table, back around the edge of the couch where she had first appeared. "I reserve the right to kick you out of the room if you don't behave," she calls out quietly.

"Going to put my washing on." He could come. He could go and put his stuff in room seven, or stay where he was. Either way the Kinfolk was walking into the hall to pick up her laundry bag and turn left into the laundry which was just by the common room.

[Erek Skulason] *Some battles were meant to be lost. Can't always be the big wolf, she says to him. Erek sucks in a deep breath, feeling as if his nuts just crawled up inside his body. She says it in a way that tells him not to be ashamed, and yet it's still there under the surface. He was a Get of Fenris, shit like this would've been considered a sign of weakness. His uncle would have taken him out back and beat him to near death for losing*

Deal.

*It's the only thing he can come up with, agreeing with Sofie about reserving the right to kicked him out if he misbehaved. He watches her exit the commons, leans down until his chest touched his knees to stretch a hand out to grab his bag and boots in one hand. The other plants down on the couch, supporting his weight as he rose up and begins to follow after her*

[Sofie Janssen] In the laundry room, Sofie is pulling out clothes and stuffing them into a washing machine. She goes through the motions of adding some detergent, not much and only after she's checked what sort of detergent it is that they use here. "If you have anything that needs washing, toss it in here with these. I don't have any whites." Which means she's not worried about running colour dying her clothes.

If he puts clothes in or not, the lid is shut after and her laundry bag is set on top to show that it's being used. Brushing her hands over the back of her sweats to get off any detergent residue, she turns away from the washer to look back at him. "You want to put your stuff in the room? You can see with the folks that run this place if there's any spare rooms or beds tomorrow. Bit late to annoy them now."

[Erek Skulason] *Erek stands in the entryway of the laundry room, his eyes on her to take in her movements, even the most domesticated thing she does seems to hold his attention. He inclines his head to the side, resting it against the wall. The strap of the bag rests mostly in his palm as it dangles against his knee, his fingers hooked into the boots of the same hand that holds the bag. He shakes his head, almost cringing at the idea of throwing his own clothes in with hers.

It felt too personal*

Nah, they're clean. I'd done some washing before I was thrown out of the other place I was staying at. Figured the Broho was warming than staying at the Church. I grew used to living indoors with an actual bed instead of a wood pew with snow for a mattress.

[Sofie Janssen] "Where were you staying before?"

Since he's standing in the door way, she hangs back for the moment. Leaning into the washer behind her, she sets the heel of her palms on it, with her backside resting against the side. The sound of the water pouring onto the clothes is dimmed by the closed lid, but it's still a background noise that's a little louder than she expected in this small room.

She's watching him. Her gaze is steady, locked onto his face. For all their previous run-ins, there's only a mild tension in the back of her mind, and an expression that's he's come to know as hers being quieter in the background. Like that time at the Church when there were people talking and he was throwing her looks.

[Erek Skulason] *Sofie finds herself trapped in the laundry room, she would have to walk past him, likely get close enough to brush against him in order to exit. He doesn't take his eyes off of her, not with the way the intensity of their color seems to shift, almost darken. Erek isn't good at hiding his emotions, sometimes he can joke around them, play the idiot and be unpredictable, but when's he troubled. He's transparent.

The young Get of Fenris becomes tight-lipped, he doesn't want to answer the question as he assumes it'll bring conflict*

I was staying with a kin that was kind enough to take me in. Her tribe felt it was inappropriate for me to be there as she's unmated, it wouldn't look right with just us there living together. Even though, I never touched her in any intimate way. She was like a sister figure to me.

*He pushes off the edge of the wall, stepping back into the hallway and turns to look around, he jerks his head off to the side* You want to show me the room, Tyr?

[Sofie Janssen] There's a snort from her, and a smirk that she can barely suppress. "So you were staying with Drew." Seems that the word about that Kinfolk has got around easy enough. The Tribe isn't many numbered and there's some gossip on the grapevine. Her eyes glint as she pushes from the washing machine and begins to walk towards the doorway to walk after him.

She doesn't say anything else, just moves past him if he was waiting on her to do so, or nods with her chin down the hall of he doesn't, giving direction of where to go. Room seven was at the end of the hall and around the corner, behind the bathroom.

"We're gonna be leaving the door open," she adds, as an afterthought, letting down some ground rules.

[Erek Skulason] *There's a fire in his eyes that lights up when she says that. He arches his eyebrows at her, staring after Sofie as she walks past him. He pushed away from the wall, shaking his head as he keeps pace behind her, never overcoming her speed as they walk down the hall to room 7. She starts to on about ground rules and Erek clucks his tongue loudly, interjecting*

Just tell me when your work hours are and I'll sleep when you ain't here. I'm sure as fuck you ain't going to want to see my naked ass anyway, and obviously don't want me watching yours.

*He can't help it, it just comes out. His eyes skirt away to the other doors, not bothering to lower his voice as they make their way down the hall*

[Sofie Janssen] "I sleep here at night." When most Kinfolk sleep. She's not out hunting things at night. "But I wouldn't sweat it," she goes on to say, pushing open the door to room seven, which was already left ajar, "like I said, I'll ask tomorrow about spare rooms."

The light is flicked on as she walks in. Aiden hasn't been around anytime she has. He may as well not exist. It's Sofie's suitcases at the end of her bed, stacked neatly side by side. Her jacket is on a neatly made bed. The blankets are folded down at the top, pillow in place without a head crease on it. Hiking boots are tucked under the bed, side by side, and next to them are some jogging shoes. Her scarf, hat and gloves sit on a suitcase and anything else of hers is packed away.

"Put your bags down somewhere."

[Asha Singh] Someone's stomping up the stairs. Walking down the hallway, with a deliberately heavy tread. Maybe it's an excess of energy, this deliberate choice the slight creature makes to make so damn much noise. Maybe she's just childishly pleased with cowboy boots she's wearing. Complete with spurs.

Some people have more money than sense, and Thomas will ensure that these new shoes have disappeared tomorrow.

For now, though, the dignified, long-suffering butler endures, with dignity as he always does. The pair sweep by the open door to Sofie's room, trailing the scent of cold and something sharp and sweet underneath it, with a hint of wooded musk. There's a door somewhere down the hall, open and shut: "SORRY!" shouted. Another door, "I think that's the bathroom, ma'am - " and finally, what seems to be the correct room.

Some whispered conversation, some foreign language.

Five minutes later, they're going the other direction. "I don't know that they'll agree it to, ma'am, but of course I will ask whether we can replace all the furniture."

"It's so - "

- and, stomp stomp stomp, the jungle of fucking spurs on the rises of the stairs, stomp stomp stomp through the kitchens, stomp stomp stomp, out the door, into the bitterly cold night.

[Erek Skulason] *With leadership comes a great responsibility, a weight that the pregnant Skald must carry along with the child that slowly begins to swell her belly. She has the whole of her tribe bearing down upon her shoulders as well as motherhood. She is (whether she likes it or not) the matriarch of the tribe, and so it is that young impressionable Garou ( who don't know better) would view her not only as their leader, but perhaps as a mother figure, if they lacked such.

Erek finds her in the abandoned church, pacing with the energy of a ferocious tiger. He watched her from the safety of the shadows, wary to approach for several minutes, cloaking himself with the gifts of his auspice. But eventually, the young Get of Fenris will muster up the courage to face the pregnant Jarl and steps out of the shadows that dance across masculine features. Blue eyes on her, blond hair obscuring his vision*

Kora-rhya... you have time for that talk?

[Izzy Montoya] (this is ONLY because of that tag. *L*)
to Erek Skulason, Kora

[Erek Skulason] ooc/ah shit. LOL!
to Izzy Montoya, Kora

[Kora] There's rage bright underneath her skin, and a certain old grief, nameless now - not this raw in weeks or months - which sticks itself somewhere in her throat. Some other night she might have gone hunting to spend herself until she could no longer think. Now: she will not hunt alone, not even the smallest gafflings of pain or poverty, death or want, that haunt the edges of her territory. So she paces, a circuit of the stone floor, moving constantly.

When Erek appears from the shadows, she looks up; Not startled. He has enough presence of mind to emerge from the shadows before he addresses her. Still, there's a moment when something fleeting moves across her sharp features - the reflective darkness of her eyes, the still, generous curve of her mouth.

"Let's," she says, inviting him closer with a movement of her pale head. "What do you need, spinebreaker?"

[Erek Skulason] *Spinebreaker. How he was beginning to dislike the way his deed name sounded on the lips of women. Kora doesn't use it to mock him, but there's a sting that brightens his cheeks to a flushed hue. He bows his blond head, not meeting her in the eye, giving her the respect that is proper. His Uncle Skúli had taught him that much. He walks towards her wearing the frustrated expression of a boy confused by things.

He races a hand over his hair, unsettling it, pushing it back out of his face in agitation*

It's about the female kin around here, Kora-rhya, seems I'm running into a bit of a bind with the one called Sofie. She seems determined to address all the Garou of our tribe with poor treatment of her, that we think of her as less than what she is.

*This is where he lifts his head to look up at her*

I like the kin, but she's becoming difficult to handle. She goads and pushes and assumes when it ain't the truth. What did we do to her to deserve this shit. I'm about done with trying to reason with her.

[Kora] "Poor treatment?" returns the Skald, perhaps more sharply than she meant it. Her chin rises with the gesture, dark eyes fix on Erek, who manages to keep his gaze somewhere beneath the level of her eyes. That's half intuition, half learned behavior. Humans want to look others in the eye, find that avoiding the gaze suggests - something darker, some dishonesty, some nefarious purpose, something to conceal.

The air is cold here, it sparks against her skin. Her coat and scarf have been left elsewhere; she's dressed in no more than her dedicated clothes, the garments that shift and move with her body when she takes on another form. "Has someone been beating her - " this is spoken low, with a visceral wrapping of anger as Sorrow stops pacing and goes still, a sharp, lifting glance back toward Erek.

Kora is so still that she could be carved from ice, one of the icons some squatter painted in lapis blue and on the curved wall of the chancel. "What insult has she suffered?"

[Erek Skulason] *The muscle in the left side of his jaw twitched, teeth clenching tight as he feels the weight of her gaze on him. Erek knows better than to meet her eyes, to even think to look up into them or offer the slightest challenge. It isn't his auspice nor his rank to do such things. He moves with an agile quickness hidden under the bulky layers of winter clothes, body sinking down as he moves into a low crouch. His back arching, shoulders curled forward to make him appear like a gargoyle sitting on the edge of a building. His arms tuck back against his ribs, forearms draped across his thighs*

Yes, poor treatment. *The young Get of Fenris muses on the question, wrinkling up his nose as he frowns even more*

I saw no one touch her, though, she bore bloody knuckles earlier this evening. I found her while on patrol running from a bar, she had gotten into a fist fight with one of the locals.

*His head shakes, inhaling sharply, and then allowing air to explode from his lungs in a thick mist* I've not laid a hand to her physically, nor have I seen other Garou. But her opinion of us is harsh one, like we treat her poorly, like she is nothing. Or so I perceive. She acts feral, thinks she can do what we do, or so again I perceive.

[Kora] "Has Remy?" Laid has on her physically. The question comes right on the heels of Erek's answer, as sharp as the first question. Her mouth is set; quiet, curving. She's looking down at him now, a long sweeping glance, hair coiling loosely around her neck and shoulders.

There's something quickened about the light in her eyes, though the flare of temper into which he walked has died away. Kora has not yet relaxed. That tension lingers in the set of her narrow shoulders, and the pulse coursing through her next is quick and steady. There is a band of tendon taut in her jaw, and a certain - loose tension to her spine, as if she were a spring, coiled, ready to be released.

Her voice is quieter now, though. Softer, almost. With a barred promise of potential violence.

[Erek Skulason] I don't know. Only dealt and met Remy the other night, Sofie doesn't speak of him.

*He rolls his left shoulder back, rolling his head from right to left, popping the disks in his spine to bring some relief to the tension that continues to build in his back. He shuffles weight to get more comfortable. Head tilting up slightly*

What have you encountered of Sofie that'd make her think this way? That'd we'd treat her as such?

[Linus] The air collects. Re-arranges. Grates with irritation and balloons outward.

The pop is becoming a mainstay these days and the preferred method of the Godi's coming and going. His attire has changed somewhat. A simple dark hoodie with a voluminous hood, the strings still sticking out to contract it's hemline around his features. Pants a thick battered pair of black cargos and a simple pair of well worn garrison boots one might find under some washout cadet's bunk. His hands are gloved in a pair of cut off mittens, thumbs stuck in the front pocket of the hoodie, while his features are a pale colour indicative of lack of sleep. Another mainstay these days. He caught shut eye when he could. Not when it was time.

The air in the Church is charged. Flushed with the sensation and creeping galavant of a Predator's good time. A harsh sharpness that cuts away the excess courtesies and respects that mingle in breath and words and leaves behind a directness that is off-putting. Unsettling. Scouring of nerves. It is capable of being felt and known to the most mind and emotionally numb of individuals.

Because that was Rage and what it did.

He doesn't speak. Offers a nod toward Kora that doesn't lift to meet her gaze. Another toward the Rotagar, with the barest hint of narrowed eyes. Then he's turning towards the table and the old Ramen noodles in a takeout box sitting on it. The couch is fetched for a seat and the cold noodles are plucked up for a bite. He'd left them there hours ago and had decided to come back to finish his meal.

[Kora] Kora gives Erek a brief shake of her pale head, which only serves to send her blond hair uncoiling further down the line of her spine. There's a stray chopstick lost in the loops and whorls, unmoored from the knot into which she had twisted it. Her eyes linger on him, but lift once toward the smear of light against the stained glass windows.

"There was a Forseti here this winter last who beat a kinswoman nearly to death for some offense. It was not imagined, but nor was it - " She breathes in, once, and then out, her nostrils flaring at the end of it. "I will speak with her. More than that I cannot promise." Her mouth sharps, a grimace half-withheld. "You were right to walk away, Erek, before she goaded you into a fit of temper. If she offends your honor, you should bring the offense to me."

[Erek Skulason] *In the passage of Linus arrival, Erek has shifting his body's position. His ass gravitated to the plant down on the cold floors, knees remain bent, drawn up towards his chest with feet spread apart from each other by several inches. His arms found a new perch atop those bent knees and he sits this way, with his back still arched and nothing to support it from behind.

He pulls his right hand to his face, rubbing his thumb across his nose, sniffling as blue eyes seek out Kora's little brother to watch him until Kora's voice pulls the young Get of Fenris' attention towards her once more*

The strength of my will tempers the dullness of my rage, Kora-rhya, I've learned to not let my rage get the better of me when I can control it. I can only surmise, she won't appreciate the talking you give her. Will likely chalk it up as some other way of her tribe trying to oppress her delicate sense of freedom.

*Erek sighs, shaking his head*

I don't disregard a kin's right to free will, Jarl, but I don't like it when they try to play games with monsters. She'll get her hand bit off eventually if you can't put sense into her.

[Linus] "Simple way to fix that..."

Linus chirps up, eying the inside of his takeout box and speaking around a mouthful of noodles.

"Send her off to a Traditional Sept. Let her get a taste of what it's actually like. Storm Hammer or Bone Seer. Or that one..." He jabs at the empty air with his chopsticks "...Tide Breaker down near Florida...Fuckers are brutal out there.."

[Erek Skulason] Supposedly she comes from a traditional sept, or a rural one at least. Says she isn't from the city from what little information I've gained by talking with her.

*Erek replies to Linus, looking over at him as the Theurge spoke up*

[Kora] Kora breathes out once, sharply. It's a bitter sort of laugh in response to Linus' suggestion. She opens her mouth to add a quip, but thinks better of it in the end and swallows it back down into the throat, holds it someplace in her chest, between lungs and sternum.

"If I cannot make her see that, she'll have her hand bitten." - she agrees, at last, with the rotagar. "You're welcome to stay here. But if you'll excuse me, I need fresh air."

The bite of the wind against her face. The promise of the moon, somewhere above the clouds.

(OH GOSH GUYS I AM FALLING SLEEP)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Company. *He snorts*

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've made your sacrifice?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Erek Skulason] Jarl...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The quietude of her voice makes him swallow.

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

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

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

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

I'm sorry. I'm no Skald.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Izzy Montoya] Speaking of cussing...

Her car is not exactly her car. No, it's police issue, unmarked, and only 'hers' as long as she is on the force. It's a 'perk' of the job, though today? It seems anything but...

It's already been a week of upheavals, and it seems her run of 'luck' is not gonna ease anytime soon, because as she rounds the corner, on her way home after a long ass day at a precinct not her own, through the storm of the ages... the car sputters.

stutters.
stops.

"MotherFUCKER." She yanks the wheel to the side, too quick, too sharp, and ends up too close to a pile of snow and... stuck. She leans forward and rests her head against the steering wheel, and mutters words that would make a sailor blush bright red and pray for forgiveness. She reaches down and tries to turn the engine over again... "start you bastard or I'll turn you in for fuckin scrap metal, you piece of shit..."

...unsurprisingly, it doesn't work. And then, in her irritation, and intense desire for it to STARTALREADYOHMYFUCKINGGOD - she kills the battery, too. She bangs her head against the steering wheel a couple more times, before she leans back and digs for her phone. She dials, waits, and then cusses again. "goddammit Dabney, where the fuck are you? Call me." She stuffs her phone back in her pocket, makes sure she has her weapons, her keys, and steps from the car, locking it up behind her. A glance around, and with another curse, she starts toward the church.

Twice in one week. There is no justice.

[Linus] "....Heyyyy. Fuckers are worth more than a shot and a fuck, afterall..."

He climbs to his feet and shakes off some snow, grunting absently. Linus' gaze drifts off briefly. Very briefly, into other worlds, a static unfocus leaping across his eyesight before it's blinked away a moment later. His gaze is narrowed and his teeth barred with the return, hands emerging from his blankets to rub infront of him furiously, seeking heat.

"Fuckin' Hrafn's off his fuckin' rocker. Entire god damn Murder is hunkered in the Fuckin' Belfry, scared shitless. Thunder's clapping their wings 'fore they can take off and the snows too heavy to fly." A grunt of displeasure, errant fluctuations of odd energy and tension riding the Totemlink of the Last Watch.

"We're pretty much blind at the moment, both sides."

His agitation refuses to let him sit still. He's pacing to keep warm, eyes on the Bonfire as it begins to trickle into life and being.

[Roman Turner] "They ain't the only ones."

Muttered in reply to Linus' comment on Hrafn off his fucking rocker. Clearing his throat as he turned to go drag a pew closer to where the fire was starting.

"Y'all take a seat, relax. I'll get some blankets. And I'll be sure to make contact with home Miss Kora about a lawyer. I bet whoever owns this place is sick of paying taxes on something that's falling down. It might also be up for a tax sale, never know. City will be happy to have someone clean it up."

[Sofie Janssen] It's very rare that Sofie has felt unwelcome at the Church. Even when she had Remy coming into her face that time, she still felt as though this place was okay. But as she sits there and listens to Linus mouth off, and assuming that he's talking about Kinfolk like he does - which isn't the first time he's referenced Kinfolk with such derogatory inflictions - , Sofie finds herself watching the Get of Fenris and debating how satisfying it might be to drive him through with a spear.

That, and, well, what the fuck she is doing out here on a night like this.

"Jarl," the Kinfolk lifts her voice, turning fierce eyes in her direction, "I came by to let you know I'm staying at the Brotherhood." Ironically, where she felt more welcome then by the mouthy Get of Fenris.

[Kora] Heya Banx. Our characters are in an abandoned church? it might make sense for Seth to see it as a .... squat? in which to crash mid-snowstorm, if you need an entrance to the scene. :)
to Bridget, Fire Claws, Izzy Montoya, Linus, Patrick Llewelyn, Roman Turner, Seth Cohen, Sofie Janssen

[Izzy Montoya] Sometimes, she wonders why she left Florida to come back home. It's cold, it's wet, it's snowing, it's...

jesuschristonacandlestick - THUNDER?

....crazy. She definitely misses the sunshiney streets of Miami about now, though she makes her way toward the packhouse of the Last watch, checking her phone to see if Dabney has called back yet, and sighing to see he hasn't. Leatherwrapped fists knocks at the door, as she hunches her shoulders against the cold.

[Bridget] "We live to please," the sarcasm is thick between bites of maple glazed yum and a mouthful of hot coffee.

She has a smidge of knowledge of Garou doings that she knows enough that Linus is talking Business. Bridget decides not to speak to the ungrateful, insane one any longer. She is perfectly happy to be out of the vicious weather with a hot cup of coffee and something to eat. She's been losing weight lately, and this is probably the first thing she's had all day.

What Sofie says reminds her of something, so she looks to Patrick.

"So... Uh... I guess I should tell someone I'm thinking about moving out of the Roost. That Owen guy's looking for a roommate, so..."

She's not asking permission, she doesn't report to anyone. But Owen expressed interest in Not Getting His Face Pummelled by a Meat-Fisted Fianna. A cop knocks on the church door and draws her attention towards the sound.

[Linus] "Enter and Be Known!"

[Seth Cohen] Hey thanks! Good lookin' out. (g)
to Kora

[Roman Turner] The door was whipped open quick as could be, one hand went out and snagged Izzy's arm, gently pulling her inside.

"Howdy Miss Detective Montoya, Ma'am. Come in quick before the heat gets out."

He promptly closed the door after her and went about tugging another pew closer to the fire. He heard what Sofie said and kept his mouth quiet. Linus was Kora's brother and Sofie was her Tribe.

[Izzy Montoya] Linus tells her to enter, and Roman opens the door and scoops her into the church. She pauses there to kick the snow off her boots, and arches a brow at Roman. "...what heat?"

But she moves inside toward the rest of the group, shoving her phone back into her pocket.

[Seth Cohen] "Heyheyhey hold that door!"

But it's slammed shut before he could be heard. How the hell he allowed himself to be caught in this brutal weather is beyond Seth. Typically he knows better, but his cousin was entertaining and apparently Seth passed out on the couch was a turn-off. So now he's looking for a warm place to hole up. The church is in sight, and a perfect option...Christians love helping out. He picks up the pace just a hair, slips twice, and immediately returns to a quick shuffle. In moments he's pounding on the door much the way Izzy just had. "Hey open up!"

[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick has taken up residence on the edge of a pew, resting a foot on the seat and sitting balanced on the back. There's a steaming cup of coffee beside him, and a piece of half eaten pie in hand. When Bridget addresses to him she's moving out, he's trying to dig a packet of cigarettes from a pocket.

Cuts a glance at Kora; and lets the notion go. "Well, I mean I'm not the Fianna Elder," he says reasonably, then adds, "But I can pass it on to Buried Hatchet." Another sip of coffee, Izzy arrives, and another refugee from the storms.

[Roman Turner] He blinked when someone started banging on the door he just slammed shut. In an instant the door was whipped open again, one arm shot out and snagged Seth to tug him inside before the door slammed shut once more. Seth found himself facing Roman who was giving Seth a puzzled look.

"Who are you? Don't matter, it's too cold out to be strangers. I'm Roman. Welcome to the Church of Wandering Souls."

[Kora] "If the murder's grounded by it - " Kora remarks, low-voiced to her brother, stepping back as the bonfire begins to catch flame.

"Then so's the enemy, I imagine." She isn't sanguine, though, a sharp glance up at Linus, then back at Roman, Patrick. "We don't usually worry about setting watches, but if we don't have eyes out in storm to warn us about what's coming down, well," there's that spark, hiss in the flames among the detritus piled in the chancel, and snow drifting down from the rafters. "Let's make sure nothing takes us by surprise, yeah?"

"Detective - " Kora says, craning to look back as Izzy comes inside, her voice rising, echoing through the vast sanctuary. Then, she looks back at Sofie, buried in her layers of winter things.

"The Brotherhood?" Pale brows rise over her dark eyes; her breath is a cloud, nostrils narrowed with whatever she's holding back. The tip of her nose and her cheeks are reddened from the cold, but there's enough - relief from the wind here, thanks to the solid walls, enough lingering heat from the electric heaters that she can stand still, without shivering, fingers twisting into her blanket. "I thought you were staying with other kin."

Then Kora shoots a dark-eyed look back over her shoulder at Roman, when someone else comes pounding on the door. And Roman, Coggie that he is, opens the door and invites the stranger in.

It isn't a working church. There are holes in the ceiling, snow drifting down from the rafters, the strangest assortment of people, torches on the walls and a bonfire built on the alter. An assortment of couches and tables, an apple pie in a box from a diner, old beer bottles and pizza boxes are scattered over the tables there. The place looks - well, lived in, beneath the ruin of it. The high vaulted ceiling with holes in the roof. The old stained glass windows, half-intact, half broken.

[Linus] "Hey Roman! When was the last time you did a Circuit 'round the Turf? You notice any Transformers down or power lines 'n shit?"

He continues pacing, watching the bonfire grow, already shedding two of the flannel blankets and shucking them onto one of the nearby pews for others to pick up at their leisure. The last is a pale blue thing, slightly ratted at the edges. He keeps it at his shoulders, dressed in his cargo pants and jacket still. The hood on his sweater is drawn back while he stares at the Ragabash.

Cause if shit's down here and the neighbourhood to, might be a while before we can actually get back power A pause along the totemlink, vibrating with vague anxious energy, the Godi pointing an index finger at Patrick, while staring off at Kora and Roman with a frown of...scrutiny?

And who the hell?

[Sofie Janssen] "I was. Until they decided to throw a party this passing weekend and some jackass went through my things, tried to feel me up, and then I got a mouth full after I broke his nose." The Kinfolk stats back to Kora, not with anger but a little flatness to it. Clearly she wasn't impressed with how the weekend turned out for her and her plans in Chicago.

"I checked with the Brotherhood. I know it's seen as some Frat thing, but the way I look at it, it's got some Garou there that so it's protected ground, and it won't cost me much," she tells Kora, giving a small lift of one shoulder. "The food there's meant to be good. I've yet to ask about the whole hormonal free meat and all that shit, but it's got to be better than any meager supplies my savings can account for."

"So is it alright if I stay there awhile? I can look for somewhere else to stay soon as I get myself a job."

[Bridget] Detective Montoya and a stranger enter the church. Bridget realizes looking down that she has practically inhaled her maple covered pastry. She swallows it down with the coffee and blinks a frown. The Canadian goes to pick up one of the flannel blankets shed by the crazy Godi.

Her eyes go back to Patrick. "Yeah, well. I didn't think it mattered, but he was askin' questions about guardians and shit because," she bundles the flannel over her shoulders, raising her gloved fingers in quotes, " 'I don't want to have some meat-fisted Fianna bust the door down getting the wrong idea'."

"Besides," she adds. "If I stay at the Brotherhood, I'm just going to drink and get into trouble."

[Seth Cohen] He grins broadly at Roman as he's dragged in, taking a quick glance around with sharp eyes. "Sounds like my kind of place. Name's Seth, and holy fuckballs it's cold out there. You guys squatters?"

The young man wanders around the derelict church casually, as if he'd been here a thousand times before. He is careful to avoid passing too closely by the other occupants. All the while his gaze moves across the room, the litter and those wandering souls who have taken shelter within. Anyone with a nose for it can see he is casing the room. Judging people on sight and looking for quick ways out. Typically two kinds of people do that; cops and criminals.

[Izzy Montoya] "Kora." She returns the greeting, before settling to sit on a pew close to the bonfire in the making. She crosses her legs, and does her best not to seem like she's freezing her ass off. Not much in the way of insulation, of padding on Izzy.

She watches Sofie ask permission to stay at the Brotherhood, and the muscle at her jaw flexes briefly. She doesn't add anything to the conversation though, simply watches. Listening. Finding her gaze following Seth as he explores, and checks for exits. Only two kinds of people do that, after all...

[Kora] Kora's attention sharpens when she senses the stranger's pure breeding. Knows him to be a strider. Takes him, for the moment, to be a Garou. She's not particularly remarkable, is closer to the bonfire, farther from the entrance than most of the rest - Izzy and Sofie, Patrick, Bridget, Roman - but when she turns around there's a certain sharpness to the look.

She's backlit by the fire; looks absurd in her winter coat, with a blanket over it, hood still half-up, her scarf unwound and a mug of coffee in her hand. And animal, too: a sharpness. A moment's alarm evident in her eyes, in the way she (for the moment) leaves behind the conversation with Sofie about the Brotherhood and her blind as a bat brother about the Fianna and - and - and -

Crosses the church in long, sweeping steps. "You're a Strider." She tells Seth, a sharp glance. "We're Last Watch. I'm Sorrow. What's happened?" That alarm - that alacrity, heightens the woman's intensity. She's tall, pale-skinned; her body beneath the bulk of the coat - which hides the fact that she's six months pregnant - seems bulkier than her limbs. There's that animal alertness, though, trained on his face.

Who died.
Who fell.
Who's coming after.



Prayers to Broken Stone

[Sofie Janssen] As Kora goes off to question Seth, Sofie notes the presence of Izzy with a small nod of her head, glances across to Bridget and Patrick to tune in to their conversation and generally falls into silence herself. She's a little less animated than times before. Her mood is sour.

When there's a space in conversation, she asked Patrick in a lower voice: "Are you joining Last Watch?"

[Roman Turner] "Seth, ain't seen ya in these parts before. And no, ain't squatting. Why, we own this fine establishment."

He waves an arm at the big room and people within.

"We were once lost, but now we are found. And I'm the reverend Roman, also known as Doctor Night. That there is the Reverend Miss Kora, also known as Doctor Knock Heads Together. Over there is the Reverend Linus. Also known as Doctor Foul Mouth. And there's Reverend Patrick. Also known as Doctor Who's Buisness is it anyway?"

He pointed to each in turn.

"The others are Reverends in training. Also known as, don't touch em."

He then closed his mouth and stepped away to address Linus while Kora spoke to the newcomer.

[Roman Turner] "I didn't see any transformers down. I saw a murder scene up the road, power worked there. I felt the charge in the air too. Maybe it's a combination crappy old wiring and the stuff on the otherside that's got things messed up? I can go scout around if ya want me to make sure."

[Seth Cohen] He freezes, momentarily a deer in headlights when Kora says "Strider". Dark eyes are wide enough to blow any facade of calm he might try to sell.

"How the fuck do you know that? What's a 'Last Watch'?"

The female cop in the room was bad enough. Said cop being friends with a group of what he hopes are werewolves was just the last thing he needed in this world. Actually, the last thing he needed was to be trapped with that aforementioned group in an abandoned church during a blizzard. Though his posture remains tense, he begins edging his way almost imperceptibly towards his chosen exit.

[Izzy Montoya] She watches Seth, and watches his reactions. He starts to inch toward a chosen exit and she arches a brow, slightly. The tension in her jaw shifts to quirk her lips in something leaning more towards amusement, now, though she doesn't let it come completely to light.

[Patrick Llewelyn] The Galliard called Prayers to Broken Stone -- because of his manner, because of his often realistic view of War, and fighting and their Nation as a whole doesn't change his stance much as Linus points a finger in his general direction -- he just raises his eyebrows in silent retort and turns his attention on the newest arrival.

Listening in, then letting his gaze shift to Izzy, there's something there, a softening around his mouth for an instant; it's in his voice, too as he calls to her: "Free pie in the box, help yourself to coffee if you want it." Then, blue eyes flick to meet blue and he says quietly: "Thinking about it, depends on -- " Kora. Linus. Roman.

Himself.
" -- you know."

[Linus] "No no, I wouldn't recommend that."

He's shaking his head. Roman's not the only one feeling...tense. The Godi's connection and inherent interest in the flipside is evident in a moment like this. The Mirror was a bit of a mess with the Storm's efforts, the elementals gleeful and the snows thick enough to obscure the Hunters only a moment before the lunge. His head rocks back and forth, trying to be rid of some of that tension riding his spine.

"I'm just restless. I don't like this..." He continues pacing around the fire, which has grown to near full blaze, though the dampness and freeze of some of the wood keeps it lower than expected. His gaze keeps with the flames and their lick and tongue, pulling the blanket further around his shoulders.

"Kora's right though. If we're shut down, enemy's gonna be the same. Ain't like they're used to this anymore than we are..." And his gaze flicks off toward Kora, a brow perking in brief confusion.

"What the fu..." He settles on Seth a moment, eyes narrowing a second later.

"Strider? Here?" Confusion blooms once more. "Hey Kor'? That a Harbinger?!"

[Izzy Montoya] She hasn't taken notice of Patrick. Not overtly, though she is certainly aware of his presence on the other side of the church pew she sits on. There's a softening in his voice, and she turns to look at him. She arches a brow, just a bit, and then her lips curve briefly into the briefest of smiles - hidden from the rest with a well timed lift of her hand to brush her hair back from her face.

"Softening me up for a rematch?"

Her expression clears, though there's amusement in her gaze, before she reaches for a cup of coffee. Her attention returns to the retreating and clearly nervous Seth.

[Sofie Janssen] Nodding once to Patrick, curiousity sated, Sofie falls quiet again. She goes to watching Kora and Seth, taking in the way the latter is looking to pack up. Can't blame him really. Kora's a pregnant Garou and this is her territory, that's some serious pressure to stand against when she's walking around and talking cut like that, in demands.

[Bridget] Bridget is forgotten in the business of things, and she seems happy with it. The Canadian retreats towards the comfort of the flames. She coaxes them to stay going despite the dampness. Note that unlike most urban folk, Bridget doesn't try to get the flames to climb higher, brighter. Nimble fingers and attentive care coax them to burn hotter, slower.

"Not to disagree at all, and not that I'd know anything about shit, but they seemed eager and ready enough to start an ambush on the Solstice."

[Roman Turner] "Ok, but ya need to relax some son, cause you're making me nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

He stared to pace with Linus. Snagging pizza boxes and chicken buckets to toss in the fire as fuel, though he was sure as heck paying attention when Linus asked about Seth. All the needed at the moment was something else to set everyone's nerves on edge.

[Fire Claws] Cold. Windy. Snowy. Horrible. It was no wonder that the monkeys were always so annoyed, this freezing cold only made him hate this city and this skin even more. The heavy wool coat was barely able to keep out the chill and snow that seemed to hammer away at the very will of the city. Hunting always made the lupus a little warmer, fueling the blood with rage and purpose. That and using more covered forms in the Umbral helped kill the chill. However while chasing down one of the fleeing wyrmlings, he felt oddly out of place. Dangerously close to passing through the Jarl's territory. Possibly even coming into their domain.

When he was finally able to return to the physical world, the wind and snow has not abated in the slightest. Coming down in blankets of whiteness, blinding those around. Finding the church would be difficult, but not impossible. Slowly moving to the steps of the run down old church were the pack now takes up residence.

Knocking hard, the lupus with some black blood stained hands, waits. Snow already covering his coat and hat in a white blanket.

[Linus] "Ten bucks says it's a Jehovah's Witness! Persistent little Twats aren't you?!"

[Roman Turner] "Holy Moley, I'm starting to feel like a cross between a doorman and the Welcome Wagon. I'll take ya up on that bet."

He started towards the door again.

"I got it, I got it."

Fire Claws was treated to the same welcome as the ones before him tonight. The door was tugged open, a hand shot out to take hold and tug the newcomer inside before the same door slammed shut with a thud.

"Too cold to stand out there, hurry up and get in here!"

[Patrick Llewelyn] "Well, unless the Wyrm has learned manners." Patrick calls, idly amused.

[Kora] "Your blood." Kora explains, giving Seth a sharp look for the ghost of alarm written across his features. "A cub, blind deaf and dumb, could smell it from a mile away in a storm like this one." Her own features are relaxing, her mouth opening from the tight, narrow line into which it formed when he walked in the door. "You're not a Garou, are you? Kin, yeah?"

Her features are lost in sharp, moving shadows cast by the torches, the bonfire. Kora turns around, finds Linus in the distance, and shakes her head when he asks if Seth is a Harbinger. She shakes her head once, no, and her packmates can feel the instant rush of relief that unfolds itself across the shared link.

When Seth begins to edge toward the exit, she shakes her head once. "You're not walking in here and then leaving like that, though. Not in the middle of a blizzard." Not when he might be - something other than his blood. Fallen. Broken. Something. She lifts her chin toward the rest of the group. "Last Watch is my pack. These are Garou, and kin. I'll introduce you. Seth, yeah?"

Li, you got some way of checking him out?

[Kora] (gah! it stopped refreshing on me!)

[Breeze] His hands were buried deep in his pockets, the only part of his coat that didn't seem to get covered in snow. Intent with waiting, he stood there only a few moments when Roman opened the door with that coggie energy and politeness.

He doesn't say anything when invited in, just stepping passed the doorway letting Roman close the door behind him, as if that was the source of the cold inside the church and not the holes in the roof or the stone walls as insulation. His voice coming out, guteral and butchered.

"Is Kora 'ere? I need ta speak wit 'er."

It came out as southern, if understood at all.

[Linus] "...Dude, this one time, I met this guy who used to eat molars right out of the backs of mortal mouths. Just the molars. Was this traveling dental hygienist selling some product or other...Fucker would knock and say 'How do!' every time..."

He snorts half a barking laugh at the flames, kicking another plank of wood into it's mix, before turning to regard Bridget, the humour draining out of his features briefly.

"Solstice marks a particular time. Lots of ugly can be cooked up on the season turn. This ain't theirs, though. Wyrm shit'll get licked just as easy as any of us out there..." And then back at the fire, with another snort.

"Only thing out there s'probably a bunch of Wendigo, wankin' themselves and singing Winter Wonderland at the top of their racist lungs..."

The totemlink buzzes gently, murmuring. Not immediately. Not with shit on the otherside, south stepping us. Best I got right now is a sharp eye.

[Roman Turner] "Ya owe me ten bucks!"

He called across the room to Linus, then he turned to point out Kora in the flickering light.

"Yessiree, she's right over yonder sizing up our last visitor before ya came to call. Maybe ya could give him a looksee too?"

Talk about inviting trouble.

[Patrick Llewelyn] His attention shifts to Izzy, then, as she answers him with the suggestion of a re-match. There's something briefly brighter; like the hot flare of a newly lit candle in the way Patrick watches the Kinswoman for a beat as she crosses to claim a coffee. Humor curls in his throat; warms it.

"Maybe, Detective. Maybe."

He leans forward, framing his elbows on his knees; the wooden bench beneath him creaking in dismay. He finds Sofie's eyes, nods toward the Fenrir Detective. "Kicked my ass at Lego Indiana Jones, not sure my manliness will recover."

[Seth Cohen] ((Ah man, I didn't refresh! I was sitting here like "Why the hell isn't anyone posting?" Sorry guys))
to Breeze, Bridget, Fire Claws, Izzy Montoya, Kora, Linus, Patrick Llewelyn, Roman Turner, snowstorm, Sofie Janssen

[Bridget] "I guess," she replies against her own intentions to not speak to the crazy dude. "I guess you people don't get weather like this a lot around here. I guess I'm used to the racist Wendigo country, then."

Finally, Bridget notes the drifter who seems uncomfortable in his own skin. She waves him over to the fire with a warm smile.

"Hey, come have a seat. I'm Bridget."

[Sofie Janssen] Turning her attention away from the constant newcomers to the door and the Seth saga, she finds herself looking back at Patrick as he draws her into conversation. Flicking her gaze to Izzy and back again, she looks between the two of them.

"How'd she kick your ass building blocks?" she asks the two of them, confused.

[Izzy Montoya] She lifts the cup of coffee to her lips, hiding the brief flash of an amused smile behind it before she takes a sip. Then, her expression schooled, she arches a brow.

"A ten year old could have beaten you." Then, to Sofie. "It's an xBox game. He might have had more luck with actual building blocks..."

Somewhere, somehow, that bemused little smirk has returned, and taken a turn toward warmth. Someday, somewhere, it might actually become a smile. [...but not likely...]

[Linus] "Probably..."

Is his distracted reply to Bridget, turning to scowl at Roman and belt out a "Bullshit! I want a Do over!" Before the seriousness claims his features again at the appearance of Fire~Claws. That guttural tongue and speech are recognizable if only because of Gwen's descriptions. She was fond of talking about her Mentor. Enough that the Godi can pick up the specifics without much trouble.

"...Not exactly what I'd expect."

and he sheds the last blanket, this one on a pew not so close to the fire and separate from the Crowd. The Bonfire continues to burn and crackle, smoke drifting up and out the various holes and windows in the Church's designs even as the wind and rumble of falling snow and gale continue unabated outside.

[Seth Cohen] He pauses his escape, watching Kora carefully and forcing himself to remain calm. After all, if they were going to kill him they probably would have gotten to it already. Still, he's not ready to be best friends. "Yeah. Seth. Look, I don't mean to be rude, but whatever you guys have going on in here I'm not interested."

[Roman Turner] He vanished, making several trips out of the main room to return with blankets, air mattresses and sleeping bags, obviously setting up for one big ole slumber party. The last trip back he had a couple bags of chips and lo and behold, was dressed for bed. Red long johns complete with a back flap and a pair of fuzzy slippers that looked like bear's feet.

"I got munchies. We might as well make the best of this."

He plopped down near Patrick, Sofie, Izzy and Bridget.

"Chips?"

[Breeze] He leans over to the side, passed Roman as he points out the image or Kora against the firelight. Black stained hands move up to his rub at his nose as he takes a couple of sniffs of the air around him. Those who don't know him would think he was catching a cold, however he was already taking account of those around the room. Some he knew, many he didn't.

But duty needed to be taken care of first. He moves towards the fire first and foremost. His attention solely on Kora. Moving directly to her. His eyes focused just south of her own when he speaks.

"May aye speak wit ya.." his eyes cast over those he didn't know yet; Izzy, Sofie and Patrick "...kora?"

[Bridget] "We're all just folk, Seth. I don't think anyone's gonna make you stay but Kora. We're just having coffee, staying warm. I'm from a part of Canada where even the wolves stay in the den."

She sighs, looking to Roman, then back to Seth. "Nice slippers. Look, I know that's not really anyone's scene. We've all got better things to do than sit on our collective duffs, but it is what it is."

The brunette scoots closer to Roman, who has food to share, and she takes out her harmonica, the one belonging to her father. She polishes it with the corner of her jacket, smirking. The lupus she's met before stalks towards Kora while Bridget raises her eyes to watch him. Last they met, he literally ran away from her because she played so well. Which is odd because that's usually the opposite effect.

[Bridget] [in the den in this weather*]

[Kora] "I don't care." They're standing inside the front vestibule, underneath the choir loft. Close enough that Kora can hear Fire Claws ask for her, and lifts her chin in acknowledgment of the Forseti's request. Her expression says: one minute, two. She's let go of the blanket, now, deeming it beneath her dignity in this moment. Her expression's still, her eyes dark. "You're a stranger; you wanted into my pack's home in the middle of a terrible storm. I'd fail in my duty of hospitality to you to send you back out there. And I'd fail in my duty to protect them - " a tip of her head toward the motley group gathered at the edge of the fire. " - if I just take you at your word, and let you go. I'm Kora. Roman - there, and Linus, there are my packmates. Patrick's Garou, looking to join us. The rest are kin, mine and others. Go sit. Have a piece of pie. Give us a chance to check you out and make sure you are what you seem to be."

There's no edge to that anymore, just a clear, quiet direction and a sort of dismissal.

Keep an eye on him. Find out if he has any local references. If he checks out, we'll let him go. A moment later.

If he doesn't.
That part's wordless.

"Fire Claws," Kora greets her tribesmate, then, turning her attention back to him, her generous mouth twisting, faintly - without showing teeth. He can see his breath here. "Of course. Let's talk." Wisely, she refrains - at the last moment - from using the idiom I'm all ears with the feral-born Forseti.

[Sofie Janssen] Izzy explains that Lego Indiana Jones is an xbox game, and Sofie has heard of that, at least. She nods once and gives a brief lift to her mouth at the jaunt directed at the Fianna Garou. "I've never played the xbox." Just to keep the conversation going, really. She's not terribly interested in computer games.

When Roman makes a reappearance he's ready for bed, has out mattresses and blankets, and is offering her chips. Her nose wrinkles distastefully. "No thanks. You know how much artificial shit is in those? Potato laced with chemicals and no nutritional value whatsoever."

[Kora] Also: Roman better not be eating Kora's Bacon Double Cheeseburger Pringles again.

She shoots him a look across the sanctuary, from a distance, hearing that distinctive crunch.

[Roman Turner] He just grinned at Sofie and as if saying the weather was wonderful asked.

"Ya know how long I am likely to live? It won't be the artificial and chemicals that kills me first."

Soon as Seth got close he held out the Pringles to him.

"Pringles?"

Offering hospitality with Kora's favorite treat.

[Seth Cohen] Wonderful. A guy named "Fire Claws". That should do a lot to put Seth at ease.

Kora walks away from him dismissively and he sighs. He begins to pace again, discomfort evident on his face. Constantly his eyes move from face to face, exit to exit. He is calculating odds and angles with every moment that passes. Seth stays close to the fire with his pacing. No sense in freezing.

And he will take the offered Pringles, because there's no sense is starving either. "Thanks. Bacon Double Cheeseburger Cheeseburger, huh? Nice."

[Sofie Janssen] "That's why you can have them all to yourself," Sofie tells Roman with a brief flicker of humour in her features. She understood why the Garou ate whatever they want. They weren't likely to get sick. It still didn't stand to reason, really, but whatever. "You know, buying that shit just encourages the company's to make them."

[Fire Claws] His eyes turn to look in the direction that Kora turns her own, looking back at the ragabash a few moments before returning his attention on her. It seemed he was trying to find the proper words for whatever he was trying to say, especially considering he was somewhat unsure of some of those around him. Even if they wore the mystical cloak of breeding about many of them.

"Jarl... I.. am 'ere cuz' I wanded onta ya land while 'untin'. Killed wat shuld'a been yas. I am 'ere ta make... right."

[Linus] He's a Strider, Kor', what sort of local ref you expecting?

But he's moving already, shaking out the thickness of his dress and attire, stuffing gloved hands into the hoodie front pocket as a slow pace and saunter is made toward Seth. The features are vaguely grim and the eyes, scrutinizing. He sticks his jaw out slightly and flicks a brief glance at Kora. He'd keep an eye, easy enough.

His stare turns to Seth, narrowing fractionally. It isn't angry. More dissecting then anything. As if he could cut to the Wyrm heart possibly beneath with that stare. That stare remains until Seth takes up a pringle. It has him nodding briefly, like that one little gesture was enough of a sense wyrm for him. Or at least a sign of normalcy. (Who the fuck doesn't like Pringles?)

He follows after Fire~Claws and Kora. A distance yet, but in the Church you didn't need to be close to hear a conversation. He remains somewhere off to one side, quiet in the thick shadow and dark of the Church's outer realms, beyond the bonfire.

"

[Roman Turner] For the first time Roman sighed.

"You are right Miss Sofie. Infact, I think ya should tell Seth here all about them chemicals and encouraging companys and all that stuff."

He was already handing off the chips to Seth and slipping off towards the kitchen again to get more eats that might send Sofie off the chemical deep end.

[Bridget] A smirk comes from the Canadian after she digs her paws into the pringles and takes some. Seth says nothing at her little encouragement, but he comes over to share some food. Bridget takes a few and moves back to a spot by the fire with her harmonica.

Before she stuffs some into her mouth, however, she decides to play a scale or two, just practicing. Patrick might know by now she has to do something to express those instincts when surrounded by all this latent Rage. Her behavior is not surprising, but her relative silence is.

[Sofie Janssen] Looking from Roman to Seth, she glances the man over from head to toe and then eyes the Pringles like it's a box full of maggots before turning away. She reaches up and finally takes off her knit cap, brushing her other hand through her hair. A blue scarf still winds its way around her throat, the blonde strands caught in it at the back. Small tugs get it all out, and toss hair down her back.

"Are you staying here tonight?" She asked Patrick, who was as quiet as she was, it seemed. Then it occurs to her she's only assuming other details and decides to get that clarified while she's at it. "Or do you live at the Brotherhood?" Where they had met last night.

[Kora] "The only good hunting in the city is Wyrm, Fire Claws. Otherwise it's just vermin," there's a brief twist of her mouth, wry. The heat of the fire is starting to permeate the structure. Up close, it's warm enough to sleep. Here, well - Kora starts unbuttoning her winter coat. " - hardly worth the time you take to run them down."

A pause, then; she looks back at her brother in the shadows at the edge of the fire he's constructed. Curves her shoulders in a brief, helpless sort of gesture when he asks her what sort of local reference she might expect a strider to have, then looks back to Fire Claws. "Are you still hunting alone?"

[Izzy Montoya] She watches the banter between Roman and Sophie, and then lets her gaze rest heavy on Seth once more as he dares close the distance, if only in search of pringles. She waits, and then times her reach for some chips so that it brings her hand to bump against his. When he looks up - because of course he does - she's arched a brow, amusement resting across her lips.

She takes her chip, and sits back. It was very much a 'i know why you're nervous' encounter. Even if she doesn't, exactly. She's just mean.

For the most part, though, she remains silent. Watchful.

[Roman Turner] It wasn't too awful long before he reappeared, this time fully dressed once more as if he might be planning on going out. More chips were handed out and then the Coggie made himself at home on the pew, pulling his hat down over his eyes as if he were going to sleep. Quietly across the link was whispered.

I'll follow him if he suddenly ups and leaves.

Meaning Seth. In a few moments his breathing was nice and easy.

((And I must sleep. Thanks for the play!))

[Fire Claws] He listens intently to Kora when she speaks about what is good hunting, his body starting to shake a little to shuffle off any of the rest of the snow that sits on his heavy jacket and hat, familiar acts and such. His hands soon burying themselves deep within the pits of his arms, trying to warm up the tips. His attention turns once when she pauses, eyes turn back to the pair of untamed kin women sitting around the mattresses, eating at what food is offered. Distracted.

When Kora asks him if he is still hunting alone, his eyes snap back to her.

"Ya. Still 'lone."

His mind retracing her previous mention of good hunts.

"I kill'd da wyrmlin' on ya territory. Ya right. Ya 'onor, not mine."

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Sorry all, phonecalls about Cyclone Yasi! Eesh.]

[Bridget] Bridget's head snaps to attention when she feels the press of someone staring, but she's not sure at first where it's coming from. She shakes it off, then curls over her harmonica. Unlike the usual wail, the kinfolk keeps things relatively calm. The kinfolk is soon lost in her playing, making unusual coaxing noises from the metal shard rather than the blues wail.

It doesn't really matter that everyone's lost in their own thing. Bridget finds a way to get lost as well, with much more consistent company.

[Linus] Takes this shit seriously, doesn't he?

Is Linus offer over the totemlink to Kora, his own attention shifting to the small group of huddled Kinfolk and Trueborn. He allows himself a brief moment to relax, take in the sight. Family through and through, despite the baggage that came with it. A nice neat little package. He pushed his jaw forward and breathed through his nose, trying to dull the tension riding his spine.

"...Bunch of lay abouts..." Quietly and to no one, the Godi remains where he is in the dark, off to one side, returning his attention to the pair of Fenrir in Jarl and Forseti. Arms cross over chest and he begins to teeter back and forth from one foot to another, notes from a harmonica creeping into the air to lend cadence to the wind howl and snow drop outside.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Prayers to Broken Stone had not vanished, had not ceased to exist. Well, at least not physically. What the Galliard had in fact been doing was focusing on some spot on the ground; frowning. The coffee beside him was forgotten, stone cold by the time he seems to stir again, and tune back in to his surroundings.

Kora is speaking to an unknown figure, the Kinfolk are still present -- Bridget playing the blues on a harmonica -- and even Linus appears to have calmed down.

Straightening, Patrick slides from his perch wordlessly, and starts to venture around the premises; finding some shadowy nook, the Galliard takes up residence in it, and hunches his back against the wall. In his pocket, fingers worry a lighter.

[Remy] "...it's not even that cold." The door of the church creaks open on Remy's grumbling. "Just a little windy is all. Button up over your nose and mouth and you'll be fine. Don't know why you insist on stopping off here. Not like it's that much farther to the El station."

And WHUMPF goes the big ironwood doors of the Church, shutting out -- if not quite the chill -- the wind and the snow, at least. The muscleheaded Godi and the slighter, recently-widowed kin stand in the nave of the church, the former peeling outerwear down from his head.

"VISITING IN YOUR TERRITORY!" Remy bellows. It echoes off the buttresses, reflects back from the arched ceiling. "There, that ought to be polite enough for them."

[Izzy Montoya] Patrick gets up to move, and it catches her attention. Very little misses her attention, actually, his movement simply gets her to glance his direction. She tracks his movement across the room, then marks each of the other occupants once more. Roman is snoozing. Linus is rocking. Bridget is playing. Kora and Fireclaws are talking and..

Remy is bellowing. Subtle.

She lifts the coffee cup to her lips, and remains quiet, for now. She digs her phone out of her pocket, and thumbs through her messages, tension tightening along her jaw as she sees nothing from Dabney, or anyone who can come get the car. And her.

[Kora] Kora half turns, following Fire Claws' line of sight toward the kinswomen gathered around the fire. When she looks back to the feral Forseti, her eyes are bright with reflected light. "Wolves weren't meant to hunt alone." It's a truism. A cliché. And a truth. Kora's eyes are trained on his rough features, which never seem wholly human to her, as if she could see the wolf in him pushing through his skin, opening his human mouth with its blunt teeth, unbending his human posture - the straight spine, the well-set shoulders. "Who will tell your stories around the fires. Who'll bring you back to yourself when you claw you way back from death. Who'll howl for you when you die."

Her mouth twists again; some part of her knows that he cannot read it as a human would. Look, she's smiling, not showing teeth. The coat swings open and it is clear that she's pregnant, even if he does not know precisely how pregnancy looks on human women. Her one lean, narrow frame looks - not feminine, but instead: distinctively female, though she's a few months off from delivery yet.

Kora crosses her arms beneath her breasts, glances back at Linus, her features in profile, illuminated. Then, back to Fire Claws. "Well, here's the payment I want from you. Linus' Hrafn flock is grounded by the storm. We need eyes and ears in the territory, this side and the other. You'll run with us; take your turn standing watch when you haven't got duty at the Caern."

Remy and Drew walk in, the former bellowing his presence. Kora's off in the shadows beneath the choir loft, arms crossed, her head tucked, intent on her conversation with the feral. Still, she glances up when they walk on, dark eyes touching on the pair. Remy, Drew.

"Don't eat my Bacon Double Cheeseburger Pringles." Her voice carries; she needn't bellow. Call it a welcome, of sorts.

[Sofie Janssen] Getting up from the pew, she makes her way towards Izzy. It's only a few steps away, and then she sits herself down again. She doesn't know the Kinswoman, they hadn't really spoken, but Sofie strikes up a conversation quietly. It's a question, really, followed on after she watched the other woman check her phone. "Think cabs will come out tonight?" The words are low.

[Drew Roscoe] The door opens, snow and wind cuts into the building when it does so, and in through the havoc of white step a pair of Fenrir together, chattering, mid-conversation with one another. The tall, muscled, oh-so-handsome Godi is grumbling down to the Kinfolk that came along with him, a girl with her hair twisted back into a ponytail so the wind wouldn't blow it into her face, decked out as much as possible for the cold with a winter hat, gloves, scarf, coat, boots... the whole nine yards. She's got her chin lifted so her mouth is free from the scarf, so what she says can be heard over the whistle of the wind: "Just wanna check and see if he's here or not, I told'ja that. I know he's a big kid and he'll be fine, but it's been three nights." The last time she didn't go searching for someone she found out a month after that they'd been dead the whole time and no one had bothered to come tell her.

The door slaps closed behind them, with some effort on Remy's part to force it back against the wind. Then Remy's hollering into the church, acoustics bouncing the sound all about the place. Drew cringes some against the sound, then shakes her head when he muses about how polite the announcement had to be, that Last Watch of course would be content with it.

"You know they've got an open-door policy to Tribe, right?" And Drew's unwrapping her scarf from about her chin, knotting it more loosely about her neck so it wasn't strangling her, and glancing about the worship-room that they had stepped into. The sound of music was replacing the echo of Remy's voice and the ringing it left in her ear, the crackle and snap of flames as well. She's not asking right away, searching verbally for the Rotagar. Rather, she's hunting with her eyes. If he'd be anywhere, it'd likely be with the group.

[Izzy Montoya] Sofie settles next to Izzy, and she takes another drink, before looking over at the other kin. She returns her gaze to her phone, as she lifts a shoulder into a shrug. "Slowly, if at all."

There's a beat, and then. "If my car decides to start, I can get you to the Brotherhood."

[Sofie Janssen] Considering the offer, she looks back to where Patrick had disappeared to, then back around to Izzy. "Patrick, the Fianna, he's a mechanic. Maybe we can get him to have a look at it. I don't think he wants to be here either," she says what they all seem to be thinking. Nobody likes being trapped, even if it's by nature Herself.

[Linus] Linus remains off to one side of the church, bowed to his haunches whilst inspecting something along the foundation line. Carvings in the stonework done by crude claws and time. Kora and Fire~Claws conversation is left to the wayside for the moment, Linus attention picking out his name and the description of the Hrafn. His silence was approval, if not outright comfort at knowing there would be someone there to keep watch while he wasn't. The tension in his spine ebbed slightly...

...And Remy and Drew's arrival brings him around from his inspection of the glyph-work along the foundation. His gaze narrows and his jaw juts out, off to the left and in the dark of the large Church doors. The Bonfire just infront of the Dais where the altar use to be is a hotbed of Kin and True all settled in a relaxed. Several of the pews have been dragged over to act as seating.

"Got more bodies tonight than a fuckin' Brothel on 2 for 1 Tuesdays..."

[Remy] "Whatever, they want polite, this is my idea of polite. You announce yourself when you're on another wolf's turf." And then he draws in a deep breath to yell back, "NOT LOOKING FOR FOOD, JUST HERE TO LET TWINKLE TOES WARM UP."

Which isn't really the truth, but. Remy stuffs his wool cap in his pocket, then unzips the front of his jacket from top to bottom. Underneath that he's got a microfleece inner jacket; under that, a thermal longsleeve tee. All of it pads out a frame that's already -- well. Impressive is putting it nicely. Standard-dumb-jock might be putting it more accurately.

"Who're we here to check on again?"

[Linus] "Shut the fuck up already and go get warm then!"

[Bridget] "Hey, Izzy. I'd like to come with ya if you'll take me. I'll buy you a beer or something."

She stops playing long enough for that.

[Remy] Remy's head snaps around. He squints through the murk. He doesn't really dial it down very far: "Did it look or sound like I was talking to you, squirt?"

[Linus] "Did it sound like I give a fuck 'bout your Preferences, Roadkill?" From the dark, Linus pulling up to his feet and dusting his fingers down over his jacket.

[Izzy Montoya] Patrick there, is a mechanic. Something in that statement seems to amuse Izzy, for all that she comments "I know." She hasn't asked him though, has not imposed on his knowledge. After this, though, she might. Bridget asks to join, and she lifts dark eyes to the Fianna kin, then back to her phone. Perhaps it's agreement.

"Depends on the car star..."

And then Remy snaps his head around. His focus is on Linus, who stands to face the other Fenrir, but that doesn't stop the twist of tension along her spine. She refuses to show it, other then a slight clench of her jaw.

[Sofie Janssen] It has to be telling, that there's Kinfolk that would rather go out and brave it in a storm then to stay in the Church with the Last Watch. Sofie looks from where Remy is bellowing and entering with Drew, over to Bridget as she asks to get a ride out too.

Her gaze cuts across the figures at various places in the Church. The bonfire is warm, crackling over to the side and the smell of smoke drowns out that of the damp snow beyond. It could have been the slumber party Roman had seemed to want, but it's far from that ideal right now.

If the tension wasn't enough before. Now there's Get of Fenris yelling at each other in a place where sound seems to carry just fine. "Fuck it," she murmurs low to Izzy. "I'm slipping out the back door." The cap in her jacket pocket is pulled out and held in a hand as she rises off the pew.

"Comin'?" To Izzy and Bridget.

[Drew Roscoe] He bellows that they don't want food, just shelter long enough for Drew to get some circulation back into her 'twinkle-toes'. Him calling her that had her peering up at him, then grinning ironically. She shook her head a little, and looked toward the huddle of Kin grouped together, from them to the direction from where Linus's voice was ringing out, the vague shape of him, the statuesque and curved figure of Kora, and a stout, not-immediately-recognized person along with them, mostly hidden in the shadows.

Remy and Linus are calling back and forth, and Drew grunts and nudges her elbow into Remy's side, which felt an awful lot like digging her elbow into a section of beef slab, only slightly cushioned by the layers of clothing on top.

"Here for Erek. And could you not? He's Last Watch, this's their land. Why you gotta be picking fights all the time?"

[Fire Claws] He turns his attention to the Godi who seemed to be hanging around the conversation between himself and their Jarl. He watched the godi and his inspection of the foundation and the glyohs carved around the room. Turning back to the alpha of the pack, he furrows his brow.

"Oka'.

It was a pack, even if he was not dedicated to it. It was a start, something to call himself apart of. But within a few moments, his head quickly snaps back to the door, a scent he had learned of and a faint one he had found at the Sept a few days ago. Eyes turning on Drew and her guide, but the smell not the same.

Focused on the new arrivals now.

[Remy] Drew can feel Remy's rage flaring. The solid young Godi jerks his head to the left, giving his neck a quick, sharp crack. "It sound like I started this fight?" he mutters back at Drew. "Who told me to shut the fuck up first? Anyway, his territory or not, he better get ready to defend it --

"HEY FUCKFACE. Wanna come over here and say that again?"

[Patrick Llewelyn] Remy enters; in the darkness, the Fianna's eyes gleam as he lifts his face. He's taken the lighter out of his pocket and flicks it open, ignites the flame and then flicks it shut again. The slow, steady repetition might give the Kinfolk pause about checking with him about anything.

Especially considering the way his Rage seems to have swarmed.
Especially considering the grim set to his jaw abruptly.

Remy's remark to Linus draws a snort from his corner. If Remy paid attention, he'd see the outline of Patrick, there. He can certainly smell Fianna.

[Bridget] Bridget shucks off the blanket, grabs her bag, and stuffs her father's harmonica into it, popping the chips into her mouth at last. Doubtful Kora wanted it after they've been pawed at, which happened before the warning was confirmed.

"Been out hunting in worse," she says, wiping her hands off onto her jeans. Her eyes cast towards Patrick, then the Lupus-born before she looks back to Izzy.

[Linus] ...And Linus peels out of the darkness with a narrowed eye and a flicker of something like a smile, faint and off.

"I think I know about you." A beat, eyes flicking off Remy toward Drew, finger pointing at the other Godi, his lanky frame draped in the thick Trappings of winter. "This how you have fun now?" And the smile vanishes with a flash of something distasteful.

[Izzy Montoya] Bridget and Sophie make as if to dash out the back, the sudden tension too much, to sudden too soon. Izzy doesn't move, because... well. She's a stubborn bitch, and she refuses to allow any Trueborn to think they've gotten to her. Even if said True has zero attention spared in her direction. She needs to check on the car, and ensure it starts.

"Patrick, think you could take a look?" That, first, and then to the kin.. "I'll call a cab for you guys. It might take a bit." Especially if there is a brawl, first.

[Drew Roscoe] "Choice of words aside, I don't think he was looking to pick a fight."

The Kinfolk's scowling, the bridge of her nose wrinkled up, and tugging her gloves off her hands to stick them in her coat pockets, but leaving the hat on her head anyways. How a Godi, who was supposed to be lost in Spirits and Other Worlds, calm and focused, got more riled up and strutted more than a rooster did was beyond her. Hell, Joe was friendlier and far more reasonable.

Linus comes out from where he'd been standing with Kora and Fire Claws, into more ready view, and answers to the challenge like any Fenrir would. Drew's exasperated already, and sighing heavily, but, oddly, not peeling away from Remy's side. Not just yet at least. She's just muttering to him under her breath.

"I swear I'm never going places with you anymore."

[Sofie Janssen] "It's alright," Sofie gives Izzy a nod of her head, "I've got a phone. I can call a cab."

Looking to Bridget, she nudges her head towards the door. Despite saying that she was going to slip out the back door, Sofie's going to walk right out the way she came. Quite content to walk with an unknown woman, safety in numbers and all that, Sofie begins towards the door.

As she's putting her hat back on, passing by Drew and Remy, she offered: "Hey Remy," as she's heading out.

Kora gets a small lift of her hand as she reaches the door to open it.

[Remy] Remy comes forward as Linus does. They meet amidst toppled pews and dusty, torn bibles. Hymnbooks. In this silent arena, pervaded through and through by some immaterial sense of the holy, or at least what mortals hope to be holy, Remy is a blunt weapon, a burning brand, irreverent and -- by all appearances -- stone-deaf to the secret life around him.

He puts a gloved hand to his ear, exaggeratedly mimicking a listening gesture. "What's that? Oh, that's right. I didn't hear you calling me Roadkill again, did I now."

A second later the mockery flashes dark. He takes a step forward and sideways, in front of Drew. "Hey, bitch. If you're too afraid to sling insults at the Trueborn, don't take it out on the kin."

-- his eyes flick toward Sofie. "Hey, Sofe. Where you going?" They come back to Linus, hard and dark.

[Kora] Kora's arms are crossed; the agreement's set with Fire Claws, requiring no further words. Instead, her attention narrows on Linus and Remy, nostrils flaring with a sharp sort of distaste.

"Bone-Writer," there's caution in her voice; which is to say: warning. "No." She knows the church as well as anyone; better than anyone living, and she's crossing the distance in long, moving strides. The edges of her winter coat flare out around her frame as she advances on Remy like she's going to run him down.

"Drew, shut the fuck up."

"Remy, shut the fuck up. You are going to hold your tongue or walk out that fucking door. You want to throw down; you'll do it after this fucking storm."

[Sofie Janssen] "Anywhere that's not here." Sofie shoots back and then steps out into the blizzard and the storm that's raining down on the city.

[Kora] (guys, I really, really, really need to sleep since it's 2 a.m. If this is going further than sniping, we have to pause. )
to Bridget, Drew Roscoe, Erek Skulason, Fire Claws, Izzy Montoya, Linus, Patrick Llewelyn, Remy, Sofie Janssen

[Bridget] "Bonsoir," she blinks at Remy on her way out with the other kinswoman of significant breeding. She seems to know enough of the same people, so she must be alright.

Bridget usually isn't bothered by all the tension, moreso than usual. She just isn't feeling in the mood to deal with drama, and she's got more of her own personal drama in spades.

Sofie suddenly leaves and the other lanky, wolfish girl follows into the blizzard.

"This is nothing. You been into the mountains before?" she asks the blonde.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Izzy wants him to take a look at the car.

Shk.

The flame is snuffed out again, and Patrick shifts; feet scraping against floor debris as he moves back out of the shadows, coming up alongside Linus. "Yeah," his eyes are on Remy, flick to Drew, then shift to Izzy. "I can take a look. Let's go."

He heads toward the door Sofie had just scuttled out of to escape them all.

[Remy] A clench of his teeth, muscles drawing taut from temple to jaw. Remy jerks a thumb at Linus.

"He started it."

[Izzy Montoya] Something Kora says gets a reaction from Izzy - though it's hidden as she continues to thumb through her phone. She takes an extra moment, checking another message, before she looks up again, and tucks the phone away.

Patrick agrees to take a look, and only then does she stand. She nods toward Kora, though her attention is elsewhere, and turns to follow Patrick to the door. "It's not far."

[Linus] "...And When I deem you important enough to insult a second time you'll know-"

Kora speaks. It doesn't still Linus' tongue as much as it does get his attention. Hermodr was good like that. Especially in the Jarl's hands. His head tilts away from catching Remy's gaze with that grin like suggestions and Name calling to die when he meets Kora's gaze and mention of a single, adamant word. His response is a grunt and a cluck of the tongue.

"Yeah."

And then around on Remy again. He leans slightly, regarding Drew again with that same weird smile and narrowed gaze.

"Pick 'em sweet 'n tender." A jab there. Something suggestive. "Good on ya." Before the Godi's pulling off without another word or eye at Remy, glancing at Patrick as the large Fianna goes wandering past and for the door. The party was dying as quick as it started, arrivals turning to departures without much effort.

"I'm gonna see if I can convince Hrafn to settle in. At least keep eyes on the Church outskirts." And around toward Fire~claws, a serious tone creeping into a small phrase.

"You comin' with?"

[Fire Claws] His attention is pulled in several different ways as he continues to watch the ongoing of the pair of Godi as they snipe back and forth. Watching and waiting for one or the other to go beyond words.

Back to Bridget, Sofie, Izzy and Patrick as they talk about leaving into the blizzard, about cars and other issues he had no understanding about. He just stands and watches the interaction of monkeys as they go about their situations.

Just curious.

[Sofie Janssen] "Mountains? Well, depends what you call mountains." Sofie answers Bridget, pulling the scarf up around the bottom half of her face and working on her gloves as they step out into the cold. The street is far from friendly today, but the other Kinfolk is right - there's been worse. "Most of the hiking I've done is not in the winter."

"Where you from anyway? Your accent, it sounds familiar." Because Sofie has ventured into Canada a few times, just not enough to immediately place her there. The town and Sept she was with wasn't too far from the borders edge.

[Fire Claws] He nods when Linus directs his attention back to him. Back to something he actually knew about. Spirits and hunting.

"Ya."

[Kora] "Squirt.

"Roadkill."

Trust a Skald to remember the precise series of insults tossed out. "I don't care who started it. I'm ending it tonight. You want to take it up again, when the storm's passed and we're not fucking blind, you do that. Tonight: no fucking way."

Then, another frisson of anger sparks in Kora's eyes and she rounds in an arc of motion, leaving Remy at her back, scowling at her brother. "Bone-Writer, that was un fucking called for. Apologize to Drew, you owe her a debt of honor. And you're not to say a cross-word to kin - not a stray fuck - for a week, or I will take it out of your hide. Hear me?"

[Bridget] "Red Deer Sept, some podunk place in the mountains of Alberta. We're a good two or three hours from the nearest anything. We have a cabin out there, it can get pretty rough in the winter."

Her accent isn't the form of Canadian familiar to most people in Fargo. She's got a good deal of the Quebecois in the way she speaks, more apparent when she's drunk or angry and swearing.

"What about you?"

[Erek Skulason] *There's friction afoot, the no moon can feel it in his gut as he waded through the blizzard towards what he considered sanctuary. A tall, figured covered in head to boot in heavy winter clothes, a scarf wrapped several times around his throat, jaw and nose to protect it from the cold, a knit cap slammed down tight on his skull to cover his ears. Blue eyes peer out the slit that was made for his vision, sniffling a red-chapped nose*

[Remy] Remy's eyes narrow a beat on Kora. But then Linus is moving, and Remy's pivoting in place to watch him go. When their relative positions have changed enough that Linus is closer to Drew than to Remy, the latter puts his big hand on Drew's shoulder and brushes her almost effortlessly behind him again. His free hand -- since he's decided not to keep running his mouth for now -- flaps open and shut in a distinct yappety-yap gesture. And when Kora dresses her packmate down, Remy's smirk is positively shit-eating.

He nudges Drew, "This yapper's the one you're here to check up on? We've checked on him, you wanna go now?"

[Drew Roscoe] Linus and Remy are all but at one another's throats. Remy's shifted so he's standing in front of her, spitting venom at the other Godi for insulting Drew-- though she seems to have missed how she was insulted. She's muttering, and Kora's interjecting, her voice all brass and authority.

Drew, shut the fuck up.

This was far from the first time she's heard those words, there's nearly a quip of humor at the corners of her mouth at the familiar cadence of the order. She presses her lips together, wrings her hands for warmth, and cups them up to her mouth to breathe on them, bringing circulation back to her fingertips and stepping out to the side so she's part behind Remy, part to his side now instead.

Linus's eyes fall on her, sarcasm and bitterness in them as he compliments Remy on his choice of 'sweet and tender'. The Kin frowns, hard. She doesn't look taken aback, shocked or upset like delicate girls tend to when they've been had like that. Rather, she just looks annoyed. Really now? her eyes said into his. Unnecessary.

And Kora's stomping on the fight, firm that it will not happen, not here and not tonight. She's demanding that Linus apologize to the Kin, affirming what Drew felt in her chest when the insult was made. She doesn't look haughty, though, or satisfied that Kora took her side. She just sniffs against the effects cold will have on a healthy nose and breathes further into her hands.

The doors open from behind, Erek's working his way in, and Remy's nudging her with his elbow, talking toward her ear. She glanced back toward Erek, and an expression of partial relief softened her features away from the irritation that was set there prior.

"Yeah. On both counts."

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Can I repair da car? Dex + Crafts (Car Repair)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] He moves over to Linus as he goes on about being blind, while he was being reprimanded by his alpha. Moving up along side of dressed down true he was suppose to help with this 'blind problem.'

His eyes moving over Drew a few moments as he takes in the scent on her. Looking her up and down a little more as he realizes what he can smell now, smirking. The grin widening even more when the scent comes walking through the door.

Then back to Linus.

"Why ya blind?"

[Sofie Janssen] "Never been to Alberta." The conversation they are having is low. Sofie walks with her hands down by her sides instead of in her pockets. Her balance is better that way. The ground is unforgiving, blanketed with snow. The hem of pants will be wet by the time they get wherever it is they are going, walking up the street.

A glance is given to the stranger, who she knows as Bridget because she had been listening earlier. "Small place, over by Montana." Top end of Idaho. Doesn't really matter where. She's not there now, but she's starting to feel a little pang of homesickness.

"You heading to the Brotherhood?"

[Linus] Linus freezes in place at that all too familiar tone in Kora's voice. Shoulders hunch and his face screws up in something like grim displeasure. Fingers curl with arms straight to either side and then he's turning with a large exhale to regard Kora. Something of a dead pan;

"Yeah, Renders~rhya. I hear you." And then he turns narrowed eyes at Drew, mouth working around something...displeased and displeasing. "When I find something, you'll be the first to hear about it. Trust in that if nothing else." A promise of something. An apology now would be rife with...well, worse than any further insults. The Debt and the Apology would come as one.

Fenrir didn't do Sorry. At least, not well.

He turns back toward the Lupus, last vestige of something human drifting away to leave behind the possibility of what was to come: Duty. Spirits and Hunting. A much needed release.

"Let's do this, Claws~Yuf." Because the Lupus was a forseti and because Gwen had said he had jaws for tradition. The Godi seems to collect himself for a moment, then Fire~Claws asks. He turns and his face splits into a grin.

"Cause of all the monkey two legs running around, I talk the most. Rarely listen."

The air collides with a Pop and he vanishes into the Umbra.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Izzy leads him to her car -- which, according to her -- was not that far. The Galliard is mostly silent as he follows her; roughly tugging the zip up his jacket outside. The storm has not lessened with the passing hours, if anything, it has worsened and before long his face is all but numb despite his hood and gloves.

He signals the Fenrir to get inside her car; and opens the front; his upper body vanishing under the hood. After several moments; a palm smacks the side of the vehicle twice through the snowy windshield she can see Patrick winding his finger. Translation: Start her up.

[Kora] "Drew." Kora's arms are crossed underneath her breasts, over her stomach. "When the storm lets up, you are going to come here and find me. We need to have a talk." A sharp look over the kin's shoulder, at Remy. "Alone."

Then she's finished, Kora. And wanders off someplace while her player collapses into a coma.

[Erek Skulason] *Erek hovers outside near the door, watching the traffic of people exiting the church, he isn't privy to what's going on inside. His head turning, tilting to the side to track his vision over Izzy as she and Patrick are getting into her car. Further away, to barely see the tail end of Sofie heading down the sidewalk, and then finally Drew with Remy, when he's swung his vision back to the doors. Shoulders rolling back in faint shrug under clothing*