Ornature

[John Brendan Cavanagh] (fyi! I have 'net problems, sometimes I lose connection and it stops refreshing. so! please have ze patience with me. :) )

[Trent Brumby] The word had been spread out, not only with the Kinfolk community but through the human organizations too. The idea had been to get people involved in cleaning up the area, specifically in and around the river. This would be the first of many efforts in locations around the city. It's something that Kinfolk should be doing anyway, if you were to ask Trent's opinion.

Today, earlier in the morning, he had gathered along a stretch of area along the river bank, setting up some folding tables that he had hired out from some company. These would be filled with various items in table clusters: information pamphlets for organizations and charities in the area that promoted environmental issues and welfare; boxes of disposable gloves and two coloured bag options - one for recycling and the other for ordinary trash; tables for food and drink that had been arranged with the help of John Cavanagh and some kinfolk at the Brotherhood, and so on. Everyone had contributed their own little bit as they spread the word out and while it had been Trents idea he had happily let others take some control as long as they kept in the spirit of the day. This wasn't some money making scheme where people were forced to sign up for third world charities or buy products to support some monetary funds. In fact, those that were here early enough, had seen him get quite irate with a group that had showed up with such plans to do that. They had set up further down the river but there wasn't much he could do about that since it was a public area. He'd fumed quality about it and certainly made sure that they kept their distance. It certainly helped that Izzy had got on board a good lot of officers that had came down to help the cause in a good show of force - Trent was most pleased, in more ways then one.

Now as it drifts over towards lunch, there's quite a few people milling about in their groups, eating or moving along the banks with gloves and bags, picking up rubbish. From elderly to teens and all walks of life, they have shown that it is possible to still get a community together - even if they are all just a minority.

Trent is standing behind the table with bags and gloves, smiling as he hands over some bags to a group of younger teenage girls who are more then happy to flirt with the older man. He finds it harmless enough and in good humour, as he instructs which bags are what and where to put them when they're finished up. He tells them to help themselves over by the drinks and thanks them very much for coming, and if they're interested there's a sign up sheet where they can leave contact details if they're interested in doing this again sometime.

[Mighty Mei] (dusts off boot and stomps off with purpose!)

[JB Cavanagh] The afternoon is bright and clear, and cooler than it has been. The first hint of fall is in the air, and everything feels sharp, crisp, particularly in the cool morning air, first light, when the event started. Mist settled over the Chicago river made the setting softer, but the sun soon burned it away.

Lucy wanted to work; to wear the gloves and pick up trash, to skip stones in the river and search for toads or lizards in the shallows. He kept her away from the shallows, knowing she'd find mostly broken glass. After a good hour's worth of work, Lucy was ready to serve coffee and and tea and scones to the workers at one of the tables. The girl is this soft contrast to her dad, pale skinned, with shining dark brown hair and opaque blue-gray eyes.

While John and his sous-chef start to unload their catering van to set up for lunch, she remains there with the last of the morning's scones and sliced whole-grain breads and muffins, under the watchful eye of a tattooed waitress with bright, candy-apple red hair cut in a Betty Paige style.

There's water now, and lemonade too. And a tattooed man tending a pair of heavy-duty looking grills while another starts to set out aluminum tins full of a series of bright salads. The tables are covered with linens, and there's a small cafe Lulu banner in front of one.

[Victor Oseragighte] There are a lot of kin present. A lot of faces he doesn't know. He takes his gloves and a bag and stands apart then, not unsocial, just watchng, not wishing to unnerve anybody; some kin he knows can't handle them as well as others. His usual garb is good enough for today, hard-toed boots, black jeans, a black tank-top. It's chill out, but rather nice for somebody of a more northerly origin.

[Cigney] She came dressed in some old beatup jeans, an old Chemical Romance concert t-shirt, and worn in steel tipped hiking boots. Her long blonde hair is pulled back into a braid that falls half way down her back. A pair of aviator sunglasses shields her eyes from the glare of the bright autumn sun. Her presence as always is warm, her scent a mixture of wild flowers, sandalwood, and a hint of citrus...the feeling of summer clings to her aura.

Once the clean up is finished, Cigney lends herself to organize the smaller children into a play group to keep them busy while the adults took a rest and socialized. They play "what time is it Mr. Wolf?", and sit in a circle while eating, drinking, as the Get kin quizzes them about nutrition and exercise. Questions like what is protein and what does it do, or how much water we need a day. Followed up by a game of freeze tag. Cigney doesn't seem to tire one bit.

[Trent Brumby] Leaving the table to the tender hands of an older housewife who calls Trent at least twice a month, he heads over to greet Victor. Like everyone else, he's dressed rather casual, a pair of jeans and a t.shirt to go with it, with some work boots on his feet.

"Hey Victor," he calls out, approaching the Garou that he spied standing off to the side by himself. As he nears, he extends a hand out to shake the others. "I'm glad to see you could make it." Trent, for all his quietness, can be quite personable when he needs to be, and (surprisingly) can organize and give direction for all of his submissiveness to certain Garou.

[JB Cavanagh] There are kin - strangers - and ordinary humans. Police here, college kids there. - among the kin is the seven year old girl who watches Victor with huge round eyes, perfectly blue, some gray sky-color. Her blood is Fianna - pure, coursing under her skin, more pronounced than her father's when he comes by and slides his large hand over her shining head. She tugs JB away from the grill as it begins to heat up, and he bends his head to listen to her request.

JB glances briefly at Victor, waves his spatula to Trent, and then sends Lucy off to join the circle of children around Cigney. When the kinswoman asks about protein and nutrition, Lucy is a star. There's a point where she starts talking about the harvest and seasonal vegetables and "hydro-de-nated" oil and real food. One of the other children pronounces himself a vegetarian, just like his parents, with their hemp shoes and their Sierra Club t-shirts, who are trudging back from the river today. Lucy calls herself a "locavore" with this little grin. She doesn't know entirely what it means. Sometimes says it because she thinks it sounds like a dinosaur.

[Archie] Archie's arrival was marked by the arrival of a truck. There were ladders on the outside of the truck as well as all manner of containers loaded with equipment on board the truck. He hopped out of the passenger side and began to approach the group. He was dressed in a t-shirt and blue jeans, and would appear unassuming if not for the badge that he wore on his belt identifying him as law enforcement of some sort.

He had company. A larger man with a shaven head, sun glasses and a grim look on his face. Both men approached, though only Archie really presented a smile when he wandered up to introduce himself to others."Is there a Trent around here somewhere?"He calls out to the group. He hadn't met most of these people but he was here on his day off to... Well... Do what he does every day anyway.

[Victor Oseragighte] He accepts the offered hand with a nod and a smile. "Hey. Good crowd." The tone is complimentary, impressed, even if he doesn't say much. But then, Victor doesn't unless he has to. He recognizes that the scope of this was larger than he'd expected, and probably all the better that he was here; so many kin in one place, after all, not a bad idea to have a Garou or two on hand in case something happened.

[Trent Brumby] "Yeah, it is a good turn out. I'm quietly impressed. Make sure you go and grab some food, that over there," nodding with a smile to John when he gets a wave of a spatula in his direction, "runs a cafe. He's grilling up a storm. He's one of our own and has a daughter running around somewhere. Cute as a button."

"Oh," this is when his name is called out. "Sorry, just a tick Victor," he tells the Garou, and turns back to head towards the person that's calling his name out.

Picking up his pace his long stride eats up the ground as he approaches Archie, glancing from him to others with him and back again. "I'm Trent," he extends a hand out to shake the others. "What can I help you with?"

[Trent Brumby] [edit: "Make sure you go and grab some food. That man over there, John, -- runs a cafe." ]

[Cigney] She's very impressed by the answers everyone gives, and especially Lucy's knowledge of the hydro-de-nated oils. Cigney explains that there's all sorts of ways people eat. At the mention of "locavore", the kinswoman perks an eyebrow and decides to ask the girl later what exactly that means, having maybe a small idea in the back of her mind.

Once the game is done, Cigney walks back towards the hydration station to get some more water. The gaggle of kids follows her, speaking up to get her attention. She jokingly orders a round for her new best friends. Taking a moment, she looks around and feels glad to be here. It was a good day.

Aside from Trent, she doesn't know anyone here. But it doesn't seem to matter. With the water she needed, she lets the kids organize their own game, standing off to the side to referee. Allowing her the time to watch the interactions of the group in general.

[Adrian Sandenberg] Adrian's there - or rather, he arrives there, steps out of a cab in stylishly distressed jeans and a long sleeved Henley (because it might just be a bit cooler to most people here, but to a desert born boy, it's nearly frigid) that fits nicely to his slim frame, with sturdy work boots - all of which he may have bought for just this occasion, as Adrian-the-fashion-plate is hardly the jeans-and-work-boots type. To complete the impression, though, there are work gloves in his back pocket and, for those Garou present, there's that faint whiff of Fenrir breeding.

He's quite the picture, is Adrian Sandenberg.

He knows Trent, of course, and Victor, but Cigney and JB are strangers. So it's towards those he knows that he heads, the better to check in and do his part. "Hej, Trent," he says, but doesn't keep him occupied when others are there to do so. "Hallo, Victor."

[Archie] He reaches out his own hand and smiles warmly. He certainly didn't give off the same vibe as the larger man beside him."Archie Hackett... I don't believe we had a chance to meet in person yet."He then turns to the larger man beside him."And this large bull of a man beside me is Jamie Reynolds... Don't mind his sour look he's still pouting cause I wouldn't let him bring his sidearm with him."He adds with a little laugh.

"Anyway I brought a cleanup truck with me. We got everything you need in there... Garbage bags, Gloves, Biohazard Suits... They might seem like a bit much but they're not a huge deal just something to help keep the crew from getting anything nasty on 'em."He says with a nod of his head."And if we stumble on anything particularly nasty just give Jamie and I a call... We'll handle it."He says with a laugh."Pretty much whatever you need on the truck... Probably a lot more than we'll need."He nods and shrugs."But you can never be too careful right?"He asks with a smile before looking back at the larger man with him."Go get the truck opened up will ya?"He asks with a smile before turning back to face Trent.

"With that done... Where do ya need me?"

[Victor Oseragighte] He smiled as Trent spoke, and when he was called away he looked over to note John again and headed his way, thinking he might get a bite before everything was underway. The gloves are tucked into his back pocket. Adrian calls out to him and he looks over, raising a hand in greeting before he's arrived at the restauranteer's grill to nod to him.

[JB Cavanagh] The food on the tables is fresh and local. There's a tomato and onion salad, made with a variety of heirloom tomatoes, every shade from purple to yellow to red, some striped, some saturated, sweet onions and fresh shredded basil. Beside it, another simple summer salad of chopped cucumbers, feta cheese, and mint. A pair of wooden bowls are filled and refilled with fresh potato chips.

There are a pair of men behind the grill. One has dirty blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail, a Dead Kennedy's t-shirt, and a smattering of tattoos. The other, taller with short, cropped dark hair - the one with the spatula - has the faint hint of blood that marks him as kin.

There and hamburgers - and turkey burgers and black bean burgers, with condiments like caramelized onions and home-made pickles. There's a tin full of roasted ratatouille for vegetable sandwiches, to each as a salad or a topping, and John and his staff cook and serve the picnic food with an easy, engaging charm. Sweet corn and black bean salad round out the offerings.

John always has an eye out for Lucy, and when the teaching sessions shifts to a game, with Cigney standing alone alongside, the chef - who smells of cooked meat, now, smoke and sweat from the work - steps away from the grills, grabbing a bottle of water and swallowing back a mouthful or two, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his Ramones t-shirt.

"Clever idea, to organize the kids like that. Oh, hey. Gimme a sec - " then he turns heads back to the tables, offering Victor an engaging grin, briefly explaining the menu.

"The beef's grass fed, locally raised. The turkeys, too. There are three or four lamb burgers left if you'd prefer. I get them from a farmer in southern Wisconsin. What can I get you?"

[Trent Brumby] "Nice to meet you Archie," Trent shakes his hand with a warm grasp, releasing it as he listens, nodding along. His brows hitch at the mention of bio-hazard suits, surprised and a little thrown off guard. Archie's laugh gets a smile out of him. Jamie gets his hand shaken too and told it was nice to meet him as well.

"Thanks for coming along and bringing a crew," he tells Archie, sincere about it. "You know, anywhere you want to start. There's heaps of folks doing their own thing wandering around." Turning to look around at the various people walking about picking up rubbish or eating food, they drift along the river bank doing their part.

Looking back to Archie he smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Grab a bag, some gloves and help out. Every little bit counts. There's also some food over there and drinks, if you guys are hungry. Go and help yourself. John over there is a chef at Cafe Lulu, and his food will fill you right up."

Adrian says hello and gets a smile and a wave of hand. His smile for Adrian is warmer in the paleness of his gray eyes. They go way back, as far as way is with Trents time in Chicago. "Good to see you Adrian. You're looking well," he calls out.

[Victor Oseragighte] "Oh. Try a bit whatever you like. Ah, meat, though. Veggies and... ah... roughage I don't do so good with." How to explain his strict dietary needs openly? Kin might understand, but others... Victor might well need to come up with some sort of excuse, like training, he's seeing. He smiles, though, a genuine expression, and is happy to try whatever JB will offer him.

[Cigney] The arrival by taxi is hard to miss...and the way he's dressed, Cigney watches Adrian a moment or two longer than she should have probably. As the grillmaster speaks, she turns to him instead and gives a warm smile. She opens her mouth just as she moves back to the table. Awkward. So it is with Cigney. Out of place just doesn't quite sum it all up.

Two kids start shoving each other, and Cigney goes to intervene. Separating the two and threatening a penalty box. They then run off to play again. She watches the food table now for a moment, before calling a break so the kids can reorganize and start round 2 of their game.

[Archie] He nods back at Trent and pauses to look around at the area."Well if you don't mind I think Jamie and I will have a little look around to see what needs to be hit and once we have a plan ready we'll get to it. I know Jamie was looking forward to the free food so best we get crackin' to earn our keep."He adds with a little laugh before turning around to head back towards the truck to begin getting himself set up.

[JB Cavanagh] There's no genuine way to explain. Not here. The other man on the grill bears no pure blood at all, and the waitress with the candy-apple red hair and the tight tanks and tees is equally normal, human. Human enough to shy just away from Victor, in this way that is barely noticeable, spooning out a serving of the corn salad onto someone's plate by way of refill.

JB meets Victor's gaze with rather more directness than most kin can manage. Maybe it's that he's taller than the Garou. Maybe he doesn't understand what or who Victor is. After all, he doesn't have the sense of blood ties that Garou have. There's a whole world underneath his skin, and Lucy's, that he cannot see or sense. "Atkins diet, eh? You know, I'm pretty sure that roughage is part of it though. Just fruits you can't have." And, so saying, he serves Victor a pair of plain burgers, no buns, with a gesture toward the salads and toppings. "Help yourself. I swear most of those won't up your carb-count."

--

One of the children in the center of the shoving is Lucy, who is still small for her age and cute as a button, with shining dark hair and huge blue-gray eyes, set in a perfectly round face, rosy cheeks a contrast to her pale skin and dark hair. It takes just a bit - more, to pull her away. Louder voice, a stronger hand on her shoulder, but it doesn't really go beyond kids being kids, except in the way she stares down her opponent when it's over, then eschews the second round of the game as baby-ish, prefering to circle back to Cigney, curl an arm around the young woman's thigh, and look up at her, bright-eyed. "What's your name?"

[Adrian Sandenberg] Catching Cigney looking his way, he offers a smile - and it's a model's smile, a runway smile, that's half smirk and all smooth. In fact, he's full of that runway look - he's hardly stunning, but there's just something about him. The way he fills out the jeans and shirt, maybe. The way he drops his aviators to cover his eyes. Something.

"Thank you, Trent," he answers easily, and a hand brushes over Victor's shoulder briefly - clearly, he knows both men, and is friendly with them. The accent is a bit British-like, but not really - something about the vowels, the way his Ws and Vs resolve into something different. Whatever it is, it's certainly not American. "It looks like a good turn out. I meant to be hear earlier, but there was a department meeting - I'm not too late, am I?"

Of course there's still work to be done; there's always work to be done.

[Trent Brumby] Laughing low at the mention of how Jamie is looking forward to the free food, he nods to the other man and tells him: "Thanks for coming along. If you need a hand, there's plenty willing around, and if you've got any more questions I'll be roaming around." Then Archie is heading off towards the truck and Trent is moving in the opposite direction.

He gives a glance towards the children and Cigney, offering a woman a smile and a nod of her head. He doesn't come over and see if she's alright, because well, there were times in his life that he would have had his head bitten off by suggesting that they couldn't handle children, after all they are women and know how to raise children best -- all for just asking if they needed a hand. Some habits are hard to break and he leaves her to it.

Over at the food, Adrian asks about being late. "Never too late," he remarks easily, "I think we'll be here until late afternoon. Then pack up and call it a day." With this he looks up, meeting John's eyes as if to see if that was alright with him. Trent likes working in teams when he has to make decisions, he doesn't like to delegate unless he really has to. This whole event had been something of a challenge for him. But challenges are met head on and with plenty of drive behind it.

[Cigney] Must be a style thing, these aviator sunglasses. Cigney pushes her back up the bridge of her nose and offers a half smile in Adrian's direction until she's startled by something, or in this case someone wrapping around her leg.

"Oh...well, my name's Cigney. How about you?"

She smiles and pushes a strand of hair from Lucy's face. The way the child looks and approaches her is interestingly different. There's a force behind this girls actions that interest Cigney. The kinswoman notes that the girl isn't playing anymore...but lets it go unless the girls wants to talk about it more.

A small wave in Trent's direction. Here in just a little bit she'll make sure the kids return to their families and suit up for some trash detail.

[Victor Oseragighte] He sees that JB doesn't quite understand and nods politely, foregoing the toppings even so to have at the burgers themselves. Adrian's brush earns him a smile, one of the few present he actually knows. The Wendigo wanders off to the side to eat and watch, thinking to have his snack before he gets to work.

[Imogen] It's humid out and overly warm. Still, she sits outside, alone at a table meant for more, a half finished meal of various chinese dishes cooling while she ignores it for her book. A small ceramic tea cup sits in front of her, a kettle as well - this is ignored for the cigarette held between her fingers.

It's not really a patio, more like a section of sidewalk purloined for it. Passers-by walk a mere foot or so away. Some, likely men, may cast the doctor a glance or two - her pale skin, dark eyes and red hair draw the eye. She ignores them all, turning another page in her book and exhaling smoke slowly emptying her lungs of poison.

[Night's Reprieve] It's a hot evening, some might consider it the worst kind. It's humid of course, but from where NR has come from, the humidity doesn't really pose much of a threat. In fact he is rather enjoying the weather in Chicago so far and he has a smile on his lips when he rounds the corner onto the street in which Imogen is reading her book. He wears a white wife beater in the heat and black jeans, simple leather boots. The tip of a gruesome looking scar can be seen jutting up out of the garment from his left pectoral muscle.

When he spots some familiar red hair he pauses in his step, glances at her for a moment before deciding to engage her in conversation. This time he doesn't ask her if she minds if he takes a seat. Perhaps they have moved past things like that in the Godi's eyes, or perhaps he is just forgetful of his manners tonight. Either way he slips into a chair opposite her and gives her a nod of his head. She is incredibly aware for a kin, he doesn't think for a moment that he could be surprising her.

"Evenin' Miss Slaughter. " That familiar drawl of Cajun tones. "Whatcha be readin?"

[Imogen] She has looked up, even before he takes a seat, and there is a slight arch of her eyebrow as he does, silent commentary. Apparently the kinwoman does not agree with his assessment. Or, perhaps, she judges him on his lack of manners.

Not much can be gleaned from a lifted eyebrow, after all.

She set down her book, face down as he took his seat, and she casts a glance toward it at his question. "King Lear," she says.

She is dressed in a linen suit, a black camisole beneath the beige. Her hair is up, clipped and pinned in place, a few strands straying to brush her cheek, the collar of her blazer. The hair is as unruly as it is vibrant. Chaos barely restrained by all her efforts.

Then she adds, in case the clarification was needed: "Shakespeare."

[ENN ARRR] Clarification was indeed needed, or so it seems. Things like literature are sometimes outside his grasp of knowledge. He's heard of shakespeare, or at least doesn't seem confused by the mention of the strange word. He even seems to come to realisation like the three other wise disconnected words suddenly have connection and meaning.

"Ah, I see."

He saw the raised eyebrow of course, but it doesn't hold any meaning. At least not to a Godi, maybe to his Forseti cousin.

"Any good? Whats it about?"

[Imogen] Is it any good? "Quite a few English professors and literary scholars seem to think so," answers her mouth twisting faintly.

He asks what it is about and she pauses for a moment, her fingers straying to the book, not to open it, but to touch the tips to the cover, as if the meaning might come through osmosis. A moment later, the hand leaves and she lifts her cigarette back to her lips. Inhale, then exhale.

"In a nutshell," she says, "S'about a King and two daughters who promised they loved him in very pretty words, in return for their shares of his kingdom, and the third daughter who said she had no words to describe her love and was disowned. The two flattering daughters are false and the third daughter is true."

She smirks wryly, lowering her cigarette to a glass ashtray and tapping it before setting it down. "It's a Shakespearean tragedy; everyone dies at the end."

[ENN ARRR] He places his hands against the edge of the table and leans back slightly when she begins to tell her story of... the story.. He purses his lips and contemplates the plot line for a moment.

"Everyone dies, ain't that the truth Imogen." He seems sombre in his words but when he speaks next it holds curiosity.

"But what's the moral? What's the message do you think? Flattery gets you everywhere? Stay true to your guns despite the consequences? If everyone dies then I guess neither the first two daughters or the third got anything out of their choices. Is that the message? It don't matter what you do in life it all ends the same?"

He muses with a wry smile.

"Maybe its just a story."

[Imogen] When he says that everyone dies, the doctor's eyebrow arches slightly. "Particularly in Shakespearean tragedies," she says, "as I hope you are not saying that because you think I have missed this critical fact in reality."

He asks for the moral and she regards him, lifting her cigarette to her lips. When she lowers it, her mouth is still twisted, far from a smile, something more edged and cutting.

"Surely you do not want to waste time on discussing the morals and meanings of human literature."

[ENN ARRR] His brows narrow and he regards her with almost confusion in his face.

"Why not Imogen? I don't think its wasted time. There's lesson's to be learnt everywhere Miss Slaughter, how can I do service to a species I know nothin' about?"

There's a pause and he regards the Kinfolk before asking

"Would you think time spent learning stories of my kind is wasted?" His voice is low and gruff, there's weight behind that question.

[Imogen] "Doctor Slaughter, if you please." She corrects him without rancour or ire. She might as well be asking him to pass the salt.

"I've not spent time learning your stories," she answers his question as she lifts her cigarette, her hand pausing before she quite fits the filter between her lips. "So surely I am not in a position to judge."

[ENN ARRR] "Doctor Slaughter, aye, my apologies." A slight smirk and wrinkling of his brow. And

"Maybe you should, you might find them interesting. I'm sure there's a King Lear out there somewhere from our kind."

A pause.

"Even if only for entertainment."

[Imogen] Imogen shakes her head slightly. "I know enough of you and yours as it is from the present. I haven't much interest in hearing your past."

Her pure breeding is a heated brand on her blood. The memory of the his history - though not his tribes - burned into her skin, a sharp contrast to her words. She resembles past Garou, for all that she refuses to acknowledge it.

"Besides," she smirks, "I have Shakespeare fer entertainment."

[Roman Turner] He'd grown accustomed to odd looks with his hat and all, so for the most part he seemed not to notice the occasional honk or hoot as he strolled down the street. Tonight the old serviceable Stetson was pushed back so he could catch a better look at Kora's face in the light from shops and street lamps they passed under.

"Got the john installed today and excepting for the color, it ain't half bad if I say so myself. Look on the bright side, brown won't show so much cra..er...stuff like a white one would."

[ENN ARRR] He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Well, suit ye self Dr. Slaughter, I don't mind learnin' bout human tales." There doesn't seem to be disapproval in the way he says it.

"I might look into this King Lear though myself, or maybe some other Shakespeare. Sounds like a story I could sink my teeth into."

[Sparrow] Who knew what she was doing in this part of town. Probably looking for food.

More accurately, Sparrow was buying a shirt. She was on the streets, in one of those faux Chinese-cut shirts and her usual, ubiquitous skirt and boot combo. She bundles something up in a plastic bag and shoves it in a trash can. The shirt seems to be a nice enough fit, covers all she needs covered, then again, no one really wants to look her way. it's been a bad day.

Sparrow checks her bracelets, making sure they're all on. some are metal, some wood and beads and what-have-you.

What she's wearing isn't important, though. What is important, however, is that she's out and about tonight, and headed towards a group of people. Her stomach growls an unpleasant, angry sound.

[Imogen] "Make sure," she says, idly as she crushes out her cigarette, "that yeh buy a copy wi' colloquial explanations opposite the verses."

She picks up her tea pot and pours, fragrant green liquid filling the cope. "Most find Shakespeare's language rather inaccessible, particularly if it's their first time through."

[Roman Turner] He'd scrounged the toilet from a condemned apartment building and though the seat didn't match because it came from another location, the mix came out looking like some twisted ice-cream sunday in his young mind. Well worn boots better suited for a ranch, along with stiffly pressed dark blue Wrangler jeans, combined with the hat and button up western cut shirt, all set him apart from the rest of the city. And there was Sparrow up ahead in that danged skirt she insisted on wearing though the wind blew so hard here he was sure she was going to end up with it up over her head showing her business to all of Chicago. His reaction on spotting Sparrow was to curl his tongue between his teeth and let out a high piecing whistle followed by a shout.

"CUZ!"

[Rainer] He comes out of nowhere...as much as a 6'2 blonde can anyway. One minute NR is chatting to a lovely red haired kinswoman. Rainer walks out onto the sidewalk and sees them. He can't pass for human if you know what you're looking for. But he doesn't scare anyone who doesn't. The next minutes he's slapping a hand on the Godi's thick shoulder. He - rather loudly - asks "What did I tell you!" Keeps his hand on NR's shoulder. Looks at Imogen. Looks back to NR. Grins that grin that NR has probably wanted to cuff off his face a few times. "Oh I'm sorry am I interrupting?"

[ENN ARRR] His jaw clenches and he none too politely gives his shoulder a heavy shrug to remove the paw from his cousin. His eyes flick upwards to the man and he stares at him a moment, narrowing his eyes before he smiles.

"Dr. Slaughter, this is my cousin Rainer. Rainer, Dr. Slaughter."

It's then he spots Sparrow, then hears a rather high pitched whistle. His ears twitch inhumanely and his chin shifts to the sound.

"Our kind. New faces to me." This said more to Rainer.

[Imogen] Imogen regards Rainer mildly as he smacks Night's Reprieve's shoulder, as he grins a shit-eating grin and asks if he's disturbing anything.

"Not at all," she says, her voice deliberately mild, and unrevealing beyond that.

The piercing whistle draws Imogen's attention as well, and she catches sight of Roman, then Sparrow beyond him. Though the words were not spoken to her, she answers them anyway.

"They are your Jarl's packmates," she says.

[Sparrow] "Ro-maaaaaaaaan!" she yells back. She waves. Back and forth, her bracelets jingle. There is a distinct disconnect, because looking at her, something about that girl with all that rage can't possibly be right, but we digress. "Quit makinsomuchracketohmygaaaaawd!"

She grins afterward. Family. Ohhh joy.

[Rainer] You can't blame his behaviour on alcohol. It's not on his breath. His eyes are clear. He doesn't stumble when NR shakes him off. Rainer pulls out a pack of gum. Starts chewing a piece as they're introduced. He doesn't share the Godi's accent. His own is Louisianan but not Cajun. "Pleasure, Dr. Slaughter, ma'am."

Then there's a ruckus. Rainer looks over at them. Looks back to NR. Flicks his eyebrows. "Well, I reckon we ought to go make ourselves acquainted, don't you?"

[Roman Turner] His youthful face cracked in a wide smile with the ruckas Sparrow made. Sometimes she cracked him up.

"Lord howdy, look at the way she's wavin them skinny arms around like she's trying to land a dang plane."

He chuckled shaking his head as they closed distance and he finally spotted that pretty red hair of Imogen's and the two dudes she was with and his heart tightened. His Angel was out with another fella. Not just one, but two.

[Kora] "That's a charming thought," Kora muttered, the edge of a familiar smile curving across her generous mouth. She's a head taller than the Gaian, but the Stetson makes up some of the difference. Maybe the cowboy boots do, too. They walk in step, that sort of easy grace of pack animals. Her Doc Marten's, his cowboy boots. She is wearing an old black t-shirt announcing her love of late 80s indie music PIXIES it says, white letters on black cotton over worn jeans, multicolored laces threaded around the shafts of the boots at her calves.

Then Roman spots Sparrow, and whistles. Kora glances up, briefly visible in profile, from where her attention is snagged on something in a picture window. Some old junk shop, selling antiques and "antiques" and paperback books, seventy-five cents each or ten for five dollars, half of them in Mandarin.

Kora appears just after Sparrow waves from across the street, standing on the curb at Roman's side. Her hands are still in her pockets, sunk there to the first knuckle, this easy body language, lean and sure. She lifts her chin by way of greeting to Sparrow, turning her head in an animal cant visible from across the street, if only because of the weight of her hair, pulled back from her features and secured by the barrel of a broken mechanical pencil.

Then her glance shifts, tracing the line of Roman's sight as he finds Imogen, two strangers. Shall we?

The invitation has a sort of lilt in the back of her mind.

To be fair, she doesn't really wait for an answer, just nudges Roman with her hip, tips her head to Sparrow, and starts walking toward the patio.

Hope Imogen ordered the large pot of tea.

[Kora] (sorry! lost my first post, then had a bunch of narration to do. my internet is extra wonky tonight! fair warning. :) )

[ENN ARRR] "I reckon they be comin' to us Cousin."

His eyes glance to Imogen for a moment and mention of the Jarl's pack. Interesting. Very interesting.

"Best behave Marred Valor."

And then he waits.

[Roman Turner] He heard the little Shall we? almost as if he had thought the words. Having someone else talking in his head was still new to him and sometimes he wondered if Kora could read any of his thoughts, though he figured since she didn't have white hair springing out of her head yet, she likely couldn't read what she really shouldn't and remain sane. So, along with his Alpha, he started in the direction of his double dating Angel with a crushed heart tightening his chest.

[Imogen] (uhm... i JUST NOW realized it is my turn, so if someone else has a post ready, go ahead!)

[Imogen] Imogen regards the approaching Garou, her expression contained, carefully maintained. Roman looks slightly hang-dog. Imogen watches all three, then turns back to her table. There are a few plates in front of her, all cooling. The waiter has not bothered to brave the outdoors to retrieve them since the arrival of Night's Reprieve.

The Garou approach and Imogen -

Imogen lights a cigarette.

[Rainer] "Who, me?" Like the thought of not behaving never crossed his mind. He pretends to try to look innocent. It's different from when he actually tries to look innocent. "Bro I always behave."

[ENN ARRR] He throws his wayward cousin a sceptical look and grimaces.

"This should be lovely."

[Imogen] (Lethe is once more having connection problems)

[Kora] Roman's heart is being slowly crushed in his chest, squeezed into some essential nugget of blood and muscle. Kora is this even counterpoint to the young cowboy, worrying about his Alpha reading his thoughts, feeling the stirring of jealousy under his skin. Her hands remain in her pockets, but after that tip of her head toward Sparrow, her dark eyes remain on the trio. On Imogen, first.

Kora is keen-eyed and alert; from a distance, she studies Imogen's body language. As the pair - Sparrow behind them, doubtless, crossing the street, in her skirts and bangles - approach the patio, her dark gaze shifts from Imogen to the pair of Garou with her.

"Evening, Doc." her voice is low. "Sorry to intrude." She steps adroitly around one of the chairs scattered outside, skirts an empty table, Roman in her wake. There's no pure blood in her. Of the pair of strange Garou, her attention slides to Rainer, first. The breeding is the draw. Then it shifts to Night's Reprieve, as her sense of their body language wins over breeding. The look he shot the other, and the grimace.

"Who are your friends?" Kora's attention is sure, direct and steady on Night's Reprieve. It's clear that she expects the Garou, not the kinswoman, to answer that particular question.

[Imogen] Kora apologizes for intruding and Imogen's flicker of an expression is something like amusement, wry and perhaps a little resigned.

She says nothing, as Kora asks the kinwoman a question, but clearly expecting the Garou to answer.

She takes another drag of her cigarette and moves her attention to passers-by.

[Roman Turner] Indeed he tagged along with his Alpha and when she drew close to the strangers, he took up a tactical position of slightly behind and to the left of Kora. He reached up and with a slight touch to the brim of his hat said.

"Well howdy there Miss Doctor Slaughter. Fine evening, ain't it just?"

Putting on his best show face. The two Garou received a faint nod of his head. His breeding was faint, but it was there and though he stood just under five and a half feet, the boots and hat gave him a few added inches. In his mid-teens, with low rage, he normally didn't cause much of a stir unless it was to laugh at his accent or clothing.

[ENN ARRR] His eyes travel from Imogen to the new comers, looking over all of them as he leans back in his chair before finally resting upon Kora. He sucks in his cheeks and pushes his lips out a moment in thought.

"Night's Reprieve, cliath Godi of Fenris. This " he indicates with a shrug of his head "Is Rainer, Marred Valor. Cliath Forseti, my cousin and my pack mate." His accent is strong, Cajun. They ain't from around here.

Usually he would let the taller my youthful looking Forseti damn well introduce himself. He seems like he doesn't want to give the guy a chance to speak though if it can be avoided.

Imogen had said the Jarl's packmates were approaching. She said nothing of the Jarl herself.

[Roman Turner] Eyes the color of faded denim moved from the reclining speaking Night's Reprieve to Marred Valor. Chestnut hair peeked out beneath the hat he wore, showing at the back of his neck and ears. Though he wanted to look at Kora, he didn't and he managed to keep his mental voice under control too. Miracles do happen sometimes.

[Fire-Claws] The city was much larger than one would begin to expect. Much to hunt as it seemed that the wyrm was everywhere. And the more to hunt the better. But he was still new here, there were other packs that called this place home, even if the markings were hard to find in this damned body.

But he did have a mission to uphold, first and foremost was coming across what he had learned was his Jarl. Some bad ass woman named Kora, not much to go on, but it would have to do. The bold little kin monkey didn't go into detail about her, but the name and the idea of what this city had to offer would be enough.

Hunting down this one down would take a great deal of work. But this part of the city, so filled with people it almost made him sick. The way they crowded the streets, most of them looking for some tainted food or some sadistic pleasure to be filled. Dark brown eyes narrow as he moves through the street, watching as people part to make way for him.

[Kora] Night's Reprieve would have a few inches of height on her if he were standing up. He's sitting down, though, and she's simply - taller. Her longer fingers are curled over the back of one of the wrought iron chairs scattered around the open patio. The nails are blunt. They were painted black sometime in the last three weeks, but most of that polish has flaked away.

"Kora, Eyjólfsdóttir to my kin, just Kora here. she who offers sorrow to the Nation, fostered at the Sept of Wind and Rain in Hjaltland, cliath, Skald, Jarl of the Fenrir of Maelstrom and alpha a pack under Hermóðr. My packmates," she tips her head toward Roman. " - can introduce themselves."

There's no accent to her voice; it is simply low - a rich alto with a certain confident undertone. She has narrow shoulders and a lean physique that tends toward the boyish, except for the distinct, subtle curve of her hips.

"I'm glad to see more Fenrir. Are you passing through? Or here to stay?"

[Rainer] They're the same height. Their hair and eyes look similar. But Rainer has breeding his cousin doesn't. Doesn't make him a better warrior or a better Fenrir. Just makes him easier to spot. He looks from Kora to Roman. Looks back. His nostrils flare when he smells Imogen's cigarette. He keeps chewing his gum...and maybe to NR's surprise doesn't interrupt.

[Roman Turner] "Howdy, I'm Roman Turner, given the name of Fate by the Nation. New Moon, Cliath, Coggie."

Let them figure out how on earth two Coggies ended up in a pack with a Fenrir Alpha following a Fenrir Totem. He still couldn't explain how they just fit.

[ENN ARRR] Cliath, Skald, Jarl.

The Godi narrows his brows and is jaw twitches slightly. His cousin's silence is noted, gold stars are added to his chart on the pack wall.

"Honor to meet you Jarl, we have decided to stay. There is much to be done in the city, many battles to be fought." He watches her a moment longer before his eyes flick to Roman and he nods his head.

Packed with a Coggie, it gets stranger.

"Are there many more of our Tribe in the city sister?"

[Imogen] Imogen turns her head when she exhales, though it does not keep the Garou from the smell of the poison which is one of her many vices.

The Garou's conversation washes around her. She smokes her cigarette - and beyond acknowledgement of Roman's brave-faced greeting, does not participate.

[Roman Turner] "This here is my Cousin, Sparrow Turner. Known to the Nation as Resistance. She's same rank, though a Full Moon."

Deciding to introduce his silent cousin.

[Fire-Claws] He does not seem much of an intimidating individual from a distance. Nothing about him screams hood or thug. His light blue short, worn and ripped around the collar makes him a bit scruffy but some homeless bum people would avoid. There was something else, the way he stood. Something more, predatory about it.

But that seems that once again he was in luck, another night and there seemed to be a gathering not too far off. Several individuals talking amongst themselves around a large patio, some standing out like beacons. The purity of the gathered ebbed from one to the next, a dangerous gathering that must surely make the wyrm flee from this area.

A gathering he would need to be apart of, to introduce himself and learn of the others in this city. His path now decidedly changed for the large group.

[Victor Oseragighte] Victor swings through Chinatown every so often. He likes to travel. Likes to roam. It's in his blood, really, a certain wanderlust he can't quite name. The curious chill in the air is bracing to him, enjoyable, and against the wind he wears nothing but a black tank-top, brown dungarees, and his hard-toed boots, letting the wind dance across his dark skin gladly as he walks. They'll spot him before he does them probably, as he comes around the corner and happens to look the opposite direction first, down the street.

[Kora] Night's Reprieve announces that there is much to be done, many battles to be fought, and Kora exhales this brief, sharp breath, her nostrils flaring. Her features are dominated by a firm jaw, dark eyes and an expressive mouth that seems to curve into a faint smile even at its most neutral position.

Her mouth is still now, though, her dark eyes intent on the Godi, missing none of his minute expressions. "You've figured that out, have you?" she says, after, this brief, sharp look lilting between the pair of packmates. " - in so short a time, too." There's a sort of wry humor that lines in the undertone of her words.

"You've made your sacrifice to Maelstrom, then?"

The humor sifts away, like ash on the wind. Then the Godi asks her if there are many of the tribe in the city. Her attention draws back to him. There is a moment when it swings away, up the street, down. "There are more in the graves than among the living."

[Imogen] Imogen's brow darkens, then a moment later, smooths. She takes another drag from her cigarette.

[Roman Turner] He picked Victor out on the crowded night street pretty easily. They'd flown a kite together and been in a couple of battles together, though the last adventure to the Battle Grounds with Victor's pack had been the most confusing thing ever and he'd not seen the other Garou since. From Victor his curious gaze landed on Fire-Claws heading their way with a sense of purpose.

"Incoming" Was whispered across the Totem Link to Kora.

[ENN ARRR] He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table and raising his eyes to hers.

"Aye, figured it out with blood of my own, with my own life even on the first night in this town." His battle scar is obvious beneath his wife beater, the top of it peeking up out of the top. His eyes are serious, his tone deadly plain. This is nothing to find amusement over. The city is worse than many the Godi has travelled through.

After a moment he leans back, relaxing and he smiles.

"But, is it not the way of our tribe sister? Glory in death, glory in blood spilt." a pause. "Sacrifices have been made. Both for the totem and for the cause."

He gives a nod to his cousin.

[Victor Oseragighte] When his gaze comes around and settles on those gathered outside the restaurant, he has a moment to pause and decide if he will approach. In the end, he does so, crossing the street at his own measured pace, stoic and silent. Black eyes study the gathered.

[Fire-Claws] He begins to approach the group, slowly and cautiously. Within this form it is hard to know whose who. The human body language is so read. But with the degrees of purity within this group and the intensity of several of those about made this a prime choice to make his introductions known.

He does not speak so quickly, waiting until he can get the attention of those first before he even begins to speak. This may even be the territory of one of them, in fact it was quite likely. But there was no true way of knowing. His words, when spoken come out garbled and thick, marking him from the south.

"Eve'in."

[Imogen] Victor, Fire-claws approaches. The kinwoman regards them both for several seconds.

"You're going to run out of chairs," this as if this had not been her table originally - a place of solitude which one can gather by the book, the finished plates, the cigarette in the ashtray when she is the only smoker.

[Roman Turner] He turned so he was nearly back to back with Kora and facing the arriving Fire-Claws and Victor. Touching the brim of his hat with a nod to the two.

"Eve'in."

Was returned and an added.

"Howdy Vic."

[Kora] "These are the last days. There's work to be done, as you say, everywhere I think. Though if it's glory you're here for - glory in death, glory in blood spilled - you'll find it easily enough. If you're here for more than that - " that curve lingers at the edge of her expression. " - well, we'll know that in a few moons, I think.

"My pack and I claim territory north of the Caern, which has been held by the tribe since the Caern was raised. You're welcome there if you have need of me or mine. Or if you wish to learn more about the Caern and its history, and the tribe here.

There's a flicker of Kora's dark eyes from Night's Reprieve back to the street. There's an evenness to the way she returns the words to the Godi. This sort of straight line, touched with both reserve and a sort of living awareness.

Then Victor and Fire-Claws approach. Imogen remarks on the chair situation. Kora cuts her a sidelong glance. "Remind me later, Doc. I owe you two beers for this."

Kora is standing, her hands on the back of one of the chairs. Her body language shifts as she pulls out the chair, steps back, away from the table for another to drag over, this sort of natural, underlying hospitality.

"Victor," she says, to the Wendigo. "Join us, yeah?"

Then Fire-Claws, Kora steps away from the chair, her dark eyes touching on the new comer's plain face, is ordinary clothing. The sense of the animal about him.

"And who are you?"

[Kora] I MISS THE OLD GET OF FENRIS.

poor Kora. she's so cynical now. :(
to Peeker

[Victor Oseragighte] Roman gets a nod and a 'hey' back, another bob of his head to Kora. His eyes do move to stare a moment at the Theurge there, before he finds a good place to stand, not bothering to take a seat for himself. In truth, Victor preferred to be on his feet, and usually only sat to make others comfortable, or to not stand out. But with Kora standing herself, he could get away with it, he reasoned.

[Fire-Claws] He looks about the group, looking for some sign. Something to tell him who might be alpha or who may have claimed this area as their own. He was a visitor on these lands, it was only right he make himself known to the pack who claimed it as their own.

He is turn to the look at the table she drags over, watching without even moving a muscle to aid her. He just merely stands there until the woman speaks to him directly.

"Fire-Claws.Claith forseti of the Get of Fernis. Born many days run from 'ere. Sept of 'idden Smoke. Dis ya territory?"

His works directly right at Kora now as she seems the one to take charge among the group. A primal intensity mixed in with cluttered words.

[Roman Turner] He wasn't so sure about Victor, but he was starting to feel like he was shoulder deep in Fenrir. Famine to Feast it seemed. And Imogen likely felt like she was swimming in Garou.

[ENN ARRR] The Godi stands, gives a shrug of his shoulder and a nudge to the ribs of his cousin.

"We'll think on that Kora, Right now though, we're doin the rounds" he looks over at the gathering garou, nodding his head to fire claws and then to victor.

"If any of you would like to join us, you're more than welcome."

He'll wait a moment for anyone to reply, offer up their service and then he's off. A casual smile and tip of his head to the kinfolk.

"Dr Slaughter."

And then the two cousins are waltzing off into the night.

[ENN ARRR] [Thanks for scene all! goin to roll~]

[Victor Oseragighte] (( 'night! ))

[Roman Turner] ((Night!))

[Fire-Claws] (Night)

[Kora] If any of the staff inside the small restaurant had thought about coming to Imogen's rescue, or at least about refilling her pot with hot water for a second brewing of tea, they've given it up now. The group is one of the strangest to gather on the patio of the small Chinese restaurant, and one of the most dangerous. Those few neighborhood residents out on the street cut across the street half-way down, find some other route to their destination rather than walking anywhere close to the group of Garou.

"This," she says, with a gesture of her head, expressive, that encompasses their surroundings, Chinatown with all its many small businesses, the grocery on the corner, the herbalist down the block, the markets and greengrocers and other stores with all manner of items up and down the street, " - isn't my territory, no.

"I'm Kora. Eyjólfsdóttir, to the kin at the Sept of Wind and Rain in Hjaltland, where I fostered. she who offers sorrow to the Nation, cliath and Skald and daughter of Fenris, Jarl of the Sept. Have a seat."

There's a flicker of a look up as Night's Reprieve stands, to go patrol. "Be well, -yuf."

[Roman Turner] ((Ok, too dead to continue. Thanks for the play y'all.))

Roman watched the two Fenrir (well two of them) depart and after a moment he muttered something about finding service and headed in to the restaurant.

[Victor Oseragighte] The Wendigo watches the Theurge's departure before his eyes swing to the new arrival, a very new arrival apparently. Roman moves inside and he glances briefly to him, then back, not yet making his own introduction, deciding to wait until addressed directly and bide his time, observe.

[Rainer] He did a good job of not embarrassing his cousin. He stands quiet...and respectful...until he's nudged in the ribs. Then he perks up. Looks around at the others and gives a nod. "Nice meeting ya'll," he says. Gives a short salute. Walks off after his cousin.

(( Sorry so quiet all, been distracted all scene, LOL! Thanks for the play! ))

[Imogen] The kinwoman looks up as the Fenrir cousins depart, and merely watches them go without farewell. She lifts her cigarette back to her lips, inhaling deeply and turning her head to exhale it away from the Garou.

Introduction recur - the redhaired woman - pure-bred, pure-blooded does not see fit to partake in them. Her silence is a gap among them, though less noticeable for her half-blood.

[Fire-Claws] He watches as the gathering started to disperse. It was not uncommon, a new wolf in there midst was not so desirable to have. Besides there was much to hunt and many wyrm to kill. Afterwards he looked at Kora a moment before taking a seat when it was offered. So this was the Kora he had learned of. The bold kin monkey did not need to be so vague with such things.

"Am 'ere to make known, Jarl. Unknown to dis scab, no pack. I offa' my claws."

He looked towards the pure kin a moment, then back to Kora. City kin were strange to him.

[Kora] Things shift. Roman heads inside. Sparrow never really joins them, distracted by something in some window close by. The other pair of Fenrir stand and leave, make their farewells. Imogen smokes. And Fire-Claws makes himself known.

It is cooler now, out on the patio. Victor is standing. He doesn't like to sit. Kora sits a moment after Fire-Claws does, though, easing herself into the wrought-iron chair. Her shoulders are level and her spine is straight when she stands, but when she pulls out the chair and lowers herself into it, she she sits with her spine a curve against the right angle of the chair.

Something shifts in her at Fire-Claws so-basic offer of his claws, in this scab. "I'm glad to know you, then," she tells him, simply. " - and glad to have your claws on our side. This - " she tips her head at Victor," " - is Victor. My packmate Roman is inside the store. And this is Dr. Slaughter, kin. You're welcome here. And - forgive the presumption, but - " a faint pause, the furrowing of her brow. She lowers her quiet voice, her head canting sidelong in an animal gesture. " - are you wolf-born?"

[Kora] (sorry! wasn't refreshing!)

[Imogen] The fianna-blooded kinwoman turns her gaze toward Kora as she is introduced. Her attention moves to Fire-Claws - not much else.

A moment later, she crushes out her cigarette and gets to her feet. She is slighter than them all - clearer now that she stands as they all do. Slim-framed, slight-boned and even in heels, shorter than every one.

She walks into the restaurant - the book left on the table the only sign that she has any intention of returning.

[Victor Oseragighte] The Wendigo does take a seat, reluctantly, when everybody else finally does, so as not to appear to far apart. At Kora's introduction of him he just nods for now, letting her speak with the newcomer for now. It's easier truly for him, as he's interested as well but quite content to let her ask questions of the man. At the insight that he might be wolf-born, Victor's eyes narrow and curiosity flits through them.

[Imogen] (oh oops. Somehow totally missed the part about them all sitting. ahem.)

[Fire-Claws] He does not sit so graceful as she, unnatural pieces of iron molded by others does not make it any more comfortable or easy to sit in. He just seems to plop himself down, not even beginning to position like his Jarl had. It was just there to use to get off one's feet.

He cants his head to the side as the kin is regarded and stands. His attention quickly moves onto Victor, nodding in return to the other. He was still getting used to this way of introduction and making oneself known.

He tries his hardest to understand what Kora is saying, a couple of the words are lost in the gibber-jabber. But the last part he understands quite well. Nodding in return.

"Ya. Lone wolf now."

[Kora] "I was a lone wolf when I came to the Sept, Fire-Claws-yuf," Kora says. Her expressions are natural and easy, and human. The curve of a generous mouth, the gleam of light - animal - across her dark blue eyes. Her hair, thick and fine and fragrant with her scent, pulled up and twisted at the nape of her neck. "The first person I sought was the Jarl. His name was Truth-in-Frenzy, and he was an Adren. He offered me hospitality without question. I shared his home - such as it was in the city - until we hunted out a totem together.

"I make you the same offer. My pack claims territory just north of the Caern. It is territory that has been held by another pack, until the last of them fell and their Alpha left, since the Caern was founded. If you cross over, you will see the markings, the trophy poles, the warnings to those who would violate the territory easily. The neighborhood is called Cabrini, though I expect that means little to you. It follows the river, back from the lake into the heart of the city.

"There is little wild about it, but that is what we claim, and that is where we stay, in the remnants of an old church in the center of the territory.

"You're welcome, there. Until you find a place with another, or with my pack." The offer she makes him is unconditional, direct and clear. She holds his attention the whole time, though the particulars of her expressions are lost in both translation and the deep shadows of the street.

"I want to know, though - what brings you to the city? And do you intend to stay?"

[Victor Oseragighte] Direct. That was his initial assessment of Kora. She cut to the meat of the matter, whatever the matter happened to be. And that could be refreshing. It made it easier for him, made it so he had to say even less than usual, which suited him fine. He'd rather listen and act than talk.

[Imogen] Not much later, she returns, her bill paid. The conversation here is stilted. Victor says nothing, Imogen says nothing. Kora speaks well and clearly. Fire-Claws speaks a language garbled by his feral roots.

Still, she re-takes her seat, pulling the chair back and drawing it beneath her as she lowers herself to it, before picking up her tea cup and sipping the tepid liquid.

It is stubbornness perhaps - that she does not leave until she is well and finished.

[Fire-Claws] He could smell that scent, he has smelt it before. It was off the bold kin woman, the one that told him she did not know much about their Jarl. He was not pleased now, it began to right over his face.

But he did try and listen, learned from the leader of this Sept. The story of her beginning in this Sept, with an Adren who was so willing to offer his hunting grounds to another. Much of her story goes by the wayside, expect the mention of the Caern and where to find the pack lands.

"Wha' spirit da duj falla. If I may ax'?"

He was hungry indeed, there was little hunting to be found in this city and what he did find in this scab he offered up to the spirit of Maelstrom. It was all he had to offer, the first kill. Even if it had left him weak after such a long run.

"I 'unt wyrm. Killed ma' pack, ma alpha. I 'unt many nights. Takes me to home of cold winds. I kill many on 'unt. I 'ad no land to return to. Learn of this Sept and need claws, much wyrm to kill."

[Kora] "We follow Hermóðr the Brave." Kora tells him. Her chin rises briefly by way of greeting as Imogen returns, her bill paid, to sit down despite the strangeness of the setting, the awkwardness of the encounter, and the company. "Odin's son in the stories from the Eddas, a spirit of respect and of war, of Fenris' brood. Both of my packmates are Children of Gaia, but both have proven themselves to Hermóðr and his children, by tooth and claw."

"It's rare to find a Fenrir wolf-born in the City, -yuf. If you want to remain here, to pledge your troth to the Maelstrom, to stay and fight, you will have to adapt yourself to the city's ways, or the city will crush you. I hope you have the strength necessary to watch and listen and learn, Fire-Claws-yuf.

"And that we can count on your claws for moons to come." There's a lingering pause, Kora's dark eyes on Fire-Claws features, his expression troubled, and sharpened by his hunger.

"You look hungry. We'll find you something to eat."

[Victor Oseragighte] Wolf-born indeed. He wore the human shape better than some, though. Victor hadn't known that both of Kora's packmates were Children, only Roman. He'd have to ask her more about them, clearly. The mention of food makes his own stomach rumble a little; though divorced now from the Charm, he still carried some residual effects for the moment, largely their hunger. He knew this would fade with time and separation, though.

[Imogen] She empties her tea and gets to her feet once more.

"Enjoy th'rest of yer night," she says, to no one in particular before flicking her gaze to Kora. "Three beers," she says in an apparent nonsequitor, her mouth twisted. She picks up her closed book and takes her purse from the back of her chair before she starts away.

[Fire-Claws] He listens keenly about the spirit that they follow. A strong spirit one cannot argue. It asks much of those that follow it, but those that do follow become very able. He had heard some tales of another pack that claimed great stamina and prowess in battle. But two children of Gaia follow such of Great Fenris' brood, they must not be they type of children that he knows of.

"Rough is da scab. Confusin. But much to 'unt. Many wyrm to kill. I will stay and 'unt well."

He watches her as it seems that she knows what he is feeling.

"Yes. This form is... weak. Must feed often. I will hunt soon."

[Kora] Imogen says three beers and Kora flashes her a lifting half-smile, rather more expressive than the twist of the kinswoman's mouth. "You got it doc," Kora says, low-voiced.

"Fire-Claws-yuf," Kora's attention turns back to the wolf-born. In the end, you'll want to save your scab-hunts for the Wyrm. Prey in the city is like as not to be poisoned, tainted, wrong somehow. One of your first lessons in adapting to the city will be buying food. Or at least learning to eat foods that humans have butchered, rather than prey you yourself have driven to ground.

"For now, though - I have to go, too. I've been too long from my territory." She flashes a passing look to Victor, then back to Fire-Claws. "You know where to find me. You're both welcome."

[Kora] (hah, like mei, I am turning into a PUMPKIN. (grins) you guys should keep playing if you like? and let me know if your guys are going to turn up at the church, so I can pass it on to mindy and blu. :) )
to Fire-Claws, Imogen, Victor Oseragighte

[Fire-Claws] (Have a good night both of you)

[Imogen] (yes. pumpkin. OH GOD. zzzz.

Night guys! thank you for the play! *grin*)

[Kora] (grins) thanks guys. Kora will buy you guys some sushi before she goes if that would set up interesting interactions. otherwise: I R SO DEAD. thanks for patience with my internet issues. :)

[Kora] The evening is warm, and cloudy. In the walkable, rather upscale Lakeview, Taylor Books is open late. The independent bookstore is one of the last of its kind. The place is large, two stories, with a grand staircase between the two floors and the feel of a college library, sprawling and intimate, all at once. There are nooks and there are crannies. There are armchairs hidden away behind a screen of bargain chapbooks. There is an entire section devoted to poetry of the Reformation, and a large U-shaped architecture section favored by U of Chicago students.

Downstairs, a coffee shop fills an airy front atrium and spills out onto a patio. The place is all warm colors, burnished and comfortable. And packed, tonight, with too many would-be poets. The coffee is excellent, roasted on the premises. They are famous for their Yemeni coffees and their "Elevensies" blend. The scent of the roasted beans permeates the whole of the store, mingling with the scent of paper, ink, old and new. Four minutes of mediocre poetry was enough to drive Kora outside. She's there now, tucking her lean frame into one of the iron chairs, the furled umbrella in the center to the table, a handful of books on the table and a tall glass of iced tea in hand.

[Imogen] Fate would have it that Imogen and Kora had shared space, somewhat, though the former had not entirely been unaware of the latter.

She had caught sight of blonde hair, dark clothing, a familiar lithe frame as it began to descend the stairs from the second floor bookstore to the first floor coffee shop, some seven or eight minutes ago. Imogen had, for reasons of her own, not called out or spoken up. The distance had been enough that Kora's rage had been muted - and Imogen's breeding had been silenced; it had only been chance that the redhead had seen the blonde and that the blonde had not seen the redhead.

And Imogen had let chance lie and had not interfered with it. She remained among the books, only briefly disturbed by a human when they both happen to cross each other at the shelves.

Seven minutes later: three minutes after Kora had abandoned the poetry reading. Imogen had not even bothered, her head turned away studiously as she had ordered her drink, paid for her book.

She exits the coffee shop onto the patio, carrying with her a plate balanced with a metal tea pot and mug, a book in her other hand. She's dressed in a white suit, only a few scant days before labour day, a pale camisole of blue, her white blazer hiding her gun which she carries even now.

Despite the earlier decision, she does not hesitate to walk toward Kora and her table on the patio.

"Find anythin' good," she asks, when they are close enough for decent conversation.

[Kora] "Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf," Kora returns, glancing up with the hint of a curving smile winging across her expressive mouth, this lilting half-smile by way of greeting. Imogen's hands are full, so Kora shifts her position, sliding a tucked leg out from under her body to push another of the iron chairs out from the table for the kinswoman as she approaches.

By way of further explanation, the Skald slides the largest of the books from the bottom of the pile. The cover is black, with an etching of some antique helmet on the front. The paper, thick and creamy, has that rich scent that means books to a bibliophile. "A few other things, too." Lifting her chin toward Imogen's selection, she continues, " - the poetry drove you outside, did it? I hope that chick going on about being the sunshine and the mountaintops and the sublime and hope flying on wings of light wasn't still up when you were awaiting your tea."

[Imogen] "Ta," as Kora pushes one of the iron chairs back, putting down her plate and adjusting the chair before taking a seat, setting her book down face first.

Her gaze flicks toward the book, a familiar sight to her, though not one which she owns personally. Her mouth twists faintly. "How very -" a distinct pause. They are not alone on the patio, though no one is likely to be listening. Still, "Norse of you," she gives weight to the word creating a double entendre.

"No," she says mildly. "It was some other woman talking euphemistically about her womb," her mouth twists. "At least that's what I gathered."

[Kora] Kora barks out a laugh at Imogen's double entendre. It is just one brief, audible crack of her voice, before she pulls back, somehow. Still, the idea of laughter lingers in her body, in the shape of her shoulders, in the twist of her mouth, in the gleam of her dark eyes.

"Cheers," she returns then, reaching over her pile of books to lift her iced tea in the lingering suggestion of a toast. The laughter is like a bright filament in the skein of her voice. Sure, but not sardonic - just sure. "I think you got the worse end of the deal then, doc. I'll take the hope's sunlit wings over the mountains of my despair sort of chick anyday over someone waxing poetic about her insides. Unless she decided to go on about the spleen, or something interesting."

[Imogen] Imogen's breath exhales sharply. "I imagine the only time a poet would wax lyrical about a spleen would be if they'd had it removed. Then it will be all about th'woe o' spleen-loss 'nd perhaps a few lines about Howell-Jolly bodies or neutrophilia or some such."

A pause, her eyebrow arching significantly before she reaches over to pick up her tea pot - having not quite responded to the toast, and pours herself a cup of black tea.

"Hardly scintillating listening in any case, hm?"

[Kora] "You've already gone over my head, with the Jolly-bodies and neutrons, doc. Remember," there's a neat, faint little shrug, Kora's shoulders rises and fall in easy succession. The iced tea is slick in her hand, and rings out with a little ping of glass against metal as she returns it to the table. The edge of Kora's mouth hooks upward, that old look, self-aware without being self-mocking. " - college dropout here. I made it two weeks before I skipped town."

Then, she drops a glance back over her shoulder, through the windows, past the poetry crowd, toward the store, with its two-levels and its used treasures and its books and nooks and crannies. The iron railing on the grand staircase, and the old fashioned cash-registers at the front desk. "This place is pretty amazing, though. I'm pretty sure I could spend solid days just wandering about. What is it you picked up?"

[Imogen] Imogen smirks faintly - "S'not particularly the details tha' matter, I think," she says, pouring milk into her cup. "Just tha' these things can relate to havin' lost a spleen."

In answer to the question, she turns the book over, pushing it Kora's way.

The book does not actually matter - in the end, the whole night does not matter, not in the grand scheme of things. The course of the war, the betterment of the Nation, none of that happens tonight. Their conversation is neither deep nor revealing. Perhaps Imogen explains Howell-Jolly body in layman's terms. Perhaps they discuss her book, whatever it is.

Regardless, she does not stay long - a phone call draws her away.

Just 15, 20 minutes of the in between.

[Sorrow] The revel finishes close to dawn, leaving Garou equally energized and spent. Sorrow lingers in the bawn for a quiet half-hour amongst the graves, after, then leaves, picks her familiar way through the concrete and metal, over the tarmac, between the ruined ships, ducking out into the wider world through one of the rents in the chainlink fence. The sun has not yet risen, and the city is quiet. Her territory is close, bordering the Caern immediately to the north.

I'd like to talk to you, she said to Victor sometime, between the tales and the revel, perhaps. you know where the church is, yeah? In the middle of things. Now, she slips back through the deserted streets of the industrial neighborhood along the river's edge, walking back toward the ruined church she and her pack call home.

[Victor Oseragighte] He'd been there once. Not inside, but on the steps. He remembered, though; Victor had a head for places. He came now, in the twilight moments of early dawn when the world was waking up and traffic was just beginning to build. Without the blessing of the Charm his footsteps are heavy, heavier than they were before he joined the Moonrunners even. Trudging along, thumbs tucked into the pockets of his black jeans, his dark eyes dart scan ahead.

[Sorrow] He comes trudging up the street. The church is huge, old, looming. God knows why the congregation built it here, in the middle of an industrial neighborhood, hard against the river so polluted with human and industrial waste that th city engineered it to flow away from the lake rather than to it. The building has been abandoned twenty years, wounded by a fire somewhere in the middle of that, but its bones are strong. Solid stone, the sort gouged up from the depths of the earth, rather than manufactured in some tumbling drum of concrete mix and aggregate. The building is surrounded by trees, locusts mostly, which have a particular, sharp scent when the leaves are stripped or when the bark is torn away from the heartwood. They grow everywhere, and they grow fast, and their growth now, in late summer, is at its zenith.

There's other greenery. Fireweed and virginia creeper, eunonymous escaped from some corporate planting, and morning glories twining everywhere.

Victor appears at the bottom of the stairs, and Kora appears at the top. She has an easy confidence to her, though there is something about the morning after a moot that makes it seem hollow. "C'mon up," she tells him, as she ducks back inside the church for a minute. She returns quickly, a couple of Nalgene water bottles in her hands, slick with moisture, cold as ice. " - water? I could probably dig out a beer if you'd rather."

[Victor Oseragighte] "Water's good." In truth, he preferred it usually. Water or milk. He accepts the bottle, savors the chill, presses it a moment to his brow unselfconsciously and then opens it with his other hand to take a good swallow before capping it once more for the moment. A grateful nod is offered. He does not take offense that he is not invited inside. Not his territory. Not his place. He understands. He settles onto a step and raises a hand to brush back hair that never quite stays in place properly, picked at constantly by the winds that seem to love him so.

He doesn't ask what she wants, either. She'll get to it in due time, he figures. Victor's patient, and is more than willing to grant others the space to compose their own thoughts.

[Sorrow] The front doors are heavy, wood bound with iron. They're old, too, but the hinges do not creak or groan as they did when Kora and Joe first found this place. That was moons ago. The door swings closed as she slips back out, one bottle of water for Victor, one for herself. Her packmates are around, somewhere close. That's new, that they are packmates in truth.

So, the door swings closed, and Kora crosses the portico to the front steps, sitting down on the top step, her booted feet planted two steps, maybe three lower. Her water bottle hangs lightly from her fingers, but as she sits, she sets it down on the step between her denim-clad thighs. For a moment, she examines Victor's profile, the faintest of frowns etched between her brows. "If you don't mind my asking, what happened to your pack?" Thre is a faint, lingering pause. "Karl left, yeah?" A snort, this flare of her nostrils, otherwise wordless. "The rest of you couldn't hold the totem?"

[Victor Oseragighte] He stiffens at the question, but it's not her, and he knows people will ask. Still, he does not immediately answer. The Philodox chooses his words, mulling them over before he finally offers something up to her.

"Karl left. Then Faith went with him. Mama... I think it angered her too much. Saddened her. Marni I heard was angry. Hardly ever saw her, though. I thought we might make it. But then Mama announced us defunct. In no position really to argue. Still the new guy. Really. But..."

He trails off. Pack is family. The way theirs fell apart, just like that, it shakes him, and it shows a little.

[Sorrow] Victor offers his terse accounting, and Sorrow watches him quietly, evenly, through the whole of it. The sky is still dark, but there are striations of light at the edges of it, as if the horizon were about to be cracked open, as if the sun were leaking in through the faults in the sky. There is a certain stillness to the Fenrir woman, a gravity that lingers around her as she takes in Victor's story, her neutral expression sliding twisting with some echo of feeling here, or there.

"That pack was formed no more than a moon before your arrival," Sorrow rejoinds, immediately. "Hardly the new guy." She tips back her palehead, swallows a mouthful of water from the bottle, lifts her dark eyes toward the sky, visible between the darker shadows of the buildings. "I'll be honest with you," she continues after a moment, "I always wondered what sort of a Fenrir would follow hummingbird. A flock of hummingbirds. Not a proper spirit of a son of Fenris. Too small and too flighty. And Mama, you say, disbanded the pack in anger, dismissed the spirits without speaking with you and yours."

That is something Sorrow is digesting, by slow piece. There's another silence, before she asks, her dark eyes on his profile, shadowed against the gray-black shadows of pre-dawn. "Would you follow her again, after?"

[Victor Oseragighte] He doesn't look to argue philosophy with her, tribal stances and views of totems. He'd found the totem curious himself, but oddly fitting, perhaps because it was a uniquely North American patron, perhaps because it spoke to the part of him that seeks the sky.

She asks a very serious qestion of him then, and it's one he hasn't considered. He's been busy distancing himself in general, seeking solace for a time in solitude. Now he has to face that possibility. He closes his eyes, opens the bottle, takes a long, cooling sip. The bottle is lowered again before he swallows and answers.

"Mama never really wanted to lead. I don't think she'd found a new pack. She was uncomfortable with leadership. She cared, though. Karl leaving hurt her. I don't think she could quite... quite take that. But to follow her again... she'd have to find her confidence first."

[Sorrow] "She's a Fostern," here Sorrow half-smiles. It's an engaging thing, her smile, curving across a generous mouth, the sort that was meant to be kissed. Except that she is Garou, more animal than human on a morning like this, in the aftermath of a moot, with the fullest of moons hidden somewhere below the horizon, turning in its course around the earth, bright and hot in the back of her mind. " - in a Sept where cliaths lead."

--

A pause, quiet, not contemplative precisely - just, quiet. She is going to tell him a story.

"When I came to Chicago, the Fenrir Jarl was Kemp Truth-in-Frenzy. Kemp-rhya was an Adren and a Rotagar, and he earned every rank he earned here, in Chicago. He fought to bury the old Caern rather than allow it to fall to the unmaker, and he fought to raise Maelstrom as one of Eagle's Chosen, and he fought for the Caern ever since. When Silence-rhya abandoned the Caern, Kemp left the pack, and stayed, dogged to the end, fighting for Maelstrom. He was my Alpha, and that's how he died: fighting.

"Joe and Thomas and I traveled to Battleground, and we fought the fight that killed our Alpha five times to see if we could have saved him, taken the blow that killed him. When we returned, I thought that we were one. That we would cleave to each other, that the trust I placed in Joe, a modi, was properly placed.

"Then Joe War-Handed lost a challenge to Karl, and turned tail, while Gut-Song was off on a quest. I'll tell you, though, if even one packmate of mine had remained behind, I would have fought to the end to keep the totem, to hold troth with my own."

Another pause, the edge of her smile again as she tips her head to the sky. "So," the half-smile deepens. This brief, lingering thing. "I think you're being easy on her. Grief is never an excuse for weakness. It should be the foundation of new strength."

[Victor Oseragighte] He watches her from the corner of his eye initially, but as she launches into her tale fully, he grants her the due respect of his full gaze. Victor's eyes are black, as difficult to read as he is typically. Not because he is a secretive sort, but because he is a private sort, given to expressing himself in actions more than words, in a nation where introverts and the quiet are too often overlooked and pushed down.

Her tale brings him back to HIS encounter in the Battleground. Brutal. Confusing. And ending in his apparent death to a packmate fallen to Thrall. She did not have to tell him that loss was inevitable; it was a lesson he'd learned all too well already.

Her words about Mama, though... he looked off, up at the lightening sky where he longed to be.

"Maybe. Can't say you're wrong. World was logical. world was perfect, it'd be so. But we're half human. We forget this, too. Emotions still rule us. And sometimes it takes an outsider to remind us of the path we need to take. Why we have the Half-Moon."

He lowered his gaze to fix upon her. "And Gibbous."

[Sorrow] Kora rarely tells stories for their morals. She tells stories because they are: stories. Because Garou have nothing else except for a handful of glyphs etched into stone to remember the dead. Because living without the past is nothing more than a slow death of the spirit. She tells stories, and so this - this oblique analogy of him-to-her is foreshortened both by her reticence to besmirch her tribesmates names - even those she deems cowardly, or false - in front of a strance and by the underlying point.

Still, at the end, she snorts this faint - something, this laugh, or this sharpened little huff, really - which twists itself into a crooked smile.

"I was fostered in the Sept of Wind and Rain, in Hjaltland," she tells him, after another mouthful of cool water. "You would know it as the Shetlands, yeah? My tribe reclaimed it from the cursed ones after that tribe fell to the unmaker, and it is been held by the Fenrir ever since." Kora's accent is entirely American; there's nothing exotic, no hint of Norway, no shadow of an Islanders' brogue. "When I came back to the states, I flew in on a C-130 from an airbase n Iceland to Oklahoma. That was the first time I met any of the native tribes, and I've not had dealings with you or yours, ever. You're the only Wendigo I've ever met.

"But Garou aren't meant to run alone, Swallow. You should run with us for a moon, see if you fit. See if you can bring yourself to follow a totem from Fenris' brood. If nothing else, help us patrol our territory until you find another pack closer to your history and your heart." There's another pause, a little solid sound as she puts the water bottle down on the stone steps betwen her thighs.

"I don't make this offer lightly. Hospitality is sacred to my tribe."

[Victor Oseragighte] Shetlands. Scotland? Ireland? Victor didn't have that clear of a sense of geography outside of North America, but he could make some leaps of logic. His lips spread a little in a bittersweet smile of his own.

"I don't fit well with my tribe. Some say. Impure. Not the blood. The life. Six generations of high iron workers. Construction. It's what my Res is famous for. Keeps our families eating, housed. There were some who said I'd be better off going to another tribe. Some who choose to believe that Wendigo made a mistake in me, and I'll prove it, given time."

"My point is... I'm an outsider. I'm used to it. Had to give up my tribe, my human tribe. Family way. To do this. And I did. Used to losing things. I'll not wither. Not die. Don't like what happened. It won't break me."

He pauses, meeting her eyes, letting her see that despite the loneliness and the sorrow and the knowledge that he is alone, he stands firm. Strong. He'll go on. He knows his duty and will not swerve from it.

He knew about hospitality, too, though he did not say so. He recognized what she offered, and he nodded faintly. "We'll see. Won't be leaping up so quick to take oaths that end up cracked and shattered, though. I think you understand that."

[Sorrow] "I'm not offering you an oath, -yuf." There's a faint flre of her nostrils, some backgrounded humor in her body, underneath her skin. "Not tonight. This isn't, welcome to my clubhouse, do you want to meet the boss?" He meets her eyes, and she holds the look. Her own eyes are a deep blue, the color of the sky at twilight. The color of the sky at dawn.

Her features are still and sure underneath. "I take those oaths seriously enough that I wouldn't offer it to you, now. And if you were the sort to accept now, I wouldn't want you. Roman, Sparrow and I ran together for more than a moon before we sought our totem. I'd expect the same from you: run with us for a moon. Get to know my packmates and my territory and my kn. Then decide if you want to stay. I'm going to be here until I die, and I expect the same committment from my pack.

"I offer them that committment, too." Then, she stands, pushes herself up, her hands on her thighs. She's taller than he is by a handful of inches, and she's never been the sort of woman who would hide from her height. Straight-spined, sure-shouldered, she wipes off her wet hands on her thighs.

"If you want to see if you fit," she tips her head backtoward the wooden doors. "They're open. Find Roman, sometime. Have him show you around. If not, I wish you luck whereever you go. For now, though - I'm going to catch my mate before he goes to work. 'Night, -yuf."

[Victor Oseragighte] He notes the designator she uses, one of respect. He is heartened by her caution, too, and takes that in silently. When she rises, so does he, flowing to his feet smoothly, never once imbalanced. His gaze follows her nod to the doors and then drops back to her, and his head tilts, acknowledging.

"Good night, -yuf," is all he says. Much to think about. Step by step.

[Missed the first several posts. Kora offered Cigney a corn dog. August came along with her new baby Ella.]

[Cigney North] "Oh I couldn't...my hands aren't clean...I mean, I don't have sanitizer..."

But you can tell by her eyes that she's absolutely dying to hold the baby. Cigney crouches down a moment longer, then rises and smiles at August.

"She's absolutely darling. You must be on cloud 9!"

She looks back over at Kora and opens her mouth for a quarter second...before it shuts immediately thereafter. A question perhaps? One she isn't going to ask however. Cigney looks at August.

"Whose Paul? Proud papa, right?" Her eyes are still sparkling.

[Kora] "Good," Kora replies. That August has a place, or that Paul has returned. Or, that the Fang kinswoman has opened her home an offered to do so again. There's this world underneath the reply, distinct and quiet, a gleam in the Garou's fine dark eyes as she offers it. When August thanks her, though, her expressive mouth curves upward, more to the right than the left. "If you run out of options - " Kora responds, quietly, stepping another step back as the two young kinswoman discuss the baby. " - you'll let me know before you go back - "

To Ezra. Or something worse.

"Yeah?"

August offers to let Cigney hold Ella, and Cigney - holding back her desire to gush over the child - sighs, delighted at the infant's name. Another night the Fenrir woman might smile, even indulgently, as the kin coo over the infant. Tonght, she just holds herself apart, watching the pair of them, and their backs, her dark eyes lifting from the two young women to the crowd on the pier.

[August Grant] "I will call you if I run out of options. I promise." She offered a reassuring smile to Kora even as she leaned down to scoop the small baby out of the stroller.

"Oh, it's alright Cigney.. you can hold her. She's a strong little girl - she's got her momma's genes.." As for the father - well, she just doesn't mention him.

"Here.. " She offered the child out to the basically unknown Fenrir kin. If Kora wouldn't have been there, she likely wouldn't have been so open about letting a stranger hold her child. If Kora was here with her, then she could be trusted.

[Cigney North] The rapid breathing returns, and Cigney blinks in amazement at the baby the Gaian kin is offering to her. Her face glows with the warmest smile you've ever seen in your whole life. She then carefully, oh so carefully takes the baby girl into her arms and places the infants head on her bare shoulder, cradling her just so, her cheek gently touching the baby's forehead.

Oh that was it, right there. The warmth and the smell. Pure heaven...

Cigney's eyes close. A look of complete peace and a feeling of joy radiating from the core of her being.

[August Grant] Just as only little babies could do, Ella remained asleep - soft skin and warmth comforted the little one and she looked quite comfortable.

August just smiled. "You're going to make a wonderful mother one day.."

[Kora] "I think you made her night." Kora remarks, low-voiced to August. She does not demand any further reassurances. Just that remark, maybe that reassuring smile from such a well-bred young kinswoman. August's blood speaks for her to Garou, as much as anything else. Kora's hands remain in her pockets. There's standing on a pier, and night has gathered at the edges of the scene, held back by the bright lights of the pier, the rides running along the length, glittering and gleaming. There are other family groups, teenagers, tourists back and forth in the moving throng, enough that her dark eyes keep roaming, watching the constantly moving stream of peopl for any threat.

Briefly, Kora glances at Cigney - the absolute peace radiating from the young woman - then she looks back to August with a faint, lingering thoughtful frown. "Did you have a kin as a midwife?"

[Cigney North] [I need to go after my next post...thanks so much for the scene! I'll make an exit post]
to August Grant, Kora

[Cigney North] [At these words, Cigney opens her eyes a little and smiles at August. A look of regret passes over her face as she then just as carefully returns the baby girl to August. Looking at the infant longingly a moment. There's no response from her, no thank you for the compliment. Just awkward silence.

"It's late and I need to be getting back".

She touches her ponytail absently.

"Please, be careful and I hope to see you both soon".

A gentle look at August, and a respectful nod to Kora before Cigney moves with the people walking off the Pier before slowly disappearing into the crowd.

[August Grant] "No." She shook her head slightly. "There were none that I was aware of. I just went to the county hospital and saw whatever doctor was there that day. I never saw the same person more than once." A small shrug.

August took the little one back and cradled her close while kissing her forhead. "Goodbye, Cigney. Hopefully we will see each other again. Have a safe journey home."

[Kora] "Be safe, Cigney," Kora responds to the young Fenrir kinswoman, lifting her dark eyes to trace the young woman's path back through the crowd. There's a certain conviction in her voice, Kora. She doesn't offer these polite little murmurs to fill space. Be safe, Cigney sounds lik a command.

Cigney hands back the infant, and Kora glances briefly from August's hand on the baby's head, then back out over the crowd as her kinswoman's golden head is slowly lost to crowd, distance, darkness.

August replies that she just went to the county hospital, and Kora's response is a back of the throat murmur. Like that moment of silence when Cigney - neatly evaded August's compliment, there's a moment of awkwardness when Kora glances away, not sure why she asked the questionin the first place. Then, a glance back to August. "Were you meeting someone here?"

[August Grant] "No.. I really, really wanted mini donuts and I know this is the place I could get them." She carefully replaced the baby back in the stroller and tucked her back in.

"Were you meeting someone? I wouldn't mind waiting with you if you were. Or just taking a walk with you if you wanted company.."

[Kora] "Let's get the mini donuts," Kora returns, quickly, easily, as if she were a girl who did things like that. As if she were a girl, and not a Skald, not a Garou, not a warrior of Fenris. As if there were not things lurking in the dark, under the pier, broke things in the crowd shifting around them. As if donus mattered.

- and maybe they do. "I," there's a certain formalism to the Skald, maybe it's just the timbe of her voice. Her sense of the rhythm of language, the way things play together, " - was actually here to meet a corn dog, as I cannot convince Trent that they are one of the thee food groups. But really, mini-donuts sound divine, particularly if they are freshly deep-fried. Then," and this is the important part, the part after eating donuts. "I can walk you back, yeah?"

There's a certain parternalism there. Garou: kinfolk. Garou: kinfolk. Infant, the next generation.

[August Grant] There was no question to August: Mini Donuts DO matter. They matter just as much now as when she was pregnant. Her soft pink lips slid into a grin as Kora spoke of Corn Dogs as a food group. It was perhaps the lightest comment she'd heard the woman make, ever.

"Well, lets get the mini donuts and the corn dog then. Maybe two? One for you, and one for Trent?" There was the difference there - that Kora knew well enough. August was just a young woman. She knew about the icky things, at least in the back of her mind somewhere. But she was by no means focused on it and she could be carefree and believe the best in people. It's probably why she was chipper so much of the time.

"And then.. yes, we can walk back to my car." A beat as she leaned down to make sure the baby was comfortable looking and secure. "I believe I saw the mini donuts just down this way?" She motioned down the pier, into the crowd.

[Kora] "Trust me," the Fenrir returns, in this easy voice as if she were offering a confession. " - he won't eat a corndog. Ever. Not even if I told him to eat it, and then he'd likely spit it out in the back of his hand. I'll grab some donuts, though. I guarantee that Roman could eat a whole bag full."

Roman could use a bag full of donuts. He's a growing boy.

So they walk. August is pushing her stroller. There's a benefit to having a Fenrir Garou around. Kora clears the way, they have an easy path through the shifting crowd, as people find other places to be, remember somethin left behind on a benc.h. As they go elsewhere.

[August Grant] It was kind of nice, actually - having a path cleared for her. She thought things were difficult with a belly - but while pushing a stroller, things were much more difficult.

"That's too bad. He's missing out really. Though I don't really like corndogs too much because the hotdog ends up tasting like stick and that just isn't too good." She made a little face as she pulled the stroller into line for the donuts. "I mean, if I wanted to chew on a stick.. I would."

[Kora] Rather like the crowd, the line for the donuts clears out more quickly with a Garou standing at August's side. It may be difficult for the kinswoman to piece out what the humans feel - that primal sense of fear that seems to open up in so many of them when a Garou is close. Kora is not ragebound, she holds it all back, in easy check, with a strong will and a sort of living confidence that seems both more rooted and older than the primal wash of anger than is rage.

Still, it's there, under her otherwise ordinary skin, pale in the shifting glitter of the pier's changing lights.

"I think I eat them too fast," the edge of Kora's half-smile is wry, " - to ever taste the stick, yeah? Since I never thought of that before. Mind you, I missed stuff like this in Europe. Mindless fast food. Generally, the food there's better - but you can't beat an amusement park or state fair for deep fried things. On a stick."

[August Grant] She should drag a trueborn with her at the grocery store too. It'd clear the lines out quicker, save some time. August ordered two bags of the donuts and paid for it without second look at Kora.

"I've never been to Europe.. what's it like over there? And they don't have food on a stick? Man, they are missing out for sure. A deep fried candy bar on a stick is the best.."

[Kora] "Could you excuse me?" Kora asks, briefly, lifting her chin and looking up over the crowd, with a winging frown curling across her pale brows. "I need to take this call. And, Europe's a pretty big place, but I can tell you about - oh, Barcelona for starters. I'd go back there in a heartbeat, if I could."

Not that she's likely ever to see it again.

With that, Kora ducks away as August waits for the donuts, pulling an inexpensive phone from her pocket, lifting it to her ear.