[Kora] [Kora]
That particular choice of words is enough to make Kora laugh - briefly, brightly - out loud. Her mouth curls around the hint of laughter, and the movement of it lingers in the tension of her shoulders, gleams across the surface of her eyes, after.
"No," she says at last, agreeing. Left to her own devices, Imogen - perhaps even Roman - would likely have remained ignorant until they could see the change in her body with their own eyes. "I suppose there aren't rules for that. I meant more - " a gesture of her free hand, and a brief, unconscious, even envious glance at Imogen's beer. " - the rest of it, yeah?" The vomiting packmate, the - drama of it - though Kora leaves that unspoken.
"Would've been better if he found out from me," she continues, sobering. Her fingers circle the rim of her glass. Not beer, but iced tea. A concession, perhaps, to her delicate condition. Kora shoots a look, direct, at Imogen, then looks off, more unfocused, toward the flames dancing in the fireplace.
[Imogen]
Imogen is quiet again, picking up her file folder to lean over, sliding it between the teeth of her brief case's open mouth.
"I'm not owed an apology," this, simple, firm. "Personally, I can't imagine he is, either, but that's fer you and him to decide."
[Kora] "He'd disagree with you," Kora returns, her dark gaze swinging back to Imogen. There is a certain ironic light in her eyes, a certain curl to her mouth, a certain iron underneath the otherwise mild tone, which she dismisses with a subtle twist of her narrow shoulders. "Roman. Though I think we've got that sorted out, now."
Then, her mouth flattens, nostrils flaring as she breathes out this sharp, substrate sort of breath. It isn't humor, precisely, but some awareness of it, some concession to absurdity.
The pads of her fingers trace out patterns in the condensation on her drink. Her attention shifts to the middle distance again, the other patrons in the bar, huddled around their game of darts. "I was concerned it would change, yeah? How he sees me. How we fight." Quiet, this. "Still could, I suppose."
[ghost] She walks beside him, having never been in this part of the city before. There was really no need. And she hated baseball, such a useless sport. The people, the part around Matthias as if he were brandishing a weapon, and maybe in retrospect he was. But she seems comfortable enough at his side. The plus...nobody messes with her while standing his his shadow.
"Anything I should about this area in particular, Matthias?"
She glances up at him for just a moment. There was no need to layers of clothing this evening. A perfectly lovely indian summer. Just her jeans, a t-shirt under a lighter plaid button up. The long blonde hair worn long and in waves. Hiking boots on her feet. A strand of small seashells tied on a leather cord around her throat.
[Imogen] Imogen is quiet, unspeaking briefly, and she looks away, her eyes on the patrons. She picks up beer, drinking deeply of it, draining it to the bottom and setting it aside for it to be picked up the next time the waitress passes. She will not pass often - not with Kora across the table from her. But she will pass eventually.
"Perhaps it should," she says, turning her gaze, directly back.
[Matthias] The figure beside her is a large, Norse figure, by all appearances but freshly removed from the days when viking sailing ships raided the north of France and England. A mane of shoulder length blond hair flowed to wide shoulders, framing a stern, uncompromising visage with eyes the color of tool steel. A small bit of beard flowed from his chin, pointing like an arrow toward twinned pair of red eyes, red eyes of tattooed ravens whose heads peaked above the neckline of the black MMA tee shirt Matthias wore. About his biceps, tattooed knotwork coils, likewise but barely peaking beneath the black cotton of his shirt. His denims were dark, his boots brown leather and thickly soled....
And though he was perhaps under dressed for the locale, no one had seen fit to inform the 6 foot 4 inch, 240 plus pound frame of this Modi.
The ghost who kept his company asked about the area... Matthias' reply is simple.
"Money lives here."
[Matthias] ((Her = the ghost. *nod*))
[Kora] That draws Kora's attention right back to Imogen. She is sitting with her shoulderblades firm against the dark brown siding of the pub, her hair pulled back as it always is, into a haphazard sort of knot that rides low on the nape of her neck, heavy enough that it catches in the grooves of the planed siding lining the walls. The pale strands catch the uncertain light as she cants her head, the gesture animal in its precision, in its directness.
Some shadow of surprise ghosts her pale brows upwards, but underneath her features are still, mouth settled into the neutral curve, her dark eyes sharp and watchful, tension evident at the point of attachment of her jaw. Her eyes flick over the kinswoman, from the empty beer at the edge of the table to her still, small hands, then back to her face.
"You think so?" That hint of something withheld underneath the watchfulness, too. Before she breathes out again, her mouth twisting into a memory of a half-smile. "That surprises me."
[ghost] It had been a very long walk...
"I'd like it if sweet tea lived here too..."
The young woman stops and looks around.
"Come on, it'll be my treat..."
[Matthias] Matthias' mouth widens in an amused grin...
"I would not know. Beer can be found.
That I do know."
As he speaks, he follows the blond woman speaking with him; steel eyes consider the rest of the bar briefly.
((Perception... Does Matthias notice Kora and Imogen are here?))
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Imogen] Imogen's jaw tightens - a tendon in her jaw showing in sharp relief. She is a contrast to Kora - redhaired to her blonde, her hair swept up and carefully clipped out of the way, even as strands of it fall down from her temples, brushing her cheeks, or the sides of her neck where strands fall loose from her hairline.
She is well-dressed - her jeans expensive, her blouse a fine silk, the v-necked sweater over it, a well-woven wool. Kora cannot see her shoes, but if she spared a thought to them, she might guess their style. Expensive, but understated. Much like everything else about the kinwoman.
"The fact is," she says, finally, coldly, bluntly, "that you have 8 or so months to get through. Doing that, I imagine, will require a change of tactic."
Her expression is controlled, her gaze steady. There is little at all offered of her emotion, except for the tension in her spine, the one single tightening of a tendon in her jaw, there, now gone.
[ghost] She chuckles a little a bit at his statement. Never knew a Modi that didn't know how to find beer. Her selection is random. With him, there didn't seem to be a need to card her at the door as they enter. Her hands slip into the front pockets of her jeans, silvery eyes glancing around quickly. She notices the dart players, and the occupied tables.
"I think a booth would be best..."
At this comment, she places herself back into his shadow. Content with how his size helps obscure her image from others. She didn't care to be noticed, prefering a low key evening. She trusted that Matthias would eventually find the Jarl. But now it was time to take a breather.
[Matthias] Matthias nods...
"As you will..."
Then, the bass rumble becomes more quiet, a hand extended as though to indicate the ghost should lead the way. Quiet enough that only said ghost could hear his words.
Then, grinning, he continues again more loudly.
"And try to pick one with a pretty waitress..."
His tone seems almost amused, as though he were making a joke.
[ghost] As he lets her pick the booth, she nods to one over in the corner. A quick roll of her eyes and an amused smirk at his statement. As they proceed to the booth, she seems a little more alert now. Her head picks up and looks around again before taking a seat. Her words to him are equally quiet. She then seems to fall quiet, her hair shrouding her face for a moment or two.
Her order is for sweet tea, or iced tea with sugar packets.
"
[Kora] Kora's dark gaze lingers; she knows the shape of Imogen's face, the minute, precise nature of the kinswoman's expression, and searches her features for the smallest tells - the tendon in her jaw, the tension in her spine, the steadiness of her unyielding gaze. Her own features are rather more open, a new tension in them, just marked by the shape of her mouth, the settled directness in her eyes.
"So I do." Kora says at last, lifting up her glass in a faintly ironic toast.
Then her attention cuts away from the kinswoman, out into the bar proper. The place is rather empty tonight, the stage empty. A dart league in the corner, and a couple of harried waitresses carefully avoiding the booth near the open window. Matthias and his blond companion have her sitting up rather more straightly, swinging her legs from te bench seat to the floorboards, shifting to sit properly in the booth.
"Have you met?" Kora asks Imogen, changing the subject with a certain - briskness - now. She tips her head in Matthias' direction as she gets his attention, a wordless gesture, half-toast, half-invitation to him to join them. "Modi." She explains, quietly, low-voiced.
[Matthias] Matthias' order is a tall draft Killian's; when the waitress leaves he shrugs in answer.
"It may not be your choice; there are many eyes in this place. But one to notice you could decide the matter."
The red eyed crows tattooed upon his skin seem to stare at her more intently as he mentions deciding the matter; he speaks with a measure of fatalism as though Fate would decide for itself.
Then, he catches Kora's gesture...
"... As it now has."
Matthias moves out of the booth and straightens...
"Come; the time for introductions has arrived."
[Imogen] The kinwoman makes a faint lift of a single shoulder, a negligent shrug. "We may ha'," she says. "He looks familiar, but I don't recall his name."
A cut of her glance back, "I imagine you ha, though." Her gaze flickers to the girl in his shadow, absently appraising, as both begin to approach.
[Roman Turner] He was one to slip in to places. One that had that quietness that came naturally, not assumed nor practiced. When he came out of the men's room he was still wiping his hands on the seat of his jeans. When he got back to the booth he slid in up next to Kora.
"What did I miss?"
[Kora] "Matthias," Kora supplies the modi's name to Imogen with an absent gesture, pulling her glass back toward her body, leaving room on the table for the new comers. Remembering names, after all, is her most sacred charge. Roman returns, then - wanders out of the bathroom, drying his hands, this sixteen-year-old kid tucking around the modi and his companion, the blonde woman in his shadow. He slides in next to her, and she makes room.
" - and a friend, it appears."
Then, a quick glance back at Roman. What did he miss? "Girl talk," Kora returns, this level, ironic twist to her mouth drifting over some other tension written into her frame, her spine, the set of her shoulders, so subtle, so supple as to be virtually unidentifiable.
[ghost] She watches Matthias get up, drawing in a deep breath that catches in her throat. Not daring to look at the Jarl or the others that are with her. Her face still hidden slightly by the wavy length of her golden blonde hair. The young woman then stands up and steps behind him. It wasn't in her personality to be timid or shy. This was more about first impressions.
His frame once again blocks her image for at least a few moments more. Allowing her to exhale slowly, to square her shoulders, and place the length of her hair behind her ears.
[Roman Turner] Girl talk
His mouth formed a big ole "O". In his experience girl talk covered every thing from monthly cramps and which tampon was superior to which was best, Canola or Olive Oil.
Then his attention was on the approaching pair, though he couldn't seem to place either in his mind.
[Imogen] Imogen's eyebrow lifts slightly at Kora's statement, and says, simply. "We also found time t'cure the common cold and find a solution fer world peace."
She smooths her hands against heavy wood of the table.
And now she waits for the pair to approach, the kinwoman's gaze slightly disinterested on them both.
[Matthias] Matthias leads the way to the Jarl, the ghost in tow behind him. Wordlessly, the whole of the way...
When they arrive at the edge of the table where Kora, Imogen, and Roman now sit, he stands easily and nods in greetings...
"Good evening... Jarl. Imogen... I have not yet met your companion."
Steel eyes flit to Roman for a moment; he nods in greetings if the latter meets his gaze.
[Roman Turner] He had no trouble meeting gazes; within his own was an open frankness. What Matthias got back was a polite canting of his head. The girl got the same treatment. He'd let Kora do the talking. For now he curbed his own tongue.
[ghost] As Matthias greats the Jarl and inquires about the others, she takes a small step to his right side.
A young woman who stands 5'8" tall with long blonde hair, and silvery green eyes. She often suffered the mistaken identity of her sister Cigney.
"Good Evening...."
Not sure what to do with her hands. Not the front or back pockets of her jeans...she's content to just flex them by her side. Clearly nervous.
[Kora] There is a certain formality to the way Matthias addresses Kora that eases the line of tension in her body, that curves her expressive mouth into the first half of what is otherwise an easy and generous smile. Still: they're in a pub, deserted as it is, and she is tucked back against the wall, a drink in hand, something dark-colored, with ice, condensation on the glass.
"Matthias," she tips her head toward Roman, who is a good half-dozen years or more her junior, just a kid by the standards of any modern society - though not by their own. "My packmate, Roman." Quiet, this. Kora's voice is not musical, though it is rich, amber in the undertones.
Then the girl beside him turns her head, her eyes catching the light, flashing silver-green. The tension returns. Beside her, Roman can feel her frame shift, her feet still under the table. Dark eyes - the color lost in the shadows of the bar - search out the points of both similarity and divergence before returning to Matthias. " - and your companion?"
[Imogen] (feel free to post around me! Imogen's going to be quiet 'till, uh, she's not.)
[Doom] (My a refreshing change that!! Hahaha! Night folks. Thanks for letting me lurk)
[Matthias] Matthias turns and takes a half-step backward, allowing more room for the blond woman beside him to endure the Jarl's scrutiny. Then, the viking's shoulders shrug...
"Her name is Tyirr. She is one of ours...."
He spares a moment for a glance about the room, for the waitress, before he continues in a much more quiet voice, only just loud enough for those at the table to hear.
"Not true, but of our tribe."
[Imogen] (I need Harv to come back so I can kick him with pointy shoes where pointy shoes should never go... *glowers*)
[Tyirr Ahlgren] ((I can't let you do that to a fellow Canadian, Mei...))
[Matthias] ((You could try aim... He'll get it when he logs back on next time.))
[Roman Turner] He had inclined his head again when Kora introduced him and then turned his attention to studying the woman. There were a lot of blonds with light eyes in Chicago, some even natural blond. And in his brain, just having blond hair made most of those women similar. So between looking at the pair and listening, he was stealing glances at the red haired Goddess in the booth with them.
[Imogen] Imogen's gaze flicks toward the blonde, fixing her with a steady gaze. Her mouth tightens, a seam of silence, then breaks as she leans back, speaking.
"Look a bit familiar," she says, to Cigney's absolute doppelganger. "Expectin' any family in the city, are you?"
[Tyirr Ahlgren] She swallows.
"I'm...my father sent me to speak with you".
The young woman frowns a little. A serious frown, not anything angry. But at Imogen's words, Tyirr looks at her and replied.
"Yeah, I get that sometimes...I guess not so much anymore".
[Roman Turner] His brows furrowed, forming a crease between them with the woman's near dodging of Imogen's comment/question. In fact it had him sniffing his glass to make sure it really was a soft drink.
[Matthias] Matthias watches silently, only excusing himself momentarily to retrieve their drinks from the booth. When he returns, it is with a tall pilsner glass of dark beer...
A significant swig disappears as Matthias raises the glass to his lips; the red eyed crows stare onward.
[Kora] Kora shoots a winging glance toward Imogen as te kinswoman breaks the silence, asking the most obvious of obvious questions. Lifting her chin, she fixes Matthias with a look, then returns her attention to Tyirr. There's a certain stillness about her, though some of the tension eases when the obvious explanation for Tyirr's familiarity is suggested by Imogen, affirmed the the kinswoman. Both the modi and the kinswoman are still standing, ranged around the booth.
Kora gestures the pair of them to pull up a chair, to find a seat. "Tyirr," calm, more than a bit serious, and perfectly direct, dark eyes on the new-come kinswoman, whose features are serious, composed. "I'm Kora, Eyjólfsdóttir." Pronouncing the patronymic with the precision of a fluent speaker of some northern language, though the consonants do not have a continental cast to them. "Jarl here." Anything more formal will wait for a more private occasion. "Your father sent you to learn the story of your sister's death, did he?"
[Sune] She could almost pass unnoticed through the door that she slips through, if it weren't for the sharp contrasts of the bright luster of red hair, the color of autumn, and blue eyes - fire and water combined - set into pale Asian features that draw some attention to Sune. Her stature short with curves bound in the low-rise of dark jeans and a low-collared blouse worn under a leather racing jacket that hung open. She looks about, eyes skimming across the booths and tables, over the bar and around as she stretched up on the toes of her boots to see over a passing patron.
The vinyl strap of a motorcycle helmet dangled between the index and middle fingers of her left hand, thumping quietly against her knee. She crinkles up her nose, reaching into her pocket to pull out her iphone to check the time, and glances around once again.
[Tyirr Ahlgren] When offered a seat, Tyirr looks up at Matthias. She isn't sure about staying, and doesn't really feel like talking to anyone besides the Jarl. But she can't very well just up and leave, doing as she chooses. This is what she had asked of Matthias, an introduction. It would be rude to ask to leave.
She nods to Kora's question meeting her eyes only very briefly before finding something on the table. Yes, she was sent here by her father to inquire as to the true meaning behind her half sisters death. The frown remains on her face. It kept any other emotion from showing. Any other emotion would be unacceptable for such a meeting.
I've been here for about a week, tending to these matters. I should have met you sooner I think. Maybe later...I didn't mean to interrupt your evening.
Tyirr then takes a small step back, and looks towards the door. She'd imagined this going a bit differently.
[Roman Turner] The flicker of red hair at the door drew his attention for a moment. He remembered the odd combination of Bai's face with Imogen's hair. One arm shot up in a wave towards Sune, the girl who had spent time at the church one day he was working on repairs.
[Imogen] Imogen's eyebrow arches sharply as Roman waves at someone else in the pub, and turns her head to glance that way. She regards Sune for several seconds, steadily and then merely, looks away, getting to her feet, snatching up her purse and her empty glass and walking away toward the bar.
[Matthias] Tyirr looks at Matthias, Matthias' eyes flit to Kora as though to indicate it wasn't his call. Roman waves to Sune, steel eyes swivel to the red headed woman's form. The shaggy mane of blond hair dances as he nods in greeting...
Then, after snagging a chair from the next table over, he takes a seat and puts his beer on the table...
After draining some more of its contents to slake his thirst.
[Sune] Sune blinks in surprise, tilting her head to the side as she sees the hand in the air waving at her. It takes a few seconds for her to recognize Roman at the table, her eyes passing over to the others, but only Matthias garners an arched eyebrow as she knew him. She looks over to Imogen briefly, and then away to stare back at Roman with a questioning gaze.
Hesitant to approach at first, she finally paces over, turning her head to look at the others more closely.
[Kora] "You should have," Kora agrees, quietly. There's no bend in this. No give. Her dark eyes are direct on Tyirr as the later is still, serious. Her attention is still there when the young woman glances toward the door. One pale brow rises briefly, glancing between Matthias and Tyirr, taking in their wordless interactions with a sort of watchful stillness.
This time, she is not distracted by Roman's wave, by the hint of red hair near the door of the bar. Kora's eyes remain absolutely steady on Tyirr, moving only to flick toward Matthias, then back again.
"I trust it isn't a mistake you will repeat in the future." Kora continues, still low-voiced and steady, her eyes a dark color - blue, Tyirr will note, only if she looks for it beyond the shadows of the pub's low lighting. "If you'd like to talk about this in a more private setting, give me a call."
With that, she uses the ball point pen left on the table by the last waitress to visit, scrawls a number across a napkin, and gives it to Tyirr. Who seems to be released from further obligations for the evening, if she is inclined to the door.
[Roman Turner] "Well howdy Miss Sune. Ain't seen ya for a bit. Do ya know everyone here? Kora, Imogen, Matthias, Tyirr."
He indicated each with a faint nod of his head, then introduced Sune in his own special way.
"This here is Miss Sune."
[Tyirr Ahlgren] Tyirr moves out of Imogen's way as she gets up suddenly without word, warning, or otherwise. The silvery green eyes move, watching the older woman leave for the bar. Her beliefs as to what these people...these garou were really like are quickly fading. Maybe they just hated outsiders...
As Matthias pulls up a seat, Tyirr's shoulders fall just a little. She copies his action and pulls up a chair as well, taking the seat and folding her arms across her chest. Briefly her fingers trace along the length of her seashell necklace, thinking absently, content to just listen.
Her gaze occassionaly lifts to Kora, and sometimes to Roman. She doesn't know Sune, but offers a small nod. Her heart is beating quicdkly, feeling like there's something wrong. Most likely just her imagination.
At the Jarl's words, Tyirr looks at her and responds quietly.
"No...again, I apologize..."
Her hand slides onto the table to accept the number Kora gives her. The color of her eyes isn't lost on the young woman. The silvery green eyes have a distinct shine to them. It was time to go, with Matthias or not it didn't matter now. She simply can't stay. But it doesn't stop her from asking one last question.
"Where is she?"
[Matthias] ((Folks, I'm starting to fall asleep on us here. Let's just assume Matthias finishes his beer before taking off for the night...
Thanks for the rp))
[Roman Turner] ((Night!))
[Sune] A crooked smile paints across her lips briefly at Roman, inclining her head to him as she pauses on the outer edge of the booth. She looks to the others, confusion crossing her features as she catches the tail end of a conversation she knows nothing about. "Only met Matthias one time, not sure..."
She looks at Tyirr, and then to Roman, and then back to the blond woman once more. She blinks, "I've been keeping busy, Roman, ever get that bathroom finished?"
[Roman Turner] "Near about, it's coming along. Course, I ain't the best at plumbing and the glue can make ya light headed when messing with them PVC pipes, but it's a coming along."
He slid out of the booth taking Sune by the elbow as he lead her a few feet away so Kora and the new woman could talk without interruption.
"Ya still living down there with Mr. Bai?"
[Sune] The confusion on her face only grows more as Roman stands up, coming over to Sune and takes her by the elbow to lead her away. She looks back at the table once last time, and then tilts her head to the side, staring at Roman like he'd grown a second head. She shakes her head, the helmet shifted in her grip, moving it to her other hand so it didn't bump into the Coggie.
"Mr. Bai?" She blinks, "Who is Mr. Bai and why would I be living with him?"
[Roman Turner] "Ya living in China Town?"
He put it simply.
[Sune] "Oh, yes!" her eyebrows shoot up, nodding her head, "I am still in Chinatown with my grandmother, but I'm not living with anyone named Mr. Bai."
She answers.
[Roman Turner] "If ya live in China town, ya live with Mr. Bai, just like if ya live in the Green, ya live with Miss Kora."
It was simple to him.
"See?"
[Sune] It was simple to him, but not to her.
"No... I don't see."
She turns to face him, resting a hand on her hip, "How do you presume I'd be living with someone that I don't know if I'm in a certain part of town?"
[Tyirr Ahlgren] ((Think I'll just call it here for the night. Thank for the RP!))
[Roman Turner] "Ya live in his part of town. Consider it an umbrella and it's storming and there ya are beneath it's protection. In this case, Mr. Bai is holding the umbrella ya got yourself parked under."
[Sune] "Who is this Mr. Bai?" She crooks an eyebrow at him, "I don't understand what you are getting at."
[Roman Turner] "Nevermind, I got a headache now. Good to see ya Miss Sune."
He shook his head and headed back towards the table when it looked like business was over the the other two had gone. Rubbing his brow as he went.
[Imogen] Imogen's returned to her seat across from Kora, a new pint of beer in hand. Tyirr has just left, following Matthias, her introductions and preliminary purpose made.
"Uncanny," the kinwoman remarks in the wake of Cigney's sister, lifting her glass for a deep drink.
[Sune] Sune trots after Roman, not letting him get very far as her hand stretched out to grab his wrist, halting part of his progression back to the table to allow her to catch up to him. "What is wrong with you? You don't start a conversation like that and then just walk away and leave me confused, sheesh."
She glances at Imogen as the other woman returned to the table to resume her seat, she quirks an eyebrow at her comment, but doesn't say anything to it just yet.
[Roman Turner] "Yessum, I do. I done my duty."
He smiled and turned back towards the table, calling over his shoulder.
"Though if ya want to join us, I'm sure the lovely ladies at the table ain't gonna mind."
[Kora] Kora's attention lingers in the wake of the pair - Matthias and Tyiir - rather longer than was strictly necessary. There's no grief in her eyes, just a certain rather far-way look, as if she had been caught day-dreaming, alone at the booth. Imogen says, [i]Uncanny[i] - then, and Kora shakes her head, this sort of awareness in her now, expanding to include the rest of the room.
- and of course, the pure breeding that rolls off Sune light waves of heat in the desert.
"Bit of an understatement there, doc," Kora replies, "don't you think?"
Roman is heading back to the table, and Sune grabs his wrist, then follows in his wake. They are lucky that the place is not crowded tonight, no one on the stage, just some regulars and a dart league in the corner. Most folks are at sports bars on Saturdays in October, rooting on their alma maters. This place eschews televisions, though, in favor of authenticity. "Who's your friend, Roman?"
[Sune] "Doing your duty..."
She grouses at Roman, fixing a look on him for a second and then shakes her head, "Harrumph." She lets go of his wrist, stopping at the edge of the table to look over at Kora as she asks who she was. Color flushes the kin's cheeks for a moment, and she tilts her head down to look at the table, and then up again. Her arms tucking behind her to rest against her lower back.
[Imogen] Imogen's mouth twists slightly. "Well," she says, "I am English." Explaining her gift for the understatement.
Kora asks who Roman's friend is - the 'friend' blushes. Imogen waits for introductions of some sort of another.
[Roman Turner] "That's Miss Sune. She's, well she's kind of a half and half."
He reclaimed his seat.
"Right Miss Sune?"
He had to include her with her standing there.
"She looks like Mr. Bai's heritage, but she is only half or something. The other half is the family she claims as her own. The one Miss Imogen was in her early days."
This was him trying to be discrete.
[Sune] Sune closes her eyes as Roman tries to be discrete, it was laughable, his explanation of her 'heritage'. She shakes her head at him, opening up her eyes to just stare at him. "It's half Chinese and half Irish, not half of this person and fifty percent of the other. You make me sound like a coffee creme, Roman, half and half... but you are correct."
"Sune Firehair." Pronouncing her first name as 'SOO-nee'.
[Kora] Imogen's mouth twists slightly. Kora laughs, though - quiet but outloud, a sharp breath she breathes out through her nostrils, followed by curve of her generous mouth and a sort of quiet chuckle that disappears into her throat, into her body, even while the laughter lingers in her eyes, in the near curl of her expression features, the light in hereyes, the brief, passing openness about her, dark eyed, pale skinned, crowned with pale blond hair.
Then her attention sharpens on Sune. "I've heard of you." Kora says, tipping her head toward one of the scattered chairs by way of invitation. "Sune Firehair." Her pronunciation is clear and correct, mimicking Sune's own. "Have you made contact with your tribe?"
[Roman Turner] Making her sound like a coffee cream was nicer than saying he was making her sound like Heinz 57, so he just leaned back against Kora, needing that touch of Pack and serenely smiled replying to Sune's comment.
"Yessum."
Just like a good boy.
[Imogen] Imogen fires Roman an unreadable glance at his explanation including remarking that the tribe was 'the one that Miss Imogen was in her early days.' Then, her gaze moves to Sune (SOO-nee) as she speaks.
She allows the conversation to wash around her, lifting her beer to take a deep swallow, her gaze moving away to the crowd.
[Roman Turner] He mistook the look from Imogen, reading it the way his besotted imagination wanted, this earned Imogen a big ole puppy dog eyed look and a content sigh as a side order.
[Sune] She accepts the invite to take a seat, setting the bike helmet down on the floor next to her boot. She leans forward, propping her arms on the edge of the table as her eyes meet Kora's gaze first, then skim over to Roman. She snorts softly and shakes her head at him, eyebrows quirked up as Kora mentions that she's heard of her.
"Heard of me in a good way or a bad way? Seems like every stranger I run into has heard about me in some fashion." She rubs her thumb across her lower lip, "Need to stuff a sock in that rooster," she shakes her head, "And no, I haven't made contact with anyone in my tribe, heard there weren't any here."
[Kora] "You brandished a weapon at one of my tribesmates," Kora returns, not quantifying whether she deems this a "good" or a "bad" thing. She says it plainly, a hint of a smile to her wide mouth - one that often seems to linger there, her base expression, even when she's still, nearly expressionless. The right corner of her mouth rises, then, this little quirk. " - he took it away from you, and tried to offer it to one of his kin as a gift for her assistance."
Light sheens across her dark blue eyes, a moment's - not grief, there, just a moment's give in her expression. Cgney was dead now, and her doppleganger had just walked in and out of their lives. And the tribesmate whose Alpha was to find and notify Sune's tribe of the offense either by her or against her no longer has a pack or an Alpha.
"There is one of your own here, named Tongue-Twister. I sent my tribesmates to her, to return your weapon. You should look for her, leave word at the Brotherhood if you have no other means of contact."
[Roman Turner] (don't wait for me, I am zoning)
[Sune] "Your tribe mate nearly broke my wrist when he accosted me in public and in view of another kin that tried to diffuse the situation in front of a group of mortals. Acting like a mad man, when I didn't even know what he was. He presumed I was making fun of him when he called me unknowingly by my last name."
She shrugs her shoulders, straightening in the chair as she bends to pick up the helmet and pull it into her lap, "I'll keep that in mind about this Tongue-Twister you mention."
[Roman Turner] "Wait."
He finally spoke up.
"If you were concerned about the group of mortals, why draw a gun?"
[Imogen] Imogen drains her beer, and begins to get to her feet. "Think I'll stay out o' this one," she says. A Fianna kinfolk pulling a weapon on a Fenrir.
"Ha' a good night." This to all and none.
[Kora] A brief glance at her Ragabash packmate has Kora's mouth twisting minutely, lingeringly. Then, she shakes her pale head, pulling her glass closer to her, pale arms gleaming in the polished surface of the wood with the gesture. She's doffed her cotton hoodie by now, leaving her barearmed in the cool air drifting in through the open window.
"I'm not here to argue the point, Sune," Kora says, quietly. Softly even, but not quite gently. There's something firm underneath " - I told you what I'd heard about you because you asked me whether it was good or bad. I'll let you decide which. If you genuinely believe yourself wronged by his actions, find Tongue-Twister, make your grievance known. He will answer for himself. Maybe she'll return your weapon."
That particular choice of words is enough to make Kora laugh - briefly, brightly - out loud. Her mouth curls around the hint of laughter, and the movement of it lingers in the tension of her shoulders, gleams across the surface of her eyes, after.
"No," she says at last, agreeing. Left to her own devices, Imogen - perhaps even Roman - would likely have remained ignorant until they could see the change in her body with their own eyes. "I suppose there aren't rules for that. I meant more - " a gesture of her free hand, and a brief, unconscious, even envious glance at Imogen's beer. " - the rest of it, yeah?" The vomiting packmate, the - drama of it - though Kora leaves that unspoken.
"Would've been better if he found out from me," she continues, sobering. Her fingers circle the rim of her glass. Not beer, but iced tea. A concession, perhaps, to her delicate condition. Kora shoots a look, direct, at Imogen, then looks off, more unfocused, toward the flames dancing in the fireplace.
[Imogen]
Imogen is quiet again, picking up her file folder to lean over, sliding it between the teeth of her brief case's open mouth.
"I'm not owed an apology," this, simple, firm. "Personally, I can't imagine he is, either, but that's fer you and him to decide."
[Kora] "He'd disagree with you," Kora returns, her dark gaze swinging back to Imogen. There is a certain ironic light in her eyes, a certain curl to her mouth, a certain iron underneath the otherwise mild tone, which she dismisses with a subtle twist of her narrow shoulders. "Roman. Though I think we've got that sorted out, now."
Then, her mouth flattens, nostrils flaring as she breathes out this sharp, substrate sort of breath. It isn't humor, precisely, but some awareness of it, some concession to absurdity.
The pads of her fingers trace out patterns in the condensation on her drink. Her attention shifts to the middle distance again, the other patrons in the bar, huddled around their game of darts. "I was concerned it would change, yeah? How he sees me. How we fight." Quiet, this. "Still could, I suppose."
[ghost] She walks beside him, having never been in this part of the city before. There was really no need. And she hated baseball, such a useless sport. The people, the part around Matthias as if he were brandishing a weapon, and maybe in retrospect he was. But she seems comfortable enough at his side. The plus...nobody messes with her while standing his his shadow.
"Anything I should about this area in particular, Matthias?"
She glances up at him for just a moment. There was no need to layers of clothing this evening. A perfectly lovely indian summer. Just her jeans, a t-shirt under a lighter plaid button up. The long blonde hair worn long and in waves. Hiking boots on her feet. A strand of small seashells tied on a leather cord around her throat.
[Imogen] Imogen is quiet, unspeaking briefly, and she looks away, her eyes on the patrons. She picks up beer, drinking deeply of it, draining it to the bottom and setting it aside for it to be picked up the next time the waitress passes. She will not pass often - not with Kora across the table from her. But she will pass eventually.
"Perhaps it should," she says, turning her gaze, directly back.
[Matthias] The figure beside her is a large, Norse figure, by all appearances but freshly removed from the days when viking sailing ships raided the north of France and England. A mane of shoulder length blond hair flowed to wide shoulders, framing a stern, uncompromising visage with eyes the color of tool steel. A small bit of beard flowed from his chin, pointing like an arrow toward twinned pair of red eyes, red eyes of tattooed ravens whose heads peaked above the neckline of the black MMA tee shirt Matthias wore. About his biceps, tattooed knotwork coils, likewise but barely peaking beneath the black cotton of his shirt. His denims were dark, his boots brown leather and thickly soled....
And though he was perhaps under dressed for the locale, no one had seen fit to inform the 6 foot 4 inch, 240 plus pound frame of this Modi.
The ghost who kept his company asked about the area... Matthias' reply is simple.
"Money lives here."
[Matthias] ((Her = the ghost. *nod*))
[Kora] That draws Kora's attention right back to Imogen. She is sitting with her shoulderblades firm against the dark brown siding of the pub, her hair pulled back as it always is, into a haphazard sort of knot that rides low on the nape of her neck, heavy enough that it catches in the grooves of the planed siding lining the walls. The pale strands catch the uncertain light as she cants her head, the gesture animal in its precision, in its directness.
Some shadow of surprise ghosts her pale brows upwards, but underneath her features are still, mouth settled into the neutral curve, her dark eyes sharp and watchful, tension evident at the point of attachment of her jaw. Her eyes flick over the kinswoman, from the empty beer at the edge of the table to her still, small hands, then back to her face.
"You think so?" That hint of something withheld underneath the watchfulness, too. Before she breathes out again, her mouth twisting into a memory of a half-smile. "That surprises me."
[ghost] It had been a very long walk...
"I'd like it if sweet tea lived here too..."
The young woman stops and looks around.
"Come on, it'll be my treat..."
[Matthias] Matthias' mouth widens in an amused grin...
"I would not know. Beer can be found.
That I do know."
As he speaks, he follows the blond woman speaking with him; steel eyes consider the rest of the bar briefly.
((Perception... Does Matthias notice Kora and Imogen are here?))
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Imogen] Imogen's jaw tightens - a tendon in her jaw showing in sharp relief. She is a contrast to Kora - redhaired to her blonde, her hair swept up and carefully clipped out of the way, even as strands of it fall down from her temples, brushing her cheeks, or the sides of her neck where strands fall loose from her hairline.
She is well-dressed - her jeans expensive, her blouse a fine silk, the v-necked sweater over it, a well-woven wool. Kora cannot see her shoes, but if she spared a thought to them, she might guess their style. Expensive, but understated. Much like everything else about the kinwoman.
"The fact is," she says, finally, coldly, bluntly, "that you have 8 or so months to get through. Doing that, I imagine, will require a change of tactic."
Her expression is controlled, her gaze steady. There is little at all offered of her emotion, except for the tension in her spine, the one single tightening of a tendon in her jaw, there, now gone.
[ghost] She chuckles a little a bit at his statement. Never knew a Modi that didn't know how to find beer. Her selection is random. With him, there didn't seem to be a need to card her at the door as they enter. Her hands slip into the front pockets of her jeans, silvery eyes glancing around quickly. She notices the dart players, and the occupied tables.
"I think a booth would be best..."
At this comment, she places herself back into his shadow. Content with how his size helps obscure her image from others. She didn't care to be noticed, prefering a low key evening. She trusted that Matthias would eventually find the Jarl. But now it was time to take a breather.
[Matthias] Matthias nods...
"As you will..."
Then, the bass rumble becomes more quiet, a hand extended as though to indicate the ghost should lead the way. Quiet enough that only said ghost could hear his words.
Then, grinning, he continues again more loudly.
"And try to pick one with a pretty waitress..."
His tone seems almost amused, as though he were making a joke.
[ghost] As he lets her pick the booth, she nods to one over in the corner. A quick roll of her eyes and an amused smirk at his statement. As they proceed to the booth, she seems a little more alert now. Her head picks up and looks around again before taking a seat. Her words to him are equally quiet. She then seems to fall quiet, her hair shrouding her face for a moment or two.
Her order is for sweet tea, or iced tea with sugar packets.
"
[Kora] Kora's dark gaze lingers; she knows the shape of Imogen's face, the minute, precise nature of the kinswoman's expression, and searches her features for the smallest tells - the tendon in her jaw, the tension in her spine, the steadiness of her unyielding gaze. Her own features are rather more open, a new tension in them, just marked by the shape of her mouth, the settled directness in her eyes.
"So I do." Kora says at last, lifting up her glass in a faintly ironic toast.
Then her attention cuts away from the kinswoman, out into the bar proper. The place is rather empty tonight, the stage empty. A dart league in the corner, and a couple of harried waitresses carefully avoiding the booth near the open window. Matthias and his blond companion have her sitting up rather more straightly, swinging her legs from te bench seat to the floorboards, shifting to sit properly in the booth.
"Have you met?" Kora asks Imogen, changing the subject with a certain - briskness - now. She tips her head in Matthias' direction as she gets his attention, a wordless gesture, half-toast, half-invitation to him to join them. "Modi." She explains, quietly, low-voiced.
[Matthias] Matthias' order is a tall draft Killian's; when the waitress leaves he shrugs in answer.
"It may not be your choice; there are many eyes in this place. But one to notice you could decide the matter."
The red eyed crows tattooed upon his skin seem to stare at her more intently as he mentions deciding the matter; he speaks with a measure of fatalism as though Fate would decide for itself.
Then, he catches Kora's gesture...
"... As it now has."
Matthias moves out of the booth and straightens...
"Come; the time for introductions has arrived."
[Imogen] The kinwoman makes a faint lift of a single shoulder, a negligent shrug. "We may ha'," she says. "He looks familiar, but I don't recall his name."
A cut of her glance back, "I imagine you ha, though." Her gaze flickers to the girl in his shadow, absently appraising, as both begin to approach.
[Roman Turner] He was one to slip in to places. One that had that quietness that came naturally, not assumed nor practiced. When he came out of the men's room he was still wiping his hands on the seat of his jeans. When he got back to the booth he slid in up next to Kora.
"What did I miss?"
[Kora] "Matthias," Kora supplies the modi's name to Imogen with an absent gesture, pulling her glass back toward her body, leaving room on the table for the new comers. Remembering names, after all, is her most sacred charge. Roman returns, then - wanders out of the bathroom, drying his hands, this sixteen-year-old kid tucking around the modi and his companion, the blonde woman in his shadow. He slides in next to her, and she makes room.
" - and a friend, it appears."
Then, a quick glance back at Roman. What did he miss? "Girl talk," Kora returns, this level, ironic twist to her mouth drifting over some other tension written into her frame, her spine, the set of her shoulders, so subtle, so supple as to be virtually unidentifiable.
[ghost] She watches Matthias get up, drawing in a deep breath that catches in her throat. Not daring to look at the Jarl or the others that are with her. Her face still hidden slightly by the wavy length of her golden blonde hair. The young woman then stands up and steps behind him. It wasn't in her personality to be timid or shy. This was more about first impressions.
His frame once again blocks her image for at least a few moments more. Allowing her to exhale slowly, to square her shoulders, and place the length of her hair behind her ears.
[Roman Turner] Girl talk
His mouth formed a big ole "O". In his experience girl talk covered every thing from monthly cramps and which tampon was superior to which was best, Canola or Olive Oil.
Then his attention was on the approaching pair, though he couldn't seem to place either in his mind.
[Imogen] Imogen's eyebrow lifts slightly at Kora's statement, and says, simply. "We also found time t'cure the common cold and find a solution fer world peace."
She smooths her hands against heavy wood of the table.
And now she waits for the pair to approach, the kinwoman's gaze slightly disinterested on them both.
[Matthias] Matthias leads the way to the Jarl, the ghost in tow behind him. Wordlessly, the whole of the way...
When they arrive at the edge of the table where Kora, Imogen, and Roman now sit, he stands easily and nods in greetings...
"Good evening... Jarl. Imogen... I have not yet met your companion."
Steel eyes flit to Roman for a moment; he nods in greetings if the latter meets his gaze.
[Roman Turner] He had no trouble meeting gazes; within his own was an open frankness. What Matthias got back was a polite canting of his head. The girl got the same treatment. He'd let Kora do the talking. For now he curbed his own tongue.
[ghost] As Matthias greats the Jarl and inquires about the others, she takes a small step to his right side.
A young woman who stands 5'8" tall with long blonde hair, and silvery green eyes. She often suffered the mistaken identity of her sister Cigney.
"Good Evening...."
Not sure what to do with her hands. Not the front or back pockets of her jeans...she's content to just flex them by her side. Clearly nervous.
[Kora] There is a certain formality to the way Matthias addresses Kora that eases the line of tension in her body, that curves her expressive mouth into the first half of what is otherwise an easy and generous smile. Still: they're in a pub, deserted as it is, and she is tucked back against the wall, a drink in hand, something dark-colored, with ice, condensation on the glass.
"Matthias," she tips her head toward Roman, who is a good half-dozen years or more her junior, just a kid by the standards of any modern society - though not by their own. "My packmate, Roman." Quiet, this. Kora's voice is not musical, though it is rich, amber in the undertones.
Then the girl beside him turns her head, her eyes catching the light, flashing silver-green. The tension returns. Beside her, Roman can feel her frame shift, her feet still under the table. Dark eyes - the color lost in the shadows of the bar - search out the points of both similarity and divergence before returning to Matthias. " - and your companion?"
[Imogen] (feel free to post around me! Imogen's going to be quiet 'till, uh, she's not.)
[Doom] (My a refreshing change that!! Hahaha! Night folks. Thanks for letting me lurk)
[Matthias] Matthias turns and takes a half-step backward, allowing more room for the blond woman beside him to endure the Jarl's scrutiny. Then, the viking's shoulders shrug...
"Her name is Tyirr. She is one of ours...."
He spares a moment for a glance about the room, for the waitress, before he continues in a much more quiet voice, only just loud enough for those at the table to hear.
"Not true, but of our tribe."
[Imogen] (I need Harv to come back so I can kick him with pointy shoes where pointy shoes should never go... *glowers*)
[Tyirr Ahlgren] ((I can't let you do that to a fellow Canadian, Mei...))
[Matthias] ((You could try aim... He'll get it when he logs back on next time.))
[Roman Turner] He had inclined his head again when Kora introduced him and then turned his attention to studying the woman. There were a lot of blonds with light eyes in Chicago, some even natural blond. And in his brain, just having blond hair made most of those women similar. So between looking at the pair and listening, he was stealing glances at the red haired Goddess in the booth with them.
[Imogen] Imogen's gaze flicks toward the blonde, fixing her with a steady gaze. Her mouth tightens, a seam of silence, then breaks as she leans back, speaking.
"Look a bit familiar," she says, to Cigney's absolute doppelganger. "Expectin' any family in the city, are you?"
[Tyirr Ahlgren] She swallows.
"I'm...my father sent me to speak with you".
The young woman frowns a little. A serious frown, not anything angry. But at Imogen's words, Tyirr looks at her and replied.
"Yeah, I get that sometimes...I guess not so much anymore".
[Roman Turner] His brows furrowed, forming a crease between them with the woman's near dodging of Imogen's comment/question. In fact it had him sniffing his glass to make sure it really was a soft drink.
[Matthias] Matthias watches silently, only excusing himself momentarily to retrieve their drinks from the booth. When he returns, it is with a tall pilsner glass of dark beer...
A significant swig disappears as Matthias raises the glass to his lips; the red eyed crows stare onward.
[Kora] Kora shoots a winging glance toward Imogen as te kinswoman breaks the silence, asking the most obvious of obvious questions. Lifting her chin, she fixes Matthias with a look, then returns her attention to Tyirr. There's a certain stillness about her, though some of the tension eases when the obvious explanation for Tyirr's familiarity is suggested by Imogen, affirmed the the kinswoman. Both the modi and the kinswoman are still standing, ranged around the booth.
Kora gestures the pair of them to pull up a chair, to find a seat. "Tyirr," calm, more than a bit serious, and perfectly direct, dark eyes on the new-come kinswoman, whose features are serious, composed. "I'm Kora, Eyjólfsdóttir." Pronouncing the patronymic with the precision of a fluent speaker of some northern language, though the consonants do not have a continental cast to them. "Jarl here." Anything more formal will wait for a more private occasion. "Your father sent you to learn the story of your sister's death, did he?"
[Sune] She could almost pass unnoticed through the door that she slips through, if it weren't for the sharp contrasts of the bright luster of red hair, the color of autumn, and blue eyes - fire and water combined - set into pale Asian features that draw some attention to Sune. Her stature short with curves bound in the low-rise of dark jeans and a low-collared blouse worn under a leather racing jacket that hung open. She looks about, eyes skimming across the booths and tables, over the bar and around as she stretched up on the toes of her boots to see over a passing patron.
The vinyl strap of a motorcycle helmet dangled between the index and middle fingers of her left hand, thumping quietly against her knee. She crinkles up her nose, reaching into her pocket to pull out her iphone to check the time, and glances around once again.
[Tyirr Ahlgren] When offered a seat, Tyirr looks up at Matthias. She isn't sure about staying, and doesn't really feel like talking to anyone besides the Jarl. But she can't very well just up and leave, doing as she chooses. This is what she had asked of Matthias, an introduction. It would be rude to ask to leave.
She nods to Kora's question meeting her eyes only very briefly before finding something on the table. Yes, she was sent here by her father to inquire as to the true meaning behind her half sisters death. The frown remains on her face. It kept any other emotion from showing. Any other emotion would be unacceptable for such a meeting.
I've been here for about a week, tending to these matters. I should have met you sooner I think. Maybe later...I didn't mean to interrupt your evening.
Tyirr then takes a small step back, and looks towards the door. She'd imagined this going a bit differently.
[Roman Turner] The flicker of red hair at the door drew his attention for a moment. He remembered the odd combination of Bai's face with Imogen's hair. One arm shot up in a wave towards Sune, the girl who had spent time at the church one day he was working on repairs.
[Imogen] Imogen's eyebrow arches sharply as Roman waves at someone else in the pub, and turns her head to glance that way. She regards Sune for several seconds, steadily and then merely, looks away, getting to her feet, snatching up her purse and her empty glass and walking away toward the bar.
[Matthias] Tyirr looks at Matthias, Matthias' eyes flit to Kora as though to indicate it wasn't his call. Roman waves to Sune, steel eyes swivel to the red headed woman's form. The shaggy mane of blond hair dances as he nods in greeting...
Then, after snagging a chair from the next table over, he takes a seat and puts his beer on the table...
After draining some more of its contents to slake his thirst.
[Sune] Sune blinks in surprise, tilting her head to the side as she sees the hand in the air waving at her. It takes a few seconds for her to recognize Roman at the table, her eyes passing over to the others, but only Matthias garners an arched eyebrow as she knew him. She looks over to Imogen briefly, and then away to stare back at Roman with a questioning gaze.
Hesitant to approach at first, she finally paces over, turning her head to look at the others more closely.
[Kora] "You should have," Kora agrees, quietly. There's no bend in this. No give. Her dark eyes are direct on Tyirr as the later is still, serious. Her attention is still there when the young woman glances toward the door. One pale brow rises briefly, glancing between Matthias and Tyirr, taking in their wordless interactions with a sort of watchful stillness.
This time, she is not distracted by Roman's wave, by the hint of red hair near the door of the bar. Kora's eyes remain absolutely steady on Tyirr, moving only to flick toward Matthias, then back again.
"I trust it isn't a mistake you will repeat in the future." Kora continues, still low-voiced and steady, her eyes a dark color - blue, Tyirr will note, only if she looks for it beyond the shadows of the pub's low lighting. "If you'd like to talk about this in a more private setting, give me a call."
With that, she uses the ball point pen left on the table by the last waitress to visit, scrawls a number across a napkin, and gives it to Tyirr. Who seems to be released from further obligations for the evening, if she is inclined to the door.
[Roman Turner] "Well howdy Miss Sune. Ain't seen ya for a bit. Do ya know everyone here? Kora, Imogen, Matthias, Tyirr."
He indicated each with a faint nod of his head, then introduced Sune in his own special way.
"This here is Miss Sune."
[Tyirr Ahlgren] Tyirr moves out of Imogen's way as she gets up suddenly without word, warning, or otherwise. The silvery green eyes move, watching the older woman leave for the bar. Her beliefs as to what these people...these garou were really like are quickly fading. Maybe they just hated outsiders...
As Matthias pulls up a seat, Tyirr's shoulders fall just a little. She copies his action and pulls up a chair as well, taking the seat and folding her arms across her chest. Briefly her fingers trace along the length of her seashell necklace, thinking absently, content to just listen.
Her gaze occassionaly lifts to Kora, and sometimes to Roman. She doesn't know Sune, but offers a small nod. Her heart is beating quicdkly, feeling like there's something wrong. Most likely just her imagination.
At the Jarl's words, Tyirr looks at her and responds quietly.
"No...again, I apologize..."
Her hand slides onto the table to accept the number Kora gives her. The color of her eyes isn't lost on the young woman. The silvery green eyes have a distinct shine to them. It was time to go, with Matthias or not it didn't matter now. She simply can't stay. But it doesn't stop her from asking one last question.
"Where is she?"
[Matthias] ((Folks, I'm starting to fall asleep on us here. Let's just assume Matthias finishes his beer before taking off for the night...
Thanks for the rp))
[Roman Turner] ((Night!))
[Sune] A crooked smile paints across her lips briefly at Roman, inclining her head to him as she pauses on the outer edge of the booth. She looks to the others, confusion crossing her features as she catches the tail end of a conversation she knows nothing about. "Only met Matthias one time, not sure..."
She looks at Tyirr, and then to Roman, and then back to the blond woman once more. She blinks, "I've been keeping busy, Roman, ever get that bathroom finished?"
[Roman Turner] "Near about, it's coming along. Course, I ain't the best at plumbing and the glue can make ya light headed when messing with them PVC pipes, but it's a coming along."
He slid out of the booth taking Sune by the elbow as he lead her a few feet away so Kora and the new woman could talk without interruption.
"Ya still living down there with Mr. Bai?"
[Sune] The confusion on her face only grows more as Roman stands up, coming over to Sune and takes her by the elbow to lead her away. She looks back at the table once last time, and then tilts her head to the side, staring at Roman like he'd grown a second head. She shakes her head, the helmet shifted in her grip, moving it to her other hand so it didn't bump into the Coggie.
"Mr. Bai?" She blinks, "Who is Mr. Bai and why would I be living with him?"
[Roman Turner] "Ya living in China Town?"
He put it simply.
[Sune] "Oh, yes!" her eyebrows shoot up, nodding her head, "I am still in Chinatown with my grandmother, but I'm not living with anyone named Mr. Bai."
She answers.
[Roman Turner] "If ya live in China town, ya live with Mr. Bai, just like if ya live in the Green, ya live with Miss Kora."
It was simple to him.
"See?"
[Sune] It was simple to him, but not to her.
"No... I don't see."
She turns to face him, resting a hand on her hip, "How do you presume I'd be living with someone that I don't know if I'm in a certain part of town?"
[Tyirr Ahlgren] ((Think I'll just call it here for the night. Thank for the RP!))
[Roman Turner] "Ya live in his part of town. Consider it an umbrella and it's storming and there ya are beneath it's protection. In this case, Mr. Bai is holding the umbrella ya got yourself parked under."
[Sune] "Who is this Mr. Bai?" She crooks an eyebrow at him, "I don't understand what you are getting at."
[Roman Turner] "Nevermind, I got a headache now. Good to see ya Miss Sune."
He shook his head and headed back towards the table when it looked like business was over the the other two had gone. Rubbing his brow as he went.
[Imogen] Imogen's returned to her seat across from Kora, a new pint of beer in hand. Tyirr has just left, following Matthias, her introductions and preliminary purpose made.
"Uncanny," the kinwoman remarks in the wake of Cigney's sister, lifting her glass for a deep drink.
[Sune] Sune trots after Roman, not letting him get very far as her hand stretched out to grab his wrist, halting part of his progression back to the table to allow her to catch up to him. "What is wrong with you? You don't start a conversation like that and then just walk away and leave me confused, sheesh."
She glances at Imogen as the other woman returned to the table to resume her seat, she quirks an eyebrow at her comment, but doesn't say anything to it just yet.
[Roman Turner] "Yessum, I do. I done my duty."
He smiled and turned back towards the table, calling over his shoulder.
"Though if ya want to join us, I'm sure the lovely ladies at the table ain't gonna mind."
[Kora] Kora's attention lingers in the wake of the pair - Matthias and Tyiir - rather longer than was strictly necessary. There's no grief in her eyes, just a certain rather far-way look, as if she had been caught day-dreaming, alone at the booth. Imogen says, [i]Uncanny[i] - then, and Kora shakes her head, this sort of awareness in her now, expanding to include the rest of the room.
- and of course, the pure breeding that rolls off Sune light waves of heat in the desert.
"Bit of an understatement there, doc," Kora replies, "don't you think?"
Roman is heading back to the table, and Sune grabs his wrist, then follows in his wake. They are lucky that the place is not crowded tonight, no one on the stage, just some regulars and a dart league in the corner. Most folks are at sports bars on Saturdays in October, rooting on their alma maters. This place eschews televisions, though, in favor of authenticity. "Who's your friend, Roman?"
[Sune] "Doing your duty..."
She grouses at Roman, fixing a look on him for a second and then shakes her head, "Harrumph." She lets go of his wrist, stopping at the edge of the table to look over at Kora as she asks who she was. Color flushes the kin's cheeks for a moment, and she tilts her head down to look at the table, and then up again. Her arms tucking behind her to rest against her lower back.
[Imogen] Imogen's mouth twists slightly. "Well," she says, "I am English." Explaining her gift for the understatement.
Kora asks who Roman's friend is - the 'friend' blushes. Imogen waits for introductions of some sort of another.
[Roman Turner] "That's Miss Sune. She's, well she's kind of a half and half."
He reclaimed his seat.
"Right Miss Sune?"
He had to include her with her standing there.
"She looks like Mr. Bai's heritage, but she is only half or something. The other half is the family she claims as her own. The one Miss Imogen was in her early days."
This was him trying to be discrete.
[Sune] Sune closes her eyes as Roman tries to be discrete, it was laughable, his explanation of her 'heritage'. She shakes her head at him, opening up her eyes to just stare at him. "It's half Chinese and half Irish, not half of this person and fifty percent of the other. You make me sound like a coffee creme, Roman, half and half... but you are correct."
"Sune Firehair." Pronouncing her first name as 'SOO-nee'.
[Kora] Imogen's mouth twists slightly. Kora laughs, though - quiet but outloud, a sharp breath she breathes out through her nostrils, followed by curve of her generous mouth and a sort of quiet chuckle that disappears into her throat, into her body, even while the laughter lingers in her eyes, in the near curl of her expression features, the light in hereyes, the brief, passing openness about her, dark eyed, pale skinned, crowned with pale blond hair.
Then her attention sharpens on Sune. "I've heard of you." Kora says, tipping her head toward one of the scattered chairs by way of invitation. "Sune Firehair." Her pronunciation is clear and correct, mimicking Sune's own. "Have you made contact with your tribe?"
[Roman Turner] Making her sound like a coffee cream was nicer than saying he was making her sound like Heinz 57, so he just leaned back against Kora, needing that touch of Pack and serenely smiled replying to Sune's comment.
"Yessum."
Just like a good boy.
[Imogen] Imogen fires Roman an unreadable glance at his explanation including remarking that the tribe was 'the one that Miss Imogen was in her early days.' Then, her gaze moves to Sune (SOO-nee) as she speaks.
She allows the conversation to wash around her, lifting her beer to take a deep swallow, her gaze moving away to the crowd.
[Roman Turner] He mistook the look from Imogen, reading it the way his besotted imagination wanted, this earned Imogen a big ole puppy dog eyed look and a content sigh as a side order.
[Sune] She accepts the invite to take a seat, setting the bike helmet down on the floor next to her boot. She leans forward, propping her arms on the edge of the table as her eyes meet Kora's gaze first, then skim over to Roman. She snorts softly and shakes her head at him, eyebrows quirked up as Kora mentions that she's heard of her.
"Heard of me in a good way or a bad way? Seems like every stranger I run into has heard about me in some fashion." She rubs her thumb across her lower lip, "Need to stuff a sock in that rooster," she shakes her head, "And no, I haven't made contact with anyone in my tribe, heard there weren't any here."
[Kora] "You brandished a weapon at one of my tribesmates," Kora returns, not quantifying whether she deems this a "good" or a "bad" thing. She says it plainly, a hint of a smile to her wide mouth - one that often seems to linger there, her base expression, even when she's still, nearly expressionless. The right corner of her mouth rises, then, this little quirk. " - he took it away from you, and tried to offer it to one of his kin as a gift for her assistance."
Light sheens across her dark blue eyes, a moment's - not grief, there, just a moment's give in her expression. Cgney was dead now, and her doppleganger had just walked in and out of their lives. And the tribesmate whose Alpha was to find and notify Sune's tribe of the offense either by her or against her no longer has a pack or an Alpha.
"There is one of your own here, named Tongue-Twister. I sent my tribesmates to her, to return your weapon. You should look for her, leave word at the Brotherhood if you have no other means of contact."
[Roman Turner] (don't wait for me, I am zoning)
[Sune] "Your tribe mate nearly broke my wrist when he accosted me in public and in view of another kin that tried to diffuse the situation in front of a group of mortals. Acting like a mad man, when I didn't even know what he was. He presumed I was making fun of him when he called me unknowingly by my last name."
She shrugs her shoulders, straightening in the chair as she bends to pick up the helmet and pull it into her lap, "I'll keep that in mind about this Tongue-Twister you mention."
[Roman Turner] "Wait."
He finally spoke up.
"If you were concerned about the group of mortals, why draw a gun?"
[Imogen] Imogen drains her beer, and begins to get to her feet. "Think I'll stay out o' this one," she says. A Fianna kinfolk pulling a weapon on a Fenrir.
"Ha' a good night." This to all and none.
[Kora] A brief glance at her Ragabash packmate has Kora's mouth twisting minutely, lingeringly. Then, she shakes her pale head, pulling her glass closer to her, pale arms gleaming in the polished surface of the wood with the gesture. She's doffed her cotton hoodie by now, leaving her barearmed in the cool air drifting in through the open window.
"I'm not here to argue the point, Sune," Kora says, quietly. Softly even, but not quite gently. There's something firm underneath " - I told you what I'd heard about you because you asked me whether it was good or bad. I'll let you decide which. If you genuinely believe yourself wronged by his actions, find Tongue-Twister, make your grievance known. He will answer for himself. Maybe she'll return your weapon."
