Ornature

[Eli Booker] It's late in the afternoon, Wednesday, when Booker's bike rumbles to a halt near the Church. He is careful, always, to never part directly in front of Last Watch's den. When the kin rounds the cover of trees that mask the front of the dilapidated building, his face is stoic and lacks the flicker of sarcastic, yet good nature humor that tends to consistently plague his expression.

Mother nature can't decide whether to push Chicago into spring or yank it, hold it, in the grasp of winter. Where it had been almost 50 degrees last week, today it has shrunk back into the mid-30s and has forced Elijah to once again sport the dark colored hooded sweatshirts he owns so many of. His Dickie's hang low on a now slim waist and when he walks his center of gravity seems to be pitched perfect, offering a slight confident swagger to his stride.

The stairs to the front door are taken two by two and the bottom of a balled up fist against said door announce that those within have a visitor.

[Kora] Sorrow isn't inside; she's behind Eli, passes his bike, the surface gleaming under the gray light of a late winter's afternoon. It's above freezing, just, and there's the promise of the rain in the air. The frozen ground's starting to wake up. Deep underground. Bulbs are opening. Some places, there are crocuses pushing up through the filthy morass of melting snow and oozing mud.

Not here. Just bare tree limbs wrapped with last year's vines, brown bark against gray stone surrounding by a sagging, rusting fence. An urban forest: fast growing, competitive species of weeds able to take root in the worst soils. The sort of things that grow in sidewalk cracks, wind their way through the sightless eyes of burned out rowhouses. Still: wild somehow. The earth come to take back her own.

Kora is not silent; Eli will catch movement in his peripheral vision, the flash of pale skin framed by a dark, heavy sweatshirt. Pale hair coiled around her neck, secured loosely by a rubber band close to the nape, but otherwise loose. Her hands are in the kangeroo pockets that flank the jacket's gleaming zipper. The garment is huge on her, made for a husky man, too large in the shoulders, through the upper torso, but large enough to accommodate her pregnancy. Maybe even for the rest of it.

She's seven months or more; there's a certain care when she walks up the steps behind him. A precision. "Eli Booker." says the Skald by way of hello. A dark flicker of a glance takes in his expression when he looks back at her, and the brief flicker of her half-smile goes still, then. Drains away. "C'mon in."

He steps away, she opens the doors. The sanctuary is vast, full of gloom. There's little enough direct light through the clerestory on a gray day like this one, so the shadows patterned across the stone and marble floors are gloomy and indistinct. "You look like business," she says, pauses at one of the coolers, sinking to a crouch that requirest exquisite balance, still. An inquiring glance, " - want a beer?"

If he does, she supplies one. Grabs an IBC for herself, which she lifts in toast. "Thanks for the supplies, by the way. Fucking considerate of you. Have a seat." She finishes, a gesture toward the couches in the make-shift living room, warmed by space heaters.

[Eli Booker] Eli is focused in his anger. It rides his dusky hued skin like goose flesh - palpable and present. It is because he is glaring holes into the door of the Garou's den that he misses her. Has been ignorant to her progress behind him. When she speaks, he turns.

His name leaves her lips in a breath and it elicits the faintest of smiles to breach his currently stoic expression. The Skald takes note of his demeanor, the posture with which he carries himself right then, and he nods.

That she is swollen with child is not lost on the kinsmen. His eyes travel to the swell of her abdomen for a beat and then return to somewhere around her eyes. There is a moment, then, that he re-thinks his visit. Contemplates whether or not to bother Kora with something that to a Garou is likely to seem trivial.

"That'd be fuckin' fantastic." He says, moving with her toward the coolers he once helped stock. She tells him it was considerate and all he offers is a wink that conveys it was nothing at all.

"Can I talk freely?" He asks, a brow cocked high over one eye as he opens the beer and has a drink. Agitated, it takes him a moment to sit when she offers him that option. He paces, like an animal caged. waiting...for something.

"I mean, I got all respect for you guys ...and I don't mean any disrespect..." It starts off that way. With masked apologies and trepidation.

[Kora] She does sit, twisting open the cap of her root beer. It offers a satisfying hiss, but the carbonation is all sweetness, hits strange places against her palette. Still, the neck of the bottle is familiar between the twist of her long fingers. It swings like a pendulum - a defined arc - against the cushions of an old floral monstrosity of an insanely comfortable seventeenth-hand couch into which the Skald lowers herself.

To watch him pace.

She's a pale thing, with the sort of northern skin that would never tan, only burn, and a weight of fine blonde hair that looks silver underneath the moonlight, never golden - not really. Dark eyes framed by pale lashes are still and clear, and she watches him as paces, a certain clear-eyed intensity about her, a certain attentiveness. Reading more than his agitation, but the way it flares in him; the physical fact of it. The animal echo in the way he paces.

A twist of her mouth, subtle, wry. "You can stand if you need to."

There's a pause, a shift in her glance. He has the edge of her three-quarter's profile in view then. The strong line of her nose framed against the gray shadows, the curve of a pale cheek. Her gaze is hooded with consideration as she takes in a narrow breath, breathes it out, then replies.

"Yeah." The wryness is gone, replaced by a supple attention. The stillness of a forest pool still rippling with the memory of movement. "You can speak freely. What's on your mind?"

[Eli Booker] His eyes cut to the side and watch her open the root beer. She is still, and he can't stop moving. When she tells him he can stand, if he needed too, Eli nods. A hand hitches on one hip and the beer is tipped up so that the bitter liquid coats his throat in a rush. He doesn't choke. He's an experienced drinker.

"Who's in charge here? Who do I listen too? Because if doin' what the fuck I been told - what I know is right because I been in this shit knee deep since I was goddamned sixteen - means I gotta take Garou coming into my home and verbally bitch slappin' me over it? That's going to piss me off."

It's a tirade, something that comes out in a fast rush of words due to anger. Frustration even, maybe.

"They shoulda just punched me in my fuckin' mouth. I think I'd of been less pissed off."

Realizing, probably, that he's making no sense...that Kora has no idea what happened in his squat little home somewhere in Bronzeville, Eli sits. He slumps, then straightens back up with the bottom of his beer resting on his thigh.

"About an hour or two ago, Defiance strolled into my place - Joey and Hunter. I got that one broad stayin' there for now, Janis? She mentions how she came to be in Chicago and Joey lost her fuckin' mind. They insinuated that I endangered their territory by bringing her back there. I didn't even know I lived in their fucking territory!" He claims, exasperated. "No fuckin' clue."

"And? Apparently, I shoulda freed this half dead Garou and left her sitting on some corner, because according to them either that or bringing her - and any Wyrm shit that might of been following her - to your den here were my best options. Not to mention that you have no say in any of this - so I've been told. You only handle tribal shit. So if that's true, Kora, can you let me know what the fuck I shoulda done and who I should report to or listen too? Cause right now ...I'm pretty fuckin' confused."

[Kora] The Skald listens, quietly. She's impassive through his tirade. The moon's waning now. It makes things more comfortable for her; the worst edge of her temper has faded. That's deliberate, too. Her pack ensures that she still hunts, taking the edge of the restlessness setting in, the enforced caution necessitated by her condition. Not delicate. Still: she's carrying a child, and the babe has quickened. Whatever her early misgivings, her body has shaded her response - changed it. There's a certain feral drive underneath her skin now, sharpening her senses, shaping her response to the world.

He is too lost in his anger, most likely, to read the stiffness in her shoulders, the tension framing her spine as he begins to rant about who or what's in charge; about the insult done him. About the life he's lived. When he sits, though, her attention is still rapt on him, dark eyed and direct, watchful.

"Let me make sure I have this straight, yeah?" she interjects when he's finished. "Correct me if I don't. You found Rides like Cowboy, wounded. Imprisoned somehow, yeah? Pulled her ass out of the fire. She was wounded, maybe tainted, and who knows if she was who she said she was. Instead of bringing her here, you took her home. Gave us a call so we could come check her out. Make sure she was who she said she was before you exposed her to more Garou and more kin. Make sure you weren't being tailed or watched."

[Eli Booker] There is something both beautiful and awe inspiring about a woman with child. Kora carries both of these things accompanied with the keen eye of a wolf, her muscles tempered by the life within her womb. There would be a small part of the kin that felt shitty for bringing this petty bullshit to Kora given her condition, yet he knew to do otherwise would likely insult the Fenrir Jarl. To treat her as anything but what she was (predator, huntress, alpha) would be a grave mistake.

"That's exactly what happened. I was aware that my house was in the same vicinity that Joey's pack was in - you told me as much - but they acted like I brought shit to their door and introduced them to it."

"I did what I thought was best. Fuck I look like bringing her back here and she's all fucked up? Or leaving her on the street almost dead so someone else could snatch her up?"

[Roman Turner] It was his wont to learn things by listening in, by not making himself known; most times. This was not one of those times. He'd just come in from patrols, so he missed all but one thing.

"Who wants to ride a Cowboy?"

God help him if it was this guy sitting there with Kora, he himself was heading back out the door.

[Roman Turner] Cold wind had added color to cheeks that hadn't know many years. That wind had reddened the skin around eyes the color of faded denim enough to make whitish crow's feet at the corner of eyes that shouldn't have crow's feet for years to come. He was still brushing snow from the hems of jeans so dark in color and stiff with starch that they looked like they should be able to stand in the corner all on their own. Snow still coated the toes of a pair of cowboy boots kept supple with layer after layer of Mink Oil. A wide smile appeared for Kora, crinkling the corners of his eyes again. Eli got a curious look over. There were so many new faces lately he couldn't keep up with them all, but he could sense the breeding from the guy and it wasn't from Roman's Tribe.

"Howdy."

Followed his initial question. And he began working open the thick wool lined coat he wore as he warmed up from outside. Snow was threatening again tonight, snow that might push the city over a hundred and fifteen year old record.

"Big ole snow might hit again tonight. I swear, I ain't never thought when I came here that I was coming to the land of blizzards."

There was a part of him that wondered if his cousin had really left because she knew what was heading this way this winter.

[Kora] Kora lifts her chin as Roman comes in, dark eyes moving between her young packmate and her kin. There's a serious cast to her clear features, but she offers a brief, supple twist of her mouth by way of greeting. "My packmate," she tells Eli, quietly. "Roman. He's a ragabash."

She doesn't reply to Roman's question; not aloud. Not precisely. "Deed name of a new Rotagar in town, Roman." The touch of her mind against his is quiet, serious. "There's a pale ale left in the right cooler if you want it," she says instead. "Hands off the chocolate milk, though."

Then she turns her dark eyes back to Eli, gives him a brief, narrow shake of her pale head. "You're right. I don't see that you did anything wrong. If she was fucked up, you were already compromised the moment you set her free. You wouldn't be doing your duty as a kin if you left a badly wounded Garou on strange streets to fend for herself. You took her someplace where you were the only one endangered. Gave us a chance to check her out without compromise. If she were lying - yeah? - an enemy hiding under a mask of injury, part of some elaborate pantomime to take you in, we'd've found it when my Godi came by.

"Then we'd've put her down.

"Hell of a lot easier to move a single kin from a single fucking house in those circumstances. You already knew the danger when you freed her. It's not like she bewitched you, right?"

A brief, lifting glance back at Roman. "Makes me think, though, that we might want to have a safe house or two outside the territory. Someplace to go if we need to shake a tail. Nothing fancy. Could be useful, though."

Kora glances back to Eli, then. Her attention is direct and level, dark eyes lingering on the kinsmans face. "Joey, Hunter. They been by your place before?"

[Roman Turner] Ut oh, Tribal stuff, he decided it wasn't a good idea to say anything.....well at least for a few minutes...his mouth sometimes got the better of his resolve, so who knew how long he could be quiet. Beer was mentioned, so he headed that way, adding over his shoulder which killed his vow of silence right away.

"How far outside ya want these safe houses?"

[Eli Booker] Eli's dark eyes shift toward Roman when he enters and asks about who it is precisely that might want to ride a cowboy. It draws a grunt / chuckle from the mohawk sporting biker's throat. Kora takes the question he poses and answers it and Eli, for his part, nods at the young Garou and raises his beer.

"Hey..."

Then, his attention is Kora's once more. She confirms what he already thought and the kin nods. "They pretty much made me look an idiot. Berated me, disrespected me and tried everything but smacking me around in my home. I guess they were trying to get the point across that I was some stupid fresh off the block kinfolk who shoulda known better." Eli huffs at the thought and tips his beer back, swallowing a gulp of malt and hops.

"Hunter and Joey haven't stepped foot in my house before yesterday." There's a pause, consideration before he speaks again. "Not that this has anything to do with it?" Or maybe it did? He had no real fucking idea. " Joey and I used to ..." He pauses and cocks an eyebrow above his eye, gaze leveled somewhere on Kora's face. "She insulted Janis too. I mean ...she kept her cool pretty fuckin' a-ok in my book. But they called her a stray and said I ...brought this princess back to my place to sleep with and put their territory at risk to do it."

"Look. I get it in with a lotta fuckin' people. Put I ain't touched Janis. She sleeps in wolf form for chrissake..."

[Kora] "I'm not sure," Kora says to Roman as he makes and immediately breaks a vow of silence. Tribal stuff. The Days of the Lives of Chicago's Fenrir. "We don't need much; maybe out in the Green. We can talk about it later. Scope a few places out. Booker's story just made me realize how helpful something like that could be if we needed it."

There's that stillness then, a certain wryness when Booker indicates that he and Joey raised eyebrows at each other. Hung around. Enjoyed the fruits of each other's company. She doesn't pry, but there's a faint, moving nod of her head by way of acknowledgment. "I don't know Joey well. I've not been in a pack with her, and she's never been especially interested in tribal things. Fostern Fenrir who follows a cliath Bone Gnawer." A brief, narrow twist of her shoulders. "Maybe she's feeling territorial about you. I think you know that's always a risk with our kind, yeah? When things go like that. Sounds like that was a while back, though.

"I'm sorry. They were wrong to berate you; wrong to insult you in your home. Wrong to abuse your hospitality. Wrong to insult your intentions. Wrong," that moving curve of her mouth - now it is Kora's turn to stand. She puts her booted feet on the stone floor and stands, straight. There's a hitch in it; an extra moment or two when all that forward-centered weight on her frame is a bit much for her tall frame to overcome. But still, she stands, bottle of rootbeer still in hand. " - in the end, to alienate someone," a tip of that bottle back toward Eli, "who might've proved an ally if they'd treated him with respect.

"I'll speak with them. Bring a Forseti if necessary. But there's a limit to what I can do, Booker, if your house is really inside their territory. If they've got rules for you living there, you've gotta follow them. And if you can't abide them," a brief, supple twist of her mouth. "We'll rent you a U-Haul. Find you someplace they don't claim, get you moved before they turn around and realize what they've lost themselves."

[Roman Turner] "Personally, I'd move just to thumb my nose at em."

He chimed up with a salute of the bottle he now held.

"Move just beyond their territory because I'm kind of a pain like that. If there were a fence that divided their land from another, I'd be right on the otherside of the fence laughing my hind end off."

Warily smiling as he added.

"Course I ain't the best one to listen to on such things. I tend to like thumbing my nose. Ma said one day I was gonna lose the end of it."

[Eli Booker] He listens to Kora exchange ideas about kin safe houses with Roman as he finishes off his beer. It's dropped in the nearest trash can and it isn't until Kora stirs, stretches muscles that had been still for too long, that he follows suit.

Everything that the Skald says is taken to heart. Given a place in his considerations. Eli reaches for another beer and lifts the lid on the other coolers to check how full - or empty - they may be. It's noted, and chances are he'll be bringing more food and drink by within the next few days.

To Roman he looks then, and grins. "Man after my own heart. I'm pretty good with the whole thumbing of the nose thing." He pauses, opens his beer and takes a swig. "The thing is, neither of them said where their territory began or ended. It was like they claimed the whole fuckin' area of Bronzeville...and that ain't a small area." Another drink and his shoulders raise in a shrug.

"Look, if they'd of whooped my ass, punched me in my mouth ...blacked both my fuckin' eyes - I wouldn't of said shit. But they insulted me in a way that left me little fuckin' by way of recourse. I ain't askin' you to fight my battles. You got your own wars ragin'. All I need to know is who's in charge? Because to hear Defiance tell it ...they're pretty high on the fuckin' list of top mutherfuckers...and I ain't one to cower in my house for fear of pissin' off a pack of Garou that're full of themselves."

Eli talked like a sailor. He drank like one too. "I'm movin' tomorrow. I'll find somewhere to go. Mind if I bring some of my tools and shit here and leave 'em?"

[Kora] Eli draws her attention back to him when he lays down the line. Look, if they'd of whooped my ass - She's still dressed in that oversized hoodie. It's dark gray, with a University of Chicago crest on the left breast, heavy enough to keep someone warm through a long ultimate frisbee game, some cold fall night. She has one hand in a pocket, the other loose around the neck of her rootbeer. It swings with her gait, moving. Prowling, then still.

A brief glance at her Ragabash, a supple twist of her mouth, a half-swallowed laugh in response to his suggestions. It should be noted that she does not endorse the young Gaian's plan for nose thumbing. Doesn't scold him, either.

"I get that, Eli," she tells him, low-voiced, when he says that he would prefer a goddamned beating to being yelled at, insulted like a child. There's something level there, like a pledge. Like a fucking vow. "I do." A brief, lifting look toward Roman, after. "I know they claim territory there. Had no idea they imagined to claim all of the Bronze. Can't see how they could begin to hold it, anyway. Maybe they see it as their hunting grounds, but for fuck's sake."

Kora lifts her shoulders, exhales a long, quiet breath. Shakes her pale head, the gesture quiet, singular.

"They aren't in charge of you. And you're welcome to leave your tools here long as you want." She lifts her brows, looks up at the dark wood of the choir loft, the soaring space in the sanctuary itself. There's more space beyond, offices, classrooms, a cobbwebbed chapel to the adoration of Hrafn, now that Linus has stripped away all symbols of the White Christ's virgin mother. "Swing by when you have the moving van. We'll be happy to give you a hand with the move. You need some cash for a quick deposit, hell. We can scrounge that up, too."

[Roman Turner] "Far as I'm concerned he could move in till he finds a place. Or whatever."

He piped up.

"And I thought all Fenrir kin were under the protection of the Jarl unless otherwise noted? So unless this thing between you and Joey was more than a thing and she claimed ya, I don't see where she has any claim over ya. I sure don't see how the Gnawer would. Kinda seems like someone watched too much Titantic and invision Bronzeville as the nose of a ship's bridge."

[Eli Booker] His eyes move between Kora and Roman, never staying too long on one Garou or the other. With a fresh beer in his hand he takes a healthy swig and pays close attention when Kora's voice drops low and she says that she understands. Maybe that was all he wanted hear, because there's one deep nod given at that.

"I don't know what they claim or don't. Someone needs to give out a color coded map or something because I'm clueless." He takes another drink, and shakes his head. "Nah...I can come up with the cash at some point." He did have a job, and Eli earned his fair share of cash in other illicit ways.

Roman says he wouldn't care if Eli moved in and with that statement the kin's eyes move toward Kora. He's considering it. He laughs, though, at Roman's final statement.

"I know man, I tried to tell them....they weren't hearing it."

[Roman Turner] "Truth be told, ya can claim a lot of things, a lot of territory. Claiming, covering and holding are two different things. It also opens ya up to a whole world of pain if ya claim something ya can't back up. King of the world or not."

One shoulder moved in a faint shrug.

[Kora] "No shit," says Kora, low-voiced, quiet in response to Eli's remark about requiring a color-coded map. "Maybe a brochure, yeah? We can hand out to new folks when they come in. Like you get at a tourist kiosk. Highlights of Chicago, places to avoid. Here be dragons, all that shit."
Lifting up the bottle, she drains finishes out the remains of the root beer. The sweet liquid fills up her senses, she swallows it all, breathing out at the end, setting her own empty aside on one of the fold-out tables the pack has collected.

Then she cuts a glance between the Child of Gaia and Eli. There's a certain clarity to her gaze, somethine reflective in the swimming gray light of the sanctuary's soft, cool, soaring gloom.

"He's right," she says, quietly. "I figured you for a man who - " her dark eyes swing back to Eli, touch his features, remain there. With a brief, wry twist of a curving mouth. "Preferred his privacy, yeah?

"But you're welcome to crash here, whenever you need and as long as you like. We've a few other kin who stay here, some come and go. There's room in the next building. All sorts of old offices and classrooms, if you want to crash you can take your pick. We'll get it cleaned up. Water's on, electric is limited but we can get you a heater. There's the Eagle's old kinhouse, too - " this more to Roman than Eli. " - where the Sparrow-shrine is, yeah? We should fix that up. Satellite location what with all the expansion, in case."

[Roman Turner] "Good idea." He agreed when Kora mentioned the old Kinhouse. "Some might prefer the Kinhouse to living in here. Me? I like the feeling of them I trust around me. Helps me sleep soundly."

[Eli Booker] Eli likes Roman already. His eyes look the kid over and then shift back to Kora. She makes a crack about handing out brochures and he grins, nods and tips his beer up to the both of them as they make valid points.

"Well. I know now and they can take that shit hole and shove it far as I'm concerned. Karma's a bitch and she'll bring that shit back to them when they least expect it." His beer is tilted up and drained, the bottle dropped into the trash can along side the other he previously drank.

"I am a man of man depravities, and yes I do enjoy my privacy." He grins, obviously in a far better mood than when he stalked toward the church and stomped up the steps. "I might stay here ...work on the church a little to help out - at least until I can find a place. Maybe somewhere big enough to house a few wayward's should they need an emergency bed."

"I do appreciate it, Kora." He says firmly - sincerely. "You won't find me runnin' to pull atcher shirt hem often ..."

[Roman Turner] "Don't get me wrong. If they could protect the entire whole of Bronzeville, I would dance my best while singing praises from the highest mountain. I don't wish them ill luck. But they ain't shown much wisdom with this little act of bullying. Beating your chest while hollering still don't turn a cow patty to gold, ya know? Yell all ya want, it's still a pile."

He swished the bottle around indicating the church in general.

"And there's a part of me that is just crowing cause they done what they done and now our little family is gonna swell again with ya coming in to the fold so to speak. Where if they had used honey instead of vinegar they might have the help we're gonna have from ya."

[Kora] "I like the stained glass windows," Kora tells Roman, with a glance up past the dark wood of the choir loft, toward the soaring interior of the stone structure proper. Half the stained glass windows - maybe more - are still intact, and they shine softly, the muted light of the failing winter's day in the background. The temperature's already falling. When one of the paces too far from the heaters, their breath fogs in the chilly air. Then she gives another quiet snort, a faint, subtle nod to Roman, a quiet sort of agreement.

"It's my pleasure, Eli. Tribe's tribe, and hospitality is fucking important to me." She lifts her chin at Roman. "Let's see if we can find a room, yeah? I think we've got a couple of spare mattresses in that office behind the bathroom if we need it." Another brief, wry twist of her mouth, back to the kinsman. "My pack's here. Roman. Linus you met. Patrick, a Fianna Galliard. My sister's about, Melody. Rain and Starla are Roman's kin, and they're staying here too. The place is open to the tribe, so Janis is welcome to crash. Welcome home."

[Kora] (I think that's a wrap for me for now. Gonna go cook dinner, you guys are welcome to continue, though.

Thanks for the RP. :) )
to Eli Booker, Roman Turner

[Eli Booker] (Thank you!)
to Kora, Roman Turner

[Kora] "The state of the city," returns the dark eyed Skald, with that same steadiness, the lingering twist of her mouth. "Where not to go, whom to look out for. What vaccinations you need before heading out there. Like - " a pause, narrow, curving mouth still around the words, her sharp features quiet, sober, softened only by the shape of her wide mouth and the subtle glow - of health, or fertility, something - that comes with pregnancy for creature half-human, half-animal.

She unlaces her long fingers from around the hand-worked mug and makes a supple gesture in the air, through the steam of the fresh hot chocolate. The pale shadow of her forearm laces across the polished wood surface of the table. " - one of the state department fact sheets, yeah? Before you head off the map into Absurdistan." There are a half-inch of bracelets on either one of her wrists. Leather, suade, knotted fisherman's line. They are part of her, change when she changes, weathered, shot through with memory, a hint more snug, now, as her body packs on new weight to support the child she carries. Between the layers, the hint of ink, dark against her pale skin.

Small tattoos, the sharp lines of old Norse runes.

"So we'll start there. This place," a glance up, at the ceiling, " - is run by kin. There's a dorm of sorts upstairs, like a youth hostel, yeah? Open to any who need it. The food's good, and the beer's better. They brew it themselves. I recommend the dunkel.

"The enemy holds land to the north of the city, in a suburb called Elk Grove. I brought a map so I can lay it out for you, but you should consider it strictly off limits unless I send you personally.

"And if I send you personally, you best make sure that my Godi's there so you know I've not lost my mind. Or Joey; someone, you ken?" Her voice rises there, pausing to ensure that he understands. "They're active in the city, too. We've lost kin and Garou. Most dead, but at least one kidnapped by the northerners. Joey's cousin, no less. I pray he's dead. For his own sake, if not ours. Now," a supple twist of her mouth. "I want to know more about you."

[Holden] His brow furrows, he fixes her with a strangely bemused and possibly confused expression. "You're strange for a Jarl." But he thinks about what she has said, she talks about sending him places personally like that is going to happen, or as if he would want to wander into enemy territory.

"If you give me a map, mark the no-go's in red and I'll stay clear as best I can." A pause. "I'm a fire-fighter with the Chicago Fire Department, I live in Lakeview." He pulls out a piece of paper from his jeans pocket that has his address written down on it. "Here you go. I'd prefer if you're going to send someone around to look at my place that they do it discretely."

His left hand lingers on the glass and he plucks it from the table for another swig.

"Do you need to know more? My favourite colour? Perhaps what types of chocolates I prefer?" A tilt of his head, he hadn't even batted an eyelash at her mention of dead Kin or Garou.

[Adara Mires] She blinked at Gina leave "Hmm ok, take care Gina" She wactched the kin go and concentrate on her steak. She wondered what she said or did to make Gina lose her good humor. Maybe it wasn't her per se. Maybe it was something general about her, her tribe or her nature as a Garou.

It was certainly the case with Carter. The man could barely stand her when they first bumped into each other. Ok, now thing were borderline neutral with between then, it was an improvement but there was tension still. She was afraid something similar was happening with Gina. She seemed like an easy going girl. She did have a really nice laugh and voice. It would suck that because of something out of her control, she couldn't be friendly with the young woman.

She let out a long breath and drank some more, eating her steak in silence.

[Kora] "You'll have to go North if you want beards and battle braids, Holden. This is a small Sept raised from nothing seven years ago by the scrappiest, most misfit bunch of fucking heroes you ever heard of. Like an indie superhero movie," she continues, still watching him steadily, her rage back, her attention sharp, alive. "I'd offer an example, but I haven't been to the movies in half-a-decade. But it's a Sept, raised from nothing, in the twilight of the world."

This is all offered quietly, backgrounded by a believer's fervor. " - in the second city. We'll be discrete. My pack claims territory in Cabrini, we're based in the abandoned cathedral two blocks from the river. If you need us, you can find us there. I claim the tribe's kin here. You're a man of Fenris, and I expect that you'll behave like one. Your honor is my honor. If you transgress, I will not hesitate to punish you. If someone transgresses against you, you will bring it to my door. I am not your chaperon, but I expect discretion. And if someone wants to claim you - or if you start getting close enough to another kin in the same way, I expect you to inform me.

"Easy enough. We've got kin in the PD and coroner's office. I may ask you to work with them. And - if you ever find any unusual bodies, anything like that, I'll give you the doc's number. All that clear?"

[Holden] "Wait on, you've claimed me? Says who?"

He blinks, tilts his head. This is obviously new to him, though none of the rest of it seems to have been.

[Kora] "I have a mate," says Kora, with supple, even snort near the end. " - but as Jarl of the Fenrir, I am responsible for all kin of the tribe within the protectorate. If that's new to you, I'm not sure where you've been all your life. And if you don't like it, you're welcome to leave."

[Adara Mires] he finished her meal and took the plate and went to place it in a pile of dirty dishes. She walked back to her stoll, her steps light, silent, moving with a grace many dancers would envy, almost akin to a cat's. One she sat back, she look around, emerald eyes scanning the place.

She was wondering what to do tonight. The weater sucked, she had no real friends yet that she could call and go hang at their place or have them come over. She crossed her as she drank form her bottle. Being in a new city, no matter how friendly you were, was always hard the first few weeks. And yes, she was missing the feelling of being complete without a pack.

She'll have to work on resoving that problem soon.

[Holden] "Look, if you want to offer me protection or whatever it is that you feel is your responsibility then go right ahead, so long as I don't see it I won't care. As for getting me to do things for you? Well, you can ask. That is fair."

A pause and he tilts his head sucks in his cheeks slightly.

"As for discretion and all that jazz, would I still be alive if I didn't have any? And Punishment? I don't suspect you shall need to punish me, I don't suspect I'll have to come to you to punish anyone else either."

A sigh.

"I've lived my life Kora, fought my war, seen countless Jarls just like you sitting across from me and I've nodded and told them yessir bossir I will do my best, I'll help you win the fight because I'm Fenrir and it's in my blood. I have no skills beyond fixing things, cooking and a life-times worth of chopping things up with my axe, alive and dead. If there's a fire, I can help you out. If you desperately need anything else from me then I'll consider it. Other than that? I just want to be left alone, is that so much to ask?"

[Mila Davis] There are quiet footfalls on the stairs heading down from the rooms above as well as a quiet humming. It seemed a little dark in tone and.. perhaps a little celtic? A moment later, a dark haired young woman pushed open the door to the main room; guitar in hand.

Her clothing was simple, just a pair of jeans, black heeled boots and a form flattering black top. It seemed like a theme, the black - but what else was more appropriate for one of the Grandchildren of Thunder?

Hazel hued eyes spotted only a single known figure in the room - hrm, apparently she should stop by more often. Oh wait.. the other dark haired girl seemed familiar - ah yes, she'd met her, briefly at least.

A hand lifted in greeting as Mila set her guitar against the bar and slid herself into a seat.

[Kora] "Með lögum skal land byggja en með ólögum eyða - " There's a certain meditative focus there. She pronounces the Icelandic with an accent - not an American one. Closer, instead, to a native speaker's tones, through shirred through a curtain. It's like hearing a Catalan speak Provençal. Her dark eyes scour his face, that weariness that someone else might read as weakness, for recognition, that he's understood the language. And if he hasn't, she translates, "A land is shall be built by laws or destroyed without them."

"My name is she who offers sorrow, renders bone. I'm a fostern and Skald and daughter of Fenris. I fostered at the Sept of Vindur and Ringing in Hjaltland, the Sept Halfdan the Old ripped from the hands of the enemy in the darkest hour of this world until her own, and ran under Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya until he fell in battle." Her voice is even, but there's a resonance. She's older than she looks; the voice, the lore. Underneath the young woman, pregnant, she remembers more lifetimes than he has seen Jarls.

Which is to say: countless.

That brief, ancient echo passes. There's hot chocolate in her mug, though the steam has faded now. The surface is still, and she has not yet had a drink from it.

Long fingers unlace from about the mug. Last year at this time she might have had black polish on them, chipped. That's gone; she's shorn away the last vestiges of her human self. Her nails are bare and blunt. An old piece of worked iron - older than either of them; older, even, than Half-dan the old - dangles from an iron ring punched through the inner cartilage of her year. It does not have a mate in the other lobe.

Inside her wrists, inscribed over either pulse - two runs. Thought says one, visible as she turns her hand through the knots. Memory, says the other, hidden still.

"You heard my terms, Holden." The creature tells him, her steadiness spiked by the spark of heat somewhere deep in her blue eyes. The center of a flame; a certain measured sharpness there. A crispness to her presence, like peeling back the edge of a mask to find a wolf looking back at you. Her voice is quiet, modulated, but her mouth curls at the edges, like paper caught to flame.

She's older than most Garou. Mid-twenties. Either she changed late or she's survived a good long time. The softness of youth, of the teenage years, of adolescence has been winnowed from her face. Left behind, the healthy glow of a young, pregnant wolf. Who smiles easily. Whose smiles sharpen just as easily. "They're pretty fucking reasonable. If you can't abide them, you can leave. I won't stop you. If you're everything you say you are, I think we'll be fine. But in the end, that's up to you."

[Adara Mires] She was finishing her beer when Mila stepped in the room. Her attention was on the beautiful woman who stepped closer to her, at the bar. Her pink lips curled into a friendly smile and when Mila was close enough she spoke

"Good evening Mila, how have you been?" Her voice was soft, warm, clear, hinting at what it could accomplish in a song.

Tonight the young Gallaird was dressed in grey sweats with black socks and tank top. Her dark brown hair were in a ponytail with strands left free to fall over her right eye. "I didn't know you lived here"

[Kora] OH EM GEE WITHOUT TYPOS THIS TIME: PMed so as not to crush other posts.

"Með lögum skal land byggja en með ólögum eyða - " There's a certain meditative focus there. She pronounces the Icelandic with an accent - not an American one. Closer, instead, to a native speaker's tones, through shirred through a curtain. It's like hearing a Catalan speak Provençal. Her dark eyes scour his face, that weariness that someone else might read as weakness, for recognition, that he's understood the language. And if he hasn't, she translates, "A land is shall be built by laws or destroyed without them."

"My name is she who offers sorrow, renders bone. I'm a fostern and Skald and daughter of Fenris. I fostered at the Sept of Vindur and Ringing in Hjaltland, the Sept Halfdan the Old ripped from the hands of the enemy in the darkest hour of this world until our own, and ran under Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya until he fell in battle." Her voice is even, but there's a resonance. She's older than she looks; the voice, the lore. Underneath the young woman, pregnant, she remembers more lifetimes than he has seen Jarls.

Which is to say: countless.

That brief, ancient echo passes. There's hot chocolate in her mug, though the steam has faded now. The surface is still, and she has not yet had a drink from it.

Long fingers unlace from about the mug. Last year at this time she might have had black polish on them, chipped. That's gone; she's shorn away the last vestiges of her human self. Her nails are bare and blunt. An old piece of worked iron - older than either of them; older, even, than Halfdan the old - dangles from an iron ring punched through the inner cartilage of her ear. It does not have a mate in the other lobe.

Inside her wrists, inscribed over either pulse - two runes. Thought says one, visible as she turns her hand through the knots. Memory, says the other, hidden still.

"You heard my terms, Holden." The creature tells him, her steadiness spiked by the spark of heat somewhere deep in her blue eyes. The center of a flame; a certain measured sharpness there. A crispness to her presence, like peeling back the edge of a mask to find a wolf looking back at you. Her voice is quiet, modulated, but her mouth curls at the edges, like paper caught to flame.

She's older than most Garou. Mid-twenties. Either she changed late or she's survived a good long time. The softness of youth, of the teenage years, of adolescence has been winnowed from her face. Left behind, the healthy glow of a young, pregnant wolf. Who smiles easily. Whose smiles sharpen just as easily. "They're pretty fucking reasonable. If you can't abide them, you can leave. I won't stop you. If you're everything you say you are, I think we'll be fine. But in the end, that's up to you."
to Holden

[Mila Davis] "Adara.. is it?" As if she was trying to recall. And luckily for her, she got it right.

The Fury was offered a light smile, even as she motioned to the bartender to bring her her usual.

"Na, I don't live here. I just crashed on the couch upstairs for a bit after patrol today. Was easier to take a nap here than to go all the way home. Plus, I don't have a bartender at home, there.. I have to get my own.. unless Simon's around that is." She grinned a bit mischieviously. "I've been.. alright, otherwise. Had a fine plan shot down this week.. but, life sucks sometimes. How about you?"

[Adara Mires] Her brow raised with an apologetic expression "I'm sorry about your plan. Is there any way to salvage it. That is, if oyu want to talk about it?" She ask with some concern.

"As for me, I'm settling in. I paid my dues, trying ot get the others slowly. Been bumping into very interesting people, kin and true born" She say softly. She know most people around were either Kin or Garou, but there was a few humans in the place. "So all in all, I've been good.

And you're right, having a bar nearby is pretty nice, espcially when one's feeling down" She order herself another beer and look at Mila

[Holden] A sigh, deep and worn and tired. He looks down at the glass of single malt that Kora had gifted him, swirls it absently between his fingertips that seem to barely touch the glass and remains lost in thought for a good amount of time. There's cracks near his eyes, not crows feet but, not anywhere near that but lines of stress perhaps - worry. This man has seen things, done things, had things done to him - for him - and ultimately has most likely had more taken from him than given.

She speaks her tongue and he actually seems to understand what she is saying, she can probably guess from his accent and his looks that he isn't foreign - at least not so far as Iceland - this probably means he grew up amongst their kind, heard the stories spoken in languages their ancestors used - perhaps even told a few himself.

All that is by the by though, because he's still staring at his single malt and he's still thinking. He isn't speaking to a woman he's speaking to a Garou and she makes that perfectly clear. Should he expect any differently from their kind? After all these years? Has he learnt nothing? He looks up, firm lips set between the rough mesh of his beard and then he rumbles out a response.

"Sacrifices, we all have to make them."

Words spoken to him once upon a time perhaps, now falling from his lips as bitter and twisted as the cheap shit he had been drinking before she arrived.

"I'll abide by your terms if it makes your job easier." Isn't that what kin are for? "I meant what I said though, I don't expect to have need of you - no offence Kora."

He raises the delicious single malt that should be savoured, downs it in one huge gulp and places the glass back on the table without naught a sound but the swallowing in his throat. He stands, pushes himself out of the table.

"Guess I'll be seeing you around."

[Mila Davis] "Maybe." She shrugged. "But that involves traking down a certain Walker's family first. Gonna have to see how far he wants me to take the issue before I do anything rash. But trust me, I've had way worse weeks than this one." Her drink arrived - it was dark, probably a beer. A lithe hand wrapped around the chilled glass, she smiled a bit again. Apparently this wasn't going to be the thing to get her down.

"Well, that's good. You been trying to figure out where you belong yet? There are many packs here.."

[Adara Mires] She listened to Mila's words with a slight nod "Well good luck with that. If it'swt you really want" She say before drining her beer slowly. She smiled as she answered her question "I was thiking about that earlier. I'm settled no, I need to find myself a pack. Thing is, I met some of us but none a apack or none that would talk to me about their pack.

Imena I've met kora over there and bumped briefly into 2 of her packmates but I don't know anything about the way they fonction, what they do or even the name of the pack. I guess that I'll start asking around and see who mgiht be interested in little old me"

She grinned, taking another swallow.

[Kora] A soft snort then; the subtle gleam in her dark eyes. The steadiness - nearly unblinking - as he tosses back the single malt and his voice rumbles out is entirely animal. Her head moves in a predator's conjunction with her body, and thus she watches him until he has left the bar.

Then she herself stands; pulls out not a wallet but a passport with a fading United States crest on the dark blue cover. There's a picture in the middle pages of a girl, 18, with short dyed back hair, black nails hidden below, away from the prison-warden style passport photo. Staring, unsmiling at the camera. Home address: Missouri of all fucking places.

Her cash is tucked up in the pages, pulls out a ten and a couple of fives and lets them drift down to the table. Fans the pages closed. There are two dozen or more entry and exit stamps, temporary visas and the light recorded on the pages - entry points to the EU, northern Africa, Russia. Turkey. - without a re-entry stamp to the USA.

Her attention is briefly fast on the movement of light through the pages; but then the moment passes. Kora closes the passport, slips it into her back pocket, and walks out in the kinsman's wake. Pausing, briefly - to lift her chin in greeting to Adara and Mila, to confer with the bartender - before she disappears out the front door into the bright, cold winter's night.

[Mila Davis] "Well.." there was a pause as she took a swig of her beer. "I do happen to have a pack - kinda a little one. Mostly myself and Simon. We have two other members, but they are off jaunting about or being their crazy spirit type selves.."

"You met Simon yet?" That was a big thing.. if one couldn't tolerate Simon, her beta - then, it just wouldn't work out and there was no point in continuing the conversation further.

[Kora] (night folks!)

[Kora] Late Monday night, there's a firm sure knock on Drew's door. It's a cool night, with a shivering sort of drizzle falling from orange-gray skies onto the freezing asphalt, glazing every surface with a thin skin of ice.

The rain gives the atmosphere a hushed quality, pinging off the window panes, sliding down the gutters of Drew's small rental home. It glazes the half melted snow in the yard with a lacy skin of ice, compact and solid as frozen milk.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew had been asleep when the sound of someone pounding on her front door woke her up. She roused from a sprawled-out state on her mattress, covers half-hiked up her body half-kicked down, pushed herself up with her forearms and stared bleary-eyed toward the large bedroom window from the second story of the house that overlooked her front yard. Fingers went for the gun kept in the nightstand, and she held it careful, though still half-asleep, as she looked down out the window.

Kora.
Oh great.

The gun is put away again, back in the nightstand drawer, and Drew doesn't bother to wrap herself in a bathrobe to go downstairs and answer the door for her Jarl. Kora waits out in the cold for two or so minutes, this is the time it takes for Drew to check the window, descend the staircase, and undo the three separate locks that keep the door secure at night. When she opens the door, she steps back to allow Kora inside without question, letting the woman out of the cold and into the warmth of the small home with the hardwood floors and cozy furnishings.

Drew's dressed in a pair of pale green silk pajamas, pants and tank-top combination, and while her hair is mussed and her eyes still at half-mast from being roused, she appears to be unsurprised.

[Kora] The Skald is dressed in a new sweatshirt, dark gray, with the university of chicago logo on the breast and a pounch bisected by the zipper pulled all the way up to her neck. The hood is forward, touching the crown of her head, shielding most of her face and hair from the rain. The yoke of the sweatshirt - and hood - are patterned damp from the rain.

"Drew." - she murmurs, giving the young kinswoman a dark eyed once over, head to toe and back again. She steps inside, the warmth welcome, flexing her bare hands to return circulation to the digits as she reaches up to unzip the hoodie, take off the damp cotton jacket as she pauses just inside the door to stamp off the rain and muck from her heavy black boots. There's a braided leather necklace at her throat, thinly worked, and a handful of bracelets at her wrist. Her blonde hair is scraped back from her sharply defined features. There's a stillness underneath; a certain solid presence that does not belong confined in walls like these.

When her boots are stamped clean, she walks further in. The gait like an animal's is nearly enough to make one forget her pregnancy. Except there's no forgotting it now.

"You know why I'm here." Kora says, with a lifting look back to Drew.

[Drew Roscoe] "Yep."

The answer is half-sleepy, but certain enough. She closed the door behind Kora and didn't bother locking it-- she didn't expect Kora would stay longer than necessary, and knew that, despite their differences, if someone was bold and dumb enough to try and break into her home right now just because she left the front door unlocked, Kora would surely tear them apart.

She didn't have pockets for her hands to go into, so Drew instead wrapped her arms about her chest, one hand on either shoulder, and left them there for now. She stood with her back to the wall near the door, not inviting Kora to sit, not sitting herself. It was too late for pleasantries, she knew that it wouldn't be pleasant anyways.

This was business, and it was going to be conducted as such.

"What's the punishment?"

[Kora] There's a low huff of breath from the Skald. The sound is quiet, nearly subvocal. There's a certain bitter twist to it. Underneath, though, the creature is clearly calm. When Drew asks what the punishment is so very plainly, Kora flickers another glance around the small, shadow cloaked living room before returning her level gaze to Drew.

The room is half-lit by the glow from outside, one of the lamps Drew turned on as she made her way to the door. It casts them in sharp relief, shadow play. "You think I'm going to punish you without at least hearing your side?" That sound again, a quiet snort that flares her pale nostrils, her generous mouth drawing in at the corners.

The expression is distinct and considering, but withdrawn somehow. A clinical distance. "Let's hear it." That pause. "In your words."

[Drew Roscoe] Drew shook her head and sighed, moved a hand to scrub at the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and her thumb, then placed that hand back on the shoulder it was cradling. She leaned against the wall, took another deep breath, then started talking.

"Ran into a bunch of the Unicorn kin last night at a coffee shop. I like Rain, I like Jackson, and I figured whatever was between August and I was water under the bridge. 'Cept she's spending the better part of the time I'm in there talking to Rain and this.. Phoenix guy and all acting like I'm not there, just bein' real.. coy, I guess, I don't know. I could tell she had words in her, so I asked her outside to say them.

"She's apparently not too pleased about me 'getting in her business' and trying to encourage her to be stronger for herself and her kids. Feeds me this line about how her past and how I don't know her and I have no grounds on which to be advising her what she do with her life. I tell her flat out what I think about it. That she's a liability by putting herself in these situations where she needs people to help her 'cause she can't help herself, that she's betrayin' her tribe by not turning to them for help but others? And tell her, frankly, that if she can't take care of kids herself she shouldn't be having them.

"She gets pissed and grabs me up by my jacket, gets way too close and into my face and starts bleating about her abusive mate and all that. I don't want her there, so I punch her in the mouth."

Just like that. That simple, apparently.

"Of course tempers exploded, I tried to hit her a few more times, she tried to hit me. We didn't get too far, no one got hurt 'cept some feelings and pride 'cause that Phoenix fellow stepped in and got between us. After that, I came home, had a drink, and went to bed."

The end.

[Kora] Kora's standing with her hands still in the pockets of her unzipped sweatshirt. The sides hang loose - too much fabric for her frame - down her flanks, the zipper glinting with its glaze of freezing drizzle. Underneath, the Skald's clothing is wholly utilitarian - jeans, a thermal, and a pale gray tunic, both long enough to cover her torso and stomach, pulled down to her hips. There is a ghost of darker fabric along her shoulders and around the neck, where the rain soaked through the outter layers to the inner layer.

"How did you try to encourage her to be stronger for herself and her kids?" A flicker of a look. Steady on Drew's face, stillness quiet in Kora's.

[Drew Roscoe] "Went to her house 'bout a week ago... Or I should say that what's-his-face Shadow Lord's house. Heard that was where she was staying. Hand her a copy of those apartment papers I sent do you--" Drew doesn't pause to ask if Kora got them or not, that was neither here nor there. "--and explain to her how the math and money works out, how I'm willing to help her get her own place and all that. She doesn't even glance at them-- decides she's happy playing housemaid to a Lord.

"I explain to her that she should be with her Tribe. That she should be standing up strong for those kids by taking care of them herself and not relying on a nigh-stranger from another Tribe to support them and her instead. Tell her she needs to be a constant in their lives because nothing else will be. She, apparently, took offense to that when I told her the first time.

"The second time, tonight, I told her basically the same thing, except with a lot less patience. That she kept falling in the laps of other tribes or sellin' herself out to them. There's no honor in that, and it's just.... not right for them kids. If she didn't have the buds attached to her I wouldn't give a damn what she was doing with her life-- but those kids are what we're putting our stock in, you know?"

[Kora] There's a certain sheen of light across the Fenrir's dark eyes; animal. It's there too in the way she watches Drew while the young woman explains herself - that steadiness, held back a bit. Her rage banked, perhaps spent before she came here. Once she pulls her hands from her pockets and pushes up her sleeves over her forearms. The gray tunic is shortsleeved, leaving the cuffs of the white thermal with that faint white glow in the shadows.

There's a spot of blood there.
Something for someone else to clean up.

The sweatshirt hangs open now, and the Skald slides her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. Slung low, mostly under the swell of her stomach. The top button's left undone, the imprint of it evident against the fabric of the longer tunic top.

Once more, a low sound, a quiet noise in the back of her throat, like a withheld laugh that's been swallowed by a moving wave. "I want you to think about this," Kora continues, her generous mouth twisting in a terribly human expression. " - why did you seek her out. For yourself? For her? That's the first question. And the second is: did you think that that would work?"

[Drew Roscoe] "Originally?"

To make sure they were on the same grounds. When the nod, or what have you confirms it, she presses on with a bit of a shiver and while rubbing her hands down her arms to warm them.

"Both, I suppose. I wanted the best for those kids more than her. I felt a bit guilty about refusing my home to them and wanted to make that feel right by offering her the other options she had. I wanted to feel the honesty about discussing this face-to-face rather than using you as a correspondence about the whole thing."

As for whether it would work, she shrugged: "I'd never met her before. I didn't know how obstinate she was about being under a man's thumb, regardless of who that man might be. She could do it-- take up the option I've given her. She's refusing it, didn't even think about it for half a second. I didn't realize it then. I know it now."

[Kora] "August," the word sits alone for a moment, without inflection. It rises as if roused. Kora watches Drew with that same aura of animal speculation, a certain coruscating intensity, the movement of her hands over her arms, the shiver that moves through her from the cold. "She called me tonight. She told me that the first time you came to her house - a stranger - you berated her, judged her, and informed her that she was a bad parent, even though you had never met her before. She thought that you were trying to drive her from the city - to make her feel unwanted and inadequate."

There's a twist of Kora's shoulders then, mirrored by the movement of her curving mouth. A certain irony in the background to keep the sharper, animal side of her deeply in check.

"Maybe she is stubborn. Even feckless." There's a faint gesture, a twisting shrug near the end. "But if you wanted the best for her kids; if you wanted to help her stand on her own feet, if you genuinely wanted those things, I think you fucked up."

[Drew Roscoe] Drew makes a bit of a face when Kora relays what August gave her through the phone call, but doesn't say anything more or shake her head to make a point of denying it. She'd already given her side of the story, Kora already knew her take.

I think you fucked up.

Drew didn't argue it. She just shrugged again, and stopped rubbing her arms so she could lift her hands to brush her fingers through her hair, undoing some of the 'I just rolled out of bed' cowlicks. "I probably did. I was very up front with her, 'cause I don't see sense in... I dunno, courting her, I guess?" There's a shake of her head, and she's brushing her lengthy hair down over one shoulder and working out the knots. "She called you, huh? Didn't talk to any of her tribemates first?"

[Kora] "Totally immaterial, Drew. I'm your tribesmate, and I'm here to deal with you. Not gossip about others." There's a note - pressure in her voice - there, a certain forward shift, a subtle thread of disapproval that Drew was bold enough to ask the question.

Her stance does not change, nor does the steadiness of her quiet regard. Then she makes a low noise of negation in the back of her throat.

"I don't think the problem was that you didn't court her, the problem was that you completely and utterly alienated her." There's a quiet snort at the end of this. "That letter you sent me. About apartments and classifieds. You meant is as a peace offering, did you?"

Kora pauses, long enough for Drew to affirm what the Skald realizes, only now. "I read it half-way through before I crumpled it up. Even the text seemed - " Another supple snort, a twist of her mouth near the end. "Perhaps you should avoid 'upfront' for now."

[Drew Roscoe] Kora's asking if the letter was meant to be a peace offering, and Drew's eyebrows lifted some over groggy eyes, showing a moment of sleepy surprise. She'd thought that was obvious, that was the point of the compromise. It'd be that much easier to leave it as a 'no' and let it stay there-- she'd put time and research into finding alternatives for this Kin she'd never met, and was offering up a considerable sum of money on this stranger because Kora wanted to help her. Peace offering was a good word, and she nods a bit to confirm what the Skald was now figuring out.

The suggestion that she should avoid being upfront is met with a bit of a shrug, and her arms cross over her chest securely again, hands on the tops of her biceps to keep her arms warm. The house, compared to outdoors, was nice and warm. However, the first story on hardwood floor compared to the warm bed upstairs was pretty darn chilly.

"Probably right. Figure I'm done with August too. She's not my problem in the first place, didn't want my help when I offered it, and I've done burnt whatever bridge that could be salvaged." There's a pause, then she sighs and frowns a bit. "Need to apologize to Phoenix, I snapped at him pretty badly when he got in the way, I regret that... He seemed real nice. Gotta apologize to Rain too for killing her evening."

[Kora] "That's a good start, Drew. Reasonable. Necessary." Kora concurs, in her rich, low voice. There's still that twist to her mouth as her dark gaze turns harder. Flinty, somehow. "Unfortunately, you're not quite done with August. You crossed the line twice with August, Drew. I asked you if you would take on a roommate. You said no. That was the end of it as far as I was concerned. I asked nothing more from you.

"And this is where you crossed the line. You haven't the right to go about telling other Kinfolk how to be good Kinfolk. August isn't your tribe, and I did not ask you to speak to her. Certainly, I didn't ask you to lecture her."

There's a pause there, "I'll accept that on some level you meant well. You were also horrible at it. Things ended worse than they began. If that's all there was, this discussion would end here. I'd tell you to shut the fuck up about August and stop lecturing other kin.

"But that's not the end of it. You've no right to attack another kinfolk. Another pregnant kinfolk. Bar brawls? I'll look the other way. Cat fights - ?" This quiet shake of her pale head pulls the weight of her hair against the hood of her jacket. "Jesus christ, Drew. You're Fenrir. Not some fucking Silver Fang."

Here, she draws in another breath. Expels it all at a go. "Tell me you get that. Where you were wrong in this. Where you crossed the line."

[Drew Roscoe] Drew's temper doesn't flare up when Kora explains to here where she went wrong, or even when she scolds her for cat fights. Either she's too tired, that drink was still warm in her stomach and veins, or she was content after she had her chance to vent all her frustrations at the blonde Kin and throw some fists for the first time in forever.

That or she knew Kora was right.

For any of these reasons, she doesn't interrupt or argue with the Skald while she talks. Instead she listens, and nods faintly in some areas, but otherwise is still and quiet, save for the occasional shiver that trembles along her back and shoulders.

"Naw, you're right, I know where I went wrong. I should've just left it the hell alone. I shouldn't have tried to tell her how to be, not my place. The fighting was stupid and juvenile, the both of us acted like a couple of teenage girls." There's another shake of her head, a sniff, and she looks at Kora with no disagreement, no sarcasm on her face. The fighting, the disagreements, the mean words and bad blood, she's past it apparently. "I'll rectify where I can. What do you need me to do with August?"

[Kora] For the first time all night, the Skald gives Drew the weary edge of a genuine half-smile. Her mouth is wide, quick-moving, expressive - softening the sharp angles of her features - and it curves in this Mona Lisa way even when still.

"I'm impressed, Drew. Most people are incapable of admitting fault. It's a weakness they read as strength," here Kora moves her shoulders in another of her narrow expressions, half-way to a helpless shrug. " - or pass off as truth."

"This is gonna be two parts, I think. I'm not sure which one is harder. The first one's immediate. I don't wanna hear you - or hear of you - talking about August. You've given up your right to an opinion on her. Or at least, you've given up your right to spread your opinion about. It may be hard, given your pretty definite opinions on the subject. I think it's necessary though.

"Maybe you were gonna do that already." The last like a concession.

"The second part is a little more fluid. You're gonna come up with something that you can do for her. Something that will genuinely help her. Probably without contact between you, since I can't see that ending well. Maybe you'll pay for day care for some time. Maybe you'll help her with tuition. Maybe there's something else you can offer her, without rancor. You figure it out, and bring it to me for approval.

"Got all that?"

[Drew Roscoe] Drew sniffed a bit and returned the half-smile by offering a bit of a sleepy grin in response. It was crushingly cute, thankfully Kora was overall immune to such things because it looked the perfect match to something that belonged on a pillow with the first rays of sunlight cutting through a bedroom. She brushed her hair back from her brow and settled her arms over her stomach again.

"Sounds fair," to the part about not speaking of August. As for the second part, giving something back, she's frowning, but not with disagreement so much as thought. "She won't do daycare, made a point of mentioning so the first time we talked. ...Maybe find some jobs she'd be suited to? I could look around and see if there's any... child care jobs open so she could have the kids with her? Or some other job that won't mind if she's got children with her? I dunno..."

She's dismissing that thought process for now, she wasn't near awake enough to be tossing serious ideas around. She'd been musing immediate thoughts aloud, but it didn't go too far. She just nodded to Kora, confirmed: "Got it." And moved for the door, but paused and instead hitched a thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchen. "You want, like, a cup of something warm to get you back home?"

[Kora] "Yeah," says Kora, following the movement of Drew's thumb. "I'd like that."

[Drew Roscoe] The Jarl would like that, so Drew seems quite content to comply. She doesn't bust out the coffee, not because she thinks it will damage a pregnant woman beyond repair (she didn't believe all the hype about every little thing being able to ruin you if you're pregnant), but rather because she figured Kora would be on her way to rest for the night, because she figured the caffeine would still affect the baby, and she could only imagine trying to sleep with something doing cartwheels inside you.

Rather, she warms some milk and makes some hot chocolate-- simple and modest, a packet that boasted caramel flavoring as well, and mixed it all together in a thermos that she screwed the lid onto and passed off to Kora. The Jarl is wished a good evening with a smile and seen to the door, which is closed once Kora steps past the threshold and out onto the sidewalk, and locked up with the three different locks required for this part of town.

That past she's going straight back to bed, climbing the stairs, scrubbing her face, and tucking herself in under the sheets, snuggling down against her mattress and pillow and sighing happily.

It seemed she'd needed to throw all of her cards on the table, scream a little, and when that was out of her system she was able to see more clearly-- to look back and understand precisely all the points she'd gone wrong rather than one or two and denying the rest. The conversation with Kora had gone much better than she'd anticipated. She had plans for sushi for lunch the next day at work (her supervisor's way of thanking her for the long-assed stress-filled workday she'd pulled today). Things looked up, and for that she drifted back to sleep quickly and peacefully.

[Janis] She doesn't jump out of her skin at the sounds of the voice drifting through the shadows to question her identity. She expects it, her senses reel from the smell of the rain clinging to her hair, the scent of the Fianna that addresses her and the faint tickle of breeding that marks him for a Son of Stag.

The ghostly outline of a tiny grin paints across her mouth, pivoting her body to speak to Patrick, her hand dropping away to find a place to hide in the pockets of her pants. There's a faint hiss of a brogue born to accentuate her words, "Janis Ian, I 'ave come to make a proper presentation of myself to the Jarl. May I proceed, Son of Stag?"

[Imogen] So -

She does not need more prompting - truthfully, she did not need that much, but it was appropriate. Polite. Leading the conversation back.

"I have been thinking that it might be worth taking a greater effort to study the Wyrm," she says. It's one of the rare times she uses the word, rather than cursed, or something similar. Truthfully, she rarely speaks of it at all, considering it something that is fought and not discussed. "In particular at the moment. The body we found at th'warehouse has similar characteristics to a body tha' Detective Montoya identified. I imagine there are others.

"Clearly, this is something I cannot do at a human lab," she continues, her voice even, her words unhurried, unpractised but sure, "but I did wonder about the space tha' I used fer the review o' the corpse earlier. So," a brief gesture of one hand, the palm up, her mouth twisting, "I thought I might get yer opinion.

[Patrick] Broad-shouldered beneath his own layers of clothing, dark hoodie; worn in leather jacket; scruffed jeans and workman's boots, a hood half drawn back so that he might glimpse her face cleaner in the little light given off by the Church they stand before. Rain becomes visible as it falls through it, and begins to dot the Welshman's collar; flatten blond hair revealed as he nears Janis.

Studying her without comment; without a smile to meet the tiny one on her face.

Tonight was not one of the ones Patrick did so easily, not without some kind of substance to ease him into it. Of recent nights, it was becoming harder to taper down the energy that simmered around him; that gave his motions a curiously vicious suggestion. He pushed his hood right back with one such, and stepped up onto the stoop. Janis Ian, she says with a hint of some accent, the Fiann catches it, no doubt. No Galliard worth their salt would miss an inflection in another's voice.

"She's with someone right now," the blue-eyed stranger replies, scratching at his jaw. "You can come in and wait, though."

He reaches past her, and tugs open the great door, gesturing for her to precede him. "You want a beer or something?"

--

New Fenrir, Janis Ian. Wants to do that whole introduction shtick. I'll get her a drink or something.

[Kora] There's a moment part-way through Imogen's statement when Kora's gaze sharpens on the kinswoman's face. She sits straighter, somehow, pulls herself up through the spine and lifts her chin, her dark eyes still fixed on Imogen throughout the movement.

"A lab - " there's a faint, narrow pause here. Her pale brows are drawn together. " - like," and then another pause, a twist of her mouth that lightens her expression " - Doctor Frankenstein, yeah?"

Her own hot chocolate is forgotten now, hands unlacing neatly from the warm stoneware. "We've got plenty of room," she continues, musingly - " - but we'd need to do something to get you the electricity you'd need. And if something was too - tainted," a narrow expression, that supple distaste, " - we could put it down, cleanse it."

She goes silent again, a brief touch of distance. Invite her back. I have cup o soup.

"I think it's workable, Doc. Long as you don't plan to go mad scientist on me."

[Imogen] We need something to get you the electricity you need, "And water," she says, on the edges of it. It is clear this is not a sudden decision but one already carefully considered.

"S'more important than electricity. I can get generators, UPS, somethin', if we can't get the hardware, but I need water t'be able to wash and wash off."

Kora continues - brings up taint, "S'one of the reasons I mention it. I imagine this will be rather like my body disposal only fair more -" a beat. "Messy. I imagine it will impact th'area." To say nothing of the kinswoman herself, who already requires regular rites of cleansing for what she does in the War.

Kora finishes that she thinks it's workable so long as Imogen does not go mad scientist on her. The slight, red-haired woman smirks. "If I start puttin' a lightnin' rod on the roof, you'll know it's time to stop me, fair?"

[Janis] She waits patiently, tilting her head to the side to look Patrick over, taking in his expression and his appearance. She sways back and forth on her feet. Dipping her head in a quick nod when he asks if she wants a beer and will wait.

"Aye, lead the way, a beer will be fine."

[Adara Mires] (hi...are you all at the church?)
to Imogen, Janis, Kora, Patrick

[Kora] Yes! :)
to Adara Mires, Imogen, Janis, Patrick

[Adara Mires] She walked inside the Church, not stepping too deep, jsut a few steps ofr now, to keep herself off the rain. She looked around, her emerald eyes taking things in. She had been invited over by Roman, but well, knowing it was his pack's place, she certainly won't barge in unannonced, especially if Roman wasn't there.

SHe pass a hand in her wet dark brown hair, letting htem fal back to the middle of her back. She was dressed in a work, faded pair of jeans, flat soled boots, a light long sleeve shirt under a warm jacket. She had her hands in her pockets, fidgetting slightly. She wondered if someone was around and how they'd react to a stranger being there.

Clearing her throat slightly, she calls out politly, her voice clear and warm "Hmm hello? Anyone here?"

She shivered slightly, she felt wet and cold, though she was used to the cold. Funny thing to say about a girl from Arizona who lived in Greece for a while. It was her stay in Seattle, and what happened there that made her used and resident to cold weather.

[Kora] "We already have water," Kora says, with a lift of her chin toward the sink. "Don't bloody ask me how. I'm sure the boys could work something out, make sure you have what you need to do the work you wanna do.

"We'll need some ground rules, I think - about what you can bring in. I don't want to insult you, since you're like to know as much about the Unmaker - on this side of the gauntlet at least - as anyone in the city, but nothing live. And if we ask you to destroy something, it'll have to be destroyed." A narrow twist of her shoulders, as she begins to rise. Touching minds with her packmate, wordlessly.

"Maybe Patrick can help you figure out if there's the right infrastructure for the power and water over there; or how we get it turned on. He's out in the church proper if you feel like being social." Her eyes hood, briefly, with that distant look. "New Fenrir, too."

Adara will find a collection of couches and pews, easy-chairs, the sort abandoned in a thrift store thanks to unfortunate plait upholstery or a cigarette burn. Empty pizza boxes line one of makeshift tables there.

Patrick and Janis are just inside the church proper, and soon enough a tall, paleheaded woman emerges from a door further into the sanctuary.

She turns almost unerringly to find Adara standing there. Lifts her chin, and calls out, in a low, ringing voice - "Can I help you?"

[Patrick] Kora can no doubt sense Patrick's approach; it's a strange thing for the male, being tied to a female force is something new, something not felt since Farrah.

There's now memories attached to Prayers to Broken Stone's thoughts; impressions of a stranger's smile, the force of a long fallen Half Moon. Stillness of Questioning would be a story he'd tell his new Alpha one night, perhaps before a fire, or with palms clasped around hot chocolate. Patrick, walking past rows of pews with Janis at his back is shaking water from his collar, and scuffing a hand back through his hair.

It's trimmed to short to do much but endure his rough-housing of it, remaining in disarray as he turns to add: "Apparently we have cups of soup, too." He half turns, gesturing ahead at the fair-haired female at an inner door. "That's who you're after, Kora. She's your Jarl." The way he says the word suggests its something he knows only by lieu of hearing those around him use it.

He speaks it like, well, a foreigner.

[Janis] Janis followed Patrick into the church, her head tilting back to allow her eyes to run the length of the church, taking it all in with a couple sweeps of her eyes. She stops when he does, lowering her gaze as it falls on Kora, dipping her chin down in a nod of appreciation to the Fianna.

"Thank ye." She says to him, folding her arms behind her back as red hair hung limply down her shoulders to stick to the sides of her face. She moves off to approach Kora and meet the Jarl half-way, only pausing in surprised as she gets a good look at her and raises an eyebrow.

[Adara Mires] She smiled at the decor, it wasn't the most classy place she has seen but it had some charm. She wonder if she would have liked crashing here. Probably. Might still happen, after all, she was stuck with a guy in her room at the BroHo. So this was more of a social visit, maybe get to know those hanging here, the members of Roman's pack. If she decide to stay over a few nights, well they'll at least know who she is.

Her eyes stop on the woman and the corners of her mouth curl slightly upward in a amile "Hi, Roman invited me over yesterday, and I thoguht I would stop by, see if he's around...or jsut check the place out if I ever need to spend the night." She tilt her head "That is, if it's not a problem?"

[Imogen] Imogen's mouth twists slightly. "No," she says wryly, indicating merely by tone that this was obviously a foregone conclusion, "Nothing live.

"T'be honest," she says, "I'm not likely t'bring in much by way o' corpses, unless it's warranted. And if it is warranted, I imagine you'll know, as a corpse fer study would ha' more - immediate concerns than the long term goals I'm suggestin' fer study. It will be more samples and th'like. S'also important that I ha' somewhere to keep notes o' some sort to track what I see, rather than having it at my apartment."

A beat, "Encrypted, of course." She is offered the moment to be 'social' with Patrick, or more accurately, ask him some questions. "Perhaps another time," the kinswoman smirks, tightly. "I should get back."

She too gets to her feet, much as Kora does, picking up her barely touched hot chocolate to dump it down the sink, rinse out her mug. It is set upside down by the edge of the sink to dry.

A few moments after Kora, Imogen steps out, a small red-haired woman dressed in business slacks and an open coat. She moves toward the door without pleasantry, apparently seeing it unnecessary as Kora picks up her duties and Patrick likely does the same with Adara, pinch hitting while his packmate deals with her tribesmate.

[Patrick] As if he'd let her get away without at least following her progress with his eyes; calling idly. "I do enjoy our chats, Imogen. Let's do this again some time." If she turns back, she'll find him watching her, amusement banked in his gaze -- if she does not, well -- she does not see anything at all and either way, Patrick does turn back toward the others.

Moving forward to stand beside the pregnant Galliard.

[Kora] "Hey," a quiet greeting to Janis, forestalled briefly with a glance to Patrick as he approaches, leading Janis through the sanctuary, toward the opened door. "Doc has some plans for the building next door. I told her she could talk to you about structural issues. That you could see if we could get water turned on, a few other things she needs. You mind?"

Long enough - direct and clear - her dark eyes linger on Patrick. Then she cuts a look back to Janis. The pale-haired woman in the distance from Adara, closer to Janis - is tall, dressed in layers for warmth in the drafty old stone church - dark jeans tucked into Doc Marten's, a thermal and t-shirt beneath an unzipped hoodie, her hair twisted behind her neck, uncoiling over a shoulder. She's pregnant. Very late in the second trimester, early in the third - obviously showing.

Patrick's comment to Imogen earns him a brief, sweeping upward look. A twist of her mouth. "One second, Janis." A lift upward of her chin toward Adara. "Roman lives here, are you kin?"

(OOC: does Adara have pure breed?)

[Adara Mires] (no PB at all)

[Imogen] She does not quite turn, but absently lifts a hand over her shoulder in an indifferent wave in Patrick's direction, though she does not quite deign to fire back a retort.

The door closes behind her and she is gone.

(thanks for the RP everyone!)

[Janis] "Nay a problem, Jarl."

Kora is likely taller than the redhead, she stands eight inches over five feet, maybe an inch or two taller in the boots she wears. She dips her head in a nod to the Jarl when she's asked to wait. Her eyes begin to roam the length of the room they stood in, slowly rolling her head from side to side.

She pulls her hands free from her pockets, sliding them up to comb through the damp hair to gather it up at the nape of her neck, twisting it into a thick knot that may not stay put for very long. Her clothes were dark: leather blazer zipped up to her throat over a pair of Dickies pants.

[Adara Mires] She blinked and chuckled at Kora's question "Me, kin? No not really."She smiled warmly "My name is Adara MIres, of the Black Fury, Cliath, Gallaird" She grin slightly as she offer almsot the same introduction she did yesterday when Imogen asked for a proper one. She jsut opted to take away the if you have more questions comment she had added then.

She offered a nod to Imogen as she pass her by "Evening Doctor". She brought back her attention to Kora and the others "I didn't want to bother you if you have things to discuss. Roman told me I could crash here if needed. I don't right now, just thought I would come by, maybe met new folks. If you're busy or want me out of here, it's fine too"

Her tone was respectful, polite. It was their place, she was an intruder after all, who ddn't really needed to be there.

[Patrick] The fellow Galliard adopts a leaning stance against an old, worn pew when Kora addresses the request his way. He frowns, arms crossed over his broad chest and lifts his eyebrows. "Yeah, I'll do what I can." He's a silent, frowning accomplice only another moment before he pushes upright again.

Eyes flicking to Janis; Adara.

"I'll get some drinks, you okay with beer?" This to Adara, a faint bleed of humor over his mouth. "I stock it myself so you know it's decent."

[Kora] Kora looks from Janis to Adara, and back again. "Well then, introductions are in order. I'm Kora Eyjólfsdóttir, she who offers sorrow, renders bone to the Nation, Fostern Skald of the Get of Fenris, Alpha of Last Watch and Jarl of the Fenrir. Fostered at the Sept of Vindur und Ringing in Hjaltland. I bound myself to Maelstrom this winter last, and followed Kemp Truth-in-Frenzy rhya until he fell.

"This is my packmate," a lift of her chin toward Patrick. " - and our packhouse. Our territory is open to the Sept members and all Fenrir. Adara, if you need a place to stay, you're welcome here, but I will expect you to sacrifice to Maelstrom and honor the peace of my hall and the word of my pack within these walls."

Then, an expectant look toward Janis.

[Kora] (guys! I'm'a hafta sleep soon. :) )

[Adara Mires] She offer the woman a slightl bow "It's a pleasure meeting you Rhya" She say very respectfully. Ï know about the sacrifice, I'll do it tonight. I jsut haven't decided exactly what I should sacrifice, though I'll be decided when I get back to the Brotherhood."

She look at her "And thank you for your hospitality, it's very appreciated"

She turn her attention to Patrick, offering him a smile "Beer would be really good. And it's a pleasure meeeting you"Her eyes move to Janis as well, her smile widening a little "You as well"

[Janis] "Janis Ian, she who devours the sun, hunts the shadows, riding the Jörmungandr's tail or what's been changed to Rides~like~Cowboy thanks to Ragabash of the Sept of the Green. I am Rotagar and Cliath to the Nation. Sadly, Jarl, I came to Chicago to visit my brother and his wife as they dwell here in the city. I wasn't alone in my first visit here, but now I am. My pack and I, two Gnawers that I ran with from New York, hit a skirmish with the wyrm on the southside near the abandoned industrial districts by the riverfront.

"We'd heard stories of your plight, but hadn't anticipated being ambushed when we hit the city. My pack mates didn't survive, I wouldn't be here either if it weren't for the aide of one of our tribe's kinfolk."

[Kora] "I'd like to hear that story," demurs Kora to Janis. "And soon, yeah? In the meantime, if you've no place else to stay, you're welcome to find a bed in our halls. The place is huge and the territory is open to the Fenrir and members of the Sept. There's beer in the kitchen, just through that door. Food, too."

Then, her phone starts to ring, and Kora steps away, holding up a finger by way of apology to go answer it, leaving the others to interact on their own.

[August] August was still shaking slightly as she walked down the snowy sidewalk. In one hand, the baby carrier holding Ella. In the other, her phone.

Kora's own phone rang. It's caller ID identifying that it was August. She'd never called before.. thus, it was a bit of an odd thing.

[Kora's Cell] "Hello?" A woman's voice in her ear. The middle distance is nearly silent; the hush of rain in the background, falling against stone walls. "August?"

[August] "Hey Kora." A small sigh. "Yeah, it's me. Is this an ok time to talk? I wasn't going to bother you with this.. but it's gone over the line.."

[Kora's Cell] The sound she receives from the other end of the line is affirmative. Quiet. Maybe a bit distant, but made immediate by the method. There's the crackle of interference - something close to a bad connection.

"What's up?"

[August] "Drew.. who says she's one of your kin, showed up at my door last week. She informed me that you wanted me to move in with her, but she wasn't going for that plan, which is fine. However, then she informed me that my choice of housing was inappropriate and that I needed to move out. She even gave me classifieds for apartments. Where she got the sudden notion that -she- was in charge of where I lived is a little baffling."

"But that's not the worst of it. She then continued to berate me about my loyalties and how I can't stand on my own to feet and I need to stop turning to people not of my own tribe, such as you, or Aanon. I don't know where she gets off judging me. I'd never met her before she showed up on my door. She also questioned my parenting skills and told me I needed to live on my own because having people who weren't constants in my daughter's life was bad for me."

"It honestly felt like she was trying to chase me out of the city - to make me feel unwanted and inadequate. I was going to just.. let it go, until tonight. Rain and I were at a coffee shop, she came in - I was polite, but brief with her and she realized I was upset with her.. she then asked me to step outside; which I did hoping to clear it up."

August's voice waivered, as if she might cry, but is holding it back. "She yelled at me, called me a liablity, told me I was weighing the tribe down and that I can't support myself and that I'm just looking for charity. All of which are completely insulting.. especially since I never met her before the other night. That isn't even the worst - she pushed my last button when she told me that I should have used a condom and put her finger in my face." Her tone changed - clearly, she was upset by that.

"Do you know my story? Anyway.. Ella is a child of my first mate, who raped me.. and my second child was my second mates.. so it's not like I'm out sleeping with everyone. I admit that I overreacted and saw red when I grabbed her coat and shouted at her about just how wrong and hurtful that statement was. Sure, I called her a few names - but then she clocked me in the jaw! Drew is out of line. Well beyond out of line. I don't even think she's anywhere near the field anymore. Her behavior is inappropriate and I don't feel like I should have to stand for it just because I knew I could turn to you and Roman for shelter when my heat was out. Does needing heat for two days making me a liability to my tribe or an unfit mother?"

"Kora.. she's out of control. I can't fix this.."

[August] {Adds one bit}

"If Phoenix wouldn't have intervened.. I'm pretty sure she would have beaten the shit out of me.. would would easily risk my baby."

[Kora's Cell] The truth is: Kora listens throughout the whole of it. August is not present to see her reaction. There's silence on the other end of the line, profound and entire. The kinswoman will hear one single breath breathed out through the handset, then the Skald's sure voice cutting through the static.

"I am sorry, August," from a distance, the kinswoman can perhaps detect the rage that flares behind the words. Another pause, another breath, withheld, breathed out. A choking noise, quiet, like someone swallowing a snarl of rage. "Are you alright? And Ella?"

[August] August sniffs on the other end - it might be from the wind on her nose, or the threat of tears, it's hard to say. "Ella's fine. Rain was watching her during all of this. And I'm ok - she didn't hit very hard and most of her swings missed, luckily. She had no right to tell me to tell me I deserved all my problems."

Again, it always came back to: "She doesn't even know me.. so it's even more vicious and vindictive."

[Kora's Cell] "August," here Kora's voice cuts in, incisively. "I asked Drew to share space with you and your family. She wanted employment, and I wanted you closer, where Roman and I could be sure that you were safe. She refused. I did not ask her to approach you after that, and I apologize that she did this in my name. It was wrongly done. You are doing your duty by the Nation and you have to be strong in that, if nothing else. Strong for your daughter, and strong for the child you are carrying now.

"We need them; you understand that, I'm sure. They are the future of the Nation, and you have to be strong - now - for them. Drew is my responsibility. Her actions impinge on my honor, and she - and I - will make reparation for the insults done you. If I have to find a Forseti to discover the truth from her. Beyond that, remember that nothing she says has the power to harm you; don't let her words break off and poison you under the skin. You've been strong enough thus far to survive much; you can survive this, too."

[August] "Thank you, Kora." There was a small sigh of relief as her concerns were taken seriously. "I don't turn to you because I am unable to care for myself - I turn to you because I trust you and I respect you and you and Roman are the closest I have to True family."

"And I really appreciate that you and Roman wanted me somewhere closer and safe and I can work on finding somewhere closer." Even her voice was more relaxed after speaking with her.. she seemed calmer, more at ease.. less likely to have an emotional breakdown which could jepordize the baby. Yes, things seemed better now.

[Kora's Cell] "You do not need to explain yourself to me, August. We'll talk again soon."

[Sorrow] [Adamidas] She's listening. She's paying such close attention that it seems almost strange, and it's intent and it's intense, and she doesn't look away. She doesn't want to turn away just yet. Instead, she is focusing. The stories, the Eddas, the Aesir. It all flies over her head for now.

When we win, Kora says. And Adam's eyes are alight. She listens when she hears her speak of her mother, of her travels to Europe, of her history. It's in her blood. It's what she is.

"There is a difference between helpless and weak. The helpless are, obviously, incapable of protecting themselves for various reasons. They are too young, they are compromised, they are outnumbered. The weak are weak of their own volition, because they are actively refusing to better themselves or actively avoiding bettering themselves. The weak are leaches, the helpless are allies waiting to happen.

"Again, only a misguided one. Some of the older members of the tribe may think this, but realistically Fury kin are our kin because they are strong and they are capable. A simpering, broken male can't protect our children and isn't worthy of fathering a future generation."

"I was given my name, because my sister Hera gave me that name," she starts.

"A Black Fury's Rite of Passage consists of three portions- a test of your judgment, to prove one's worth as an avenger; a test of vision, which is usually a spirit quest or a riddle, and ours was a pretty lengthy trek into the umbra to go track down some wounded epiphling; and a test of fury, which is a test to see if you own your rage and how you handle yourself. The purpose of it being structured this way is so that the elders know what we are strong in and what our weakenesses are.

"I went through my rite of passage with two other Furies- Hera, who was an ahroun; and Mary Martin, who was a philodox-" which sounds remarkably like the last pack she was with "-and during our test of vision, something went wrong... and, well, a lot of septs aren't a big fan of sending your cubs off into a situation where you could potentially die horribly, but... well... Gaia's Light didn't quite have qualms with that, and I don't fault her for it. If you are strong, then you will survive, and if you are weak then you won't.

"It wasn't that Hera was weak, not by a long shot... if anything, she was the only one of us that didn't have her head in the clouds or didn't spend her entire life on the brink of frenzy. You gotta understand, Mary was an angry girl, and I've lived my life so incredibly doped out of my head it's not even funny. I've been on aripiprazole, quetiapine, thiothixene, molidone, Haldol... the moments leading up to my change, my Foster parents thought I was losing my mind, because I was. Apparently, telling people you're hearing things and all you want to do is eat raw meat and you're starting fights when you're normally a nice little girl.

"But Hera died protecting us. Hera died giving us enough time to run away, because if we hadn't we would have died. And she died for us... but we didn't... run. We ran, but we ran, used the environment, and killed the corrupt spirit, and we killed it. and when we came back... we brought her body back, and the Master of Challenges told us that we had failed. And told Hera that she was sorry that her sacrifice had been for nothing.

"And Mary-" she laughs at this, it isn't a laughable offense "-frenzied. Lost her shit, and I remember shifting, and holding onto her, and getting torn to shit until she calmed down. And Gaia's Light pushed, and she pushed, and she tried, and I don't know if I was tired or worried or what... but I didn't frenzy, and she told us she'd lied and that we passed. And Hera named us."

She's quiet for a second... and it lingers.

"What was your Rite of Passage like?"

And... a little quieter... a little more... personal.

"What was your father like?"

[Sorrow] "I never knew him," Kora says, with a quiet twist of her elegant mouth. There's something wry to it, some old twist there that does not entirely breech the surface of her expression. She's seated now, hands on her thighs, thumbs turned inward. Her hair is pulled back from her features, but it gleams with a life of its on in the moving light of the fire kept burning by the Guardians both for warmth and as chiminage. "There's a rite we have, Fenrir - a Rite of Heritage - to determine a bloodline, to discover that lost history, yeah? And after Edinburgh, I was sent to Vindur und Ringing, which is way out in the North Sea. We say Hjaltland. The Fianna call them the Shetlands.

"The Sept was small - just Fenrir and the odd visitor - way to the north east, this series of islands called the Utsker Skerries. So isolated that the kin there still speak this old - well, old Norse language that is otherwise dead as a human tongue. Close enough to Icelandic that you can get along, but - " a twist of her shoulders. " - yeah. So, the Ritemaster did the rite and discovered my father's name. He was a modi. Still a cliath when he died."

A brief exhale, narrowly propelled through her nostrils. "Like Joe," she says, thoughtfully, eyes far away. "Near as I can tell it was a one night stand. He died a few weeks or months later, never knew.

"Li's dad was different. I never knew him either, but he survived, came back to Linus sometime after I left home. Took him away."

She's half-ready to tell the story of her rite of passage. Except: not yet. Soon enough. Instead, a flickering glance back to the young Black Fury. "What about you? Your folks? That shit with the doctor during the Rite of Spring, I never really understood that. Did they do that to you?"

[Adamidas] "So... this is new for you. You didn't grow up with this and..." she can't put words to it. the Fury looks at Kora, and it's become storytime. She's trying to understand. The fact that they're divulging so much. They're talking about this, they're learning things. They're learning about the tribes from a case study. Going from the specifics and moving out to the general. Learning and hearing about places she's only heard about.

Kora's been somewhere. Seen her people. Seen her physical homelands, whereas the Fury has only traversed the spiritual. Deposited spirits to their front door.

"Tell me about Joe," she says. She sees Kora's far away eyes. She goes on and talks to her about someone that Adam only barely met once. She's met Joe in silence- has the cardstock notecards to prove it.

But they aren't talking about Joe now. They're talking about her. They're talking about spring.

"I... it's weird. My dad died before I was born, and my mom was a philodox. I was with her until I was five and... things happened... and she died. So, I went to foster care. And I got adopted by the Carricks," she might be down on herself once upon a time. Kora remembers a terrified girl from spring, but there is no fear there. Nothing of the sort. Instead, there is only acceptance, "my adopted family is human."

"They didn't know, so... when I started getting close to my first change... twelve, thirteen, they thought there was something wrong with me. So I went to the doctor... a lot. According to the medical records, I'm a paranoid schizophrenic, and things got bad enough that they didn't know what to do, so... I went away for awhile, and I lived at the hospital. Fury kin broke me out and I went to stay at the sept after that."

She actually smiles, but it's sad. Genuinely sad at that.

"They didn't know, and looking back now, I realize that. And, if they didn't love me, they wouldn't keep looking. They did their best. And I think... that if they knew what happened when I was there, they never would have sent me to the hospital."

A beat.

"There are a number of garou that look at what they are as a curse instead of a gift. I've never understood that."

[Sorrow] TRANSCRIPT
to Sorrow

[Sorrow] ZE PAUSE.