twister sisters.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The schooling fish are a whirlwind of silver in the deep, gemlike blue of their aquarium. Lukas is where he usually is when he spends the afternoon, or a couple hours, or twenty minutes in Shedd: on the bench in front of them, watching.

The Storm Chasers had a note under their door this morning. Their presence was requested; one or the other. It didn't really matter which. There wasn't a time set, either. Lukas, iPod in pocket and earbuds in ears, was apparently prepared to wait as long as necessary.

[Joss Lehrer] She likes fish. In fact, she likes anything right now that is calm, and soothing, and keeps her mind from running off on wild tangents of how to kill the Valet - which is not nearly as pretentious as it sounds. She's been wandering about the aquarium for a while now, watching the fish, while working her way through a big fluffy pile of cotton candy. It's been reduced by half, already, and her fingers are sticky and stained red from the dyed sugar. Her lips and tongue too.

She deosn't seem to be watching where she's going, or moving in any one particular direction, until she sees a certain Eagle Kinfolk, and decides to head that way rather than continue aimlessly wandering. Only to find Kemp writhing on the floor, then sitting up again. She plops another bit of the sweet treat into her mouth, letting it melt against her tongue as she closes the distance between her and Imogen- and Kemp - and others.

"Hey, want some?" This offer to Imogen, of course, though she doesn't necessarily look to be the cotton candy type.

[Beth Clemensen] She got something to write on.

"Uh huh," she says, far more cheerfully than the situation really calls for, and slides one of the straps of her purse down off of her shoulder to open up the gaping leather maw of her bag. Her left, ringless hand sneaks inside to rustle around the contents, and she pulls out a small ringed tablet of paper and a pen. Flipping the pad open, she clicks the pen alive and looks up at Joey.

[Imogen Slaughter] "She's not giving you mouth to mouth either." This said without actually checking with Beth, which one might consider rude. Then again, it might be considered kind.

He points at something she cannot quite see at her angle, and the young Rotagar is given a withering look before she sinks to a crouch to look.

"Odd," is all she has time to say before Joss comes up behind her, offering cotton candy. Imogen does not yet stand, instead twisting at the hip to look up at the Fenrir Theurge, her offering. A moment of consideration - the decision is by no means automatic, and she reaches out with a single hand and plucks a small swath of cotton candy from the untouched side of the Godi's treat.

"Ta," she says, popping it into her mouth.

A glance toward Kemp, "But not quite as odd as you."

[Schala] Schala managed to get to the exit without interference, picking herself up. Her chest was starting to hurt a little...it felt tight. It wasn't the kids fault...she shouldn't have gotten them excited or distracted from their tour. Her hand went to the middle of her ribs, pushing on it slightly as if that would make the sensation go away. Then she was moving out the side exit to get outside.

[Sinclair] The Storm Chasers are, in many ways, like college roommates. They share a room, which is small. They are roughly the same age, they are rather equal in terms of experience in both the world and the Nation, and they are both bending a great deal of their daily energy towards Figuring This Shit Out. They do not spend all their time together, they do not have the same circles of 'friends', but they get along well enough to work together and share the same space. It hasn't escaped anyone's notice that Joey spends most of her time with the Theurge of the Sentinels, or that Sinclair is occasionally seen in deep conversation or walking away someplace with John Thornton.

Nor has anyone failed to notice that in battle, Joey follows Sinclair's lead impeccably, and that the two of them share kills, rip open enemies, and get joyfully, delightedly saturated in blood and ichor only to howl happily afterward in voices that regardless of form are actually quite lovely. There are times when it's obvious why the two of them are in a pack together.

When she woke up today there was a note stuck to the bulletin board that she and Joey have on the inside of their bedroom door. Joey had gotten it first, left it there for Sinclair's viewing pleasure. The slightly older but equally madcap blonde doesn't know if her packmate's at the Shedd right now or not, but she's headed inside and downstairs to the schooling fish. Unlike many teenagers or young adults, she doesn't scuff her feet along but walks with a near-silent deftness. She's wearing her green and gray knit hat with the earflaps and the puff-ball on top and the long ties that she never bothers to knot together under her chin. She's wearing jeans and blue sneakers and about four layers of upperwear, from thermal shirt to t-shirt to hoodie to peacoat.

Her gloves are fingerless. Doesn't matter. When she approaches Wyrmbreaker, her hands are shoved in her coat pockets.

"A'ight?" she says, by way of greeting, by way of Okay, I'm here, by way of Whaddya want?

[Kemp] He watched the woman on the floor a moment longer and stood when Joss turned up. Something about his head being lower than Joss that bothered the fuck out of him. Even as he brushed his hand off to offer it to Imogen, he eyed Joss and gave an absent greeting.

"Hey."

And instantly started asking Imogen.

"So you know her? The kin?"

[Joey Oliver] Joey accepts the tablet and pen and writes out an address. Her handwriting is bold and somewhat blocky, but still easy to read. When she's finished, she hands it back. "If you go there, there should be someone who can point ya at Decker."

They are joined by yet another of Gaia's chosen, this time in the form of the Theurge elder. Joey grins and waves to her new friend. She turns back to Beth. "You should check out the local wildlife section." She rocks back on her heels and jerks her chin in the direction of that particular exhibit.

[Joss Lehrer] Kemp gives her an odd look (...she's used to it...) and doens't like being shorter than the not very tall Godi, and Joss just grins. She offers him some Cotton Candy too with a tip of the stick in his direction. "Heya."

Then Joey waves, and Joss' smile warms, though it was already warm and friendly to begin with, despite the level of rage that burns through her right now. Thankfully, she tends to be unnaturally calm even on the worst of days, and is well in control of herself. For now. At any rate -she returns the wave to Joey, and plucks some more candy free, to pop between her lips.

[Kemp] "It's not blue, but ok, thanks."

That was his reply to the offer of cotton candy and the piece he took was far from a small pluck. The entire wad stuffed in his mouth at once only to melt instantly on his tongue.

"Nothing like ninety nine point nine percent sugar to make a day."

[Imogen Slaughter] "Met her th'once, yesterday," she says, briefly taking Kemp's offered hand, but not pulling it at all as she gets to her feet under her power, and releasing him.

"She's from Indiana, we were th'first o' the blood that we've met in Chicago. Name's Beth. Fenrir. As I said."

[Beth Clemensen] Accepting the pen and pad back, Beth quickly reads over the address and nods to herself, either to indicate that she understands Joey's writing or simply as a force of habit, before she's closing the notebook and clicking the pen to sleep and secreting them both away in a purse that looks heavier than its small size would otherwise indicate.

The aquarium won't be closing for another several hours, and there are more people, is more Rage, than there was a few minutes ago; but she's not here for recreation, nor is she here for socialization. This is something of a scouting expedition, a test run to see if a motley group of kindergarten students can understand the exhibits and reach the interactive displays and manage not to break something that the school can't afford to replace, and now she's being directed out of here for purposes that she's not going to question.

It could be innocuous assistance, or there could be other reasons that this girl who carries herself like a warrior is suggesting that she go check out an exhibit that isn't in the reef section. Beth seems to take it at face value, and she gives another smile, this one showing teeth, before hoisting her purse up higher on her shoulder.

"I think I will." A small wave, and then she adds, "Thanks for your help, Joey. I'll see you around."

With that, the previous unknown turns and starts off away from the gathering of Garou, heading towards the local wildlife.

[MTing is once again breaking my brain. Thanks for the RP, y'all!]

[Kemp] And just like that the kin in question took off like grease through a goose that ate Ex-Lax by the ton.

"Ok, so where is the shark tank?"

Imogen was the center of attention again.

[Joss Lehrer] "They was outa blue." Kemp thinks sugar makes his day, and she grins her agreement. Like she possibly needs more sugar on any given day... like as not she'll be bouncing off the walls in no time. She doesn't object to the size of his bite either. She'd offered, and he could have taken the whole thing and she wouldn't have protested - just snatched a last bit on the way by. She's easy like that - easy like Sunday morning, as the songsters say.

And he outranks her. But mostly, she's just that friendly. She doesn't know the kinfolk in question, so listens instead.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas pulls the earbuds out of his ears as he sees Sinclair approaching, alerted less by her movement or her footfall than by the crackle of rage that comes from the rather ferocious Galliard.

"Hey, Sinclair," he greets her, nodding her to the bench beside him. "I wanted to talk to you about your pack and mine."

He keeps his voice down, needless to say. But he doesn't bother with euphemisms and code; those humans passing near them are usually in a hurry to get away, anyway.

"I like the Stormchasers' strength," he says. "I like your ferocity. I even like your attitude, that sort of wild joy that most of us have forgotten." There's a slight pause; it's barely noticeable. "But I want you to disband and join the Unbroken under Perun. Will you hear why?"

[Joey Oliver] Joey waves good bye the kinfolk, and checks the watch at her wrist. It's not nice, nor expensive. It's a thick band of leather with an analog face. Then she looks up and around, and starts trying to find her alpha and the alpha of the Unbroken. Her hands are in her pockets, and she wanders around. She hadn't really planned on being at Shedd to talk to Wyrmbreaker about, well, whatever it was that he wanted to talk about. But since she's here anyway, she'll stick around. Maybe try to catch Sinclair on her way out to find out what's up.

Until then, she really wants to see the Polar Play area again. The kids in their dress-up are just too cute.

[And Joey's out. MTing breaking my brain. Thanks for the play!]

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen tilts her head slightly, gesturing the direction they'd been headed before Kemp's antics had slowed them down. "C'mon," she says.

As Kemp turns away to head that way, she remarks, "Yeh ha' paper or somethin' stuck t'yer back." The observation is mild.

Down the corridor they head, Imogen reaching into her purse for a folded map as they go.

[Joss Lehrer] "Oh! Sharks!" Imogen knows the way, and she turns to follow along with them, unconcerned that she's invited herself along. "Have you seen the dolphins yet? I always save them till last."

She grins at them, and follows their lead. She's been wandering for the better part of the afternoon, she seems content to wander along some more. There is a glance spared for Lukas and Sinclair. Idly she wonders what they're talking about, though ultimateily it's none of her business, really, so she has nothing to say about that. instead, she addresses the paper stuck to Kemp's back - or rather, ther eason it's there. "Why were you floppin around, anyway?"

Even as she asks the question, she knows she probably doesn't want to know the answer.

[Sinclair] The schooling fish zip away from the glass as Sinclair comes to stand in front of it. Behind her is nothing but aquamarine, filled with the rocks and plants that make up the habitat of the schools. They skitter at the edges, dart behind rocks and coral, leave an expanse where she stands. It isn't her Rage. Were she in the water with them, she may as well be a piranha. A shark. A giant sea snake.

A predator. A monster.

She doesn't sit down on the bench by him just yet. He's seen her around. She's got a galling amount of energy, even if she doesn't bounce up and down or fidget much. She does listen, though, her eyebrows quirking upward a bit when he mentions pack matters. One corner of her mouth goes up in a half-smirk when he mentions their strength, their ferocity. That's a pleased smirk, not a condescending one.

Your attitude. That actually makes her grin, her white teeth flashing.

...I want you to disband...

The grin snaps out of existence. She frowns, more in confusion than anything else, though there are traces of displeasure. Sinclair is not hard to read. She wears everything on her sleeve. She wears some things on her skin. In her flesh.

"I would love to hear why," she says.

[Tyler Norman] Shedd Aquarium. He'd been in Chicago for a year almost and he'd never been to the Aquarium. Now, he was there with a rag muffin of a kid - a female somewhere between 9 and 10, wearing second hand clothes and a beat up jacket. Of course, Tyler doesn't seem dressed in anything better. His jeans are faded and bear a hole in one knee, his jean jacket's wool lining doesn't keep him as warm as it used too.

"She's late again." The little girl says as they stroll down one corridor and into another.

"Yeah. She'll be here. We're meeting at the sharks... remember?" He says with a ruffle of the girls hair. She's clinging to a stuffed killer whale, her feet dragging in dread that her absentee mother might not be there.

[Kemp] For a second he too glanced towards Lukas whom he had not seen outside of Moots in months and months and Sinclair whom he did not know outside of moots, at all. Then Joss and Imogen had his attention again as they ambled on towards the Sharks.

"I like paper, never know when there won't be any in the john, so gotta carry spares along. Hey..."

He glanced back at Joss a second.

"Ever hear of anyone falling in the shark tank and getting ate?"

[Joss Lehrer] She blinks. "Good plan, I suppose." She takes the last bite of her cotton candy treat, throwing the stick away as they move past a trash bin, before she makes sure to suck all the sweet residue off her sticky fingers. Sometimes, she really is such a child.

Kemp wonders about shark tank deaths, and she arches a brow. Then laughs and shakes her head.

"Nope. Not lately anyway. Why, thinkin' of going for a swim?"

[Kemp] "Nope, just....wondering."

He left it at that for the moment, though there were dreams of shoving Kin into tanks, dancing through his head.

[Imogen Slaughter] "More likely," Imogen's tone is deadpan, flat. "He wants to pitch someone in th'tank and if it happens frequently, he has a good cover story."

The Wild Reef section is ahead - with it, the shark exhibit, as well as other, alien animals - moray eels, whiptail rays. Creatures that have lines and frames which are wrong to their land-locked eyes.

[Kemp] "Awcomeon, do I look like I would do that?"

He made a halo over his head with both hands and batted his lashes.

"Accidents happen."

[Joss Lehrer] She glances between the two of them, and then laughs, delightedly mortified at the though. "Oh Kemp, girl troubles?!"

And then she's distracted... "Ooooooooh LOOK!" Some of these animals - fish - are really strange looking, and appeal to her freak loving nature.

[Joss Lehrer] (at the thought. cuz i kin type.)

[Kemp] "More'n girls fall in shark tanks."

His attention was diverted towards whatever Joss was pointing at for a moment. A glance given down towards Imogen.

"It could happen."

Mouthed.

[Tyler Norman] (Gah, I'm distracted! (sad) I'll try to break Tyler in another time. Thanks all!)
to Imogen Slaughter, Joss Lehrer, Kemp, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair, snail

[Imogen Slaughter] (*murders Kemp for post jumping.*

*cheerfully*)

[Imogen Slaughter] "You look precisely like yeh would do that," flat, an eyebrow arching. "So stop fluttering yer eyelashes at me."

He mouths something at her, and her eyebrow arches further, "Did no one ever teach yeh the concept o' turn th'other cheek?" Then again, he's Fenrir. Even if he was taught it - it wasn't in his makeup.

oooh, look! Imogen turns her head automatically, her gaze moving to take in the - "Dragon Moray Eel," she reads off the plate in front.

[Joss Lehrer] She laughs at the two of them, shaking her head. "Long as I ain't th'one goin swimmin..."

Imogen reads off that she's looking at a Dragon Moray Eel, and Joss wonders aloud, almost absently. "Wonder if Decker'd let me have one as a pet..." though gaia knows what she'd do with it.

[Kemp] "It don't look like a dragon to me. Does it eat people?"

That last part sounding a little too hopeful.

[Imogen Slaughter] A glance over her shoulder at Joss, "Somehow, I don't think he'd expect to need to gi' you permission."

Her attention returns to the plaque as Kemp speaks. "I doubt it," she says, "says it swallows its - Jesus." something she reads pauses her, eyebrows arching upward in reaction. She lifts her gaze to regard the eel with renewed interest, tilting her head slightly as she does, before continuing, "Says it swallows its pray whole and then ties itself into a knot, squeezing its prey in its digestive system t'flatten it out."

A pause. "That would be somethin' t'see." Almost reflective, before she turns her head to glance at Kemp, "Nothin' about eatin' people though. Just fish. Sorry."

[Joss Lehrer] She laughs and shrugs - Imogen is probably right. Though she has enough other odd things going on at the packhouse in her attic, they probably wouldn't even bat a lash at a tank of coral and dragon morey eels.

Imogen reads the information, and Joss is completely engrossed in watching the ugly weird little thing, until she gets to the eating part. She blinks, and looks up at her, then back down. "Oh that's groooooooooooooss..."

Somehow she seems more delighted at the prospect than grossed out though.

[Kemp] It wouldn't leave much behind, would it?"

He paused, rocking back and forth on his heels before adding with a big ole shit eating grin.

"Except floating fish shit."

[Imogen Slaughter] It's a strange combination. Kemp and Joss's obvious youth tempered by Imogen's reticence.

Kemp asks about fish shit, and Imogen regards him narrowly before tilting her head sharply to indicate a few tanks over. "Sharks are o'er there."

[Joss Lehrer] She turns away from the ugly little thing that squeezes his prey to death in it's stomach, to head toward the sharks. Sleek and deadly, cold and single- minded. She stares at them circling, and moving and circling curiously.

Her voice is quiet, soft as she muses in a tone that isn't easily overheard. "Some folks follow Shark. It seems so... impersonal... to me..."

[Kemp] "See how dead their eyes look? No lids, no blinking. And then consider how cold blooded they are. I remember some following shark in the past, here in the city. Always made me think about loan sharks and shit."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (yaaagh. *finishes cooking, posts!*)

The Shadow Lord's eyes are fixed on the Glass Walker, keen, as her smirk vanishes. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely certain she wouldn't fly into a rage and attack. Truth be told, he isn't sure he wouldn't do just that, put in her place.

But she doesn't. She wants to know why. He looks at the fish in the tank, their endless whirling. The light is pale and luminous on his face; it makes them look ethereal, almost, though they are anything but.

They're werewolves. They're a full moon and a gibbous, some of the most rage-ridden, raw, redblooded creatures of their kind. On this planet. In the world. They're solid and visceral, and dominance and violence are in their blood.

Though, they might pretend otherwise.

"Because," Lukas says, "our packs are suited to one another. Not because we're the same, but because we're different. We bring different and complementary things to the table. We're imbalanced right now, the both of our packs.

"The Unbroken needs vigor. We need to tap more into the Wyld, which we've somehow lost touch with along the way. We need that sort of wild drive and reckless energy I see in the Stormchasers. I need a packmate that'll push me forward when I want to hang back and plan, and plan, and plan.

"And as for your pack -- you need direction. You're mighty warriors; there's no doubt of that. I don't dispute that your battles have significance, that your victories advance our cause. But I can see nothing that connects one skirmish to the next. What cause are you fighting for, Sinclair, besides the most amorphous banners of Wyld and Gaia? What are the Stormchasers doing with their lives that will matter after they're dead and gone?

"You're too much of the Wyld. We're too much, I suppose, of the Weaver. But somewhere in between there's a balance. And then we'll be a force the Wyrm will dread."

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen follows the two to the black-tip reef sharks, coming to stop in front of the glass and the plaque. The animals are between twenty and thirty feet, moving constantly, slowly swimming within the confines of their glass cage.

There is absolute silence from them, an absolute lack of emotion. She reads the plaque before looking up, tracking one of the animals slowly with her eyes - no reaction apparent. The conversation of the two grabs her attention seconds later.

"'Follow shark'?" she repeats, an eyebrow arching. There is a certain way she pronounces it which strips the word shark of its reverence. It is not the way a Garou would speak of a totem, far from it. To Imogen, it is merely a noun.

[Joss Lehrer] Joss nods, slightly. "Like Eagle." She tips her head, still watching the large predators behind the glass. "There's all manner of totems to follow, and Shark is one. I've never known any without access to the ocean to follow though. Chicago would seem an odd place for such a thing."

Weird, but not impossible. Kemp mentions loan sharks, and she laughs softly. "I dunno. It's just not my style, but I can't begrudge anyone for wanting to follow. I'm sure there's something that appeals to some folks. I'm just not one of them."

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's eyes are on the shark as it passes through the water, tail slicing as it moves.

"Does it change you?" the question is sudden, almost unexpected, even on her own part. A sideways glance at the Theurge, a small, wry smirk. "I've seen a symptom or two."

[Joss Lehrer] She looks over at Imogen as she asks the question, then back to the water ahead as she contemplates the answer. She's seen a symptom or two, and that makes her grin. "In a way, I suppose it does. Following a totem doesn't change who you are fundamentally, at the core, but we're drawn toward those totems that will help enhance our strengths, that have traits we admire and will help us grow in specific ways. Sometimes, in exchange for that, we also inherit and enhance some of the weaknesses too."

She rubs her forehead, absently, and then catches herself, and drops her hand. It itches, but not too badly today. Hopefully it will fade in time. "There are different categories of totems - war, wisdom, cunning. A pack's mission often dictates what they'll fall under. Eagle is war." That can't hardly be surprising for the great bird of prey, or it's followers. "It can make us strong, but there are conditions attached, no matter which you follow."

[Sinclair] Sinclair sucks at pretending. When she's performing for a sept it may be a different story, but in general, she can't feign humanity. She can't act like she isn't what she is. She doesn't attempt false politeness, insincere submission. She is an awful, awful liar. She's pleased that a Fostern Ahroun likes the way her sister and she behave in combat. She's suspicious and wary and not terribly happy that he wants them to break up their pack and come toddling along to The Unbroken. The reasons for that are impossible to read; the emotion itself is impossible to miss.

Just like the way she raises a dubious eyebrow when he says that their packs are suited to one another. Even when he explains what he means, she looks like she doesn't buy it. Like she doesn't quite get why a Full Moon is talking about balance.

She frowns when he says the word reckless. She crosses her arms over her chest. The frown becomes more thoughtful. Wild she may be, reckless and impetuous almost certainly, but neither Sinclair nor Joey are exactly...stupid. Or thoughtless. They follow a totem of Wisdom, not War. It's just wisdom expressed violently, viciously, destructively.

Her jaw clenches when he tells her that they need direction.

"That," she says when he's done, "was a pretty good speech." She means it; there's no sarcasm there, or dismissal. "Points for cohesion, but demerits for presumption." Again: she means what she's saying, as though she's analyzing a performance. Which it might have been. In Sinclair's world, though, something being performed does not make it any less sincere, any less meaningful.

She thinks for a moment. "Can you really say that because you don't see a thread of connection between one battle and the next that it means we don't have direction? Or, really, that a pack devoted to Twister would or should be terribly worried about which way we're going?" She cocks her eyebrow at him, half-bewildered, still dubious. "On top of that, did you plan plan plan to insult my packmate and I by implying that what we are doing won't matter after we're gone -- or, again, that this should be a great big concern of ours?"

Sinclair licks her lips. "I'm still listening. But so far what you're saying seems like you've decided what we both need. I believe you know exactly what your pack needs. To be honest, though, I'm not sure Joey or I need to hook up with a Fang who runs crying from dirt and a Lord who used to follow her."

[Imogen Slaughter] A long pause. Imogen watches the water. There is something hypnotic about aquatic life. Something utterly still in the silence, the steady movements of the creatures within.

"What are Eagle's restrictions?"

Imogen has been aligned, at least according to the Nation, according to the Sept, for nearly a decade. Yet, it appears she has never asked these questions.

There is a deliberate casualness in the way she asks them now.

[Joss Lehrer] For all her youth, one of the things Joss has always been is a teacher. She enjoys speaking of the spirits, explaining things that so few people ever see. If she thinks it odd that Imogen is asking now, after all this time, or even weird that she's asking Joss in particular, it doens't show. They're honest questions, good questions, and Joss treats them as such, and answers as honestly as she can.

"At times, depending on our strength of will, it can be easier to frenzy then it is on a day to day basis." a pause, and an admission. "I dreamt the other night - as you did before? The Valet came to me this time. I'm... drained. It's why I came here today, to watch the fish, to relax in the silence of constant motion without hectic stress. I tend to be calmer than most anyway, but every bit helps." A beat, then a grin. "Don't worry, it's working. I'm well in control."

[Imogen Slaughter] (*chains Kemp down*)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (FUCK'S SAKE.)

[Joss Lehrer] (*LMAO* that... didn't work.)

[Imogen Slaughter] The valet, Joss says, and Imogen's eyebrow arches, a prelude to a question which is answered by the subsequent explanation.

The subject changes.

"No luck in solvin' that, then?" If Joss's admission concerns her, it doesn't show.

[Kemp] Part of this conversation was something that no longer had anything to do with him. Something he had lost and something that had left a hole bigger than his heart in him. Something that might not ever heal, he was pretty damned sure. So the converstation about Eagle was shut out as hard as he could make it shut out. Infact, he had drifted off when the conversation started and headed down towards a turn in the corridor. So the part about a Valet whatever, didn't even reach him because he was no longer listening to anything around him. Time to go, that's what was in his mind and deepest wishes.

[Joss Lehrer] She shakes her head. "We're closer. We had a meeting of the minds to get as much information as possible." It didn't go as well as she hoped, but at least there's been SOME progress. "Charlie and I have a plan - we'll get their asses in gear and make a run at solving that little dilemma soon." A beat, as she catches herself reaching for her forehead again. "Very soon."

She turns and looks at Imogen, briefly. "He fucked up. The Valet. Tried to appear as Rune - as a Godi." She snorts, chuckling. "Like I don't know my Eagle history better than that..."

[Imogen Slaughter] There's a distinct pause, deliberate and defined. Then, almost reluctantly, Imogen says, "Let me know if I can be of any help."

Kemp makes to leave and Imogen turns her head, looking at his departing back.

"Kemp," she barely raises her voice, but pitches it to be heard farther. "Th'jelly fish are in th'next exhibit o'er."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] For the most part, Lukas's eyes remain on the fish in the tank. They're a rather mismatched pair, the man well-dressed and somber in cotton and wool, black and grey; the woman pierced, wild-eyed. They are obviously not a couple. They sit too far apart for that, and anyway, the air between them doesn't read that way.

At all.

Lukas considers Sinclair's words for a moment before he replies. Then, "You're right. I did presume. I presumed based on what I could see of you. If you have a direction, tell me what it is. If you don't feel you need one, I'd like to hear why.

"As for the rest of it: no, I didn't mean to insult you. Yes, I suspected you might feel insulted nonetheless. But Sinclair," he does look her way now, "if I had no respect for you and your packmate at all, I wouldn't be talking to you right now."

A pause.

"Did you mean to insult my packmate and I?"

[Joss Lehrer] She smiles at Imogen and nods. "I will. Thank you."

The jelly fish are down the way and she turns to watch Kemp heading toward them, shutting out their conversation. Her voice, quiet, reaches only Imogen. "He still misses Eagle."

[Imogen Slaughter] She watches Kemp as he leaves or stays or responds.

Then, to Joss, "Did he tell you that?" an eyebrow arching.

[Sinclair] They don't even sit together. Sinclair stands in front of the tank, facing him, watching him. They're far enough apart that she doesn't exactly loom over him; wouldn't anyway, not when she's over half a foot shorter than he is. She's dressed in denim as well as (thinner) cotton and (cheaper) wool, the colors mismatched and her pale hair sticking out from under an almost childish -- or simply hipster-chic -- ski hat. They don't belong together. His eyes are a penetrating sort of blue; hers are, oddly, more reminiscent of summer skies and robins' eggs. They are the least wild thing about her, the softest, and if they are truly windows to the soul, then no one looking in them would think she were a monster.

So she surrounds them with eyeliner and mascara and shadow. She makes them smoky and dark and intense. She shutters and curtains them, if they are windows, until a passing glance over her features makes her more of a monster. It is, oddly, a sort of honesty, for her to alter the inherent softness of her eyes.

She considers his words, and his question. She uncrosses her arms from her chest and picks up the puffball-ended strings hanging down from her unused earflaps, bopping them together carelessly.

"Not really," she admits. "But sorta." Sinclair pauses, flicking the ties of her hat around some more, and looks across the way at him. Her tone of voice maintains that sense of admission, which is not confession: "I was pretty fuckin' disgusted after the fight with the worm. That was some weak shit right there, man." Another pause, this one giving her time to change the cadence, the sense, of her words. "So now you're here talking about our strength and ferocity and vigor and I can't exactly help but wonder if it's appealing because it'll compensate for your packmate's apparent tendency to get squicked out and bolt.

"I mean... Wyld we may be, but Joey's and I have both been tainted, and not by a force of creation. And respect you may have, but..." she trails off, and shrugs. "I'll be blunt: you I'm fine with, but everything I've seen of Katherine in battle and at moots doesn't exactly impress. I'm more than a bit wary of binding myself to her."

Beat. "And Joey and I already dealt with one Fang who was more likely to get us killed than anything else."

[Joss Lehrer] She shakes her head, slightly. "No. I recognize the look. I have seen it before. He's been alone a long time, and part of you always aches for your first totem, no matter how many you follow later on - and he's never chosen another."

She pauses, takes a breath and shrugs, looking back to Imogen with a lopsided grin. "I could be wrong. I am on occasion."

[Imogen Slaughter] She shakes her head slightly. The grin, of course, is not returned - but that is to be expected. Still, the defined edge to her voice, perhaps, not quite.

"In this particular case, you ha' no right to make assumptions."

[Joss Lehrer] She blinks. And after a moment, she nods, and looks away. "You're right. I apologize." She takes a breath, holds it, and then lets it go, slowly. "It won't happen again." a beat. "Ya know, I think I missed an exhibit. Think I'll go see."

Chastised, she tuck her hands into the pockets of her skirt, and glances at her companion, before she starts to move away.

[Imogen Slaughter] A pause. She should feel a little ashamed, maybe. A little chastised herself.

"Enjoy th'rest of the aquarium, Joss," her simple comment is on the edge of politeness. After a moment, she returns her attention to the sharks, her eyes tracking their slow and deliberate movements. Her hands slide into the pockets of her jacket, and she has some awareness of pedestrians, no longer turned away by the presence of Rage, coming to the tank to study its contents, and disappearing. She has awareness, too, of a few of them - mostly men, looking at her.

A time or two, she is alone. The moving sharks comfort her, obscurely - as much as the silence and solitude does.

Eventually, she walks away. Pays attention to no other exhibits, and simply heads for the exit.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] When Sinclair wonders aloud if Lukas means to compensate for Kate, the Ahroun laughs aloud.

"Shadow Lords don't compensate for weakness, Sinclair," he says; there's as much wryness and self-mockery in this as there is seriousness. "If I didn't think I had the strength to lead you and your packmate, I wouldn't be discussing this with you.

"As for Katherine -- I won't make excuses for her. She is mad. She does have a crippling phobia, one that must always be kept in mind if you venture into battle with her. But having a weakness doesn't necessarily make her utterly weak and useless, no more than being tainted once makes you ikthya. Besides which, the bottom line is I'm the Alpha of the Unbroken. It's my duty to know my pack and its strengths and weaknesses. It's my duty to utilize the first and -- " irony, " -- compensate for the latter.

"I know Truth's Meridian's worth. I know she won't get me killed out of stupidity. I know to plan for her limitations. And most importantly, she knows her limitations. There's a reason she has not spoken of leadership since she ... abdicated. And believe me, for a wolf like Katherine to deliberately hold back from attempting to seize as much power as she can is nothing but true strength of will."

[Sinclair] There's a few times while Lukas is speaking that Sinclair comes very close to saying something. A few months ago, over the summer or even a few weeks ago, she would've just said them. Now she holds them back, for whatever reason. She thinks a little more before speaking. She thinks not about how he'll take them but how that will affect her; she thinks about the future, and what she wants, and what she can get. It's a far cry from the sort of Garou who once followed Bull.

For the most part, she is held back -- including when her rage flashes at the mention of the Wyrmish suffix. And for the most part, she listens -- as well as someone her age, with her temperament, can.

"So what direction are you two going in?" she asks, instead of commenting on Shadow Lords. Or crippling anythings. Or taint. Or Katherine's desire to seize power versus her will to refrain versus her capacity for holding it if she gets it.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a pause; not quite a hesitation.

Then: "War."

Simple as that, apparently. Lukas's brow knits faintly in the uncertain light of the aquarium. He turns toward the Galliard. "Everything else is secondary. Power struggles, territorial disputes, all that bullshit -- unimportant. If we lead, we lead by example. If others have worthy causes and plans, we put aside our egos and fall in. We'll avoid what conflict we can against our own. What we can't avoid, we end, hard and fast, so we can concentrate on what matters.

"There's a Hive to the north. The Sept's known about them for years; that's where most the Dancers that keep raiding down this way are coming from. But so far we've just been skirmishing on our territory, over and over, on the defense. I think we should start raiding them back."

[Joey] Joey's been Shedd for most of the afternoon. It's one of her favorite places to be, truth be told. She comes from a city clinging to life in the middle of the desert. She's spent nights out under the stars, with sand stretching as far as the eye can see in all directions. She's seen greenery in places where one would not think water would be found. She comes from a very dry place, where the temperature only drops into the fifties in the middle of winter, and lower still at night.

She finds the opposite fascinating. That life survives and thrives in a place so completely opposite to her birthplace. A world of water, a place so fast that scientists still don't have names for ever creature in it. Where animals like blue whales swim freely, because there is nothing but space for them to grow.

Joey's been down in the polar area, watching the children play, or press their faces to glass to watch aquatic animals swim. It's not that she's bored, or tired of watching people go about their lives. She checked her watch, saw that it was well past the time Wyrmbreaker had set to meet with one of the Storm Chasers. She wants to know if they're still about, or if Sinclair is, or if it's time for her to go home.

She climbs the steps two at a time. Hands shoved into the pockets of her faux leather bomber jacket, she starts to wander. Beneath the bomber jacket is an old grey hoody, unzipped to reveal a canary yellow and white t-shirt. It looks like a sports shirt of some sort, the kind people buy at Aeropostale or Target, with a large number printed on the front. Her jeans are bootcut and worn, her black work boots scuffed with age.

She spots the ones she's looking for over by a wall of schooling fish. It's a measure of the changes she's undergone in the last month and more that she doesn't immediately break into a sprint and barrel her way into the conversation. Her step is quick, purposeful, and she walks with the rolling saunter of an athlete. When she's close enough, she clears her throat to announce her presence. Not that she really needs to. Though she and Sinclair do not share a mental link via their totem, she can sense the presence of her sister as she nears. And she approaches from a direction that Lukas can clearly see.

[Sinclair] The Glass Walker Galliard -- who is, otherwise, about as different from Dying Light as one can get -- is silent for a long time after that. She lets go of the ties of her winter hat after awhile, pushing her half-gloved hands in the pockets of her coat as Lukas is still talking, though this is the shortest answer he's given her during this meeting.

Her thoughts are going fast enough that mostly what he can tell by looking at her is that the gears are turning. Other than that, it's up to his imagination what she's thinking of his offer, perhaps whether or not she's even looking at it as a potential threat. Alphas have challenged for leadership of other packs in the past, absorbing them, taking them over. In their world, if you cannot lead, someone else will.

It's possible that Sinclair is looking at him and wondering if that's what he's thinking, if that's what he's planning. If she can't lead, he will.

It's also possible that she's contemplating the irony of the Alpha of a pack devoted to a storm god talking to the Alpha of a pack devoted to a storm.

Or the poetry of it.

Sinclair has noticed the emptiness of this area now. Lukas is too much for them. Sinclair is too much. Joey's rage, while comparatively weak, is still enough to make every mortal around her that much more uncomfortable, that much more wary of pissing her off. They are not utterly alone, but damn close enough. They flock together like a murder of crows, a pack of wolves, though they are neither.

She glances at Joey as she approaches, gives her an upward nod of greeting and perhaps even summoning (Git over here, looks back to Lukas. "You're also looking at Walks the Tracks, arencha?" A beat. "Jesus Christ, man, you collecting tribal Alphas or something?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's eyes flicker toward Joey as she approaches, taking note, recognizing, acknowledging. Returning to Sinclair.

He doesn't smile at what she says; he doesn't seem offended, either. "I'm collecting the best," he replies. It's simple, and perhaps very arrogant.

It's also honest.

"You should also know," he adds, "that I've stated my intentions to La Familia as well. Either they get their act together or I challenge their Alpha for leadership. In their case, I'm not so much looking at what they've done as what they could be capable of."

[Joey] Sinclair gives her a Git over here jerk of her head, and Joey, already on her way over, picks up the pace a bit. She arrives in time to hear Lukas say I'm collecting the best. It makes Joey frown, thoughtfully. Collecting the best what, exactly? She make the connection with his next statement. The Unbroken are looking to grow, and they're looking to expand by taking in existing packs. She wonders if that's why he called them out for the hunt after the moot. She's not a stupid girl, she just lacks a certain amount of forethought. She flies into battle without thought to the consequences, and she often speaks without thinking, but she's learning.

She doesn't speak up now, because she doesn't know which way the conversation went before her arrival. So she stands beside her alpha, her hands in her pockets, feet apart and her posture relaxed, and she listens.

[Sinclair] An eyebrow quirks. "Oh, that'll work out great. I'm totally not pissed at Marrick for ripping me apart because she never read He's Just Not That Into You."

When she'd spoken of Kate, she'd sounded... wary. Unimpressed. Perhaps somewhat disgusted, as she'd said she'd been. But there'd been no true disdain in her voice, and if he'd heard it, his estimation of Sinclair's various tones of voice is quite tidily corrected now. This is disdain. This is open dislike, disappointment, disgust with another of their kind. And it has nothing to do with Marrick's worth as a Beta, or Fury, or Ahroun. It has nothing to do with how Marrick is as the Ahroun Elder.

What he -- and now Joey -- get to hear about just then begins and ends with her still-maintained belief that Bones to Dust hasn't got an ounce of self-respect. There's more, there: there's how she behaved when they all fought the skull pigs in Marrick's own territory, failing to lead and then acting as though she had, acting as though she had a right to lead.

And there's the fact that she is, as she said, still pissed.

"Look," she says, "I think I get what you're trying to put together, but on my own, I don't think I'd choose Kate as a packmate. Or Marrick. Or Boy, who could have flipped his lid and killed my Kin if I hadn't stopped him. They were willing to accept that Soledad bitch, which makes no sense. They also took Dietrich, for fuck's sake. From what I hear they're bolstering their ranks already: that Galliard they picked up at the moot, and they were at the Caern helping this other kid make his sacrifice. Not gonna lie, he looked pretty snivelly."

Sometimes she thinks before she speaks. It's a learned trait. She's still working on it.

"You, I'd follow," she says, after a moment, laying that out there. "Sheridan, I'd follow or fight alongside. I'm not willing to tolerate the sort of uppity bullshit I got from Dietrich in a prettier, blonde-er package, so... Kate dishes it out, she'd better be willing to get torn up for it. I'm going to beat Marrick's face in the next time she looks at me wrong, but then we might be kosher, I dunno. And I'm still iffy on letting Boy keep Wendy."

A beat. "I have reservations. And a lot of 'em." She looks at Joey. "He wants us to disband and join The Unbroken, by the way. You got shit to add? 'Cuz my mind's kinda, like... weeeoo," she says, waggling her fingers beside her ears as though to say 'reeling'.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Marrick and Boy aren't certainties," Lukas replies, something of a correction. "Not by a long shot. If they manage to rebuild and reclaim their honor, good for them. If they don't, and if they join the Unbroken, I won't allow the sort of bullshit they've been up to lately."

As for Kate -- Lukas's lips quirk briefly wider. "Kate's a royal bitch, but she's never cried when it backfired on her."

He falls quiet. Now there are two pairs of eyes on Joey, waiting for a response.

[Joey] Sinclair speaks her thoughts and opinions on people Joey hasn't given much attention to. She doesn't know Boy. She only just met Marrick, thought she was nice, didn't really think about how she was in the battle with the skull pigs. Sheridan was alright. And Kate...yeah.

Joey tilts her head, studies the tall, dark-haired Ahroun. "I agree. You I'd follow again. An' Sheridan seems cool. But, I dunno. I like bein' packed under Twister. It just feels right, y'know? Breakin' up things that stagnant. Instigatin' change. It fits." There's a pause, and Joey's eyes narrow slightly in thought. She rolls her weight onto the balls of her feet, bounces twice from an excess of energy or a simple need to be in motion, and then she stills again.

"What's your purpose? What would we be fightin' for under...what was it? Perun?"

[Joey] [ahem. stagnant = stagnate]

[Sinclair] "Their purpose is War," Sinclair chimes in, when Joey asks. She leans over, says lower but still audible even to the Lord, "I asked the same thing." She sounds more pleased than anything else.

And for a second, for half a second, they are two women who aren't yet twenty. It's over before anyone has a chance to blink. It's a reality, and it's an illusion. Because ultimately, they are not two women, and age means nothing to their kind when so much is measured in what you do in batte, what you do in your pack.

She steps back, looks at Lukas again. "My girl and I here got shit to talk about with this. But we'll let you know. One way or another." She cocks her head. "And in the meantime, we're the Unbroken's allies. Kosher?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Of course." Lukas has not stood up throughout, but he does now as the Stormchasers are departing. He offers his hand, gripping their wrists briefly if they allow it. "You know where to find me."

[Joey] They need to think it over, and it's true. Joey doesn't want to make this decision on a whim. She did that when they packed with Dietrich under Bull, and look where that got them? Although, it's what she did when she agreed to pack under Twister with Sinclair, and despite the fallbacks, the time spent apart, the fact that both of them were tained, they work well together.

She raises a brow at Lukas' offered hand, but grins up at him when she accepts it. "Later, dude."

[Sinclair] Sinclair doesn't grin like Joey does when she clasps his hand. She doesn't try to shake hands, as plenty of Glass Walkers would, but as the Grand Elder pointed out during her second challenge for leadership of her tribe, she is an Urban Primitive. She is neither a CEO nor an ancient warrior, really, but this is closer to her understanding than a handshake or worse, a salute.

It took her time to stop literally rolling over and showing her belly in submission. It took her time, after her First Change changed everything, for Sinclair to bother learning any interpersonal system of greeting and goodbye, respect and deference, between wolves. Everything they are must be adjusted from the human, or adjusted from the world. Everything she is must be adjusted between who she was once, what she is now.

Joey says Later, and Sinclair puts her hands in her pockets and heads out with her.