noodles.

[Park] The last time Savage Dawn saw Covered Sky, the both of them were recovering from injuries sustained at the hands of a creature who the Philodox confessed had been present at the death of Tiny Doom several weeks ago, one of them with ribs and organs exposed and the other with her throat cleaved straight through. Their injuries were not dire, and they were able to rest in the concealment of an alleyway in forms not their own while their bodies took up the task of healing.

It is four nights later, four heavy-mooned nights later, and Park is out in the early morning hours without anyone at her side, boots tromping heavily on the pavement, hands thrust into her pockets, eyes alert and focused on the colorfully-lit world around her. She walks with a purpose, as though she has somewhere to be, someone to meet, some reason for being out on these unforgiving streets past midnight, or at least she does a damned fine job of pretending as though she does.

[Lukas] Chinatown sleeps late. There's a noodle shop on 18th Ave open til 3am. Situated next to the Buddha Lounge, it's a wildly popular spot for club kids to grab a late snack after working up an appetite. At 1:30am, it's crammed full, standing room only. Lukas is standing outside with a styrofoam bowl of udon in hand, slurping away.

[Keith] It's colder than cold can cold the cold. Which is very cold, indeed. With windchill factor, it's getting to below zero, so only the truly insane want to be out. Want to be walking, want to be patrolling, but there's something stronger than self-preservation, something more intense than the drive to survive. In Keith, Savage Dawn, Voice of Carnage, one might very well assume that it's the drive to kill, the will to do some sort've violence, to wreak some pain on the wrongful wound the city's driving into the Mother's heart every single fucking day, and quite a few people avoid him for it. Such as the cab driver, who'd peeled away in a moment of supreme weakwill, rather than let the ahroun in. Well, fine. Fine! Fine! He's walking through Chinatown, cold as hell, and he pricks his head up when he spies Park up ahead, and on the corner between himself and Park, outside the warm (mm warmth) looking noodle shop, Lukas. And you know what? Maybe one of them has a car. He puts his fingers in his mouth and WOLF WHISTLES.

[Lukas] Lukas's head snaps up and around, noodles half in his mouth. Then he spies Keith; slurps said noodles in, lowers the bowl. Waves.

[Rory] She doesn't do much. That's what folks might say about Rory. She's not very bright, she's got no schooling, she's got nothing really to go for her - but damn, she can sure fix stuff good. The nice thing about Chinatown is that here, in the glaring lights and late night life, even in the daytime streets of carts and haggling - there's a barter system that's alive and well, and Rory has skills, skills that can net her a few dollars, and even better, a hot meal.

Which is why she's people watching here, outside the noodle shop. She doesn't attract attention, keeping to herself, with her head down, seated one a bench just across the walk. In her hands, not some tinkering task, not right now, but a container of fried rice. In her lap, between her thighs, another filled with Mongolian beef.

The whistle pulls her attention that direction, red curls flying, and she watches as she shovels another mouthful of rice between her lips.

[Park] The dark-haired woman perks up when she hears that musical ear-piercing call, the instinct of everyone within earshot to do the exact same thing, and it is the looking towards the noise that has her catching sight of the tall Fostern slurping down noodles in the frigid pre-dawn air. With the corners of her lips threatening to tug upward, Park pulls her left hand out of her coat pocket and raises it to wave to the Ahroun.

Her steps have her reaching the other Lord first.

"Lukas," she says, coming to a halt just beyond arm's length of him. Her eyes flick to the Styrofoam bowl in his hand, and she asks, "How are they?"

[Lukas] "Mmm-mm mmm," Lukas says. And gulps. And repeats, "Really good. Four bucks a bowl. Five if you want the seafood variety. I wouldn't though; it's like two shrimp and a clam."

[Keith] Chicago's a weird city. Keith's dad probably didn't expect to send his precious damned Ahroun baby boy there to toughen up and find, instead, he was hanging out with a bunch of damned Shadow Lords all the time, but lo. This, it seems, is pretty much the case. Lukas waves, Park's now next to Lukas, and there's a Rory who's yet to be noticed, but who will be soon, if only for her redred hair and her purepure blood (as pure as any of the lesser tribes get, anyway, which is pure enough). It'll take Keith a while to actually get to outside the noodleshop, so carry on without him while he picks up the pace, rubbing his hands together like the friction is an act of god, will get him warm again. "Hey," he says. "Either of you have a car? I'm stranded."

[Rory] Rory's got her backpack with her, of course. It's leaned against her hip, as she sits there crosslegged on the bench. She's wearing almost everything she owns, as it's damn cold out tonight. She doesn't have much in the way of warm outer clothing - her coat is flimsy at best, and she lost her knit hat, so her head is bare. Her fingers too, slender and pale and fragile looking, are without covering. If not for the pulsating heat of rage, she'd be frozen.

As it is, she's not - and her green eyes watch the meeting of the Fang and Lords just across the way.

[Zeke] Park's Cellphone quite suddenly erupts. Cradled in quick, sudden burps of sound. The voice on the other end doesn't bother to wait for Park to offer a Hello, as soon as the ring is interrupted in response-

"...Seems things are beginning to wind down in the southern districts. I'm on the edge of the Rich zone, hanging on your last whereabouts. Do you need a ride home or are you still out walking?" The tone is casual, comfortable even and if Zeke gives any indication as to what he's talking about, it isn't immediately known.

[Lukas] When Park turns away to answer her phone, Lukas replies to Keith. "Yeah, I'm parked around the corner. Where are you headed?"

[Park] Park nods as if there is far more at stake than the salvation of a dollar. "I can live without a couple of shrimp and a clam."

And then: Hey. The Philodox cranes her neck to get Keith in her sights, leaning slightly to see around the much taller Fostern, then takes a step back and says, "Sorry. You need money for the bus? That's the best I can--"

And then her cell phone goes off. Park quickly fishes it out of her pocket, a brand-new piece of silicon that she squints at before inexpertly hitting a green button and bringing it to her ear.

"I'm still out. Where can I meet you?"

[Zeke] "...Give me an intersection. I'll find you." The sound of the car, humming around a corner is easily heard in the cellphone's receiver, Zeke going quiet for a moment, something electronic beeping insistently, then interrupted a half-moment later.

[Keith] "Either of you know her?" The 'her' in question is Rory. Because Keith noticed her, watching them, and clearly Fianna. He's watching her back now, and he's still as he does. Lean and mean. "Home," he says, to Lukas. And then he grins, crooked. "Not the loft. I thought I'd give the pool some time to decontaminate. Thanks again for the trunks." Park offers bus fare, and then she gets a phonecall; he shook his head slightly at the offer of money anyway, because -- well. He didn't actually have any money on him, not even a dime, because he'd given it away to somebody, or forgot it in some restroom, or spent it all on food. But he shook his head because he'd much prefer not to take the bus, if possible, tonight.

[Park] Park rattles off the nearest cross streets, then thumbs the phone asleep and thrusts it back into her pocket, returning to the conversation in time to hear something about the pool being decontaminated. She huffs out a touch of laughter, then says, not having had both ears free to overhear travel arrangements being made behind her, "Zeke's on his way here, if you want to catch a ride back with us."

[Lukas] Lukas peers across the street. "Yeah, that's Rory. Used to be packed with Rises Above, who died last month." He puts his chopsticks down again; waves.

And: "I can give you a lift too, but I'm going to have another bowl first. So if you're in a hurry, ride with Park." Pause. "Zeke is back in town?"

[Rory] She scoops up some more rice, and when Keith notices her watching her, she tips her head slightly. Just acknowledgement that yes, she sees him too. She lifts her chopsticks and waves at Lukas in return, her cheeks splashing with color as she ducks her head, a shy little grin playing across her lips.

Then she continues to eat her meal, scooping it up like she hasn't eaten in days - even though Edwin made sure she was fed well last night.

[Zeke] ...Directions offered and the collective would have time to discuss in brief, Keith's adventures in Lukas Trunks before the Towncar, sleek black and well maintained, quiet and comfortable, rolling around the neighbouring corner at a stalker's pace; slow and scrutinizing.

It rolls to a halt a dozen feet down from the group on the sidewalk, the tinted windows performing adequately in maintaining the secrecy of it's interior. The Car putters to a standstill, the driver's side swinging open and the well-dressed Ragabash climbing free. He faces off toward the opposite side of the street Where Rory stands and watches.

She's given a brief flickering of gloved fingers in the form of a wave, and a lopsided smile on careful features, before he turns, bald of head and dressed in his chaffeur best, to regard the trio on the sidewalk.

"It's a might cold out, folks. One's gotta be all sorts a suspicious about people willing to be in a chill like this..."

[Zeke] ...A pause, those coal eyes turning to regard Lukas, smile evening out into a broad display, as arms rise to lean against the open threshold of the driver's door.

"Lukas. Always a pleasure."

[Lukas] (for the record, the noodle shop everyone's in front of is packed full with plenty of spillover!)

[Rory] From where she sits and watches from her bench, she waves at Zeke too.

[Keith] "Who's she packed with now?" He's very comfortable discussing someone who's nearby just as if they weren't nearby at all. Park says, hey wait, Zeke can give you a lift, and Keith goes: "Who's Zeke?" at about the same time Lukas says: Zeke's back in town? And then not only is Zeke back in town, Zeke is right there, and he's totally Host of Traitors. Keith huffs, then says, "I'm going [some neighborhood that's not great, but not the shittiest shit of all shitastic neighborhoods ever]."

[Park] Zeke is back in town?

"Mm," she confirms, about the time the town car is rolling up to the intersection. Park reaches up to swipe an errant strand of black out of her eye, then turns so that she is facing the road as the dark-skinned metis joins them on the sidewalk.

[Lukas] "Zeke." Lukas lowers the bowl and the chopsticks to one hand, stepping forward to clasp forearms, or hands, with the Ragabash. "Good to see you again." A beat. "Mrena died."

[Zeke] (....hooo)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 8, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Lukas] Oh, and:

"Why don't you ask her?"

That was to Keith.

[Zeke] Zeke blanches as Lukas lays out Mrena's death, the Ragabash's features twisting into an all too obvious frown that is at once pained and all together assessing. No stranger to such things and yet...everytime...

"...That is...unfortunate." Not the word he was looking for to begin with, as he finishes a firm grip of Lukas arm, before releasing. "...I had high hopes for her."

And then, as if to remove the stain of the moment, he turns to regard Keith, the frown taking it's time in fading.

"...That's on my way. I can drop you."

[Keith] "I'm going to take five minutes to say hello," Keith says, maybe being polite and letting the Shadow Lords have a moment. Zeke's expression was pretty -- well, hell. Even Keith noticed it. Appears to have noticed it. "If you're still here, I'd appreciate that, man."

And then he's off to do what he said he was gonna do: say hello to Rory.

[Rory] Keith heads her way, and her eyes widen slightly, before she ducks her head to hide behind her curls, and scoop up the last bit of her rice from the container, as if he might take it away from her - or to just get to the beefy goodness waiting in the second container.

Either way, she peeks up from under her curls, to see his approach, and offer a shy little grin.

[Park] The noodle house behind them is packed, with no room for bodies at any of the tables inside, but Park decides to take her chances with the line at the counter anyway as Lukas steps forward to greet Zeke with a clasp of hands on forearms. She steps back from the group without announcing where she intends to go or when she plans on coming back, ducking inside and out of the cold.

More than a few people filter out of the noodle house after the Philodox enters their midst. It's too crowded in there, anyway.

[Lukas] Unfortunate, Zeke calls it, understating. Lukas nods. "Yeah," he agrees: understating.

They're a tribe that does not abide weakness. Not even about these things. Lukas lets go, raises his bowl, finishes it off and tosses it into a nearby trashcan. It's overflowing from dozens of bowls just like his. Even on a night as cold as this, the doors of the noodle shop are wide open -- held there by people queued up to grab a bowl of hot $4 udon. Or la mien. Or whatever else was being sold by the cheap, apparently pan-asian noodle joint.

"So, you guys are acquainted?" He starts to turn back to Park, but too late: the Philodox is disappearing to get her own bowl. "Hey, can you get me another one?" he calls after her. "Beef!"

[Zeke] "Of course." He nods after Keith, features climbing down from their previous unsettling, brow the last to begin to smooth over as the seconds tick by comfortably. He turns in place, perk a brow up at Lukas whilst casting an eye toward Park as she braves the crowd of the Noodle house.

"...I take it the Circle's had some hard troubles then, what with..." Pause. "...What was his name then? Mjolnirs~Fist-..Heart" Nodding as if to himself. "Mjolnirs~heart and that entire affair and now Mrena."

[Park] "Beef!" she calls over her shoulder, confirming the order before the door slides closed.

[Keith] "You're eating like a 'gnawer," Keith says, the very soul of political correctness. "You okay?"

[Rory] She wrinkles her nose, and lifts a shoulder - one that is most assuredly very thin under those layers - into a shrug. "Hungry."

He couldn't know that she was packed with Gnawers (though maybe he does) or that old habits die hard. She eats like it'll be taken away, like she hasn't eaten in some time, and she doesn't bother with napkins, just wipes her mouth with her hand, her hand on her tattered jeans.

If not for the breeding, she could easily be mistaken for a Gnawer, truth be told.

A beat, and then. "ok." confirmation that it's situation normal. (all fucked up.)

[Keith] He probably didn't know very much about Rory or her former pack. In fact, he didn't. That's why he'd asked Lukas and Park, although Rory didn't know that either. He regards Rory thoughtfully for a moment, for two. "I heard your packmate died," he says, and that's a cheerful way to start a conversation, isn't it? But he didn't have tact. Or he did, but not right now. "I'm sorry to hear that. And I wanted to say hey. I'm Keith. What'cha eating?"

[Zeke] "Yes, acquainted would be the best word for it, really."

Zeke's gaze flicks into the Noodle place, jaw rolling off to one side, all traces of news on Mrena, fading swiftly from his features, the last lingering presence that of a few lines between his eyes that vanish before his next words are done.

"Interesting thing really. Met her in New Orleans. Showed an interest in Chicago and it's depths. Wastes. Wyrm and Warriors. I obliged with what info. I had, though-" A modest shrug "-Months old, really. Offered to be her driver and introduce but she's taking to the life admirably, really."

A pause, gaze flicking back up to Lukas, though his head remains oriented toward the Noodle shop. A passing thing, Ragabash art ensuring his eyes don't find the Fostern's own. Ragabash art and Metis training.

"Congratulations by the way."

[Rory] She hesitates with a bite partway to her mouth, shadows passing over her vision, her eyes closing briefly, before she nods, slightly. And then confirms - but corrects. "Alpha."

She stirs the beef up with the chopsticks as she peeks up at Keith again, curious, though she never meets his gaze for long, dropping them immediately. Respectful. "Rory." Her name - and single words are easier - as evidenced by the rest. "Bongolian Meef. Want some?"

She doesn't seem to notice the mistake - hearing what she intended to say rather than what she did, as she tips the container toward him.

[Lukas] "Mrena's loss hit us pretty hard," Lukas admits. "We lost Sampson too not long after. After that we reorganized and rethought our direction a bit. We're a little more pragmatic now, you might say. These days we go by the Unbroken, under the aspect of Thunder, Perun.

"You'll remember Kate and Edward from the Circle; Caleb too, when he's out of the Umbra. Sinclair and Theron run with us now too. I don't think you've met either of them, though Theron's a Tribesman. He's expressed interest in holding a tribal moot. With you back in the city that makes at least six of us, so it's a consideration."

Then, a nod. "What's with the chauffeur getup? Your side job?"

The congratulations surprises Lukas, but only briefly. Rank and dominance are more than words; they infuse every facet of the being. Lukas doesn't stand, speak, look or even smell the way he did nearly a year ago. "Thank you," he says, simply.

[Keith] "Bongolian Meef, huh," he echoes, and he doesn't seem to notice that there's much of a difference either. At least, not yet. The words are close enough and, to Keith, who's just listening to the basic shape and sound of the word, not how they're crafted, who's just listening to what Rory says as so much noise while he stares at her, eyebrows pulling together, furrow appearing between his eyebrows, grumpy Ahroun, it's all one. "Yes," he says. "Thanks." And he'll take off one glove, and pick a piece of Mongolian Beef out of her container, popping it into his mouth as quickly as he can before it's so damned cold his hand falls off 'fore he gets the glove back on. Chew, chew, chew. "Who're you running with now?"

[Zeke] "Best way to pay the bills, keep the monkeys from guessing and ensuring the veil, really." About his 'side job'. "That and my ride provides some very easy solutions to some very unpleasant problems, more often then not." His glance narrows briefly, eyes trailing toward his car, brief and appreciative.

"I recall Katherine. Edward, not as much." A twist to his features. "Don't think we ever met, really. Caleb either, though I recall the name some." A pause, a breath sucked in. "A Moot would be beneficial, if only to ensure the Tribe's representation is clear to everyone, new and old." A flick of curiosity in that quizzical glance now.

"I have to admit. I never thought you'd step back from a Totem with such power and esteem as the Talons, much less convince a pair of Kings and Queens to stand with Thunder in any aspect. Consider me impressed."

[Rory] She tips her head, slightly as he says it backwards, and waits for him to say something about it. When he doesn't, she relaxes slightly. He takes a bite and pulls his gloves on, and asks his questions.

She straightens her shoulders, slightly, with a bit of pride that she found another pack, that she was accepted so readily. "Bogeymen."

Odd, she doesn't look at all like a monster that hides under the bed - currently, anyway.

[Keith] "Who are they?"

He finally looks away from Rory for a moment, to check out the Lords. How their conversation is progressing, and all that. His attention is still mostly on Rory, though.

[Lukas] "I'll see about making arrangements, then."

As for the Talons: "It wasn't an easy choice. We'd followed the Talons of Horus for years. But ultimately our visions and purpose were starting to diverge from that of the Talons. As for Kate and Ed -- they don't really hold to traditional Fang views in some respects. Not all, though.

"Speaking of which. You might want to watch out for Dirge of the Covenant. He's as hardline Silver Fang as they come. He has no love for our tribe and less scruples."

[Rory] "The bonsters under the med." Clearly. Or not, exactly. It's said with a little grin, and then she rubs the side of her nose with a cold finger, absently, and nods.

"Edwin, Delmar. Others."

[Keith] "What's that, some new kind of drug?" He frowns, sidelong, at her. The frown is in response to her first remark, not the names she's giving, names which he just files away, because they don't mean much to him at all. He says: "Glad you've got people, though. You seem ...nice."

[Zeke] "....Mmmm, Dirge of the..." A pause, frowning. "...Name sounds vaguely familiar." And almost as easily, a dismissive flicker of a gloved hand. "I'll keep the name in mind. Easy to avoid those with loud voices. Just gotta listen for the cringing in the crowd."

He tugs his gloves on tighter, fingers lifting to pluck at his nose, a faint tinge of red creeping into his nostrils as the night's chill climbs further below.

"I suppose that makes sense. Chicago's always been a haven for free methods of thought and loose on it's stringencies." A beat. "...but then, that might be part of the issue." A glance up at Lukas again. "Park tells me you've had a rash of deaths lately?"

[Rory] She wrinkles her nose, her brow furrowed, as she tries to make sense of what he said, what confused him - and then she realizes she must have made a mistake, and sighs. Her shoulders slump, and she tries again. "Bogeymen. Monsters." a beat, and hopeful that she managed it by going slowly. "Get it?"

Then she flushes, as she smiles a little, glancing up at him and back down again. How someone with so much rage can be so shy, so controlled, so... nice... is an oddity she couldn't begin to explain, even if she really wanted too. "Who do you wack pith?"

[Keith] He scowls. "I know what 'bogeyman' means." And then he blinks. "I wack lots of people. I've never used a pith before, though; that's a helmet, right?"

[Lukas] The topic makes Lukas frown faintly, his eyes flicking past Zeke to the street, then back.

Quieter, "The Children of Gaia were nearly obliterated recently. The Bone Gnawers and the Furies took a hit too. Rory," he nods across the street, "just lost her Alpha not too long ago. A Bone Gnawer. Bones-to-Dust died too, if you've met her. And Evan Judgment-of-Sterling Silver, who's been with the Sept since long before I got here.

"There's no real pattern; it's not any one Wyrmling with any particular M.O. It's a combination of bad luck and lack of cohesion."

[Park] She isn't gone long, comes back on the combination of bad luck and lack of cohesion. When she returns from the line she's carrying a plastic bag with red THANK YOU lettering emblazoned on the side. The plastic rustles as she moves, and as she comes abreast of Lukas she reaches into to pull out the Styrofoam container marked B.

"Here you go," she says, passing the container off to the Fostern.

[Rory] She gets flustered, it's obvious. She drops a piece of the beef on her thigh, plucks it up and shoves it into her mouth, before she closes the container, and tucks it back into her pack. She then lifts her pack - which clanks and clatters - to sit in her lap, and hugs it close.

She doesn't look at him again. Then, softly, admits, "I don't talk go sood. Sorry."

[Lukas] "Thanks." Lukas passes Park four bucks to cover it; for a moment, passing cheap food and meager cash back and forth, they seem less a group of fearsome monsters and warriors, more a cluster of college-ish kids.

[Zeke] "...Bad Luck? Lack of cohesion?" Zeke stares up at Lukas frankly. Openly.

"A Few deaths, maybe, Lukas. Just a few." And Park creeps back into their little collective, Zeke interrupting his own speech to offer a flick of a nod toward the Rage heavy Philodox. "...But Orders are followed. Mistakes are learned from. Packs take care of one another. We've been doing this for enough millennium to know how to work it better."

...His hands vanish into long jacket pockets, the tie adjusted briefly just beforehand.

"That many? I'd be looking in Seer heads for omens for a solid week by now.."

[Keith] "Oh," he says, frowning. "It's okay; I don't do patience so well. Everything else, sure. Not patience, though." He doesn't say that like it's a joke. He is, after all, a Silver Fang. "And it's really damned cold out here, so I'm going to go back across the street and see about the status of my ride home. You should come join the rest of your people, if you want." And with that, Keith's re-joining Lukas and Zeke and Park.

[Rory] She glances up at him, and then across the street, and then nods. A moment after he stands, she does too, hesitating a moment before she makes a decision and heads toward the group as well, slipping her pack on her back as she does so.

[Keith] ooc: I think I'm going to have to bow out in another post, y'all. Keith can just stand around all quiet-like until either Lukas or Zeke are ready to go, and then he'll ride on with whoever. Just a warning!

[Lukas] Lukas exhales a laugh, humorless. "Now you're the idealist, Zeke, if you think we still live in a world where a dozen deaths a year could only happen if the Wyrm were doing something drastically out of the ordinary.

"If you want to consult the Theurges, though, start with Gossamer Wing. She's a Fostern of the Fenrir, and the current alpha Theurge in the city." He pops the top off his second bowl of udon and starts to eat.

[Zeke] "...Ideals are for visionaries. Paranoia, on the other hand..." A 'tsk' sound escapes his lips, though less for Lukas and more a 'What're we gonna do' mention. Lukas offers a name: Gossamer Wing and Zeke offers a nod in return, the register of a Fenrir not bothering to awaken anything special in Zeke's regard. Instead, he turns to glance across the street at Rory and Keith's approach.

"...Park, you want that ride back home, it better be soon, this face and these hands were not made for cold bones and hard winds."

An eye at Rory, smile creeping into something less Shadowlord. More genuine.

"How are the new digs treating you?"

[Park] A crinkle of paper have the bills being crammed into Park's right barn coat pocket, the transaction occurring all but wordlessly as Zeke speaks of deaths and orders and mistakes, of a search for reason and explanation as to what she can only assume is the reason they're here: the rash of deaths that have been spoken of as far away as the west coast.

She has nothing to say about the matter. She tightens her grip on her bag, then sniffs moisture out of her sinuses. Before she can comment on the weather, Zeke does for her.

"I haven't been out of California long enough for fifteen degrees to be tolerable," she agrees. "Enjoy your dinner, -rhya."

With that, she opens up the back door of the town car and, perhaps before or perhaps after Keith, clambers into the back. It's not much warmer in the sleeping vehicle, but there is no wind, and that's good enough for her.

[I require sleeps! Thanks for the RP, fuckers!]

[Keith] "I'm catching a ride with whoever's leaving first," he says, determined to get somewhere warm, it would seem.

ooc: and with that, I'm out. thanks y'all!

[Rory] She smiles shyly at Zeke, relaxing a little with a familiar face and genuine smile. "Good. Mave hy own room!"

Someplace warm to go home too - sometimes it's the little things. "And got to keep cy mat."

[Lukas] (iiii'm gonna have to head bedward too!)

"California," Lukas says, laughing quietly. "My sister lives out there. She's forgotten how to live in the cold too."

He puts the lid back on his noodles, then, dropping his chopsticks in the bag with them. "I think I'm heading out too. I'll be in touch about the gathering, Zeke. See you around."

[Zeke] "...Good to hear."

Zeke's gaze flicks to Keith and Park, creeping into the open and running Towncar, before returning to Rory. He pulls a gloved hand from his pocket, a slim card, etched with minimal writing: His Name (Zeke), his Number (Cellphone), his occupation (Driver), all in small letters barely visible from anywhere but two feet.

"You need help or want something to do, give me a ring. I can point you in some good directions."

And with that, he offers a nod to Rory, then a glance up to Lukas as he makes to depart. "...Enjoy the noodles, Lukas." Then he is around the hood of the car toward the Driver's side, plucking the car open and climbing in. The towncar would head off toward various drop off points.

(Alas, After 4 AM and I'm dead in the head. Bed calls.)