kin are not handrails.

[Armstrong] "There is no problem, it's just some family matters I'd like to discuss. As it turns out, I think we may have either a grandfather or an uncle in common... You also seem like the type I could really talk art with, you seem like you may enjoy ragging on abstract expressionists with me."

Shadow Lord girltalk. She looked at Nessa and was somewhat expectant, there was no problem, or so she said. She glanced at Andrew for a moment, then back at Andrew. She waited, the look was appraising. No, it was critical.

"I believe, however, that introductions may be in order, sir."

She thought for a moment. Nessa was not submissive. Not... quite. She was respectful, but something was on-edge, soemthing not like the wind or the rain or the Wyld or the Weaver or anything. It simply was, there and untamed. Untameable. On some level, it felt like a challenge.

[Andrew] "Introductions? Huh?" He stood up, wobbly at first. Partly pulling on Nessa, partly supporting himself on the dumpster. He was a heavy fucker. Jeez. But he rose to his feet and wobbled there for a bit. Reaching back with one hand, head tilting forward. The dark bruise on the back of his head, the shallow cut with its trickle of blood disappearing into the collar of his hoodie, are both already healing. Flesh knitting together over the break in the skin, bruise turning black, purple, yellowish, and fading quickly. Eventually all that's left is the blood being washed down his back by the rain.

"Ow..."

[Nessa Malikoff] She blinks. All irritation poofs in surprise and confusion. "Ahhh. I ah. Well. Yes. Umm. Any infant can make abstract art. Impressionists, bah. Depends. ahh. I think they are mostly... nearsighted, and think we will be impressed with their weakness. As for relatives, I ahh do not know my grandfathers or uncles. "
(suggests: If its 14 F, that's probably snow *G*)
She's surprised enough that she shuts up while they introduce each other.

[Andrew] (No, it's really cold rain demmit! Cause I said so!)

[Nessa Malikoff] (HAHA ! Ok! you win!)

[Armstrong] "Yes," she said. "Introductions."

Mrena was slow and deliberate, arms folded across her chest and eyes expectant. her hands tighter against her biceps and the look in her silvery eyes not unlike that of a mother awaiting an explaination from an errant child. [Not that it mattered, the child was still in Deep Shit. but Mrena didn't seem like she was going to ground Andrew any time soon.] Her patience, however infinite it was, was wearing a little thin. And the coppery smell in the air wasn't just his blood.

"Your name. Your tribe. Your rank."

She had no reason to believe that she was not the one in control here. That she was not the ranking servant [warrior, messenger, diplomat, scholar] of Gaia.

[Nessa Malikoff] Nessa stands there while they are supposed to do that tail wagging ear-back snarly or smiley greeting thing. She, on the other hand. seals up a messenger bag thingy over her shoulder, shifts something in an outside pocket to her jeans, and drapes herself over at the waist, so that she can adjust a bootknife, strap it down better, since she won't be needing it now after all.

Flexxxible. And not nearly as unassuming as she might have appeared earlier. There's a low muttering in Russian from the Shadowlord kinfolk, which is surely near if not absolutely cursing.

[Andrew] "Oh... right..." He wobbles a little one last time, then straightens himself up and looks down at the white eyed midget being so rude. His eyes focus more intently on the woman. Flick between Nessa and back to Armstrong. "Who are you demanding this of me?" Grumbled, his voice gravelly, his head still wiping over the back of his head and pulling his hand away with some blood on it.

"Who are YOU?" With his head no longer throbbing, he was better able to focus his intense hatred and wrath for the world at large upon the woman.

[Armstrong] (Temp Will + rank 1 (woo!)= 5)

[Armstrong] She looked at him, and he stood up with absolute fervor and the rage and composure that his rank and position afforded him. He was a Fostern. He was bigger than she was, and at that moment she looked down and took a step back. Space was respect, and she would not invade his, though still it was a sign of sudden, surprised respect.

"White Eyes of the Shadow Lords, cliath. Theurge of the Unbroken Circle."

[Andrew] He grunts, eyes the camera warily and reaches out in a sharp snake-like motion to grab Mrena's arm and stop her from stepping back, tugging her a little closer. Eyes flicking up to the camera for emphasis. "I'm Dances on Fire, Theurge Fostern Gaia Child."

He finally seems to have his wits about him, and being no complete stranger to things like cameras and stealing shit, he looks at Nessa. "What are you doing here?"

[Nessa Malikoff] She flashes what might be a smile, or might be a snarl. "Working. Or. I was. Will have to choose new target now. Is one of my ahh employments.What? Single parenting is challenging."
And the alley was sooo promising too.

[Nessa Malikoff] "Ahh wait. You dont want my introduction too, do you? I am merely kinfolk."
And with those words, she makes a halfhearted attempt at innocence and 'merely'.

[Armstrong] "You do not need the aid of kin, Rhya, to stand. Afford yourself these simple dignities, you need no aid."

She stepped forward, but her composure was never ruffled. Her coat was smooth, her gaze steady, and he would not let go of her arm and she did not seem so inclined as of yet to make him let go. She looked him over from their short distance, quirking her head to the side. Her tone, however, was surprisingly even. Practiced, even.

[Andrew] He looked down at Nessa. He wasn't terribly tall for a man, but average heights and what not. He only rose to 6'2", but it was enough to put him a few inches above most women. His eyes flicked between Nessa and White Eyes, settling on Nessa. "I could smell your breeding, and you call her Rhya. Give her automatic respect. I must assume your breeding is of her tribe. I know the rest." Turning to White Eyes. "Our kin are not less than us. They lack our Rage, but if you are wise, you know our Rage is our Mother's blessing and curse. Is it so bad they lack it?"

[Nessa Malikoff] Her lips quirk finally. An echo of the smiles he had earlier. "I Am Shadowlord, Andrew-rhya. I give no one automatic respect. She has earned mine by commiting with her pack to guarding city where my baby and I live."
Nessa walks to the end of the alley, staying by the shadows. At the end, she nods and slips out into the street, stops there as if she was merely walking past the alley, pulls out a cell phone as if to make a call.
Its a perfectly normal reason to stop dead on a sidewalk, gives her time to look out and over at who might be near. The garou have time to finish their discussion; she steps out of it.

[Armstrong] "You do not need aid at all to stand, you were not greviously wounded. Whether you seek the aid of kin or garou is not important. You do not treat garou like handrails, and as you say kin are not less than us. how can you say this and still treat my kin like an object?"

She looked at him, cocking her head in almost curiosity. She was willing to absorb his wisdom, but the sincerity of that question was questionable indeed. She was a Shadow Lord. Were they capable of sincerity? Mrena did smile though, something about her infinitely, internally pleased.

[Nessa Malikoff] (HAHAH Talon buddy!!!! come to watch post-dessert bitchiness! woot!)
to Armstrong, Lukas

[Andrew] He grunts. "A tree is more than a handrail, but it can be used as one. The same for her. I didn't need a kin at the time, I needed a handrail." He frowned and stared down the alley after Nessa. Not entirely sure of what she was doing. His version of stealing shit usually involved straight forward B&E's. He didn't do all this sneaky high-end shit. Of course, he was usually stealing from individuals and mostly for clothes and spare cash... not... well, whatever high end shit might have been behind the nearby door Nessa was undoubtedly going to bypass.

[Nessa Malikoff] (Electronics store)

[Armstrong] "I find your logic infallible," she said. Then, she glanced at her arm and the look of displeasure spread across her features. Mrena then looked at Andrew for a moment, muscles tense, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She waited. The looked at her arm again and gave him a rather pointed look.

"Is there anything else you require, because if you're trying avoid looking suspicious, holding a five foot three inch woman by the arm and growling at her may not be the way to do it."

[Nessa Malikoff] (pointy looks and snotty comments are TOTALLY Mrena's thing!)
to Armstrong, cricket, Lukas

[Andrew] He abruptly lets go of her arm, apparently having forgotten about it entirely. He's a little... addlebrained maybe? He's staring off down the street after Nessa. But he looks down at the White Eyed midget. "You think I am ever not suspicious?" Raising his eyebrows. Judging by the scars on his face. The missing pieces of nostril and ear. The part in his hair, put there by more scar tissue. Okay, he kind of had a unique 'look' going on.

And having said that, he pulled his hood back up over his head and started off down the alley after Nessa.

[Lukas] Out on the Mile, Chicago's a city of wonder, all lights and barely skin-deep beauty. But even these bright areas have their dark underbellies. The narrow alleys between exclusive nightclubs and designer boutiques; the strung-out addicts that panhandle for their next fix, at least until the cops -- more concerned with tourism income than public welfare -- chase them off.

It's in one of these dark, narrow alleys that tonight's fun and games go down. Out of the alley steps Nessa Malikoff. And Lukas is right there, outside, his back to the wall, his collar turned up against the cold. He turns to look at Nessa for a moment, neutral, neither disinterested nor interested, displeased nor pleased.

Then Andrew is coming up out of the alley behind Nessa. Lukas straightens up off the wall and steps into the alley, into his path. The light comes from behind him, leaving him a shadow, well over six feet and broadshouldered, somberly and elegantly dressed, every inch of his clothing subtly expensive -- a Jekyll that could easily turn Hyde.

"Dances-on-Fire-rhya." His tone is mild, polite. "We haven't met. I'm Lukas Wyrmbreaker, packmate to White-Eyes, Cliath and Ahroun."

[Andrew] He stops, abruptly. Jeez. This new pack was coming out of the goddamned woodwork. Popping out of every nook and cranny. Were they followers of Rat or something?! His head tilts forward a bit in a minute bow. "Wyrmbreaker, you know my name, I am a Fostern Theurge, Child of Gaia."

He glances over his shoulder to Mrena, then back to Lukas. "Are you blocking me? Or in the way by accident?"

[Nessa Malikoff] Nessa had exited the alley, to guard the mouth of the alley, but of course, her guarding is a bit superfluous. When her eyes track that far, there is the company of-- that Lukas Shadowlord man.
As with the other garou, she neither looks away nor seems intimidated by the ahroun, unless of course, he chooses to assert himself, most especially since he, though his moon wanes, has such a lovely bite to his rage. Besides, Lukas is, surprisingly, not... a threat? Its a new sensation, the presence of Mrena-rhya and this other man of her tribe.

Her fingers work on the keys of her cell phone, sending a totally useless text message, silently, so that NOTHING blocks the quiet words in the night. Her work might not yield profit from this particular alley, but damned it if wasn't quite interesting.

[Armstrong] He let go of her arm rather abruptly and Mrena took the opportunity to straighten herself out. The gestures were sharp, crisp, and there to make a very clear point. He had invaded her space, and she was not happy about it. She readjusted her scarf and then looked at her beta for a moment. There was a strange sort of problem here, in that now there were people standing and she couldn't quite figure out how she was going to get out.

She didn't really need to at that at the moment. She slipped her hands into her pockets, looking at those gathered and keeping her position. White Eyes kept her mouth shut though, and waited.

[Lukas] "I'm blocking you, Rhya."

Well, at least he was honest. His tone doesn't change, mild as before, though perhaps the heavy rhythm of his rage belies it. Still; it's hard to see his face, and nearly impossible to read it in this light.

"I'm wondering if there's a reason you seem to be following the kin of my tribe."

[Andrew] He frowns and steps up closer to the Ahroun. Not fearing him in the least. Staring out of his mangled face into the darkened face of the other man. "You must be looking to fight, Wyrmbreaker. I cannot imagine you are foolish enough to think I am following her when I go to the street." His voice lowered. Tension there, assuredly. Irritability too. Sure, his rage can't match the other man's. But he's solid and well built as any other.

[Andrea Locke] Making her way out of a specialty market after placing some orders for the restaurant, Andrea Locke wraps a long crimson scarf around her neck and lower face, shoulders hunching automatically in the face of the icy cold and abhorrent wind that sweeps through this winter-hell of a city. Hands wrapped in snug kid leather gloves hold onto a number of boutique bags, testimony of shopping done earlier in the night and now she makes her way down the street heading for the nearest El stop, several blocks down.... in this damnable, wretched cold.
Lovely.

[Lukas] "On the contrary," quieter now, but very steady, "I don't want to fight with you. That is the last thing I would want. But I need to know that my kin and my packmate are not being harassed. That is my duty, Rhya.

"Give me your word that you are not trying to intimidate my packmate and -- as they say, poach my kin, and I will stand aside for you."

[Nessa Malikoff] Poaching kinfolk? This one shudders at the thought, though um not for reasons one might expect, exactly.
A person approaches. A woman, laden with bags. Nessa counts the steps until the woman is at the point where she must be misdirected around the alley or more. Marks her likely shoe and blouse size.
The woman has a very nice scarf. Not that it Would be, but IF it were important to for instance protect the veil, If violence is required, that scarf would actually look really great with Nessa's black wool c-
Oh. Andrea. The Shadowlord kin grins, and shakes her head. "Saved by restaurant." And she pushes off the wall, moves to intercept this generous person who is doing so much for peace in the city. Guess she gets to keep her scarf.
"Andrea! Privyet! Surprise to see you here! Nice scarf." Nessa is not quite cheerful, but is at least peaceful-sounding.

[Andrew] He growls, low, irritated. Oh, if Lukas knew. He's so on the last nerve tonight. Who wouldn't be, after dealing with Kemp and all his talk about balls this and balls that and whatever blow me means. Really, what's with the ball fixation? "I don't harass. If there is problem, I solve it." Glancing past Lukas to Nessa, then back. "And if I want kin... It is her choice." Eyes swinging back to Lukas. "Not yours. Step aside, Wyrmbreaker."

[Armstrong] She straightened her spine, taking a step to the side to see the nteraction more clearly. Lukas's voice was quieter than it had been, but the timbre had not quite changed. But Andrew's had. The corners of her mouth drew in quickly, lips pursed and forming a thin line that seemed indicative of dissatisfaction.

She folded her arms across her chest and waited to see what would happen. She shot Lukas a look, one brow raised as if asking a question.

[Lukas] (christ. stupid server.)

[Nessa Malikoff] Alright. Jaw drop.
Then, delight, and a fast stream of Russian words. "Andrea! Privyet! I did not know you could speak my language! What an unexpected delight! I am well tonight, which improves for the better in your presence. How does this night find you?
Just in case the garou were to fight or do something equally were-wolfy, Nessa has intercepted Andrea a bit away from the rage-filled alley.

[Lukas] He sees Mrena's glance out of the corner of his eye, but there's no room to respond. A shake of the head, a nod; it could be taken the wrong way. Armstrong will have to make up her own mind. Lukas' attention remains focused.

"Actually," quite gently, this, as though explaining a difficult concept, "it isn't her choice. It's her tribe's choice. What choice we give her is at our discretion. So I'll have your word on this, Rhya, while we are still friends: you will not poach my kin."

And to think, Lukas doesn't even seem to care whether or not Nessa exists, most the time.

[Nessa Malikoff] (good traditional mode! Glad nessa can;t hear that! WOOT for ignorance!)
to Armstrong, cricket, Lukas

[Andrew] He smiles. Or... it might be something like a smile. His face is twisted and mangled. When the cheeks lift it does odd things to the lips, due to scar tissue. "I will not poach your kin." Nevermind that to him... she's not his kin... but that part can stay quiet.

And he slips past. Heading off down the street. It had been a long night and he needed to find somewhere warm to den up.

[Andrew] ((Sorry, I really have to run before I pass out. Okay? Thanks for the roleplay.))
to Andrea Locke, Armstrong, Lukas, Nessa Malikoff

[Lukas] (night man, thanks for the RP!)
to Andrea Locke, Andrew, Armstrong, Nessa Malikoff

[Armstrong] ((had a blast! Thank you for playing!))
to Andrea Locke, Andrew, Lukas, Nessa Malikoff

[Lukas] And Lukas doesn't stop him. In fact, he steps aside, quite respectfully, as he said he would.

[Andrea Locke] A genuine smile traces along her well-formed lips as the younger woman shows shock and then open delight to find someone with whom she can converse in her own tongue. Little revelations every day and, tonight, Andrea grants one to Nessa. With genial comfort she continues to speak in the Russian 'Nessa obviously craves to speak and hear.
"The opportunity to let you know had not arisen yet... I am glad being able to speak to another and hear the Mother Language pleases you so. I am well this night and likewise pleased by your presence -- and you? Keeping busy? I trust your child is also well?"

[Armstrong] As he said, Lukas took a step asside and Armstrong went ahead and started to make her way out of the alleyway. She looked at him briefly, then her silvery eyes went to the camera Nessa had so generously pointed out. her hands stayed in her pockets, her posture was only vaguely relaxed, but she exuded an air of untouchability. Like she was beyond contempt or negativity.

"There's a camera around here. No audio though," she said. Then, a pause. "What's got you on this side of town?"

[Nessa Malikoff] "I... was keeping busy. But ahh trueborn have shown up where I was engaged in profitable activities." She laughs a little. "It happens! Another night perhaps. Luc is well. I am to pick him up at sitters in two hours, less if i can. Good shopping?"
SHE would have been shopping too. In another 5 minutes. BUT Andrew and Armstrong put Quite the end to that little endeavor.
"You are Ukranian, Andrea?"

[Lukas] After Andrew's gone, Lukas looks at Armstrong as though to confirm she'd heard what had been said. Witnesses and all.

Then she points out the camera. He looks at it, and his mouth twists. "Wish you'd mentioned it sooner." It's offhand; he's not nearly as upset as he could be, would've been, if they'd thrashed it out in the alley in full sight of the camera. "In retrospect I suppose you were trying to, when I failed to respond. So the fault is mine. Though, in my defense, I couldn't very well look away from him then. It would've seemed like a submission, or worse, as though I were plotting to take him two against one."

He comes forward a little, out of the shadows, into the light, and all at once she can see him clearly. There's an undisguised, simple pleasure in his face -- something he would not show to an outsider.

"Still," he's grinning now. "You did just see me hand a Fostern his ass, right?"

[Nessa Malikoff] (HAHAHAHHAHAHAOMFG!!)

[Andrea Locke] An eyebrow arches fluidly at the way Nessa manages to intone such a simple reiteration as 'I.... was keeping busy' followed by 'profitable activities'... However, whatever meaning Andrea may take from these words doesn't seem to overly surprise or phase her. 'Nessa could be a hooker for all Andrea would care. And so long as she and hers aren't the ones being robbed she'd have little trouble with that revelation, either. One does what one must.
"Well, our Cousins do have a way of interuppting ones plans. I am glad to hear of your son. A fine thing, to have a son - I wish him many blessings." She says it lightly, but means it also, though the briefest shadow seems to slip through her sherry eyes, there then suddenly gone again. "The shopping is good if one can ignore the throngs of people spending money like water."

At Nessa's last question Andrea's smile broadens slightly even as she shakes her head. "No. Though my Russian teacher was and I see his influences must have rubbed off. To listen to you I would judge your home at or near Moscow... have you been away from the Motherland long?"

[Armstrong] "I could have reminded you both," she said. An admission of poor judgement, yes, but she continued on. Her tone was quiet and conversational; they weren't exactly talking to too many others though, so it didn't quite matter. "He would have done well to be reminded as well. Next time I'll be more clear."

She then looked at him, he was pleased, and then a grin crossed her face. yes, something genuine, and not exactly hidden that she was taking some bit of joy in his triumph. "That was pretty badass, though. I should buy you a drink for that."

A pause, the grin widened to something mischievious, and she poked a little fun. "I don't know if I will though, I'm terrible with my follow through on nice gestures."

[Nessa Malikoff] Her eyes sharpen at the shadows mostly hidden in Andrea, lowers her lashes in respect, to allow the woman to regain her composure, hide any weakness in a second or two of partial privacy. The cell phone is turned off, placed in an outer pocket, and time is up.
As if the pain had never been shown her. Nessa slips back into English. "Moscow, da! I have been away hmm four years? Is about right. I will not be returning. Last year, I have American Citizinshit. How many languages do you speak, then? Is not my best skill. I have only the two."
One point eighty four, maybe.

[Lukas] (citizenshit? was that deliberate?)

[Nessa Malikoff] (typo, then i left it in there. take it as you will!)

[Lukas] A quiet laugh. "No need. I can buy my own drinks. That said, I doubt he'll keep his word. All that careful stressing-of-words and that snarky little smirk of his. Still, now we have something to hold over him, and he'll only look dishonorable if he tries to wriggle his way out of it.

"That said," he abruptly raises his voice, calling, "Nessa Malikoff!"

She's been summoned. And no, he doesn't appear to care that she was in a conversation.

[Armstrong] "He's said that he would, and we will have to hold him to it. Wise men don't make promises they can't keep," she said.

She nodded, then with that said they were off to calling Nessa. Well, it didn't seem like they really cared if she was in the middle of a conversation; she would understand. Not that it even mattered if she understood, that was neither here nor there. She kept her hands in her pockets and glanced out the alleyway and waited for Nessa to arrive.

[Andrea Locke] Agnessa's lowering of her lashes - the giving of a moment in order for Andrea to hide 'weakness' - is studiously observed with intelligent if slightly... cynical? interest. But as soon as Nessa is looking back her way her expression is once more simple polite friendliness, nothing more, nothing less. Agnessa has slipped back into English, so Andrea follows suit. Her lips spread enough to reveal a hint of white teeth, truly amused when the younger woman makes a humorous slip in her pronunciation.
"Citizenship." Pronouncing the 'p' clearly and pointedly, though warmly to take any sting away from being corrected. "An important distinction to make. And, oh..." Shrugging fluidly in a Gallic gesture of a pleasant lack of concern, she shifts her hold on the bags in her hands. "A few... it is pleasant being able to converse with people of different origins. Spanish is my native tongue, though."

Short of the slight sibilance with which she speaks, however, she otherwise handles English as fluently and fluidly as she just did Russian.

Anything else she might have to say falls away as Lukas' voice cuts through the cold night air. "Ahhh..." Sliding back into Russian effortlessly. "You have been summoned."

....amused.

[Nessa Malikoff] Ouch. Conflict!
The man has her attention with a yell. Obedience-- now that's a different matter. She looks over at him, a sudden roil to her gut as something demands the unexpected. Her head tilts to one side. A second. Two. Decision made, she murmurs, "Citizenship. As you wish. Summoned? I do not think so. That is fairly polite request. If you will pardon me? Will see you tomorrow likely, or soon. "
The unexpected thing, something inside her bites at her, reminds her. Respect, she'd said. Eyes interested and forward, she starts back towards Lukas and Armstrong, her chin high but not haughty, an echo of the pleasant surprise on her face from Andrea's gift of a decent language.
And, it Was a really nice scarf, wasn't it?
"Yes, Lukas-rhya?" The cold bites sharply. Cruelly. And its still a thousand times more beautiful city than back where people spoke a proper language.
"Respect. "

[Lukas] (okay, that was my fault. i pulled out the AC adapter. *LOL*)

[cricket] (LOSER.)

[Nessa Malikoff] (Don't pull on that. Dude. You are totally not operating on me.)

[Andrea Locke] ooc: (dies) "It's okay, it's okay.. I was going for the appendix but... well... you don't really NEED a spleen... nurse! Wipe my brow!"

[Lukas] "Just Lukas," he corrects, gently enough. "Kinfolk have no rank."

And, "Are you familiar with the one that just left? Dances-on-Fire?"

[Andrea Locke] Though Agnessa takes her leave of Andrea with words of farewell, Andrea follows - nonchalant, and perhaps as much just to keep moving in this insufferable cold as much as out of simple curiosity.

[Nessa Malikoff] She blinks, and sighs, taking in the absence of a word. "Useful. Lukas then. I am. Andrew. I met him today, at The restaurant. He stood out much, all alone with no one to dare go near. I sat at next table to lessen appearance of non-humanity. We spoke."

[Nessa Malikoff] She turns to regard the presence of Andrea, and stifles a grin. The wink gets out though. Turns back to the garou, and is reasonably patient, rather like a post-chocolate moment.

[Lukas] Lukas glances briefly at Andrea as she joins them -- he nods to her, faintly and impersonally.

Then, back to Nessa. "Hm. You've never met him before today?"

[Nessa Malikoff] "No. " Narrowing her eyes a little after the direction which the Coggie had taken, she mutters, " And I am not a handrail. I am more lively. Plus, I am bitchier."

[Andrea Locke] Lukas' nod is returned in kind, just as faint and impersonal as he, her attention focused rather on Agnessa, especially when she speaks of something going on in her own restaurant. When Nessa turns to acknowledge Andrea's presence a barely audible sound of humour slips along her throat, but no more.

[Lukas] "He seemed rather taken with you." This is only a remark; there's no blame implied. He studies Agnessa for a moment: this slender, damaged, rather plain kin with no particular breeding and little visible charm. That's his appraisal, anyway.

Not that he would allow such a blatantly rude thing to show on his face. Chivalry is not wholly dead, after all.

"Can I ask a favor, Nessa?"

[Armstrong] Eyes open, mouth shut. Posture straight. She looked at Andrea for a moment; the lady shared an affinity for red scraves, though admittedly Andrea's had probably seen less wear and tear. And hadn't been picked at quite so much. She gave a slight upward nod, something vaguely urban, as a quiet greeting. There was a conversation going on, and she seemed intent on not interrupting it.

[Nessa Malikoff] There Is breeding. Subtle, perhaps not apparent immediately. She is more a hint of shadows than the cool touch of the reality. Nothing blatant, though. Thank Gaia.
His beginning words give her pause. She'd been about to say something, but her mouth snaps shut on icy air. He is taken with her? And the consequences of that??!? The kin shudders. Visibly. "Ahh... Is not returned interest. I do not seek mating now. As for favor, you may certainly ask, Lukas."
Asking her? Such a quiet sigh, warm and maybe wistful, as she watches both her tribesmates. Fleeting, like her mate, bleeding at the feet of--. Well.

[Andrea Locke] Armstrong's slight upward nod is acknowledged in kind, though conversation about both of them apparently fancying the colour red can certainly wait until later. Or never. Probably the latter. She remains silent as does the female Shadow Lord, simply witnessing what is played out before her with equal parts mild curiosity and detachment.

[Lukas] She does not seek to be mated. He inclines his head slightly -- something like a nod.

"In that case, this is doubly important: if Dances-on-Fire tries to court you -- you know, comes on to you -- will you come to me?"

[Hatchet] Next door, there is a music store.

[Hatchet] (*smacks Jove* Cow.)

[cricket] (Moo, says Jove.)

[Nessa Malikoff] A more.. um.. well. Some women might wince at what he says. Nessa merely breathes, silent. She can hear her heartbeat. Tomorrow, she will still be wearing scarlet exactly as she was yesterday, and with as much enjoyment. "... First to know is present Wyrmfoe. And then, if you still wish, I will tell you. "
The counting of her heartbeats begins, while she waits for his response.

[Lukas] A beat of pause. Then, reasonably: "All right. May I ask why?"

[Hatchet] Next door, there is a music store. Not an Apple store, you whippersnappers, not the place where they sell your proprietary parts or show your father how to use iTunes. A music store that has a few pianos over there, guitars up there, some drums in the back, and rows upon rows of books of sheet music like oversized greeting cards. Dozens for every occasion.

It's called the White House of Music, and the owner's last name is White, and there is a printed-out sign on his door that says The Oval Office, when in fact it is not at all round and somewhat painfully rectangular. But that's in the back office, and Hatchet is not in the back office. He's not even in the store. He's standing outside of the store, wearing jeans and boots and that black hoodie that is doing an absolutely shitty job of keeping him protected from the elements.

But walking through a part of town where he quite distinctly stands out solely because of his wardrobe regardless of his Rage or the moon's phase, Hatchet stands outside the windows of the music store and looks inside. The music store closed at six in the evening tonight. They cut their hours weeks ago, close early now rather than staying open late, because they can't afford to stay open any more than they do.

The electronics store is open. People are way more interested in buying an iPod than some new strings. They're doing all right, even if there aren't a lot of people there. Hatchet can stand outside and look at the guitars for as long as he wants, but he doesn't want to for very long. It's fucking cold.

So slowly, he turns around and starts walking again. A few footsteps later, passing the mouth of the alley, he pauses. That is when he hears a familiar voice, or a voice he's heard often enough to know it. He stops, and turning, peers between the high walls. He hesitates, but only for a moment, and then he's smiling, walking in. They aren't his Tribe. They aren't his pack. And he doesn't care.

[Nessa Malikoff] Oh. He's being so nice about it. Nessa seems, from the tilt of her head, the soft exhalation of cloudy breath, touched? As she gazes right into his eyes. "Wyrmfoe is my baby daddy. Until Luc is old enough to train with his father, I tell him first."
Her left hand, gloved, toys with the edge of her jacket. The fabric is soft, pettable leather. Can't feel it through her gloves, but the memory is there. Rather like the memory of a time when she wasn't so much on the outer edges of her tribe. That narrow little strip of time when being involved was a GOOD thing.

[Andrea Locke] ooc: just go ahead without me, I'm getting ready for bed.

[Lukas] "Fair enough. But you will tell me?" And this is important, "Even if you've decided by then that you do want to be mated?"

[Armstrong] (Hooray for Fatal Flaw: what makes Nessa tick?)
to Lukas, Nessa Malikoff

[Nessa Malikoff] Here's a pause. The wording is important. "I will tell you. As for future-- Lukas, if Andrew ever comes on to me at any point today or in the future, you might hear me screaming no from any point where you are in this universe. If you hear that? For Sake of all kin who cannot shift to powerful things, PLEASE feel free to come and block him any time you like. I am not as foolish as I have been in past years."
Its as close as she will come to apologizing for anything to do with her tribe.
She has blue eyes, and for now, this moment, they are most sincere.
Today.

[Hatchet] Hatchet only hears the last bits of this. He hears a mention of the Wyrmfoe being Nessa's babydaddy, and a great deal of information falls into place in his mind, thanks to that. His eyebrows raise. He sees Andrea and gives her a nod, gives the same to Armstrong, but his attention -- let's be honest -- is on the Shadow Lord Ahroun and the Shadow Lord Kinfolk.

He doesn't know this 'Andrew' guy, but maybe he has, like, really bad breath or something and that's why she'd be screaming if he came onto her. Whatever.

Though perhaps he should, Hatchet does not hang back with their gracious hostess or the Theurge that shares his odd eye color, though in a far paler hue than his own. Instead, he walks slowly over to Lukas and Nessa, hands in his pockets as they so often are.

[Andrea Locke] It's always interesting the tidbits you can pick up on when you are left free to simply eavesdrop on a conversation -- and quite a nice change from playing active hostess on your own domain. Quite. Her attention slips from Agnessa to Lukas and back again as they speak -- sliding along as movement teases her peripheral vision and she makes out the approaching visage of Taggart, He Whom She Bores.

Losing your touch, Andrea. Quite losing your touch. Perhaps you are even *gasp* getting old.

She nods amiably to Hatchet at his own silent greeting.

[Armstrong] There was a degree of scrutiny when Armstrong looked at Nessa, when her hand travelled up the edge of the leather and she focused ever so quietly on the textures. Mrena was a texture-based creature, occasionally keeping her attention on the way the grass felt or the feeling cold air left on (once) warm skin. [It was fourteen degrees outside, Armstrong wasn't exactly warm anymore, but she was fast approaching the point of just plain not caring that her ears stung and her fingertips may or may not be icy.] She noticed the similarities, but at that moment she could only see a very select few things with Nessa.

She blinked slowly, pursing her lips together and nodded a little, more to herself than anything. As if she had just confirmed something to herself, like she had decided that she was going to buy that plane ticket to Fiji or she was making some trivial decision.

She looked at Hatchet for a moment, giving a nod to him too to acknowledge his presence. Yes, she saw him. Then, he was heading over to her Beta and her kin. It made Armstrong clear her throat, and she was torn between interrupting and-

No, no the conversation was more important. Hatchet was no threat.

[Armstrong] (ack! cut part off!)

[Armstrong] There was a degree of scrutiny when Armstrong looked at Nessa, when her hand travelled up the edge of the leather and she focused ever so quietly on the textures. Mrena was a texture-based creature, occasionally keeping her attention on the way the grass felt or the feeling cold air left on (once) warm skin. [It was fourteen degrees outside, Armstrong wasn't exactly warm anymore, but she was fast approaching the point of just plain not caring that her ears stung and her fingertips may or may not be icy.] She noticed the similarities, but at that moment she could only see a very select few things with Nessa.

She blinked slowly, pursing her lips together and nodded a little, more to herself than anything. As if she had just confirmed something to herself, like she had decided that she was going to buy that plane ticket to Fiji or she was making some trivial decision.

She looked at Hatchet for a moment, giving a nod to him too to acknowledge his presence. Yes, she saw him. Then, he was heading over to her Beta and her kin. It made Armstrong clear her throat, and she was torn between interrupting and-

No, no the conversation was more important. Hatchet was no threat.

But, the conversation was important.

"... Wow, what he must have to say is really must be important to walk right up like that."

[Lukas] Lukas' face breaks into a grin. "Very amusing, Nessa. Though," and some of the humor fades here, "you haven't quite agreed to what I asked."

He takes a step closer. It is cold, but Lukas is warmly dressed; also, Lukas, despite his clear accentless voice, was born in the east of europe where winter temperatures plummeted to absurd depths. His posture is open and confident. The cold does not make him cringe and hunch -- and, clearly, he is through being polite about this.

"Let me be frank," he continues, softly now, "I don't need your agreement. You are kin to my tribe. Until a Lord of higher rank enters this city, you are my ward and my responsibility. I am your guardian. And as such, I expect to be notified of any important events in your life. I expect my advice to be sought when necessary, my permission to be requested when appropriate. That includes any potential matings.

"To tell you the truth, Nessa, I'm very unlikely to deny you anything you want. This is only a formality. But it's a formality born of laws older than either of us. And I'll be disappointed if you break them. I hope I've made myself clear."

A beat of silence. Then he turns to Hatchet, moving right along. "Hatchet-rhya," says the young Ahroun, "didn't expect to see you here."

[Andrea Locke] ooc: okay, I'm off to pass out. night all!

[Andrea Locke] ooc: Umm... assume Andrea realize how goddamned cold she is and heads off with a goodnight to Armstrong and Nessa - and Lukas and Taggart if it won't be interrupting, otherwise no.

[Hatchet] Considering how little he's wearing, Hatchet should be colder than he feels. He has a high tolerance for the elements, though this does not indicate a preference to wander around in weather like this, temperatures this low. Truth be told, if he were not agitated he would not be outside tonight. He glances over his shoulder when Armstrong speaks, one corner of his mouth lifting in a cheeky but lopsided grin.

He says nothing. Not to her, at least. He just grins, and turns back around. He doesn't step over and get between Lukas and Nessa. He doesn't draw the Poor Lost Single Mother into his arms and comfort her after the Big Bad Ahroun has been so Very Very Mean. He looks curious, though mildly so, and his only interference is his presence.

Which, really, might not be that much of an interference. The last time he saw Lukas Wyrmbreaker he said something that crossed a line. The last time he saw Lukas Wyrmbreaker, he pulled rank on him as though it came as naturally to him as breathing. And Lukas doesn't look irritated to see him.

But he does call him -rhya.

Hatchet shrugs one shoulder, starting off with 'Sheepish'. "I know, normally I'm expected on the couch upstairs in the Brotherhood, lounging about like a sultan. But you know, I just love watching you in action. Stirring!" he says, with an awed little shake of his head. It's not meant to insult...at least it doesn't seem like it. He moves rather smoothly from that to this, which is looking at Nessa and asking her: "Kemp's gotta kid?"

Beat. "Huh."

[Nessa Malikoff] One might say the air is chill, and so is her spine, with certain of Lukas's words. Some man askes her something about her child and Kemp. Nessa's eyes narrow. She turns back to Lukas. "Ahh. Will you walk with me small ways,? Are certain things to discuss concerned with your request of me."
When he agrees, she sets off, far enough off to explain what she has to say in private. She doesn't know Hacket, nor any others who might walk up and expect to partake of what is ... very personal."
Her eyes glance to ARmstrong for acceptance of Nessa's wish for privacy, almost like permission. But not quite.
When they are more alone, Nessa continues...

[Lukas] Lukas' mouth twists, a grimace: he looks genuinely embarrassed.

"I keep to the old ways when I can," he says, doggedly. "I know others would disagree, but these ways have worked out for our ancestors for thousands of years."

Then Nessa asks for privacy. "Excuse us," he says, and follows her a ways away from the rest.

[Armstrong] She let one of those well-scultped brows raise at Hatchet; it was the theme of the evening. She wasn't speaking much, and she was saying less. He grinned cheekily, her mouth was set. He had incredibly white teeth; they shared this in common. Both, more than likely, were very thorough in regards to their dental care. Eyes glanced briefly to Nessa, and she took a step back. What they were saying was for the ears of her packmate alone, it seemed. White Eyes took the opportunity to bow out. She started to turn and make her own exit.

Why? Because it was cold.

[Armstrong] ((Hate to tag out on you guys, but it's almost four in the morning central. Sleep is good and wonderful! I had a blast and thank you guys for playing!)
to cricket, Hatchet, Lukas, Nessa Malikoff

[Lukas] (night!!)

[Hatchet] [sleep well!]

[Nessa Malikoff] "From what has been explained to me, Kemp, as he has challenged for right and none have accepted his challenge, is my guardian. I am his ward and responsibility. Ahh I think. He will allow me to mate who and when I wish-- but only if i give up my child to him. This I cannot and will not do.
We are not mated. We are not involved except as concerns our son, Luc. He has supported us when I was unable to work, after birth, and provides support still.
My understanding of this matter is that... No. I take that back. There is so much I do not understand. But I fucked up, Lukas. We did. In more than one way. Is a sort of... balance now,. I think. I have my son. No killings of garou on garou right now. ANd, for first time, kin of sept have place to be together. In all my time before here, we never had this. So much potential!

Kemp has made a number of conditions on me to be able to keep Luc and not give him up to Fenrir someplace. You will do what you feel you must or what laws say, but I ask you please-- do not act with any haste in this matter. Another time we talk more of this matter? If you wish? Is late, and I have to get Luc from sitters tonight."
to Lukas

[Nessa Malikoff] And.. she looks.. uhh a little confused.
to Lukas

[Hatchet] He smiles at Lukas's grimace, and there's a distinct and unhidden friendliess to it. Not the obvious, exaggerated, shit-eating kind that laid over his words just a moment ago about Lukas 'in action', but something far more real. They are guessing; Lukas may be feigning that embarassment, however genuine it seems. Hatchet may be faking that smile, however accepting it looks.

Maybe.

Hatchet doesn't disagree. He doesn't shake his head at the old ways or argue that his treatment of the Kinfolk is ill. He also did not chastise Lukas, or even question him, for smacking Andrea across the face. Maybe he just doesn't care about the Kin in general. There's no telling what his motivation is, if there's anything behind it. The smile remains as the Shadow Lords turn away, following for a moment, but the only person who might see his expression and puzzle over it is turning as well, and leaving.

What he does is step back to lean against the alley wall, purposefully withdrawing his attention from the conversation Nessa and Lukas are having. Not, necessarily, from Nessa and Lukas in general. But to block out their words, or hints of their words, he starts to sing. Quietly, oh so quietly, and only really to himself, but he does sing.

"Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine. Or leave a kiss within the cup...and I'll not ask for wine."

[Lukas] Whatever Nessa whispers to him, it makes his face change. He looks at her differently; with something akin to understanding, perhaps even sympathy.

"I had not realized Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya may have a prior claim of guardianship," he says, when she's finished. He does not raise his voice for all and sundry to hear, but nor does he bother to mute it. "I thought you were being reticient for your own purposes. I apologize for being short with you, Nessa. I'll talk to Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya, sort it out with him, and let you know what comes of it.

"Still -- for Dances-on-Fire alone, at least, I'd appreciate if you'd keep me informed." A quick grin here, surprisingly easy. "His honor hasn't impressed me so far, and I'd love nothing more than an opportunity to call him on it."

[Nessa Malikoff] She snorts. "I believe he meant earlier today, all honor to Gaia. But ahh.. He does seem to be socially oblivious. Also, nearly he knocked himself out-- falling-THEN tried to use me as handrail.
WHICH. I am NOT. Just so you know. Damn. I have to go-- another time? Luc needs me. Bye!"
And she pulls herself away, murmuring things about LATE FOR BABYSITTER if he tries to hold her there.

[Nessa Malikoff] (GOING TO SLeeeep god. Night! thansk for scenein!)

[Hatchet] Hatchet does not look up until Nessa goes zipping past, and then he blinks at her, saying something about a handrail, and 'Luc', and a babysitter. He cocks his head to the side, words about a thirst from the soul and a drink divine dying on his lips. He looks after Nessa, and then he looks over at Lukas, and he shakes his head with lifted eyebrows.

"I'm not talking shit about your Tribe or your Tribe's Kin, but...uh...is she slightly insane?" He gives Lukas a conspiratorial, wide-eyed look, elongating his words comfortingly. "You can tell me."

[Lukas] And off to the turtles races goes Nessa, leaving Lukas with Hatchet. The other's comment draws a laugh out of him, somewhere between surprised and wry.

"She might be. And yet, in spite of it, there's a Child of Gaia Theurge who might've fallen in lust-at-first-sight over her and proceeded to talk sideways about his intentions. Not that I mind the lust at first sight, but there's a right way and a wrong way to go about these things."

He pauses; scuffs a hand through his hair, half-distracted. Then he turns to Hatchet, putting the odd kin and her odder could-be-pursuer out of mind.

"I'm going back to the Brotherhood," he says. "You want to walk with me?"

[Hatchet] The Fianna has not had the pleasure of meeting Dances-on-Fire. Nor has he ever traded a single word with Nessa Malikoff, and was not so much startled by learning that she is the mother of Kemp's child as having a brief Ooooh moment in response to the news. That explains why she gravitates towards him or stares at him when they're both in the Brotherhood. That explains also, probably, why Kemp stormed out the other day after talking to her.

And he's a Fenrir. And she's a Shadow Lord. Hatchet is certain there's a story there...but let Belinda find it out. If there is anything Belinda is good at, she is an absolute fiend for gossip.

He cocks a half-grin and issues a quiet Heh at the 'lust-at-first-sight' comments, and gives a nod that is easy enough to interpret as agreement: nothing wrong with it. But there's a way, dammit. He is not looking down the alley or after Nessa or at the wall or at his feet at the moment. He is watching Lukas quite calmly while the other scuffs his shorn hair.

When asked if he wants to walk, he rolls his eyes skyward, gives a hearty and heaving sigh while he 'thinks about it', and then he pops his head down and gives a slightly manic grin with wild eyes. "Yeah! It'll be keen." He laughs. Not a lot, but it's in a slightly higher register than his speaking voice, closer to the tenor he was singing in. He jerks his head towards the alley's mouth, and starts walking.

A few steps in, remaining parallel to the Ahroun's path so neither of them walks ahead, or behind, of the other, he comes in with: "I heard tell around the pole-of-wonders that you and yours had quite the party the other night."

[Lukas] Lukas regards the manic grin and the wild eyes with a sort of hidden amusement. And the man called Nessa slightly mad.

They start walking. Once out of the alley, the wind bears down on them full-force, making Lukas turn his collar up against the cold and lower his head.

Hatchet mentions the pole-of-wonders -- Lukas is briefly confused; then he gets it. "Ah." It's a placeholder sound; there's a sense that his guard has risen somewhat -- he's uncertain of the intentions here. "Yeah, a small foray."

[Hatchet] The man, correction, asks if Nessa is slightly mad. If asked himself, he would wholeheartedly agree that he is indeed missing certain functions of his brain that are considered normative. That is another conversation, but it is easy enough to see that his mania is an act, whereas Nessa's bizarre behavior may or may not be phony. If it is, she gets that much more interesting.

Hatch is at least, much of the time, honest about the fact that he's often full of shit. He has no collar to turn up, and his hood is already resting on his head. He breathes in sharply as the wind hits, that's all, and then shakes his head. He peers over at Lukas when he answers, and then grins, laughing again at the hesitance, the uncertainty. "Just congratulating you, man. Sorry I missed out."

[Lukas] This brings about another wry sort of grimace. "Thanks," he says, and becomes quiet for a while.

Some steps later, "I don't know what to make of you sometimes." This is sudden; it has the quality of confession. "Because I don't know if at any given moment you're more my Alpha's enemy or my friend. Or both. I apologize if this makes me behave rudely or erratically; it's only that I'm not used to it. Uncertainty, I mean."

That much is truth. Lukas' control is nearly infallible; his quiet sense of confidence immense. In truth, even this -- even these random statements, these cards-on-the-table moments, required a certain sort of confidence: an ability, if nothing else, to divorce personal matters from business, politics, the rest of it.

[cricket] (a malicious part of me thinks this would be a wonderful moment for Katherine to grace them with her presence. )
to Hatchet, Lukas

[Lukas] (go for it! but i'm sleeping in 15 min! *LOL* it'll give me an excuse to duck out. "OH UGH, *flees*")
to cricket, Hatchet

[Hatchet] If they were standing still in the alleyway, or sitting across from one another in the common room of the Brotherhood, a few moments of silence would weigh far heavier. Walking, they have something to do, a place to put their energy that does not require words. It is easier to just walk with someone than it is to just sit with someone.

So a few steps pass in silence, and neither man seems overly rankled by this, but that may also have something to do with the fact that they are not simply 'men'. You do not chat while you hunt, or even necessarily while you walk or sit. On endless roads with packmates, all of them sans a vehicle, it pays to be able to just hang out and shut the fuck up. This is one more thing that Hatchet -- glib as he is, silly as he is capable of being -- is something of a master of.

Lukas comes back into the conversation though, apart from the unfettered congratulations and uncertain acceptance of it in that grimacing Thanks. He does not know what to make of Hatchet, which makes Hatchet bear a small, brief smile -- this is almost exactly what the Galliard of the Unbroken Circle said to him, several nights ago. It amuses him to hear it again, but only briefly: he is, after all, paying attention to the rest of what Lukas says.

...my Alpha's enemy or my friend. Or both.

"I have not found you to be rude or erratic," he says simply, and seriously. It's times like these one can sort of imagine why a stoic like Soledad might follow him. When he speaks plainly, without flourish or foolishness, when he is level, he seems almost painfully open, as though you could strike anywhere and tear him to shreds. But he does it. And in a way, with many, it inspires something like trust. Or at least disarms them long enough to be startled into listening.

However it is taken by the Shadow Lord, it is obvious: he means it. And he shrugs slightly, accepting. "Uncertainty is...a terribly uncomfortable sensation." He speaks from experience, and that weighs on his words. "Not to sound like the guru on the mountaintop here...though certainly not to sound like an enemy of your Alpha...and quite possibly to sound like a friend..."

He takes a breath after all that and sighs it out, his breath steaming. "Maybe getting used to a little uncertainty would be good for you."

[cricket] (nae! I MUST FINISH MY CHARACTER SHEET. people keep using whips on me about it. wtf? you all just like hurting me. D:)
to Hatchet, Lukas

[Hatchet] [We hurt you because we love you, Jacqui. This is very healthy relationship behavior.]
to cricket, Lukas

[Lukas] Lukas laughs at this, suddenly. "Is that the voice of jaded experience speaking to the rashness of youth?" This could be mockery; probably would be if, say, Katherine were to say something of the sort. But it is not.

"Anyhow," he goes on, "I know the world is full of greys and uncertainties. Even so, it's simpler the other way. And you can't tell me the whole damn Garou Nation doesn't think the same way. Black and white. Us vs. them, Garou vs. the Wyrm? I think the ones who really are used to uncertainty are few and far between."

[Lukas] (anyway, we wouldn't hurt you if you'd just GET IT RIGHT THE FIRST TIME YOU STUPID @+$%@ @&$% @%+$%@$%$!!!! *BEATS WITH BELT BUCKLE*

...ahem.)
to cricket, Hatchet

[cricket] D:

;_;

THESE TEARS I CRY ARE BECAUSE OF YOU.
to Hatchet, Lukas

[Hatchet] "Do I come off as jaded?" Hatchet asks lightly, giving Lukas a terribly, overly worried look. He all but lays his hand on his chest in concern over this matter. He sighs again and shakes his head, at a loss if he comes across as jaded. Oh, woe.

Moving on.

He laughs, chortling in his throat and not releasing the full sound. "You're talking to a Philodox, remember? Bringing something that's all colors and shades down to a black and white ruling is sort of my life."

With another tone, without that momentary look in his eyes where he does not seem to be looking at the world around him but something far, far on down the line, one could think he's being flippant. There's almost an ache to the way he says it, though, acknowledging the difficulty in taking things that are not simple and making them so, in order that the rest of the Garou may go on functioning, may go on fighting, without the questions plaguing their every thought and step.

It's not like it's a terrible burden. But it is very, very difficult at times.

He turns after that, though, letting the thousand-yard stare go, and looks at Lukas's profile briefly, his steps guided by instinct more than anything. The man is used to walking. "And the last thing you are is rash, Lukas," he says after a little while, his tone far too level for the words to have come easily.

And far too level to understand why.

[Lukas]

[Hatchet] [I just realized my last sentence (fragment) makes no sense! AWESOME!]

[Lukas] (AND NOW I SLEEP. thanks for the play...and the, uh, lurking! *LOL*)

[Hatchet] [*claps* And SCENE! *curtain*]