Tuesday, June 29, 2010

who hasn't fucked ray?

[Rory] The moot is over, and she has been dreading this moment ever moment since Lukas gave his speech, and noticed her reaction. Rory is a lot of things - a contradiction, a battle powerhouse, unbearably shy, fiercely protective, completely submissive - but one thing stands above them all, haven been beaten into her since birth.

She is utterly, completely, 100% respectful. Always.

And when she makes a mistake, she owns it. Even as embarrassing as this may be, she has made a mistake and deserves the punishment coming for it. Not even Edwin would be able to convince her otherwise.

And so it is, she arrives here at the brotherhood, silent, and dressed in her oldest tattered jeans and t-shirt that's been washed so many times the color is but a faint memory. Her pack is on her back, heavy and clanking and clunking in a way that suggests it contains a variety of interesting gizmo's that only she would find valuable, and on her feet simple flipflops - something easily cast aside - which she does, slipping them off to stand barefoot before the door to room two.

A few breathes, trying to find the courage she fairly bleeds on the battle field. This is no battle, though and she is unable to find it. So she finally lifts a trembling hand and knocks on the door, eyes steadfastly on her bare feet.

[Wyrmbreaker] Some part of Rory must hope for the last-minute reprieve that Wyrmbreaker's absence would offer. No such luck, though: the Shadow Lord calls through the thin door, "It's open."

The hinges are well-oiled, and do not squeak. When the door swings open, Lukas is on his bed, back to the headboard, a leather padholder propped on his knee. He's writing longhand, a black rollerball pen gliding smoothly over paper.

It's not until he finishes whatever thought he was setting down that he looks up, recapping his pen with a deft motion of one hand. "Rory," he says, "what's on your mind?"

[Rory] It's open. Of course it's open. Of course he's inside. Of course there's no reprieve, because there has never been, and will never be one for such as Rory. She closes her eyes, briefly, and then reaches with a trembling hand to open the door, slipping inside, silently, quietly. One might think to see the look on her face, the way she trembles, the way she refuses to lift her gaze to his that she has killed one of his, that she has brought a swift justice for some perceived insult and come away with Shadowlord blood and sinew between her teeth.

She doesn't look up, other than to briefly acknowledge his words in a swift travel up somewhere around his jaw, and a slam back down. She slips free from her pack, and settles to her knees on the floor, keeping herself resolutely below him. There's the sense that if he demands she crawl to him on her belly, she would do so, without hesitation, in complete and total contrition.

She presses her lips together, her brow furrowing as she tries to find the right words, and prays that they come out right, knowing it's an impossibility. "I wave hronged you, Wyrmbreaker, rhya."

[Wyrmbreaker] The thing about Rory's curious speech pattern is that it is possible to get used to it. It is possible to hear beyond the swapped consonants; to hear the vowels and the end of the word instead. Soon enough the switched sounds don't even ping on the consciousness anymore.

The Shadow Lord frowns. He slips his pen through a loop on the inside of the padholder and snaps it shut. "How so?"

[Sinclair] The Galliard of the Unbroken doesn't live here anymore, neither in Room 6 nor 7 nor 3 nor anywhere, really. She passes through, grabbing a bed when she needs one or a shower stall or a run in the washer or dryer. She eats here sometimes, but usually she pays. Tonight she's just passing through with a bowl of stew, a hunk of bread, and a slice of cheese. And paying her Alpha a visit, since she hasn't seen any of her packmates for more than a Hi y'all I'm back before flopping facefirst into one of the beds at the Loft.

The door is open behind Rory when Sinclair comes by, balancing two bowls with enormous islands of roll trying not to sink into the thick not-soup food. She doesn't hear what Rory says, but she sees the frown past the redhaired sinborn's shoulder.

Her eyebrows quirk.

[Sinclair] I brought you stew. Should I skedaddle?

One thing that's hard to ignore, since Sinclair came back: the regionalisms. The slight accent that she drummed out of herself for years, that she no longer seems to be restraining.
to Wyrmbreaker

[Rory] She can't look up at him - so she doesn't. She shouldn't look up at him, which is why she can't. Instead, she lowers her gaze to her hands, twisted into a knot in her lap, gripped so tightly that her knuckles are white, that the freckles stand out in sharp contrast. And there are a LOT of freckles.

She clears her throat, in attempt to gain courage. It doesn't help.

"I have slept with kour yinsman, Ray."

She could add details. She could say that it was her first, that he taught her it was ok, though she knows it was wrong for the sinborn to even think of indulging in matters of the flesh... but she says nothing else, unless prompted.

[Sinclair] [Just said over totemphone!]
I brought you stew. Should I skedaddle?

One thing that's hard to ignore, since Sinclair came back: the regionalisms. The slight accent that she drummed out of herself for years, that she no longer seems to be restraining.
to Iona McNevin, Wyrmbreaker

[Iona McNevin] Iona had spent the last few days since the attack, in her room, going through what little stuff she has there. The walls were covered in some of the forgings she had done in the past. A Shield emblazoned with the Clan McNevin coat of arms, a few different swords, and the like. Otherwise, there was very little else save for clothes and alot of empty whiskey bottles. The door to Room 1 had a "Stay the fuck out" sign on it.

Then something caught her attention and she looked around her room.

[Wyrmbreaker] Briefly, Lukas's eyes flick over Rory's head to the Glass Walker standing outside. Then they come back to Rory as she drops the news. There's a pause. Then Lukas snorts quietly.

"I'm starting to wonder if anyone hasn't. At least you can't end up impregnated." The cold blue eyes rest on Rory for another moment. "I didn't lay the law until the moot. So unless it happened last night, I won't count you indebted to me or to my tribe.

"You should probably avoid further contact, though. Another Garou has been asking to challenge, and I doubt she'll appreciate the competition."

[Wyrmbreaker] Maybe give us a minute, Lukas begins. I don't mind, but I think she --

Rory blurts it out. Tongue-tangled and all.

-- nevermind then.
to Sinclair

[Iona McNevin] Over the totem, there was a bit of confusion. "Who said thah?" She was still reeling from the Spirit of Rabies, and what he had done to her.
to Sinclair, Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] [oops.]

Maybe give us a minute, Lukas begins. I don't mind, but I think she --

Rory blurts it out. Tongue-tangled and all.

-- nevermind then.
to Iona McNevin, Sinclair

[Rory] "But I..."

It's out before she stops it, and she flinches back, expecting to be hit for her impertinence, her audacity, for the very fact that she wants to do something, to have something she isn't allowed to have. Pain there, naked and obvious at the thought of giving him up...

Softly, so much so he may have to strain to hear. "Marni." She knows. "Te hold me."

[Wyrmbreaker] "But you what?" There's a certain mercilessness in the way his eyes pin Rory, stay there. It's not to say he glares at her. It's simply: his eyes are so very pale, so very unflinching.

[Sinclair] Sinclair: "Hey," interrupting and indignant. "Kate and I haven't boned him. Or Asha. I'm pretty sure."

She quiets after that though, walking in and squeezing past Rory to take one of the bowls of stew -- and the roll -- over to Lukas's bedside table. She glances over at Rory once as she takes her own bowl over to the desk and perches on the edge of it. She's dressed simply as ever, in jeans that have a hole in one knee and an old Tide t-shirt that she got off a website specializing in fake vintage.

[Iona McNevin] Iona slipped to the door, and opened it. She poked her head out and heard the voices from Lukas' room. She slipped out and moved to the door to listen, her head canted to the side.

[Victor Oseragighte] (( Open? ))
to Wyrmbreaker

[Rory] She trembles - she dared speak it, but was not able to finish it, and now she can't possibly hold back. He demands answers, and she provides by telling the truth. Complete honesty, total submission.

"...tant woo."

And then Sinclair is joining, and then Iona too - and poor Rory is mortified. Completely. She flushes bright red, and keeps her head down, letting the curls hide her face, though nothing can hide the way she trembles, and the way she fears what will come next.

[Wyrmbreaker] [yep, always]
to Victor Oseragighte

[Victor Oseragighte] Iona is listening at the door. Victor is just exiting his room, having changed freshly into a pair of brown dungarees and a gray shirt with a faded motif in French, so old it's difficult to read now. He pauses as he spots somebody else in the hall, tilting his head.

[Wyrmbreaker] "That's unfortunate. But that's the risk you run when you fraternize with the kin of another tribe. My answer is no, Rory. If and when Marni is allowed to challenge, and if and when she wins, you can take it up with her."

They've developed quite an audience. Lukas looks at Iona, look at Rory, and sits up. His feet swing off the bed. He puts the pad aside and gets up.

"Was there anything else?"

[Iona McNevin] The sound of a door behind her makes Iona turn her head. A light nod was given to Victor, though she had no clue who he was.

[Victor Oseragighte] He smiles as he recognizes her and heads over, thumbs tucked into the pockets of his pants as he approaches. "Good to see you well again," he ventured in his terse, brief manner.

[Sinclair] Sinclair remains perched on Lukas's desk, tucking into her stew. She breaks the roll and dips it into the broth, eating with surprisingly good manners for a girl who looks like the wannabe girlfriend of some biker. She stares at Rory for a little while. The Ahroun is, uncomfortable as she is with it, in quite the spotlight right now.

[Iona McNevin] Iona's attention turns from her Alpha's doorway to Victor. He is greeted with a smile. "Aye, thank ye." She thought for a moment. "Ye....were there? When they rescued me?"

[Wyrmbreaker] [DI, Victor was there in the whole scene. I'm pretty sure Iona saw him before she went all rabid!]

[Iona McNevin] ((Nick told me, the spirit fucked her up mentally. She has some temporary memory loss for now))
to Wyrmbreaker

[Victor Oseragighte] (( I don't think she ever saw him in homid, though. ))

[Rory] She closes her eyes, tight, and then nods her acceptance of his word, her lips pressed together to hold back anything else, even as she blindly reaches for her pack, and pulls it into her lap. She fumbles with the zipper, and finally gets it open. The pack is ungainly, the things inside causing it to look misshapen and odd. He knows she works with metal, with small machines, with pieces and parts of things that others find worthless and throw away. She pulls something amazing from things broken... there should be a lesson in that. She doesn't see it, it - as with everything else about her - simply is.

She reaches inside, and find the right piece, and slowly pulls it from her bag, her fingers nimble and strong as she adjusts the copper pieces that are designed to catch the rain, formed into little tulip like cups, and let the water flow from one to the next and finally to the ground. It's... surprisingly delicate, and pretty.

She offers it to him, her voice soft... "For you. And mour yate."

For him, acknowledgment of what she can never, ever, dream to have. Once he takes it, baring anything else, she clutches her pack to her chest, and rises, intending on making a quick escape.

[Victor Oseragighte] He was not terribly surprised when she did not recognize him; he'd left before she'd awoken, after it was certain she'd been cured and healed, and he'd come in behind the other Garou, in Crinos by the time they probably saw him. He just nods and chuckles softly. "Was there the whole time. You probably remember me better with fur, though."

[Iona McNevin] She frowned and looked away. "I dinnah remember any o' et. Juss whah I 'ave been tohl thah happened." She sighed softly and leaned back on the wall.

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas holds his hand out for the delicate sculpture, his set expression clearing into a genuine appreciation as he see it.

"This is lovely, Rory. Thank you."

And as she's heading for the door, "Sinclair told me about your leadership the other night. You did all right. But I want you to come along when I take a few of your auspicemates and the other Alphas into the Battleground Realm for training."

[Wyrmbreaker] [BURN THE WITCH!]

[Wyrmbreaker] [...awww, too slow.]

[Victor Oseragighte] Understanding dawns on him now; he knew of such rages, so terrible they wiped away portions of your life it seemed. He nodded and removed a hand to stroke his beard. "Not sure what to tell you. Saw you and those other two on the run. Caught my eye. Then suddenly we have kin running from a Spiral and a manifested spirit of Rabies. It got to you. We... managed to contain you."

Not the time, he thought, to bring up the viciousness of the one who'd really dropped her. Not the place. "Called in your pack. Friends of mine. Just lucky they could cure you."

He waits another beat before he adds. "Jacket wrapped around your wounds was mine."

[Rory] She stops as he continues, as he speaks of the leadership she never should have taken. She has stepped beyond her boundaries too often, too clearly lately, and since they have not punished her...

...well. She is confused. Completely confused.

But this she understands. He commands her to join in training, and she nods, her curls bouncing, though she does not attempt to answer. she holds her pack tightly, and makes her way to the door, her slender frame quaking. She holds control only by the thinnest of threads, and needs. to. get. out.

And they are there, blocking the door. She tightens her hold, and murmurs an achingly soft "'scuse.."

[Iona McNevin] She listened and nodded. That much she knew already. Then she smiled. "Och, so thah's who. I am 'avin' it cleaned. " She let Rory slip out by her if that's ok with her Alpha. But her attention was to Victor at the moment. "Et is more than thah though. I felt like I had been trapped there fo' years, when everah one has tohl me et was only minutes. And I fo'got a great many things. Buh I am trying hard tah 'member."

[Sinclair] Watching Rory go, Sinclair adds no further comment concerning what she told Lukas about Rory's leadership. It was basically as Lukas said: she did all right. Sinclair has one flip-flopped foot on the seat of Lukas's desk chair, twisting it back and forth, her body always in motion as though keeping still takes more effort than fidgeting a little. She gnaws on a bite of steak from the stew, and when Rory is gone and she's swallowed, she turns and looks at Lukas.

"Okay, seriously, I hope whatever that guy does to these women, you do to your mate. Because. Jesus."

[Wyrmbreaker] "Goodnight," he calls after Rory, who was already shrinking her way out. In her wake, the Shadow Lord carefully sets the beaten-copper raincatcher on his desk. Then he picks up the other bowl Sinclair had brought and, without ado, tucks into it.

And laughs. "I don't kiss and tell," he says, mock-mysterious -- though one might note he does, in fact, change the subject thereafter. "Good trip home?"

[Victor Oseragighte] He moved smoothly aside himself, not one to keep somebody obviously agitated trapped when Luna's face was showing full in the sky. "How much have you forgotten?" He knew that rabies was a deadly disease, and that awakened it must have been far more dangerous still. He could only imagine the full effects it must have had on her.

[Rory] She's let by, and she swoops to grab her flipflops, and soon is nothing but a memory, her bare feet near silent as she makes her escape - before she breaks down, before she loses what little control she clutches tight too.

She does not stop until she is outside, in the darkness of the alley, where even her hair - flaming read and so very noticiable - is hidden by shadows. Only once there, once she's alone, once she's completely hidden does allow herself to react, to let the intensity of her fear and longing and loss overwhelm her...

Edwin threatened to feed Ray his heart if he broke hers. Perhaps it is good then, that Lukas has done the job instead.

[Iona McNevin] Again, a frown appears on her features. "Mo' than I care tah admit. Names, dates, things thah 'ave happened tah me o' tah mah friends. An' the things I do 'member, they dinnah feel right. Everah thing feels like a nightmare. Et's strange. I mean, I 'member being locked away. An' being tortured ova and ova. He....et messed up everah thing in mah head." She shook her head.

[Victor Oseragighte] "Give it time. Some of it might come back. Human ability to recover can be amazing. And ours... well." He stepped forward again to offer his hand. "You never knew me to forget. Victor Oseragighte. Philodox of the Wendigo."

[Iona McNevin] His comment made her smile a touch. She gave him her hand to shake. "Iona." Then she huffed, and called over her shoulder. "Och, Luke. Whah tribe am I again?"

[Sinclair] One shoulder shrugs up, then rolls back and down. It's a smooth motion, fluid enough to disguise the strength inherent in her deceptively slender frame. She and he eat, and her ears pick up slightly on Victor and Iona's voices outside the door, but she doesn't call either of them in. It isn't her room. And for now, she's perfectly content to just eat with her Alpha.

"That's really pretty," she comments, on the ...thingydoowhopper, her head says... on the table. "And yeah. We took like four days and went to this place called Arapahoe Basin, in Colorado. Apparently they've been going there like, every year since I went to college. So we caught the veryveryvery end of the season and I took a snowboarding class which was awesome, by the way."

Another bite of stew, and bread.

Iona calls into the room. Sinclair rolls her eyes.

[Wyrmbreaker] "My name is Lukáš," the Shadow Lord replies evenly, "and if you've genuinely forgotten your own tribe, then I'd suggest you not suffer your people to tend your obviously great sickness."

Maybe he's joking. He's calm, dipping bread into stew, eating soft, fork-tender steak.

"I," he replies to Sinclair with exaggerated arrogance, "ski. I do not snowboard."

[Sinclair] "Oh," Sinclair says slowly, with dawning comprehension that may or may not be feigned. She nods gently, her eyes growing tender. "I understand. It'd be really hard for you to have me show you up. I get that."

[Iona McNevin] She looks back to Victor and shrugs. "Et'll come back. Buh I kin stihl fight, an' I 'member how tah shift. So I'm nah totally helpless." A smile given to Victor.

[Victor Oseragighte] Not remembering her tribe. Oh boy. That was... a big one. He sighs and shakes his head ruefully, his hand moving to rub at his eyes a moment before he lowered it again. "Well... you might be Fianna. Just a guess." His mind is already working, thinking about methods to help Iona best regain her memory. It would help if he knew her better, but he figures there are people he can talk to for that, right? He had been there. He was surely partially responsible for her state, and that was not something he took lightly.

[Mama Ankle-Biter] *POP*

She shimmies through the bathroom mirror, crouching down in one of the sinks as she looks around, hands grip the edge of the bowl as she snorts. Her head tilting over a shoulder to cast a glance at her reflection. Blue eyes stay focused on her image for a few minutes, entranced by whatever it is she sees. Another snort erupts with a heavy expulsion of air from her lungs, and the small Gnawer climbs out of the sink.

She brushes her hands over the denim overalls she wears, the pant legs chopped off high on the thigh to make them easier to move around in. Bright pink stockings encase her legs, tucked into rainbow knee high socks and black scuffed up boots. Three layers of tank tops of various garish colors flatten across her torso under the bib. Bleach blond curls stick out at all ends in a frizzy halo around her cherub face. Nose and cheeks smudged with either dirt or chocolate, hard to tell...

She wanders out of the bathroom, adjusting the gunnysack slung across her shoulder, head cocking to one side as she listens for voices and follows her nose to seek out the conversation.

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas shoots Sinclair a dirty look. Then he bumps her with his shoulder. "Ass." He tilts his head at the door, indicating Victor and Iona just outside. "You meet him yet? He's a Wendigo half-moon."

[Iona McNevin] She nodded. "Li'l things ahr comin' back. So I know this wihl nah last fo'evah. Buh like I said, whah I could 'member was...tainted." She reached out and touch his arm as she went on. "Like...there was a fight. An' I killed anotha garou. That's how I 'member it. Buh that's nah how et feels. I -know- I dinnah do et, buh I 'member doin' et. Do ye undahstand?"

[Sinclair] "No, I'm Tits. You're the Ass," she quips back, swinging a bit to the side, keeping her stew bowl from spilling. "Hey now..." mutters the Galliard, protective of her food.

But then her attention's distracted and drawn outward. She looks past Lukas at the door, at the Wendigo, and shakes her head. "I'm gonna live a hundred years and not get why any of the native tribes would want to live in Chicago."

[Victor Oseragighte] He did, a little. Most Garou had had dark frenzies, rages so terrible they did not remember what had occured afterwards. And he had phantom memories, too, from his ancestors, whispering through his mind at times. Most of all, she needed to hear that somebody understood, so he nods, places his hand over hers. Philodox listen. "I do. It can be hard to sort if all out. Where you end. Where this other self that does not seem to be you ends."

He had heard himself mentioned, by tribe and auspice at least, but he does not turn to acknowledge this, not until addressed directly. Iona seemed to need his attention more right now.

[Mama Ankle-Biter] "It's the water. Everyone comes for the shows. It's like the black hole of Calcutta. Sucks everything in like a giant squid and we ain't ever gonna break loose. We'll all die here, ya know." The Gnawer answers Sinclair, coming up on the pair of Unbroken peering out the door. She wrinkles up her nose, canting her head up to nod to Sinclair and Lukas.

She stops, hands gripping the straps of her gunnysack, "How's the alcoholic?"

[Iona McNevin] She smiled her thanks. Atleast someone was understanding. She heard his name as well, and motioned Victor around. "This be mah Alpha, Lukáš and she be..." She had to think hard, very very hard. "Sin...claire. Sinclaire." She nodded.

[Victor Oseragighte] Mama breaks in and he shudders slightly; no, for him, it was not the water. The water had no pull upon him at all. It was the wind that blew him here. Why he still did not comprehend. But he would. He nods to her, then Iona, happy to turn his attention from thoughts of the dark pool endlessly turning. "Met him. Not her."

[Wyrmbreaker] "Well," Lukas says, "now's your chance to ask."

Iona introduces them. Lukas -- bowl of stew in hand -- strolls out of his room to be social, nodding to Victor as he steps into the hall.

"You're running with the Windrunners now, aren't you? Good."

[Wyrmbreaker] [*cough* MOONrunners.]

[Sinclair] Her brow wrinkles in confusion. "There's a black hole in Calcutta?"

Sinclair shakes her head, taking another bite of stew and chewing on her broth-soaked bread. Soon enough Lukas walks out of the room and she decides to follow after, feeling awkward about taking up space in another wolf's den while said wolf isn't even there. So a moment later she comes out into the hall as well, but doesn't stop there.

Heading to the common room, Sinclair bumps lightly against Iona. A silence descends on her as she goes towards the couches, but only Lukas and the Fiann know why. It isn't a faraway look in her eyes that indicates, with Sinclair, that she's speaking to them through their totem. It's an odd, pervasive stillness, as though her energies are drawing inward and making her outside seem that much calmer.

[Sinclair] Iona, if you're joking around about forgetting things like your tribe and your packmates, it isn't funny. And if it isn't a joke, you should ...well, obey your Alpha and tend to your own sickness. You're a daughter of Perun, for fuck's sake, stop wandering around like you've got alzheimer's.
to Iona McNevin, Wyrmbreaker

[Victor Oseragighte] She does not ask. She hardly even acknowledges him. And he just shrugs to this, murmuring as she goes past, "heard of the Black Hole of Calcutta. Don't remember what it's supposed to be."

[Mama Ankle-Biter] "Wyrmbreaker. Warcry. Have ya met one of --" a blink, and a furrow of eyebrows, "Yeh, he's one of Mama's. Said ya directed him to us."

She rolls her shoulders back, looking up at Victor with an easy, friendly smile. That smile grows wider at Sinclair's confusion, "Oh, yeah! Ya didn't know?" If Sinclair starts to follow Lukas, the Shadow Lord will likely pick up a train as Mama follows after Sinclair, bringing up the end like a little caboose. She breaks away when they reached Victor and Iona, sidling up to brush against Victor's side and gently nudging him. "It's... in...." she sticks her tongue out trying to think, "Somewhere across an ocean, Mama thinks."

[Iona McNevin] She glanced to Sinclair when she is bumped. The slowly, her calmness grows into coldness. She murmurs a farewell to Victor and slips back into Room 1 where she now resides. Her door is slammed shut, the sound resounding through the halls.

[Iona McNevin] I'm nah jokin'. I dinnah joke aroun'. Et just slipped mah mind is all. An' I am doin' mah best tah 'member everah thing right again. There was anger in her tone. Not directed at anyone really. More because this happened at all.
to Sinclair, Wyrmbreaker

[Sinclair] Sitting down on the sectional couch now, bowl of stew on the coffee table in front of her, she glances up as Iona's mood suddenly -- instantly -- darkens and sends her quickly back to her room. The Galliard neither sighs nor rolls eyes. She just glances at the space where Iona was a moment ago, then looks at Lukas with a slow blink, then turns her attention on Mama and Victor.

"No, what's the black hole of Calcutta?" she asks, either of them really, as she breaks off a bite of bread. "It's... well I mean it's obviously not an astronomical phenomenon. Is it like Maelstrom, some kind of whirlpool spirit?"

[Victor Oseragighte] Something had happened. What, he did not know, but nothing good there. He watched Iona retreat, frowning a little, then smiles down at Mama and places a hand on her shoulder. "Calcutta?" It was a suggestion, faintly amused, and he was a bit lost in thought himself really as he mulled over Iona's predicament.

[Sinclair] The sigh she doesn't let out in truth comes across their link, like the breeze presaging the gale of a storm. Iona, you do so joke around. Plenty of times. Don't throw a tantrum over it. Jesus. But I meant what I said: if you're genuinely that lost, you need to get it fixed. What do you think it does to your reputation -- to our reputation as a pack -- if you put your weakness on display like that?
to Iona McNevin, Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] "Yeah. You guys were short a Philodox, and I thought he ... "

Lukas trails off for a moment, frowning. Iona storms off nearly without a word. Her door slams. There's a silence. Then Lukas looks at Mama again.

"I thought he fit," he finishes. And, "Excuse me a moment."

[Mama Ankle-Biter] Her eyes followed the path that Iona takes, reading the girl's body language without much effort. She wrinkles up her nose, noting the displeasure in Fianna No Moon. She nudges Victor again, shaking her head at him, as if to not worry. She swings her attention towards the Galliard.

Lukas speaks up before Mama was about to explain what Calcutta was, she nods her head as he excused himself. To Sinclair - "S'room in some fort over in that one place with the big elephants and brown-skins with dots on their foreheads. Read up on it in a book-thing when Mama was cruising the big bookstore that let's ya read free books and clicking on them picture boxes with the mechanical mice."

She shrugs, "Held prisoners of war."

[Wyrmbreaker] Iona, the mind-voice of the Shadow Lord comes even and stony over the totemlink, the last one of us to choose to storm off rather than speak to his packmates was Edward Bellamonte. Eventually, he chose to leave us altogether. Now he's packless, and no one knows what the hell he's doing, or if he's even alive.

That's where ignoring those who care for you will get you. You may not like what Sinclair said, but she has a point. She's saying it for your own good. In case you've forgotten, Sinclair probably understands what you've been through more than anyone else in this Sept.

If you think she's wrong, that you're not weak, then come back and prove it to her. But standing from my perspective, I see only a wolf who let the Wyrm best her, who had to be rescued, and who all but revels now in the whole miserable experience and the attention it's garnered her.

to Iona McNevin, Sinclair

[Victor Oseragighte] "Oubliette." It comes out of nowhere, Mama's explanation to Sinclair sparking something. He looks down to her and nods, but cannot hide that he feels he should be investigating. He is happy at least, though, that her Alpha is here.

[Sinclair] Sinclair stares at the two Moonrunners as they explain. Then blinks.

"Ah," she says after a moment, and gestures with her bread. "There's stew downstairs. Jenny's pushing bowls on people, I think they need to make room in the fridge."

[Iona McNevin] She leaned on her dresser, staring into the mirror. I feel like I am bein' punished fo' doin' whah I was born tah do, Sinclair. I felt like I was trapped fo' years, bein' tortured, mind fucked til everah thing I knew was either destroyed o' changed. I'm just tryin' tae figure out how tae fix et is ahl.


Then she listened to Lukas and closed her eyes as she did. I nah weak She sent over the totem quickly An' I would nevah willingly leave the pack, leave mah family.
to Sinclair, Wyrmbreaker

[Iona McNevin] Quietly, the door to room 1 opens and Iona steps out.

[Sinclair] Bewilderment: How are you being punished for being Garou?
to Iona McNevin, Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] "It's good stew," Lukas calls -- he sounds like he's heading downstairs himself. "Best thing on their menu, next to the rack of lamb."

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas is quiet now, listening to his packmates.
to Iona McNevin, Sinclair

[Wyrmbreaker] As Katherine nears the proximity of her packmates, their totem conversation, previously just a low background buzz that's easily ignored unless she pays careful attention, becomes prominent:

Sinclair: Iona, if you're joking around about forgetting things like your tribe and your packmates, it isn't funny. And if it isn't a joke, you should ...well, obey your Alpha and tend to your own sickness. You're a daughter of Perun, for fuck's sake, stop wandering around like you've got alzheimer's.

Iona: a flare of anger. I'm nah jokin'. I dinnah joke aroun'. Et just slipped mah mind is all. An' I am doin' mah best tah 'member everah thing right again.

Sinclair: a mental sigh. Iona, you do so joke around. Plenty of times. Don't throw a tantrum over it. Jesus. But I meant what I said: if you're genuinely that lost, you need to get it fixed. What do you think it does to your reputation -- to our reputation as a pack -- if you put your weakness on display like that?

Lukas, stony: Iona, the last one of us to choose to storm off rather than speak to his packmates was Edward Bellamonte. Eventually, he chose to leave us altogether. Now he's packless, and no one knows what the hell he's doing, or if he's even alive.

That's where ignoring those who care for you will get you. You may not like what Sinclair said, but she has a point. She's saying it for your own good. In case you've forgotten, Sinclair probably understands what you've been through more than anyone else in this Sept.

If you think she's wrong, that you're not weak, then come back and prove it to her. But standing from my perspective, I see only a wolf who let the Wyrm best her, who had to be rescued, and who all but revels now in the whole miserable experience and the attention it's garnered her.


Iona again: I feel like I am bein' punished fo' doin' whah I was born tah do, Sinclair. I felt like I was trapped fo' years, bein' tortured, mind fucked til everah thing I knew was either destroyed o' changed. I'm just tryin' tae figure out how tae fix et is ahl.

I nah weak She sent over the totem quickly An' I would nevah willingly leave the pack, leave mah family.


Sinclair: How are you being punished for being Garou?
to Iona McNevin, Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair

[Iona McNevin] It took awhile for her to answer. But the emotions they feel, they knew where they came from. Confusion, anger, rage, then a sudden calmness. I....tha kinfetch. I 'member a kinfetch calling tae ahl the garou nearby. I answered the call. I fought hard. By tooth and claw.

She looked at her hands a moment. I dinnah feel the wound. Buh then I just 'member pain, and rage, and torture. Now I have tae figure out what is fact o' fiction. An' I seem nah tae be one who keeps many momentos.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair, Wyrmbreaker

[Victor Oseragighte] He was certain it was great stew, and as certain it wasn't for him, sadly. He nods to them both, though, and nudges Mama as he spots Iona way down the hall where she's emerged once more.

[Mama Ankle-Biter] "Stew."

It takes her a moment to think on this, a hand dropping down to rub across her tummy, feeling it flip as it starts to growl loudly, announcing how hungry the Gnawer must have been. She looks up at Victor, tilting her head to the side and grins, "Ya hungry, Vicki? Can call ya Vicki or is that not right?"

She blinks at the nudge, eyebrows lifting upward in a curious tilt as she follows his eyes to where Iona came out of her room. Her tongue runs across the inside of her cheek, before clucking against the roof of her mouth.

[Katherine Bellamonte] By the time Katherine Bellamonte steps foot inside the Brotherhood of Thieves, she has been privy to an entire conversation that has the Half Moon frowning, already, as she closes the door in her wake and silently folds a cardigan over her arm. There's a hint of varnish cloying to her as she moves, her fingernails freshly painted in a softer pink pastel shade to suit the warming days.

The Silver Fang's dress whispered against her legs as she mounted the stairwell, an unspoken addition in Rage to the already overwhelming stronghold of it within these walls.

[Victor Oseragighte] "Vic. Sure. Don't like stew, though." Not entirely true, but then she knew that. He'd find something. The way he'd answered her question about his name, she was not the first person to try shortening it on him like that. He looked down to Mama; he might not be linked fully through their Totem yet, but he could say a lot with just gestures. Like now, asking her silently if they should stick around or give the Unbroken some room.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Iona, Katherine's even, considering words intervene abruptly, do you need to talk?
to Iona McNevin, Sinclair, Wyrmbreaker

[Iona McNevin] Her voice was soft, barely even heard. "Maybe."
to Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair, Wyrmbreaker

[Sinclair] There's a snap of frustration across their link. It wouldn't be there, and they wouldn't all feel it, if Sinclair weren't making the decision to put it out there. No words accompany it. She has that much restraint.
to Iona McNevin, Katherine Bellamonte, Wyrmbreaker

[Mama Ankle-Biter] Perceptive to the ways of emotions, Ankle-Biter starts to frown up at Victor. She lifts up her hands rubbing them together. Her features set in place, as she finally sucks in a deep breath and then exhales out with a shake of her head to Victor. Iona was not her pack mate, though a distressed Garou, she wasn't about to step in where this matter was concerned.

She stretches up, linking her arm through Victor's and tucks him along gently, "Let's go down to the kitchen see if'n we ain't gone find ourselves something dead and bleeding, might possibly still be mooing. Got a hunger for something a bit raw right now."

[Sinclair] "Why don't you like stew?" Sinclair asks, piping up suddenly.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Iona's retort was, of course, felt as much as heard, as was the sense of Sinclair's frustration. Honor's Compass passes by Victor and Mama on her path to the room where her pack-mates were and each got a small nod, the flick of her pale eyes over their features before she moved to the doorway of Room 1, leaning a small shoulder against the door-frame and folding her arms beneath the cardigan, neatly held over both.

Her head canted.

"So, let us speak, then. What is on your mind."

[Victor Oseragighte] He finds himself being tugged along and allows it, amusement spreading across his face in a small smile. Looking back, he tossed Sinclair an answer. "Not enough meat." I was basically the truth, after all. Then they are moving past Katherine and he grows curious, another new face here, so many people to meet. But they're headed down, she focuses on that. "Raw, you say?"

[Sinclair] She laughs. "Oh, I so get that," she says. A beat passes. She nods a goodbye to Victor and Mama as they leave the common room to walk downstairs, and she sits alone on the couch, taking the rest of her meal as a way to not go add another person to the list of packmates she's bloodied the floor with.

She's getting older. A little wiser. More controlled. So instead of picking a fight, she sits. And eats her roll. And chews her stew, because god knows Jenny doesn't make thin shit.

[Iona McNevin] ona was standing outside her room. She watched as Kate came up and leaned on the doorframe. She gestured for Kate to enter, if she wished. Iona though, turned to walk inside, and stood in front of the dresser, staring into the mirror.

"I feel...impotent. In a matter o' minutes, me life was torn apart by a tainted spirit. Ahl I want is me life back how et was. Nah this crap o' tryin' tae figure out everahthing. I want tae be meself now. Nah later." She sighed. She pulled a picture off the mirror. It was the night Kate helped dress her up for her big date with Ray. Both Iona and Ray seem so happy in the picture.

"I dinnah even know who this man is. Buh I have a memory o' him. So why would I keep a picture o' a man who me mind tells me that rape me?"

[Mama Ankle-Biter] Mama keeps a hold on Victor's arm, tucking him along down the stairs. She squishes up against him briefly to allow Katherine to pass by, her head turning to watch all of them as they disappear back down into the kitchens. When they were out of ear shot, she sighs softly, looking back up at him once they hit the kitchen.

"As trouble as that gal might've been, Victor, didn't think it was proper to interfere in another pack's personal issues. Best to leave it up to them. Now let's see what we can scrounge up that's got some blood on it."

[Victor Oseragighte] "I suppose. I think, though, a small suggestion to bring her to places that are important to her might not go... amiss. Don't you? I was there. Could have been me. Couldn't stop it from happening. Don't like just turning a blind eye." He shook his head and followed her in back, the weight of that sitting on him; he's that sort, that feels responsible for the rest of the world.

[Mama Ankle-Biter] The small Gnawer skirts around tables, tilting her head up as she sniffs at the air, casting a long look around the kitchen. She tries to be mindful of the sanitation that has to be kept, furrowing her eyebrows slightly, she turns to stare at Victor, focusing on something he says.

"True, but!" holding up her index finger in the air, "It's still getting into another's business, which Mama ain't gone do in front of them others. If'n ya feel the need to counsel her, take out and get'er a beer or something, talk to her all private like, best way to handle it without stepping on toes."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine reaches out as she passes, and slides a palm over Sinclair's shoulder. It's a brief deviation in her original course, but needed; wanted. The tactile reassurance that yes, her pack-mate was returned to her. That she was physical. Then, Katherine's heels daintily clip after Iona, and she steps into Room 1, discreetly closing the door behind her.

One did not air one's dirty laundry for the world to hear, in her opinion.

The Ragabash stares at her reflection in the mirror, perhaps searching for some sign, some gleam of the answer within it. Instead, what she sees is Katherine; she moves up behind her and sets her belongings down; her pink fingertips finding the other woman's hair and sliding through it as she watched her reflection, listening to her words. When she plucks the picture of Ray from the mirror and holds it up, the Philodox's pale eyes follow the motion.

She hmms, a considering noise, worked from her throat.

"Iona, let me tell you something. Not so long ago, when my fellow tribes-mate was killed and I carried the body back, I was never more terrified, and I have faced terrifying things. I was facing down not only his father but the King of one House of my tribe. Of my blood. I knew that the chances were substantial that I went to my death and yet, I had no choice. I too, was impotent to stop the mechanisms at work.

Sometimes, we do not get asked for what life deals us.

We are simply forced to endure it.

You have suffered a great loss," Katherine's fingertips rose to caress the Ragabash's brow, to tender aside falls of hair as she met the other woman's eyes in the mirror. "Your mind and body were violated by the Enemy, but you were returned to us. You did not fall. Now, what you face is the uncertainty of the aftermath. You say, I wish to be how I was, but why? You are a changed Warrior. A stronger Warrior.

You have endured, and survived. Do not look to rush the recuperation your mind needs, Banshee."

[Victor Oseragighte] He smiled to this response and simply nodded, recognizing both the truth and the wisdom in her words. He moved then to find the storage freezer where they probably kept the bulk of their meat. Thawing it out he did not mind. Hell, a few ice crystals were not that bad either, in his book.

[Mama Ankle-Biter] Victor was better at finding the meat than Mama was with her duller senses. She wrinkles up her nose, scrubbing a hand across her face and sighs. She smirks up at him as he goes through the storage freezer.

"What'cha find in there?"

[Sinclair] It wasn't much, the night Sinclair returned, to have her show up at the Loft and essentially crash face-first into the first empty bed she found to sleep for nearly twice as long as she'd been driving. Which is to say: Sinclair slept for a solid eighteen hours before she so much as twitched, much less dragged herself up and showered, brushed her teeth, ate half the contents of the kitchen, and then brushed her teeth again. By that time the Loft was mostly empty, the others who come and go asleep or on their own errands.

She's been in and out since then, herself. Back to the way it was before she left Chicago. Now that she's back she's using words most of them aren't used to: she says y'all, and she says 'skidaddle', and next time she tries to say 'shit', what comes out might be 'shoot'. Every time she takes the Lord's name in vain it seems like she has a bit of a thrill of defiance to it. She's letting what remains of her old accent to slip into her speech here and there.

She cocks a half-smile when Kate walks by, winking at the Philodox before nodding her away to Room 1. The door closes again, not slammed this time. Sinclair shakes her head, and finishes her dinner. Maybe Lukas sees Victor and Mama downstairs. Maybe he's on his way back. Sinclair just eats her dinner, and when the bowl is empty and the bread is gone, carries her dishes downstairs to wash them out.

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas is, indeed, downstairs when Mama and Victor show up to root around the freezer. He's plowing another bowlful of stew into his face, in fact, and as he's washing the bowl out, he turns to look at them over his shoulder.

"Here's a better idea," he suggests. "If you're concerned for my packmate, Victor, say so to our faces. We appreciated what you two did for her the night she was tainted. We appreciate what you might do in your patience and your good intent.

"All I ask is this: don't coddle her. She's feeling weak right now, maybe in need of pity. Don't pity her, and don't encourage her weakness. She's a Garou of the Nation. And if you have uncertainties, ask us first."

Monday, June 28, 2010

the drive home.

[Danicka Musil] They've been in the car for perhaps five minutes, give or take, when Danicka -- not silent, but generally quiet til this point, a little sleepy from food and from conversation and the hour, a little thoughtful on doing this again sometime, maybe at Kingsbury Plaza -- turns to Lukas and asks quite simply: "Why wouldn't you let me serve you at dinner?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] They don't make a big deal out of traditional gender roles; over who should pay for dinner, and who should drive, and who should clean the house. Lukas is as comfortable riding in the passenger's seat as he is driving his mate home from some dinner, some social gathering, some outing or other.

And he is. Comfortable, and quiet, and calm: sitting with his hand relaxed in his lap, his head back against the headrest, buzzing gently in the afterglow of one too many shots of vodka. When she speaks, he turns to her idly, lazily. Only a second later does the question really register.

He lifts his head. A faint frown accompanies that spark of renewed awareness in his eye. He's quiet for a moment. Then, "Because you're not my servant. You're my mate."

[Danicka Musil] She drank less as the evening wore on because she knew she would be driving. She wanted to drive. And she could not simply shift in the bathroom for half a minute and be sober again. So she drank more water instead of wine or vodka the late the hour went, and when she felt a little more steady on her feet -- a state which for many people would still be too tipsy, but given Danicka's tolerance was acceptable to her -- and they were ready to go she leaned her head on his shoulder.

Which was enough of a signal to him that his mate was getting tired. Tired of company, perhaps. Tired of people. Tired of being there. And no matter how pleasant, that happens. Eventually you want to go home, and be alone or with someone who makes you feel so much more yourself that it is as refreshing to be with them as it is to be by yourself.

She keeps her eyes forward mostly. The glance given to him was brief, before she turned back to her driving. They're still staying at the den in Stickney. He asked for a couple of days there, and it's only been a single night.

Danicka does not sound upset when she asks. Curious. Maybe a little confused. And her neat little brows pull together a little at his answer. "Filling your plate would not change that."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "It made me think of how you filled your brother's plate in your father's house."

Perhaps it's because he's still buzzed that he answers so simply, so easily, so quietly. And that says something: that he lets himself get buzzed around her. That he has, at least on one occasion, let himself get utterly plastered in her presence.

[Danicka Musil] Because she has never met his parents -- not since she was maybe nine or ten years old, that is -- Danicka has no idea what they are like. She has no idea what changed for Lukas at home when it became known he was Garou. Not to mention when he Changed, when he was named, when he was no longer Lukasek to them but Wyrmbreaker-rhya.

If they called him rhya, that is. The way Danicka was raised, Kinfolk were not to use terms such as rhya, absolutely could never use yuf, could not participate in such things or even, in many cases, know about them. She is surprised when Kinfolk do so. She is a little worried, when she hears it.

Beside the point, which is: she doesn't know that when he goes 'home', his parents fill his plate and do not treat him like their son. All she knows is what he tells her now, which has to do with her own family, not his.

"I also filled my father's," she says gently. "And you are not my brother."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] She's driving. Her eyes have to stay on the road. So Lukas reaches out to her, his warm hand covering hers, his fingers curving into her palm.

"I know you don't do it to serve me. I know you do it because I'm your mate, and you want to ... take care of me. But sometimes, especially when we're not alone and there are others watching, it makes me feel like you're playing the part you've had to play."

He thinks for a moment, his thumb tracing a slow arc across the back of her hand; the delicate bones and tendons there subtly felt beneath her skin. Danicka takes care of herself. He sees her moisturizing after baths. He sees her winding her hair up to dry, smoothing lotion into her cheeks, the backs of her hands; her face gently flushed from the warmth of the water, her eyes clear and large without the light makeup he knows she wears sometimes.

He saw a version of her, too, a future version of her projected from everything he knows of her. It was not a vision of the future, or even of a future, but it still rang true with everything he's seen. He saw that version of her, a few years older now, her time divided and her will toughened by three children, at least one of whom will go on to Change, and by a mate who's lived with her as much as he could for five, six years; who at least semi-regularly brings troops of Garou into their home; whom she's had to guide gently and firmly through the paces of Garou fatherhood and the inexorable dichotomy between the need to be close and the need to be away from his own offspring.

That version of her didn't have time to smooth lotion quite so luxuriously across her skin after every bath. That version of her didn't have time to go to the spa, to pay to be pampered, to laze away entire afternoons sunning on the roof of her skyscraper apartment. That version of her still sometimes set aside time on a Sunday afternoon to manicure her nails, though, to take care of her hands and do this one little thing for herself that was entirely for herself.

He thinks of this, and it makes him draw a deeper breath; makes him ache gently; makes him bring her hand to his mouth and kiss her knuckles.

"Maybe I could fill your plate too sometimes," he says quietly. "And then maybe I wouldn't mind so much."

[Danicka Musil] It's worth being thankful for that Danicka chose to buy an automatic car. She doesn't know how to drive a manual, anyway. But it means she doesn't have to shift, and she's gotten enough practice to drive with one hand on the wheel, without much tension in her fingers or her spine or, really, any part of her. She is glad she does not have to pull her hand gently from his at any point in order to drive. She is grateful that they're on the highway and there isn't much turning or maneuvering to be done. She can let him have her hand, and for some time.

He thinks about the version of her that he now knows may never exist. Lukas knows -- well, he can guess -- how rich she is. He knows she bought this car brand new after her old one was destroyed in a wreck. He knows that now she keeps an apartment that is over three thousand dollars a month just in rent. He knows that she goes to school and no longer works. She goes to the salon and she suns herself on the rooftop garden and she has all the time in the world to attend yoga classes, hit the firing range, do whatever she likes. She spends hours on raids on WoW and has multiple characters at level 70.

It's unlikely she'll ever really live a life where she can't afford a nanny for at least a few hours a day so she can continue school. Or work. Or get a massage, when she will probably seriously need one. She might still do her nails at the table on Sundays. She might make cinnamon rolls for breakfast on those days, cover them in thin icing, and get the children they don't have and yet -- albeit distantly -- hope for

sticky-faced and smiling when their father walks in from a night of War or a night with his pack, waving at him from the table because they know better than to get up from their seats without asking to be excused.

Her hands now are soft and delicate, her nails neatly kept, lightly painted. She looks older than she is, because her life has aged her prematurely. She looks like she takes care of herself. And she does, because almost no one else ever has, and she knows nothing else.

She's quiet for a few moments. "Other people watching makes a difference," she concedes (and confesses). "But them being there is also why I felt... a little publically rejected."

Danicka looks over at him again, as though to check on his reaction to that. "I was showing you that I cared for you, and wanted to take care of you," she adds, as though in explanation. "Because I'm your mate.

"But also, baby..." and this she pauses over, smiling gently and quickly at him before turning back to the road, "I just wanted to give you food."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] His reaction to that -- a quick flicker of a frown, a furrowing of the brow that passes almost as quickly as it comes. He draws a breath and kisses her hand again, softer this time, meditative.

Lukas has sprawled out a little more as they talked, and as she drives farther from the Krutovas'. He rides with his seatback leaned back farther than he would if he were driving; with his seat pushed back to give his six-foot-four's worth of legs room. His elbow is on the center divide, her hand held in his; when he raises his hand as though to prop his cheek on his fist, it's her knuckles that he rests against his face -- the hard line of his cheekbone and the faint scuffle of his beard-bristle tangible against her hand.

"Je mi to líto," he says softly. "I was so concerned with not making you feel like a servant that I didn't think of how I might make you feel rejected."

He's quiet after that, listening. When she looks at him, she sees his profile, his eyebrows lowered over his eyes. At this angle, side-on, the irises are so clear; refractive even in this dim light of a suburban highway. Ice-eyed. Sky-eyed. Not cold, though: not to her. His hand still clasps hers gently, familiarly. And his thumb still traces the back of her hand, over and over, leaving traceries of warm in its wake.

And then, turning as she does the second time, returning her quick smile almost out of reflex, "Okay." He thinks about this a little more. And then he says it again, a little firmer: "Okay. I won't worry so much about it next time."

[Danicka Musil] "Nebuďte," she says easily, when he voices his apology. And she means it. So rarely does she tell him not to do this, not to do that. Often she tells him what she'd prefer. She tells him when he does something she doesn't like. But this quick, certain instruction not to be sorry is sincere, and considering how rare it is that he apologizes to anyone, how she is one of the only people he ever apologizes to, it means something when she tells him, essentially

there is nothing to be sorry for.

Her hand holds his back now, while he touches her and while he kisses her fingers. He rubs his face a little bit on her knuckles, and she imagines that if they were sitting on the couch at home he might be nuzzling her instead of holding her hand. It is just as intimate. Sometimes it is easier to sling your arm around someone than to hold their hand. Sometimes it is easier to kiss them than to walk with fingers interlaced. They wear human bodies, and human hands are so instantly expressive, and such strong signifiers of sentience and intelligence and the ability to craft whatever one needs for oneself. Their hands are precious.

They hold each other's, and he kisses hers, and she does not want to let go of him lest he feel she's withdrawing from him. So it goes, the moon heavy outside, as Danicka drives them home.

"You worry too much," she says gently. A litle fondly.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's laugh is quiet. That's something she didn't know for a long time, because almost from the start -- from their second start in Chicago -- he was guarded around her, cautious and suspicious of the way she made his heart beat. It was months before she heard him laugh like this, soft and contained without being restrained.

"So you keep telling me," he replies. This, too, is fond.

A few moments of silence. Then he shifts, straightening a little, lowering their hands under their forearms lie parallel to the floor. His fingers open, then, to let her draw away and go back to driving.

"Let's invite them to dinner sometime," he says. "Do a potluck. We can do it on the third floor of the Brotherhood, maybe. It's rare to find Shadow Lords who won't turn every gathering into a show of dominance. It's nice."

He doesn't suggest opening their den to them, though. That doesn't even occur to him.

[Danicka Musil] It isn't, truthfully, an option. Maybe it was even a kneejerk, subconscious refusal in the underworld: he could not imagine bringing a muddy troupe of Garou to the den. He never would. So in the underworld, the keeper of the seventh gate was not at their den. They had a different house, one with a little more room -- though the den does have a back and a front yard, and empty rooms where they could put beds and toys for children, if they had them -- and no psychological boundaries around it keeping the rest of the werewolves out.

So she keeps telling him. Danicka smiles to herself as he laughs, taking her hand back slowly after a squeeze, adjusting the flow of air from the dash, shifting lanes to get ready to take their exit.

"That was what I had in mind," she says, "only not at the Brotherhood. The Krutovas invited us into their home. It would be awkward, I think, to stroll into the Brotherhood and essentially rent out Jenny and Reuben's third floor to have ourselves a little dinner right above the heads of a number of people who would be excluded. It's one thing to gather together. It's another to flaunt it to those who aren't invited."

There's no judgement of his suggestion this. There's just simplicity: no. Not there. And here is why.

"I was thinking of just using my apartment. It's large enough, and still rather intimate. It's also enough yours, as well, to give you leave to oust any Lord who might try to sour it with their dick-waving."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] One can easily imagine situations where Lukas would have been unamused to have his suggestion so flatly negated. In the short time she's known him, he's risen as quickly and ambitiously enough to match any Shadow Lord. He's close to his next rank, which is no longer novice by anyone's standards -- Chicago's or New York's. His introduction is suffixed with multiple titles; two of which he's only passingly mentioned to her, the third of which he's striven for, lost, and won.

The point is: Lukas commands a certain respect now. He's probably not told No. very often. He's not contradicted often, and he does not tolerate disrespect. Even tonight, there was a glimmer of that -- a courteous apology to their hostess that was followed by a subtle and perhaps calculated flex of his proverbial claws:

You needn't apologize.
Of course not.


-- as though his right to act without apology were a foregone conclusion.

There's no hint of that here, though. Not even a breath of it. She vetoes the Brotherhood without judgment -- and that is important, even if Lukas trusts in that very lack of judgment implicitly -- and suggests her apartment instead. He looks at her with quick pleasure, quiet gratitude. The truth is Lukas knows enough of courtesy to know that it's not entirely courteous to trade an opening of one's home with a gathering in what's essentially a public space. The truth is also that he would never demand to use Danicka's home instead, just as he would never snap at her for contradicting him.

"That'd be perfect," he says, and then laughs, a wry sound, as she speaks of ousting tribemates; waving of certain appendages. "And practical."

[Danicka Musil] Oh, but she knows now what he is. Not that he is nearly Adren; she would not be surprised but not would she have the same reaction to it as a packmate or another Garou. His rank ceased to impact their relationship with one another after he achieved Fostern and could honorably challenge for her. Win her. Take her from her brother, and not look back again. Every rank after that does not matter.

She knows his name now. That, like her Adren brother, he has and needs only the one. Maybe when he dies he will have a long string of them like Night Warder. Maybe he will live and die as Wyrmbreaker, no more or less. That does not matter much, either. If they were to be married, which is a laughable idea to them both, she would not take his mortal family's name any sooner than she would take 'Wyrmbreaker' as a surname. He is Lukas and she is Danicka. And that is all.

She knows that he strove for, lost, and won the title of Ahroun Elder. She is not an Ahroun. She is not in any battle that she could possibly run from or be protected from. It made her proud of him, and glad because he was. Nothing more than that.

She knows that he is elder of their tribe in this city, and will remain so unless some Adren rolls into town and challenges him for it, and wins. She knows that regardless of who is in charge of the Shadow Lords of Chicago, she is his, and no other has a claim on her. No matter who leads the grandchildren of Thunder here, her welfare or lack thereof is his responsibility. No other's.

She knows that he is Alpha of his pack, and this means perhaps more to her than other titles. She knows that it means his pack can and will take him away from her at any given moment, because they need him. She knows that it means he is responsible to them in a way, though not the same way as he is responsible for her. She knows that one day it may be Katherine or Theron or whoever who finds her and tells her that he is gone,

and she knows it will be hard for her not to ask them how they justify coming back alive, if he did not.

Alpha of tribe, of moon, of pack. He is these things. And to the Garou, they change everything about the way they interact with him. Even with Kin who are only passingly his by tribal responsibility, though it would be the same with any Garou, regardless of rank or auspice or rage. It is like she told Emanuel, though. She calls him by a name associated with childhood and family because she is his mate. And she is the only one who can. It is not about freedom or privilege to abuse or flaunt her status. It is something else entirely, unnameable and yet ironclad.

"Well, yes," she agrees, turning off onto their exit, which will lead to inroads, then backroads, then their neighborhood, then their home. "To be honest, I'm not as... protective as I used to be of my apartment."

Not said: I don't need to be.

"So it would be alright to have it there, even if certain guests who we could not avoid inviting decided to try and ruin it for the rest of us." Oh so delicately put, Ms. Musil. "Do you want to do some gardening tomorrow? We didn't have much time to work outside today."

Which is the truth. They had to sleep in. And then have that big lazy breakfast and use the waffle iron. And then a little bit of time outside, before having to clean it all up and come in and get dressed to go to Jesmond's. And she still hasn't given him any presents. For fuck's sake, her larger suitcase is still sitting in the trunk of his car.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] He's leaning back in his seat again, tipping his head back against the headrest, watching the road rush toward them, slip under them, flash by. When she speaks of gardening, he turns toward her, rolling his head her way. A smile breaks across his lips, slow, longlasting.

"Yeah," he says. "But you'll have to teach me if it's anything more complex than digging a hole and dropping a pre-packaged lump of dirt and roots in."

[Danicka Musil] "Buddy," Danicka says mildly, "you know about as much as I do. My brother was the gardener at our house, not me. However, with determination and Google, we can have pretty pretty flowers and maybe some herbs that don't die when we look at them wrong."

She looks over at him. She smiles. It's not the same as last night, the domesticity that led them to grocery shopping and talk of dentists. But it's similar. Gardening. Going home together. Planning for a dinner that might happen in the forseeable future. Her driving him back to their den because he's buzzed, and pleasantly so.

And undressing after they go upstairs, taking her suitcase up so she can show him the little things she bought around New York for him. Here a watch -- not even a particularly impressive or expensive one, just one that made her think of him when she saw it. There a shirt, which she bought while shopping with her niece, because she thought it would look good on him. A watergun. A children's book involving a little boy and an orange tree, which made her laugh because the boy gets a stomachache after eating too many oranges.

Not many gifts. Not extravagant ones. Just:

I was away from you.

But you were with me.


[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Danicka informs him that Vladislav was the gardener of the house, and for the first time in a long time -- tonight's earlier mention included -- the very thought of her brother does not make Lukas want to crush something. It's very possible that urge will be back. That it'll rise again, and with a vengeance, the next time he's reminded of Vladislav. The next time he thinks of what Vladislav did to Danicka, how he terrorized her, how he beat her until she knew that the only way to escape worse injury was to simply succumb to it.

Not this time, though. This time, he thinks of Vladislav the gardener and he laughs a little, quietly, because he thinks then of Danicka and her eyes like grass, like growing things, like spring. He thinks of her golden hair and her golden skin and he thinks,

you are the spring,

and he believes they will be just fine planting whatever they wanted to plant.


In the end they'll have flowers and shrubs and grass in their yard. They won't win prizes, and at least in the beginning they'll wilt when they're away from the den for too many days. They might lose a rosebush here, a foxglove there. Then Lukas will dig trenches and bury pipes and set timers, and they'll have sprinklers that'll water their plants when they're gone.

They'll have plants that survive and grow, and though Lukas won't remember their names, he'll see their beauty and their hardiness and feel a quiet pride in that, because it was his mate's hands and his that planted them. Because they would have created something.

The oak sapling will go in the back yard. That one above all others he'll tend and nurture. Sometimes she'll see him kneeling in the dirt, his hands pressed gently to the earth, the bracket of his thumb and forefinger ringing the tiny tree. She'll see it and understand that this, too, is a form of prayer.


That will be in the future, though. For now, tonight, they won't garden. They'll park the car and open the trunk of his, and there'll be a strange sort of pleasure in knowing his car has been parked here for more than a day, that hers has been parked here the entire time she's been away. This is a sort of permanence, too, that's rare in their lives.

He'll help her with her suitcase, carrying it up o the second floor where she unpacks while he takes a quick shower, then stands shaving in front of their bathroom mirror. He's finishing up as she gets to the presents, and he comes into the bedroom toweling his face off and laughing as he sees the first of them -- a watergun -- which makes him ask if one of her nieces or nephews picked that one out.

He'll tell her stories of wanting a super-soaker when he was a child. He'll tell her about the simpler, cheaper waterguns he did have, and how in the heat of summer it would be as fun to get squirted as it was to squirt someone else.

He doesn't read through the book immediately, but he sees the orange tree and the boy and he knows why she bought it, and he leans into her and kisses her cheek and murmurs a thank-you in her ear.

The watch she'll see on him, often. She knows he has a Tag Heuer somewhere, a watch too expensive for him to really afford, but she'll see that less after this. She'll see this one more.

The watch goes on the nightstand. His iPhone, too, retrieved from his pants pocket before he drops it into the laundry pile. Then he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his head bowed as he rubs curiously at an unexpected scrape on his knee -- not from war or battle, for once, but from an unfortunate incident with shards of broken concrete -- and she's coming to stand before him. He raises his head and smiles at her in the lamplight. His hair is still faintly wet when her hands slide into it, cool against her palms, dripping coolness onto her forearms as she wraps her arms around his neck and climbs into his lap.

Later, afterward, they'll lie quietly in bed together, half-tangled still. He'll reach for the book she got him and read it awkwardly, holding it onehanded because his other arm is around her and he doesn't want to move it. She'll know when he gets to the stomachache part because he'll suddenly laugh aloud.

She'll know when he finishes, too, because he'll set it back on the nightstand and reach to turn out the light. And he'll draw a long breath, and turn toward her, and with the summer in full stride it's too hot to hold her very closely, but he lays his arm over her anyway, warm and heavy.

Their windows are open. They can hear crickets; the distant, occasional swish of passing cars. He thinks to himself that maybe they should get an orange tree, but he's asleep before the words make it to his tongue.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

sunday dinner with shadow lords.

[Jesmond Krutova] [Welcome to Hollywood! What's your dream? Everybody come here they got a dream! Also, yay everyone made it. I'm going to work on a set up post. There's a layout of Jesmond's apartment here: http://www.chicagodusk.com/index.php?jove=gallery&picture=5305 and there's a menu for what will be served/on the table here: http://www.chicagodusk.com/index.php?jove=gallery&picture=6084 ]

[Danicka Musil] [If you quote Pretty Woman again, I'm leavin'.]

[Jesmond Krutova] [What if I quote 'Aliens', instead? :D]

[Danicka Musil] [w00t!]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [i would like to state for the record that i started out pretty convinced Danicka was a high-class hooker.]

[Danicka Musil] [Actually, she was, but then she fell in love and her knight in shining armor rescued her and she rescued him right back! *FLUTTERS EYELASHES*]

[Jesmond Krutova] The Krutova's, such as they were in this city, lived in a neat little apartment in a comfortable, if not of the newest variety, complex just shy of Grant Park in Chicago's downtown region. The street was leafy, great trees towered over portions of the street and with the turning season many of the rose bushes planted in the front most courtyard of Jesmond's building were offering their sweet fragrances to the morning sunlight.

As day progressed toward evening there had been a sort of frenetic hive of activity occurring within Apartment 3A. Chairs were wiped down and furniture pushed out of the path of folding tables, set up across the expanse of an airy living room. Windows opened to allow gusts of air to breeze through the kitchen and carry with them the spices of meat being roasted, of delicacies crisping inside an oven, of pots bubbling atop a stove, tenderising lamb and softening potato.

The aromas of paprika and onion, of simmering sauce and the steam as lids were removed, wooden spoons dipped into pots and consistencies tasted. Watching Jesmond cook, an apron tied around her jeans, her blouse rolled back to her elbows and her feet skidding about the floor, one was reminded of a conductor, wildly turning from side to side, inducing the most heart-breaking or rapturous strains of music from a symphony.

Only, this was a symphony of food.

By the time evening is settling over Chicago, the interior of the young Kinwoman's apartment was spotless. The walls, plain white, had each of their pictures straightened, the magazines atop the coffee table were in perfect stacks, and the dinner table, covered with a cream and black table cloth was laid out with cutlery, candles blazing in the center around a small vase of wild flowers.

The Hostess was moving about it, setting napkins beside each plate, and attempting to tie back the heaviness of her dark hair with one hand.

[Teodora Krutova] "Hold still a moment." Teodora to save the day! Or, at least, Jesmond's attempts at tying back her hair. For a lot of the day, Teodora has been laying low, not because she doesn't want to help, not because she's not willing to do the work, but because Jesmond is driving her slowly mad with her that chair isn't clean enough and did you polish the wall behind those books over there and is that a fingerprint on the window and why don't you chop the onions like this. Teodora loves her sister, wants to be like her (in some respects [not the taste-in-men respects, yuck, yuck, yuck]), looks up to her. But Teodora has her limits.

But it's almost time for none of that to matter, so she has resurfaced. If Jesmond continues to move, her hair'll get yanked; not because Teodora will yank it, but because Teodora isn't going to let it go. "You look pretty," she says, "Are you nervous, Jezzy? Because you totally shouldn't be. You're all Martha Stewart, but hot."

[Jesmond Krutova] "Perhaps I should have put the picture of Ari away," her elder sister says, with a touch of uncertainty that belied that yes, inviting the elder of your tribe to your apartment along with goodness knew how many of his tribesmen [she had cooked for many, though her generous proportions may not last among hungry wolves] was unsettling, even for a woman as even-tempered and docile [at least, from the outside] as Jesmond.

Her sister is tending to her hair, and she stays in one place long enough for her to bind it out of her eyes, her hands busy smoothing down her apron and beneath it, the silk blouse she'd chosen for the occasion, dotted with tiny flowers and laced at the neck. It was the most expensive item in her wardrobe and rarely taken out but for social occasions when she rather felt jeans and sneakers would be frowned upon.

It was hard, repopulating your wardrobe after living among the wilder of men. They had rarely noticed her attire; here, she felt sure it would be at least glanced at.

"I don't know why it would offend anyone, though." She is going on, about the picture of a blue-eyed, dark haired little boy hung on the wall above the sofa. It was clearly a relation to the girls with that shock of near-black hair, and those startling pale eyes, but the smile seemed all his mother's. The one who was glancing at her oven every few moments.

[Danicka Musil] There are a great many Shadow Lord kinfolk who have come through Chicago who somehow came from their tribe, their upbringing, their breeding, and were brash, brusque, arrogant, loudmouthed, and defiant.

Then there are Shadow Lord kinfolk like Jesmond. Like Danicka. Who are even-tempered and docile in seeming. Who, when the time calls for it, will take knife or firearm to fomori without blinking. Who, if pushed, may very well have the backbone it takes to stand up to Modi.


The first guests to arrive, perhaps unfortunately for Jesmond's nerves, are the aforementioned elder of the tribe and his mate. They are on time according to the invitation, 'late' by perhaps two or three minutes. The car finding a parking space outside is a brand new, slate blue Infiniti that positively gleams as the driver -- a slender blonde in tailored, slightly flaring linen slacks and a smoky blue sleeveless blouse that is fitted close along the sides and drapes modestly across her front -- exits, closes it, and begins walking around the front.

The passenger is Wyrmbreaker, unfolding himself from the luxury vehicle and standing on the curb to wait for Danicka. He is carrying a tall, slim bag, the sort one puts a bottle of wine in to bring in thanks to one's hostess, but the bottle inside is not wine. Their hostess finds her roots in the same place that Lukas was born, the same place Danicka's father was born.

As they approach the door, Danicka inhales. She smells sauerkraut. She smells potatoes and pork. Her eyebrows flick, her lashes blinking, her lips parting. The expression is brief, not so much surprised as pleased. Real food, she thinks, and rings the doorbell.

[Mila Davis] The address was checked, and double checked until she was sure this was the right place. And then there came the question of - was she really invited, or did someone just happen to mention it to her to be polite? No matter - she was here.

The door to her dark colored sedan shut with a thud and the sound of heeled footfalls on the pavement echoed a bit against the building's exterior. If there was a buzzer, it was pushed - if there was a phone to dial, it was dialed.. if she was supposed to throw rocks at the window, then - well, she'd do that. No matter the method, those in the apartment were made aware of a guest's arrival.

[Teodora Krutova] "Don't be an idiot," Dora says, twisting Jesmond's hair into a rope, then letting it cloud-out, again, a dark-storm mass of raw silk, tyed away from her face and low. The simplicity suits Jesmond, and Teodora doesn't even look envious [so maybe it doesn't suit her -that- well, or maybe she's just a good person (sometimes)].

The blue-eyed teenager's gaze flicks toward the picture in question, and she un-straightens one of the napkins Jesmond just put down so that it's a little crooked, her eyes limpid pools of innocence. "You had a little boy, there's nothing wrong with that, and it's your house. Besides, it's not like there's a Fenrir glyph or whatever next to him with a heart drawn around it or something and a frowny face next to, like, our Tribe's signature."

Teodora smiles at Jesmond. "Seriously, you look really pretty."

[Mila Davis] Well - apparently she was too busy looking at the piece of paper with the address on it to notice the pair in front of her. But, eventually the blue eyed woman looked up and spotted them. Darkly hued lips formed into a small smile as she hurried to catch up.

The dark haired woman was rather dressed up tonight - a pair of black peep toed heels, a black dress with a dark red belt and a black pearl necklace. She looked nothing like her usual self - which was either a, covered in blood, or b, much, much more casual.

"Good evening.." She spoke quietly, just trying to let the pair know she was behind them, as not to startle them.

[Jesmond Krutova] Jesmond, who had always been the most placid of the Krutova siblings, had found a great deal of maturity bloomed within her when her son had been born. She would have been the first to admit her relationship with his father had been -- volatile -- at the best of times but there had been true affection in her heart for Eirik Thurstan when the time came that they shared a unique bond to a new person, so tiny and fragile who had tiny chubby palms and eyes already blinking bright, startling blue.

She had also said it to her sister, many times, that trying to raise an infant around Garou was an impossible feat, and she'd spent many nights far away as she could manage with Ari; willing the force of a Sept full of Rage to lessen with the passing moon cycle. So, life had taught her hardship, but it had also brought her a great many joys, and it is perhaps these things both that keep her grounded.

"Thank you, Dora."

That keep her from erupting with tension as the doorbell rings, and she turns and gives her sister a quick once over. Her hair is touched, a hand smooths over a sleeve and Jesmond unties the apron from her waist as she moves to answer it. When it swings open, it's to the pair of sisters and beyond them the picturesque table setting, the softer lighting giving the apartment an inviting, homey feel.

That, and the young Kinswoman greeting Danicka, and Lukas, and perhaps a step behind, Mila. "Welcome," Jesmond says, smiling. "I'm so pleased you could make it. Come inside, can I take your coat? This is my sister, Teodora."

There was a wealth of hospitality and pleasure in the woman's voice that was difficult to resist; her apartment was rich with the aroma of cooking food, and she was standing before it with her apron in one hand, saying: "This is my home."

[Danicka Musil] Someone else might point out: we're not wearing coats; it's eighty degrees out here. Danicka just smiles at Jesmond, rather brightly, maybe even warmly, as she walks over the threshold to get quickly and smoothly out of the way of the two Garou coming in after her.

"Dobrý večer," she says. "It's good to see you again. It smells wonderful," she adds, and steps aside so Jesmond can greet Lukas and Mila. She looks around and sees Teodora, smiling at the teenager. "Hello."

[Simon] Simon caught up to his Alpha. He called out sharply while raising a hand."Mila wait up!"He says sharply before jogging up to catch up with her."Jesus christ you move quick woman!"He says catching up to her and grinning brightly."So umm is this where we're supposed to be?"He asks her curiously before looking cautiously around the area.

He was a Full Moon so it was only natural he expected something to jump out of the shadows at them at any moment. It's probably Ninjas too! It's always fucking Ninjas!

He pauses at the door, and takes the time to smooth over his dark, though sleeved, shirt when he catches sight of Jesmond. He beams a brilliant smile at the kin, friendly, charming and full of youth. The young Full Moon still had that glow about him that most of their kind were quick enough to lose. He lifts a fist to his mouth to clear his throat before pushing his shoulders back and smiling brightly to Jesmond."Simon Zahradnik, I am Mila's pack mate." Dark hair, sharp features, practically ready to burst an a conflagration of passion and fury. There was no denying what this young man was even if one wanted to pretend otherwise.

[Mila Davis] "Thank you for the invitation.. it was very kind. The food smells lovely.." Mila smiled softly, like she really meant it. She'd never met Jesmond before - but, while blocking the door, maybe that wasn't the best time to stop and figure things out.

So, she stepped in a little further - and then proceeded to wait for her packmate, the over-eager Simon. Her got a small grin as he came pratically jogging up. "Nice to see you can dress up a little.." she teased quietly

[Jesmond Krutova] It's a sign of her eagerness, perhaps, or her desire for the smooth run of things that she shall make little errors like the automatic wiring that says: I should ask to take coats, even though it was warm enough to stand without one outside, little-own inside a warm apartment. Danicka does not correct her mistake, she likely understands the root of it, and her smile is returned as she steps over the threshold into the space that Jesmond calls home.

"Děkuju," she says in Czech, her pronunciation precise, if colored by an American upbringing. Then there's another figure jogging up in the form of the Ahroun, and the Kinswoman offers him the same welcoming smile, the same greeting of pleasure that he could attend, and ushers them inside. "There isn't a great amount of space I'm afraid," she says, re-tying her apron and moving toward the kitchen.

"But there is a balcony if anyone smokes, and I've some wine and water and -- Teodora," she calls to the teenage replica of herself, all long limbs and growing beauty. "Would you fetch our guests refreshments while I check on the appetizers?"

[Teodora Krutova] Teodora smiles at Danicka first. "Hi," she says. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name?" And when it's provided, she'll light up, blue eyes a mixture of best things dark and bright: "Oh, I've heard about you. Jezzy thinks you are lovely and a good influence. Hi, Lukas! What would you two like to drink?" Tribal elder and his mate first.

Then attention given to Simon (hey, he's pretty cute) and Mila. The same smile: "Hi. Simon, was it? And Mila?" A beat. "Mila Davis? You sing Grey Skies, right? All right. I have a friend who totally," a pause, selecting her words here, "enjoys your pictures. What would you two like to drink?"

"The view from the balcony's pretty stellar. It's the first thing I liked about this apartment, other than my sister."

[Danicka Musil] "Danička Musil," is the answer Teodora is given, mildly spoken, and given the girl's positively startling... American-ness, she might not -- as Lukas once did -- immediately wonder why she introduces herself by a nickname. And Lukas, perhaps, may simply note tonight that she does not introduce herself as Danicka, the pronunciation that led people like Ilari Martin and Sam Modine to call her 'Dani' and 'Danny' and even, from the cocaine addict, 'Danny Boy'.

The way she introduces herself to Teodora does not lend itself does not sound like 'Dan' anything.

The teenager makes her laugh. "That is good to know," she says, smiling. "We brought --" she begins to say, turning at the shoulder to look at Lukas, if he has given Jesmond the bag in his hands yet. Danicka just waves at it, turning back to Teodora. "Show me the kitchen, and I'll help you pour."

[Simon] He looked to be in great shape. One wouldn't have guessed he had been trying to keep his insides from spilling all over the floor just a night or two ago. He looked in peak fighting condition, or... Eating condition. There was food and Simon was young, and in some ways still a growing boy. He needed food, meat, protein! He breathed in deeply to inhale the delicious smell of food that washed from inside the house to tease his nostrils. His stomach almost immediately began to rumble.

Simon leans in to whisper into his Alpha's ear."That means thank you."He says in response to Jesmond shifting to another language. He knew his Alpha wasn't much for conversing in other languages so he handled that much for her.

He then stands and shakes his head."I'm not terribly picky just shove me in a corner and I'll be fine."He says with a nod of his head. He enters with his alpha and glances around the place smiling to himself, It was quaint and pleasant enough he didn't see any reason not to appreciate the hospitality shown by another of their tribe.

Simon might be young but he was tall, at roughly six feet in height and likely weighing in at close to two hundred pounds though there wasn't an ounce of fat visible on the young man. He was every bit the spitting image of the full moon, powerful frame charming smile, tall and impressive to behold. Though not the prettiest boy to ever walk the fact of the planet either... He certainly was worth a look or two.

Simon sniffed at the air, searching it for more than just food searching for familiar scents as well as unfamiliar. Teodora's scent caught his nose before she even got close enough to address them but a smile grew and a hand was presented."Simon with an S."He says with a nod of his head and a friendly enough smile."The balcony sounds just fine to me."He adds with a nod of his head.

Still suspicious eyes wandered about. Paranoia might be seen as impolite in certain walks of society but in their world it was a necessity. If ever there were a time to strike at the tribe within this city it would be while they are all gathered together after all. Strike a fatal blow swiftly and decisively... He wasn't gonna let the thought ruin his night but he wasn't ever going to let it leave his mind. He was a Full Moon before he was anything else.

[Mila Davis] Teodora's eagerness was met with a warm smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you Teodora.. " As for the rest of what the girl said - well, almost made it seem like there were lude pictures floating around out there of her - which there wasn't! "Uh - pictures? Well.." She just passed it over with a grin. "it's always nice to have fans. Maybe I'll have to meet this friend of yours sometime.."

She took a few careful steps towards the balcony - just enough to get a look. "Some sort of red wine, perhaps? If it's not too much trouble.." A beat. "You're right, the view is lovely.."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The last time Lukas and his mate were invited to dinner, it was a far more formal affair of black ties and evening gowns. It was also, one must admit, a more stilted affair. There were tensions beneath the surface, and Rosalie Bellamonte's best attempt at gracious hostessing proved inadequate to compensate entirely for Gabriella's obvious and determined unhappiness; for Emile's unmistakable disdain for Thunder's tribe and kin.

This time it's different. A single tribe. More casual. Following his mate, nodding to Mila and Simon outside the door, Lukas wears slacks, a linen shirt, colors and materials both light for the summer season. His sleeves are short, his forearms corded; his skin is not merely swarthy now but genuinely tanned.

They make an attractive couple, the tribal Alpha and his mate. Cosmopolitan. Polished. As they enter, Danicka says hello, and Lukas holds the tall bag out to Jesmond.

"Wódka," he says, a passable imitation of Polish, and smiles. "Thank you for inviting us to your lovely home, Jesmond and Teodora." It's almost a formality, a ritual of hospitality.

[Jesmond Krutova] Eyes wandering around the apartment do not find much that would lend itself to suspicion. There were some curious tribal masks hung on one wall, black, polished wood with intricate carvings and grotesque expressions -- they were fascinating as well as a touch alarming -- gifts, if they asked after, from her father, procured at some point on his travels. Jesmond privately had hopes that he had not had them Awakened so that they would stand as some sort of guardians for his daughters while in the city.

She had suspicions, but she had stopped herself from attempting to address the masks themselves, she had no wish to alarm her sister who already expressed disdain for the ugly faces. Primitive, was Jesmond's mild correction to this description, primitive art. Aside from the masks, the walls were frankly quite bare, over the sofa there was a smaller portrait of a young boy with bright, expressive eyes the match for the two sisters in the apartment and dark, curling hair. The picture looked to have been taken outdoors, with the young boy straddling a log and beaming at the camera, his teeth marking his age with the front most one missing in action.

Inside the kitchen, Jesmond was putting the finishing touches on her svestkove knedliky, potato and plum dumplings, as well as several bowls of steaming chicken noodle soup. She carried the dumplings out first on a small tray, and set them on the table, her motions precise, entirely sure handed. There were signs, on occasion, when she was observed that gave tell to her occupation; her keen eyes, the steady hands, the typically unflappable calm.

It was easy to imagine her at the Hospital, making her rounds, reassuring patients.

[Teodora Krutova] "Oh, don't trouble yourself, Danicka. I like being useful. I will accept help with the corks, though - I'm not very good with them," Teodora says, and she takes a step back, will guide Danicka over to the kitchen if help with corks is forthcoming. The apartment truly is small: the kitchen isn't far at all. Jesmond isn't wealthy, and Teodora doesn't have a job. She won't have trouble pronouncing Danicka's name properly, although when, and if, anyone in the apartment now hears Teodora say anything in Czech, they'll note the traces of an American accent. Not her first language, that other one. A child of Los Angeles, of Dusking Glory.

When Simon offered his hand, Teodora took it, shook, gave him a look that rapidly became somewhat dreamy, because he's reeeeally cute and a girl wants some eyecandy. Teodora: in the presence of [Rage (Full Moon Tonight: Jezzy, what were you thinking?) garou, she is remarkably self-possessed -- she isn't meeting anyone's eyes for longer than it takes to be courteous, however. Not tonight.

Mila, she gets a grin. Her childish cheeks practically shine. "He'd like that. He'd totally be my slave for life if I could swing that. He'd not really be worth much as a slave for life, but it'd be nice to be kind, right? I'll have your drinks in just a moment."

And so it'll go.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas, meanwhile, has wandered over to the carven masks on the walls. He leans close to one. He peers at it carefully. Then he straightens up with a laugh, turning to call across the rather small space to Jesmond.

"You've sentry spirits for your home, I see. Your father's work?"

So much for Teodora not finding out.

[Simon] He leans in to whisper into Mila's ear when Lukas says Wodka and his grin brightens as he translates."That means Vodka."He says softly into his Alpha's ear before drawing back.

His eyes snap back to Teodora when the grabs hold of his hand. He shakes it firmly, but not enough to hurt the girl."Umm, Hi again."He says back with a soft little laugh. His eyes flickering to Jesmond and then back to Teodora."So you two are sisters? Cause I can really see the resemblance."He says sharply. Teodora was cute he wasn't about to deny that much, a little young but definitely cute. So when she gives him that dreamy look he flashes back that charming smile of his.

He couldn't help but purse his lips in amusement at the mention of Teodora enslaving her friend. It was a joke, but it still brought a little grin to his face."Rum..."He was a Rum drinker. He was young, but they were Garou the law wasn't exactly on the side of secret societies of monstrous bloodthirsty killers so he wasn't exactly worried about getting caught drinking. No the crimes he worries about getting caught for are of a much higher magnitude.

He watches Teodora go then looks at Mila."We need to have these things more often."

[Mila Davis] The food smelled good. Really good. Even if she couldn't name any of them from smell alone. The lone female Trueborn wandered towards the kitchen - hoping to get a better look at what might be served. She was starving afterall.

"Mm.. Scott's going to be quite sad he had to work tonight. Perhaps I just won't tell him that this dinner smells much better than most things he tries to make.." She trailed off, while listening to Simon. Mila chuckled very quietly and shook her head. He thought he was so useful. And, for now.. she'd just let him think so.

As soon as the young Teodora appeared with their drinks, she'd respond that she'd be more than happy to meet her friend.. anything for family, of course.

[Jesmond Krutova] Jesmond, returning from her second trip to the kitchen with the first of the bowls of soup sets it on the table and casts Lukas a quick look when he mentions the masks being sentry spirits. She raises her eyes heavenward, smiling, and glances toward her sister to gauge the level of reaction she could expect to endure, be it presently or later when their guests departed.

"So they are, are they? I had my suspicions," the Masks do nothing dramatic at the revelation of their true identities, though for the sensitive among them; they were not, to be polite, the friendliest of sentry spirits. They were very old, and very loyal to the one who had bound them, it appeared. Simon is asking if they're sisters, and Jesmond looks his way, smiling in that manner that was at once amused yet contained about said amusement.

"We are, there's another sister, too. Though she lives at our father's Sept in California, she is a member of their own, now, these past few years. Born under the full moon," Jesmond motions toward the table. "Please, take a seat, the first course is served."

[Danicka Musil] Corks come out of bottles with ease, glasses are produced, and whether Teodora wills it or not, Danicka ends up pouring a few glasses of her own. She does not pour for herself and Lukas, however, notably. The three kinswomen are in and out of the kitchen, and sooner or later the table seems set and everyone appears to have a glass of something-or-other in their hands. Danicka is drinking water. The vodka hasn't been opened yet.

Those two things may be related.

When Jesmond directs them to, she goes smiling to the table, seating herself on the other side of the table and a seat or two to the side of where Lukas places himself; nowhere near him, really. "This looks wonderful, Jesmond," she says, with sincerity.

[Mila Davis] A hand slid her skirt smoothly beneath her as she sat.. somewhere at the table where there was an empty seat beside her for Simon.

[Teodora Krutova] In the kitchen - "Um, do we have rum?" And, "Thank you, Danicka." Teodora, amid all this polite-hostessing she's doing, finds it in her to give the masks a Look. Perhaps later, once the guests are gone, she'll stand in front of them, fists on her hips, and give them a speech about spying, which they will probably ignore, or maybe she'll call her Dad and whine. Now, though -- just a Look.

The Look dissolves when Mila agrees to do Teodora this little favor, and the blue-eyed teenager gives the country singer another smile. "Excellent." Simon got another smile too, when he said that Teodora and Jesmond had a family resemblance. Jesmond is pretty. Teodora takes it as a compliment. In fact, Teodora seems generally pleasant, affable, a happy sort've teenager, not full up on angst.

Of course, she is a teenage girl.
The angst will come.

[Simon] He does as he is asked to. Finding himself a seat at the table and grinning brightly back to her. He wasn't much for formal parties and the like, etiquette just wasn't his thing. That was the beauty of the tribe there were so many and from so many walks of life... Each one fighting in their own way and from their own angle. It could, however, make it difficult when it came to formal little affairs like this. One never knew when a wolf was gonna show up in their birth form... or worse yet a Metis...

"I am sure you two are quite proud of her. I mean, the life of a Full Moon is a harsh one but it has it's rewards. We get to see all kinds of places that most people never would as well as barking orders when people get out of line."He smiles a little, he was trying to make light of their sister's fate because he knew the truth of what the life of a full moon meant. It meant a short, painful life... And an abrupt and sometimes excruciating end. It didn't need to be said though anyone who knew what the Garou did knew what lay before them.

He settled into his seat and greeted everyone gathered with a nod of his head before glancing at his Alpha and nodding as well.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Whoops," Lukas returns from mask-inspection, "I hope I didn't blow your father's cover."

There are no place cards at the table. Danicka takes a seat; Lukas does not sit beside her. He goes, instead, directly to the head of the table. There's no hesitation in this, no pretense of polite deferral or deference. These are Shadow Lords, after all, and in matters of dominance, implied or otherwise, Lukas is straightforward.

There's red wine at Lukas's place setting. There's also a smaller glass, which will sooner or later accommodate polish vodka.

"I wasn't aware your sister was a Full Moon, Jesmond," he adds. "What's her name?"

[Jesmond Krutova] Jesmond was a careful planner, she understood better than some Kinswomen the importance of things like placement at tables. Especially when inviting a collection of Shadow Lords to your table, especially when one of them was the Alpha. She had set a chair at either end of the table, but was deliberate in taking her place to one side -- giving her clear access to the kitchen so she could dart back and forth between the courses.

Danicka notes that the food smells wonderful, Jesmond's smile is dazzling for a moment, it precedes a quiet laugh of pleasure. "I hope it lives up to standards, I admit it's been some time since I cooked traditional food. My mother is a far better talent than I am at making svestkove knedliky and kureci polevka s nudlemi, though I do try." She sets her napkin on her lap, the dark-haired beauty and turns to listen to both the Ahroun's in turn as they speak; Simon of the pride they must feel -- "Oh, she loves her life entirely" -- and Lukas as he asks after her name.

Jesmond takes a sip of wine before answering.

"Alena," she replies with, then adds with a laugh: "They call her Thunderbolt, and I must say it suits her personality as well as her moon utterly."

[Danicka Musil] The names of dishes float around the table in Czech, and poor Mila hasn't the faintest what the hell Jesmond is saying. Simon's been translating, though, even unnecessarily, but Danicka just looks pleased. She reaches for a serving spoon inside of a dish and looks at Lukas. "Your plate," she says, like an offer and a courtesy at once, yet with a certain efficiency to it: come come now, give me your plate so I can put food on it, the others are hungry, too.

"Is she younger or older than you?" Danicka asks, after Alena.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 8 (Failure at target 6)
to Danicka Musil

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [SHADOW LORDS DON'T FAIL.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)
to Danicka Musil

[Mila Davis] The young woman didn't even flinch when Lukas sat at the head of the table. It was expected, really. It's just the way things worked and tonight the thought of changing the status quo didn't even enter her mind.

She did eye Lukas when he was slow producing his plate, however. She was hungry! And, even if she had no idea what they were eating - it was gonna be great. Idly she tapped a few fingers on her thigh, waiting.. and there seemed to be a little bit of a sparkle there on her left hand ring finger - something that wasn't there before.

[Simon] Simon leans in to translate as Jesmond speaks. He seems delighted to be doing just this for his Alpha, after all it was just one more reason he was such an amazing full moon. Showing off was something Simon was only ever proud to do in front of his Alpha as well as his tribe.

He tries not to intrude in the conversation. After all the eldest of their tribe was speaking, and he wasn't going to interject himself right into the middle of Lukas' questioning. So apart from translating for his Alpha for the moment Simon simply keeps himself seated and waiting. Watching everyone present and occasionally glancing out the windows just to be safe.

[Jesmond Krutova] "Younger," Jesmond notes with a glance down the table at her youngest sibling. "She's nineteen, eight years my junior, with Teodora the youngest." She speaks openly, the young Kinswoman, with seeming little hesitation, but rather some element of pleasure at discussing her extended family tree.

"My father had hopes for a son, but he received three daughters instead. I believe he finds comfort in having Alena with him."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Sitting at the end of the table, Lukas doesn't look perfectly proper and neat. He doesn't place his feet flat, doesn't straighten his back; in fact, he looks relaxed, casual, quietly pleased to be in the company of blood-relations and good food. The Ahroun sits a little aslant, his weight leaning right, his fingers resting on the base of his wineglass. His eyes follow the conversations around the table; he nods to Jesmond's sister's name, and then looks to his mate as she offers to fill his plate.

There's just a beat, a tiny almost-imperceptible pause. Then he smiles and shakes his head.

"I'll get it myself, thanks. I'm just going to booze up for a bit," he adds, and lifts his wineglass in indication. "Jesmond, do you mind terribly if I'm a rude guest and demand that we open my own gift?"

He means the vodka, of course.

[Mila Davis] A lithe hand wrapped around the stem of her glass and she brought it to her lips for a small sip. Her stomach grumbled. There was talk of booze - which was always good. Maybe that'd help?

Somewhere in her little clutch her phone dinged very quietly. She took a moment to look at it, before turning it off and sliding it away. "My mate ends his regards and apologizes for not being able to make it. I had hoped to introduce him.." A beat. "The wine is lovely.."

[Teodora Krutova] "Aw," Teodora says, all sparkle-eyed, "You have a," brief pause, because it's a word she finds (a) hilarious and (b) distasteful, for all she's heard it her entire life, "mate? Is he cute?"

Also, "Please forgive me if I'm being too forward, but uhm! Simon's a Full Moon. So is Lukas. What are you? And, Danicka, do you like Chicago? Have you been here very long? Does it really get super cold in the winter? One of the waiters at the Brotherhood of Thieves told me that his tongue got stuck to the air it was so cold, so he couldn't, like, un-stick out his tongue. I think he might have been exaggerating."

[Jesmond Krutova] Jesmond lifts her head, spoon midway to her lips when Lukas asks if he can open the gift he'd brought to the table. There's a brief, there and then gone expression of surprised amusement at the question before she nods. "Go right ahead," she says pleasantly, for what other remark was there to make when the tribal elder asked such a thing? In truth, Jesmond had little mind for the vodka aside from it taking a place among her other liquors so it was likely finding a better home in the Ahroun's hands.

Then, aside to Mila: "I'm sorry we didn't get the opportunity to meet him, have you been together long?"

Then: Teodora. Her sister manages not to look altogether stern, nor totally amused by the younger girl's chatter, rather, she adds as she butters a roll, her eyes carefully lowered. "I also think he wanted you to test out his tongue's durability in the now, didn't he?"

[Teodora Krutova] [Er, what's that Jezzy? omg, you're so suspicious *limpid eyes of innocence* Subt + Manip!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Mila Davis] "He is.." She grinned over the rim of her glass at the girl. Mila only vaguely remembered what it was like to be her age. Everything was about if the boy was 'cute' or not.

Then to Jesmond: "A few months - though it's only become offical in the last few weeks. There were several issues to work around.. including his very protective family.." She made a slight motion to the masks on the wall - as if she was sympathetic to the over protective parent thing.

And then, back to the chatty teen: "Three-quarters moon, I suppose. Gibbous - though not many tend to call it that.."

[Jesmond Krutova] [Per + Alert, Mmhmm.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Ray Ostermann] The man had come dressed in his finest, and baring gifts only appropriate for a dinner party, but as he stood just outside the door to the apartment of a woman he had never met, he had to force a smile upon his lips as if preparing himself for something he did not really want to do.

Things had been hectic of late, problematic for certain and it had left a sour taste in the man's mouth. But he had come....it would have been improper not to, for now at least.

He took a deep breath, before at last knocking on the door.

[Teodora Krutova] Teodora's pretty blue eyes widen at Jesmond in blank incomprehension. "Uhm, I don't know. That seems pretty weird?" There's someone at the door. She says, "I'll get it," and after excusing herself, stands up and opens the door.

FOMORI. No: just another man. Also attractive. It's so nice to be part of the pretty tribe. "Hello," she says, waiting for some indication that he's not a partycrasher before opening the door.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] That instant of pause and surprise is, in the end, all it takes. Across the table, Lukas's crystalline eyes study Jesmond for a moment. Then he shifts, pushing his wineglass a little further away, sitting a little straighter.

"Forgive me," he says. Those are two words no kin of Thunder would ever expect to hear from a trueborn, much less from the one who, by all account, heads the tribe in this city. Nevertheless, there it is, and he follows it with, "I'm treating you like you're my sister and I'm home on break -- when you're my honored hostess and we're not familiar with one another.

"The wine will be fine."

[way belated, sorry! cats sought food!]

[Danicka Musil] Teodora rattles off questions at people, which means that whatever passes in that moment between Lukas and his mate when he waves away the mention of handing her his plate and asks if they can open the vodka is quickly subsumed in the answering of those questions. Danicka laughs lightly at the girl. "I do like Chicago," she says when it's her turn, as she fills her own plate. "I've been here for about a year and a half. It does get rather cold, and you feel it more if you're close to the lake and the wind comes westward."

In a few seconds someone is knocking, and though Danicka has added food to her plate she doesn't start eating yet. Lukas apologizes to Jesmond and Danicka simply ladles soup into her bowl, not so much as flicking her eyes at the Ahroun.

"Oh," she says, when she looks over at the door. "Hello, Ray." With a smile. It isn't overly warm; they aren't close. They've met, though, and worked towards a common goal before.

[Danicka Musil] [correction: she'd call him Mr. Ostermann! not Ray!]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [what happened to my post? there was supposed to be an "altogether" before the "familiar"]

[Ray Ostermann] A pretty little thing opened the door, and on a normal day, not even a month ago Ray would have broken out the award winning, panty dropping smile and charm, but this evening the smile is on his lips, but barely presses in on those eyes of his.

"Good evening." He says to Teodora. "My name is Ray Ostermann, I suppose we could say I am fashionably late this evening?" He asks casually, still managing to slip into something of himself as he does so, holding out a fine bottle of old vintage red wine. "Perhaps this will make up for my transgression hmm?" He asks as he briefly looks past her to those beyond before returning his attention to the girl before him.

"Have I passed the test? Or will I be remaining here in the hallway?" He asks with a friendly rise of his eyebrow.

[Mila Davis] The familiar voice in the doorway caught her attention and her blue-grey gaze shifted that way. "Well good evening Ray.. nice of you to join us." She teased lightly before going back to sipping her wine.

[Jesmond Krutova] There is, in fact, more food to come.

They can smell it where they sit, the delightful aroma of roast pork, marinating in its juices while they dine on the Appetisers. Roast pork, and Jesmond's speciality, or at least one dish she has utter confidence in: Goulash.

But at present:

Lukas apologizes to her, and Jesmond looks across the length of the table at him, her gaze steady, and thoughtful, as if she weren't quite certain what to make of the fact that he felt the need to apologize. Perhaps she had appeared hurt, or distressed by the question.

"You don't have to apologize," she notes this, for it seemed important to make the clarification. "I wasn't offended. Perhaps we can drink it with dessert?"

Calm, careful negotiation. Then: her sister flitting to the door and Jesmond is barely rising before Ray is let in [or held for scrutiny] by Teodora. The elder Krutova excuses herself from the table and makes the short journey to the door, accepting the bottle of red wine with a murmured -- "How kind" -- and indicating he should join them.

"We've just started, you're in time for the main course." She smiles, Jesmond, quite often. It's charming, and oddly comforting. As if she were in fact the sister you came home to spend time with, and could, at points, very easily forget to be proper, or tense, or to be what you were entirely. "I'm Jesmond, this is my sister, Teodora," a hand briefly falls on the teenager's shoulder.

"I believe you know everyone else." A moment, the slim Nurse carries the bottle to the table. "I'm going to check on the roast."

[Teodora Krutova] Ray isn't breaking out the smile. That's just fine: Teodora's personable enough for two. "Since everybody else knows your name, I guess you get a pass," she says, and Jesmond is indicating that Ray should join the collection around the table. Teodora reclaims her own seat, after Jesmond sets the bottle of wine down. Her expression is fond, when Jezzy goes to check on the road. Which is probably perfect. Jezzy: a tough act to grow up in the shadow of, for sure.

To Danicka, with an apologetic look for the interruption, "Why did you move here? With Lukas?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] You don't have to apologize, Jesmond says, and the corners of Lukas's mouth flick.

"Of course not," he replies quietly; there may be subtext there. A beat. "But I wanted to."

She suggests vodka with dessert. His laugh is more open now, relaxed. "You've prepared a veritable feast, Jesmond," he says, which is nothing more than the truth.

And it's a homestyle feast too. No fancy morsels here: good, hearty Slavic food, this, that probably reminds Lukas of, well. Being home on break, whatever a 'break' might entail for a Shadow Lord. More accurately, then: being home when he was young, his family of four gathered around the dinner table with meats and potatoes and breads and cheeses.

Being at the Musil's, too. Eating at the children's table with Danicka and Anezka while the adults ate at the large table, feasting on the food that Danicka and her father prepared.

Another guest arrives. Lukas nods to the kin, and then his name from somewhere down the table -- Teodora, specifically -- catches his attention for a moment before he turns, instead, to Simon.

"I heard you translating earlier," he says. "Is your family Czech as well?"

[Ray Ostermann] "Thank You." Ray says as he gives up the bottle and nods to both the younger, and older sisters before stepping into the apartment proper, looking around casually with some manner of interest as he makes his way to the table. He looked about that the available seating, and moved around to sit with Mila if a space was open there.

"Good evening." He says with a nod and a brief smile to all those present that acknowledged him before seating himself of course, it wouldn't be polite to do otherwise.

[Simon] He smiles back to Lukas when he is addressed."My father was Czech, and my Mother... They both moved to America to find a better life long before I was born. But my mother felt it was important that I remember a bit of my cultural heritage and all. I wouldn't call myself Czech anymore than I would call myself American... I have only one Nationality I am Garou and the nation is the only one to whom I pledge my loyalty and the only nation to which I connect myself."He says back with a proud little smile. He spoke in an almost militant manner there expressing his loyalty without a hint of doubt. There was so very much uncertainty among the Shadow Lords so much flexibility, betrayal, underhanded politics so it was nice to be able to say something with absolute certainty or authority behind it.

"But yes my Mother and Father were originally from Eastern Europe. Other than that I wouldn't say I have much in the way of a family. I was born, raised by a strong woman, and that is about the closest I would say I have to a family. My sept is my family now."

[Mila Davis] Whatever was offered, Mila ate. Her manners were practiced and she didn't rush.. she spent plenty of time savoring everything. It was all new food - and very good too. She made small talk with any of them. Smiled, laughed.. and really just had a nice time. {Aka, I must depart soon.. but Mila will stay and behave.}

[Danicka Musil] Her eyebrows flick upward slightly at Teodora's question. "Oh," she says gently, her voice moderated and a bit low, "no. I hadn't become reaquainted with him yet when I moved here. I came to experience a new place, and keep an eye on a friend who was having some troubles."

That's one way of describing Mr. Martin.

[Jesmond Krutova] While they talk, and drink and [be merry?] enjoy the soup and the dumplings, Jesmond takes a heavy oven dish from its depths, carefully closing it and setting the tray down. She pricks the roast with a knife, and watches the juices run clear down its golden side.

"Perfektní.

Said with quiet pleasure, the cheeks of the Kinswoman flushing with pride. She transfers it to a serving dish, and carefully arranges it, before carrying it out toward the table and setting it, still steaming, in the center of the table. "This is roast pork, with sauerkraut and dumplings," she describes, her eyes focused on Mila, suggesting she's noticed the in-ear translations that her pack-mate has been providing for her.

"In Czech, we call it

[Jesmond Krutova] [Ack!]

[Jesmond Krutova] While they talk, and drink and [be merry?] enjoy the soup and the dumplings, Jesmond takes a heavy oven dish from its depths, carefully closing it and setting the tray down. She pricks the roast with a knife, and watches the juices run clear down its golden side.

"Perfektní."

Said with quiet pleasure, the cheeks of the Kinswoman flushing with pride. She transfers it to a serving dish, and carefully arranges it, before carrying it out toward the table and setting it, still steaming, in the center of the table. "This is roast pork, with sauerkraut and dumplings," she describes, her eyes focused on Mila, suggesting she's noticed the in-ear translations that her pack-mate has been providing for her.

"In Czech, we call it veprova knedliky zeli," she explains as she begins to carefully slice off portions and lay them out on a clean plate. Then, she ventures back into the kitchen again and returns with a large pot full of a thick, broth like dish. She puts this beside the roast, and sets a ladle within it, stirring slowly. "And this is Goulash, it is one of my favorite childhood memories, my mother would serve this every Sunday."

Jesmond glances at Teodora, smiling with the same fondness the younger sibling had cast her only moments before.

"Please," a quiet gesture as she retakes her seat. "Enjoy."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Well spoken," Lukas says, not without a measure of wryness, "but unfortunately, I myself am far too fond of koláče to entirely sacrifice my human heritage."

Then Jesmond is returning with roast and goulash, and Lukas is pushing back his chair to stand and assist. There's a lot of food there. It's heavy. Likely more than one pair of hands reach out to help the platter and the pot down to the tabletop -- a sort of flagraising at Iwo Jima in reverse. When the food is settled, the guests as well, Lukas lifts his glass of red.

"To our hostess," he says, "who has brought the tribe together with warmth, grace, and -- " he grins suddenly, " -- some truly glorious food."

[Danicka Musil] To tell them to enjoy a meal like this is a bit unnecessary. Danicka looks quite happy about the spread. If one looks on her plate they'll see she hasn't had very much of her dumplings or her soup. She takes small bites, does not fill her dishes overmuch. She is stronger than she was when she first came here but to the eyes of those who didn't know her then, she still looks Manhattanite slender. 'Skinny', if one is being uncharitable. She doesn't eat a lot.

She also doesn't tell a potentially embarrassing story about the tribal elder and his fondness for koláče. It wouldn't really bother Lukas. Maybe she even knows that he's just as likely to tell it himself, even if no one here is his packmate. But still. She doesn't regale the table with such things, for whatever reason.

However, she does smile a little more broadly as she lifts her glass to toast Jesmond as well. "Hear, hear," she says. And: "Na zdraví!"

[Simon] He smiles in response to Lukas' toast. His eyes brightening before holding his glass up in Jesmond's direction."To the hostess... The food is delicious but what is most important is to see so many of our tribe gathered in one place. It isn't often we find ourselves drawn together like this but you have certainly made it worth our while."He says with a smile."To the hostess and her lovely young sister."He adds raising his glass towards Teodora as well. Not about to leave any of the kin out.

Simon wasn't much for etiquette but he could still be a nice guy when he wanted to be and right now he saw no reason to upset anyone.

When his glass is settled he smiles and looks towards Ray, and then around at the others and finally back to Lukas. His glass settles and he leans forward."I was born to the full moon... Sometimes it can be difficult to set aside the hunt long enough to remember that I was also born a man. It is nice to be reminded of who I am, and to be given a chance to set my worries aside even if only for a few brief hours. I thank you for having me."

[Jesmond Krutova] Jesmond would be beaming, were she the sort of woman for grand expressions, as it is, there is a glow to her fair skin and to her eyes as she presides over the course of the meal that suggests she is touched by the gratitude, and the toasts to her honor. They warm her, and perhaps, reassure the part of her that feared that her absence from the tribe whilst mated to another had weakened, or permanently damaged her standing among her blood Kin.

"Thank you," she says, after the words are given, and casts her sister a quiet, meaningful look that meant something along the lines of thank you for behaving, thank you for helping without ever speaking the thoughts aloud. Jesmond turns her focus to Danicka then.

"Last occasion I had to bump into Lukas, he mentioned you were in New York, I take it everything is well that you're back?"

[Teodora Krutova] Simon gets a brilliant smile. And perhaps another dreamy-eyed look. Mostly, though -- she's pleased that Lukas toasted Jesmond. Pleased, indeed. And it shows.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Again, a brief flick of his eyes across the table as his name is spoken. Again, he doesn't interrupt, but instead turns back to Simon.

"I think it's important to remember our human heritage as much as our wolf," he opines. "A lot of Garou seem to be ashamed of it. No surprise, given the disasters perpetrated by our bipedal cousins. But our humanity's what gives us our ingenuity and our capacity for abstract thought. If we could win the war thinking like beasts alone, there wouldn't be a war to wage at all."

[Danicka Musil] They toast, and they drink, and they return to their meals and their other conversations. Danicka sets her wineglass down and picks up her fork once more. She doesn't know the hostess well, and the first time they met was months ago, but she has a long and clear memory. She knows about Ari. She knows that Jesmond will fight savagely for life and for the War, and now she knows that she roasts a rather amazing side of pork.

She finishes a bite of sauerkraut and nods to Jesmond's question. "Well enough," she says. "My half-sister and four of her children --" indicating there are more than four, great Gaia, "were brought to the states by the tribe not too long ago. She's been ill, and needed some assistance moving and settling them all into their new home."

Danicka cuts a bite of potato off her plate and spears it with a silent, deft gesture. "I'll visit again, I'm sure. But I needed to be back here."

Not a glance to Lukas as she says this. They are together, as firmly and officially as though bound in stone, though there is no rock on Danicka's left hand. He is Garou. She is Kinfolk. They are of a tribe, of a heritage together, and of a distant past. Rightful and honorable challenge was made. His name is legally Kvasnicka, as hers is Musil, and it's unlikely that either of them will ever feel a desire or see a need to align their relationship with human practicies.

But they don't sit together at the table. She's not at his right hand nor his left but a few seats down, and they hold their own conversations. That's how dinners are supposed to go: the threads of talk interweave and intersect here and there, but otherwise divert, and flow, and meander around one another. Lukas engages with the other of his moon at the table. Danicka focuses primarily on the Krutova sisters and their questions, their delightful curiosity, their phenomenal cooking.

And so it goes.

"I've been meaning to get in touch with you, actually," she tells Jesmond, after eating the tiny bite of potato. "I'm going to be taking some self-defense classes," she says, as though the sort of classes she means are the sort where skittish white women learn how to stomp on someone's instep and run away, which may or may not be what she really intends, "and thought maybe you'd be interested in going with me."

Some women friends do yoga together.

[Jesmond Krutova] Now, Jesmond wasn't a wallflower all of the time. In fact, the very title may be a mislabeling of her nature from the outset. She was quiet, and she was level-headed and she did not tend to fluster too easily when put on the spot. Had she been born true, she would have been a Philodox -- perhaps this says much for the calm manner she considers Danicka as she speaks, there is earnestness perhaps in the tilt of her head and the slightly widened eyes --

but there is also intellect, a quick wit and deft skill. She has lived among the Fenrir, a fact which is easy to forget upon looking on her, for she did not seem so tough, from the exterior. She did, in fact, look somewhat delicate with her small hands and her lean figure and her pale complexion. It was in Jesmond's gaze, in that steady, strong gaze that you saw the endurance of the woman. That you could see how she could have stabbed a Formori in the neck with a letter opener once, that she had withstood the Rage of a Modi to protect her child.

That she would raise a gun and fire it point blank, if the need arose.

So when Danicka tells her she's going to take self-defense classes, Jesmond looks interested. She looks very interested, and her voice suggests so. "I'd be happy to go with you, I've always wanted to learn some of the 'official' methods for self protection," her smile suggests she's tried less standard ones in the past. Then, her eyes stray toward the others at the table, lingering on the men.

"After all, some of have to do things the old fashioned way."

[Jesmond Krutova] [I hate it when I skip words in a sentence. 'some of us...']

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas has been eating. To be honest, Lukas has been eating quite a bit. The wine in his glass decreases, and then someone passes the bottle around, and he pours, and then someone else passes a platter of meat or a pot of soup or...

He eats. Not messily, and not rudely: but heartily, without embarrassment, tucking away prodigious amounts of protein and starch and almost no greens at all. When he was a child, before his parents knew he was going to Change, they tried to make him Eat His Vegetable. They stopped trying when it became clear what he was. He had an excuse, then. They had a hierarchy to respect, then.

It's hard for Lukas to go home to the sort of hearty Czech meals his mother would cook, not unlike the one Jesmond lays out for them. It's hard because as unforgettable as his position and rank here is, the truth is their interactions over this table are far freer than they would be at home. There, his parents try to serve him. They do not meet his eyes for long, if at all. They call him by his Garou name, respectfully, with downcast gazes.

He doesn't go home very much.

This, though: the food without the stiltedness. Without the keen awareness of how things have changes from his youth. With his mate close again -- perceived and recognized subconsciously even though they hold their own conversations, sit apart, glance at each other only infrequently. It's nice, all of it. Lukas's toast was not an empty courtesy.

As the night winds on, he'll talk to Simon about war, the tribe; they might trade battle stories, laugh over particularly brilliant fights or particularly inept opponents. He might ask Ray about his business, and ask if he still kept in touch with Leslie. He won't discuss Marni or her pregnancy. He'll try to coax Mila to sing something later, and when dessert comes he might eat just a little too much of the sweets. He won't tell them about throwing up when he was five or six, but he will tell them about the night Danicka brought kolaches to the Brotherhood, and how he ate all six of the orange ones at a go.

I think Danička expected me to get sick, he says, and to be honest, I almost did.

Later on, he'll be in no hurry to go. He'll drink some more, relax, talk, pick at the food still on the table. Eventually -- well past midnight, likely -- they'll realize how late it is, and that they should allow their hostess and her sister some rest, and they'll all start meandering toward the door.

On his way out, Lukas will rejoin his mate. He'll take her hand quietly, smile at her, then turn to bid their hostess goodbye.

Next time, he says, we'll do a potluck so you don't have to do all the work.

[Danicka Musil] I most certainly did not, she will say, when he suggests she wanted him to get sick off the pastries she brought. No joke saying she hopes the Spirals never discover his weakness and exploit it. She wouldn't find it funny.

It wouldn't be.

Unlike Lukas, she eats rather sparingly, so that she can have some of everything rather than fill up on one or two dishes and have no room for anything else. But she eats with enjoyment, and the occasional compliment to the cook, particularly over the dessert. When the talk of war and battle gets a bit... on the edge of what a fifteen year-old girl should hear (or perhaps simply what Danicka herself can bear to think about), she sometimes moves in and gently changes the subject, or steers the talk some other direction.

If Ray talks about his business, Danicka is curious. She hasn't the faintest idea what he really does.

If Mila chooses to sing to them, she will most likely have moved to sit with Lukas by then, on the couch or in a chair closer to his, his arm around her shoulders and her body leaned slightly against his own.

It's likely that Danicka, with only a glass of wine and perhaps a finger or two of vodka over the entire course of the evening, is the one who starts stirring herself from the comfort of the evening to look at the clock, to go back to thanking Jesmond. She thinks of such things instantly, automatically. It would be different if she knew Jesmond better. If they all knew one another better.

But tonight was a step in that direction, and the inexplicable companionable ease of it all is what fills Danicka's mind as she and Lukas start to make their way out. She's saying they need to do this again, and she's saying maybe they can come to her apartment next time or another, and saying she'd like this recipe or that. Lukas suggets a potluck. Danicka quips, even as they're heading out the door, her wit sharp but her humor gentle, oh, and what are you going to offer, ham and cheese sandwiches?

Absolutely,
he says with overblown and slightly inebriated seriousness, and she laughs as they head towards her car.
 
Copyright Lukáš Wyrmbreaker 2010.
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