[Erika Irina Alexander] Another overpriced lounge attempts to appeal to a hipster feel but falls short of the mark. Just off center to a very busy intersection, the front windows are etched with some vector design attempt at seeming cutting-edge. A blonde woman sits with her back to the door in the front window. The place flows with people, but doesn't seem terribly busy. On the tiny tabletop not meant to hold anything but drinks, the petite woman hovers over a small book while sipping at something from a clear glass. Who reads at a bar?
Erika makes a note on the page and focuses on her bubble of personal space. Very well groomed, she looks as if she has come straight from an office setting, perhaps with a quick change of shirt and cosmetics. She examines her manicure, smirks disapprovingly, and returns to the book.
[Adamidas] Alethea Adamidas has been a Fostern for a total of forty-three mintues.
She is tired. Her hair is tangled. She is spaced out, and it doesn't matter, because the strangest things catch her attention. A window, for instance, with vector patterns and tiny table tops. She inspects the place's exterior, and she realizes that this is a bar. She muses over this, and decides... something. Probably something that involves a beer. Or two. Or, realistically, a Shirley Temple and a renewed quest for bass.
Strong, important, overwhelming bass.
The kind of bass you feel in your stomach, in your bones, in your hair before you actually hear it. She wanted that. This bar didn't provide that, but she settles. We can muse over this all we want, about how it's fortunate that she's got something fashionable on, how the fact that she's a little rough around the edges makes her look older. Hell, if we wanted to get technical, we could wonder what kind of girl dedicates a fake ID. We don't think about that, though.
Tonight, we could think about a lot of things, about young women in violet skirts and ballet flats. Abou the nice shirt that she borrowed-without-intent-to-return from a boutique nearby. We can think about how she learned to take off security tags with a high powered magnet and a little whispering. We can think about all sorts of things, but we don't.
She walks into the bar with the tiny tables and vector patterns, and she blends in as best she can. She brought a wallet with her- this place was a nice enough stop as any. This is were the Fury enters the scene. It's a good thing.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Apparently, Silver Fang kin read at lounge bars. As do Shadow Lord Ahrouns. This one's seated well back from the windows at the front, and his back is definitely not toward the outside. His back is to a wall, and he's sitting in a lowslung couch that's more stylish than comfortable, but that's okay because he's stolen the cushions off the adjoining couch, turned himself sideways, thrown his knee over one armrest and props his upper back on the other. He's too large to fit altogether into the couch; the other leg is akimbo, foot flat on the floor.
And, as it happens, he's reading the same book Erika is. Don't think he doesn't notice. The next time the wait staff comes around to see if he'd like another glass of scotch, or perhaps another plate of those hors d'oeuvres -- beef tenderloin garnished with horseradish sauce, it looks like -- he closes his book for a moment and speaks to his waiter. There's a nod in Erika's direction, discreet enough.
Soon thereafter, that same waiter approaches the Silver Fang and informs her that the gentleman in the grey shirt compliments her taste in literature, and would like to buy her next drink.
Erika could be forgiven for thinking Lukas -- who is indeed in a grey buttondown shirt, casual, short-sleeved, a hint of workman's styling in its lines, and a pair of doubtlessly overpriced jeans beneath it -- is flirting. If she looks his way, however, he appears to be engrossed in his book again.
The group at the cluster of couches next to his abruptly gets up and leaves. They can't stand his nearness anymore.
[Erika Irina Alexander] Ever since spotting a certain very tall, young blonde at the laundromat in Chinatown yesterday, Erika has thought nothing else but reading Don Quixote. Cordelia's choice of novel, and perhaps the bizarreness of recent events made Erika nostalgic. Although, being a terrifically descriptive epic, Cervantes cannot compete with her other tableside companion. The chilled Stoli Elit was losing its polish with the increasing temperature.
The door behind her swinging open catches Erika's attention momentarily. Funny how well urban women can read one another. The kinfolk's nostalgic mood reminds her of when she cared about places filled with so much noise as to drown the world away. Years of experience and disappointment made Erika hard... anymore, it wasn't worth the hassle.
And it seems yet another interruption of her thoughts occurs. Erika seems quizzical when the server addresses her, but at least he is formal about it. She nods, but when he tries to take the glass from her, she sneers, stops him, and finishes the lukewarm vodka with a face. THEN she permits him to replace the small tumbler. There is a special place in hell for those who waste decent vodka as well as scotch. She eyes the lounging, athletic man in the corner with some curiosity.
[Adamidas] Silver Fangs and Shadow Lords, historically, have not been able to agree on much. Literature does not seem to be one of the things that thy tear each other apart over. Usurpers of thrones, backstabbers, inbred crazies? All of them can agree that some books are worth reading anywhere. Even in bars. Especially in bars, since there is a Shadow Lord ahroun and a Silver Fang kinswoman reading the same book at the same bar.
Black Furies don't read books in bars.
What do Black Furies do in bars, anyway? For that matter, what does anyone do in a bar? Adam doesn't drink. She people watches. She orders a water with a smile and a please and thank you, and she surveys. She notices Lukas, briefly, and their timing doesn't quite coincide. She looks down, he looks up, he looks engrossed, she looks... well... at something else. Someone else. Erika, more specifically. And she is trying, rather desperately, not to stare.
She does, though. She looks at her with eyes wide and "... wow."
She doesn't even realize it comes out of her mouth. Until, of course, the young woman realizes that something does, in fact, come out of her mouth, and her curiosity is piqued. Adam has to go investigate.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" and she approaches.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] It's the entrance of that second woman -- the one whose breeding is not nearly so spectacular as the blonde's, whose face does not speak of such haughty entitlement -- that gains Lukas's attention for a longer moment. His eyes follow her across the room. Then, his mind abruptly made up, he snaps Don Quixote shut and uses it as a handy little tray on which to set his remaining beef-and-horseradish slices. With his other hand he picks up his drink and converges on the females.
"Alethea Adamidas," he says, like he's greeting a friend; smiling. "You look different. Improved. Congratulations."
His eyes turn to the unknown kinswoman, then. They are blue, but only just: a pale and clear hue like ice, or fire. Against his complexion, tan with summer and swarthy by genetics, the color is shocking. "Do you know each other?" he inquires.
[Erika Irina Alexander] Poor Cervantes, or rather, the translation of his words, sadly cannot compete with a convergence of strangers, but Erika uses it as an excuse to keep her nose focused forward for a period of time long enough to finish her paragraph. This would be one of the summer readings that would be chewed on like cold salt water taffy perhaps until midwinter, should the current business persist.
Once her paragraph is finished, the psychiatrist does not slam her poor neglected book shut. A simple manicured hand keeps her place for when the door next opens and the air pressure between the lounge and the exterior Windy City attempts to equalize.
The younger woman-- with dark hair like the color Erika was born with-- is addressing her with eyes like one on a mission. The kin, belonging to her family's second generation of Russian Americans, keeps her angular features pointed up and her dark, deep-set eyes focus on the other woman's for a moment. Before her mouth can do much but move to speak, she is interrupted. Not something she has been accustomed to in years, but as a psychiatrist, she is a good listener. A good observer. And so she drinks in the details quietly.
[Adamidas] "I blame the skirt," she tells him, "I think it makes me look distinguished."
She doesn't stay with it for long, and he's the first person in an hour to get an actual smile out of her and not something that passes as an irritable glare or something saccharine, "and thank you, I appreciate it. We're going on an hour. It's really weird. You get to be the first person to congratulate me that isn't Bai Chou."
She's a theurge, though, so the fact that she called a state of new achievement weird doesn't seem to be a bad thing. On the contrary, it seems to be a good thing. Or at least a new thing. She is very... very quick to pass over his name, though. Bai Chou's, that is. A half tinge of something there, something that tastes of salt and bleachwater.
She moves on before the taste lingers for too long.
"And we," she says as she glances at Erika, "do not know each other yet."
She smiles, and it's a personable look for her, "I'm Adam."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's regard is long and curious, though Adamidas seems eager to pass over the details of Bai Chou and his challenge. It's only when she introduces herself to the Fang that Lukas returns his eyes to the woman he hasn't met.
"Lukáš," he says simply. It's not Russian, that, but some Slavic language nonetheless: a long a, a soft aspiration on the s. He follows that introduction -- and his first question -- with, "Have you met Kate?"
[Erika Irina Alexander] The social interaction between the two seems to amuse her. She has no idea what they're talking about, but they apparently do. Whoever this person is she speaks of clearly isn't held in the highest regard.
Again, she is addressed by the stranger. And since she is pinned on two sides by glass, one by a table, and the other by people, Erika has no place to withdraw or retreat. This would have bothered her ten years ago. Now? Not so much.
"Erika Alexander," she says simply. Thoroughly westernized, she has very little trace of an accent except after prolonged use of the Mother's Tongue. An arm crosses over the other, her glass undisturbed. The stance is not hostile, merely an idling of limbs in a confined place. A brow arches as her attention goes to the other. She doesn't recognize his breeding because it is impossible for her to. "Nyet," she shrugs her bony shoulders. "However, I've been directed to by a very tall woman and her coworkers in Cabrini Green." A very slight pause before 'coworkers' stresses the word.
She sips the Stoli again, quite glad right now of its comfort. "If meeting her is something of urgency, I'd like to know how to contact her."
[Adamidas] (skip me, loves, I have a phone call)
to Erika Irina Alexander, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a trace of amusement in Lukas's eyes. "She's my sister," he says, which is close enough, anyway. "It's not direly urgent that you meet her, but I think she'd appreciate knowing you were in town sooner rather than later. I'll call her for you and see if she's in the area."
Stolichnaya. Nyet. Even without much of an accent, Lukas can guess at the woman's nationality. He nods toward one of the empty chairs at her table.
"May we sit?" He's polite enough to include Adamidas, at least.
[Erika Irina Alexander] The psychiatrist smiles and gestures to the other chairs. She folds Quixote away for now. It occurs to her Lukas is holding food on top of a book, so she clears her own from the table and tucks it into her bag. Erika takes up more of the corner than before, leaning back since she expects him to set his food on the unaccomodating table. "I'm sorry. I haven't been putting it off. I wasn't aware until Sunday. The base's recent discharges have had me double booked through the month."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] That's one thing the Fangs and the Lords have in common. Their kin apologize quickly, at the slightest hint of trouble. Amongst the Silver Fangs, kin are usually seen, not heard, expected to keep to a certain standard of behavior, expected to be beautiful and demure and, frankly, trophies and breeding mares or studs. Amongst the Shadow Lords -- even worse than that.
Still. Erika apologizes as Lukas is setting down his drink, his small plate of hors d'oeuvres. His eyes flick to hers. He shakes his head.
"You're not in trouble." The smile is genuine and genuinely disarming. "I just thought I might as well call Kate for you. Spares you the need to chase her around town." There's an easiness in the way he says Kate's name that hints at their long acquaintance. Everyone else in this city calls her Katherine. Truth's Meridian. Honor's Compass. Sometimes, absurdly, Lady Katherine.
Sitting, then, large and dark and warm, a cyclone of strength, the Ahroun takes up a canape and crunches into it. There are about a half a dozen left; he pushes them forward into the center of the table, a clear gesture of sharing.
Then, "Base? Are you in the military, then?"
[Erika Irina Alexander] Erika arches a brow, then lowers her eyes to the table, then her hands. She fidgets with the manicure she's clearly not satisfied with but the work is fine. The food is politely snubbed as she's responsibly eaten previously. There is something quite amusing about the Ahroun's food of choice, but Erika doesn't pick up on it or doesn't react.
A question is asked of her, and she seems distracted for a moment. Her eyes narrow in a moment that makes her breeding very clear. Her work... the one and only thing in the last half hour that holds her attention for longer than a minute. There is focus, purpose in her proud determination, but she doesn't boast her words.
The psychiatrist explains while he eats, shaking her head. "I am a psychiatrist. I specialized at Columbia in military and social psychiatry." She pauses and sips at the Stoli. "My patients are trauma victims, most of which are vets who find it hard to adapt to home life."
[Katherine Bellamonte] It doesn't take long.
That was the thing about packs, about the totemic link that existed between each of the members of the Unbroken. They could communicate instantly so that where one might have been meeting with a new-come Kinswoman for another pack-mate's tribe, they could send word to the Kinwoman's Alpha, who happened to be returning to her home nearby and simply took a neat turn right instead of left and tracked down her own pack-mate. The sleek BMW that pulls up outside the Cafe was silver, and the windows rolled up so that naught was reflected but the view of the diners inside staring out, perhaps, as the door was pushed open and a pair of high-heeled feet emerged, followed by long legs encased in denim and a torso in a white silk blouse.
The eyes were a startling pale blue and the hair that golden blond that seemed better associated with Californian beaches in Summer than Chicago all year round. The tresses were at present pushed back by a pair of sunglasses, clearly forgotten and being used as a hair-clip more than anything else.
When Katherine Bellamonte steps into the Cafe, heads turn. Glances cut toward her and her pearls, and her Rage and the manner she scans the interior of the place as if measuring its worth as an establishment and all who dined within it without ever doing more than raising a fair eyebrow.
She glimpses Lukas, and Adamidas and the breeding coming off the stranger -- unmistakable.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "That sounds," another man -- the sort of man that sends a strange woman drinks and eats canapes and lounges in lounge bars -- would say something flattering here. Fascinating. Incredible. Like a truly worthwhile career. Lukas says, "difficult. Heavy on the spirit."
And, utterly unperturbed by the others' shunning of his food, he snaps up another canape and eats it in one crisp bite. Tender, medium-rare beef. A dollop of spicy horseradish sauce. Baked baguette cracker. There are Ahrouns whose entire experience of humanity is the sight of humans running away, screaming. This is clearly not one of them.
His head turns, then. One might note he seated himself across a corner from Erika -- his back toward another, unoccupied table; his face toward both the rest of the lounge and the window. He sees Katherine pulling up. BMWs are popular in their pack. He has one too. It's black. Very fitting.
"Here's Kate now," he notes, and lifts his chin in a faint nod of indication. As she approaches, Lukas doesn't stand to greet the lady, but he does break into a smile large enough to show his teeth and, unexpectedly, the dimples in his taut cheeks.
"Hey," he says; warmth there, and casualness. "Adamidas leveled up. And this is Erika Alexander."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [gonna leap in the shower real fast!]
[Erika Irina Alexander] Pickled and sour, the Russian Zakuski are often fish related or cured. If she wanted that, she'd have blue cheese stuffed olives in a Stoli martini.... which sadly isn't served here. There are, however, quite a few places that serve traditional Zakuski in the sector of town known as Ukranian village. Not the best part of town, but there you are.
A flash of silver catches her dark eye. The woman who enters is sharp, long, a force... Erika turns her eyes from the stunning, fierce woman and back to the canape-eating Lukas. Suddenly, being cornered by three people, the table, the windowpane and door entrance behind her, Erika feels quite uncomfortable, nervous. The remaining chilled spirit is consumed with an unspoken Salyut.
Erika sets her glass down and smiles at the well-reputed Kate. Seeing as no one else stands, Erika doesn't. It would seem odd. However, knowing by rumor who she is, Erika would bother with another formality. "Alexander is my father's Americanized name. His father was Yvgeny Mikhailovich.... of Michael Nikolaevich." She figured it would all go away for storage later, unless she had a close cousin.
[Sinclair] A car that does not belong in this area pulls up outside. It's a dark green old-school El Camino. There are black fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview.
A girl that does not belong in a cafe like this gets out of the car and walks towards the doors. She's only in her early twenties, she's tan as midsummer, with her wheat-colored hair in two braids and her body clothed in cargo shorts, flipflops, and a dark blue tank top. There's something heavy in one of the pockets of those shorts.
There's also metal lining the edges of her ears, and a bar through the skin of her left bicep, and ink adorning both arms, and at least one visible tattoo on her legs, this one an intricate cuff around her left ankle. As she moves around the tattoo on the back of her neck will become visible as well. It will be easier to see that the ink on her left arm under the metal bar piercing is in the form of three downward-pointing spikes. The ink on her right is a list of names. The ink on her neck is a quartered circle.
A tiny metal feather dangles from one of the little titanium hoops in her ear. It's the hoop that has the red bead on it, but it's the only bead that has a partner nestled close to it.
She tromps into the cafe and goes straight for her packmates. She felt them. She came here because she spoke to them earlier tonight, a random snippet of holy shitballs so I'm at this place with the Moonrunners and Kora and Ankle-Biter called me by the way and anyway this little air spirit just ATTACHED to me and now we can all talk to each other only it's not as cool as this kisses guys I gotta go look badass to the Cliaths.
Sometimes, in their heads, Sinclair rambles far faster and more excitedly than she ever lets herself when she gets up to speak at a moot, or a Gathering. It's almost like some part of her really is a twenty-two year old girl.
Soon as she arrives, and finds an open seat near Lukas, she flops into it, and immediately looks over at Erika, pale eyes shining. "Oh," she says after a moment.
And that's all.
[Sinclair] Except that's not actually all. A half-beat later, they hear what else she has to say.
Another one. I'm sorry, Kate.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Katherine Bellamonte] Well, first things first. Katherine smiles as she approaches, in response to Lukas -- who gets the gift of her finger straying to gently pinch the lobe of his ear in a very sisterly gesture -- and in response to the change she can sense as easily as it can be defined as such in the Theurge present. There's pleasure in Katherine's gaze as it settles for a moment on the somewhat wearied Black Fury.
"Well done, Adamidas." Then: Erika has the benefit of those pale eyes and that pretty smile full of white teeth and gleaming humor. She sounded so young, Katherine, and in truth at twenty-two this was no falsehood but that behind the very human refinement and sense of elegance she portrayed there was a maturity hiding there, a sense of things seen and actions taken that could not help but age a Garou far quicker than any mortal being.
She gets the extension of a dainty hand, the nails groomed to within an inch of their life, a designer watch sliding over the delicate bones of the wrist. She also receives -- and she's aware its Lukas' most enjoyed part -- the presentation of heritage, and names. It's all for show, but there's pride there, anyway.
"Bonjour, I am Katherine Isabella D'Albret Bellamonte, daughter of Christopher Adrien Bellamonte and Rosalie Jeanne D'Albret, child of the House of Bellamonte, member of House Wyrmfoe and Lady of the Steadfast Court. I am also, as no doubt mentioned by Lukas, your Elder in Chicago for our tribe." All this in a quiet tone, best suited not to be overheard by those unaware -- though honestly, if discerned what could be made of those titles but some strange Cult's spiel? -- before Sinclair arrives and Katherine pauses, glances at her pack-mate and then returns her eyes to Erika.
"This is Sinclair, our sister."
[Katherine Bellamonte] From Katherine there's some sort of mild exasperation, some dark amusement. Let us hope for all our sake's that she does not bring a true bred Cousin with her.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair
[Sinclair] Sinclair lifts a hand -- her fingernails are orange with little green flowers dotted on them -- and offers a casual wave back and forth to Erika. Her eyes are gleaming. She doesn't smile with her teeth. There's a reason for that, and it isn't poor dental hygiene.
Something about Sinclair sets every nerve in every person's body on edge. Combined, the rage of these three wolves is enough to keep the server away for some time. Sinclair alone, however, has that particular edge that suggests not a frenzy, not a mad race for carnage, but the feeling of looking into a hungry animal's eyes and knowing
you are dinner.
[Erika Irina Alexander] Erika takes Kate's hand and gives a very accurately judged handshake as any other formal gesture would seem quite bizarre and draw unnecessary attention. "Thank you, elder," she replies quietly, as if spoken many many times. With her breeding, undoubtedly so. Yet there is something that seems off... Erika becomes tense by being surrounded by presumably four Garou. The pale, old scars on the right side of her face would not slip Kate's notice at this proximity.
"I apologize for not finding you sooner. I wasn't aware of Chicago's ...climate." Erika shifts in her chair, quite thoroughly pinned. Now there are five surrounding her in a tiny corner. She grabs one of the canapes and uses it as a distraction. Not quite a match for the chilled Stoli Elit, but it would do for now.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Ugh, is all Lukas has to say on that count.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] They're such a contrast to one another, these three wolves gathered around one unfortunate kin. Well; four wolves, but the fourth is different. Sinclair, Kate and Lukas -- they share something, some similarity, something about them that rings true in one another.
Despite that Katherine is cool, and remote, and unmistakeably Fang. Despite that Sinclair is fierce, and casual, and such a predator that it's nearly impossible to guess her true Tribe. Despite that Lukas is marked by Thunder, through and through, his hair so black and his eyes so pale that it's nearly impossible not to guess his Tribe.
Nonetheless, there they are: three of the Unbroken. One might argue the closest three; the beating heart of the pack.
Katherine introduces herself. Lukas has the good grace to keep silent, though he is smiling. He picks up his plate to extend it toward Erika while she's at last taking a canape; then he's passing it toward his sisters. Picking up his scotch, too, and sipping from that. Sipping, not gulping. Enough drunkenness the other night.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] So, what was this about impressing Cliaths?
to Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair
[Sinclair] Ravenously, the second blonde waits for Kate to either dismiss the proffered plate or take from it, then Sinclair pulls it close and begins eating the canapes like she's half-starved. Her leg jostles. Something makes a soft whirring sound from inside her shorts pocket. She goes to town on the noms handed over by her Alpha, and -- for good or ill -- seems to mostly be ignoring the new Kin in town for now.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [EMPATHEE. Wut Maet want?]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Sinclair
[Katherine Bellamonte] The fact that Erika is tense does not go unnoticed by Katherine, so when she draws a chair up for herself she is deliberate in keeping space between herself and the Kinswoman. She leaves a gap for her to escape via, should her unease rise to such levels. It seemed that the Silver Fang had enough experience now to comprehend precisely why the sight of herself or her pack-mates together might cause such a reaction.
Hell, Katherine had grown up with a Kinfolk sibling, she understood.
Occasionally she even sympathized.
She smiles when she's called Elder as if it at once pleases her and is an unnecessary formality; amusing, given the introduction she'd just given. "Please, unless the occasion calls for it, you must call me Katherine, oui?" A little quirk of her lips and she plucks something in passing from Sinclair's plate casually, without much thought. Such was the way of Pack, of wolves.
"It is no harm," at not finding her sooner, "You have found me now and that is all that matters. I am aware of your presence in the city and now extend to you the protection I grant all of our family." Katherine nibbles delicately at her food, no great gulps from this creature, she is all extended grace and care. "So, what brings you to Chicago? It seems for most I meet, the reasoning comes back to work, or --, " she gestures with one hand.
"Familial obligations, hm?"
[Sinclair] Not impressing. Looking badass. You know the type. It was... uh... Holds the Line, Swallow, she who offers sorrow, and Bone-Grinder. Apparently Hard Knocks and Tongue Twister ran outside to keep some nasty banes from jumping all over Ankle-Biter-yuf. Because she couldn't get in for some reason. It was weird. I don't know.
Anyway. Karl was in charge so I let him stay in charge, since I was the ringer. Simon, of course, kept doing that stiff thing he does where like... if he actually shuts the fuck up and submits, it's like he's doing you a favor even if he didn't ball up and take charge himself, you know? I nearly bit his head off at one point, but Karl didn't snap at him so I figured...
A mental shrug.
Buncha nasty, disgusting materialized spirits. Place used to be a restaurant. They sort of... had turned people into food. I don't know all the backstory, but the last spirit we met? I think she and the others that died before I got there were pretty much vengeful ghosts turned really, really nasty. Karl and Kora did a rite of cleansing after we, uh... convinced her to go willingly. And then it was over, and all that was left were these leather masks the spirits were wearing.
Another pause. She's stuffing her face, and it takes all of her concentration. Anyway, was something different about Adamidas? She seemed different.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Sinclair] The snarl Sinclair gives Kate when she takes a canape after Sinclair has already pulled the plate close is, in truth, a playful noise. It's familial, almost. Sisterly, like Kate described them. But it raises the hairs on the back of more than a few mortal necks in this place. They imagine a catfight breaking out over there -- at best.
Not so. Sinclair snaps her human teeth gently at the air, but nowhere near Kate, and then goes back to putting away as many of the miniature foods as she can. Adamidas, perhaps sensing Erika's tension or simply called away by those spirits she's always half-listening to, excuses herself and drifts off.
Sinclair looks over at Erika again, waiting to hear the answer to this last question of Katherine's, too.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Both Lukas and Sinclair have gained a sort of ... distracted air. Maybe they're just bored by Fang business. Then the Shadow Lord glances at the Glass Walker; notices just how many of those little slices of toast and beef and sauce she's put away. There's a flicker of surprise. Then he raises his hand in the direction of the nearest server, motioning silently for another two plates.
[Erika Irina Alexander] Erika shakes her head. "There is a high demand for therapists in this region who specialize in military and social psychiatry and can stomach treating trauma victims." Perhaps, she too can sympathize with her patients. "It doesn't leave me a lot of time for family. As I told Lukas, I've been double booked for the month."
Speaking of work, she thinks to glance at her watch. Thankfully, she can slip back into her office and sleep there. She kept a few changes of clothes, toiletries, and the like there for an occasion such as this.
"Actually, I have to stop by the VA tomorrow by seven thirty. I'm afraid I have to go...." Erika seems relieved, but also, her face feels slightly numb from the vodka. "It has been a pleasure, Katherine."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Simon, Lukas replies, sounding faintly disgruntled, should have by all rights led that battle. But it's probably just as well that he didn't. He's an inexperienced warrior at best. At worst he's a blunt instrument, something that could do a fair amount of damage if properly directed, but -- well. That's the other problem. He doesn't seem to like being directed.
I'm going to take some of these Ahrouns into the Battleground Realm for training soon. I'll try to remember Simon's weaknesses. If he doesn't learn, though, it might just be that he'll have to be kept in check and pointed at the enemy.
His mood lightens, then -- Adamidas ranked up. Godslayer oversaw the challenge. Pause. She didn't seem happy with him, though.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair
[Katherine Bellamonte] When Erika starts to make her excuses for leaving, Katherine's eyes follow her features with an air of contemplation. It is not the look of a woman who is full of disbelief at the story she's being told but rather simply the examination of a curious creature, she smiles, and nods. "Likewise, before you leave allow me to give you a card with my details on it."
Katherine fetches her purse, and digs around, extracting a business card with bold black print on it. "This is the address to the Loft, my own home and something of a safe haven for family in the city, there are guest rooms if you ever need a place to stay overnight and you can always find me there if I am not at the Brotherhood of Thieves where Lukas resides." Her fingers flick toward her Alpha.
"I hope to meet with you again soon, Erika."
[Sinclair] Her mouth is full of food. Sinclair lifts her hand and waves again to the departing Erika, trying to manage a smile around puffed-out and stuffed cheeks. She doesn't, at least, try to say anything that might send said food spewing across the cafe. She has some manners, at least. Or else she doesn't want to lose any precious crumbs.
Maybe she's a Bone Gnawer. But then, the car outside is washed and waxed and shining. And it doesn't look stolen.
She tucks her legs up on the seat with her, which causes another whirring -- a disgruntled sounding whirr, if whirrs can sound disgruntled -- from her pocket. Sinclair swallows what's in her mouth and twists around, undoing the flap of her pocket. She reaches in, but takes nothing out.
A moment later, she's unscrewing the cap from the salt shaker. And putting the cap in her pocket.
The whirr becomes very excited. The salt now has no lid.
[Katherine Bellamonte] I like Adamidas, Katherine chimes in at random. Ever since the Rite of Reawakening I've thought she had much potential. Then, after a beat as the Kinwoman gathers her belongings and departs. Speaking of Ahrouns, I was visited by Christian de Piero at the Loft this morning. The boy has more Rage than self control. He is quite the blunt instrument, Lukas and he could do with your guidance so he doesn't spend his time beating on other Silver Fangs.
I encouraged him to seek you out.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair
[Erika Irina Alexander] Erika does speak the truth, but even so she's using it as protection for some reason. She shakes her head and reaches into her own bag for a card holder, which she removes her own in exchange for Kate's. The card given to her goes on the opposite side from Erikas. The psychiatrist's card is simple, with a list of her credentials, the clinic where her office is located, and various phone numbers. There is a number at the bottom listed Page For Emergencies Only.
"Of course, here is mine."
Erika pays very little mind to Sinclair's bizarre behavior: a seasoned kin asks no questions. As if in response, she smiles amiably, but directs her attention back to Kate. Since she feels secure about being able to leave, the woman's mood is far less anxious. She is careful not to be rude about it, however.
"Katherine, I believe I've already run into Victor and... I apologize, I don't remember the tall woman's name. In any case, I know where the Brotherhood is."
Her eyes go back to Lukas, still smiling. "Thank you for the drink. I'll have to return the favor."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Whatever distraction grips Lukas breaks for a moment, long enough for him to look up as Erika stands.
"Enjoy the book," he says in lieu of any formal farewell, and smiles.
[Sinclair] You know. Sometimes I'm like WHOO I'M NOT THE ELDER OF ANYTHING! AWRIGHT! Cuz you guys are always runnin' around like chickens with yer heads cut off an' all doin' all this shit you gotta do but man, sometimes I'm like 'why don't I have annoying Kinfolk to give spiels to? why can't I beat some sense into annoying Cliaths' heads sometimes?'
Then I remember that I like not having an ulcer and I also like you guys buying food for me so I'ma shut up. Only she doesn't. Good for Adam! She's flaky. But she's a Theurge. So that's like, normal.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Christian... There's a blank pause; a wordless searching sensation from his mind. Provided Katherine offers a mental sketch of the person in question, that sense soon becomes one of recognition.
He was at the club the other night, wasn't he? Lukas muses. Thought I saw him stomping off.
And, I must admit, it's fun to beat sense into Cliaths on occasion. Kin, though, are almost universally a headache. That said, Erika doesn't seem so bad thus far. He considers a moment. Probably just means her insanity is a truly spectacular sort just bubbling beneath the surface as we speak.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair
[Erika Irina Alexander] For the first time since any of them have seen her, Erika laughs genuinely. Her shoulders relax as a result, much more at ease, oddly enough. It is a bit like dark clouds parting, or the uncurling of leaves.
"I will. You, too..." she replies. "Good night."
At this, the well-groomed, hardened, maybe-thirty-year-old Fang kin takes her leave and regrettably catches a cab back to her office. She looks well groomed and urbane enough to afford a decent car. But then again... she mentioned going to Columbia. Driving a car to work daily is more than just a chore in New York City.
[Erika Irina Alexander] ((Thanks for the rp guys, I appreciate it. I just really have to go.))
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair
[Sinclair] [Thanks for the RP! Take it easy.]
[Erika Irina Alexander] ((By the way, add me on AIM if you like. User: poisontheambrose))
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [i had fun! see you round :] ]
to Erika Irina Alexander, Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair
[Erika Irina Alexander] ((Me too)
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Ack! Belated thank yous! :D ]
[Katherine Bellamonte] If you like I'll lend you some of my Kinfolk and you can practice giving spiels to them about responsibility and honor, the Silver Fang responds with wryly. Then, on Christian she grows somewhat somber. She casts Lukas the mental image of a dark haired, blue-eyed teenager with balled fists and barely caged Rage, tossing in the remembrance of his words at her breakfast table about his father being a Galliard who was killed.
Yes, that's the one. He has no House, which is very odd. It's not a good idea to be running around as a Silver Fang without it, so I've adopted him as it were into my own while he's in the city. I cannot wait, she adds with a resigned sigh, for that decision to come back to haunt me.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair
[Sinclair] All I know is that the Glass Walker Kin I've seen in Chicago don't do much of anything, troublemaking or otherwise, she says, and her words sound a little darker as she goes on, perhaps embittered, or maybe just resigned, and it doesn't matter anyway, because most of them come and go before you even get used to them being there.
Or maybe -- and it will seem odd to Lukas, though not to Kate -- just sad.
The image of Christian flickers between the minds of the other two Fosterns. Sinclair doesn't know him; her lack of recognition, like her growing satiation as she devours what's on one of the new plates Lukas ordered, is almost palpable. But just as unconcerned.
God, you guys, she says with a fond sigh, and a physical shake of her head. We should change the name of the pack to Breaker and Meridian's Home For Wayward Furries or something.
All the while, she's toying with whatever's in her pocket, wiggling her fingers at what Kate and Lukas know to be her little metal pet while using her other hand to eat with. Then: she arches her back while she sits there, exhaling heartily, and removes her hand from her pocket, and her hand from the plate.
"I'ma head out," she says, this time aloud, her presence on their mental waves growing dimmer, like someone stepping into the other room though they're still within calling distance. "Thanks," she says to Lukas with a small smile, nudging the empty plate(s) back to him. "I'll make ya a pie for Thanksgiving or something," which is an odd and long-off promise to make.
Standing, she leans over and puts a kiss on the top of Kate's head. She smells sort of sweaty, though the scents from the rite of cleansing seem to have overpowered the lingering odor of carnage. "I'll be at the Loft tonight," she adds. "I gotta get a decent shower. AlsoIhavetoreturnapairofshoesIborrowedpleasedon'teatmyheadBYE."
And she's gone, scooting quickly towards the door with Tripoli making jostled and frantic noises in her pocket.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] At that, Lukas laughs aloud -- a sudden sound that likely startles some nearby humans. "Come on," he says to Kate, warm, "it's not all bad."
There's a hint of sadness in what Sinclair says into their minds, then. It makes Lukas look at her briefly, questioningly, but then she's moving on, and he's rolling his eyes goodnaturedly at the suggested name change, and --
If we change the packname, I insist that it be Breaker, Meridian and Revelation's Home For Wayward Furries and Metaldudes.
Who's probably whirr!ing in Sinclair's pocket right that moment, toying with her fingertips.
Then Sinclair is getting up, and Lukas nabs up one last canape and stands with her. "I'll go with you," he says. "Damn hors d'oeuvres made me crave real food -- "
pleasedon'teatmyheadBYE.
Lukas blinks. And then grins at Kate. "Don't worry," he says, "I'm sure she wasn't wearing them when she stomped through mud, blood and guts tonight." The last canape goes in his mouth. He brushes his fingers off, slips his hands into his pockets, and strolls after Sinclair -- but not before nodding Kate along as well.
"C'mon," he says. "Let's drive really slow three-abreast and piss off all the cars behind us."
to Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair
[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine had been smiling when Sinclair leaned in to kiss the top of her head. She stops, abruptly and her eyes narrow a fraction as she processes through that sped up apology. "Wait, what what that?" She's twisting around, and peering after her sister with furrowed brows.
Then Lukas chimes in, and really, just makes it worse. Katherine is scowling like a little Perun-created storm cloud as she rises and follows, adjusting the collar of her shirt. "I," she announces as they head for the door. "Do not drive slowly! I drive safely!" Her voice drifts, until it is captured and stolen away by the night.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair
[Katherine Bellamonte] [Oh, blast you typo.]
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair
celebration.
9 years ago