potato juice at moots.

[Luana Kirchmann] There's a place like many of them along the Mile, where music is playing and drinks are sloshing. Tables and booths, lounge chairs up the back, and people coming and going through the opened doors. It's not as popular as those with lines out the front for hours, but it's already late anyway. Inside is dark, aside from the straying lights by the floor and the dim coloured rows edging around the walls.

It's more laid back then a ravers bar, and the drinks cost more then they should, but Luana's up the back lounging in an oversized chair that's meant for two, but she's sprawled across the whole thing, legs crossed and head resting on the arm. There's a drink with the base of it resting on her thigh,her fingers holding the top rim, spreading the palm over the opened surface. With her eyes closed she listens to the music, mostly unaware of the crowds moving around.

Dressed in poured on pants, some killer strap heels, and half a blouse under her black waist cinch corset, she looks every part the edged lifestyler that many with too much money and too little sense like to be. Her dirty blonde hair is some sort of weave that keeps it away from her features, the fairness of them faint in the dimness of the lounge corner overlooking the dance floor.

[Mila Davis] Mila was already four drinks into her night. Needless to say, it was going quite well. She'd had her own spot not all that far from the blonde woman taking up too much space. However, the difference was.. she'd found enough drunk people that they could simply ignore the tingling they got that Mila was much more dangerous than they appeared and her chair was near overflowing with people. {Danger? Drunk people -loved- Danger!}

She wore a strapless short black dress and a pair of zebra stripped heels. Her necklace was chunky and in the current style. Her dark hair was curled and messily pulled up in that sexy bed-head sort of way. Her makeup, as usual, was dark but wasn't out of place in this sort of bar.

An outburst of laughter errupted from Mila's current grouping and she just looked a little smug. Apparently, her storytelling skills were being put to good use tonight.

[Lukas] There was a time when Lukas came to these places for more than the ambiance and the company of packmates. They were a high-flying lot, the Unbroken Circle; Katherine and her money, Edward and his cards. It wasn't unusual to see them sprawled about a place like this. It still isn't unusual, but the difference is -- Lukas leaves alone at the end of the night, now. Or with his packmates. Or with his mate.

Neither packmates nor mate are anywhere in sight right now. Lukas looks like he's just finished having a discussion with a dark-haired, slightly smarmy looking fellow over near the bar. Hairline receding from a sharp widow's peak. Perhaps mid-40s, perhaps a little older, but still eyeing the 20-something women in their short skirts. Doesn't look like a friend, from the rather cool way they bid farewell to each other: a firm shake of the hand, no smiles. Looks like they've been acquainted for some time, though, and to Mila -- looks like a Shadow Lord kin, though what purity of blood he had is diluted almost to nothing.

When his ... colleague? contact? departs, Lukas orders another drink. He speaks quietly. His manner is courteous, even mild. Even so, there's a berth around him that no one breaches. The bartender is quick to fill his order, if only so he'll get away. When Lukas has his drink, he leaves the bar. He makes his way over his Mila and Luana, who are sitting nearly in one another's proximity without really being aware of each other.

Since Luana's alone, he goes to her. He sets his drink down on the low, squareish table; takes a seat in one of the lowslung armchairs, more attractive than strictly comfortable. He makes eye contact with Mila, though, beckoning her over with a mouthed,

Come over when you have a minute.

Then he smiles at Luana. "Hello again."

[Luana Kirchmann] There's a slight movement to her head in time to the music that's playing, but she doesn't open her eyes. Not until Lukas has come over towards where she's lounging around as if it was her couch at home, dark lined, they open and shift to look up and over to where he's just sat himself.

"Hello Lukas." Her hold on her drink shifts and she lifts it to salute him with it, tilting her head forward to take a sip from it after.

She holds the glass up high, careful not to spill any liquid as she struggles to sit up. It leaves space where her legs were formerly taking up residence, which have now shifted towards the floor, the toes barely reaching with the diagonal angle she's settled into the chair.

Turning her head towards him, she lets her gaze flicker over what he's wearing and around to see who he's with. Then back up to his features. "Are you here for business or pleasure?" Her voice carries under the music, more accented with the alcohol in her system.

[Mila Davis] The look was caught. The young woman smirked and gave a little nod. The man beside her was treated to whispered words in his ear and a playful wink which promised more than she ever planned on delivering on. The man went in for a kiss.. and Mila stopped him with a single finger to his lips. She shook her head slightly stood - to the collective pouting of the group. Likely, she promiesd to return as they went back to their business {read: drinking}.

Slender fingers then snagged her still half full glass and with careful steps {four inch heels were dangerous..} she picked her way through the gatherings and over to Lukas and his blonde companion.

"Lukas." It was as much of a greeting as anything. She smiled. Her tone was light, friendly and playful. "Nice to see you again."

Grey-blue eyes shifted to land upon the blonde. Darkly hued lips curved into a smile. "A new friend of yours?" Again, she spoke to Lukas.

[Danicka] On Friday afternoon Danicka emailed Lukas. It was just a forward, and odd enough because she's almost never emailed him, never ever ever in the history of Danicka. Well: travel itineraries and the like. This was, however, the rubric for a project due on the Tuesday after Labor Day. The only notation from Danicka herself was:

I think we have to postpone the dinner.

Upon looking through the requirements for said project, Lukas would understand nothing more than that Danicka's classes are clearly more intricate than he ever imagined, and that yes. Dinner would have to be postoned. So her head wouldn't explode.

Now it's two days later. If he's come over she's been holed up in the north room and Kandovany went so far as to rub against his legs if only to communicate stupid female not stroke me. you will do, peasant. She can be quite focused -- Danicka, not the cat -- when she puts her mind to it. So focused, in fact, that her head might explode anyway.


He's only a few blocks away when his phone chimes or vibrates or what-have-you in his pocket. It's Danicka, in those big friendly letters on his iPhone's screen that he loves so very much. It's just a text message. Given the nature of lounges like this he might not even get it til a little while later, but when he does get it, it's liable to make him smile.

[Danicka] Short circuiting. I need to get out of here, where are you?
to Lukas

[Lukas] Lukas's smile is a little quirky. He takes a sip of his drink -- while is a horrific electric blue -- and then sits back.

"Business, primarily," the Ahroun replies. "The weaselly fellow that just left is family. Complete ass, but he seems to know everything about everyone. It's good for me to check in with him occasionally.

"However," he goes on, sprawling out, "now I'm just chilling. -- Hi, Mila. New mutual friend of ours, actually. Have you met Luana? She's family. Luana, this is Mila, who is currently betraying her country roots." His grin is like his tone, gently teasing, "Shouldn't you be kicking your boots up at some hoedown?"

There's a buzz from his pocket. He shifts, glances discreetly down at the phone, and -- yes -- smiles. Onehanded, he taps a quick message back, and then is polite enough to put the phone away and converse with those right in front of him.

[Lukas] (xyz lounge) with Mila and Luana. Come down :)
to Danicka

[Luana Kirchmann] Her attention shifts from Lukas to Mila, and shifting her hold on her drink, which is now resting back on her thigh again, she offers out her free hand. "It's good to meet you Mila," she says loud enough over the music to be heard. And after the woman shakes her hand, or doesn't, Luana settles back into the corner of her chair again, getting comfortable and leaning into the armrest.

"Who was he? I didn't see him," she tells Lukas, but doesn't seem too bothered by missing the opportunity.

[sorry, this thing didn't update.]

[Mila Davis] "I hadn't actually met her just yet.." Mila set her glass down on the table before them and decided that the space Luana had just shifted from looked like a wonderful place to sit. Gracefully enough, a hand smoothed her skirt beneath her and the Galliard sat, ankles crossed just slightly off to the side.

"A pleasure to meet family, of course. Welcome to Chicago, Luana." The blonde's hand was taken.

"Hoedowns are on Saturday. silly.." She grinned, just playing along with the teasing. "My boots were dirty today.. so I thought I'd try something a little different. And.. I bought these shoes today and well.. just -had- to wear them out somewhere."

[Lukas] "His name is Jones. As for meeting him -- don't worry. Do something notorious and I'm sure sooner or later he'll be gossiping about you, too."

Lukas laughs when Mila plays along. "Well," he adds, polite creature that he is, "you look very nice." A nod over to the people she was with, then -- "Are those your friends?"

[Luana Kirchmann] That gets a raise of her brows and, wisely, no comment. She takes another sip of her drink as she listens to them banter back and forth, glancing over to where the others had been hanging around Mila. Earlier, when she glimpsed the woman and her groupies, she hadn't thought particularly nice things.

Her attention diverts soon enough, disinterested, and in favour of some others moving around by the bar and heading towards the dance floor. She's still paying attention to the two Shadow Lords, by ear mostly.

[Mila Davis] "Why thank you. You look quite handsome yourself."

Her gaze flicked back towards the group she was with earlier. "Hadn't met any of them before tonight - but they seemed to enjoy the embellished stories. I wouldn't call them friends, just people to drink with this evening."

[Lukas] "You do tell a good tale, though," Lukas observes. "I liked the one you told at the last moot." He tips his head back, then, draining the last of his drink. Strong shit, that. Inebriation starts to drizzle through him almost immediately.

"I've always wondered," he adds. "How you decide what story to tell at any given occasion?"

[Luana Kirchmann] Turning her head, she glanced to where Mila was sitting beside her, interested again. She takes in what the woman is wearing, and how she carries herself. Earlier she hadn't gotten the country reference and still remains largely clueless as to what that was all about, but nor did she ask. Lukas had good questions, though.

[Mila Davis] "Mmm.. thanks. That one is one of my favorites." She sipped her drink before continuing on.

"There's usually a lesson in the stories I tell.. especially the ones for special occasions, and I decide on which one to tell based on a few things. Mood, is one - just how I feel in general. Tone of the story is another and probably most importantly - is there someone listening who needs to hear it?"

"For the people here.. well, there is no particular rhyme or reason. Though, I have found.. the more drinks I have the more interesting the stories become.."

The young woman glanced back over at the kin, offering a small smile. "But, enough about me. What is it you do, Luana?"

[Luana Kirchmann] Her smile comes easily, and there's a little bit of amusement in it. "Computer programming," she answers Mila easily. "Far less creative then what you do, by the sounds of it, nor as entertaining." Leaning forward, she rests her forearm on her crossed thigh and takes another sip from her glass. She's drinking some sweet, girlie concoction that has plenty of alcohol in it and sugared soda.

[Lukas] The more she drinks, the more interesting the stories become. Lukas laughs, "We'll be sure to fill you up on potato juice before the next moot."

The conversation turns to Luana. Lukas leans back -- stretched out on the lowslung armchair, feet apart, large and languid and leonine. A few times, he glances in the direction of the door, but for the most part keeps his attention on his companions.

His tribemates. His extended family, quite literally.

[Mila Davis] "Ah.. I'm sure it's creative in it's own right - though I do have to admit that I don't know much about it. " While that could be seen as an opportunity to explain further just what computer programming was.. this likely wasn't the place.

Mila chuckled quietly, mostly to herself - but the amusement was evident in her eyes. "I think the entire moot might be livened up a bit by some of that potato juice. It might makes things a little more interesting.."

[Luana Kirchmann] "If you need help with computers, you can call me," she tells Mila with a smile, networking, before looking over to Lukas, reminded of something.

"Lukas? Do you remember the two at the brotherhood, the boisterous ones that went to fight on the rooftop?" Nights Reprieve and Rainer she's referring to, and once she gets an acknowledgment from him either way, she continues with: "I asked one of them if they would teach me defenses." Her mouth quirks and there's a brief shine in her eyes. "If that would be alright with you, they have agreed."

And since she doesn't think they will follow through with it, she asks him, "Have either of them come to see you about it?" In her mood, right now, she finds the idea a little funny, recalling the expression on Rainers face when she'd bluntly asked him after watching them spear each other on top of the Brotherhood.

[Danicka] The jeans on Danicka's body may as well have been painted on. There are zippers up the ankles on the outside, thin little laces up the front of the peek-toe ankle boots she's wearing that make her somewhere closer to 5'10" than her natural height. Her top is off the shoulder and cream-colored. Hoops in her ears. A triple-banded bracelet on her left wrist that's hard to see.

She finds Lukas as though somehow he told her exactly where in the club he was. She finds him flanked by women and, strangely enough, this does not lead to an altercation involving the film crew from Cheaters and two blondes clawing each other's eyes out.

It's just Danicka, walking up to them and saying "Hello," to them all before she sits down on what's left of the armchair's seat cushion and gives Lukas's drink a thousand-yard stare.

[Lukas] Lukas lets out a blurt of laughter. "Yeah, you suggest that to our stuffy Grand Elder. See how fast he pitches you into the Maelstrom. I'll just be over here."

He's still smiling when he turns to Luana. She's being serious. Semi-serious. More serious. He sits up a little and listens. "I don't see why not," he replies. "But I'm just going to say this up front: if you end up in a relationship with either of them, it won't end well for either party involved. Either you lose your lover or you lose your ancestry." A shrug, his smile rueful, "Sorry to be so blunt. There's a track record of intertribal matings in this Sept."

Then: there's Danicka. Lukas's eyes leave Luana, leave Mila, go to his mate. He doesn't burst into an ear to ear smile. He doesn't laugh with glee, or blush, or do anything overt. Still --

it's there. Subtle, but obvious: his pleasure in seeing her. "Hi," he says quietly. She sits, and he makes a little room for her. "Mila was telling us about her proposal to bring potato juice to the moots."

[Luana Kirchmann] Waving her hand a little, she shrugs off the talk about lovers. "Don't worry about that. I'm not remotely interested in settling down and having babies, there are others for that, and with better breeding." Speaking of which, Danicka has arrived and makes herself comfortable with Lukas. She gets a smile from the other blonde woman who is certainly not sharing the same chair - she's sitting with Mila instead.

[Mila Davis] "You shall be the first person I call should I have a problem with my computer.." Mila's drink was then drained and the glass set back down upon the low table between them.

Danicka's arrival was greeting with a warm smile and a "Hey."

She laughed. "Lukas! It wasn't entirely my idea. I believe you suggested it might make my stories more interesting if I had some. I merely wanted to share with the rest of our beloved sept.." Mila smirked then.. and shook her head some as she stood.

"I should get going.. it was lovely to see you all - hopefully we can spend more quality family time together sometime soon."

After goodbyes were had, Mila headed for the door.
(I need to get to bed, worked a very long day and need sleep! Thank you all for the scene.)

[Luana Kirchmann] [thanks pandora!]

[Danicka] "Mila has my profound and everlasting approval, then," Danicka says mildly, speaking of potato juice. She doesn't look confused as to what potato juice is, but the way she's looking at that Adios Motherfucker it's possible there's not a grain spirit in Gaia's creation that she's unfamiliar with. "Thank Gaia I'm not in charge, same breath."

She gives a nod of goodbye to Mila, and while reaching out to wrap her hands around Lukas's glass, asks: "Did you tell them the dinner's postponed?"

[Luana Kirchmann] [dinner run. bbs. assume she excuses herself for another drink.]

[Lukas] "Lies," Lukas replies, mock-straightfaced. "I'm clearly the innocent, virtuous party here."

Then Mila's leaving, and Lukas is raising a hand to clasp hers briefly, palm to wrist, as she departs. It's a rather fraternal grip; like something a man might give another. Gender roles in the Garou Nation aren't always so rigid.

"See you later, Mila," he says. And then he blinks. "Actually," he replies to Danicka, "I haven't." To Luana, then, with a touch of humor: "I should tell you: the dinner party's postponed on account of homework."

[Danicka] At innocent and virtuous, Danicka does something she never would have done a year ago. She snorts, and if a snort can be delicate, this one is. Which means it isn't really, it's just a little soft. She eases Lukas's drink out of his hand just as he's gripping Mila's arm, and she takes a long drink. She gives a little nod to Luana as the other blonde excuses herself, and then leans back, exhaling deeply after swallowing.

"I'm only a sophomore," she says, like one might say I'm only fifteen! as they die on a battlefield.

[Lukas] That adios motherfucker was empty a few moments ago. Then Danicka arrived and started staring at it in a way that made Lukas think of lions and gazelles, wolves and newborn fawns. This is the sort of place with a waiting staff, so Lukas seeks one out, makes eye contact, lifts his hand from the arm of his chair and makes a one more, please gesture.

He doesn't complain, moments later, when Danicka eases it out of his hand and knocks it back. It seems like he expects it. He laughs quietly, and then holds his hand out for his drink. His sip is a little smaller.

"It's like the second or third week of school, too," he observes. "You going to be all right with the class load?"

[Danicka] "I am going to rip this class load apart with my teeth and grind it to pulp on my molars," Danicka informs him, reaching for the glass again and taking another long pull. She doesn't hand it back. Greedy little thing. She sounds quite determined. "I have a feeling this professor is trying to break us."

[Lukas] Lukas gives up his AMF for lost. While Luana is gone for another drink, he settles in beside Danicka. Their legs touch, hip to knee. He leans into her and kisses her temple once, quickly but warmly.

"What class?" he asks then, leaning his head on the back of the armchair, relaxed.

[Danicka] She used to be afraid of this. Of being out in public, amongst members of the tribe or possible informants to members of the tribe, and taking the liberties that Lukas gives her so freely. She used to be afraid that if she ate from his plate or took his drink or did things like share his space so easily as she does now, it would come back to haunt her in his rage at the potential for bruising his reputation. As strong. As hard.

She has had more than one pair of eyes cast down to the flatness of her belly, more than one slyly put insult at the fact that the mate of the Ahroun Elder, who has been his officially and entirely for close to a year now, has not given him or the Nation the children that she is so capable of bearing. Every Garou who sniffs her knows intuitively that her lineage is known particularly for its fertility (on one side) and viciousness (on the other). Strong children they'd be, and probably many of them, if she would only get started.

And what sort of Ahroun of Thunder treats his Kinfolk as anything more than favored pets, really? There are a number of Garou and Kin alike who think he should strike her for her impudence. Beat her regularly, dominate her, all that, blah blah. Etcetera. Yet Lukas lets her go on with this schoolwork business, and he doesn't impregnate her, and he showers her with what, to Shadow Lords, is a ridiculous and somewhat embarrassing amount of affection and indulgence.

They are alone right now, Mila gone and Luana off to the bar. She puts her legs over his lap, and twists a bit so she can lean on his chest after that kiss on her temple. She cradles the drink and takes smaller sips now, one at a time.

"Continuous Time-Linear Systems," she says loosely.

[Lukas] There's a pause. Then Lukas bursts out laughing. It resounds through his broad chest; she can hear it through the thick warm sheets of muscle there, echoed from beneath the bone.

"I," he says, "am not even going to try to pretend I understand what you just said. It doesn't sound like sophomore-level work, though."

And -- it's true. These conversations are almost unheard-of amongst the Shadow Lords. Since when did Shadow Lords let their kin babble on about schoolwork? About continuous time linear systems? Since when did Shadow Lords allow their kin to get a pet, for god's sake, when they should be hard at work keeping the house clean, paying the bills, popping out the children?

They're not the usual Shadow Lord pair. Whatever eyes have been cast in the direction of Danicka's flat belly -- and Lukas doesn't know about any of them, and this is likely a good thing -- and whatever instinctive desires might flicker and burn in his own breast: to procreate, to breed, to rear cubs that bear his blood and his face and his mate's blood and his mate's face, Lukas has never pushed on that matter. He wouldn't.

Maybe that's why he didn't bat an eyelash when Luana announced she had no plans to provide children for the Nation.

His hand comes to rest easily over her legs, palm over her far knee. His other arm is behind her, a warm bar at the small of her back. Her weight, half on him now, seems negligible to him. He's as relaxed now as he was, his head still back against the couch cushion, turned to look at her.

Quieter, and serious now: "If it's too much, maybe you drop a course and take it next quarter."

[Danicka] The look she gives him is so affronted she pulls away from him, straightening her back to give him a Look somewhere between imperious and ruffled.

[Lukas] "...or not," Lukas says. "Forgive me for even daring to suggest such a thing. Good god, did you learn that look from Kando?"

[Danicka] It works better than telling him that he worries too much, or Very Seriously telling him that it stung a little to have him suggest she drop the class, take it later, this is too hard for you, it's too much, maybe you shouldn't.

Danicka sniffs and drinks from the bright blue fluid he ordered for himself and ended up giving to her. She settles back against him. "No, I already had that one. I learned that it was effective versus your more ridiculous and offensive comments from Kando. When you offered her kibble that time when she wanted the canned food."

[Lukas] The truth is, it isn't until Danicka tells him he was being offensive -- albeit gently -- that Lukas even thinks of it that way. As soon as she does, though, he sees it. The why, the how. The subtle chauvinism involved in his implicitly lowered standards and expectations.

So he's quiet now, thinking, while she drinks from his bright blue adios. His thumb moves slightly on her knee. Then he draws his head back enough to look at her, eye to eye.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I of all people shouldn't be the one suggesting that you back down at the slightest hint of challenge."

[Danicka] The way he moves so he can see her face unsettles and unmoors Danicka where she'd cuddled against him. She was on the verge of saying that maybe Luana isn't coming back, went off away from Couple Time so she could find herself a bit of fun maybe, but then Lukas is lowering his voice and meeting her eyes and Danicka tips her head to the side, gazing back at him.

When he says what he does, she's quiet a moment, then leans toward him. Her hand comes to the back of his head, in his recently trimmed hair, and her eyes close. When her lips seal against his it's brief as any kiss in public should be, but there's a softness to it. Danicka communicates like this better than in words sometimes. She lets it linger a little, just barely shy of too much for a lounge on a Sunday night. She strokes her fingertips over his scalp and sighs softly as she pulls back, licking her lips gently.

Her eyes are on his, still. She doesn't remove her hand but scritches slowly through his hair, massaging the nape of his neck. "Yes," she says, because it's the truth. But she leans over and kisses him again, a smaller thing this time. It's never said that she forgives him, or that it's alright. Words have ever, for they two, been the source of misunderstanding. So she kisses him instead, and hopes he understands.

[Lukas] One of the earliest signs of affection between them wasn't the kissing, wasn't the fucking. Those things can be faked. They weren't, in their case -- but their lust for each other was something akin to need. Something akin to burning, painful hunger. It wasn't affectionate, or warm.

Her hand in his hair, though: that was. The way she scritched his scalp sometimes after lovemaking. The way she tendered his hair back behind his ears, or at his temples.

She kisses him now, and it is warm. And affectionate. And soft, and slow, and just shy of too much for a public lounge on a sunday night. His eyes close; he accepts the kiss, reciprocates. When she draws back, his eyes open again, and the color should be cold, should be icy and hard -- but not when he looks at her. She agrees, but Lukas has never been the type to shy from the truth, and she's so very gentle about it. When she kisses him again, his hand comes to her face, cradling without holding.

The second time they draw apart, Lukas smiles. "I don't think Luana's coming back," he says, echoing the thought she's already had. "Want to go someplace where they actually dance?"

[Danicka] All signs of their growing attachment to one another were subtle, and a little broken at first. She made him his favorite treat as secretively as possible. He felt a sort of mad rushing in his ears every time she was threatened or struck or humiliated because he wanted so badly to protect her and clamped down on it, rejected it every time. She tried to hold his eyes while she came for the first time with him. He kept her warm as he laid there with her and kissed her shoulder so she'd know he was coming back.

And when he found her drunk outside some restaurant in winter he took her by the elbow but she moved away, she linked their arms as though showing him no, this is how you do it --

later, much later, in the Underworld, the spirits of renewal called back to that memory and the Gatekeeper who wore her form and face and voice was like that with him, taught him by showing him, by even going so far as to manipulate his hands and arms into the correct position, and she was so gentle about it, there was such a lack of condescension,

that it came terribly close to what he knew to be true,

so close that he thought that was the point of it all, to reject it as false, to know it for an illusion, which would have been a hard enough test

-- but that was affection, too. Walking together before he got angry at her and before she went home and passed out. It was a long time before she let herself do this strange little caress, scritching his scalp the way she does now so easily, so thoughtlessly, so comfortably. She doesn't remember the first time it happened. She thinks maybe when the moon was waxing to gibbous and he was coming into the hotel bedroom and whispering to her not to think about that. She thinks she stroked his hair then, did not know what else to do as he went to his knees and tried to find some new way to love her when he did not have the words.


Danicka sinks down a bit into the armchair and against his body. "Hmm," she says in agreement, when he mentions Luana. She smiles, more to herself than to him since now he can't see her face again. "I have to finish my drink," she says archly, sipping from it again. "Then we should go to my place."

Which isn't 'home'. Just... her place.

"I want you to undress me there, and yank my jeans down my body. I want you to lay me down or bend me over and fuck me senseless." She sips from the drink, and looks at him. "I mean it. If I remember my name afterward you'll have to open me up and fuck me again."

[Lukas] Lukas is kissing Danicka's hair when she says --

well. What she says. And she knows he hears her, because he goes thrummingly still. When he draws back he's breathing a little harder. His eyes catch the light and throw it back differently; glinting. She can see his throat move as he swallows.

"Oh my god," he says softly, and then glances at her drink. His drink. Whatever. "Are you going to finish that soon?"

[Danicka] Her eyes are a very pale green in this light, somehow, the way they go vivid pale when she's truly angry, not at all the poison emerald of sheer terror. But she's not angry. The colors shift and trend towards aquamarine, towards the blue they are in daylight. She considers him. Considers his lust, laid out on display for her like a banquet, offered now so freely where once he resisted even showing it to her, hinting at it.

He could fuck her anytime, and she knows it. If she came to him in the middle of the day, mere hours after he fell asleep from a long battle, a long night, a long argument with this pack alpha or that,

if she woke him up by crawling under the blanket with him and spread her thighs over his lap and whispered to him

please, baby

he would give her what she wants. And she knows it. She almost never toys with him, which is perhaps how he came to trust her with his desire so utterly. She toys with him now, though, looking at him and then at her drink. She lifts the glass and takes a very

slow

sip.

"Waste not, want not," she says.

[Lukas] She's playing with him. He knows it, and a year ago this would have infuriated him. He would have looked for ulterior motives. Was she trying to humiliate him? Prove to him how strong her hold was? He would have ignored her games, ignored his lust, dumped her out of his lap and walked away.

He doesn't now. He looks at her, and she takes that slow, slow sip, and there's a huff of laughter, a grin that bares a flash of incisor. He takes the drink from her and he slams it back. When the glass comes down it's empty.

"There. Wasted not," and he leans forward, and he catches her mouth with his, his hands on her body, on her thigh and wrapped around her side. This kiss is a bit harder than the last ones. A little less decent. Not quite acceptable for a public lounge on a Sunday night --

-- but then it's over, and he's opening his eyes.

"Let's go," he whispers.

[Danicka Musil] At least he thinks that. Thinks he would have walked away, infuriated. Forgets how many times he walked away from her in the past. How many times it didn't make him stop wanting her, how even if he thought she was teasing him he was turned on by her, and maddened by that fact as much as anything else. She knows. She could see it in his eyes every time he turned away from her. Can see it now, when he doesn't even try to hide it.

"Hey!" she says, when he snatches the drink back from her, which she barely got any of. She has rarely ever pouted, at least not in his presence, because it is such a childish thing. Such a limp thing. She doesn't quite pout. She scowls at him as he drains the glass dry, her lips full with displeasure, however feigned.

When Lukas puts the glass down, it's so hard and he lets go of it so quick that it almost tips over. Then he's on her, opening her mouth with his own and opening his hands over her lean thigh, as though he would pull her onto him somehow, even in public, even clothed. She plays with the idea of resistance for a moment, unresponsive and pressing away from him, but it's a game. It's a game they never used to let themselves play, because he didn't know how serious it might be and he couldn't risk forcing her. She couldn't risk tempting him to. She didn't trust him.

She trusts him now. Enough that even a year ago she let him tie her to his bed. Enough that next time she goes to his bed at the Brotherhood he won't have to use one of his neckties again.

And he can trust her now not to mock him. Not to go away anymore. Not to use him. Not to take advantage of him for some sick power play on her part. She doesn't need to dominate him like that to feel less vulnerable in their world.

Danicka has had perhaps two drinks -- literally, two swallows. Not two glasses. She's nowhere near tipsy, much less drunk, but he knows very well if she wanted to straddle his lap and maul his face in the middle of a lounge she would. That in and of itself is thrilling, that she can do that now, that she doesn't care as much who sees, that she doesn't think, constantly, of what will happen to her at home if she's seen misbehaving. And that's because of him.

Because of her, too.

But it has everything to do with him.

She puts her hand on his shoulder and lifts herself up, turning her body towards his as she does so. She opens her legs over his lap but only for a moment, only for that second before her feet are touching the floor again, before she's levering herself off the chair and standing up. Danicka offers him her hand, not because he needs a hand up, but because she wants to touch his hand. "Do you need to close out a tab?" she asks quietly, practical as ever, as he rises to stand with her.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Pragmatism. That's one thing that's always marked the both of them -- by blood, by genetics, or perhaps simply by their own makeup and personalities. The most impractical thing Lukas has ever done, in fact, was to resist this. Resist her. And even then, he thought he was making the right choice. Putting pack ahead of self, or war ahead of self, or ...

something. It doesn't matter now. She's rising, and he's looking at her body, and she knows that's not all he wants her for, never was, and so he's never been afraid to show her just how much he loves her body. Her sleek stomach, her pert little breasts, her sweet little ass, and that cunt, that amazing, sweet little cunt that he's called everything from legendary to sofuckinggood with varying degrees of seriousness.

His hands are at her waist for the brief moment she opens her thighs over his lap. Their size difference is never so obvious as when his hands are on her body: how he covers so much, how his hands seem to span from hip to breast on her side when he opens them; how the body she almost straddles for a moment is so long, so broad, a veritable continent beneath her,

even though it's her family that's always associated with the earth, and his that's always reflected the sky.

"No," he says, standing with her when she draws back. "I gave them my card up front. They'll just charge it to that." He takes her hand; gives the crowd one cursory glance. He's a polite thing. He'd say goodnight to Luana if he saw her. He doesn't see her. He doesn't look particularly hard, because then his eyes are back on his mate, and he's threading their fingers together.

"Let's go. I'll drive?"

[Danicka Musil] They are Shadow Lords.

He knows it in every bone, every fiber, every inhale of breath that carries her scent. He told her he recognizes it in her and that the spirits at the homelands, the children of Thunder and the paragons of his brood, would know her, too. Every time he feels her growing stronger under his hands it's something of a sharp and instinctive thrill.

His mate is healthy. His mate is strong. His mate will be tireless and fertile and be warm in the coming winter. His mate is very good. And his. No other's.

Which is all very well and good. If they were human she would have good reason to smack him for such thoughts, for being so pleased at the thought of mounting her, holding her with his teeth, breeding on her, possessing her. They aren't human, though.

They're Shadow Lords.

Danicka makes no play at coyness. She doesn't gasp at his hands on her. She meets his eyes and there's a hint of a half-smile at the corner of her lips as he makes himself take his hands back and rise to his feet, as he maintains this facade of civility, humanity, and etiquette. He gives the room a cursory onceover for his errant kinswoman but she's a big girl, and one who has run off to her own entertainments.

"I walked here," she says, starting towards the entrance, which is easy to see because this isn't a nightclub packed with people thrashing around on their long weekend. "And you've been drinking."

Which is, apparently, that. She walks a little ahead of him, but when they're out the doors and into the streetlights and nightlights of the Mile, Danicka turns to him and holds out her hand, smiling.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] It goes without saying that Lukas cuts a wider path through what crowd there is. People move aside for Danicka because they're polite, and because she's an attractive woman. People move aside for Lukas because on some basic, irrational level, they think he might take their heads off if they don't.

It's still warm in Chicago, though this is the unofficial end of summer; though the astronomical end of summer is only weeks away. The sky is overcast and the head is a trifle oppressive. Lukas takes his mate's hand as they emerge out in the darkness and the warmth, and he smiles back.

"I'd like that," he says. "Walking."

In the winter he would want to wrap his hand around hers to keep it warm, maybe guide both their hands to his pocket. Those thoughts are so often in his head, too: protect. Keep warm. Keep safe. Because she is mine. No other's. It's not winter, though. He laces their fingers instead, squeezing gently as he starts following her back to her apartment, mere blocks away.

There's a laugh underlying this: "But let's walk quickly, all right?"

[Danicka Musil] She laughs. "I meant for you to give me your keys so you didn't have to leave it here, but walking works, too."

She lets him take her hand, though, eyes twinkling a bit, and leans up to him to kiss him. This one's softer. It's not so charged, so erotic, as before. It's something more tender.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Oh, well." Lukas is somewhere between abashed and matter of fact, quickly reaching into his pocket to produce his keys, "If you want to drive, we should totally drive. We can take a nice, leisurely walk afterward. My car's over here."

[Danicka Musil] "Oh, no," she says, offering his keys back to him, echoing his tone. "If I'm not supposed to be able to remember my name, much less how to walk. You're fucking me so I can go back to work," she informs him.

And nevermind how ludicrous this discussion is, held on the sidewalk outside a lounge, just a couple of blocks from her apartment. Nevermind that there are people passing by right as Danicka is telling him that he's fucking her senseless, turning their heads and glancing quickly, blinking, snapping their eyes forward again a second later.

She's this slim, golden thing in denim and cream, half-stepping back away from Lukas as though to move out of his reach, grinning at him. Playing.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] They say things to each other that make passerbies blink and hastily look away, faces still, masking their reactions. He thinks things that humans would smack him for, send him to therapy for, break up with him for, talk to their therapists about. They're not human, though they wear the mask well; when she sidesteps away from him like that, though, she may as well be an animal, dancing sideways to initiate play.

And he reacts like one. He turns toward her, and he grins suddenly, and there's an gleam in his eye and a flash in his smile and even as she's dancing away he's pulling her back by the hand, pulling her right against him and wrapping his arm around her and

leaning down to her, play-gnawing at her neck. "Rrrr," he says. His teeth grip gently at her for a moment, then release. He hasn't let go yet. He's still bending to her, wrapping around her, rumbling a mock-growl at her. "How are you supposed to go back to work if you can't even remember your own name? I think we might as well just stay in bed after and fuck until we're unconscious."

[Danicka Musil] Danicka may as well be grabbing his favorite toy and running off with it, laughing. Play with me. Chase me. Tickle me. Let's wrestle. She dances away from him and he plays, too, grabbing her back to him. She doesn't wriggle or fight, pretending to want to get away. For one thing, there's enough people out tonight who would think she seriously needed help, that man doesn't look right, but for another thing, she doesn't want to get away. She likes the way he feels against her.

Funny, how a year and a half ago or something like it he grabbed her and held her against his body for the first time, and it terrified her. She didn't want to kiss him then. She didn't want him to kiss her, she wanted him to let her go but she was scared to so much as ask for it. He wanted her so badly that day on the waterfront, wanted her in some mad way, wanted to press her against the bars of the railing and push himself between her legs and grind onto her, even through their clothes and coats, and it's only through his rather remarkable restraint that holding her close to him for a few scant seconds was all he did.

That and, perhaps, realizing she was shaking, and it wasn't from the cold, and it wasn't from desire.


This is so far from that it's worlds apart. Danicka is pressed to his legs and his torso and she's breathing a little faster, watching him. Her eyes flicker closed for a second when he goes to bite at her neck, his growl like a purr. It takes her a second but she tips her head to the side, giving her throat to him, refusing to move her hips, refusing to rub against him. To anyone walking by it looks like helplessness, or the pretense of it.

It is pretense: the way she gives him her neck like that is submission, but not to him. The way she doesn't struggle as he holds her is surrender, but not coerced. He can feel her breathing, feel every rise and fall of her chest, feel her body through that thin silk-blend knit of her shirt, feel her pulse in her bared arms.

"No, you don't understand," she insists, holding onto his shirt with one hand. "If I can't remember my name or whatever else, then my brain has enough room for the science."

Danicka breathes, and exhales in a shudder, her voice lowering: "We need to go."