ugh!

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] Katherine Bellamonte received a phone call, it might have gone straight to voicemail. Who really cared where the phone call went first, because Cordelia left a message or wasn't inclined to talk for too long. The moon is waning away to half, and she doesn't particularly notice yet. Or care yet. Some part of her would be upset that it wasn't her sister that she went to first regarding these matters-

No, no that's not true. Not entirely, at least. But we digress. Cordelia is taking off her contacts in the cab, and travels half blind through the way. She waits to leave a message, and-

"Ms. Bellamonte? It's Cordelia, I recognize that it's late and I'm sorry, but I just had a thought and I needed to come talk to you," and that's about all the message that she left.

Soon enough, however, she's on the doorstep. She's taken her heels off, and holds them loosely in one hand. Her mascara has since streaked and her eyes are red. Her foundation is smudged, her lipgloss is non-existant and her hair has been haphazardly taken down. This is the nature of updos, when you take them down they look half-assed. Her shoulders are back, though, and her head is high. Katherine knows this expression, because she has no doubt worn this expression, though in a decidedly less discheveled state.

This is the look of triumph.

Cordelia waits for someone to answer the door, and she can wait all night should she need.

[Katherine Bellamonte] It is well after hours so it's Katherine herself that answers to Cordelia's knock. Lucille has retired for the night, apparently, or headed home to her own apartment -- wherever the lady of Bellamonte Houses' long suffering maid is, it's not with her Mistress, that much is certain.

Katherine looks as she typically always does though perhaps a touch softer than her day to day face would suggest. She wears no makeup, her skin clear, her golden waves brushed smooth and her slender figure encased in a peach blouse and jeans; her feet in slippers. There was a fine necklace of some stone strung around her neck and the fingers of one hand held a set of reading glasses.

They were perhaps her maid's; who knew. Perhaps she'd been tidying when the doorbell sounded.

"Cordelia," she greets with perfunctory coolness, and waves her inside; swinging the heavy door secure behind her and preceding the young Kinswoman into her living room. There was no fire-place in the Silver Fang's home, but it retained the warmth of a space that did have some facet of heating. "Your message sounded urgent, what can I help you with tonight?"

Katherine folded herself back onto one of her black leather sofas.

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] She smiles. There is something to be said about looking radiant. She's either put on weight or lost weight or filled out in the right ways. Or maybe it's just hte way that she's holding herself. Or maybe it's something else entirely that doesn't have anything to do with her clothes or what would have been fineries from the evening.

"I recognize that it's late, and I apologize," she says. She wipes her eyes again and sniffs inward. It's a complete cognitive disconnect- she should be crying and upset, but she's not upset. She's far from upset at this moment, "it hit me that there is more that I could be doing for our tribe, and we'd discussed needing a liason between the other tribes' needs and our own, but I wanted to know what our clear cut goals were so I could help with this."

A moment barely passes, "and it's more than that, I think I can do more for our tribe and your pack. I feel like I owe it to you and to Christian to try and help."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine watches Cordelia through those pale eyes of hers that are so clear that they sometimes appear more gray than the ice-blue they are. Her gaze was forever not without some edge of discomfort, for although she did not possess her pack-sister's degree of predatory grace she did have an impressive amount of Rage, and the added benefit of a nature at once steady and cancered by her tribe's insanity.

At some point; perhaps as the lean Kinswoman reaches the point of I feel like I owe it to you -- the Garou raises a hand to signal she should cease, should allow her to answer. "Please, slow down, Cordelia. I can appreciate your enthusiasm to aid the tribe, I even applaud it," there's an edge of a smile now.

"But why the sudden need to discuss this with me tonight? It could have waited until at least dawn, no?" Her eyebrow rises, voice curious, more than anything; her eyes wander her dress, the state of her hair. "What has brought this on?"

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] "Tonight, I was at my wits end," she says. It's the only phrase she could think of. It's a good thing the Spaniard wasn't pacing or fidgeting or looking completely nervous or upset or... okay, maybe her nerves would come down. Maybe she would be upset later, "I went out with Ivan tonight and-I-"

She inhales, deeply, and exhales.

"We had a heated discussion regarding duty and civility towards those of our own tribe. He's a good ragabash, and by the end of our conversation it dawned on me that... this is going to come out untoward... some of the faces of our tribe range from being entitled and privileged to the point of callous, while others come off as traditional to the point of dogmatic, static, and unyielding. And While each force has benefits, ultimately I feel like some of us lose the point of what our position and what being a leader is.

"I've had a full night and a cab ride full of self-reflection, and I determined that I needed to speak with you first because you're my tribal elder here, instead of my sister who isn't affiliated with Maelstrom. And, as that her pack has commandeered my living room, I needed to come here first."

A beat.

"It could have waited until morning, though, and admittedly my timing is adrenaline fueled at the moment"

[Katherine Bellamonte] I went out with Ivan tonight, she begins, and the Half Moon leans back, her long fingers linking together atop her knee. One slipper taps against a heel idly as she goes on and it ceases as she notes that Ivan is a good Ragabash. "Is he?" The Philodox asks with no less sudden abruptness, nor sharpness, than a knife wields as it slices through cheese.

The words are enough to silence anyone; but she allows Cordelia to finish her speech of empowerment before going on. "I would barely know what Ivan Press is, Cordelia and do you know why? Because I do not hear nor see the creature unless its at an occasion I summon him to.

You could express to me that he had taught you the Venetian Waltz and I would have little to add but a very similar remark."

A moment; she could seem so lazily reproachful, Katherine, but at once her compassion seared you with its pressure. "The goals of our tribe, Ms Diego are several-fold, but if you wish to be a liaison for our needs it is going to require more than a single meeting between us and it is very possible that it will be a position not simply held by a single Kinfolk but rather many.

I do not doubt your commitment to the Silver Fang tribe," a beat, her pale eyes pin the girl, "but I would suggest you go home and rest on your new found adulation. We can discuss this more fully when you are well rested." It was less a put down and rather more the gentle push of an elder to a cub to steady their thoughts.

Perhaps the guidance of a Half Moon.

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] It really is like dealing with her sister, except tonight she doesn't have the history between them to back it up. It's the feeling of being pinned in a bug collection. On a certain level, she's waiting for a cotton ball full of nail polish remover to finish her off. She smiles anyway, and adrenaline starts to wear down. She slouches for the first time in probably recently history, not because she's defeated but because her back hurts and her dress is uncomfortable and she's reminded, briefly, of why you don't pretend to be someone else-

When you're left with only yourself and your skn, it's hard to work when some part of you doesn't quite fit.

"Speaking of," she says, "there's a girl named Kristiana Coleman that you might need to meet. She's nice, but she's very traditional and she might need help. Or not. She's a grown woman, but she's young."

She takes a second, and ruminates with it. Winds down and finds herself more and more aware of her own thoughts. She and Katherine are similar in age, but the fact of the matter remains that she seems so much younger. It's amazing what a different upbringing will do.

There's silence. Long after silence is appropriate.

"... Katherine?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine, it should be noted, is not some terrifying beast.

She is, as noted, not so much older than Cordelia herself; the only thing which separates the two is Katherine's Rage and her upbringing. She had been raised as a child of a relatively new house within a much broader House. The name of Bellamonte had another generation to it now, thanks to Edward. Perhaps the only deed he would truly accomplish that would echo through the ages -- for who knew how many younger Bellamontes his daughter would bear?

Presently, Katherine is the picture of a young woman who is also a monster who was also attempting to council her family without the benefit of anything but her words. She did not wish to frighten Cordelia into submission, or quash her ideals of being some better figment within the tribe than she currently was -- she simply wanted the girl to have a solid grasp of her own ideas, and not the after shock of adrenaline pumping in her veins.

"Kristiana Coleman?" She makes the name an adventure; hinting at a life in France if only through the idea of it in her voice. Then: "Yes, Cordelia?"

[Ilari Martin] Waking up completely sober in an unfamiliar location does not bring with it the same confusion and panic that comes with initiating the same process while somewhere on the spectrum between Wildly Inebriated and Hungover. This building, this bedroom, is not so unfamiliar as it ought to be, but considering the fact that it is not his bedroom in his apartment, it is close enough. This is the first night he has not spent the night in what could be considered his own home since... well, it doesn't bear dwelling on, but suffice to say the only reason he is here at all tonight has to do with the fact that the kids left Chicago early this morning with the intent to visit their grandparents for the rest of the week.

It doesn't matter why he's here, really; Cordelia Sarafin-Diego and Ilari Martin have never met before tonight, and the former isn't aware that the latter was here when she texted Katherine Bellamonte, nor when she arrived.

What emerges from the master bedroom is old enough to be Kate's father. This is not an exaggeration or a hyperbole: the man is in his forties, easily, with the salt-and-pepper hair and worn skin to show for it. He is no taller than the Philodox, yet he is just as well dressed if one is willing to ignore the fact that he appears as though he has just emerged from a miniature comatose state. His feet are clad in black socks, his attire full-on formal save for he is missing his tie, belt, and suit jacket. His hair is a mess, his steps are uncertain, and he's rubbing his eyes as a yawn sneaks out of his throat.

"Kate," he mumbles, "I had the strangest--"

His hand comes down from his eyes in time to see the tall blond stork speaking with Kate. He reconsiders what he was about to say, holds up his finger as if to say Never mind! and walks into the kitchen to fill a glass with water.

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] [how bad is this...]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] "Christrian's n-" she is almost to the word, and it's a damned good thing she doesn't actually finish that train of thought, or ask someone who might know so, instead, she can hang on to speculation. Guess. Not play the role of a good girlfriend but be whatever the Hell she needs to be at that moment, because it's taken years for her to figure out that they aren't fragments, she's not compartments, she's a package.

She is interrupted, of course, by a man who is old enough to be her father. Who probably drank the same cognac or smoked the same cigars or something to that effect. There's a man in a suit, looking like a mess and she just looks at Martin. Her eyes are wide, she pushes her glasses up, and they both look like they just woke up or were shoved in a confined space and wedged between two squishy, smelly boulders. Her mascara's streaked, and she simply doesn't care.

Can't be bothered by it.

Back on subject. She looks at Martin. She blinks. Her cheeks turn pink inexplicably, and she shakes her head, too, when she looks back at Kate. Apparently, both of them can wait.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Through the glass sliding doors, the faint sound of splashing: someone making good use of that olympic-sized pool.

There are a lot of things that could be said about Katherine. That she's cold. That she's squeamish. That she's haughty, and arrogant, and remote. Some of them, Lukas reflects, might even be true. Probably is true from the right angle, the right point of view.

There's this to be said, though. Katherine's love for her family -- her blood and her spiritual family alike -- is complete. Filthy rich or not, she didn't have to spend her own money on a too-large home so her packmates would always have a place to stay if they needed it. She didn't have to upend that home and remodel everything just because two of them insisted on a bigger pool, we want a bigger pool, pleeeeease, Kate?

Her devotion to her family is absolute. But when push came to shove, Lukas was willing to publically shame her over tribal matters.

The steady, clockwork freestyle stops. Lukas will never be the natural athlete Sinclair is. He doesn't swim like a fish, or even like a damn sea turtle. What he has instead is determination. Will. A monotonous, powerful, regular rhythm that could probably carry him across an ocean if need be, but only if need be. At any rate, it stops, mid-stroke. Lukas bobs up in the middle of the pool, pushing his goggles up, wiping his face clear.

Hey, Kate. This sort of comes out of the blue. I should have said this earlier, but I'm sorry about chewing you out the other night. I was so hellbent on teaching that dickhead

-- clearly, he has no idea 'that dickhead' was currently in the building, and not only that, coming out of Katherine's bedroom --

a lesson that I didn't stop to think how it'd make you feel. We're Alphas of our tribes, and we have a responsibility to uphold -- but you're also my sister. I didn't have to be such an ass.

There's a pause.

Anyway, I'm sorry. He hauls himself out of the water, goes to take a quick wash in the open corner shower.

[Katherine Bellamonte] "Christian," she prompts Cordelia before she stalls as Ilari Martin has just emerged from her bedroom.

To her credit, the Silver Fang does not color; her blushing days (save very few) are long done when it came to moments such as these. There is almost a touch of amusement to the manner she simply re-adjusts herself and raises a hand over her shoulder at the scurrying figure vanishing into her kitchen.

"My apologies, Cordelia. I did not expect him to be awake, that was," a beat, she smiles a little more naturally, for Katherine, "is, Ilari Martin. He is your family, another of ours in the city." She's quiet a beat, then adds; somehow gentler; comprehending.

"I suppose is he to me as Christian is to you."

Then: Lukas is on the totemlink and Katherine's pale eyes fiick to the right a touch, she cocks her head. Thank you, Lukas, for apologizing, , a beat, I must however caution you for tact's sake that Martin is in my kitchen at present and if you are ungracious to him, I will be throw you out on your behind.

Another beat.

With all due respect.

[Katherine Bellamonte] [hello typos! ahem. "I will be forced to" that should read.]

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] "Oh," she says, then calls out to Martin, "does she yell at you in a foreign language and throw things, too?"

[Ilari Martin] Though he isn't visible, the smile--and mild confusion--that stains the kinsman's voice can be picked up from where the two females are standing.

"That isn't even the half of it!" he calls back.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] He -- what?

A minute later the glass door to the pool room rattles noisily open. Lukas doesn't quite storm out, but it's a close call. His footsteps are heavy, his shoulders swaying. He tugs on his swim robe -- a blue almost as dark as black -- as he comes. Ilari gets once glance and a single "Ugh!" before he swings around to look at Katherine.

What are you, together again? There's a pause -- the totem link close enough, permeable enough, that some of Lukas's dislike and disgust leaks through before he clamps down on it.

This is level, his eyes intent on Katherine: Do you love him?

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] This suddenly becomes too much sensory input. She laughs at the reply. She doesn't even know the older man, but it seems that Katherine's house is full of people and they're emerging from strange places. The enxt thing she knows, some tall, soggy man is coming in. The first thing Cordelia notices is that she is no longer the tallest person in the room. The second thing he notices is that he and Katherine are just staring at each other.

The blonde takes this opportunity to turn, slowly, and go investigate the kitchen. Water sounded nice. Also, washing her mascara off.

[Ilari Martin] The kinsman is on his way out of the kitchen when an Ugh! catches his attention. Bleary-eyed and subdued by sleep inertia, he looks over at the source of the noise to find a tall, dripping-wet Czech. It isn't enough to grab his attention, or if it is, he's too groggy to summon the gall necessary to fire off a thoughtless yet nevertheless incendiary comment in passing.

Granted... Martin is forty-one years old; his memory isn't what it used to be, and the odds of him having forgotten Lukas since their paths last crossed over a month ago are strangely high. He stops only briefly, then cuts the Ahroun a half-hearted, silent wave before continuing on his trajectory towards Kate's bedroom.

[Ilari Martin] [Yeah just make that post make some semblance of sense, I r tired.]

[Katherine Bellamonte] Yes, she says without rising physically or emotionally to the sensibilities present in her Alpha's voice, projected into her mind. And yes, there's a brief moment when Katherine's attention skirts back to Cordelia and some semblance of apology resides there before her attention returns to Lukas.

What Cordelia must see, or imagine she does is an unvoiced conversation; perhaps even a confrontation. She cannot hear it, but somehow, she senses it is occurring. I never stopped loving him, Lukas, I know you do not like him, I know you believe he is not my worth, but I believe he is, and I wish him in my life. I know Sinclair dislikes him also, we have discussed it. I would be a poor Half Moon to say I was not saddened that you put so little faith in my judgment of others as to assume I have no idea of what I'm doing to take up with him again.

I am not always sane, Lukas. But I know my own heart better than you. Trust that, if nothing else.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] It's a strange thing, watching wolves communicate without words. Lukas bursts out of the pool room. He not-quite-storms into the living room. He faces Kate, they stare at each other -- the Ahroun leaning forward slightly, feet apart, body language speaking of aggression and bewilderment, though not violence. In response, perhaps there's something more like weariness in Katherine, and perhaps even a touch of wariness, but only a scarce few seconds pass

(not long after yes, and yes, for that matter)

before Lukas, inexplicably, starts to shake his head and wave a hand in the air as though to deny or brush away whatever inaudible things Kate might be saying.

That's enough for me, he says simply. If you love him, then I'll accept that. A long time ago I told all of you to fuck off because Dani&+269;ka was my business and mine alone. I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't allow you the same freedom. Even if I think he's a --

he cuts himself off there. He cuts himself off on several levels, and most especially on that truth that burns him even now. As far as Lukas knows, Katherine still doesn't know about Ilari and Danicka. It's one truth -- perhaps the only -- that Lukas chooses not to divulge. It's the one time he chooses to conceal the truth like a Shadow Lord, and for the most unLordly reason of all:

mercy. Because it's in the past, indelible but over and done with. At best, absolutely nothing good can come of Katherine knowing; at worst, it could lodge under her skin like a splinter, bite at her for years to come.

-- well. It doesn't matter what I think of him. If you love him, you love him.

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] It would have been one of the more bizarre things she's watched had she nod had a pack in her living room recently. It was eerily silent in the apartment, aside from the occasional laugh, the asking of her to get something, or the beginnings of a fight breaking out.

There wasn't a fight breaking out, though. They were just standing in the living room, gesturing at each other ever so often.

She turns on the sink, and takes her glasses off. She splashes some water on her face, rubs her cheeks, and concludes that untucking her shirt and using the tails might make for a good wash cloth if she can't find the paper towels. Cordelia is a great and many things, but kitchen-savvy is not one of them. However, she had been here in the past, and with minimal effort she finds a paper towel and makes what's left of her mascara disappear.

The puts her glasses back on, and takes the opportunity to test message her sister.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine had known Lukas a long time, as far as Garou went. A longer time, as far as pack-mates went. They had been through much together, they had grown up as warriors and people together. Her respect for the Shadow Lord was tantamount; she trusted him, she advised him; she understood him. The latter had not come without significant effort on her behalf, and on his; their tribes were not, in historical terms, known for their tolerance of one another.

To follow under a Shadow Lord's totem, had tested the tolerance of many in Katherine's family.

But his approval; his understanding also meant much to her. Katherine had tried hard to overcome her initial dislike of his mate to become if not friends, at least tolerable to her to make occasions when they were forced into association bearable for the Kinswoman. She does not echo any of these thoughts at Lukas, but he can feel her initial defensiveness, and then her gratitude for his understanding -- if not his appreciation for Martin -- of her desire on the matter.

He is not all bad, Lukas. One day, you will see it, as I did with Danicka. Katherine's final word on the matter is a raised eyebrow, and then she rises, pats her Alpha on his wet shoulder, and pads into the kitchen after Cordelia.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's only reply to that is a sort of disgruntled noise. She pats him on the shoulder and he says aloud -- albeit in an undertone, "Sweaty. Sticky. Gross! Bacteria!"

Then she's past. He listens for the kitchen faucet turning on, trying not to smirk.

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] Katherine comes into the kitchen, and Cordelia's got a paper towel in one hand and a cell phone in the other. She looks decidedly less a mess- more like she woke up on the wrong side of bed from a night out than she does a bad night out.

"I couldn't find your waste basket," which translates out to I didn't look for it.

[Katherine Bellamonte] The Philodox's brow wrinkles; she tshes at her pack-mate and does indeed head for the sink to wash off her fingertips but but not before she nudges open the cabinet beneath the sink for Cordelia and exposes the concealed trash can. The Half Moon stands to one side as she disposes of her ball of paper towel and adds; lightly.

"Cordelia, perhaps tonight is not the night for our discussion. However, we shall talk about it, I promise you. If you wish it," here is a curious thing; a moment of true comprehension from Katherine. "I have no truly touched Christian's room since he left; you would be welcome to sleep there."

Her pale eyes suggest what she does not voice.

[Cordelia Sarafin-Diego] She doesn't say anything for a moment, she just throws away her paper towel and makes sure that she has her things. Perhaps it's best that they not have this conversation tonight. She nods, confirmation that, yes, she does want to talk about it. Whatever it is. Be it tribal matters or what was eating her or what she can do and all those flavors in between. Kate gets it, Cordelia smiles. It's that genuine thing again. She really it pretty, funny it's been so hard to notice until now.

"I appreciate it," she says, "goodnight, Katherine."

She starts to head off in the direction that she knows Christian's room is in. She even turns back and, "goodnight."

Lukas got one too. And it's off to bed with her.