[Drew Roscoe] Some days she was able to get off work early, project completed with an hour or two to spare. These days she would take the extra time to run some errands, stop by a market and buy herself something nice, then make her way home to make sure that she didn't have a dying Rotagar in the place of the healthy young pup she was housing for the time being. Other days (like today) her workload wound up doubling in size in a matter of hours and she ended up staying two and a half hours late and working through her lunch to boot.
Drew Roscoe was making her way up the sidewalk that crossed in front of St. Joseph's Memorial Hospital, fingers unprotected from the chill (mild, considering how it has been) of the settling evening working to finish buttoning up the heavy navy blue coat that was cut just below her hip. Her hair was back in a loose ponytail with a few licks of limp curls still remaining in the thick, lengthy mass of dark brown, suggesting she'd had it done nicely this morning but the wear and tear of the day had her raking fingers through it enough that she gave up and pulled it out of the way. She had a pair of gray slacks and low-heeled black boots that were muted along the ice-and-salt sidewalk.
There was a nice little cafe up a block and a half, she figured she'd swing by there before going home. She could use the warm drink for her throat, the smell of a coffee shop for her nerves, and the caffeine to handle a teenaged Garou at home.
[Drawn in Blood] For those who have spent their lives in cities, who have not simply ventured into or passed through one en route to another destination but actually learned how to navigate the intricate labyrinth of a metropolitan area. Most people have some semblance of assistance in this endeavor, but there is a trick to it. The heart of the activity occurs where the greatest concentration of buildings is located, and there are maps, and there are places where people are more willing to offer assistance to those who are looking for particular services.
Then there are those who have never ventured into a city before, who have been brought up their entire lives believing them to be sources of corruption of such magnitude that to have to traverse one for the purposes of arriving somewhere else is so desperately unappealing that it is avoided at all costs. They are death traps, those of higher ranks will say; even if they do not destroy the body they will almost certainly destroy the spirit, that which provides the thickest connection to Gaia.
He can see where all the fuss has come from: a place like this could cause a person to lose everything he has.
The man that starts past the coffeehouse moments after Drew is nothing so physically impressive as to be mistaken for a mountain, or even a wall. He's tall, and his build beneath his clothing--which consists of a thick sweatshirt zipped up to his throat in lieu of a heavier coat, jeans and heavy boots--is healthy and strong but not jaw-droppingly powerful. He does not look as though he could pick up a car and flip it onto its roof, yet there is a strength to him that is as much written into his physical features as it is announced on his frame.
To say that he's more beast than man is something of an exaggeration. While he certainly moves with an awareness of his body in space and a grace that goes beyond what most men of his height possess, it's the sharpness of his eyes and the way that his nostrils flare as if pulling in identity rather than mere scent that lends credence to the notion that--
But that's ridiculous. Of course he's a man. He's simply a frightening one. Attractive and young, there is something off about him. City-dwellers, educated or well-read, would think he has serial killer eyes. They're bright and don't blink too frequently and have a cast that suggests they've seen things most mortals can't comprehend.
He glances up, frowning, at the jingling that emits from the door when he walks in, and conversation in the immediate vicinity falls to a hush.
[Oliver] The thing about purebred kinfolk is, whether they intend it or not, whether they want it or not, things gravitate toward them. Even the ones whose blood is faint, like the lightest heartbeat, find themselves with company of the supernatural and Raging persuasion. Drew wants to grab a cup of coffee to brace herself for the Garou she has at home, a teen of her tribe.
Moments after Drew enters that coffee shop, a tower of Rage follows after.
And sitting in the back, in a little pocket of solitude, is a sunny blonde woman Drew may recognize. Joey Oliver sits watching the door, elbows on the table, chin on raised fists, looking at the people that come and go. Her straight hair is down today, falling over her shoulders. There are armwarmers on her forearms. today her t-shirt is a deep burnt orange, old and tattered at the edges, with an old Mossimo logo at her chest.
Brown eyes light up when the kinswoman enters. Joey lifts a hand in a wave, then wraps that hand around the lidded cup of something steaming in front of her, lifts it for a sip.
[Drew Roscoe] There is, a few steps behind Drew, a force of Nature just by grace of presence alone. When someone has that much Rage within them, there is a persistent typhoon swirling about them, buffeting away any who dare to come too close, forever twisting and waiting for a body to lash out at. Drew felt it at her back as she walked through the door, glanced briefly over her shoulder to Drawn in Blood's chest, then face, and chest again-- this always seemed the home of that kind of force, the place that drew the eyes the easiest when confronted by it.
She didn't immediately recognize him for what he was, she wasn't so sure of her senses as to presume. She had a sensation of recognizing something, that nagging worry that he was going to put hands about her throat and crush the life out of her before she had a chance to retaliate at all. She couldn't put her finger on what it meant right away.
So she continues inside, hands in her pocket, and idles a few feet back from the counter to eyeball the menu board. She smiles pleasantly at the young woman behind the counter, who pales at the sight of what just walked in the door-- completely overlooking Drew in that Beast's presence.
Suspicious, the Kin's eyes hop back to Drawn in Blood once more, studying him with less caution to her face now, more open study and caution and mistrust.
There's a wave from the corner, a smaller thrum of Rage, and Drew's eyes hop over to the young blond woman with her cup of coffee, smiling and waving as though it's only been a week or two since they'd run into one another last. Drew's eyebrows hop up her face an extra inch, she stares for a second to make sure she recognizes correctly, and then, finally, with a smile she lifts a hand to hail in return...
..only to nudge that hand in the Modi's general direction, thumb first, and keep her eyes on Joey in askance.
[Adrian Sandenberg] Goodness only knows how long Adrian is here, or why (well he is still a Northwestern student, so there's that, though he spends far more time out in the field these days than he does in the city), but that hardly matters, does it? There's a faint whiff of breeding just there, of Fenrir stock, and there's a long and lean blond with roughly chin-length hair in too perfect of disarray for it to be anything other than teased and product-ed into submission talking about some kind of artifact into a mobile that may not even be released in the US yet. His accent and cadence contradict each other subtly, marking him out as Not American, though it's hard to tell much else. W wants to be V and V wants to be F, and his vowels are shaped strangely; words are a different color when they emerge from his lips, when they travel through wind and wire(less) to reach distant ears.
He is quiet, this young man, but that does not make him soft.
One only has to look at the lines of him, at the angles of his jaw and the sharp of his eyes to know that he isn't just anyone - he's not the sort that one generally forgets quickly, with his straight (possibly knock) off the runway style. That has not changed, certainly, nor has the odd roundness amongst the angles of his face that gives an appearance of youth promptly belied by stormy bluegreengray eyes.
"Tschüss," ends the call, and the phone is sent to slumber in his pocket, just before he heads into this self-same (of all the juke joints in all the world . . .) cafedinerrestaurantcoffeeshop currently occupied by not just one but two people he knows at least in passing, and for similar reasons. He was not in line of sight before they entered, but around a corner somewhere over there - easy to miss, he, if not for that bit of It that he holds easily in his posture, in his demeanor, in that spot just there, hidden in the shadow of the fall of his hair. There is no Rage, but there is competence and strength and solemnity and intelligence, and there is Adrian.
He feels Joey before he sees her, and again there's something just there, a very slight tensing of shoulders, or a bite of the inside of his cheek. He knows that feeling, and what it means; he couldn't not, given his upbringing, and the way he's lived since. There's a nod, should she happen to be looking his way (and she is, sort of, in that the Afrikaaner finds himself in line behind Drew), and a slight pulling up of the corners of his lips. It's polite, this acknowledgement.
[Oliver] Adrian's noticed, and not simply for the breeding that sings through the air. The coffee shop is quickly filling with the brood of Fenris, but so far, the ones Joey sees? She knows. The pretty boy kin gets a pleased grin and an upward nod. The last time she saw him, Joey doesn't remember him being terribly comfortable in her presence.
Her attention shifts back to Drew, and Drawn in Blood standing nearby. She catches that look of silent query. Mouth quirked, her eyes drift ceiling-ward a second, then back to the kinswoman with a nod. Yep.
[Drawn in Blood] The kinswoman is so much smaller than he is. That she does not cower away, attempting to put as much distance between herself and this pillar of Rage that comes into the cafe moments after her, speaks of her experience. It also draws his attention in further and closer than it had been drawn simply by catching her breeding as he walked through the door. She looks at him, so much larger than she is, and she has the gall to look not at his shoes but at his face before looking away again.
Anyone watching him, perhaps, would find the expression on his face interested, or baffled, as a novice anthropologist must appear the first time he encounters an indigenous people in the field.
Once the initial shock of the moment passes, it comes to his attention that he's inside of a cafe. Blue eyes travel the interior of the establishment, far different than the diners and the cantinas back home. The espresso machine sounds like a small plane preparing to take off, milk steaming and plates clattering. Those sitting closes to the door are carefully deciding whether to continue their conversation here and brave the potential slaughter that will occur if this young man goes off the deep end, or pick up their cups and head back out into the cold.
A few people choose the latter. It's getting late, after all. They rationalize it. The human brain is conditioned to explain away that which it does not understand by chalking it up to the supernatural, to the all-powerful, yet somewhere in the recesses of their minds, it's understood why they fear Rage. It is entirely subconscious.
The kinswoman waves, and the Modi sees his tribeswoman sitting in the back. Although he does not wave, the cut of his gaze indicates that he's seen her. He looks between Joey and the darker-haired woman before looking back to the former. His eyebrows lift, but he doesn't call out to her.
He also doesn't move from where he'd stopped, either, which makes escape all the more desirable to those considering it because it's more difficult.
[Drew Roscoe] If Drew had a photographic memory, if she didn't have experiences and memories in piles that still haven't been entirely sorted out, she would recognize Adrian-- she'd met him once before in passing. She'd remember what auspice Joey was or who she used to see her hanging around. She doesn't, though, not any of these are recalled. Adrian's glanced at briefly because he's walked in, because his face glimmers something of brief familiarity, but not enough for her to bring anything to mind right away.
Joey nods, confirms what Drew was asking. No words necessary, there was only one question that could really be asked right now.
The Modi, standing still and near the doorway, looking surprised to find himself in a cafe, looking surprised that Drew had risked a glance toward his face rather than watched his shoes while she skittered out of arm's reach, was in for a larger surprise if that was all it took to get his goat. The Kin turned about to face him directly. This doesn't mean she stands right in his path, she's not going to block him from going anywhere, not so much as it means it's unmistakable that she's addressing him and not some person that might have snuck up behind him through the door.
"Stranger," she greets him as. Her smile is small, but it doesn't need to be face-splitting to pour over warmth and welcome. She nods her head toward Joey. "Wanna come sit with us? I'll grab you a coffee, any you like."
Please let Joey be right, please don't drag me outside by the neck and eviscerate me, please be a good guy, please don't let my being so straightforward be my end.
[Drawn in Blood] Stranger, she calls him, and this doesn't strike him as anything other than what it is: a greeting to a person for whom she has no name. He stands with his shoulders back and his arms at his sides, does not fidget or try to find something to do with his hands; they're just there, not even bitten by the cold but enduring, the flames of his Rage beating back the encroaching threat of frostbite in this weather. Though he feels like an bonfire, there is no madness in his gaze. He is not in danger of losing his mind tonight, although those who have spent any amount of time in this world knows that is no consolation.
All it takes is a slight, or an insult, or a genuine upset, to push a Garou's Rage higher than he can handle.
The kinswoman smiles, and though it's tiny, it does not feel any colder or more forced for its lack of teeth-bearing beaming. The Modi's eyebrows lift in acknowledgment, and when she asks if he wants to sit with 'us,' he looks back over her head to where Joey is sitting.
Should she meet his gaze, the tall Garou lifts his chin in a nod before looking back down at the woman. She offers to buy him coffee, and he considers the offer wordlessly. A furrowed brow, indicating thought rather than indecision, and after a moment to roll his lower lip between his teeth, he gives a game yet silent nod.
Okay. Yes. Thank you.
[Adrian Sandenberg] There is this: Adrian was not uncomfortable with Joey because she is one of the most Rage-full Rotagars he's met in his life, but for some other reason entirely. That reason still exists, and the kin still does what he can to keep it hidden from most, despite what Joey'd told him. (I'm from Las Vegas. I don't care who you do, it had been, or something similar.) Too many words (bruise yellow-green-purple-blue-black) ring around and over and through them, and he still makes sure he smiles appreciatively at pretty girls and that his eyes don't linger overly long on men. He is, as much as he can manage being, everything one might expect of a handsome twenty-something foreigner, the last of which he uses to explain a great many oddities of behavior that might crop up. 'Oh, of course. My apologies - where I'm from, that's how things are.'
Including, of course, the one sizing up Drew. "Hallo," he says to the kin, and that upturn of his lips turns up a little more; he hadn't known her well, or met her often, but he remembers her as being nice, he thinks. This doesn't mean he remembers her name or where he met her, though based on the two of them being amongst the few not considering vacating gives him more than a couple ideas on that. It's quiet, though, that greeting, and not at all intrusive in what she has to say to Drawn in Blood; salutation given, he simply moves around Drew, out of their way, and to the counter where he orders two coffees, both black. His own, he has no intention of adding anything to - for Joey, he grabs two packets of each kind of powder-ish sweetener and the pitcher of cream (the barista can yell at him if she feels like it).
"And hallo to you, too. I hope you don't mind," he says, sliding the drink her way, and adding pitcher and sweeteners as well. He doesn't sit, not without invitation. "It's been awhile."
[Matthews] A car, black.
A Gnawer, white.
Together in harmony.
A door clicks shut outside and Hunter drags a palm along the smooth bonnet of his birthday present. He grins at it, walking backwards and nearly stumbles over the side of the curb because of it. But if Hunter Matthews is anything, then it is dexterous, it takes a lot to knock him down. He tosses the keys into the air once, catches them and pockets them before heading inside. He's already talking to Joey before he sees her, has been talking to her the whole time.
So, it's fuckin' FREEZING. Jesus fuckin' christ, I feel god damn sorry for you Joey, is this what it's fuckin' like all the time for you? Muther fucker.
The Muther Fucker ushered as he spots all the god damn Vikings in the place. It's like a family reunion with a family that all hate each other -- so yeah, just a normal family reunion.
He doesn't waste time, makes straight to the back and finds the Rotagar in a little pocket of solitude. He spots Drew, memories come back of a certain girl who lost that lovin' feeling. He grins, then the grin fades away. Memories. Not always that pleasant when you start to think about them too much. She gets a "Yo' girl." The towering silent Modi gets a nod and a "Sup Dibs".
"JoJoJoJo." He says and spins a chair around to lean against the back of it up against the table that she's sitting at. That is all he says.
He is dressed up like an Eskimo. He has a furred hooded jacket and a moment after he sits down he peels it back over his ears. It bunches up at the back of his head. He looks very cozy.
[Drawn in Blood] [INITS]
[Oliver] Joey sits in the corner, sipping hot chocolate about as primly as anyone could ever imagine the Rotagar doing anything. Which is to say she sits at her table, pretty yet distinctly tomboyish, and she holds her cup in both hands while she drinks, letting the heat of the drink warm her palms. She watches Drew, who she has fought with once, maybe twice, who she hasn't seen in ages. And she watches the Modi. There's protectiveness in that look. Though they're all of the same tribe, Joey remembers Joe, the first to call her JoJo. They weren't friends, but they shared a drink a few times. He was the Jarl.
Joey looks out for the former Jarl's girl. If the stranger behind her, or anyone else, laid a hand on her, they'd find a few hundred pounds of angry Fenrir Hispo clamping sharp jaws around their head.
She knows that stranger, though. Well she doesn't know him, but she's met him and fought with him. That's enough for her to place him in the category of Alright by me.
Her eyes unfocus slightly, the sign of a packmate speaking to another by nonvocal means. Or of an airhead. She smiles to herself.
'S not that bad, dude. Quit'cher bitchin'.
Joey sits in the corner, giving every last one of them a come hither look until Hunter plops himself down by her. "Jesus, dude, got enough layers?"
[Matthews] [excellent]
[Drawn in Blood] [+7!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5
[Matthews] [+11]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
[Drawn in Blood] [Wait for it, this is the most exciting-ass declare you will ever see in your life...
1: Punch Hunter!]
[Matthews] [1 - punch! Let's punch each other this is fun!]
[Matthews] [punchin]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Matthews] [dmg+1]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [Nice punch blanco niño.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4 (Failure at target 6)
[Drawn in Blood] [1: come on Kahseeno you broke my heart last night :( -1 pool (OW)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 6 at target 6) [WP]
[Drawn in Blood] [+5]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 6, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Matthews] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Lukas] Lake View isn't exactly the slums. An affluent, quiet neighborhood of brick townhouses and quaint little cafes, it's not exactly the sort of place you can just ... throw down in without raising a few eyebrows.
Or hairs. Or alarms.
As the Ahrouns go at each other, nearby patrons gasp and murmur. One barista ducks, as though expecting bullets. Another runs into the back to get the manager, as though this might help. The patrons nearest the door get up, grab their coffees, and hustle out --
nearly running into Lukas in the process. The woman lets out a little shriek, jumping so hard coffee sloshes out of her to-go cup. The Shadow Lord furrows at her a moment, mystified, and then steps politely aside to let her and her pale-faced husband past. When he steps into the cafe, the brawl's just getting started in earnest, and Lukas's frown deepens to see it.
He doesn't interfere -- yet. He folds his arms across his chest, leans his shoulder against the doorjamb, and watches.
[Drew Roscoe] Hunter bursts in out of nowhere, rolling in with the strength of presence that every person Drew has met with that much Rage has always had... yet his always seemed to be tinged with the sort of air that a schoolwide-recognized class clown entered a room with. People looked up and expected something wacky, remotely funny, but mostly just boundaries pushing and authority rebelling.
Drew was accepting Drawn in Blood's nods by widening her smile some and nodding over toward Joey to indicate he should go join her, was turning to face the ordering counter, when hell decided to break loose.
Yo girl. Sup Dibs.
Something ignites and the two bodies slam into action, Rage skyrocketing, motions flicker-flash. It's difficult at first to determine what really happened, all that the average person recognizes is that violence erupted, and no matter how brief it could have been, with that much Rage they may as well have pulled guns and shot a few people in the foreheads.
The baristas scream, the few customers that hadn't left yet twitch and flinch and jerk instinctively away (even though it was only one punch each that had been exchanged), and Drew doesn't even hesitate. It seems every time she meets a new anybody they decide to get into a fight. It seemed to her that this Hunter guy (and the people he's usually with) tends to rub people the wrong way without even trying. Drew would later look back and scold herself for being suicidally stupid, but for the moment she didn't hesitate.
Rather, she seized Drawn in Blood by the back of his waistband, because the scruff of his shirt was too high up for good leverage and a centerpoint in the body, like the waist, was easier to manipulate movement by than something as easy to jerk away from as being held near the neck would be. Waistband in hand, Drew marched toward the door and pulled sharply on the Modi to 'strongly suggest' he follow.
The smile was gone, frustration and an end to a line of patience were there instead. It didn't make that face any less cute, though.
[Matthews] There are punches thrown. Hunter gets his cheek scuffed, Drawn in Blood gets his nose cracked open.
Of course it had to go down like that, there wasn't really any other way for it to go down. Still, despite the lack of hesitation from the Gnawer, he can't help but look a bit surprised after it's all done. Not at the outcome, but at the fact that it happened at all. He looks back to Joey at the table like
What I do?
He looks around at the patrons, all scrambling, fleeing and sighs. Then his eyes settle on something far more Ragey than either him or the Modi. The sort of Rage that you can feel on the back of your neck. He looks at the Shadowlord, tips his head then sits down into a chair at the table.
"Shieeeet."
[Drawn in Blood] 'Suicidal' is about the only word to describe what Drew does in response to what happens.
Clearly, the Modi doesn't particularly enjoy being calls 'Dibs' by the Bone Gnawer. Now, he seems, by Full Moon standards, to have his shit together. He isn't bristling with unchecked Rage before the fight starts, but once Hunter nearly breaks his nose and sends blood exploding and then cascading down his lower jaw and the front of his sweatshirt, he loses his balance. That's when his anger flares up, hot enough that there isn't a human being in this room who can stand to be around him after the fight, such as it is, is over.
He made his point: he doesn't like that name. But he appears as though he knows better than to hit someone for no real apparent reason, as though he could have just used his words to indicate that wasn't necessary, but he didn't. He used his fist.
Joey, at least, has some semblance of an idea as to why he might have done that. To everyone else, though, he's just a psychopath.
Which brings us back to Drew grabbing him by the waistband of his jeans and hauling him back. Somehow he has the presence of mind not to wheel on her, and he doesn't snarl and snap his jaws as he's essentially dragged out of the cafe by a woman a foot shorter and sixty pounds lighter.
Without even shooting a glower back over his shoulder at Hunter, the nameless man lets himself be pushed to the door. Although he does slam through it, he doesn't attack it. He's just rough with it.
Once outside, the Modi snorts and spits a wad of blood into the snow.
[Oliver] The reactions of the patrons isn't lost on the Rotagar. Never one to turn her nose down at a good little scuffle, she sighs, finishes off her hot chocolate, and starts gathering up her belongings.
One punch is thrown, one returned. That's the end of it, but the damage is already done. A manager is being cajoled into coming out and speaking to the rowdy ones in the cafe. Of course she doesn't want to, she doesn't get paid enough to deal with Rage the likes of what's swirling around the tables.
Hunter goes to sit down as Joey's rising. She grabs hold of the shoulder of his coat and pulls.
"Nuh uh, we're gettin' outta here." Drew's already tugging at the Modi. Joey looks that way, watching to ensure tempers aren't about to flare all over again, at least not until they get outside. Whether Hunter goes with her or not, the Rotagar heads for the door, tossing her empty cup in a bin. On the way out, she offers Lukas an upward nod of greeting.
Outside, she looks at Drawn in Blood, brow quirked as she tightens her orange scarf and pulls a black wool cabbie's hat over her blond hair.
"The fuck was that?" she asks him.
[Lukas] The Fenrir don't quite get outside. And Hunter doesn't hunker down quite enough to become invisible.
Lukas puts his arm mildly, almost casually across the door, barring it. He looks past the Modi, pinning Hunter with a direct, pale stare. It's cold outside, and the Shadow Lord looks every inch his tribe: black or charcoal grey from head to toe, newsboy cap to shoes. His gloves are black, too. Hunter can see, because Lukas beckons to him -- a single, firm motion of two or three fingers.
When he's come over, quite possibly with Joey in tow, Lukas drops his arm from the doorframe and escorts them all outside. Joey wants to know what the fuck; Lukas doesn't quite give him, or anyone else, an opportunity to answer.
"Obviously," he remarks, voice low, tone low, "I'm not keeping you busy enough if you have time to terrorize cafe populations. Who are you?"
That's to Drawn in Blood.
[Matthews] There is another sigh, this one overly dramatic and he lifts his chin to look at Joey as she's tugging on his jacket. "I just fuckin' sat down." He says and then after she's let go of him he gets up of his own accord, he doesn't need to be pulled, doesn't need to be dragged out of there like the Modi had just previously been. He isn't moving because his Beta just pulled on him, he's moving because of that look from the Shadow Lord.
He walks calmly, he doesn't hurry and by the time he gets to the door Lukas is ready to 'let' them through.
The Rotagar has words. Lukas has more words.
Hunter licks over a canine and watches the Modi. Who are you is a good god damn question, what do you like to be called would be a better one.
[Drew Roscoe] Lukas had somehow manifested by the doorway, Drew's eyes flick from chest to face to chest when she passes him. The expression of irritation at the cafe needing to be vacated due to blows between two Ahrouns still didn't sit well with her, but there was a flash of recognition in the Kin, a lingering of her plain brown eyes on Lukas's ice-blue ones. A greeting there, but more of a 'good to see you're still alive' than a simple 'hello'.
Once outside, Drawn in Blood slaps the door closed, even if it flaps open a handful of moments later from Joey pushing her way out. Drew let go of the Modi's pants once they were out on the sidewalk. She's shaking her head and frowning, scooping some of the more freshly fallen snow from the top of a small circular table set up outside the cafe front and holding it out in an offering to him. For his face, to press into his nose to ease the swelling and the hot red flash of pain that would be burning from a broken nose.
"You guys," is all that Drew has to say. It's chiding, lightly scolding, exasperated... but accepting all the same. Like when a mother finds that her children had taken the pink party napkins and wallpapered the bathroom with them by dipping them in toilet water and sticking them to the walls. Boys will be Boys, Garou will be Aggressive.
Joey's demanding to know what that was all about, Lukas is speaking in a low, almost rumbling voice, demanding an identity. Drew doesn't pipe up. Pleasantries for the two could be saved for when Rage wasn't beating against her skull in pulsing waves.
[Drawn in Blood] No one but the Vanguard have ever seen this young man before, and that was only as of yesterday. So far as anyone can tell he hasn't been to the Caern yet, and he's not staying at the Brotherhood; he hasn't introduced himself to the Jarl, and he hadn't received the rundown on Who Is Who in Chicago.
What Lukas can tell of him is that he is Fenrir. Even if it weren't for his blood smacking of it, it being written into his bones, his musculature, the color of his eyes, the way he carries himself even as he's being dragged by his waistband speaks of control. This is a proud creature standing in front of Lukas, attempting to keep himself from losing that control even as it's becoming even more difficult.
He's breathing heavily, through his mouth even as his nose continues to bleed. The blood is slowing down quickly, though it has nothing to do with the severity or lack thereof of the punch that Hunter dealt him. There was a snap as cartilage bruised and torrents of blood for several seconds, yet the latter is gone, now, and the former is difficult to make out with the dark red splattered on his face. His breathing, it's worth mentioning, is not voiced even as he struggles with his Rage.
There isn't much doubt that the Garou Lukas is attempting to talk to has an intact sense of morality, that he understands how things work and why things are the way they are. Yet he looks beyond annoyed to have a larger, more dominant wolf stepping into his path and barring him exit. He tempers what has to be a desire to glare at the Shadow Lord, and when the kinswoman hands him the clot of snow, he uses it to wash the blood off of his face.
But he doesn't speak. He's furious, visibly so, and when Lukas asks who he is, he frowns and throws the sullied snow onto the pavement. Without looking at Joey for assistance, he wipes his nose on the back of his sweatshirt sleeve and looks around. For what, he doesn't say; but he also doesn't immediately answer the question.
[Lukas] The Shadow Lord, a veritable monolith of heat and rage on this wintry day, shifts his weight and draws a breath that comes within a hair of being a sigh. Then he lowers his chin and looks Drawn in Blood right in the eye.
"I'm Lukáš Wyrmbreaker. I am a Fostern. I am the Alpha of the Ahrouns, the Shadow Lords, and the Unbroken pack under Perun. Now I've given you my introduction. It would be a courtesy to do the same in return."
Thus far, he's only glanced briefly at Drew; acknowledged her look with a small dip of his head, a curious look in his eye. For now, though, his focus remains on his younger Trueborn brethren.
[Oliver] It's true. So far only The Vanguard have had any interaction with this strange young Modi, and of the two of them, Joey has had opportunity to learn the most about him.
She stands back, hands in the pockets of her hoodie, head canted, watching to see what he'll do in this situation, how he'll work his way around his...handicap? Deformity? That she doesn't know.
He doesn't look at her as he casts about, doesn't expect help from this particular quarter, and at first Joey's content to let her curiosity win out. And then Lukas tips his chin down.
"Fer fuck's sake," she mutters. Twisting at the middle, she folds back the flap of her messenger bag and roots around for something. What she finds is her receipt for the hot cocoa and a pencil. Stepping forward, she offers these to Drawn in Blood.
[Matthews] Lukas asks him again and Hunter watches the Modi with a strangely raised eyebrow and realisation dawns on his face. He has never heard the man talk. Not even a snarl. Did Joey mention he was mute? Perhaps. Hunter doesn't always have the best memory. "He can't fuckin'.." The words aren't harsh, just stating a point but they are cut off by Joey muttering and searching around for a pencil and paper to which she gives him.
[Drawn in Blood] Insolence doesn't sneak into his bearing or his demeanor, even when the Shadow Lord ducks his head to eat away at the inches between their height and catch the Modi's attention. He still wears an expression of annoyance bordering on outright anger, but he does not act on it. He stares back at Lukas, looking at his nose even though the larger wolf is aiming for the Cliath's eyes, and when he's finished his own introduction, the near-Adren is met with raised eyebrows.
Yet he still doesn't look to Joey with any sort of desperation or plea for assistance.
Drawing a breath that rattles slightly with clotted blood in his nostrils, the Modi steps back and resumes the search for whatever it is that he thinks is more important than speaking up and answering the question that has been posed to him twice now.
For fuck's sake.
He can't fuckin'--
Clearly, the problem isn't that he can't hear: the young man shoots a skin-peeling glower of warning at Hunter, still without snarling or loosing any verbal threat. To his credit, he doesn't attack him again. When he looks over at Joey then, for the first time since he attempted to punch her Alpha, he waits, heavy eyebrows raised in muted curiosity. When she produces a tiny piece of paper and a pencil, he doesn't smile or mouth thanks.
He looks back to Lukas, the trickle from his nostrils now dried up completely, and uses the dry palm of his right hand rather than the slick surface of an abandoned table to write his introduction. The glyphs are as close to fluent as they'll get in this medium, and they are translated as:
Drawn in Blood
Cliath Modi
Pack gone
Try though he might--and does--he can't keep himself from thrusting the paper at Lukas rather than politely handing it to him.
[Simon Zahradnik] Simon was summoned and so where he is summoned is where he will be. Focused eyes looking ahead as he enters into the Cafe at the request of his elder. Young still but a little wiser and more experienced than the punk who showed up in this city nearly a year ago. He was dressed in his typical dark hoodie, coat, and jeans. It was cold enough that his Bandanna was covering his mouth and nose until he walked in, cause walking into a building wearing a hoodie and a bandanna is not generally seen as good news, he also pulled the hoodie down so as not to set the staff's nerves on end any higher than they already were.
His rage boiled over, even moreso than usual lately and he was adapting and adjusting to the changes. Though he still wore that brilliant and somewhat smug little grin of certainty. He was confident in himself and his abilities... When you are asked on a nightly basis to face down overwhelming odds you have to be!
Simon wandered to the counter and ordered a drink, and he even left a little tip... Because he fuckin' felt like it! Are you gonna argue with a homicidal asshole about why he just gave you a tip? Fuck no! Money is money... Who cares if it's got a little blood on it! At least it's not yours right?
When he had his drink in hand he drew it to his lips and began to look around the Cafe in search of Lukas.
[Lukas] The penny drops as Oliver gets out something to write on, and write with. Lukas -- whose direct stare was never quite threatening, but certainly was direct -- is patient, then, waiting for the younger wolf to make his introduction the only way he can.
There are no scars on Drawn's neck. Lukas can only assume he was born this way. A Metis. A mule. He accepts the slip of paper, reads it, and then turns it over and holds his gloved hand out for the pencil. Onto the back of the paper he scribbles an address and a name.
Kora.
"This is your Tribe Alpha in the city. She'll help you get settled, and her pack has no Ahroun right now. She'll find you something more productive to beat on than a Bone Gnawer in an upscale cafe, and maybe she'll even take you into her pack."
He hands paper and pencil over, then turns his attention to the Vanguard.
"As for the two of you -- the Vanguard, right, under Cat? Good fighters, not bad at sneaking. Am I on target?"
[Matthews] Hunter nods his head to Lukas without hesitation, speaking up for the both of them.
"Ya' bout right. Not bad's puttin' it lightly tho' don't mind me sayin' -rhya."
Wait, did Hunter just call someone rhya?
[Drawn in Blood] The look on the Modi's face when Lukas informs him that perhaps the Jarl can find him something more productive to do than what he was doing tonight is easily translated as a dry Oh, hah hah. He cannot vocalize this, and he doesn't come up with any way of attempting to thank the Ahroun Elder for passing along the information as to where he could find the rest of his tribe. Blood-stained fingers take back the paper, then the pencil, which he hands off to Joey. Wiping his face one more time, the still-nameless-to-her young man looks to Drew, his expression briefly apologetic, then steps away from the congregation and starts off down the street without excusing himself.
It isn't for lack of awareness that that is the socially acceptable means of leaving a conversation, but of all the things he is worried about, seeming rude doesn't appear to be one of them.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew had, for the most part, stood near the curb, distancing herself from the whole congregation of Garou without moving too far away, out of earshot, or appearing to be separate from the group from an outsider's point of view. She stood with her hands in her coat pockets, after she'd shaken the snow from the hand that had offered it to the Modi with the broken nose, and listened in. Watched as writing utensils were passed to Drawn in Blood-- realization spread on the Kin's face there, but faded into nothing soon enough.
All goes back and forth, Lukas's attention hops from Drawn in Blood to Hunter and Joey (A pack, huh? Really now?), and the Modi takes the chance to glance toward her, look somewhat apologetic, and then make his way up the sidewalk. Drew pauses, but only for a moment, before nodding briskly to the three left in front of the cafe.
"Joey, Lukas. Glad to see you're both still around, I'll have to catch up with ya sometime. Gonna go... be Family for the time being, though." Hunter gets a momentary stare, a shake of the head, and she's walking after Drawn in Blood with the low, dull clack-clack of utilitarian work heels on the pavement to carry her away.
[Oliver] Joey watches Lukas and the Ahrouns. Drawn in Blood isn't the only one to shoot Hunter a quelling look, though the look from his Beta is less skin-melting. There's no point in pointing out the obvious, once they've all figured it out.
When the Modi hands her back her pencil, she accepts it with a wry grin. He leaves without a word, perhaps in search of the rest of their tribe in Chicago. Joey watches his retreat, nods to Drew and waves. "Yeah, later."
Then, her attention's back on the sept's war leader.
[Lukas] Lukas turns briefly from the Vanguard to nod to the departing Drew, a faint smile turning up the corner of his mouth. "It's good to see you're back, Drew." The polite corollary would be to wish Joe well -- but something, some sixth sense, some intuition, keeps Lukas from saying it. "See you," is all he says before turning back to the Vanguard.
"That's good," he says, "because things have been quiet in the area, but I doubt it'll stay that way. It'll be good to have some advance notice. Where do you guys usually roam? Lakeview?"
[Matthews] "Bronze, southside." He repeats, and he watches the retreat of Drew while he says it. It isn't a look that roams her form or finds appreciation in a beautiful woman. It's a look like, she don't like me much I dun know why!
"Speakin' a which, been in contact with Imogen n'Kora. Got some funky shit goin' down on my side'a town mainly. Some in the green too but mostly my side. Don't know much yet but it seems.."
He frowns.
"S'like corporate fronts n'shit ya' know? But worse'n that, it's them that live out north if ya' catch my drift. I'm sure ya' heard bout' it already but yeah. Keepin' busy with that right now."
[Drawn in Blood] [THANKS FOR THE SCENE SUCKERS]
[Simon Zahradnik] Simon spots Lukas outside and he is drawn in that direction once he has some coffee. His hoodie is pulled back on, however, and he moves to find the group. His attention sliding over the others outside the building. Curiosity about why he has been summoned here, and what, exactly, his elder wished of him. Lukas was more than just an Elder Ahroun, or an Elder, he was an Elder Shadow Lord and no matter how one might attempt to separate individuals from their tribes there would always be a link there between them.
He greeted all those gathered outside. A little smile worn as he lifted his cup before turning his attention to Lukas."You rang Rhya. I got here as quickly as I could."He says figuring he should announce his presence properly. It was only then that he took the time to acknowledge the others gathered. Joey wasn't technically lower in station but it was Lukas he came to meet... Besides the old man was getting up there in years and bound to be a little farther ahead rank wise than Joey!
[Lukas] "Good. I was going to reassign you to Bronzeville if you weren't there already. Most of the skirmishes that go down in this city seem centered there. Cabrini looks like hell, but the Fenrir seem to keep it under control.
"I want you and your packmate to keep tabs on that place and whatever might be going on. Keep lines of communication open with Dark Sky, too. They'll probably be joining you in the area. We might need to recon the Hive area again soon, too. The Knights at the Church have been taking heavier losses again recently. Something might be up, and right now the two of you are looking more and more like my best scouting pack. So be ready for that."
A beat.
"So don't fuck around getting in brawls." It takes a certain sort of person, personality, and composure to sling off obscenities so smoothly, so sternly. "In Lakeview, of all places. What was that all about?"
[Matthews] He listens, nods, pays attention. It isn't often Hunter Matthews gets the chance to look like a soldier rather than a charismatic thug. Sure he is a leader in battle, a warrior, but this isn't natural right here. This is practised.
"Keepin' em, Keepin' em" he says almost quietly to himself when Lukas mentions lines of communication with Dark Sky.
And when finally he gets asked a question? He doesn't sigh, he just raises both his eyebrows.
"I just said hello to the guy s'all called em' dibs cause that's his deed name n'all. He's been hangin' with JoJo a bit so thought I'd try get friendly with em' but guess he took it the wrong way."
"I ain't come here for a fight, I just ended one s'all."
[Lukas] And:
"Simon. No need to hurry -- just wanted to talk about the war-readiness of the packs of the Sept, but let me finish up with the Vanguard first. I was just telling them that I might pair your packs up in Bronzeville's defense. You spend a lot of time down in that area, don't you?"
[Oliver] Hunter listens, pays attention. Joey watches on, silently attentive. Her attention becomes more focused at mention of scouting the Hive.
"I'm gonna talk to Honor's Compass about challengin' for Ragabash leader before the month's out, boss. Someone's gotta rally the scouts."
She falls silent again when talk turns to the brawl, but this silence holds a different weight to it. It's thoughtful, considering.
"That guy's gotta lotta pride. You saw how he was 'bout trying to communicate." It's all she says aloud.
Dibs? Seriously? The questions are not amused.
[Lukas] "Fair enough. Fenrir tend to take their names seriously. It's a thing of pride for them, particularly their Ahrouns. Just ask Joey. You didn't know better, but now you do. Find him and make peace with him. If the only peace he'll accept comes at the expense of an all-out brawl, then forge your peace that way -- but do it somewhere where the humans can't see you.
"And before you say it -- I know he started it. But you're an Alpha with a strong totem, and he's a metis without a pack. That puts the responsibility on you for keeping your relations civil."
To Joey, then, "Good. I haven't seen Leaves No Trace for months. That either means he's doing a very good job or a very bad one. I suspect we'll find out which when you challenge."
[Simon Zahradnik] He nods his head and shrugs his shoulders."Dark Sky has largely been based in Lake View but we're at war. I'm not gonna fuck around or fuck with someone's territory but for the most part I go where I am needed. If that is Bronzeville then that is where I will go. If that is the middle of the ocean... That's where I go too. Cept space... I don't do space. You want someone up there get a Glasswalker they love that kinda crap anyway."He corrects at the end. It was his way of cracking a little joke.
"I've been doing some hunting and searching on my own... But it's hard without proper organization and orchestration between packs to really gain much ground. So if you want us to start working together I have no problem doing just that. I'd much rather we head more in that direction anyway... Not gonna help any of us if we bicker about who gets to defend what side of town when our enemies are united against us."He says with a little nod of his head. He's apparently already in agreement with this as it seems to be something he's been thinking about already.
"If any pack needs us we stand ready to respond. If not the rest of my pact then you can sure as hell bet that I am ready. Anytime anywhere..."He says with a sharp nod of his head.
[Matthews] "I'll sort it." He confirms with Lukas in response to his relations with the new metis Modi and that is the end of it. His eyes shift to Simon to listen to him talk. Man can he talk. It just so happens though that the topic is of interest to the Alpha of the Vanguard.
"Don't mind help in ma' hood if I know's bout' it. Don't liken no surprises when it comes ta' shit like that. We should have'a sit down sometime, keep up healthy outlooks n'all that for when the shit hits the fan."
That's all he has to say about that really. His eyes go back to Lukas.
"Well ya' know what ya' got in ya' corner. When the time comes we'll be up there, just like our name. Ain't nobody gettin' in and out like The Vanguard."
His eyes go to Joey, then back to the War Leader and Simon. An obvious raised eyebrow. That all?
[Lukas] "I know," Lukas replies, and then gives both Hunter and Joey a nod. The dismissal couldn't be clearer if they were all in uniform and saluting. The big Shadow Lord turns to his tribesman instead, his hands sliding into his pockets as he tilts his head toward the parking lot.
"The humans inside are too jazzed up for us to talk in there. We'll have to talk in the car." He takes his keys out, tosses them to Simon. "Give me a minute to grab a coffee and I'll be right out."
[Matthews] And that is that.
"Last one home has ta' do dishes." He says to Joey, and makes a bolt for his car.
[Oliver] Hunter bolts for his car, Joey just watches him go. She turns to Lukas. "Later, Lukas." No rhya. Feels so weird.
She doesn't run for Cassius. She doesn't have to.
[Simon Zahradnik] He watches the other two leave with a silent and Empty look on his face and then he watches Lukas through the window. He wasn't going anywhere... He would wait and do as he is told/directed by his elder.
[Oliver] [woo thanks for the scene, ya'll!]
[Prayers to Broken Stone] People in Lake View are accustomed to seeing some strange things.
Sometimes, usually when there's a full moon in the sky some really odd occurrences happen, too. Tonight there's barely a sliver of one left yet it didn't stop the Ahrouns having a fist fight in the middle of the Cafe. It also doesn't, apparently, prevent a Fianna Galliard from appearing around the corner of a block covered in drying black goop; it dots his coat; the shirt beneath which was some lurid colored abomination that set off the uncanny blue of the Fiann's eyes.
He's broad-shouldered, bares the breeding of a son of Stag and is accompanied by a Silent Strider who, while not as coated in grime as he, also bears the signs of a recent battle. The blond has his hands in his pockets; his eyes downcast; though every now and then he raises them to glance at his companion and frown.
He does not slow down, as they come upon the Cafe. Or seem to care, particularly, if he gets the odd glance, an up and down of uneasiness.
[princess] Asha is napping in the backseat of Lukas' car. It's almost sweet. Her dark head is pillowed in a cloud of gleaming back hair, and she's curled up in a fetal position - sleeping the sleep not of the dead, but of wolves - which is to say, she'll be deeply asleep until she's startled awake by movement outside.
And then she will be immediately, utterly awake.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She's walking along at Patrick's side, in a much better mood from the looks of it than the Fianna. "...don't worry. You loosened the lid of the jar, so to speak. I just finished it up." Whether Patrick was worried or not about that may be a completely different story, but she's putting it out there anyway as they walk along. If Sarita is worried about what people think of her and Patrick's odd appearance, she sure as hell isn't showing it. In fact, when someone on the corner gives them a strange look, she pauses turns her head in their direction.
"OIL! Go tell J.P. Morgan, we struck ]black gold! Texas tea, right here in River City!" The now thoroughly-wierded out person gets the excuse they need to escape their rage, and Sarita grins and speeds her steps to make up the small amount of lost ground.
[Lukas] Lukas is back outside in record time. It seems no one in the cafe wants to delay his order. He's fasttracked to the front of the line, and then his drink is fasttracked past a row of empty waiting cups. Two, three minutes tops and he's coming back out with a steaming cup of joe in hand. If he's surprised to see Simon still waiting, he doesn't show it. He tilts his head toward the car, holding his hand out for his keys as he goes.
The front doors unlock. Asha comes instantly awake, and then Lukas climbs in, depressing the car on its shocks.
"Have you met Asha? Asha, this is Simon Bone-Grinder, my tribesman, fellow Ahroun, and current Wyrmfoe of the Sept. Simon, Asha K&+257;lar&+257;tri, my packmate, also an Ahroun."
[princess] Too bad Thomas wasn't asleep in the front seat. He'd introduce Asha properly. Instead, she's to be contented with two names and a moon-sign. The creature straightens, pushes a hand through sleep-tousled hair and yawns once, revealing perfect rows of sharp white teeth before she snaps her mouth closed and shakes free of the lingering hints of sleepiness, chasing them from the edges of her consciousness like cobwebs burned from the darkest corners of the room.
"Hi." Asha says, making a mental note that they've not been properly introducted. Keeping it mental so as not to shame her Alpha.
[Simon Zahradnik] Simon follows... Why Lukas would be surprised if at all would be beyond him! The Full Moon had asked him to stay so they could speak! It would actually be rather impolite to disobey his elder like that would it not? Still he walks to the door and glances in at the sight of Asha. He smiles a little and he nods his head...
"She distracted a dragon for me once... But Adam scared it off before I could strike the killing blow. Ruined what woulda been a great story to tell my eventual children about their father. Still we made it out alive so it's all good!"He says with a grin."It's a pleasure to meet you Rhya..."He did not know if she was his elder or not, the rank was not mentioned but she was Packmate to his alpha so he opted for respectful.
His smile showed as he looked her over. Cautious and curious to see if she recalled that little bit of history.
[Prayers to Broken Stone] She's trying to comfort him about the gigantic garden worm from Hell they just slaughtered and set on fire in Bronzeville; and the Fianna walking at her side slants her a rather incredulous look, and punctuates it with a snort. It's good natured, though, at least as good natured as you were likely to receive from Patrick right now.
Ahead of them, a blaze of Rage in the form of the current Ahroun Elder walks out of a Cafe with coffee in hand, and gets into a car where another two Garou sit -- he recognizes the passenger in the front seat, and one of his eyebrows crawls upward a little. "What the Hell," he says under his breath; a mixture of genuine bemusement and irritation.
"They conduct meetings in their cars, now?"
Patrick comes to a stop outside the Cafe, slouches his back against the brick facade and promptly pulls another of Sarita's cigarettes out -- he'd held onto the packet, what a prince -- he lights up; fostering nothing to disguise his interest in what was going on inside the car. "Whose the guy in the front seat with Bone Grinder?"
This, an aside to Sarita, like she's expected to know.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] The semi-sorta good-natured snort from Patrick gets a little twinkle in the mischievous Latina's eye. She's making headway. She pulls out another couple of cigarettes and passes Patrick one before she lights up.
"Who, what?" She looks ahead, squinting a bit at the car. "Oh...that's Simon--obviously--and Lukas. Simon's tribe. Ahroun. Master of the Challenge's packmate, and I think he's the tribe elder if I remember my conversation with him right. I was a tiny bit stoned at the time, but I think I got that right."
[Lukas] It's still warm in the car -- lingering effects of the heater. It gets warmer when Lukas fires up the engine, but they don't go anywhere. He thumbs down the window on his side a little to vent. Too much rage, too much body heat.
"You're both Cliaths," Lukas says, sips his coffee, and then passes into the back in case her highness wanted some. "Anyway, Simon, I wanted to talk to you about taking on a more active role. For a long time Wyrmfoe's been largely a ceremonial role, but you're a Shadow Lord, and we're pragmatists. I doubt you would have taken it on if you didn't want to do something with it.
"So this is the first thing I want you to do. I want you to go around to each pack and assess their combat ability. I don't care if this means fighting them, taking them out to fight with you, or giving them a questionnaire -- as long as you get answers and those answers are reliable. I want to know how good they are, and I want to know if you'd classify them as scouts, warpacks, or something else altogether.
"Then I want you to start training Garou who need training. I don't expect a Child of Gaia Theurge to be at the caliber of a Get of Fenris Ahroun, but I want everyone in the Sept to be competent."
A pause, another sip.
"I know you wanted to take a bigger role in actually getting packs to mesh, too, but I'm going to put someone else on that. Maybe Joey, if she wins her challenge. It's not that I doubt your conviction, Simon, but you're a warrior. A weapon. Social graces aren't your strong suit, and you've got a strong, polarizing personality. Someone like Joey, someone who gives off the impression of being laid-back and easy to talk to, will ruffle feathers much less as she goes around sussing out conflicts and how to mend them."
[princess] Naturally, Asha assumed that Simon addressed her as -rhya out of natural deference to her breeding, her blood, her tribe. She nearly tells Lukas that when he mentions it, but thinks better of it when he passes his coffee back to her highness.
Lately, she's preferred her eminent highness, thank you very much. So: her eminent highness takes a deep drink of coffee, mouth curling. It is perhaps here that Lukas might rethink giving that girl caffeine.
Still, she flashes him a winning grin, all razor-wide, all white teeth - and bounces experimentally on the back seat. "That's good," Asha tells Lukas, opening the back passenger's door already. "I'm gonna go get it in Super Extra Venti with a double-shot and some chocolate sauce. Be right back!"
[princess] (this is liz going to bed! night guys!)
[Simon Zahradnik] He draws in a little breath and he nods his head. You see there was a little glimmer in his eyes, and a nod of his head. The job of the Wyrmfoe was, in his mind, largely a position taken by young Ahrouns seeking to earn a name. So when Lukas offered him something to do for the sept with his position he nodded his head and smiled slightly."I will assess each pack to the best of my ability."He already found himself formulating opinions he also thought about all those who were not claimed or members in an active pack. They could be addressed later. For the moment he had something to do with his position so he wasn't just waiting for a Moot.
He then nods his head."If someone else can work on coordination I do not care. I am more interested in survivability... A pack can hardly claim a territory that is swarming with Wyrm creatures is truly under their control. Territory is something a pack can manage on their own and so long as this hive remains a threat we can hardly claim most of this city is ours. I have personally slain at least a Dozen of them and that hasn't even dented their population. As I see it this is their city until we drive them out... I would rather we all work together to drive them out then we can start dividing the city into our own personal regions. It doesn't make sense to fight over territory we don't even own."He says with a nod of his head. Something he has given thought to...
He smiles just a hint."I am looking forward to reporting something back as soon as possible. I suppose I should begin assessing the packs strengths and weaknesses."He pauses to think on this then smiles just a tad."I am assuming you will be taking care of your pack? Or would you like me to assess them as well?"He asks with a hint of a grin. You see Simon was a Shadow Lord and so that meant that he could devise all manner of sneaky tricks if Lukas wanted his pack tested as well.
[Lukas] Their conversation is interrupted, albeit briefly, as the Fang princess -- and she is, annoyingly enough, an actual princess -- in the back bounces once and then rockets out the door for something sweet and caffeinated. Lukas watches her go, wondering if he's making a mistake. Then he turns back to Simon.
"I'll handle the Unbroken. If I don't even know my own pack, I don't deserve to be Alpha of anything. As for territory -- I've never been a fan of packs claiming firm turf and nailing up KEEP OUT signs. It turns the Sept against itself. But it doesn't mean I don't want Garou to take care of patches of protectorate, as long as they realize they're warders, not owners.
"The Caern comes first. But I do want Dark Sky and the Vanguard to work together cleaning Bronzeville up. It's too bad Hunter had to leave so fast, but when you go talk to his pack, set some time aside to work with him on divvying up the patrols in the area. He talked about something afoot in the area too -- Wyrm companies, maybe. Said he'd get back to me when he had more details. You'll want to talk to him about that too so you can better mesh your efforts there.
"Sooner or later we'll have to turn our attention back north. The Knights were doing all right for a while, but Mica'el reported pretty heavy losses the last two weeks. So I might send the Vanguard up for a look, or I might go myself. So get those packs into fighting trim for me, Bone Grinder. We'll need them soon."
[Simon Zahradnik] He nods his head at the mention of speaking to Hunter."I will do what I can... We need to begin cutting off the Hive's resources. You can bet they have allies and potential allies scattered about the city. I have been doing my best to root them out but better and direct coordination and communication would make this all work better."He says with a little smile. His eyes follow Asha for a second before looking back at Lukas.
He Mentions Mica'el... Was he referring to that Angel Thing? It honestly did not matter. If they were fighting their enemies then that made them allies and a valuable resource for the moment. Honestly he hadn't minded the one that... Worked with them."I will make certain the packs are ready and those who are not will be pressured towards doing so."He smiles just a little."I will also look into classes or training of some sort... Perhaps hunter and some of the other Full Moons would be willing to assist."He says with a little smile.
"I look forward to the day we bring this fight to the Hive itself... I can't wait to see the look on their faces when we destroy that abomination and collapse what remains in around their heads."His eyes spoke of delight. He would not rest... He might hide, he might run, he might retreat, when it was necessary but he would not rest until the Black Spiral Dancers in this city were hunted down to the last man and exterminated."Give me time and I will teach them the true meaning of fear."He says with a little nod of certainty.
He was delighted. The young Full Moon was getting a responsibility. Something more to pile on his plate and that meant he would be a very busy man. He's been looking for more to do as Wyrmfoe anyway."I will do the position, my tribe, and my sept proud."He says with a nod of his head.
"Was there anything more Rhya?"
[Lukas] "I'm willing to teach as well," Lukas adds, "but sometimes it feels like if I step up it suddenly becomes an inspection, not practice. I'm here, though, if you want me to help train our Septmates."
Lukas takes one more sip of coffee, then sets it down. "Yeah," he replies, "just one." He looks Simon in the eye, solid and direct. "Thank you. A lot of others in your position have chosen to take the backseat, to be led rather than to take initiative. Or worse: to wait for their leaders to fail. I know I was hard on you before, but ... I'm happy you stepped up. I'm proud to call you my tribesman and auspicemate."
[Prayers to Broken Stone] "Huh."
Ever the eloquent one, Patrick. The Fianna pushes off the wall in a surprisingly fluid motion; given his frequency for being a less than adequately elegant Galliard. He walks a couple of steps nearer, watches the Silver Fang dash back toward the Cafe with a strangely fixated purpose; then swings his gaze back on the pair in the car.
Staring; watching -- he looks the picture of disapproving youth with his battle-smeared clothing, and rumpled hair. Smoke trails from his nose before he addresses Sarita again. "Figured he'd be bigger or something. I hear Shadow Lord I see the evil guys in Disney flicks, y'know."
He sniffs again. Is he catching a cold, or is it a habit. "Probably the way they hear Fianna and figure we're all drunks who can't figure one end of a klaive from another."
[Simon Zahradnik] He smiles just a hint."We have responsibilities... One day I will be in your position. One day the weight of these decisions will fall in my lap. I can either reach for them and embrace what I am to become or I can run from it. I only run when it is necessary."He says with a nod of his head.
"I thank you for your praise and I look forward to living up to it."You see there were a lot of things to be said about the Shadow Lords. There would always be a chance that Simon might one day seize power from his elder by force. This was their way... Lukas must maintain his strength for his people if he cannot then it will be taken from him. But there was also an understanding that Simon came to as a garou.
"We will hope that it will be many decades before I have to step into your shoes. In the meantime... Someone must always stand ready to step forward. This is our life..."Simon was showing Ambition... It was a Shadow Lord trait but it was more than that. He knew that he would one day have to lead and he wasn't shying from it. There was a slight glimmer though, it was nice to be acknowledged for ones actions."I look forward to serving under you for many years if not decades to come."He says with a nod of his head. Proud, headstrong, certain... Failure would not happen... Even if one day it would.
"You will make us proud when this battle finally is brought to the Hive. I look forward to the celebration when it finally falls."He nods his head one final reassurance. He wasn't being mushy, he was returning a compliment from his elder.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] "Mmm." She smirks, watching both Patrick and the car. "Well, if you like I can buy him a black cape, a hat with a feather in it and a big mustache that he can twirl. I'm sure he'd love it. He does look like a traditionalist, after all." She chuckles.
She takes a drag off of her cigarette and takes a lean against a stop sign. "You know, they're probably gonna see us at some point and assume we're spying. They may have to kill us if they think we know too much." There's just a touch of wryness to it.
[Lukas] The subtle reminder of the way of their tribe -- the ambition, the constant temptation of power -- brings a wry smile to Lukas's face. He leaves it where it is: they both know how it works. In the end, all he says is, "As do I.
"I'll see you around, Bone Grinder. Keep me informed."
[i'm gonna put Lukas on semipause for now -- gotta focus on challenge! if you guys are around in a bit i might trot him out again, though. thanks for the RP!]
[Prayers to Broken Stone] The Fianna lets out a bark of laughter; it is as darkly entertained by the notion as his answer is. "Yeah, well, at least we'll be remembered for more than being another blood-smear on the ground when our time comes." The Galliard finishes his cigarette; flicks it into the gutter where it sparks and hisses, and reaches a hand into a pocket; turning his back to one side so he's facing away from late night Cafe patrons.
The plastic bag in his pocket rustles as he takes out paper, and a collection of herb, and proceeds to roll it.
"How many of these," he says flatly; conversationally for Patrick; his blue eyes lifting to meet hers, "you think I'll take before my head completely empties out."
[Prayers to Broken Stone] [*It'll, not I'll. Tsh.]
[Simon Zahradnik] [Are you two watching Simon and Lukas chat?]
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] "Well, that's sort of a vague question." She looks down the street a moment and then back to him, her lean against the sign post still present and casual. She gestures to the joint-in-progress. "I mean, let's start with the shit itself. It depends entirely how good the quality is. Most of the dank I've encountered here is pretty shitty, to be frank. Barely above the quality of shake. But let's assume it's above that, you gotta ask what kind it is."
She shrugs. "Blends are important. Some stuff, like hash, you can smoke more or less non-stop and it'll leave you at a certain high, keep you there and just extend it the more you smoke it. Some shit will push you into getting sick. Some shit's just flat-out weak and you'll be lucky if you get a buzz off it."
"And that aside," she adds, "What terms are we talking about? The number of joints? Depends on how much you put in them. And do you mean just stone you out of your fuckin' mind, or like, zombify you? The last...well, hate to break it, but I don't know if you have enough money to get that much from someone."
[Prayers to Broken Stone] "I mean reach a state where the next fucking person who says my Alpha's name doesn't make me want to do anything at all but laugh." He lights the joint; and takes a hit, breathing out slowly as he passes it over to the Ragabash.
"I'd really like to get there."
He leans his head against the cool brick.
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] "Ahh...that much." She takes the joint and pulls a hit off of it, holding it down for a second. She seems like she's considering for a moment, then lets it come out in a slow, lazy exhale and passes it back. "You know...I like you, amigo. You're good peeps, even if you're totally bumming me out by refusing to go to Improv Comedy night at the Charcoal Lounge next Thursday night. So here you go."
She reaches into her pocket and comes out with pretty a sizable baggie. She holds it for a second, considering Patrick and appearing to do some quick math in her head. "Yeah. That'll about do it for a good long while."
She tosses it to him.
[Prayers to Broken Stone] "I'm a funny guy," he says without inflection, and catches the baggie, stowing it away in a pocket. It's minus three outside; they must be freezing. Patrick doesn't appear to care much, if he is. Perhaps his grief sustains him; much as people suggest hate will preserve.
"I'd make you look better just sitting in the corner, alluding apathy."
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] In Sarita's case, she's just too damn stubborn to recognize cold. The woman the doggedly obdurate type who refuses to acknowledge what she doesn't feel like acknowledging. When something finally does her in, it will likely be because she was too stubborn to avoid staring death in the face, and she won't even refuse to acknowledge she's dead for months. But then, Silent Striders have that familiarity with the Dark Umbra, so maybe she's just following the natural course of things into ghosthood.
"That's what I'm saying, m'man. You're hilarious. You make deadpan a fine art, the way Michelangelo made paintings transcendent." She nods sagely. "It's a gift, hommes, I'm telling you."
[Prayers to Broken Stone] "Yeah," he says without much in the way of feeling -- that might be the weed kicking in, nice -- and takes another hit. Then one more before he passes it to the Strider. "You know what, the only piece that's missing is beer. You wanna tag along, or whatever?"
He straightens; and a passing couple deliberately speed up and avoid eye contact with him.
He starts off toward the nearest alleyway, slouching broad shoulders; a trail of pungent smoke following after his wake.
[which is Jacqui's way of noting she's kinda brain dead and exiting Patrick for now!]
[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] "Always." She smiles and nods, heading off with him. [[Yeah, it's late...sounds like a plan.]]
celebration.
9 years ago