checking in with the fenrir.

[Jackson Montgomery] [[ :D ]]

"I would say it's a safe bet to say that she's is," he says with a nod. "Neither August and Rain were particularly complimentary. Of course, I know there has to be another side of it though." A little shrug. "Always is."

When he mentions Trent, Jackson looks at the other Gaian and listens, then looks back to the car. "Gotcha. I'll keep my fingers crossed, then." A little good-humored grin is directed to his tribemate.

[Roman Turner] He paused another moment to face Jackson, speaking low.

"Truthfully, there ain't no good light to put this in, but the child Miss August has is not Paul's. She ran off from the child's father, I ain't never heard the entire story on that. Paul came along and took her and the unborn child as his own. Then shortly after the babe was born, he found some other woman and in a moment of poor judgement, was dishonorable. He tells me he never loved Miss August, he felt sorry for her and tried to do what was right. But he did what was wrong in the end. Now she is pregnant with Paul's child, so she's gonna have two children within a year, two fathers and she's understandably bitter. I just hope for her sake and that of the children that she centers herself, cause bitterness can rot a soul from inside and it spreads like a poison."

[Jackson Montgomery] He listens, frowning. What Roman said certainly hasn't endeared the Gaian Jackson hasn't yet met to him at all, that is certainly. After the Garou is done, the kinfolk nods a little.

"I can see why August is bitter, and why Rain didn't speak highly. At the same time, everyone makes mistakes..." A shadow passes over his face, and he shakes his head. "Well, if he hasn't been around, it won't be an issue anyway. Thanks for the heads up."

[Kora] The storm raged on both sides of the gauntlet and even the city's reflection is coated with evidence of winter. The weaver's brilliance temporarily dimmed, dragged down by the wild (wyld) the confluence of ice and wind and thunder and snow. The solid church seems coated in ice. Linus' flock of Hrafn refuse to leave the belltower and huddle together, feathers ruffled like their flesh-born counterparts.

The interior of the church is cold; a drift of blown snow has filtered in through one of the broken windows, and is carved out in the south transpect, sculpted smooth by the wind, it looks like nothing so much as one of those undulating Saharan dunes photographed in sun and shadow made in miniature against gray stone and white marble rather than an impossibly blue sky.

Trent and Roman and Jackson are outside when the gray-brown wolf pushes through the gauntlet, nose-first, and pads soundlessly into cold, quiet space.

There's still some smoke from the bonfire Linus lit last night to warm the huge space, drifting in coiling spirals up toward the rafters. And new things: the supplies Trent has ferried in already, some left in his eco-friendly reuseable bags on the tables near the couches, others stowed away deeper in the structure. The kerosene heaters Roman braved the wind and snow to purchase, unfired as yet. They need fuel.

She pads through the space, warm enough in a body made for winter, catches the traceries of scent. Brushes her flanks by the bags Trent left, some deep-down instinct to mingle her scent with his.

Roman, telling Paul's story to his tribesmate, can feel her closeness, a tug at the back of his mind, a tingle of awareness at the base of his spine. Trent's unaware. The space was empty when he went back to his car for the next load. While he's contemplating the shoveling the steps, though, the heavy wooden door swings open. Kora half-emerges, wearing her dedicated clothes - dark jeans, heavy black boots, a thermal and gray t-shirt. She'll need new ones, soon. Her stomach strains the fabric, pulls the seams.

She lifts her chin by way of greeting to Roman, holding the door open with hand and hip, not exiting precisely, waves to Jackson, and curves a subtle smile for Trent.

[Kora] (wow, I misread. Trent's inside! reposting. :) )

[Kora] The storm raged on both sides of the gauntlet and even the city's reflection is coated with evidence of winter. The weaver's brilliance temporarily dimmed, dragged down by the wild (wyld) the confluence of ice and wind and thunder and snow. The solid church seems coated in ice. Linus' flock of Hrafn refuse to leave the belltower and huddle together, feathers ruffled like their flesh-born counterparts.

The interior of the church is cold; a drift of blown snow has filtered in through one of the broken windows, and is carved out in the south transpect, sculpted smooth by the wind, it looks like nothing so much as one of those undulating Saharan dunes photographed in sun and shadow made in miniature against gray stone and white marble rather than an impossibly blue sky.

Trent and Roman and Jackson are outside when the gray-brown wolf pushes through the gauntlet, nose-first, and pads soundlessly into cold, quiet space.

There's still some smoke from the bonfire Linus lit last night to warm the huge space, drifting in coiling spirals up toward the rafters. And new things: the supplies Trent has ferried in already, some left in his eco-friendly reuseable bags on the tables near the couches, others stowed away deeper in the structure. The kerosene heaters Roman braved the wind and snow to purchase, unfired as yet. They need fuel.

She pads through the space, warm enough in a body made for winter, catches the traceries of scent. Brushes her flanks by the bags Trent left, some deep-down instinct to mingle her scent with his. Then finds his scent, warmer, deeper than the trace of it left on the bag, and pads through the space to find him. Her flanks against his legs: warm, distended from pregnancy. Otherwise, her wolf form would seem nearly adolescent.

Roman, telling Paul's story to his tribesmate, can feel her closeness, a tug at the back of his mind, a tingle of awareness at the base of his spine.

[Roman Turner] "No, no. I ain't defending him and it weren't a mistake. It was a damned disgrace, that's what it was. But would you want to be stuck with some fella that was bumping uglies with other women? That would shame ya more. It's ok to be a little bitter, but this ain't her first rodeo, ya got to remember that too."

He added as they started inside with Kora's presence in his face. He smiled, stomped off his feet and set the fuel can down inside the doors. Then he was burying his frozen face in to Kora's furry neck, inhaling deeply while sharing his cold with her.

"Mr Trent, nice to see ya. This here is Jackson Montgomery. He's one of my Kin. Mr. Jackson, this here is Mr Trent, he's Kora's mate. And ya know Miss Kora."

He indicated Kora as he straightened and started to unbundle.

[Trent Brumby] Glancing down to the wolf, he can guess who it is by the closeness of the Garou. Reaching down, he runs fingers over her fur, but only briefly. He's not in the habit of petting Garou because as much as she might look like an animal currently, that is the woman he sleeps with, who has his human child growing in her belly. He does not pet her in human form, either. Well, not like that.

Roman and Jackson comes in, leaving him looking at them. Trent's wearing some jeans, some boots, and several layers of shirts as well as a watch cap. His gloves are still on, but he pulls them off now in quick jerks, shoving them into a pocket to extent a hand to Jackson.

"Nice to meet you, Jackson."

Trent is not a small man. He's tall, broad and solid.

[Jackson Montgomery] Roman's words bring a nod from the man...understanding and agreeing, from the expression on his face. "Fair enough," his all he says before they head inside.

Once through the doors, Jackson almost instinctively takes the backseat. Garou in the house, and packed Garou to boot. He smiles at Trent, reaching out and taking the other's hand with his own. "Nice to meet you too, Trent." Once the handshake is out of the way he unwinds the scarf around his neck and shakes the snow off of him.

Kora gets a respectful smile and nod. "Kora-rhya. Nice to see you again."

[Hunter] A Gnawer walks through the territory of the Jarl. A Gnawer that she knows, but a Gnawer all the same. He doesn't look around awkwardly; he doesn't shy from the shadow of that ancient structure they call home; he walks calmly up steps of stone towards a door that should have probably long since fallen off its hinges. It's not that it looks uncared for--the Fenrir have put a lot of work into this abode--but it just seems old to the Gnawer, used, spent, like a relic from a time that will never come again.

The weather has been abysmal, but that hasn't kept the Ahroun of the streets. Even though today he knocks upon the surface of the door with a gloved fist, even though the collar of his jacket is popped up around his neck and buttoned tightly against the winds, even though that Rage if his burns on the surface more these days than it ever has before -- he still looks cold. His skin is pale, his eyes bright green yet frozen, the stubble along his jawline is both neat and neglected and narrowly avoids looking unkempt. Dark hair, thick, wild in the winds of a storm that brings change.

A child of the City knocks upon the door of the Church and waits.

[Kora] Miss Kora is a wolf named Sorrow, dark gray over lighter gray touched with tan, and sharp, amber eyes. The light's uncertain. Trent touches blunt fingers to the crown of her head, down her spine. Acknowledgment of her presence; then Roman comes in and wraps his arms around her, his skin breathing cold. She chuffs ones, animal, swings her lupine head to look at Jackson. Her eyes are in her human form are a fine dark blue, the color of the sky at twilight, both dark and backlit somehow. In lupus, they're brown, nearly amber, mute and alert above a narrow snout.

Sorrow shakes herself free of her packmate after the greeting, pads deeper into the sanctuary - and her body finds its natural shape. The one she was born in. The one she'll die in. The one she'll wear constantly - sooner than she thinks - when her other forms can no longer accommodate the wholly human child still forming in her womb.

There's some gesture toward privacy for the change. She's further away from the group, amongst the pews; a wolf on all fours one minute, a woman half-crouched on the floor, just balanced, the next.

When she returns to the small group, Kora's wearing her dedicated clothes - dark jeans, heavy black boots, a thermal and gray t-shirt. She'll need new ones, soon. Her stomach strains the fabric, pulls the seams. Her hair's loose. Chopsticks and broken ball point pen barrels, pencils, twigs - they don't make the trip with her, so it coils at the back of her neck, the central support of the structure of the knot gone, the rest falling apart.

She lifts her chin by way of greeting to Roman. "Jackson," a half-smile of acknowledgment for the Gaian kin as she comes up alongside Trent, rises on her toes to brush a warm, chaste kiss against his cheek. "Hey. You guys are just meeting, yeah?"

When Hunter knocks, Kora cuts a glance to Roman.

You want to get the door?

[Roman Turner] He sighed, all put out sounding despite the smile he had on his face.

"Yeah that's me, the doorman. I'll get it. No body move."

Not that they were. It was to the door he trudged to crack open the slot in the door and look out.

"Who goes there?"

[Trent Brumby] When Kora returns in a thermal and a t.shirt, Trent immediately unbuttons his large, wool jacket and takes it off. Roman is going to have to answer the door, since his Alpha's mate is busy throwing his jacket over her shoulders with this look at her that holds some sort of mild humour and a little disapproval beneath it. His jacket holds his heat and warmth, swallowing her smaller frame.

Left in a sweater and a tshirt with a thermal beneath, he's still plenty warm. "This place is freezing," he tells her quietly, and once again, wants to argue with her to bring her back to his apartment. He hates her living here, especially pregnant, but it's still that conversation that hasn't really reached the table.

[Hunter] "Hunter." Comes the reply, he doesn't move, doesn't step into the line of sight of the slot in the door if he isn't already in it, doesn't step out of it if he is. "Here ta' see Kora."

[Roman Turner] The door whipped open and a hand shot out to grab Hunter by the arm, tugging him inside before the door slammed again with a heavy thump.

"Boy howdy Hunter, get in here before ya freeze! I can't recall us meeting off the top of my head. I'm Roman."

He stuck out his hand.

"Miss Kora's packmate."

[Jackson Montgomery] "Just met, yes." He nods a little at the question, looking briefly over his shoulder when the door sounds in a knock and Roman goes to get it. He looks back, smiling to the couple as he settles his weight back on one heel a bit.

"So how are you guys weathering the storm? This is just a little bit insane, if you ask me." So says the California boy who's used to 50 degrees being cold. Still, he's pretty sure it's insane for anyone.

[Rain] It is damned cold. Cold enough that Rain cannot remember why she went out into the great white of winter in the first place (save that she knows, damn well, that she was looking for Eve). The buses and trains have been backed up all across the city, complicating her circuitous route back to the packhouse. The light behind the stained glass looks almost like sanctuary in the middle of the snowfall. She can still make out the shoulders and ridges of the roof line. The steps are clear enough, and incline marked with the firm placement of other people's foot falls.

The door slammed shut again as she rounded the last corner to the packhouse and makes her way down the block. Rain trudges up the stairs. She doesn't knock, but she does fumble a bit with numb fingers to get the latch to release so she can pull the door open and let the cold in again.

[Lukas] The Shadow Lords might be the only mad creatures in the world more pleased than rattled by a thunder-snowstorm. Even so, Lukas is pragmatic enough to drive slowly and carefully, sitting a little straighter than usual so his keen eyes can scan the road ahead for obstacles.

He makes it to Cabrini-Green without incident. When he parks by the side of the road, his BMW is the only car there whose original shape, size and color hasn't been obscured by a layer of snow. It'd be a ripe target for hijacking, except there's no one out here.

His overcoat falls halfway down his shins as he gets out. His bootheels crunch over the snow as he takes the steps up to the abandoned old church, setting solid shoulder to door to push it open. Inside, he takes off his newsboy cap, tucking into one deep pocket, leaving his leather gloves on. It's not much warmer in here -- at least out near the edges of the church. He looks around; at least some of the pack and its guests are in the nave.

The door starts to open again behind him. Lukas reaches back, pulling it smoothly open, pushing it shut again after one more snowbattered creature comes in out of the cold. He looks at -- her? it? -- with some amusement, then back at ... well, whoever there was in the nave.

"Hi." He loosens his scarf with one hand, letting it hang from his neck. "Kora around?"

[Lukas] [just fyi folks, i gotta jet in 50 minutes!]

[Roman Turner] Talk about knock him over with a feather. He's just let Hunter in when the door opened and in came Lukas and Rain. He blinked twice and yelled.

"Miss Kora! Mr. Lukas has come calling!"

Then he almost sheepishly shuffled from one foot to the other as he faced Lukas. What the heck was the war leader doing in their humble packhouse? His brain raced. Nope, he couldn't think of one thing he had done to draw attention recently.

"Howdy Mr. Lukas, Rhya."

[Hunter] A door is whipped open, a hand grabs Hunter by the front of his jacket and yanks on him. His feet step with that tug and he is hustled inside in a timely fashion. Slam. The door closes. He squints at first, adjusting to the lack of a blizzard inside the church. He has never really been in here before, though he has seen it through the doorway. Maybe it isn't quite as bad as he thought and his eyes peruse the high walls and ceiling while Roman is offering introductions.

His gaze doesn't snap back to Roman, instead it drifts down slowly, resting on the ragabash lightly before lowering to that hand of his. Hunter smiles, shakes the hand offered. It isn't a vicious shaking, nor a brutal squeeze, but it is hearty and comforting. Like this is the only handshake they will have, and it is the only one they will need.

"Nice ta' meet ya' Roman--" Abruptly the sounds of the weather outside reverberate around the halls of the Jarl as a pillar of Rage steps in. Hunter turns, slowly, eyes finding those of Lukas. A quirk of the lip perhaps but that is all in the Gnawer's face. "Evenin', was just askin' tha' same thing ma' self."

Mean while Roman is yelling, shuffling, dancing on the spot.

Howdy Mr. Lukas, Rhya.

Hunter tries to look past Roman to see if he can spot his Alpha.

[Jackson Montgomery] He looks over his shoulder when he hears the door open and voices call out--voices, as in more than one. Everyone's converging on the place it would seem, which considering the last time he was here doesn't surprise the film school-attending Gaian kin. Roman announces Lukas, who Jackson hasn't met yet.

Jackson he takes a step to the side to allow for people to come in. After all, he can feel the Rage building from the direction of the door, and--well, he's not the crazy-ass Strider kin he met the other night. Jackson knows well enough to not block a Garou's way when they're coming out of the cold.

[Starla] It's one of the 3rd worst snowstorms in the history of Chicago, people are trapped, the city is encased in a mountain of snow, and the world stops moving for a couple of days while humans dealt with the tragedy. Communications and electricity likely cut off by power outages send the city into a phase of white noise. It was harsh and cruel one end, yet blissful and serene when the drifts had stopped.

City folk had forgotten how to survive in the snow. a passing thought that runs through the mind of the girl that hikes up the snow-bound hills, dragging a weather-beaten suitcase behind her. Her face hidden under the wet layers of colorful scarves, the furred hood of her winter coat pulled down low over her head to keep out the biting wind. She waddles as she treads, snow boots crunching down the snow, taking the extra effort to lift her feet as she plods along.

The buildings all looked the same to her, grey and bleak, in the Cabrini. The only thing standing out was the abandoned church that looms over the neighborhood like a forgotten beacon, a promise of shelter. She manipulates a gloved hand into her coat pocket, pulling out the crumbled card that held the description of the place she would find assistance. Pale colored eyes slide upward as she mutters behind the scarf.

[Rain] She was too numb to feel much of anything, really. Not her nose. Not her toes. But the creep of something feral and menacing, up her spine, tickling at her ribs and stealing away her breath? Rain couldn't get cold enough to miss that. Wide brown eyes sweep tentatively up take in the man (Monster) beside her and stop before they ascend to even his cheekbones. Her line of sight lingers somewhere near his jaw. Her mouth twitches, faintly, in something that ought to be a smile.

For others, it was far warmer.

And yes, she is tense and yes, every last muscle in her small frame seems ready to break with weary logic and spend itself running as fast and as far as she can to get away from him.

Her attention strays, not very far, but to Hunter now. With a similar wariness. One gloved hand sweeps her hat off her head, revealing a spill of long, brown hair.

"Hi," she echoes, and the sound is far less resonant and warm and welcoming that it has been for most of the others present. It's a bit strangled. It says: Don't eat me. Again the corners of her mouth flex, and with every bit of focus she has, Rain tries to keep from bolting from the entryway like a startled doe.

It doesn't work.

She finds an excuse to hurry past them, toward the kitchen, before she's even unwound her scarf from her neck. That is, if the combined Rage in the room would allow her such improprieties.

[Kora] "Jackson's a - film student, yeah?" she looks to Jackson for confirmation, then supplies, quietly to Trent. "Roman's kin." Trent removes his coat and drapes it around Kora's shoulders. She accepts the coat with good grace, if only because it has his scent sunk into the woven fibers.

"Trent's a jack of all trades," Kora continues, " - and a kick-ass cook." Trent comments that it's freezing in here, and she lifts her chin, looking back over her shoulder toward the smoldering remnants of the bonfire. "Li built the bonfire last night after we lost power. Roman's brought back some kerosene heaters, though. Soon as we get them hooked up, it'll be better in here."

Then another look, back to Jackson. "I fostered at a Sept in Hjaltland - the Sheltlands, yeah? Stormed there all the time, but I've never seen anything like this. Linus could get the Hrafn to leave the belltower. Half of them are still roosting up there. They won't brave the wind."

Hunter, Roman - Lukas - and now Rain are in the nave. There's shelter here, of a sort, beneath the choir loft. Further, the space opens, derelict, soaring. The remnants of a still-smoking bonfire, black with carbon, settle into ash in the chancel. The stains from the smoke barely obscure the hand-painted icons some squatter added to the curving wall long after the space was abandoned by its staid congregation.

"'Scuse me," Kora murmurs to Jackson and Trent, giving the former a half-smile of apology that deepens into something more intimate when she looks up at Trent. "That's Lukas. Shadow Lord. And Hunter, Bone Gnawer. Gimme a few."

And Lo, Kora detaches herself from the knot of kin, and towards the doors, her frame swallowed by her mate's coat, except for the firm, prominent curve of her stomach. A glance from Lukas to Hunter, and back again. "C'mon in - " she says, offering them the dubious comforts of the abandoned space. "Lukas. Hunter. Have you met our kin? And can I get either of you a beer?"

[Roman Turner] He broke focus, watching Rain scoot pass like the devil might grab her soul. He'd announced Lukas' request first, what with the rank and surprise. Once Kora came forward, he moved back a couple steps, closer to the gathered Kin. God help him, he couldn't help giving Trent's shoes a quick look.

[Lukas] "Fate," Lukas returns, nodding to Roman. "Thanks for the welcome. I'm glad to be a guest in your territory."

There's a certain formality in that; hospitality observed, no matter how casually given. He's ill-fit amongst this pack: they're casual, close to the streets, bundled up in denim and flannel and fleece and cotton. Sturdy, durable. Lukas's coat is wool dyed deep and black. His gloves are leather. His scarf is wool, and his sweater is silk, and -- well, he's wearing jeans, but even that is a wholly different sort of denim.

Still. In a way, he fits these spaces, these austere, derelict arches of stone and felled oak. He tips his head back to look at the interior of this church; he's never been here before. As Kora makes her appearance, he looks at her, directly at her, and smiles.

"No thanks. I'm not here very long. Just wanted to pass through, see how your pack and territory were doing. Seems solid." There's a hint of question in that.

[Jackson Montgomery] "A film student, yeah." He smiles a little bit in confirmation of Kora's words. "Ahh, nice," he says to Trent. "Always good to be multi-talented. I wish I could be, but I get too much tunnel vision. Found my calling and I was stuck to it like nothing else."

When Rain races by, he furrows his brow in recognition of her distress but smiles in greeting. He's holding his ground, if only for the moment and because it would be improper to flee before being introduced. And Jackson does give a lot to propriety. When he is in the mood for it, anyway.

[Trent Brumby] "Not that great," Trent interjects when Kora goes on about his cooking, giving Jackson a mild wry look. It's hard to imagine the guy cooking anyway. He looks more like a criminal if physical attributes were anything to go by. It's in direct contrast to his usual mild manners.

Kora excuses herself, and he throws a glance to the newcomers, nodding at that. Business, he understands. This is pack territory and not some place to get all personal. Little does she knows that her mate has decided he's staying with them the night. While she may be Garou, he's still a male and has this need to try and make his pregnant mate comfortable as he can, and look after her in this big blizzard. These are unvoiced things.

Roman finds Trent's shoes are not some nice leather loafers today. They are work boots, suitable for trudging through snow. He probably wouldn't mind so much if these got dirty with the contents from a Garou's stomach. His other ones he threw out.

Nodding to the back of the church, where Rain has disappeared, Trent offers Jackson. "There's some food and drinks out there. Why don't we go back there?" And leave Garou to their talks.

[Starla] Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Snow flattens beneath her boots, the suitcase cutting a trail behind her. She pauses on the street corner, peering up at the abandoned church, wondering why people could live in such places. She skirts around to the pathway hidden by snow to make her way up the steps to the double doors.

The card is crushed in her hand, closing gloved fingers to make a fist and rap on the one of the doors. Thump. Thump. Thump.

[Jackson Montgomery] Trent suggests that they further back into the church, and Jackson offers a welcome nod. The Gaian is a bit more used to high Rage than some might, but it's still a bit unnerving to him from time to time, and this is one of those times. He's good at hiding it though, and he just gives Trent a thin smile. "Sounds like a plan. I can say hi to Rain, too."

He gestures, as if for Trent to lead the way.

[Roman Turner] It was like an electric shock went through him with the knocking at the door. It had become his duty to answer the door and he was sure at this rate he was going to start dreaming it was knocking. Quietly he excused himself and slipped around Lukas and Kora to open the door slot and peer out. Surprised to see a girl standing there. So the door was opened and he stood in the crack.

"Boy howdy, ya ain't selling cookies are ya?"

[Rain] Once she makes it back to the relative safety and anonymity of the kitchen, Rain can pretend she was there for a reason. She can put a pan of water on the stove to warm, to make something to offer their guests. To pretend, like playing house, that it doesn't make her hands shake to be crammed into a small space with so many of their Changing cousins.

Rain pulls her gloves from her hands and brushes the snow off them. She unwinds her scarf. Her jacket's shoulders will leave a little mess of ice and damp and cold on the floor when she shrugs out of it. All of these are things she can deal with. They're simple. By the time the other kin have found their way back to the kitchen, Rain is watching the kettle and rubbing her hands together until they stop feeling so numb.

[Hunter] Kora offers up dubious comfort and slightly less dubious beverages. Hunter accepts both. "Would love'a beer thanks Kora." He says after Lukas has politely declined the offer. After that? He just waits. Kora will get to him when Lukas is done.

[Starla] She waited for someone to answer, rapping her fist in louder thumps on the door until Roman pulls it open. He startles her, making her jump back with a startled expression. Breath rasping out in a small squeaking sound that catches in her throat, she stares at him in silence, blinking in confusion.

"Cookies?" She clutched the handle of her suitcase, hauling it up to her side. "Hai, this ain't the residence of Romeo Turner is it? I've got'a address that says he stays here."

[Kora] "It is," Kora agrees, her voice easy, low and confident. She too turns back, looking up at the broken roof. There's still snow drifting in, through the rafters, blown by the high winds through the broken places in the roof, through the shattered stained glass windows. Others are intact, and nevermind the seventy-mile per hour gusts coursing off the land, over the flat lands of the Caern, churning the placid lap of the half-frozen lake into waves huge enough to engulf an onlooker and pull him out to see like a huge breaking wave at high tide on some storm-tossed ocean: they don't even rattle in their frames. "The kinswoman who came in behind you is called Rain. That's Jackson," she's not introducing them; doesn't stop the kinfolk from retreating to the kitchen, just supplying the names to Lukas in a low voice. " - both are Gaian. And Trent's my mate."

Then, a glance at Hunter who accepts the beer. "Sure thing." She circles about to one of the coolers they've filled with snow rather than ice lugged from the convenience store. They're leaving the beer in the coolers so it won't freeze solid, rather than to keep it cold. When she returns - she hands Hunter a dark bottle of Great Lakes' Brewing Company's Edmund Fitzgerald stout. It's not a screwtop, but she trusts an Ahroun doesn't need a bottle opener.

"Our Hrafn wouldn't go out in the storm last night, but otherwise we're solid, this side and the next." She curves her narrow shoulders in an eloquent little shrug underneath her mate's winter coat. "I've asked Prayers to Broken Stone and a few others to run with us. If they join up, we'll start taking back more of the old Eagle territory."

[Roman Turner] He looked from Starla's face to her suitcase and back up. Fortunately he knew for a fact he didn't get no girl in trouble, so it couldn't be one of those calls.

"Come on in out of the cold. I'm Roman Turner."

He wasn't much to look at. At least in stature he wasn't much. He was a little above average in looks, but at 5'6", many overlooked the teen. Chestnut flattened from where the hat had mashed it most of the day. His eyes were a faded blue-gray like old denim. Though when he smiled, the room came to life and he was smiling right then.

"I reckon whoever sent ya my way knew what they were doing."

[Lukas] Lukas's lips quirk briefly as Kora mentions their Hrafn refusing the storm. He's too polite to crow about the supremacy of Thunder's ravens vs. Fenris's, but the quip is there in his eyes, a bright flicker in that incandescent blue.

There's a near-audible hum of power around him. Stormborn, stormbearing. A creature of winter and the tempest; stronger now in the heart of the storm. Or maybe that's not entirely it. It's something about his carriage too, the way he stands: greater than he was the last time he saw...

well, any of them.

He nods to the not-quite-introductions, pale eyes flicking toward each kin as they're named. Then back to Kora. "Good," he says. "I'm glad Broken Stone is joining up somewhere. I've actually asked Hunter," he nods to his auspicemate, "and Simon to work together in getting Bronzeville under control. Simon at least might ask your pack's assistance.

"I also asked Simon, as Wyrmfoe, to start coming around to the packs to assess their war-readiness. I know he can be blunt and overbearing. But if he comes here and sounds as though he's demanding that your pack prove its readiness to him, don't take offense. He's here by my request, and he'll help train your packmates if they need it."

[Starla] He couldn't make her features out very well under the damp scarf that protects her face. Pale colored eyes, a light shade of green, crinkle, staring at him in confusion. She blinks once, leaning in past the door to look inside, "This ain't some kind'a halfway home is it? I got'a letter here from Irene by way of Elizabeth, to look for a Romeo?"

She holds up the card, trying to read the blurred writing, which has smeared from one too many coffee stains. Starla stands about eye-level with Roman. He smell the purity in her blood, like an announcement to his kind that she was indeed one of this hippy kids related to Unicorn. Starla steps inside, pausing at the door to shake the snow off her suitcase, and pulls back her hood. "Roman sounds better than Romeo, Thomas' boy right?" When she speaks, her drawl is heavy and slow as if honey rolled off her tongue. Shaking off the hood, a single braided plait of brown hair falls over one shoulder, her skin a permanent dusky bronze that has more to do with genetics than a natural tan.

[Hunter] A bottle is received and Hunter reaches for a lighter in his jacket. The cap is off a second later and he pockets it along with the lighter. "Cheers." He says to her and takes a sip. Though he doesn't interrupt or offer up any sounds at all other - his eyes focus on the conversation intently.

Simon at least might ask your pack's assistance.

Cheeks are sucked in and lips purse, perhaps eyes narrow but other than that there is no reaction.

[Trent Brumby] In the kitchen Rain will find some recycled bags with food and supplies in them. There's some large containers on the bench that have stews ready to eat, and a couple loaves of bread and the like. Milk, soda's, bottled water. Toiletries, too.

Heading into the kitchen with Jackson, Trent looks to where Rain is boiling the kettle. "Hello Miss."

They had met when Trent hosted Yule dinner at his apartment. She would know from being in his home how he keeps things tidy, how even with plenty of guests, he'd tried to keep it somewhat formal rather than like some barnyard shindig, and that Trent's one of those hosts that doesn't like their guests doing a damn thing other then sitting back, drinking, eating and socializing. The pile of dishes he had been left with took him hours to get through that night.

"There's some beef stew over here and some bread from the bakery."

[Jackson Montgomery] He looks to Rain as they hit the kitchen, smiling to her. He's met several people here and befriended a few, but Rain's the one he's had the closest association with and the smile he gives is warm, open. "Hey, you. I think we can officially call it 'Holy shit' cold now."

He grins and heads over, taking a lean against the wall near here. "Good to see you haven't gotten buried in the snow for good. How are you holding up in all this?"

[Roman Turner] "Roman, yes. I ain't no Romeo, that's for certain."

His ears had started to blaze bright red as he reached for the card to open it.

"Elizabeth and Thomas are my folks."

He motioned Starla in further as he opened the letter.

"What was your name?"

Half of him head Lukas mention Simon and he clearly recalled the last time Simon come to their territory. His attention shifted to the card to read.

[Kora] Kora cuts a brief look at Hunter; her dark eyes are quiet, still. The shadows here are deep enough that the color is lost in the shadows. Blue becomes just: dark. "Simon's a friend of the pack. We've fought together, more than once. The last time on the very steps of this church, less than a moon ago. He's been eager to take a more active role in the Sept, to bring the fight to the enemy for some time."

Another brief, narrow shrug, the shape of the gesture lost beneath the coat she's wearing, sized for her broad-shouldered, broad-chested mate. "I'm glad to know you've seen his worth beneath the bluster." A glance back, touching once on Hunter, then on Roman. "I'll be out of the fight soon," this is quiet, her only concession to pregnancy. "but my pack is ready for war."

[Lukas] [what's on your mind, brah? percep + emp!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 7 (Failure at target 6)
to Hunter

[Lukas] [...SHADOW LORDS DON'T FAIL.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)
to Hunter

[Rain] They'd met briefly over the holidays. Rain had been quiet and mostly stuck to the outskirts of the festivities. Now she's rubbing her hands together, and tucking them under her equally cold arms, anything to help hasten the pins-and-needles stage of defrosting up. The smile she offers Trent is far warmer than anything she coudl have managed out in the church proper.

"Mr. Trent, wasn't it?" she asks, offering him and all but frostbitten hand. He might not accept, if his fingers were warmer, Rain would understand. "'Sgood to see you again," she adds, without letting her teeth chatter too much.

"Hey Jackson." She's dropped the honorific with the other Gaian, not out of disrespect but in familiarity. There's a wider cant to her smile, but they're both well received. Jackson is just the more familiar. "I was out lookin' for Eve. I'mma go back out, once I warm up some."

Which sounds like a terrible idea, of course, to anyone with sense.

[Hunter] [hidin]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 8 (Failure at target 6)
to Lukas

[Hunter] [Annoyance, anger, a sense of the incredulous]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Lukas

[Starla] The card looks like one of those cheap blanket ones you find in the dollar store, it's scrawled all over with writing, giving simple instructions on where to go. A folded up letter sits in the middle of the card, the edges worn from constant wear of being folded open and closed. She lets go of suitcase handle, hands free now from the card. She starts to pull off her gloves and scarf.

"Starla Irene Navarro, mama's side of the family. She wasn't married to Willy Turner, but they sure as hell had fun together. Letter explains it, shipped up here at the wrong time I see, all that white stuff out on the lawn."

[Hunter] [oops ignore dice!]
to Lukas

[Starla] *blank

[Trent Brumby] He does take her hand, shaking it gently. "Just Trent is fine," he assures her with a warm smile. "There's some blankets out there. I carried some in." Nodding towards the door he indicates vaguely back the way he'd come. "You should grab one and warm up, not head back outside." But this is a light suggestion, talking some common sense.

"If someone is missing, a Garou can go and look for them." He doesn't press and ask who Eve is.

"Go sit down. I'll handle some tea and coffee. There's some hot chocolate around here somewhere." This way Trent can keep busy, Rain can warm up, and she and Jackson can have a talk. They're clearly familiar with each other.

[Jackson Montgomery] He raises an eyebrow. "You're going back out there? Alone?"

The school-attending kinfolk's expression clearly reads My ass, you are. He'd kind of self-appointed himself as Rain's older brother-figure, and as such he was a little protective of her. He crosses his arms over his chest, shaking his head.

"Lemme know when you're ready to go, I'll go hunting with you."

Trent gets an appreciative look at the hospitality offerings, and a smile.

[Lukas] "I know he's been eager," Lukas replies - just a hint of weariness here. "He also thinks it'll be possible to destroy the Hive entirely in a few short months. He has worth, but it'll have to be tempered with wisdom and patience first. But," a wry smile, "you seem to have plenty of that, so maybe you can teach him something in return.

"I have to be going," he says. "Best wishes to you and yours. Hunter," this, while he turns, meeting the other's eyes on his way out, "I'd like a word with you too at some point."

[Lukas] [okay, i gotta jet! thanks for the speed-scene!]