children.

[Monika Kyzlikova] It's well into the night, but the second city is illuminated as if it were day. Lake View caters to the wealth of his place, this Urban posh hot spot which boasts art galleries and open mic nights next to boutiques and coffee bars. It is still cold here in the upper Midwest portion of the States, and as such there are very few outside patios or bars open yet. A few higher end establishments provided heated gardens where patrons can sit and enjoy themselves, smoke and not be clustered shoulder to shoulder and wrist to wrist with other human beings.

It's in one such art house that Monika is currently sitting in the heated outside garden of an art haus where the dark haired, fine boned woman is seated. There's a very fine lighted moniker on the front of the building that reads SERPENTINE and inside there is a room for local artists to display their art and on various nights throughout the week they provide open mic for prose or local musicians.

Her hair is thick and luxurious, black as a crow's wing and left to hang free down the fine shape of her back. Her torso is swathed in a very form fitting turtle neck, her hips and long legs in dark denim jeans. She's alone, and inside there's a young man playing an easy and likeable tune about lost love and the highway.

She seems only vaguely interested in the music and more focused on her glass of white wine.

[Kyle] Kyle doesn't get over to this side of town very often. After all he's not exactly fluent in the cash department. But stopping over to help a friend with some house repairs was a good enough reason to come into the area. Having finished and cleaned up he decided to go for a wander. After all there were some decent gallaries in the area and he's been meaning to check them out. Seeing people wandering in and out of the building he decides to go check it out.

Yeah he stands out almost any place and he's used to the glances and hushed tones as he steps inside. He looks like a traditional goth. Top to toe dressed in long sleeve black. The heavy biker boots not something someone would associate with comfort but they suit him. His very slim build is enveloped by the worn brown duster he was wearing to keep the chill off him tonight. He even has a leather collar around his neck and pale skin with long black hair tied in a pony tale. Yep looks typical except for that casual smile he has as he wanders past people.

Hearing the guy warbling away about his love he heads out to the garden. Perhaps he's just a critic when it comes to others music but it's obvious he's cringing at times when the guy hits the wrong note. Sitting down he offers a smile to Monika as he hopes the man inside finishes soon so he can check the place out.

[Monika Kyzlikova] While Kyle seems to fit into one class or group of individuals, Monika seems very flexible in that regard. Her clothing is very simple [turtle neck to stave off the cold and denim because their comfortable] and black leather boots that disappear beneath her jeans and bear at least a 4 inch [deadly] heel. Her countenance is easy and attractive and while she doesn't seem overwhelmed by the acoustic set playing inside, she's not wholly put off either.

One leg falls over the other at the knee, a booted foot shaking lazily like a cats tail. Kyle, should he find a table or seat close enough to where she sits, may notice the sharp almost lupine features on her face: the high cut of her cheek bones and the feral shape and stare of her eyes. There's something about Monika that's not quite normal, no matter how hard she strives to be simply that.

Dark eyes take in the latest arrival and when he offers her a smile she takes it and gives him one in kind. "So ...you would seem to be an outside observer." She's removing cigarettes from her Coach bag, along with a lighter. One is removed and placed between two burgundy shaded lips. A greedy drag is drawn into her lungs and she exhales the smoke in one long plume. "What's the verdict?" It's said with a nod toward the man singing inside.

[Kyle] Looking up when Monika speaks he gives an absent shrug before standing again. Moving closer so as not to yell it would seem across the seating area. Once close enough he takes a moment to look at her, memorizing her face and figure. HE wasn't doing it like some sex starved nutter, but more like a casual observer who seemed to take in all the people around him. Finally when he speaks she'll understand why he moved closer. His voice is soft and a little raspy, just a hair above a whisper but still understandable.

"Well after he killed the second chorus I felt my sanity would be best out here. He's got potential but the song is wrong for his voice. Too many long and high notes that he just will never reach."

[Monika Kyzlikova] Dark eyes curtained with a long shade of equally dark eyelashes blink slowly as they focus on Kyle's movements from point A to point B closer to her. There's a cigarette held between her index and middle finger, while her other hand holds onto a glass of wine. She's listening [really listening] to the critique she asked for.

Both brows drift upward and she nods faintly, the cigarette drawn to her lips once more in a casual smooth motion. It's ashed, and she rests her elbow on the table top and leans back in her chair, the wine left on the table and her arm falling against the flat softness of her stomach.

"I'd say that's a fair observation." She replies, dark eyes cutting toward the inside of the building. "You're a musician then?"

[Kyle] "Amongst other things yeah I am. Probably too much of a critic at times but it's a habit I'm in no hurry to change."

SMirks as he glances past her for a moment then back again. If he was bothered by the smoking he sure wasn't letting on. Not that he cared about it. After all eveyrone has a vice or two and he wasn't one to tell others off for that. Now that he's closer she can see that the black under his eyes wasn't make up but the obvious signs of lack of sleep. Despite how thin he seems compared to others he doesn't seem bothered in the slightest.

"How bout yourself? Here for the music or the art?"

[Monika Kyzlikova] "Neither." She says, her eyes taking in the lines and planes of his features. He would feel the intensity of her scrutinizing gaze as she takes in a drawn face that's seen far too little sleep. She doesn't comment on it, but it is duly noted.

"I'm here for the wine." Her generous mouth twists into a wry smile and she draws the cigarette back to her mouth before ashing it again. If she were concerned for the sensibilities of other human beings [or kin or garou] it doesn't seem so on the surface.

[Kyle] Chuckles softly as he glances at the glass then back to her.

"I see. Well I hope it's well worth the pain to the hearing that's occuring."

Smirks as he leans on one arm and offers his hand. It's a casual gesture given as if he's not overly big on formalities.

"I'm Kyle by the way. "

[Monika Kyzlikova] The carcinogenic is snubbed out in a nearby ashtray and as Kyle is leaning toward her to extend his hand she's doing the same, a curtain of thick dark hair spilling over a single slender shoulder. Her hand is delicate and fine boned, her fingers slender and long.

"Kyle, it's a pleasure. My name is Monika. Are you a native of Chicago?"

[Kyle] While his own hand may seem delicate but it's more to do with his pale skin tone than his actual physique. The assorted callouses and roughness of his palm shows he's not unacustomed to labour of various types.

"Pleasure to mee you Monika. Nah not a native. Wandered in a few years ago and seem to find myself coming back regardless of were I wander off. Guess you could call me an adoptive native. How bout yourself?"

[Monika Kyzlikova] She draws her hand back into herself and shakes her head, bringing the wine back to her lips once more. "Some city's have a way of fixing themselves to you. Like a living and breathing soul." She sits the wine back on the marble top table again and fixes Kyle with her attention again.

"I am not from Chicago. I was born in Armenia but grew up in Pennsylvania."

[Kyle] "That is true. But I also think it's the people we meet that add that extra life and vibrance to a city that endures us. I know plenty of places that have made me feel very unwelcome and yet the people weren't too bad."

He seems content to just lean there supported on his arm as he listens to the music and talks with her.

"I haven't had a chance to visit Armenia yet. Did a quick pass through Turkey a few years back but nothing you'd call memorable. Nice area Pennsylvania. What brings you to Chicago?"

[Monika Kyzlikova] "Love." She says rather matter of factly. Her eyes narrow on the doorway leading back into the art haus. Her finger curl around the wine glass once more and draw it back to her lips. If Kyle is comfortable or content leaning in his chair and speaking with a stranger then Monika is equally so. Her body is languidly resting back in her chair, her eyes resting easily on his face.

"Or, rather, the lack thereof." Again, her mouth twists into a wry smile and she sits her glass down on the table once more. "It's my first time in Chicago...maybe on another day you could show me around?"

[Kyle] Now that comment gets a raised brow from him. He's heard of a lot of reasons but this was a first for him.

"Rather unusual for a lack of love to bring someone to a new city. Taking a guess that you had some complications of the heart back home? Certainly would be happy to give you a tour of the city anytime. Anything in particular you want to check out or just looking for the standard tourist version for starters?"

[Monika Kyzlikova] She smiles and it's bitter sweet and cool at once. "You could say that." She says to his assumption that a complication of the heart drove her to Chicago. "Love is blind, Kyle." She says and draws her wine to her lips and drains the glass. "She's also quite the bitch."

The acoustic set gave way to something with a jazz flavour sung by the voice of a soulful woman. "I've family I need to catch up with, but I'd like to get to know the area, the various neighbourhoods. I need to find somewhere to live."

[Kyle] "That is true but even the blind can see the truth because tehy have no misconceptions to cloud their view. But Love is a fickle lady who will have you gasping for breathe in anticipation one moment and cursing her name the next."

Nods absently as he listens to the shift in music. The smile still on his face no longer dropping slightly as it had with the previous singer.

"Well I guess it all depends on what you can afford. This area in particular is medium but tending to high in the rental stakes. BRonsville and the areas around it are not exactly the safest at night especially. Still can find some good places there as well. Have you talked to your family yet about some suggestions?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [where at, guys? and you guys sticking around for a bit?]

[Monika Kyzlikova] [Serpentine: a cafe with an open mic night and a heated outside garden. They're sitting in the garden. I will be here for a few hours at the very least.]

[Kyle] (Least 6hrs for me. just be slow when the wife and kids get home in about a hour :) )

[Monika Kyzlikova] He would feel the woman's dark eyes cut toward him and lay heavily on his face. They take in the darkness beneath his eyes that whispers of nights spent doing anything other than sleeping before sweeping toward the shape of his mouth and the form of his lips. He waxes poetic about love and truth and the bitch that one or both of them can be. Monika, for her part, nods in agreement and gathers the length of her dark hair in one hand and drops it easily down the curve of her spine. Her skin is olive coloured, and swathed in dark colours as she is [black snug turtle neck, dark denim jeans, black leather heeled boots] she would blend in effortlessly were it not for the stunning features on her face.

"Hmmm." The sound is soft and vibrates up through her chest and into her throat. "I don't suppose I've the thought through the idea of how much money I can exactly afford for rent." And somehow, the way that she says it, makes it seem absolutely sensible.

She just hadn't consider it yet.

[Kyle] Now that gets him chuckling softly. Shifting his weight a little to sit up straighter. In his case money was a luxury rather than a constant. Probably helps explain his rather slim build too.

"Ah so this was a spur of the moment thing. Personally I tend to just crash at hostels or roach motels depending on what's available. But if you've got family I'm sure they'll be happy to help out and loan you a bed or a couch till you get yourself organized."

[Monika Kyzlikova] The woman inside the Cafe is covering Adele's Rolling in the Deep, and this cuts the dark shade of her eyes toward the doorway leading into the building. She lifts a hand as a waitress skirts by and manoeuvres the tables and patrons to serve drinks and food. One more she mouths, her hand holding up her glass now empty of white wine.

"Would you like something to drink, Kyle?" She asks the Goth, one dark brow drawn up over her eye. "My treat?" For all the kindness and simplicity Moni offers, there's something simmering beneath the surface of her skin. Her features are lean and wolfish, her eyes dark and feral. She does not have the eternal fire of Rage churning in her guts and heating her soul, but there's something about her that's not only appealing to the eyes of the men around her, but to the monsters that crept among them wearing their skins if only as a disguise.

"It was rather immediate and without a great deal of thought." She says and smiles, that smile eventually bleeding into a sweeping grin. "New York was too close to Pennsylvania, Chicago seemed a much better choice."

[Kyle] "Thanks for the offer. Surprise me."

Chuckles softly as he nods his thanks. He catches the look she throws towards the cafe but says nothing. There certainly was something about Monika that would catch a man's eye. If Kyle's watching her it doesn't show as obviously as some of the men around them. After all when compared to her he wasn't anything that stood out. Perhaps that's why he dresses the way he does, to make himself memorable.

"She's good. BE interesting to hear her with backing."

Motions absently to the cafe and then looks back to Monika.

"Well I can vouch for doing things on a whim. Sometimes the best trips I've had have been unplanned and in a hurry. But I guess if you needed distance then Chicago is better place to be. Though if it was distance I know this tiny little town in Alaska that's fun as long as you don't mind the cold or the odd days."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [totally posting in now. sorry bout that, had Important Emailz to write.]

[Monika Kyzlikova] She holds up one hand and waves at the waitress: two fingers are offered, meaning, bring me two rather than just one. His comment on the woman covering Adele does not go ignored. "I agree, she's not half bad."

The conversation twists to the whim of fancy and his predilection for spontaneous movement or decisions. Her eyes leave Kyle and shift to the traffic whizzing past the cafe. "I consider Tokyo. That seemed a little extreme." The way that her gaze slides back to the Goth colour her expression with mirth.

[Kyle] "Tokyo is good. Too busy for my tastes though. It's like Hong Kong in that the city just keeps moving day and night. On the plus side the scenery in Japan is amazing during spring."

When it comes to conversations he's able to switch modes and even have several conversations at once on a whim. Some people find it difficult and get flustered yet he seems to do it naturally.

"But if you prefer quiet there's some lovely villages in the mountains of France and Germany that are perfect for peace and quiet. Lots of wide open space and fresh air."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's something summery about sitting on a cafe patio as evening rolls over into nighttime, even if it's very, very far from summer indeed. Past the spring equinox now, and the days lengthening past the night -- and still, frost and snow in the city, ice over the small, still ponds in the forest preserves at the edge of town.

Lukas is dressed for the weather as he pulls up to the curb, in a dark grey peacoat that's just a shade or two shy of black. It's doublebreasted, thigh-length, as all peacoats are -- but there's a certain modern edge to it, enough that the thin hoody he wears under it doesn't look out of place. The hoody is a lighter shade of grey; his jeans, charcoal. Quite monochromatic, he is: even his hair is black, and his eyes a blue so pale and piercing they nearly look clear in certain lighting.

Perhaps all the color in this relationship is saved for the female of the species, the lovely blonde that steps out of the passenger-side door of the BMW. He meets her on the curb; he doesn't have gloves on, so he takes her hand and tucks it into his deep coat pocket with his, coming up the steps to the cafe. There's a moment when he spots Kyle on the patio -- recognized because of late nights in the Brotherhood, though not deeply acquainted-with -- and the woman he's with, who is a stranger but known nonetheless.

They don't go inside, the Shadow Lord and his mate. He murmurs something to her, bending to speak to her because he stands head and shoulders over than she is if she's in flats, and a full head taller even if she's in heels. Then they alter course, coming over to Kyle and Monika's table.

"Kyle," Lukas greets the kinsman first, "nice to see you out and about. You remember Dani&+269;ka." Refocusing then, extending his hand across the table to Monika, "Hi. I'm Lukáš. You've probably heard from me already, but we haven't officially met."

[Monika Kyzlikova] "I've never been," She says, though she doesn't say if she's referring to Tokyo or the small towns dotting the mountains of France and Germany. "One day." She says with a slight yet firm nod. The waitress brings them both a glass of white wine: his first, her second.

Lukas and Danicka's approach is noted. She follows the both of them with dark eyes as they approach the table she's seated at. The interaction between Kyle and Lukas is taken in quietly before an arm is outstretched and she accepts Luka's hand in a brief shake before releasing it and drawing her arm back iin and against her body. "Yes, Lukas. Monika Kyzlikova." It's said without accent and she looks toward Kyle as if in a different light now.

[Danicka Musil] The female of the species is, indeed, the color to Lukas's monochrome. Humans are a bit of a reversal from the norm in the animal kingdom, at least on the surface, at least as far as appearances go. She's the one with the long, thick hair, just enough of a wave to it to give it some volume and body. She's the one with the fair hair, the eyes that are deep green tonight, a faint flush of color to her cheeks as though she's been out walking in the cold -- she hasn't, yet -- or is embarrassed by something -- she isn't, though. She's the one wearing the bright, cerulean blue peacoat with the gold buttons, a crisp and youthful air about it. She's the one with a white scarf tucked in under it, and a couple of tiny pins in her hair that have jeweled flowers adorning them, catching the light, making it sparkle.

Danicka is, in fact, in heels, a pair of sharp boots sticking out from the hems of a pair of white slacks with just a little flare past her calves. She's not wearing gloves, either, though. She laughs when Lukas takes her hand and tucks it into his pocket as though to keep her warm. She can be seen saying something to him as they walk towards the restaurant.

There's a flicker in her eyes when he makes his way towards Kyle and Monika, hard to read. By the time they reach the other two Kin, however, she's smiling.

"A pleasure to meet you," she says, presumably to both of them, because she can't quite remember ever having a conversation with Kyle.

[Kyle] "I'm sure you'll travel more than you think. Thanks."

Takes the offered drink and has a sip of it. Definately was good wine and he nods as if agreeing to an unspoken comment. Then he catches taht subtle shift of the air and turns as he hears Jukas. Tunring he offers his usual casual smile and wave. Waiting till they're closer so they can hear him speak.

"Hey Lukas. Yeah nice to see you more than in passing like we tend to do. Hey Danicka, nice to see you again."

Kyle for the last couple of years has been more a chost than a person around the Brotherhood and the city so he's been seen but rarely heard. That seems to have changed in recent months.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] wat flickr be!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Danicka Musil

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Oh and. The murmur would've been something like "That's one of ours sitting with Kyle. I should go say hi."
to Danicka Musil

[Danicka Musil] Danicka's eyes: "Stupid Nation. :[ Can't go on one stinky-dinky dinner date wif hubband. Stoopid Nation."

But she's also is kinda "Alright, let's get this over with." She not overwrought, just momentary "Nngh."
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] In truth, Lukas isn't sure he's ever had a conversation with Kyle. The man has, indeed, been very nearly a ghost in all his time here. Having a voice that rarely rises above a whisper will do that. Lukas has seen the kinsman around, though, and they've shared lodgings -- at least part of the time -- for the last two years.

It's Monika that holds the bulk of his attention, though. She's one of his. A kin of Thunder. She looks the part, as does Lukas: dark hair, fierce eyes. Danicka, on the other hand, doesn't. When people meet Danicka, they mistake her for a Fang, a Fenrir, a Glass Walker -- she may have even been mistaken for a Child of Gaia on occasion. It's her golden hair. It's that softness about her features, perhaps.

It's still there, though. The blood of Thunder, somewhere under the surface. Ferocity and cunning and pragmatism and survival. It must be; wolves can smell it, even if these kin cannot.

"We don't want to interrupt," Lukas goes on, standing behind one of the empty chairs but making no move to sit. "I just wanted to introduce myself properly to Monika, put a face to a name." Perhaps by way of explanation to Kyle, "We're related."

[Monika Kyzlikova] Her countenance is all dark seas and thunder clouds: her eyes are nearly black in colour as is her thick mane of hair. Her face bears the lean features of a predator, her eyes only seem to add to that consideration. Not even her skin is fair, it's hue more suited for Mediterranean ports of call. And there is her breeding, while she is unaware to a precise point what it is that draws them to her, she knows it has something to do with her blood: the lineage of heroes, the touch of Thunder.

She offers Danicka a pleasant and genuine smile, "Pleasure." It is to Lukas that she turns then, her shoulders refusing to bow beneath the bulk of his attention. Her eyes drift from his face to Danicka's and then down slowly to where the Shadow Lord stands behind an empty chair.

A moment passes, a significant one in that she draws the wine to her lips and considers the two new arrivals and the two empty chairs. Her tongue rolls across her lips and eventually she smiles, a slow dawning of acceptance that sweeps across her face and settles behind the darkness of her eyes.

"If you both would care to join us ..I don't think Kyle would mind, " She pauses long enough to turn the whole of her attention toward the Goth kinsman, "Would you?"

[Kyle] A nod in understanding to Lukas before he looks to Monika.

"No don't mind at all. Please join us."

Moves so they can all easily sit around the table.

(Sorry just going to ghost a moment. Family all just got home so mad house here )

[Danicka Musil] The Thunder is in the animal intellect in those verdant eyes of hers. And it's in the sharpness of her chin. Were her mother alive, all who knew Night Warder would see her every time they saw Danicka, would be unable to see anything but her -- she lacks only the rage. She lacks the ability to touch the spirit world and feel it writhe against her palm. She lacks only what the man beside her has in spades, has so much of that the people in this restaurant do not want to be here anymore. Feel sick. Feel their hearts beating, feel sweaty, want to get into a fight with the person they're dining with, want to run.

Danicka holds his hand, and she can't tell that Monika is like her except that Lukas told her. All the breeding in the world wouldn't tell her that they might have something in common beyond being young and beautiful -- though truth be told, there are lines around Danicka's eyes and mouth that make her look thirty or so, maybe a bit older, not in her early twenties at all. And Monika is, well.

She looks like a Shadow Lord. A young, lovely, wild, ripe granddaughter of Thunder. Danicka looks a little too fragile to be a Shadow Lord. It's only the Garou who can smell her for what she is right away, the moment they feel her coming. It's only those who have seen her doing more than standing there looking demure who can attest:

she's stronger than she looks.

Her hand is extricated, or was some time ago, from Lukas's. "That's hospitable of you," she tells them both, "but we were just stopping in for a drink. We have a reservation in a little while," she adds, nodding her head at a restaurant across and just down the street, a place called -- perhaps intentionally -- Spring. "I suppose we could sit for a few minutes, though," Danicka adds, glancing at Lukas before looking back to the other two kin. "Have both of you received or read the letter I sent out recently?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "The coffee here's better," Lukas puts in by way of explanation -- why they're here, perhaps, when they were heading to Spring.

She supposes they could sit for a few moments. The glance to Lukas could be read as permission sought; the eyebrow he quirks and the nod he gives a beat later -- permission given. If they were inclined to look for such things. If they were inclined to believe exactly what this couple look like: the dark, stormy Shadow Lord and his soft, conquered kin.

She's stronger than she looks.

"Thanks," Lukas says to Monika and Kyle -- polite, and perhaps just a little wry. Every one of them here knows he'd sit if he wanted to, invited or not. He plays the role when he's in public, though. Courtesy, a decent upbringing. Enough that he even pulls out Danicka's chair for her, then takes the one beside, unbuttoning his coat to let it hang open.

While Danicka asks about her memo, Lukas flags down a passing waitress. He's sometimes such a creature of habit, and he gets the same thing here as he does everywhere else: an espresso corretto al cognac. And a couple chocolate truffles on the side, mix 'n match; surprise him. Then he settles back, unzipping that thin hoodie as well -- the shirt underneath is fitted, black, logoless -- listening with quiet interest.

[Monika Kyzlikova] There isn't a breathing soul [aware or no] surrounding them, let alone at the table where they sit, that would doubt Lukas' ability to claim a seat at any table he wished. The fact that she even considered it and then turned to Kyle for his opinion on the matter may very well convey a message : You don't take, ask.

But Lukas and his mate are the epitome of well bred manners thus far. They waited patiently to be invited and have been pleasant thus far. There is a pack of cigarettes resting on the marble table top at which they sit, next to that is a pale pink Bic lighter. Were the wind to blow just right, it would be obvious that Moni was the smoker at the table, not the quiet and unassuming Kyle.

Her fingers wrap loosely around her wine glass and she draws it to her lips. A dark denim clad leg drapes over the other at the knee and she rests her palm on her thigh while her other hand cradles the glass.

"I have not yet." She says to Danicka, her attention no longer spread between the kinswoman and her mate. It's resting solely on the woman who is shades lighter than herself. "I've really just arrived, I'm hoping to find a rather reasonable place to lease. I'm presently at a Hotel." She doesn't say which one.

[Kyle] (going to have to bail. things are a little crazy on this end. Sorry can't hang around. Catch you all later :)
to Danicka Musil, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Monika Kyzlikova

[Danicka Musil] She knows Kyle lives at the Brotherhood. He's read it, or had the opportunity to. Even so, she says: "It's posted in the common room of the Brotherhood of Thieves, if you'd like to take a chance to go read it in full. The gist," Danicka goes on, as she takes her seat beside Lukas, "is that two positions were recently created by the Grand Elder, and I've been appointed to fill the post of Sept Liaison. It entails mediating conflicts, aiding communication between Garou and Kinfolk, and generally acting as the 'voice of Kinfolk' to the sept -- meaning not that my opinion becomes the opinion shared, but that I'm entrusted to fairly and honestly representing everyone who chooses or needs to make use of me in this manner."

There's a pause. The waitress comes, Lukas orders, Danicka asks for a glass of white wine, and then when the waitress leaves, speaks to Monika again: "You can, of course, always go to your tribal elder -- in this case, Lukáš -- but to be frank, if you find yourself in conflict with him, or if he's unavailable, or if for some reason you can't go to him, I hope that you'll trust me enough to ask for my help. And if I can, I'll give it."

She smiles, and has not unbuttoned her coat. Heated patio or not, they're outdoors and it's freezing. "Here, let me write down my contact information for you so you'll have it. As a fellow Kin of Thunder, if nothing else." She reaches into her bag and takes out a pen, writing her name and number and e-mail address on a napkin to slide it over to Monika.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Quite a few kin live in the Brotherhood of Thieves," Lukas puts in. "I have a room there myself -- Room 2. It's not exactly a five-star establishment, though.

"And just to add my two cents to the official business," he continues, "in case my stormcrow didn't get to you -- I'm your tribal elder, like Dani&+269;ka mentioned. That means if you run into any trouble, you should come to me. If you give me any trouble, I'll come to you. And if a Garou not of our Tribe wants to get to know you a little better, send him to me or come to me directly."

His espresso arrives. He leans back to let the waitress through, smiling a close-lipped thank-you as she departs.

[Monika Kyzlikova] Her eyes are focused on Danicka. She nods appropriately and listens when the other woman speaks. When she searches her handbag for something to write her information on, Moni does the same. She draws the black Coach bag from where it had been hooked on her chair and withdraws a small pad of paper along with a small pen. She writes her name and phone number [mobile] as well as her e-mail.

The women exchange information and as Lukas is speaking she's tucking dark hair behind an ear. There isn't a direct stare offered to Lukas, rather her eyes land somewhere near his lips or his throat.

She nods.

"Of course." Replacing the pen and paper and Danicka's information into her wallet she doesn't replace her bag on the chair, instead it's hooked onto her slender shoulder. "Thank you, Danicka. We'll have to do lunch." And to Lukas she nods, "I will remember that."

"I'm sorry, but I need to start back to the Hotel before it gets to late. It really was a pleasure." With that Moni will excuse herself politely, scoot her chair in and head for the door.

[Eeee! Sorry guys, it's almost 9am here and i've yet to sleep! Thank you for the play!]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Of course," Lukas replies. "Drive safe."

Then she's up and leaving, and Lukas is not so much a well-trained gentleman that he stands with her. When she's gone, he stretches his legs out under the table, propping his feet up on Monika's just-vacated chair. His own chair tilts back on two legs, a decidedly more casual, open image than the one he projected just a few moments ago.

"That didn't take too long," he says, smiling.

[Danicka Musil] Monika leaves, as Kyle excuses himself as well, and Danicka waits a moment after they're gone. She puts Monika's contact information away, and then glances at Lukas, picking up her wineglass to take a sip. "I'm sort of wondering if we interrupted a date, but they would make such an odd little couple."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas laughs a little under his breath, reaching forward without tilting his chair down to snag -- barely -- his corretto.

"I doubt it," he says. "She didn't seem the subtle sort; if they were on a date, it would have been obvious. Besides, she seems the type that'd go for the more aggressive sort."

He looks over his shoulder, hunting for their waitress. He hadn't even wanted to sit down. He wants to leave now, go to Spring, have seared scallops with sex in the bathroom as dessert. Well. Maybe not in the bathroom. But sex, definitely, sometime tonight. She can tell: it's in the way he looks at her, the twinkle in his eye, the way he keeps her close. He calls others unsubtle, but sometimes Lukas has the subtlety of a torpedo.

Still, he adds: "I'm glad, you know. That you're the liaison. I'm ... happy and proud."

[Danicka Musil] "You never know," Danicka murmurs, taking a sip of her wine, but the truth is, she has little interest in gossiping about the potential love interests of a woman she just met, and she doesn't like to gossip to begin with. So a couple of comments are traded, and she hasn't so much as unbuttoned her coat or hung her purse on her chair as they have a drink -- outside, rather than in, as they'd planned initially.

Their table at Spring doesn't open up for a little while yet, anyway. And yes, he has... no way of concealing from her, really, that she's here and he'd like to take her somewhere and --

Danicka laughs a litlte. "I know," she says quietly. "You told me." She's quiet a moment, then looks at him, eyebrows up a little. "Let's be something other than the Sept Liaison and the Everything Alpha tonight though, okay?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The corner of Lukas's mouth curves up. He studies her a moment - fond, loving, for lack of a better word - and then he wraps his hand behind her head and bumps his brow gently to hers.

"Okay," he says quietly. "Let's just have a nice date."

The sad thing is, of course, they haven't had very many of these at all. They didn't date at the beginning; they met and they did battle more often than not. Dueled with each other, but really with themselves, carved blood and bone out of their own flesh trying not to fall into each other. For a while there were a couple -- Spring, that Polish place -- but then there were responsibilities, rank, renown, Alpha of Everything, Sept liaison.

These days, half the time when they're out together they get interrupted for one reason or another. Once, they were interrupted by goddamn skinless dog-things, and he Frenzied and nearly killed her. Lukas can't remember the last time they just ... had a date.

This is what he's thinking as he sits back, as he has a sip of corretto. Then he looks back at her. He's found a happier thought.

"The first time we went to Spring," he says, "it was right around this time of year, too. A little earlier. It wasn't really spring yet, and that's why I was so excited and happy when I found it. Because it was what you'd wished for, and I felt like I'd ... found it and brought it to you, in a silly way."

[Danicka Musil] She thinks it's ridiculous when he bumps their heads together. It makes her laugh, makes her look at him like he's grown a third arm that is going around giving everyone peace signs. As his large, warm hand slides away, she shakes her head a bit. Her wineglass is on the table. She scoots her chair over a bit and leans against his side. She reaches for it occasionally.

No, they didn't date at the beginning. There were semblances of it -- he called her, told her to meet him at the aquarium. Wondered aloud how she could stand it, why she was okay with it

that they spent ten minutes there before going to a hotel to fuck.

They never really dated, and Danicka never really mourned that since she wasn't the type to date anyway, so she laughs a little when he says they'll just have a nice one. She wasn't thinking about having a date. Just a night when it wasn't about business. The nation. Introducing themselves to someone or another.

Danicka lays her head on his shoulder, and the light catches the flower-pin in her hair and sparkles a little. Glitters red.

"I know," she says, of course. "You were so happy when I showed up, and... I knew why. I got it." She pauses. "And it was raining. I know after that we went to... the Omni, maybe? And I was happy, too."

There's a little ache in that, too. Back then she couldn't be happy without whispering it, hiding it, keeping a secret so it would be safe. That was the first, last, and only time he ever called her damaged. That was when she bit down on his wallet to keep from screaming in the bathroom of a restaurant, one booted foot up against the stall wall, yellow dress hiked up so he could eat her pussy.

Danicka smiles, remembering, and sips her wine. "And last year around this time," she murmurs, reminiscing now, "you brought spring to me again. Only with twigs in your hair. And a little glove."

She's quiet for a moment, then lifts her head and looks at him. "When do you want to have children?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] It was raining, she says, and he interjects, smiling, "You had your umbrella with the blue sky inside."

And she goes on. And she was happy that night, and he ached, and then he called her damaged for the first, last and only time. He was less careful with words, then. He didn't know their power so keenly; the difference between hurt and damaged; injured and broken.

She talks about the tiny glove. The twigs that she built a little house out of; a house that he painstakingly transferred over to their desktop fountain where their water spirit resides. It perches atop the miniature waterfall now, on a smooth, flat stone just beyond the run of the awakened liquid.

And then she asks what she does. It's a little stunning, that question. Leaning against him the way she does, she can feel him -- not quite tense, no, but start a little. Just a tiny bit, an electric current of awareness rocketing through him and subsiding. He thinks a moment. He sips corretto, and his arm is around her waist, and her head was on his shoulder so recently that he still feels it warm weight.

"When you're ready," he answers, then. "When we're both ready. I feel like you've had so little time to be free in your life. And we've both had so little time to enjoy what happiness we've been given, just between us. I don't want to cut it short."

He turns, he hugs her closer, he kisses her temple. "I do want children," he murmurs. "I do, very much. But not so much that I want to rush it.

"You?"

[Danicka Musil] "I think sometimes," she says --

and make no mistake, she knows the impact that question has on him. Could have on him. She knows that when she asks it, and she must ask it all the same. She sounded so serious, yet so...well, blunt. Realistic. As though they're a couple who has been married for far longer than three months, which is true in a way. As though they're a normal human couple planning their life together. No trepidation to her, no eagerness either. But she knows, especially mentioning that sparkly gloves

daddy the one with the sparklies you know the one daddy you're not listening

how it might hit him.

-- as he draws her near again, kisses her temple, holds her. She pauses there, takes a breath, her eyes closing as she exhales. She's warm. Warm and comforted. Her eyelashes lift again, her eyes finding him. "I think sometimes about it. I'm not exactly freaking out about my biological clock, but ...you're an Adren, baby," she says quietly.

And by god. He knows from firsthand vision now that by the time her mother was an Adren, she had two children and had lost others. She wasted no time at all. Because while she was an Athro, she --

Danicka sips her wine, and then sets the glass down and lays her arm across his abdomen. "Don't think that because I'm asking I want to go off the pill and by god you'd better drop everything to fuck me if I'm ovulating," she says. "But... I am sort of wanting to know, lately, if we have a plan. If I should start looking at graduate school immediately after I get my degree, or if I want to take a year or two off and have a baby before I get my Master's. I want to know if ..."

She takes a breath and exhales. "I want to think about... maybe I should go part time for the last few years of undergrad. If maybe we shouldn't... not wait."

Danicka holds him a moment, quiet. She hasn't talked about wanting to enjoy her freedom -- to be plain about it, she found freedom even when she wasn't free. It's why she's sane. It's why she doesn't hate the nation, the garou, herself. And she hasn't addressed holding on to the time they have together, not wanting to cut it short. But she does now.

"Baby, I'm not... " a breath. "I don't think having children will change anything about how I feel if you die." She doesn't sugar-coat it. "It won't be some kind of comfort, I think. I don't know." Danicka mulls over that a moment, then looks at him again. "Mostly, I just... don't want to be waiting so long for 'when we're ready' that we never get around to saying now. Now is the time."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] It's not quite panic that he feels. Nothing so extreme. Surprise, though, bordering on shock. Not so very long ago, she spoke of how she wasn't ready to have children, but she would be happy to bear his little ones. Not so very long before that, it was simply a no. No no no no no no no, not ready.

She's not saying she wants them now. She's not dropping that bombshell on him, but -- all the same, it's a different thing from what she's been saying, it's a different thing from what he's been thinking. And he shifts as she looks at him again, pivots a little so he's facing her more directly. Listens to her as she muses about graduate school, about a year or two off, about part timing the last few years of undergrad.

About not waiting

until they were out of time.

"I just," in the end, this seems to be all he can think of to say, "don't want to take your freedom away again so soon. I mean, I don't think you're going to just drop everything to become a cub factory, but... it'll be different."

[Danicka Musil] It's funny how time warps. Not so long ago, he thinks, and he thinks of the way she kissed him underground, held by the Vhujunka, told him she wasn't ready but one day, one day she'd gladly welcome his little ones. Love them. Raise them so strong. And that was over a year ago. A year and a half, almost.

At very least she isn't telling him okay, now. Now. But it is different, even if from her perspective... well, it's natural. They're married. The reason they got married had, at least in part, to do with Lukas thinking about his own feelings on his parents being married, and how maybe their children would feel good knowing that, too. She does remember telling him she didn't want to think of all the children she'd never have, the one she miscarried

the one she aborted

the ones he met in the Underworld. She couldn't bear it anymore, thinking of all those lost spirits. She does remember how wracked he was last year, how he didn't even know if she was happy, in that imaginary future. If that was a life she could bear, would want. Then again, all Lukas knew at the time was that surely if they had children, they wouldn't be able to afford to run off to the Omni or the W Lakeshore to fuck on hundred-dollar sheets. Surely wouldn't be able to run off some night to a club, drop a little E, fuck in Trump Towers til they couldn't move.

Danicka gives him a small squeeze, breathing him in. "Baby... I'm not going to argue with you, because the truth is, I don't want to come off like I'm trying to convince you to get me pregnant. I just..." A beat. "Do you remember the beginning? And how I could only bear to be yours and only yours if I knew where the end was. If I put some kind of artificial time limit on it?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I know you're not." He answers that first, and then he gives a wan little laugh. "To some degree I'm also trying not to hope too hard, too fast. Because some part of me is saying let's do it now! It's just the rest of me is saying but she's only been free for a little while, and I think that's the reasonable part."

Then, a nod. "I remember."

[Danicka Musil] She laughs at that -- the confession that some part of him, at least, is not hyperventilating from panic but from excitement, from eagerness, from wanting badly to take her home and help her flush all the birth control and then fuck. a lot.

But she puts her hand on his face, and kisses him gently, and says: "Baby, please stop worrying about me being 'free' or something. Every time you say it, it's... " Her hand moves to his jaw, thumb sweeping his cheekbone. "Having your children is not a fucking ball and chain to me."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] That surprises a laugh out of him. His hand covers hers briefly, takes her hand and moves it so he can kiss her knuckles. Draw it down to his chest, over his heart. It doesn't even mean anything, this gesture. He does it because it feels natural. Right.

She can feel his voice vibrating against her palm when he speaks again: "Okay. I guess I'm just being a worrywart. As usual." A pause. "Why'd you bring up the artificial time limit?"

[Danicka Musil] The first time they slept together -- really slept, Lukas guardedly asking if she was staying, just as guardedly admitting that he wanted her to, and Danicka telling him she would, that she was going to, that he should come to bed with her -- she wrapped herself around him from behind. She covered his chest with her hand, kept his heart beat under her palm. Now she notices how often he draws her hand there, no longer quite so bewildered at the idea that she might protect him. That she could protect him.

That she does.

Her lips flicker in a small smile at yet another confession from him: that he's a worrywart. That he's stressing over the thought that she might feel confined, constrained, that she might lose her life if she has a couple of babies and hires a nice Kinfolk nanny, maybe a Child of Gaia, to help her raise them so she can continue to have that life she craves, that intellectual stimulation, all of it. The career. The power. The freedom. But oh, how he fusses. How he worries.

"Because it's sort of the same," she says quietly. "I'm not... usually the sort to want any kind of ironclad plan in place. But I've also noticed how well I work with a deadline." Danicka laughs a little. "Not that I'm asking for one in this regard. But it would help to know... when we might want to start." She pauses. "Trying, I mean."

Not, truth be told, that they'll have to try that hard. Her bloodline is, frankly put, ripe. Fertile. It's in her breeding. It's in her half-sister having six kids. It's in her mother getting pregnant roughly five times, even if she only carried two to term. It's in the fact that the second time Danicka herself got pregnant, she was using birth control.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] If Danicka had mentioned as much, Lukas might balk at a Coggie nanny. What if the kids grow up all ... spoiled and weak? What if she overindulges them, or doesn't teach them how to stand up and be productive, or -- and all the while, Danicka knows the truth. She saw it at Thanksgiving, when minor bantering over mashed potatoes resulted in three different bowls. Given the chance, Lukas would spoil his cubs rotten. If anything, it'd be a nanny saying to him -- and not the other way around -- you can't give them what they want if they just make a fuss.

But that's far in the future. For now, it's them, and they're talking about not-quite-deadlines, and Lukas probably hasn't even considered yet the possibility of nannies, of overnight sitting, of mini-vacations to the W

to fuck without worrying about the kids hearing the things they were saying to each other.

That's all in the future. Her hand is over his heart. His covers it. He thinks; he's quiet, he's in thought. That doesn't mean he doesn't speak to her, though -- that he doesn't lean into her across that little space between and nuzzle idly, thoughtlessly at her. His lips to her brow. His jaw against her temple. His nose against her hair.

Finally, "I think ... maybe that's reasonable. Taking the last couple years of undergrad part-time, if you really don't mind. I don't want you to take time off entirely to raise kids, though, unless you really feel like you have to.

"And I don't think we even need to try. Just maybe, when the time comes, you could just go off the pill. And we'll just do what we usually do. And if a baby comes, then," a little smile, a little shrug, "she comes. Or he."

[Danicka Musil] Hearing him worry about whether or not she feels free, seeing a minor disagreement over potatoes turning into three bowls, how he gleefully gets her anything and everything he can think of to get her and then wonders if it's enough, if it could ever come close to expressing how devoted he is to her --

Danicka would laugh, hysterically, if he worried about a nanny spoiling them. As though a nanny means Danicka would have no hand in raising them, or little influence. As though a nanny means someone who comes in and takes over the rearing of their children. As though he would not be top on the list of excusing his spoilage of his little ones by plaintively explaining to Danicka that they were crying, they were sad, is it really a big deal if he lets them have their way? Just this once? So they'll be happy.

So they'll know him as someone who gives, rather than takes away. So they'll know their father as beloved, as kind, as generous, and not just the terror that visits occasionally. It would be Danicka telling him that consistency is harder than extremes, that to be both horrible with rage and sickening with indulgence is far more damaging than to be straigh with them. Than to be the same, always, no matter his mood or the moon phase, so that they know that even if he scares them

they can trust him. He's there, solid, the same, and they never have to wonder who or what is coming home to them because if he is there, they know who he is. Otec.

Tatínek.

Who, it just so happens, gets gleeful near Christmas and their birthdays because it means Mommy has finally let him off the hook and he can go nuts.


That is, when he's not at war. When he's not fighting for his life and their survival. When there's not a meeting he has to be at, a council called, a session of the leaders of war preparing to go into battle. When it's not a full moon. When he and Danicka have agreed that if she's going to get any sleep at all, the house has to be quiet and calm and still, and that means that he has to stay away for a couple of nights so that the baby won't scream at random intervals and wake her up.

That's in the future. And then: he's answering her. And she's smiling faintly, but there's an ache to it. No way to avoid it really, with a conversation like this. She nuzzles him back, kisses his cheek. "Maybe I'll at least wait til I have my degree," she says quietly. "I think it might be... frustrating, trying to go to school and take care of a baby at the same time. Might be easier to just... get my bachelor's, take a couple of years off."

A huff of a laugh exits her, curling against his jaw. "Because if you think about it, the last couple of years of undergrad are... well they're right there. I graduate in twenty-thirteen."

She squeezes him, then slides backward, preparing to stand. "Come on," she says gently, softly. "Let's go have some dinner. I think I've set off enough of your mental alarms for one night."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's some irony in that conversation they're bound to have someday when he's spoiling the children because -- consciously or unconsciously -- he wants to make up for the fact that he terrifies them. Or not even make up for it. Just -- show them, somehow, through indulgence if need be, that he's not terrible. He's not a monster. He's their father, and he loves them.

And then Danicka will have to explain that to him. Explain why neglected-smothered children grow up so fucked up, so manipulative and broken, and why terror and indulgence was the Garou version of that very same parental sin. Explain that what the children need is consistency. Is honesty.

Danicka, explaining that to Lukas -- when in the beginning he asked her over and over again for consistency. For honesty.


"I want you to have a job, though," he insists -- and this is gentle and soft, but it's insistence all the same. She starts to slide away, but he's still talking, holding firm to this one point, gnawing on it like a bone. "Or be taking courses, or writing a novel, or rebuilding that vhujunka weapon, or something. Something other than children and the Nation."

So she doesn't become the sort of kinswoman she's not, and could never really be. A proper, good, useful little kin, whose entire life revolves around her womb and her use to the Tribe.

[Danicka Musil] "Baby," she says softly, trying to rise and finding herself drawn back, knees to the chair, hands to his hands, his arms, his shoulders, fingertips to his cheek. "Baby please stop worrying."

Danicka leans over and kisses his brow. "Do you really think that if it didn't make me utterly happy to do so, I would set aside everything else I'm interested in and trade it in for smelling like sour milk and obsessing over how soon I can get pregnant again?" She nuzzles his cheek, his jaw. "Honestly," she murmurs against his scratchy five o'clock shadow, "it's like you think my brain and backbone both are going to turn to slop as soon as I see a pink plus sign. Good god."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] And there's a laugh again, breathed and not quite voiced. She's still close to him. She nuzzles him. He turns his head and kisses her, soft and gentle, almost thoughtful. Mm, he says, and then unwraps his arms, lets her stand.

Stands, himself, zipping his hoodie back up, buttoning the peacoat over it. He pays -- nevermind that this covers the tab for their previous guests too. Not that he would've stiffed Danicka with the tab just because it was more than he wanted to pay, but ... well. Lukas has been talking recently about the markets creeping up again. He's been looking pleased when he checks his portfolios online.

"I'll stop worrying," he promises. "I don't really think that. I guess I just wanted to hear it and be reassured."

He reaches out to her then, his big hands careful as he straightens her scarf, ties it just a little tighter. He smiles again as he reaches for her hand, tucking it into his pocket the way he did when they walked in.

"Let's go have dinner," he says.