you found the real pizza!

[Maddox] [doo de doo]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Maddox] Music fills the air in the Green tonight. It's not a fast tune, or a happy tune that dances slowly through the air, rousing the downtrodden, making passersby sigh unexpectedly. It's sad, almost a dirge. One can imagine that the song is a farewell of sorts, because it is. Goodbye, sunshine. Hello, twilight.

If one were to follow the sound, they'd be surprised by the source. A tall, lanky figure lounges on a bus bench, plucking deftly at the strings of an acoustic. His head is tipped back, dark hair slightly askew from the wind, and his eyes are closed while he plays. There's a cigarette tucked between his lips, ash growing, smoke coiling into the air to mingle with the melody as it drifts and finds its way into the hearts of the neighborhood. He seems lost to his playing. Probably, he is.

[Izzy Montoya] She isn't lost. No, this is her stomping grounds, her territory of sorts, as it is where she works, the area covered by her precinct. No, she's not lost, at all. What she is, is walking out of a doughnut shop (insert joke here) with a pastry in one hand, coffee in the other, somehow managing to thumb through her messages on her phone all at the same time. She's a multitasker, she is.

Right up until she sloshes a bit of coffee through the open slot onto her hand, that is, which gets a reaction that no one who knows her would find surprising: "Jesus, Mary mother of FUCK! That's HOT!"

Such a lovely mouth...

[Maddox] The young man on the bench doesn't know the woman carrying doughnut, coffee, and electronic device all at once. He doesn't know that she has a mouth on her, lovely or otherwise. What he knows is that, through his playing, footsteps are nearing, and with them, breeding. A dark eye cracks open to peer at the woman swearing over spilled hot coffee.

"I'll say," he says around his cigarette, the movement of his lips causing the ash to finally break freak and drop onto the chest of his hoodie. And still he keeps on playing, long, deft fingers dancing over the strings, though it does seem to be winding down to a conclusion.

[Izzy Montoya] It's a juggling act, but after a moment or three, she makes her way toward the bench that currently carries the songster, who's song is nearing some sort of conclusion. She puts the pastry down, rescues her coffee, slides the face of the phone across her thigh, cleaning it with the material of her slacks, before slipping it into the pocket of her blazer. Only then does she look up at Maddox, a brow arching, slightly.

Instead of picking up her pastry, she instead starts the ritual search for her pack of cigarettes, something she needs as much, or more so, than the caffeine and sugar hits.

"Got a light?"

[Maddox] It's Izzy's lucky night for once. Not only is the Garou serenading her with beautiful guitar music, it just so happens that when the song ends, he ends her search for her cigarettes by pulling his own pack from the pocket of his hoodie.

"Sure thing, luv." Drawing out a Winston Red, he sets it between his lips and lights it with the dying cherry of his own cigarette. Once it's glowing nicely, he holds it out to her, brow arched, daring her to accept it from him now.

[Kora] Broadway Pizza is about as far from the bright lights of Manhattan as - anything else in the gritty streets of Chicago's industrial corridor. They serve a mean slice, though. One too many robberies means they serve their slices from behind a slate of metal bars and bulletproof glass after sundown. Even if a customer wanted to eat in, they tore out the chairs years ago. Standing room only, now.

The pizza's New York style, though. Big, thin-crusted slices you practically have to fold to consume. The store's sign glows neon red against the dusky shadows as twilight falls to night. A pregnant woman steps away from the counter, a box of Broadway's World Famous Garlic Breadsticks in hand, a pepperoni slice balanced on top.

The hood of her sweatshirt is pulled up, ward against the cold. It conceals the pale crown of her hair, shadows her face.

[Izzy Montoya] Her gaze narrows, slightly, as he calls her luv, but she doesn't say anything. Yet. She locates her pack, and shakes a cigarette free, placing it between her lips as he dares her. She simply smirks, takes the cigarette, and lights her own from the tip, before handing it back. She's been dared to do far worse things in her day.

She runs her hand through her hair, as she exhales slowly, and the reaches for her coffee cup again. Her taste buds are scalded already, so she doesn't bother being careful. at least this time she doesn't spit curses at the offending sludge.

"Izzy." She says. Then clarifies. "Not 'luv'".

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Of all the things Lukas misses about New York -- and there are a lot -- the food tends to rank near the top. New York City cuisine is New York on a dinner plate: endlessly diverse, a slice from every piece of the pie that forms that great city of cities. Greek, Afghan, Italian, Japanese, Russian, Polish, Moroccan, Ethiopian -- an entire world's worth of culture jammed into one little peninsula, and all of it represented in the ten thousand restaurants peppering Manhattan. Lukas misses the pastrami sandwiches. He misses the thincrust pizzas. Goddamn Chicago-style pizza-casseroles; who the hell thought it up, anyway?

So when Kora steps away from the counter at Broadway's, she finds Lukas leaning against the wall, munching on a slice of meat lover's. He waves at her with his pizza. A big, cheesy glop of sausage and pepperoni and ham and bacon falls into the opened box. He sets the slice down and scoops it up with his fingers, right into his mouth.

"You'd think," he calls when she's close enough to hear him over the hubbub and the noise, "you'd find decent New York-style pizza somewhere other than the ghetto."

Caucasian man in fine clothes: you wouldn't think he'd speak so boldly here. A couple baleful glares come his way -- and turn just as quickly away. His teeth rip into another bite of the pizza, and then he straightens up off the wall.

"What'd you get?"

[Kora] Me too!
to Izzy Montoya, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Maddox, Owen DeTerizzi

[Maddox] He grins at her masterful dodging skills. There will be no sappy second hand kisses here tonight. At least not yet. Probably for the best, Maddox doesn't look like he's had his shots.

Shifting the guitar to rest more comfortably in his lap, Maddox accepts the cigarette back. The spent on has been scraped out and flicked in the general direction of the nearest trash bin.

"Everybody's luv, Izzy luv. Maddox. Crescent of Stag. Got any requests?" His voice carries a faint and muddied accent, something reminiscent of a world across the ocean, but faded with distance and time. It's likely where the "luv" comes from, among other things.

[Maddox] [i'm cool with it!]
to Izzy Montoya, Kora, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Owen DeTerizzi

[Kora] The Skald glances up, lifting her chin as Lukas addresses her over the noise. There's a radio playing somewhere, not the sort of urban station one might imagine, either. Someone's singing in Spanish. The kitchen staff are nearly all Salvadoran. Making New-York style pizza in a Chicago ghetto. Her pale brows lift in a arc of surprise over dark eyes made darker by the shadow of her hood. The sweatshirt is a heather gray zipfront with kangaroo pockets pulled tight across the shape of her stomach. The shoulders and arms are too big for her, but she's rolled them and pushed them up her forearms, revealing a good half-inch of leather and rope bracelets around her wrists.

"Pepperoni and sausage," the note of surprise filters down out of her expression and she tips her head back enough to let the hood fall back. The harsh fluorescent lights make her pale skin all the more stark, and wash out the color of her hair. She lifts the box, showcasing a giant slice covered in ground italian sausage and thick slices of pepperoni. " - and the garlic breadsticks."

A twist of her mouth, with the last. "I'd offer you one, but I've been told they are deadly weapons. They don't skimp on the garlic. The pizza - " a narrow sort of pause, here, a dark-eyed glance back toward the counter. " - it's actually New York style?" The right corner of her mouth twists upward.

"I thought that might be advertising bullshit."

[Owen DeTerizzi] [split scene. No gumption to fit him in. Continue as you were!]

[Izzy Montoya] got any requests?

"That you cease calling me luv."

It's said blandly enough, but there is steel behind it. Something crawls along her spine every time he says it, and to be honest, she's enough on edge already. It's there, somewhere. Around the corners of her eyes, the edge of her lips. the tightening of the muscle at the corner of her jaw, the look in her dark gaze that suggests she's seen more than she should, than she wants too. For the most part, though, she simply is as she appears - a tired cop, who's been on the beat too long.

She doesn't join him on the bench, remaining standing. She does, however, study him. For a long moment, before turning back to study the street, in idle awareness. She doesn't bother making a more complete introduction. He already knows the important [to them] parts anyway.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Well," Lukas muses, tilting his slice so fluorescent-orange pizza grease starts dripping off the cheese, "I haven't had a good pizza in the City for years. I feel like maybe this one's not quite greasy enough. But it's still better than those mushy thick things they call pizza around here."

So speaking, he folds it up and bites into it, tilting his head at the door. Too crowded in here, even if no one crowds him. People get out of his way as he nears. It's like Moses in the Red Sea, all the way to the door. Which he opens by leaning against, swinging it outward into the chilly spring night.

"So when's the little tyke due?" -- he nods at her rather prominent belly.

[Maddox] He doesn't show it, but if Izzy were to sit beside him on the bench, Maddox would probably explode from surprise. Not because he's a nervous kind of man, not hardly, but because she's determined to oppose him. That, and he didn't actually ask her to.

Her only request is that he cease calling her luv. He tips his head up to stare at the woman, brow lifted, dark eyes hooded. Resting one arm atop his guitar, he plucks his cigarette from his lips and gesticulates with it.

"D'you mind if I call you Lizzy?" he asks, utterly and completely serious. Probably.

[Izzy Montoya] She snorts, and arches that brow at him again. She doesn't look away, doesn't lower her gaze, but meets his dead on. "As it is not my name, I'd prefer you not. Though I'm sure you will do whatever you fuckin' wish, in the end." Because that is what they do.

"Of course, then I'll be forced to call you Madeline." Deadpan, this.

She takes a swallow from her cup again, and then reaches for her pastry, tearing off a piece of it and plopping it into her mouth.

[Maddox] "What I wish, Lllizzy," and the L is noticeably drawn out, "is to not break a verbal habit that's twenty-some-odd years in the making. But," and he sighs, long-suffering and benevolent man making the effort to bestow a favor, "if it will make you happy, I can try. The best I can promise is a hybrid, lllIzzy."

Peering up at her, his mouth quirks, and he shrugs a shoulder. "And you can call me whatever you like, s'long as you don't refer to me as anything relating to Angelina fucking Jolie."

[Kora] "I trained in these islands in the north Atlantic, yeah?" she returns, walking fast enough to match his pace. It's hard to see the grace in her gait anymore. Mostly, she waddles, shoulders back, stomach forward. "The meal plan included every edible part of the sheep. Mutton; they sold the lambs off. And fish. I'd be happy with Little Caesar's pizza.

"This stuff - " outside now, a cool spring night; she glance up automatically, finding clouds across the waxing moon. The night's unsettled; she's not yet glimpsed the moon through the cloud cover and reminds herself not to look up again. "Is heaven."

Kora's eyes drop from the sky to the street; settle on Maddox and Izzy down on the corner, the bus stop bench. Then she cuts Lukas a side glance, generous mouth twisting in a subtle show of wry humor. "Did you actually just say little tyke?" The streetlights sheen across the surface of her eyes as she lifts her shoulders in a vague, answering shrug. "I don't know when exactly. Soon, though."

[Danicka Musil] Two college seniors and two people that look like they're old enough to be grad students stumble into the pizza parlor, laughing and barely able to carry themselves, then abruptly straighten up because they have to be serious here. One of them keeps flicking his eyes around, not blinking, and is visibly trying very, very hard not to laugh. He's holding the hand of a girl who, sober, would be way too pretty for him, but maybe that's what people think every time those two hold hands. The 'grad students' are a total hipster -- scarf and everything -- with a chin beard and tattoos, and beside him is a blonde woman in dark pink and white lululemon athletica, her hair up in a high ponytail.

The hipster is handling himself better than the undergrads, as though this is just his natural state. The brunette starts to giggle again. The blonde, who smells as strongly of weed as the rest of them, lets out a squeal that is decidedly not Shadow Lordly at all and bolts across the room to jump on Lukas, arms and legs tossed around his shoulders and waist, respectively.

"Hi!"

[Izzy Montoya] She studies him again. A long moment. Then? A subtle curve at the corner of her lips - barely seen, barely there before it's gone again. She turns, and settles to the bench then, crossing long legs, smoothing her slacks over her thigh, before she turns her attention to the pastry now held in her lap, cigarette between her fingers as she plucks bits of the treat off to eat them.

She doesn't seem to care that he didn't invite her to sit.

"To be fuckin' honest, I never made that connection. Now, though..." She looks up then, which is where finds Kora looking toward her and Maddox. She holds the gaze a moment, before returning her attention to the Theurge at her side.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I absolutely did. I thought you'd prefer it to," he pauses to take another big bite, bringing up the pizza box to catch a runaway glop of meat-n-cheese, "the future warrior of Gaia, oorah!"

And a laugh, then, more or less heading toward Izzy and Maddox down the way now -- that sort of half-unconscious clustering of like to like. "I was fostered in upstate New York. Very rural area, very beautiful. A big lake and some waterfalls. Actually, a reservoir and a dam, but still quite lovely. We were close enough to the City not to have to salvage every part of the sheep, though."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [ack! *reads* go on, i'll add another post in a sec!]

[Maddox] He shifts on the bench, giving the woman room. His Rage is not terribly high, and he's not the most threatening of Garou. Tall and gangly, Maddox looks more the type to accidentally hurt himself before doing damage to an opponent in a fight. Even without a gun, Izzy could probably overpower him with little effort.

That's not why he makes room. There's no telling what that reason is, or when why when she does deign to sit near him he refrains from leaning up against her and being a general nuisance. He does indeed look surprised, though. And he huffs a laugh.

"Hey, I'll remind you that I'm making an effort. No luvs for you. No Jolies for me. Deal?" Leaning back slightly, he holds out the arm closest to her for a shake. Her attention drifts, though, and so does his. Maddox looks over to see the small party over by or in the pizza joint. One familiar figure, one less familiar, and one just in the process of latching onto the more familiar one like a jumper.

[Izzy Montoya] He offers a shake, and she pulls her attention back to him. She drops her gaze to his hand, and then slides her fingers into his easily enough. "Deal."

A beat. "Which is good, as I'd hate to have to get these coordinates right here tattoo'd on my ass to commemorate the place we met. I hate needles."

His rage isn't as much as some, perhaps more than others. Rather than overwhelming, it's more of a tingle of awareness along her spine, under her skin. Easily ignored. He follows her gaze, and she lifts a chin toward Kora and Lukas. "Know'em?"

[Kora] Whatever she might have replied - the twist lingerings in the curve of her mouth when he finished future warrior of gaia with oorah - is largely swallowed when Danicka appears, well dressed, smelling of pot and Shadow Lord, and flings herself onto Lukas. The pregnant Fenrir steps rather politely, rather decisively, out of the immediate circle of their space, lifts her pizza box in vague toast to Lukas and begins ambling (waddling) down the street toward the bus bench.

So: tall, young, heavily pregnant woman, pale-skinned, pale-haired, dark-eyed, wearing a University of Chicago hoodie that is large enough to accommodate her gravid figure at the stomach, and too large everywhere else. NO breeding to mark her as Garou; just the confidence to walk a street like this in the presence of a Shadow Lord, or along. Her hair is long, pale enough that it would go silver in the moonlight, the weight of it wrapped back upon itself, secured with a chop stick at the base of her neck. Mostly the twist is covered by the hood of her sweatshirt.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's an unShadowLordly squeal, and then there's a rapid approach that distantly reminds him of the way his imaginary dream-daughter flung herself at him in the Underworld, and then he's scooping a potsmoked Danicka up half out of reflex and half out of instinct. Hi, she says. Rrr, he says, pretend-gnawing at her shoulder for a second.

Then, as though abruptly re-aware that they're out on the streets, he leans back and lets her slide back down. "Hi," he replies, smiling. Then a pause. Sniffing. "Are you stoned?"

He hasn't quite let go of her entirely. His arm wraps warm and heavy over her shoulders as he starts following Kora's meandering, waddling path toward the others.

[Maddox] "Why...?" he trails, amused and confused all at once. Before he can complete the question, Izzy asks him if he knows them. He lifts his head again to see.

"Big bloke's got a room at The Brotherhood. I don't know the bird 'e's wearing. Her..." He squints at Kora.

She probably doesn't remember him. He certainly doesn't really remember her, though she looks familiar. But they saw each other once, on another night, when Maddox was sitting on a bench in a park, playing to the twilight. It was brief, and he'd been thoroughly distracted by an adorable little songbird and a flighty tribesmate.

Maddox watches the pregnant woman as she makes her way near, eyes narrowed and head tilted. Then he gives up in a shrug.

"Aside from a bit of déjà vu, I don't think I've met her before. Friend of yours?"

[Danicka Musil] "I'm hungry," Danicka answers, as though this was a very, very stupid question on Lukas's part, and she must be stoned because there was less grace than her usual as she slid down and set her running-shoed feet on the concrete again. She's got a messenger bag slung over her shoulder, the strap crossing her chest, but it isn't heavy. Her eyes are glassy, but she's smiling. "You found the real pizza!" she says, since he's at this parlor, and she sounds so proud.

Oh, they're walking. She's got a very heavy arm on her and she's essentially being steered in the direction he's going, but tonight she doesn't seem to mind that. She doesn't reposition his arm or anything. She seems, in fact, quite content to be ushered along for once.

"I can haz pizza?" she lolcats at him, holding out her hands. She's beaming.

[Izzy Montoya] She shrugs a shoulder, semi-embarrassed to know the following: "Jolie has the longitude and latitude of the birth place of each of her adopted children on her arm."

Then it's back to the garou. The big bloke he says. "Lukas. And Danicka. And this..." Added as Kora comes within comfortable earshot and conversation distance. "Is Kora. Kora, Maddox. Kora is the Jarl."

The. Not hers. Somehow, though, it's not intended as an insult, nor slight. Izzy tends to hold herself apart from the Nation she is mired within, and this is no different. Of course, she doesn't claim Kora is a friend either. It's not hard to imagine Izzy having a distinct lack of those, all told. Coworkers, acquaintances, sure. Friends? Few and far between.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Well, at least the big bloke is no longer wearing the bird. He's just gently guiding her along, and long before she lolcats at him, he's already offering her his pizza box. There are two meatlover's slices in there, big and flat and heavy, oozing, dripping with toppings. One's halfeaten. The other one's hers now.

"I totally found the real pizza. Why are you -- " he decides, midway through the question, to stop trying to ask why she's stoned and cruising for pizza in Cabrini with a bunch of classmates. "Did you drive?"

[Kora] The Jarl is ungainly with late pregnancy, carrying a small pizza box that smells of garlic and another single slice on a greasy paper plate atop that. She has not yet eaten, not even the first bite of the slice. Her thumb holds the paper plate in place atop the box as she walks, though. When she's close enough that Izzy offers introductions, she offers the kinswoman a faint half smile. "Detective." And a lift of the box by way of greeting. "Maddox."

Her eyes are dark, the color mostly lost in the night's shadows. Without precisely conscious thought, she stands out of the stream of smoke, but does not ask Izzy to put out her cigarette, and does not otherwise acknowledge her pregnancy. Not that it needs acknowledgment.

A brief glance back down the street touches on Danicka and Lukas as they take the same path. Then her gaze shifts, focuses beyond them, behind their backs, narrowing with momentary interest at something in the middle distance.

The note lingers, then shifts. Kora glances back at Izzy and Maddox. "Making friends?" A steady look for Izzy, though there is an understated irony to the curve of her expressive mouth.

[Maddox] "Jarl?" he asks, brows raised. He looks over Kora, surprised, but probably not for a reason she might think. "I thought this was a multi-tribal sept?" His voice is not pitched to keep from reaching the Jarl, but nor does he call it out to her.

"Kora," he greets, mouth quirking. When he takes a drag from his own cigarette, the smoke gets blown from the corner of his mouth. Where the wind takes it from there is beyond his control. "And I think it's safer to say we're not making enemies. I hope." He doesn't needle Izzy about her knowledge of a pop culture icon. Not right now, anyway, though he does wonder what other tidbits of useless information the kinswoman has tucked away in that fascinating brain of hers.

[Izzy Montoya] Making friends, Kora asks, with understated irony. "And Influencing People." Izzy replies, with a slight smirk and equally steady gaze. Some have told her that a smirk is rude, crude, and not at all polite - which is likely why it's her default expression. She means no insult though. At least, not at the moment.

There is respect in this, too. Kora stands out of the path of cigarette smoke, but does not ask that it be put out. As a direct result, Izzy takes a final drag, exhales away from the Jarl, and drops the butt to the cement at her feet, crushing it to final death under the toe of her boot. It's the little things.

As for the idea of a multi-tribal sept. "It is."

[Danicka Musil] "Pizzaaa..." Danicka chortles gleefully, accepting the greasy slice without bothering with a napkin, without asking for one. She grabs the second large slice and holds it with both hands, taking a very large bite while Lukas is thinking better of asking why this woman, who considers everything from gallery openings to drinking at Mr. C's to taking apart arcane weaponry under a microscope to be appropriate ways to spend her leisure time, would do something as shocking as get high with college students.

Her teeth dig into the cheese and she looks like she's about to burst out giggling from sheer happiness. She doesn't, though. She reins it in, and chews that enormous bite, wiping some grease off her lower lip with the back of her wrist. Looks up at him as they near Maddox and Izzy and Kora again, blinking.

Swallows.

"I'm pretty sure we walked here. There may have been a bus. III left my coat at Trevor's apartment, though. He said he'd bring it to class tomorrow but I have to get it dry cleaned cuz it smells like ganja now." She takes another bite and, cheeks bulging, raises one hand in a wave to the Fianna, the detective, and the preggorz chick. She at least has the manners not to speak with her mouth full, though.

[Kora] "Not making enemies, influencing people," a mild, dark-eyed look from Maddox to Izzy and back again. The faint irony evident in the curve of her generous mouth widens. The shift is subtle as the difference between two shades of some designer color, but all the more evident for that. "Careful, detective. You'll make me proud."

Her chin rises, and she lifts the box by way of explanation. "If you will both excuse me, I'm heading back to the church. Need some milk to wash this down with, and I'm starving." A brief, flickering glance encompasses Lukas and Danicka in her excuses, and then the Fenrir starts around the corner.

[Kora] (Thanks for the scene, folks. Bedtime!)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Well," Lukas says, "I suppose I could bother to drive you home like a gentleman."

They pass a dumpster. Lukas tosses the empty box in, folding up what's left of his first slice and munching it down. Then they're coming up on Maddox's bench just in time to see Kora take off. Lukas nods a goodbye.

"I think she's really going home to slather peanutbutter on her pizza," he deadpans. "Hormones and cravings and all. Hey, Izzy. Maddox. You guys met Dani&+269;ka?"

[Izzy Montoya] She huffs a breath of amusement as The Jarl walks away, but that is all the reaction the comment receives. It's rather more than anyone expected from her, really, and it passes quickly enough when Lukas and Danicka wander up.

"Lukas. Danicka." A slight nod suggests that yes, she knows the blond. Nothing more, however, as she finishes her pastry, and swallows it down with her rapidly cooling coffee.

[Maddox] Maddox's eyes narrow, his brow furrows, and he looks very much like someone just asked him to imagine a three-headed hippo in a tutu, waltzing to Rebecca Black's Friday.

"But..." He shakes his head, leaning back to wrap his arms about his guitar. Izzy dropped her cigarette for the pregnant woman, Maddox did not. He takes a drag, lets the air ease out while he talks. "The only Jarl's I've ever met were the elders of their all for the Get septs," he says with a roll of one shoulder, then the other, loosening the muscles. Kora makes her excuses, and he lifts his chin to her. He doesn't get a chance to tell her that he's infiltrated her church (with permission, honest!) once before she's gone.

"Or add pickles," Maddox says with a curl of his lip. "I have not," he says, sizing up the very obviously happily attached blonde woman with a grin. "Enchanté, mademoiselle," he says, a dip of his head taking the place of a rise, a bow, and the like.

[Danicka Musil] She rolls her eyes at Lukas's joke about driving her home. Elbows him sharply when he makes fun of Kora's hormonal cravings, if they even exist. "Sexist," she says, having swallowed the second bite of pizza. "Hi Izzy, Hi Maddox."

As for happily attached, well. She's happy, or looks it, being high and eating pizza. She's attached, from the way Lukas hasn't taken his arm from her since she ran up and hugged him. Then there's the ring on her left hand, a simple, subdued sort of thing that lacks a diamond engagement ring.

"What's a Jarl?" she asks, though Maddox just... essentially... explained ...that.

[Izzy Montoya] "Tribal Elder of the Fenrir." Easily answered. She stands then, and straightens her blazer, before searching for her cigarettes again. Idle hands, devil's workshop, that sort of thing, Before that, though, her phone chirps for her attention, and she pulls it out.

"If you'll excuse me."

And she's stepping away, whether they will or not, snapping into the phone. "Montoya. It better be fuckin' good, Finn, it's my fuckin' night off." As if she ever really takes any such thing...

[bedtime for me! Thanks for the play. G'night.]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "It's an old norse term that refers to a chieftain," Lukas explains, sounding quite scholarly. "The english cognate is 'earl'. It's also what the old-world Fenrir call their Sept Alphas these days.

"As for how it's used in this Sept -- I think the Athro Modi that lived here a few years back started using it as a fuck-you to the Sept. I suppose those who came after him just thought it sounded cool. Either that or it's still meant to be a fuck-you."

He pops the last of the pizza in his mouth, then sucks his fingers clean of grease. "Yum," he says.

[Danicka Musil] Maddox says a Jarl is an elder of a Get sept. Izzy claims it's the Get elder in any sept. Lukas suddenly sounds like his father. Danicka gives a slow blink and takes another bite of pizza. "This one guy thought I was Fenrir once," she says, after she's chewed and swallowed. "It was cuz I was badass an' I shot a zombie. Pew, pew."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Wait, what? When did you shoot a zombie?"

[Maddox] Lukas sounds a bit scholarly, and Maddox looks immensely interested. He likes scholarly things, apparently. "There's also a Jarl in Norse mythology, was the son of someone." He looks away, frowning that he can't remember right off the bat. "Rig? Rig. He was the son of Rig, spawned the ancestors of the Norse or some shit."

He takes a final drag from his cigarette and drops the butt to the concrete, scuffing it out beneath his sneaker.

[Danicka Musil] "I know fuck all about Norse mythology," Danicka says, as though this is a point of pride, or simply that anything that comes out of her mouth sounds brilliant right now to her own ears. Her eyebrows hop up when Lukas demands to know when she shot a zombie and she shoves a bite of pizza into her mouth, shaking her head. Her eyes are wide. She gives a helpless shrug.

Sorry, can't answer you, my mouth is full. What would your mother say?

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I can't even tell if you're just making this up because you're stoned," Lukas says, half-exasperated. "And I like Norse mythology. All these grim, hard stories with the bottom line being everything dies, the end. It illuminates the Get mindset for you.

"This is what always interested me, though. Fenris is brother to Jormungandr -- the Serpent. Most Fenrir will tell you now that that's just the humans trashing their good name, but I wonder if that's really it. The Wyrm is the Destroyer. He was supposed to be a force of balance; holy destruction, like Kali. These days we're the destroyers. I wonder if that wasn't what that myth alludes to: our rage and its affinity to the Wyrm-as-he-should-be. Our place in the balance of things.

"Perun is said to have fought the dragon Volos, too. But even that wasn't so much about destroy the wyrm as it was about balance."

Danicka's stoned and nomming pizza. Lukas ... is pontificating on philosophy and myth.

[Maddox] [ARE you making it up? subterfuge!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] She swallows, and coughs, because she didn't chew enough, and scowls at Lukas. "I didn't make it up," she insists diffidently. "I shot a zombie in a subway, don't be a jerk."

He stops being a jerk and starts waxing philosophical and her brain can't entirely wrap around it at the moment, or else she's content to just listen. But he mentions Volos and she brightens. "My sister has a fetish named after Veles," she says happily, but the difference in name is notable. "You're using his Russian name," she adds curiously. "But! So does the sickle. I don't know how it got into my family's hands if it came from Russia. Maybe the name just changed. I don't know. Stuff is funny stuff."

She takes another bite, finishing off the slice.

[Danicka Musil] [wtf I didn't roll manip/sub STOP DICETURBATING]

[Maddox] [it's my party and i'll diceturbate if i want to!]

[Danicka Musil] [that's gonna be one lonely party]

[Maddox] [yes -_-]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I'm just speaking Americanese," Lukas quibbles. "But here: Veles." A pause. Then rather out of the blue, he hugs Danicka against his side and kisses her hair. "I like that your sister has a fetish named after Veles," he says. "It's fitting.

"As for your subway zombie, I'm just going to stick my head in the sand. It's past and done, but if I think about it I'll just worry."

He kisses her again, this time bending to her cheek. Then he unwraps his arm from around her. "I'm going to get another slice or two," he says. "Either of you want anything?"

[Maddox] Lukas waxes philosophical on mythology, Danicka, no Dani&+269;ka noms some pizza and talks about shooting zombies, pew pew. Maddox, meanwhile, adjusts his acoustic and strums, fingers idly plucking out a melody to suit, or not, as the conversation shifts. He knows before she admits to it that she's telling the truth about shooting a zombie. He nods to her, quite impressed.

"A lot of mythologies group things into a balance of threes. The Christian's Holy Trinity, the Greek's and Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. I don't see what the Get would have to fear from being reminded that in the olden days, their ancestors had a different perspective." He shrugs.

And falls quiet for the couple, until Lukas asks if either of them wants anything. "Ah, no thanks, mate. I should probably find my bike," he adds, suddenly remembering his mode of transportation isn't right close by. Hm. Rising, he shifts his guitar around so that it rests against his back, holds out his hand to Danicka. "It was lovely to meet you. May you never forget the blessed double-tap." He lifts his other hand in a sort of vague benediction. "Rhya."

And with that he makes his leave.

[sorry, guys, i'm fading so fast. thanks for the scene!]

[Danicka Musil] [thank you for the RP!]

[Danicka Musil] "He was nice," Danicka says of Maddox, after he's left. "Fianna?"

She casts her eyes around for a napkin. Sighs as Lukas takes his arm off of her and steps closer. "No, you're warm," she insists, and ducks under his arm again, against his side. Lays her head on him for a moment, closing her eyes. "Mine," she murmurs, as they're alone now, and it's one thing to be silly, it's one thing to act like they're remotely equals in public. It's another to let anyone see... this.

For a moment, Danicka just stands there, then tips her head back and looks up at him. "It was a couple of years ago in the fall. And the only reason I remember that much is because it wasn't long after we got back from New York."

From her family's home. From taking her away from Vladik with brutal finality.

"...and not long before we were taken underground." Danicka sticks her fingers in her mouth and sucks off the grease, then sighs and hugs him, messy or not. "Bizarrely, even though we were mated, it still feels like we were so new then. And it was like every other day something was happening, something was attacking." A beat. "So I killed a zombie with this jackass named Alex and Drew and Lonna and Lee and then I shot the fuck out of this twelve-foot-tall stork-man. Blew its fucking head off."

A beat. "He thought I was wearing Burberry and I was wearing Pierotucci. Moron. And he called me a Fang so I slapped the shit out of him and then he thought I was Fenrir and I don't like them either but it's better than being a Fang."

They're walking back towards the parlor by now. Danicka blinks in surprise. "My feet are moving!" Another pause, another switch in the tracks of her mind. "You shouldn't worry though. All the stupid Kin that day who didn't have guns were injured and whining and fussing afterward. I didn't have a scratch on me."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I think that's what he said," Lukas affirms. "I just met him last night. He and some others were boozing on the BroHo roof."

Truth be told, he was starting to put his arm over her again as Maddox declines and makes to leave. There's no reason for him to leave Danicka on the street while he went for another slice. There's no way in hell he wants to -- not in Cabrini, not at x past midnight, not even if she shot a zombie two years ago and was mistaken for a Fenrir.

"It's because you're blonde, I bet," Lukas opines. "If you dyed your hair jet-black no one would ever doubt that you were a Shadow Lord. Especially after they saw you blow some zombie away.

"And, I'm not really worried. I know you're smart and tough and strong. And even if you weren't, you've got more talens than most Cliaths. I'm just ... reflexively grr. Because you're mine. And zombies shouldn't be allowed to attack you."

The pizza parlor -- which is a shitty little hole where they serve absurdly amazing pizza through security bars and all the chairs have long since been stolen or removed, so now there's just standing room only around a bunch of greasy tables -- isn't so crowded now. They can still hear a hubbub of voices as they approach, though.

[Danicka Musil] [paws!]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [folded ones!]

[Danicka Musil] "A lot of things shouldn't be allowed to happen," Danicka muses, walking alongside him and working at her fingers again to try and lick the very last droplets of pizzajuice off of them, despite the fact that she knows she's going to have more soon. "But they [i]do[/i] happen."

It's been a long time since it was a shock to hear the truth come out of Danicka's mouth so easily, so plainly, so fearlessly. Still, sometimes it's hard to hear how brutally she faces it. She's never hidden from it, never shied away from the horrors of truth. She's just done a very good job, most of her life, of hiding more innocuous realities from others. What does it matter if she lied about where she was all night, when there were such worse things that people willfully blinded themselves to?

She leans into him, though. Not out of fear, not even out of chill though she has no coat; Danicka's not afraid of Cabrini-Green. Lukas is right; she has more talens than most Cliaths, she's a nasty shot with a handgun, and even when she didn't have those things and that skill, she wasn't afraid of the worst neighborhoods in New York or New Orleans. Chicago's slums don't make her bat an eyelash.

Still. Lukas's mind turns towards protection, towards keeping her warm, keeping her fed, wrapping around her and making sure nothing bad, nothing cold, nothing hard or mean touches her -- and that's all the time. That's in homid. That's in the high rises of her own apartment, that's in their den out in Stickney. It doesn't require her fear. It doesn't even require a real threat to her safety or comfort.

"Smart and tough and strong," she's chuckling as they walk into the pizza parlor. "You're [i]ridiculous[/i]. Come meet Trevor and Grant and Adrienne," she says as she grabs the handle of the door. "I wanna see if they suddenly get paranoid around you."