animal attraction.

[Sampson] JAWS OF FURRRY! Snap! On the projected food article and it disappears nearly as fast as Skinny Legs can run!
He stamps his legs a little in eagerness of the next item, nosing Lukas's leg (cold nose!) in encouragement. Do it again!! OOH OOH!

[Administrator] Belinda Perry has left Caern & Adjoining Lands

[Armstrong] She had been out that day.

She had been out for a good portion of the day, up the stairs, messenger bag over her shoulder and paper grocery sack perched precariously on one hip. There was a moment where she stopped and had to realize the benefits of her stature. Mrena was a fairly attractive, fairly likeable, reasonably intense young lady who had no qualms buying gourds in bulk from some desperate whole saler at an organic food store.

She had a pretty smile. She got a price break. She bought a lot. She got another price break.

So there she was, heading upstairs into the rather well-populated common room. Lukas was in a towel. Taunting Katherine. Soledad was concerned with reading materials. Skinny Legs was standing there and being very, very true to his name. The sausage wasn't on the stairs anymore. However, several other implements of food-related destruction were in the air. Armstrong pulled the paper back up and took a few quick steps back to avoid any unintentional friendly fire with the food.

Then, Sampson was eating aforementioned flying food.

"... does she have anything else in there? I gotta see that again."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Only, the second the door opens, Lukas jams his foot against it. And when Katherine flings food out, the jackal-wolf leaps up between them to snatch it out of the air, his teeth closing with a lethal click.

None of which appears to perturb Lukas. "Temper, temper," he chides. With something like disbelief, he looks her over. "You're getting ready for bed? It's not even 11. Get dressed and come out. We need to talk."

He removes his foot from the door, goes over one and opens it. That's his room. They get a glimpse of surprisingly spartan surroundings -- not a single personal item in sight, except for the small coffee pot on the desk. Then the door swings shut, though it doesn't latch. They can hear the muffled sounds of Lukas tossing his PJs on his bed, getting dressed, making his bed. Neatly.

When he emerges again, he looks something close to civilized. His hair's still wet, but the towels have been replaced by expensive jeans, distressed, and a casual button-up shirt, fashionably rumpled. This time he latches the door behind him.

"Soledad," as though just now seeing her, though that can't possibly be the case, "haven't seen you for a while."

[Sampson] Since he walked into the Brotherhood tonight, Sampson has had a scent. He wanders over to a couch and rubs his head against it, several times, then his flank, where the healing wound and new skin still picks at him from the inside. They've all experienced it. His body is otherwise completely and disgustingly free of scars, and this one won't last either.
As if to echo Lukas's words, the Strider's black head also whips around in 'shock' at Soledad.

[Andrew] And for our next trick, we add another grumpy Garou to the already established group, let's see what happens!

Soon after Armstrong comes wandering in the door, the large angry one known as 'Andrew' came stamping in. Through the kitchen door, banging his feet on the ground to get erstwhile snow and ice off the tattered sneakers he wore. Then he crossed to the stairs quietly, the hood hanging over his face, shadowing it from casual inspection. Shading his eyes.

He tramped up the stairs and into the common room with the others. Pausing there, gazing around slowly, like the new kid at school who might or might not have forgotten to wear normal clothes and was now standing infront of the class in underwear. Akward, irritated, and... grumpy.

His hands balled into fists quietly as he looked them over and waited.

[Soledad Gutierrez] Her second pair of jeans, ones she didn't wear as often as the lighter-toned, somewhat beat up but still reliable and sturdy pair, cased her legs. These were also contributed by the packmate that earned the money, and had been chosen for her in an attempt some months ago to equip the Beta with something fashionable as well as functional. They were a darker wash, faded on the thighs and rear, with some design or another across the back pockets. She wasn't wearing shoes, those were tucked away in the room she shared with one or two of her packmates, depending on the night, occasionally three. Instead she was stocking footed.

A flurry of motion of food, jaws, and doors occurred, and Sol turned her attention back to the bookcase. She selected a book from the shelf, something nondescript with a plain colored hardback cover, and made her way to one of the chairs that was arranged with the other furniture in the common room. She sat, folded her legs, and got herself comfortable. It was at about this point that Andrew, the ugly fucker she'd yet to meet, found his way to the top of the stairs, and that Lukas re-emerged from his room to greet her (in a sense).

She looked up from the first page she'd started to read, lifted her eyebrows, then returned her gaze to the page. The normally stoic Ahroun answered in the same low alto voice as always, flavored only slightly with a Spanish accent. "Funny, considering we live in the same building."

Sampson, as usual, was ignored. That was the only way she and her temper could cope with him.

[Armstrong] She looked at Andrew briefly, with bag still on her hip. Both brows rose and she looked at him with a slight cock of her head. She shook her head some and then headed off to the room she was staying in. Mrena went to go put her things away, arranging her acquisitions on the bed from largest to smallest along with her coat. The messenger bag, with all its contents, went into a suitcase that was filled with-

Well now. Wouldn't you like to know.

She was satisfied.

She reached under her pillow and grabbed her sketchbook. Pencil off a table, and she wandered back out. White Eyes was still wearing her scarf. Black pants, grey shirt, bright red scarf. And when she came out, Andrew was still there.

"Keeping warm?"

[Sampson] His jaw closes as the healing Strider sniffs at the new, scarred man, but when no alarm comes, the garou stands down, which consists of leaping onto a sofa adn sprawling his legginess out in all directions, but sparing certain angles which still seem to smart.
Healing is boring. Its driving him nuts. The usual repercussions follow. And Katherine's super expensive fruity-smelling face mask isnt NEARLY as tasty as it seemed to be from the smell of it. He makes a wolf-face again at the memory, drooling some to clear his tongue of the experience.

[Katherine Bellamonte] To her credit, it does not take Katherine long to shed her nightgown and dress herself in what would pass, one supposes, for casual 'lounging' wear. A pair of blue cotton sweatpants and a matching zipped jacket, the sleeves of which are pushed up the woman's arms to reveal a thin watch on her right wrist, loosely fastened on a delicate chain-link. She is in the process of tying her hair back from her face into a loose ponytail as she emerges into the common area once more.

Soledad's response to Lukas invokes a smile from the Philodox, and as she passes Mrena, Katherine idly brushes the other woman's hand in greeting.

[Andrew] Andrew stood there and quietly assessed each of them. It was easy to imagine him with a terminator retina, scanning each, deciding they weren't going to gut him any time soon, and moving on to the next. He seemed least threatened by the wolf who came up and sniffed him. He stood still and seemed to ignore the other Garou as it sniffed at him.

Finally, he grunts to Mrena and nods. "Rubbish has sense of humor." Which, likely, only she'd understand. He marched past the people in the common room to enter the men's bathroom.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "It is funny," replies Lukas -- throwing himself down on one of the sectional sofas, putting his feet up on the coffee table. Having made hismelf comfortable, he levels a pale blue stare on Soledad. "Particularly since on prior occasions, you seemed to constantly be lurking around listening to our conversations."

Andrew appears, reticient and not-quite-human as always. Lukas glances at him briefly; then, after he disappears into the men's room, looks to Armstrong.

"Does he live here now?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (okay, i'm gonna start posting when ready again. yell at me to stop if you need to get a post in before me *grin*)

[Andrew] The shower kicks on in the men's bathroom, and presumably, Andrew is now showering. ((brb))

[Armstrong] A quick and idle brush past Katherine, which drew her attention in that direction, brief eye contact, a hint of a smile and half a nod. She looked back at the men's room briefly. There was the sound of running water. Her eyes went to lukas, and his question

Does he live here?
Hmn. Of all the things she'd learned, she hadn't learned that one yet.

"Not that I'm aware of. Seems like a former deal fell through," she nodded. "Rubbish has a sense of humor."

As if that explained everything.

[Soledad Gutierrez] This time around Soledad's eyes don't leave her book. She knows that Lukas's, a sharp and perfect contrast to her dark brown-black eyes, were boring holes into her forehead, but doesn't respond to it. Just continues to read, one leg crossed over the other, ankle rested atop a knee, with her hair hanging loosely in front of her shoulders, a few bangs loose and whisping in front of her eyes, just as ignored as Lukas's stare.

But she did answer his accusation/assumption vocally.

"You assume your conversations to be so interesting..."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Hardly. They were perfectly mundane conversations. Which was why I was so puzzled to find you and your packmate apparently eavesdropping."

A beat.

"Then again," lightly, "maybe I was mistaken. Maybe you were just there for the ambiance."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine taps Sampson on the head and gestures for the Strider to make room for her; sinking gracefully onto the sofa and using the tips of her nails to scratch his head. The Silver Fang's eyes drawn to the conversation between Soledad and Lukas, Katherine listens to the verbal fencing for a few minutes before interrupting with: "So, Lukas, you said we needed to talk. Or should we wait for Soledad to leave, first?"

[Administrator] Hatchet, welcome to Caern & Adjoining Lands (Now)

[Soledad Gutierrez] "Mmm."

The same response that most people got from her, packmates and not alike, was issued to Lukas's comment about being around for ambiance, or decoration, or what the hell ever. Once more, when she spoke her eyes stayed on the book. She turned the page, kept her eyes down, and gave no indication that she was paying mind to the others in the room, save for her words.

"Or you could ask me to leave." The tone in her voice didn't shift at all (it was toneless in the first place), but it was apparant she was now speaking toward Katherine

[Sampson] His head goes down on his paws. Yellow, owl-large eyes watch Andrew leave. Skinny Leg's eyebrows could be prehensile backslashes, the way he aims them There, then There. At Armstrong.
HEAVY SIGH.
The wolf drops off the couch, rolls right off, and tries to scratch the exit wound of the blade by wiggling vigorously against the carpet.
Any pleasure from the activity is exhausted immediately, and he turns around to glower at.. At.. AT!
His next target.
Instantly, he is sprawled in his homid form, barefoot and in a pair of running pants. The man is whip-lean, with small calves and not a drop of unneccary weight anywhere on him, save for the ears. His skin is dark, scar free except for the ugly blade wound across his belly and a bit through. It's wide. Thick. And his packmates know what he looks like from the inside out, from the look of it. Another two days and all evidence will be gone. One hand scratches on the mass of thickened scar tissue , and the other just about dislocates his shoulder to get to the other itchy spot on his back.
"Maybe! They listen to us! Stand around bored! Because they have Nothing Better To Do! Since as she implies! It is not deliberate standing around and listening to us."
There's a shit eating grin for ya.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a pause. Then, before Katherine speaks up -- because Lukas would not put it past her to imperiously order Soledad out of the room -- he draws a short breath.

Exhales it, "No." A hint of wryness, "We wouldn't be so rude. This is not our territory any more than it's yours." Strange; there's an honesty in that. He stretches his legs out a little more, sliding a little lower on the couch. A glance at Katherine, "We can discuss it later."

[Armstrong] He was giving her rather pointed looks in his more furry form, and Armstrong she looked at him for a moment with a degree of almost maternal dissapproval. It wasn't whole hearted though,and Sampson could tell.

"No," she said. "And quit scratching it, it's going to be a hollow victory. Savour the sensation while you have it."

And, with that, she sat herself down near her packmate and caught that shiteating grin when he started talking again. She just grinned with him and looked at her notepad idly, flipping to a blank page quickly, past pictures and diagrams and holes worn in pages, and she started to drawing. she started with a small cricle in the middle of the page. It was an idle gesture.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine's expression registers both amusement and irritation both -- the first toward the Beta of Hatchet's Pack and the latter, as usual it seemed toward her own Beta. Of course only Lukas would demand she get dressed and attend him in the common area only to defer the reason for her presence til he decided it was safe from conspirators to speak openly. Lords. Always chasing their own shadows, her Uncle so often said.

"Oh, Mrena." Meridian's Truth casts her attention toward her pack-mate and her idle doodling. "You never did get to draw me, perhaps now is your moment, since we are not discussing anything until later."

[Andrew] The shower cut off abruptly. Water dripped and splashed for a second longer, then it went silent. Silence rained for several seconds.

And then, abruptly, the door opened and Andrew reappeared with fewer clothes. Not naked, thankfully, but he only had a sweatshirt and sweatpants this time, rather than all the many layers. Of course...he's only there briefly. He'd seen the wolf running around earlier, so... apparently it was safe.

As soon as the door is open, his medium height bulky build and scarred face melts down into a huge black wolf. Scars in the same place. A few scars evident in this form that weren't evident in his clothed form. His large paws flop onto the floor and he trots out, fur still dripping wet...

[Hatchet] When the Alpha of the Unbroken Circle and the Alpha of Weasel's Gang get together, the safest thing to do is just to ignore one another. Granted, neither of them can hold that up for very long. The tension in the room is distinctly uncomfortable, as two rather intensely-Raged Fosterns count down to the time they'll get to finish the brawl they barely started three years ago. So far, this hasn't happened.

When the Beta of Weasel's Gang and the Beta of the Unbroken Circle get together, it apparently leads to minor verbal fencing.

The aforementioned Alpha of Weasel's Gang is heading up the stairs, having shaken snow off his boots and off his sweater. The hood is back, allowing the warmth of the Brotherhood to start to restore him to a reasonable overall temperature. He strips off the sweater as he climbs the stairs up from the kitchen, investigating a small hole that has formed in the seam of one cuff.

He is wiggling a finger through the hole with a look of consternation when he walks into the common room.

[Armstrong]
"You're one of the few who sits still long enough," she said. She recrossed her legs and turned the page. One of the few, of course, meant that Edward fidgetted too much and she never got to finish him. Or start, for that matter. Mrena would wait, hoping to catch him off guard and then?

Then he would find something that caught his attention and she would be left with a moment lost and a half finished sketch. How many things in that book were actually finished?

She looked at Katherine for a moment, then repositioned herself. She nodded, more to herself than anything, when she seemed to find the right angle Mrena was pleased. And started. "Think I'll get to finish this one?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Sampson
They don't need to know that, do they?

At any rate: I've been noticing Buried-Hatchet trailing the Ritesmistress around the bawn. And picking up trash, and cleaning graves, and other Keeper-of-the-Land-sort duties.

[Soledad Gutierrez]
Soledad probably wouldn't have objected too loudly to being ushered out of the common room, if asked politely enough. Moving from one chair to another wouldn't have been a problem, she could have gone into her room, could have gone downstairs and had an excuse to whip something up in the kitchen to fill her belly with. ...So long as she was asked politely, anyways. If Katherine were to have demanded or commanded that Soledad leave, as Lukas feared she would, things would have gone down differently. The woman was a Silver Fang, supposed Royalty or whatever, but she was the same rank as Soledad was as far as she knew, and to her that meant they were privates in the same army, and neither had the right to throw out orders to one another.

Hatchet's boots on the stairs announced his presence, and the quick flicker of Sol's eyes from her newly claimed book to Hatchet's lean form and familiar face confirmed who he was. She dropped her gaze back to the page, and greeted him in true Sol style-- with silent acknowledgment that was assumed to be warmer than what it would have been were he anyone else.

[Sampson]
JEALOUSY!!
Sampson's head WHIPS around to accuse Armstrong as if she'd just laught or something. SEEE?? Damn that's one indignant looking ragabash.
HE! the permanently UNSCARRED except for right now, sighs. And shifts slowly into his lupus again, curious to see if the wet wolf will shake water all over the kinfolk's furniture. And how he would handle her temper, if he did!
(Wolf speak) Skinny Legs! Silent Strider under the no-moon! Cliath of the Unbroken Circle! Enthusiastic lupus, he is, quivering with some sort of focused energy as the precious moment, the perfect moment when a wolf must. CRAVES! to shake out water from fur.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
As the conversation moves on around him, Lukas turns sideways on the couch. Stretches his feet out, sighs rather contentedly, closes his eyes.

Turns his attention inward.

[Sampson]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
Then! We must decide who takes that position. our side! or theirs! How useful is it to the Pack!

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Sampson
I'm actually not wholly convinced we should fight with Hatchet over those particular posts. The Mistress of Rites is unlikely to be replaced any time soon. Keeper of the Land, however, is a position of minor political importance. But it is a position important enough that, should Buried-Hatchet claim it, he would be in no position to claim the Master of Challenges position.

Which would leave it wide open for Katherine the Virgin Bellamonte.

Oh, he did not just think that.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
"Mrena, one day I shall have to show you one of the many portraits that we were forced to sit for growing up," Katherine says with a small silvery laugh, readjusting herself on the sofa into a position of relative comfort while remaining pleasing to the artist's eye, the lines of her body all held with practiced precision. "Edward was forever late, and Gabriella spent most of her time pulling out the ribbons the maid carefully tied in her hair."

A small smile settles across the pale Fang's regal features.

"I think I was the only one who sat still."

[Armstrong]
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sampson
So, he's making moves of his own. Have you noticed the rest of his pack doing anything of the sort?

You do have a point, if we let him have a minor position he's out of contention for something of greater influence. If we aren't interested, this is fine, but would it be in our best interests to make him think we are?

[Sampson]
Sampson's wolf eyes, large and round and yellow, bug out for some reason known only to... someone.
Maybe.. cover laughter with... scratching? OH YEAH. Off he goes, one leg goign to town, shedding lupus hair all over the floor of the common room.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
to Armstrong, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sampson
I believe we should let him try for it, I would rather claim Mistress of Challenges at any rate.

There is a flash of white anger across the totemlink.

Oh Lukas, your wit astounds me as usual. How do you come up with such original jokes at my expense?

[Andrew]
He trots a few steps out of the bathroom and eyes the very excited ragabash. His mouth lolls open and his tongue drops out the side of his mouth. (WolfSpeak) "Dances-on-Fire, Fostern Theurge Gaia Child. Wet, but about to dry off."

He has a wicked wolfish grin on his face as he trots innocently into the middle of the room. His tail swaying slowly, contentedly. There's only a hint of warning. His body tenses and then he abruptly shake, shake, shake yer body's! Droplets of water splatter in all directions around the common room as his legs plant and his body twists and turns rapidly.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Sampson
It was no joke. If thoughts could convey wide-eyed innocence, this one would. How is the truth a joke?

Sobering, then: I haven't seen any of his pack at all until tonight. And -- make him think we're interested so he doesn't start eyeing the Challenge office as well?

[Hatchet]
Hatchet looks up, looks around the room, and with his eyebrows going up and then down in a single quirk. He takes his finger out of the hole in his sleeve and walks over to the central --

Droplets of water splash all over his face and clothes, hitting the white of his t-shirt. He closes his eyes and flares his nostrils in annoyance, and then drops his hoodie on the couch next to Lukas.

[Armstrong]
"The last portrait I was in involved tacky sweaters. And it still took forty-five minutes, I think all portraits are supposed to be time consuming and generally uncomfortable."

She nodded some, then gave a slight smile and continued shading. There was something about Katherine that was difficult to really shade; blondes gave her trouble, but she was rather... focused.

"And I'd like that, it sounds like a nice excursion."

[Katherine Bellamonte]
to Armstrong, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sampson
Sampson, you're going to find yourself half shaved and left outside.

Thoughtful: Perhaps I could make some excursions to the Caern.

[Armstrong]
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sampson
Exactly. If he believes that he's a viable candidate for Keeper of the Land he'll go for it. He seems to have claimed the position as his own unofficially, if he feels its threatened he might sink his teeth into it a little tighter.

[Sampson]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
Hah! The newest of the pack! Gets more sex than any of you! OR! all! Put together! Katherine! No wanda you are so stuck on yourself! You have no rival! for your own affection!

Because he thinks that much of her threat. His tongue lawls again.

Make him focus there! And not on our posts! Tie him down! Commit and get out of our way!

[Sampson]
Sampson's tongue lawls again, all the way to the floor, leaving one to assume the vicious water attack on Andrea's possessions must surely be the reason.
Right?

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Sampson
My concern is that if he feels the competition is too fierce, he might try for the Master of the Challenge instead. He is a Philodox, and Keeper of the Land is traditionally not a Half-Moon's task.

Andrew shakes -- there's a flicker of irritation across the totemphone.

[i]Incidentally -- the one that just shook himself all over the room is the honorless coward who was doing a piss-poor job of intimidating Armstrong the other day.

[Soledad Gutierrez]
The wolf that she hadn't met before, but now knew the name, rank, tribe, and auspice of, trotted into the middle of the common room and shook out his pelt. A few droplets got her knees and hands and the back of her book, but it wasn't nearly enough water to bother her to the point of genuine aggrevation. She did, however, look up from her book to peer down at the shaggy black wolf. He was a Fostern Theurge, why the mischief? He was playing out the role of the jester around people he didn't know (he may know some, but not all).

Several moments of scrutiny passed, then Sol settled a mental stamp of 'whatever' on the situation before shifting her gaze over to Hatchet. She looked at the hoodie he had been investigating, then back up to his face and shoulders, observing his posture, body language, and actions for the moment to see if there was anything to pick up on that she might want to be aware of.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
to Armstrong, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sampson
Katherine's reaction to both Andrew's drying off and his apparent failure at intimidation is felt in the acerbic sting of her voice across the totemlink.

I cannot fathom why you were not quivering at the sight of that intimidating specimen of a man, Mrena.

[Sampson]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
Then what about watching him, instead? Hint at competition. But do nothing else. Honorless? Fostern! No honor?? Can theurge fostern have no honor!?

[Sampson]
The lupus head, the dark one, turns towards Andrew and inspects him, ears pricked and nose working double-time. Which is pretty much how Sampson does anything.

[Armstrong]
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sampson
He could just be taking the opportunity to... acquaint himself with the Ritesmistress. She's not going anywhere any time soon, and if he has her ear and her favor it could be worthwhile. But if he does feel too threatened he will back down. Sampson has a point, and I think I like it.

there was a pause, and then a definite indication of Andrew.

I am a pillar of willpower and a black hole of common sense, Katherine. He's obviously the most terrifying creature I've ever been near.

The delicious sarcasm dropped.

He's packless. And has been for some time. The lupus said that he's been in town awhile, he's nothing more than a minor setback.

[Andrew]
He looks over at the other wolf and seems to be smiling. A wolfish smile. He yips at Sampson and drops his chest to the ground, ass still in the air and tail wagging back and forth lazily. Then he lets out another yip, hops up and trots over to Sampson. Pacing around him slowly and giving him a sniff of curiosity and greeting.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
(BRB all, dash for groceries! katherine is posing quietly for her picture til I return.)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Sampson
Let's do it, then. Watch him, but don't actually squabble for the position.

Interest, then -- albeit piqued, irritated interest. Been in town a while? How long? Why the hell didn't I see him that entire week I was loitering about the caern? I'll be damned if we have to cede one of the Sept positions to him.

[Hatchet]
With Soledad, Hatchet can get away with acting like a fool even though that is not the moon he was born under. Andrew apparently gets more of her silent scorn. He stands behind the sectional couch, just outside of Lukas's blind spot, and follows Andrew as he walks over to Sampson. With a shake of his head, Hatchet walks around the couch, sits down, and claps his hands together.

"Back to the original topic," he says, though this is the first time he has spoken to most of the people in this room in two days. Hatchet turns his attention first to the Shadow Lord Ahroun a couple of feet down the couch. "'A long time ago'?" he queries, lifting his eyebrows. "That's like always choosing 'Truth' in Truth or Dare. Come on."

[Sampson]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
"packless Fostern Wyrmfoe ! " He points out this error in assuming packless are utterly withot honor. "Fenrir!" And the dangers of accusign them to be without honor when they are of a certain tribe.

[Armstrong]
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sampson
I'm not saying it's dishonorable, I'm saying there's no one at his back and no one to hold him in check or accountable.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Sampson
Hold on a minute, is he or isn't he a local? Lukas is still on the prior topic.

[Armstrong]
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sampson
She was ready and thinking, pulling for any bit of information she had.

I don't think he's part of the sept. I can find out if he is or not, it'll just take a little time.

[Sampson]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
There's a bark of laughter from Sampson. Shadowlords! Running the longest path to the target adn keeping to shadows! JUST ASK HIM! HAH!

[Armstrong]
"Obviously, you don't play truth or dare with sadists. Always choosing truth is a scary, scary place to be."

Sh looked at Katherine for a moment, scooting over to the side of the couch and tilting her head to the side and looking at Katherine from a different angle.

[Sampson]
Sampson too, shakes vigourously, though he is completely dry, and strains towards the offer of play. It's tempting. Hellishly so. His intestines and other guts shift under the very thin layer of skin keepign them inside.
But he's under orders to heal Or Else. And this he conveys with silent but effective body language, before he moves over to sprawl near his pack-mates, there to apparently begin sleeping.
SINCE HE CAN'T FUCKING PLAY! (wolf-pout)

[Sampson]
to Andrew, Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Soledad Gutierrez
(night! MUST SLeep!)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
There's a long silence; no response from Lukas. Maybe he was asleep. Then, abruptly, he opens his eyes. Looks at Hatchet for a moment as though not following his line of conversation. A second later he smirks, wry.

"Sorry. A man's got to have some secrets."

On that note, the Lord gets up off the couch, addresses Andrew directly.

"Dances-in-Fire-rhya. I was wondering -- are you new in town as well? Or have you served Maelstrom for a while now?"

[Andrew]
He turns a bit and addresses Lukas. Plunking his butt down and scratching at himself with a hind leg briefly, tilting his head back and enjoying it far too much as he scratches. Then sits up more proper and looks at Lukas. Yipping, tail wagging, and wiggling himself to speak. (WolfSpeak) [i]"Been here long. Seen Maelstrom."

[Hatchet]
Hatchet's eyebrows lift again, much in the same Oh really? expression he gave Lukas the other night to the same refusal. He watches as Wyrmbreaker gets up and talks to the other Fostern, and then Hatchet gives a nod back to Soledad. "So I talked to the Mistress of the Rites, and I wanna get her -- okay, well, the spirits -- some Christmas presents."

The sarcasm with which he utters the name of the holiday is absolutely dripping off of his lips. He waggles his oh-so-expressive brows. "I think we should make them something. You know. More heartfelt. Possibly..." he says, elongating that word with impish tone, nodding, "...bloody. Bony. Huh? Yeah? Something nasty slaughtered without mercy and brought to their doorstep like a mouse that got in the housecat's way?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
"Is that so?" There's a coldness in the Ahroun's voice. "Curious. Because I spent a week looking for the 'locals' around the caern and never once saw you. Were you on vacation?"

Really, Lukas was raised with better manners -- or at least more subtlety -- than this. He knows better than to out-and-out antagonize someone with higher ranking and longer history at a Sept he and his had only recently arrived at. Perhaps he can't help it, though. He got off to a bad start with Andrew that night in the alley. Things only got worse the night after, with Andrea.

[Soledad Gutierrez]
Hatchet started talking with Lukas, and Sol's attention returned to her book. She got through another page before Hatchet's voice shifted just slightly, so she knew he was addressing her now. Her eyes stilled on the page, paused on a single word, and she listened but didn't look up.

He expressed his distaste for the holiday that was creeping up around the corner, and suggested in the same breath that he wanted to deliver something to show gratitude to the local spirit allies. Something all blood and bones. Her mind skipped through her knowledge of the Wyrm and it's beasts, trying to come up with a name to go with the images that flashed across the landscape of her imagination. The end of his last sentence lifted in tone, turning it into something of a question, or some seeking for input.

As was no doubt expected, he got this: "Mmm-hmm."

[Andrew]
His hackles raise, his fur already puffy from shaking himself dry, puffs up along his back and shoulders. He growls, snarls and snaps his teeth a few times with irritation as he communicates. ~WS~ "I live in the city. I have visit Maelstrom, am not in sept." And he tilts his head, eyes darting to Hatchet with curiosity at the mention of a gift for the spirits. Wondering. But they quickly return to Lukas, the aggressor.

[Hatchet]
Hatchet grins at Soledad, but his eyes flick over and up at Lukas, at the icy tone in his voice and the fact that he is talking to a Fostern. His brows draw together slightly, but the look is invisible to the Child of Gaia and the Shadow Lord, who are paying attention to one another and not him. Soledad might see. Armstrong is drawing. Katherine is...

...well, Hatchet would say she's a self-involved princess who doesn't notice anyone that isn't offering to buff her fingernails. But that doesn't mean she doesn't pay attention.

He goes back to his grin at his packmate. "You wanna go tonight?" he asks, almost casually.

[Armstrong]
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
Why am I not surprised by this... I wonder what his reasons are.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
The thing about the lupus form is that emotions are nearly impossible to hide. Wolves have little concept of subterfuge; little need for it. When they're upset, their fur stands on end. Their lips wrinkle. They snarl.

For the homid form, things are different. All that shows for Lukas' mood is a certain tension in his bone -- the way he sits relaxed but not quite relaxed, and the way his eyebrows are lowered, straight and dark, over his pale blue eyes.

"You're not part of the Sept?" A pause. "Why not?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte
At least we won't have to offer up a piece of the pie to him as some god damn gesture of respect to the Sept, is all Lukas has to say about it. He sounds rather viciously pleased.

[Andrew]
He snarls, huffs and spins in a quick circle. ~WS~ "I have no pack." Then he rises up onto all fours, stares at Lukas for a moment, and snorts loudly. Snort-sneezing again and shaking his head. Ewww... dog snot... His tongue flicks out to clean his nose and jowls and he turns, trotting over to Soledad with curiosity on his face. His ears flicked back, head down sniffing.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
(back!)

[Armstrong]
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
Isn't it nice how things work out sometimes? She did take a bit of pleasure in hearing this. Very easily and openly conveyed.

[Soledad Gutierrez]
There's a pause. Sol's eyes remain on the book, but her ears are on the gap in Hatchet's voice and the sound of Lukas's voice and Andrew's returning growls that fill the void. Another beat of silence, then her Alpha speaks up again. The Uktena tips her head from one side to the other, popping her neck with a single loud 'clk!' in each direction, then she bends the corner of the page she's on down, dog-earring her spot, and closes the book. The book is set on the end table beside the chair, and she grunts her answer. "Mm-hm."

She rose to her feet, glanced to Lukas and Andrew, to the slumbering Sampson, then to Katherine and White-Eyes. All this in a moment, brief looks from one group to the next, then made way from the common room to her and Hatchet's (and occasionally someone else's) bedroom. The door was left open, as neither had posessions to hide, and she pulled on her coat, gloves, hat, boots, and scarf. She had half a mind to purchase long underwear to go under her clothes, for how goddamn cold this city got.

Once finished, she would return to the common room. But that would take a minute.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
Katherine has, in fact, been paying quite close attention to the room at large, though her focus has drifted at points inward. She keeps quite still as a favor to the sketching Mrena but her brows draw together a fraction at the behavior of the Lupus-form Andrew.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
to Armstrong, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
No wonder he has no pack, if that's how he typically behaves, comes Katherine's quiet addition.

[Soledad Gutierrez]
(( Totally missed Andrew's sniffing. Editting post now, sorreh! ))

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
Lukas doesn't see the connection, but then Andrew is moving on. "Sorry to hear that," Lukas says, half to himself; not entirely sincere.

Abruptly restless, the Ahroun gets to his feet. Tosses the pillow he'd been leaning on into the corner of the couch, then grips Armstrong's shoulder as he passes -- a vague, familiar gesture.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get out of this place for a while."

[Soledad Gutierrez]
Sol was back in the doorway between her sleeping quarters and the common room, wrapping the scarf securely about her throat and knotting it loosely at the back of her neck, when Andrew walked up to her and sniffed at her legs, feet, and whathaveyou. She didn't take offense, didn't step back or nudge him away, but rather paused and peered down at him.

She wouldn't hold out her hand for him to smell, as some may have the impulse do, and wouldn't say a word either. Just watched him sniff and waited for him to move on.

[Armstrong]
She gave a slight nod, flipping the sketchbook over to reveal the page she had been working on as she handed it to Katherine. It was a rather nice rendering of the woman, though obviously unfinished. She had been focused on the point where her neck met her shoulders, the contrast between the shadows her hair cast and her hair was really rather good. It was no wonder she made money doing that type of thing.

"I'll go grab my coat," she said to Lukas.

[Andrew]
He sniffed a few times. Until he was apparently satisfied. Then he moved on over to Hatchet. Sniffing the man curiously. His tail swaying slowly behind him. He'd already shaken off the wetness.

[Hatchet]
He is hearing what is being said, but his attention is on Soledad getting up to get her coat. Hatchet watches Andrew go over to her, then hops up and yanks his hoodie back on over his head as Lukas is telling Armstrong it's time to get out. His eyes go to Soledad, as though in question, and then he gives a nod to the Shadow Lords.

"You want in on th --"

He looks down as Andrew comes to sniff him and lifts his eyebrows at the other Fostern. "Dances-yuf?" he says, somewhat drolly, and steps around him.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
"Très bon, Mrena," Praises the Philodox with genuine pleasure at beholding the rendering of her profile on paper. She lightly traces the freshly drawn lines with the tip of her index finger before gently laying the sketchbook on the coffee table.

Let's get out of this place for a while, Lukas says and touches Armsong's shoulder in a vague, familiar manner. Katherine glances in passing at this, and makes some deliberate show of slowly rising and stretching, as if she had absolutely no care to follow the pair of them even if she were included in the invitation. Hatchet is sniffed by Andrew, and the temptation to comment overcomes the Silver Fang: "I do believe he likes you, Hatchet."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
"Yeah." Lukas disappears into his room. Reappears a moment or two later, draping his scarf around his neck, pulling a sweater on, shrugging into his coat. Katherine's still sitting there -- still in her lounge wear. Mildly irritated: "Katherine, why aren't you dressed? You'll freeze."

Then, something that sounded like the start of an invitation. Lukas glances at Hatchet, surprised; perhaps, also, a little ashamed that he had been so close-mouthed of his own hunt. Then he glances at his packmates to get their reaction.

[Andrew]
He steps back from Hatchet by a few paces and shifts up into human again in one smooth motion. Black fur being sucked back into his skin and sweats appearing in their place. It only takes a second or two for the whole thing, slightly longer than a blink. He lets out a snarl as he shifts up and finishes it with words in english. "What spirits do you appease?"

[Soledad Gutierrez]
to Andrew, Armstrong, Hatchet, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
(( I'm heading to bed. Turning over the reigns to Hatchet to NPC Sol for the night. ))

[Hatchet]
"Well, I am a hot hunk of man-meat," Hatchet sighs to the Silver Fang who shares his auspice, giving a helpless shrug. His head swivels around then, looking over at Lukas, now in his scarf and sweater and coat and so on. He issues an invitation to Katherine, and Hatchet waits for an answer to his own half-spoken invite.

Surprise. A hint of what could be shame. He knows that Soledad will be at his side in moments, that they will go alone if necessary -- they were alone for a long enough time anyway -- but he waits.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
"Oh." She turns, feigning ignorance with a widening of her eyes. "Was I invited? Very well then." And off she traipses to dress herself in slightly warmer (and more fashionably acceptable) layers suited to a winter's evening. As she passes by, Andrew shifts and snarls something about spirits at Hatchet and the Philodox mildly amends her earlier statement: "Then again, perhaps not."

[Soledad Gutierrez]
to Andrew, Armstrong, Hatchet, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
(( G'nite y'all! ))

[Armstrong]
to Andrew, Hatchet, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Soledad Gutierrez
(Night lovely!)

[Armstrong]
She picked her sketchbook back up once it was on the coffee table. And it was off to her room, not that she minded Katherine seeing, but... well, she slept with that particular sketchbook under her pillow. When she came back out, she was dressed for the outdoors. Black coat, black hat, and the same bright red scarf she had been wearing earlier.

"I don't mind, but if we're going hunting I'm going to need a little time to prepare. I have little preference either way."

[Hatchet]
to Andrew, Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[In case anyone is wondering, yes I am offering to run a hunt. Something simple like killing some scrags, because otherwise I have to put in, like, EFFORT. *Pffft* I had something small in mind for Sol but I don't mind expanding it. Might want to bow out IC if you can't give me 2-3 hours. Preferably 2.]

[Andrew]
to Armstrong, Hatchet, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Soledad Gutierrez
((I'd go but I only have about an hour left in me, at most.))

[Armstrong]
to Andrew, Hatchet, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
((Crud, I gotta bow out then, it sounds really fun but I have to leave in an hour. I have work at eight in the morning. Delete my last post, revising))

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
to Andrew, Armstrong, Hatchet, Katherine Bellamonte, Soledad Gutierrez
(damn, since everyone's going to bed -- can we raincheck for tomorrow? :D do you have a rough time in mind, veracity?)

[Hatchet]
to Andrew, Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Considering my original plan involved only one other player, I'd be fine with a smaller group. Also gives me more chances to practice. I'm definitely up for running something tonight and tomorrow (going to ST for Soledad anyway).

If Mindy and thestral are going to bed, you could hit me up another time if you want. *shrug*
If ALL OF Y'ALL PANSIES are going to bed, then tomorrow around 2pm chat time or later.]

[Armstrong]
to Andrew, Hatchet, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
I have no problem for shooting for another time. I don't want to keep you guys from kickin' the wyrm's ass *L* However, if you guys want to go after 2 pm chat time tomorrow, I am totally there

[Katherine Bellamonte]
to Andrew, Armstrong, Hatchet, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Soledad Gutierrez
(SORRY. Um, I WANT TO! But a later time would rock as I'm still awaiting approval.)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
to Andrew, Armstrong, Hatchet, Katherine Bellamonte
(okay, let's do 2pm chat timeish tomorrow *LOL* actually i might not be out of bed then, so it'll be more like... 4pmish chat time for me.)

[Andrew]
to Armstrong, Hatchet, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
((I can probably be here 2pm chat time, or I'll try anyway. So good by me. :D Hope to see folks here.))

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
Two noncommittal answers. Were he more interested in democracy and fair rights, he'd urge his packmates to speak their minds now. But he isn't.

So Lukas looks back at Hatchet. "We'll be honored to join you, Rhya," he says. "My Theurge needs time to prepare. Can we meet you somewhere -- say, tomorrow?"

[Hatchet]
Hatchet glances over at Andrew and just shrugs. "For the Caern. I have a pathologically high approval motive, see, which is why I go out of my way so often to ingratiate myself." He deadspans this and gives a little, self-accepting nod before turning back to Lukas.

A strange little smile quirks the corner of his mouth. It is a lopsided, somewhat mild grin considering how bizarre he can make his smiles seem. The lack of affectation is a nice chance. "I'll let you know. Sol and I will hunt and track tonight. No sense going after small game if you and your vaunted fellows will be joining us."

[Andrew]
"Maelstrom wants sacrifice.... Offering a kill..." He shrugs. But he walks back towards the bathroom. "I will go." And then ducks inside to find the clothes he'd left in there. The many extra layers he needed to stay warm.

[Andrew]
to Armstrong, Hatchet, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
((I've gotta hit the sack, thanks for the RP folks.))

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
to Andrew, Armstrong, Hatchet, Katherine Bellamonte
(okay well, don't wait for me! i'll be fashionably late, dropping in to save the day and all. *LOL*)

[Hatchet]
"Well...not exactly...it's the other spi...we're going to..." Hatchet watches Andrew leave and shakes his head, giving the others a Look of overdone bewilderment. "...kay."

With one last look at Armstrong, Lukas, and Katherine, he then flips his hood up and turns towards Soledad, offering a sharp whistle and a nod towards the door. She nods, silent as ever, and falls in step behind him as they head out of the Brotherhood.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
"We'll see you then." He knots his scarf, buttons his coat. "Good hunting tonight."

Though he's heading out himself, he lets Hatchet and his packmate go first. Then, looking around the room at his packmates, he nods at the stairs -- starts down himself.

[Armstrong]
She inhaled slowly, then exhaled. There was a degree of focus in her gaze, a mental preparation that there had to be when getting ready for a hunt. She went through the checklists, the processes, and she knew what she had to do. Mrena looked at the stairs and, at that moment, she headed on down torwards the stairs. She pulled her hat down a little further, down over her ears to keep warm.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
Katherine follows both her pack-mates out, dressed warmly now in a black and white checkered coat, tethered at her waist, and a black scarf to match, wound loosely around her neck. Her lower limbs encased in skinny jeans and tightly laced boots, the heels of which would prove quite a valuable weapon in combat with the substantial heels. As she exits, the Philodox pulls on a pair of gloves fitted to her small hands and flexes the soft leather, wriggling her fingers into place.

[Hatchet]
[Thank you guys for the RP...I look forward to tomorrow. *G*]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
(night!!)

[Katherine Bellamonte]
(Likewise, bb! Mwah)

[Armstrong]
"What's on the agenda for the evening? If we're going Christmas shopping, I'd like to take this opportunity to tell you both that I didn't get you anything."

She looked between her packmates, waiting for a little bit of direction. There was a reason for everything, and at that moment Mrena inhaled the frigid air. It was just going to get colder, the lady pulled her scarf up a little more, making sure she was well-adjusted.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
Down the stairs. Through the kitchen -- still smelling vaguely of whatever had been cooked for the patrons tonight -- and then out the back door.

Instantly they're cast out into the bitter snow and ice of a Chicago winter. It is now well below freezing, and Lukas is quick to tug on his own gloves before his fingers dropped off like so many blocks of ice.

"I just wanted to get out of the house," he replies as his packmates come abreast of him, the dirty snow crunching under their footsteps. "The desolation around here is growing a little old. There's a lounge on Redding and Fifth. Swanky. Not a drink under twenty bucks, good hors d'oeuvres, open all night on the weekends. Think it'll suit your royal taste, Katherine?"

[Katherine Bellamonte]
He scores himself a side-long glare for that one, and Katherine merely emits some noncommittal huff of cold winter's air from her nose and picks up her pace so that she's walking a few paces ahead of them both, her long legs making easy work of the distance, boots leaving imprints in the ground.

[Armstrong]
It was one of those moments where Mrena realized that she really hadn't done much outside of Theurgely duties... well... not recently. The last time she'd done something that involved people and drinks and decent music and classy atmosphere, Ms. Target-shopper had sold a painting and had to suffer through gallery patrons.

"Sounds good, how'd you find the place?"

a beat.

"Do they take Visa?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
The line of his jaw hardens as Katherine charges ahead. It's a second before he seems to register Armstrong's questions -- he glances at her sideways, turning his collar up against the wind.

"Google." A faint tilt of his mouth. "I'm sure they do."

[Armstrong]
She looked at Katherine charging ahead, watching her keep a few steps ahead. She kept her hands in her pockets and kept on walking. Don't worry, I'm pretty sure tequilla fixes that. And if it doesn't, at least she'll charge forward in a not-so-straight line.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
"I doubt," Lukas remarks, wry, "her highness of Bellamonte would allow herself to become inebriated."

Then he raises his voice, whistles at Katherine as though she were -- how shall we say? -- a bitch.

"Katherine! Didn't you have a car?" He waits for her to turn around. "Why don't we drive?"

[Katherine Bellamonte]
It's a wonder in some respects that Katherine even has a pack, or that she could be so content to allow her elder brother the reigns to what she clearly believes ought to be her own mantle. That her loyalty is unswervingly toward her own blood comes as no surprise to any that she is packed with, but it's worth wondering sometimes if even someone as apparently fixated as Ms Bellamonte ever has regrets -- or moments where that silver armor of hers is absent.

Surely once in a while she cut loose.

Surely.

Unfortunately, the only living beings capable of answering these questions were absent. Katherine's stride slows a little after several minutes, and then Lukas whistles. Didn't she have a car? In answer, she turns and removes a hand from a pocket, aiming her keys in Lukas' direction. Behind him several yards, a sleek silver Boxer S class Porsche flashes yellow warning lights.

"I'd be happy to."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
Lukas turns to look at the flashing car. Then he swings back, brow darkening.

"That car seats two."

[Katherine Bellamonte]
"Mrena is quite small, she could sit on your lap."

[Armstrong]
"Oh thank everything," she sighed out with a sound of definite relief. She turned around and made a quiet run to the porsche. Well, almost. She stopped. She looked back at her packmates for a moment. That car seats two. "Ohhh, someone in this pack has got to get a minivan or something."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
A short, gruff sound in his throat. He looks at the street, dark and cold; he looks at the inviting, expensive, heated-leather-seats porsche.

"I'll walk to the main thoroughfare and catch a cab." He peels down his glove, folds his up sleeve, glances at his watch. "The place is called 'Moda'. Meet you there in fifteen?"

[Katherine Bellamonte]
Katherine is walking toward her car, keys jingling in her hand. She turns and looks between her packmates as if to ask which of you am I taking? before Lukas, such the gentleman, defers in favor of public transport. Meridian's Truth catches a whisp of fair hair from landing in her mouth and tenders it behind an ear.

"I'll order you a drink, Lukas. Let's go, Mrena."

Katherine calls with renewed animation -- the woman loved nothing more than an excuse to drive her newest toy.

[Armstrong]
"See you in fifteen!"

And thus, their beta took one of the team, or his pride simply could not take the hit of having a pint-sized theurge sitting on his lap for the ride, and the subsequent driving home of a slightly inebriated, inevitably giggly packmate may or may not be a good idea.

White Eyes had no clue what she was getting into when she got into the car wth Katherine. But, she did put on her seatbelt.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
Fifteen minutes later, nearly on the dot, Lukas is ....

.... well, he's still hoofing it, actually. Either cabs were in short supply, or he's decided in favor of economy over luxury.

(i'll give you guys time to post back and forth once or twice before jumping in! *grin*)

[Katherine Bellamonte]
Katherine's car was, in enthusiast's speak, fully loaded. The interior still carried with it the rather strong smell of leather and as she slid into the driver's seat it was obvious in the smile she turned on her pack mate that Katherine relished in the opportunity to drive her car. She buckled her own seatbelt and turned the ignition after rubbing her gloved palms up and down the steering wheel in an obvious caress.

"Hold on," she warned in an excited purr, listening to the engine rev as the CD player clicked back on in a remembered place -- Bach's 5th Symphony resounding from the speakers -- and Katherine backed the car out and pulled out of the street with a speed perhaps not well suited to residential areas.

As they drove, she hit random buttons on the dash -- one of which seemed to control Armstrong's seat -- as it began to warm from beneath her. Katherine, it must be attested to -- was not the world's safest driver. She swerved, she sped, she crept between cars -- all in a blur of lights.

[Armstrong]
Mrena got to sit and inhale. It was an experience for the senses. It smelled like leather, the seats were warm. It was nice. And then? Katherine started the car and started driving.

What went through Mrena's mind was best kept to herself.

She looked at her, silvery grey eyes wide once the car stopped. Her heart was pounding, her hair was a mess, and she was absolutely without words. They hadn't just left her, they had decided that they were not going to come back any time soon.

"... you absolutely hate Shadowlords, don't you? You're trying to kill me."

There was a beat. Two beats. Two and a half.

"Ohhh we have to do this again."

The lady finally let a grin cross her face, then come out coupled with a little laugh. Obviously, she was overcome whatever horror that came with letting Katherine play with her new toy.

[Katherine Bellamonte]
When they pulled into a parking spot not far from Moda, Mrena turned to address her pack mate with wide eyes and invoked from the Silver Fang a familiar light laugh. "Oh no, not you dearest. Another of your tribe perhaps but never you. Come. We're here."

And with this, Katherine slid from the car.

[Armstrong]
She grinned a little, then slid herself on out of the car. She smoothed her hair down, checked her reflection in the side view mirror. Yes, everything was in a decent state, she made sure her walled was in her pocket, and she was set. Okay, now she could go in.

"... you've done this before, right?"

[Armstrong]
(*kicks the internet* sorry, yall)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
About six blocks away from the caern, life starts to come back into the blasted urban landscape. About ten blocks away, he crosses one of those major thoroughfares that, for not apparent reason or logic, marks the boundary between some ghastly no-mans-land of industrial waste, and some glittering superficial paradise of urban high-living.

After that it's a straight shot to the club&bar district, the entire streets of nightlife, night living, the young and the beautiful and the trendy and the rich; the social butterflies and the vampires.

--

Sometimes literally. Lukas remembers a Wyrmhunt, once upon a time, not long after his Change, before Edward and the Circle. It had not been an intentional hunt. It had been him and some friends, relaxing in some steakhouse, red leather booths and chic skinny waitresses in black with red lips that matched the booths. And then he could just smell it, the stale blood, the dead flesh, it was the gorgeous blonde in the next booth over with her brainless beefcake of a date... fuck... victim.

He had risen out of his seat and into the warform. He had flipped his table over like it was a child's toy, even though it was bolted into the ground. He had torn the bloodsucker into rags and ashes, not because she had offended him personally, not because she had endangered him or his, but because it was his duty.

--

Two blocks away from Moda: there are people on the streets, noisy drunks staggering home for the night or staggering on to the next bar. A taxicab passes, empty -- he raises his hand -- he flags it down and gets in, gives them the address a block and a half away. The cabbie looks at him like he's crazy, but he repeats it, and off they go. His hands sting as the warmth comes back into them.

Pulling up in front of Moda now. He tosses the bills to the cabbie: three bucks or so, barely more than starting fare. Appearances mattered, and damned if he wasn't going to look every bit as rich, polished, privileged as that silver fang bitch. Damned if he was going to walk up huffing like he'd just walked three miles, which he had.

The line is negligible at this hour. He catches up to his packmates just inside the door. "I've done this before," he assures Armstrong, though the comment hadn't been made for him. He puts his arms over their shoulders like they were humans, ivy-league coeds, one with a trust fund and the other with straight A's from her public high school; like he was human; like they were out for a good time with the possibility of experimental threeways later on. He smiles at the girl checking IDs and guest lists, and he can be charming, he can be persuasive: won't she let him and his friends in just this once and not worry about the details?

Then they're in. Low lighting, minimalistic furnishings, downtempo music, loud; low armchairs that you sprawled in arranged around cut-stone tables lower still to the ground. Lukas' hands slip off his packmates' shoulders; he nods them toward an unoccupied cluster of lounge chairs and sectional sofas way in the back, half a room away from the bar, near the smallish dance floor where goodlooking girls that knew they looked good writhed to the music. Lukas eyes them as he doffs his coat over the back of the couch, then his sweater, loosens his collar, drops to the seat, puts his feet up.

A waitress comes up. This is the sort of place with waitresses. She's chic and skinny, all in black, but if her lips are blood red it's hard to tell in this lighting. She bends down low and wonders what they want. Lukas wants a double of Delamain, neat. She takes the rest of their orders, then departs.

"So," Lukas shifts to get more comfortable, then settles, watching the humans and their mating rituals through half-lidded eyes, "you have the look of speed about you. A little blurred at the edges. Did Katherine drive like a bat out of hell again?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
(whoa. longer than even i expected *LOL*)

[Katherine Bellamonte]
Katherine, it should be noted, is wearing an off one shoulder number in the most basic of shades : black and white beneath her coat. She shrugs it off once they are seated and puts in her own very specific order for a drink, she wants a Spanish Crown, which, she informs the waitress involves three quarters Crown Royale Canadian Whiskey (if they carried it) and three quarters Licor 43 liqueur -- preferably mid way filed with ice, otherwise, whatever they could provide in substitute. This being done, the Silver Fang settles herself into her seat and smirks at Lukas' comment.

"Just because you're uncomfortable about a woman driving, doesn't mean everyone else is, Lukas."

[Armstrong]
And damned if she wasn't that Ivy league co-ed type. No one would have ever known that Mrena had never set foot on a college campus, the high school she'd graduated from had been a little known, less cared about blip. It felt like it was that long ago; she didn't revisit it often. Appearances mattered, and with these two belonged in settings like this. Or, if they didn't surely they faked it well.

Mrena Armstrong was a practiced, full-body liar.

It didn't matter if she belonged here, or if she was wearing something off-the-rack, the simple matter was this: an enticing gaze was an enticing gaze. A vaguely buttoned shirt still revealed, or didn't reveal, enough of her more feminine aspects that people wanted to look. And the fact that her smile was white and dangerously straight, be that naturally or through years of dental work, teetered dangerously between daring someone to touch and letting them know exactly what was in store if they did.

Lukas did his work. Mrena kept her mouth shut and waited. They stood with a degree of familiarity, and when they walked through the door his arms went off of the ladies' shoulders and they were off to a cluster of seats.

She took a seat, she crossed her legs, and she just took in the atmosphere. It was a world of textures and colors and tones; it was an experience she may have to relive. Mrena ordered gin and tonic, she didn't seem like the type.

Did Katherine drive like a bat out of hell again?
"Again? She... did you know that the car can do zero to sixty in less than two seconds?... but it was fun, I enjoyed it. And yet with that sterling example I still have no desire to learn to drive."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
"I have nothing against a woman driving." Lukas has taken the corner seat, his back against the wall; he has a sight of the entire establishment. This is not by accident. "It's only that what you do cannot properly be called 'driving', Katherine. It's more hurtling toward disaster. I wonder if it's not some sort of emergency release valve: take it all out on the car, because god forbid that icy facade ever cracks in life."

The walk in the cold has made him moody. Or maybe he simply is moody: is entitled to it, the way a theurge is entitled to the esoteric and a philodox to the law. He's watching the girls again, dancing with each other but for their boys.

"Anyway, if you want to learn, Mrena," he continues, offhand, "I'll teach you properly."

[Katherine Bellamonte]
Katherine scoffs lightly: "I enjoy my car, there is nothing wrong with that, though if you insist on assigning it some ulterior motive, that is, of course, your choice."

[Armstrong]
She looked at her packmates, then the dancefloor. Mrena, for a moment, let a look that was close to disdain flicker across her features. For a moment, the look in her eyes was critical, and she realized that the purpose of the movement was something ritualized. It was something these people did. And, at that moment, she could understand from an outside perspective.

"Have you considered drag racing?" She asked Katherine.

"And I wouldn't mind learning, I'm sure I could teach you something in return that's as useful," she added to Lukas.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
Lukas considers the offer for a moment. Another might take it as what it is, a courtesy, and politely refuse. For Lukas, however, a free offering is something to be taken up immediately, no questions asked. His eyes flicker; then he has it.

"Teach me the Binding Rite, then. Seems like something worth knowing."

[Armstrong]
"Done."

She said in quick reply; it wasn't a courtesy, it was a trade. Mrena sought to gain from each endeavor. She offered him her hand, as though shaking on it would seal the deal.

"Tell me when you're ready to learn, and we'll be set."

[Katherine Bellamonte]
Have you considered drag racing?

It invokes a soft, sultry laugh from the Silver Fang, she reaches out and tugs lightly on a strand of Mrena's hair. "I shall endeavor to keep it in mind."

Katherine's attention then turns to the figures on the dance floor, while her face gives little away, there is some sense that she envies their easy movements, the utter lack of care about who glimpsed them.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
Lukas pulls his eyes to Armstrong for a moment: her face, then her hand. A faint tilt to his mouth; then he reaches over and grasps her hand, not with the matching hand as in a true handshake, but with whichever is closest to her. It's a brief clasp, but it's enough to seal a deal.

"Perhaps after the moot," he says. "Thank you, Mrena."

He shuts up, then. The waitress is back. She sets the drinks down one by one, taking her time, deliberate. She makes eye contact with Lukas and she smiles, at least until he smiles back, showing his teeth. Then, abruptly, she looks away, finishes up, hurries away with barely a enjoy-your-drinks tossed over her shoulder.

Lukas leans down, picks up his cognac. Leans back. Music is a deep, elemental thing. Wolves howl, birds chirp, whales sing. Even this sort of music, so far removed from the natural that it's born from bits and bytes, machines and loops, arcs back to its roots. It fills the silences in the conversation, weaves through their bones.

"What about you, Katherine?" He does not sip: he shoots his cognac, two quick swallows and then an empty glass to toy with. "Want to make a deal with me too?"

[Katherine Bellamonte]
Katherine picks up her drink and sips from it judgmentally while the waitress is still present -- this way, at the very least, if she has everything wrong it's simple to hand it back, dis-satisfied -- and apparently finds it sufficiently to her satisfaction. The Philodox sips from her concoction carefully, and sets it down, turning her attention to her pack mate with a vaguely bemused expression. "Ah, but Lukas, what do you have to wager with?"

[Armstrong]
"Endeavor, by all means endeavor."

And the contact was enough for her. it was enough to seal a deal, and she would teach him. After all, she got a little more out of teaching someone a rite. It gave her practice, she was a young woman with aspirations. She grinned a little at Katherine, then took a sip of her drink. She wasn't picky enough to send it back; in her infinite wisdom, it was difficult to mess up gin and tonic.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
A pause. Then: "I can teach you to fight." His teeth flash again: another grin. "If you think you can take a hit."

[Katherine Bellamonte]
"Hmm." She comments, with a vaguely raised brow as if his comment regarding a hit were barely reason enough. "I suppose there are one or two gifts that I could show you. Perhaps Ice Dance. Certainly the weather is amenable to such a gift."

[Armstrong]
"You may want to converse with the appropriate parties first... spirits get touchy."

She said it to the two of them, but it was quick to add in. It was her job, she wasn't going to let her packmates offend the spirits. Who knew what mess she'd have to clean up...

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
"You think your spirits will permit me to learn that? A Shadow Lord?" Another blessing of loud music: the ability to speak with little fear of being overheard. Then Mrena speaks up; Lukas' mouth slants, ironic. "Don't worry about it. You can just owe me one. Unless that makes you uneasy."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
(shower, bbi 10min)

[Katherine Bellamonte]
"Of course," Katherine amends, as Mrena adds her caution regarding the spirits. "I would not dream of offending the Ice Elementals. I will ask their permission beforehand, or," she reaches out to touch her pack-mate's shoulder lightly, familiarly, "you can ask on our behalf and see how ameniable they are to an outsider," a glance here at Lukas, "learning our gift. If not than I'm sure some other arrangement can be achieved."

[Armstrong]
"It's a matter of history, it would be... extremely difficult for any of Falcon's brood to- they would be more apt to teach Sam or Sampson or Dylan before they would teach myself of Lukas. Not to say that it isn't possible, but the honor to be paid to them would be... interesting."

Though it did make her pause and think about it. And she did think about it.

[Armstrong]
(of=or, oi)

[Katherine Bellamonte]
Katherine sips her drink thoughtfully.

"No, you're quite correct, Mrena, they are not welcoming to every tribe. Perhaps another trade off is more appropriate." Katherine's smile returns, briefly. "Unless Lukas is willing to pay the cost, of course."

[Armstrong]
She stopped and looked out across the dance floor, like something had caught her attention and held it. Mrena listened for a moment, then looked back at her packmates. she sat patiently to hear the end of this endeavor. Despite whatever seen (or unseen) thing had distracted her.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
"Lukas," he says, "is decidedly not interested in kowtowing before Falcon's brood."

His drink is long since gone, his glass quite empty. He dances it over his knuckles, flips it, catches it neatly in his palm -- all offhandedly, half-consciously, while he watches the human gyrate on the dance floor, flirt on their couches, flock to the bar, stream in and out of the restrooms. It was interesting to Lukas, sometimes, to wave the rhythms of the modern world; to compare them to the most ancient rites and rituals, rhythms and rhymes. The more things change, as they say, the more they stay the same.

"We'll have to figure out your end of the bargain sometime down the line." This, rather suddenly, and after a long silence. "What are you looking at, Mrena?"

[Armstrong]
"I thought I saw something interesting," she said. It was offhanded. The music continued. She repositioned herself, shifting her weight and taking a drink of the gin and tonic she had since forgotten that she was still holding in her hand.

"That something interesting, however, happens to be attached to something peroxide-soaked," again, her tone seemed distracted. She couldn't have just been checking some person out. "I wonder how many people come in and out of this place a night."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
"Hundreds. Maybe a thousand. What was so interesting?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
(hmm. maybe it's AIM. i just got DCed too)

[Armstrong]
"It's all so structured and... it's really quite interesting. It's like it doesn't matter who is there just so long as someone is playing their roles it goes on."

A pause.

"But they make it look so easy... Or have they all just practiced this to the point of second nature?"

An outside look on human courtship. Fascinated.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
Lukas watches too. Lukas has been watching all night, this girl or that, young, healthy, full of beauty and life, like prey-animals in the spring. And Mrena's right. They're all interchangeable.

He laughs under his breath -- "Always so clinical. Sometimes I don't know which of you is the colder." Was he being unkind? She could take the truth; she's a big girl. And as for Katherine, this sort of thing is par for the course.

"Truth is, Armstrong, I don't think anyone comes here looking to find a mate for life. Or even for the next month. It's a meat market. Humans come here to find someone to take home for the night, or maybe just to drag into the bathrooms. And I confess," and he sits up, "it's an impulse I can understand. It's quick and easy. It means nothing. No strings, no complications. No liabilities, no deadweight. Nothing to make you vulnerable after the fact."

He takes his wallet out, counts out a few bills, enough to cover the table. Leaves them pinned under his emptied glass, which he sets down upside-down.

"I'll see you two back at the Brotherhood in the morning." He replaces his wallet; he gets to his feet; he's locked eyes with some girl or other. Perhaps his companions, out of some latent sense of female kinship, might be offended by where this has led. The possibility does not daunt him, and probably does not even occur to him. Lukas is honorable, and polite, and even sometimes a good Garou, but he is not a good man; nor even a man. He draws his boundaries clearly. There is pack; there are allies; there are rivals, enemies, and then there are the lessers -- the kin, the humans -- to use and manipulate as necessary.

"We'll discuss who we send to put a little friendly competition onto Hatchet then," he finishes, and takes the time to nod to them both. "Goodnight, Mrena, Katherine."