not worth it, reprised.

[Teagan O'Neill] ((in a booth with billy and ethan))

[Ethan Parker] "Yeeah, what he said." Finishing off the baked potato, he let his fork drop down into his plate and swallowed the mash thickly. After Billy was done shaking her hand, Ethan stuck his out to do the same. "Ethan, miss." Billy was from Texas and Ethan was a Cali boy.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The front door to the Brotherhood opens forcefully. It doesn't quite bang open, but it's close. Lukas wants to get in out of the cold and he wants it bad. They can see him in the anteroom, between the heavy outer doors and the glass-paneled inner -- huffing a breath out once he's in out of the wind, pulling a newsboy cap off, using the crown of it to dust snow off his shoulders while scuffing his shoes on the already-wet mat.

Then, opening the inner doors, Lukas steps into the warmth. The place smells of savory meat, wholesome bread. He, on the other hand, smells like the cold and the winter and the city: that particular no-scent of wind and snow. He pauses by the coat-rack to hang up his hat, then his scarf, then his gloves; then peels the heavy overcoat off. Hangs that up too.

It's a blazer and vest; denims too, the expensive sort. He strips off the blazer as well, hanging it up beside his coat. Another man might hurry through these steps, eager to clear out of the way so another could access the rack, or perhaps mildly ashamed to be spending so long going through the motions of simply coming in. Lukas is confident enough to take his time.

All his outer clothing is somber and dark, suited to winter. The shirt is blue, though, a rich, vivid color like a dawn sky. No tie. The effect is casual but sharp, like he takes care in dressing himself. Which he does. Finished, he scuffs a hand through his hair, un-flattening it, then steps up to the podium to snag a copy of the menu and tonight's special's list.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (okay, i don't normally do grandiose HE ENTERS posts, but since i don't know how many of you (if any) are entering with lukas, i'm gonna stop there and let y'all jump on the bandwagon if you want *LOL*)
to Andrea Locke, Armstrong, Gabriella Bellamonte, Katherine Bellamonte, Sam Modine

[Teagan O'Neill] she takes their hands and shakes them grinning
"I'm Teagan, great to meet you guys havent met many people in the city yet, and sorry I,m not much hep on the matter but uh yeah" she grins again "not real good on the girly stuff"
pretty much oblvious to everyone else in the restraunt right now

[Sam Modine] I gotta jet for a little bit, I don't think i'm gonna be able to join after all, i'll try and catch up later tonight though! Sorry guys!
to Andrea Locke, Armstrong, Billy, Ethan Parker, Gabriella Bellamonte, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Teagan O'Neill

[Gabriella Bellamonte] (( Back home, but need to switch laundry and hunt for crib building instructions. So Jacqui, would ya enter Gabbie along with Katherine for me? Or just assume she's there with her sister? I'll be back on to play shortly! ))
to Andrea Locke, Billy, Ethan Parker, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine, Teagan O'Neill

[Billy] "Its real nice to meetcha Teagan...how long you been in city? and in America?". His refill arrived, he thanked the girl and shielded her from 'E'. "An I wouldn't worry about it, your pretty enough without having to go through all that other stuff".

[Ethan Parker] Kicking back, he let Billy take over for awhile. He wanted to see how the boy worked his boy scout charms. He always got a kick out of it.

[Teagan O'Neill] she laughs a little and shakes her head
"been in America since I was 5, but back and forth home to Ireland frequently, couple years ago spent a year and a half there" she smiles fondly "been in the city ohhh I guess four months now? The folks thought I needed to get out of our small town and meet people", how about you guys, how long ya been in the city?"

[Andrea Locke] It would seem that the proprietress of the Brotherhood was also out and about this evening. When she arrives it is shortly on Lukas' heels, though not so much so as to indicate that she either with him or trying to catch up with him. So the main doors open once more, the old-fashioned anteroom filling with the sudden gust of nerve numbing cold. At temperatures below zero tonight it certainly isn't an evening that most anyone wants to find themselves out and about in. Blessedly the dash from the taxi to the front door had been mercifully brief, but even then she feels chilled through to the bones.

Abhorrent, abysmal, abominable weather.

As it is, wherever she'd been apparently wasn't a place for business, casual or any such attire. She is, quite literally, dressed to the nines. A full length black evening gown of slinky, limpid, clinging and swaying satin covers her body much like a glove as she removes her likewise expensive overcoat and hangs it up near Lukas' and anyone elses there. The dress is sleeved, all the way down the backs of her hands in a diamond cut and the neckline is high whereas the back is considerably lower - and then some - which is fine of course for well warmed [if not overheated] ball rooms or dinning rooms or opera houses but not so much the case for the draftiness that at least momentarily fills the front of the Brotherhood as first one person and then another enters with just enough stagger to increase the length of the cold-snap.

Largely unadorned, she is the sort of woman who lets the dress [and the body beneath] speak for itself. Outside of the Tahitian black pearls that dangle from her ears in delicate, small, silver toned hoops she is no more dolled up than perhaps a more 'evening' application of make-up and even that appears to be slight. Alabaster skinned, the high, pronounced sweeps of her cheek bones are crimson flushed from the cold, right along with the tip of her nose and she still shivers as she rubs her arms briskly. She is dressed in wealth, indeed, and certainly moves with an admitted degree of fine stature [or simply a strong idea of self worth] but she is by no means aloof and unapproachable with a nose stuck up in the air. Brown eyes the colour of whiskey held up before fire light roam along the room, taking in the general atmosphere of her place and, of course, judging business at the moment.

[Billy] "Just got in last night night, but if the folks around here are all as nice as you, think we'll be stayin awhile". He gave a sincere grin. "Can we get you beer? Something more to eat than that lil brownie?".

[Dylan] ooc: so... where are y'all, those who're actually present? answer in PMs, if you will!

[Teagan O'Neill] she laughs and grins "I'll eat when I get home, but a beer would be great"
honestly she didnt have much cash on her and she hated to mooch, but a beer sounded sooooo good
"its great to meet some other people, I only really have one friend so far" she grins again "well besides you two now"

[Ethan Parker] "What? A girl like you with only one friend? Damn criminal. .. Go getcha self a beer. it's on me." Just dont ask him what he'll want later for it. No, really! Kidding. He pushed his plate away and kicked back in the booth, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle.

[Billy] "An order yaself something from the menu, we hate to eat alone. Meals are meant to be enjoyed with friends. Our treat. We insist".

[Katherine Bellamonte] Stepping in almost literally on the heels of the proprietress herself are two women -- two strikingly similar females, the taller and leaner of the pair leading them inside from the freezing temperatures with her hand held behind her -- clasping that of the younger, smaller girl. It did not take great talent to distinguish the familial link as the pair entered the dining area of The Brotherhood -- clearly following in Lukas' stead.

While Katherine Bellamonte carried herself taller and fairer than her younger sister there was a likeness in the shape of their faces, the long nose and heart shaped lips, the pale complexion (that of their mother's, the french breeding true) all except the shade of their eyes -- here they differed, here Gabriella was the inheritant of ancestry -- she had their father's eyes quite exactly -- eyes that took away their mother's breath if the light hit them just so.

Katherine's were a touch paler; many might have said a degree crueler.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (oy, sorry guys, got distracted *reads*)

[Teagan O'Neill] she laughs and shakes her head esasprrated "oh alright" and orders a bowl of soup and what ever dark beer they have on tap. shaking her head alittle again. her back to the door she doesnt notice anyone who is coming in. "so what brought you guys to chicago?"

[John Thornton] ((Room for one more?))

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (yep, always. i think billy, ethan and teagan are at a table. the rest of us are just coming in the front door.)

[Billy] "We're here visitin relatives...the girl from the previous conversation. The one who has a slight disliking for Ethan due to past misunderstandings". There...that was nicely put. Aside to Ethan, "Did you see what just walked in??".

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a brief pile-up of traffic at the front door: a whole lot of well-dressed people, albeit at different levels of the casual-formal sliding scale. Lukas is still studying the menu, apparently intending to order before even picking out a table, but he steps aside thoughtlessly to allow Katherine and Gabriella to move past, and out of the way of whoever else might enter. He doesn't even have to look up.

There's a complete ease between packmates of the Circle. Whatever their personal opinions of one another, instinct runs deeper than thought.

He does, however, look up as Andrea makes her appearance. Perhaps it's soothing to the 37-year-old female ego that she gets a second, surprised glance from the Ahroun -- his eyes flickering pale beneath straight, dark eyebrow. Then his regard returns to the menu: the more permanent, faux-leather-bound pages of the main course list, as well as the single-page flyer that indicates the night's specials.

"Evening, Andrea." He pitches his tone just right: just loud enough to carry to her, not loud enough that he was shouting in the restaurant. "Any recommendations for myself and the ladies? I think something hearty, for the cold weather."

[Dylan] Where there is an upstairs, there is a downstairs; and where there are these levels, there are sure to be stairs. The stairs: where Dylan lingers, a couple of hair clips in her mouth and one boot pressed against the wall opposite the wall she's leaning against.

She is pulling her laces tight, sharply, efficiently, and knotting them the way a mean kidnapper ties knots, or a pirate. When she's done with that boot, she switches to the other. Then she spits the hairpins into the palm of her hand. After blank consideration, she pockets them and pulls herself up as if gravity were a weight too heavy to bear -- then uses gravity to fling herself down the stairs, and arrive, lanky energy, in the kitchen where the kinfolk working give her a brief glance, adjust for her presence, and then continue on with their work.

"Any coffee brewing?" she asks, and upon receiving an affirmative, leans against the stairwell's door, watching the pot of coffee through narrowed eyes. In the restaurant proper, there are new arrivals, and the owner is one of them -- the patrons who've been there a while aren't causing any trouble. All in all, a relaxing night for the Brotherhood of Thieves.

[Teagan O'Neill] she turns where billy indicated and sighs...they had enough breeding to choke a horse over there.... but she turns back to the guys and smiles nodding "so your sister an dhim dont get along but you vbrought hjim any ways? do they just have a love hate relasionship?" she laughs

[Ethan Parker] "Oh fuck yeah." This was low back to Billy. He'd been distracted from their little booth conversation. People like that, like them, often tended to get some serious attention. If Andrea in her gown wasn't enough to get his attention, the girls that wander in after isn't that bad. Hell, he could go all out and take Lukas while he was at it. Gag, no, maybe not. But .. .

.. Was Teagan saying something? Ethan was watching the new arrivals.

[Armstrong] There was no real need for Mrena to acknowledge the temperature; it had been cold at dawn and it seemed to have only gotten worse as the day progressed.

And then? Then it had been cold at dusk. White Eyes was still trying to thaw out.

So there she was, coming down the stairs to survey people, and maybe add to that sketchbook of hers. (Oh, and curse the existence of a certain Child of Gaia. She was cold. She still couldn't feel her ears and this was all his fault.) So, compared to everyone else downstairs, Mrena came down comparatively under-dressed. Jeans, fleece pullover, and a pair of those boots-slash-house shoes. Overall, she looked a bit like an Old Navy commercial. Her hair was held back, for the most part, in a high ponytail.

So there she was, making her way out into the resturaunt proper.

Why? Because, so long as the resturaunt was open, she was going to take advantage of the people-watching opportunities.

[John Thornton] A few mere moments after the two Bellamonte sisters' entrance, a black Crown Victoria pulls up to the curb at the end of the street. The driver shuts off the engine, kills the lights, and after a short time, steps from the car...

Hazel eyes float over the street warily, looking for... anything that might catch their fancy. A brown, conservatively cut mop of hair is teased by the slight wind, as his cheeks and the exposed skin on his face becomes flushed from the cold. The slight wind plays about the edges of a long black trenchcoat that enwraps his form, toys with the tassels from a red wool scarf. Hands wrapped in gloves of black leather are shrugged into the trenchcoat's pockets, the leather insufficient to such a pervading night chill.

Just such a man steps from the car, locking the doors behind him. Then, the hazel eyes making another circuit of the street, he makes his way to the opposite sidewalk and approaches the door of the Brotherhood. His step is unhurried, confident... That of a man well aware of the terrors of the night and confident in his ability to handle any that might dare trouble him.

Just such a man indeed opens the door to the Brotherhood, and in that same unhurried step, enters the restaurant. The door is pulled closed behind him, as the piercing gaze begins to move about the room. The time taken to do so was quite deliberate, though covered by his removal of the gloves and opening of the trenchcoat. His attire beneath is nothing if not-quite business casual... A white button up dress shirt, the button at the collar undone and devoid of any necktie, a pair of dark cotton dockers, black polished dress shoes. Still, were any to look closely at the right moment, the glimmer of a badge might be discerned peeking from its spot on his belt near his hip.

[Billy] "We're kinda of package deal, brothahs from another mother. Sam'll get over it". I hope. "Yeah its kinda like that... She hates him and he loves to make her hate him". He noted the next one to come in. Was like a smorgesboard in here...

[Teagan O'Neill] she glances back again ..damn.... and the guys wiould not stoip staring...stupid men.... she shakes herhead talking abiot distracted "well then it souinds like he more needssomthing to ah" she turns back "rile her more"

[Dylan] "Hey, Armstrong," Dylan says, when the theurge passes her by. By the time Mrena drifts down the stairs, Dylan's hands are buried in the kangaroo pocket of her long-sleeved shirt. Her voice is a hook at the end of a line; she knows how to cast it and her even gaze doesn't waver from the coffee pot. Truthfully, few people've ever invested the whole of their being on an inanimate object the way Dylan, at the moment, is investing herself in the coffee maker at the moment. "Grab me a good seat, will ya?"

[Billy] He looked back to Teagan, and kept his attentin on her to avoid being rude. "Oh hell darlin' don't give him any ideas, otherwise we'll be livin outta the truck again and I'm tired of spooning with him. He drools and his hands wander".

[Andrea Locke] Indeed, all in all a relaxing night for the Brotherhood of Thieves. No bloodshed. No arguments. All of this tends to set the mind at ease -- truth be told in some part of Andrea's mind there is always the lingering consideration that one night the assorted mish-mosh of Garou who dwell beneath this roof might manage to tear down the very walls around them, taking out any number of people in the process.

It's been known to happen, you know.

But the moon is waning and though some tingle-tangle down along her [rather exposed] spine bespeaks a considerable amount of mingled Rage in the room as a whole, the possessors of said blessing and curse are all behaving themselves and so it is with an air of muted satisfaction that she nods to herself after her precautionary perusal.

Certain people she recognizes -- Danny behind the bar and, of course, the present packmates and kinfolk of the Circle who all receive nods of acknowledgment that range from proprietress-polite to something with genuine warmth [more noticeably Danny and Gabbie receive the latter; Mrena is a close runner up, Lukas gaining some ground as she mutedly, but naturally does indeed appreciate the double-take and Katherine definitely in the former category of nothing-more than polite. For his part, when John enters it's a look of genuine curiosity that passes over her features briefly.]

Moving fluidly to where Lukas stands looking over the menu, she peers at the paper-slip of tonight's current schedule, thoughtfully considering his request for suggestions...
"...ah, yes. Here -- the Carne Guisada. Hearty indeed, but delectable. I believe Jennifer was serving it up with saffron rice tonight - mm, with the side of the balsamic greens. The main dish could stand on its own, however, with some bread. A fine cut of beef we got for it, too, and the tenderness... " She finishes off with a sigh of culinary satisfaction. "Perhaps with the Merlot for the Ribera del Duero -- a fine year."

[Teagan O'Neill] she looks baclk to billy blinking a few time and then laughs "alright I wnt give him any worse ideas then I am sure he already has"

[Ethan Parker] Suddenly rising from his seat he fishes his wallet out of his back pocket while he quickly downs the rest of his beer in his other hand. Setting the glass down, he fishes out some money for the bill, setting it on the table. "You can stay here if you want Stumpy, but I've got somethin' I got to do." Whatever had sprung to mind can't be good. He cast a quick glance to Teagan, "Nice to meet you girly. I want to catch up with you sometime. Give Billy here your number. " With a wink to the other, he grabbed his jacket and was making for the door at a long leg stride.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Every small thing about Katherine denoted her as a woman who cared a great deal about the manner in which she presented herself to the human world. Her hair was neatly clipped up, a side-parted fringe of shorter, cropped pieces carefully tousled over her brow and her make-up was minimal at best -- she was quite aware that her skin was best left its naturally fair color with only a bare dusting of powder to each cheekbone to accentuate fortunate bone structure. Her eyes, while quite a striking pale blue were given the benefit of a smokey lid each that gave the Garou known as Meridian's Truth something almost exotic; almost feline.

Her clothing was neat, elegant yet practical; it left her with both warmth and that dash of refinement suiting most business women. The wide-collared shirt and gray jacket were chic, and allowed Miss Bellamonte to retain that distinctively feminine appeal her style offered her.

The elder Bellamonte glanced in passing at Andrea, and returned her nod of greeting; her hand never slipping from its linked state with her sister's. It was easy enough to follow the pair as they negotiated their way to claim a table proper -- both had the lithe, graceful ease of step known to their family.

[Teagan O'Neill] she having finsished her soup and beer looks at her watch "oh crap, its late" she fishes out a penand on a napkin writes her cell number down "I gotta go, promised my roommate to be home tonight but heres my cell he works aloty and I dont sooo." she grins "maybe we can get together some tima again"

[Armstrong] "Hey, Dylan," she said in reply. It was a verbal response to the non-verbal hello necessary. "I'll save you a spot somewhere."

She looked at Dylan with a slight smile on her face, and then she headed out to go commandeer some booth or table or something to that effect. Once she was in the resturaunt, she took a moment to look around and make not of who-was-where. And there were notes being made, and about at that moment, she noticed John coming in.

And she was reminded, for a moment, about his color combinations, and questions she had not quite asked the previous night. "Hey, John!" She said.

And Mrena headed on over.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I think that sounds good," Lukas says, looking around his small group for nods of assent. "We'll do that -- but with a tempranillo if you have it, instead of merlot. If not, a good Bordeaux works." He hands menu and wine list back to Andrea if she accepts it; replaces it on the podium otherwise. "Why don't you come by the table around dessert-time? After you've seen to your other guests."

Lukas leads the way into the restaurant then, picking out one of the booths along the far wall. They make a handsome group, the Shadow Lord and the Silver Fangs; the former mostly in dark shades, the latter in pales. At the table Lukas pauses to draw up his napkin, shaking it out while the women seated themselves. He towers over them; a man of his size would easily hulk and slouch, but a ruthless self-discipline and confidence keeps his posture neat and straight, saving him from that dismal fate. The tasteful ambient lighting in here shows his vest to be fine-combed wool, not a thread of synthetic about it, and almost certainly tailored. Off-the-rack clothing is made for the average body in a nation of couch potatoes and sedentary desk-workers; a smaller size wouldn't accommodate his broad back, and a larger would have too much room at the waist. This one has neither: it follows his body perfectly, with just enough give. But then, one would expect nothing less.

He slides in on one side; Katherine on the other, facing him. Gabriella, perhaps deliberately, is sandwiched against the wall.

"You should move back in," he says to Katherine, a touch playfully, as he lays the napkin over his lap. "I'm sure it's more interesting here. Livelier."

[John Thornton] Once the gloves are tucked in a trenchcoat pocket along with the scarf, his coat unbuttoned, John starts toward the bar area. Pausing momentarily at Ms. Locke's curious look, he speaks quietly, so as not to interrupt their conversation.

"Good evening, Ms. Locke. I trust you're feeling better..."

For a short time, the eyes remain on Ms. Locke, as if assessing her health with his own eyes. She had felt better upon their last meeting. Then, the hazel eyed gaze moves to the man perusing the menu beside her.

"Good evening to you as well, Lukas."

Lukas' name is pronounced correctly, or as close to the clarification Lukas gave at their first meeting as John can manage. Then, as the hazel eyes turn to Mrena, John smiles and speaks again.

"Good evening, Ms. Armstrong."

[Teagan O'Neill] she quickly slips oout between the well dressed folks

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (ok honestly, my next post is gonna be a two-liner.)

[Billy] Billy sat up , "uh...yeah right". Scooped Teagan's number and left her his own. "Was real nice meeting you miss, give us a shout sometime". He slid out from the booth, there was no way Batman was riding without Robin. He opened his wallet, leg enough for his meal, hers and a tip before trundling after Ethan. His short powerful stature gave the illusiion he was as wide as he was tall.

[Dylan] Armstrong acknowledges, and leaves. Dylan nods, and still, still, her gaze doesn't waver from the coffee pot. Intense. When Armstrong is gone -- while John mingles, and the Bellamontes are seated, and Lukas makes his comment -- she finally remarks, to the kitchen at large: "Does it usually take this long?" Dylan was a patient creature; patient for a garou, patient for a garou born when the moon was being whittled from Full by the dark. Her patience cracked consistently when it came to coffee. StarBucks spoiled her; she was even impatient at StarBucks now. Why couldn't they be faster? The kin cook shakes her head, and soon after, the coffee machine clicks. Despite her impatience, Dylan doesn't leap on the coffee pot and pour away, although she does cast a low-lidded look of disdain on the cold coffee pot beside the machine. Instead, Dylan waits for the coffee to be poured for the patrons who ordered it. Then she pours what's left for herself.

[Billy] He wove his way through to the front with a couple of excuse me's, polite nods, shrugging into his jacket and pulling the toque on. It look like his mother had knitted it. Including the little pom poms.

[Katherine Bellamonte] The Silver Fang spreads her napkin over her lap, and glances sharply at her younger sister (falcon's eyes were keen) to encourage her behavior to follow suit. Reaching for and pouring a glass of water, she makes a brief scoffing Mm of laughter and remarks: "Oh, I don't doubt it. You missed quite the entertainment number just last night."

She lifts the glass to her lips, smiling archly over the glass at her pack-mate.

"I should ask Ms Locke if it's going to be showing all week long."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Entertainment?" Lukas is in a good mood tonight. He smiles, not because something is already funny but because Katherine is smiling. Social mimicry: it's instinct. "How so?"

[Andrea Locke] She doesn't take the menu from him -- she doesn't deliberately snub him, either, but she's filed away his requests and nodded to them with a simple "I'll let the kitchen know..." and then John speaks up, trusting that she is feeling better and her attention simply turns his away as Lukas makes off to sit with his pack.

She smiles at the detective, a touch of rueful humour in the motion. Not answering directly, she instead looks over to Danny behind the bar, catching his attention and motioning him over - indicating with simple movements of the hand that he should bring something to write with. The kid - ever eager - bobs his head and starts looking around for something to write on and write with -- completely seeming to forget that he has a small pad and pencil in his hip pocket. Andrea's look is a momentary cohesion of wryness and indulgence.
He'll learn.

Then she turns her full attention to John, nodding as she does so - that touch of rue once more slipping over her bold, but fine facial features. A classic looking woman, like one from the days of Grace Kelly and the Hepburn's in many ways. "I am feeling better, thank you. It really wasn't serious." Which is both true and not -- she certainly wasn't going to die of her wounds and she seems to be moving quite well, but then again not even gentle Jennifer Coltrane can make cleansing open wounds with over-the-counter options at all pleasant. At all.
Then the traces of sardonic, self-deprecating humour are gone and her looks is one of, again, curiosity and interest...
"At some time I would love the opportunity to speak with you in private. Perhaps not tonight, but sometime this weekend or so if it is at all convenient for you?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] "Oh." Katherine's eyes become very wide, she adopts something of a theatrical tone, her behavior reminiscent for a moment of the younger, carefree version she might have been before duty and the mental instability curse of her tribe took firm hold. Playful as Lukas was, Katherine could quite merrily play to his lead, though her own temper was less certain with her moon verging overhead.

"There I was with Mrena and my own cousin, another Silver Fang Theurge of quite noble standing, when who should quite literally fall through the door singing drunken cowboy melodies with that... Ryan, fellow. Can you guess?" Laughter slipped into her voice, but beneath it was the harder, unforgiving tinge of a faithful Philodox. Her eyes slipped toward her sister, measured her interest before returning to Lukas.

"Our very own Buried Hatchet. I had the pleasure of attempting to introduce him to Caleb Delacourt."

[Armstrong] She had been absolutely fascinated with John's coloring the previous night, and as that she had been so fixated she hadn't quite noticed other people. Once all swas said and done, however, the theurge realized there were others in the room. The array of Shadow Lords and Silver Fangs, dressed in color-appropriate attire.

She looked at their eyes. John's were hazel- they had been the subject of her musing the night prior. Andrea's were dark. Lukas and Katherine and Gabriella were all varying shades and intensities and purposes of blue. For a moment, Mrena wanted to arrange them in order of lightest to darkest, and then from coldest to warmest.

And so, she waited, ever so patiently, to get Andrea's attention. A little wave, and then eyes on the wall behind the booths. The lady got a little bit of a wave, and then part of her color palate was over there, so she had to head over in order to explain.

And, well, she waited for them to finish. Brows raised slightly hands infront of her. Posture straight. White Eyes was making a point of waiting. Or maybe she was just taking her time and listening. Keeping her mouth shut had its benefits.

[John Thornton] John raises a curious brow, the eyes that seem to see too much focus on Ms. Andrea Locke for a short time before speaking.

"I believe something can be arranged. Perhaps Saturday night or Sunday night would fit your schedule?"

Much as he wanted to inquire as to the subject of that meeting, John kept his question to the scheduling of the meeting. It was indeed true; the walls have ears.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] It's not quite playfulness that's in Lukas' eyes, though. Play is rarely in his eyes at all, he who was born to the full moon. It's something else: a relaxedness, the warmth of being in the company of his packmates -- one before him, one across the room -- under a solid roof, with the promise of good food on the way.

Then Katherine imparts her news, and the smile fades. His eyes darken; knits faintly. A moment of thought. Then his brow smooths again.

"Well, I suppose the Brotherhood is hardly a moot." Needless to say, he keeps his voice down, though he doesn't go nearly so far as to whisper. "So it's not necessary for him to remain in control of himself every second. And he is Fianna." A pause; his clear eyes study the Philodox's face. "Whatever your personal feelings toward him, he is a Fostern of the nation. Not everyone keeps to the Circle's standards. As long as it doesn't directly affect us, there's no reason to let it get under your skin."

[Andrea Locke] There is a flicker of appreciative acknowledgment in her gaze -- pleasure that he seems to be intelligently discreet. A very, very valuable asset, that, though often rarely found these days. If nothing else it reaffirms her desire to have a certain discussion with him and she nods,
"Sunday night would be wonderful - the Brotherhood closes at 6pm on Sundays. If you could stop in around that time?"

She does wait for his response to see if the hour meets with his approval and schedule. Only after he responds does she turn to fully acknowledge Mrena -- and this time it isn't merely a smile and a nod or something of the sort. No, the evening-gown clad woman steps close to the young Theurge and smiles broadly, thoroughly and warmly, greeting Mrena in patently European fashion, which is to say that she lays her hands on both of the woman's shoulders and leans in to kiss each one of her slightly rounded, innocent-seeming cheeks. Less than a real kiss and more like the fleeting touch of her own cheek to hers on first one side and then the others, the barest brush of lips. Then she is letting her loose and simply observing the younger woman with [ever watchful] ease.
"I trust your night is going well?"

[Gabriella Bellamonte] (( HAHA. HAHAHAHAHA. Back!! ))
to Andrea Locke, Armstrong, Dylan, John Thornton, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Katherine Bellamonte] Good God, Lukas, that's barely an excuse! Imagine if Gabriella had been present and seen that? He was so drunk he needed help up the staircase. Her tone across the totem-link was deeply scathing, it was not in Katherine's nature to easily forgive what she perceived as a failing in those around her, particularly in those closest -- that her brother and sister appeared to have endless reserves of her mercy could not but rankle her pack-mates on occasion.

"Well, I don't consider that to be anything but a greater cause for concern. He is our superior in the eyes of the Nation." Yes, her chin did lift, her eyes narrowed in thought. "It does him no good to behave like a ... primate." She finishes primly, with clear disapproval. "But that aside, tell me, where were you last night anyway? I had come here to see you, expecting to find you brooding in some dark corner with a novel."

[Andrea Locke] ooc: Oh and, you know, assume that Lukas' order gets to the kitchen via Danny and that their food comes out whenever you like, with enough for those present and then some, served up in serving platters/bowls rather than individually.

[Katherine Bellamonte] (Lukas and Katherine have been talking about Hatchet and Ryan's drunken appearance last night IC, FYI. :D )
to Gabriella Bellamonte

[Gabriella Bellamonte] (( *Nod* Are they set up at a table/booth? Just a rough idea of where Gabbie is and how they entered, please? :) ))
to Katherine Bellamonte

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "If Gabriella had seen that," Lukas says, quietly but deliberately aloud for said kinwoman to hear, "perhaps it would've been the better, and she would know for herself what sort of man Hatchet is. Good and bad."

He pauses -- one of the staff has approached with their wine. Lukas smiles up, appreciatively and politely and all, waiting as the first tasting glass is poured for Katherine as the lady of the table, followed by glasses for all. Unless, of course, Katherine forbade Gabriella a glass.

Either way, when the waitress departs, Lukas draws his glass closer to himself and resumes. "After all, that is what you want, isn't it? For her to know his flaws?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] (theeey are sitting at a table, with food on the way/already arrived. Gabbie is sitting with her back to the wall between Lukas and Katherine.)
to Gabriella Bellamonte

[John Thornton] John nods, the hazel gaze making a new circuit of the room...

"6 o'clock Sunday evening, it is. I'll make a point to be here."

That said, John watches and waits quietly, his expression untelling... Though the redness from the chill night air was beginning to leave his complexion. His hands remain calmly at his sides, his stance relaxed. Though the eyes never seemed to stop moving.

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Gabriella, this whole time, had been uncharacteristically quiet.

She got like that sometimes, not too often, but most of the pack had seen her quiet at least once before. She just drew so deep into her thoughts (or her comments grew too bitter to be spoken aloud without earning herself sharp glares and the potential slap in the mouth) that she forgot to use her tongue and lips and became a spectator in conversations as opposed to a participant.

Hatchet came up in the conversation, and that drew the first variation of expression on her fair-skinned, freckled face since they'd come in through the door-- her lips quirked up in the corners, just barely. They spoke of him and this Ryan fellow (The Texan) being so plastered that they were singing loudly and could barely manage to make it up the staircase. That sounded about right, she had to side with Lukas-- he was a Fianna, after all. Weren't they just as known for being drunk and loud and cheerful as the Silver Fangs were for being noble and always potent in blood and bearing?

If the glass of wine was allowed, she'd nod to thank Lukas for it and take a sip, if not she'd settle for water, or whatever. For the first time since they sat, Gabbie spoke in a low tone of voice. "I'm sitting right here..." Just a reminder... She didn't much like it when the pack discussed her and her 'better interests' as though she wasn't present or capable of understanding.

[Armstrong] Ah, acknowledgement. And acknowledgement in the way that said a lot. There was a lack of personal space in European greetings, and Mrena didn't seem at all bothered by it. No, it was more a quiet sort of pleasure in it. A bright smile, a nod, an acknowledgement that yes, she was (on some level) glad to see her. "I'm thawing," she said. "I suppose that's a good sign."

She couldn't help it. She had to remark on the obvious. It was cold, freezing. And White Eyes had started to grow fond of the smell of it. She stood straight and confident- Ms. Armstrong presented herself as a creature beyond contempt. A creature without flaw, and as far as anyone was concerned, even the lack of size could very well be an advantage.

The smaller lady then flipped open her sketchbook. It was beat up, some pages torn, others worn thin, and others still smelling like blood or tears or smoke. It had been sorely mistreated. Mrena flipped to a page and then looked at the booths. Or, more appropriately, the wall nearby.

"I want that one," she said. "And given the colors I had planned on using I think that-" a pause. "John, what color are your eyes?"

[Armstrong] (staff-flavored emergency, be back in 15)
to Andrea Locke, Dylan, Gabriella Bellamonte, John Thornton, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Dylan] Ah. The silence of the Totem connection broken ere Dylan leaves the kitchen with her - piping hot - cuppa. Edward? she wonders, but to herself; no need to broadcast. Her mouth quirks, the flash of humor private, muted vibrance. Dylan holds the door open for one of the staff with wine for a certain table, something to do with herself as she takes the crowd's measure and finds Mrena (with a good seat, saved, so she hopes).

The glance reveals this: Mrena, tangled up with the kinfolk proprietess; Katherine, Lukas and Gabriella, just beginning to enjoy some wine; John, a stranger, at odds now. Dylan, good mannered, chooses to leave Mrena and Andrea alone for the moment; instead, she heads straight for her other packmates' table. Before she quite reaches it, a glance at her watch changes her entire expression. She gulps her coffee down, grimacing when it scours her throat, and when she does speak, her voice is raspy, sunlight on whisky on ice:

"Hey, Katherine, Lukas," and here, a grin, "Gabriella. You should move back here. Bet it's livelier." An echo of Lukas' earlier playfulness, although unntentional. Her gaze strays back to her watch; she was supposed to meet Edward a good half hour ago. They have this in common: they play, at night. "If you get any pie for dessert, willya save me some? I've gotta run; tell Armstrong she can have the rest of my coffee when she comes by."

Then? Dylan sets her coffee down on the table; waves to the pack theurge if she catches her eye, and braces herself for the cold, cold winter's night.

[Dylan] ooc: I ... am totally lame, LOL, but I'm totally tired, hence the drive-by HI/BYE.
to Andrea Locke, Armstrong, Gabriella Bellamonte, John Thornton, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Katherine Bellamonte] She does not deny her sister a glass, but this was perhaps more to do with her sudden appearance of distress; both at Lukas addressing what Katherine believed a delicate subject aloud in front of its main subject and the reference to precisely what sort of a man she believed Oscar Taggart to be. The Philodox's brow creases though all but the vague impression of the expression is hidden beneath her swept aside fringe.

"I want her to be diligent," Gabriella addresses that she is present, and her sister's eyes soften in response. She leans across to reach an arm out toward her adopted ward, placating as well as imploring her understanding. "Aimé," she says quietly, "I do not wish to make you miserable but I do not think that Oscar Taggart is a good companion for you. He is ... not without his own sense of honor," Said slowly, carefully. "But his history with our family..."

Katherine's mouth tightens. "Some slights cannot be easily forgiven."

[Andrea Locke] Andrea chuckles, a low sonorous thing, more vibration than real sound, her eyes drawing over Mrena's thawing form with something akin to the warmth of friendliness. There's largely no reason for it, really, but the theurge seems to grow on Andrea. Whatever explinations for it might exact are entirely within the domain of Things Only Andrea Comprehends [Or Even Cares] About.

Then the younger, smaller woman is taking out her sketchbook - with it's appearance and its smell, certainly not the every day fare of your average starving artist and drawing no little interest from Andrea - and begins to indicate walls and speak of a certain kind of possession and... asks John the colour of his eyes?
Andrea seems surprised, yes, looking to John now, eyes narrowing slightly as if to better suss out the answer to the question du jour, though she seems all in all amused. If Theurges are odd enough as it is [odd and, you know, potentially fucking terrifying], a Theurge artist is just, well, grounds for being highly... unique.

"You may use whichever wall you please, por supuesto, but... am I to take it that Detective Thornton here is your, ah... inspiration for a colour palate?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Gabriella insists on being spoken to directly -- there's perhaps a shadow of tension at the corner of Lukas' jaw. Then his attention is drawn away. He glances up at Dylan as Katherine speaks to her sister, a faint smile ghosting over his mouth. "Yeah, I'll see you later, Dyl."

The Galliard breezes in, breezes out -- Lukas reaches for her mug and, lifting it, takes a sniff before he raises it further for a gulp. He finds he prefers his wine; sets it down and puts it aside. Picks up his wine instead, takes a large swallow of that, sets the glass down.

Then he sits forward, folding his forearms across the table, watching the sisters converse.

[John Thornton] John smiles at Mrena's question and tilts his head curiously.

"I come up with a different answer each time I look. I think it depends on the lighting.

Could be blue, green, grey... Brown, even, in places."

John shrugs, before reaching into his pocket and removing a penlight. The penlight is held out to Mrena, offering her its use.

"Perhaps the artist should make her own determination...?"

Then, John laughs quietly and speaks to Ms. Locke, an amused smile upon his lips. His tone is light, as though making a joke.

"You don't make that sound like a good thing, Ms. Locke."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Katherine reached out to touch Gabbie's arm, and Gabbie glanced from her glass of wine (horrah for allowed indulgence!) to her sister's face, saw the cool blue eyes (her own eyes) soften with concern and caring. She never hated her sister, per say, they just rarely ever saw eye to eye. This didn't keep Gabbie from understanding her sister's emotions, her motivations, where she was coming from for the most part. She did want the best from her sister, Gabbie knew that. But what Katherine thought to be the best and what Gabbie thought to be the best were two different things.

She wanted Gabbie to be diligent, she believed that Oscar was an unsuitable companion, that he had a.. curious idea of what honor was. She spoke of his history with their family, and at that point Gabriella shook her head softly, patted her sister's hand, and with a faint flickering glance toward Lukas before looking back to Katherine again, she spoke.

"I know what slight you're talking about, Katherine. From my understanding, he was quite as intoxicated then as he was last night. Drunken words spoken for effect and humor, without any real motivation behind them, I'm sure."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine goes quite still. The hairs on her arms rise, and a slow flush of anger begins to flood her neck, working its way toward her cheeks. It could, to an outsider be mistaken for the affect of the wine but that her glass was as of yet untouched.

"Who told you that, Gabriella?" She asks, very quietly.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas snorts under his breath at that, suddenly irritated. "Gabriella, in all honesty, I could care less who or what you fraternize with. My stake in this is the pack and the war. But have the dignity to admit a fault when you see one.

"If I were to lose control of myself and allow myself to grow completely shitfaced to the point that I called your sister a screeching harpy and yourself a painted whore, then break your brother's face, would you forgive me that because I was drunk? Because a liter of beer must have just happened to fall down my throat, completely without my consent or knowledge?"

[Andrea Locke] Quite suddenly it isn't a mere smile or any other variety of smooth-lined motions of the lips with which she responds to John's last statement. Instead she grins, and it lights up her visage. She is by no means a somber or stern faced woman -- far from it. But she is usually given to somewhat reserved responses. Apparently this situation tickles her, however, because both her broad, pearly-teeth revealing smile and tone are laced with hearth-fire warm humour.

"I suppose I didn't, no..." She doesn't really look abashed or sheepish -- it's just not the sort of emotion she readily feels, not being one to apologize for her nature. But there is nothing sharp about her response - the humour there is real and holds at least some amount of laughing at herself. "I assure you, it was purely surprise. Besides, having had a better look, I begin to see the reasoning -- Hazel they are called, yes? A lovely variation of colours." While she is by no means spewing out shallow compliments, ultimately the humour at the situation is predominant. Her own, darker eyes, slide again over the Detective and she nods to Mrena... "He does have rather a nice skin tone, too, doesn't he? Warm without being dark. And not sallow."

[Andrea Locke] ooc: (dies) I just had a mental image of Hatchet struggling while a liter of possessed beer forced its way down his throat. I'm gonna find a way to include that in my SL.
to Armstrong, Gabriella Bellamonte, John Thornton, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Gabbie's eyes turned from Katherine to Lukas, to Katherine again. Her answers were short, not because she was irritated, but because she didn't feel like digging her hole too deep tonight. After all, the deeper the hole she dug, the longer it would take her to fill it back up again. Which, when it came down to it, meant it would take her a while for the loft to stop feeling as cold as it was outside, and to be comfortable in her own living space once again. Rage tickled her skin, it was beginning to radiate stronger off of Katherine, so she answered her first.

"It shouldn't matter..."

Then, to Lukas...

"I would if it were three years ago. Quite a long time to hold a grudge over an inebriate's words, isn't it?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "It is a long time," he counters, steadily. "And frankly, I don't hold it against him. I judge Hatchet as I see him, and I neither revile him as Katherine does, nor hold him blameless and in perfect esteem. He has his strengths; he has his faults. But then, you're not my sister -- I don't have a vested interest in you. Your sister and your brother are different. They have your safety in mind. They do hold it against him, and you should respect that."

Another pause in the conversation. Their food has arrived. The previous good cheer surrounding this table has completely dissipated by now. Still, Lukas offers a polite word of thank-you, courteous to the bitter end, before picking up his utensils.

"And I have to ask, Gabriella: why are you defending him so ardently already? Because believe me, it's scaring the crap out of your sister."

[Armstrong] "Oh, it's a terrible thing. But whatever color your eyes were yesterday needs to be on the wall," she nodded. This was a good, firm given. The younger lady was a lot of things, an artist, a theurge, a lady, a Lord.

She then looked at Andrea, brow raised slightly and a little smile on her face. It was a musing, quiet sort of thing. Her gaze, however, was one of scrutiny. It was almost a little uncomfortable, but she looked at the formerly clueless kinfolk and nodded. "By in large, you are an effective composition. I may need you here when I start getting materials together."

She looked at her notebook again, nodding to herself and then holding it a little closer to her body. "I've found the people here seem to add to the atmosphere, so it made sense to use them as an element of design."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Her sister's smile is strained. "On the contrary, it matters more than anything to me. No one person has the right and they certainly do not possess the details to be repeating the events of that night where our name was dragged through the mud."

Lukas chimes in, and their food arrives, Katherine makes the effort to straighten her spine and take her cutlery in her hands, more for the distraction than the true desire for food.

[John Thornton] "I'll do my best to reproduce the effect, terrible though it may be...

Let me know when you begin to gather the materials, and I believe we can find commonality of schedule somewhere."

His smile held amusement, to be certain, but it also held a certain knowing quality, as if he had an idea or two just how to manage the request from the werewolf artist.

Then he nods to Ms. Locke.

"I understand it to be called hazel, yes. Though I've come to realize that's more of a term of exclusion than inclusion...

Hazel tends to encompass everything that isn't predominantly blue, green, brown, or another color in my experience."

[Andrea Locke] ooc: Awww crap. My kiddo just decided to wake up all upset. I need to run. Night all! Andrea leaves Armstrong and John to artist and subject things and excuses herself. Night all! Thanks for the sceneage!

[Armstrong] (9it's okay, go take care!)

[John Thornton] ((Night Meesh))

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (she sez: (10:53:19 PM) ShyGravel: I had to go! I HAVE to go -- tell anyone who posted goodbyes that I'm sorry I logged off so sudden!)

[Katherine Bellamonte] (*cries into her soup about Meesh's sudden log off, will never be whole again* ;_;)

[John Thornton] ((Thanks Damon))

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Food arrives, and Gabriella, too, takes up fork and knife (or whatever is necessary for her dish) and glances over to Lukas as he speaks. He spoke of how he didn't hate or necessarily hold Hatchet on a pedestal, and mentioned how he didn't have much of an interest in Gabbie's safety, as she wasn't his sibling. He defended how protective of her Katherine and Edward both were, and she sighed inwardly, making an effort not to let that mild exhasperation show in her mannerisms or be heard on her exhale. Her first bite of food was taken while the two Garou flanking her spoke.

Chew, chew, swallow. Then she spoke, to Lukas first this time.

"Primarily because I find it unfair how he's treated. I agree, he can't be perfect. No one likes sloppy drunken manners. But poor habits aside-- we all have them-- he's a perfectly fine man to hold company with." Before Katherine could interrupt her with gasps, sputters, and protests, Gabbie wiggled her fork a little in her sister's protection. "Hatchet told me what he had said, and believe me he didn't try to lessen the blame on himself. He described himself every bit the drunken slob he was.

"However, when I say that I find no problem with him, even to the point of saying that I find his company... enjoyable, that does not mean that I'm going to cause anyone trouble by leaping into his bed, or by leaving myself unreasonably vulnerable to him, just as I wouldn't do either with anyone else. Frankly, I could care less what he said when he was younger, stupider, and beyond his mindful capacity for alcohol."

[Armstrong] "What hours does you job require you to keep, Detective?" She looked at him with a degree of curiousity. Artists. They were difficult enough to deal with, factor in the fact that Mrena literally split her time between worlds seemed to make things... different.

"I have a feeling you've told me what you do before but all I remember is that you're a detective, so if you could refresh my memory?" Something that seemed like genuine interest. But everything seemed to have a purpose. the theurge closed her notebook, keeping it close to her body. Nothing revealed but a tattered cover.

The conversation started to deviate from the realm of color and texture and inspiration and more into something concrete.

[Katherine Bellamonte] (don't lose your temper, don't lose your temper...)

[John Thornton] John pauses a moment in thought, as if framing his words properly before proceeding. Then, he shrugs...

"As a vice detective for the Chicago police department, I investigate drugs and other illicit traffic and arrest the dealers and suppliers of those goods. I tend to keep long hours, whatever hours I need. Typically, I begin work by 7 or 8 in the morning; I frequently work well into the evening.

Depending on the investigation in question, I may work earlier or later...

Typically, I only visit my apartment. No one waits up for me."

The sense John leaves is that the job is where he spends the majority of his time, or has spent the majority of his time prior to this point. He smiles, his brows raised, as though a new thought has occurred to him.

"I imagine that will change to some degree now that I have... other duties to occupy my time."

He tilts his head curiously, the hazel eyes focused on Mrena's expression.

"What of... those in your situation? Are there specific hours for that vocation?"

It is a more ambiguous way of asking what hours werewolves keep, without saying it. As before, the walls have ears.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] At Gabriella's words, Lukas shoots one brief, pale-eyed glance at Katherine. He notes the paleness of her skin, save for the splashes of color high in her cheeks; the way she grips her utensils until crescents of white show under her nails. The Ahroun shifts across the table, setting his fork and knife down, leaning forward to fix his eyes on Gabriella. Makes her the unwavering center of his attention.

"Gabbie, I know that from your perspective right now, there is nothing more unfair than your sister trying to dictate who your friends are. And if you were just another teenager, and your sister just another woman, maybe I would agree with you.

"But you have to realize that this goes far beyond you, or Hatchet, or Katherine, or any of us. We're in a war that's more important than anything else. We all have to make sacrifices to win. Your sister is ready and willing to give up everything for the sake of this war because she knows she must. She would die to save this world. To save you."

Whatever Lukas' thoughts toward Katherine, there's at least this: he doesn't even hesitate to say that. There's no doubt when he says that. His eyes don't even leave Gabriella; he doesn't even pause.

"Do you understand that, truly? Because I don't know that you do. If you did, then compared to that, your sacrificing a potential friend -- someone you met once three years ago, and only just met again -- is a minor matter.

"So whatever your siblings' absolute reasons for their disapproval of your association with Hatchet, you have to respect it. Please. Not necessarily because they're right, or because it's fair. Because they have far more important things to worry about than your safety and wellbeing, both of which are, in the end, at the heart of their concern. Don't make them turn their attentions from the war they were born to fight."

A pause. The Ahroun's eyes are ice blue even in the indirect, tasteful lighting of the restaurant. There's an electric intensity about him. Whatever else, Lukas believes every word that just came out of his mouth.

[Armstrong] "So you don't have a cat... dog... hamster..? You don't seem the tropical fish type either," she said. Something offhand. She took it for what it meant, and read between the lines. There was no one waiting up for him. He had no family nearby, no girlfriend, no room mate. No one to ask questions, no one to notice if he was gone for two... three... four days.

Then it was her turn to ante up, and she took it as an opportunity to educate. To explain what she could, because her perspective was much... much different than that of Nessa. Different from Andrea, even different from that of her packmates. She was filled with a sort of youthful confidence, her silvery eyes thoughtful.

She took her time before responding.

"We keep unique hours, dependent upon what is needed. We're on call twenty-four hours a day, so don't be surprised if someone shows up on your doorstep," -or in his bathroom, for instance- "At some obscene hour of the evening. Some get up before dawn, some sleep the day through, some take naps, some just don't seem to sleep at all."

[Katherine Bellamonte] By about the point her younger sister is wiggling her fork provocatively in her direction, Katherine's fingers are white-knuckled around her knife and fork as if her very existence depended on keeping both securely pressed to her palms. The flush that had begun at the base of her neck has flooded over her cheeks; enflaming them and giving the blond the appearance of one who had just run a marathon.

Across the totem-link comes a sudden burst of expletives that would make Meridian's Truth wither with shame at most other times coupled with a mental snarl of pure undiluted anger. Yet on the surface, aside from her frozen expression and the building tension prickling the air around her -- Katherine barely looks as though she's reacting to Gabriella's little speech.

Frankly, I could care less--
"You should care!"

Her sister snaps, animation returning to her in a sudden burst of fury. "You should care because it is the particular desire of your family, of your own flesh and blood. You are a Bellamonte, Gabriella." The Philodox's chest heaves with the effort she is exerting to reign in her temper, she closes her eyes a moment allowing for Lukas to step in and become the calmer, rational teller of truths.

Quieter now, after the Ahroun finishes his piece, Katherine carefully lays her cutlery flat and turns pale eyes on her sibling; they are hard now, all that was flint and unyielding. "I can not stop you, if you choose your fancy for the Fiann over your family but I will not yield on this matter. Choose carefully, my sister."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] On a normal basis, Gabriella's eyes, though very similar in color to both Katherine and Lukas's, were quite different. Lukas's were icy and calculating, Katherine's much like Lukas's, if not a little harder, a little prouder. Gabriella's, on the other hand, were clear and bright, open and accepting. They were the eyes of someone who had to be easy to talk to, someone who had to be understanding. As opposed to the cool chill of the other two, hers were almost able to be called warm.

But now, as Katherine snapped, then Lukas leaned forward, stared hard at her, and demanded her attention in a way that she couldn't help but keep her gaze focused on him when he spoke, those normally receptive eyes closed, hardened into chips of ice that made her seem more a proper Bellamonte, according to the impression given by Katherine and Lucien both-- dignified and stern.

The two spoke their pieces, and Gabriella's jaw worked on its own, without any food to chew. Rather, she seemed to be chewing on words that she wanted oh so dearly to speak, but was wise enough not to. There was a harsh silence surrounding the table after Katherine advised that she choose carefully, and after a solid several seconds of nothing but staring quite hard at her sister, Gabriella's eyes dropped to her glass of wine, which she lifted for a sip. Without looking back up, she wordlessly returned to her meal.

[John Thornton] "No dog, no hamster... No fish. Just me and my shadow."

John nods, the hazel eyes that see too much drawn by the sketchbook, if only for a short time. Then he smiles again, some measure of amusement flowing into his expression.

"I take calls all hours of the night. Funny thing about illicit traffic... It never seems to happen during regular business hours.

Late night visits aren't a problem."

[Katherine Bellamonte] (guise, I have to go get my dinner, do we wanna pause/end/whatever there? I know peeps gotta sleep real soon :D)
to Armstrong, Gabriella Bellamonte, John Thornton, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Gabriella Bellamonte] (( Pause/end sounds good to me. Damon's itchy to go to bed, and honestly I probably should go to sleep too, heh. ))
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (ack! i have one more post! *LOL*)
to Gabriella Bellamonte, Katherine Bellamonte

[Gabriella Bellamonte] (( Do it! We can end/pause on that note. Jacqui can read it when she gets back? ))
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Katherine Bellamonte] (post it! I'll leave the chat open so I catch it in the transcript!)
to Gabriella Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas lays it out. Katherine issues an ultimatum.
Gabriella lowers her eyes, sullen, but silent.

A silence, then, interrupted only by the murmur of other dining patrons; the clink and click of their utensils against dinnerware.

Eventually, Lukas speaks again, gentler now. "I know it would be unfair to lay the burden of refusal entirely on you, Gabriella. So I've spoken to Hatchet as well, told him much the same I told you. As your elder," and he uses this term without the capital E, without garou connotations, "and as a fostern and philodox of the nation, I believe his honor is sufficient that he will not press you to disappoint your sister."

At the end of this his eyes flicker to Katherine, reincluding her. Then he lifts his glass, all but drains it, reaches out and refills all their glasses.

The dinner goes on -- quiet now. The conversation, if there is any, likely turns to pack matters.

[Armstrong] "Illicit acts tend to take place after business hours, which makes sense. From what I've heard, your average criminal isn't what we think of as your average criminal. Vice is interesting like that," she said.

It was like this was a conversation she was enjoying, or at least interested in hearing. His eyes went to her sketchbook, and she didn't seem to notice. Or, at the very least, White Eyes didn't acknowledge it. She could have played it off as another accessory, but given the appearance it was anything but that.

"Things should work out fine for you, then. I'll remember you don't have problems with late night visitors."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (i think we're tapping out! night folks!)
to Armstrong, Gabriella Bellamonte, John Thornton, Katherine Bellamonte

[Gabriella Bellamonte] (( Si! Night! ))
to Armstrong, John Thornton, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Armstrong] (Night! Get some rest, you guys!)
to Gabriella Bellamonte, John Thornton, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[John Thornton] ((Night folks *wave*))

[John Thornton] ((Actually, I'm starting to get pretty sleepy on my end of the world too. Cool to fade in another couple posts?))

[Armstrong] (cool by me!)

[John Thornton] John nods, then a strange buzzing sound emanates from the pocket of his trenchcoat. His brow raises curiously as he withdraws a cellular telephone and reads the number off the display. Replacing the phone in his pocket, John then looks at Mrena with an apologetic smile.

"Speaking of which, the precinct just called. I'll need to call them back soon..."

John considers for a few moments, before speaking anew.

"Let me know when you start gathering materials for your art project. We'll set up a time so that I can be present to assist you, if you'd like...?"

[Armstrong] "I'll keep you informed, if you come around more often you'll know when I start. And I would like that," she said.

She was a cute kid. It was hard to tell her no, then again, he was just new enough to the world, just new enough to being kin that he didn't know the rules of engagement with Shadow Lords. Give Mrena an inch? She'll take your arm.

"Keep warm, all right? And don't get shot," she said. "I'm not sure if that's a problem for all detectives, however, I don't believe I can stress that enough that you not be splattered all over the pavement before I can start painting."

[Armstrong] ((I had a blast, thank you so much for playing!))

[John Thornton] ((Me too; was a good scene. Thanks for the rp! I had fun...))

"Fair enough... I'll be around."

With that, John makes his way to the door and into the cold night beyond.

((Fade))

[Armstrong] ((see thee anon!))