shave and nap.

[Administrator] Andrea Locke, welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[Andrea Locke] Down on the first floor the lunch-rush is just tapering to a close and the scents of that round of cooking frenzy waft upwards to the second floor along with the general din of the kitchen staff hard at work as Andrea lets the stairwell door shut behind her, a laundry basket piled high with linens and towels cradled heavily at her hip. With a slight grunt of effort of as she adjusts the cumbersome weight and shape of the basket, she makes her way upwards, bare feet cooling rapidly in contact with the chill planes of the smooth wooden stairs. Not precisely comfortable, but having ones feet constantly trapped in foot wear is even less enjoyable from her perspective. The sleeves of her long-sleeved shirt are pushed up to her elbows and the jeans she wears are faded and worn -- taken in package with the handkerchief jauntily tied to hold back her hair, it seems quite clear that today is, among other things, cleaning day and the owner of the restaurant/boarding house obviously has to pitch in her part.

It could be worse -- a bout of Rock, Paper, Scissors had her doing laundry and Reuben cleaning bathrooms. A clear win in her favour, so far as Andrea is concerned.

[Administrator] Armstrong, welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[Armstrong] She was doing laundry. Or, rather, she was attempting to do laundry. Mrena had gone to check and see the status of aforementioned washers; she was down to her ridiculously nice clothes and the pajamas that she never wore.

Mrena, of course, had opted for the pajamas. The sweatpants were a bit too big on her and a dark olive green; one would think that she had stolen them from a packmate, but then one has to realize that none of them would be caught dead in that color. Her tank top, once upon a time, had probably been white. Now? It was white and blue and green and black and slashed and splashes and colors; it was a shirt built for working. If one could call what Mrena did for a living work.

Mrena didn't seem to have any visible scars- it was testament to how young she really was.

So, looking like she just rolled out of bed and her arms marred by various cerruleans and scarlet smudges, the theurge went to go check on washers. She tightened her ponytail and slipped on in. And then there was Andrea with a basket that weighed about half as much as she did.

[Administrator] Lukas Wyrmbreaker, welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (whoops.)

[Administrator] Lukas Wyrmbreaker has left Caern & Surrounding Territories

[Administrator] Lukas Wyrmbreaker, welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (there. :D)

[Armstrong] (Wrong dramatis? Or did you spell his name wrong, because I do that and sometimes don't notice for awhile *hangs head in shaaame*)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (forgot to pull up a dramatis, yep.)

[Andrea Locke] The wash room up on the second floor is adjacent to the large, dorm-style bathroom that facilitates the hygienic needs of how ever many or few guests are currently calling the Brotherhood their home -- or place of rudimentary, temporary shelter, whichever comes first. No tidy, quaint divisions for gender, financial or Garou status here -- you share together like good boys and girls or you can find yourself other goddamned free, meals-included lodgings, thank-you-very-much...

...not that one such as Andrea would ever deign to put it quite so bluntly. No, she'd likely use far more words with far nicer phraseology that nonetheless amount to the same thing: Deal with it or get out. Thus far, it would seem, the hodge-podge of 'residents' were dealing quite nicely. Perhaps because they are all so damned young [in Andrea's eyes at least] or perhaps because they are by and large Garou and feel more comfortable boarding up together, the friction between non-packed Garou notwithstanding. There have been fights, of course, and some blood shed already, but thus far manageable.
A working experiment.
Perhaps that is the reason for Andrea's generosity -- a social study of providing some semblance of home-life for Garou of any Tribe, Auspice, Temperament or Creed. Maybe she keeps notes. And charts. And graphs.

Then again, probably not.

Either way, there she is, sorting through rather outrageous amounts of laundry, half-humming, half-singing Nina Simone's Feelin' Good under her breath when in walks the petite theurge with the penetrating eyes and the deceptively sweetly innocent visage. Two liars in a room together: Mrena isn't innocent and Andrea isn't generously hospitable because of the goodness of her heart. Right?

"Armstrong -- good afternoon." She nods to the younger woman, pausing in her sorting and loading to put her hands at the small of her back and stretch, digging her knuckles into the cramping base of her spine. "Mmmph... I trust the day finds you well?"

[Andrea Locke] ooc:....wow. I just realized all three of these SL PCs all have black & white dramatis pictures. That's either really cool or really overdone.

[Armstrong] Maybe she is keeping notes. Maybe this is a social experiment; Andrea could have very well set the place up the way it was as some carefully laid way to find the weaknesses of others, or to get a rough estimate of what tribes were represented . Or, possibly, it was like a bad version of The Real World with furry death machines.

Or she was doing this, she was so generous because then? They owed her. And being in debt, in one form or another, was a terrible place to be.

White Eyes stopped and looked at Andrea with that too perfect smile. Andrea's motives were no more altruistic than those of the younger woman in the room with her. But still, they could go through motions and pleasantries and what have you. Her eyes flickered to the pile of laundry and, as reflex, she wiped her hands off on the sides of her thighs. No paint came free; it looked dried. It was dried.

"Yeah, it's been a day. I can't complain," and there was that smile again. The pale-eyed theurge tilted her head to the side and looked from the laundry to Andrea again. "Do you need help with that?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (mine is black and white and BLUE.)

[Administrator] first aid kit, welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[first aid kit] (Positive: I am full of chili.
Negative: I am indecisive re: crashing your guys' Lord party. halp.)
to Andrea Locke, Armstrong, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Armstrong] (ohhh, I envy your chili. And crash it! Craaaaash iiiiiit. I don't mind if you play!)
to Andrea Locke, first aid kit, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Of course, if one were to ask Lukas, he wouldn't wonder why Andrea does the things she does. For him, it was a matter of duty and fealty. Put plainly: they were not in her debt. She was in theirs. In return for their guardianship and protection --

(And perhaps it is some consolation that Lukas would, indeed, lay down his life in defense of Gaia, tribe, pack and kin ... in that order.)

-- she offers care and hospitality. It was a sort of covenant, as sacred as any other.

Which is to say, when the back door opens and the Ahroun shoulders his way in, he carelessly tramples mud and ice and snow across the kitchen floor. Which isn't particularly clean, but is clean insofar as kitchen floors go. Then his solid footfall comes up the stairs, along with the rustle and ruffle of winter clothing taken off layer by layer. First the scarf unwound; then the gloves pulled off and stuffed into a pocket. Then the coat unbuttoned, then shed over his arm. Last -- as he's passing Andrea and her laundry basket -- he pauses to thrust his hand into the still-warm mass, upturning clothes left and right.

"Anything of mine in there?" He smells like the cold: that particular flat, tangible no-scent caught in his windblown hair, on his shed coat.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (it is not crashing when it is an OPEN SCENE!!!!!

...also i am sick and slow.)
to Andrea Locke, Armstrong, first aid kit

[first aid kit] (It... didn't... say... why do you have to ruin it for me, Damon?)
to Andrea Locke, Armstrong, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (silence, firstaid kit! *rummages cough syrup out of you and gulps*)
to Andrea Locke, Armstrong, first aid kit

[first aid kit] (... I usually charge extra for that.)
to Andrea Locke, Armstrong, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Administrator] first aid kit has left Caern & Surrounding Territories

[Administrator] Ryan Shepherd, welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[Andrea Locke] The young Theurge offers her returned niceties and willingness to help. Andrea's smile is genuine, though subdued, the light warmth of her whiskey-brown eyes sliding over the petite girl with an air of quiet amusement. There is, it would seem, an earnest good-will - good humour - to the older woman's demeanor, though whether that is truly as it seems or just a finely tuned, well maintained mask is anyone's guess. Perhaps even Andrea herself doesn't know. But there is no evidence to contradict her apparent good mood, nor to stifle the soft addition of laughter's undertone to her words when she responds...
"The offer is wonderful, but you are quite streaked with paint which would rather impair the whole point of this exercise... But, still, quite nice of you to ask."
She means it - the hearth fire warmth to her spikes slightly, as it usually does when - lo' and behold - people [and Garou, especially] display some semblance of polite humility.

If the woman held any rancour over certain events that took place a week prior to Christmas, she makes no show of it and neither tone or body language show any trace of any such event ever taking place.

"You paint, then?" Is how she would continue the conversation with the Theurge except, of course, that it is fully interrupted by the arrival of Lukas, the muddy snow bunny, smelling of cold and tracking mud over freshly cleaned floors. It is the floors she looks to first... then she lets her gaze slip slowly to the hand rummaging in the basket of laundry... until at last it settles on the young face of the Ahroun, her lips pressed in a half-cocked semi-smirk of wry regard.
"First of all, Lukas, no -- none of this is yours. Unless of course you'd like a towel to clean up your muddy foot prints on my clean floor, hmmm?" Her words are neither sharp toned or long suffering, but rather dry laced acceptance. "Really, have you never heard of a door mat?"
With a roll of her eyes, she draws in a steady breath - releases it slowly, her thin-covered chest rising and falling evenly with the motion - then nods her head towards his room, dark curls swaying with the motion. "Speaking of your things, if you - or you, Armstrong - have anything that needs to go to the cleaners I'll be doing that tomorrow."

[Ryan Shepherd] If this were a movie, perhaps one of those old Westerns that would seem to be the sort that the two Lord women would have associated with the kid the first time they laid eyes on him, there would be some sort of ominous warning that a stranger was approaching a place well-respected and -kept, that someone they possibly could not trust for not knowing a thing about him other than his name and affiliation was approaching.

This isn't a movie, though. This is Chicago, and there are no spurs on his boots to alert the masses of his approach. He isn't even wearing cowboy boots today, hasn't pulled the damn things on since he made it out of the South and headed into the Midwest, the temperature dropping as fast as his tolerance for the winter drivers, and anyway, he can't fit his feet into what Rosalee likes to call his shit kickers.

He takes care of the damn cowboy boots. The work boots he's got on now, those are his shit kickers, but that's splitting hairs. Those boots, however, muffle his approach as he follows the route that he and Andrea had taken after he had slammed that half-naked old wife beater into the wall and broken his nose with a well-timed head butt. With a pause to pull off his work gloves and scratch at his temple with his newly-exposed and thoroughly unhappy fingertips, he lets himself into the Brotherhood.

One might be inclined to think of the arrival and presence of his Rage as a fire bursting in through the back door, but that would be a touch dramatic.

[Administrator] Cody Santiago, welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[Andrea Locke] ooc: Forgive me a post out-of-order to usher Ryan upstairs:
------------------
Either the kinfolk who work at the Brotherhood are really good at handling the sudden appereances of random Garou or they are quite busy with their assorted tasks at hand. Either way, Ryan's entrance occasions little reaction outside of a few straightening spines, pausing hands and glances in his direction. There's no question as to what he is, really, and it would seem that at least one person present caught a glance of him the night he came over [or had him described and marked, whichever comes first] because a hulking giant of a black man there by the fryers jerks his chin up in silent greeting to the white-boy Rage-Thing and then intones with a voice thick and dark as cool molasses,
"'Sup, man -- be needin' sometin' t'eat or be ya wantin' Miss Andy? She's upstairs if'ya do..." With a nod to the door that leads to the stairway and a moments pause to see if it's the food that the man wants instead.

[Armstrong] So there they were, two liars and an honorable man [An honorable male. But not a good man. Not in the human sense. And, in Mrena's eyes, an honorable male was worth more than a good man and each had a connotation she could explore at a later date that was not important at that moment.] And she looked at Lukas with a smile that quickly turned to a grin in regards to her packmate.

He smelled like the cold. On some level, it was refreshing.

What's got you out at this hour? No doubt a reference to previous sleeping patterns. She then turned to regard Andrea for a moment. And then? Then it was off to explain what it was exactly that she did or a living. The beauty of being a professional artist, of course, was that White Eyes set her own hours, that people didn't ask questions too often.

Did she paint?
"I do, among other things. Those other things, however, are usually for my enjoyment so..." She gave a shrug with that. "And I do have something that needs to go to the cleaners. I'll bring it by before tomorrow."

[Administrator] ..., welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "It's winter," Lukas replies, offhand. "Mud happens." And with that he tosses the laundry back into the basket, crosses to his room to push the door open. They get a glimpse of the dim interior -- as spartan as they might remember -- before he shuts the door behind himself.

The door reopens a few moments later. The Ahroun reemerges, pulling the door shut once more. He's carrying a few thin sweaters, a coat much like the one he'd just put away, and two dry-clean-only shirts. Nice. The type you'd iron -- not the deliberately rumpled, casual button-ups he wore on a daily basis.

Not that these cost much less, understand. Lukas dresses carefully: even his carelessness is careful.

He drops the clothes in a half-folded pile near Andrea's basket. "Thanks," he adds, perfunctorily, before turning his attention to Armstrong. The reply is to totemic conversation: it won't make immediate sense to Andrea. "Anyway, maybe I missed seeing daylight." And a faint curl of a grin indicates this is some sort of joke.

[Cody Santiago] The backdoor creaked open slightly....only by an inch. Barely enough for someone to notice easily. Then a cold wet nose poked through, attached to a snout as if sniffing the air...searching for something....sniffing and checking the different aromas. Then the snout disappears again...

...another moment passes...two moments....the backdoor just lies still before he it swings fully inwards and sways back on its hinges to close again. Meanwhile the intruder comes in the form of a very scrawny canine. Or lupus...the mottled pattern of brown fur could be almost mistaken for a dog. But the curl of the ragged tail, the way the ears bend...it has to have wolf blood in there...at most it could be mistaken for a hybrid. But that might just be due to the runt scrawny figure....all thin stick legs and slender paunch.

The canine quickly darts towards the cutting table...jumping on its hinds as the snout dived down to snatch a piece of meat that had been intended for the cutting board. It hops back down, moving forward quickly...sniffing around before it started to make a beeline for the stairs and past the dining room. She had food...but now she needed person...a person who smelled of sternness and honey, salt and determination.

A few sniffs here and there...before a cold snout once more peeked through the door crack to where the others were gathered as if wary of the other tell-tale smells emanating from the room.

[Ryan Shepherd] The kid's nostrils flare when he's spoken to, as though he had not been expecting it, but he does not fly into some sort of brainless fury at the unexpected stimulus, either. Blue eyes rest on what may very well be a kinsman if the calmness and instruction in his voice are any indication of the level of exposure to warriors he has, and the probable kinsman calls him 'man.'

No one ever calls him 'man.' It's always 'kid.'

Two conflicting offers are given to him, and he pauses after closing the door to consider whether he ought to take the nameless man up on the offer of shoveling food down his gullet--food, of course, that wasn't made out of cardboard six-pack sleeves or melted snow or whatever the hell else he could find in the back lot of the supermarket he was staying at--or whether he ought to go upstairs and ask Andrea--Miss Andy--for what he was actually after.

The kid scratches the no-man's land between his nose and his lips with his left hand, watching the creature sneaking past him and around the kitchen, then drops it and says, "Thank ya kindly, sir," in an accent that all but screams Texas and walks the rest of the way through the kitchen, toward the indicated stairway.

[Andrea Locke] The comfortable looks and exchanges between two packmates is nothing new to Andrea -- it leaves her rather the odd-woman out, but that, also, is not exactly an unknown position in which to find herself. She watches them, speculative and open, at least for as long as it takes to fold the clothes Lukas brought out in better, more orderly fashion [as one might expect of any business owner, she is rather fond of order], then she sets it back on the table where she'd stashed the laundry basket, taking said basket and pressing it back up against one thrust out hip.

To Mrena: "Lovely... are you accepting commissions by any chance? If murals aren't beneath you, I've wanted to have something of the sort downstairs." Her eyebrows arch slightly as she hefts the weight of the basket to a better purchase, awaiting whatever response the young woman [anything but] might give.

As for Lukas, she takes up a large towel from the top of the basket and holds it out to him without qualm. "Mud does happen. So god saw fit to invent large, absorbent towels. If you would be so kind as to get up the worst of it, please?"

--------------------

If Ryan had occasioned a bit of a pause with his Rage-fuming entrance, the stray dog-like-seeming creature that slinked in got more blatant looks, truth be told, her little sneaking act notwithstanding. The scrap of meat is caught up and devoured [with a snort under her breath Jennifer grabs up some food-safe cleaner to quickly clean up the table] and, seeing the lupus sniff about with some apparent goal in mind, the Giant who had spoken to Ryan now calls after the young man as he heads to the door...
"Hey, let the kid up wit'cha... don't let the customers see ya, kid..."

Ryan is called 'man'... the "dog" is called 'kid'...
...and then the staff goes back to their work.

[Andrea Locke] ooc: Sorry for the delay -- husband came home, had to dispense the greetings.

[Armstrong] "You'll get tan lines," she said. A slight grin crossed her face. "It's over-rated."

Then again, this was coming from his packmate who had been awake and gone before dawn every morning since she came to Chicago. This also came from the packmate who was very vehemently opposed to tanlines, though it was not something that came up often in conversation. or, well, at all.

And then? Well, then there was business. "I could do that," she said. "Just give me subject matter, I'm more modern than anything right now, but realism isn't completely out of the question."

[Cody Santiago] The scrawny runt of a wolf looks up to the Giant, pawing a little at the door and then the eyes look towards Ryan...ears pressed against the sides of her head. She sniffs a little, obviously wary...to the kin around, the body language meant nothing. The wolf then looked at the door and pawed at it again...smelling strangers outside but smelling Andrea as well...and one other who had been sorta nice but at least non threatening to her.

She then looks back to Ryan, for the most part waiting for him to lead the way.

[Administrator] liar, welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The irony, perhaps, is that while Armstrong is up with the sun, Lukas is the one with the swarthier complexion. "I'm sure," he replies -- but his attention is moving on, to the towel that Andrea holds out.

Which he looks at. And then, he looks at her. There is a small pause; he's not amused.

"Don't push, Andrea. You'll regret the results."

[Ryan Shepherd] Let the kid up with him.

If anything, following orders and doing as he's told ought to not be within his nature. Those willing to fight, to die even, are not exactly known for having a great deal of patience insofar as withstanding the right and attempt of those superior or otherwise to tell him what to do, but for whatever reason he does not react violently or aggressively.

Maybe it's not that out of the ordinary that a young man so tightly wound as this one has an air of self-control about him. But he nods to the chef whose bloodline he cannot detect at moment's notice, and as they approach the door, Ryan glances down at the canine at his side.

His left hand is at his side, dangling near the creature's head, and he pauses at the scratching, a wry smirk pulling onto his lips.

"Hold yer wagon," he says, "we're goin'." His tone likely makes more sense than his words do, the register almost familiar and familial even if it is in a human voice and formed by a human mouth, and Ryan hauls the door open to let the 'kid' go first.

Up the stairs they go, Ryan's boots thumping, and he keeps his eyes open for any sign of the proprietress. Voices, one of whom he does not recognize, help him with his orienteering, and he trusts the 'kid's nose to get them down the hall.

[Andrea Locke] Mrena responds first and, by and large, it's Mrena who holds her full attention. The classic, well-formed lines of her mouth slip into a gratified smile at the Theurge's willing response. "Oh, modern will be fine. I'll take art over theme and conformity anytime. Perhaps we can..."

The towel is still in her hand, quite unexpected, and Lukas' tone isn't the sort that one would easily ignore. She doesn't -- ignore him, that is, her face turning in his direction, head chanting slightly to the side as she observes him quietly for a long moment, a certain amount of weariness passing over her eyes. She takes back the towel, letting it fall atop the rest in the basket. "It is the same I would ask of any guest of what isn't a five-star, full service hotel, Lukas. But by all means -- cleaning up is certainly more tedious than making the mess in the first place." Her gaze is displeased to say the least, but entirely unsurprised for all of it.

Cast thee not pearls, indeed.

Turning about she moves for the large sectional in the common room so she can sit down get to folding the towels and linens, the only traces of any signs of being perturbed a certain stiffness of the spine. The sound of boots thumping up the steps and the advance noise, no doubt, of a distinctive clitter-clatter of claws on polished [and muddy] floorboards does get a glance at the door, waiting to see who all is about to make their appearance. First there comes a wolf - a rather scraggly, thin, small wolf at that. And then, looming behind, the Kid [masculine form] -- and odd matching....
...and no doubt more mud prints [and perhaps bits of fur] to wreck havoc over the fresh cleaned floors.
Le sigh.

The lupus gets a curious look -- obviously she doesn't recognize Cody in this form -- curious but benign. Ryan, for his part, gets a full smile, wiping away the traces of tightness left around her mouth after the [never ending] confrontation with Lukas. "Ah... the Young Buck Rahn... and a friend?" She looks to the animal who lead the way, apparently assuming the pair are together. "Buenas..."

[Cody Santiago] Cody tracked back a little...hesitating...sniffing the air once more before she glanced to Ryan. Seeing him wait for her to lead the way...she lowered her head a little...slinking close to the ground...tail straightening and lowering as well. She waits a moment and then bolts forwards, dewclaws dragging across tile and floor. Then a hairpin turn that almost sends her gliding across a recently cleaned floor...she digs and rushes up the stairs with Ryan behind her flanks.

The runt comes short on the top floor...head sniffing around before she locks on target. Andrea only gets a brief time to greet before it rushes forward and jumps on its hinds, tail wagging a bit, ears perked as she paws at Andrea...arching her neck...ecstatic to see the Andrea person it would seem...and tracking Chicago rain soaked pads onto the front of the woman and any linen she might have been holding for the moment.

[Cody Santiago] Andrea! Hey Listen! It was raining and I was cold and I came here and and I got to have some meat...it wasn't cooked but it tasted really good. I found some neat stuff today and and and it was raining so there were all sorts of interesting smells tonight...I think I smelled some Chinese food on the way here...though I didn't get Chinese, I got meat!

...and yes..it really does sound like a little lupus with ADD disorder in wolf tongue.
to Armstrong, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Ryan Shepherd

[Armstrong] She stopped whatever it was she was doing and listened to the sound of... someone was coming up the stairs. Brows knit, lips drew together ever so slightly at the corners. It was a srtain to hear; the far away look in those silvery eyes suggested that Armstrong was not, in fact, paying attention to what they thought she was paying attention to.

And then there was Ryan and... familiar Gnawer up the stairs. Well, not quite as familiar, and distinctly furrier than Mrena remembered. Suddenly, the smallish area had almost tripled in rage. She was impressed, on some level, or interested. Take your pick. She gave a little bit of an upward nod, acknowledging presence. They were the source of the sound.

"..."

Whatever her train of thought was, it was gone for the time being. "We can discuss design and size later."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The towel withdrawn, Lukas' proverbial raised hackles lower. As the newcomers tromp up the stairs -- one homid, one lupine -- he kicks his shoes off and takes a seat on his preferred stretch of the sectional couch, rummaging through the small stack of books he'd left on the coffee table to find one suited to his mood.

Then, stretching out lengthwise along the sofa, he opens his book up, leaving his packmate to deal with the stranger(s).

(don't wait for me to post, fellas!)

[Ryan Shepherd] As they come into view, Ryan can see Andrea seated on a couch with her work for the moment set in front of her, and he can see the young Theurge Armstrong who had made very fleeting conversation with him the other night, and a hunkering stranger whose presence is about as subtle and comforting to the meek and mild as his own.

He says nothing to him, but Armstrong is granted the joy of seeing Ryan haul his work-calloused hand out of the pocket of his barn coat and give a motionless, wordless wave in greeting. Without having gained any more inclination to speak than he had displayed the other night, he turns to regard the seated Andrea when she addresses him, referring to the excitable lupus beside him as a questionable friend and calling him Young Buck.

"Well, she came in with me," he explains, gesturing to the nameless creature without malice. Lukas can hear his accent clearly; he may not be able to make out the actual words quite as well. "I ain't never met her before."

[Andrea Locke] Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been a flying mass of wet, cold fur and sharp canine jaws springing in her direction, leaping on her and straggling away for all the world like an over-excited child trying to tell their parent about what an oh-my-god-awesome day they had at preschool... either that or trying its level best to knock her down and go for the jugular. For a moment Andrea simply isn't sure which approach it is and, like most kinfolk, it is clear that her time around Garou in anything but Homid form isn't exactly overwhelming. Which is all to say that Andrea Locke looks quite disconcerted, though she is trying not to over-react and make the situation worse....

...that her shirt is now stained and wrecked isn't so much a concern as the fact that at least half of that damnable pile of towels and linens is going to have to be washed.
All.
Over.
Again.

Otherwise is is left pressed back into the sofa while a goodly amount of wolf [underfed or not] excitedly pushes against her.... Ryan speaks up and Andrea only casts him the barest of glances in acknowledgment of his words before turning her attention back to the excitable wolf. Frowning. Concentrating... and, finally - tentative at first;
"Cody? Bajate, nena, no te puedo entender quando estas de lobo." Her tone gaining confidence and remaining low-keyed calm, even as her lips twitch. She doesn't smell of fear, but she does smell of some level of discomfort and confusion.

[Administrator] liar has left Caern & Surrounding Territories

[Administrator] Hatchet, welcome to Caern & Surrounding Territories (Now)

[Armstrong] (skip me for now, I've got a phonecall)

[Cody Santiago] Cody yaps a little...then blinks when Andrea speaks...her ears perk and then flatten a little as she moves to sit back on her haunches. For a moment she cocks her head confused then backs up a little...about five feet before the wolf suddenly starts to shake itself off...water going off the fur. Thankfully, she had been nice enough to move back....

..as water is thrown off...fur seems to fade away as well as it melts into the clothed form of Cody Santiago, crouched down on her heels...her heavy satchel hanging from her back as she nibbles on her bottom lip piercing.

"Sorrrrryyy. I kinda forgot about that. Uh..I was saying it was just sorta cold and I wanted to come on in and then I smelled you nearby so I wanted to come and see you. You don't think they'll be mad that I took some meat? I was really hungry and didn't want to beg for food again...when I beg in that form people always give me table scraps or kibble. Kibble is like chewing cardboard...I mean...it fills me up and all...but blech...I'd rather have cardboard."

[Ryan Shepherd] (... *comes back from doing three other things* I don't even know what's going on anymore *LMAO* I'll post after V.)

[Armstrong] It was something indicative of a Texas man. The silent gestures, a raise of the hand for a greeting was followed by a slight upward nod and a half smile in return. It was a gesture of familiarity. The drawl, the manners? Mama didn't raise no fool, it seemed.

She looked at the wolf-now-female-now-girl Cody. She looked at her briefly, crossing her arms across her chest and waiting. Mrena didn't say a word. Nothing came out, and instead she was content to listen. The way that voices came through, echoed and hung in the air. Lukas went to sit and read; it was what he did. He read. Lukas read. Sam worked out. Sampson ran. Mrena stared at her packmates and tried to draw them.

And she wondered, briefly, how many times Lukas had finished those books. How many push ups Sam did, or how many miles Sampson ran. Of all of her packmates, she had only managed to actually finish drawing a hand full of them.

"So, I never asked," she finally said to Ryan. "How long are you staying in town?"

Away from thoughts of tasks unfinished.

[Andrea Locke] ooc: Okay, guys, I'm sorry for the sudden exit, but the husband is impatient and refuses to go to the store without me. And apparently I'm supposed to feed him and the kid... go figure. (chuckles) A thousand apologies, but I've really got to jet. Andrea will assure Cody that it's fine and that Cody can have any food she likes while she's here, per usual. The rest get an apology and she excuses herself to go change and get on with menial work.

[Administrator] Andrea Locke has left Caern & Surrounding Territories

[Hatchet] The third room on the left no longer smells like gore. That's a bonus. All of that mess was cleaned up. Hatchet was cleaned up, too. He hasn't been seen around the Brotherhood much in the past few days. Other than his wounded retreat into his bedroom, he's been scarce -- either recuperating in there or getting the hell out. Doesn't matter that it's been so cold, after that debacle all he wanted was to be outdoors.

Last night, for example, he'd wanted to be outdoors. And that had reminded him why he's been staying inside so much lately: it's really fucking cold outdoors these days, and even with far more decent cold-weather gear than he had before it all got turned to bloodied rags, it's far more comfortable inside.

The third door on the left, mentioned earlier, opens shortly after the yapping and the paw-thumping on the floor, and a blond man with hints of brass in his hair and copper in his beard peers out. He's got on a dark green thermal henley and a pair of dark-wash jeans, both items new and a far cry from the oft-patched carpenter's jeans and the hole-ridden blue sweater he was almost always seen in before.

Without the incredibly baggy clothes to conceal it, his form is revealed to be almost severe in its musculature. Broad shoulders taper smoothly down his torso to a trim waist, and the thermal cotton shirt is fitted enough to show off the fact that like so many Garou who burn more than they manage to take in, there is almost no fat on him anywhere. He looks as he always does, otherwise, though instead of boots his feet are tucked into thick socks.

Pale eyes flick around the room, at the trio of Shadow Lords and the presence of two Gnawers. His gaze stops momentarily on the figure reading on the couch, then drift over to the Texan. One corner of Hatchet's mouth starts to curl up in a lopsided grin, and then the other joins it. A moment later, he's stepping out of the room, closing the door behind him, and scratching his scalp behind his right ear.

"Lukas," he says, by way of greeting, but then glances at Ryan. "Thought you were just passing through."

[Cody Santiago] (Unfortunately I gotta sneak out as well....friend is here demanding we go get food. *snickers*)

[Cody Santiago] Cody excuses herself, following Andrea as she volunteers to assist with the laundry...or something...feeling really bad now that she's obviously messed up the linens...on the other hand...she could get her clothes washed and dried as well...maybe even patched!

[Administrator] Cody Santiago has left Caern & Surrounding Territories

[Ryan Shepherd] While the woman he came to see has a conversation with the wolf-turned-woman, her stature over a foot shorter than Ryan's own and her speech and situation all but announcing that she belongs to the same tribe as the two-legged trucker--can't really call him a cowboy when he's dressed the way he is today, as he unzips his barn coat one can see that he's got on a flannel work shirt but the footwear is really what would warrant a cowboy distinction--without either of them needing to make any sort of verbal acknowledgment.

Armstrong speaks long before Ryan has any mind to, and he glances over at her with mild interest on his face as she indicates that a question has been lurking without having been given the chance to ask. Once they have found a place to light, his eyes do not flit to the others in the room. It's almost heavy.

How long is he staying in town.

"Well," he says, rolling his shoulders to pop the vertebrae, "I got in a couple'a days ago, an' my boss, he says I got a couple'a local jobs to do, since I just did me that long haul from Galveston an' all. Pro'ly another two-three weeks, I figger."

The fellow on the couch has a name. Ryan follows Hatchet's eyes to the reading creature, and glances back when he is addressed.

He thought similar. He thought he was just passing through.

"Gave ya that idea?" he asks, almost mildly.