to be alpha.

[Armstrong] The cold wasn't suffocating today.

And today, she had decided to spent what time she had in determining things about the city. It was a day, first, of observation. What was the city made of? In order to find out, she had hit the streets to observe. She had started near the Brotherhood, and by now had made her way to Lake View. what was the city made of?

On this side? All Mrena saw was glass. Glass and metal and stone and plastic. All of different consistencies and strengths and purposes. She didn't dwell on this for the time being; White Eyes was just there to observe. And observe she did.

The theurge moved at her own pace that day, as Sampson had described her, she moved like a leaf that was caught in a breeze. Forward profession was something slow- Mrena meandered. Attire was something that was suited to meandering, of course. She had her coat on, she wore jeans, and the slate grey jersey knit scarf that she was trying to develope a rapore with.

It just wasn't the same.

Five Gaian spirits. And how to build a better relationship with them. Couldn't be that hard, right?

[Sam Modine] The Unbroken Circle's Fenrir member is not generally one to be found meandering. Never is this a young man one would find with a lack of purpose, of surety. Even now he sniffs the air subtly, nostrils pulling in toward his face and again expanding into the cold winter's air. His eyes trace up and along balconies, rooftops, through the street, blue orbs trying to catch everything on the second looks at his surroundings, and again upon the third. To protect a place, a voice from an age ago tells him, you must become a part of it. To fight on behalf of a people, you must be one of them. The memory clatters away again in a fury of a broken nose, a dislocated shoulder. Footnotes in a catalogue of violence.

The Modi's head cocks to one side, just the slightest angle off from his shoulder and sweeps the streets on that side, picking up something that drives him with all that purpose and conviction to jaywalk in it's direction. Guilt, boy. Fear. There is no place for these things among us. Gaia is strong and thus so are we. A mentor, a relative even, echoes loud today in his mind. We are the ones, boy. The ones willing to sacrifice everything to the cause. And do you know why?

"Hey." The almost jarring tenor of his voice rings out to his packmate through the thin foot-traffic on the sidewalk. He doesn't rush, but eventually their difference in size and their relative speeds allow him to fall into step with the Shadow Lord. "Is there anything in particular we're staring at today?" His eyes go up and around to where hers do, not wondering for a second how different it must be for him than for her.

Because, A boy's voice in the memory, but not an unfamiliar one. We are the ones who will win.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] In the old tales told by the galliards of the tribe -- the bloody, vengeful tales -- Wyrmbreaker's mighty ancestors wrapped themselves in their own fur or in the hides and furs of their prey. They stood majestic on the bare tops of the Carpathians by night, motionless shadows beneath the moon, and they felt no chill.

These days Lukas settles for the fleece of sheep, milled and textured into finespun wool coats. He muffles himself in overcoats that drop to the knee, scarves, gloves, newsboy caps. But there is this at least: he feels no chill there on the street, in the shadow of some public building's entrance, some seat of city or county or state administration, closed now for the weekend.

The Ahroun's clean-chiseled face, his height and breadth form a compelling juxtaposition to the art-deco lines of the building. He doesn't smoke, drinks only moderately -- therefore, no swigging of liquor here; no puffing on a cigar or a cigarette. He merely stands, straight-backed, confident, a cup of takeaway coffee cooling in his hand, his clear eyes watchful.

He sees his packmates coming a long way off. It's not them he waits for, but he steps down to street level, nevertheless, to greet them.

"Hey Sam, Mrena." He takes a sip of his coffee, still warm enough to be pleasant in the chilly weather. "Seen Katherine?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (WHY DON'T YOU PEOPLE PLAY *LOL*)
to eyes, mouth, nose

[eyes] (( BECAUSE I'M AN AMERICAN. And it's my right to be uninvolved. :D ))
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[mouth] ((Andrew'd just get beaten up or laughed at :P))
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (bah, that's not certain. and besides, isn't this whole thing about conflict in RP? *LOL*)
to mouth

[Armstrong] There is a degree of practicality in knowing the place you were going to be working. The place that you would, eventually, serve. That could, eventually, serve you. Knowing your city was just as important as knowing your packmates; she had chastized Andrew for not understanding the ways of the city, and now she was spending time familiarizing herself with them.

Mrena had spent years staring at this that may or may not have been there. But soon she was joined by a Fenrir in her task; they could look at the same building and see two different things. It was fortunate- it kept things real. It kept things in perspective. Sam's view was different than that of Lukas, which was different from Katherine which was different from Sampson or Dylan or Edward.

I'm looking for Gaia, she said. Had it been verbal, her response would have been, more something that was meant for Sam's ears only. It would have been her usual mezzo soprano, traveling only the necessary distance. As it stood, her choice in sending the message via the totem link was a little more practical. It stayed where it needed to be, on wings and beaks and caws and cries. Her intention was not lost through that medium, nor was her tone or intensity.

The theurge shook her head some, then turned and looked up at Sam. This time, she addressed him verbally. "Have you ever seen the Mile from the other side? it's... you'd just have to see it," she said.

And think of the devil, and there he was. Lukas stood with warm coffee in hand and she gave a little shake of the head in reply. "I haven't seen her today, she might be out with Gabbie."

[mouth] ((True nuff, but showing up to be looked at funny with the three of them isn't so much fun. Meh.))
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] It could be an illusion, the twist of his mouth -- a trick of shadows over his face as he steps into the wan streetlight.

"Ah. Gabbie." There's a pause. The last step is taken. He's on the sidewalk now, his scarf pristinely white at his neck, everything else dark, black in this light. No inflection here: "I found her in the library with Hatchet last night."

[Sam Modine] Sam doesn't respond when his question is answered. Merely squints a bit in the frosty air and mulls it over. One cheek pulls his mouth sideways slowly so that the pucker of lips is arranged like a picasso portrait of a man knawing on nothing but his own thoughts. She though breaks through the hum of the streets with a question of her own and he cannot help but to smile a little.

"When we first got here." He speaks softly as though he's sharing the secrets of life itself. "I couldn't help but to fly over." His hand makes a palm-down track upwards to illustrate his point. "From above it was all lights and snow. Steel on glass on brick on concrete." That voice is both an exclamation of fear an awe at the prospect of another trip.

The modi gives pause though when they come upon their packmate. If the two were of any other kind, any other breed they could not be mistaken for being friends, even familiar. One all affected class and good posture, the other a man of ends, rather than means. Long hair and short, blonde against darker hair. The differences could stretch for miles. But Sam steps back, gives a nod and half a step to his Beta. "Me either."

[Edward Bellamonte] ((I may or may not be in, my kids are being wretched and it's bedtime. So for now, lurking to see if they go to sleep so I can play!))
to Armstrong, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine

[Sam Modine] ((Okay, i've gotta go for a little bit. Assume Sam is around and just being quiet. if shit hits the fan however, assume he you know...stepped out. BBS Hopefully!))

[Armstrong] "Oh." There was a pause there as well. "Well, that's lovely."

And, somehow, one got the impression that she didn't believe it it was lovely in the sense that a sculpture was lovely or a song was lovely, but rather, in the way that a trainwreck or a five car fatality-laden pileup was lovely.

She sighed, then pushed some of her hair back behind one of her hears and continued talking. "In which case, Katherine is, more than likely, physically attached to her sister as we speak."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas utters a short laugh, takes another gulp of his coffee, passes it to his packmates. It's a thoughtless act of sharing. "Kinky. I didn't think you thought that way."

[Armstrong] She took the coffee, letting her hands stay around it for a moment and just enjoy the fact that it was warm. The lady took a drink, then replied. "Yes, beneath my virginal, vanilla exterior beats the heart of a perverse young woman."

She gave something of a content sigh, and then couldn't keep up the false sincerity much longer. The theurge laughed and handed him Lukas his coffee.

[Kemp Oates] He was bundled for the cold. It was never wise to leave warm flesh exposed to freezing temps for long, even if you could live with wounds that would kill a man. No one wanted to look down and find part of their body had fallen off due to frostbite. Or go to scratch and ear to have it flake off under your nails. So, there was a dark old stocking cap pulled down low enough to hide brows and ears from the weather. Shoulders were hunched forward against the wind which stole each cloud of exhale nearly before it was seen. His head was down as if pushing against the wind and even though there were gloves, his hands were stuffed deep in the pockets of his coat. A coat that had stuffing coming out the left shoulder like some old discolored mold growing there. Flesh flashed at both knees, chaped by the the cold where they shown through the threadbare material. But his boots, his boots were new and a true pleasure in the cold.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Shocking," Lukas replies, low and smirking, and he takes the coffee back. And there's no more talk of Gabriella.

He lifts his chin instead, indicating the distant figure with a nod. "Look; isn't that the Wyrmfoe? Kemp-rhya. Christ, he needs new pants."

[Armstrong] "Wonder where he stays," she said. It was a bit of an offhanded comment, more thinking out loud than anything else. The theurge looked at Kemp, the Wyrmfoe, the Fostern, the man with the holey pants.

A pause. "He does need new pants, though."

[Edward Bellamonte] "Think mine will fit him? Katherine's threatening to cut up the ones I got at Target if I wear them around her one more time." This comes with a smirk, and in the dulcet tones of a beloved Alpha . . . where ever he's come from, he must have missed the bit about Gabriella or there'd be less cheer and more thoughtfulness. Regardless, he seems to be in a good mood tonight, and an arm slings easily around Mrena, drawing her close for a moment before releasing her; he is, it must be said, vastly improved by proximity to his packmates. "Better to give them to someone else than let them be wasted, at any rate. What trouble are we causing this evening?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I'm not sure. I'll ask him." He tips back his head to drink the last of his coffee, then drops the emptied cup into a passing trashcan. This is lake view, after all -- one didn't simply toss refuse in the gutter. "Kemp!" and Lukas raises his hand to wave.

Then Edward comes quite out of nowhere. Lukas casts the Ragabash a surprised glance. "Ed. It's been a while. I thought you'd left the city." He grins; still, there's an edge of truth in his tone.

[Kemp Oates] He was a long legged one, even bowed against the wind. That head lifted with the call and there was a faint narrowing of his eyes against the cold wind that made his eyes want to water. He grunted, a white cloud of exhale, then reluctantly returned the wave though it meant wrestling his gloved hand out of his pocket which brought a few curse words with the fight. Soon enough though, he drew near.

"Cold enough to freeze your piss before it hits the ground."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "No kidding." Kemp is near enough to speak without shouting now. "Would you take it as an insult if I bought you new jeans?" It's an honest question, no mockery in it.

[Kemp Oates] "What's wrong with these?"

He had halted with a frown downwards as he lifted one leg slightly and turned his knee from side to side.

"Still got a lot of use in 'em and they go where I go, if ya get my drift. Besides, got new boots for New Years. Ain't they purdy?"

[Armstrong] Having Mrena around was not unlike having a cat at times. She had a list of people who she allowed to be in her personal space (though that list was slowly expanding), and when someone from that small list was around, she was more than happy to allow the invasion. This was Edward we were talking about here, whatever he and Dylan did, they had been the first of the pack who were allowed hugging privileges. The rest had followed suit.

But! Not the point. The point was this: Edward drew her in, and the gesture was reciprocated, then both parties went back to their respective spaces. "No trouble yet," she said. Yet being the operative word.

Whatever Kemp said, it made her nod a little, observing and, for now, keeping her mouth shut.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "You've got to be freezing in them," Lukas points out, and then looks down at Kemp's boots. Which, given the weather and that Kemp's primary mode of transportation is walking, were probably more muddy than purdy now. "They look pretty sturdy," Lukas observes. "Where'd you get them?

"By the way, you've met my packmates, right? This is White-Eyes, cliath theurge of my tribe, and Bets-on-the-Underdog, my alpha, a silver fang of your rank and moon."

[Kemp Oates] He nodded to each and when he spoke, each exhaled breath was visible.

"Seen her around and watched a challenge she was involved in. And yep, met Ed several weeks back. Though I thought maybe ya had blown town already Ed."

He glanced down at his boots, which to him were so much nicer than the ductaped shoes he'd had before.

"Boots were a New Year's gift."

There it was again, no name given to the gift bearer.

[Edward Bellamonte] "We've met," Edward says with an easy smile; he's boyish, young seeming for a Fostern - at least seeing him now, one might think so. So very few know how hard he works to keep it that way. Then Kemp repeats what Lukas said and the smile shifts into a smirk before drifting away. "It's a pleasure to meet again, however. And no, I've just been occupied." There's no explanation - perhaps none is needed. When Edward is away, there's always a reason, and usually said reason is nothing but good. "I don't plan on leaving Chicago for a while."

[Armstrong] (skip me! filing an incident report)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a brief flex at the corner of Lukas' jaw. "Ed's just been busy, is all," he says then, covering for his alpha without a trace of the fact that he'd said the exact same thing a minute ago.

"Anyway -- I'm serious, rhya. If I gave you new pants, would you take it as an insult to your honor? Because I'd mean it as a gift and no more."

[Kemp Oates] "Does it really bother ya the way I look? Right now I rather ya gave me a heat pack for my freezing ass."

He snickered and though he was jesting, his attention flicked constantly along the street. Even as he brought up another subject.

"So, White-Eyes."

And he did wonder why she was called that.

"What happened with the Theurge that couldn't call spirits?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "It's not the way you look," Lukas replies, straightfaced. "It's that I'm afraid any minute now your balls are going to fall out your pants leg."

Kemp turns his attention toward Mrena, and Lukas turns his inward, to the totem.

Where have you been, Edward? I haven't seen you in a month. Katherine said at one point you got arrested. She had to bail you out.

[Kemp Oates] "Well thanks for your concern for my balls Lukas. Though they ARE large, they don't hang that low yet. Maybe after I hit 21 they'll start sagging? I'll letcha know."

[Armstrong] "Well," she started, hands in her pockets and posture that oh-so confident, perfectly relaxed. Of course, that was all very, very well practiced. "I taught him how to do it and now he should be completely capable of not making a fool of himself."

She nodded. "He's still around, though."

[Edward Bellamonte] There's a moment of silence over the totemphone (one of those obvious ........ sort of pauses) that's covered by laughter at Lukas' statement - Beta may be able to keep a straight face over such things, but Alpha cannot. I had some thinking to do, is all. No harm, no foul?

As to the rest? "I heard they don't get that low until twenty-five or thirty. I'm safe for a bit yet, anyway, if reports are true." Not, of course, that Edward has any pants with holes in them that weren't artfully placed by some designer or another . . . but that's neither here nor there.

[Katherine Bellamonte] (okay, where the heck are my people at? Locations, ya'll)
to Armstrong, Edward Bellamonte, Kemp Oates, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, nose, Sam Modine

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] For no immediately obvious reason, Lukas' hands clench into fists. He manages only a halfhearted smile for Kemp's quip. "Excuse me, Rhya," he says, and takes a step away from the group to push his hands into his pockets.

His attention turns inward. A garou without the benefit of a totemic link would wonder what he was doing, but Kemp, having once been a part of such a network, would recognize that sort of half-fugue instantly. The Shadow Lord's face is hard with some hidden strain, the muscles at jaw and temple tense. He frowns at the street without seeing it.

No harm, no foul? Across the totem, Lukas' legendary control is somewhat ... less. He is furious; this is plain. It has been a month, Edward. You're our Alpha and the focal point of this pack. Everything we've done, we've done to position you in this Sept. And while we've worked, you've vanished for a month -- to think. It is neither 'no harm' nor 'no foul'.

This pack loves you and trusts you, Edward, but the love and trust of a pack is like that of a woman. You cannot ignore it and expect it to continue into a vacuum.

[Kemp Oates] He waved off the "Excuse me, Rhya," part and left Lukas to his internal battle/conversation. From the look on his face, something wasn't setting well with him.

Attention back on Armstrong as he seemed to hear her reply for the first time.

"I still ain't figured out how he got as high as he did when he didn't know the basics of what he should of known. Means some dumbass was calling 'em for him and letting him slide through."

He snorted as he spoke of Andrew.

[Katherine Bellamonte] It should not shock the pack so very much that the appearance of their Alpha was a fore-shadowing of the appearance of his frequent shadow -- that of the fairer, paler Bellamonte known as Meridian's Truth. She was not as casually attired as her brother in a fur-rimmed coat of deep burgundy, her footwear -- some mid-calf boots -- in a matching shade to suit -- and that thick tousled mane of hair was coiled into a french braid.

Women are fickle creatures, are they not?

Katherine's voice is heard before her body is seen, criss-crossing the street further down from the collected body of Garou. Her hands in her coat pockets, she is the deceiving image of an elegant woman at her leisure. There is an edge to the Philodox's voice across the link.

[Armstrong] "I'm not sure how I feel about that," she said. Which, well, wasn't quite true. The more accurate statement was that the Shadow Lord didn't know what she was going to say when asked how she felt about that. Obviously, however, the idea of someone calling spirits for a fostern theurge didn't set well with her.

"Maybe he's wise in ways that I don't seebut given his actions I sincerely doubt he'll progress much further without re-evaluating his priorities."

She looked down the street briefly, looking between packmates and just taking them in for the time being. Mrena's gaze was even, her thoughts clear, and for now she was just... listening. Then, her gaze was back on Kemp.

[Sampson] All Women are not fickle, Katherine. Do not cast your sins on all of your gender. From the shadows comes the Other Sam, dark and too relaxed for his own good. Four wives will do that to a man. Either that, or drive him so mad he doesn't know how bad he has it.
Either could be true in this one's case.
Sampson takes his usual -- no, not usual. Without Katarina, his place has changed, feels.. awkward. Tonight, he tries to one side of Sam.

[Edward Bellamonte] Edward is not a hard sort of man - he's not nearly as Rage-full as many of their kind, and he has that boyish calm and charm that somehow keep him from being to frightening even to many mortals. This is far from saying that he can't be cold and hard - everyone knows he can, he just doesn't like to. He likes to smile, to laugh; fighting and the rest of it are a chore, to be done when they must, but no more.

That they are, sister-mine, and we wouldn't have them any other way. But I do not dodge work and you know it, Wyrmbreaker; I do what I must, when I must, and how I must. People have sought to put me on a throne my entire life, or have you forgotten? He, too, is distracted now; he hasn't said much, though, and simply takes a quiet step back - perhaps to greet the approaching blonde. Where I was isn't terribly important. That I'm here now is.

[Kemp Oates] "Yeah, right. Ok..."

He could read body language and the little silences. And he noted the arrival of two more. A lone wolf in the middle of someone's pack that was growing by the moment. He was starting to feel crowded.

"I'm gonna take my ass up the way and get some coffee or something hot."

With that a small curt nod of stocking capped head was given and he was breaking off from the gathering.

[Armstrong] It is important to him and it is important to me, was Mrena's first contribution to this conversation. And it was as much of a contribution as she could offer.

She was, afterall, still talking to Kemp as well. "Keep warm, Rhya," she said. "BUt before you go... do you mind if I ask where you're staying?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] He does not dodge work and Lukas knows it --

Do I? Do I know that? Do you know what happened while you sat in jail -- over some petty human dispute! -- and Katherine went to your rescue? Do you know what's happened in this pack? Do you know Katerina is gone? Do you know --

The interjection is sharp; so too is the sudden shutdown. Standing with his back to the others, Lukas folds his arms across his chest and bears down on himself. Edward continues on. People have sought ...

There's a silence, after that. Slowly, Lukas' arms relax. They see him pushing his hands through his hair, pushing his newsboy cap off, mussing the dark locks.

Well, what do you seek, Edward? Haven't you sought the sceptre and throne? Don't you seek to lead us in this war?

[Kemp Oates] "When?"

His head turned back towards Armstrong with a faint narrowing of his eyes. Curious why she would want to know where he stayed.

[Sampson] Sampson's eyes cross in his head at the nattering going on, then shakes it vigorously. Short hair, not too nappy today, nothing happens but his eyes roll the other way when he's done.
"Why Why WHY WHYYY!!!??!?? Mummy and Daddy must! stop fighting! Now! Kiss, make up, and DON'T DO IT AGAIN!"

[Armstrong] "Two weeks from now," she said. "I was wondering because if you liked on the Mile I was going to ask if you'd noticed anything unusual."

[Armstrong] (liked=lived)

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine's laughter transmits at Sampson's reprimand at her words. Her silvery amusement recorded as she speaks: Oh my good man, forgive a jaded woman her misguided words!

Edward steps back to greet her arrival and Katherine slinks easily enough into his arms, pressing her lips to his cheeks, his brow and drawing back with a softer; gentler expression than was typically to be seen on the woman's features as she turns to look at her Beta.

Of course he seeks to lead us, Lukas. That is not even in question.

[Edward Bellamonte] I've sought a lot of things, and I lead for the same reason I do most things I do - because I must. There are others who would serve better. This comes with a shrug that manifests in real time, where people can see, and then there's continuing; he's no longer smiling as he had been when he first appeared. If I wanted the power people try to give me, I'd be the last person who should have it.

[Kemp Oates] "Naw, too expensive to stay on the mile. I go there course, but don't live there."

His eyes narrowed to little slits on Armstrong's face.

"Now, whatcha mean two weeks from now and what have ya noticed?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] There are others who would serve better.

His sister's arm, linked around his waist tightens at this, and her pale eyes flick to study her brother's face, some expression dancing through the Philodox's gaze before it slides to her Beta's. People can not give you what is yours by right, Edward. We were intended to lead.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] That's not an answer, Ed. Lukas turns around now. The fury knitting his brow has abated to a dull heartbeat. He steps closer to his Alpha -- there's something in his look that includes Edward and Edward alone, shutting even Katherine and her blithe, recited replies out.

(How that must burn the Philodox, brother to the Alpha.)

I'm asking you and only you: do you want to lead this pack? Or have I been just as guilty as anyone of pushing you where I want you to be, regardless of your own inclinations?

[Armstrong] "The last time I was there, I happened to be conversing with some ravens and happened upon something in the umbra. They told me it was a nyst- which is an egg sack of sorts. Whatever's in it isn't of Gaia, so since then I've been amassing resources and trying to put together a hunting party of sorts. So, in a roundabout, indirect way, I'm asking if you knew anything about what was going on and if you wanted to help me and whoever else deal with it."

[Sampson] Duty, does he say? Others do it better? Then! Who shall prove truth of his words? Which of our pack shall prove they deserve power more?
I.. disagree, Edward. You will have as much strength as you are willing to take. But! No more! You will have as much renown as you earn BUT! No more!

Kemp and Mrena are talking; some part of him realizes this, but turmoil is brewing on a level at the fundaments of their pack. Sampson turns, focuses on Edward, his breath coming faster, and his eyes changing slowly from their usual deep coffee color to a lighter shade, edging slowly towards golden.

[Edward Bellamonte] Don't ask me what I want, Lukas - maybe I don't even know. But what I want doesn't matter, perhaps hasn't ever. Because I am what I am, I lead - desire has nothing to do with it. It's not rage, but there's a hint of a scowl; the Alpha is trending toward maudlin now, which is a sad state for any Ragabash. I am not inviting challenge. I'm not stepping away from this pack, or from the things we all have to do. When did you start thinking so of me, I wonder?

[Kemp Oates] He had turned fully back to Armstrong with the narrowing of his eyes as he spoke low and soft.

"Why are ya waiting? What guards this nest and who have ya collected? Ya have a large pack as it is? How big is this nest? Fuck, ain't heard nothing of this till now."

And that rubbed him wrong. He was starting to bristle between this news and all the obviously silent conversation going on between this pack. Bad enough to be a lone wolf, worse when it was rubbed in by being in the middle of a large pack that was just about sniffing each other's asses with all the pack language going on.

"Of course I would want to be in on it, shit, it's my fucking job."

[Sampson] Edward, when it was left to our theurge to inform the Wyrmfoe of our intentions, since our Alpha.. AND Beta... are too busy sniffing asses.
He looks pissed.

[Armstrong] As Katherine says her piece, especially about those who were intended to lead, the theurge felt her stomach turn, her breathing growing ever-so-slightly more shallow for a moment, and her hands held a little more tightly in her pockets.

"Thus far, I've gathered members of my pack, but few others. I have a few people who might be inclined to come as well, but due to its location I can't get in to see what is inside and gather accurate information. I would rather bring too many than not enough," she said. The fact that she was still gathering information seemed to make her displeased.

Or maybe it was the unspoken conversation. While I realize this is necessary, is this the place we need to be having this conversation? We could be drawing some unneeded attention.

[Kemp Oates] The fingers of one glove were caught between his teeth as he tugged it free to bare his hand so he could fish wallet from his back pocket. A moment of rifling through it and he extended a piece of paper to Armstrong.

"Cell number."

Muttered as he replaced the wallet and glove.

"Call me when ya got your act together with this bunch. I can do some sniffing around meantime."

He jerked his head towards the pack.

"Can see ya got your heads in something else right now."

Two gloved fingers were touched to his brow and he started away again.

[Sebastian] (locations?)
to Armstrong, Edward Bellamonte, Katherine Bellamonte, Kemp Oates, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine, Sampson

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] When?

Eye of the storm is over; Lukas' fury is mounting again, waves of heat and rage coming off of him like asphalt in a desert summer.

When you disappeared for a month with no better excuse than 'I was thinking'. When you could barely piece together an introduction to the Adren Grand Elder himself that wouldn't grossly offend him. When you never showed your face while Mrena was getting challenged by a Fostern fuckhead, or when Sam threw down with the Fostern fuckhead, and then Hatchet, and then Hatchet's new best buddy. When Katerina left and you weren't even there to say goodbye.

When I. ALMOST. DIED.

Because your ass was in jail, and Katherine abandoned battle to save you.

His mindvoice dominates the totemphone utterly -- Sampson's anger, Mrena's caution, are mere pebbles pinging into the flood, swallowed whole without altering the course. When he's done, there's a vast emptiness in their minds, a silence as thick as soup.

The Ahroun is breathing hard, as if he'd run ten miles, as if he'd shouted all that aloud. But he hasn't. They're all just standing around, having some weird mental argument on the street.

And then Lukas does a strange thing. He looks to Katherine instead, long and hard, scrutinizes every last detail with his ice-pale eyes. In the end he clenches his teeth hard, then returns his attention to her brother.

So if you still think your place is leader, Ed -- if you want to stay Alpha -- you better shape up. Because I can't follow you much longer like this.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (just out on the street, mostly together, though armstrong and kemp were talking more directly, and the others are standing around mysteriously silent and attention-deficient. kemp's walking away now, i think.)
to Sebastian

[Armstrong] "We'll keep in touch," she said. The theurge took the note and looked at it for the time being before putting it into her pocket.

And then? Then she fell into silence. Both verbal and across the totem link. And it was as if the theurge didn't quite know what to say, or if she should say anything. And so? She maintained the silence accordingly, stood with her pack- Edward in a state of melancholy, Lukas enraged, ultimatums standing.

[Sampson] This is what he had not wanted to see, scout though he is, ragabash though he is. Weird, how they can be so close, and yet have this flaw running through them, right through the heart of them, which has always been Edward.
But then, packs who place a Silver Fang as their center have this sort of problem.
NOW the Silent Strider goes silent, as he stares the truth into each of them.
Not that they will neccesarily understand.
Not that anything will change if they do.

[Sebastian] You can spend weeks walking the streets of Chicago and run into nothing but mortals and intimations of spirit activity. Follow hints and whispers, learn the backstreets and avenues, and not run into another Garou. Come to think of the city as devoid of kin, of Luna's Children. Weeks spent exploring, radiating out further and further from the Caern, and then Sebastian turns a corner, slows, stops.

An intimation, a hunch, and then his one good eye settles on a distant knot of individuals, several of whom he recognizes. But it wasn't their faces that keyed him into their nature; no, it's the roiling of rage that seeps like bitter dregs towards him, that tinges the air like kerosene fumes. A pause as the Theurge looks down the street, takes in the silent tension, the manner in which the Garou are arrayed, and then he begins to approach slowly.

[Edward Bellamonte] We will discuss this another time, I think. Edward is ever the calm one - ever the reasonable one, ever the one to step away from an argument without backing down. I have some things to see to. This is not indifference to what's happened, it should be noted - anyone who knows him at all would know better than that, and his packmates know him quite well. But then, he's nodding Kemp's way and murmuring something along the lines of how it would be an honor to meet again in the future, and Edward's off as suddenly as he appeared.

[Kemp Oates] He had already started away when the meaningless murmurs were sent his way. Pleasantries were always empty air to him and just a front in his mind. The tension in the air back there made him want to shift and run with the night where he could revel in that part of himself. Instead he was seething even as that eternally curious part of himself had him heading off to sniff out this new developement. Muttering to himself.

"Oh yeah, by the way...blah...blah....and if you're around...blah....blah....sure we would of said something.....blah...blah....bullshit....more bullshit...blah...blah...."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Left in the Fostern's wake (because Edward is that: Fostern, which may be the only thing that saves him from being dragged back and made to Discuss This Right Now), Lukas can only clench his fists and his teeth, and try not to batter the shit out of whatever is closest.

He's silent with fury for a very long time. Then, glaring, he looks around to what packmates remained in the vicinity.

[Edward Bellamonte] ((Thanks for the scene! Must go deal with children. Blu! I would like a scene sometime, I think, if that could happen.))
to Armstrong, eyes, Katherine Bellamonte, Kemp Oates, liar, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, rubbish, Sam Modine, Sampson, Sebastian

[Sampson] Sampson stares at Edward's back as the alpha walks off; they know him, know his ways.
And.. be VERY WARY of Lukas. He gathers himself, just in case...
"You KNOW I can outrun you, Lukas. Beat on Sam."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (thanks for the scene, CC! sorry lukas totally dogpiled ed *LOL*)
to Armstrong, Edward Bellamonte, eyes, Katherine Bellamonte, Kemp Oates, liar, rubbish, Sam Modine, Sampson, Sebastian

[Katherine Bellamonte] Lukas stares long and hard at Katherine, and she returns his gaze with her arm still wound around her brother's waist. There is a hard gleam in the Philodox's eye that perhaps is what the Ahroun seeks to find there but there is also in her deference to her elder brother, her stiff posture at his side -- conflict.

Here is my Alpha, her positioning says.
I hear you, her eyes speak different.

Her brother untangles himself to leave, and Katherine is left standing in his stead with her eyes remaining on Lukas. Are you out of puff now, Lukas, or shall I stand here and allow myself to be your punching bag? She is angry, her eyes narrowed to mere slits. That was not the way to approach it, it does not move my brother to action to rant at him. He has flaws, I acknowledge them but he does not need a public dressing down. Not before the entire pack.

[Armstrong] She turned and looked; the theurge seeming to be the one who was almost divorced from the conversation (almost being the operative word.) She looke at those still gathered, looked at Lukas, and... well, put herself a little further away than she was originally. The pack was on the street, people were walking away, and the Shadow Lord inhaled, took a moment, and had to absorb what the Hell just happened.

Then, maybe she would find some answer. The truth of a theurge was different than that of a philodox, and at that moment she was unsure of how her truth and that truth would repair what was done.

"I'm going to get something to eat," she said, "Do you want anything?"

She addressed her pack, move them away from the area. Away from the tension. And, for a moment, she wondered what kind of spirits were watching them at that moment, enjoying the view. She didn't notice Sebastien at first, but she did soon enough.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Incredulity precedes rage.

YOU would dare berate me for laying it out in the open? You who stood on a street with me and --

And that's it. Lukas snaps; he grabs Katherine by her fancy lapels and bears her to the nearest wall. Or lamppost. Or whatever there is. The impact is bonejarring.

"What would you prefer?" He shouts it in her face. "Cloak and dagger?"

[Sebastian] Dressed in a long, sober black coat, collar flipped, chin lowered to his chin, Sebastian has the elegance and detachment of an undertaker, his bearing calm and controlled. His stride is long but unhurried, and he drifts closer to the Garou like an exhalation of breath caught by a cold breeze. He studies the Garou before him as if their arrangement were that of a chess game in which all of the pieces were without color; only by noting body language, direction, attitude and glances does he begin to derive some semblance of an understanding as to what might be going on.

Armstrong glances in his direction, her eyes meeting his, one dark, the other blind and milk hued. They'd met, once, a few weeks back - introduced by Hatchet on a street corner. He nods to her, and then stalls, stops, as Lukas explodes into vocal violence.

[Kemp Oates] ((Thanks guys))
to Armstrong, Edward Bellamonte, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine, Sampson, Sebastian

[Sampson] What are we, dogmeat? Are we not one pack? Do you think the rest of us less- no wait, you surely do. I ask you all! From which of us will Edward hide himself? He will not! No more of--

Uhoh. Whew! the Ahroun went after Katherine after all. That's good. Sort of.
Sampson checks his shoelaces, well out of reach. WELL out of reach.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Lukas grabs Katherine by her fancy lapels and bears her into the nearest wall; the impact steals her breath and has the Philodox baring her teeth in a frighteningly inhuman gesture. He snaps; and she all but snarls her indignance at the rough handling.

"I would prefer my pack to be at peace, Lukas. I would prefer that I did not spend my nights chasing the shadows of my sister's footsteps. I would prefer that I did not waste hours of my days dressing and clothing and coddling my brother." She shoves Lukas from her roughly.

You have no idea what it costs me to watch him walk away from us.

[Armstrong] "Enough," she said.

Not so much said. But stated. But asserted. Mrena had enough. To all of them. All that were speaking, all that were seething and fuming and egging each other on. The way she spoke to them at that moment was not unlike the tone she carried with the spirits.

I recognize that this is a delicate situation, and I recognize that we are of varying opinions and are all quite passionate about the subject. BUt right now we are not discussing, we are screaming. And we are not in a state to listen.

a pause.

I encourage you all to walk away. To regain some sense of composure, because right now this behavior is degrading.

[Sampson] If he NEEDS be coddled, he is no alpha of mine! Think carefully of your words, Katherine.

Coddling. Sampson snarls a little as he steps back into shadows, salutes once at the new garou coming, and then, safe from mortal eyes, fades into the Umbra.

And.. away.

[Armstrong] She looked at Sebastien for the time being; not quite at, but through. Near, around. Some preposition. They had met before, they had said an introduction. Possibly a hello, on a street not unlike this one, and acknowledged that they were both theurges. He was greeted with a slight upward nod- an urban nod. And a smile to match.

One couldn't help but notice it didn't meet those silvery grey eyes of hers. She seemed... distracted.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Humans would be appalled at this. Lukas is not a small man. He's well over six feet, with the build of an athlete, huge across the shoulders. He does not treat Katherine gently. This is not some playful shove. Were she human, bones may have snapped; joints may have come dislocated.

But they are not human. They are half-wolf, half-man, and more savage than either.

Their teeth are bared, animal rictuses in human faces. She shoves at him. He slams her to the wall again, harder. Then he lets go. His newsboy cap has come off; he picks it up out of the dirty snow and dusts it off in two hard thumps against his thigh, through his coat.

"Bullshit." It's a growl, low and deadly, as palpable as it is audible. "You want your power and you want it quietly, so you don't look like you've broken ranks and backstabbed your precious brother. You want your semblance of loyalty and honor and family. But I could care less about your family, and I don't care at all about how you look to the world. I care about this pack, and the war. So either Ed steps up or you do. Publically. Before the pack. As it should be."

Lukas jams his cap back on his head. Shadowed, his eyes are glints in the darkness; the angle of his nose and jaw somehow more severe. He flicks a glance at Mrena, then at the approaching stranger. A jerk of his head at him.

"Figure out what he wants. I'm done here."

(sorry folks, I NEED FOOD. starving! will be playing the brotherhood most likely when i get back)

[Sebastian] Sebastian stands some twenty yards away, a solitary figure that is clearly deliberating the wisdom in approaching further. The fury that curdles the air before him is almost as tangible as a storm, and he knows none of these Garou sufficiently well to be sure that violence, or some other foolishness, won't erupt.

Sometimes it's best not to interrupt packs. Leave them be. He exhales through his nostrils, twin puffs of steam, and then crosses the street to turn and take a left, and away.

[Armstrong] She looked at Sebastien for the time being, then sighed and made her way across the street, away from her pack and to go speak with the other theurge. It was cold, but it was not suffocating, and curiosity was a powerful motivator. Mrena's approach to the other was one of tactical importance at that, not just curiosity.

What had he seen? What did he think?

White Eyes was an intensely social creature, and was becoming fairly adept at damage control.

But by that time, he was away.

She was displeased.

[Sebastian] Almost away. He's ahead of her, halfway down the block. But without looking back, without apparent cause, he stops. Lowers his head for a moment, as if deliberating, or examining shit on the sidewalk, and turns to look over his shoulder at her.

[Armstrong] Almost away.

Which, of course, meant that he was not away. The deceptively delicate creature looked at the taller, much less attractive theurge and regarded him for the time being. "I have a question," she said.

White Eyes had a confident voice. It carried, and the mezzo soprano made no attempt to alter her pitch. She was unscarred, for the most part. As far as anyone knew, she was just an intense college girl. And, with that statement, hshe headed to bridge the gap between herself and the Fianna.

[Sebastian] "I have a question," she says, and her voice carries, clear and ringing in the cold, harsh air. He's still facing away from her, looking over his shoulder so that she can see the good side of his face, the clean cut of his cheekbone, the angular nose, the dark, slanted eye. For a moment he stands thus, and then her footsteps ring out on the pavement, and he turns to face her, bringing the rest of his visage into view.

Scarred, flesh worried and blistered years ago, now a leathery mass of tissue that covers his ocular ridge, that whorls around his blind eye, sweeps inroads into his thick brown hair. He turns, hands still in his pockets, and raises his chin as he takes a few steps towards her, long strides that cover ground.

"Miss Armstrong," he says, voice rich, low, an acknowledgment, a response, a greeting all. The Fianna Theurge exudes control, calm, a centered focus that stands in sharp contrast to the fury from which she has emerged, that yet trails after her like tendrils of mist. It's as if self consciousness was burned away along with his flesh, nervousness, indecision, doubt. He stands calm, centered, solid, and awaits her question.

[Armstrong] And for a moment, again, she wondered what spirits lingered by their altercation, what fed from the tension, if they had birthed anything into being. there were many things that could have occured, and there was a thought left there. Maybe nothing noticed, but now she had that nagging feeling in the back of her head, what were the spirits thinking now?

As much as she did not enjoy Katerina's company, she had been a necessary evil. Mrena had gotten used to the other theurge being there. Now that she was the only one? Again? Her musings on the spirits were kept to herself.

But she was here for a purpose. And that was part of what she asked the male infront of her. At one time, he may have been handsome. He may have even been vain, but it was gone. And there they were, two creatures of self-assurance. And she turned from Sebastian to the street, to survey it, the buildings, the alleyways... She gave a little nod to it all.

"What do you see here?" she asked.

She was looking for Gaia in the city. Some bastion of the Mother in a place that was, at first glance, the weaver's territory.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine and Lukas have devolved into a shoving match. He pushes her, she pushes him and he shoves her back harder, into the wall hard enough to break the bones of a frailer woman. All it does is serve to leave bruises on the Philodox, to further enrage her. Lukas growls into her face; and speaks of power and loyalty. Of stepping into the shoes of the Alpha.

And then: I'm done here.

Katherine does not say a word, she stares down the Shadow Lord until he departs and then? She turns on her heel and shadows her brother's route once more.

[Sebastian] Were he a truly inscrutable Theurge, he might simply gaze past her and recount an enigmatic description of the spiritus mundi that surrounds them, replete with insights and epiphanies. However, despite his self possession and assurance, he is still but a Cliath, young, and as such his face registers confusion for a moment. Perhaps he was expecting a different question.

He steps up so as to stand next to her, facing the direction from which she had just come, the street, the city, Chicago. He scans the street, at first seeking some missing piece of the puzzle, some element in particular that she was questioning him about, something that should leap out at him, that he had missed, overlooked. But nothing does--there's no bane chuckling in the shadows, no glint in the depths of an alley signifying an errant patternspider's arrival.

No; there's the cold slush that rims the pavement, grown ice hard and salt crusted. There's the broad street itself, well kept in this part of town, obsidian black where it shows through the scoria of winter, the zebra crossing brilliant white, sharp edged and delineated. A modern sculpture that is the Theater looms a block down, banners advertising the performance of MacBeth, while above them towers a modern apartment highrise, twenty floors of beige elegance and hard, nonreflective black windows. Pedestrians pass by them hurriedly, caught in the flow of their own lives, and everywhere the ceremony of Winter lies hard and grim, holding all within its iron fist.

Finally, he looks back to her, hairless brow raised over his ruined eye. Looks at her, not a glance, no mere appraisal, but a penetrating stare. She might have directed his gaze at the street, the world, but he chooses instead to focus on her.

"Promise," he says, face grave. A moment, perhaps, before she might realize he's speaking of her. "And somebody who might help me hunt down a cup of coffee." A wry smile surfaces, a brief glimmer of mild amusement, and then its gone. Apparently he doesn't intend to enter into a mystical analysis of the street without better cause.