four verse power ballad.

[Lukas] Four verse power ballad. Lukas bites his lips to hold a grin back.

"Well, do you blame her?" He toes a curl of wood back onto the newspaper. "I feel like I'm living in a hamster cage."

And, a nod at Milo. "Hey, Rhya. Don't see you around here often."

[Milo] "No occasion. Though I hoped that the two of you would be here," Lukas' statement causing him to continue, "I should drop by more often, keep the lines of communication open," nodding as if he took Lukas' assertion as a recommendation. He holds out his hand to clasp charmingly gnarled, scarred and calloused fingers onto the Ahroun's forearm with an inclination of his head that, while maintaining a level of dominance in his body language, showed respect to the Beta in his pack's living space.

"You hadn't called me yet, so I thought I'd come by and make sure our appointment with the Grandfather is still set," to Mrena, his expression shifting again, his eyes narrowing to further inspect the small carvings. "At first I suspected crows or ravens, but those are bats, aren't they? I must admit, I am not as familiar as I should be with that bloody part of our tribe's history, though the Uktena I have met in the past have chastised me for it."

[Armstrong] She looked at Lukas for a moment, with those too clear, too pale grey eyes. With innocent features, and with vicious, awful imagination. And suddenly all she could think of was installing a giant water bottle in the corner of the room. And, as that she made no attempt to hide it, all the younger lady could do was grin, and her thought process played out well over her deceitfully innocent features.

"Appointment is still set," she said, then blew some of the wood shavings off into the pile. She seemed content to make the pack live in a hamster cage. "And yes, they are bats. Can't have ears everywhere, and these-" she said. Mrena gave the little figurine a shake "-are expendable."

She nodded some, then held the one up she had been working on for inspection. It was incredibly detailed. Realistically, if she kept this up the theurge wasn't going to finish much of anything. She was just anal retentive enough to do the work justice.

[Lukas] The handshake is accepted, the apple moved to his left hand, the right gripping the other's forearm for a moment. "Sure; one of us is almost always around. How did things go with the kinwoman -- " what was her name, " -- Yvonne?

"And if you're thinking about installing a water bottle," they are packmates, after all, mindlinked, "don't even start."

[Lukas] (don't wait for me to post. and andrew -- they're upstairs, common room)

[Milo] Milo squats down, an elbow steadying himself on each knee, but he doesn't venture to touch the carving. His cobalt blue eyes do, though, absorb the details with interest as she turns the example for his examination. "Depth to the fur and the wings. Very well done," nodding rolling from the balls of his feet and back onto his heels to straighten himself.

Milo's attention goes back to Lukas again. "She is claimed and under my pack's protection, thanks to a brother of mine. Mikhail, the Ahroun we spoke of, though, seems very troubled. He may make trouble again. That Silver Fang called out for his ways at the moot, though, has gone into exile."

"Last night I heard quite a bit from my sister about the state of our tribe since my absence, and while with the new examples such as us that are now calling this place home I believe our house can be put in order- our name lifted out of the mud- I think we need to be particularly careful to squash any of our tribe that might cause others to reminisce and remember our past transgressions," the words flooding forward, the result of conversing with his sister and obviously subsequent careful thought.

[Andrew] There came a scratching creak from down the hall. A tiny triangle of light formed, extending into the room Andrew stayed in. The mangled one. The angry one. A few seconds passed and then a little clunk echoed down the hall from his room. Some slobbery wet noises. The padding of feet. Faint huffs of breath.

Eventually the broad flat scarred lupine head peeks around the corner from the hallway back to the bedrooms into the common room. A bright red heavy rubber ball bulges out of the side of his snout. His tongue lolls out the other side, somewhat comicly. Black furry lips wrap around the ball on one side, yellowed white fangs, shiny with spittle, on the other. His black nose, pieces missing and all, wiggles curiously. Brown eyes cruise around the room slowly.

[Lukas] "My congratulations to your brother. Though, I hope he can keep her well in hand," Lukas replies, finishing his apple, tossing the core into a corner wastebasket in an NBA-worthy arc. Nothin' but net, baby. Or in this case, nothin' but plastic. "I'm still not sure she didn't do all this for the attention. I don't know though. I've only seen her once or twice, spoke to her for maybe twenty seconds."

There's a pause as Milo speaks again. Lukas' eyebrows flicker upwards briefly; then he folds his arms across his chest, a quizzical quirk at the corner of his mouth.

"Truth be told, Rhya, I think there isn't a lot of anti-Thunder sentiment at the moment, in this city at least. I think as long as we continue on an honorable course, we'll be all right. I suspect you're concerned about Mikhail and the like acting out and ruining it for the rest of us? What exactly has he done to make you worry?"

[Armstrong] "I don't think I'd be able to find one large enough for it to be beneficial," she said. Just bland enough that she might have been considering it as a viable option. The theurge, however, went back to working on her bat.

She did, however, what she normally did when others talked. She kept her mouth shut and she listened; it was almost a trait associated with younger children, or someone who spent a lot of time with people who outranked her. Or, conversely, someone who spent her time biding her time.

It was a terrible habit to have, really. "I believe I've only met Mikhail briefly... anything of importance to know about?"

[Nessa] Speaking of.
The aforementioned sister shows up, all set to use the wifi at the Brotherhood, in the mundane-free zone of the common room; the trench coat she wears is a lovely shadow-blending color, appropriate considering the sensation of secrets she brings into the lower floor of the Brotherhood with her. Her face actually has color in it from some recent effort, still flushed from exertion. Her hair is hmmm. Not perfectly trapped in a bun, anymore.

She heads Straight for the backdoor kitchen entrance, to Jennifer, who has her called-in order ready; waiting isnt good for her tonight. The Large bottle of water is immediately opened and a a portion of it disappears down her throat as she ascends the stairs a few at a time, a plate balanced in her hand.
Mindful of the possibly sleeping garou and kin up there, the door opens with little noise to admit her in like manner.
She blinks once, then smiles suddenly, too sunny to be anything but very far from EmoNessa last night.
"Privyet, my brother, tribesmates!" There's a seat and she takes it with the physical pleasure of one who has earned a chance to sit.

[Milo] "He allowed himself to be controlled emotionally by a kin, to the point of attacking another Garou outside of the challenge and trying to drown her in his entrails, for one. Threatened her life, for another, terrorizing her. I think he has grown. Matured. He understands the flaws of his past and his weaknesses. I just hope that he has learned his lesson deeper than abstract understanding, and similar actions don't arise for the Sept's attention to fall on," shaking his head, "As for now, she's directly under my protection. I hope to find her a mate that can handle her better than Mikhail did and still maintain her interest."

A moment's pause, his attention moving to the wolf that has made its way into the room. He retains a better control over his stance for the lupus. That bearing his rank, and his eyes fall on the scars across the Garou's face with a noticeable level of respect- almost fascination, but he keeps too firm a control of his emotions to let it creep in. His one leg moves toward Andrew in what might be taken as a greeting, though he seems to be less instinctual and primal in his motions than other Garou might. Homid, but trying to accommodate him.

He ventures a glance and full smile, a rare expression for him, toward his sister. "Privyet, sistra."

[Armstrong] (skip me, questions!)
to Andrew, Lukas, Milo, Nessa, sunglasses

[Andrew] His ears lay back in a relaxed pose. He takes a step into the room somewhat tentatively. Large head swiveling around. Nose twitching. His breathing sounds heavier as it rushes past the rubber ball that juts from his mouth.

The appearance of Nessa may be a sudden surprise to some, but the wolf seems to have heard her on her way up. His nose twitches once or twice and he seems to look at her a little longer than neccessary before his eyes move on.

The scent of the carved wood is powerful, reminding him of the forest. He takes a few moments to enjoy it. His jaw relaxes slowly and with a heavy thud the rubber ball slips from his snout, bounces once, twice-three times and rolls a few feet before coming to a stop on the carpeting. His head dips and he nuzzles the spit slick thing, pulling it back to him.

[Lukas] I hope to find her a mate, Milo says. The corners of the Ahroun's mouth turn up. "I hope you're not waiting for me to volunteer."

Milo's attention goes to the newcomer, whose claws Lukas can hear ticking on wood. Lukas turns as well, studying the scarred wolf for a moment before taking a step to the side, implicitly including Andrew into their conversational circle.

"Fell-Prayer-rhya, this is Dances-on-Fire-rhya, Fostern Theurge of the Children of Gaia. I believe you may have met briefly at the moot. Dances-on-Fire, this is a Fostern of my tribe, and your moon."

[Nessa] There;s a sandwich with what smells like grilled somethings on somethings with somethings, but no meat. Feta, though, the strong, pungent smell reaching out to slap those who appreciate the cheese into hunger-states, potentially. Nessa sets the sandwich down and slips the trench off her shoulders, has some sort of wrap-around dress in black knit, boots which disappear under the hem of her skirt to parts unknown.
Settled again, she doesn't speak, as she starts to snack with all evidence of great hunger, though she does offer the man beside her half of her food, this man whose features hint at her own.

[Milo] "Do I question your wisdom?" Shaking his head again, the edges of his lips raise in a light smile at his answer to Lukas' first words, the expression very much matching Lukas' own.

Again his attention returns fully to the wolf. "Yes, well met Dances-on-Fire-yuf," taking another step toward the lupus, squatting down so that their eyes are on the same level, his chin held straight out toward the lupus. The gesture is more practiced, obviously a mirror of actions examined in more primal Garou, especially when his head comes forward to move closer to each side of his scarred and pitted muzzle.

[Armstrong] There was a particularly potent group of garou sitting in the floor, and then there was Nessa. Mrena looked up at her and offered a slight grin, a little nod, and that seemed to be enough for now. And, at that moment, Mrena started to clean up her mess. When she stood up, wood shavings fell to the floor. She smelled like wood shavings. She tasted like wood shavings. As far as White Eyes was concerned, she felt like the forest without really intending to.

An unintended consequence, really. She looked at Andrew, shooting him a slight smile that seemed more born of familiarity and pleasantry than anything else.

[Lukas] Lukas lowers his head on a quiet huff of a laugh. When he raises his head again, he's still grinning. It's an unexpected expression, perhaps; it's rare enough within the pack, rarer still without. It doesn't necessarily make him look younger because, let's face it: Lukas is young by human standards, and Lukas is no longer young, no longer a cub but a full-grown Ahroun, by Garou standards. It does, however, give a startling insight into Lukas' charisma -- his good humor. He's likable, or he can be. More than that: he's a good guy. Or he can be.

"I'm going to get another apple," he says, pretty much to everyone. "You guys want one?"

[Nessa] She is just about to take a second bite, having washed the first down with liquid in the bottle held by her three fingered hand, two of which are missing.
The wolf-- and his ball- rubber ball-- catches her eye.
He's got a stick too.
Nessa's teeth snap shut in surprise, in SILENCE, which has got to be hurting rather badly, from the warmth flooding into her face.
She does nod, though, at the offer of an apple. Apples dont' have fingers.

[Nessa] (Edits out "sticK" mention, but the ball pretty much is great all on its own)

[Andrew] The heavily scarred (and minorly dented) wolf edges forward towards Milo. Eyeing him curiously out of the periphery of his vision, he pads slowly up to stand alongside the man. Like two ships docking, or frigates lining up their guns, he pulls in alongside and takes his customary sniff of the man. His own rear-end isn't hidden. All very natural to his kind. After a moment of sniffing, he sidles back a bit and not-really-but-sort-of meets the man's eyes out of the corner of his own.

Then, greeting apparently done with, he chuffs, shakes his head, ruffles out his fur a bit and trots back over to his ball. Nudging it with his nose, nipping at it a few times with his short front teeth. His head turns to Milo though, and his ears prick with curiousity as he dips his body. "A mate?"

[Armstrong] You guys want one?
"If they have red ones, yes," White Eyes' statement was coupled with a slight nod. She was mid arranging of newspapers. She was, however, amassing a lovely little pile of wood shavings as she did. Clean up was methodical.

[Martin] It would be nice, it would be grand, it would be better for his health if he could remember what it was that he and Lukas had so politely and in such gentlemanly fashion discussed when the younger of them followed the older and far more anesthetized into the men's room not even five days ago. As it stands really all he knows is that he was supposed to tell Katherine about his problem, and he left her a note, and now things haven't cleared up any more than they would have if he had just left well enough alone.

If asked, he won't say that he hasn't entertained thoughts of liquidating his assets and moving to Argentina or Japan or something. Christ, he'd stick out like a sore thumb in Japan but at least he's short and he speaks the language and the Japanese are polite and will put up with a lot of shit from foreigners so long as he does not go out of his way to insult one of them.

That said, he wasn't planning to come to the Brotherhood tonight. He had been planning to stay at the bar and drink, but then he started to get it into his head that the only real place he could go after this was back to the apartment, back to his roommate, and after the way he woke up the morning after Lukas dunked his head in the john he finds himself limiting his exposure to his roommate for reasons he can't quite figure out.

Something to do with Kleenex.
His mind's a bit fuzzy right now.

He comes in the back door like he had been instructed to do for the Kin meeting earlier this month. Not because he doesn't want to scare any human customers who might be here but because that's the side of the street that he came in on and he's too drunk to find his way around the side. So here he is.

Lucky for him Reuben isn't in the kitchen or he'd be in a world of hurt, likely.

[Milo] Milo holds up his hand, shaking his head no, to Lukas' question after the quick and dirty interaction with his fellow Theurge and Fostern.

The black-clad mystic then takes a seat next to his sister so that he can see where White Eyes and Andrew are sitting and padding respectively on the floor, but remain close to her, taking her up on the offer of food. Taking a large bite out of half of the sandwich, he leaves the rest for her to finish as he takes a long swig from the brewery's beer that has remained in his left hand.

The grunted and huffed question from Dances-on-Fire coaxes a simple nod. "A kin of our tribe. Admittedly, she's shown herself to be trouble- without really trying. I believe she has a lot to offer. She regards tradition as important, even though I've had to point out to her it can't simply be turned on and off at her leisure. My heart goes elsewhere, so I hope to find her a mate that can teach her the duties she is expected to fulfill and still keep her wandering interests in check."

[Lukas] Lukas is coming down the stairs as Martin walks in the back door.

You'd think -- after shoving the man's head into a toilet, holding it under for nearly half a minute, and then flushing; after doing this, because the other had had the galls and/or stupidity to disobey a direct order involving the other, and a certain blonde packmate --

you'd think after this, Lukas would show some reaction to see Martin again. Something like anger. Or irritation. Or shame. Or, hell, a bully's smirk.

Instead: nothing. He glances over as the door opens, as Martin comes in. And he smiles, the sort of polite smile-of-greeting people who were not strangers, but were no more than distant acquaintances, give each other.

"Hey Martin." His feet are bare; he's in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Undershirt. He doesn't mind the cold tile floor as he stands with his back to the kinsman, picking Red Delicious apples out of a basket. "Want an apple?"

Whether the answer is yes or no, the Ahroun flips one over his shoulder in Martin's direction. Either the other catches it -- or it thunks off the wall and rolls under a counter for Reuben to curse at later.

[Armstrong] "Many view traditions as only observable when convenient. It's unfortunate."

The statement came while she was pouring wood chips and saw dust into the middle of the pile of newspapers. She gave something of a nod once all was said and done; it was interesting to look at the amount of wood that she must have taken off of the block to get it to where it was. The figure was already small; she must have taken off half the wood, whittling it away to what it was now.

Mrena folded up the newspaper and let it stay in a nice pile for the time being, she would put it all up in a moment. "But if she's trouble without trying, I would love to see what she does when she puts in an effort."

[Nessa] Nessa's dark eyes follow Lukas until he is away from the common room and the door is closed behind him; she says nothing, perhaps because her mouth is full of meatless Moroccan sandwich special.
All in all, nothing about her says.. 'flush me now'. She might even keep her control tonight, as long as no one sets her off. Again. For all she is quiet, her right leg, crossed over the other and encased in black leather boot with a vicious sort of heel, sort of bounces slowly in place, and the bun of her hair is nearly free. One long has already escaped, curling a little, not tame. Like her.

[Martin] (Athletics+Dex: I Love Dice. +2 [profound drunkenness].)

[Martin] Compared to yesterday--which Martin really wouldn't know anything about, considering where he spent his evening and in what state of mind--the streets of Chicago are quite a bit warmer, quite a bit easier to navigate. In any case, Martin has retrieved his pea coat and is wearing that instead of the doubled-up suit jacket display he had on the night of the twelfth.

That look hasn't been in style since the mid-1990s. On that infraction alone Martin could have been deigned deserving of a good ass beating, let alone what Lukas did to him.

At any rate, it is Lukas the Executioner himself who comes into the kitchen as Martin is entering in through the back door, and Martin does not immediately turn around and go staggering back out into the night to possibly crack his skull open again. He is greeted as though nothing ever happened--or, as though it did happen and Martin followed through on his end of the bargain--and if Martin had been mad at the time, he doesn't appear to be now.

He has been Kin his entire life. He should have known better than to pull that stunt. And he apparently knows better than to hold a grudge.

Hey Martin, says Lukas, and Martin responds with a "Good evening, Mister Kvasnicka" that is truncated by an apple being lobbed in his direction. It is a blurry red objection in a blurry gray environment, and he just barely gets his hands up in time to keep it from flying past or hitting him in the head.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asks, as though he has never seen an apple before.

[Milo] [ Post around me for a few, please? I'll jump back in soon as I can. ]

[Andrew] He lets out a huff, as though irritated, and flicks his tail with his entire body. Prancing a bit as he goes to pick up the ball and toss it, in a rather awkward motion, with his head. The ball bounces once, twice, rolling across the floor, bouncing off a table, rattling back behind a tv stand. He trots over and pauses only to look at Martin. Swiping his paw at the rug. "Smack the kin around, force works."

[Nessa] (er, that's uh... wolf speak right, Andrew?)

[Andrew] ((yeah Nessa. ))

[Armstrong] "We've had a similar conversation, haven't we?"

She looked at Andrew for a moment, taking the time to finally steal a space on the sectional. And, yes, she had stolen Lukas' spot. Not because it was anything special but, rather, because it was there and it was vacant and it was so very, very tempting. Mrena nestled herself up in the corner of the sectional. She could be absolutely clueless sometimes.

Or, maybe, she was just innocent enough that making statements like that seemed plausible and not calculated. Were she not a Shadow Lord, it might have worked.

[Lukas] "Eat it," Lukas replies, cheerfully enough. Another four or five apples in the crook of one arm, he crunches into the other in his hand. "Come on upstairs."

With that invite issued, Lukas heads up the stairs, his step light and athletic. Once he's back in the common room, he tosses an apple at Nessa, another at Mrena. The remainder he sets on the coffee table, except for the one he's eating.

And he takes a seat on the sectional couch again: nudging Mrena with his knee until the Theurge moves aside. Then he drops down next to her, his shoulder pressed to hers; the casual, thoughtless, comforting contact of packmates.

"I gotta say," he resumes the conversation as though he hadn't left, "I agree with Andrew-rhya, if only as a last-ditch option. Sometimes it's necessary."

[Nessa] Uhoh. Nessa eyes her brother, interjects oh so casually as she pokes a bit of greenery back under th sheltering layers of bread on her plate. Her hand flashes out to snag the apple from the air without looking at it, stuffs a bite Immediately into her mouth to keep it full enough NOT to interfere with the conversation occuring around her.
Sometimes listening is louder than speaking, and far more effective. Odd though- sinking into her self, the trick that often makes her less noticable, can't quite make herself do it. Instead, her eyes are full of energy, alert, watchful, or maybe... just a little feral, as she observes Lukas again, as he enters, speaks.

[Martin] Lukas is very likely going to grow used to the fact that this is how Martin tends to look past sundown: his hair disheveled, his clothing not matching his intoxication, his hands jittering so badly that there are nights when it seems as though he is playing the piano standing up and without an instrument in sight, his gaze either not able to focus on the person in front of him or focusing so intently on the other person that she or he (almost always a she) becomes uncomfortable.

He is not supposed to be drinking tonight. Imogen had been very clear about this. She had been very clear about a number of things this morning, before he left her business card on the dashboard and managed to get out of her car without falling down like he had the night before.

At any rate, Martin looks down at the apple but the sheer volume of stimulants in his stomach is making the apple hideously unappetizing. He holds onto it, though, and walks up the stairs after Lukas.

His perch becomes the wall, where he leans and looks around to see who is here, sniffing as though he has a cold.

[Armstrong] He nudged her to the side, and then the theurge moved in turn. Because, after all, this wasn't her spot. Not only that, but Lukas came with fruit.

The sound of biting into an apple was almost percussive. It was started with a stab, followed but a crunch and snap. She pressed her shoulder into her packmate's slightly. It was a thoughtless closeness, one that spoke of familiarity. Just keeping it warm, she said. To the rest of the world, Mrena was enjoying an apple. That Snow White sense of wonder was gone, to be reclaimed another day with something other than a red delicious that was big enough to almost require two hands to eat.

[Andrew] He looks over at Mrena with a wolfish smile. His eyes half-lidded. His tongue slidesout and along his chops hungrily. Eyes dancing. "You think the conversation is over?" He ducked his head and slipped it behind the TV stand. Turning his head to the side to fit his broad furred head between the wall and the TV stand, snapping his teeth at the ball a few times, before he finally gets hold of it and tugs.

Stuck.

[Ewan Selwyn] (( Places?))

[Lukas] (pretty much everyone's upstairs. post around me, taking care of some stuff here.)

[Ewan Selwyn] ((Thank you))

[Breeze] (Mind if I watch?)

[Armstrong] (I don't mind!)

[Martin] (I told you never to come into the west wing!)

[Lukas] (GEEET OUUUUUTTT!!!)

[Sam] Tromping is best way to describe it.

The sound come from not the lower staircase but the one leading up toward the former and now departed hostess' room as well as the roof access, from where the first sound that of a door slamming shut under it's own weight first emanated. Heavy footfalls report at the size of the being moving down the stairs, a low rumbling quake as though the floor itself creaks away to give him berth, it's heralds the sound of soles on hardwood. He emerges through the door slowly, perhaps given pause at the sound of voices. When he does his lean frame is revealed smoothly, each step effortlessly at ease with the rest of his body's motion. A longsword, old and war worn but likewise well kept and deadly, an obvious heirloom is draped in the crook of one wrist and over both shoulders. The steel plays a symphony of cold and smooth on skin only interrupted by the sleeveless cotton wifebeater stretched over the top of his shape.

The other hand finds a denim band around his waist, one thumb hooking there like talon on perch as he stops near the entry to the common area, surveying the faces quickly.

Counting.

Or counting coup.

[Ewan Selwyn] *There came a sound on the steps as another ascends. Any looking over would see Ewan appear. Stopping at the top of the stairs he looked around the common room.

About 6'3" A bit lanky and bony. Dressed in All Stars, jeans with one knee blown out, thermal undies showing though the hole, a green teeshirt that reads "Solyent green is People". Over it is a Canadian digital cammo jacket that's about 2 sizes too large. A scarf wrapped his neck and lower face, a matching knit cap covered his head and ears, leaving only the strange glassy clear blue eyes showing*

[Armstrong] She looked at Andrew and she just smiled. It was too sweet, too composed, and too put together to be genuine, but Andrew knew better. Of course he knew better. The theurge, however, seemed to take the wise route and take a bite of apple to keep anything stupid from coming out of her mouth.

It was like there was a switch, really. That she could turn off an acrid, acidic attitude just like water. That she could go from biting her tongue and biding her time and (as Raven had described it) playing unkind.

[Milo] Milo looks across the table at his sister when the other Garou speak of the pros and cons of slapping a kin into submission, leaving his own opinion unsaid. The arrival of other Garou, many of whom he recognizes from the recent moot, brings a nod directed a each. It's polite, but nothing more. He continues taking sips from his beer.

[Martin] It is hard to tell whether he would be experiencing more difficulty if he were completely sober, if he were attempting to get by just mildly drunk or just mildly high, or if he did the right think by coming here tonight so headily filled with both that he could be operated on and likely feel very little.

Right now, he is not the smallest person in the room. Right now, he is not the least-experienced person in the room. But right now he is the least-connected, least-recognized person, and as he leans against the wall, eyes pause on Agnessa and Mrena because he has seen them before and he knows who they are, and that is when he begins to wonder what it is that Lukas has asked him up here for.

They're all Lords.

Martin looks to the wolf, to the tall dark-haired fellow, and rather than try to pick his way across the landscape toward a spot on the couch, he remains standing.

[Andrew] He tugs a few times, but his head is firmly stuck behind the TV. He lets out a little whine. The ball, still clenched in his jaws, sqeaks like old leather as he chomps on it a few times. He probably looks somewhat comical. His butt stucking out from behind the TV. His tail swaying with agitation.

A tug. Another tug. The TV wobbles. The stand shakes a bit. His paws reach up and brace. With a loud wooden scraping sound he pushes and finally pops his head free. The ball flips free of his mouth and skitters across the floor, with his snapping jaws right behind it. It takes a bounce or two but he catches up to it half-way across the room.

[Lukas] Andrew is obviously stuck and in distress. Lukas looks around the room and sees a whole lot of don't-givafuck. With a sigh, the Ahroun sets his half-eaten apple down and goes over to the entertainment center.

"Well, don't everyone rush up and help at once," he mutters, grabs the TV stand by the corner, and gives it a firm tug to free the wolf-shaped Theurge.

[Nessa] They were all Lords. Sam, the Coggie wolf on the floor, Ewan. With Martin, they no longer hold the majority, except of course, that they always will.
Nessa's attention, in whatever silence is caused by the entering persons, is briefly set on Martin, who gets a smile of apparently genuine warmth in spite of his impossibly interbred ancestry (poor fella), but uhh.
Even Martin can't compete with a WEREWOLF with a slobbery ball.

[Nessa] (Edit:)
Whose WEREWOLF HEAD is stuck behind a TV.

[Ewan Selwyn] *Ewan withdrew his hands from the coat and reached up to pull off the knit cap with ear flaps and the scarf started to be untwinned from around his head. It's a long scarf and as he did so he watched the plight of the creature stuck then let loose from behind the tv.

A dark brow was raised as he got free and chased a ball. A rather non pulsed look* Hurm....

*Folding the scarf, he slipped it and the cap into his jacket*

[Sam] "I won't." A frown only barely stripes the bottom quarter of his face. The Fenrir holds his pose in the entryway as the kinfolk takes his passage into the room. The long steel reflecting back into the room across his back swings down gracefully after Martin clears by, spinning gracefully on it's flat over the back of his hand and stoping suddenly down at his side like a whippoorwill.

He strides out again from the doorway, opposite the way he came, toward the room he share's with the pack's omega to put away the heirloom.

"What the hell is he playing with a ball like that for anyway? Does he think he's a dog?" Packmates hear the flick of a harrier's head as it takes flight up from a lonely kill now picked clean over the spirit link the Talons gift them with.

It's only a minute or so though and he's back, one hand brushing the long straw yellow hair from in front of his eyes.

[Nessa] Blond, yet another big blond Fenrir, another big Fenrir man. Nessa nods to Sam, but says nothing. Not tonight, nothing to bait her temper.

[Martin] (Post around me, I'll tag in if Martin has something to say.)

[Lukas] Who knows how or what wolfborn Theurges think. Lukas dusts his hands off on the seat of his pants, straightens up, and gives everyone a general nod of goodbye.

"I'm heading out to get some food." Apparently even Lukas can get sick of what the Brotherhood has to offer, day in and day out. This second is to his packmates specifically: "I'll catch you guys later."

[Lukas] (gonna afk for a bit while i take care of some stuff and get some food IRL! might be back later. thanks for the RP, all!)