kurva.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (OK, since moot is still ongoing, let's set this scene pre-moot)

[Sam Modine] (word up.)

[Sampson Musembi] (good!)

[Armstrong] (alrighties! Let's do this)

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine is at the Brotherhood, seated before the fireplace in her Beta's coveted chair.

(there. I posted first.)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (...I WAS POSTING.)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (well i ain't changing mine! *LOL*)

[liar] (*fucking dies*)

[Katherine Bellamonte] (FINE. LUKAS CAN BE SITTING ON HER LAP.)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] It's an ordinary monday night. The weather has turned cold again. When the wind roars in off the lake the windowpanes shudder, as though the house itself felt the chill and suffered for it.

Lukas is in his usual place. He has the usual things accrued around him: a bottle of good red wine, a platter of lamb (chops, tonight: small spades of meat on the bone), a book in his hand.

Also, under his wineglass, which is presently empty: a folded piece of paper; a note.

He looks up when his packmate, whomever it is that first joins him, enters the room. Lukas has dark hair, an olive complexion, but his eyes are startlingly pale-blue in his face. It is only the smile that keeps his regard from being stark, challenging.

"Hey," he says, turns a page. Silence for a while. Then he closes his book and reaches overhead to set it down on the end table.

"Andrea left." And it's simply left at that: the floor opened for discussion, if any.

[Sampson Musembi] Sampson is a RELAXED man. He lies on his back, rather, on the floor, head propped up on his folded arms on the edge of one of the couches. His eyes are lazy slits, feeling, smelling, rather than watching. Listening, with those bigass ears. He does his pack the courtesy of allowing him a scent, his own, rich, full, very exotic, and very male.
The announcement makes his head jerk up in alarm, his eyes open suddenly white in a dark, dark face.
"Oh? That is bad! Terrible! She had such great... muffins!"

[Katherine Bellamonte] At some point he is joined by Katherine, who sweeps into the room in her jeans and an off-the-shoulder but never the rack blouse that hints at the curve of her breasts beneath it without ever giving away more than white silk on white can. It's fitted to drape over her hips and as she approaches Lukas' spot and ushers him around to make some room for her perusal of his food she 'hmms' the news of Andrea.

"That seems rather sudden. Did she say anything to you?"

Katherine samples his wine, bending to read the label.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Nope." Perhaps he should sound angry, or hurt, or -- something other than bland. "You can read her note to all of us, though. I stole it from the bulletin board." He nods at the note under his glass.

And: "Christ, Sampson, did you fart?"

[Sam Modine] "Shame."

Sam has entered from the third floor, an instrument of war over one shoulder. The names carved along it sing the history of it's blade, the song of a true hero's lineage. "She was good to us." He bids his Beta hold the thought as he passes through the room toward his bedroom where the longsword is deposited. It's a quick return trip to the common room however and it takes not even a full minute to once again find himself in the presence of his beta and the two other packmates.

"She seemed fine when she got home. I spent some time with her in the morning." The Modi's shoulders rise in an abvious gesture to the fact that this is the extent to which his knowledge on the subject goes. "I-"

"My god that is entirely disgusting."

Stop. Midstep.

The front of his hooded zip up is pulled over his nose the blue fabric guarding his senses as he moves to take a seat next to Katherine.

[Sampson Musembi] Sampson, nikes, heavy, dark khakis, a shirt from one of the rooms of his packmates-- a male packmate Ahem. Maybe one of them will recognize it. If not, hah! if so, hahhah!
"No. That was Katherine. GOD what have you been EATING?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine, peering down at the piece of paper with a faint stain where Lukas had -- perhaps a tad insensitively -- been using it as a napkin, holds it out before her and, swirling the contents of the glass reads aloud in a what could have been taken for a slightly theatric tone:

"To my guests,

Some family business requires I leave Chicago for the foreseeable future. As such, ownership and full management of the Brotherhood now lies in the hands of Reuben and Jennifer Coltrane. Please (Sampson I will use Truth of Gaia on you so help me, you hound")-- treat them with respect and dignity; it is not only a sense of duty that drives them. My best well wishes in all of your endeavors,

Andrea Locke."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Now that was wicked. Blaming it on the one with Truth of Gaia so we'll never know the truth."

Lukas is ... lazy tonight, almost, relaxed, stretched full length with his head flat on the cushions, his feet propped up on the back of the sectional where it turns a right-angle. His book put away now, he stares at the ceiling. Eventually he reaches out, snags a lamb chop, holds it between his hands as he eats it slowly, almost tenderly, turning his head and plying his teeth to get at the small shreds of meat, like a wolf.

"She was," he agrees with Sam, a little later. "It's a pity."

He falls silent as Katherine reads. There's perhaps a flair of theatricality in her tone, but Lukas either doesn't hear it, or chooses to ignore it. When she's done he's done with his chop as well -- he tosses the bone clattering onto the plate.

"Family business," he repeats, as though the words meant something. The Ahroun sucks his fingers clean, then tucks his hands beneath his head -- the licked one beneath the clean. "I can't imagine what it must be like to know you're the very last of your line, with no children, no mate, no hope of either, ever again."

[Sampson Musembi] Beside Sampson is one of a series of beers, this one being the latest of that brewer-man's creations. The glass is still frosty, save where his mouth has warmed it up, the contents half drunk.

"Truth of Gaia on your ass, fart-woman. YOU fart like you swallowed a Hive, we all know it. Dress yoru ass in fine expensive clothing all you wish, you are still a gassy gassy werewolf! Sam, have you tried this beer? I like it."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] That breaks Lukas' thoughtful mood -- he glances at Sampson, then Katherine, then bursts into laughter.

[Armstrong] she had been in her room for the majority of the day; she wasn't taking too many visitors. That, or Mrena had decided that she needed to focus on her artwork or she needed to prepare for something. Who knew what it was that kept her in her room for most of the day, but eventually she did venture out to see the rest of the world.

And probably eat. If Lukas was out, he may have had food and she wouldn't have to go down the stairs.

So, she had eventually wandered out of her room, sans notebook. Her hair was down, brushed, and out of her face. Jeans were well-worn and paint splattered; her tee shirt had seen better days. She'd been working today- there were smudges and spots that had not been there before; the theurge had come out about in time to catch the end of the reading of the letter.

Mrena plopped herself down near Katherine.
After hearing Sampson, she scooted over a little.

And then? To Lukas. "It's a terrible, lonely place to be. I do not envy her."

[Sam Modine] "I'll ask the last Dancer for you." The tone is somewhere between wistful and dryly humorus. It's at once a joking throway and a true want to be the one at the striking end of that particular blow.

He turns his attention on their omega, the contrat that brings the Unbroken Circle's ends together. "If we can't say something nice, Sampson..." He still grins, it is afterall just a little bit funny. It seems perhaps that Sam is feeling a bit more eased, even normal. He too has been working much of the day, downstairs in two separate four hour shifts. Rounding it out with a workout and a short patrol of the surrounding areas, never straying far from the lake shore today. Perhaps it's this sense of routine that's given him the ability to throw aside the petty differences that marked the past week.

Or maybe it's just this.
The pack.
And the sense of the thing.

If they are human-plus.
Then this is family-plus.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Sampson scores himself a slap to the backside of his head.

Lukas does not get his wine back, Katherine sips from it and passes it along to Mrena, instead -- turning to scowl at the laughter of the Ahroun as if it made him a lesser creature than she. Katherine sets the note with the kinwoman's scrawled farewell back on the table.

"I never knew her particularly well, but you'd have thought she was well pleased enough here." One of the Silver Fang's eyebrows rises, she glances at her Beta quite pointedly. "From what I heard."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] That earns Katherine a brief, furrow-browed glance. Lukas does not deign to answer the comment, no more than he'd deigned to field Sampson's muffin joke. Instead his chest rises and falls with a brief breath.

"You think they have families?" he asks the ceiling; it's not until he continues that his direction is totally clear. "Dancers, I mean. Mates and kin and children; lines of descent."

[Sampson Musembi] "OOH... BITCH!!"It's a yelp of sorts, but he doesnt move when she hits him.
Clearly, he's not Done yet.
" Ahh Lukas, you pleasing Miss Andrea well is not the same at all as her being well pleased here. Mmm ahh not quite Sam, if I can't say something nice, I am Katherine."

Clearly, he's asking for it tonight. Only the raggie in him is keeping the polygamist awake, and only his bond to them is possibly keepign him alive.

[Armstrong] She took the wine glass and used it to hide the grin on her face. The theurge took a drink, then handed it back to... well, she wasn't sure whose it was so she just held onto it for the time being. And then there was time to be thoughtful; a welcome respite, of course. Something that she could use and think about aside from being in her room all day.

"They probably do," she said. "Dysfunctional ones, yes, but I don't think that what they are really dictates a happy homelife. And I don't think they'd probably do the whole "mating" thing."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I'm not sure I even pleased her well," Lukas says, wry. He reaches his hand out for his wineglass, since Mrena wasn't passing it. When she hands it over he sits up, propping himself on one elbow while he takes a deep swig.

And passes it on, to Sam.

"Tell you all the truth, I think I made a mistake there. With Andrea. She was my hostess, not my ... fucktoy. And Christ, was it badly timed."

[Sam Modine] "Rape and pillage only ever gets you so far." Sam ponders, leaning back. A hand opens outward palm flat to the air with fingers spread toward Sampson, 'beer me' the expression says though he continues his line of thought.

"I think they must."

He turns his expression to Katherine, it's fond, that. "I think though that if Katherine and I keep making progress as well as the other night, I don't think they'll be many left." He grins Sampson's way. "Keep it up and i'll let her practice right crosses on a certain skinny legged new moon." He's not threatening, instead the emphasis of the statement seems to be on the second Bellamonte's newfound martial prowess.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas tucks a hand under his head as he lies back again. Tilts his head to look at Sam and Katherine.

"You're teaching her to fight?" And, "He's teaching you to fight?" And, "Huh. I need to learn some things too." He holds his free hand up, ticks them off on his fingers. "I want to learn to bind a spirit. Ignore my pain. And -- what else was there, Katherine; wasn't there something else?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine draws her feet up and folds her arms over her knees, idly tilting her head to rest one cheek against her forearm. Her long, golden hair falls against her shoulder in a silky curtain and at Sam's words she laughs, quietly. "Oh I'm not sure that would be a fair match up, Samuel. After all," she laments with faux-concern: "Consider all that he'd be leaving behind when I thrashed him to death."

Lukas' words draw her head up, she turns toward him.

"I believe you want to learn Truth of Gaia if I'm not mistaken."

[Armstrong] Hand out, and then it made sense. Yep. It was Lukas's. He was the one who normally had food; part of why she had come out of her room. she leaned forward and handed him the wine glass, then nestled back rather comfortably into the couch.

"You, you, and you," she said. indicating packmates with each you First Lukas, then Katherine, and then Sam, "Need to learn to bind spirits. It's really useful. For the entire pack."

A pause.

"I want to learn to be imposing," she said.

Somehow, teaching Mrena to be intimidating did not seem to quite make sense. She was a theurge, and a fairly decent one, but the word "terrifying" did not come to mind upon first glance.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "If you beat him to death," Lukas says, droll, "I want wife +2."

And, after Mrena speaks, Lukas suddenly laughs. Pushes himself up on his elbows and takes an exaggerated glance around. "Do any of us know how to be imposing?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine merely raises her eyebrows at Lukas.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Seriously Sampson, do you have it in your will or something? Who gets wife +2 if you bite the big one?"

[Sampson Musembi] The ragabash hands over his half-drunk beer, rises to get a new one-- or two. Or something. Something will be up there, and drinkable.
He grins at Lukas, shakes his dark head. "Notice, he chooses the pregnant wife! Acutally.. i do mean to talk to you about my wives. Tht is how I got her, you know. My packmate died. We were the same tribe though. If I die, you men inherit my wives, If they will have you. That is my way! That is our way! Of my tribe in Kenya! AHHH be careful! of my third wife! Barmasai. She is... deadly. Also, I think... she might acutallly prefer Mrena. Or, my second wife too. That one DOES have a nice fat ass, does she not?"
There is a pitcher of beer nearby, a couple in fact; Sampson had prepared, has them nestled in ice the way Americans like their beer, even though its very strange, really. He pours himself another, tops off Sam.
"Ok! Acutally, I know how to teachyou to be imposing, Mrena, if you are very, very serious. It is not easy."

[Sam Modine] "Until just now I'd have sworn I could be imposing." Sam's mouth turns downward in mocking disappointment. He takes a long drink from the wine, and another. "Wow," his head cants as the label is lifted to his eyes, "not half bad."

The bottle is passed on to the next in line for it. Two fingers scratch at his scalp before deftly sweeping back golden blonde hairs. The beer is poured for him and he takes it, listening intently to Sampson's comedic explanation of the foreign and far off culture's traditions. "I'd love to have you teach me Mrena. Once Katherine has finished teaching me this gift we can start I'd think." He takes a single long drink and again sets the glass on the table in front of him before leaning to his previous position.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine rolls her eyes at the ceiling above and tosses back her glossy mane, silkily tossing at the Ragabash: "Talking an enemy into a coma is not an imposing skill."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "More cushion for the pushin'," Lukas says, smirking.

Then he sits up for real, swinging his legs off the couch. They have a presence about them, these five, that mark them as a pack. It's in the ease of their association; the way they arrange themselves about the room, the way they talk and look at each other, or don't need to look at each other. It's even in the way Lukas drops a hand briefly to Sampson's shoulder as he straightens, borrowing his packmate's strength for leverage.

"Seriously now: Mrena, I think you should organize a Binding lesson for us laggards that need to learn. Then I'm going to talk to Katherine about Truth of Gaia, and Sam about Resist Pain." A faint, crooked grin, "Anyway, I think he owes me a few whacks upside the head.

"I don't really know anything imposing," he adds to Mrena, "but I can teach you to be persuasive, if that helps."

[Armstrong] "You could teach me to impose upon, but not to be imposing... and Sampson, if you could please refrain from leaving Barmasai to me that would be greatly appreciated," she said with a very sound, distinct nod.

"But I'd love to sit down and teach you all. It should be interesting, besides, after all that is said and done I cans how you guys the fun stuff," she said.

The fun stuff. The idea of something being taught to be damned near terrifying (despite being five foot three inches tall and of a deceptively delicate bone structure) seemed to please her. "And so I might tackle you, Sam, sometime about being intimidating," and then? To Lukas "It may, but I'm ... very persuasive. How else do you think I got into bars in Boston?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "By flashing your tits." Straightfaced.

[Armstrong] "Oh," she said. "Well, that would have been much easier."

[Katherine Bellamonte] "Oh, are we already at the point of the evening when you devolve into crudeness?" Yawned, the Silver Fang stretches.

[Sampson Musembi] He downs this beer, too, right away, a faintly serious expression on his face-- "No wives for Edward or Katherine. They have their duties. Lukas, My first wife. we have been friends since childhood. and I know you will! Honor her, and if you don't suit, find her a new mate of my tribe! Sam, my fourth wife. She is very hot, and wants to be pregnant right now. She is now 18, so she is legal here, with your odd rules. Gaia only knows what will happen, with Chepchumbi and Barmasai. I wish you luck there.
BUT! I will NOT be dying soon. So... hands off. "

TITS?? Sampson nearly howls in laughter.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas' just about to protest that Sampson's not dying anytime soon, so stop being so fucking morbid, when Sampson says it himself. The Ahroun's mouth turns up. None too subtly, he reaches forward to knock on the wooden coffee table.

"No, not yet. Why?" he smirks at Katherine. "Can't wait?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] Pale eyes widen, and the aristocratic features of the Bellamonte daughter twist in mockery.

"Oh, no. Lukas, listening to your stories of charming my gender with your persuasive romance skills is the highlight of my every waking hour."

[Sampson Musembi] "Am I done with that Rite of Binding YET, White Eyes? Though, Man. Sam, Lukas, all those knots you will practice DO have their uses."
His eyes close to slits again, at the same angle as his wide grinning mouth.

[Sam Modine] Sam has gone from interested to decidedly uncomfortable. His pasted smile turns to Katherine first, almost an in joke without any words as to the crude turn the conversation has taken. Then they go back to the drink on the table.

"You know," He begins drinking. "I truly doubt the totem speaks among it's numbers like this." His eyebrows rise up his forehead, a smile crossing his face as his tongue darts out to dry lips wet with the amber liquid. "And I don't know about taking one of your wives, Sampson." Pointed, he does manage to find some humor in the situation. "I wasn't raised mormon. But you can have my baseball cards if I ever pass. You'll have to go get them from my parent's farm though."

His eyes dance round and round the room, taking in the snippets of conversation, of fellowship in every corner. For the most part he's set on being the quiet one tonight, enjoying the simplicity of the gathering. Eventually he does lean in to Katherine. "Big day coming up," quietly. "You ready for the thing?"

[Armstrong] "Probably not, but from what I've experienced, Raven can have quite the beak on him," she said.

She said. Then she had to think for the time being. She looked at Sampson and tried to recall what they had done last. There had been many, many things said. Instructions given, re-given, recanted, recorded and then started all over again. Brought back to the beginning. "Almost, you're ready to field test, Sampson."

She nodded. Then? She looked at Sam, "I didn't know you collected baseball cards."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Now Sam joins the last will and testament game. This makes Lukas grow quiet for a moment, taking the wine bottle as it comes around. While his packmates were drinking from the bottle, he pours into his glass, then sends the bottle on its way.

"You know," he says, "I don't even know what I'd leave you guys. I don't think I have anything, any material possession, that actually matters that much to me." He takes a sip of wine. "Well, I guess you guys can split up my coffee machine and mugs."

[Sampson Musembi] "Leave Sam your black book so he can get a decent date!" He laughs, and pours his manyth beer.
"Ahh, is acutally a matter of honor, My packmates, my brathas, Talons of Horus. My wives would be dishonored, if you did not accept them, and guard our children. This! In accepting me into this pack, is part of honoring me. Though! you could find them new mates, as soon as you can, while you protect them and see to their needs. T
his is why! I have so many wives, for they know I go many places, and three of them are sure to find someone acceptable sooner or later.
Silent Striders, we DO get around! One way, OR! the otha!
Hey! i know! Give them all to Lukas. HE will know what to do with them. HE will dump them on some one else! Better be worthy though. I will be watching! THIS Is how a Ragabash handles his passing! He leaves his BEST FRIENDS LOTS of TROUBLE! HAHAHAH!"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] A short guffaw of laughter. "I don't think Sam wants my blackbook. It's blank. Except for my sister and my parents, and there's no way I'm turning Sam loose on them."

[Sampson Musembi] Sampson very carefully does NOT mention Katherine's slut of a sister as hand-me-down material.
In fact, he is careful NOT to even look in her direction.
BUT. There IS a certain Silence to the Strider.

[Armstrong] "I'd never really thought about this," started with a pause. A pensive moment, really. "I probably should, though."

A grim realization, yes. Then a shrug. Once the bottle came her way, the theurge took a drink and handed it off to whoever would take it. There was that thought process and then soon she found herself mentally going through her possessions and trying to determine what she had that was of any worth.

And then? The complete lack of acceptable males came up. Mrena groaned a little, leaning back on the couch. She wasn't slouching per se, she was just relaxed. "There is a distinct lack of acceptable males here, Sam? what happened to you getting me a date? You and Edward and Lukas were supposed to be on that."

She was, at times, distinctly a nineteen year old girl. "All the ones here are either unacceptable or they smell strangely and, therefore, are unacceptable."

[Sam Modine] "When I was a boy." He nods into his beer. He says this as if they aren't all barely removed from childhood. "My father used to give me five dollars every Saturday when we'd head into town." He smiles as he tells the story. "I would buy two packs of baseball cards for fifty cents each and save the rest." The nostalgia is all over his every movement, every word at this point. "Eventually, summer would come and I always had the money for a new bat and a glove for that year."

"He," The Modi rounds out the story with, "he's an amazing man my father." Lukas and Sampson go back and forth around him and he drinks a bit more. And then Mrena decides to speak on.

"Were working on it. But your standards are near impossible to meet." A throws a wink across the room her way and sets his glass down in favor of another drink fro mthe wine coming his way. Mixing spirits it seems is the theme for the evening.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas listens to Sam's story, even if the Modi was speaking largely for himself.

He listens, and he doesn't reply with one of his own. He doesn't take the spotlight. It's Sam's story that lingers in the air for a moment -- a vivid image for the space of a few seconds. A towheaded boy. Baseballs and catcher's mitts. A midwestern upbringing, pure americana.

And now: a warrior of Fenris. Descended from a land he's probably never even seen.

Sam goes on. Lukas looks into his wineglass for a moment, then laughs under his breath. "Sam and I might've gotten our heads turned around briefly by our own 'dates'." A glance at Sam, somewhere between apology and wryness. "Forgot to worry about yours. But honestly, Mrena, you're better off not dating at all. Find a nice guy at a club and fuck his brains out. Or the art supply store, I don't know." Lukas bottoms-up his wine, sets the glass down. "If you really feel the need to procreate, I'm sure we can find someone to take care of the kid for you.

"Are you guys going to have any lamb chops, or do I have to eat this by myself?"

[Sampson Musembi] "ABOUT TIME, you lamb chop hogger!" Sampson nearly dives into the plate, now that the beta relinquishes his claim to them.
Hes fast, AND he has a big mouth for more reasons than just yakking.

[Armstrong] Her packmates may or may not have been aware of the vicarious pleasure she got from hearing about their families. That when they spoke of them, she was attentive, looked at details and recorded pitch and volume and what-have-you. Maybe they did know, maybe that's why, occasionally, they indulged her. The idea of Sam as a child was an interesting one. It made her nod, made a slight smile come across her face.

And then there was mention of lambchops and she perked up for a different reason. "I would take a bite, but at the rate Sampson's going I might lose a finger and that's inconvenient."

[Sampson Musembi] A lamb chop is flung towards Armstrong. He has confidence in her ability to catch meat.
Men, no.

[Armstrong] Mrena Armstrong doesn't flinch. She didn't flinch when she was seven and she didn't flinch now; it was problematic in some instances. It was, however, the sort of thing that added to her unshakable confidence. Which, at this moment, was not doubted. She did catch the lamb chop with both hands.

We never said that Mrena caught it well.

[Sam Modine] "No," He replies. "I'm good." Insofar as the other things, Sam doesn't even acknowledge them not with the rest here and perhaps not at all, baring the absence of new development.

"Mrena." Sam posits. "Do you really think we can do any better than the rest of us can for you?" there's a chuckle at that, a deep thing that nearly sends up what last he'd swallowed from the now empty glass in front of him. "I mean, you don't even need to turn on the animal to get anybody you want. Imagine if Lukas had that luxury." The Fenrir laughs and chortles his way up and across the room to the pitcher, drawing out more of the resin colored beer within before setting the pitcher back in the ice and turning to face his packmates."

Alright, just one.

Back across and with a few even smacks to the hand of the new moon he snaps up some of the yet untouched meat, taking a large sliver between thumb and forefinger tearing it between teeth.

[Sam Modine] ((that should read: "Do you really think you can't do any better tha nthe rest of us can for you?" ))

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Seriously," Lukas agrees, lazily goodnatured. And then he snags one of the fast-disappearing lamb chops before Sampson devoured them all.

"Sam's got a kinsman though. Thornton, the cop? Maybe you could introduce 'em." Lukas throws his weight back against the couch, grinning, putting his feet up on the coffee table. "That is, if Mrena doesn't mind a guy almost old enough to be her dad."

...as if Lukas were one to talk.

[Danicka Musil] It isn't that she's particularly stealthy, but that the pack upstairs in the common room is ...well, behaving as a family. Or, as Martin and she might have discussed at one point, a study group. They have beer and wine and food, conversation, familiarity, and she has one hundred and twenty-odd pounds treading rather lightly up the stairs. It isn't that none of them hear footsteps coming up, it's that it just probably doesn't matter, probably doesn't instantly silence conversation and jocularity.

The smell is strong, but it isn't perfume or even a person; it's sugared, faintly spiced. Fruity.

Danicka, when she walks around the corner, does not look like she was expecting to see what she sees. Who knows what she expected, but there's a faint look of surprise on her eyes. It isn't that she didn't hear voices when she was walking up; she has the lifted eyebrows of someone who realized about halfway up that it would not be just one or two people reading or watching television but a whole...damn...pack.

She's wearing more casual clothes than usual: her boot-cut jeans are more than a few weeks old, are even starting to fade in color. Underneath her undone revere coat is a red v-neck sweater pulled on over a cream-colored t-shirt. Her hair is down, as usual, and in her gloved hands she is holding a ten-by-sixteen-inch paper box, from whence -- one can easily assume -- the smell is coming from.

Her expression smooths after a moment. No Oh!, no false embarrassment. Danicka's face becomes calm, almost serene, and then she gives a slow smile. "Well. You'll get to eat them still warm, then."

[Armstrong] "It's not a matter of dating per se, it's the ritual aspect of it. You go and you perform and should the ritual be successful you achieve a certain result and I wanna know if I can do it," she nodded. Mrena took a rather hearty bite out of the lamb chop.

The theurge chewed and listened to the discussion that seemed to travel back and forth. The petite Shadow Lord swallowed, then looked at her packmates. Thorton, the cop?

"He's got a really nice color scheme," she said. Like she was talking about a painting. Hell, she was talking about a painting. The poor kinsman had been the object of her dividable attention for a brief moment and then? Those not-blue-not-green-not-brown eyes would end up on the wall above the booths. Andrea wouldn't get to see the mural finished, but someone else would. "And he's not old enough to be my dad... unless he aged really well. If so? It's damnably impressive."

A pause, then a thought. "How old is he?"

[Sam Modine] "We met him," He replies to lukas. "When Mrena did that scarf trick."

The Modi backs away from the plates of food, taking again his seat next to the quiet sister of their absent Alpha. Another sip of his beer and he explains. "Also I might wait on that. The guy's a lost cob and at least thrity, and a cop. If he's a walking talking veil breach i want to limit our exposure." Simply, that. "If not, i'd be glad to set Mrena up wit the old codger. Probably give him a heart attack."

And up the stairs come scents and sounds familiar. Instead of the stairwell though his eyes instantly go to his beta.

[Sampson Musembi] A woman comes, and it is not impossible to see why, or who for. Sampson's smile is entirely lupine as the kinwoman brings food to Lukas's place, though she does not live here.
Probably, the donuts are not actualy for Mrena.

The Ragabash stands, and moves out of Lukas's immediate reach before adding...

Ahh Lukas, lucky man. When a kinswoman brings food to a garou's private quarters, it means-- she wants him to eat something. Have fun! I will go to my wives, and have my Second dinner!

Deliberately raunchy, and Sampson aims it carefully, waits for Katherine's usual dodge.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "He's a hundred and three, Mrena," Lukas replies, smirking.

Perhaps Danicka should feel honored to see the Circle like this: candidly, as an almost-complete unit, at ease in one another's presence. It's not that they're any less a pack when there are outsiders around. It's that they close ranks, instinctively. They put away the smiles, the grins, the off-color jokes, the gentle ribbing; all those things that might mark them as, in the end, little more than cubs.

For a second or two, as she gains the second floor, Danicka sees them as they are with one another. She sees the way they sit in a loose circle (appropriately enough): the tall Strider stretched on the ground, the two women, bright and dark, beside one another at the bend of the sectional couch; the Fenrir sprawled a short distance away to one side, Lukas with his feet up on the coffee table on their other. She sees Sampson stuffing his face, and Sam helping himself to the same; she sees Katherine examining her nails or whatever it is the Philodox did in her idle hours; she sees Lukas smirk as he teases the younger Lord.

Then they hear her. Or smell her. Or smell what she's bringing, or --

There's a sea change, subtle but absolute. Sam looks at Lukas. Lukas' expression neutralizes to nothing. Sampson stands up and walks away; his mindvoice comes across the totemphone and Lukas replies, not rudely, but with absolute finality:

Enough of that, Sampson.

Then Lukas, ever polite, turns his attention to the woman. He smiles, the corners of his mouth turning up.

"Hey, Danička. Want a lamb chop?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (gah! apparently sam is between lukas and katherine. so i guess on the couch it's... mrena-katherine-sam-lukas. arranged around the bend of the couch somehow.)

[Sampson Musembi] "I am going to my wives! Goodnight to you all!"

And with that, the Strider leaves the pack to the tender mercies of the Shadowlord kinfolk, and moves off down the stairs into his own heaven.

[Danicka Musil] The scarf trick, to Danicka, means something completely different than what she's assuming someone -- a voice she doesn't automatically recognize; though she doesn't automatically recognize any of them from the stairwell -- means when he mentions it. She dismisses the thought before she steps around the corner.

Uninvited, unsummoned, she does not immediately enter the space they are occupying, sweeping in and setting the unbleached paper box down on the coffee table. She stands where she is, seeing Garou she has incredibly varied levels of experience with and at least one she has never so much as seen before...who is gone quickly enough anyway. Danicka looks quite calm, considering what she's just walked into. It could feel something like stepping into the center of a bear trap and hoping you're not heavy enough to set it off.

Does she want a lamb chop?

At least two of them cannot believe for a moment that she doesn't pick up on the subtleties, the glance one gives and the mask that slides over the other's face. At least one of them has been outright told that if this woman ever went to Hollywood she would own the town. Only Mrena hasn't spent the time with her, or hasn't heard enough about her -- one may hope -- to wonder just how much she sees. Or hides.

Her smile doesn't change at all. Danicka looks at the Beta of the pack and shakes her head slightly. "Thank you, but I ate." She lifts the box slightly, her attention moving to all of them -- though pausing for a moment on Sam. "Koláče?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine is perched quite comfortably it would appear among her pack-mates, her cheeks flushed an appealing pink as she enjoys the privacy of an intimate gathering of her most trusted brothers and sisters -- lacking of course, the one who was her flesh and blood brother. Then -- Sampson departs and the Circle is lessened -- but no less a force -- by one. Katherine has an arm resting on Sam's knee, her other is idly stroking through Mrena's hair with the edges of her fingers.

Her expression that of a contented feline -- or rather wolf -- as Danicka comes into view and the pale eyes of the Silver Fang rise to meet her. Her fingers curl around Sam's knee minutely, perhaps in reflex, perhaps partly in comfort. "Hello, Danicka." The Philodox greets her amicably enough.

[Armstrong] She was, at that moment, the only one room who did not have the breeding necessary to overwhelm a person with her sheer presence. Her body, her eyes, her posture did not scream that of heroes long dead and gone. If there was a legacy to be had, that legacy would begin with White Eyes.

That, however, was not the point right now. Danicka came in, and the Shadow Lord in paint-flecked jeans let a slight smile cross her face. Ever so polite- something she had learned from observation and time. Now, one had to wonder what kind of young lady she had been before she met her pack; it seemed the Shadow Lord adapted to her company well. Integrated, took what was effective and used it for her own.

The smell of fruit-filled heaven hit her senses before the kinfolk did, and then Danicka- the vision in blonde and soft textures and gentle curves- caught her attention. Red shirt. less-than-brand-new jeans. She's washed them at least twice. The theurge leaned a little into the touch. Subconscious, yes, but more cat than wolf in that sense. There was the distinct impression that the list of people who were allowed to play with her hair was very.. very small.

Koláče?
"What kind?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] A short, surprised laugh escapes Lukas. "Where the hell did you find koláče in this city?" He sits up to receive the box, opening it up to pick one out. Candied-orange filling, if he can find it. Then, leaning back, he passes the box on to Sam, beside him.

"You want to sit?"

[Danicka Musil] The smile she gives to the sole Silver Fang in the room is warmer, suddenly, as she hears Katherine say her name. She looks at her directly, and inclines her head in nod of greeting. "Katherine," she says, her lips spreading to say her name in something not far off from a purr. It's more than amicable, and if there's distance set between any of the gathered Garou and the sole Kinfolk in the room, oh, well. That's as it should be. They're pack; she's not.

Danicka's eyes drift as she steps forward, slipping away from Katherine only after a polite moment of eye contact and finding Mrena. She notes the paint-flecked jeans and the way she wants to be touched, the intrigued attention of her almost surreal eyes, as she is setting the box down on the coffee table and easing the lid off. The smell of pastries, warm pastries filled with fruits, fills the common room. Still leaning forward, reaching up with one still-gloved hand to hold her hair against her shoulder so it doesn't swing forward over the box.

She points, several inches above the pastries, to answer Mrena's question. "Blueberry, candied orange, strawberry, and I put a few cream cheese ones in." She shrugs, standing straight again and beginning to take off her gloves. "They're not my favorite, but some people like them." Her gloves come off of her slim, pale hands and go into the pockets of her coat, head lifting and eyes going to Lukas.

The look she gives him is almost bewildered, as though he just asked her if her eyes have always been that color. There's a slight furrow to her brow. "I made them. I don't buy koláče."

[Sam Modine] Lukas.
The drink.
The floor.

Katherine's nimble fingers squeeze a claw into his knee forcing Sam's head up to the assembled again. She offers kolace and the Beta jumps at it. She's invited to sit. To share in some of the same fellowship as the rest of them. Only right now Sam isn't feeling to much like fellowship. His face becomes an excersize in control.

Flash. It's late in the year in Mass and trees let fall orange and yellow all about the two men walking in the cool New England night. "I like the way you handled yourself back there." One dark and one light, they aren't quite so familiar as one is used to seeing them and won't be for quite some time. "Thanks." The blonde one, with the short hair that spits messy up at angles from the top of his head is sheepish, almost silent. "I'm actually here for someone else, Edward Bellamonte, I want you to meet him."

Now. Sam finally looks up to make eye contact with the kin over the top of his glass, letting it hang in his hand when he's done drinking. "Danicka." He's not overly welcoming at the moment, but he's not asking her to leave either.

[Danicka Musil] [*looks at pidgin, sharpening knives.* you're gonna take a little nap now, little chat program...]
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine's fingers slide from Sam's knee, the pressure released after he greets the Kinfolk rather tersely. It is enough, it is enough for her to straighten up and flick her fair hair from one eye; to adjust her blouse that hung from one shoulder and left the other bare; the definition of her collarbone pronounced as she shifted weight to peer toward the presented box.

"Strawberry, s'il vous plaît."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "You bake?" A short huff of amusement. "Now there's an image."

He sits back: shoulder to shoulder with Sam, a solid wall of rage and breeding, the Ahrouns of the Circle, the bright and the dark.

Sam's quiet. One might say uncharacteristically so, but this is not true: Sam is quiet by nature, shy like a little boy, without Lukas' ability to rattle off entire rants, entire speeches, off the cuff. Without Lukas' ability to handle a tense situation by simply controlling himself, and controlling it. Even at the start, or perhaps especially at the start, Sam was like that. Even now there's a trace of that: he's the most likely, next to perhaps Mrena, to be listening quietly while his packmates bantered; the most likely to be shocked by an off-color comment, a discussion that's slipped into the gutters.

Sam does not need protection. He's a weapon born and bred. But somehow, the way Lukas leans back to sit shoulder to shoulder with him, there's something of a guardian's instinct there. Or at least, a packmate's; a beta's; an elder brother's. It's a gesture of support; a show of solidarity.

"I love these," Lukas says, holding up his half-eaten candied-orange koláče. "It's hard to find candied orange out here. Or any sort of koláče, for that matter." He devours the last of it, dusts his hands off, points at his packmates.

"That's Mrena. And the tall fellow that just left was Sampson."

[Armstrong] (I'll post ASAP, I owe Joey a post so I'm a little slow!)
to Danicka Musil, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine

[Danicka Musil] The question of whether or not Danicka wants to sit hasn't been answered yet, nor the implied offer taken up. She's removing her gloves, which could be a sign she means to stay awhile or else that she is going to pick up one of those pastries as soon as the box has gone around and have one, herself. Her coat is already undone but she doesn't take it off just yet.

She looks at Lukas taking his candied-orange-filled treat -- and Mrena, who seems to know at least something about the pastry, may indeed know that this is not a traditional filling. In fact, it's damn near bizarre to see a half-dozen of the things sitting in the box, right next to more common flavors. Orange, maybe. Even cottage cheese. But candied orange? Is not common. She would have had to make them herself, and then Lukas is saying so, saying it's hard to find them. It's hard to find the pastry at all in this town, and it's impossible to find them done right when the only real way to make them is without a recipe.

It's a family thing.

There's a micro-expression on Danicka's face as the Garou start in on the koláče, as she's observing the Shadow Lord Ahroun, and then she hears her name and turns her head and eyes towards Sam. Her eyes, as always, only meet his for a second or two before dropping deferentially to his cheek. And perhaps he's the only person in the room who has a chance of realizing that eye contact, with Danicka, is not all about being demure...or even being afraid.

"Hi, Sam," she says, fondly.

She'd say something to Katherine now, she really would, except that she's being spoken to again. Or spoken at. She cocks her head and lifts an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "Yes," she says a bit dryly, in amusement, "I bake. I cook, I clean, and you should see me darn a sock." She sounds faintly sarcastic, but with that undercurrent of laughter, and it's hard to tell if she's kidding or not. Her gaze turns back again to Mrena and she lifts a now-bare hand to give her a small wave and another smile.

Danicka shrugs out of her coat, folds it over her arm, and walks over to the sectional couch to sit.

By Lukas.

[Armstrong] (may as well try and catch it!)

[Sam Modine]

[Katherine Bellamonte]

[Katherine Bellamonte] (oh, boo you wh0re, dice)

[Danicka Musil] The microexpression: For a literal split second when Lukas is saying "I love these", Danicka's trying not to smile. Like, there's a look in her eyes and around her mouth THAT FAST. It's pleasure, but it's also some serious amusement. If it ever got more than a fraction of a second of time on her face she'd be glowing. Maybe laughing.
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte

[Sam Modine] He doesn't have any of the sweets. Sam it seems isn't in much of a position to anyway. He shrugs it off when she never quite looks at him. Not in the eyes. Not even when-

just never.

It's almost painfully obvious he has a harder time keeping things even than his packmate does. But he tries, he tries hard. So hard he won't take candy for fear he might actually like it and if you like the candy then it's patently simple that you and your packmate will end up drawing blood from one another's vitals all too soon. "Hi." His own hand travels to the lowermost of Katherine's thigh when the kinwoman takes her seat. Strong hands taking silent reassurance that the Fang is still there.

[Katherine Bellamonte] There is no real reason why Katherine should be focusing on Danicka rather than securing the strawberry pastry out of the box. However -- as the greetings are made and ravenous Garou begin to devour the sugary delicacies the Philodox's gaze flicks between her pack-mates and the Kin woman she remembers from childhood. So there her eyes happen to hold as some tiny expression registers on Danicka's face and passes on.

Katherine blinks with a slow, thoughtful motion and her lips curve as though she found some kind of humor in what she had witnessed before she secures her pastry and leans back, bracing one palm beneath the crumbling snack and sinking her sharp teeth into it, chewing with her blue eyes on Danicka.

Sam's hand on her thigh, she pushes her shoulder against his own, flush so that warmth floods between them at the point they touch. It is reassurance, it is tactile communication between pack-mates. "Magnifique," Meridian's Truth daintily cleans her fingers off.

"You are quite the wonder."

[Armstrong] Theurges, by nature of what they dealt with, had a host of knowledges that were considered absurd or obscene by normal standards. She didn't know much about the pastry, but she did know enough to know the basics. What she could and could not get in Boston, even if she had asked nicely. Even if she asked not-so nicely.

And she knew, for a fact, that candied orange anything was a pain to find. Unusual in so many senses.

That was neither here nor there, though. She looked at the pastries again, sitting up some and looking at Danicka. It was like the paint, the connection, the everything made her seem more real. Silvery eyes took in details, going from Danicka's mouth to her eyes. Color, texture, sound, all of it. A brow raised. "Mind if I steal a blueberry?"

Steal, yes. Because Mrena had no intention of giving it back. Once given the okay, she did lean forward and take a pastry. The deceptively innocent creature inspected it quietly before taking a bite. Sam goes for Katherine's thigh, and her pale grey eyes go from their previous point of interest to her packmate.

He was tense.
In a way.
She could understand.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] It'd be a blatant lie to say it does not affect him at all when the object of Sam's desire, or at least discomfort, sits beside him. But he does not leap to his feet. He does not snap at her. He does not move toward her, or away.

There's a faint tensing in him, so brief that only Sam, sitting right beside him, really has a chance to notice it. Then Lukas pops another koláč in his mouth as the box comes around again, and takes another one for later while it passes on.

"Well," he says, rather blandly, "I'll keep that in mind the next time I wear a hole in my sock or pop a button off my coat." The other one goes down the hatch -- he's pretty much clearing his way through the candied orange ones.

All the same, it's clear that the Circle has closed ranks. Sam is sandwiched between two of his packmates now -- one of whom knows damn well what's troubling him, and is half the cause of it himself; the other who doesn't quite know the details, but perhaps, by now, can intuit.

"So," Lukas continues, "what brings you all the way here? Just came to deliver a few koláče?" His tone shifts subtly; suddenly there's a hardness beneath the lightness, like a knifeblade abruptly revealed. "Say 'hi' to Sam, make friends, influence people, all that?"

[Danicka Musil] They all partake, except for Sam, and while one or more of them may be wondering if this too-pretty, too-calm, too-sweet Kinswoman infused the fruit fillings with rat poison or laxatives, the pastries taste delicious, especially while still somewhat warm. Danicka notices that he doesn't take one, but if she has even a small reaction to that, it's dismissed when Katherine praises her. Danicka smiles, delighted, even though what Katherine says may mean more than the surface impression most people would take from the words.

"You don't have to steal anything," Danicka says to Mrena. "I brought them for your pack." Your. Not even 'the'.

In a room filled with so much Rage it's a wonder her hands aren't shaking, Danicka chooses to sit herself not by the smallest of the lot, the most unthreatening, but also a member of her Tribe. Oh no. She goes to sit next to the Beta, the Ahroun whose very presence makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and not in a good way. She goes to sit beside the one who may very well have the most reason to dislike her, be angry with her, want her to go away. She sits on the sectional, her coat laid on the cushions to her right side, a few spare inches between the left side of her body and the right side of Lukas's.

They've closed ranks, and she stays anyway. Maybe she doesn't notice it: the tensions, the quietude that has followed her entrance, the shift in their mannerisms. Maybe she doesn't realize that she could very well have taken something away from them when she brought in the koláče. Maybe.

A wonder.

Danicka pauses, then turns her head to look at Lukas, at his cheekbone, never even bothering to meet his eyes for the scant second-and-a-half she usually gives Garou before dropping. "Actually," she says softly, embarrassed, something private called out into the 'open', "I came to talk to Sam." She gives a thin, sad smile. "Just thought the koláče might help."

The candied-orange koláče.

[Danicka Musil] [Manipulation + Subterfuge: Oh my god, it's full of shit.]

[Sam Modine] Sam gives Lukas a look, short but a little pained. 'Careful' it reads plainly. Not of him so much as for her. Perhaps it's the folly of a mind that can't comprehend properly anymore what it was to be mortal. Who doesn't remember that not being invincible doesn't mean fragile. That kinfolk are not glass ornaments replete with hearts and minds.

They're people.
Like we used to be.

It's springtime now and outside the Bellamonte Estate one can see lavender and roses bursting into exisitence from the comfort of the sitting room. "Because," comes a voice from the other room. It commands respect without even seeing it's owner's face. Such is the benefit of their lineage. "I said it and it is final. Edward we will not have this talk again." The young blonde man stands up, he's wearing a tie, something he's only done four times in his whole life right to this point. The voice's owner rounds into the room's large entry way and appraises firs him and then his company. "Katherine. Would you care to explain to me why this mongrel is in my household?" Pride turns into anger which only flashes over the young man's face and in only the quickest succession Katherine is there to defend him. "This is Samuel Mod-"

But that isn't enough, she's cut off abruptly. "I asked why. Not who, Katherine. See him to the door, now."


In the present The modi takes refuge between the two packmates, Sam listens intently to the banter between the rest, still not electing to speak. He does however respond to the answer of Danicka's doings here at the late hour by leaning forward fully in the chair, his face a mask of Utter confusion. 'Me?' 'Really?'

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Ah. My mistake."

Perhaps he should be faintly ashamed of his rudeness. Katherine is an aristocratic bitch; everyone knows it. She's even a bitch toward Lukas, toward her own brother. Her comment -- and whatever double meanings it may have carried -- was only expected. Lukas, however, makes a point of politeness.

Usually, anyway.

If he's ashamed, though, it doesn't show. If he's ashamed, it's far outweighed by his sense of duty and loyalty. Danicka's a person; this is true. She has hopes and fears, and while he knows little of the former, he knows the latter starkly enough. Danicka is a person -- but Sam is a packmate. If Lukas is ashamed, perhaps it's as much because he wishes his sense of duty and loyalty were firmer, and more lasting, when he wasn't in Sam's immediate presence.

At any rate, Lukas reaches over to whomever held the box at the particular moment, takes two more candied-orange koláče, and gets up. There's one lonely orange koláč left in the box, and if it's still there when he gets back, he'll probably eat it then. Transferring both sweets to one hand, he digs his keys out, tosses them to Sam.

"I'm going to take my dishes downstairs. You two need a private place to talk, mi casa es su casa. The brass key opens my room door."

With his now-free hand Lukas gathers up his glass, his plate. There's one lambchop left, which he offers around in general. Then his footsteps thump their way down the stairs, down to the kitchen.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine's eyes guide to Lukas as he talks to Danicka -- or talks down to Danicka -- as the case appeared to be, she was not ignorant to the tension in the room -- how suddenly small it must have seemed to the lone Kinfolk, seated with an entire pack short two of its numbers with the moon rounding toward its fullest state. Not yet, though, it was not quite their moon yet and she was fortunate, Danicka, that it was not.

"Maybe tonight is not the best time, Danicka." Cuts in the Philodox Silver Fang, with a half-eaten pastry in one hand, her other sliding down against the gap between her body and Samuel's, as he leans forward. Katherine does not seem put out by any of the conversation at hand, but rather there was almost a touch of resignation to her words. She would, of course, leave the final decision to Sam -- his call, her brief touch to his knee spoke.

Katherine's eyes though -- they follow Lukas, most acutely.

[Danicka Musil] The only person in this room Danicka does not have some terribly striking memory of is the lovely, soft, slightly spacey-seeming girl at the other end of the couch, the only person in the room whose existence does not push Danicka to the bring of her own ability to control herself, to breathe normally. She's not looking at Mrena right now, though, but at the spot just below Lukas's right eye. By the time he speaks, rudely, and gets up just seconds after offering her food and a seat, her gaze has shifted to the man she apparently came to see, just past one Full Moon to the Other.

One Full Moon gets up. There's keys, and he's stealing his favorite pastries of the lot while Danicka is giving Sam a couple of small nods. About to open her mouth to say Yes, Katherine speaks and Danicka immediately looks up and over at her. Hesitation comes over her features, and she slowly looks from the Alpha's sister to the Beta's...brother.

There's empty space between her and him, where Lukas was.

"Is it a bad time?" she asks him, rather gently.

[Sam Modine] Everyone speaks, it seems like all at once. Everyone asking and answering questions. Katherine was still there, his rock at times in return for him being hers. His defense to her strength. "I don't know, I think i'll be-


"Alright." he begins, leading the newest member of their pack through the penthouse that had recently come to be their home. "You can sleep in here," His powerful hand swings the door to the bedroom open, "You'll be bunking with Dylan, who you'll love." The Modi looks down at the dimunutive creature before him. This he'll later remember as the first time he ever really looked at her. Not true, it's merely the first time he's really seen Mrena Armstrong. "You really think you and Katerina can find The Talons of Horus."

She smiles and reaches up to take a ring of his shaggy blonde waves between fingers. "I'd like to drah you somtime." Her thickly non-rhotic accent touches his ear. "Your haiah reminds of the sun comin' up ahhf a statey's cah." He laughs as she does it, eventually taking her hand out of his hair and setting a duffel bag into it and directing her toward where she could keep her things.


Now though he can only quizzically give Danicka the once over. Placing his own palm over the back of Katherine's hand with a pat slow. "I think. If she only wants to talk i'll be fine." He looks back to Danicka almost completely unsure, "right?"

[Armstrong] There was a significant portion of the interaction that Mrena did not understand, be that by a lack of information or simply from being clueless. but she had learned many things in her time around her packmates. She had learned when it was time to keep her mouth shut and when it was time to say something.

For now, she kept her mouth shut, and she watched. White Eyes was, is, forever may be an observant creature, no matter how short that forever could be. It could have come from her desire to know.

But, at that moment, the theurge had finished off her pastry- she was the least physically imposing one there. The one without over-whelming rage. But, she was creative. And she was observant. And she had to be out the door before dawn.

but for now? The other shadow lord just held her ground. Shook her head no when offered a lamb chop, and held her ground rather comfortably.

[Armstrong] (why you gotta lie like that, dawg?)

[Armstrong] "if there is something I have learned in my time in Chicago," she started. There was something in her voice that was...

Different.

This was not the way that Mrena spoke to kin, not normally. Not at all, come to think of it. And while Sam did not recognize the words when she had first said them, he would recognize the tone. The theurge had used it before, and he had been holding a screaming, writhing, agonized bane in his mouth at the time. Now? he understood the words.

And that voice, unaccented and unadorned, was perfectly clear. "It is that many, many Shadow Lord kin in this city have a tendency to downplay a lot of thing. Their actions, their intentions... and they believe, whole-heartedly, it seems, that only telling prt of the truth, or only telling half the story is not a lie."

There was a pause, and she stood, pastry in hand still, and silvery eyes filled with the kind of scrutiny that was hard to really avoid. And Mrena? For all her lack of breeding and rage, was a creature beyond contempt. That her innocence, that her lack of size, that everything about the lovely young lady was an asset. A tool, an advantage. she presented herself as though she held no flaw.

But she saw so very, very many.

"Did you know we're a pack of seven?" she asked. Her tone almost conversational. "Seven. It's astounding... and the likelihood of someone, no matter how skilled, deceiving all of us, is slim."

A beat.

"I have some questions I would like to ask you Danicka, I would appreciate it if you got comfortable."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine merely nods, when Sam pats her hand. She turns her head and looks at Mrena for a beat, there is some unspoken conversation between the two female pack members, as a moment later the elegant figure of Miss Bellamonte rises from the sofa cushions with a flex of lean muscle. She stretches to her toes and down again, turning to hold a hand out to Mrena.

"Then we shall leave you to it. Come, Mrena. You have a drawing of me to begin."

Imperiously, Katherine looks to move away when Mrena begins to speak suddenly, and there is surely something there that causes the Philodox's body to straighten, that has her turning a small semi-circle to look directly at her Theurge for the entire length of her speech with an expression that turned from interest, to speculation, to a shade below impassive. One might have labeled it the Silver Fang's game face. She turned her profile toward Danicka, but her words were only for Mrena.

"Mrena, shall I remain?"

[Sam Modine] Wait.

It crackles instinctively over the otherwise silent line of communication between all of them. His hand clasps Katherine's Pulling her back toward the couch. Eyes flit from White Eyes to Danica and back again. "What's wrong, Mrena?"

As of late one might think abject confusion Sam's 'game face'. Truly though one is hard pressed to find anyone who's seem his true version of the set of expressions Katherine makes now from Sam Modine who can tell the tale in anything but their position in a trail of the dead. After he speaks his eyes go back to the kinswoman, appraising her much more seriously this time.

"What's she talking about Dani?" His hand, fingers, powerful squeeze own over Katherine's fingers, his face turning a rather striking shade of crimson.

[Danicka Musil] The conversation goes on around her. They're blatant about it: Lukas getting up and walking away, handing Sam his key even though all three of them know which of these rooms is private and unoccupied. Lukas being rude to her. Katherine does it the best, with her gentle suggestion to Danicka that now, that here, might not be best. Then again, Katherine is the only one that Danicka guesses was ever taught these little things, social graces and how to use them and how vital they are. Lukas is almost unflinchingly polite...but it's not the same.

Sam sits right there and seems nervous, as though it's all right, he'll be all right...as long as all Danicka wants to do is talk. She's tipping her head to the side slightly, her eyebrows drawing slightly together at these words, at his uncertainty, at his open and strangely vulnerable confusion.

Of course, she might answer, and yet she doesn't get that far. Mrena, nearly silent til now, speaks up out of nowhere. She doesn't immediately look away from Mrena, but on the chance that the woman is addressing her packmates, Danicka quiets herself in case Sam is the one who will need to reply to the little woman. But then she goes on, and says the word kin, and the only one in the room who fits that bill slowly turns her head from the opposite arm of the couch and looks with mild, polite curiosity at the teenager.

"Come out, Danuška."
She whimpers, shaking her head. "No."
"It's safe."
The tears are still rolling down, her eyes on the wall and not on the man. "No."
"I'm all right. See? All safe."
Every bone shakes, until he thinks she's about to break apart at the joints, her lips quaking. Afraid her teeth are going to chatter so hard she bites her tongue, he starts to reach in physically to pull her out of the crawlspace. And she shrieks, slapping her hands over her mouth as quickly as she can to stifle it, new tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes, rolling down past her jaw and along her throat.
She doesn't say it this time, doesn't whimper, but closes her eyes and shakes her head almost violently: No.

The tip of her tongue presses into her incisor, a slight tension of her jaw to allow the muscle to move. She listens to Mrena silently, her face otherwise placed as a lake on a windless day...like none of the water here becomes. So the water has to be frozen, to be that still. To run that deep. Danicka's jaw relaxes, as though she was wiggling something out from between her teeth as politely as possible in mixed company. She shakes her head, no she didn't know that it was seven, and oh my yes, seven, that's a large pack.

Deceiving all of us.

Her pretty brow furrows again, her mouth twisting down, wincing almost with a mixture of hurt and bewilderment. "All right," she says slowly, clearly at a loss. Her eyes flick to Sam and she shakes her head, giving him a simple I don't know look before turning back to Mrena.

"He..."
"I know."
"You're pale."
"Tatínek?"
"Hmm?"
"I need to sit down."
"All right..."
"And then I'm going to need to throw up."

[Katherine Bellamonte] (Empathy + Perception)

[Katherine Bellamonte] (oh, I hate the dice so...)

[Armstrong] (reflexive empathy: because noticing doesn't mean you care

[Katherine Bellamonte] (the chat scared me.)
to Armstrong, Danicka Musil, Sam Modine

[Armstrong] "I may need you here," she said. "Though in what capacity I am not sure."

her hand was in Katherine's briefly, only very briefly. And that desire for contact was clearly broken- fur bristled, as it were. Clear enough that Danicka- the young, beautiful, observant Shadow Lord kin could see the change in demeanor.

And Mrena had no idea that Danicka was fighting to keep herself composed. And, well, maybe White Eyes did see it. But there was no indication. Nothing in her body posture, nothing in her demeanor, nothing. She just looked at her kinfolk with the highest degree of scrutiny. And suddenly those silvery eyes were at once beautiful and unnerving, soft lips and rounded cheeks beautiful and loathsome.

"Now, I'd like to explain something to you, and this is very important so I need you to listen to me. Listen and not hear, Danicka, is that understood?" A rhetorical question. "There's only a few reasons why I can think that you would behave the way that you have. You either want something from someone, and you have learned that, over time, you can do what is necessary to get what you want. Or-" the theurge took a bite of blueberry pastry, swallowing before she continued. "You are here because someone else wants something."

What's wrong, Mrena?
"She's been playing us, Sam. You, Katherine, Lukas... feel free to interrupt me and prove me wrong, Danicka," she continued on. It was almost terrifying that a young woman so lovely, so sweet, so downright amiable easier could be so cold. "But, it is my duty to protect my packmates. And maybe it's because I'm getting old, or I've seen too much and I'm just jaded, but I can think of a few reasons that you may be playing these sorts of games..."

She trailed off, but picked up. "And maybe I am jaded, but those reasons I came up with aren't necessarily the most accurate, but better safe than sorry. So, it is in your best interests that you tell me exactly why you want to speak to Sam and what your intentions are. And, please, be as detailed as you can, because I have a feeling that you won't like what I come up with if I have to fill in the blanks."

[Danicka Musil] [Willpower: Oh Jesus, Danny Boy, don't you DARE...]

[Katherine Bellamonte] These are the times when Katherine truly comes into her own.

There are many flaws in Meridian's Truth. She is not the most gifted of her Auspice (no matter her personal views on that front) she has not quite mastered the art of utter calm in the face of personal slight. She is but a Cliath in the eyes of her world and she has far, far to climb before she reaches the summit of her own impossible desires. But she is the law-keeper, it is born into her to see through all the veils of the possibilities of a thing and find that one solid point that can be cemented as fact.

here is fact, I can make sense of all with this tiny truth

There is certainty in White Eyes, whatever she has glimpsed she is utterly certain. It does not take much for Katherine to assess this and she has stood back to back many times beside that woman in times of combat, in times of need -- in short, she has no cause to doubt the words of her pack-mate. But then --

Fingers gripping her own, tiny muscles around the slender blond's mouth contract, she grimaces just barely at the restraining (don't leave me) force of an Ahroun's raw need for her balance.

you must become the scale, Katherine Bellamonte, whose truth do you judge here, whose need is the greater?

Danicka is not hers. And yet -- clear eyes, keen eyes of Falcon study the girl and study her hard, her jaw sets tight and yet she feels -- she can feel as acutely as she can feel the throb of her fingers in Sam's crushing grip. "Danicka, we have known each other for a long time, have we not?" A tight smile, barely there before it leaves. "I don't wish you harm, and I promise you are quite safe here. Mrena, myself ... " She hesitates, breathes out gently, softly. "We sometimes over-think our reactions. But there are reasons why we must ask these things."

[Sam Modine] Samuel- no. Sam, it's been Sam since the day he was born, can only manage to hold fast to the only thing that's real in the entire Tellurian at this moment. The hand of his packmate, his friend, his comrade.

The look on his face is simple, blank, understated and perhaps it is only the slight tremble of his lips as they press together that marks the horrible though that flashes beneath the surface briefly in the front of his mind before staying to sink all the way down. [Could it all have been a lie? A cruel trick of some kind?] He blinks once, almost an alien motion after not having done so over the space of several seconds his face again going expressionless. Motionless.

He opens his mouth as if to speak but it is only sawdust on the inside, words escape him. He closes it again, evidence that perhaps he doesn't need to add to anything Katherine is saying right now.

As for Danicka, one gets the distinct impression that Sam is dissociating. His normally transparent actions and motivations and his history of stark and unyielding honesty only make it more possible that what's being seen is absolutely real. The Modi seems to read her only as one might see a snowstorm through a window. It is there, and only inches, perhaps feet away. But it is removed by barriers, by heat, it may as well be in an entirely different world.

[Danicka Musil] She and Mrena have exchanged a couple of glances, and a couple of words, and that's all. Danicka would be able to pick Mrena out of a crowd, and vice-versa, partly due to the circumstances under which they met: they both know that the other is a Shadow Lord. Otherwise she doesn't know this girl.

And this girl doesn't know her.

What Mrena knows is that she spoke a half-truth, a half-lie, didn't say everything. What Mrena doesn't know is what the whole truth is, or why the lie is there, but another might have watched her sit beside Lukas and said: Isn't it obvious why she's here? to themselves, then left it at that. Another might have looked deeper at Danicka herself, and not at the crime, but Mrena's not that other. Here is this teenager, barely old enough to buy cigarettes, talking to a woman several years her senior, and telling her to Listen as though she doesn't know the meaning of the word or the difference between that and simple absorbtion.

Someone else might ruffle. Shoulders tightening, eyes flashing, even Kinfolk are able to get angry enough that they allow themselves to show that kind of almost dominant, destructive behavior towards Garou. Not Danicka. If she is annoyed, it doesn't show it, as Mrena ticks off reasons she can think of why Danicka might have said she was here to talk to Sam when that's not really all there is to it. She assumes great insight, and she may even be right, and Danicka just sits there half-turned, her head half-cocked, her hands folded one over the other lightly on top of her knees, listening.

Like she was told.

She's been playing us.

Feel free to interrupt her? Danicka doesn't dare, as Mrena explains her justifcation for... whatever this is. Nor does anything come over her face or form when the Theurge says she's getting old, getting jaded. Maybe she has seen too much, Danicka doesn't know. She wouldn't be surprised. The Kinswoman just sits, very still, like patience on a monument, her eyes on Mrena's slowly moving lips. She spies a spot, a crumb, before Mrena's soft pink tongue swoops it off. Danicka would look hypnotized, if her eyes on the Shadow Lord were blank or dead. They're not. They're quite attentive, eyebrows still lifted slightly as though...as though she has no self-respect, no fear, no pride. She is listening, and she's listening very, very well.

Katherine speaks, and Danicka listens to that, too. She just looks once at Katherine and the younger woman's smile makes Danicka's flow across her lips again, warm and not unlike the way she smiled when her hand was on Sam's face. Which probably only makes things worse. It seemed so affectionate then, seems so fond now, and he has no way to know if it was ever genuine, or if it wasn't for him but is for Katherine and --

it might drive me mad

"Oh, I understand," she says softly, nodding. It's gentle: she really does. Sometimes they just have to ask. Sometimes they have to know. And she pauses, takes a breath, and then turns to look back at Mrena again. She seems to be trying to figure out how to phrase this, and finally comes up with: "I'm afraid that what I want to speak to Sam about is...rather private." She almost seems embarrassed, there, but not on her behalf. On his. So she speaks slowly, choosing her intonation carefully. "Of course, if he's all right with me discussing his sex life with all of you here, that's one thing, but it doesn't just concern me...so it's his choice."

Danicka exhales slowly. "I honestly wish I understood what it was I've done to make you so...suspicious of me," she says, looking straight at Mrena this time, her eyes tight from the effort of holding in tears. Her head shakes slightly, voice cracking on the last word: "Because I don't."

She presses her lips together, nostrils flaring, and looks down for a minute, exhaling hard. "I'm sorry," she says, and takes a moment to compose herself.

[Sam Modine] Sam is next to speak, jumping in finally once Danicka goes about explaining herself softly to the women who ask her to. His voice snaps out, surprising in it's clarity. He's still studying her face, her features when he does so. "I'd rather not in front of people." A look to each of the women lights the totem link between all of them. "She's scared. If you give me minute alone with her maybe I can just get to the bottom of the whole thing right now."

His thoughts pause, and the chittering of birds dies down to let a single eagle's scream cry out. "If you were looking for intimidation White-Eyes, you've found your voice."

"If it's okay with them I think I'd like to take this elsewhere for just a bit. Assuming the two of you are fine with that?" Sam's hand relaxes from Katherine's, offering her bones some respite from it's perhaps overly firm grip. Each gets a stern look From the Modi, his body leaned forward and stretched full, playing off the obvious markings of his lineage. "If this doesn't work, I'll be back in a couple of minutes. She says she only wants to talk, then I'm fine letting her do that." He stands at that point, affording them a look all the way up at his shapes, lean muscle on bone beneath thin cotton and denim. Beneath that a beast of war, the claw and tooth of a chained beast that knows only waiting for the end of the world. His features are an easily understood drama for the Garou, the strain of holding the conversation in one's mind concurrently with the one in the room. To the kinfolk perhaps it's a mental workout playing out, the brain piecing together points and clues toward some internal confusion. "Sampson's in our room so we can talk in the one next to Lukas' if you want."

Once more finally, Sam turns to his packmates. "This should only take a minute." Then it's the five long fingers of his paw opened skyward to the kinfolk, offered to help her up and lead her across the hall.



Empathy Roll:

[Cody]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Lukas] What the hell's going on up there? Lukas wants to know.

[Sampson] Sampson trudges back up into the room, not running, not taking stairs 4 at a time or more. He is NOT with his wives, though he Does smell a bit of that hot hot and highly coveted 2nd wife. Instead, he's walking up the stairs again after a fairly short time away.

Pack, tension, Danicka.
What is this? You did not invite me to your party! I'm Telling Talons!

[Armstrong] She did not know Danicka.
That, in Mrena's eyes, was an advantage.

And she tells Danicka to listen- a word that few people really understood. She told her to listen, not hear. She had said the same to garou as well, but that was not the point. And while another, like Katherine perhaps, might look deeper at Danicka to try and see more than the crime, but the reasoning behind it. Because if Mrena would just stop and listen and see she would know hat Danicka's motives may haev been completely pure, that she was hurting and trying not to pass out and panicking.

White Eyes was incapable of that sort of insight.

We sometimes overthink our reactions, Katherine said. it was enough to make her take a step back. Almost, for a moment. The scrutiny was still there, overwhelming at times, and Mrena seemed blissfully unaware. She only saw things in terms of threat- were they dangerous to what was hers? And recent losses made her hold onto that which was hers so much more tightly. That slights, perceived or actual, would be tended to with a swift (but heavy) hand.

She came from a tribe that, at times, sent mixed messages. She came from a tribe that, at times, simultaneously encouraged and punished deceit.But was it the act that was punished? Or, rather, was it the fact that she was caught that did not seem to please Mrena. That caused her to practically growl, that made her speak at her rather than to her.

Maybe she was getting old.

[Later, this thought might seem odd- Mrena was getting old. Mrena was not-yet-twenty. For as long as her pack had known her, she had been armed with a fake ID. It was only recently that she could vote or buy cigarettes or do all those things that a barely-adult could do. But she had been fighting a war since she was not-yet fourteen. That, according to the Nation, she was an adult. She had been an adult for some time; in all realism, she was a teenager. She is a teenager. White Eyes spent the years that she was supposed to be finishing high school fighting and planning and doing what was necessary. The times where Mrena was supposed to be worrying about boys and how she was going to get into college, she was worried about raids and how she was going to deal with a particular spirit. It served its purposes, but it helped remove the need for humane interaction.]

She inhaled, and seemed more-than-willing to rip into Danicka, to use the words that she had, and some that she did not, and say them. Or maybe the words, simply, were not coming. Mrena inhaled, then nodded some. It seemed to be to herself more than anything. If you want to talk to her, that is fine with me. Said across the totem link with a definite degree of sincerity. Sam said he was okay, that things were fine.

And the theurge said nothing more.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Sam lets go of Katherine's hand, and blood surges back into the appendage. Fingers aching, the Philodox absently rubs her wrist, holding it to her chest as her pack-mates to and fro across the link. For Katherine however, the degree of unease has not lifted and her expression remains unconvinced -- perhaps even a degree hesitant before she makes room for the Modi to step past her, toward Danicka.

Tread carefully, Samuel. We don't want her to faint from fright.

Lukas and Sampson both chime in, one after another and the female Bellamonte's voice comes back across to them crisply, calmly. Just a little miscommunication, that is all. I recommend we limit the number of us crowding Danicka at present.

[Lukas] I asked you what the hell is going on, Katherine. There's a sinuous unfurling of anger across the totemlink -- not quite the night, nor the time, nor the place for Katherine to express her usual insolence, it seems. I didn't ask you to placate me.

[Danicka Musil] He wants her to take his hand, and so she lightly rests her hand on top of his palm as she gets to her feet. Danicka looks absolutely serene. There's a grace to her that doesn't abate, or falter, until that almost beautiful moment when she ducks her head to hide the fact that she does not want to force them to see her embarrassing, embarrassed tears. Sam says he would like to take this elsewhere, offers the room next to Lukas's just as Lukas offered his own, and she rises, letting out a slow breath as Katherine and Mrena let her go.

She doesn' t look like she's about to faint from fright, and her hands aren't quite trembling. Her eyes do flick to Katherine's silence and the way she rubs her wrist, and then switch cleanly, keenly, to the Ahroun from whom she is taking her hand back, now. "Thank you," she says levelly and softly, to no one in particular, walking out through the common room door and into the only other room she's been in up here.

Which is apparently right next to Lukas's.

[Katherine Bellamonte] His anger makes her bristle. They can all of them feel the way she stiffens, though only Mrena and perhaps Sampson see the physicality of it. Mrena read something in Danicka and asked her to clarify exactly what she wanted from Sam... and from the pack. She -- I don't know what she saw, but I know Danicka was frightened. I couldn't tell if it was from what Mrena was saying but... she looked about a minute from bolting. I was trying to protect us from anything unfortunate happening.

[Sam Modine] Sam merely throws a slight nod to the Philodox's eye contact as he stands. To an outsider this is some sard secret in the communication. For pack it's simply talking. Once Danicka's hand is lay across his own she'll find finger gently closing to hold it there. The gesture is odd though compared to what one might expect. He isn't holding her had so much as holding onto her hand. He walks slowly, not lifint gher arm or even really so much leading her as as simply keeping track of her position behind her as they leave the common room.

It's only a few steps across the hallway before the Modi's head pokes into the room, flicking back and forth before stepping fully in, releasing her hand and holding the door by it's frame in the process. Once she's he he quickly closes it and crosses the room to turn the desk lamp on, guided only by the soft light in that moment of a socket night light.

"Hey." He turns back around, his face slowly sliding for a small smile when their faces meet in the new light.

[Sampson] Not a problem, since the kin just left with Sam into his room. Mrena thinks this is a pack matter? Why? His eyes narrow, though, those who can see him can see his question in eyes, body language.

They are pack. There is a certain understanding, and tension is rising. Totemphone, in the room. Danicka's smell lingers, probably doesn't help matters much that it does.

Maybe the pastries will help though. Maybe that is why they were brought, to distract the garou with sugar. Most gothic horror books don't really cover the sweet teeth of werewolves in detail.

[Armstrong] Danicka comes in the middle of the night. Uninvited and unannounced, and needs to speak to Sam, who seems less-than-comfortable seeing her. She is deceiving him, and I know she's hiding something. Said without suspicion. Mrena said she knew. And she did. She's playing us against one another; she's been with you and Katherine and Sam. I don't know what she's hiding, or what the other half of her truth is, but I know that if she comes between packmates it will be disastrous.

[Lukas] There's a long pause. Then a distinct lessening of tension. Followed by Lukas' footsteps on the stairs, coming back up.

I think, wry, maybe we're overreacting a little. I thought the sky was falling and the Wyrm was clawing its way in through the gaping hole, the way you guys were reacting. He appears, head first, coming up through the stairwell. He's put his dishes away; exchanged the almost-finished bottle of wine for a beer.

"She might be more than a little careless," he continues aloud now, pausing to slug a gulp back, "and Sam and I might be more than a little foolish to have gotten caught up in her, but," he eats the last orange koláč, "come on. I doubt she's been sent here to wreak havoc on this pack."

And Lukas throws himself back down on the couch, his usual spot.

[Katherine Bellamonte] "I have known her family since we were both children," qualifies Katherine, sinking back onto the sofa beside Mrena. Her fingers no longer throbbing from where their Fenrir warrior had so tightly gripped them in his bid to keep her near. "It is true that I have some ... reservations about Danicka but I do not think she would deliberately sabotage us."

A pause, Katherine's pale eyes drift over Mrena's face; thoughtful.

"I suspect her reasons for coming tonight were rather more," she smiled faintly as Lukas ate the last of the pastries. "... human."

[Sampson] Well now, what the hell is a Ragabash supposed to do with THAT information?? What the hell do they THINK will happen?

She's playing us against one another; she's been with you and Katherine and Sam, Mrena says.

Danicka fucked Katherine too??! HOLY SHIT don't let Barmasai see her! I have enough competition for my third wife's affection as it is!
This implies of course, that Lukas got hold of the girl as well, which is possible, but so far unconfirmed. I'm not fucking that Shadowlord kin!! I am a! VERY married man! I will not be contributing to any gaping holes!!

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine's head whips around; eyes furious on Sampson. "Excuse me? I would do no such thing. Watch your tongue, or I shall tear it out and use it to clean the floor."

[Armstrong] "It's not that she's sent here to purposefully wreak havoc, but she has the potential to cause damage. You can intend the best of things, but if the outcome is harmful..."

Katherine said that she has known Danicka's family since they were young. She nodded, just enough. It was a definite motion, something qualifying. It was, in essence, a saving grace for Ms. Musil- Katherine knew her. Katherine would vouch for her.

"Whether her reasons are human or humane or cruel or corrupt," she said, "I would not, and do not trust her. And it is as much catching a half truth as determining how many of them were not caught.."

At that moment, Mrena looked at Sampson and glared. And she didn't have to express her displeasure verbally or non verbally because the already tense, formerly seething Shadow Lord said it all with her body posture, with tense muscles, and arms folded firmly across her chest.

[Lukas] Lukas snorts under his breath. "I haven't fucked her either, for the record." A beat. "Sam saw her first. I'm not made of stone, I'll admit that much. I've had my moments of weakness. But even if it weren't for the fact that she's kinfolk, I'd never steal from my own brother."

He eyes the remaining sweets, then decides to abstain. Since he'd already had six, and all.

(He feels sick. Just a little. He has a vague memory: throwing up after eating one too many at some ... party or other when he was little. Things change, and things stay the same.)

"And," leaning back, perhaps to give his stuffed stomach some breathing room, "a lot of things have the potential to cause damage, Mrena. But if you don't trust her," briefly, his stare becomes something altogether different -- harder, steely, "trust your packmates. Sam and I wouldn't let a woman drive us apart, no matter how well she lies."

[Lukas] (don't barf, don't barf...)

[Sampson] His grin to Katherine is the height of shit eating, or rather the low of it. "Do not judge me, Katherine, if you cannot handle the touch of my auspice on your pristine, unfucked self."

Someday, they will throw down together, and maybe it will not be Sampson who is omega, then. Mind, no way in hell would Katherine believe it could be so.

"So. It is confirmed she is here to lie with someone? Wait-- I want to know this-- why.... if this is a lying woman! is she off with Sam? Because we ALL know how he feels about Liars! How little control he has for them. And if she is comes to deceive... well. This could be bad, very very bad! I hope he is particularly calm today."

Bloody, bad. Deadly, bad.

[Armstrong] "If you genuinely trust her then I will take your word for it and give her the benefit of the doubt," she said.

And her doubt was heavy. Very, very heavy. The theurge inhaled, then slowly unfolded her arms from her chest. Less tense, a visual, purposeful attempt to calm. And a a successful attempt at that. She looked at Lukas for a moment, and he looked like he was about to revisit all of those very, very well-made pastries.

She could see when she was being unreasonable. "I was unkind."

And while she was not an empathetic young woman, Mrena knew when she wasn't being nice. It was kind of hard not to notice when you nearly drive your kinswoman to tears.

[Lukas] "I don't."

Trust her, that is.

[Armstrong] She sat down on her end of the couch, peeking in the box for a moment to survey how many were left. Then? She looked at Lukas again.

a beat.

"... those are all going to go straight to your thighs."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine's gaze resettles on her Beta. "Why don't you trust her?" A pause, she combed strands of hair from her eyes. "I spoke to Mar-- my kinsman about her, he said she was worthy of my trust."

[Lukas] "Katherine can lend me her pilates dvds," Lukas replies, smirking.

Then, serious again. There's a moment where he just looks at Katherine, his eyebrows lowered, silent. Abruptly Lukas shrugs.

"She tells the truth, nothing but the truth, but not the whole truth. She holds back." Irony: this is exactly what had set Mrena off not twenty minutes ago. "I don't know what she's holding back, but I can't see to the bottom. And I'd be a fool to blindly trust that."

There's more, of course. But Lukas keeps his fucking mouth shut now.

[Armstrong] All was, for the most part, well with her. Or, rather, well enough that she wasn't standing anymore, no longer glaring with posture too straight and eyes too cold. The theurge took her place and was more than happy to resume her comfortable position; the paint-splattered vision that she had been before.

[Armstrong] there was a long pause.

And then?

"... should I apologize?"

[Lukas] The Shadow Lord's eyebrow hikes up sharply. "What for?"

[Armstrong] "I didn't mean to make her cry, but I'm not sorry by any means," she said. "She could be useful and I don't want to damage you or Sam's potential contact. I feel like I should say something."

[Lukas] Lukas stares at Armstrong for a second. Then he laughs. It's not meanspirited, or rude; but it's genuine and it goes on for a while.

When he's finished: "Christ, Mrena. If you apologized to every kinfolk you scared, you'd never get anything else done. She lied; you caught her. Who should be apologizing?"

[Sampson] Sam turns to stare at Mrena.. then falls over, laughing. JUst... hits the floor.

[Armstrong] They laughed, Mrena for a moment didn't quite know why, so instead she decided to eat whatever was left of the pastries that Danika had brought. Made, and then presented. White Eyes looked over what was left, taking one and then enjoying.

She was just fine until Sampson hit the ground. Mrena covered her mouth, the sound was high pitched and bouncy. Something light. Once she had recovered (and coughed up a little pastry. Laughing at a ragabash while one had food in their mouth was not wise, or Wise.)

"Good point... if she decides to apologize, she will I suppose. Though, sincerely, I hope she's the type to apologize with food."

Another bite.

[Lukas] "Yeah," Lukas eyes the koláče rather greedily, but continues to abstain, "though she better not bring any more of those cream cheese ones. What the fuck?"

And then, stretching his leg out, he kicks Sampson as he rolls around. "Get up, Sampson. You're rolling around in the microscopic remains of whatever filth Sam and Andrew had in their guts." A pause; then he smirks at Katherine. "Actually, you might be sitting in some too."

[Sampson] Sampson is kicked! BUT!
Rolls into and onto Lukas's leg and PULLS! On the Kenyan's face is pure glee.
Time to loosen up some.

[Lukas] Yanked by surprise, Lukas goes sliding to a floor in a noisy tumble of arms and legs. He doesn't miss a beat: he grabs a cushion off the sectional and starts whaling on Sampson with it. Dust flies.

[Sam Modine] HAIL!
to Danicka Musil, Lukas

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine -- bursts into delighted laughter at the sight of Lukas, tumbling onto his ass. The sound of tinkling laughter easily heard from all corners of the Brotherhood.

[Sampson] Oh good! Some days, Lukas might just pick up the sectional and beat Sampson with it! Pillow FIGHT!!!
Hear it for long ass appendages! The ragabash grabs a cushion and uhh.. defends himself. NO!! NO! he does NOT! Fuckin BEANS KATHERINE WITH IT HELL YEAHH BITCH!!

[Armstrong] It was all a well-timed maneuver. Sampson grabs Lukas, Lukas tumbles off of the sectional, and Mrena? Well, now, Mrena saw this as an opportunity and, as an opportunist, slid her way over to the position that Lukas had been inhabiting on the sofa. The look on her face was one of absolute, age-appropriate glee.

[Sampson] (HAHAHAHHAHAHAH GO MRENA!)

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine, still laughing into Mrena's shoulder let's out a startled gasp of horror as a cushion is thrown at her and hits her square in the nose. With a sudden snarl, she puts aside the propriety of her station and leaps from her sofa -- diving straight at the Ragabash as she cries: "How dare you! That's the last straw, Sampson!" And proceeds to clobber him, and potentially Lukas at once.

[Armstrong] She looked at them all for a moment, and given that she had, in fact, stolen Lukas's spot, watched like a diminutive emperor at the Colosseum. Katherine dove at Sampson and proceeded to wail on the ragabash/ahroun combo, and all Mrena could really do was curl up into her side of the couch and laugh. However, she wasn't succeeding in laughing quietly.

[Sampson] sampson dives UNDER Lukas so that the Furious Femme impacts the ahroun first. Mind, there's some squishing entailed too, but that's ok.
He's got four wives, three of which have been pregnant. Kinda used to it.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine sets one leg on either side of her Beta's body and straddles him so that she can deliver premium impact, right into his face. Thud, thud, thud Until as she draws back the pillow to hit Mrena, the material rips and a balloon of goose feathers explode from the broken seam; fluttering around the squabbling pack members like snowflakes.

[Lukas] Assaulted, Lukas defends himself the best way he knows how:

He puts his arms up over his face, laughing as he cowers, until his sides are sore. When the cushion finally explodes, he sits up -- more or less dumps Katherine off of him like the proverbial ragdoll -- and spits out a mouthful of cushion-stuffing.

"Now," panting from laughter, "I want to know why I got clobbered when it was clearly Sampson that provoked the altercation." He picks a feather out of his hair, springs neatly to his feet. "And, I want to know why my position on the couch -- " with that he grabs the cushion Mrena is sitting on and gives it a mighty yank, " -- has been USURPED."

Mrena likely topples off the couch now. Lukas uses the newly vacated cushion to (how do we put it delicately?) beat her pretty little head in.

If she crawls away? He follows, raining pillowsmacks all the way.

[Danicka Musil] By the time that Danicka and Sam come out of the private room beside Lukas's, the one right across from the common room, the tension in the common room has changed completely. Most of the contents of the pastry box Danicka brought in are gone, notably all the candied-orange ones, and...well. There are feathers everywhere, and a pack of Garou play-fighting all around the coffee table and sectional couch.

Danicka follows Sam into the common room and pauses in the entryway after he's gone back in, tipping her head to the side and raising an eyebrow as Lukas spits cushioning out of his mouth and goes after Mrena.

It doesn't mean a whole lot, given the activity going on in the room. It probably goes unnoticed, even, but Danicka covers her mouth, then starts smiling. And then her hand drops, and she lolls her head back as she giggles, closing her eyes. Giggles erupt into outright laughter, bright and...happy...and the way she tries so hard not to laugh like this is almost childlike, her shoulders all tightened up and her arms drawn in.

[Sampson] *faaaades*
In the distraction, when the door opens to Sam's room, the ragabash... disappears.
No smell. Hiding. Silent.
Either he's left the room, or he's BEING SNEAKY!
Or... hes' not there.

[Armstrong] Katherine reared back to smack Mrena a good one, and just as she was reaching for a pillow to defend herself, Katherine's pillow seemed to all but explode. So, instead of laughing, Mrena found herself spitting out feathers with a rather unflattering pbbtfpht sound.

Lukas grabbed the couch cushion and Mrena went for something to hold onto. He yanked, she toppled, a paint-splattered mess of hair and arms and legs and not-too-graceful. She toppled off the couch and used whatever pillow she had held onto to cover her pretty little head

"Leave your positin undefended and-"

thwapthwapthwap!

"Knockitoff!" she took the opportunity to smack him with the throw pillow she had been holding onto for dear life. Which didn't stop the onslaught, "I'm not done 'splainin!"

A quick slip. Enough blows to the head with a couch cushion and the girl slipped, briefly, into something non-rhoric and Boston flavored. Vowels shifted and letters dropped in such a way that it was difficult to translate into text.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine is dumped to one side and for a second allows herself the sublime pleasure of lazing there with feathers drifting to cling to her fair hair like a downy wreath. Peeling herself from the floor as Lukas likewise dumps Mrena from her throne, Katherine extends her arms toward the Shadow Lord as if to protect her from the Beta's reign of pillow-beating terror.

"Come away from the heathenish one, petit !"

At first, she does not hear the new addition of laughter but then she turns, a goose feather hanging from her eyelash to glimpse Danicka, laughing outright at the sight of them.

[Sam Modine] Sam is just a step ahead of her, his assessment while no faster comes perhaps half a second sooner. His head sweeps back and forth about the room, eyes making their way from packmate to pack mate, the ouch, the cushions, she floor, the food, most definitely. He bites down on his bottom lip when a boyish chuckle threatens to turn into an all out laugh like that of the girl behind him.

"I leave for one second and you're rolling around on the floor."

The voice of the totem connection is in similar spirits. "We're fine." This comes with a look to Mrena and her plight which keeps none of the laughter in. The sound spills all through the room. In a second or two he's composedenough to fight down more of it and give Katherine a look like one might give a wounded puppy. "Oh my.... you look ridiculous."

[Lukas] Granted, Lukas does not keep pelting his packmate(s) with blows when Sam and Danicka make their unexpected reappearance. In fact, he reins it in rather quickly -- though without hurry -- straightens up and tosses the cushion back where it belongs.

This does not help the fact that there's another cushion exploded all over the floor. Or that there's stuffing and feathers everywhere. Or that Lukas is a little out of breath, cheeks flushed, hair all awry.

His balance shifts easily from one foot to the other. He looks at Sam; he looks at Danicka; the edges of his mouth twitch, and he hides a grin behind his forearm.

"Er." Straightfaced now. "There was a bane in here. We had to kill it. With pillows."

[Danicka Musil] When Lukas stops, when her and Sam's re-entry sees the return of a little...dignity...this apparently only makes Danicka laugh harder. She steps inside the common room fully and to the side, putting her back against the wall by the door and the back of her head tips against it.

There was a bane.

She lets out such a yelp, a shriek actually, of hilarity that she immediately claps a hand over her mouth, the other arm going across her belly. This time the tears at the corners of her eyes are from amusement instead of fear.

Though...eventually all tensions flow together. Fear, grief, lust, and laughter all slam together like hot and cold winds sometimes. Danicka is relieving many forms in this, and perhaps that's why she laughs so fully, and for so long, and almost uncontrollably.

But it is genuine laughter.

[Armstrong] She had started her retreat to Katherine, who surely would save her from the onslaught, but then there was giggling from one Danicka Musil and one Samuel Modine. She cleared her throat, kept her shoulders straight, and tried to look presentable.

Which was difficult, because she had feathers in her hair and a few stuck to her shirt. And she was pretty sure that she had one stuck in her back teeth.

"The situation is completely under control now," she said. "We handled it."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Sam tells her she looks ridiculous, and Katherine climbs to her feet easily and sweeps a hand through her mane of thick, golden waves, a collection of white and gray speckled feathers drift from her head as she does and she dusts herself off briefly; her face calming to a flushed expression of good humor. She clicks her tongue at Sam as if he were a disrespected child.

"Don't be silly," she chided, unfortunately still with some feathers attached to her posterior. "I was engaged in battle, you cannot help but get a little dirty."

[Lukas] Lukas watches Danicka laughing, more bemused than anything. He shoots Sam a glance -- Is she all right? -- and then dusts the last of the feathers and cushion-stuffing off his shoulders.

"Seriously though," he says, "thanks for the koláče. The candied orange ones were great. I ate so many I almost threw up." He's not kidding there.

The atmosphere is a night and day difference. Perhaps it all hinged on Sam, really. Sam's in a good mood now: Lukas is no longer tense for him. The rest of the pack followed suit. Or maybe a good pillowfight really does cure all, just like those chick flicks always taught you.

[Sam Modine] "If your name amasses more glory than mine." He's choking back laughter. "Because you defeated the great and powerful pillow bane without me, so help me..." He lets just a little of that tension in his lungs loose with a long exhale. "She's good, I think. The girls shook her up a little is all. I'm sure I didn't help. He turns a look toward the kin, his head sweeping toward the room to urge her in along with him.

He steps over to the pastries and takes one finally, his first all night. "Oh!" His mouth is full from the first bite still when he takes another. His hand flies up after talking with his mouthful, looking to Lukas and then to Katherine embarred at the sudden outburst. His eyes flit over to Danicka as he swallows. "Those are good."

[Danicka Musil] Shaking her head, moving her hand from her mouth to suck in a few lungfuls of air, Danicka almost quivers with amusement utterly unlike the tension running through her like electricity the last time she was in this room. She looks at the ceiling to catch her breath, eyes opening, then wipes the corners of her eyes and righs her head again, looking at Lukas and chuckling in a far more subdued fashion.

"Starého psa novým kousk&+367;m nenaučíš," she intones to him directly -- though who else would she be speaking to, in that language?

Her coat is still over on the sectional...or was, before a cushion was ripped away, knocking it to the floor. Sam walks past it to the thin box on the table to get his first taste of what the others were scarfing down. He doesn't get an orange one...those are all gone now. And don't think she hasn't noticed. She's noticed. There was only one left when she exited the room, anyway, and she knows who ate it.

Regaining her composure, Danicka grins and nods to Sam. "Thank you."

[Lukas] The 'girls' and I had a talk, Lukas replies, his mindvoice wry. I think things are cleared up now.

"Don't eat six," Lukas warns aloud, covers his stomach with his hand, and rolls his eyes heavenward in an exaggerated i'm-gonna-be-sick grimace.

Danicka speaks in Czech. Lukas gives her a second quizzical look, half-smiling out of reflexive social habit. "You're right," he says. "When I was a kid I did the same thing. My mother made pretty decent koláče, but her friend -- whew. Amazing."

[Armstrong] It was like nothing had happened. She looked at Danicka and, given the way that the room had been tense, the way she had spoken, the way her muscles were tensed up, it was nice to see how she could just wind down.

And she did. She wound down well, and she wound down quickly.

"Katherine?" She asked. The theurge looked at her packmate and had her shoulders back, head high. White Eyes took a moment and looked her over; that critical eye was used for something other than making her kinfolk incredibly uncomfortable. "Let's go clean up. You fought well, but I don't think you're going to be able to get all the feathers out of your hair without a second set of eyes."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine's eyes return to Danicka briefly; they tick toward Sam and then to Lukas as Danicka addresses him in her native tongue. When Mrena asks her to come clean up and offers to assist her in defeathering her hair, there is a soft silvery laugh from the Silver Fang's lips. She nods.

"Oui. Let us go and pluck ourselves, shall we?"

Danicka receives the benefit of Katherine's attention one last time, there is a brief smile; a polite, impartial thing. "Thank you for the sweets, it was quite sweet of you."

[Sam Modine] Watching him watch the other two leave as he finishes his treat, gently sucking the tips of his fingers where some sugar had stayed behind one might think Sam Modine has found himself in some sort of heaven. "I take it you won?" He turns back to Lukas once the half and crescent moons are free of the room and presumably cleaning up.

"Good man." He grins and takes a seat on the sectional, reaching forward to pick up the coat lying on the floor and setting it down across the table, on arm readjusted so it didn't hang onto the floor from where it had just come.

"You can come sit down if you want." He looks up and across to Danicka now, playing the sudden lapse of tension to the advantage of keeping company. "If you don't you're going to miss out on the rest of these." His hand quickly snaps up another, which is slowly savored. He is not man who treats himself much, save to the occasional drink and it shows. The sweet brings a grin to his face he seemingly cannot help but give in to. "If I needed say fifty of these a day, what would that cost me?"

[Danicka Musil] The look that Danicka gives Lukas in response to his rather quixotic expression and mention of his childhood is damn near inscrutable, but it lasts for a single cycle of breath. She hasn't looked at Mrena since she came in, not directly, but she also doesn't know that girl and she just spent a hard minute laughing so hard her stomach hurts almost as bad as the Beta's.

Her eyes are rather bright from leftover tears, from both experiences in this room. She reaches up again and flicks a drop off the corner of her eye as her gaze drops away again, chuckling to herself and smiling in a way that seems like she should be blushing. Yet she isn't. She feels attention on her and looks at Katherine.

The sweets. Sweet of you.

Danicka loses it again. This time her feet slip out from under her and she half-falls, half-slides to the floor with her back against the wall, covering her mouth with one hand again. She can't even answer Sam's question of what it would take for him to get fifty of these a day. She can't stop giggling.

[Lukas] "Actually," Lukas replies, wry, "Katherine was whupping my ass for a while. But I pwned Mrena's face."

He actually says it: pwned.

Danicka loses it again. Lukas looks at her, then at Sam. "Seriously Sam," mock-serious, "did you slip her something?"

[Armstrong] Shall we?
"We shall," she gave a solid nod and started to head off to her room, more-than-content to do so. Katherine knew where she stayed, and knew that it was where there would be inevitably headed. The theurge slipped a hand into her back pants pocket, looking at Danicka.

She laughed, and the sound was something genuine and sweet. Danicka hadn't looked at Mrena since she came in, did not know that she had laughed hard enough that her stomach ached, that she'd laughed hard enough that she forgot to keep up the non-accent she normally spoke with.

Then Lukas relays the information, that he had pwned. Hard. The Shadow Lord made that unflattering half nasal-choking-on-laughter and fought off a grin. She lost.

"C'mon, Katherine, let's go," she said. Quickly.

[Sam Modine] Sam almost loses the last half of the kolac in his mouth when Lukas uses the word. "I'll take credit for that." He swallows hard, clearing the inside of his mouth with his tongue before he opens it again to answer his packmate. Now his own turn at being wry.

"I think you might've heard it if I had, don't you?"

He gives a wolfinsh grin, unable to resist. "The walls aren't thick, sicko." He only shakes his head in mock exasperation at this point unable to stop from laughing at least a little.

[Danicka Musil] Considering the fact that she is currently sitting on the floor laughing so hard it's flat-out undignified, it might not be terribly surprising that Danicka doesn't look aghast at Sam, or throw something at him. Considering the fact that on some level she is and may always be afraid of their kind, especially ones like the two males she finds herself in the room with at the moment, it may not be quite as surprising that she doesn't act offended.

However, when Sam reminds Lukas that the walls aren't thick, that he would have heard if Sam had slipped her 'something' while they were gone from the room, Danicka claps both hands over her mouth and stares at him, eyes widening in horror that may or may not be false. "Sam!" she says when she quickly drops both those hands to her lap, with a sharp scolding tone that can only be...

...like so much, with her...

...half-true.

[Lukas] Perhaps Lukas' smile isn't so amused as it could be. "I know," he says, and on that note, picks up his beer from the coffee table where it remained miraculously unspilled. Upending it, he drains it.

"I'm going for a walk," he says. "I probably won't be back 'til breakfast -- you want me to get you anything? Mrena already made a request for something greasy from Denny's."

[Sam Modine] His hands fly up in front of him and he leans back suddenly when he's scolded, his eyes growing ridiculusly large. His adam's apple flexes on his throat, passing up and down as the muscles tighten around his still present amusement. "I," pause. Slowly, "my bad."


"Tomorrow's grand slam day, I saw it on the thing." He points toward the television's blank face. "Bring me one of those and some hashbrowns." He almost seems to salivate at the idea of breakfast even this far off from it's prospective arrival. "And grab hot sauce from downstairs." He finishes, hand unconsciously having moved over his stomach. "Thanks." That last is genuine, and maybe it was the pillowfight, or the earlier informal and incomplete pack meeting, the earlier time when he'd disappeared for a few minutes or even the likeliest candiate the sugar sweet taste lingering on his palate but the ar seems clearer between the circle's warriors.

They don't get the name from nowhere you know.

[Danicka Musil] The hope that it'll pass, that it'll mean nothing, the hope that it won't go there, is dashed. Lukas smiles, yes. Lukas just emptied his beer in one gulp and that doesn't necessarily mean anything. And he's going for a walk, and that's not terribly consequential; he seems like a night owl and he is a Garou. A walk is sometimes a walk, sometimes duty. It doesn't have to mean anything.

Danicka takes a breath as Sam admits fault, lets it out, and starts to get her feet under her again. A few fingertips on the floor for momentary balance, she rises to standing with a grace that doesn't entirely leave her even when she's drunk -- but apparently flies out the window when she's laughing -- and then takes two steps to bend and pick up her coat from the floor, shaking feathers off of it. She smiles at Sam's farmboy-quality hunger as she starts putting the black garment on.

"I should probably go," she says. As she pulls her hair out from under the coat's collar, she says -- probably to his back -- "Will you walk me to my car? There's something I wanted to ask you."

[Lukas] "You got it," Lukas says, then smirks, "but you can get your own hot sauce."

Danicka is, indeed, speaking to his back by now. He's heading out of the common room to grab his coat from his room. He pauses at the door; half-turns. A moment's pause, during which his eyes flicker to Sam once, considering. Then he turns all the way, faces them.

"Sam can walk you out. If you have something to ask," a small gesture of his hand, "go ahead."

[Sam Modine] "Fair trade." He smiles a little, taking one of the last of the kolace from the box and holding it between thumb and forefinger.

He keeps his straight posture, not leaning back and instead eating over the table in front of the sofa and just watching the other two.

[Danicka Musil] She is fastening her coat up, from the bottom buttons all the way up her red-clad chest, while Lukas informs her that Sam can walk her out. Danicka lifts an eyebrow at him, her expression and voice rather dry. "I was born and raised in New York City, I can get to the parking lot without an escort." In other words: that wasn't the point, you brute. In other words, it was not a a plea; it was an invitation.

[Lukas] From the way Lukas watches her, levelly, the last of the earlier humor gone from his face, it's quite clear he knows damn well that wasn't the point.

"Ask your question," he says instead.

[Sam Modine] Does Sam look particularly happy this is playing out in front of him? It doesn't seem so, particularly. But he doesn't look terribly upset either. Interested, sure but not he isn't angry. Not obviously seething below the surface or boiling with angst.

No he only watches on in silence.

The dessert is bitten into and savored as he does so. One finger comes up to catch a tiny bit of filling on his lip and push it back into his mouth quickly.

[Danicka Musil] If she wanted to, she could ask him her question in Czech, and it would still be reasonably private. He might translate for Sam, he might not. It would be terribly rude though, an obvious exclusion of him and everyone else currently in the building.

If she wanted to, she could shrug it off and tell him no, nevermind, she'll find another time. A better time. That, however, would be blatantly disobedient, an exercise in control that she has been taught for years is not hers when dealing with Garou. Ask your question could be as much order as permission, and while she could assume that it's the latter and that she still has a choice, it would be a risk.

And one she is not willing to take.

Earlier, Danicka would have asked a rather personal, potentially embarrassing question of Sam right in front of Katherine and Mrena and done so without the blush that soon followed on the Fenrir's face. Her coat is buttoned, and she has no purse with her tonight, and it looks like the box is staying here...it looks so empty, compared to how it was when she first showed up, the contents all but annihilated. She stands with her hands at her sides and faces Lukas.

"On the waterfront," she says, "you told me you didn't understand how but you were beginning to understand why." Danicka waits a moment after that, perhaps looking for recognition, though it's entirely possible he has no idea what she's talking about even a short amount of time later. "So...why?"

[Lukas] Lukas' face closes up. He draws himself straighter, his shoulders squaring and turning back. This is as unconscious as a wolf's hackles rising.

"It's not important now," he says. "Forget I said anything."

[Sam Modine] Sam munches a second bite and a final one out of the pastry, brushing off his fingers quickly but with a dexterous nimbleness in his fingers that make the motion anything but sloppy. These are a gunslinger's hands, a pity he can't play that particular part.

The look on his face isn't hard to decipher. Set your decoder rings to B Confused. His look drifts from one to the other, one might even swear the saw his mouth a silent question in the air though he doesn't. But still he doesn't speak, doesn't take any issue.

[Danicka Musil] It's been said, and does not need restating, how much Danicka can learn from the simplest, subtlest changes in body language...and sometimes it has seemed that this extends most completely to werewolves. That's not surprising. When she's around them she's hypervigilant, her relaxation a farce, a mask that she wears all over herself rather than just over her eyes, her mouth, those oh-so-telling features.

Sam is confused now, but at least he's not hurt. At least he doesn't know by virtue of another language that he's been shut out completely. Danicka takes a breath and just says: "I'll try."

[Lukas] Naively, one would think this would please Lukas. It's what he requested, after all. Ordered. Because Danicka is right: they're orders, these statements coming out of his unsmiling mouth. Ask your question. Forget what I said. Do this. Do that. And don't, don't ever, do that.

There's a tick of pause. Then Lukas does a strange thing: he draws a breath as though to brace himself, mops a hand over his face as though to clear his eyes, or his mind.

"Goodnight, you two," he says: finality. And he goes to get his outerwear.

[Sam Modine] Ignorance, generally is a blessing. And Sam knows enough to know he doesn't want to know the rest particularly. It seems to have blown itself over at this point anyhow. He stands as Lukas takes his leave of them, raising his hand to wave the other on as he goes to get his things. "See you."

His hands travel into his pockets at this point, giving him an artificial shrug from the point in his hands where his thumbs hook outside all the way to his shoulders. He addresses the woman softly, cautiously, like a stop sign in a residential area.

"You know." Slow and easy, this. He doesn't look at her. Sam is only a little farmboy charm, there's definitely a hard edge to him. That though he does his best to soften for a moment at least so far as his appearance is concerned. Hands tucked away, eyes cast to where the frenzied thing behind them can't be seen. "You don't have to leave, We could watch tv, just sit and talk. It's going to be quiet tonight." He does look up, coolly and without changing his tone.

"I could use the company."

[Danicka Musil] She asked her question. She'll try to forget what he said. As Lukas draws his hand over his face, Danicka has gone from laughing to quickly bringing herself back under control to verging on defiant...or as close to it as she gets...to placid, to serene, to untouchable. That peace she wears is her most constant, most impossible to discern dishonesty. It was there when she was afraid, it was there in the bedroom with Sam -- both times, in fact, even when one would think it would finally drop away -- and it is there now. Not when she laughed.

Finality enters Lukas's tone as he turns to leave the common room and go to his, the one right next to the one where --

Danicka says something to the exiting Ahroun of her family's tribe. It begins with the words "Chci t&+283;, Lukášek," though there's more after that: "a úst ochutnávky, jako pomeranče."

But it sounds like Good night.

Her eyes leave the doorframe though, then, rather well supporting the idea that what she just said to Lukas was, indeed, a farewell for the evening, with perhaps a blessing for his walk, or gratitude for something or other, or promise to bring more candied-orange-filled koláče. She turns to look at Sam, telling her she can stay awhile and that he could use the company. There's something in her eyes there that he's never seen before, that due to the nature of who this woman is likely flits through his awareness without him having a clue what it is. Then again, it's something so very close to his own nature he may know it by heart.

"I should go," she says smoothly, for the second time, only this time without the 'probably'. "I have to get up early to go to the post office." She smiles, and gives him a friendly wink. "Good night, Sam," she says, heading for the stairs.

[Sam Modine] HAIL

[Sam Modine] "I didn't mean!-" He has no end to that sentence and it's not so loud perhaps as the tone suggests it should've been. An outburst born not in Rage but exasperation. His arms rise from his pockets and palms turn skyward. What did I do now? It's written all over every nuance of language he's got. The fenrir has few layers and most of the ones near the surface are transparent to begin with.

"Thanks for the food." He intones humbly. He purses his lips together and hangs his thumbs again in his back pockets, sauntering over toward the couch. But not quite sitting down, just turning to watch the woman try and leave. No. Wait.

"What was that just now?"

[Danicka Musil] The truth.

Nothing but the truth.

...But not the whole truth.

Danicka is just a couple of steps from the door to the top of the stairs when Sam half-finishes a sentence behind her, thanks her humbly, and then asks her a question. She stops right where she is for a moment, then turns her head and looks over her shoulder at him. "Sam, I'm tired." She draws her brows together, almost a wince. "Just let me go?"

[Lukas] 'That' just now is not over yet.

Danicka says something in Czech -- and though the tone is light, it sounds like good night, it makes Lukas arrest yet again. There's a beat when his back is to her, and to Sam, and to the room. The look on his face -- well; neither of them can see it, but both of them can see the great sheet of muscle in his upper back tense, his hands ball into fists.

A beat. Then he turns around. He opens his hands, lets them hang loose at his sides; his face is a mask, like stone.

"Co to blejes?" Lukas speaks quietly, but there's no way, none, that this could be mistaken for a friendly goodnight. If they're conversing -- if they're talking -- it makes no difference. He talks right over them; advances on them, three steps into the room. "Dokonce te&+271; , tebe cht&+283;l bych &+345;íci tato? P&+345;ed jemu?"

The muscle in the corner of his jaw flexes. His hands have closed to fists again, and this time, he doesn't even realize it to stop it.

Soft as velvet: "Jdi do prdele, kurva."

[Danicka Musil] [Willpower]

[Sam Modine] The Czech between the two has not gone unnoticed and it's one of two major factors behind the half-scowl formed on his face. Frustrated and tired he speaks to the woman below.

"Yeah, you know what. It's late." He's looking down, right through her, his considerable height only adds to the feeling that he's not happy about putting this to bed. He's simply dealing with it. "Another time, I'll see you." It's all calm, careless. "Take care."

With that the young man trudges over to lay across the sectional and turn on the televsion. Blue light reflects on his face when he's turned the lights off. The sound is low, droning, background noise on a picture he's not even really watching. Eventually he reaches over for one Lukas' books and begins reading. That goes twenty pages before the television is deactivated with a pop and the Modi again tromps to a sleep that is far from peaceful.

[Danicka Musil] "Yes," she says, in English now, and very quietly. "Even now. In front of him."

She's right there in front of the stairs. She could run. She could turn and go as fast as she can down the stairs, bolt to her car, she could scream and maybe Katherine and maybe Mrena and maybe one of the Kinfolk, but really, what good would that do, if she screamed? If she is hurt she knows how that will go. Danicka knows a lot of things. She knows that right now it is better for her to be very still, and for her voice to stay soft, and that ultimately how she feels about these submissive necessities is not as important as her neck.

There's no effort in her to conceal the fact that Lukas frightens her. It just is, as simple a fact as her very existence. But in the fright is a comorbid calm, as though he has already struck her, and she has already felt it, and already begun to heal, and already begun recovering from the terror of it. The possibility might cause panic; the utter certainty in her eyes is a strange, sick sort of peace.

"Mluvím česky, protože nechci, aby mu neublížil," she all but whispers. "Ale nechci ho."

[Sam Modine] The number of languages this particular full moon can speak in this form is one. And he can ask for a bathroom in spanish, but that isn't something most people count, especially not ones as honest with themselves as Sam. "Could everyone in the room stop doing that?" It's not a question.

Now would be good.

"In front of me what?" There had been a tiny expression before hidden away but easily recognizable. Hit by eyes with instinct it was a red light, though not one that came with a manual as to what it meant. Frustration is a felling that breeds like a virus, eventually replicating itself enough over one's other thoughts to spill out and infect the whole host with it's symptom.

Anger.

"Seriously." He looks between the two, head turning like lightning caught between heaven and earth. "What's going on."

[Lukas] It's been a night of upheavals. Back and forth, humor to tension, and each time the change is so complete it's hard to imagine what it was like, twenty minutes ago. It's hard to imagine that twenty, ten minutes ago even, they were all laughing.

Now the room nearly warps around the lines of tensions drawn around these three. Two of them are brothers. Two of them are (were?) lovers. And two of them --

That's where it gets hard to define.

Look at them now: the woman resigned, as though led to the block, facing her executioner. The man, or the man-wolf, furious -- bristling with black-red fury.

He's struck kinfolk for a lot less. Smashed their faces, bruised their cheeks. He considers it discipline, rightfully meted out, deserved, just punishment. He considers it fair, and he has no emotional involvement in it.

For all his anger, he does not strike Danicka. She might flatter herself that he thinks too highly of her for that; the truth is, he cannot bear to touch her right now.

Everyone in this room knows Lukas covets this woman.
Everyone in this room can see Lukas, at this moment, abhors this woman utterly.

"Tebe mít jíž zranit jemu." And then, abruptly switching, "Tell him. Say to him what you said to me. He deserves to hear it. And I've had enough of your two-facing."

[Danicka Musil] She doesn't dare look at either of them, not in the eye, not when either of them speak. It isn't that Danicka is particularly strong-willed, that she has a steely and unaffected backbone, but she doesn't flinch, and she doesn't run, and she doesn't begin to cry. That shouldn't fool anyone into thinking she's unconcerned about what's going to happen to her, or about...

...what she's done. If anything.

What she does now is obey. She obeys Sam, and she speaks in English. She obeys Lukas, and she tells Sam what she said to the other Shadow Lord. It costs her. They can see that simply in how still she's standing, but moreover, how the blood has drained out of her face, leaving her paler than winter, paler than usual, paler than herself. The usual glow goes out of her cheeks, but it makes her eyes strangely more vivid, sharp green instead of the mottled earthy color they usually are.

Everyone in this room knows that Lukas is drawn to her, everyone can see he hates her, everyone can guess that he doesn't trust her. Everyone in this room knows that Sam had her, everyone is aware that he still likes her, every one of them can see that he's growing angrier and it isn't just at the Kinswoman. What only two of them know is what Chci t&+283; means. What only one of them knows is why she truly came here tonight.

Well. Sampson may know, too, but he's not here right now.

Danicka keeps her eyes on Lukas's throat, but she speaks to Sam. "I want him."

[Danicka Musil] [Note: 1 WP spent.]

[Sam Modine] Half Moon Don't snap!

[Sam Modine] that was the hard one. now's the easy one. // WP

[Sam Modine] He turns to listen.
Finally an answer perhaps.

The woman looks as though the two of them are threatening to take the answer to Lukas' demand out in flesh. Which at least one of them is in fact not prepared to do. She speaks, and he simply listens. I said I want him. Sam does not have a temper. Not in the conventional sense. He's learned from Lukas, Katherine and their shared totem the value of restraint. Years of moral and family grooming doesn't hurt either. However, what the Fenrir does have in spades is Rage.

It's innate to all of them. It's thick in the room, even when it is only the two of them. Now it must be suffocating. Sam's teeth reveal themselves all at once as though hit with flaming iron in the back. She'd be wrong if she thought that look, one of an animal she has pointed directly at her were words giving the young man psychological crisis. This was an explosion diffusing in his chest at the last second. If her eyes were particularly keen she'd have seen the shoot-growth of new hairs in his face, the backs of his palms in the millisecond it begins happening and stops again, but they'd have to be more than human and they're not. Lukas gets a look questioning and no less cold than the other was fiery. Before he turns around to face Danicka face to face, heart racing at touring velocity.

"That is so messed up." They all want her. They all hate her.

Fists ball up and flex outward again crawlingly. The sound of knuckles popping rings out between the three as the process repeats itself.

They all wish they weren't such good men.

[Lukas] A muscle jumps in Lukas' cheek as Danicka says what she says: so stripped down, so pared down, without the coy poetry of how she had couched the statement the first time.

No; not the first time. The second. The first time, it was like this. Stripped down to the bone.

A long pause. Then: "Now the rest of it."

[Danicka Musil] How did all of this happen?

Right. She called her father on a Friday morning, and he told her something that had been a secret before. The knowledge had created nothing but perspective, had added nothing but another layer of understanding, and not very much. Memories that are fifteen years old are not always the most reliable, or useful. Except in some little things, like...flavors.

And that's why she's here, even if the motives for her decisions to tell half-truths sometimes are as much a mystery to all of them as her flash of subdued, rapidly restrained anger had been a mystery to Sam. How did all of this happen?

In a thousand little ways that were not meant to be truly dishonest, Danicka lied.

But now...stripped down, pared down, is exactly what she is, as much as the words. No idea why she lies. No idea why she tells the truth now, unless it's because she's afraid. Except as good of a liar as she is, as talented and practiced and convincing as she can be, the chances of them catching her if she lied even now are so slim, so remote, that she could get away with it. On some level they have to --

They don't have to do anything. She has to give the rest of it.

"And I don't want him."

[Sam Modine] WP//+1 2 turns straight

[Danicka Musil] [Correction: "And I don't want you." 'Cause, like, she's looking at Lukas but speaking to Sam.]

[Sam Modine] That lack of a temper does not however mean the Modi has no breaking point. He has at least one. He moves closer, by a step, two. Enough to get close. His face seems to obscure in the changing light he moves through as the room's shadows want to hide a monster under the covers of shades of grey. He'd told her before he'd protect her.

That he could keep her safe from the monsters outside.
Maybe he just forgot he was one of them.

His open hand flies out to make contact with her cheek. He seems surprised at bit perhaps. Not at the way his hand feels or the sound it makes crashing against the skin of her face as he follows through it. But at the way his chest feels, and the sound she makes. "If you-" His chest heaves upwards, his voice taking on a heated rumble.

"You should've said something to me." His breathing is ragged and nasal, ice blue eyes stare down at the woman. The part of him who only wants to reach out, take her in and apologize is glossed over by the single minded anger that clouds his sense of self right now. "Not make sneaky fucking comments in front of me with my packmate." He spits his words.

"You deceitful pig." The last is every piece of contempt and disgust he can find. He doesn't leave his spot at that moment. Simply stares in disbelief in her direction. What's triggering the reaction is anyones guess. But the labored vacillation of his chest regulates itself, slowly. His face still twisted in knots of uncommon expression.

But still he doesn't move.

[Lukas] WP!

[Lukas] Danicka is not the only one who can't look at Sam now. Lukas joins in that dubious distinction; he can't look at either of them. He finds himself breathing as though he were pacing himself to run some great distance, his chest and shoulders moving with each deep inhale, measured exhale. He stares at the floor --

-- until Sam's hand flashes out to strike Danicka across the face.

Then Lukas' eyes flick up. There's a coil of anger in them, bright as flame. He clenches his hands into fists, and he moves closer to the two. The triangle they had formed in this room shrinks, collapses on itself: like a dying star pulled by its own inescapable gravity.

"The fault is as much mine as hers, Sam." These are not words that come easily. "I wanted her from the moment I saw her. I told you, and I told her. Then I sought her out again. And I made her admit the truth to me. I thought that would be ... enough. And then I could lay it to rest."

[Danicka Musil] Oh, everybody says that. That no harm will come, that she's safe. Katherine has said it. Sam has said it. It's a really nice-sounding promise, especially from a Garou, that she isn't going to get hurt. And on the inside, every time, Danicka has to fight to keep from laughing in their faces as brightly, as giddily, as she did when she saw them wrecking the common room with feathers raining down.

A halo on Katherine. A quick regrouping from Lukas. That wasn't so long ago.

The option to run is gone, and has been gone for some time now. Staying means she will get struck, and she seems to know this, but leaving means she might die. She chooses to stay, and take the hand across her face. She takes it like she took Lukas calling her whore, and she takes deceitful pig along the same lines. Danicka is scared, it goes without saying, because she doesn't know them, really. She doesn't know how far they'll go and she knows it doesn't bear thinking about, so the look in her eyes after a red mark in the shape of a large hand starts to blossom on her face...well, it's sort of dead.

He might as well have been slapping a doll.

Danicka makes no correction. She does not tell Sam that she did tell him, days and days ago, that she didn't see this going anywhere. She doesn't explain how in a single moment she went from willing to terrified, or how over the course of forty-eight hours she went from terrified and angry to understanding but still unwilling. It really doesn't matter anymore, so she says nothing to him, does not meet his eyes. Lukas moves forward, they both outclass her in height by nearly half a foot even when she's in heels, and she just...stands there.

[Katherine Bellamonte] It's quite something to walk back into a room that had been on leaving it one of buoyancy. Of laughter and shared relief that the worst of a possibly bad situation had long since passed. They had been fighting with pillows, there had been goose down in her hair.

She and Mrena had left a calmer room.

To come back to this?

The Philodox has quiet footsteps, it is certain. And she had fallen asleep beside her pack-mate only to be stirred by raised voices. A door creaks open, and is pulled shut again.

"What is going on here?"

She has one of Mrena's sweatshirts pulled over her blouse, Katherine holds both sides folded over her stomach for warmth. Her eyes however, have never been more alert.

[Sam Modine] "I know you told me." He growls out the words. "I just really thought you meant it when you said you'd leave it be." He never takes his eyes off Danicka. He doesn't seem even to blink. This is not the throes of frenzy, this is a man breaking. In the morning he'll wake, hungover from his own anger and all but cut himself in loathing. But right now there are few losses to great to quell a man who feels backed into a corner.

He strikes again.

The words. Not the hands if that's what you were expecting. "The whole time you were warning me, telling me to stay away the other night, why all of a sudden does that seem like bulls-"

His head turns, finally, for the briefest of moments at footfalls and their sudden stopping. "Kat." He's already staring her her again. Anger, confusion and disgusts painted in bright reds across sallow canvases of betrayal. "Go back to bed please."

[Lukas] Imagine if you will the scene Katherine comes upon.

The three of them at the top of the stairs. Clustered together. Lukas staring at Sam; Sam staring at Danicka; Danicka looking at no one. The air around them is livid with tension. The common room is not brightly lit at this hour of the night, but they are. They all but incandesce with their rage.

"It was not bullshit," Lukas says, quiet but fervent. "I was trying to warn you of exactly this. I didn't know how to say it then, but she had already told me she didn't want you." The words sound harsh coming off his tongue; there's no helping that now. "She hadn't told me -- the rest. She hadn't said it explicitly, but it was already in the air."

Katherine demands to know what's going on. Sam tells her to go back to bed. Lukas doesn't even look at her; nor Danicka, standing silent as the dead. He reaches his hand toward Sam, palm up, some nameless gesture of entreaty, supplication.

"Sam. Brother."

[Sam Modine]

[Danicka Musil] [Soak, Belated]

[Danicka Musil] There's no casting of glances from one blonde woman to the other, pleading for help. In situations like this gender barely factors into it, and there is no sisterly solidarity between Katherine and Danicka. Danicka would not ask for help from anyone just now. She doesn't look at the floor; that is too broken, that is too likely to only incite even more Rage. She looks at some nameless point but isn't really looking at anything. A thousand yards, a hundred years, away. Not to the woman, not to the Tribesmate, not to the man who was, for a little over an hour, her lover.

Then, quietly, as Lukas is imploring with the bratr jeho duše, Danicka murmurs: "May I sit?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] She breathes in the rage. Sucks it clean into her lungs if you will and it is not Sam turning and saying her name (Kat) with that expression she knows only too well of mingled anger and disconnection, nor Lukas with his hand outstretched; entreating Samuel to hear his words are not bullshit and that they are brothers.

It is none of these things toward which the Philodox reacts to first. It is the Kinfolk housed squarely between them that her gaze centers on. As Danicka implores of nobody in particular if she can think; the Bellamonte present is already calculating fallout. "Danicka."

It is strange, that of all of them Katherine sounds the gentlest. She unwraps her arms from her waist and walks toward the huddle. "Yes, you come over to me here."

[Lukas] (WP!)

[Sam Modine] "You knew." He's calm. Deadly, vicious. Not trifling. "Because you went and asked. This after you said." He turns on his heels and faces his packmate, teeth gnashing out every sentence. "That you were going to leave her be."

Lukas hand is looked at. And there is a twitched in his arm when it moves as though to swat it from the air. But his limbs for the most part keep in check at his sides. "This is not how brothers behave." He stares down at the hand in front of him, notes the digits, each, how easy they might crunch under his own hands. But he just stands, unwilling to make amends for now. "I guess that's just a matter of blood."

"Yes, you can sit." His attention again turns squarely. "In someone else's home."

[Lukas] Inch by inch, Lukas' temper is creeping up on him. The strap of muscle linking cheekbone to jaw jumps again, standing tautly out for a second before he unclenches his teeth.

"I didn't say that. I said I wouldn't fight with you over this woman, and I won't. Tear my throat out now, and I will not fight you. But I had to know, Sam. It was ignoble of me, but I had to know."

The hand rejected, Lukas draws it back to himself, rakes his hands through his hair, clenching them tight, pulling at the roots until his scalp ached. Then he drops his hands back to his sides with a faint clap. Katherine calls Danicka over; the impulse to countermand that is checked, and then forgotten.

His focus is on Sam, alone. They could be alone in this room.

"You think you're the only one who sees her beauty, smells her blood?" This could be furious, resentful; but it's not. It's quiet, and this, too, takes effort to say. "You think you're the only one that's twisted in the wind over this woman? She let you believe a beautiful lie all this time. I never had anything but the cold hard truth. You fucked her, Sam; I sat on my ass out here trying not to listen. I could hear every fucking word she said, while you fucked her. You think that's easy? You think -- "

He draws up sharply, turns his face away. A pause, a pause, until he reins himself back in.

"I had to know," he repeats. "If I knew she wanted me too, then I could put this shit aside and let it die. And whatever happened between the two of you, I could've let happen. I would've, if I hadn't -- lost my fucking temper tonight, Sam."

[Danicka Musil] She is, in fact, asking one person in particular, and for reasons none of them have a chance of discerning in whole truth on their own -- though they have assumptions, good guesses, and that should be enough -- Danicka will not move until she has his permission. Katherine invites her with open arms, Sam essentially tells her to get out, and she does not move towards the Fang or away from the Fenrir, into the room or down the stairs.

Her left cheek is going to bruise, it's obvious by now, but he hit her hard. Sam's very strong, and Danicka is quite a bit smaller than everyone in this room. The force of his hand hitting her face was enough to open the impossibly thin (incredibly soft) skin of her lips, blood rushing to the surface of the split. That's going to swell, but the bruise on her face is starting to color quickly, will darken. She's lucky he didn't break anything.

Or maybe he is.

The permission she is waiting for, that she actually needs, doesn't come, and Danicka doesn't move. She sways slightly, but does not allow herself to sit down. She hears everything around her, is aware, and that is why she sways. It's also why she doesn't sit down.

[Katherine Bellamonte] "Putain." A whispered curse through Royal lips.

She can see it. She can see that the woman is not going to walk toward her and Katherine's own temper stirs. She swallows it down with a hand raked back through her hair in an abrupt, edgy motion. Danicka is swaying very slightly on her feet, and Katherine zips the front of Mrena's jacket with one hand.

"Lukas." Katherine's voice is no longer gentle, it is the steel heard in the voices of her ancestors. Warrior's true. She is no longer Katherine addressing Lukas, but a pack member imploring their Beta for sense. For leadership and guidance. She can feel the thin line they walk between destruction and a few careless words spoken in a heated moment.

"Do you not think I should take Danicka home now. It is very early, and there will be others waking soon enough. You can finish your discussion without her presence." A beat, Katherine's voice lowers an octave. "Please, Lukas."

[Sam Modine] "You're dispicable." He replies. A sneering mess at this point. His face the brightest shade of crimson against blonde that sways and sweeps around him everytime he changes the direction of his gaze. "It's not about what she and I had..." He shakes with the Rage he's trying so hard to control. "We didn't really have anything, Lukas." Two fingers are pressed into his chest.

"I had something Lukas. Something normal, just for a minute. Something that made me happy." His teeth grit adding another level to the rather intense physical reaction the Fenrir is having. "Now?" He turns his head up at the chin.

"I.." he chokes on the words. Nothing else comes. Eyes catch the reflection of his own face in a framed picture on his perhiphery. His whole head recoils from it, "I can't even."

Sometimes we wish we were poets.
Sometimes we wish we knew the answers.
And sometimes there are no words, and there are no answers.

[Lukas] "You had a lie, Sam!" Sam pokes him in the chest; Lukas shouts back in his face. "Why the FUCK can't you see that? What good is normalcy when it's a sham?"

-- and abruptly, just like that, Lukas draws back, sucks in a sharp breath, and for the first time in minutes, turns his attention from Sam.

"Danička can take herself home," he says. And briefly, his eyes lock onto the woman, the catalyst and focus and effigy of all this strife. "Go," he says; that's it.

As for himself: not for the first time, or even the second, Lukas starts walking out of the common room. To get his goddamn outerwear. So he can go for a goddamn walk. And get some goddamn breakfast.

That was the plan all along, anyway.