precedence.

[Milo] Milo is an obelisk swathed in black wool, toggles pushed through leather loops to hold the knee-length tailored coat closed. Its ends flutter in the harsh wind like a murder of crows attending his questing feet, carrying him through the Brotherhood, its upstairs living area and higher onto the open roof of the building. His pearl skin gains a blush from the cutting currents of air, his eyebrows furrowed to leave his cobalt blue eyes shadowy as he watches the same door he has used for his fellow Thunderchild.

The collar of the coat is popped and if it weren't for that hard look and the scars and wrinkles that have visited his face so early he might look like a curious child peeking over the fence for playmates. His head turns back and forth, the distant look cultivated by many shamans having not crept into his own demeanor one bit. No, this is a man thoroughly anchored to the here and now, interested in the scenarios unfolding before him and cautious of his surroundings.

[Wyrmbreaker] The temperature has risen a little above freezing in the last few days. When the door opens, the hinges don't pop near so loud as they have before. Lukas throws his dark shadow over the rooftop, backlit by the interior light, until the door shuts behind him. The rooftop is lost in shadow again, lit only by the reflected light of the city off the clouds; the filtered light of the streetlights below.

The Cliath is tall, several inches over six, with imposing shoulders that seem vast in his well-cut overcoat. He moves with the unconscious confidence of the full-moons, surefooted, shoulders back. He appears to have come directly from the street: tightly muffled with his coat buttoned, scarf tied, newsboy cap pulled low over his pale eyes. Some flecks of snow dust his shoulders.

"Fell-Prayer-rhya," he says, not a question, as he approaches the other. He takes his cap off, dusts it against his thigh, then tucks it under his left arm as he offers his right hand. The shake is firm, a grasp of forearms rather than hands. "White-Eyes told me you were in town. I'm glad I caught you before the moot."

[Milo] Milo returns the gesture with a wiry strength that belies his build, fingers deftly finding and wrapping themselves around the Ahroun's own forearm. His is about six feet and two or three inches, and from the look of the few inches of fabric around his wrists and below his knee past the chic coat he's well-dressed himself, designer shoes and a well-tailored Armani suit cut perfectly to give him a free range of movement.

"Wyrmbreaker, a pleasure," leaving the suffixes that would denote rank to body language instead, knowing that introductions weren't necessary. "It is good to know that an honorable Garou has been here to tend to my sister. I was off doing the business of the tribe- even the knowledge I was alive might have put her in danger." Northeastern, very American, but a distinct dilution of someone who spoke English at school and Russian everywhere else in a close-knit immigrant community, filing away any particular city's maker's mark in his accent.

What apparent ancestry Milo has might easily be found in kin and other members of the tribe across the globe. It was the stud's mark. Quantity over quality. A product of the kind of ferocious breeding practices promoted by those simply trying to replenish the Grandfather's number. The nose, the pallor of his skin, that dark hair and those intense eyes, they all culminated in a distinctly old world look that softens at its edges when he speaks.

[Wyrmbreaker] In contrast, Lukas' breeding is quite rarefied: pure slavic, pure shadow lord, heroes' blood strong in his past. Not that Shadow Lords much cared for that sort of thing, in the end. They share an armclasp, like brothers in arms. After, Lukas transfers his cap back to his right hand, where it lays half-forgotten against the side of his leg.

"Agnessa's been busy herself. She's trying to set up a network of kinfolk. To centralize and organize their activities and influences, I believe. You should ask her about it. I meant to announce it to the Garou at the moot, so they know such a resource exists. If you'd rather do it, I'll defer."

[Milo] "I will leave that to you. You have been watching her, supporting her, and it's you who should lay some claim to the foundation of such a network, don't you think?" Taking a moment to look the Shadow Lord over, before he turns that gaze out toward the city behind him. He doesn't turn his back on the other Garou, instead stepping to his side so that they can share the view.

"I think there is something we can learn from her intentions, though. Last night I was approached by Yvonne Miyake. She asked for my protection- not only from a Silver Fang who tried to slake his thirst by stirring up a primal lust in her, but from one of our own tribe who threatened her life- Mikhail, one of your moon. Standards seem lacking, despite the good example you set. The Shadow Lord house needs to be put in order, it seems," and despite the range of statements and assertions there's the hint of a question with each. Some Garou used rhetoric, but Milo's technique was quite different. It seems he is brainstorming, throwing out ideas at Lukas to see if they stuck. Allowing his to approach the conversation on his own terms. It's convincing, almost brainwashing, the way he doesn't invade the intellectual territory of the other Garou but instead invites them to a neutral ground for negotiation.

And sharing all these thoughts with the Shadow Lord, he could only be inviting him along to assist in the process of elevating their tribe out of its disorder.

[Wyrmbreaker] A silver fang that tried to slake his lust -- a shadow lord that threatened the life of his own kin. Lukas' brow knits at these, and he exhales shortly.

"What did you have in mind for them?" Simple, that.

[Milo] "Both are of the full moon, now that I think of it," smiling at the realization. No teeth show at the gesture, only a light curl of lips before his chin falls to nod at the thought it has conjured and raising his arms to cross over his chest. "Sic our misguided brother on the greedy Silver Fang to make clear that tribal lines are still strong? And his punishment is defending the honor of the kin, reminding him just who it was he threatened," looking over at Lukas, one eye is raised questioning as to his thoughts on the plan.

[Wyrmbreaker] "Fair enough for the Silver Fang. But to protect his kin is Mikhail's duty -- not a punishment. Have you spoken to him at all? What exactly did he say or do to Yvonne? And what, if anything, did she do to provoke it?"

[Milo] "She admits to 'playing' him- in a sexual manner. I do like that colloquialism. But she also claims she did not know the power she wielded. She said she made him lose control, and she believes that truly hurt his pride, as any Garou might realizing a kin had such power over him. But she also says that Mikhail threatened if he ever saw her again he would kill her," and up until that point he seems almost blase about the situation, more interested in the idea a Shadow Lord would allow himself to be so toyed with, consciously or not, but one of his kin. "Now that he is back in Chicago, she fears for her life. She requested my protection and I said yes, as I plan on placing it upon to all those of our kin within this chaotic territory."

"The Silver Fang in Xandros," sharing that last bit to impart to Lukas all he has gathered on 'The Yvonne Situation'.

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas snorts faintly. "I have to say, I have little respect for a kin who would play. For all I know she may try to turn one Garou against another just for the pleasure of watching them all fight over her. I'm inclined to let her fend for herself, or at least think she's been left to fend for herself. It might discourage her from a repeat performance, and we have better things to do than protect a kin from the fruits of her own labor.

"So if I were in your shoes, brother," and another man might say that word lightly, but Lukas does not, "I would speak to Mikhail about the matter. If indeed he lost himself and threatened her life out of fury, then the fault is partly his for allowing himself to be so controlled by a kin and he should be reined in -- though I would not publicize it, particularly not to Yvonne. On the other hand, if he threatened her as an act of discipline -- to underline that a kin has no place toying with Garou -- then I may be more inclined toward leniency."

They've met for less than five minutes, but already Milo must be getting a sense for what sort of Garou Lukas is: straightforward, unyielding, controlled, and with startlingly little fondness for riddles and sideways-talk, particularly for a Shadow Lord.

A pause; then: "If I may speak frankly, Rhya?"

[Milo] The fact the first part is punctuated by the word 'brother', though, doesn't seem to make him forget that the Shadow Lord is taking on the role of adviser. He listens to the words that follow. He was use to this kind of Ahroun, and seems more pleased than put off by the refreshing point of view he was offering.

"I told her that her worries were my worries, and she seemed legitimately fearful. I'll find out from Mikhail whether it was rightly so or not," and then he is considering that last question. "You may. And I hope that you have been doing so up to this point, because your advice has been useful."

[Wyrmbreaker] The corner of Lukas' mouth turns up; wry. "There's no need to praise me, Rhya. Nor is there any need to attempt to seize dominance by reminding me that my place is an adviser, and only that."

A beat.

"I asked to meet you tonight because I assumed you mean to take your position as the leader of our tribe in this city. It my duty and my honor to defer to a worthy Fostern. I have but one condition.

"My chief concern is the War, brother. I could care less about the politics, powerplays, plots and plans that seem to embroil so many of our tribal brethren. There's no time for that anymore. Everything we do, we must do with our victory in the War in mind.

"That is my stance. If you will give me your binding word that you mean to lead our tribe with these same priorities in mind, and with wisdom and with honor rather than deceit and subterfuge, I will cede here and now without challenge. Otherwise, we will settle this at the moot."

[Milo] "I'm sorry you see it as seeking dominance. But your attitude toward praise is also admirable," and now his mind seems elsewhere. Arms still folded over his chest, he looks down at the ground, then back up at the skyline, and finally up toward the sky.

"Our tribe's number in this city grows larger. You have been here longer than I have. You run with a pack, as a wolf should," and there is a thirst for the same in his voice, but he pushes it out as he continues. "You have a reputation as an honorable Garou that has been rightly earned. I think it is best that as you and I work together to put our house in order, you stand as the face of our tribe," once again ideas bounced off of the other Garou, trying to draw him in on his own terms.

"I am a Bringer of Light," spit out like a thunder strike, as a preamble that he allows to settle in and flavor the rest of his words and sentiment. "The war is all I care for. Deceit and subterfuge should only be aimed outward. I would sacrifice much for this war- some argue my soul, but I believe the dark places I have walked strengthens that gift I have been given by Gaia. But I would not sacrifice the integrity of another Garou, unless that Garou has already made himself a cancer to be excised."

[Wyrmbreaker] I am a Bringer of Light.

It is perhaps ironic that the most feared, the most reviled sect of the Shadow Lords are the ones with the noblest purpose, the brightest name. And Lukas, despite all, is a young Garou, a Cliath.

Give him credit for this much: he doesn't flinch. He only blinks -- a single flicker of the eyelids, just a half-beat out of place.

Then: "I'm glad to advise and enforce, so long as it does not interfere with my other duties. But with respect, Rhya, I think if you mean to take the mantle of leadership, you must take it completely or not at all. It's in the name of honor that I stand aside for the eldest of the tribe. And if this good reputation you allude to means anything at all, then the Sept will see my deference as confirmation of your worth."

[Milo] "So you understand the logic behind my suggestion: With my camp comes certain obligations and duties that may add a level of complexity to my ability to lead our tribe. You have seen to my sister's safety and you run with a pack. You are an Ahroun, able to defend our interests in the more traditional challenges that come up more and more often in these times of war. With your auspice and its reputation also comes a level of perceived sincerity that even other tribes recognize, invaluable given the reputation of our own," raising one of his hands from where his arms are crossed onto his chin, tapping it for a moment before continuing.

"I did not mean to take the mantle of leadership, but I will. I know you offer to step aside without challenge for me to take it, and offer fangs and claws to enforce our interests, as well as your own honor in supporting it. When the moot comes I will claim that leadership, and I hope in the coming moons your advice flows as freely as it does tonight."

[Milo] [ And fade to black, you peeky brick you! ;) ]

[peeky brick] (Said i could! *LLOL*)
to Milo, Wyrmbreaker

[peeky brick] (Night!)