roflcopter and the worth of kin.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The usual point of entry to the Brotherhood -- for the Garou, anyway -- is through the back. That's not the only way in, though. There's also the front door and, less commonly known, the door to the roof, which is a small, narrow door at the top of a steep flight of stairs up from the cramped third floor hallway.

There's a sudden thud up there, on the roof. Then the upstairs door rattles open. Heavy footsteps down the narrow staircase, across the small hallway (there are doors there -- one of them leads to what used to be Andrea's bedchamber, empty now), down the larger flight of stairs to the second floor common room.

Lukas is somewhat less than human tonight. His hair is longish, tousled, silky-dark. There's a fringe of hair at the edge of his jaw, more fur than beard. His shoulders are massive, his brow sloping and heavy-ridged. He slouches across the common room, tracking snow, tracking mud, tracking blood, and despite the near-freezing temperatures outside, he appears to be wearing his underclothes. Also, a few scraps around his neck that might be the remnants of a shirt.

His left arm is gashed, the wound deep and ugly, but already scabbing over. The right arm -- well, in his hand is what appears to be someone's (something's?) severed head.

[Katherine Bellamonte] She'd been avoiding this place, her preoccupation split between an ongoing struggle with her brother and a battle of no less challenge with one of her kin. She was not sure which dominated her thoughts more, or sapped what little color there ever was from her cheeks and turned her nights into watchful shifts as Martin struggled with a years-long (or was it life long, she did not know) addiction being slowly leeched from his system.

Katherine and Gabriella are both present this evening, the former sitting with her legs drawn beneath her on one end of a sofa in the common room. She is reading what appears to be a heavy tomb of poetry (though the cover is obscured by her hands) and the latter, the younger Bellamonte is absorbed quite completely in schoolwork.

They made quite the picture the pair of them, seated together in (silent) harmony when the noise of Lukas' return interrupts and has -- at least in Katherine's case -- her eyes leaving the page of her book to listen to his heavy step on the stairs. She breathes in, once, sharply and her eyes leap to her sister.

"For the love of Gaia, Lukas." She sits upright, a hand going to her sister's shoulder.

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Gabriella was seated beside her sister, not quite close enough for their arms and shoulders and legs to touch, for them to lean against one another, but close enough anyways. Katherine had her legs drawn under her, ever lady-like, and was reading a book of poetry either to distract her mind, or to give it a calmer, safer place to settle while it idled about the many subjects and problems that ran so restlessly through it. Gabriella, on the other hand, sat with her legs crossed indian-style, a text book open and rested against one thigh while her notebook was open on the other. She seemed to be transferring notes, from book to lined paper. Writing was better for remembering than just reading alone was.

The thump on the roof caused Gabbie's light blue eyes-- identical to and yet quite different from Katherine's at the same time-- to lift from the page of her book and turn briefly toward the ceiling. The sound of feet lead away from landing spot over to the stairs, then came the thumping of heavy feet in the stairwell, down-down-down until they reached the second floor. The door opened, and out from the stairwell stepped something that was barely recognizable as Lukas.

Neanderthalian with that furred jaw and shaggy hair, the thick overly-muscled frame and heavy brow, and quite barbaric, perhaps a little terrifying, in the fact that he was dressed in undergarments, covered in blood and mud and who-knows-what-else, and carrying a severed head under his arm.

Gabriella's eyes widened, her spine stiffened, and she was sitting very straight all of a sudden. Katherine murmered her surprise and distaste for Lukas appearing in such a manner in front of her younger not-Garou sister, and her hand slid over the simple cotton fabric on her shoulder, from the simple cotton T-shirt she was wearing tonight. Gabriella's head turned, slightly and briefly, in the direction of her sister, but her eyes didn't leave Lukas, stayed glued quite firmly to him. After a few moments, she spoke quietly. Her voice didn't waver with terror or choke up with disgust, but sounded.... almost confused instead. "Who was that...?" No doubt in reference to the head.

[Milo Maevsky] In through the back door, Milo shows his face in the kitchen long enough for its staff to recognize it and not think he is some drunk customer making his way upstairs. It's also just long enough to make himself a coffee from the big pot kept brewing for the kitchen minions. The large off-white mug of sweet black mud is help carefully in his hand as he mounts the stairs to the common room.

The Armani-clad Shadow Lord's eyes don't go wide when he sees the bloody, muddy and drenched butcher Lukas has become, but his lips do screw up quizzically to one side of his mouth, eyebrows furrowing into a curious scowl that casts his cobalt blue eyes into shadowy storming oceans.

What he's presented with keeps him from making proper introductions to the two women- which he may or may not recognize from the moot- but that doesn't keep him from making a retort to the woman's statement.

For the love of Gaia, Lukas. "I bet that's just why he did it," his accent clearly Northeastern, but a bilingual rearing speaking Russian in an insulated ethnic enclave and English at school files away the maker's mark of any particular city.

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 melts away when he speaks without a foreign accent. Russian-American, clearly.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "You can stop the shock and awe act, Kate." He's already leaving the room. His voice is unnerving in and of itself: the same precise diction and enunciation, the same level delivery -- but every word undercut with a growl. "I won't get any on you."

And then, just because he's an ass like that, he flicks his hand at her. The left hand, at least -- droplets of blood splattering her direction. Could be worse. Could be decapitated-wyrmling-goo.

They hear his room door slamming open. Fine manipulative tasks seem to be beyond him at present. There's rustling, plastic bags; then he comes back out. The head's in a plastic bag now, two actually, double-bagged: the world's most grotesque safeway loot.

"Where's Mrena? We should get this Cleansed." Thumpf: the bag goes atop the coffee table. Through the opaque plastic, they can just make out a smashed nose, an empty eye socket -- the eyeball sitting enucleated on the cheek. Gabriella wants to know who that was, and Lukas looks at the bag; looks at her.

He grins. His teeth are sharp. And bloody. "I have no idea."

He swivels around to see Milo coming up the stairs, somberly and elegantly dressed as always. As Lukas almost always is, himself -- though, clearly, not at present. The Ahroun nods to the Theurge; then he turns back to Katherine.

"But I caught him sneaking out of that empty plot in Cabrini." She'll remember that foul business. "When you and Ed get your business settled -- or even before, really -- we should really clear that place out. It's been festering too long." He jerks a thumb in the direction of the bathroom. "I'm going to shower." And he does.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Blood and associated muck are flicked in her direction and she flinches in automatic distaste; almost climbing back over the sofa in her desperation to escape the germ (and wyrm) ridden liquid splashing her way.

"Vous êtes une telle brute." She sniffs at him, her heavy novel gripped between her lily-white fingers as if she were not quite unconvinced about swinging it toward his head in retribution for that offense. Of course, there was the small matter of the Theurge in the room, speaking to her comment before she had even so much as a name from him.

Though the Royalist's quick eye did recall some familiarity with the attire (Armani, she enthused his sense of style if nothing more) and the manner of speaking. "My pack mate enjoys provoking a response, Monsieur." The tall blond Philodox had a clear, melodic voice, cooler perhaps than her sister's and far less inclined toward warmth.

[Milo Maevsky] "I'd like in on that," the statement is simple, concise, and genuinely devoid of ulterior motives. It comes the moment the mission is mentioned by Lukas. He doesn't follow it up with much inquiry, it just carries the tone of a Garou interested in getting his hands dirty.

Still standing, having paused at the entrance to the common room while Lukas gives his explanation, Milo continues in as the Ahroun heads off to shower. The coffee is transferred into his left hand, his right held out to Katherine and Gabriella. The digits are charmingly gnarled, like an automechanic or carpenter's might be- small white scars that resemble cake icing in the indoor lighting, fresher black-blooded scabs, and callouses up and down the pads of the digits and meat of his palm.

"Truth's Meridian," a nod to the Garou he recognizes as the new Mistress of the Challenge. "I spoke briefly at the moot but there were many words passed between many Garou," allow me to refresh your memory, left unsaid, "Fell Prayer, Fostern to the Nation, Theurge and Elder of the Shadow Lords in Chicago." And then his attention goes to Gabriella. "I don't think we've met. I am Milo Maevsky," giving her his homid name, murderous fury simmering behind his words. Katherine would recognize him as carrying more rage than the average Garou of his mysticism-inclined auspice.

[Matthias Jorgenson] ((Open scene?))

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (yup!)

[Katherine Bellamonte] (yep! Come on in.)

[Milo Maevsky] [ Come, join us! ]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] On his way to the showers, Lukas laughs at Katherine -- a guttural, snorting sound. Then the bathroom door swings open and shut. They hear water moving through the pipes a moment later.

It's not a long shower. Three or five minutes, no more. Then the pipes thunk in the walls. The tap shuts off. Another moment or two. Wearing a towel now, Lukas passes through the common room the other way. He manages to resist throwing his bloodied undershirt and undershorts at Katherine.

"We'll be glad to have an experienced Theurge along," he replies to Milo -- and then he's gone again, his room door thudding open.

When he returns yet again, he's dressed again, more or less. His pajama bottoms end midway down his shins and his new undershirt, medium-grey, is stretched taut over his torso, nearly bursting at the seams. It's quite obvious neither article is Dedicated, as his underclothes were. He's wrapping a bandage around his gashed arm as he comes back in, taking his usual place in the corner of the sectional couch. In this form, Lukas outweighs his usual self by a hundred fifty pounds or more. When he drops down like that, the whole couch moves.

"I'll give you a call," the conversation continues as though it hadn't been interrupted, "the night before we set off. Do I have your number?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine rises, she was not a small woman by anyone's standards. Even in flat shoes such as she wore this evening she reached a height of just over five feet, nine inches. With the heels she so frequently wore it was usual to greet her towering at five ten or eleven. She uncurls herself from the sofa and takes the proffered hand with a brief smile.

"Enchanté," She demurs with a tilt of her head to one side. "Ah yes, I do recall now, I was somewhat preoccupied at the Moot as you might recall. I am Katherine Bellamonte, known to the nation as Truth's Meridian, Cliath and Half Moon and this is my younger sister, Gabriella Bellamonte." Lukas returns, bandaging his arm and Katherine seizes the opportunity to capture his attention across the totem-link.

I wish a word with you in private, Lukas.

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Gabriella's eyes flashed something akin to pity for the poor person who that head belonged to when Lukas grinned at her with still-bloody teeth and admitted that he had no idea who they were. But it was just a brief flash, because even though she was a fairly soft-hearted girl, she knew that they were the Enemy, whoever they were. She hadn't ever been into battle, as she was a Kinfolk, didn't know how to shut off the thought of mercy or sympathy because someone was of the Wyrm because she'd never had to kill, so she couldn't keep the pity from her eyes entirely. But she did keep it off her mind after allowing it its briefest flash.

Lukas teased Katherine, flicked blood off his fingers in their direction, and Gabriella's nose wrinkled with disgust. It fell short, of course, and for that she was thankful. She didn't need a splat of blood in her notes or textbook, telling a story every time she flipped over it. Lukas then disappeared, for a shower, and the man she'd never seen before, Russian-American with dark brooding features and somewhat palid skin, came over to re-introduce himself to her sister, and then moved his hand to shake hers. She set down her pencil and reached up to accept the Theurge's somewhat gnarled hand. Unlike her sister, she didn't stand up to greet him.

"Katherine pretty much made the introduction for me, it seems. I don't believe we have met before, Milo, but it's a pleasure to have gotten to do so." Katherine's eyes were so like Gabbie's, crystal clear and a light, bright blue, enchanting and beautiful. However, Katherine's leaned toward cool, occasionally cold, and were a little more closed. Gabriella's, however, were very warm despite being the color of ice, and very open and readable. Her smile was as warm and genuine as her eyes were, her entire face was really.

Lukas returned, still in his Near-Man form, this time not in a towel or in blood, but in clothes that were too tight because they were not dedicated. He was working to wrap a bandage around his arm, and she glanced over to him when he flopped down on the sofa nearby, causing the whole thing to jolt when he did so. Her head tipped to the side, just faintly, and her brows furrowed some. "Lukas, you want some extra hands to help with that?"

[Milo Maevsky] "A pleasure, Katherine," pause, "Gabriella," a polite smile gently tugging the edges of his lips in invisible marionette strings. He's far from charismatic, but it never kept him from working a room- or an encounter.

Once his hand is reclaimed from formally introducing himself to the two sisters Milo fishes inside of his suit jacket, coming up with a business card. It's a simple piece of beige weighted paper with only a phone number on it in glossy black font. "Just in case you don't," he says, and he hands it to Lukas. "I'll look forward to it."

The Theurge is tall, around 6'3", wiry and muscular, wrapped up in jet black fabric. Beneath the suit jacket he wears a similarly colored vest and tie, a white shirt the only color in his attire. His shifts on designer shoes, dimpled with Italian artistry along the sides and pointed toes. Milo's long arm reaches out deftly to grab the back of a simple wooden chair at the nearby table, spinning it on a leg and sitting down on it close to the couch. Despite the open seat on the comfortable looking piece of furniture he doesn't sit next to Gabriella or join the burly Lukas.

The Fostern's body language retains the bearing of his rank and position, but in the pack's living space also shows a respectable level of deference. His finger comes up to point at Lukas' shoulder, "Bit to the soul, or something that's healing? I'd guess that's why you're caveman," but then, a thumb over his shoulder toward Lukas' room where he can only guess the head has been left, "What was it? I didn't catch any fangs."

[Matthias Jorgenson] Milo would begin to feel the slightest sense of pressure at the back of the neck. A twitch, possibly a muscle spasm. Then more, as the pack bond alerts him to the approach of another of Cackling Shadow.

Mere moments later, a giant of a man opens the door to the Brotherhood. Tall, without the slender look so frequent among those above 6 feet in height, he stops just beyond the entrance to brush drizzle from his shoulders with a meaty hand. A long mane of blond spills from his scalp to his shoulders like a waterfall, framing a stern countenance inset with steel gray eyes. Clean shaven, he possesses rugged good looks from more northern climes.

Unzipping the large Columbia winter coat of black and forest green, he stares for a long moment at the people in the bar. Rage flows from him, giving evidence to his true nature, while the large form makes its way toward the bar. Cotton whispers against nylon, as the winter coat gives way to a broad chest swathed in a black tee shirt, without visible design or device upon it. Dark denim enwraps his legs, as heavy soled leather boots make steady footfalls in his way to the bar. About his neck, a large claw sways with each step, as though alive of its own accord.

Stopping at the bar, the man speaks, his voice a low bass rumble.

"Budweiser. Tall."

[Matthias Jorgenson] ((So, where is everyone, if I may?))

[Gabriella Bellamonte] (( We're allll upstairs in the common room. ))

[Milo Maevsky] [ Upstairs in the second floor common room, accessible through the kitchen if I remember correctly? ]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a surprisingly deftness in the way the Glabro's blunt-clawed fingers scissor the card from Milo. "I'll be in touch," he promises.

And, with a glance to the wound he's wrapping, "A spirit wound, but it's not deep. Claws. Some sort of fomor. The place seems a breeding ground for them, or at the least, a hidey-hole. There were a half-dozen or so at least that we met the first night. Possibly more inside, or something bigger. We've been keeping a lid on them, starving them out slowly, but I think they're about ready to crack." And Lukas smiles again: in this form, the only possibility is a ghastly grin.

Then, for no apparent reason, Lukas looks at Katherine for a moment, his eyes speculative. He gets to his feet again, wrapping the last few loops of the bandage around his arm.

"Will you excuse me a minute, Rhya?" There's something bizarre at best, grotesque at worst, about the monstrous Ahroun's adherence to etiquette -- as though the Sasquatch had learned table manners.

His teeth, at least, are no longer bloody when he smiles at Gabriella. "Nah, I'll be fine." And he tucks the last loose end of the bandage under, reaches out as though to ruffle the girl's hair -- realizes at the last moment she might not enjoy being mauled by a Glabro's clawed hand.

A glance at Katherine, then: raised eyebrows, a tilt of his head at his room.

[Milo Maevsky] Milo nods to Lukas excusing himself, and when he sees a glance exchanged between the two pack mates moves his attention to Gabriella. And then, his own perked ears and gently raised head, for no apparent reason, as if he's expecting something. Or someone.

So when he speaks to Gabriella it's as if he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop at first, though he slowly focuses his attention. Not overbearingly, only politely, as if not wishing to allow an awkward silence to raise it's ugly head. His index finger, long and knobby at the knuckles, is now pointed at the books the Bellamonte kin is holding. "May I ask what you're studying?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] They both in their own ways adhere to the strangest code of etiquette. One can almost envision Katherine in her war form delivering a curtsy toward her enemy before she tore its throat out. Perhaps that was a tad far-fetched, but the manner in which she turned a smile on the elder present and inclined her head gave some credence to the notion that her pedigree was deeply ingrained.

"We will be back in a moment, Rhya. Perhaps my sister could be talked into sharing her interests with you, oui?" A look was turned on Gabriella, some mixture of doting elder sister and reassurance with a sweep of her fingers through the younger girl's hair.

And then: Katherine's face smooths, hardens and she precedes Lukas into his own bedroom with the sweeping stride of a royal at her leisure.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Rather: Katherine starts to precede Lukas. There's a distinct, low snarl from the Ahroun -- a warning -- before he shoulders ahead. She is not Alpha yet.

Once they're both in, he shuts the door behind them.

--

Inside:

His room is as it always is: spartan, spare, without waste, and impeccably neat. Well, except for the bloody underclothes wadded up on the chair. He moves it onto the desktop, then pulls the chair out for Katherine. For his part, he takes the bed, pulling his back to the wall, stretching one leg out crosswise on the mattress, bending the other knee up.

"So?" he asks. "What's this about?"

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Lukas smiled again, this time with white teeth as opposed to bloody ones, and declined her offer to help. He and Katherine looked at one another, had a Moment, the kind that packmates had when they were communicating in ways that no one besides themselves could interpret, then both rose. They excused themselves to have a word that was obviously not meant for her or Milo's ears. Lukas parted by tossuling her straight light-auburn hair with a clawed hand the size of a very large baseball mit, and Katherine ran her own soft, milky-skinned fingers through that same head of light brown-red hair before she followed Lukas out of the room.

Something about members of the Unbroken Circle and her hair, it seemed. She lifted a hand, smoothed her hair back down after Lukas's assult on it, and tucked it back behind her right ear before she glanced briefly to Milo, then back to her textbook. Now the atmosphere was entirely too distracting for her to retain anything that she read. She realized this with a slight sigh, and was about to start packing her books and notes away into the tote bag leaning against the couch by where her feet would be were she sitting properly when Milo spoke up.

She blinked out of mild surprise and curiosity and turned her gaze over to the man seated in the chair pulled away from the table against the wall. She wasn't precisely convinced that he truely cared about the material she was studying, had the feeling that he was being polite and breaking the ice more than anything else, but she smiled and went along with it anyways.

"Just a very basic ten-ten course. History of Art. A simple freshman year requirement before I can go on to the classes at higher levels than this on the subject."

[Matthias Jorgenson] The beer arrives as Matthias places several wadded, dirty bills on the counter. Then, after a glance to the ceiling of the first floor bar and taking the beer in hand, the footfalls of the heavy soled boots make their way to the back of the restaurant. Following the kitchen to the stairwell to the second floor, Matthias begins to ascend the steps without comment to the cook or other kitchen staff.

Upon gaining the landing to the second floor without incident, Matthias takes a mere moment to consider his surroundings before starting into the second floor common room.

[Katherine Bellamonte] She marches ahead, he snarls in reaction and she slows her step only as long as it takes him to shoulder past her and leave her huffing a breath through her teeth as if she were biting back a reprimand of her own. Still -- he enters, clears space on his chair for her to sit and she walks toward it as he settles himself on his bed, back to the wall.

However, Katherine instead places both her palms on the chair back and wraps her fingers around it to use it as a prop. "Ilari Martin sent me a very nice formal letter in the post." She begins quietly, her spine very rigid, her expression while not pained, seemed strained. As if it took her great effort to maintain her indifference. "He seems to be under the impression that you spoke to him and demanded that he reveal to me his," a pause, her fingers tighten around the chair for a moment.

"Affliction."

[Milo Maevsky] Milo leans forward, elbows on his knees, still maintaining a healthy (propriety) distance between himself and the kin. His hand flattens out as a knife, his thumb curled gently up, and he holds his hand out toward Gabriella and the now-shut book. "May I?" The question in punctuated by an arched eyebrow, belying a genuine curiosity. "I've never been one for painting or paintings, but I carve," that not-so-personal but personally unique revelation perhaps signifying he is no longer indulging in idle chit-chat.

Milo's attention is split when those footfalls become audible- which is early, due to Matthias' size. He gives the Norseman a nod. Perhaps deeper than last time, and thus maybe identifiable to his pack mate as an apology or wish to put differences in the past.

The well-dressed shaman still holds his hand out toward Gabriella, for the book, though it and his expression never carry any demand. He speaks again, "Gabrielle Bellamonte, this is Matthias, a packmate of mine," then speaking to Matthias in further clarification, "Gabriella is the kin of Katherine Bellamonte, the new Mistress of the Challenge who was confirmed at the moot."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas grimaces -- only, in this form, he simply bares his teeth. "Let's call it what it is, Katherine. His addiction. His weakness."

He leans sideways on the bed, pulls open the drawer on his small nightstand -- takes out an orange that he'd secreted away there at some prior time. Plunging his thumbclaw in the bottom, he splits the fruit in half. His abdominals bunch under his shirt as he sits half-upright, holding one half out to Katherine.

"And yeah. I told him to tell you. I told him his inability to control himself reflects badly on you, and that you had a right to know, particularly with him showing interest in you." A pause. "He didn't see it that way. I put his head in a toilet and told him he would tell you, or I would." Full disclosure and all.

[Sam Modine] One of the rooms in the back corner of the Brotherhood's second floor is habitated by a decidedly odd pairing of Garou. One a hyper-energetic young man of dark complexion and light in spirits and the other an impossibly tall, lean engine of war. At first glance it would seem an impossible situation and at times perhaps it is. But they compliment one another well like any two of their flock, one keeping the other in check, easing even then relations for the pack as a whole.

The Fenrir now emerges from that room, flipping the light off on the wall behind him and closing the door he moves through swiftly. There is a pit stop made at the bathroom, this proves brief however and unremarkable and the Circle's young veteran heads in toward the common room.

Familiar and strange faces turn to find him dimmed a bit, his great rage held tight behind icy blue eyes. "Hi."

[Katherine Bellamonte] "You put," She straightens, her hands leaving the chair back as she echoes his words to her, struggling, it would seem with the utter calm by which he said this, and the very idea of what he was saying he did. "You put," she says again, this time with the definite beginnings of a snarl rising in her throat like bile. "His head in a toilet?" She frames the final word with such a level of revulsion it truly seems for a moment that the regal lady before him would empty her stomach all over his floor.

Lukas offers her half his orange and she merely waves it aside like a irritating insect buzzing by her ear. "By what jurisdiction did you believe you did this, Lukas? If there was a lesson to be taught or any punishing to be done it should have only been undertaken by Edward or myself.

We are his blood relations. You do not see me attempting to govern your Kinfolk by means of exposing them to disease-ridden facilities."

[Matthias Jorgenson] Matthias returns Milo's nod in kind, just as would be expected to the alpha of one's own pack. Then, his eyes focus on Gabriella with a nod.

"Nice to meet you."

Then, as Sam is entering the room, Matthias makes his way to a convenient, empty spot on the wall against which to lean. Yet, he does not lean, rather, he merely clears the landing to allow other travel. Steel gray eyes meet icy blue, before he speaks.

"Hello... Matthias Jorgenson, Odin's Eye."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Milo leaned forward and held out a hand, requesting that he may view her textbook not only with the gesture he was making with his hand, but by the quirk of the eyebrow, the courteous and questioning gleam to his eyes, and the words as well. She smiled and nodded, transferring her notebook from her lap to the couch cushion beside her, then lifting her textbook with both hands, unfolding her legs from under her and planting her stocking feet on the floor of the common room to maintain balance, and finally leaning forward and to the side to hand Milo the book, left open on the page she was studying, which was a segment (one of many) about Leonardo De Vinci.

"You carve? I've dappled in that myself, not quite my forte, but a respectable art. I'm most proficient in music myself-- the violin most of all." Her smile never seemed to leave her face, not completely anyways. One tall blond Fenrir entered the room, an unfamilir face set atop a thick and muscular neck and set of shoulders as well, and she looked over to him, curious about the man she'd never met. Milo introduced him as his packmate, introduced her as the Mistress of Challenge's kin, and she smiled and nodded. "Katherine's younger sister, actually. Pleasure to meet you."

Then Sam poked his head into the room-- the second tall blond Fenrir in under a minute. His was a face she was familiar with, so the smile she gave him was more relaxed, less polite and more... comfortable. "Hey Sam," she greeted him much more casually than she had Milo or Matthias, which only confirmed that she knew him well.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] She waves the orange off -- so he eats it. Pops the entire half into his mouth. His fanged maw. Whatever.

You put. She looks utterly aghast. At this point, Lukas is beginning to feel the first dreadful niggles of amusement, even when he knows to laugh now would be to be utterly misconstrued; to be seen as -- what were the words Danicka used last night? Dumb jock jackass? Something like that? -- someone who would laugh at the misfortune of a man half his size and twice his age, getting his head dunked in a toilet.

Which, really, isn't what Lukas finds funny. He finds that distasteful, possibly; necessary, certainly. But not funny.

This, however: You put. His head. In a TOILET?

This, and he's tucked his chin to his chest, pressing his lips together, doggedly chewing his orange. She might even mistake this for penitence. For an inability to meet her accuser's eyes.

And then she says, with absolute, finicky precision: ...disease ridden facilities.

Let's not mince words. Lukas bursts into laughter. He [b]howls[/i] with laughter.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (goddamn HTML.) She waves the orange off -- so he eats it. Pops the entire half into his mouth. His fanged maw. Whatever.

You put. She looks utterly aghast. At this point, Lukas is beginning to feel the first dreadful niggles of amusement, even when he knows to laugh now would be to be utterly misconstrued; to be seen as -- what were the words Danicka used last night? Dumb jock jackass? Something like that? -- someone who would laugh at the misfortune of a man half his size and twice his age, getting his head dunked in a toilet.

Which, really, isn't what Lukas finds funny. He finds that distasteful, possibly; necessary, certainly. But not funny.

This, however: You put. His head. In a TOILET?

This, and he's tucked his chin to his chest, pressing his lips together, doggedly chewing his orange. She might even mistake this for penitence. For an inability to meet her accuser's eyes.

And then she says, with absolute, finicky precision: ...disease ridden facilities.

Let's not mince words. Lukas bursts into laughter. He howls with laughter.

[Katherine Bellamonte]

[Sam Modine] "Hey gabby," His frame swings into the room , almost floating across the floor. His head flicks to one man, then the other before resting on Gabby. His features are placid, easy. The Fenrir, obvious by breeding the scion of heroes gives the kin a quick look, an examination of her bearing, the fingers of the man beside her wrapping over the textbook. Still though he doesn't react before the Tribesman introduces himself, drawing an easy smile across the warrior's face.

"Mjollnir's Heart," he replies, "call me Sam." The young man is exuberant.

"Fenrir?" The Question is casual, the Modi doesn't stiffen, move to strike, bony weapons racked steady and loose at his sides.

[Milo Maevsky] The book is taken and shut in a closed fist, turned over and examined for name and make before he opens it again. The first couple of pages fanned through quickly with a sound comparable to a struck match. He then begins paging through once the first picture shows itself. He doesn't seem to be reading the words, his eyes moving in inspecting circles instead of back and forth, line by line. He stops on a picture of bones first, next on a sarcophagus. He doesn't seem all that interested in going past these (supposedly) ancient pieces of artwork.

Milo's head glances over his shoulder toward the laughter for a minute, seeming a bit annoyed by the disturbance, but it draws his attention off the pictures and back to Gabriella. "The violin? I enjoy that instrument. It's delicate. Maybe similar to carving?" She might have caught the faint scent of both wood and stone dust on his hands. "I don't know music," but he nods, "but yes, I carve. I find it very relaxing."

He returns Sam's introduction- maybe directed at Matthias. "Milo Maevsky. Fell Prayer. Fostern Theurge and Elder to the Shadow Lords," giving his own stats in much the same manner he'd rattled them off to Katherine earlier. Proud, but not overly so. He has his own hints of breeding, but to one accustomed to Silver Fangs and descended of heroes such as Sam it isn't much.

[Katherine Bellamonte] He laughs.

No, that's not quite accurate. He all but rolls about on the floor in a cartoonish manner, clutching at his sides in the wake of her reaction to his revolting College Boy behavior. Katherine's fists clench at her sides, and they can both feel it; the boiling rise of her Rage in the air, prickling the atmosphere as she breathes in and out in faster succession. Her pale eyes all but boring holes into Lukas' head.

"Why are you laughing?" She snarls, her pale hair whipping around her shoulders as she slams her hands down on the back of the chair with enough force to make it creak despairingly. "I am not joking, Lukas. Would you prefer me to set about lecturing, say, oh, I don't know, Danicka by half way drowning her to put my point across?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas is still laughing. And in fact, when she gets to the bit about half-drowning Danicka -- he bursts into a fresh round of side-splitting laughter.

[Katherine Bellamonte] (WP: don't lose control plz.)

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Gabriella was pretty relaxed tonight, the evening had settled into a bout of quiet companionship with her sister in the common room, one reading and the other working on her schooling. Gabbie was dressed for the occasion, too, in a pair of jeans that were high end, faded fashionably, and no doubt quite expensive, but worn enough that they were quite comfortable for her to wear. Not quite the sort of loungewear that sweatpants would be, but close enough without looking sloppy. On her top she wore a snug cotton T-shirt, and over the back of the couch where she was sitting she had draped her sweater-- currently a shapless cloth of green knitting. The socks on her feet were simple and white and soft. Her hair was straight and left down and loose, and her face was (as usual) void of make-up.

This was Gabriella when she had no reason to impress anyone when she decided upon her attire and walked away from home.

Milo commented on how he enjoyed the violin, and she nodded and smiled to his words. "It can be quite delicate, or it can be passionate, or it can be harsh and brassy. It truely depends on the style of music you chose to perform with it. This is, no doubt, the same story with carving. You can carve soft, delicate beauty, or you can make images that are just as rigid and hard as the stone they were created from."

Sam seemed to be making friendly with this Matthias man, and she glanced up from Milo to the pair of them to watch this interaction for a few seconds. Sam was the only Fenrir she knew.

[Matthias Jorgenson] "Fenrir."

A simple nod to punctuate the statement, before the tall beer glass is again raised to Matthias' lips. Approximately a quarter of the beer is drained in this fashion, before he speaks again.

"Packed?"

He stands easily, though without leaning. His weight clearly over his feet, but not with any active intention. Then, a curious brow raises as his eyes move to the door from whence the laughter is emanating.

"Must be a good joke."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine doesn't speak to answer his renewed laughter. Instead, she hefts his chair up in her hands and tosses it across the room with all her might, not pausing to witness where it lands she turns and stalks from his room, across the common area and down toward the stairwell -- her anger sandblasting the air in her wake.

[Sam Modine] "Modi,"
The Modi.

He responds, quickly continuing, "before Fenris, Cliath to the Nation and warrior pledged to the Tolons of Horus and The Unbroken Circle." I run with Royalty. The light raising of the corners of Sam's lips shows the face of a beast cooled under the winking Lunar light through the window. "Good to see there are more than three of us." It's obvious at this point the two of them aren't going to erupt into some sort of wild Fenrir revel and he turns back switly to Gabbie as though to speak.

Perk.
Laughter erupts from the bedroom of the circle's first knight, and it draws the attention of the strawhaired image of a viking hero in the room. Matthias words ring in his perhiphery but one can't truly tell if he heard them as his eyes simply narrow a space in that direction his features and voice now silent.

"What's so funny?"
Though he does, however; speak.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] She doesn't get that far. The room smashes into the wall and Lukas is on his feet -- she gets to the door and he slams onto it with his greater heft and weight, keeps it shut.

The last dying snorts and chortles of his laughter peter out. He scrubs his eyes on the back of his wrist; points her at the bed.

"Wait, Katherine. Sit down."

And he presses the back of his hand against his mouth, chokes down one last bubble of laughter, composes himself. A second or two go by. His eyes finally stop dancing with mistimed mirth, and he looks at her seriously.

"Let me clarify. I did not half-drown your kinsman. At no time was he in danger. He wasn't even bruised. Nor did I do what I did because he was snorting himself into an early grave. That's your business. I disciplined him in response to open disrespect -- to myself, and to you -- and I did it in response to his refusal to see the truth, which is that his addiction is a black mark on your name. I did it to show him that I was absolutely serious when it comes to the honor of my pack."

A pause.

"But you're right." There isn't a shred of humor left. "He's your kinsman; I should have told him to tell you the truth or told you myself, and left the discipline to you. For impinging on your territory, and for laughing at you on a point of honor, I apologize. What reparations would you have?"

And to Sam: It's nothing; something Katherine said.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (the ... CHAIR... smashes into the wall.)

[Milo Maevsky] "Guess we know on whom," in answer to Matthias' statement of the joke probably being funny, slamming and breaking sounds now emanating from the room in response to the bass laughter of a Glabro Lukas. The rage sets off a chain reaction, at least in himself, and his fingers flick a little more violently through the pages of the book until he finally returns to Leonardo De Vinci, handing the book back to Gabriella.

"I would like to attend if you ever have a... showcase?" Looking for the right word for a musical performance. Then he finds it. "Yes, recital," nodding. "Should your sister allow it. Though she doesn't seem in the quite the right mood just now."

[Matthias Jorgenson] "Cliath Modi to the Cackling Shadow. I agree. There is greater strength in numbers."

Matthias bass rumble is spoken calmly, as the sound of something breaking follows the laughter from the room. Then, without, at Milo's statement, Matthias' grin grows wider, his laughter a low, coughing thing.

[Gabriella Bellamonte] A feeling of unsettled tension rippled into the room, present already by the number of Garou in the common room with her (particularly with Sam having entered the room, his Rage was almost suffocating, and she had a surprisingly high tolerance for the raw force of animal violence that her more primal relatives carried) but intensified by Katherine's Rage flexing and swelling, the tension permeating the very walls it seemed to affect Milo, at least. She saw tension line his face just faintly at the corners, and noted that he put more force into his turning the pages of her book before putting it back on the page she was at and handing it back to her.

When she reached out to accept the book, her body language was a little more closed, a little more cautious, but at least she could keep her face warm and her voice just as open and polite as it had been, unchanged completely. The text book and her notebook were both tucked into her tote bag, then she leaned back to sit more comfortably in the couch's cushions.

"You're more than welcome to attend. The next is scheduled for the end of April, it will be the semester's closing performance. I can get some tickets with no trouble, and have them ready for you to pick up wherever is most convenient. I would assume here...? It seems the common meeting ground for everyone."

Then Sam turned and looked at her, as though he was going to speak. He paused, but she'd already caught that he seemed to have words on his tongue for her. So she lifted her eyebrows just a little, tipped her head to one side slightly, and spoke up. "Sam? Did you have something to say?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] He beats her to the door and holds it shut, for a moment it seems as though she would bodily remove him from her path so red-hot was her anger at being made a fool of yet again (no matter that this was private mockery, her sense of pride knew no difference in the size of audience) and indeed the Philodox stares not at her Beta but at the wood grain with furious intent.

Wait, Katherine. Sit down.

She turns stiffly, and does as he requests, though when she perches herself on his bed she does so gingerly, her hands clasped together on her lap, chin raised high in the air as if to even the playing field even this much. Finally, he is serious with her, and her expression betrays her tested patience and marred pride on his lack of decorum.

"Do you know that I have never before wished to keep a thing for my own. Everything I have done, whether you believe so or not has been for this pack, for Edward and for Gabriella. I do not deny that I have aspirations, Lukas. But I did wish to keep him." A pause, she breathes out wearily. "Instead I find myself chasing him around his apartment and being told to never return."

She turns a gaze not of a ruling Philodox, but a troubled girl on her pack mate.

"I do not know how to help him."

[Sam Modine] Crack.
Fire Drill.

Something breaks in the other room and Sam's head whips in that direction. He's moving before anyone can ask after him, the second reflex to the sound. His body turns quickly, feet bounding out long even strides. He turns back as he exits, a third reflex this one auxillary does processitself when the Modi leaves the room. His head twists back over his shoulder until he's not quite looking at gabbie, calling absently, "stay here."

He arrives at Lukas' door, body throwing itself to a stop only fractions of an inch from the barrier. His hand pifts before him, twists as it takes the handle and finds himself face to face with a very upset Katherine and the Ahroun whose space they occupied. "Wha-?"

From beginning to end the whole process takes six seconds.

[Milo Maevsky] Again, alone with the kin. And this time with Matthias standing over his shoulder. He turns a bit in the chair to regard them both, facing the couch at an angle and where the remaining Fenrir stands.

"Here would be perfect. With Lukas, if you don't see me yourself. And a seat for a guest? Only if it's possible and convenient. If there's a cost or donation for the program I'll cover it," looking up to Matthias to see if he would make a similar request. His spirits seem raised, though they hadn't been low, at the bit of laughter he's managed to coax out of the Fenrir. It was a good sign.

"Any more dates?" A vague question directed at the Modi.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a moment when she's not looking at him; she's looking at the wall, or the floor, or the splinters of what used to be his desk chair.

In that moment, which is a moment she'll miss, he looks at her with something like compassion -- some shade of it, anyway, filtered through the brutish brow, the heavy jaw of a glabro.

Katherine looks at him again and he draws a breath to reply --

-- his door flies open behind him, thudding against his back. Sam looks in, looking ready to take on the Wyrm itself. Lukas moves out of the way, frowning. There's a beat; then he exhales, shaking his head.

"We're fine in here, Sam. Can I have a minute with Katherine? We'll be back out in a second."

[Matthias Jorgenson] The blond mane shakes once, before Matthias speaks quietly to Milo. His eyes, however, follow Sam curiously.

"Such arts are lost on me."

The Fenrir shrugs then, finishing his beer.

[Gabriella Bellamonte] There was a loud cracking noise, something broke against a wall, it sounded like, and it wasn't wet or muted enough to be someone's skull, so she didn't go running to the scene herself. Especially not since Sam told her to stay put. She was tolerant of Rage, as previously mentioned, but she wasn't about to put herself in a small room with Katherine, Lukas, and Sam all together. Not if she could help it, anyways, even if she did love them dearly like family even if only one was her actual relative.

Milo stated that leaving the invitations with Lukas would be best, an extra for a companion would be appreciated, and that he would pay if that would be necessary. She nodded and smiled, then pulled her legs up onto the couch with her, knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them so her hands linked in front of her shins. Her attention drifted from Milo and Matthias to strain her ears and listen to try and make sure that nothing else drastic was going on beyond the wall that blocked the common room from the lodging rooms.

[Milo Maevsky] Whether Matthias means the arts of dating, music or both, Milo isn't sure. He looks down at his coffee, set on the floor so that he could peruse Gabriella's book, now picking it up and taking a sip to test its temperature. Obviously it's still somewhat to his liking, because he takes another longer sip before holding it in both hands between his knees.

Milo taps his foot, almost impatiently, but it turns into a rhythm for a few moments before he stops. He glances again over his shoulder, waiting for someone to return.

Again, to Matthias, "I was planning on talking to Lukas, an Ahroun of my tribe and also member of the Unbroken Circle, about getting a regular training regimen going. Weapons, fists, whatever. Would you be interested? Blow off some steam. I'm sure you wouldn't mind breaking a few of my bones," a wink after that last statement.

[Erick Wujcik] *Feet on the steps and a few moments later the tall man ascends into view. Dressed from work, black cargo pants, sneakers, a black bowling/uniform shirt with two thick neon green vertical stripes. "COSMIC GAS" on the left breast.. Over it is the German Flectarn camo jacket, hood back. A hand tattooed top and palm is raising to slip the flight goggles up on his forehead as he looks around the room*

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] If Katherine doesn't mind Sam's presence, Lukas doesn't. One way or another, Sam in or Sam out, Lukas shuts the door again. And leans against it, perhaps to keep it shut against further intrusion. Another moment, frowning, and then he retrieves the thread of the conversation.

"Do you want my honest opinion, Kate?" He pauses just long enough for some sign, some signal of assent. "I think the kinsman that catches your eye is a lucky bastard indeed. And I think you can do a lot better than a drunken crackhead who doesn't have the wits to keep his own head out of the shitter. Literally and figuratively.

"I think this kinsman is unworthy of you. I think he dug his own grave long ago. I think it's neither your duty nor even your place to help him. I think you'd only be pandering to his frailties, and in the end you'll have to cut yourself loose or be dragged down with him.

"I'm sure he has reasons and extenuating circumstances and sob stories, but come on, Kate. Compared to this?" He gestures with his good hand -- not just the room but all of this, the whole fucking world. "Compared to what you see every single day? What does he know about pain, really? What excuse does he have?

"It's weakness that put him where he is. Weakness of spirit and weakness of body. Simple as that. And if he still has anything left in him that's worth offering you, Kate, he'll dig himself out. And you should let him do or die, himself."

A pause. Then the corner of the Ahroun's mouth turns up, a wry expression, or as near to wry as his hulking features would allow.

"Of course, I say this without any expectation whatsoever that you'll listen, much less agree. That's the Shadow Lord way. Praise the strong, crush the weak. That's not the Silver Fang way, obviously, and it's not my duty, or my place, to tell you who you should and shouldn't take into your bed. So all I can say to you is this: whatever you choose to do, don't let him drag you down with him. Because if I see that happening, Kate, I'll do a lot worse than flush his head in a toilet. I'll do whatever I must to protect my pack, and I'll make my reparations to you later."

[Matthias Jorgenson] Matthias looks to the landing of the steps as Barcode's footfalls reach his ears, a familiar sensation of approach flowing through the pack bond. He nods as another of Cackling Shadow approaches.

"Bar."

Then, turning back to Milo, Matthias shakes his head.

"I would not be interested."

His eyes move to Milo before he speaks anew.

"Where did this idea originate?"

[Zeke] The Brotherhood:

A haven and stewing pot for Trueborn, Kinfolk and those of the Gaian side. It boasted eats, drinks, friendly faces and made life a little easier for everyone who wanted to look an individual up. It also made things a lot more complicated in terms of whose who where Territory was concerned. If one foot's in the common space and the other's on the stairwell, does that make it a violation when The Circle occupies the sofas? Or does the Weasel by the window nullify the angry glare from the Shadowlord Ahroun standing a little too close to the Silver Fang kin?

The back of the kitchen is flooded with a sharp gust of cool air and wet, which is quickly ceased as the Chauffeur punches the door closed behind him. A raspy

"If this isn't "Pa's got his Omen on" weather, I just don't know..."

Emerges from his mouth as he shakes off his coat and generously wipes his feet on the provided mat, already saturated with the dampness of several entires and exits. The smells of the kitchen are ignored for the moment, whilst sunglasses are tucked into the collar of his business best and his gloves are removed, tucked into pockets. The stairwell beckons and he's moving not a moment after.

[Erick Wujcik] *A nod is offered to Matti and Erick meanders over that way, soft blue eyes looking around the room as he approaches Milo and Matt.* Word.

Sup?

*Hands pat down his pockets and come out with a bright green lime. Leaning against the wall near his people his other hand flexes and a wicked lil black blade appears in it. One Milo would know well. Blade kisses fruit and he starts to skin the lime*

[Katherine Bellamonte] When Sam all but charges the door down, Katherine does not even blink. She merely looks away from both her pack-mates with some expression of far distant thought and looks at the broken remains of Lukas' chair for several beats until the door is closed once more and Lukas begins to speak. Even now, Katherine does not immediately look toward him, but rather frowns at the wall as if considering its reasons for breaking so easily beneath the onslaught of her rage.

"Perhaps there is none out there that are a match for me, maybe that is the curse of such immaculate breeding, je pense, oui? " She smiles, a wan, unconvincing thing more of a wince than anything else and scoots back far enough on Lukas' bed that she can lean her back against the wall; her hands flat over her abdomen in a gesture that almost seemed protective.

"I could not take him into my bed as he is now, Lukas. I am not sure that I could ever," here she pauses, and seems to relocate her sense of propriety. "Still, he is if nothing else my responsibility as Kin. You are right that I cannot have him shaming our tribal name."

[Milo Maevsky] Milo directs a nod to his two recently arrived pack mates- Erick first, and then Zeke when he also reaches the top of the stairs. His eyes don't leave Matthias, though, only recognizing them out of his peripheral vision.

His answer to the Fenrir's last question is an index and middle finger tapped to his head, another sip of coffee to wet his tongue before he says, "Do you not think it's a good idea? I know I've got something to learn. Would runs and training with other Garou not help our coordination in real conflict?" All directed toward the Ahroun as questions, trying to draw him in on his own terms and leaving the guts of martial training and battle for Matthias to dissect in response.

[Sam Modine] Lukas shuts the door behind Sam and Sam crosses his arms over his chest, watching quietly. The trust in the room runs thin and even under the crescent moon the two are dangerous in quarters. He though shows no signs outwardly of any ill intent, matching as best he can the mood of the new space he's occupying.

Lukas speaks.
[Quiet.]

Katherine speaks.
[Quiet.]

Sam finally speaks up once the silence has drawn itself like bow across harp strings. "He's right about the kin though Kat. He's bad news and he doesn't deserve you." The Full Moon's chest rises then slowly comes to rest in an exercise of control. He doesn't speak more though, but remains watchful of the other too, silent witness to the rest of the melodrama the two, now three act out.

[Zeke] Zeke tops the stairs and offers the rest of the Shadow a nod, both respectful and loose in that fact. He stretches and stops, or the other way around, something cracking dully somewhere in the midst of his back, the sound eliciting a rumbling exhale that deflates Zeke into his clothes, dusted with damp spots that show up darker in the soft light of the Common room.

He doesn't approach the other three pack members just yet, listening for a few seconds to Milo's assessment and seeking of Matt's expertise, before his attention shifts to the hallway leading to the rooms where the Monsters Are-

Pausing halfway to regard Gabriella on the couch, books, texts and study in hand and mind. His demeanour sours briefly, lips quirking into a face both vague and indecipherable in it's negativity, before he's turning to make slows steps toward the Hall...steps so slow that eventually they stop and have him turning back toward the little kinfolk on the couch.

"....Don't suppose you know if Mrena's in at all, kiddo..."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] A shrug from the Ahroun, whose head, in this form, nearly brushes the ceiling when he stands upright.

"I'll tell you what I told him. If he were my kin, I'd beat him within an inch of his life the first time I caught him snorting that shit. If I caught him again, I'd kill him." A shrug. "Better dead than a slave to the Wyrm."

[Matthias Jorgenson] Matthias grins, as if at some joke of Milo's making. Then, he speaks again, his low bass rumble cautious.

"It has its merits... and its flaws."

Then, his eyes flitting to Gabriella for a moment, then to where the commotion was occurring between Lukas and Katherine for another moment, he speaks again.

"The walls have ears."

That said, Matthias straightens and nods greetings as still another member of the Shadow arrives.

"Zeke."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (erase one of the shrugs. LOSING ABILITY TO WRITE.)

[Zeke] ...Gabriella's potential response, interrupted only briefly to glance up at Matt

"...Hey Matt" Quick and breathy, before he returns wide and expectant eyes to Gabbie.

[Erick Wujcik] *The first wedgee cut free, it's raised to his lips on the edge of the knife. Slipping past sharp teeth, the tall man eats, blue eyes flickering up to watch Zeke for a moment. Then back to Matti and Milo*

What sort of training are we talkin' here?

*The blade spins between his fingers, flip flip flip flip. Pause, spin the other way, spin spin spin spin, pause, cut a new wedge of lime*

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Gabriella seemed every bit the meek Kinfolk surrounded but unfamiliar Garou that she was right now-- setting quietly on the couch because she was told to stay, because she rode here with her sister in her sister's car, and because she'd been told to stay put. A part of her wanted to go join the members of Unbroken Circle in Lukas's room because polite as Milo was, she still didn't know him, and unfamiliar, polite, and very diplomatic Garou were somewhat less bearable when she didn't have a familiar face around to look upon for support and comfort.

So her studies had been set aside, she couldn't hope to concentrate now. Matter of fact, they were stuffed in the bag at her feet. Her knees were pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, and chin rested on top of her kneecaps. This was how Zeke would see her when he spotted her and decided to stop and ask if she knew if Mrena was in. Gabbie's response was to look long and hard back at Zeke. She didn't particularly care for this man, but she wouldn't be particularly rude with him either.

"I'm afraid I don't, but I doubt that she is."

It didn't stop her from being a little less-than-friendly and straight to the point with him, though.

[Katherine Bellamonte] All of a sudden, Katherine laughs. Not as loudly, nor as gleefully as Lukas had earlier but it is genuine. Genuinely fueled that would be, by regret and desires that seemed at present so entirely torn asunder.

"Do you realize that I spent my Valentine's Day chasing him around his apartment in order to rid it, and him, of drugs?" She closes her eyes, both sighing and laughing again. "I tackled my own Kin to the floor to prevent him running from me out the fire escape."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "The ground." Mock-solemn, all horror. "But Kate, the germs."

[Milo Maevsky] "Exchanging beatings. Brawling, dueling. Whatever needs work. Bigger picture strategies, if it comes up," in answer to Erick's question. The mug knocked back so that the last sugary drips of the coffee disappear into his mouth, he places it onto the the table nearby.

Milo nods to Matthias' statement, shrugging toward Erick. "We'll weigh the pros and cons later, though."

"I haven't seen her either," added to Gabriella's answer, toward Zeke.

[Katherine Bellamonte] "You are a walking plague of germs at present. Be silent." She reaches for his pillow and throws it at his head.

[Erick Wujcik] *A bit of a scoff at that and Erick shook his head clearly amused. Chewing and swallowing the wedge of lime, a glance was offered to Matti and a raised brow. Back to the both of them and he opened his mouth as if to speak on that... then.. declined. Closing it and maintaining his grin. The blade twirls though his fingers but it's clear that Erick is tickled about something, but for once, perhapss the first time in ages, keeps it to himself instead of blasting it right on out.*

[Zeke] "Ahhh..."

The smile is minor, eyes shutting and head nodding as he straightens once more and turns his attention to look down the hallway. His jaw is unaligned, pushed off to the right, eyes narrowed like a deep thought were giving him digestive trouble.

"...Don't suppose you and you-" And Milo chimes in, bringing Zeke's attention up from his returning regard of Gabriella, toward the Fostern Theurge. His jaw claps shut and his smile is placating, offering a nod of musing thanks to Milo, before he walks calm and effortless to one of the sofa-chairs and promptly settles into it, one ankle set to the opposite knee, easing back gently into the plush seat.

"...Girl's more evasive than a first date..." He doesn't seem to mind chatting in Gabriella's direction, the smile on his face both vague and polite.

[Sam Modine] "Kat." He finally speaks, serious, deadly so.

Ironic that the honor of a woman brings the two to such a dead agreement after weeks of being at one another's throats. He stares through the room to the Philodox, locking her in his sights. "He knows where to buy the stuff, he's not wanting for money." His tongue fishes underneath his lower lip when the Fenrir pauses for a second, glancing over to Lukas.

"It's going to take more than chasing him about and babysitting him-" A dead stop there in his cadence, he lets the rhetoric set home before dropping the counter like a bomb. "-Ignoring the war." He shakes his head, his sense of propriety catching up with his willingness to speak up fast.

"Cut him loose. If he swims back clean you can try it then," he frowns. "Don't let him make you his fool."

Finished.

[Erick Wujcik] Ah see 'er all the time.. *A bit of a wince and a yuck face and a seed is produced and with a grunt, slipped into a pocket, the wedge in his mouth chewed a bit more*

[Matthias Jorgenson] Matthias' brow furrows, his tone still wary.

"Should the pros and cons not be weighed before the inquisition outside our pack?"

A glance to Barcode, as if reading his reaction.

"The other pack in question may not respond well if we make the offer only to ultimately withdraw from it."

Then, as Zeke asks, Matthias responds with a simple shake of the head.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas' hands come up to grab the pillow; the left one reminds him that it wasn't 100% tonight; he gives a laughing ow..., grabs the pillow halfassedly with the one hand, and tosses it back onto the bed.

Sam speaks -- and perhaps for the first time in weeks, Lukas agrees completely. He doesn't even speak. He just nods.

And then, he straightens up, opens his door, and nods them out. Apparently social hour was over in Lukasland. "Okay. We've ignored Gabbie long enough. Let's go back out."

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Zeke commented about Mrena, comparing her to a first date somehow, and seemed to be doing so toward her. Like he intended to have a casual, chatty, friendly conversation with her. She hadn't forgotten being locked in a car with him and being interrogated about her siblings, the stiffness never quite faded from the small of her back over that, and seemed to return with great ease when she was back in this dark man's presence.

So she stood up, grabbed the handles of her book bag, and nodded faintly to the group assembling in the room. "Excuse me," it was polite and not directed at anyone specifically. With that murmered, she grabbed her green sweater off the back of the couch as well and with that and her book bag in hand, walked out of the common room and into the hallway that would make a complete square around the communal bathroom, with doors lining the wall to indicate seperate bunking rooms.

She stopped in front of the room that she heard voices from-- Lukas's room, and set up camp against the wall beside that door. Her book bag was set at her feet, to lean back against her shins, and she took the time to pull her knit green sweater on, close it up, and tie the band about the waist to keep it closed. She was finishing the knot when the door opened, causing her to lift her eyebrows in surprise and turn her head to look over at the currently vacant doorway.

We've ignored Gabbie long enough, floated out of the open space to reach her ears, and a half smile formed on her face. At least they didn't forget about her completely.

[Katherine Bellamonte] They filed out of his bedroom then, Lukas still in his war form, followed by Sam and finally, appearing somewhat less strained and pale, Katherine. She smiled at the sight of her younger sibling and reached out to cup her cheek, and then place her arm around Gabriella's shoulder, drawing her near in a rare display of sisterly affection.

"Did you survive without me, sister?" She murmurs with a teasing gleam in her eye, leaning her forehead in to rest against her sibling's.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (OK folks, i'm fading out here! gotta jet to bed! thanks for the RP!)

[Zeke] "...Don't be a stranger now." A passing comment, Zeke inspecting his nails on the right hand as Gabriella picks up her stuff and makes her way free of the assembled number in the Common Room. If she glanced, which there is a slim possibility that she might, she would notice Zeke's upturned half-smile followed smoothly by his lifting attention toward the rest of the Shadow.

Listening. Intently. Both hands on the chair's arm rests.