perspective.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Coming up the stairs, Lukas flicks the TV off as he passes it. He sets down a platter of calamari with one hand, tosses a manila folder on the coffee table with the other.

Mrena is in the common room. She probably wasn't watching TV anyway. "Where's everybody?" Lukas asks her, as if she'd know.

And she probably would. She's a theurge, after all.

[Armstrong] Mrena was, in fact, in the common room and she was not watching television. True to form, she was curled up on the couch with a pencil and sketching something. Or, more appropriately doodling on a blank page in her sketchbook. The one that was more diary than sketch pad. The one that smelled like the mingling of two cities, with pages worn thin, that smelled vaguely like burnt paper and dirt and blood and effort.

"Sampson's with the wives," she said. "It's a Friday night, though, there's a good chance everyone else decided to have a night on the town."

[Armstrong] Mrena was, in fact, in the common room and she was not watching television. True to form, she was curled up on the couch with a pencil and sketching something. Or, more appropriately doodling on a blank page in her sketchbook. The one that was more diary than sketch pad. The one that smelled like the mingling of two cities, with pages worn thin, that smelled vaguely like burnt paper and dirt and blood and effort.

"Sampson's with the wives," she said. "It's a Friday night, though, there's a good chance everyone else decided to have a night on the town."

a beat passed, and then she looked at the coffee table. Or, rather, her eyes went from the envelope, to the squid, to Lukas. Brows raised briefly, and for a moment the pencil stopped moving.

a beat.

"What's that?" with a slight nod to the envelope.

(because mindy left crap off)

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine emerges, not from the stairs or the back entrance but from the Umbra itself. One moment there is clear and free space in the common room proper and the next the Alpha is stepping out of seeming mid-air; with Sam close on her heels.

She brushes her arms off, and blinks once; looking directly at Lukas.

"Have we arrived just in the nick of time for something?"

Almost immediately, the elder Bellamonte throws herself with enviable ease onto the sofa beside Mrena and presses herself against her pack-mate, chin on her shoulder; admiring her latest sketch.

[Sam Modine] The Modi enters into the world only a few short steps behind his Alpha, his head is held high as he's revealed at the top of the steps and turns to his two already present packmates. His feet too, clap against the floor from a few inches up, the landing of a raptor, that. It's nothing if not perfectly graceful. He's still riding the high of his victorious arrival two nights ago and it shows across him. There are no nerves present, little for now of his shyness in the reaffirmation of himself as a member of his own tribe, his pack, his very kind.

Running with the spirit wolves has been kind to him though a little of that excess primal instinct plays itself out across footsteps on the wood floors. One might even catch the flex of muscle around his nostrils as he takes in the scents of the room even before panning to flick his eyes to the sights.

"Hey." a large grin given without cost to both those already here.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Hey, you're back, Sam." Lukas takes his usual place in the corner of the sectional. "Something Fell Prayer passed on," he answers Mrena, and then Kate: "Yeah. I met with Milo the day after the challenge. He has a favor to ask.

"Here's the deal. His pack is interested in taking down the kingpin of Chicago's mob, Anthony Piscano. The way these things work though, if you just kill the leader someone else will rise to his place. So Milo wants to weaken Piscano's crew to the point that, when he's finally struck down, Milo will be in place to take the top spot himself, or install a puppet king of his own.

"To do that, Milo's going undercover. That means he needs others to help clear the way for him. That's where the favor comes in.

"That folder," he nods at the folder, "is a dossier of some of Piscano's top men. Their contacts, their businesses, their stomping grounds. Fell Prayer suggests a Giuseppe Valentine as our first target."

He waits for them to pass the pages around, to look them over. While they read, he eats.

After, "I've agreed to nothing, of course. I told Milo-rhya I'd discuss it with Kate and the pack. And the truth is, I have my reservations.

"This is how I see it. Milo and the Goblins get the most benefit out of this at no more risk than any of us, if not less. They stand to gain an enormous amount of influence in mob circles. Doubtlessly they'll want to claim the renown of masterminding this whole deal, too, and quite possibly the glory of killing Piscano.

"Meanwhile, we'll be doing much of the dirty work while they work themselves deeper and deeper into the criminal hierarchy. We'll have the risk of the hits, and whatever retaliation the mob might throw at us through mortal, police, law-enforcement avenues.

"That said, what we do stand to get out of this: whatever glory we can claim from the kills. Whatever honor we can claim from assisting a Fostern. And, if we play our cards right -- if we're interested in acquiring this sort of sway -- we may be able to install some of our own into the criminal infrastructure of this city."

He sits back, nabbing a few pieces of calamari and popping them in his mouth. "So. That's it. What do you think?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (oh and, this was Joey's post re: what's in the folder --

Opening the folder, yellow legal pad pages are interspersed with white lined loose leaf paper. The stack is indeed thin, but perhaps he's leaving some things need-to-know. He places his hand down again, a finger on the first line.

"Anthony Piscano," his name indicated, written in thick black marker where the rest of the page is scribbled in pen. "Chicago's mob boss. One of the top guys, if not the top guy. He's my 'shooting for the stars' target," more names indicated next.

'Carmine Palizzola : Underboss to Piscano. Jimmy "The Cleaver" Licavoli: Capo for Piscano's crew.'

"These are his crutches. One, if not both of them, are the opening targets. Cut his legs out from under him. We have a drop off arranged as an ambush, to take whichever shows up. We have contacts in place to know what each of their men are doing- who ever's crew seems the most busy we can assume is showing up."

Turning the page, addresses, business names, cafes, restaurants, companies. "Here are their hangouts and front organizations. Weasel's pack has already showed interest in the glory of cleaning these of banes, as well as toadies in the physical, strategically. We hope to goad him into a war with one of my packmate's criminal associates, who he has been in deep cover with for quite some time. We will be there to pick up the pieces and ingrain ourselves deeper to identify targets of opportunity. I will be making a buy of weapons soon- should you need any, let me know- to ingratiate myself with one of the organization's rising stars. He will probably be placed as one of Piscano's new upper-echelon lackeys," turning the page again.

'Guiseppe Valentine,' the name circled in angry red marker. "Higher up in the line, but below Carmine and Jimmy. A seller of flesh. There are some necessary evils we must allow to coax the snake's head out of hiding, but this banemonger we cannot abide by," leaving the rest of the pages unturned, looking to Lukas for his reaction to what has been revealed so far.)
to Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Sam Modine

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine sits up as Lukas begins to speak; and reaches out to take up the dossier on Piscano's men. Flicking it open, the Silver Fang skims the first page, and then begins to pass each piece over to Mrena or Sam. She looks up at intervals; her brows knitted together, pale eyes focused, intense.

When Lukas finishes, and pops several pieces of calamari into his mouth; Katherine leans back, her arms folding over her chest, her expression one of deep skepticism. "I think that I do not trust Milo-Rhya as far as I can throw him." She taps the folder with one manicured nail.

"Is it truly worth the risk to ourselves, to our Kin to go out on a limb for Milo and his pack? I am not convinced it is sway that we necessarily want to have as our own."

[Sam Modine] "Yeah," Sam's grin is the only indication of how that journey had gone.

He listens at this point, nothing else, hanging on every one of his packmate's words during the briefing. As the others speak he's sitting to thumb through the information in the folder. His features pressing into some amount of concern while he does so. There's a silent moment after Katherine and Mrena speak and Sam takes the opportunity to himself interject in a manner quiet and to the point. Distracted a little by the scanning of pages and photos for information.

"They want us to murder humans?" His eyes rise to meet Lukas's, then Katherine's going between each. "I..." He swallows. "I understand they aren't good Lukas but I mean...they aren't really 'of the Wyrm' are they?" There's a trepidation there one might think odd of the Fenrir, a hesitancy for battle they haven't seen much from him.

There's a long pause where Sam studies the floor's imperfections. "I don't know." He shrugs. "It's up to you, I'll follow your lead on this one." The words come out in the same deference to the two above him in station as the rest of it. He's a missile silo again gone queit when his neck stretches and turns to look at them again before turning back to the dossier.

[Armstrong] Mrena leaned a little against Katherine, turning the sketch pad so that Katherine could see it a little better. Today, she seemed interested in impossible figures and imaginarly florals. There were notes written on the side, but White Eyes wrote small, so it seemed more notes than anything.

But, on the subject of benefits and what Lukas was proposing, she listened. Nodding when necessary, thinking when she could, and logging it all away for future reference.

"Not to sound selfish," she said, "but are they planning on pooling resources? I think that we may need to help, but I think that we may need really think about this. I'm having difficulty figuring out where the benefits outweigh the drawbacks. Though, if this is their plan, then power to them. If we plan on doing this, I don't think it should be top priority, because I don't want to see us exhausting our resources and then being tapped when we need them. However, if we help them, they're indebted to us."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Fell Prayer-rhya promises to use the influence he stands to gain to the gain of the sept. I believe him. Still," a shrug, "it's his influence to use or not as he pleases -- not ours."

Lukas nods at Armstrong's point then, avidly, pointing a forefinger at her in a cocked-gun gesture.

"That," he says, "is the one real benefit I can see, beyond what little renown we might garner. But then, Bringer of Light or not, Milo is a Shadow Lord, and he will use us for his benefit as much as he can." A wry pause. "If you don't believe that, take a look at the Wyrmpole."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] ("FP rhya promises to use the influence he stands to gain for the benefit of the Sept." -- clearer? *grin*)

[sunglasses] (Yes!)

[Katherine Bellamonte] They want us to murder humans?

"No." Katherine's answer is quick, she shoots a look first at Sam, then more definitively at Lukas. "I will not have the blood of humans on my hands. If Fell Prayer Rhya wants there to be assassinations taking place, he will have to find another pack to do them." Katherine slaps the folder back on the table with finality; her jaw tense.

"Unless it can be definitely proven that this Guiseppe Valentine is tainted, I see little here but filth trading in filth. Despicable, yes. But it is not our job to clear the streets of every last mobster. I would be willing to offer help with tracking, perhaps even locating these men but I will not have our eye taken from the war for what may well be Fell Prayer-Rhya's own betterment in the Sept."

[Sam Modine] "Sounds about right." His lips push together, turn into an almost mocked form of what one might think of as thoughtful. His head bounces back and forth from one shoulder to another. "Yeah, I saw that. I loved especially the picture of me being eaten." He half grumbles it, half laughs at the absurdity.

Outside of that he doesn't weigh in further yet, only watches the decision unfold in front of him.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Sam's grumble draws a guffaw out of Lukas. He passes the calamari, consolation via food. "Yeah well. Don't forget the one where we were little itty bitty featureless eggs getting carried around by the mighty wise Fostern."

Kate passes judgment, and Lukas seems unperturbed by her tension. "All right. That's settled then. I'll let him know the next time I see him."

[Armstrong] "So... the ruling is that we're not doing this? Well, or if we are we're doing this it's in a strictly support and eye on the street role, am I understand correctly?"

She nodded, and she had to ask. She looked at her packmates, and it seemed that Mrena was waiting for some confirmation on their ruling over it. The theurge shut her notebook and pushed her hair out of her face.

[Sam Modine] He laughs too with the Beta. Surely there's no joy between the two in losing out of the full glory of the kill but something about that interwoven spirit and the closeness of the battlefield has them together on this. "Sounds like the word." The theurge is answered but the Modi's face turns toward their Alpha for reassurance.

Nimble fingers reach out and delicately nab two of the loops of fried squid. They're popped into his mouth quickly and with some efficiency chewed with widening eyes. It's probably the best thing he's had in the days since his return, one would think to see the way he enjoys them and goes back for two more. "This is from downstairs?" He speaks to no one in particular.

[Katherine Bellamonte] "That's my decision." Katherine agrees, and then leans in to sample the seafood on the table; chewing thoughtfully as Sam grumbles about being half eaten. "I rather thought," the Philodox says diplomatically, "That I made an attractive egg."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Yeah," they're from downstairs. "I thought I'd give the lambs a break.

"And you weren't even an egg, Kate. I think you were like, a smudge." He grabs a few loops of battered squid when the plate comes around again. "By the way. Why don't you trust Fell-Prayer-rhya? Other than the fast one he pulled on us in the blob-pit."

[Katherine Bellamonte] You weren't even an egg, Kate. I think you were like, a smudge.

Katherine scowls, and chews her food sullenly for a beat until Lukas asks of her reasoning behind distrusting the Shadow Lord; whilst looking straight into the eyes of another; and brushing arms with one of their spirit walkers. "You mean besides his oddity of a sister?"

The Silver Fang's eyebrow rises; lips quirking in cruel amusement. Then, mildly more serious she shrugs slim shoulders. "It is a feeling I have, it did not help matters that he stood by and let his pack-mate be ground into a bloody pulp the last occasion I saw him."

[Sam Modine] "They're good." Simply put as he snatches up more.

Katherine speaks on the subject of the other Alpha and Sam takes it in and waits for her to finish before adding in a serious but still light tone, "He did save my life, or I mean..he helped. I don't trust him with my woman or my wallet but... I have to give him credit. I was up a creek without his tossing that...whatever it was into the thing's mouth." He shrugs.

"Kinda sad he can't do the same for one of his own." All of it is delivered conversationally and between bites of food well hidden and politely chewed. He is after all, unfailing in those simple manners forged during his simple upbringing.

[Armstrong] "Was that during the challenge?" she raised a brow and directed her attention torwards Katherine. "What happened with that, anyway?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Well, that was during a challenge," Lukas puts in, and then gets to his feet. "But I think Kate might be referring to the fact that he let his packmate challenge Andrew-rhya in the first place.

"Be right back, going to get a six-pack." His footsteps thump down the stairs; they can hear him faintly below, clinking through bottles.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (should come play, man)
to Zoop

[Zoop] (Heh, I thought it was a Pack only sort of thing)
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Sam Modine] "I," Sam stands, body unfolding to it's full height. "Should go too, I'm gonna do a flyover and head home for the night." That, for them is fluid thing, home. It is certainly disparate, all of them from so far flung across the country, the world in the case of the lowest of their rank. But they seem to have some sense it seems of what it means, the ideal if not the location. The bond, the togetherness. Lukas gets a clap on the back of his shoulder as he goes and Katherine and Mrena each quick kisses on their cheeks as the Modi leans in to hug each in turn.

"I'll see you when you get back." To Katherine, he smiles only a little uneasily. "Be careful." Protective, the last, and a little wry as memory of her entering her home only slightly broken and bruised play across his mindscape. "Goodnight."

The last they see of him is his back, heading toward the bathroom, but to examine it only a minute or so later there is no trace he was ever there.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (nah, it's open)
to Zoop

[Zeke] The door swings open and the warm air of the night comes crashing in, vaguely humid with the moisture in the air. It breeds sweat in bodies too active and used to the crush of winter's press and the chill nights that have been clinging to Chicago for months now. The break is enough to throw a person off and give them an edge of vertigo.

Perhaps that's why Zeke needs a moment upon entering the kitchen to recollect himself. The outfit is simpler. Black jacket, long and to the knees, with a white T underneath. A pair of simple black slacks and some boots more designer then construction functional. The glasses are atop his head and the driving gloves are missing. As is the car, for anyone who might be coming in from outside.

The stairs are a journey, the second-floor a destination. He takes them two at a time, until the last five, where composure is restored and his gait a measure of comfortable. Casual. Clear-conscience.

"...Never get tired of hoping for Hell" His eyes around the walls, as if expecting blood stains and trophy marks "...And finding Interior design."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] By the time Zeke reaches the second story, Lukas is back there avec beers. The impromptu pack meeting -- brief as it was -- is already over. Mrena has sidled off to god knows where, the way Theurges sometimes can. Sam has left. It's just Lukas and Katherine now, and the latter is quiet, clear-eyed, every inch the new alpha she is.

Lukas is eating calamari. And drinking beer. And he looks up, quizzical, at Zeke's mysterious announcement.

There's a pause. Then: "....okay." Another. Then he holds out the plate of spiced, battered and deep-fried squid. "Calamari?"

[Zeke] "...A lifetime in the shoes of those that fight the minions of a Cosmic entity based on the imagery of a Prehensile appendage that wriggles?" He regards the Calamari "...Says, No Thank you."

And then promptly wanders his way over to the couch, hands adjusting the cuff of his jacket. He squeezes between a nightstand and a sofa chair to reach his destination, eyes falling toward the collection of beers Lukas has acquired and offering a perked brow by way of a silent query. You mind, though?

[Katherine Bellamonte] Sam's departure and the peck on the cheek is returned idly, distractedly, the Silver Fang's lips touching little but air as her pack-mates depart and leave her mulling over her thoughts on her own, curled into the arm of the sofa that Mrena had so recently occupied. Zeke appears, and Lukas is soon after and the Alpha of the Unbroken Circle watches her Beta thoughtfully as he throws calamari into his mouth and chews noisily.

He was still the noisiest Shadow Lord she'd been in the company of.

"Do you ever stop eating, Lukas?" Inquires Katherine after a time, her chin resting now on her palm, her eyes captivated by the speed at which he is devouring seafood.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Actually, Lukas does not chew noisily. He may well be the noisiest Shadow Lord she's been in the company of -- after all, one can't imagine Kate's been in the company of all that many -- but he does not chew noisily. Or smack his teeth. Or gulp his beer audibly. Or anything like that, because that would be terribly impolite, and if nothing else, Lukas is polite, and courteous, to the last.

So: of course he nods as Zeke gestures toward the beer. "Help yourself," he says. And, to Katherine, popping another squid ring into his mouth, "Hey now. I sleep all day, stay up all night. This is like lunch to me." And he passes the plate of prehensile wriggling appendages to Kate.

"What brings you here, Host-of-Traitors-yuf?"

Zeke might notice a manila folder on the coffee table. It's closed, but some of the sheets are sticking out a ways, and if he's particularly nosy, he might notice it contains a sheaf of looseleaf paper, many of which bear Milo's scrawled writing.

[Zeke] "...I once met an Ahroun that based his enormous appetite solely on the amount of effort he put into a Combative situation." Zeke depressed the tab on the beer/popped the cap off the edge of the table and lifted the small touch of foam run over his lips, sucking it back noisily before taking several slow lingering sips. It's pulled away with a judgmental glance up at the ceiling and a vaguely approving nod.

"His mate would cook three extra courses for him every night and always asked after the Pack's ragabash on his kill count. If he had more then three trophies?" Zeke waves his hand broadly at the coffee table "...she'd lay it all out." A pause, tapping the side of his beer with an idle finger. "Sort of like Calorie burning at Mach-3." A shrug with eyebrows "The Ahroun diet. Foolproof." He sips his beer some more, eyes flicking toward the Envelope. Was he nosy?

Part of the Job.

Does he say anything or react noticeably? Not in any particular manner. Instead, he returns his attention to Lukas.

"A few things actually, though priority sort of stands the time. Need to speak with Hatchet~rhya about the same things we've discussed with you two. Though..." He glances at a watch that appears from beneath the cuff of his jacket "...I get the feeling I'm somewhat off his time schedule."

[liar] [HEY HARV. YOU HAVE MY AIM. YOU CAN ALWAYS PING ME FOR SCENES, YOU BIG LUG.]

[Zeke] (LOL! I DIDN'T NEED TO DO THE SCENE UNTIL AN HOUR AGO! *TEARS)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a relaxation about Lukas tonight that's rare. This Ahroun is unlike most; not only in that he doesn't eat noisily, but also in that he doesn't seem to do anything noisily. He's level. He's watchful. He's thoughtful. But he is also reserved, cool to the edge of coldness.

There's a little less of that reserve tonight. He lounges in his usual spot, which is at the bend of the L-shaped sectional couch, and he looks like he may have just come in from outside. His shoes are still on. His collar is undone, his sleeves rolled up -- the shirt is not the sort you'd wear a tie with.

He knocks his beer back. And he grins at the story.

"Yeah, well, if you meet a kinwoman willing to cook three extra courses for me every night, you let me know, all right?"

Zeke gets to the matter of the business discussed with them, and the grin folds a little. Another man might squirm now, feel uncomfortable at the prospect of having to break the news sooner or later. There's no sign of that in Lukas. The Ahroun's confidence is quiet and unshakable.

"About that," Lukas says, "I told Milo-rhya I would tell him what my Alpha has decided, but since you're here, and Katherine's here," he glances at the Fang, "would you rather hear it directly from her, and pass the word to your Alpha?"

[Zeke] "...Well you know, Milo cooks like a fiend almost every night. Apparently got a lot of it from Agnessa. I could put in a good word..."

Zeke is dead pan, sipping at his beer as he expresses it, eyes lifting only as Lukas zips right into a message of somewhat serious concern.

"...To be honest? I'm not really fond of playing the messenger to Milo, but if you think he'd take it better coming from me..." A glance off toward Katherine, a brow perked in almost mock-concern.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Of the envelope? If eyes stray toward it, Katherine does not bat an eyelid. Rather, she rolls her eyes in a dramatic fashion at her Beta and re-assembles herself into a less casual sitting position with the appearance of one not of her pack. The legs are crossed elegantly, the long mane of silky blond hair tossed over a shoulder, pushed across her scalp until it fell in tousled, deliberate disarray.

I need to speak with Hatchet-Rhya

Katherine's lip curled.

"Oh, does Hatchet-Rhya have a schedule these days? Wonders never do cease," the Philodox all but purred with delicious snark, her mood apparently verging on the ruffled. Ah, and then her loyal Beta tosses the ball into her court and she casts him a vaguely apprising look.

And they tell me I am terrible at small talk.

[Katherine Bellamonte] (ack! *goes add to her post*)

[Zeke] (Mmmm, scratch that post. Went a litttttttlllle too early. NO NO MY FAULT! *shoes Katherine back to silence*)

[Zeke] Zeke offers a quick blink in Katherine's direction, eyes a little wide and mouth slightly agape.

"Truth~yuf! Language! That's your Senior in Rank you speak so sarcastically about. Tsk...Tsk." A pause. Long and heartfelt. "...Tsk."

And then Zeke's back at his beer, a moment before-

"...Well you know, Milo cooks like a fiend almost every night. Apparently got a lot of it from Agnessa. I could put in a good word..."

Zeke is dead pan, sipping at his beer as he expresses it, eyes lifting only as Lukas zips right into a message of somewhat serious concern.

"...To be honest? I'm not really fond of playing the messenger to Milo, but if you think he'd take it better coming from me..." A glance off toward Katherine, a brow perked in almost mock-concern.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] A faint smirk, "I think Ms. Monarch would have a thing or two to say about that."

Then, "Actually, I always prefer to deliver bad news myself." Zeke seems to have already guessed it. It wouldn't be hard. If it was good news, it would've come out by now. "But since you're here," and he shrugs.

[Katherine Bellamonte] "Yes," She offers, looking nothing near to shame-faced. "I am so deeply sorry, naturally." A beat, and she expels something close to a resigned sigh, turning her focus entirely on Zeke.

"The information that your Alpha brought to Lukas is concerning, I have little doubt. However," The female's pale eyes narrow a fraction. "I am afraid that I cannot in good faith send my pack out to take human life. That these people," a wave of her hand toward the folder on the table. "Are low-lifes is obvious, but without evidence that they are truly tainted by the Wyrm, I am afraid the most I am willing to give is my pack's time in surveillance and tracking."

[Zeke] Zeke glances sidelong at Lukas over the rim of his beer.

"Really? How about Agnessa then? Same cooking deal. Nice hips. Flexible or so I'm told." Sipping in progress. If Zeke seems at all abashed about his referencing of his Alpha's kin, he doesn't seem concerned. It isn't until Katherine makes her report on their efforts that Zeke lifts his attention toward her, leaning forward to place the beer can atop the table, brow slightly furrowed.

"To be honest with you two? That was sort of expected. I'm a little surprised he went to the trouble of asking to begin with. A long shot but worth the effort, nonetheless." He leans back into his chair, beer in one hand, one arm on the arm rest beside him.

"It's ok though. I've got confirmation from the Weasels that they'll assist in some of our endeavours already. No one needs to get their hands dirty beyond that."

[Katherine Bellamonte] (I'm gonna have to have Katherine excuse herself next post, boys. I'm headed to dinner here and my ride will be here very shortly. :) )
to liar, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Zeke

[Zeke] (No prob.)
to Katherine Bellamonte, liar, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas doesn't deign, or perhaps dare, answer the jibe on Agnessa. Anyway, the conversation has turned serious, and this time it's Lukas that answers first:

"I was honored that Fell-Prayer-rhya asked." Try as Zeke might, he'll find no lie in that, because there is no lie in that. But the Ahroun frowns briefly, looking down at his beer, thoughtful. Then he adds, "But perhaps in this, as in other things, the paths of our packs are too different."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine studies Zeke for a moment, her expression neither unsettled or satisfied, it is one of impassiveness. Her eyes tick toward Lukas, and her mouth tilts downward then as if it would threaten a frown; however she does not allow its formation. Instead, the tall blond aristocrat rises to her feet; her smile full suddenly, resplendent and warming.

"I am afraid I must part, boys. I have a younger sibling to check in on. Heaven only knows what she'll do with so many hours of freedom tonight." She laughs, a genteel sound, soft and distinctly feminine.

[Zeke] Katherine receives a casual nod, the smile on his features vague and faint.

"Hopefully she'll avoid those clubs on the Mile from now on. Places just aren't safe anymore." And then to Lukas ambiguously concerned comments, Zeke chuckles. His head shakes in a measure of almost dismissive quality for Lukas argument.

"If every pack were devoted to War or Covert or Diplomatic measures, then we'd be knee-deep in shit when something all those packs couldn't handle, came up, Lukas..." Zeke polishes back his beer and sets the can on the table "...You lot do your job and keep the Sept running. Maybe one day when the Elders are all old and feeble, you can take over for them, though the way this Scab is turning out? Not much by way of advancement available. Bane here, Fomor there but nothing juicy enough to get you where you need to be in order to hold the Big Key to the city, ya know?"

Zeke shrugs, features mimicking the motion.

"There'll be times when the direct approach and the need for honour and words that mean the things they mean, come into play and are necessary, but where Humans are concerned? Well..." He looks at Lukas, no qualm or shake in his gaze or voice "...I don't think any of the Circle could really cut it. Not enough to make a difference, anyway." He jabs a finger into his chest. "That's where the Shadow comes in and incidentally? We don't need you to understand it or even accept it. Just keep out our way and keep saying no when we offer the chance to Play."

It wasn't intentionally mean. Or intentionally insulting, though Zeke seemed like the understanding type if one took it as such. The Ragabash shrugged his way through most of it, finishing his beer alongside. This was just how things were now.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Night, Kate," Lukas says, offhand, and this alone gives the goodbye a familiarity no amount of formalities and courtesies would have.

In her wake, the Ahroun studies the Ragabash: mirror opposites of the same tribe, vastly different sides of the same coin. The former is quiet while the latter offers his views, though his eyes are keen, and there's a sense he listens to every word.

And -- perhaps surprisingly -- doesn't grow angry. And, perhaps even more surprisingly, seems to look at Zeke with a new level of understanding.

"Can I ask you something, Yuf?" Provided the answer is yes, "Why you? I mean; it's true. Someone has to do the dirty work. Someone has to sacrifice their own honor to get the job done. But why you? Why did you pick this pack of all others? Forgive me, but I've never met a cub who dreams of following Goblin when he grows up."

[Zeke] "PFFT!"

Zeke laughs. Not in Lukas face, but he laughs. Leaning against the table, back into the couch, and he laughs. He doesn't meet Lukas eyes during the entire episode, but the genuine level of mirth in his voice is indication enough to Lukas that this is perhaps an old question Zeke is used to. Something he's had an answer for since the first time it got asked a very long time ago.

"You say that like I had much of a choice? I'm a Ragabash. I'm a Metis. I'm a Shadowlord. You put all three of those together and there aren't many out there who are going to want me." The smile on his face says volumes for the lack of self-pity in that statement. "I start out and continue to be the one people are going to assume doesn't have any honour so why in Gaia's sweet name should I ruin myself, soul, body and mind trying to earn the respect and trust of those who I wouldn't trust to teach me the meaning of the word?" An almost incredulous and helpless little shrug accompanies those words.

"...I trust Goblin. I trust anyone willing to throw themselves out of everyone's good graces, to Follow him. Mostly though? He and I are a great fit. Gives me everything I could need to survive and asks for nothing that I ever needed or wanted to begin with."

A pause, Zeke leaning in then with narrowed eyes.

"...Your turn. Why a Silver Fang?" The way Zeke says that tribal name...Lukas can hear the polite attempt to hide the contempt attached to it. The stereotype was the Shadowlord hate for the Silver Fang name and measure. Zeke seemed to adhere to that on some level.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] This, too, Lukas listens to attentively, though once or twice his brow furrows; not in anger, but in something startlingly akin to compassion.

He doesn't bother trying to tell Zeke that if he only tried hard enough he'd earn the respect of his fellows, though. Lukas is an idealist at heart -- and in about one minute Zeke will see that very clearly. But he is a very strange breed of idealist: a pessimistic, pragmatic idealist. Or perhaps the right word becomes visionary, then, because what he has are visions, dreams, that he may or may not even believe are achievable.

This will not stop him from fighting for them, however.

And then Zeke is asking him that age-old question -- Why a Silver Fang? -- and Lukas' mouth quirks faintly.

"It was our ancestral role once, you know, to be the Betas to the Alpha tribe." And then, before Zeke can make the argument -- which Lukas would not dispute -- that the Fangs had fallen far from those distant and glorious days, the Ahroun continues, "But if you're asking me, personally, why I follow a Fang, then the truth is I don't follow 'a Fang'. I follow Katherine Bellamonte. I trust her. I don't even like her much sometimes. But I trust her.

"And I trust the vision of this pack. Because you're wrong about one thing, Zeke: we're not here to take over this Sept. We're here to train ourselves. To learn to fly alone, to make our own decisions and forge our own path, without the constant aid and guidance of Adrens, Athros, Elders. When we've gathered enough strength to move on to where the War rages hotter -- then we might well move on. And in the meantime, if we can do something with our energy, if we can make even a small difference in the fate of this Caern ... well. All the better, then."

[Zeke] "...Hmmmm. Idealistic..." Nail. Head. Not dwelling there. "...Still doesn't explain why you followed the other one before she came along..." But Zeke doesn't let that hang for very long. More a rhetoric then a genuine query.

"...You've got a big number, Lukas. I suppose it makes sense from a strategic standpoint having that many under your umbrella, but there are reasons Gaia made 5 the magic rolecall. You ever find out why? Wonder why?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] A faint exhale, not quite a laugh.

"Honestly? I followed Ed first, and I would've never followed Kate from the start. He was the one with true vision. But Katherine is the one with the iron in her. The conviction to get things done. So I figure maybe between the two of us, Kate and I, we can make it work."

There's a pause. Then Lukas leans back, lacing his hands atop his head.

"Why don't you get to your point, Zeke?" This is a suggestion, wry. "Your pack's not at five either. Most the packs in the world probably aren't. So; what are you trying to get at?"

[Zeke] Zeke offers a plaintive sort of smile, a hand rising to clasp at the back of his neck.

"I'm going to do something I rarely do. I'm going to make a conscious effort to tell the solid truth, Lukas." He takes a deep breath and smiles, up at the Ahroun. "When I first got here and took a look around and saw the numbers in your sails, I told myself that you didn't need that many and decided that you and Mrena would probably be good additions to Goblin's numbers." A pause, a finger held up. "Correction: You and Mrena would probably be the only individuals capable of following Goblin. I've since revised my thoughts on that matter. Which...isn't the point."

He looks at Lukas. Really looks at him. Like things were moving from coffee house convo. to something more within the realm of Garou. Tensions to be plucked and stressed.

"I'm still pretty certain a Girl like Mrena could make wonderful strides under Goblin's banner but considering your other Theurge is gone now, that wouldn't be resource efficient. You'd be steering without a Crescent Moon and that's bad. Not to mention I doubt I could tag her at all without you along for the ride so-" He shrugs, heedless of any possible heat coming off Lukas at this point, if any at all. He did seem remarkably put together for an Ahroun, afterall.

"All that in consideration? The reason Gaia likes the 5 and why we all strive to keep that number in mind, is because every one of us is important. From what we say to what we do and how we do it, it's important. Our roles, our ways, our strengths and weaknesses. The Shadow is lower in number and that can't be helped so we try our best to make up the difference. The Circle on the other hand..."

Zeke leans back and forth, a ghost of a wince on his features.

"...You're in the surplus. Problem with that is the superfluous. Too many folks and people start forgetting things. Thinking that the roles are meant as Caretakers and not what they actually are...Roles. Ahrouns hit things the best but that doesn't mean others can't hit things. Galliards tell stories. Philodoxes judge the truth from the lie. That doesn't make the rest of us inept at it."

And he leans forward then as if expecting Lukas to ask the 'What's your point' question again.

"So unless you've already done it and this conversation is unnecessary, I think maybe you should talk to Mrena..."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a moment where Lukas' face simply blanks out, and he simply stares at Zeke as though he did not, absolutely did not understand.

Because he doesn't. And Zeke is right. Lukas is not a good fit for Goblin. He cannot understand this sort of absolutely practicality: shuffling packmates around like cards simply because one pack is small and another large, sacred bonds made and broken so easily as that.

And he says so, when Zeke is finished. Before anything else, he says -- levelly, without censure, but absolutely, and with a faint hint of scandal:

"I believe the bonds of pack are rooted in more than simple numbers, Zeke. We are a pack of seven, but we are one. Yours must be the same. You can't simply ... tack a member on or take one off just to keep a nice round number."

A pause. He takes a swig of his beer, which he'd nearly forgotten. Rubs the side of his face with his palm. Drops it back to his thigh, refocuses.

"What should I talk to Mrena about?"

[Zeke] "You'd be surprised Lukas, but then you and I come from two very different schools of thought. In many many ways..." Zeke shook his head, as if to dismiss the arguments and thoughts that threatened to launch them into that cauldron of hours.

"...Suffice to say, what you and Mrena need to talk about, is between the two of you and whether she wishes to explain it or not is pretty much up to her. All I know is that she's talked to me about it, which either means she's too scared to talk to any of you...which is bullshit 'cause Mrena isn't the type. Or..."

Zeke bobs his head, that same strange little wince coming to his features.

"...She's already talked to you lot about it and none of you heard her properly. In either case, my suggestion stands as just that. A suggestion."

A pause. To breathe.

"...You should know, there's going to be a Shadow Moot soon." Just incase he hadn't heard yet.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a faint frown sketched over Wyrmbreaker's brow. It's impossible to say what brings it on -- this talk of Mrena or what came before it, Zeke's wildly different views on packs and packmates.

Some part of Lukas, who lives for the war, the pack, the nation, and the tribe -- in that order -- cannot, on a fundamental level, understand this philosophy. It seems to him that Zeke considers his pack a tool, a mutually useful situation only. On the other hand, to Lukas, a pack is something deeper than blood, deeper than bone.

He's still astounded. Perhaps he's a little appalled.

But then he draws a breath, sets it aside. "Thanks for the heads-up," he says. "I'll be sure to talk to her."

A Shadow Moot, then. And yet again, Lukas proves himself an oddity amongst his tribe when he says -- without terribly great fervor -- "I'll do my best to attend."

[Zeke] "...Figured it was worth mentioning. The last wave of us through here were appalling examples of the tribe. Didn't leave much of anything good as I heard. Grandfather's probably got some choice things to say on the matter so I think Milo's playing it safe. No plans forward until we figure out his pleasant level."

Lukas might be able to tell there is a slight level of fear under Zeke's tone, measured not in a warble but a slightly more quiet audibility. Metis had few things to call solid in life. The Totem of the Tribe was one of them. That Grandfather Thunder could potentially be upset? Or anything at all really beyond pleased with him was something perhaps as strong as Lukas viewpoints on Pack.

"...Beyond that, I'll update Milo on the Circle's position in things. I doubt it'll matter much in the grand scheme. We always assumed you and your number would play the straight field for us." It's phrases like that, that probably do nothing but confirm Lukas appraisal of Zeke's priorities. Other packs did what you couldn't or needed them to do so you could get on with things. Your own pack was much more important but...did that make them any less Tools in the War Effort?

Zeke stands, adjusting his jacket and nodding down at the Beer.

"...Appreciate the brew."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Yeah; Milo mentioned it. There was a Communion with the Storm recently, I heard. Apparently Grandfather is expecting some form of reparations for what's come before. I gave Fell-Prayer-rhya a few ideas off the top of my head. I'll let you guys know if anything else comes up."

Then Zeke is getting up to leave, and Lukas rises with him, courtesy as much a reflex as any other.

"Appreciate the conversation," Lukas returns. A pause; he means this: "It's interesting to hear things from such a different perspective." A faint curl at the corner of his mouth, "A little startling sometimes, but eye-opening."

[Zeke] Zeke looks up at Lukas with something akin to critical in his gaze. It was the same sort of thing he'd leveled on the Ahroun after the challenge had gone through. Scrutiny and disection broken down into analysis.

"I'm a Ragabash, Lukas. That's the Job. Keep you opening your eyes so all that stuffy Tradition you hold onto doesn't Choke you eventually." A faint frown, mirror to Lukas own not long ago. Apparently, this was something Zeke didn't really expect. "Something tells me you and I know one another long enough and you're either gonna get more startled or just used to being shocked."

He nods and dusts off a shoulder, turning without much else to head to the stairs. Work to be done afterall.