about giacomo.

[Soledad Gutierrez] Soledad hadn't been seen in The Brotherhood of Thieves for about a month now. The last anyone had seen of her, she marched down the stairs with a pack on her shoulders and her spear in her hand. A day or two later, Hatchet moved out of the three bed room and into Room 1, where his most cherished fallen packmate had slept, where he had slept with him.

This was the door that the Uktena Ahroun was walking past now, ignoring as though it had absolutely no significance to her. Chances were that this disinterest wasn't just an act, though, considering the could-care-less air that The Cold Death typically had around her. Her business wasn't with this door, anyways, it was with the one beside it.

Dressed simply in a pair of new denim shorts and a new, clean white T-shirt, Soledad lifted a hand and laid three heavy knocks on the door of Room 2.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] For a few moments, nothing.

Then the door opens without warning. It's a new moon, or close enough not to matter much. Lukas's rage is at a low ebb, but it still floods out in a great and electric tide, breaking against the walls, against Soledad's own buffer.

It's the middle of the day and his room is bright, the windows open, the air fresh, but his blankets are rumpled and his hair is ruffled and he's in pajama bottoms. He squints at Soledad wordlessly for a moment, one hand on the door's edge. Then he steps back, one foot at a time, weight cantilevering easily from one to the next. There's a laziness about him, leonine. He yawns jaw-crackingly as he nods her in, raising one hand to rub at the side of his face.

"What can I do for you, sister of my moon?" Maybe he was being playful. When his hand drops back to his side, he smiles at her.

[Soledad Gutierrez] For a moment, they're painfully similar. Surveying one another with cool, intense eyes that refused to miss anything, that pried for another's intent and weaknesses, for knowledge of all sorts. But then Lukas steps back, yawning, and asks what he can do for her while he gestures for her to enter. She nods something that's a combination of a greeting and a thank you for his allowing her into the room.

"You are acting as the tribal elder, correct Wyrmbreaker?"

She lifted a hand to place it on the door, and lifted her eyebrows in question. She wanted the door closed, the conversation was intended to be private. However, it was his room, and she would wait for his go-ahead before she closed them in.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] While Soledad slips in, Lukas turns his back. Bare, the skin on his back is swarthy by nature, tanned by summer, and utterly unscarred from nape of neck to small of back, where the waistband of his pajama bottoms ride. He grabs a pillow that has somehow made its way to the foot of the bed, tosses it against the wall. Throwing himself down on the bed crosswise, back to the pillow to the wall, he looks at ease; relaxed and casual. One knee bends over the edge, bare foot on the floor. The other is updrawn, his heel at the edge of the bed. Soledad's unspoken request earns a nod: he doesn't mind if she closes the door.

The Shadow Lord's eyebrow flickers up as Soledad specifies acting, though. The smile turns faintly quizzical, and the pale eyes are cool -- but then, they always are.

"I am the first of my tribe," he corrects, gently enough. "If that changes, you'll hear about it at the moot. Have you got business with Thunder?"

[Soledad Gutierrez] "Right," she agrees, and the tone says she doesn't quite care. Acting or being, it didn't matter. What mattered was she was speaking to the right person. He nodded to allow her to close the door, and she did so, sliding her hand down from the edge of the door to the knob, twisting it as she closed, so that the transition from open to close would be smooth.

Lukas's back was scar-free, and most of The Brotherhood of Thieves knew that this wasn't the case with Soledad, that she had those claw-marks stretching across her upper back to give the impression of skeletal wings, telling a story of someone trying to rip her ribs and spine out through her back and probably succeeding, if only for the moment or two before Rage roared through her dying body, bringing her back to life and dragging her insides back in to finish the job they were set to do. These were not visible now, hidden under her shirt, though on the outside of her right thigh was a set of four puncture wounds that tore their way back. They looked like something had put claws in her leg, and she'd ripped free from them at the expense of her own flesh.

Lukas stretched out comfortably on his bed, and Soledad lingered near the door, folding her arms across her stomach and leaning one shoulder into the door and crossing her ankles to match her arms. He was relaxed, she only pretended to be.

"I have. Concerning Giacomo Castellano once again."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The Shadow Lord is relaxed; but then, he should be. His pack claims no territory, this is true, but the space inside the door marked Room 2 -- these 10 by 12 feet of square footage, multiplied by the 8 or so feet of airspace -- these are indisputably his, his turf, his land.

Lukas lets out a soundless huff of a laugh. "Oh yeah? I should've guessed. What is it this time?"

[Soledad Gutierrez] "Personal," she tells him. The topic is categorized with that one word. This is why she wanted the door closed. It was personal, and no one else needed to wander by, poking their head in out of curiosity. Leaving the door open would have been asking for trouble, if someone had interrupted this conversation or attempted to invite themselves into it, Soledad would have broken their jaw, possibly before Lukas could get off the bed to stop her.

"I wish to revisit my challenge for him."

Pause. She'd let that stagnant for a second before she expanded on the topic.

"The reasons are different, but again, personal."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's eyebrows go up again. There's a brief silence. Then: "Well, are you going to tell me what your reasons are for challenging for Giacomo Castellano again?"

[Soledad Gutierrez] Her mouth hardened into a line of thin-pressed lips, and her gaze also hardened on him a touch. Didn't she just say it was personal? ...But then, she couldn't blame him for asking. If it were a kinfolk she was responsible for that was in question, she would inquire and push until she got complete, flat-faced honesty as well. Her head tipped from right to left, allowing her neck the relief of two quiet, grinding pops.

"The word 'mate' is too strong for what currently is. I have no intention of breeding with the man any time soon." She paused, furrowed her brow just a little as she thought about the best way to phrase this, and when she found words sufficient she continued. "However, I don't want him given away to another. I want him for myself."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] All that remains of the smile now is the faintest, wryest quirk at the edges of Lukas's mouth.

"Isn't this the same man you tried to smash into a pulp on the street?" he asks, blunt as a battering ram. "Right before attempting to hide his ancestry from a Garou of his tribe -- namely, me?

"You're a good warrior, Muerte Fria, but when it comes to Giacomo Castellano, you've given me absolutely no reason to trust either your wisdom or your honor.

"We won't even consider the resources and connections my Tribe stands to gain or lose through Giacomo at the moment. Right now, I just want to know why the hell I should believe that you'll be a good guardian to my kinsman. I want to know why I should believe I'm not giving over a kin of Thunder to terror, abuse and misuse. Because as things stand, I don't think anyone would blame me if I refused your challenge outright."

[Soledad Gutierrez] "No one would, myself included," she agreed with a slow nod. She was a touch surprised by her own patience and compliance, and found herself thanking the moonless sky. Had the moon been full, or even pushing the edges of being such, she doubted Lukas would be so relaxed on his bed, that she would be leaned so casually against his door. She figured they'd be closer, a foot away from nose-to-nose, that he would be steelier yet and she would be struggling not to give way to insult and temper and try to take flesh from his bone.

"Because previously he merely infuriated me. He got under my skin, and I responded violently because I knew no other course of action. I care for him. This has weight, I don't care for many, and would readily give my life keeping him safe, not because of duty but because of choice."

That was a mouthful for the Uktena, a speech in comparison to her usual stasis of silence. She found herself concerned that she wouldn't be able to convey herself properly, but recovered from such a licking hint of emotion quickly. All she could do was her best.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Initially, Lukas's expression is unchanged: skeptical, flat, cool-eyed.

When Soledad says I care for him, and that I don't care for many, though, there's a slight -- almost imperceptible shift. A furrowing at the brow, a relaxing at the eyes. His frown is faint; it's more thoughtful, more sorry than angry.

"Just because you care for him and would lay down your life for him doesn't mean you won't hurt him, or frighten him, or perhaps even one day maim or kill him." His voice is quiet. For a moment his attention drifts from Soledad; he looks down at his bedspread, notices a clot of lint, which he brushes thoughtlessly to the floor before returning his ice-strewn eyes to Soledad. "That's just how it is with creatures like us."

Garou.
Full moons.

He raises his hand to his chest, scratches at the skin over his breastbone for a moment. Again his eyes turn aside. He frowns at the wall, his closet, the desk for a moment. Turns to Soledad again.

"What does Giacomo want?"

[Soledad Gutierrez] "He can handle himself." She insists this with a slight upward tip of her chin, something proud. Not of what she's found, this isn't a pride of possession. This is the type of pride that someone shows when exclaiming that their sister or brother is at the front of their class, being considered by Olympic camp scouts for the American team in a certain sporting event. Pride for another, not for one's self.

But while he can handle fists, he cannot do the same against claws and fangs. If she were to unleash Rage and frustration upon him in the same way she had in front of St. Benedict's church in a form with fur rather than vulnerable brown skin, he would die instantly.

It was a hard truth, but a truth none the less.

But what does Giacomo want?

"From his mouth, me."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I want to hear it from him," Lukas replies. "Giacomo can find me here most days. If I'm satisfied that he knows what he's getting into and wants you as you say he does, I'll accept your challenge and we'll go from there.

"Do we understand each other, Muerte Fria?"

[Soledad Gutierrez] There's a moment of charged quiet between the pair, Soledad considering the conditions he had laid, Lukas waiting to see if the lone wolf Uktena will comply with them. Her shoulders lifted and chest pressed out as she inhaled deeply, and she breathed out slowly through parted lips and straightened up, taking her shoulder away from the door and uncrossing her ankles so she could stand straight once more.

"We do, Wyrmbreaker. Shall I send him here, or will you contact him?"

Her arms unfolded from her chest and rested at her sides instead, thumbs hitching habitually in the beltloops of her shorts, two fingers on her left hand drumming a slow, bland rhythm against her hip.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Pass the message for me, please." Lukas gets up as well; it's a courtesy. "How do I get ahold of you? Are you still living here?"

[Soledad Gutierrez] She nodded, an agreement to pass the message on. Her dark amber eyes followed his motions as he rose, reflexively refusing to let him get anything past her, not allowing him any sort of upper hand if they were to explode into battle. New moon or not, this was always a possibility between Ahroun on separate sides of the fence, even if they were shaking hands across it.

"I am not. Whatever word you get to Giacomo, he will get to me." Her slim shoulders lifted and dropped in a jerky, almost unnatural looking shrug. Hatchet faked human well. Soledad faked it poorly. "Or you may send a messenger spirit to find me."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas snorts quietly; it's self-deprecating. "I think it'd be easier for me to pass word through our mutual friend Giacomo. I'll be in touch."

He walks her to the door -- all three or four feet. Hatchet fakes human well. Lukas, sometimes, is flawless: his courtesy, his manners, his charisma. And then one looks into his eyes, pale blue, and there's nothing there to be found but savagery.

"Thanks for coming, Muerte Fria. I misspoke earlier. In this, at least, you've demonstrated your honor."

[Soledad Gutierrez] There was little else to be said.

Lukas knew his etiquette with flawless precision. In the right company, he could hold a smooth-flowing conversation of eloquence and interest that stretched into the night. He could smile, laugh, play and pal around. These were things Soledad was awfully stunted developmentally in. She couldn't talk to someone through the night, she appeared incapable of smiling, laughing, or frolicking. The very image of her in any such scenarios was difficult to form in the mind's eye. So Lukas adjusted to this, kept things short for her.

She wouldn't say so, but she appreciated it.

"Thank you for listening." She nodded, stepped through the door, and was gone.