wergild.

Joe
Four or five hours after the quiet as razors discussion between Edwin and Joe, a battered, bashed, but much calmer Joe stands much more still than the volcano quake of rage leaking from him would seem to allow. He's outside Lukas' room. He's knocked- perhaps the man was not in- fuggit- Joe waits directly outside, across the hall. Its difficult to miss the bullish skinhead, since the young man takes up so much of the hallway.

Oddly, the series of cuts and scrapes he seems to have picked up over the course of the last few hours lends him an air of refreshment.. as though a life threatening brawl had roughly the same effect on the Fenrir as a shower would have on an athlete.

...He does mutter now and then. Curses softly, and thickly, to himself.

Something about a fresh fish? Knowing better next time?

Also, legs that probably go all the way to someone's neck.. something.. hard to make out. Best not to get close enough to check.

Lukas
"War-Handed-yuf," Lukas's voice comes from behind Joe and to the side, "did you need something from me?"

The Shadow Lord is coming out of the common room, stepping into the short stretch of hallway that will lead him to his room. He looks like he's coming in from outside -- a messenger bag slung across his chest and behind one hip, his car keys hanging from a crooked index finger.

And he looks strong. Not merely in body, though there is that: long, straight limbs, broad shoulders, height and solidity. Not just that though, but a more indistinct, unnameable sort of strength, a quiet confidence as he observes the young skinhead at his door.

He's polite, but a little distant, a little formal. He unslings the messenger bag from his far shoulder as he approaches, leaving it hanging from the closer.

Joe
About the edges of Joe's bullish face one can see it. A certainty. The impression that he believes he is moving through a dance that was choreographed long before he got here. As Lukaz asks if Joe needs something from him, Joe smiles in a way that doesn't touch his eyes, and cants his head slightly as though saluting Lukas for a particularly good joke at Joe's own expense.

"Might say dat, yeah."

The sort of hateful, casual eye one would give to a snake that prevents you from opening your door, this is how Joe looks toward Lukas. He blinks slowly, and points his chin to the man's door.

"Nuttin' we needa tawk abaht in da hallway. Yew got five minutes?"

Lukas
Lukas has eyes as pale and clear and blue as a boron-seeded diamond. Those eyes take Joe's measure thoughtfully, take in Joe's eyes and his smile.

"Are you sure you want to discuss this in my territory?" Lukas leans down to set his bag gently against his door. Straightens again. "Why don't we go upstairs to the roof. Umbralside."

Unless Joe protests, Lukas turns and starts up the stairs. There are two flights: one to the third floor where Reuben and Jennifer share a suite, and where there's another suite -- quite large, well-appointed -- mysteriously quiet and unoccupied.

The second flight of stairs is narrower, taking them up to a tiny door that opens onto the rooftop. At the top of these stairs, just before Lukas steps outside, the Ahroun crosses the Gauntlet.

In the Umbra the Brotherhood is a pale shade of itself, the walls not quite solid. The door doesn't lock. He pushes it open and steps out onto the roof, under a vast Umbral moon that easily outshines the sun.

Joe
Joe shrugs, the not quite despondent reaction of a kid who is convinced of his course, and knows the path to take.

Once Lukas guides them, seemingly, into an umbral sky, A touch of Joe's load lifts. The pure, clean joy of battle thrums through him as Luna offers her face like a hoplite presenting his shield. She's huge, and its awesome.

For a second, mindless of company, Joe just looks up, and his broad, open face gives itself completely to a smile. Slowly the happiness dims to grim determination- and Joe's attention swings back to Lukas.

Bright, hard eyes. They level the weight of hammers against Lukas' face. It is clear the boy thinks he's looking at an enemy.. but something about it isn't right. Joe thinks they've been enemies... that they have history.

He purses his lips, and paces a bit before he speaks, a short distance away across the roof. The straight legged stalking wolf posture that says the two men will fight.

"Abaht..." He pauses and frowns.. "I tink like tree hours ago, I put hands on ya kin. She's fine, it wasn't like I was lookin' ta hoyt heh uh nuttin.." He looks up to Lukas suddenly, cocks his head and continues more quietly. "Dint catch 'er name. Dahk hair an' dat." He swipes vaguely at his own bald head.

"Sah, I'm heah ta square shit up, like. Yannow. Cleah tings up befoah dat cunt an' heh buddy come up widda reason ta dangle it ovah my head. So?" Joe plucks at a crust of dried blood on one side of his face.

"Whadda yew want feh weirgeld?"

Joe's eyes are hard and level.

Lukas
In contrast, Lukas's calm and stillness is almost preternatural. The Shadow Lord stands where he is, his head turning minutely to follow Joe, his hands loose at his sides, unfidgeting.

Something crosses Lukas's face when Joe says I put hands on your kin: a flash of violence beneath the surface and in the air. A second later he reins himself in, iron control, laser focus.

It persists until Joe describes her dark hair, and then Lukas's chin rises a small degree and his eyes turn thoughtful again. It's not rage, that expression; it's not, perhaps, even anger. It's something like comprehension -- a mild aha, as though Joe's attitude, belligerence and tension suddenly make sense.

Which, of course, they do.

After the Modi finishes, Lukas is silent for a moment. Then, "I think you mean Agnessa Malikoff. About yea high, plain of face but graceful of motion, Russian?"

When Joe jerks a nod, Lukas continues.

"Tell me what happened. As exactly as you can."

Joe
Every line and nerve of him seems strung like a bow.. anticipation painted along him as he continues that pace, back and forth. Joe's eyes gleam in oddly joyful malice when the flash of Lukas' anger lashes against the umbral rooftop- the belligerent modi even takes a step toward him. The invitation to dance not quite put aside as Lukas regains control... but soon afterward. Apparently the boy knows he's in the wrong too.

Tell you what happened... yew fekkin bastid... At this Joe jerks to a stop. No pacing, no grinding his teeth.

That could perhaps be taken as the garou form of the 'deer in headlights', as for a moment, There is nothing in Joe's face but suprise..

He meets Lukas' eyes again, which he'd been doing.. but this time one can see his eyes glaze over as the memory doubtless plays across his mind's eye. At the same time that red begins to rush upward from his collar Joe's fury returns in spades.. a boiling rush of air about him that deals nicely with the massive embarrassment that would have exploded across his face were he only human. As he isn't, it is instead only fuel to the fire of murder and bloodshed.

"Lookit- I aint Heah ta squirm aroun' feh yew!"

Chilling blue eyes that seem as though they will never blink are Joe's only reply.

Our Hero takes a deep breath and dives in.

"I put a hand on heh shouldah a secon', but 'er pahtnah was waitin' ta.. catch me.. oldest fuckin' bait job inna woyld, but it landed ME, damn right.. so heah I am. Fenrir onna plattah. Dey got me dead ta rights. So now, heah I am." Joe adds, after a moment of consideration.

"Pretty ballsy, I'll gibem dat." He scowls again.

"Sah.. whada we do abaht weirgeld?"

Lukas
Articulation. Accountability. Logic. Clarity. These are the things that were drilled into Lukas in that same period of time, that Fostering, during which steadfastness, strength and bigotry were pounded into Joe.

The two Garou share a moon, perhaps an eye color; other than that, almost nothing.

That moon, that shared, round moon, glares down at them tonight. Lukas feels its pull as sharply as any Garou, any Ahroun. He feels it pounding in his blood, raw and animal. It would be easy to let slip the chain, let go himself, let himself tear at Joe in a blind, unconsidered, mindless fury. What is there to wonder about? Here's the crime, confessed. Here's the culprit, confessing. Details don't matter. They don't matter to Joe and they may as well not matter to Lukas, and for a second -- when Joe speaks a lot and says very little of use -- Lukas finds it hard to remember why not.

Then:

"War-Handed-yuf, we don't discuss wergeld" Lukas says the word like he read it out of Beowulf, "until I know what the hell happened.

"You put your hand on her shoulder -- why? What did she do to provoke it, if anything? How did you grab her -- violently? Who is this 'partner'? What did they catch you at?"

Joe
They clash, these two. Lukas a creature of precision and exactitude. A clean and hard expression that describes relentless pursuit of perfection. Garou as an ideal. Motionless because that is what he chooses to apply to the situation for now.. he carries the same awe- inspiring rage.. but holds it thrumming like a machine.

On the other hand...

Each step Joe takes is a claim. Far from seeming intimidated by the other wolf's presence, Joe seems almost invigorated by it as his steps carry him back and forth again.

This ground is mine. Now This one. Now This A battering against the barely there roof they stand on. It does not seem so much an application- he hasn't chosen this. Joe is only a surging forward, maybe he'd burst into flame if he stopped. Force looking for a reason to be applied. Fury uncluttered by thought mutters from every line of him. Hardening, malevolent eyes flicker to Lukas and linger too long.

Then Lukas speaks again.. and Joe finds a bit of his certainty robbed. It is leaked from his steps and from his eyes gradually as he forces himself to pay attention to the questions he's been asked. His steps slow, gradually, and he chews his lip...

His eyes slip along the ground in thought... and the quieting steps cease altogether as confusion and frustration rise behind Joe's eyes. It was so simple a moment ago. They'd mocked him. Set him up. Made him look a fool to secure the debt of one of Fenris' mighty children.

...didn't they?

He shakes the question from his head, and brutal hands rise as though trying to fashion explanations out of the air in front of him.

"I was..." He stops.. eyes flickering back and forth as he tries to march details from his mouth. Hard to assemble though- images of stiletto heels and lips so red they seemed to burn keep mucking things up.

And there were really great panties too. Like little smiles.

A growl of wrath that threatens to burst into a roar as Joe shakes his head again and takes another step toward Lukas- this one much more like a man trying to get out of the deep end of a swimming pool. He raises his reddened face again and makes another go at it.

"I went...." One thick finger roams out from his body to stab at the floor. "Ta dew some laundry.. an' deah.. wassis..." His hands carve a vague shape out of the air. It could be Nessa's maybe..

"dis lady deah, an' she wuz hangin' out uh summat.. an-" I liked her

"Uh she was a little cheeky mebbe.. but nah really so much." Way too much

He swipes at his nose with one hand, a glance flicked to Lukas then back to the ground as he continues to try to seperate knee jerk reactions from actual events and the instinct that can cloud both.

"Ahmean- fuggit, like.. nuttin'.. yannow.. happened" Teeth flash as he struggles to speak through the horrific boil and spray of emotions that would be familiar only were he a normal kid.

"Sah dis lady wuz dewin laundry tew, right? An I jus.. ahmean, mebbe I misunderstood an' all." She only -confused- my head. The rest of me was just -convinced-.

"I jus' wanned ta ask heh name. Sah I like.. reached out like.. meant ta stop heh feh a secon'. An' DAT's when it happened."

With this Joe looks directly into Lukas' eyes again, zealotry returning to press away more awkward things.

"Alla flirtin' an like.. innuendo an' shit, dat was jus' ta get meda dew summat stoopit. Cuz dis uddah guy- I dint see 'im uh nuttin' an' he din't have no smell but he was ona yoahs feh shuwah- he was waitin' in dat laundry room da whole time! Sah I put my hand onnah shouldah- yew know, da bait lady," Joe's speech proceeds, start to finish with the sort of jackhammer viciousness that many Full Moons fresh into their strength find in every syllable during Luna's brightest time.

"an' befoah I couldt take it off da bitch again dis guy awready hadda knife at my back. He tol' her ta scram, an... said some uddah stuff I din't quite catch.." The flicker of a lie there, meant as balm for wounded pride- the tells are too obvious. Among them Joe's seeming disgust that he'd done it at all. The twist of features is gone quickly as Joe tries to maintain momentum.

"Den he disappeared." Joe shrugs. "So I did tew. Went an'" a gesture to his battered face- "blew off some steam, den came ta see yew. Cuz I know how dis goes. If dey git heah foyst an brag, tell yew what happened, Yew heah some blown up voysion uh da whole ting, I get called out an' some good-as-dead little fuck calls me a cowahd feh not ownin' up. Only I aint a cowahd." Bright eyes slice at Lukas' face. Fierce, and proud. "Sah I figgahd I'll jus' tell yew myself an' we can deal widdit."

He blinks... knowing he'd forgotten something. "Oh right. Yeh... of course she's fine. I wadn't tryin' ta fekkin hoyt heh, feh chrissake." Joe draws himself up to his full, and rather impressive, height and elucidates firmly;

"I don' paste dames." A nod. Apparently certain Lukas would understand that jumble of donkey noises.

Lukas
Slowly, in pieces and fragments, the nature of the confrontation is revealing itself to Lukas. It's a gradual unveiling from one scenario to the next, led imperfectly and haltingly along by Joe's inexpert words, his stumbling, angry explanations; his asinine -- literally -- accent.

The better tell is the young Modi's gestures, his body language; the words between the words. Lukas's pale eyes are keen on the other's face and form. He watches carefully, noting where the other flushes and where he fumes, where he paces, where he swings around to face Lukas down as though the Shadow Lord stood in mute effigy of all the wrongs laid against Joe tonight.

Only once does he interrupt, and then to ask:

"What more did he say, this tribesmate of mine?"

It is unlikely the answer would change much. Lukas could always hear it from the other side.

In the end Lukas has a clear, if patchwork picture of what went down. And it is so far short of his worth it/not worth it line, his important/insignificant line, that he has to clench his jaw to keep from smiling.

"I believe you," he says, "and you were right to bring this to me personally and promptly. It speaks well of your honor. It shows you're not a Garou to hide from his own actions and their consequences.

"I don't think you meant to hurt or frighten Ms. Malikoff. And if all is as you have said, I don't think there's any harm done in the situation, so it's not necessary for wergeld to be paid.

"It might be wise for you to keep your hands off Shadow Lord kin altogether if you cannot touch them in a way that does not frighten them -- or mystery onlookers. But frankly, I could care less if you and Ms. Malikoff were flirting. I could care less if she invites you into her bed. If things proceed to mateship and cub-siring, you need to come to me to challenge formally. And if you actually hurt my kin, I will come after you."

There's a beat.

"But I don't think you will. Beyond that, it is as I said at the moot. I try not to mire myself in the personal lives of my half-blooded cousins."

Lukas unclasps his hands, rubs his thumb over an itch on his jawline. Then he raises his eyes to Joe's again.

"I don't know why my tribesman put a knife to the back of another Garou for the sake of a kin, and an unhurt kin at that. I will be speaking to him and to Agnessa about it, and to corroborate what you've told me here. But unless we have a problem, you won't hear about this from me again."

He nods at the door over Joe's shoulder, back down into the Brotherhood.

"Thanks for coming to me, War-Handed."

Joe
Oh hell.. Joe's expression falls a bit as Lukas drills him at the lie.

Fuck was I tinkin.. like tryin' ta lie ta Loki..

One thick thumb is jammed into Joe's eye. As he wipes the bit of crud away he mutters. It is clearly heard for the most part, but rather deadpan. He owns up, at least.

"Pro type stuff. Like. He gaht me.. an' I know it.. an don' touch 'is kin." Joe's eyes roll skyward as he admits being had. Once it's out, Joe seems not heavily encumbered by the admission.. after all, getting the drop is what No Moons do.

Consternation boils across Joe's incredulous face as Lukas goes on to recount what should be done if he were to claim Nessa as his own. Sire children.

Perhaps only part of it is incredulity.. after all, a few hours ago that seemed to be what he'd had on his mind.

Guilt drives his mouth shut again. Nevermind trying to find a rebuttal- Lukas offers the door as a way out of the situation. Joe begins toward it with a couple of looks back. He was going to challenge the guy just a second ago.. how is he... walking.. to the.. door, again?

It shuts behind him with a quiet snap.