a fang function.

[Katherine Bellamonte] (Seating Chart! http://www.chicagodusk.com/index.php?jove=gallery&picture=4218
Bellamonte Manor Image/description: http://www.chicagodusk.com/index.php?jove=gallery&picture=2413 )

[Katherine Bellamonte] Bellamonte Manor was aglow with lights.

The front of the building had been artfully hung with a myriad of tiny fairy lights, twined around the two stone statues that grasped both sides of the great stone balcony and coiled around the handrails of the staircase that led toward two glass and heavy oak entry doors to the property. Every window was alight, and the garden heavy with the aromas of lavender, jasmine and rose. The front of the property itself was majestic, pushed as it was on either side these days by recent developments, on one side now stood a towering apartment complex and the other another mansion, though it was not quite as impressive as the one to which they had all been invited to dine at this evening.

A bronze nameplate affixed to the stone beside the front doors indicated they should buzz for attention, above which the name of Bellamonte Manor had been engraved, along with a faded date of 1896.

The doors were opened by a small hispanic woman dressed in a modest black dress, with a white apron fitted atop it. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her wrinkled eyes were large behind a pair of glasses. This, then, was the Bellamonte family's long suffering maid, Lucille. The woman had been in service to the family in some form or another since Katherine and Edward had been infants, and she possessed the weathered face of one who had seen much and come to bear the necessity of dealing with her employer's Rage long ago. Her hands rarely trembled, and she was as competent a woman as any you were likely to meet.

She took each arrival's coats, and in a heavily Spanish tone, directed them into a room directly to their left. This was the sitting room of the estate and a pleasant warmth infused the room, as it was governed by a rather impressive fireplace, burning cheerfully behind an iron grate. Above the mantle sat a portrait of three young children; Lukas would immediately recognize the trio -- they were the Bellamonte children, painted as they had been several years prior.

A silver tray of glassware had been set upon a low table, and an array of wine bottles left on display. Beside these, a tray of caviar and other delicacies awaited, entrees prepared by the family's chef in residence and hovering not a few feet beyond stood a woman.

This was Rosalie d'Albret, now known as Rosalie Bellamonte; widow to Christopher Bellamonte who was directing a maid into another room as she bustled off with a tray in hand full of cutlery. She was a tall figure, Rosalie with hair the soft gold of wheat fields and a womanly figure elegantly attired in a gown of palest pink. Her lobes were hung with gold earrings and around her neck she wore a string of pearls, her wedding band still in its proper place upon her finger. For all this though what would strike the guests the most was the resemblance she had of all her children; her eyes were her youngest daughter's without question, her smile was Edward's and her face could pass for Katherine's, should she but live to see her late thirties.

The most striking difference of course was that Rosalie carried not a hint of Rage, instead, she moved and breathed as one who was the descent of true Aristocracy, her voice a genteel mixture of a life lived between two continents. The moment she registered that her guests had come; the elder woman's face lit up and she smiled with a warmth that was difficult to ignore. "Welcome to my home! I am so pleased you could attend."

From somewhere above came the strike of heels upon the stairwell.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas, not being the sort to indulge in fashionable lateness, parks on the street at the stroke of the hour. It's cold at night now, ten degrees above freezing. When he steps out of his M3, his breath frosts white.

It's only half a block or so to Bellamonte manor. Regardless, Lukas shrugs into a light overcoat as he circles around to the passenger's door. He buttons a single button, onehanded, while he sweeps the door open; lets go the button in time to hand Danicka smoothly out. Earlier today it rained. The pavement is wet. Lukas's hand hovers, ready to sweep up her hem, but one doubts Danicka would be so careless. He retrieves her coat and closes the car door after she steps up on the sidewalk, holding it out for her to slide into.

His hands close for a moment over her shoulders. Then he steps around her, taking her hand in his. Neither of them suffer from poor circulation and cold extremities. Warm to warm, he holds her hand all the way to the door, releasing her to offer his arm only after he rings the bell.

"Housekeeper's name is Lucille," he murmurs, along with the names of the other servants he may remember. "And Rosalie generally prefers to be called by her name."

Then the door opens, and he smiles down at the blandfaced housekeeper. Pleasantries pass. Coats are shed and given over. Beneath his autumn overcoat, Lukas is wears black, suit and shirt differentiated only by texture and fabric; brushed wool for the former, woven cotton for the latter. His tie is a dark, sheening silver, however. The clip is amber; his cufflinks, also.

His hair is black. And his eyes are a brilliant, clear blue; a trait that, by some accident, so many of the Unbroken and its predecessor pack shared.

Following Lucille into the dining room, Lukas immediately holds his hand out to Rosalie, returning her smile as he steps forward. "Rosalie," he says; there's genuine warmth here for the woman who's sent the Unbroken Circle occasional gifts and care packages since they were in their late teens. "It's been too long. Glad you could make the trip to see us. You remember Dani&+269;ka Musil."

[Emile Rothschild] Mere minutes after Lucas has parked and helped Danicka from their vehicle, a sleek silver Bentley Continental edges to the curb just behind them. The headlights die as does the engine immediately thereafter. When he exits, the alarm on the recently purchased vehicle chirps, armed.

The Garou that exits the vehicle is 6'2 and dark of hair, his eyes a pale shade of blue similar to the Shadow Lord ahead of him. Dressed appropriately, Emile straightens the lapels on his Versace three piece suit, the dark navy color of the ensemble is run through with the faintest of pink stripes. His tie is as pale a shade of blue as his eyes and it too is striped with a dark shade of royal blue and the same pale pink that marks his suit. It is slim fitting, allowing the lean muscled outline of his body to be pronounced when - if - he moves a certain way.

Tonight, Emile is alone. His mother is not with him, nor is his sister. On steps that are eerily quiet, he follows behind Lukas and Danicka until they reach the front door. He holds a charming smile for the maid and a firmly spoken Hello. Once inside the dinning room he lingers on the edge of the conversation, waiting to offer his respects to the matron of the Bellamonte clan - for both himself and his mother, Lilian.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Lukas holds out his hand and finds that while Rosalie takes it, she also steps up to him and pecks each of his cheeks in the french manner, her eyes glittering with a genuine pleasure at seeing the Shadow Lord once again. It had been some years since she had seen any of her children's pack-mates, long since she had seen her children themselves and her happiness at being among her family again was evident in the manner she greeted each and every guest, while perhaps not with the same familiarity as she did the now Alpha of her child's pack, there was no lowering of the woman's manner; her charm was ever-lasting and there was a deference in the manner Lucille attended the woman that suggested she commanded respect, not out of fear or intimidation, but out of a genuine desire to serve her.

Here then was a true daughter of Royalty, one whose subjects admired her humanity as equally as they envied her easy hospitality. It was easy upon observing her, and hearing her genteel manner of speaking why she had been such a figurehead of her family, and why she continued to command such large circles of social groups in her home country.

Rosalie Bellamonte was both beautiful, and attentive to her guests, but where her daughter heeded to a haughtier disposition her mother had only the polite candor of small talk, never faltering or allowing a lull to develop. Despite her wealth and standing, there was no posturing, no disdain for any.

"Lukas you have grown, you are enormément." Their hostess chided with a mother's clear approval. Stepping toward the Alpha's companion, she held out a hand and drew Dani&+269;ka to her cheek to kiss her with the same demure grace as before, smiling at the Kinwoman. "You are very welcome here as well." She patted Dani&+269;ka's hand before turning to Lucille, who stood to attention behind her Mistress.

"Lucille, algún vino para los huéspedes si usted por favor?"

The maid nodded. "Sí, la Señora."

--

Descending the stairwell, her hand clasped with that of her younger sibling came Katherine. Dressed in an elegant off the shoulder evening gown in palest blue, the Philodox had pinned her golden locks off her shoulders and arranged them so that they fell in a becoming wave of curls over her barest shoulder.

"Monsieur Rothschild." She called from the foot of the stairwell, letting go her sister's hand in favor of approaching her Kinsmen. "I am so happy you could come."

[Danicka Musil] For certain events, a moderate lateness is permissable, even advisable. For dinner parties, it is unquestionably rude. This is something Danicka, even, was concerned with as they were watching the clock, as she tipped her head to the side and affixed amber stones set in white gold to her earlobes. They could not be late. That would not do.

She does not bring her own car to Bellamonte Manor. Though any of the younger people attending might expect this, might not bat an eyelash, this is Rosalie's dinner party. One might imagine she would wonder at that. Danicka is here because she is, now and quite officially, Lukas's mate. The claim on her is no longer one of guardianship or protection but utter and total possession, as far as the laws of the Nation are concerned. She is his. If he wants her there, she is to be there.

Her long hair's natural waves are accentuated into curls, swept up and back in a mass of them, tendrils left hanging to frame her face. Her makeup is simple and unobtrusive. Her gown is floor-length, straight, and has the somewhat rough sheen of silk. It begins and ends in an almost bluish silver, gradiating into vivid orange across her hips and waist and ribcage, accented by a bow. She carries a black silk handbag, and there is a white gold necklace resting on her collarbone with five amber drops hanging.

She is not dressed like the governess of Yelizaveta Sokolov. She is dressed, tonight, more like the mate of an Alpha. His cufflinks and the tie clip he wears match her jewelry. Her shawl is thick, well-draped, and black.

"Thank you," she whispers as they approach the manor, in response to what he tells her about who they'll encounter inside. The presence of an utterly unknown Ahroun at her back makes her shoulderblades tense together under her shawl, but only Lukas sees the controlled intake of breath, held for a moment before exhale as though holding ice cold air in her lungs will protect her.

Her shawl drops easily and smoothly from her arms to hang on her elbows as she walks into the sitting room, a brilliant smile blossoming over her face when she greets Rosalie. She leans forward to allow and return the European kisses. "Merci," she says quietly, and though it is not a language she's known to speak, her pronunciation is -- in that word, at least -- flawless.

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Gabriella descended the staircase with her sister, right hand clasped lightly in the Philodox's left. The pair, when placed side by side, were unmistakable as siblings. They shared a general face shape, their noses and cheekbones matching well, their eyes almost precisely the same color, even if the shape was a little different, if the contents were far apart most of the time.

Still, a lovely set they did make.

While mother and older daughter appeared in pale shades, Gabriella dressed in a rich turquoise gown that left much of her shoulders and upper back left bare, save for two straps of fabric that crossed it to gather over her left shoulder and clasp at the front of the gown. It was sleek and slim fitted, but fell in a loose almost lightly pleated looking skirt that swept about above the floor as she walked. Her hair, somewhere between Katherine's blonde and Rosalie's rich chestnut, was gathered up off her neck in a style that came close to being careless and tossuled, but was reigned in enough to still be considered elegant. She wore diamond drop earrings and silver bracelets on her right wrist.

Lukas and Danicka have already entered the sitting room, leaving Emile in the foyer when the Bellamonte daughters reach the foot of the staircase. Katherine let go of Gabriella's hand and moved to greet Emile properly, and Gabbie lingered somewhere between staircase, sitting room, and the potential packmates, quiet, unobtrusive, and pretty.

Like a good Kin.

[Emile Rothschild] Katherine's words draw Emile's head round to lay on the Philodox. There is a coldness in the pale blue of his eyes, one that he does not bother to hide or mask. Even his smile, as beautiful as it is, is razor edged. The Ahroun's countenance is as calm and confident despite the mauling he took at the hands of the Theurge nights prior in Katherine's presence.

"Katherine." He says, his face still etched with that same confident smile. "I hope tonight finds you well..." Emile extends his right well manicured hand to Katherine and should she take it, it is covered once over with his left. "Thank you for inviting me. My mother sends her regards, unfortunately she was unable to attend." Katherine's hand released, he offers a nod toward the lingering Gabriella.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Drawn forward, Lukas presses his cheek -- smoothshaven tonight-- to Rosalie's, once on each side, then straightens.

And she's right, of course. Lukas has both grown, and is rather tall, some four inches over six feet. The last time he saw Rosalie may have been as many as five years ago, before his last growth spurt. He was smaller then, not so wide across the shoulders, not so powerful in the arms and chest.

He was Edward's best friend, then, and sometimes his conscience. Fang and Lord were inseparable. He's had dinner with Rosalie in far more informal settings; pizza out of boxes in Edward's crash pad, beer and ribs on the shores of the Atlantic, that longago Labor Day barbecue.

He waits while the Fang kinswoman greets the Lord. When they separate, Lukas adds quietly, a logical conclusion to his earlier statement:

"...my mate."

Then Lukas's smile becomes a laugh. "It's the water," he says, playful, conspiratorially low. "I'd be careful. Drink bottled water only, or you might not fit through your own doorway by the time you return to New York." Then he drops the act to grin at Rosalie openly. "Really, though. It's good to see you again."

Katherine enters, then, going to greet Emile. Gabriella makes herself unintrusive. Lukas turns to face the trio of Fangs, holding his hand out to Gabriella first, then to Emile.

"Gabbie, Kate. And I take it you're Emile First-to-War."

[Katherine Bellamonte] They had both taken unfortunate beatings at the gathering of their kind within these very walls, however neither looked as if a single blow had ever landed upon their faces as they rejoined hands in the hallway. Indeed, Katherine Bellamonte looked exceedingly well this evening, her eyes alight with a pleasure rarely glimpsed in those typically cooler orbs. Even her voice seemed gentler, as she turned to beckon her younger sibling forward with an outstretched arm.

"Maman will be sorry to hear of it, I am sure. She was most eager to see your mother again. But come, allow me to introduce you to my sister. Gabriella? This is Monsieur Emile Rothschild, he and his family are newly come to the city and we welcome them as our good friends." The Philodox went as far as to place her sister's hand poised before Emile, before smiling and leading the pair into the lounge room proper.

--

There upon, they find Lucille pouring glasses of wine, both red and wine along with champagne flutes and their mother engaged in conversation with Lukas and his mate. Something the Shadow Lord says has the woman's lips parting in feigned surprise, and she lightly admonishes the man she remembers as a boy, her son's constant companion and frequent advisor.

"For shame, you make light but should I find my dresses splitting at the seam I shall know where to place the blame." To Danicka, Katherine's mother conspires. "Be warned, Danicka. This man was a rogue as a boy and I recall all his trespasses."

Rosalie turned at the entrance of her daughters and she laughed, a softer, warmer replica of her elder daughter's and beckoned them over. "At last my daughters decide to grace us with their presence." Katherine was quickly summoned to her mother's side, where she stood, a striking match for her mother's beauty, her own somehow lessened by the harder qualities of her Rage, and her sharper tongue.

"Maman," Katherine murmured in an aside, lowering her face to whisper in her mother's ear. "Lillian Rothschild sends her regrets." Rosalie did not outwardly convey that she had heard her daughter's words, but the first that greet the young man before her are about the matter. "Bonsoir, Emile. I am sorry to hear your mother shall not be among us tonight, do send Lillian my fondest wishes."

[Danicka Musil] The last time Rosalie Bellamonte may have seen Danicka Musil, the Shadow Lord kinswoman was in her late teens. Gabriella was a child. Katherine was not yet Changed, was not Truth's Meridian, and the Unbroken Circle was not even a distant gleam in anyone's eye. She was the help, servant to the Sokolovs along with Nanny Helena and Maids Linnette and Esperanza, Harold the tutor and Jacobsen the butler, C.V. the driver. Danicka, governess. Not teacher of math and literature, not caretaker and hair-brusher but guide to things more cultural than academic, more public than personal.

She taught Yelizaveta things like piano, like the Russian language, like seating arrangements for formal dinners, like what sort of gifts to take to what occasion, like how to pretend you did not see the things you saw, like how to be what they all pretend: the Good Kin.

Danicka is much like she was then, albeit not in appearances. She's much taller. A woman and not a girl. From dress to carriage she is utterly different, but she does as she did then and stays rather quiet, though she seems quite pleased just to have been invited here. She laughs at Lukas's joke, then apologizes, and leans in towards Rosalie when addressed.

"You'll have to tell me what he was like," she says, grinning conspiratorially. It hesitates when she glances at Lukas, as though she expects displeasure, but seeing none, her smile grows again.

She looks at Emile as she sips from a flute of champagne, watching him carefully for a moment. She moves closer to the Shadow Lord in the room.

[Gabriella Bellamonte] Gabriella was urged forward with words and body language, and so she stepped up alongside her sister, smiling faintly, pleasantly (halfheartedly) when she was introduced properly to Emile. "We've met," she told Katherine in a tone of voice that was rather mild, and nodded to the Ahroun. When Kate reached down to take a hold of her hand and then direct it forward, hold it out to Emile for her, the Kinfolk's brows flicked downward in a show of displeasure of some kind, perhaps annoyance, but the expression is faint and fleeting, gone as soon as it arrived.

One way or another, she was led into the sitting room.

Lukas comes forward to greet, pausing first to reach out and take her far smaller hand in his for a brief squeeze and shake. The freckled Kinfolk looked up at him and flashed a quirk of a lopsided grin for a greeting. "Lukas," she said mildly in return, and slipped back into quiet when he moved on to make his greetings with others.

The hand that she'd held out to shake was returned to her side, and her eyes slid from face to face. Lukas, Danicka, Mother. All noted. Her eyes rested on her mother for the time being, taking in the sight of the Bellamonte matron while she had the chance to, before she was ushered back to France to keep quiet and out of the way of business.

[Emile Rothschild] Lukas holds two feet in height over Emile. His eyes lift to meet the Shadow Lords and the Ahroun nods, acknowledging his assumption. "I am." Emile takes Lukas hand in a firm, quick shake. "Lukas Wyrm Breaker, I'm glad to meet you." Emile speaks Lukas' name easily, offering it proper pronunciation despite his own accent - which lies somewhere between a Londoner and old world aristocracy.

When Katherine speaks, Emile nods in silent agreement. The Philodox draws him toward Gabriella and when she places her sisters hand poised before him he smiles, holds it much as he had her sisters and then releases it. "Gabriella, it's good to see you again."

In the dinning room, Emile smiles winningly for Rosalie. His features that of a King, noble and proud and seemingly chiseled from the hand of an expert craftsman. "Thank you, " He says nodding, "I will, my mother very much would have liked to attend. Unfortunately, she had pressing matters with my sister." It's left at that and he says no more on the subject unless pressed.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] It's a strange sight, and a strange concept: a Shadow Lord leading a pack that used to run under a Fang totem and Fang Alphas. A Shadow Lord going to dinner with Silver Fangs, meeting a Silver Fang Ahroun that Katherine, at least, has made overt gestures of packhood toward. Perhaps they should wonder what Lukas is up to. Perhaps they should wonder what he's been up to.

There were rumors, a month or two ago. They spread like wildfire for a short time, and then they stopped.

And now Lukas is shaking Emile's hand, his grasp firm, holding a second longer. The two men are closely matched in height, almost identical in eye and hair color, though on the whole Wyrmbreaker's skin is swarthier, and his hair blacker. Their faces and blood tell a different story too: Lukas's cheekbones high and wide, pure Slav; his blood all thunder and treeless mountaintops.

He looks at Emile piercingly, curiously, as they shake hands. "Katherine told me a little about you. She's interested in recruiting you. We can talk about it more later."

Then Katherine is drawing Emile toward Gabriella, and Lukas is looking toward Rosalie, speaking loudly enough to be heard by all.

"Well, I think we're all introduced," he says with a smile. "Shall we sit?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] Gabriella's mother saw every exchange that took place around her without seemingly deferring for an instant from any conversation she was involved in. She took up a flute of champagne and offered one to her elder daughter, then, catching her youngest's eye she invited her to stand beside her and slid an arm around the slim shoulders, gently tendering back a stray strand of Gabriella's hair and murmuring something aside to her youngest that was only for her ears.

What-so-ever it was, it left Rosalie smiling tenderly at her child before she dipped her head in response to the Shadow Lord's statement.

"Bien sûr," their hostess agrees, and extends her arm to direct them through to the adjoining room where an impressively set dining table stood with silverware set along its length, backed by tall chairs innately carved with gold-flecked backing, the material soft to the touch and evidently hand-sewn. "Please, if you will follow Lucille through, she will direct you to your seats."

Rosalie herself waited for the gentlemen to proceed her, her arm wound around her youngest daughter's, preventing the girl from being forgotten amongst the wolves.

--

"Our mother has been at play in the markets, and I believe she has ordered half the lobsters in Chicago to be cooked for your pleasure," chimed in Truth's Meridian with a taunting gleam in her gaze as the party filed into the dining room, candles burning in stainless steel holders.

"Tut, Katarina." Her mother chided, and stood behind her chosen seat for evening. "Only a dozen."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
to Danicka Musil

[Danicka Musil] It's impolite for Lukas, who is a guest, to direct those gathered to the dining room. It's not his place. Or at least, were they mortal, it wouldn't be. They are not mortals, though. The lowest among them -- presumably Danicka, whose breeding is all but lost beneath the richness of Fang blood in the air -- can heal more quickly than a human can, can withstand more trauma than a human mind can fathom, can tolerate the presence of Rage in a way no human could. In this house, tonight, Lukas outranks even the hostess. He is a Fostern, and Alpha of the pack her brother -- and she -- once led.

No one is going to tell him that it was not his place to usher the lot of them into the dining room to sit down and get on with it.

Even the way they walk into the dining room is apart from traditional formality: Emile and Katherine walk together, instead of the Fang Ahroun offering an arm each to Truth's Meridian and Danicka. Rosalie waits for everyone else to go ahead and escorts her youngest daughter into the room, rather than taking one of Lukas's elbows while Gabriella hangs off the other. They go in pairs.

And it means that Danicka is moving back to Lukas's side, floating towards him and taking his arm with a light hand when it is moved slightly outward in her direction. She is, even in heels, several inches shorter than he is, but they make a lovely pair. She is aglow with color, gold hair to the nova-like burst of her dress, the top of her head aligned with his chin. She does not quite look like a Shadow Lord. Her skin is still warm from summer, though her tan is fading. Her eyes are a murky green, flecked with brown and gold. Her hair is not the thick jet black that is so often associated with their kind. She looks good on Lukas's arm, though.

As she should.

She separates from him, however, to go to her assigned seat to the hostess's left, between one Fang and another, across from a third. Her shawl was taken in the parlor. The smile never leaves her face.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] In the dining room, Lukas parts from Danicka at the foot of the table. He draws out Rosalie's chair for her, though Gabriella is, alas, abandoned to her own devices. A deft flick of his fingers undoes the buttons of his coat as he steps into his own seat, tugging his trouser legs up an inch as he sits.

"Katarina?" The corner of his mouth turns irrepressibly up; he's trying not to smirk at his packmate. "Is that what's on your birth certificate?

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Pause to adjourn to forums! Wee.]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (thanks for the play, folks!)