the city provides.

[Rory] It's getting colder, but Chloe assures her the city will provide. Now, if only it would provide a warmer coat! Her curls are sort of corralled by the knit hat she wears, pulled down over her ears. Her Backpack is heavy with Stuff To Be Fixed.

The moon is heavy still, and her rage keeps others apart, away, from where she sits under a tree, searching through the Stuff with pale fingers. Her rage sets her apart. Her (wasted) Breeding garners notice, though her scent is non-existent, other than laundry soap and shampoo from the earlier visit to the Y.

[Elliot] She's here for the quiet. For the peace and relative solitude. Grant Park is one of if not the only park big enough to boast such a thing as quiet, peace, and solitude. It smells like nature. There are no glaring city lights to blind her. People tend to be quiet, as if the pool of nature is a sacred place deserving of hushed tones.

Usually.

Elliot is shuffling along a path quietly. Her hair is a matted, tangled mess that falls barely past her chin. She's wearing at least three layers of shirts, so far as those who look her way can see, and the knees of both legs of her battered jeans are shredded, exposing pale, knobby knees. The sun is setting earlier and earlier these days, and yet the woman is wearing huge sunglasses that give her the appearance of some sort of lanky bug creature.

Not many are looking her way, however. She blends in with the unwashed masses of Chicago's homeless and indigent. And those who might feel sympathy for someone like her are kept at bay by the rage.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Hey."

Rory doesn't know Lukas, and Lukas doesn't really know Rory. But he knows of her, and that red hair and breeding and rage all rolled into one is hard to miss. The Shadow Lord is dressed for autumn, his coat thigh-length, his hands in his pockets.

"You're Rory, right?" He sits down beside her. There's a stiffness to the way he moves, and the right side of his neck is bright red, a little blistered if one looks closely. He looks like someone might've thrown scalding water at him recently, though it wasn't exactly that. "I fought with your friend last night. Chloe."

Now there are two Garou of unmistakeable purity of blood and rage under the same tree. Elliot would have to be blind to miss them.

[Rory] The shuffling step pulls her eyes up and she finds Elliot without a problem. Her head tips, a little, as she pauses in the dig for Stuff and she chews on lower lip idly. She saw Elliot Eat A Large Man once. Elliot is the epitome of cool. Like Chloe. Who ate a midget.

Then someone joins her, and she glances over, eyes wide in shock a moment. She doesn't know him, and the tension is there, until he explains. He fought with Chloe. She watches him sit, the stiffness, the redness, and the breeding and rank all rolled into one. She meets his eyes only briefly, than her slams down.

"Yes." She's Rory.
Single words are easier.

She is shy, that much is clear, as she hides a a little smile by looking in her bag. "Chloe mold te." She doesn't notice that her words are mixed up, that it might be difficult to understand. She hears what she means, rather than what she says.

[Elliot] Elliot walks, along, hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans. She pauses when she picks up the scent, the presence, the essence of breeding. She gets the impression of warriors and heroes, and she's not even upon the pair beneath the tree yet.

She recognizes the redhead. They fought cannibalistic fomori together. They met in the woods and were set upon by war wolves. She does not recognize the man. Though Elliot has been in town for weeks, she has had little occasion to run into members of the Nation. It's like she can't decide whether to stay in the noise, smelly, insane city or leave again. Wander away alone.

As she gets closer, she can feel the rage. It boils off the pair of Ahrouns in waves. When she's closer she stops. Her head is pointed in their direction. She might be staring at them. It's hard to tell with those sunglasses.

A fine boned, stickish hand removes itself from a pocket of her jeans, reaches up to scratch at her the spot where her jaw meets her neck. There's grime beneath her nail when she pulls her hand away.

Her head swings to look at her fingers, then back to the two beneath the tree. Talking. Elliot hesitates, and then before she knows it her feet her carrying her closer.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's eyelids flicker, surprise, confusion, and then comprehension passing over his face in the space of a second. He's too polite to point out her jumbled words. But the pause is there, the moment his mind takes to decipher what she's said. "Yeah? Good. How's she doing?"

He looks up, then, as Elliot approaches. Her rage isn't strong enough to be felt under his own. She has no breeding to speak of. Still, the directness of her approach -- when so many humans would rather run the other way -- makes him take notice. There are equal parts curiosity, caution and expectation in the way he watches Elliot.

[Rory] She notes the pause, and she flushes, keeping her head down. It's not as long as some, though longer than others. She uses it to look up at Elliot again, and wave her closer.

"Hi, Elliot!"

A glance toward Lukas, before she pulls out a bag of gears and parts and a little box of tools out of her bag. She plucks through like she knows what she's looking for, and because it keeps her fingers busy, her nerves at bay. "Good. She's testing roday in Our Alley."

And she says it like that - capitalized. Our Alley. Claimed. Special. A place no pure bred Fianna in their right mind should be.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Resting?" Lukas is repeating Rory as much to confirm her intended meaning as he does as part of the conversational beat. "If she needs healing talens, I have a few extra Gaia's Breaths."

Rory waves the tall redhead over. Elliot. Lukas looks at her, rolls the name around in his mind, remembers it.

"One of ours?" -- under his breath to Rory, just checking.

[Elliot] [percept + alert: I HEER J00]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 4)

[Rory] "I'll ask." if she needs talens. The City Provides - maybe it provides through Lukas this time. Maybe not. She'll ask and see, later.

He asks about Elliot, and Rory smiles a shy little grin, and nod. "Ate a giant once. And wought Far Wolves with me and others."

[Elliot] They can't sense her rage beneath their own. She has no breeding. The only scent about her is that of stale sweat, of body odor just starting to become too strong for her to stand. Her clothes smell old, and like wind and rain.

She's close enough, when she stops, to hear Lukas' words, though barely. She does not remember him from the strange theater last week, though she had tried to follow him through a door. The Gauntlet had other ideas.

When she speaks, her voice is low and raspy from disuse, as if she goes days without hearing her own voice. She has no one to talk to, after all.

"Elliot Ferguson. Rises Above. Cliath Philodox of the Bone Gnawers." There is no one close enough to overhear her introduction. She doesn't know that her name is on the Wyrmpole of the sept of this city. She doesn't even know what the sept totem is.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas is crouching on his heels, his lumbar back supported on the trunk of the same tree Rory leans again. When he gets up there'll be bits of bark on the back of his fine wool coat. He doesn't seem to mind.

His brow opens a little when Elliot introduces herself without further ado; some of the caution clears. "Lukáš Wyrmbreaker," he replies. He never gives his last name anymore; stopped when he became a Cliath and earned a deedname. "Fostern Ahroun, Alpha of the Unbroken and of the Shadow Lords." There's a matter of factness to this; very little pomp or arrogance.

[Page from Banx13] Hey, it's Banx. I heard you wanted my AIM. TheBanx. Holla back!

[Rory] She smiles up at Elliot, briefly, then looks back down to her current project. She's connecting the gears and little bits and bobs of metal pieces to chains and twine, all to hang from a larger piece.

They give full introductions, and she lifts a hand to rub at the side of her nose, then tug her hat down a little bit. "Bory O'Rryne, Tongue Twister, Fianna Cliath Mull Foon."

[Elliot] Elliot stands watching Lukas rise, introduce himself with rank and titles, impassively. If she's impressed, it doesn't show. It doesn't look like any expression has or will ever show on that pale dirty face.

Her head turns toward Rory, the movement the only indication she can give of where her gaze rests. A corner of her mouth twitches but doesn't come anywhere near an actual smile.

She turns her head back toward the tall Shadow Lord. The introduction was to let him know that yes, she is one of theirs, though not really. Elliot doesn't really belong anywhere, or with anyone. She doesn't ask to join them, but instead just continues forward until she's just a few feet away.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (btw, lukas is still sitting on his heels!)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] A moment of silence settles; then Lukas fills it. "Are you new to the city, Rises-Above? Have you made contact with the Sept yet?"

[Elliot] [I thought he got up! Hargh! *waves wand that erases that part of her post*]

[Rory] She watches them both, little glances, keeping track of where they are, what they say, as her fingers work with dexterity and purpose, creating something only she can see in her mind until it is finished. She chews on her lip, absently, as she works.

There's a brief sound as the needle nose pliers slip, and she jabs them into her palm. She glances at it, than simply wipes her hand on her jeans and keeps working, quiet once more.

[Elliot] Silence settles, but not for long. Rory is busily making something of the gears and cogs produced from her bag. Behind the huge sunglasses, Elliot watches as the other redhead gouges her hand with her pliers. The wound is nothing, a scratch, and is likely healed before she even wipes the blood away.

She nods her head once when asked if she's new to the city, and then stops. "No. I'm just passing through." Her brows twitch. She's just passing through, but she's been here for weeks already. She's run into kinfolk and been invited to partake of their generosity, has nearly sought that generosity on several occasions. She's died defending this city's, clawed her way back only to attack those same warriors. Her name is somewhere where the people of this sept can see it and know of her deeds. Without trying or meaning to, this city is drawing her in.

"I hadn't planned on staying," she amends in that quiet voice. "Where is the Caern? So that I can make myself known."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Even if you're passing through, you might as well meet your blood. I can take you to the Caern," Lukas says. His hand braces on the tree trunk behind him. He pushes himself upright; there's more effort involved in this than would be necessary on another night. "I'm heading back that way myself.

"There's a place called the Brotherhood not far off the borders," he continues. "It's run by kin, and they're feed you and house you. Most people chip in with what they can, whether it's monetary or trade." A glance at Rory's incessant tinkering, "They could probably use a good craftsman there.

"Let me know," he adds, "if your Alpha needs a healing talen or two."

[Chloe] Holy fuck.
Chloe was clean.

The Gnawer made her way to the park, but didn't have the usual scent of garbage to give an indication that she was going anywhere. No, she smelled like strawberries today. Straight up strawberries and laundry detergent. It made it easier to reconcile that the redhead was somewhat adorable when she didn't smell like dead grass and moldy lo mein.

Such was the benefit of battle. It made it absolutely necessary that she bathe. Or break down, take the hospitality of a no-questions-asked environment, and wash her clothes. Poor darling, people would say, she must be coming down off the drugs. Look at her, she can't focus. Just staring off like that. Poor sweety, what was your name again?

She is making her way down the sidewalk with chalk in hand. Chloe stops and scribbles something out. Satisfied, she continues moving.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (btw folks, i'm pulling outta here to join clark's SL! but if elliot's gonna keep playing, don't feel obligated to follow lukas.)

[Rory] The mention of the Brotherhood brings a low growl in her throat, that they may need her there. It's clipped and raw the sudden reply, "No."

Then she winces, biting it back. She'd said it to a Fostern, and she ducks her head and rubs the side of her nose, again. Tries again. "Was there. Mun re out."

[Elliot] [she's totally following Lukas! I gotta go, too!]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's eyebrows draw together. "They ran you out? Who?"

[Elliot] Another nod of her head, and Elliot waits for the Shadow Lord. She watches Rory work, but doesn't say anything. No word of goodbye or call of comeraderie. They've only met twice. They've never really spoken. And Elliot has all but forgotten how to be around other people.

[Chloe] Yet another redhead joined the cadre of ginger-people.

And Lukas.

She didn't hold his lack of acceptable pigment against him, though. Soon enough, she's at Rory's side, chalk in hand and a slight smile on her lips. Until she catches subject matter. That goes away quick.

[Rory] Skinny shoulders lift in a shrug. "Don't know. Son't way where laundry itches, cowers run shold." Firm in the belief that it was aimed at the metis - a belief born by years of abuse, of similar occurrences.

She glances up, the tug of pack bringing her eyes to Chloe as she approaches, and the little grin returns. "No matter. The pity will crovide."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas snorts a laugh under his breath, not entirely amused. "That was Truth-in-Frenzy-Rhya's idea of an object lesson, I suspect. He thinks the Brotherhood is vulnerable and a beacon to the Wyrm. It wasn't directed at you alone."

Seeing Chloe, Lukas's face brightens. "Hey. Chloe. I was just asking your packmate -- do you need healing talens?"

[Chloe] "Hey!"

She brightens slightly, then shakes her head no. Yes, the Gnawer is easier to tolerate when she is clean.

"Healing talens? Not right now, but I'd like the company to make some sometime. I appreciate the offer."

[Rory] Her brow furrows slightly, then shrugs it off, away. "Have Ally with Chloe. Don't need the Hother Brood."

Contentment there. She and Chloe look enough alike to be sisters, act as one without thought, fit together like chocolate and milk. Fresh, not spoiled, like they drank yesterday. She may not be bred for the streets, but she is adapting amazingly quickly under Chloe's tutoring.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "All right," Lukas says, agreeably enough. He turns to Chloe. "I'm actually going to make a few bloody bandages tonight. It won't be the same as what you'll be making, but if you want to join me anyway I'll be in the caern. I'm just going to show Elliot to the Brotherhood, grab some supplies, and then head over with her."

[Chloe] "Well, if you don't mind the company, I'll come by. Try not to bleed out when you're doing it."

Knowing full well how these talens are made, Chloe can't keep a straight face for long and, instead, grins something vaguely playful. Her attention turns to Rory and the expression stays.

"Wanna go? Found an Ethiopian place around here with great left overs."

[Rory] She looks up, briefly, at Lukas, then at Chloe, and then grins at her friend, her Alpha. (What Fianna in their right mind follows a Gnawer? - good question, that.)

"I can sake mome, too." She and Chloe had already planned on it, and then her eyes light up at the thought of food, her belly rumbling in anticipation. "Ok."

With that, she shoves the project she's working on - Chloe will recognize another wind charm - back into her pack quickly.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (all right, thanks for the RP! gonna go get alex's ass kicked now.)