meeting montoya.

[Wyrmbreaker] (where the hell is everyone? too much text!)

[Izzy Montoya] (At the bar)

[Echo Quinn] (I'm cooking steaks. Echo is at the bar, drinking and being cool. BRB.)

[Hatchet] [Standing by Charlie... someplace. *waves hand* Over there.]

[Gina McClaren] *One shot. Gone, and it would seem thats all the need for the glass itself that she has, her attention turned to the bottle. Pikey having the sort of murderous drifting of thought that was best drowned under - what was this? - best drowned under vodka. Of course. A fucking Rueskie drink. She shakes her head with a bitter snick, tipping the bottle back and shutting her eyes as she takes several hard swallows. Perhaps if she pickled her brain, it wouldn't be able to think, or better yet, would be unable to dredge up horrific images to dance like ghosts across her vision.* [echo keron - one side of bar near kitchen. Gina other side of bar. Charlie and Hatchet, between Gina and door? Izzy in the middle. VIOLA!]

[Keron Bradley] There's a nod of agreement; while tension and wariness has certainly increased, friendliness and good nature hasn't decreased in proportion. He can handle looking at her eyes, too - it's not like those aren't at least as interesting as her ass, or any other part of her anatomy. The last of his beer is downed and the bottle pushed towards the inside edge of the bar, and money is laid down. "I gotta go," he says, to anyone who happens to be listening. "Nice meetin' you." And then, tall, dark and southern is on his way out the door, headed for points south.

[Hatchet] Charlie looks patient. Charlie's nostrils flare as air leaves them. Charlie's jaw tenses. And Hatchet lifts one of his eyebrows. He glances up and gives a small nod to Joey as she leaves, turning back to Charlie. "The one that shouldn't be," he says quietly, rather than berating the Cliath for his attitude or knocking him upside the head with one scar-notched fist.

[Wyrmbreaker] Front door opens. Lukas comes in pulling gloves off his hands, stuffing them into his pockets. He heads for the bar, since that seems to be the place to be, and reaches out to pluck the vodka bottle rather smartly from Gina's hand as he passes.

"This isn't bottled water, McClaren. It just looks like it." It's way past closing time, and even if there's still a tender at the bar, no one ever complains when the Garou help themselves to a shotglass or two.

Which is what Lukas does, picking two or three up from behind the bar. He pours himself a shot, Gina another, and a third, he slides over the Izzy. Courtesy of strangers over drink, and all.

"I don't recognize you. New?"

[Charlie] Hatchet gives a nod to Joey as she leaves, but Charlie's attention appears to be divided between the dark-skinned kinswoman visible just over Hatchet's shoulder and the man himself. When he isn't put in his place with words or fists, the Theurge furrows up his brow.

"How's it feel to be wrong?"

[Izzy Montoya] The first whiskey is tossed back without much fuss. She even chuckles as Danny refuses to leave the bottle, and when she sets her glass - empty - on the bartop and waggles her fingers at him again, it's with the knowledge she will keep the poor man very busy over the next couple hours.

And then a shot is sliding her way. She catches it with nimble fingers, and studies the dark haired man who buys it for her. A number of responses whip through her head, and she settles with that same lopsided little smirk as she lifts the shot in silent toast. "New enough. Returnin' home."

And tip, the shot follows the whiskey with a practiced flick of her wrist, the glass flipped upside down and set on the bar.

[Wyrmbreaker] Well; to be fair, Lukas didn't buy the drink. It's Gina's. And Gina probably didn't pay for it either. She might have ordered it -- even that's up in the air -- but most likely an Edward M. Derringer, attorney-at-law, paid for it with his recently misplaced credit card.

"Chicago native, then? How long've you been out of town?"

[Hatchet] The moon overhead is halved and growing larger. The chances of Hatchet losing his temper so completely that he does something truly irrevocable are not as great as they will be later this month, closer to the moot. The chances of him losing his control and doing something truly irrevocable are always greater for him than they are for most Garou of his moon.

His expression, however, does not change when Charlie mouths off. He does tip his head to the side. "Familiar," he says simply, his eyes pinned on the Fury. "Would you like to try that portion of the conversation again without being disrespectful?"

[Gina McClaren] Fook AFT!

*Is the snarl Lukas gets as he plucks the liquor from a pikey's grasp. Her voice lending an edge to rancor that few can manage. Its pure murder that flashes in her eyes and tightens her jaw, but it fades to a quiet simmer as Lukas pours her a shot. There, but muted. She shakes her head, fingers slipping eagerly towards the shot, eyes already fuzzy from what she'd already poured down her throat. The vodka downed without further fuss as she slips off the stool with a hard jingle. Mr. Edward M. Derringer, attorney-at-law would have been pleased to know, that while he slept safe in his penthouse apartment, his wallet had gone up in smoke along with the house of the theif who'd stolen it. Gina reaches for her vodka. *

[Izzy Montoya] "Long enough t'see a whole buncha fuckin new faces." She taps her fingers along the bar, lightly, as she watches him, and then clarifies. "7 years. Jus' long enough t'get the itch t'come back."

It's like a rash. It'd be easier if there was a cream take care of it. There isn't.

She glances toward the pikey who protests the stealing of the bottle, her eyes slipping over her quickly noting a lot of different things, then she returns her attention back to Lukas.

[Charlie] There are a lot of things Charlie has done recently that he never would have done four months ago. Given the fact that his Rage had been a constant and comparatively slight thing for the entire twenty years of his life prior to his arrival in Chicago, three months with the flames of his increased anger lapping at his flesh is not that long. He had been quiet, unassuming and somewhat suspicious of everyone he met back in July; the time since then has been an act of testing his tether to see just how far the Fenrir and the Fianna and the Fosterns in general of Chicago are willing to let him go before yanking him back, or worse.

It's childish, in a way, his boundary testing, but back in Boston, things were cut and dry: if he so much as breathed wrong, he could be broken down faster than a wet cardboard box by someone smaller than him. The absence of violence is not the same as complacency, though, and just because Hatchet doesn't beat him into the hardwood doesn't mean that there aren't consequences for saying things like what he just said.

There's an explosion from the young woman at the bar, but unlike with the two No Moons, Charlie does not abandon this conversation in favor of seeing to the Strider woman. He stays where he is.

"Yeah," he says, briefly dropping his gaze from Hatchet's eyes to his sternum before forcing it back. "Sorry."

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's head turns, unrushed, steady. He puts his hand out before Gina can get to the bottle, slides it out of the way. Glass grates heavy over bartop wood. He nails Gina with a level stare. "Speak to me in that tone again," he says quietly, "and I'll drag your new warders here to stand accountable."

A beat. Then he tips another shot into Gina's glass before reaching over the bar and setting the vodka bottle down. He answers Izzy before returning to Gina: "If you haven't already, you'll want to meet with your tribe. Two or three of them are roaming Bronzeville these days, I believe. If you go there, they'll probably find you. There's a kinsman by the name of John Thornton, too."

Information divulged, he turns back to Gina. "Now then. What's under your skin?"

[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles softly. "John and I go way back - partners on the beat back in th'day."

There's a look there, something that passes through her eyes as she takes up her glass again, and swirls the amber liquid inside it contemplatively. She shakes it off though, and tips back the glass again. Curata wondered if she could hold her whiskey - looks like she's gonna put it to the test tonight.

Another beat - then. "Thanks for the info, though. Met a few already."

[Hatchet] The Cliath Theurge does not quite roll onto his back and expose both throat and belly to the Fostern Philodox, but he drops his eyes and alters his tone almost immediately. At the bar, Lukas presses against Gina's decision to shout at him, yet Hatchet keeps his attention on his packbrother. The night is quiet, for the most part, but it is never entirely peaceful at the Brotherhood of Thieves. Too much Rage lives overhead. Too much blood stains the unseen, minute gaps between the floorboards. Those that live here are not meant for peace, neither born nor bred for it.

There's going to be tension. Always.

Hatchet waits a moment, then puts his hand so lightly on Charlie's shoulderblade that it's possible the Theurge barely feels it. He adds pressure, pushes until his intent is clear, and walks aside with his packmate, lowering his voice once again as his steps fall socked and silent on the floor.

[Joshua Walker] (Locations???)

[Gina McClaren] *Gina's eyes burn darkly. No supernatural rage to speak of, to cow or intimidate. She holds Lukas's gaze best she can, for as long as she can, before dropping her eyes bitterly at the mention of her Warders, one of whom's jacket hangs around her like a baggy leather tent. She didn't need Soledad following her around any more than the Uktena already was. Her gaze rests on the bar as she knocks back the newest shot of vodka. Shot glass tipped over, Gina makes for the door, voice hollow as she shakes her head, answer flung over her shoulder to Lukas.*

Jes Meat, reckon.

[Echo Quinn] Echo Quinn returns from the restroom to find the bar stools taken up by a couple of new faces. She approaches her beer and bowl of half-consumed nuts and slides her light frame back onto the seat, swiveling as she does to take note of the back of a departing Kinfolk, and the racketing tension swirling around the room.

Right.

She left to pee, came back and suddenly everyone was bound up tight.

"Hey Danny, nut me." The Ragabash intones a touch more somberly than was normal for the Fostern.

[Joshua Walker] "Thanks. I'll be in touch if I find her."
Stiffling a growl, Joshua hits end on the phone and slides it into his pocket. Drawing his worn duster closed he looks around as he makes his way down the street. He didn't mind going wandering late at night but it was the person he was tracking that he had issues with. The stress of the evening causing the faint lines around his eyes to deepen with every hour. Normally he didn't let things stress him this much but tonight he was just not in the mood to hide things.

[Wyrmbreaker] In Lukas's eyes there was nothing but the steady, hot twist of rage beneath will. There was no real animosity or anger or ... real caring, one way or another. Perhaps in the long run that's more a slap in the face than anything else. He has been polite to Gina in the past, but it's utterly clear in this moment that she's merely a kinswoman to him, and not even remotely under his watch anymore. She's not his concern, and beneath his notice.

Lukas lets Gina go. That should surprise no one. He turns back to the rather hardboiled woman instead; it doesn't seem to jar him at all to hear she was old beat buddies with Thornton.

"Your look does sort of scream 'cop'," he says, wry, and then picks up his shotglass and drinks. It's closer to a sip than a gulp, though he does drain the small glass. "Still in the force?"

[Izzy Montoya] The kinswoman between them beats feet to the door, tossing back a comment before she's gone. The garou who also occupies the bar decides not to follow, and someone else demands to be nutted.

...Izzy manages not to comment.

Then the eyes of the Shadowlord are on her again. She sits up, and slips her hand into her pocket, finding the container that holds her card, flipping one free and sliding it across the bar to him. "So they tell me. Detective Izzy Montoya. Chicago PD - Homicide." The smirk settles across her lips again, slightly lopsided.

[Echo Quinn] The Kinfolk who worked behind the bar and was known as 'Danny' raised an eyebrow at the Glass Walker's request but obediently moved to top up her bowl of nuts with a fresh mixture. Dexterous fingers picked through them, ferreting out the pistachios and peanuts that she preferred while leaving a neat collection of sunflower seeds milling toward the bottom.

"You seem glum." The barman noted idly, cleaning a glass.

"Meh," the brunette returns with, propping her chin on her palm and rolling her beer glass around the counter. "Not glum, exactly. Just frustrated." Echo Quinn lifted a pistachio up before her eyes, studying it as if it held the secret to eternal life. "I'm not used to running solo, being the only inhabitant in my head."

Danny's brows rose.

The Glass Walker focused on the expression and sighed, tossing a nut back into the bowl. "Forget it, it's a thing."

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas picks up the card and reads it carefully, then shifts to take his wallet out. Izzy can glimpse credit cards, some bills, a snapshot of an older couple and another of a dark-haired young woman, all of whom resemble Lukas strongly. There's also a fairly impressive collection of business cards in there, to which Lukas adds Izzy's.

When he snaps his wallet shut, he reaches his hand to shake Izzy's. He's sitting on her right, so his right arm crosses over his left. "Lukáš, called Wyrmbreaker. Ahroun of the Shadow Lords, and of Perun. Staying upstairs, or got your own place?"

Then, seeing Joshua, Lukas catches the other Fostern's eye and beckons him over.

[Izzy Montoya] Her shake is firm, as likely expected by a woman who's clawed her way through the ranks of a male dominated field. She doesn't shy away from the hold, no allow it to linger. Quick, professional. "Pleasure. Met another one a yours the other night upstairs."

And then her hand returns to her glass as she takes a swallow - she's working her way through this on slower, keeping the fire a steady burn rather than working her way to complete inebriation. For now.

"Got my own place - not too far from here, actually. As amusing as a dorm for fuckin' trueborns sounds in theory? In practice... well. I like my head right where it fuckin' is, and I've too big a habit of mouthin' off."

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas laughs under his breath. "Probably wise."

The Shadow Lord seems to have stopped with a single drink, which warms its way from the pit of his stomach as they speak. His complexion is too swarthy to show much of an alcohol flush. He's still in his outerwear: a leather coat layered over a thin silk sweater, atop a collared shirt. Everything's shades of dark brown, black, grey. The cooling weather suits him and his black hair, his ice-hued eyes, his ancestry of stone and lightning.

"Who else of my tribe did you meet, if you don't mind me asking?"

[Izzy Montoya] "I'm a lot of things, Lukas- but I ain't fuckin' stupid." It's said with that same smirk and a low chuckle as she takes a moment to look around - ever vigilant, ever watchful, always aware.

"hm?" Her attention is pulled back - not that it ever went very far, in truth - and she plucks the information out of the file cabinet in her head. "Theron. He seemed overly impressed that I was a cop for some reason." Not so impressed when she made fun of him, but that part she just keeps to herself.

[Hatchet] Hatchet is over by the door speaking to Charlie for only a short time. He speaks, taking his hand off the metis's shoulder, his eyes on the shorter male and his voice quiet. It seems like the Theurge has something he wants to say, but instead only a couple of words come out of his mouth. Hatchet nods, and Charlie turns to leave, walking towards the door. He's headed to the Caern, but as far as anyone in the Brotherhood currently knows, he's just taking a walk. The Fiann watches him leave, then vanishes into the kitchen for awhile.

When he emerges, he's carrying a plate and a napkin, and steam is coming off of the roast beef and potatoes and carrots he just heated up for himself. Gina has gone, now. Lukas is speaking to a kinswoman whose breeding rolls off of her in waves like heat. And Echo is sitting by herself, eating nuts. Hatchet looks at his plate. He walks over to the Glass Walker and gets onto the barstool next to hers, laying his napkin over one thigh.

"I never thanked you for the help the other night, did I?"

[Echo Quinn] Whatever Hatchet is eating smells pretty damn good and for a minute Echo is struck with the desire to begin panting after his plate of hot food like she was one of those dogs and he was Pavlov ringing the dinner bell to incite her to drool. She behaves herself however, because to be honest he's caught her in one of her rarer somber moods and so when he parks himself beside her and says he didn't thank her for the other side, she merely turns her head and gestures with her newly refilled beer glass.

Echo's voice was one bred in another city, that much was clear from the way she spoke, and the almost aggressive lilt to some of the things she said, especially the manner they left her lips. It was inbred in her, and for a woman who had no memory before she was a monster, it was all she knew how to be. "You don't gotta thank me, it's what we do, right? See bad guy, attack!, all that."

She leans over his plate.

"That smells incredibly good."

[Echo Quinn] (other side? WTF, make that other night.)

[Wyrmbreaker] "Oh, Theron." Lukas seems pleased. It's probably good that Izzy didn't mention laughing at him. She's right: she's not fuckin' stupid, after all. "He's my packmate, and a good Theurge. He was probably just happy to meet a useful contact."

[Hatchet] As a counterpoint to the Ragabash's voice, Hatchet's has no clear accent. Some words come straight from the north. Some vowels seem born from the west coast. Occasionally there's a drawl to his tone that's shipped directly to him every two weeks from Savannah, Georgia. Mostly, he just speaks simply, plainly. His voice is a low, baritone dipping towards bass. The room is cool, the fireplace empty tonight, and Danny is now walking around the room, wiping off tables and chairs, hefting them off the floor.

"I thank you all the same," he says, picking up his fork. He looks at her when she leans over his plate, raising an eyebrow in a manner that could be read as Can I help you? Then:

"There's more in the fridge. Leftover stew, as well. As long as we don't eat the Coltranes out of house and home, we're welcome to it." A beat, as he uses his fork to pull some of the meat away from the main hunk of it. "Those of us that can try to pay what they can. Generally best to give it to Danny, though. Reuben and Jenny aren't hard to offend when it comes to their hospitality."

They are, after all, Fianna.

[Izzy Montoya] She downs the rest of her drink and nods. "I get that a lot too."

She doesn't correct him. She knows why Theron was impressed - but well, she'd likely lie and say it was because of her shapely ass anyway. But then, her phone goes off. She digs it out of her pocket. "Jesus, mary mother of fuck what now?"

A quick check of the number on the screen, and she's pushing away from the bar with a sigh. She hits a button on the phone. "Hang on." before she digs in her pocket for the cash to cover her drinks, drops a couple of 20s on the bar [covers her sandwich the other night two, that way, and a tip] and nods to Lukas. "Speaking of - duty calls. G'night, Lukas."

And then she steps away, and strides to the door with purpose, the drinks she's had seemingly not affecting her at all. "Montoya, what d'ya got?"

(thanks for the play - my kids home which means i can go to bed at last. Night.)

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas shifts, sitting up a little as the detective gathers her things. "Goodnight, Montoya." Izzy doesn't seem to fit her. "Take care."