signature lounge.

[Katherine Bellamonte] [On a scale of 1 to 10, how many drinks have you already consumed, Katie baby?]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Katherine Bellamonte] It was called the Signature Lounge at 96th on North Michigan Avenue, and the Silver Fang Philodox of the Unbroken had already been there for a few hours before her pack-mates discover her. She was sitting at a corner table with an absolutely glorious visage out either window of the city, twinkling in the evening light. From every side of the skyscraper the bar resided in was the same view; tall buildings running away as far as the eye could see, the flat expanse of their city.

In a corner, a young man in a tuxedo played soft tunes on a grand piano, but the tall blond aristocrat at her corner table did not seem to be paying him a great amount of attention. In fact, she seemed quite content sitting with her heels kicked off, feet drawn up beneath on soft sofa cushions nursing her 10th drink [a dry martini] in hand. There were at least nine other empty glasses on the table before her as well as a small tray that held her credit card.

It appeared Katherine had been buying up a storm of drinks; there were several shots she was yet to sample slotted before her, and her coat had been long since shrugged off and tossed over the back of one of the sofas, leaving her in a smart white suit, the jacket unbuttoned and the collar of the blouse unbuttoned enough that the white pearls around her neck were visible.

She hadn't so much spoken to her pack-mates on her whereabouts as she'd slurred the address into her mobile; then snapped it shut and resumed her wallowing. It seemed Truth's Meridian was throwing herself an impromptu pity party.

[Sinclair] [*sees roll at start, dies*]

[Katherine Bellamonte] [:D Kate is drunk faced. She's going full retard. Also: http://www.signatureroom.com/Signature-Lounge/, this is where she/they are!]

[Lukas] Subdued skyscraper lounges with soft piano music isn't quite Lukas's scene. He's always preferred a more postmodern look: bare woods and stones; spot lighting; music with a defined beat and bassline. The view, though, he can't complain about.

It's his coat that drops into the seat opposite Kate's first: heavy, woolen, quality. Whumpf. Following that, the man himself, rather dapper in a fitted vest, a dark button-down, a pale grey tie that he's almost certainly wearing for the look. It's not vanity that leads him to dress well. Even this is a sort of strategy; a certain image to project.

Wordlessly, he surveys the drinks on the table. Katherine appears alone, and though she's beautiful, no one's tried to strike up a conversation with her. Not for long, anyway. The Philodox's rage is formidable, and her tongue sharp -- albeit slurred. Therefore all the glasses must be hers. Lukas doesn't say anything of it, though. She's a grown-ass woman. Instead, he turns in his lowslung, comfortable armchair, waving down a waitress.

Turns out Lukas orders from the dining room downstairs. He wants seared scallops, and he wants it with a snifter of Remy extra-old. Just the one drink. For now, anyway.

When the waitress is gone, they have the corner to themselves. "So," Lukas says, though he has his guesses, "what's the occasion?"

[Sinclair] This is not Sinclair's type of place. At all. This is the sort of place she can only get into because she's beautiful, because she's young, because she makes everyone who gets in her path think So this is what tachycardia feels like. The moon is new, and it makes no difference with Sinclair; the thing about her that makes her feel so dangerous has precious little to do with how close her rage is to the surface, how hot her temper is. Even when her touch is gentle and her words are soft, no one mistakes her for anything but a hungry, dominating monster.

She informs the first person who dares to talk to her face to face that she's meeting someone, excuse me, and strides further into the room, sticking out like a sore thumb. Sinclair has -- not surprisingly -- made no attempt whatsoever to prepare her appearance to blend in. Her hair is up in two knots, the pale hair tied with twine rather than elastic bands, the ends of the twine adorned with a few wooden beads. This means that her ears -- and all the metal in them -- are exposed. This means the tattoo on the back of her neck is visible. This means that as she walks, occasionally there's a soft clack-klak, clack-klak as the beads tap together.

It's 'warm' enough outside tonight that underneath her jacket Sinclair's just wearing a loose Runaways t-shirt over a gray thermal with sleeves so long that she cut thumb-holes in the cuffs. Her skirt looks like a repurposed pair of a sweatpants cut and re-sewn to make a rather trashy mini. Her tights are black. Her boots are old. Her keys are jangling as she walks.

Coming in a couple of minutes behind Lukas and dropping onto the couch by the other blonde woman, she loudly and immediately wrecks their image of sophistication just by existing alongside it.

"She's being emotarded," Sinclair concludes, answering for the Philodox.

[Katherine Bellamonte] "The occasion is--" She begins, her eyes glassy and unfocused, her cheeks brushed enticingly with a hint of color so often missing from it under regular circumstances, her lips pink and swollen from drinking, from wiping her lips, from goodness knew what, really. "The occasion, my dearest Lukas is ... me." She beams ridiculously and then leans back, laughing breathlessly as if fantasticly entertained by her own drunken wit.

Then -- "SinCLAIR." -- Katherine's long hair is loose and wild-tangled around her face, she frowns [pouts] at the reasoning her pack-sister gives and almost whines out her name. "Nonono," Hiccup, scuse her"It's because I'm such a wonderful person, you see. I am so full of love for everyone. Nothing I do could ever be con..con..screwed... construed, as heart-less. Or devoid of sentiment."

She swills her drink around, abruptly moody. "My mother won't speak to me."

[Sinclair] "KatherINE," Sinclair retorts, imitating the wheedling tone the Fang uses. But she doesn't argue otherwise. She actually shuts her mouth after that, leaning her elbows onto her knees and propping her chin in her hand, looking at the drunken Half Moon with something between amusement and pity.

"Yeah, well. She's a grown-ass woman," mutters the Walker. "She'll get over it."

[Lukas] "Your mother," Lukas replies, "will also get over it. Family's important to her, but sooner or later she'll understand that that's exactly why you did what you did."

Also, "Hey, Sinclair. You want anything?" He passes the truncated lounge menu over; it's the only one they have on the tiny, circular table.

[Theron Locke] Theron had been busy for the past week or more with his own matters. So had been rather removed from the most recent and dramatic argument between Kate and her sister. He had been glad when he had received his Dear John letter from Genevre, happy that the she had moved on. The other day at the park he had spent a fair amount of time with Joss the Theurge Elder, and finally arranged a time to move forward with his studies. All it had taken was a few pushes on the swing and the offer of taking her out for ice cream. There other things on his mind...but they were going to remain his private thoughts for the moment.

But eventually word made his way to Theron about what had gone on. he had been in town minds about it. On one hand he considered Gabriella a whiny traitorous cow, but on the other he knew what effect this event must have had on her sister.

So that's why he was here, his car parked below. Dressed for the location, Theron made his way into the establishment , with the presence that he belonged there unlike his pack sister Sinclair. He eyes the drinks on the table when he arrives there but says nothing. "Evening all" but says nothing further as he takes a seat and watches the discussion between his packmates. Already degrading from the obvious number of drinks their Philodox had consumed. But he was here anyway, if she welcomed his advice he'd be here to provide it.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine doesn't seem overly comforted by the advice of her pack-mates, but that possibly has a great deal to do with the number of beverages she's already consumed this evening after a tearful Rosalie telephoned her demanding to know why her youngest child was to be scratched out of family records, name blackened forever.

Katherine, had lost her temper and broken the cordless phone in her hand.

Then, she'd gone drinking and here she was, suddenly surrounded by her pack-mates, in a sense, her truest family. The notion of it makes the Silver Fang's eyes brim and she frantically blinks away the tears, remembering what happened the last time she cried in front of Sinclair, at least. Lukas, she wasn't certain would know what to do with himself if she should burst into tears around him.

Perhaps look like a startled hare, ready to bound away.

Still, she does not cry but takes another healthy swallow of her martini, and slide across a shot glass toward Warcry. "Drink up! We're here to celebrate! Or just to get very, very wasted." Katherine bites her lip, gleaming, bright-eyed and flushed like an eager young girl. "It's lovely, lovely." She moons, leaning against Lukas heavily a moment. "I haven't drunk like this since Martin was here and he gave me rather a lot of Champagne one evening."

Theron arrives, and Katherine is delighted. "Theron!" She sits up abruptly, swishing her drink around dangerously near the rim. "Theron, I'm so happy you're here did you know that I love you, Theron?"

[Edward Bellamonte] (Today I feel)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Sinclair] There's only a brief moment of hesitation when Lukas offers Sinclair the menu. It's obvious as hell that she can't afford anything here if she wants to keep being able to pay the Coltranes occasionally and if she wants to keep her phone going and her car driving. It's an old, ingrained habit that makes her think for a second about saying no.

And then what she really is takes over, and she plucks the menu out of Lukas's hand, scanning it quickly. While the rest of them are talking, she ends up whistling sharply -- and rather rudely -- for a waitress, then ordering:

"I want the grilled turkey panini, some baked brie, uh... surf and turf, then that white and dark chocolate mousse cake and ..." she glances at the menu again, then up at the waitress, "a Long Island Iced Tea and keep 'em coming."

She drops the menu. Apparently Kate would not be getting trashed alone tonight. There are various forms of comraderie. Sinclair's is often quite simple, very obvious, and bizarrely comforting, considering the source. "I'm not celebrating shit," she says plainly to Katherine. "You're going to end up embarrassing yourself if you don't slow down. But," she adds, "if you don't want to slow down, I'll end up making a much bigger fool of myself much more loudly and expensively than you."

Sinclair reaches over and melodramatically pats Kate's leg. "Because I'm here for you, you wasteyfaced dumbshit."

[Lukas] It's obvious Sinclair can't afford this place. It's less obvious that Lukas can't either. Not on a sustained, daily basis, anyway. He isn't embarrassed if his pack knows that, though; and perhaps that's why he doesn't think Sinclair would be embarrassed if she ordered and then let her packmates pick up the tab. Or proposed dashing on the check.

Regardless, she accepts the menu, orders from it. Lukas tolerates Kate's mood swings and her leaning against his shoulder and even the alcohol fumes wafting out with every word. Her accent is a little stronger when she's drunk. She probably doesn't know that.

"Martin," he explains for the sake of ... well, everyone else at the table, "is Kate's ex."

His food arrives. The scallops came from downstairs; are hot enough to still sizzling faintly on the plate. There are four, arranged and drizzled with reduction sauce. The waitress brings silverware, but he keeps only the fork. Also, his cognac.

"And if you both get too trashed to walk," he adds, "I can only carry one of you. So plan wisely."

[Theron Locke] Theron goes bright red, which is a feat for his normally olive skin "Umm thanks Kate, I love you too." he turns and gives Lukas a strange look... as much to ask.. just how much has she been drinking. Turning back to Sinclair "You sure your not hungrier than that ?" he just chuckles and gives her a teasing wink.

When their Alpha calls for their order, he adds "hmm just supply me with scotch and cokes.. as for the meal .. the Grilled Bruschetta, the Roasted Rack of Lamb and for dessert... hmmm the Caramel Apple Bread pudding."

Theron then pipes in with a quiet question to Lukas..."Kate has an ex?" there is definitely a perculiar look on the young Theurges face.

[Edward Bellamonte] There's a certain feeling, when a pack is nearly complete. There's also a certain feeling of a Ragabash under his own moon, and of Edward . . . oh, Edward. Only Kate and Lukas have seen him like this, and even then, it hasn't been often. In fact, including this occasion, they can likely count the occurrences on one hand, and most of them were confined to Boston, during That Dark Time - a lifetime ago.

Ed comes in, and he's bouncing off the walls. Almost literally, really - there's a not-quite-sane sort of energy about him, something that in someone else would have to be induced by some fairly heavy stimulants. The boy doesn't even smoke, they all know that. As far as they know, he never has. He just drinks, and that's generally an all or nothing affair; he's binging, or he's dry.

Regardless, there's a feeling of pack, and there's a feeling of Silver Fang regality that the Ragabash brings along with him. He stops the waitress as she's moving around the Rage-filled table shaking her head at Sinclair's order, has a few words with her (murmured quiet and all charm, all smiles, all may-I-see-your-ID-sir youth and aplomb despite the first signs of silver in his hair, silver that hadn't existed before his months long sojourn) and she nods, smiling back, as he moves to claim an empty chair.

Because of course there's a chair for him, the prodigal prince, the weak link (because of course he is, there's no method to his madness, no rhythm to his rhyme). He's pack, he's brother, he's one-time best friend. There's always a place for him.

Until there's not.

"Hey," he says and takes his seat, a knee jiggling in the sudden lack of other-movement. "Oh, good," comes after, with a grin. "Are we talking about Kate's conquests?"

[Sinclair] It's best if they don't talk about Sinclair's views on when compensation for goods and services is necessary and what should be considered adequate compensation. She does have views. She, in fact, has written many a GW.net diatribe about many subjects, including rules of hospitality. She's been called a fucking socialist. She's also been called an extreme capitalist. The net is a wondrous place.

Lukas explains who Martin is. Sinclair lifts a finger and spins it in the air. She's terribly interested, it seems. Her hand drops back to her knee, then rises again to point at Theron in mock warning. "Watch it, bucko. I know where you sleep." Her hand drops. Again.

"Wuss," she says archly to Lukas when he says he can only carry one of them. "Some warrior you are."

Edward arrives, manic and mistaking the waitress's nerves and trembling and muttering for asking for an ID, which she doesn't. She's so eager to get away from them she doesn't care if the motley blonde is legal or not. Sinclair eyes him. The last time they saw each other, her mouth tasted his blood and her face was covered in it. The last time they saw each other, she quietly compared the sight of him flat on his back in the penumbra to Katherine bloody and wrecked in the caern. The last time they saw each other, she was wondering what Gabriella would look like in the same state.

The young woman's predatory nature is far deeper than her skin, her scars, her piercings, her tattoos. She's not human. She can only barely fake it.

"'Sup," she says to him, simply.

[Sashenka Rohzdestvenskya] Having been roaming around Chicago all day she had asked a few locals where a good place would be to go. And somehow looking at her clothing, nails, hair and bag, they directed her to this place. Apparently she just looked like she came from money. But always one to trust the locals, one of these days it will come to bite her in the ass, she ends up at the lounge.

Wearing a black wool dress coat that looked like it cost more than the servers here made in a month. Her hair was pinned up delicately framing her intense eyes. She removed her coat as it was taken off to be checked, she just wore a simple black dress with shoes to match. Her jewlery glistened off her neck as she was lead to a table and handed a menu. "Thank you." Her thick Russian accent rolled from the back of her throat as she opened up the wine list. "What is the house wine this evening?" She smiled to the server as she was told, "Sounds lovely, I will have a bottle. Also I will just have the special this evening."

Closing the menu handing it off before just straightening her back more and looking out the window enjoying the view.

[Lukas] "Brief, epic Fang romance," Lukas replies, not even bothering to keep his voice down. He's sitting more or less across from Kate, which -- a rare occurrence -- puts his back to the room. It's all right. His pack is here; he trusts them to watch his back for him. Besides, of the lot, Katherine was the one who most needed the wall at her back.

That means Ed comes up from behind him, though. Which also means he tips his head back to look at Edward as he passes. The Shadow Lord, who's sprawling in his armchair, raises an arm to clasp hands casually with the Fang as he passes. "Ed," he says; then his hand drops back to the arm of his chair. "Pull up a chair."

Then, smirking, "Yeah well, maybe Theron and Ed can carry the other one of you out of here. Unless one of them goes under too. Then we're shit out of luck."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Sinclair calls her a wasteyfaced dumbshit and it doesn't occur to Katherine to mind that, as a matter of fact it has her dissolving into absurdly childish giggles and she cups a hand over her mouth, eyes widened, as if disgusted with herself for making the sounds. "Oh dear," she stresses with furrowed brows, "I'm so drunk, it's horrific."

Then; Lukas is explaining who Martin was and the Philodox's expression crosses with a schism of pain remembered and she coughs, busying herself with tidying her golden locks back behind her ears and setting her now empty 10th glass on the table as a handful of them are taken away by their frazzled [fearful] waitress, so desperate to flee from their sides that she'd almost careless with the glassware. Katherine's focus is jumping, its jumping a great deal as her body works already to burn off the effects of the alcohol in her system; they were Garou and they did not function on a biological level the same way as humans.

That being said; Katherine is still at present very intoxicated.

"Martin was my first -- he was my first," she reddens, suddenly very proper with her brother nearby. "Well," she was twenty-one and drunk. "You know, mon premier amant, celui que vous n'oubliez jamais." She slips into her mother's language far easier now, the foreign language coloring her accent, gifting her, in fact, with one at all.

[Lukas] Lukas isn't particularly polite about his scallops; he pops them down one after another regardless of whether or not his packmates' food has arrived. Soon enough the plate is bare, and he's settling back, sprawling out in his seat, weight low in his back. His glass of Remy is on one arm of the chair; his other arm drapes lazily off the side. The couches here are so low that his fingertips nearly brush the floor.

"Don't know what that means," he reminds Kate, offhanded, lazy. "Hey, let me have a sip of that." He points. "That blue drink."

A pause; he turns, faintly frowning, searching without knowing what he's looking for. When he sees it, though, there's little enough doubt. The Shadow Lord turns back around, a half-smile quirking his mouth now.

"Girl over there is one of yours, Kate. You wanna send Ed over instead, since you're drunk off your ass, or can you pretend to be respectable?"

[Sashenka Rohzdestvenskya] Hearing the words 'Fang' her ear perked slightly snapping her head over to the person who spoke. Her eyes staring at them with a perked brow. The blue eyes seemed to be unwaivering from the group. She was listening in, she wasn't shy about it. Propping her chin in her hand delicately watching. Her phone was buzzing again, pulling it from her purse she looked at hte number. It was Jermija, putting the phone back she was not going to listen to him rant, rave and demand her to come back.

Looking up at the server as the bottle of red wine was placed down before her after a glass was poured. "Thank you." The server walked away, she lifted the glass to her lips keeping an eye on the loud one for the time being. Savouring the tang of the wine as it stung the glans under her tongue making her salivate. Looking down at the glass arching a brow, it was dry, as she was used to sweet wines this took her off guard. Clearing her throat after she swallowed putting the glass back down lifting her chin once more with a sigh her phone beeped.. There was a voicemail, as much as she dreaded it, she pulled her phone out and dialed the voicemail.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine dutifully passes him the blue drink, and then looks out over Lukas' shoulder toward the intense blue-eyed gaze settled upon her table. She frowns, her vision slightly blurred as she tries to make heads or tails of this newcomer. "I can do it! I can..." She half-stands, feels woozy and sits back down again a little abruptly; casting Edward a doe-eyed plea.

"My dearest brother, do go... over there and find out who that girl is. I cannot raise myself beyond half a stoop at present."

[Sinclair] There's been no chatter on their totemlink concerning what happened between Ed and Sinclair the night that Katherine ousted Gabriella from the tribe. It may not be important enough.

"I am not," Sinclair says flatly and proudly, "being carried out of any place by a Trickster or a Seer unless I am on the verge of death. And yes, you are," she adds as an aside to Katherine's pronouncement that she's so drunk it's horrific.

Her tea comes. She downs half of it and all but slams it down on the coaster again. "Ah," she says deliberately. Then she winces. "Christ, Kate, don't tell us shit like that." She twists to look over at Sashenka -- nakedly, openly staring at her for a moment. Then shrugs and turns back around, reaching over and picking up her drink again. The waitress returns with a few plates of snacks and a dessert, which Sinclair tucks into with eagerness.

"Here," she says, offering Kate some of the baked brie, "you need something in your stomach, you fucking moron."

[Lukas] Sitting across from her, Lukas surveys her attempt to rise with growing amusement. "Thou art truly mighty and unconquerable, O Elder of Falcon," he comments. And then he steals a shrimp off Sinclair's plate.

"Let me be serious for just a minute, though, Kate," he says. "Mourn your sister tonight if you have to. Get trashed. Go have your first girl on girl experience. Vomit in the gutters, for all I care. Your pack won't judge you for it. But tomorrow, put this behind you and move on. Gabriella got no more or less than she deserved. Or wanted."

[Katherine Bellamonte] "You are so crude, my sister." Her Half Moon chides, taking some of the baked brie and eating it with a surprising amount of daintiness, given her current state of mind. Her one concession to her inebriated state is the way she licks the traces remaining off her fingertips with relish and sighs, sinking back against the sofa cushions in a state of perfect contentment -- at least, until Lukas opens his mouth, anyway -- then her pale eyes open again and she's frowning very hard in his direction as if trying to listen very hard to his words.

She was always very good at her lessons as a child, after all.

"Lukas!" She admonishes him with, first and foremost, her expression clearly one of abject horror at the idea of girl on girl -- anything -- and then she falls very quiet and somber for a beat, before adding softly: "I cannot say that isn't true, any of it, but she was my responsibility, and despite her weaknesses, I will always feel as if I failed in my duty by her. But," she smacks her thighs, attempting to be jovial once more. "I cannot dwell, I cannot because I cannot bear it, so I shan't!"

[Sinclair] In retaliation, without missing a beat, Sinclair reaches over and uses her fingers to nap Lukas's last seared scallop. She is about to eat it when Lukas mentions girl-on-girl. She blinks. She looks at him, brow furrowing and head tilting slowly, somewhere between horror and confusion, then shoves the scallop in her mouth and talks around it: "You're so weird."

This time she chews without showing them the food in her mouth. When she swallows, she eyes Kate, her announcement of not dwelling on it, then looks over at Lukas as though silently asking him if he buys it. Looking for something, in his expression or response to this, to know how she should react, too.

[Sashenka Rohzdestvenskya] The sever came up with her lamb setting it down before her. Lifting her fork smelling what she would be eating. Hearing the group talking about crass and crude subjects, even she turned red from embarrassment. Keeping her head down dropping her fork on the plate by accident sending the loud clatter in the restaurant. Looking up and around before shrinking down in her chair hiding her face muttering in Russian.

She started eating her dinner, figuring if she ate quickly and ducked out she can go back to the hotel room and die from embarrassment.

[Lukas] (Sashenka, just for the record, i don't think they're talking loudly enough to be heard from afar, since a lot of the dialogue is Veil-sensitive.)

"No, see," a smirking aside to Sinclair, "if you're Katherine, girl-on-girl is the epitome of shocking behavior. Far worse than getting drunk in public."

Katherine says something in there, something about failure and duty, that makes Lukas's eyes briefly flicker, briefly intensify. It passes, though. He doesn't speak of it again. If Sinclair's looking to him for a cue, there it is for her: let it be.

Let Kate have it out, and then lock it away.

Instead, as Edward ... sinks into a drunken stupor, or whatever he does instead of going over to his new kin, Lukas shifts in his seat. His back is almost directly to Sashenka, so he has to twist at the waist to see her. She's looking their way, though, and Lukas's eyes are pale and cutting even across this distance. He looks directly at her; there's no way to mistake his gesture as meant for anyone but her when he beckons her over.

[Sashenka Rohzdestvenskya] (My bad, thought Lukas was still being loud.)

[Lukas] (nah, lukas is never loud. *LOL*)

[Sinclair] So she lets it be. It wasn't an order. It wasn't advice. It was a signal, from someone who knows Kate better to someone who is still getting to know Kate at all.

And getting to know herself.

Sinclair goes back to eating her snacks and drinking her Long Island Iced Tea as Edward wanders off or gets distracted by something shiny. And even as Lukas is beckoning the girl over: "So I kinda beat Edward up, by the way. Kinda like at the start, with Kate."

She says it quickly, but it's not offhand. It isn't even meant to be snuck in where they can't address it -- if they'd need to -- because just then she looks up, mouth full, and sees Lukas gesturing to the Russian. Well, shit, says the Galliard's expression.

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Drunk faced Kate is drunk faced. Or IS she? Sub + Stam + WP to attempt to not look SO wasted.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 1, 10 (Failure at target 6) [WP]

[Sashenka Rohzdestvenskya] Her fork was halfway to her lips when she sees someone beckoning her. Looking around then pointing to herself. Looking around once more before standing up timidly walking over. Speaking with a thick Russian accent, "I'm sorry, do we know each other?" Looking at everyone in turn with a gaze that could seer your soul.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine casts Lukas a suddenly dark look as he beckons her Kinswoman over while she's in such a state, but still, the Silver Fang Elder does her best not to appear so completely trashed -- and fails, miserably, as one cannot hide such flushed cheeks or dilated pupils, or the constant tremor of her lips as if she were about to either burst into laughter or tantrumish tears. She does not quite rise easily, but uses Lukas as a crutch so that her motion is half way to graceful, brushing aside the fall over her golden waves with a thumb.

"Bonjour, I am Katherine Bellamonte and I do believe that you are my family, are you not? We all need family, you know. Are you new to the city? Perhaps from one of the European courts?" The Half Moon's voice cried out with her breeding, her voice carrying a tinge of french influence that it generally tended to lack on a day to day basis. "I am the current elder for our tribe within the city, and these are some of my pack-mates." She attempts a gesture, and wobbles a touch.

[Sinclair] You're talking really loud. Bring it back, sister blister.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas

[Sashenka Rohzdestvenskya] "I do not think I am part of your family. I am from the Rohzdestvensky family." She fell silent as she continued. "I am from Russia." Looking around at the questioning, "I am new, I came to see a friend of mine." Then she said something about Tribe her voice got a little softer, "I am Sashenka Rohzdestvenskya, Daughter of Hedeon, Granddaughter of Jermija, Great Grand daughter of Isidor, Great great grand daughter of Yevpraksiya who was the daughter of Ivan." Giving her breeding to the Elder. "Crescent Moon." Dropping her head submissively to her Elder.

[Lukas] Actually, Katherine only begins to use Lukas as a crutch. Then the Shadow Lord takes her hand in his. There's a thoughtless grace in that, as though he were a gentleman helping a lady to her feet

except he's not. He's a werewolf. And so is she. And there's a subtle message here. The end result, when he lets go her hand a moment later, is that she rises on her own power after all.

Then, as Katherine steps forward to greet her new kin, Lukas remains where he is, seated, rather sprawled, looking on with a rather uninvested curiosity. Though he's the one that gestured Sashenka over, he doesn't answer her. Instead, introduced, he nods faintly, raising a hand in greeting.

There are five of them arrayed around the small table, which is crammed with food and drinks. And many, many empty glasses. By some coincidence, the men are all darkhaired; the women are both blonde. They all have pale, fierce eyes. They are all rather beautiful people, their presence masterful and imposing and -- in Sinclair's case -- downright intimidating. It's no mean thing to stand before this crowd and withstand their scrutiny.

[Lukas] The other conversation subsumes into their mental link -- Oh yeah? What for?
to Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair

[Sinclair] Sinclair doesn't get up. She remains seated, half-twisted, drinking booze and eating from a broad sampling of foods. Yet: she doesn't eat quickly. Other than the bite of scallop, she doesn't shove food whole into her mouth. Sinclair has yet to make much of a dent in her plates. She waves slightly, and goes back to what she's doing: eating. And drinking. And not giving a shit about what's going on with the Silver Fang Kinfolk in Chicago.

[Sinclair] There's a reason she waited til Edward wasn't listening to say anything. And why she said it aloud rather than over their link, where he could hear. And now that the conversation has shifted, the explanation is brutal in how stripped-down it is, how simple:

Dominance.

She doesn't hesitate to admit to it. She doesn't sound proud. She definitely doesn't sound regretful. She sounds firm in their thoughts... strong.

And instruction.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine laughs a little, quite delighted as she always does seem upon meeting [at least initially] new family. Sashenka has come upon her elder in a rare merry mood, influenced by the drinks she's consumed, but merry none the less. She offers the young woman with the intense, penetrating eyes her hand to shake, or not, as she pleases and then offers up her own, somewhat long winded introduction, complete with titles.

"I am pleased to meet you," a flushed, breathy rush of words. "Sashenka Rohzdestvenskya. I am as mentioned, Katherine Bellamonte, Truth's Meridian, Half Moon Cliath to the Unbroken pack, Philodox and Silver Fang elder for the Sept of Maelstrom," she keeps her voice quiet with effort. "Daughter of Christopher 'Grey Claws' Bellamonte and Rosalie d'Albret, Grand-daughter of Gerard 'Striker' Bellamonte, child of the House of Bellamonte, of the House of Wyrmfoe, joined to the House of Gleaming Eye by my ancestors. I am pleased to welcome you thus. This is my Alpha, Lukas Wyrmbreaker of Thunder's brood, and my pack-mates, Sinclair Warcry, of Cockroach's brood, my elder brother, Edward Bellamonte, and Theron Eyes of the Oncoming Storm, also of Thunder's brood."

[Lukas] One might expect Lukas to be shocked, or disapproving, or angry. After all, he and Edward go back years and years. Edward is a Fostern. They're -- they were? -- best friends.

If Sinclair expected that, though, it would've been a discredit to Lukas. The Shadow Lord's mindvoice is level and unperturbed; if anything, unsurprised. A single word comes back in question nonetheless, Instruction?
to Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair

[Sashenka Rohzdestvenskya] She timidly nodded to each in turn. "I came because of Leyna Stidolf. She talked me into coming here." Nevermind the fact she ran away an hour before her wedding to come here. "We were friends from Paris." Wringing her hands looking around keeping her voice low. "I...I am alone out here aside from Leyna." Looking up at the Alpha then the Fang Elder.

[Sinclair] She, at least, does not expect shock or retribution from Lukas. He did not stop her when she bit Katherine to ribbons. He did not scold her for it, nor praise her. She hesitates for a moment now, knowing Edward can hear, then goes on evenly:

He was coddling her. As he coddled the sister. When I told him to cut it out, he made to leave.

I told him to strive to correct his weaknesses, or be punished for them. I told him that if he continued wallowing in his failings and ignoring attempts at discipline that he would lose his place in the pack. And... I warned him that if he didn't accept and respect what I was telling him, I'd make him submit.

This time there's a longer pause. Outwardly, Lukas can see Sinclair take a breath.

He kept claiming that what I was saying about him was based on assumptions, kept saying I don't know him. I told him it was just what I'd seen of him, told him I was going to adjust his pride for him, and...

...then I tore his throat out.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas

[Lukas] Fortunately for the timid kin, most of the pack seems to have turned their attention away from her. Lukas speaks up only to ask, mildly, "Who's Leyna?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine's brow wrinkled at the name, she did not outwardly recognize it, but that meant little, as she did not spend her time memorizing the names of any not her direct responsibility to protect. "I don't know this Leyna Stidolf you speak of, but you are decidedly not alone in Chicago, I promise you. You have found your elder, and she will do her utmost to keep you safe. There are two places which you should know of immediately. One is called the Brotherhood of Thieves, it is a safehouse and restaurant near our Caern that can offer any in need free housing and meals, it is run by Kinfolk.

The second is my own home, known as the Loft. I frequently offer it out to newcomer family if they have need of a safe place to bed themselves. You are welcome at either at any time you choose."

Katherine carefully levers herself downward and finds her purse, taking out a small card with her home address and details written on it, she offers this out to Sasha.

[Sinclair] Tonight the athletic blonde with the piercings in her ears and the tattoo of a quartered circle on the back of her neck seems quiet. Or would, to Lukas and Kate. Sashenka doesn't know her, wouldn't realize that she's not talking much. Then again:

Sinclair's eating. And drinking. And nudging a fork towards Lukas to help her with dessert.

[Sashenka Rohzdestvenskya] "She's a long time friend of mine. She's Fenrir." She answered Lukas raising her eyes to him, "She is the reason I'm here and not married in Russia. Much to Poppa's chagrin." Smiling slightly before taking the card from Katherine. "Thank you. I have been raised, bred and trained to be a Nan, Cook, launderer, and maid for you all." Putting the card in her purse, "If I will be of use to you, I will make my stay more permanent. "

[Lukas] All right. There's a moment of silence as Lukas digests. Then, Ed, you're not Alpha of this pack anymore, and we're not Cliaths in Boston anymore. You cannot behave as though your packmates were accessories to your splendor to be heeded or ignored as you please. If your packmates address you, you owe them the respect of listening. If you don't give them that respect, they might take it by force.

As for you, Sinclair, dominance and instruction are both within your purview. Punishment, though... that's something a little different.

There is one Alpha in this pack; one half-moon. There is no Beta. Be careful that you don't overstep your bounds.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair

[Lukas] Lukas breathes a laugh. "I stay at the Brotherhood," he says, "so with thanks, I'll have to decline. I can't speak for Kate, though."

[Katherine Bellamonte] "She is Fenrir." Katherine's eyebrow rises, in this state, she cannot hide her surprise, or to a certain extent, her lack of enthusiasm at the connection. Still, she powers on. "Very well, very well. We shall see how we get on, non? Come and see me at my home whensoever you like we shall see if we cannot find some suitable role for you. Now, I fear I keep you from your dinner, please, go on if you like and we shall speak again soon." When I'm not so drunk, is unspoken.

But the Philodox does slump down after the Kinswoman departs as if suddenly exhausted.

[Sinclair] I didn't punish him for his failings, Sinclair says after a moment, carefully even to, if nothing else, avoid the sound of defiance. I warned him that he would be, if he didn't straighten up.

If it seems nit-picky, it may very well be. She's a Galliard: that her meaning is understood, whether conveyed through body language or words or song or howl, is of utmost importance to her.

I know where my fucking bounds are, -rhya.

Which... might be a little defiant. Or at very least, defensive.
to Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas

[Sinclair] Sinclair has half the dessert done before Lukas seems to notice the fork she's offered to him to share it with her. She sets her own down, licking her lips, and then looks up and over at Katherine. "You drunk shit," she says, with mildly exasperated fondness.

[Lukas] Something causes Lukas to turn away from Sashenka rather abruptly. Still reclined in his seat, the Ahroun's eyes level unwaveringly on Sinclair.

[Lukas] The first few thoughts that float across the bond are, in fact, well received by Lukas. However, when Sinclair says, I know where my fucking bounds are, Lukas's eyes instantly snap to the Galliard. He answers immediately:

"Do you."

It's level, heavy, uninflected, like a stone laid down. The whole business between Edward and Sinclair is, for the next few seconds, swept cleanly off the table. The regard goes on another beat, and then another, until Sinclair meets his eyes and then looks away. Lukas blinks once, slowly, and the intensity of his stare subsides a notch.

Then, resuming: "Let me clarify. I didn't say you've overstepped. I cautioned you against it. It was not altogether clear to me that you were not punishing Edward. Not merely asserting dominance, not merely demanding your right to be heard, not merely instructing him in strength and honor, but punishing him for his apathy and his weakness.

"You've since explained the line drawn clearly in your own mind. I'm satisfied. But that reaction was wholly unnecessary, Sinclair."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Unspoken or not, Katherine has been privy to this entire conversation, as have the others, she, like them, have simply chosen notto actively participate in it. Perhaps they feel it is more better left between Alpha and pack-mate in question, or perhaps, like Katherine for instance, they can currently only focus on one thing at a time. Katherine slumps back after the Kinswoman leaves and Sinclair labels her a drunk shit; she smiles faintly, and fires her fingers at her pack-mate like a pistol as if to say; right on target, I am that.

Then; Lukas is staring at Sinclair, and there's sudden tension singing along everyone's senses. Katherine, for her part, looks sleepily ignorant on purpose. She is dwelling within the realm of her numbness and rather enjoying it, evidently.

Then she hiccups.

[Sinclair] "So was the warning, -rhya," Sinclair says quietly. "And the reminder of the heirarchy in this pack. I'm no cub; Edward certainly isn't. Neither of us, whatever other mistakes we've made, need to be reminded that we aren't Alpha, Beta, or Judge. Neither of us behaved in a way that suggested we'd forgotten it."

Briefly, there's a glimmer that her defensiveness -- interestingly enough -- is not solely for her own sake.

Then: she scratches her knee, frowning slightly in discomfort more than displeasure. "Look... some of this just may be tribal difference or something, but the way I see it, your reaction to what I told you about Ed and I was unnecessary, too. What do you want us to do, run to you every time we have a problem so you can tell us where we went wrong, or do you want us to try and work it out ourselves occasionally?"

She shrugs. "I think Edward and I did, and Kate was there the whole time -- our half moon. If we'd stepped outside our duties or roles or bounds or whatever, I'd like to think she would've stepped in and corrected us. So... yeah. I think it makes sense for me to be a little snitty, cuz you seemed kinda micro-managey."

[Lukas] There's a flash of irritation as Sinclair presses the matter. Lukas sits up, smooth and all at once, setting his glass on the table.

"Sinclair," he says, low, "I don't want to adjudicate every problem within this pack. I don't want to micromanage. I want this to be a pack, not a kindergarten. But if I think I need to step in, then you can bet your ass I will. And if you, or any of you think that I'm stepping in when I don't need to, then you're free to bring it up to me. Respectfully.

"That's a blanket statement. Let it rest.

"Now, as for what happened between you and Ed: I wasn't there to witness it. All I had to go on was what you were telling me. And the way you told it, it was not clear to me that you understood the lines. So I intervened.

"You've since told me it wasn't necessary. You've clarified your stance. I've listened to you and agreed. I have conceded that you and Edward have settled this appropriately between yourselves, and that you have not overstepped your boundaries.

"I was polite in my reminder; I was polite in my concession. You, on the other hand, were immediately defensive. You were snitty. You turned this from a minor misunderstanding into a matter of pack policy. And you've wholly failed to acknowledge your own part in the misunderstanding. All this smacks of immaturity, which irritates me.

"You're the Galliard of this pack, Sinclair. I'm the Alpha. If I've intervened unnecessarily, that's my failing. But if I don't understand what you've said, whose failing is that?"

[Sinclair] It's entirely possible that Sinclair's stillness as Lukas straightens up could be seen as yet another manifestation of defiance, of refusal to bend. She was once notably and unrelentingly stubborn, quick to blame her failings on anyone who was handy enough to be pointed at. She was once unforgivably fearless -- not even fearless. Reckless. Some of that, she carries with her even now.

But there are signals of change: Sinclair is bent slightly as she sits beside her Alpha, and her shoulders are rounded forward a bit. Her eyes are wide open, showing a great deal of white, as though she wants to absorb everything she sees, everything he says, everything around her. Her head and shoulders, due to her posture, are significantly lower than Lukas's.

If she were in lupus, her ears would be at least partially turned back with anxiety, if not completely flattened in subordination.

She stares at him as he speaks, unblinking. Her jaw tenses at one point, her expression comes close to a wince at another. When he's done, finishing with a question, she doesn't speak for a little while. Nor does she eat, or drink. She considers. And no verbal apology leaves her lips, nor a softly keening whine -- which, for some reason, seems like it would be more natural coming from her.

Sinclair's pride is choking her like a rise of bile. Her cheeks are red. Of all of them, she is perhaps the utter worst at concealing anything she thinks or feels. At the moment it may as well be written in thick black across her arms and forehead and cheeks: embarrassment. Frustration. Shame. Anger. Every twitch of her jaw, every gleam in her eyes, the level of tension in her shoulders and neck ...she shows everything. Heart on her sleeve. In her throat.

She manages this much that is human: Sinclair nods a couple of times. Then nudges her plates closer to Lukas even as her head bobs, and for a moment it seems she may very well lean over and start nuzzling and licking his face... but she recalls vividly that they are in human bodies, in a human establishment. Which leaves her, ultimately, with human gestures and

finally

human words.

"Mine, -rhya," she says quietly.

[Lukas] It's the third time, now, that Sinclair has offered her food. It's something friends going out for a drink would do. It's also so much more, because they aren't merely a group of friends, a flock of young humans out for a night on the town.

They're a pack. They're werewolves.

And Lukas doesn't reach for the food this time, either, though he does reach out. Lukas knows something about pride. Lukas knows a lot about pride, and for four years he had to contend with the quiet subdermal seethe of his pride every minute of every day. He was a good beta. He was a very good beta. He does not subscribe to notions of Fang and Lord rivalries; of which tribe is superior; of which is destined to lead the Nation. He believed firmly in Edward Bellamonte. He did not mind being beta to a Fang

except, of course, when he did.

Lukas has pride. An austere, fierce form of it that comes through as dominance and a firm hand, as honor and, often, wisdom -- but pride nonetheless. He would be lying if he said this exchange did not, to some degree, stem also from that.

Which makes Sinclair's embarrassment, and frustration, and shame, and anger, all the more knowable to him. All the more understandable.

Which makes her ultimate concession all the more significant.

So: he reaches out. But not for food. He puts his hand on Sinclair's face, the thumb along the jaw and cheekbone, the fingers around the curve of her skull. Any onlooker would assume some sort of romantic relationship, just as they would assume the same if she started to nuzzle him, but it's not that. It's not that at all.

His hand is firm, even heavy. There's a sort of rough warmth in it; an unspoken affection and bond.

A moment later it drops away, and he picks up the extra fork on Sinclair's plate. "Thank you, Sinclair," he says as he spears a piece of mousse cake; somehow, it doesn't seem to be the only thing he's thanking her for.