correct me if i'm wrong.

[Izzy Montoya] Another night, another crime scene. Such things are just another day in the life for Detective Montoya, as she stands outside the yellow caution tape that warns the crowds away, directing her team to ensure that everything has been checked, double checked, bagged and tagged correctly. Including the body.

She has already gone through the scene, bit by bit, and now only waits till the last of the officers leave to do that last run through she is famous for, the last bit of investigation of the scene that she always does on her own. To those who have watched her do it - or who watch her through the front window now - it looks like this.

The last of the vehicles pull away, leaving only Izzy and her unmarked police car. She makes her way into the crime scene once again, her hands encased in blue latex, her features set in determination, in concentration. She moves to the center of the room, and crouches down, her elbows resting on her thighs, the tails of her long coat flaring around her feet. And then? She listens.

[echo, echo, do I hear an echo?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7) Re-rolls: 1

[Lila] They say

a lot of things about curiosity, most of them true. Izzy is crouching in the center of a room, her features set, a mask, determined, and she's only visible through the windows, should anyone be peeking. Lila is sitting on a fireescape which, just as it happens, has a pretty good view through one of the windows, and her forehead is pressed against the metal, and her expression is, for anyone who cares about such things, one that is touched by a shadow, perplexed. She breathes in deep through her nostrils.

She not-too-long ago came out of the second floor of the office-building/store-front next to the murder-victim's, and saw the flutter of yellow tape, squatted to suck in fresh air, and now there she is. She thiiiinks there's something familiar about the cop, but it's not until she actually watches her move, not until she gets some gleaning of the spirit within, that she'll connect Izzy to that Fenrir kinfolk.

For now, she's wondering why there's a cop all alone. Maybe the cop's in on it? She wishes, not for the first time, that she could just sense bad things.

[Izzy Montoya] She listens. And her brow furrows, as if she hers something she doesn't want too - or simply that she hears something that no one else could, no one else does.

Time passes. It's a lot of information to sift through, assaulting her ears, settling into her mind, giving her not just clues, but names and sounds and reasons and voices voices so many voices.

But eventually, she lets her head fall, sagging downwards as if suddenly to heavy to hold up on her own. She lifts hand, rubs the back of her neck, and stands. She stretches, and then makes her way back to the street, where she pulls a notebook from her pocket, along with a pen, and starts to take notes with quick, precise handwriting.

[Lila] The kinfolk stretches and turns back toward the door. The [werewolf, howl.] woman on the fireescape stretches too. Her muscles want to be used [like two lovers want to kiss, the moon a sliver like a smile in the sky] and she hauls herself aright, climbing down the fireescape quickly enough; she reaches the street only seconds after Izzy Montoya does. Her hands are in the pockets of her veryveryvery redhooded jacket and she needs to do laundry or something because she's in the same tired old jeans she wore yesterday and the day before the day before.

She doesn't actually cross any yellow tape, she doesn't even stand too close. What Lila [stillness doesn't breathe: how is she breathing?] does after a studious second [...ah, you!] is wander over and around to a certain unmarked [my eyes are sharp, you're not that hidden] car, where she stands, looking aloofly off down the street [just being polite] until Izzy looks up from her notetaking or otherwise indicates that she is Done With That.

[Izzy Montoya] Izzy's notebook is filled with - well, notes. She jots them down, she marks whenever she thinks of something, she keeps things in her life in order by making sure she has copious little details noted down in the little book she's never without. Later, these notes will go into a computer file, they'll be added to the folders and case files as needed, and all things will be put in their place.

But for the obvious, of course. All else is contained by little letters combined in little words in a little book. She flips back through a couple pages, marks something down, and then finally closes the book and tucksit away into the inner pocket of her coat. As she pulls the long coat tight around her form to do so, the bulge at the small of her back denotes where she keeps her weapon just a second before the coat is released to flair lightly around her again.

Only then does she notice Lila. She arches a brow, slightly, and waits. This is usually when they start making demands they have no business making. Lila seemed different before. Time will tell...

[Lila] Lila is unhurried and while Izzy fills out that notebook she runs her gaze across the other woman's face. Now she can see what it's supposed to look like. Now she can see what its true shape really is; she's fleshed out, not just pieces. When Izzy looks up, tucking that notebook away, Lila takes her left hand out of her pocket and waves at Izzy. "Evening, officer," she says, "or is it detective? Hi. I won't talk your ear off if you're still on the job, but I saw you, and I wanted to see you up close. How're you?"

[Izzy Montoya] "Detective." she corrects, with a slight smirk, as she tucks her hands into the pockets of her coat. She turns to lean a hip against the fender of the car, her legs crossing at the ankles, her expression unchanged. She still thinks there will be another shoe to fall - but she waits for it with the same determination to survive it as she does anything.

She was beaten up - not beaten.

"Alright. Just finishing up here, so not officially on the job any longer." She'll save the paperwork for her nightly incarceration.

[Lila] "Aw. So you don't mind if I talk your ear off then?" A beat. "You look a lot better. Are you still sleeping nights at the Brotherhood?" The question is asked in all innocence (nothing lasts forever [not even punishment]). Lila slips her left hand back into her pocket and stands, spread-legged, lock-kneed, for a second, looking down the street [animal-cautious, imprecise grace], but she smiles faintly [radiance (hushed)] and her forehead creases. "You don't work with a partner or anything?"

[Lukas] [where everyone at!]

[Lila] [gasp! a damon. *L* we're on the street next to izzy's unmarked car outside a Crime Scene. some storefront!]

[Izzy Montoya] She doesn't answer the first question, but she doesn't say she minds either. It's likely safe to assume that she doesn't... mind that is. Of course, 99% of her problems with the local garou come from their assuming things they should not. Like that it's ok to barge in on a crime scene, or that she doesn't mind being called names. Assuming is never a good thing.

Lila, so far, has not assumed anything to raise her ire. There's still time.

"I don't sleep there - but yes, I'm there every night still." A smirk, as she barely refrains from saying she is incarcerated there, every night, still.

"And no. I work alone most of the time, though I often head up the entire investigative team while we're working a scene." She's a damn good cop, and thus her preference to work alone is often ignored, even when a partner would be preferred by the big brass.

[Lila] Lila slides both hands out of her pockets and steeples [this is a church (this is sacred)] them in front of her mouth. Warmth for fingers, heat for skin, and she curls them into two fists (kissing) by the time Izzy's explained that she often heads up an investigative team. "Hmm," she said, once, and her eyes went daydreaming away, looking at Izzy, but seeing some replica -- or seeing too clearly whatever eidolon Izzy's shape will fashion of her [in the hereafter]. Her eyebrows have pricked up, eloquent of ... concern, probably. Knowing Lila. She doesn't (forgets to) blink.

And then: "You looked like you were talking to spirits inside. Is that how you think?"

[Lukas] Questing Stones don't always lead one to one's target when one's target is idle and unoccupied by other concerns. In this case, Lukas's questing stone leads him not only to Lila, but to Izzy and Izzy's crime scene.

The Ahroun parks across the street: finetuned German engine falling to silence. Cold out still, just above freezing. He pulls gloves on as he gets out; not hat or scarf, though. Lukas looks both ways before crossing the street at an easy trot, his last step bounding him up on the curb in time to hear the tail end of what Lila says.

Eyebrows go up. He finishes with his gloves, and then does up his coat. "Talking to spirits?" he repeats, startled.

[Izzy Montoya] Now that... that is a question no one has asked her yet. That brow hikes upwards again, as she glances back toward the crime scene, the yellow tape fluttering in the wind, the scene beyond the window visible to her in more ways than any would suspect. She clears her throat, and then shifts her position against the car. She's not exactly comfortable discussing this - and it's suddenly, abundantly clear.

That sense heightens as Lukas joins, and questions as well. That's the LAST thing she needs - a Shadow Lord holding her secret. The muscle in her jaw flexes as her teeth grind together, briefly. Telling Lila would be one thing. Having the entire Nation know is another thing all together.

She finally, shakes her head no, sharply. "I wasn't talking. I was listening." That doesn't exactly clear it up, does it? She lifts a hand to push back her hair, and clears her throat. "If I am quiet enough, I can hear what's happened in a room before I arrived."

[Lila] Lukas! He is a surprise (mild) and Lila's spine straightens a little [miniature exclamation!] for a second. Just when he crests the kerb, a dark figure; her eyes leave Izzy, who is uncomfortable, and although the discomfort is paid close mind, although she parted her lips to say something to the effect of you don't need to tell me anything, she pauses to smile at Lukas instead. After that exclamation-startled second, eyes crinkle up, beam [somebody scraped the match awake!], and she leans slightly sideways to bump his arm with her shoulder. Hello! Hi!

Her eyes have gone back to Izzy, though, and her expression is no less daydreamy, although perhaps slightly more ... worried, wary. "That's amazing," she says, "If I'm understanding you correctly. When did ... that begin?"

[Lila] And this is when she adds, with a smile that isn't bright, is easy, care-and-courtesy, touches a dimple to her cheek: "It's fine if you don't want to talk about it. Hi, Lukas."

[Lukas] "That is rather interesting," Lukas rasps. A hand comes up, scratches the side of his neck as though the problem were physical, as though he expects, from pure reflex, a sore throat or a niggling cough when his voice sounds like that. "You don't need to look so wary, though, Izzy. I knew a kinswoman once who could literally read minds, and I managed to refrain from turning her over to my elders for probing and conditioning."

The Shadow Lord smiles, then, to show he's joking. It probably falls flat. That voice; that tribe. That rage. Unpleasant.

"Still," amenable, "we can talk about something else." And then his voice breaks, jumps two octaves. He coughs: kak.

[Lukas] And somewhere in there! "Heya, Lila." And a smile.

[Izzy Montoya] Lila gives her a way out - and Lukas does the same. Somehow, that does more than if they had demanded answers, and told her she would then be used for the good of any who wanted her to do what she does. In fact, the set of her shoulders relaxes just a touch. Not much - but enough that they'll notice.

And she still manages not to say anything about Lukas' voice either, though the corner of her lips slide into a slight smirk. It may just be the topic of conversation, though.

"I have learned well to be wary. After all, something so simple as my name is enough to see me beaten near to death." Wry, that. But then she nods slightly to Lila. "While I was in Florida, an old Fenrir convinced a spirit to teach me the gift. He needed to know something, and couldn't discover it himself for some reason or another. He needed a kinfolk to get inside, and be able to discover the conversation exactly as it occurred."

She pauses, and then another sharp nod. "It's not something I mention often. But when asked by the Nation, it is not something I hide either. It has aided me in my job - both for the department, and the Nation. Sometimes it's easier than others - though the most I've been able to hear are conversations and things about a week old. Anything further, and.." a slight shrug. As if a weeks worth of conversations is not amazing in and off itself.

[Lila] Lila's reaction to actually hearing Lukas' voice [jackal (honorless)] is not a smirk or amusement. Maybe it is funny; the way the normally low but powerful register is crippled, shaken up like an etch-a-sketch, made shrill. Maybe it is; it probably is. However: it is designed to put Lila's back up, and it does; she straightens again, slowly, and her eyelids drift low, although her eyes do not close. Her eyebrows rise, but right now, there is Izzy, and Izzy's amazing gift [because: it has to be from Gaia; or Luna; some spirit-touched blessing, some sainthood]. Still, a thread of tension: it coils like a viper, just around her spine, the shadow of unease.

So she listens to Izzy, and tension touches her shoulders, and then eases away again. Her hands are back in her pockets, and she's back to being a container for stillness [vitality (gleam)]. "How -- what Lukas said; how interesting. Does it happen to you all at once or can you ... control how long ago you listen? Try to, even."

[Lukas] Lila's startlement doesn't go unnoticed. The Lord's pale eyes meet the Gaian's for a long, level beat, then turn politely back to the kinswoman. Whether or not he's ashamed of the deed that caused the punishment is one thing; he is not, however, ashamed of the punishment itself. Or, more accurately: he does not attempt to disguise, mask, or otherwise hide it.

He adds in that terrible voice: "I'm sure you already know this, but take care that everything you use in your mundane investigations can be accounted for by mundane means."

[Izzy Montoya] "I am VERY good at my job, Lukas." In other words... duh, she knows. She has been covering the nations ass for as long as she's been on the force - some things are second nature. Her gift just points her in the right direction. "They believe I have an uncanny instinct, a gut who's hunches cannot be denied. There are others who are good at the job as well - without my ability. I'm just right a lot more often." It's said with a sense of pride - and why wouldn't it be? She's scraped her way through a male dominated field, and while she cannot get the same respect in a Garou dominated room, she can at work. It keeps her sane.

Mostly.

Then to Lila, she shakes her head. "I can't narrow the time - it's like... an echo. No control - it sort of just cascades and sometimes I can't hear anything at all. I just listen until the rush is done, and pick it apart afterward. If I miss something, I do it again until I hear what I need - if it's there to hear at all."

[Lila] "It's tricky, pluralizing," Lila says, and she sounds serious when she says it and mild [lamb (wolf)]. Then the kinfolk answers her question; Lila glances upward at the sky, rather than nod, and gazes at the cloudcover for a second [behind the clouds, there's a night sky, but the city's caught inside a net and couldn't see it really anyways]. People look upwards when they're thinking, and so does Lila. Then: "It sounds a difficult gift -- and also tedious. To keep from going mad," she clarifies, and then: "The stronger the emotion, the clearer the echo?" A beat, and also: "Are you going to the Brotherhood now, Iz? Like I said, I really don't want to bother you when you're still semi-on-duty, and I've got a favor to ask of Lukas."

This is the equivalent of: seeya later? and/or d'you mind too terribly if there's some stepping aside right now, Mizz Kinlady?

[Lukas] Lukas's eyebrows rise faintly. "No one disputed that you were good at your job, Izzy. But whatever you think they believe, tread carefully. Your colleagues might never question or betray you, but people talk. If word reaches the wrong ears, it could attract undue attention."

[Izzy Montoya] She nods slightly. "Sometimes, yes." For the Echo - and then she knows well when she's being dismissed, though it's not with the violence of some, and accepted easily enough from Lila.

"I'll be at the brotherhood at Midnight, unless called on another case." Two. more. days. That's it. Two more days until she regains her freedom.

She chuckles at Lukas' comment. "Why do you think it's not common knowledge, even among you? I'd appreciate it if you'd keep it that way. Contrary to popular belief, I am very discreet."

With a nod for them both, she pushes away from the car, and moves to the driver's side door and opens it. She pulls her notepad from her pocket, tosses it in to land with a plop on the passenger seat, and then gathers her coat around her and slides into the vehicle. It soon rumbles to life, and she pulls away from the curb off into traffic.

((Aaaaaaaaaaand I'm out for a bit - gotta go pick up Peppermist! She's finally home from Florida! Thanks for playing!))

[Lila] "I'll see you," she says, simply enough. No nod; Lila is now holding herself very still, after all, and she already squandered some motion glancing upward at the starless sky. And then her eyebrows (already raised; already surprised) lower at that contrary to popular belief and she steps away from the kerb when Izzy gets into the car. She takes an easy breath, cold, cold air, lets winter in, and when the kinwoman's car is gone she cocks an eyebrow at Lukas. Another smile, not half-so-radiant as at first, but no less sincere [touched (troubled)].

"Did you get my note? Can we ride somewhere and talk? It's c-c-c-c-cold. And," a note of guileless mischief, "I like your car."

[Lukas] "I did," he affirms, and nods. "I came looking for you, actually. And, thank you. Why don't I give you a lift home?" Across the street, the beemer's lights flash; doors pop unlocked.

Lukas hasn't been out of it long enough for all the heat to have dissipated. It's noticeably warmer inside the car than out, particularly with the wind shut away. The engine, a few years old but running smoothly, turns over and catches easily. Cars keep getting larger; even in 2004, they weren't so large as they are now. The previous-generation M3 coupe is a size smaller than the current one. Lukas seems to fill up a lot of it, all shoulders and strength that, standing apart from points of reference, are more easily disguised in sleek-cut dark clothing.

He glances over his shoulder as he pulls away from the curb. Nighttime, and the streets are quiet.

"Give me directions as we go," he suggests; suddenly hoarse now. "What'd you want to talk about?"

[Lila] This isn't the first time Lukas has dropped Lila off at (or near) her home, and so, after she has located herself [internal map (getting better at this)], she gives him a handful of directions that will start to sound familiar the closer they get to Where She Lives Which Is Not The Brotherhood. Once that's done and she has taken off her hat and combed her fingers through her gold-[as brass and shadows, when no light glows; sunlight is an edge] hair, buckled her seatbelt, listened [patience (wide eyed)] to Lukas, she says:

"Three things, actually. But before I ..." She touches her throat with her cool fingers. "Will you tell me what happened that your voice is all..." She taps her throat twice. "... cracked open 'cross some judgment's knee?"

[Lukas] Truthfully, Lukas was waiting for her to ask. She's a Galliard. She's not shy; she's inquisitive. It was a matter of time.

The Shadow Lord is looking straight ahead; he frowns faintly, as though puzzled at himself. Then he casts her a brief glance as he says, "I killed Fons van der Noot."

Which is the short answer. There's a beat of pause. "Do you want to know the rest?"

[Lila] No. The word 'shy' is not one used often about Lila Daws. Even as a child: she wasn't shy; she wasn't retiring, wasn't timid, was never inactive [look for the tale or make it, don't wait for it to find you; look for the deed, do it, don't - ]. He says a name that she can't quite place. Fons van der Noot. Fons van der Noot. Fons van der -

"Tell me," she says.

[Lukas] He's driving; he can't meet her eyes during this or he would. Lukas does cast the Galliard another quick glance, though, before he begins. He makes no attempt to speak beautifully. The Voice of the Jackal makes his words ugly; but then, perhaps the tale itself makes it so.

He starts from the beginning. The very beginning.

"Fons was a Silver Fang of your moon, called Dirge of the Covenant. He was the nephew of Calvin de Provence, leader of House Gleaming Eye. He came to this city a Cliath back in late November, and, as far as I can tell, hated my pack on sight. I suppose it has something to do with the history between his tribe and mine.

"Whatever the reason, during the December moot, he decided to -- in my opinion, anyway -- berate my packmate Sinclair as an object lesson to the Sept. I took offense and told him to mind his own business. Words were exchanged. Eventually it turned into an argument over whether or not I had a right of dominance over him, Fostern to Cliath. That turned into a challenge of combat to submission, during which he repeatedly attempted to taunt me into Frenzy and I repeatedly crushed him, healed him, and did it again. He refused to submit; finally, I forced him into a fox frenzy and sent him running from the circle."

There's a pause while he clears his throat a few times, more reflex than any attempt to fix his shredded voice. He continues:

"After that, he began to spread slander about my pack and I. Old rumors were dredged up and passed around. Outright lies were spoken in order to paint us in a bad light. Eventually they got back to me through Marrick and the kinswoman Genevre -- the latter of whom made vows of friendship to me, swearing never to be misled by her cousin again -- and I took him before the Council to address his behavior. After much deliberation, they laid on Fons the Voice of the Jackal and decreed that he should join my pack as an Omega, beginning this moot and lasting into summer. They further forbade him and Genevre to meet.

"Not too long after that, Sinclair and I found Fons and Genevre in a cafe; she'd apparently asked him there. I was furious at this deliberate disobedience and dragged them out of the cafe intending to send Genevre to Katherine for punishment while I dragged Fons to the Caern to ask permission to bind him into my pack and care immediately. As we walked down the street, Genevre began complaining that she'd left her coat behind, to which I replied that she could go ahead and freeze. I also called her careless, stupid, spoiled, a brat.

"At that point, Dirge of the Covenant flew into a frenzy and came at me. I retaliated. Restraining myself was not on my mind. He went down on the second hit and didn't get up again.

"Sinclair was with me, ready to protect the kin if necessary. She spent the entire fight bitching about her coat."

Everything else was level, as uninflectedly told as possible. This, though. This is bitter.

"Afterward, we bore Dirge of the Covenant to the Caern, where the Ragabash Elder, the Grand Elder and Katherine met us. After hearing the tale and the opinions of all gathered, the Grand Elder laid the remainder of Fons's punishment on me. As the slayer, I pay the debts of the slain.

"Since no one present spoke in Fons's favor though he was -- in spite of all else -- undeniably chosen and ordained by Gaia, Sinclair was further commanded to tell a tale of his glory, honor or wisdom. And Katherine bore his body back to his uncle."

He thinks for another moment.

"Not too long ago, I suppose out of guilt, Genevre took her own life."

That's it, then; the last sorry epitaph to the story. It's quiet in the BMW now, the engine humming, the vents rushing with warm air. Lukas flexes his hands on the wheel, then drops a gear as he takes a corner. Lila hasn't given him directions for a long time, but he's beginning to recognize the area, himself.

[Lila] [!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Lila] [you sorry?]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Lukas] There's definitely remorse there, but I think more prevalent is a sense of self-disappointment. I think he has some regret for Fons's wasted potential; perhaps more for his lack of restraint. Also, there's some troubled-ness and turmoil in there, also self-directed.
to Lila

[Lila] Lila listens without interrupting.

At first her eyes are on the road. She is not watching the street. She is not watching anything. She is listening to Lukas speak, his voice transformed into something craven [harsh (discordant)], and she is not watching anything at all. But when Lukas clears his throat she turns her head (grace [eldritch]) and watches Lukas instead of nothing. She still listens without interrupting [simmer (spark) hushabye: her muscles tauten, once, and then tranquility again].

He finishes his story, and her silence is eloquent -- is speaking; but not half so eloquent as her expression [for a second, don't close your eyes]. Lukas is driving; he may well have only the silence to go by, at first, the warp and weft of it -- the way she takes a quiet breath and releases it [sad].

She is still studying his expression. She is still choosing her words. What she's going to say in English and outloud.

[Lukas] The silence goes on, then. Eventually Lukas, during a conveniently open stretch of the street, casts the Galliard a glance. Reads her face for a moment; then returns his attention to the road.

Out of respect for her silence and her thoughts, he doesn't interrupt, nor speak again in his hideous whine until she does.

[Lila] "Turn here," she says, breaking the silence with mundane enough directions. They're now in a residential area of Bronzeville: not the poorest, not by a long shot; one would almost say lower middleclass. Behind a house [old, faltering] is a guesthouse. "Three driveways down."

And then: "Is Katherine back?"

[Lukas] He turns, smoothly enough: used to this car and its dimensions, its traction, its ride. This isn't exactly a good area of town. Were he a man, and she a woman, he might worry about dropping her off here.

They're not, though. They're werewolves. Beasts of legend and terror. He'd be insulting her to think she couldn't take care of her damn self. It doesn't even occur to him.

"She hasn't left yet," he replies quietly. "She was detained when her kinswoman took her own life."

[Lila] "I was glad to witness her Fostern challenge," she says, neutral. "She did well." Here, a brief smile; it touches her spring-green eyes and she squints ahead, through the windshield. They're here, and she hasn't yet asked Lukas whatever it was she wanted when she slid that note (and yeah, Lila signed her name after a little heart: let's not lie) under his door at The Brotherhood of the Thieves. But only for a second: she's really damned sad! Horrified. Appalled. But: it could be worse.

"Will your pack give anything to Dirge of the Covenant's family in recompense?" That's asked -- in a tone that is sincere in its curiousity; is almost mild. "That's a terrible story, Lukas," and her eyebrows draw together. She should blink.

[Lukas] "I don't think my pack has anything to do with it," Lukas replies. "It's between the Silver Fang tribe and I, and the Garou Nation and I.

"I'll be paying Contrition to Katherine as leader of her tribe. And if the Gleaming Eye Fangs ask for further reparations, I'll give what I can."

[Lila] I, he says, and Lila hmms, but after a second, leaves it.

A deep breath.

And then ( without irony, and only one flicker [gravity]): "You're said to be strong; none dispute this. I've heard of your prowess in combat; I've heard stories of the Totem you follow; still, I would like to play," a telling word, that, "my strength against yours. I would see it and feel it firsthand. I want to."

"And I also hoped that you, or one of your packmates who knows the Rite of the Questing Stone, would teach me the Rite." She unbuckles the belt finally, and steeples her fingers.

[Lukas] They've stopped. The car is idling at the curb. The transmission is in neutral, and his feet are off both brake and clutch. He has the leisure to look at Lila now, meeting her eyes for nearly the first time this entire conversation.

And his are faceted and deep and clear as a nordic fjord in this light: almost colorlessly pale. They bear such resemblance to ice that it's strange to see the heat of rage twisting within. An eyebrow hikes, dubious, and he doesn't address the Questing Stone yet.

"You want to fight me?" He exhales a laugh. "After everything that's happened, and my most grievous lack of restraint not even two weeks ago?" A pause; and then, not to needle her but out of pure curiosity, "Aren't you afraid I'll slip again?"

[Lila] Prelude to an answer: "Do I understand this correctly; when you killed Dirge of the Covenant you were not in frenzy?"

[Lukas] "Yes."

[Lila] "Then have I a reason to be afraid? I don't believe I do." A brief pause; "It sounds to me as if Dirge of the Covenant was killed by you, but you, human you, your human anger, your human weakness; it wasn't Rage. And I don't get the feeling that you're someone who now, having killed once that way, experienced that -- disconnect, whatever it was, wishes to do so again. You have dealt honorably with me; I, you. Why would you slip? You can be and are better than that. Stronger. And you know it."

A beat. And then, with less bare-bones simplicity, a touch of (wry [gallow's? Lila?]) humor: "Correct me if I'm wrong, please."

[Lukas] Lila is a Child of Gaia. It shows.

Lukas is a Shadow Lord. It shows.

Neither of them are stereotypes of their tribe. Lila does not wear flowers in her hair; not yet, anyway. She does not go about barefoot hugging trees. Lukas does not skulk in corners plotting the downfall of the Fangs. He has not -- yet, anyway -- fallen to the temptation of power, power, power.

Nevertheless: Lila believes in the inherent potential, the possibility of their kind. Lukas believes in telling the cold, hard truth.

Which is why he doesn't promise, now, that he'll never slip again. Will never simply ... fail to restrain himself in that instant between push and shove. Will never, even, turn murderous on Lila herself.

What he does say, with a faint wry twist of his mouth, is: "I will."

Correct her if she's wrong. Hopefully before it's too late.

Then, "I don't know the Rite of the Questing Stone, myself. But Theron does. I'll send him to you. If you're impatient, he lives down the hall from me. You can tell him I OK'd it, but he'd probably appreciate something for his effort.

"Was there anything else?"

[Lukas] [note for posterity: my last post took FIVE MINUTES. YEAAAH.]

[Lila] He doesn't promise never to slip again. He doesn't say that he won't decide, rationally, with human logic, that it's not worth restraining his anger. Lila notices. And, in that same almost-touched-by-gallow's-humor tone: "Preferably with tongue, not teeth." A briefer pause, and, very solemn, "Does this mean that we have a date? When the moon isn't so full." As for Theron, she nods, and does not say of course, but it's there nonetheless; something for something [everything is not free]. "Thank you." And then, was there anything else?

"Honestly," she says, "I was going to ask you to explain to me how the Sept of the Maelstrom's 'council of auspices' works. It's unusual; I haven't run across many Septs with something like it. But now I think I'd like to table that discussion until another time."

Lila is a delicate flower, and his voice is weedkiller, okay?

[Lukas] "Yeah." Lukas bites the insides of his lips for a moment in thought. Then: "After the waning crescent? My punishment will be over then, and the moon will be small again besides."

[Lila] A nod.

Lila reaches over and puts her hand over Lukas' hand. Pressure: she squeezes. This isn't pity; this isn't even sympathy, precisely; it's certainly not support for the deeds he's done or solidarity-despite-the-fact. It is what it is: touch; communication [speaking without words (hello [that's fine] yes [be strong, be better, be good (or just: we're here].

"Thank you for the ride, Lukas, and thank you for the tale."

And with that, the blonde is out of the car, bouncing as soon as her boots touch the driveway. The houses are dark, and sirens are wailing out some tragedy elsewhere in the city, and she lifts her chin at Lukas, lifts a hand, too, in carewell, if he doesn't immediately drive off, and watches the car diminish, vanish, turn and disappear.

Then she'll go inside.

[Lukas] Beneath the Galliard's hand, the Ahroun's does not jerk in surprise or startlement, though perhaps that wouldn't be surprising at all. The Full Moons of the Nation are a ferocious, ornery lot; their rage makes them so terrifying that a great many of them are chronically untouched, and tend to react poorly when they are.

Lukas, however, seems to have the benefit of human contact. Kin contact; Garou contact. He has a mate, and he has a large pack, relatively closeknit. He has these things backing him, from which to draw strength.

And he has friends. He would count Lila amongst them.

So: he smiles, faintly, in response. And a little later, when she waves, the large dark shadow in the car that is all that she can see of him in this light lifts its hand and waves back. Then the M3 makes a tight circle in the street, departing the way it had come.