law's ox.

[ooc note: shadow moot in forums prior to this!]

[Jog- Okor] The place is not exactly a maze. Back stairs to commons, Commons to hallway, Ingvar moves like a wraith through each, wasted motion a sin in a lean frame that seems carved, rather than born. Hawkish features to lead the way, and he doesn't stop until he's outside Wyrmbreaker's door.

Turtleneck, cargo pants, hiking boots. The evening casual guise of a normal citizen of Chicago doesn't seem to fit him.. but it will, soon enough. He knocks briefly, and doesn't fill the doorway. That would be the other Fostern's right.

[Danicka Musil] A little while after Ingvar reaches the door to Room 2, soft footsteps tap up the wooden stairs behind him. Even before the sound touches his ears, however, there's the instinctive, instant awareness of breeding. The old world is in her scent, and it hints at the spring and summer that are still so distant from Chicago. It tells his mind of wine and of meadowflowers, of sunlight cast through motes of dust as blankets and rugs are beaten out on the line. It is night, now, and thoughts of fertility and warmth mix with ancient, spiritual memories of gathering human-skinned cubs around a fire, guarding dens with claw. Almost, almost, he can feel his belly filled with food grown from his earth or fed on his grass, cooked on his hearth or slaughtered by his fangs.

She carries with her the memory and strength of a line barely known to this continent, the promise of a whole pack's worth of cubs if you so much as breathe on her just right, the ache of things long gone from their tribe.

Danicka's hair is down, the ends curled, and resting on the shoulders of a silvery-gray trenchcoat buttoned and belted tightly around her waist. Her feet are slippered in glossy black pumps with electric-blue soles, the source of that soft tapping as she came up the stairs and through the common room. She doesn't look like she's cold when she comes through the doorway and into the hall towards the same room he's knocking at,

but when she sees him, she pauses.

And shivers.

[Wyrmbreaker] [oh -- for the record, this is set after the shadow moot (so sometime after the 14th.]

A beat after that the door of Room 2 swings inward. Lukas, quite tall, and quite casual compared to what he wore the only other time the two Fosterns have met, does indeed fill the doorway of his small single room. They are closer now than they ever were the night of the shadow moot, and Ingvar can see that the Ahroun's eyes are a pale, skycut blue. It's a color that easily lends itself to hardness, to coldness.

"Law's Ox." Wyrmbreaker offers his hand, or rather, his forearm. Grips the other's briefly, then releases. "I'm glad you came. We didn't get a chance to talk much. Come in."

He stands aside to let the Philodox past him, and doing so, catches sight of Danicka over his shoulder. A beat, long enough for Ingvar to pass him; then the corner of his mouth curves up.

"Dani&+269;ka." Her name is a sort of invitation. He holds the door open for her as well.

[Danicka Musil] [Thanks!]

[Jog- Okor] He could well be a stone. Not even breathing disturbs his shape, and as the stunning kinfolk comes to the top of the stairs, Ingvar's hard face is already tilted far enough in her direction that one unflinching, golden eye nails a sideways gaze to her form.

It does not occur to the hard Magyar to smile. Maybe he can't. In either case he doesn't bother. Simply watches the walking reminder of purple, mist wreathed hills. Luxuriates, silently, in her presence.

The spirit that rides him is reminded of smoke. Of the scent of burning enemies carried in its grip.. and it loves the slight kin for reminding him.

As Ingvar's nostrils flare in response, that golden eye flickers back toward the door.

He exchanges the firm clasp Wyrmbreaker offers, and moves inside precisely far enough to be well out of the way.

"My thanks, Wyrmbreaker-yuff" The more familiar address is employed only once the Philidox is certain no other Garou are nearby to hear it. Solidarity is well and good, but one does not want to undo careful work.

[Danicka Musil] Danicka waits a few feet from Ingvar and the doorway, meets Lukas's eyes for a moment, and something flickers in her eyes then that never makes it anywhere else on her expression. She walks forward after the equally large Shadow Lord has gone into Wyrmbreaker's territory, a faint smile affixed to her lips that is not unlike the one she wore for most of the moot where they first saw each other. She does not touch either of them, or offer her hand. She carries a purple leather purse, looped over one forearm, and lets it slide down to her hand as she walks inside.

Rooms always seem smaller when they're filled with rage. Warmer, sometimes. Icier, others. Perhaps that's why she doesn't immediately unbelt and unbutton her coat to hang it up. Or maybe she isn't staying long. Or maybe it makes her feel safer, or maybe it would seem too casual, too comfortable here, for her to just walk in, drop her coat, and sit any old place.

Which means: she enters, and holds her purse by the straps in one manicured hand, and goes to stand near the desk. She does give a nod, now, to Ingvar, by way of greeting.

[Jog- Okor] (mod that: 'yuff' to 'rhya'. screw familiar he's the boss.)

[Jog- Okor] He's not a creature of comforts.. Ingvar seems all hard edges and beaten planes. As he shucks the paper bag from a colorful, smoky blue bottle in one hand, piercing eyes fall on Danicka again. Powerful hands clench around it to twist the cap from tape and paper, and the rich, spicy scent of Unicum wafts from the neck of the bottle.

"Good evening, madam." He cants his head briefly, and turns the label of the bottle toward the two of them.

"Igen?"

[Wyrmbreaker] "This is my mate," Lukas introduces her as she follows them into the room, "Dani&+269;ka Musil, whose mother was Night Warder-rhya, Elder of our Tribe."

Wyrmbreaker waves his guest toward the only seat in the room, which is the wooden chair at the desk. The Brotherhood is much like a college dormitory. Extra-long twin beds; plain wooden furniture, the same in every room. Desk. Dresser. Closet. Nightstand. Some of the other residents have moved in personal belongings, bookshelves and bedding and the like. As for Wyrmbreaker, there's almost nothing of himself visible in the room. There is a coffeemaker on the desk; two lamps in addition to the ceiling lamp. The bedding is of higher quality than what the Brotherhood provides. There is a half-peeled apple on the nightstand, and another unpeeled one beside it.

Everything else is neat, orderly, devoid of personal effects.

Ingvar offers drink; Wyrmbreaker goes to his closet and finds a few glasses. They match. They look like they might come from the kitchen downstairs. He sets them on the table for Ingvar to pour, and thanks him.

For his part, the Ahroun then sits on the long edge of his bed, feet apart. He picks up his apple and paring knife and continues, one long spiraling skein of peel dropping steadily off the fruit. "I've heard a little about you," Lukas says, eyes on the Philodox, hands working with idle precision. "Truthcatcher of the Secret Danube Sept. Words like unrelenting and steadfast were used. Generally a good thing when it comes to our tribe."

He slices off the peel at the base with a smooth turn of his wrist; quarters the apple, holds the slices forth on his palm. Naturally, he offers it to Ingvar first: the honored guest.

"So; what can I do for you, Law's Ox?"

[Danicka Musil] Her brother isn't mentioned. It's very well; Night Warder was elevated to her final rank in death. Heals by Pain is still an Adren. Her half-sister in the Czech Republic is not mentioned; Lukas does not know her name, or her deeds, and the introduction would be faltering at best. She's introduced first as his mate, second by name, third according to her lineage. But the stories about Night Warder don't talk about the sort of things both the Fosterns sense in her bloodline. All of that comes from the other side of the family, all of that is through Miloslav Musil, whose hands shake now so much he cannot hold a chisel properly.

As Ingvar is waved towards the desk, Danicka seems to consider something for a moment. She stands beside it as Lukas goes to get glasses, and when Ingvar heads that way, she does not immediately begin drifting elsewhere. She does not rush to the bed to hide beside or behind her mate. She accepts the glass poured for her and lifts it to Ingvar.

"Egészségedre."

That is distinctly not Czech. It isn't even Russian. She sips; shakes her head at the apple slices when they're offered to her.

[Jog- Okor] For his part, this seems a dance of hospitality as sacred as a Catholic mass, for all its casual veneer. Glasses with a drop or two of the harsh herbal liquor, an apple quarter accepted and dispatch with flashing teeth soon clamped behind thin lips again, all is arranged as the small group continues to speak.

"To Your Health"

That gives him pause- Ingvar remains frozen mid- sit, and wolf eyes spear back to Danicka.. but a moment later, a smile threatens to bloom in the hard curves of the tall Magyar's face. He raises his own glass.. and seems quite pleased with Danicka's salute. An eyebrow spikes upward in dusky features as he rumbles again.

"And to yours, Ms. Musil." He tosses back the shot of Unicum with a brief flash of incisors- the stuff is not gentle, appreciated only after the fact. Good lubrication for conversation but not something to relish at length. A vaguely complimentary expression is swung to Lukas before the hard man settles himself and smooths an eyebrow. The percussive syllables shape the English nicely, but not perfectly.

"I had not intended to disturb your evening long, rhya.. I wish to challenge you for one of our kin. Ms. Kardos, of course." He fixes his attention on Lukas' face, eyes precisely upon the other's cheekbones.

[Wyrmbreaker] The quick grin that flashes over Lukas's mouth is merely for politeness's sake. Lukas cultivates -- deliberately, one might suspect -- a more charismatic, less daunting mien than his tribe- and rankmate. "Of course," he says, as though the only other kin the Tribe owns in this city would be unthinkable.

Which, really, it is.

He tosses down his mouthful of liquor himself, then splits what remains of the apple slices with Ingvar. "That was quick," he says, blunt. "What led to this?"

[Danicka Musil] Ms. Musil, he calls her, the title she bore in all her dealings with the Sokolovs and their household staff, all their guests and acquaintances. None of them called her Danicka. None of them called her Dani&+269;ka. And none of them said Dani&+269;ka quite the way Lukas does, so naturally. So familiarly.

Lukas's eyes are piercing, their color striking, but he does not pin her like a butterfly when he looks at her, the way Ingvar does. Her hand tightens almost imperceptibly around the glass she's holding, loosens when his pleasure with her toast is evident -- even if he doesn't smile. She drinks, and exhales slightly.

It says something about this woman that she does not cough, or gag, or widen eyes and nostrils after drinking. Then again, it says something that she knows how to toast with it. It takes very little attention for her to catch that glance he gives Lukas, and she doesn't bother looking deeper than the surface to guess at what he means by it.

Oh. He wants Ms. Kardos. Danicka is setting her glass down quietly on the desk, still wrapped in her trenchcoat and holding her purse, and presses her tongue against one incisor behind her closed lips.

[Jog- Okor] He wastes little time. Responses quick, his attention unwavering... he really doesn't seem the sort of creature one would want so near to them as a mate.

It isn't even very nice being in the same room, despite the thin nod toward manners. One gets the impression High Tongue would flow more smoothly.

"It is." He twists the cap back onto the bottle casually, long fingers flickering against the neck of the round bottle do not seem to divide his attention overmuch.

"Through a distant acquaintance of hers, Ms. Kardos helped to make what contacts I would need to enter the country. Throughout these preparations she has been a most helpful woman. Quick. Alert. Good timing...." His eyes linger on the wall as he itemizes the list, then flick back to Lukas as he continues.

"Then, she picks me up from the airport in one of those... stretch... hummer... monstrosities. The woman clearly has her finger on the pulse of the Underworld of Chicago- but she is flashy. I believe combined, the two of us might temper her operation into something a bit more... easily wielded?"

Two long fingers pluck an invisible piece of lint from the turtleneck.

"On a personal note.. I find myself rather fond of her. She has the sort of cunning that will, in time, prove either a strength to our tribe if engaged in its business, or a knife turned against us when we are not looking."

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas laughs quietly: stretch hummer. Flashy. "Her bloodline is half Glass Walker Wise Guy. Are you surprised?"

The rest of it, then. Particularly the last bit. "This is a challenge of mateship, then?" he confirms.

[Jog- Okor] "Mm." The rich, boiling grunt is accompanied with a nod, and a slight spreading of his hands. "I am getting neither younger, nor prettier, Wyrmbreaker... that would be a desirable outcome, were Ms. Kardos willing. This I have yet to determine- so- were one of our number to, in turn, challenge me for her, and the lady were amicable... things could be arranged in order for them to win."

He pauses, tongue swiping across his teeth behind closed lips. "At least.. that is my design."

He laces powerful fingers across his waist, and waits calmly for questions, or a verdict.

[Danicka Musil] This is twice now that Danicka has been in the presence of the two Lords at a meeting of sorts. This is twice now that she has easily and prettily faded into the background. A single word in Hungarian is the only thing she's said, just as at the shadow moot all she offered was her name.

There are two Shadow Lord Kinfolk in the city, and they could not be more different. Rosanna is dark, swarthy almost, half Walker. Danicka is fair, with those murky green eyes and that golden hair, and her bloodline is Shadow Lord from beginning to end. Rosanna knows her way around a knife, is... as they say... flashy. She's a killer, or said she was in Danicka's hearing once.

Danicka becomes little more than a decoration to this room, her observation so unfocused that it barely seems as though she's paying attention at all to the conversation.

Suddenly, though, she laughs. It's an abrupt little thing when Ingvar says he's not getting any younger or prettier, and it's quickly truncated, her hand coming up so her fingers cover her mouth. Her eyes, though amused, are apologetic.

[Jog- Okor] Half lidded eyes, feigned man- humor perfectly on cue.. were it not for the rage pressing against the surface of his skin, he'd pull it off just fine. Ingvar's deep voice is breezy as he swipes a hand toward his face, nodding softly to Danicka.

"Yes... you see the emergency I think."

The moment is gone as soon as it comes- and Ingvar's eyes nail themselves to Lukas again. The roiling intensity behind primal eyes banked, and focused.

[Danicka Musil] That makes her laugh outright, not a carefully covered half-giggle but a burst of amusement, bright and open. Her hand leaves her mouth, her eyes close for a moment. She tightens up her shoulders with laughter, and even now -- even though this is so much more than that sharply cut-of snicker -- it is more self-controlled than the boisterious laughter anyone else might give voice to. It ends sooner. It's quieter, even when she seems to be letting it go. Danicka quiets down soon, but for a moment there

she's just laughing, because his accent is so thick and because his joke is so out of place in its self-deprecation, because she knows very well it is meant to be funny.

[Wyrmbreaker] "No," Lukas agrees, smiling, "I guess you're not."

There is a small intermission here -- the Philodox and the kinswoman exchanging jokes that make Danicka laugh, which in turns makes Lukas look toward her with mild surprise. Then he continues, "I suppose you've already made overtures of courtship toward Rosanna Kardos, which were well-received?"

When the answer comes back affirmative, Wyrmbreaker nods.

"Very well; this is the first part of your challenge." The Ahroun shifts in his seat -- on his bed -- and there's a cast of formality about this now. "You are to find out, if you have not yet already, if any other Trueborn blood-relations remain to speak for Rosanna Kardos. Those of Glass Walker origin may be discounted; she is ours, and their wishes do not matter. Do not take the kinswoman's word for it, however. Seek them out yourself. Be thorough, and be certain. As a Philodox, you surely understand that your own honor rides upon this. For if she has other Garou relations, and if your eventual goal is mateship, then you must challenge them directly.

"If she has no Garou relatives to speak for her, then we may progress to the second part of the challenge. You will find out from the woman herself if she has any legitimate reason not to accept you as a mate. I trust your judgment and sense of honor in determining what constitutes a legitimate reason, and what does not.

"And the third and final part of your challenge is this: you will lay forth any and all reasons you yourself might know of that make you an unfit mate for Rosanna Kardos. Again, I will trust your honor on this matter.

"There is no time limit on this challenge. You may return whenever you are ready."

[Jog- Okor] Anticipation seems as foreign to the angular features before them as mirth.. but a widening of the eyes, a shift of eyebrows, nostrils flare slightly. Certainly every bit an Old World Shadow Lord, the hard gold pools soak up the details of the challenge in an intensely personal fashion. Eager for the hunt as for its outcome, the Beast riding close to the skin seems of the school that teaches a challenge is not merely to be overcome.. but its pieces broken utterly. Scattered in sacrifice to horrible Will.

Long, powerful fingers flicker like flames against the armrests before Ingvar rises.. discipline alone stays the wood from creaking under the grip.

"Understood, Wyrmbreaker- rhya. Good evening, Ms. Musil." The nod to the woman is at first an afterthought- but the Philodox turns back to Lukas, expression all stony calm once again.

"One other thing, alpha... between myself and Covered Sky-yuf.. have you a preference for Truthcatcher?"

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas stands as his guest does. Old world manners, himself. Something distinctly Old World about both Garou, though the Ahroun's voice bears not the faintest trace of accent. His name, though; quite another story.

He meets his tribemate's eyes levelly as he turns back. Wyrmbreaker's dark eyebrows flick up a notch. His reply is simple.

"I prefer that no one takes the position uncontested. I prefer the better wolf wins."

[Jog- Okor] "Certainly." A twitch here, the faintest shift of posture. The returned gaze and the more easily felt than seen tells give the word all the weight that is required. A glance passes between Wolf and Mate, then Ingvar moves to the door in step with his host.

The niceties of departure seem a rehearsed memory.. something indulged in purely for their own sake, and easily discarded after by the pair of beasts.

(thanks guys- see you later.)

[Danicka Musil] She's quiet again. Her lips curve slightly at the corners in amusement, but otherwise she's become still again, a sort of placid calm in her corner. She has not sat, has not leaned against a wall, has not reached for another drink or taken off her coat or set down her purse. There is nothing except that moment of laughter to suggest that she is comfortable here, not whatsoever.

Not surprisingly, she says nothing to interrupt their conversation. She nods to Ingvar when he departs, waiting behind as Lukas escorts him out.