sandwich toss.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Situated in a street governed mostly by other warehouse blocks, Katherine Bellamonte's home was an oddity, as was the whole street for the Lakeview area. It blended well enough amongst the others on the street, with little in the way of invitation from the front aside from a small bell situated beside a heavy oak door. The front was white-washed and there was a very small garden planted; the only outward concession to differ from the other industrial lots surrounding it.

Inside, however, was where the splendor of the Silver Fangs was to be seen.

The entry corridor opened up into a large, spacious area full of light and soft, muted tastes. It was minimalist by design and the lower level seemed quite governed by an enormous enclosed swimming pool. Still, there was a lounge room set up further in, with soft black leather sofas positioned around a small glass coffee table. To the back and right, a staircase, the frame made of steel and cabling, led upward to the second floor where the bedrooms lay.

To the left led toward the kitchen and further on, Katherine's own bedroom and garage.

When Fabienne is invited inside, she is shown through and directed to take a seat across from Katherine who already reclines upon one, an assortment of papers spread before her, pen in hand.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *It was not a good month to be a Silverfang in Chicago. Keith Sommers had disappeared. Gabriella Bellamonte had been exiled. Fons VanDerNoot had been murdered. King Calvin's own daughter had committed suicide. It was a cumulation of events that was casting undue attention on the affairs of the windy city, something Fabienne had hoped to avoid. As much as this worried the athletic kin, she could only imagine the pressing weight such responsibilities put on Katherine. As such, she came to call. Dressed casually in a black lacy blouse and light rose slacks, the young woman settles into a seat, her hand slipping to push errant blonde curls behind her ear. Katherine receives a muted quirk of lips, even as Fabienne glances coolly at the papers between them, idle interest.*

Good day Mlle. Bellamonte. My condolences on your recent loss.

*Polite. Frank. Said with the appropriate wince and tone, if with very little charm to soften the edges of what may well be a touchy topic.*

[Katherine Bellamonte] The papers are nothing to draw undue attention, or concern. Closer inspection reveals them to be invoices from a funeral home for the purchase of two rather pricey caskets and the advice on rental of a private jet overseas to what looks, from the name scribbled on a corner in Katherine's hasty hand at the time to be Belgium -- the center of House Gleaming Eye's power, and the location of the King's palace, if Fabienne were knowledgeable of the inner workings of their tribe to connect the two things.

Her elder does not look tired but for when she smiles, and then the strain of the last few days is revealed around her mouth, and in the very faint smudges beneath her eyes. "Fabienne, this is an unexpected pleasure," Katherine waves with the pen still between her fingers for the girl to take a seat across from her. "Please, have a seat. Lucille, could you bring us some tea, please?"

The Silver Fang's elderly maid nods once, and moves off toward the kitchen, leaving the two women alone. Katherine, dropping her pen, leans back and stretches her muscles. "I appreciate the condolences, but it is not simply my own loss that we have suffered." A corner of her lip lifts. "We all feel the loss, I am certain.

How are you coping? Had you known Genevre or Fons well before they passed?"

[Fabienne Bartelle] I did not have the opportunity to make either's acquaintance before they were taken from us, I regret. I am however, disappointed by their loss. With so few of us to lead the unruly, every death is a crisis in itself.

..Honey, if you would be so kind.

*A nod to Lucille, quietly acknowledging the maid that was so much her senior. Stiff postured, she surveys the papers before her quickly, but unabashedly. Should Katherine not want them looked at, they'd not be set out. Oh dear. Belgium. To deliver the news, or bodies perhaps. Fabienne sets slender fingers across her chin, nails short, but polished.*

I do not envy you your welcome in Belgium. It is difficult to be the bearer of bad news. I trust your Alpha will be accompanying you to make atonement?

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine is quiet for a moment as Fabienne speaks, the only indication that she is perhaps surprised at the Kinwoman's words are the slight raising of well tended eyebrows. "Lukas? Oh, non. He would not be welcome, or safe in Belgium, you must see that." She corrects softly, with a small quirk of her lips. "No, I go alone to see the King and to accept whatever punishment he may or he may not deem my own for the death of his child, and his Nephew.

That burden belongs to no other than myself, and I would not have another take my place." She breathes out, and then resumes smiling again. "It is most proper this way, Fabienne. Lukas will be making his contrition to our tribe known at the upcoming Moot, and his punishment from the Elders has already been enacted."

The tea arrives on a small tray, and is set down carefully beside Katherine's papers.

[Fabienne Bartelle] Surely You will not be accepting the punishment for both deaths?

*Now its Fabienne's turn to pinch delicate eyebrows, her head tilting slightly, right ear closer to Katherine, as though certain it was her hearing that had failed her, and not her understanding. Tea arrives and Lucille is spared a brief smile before Fabienne pours for Katherine and herself. The teapot set back with a slight click.*

I encountered Lukas and another of your pack, a miss Sinclair. Lukas's voice was quite changed. Dreadful, in fact.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine draws her palms together on her lap, her face lowered for a moment as she considers how to answer that. She accepts a cup of tea in a fine china cup with a smile, and then leans back, stirring it with a spoon gently, careful as always not to scratch the sides. "I will be at the King's leisure. I will be in his territory, and I shall respect it as would any other visiting Garou." She pauses, and lifts very pale blue eyes to meet her Kinwoman's.

"I will explain what occurred, my parts in both and offer my most sincere condolences for the losses to his Court." She takes a slow, measured sip. She does not go on to say what the King's leisure may or may not be, but rather seeks to comfort Fabienne with a light laugh and a gesture of her hand: "Come though, it shall be fine. My mother's side are all members of Gleaming Eye and I am certain my own death would provide little comfort to him, at most, it shall be a slap on the wrist."

Liar.

Still, Katherine ventures on without so much as a break to breathe. "Yes, Lukas suffers under Voice of the Jackal, he has taken on board Fons van der Noot's punishment as ruled our Grand Elder, Balance Without Fault."

[Sinclair] Sinclair has met Fabienne once, briefly, and recently. The young Galliard was so distracted at the time that she didn't seem to be paying any attention whatsoever to what was going on around her. Her questions were token. Her demeanor was... absent, at best.

Other than the three days she was gone right after Fons's death, Sinclair has spent more and more time at the Loft. Ever since, really, Genevre's suicide. She doesn't sleep there, but she swims. She plays on the Xbox upstairs. She hangs around much as she did when Katherine was in a coma. She doesn't help with preparations for transporting the bodies. She doesn't talk about it.

She works out. She swims. She plays games. She dozes on the couch, eats Kate's food, exists in her packmate's space as though she belongs there. Which, truth be told, she does.

Sinclair comes down the stairs wearing jeans, Chuck Taylors, and a t-shirt with Grover fading on the front. She is apparently hyper, because she's thundering her way down the steps and bellowing "I'M THE KING PIG FROM HEEELLLLL!" and bounding down the last several steps in a powerful jump, feet smacking the ground floor.

She shoves her fists in the air. "Perfect landing! Tens all around!"

Stands up straight, claps her hand over her heart, looks proudly into the distance, hums The Star-Spangled Banner loudly.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Honey is stirred carefully within the teacup, syrupy swirls drawing pale eyes as Fabienne listens, head tilted ever so slightly. She had heard correctly. Folly, but it was hardly her place to correct Katherine or offer advisement on an issue she appeared to consider in hand. Tea is sipped daintily, spoon set carefully aside once she's certain the flavor satisfies. Grey eyes flick to the philodox after a moments careful consideration.*

My mother's side is also long established under house Gleaming Eye, my dearest Uncle stil resides in Vienna. A galliard of no small note. Perhaps, should you find yourself in need of -*"I'M THE KING PIG FROM HEEELLLLL!" Fabienne may be hard of hearing, but she'd have to be deaf not to hear that. Her head snaps around in alarm, in time to see Sinclair proudly clapping hands over heart. The Silverfang kin stiffening in shock.*

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine does not jump, or jerk around at the abrupt yell that breaks into the two young women's polite conversation over tea. For one thing, this is because the two Garou are connected by their totem, and can discern the exact location and feelings of the other with very little difficulty. For another, the Philodox is rather accustomed, by this point in time, to Warcry's antics.

She merely smiles, somewhat apologetically at Fabienne's shock and leans in to set her china cup down.

"My pack-mate, Sinclair, you no doubt recall her." A beat, Katherine adds in a softer, more somber tone. "I appreciate the offer you make in regards to your Uncle, Ms Bartelle, if I have time, or the need, I will be certain to visit with him and pass on my most sincere regards."

Then, Katherine's head tilts slightly, and she picks up her tea-cup and sips from it again as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had occurred. In one corner, Lucille eyed Sinclair.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Descending the stairs behind her, slower and far more sedate, Lukas shakes his head. As he passes Sinclair, he bumps her with his shoulder.

"No more Olympics for you." He sounds strangled. Literally: strangled with a rope.

Today, Lukas wears his shirt untucked under a vest; darkwash distressed jeans. He's unshaven, deliberately scruffy. Since the expansion of the pool, the sitting room no longer exists, and Katherine Bellamonte is entertaining her visitor in the main room of the Loft. The Shadow Lord's pale eyes flick over the Fangs as he's heading for the kitchen.

"Hey, Fabienne, Kate." He's casual here on his pack's territory, in his packmate's home -- either unaware or studiously ignoring the kin's stiff, shocked manner. "Want us to butt out?"

[Sinclair] The Cons on Sinclair's feet are red. The t-shirt that clings to her upper half is a dark blue, just a few shades different from the featured Muppet's fur. Her hair is parted down the middle and twisted into two fraying knots on either side at the nape. It's getting longer. She hasn't cut it in awhile... a long while, actually. Perhaps even since she came to Chicago. The sleeves of her shirt are short enough that some of the ink on both arms is visible; the bar through her left bicep presses against the fabric.

"Shh, I'm crescendoing here, it's almost time for the tears," Sinclair says in a harsh side whisper to Lukas, then belts out: "AND THE ROC-KETS' RED GLAAARE, THE BOMBS BURSTING IN AAAIR --"

Sinclair has a stellar voice. It's a vibrant, resonant alto, and in a way it's almost a displeasure when she cuts off suddenly and turns her head. Her hand is still over her heart. She looks from Lukas to Kate. Glances at Fabienne. Blinks once. Looks at Kate, looks at Lukas.

Looks into the distance again: "GAVE PROOOOF THROUGH THE NIIIIGHT THAT OUR FLAAAG WAS STILL THEEEERRRE! OH, SAY, DOES THAT STAR-SPANGLED BA-NNER-ER YE-ET WAAA-AAAVE --" deep breath, "-- O'ER THE LAND OF THE-UH FREEEEE AND THE HOOOME OF THUUUH BRAAAAAAVE?"

Her hand drops. "Okay, I'm done."

[Iona McNevin] And not too far behind those descending the stairs was a grumbling Irish lass or blonde hair. "Och! Where dih all the whiskey go?!" She grumbled a bit, following her Alpha, wearing worn jeans, and a black ribbed tank under a green flannel shirt.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Fabienne manages to nearly conceal a wince. Whether at Sinclair's antics or Lukas's voice is uncertain, as they both occur around the same time. A blink, and a sip of tea sets her to rights. She was not unflappable, but she was capable of quickly regaining her poise. Bow lips curve into a gracious smile to both Shadowlord and Glasswalker alike, Iona included by association, though she's an unknown.*

Good afternoon.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "You drank it all," Lukas replies to Iona, not missing a beat. In the kitchen area, the humming, stainless steel, professional-grade fridge opens with a faint suck of air. "Here," one of those round, apple-shaped martinelli's juice bottles comes flying at the Ragabash, "replenish."

[Katherine Bellamonte] Truth's Meridian is often surrounded by her pack these days. Not always the entire pack, indeed often in the last few days it has been Warcry that ventures downstairs at obscure hours and finds her sister still sitting up with a pot of half-consumed coffee and a pile of paperwork around her.

Katherine was a diligent worker, she was a perfectionist in almost every way -- she liked things to be done in an orderly fashion and she disliked and found it impossibly hard to loosen her grip on anything that did not follow a set design, or have some conclusion that she could reach with time spent dwelling on it. She was a Half Moon, it came with the turf. But she was also the elder of a tribe that had fallen to bad times, and plenty of them all in short order.

Ask anyone who knew her, and they'd tell you true: Katherine suffered on her tribe's behalf, she did not take her responsibilities lightly. She had said as much to her brothers at their last Moot; an injury to one was an injury to them all. Right now, she is simply trying to make sense of a senseless time. "Genevre, you recall most of my pack-mates, but perhaps not our newest addition. Iona McNevin, Banshee, a child of Stag's."

To Lukas, a mild mannered glance: "It is fine, Lukas. Fabienne and I were simply discussing family matters, but nothing that is secretive."

[Katherine Bellamonte] [ACK. LMAO. Fabienne, not Genevre.]

[Iona McNevin] A grin and an easy catch. "Aye, tha' there might be the reason." She winked to Lukas and went to join Sinclair.

[Fabienne Bartelle] A pleasure to meet you, Iona-ryha.

*The stereotypes just keep coming, Fabienne no doubt one of them, ridiculously well bred, impossibly proper Silverfang kin greeting Iona politely, even as the Fianna warbles in her accent and rummages for liquor. Fabienne's grey eyed gaze skates coolly from one packmate to another, smile demure, but the press of rage was beginning to fray at her nerves, visible in subtle tells, her finger circling idly around the edge of her teacup, her back a little too straight.*

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Ah."

Thoughtful, Lukas's eyes move from Katherine to her ward, then back. Blue to blue, pale to pale. The Unbroken are a diverse lot; four tribes, two ranks, every one of the auspices, several nationalities and ancestries. A startling number amongst them have, by some cosmic coincidence, in common an eye color, though. Lukas's eyes are pale blue. So are Kate's. So are Sinclair's, and Theron's.

Iona's are light, too. And Caleb's, their wayward Theurge. Edward's are dark, but then, he shares a closer bond with Katherine than any of them.

There's a small pause in the conversation as the Ahroun and the Philodox look at one another. Then Lukas continues as though the pause had never occurred at all.

"We're just down to make a few sandwiches. Carry on with your guest. We'll be upstairs if you want to join us later."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] In that pause, a totemic transmission:

Does the kinswoman know about Fons and Genevre? And when the answer is affirmative, If she has questions, tell her I'm willing to speak to her about it. And if she has concerns over her safety, assure her I mean her no harm.
to Iona McNevin, Katherine Bellamonte, Sinclair

[Sinclair] There isn't much to join Sinclair in doing when Iona heads that way. The Galliard is hanging out at the foot of the steps, rocking onto the balls of her feet and back again, bouncing in place while sandwiches and juice and so forth are picked up. She hums idly to herself, until her eyes suddenly go over to Lukas.

She frowns. And looks at Fabienne a little more closely. The frown is not one of anger, or displeasure. It seems... uncomfortable. Fretful, perhaps. Reaching up, Sinclair scratches the bridge of her nose, then blurts out to Fabienne:

"I like your shirt."

[Iona McNevin] She perked up. "Food? I be famished ta tell the truth. " She then looked to Fabienne and winked. "Nice ta meet ya, lass. Sorry fo' ye'r name though." But there was a grin behind it, so she was joking, right? She went to join Lukas and find food to forage. "Och! Where ye hidin' the bloody chips, woman!!"

[Fabienne Bartelle] *A thin eyebrow jerks upwards as Iona makes comment on her name and.. winks. ~Oh really, Fianna? I needn't be told yours. McLacivious. MacImpertinent. O'Drunkard.~ Thoughts that flicker behind grey eyes a moment before she lifts her chin and instead turns her attention to Sinclair, leaving the matter untouched. The blonde looks down at her blouse.*

Why thank you. I do quite enjoy the lace. I notice you have a surface piercing. Is that any particular design?

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Ahem, sorry! I had a phonecall.]

[Sinclair] Wrong question to ask the Urban Predator, the body modified, the ...well. Galliard.

Sinclair lights up. She reaches over and pulls up her left sleeve, baring the bar through the skin of her arm. It's pierced through twice, two thin strips of flesh holding it to her. The bar is no more than a couple of inches long, quite small in diameter, made of titanium. She walks towards Fabienne, showing her the bar and the three tattooed spikes underneath it.

"Mostly I just like it," she says. "It's one of those things that tells normal folk DANGER. Danger, Will Robinson." She flashes a grin at the kinswomen. "Most humans get so freaked out, it's fucking hilarious. Because it didn't really hurt. And it's just a stupid little piece of metal, you know? I mean, come on. An IUD is freakier than this."

She flicks the edge of the bar. Chuckles to herself.

[Katherine Bellamonte] You have to hand it to the Silver Fangs.

They are both, Fabienne and Katherine, well brought up young women, they would have been informed, from a very early age about how to behave in every social occasion that came to hand. Never over-react, never be outwardly insulting, always behave as if someone was watching you because most frequently? Somebody was. In this instance, Fabienne's elder is observing her from the corner of her eyes as she witnesses Sinclair all but glow with pride as her piercings are commented on.

She subdues the smile, and keeps it small, and fashioned by years of practice.

"The Unbroken is a very diverse pack," she offers, defends[?] to Fabienne after Sinclair explains about her bar and sips the remainder of her tea. "Can I get you something to eat, Ms Bartelle, perhaps Lucille could fix you something?" Katherine Bellamonte's etiquette tactics, 101. When in doubt -- offer to fix your guest food.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "It freaks me right out," Lukas comments, head buried in the fridge. He comes up for air: there are tomatoes in his airs, and lettuce, and onions, and packaged meat. "Sinclair, can you grab the rye bread?"

[Fabienne Bartelle] *The Silverfang kin leans forward. Bracing herself for the piercing. It was... disturbing, but not entirely horrific. And a tattoo. Tattoos she could relate to. A smile is salvaged and applied when Sinclair lights up with her own sharp toothed grin. There we are, that was the correct topic to bring up. *

I would expect anything through cartriledge would hurt a good deal more. Skin being skin, as it were. I have no inkling as to what a IUD is, but I must beg you please leave me in ignorance on that score, Miss Sinclair.

*She brings up both hands, as though to ward off any further embarrassing explanations, looking to Katherine and replying.*

Thats most gracious Mlle Bellamonte, thank you. I've lunched prior to my arrival however. Tea suits me perfectly.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Yes, comes the eventual reply. She is aware of what transpired, I believe that much of it is public knowledge for the gossip-mongers by this point. A beat, then: I will pass that on to her directly.
to Iona McNevin, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair

[Sinclair] There's plenty of metal in Sinclair's ears, too. In her left, there are four small titanium hoops leading from her earlobe all the way up. The one in her lobe is bare; the others each have a single bead: blue, yellow, black. Her other ear also bears a small titanium hoop in the lobe, this one with a tiny red bead and a miniscule metal feather dangling together. Above that is an industrial piercing, the balls on either end of the bar kept shiny.

There's ink on the back of her neck. There's ink on her right bicep, but that's turned away from Fabienne. "It's a--"

The kinswoman asks to be left in ignorance. This seems so counter to her purpose in life, her duty, her everything, that for a moment all Sinclair can do is give the woman a somewhat stricken look. "But --"

Rye bread.

"Surrre," she says, and turns on her heel to head to the cupboard for the requested carbohydrate.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine smiles at Fabienne as Sinclair, a Galliard stricken, turns to locate the rye bread. She leans in a little, and helps herself and offers a refill of tea before saying, in a quieter, far more intimate tone. "My Alpha wished me to tell you, Fabienne, that had you any questions pertaining to what occurred between himself and Dirge of the Covenant, had you any concerns for your welfare, you should feel free to ask him, and not feel threatened.

He would not harm you, as would none of the Garou present."

It is a small thing, but an important one to be noted. "In the same vein, if you have questions about the Kinswoman Genevre, I, and Lukas where he can, shall answer them."

[Iona McNevin] Iona was snagging bits of this and that from Lukas as he prepared the food for sandwiches. She was working on making her own nsterous sandwich as well. "Time ta be gettin' back to the games." She grinned. She started back upstairs with food and liquor in hand. "Nice ta be meetin' ye, Fabienne." A tip of the head before climbing th stairs.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Iona!" She turns -- a bag of chips flies at her. If she'd meant french fries, she's out of luck.

[Fabienne Bartelle] [Do I hear you Kath?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[Iona McNevin] Adds a bag of chips to her food

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a certain relaxed air in the kitchen area that doesn't go very well with the tension in the sitting area. Glimpsed across the loft's open floor plan, Fabienne and Katherine can see the packmates rummaging for food, tossing things to each other. Lukas tossed Iona a bottle of juice, earlier; then a bag of potato chips. Sinclair finds bread. Lukas claps his hands together once, then holds them out. She throws the bread at him. Overhand. Probably rather hard. He catches solidly, doles out enough slices for sandwiches for all, and then ties the bag off and throws it back.

Mayo, mustard, salt and pepper sail. Lettuce, flapping in its plastic bag. Knives, fortunately, do not: when Lukas needs to slice the sandwiches along the diagonal, he reaches across the kitchen counter for the knife block.

Soon enough there's food. And ingredients are back where they belong. And crumbs are left on the cutting board and the counter, and Lukas passes Sinclair her sandwich.

"Up?"

[Fabienne Bartelle] Mm. Good Day Ms. McNevin. A pleasure.

*Is all of Fabienne's reply as the Fianna trudges upstairs with booze and food, no doubt to get drunk and play pan pipes or something equally ridiculous. The silverfang kin moves her teacup for Katherine to refill, thanking her with a tilt of her head. She has to strain to hear the philodox, and its several moments before she pieces the entirety of her words together. A purse of lips before she shakes her head.*

I don't believe that will be necessary at the moment, though I appreciate the offer. Ms. De Provence and Mr. VanDerNoot were no relations of mine, nor were they acquaintances. I would not bring up such an unpleasant subject for idle curiosity's sake. I meant only to offer my condolences.

[Sinclair] None of the Garou present would hurt Fabienne, Kate says. And Sinclair flicks her eyes over, not at Kate but at the kinswoman, looking -- down, for a moment. It passes quickly. She just watched approximately four hours of the Winter Olympics. She's in a rather buoyant mood. Not that anyone could tell. She's usually quite subtle.

Chips fly. Sinclair ducks her head, hears a clap, and throws the entire loaf. Lukas catches it like a football, and Sinclair turns to the fridge for an apple, straightening up just in time to snatch the re-tied bag of bread out of the air when he throws it back. The timing is excellent; they have a connection, this pack, that defies their time together. It's spirit. It's trust with one's life.

At one point, Sinclair literally juggles a tomato, an apple, and -- not that she wants it on her sandwich, she's just showing off -- a lemon. "Check it out," she laughs, revealing a random and rather useless skill to her packmates. "Miss America, here I come."

--

Sandwiches, then. Chips. Fruit, at least in Sinclair's case. Also: cookies. Because she found the Thin Mints, crowing: "Kate, I knew it!" Plates and cups and cookies are balanced, the Galliard's mouth crammed with the edge of the bag of Natural White Cheddar Puffed Cheetos. She is muffled, then, humming her national anthem yet again as she heads up the stairs after Iona, all but stomping her way.

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine studies Fabienne for a moment, not uncomfortably, though perhaps from a Garou with Katherine's own level of Rage, no study could be without discomfort. Still, she seems less intent on causing her discomfort than she is in piecing together the threads of Fabienne's response, and why they pleased her so very much.

Indeed, a corner of Katherine's mouth lifts in a genuine smile, her first for the day.

"You are very good," is all that she says about that, in the end. The Philodox's attention never does stray from her guest as her pack-mates come and go, making noise and leaving mess that Lucille will attend to, privately cursing in her own language about the dens of wolves, or some such thing. She glances their way now, however, and then back to the Kinfolk.

"My pack is headed back upstairs to play obnoxiously loud and colorful video games, or perhaps to make use of my pool table. Would you like to join them, and see the upstairs area?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Following, Lukas carries somewhat less food: his sandwich, and a bottle of apple juice. "These always make me think of grenades," he says -- his voice fades as he ascends.

Which is why Katherine assumes they'll be playing video games up there when, getting into the rumpus room, Lukas sets his food down and drops onto a cushion and says, instead, "Do you want to work on your axes some after this?"

[Fabienne Bartelle] *This gets genuine consideration. The only true breach of decorum so far. Whatever her response, it should be immediate. A "yes" or a "no thank you I must be leaving". For all her polished politeness, this was where Fabienne fell short. A lack of charm, and an overabundance of frankness. Manipulative she was not. She looks to the staircase, then back to Katherine, finally responding.*

That would be delightful. If It would not be an intrusion of course.

*Katherine's smile is returned, a hand coming to tuck at her hair as she concedes.*

I am a fair hand at Billiards myself.

[Sinclair] "Absafuckin'lutely," Sinclair says, dropping the chips into her lap from her mouth as soon as she grabs her own bean bag chair again. She does not have apple juice. She does not have whiskey, either. She has water upstairs already, in an aluminum bottle with a screw-top lid with a loop in it. A beat.

She looks at Lukas. "We can't do that in front of Kate's kinswoman, though." Another pause. "It'd probably freak her out if I chopped your shoulder off, y'know?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "She's not coming up, is she?" He glances over his shoulder, a quick casual flick, then back. "Well, Lucille wouldn't appreciate scrubbing blood off the floorboards, anyway. Let's do it on the other side. After," and he picks up his sandwich, "we eat."

[Katherine Bellamonte] The upstairs of Katherine's Loft had been outfitted as both a rumpus room, fitted with bean-bags, comfy chairs and a TV/X-Box immediately once one reached the top of the stairs as well as the location of the various guest-rooms that were frequently put to good use with both short and long term visitors to the Silver Fang elder.

In one corner there was an assortment of gym equipment and in the middle of the large space, situated between all the various bedroom and bathroom doors was a splendid billiards table; the cues for which were carefully hung from the wall between two doors, a chalk board attached that recently had been put to good use. The names Kate and Edward were still scrawled in white. Katherine leads the way for Fabienne up the stairs, her fingertips sliding along the banister.

"I have only ever managed to beat my brother at the game once, and I am quite convinced he threw the game in my favor, you know."

[Sinclair] Eating is one more thing Sinclair does with absolute gusto and startling focus. She nods in agreement to Lukas, but she's already shoving a bite of her sandwich in her mouth. Lettuce sticks out for a second before she chomps it inside. By the end of mealtime the bag of Cheetos will be empty, her water will have been refilled at least once, the sandwich will be gone, another may very well be made and devoured, and Kate will have to send Lucille to go get more Girl Scout cookies from the little table outside of the grocery story.

And Sinclair will be ready, flicking her axes out with now-practiced twists of her wrists, getting ever more adapted to fighting with two weapons.

In the meantime, when Fabienne comes upstairs with Kate, one glance at Sinclair with that sandwich may very well remind her of documentaries of lions tearing apart gazelles. It's best to just leave her to her lunch.

And then her violence.

[Sinclair] [And Sin's out! Thank you for the RP, guys.]

[Katherine Bellamonte] [NP! Night, hun!]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [Lukas is temp-out while I wrap up other scene and grab a shower, etc. If you guys are still around I may be back!]

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Sinclair was devouring a sandwich as though it were alive and she expected it to try and escape. Fabienne glances over, and then makes a point of averting her eyes from the carnage. It was impolite to stare, and some of that was bordering on carnie freakish consumption. She's made her way up the stairs with the fluid grace of an athlete, looking over pool cues with consideration. A quirk of her lips as Katherine mentions Edward letting her win. Her tone so bland it borders on wry. A jest?*

I find it unthinkable that your own brother would do such a thing. Perhaps you will have better luck against myself?

[Katherine Bellamonte] After Lukas and Sinclair both devour their sandwiches, the pair will excuse themselves only to vanish to Gaia knew where to practice some with the Galliard's newest toys. Katherine, shedding her sweater in favor of the plain white shirt beneath it, takes up a pair of pool cues and offers one to Fabienne with a deliciously challenging quirk of her lips.

"Perhaps, but then, you are the more talented athlete than I, though I admit, this is no foil."

She laughs, the silvery chime of bells, and begins to polish the end of her cue with some chalk, then passes it to the Kinfolk to do the same and carefully sets out the billiard balls, framing them and settling them perfectly into line with the white ball. Then, Katherine removes the frame and sets it aside. She nods at Fabienne.

"As the guest, you may break."

[Fabienne Bartelle] [dex/ath - I break! Sux = sunk balls! woo!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[Fabienne Bartelle] [odd = stripes]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[Fabienne Bartelle] Thank you Mlle. Bellamonte.

*Fabienne has darted an eyebrow up in challenge. An athlete through and through, competition was bread and butter to her. She's a good deal more relaxed now that the pack has thinned. A girl in the midst of wolves was never comfortable, or perhaps it was Lukas or Sinclair themselves who had disturbed her. Regardless, she makes with chalking her pool cue, and - with a pause to sanitize her hands after touching the gritty chalk - faintly vanilla/citrus scented lotion offered idly to Katherine before being tucked away and her purse set aside - she leans over the table to break. There's a resounding crack, and 4 striped balls careen into pockets haphazardly. Fabienne stands and looks to Katherine, pool cue held loosely in hand, satisfied.*

You appear to be Solids.

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Dex + Ath, hit zee little balls! ... miss 'em.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Katherine Bellamonte] Fabienne's break and subsequent sinking of balls grants her polite applause from her elder, with a prettily spoken, "Bravo!" before Katherine moves to line her cue up against the white ball, and focuses her eye on a collection of solid coloured balls in one corner, swarming a pocket.

She draws back her arm and sends the white ball rolling toward the others, where it hits with a satisfying clack and sinks one of her own, sending another two rolling toward other pockets, unfortunately, the second solid that sinks, takes one of Fabienne's with it.

"Oh, drat." Laughs the Philodox, and rises, giving over the table to Fabienne.

[Fabienne Bartelle] [hits teh balls?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[Fabienne Bartelle] Were we doing this according to numerals, you would be in the lead, I believe.

*A quirk of lips as Katherine's kinfolk circles the table looking for a shot. They had touched on several issues today, neither terribly in depth. All in all their interaction had been pleasant. With the exception of a note sent in warning to the Silverfang Elder. A red ball is sent tumbling into a corner, another two lined up and sunk in short order. The last one goes in as well, though so too, does the white ball. Fabienne puts a hand to her mouth to cover a laugh, retrieving both balls and setting them up for Katherine.*

Oh, I had meant to mention earlier, I trust you received my letter? I received no response, but with the recent developments I admit I hardly expected one. More pressing concerns at hand, of course.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Alas, the reprieve is shortlived.

It doesn't take an Ahroun and one particularly vicious Galliard very long to hack each other to small bits over and over and over, until both were satisfied that their training for the day was complete.

There's an abrupt pop! as air rushes outward from a previously empty space now filled with a Lukas. He looks ... exerted: cheeks flushed, temples damp with sweat, eyes glittering. He also looks remarkably clean for someone who's recently performed repeated axe murders, though his clothing is slightly rumpled. There's a single, bright splotch of blood on his right shirt-cuff.

Voices behind him, and the thunk of billiard balls sinking into the pocket. The Ahroun turns. Ah; Kate and her kin, being civilized. He ambles toward them, rolling up his shirt sleeves to hide the bloodstain as he goes.

"Who's winning?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Can Kate do something impressive like hit the ball?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine, who was smiling and then leaning in to line up her next shot, calls over her shoulder to her Alpha as he pops back into existance. "At present, I believe it is quite evenly matched, though that said -- " Katherine shoots, and neatly pockets one of her balls, rising up, and gleaming.

As she begins to organize for her second, since Fabienne sunk the white ball, she frowns in consideration of the Kinwoman's words, attempting to place the letter she meant. "Oh, yes! I recall it now, it had to do with the rude Fianna you met, did it not? I did not receive any visits from him afterward, though if it concerns you still, I can speak directly to him and inform him that his attempts to woe you were not successful and in future, he should address any ideas of such to myself, first."

She laughs, and rolls her eyes blithely. "Trust one of Stags, I must say, though."

[Second shot!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Katherine Bellamonte] The Philodox hits two more balls, and sends them rolling, they touch the pockets, but only one sinks.

[Fabienne Bartelle] [i sink a ball?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Fabienne Bartelle] As I have not received any further ... untoward.. advances, I don't believe that will be necessary. I thought merely to warn you of his possible erroneous assumptions.

*The glowing elder sinks another ball and Fabienne smiles more genuinely, getting into the spirit of the competition.*

Neatly done!

*A glance to Lukas only when Katherine addresses him, as he'd managed to sneak up on her left side unnoticed. She inclines her head to him, before leaning to take her shot, two balls falling neatly into pockets. Fabienne's not charming company, but she's aesthetically pleasing if nothing else, breeding and the lean lines of her form making her a pleasant distraction, even if the kin is dressed rather more conservatively than many her age. Her last ball shoots off and bounces into Katherine's, breaking them apart and making the Philodox's shot difficult, but without rewarding the kin with a ball in pocket. Grey eyes size up Kath's chances.*

Mm. Not ideal. Perhaps should you bank it?

[Katherine Bellamonte] [I can has ball go sink?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 7)