sinclair doesn't play softball.

[Fabienne Bartelle] * Independence. It was sweet, if so far fraught with peril. The peril of midnight renovation disasters and burnt sandwiches. So many burnt sandwiches. She'd dined out this evening to put off another miserable attempt at cooking. Perhaps she should have taken Mr. Sommers up on his offered recommendation of a cooking instructor, surely she'd be eating less charcoal by now. Expensive leather boots squish through half slushy debris as she strides gracefully across the park, enjoying the snap and bite of cold pinking pale cheeks, her face turned into the wind.*

[Adrian Sandenberg] It's not late, but not early. Natural light is gone, but street lights shine through the park where Adrian walks, heading home from a late dinner with a cigarette between his lips and mobile in hand; he is tense, watchful. He is alone, but stays to the well lighted paths as he cuts through towards his flat. There's a paper to revise, tidying to do, sleep to avoid.

Fenrir breeding is subtle, but there, twined with smoke, with hair that lies somewhere between blond and brown but isn't dull enough to be called dishwater.

Adrian and Fabienne are on different paths, but there, look, they cross - not far from one of many fountains. Like everywhere else Adrian's been of late, the junction is well lit. This guarantees nothing, but still, it's an effort. Fabienne is familiar and so he veers just slightly, offers a smile that doesn't quite reach brown eyes that haven't seen anywhere near enough sleep in the last week or so.

"Hallo. We've met before, yes?" The accent isn't as thick as it has been, but is very definitely Other, colored with places he's lived, the place he was born. America hasn't chased it away, yet.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Someone is speaking to her. Feet fall to a stop, the girl's grey eyed gaze searching out the mumble of sound. Fabienne's head tilting slightly to pick up the last few consonents. Her eyes filling in the gaps in what her ears didn't catch. Ah yes. Mr. Sandenberg. Max Benner's friend. Kinfolk. Get.. or was it Child of Gaia. A lesser tribe anyhow. The silverfang kin gives a polite smile, voice ringing crisp and careful.*

Adrian, wasn't it? A pleasure to see you again so soon. You're well I trust?

[Adrian Sandenberg] Child of Gaia by adoption, if not by blood - but they're not going for that sort of introduction here and now, so Adrian simply nods. "Yes, I am Adrian. You're . . . Ms. Bartelle, I believe?" One meeting, weeks ago, and it's lucky he can remember that much - there's a lot that's happened since then. But yes, Max Brenner's friend, the polite one. At least relatively speaking. The foreign one. The quiet one.

"I am well, thank you. And you as well, I hope?"

[Lukas] The two Unbroken Garou coming down the path are engaged in an animated conversation, complete with hand gestures and facial expressions. It is, however, an entirely silent conversation

(involving baseball, Yankees, how much the Red Sox suck, with a short teasing diatribe on how pathetic softball was until Lukas finds out Sinclair did not, in fact, play softball in her high school days)

which cuts out suddenly as the Shadow Lord notices figures on the path ahead. Mustn't appear absolutely batshit insane, after all. His hand falls to his side, then slips into the pocket of his overcoat. No scarf tonight; a ribbed knit zip-up instead, the collar zipped all the way to his chin.

"Kate's kinswoman," he points out. Aloud, his voice is a terrible grating rasp at the moment, as though someone recently tried to garrote him to death. "Don't recognize the man, but smells like one of Kemp's."

[Sinclair] Two of the Unbroken are out walking together. One of them is naturally swarthy, tall, broad-shouldered, dark of complexion and clothing. The other is of average height, slender, athletic, fair-haired, and ...bearing a surprisingly warm tan, as though she hasn't spent the past several months in a Chicago winter. They both have crystalline blue eyes, however, clear and cold and bright.

The smaller of the two, the female -- the Galliard -- is letting the hems of her jeans scuff the pavement as she walks, swinging a baseball bat at her right side, Lukas walking to her left. Her hair is up in a ponytail. Her ears glint with metal. The rest of her is well-bundled against the cold.

She's still pissed that Lukas thought she played softball. Which is why she's scowling at him when he points out Fabienne and Adrian. "So are we running away from her now or later?"

[Fabienne Bartelle] Of course, though the wind is quite chill. Did you enjoy the kin meeting the other evening?

*Idle conversation. Polite. Appropriate. Shortlived, generally. Especially with those neither fang nor lord. So far however, Adrian had impeccable manners. Fabienne clasps her hands in front of her tidily, a glance to approaching figures. Lukas, and another. Both receive a subtle tilt of her head in acknowledgement, before her attention is back on Adrian.*

Miss Musil has a lovely loft.

[Adamidas] She had always been an odd duck. The phrase, of course, is overused and done to death by the its sheer 'meh'itude, but the fact remained that Alethea Adamidas was strange. She was strange as far as normal, functioning females her age went.

As far as other theurges went, Rain of Brass Petals was on par for the course. She didn't talk to fountains, though she did draw concentric circles in trickling water and and watched as it moved in patterns, patterns, patterns out, fading away, away, away and warping the view of wish-pennies.

Her mind was set on those. Alethea pushed her coat off her shoulders and down onto the frount. She pushed her sleeves up, pat completely scarless arms and supposedly olive skin. She is a study in contrast in this light, but that does not matter. She reaches down. She reaches until her arm is over elbow deep in water, until her hand touches a silver dollar.

They stopped using silver in those things years ago, it's nothing more than shine and economic faith now. She passes it up for a feeling she gets on a tarnished penny. She pulls her arm back and looks at it, at the way Mr. Lincoln's face was rubbed away from excessive worry.

The teenager smiles and she pockets the penny.

The sleeve goes down and she looks down the well lit path she might soon be happening upon. Soon enough, she was redressing her upper body enough that she might go join the congregation. The Fury, who was once the perpetual accessory to her pack sisters, was feeling sociable instead of alone.

It's a nice start.

[Adrian Sandenberg] "She does, yes, though 'enjoy' might be a bit strong of a word. I was invited to leave," he says with a wry shrug. "Because I am . . . how did she say? Oh, yes, 'rude and argumentative'." He doesn't say if he agrees or not; maybe he had been, maybe he hadn't. He also doesn't speak ill of their host. "And the wind is a bit chill, yes. I've come from far a far milder climate than this." At least most recently, though before that, he'd lived somewhere harsh and inhospitable in the other direction.

His gaze follows hers to the two True, though he doesn't know them as that - he simply sees the manners exhibited in his current companion, and assumes there's reason for them. He, too, nods - a greeting, acknowledgment, whatever.

"I was just headed home from dinner. Where was your evening taking you?"

[Lukas] Lukas doesn't seem to mind that he's getting scowled at. Baseball puts him in a good mood. Remembering that the Yankees won the world series yet again in 2009 while the Red Sox managed three in the last 92 years puts him in a good mood.

Running away now or later -- well, that makes him laugh, a short ugly creak of a sound that's far and away from his usual laugh.

"She's not so bad. I dumped pomegranate juice on her once and she didn't even bat an eyelash. If I did that to Kate, she would've skinned me alive, manners be damned." He nudges Sinclair, then alters course to intercept. "Let's go say hi."

[Sinclair] For three days after Lukas's punishment, Sinclair was gone. Not from the pack, not from the awareness of her packmates, that subtle but ever-present press of health against their thoughts. But from Chicago. From her room at the Brotherhood. From the Loft. Her car was in the lot, but the Galliard herself was gone. She didn't leave without mention: Moonbridging it out of here for a couple of days, she said, but it wasn't even entirely necessary.

She was coming back. She wasn't out of reach. But in the end, Sinclair was gone for the better part of three days and two nights before she came back. She returned to her room at the Brotherhood exhausted, tanned, and distracted. More than a few times in this animated conversation she's been having with Lukas the Galliard's attention has wandered, and visibly. More than a few times, he's had to yank her back into the flow of talk, all but had to snap his fingers in front of her face.

Usually, realizing she's gotten called off by her own thoughts, Sinclair's returned to attention with a lopsided sort of grin on her face.

Right now, however, she seems mostly attentive. "Yeah, well," she says, shrugging one shoulder. "Kate's a special case." Nudged, she bumps back against him and keeps walking, swinging her bat over one shoulder.

[Fabienne Bartelle] I see.

*It was one of those phrases one used when a topic turned sour. Non-commital. Polite enough but betraying nothing of one's personal opinion. A simple statement of face. I. See. A deceptively delicate hand comes to brush a renegade curl back form her temple, kidskin gloves flexing as she does so. Rage. Rage seemingly all around her. Fabienne's back rachets a little straighter. Chin lifts a little higher. Every inch a silverfang. If the call of her blood wasn't enough to reveal her tribe, the aristocratic features, the impossibly haughty posture, the frank appraisal of Sinclair as she approaches with Lukas were surely enough to give her away. Her conversation with Adrian is kept up quietly.*

I may fetch my blade and attend the academy to practice, or I may simply forgo such this evening and retire home. Yourself sir?

[Izzy Montoya] "JesusmarymotherofFUCK" Where Izzy is, the cusswords follow. This time it's because the cup of coffee she just bought, and just took a sip of, is quite a bit hotter than she thought it would be - which is amusing because she does the exact same thing, every time she buys a cup of coffee. It stems from being well used to the swill they pretend is coffee at the station - where burning your tongue first lets you forget how bad it really tastes.

Be that as it may, she wipes her lower lip with the back of her hand, replaces the lid on the cup she's just filled with creamer and sugar, and starts to walk again.

Everything about her screams cop. There's no doubt, even with her badge tucked away in her pocket, unseen. She walks like a cop, she talks like a cop, and even dresses like one would expect a Detective to dress; business casual, under a long leather coat - a coat that's unbuttoned, so as not to hamper a reach for her weapon should it be needed. Her steps are even, her strides long, with purpose though she has no particular destination in mind.

[Adamidas] With her pocketed wish, she wanders closer to the kinfolk in question.

She followed along down the way, and found herself- no, there was no finding. Adamidas didn't find herself doing anything. The motion was purposeful, and she was staring. She was captivated, over her cheek bones and her hair and the way that her family history all but screamed at her. The way heroes bled out of Fabienne's pores.

Her thoughts wander, briefly, unsurprisingly, to all those little boy babies mother Furies had to give up. And she thinks about how Falcon must be screaming for new blood. Not an unfair trade. [The next best thing to being a keeper of the wyld would be a king, right? ... right?]

But she approaches anywa because she is absolutely enthralled by those purebred kin. Fabienne, coupled with the Fenrir-turned-Coggie.

She liked his hair.

To the point that, really, she didn't notice the other bastion of breeding and the Glasswalker nearby.

[Lukas] If Lukas has noticed the distraction, he hasn't commented on it yet. He might just figure she's bored with his baseball rants. Could happen. She's from socal. Or Vegas. Or Kansas. Something. Somewhere where they care more about football or maybe surfing than baseball: poor heathens.

He hasn't commented on the tan, either. Probably figured she went to socal. And if he complained about her leave of absence -- which he has no cause to complain about, anyway -- he'd prove himself a hypocrite. Lukas had a minor vacation of his own, though he didn't really leave the city.

Regardless. So far no one's said anything, and now Lukas is nodding a hello to the rather stiff-mannered Fang and her friend.

"Fabienne." His voice is not what she would remember. It is not low; it is not smooth. It pops and cracks, lingers in a near-falsetto register most times, occasionally drops to a hoarse whispery rasp. Horrible. "You've met my packmate, Sinclair?"

[Adrian Sandenberg] "I find myself low on decent tea. I may stop to remedy this and have a pastry," he says, with a smile that belies the tightness between his shoulder blades at the approach of the two Garou; he doesn't know either, doesn't know anything about either, but his experiences of late have not been exactly . . . good? Pleasant? They're not words one generally applies to circumstances rife with Rage anyway.

Then there is swearing, and a woman who walks and talks and emanates 'cop', and Adrian glances her way, gives a hint of smile. For everything that's happened lately, it's an expression that still fits his lips, looks as at home as his thoughtfulness and quiet. He doesn't know her any more than he knows the two Garou; still.

"You fence?" It's the natural conclusion. "I was at the range earlier, myself."

[Sinclair] Sinclair lifts her free hand and gives a jaunty salute to Fabienne, a nod to Adrian as her hand falls back to her side. "Howdy," she says, without a twang or a drawl, her hands half-covered in fingerless gloves. She peers at Adrian for a long moment, then snaps her gaze back to Fabienne.

This is awkward. She stands almost uneasily with the near-strangers, looking curiously at them both, all but chewing on the inside of one cheek, her eyes mostly unblinking.

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Cursing draws her eye, causes a thin eyebrow to float up her forehead. Ah yes. Another kin. Swearing. Her attention slips back to the garou and kin gathered and gathering. At the salute and exclaimation of Howdy, a gloved hand is offered to the galliard. All fluid grace, grip appropriately firm.*

I have not. A delight to meet another of your pack Lukas. I'm Fabienne Bartelle. A pleasure, Sinclair. Allow me to introduce Adrian. He too is Kin. Child of Gaia, I believe.

*Fabienne goes about introductions with practiced ease. To say she was charming would be a lie. Demeanor pleasant. Words Appropriate. But the pretty kin lacks the force of personality to dazzle as Silverfangs are wont to do. She glances to Adrian in question, before noticing she's being watched. Grey eyes skate to the nearby fury, wary.*

[Adrian Sandenberg] "A pleasure to meet you," he says, and his accent is Other, though most untrained ears would hear Brit. "Sandenberg. And Ms. Bartelle is correct - I am of the Children of Gaia."

He is polite, quiet, thoughtful. Each word is weighed before it's loosed, and his hand offered for a shake.

[Lukas] Whatever the state of his voice, Lukas is obviously physically unaffected. His grip on Adrian's hand is firm, though not crushing. Through his leather glove, the bones and hard heft of his hand is easily felt.

There are others now; a black fury, another kinswoman. The kin all know each other now. They've met. Lukas recognizes Izzy passingly, perhaps, though he's not sure if it's merely her blood he recognizes. He recognizes Adrian by blood, too, but the tribe Fabienne states is so at odds to that that the Shadow Lord -- too controlled to blink in surprise -- pauses for a beat.

"Adrian, I'm Lukáš. Good to meet you. You've been in touch with Andrew or Lila, I suppose?"

[Izzy Montoya] She eyes the group ahead, recognizing Lukas and Sinclair from the brotherhood. She sees all of them at one time or another during her nightly incarceration, after all, though Lukas she met at the bar before she was trapped in her current situatin. There's a flex of her jaw, the muscle jumping briefly before she forces it to relax again.

She takes another sip of her coffee - more cautious this time - and continues without altering her pace, or her stride. It will bring her even with them in due time, and she does nothing to avoid, or alter that path.

For now.

[Adamidas] It was like getting into a pre-started game of double dutch. The crescent moon in the sky made the Fury breathe and seethe cliches, and this was one of them.

She watched, and she watched carefully and closely. However, that woman that screamed cop and Fenrir breeding was enough to make the younger Fury tense, visibly so. With that, she invited herself over to the grouping of kinfolk and the members of the unbroken. She walked with confidence-

namely to hide the fact that she was probably up to no good whatsoever. She's avoiding Izzy like the plague, or at least trying to.

"Coming to the park must've been a good idea," she opens with another cliche to announce her arrival, "because it seems like everyone had it."

[Adrian Sandenberg] "I've met neither, though Andrew has been apprised of my presence. My foster father contacted him upon my arrival," he says, and his hands slip into the pocket of his leather jacket - it's cool, and he lacks the furnace of Rage. Still, he stands tall (well, at a little over six feet anyway), with his back straight. He bears up under the onslaught well, if imperfectly; he is taut.

His Tribe is in direct conflict with his Blood - there's a story there, no doubt, though Adrian shares none of it. It's a passing curiosity, really, and not of much in the way of import.

[Sinclair] [Skip me, folks. Sinclair's daydreaming and I'm writing a Galliard challenge!]

[Fabienne Bartelle] *Lukas sounds simply terrible. Fabienne notices, but says little. Perhaps wisely, as if she knows the reason for such a change in the shadowlord's voice, she'd surely be displeased, at the very least. Adamidas is given a polite smile, but as no one is currently addressing her she is more than content to simply remain silent, contending with the oppressive pulse of rage all around her person.*

[Lukas] "Andrew's not very personable. You should look Lila up, though."

He turns his head away to clear his throat. Then back again, looking at the Fury that joins them curiously. "Rain. Where are your sisters? Not often that I see you three separated."

[Izzy Montoya] Adamidas looks her way, and then obviously steps aside to avoid her. Izzy's a perceptive person - she has to be in her line of work - and such reactions are noted, and not forgotten. In fact, she is now wracking her brain to see if there is something she should knowabout the young woman.

All the while, closing the distance between herself and the group.

[Adrian Sandenberg] "I've heard the name before," he says, easy for all the quiet. "I do believe she knows an acquaintance of mine."

Whatever else he knows, he doesn't share; it's not firm knowledge anyway, just maybe and potential. Then there's another Garou, and he gives the younger girl that same reserved smile. He keeps himself tucked away well, this kin does - reading him, other than his blood, is a difficult thing.

"Hallo." It's greeting - other than that, he doesn't interrupt.

[Adamidas] "They left on an umbral quest," she states, as matter-of-fact as she can. There is pride in that statement, "I stayed behind for our kin. Besides, there aren't enough Furies in a place like this."

There would always be pride in that sort of statement,, though.... the sound of Lukas' voice initially makes her wince. Left eye closes a little more than the right- she flinched. That was the more appropriate terms. Hands go in her pockets and she realizes she doesn't know everyone.

"Oh, I'm Adamidas. Rain of Brass Petals, Fury. Theurge. Cliath," she offers to the rest of those gathered."

[Fabienne Bartelle] A pleasure to meet you Ms. I am Fabienne Bartelle. Silverfang kin and ward of Mlle Katherine Bellamonte.

*Her hand is once again offered to a trueborn. A slight inclination of her head to Lukas and everyone else, before she's politely excusing herself from the gathering.*

I regret, I have something pressing to attend to. Good evening.

[Administrator] Lukas has been logged out for inactivity

[Administrator] cricket has been logged out for inactivity

[Lukas] (what the... when did that start?)

[Adrian Sandenberg] (It's been doing that for a while!)

[Lukas] (anyway, sorry bout that -- phone!)

[Adrian Sandenberg] "It was pleasant to see you again, Ms. Bartelle," he says, smiles, as she turns to leave. And for the Fury, "I am Adrian Sandenberg, kin to the Children of Gaia." Against all odds, given the faint aura of Fenris about him.

"It is a pleasure."

[Lukas] (wtf, and all my names disappeared from the buffer *LOL*)

"Goodnight," Lukas murmurs quietly as Fabienne steps away. An attempted murmur, anyway, slaughtered like all the rest of his vocalizations by the Jackal.

"That's honorable of you," he adds then to Adamidas. "Do you know when they'll be back?"

[Izzy Montoya] [perc+investigation - do i knoooooow yeeeew?]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Sinclair] The Galliard among them is staring at a park bench off the path, head slightly tilted. She has her bat swinging at her side again when Fabienne decides to go. For some reason that sudden dearth of breeding around her makes Sinclair remember where she is, and the fact that she's not alone. She smiles. It's not necessarily a comforting thing to see.

"Hi," she says to Adamidas, having just now, apparently, noticed her presence. "You're... I fought with you and your pack once. With Kate." A frown. "Whatever happened to them? I wanted to spar with your Ahroun sometime."

[Izzy Montoya] One of the group wanders off, but Izzy's attention is on Adamidas, and finally, she pulls out her phone, and starts flipping through something or another on it, her brow furrowed as she searches.

She knows that face.

[Adamidas] She is garou, but not the type who is renowned for sharp teeth and sharper claws. As a result, when she smiles she doesn't seem like she is going to immediately eat Adrian with fava beans and a nice wine. (she doesn't drink, but that's beside the point), Adrian's voice is lightly accented. In turn, it brings out that sort of east coast something in her. Not a drawl, not a twang, more like someone guest starring on Martha Stuart Living.

"Likewise," she tells him. And her attention, flickers and flitters. Sinclair's question first, because it encompassed the other. "Irene? Irena and Alek left on an Umbral quest, and I don't know when they'll be back. They took Stheno with them, so I'm assuming it could be awhile."

Every the optimist, not going to come out and say what she's thinking. They were all intelligent individuals, they knew how these tasks sometimes ended.

[Izzy Montoya] The answer comes not much longer. She stares at the picture on her phone, and studies it for a long moment, and then she looks up to see Adamidas once more. She takes a drink of her coffee, and then... sighs.

Of all the things they believe of her - true or false - there's one thing she has always done; Put her duty to the nation above that of her job. Another drink, and she tosses the cup into the nearby bin, and closes the last of the distance between her and the group.

"Lukas." She says, as she knows him, and then, softly, to Adam, she murmurs. "No need to freak out or anything - but I think we need to talk." and she shows her the picture on her phone.

[Adrian Sandenberg] The Garou talk, and someone he doesn't know comes up to speak to Lukas (of the fancy accents). Adrian is, for the moment, forgotten - which is okay with him. Blending in is a good thing, it allows him to watch and witness . . . which is what he does now, stepping back just a bit to be out of the way.

[Lukas] "Oh."

There's a beat of silence, faintly awkward, after Adamidas tells them that -- from her point of view at least -- her pack has effectively ceased to exist. Her optimism makes it impossible to extend sympathy; the reality of the situation makes it impossible for Lukas to extend empty words of hope or encouragement. He doesn't want to tell her I'm sure they'll be back soon when he knows, and they all know, that it could be months. Years. Never.

Instead, "If you're looking for someone to run with in the interim, I know Hatchet's pack lacks a Theurge. Mine already has one -- two, if you count Caleb, though he's away more often than not -- or I'd offer. Still, if you end up genuinely interested, come see me."

A nod to Izzy, then. "Hey."

[Sinclair] They used to be the Unbroken Circle. Lukas, Kate, Ed... others. Dylan never came back from her quest. Katherine did. You just never know.

Sinclair asked the same question her Alpha did moments after his was answered: distracted doesn't even quite cover it. She rubs the flat of her tongue across one incisor as Izzy shows her phone to Lukas, and peers over at the screen, as well.

[Izzy Montoya] (She showed it to Adam only, NOT Lukas.)

[Izzy Montoya] (or anyone else. Shockingly, she can be discreet.)

[Sinclair] [Ah. My bad. I saw 'Lukas' and didn't see 'Adam' in that last line. DLP.]

[Sinclair] [Actually... I'm sorry. I just hit a wall, so I'm gonna go ahead and log out. Assume Sinclair gets distracted again til Lukas gets her walking again. Thanks for the RP, though I wasn't too involved! *L*]

[Izzy Montoya] (*L* np!)

[Adamidas] She nods, and it seems that she will genuinely consider it. However, thoughts wander when she sees the phone.

The Fury looks from the phone to the female Fenrir. She cocks her head to the side and nods, "we do need to have a few words. There are... yeah, we're gonna have to have a few words."

And that, it seemed was that. At a loss for words, this one.

[Izzy Montoya] She thumbs the picture away, before anyone else can see it and nods. "Alright."

She doesn't insist that it be right this second, she just steps back, tucks her phone into her pocket, and waits.

[Lukas] For his part, Lukas didn't show any particular interest in Izzy's phone; his eyes touched on it as it passed, but then return to the Theurge's in time for her nod.

"Why don't you guys talk," he says. "Sinclair and I are heading back to the BroHo anyway. I'll see you guys later." Which he will. Because they all live there.

[Lukas] [sorry for the abrupt dash, but bedtime was 17 min ago! night!]