stained honor.

[Asha Singh] The signs of spring are everywhere - green shoots poke up through the snow, crocus, and daffodils, hard little nubs of growing green. The days are longer, and the sun - when it bothers to shine, when it breaks through the gray blanket of clouds crowding down on the city from the north, thick with lake-born moisture - brighter somehow, casting the city in sharper sunlight, deeper shgadows. After dark, though - all those signs disappear. The wind rises from the lake and the temperature falls as night descends.

Garou do not keep regular hours. Garou do not keep hours. They know time by the shape of the moon and its movement through the sky. It is late on a Friday evening when Asha returns to the loft, when she stands at the front door, her butler/majordomo/babysitter/herald standing just behind her, at her right shoulder. The dark car he drives - parked on a cleared space in the street - still has its New York - Empire State license plates. The pair could be a painting - day and night, pale and dark. Asha knocks twice, then looks up over her shoulder and crosses her eyes at Thomas for the pleasure of it. The older man lifts a brow at her, the only hint of amusement he will allow to touch his otherwise perfectly composed features. And so: they wait.

[Wyrmbreaker] Past two visits Asha had to the Loft were drop-ins. Unplanned. This time she's got a standing invitation: we should talk again. Or whatever it is Lukas said to her when she left the other night, heading down the stairs as the Loft filled with more and more of his packmates.

And there are a lot of them: his packmates, those bound under Perun. They're not all on equal footing. Even Asha could see how some occupied higher rungs on the ladder than others. Katherine's perhaps the closest thing they have to a Beta, which is ironic because once upon a time Lukas was Katherine's Beta. And Edward's. Asha hasn't seen Edward and Lukas in the same room yet.

Right now, though, it's just Wyrmbreaker and Theron in the Loft. Theron's standing is presently somewhat on the lower end. A werewolf can sense that, too. Can see it in how often Theron's eyes meet those of his packmates'; how their body languages speak. Even a werewolf wouldn't be able to guess outright at the hows or whys, though.

Nonetheless, there's no overt bullying or shows of dominance as there might be in a more feral-minded pack. Theron is not directed to open the damn door; nor is he jostled aside if he goes to do so. Wyrmbreaker himself meets Asha at the front door, though. Perhaps Lucille is sleeping -- or otherwise, it's simply not his style to rely on servants.

He's as he was: still tall, still black of hair and pale of eye, still steeped in breeding so starkly different from Asha's. His bloodlines speak of jagged mountains, stone and snow; of black iron and black wolves; of conquest and dominance and thunder. Oddly, he fits his surroundings, minimalist and modernist as they are. He smiles in greeting and stands back for Asha and her herald to enter.

[Asha Singh] "Hey," says Asha, amusement still lit around the edges of her face as Wyrmbreaker opens the front door to the loft. She composes herself quickly, finding some median that allows for both the light in her eyes and the still tension in the line of her fine mouth. There is this - human veneer - papered over the wolf beneath, and it is the human veneer then, the girl wrapped around the beast - who offers Lukas a neat, expressive little shrug and a hey - as she ducks past him, crosses the threshold, light and sure on her feet.

Thomas offers Wyrmbreaker a rather more formal acknowledgment. He dips his head - though not his body - in acknowledgment of the Shadow Lord, and offers, "Sir." in his clipped and polished tones, the single word like a chin of polished obsidian.

[Theron Locke] Theron had arrived earlier in the evening , not announcing where he had been but he appeared tired and stressed. He had taken a quick shower and had taken to the pool, the water helping to ease whatever stresses were on the Theurge's mind. Several laps completed before he climbed out and made himself presentable.

While there was a certain stress level within the pack at the moment, Theron was also not making himself scarce or hiding under a rock. Just endeavouring to be around more than he had been with his other distractions.

For now he was dressed comfortably and was currently heading down the stairs from the second level. About to make his way to the kitchen when the front door is knocked and then answered. Looking over Lukas' shoulder to spot Asha and an unknown companion. Perhaps this was the herald ?

[Honor's Compass] Well, that wasn't a lie.

It really was just Lukas and Theron at the Loft when Asha arrives, it merely so happens that very soon after that occurs, a car is driven into the Garage and from within it emerge another two of the pack-mates that make up the Unbroken. Both of them are blond; tall, lean creatures with pretty features. Katherine's body shape is perhaps a touch curvier than Sinclair's, but there is no denying that they are both deadly given the right circumstance.

This, unloading shopping bags from the back seat and laughing about the young clerk that had gone to fetch the Silver Fang's car for her, flushed and stammering over being in the presence of two pretty [full of burning rageragerage] women -- is probably not one of those deadly moments. But -- you never knew, the night wasn't over yet.

The electric door begins to lower with a soft whirring as the pair slip through the side entrance, Katherine depositing their purchases on the sofa once they are properly within the Loft.

[Wyrmbreaker] "Thomas," the Shadow Lord returns, affably enough. As affable as his hideous voice might allow, anyway.

He shuts the door behind them, then leads the way into the Loft. The first time Asha came here, Lukas was in squarecut swimwear. Last time, he was in training pants, no shirt. The trend continues: this time he's fully dressed, his shirt broadly and vertically striped in grey and black; his jeans fashionably distressed.

"Either of you want a drink? Snacks?"

His feet are bare and quiet on the hardwood floor. He moves easily, with an animal assurance, and as he's coming into the sitting room Sinclair and Kate are appearing at the other end. "No, really?" he exclaims, catching sight of them. "You guys went on a shopping spree? That's so girly I can't even comment."

Also, "Asha's here." As if they hadn't seen the slight woman for themselves, and her tall, perfunctory butler.

[Edward Bellamonte] The electric door starts to lower and then starts to raise again as Edward zips up on his motorbike, to park in its customary spot. He offers to take bags from Kate and Sinclair if they'd like, ever the gentleman [currently the omega], and moves in with his packmates. There's a closeness between Kate and Edward, and a family resemblance though where she is silver and blonde he is gold and brunet.

And now, it's his turn. "Hey."

[Sinclair] The Galliard of the Unbroken is still not well. As the moon gets closer to the waning of Kate's phase, she improves, but there are still bruises under Sinclair's eyes that she covers with smoky makeup and a paleness to her features that only makes her look leaner and more ferocious, if a bit sickly. The aura of lethality she carries with her -- always, always, no matter how burned out she is, no matter how low her rage or how thin the moon -- is intensified.

It's the difference between a wild dog snarling at you and a starving wild dog snarling at you. A small difference. But an important one.

Her laughter is thin, like everything about her seems strained these nights. Her eyes have a feverish glint to them, her motions are swift but less smooth, less controlled, and she bought nothing for herself but a new bra. She didn't say no if Kate wanted to throw money at her, but then again: she also didn't say no whenever Kate pointed out the rare mortal that was willing to stare at her with something other than abject, pants-pissing terror.

All Sinclair did on those occasions was turn, look, and shrug with disinterest before turning back to whatever they were currently looking at.

Now: she follows Kate, and if this is an indication of one's rank and dominance in the pack and the other's youth and submission, it doesn't show. Sinclair carries herself with assurance even now, and that's bolstered rather than diminished by nearness to her sister. She looks up as they come in, her hair down -- it's getting longer day by day, uncut since she arrived in Chicago last summer -- and her body covered enough by clothing and coat that most of her modifications are invisible.

A nod to Wyrmbreaker, to Theron, to Asha. Then her eyes narrow. "Yes, we went shopping," she says a bit huffily. "And if you want to see girly, we can go play that Final Fantasy that's basically Pretty Princess Dress Me Up. Hushit."

[Wyrmbreaker] "Don't knock Final Fantasy," Lukas says. "And don't knock Lulu. You know you love it when she does her victory pose."

This house is full of motion and rage and presence: packmates entering, packmates leaving, packmates moving through the sleek open spaces. Lukas heads into the open-plan kitchen, grabbing himself a can of mountain dew even if their guests didn't want anything. Also, an apple.

Then he's coming back toward Asha, raising his eyebrows in question. "You want to talk down here or upstairs?" Which is code for, in front of the rest of the pack or in private? Which is in turn merely a nod at courtesy; merely a politeness: Asha has to have surmised that Lukas would tell everyone else everything.

[Honor's Compass] Katherine knows the sound of her brother's motorbike well enough that the purr of it idling to a stop does not attract her eyes; she merely shuts her door, bumping it with a hip and moves into the Loft proper. There is a closeness between siblings that exists always, no matter if other tensions ride high across it -- the link between them is always there, lingering, pressing in against tempers and arguments and -- most recently -- surprising developments.

Whatever Edward had come to her about and confided in her over, she has not, as of tonight, made any revelations to the rest of the pack about them. As his tribal elder, she had duties to perform in that respect, as his sister, she allowed that the news was his own to share, or not, at his discretion. Such had been her advice to him when he first told her, that, and a suspicion that the lost Kinfolk Face of Death had passed her information on and Edward's mystery woman were in fact one and the same.

But, that is neither here or there.

So, they enter, they deposit bags down. Lukas exclaims shopping is girly, and Katherine makes an appropriately silly and children face at him because of it, and then spying Thomas and Asha, beams, still clearly euphoric on the wings of spending too much money and goes to greet them both.

Cheek. Kiss.
Cheek. Kiss.

And so on.

[Asha Singh] Somewhere between the front door and the sitting room, Asha strips off her coat. It is dark, fitted suede, doubtlessly expensive. She does not bother to look 'round for a coat tree or even a convenient bench or chair neat the front door. One minute the coat is in her hand, and she's walking forward, alert and watchful, which is to say looking everywhere around her, her long-legged, prowling gait belying her height. The next minute it is falling to the floor behind her, not flung so much as - just - dropped, as if she expected a servant to materialize from the floor and catch it.

Thomas, trailing behind her, scoops up the coat adroitly, beats some imagine wrinkle out of it with his bare hands before folding it, just so, over his forearm. Snacks, Lukas offers. "Not necessary, sir." Thomas answers for them both.

Asha wears black, and Asha wears white. Tonight, fitted black velvet pants beneath a white blouse, some organic cotton blend shot through with the sheen of silk, with a handkerchief hem and three quarters' length sleeves that would not look out of place on an extra in Pirates of Penzance. She wears it well, though - with her dark hair and razor-edged grin, the girl could be a pirate queen. Or, at the least, a pirate princess.

The girl glances at Kate's pile of purchases, then shoots a look back toward Lukas acutely aware of the presence of his pack in the room. Her shoulders square, sure, beneath they yoke of her blouse, her lean frame a taut line beneath the fine fabrics. "Here's fine."

[Theron Locke] Theron is still making his way to the kitchen, but stops momentarily to give Kate and Sinclair a nod of greeting with a polite smile. The Theurge is still wearing blackened bags under his eyes, but it seems he is not complaining about it.

He asks the room politely "I'm headed to the kitchen, should I put the kettle on and make tea all around ? Or would people prefer a glass of wine ?". Waiting for a responses before taking another step.

[Asha Singh] There is this - then - somewhere between snacks and [/i]fine[/i]. Cheek-kiss. Cheek-kiss. Asha submits to this prettily as ever, rising on her toes to meet the gesture Kate offers, something about the familiarity of the moment - the formality of the moment - peels back a layer of the tension from the girl's figure. She shoots a look back over her shoulder as Thomas is greeted much the same. There is a moment - just a moment - when the Philodox swoops in where the composed kinsman looks - bemused, befuddled - just out of his element and Asha, over her shoulder, makes a kissy-face face at him, complete with scrunched up nose and full, puckered mouth. He fixes her with a keen eye over Katherine's shoulder, and Asha swallows the expression, spinning back to Wyrmbreaker and his pack.

[Sinclair] "I was not knocking Final Fantasy," Sinclair says. Her tone could be described in a number of ways: aghast, horrified, exasperated, enraged beyond reason. She throws the bag with her bra in it at Lukas, Asha's presence be damned, and a lovely underwire thing with blue lace atop white cotton flops at his chest before hitting the floor. She throws up her hands. "I'm just sayin' that Ten-Two is girly, man, you know? It is. And I bet you'd play it for ten times longer than Kate and I went shoppin', so you're like... y'know. Ten times as girly."

A beat. "Yeah."

She looks at Asha again. "Wait, what's going on?" She isn't asking the Fang Ahroun. "Are you joining our pack or something, you're like always around now." Another pause, not that long. "I mean, I'm not complaining. I just wanna know what's up, y'know?"

[Wyrmbreaker] "Here, then," Lukas affirms, and with it, brings a sort of gravity down into the conversation.

He's in the kitchen. Asha has followed; and now Theron, and possibly others. Lukas gestures Asha into one of the high chairs at the breakfast bar. He himself stands on the other side of the kitchen island, which is cleared right now, a pristine stretch of pale-veined black marble. His reflection is dim in it. He sets his hands gently atop the marble and waits for Asha to say -- well; whatever it is she might have to say or ask.

[Wyrmbreaker] [shit, i totally missed sinclair's post.]

[Wyrmbreaker] "Here, then," Lukas affirms, and with it, brings a sort of gravity down into the conversation.

He's in the kitchen. Asha has followed; and now Theron, and possibly others. Lukas gestures Asha into one of the high chairs at the breakfast bar. He himself stands on the other side of the kitchen island, which is cleared right now, a pristine stretch of pale-veined black marble. His reflection is dim in it. He sets his hands gently atop the marble and

that's when a bra hits him in the chest. He looks down, bemused, as it flops onto the kitchen island. Then he tosses it back at Sinclair.

"Ten-Two sucks," he replies, not missing a beat. And, "I asked Asha to run with us. I'm hoping she's here with some sort of answer."

[Edward Bellamonte] Ed is following, yes. He is watching, and he is listening. And he is only, for the moment, drinking water. In fact, no one has seen him drink anything remotely resembling alcohol since he dragged Kate off . . . somewhere . . . for their talk.

[Sinclair] The bra is caught. Not as perfectly as it might be on another day, but still: all Sinclair has to do is flick a hand out and snatch the bit of lingerie out of the air. She shakes it at her Alpha, grumbling, like an old man might shake his cane at those damn punk kids on his lawn. The debate about Final Fantasy and girliness could go on -- and could likely go on for some time -- but it doesn't. Sinclair yawns, and flips the bra over one shoulder, walking to the fridge to get a Monster from the door.

"Mountain Dew sucks," she returns, and clambers up onto the kitchen island. She wiggles her feet out of her sneakers, lets them drop, and sits cross-legged on the marble, back slouched and eyes going to Asha. As is her norm, she mostly ignores Thomas's existence when she's not telling him to shut up. Not the nicest when it comes to Kinfolk, is Warcry. Most Kinfolk.

This might have something to do with why the Glass Walkers are starting to die out, as ironic as that fact may be.

"I bet it's yes," she says, propping her chin on her fists, cheeks squished by the contact, elbows on the insides of her knees. "Cuz we're like... really awesome."

[Honor's Compass] The Half Moon falls silent then, she looks Asha over with re-made eyes; full of curiosity now, before Theron pipes in as they're headed for the kitchen about tea or wine. She shakes her head once in negation for herself, and allows the others to reply yay or nay as they would.

The Silver Fang instead takes up some position beside Lukas on one side of the bench, her interest now clear and focused on whatever the young Ahroun and her Butler have to say. The only concession to this keen focused attention is when she plucks a grape from a basket of fruit on the bench top and chews it, thoughtfully quiet.

[Asha Singh] I bet it's yes - says Sinclair, and Asha flashes the Galliard a curious look - intense and direct, her chin high, her mouth set, dark eyes shift - just - as she studies the Glass Walker's face. It's not challenging nor is it studied, but it has an animal cast to it - searching, sizing up, perhaps. Then, her mouth curls - just - like a twist of paper catching flame.

"Wyrmbreaker-rhya," Asha begins, a deep breath swelling her chest the way a robin puffs up his red breast in the early hours of dawn. Thomas stands back and watches her, pale eyes calm but interested, his mouth a neutral line. "I'd like to hunt with you." She does not take a seat at the breakfast bar, but instead stands back, taking in each of the pack members present - one by one. Kate and Edward, Sinclair, Theron - Wyrmbreaker - the survey is not deliberate, and it is not delicate. Her nostrils flare as she studies them, for all that her human senses are dulled, indifferent to the pack nuances she could learn from her nose alone. Briefly, the girl's eyes, dark and direct, touch on Sinclair again, the formality of her manner at clear odds with her behavior the first night she met Kate and her pack. " - but I'd have to know you before I join. How you run, how you hunt, and where I'd fit. And - " here, she shoots a tentative look over her shoulder at Thomas. " - it's only honorable that I tell you why I'm here. Why I came here. In case that changes your mind."

[Theron Locke] He gets a shake of a head from Kate , so Theron just shrugs as no one else seems to speak up. Moving into the kitchen further as he locates the kettle and fills it with enough water for several cups anyway.

Theron then leans back against one of the bench tops and listens, in particular to Asha when she speaks, privately acknowledging that she seemed to have a good head on her shoulder. But he raises an eyebrow when she mentions she has a reason for coming here...that stirs his curiousity, so he turns his head to listen attentively.

[Edward Bellamonte] This is Edward.
This is Edward watching and listening.
This is Edward, quiet.

Eventually, when the interesting part about a potential new packmate is done, this is Edward wandering off . . . to play Tetris, maybe. Or something.

[Edward Bellamonte] ((Sorry! Thanks for inviting me. But sleep is calling.))

[Sinclair] The urge to shove her fists in the air isn't hard to restrain, if only because of the way Asha looks at them all. Of all of the Unbroken, Sinclair is perhaps the most volatile, the most reactive, the most impulsive. Her hackles don't go up, but she's far more acutely aware of Asha suddenly, watching her right back as the younger girl's dark eyes fix on each of her packmates. Sinclair doesn't so much as blink as she sits there, her position on the island putting her head and shoulders above everyone else, just watching.

Edward drifts off, and Sinclair glances at him as he goes before turning back to Asha. Her attention is already intent on the Fang; it can't be said to perk any further when she mentions why she's in Chicago.

[Wyrmbreaker] The truth is, this pack is hard to pin down. Hard to learn and understand in a single meeting, or two, or three. It's not like in the movies, where a group is simply one thing or another. Here are the aristocrats. Here are the ruthless cutthroats. Here are the kids, young and sure of their strength because it's never failed. Here are the hardened soldiers, sure of their strength because it has ... and come back stronger.

They're complex. The Unbroken are something of all those things. A moment ago Lukas was talking Final Fantasy and Sinclair was throwing a bra and Kate was airkissing. A week from now Lukas will be rolling out a map and talking war, talking strategy, talking inevitable sacrifice. Three weeks before, Lukas was tearing the throat out of Asha's tribemate and reducing him to a pile of inert, cooling meat.

Now: right now, they're mostly silent, mostly watchful, ranging around the kitchen

just like a pack of wolves.

Their omega leaves. Slips off quietly, as omegas do. Wyrmbreaker nods once and says: "Tell me."

[Asha Singh] "He's going to tell you." Asha jerks her head at her kinsman and backsteps, opening the narrow circle of Garou to include the pale-haired, pale-eyed man hovering at her shoulder.

Thomas watches Asha expectantly when she replies to Wyrmbreaker; if any of the pack are watching him when she makes her declaration, they may well see his mouth thin into a narrow line - a passing moment's break in his well-mannered facade. He swallows it, smooths out his expression with easy and grace born of long experience, and nods to Wyrmbreaker, then bows to Katherine, more deeply, from the waist rather than the neck and shoulders.

"If you do not deem it impertinent of me." Thomas declares, fixing Asha with a sidelong glance. "Miss Asha's pack was intended to return to the Hindu Pradesh, and remain there. Her cousins have both taken mates from her mother's House, and the Natajaran Singh's negotiated an excellent match for Miss Asha, as well, with a young man of excellent breeding, well-regarded in the House. He was more than willing to set aside his wives in favor of Miss Asha."

"He's fat." Asha inserts, venomous, sudden, her voice a low whip beneath her kinsman's prescise, emotionless recitation of the facts-of-the-matter. "And old."

"As I said," Thomas resumes, his voice cool, without approbation, without endorsement. "the finest bloodlines. New blood married to the old. Miss Asha's decision to refuse the match was not well-taken. I believe that you can surmise the rest."

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas ... looks blank. Then he looks at Kate for a second, as though for translation or explanation. Back.

"I'm sorry, you're going to have to spell it out for me."

[Honor's Compass] She worries for her brother.

She doesn't say it out loud, when he slips off to do... whatever it was that Edward did on his solitary time, but then, she doesn't need to, it's written clear as day in her eyes as they follow him from the room. It's there in the way the half smile resting on her lips falls away when he's gone and how she looks after him, the empty space now for a minute before she turns back in time to see Thomas bow deeply to her and begin to explain --

Miss Asha's decision to refuse the match was not taken well

-- Katherine's composure is the envy of Half Moon's the world over, for how well she keeps it in light of he's fat and old interspersed with Lukas' expression of huh?. "I understand," she says instantly, because she does, even if they don't. Perhaps it's a Silver Fang thing; they all speak the lingo, dig?

"These types of negotiations are delicate things at the best of times." Smoothly, she turns to Lukas. "Asha was intended to be mated, well, from what I gather, and has refused the match. This was not considered a wise action by those she has left behind her." Pale eyes return to Asha. "I would not think to hold this decision against you, nor, I am certain, would any of us."

[Asha Singh] "House Blood Red Crest is dying, sir." Thomas supplies, wholly matter-of-fact in the wake of Katherine's smooth translation of his words. "The cubs go missing; the blood fails. The losses to the caerns they hold cannot be replenished." His voice is clipped and sure; he delivers the barest skeleton of the history without emotion. "Asha and her handful of true-born cousins have been born of two Houses, as the families sought to restore the Blood Red Crest by finding mates from Wyrmfoe, Gleaming Eye. Wise Hearth." He glances at Kate as he mentions her two Houses. Then: "We thank you for your generous spirit, as always, ma'am." Mum - he says, sketching a shallow little bow in Kate's direction as he offers his thanks.

Asha meets Katherine's gaze when she offers the passing reassurance. The bird-like thing is still and stiff beneath her fine clothes, contained and constrated. At last, she just gives the pack a sharp shrug by way of gesture - her consciousness of fat and old - warring with something deeper, just as ingained - the sense of duty. "I stained my honor," she says, quiet. " - and the honor of my name and my house. My pack's gone; I'm here. You see? That's why."

[Sinclair] Since finally accepting the weight of the conversation truly, Sinclair has gone quiet. As mouthy as she often is, and to the surprise of many, she knows how to listen. She knows how to shut up. She knows, more importantly, when it's a good idea to do so. At least most of the time.

Some of the time.

She's still a Cliath, but an air of insight flickers in her eyes here and there; the sense of power in her body and in her deeds lingers around her. Warcry is a name that is becoming known in this sept, and not just notorious. Even those who dislike her, even hate her, do not want to cross her, and do not want to cross her pack, and have to acknowledge that occasionally what comes out of her mouth is exactly. The right. Thing.

Now is not one of those times. Sinclair doesn't speak up to say exactly what should be said right now. She listens, which may even be the wiser course, as the story of Asha's presence in Chicago unfolds. Fangs. Fangs and breeding. Matches made, refused, plans for breeding undone, her flat belly intact. Sinclair glances over the Ahroun thoughtfully, then turns to look at Kate and Lukas's reactions.

The only reason her own can't be read clearly as written words on her own face is because she's not entirely sure what she does think about it all.

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's brow furrows, but perhaps only because he's trying so very hard not to laugh aloud. Fangs, he thinks. He's a Shadow Lord, after all. The failing of one weak line, one weak house, must mean little more to him than natural selection. The culling of the unfit. So long as the race survives. So long as the race persists.

He straightens, casting Kate another brief glance; then Sinclair, then Theron. The Ahroun looks back at Asha as he reaches across the kitchen island.

"I can imagine your tribe and House finding that a great disgrace," he says, "but I seriously doubt this pack would find you honorless because of it. We welcome your claws at our side, Asha Kalaratri. Perhaps in a few weeks we can discuss if this will be permanent.

"In the meantime, Theron, Iona, Sinclair and I stay at the Brotherhood. Katherine and her brother live here in the Loft. You're welcome to stay with either group. Or, like Caleb, you can keep your own home."

[Honor's Compass] There's a flare of something there in Katherine's eyes as Thomas speaks of Blood Red Crest dying. Be it pain, be it futile anger, be it empathy, it is there, contained in her pale blue eyes as she looks long and hard and intently at both Thomas, and in turn, Asha. Her fingers curl inward to her palm.

"My father was packed with a Garou born to Austere Howl just as it had the hunt called upon its members," she offers softly, her features solemn. "Many told him to do so was lunacy, the distrust was already so great. Such a great House, torn apart from the inside out because of some tainted Kinfolk." A beat, Katherine's eyes lower to her palm, folded on the bench top. "I understand that your House loses its lineage faster each year," a breath, taken and eased out again from her chest. "I comprehend the cost involved in your refusal to take a well-bred mate. But I do not believe your honor has been stained."

A brief smile, it flickers, flutters, dies barely born on her lips.

"That is my own offer of opinion, however. For what it's measured for by you both."

She falls quiet then, as Lukas speaks, and then simply nods.

[Sinclair] Her legs draw up, still bent, and she wraps her arms around her shins. She sees Lukas almost wryly shrugging off what Asha's told them, sees Katherine assure her that in her estimate, her honor hasn't been stained, and then she turns her head to look back at Asha.

All she does is shrug. "I'm not taking a mate and making babies either, and my whole Tribe's starting to drop in numbers like bits of de-orbiting spacecraft, so I really wouldn't have any room to judge, anyway."

[Asha Singh] Asha does not say thank you to either Wyrmbreaker or Honor's Compass, when they absolve her of the stain upon her honor. Quiet, the little thing looks from one Fostern to the other, and back again. Her dark eyes land, at last, on Katherine, returning the intent look with which Katherine favors her.

"Thomas has an apartment for us." Asha does not mention her early enthusiasm for staying with the plebs at the Brotherhood. "I'll see - where I fit." A beat; then - quiet seriously - Asha nods to Kate. "Thank you for your hospitality."

[Asha Singh] - and somewhere in there, when Sinclair speaks up, Asha looks to the Galliard - the creature's dark eyes touch on the Glass Walker's pale head, and then fall to the curl of her arms around her shins, acknowledging Sinclair's comment with a still - not quite solemn - nod.

[Wyrmbreaker] Then -- soon thereafter, anyway -- Asha is gone, herald/butler/irreplaceable henchman in tow. Lukas finally takes a knife from the block, slicing his apple into four quarters.

He keeps one, passes the rest amongst his packmates. "I like her," he says. "But my god, she's a traditional one. I thought you were bad, Kate."

[Sinclair] A deep breath, then. Sinclair unfolds herself as Asha makes her way out, and drops down from the kitchen island, her bra still slung over her shoulder. She turns on her heel and points at Theron. "You're still a fucking idiot and I don't want to talk to you yet," she says matter-of-factly. Spins, points at Kate: "Your taste in shoes is fabulous, yet frightening. I need to talk to you about a couple of things and I think at least one of us should be drunk when it happens, preferably you."

Spins, points at Lukas. "I like that she got it out on the table if it was weighing on her. I did the same thing, even if ultimately it made no difference. She's honest. Also: we need to spar again when my moon's not waning."

She claps her hands together, loudly, throws them up in the air in peace signs. "And I'm out. I'm going to bed."

[Theron Locke] For the first time since Asha had started telling her story, then stands from the bench where he was leaning and speak "That the is... it will be interesting to see where and how she fits in."

Yawning slightly as he runs his fingers through his hair. He was just about to address Sinclair when Sinclair beats him too it, he sinks back against the bench and remains silent. Waiting till Sinclair heads off before he speaks again, a look to Kate "Honor's-Compass-rhya, would I be able to have a private word before you retire?"

[Honor's Compass] That earns him a look -- a briefly serious, then moderately exasperated one -- before she pilfers one of the slices of apple he's cutting up and nips into it carefully with her sharp little teeth. "You were lucky that I'm capable of adapting to change," she commends herself lightly, and then when Sinclair speaks, tilts her head at the Galliard before nodding, briefly.

Back to Theron and Lukas: "But her House is dwindling dreadfully fast. It's often lamented about in the Courts." She adds as if they were discussing the weather suddenly, something banal and frivolous. It's cover, naturally, but Katherine does it so well when she wishes to lighten a subject dear to her. She is fetching a bottle of water from the fridge when Theron asks for a word and turns; eyebrow rising as she twists off the cap.

"You may indeed, Theron."

[Theron Locke] He nods in thanks to Kate "Oh and Lukas, in the days ahead I may be a little abset from both the Brotherhood and here at the Loft. I've made the acquintance of Dr Imogen Slaughter. We got to talking and the topic of the Hill House, anyway I have payed them a visit and I'll be assisting them at several of their clinics as they have need. It seems someone with my medical talents is in demand, but aren't too fussy about paper work. Just happy to receive the help they need I guess. So if there is anything I am needed for I'll be a short phone call away. "

He shrugs slightly, he isn't boasting just providing his pack with details of his activities "Just figure it's something worthwhile I can do for the city and might help keep me out of trouble" he gives them a wry smile.

[Wyrmbreaker] "Whatever I have to say about the slow demise of your various Fang houses," Lukas replies drolly, "you're going to shrill at me for being a horrible Shadow Lord for saying. So: I'm going to do what my mother tells me and keep my big mouth shut.

"I'm crashing here again too, Kate. I swear I'm not moving in." Passing the Philodox, Lukas abruptly pulls her into a rather unexpected sidehug, finishing it off by ruffling her hair. "Night, Queen Katherine. Night, Theron."

[Honor's Compass] Lukas pulls her into a rather spontaneous show of affection and Katherine pretends to object to the ruffling of her hair; though there is a fond smile on her lips as she smacks the Shadow Lord's hand away and de-ruffles her golden locks. "Sleep well, Lukas," she says, finishing the slice of apple and taking a long draft from the water bottle in her hand.

"That sounds like worthwhile work, assisting Doctor Slaughter and Hill House," she comments off-hand, once they are alone in the kitchen with only the hum of the refrigerator to disturb them. Her pale eyes settle on the Shadow Lord's face, and read it as she speaks. "So, what did you wish to discuss with me, Oncoming Storm?"

[Wyrmbreaker] [shit, i missed theron's post somehow]

On his way out of the kitchen Lukas adds, "That sounds promising, Theron. Good luck with it." Then his footsteps thump all the way up the stairs.