[Kemp Oates] As soon as they were safe within the Bawn, he turned his attention on Sam and cocked his head as he waited for Sampson to turn up before he spoke.
"I want to do this once and since ya done did your's out there, let me get on with it. I am Kemp Oates. Known to the Nation as Truth in Frenzy. Born on the New moon, a Ragabash to our Tribe. And Fostern in rank. And in this place, I am currently the acting Wyrmfoe."
He let that all sink in, then waited for Sampson to speak.
[Sam Modine] "I've heard the name, Kemp-rhya." He nods. "You were here when Lars fierce-Hammer died. When Maelstrom was called." His eyes meet the other man's slowly, starting at his chin, then up over his nose, making doubly sure not to bring any challenge with his gaze.
"Your name is in the record." He searches carefully for the next words. "I'm pleased to meet you."
He allows Sampson his own introduction then, letting him get out the full litany of his name and his deeds before continuing. "There are so few left here," He puzzles as he gazes around at the outer bawn of the Caern. "Noone would defend this place?"
[Sampson Musembi] Sampson has come loaded, with a thermos and a bag, from which he pulls a loaf of hot bread. "My auspice bratha is the Mountain, and the mountain's name is Truth in Frenzy-rhya! He is slow though. I could have mistaken your top speed for being glued in place. I have brought bread and tea, if you will have some. Always we have something healthy after running.
I am Skinny Legs, Sampson Musembi of the tribe of the Silent Striders! and the Nandi. We share no moon together, Wyrmfoe Kemp-rhya! My rank is that of Cliath, and I and my packbratha Sam Modine, bonded with our brathas and sistas bonded to the Talons of Horus.
I am honored to be husband to! Chepleting , Chepchumba , Yasmin and Barmasai Musembi, and we have many children together. NOW we can eat."
[Sampson Musembi] Sampson proffers first offerings to the Wyrmfoe, a cup and a thermos, and the large, steaming loaf of seeded bread.
[Kemp Oates] "Our numbers here have dwindled, just as our birth numbers have fallen over the decades. Time changes many things for good or ill. And as fate or the mother would have it, another cycle begins here. As you are new here, many new faces have appeared. Where those before have left a need and opening, others are coming to fill those slots. And so it continues......no?"
Then Sampson got his attention and he couldn't help saying it.
"Damn spanky, you been busy. Tell ya what, you rest up and we'll have us another little race."
Pure mirth danced in his eyes. Oh yes, he was so going to do it again if he could.
All seriousness left him in a moment after that speech.
"Now see, ya done made me go all serious and sound almost smart there. That's not what most expect from me since I needled and push to get a full measure out of most."
[Sampson Musembi] "I am sure you will recover! From the ills of serious smartness, Wyrmfoe Kemp-rhya!"
If Kemp leaves drink and food, then Sampson offers to his packmate next, and shakes his head. "I need no rest. Wyrmfoe, I am very very fast! I will not tire from running for many tens of miles! My speed and stamina under the Talons of Horus are yours to command! When you give word. Here! Is one who will defend this caern to the death. There! Is my pack brother who is far stronger than I and greatly skilled in warfare beyond me! This cycle has many teeth and claw in the Talons of Horus, standing ready for your command to go to war! Damn good smelling food."
And done with talking, he stuffs his big mouth with a huge hunk of bread.
[Sam Modine] "Not hard to do, all of Luna's gift about." His hands don't find his pockets as he brings his blody close against the cold, they simply find one another, one playing over the other to keep them warm, a hot breath into the combined fist making something of a difference.
He'd nodded through Kemp's explanation of the dwindling and again rising numbers of the Sept's populace. He turns to his companion, pleased with him apparently for something, though it barely registers across the Full Moon's face. "We have a few fresh bodies for your ranks but I'm afraid not a full army." He smiles at that thought. "I can't speak for the rest of the Talons but I at least am at your service, should you need it. And I think you can count them in too. I think you'll find Edward a pretty agreeable guy."
When Sampson speaks again he merely chuckles. "What he said."
[Kemp Oates] "Oh yeah, met Edward the card player and Lukas."
He nodded faintly before a wicked smile touched his eyes.
"As ya know, it don't take many Fenrir to make an army. For now though, I will leave you to explore and speak to the guardians and get to know the place some. I've got to get my ass going. It was good to meet ya both."
He nodded and turned to depart.
((I need to head to bed. Thanks for the play and sorry I screwed up the intro. Forgot to even mention his tribe, so please insert Fenrir in there somewhere? Thank you!))
[Sampson Musembi] (his breeding did for you! *LOL* hard to mistake Kemp! night!)
[Sampson Musembi] (hop in!)
[Sam Modine] "No it doesn't." He replies. His voice only hinting at the Rage underneath, restrained on coils of his own will. "Well met Truth-rhya." He says, as the other turns to go, his tone almost mocking his own propriety. Once he's gone Sam turns to the new moon, his packmate before turning three-sixty and taking in the view around them.
His steps stop again once he's facing the dark skinned runner. "So." Sam asks quietly. "What now?"
[Sampson Musembi] (assuming that he did hsi chiminage with the others on the first day in? We assumed that the entire pack was there, did chiminage then broke up to wander separatnely before the non-pack garou came to chat-)
[Sampson Musembi] (I think that is what we assumed.)
[Armstrong] It was cold. It was still cold. It was a given that it was going to be cold and, instead of watching where she was going she kept her eyes on the sky. Armstrong kept her hands tucked firmly in her pockets, her bright red scarf wrapped around her neck, the sort of thing that brought a splash of color to her face.
She looked back down from the sky and then around the area. She listened. Then, Armstrong made her way down the street again and looked upward at the sky. The look in those silvery grey eyes was not impatient. It was expectant. She was waiting for something. She was always waiting for something.
She inhaled slowly, then exhaled. Armstrong didn't pick up her pace or decrease. Her stomach growled, the sound was irritated and expectant.
[Sampson Musembi] "MMphgm." The kenyan man swallows the giant mouthful, and shrugs. " We cover every inch of ground in this bawn and caern we may walk upon! and we make sure we will find no suprises. We run it back and forth, until its soil is into our soul through our feet. In the Umbra and here! We will be one with this land. What do you think of this place? I thought! since Chicago was South more than Boston! It would be WARMER! But it is not."
[snail] (i'm back! :D)
[Sam Modine] Sam turns out toward the Lake, it's dark water freezing in small pools around the edges. "The wind." He replies. "It comes in over the water." He shivers, his hands once again running over each other. "Fucking cold too." On the rest he waits, pondering. Eyes go back and forth across the landscape.
"Spoke with the Grand Elder today." He grumbles, heedless of the question yet of where to begin running. Covering ground. "This place is so undefended as to be an easy target for the Wyrm." He looks off to holes along the fence back the edge of the bawn with something of a frown. "This place will ours." The rest of the words go unspoken into the subtext.
Fucking yokels don't deserve it.
"It's quiet," he finishes seemingly with no descision on where to go from here. "Quiet and fucking cold."
[Sampson Musembi] The Kenyan clings to his hot milky sweet tea, the sort he and his wives seem to exist on instead of perhaps air, as if touchign the hot cup will keep death by cold away.
He does not contest the words of Sam Modine at all, merely grins. "What Edward wants, Edward gets. Unless... I can get it and get away before he or Lukas can catch me!"
[Armstrong] Fucking cold, too she heard. And it was the feeling of ever-present rage pinged on her senses. It made a slight grin cross her face, teeth flash for a little longer than the should have, and with that she started to head in the direction of the sound.
It was really the sound that caught her attention, it was the feeling. It was the feeling that took her eyes from the sky and made her pick up the pace. Armstrong, for a rather petite person, could walk fast. And she did, she took two stesp for everyone one of someone else's (except Sampson's. He was a ridiculously fast little bugger; there was no way in Hell that she could ever keep up with him, even if he had one leg and had been drinking heavily.)
"Of course it's cold," she said. "It's December."
And that was the herald of her arrival. A statement of the obvious, a grin that was a little wider than it should be, and the smell of dead grass and smoke.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The Brotherhood is quiet enough tonight. There are a few human diners out in the restaurant proper, and various tantalizing aromas snake their way up the open stairwell. Neither of these things particularly bothers Lukas, who is stretched out on the sectional sofa lengthwise, his head pillowed on one armrest. The TV is off. He's reading, and now and then the sound of a page turning cuts crisp and distinct through the common quarters.
On the coffee table there are a few small tapas plates -- one contains the bones of lamb chops; one contains one small soft-shell taco, though it surely had room for two to three more. The last is moroccan-influenced: a sort of meat pastry dusted in powdered sugar, savory and sweet at once. There's a bite left of that.
The food is cooling. Also present: a bottle of red.
[Dylan Swan] ooc: where are you guys? (waggles brows)
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (they're in the caern; i'm being a loner and i'm in the Brotherhood!)
[Sam Modine] "You know full well none of us can catch you." He replies. His voice grows stern though as he walks away toward the bawn's edge. He meet's his packmate half way. Her small prescence only makes his height seem two or three times what it actually is. He a column of germanic legend, she a lithe creature of no such stock. "But do not joke about stealing what is his Musembi."
"Come on," he waves his arm out again toward his original location. "We're meeting Lukas. And I'm late." as the others fall into step or not with him, he does make note finally of the new arrival in a tacit manner.
"Hello, Mrena."
[Sam Modine] ((Situation fixed, I think))
to Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sampson Musembi
[Sampson Musembi] "Packseesta Mrena! Sam is admonishing me again! The rule about spoils of war I think this time! Shall I tease him more! Or shall I desist from flaunting my moon! in his face?" The shit-grin is on his face, from big ear to big ear as he welcomes Mrena.
[Sampson Musembi] And he does accompany Sam..
[Dylan Swan] Dylan just woke up and showered. There's still hot water, but there only by the grace of god. The hot needles of water took away Dylan's timesense and her hair is water-darked, darkening the shoulders of the long-sleeved tee she pulled on. The galliard, looking flushed, pads down The Brotherhood's hall, stopping off at the room she shares with some of her packmates (they're not taking all the space) to toss her towel inside. She pauses, frowning at the empty interior, then snags a stick of wood off a dresser, and continues down the hall, into the recreational, over to the end of the couch occupied by Lukas' feet, where she insinuates herself naturally, nudging until he either snaps at her or moves his feet so's she can sit. "'Sup, Luke. What are you reading?"
[Sampson Musembi] (Hey how many of hte pack can drive/have a vehicle?)
to Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine
[Dylan Swan] (( Dylan drives, but since they came by Moonbridge I don't assume she has a car yet. *grin* ))
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (lukas can drive, but i don't think i gave him a car. i know ed can drive and has a car, and katherine has a car and a CHAUFFEUR.)
to Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Sam Modine, Sampson Musembi
[Sam Modine] No dots but i'm sure Sam could drive. Also in the no car boat.
to Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sampson Musembi
[Armstrong] (She lacks the ability to drive, it bites)
to Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine, Sampson Musembi
[Katerina Ashcrofte] Outside of the Brotherhood, a black Mercedes rolled to a stop in one spot or another. The windows were limo-tinted, so one couldn't readily see inside of the vehicle unless a face was pressed against the glass. The engine idled for a time, then died off right after the headlights were switched off. The driver seemed loathe to step out into the frigid Chicago air, with that accursed wind everywhere within the city. It just couldn't be avoided.
A moment later, and the driver-side door opened as a shapely booted leg was placed out to the pavement followed by it's mate. Katerina stood, slipping her red purse over a shoulder as she shrugged her shoulders deeper into the tan lambskin coat. Her boots were supple tan leather, heeled and laced to the knee. Tucked into it were dark brown stockings with a matching skirt made of heavy fabric that flowed with her movements. Beneath the coat was a white, form-fitting longsleeve turtleneck that clung to her curves.
Peach-colored lips pursed into a bit of a smile as she glanced down the block, seeing the others, as she stepped into the Brotherhood.
Lukas, as usual, was sprawled on a sofa. Heading over to an overstuffed leather chair, she set her handbag on the floor and slipped off her coat, draping it over the arm of the chair as she sunk into it, legs crossed.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] And indeed, what is the Shadow Lord Ahroun reading? The Art of War, perhaps? The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Paradise Lost?
"Slaughterhouse-Five." He moves his feet thoughtlessly, not at all perturbed: folds one knee up, sets the other food on the floor. It still leaves him most of the sofa, with one arm thrown back and over the armrest he leans again. "It's about a guy who gets unstuck from time. He lives his life in flashes and bits, because it's all predestined. And his life sucks. It's all very despondent and absurd and anti-war."
He shuts the paperback with a neat snap and smiles at Dylan, tossing it onto the coffee table. It narrowly misses the plate of bsteeya and slides to a stop just short of the edge.
"I called you guys earlier to eat, but you took so long I fed myself. There's still some left," he nods at the plates.
[Armstrong] "Maybe not in his face, Sampson," she grinned a little wider. She wore amusement openly, but shook her head no. "Wait a little longer to flaunt, it is a little cold so it's hard to take."
She started to go ahead and follow along. The grin faded and she was just there. She looked between the two of them, and she was addressed. Her nod was curt, to the point, and professional. She kept her hands in her pockets.
"Evening, Sam. Keeping warm?"
[Sampson Musembi] "You are right! My skinny butt gets cold in this place! Wind on my balls! It bites! Nearly as hard as Sam!" He dodges just in case Sam tosses a fist his way, running ahead a ways in a burst of speed.
[Dylan Swan] "How interesting," Dylan says, and she seems to mean it; her eyebrows have risen and her gaze has gone away somewhere that looks inward. That might be how they look in the mirror, in the moment they become their reflection; the moment they're swallowed up by light. The old mirrors used to be backed with arsenic and silver: poison. Gateways that were harder to use. "You'd think that the guy'd find that liberating; the story's there, just visit whichever part of it you need." Katarina has entered, and Dylan tracks the lovely theurge with her eyes. Then she smiles, glint. "Hey, rich girl," she says, evenly, easily, loosely, goodnatured. "Limo drop you off?" To the food, she gives a slight shake of her head and -- her arms've been folded over her chest -- lifts a hand to wave it off. "Too hot to eat, but thanks. Smells good." Too hot to eat? Well, she hasn't been outside yet or looked too closely at the windows.
[Sam Modine] "Not even a little bit." His hands now find the leather pockets of his coat, but his body does not curl against the cold. Hair flies backwards from his face, a golden halo in the chilly wind. They're not far now from the brother hood, it being only a street or so away from the broken down fences that mark the caern's far edge on this side.
"What about you?" He asks without turning, his voice just above the wind. "Haven't seen you in a day or so." The question doesn't carry any malice, nor does it bring with it a need for defense. By now they know well enough when he's making an attack, verbal or otherwise. Subtlety isn't his strongest suit. Instead it's curiosity laid bare, an almost familiar query.
"Almost there," He smiles as they approach, noting the black sedan outside. "Looks like everyone's already here."
[Sampson Musembi] He smiles, a blissful expression now as they approach the others. "Our Flock. And soon! All my four wives will come too! And my children! We will run every day! Well, not my children! They are too young!"
[Katerina Ashcrofte] Katerina's penetrating green eyes appraised Dylan, sweeping over her as she glanced toward her beta. "I hadn't known you could read, Lukas," she purred. The smile she gave the man lessened the sting, as the theurge cast a wink Dylan's way.
Her hands folded over her lap, as her legs uncrossed and then were crossed again. "Good evening, Dylan," she said. Rich girl? Maybe so, she thought. Well. definitely so. Daddy's bank-account came in handy from time to time. "I have driven myself, actually. I find that a limosine catches the attention of more eyes tha necessary."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Well," he's intent, surprisingly; interested, "I think the thing was he could see how pointless and meaningless it all was. And he couldn't do anything or change anything to make it less pointless. On top of all that he already knew everything that happens.
"Anyway, you should read it." With that he shelves the literary criticism, reaches behind himself to grab the arm of the sofa and haul himself a little more upright. In the semiprivacy of the Brotherhood, he's dressed down a little: comfortable jeans, a thin-woven pullover shirt that was not, by any stretch of imagination, merely a t-shirt.
There's a commotion downstairs: more of the pack, arriving. The humans in the front restaurant are suddenly quiet, but the Garou more than make up for them. Katerina makes a jibe -- Lukas merely rolls his eyes.
"Other than Kemp, the Guardians and the Grand Elder," a new direction, "I haven't met anyone who actually claims to be of this Sept. I mean, for longer than a week."
[Katerina Ashcrofte] ( brb - phone )
[Armstrong] "Inspiration takes you places you don't expect," she said. For her, it made sense.
She stopped and she considered for a moment, it was a quiet and pensive moment. Thoughtful. She looked at the sky for a minute, taking her hands out of her pockets and popping her knuckles idly. It was then that she seemed to have some revelation of sorts. Her statement about inspiration didn't exactly say where she had been or what she had been doing.
"I've been painting. From what I've gathered, the place is rather impressive in certain regards."
[Sampson Musembi] His usual hunting position is in front a ways, flushing out trouble-- or causing it. Unless Edward wants point. Tonight is no different, as he rushes up the stairs and through the door with any amount of noise he happens to make. Surprising Lukas is often painful.
"BRATHAAAS! SEEESTAAS!! We are here! You have missed us sorely I know! Feel pain no more!" Laughing, he tosses himself at the nearest sofa whether or not it is already occupied, airborne as a Talon should be.
His words are not far from wrong. The feeling of fullness inside him increases with the combined presence of most of the pack...
[Dylan Swan] "I don't doubt you're right," Dylan says. "The author still alive?" Dylan leans forward to snag the book and read the back. Head still canted downward, Dylan glances up at Katarina when she jibes. "Typical," she says, still goodnatured, meaning that: hey, figures a theurge wouldn't see the obvious unless it wasn't right before everybody's eyes. Ha, ha. My, my: Dylan is sassy when she's freshly showered.
Also, typical: Lukas is to business. Dylan lets the book drop into her lap, tucking one leg underneath herself. She twists her damp hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck then shoves the stick through it. Immediately, the hair begins to fall apart, until it reaches the point where it's just ABOUT to fall apart, but isn't falling apart, and there it stays. "I've noticed," she says, soberly. "In fact, I was about to propose a new drinking game -- every time we see someone from [that pack], take a -- "
Cue, Sampson. He hits the couch next to Dylan, and Dylan is actually bounced in the air. "....aaaa hey Skinny! "
[Sam Modine] "Cool." He nods idly as they enter the restaurant. And when they do the place does go a bit quieter, like a stadium crowd doing a wave. A swath of silence cuts through them unconsciously as the three move through the room. "Mrena, you two head upstairs, i'm going to get something to drink. I'll be up in a minute." He looks from one to the other. "Either of you want anything?" Before he can get it out though his packmate is bounding up the stairs and raising a bit of a Ruckus once he gets there. He finishes his statement with a shrug and moves along.
With that he hads over toward the bar, waving over the man who's working behind it. Club, or cheese. Rueben. yes Rueben. "Can I get three black and tans, three stouts, and a sixer of the house?" He pulls two crumpled bills and lays them out on the counter, he gets two much smaller in return and a tiny bit of change he pockets with a sigh. Once the beer is fetched he heads back upstairs toward the group with a muttered thank you to the kinfolk.
"Hey." Is all he offers the rest of them once he reaches the common area. "I brought beer." He sets down the goods from downstairs along with anything White Eyes may've asked for and takes a seat in a rather spartan chair near the center of the room.
[Sampson Musembi] Sampson grins at Dylan w hen she lands and he drapes an arm goodnaturedly around her, a brotherly gesture.
"I met Wyrmfoe Kemp! You cannot miss him! He is very tall! Sam has met him too!"
Over the totemphone, he adds, Belinda Perry is a BEETCH! Presumptive! Her attitude screams she is wearing the gold medal, when in truth, she runs the race of words like a fat fry-daddy from Macdonalds!
[Dylan Swan] ooc: so -- are we getting totemphone for really sure and all? 'cause otherwise until everybody's all approved and we have our totem written out for sure n' all maybe we should probably just pretend not to use any benefits we might get?
to Armstrong, Katerina Ashcrofte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine, Sampson Musembi
[Sampson Musembi] (We freaking hve sooo many totem dots. 4 of us can hold the totem, and the rest is plenty for totemphone!)
to Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] well, how much is totemphone again, 3 pts? do we have 13 pts amongst us for sure?
to Armstrong, Katerina Ashcrofte, Sam Modine, Sampson Musembi
[Sam Modine] A good point, maybe err on the side of caution till we get it all sussed out. we have 3 from me
to Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, metal spirit, Sampson Musembi
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] well let's do a quick count. i have 2.
to Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Sam Modine, Sampson Musembi
[Armstrong] ((We're getting at least 2 from Armstrong))
to Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine, Sampson Musembi
[Sampson Musembi] (even if the pack is 8, and the totem costs 10. If you take 2 each at least, we are quite well off. Totemphone is 4. I have CC, Damon, COdy an I together can hold Talons of Horus, have 10 between us.. ALl else is for totemphone and i think we will STIL lhave plenty left.)
to Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine
[Dylan Swan] ooc: i just don't want mei smackage! i fear the mei smackage! and we're getting two from me. (grin)
to Armstrong, Katerina Ashcrofte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine, Sampson Musembi
[Sampson Musembi] Edward 3. Sampson 3. Lukas 2. Sam 2. Armstrong at least 2, as a theurge she coudl have more! Dylan 2. Ken and jacquie-- some!
to Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (okay, well, if armstrong has 2 pts we'll be fine. ken forgot totem on his sheet, so he's 0 for the moment *LOL* i guess we're okay then. are we sure armstrong has two? *prods mindy*)
to Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Sam Modine, Sampson Musembi
[Sam Modine] ((there's an AIM chat, you're all invited.))
to Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sampson Musembi
[Katerina Ashcrofte] Every single, solitary time she has an encounter with Sampson, she immediately thinks the man needs to cut down on his caffeine intake. That, or be prescribed some form of methylphenidate. The man's enthusiasm cannot be denied however, but if the noise level didn't decrease soon? Katerina was going to develop a headache.
"It seems the defenders of this city believe that once delivered from the clutches of the Wyrm, it no longer needs defense." A small shake of her platinum head, and she sat forward a little while the others converse. Katerina fussed with her skirts, straightening them, and glanced toward the others. "Belinda Perry," she said aloud, "needs to be taken down several pegs."
In that first meeting, Katerina had decided she did not like the woman at all. That said, she sat back in her chair and fell silent.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas sits upright completely now, swinging both legs off the couch, putting his back against the back. "Hey," he greets those just in, "have a seat. Nice place, this, huh?"
He leans forward as Sam brings on the beers. There are a few small plates with a few scraps of food left; there's also a bottle of red wine, which Lukas eschews in favor of one of the house brews. His shirt is longsleeved, but the weave is dense and heavy; the fabric drapes from his shoulders, moulds to his musculature. His forearms bunch. He twists the bottle open effortlessly. It wasn't a screw-cap.
Don't worry about Belinda Perry. She's nothing. He tosses the cap onto the table and leans back, putting his feet up. For now.
"Anyhow," aloud now, "I'm not complaining about the lack of locals. It's fewer Sept Offices we have to give up for appearance' sake.
"I have a proposal." He knocks the beer back. "And I'll run it by the boss if you guys think it's sound. The full moon's coming up, and I don't know if this Sept is planning on holding a moot. But if they do -- or if we push to hold one -- it could be a good time to come out in force and sweep up the Caern offices, and most especially the Master of Challenge and Master of Rites. Apart from Wyrmfoe, of course, which goes to Kemp, and Warder and Great Elder, which are well out of our scope for now.
"The upside is that we'll effectively strike first, bloodlessly, and lock down the Caern. Force the [otherpack] to challenge us for the positions if they want 'em.
"The downside is that we might look like we're overstepping our bounds. Even if there is only one local, and even if he did seem open to the suggestion, doing it within a week of touching down might be -- unseemly."
[Armstrong] "If you got me a bottle of water you'd be my favorite," she said. "Or you won't be my favorite. Whichever you prefer."
She left it open. Being who and what she was, being Armstrong's favorite may not be a good place to be. She headed up the stairs and made her way on in. She took the opportunity to unwind from her winter wear. First the scarf, then the coat, all piled neatly off somewhere that she could retrieve it later. The attire was comfortable and practical. It was a sweater-and-jeans combo that could more-than-likely be picked up at a local department store on clearance.
She sat herself down on the nearest couch and looked at those present. And listened. The timeline was what posed the problem, she nodded some.
"We wait too long though and we've missed our window of opportunity."
[Sampson Musembi] He thinks for a moment, then stands, moving around the room with restless energy. His wives, after all, are out of town.
"I say! We take what we will! It is the way of our spirit! We run with full stride! Besides, we are many. There IS need. If there is challenge for position, then we compete! And win what our strengths allow us to win! Only the BEST may serve! This is our way! BEER!"
And speech gives way to beer guzzling.
[Dylan Swan] Sampson slings a brotherly arm around Dylan's shoulders, and Dylan nudges him - gently - in the ribs. Says, amused -- but actually curious: "Did you two squabble again? Tell."
That's all she has to say about the other glasswalker galliard for now. Dylan gives Sam a thoughtful nod and accepts one of the beers. Decides, apparently, that she's hungry after all, and picks some flaky crust off of something that's on the table in front of the couch; her head is canted, and her gaze sidelong as Lukas speaks. Then: gaze flicks to Armstrong. Then: Sampson.
"Regardless of whether or no we decide to sweep up the offices," Dylan says, "We should push to hold a moot. Full moon'll bring the Sept's resources out in whatever kind've force the Sept can muster. I mean, if you're not around the caern on a daily basis, you will show up for a moot." Those last words, forceful.
[Dylan Swan] ooc: hmm. there was a t at the end of that 'no'. so: Regardless of whether or not we decide to sweep up the offices," etc. etc.
[Sampson Musembi] " I think! Belinda merely insults where she will, without care, as if to offend as many as possible. But as yet, we do not truly know her or her purposes.
Yes! A moot is the way! A moot is the Right Way! It is OUR way! I do wonder though. Lukas, does Edward mean for me to challenge for a position?"
[Sam Modine] He ponders for a moment. Using the end of a fork left from some other occupant earlier to pop open his stout. He drinks deeply, letting about half of the jet black liquid pour over his palatte before. Speaking. "If Edward wants a war," He begins, slowly. "This will incite it." He gulps down a bit more of the beer.
"I saw a couple of his old friends getting between their full moon and the Rotagar, Kemp." His brows drop down as he leans back in the chair. Turning toward each of them in turn. "They're ready to fly at us given a moment's provocation. If we do this, we've got to be ready for the blowback." He grins then, his rage twisting it into a thing of nails and glass. "I say we take it. The whole thing. But careful."
[Katerina Ashcrofte] Politics. It was always politics, whether you were the bloodiest Ahroun or the most wiley of Ragabash. Thankfully, Katerina was none of those and much better off. It seemed that they were to begin maneuvering for position amongst the Sept, and it worked well enough for her. She would have to get together with Mrena and decide which of the two of them would contest for Mistress of Rites.
Unless there was another theurge in the offing, and not of pack.
After Sampson's outburst, Katerina eyed the beer with disdain. Beer was what cretins swilled, and would never pass the lips of one Katerina Ashcrofte. A slender eyebrow arched, and she spoke. "I agree with Dylan," she said. "At a moot we can assertain what forces this sept does have to offer, to see what sort of power-structure is present, and from there begin taking up positions as necessary to us. Blindly rushing headlong into something before proper thought can be admirable, but it is foolhardy. An abrupt strike - so to speak- may not be the best, but as long as we strike before [That Pack], we will still come out on top."
Katerina's legs uncrossed and crossed again, as she shifted on her chair.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Let Belinda insult whom she will. The more she does it, the more she harms herself. We take the high path, because it is right, and because we're damn well smart enough to do it."
He comes alive in times like this, Lukas, who is superficially so controlled, so reserved. He comes alive when it's just the pack, in private, talking strategem and tactic. There's color in his cheeks -- and it's not merely wine -- and a glitter in his pale eyes.
They move between Dylan and Katerina; touch upon Sam and Sampson.
"If we push for a moot," Lukas replies, "I say we sweep the offices. We do it respectfully, and we make sure we word it right -- something like, we will face any honorable challenge against us, and we will gladly stand aside for those who have fought and bled for Maelstrom, because I'm damn sure that pack hasn't. But we do it. Because the moot is the time for this sort of business; if we don't make the move, they might.
"If we push for a moot.
"Armstrong?" -- almost abruptly, he turns to the last member present, the only who has not spoken.
[Sampson Musembi] Sampson listens to Lukas and nods eagerly. "Yes! This is the way! This is the way of a peaceful road in this sept! How can any spread malice with so much respect for those who already! Have place in Maelstrom's Sept?"
The Kenyan cretin swills some more beer, and sighs happily. "The first of us to challenge for a position! Even if we lose! Will provide insight into the opponent's strategy. Perhaps TWO and not one, to challenge existing office holders, just in case!
Is it not wise, to consider also! Which positions we are willing to give up! To place our strongest in contention for those!"
And trhen he falls silent, looking for flaw in their joint reasoning.
[Armstrong] "I agree that a moot is absolutely necessary," no need for explaination there. She continued. "If they show up and make asses of themselves, I believe that it's absolutely best that they do it at a moot. And I have no doubt that we could take it all should that be the goal."
She nodded to herself, but then continued.
"Doing it now versus later has its benefits; we would have an edge. However, we would know less about our potential challengers. The benefit of waiting is thatwe have more time to observe those who are in the area. People come out of the woodwork for moots; we would get more time."
She inhaled and then continued. She was relaying what she had heard, giving whatever she had to say. "I think waiting would give us time to gain support and respect of those who are already here. They have the benefit of being more familiar with the area by sheer default of having been here."
A beat passed.
"I also think we should see what Edward thinks about this before we come to any standing conclusions."
[Dylan Swan] "You're a born Fool, Sampson," Dylan says, with a quick-as-lightning smile; a touch of humor to her gaze like light-on-water. Many septs eschew the Fool's part of a moot, but Unbroken Circle* is more traditional than most, neh?
*if indeed that is their real name!
[Sam Modine] "I won't lie to them Lukas." He sighs, finishing the beer and going for the second stout. His eyes stay locked on the other full moon. "You know I can play at nice when I don't mean it, and I can play polite while we scheme. But I won't take a position for anything but the right reasons." He again uses the fork, bending it against the cap which pops away easily. This one he goes at a bit more slowly, but only by an increment. He still takes a fourth or a fifth of it in the first drink.
"What've we got in the way of intel on the other new pack?" He sheds aside the rest of it, letting it fall off his back if for nothing else than to expediate the planning, to move on to what is useful. "I'm sure they won't roll over and just let us run through." At Armstrong's note he takes pause.
"Little one makes a point. I'm not stepping foot in the circle without word from him." Emphasis lingers in an almost reverence at that last word.
[Katherine Bellamonte] The scent of the Eau de Parfum she dabbed on as if it were daily ritual was as much an advisement to her impending presence as any more supernatural thing. The step of her flats against the floor, and a familiar blond head appeared amongst the crowd. The tresses had been left loose, and fell in stylish waves to small, pointed shoulders encased in a smart blue suit jacket.
"Edward would be so moved by the adulation he receives when he's not present."
[Sampson Musembi] he's done with his ration of beer, and does not ask for more. He and his family are not indulgent, training always, as they do. Instead, as sooooon as Katherine finishes dotting on her expensive perfume, he!!
kicks off his trainers and the smell of sweaty runner feet rises around him.
"Hm. Then. Edward or I. could challenge for Fool, if he wishes us to do so. But I think! If these other people are as irreverent as I THINK they are! For they show little respect for most simple interchanges! That they will mistake the position of Fool, and respect he who wins it-- less. IF so. Is better that I do it. Is this not so?"
[Katerina Ashcrofte] "Sampson, darling," she said to the Silent Strider, "would you be so good to procure for a lady a brandy on the rocks?" Green eyes twinkled and peach-lips smiled as she looked to the skinny man. Her purse was lifted from the floor as she reached in and brought out a twenty. Passing it to Sampson, she added - "Get yourself whatever you'd like as well."
Katerina looked to Sam. "The others have seen more of them than I have, but from what I can ascertain? They are full of pomp and bluster."
Katherine made her appearance, and Katerina smiled to her tribemate. "Good evening, Katherine."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] As Armstrong weighs in, Lukas takes another swig of beer, then sets it down with a click. Patiently, "I said I'll take this to Edward and I will. I simply wanted your input first. Now, as I understand it, we seem set on this much:
"We call for a moot. We give the locals plenty of time to muster, if muster they will, even if it means having the moot at an unorthodox point in the moon-cycle. Then we go in force, and we claim whatever the locals have not claimed.
"If that's our plan, I have this to add: we must have Master of Challenges, and preferably Master of Rites as well. They are critical. Master of Challenges gives us the influence over any subsequent challenge, meaning we can make or break a challenge ... if we must. Obviously that's not a power we want to use more than absolutely necessary. But in my opinion, it's still one we must have up our sleeve. Even if we lose all else to the locals or, god forbid, [otherpack].
"As for Master of Rites -- it gives us access to the Caern's power, and allows us to truly steer the spiritual growth of the Caern. It allows us to make it stronger, better: our very purpose in coming here."
[Katherine Bellamonte] "Mm." A hand idly touched a strand of Katerina's hair in response to the greeting, tugging with the gentlest pressure before the Philodox moved on, securing a seat and laying her purse down as the conversation swayed on around her.
[Dylan Swan] Dylan looks mildly disgusted. The beer? is quaffed. Then the near empty glass is set down. The room swims. Another piece of flaky crust is peeled from a plate and devoured. "The other new pack," Dylan says, pensive. Then, carefully: "Well. I have been trying to suss them out -- their purpose, their tale -- but thus far they aren't talking. Do we even know how many members strong they are?"
Katerina greets Katherine, and Dylan greets Katherine, too -- but with a smile and a shrug. Then, to Lukas' statement of positions they had to have: "Who?"
Who should take 'em. Who should hold 'em. Who.
[Sampson Musembi] "I will! For you!" he grins and takes the money and then bolts out the door. "And then! I go shower! Since you cannot stand my feet!"
No, she hasnt fooled him. But he is kind, this ragabash, and so he and hsi feet and his stinky shoes go out of the room.
[Andrea Locke] ooc: Not a word! (glares)
to Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine, Sampson Musembi
[Sampson Musembi] (COUGCOUGHCOUGHwordCOUGHCOUGHCOUGH)
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Much as it grieves me to admit it, I think our only reasonable choice for Master of Challenge is Katherine. She's our only Philodox, and their Alpha is a Fostern Philodox. If we put anything but a Half-Moon up, he'll easily have the better claim.
"For Mistress of Rites and Keeper of the Land -- Armstrong and Katerina are the obvious choices. I'll leave that up to them.
"I intend to stand for Gatekeeper. Talesinger and master of the howl falls to Dylan. The Fool is perfect for Sampson -- but we should not allow our Alpha to be pegged as the Fool. It's absurd for him to reach for Grand Elder at this point, but that is the ultimate goal.
"That leaves Truthcatcher. Sam?"
[Sam Modine] "It's not exactly my calling." He ponders slowly drinking the beer.
When Katherine walks through the room his eyes go away in a deference only offered to herself, her brother and perhaps Katerina. Not even their beta, though respected gets such treatment. It's almost unconscious, barely perceptible even to himself. But the quick habitual motion is there, his eyes drifting away.
In the present he sets his beer down between his feet. "I think I can do it." His voice is resolute. Serious. "Better me than them." The final is less statement than mantra, a tie binding all of them together. A nod to tradition, to righteousness. Of knowing that they are right and they are best because they have been taught, trained, and they hold to that.
Better than.
"So, when?"
[Armstrong] "If we intend for Edward to become Grand Elder at some point, we need to begin grooming him for the position now. Then again, that goes without saying."
She shrugged a little, then took a drink. She'd asked for water, she acquired water. Water was a good thing. Water was also a good thing in that she could open the bottle. She inhaled and then looked at Katerina. She raised a brow for a moment, as if she was waiting for her take on what she would like to challenge for. Then, back to Sam.
"And Sam, I think you're probably much better suited to the position than you are giving yourself credit for."
[Dylan Swan] "Truth runs, you chase and beat up," Dylan says, encouragingly, to Sam. "You can do it." The room swims, still. The galliard pulls the stick out of her hair and re-bunches it. There's a brief -- sudden, sizzle -- spike of rage when Armstrong begins to speak: if we intend, at some point. Pulse kicks it up a notch and pounds at her temples, fists and feet. She shakes her head briefly, to clear it.
[Agnessa Malikoff] (no... Sampson runs, Sam chases and beats it up!)
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Grooming him, Armstrong says. Lukas makes a funny expression -- half grimace, half grin.
"Believe me, I'm trying. But the man can smell a card game from a mile away and a whorehouse from ten."
He picks his beer up again and leans back, slouching down. They're strategizing, true, but there's nothing formal about this meeting. They stand, sit, slouch, sprawl all around the room, easily dominating it with their combined presence. A pause as Lukas sips his beer. Then:
"Two weeks?" He raises his hand, a who-knows gesture. "Three? In the meantime, we should make an effort to make an impression. Trophies on the Wyrmpole always help."
[Katherine Bellamonte] "The only reasonable choice? Lukas," she laughed, but the humor did not reach her eyes. They remained quite coolly aloof. Hinting at a familiar resentment. "I was the only choice there ever was."
[Katerina Ashcrofte] Sampson had gone and got her the requested drink, and she was contented to sip the brandy-on-the-rocks and gaze thoughtfully at Mrena over the rim of the rockglass. Her scrutiny of the woman was not one of malice, but trying to figure out where the two of them would best suit. As Katerina knew it, the woman was more a scholar and bookworm if anything. "What do you think?" she said to her counterpart theurge.
Night and Day the two were. Where Mrena was dark, Katerina was light. Mistress of the Rites, and Keeper of the Land. The Silver Fang didn't fancy herself as a groundskeeper. The brandy was again sipped, as she uncrossed her legs, and sat forward a little more with her knees together. Her dark brown skirt spread out around her, obscuring her full curves for the time being. Her posture, however, did nothing to hide the full cleavage exposed by the neckline of her longsleeve shirt.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] A muscle jumps in Lukas' jaw. He jabs a finger at Katherine, "You trot that entitled-me attitude out and I guarantee you, you will not be mistress of challenges."
[Agnessa Malikoff] The pack has had more than enough time to plot. More than enough privacy. Do they hear the footfalls on the staircase? Nessa is quiet as she ascends, not sneaking per se but cautious, automatically slipping into unobtrusive mode, though she hasn't designed her appearance tonight as terribly wallflower. The door to the room opens, and a woman's face regards them.
Her hair is loose tonight, left long and raven-black, stark against her pale skin. Dark blue eyes, full of secrets and Shadows, and lips darkened to rose with makeup. Her style of clothing is simple, faded, low-rise jeans and a fitted scarlet tee, with a coat in her hand. Boots of some sort, black, under. No jewelry.
No wedding ring either, on the ring finger which is entirely absent from the appropriate hand, like the equally absent pinky. Instead, she has long-healed scars.
The woman who blinks at the full room, the press of Rage, firms her jaw and takes a deep breath.
[Armstrong] "I believe that you are very much attuned to what the spirits want and need and I believe that Keeper of the Land would be a very appropriate position for you to hold and I believe you would do it very well."
Translation: you would be awesome at it, and I believe I would be a kickass mistress of rites. In less words. There were more ways that they were different. Katerina was light and blonde and so many things that Mrena was not. The fact that Katerina's posture did not hide her cleavage was also another point of difference between them. Mrena was not blessed in that department.
[Katherine Bellamonte] A muscle jumps in Lukas' jaw.
Mistress Katherine merely turns her head to one side as if making a study of the man in all his agitation at her. Her fingers toy with the fine beads around her neck, the fingers are long and musical, suited as much to time spent at a piano as to plotting the furthering of the city's Caern.
"As my brother's second in command of course I defer to your judgment in all things," her pale eyebrows lift in apparent surprise at his tone. "If you can find a better suitor for the position, than do."
[Katerina Ashcrofte] "Perhaps," she said, a slender platinum eyebrow arched upon her brow at Mrena's response. The two of them were the antithesis for one another. It was never lost on Katerina how the woman envied her, but then who wouldn't? Not everyone could be Katerina Ashcrofte, the Ash-Cat.
Leaning back on the chair, she snugged deeper into it. "We will discuss it more, Mrena," she said. "Theurge to theurge."
Translation: You always try to one-up me, girl. We'll see.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Don't be ridiculous." Perhaps it irritates him, how easily Bellamonte irritates him. He gets to his feet, finishing his beer off and gathering the discarded plates up. "You're the only one we have, didn't I just say that? I'm going to get us some more food."
With that he heads downstairs. They can hear his footsteps receding, muffled thumps on the stairs.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (DLP.)
[Dylan Swan] "Hey," Dylan says, when Lukas jabs a finger. The vocalization is automatic. The theurges are discussing. The ragabashes (ragabai?) aren't around. Her glance goes to Sam. Her right eyebrow rises. Just a little. Bare bones of a gesture, of a nonverbal comment.
A beat. The air fizzles with more tension; Dylan peels the last flakes of whatever it was on the plates that was tasty and eats them crumbs and all. "So, does anybody have any socks I can borrow? My pair is wet and..." Dylan trails away when she spies Agnessa. The galliard lifts her chin; regards the stranger, chin to toe.
"Hey," she says, calls. As much to draw her pack's attention to the newcomer as anything else.
[Roxanne Brocato] [people staying, going? open scene area?]
to Agnessa Malikoff, Andrea, Armstrong, cuddle lumpkins, Dylan Swan, Katerina Ashcrofte, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sam Modine
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Don't be --" this is as far as he gets before Agnessa's sudden appearance shuts his mouth. A beat of pause -- no more -- but in that beat he reins himself in so quickly that the previous, brief slip seems no more than a figment of the mind.
Then he gets to his feet, finishing his beer off and gathering the discarded plates up. "I'm going to get us some more food. You guys want anything in particular?"
With that he heads downstairs. Passing Nessa, he offers her a wry smile. "If you want to sit, just tell someone to move."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (FYI: everyone is upstairs in the common area, except for Lukas, who's heading down the stairs to get more food.)
[Andrea] Business has died down below -- eventually the Brotherhood will become known as a good watering (and feeding) hole for the late night crowd, but for now business is new and it's a weekday night. Nonetheless the kitchen is still active; there's always something to be done, never mind the end of any dinner rush. Such activity makes it easy for late comers to slip inconspicuously into the establishment and make there way up to the second floor.
Not long after Agnessa makes her way upstairs another woman is ascending the steps, her arms carrying a basket of towels just out of the dryer in the basement. Ebony hair is slipped up beneath a plain blue handkerchief, a stray lock or two curling free to whisp about the fine details of her face. In her mid-to-late 30's, given away by the bare beginnings of smile lines at the very corners of eyes and mouth, she is dressed in slacks and a snug lambswool sweater, the sleeves pushed up. Dressed for work but the clothing she works in is of a fine cut and quality for all its simplicity. Immaculate. A woman who takes care in presenting herself.
Even in her own home.
Into the communal living space she steps, dark eyes sliding over its occupants with an easy nod and smile of greeting.
"'Evening, damas y caballeros -- I trust your night is going well?"
[Dylan Swan] (( Yeah, we're in that communal room, so quite open! ))
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Descending the stairs, Lukas passes the woman heading the other way. Turns sideways to let her pass. "Great," he calls over his shoulder. "Kitchen still open?" -- at the bottom of the stairs now.
[Agnessa Malikoff] She doesnt' recognize a single person in the room. This place is new, this safe and open meeting place; the kin of Chicago have perhaps not all discovered it. Is Nessa the last? The woman shuts the door behind her, shutting herself in with these strangers.
Inside her eyes, a glitter of something awaits discovery, there with the blue secrets and mystery. From below her lashes, she regards them, and then smiles, just a little, at the words of the man who passes her. "Thank you." Two words, revealing her nation of birth, or not, depending on who was listening.
The woman steps inside the room more, and looks about with a cautious curiosity. Windows. Doors. Exits. How far from where she is, to how to get away, and Then she lets her gaze return to those on the couch.
The door opens behind her and antoher woman emerges. Instead of conversation, more prtty kinfolk pour out of the woodwork as the invasion begins.
[Sam Modine] Sam sees Lukas jump out at Katherine, hears Katherine retort a second time. "We can go back on track," his hand pushed back his blond locks shoving them aside with a utilitarian grace. He doesn't have time to begin the 'Or' portion, though he doesn't need to. They know the length he'll go to enforce a timeout, but at this critical juncture even the other Full Moon perhaps knows it's better to remove himself for just a moment.
"No, i'm fine."
He stands, paces the room abit, the moon is fat in the sky and tempers run hot all around. None more than the Modi's. He finishes his beer and declines another for the moment. Before a couple of kin in the room manage to catch his attention. "Um. Yeah." His eyes go to Katherine's for just a second, looking for assurance. "We're all right. Talking. It's great of you, letting us stay. Thanks." He stops talking at that point, perhaps conscious of his own voice, closing his mouth before something as monstrous as that Rage tickle comes out.
Or maybe he just isn't much of a talker.
[Armstrong] "Sounds great," she said with a smile.
The girls seethed subtext. It was a given. And whatever went on between them seemed to stay there. It was a quiet pushing. If she didn't have someone to one up, she could become complacent. In way, it was beneficial to have another theurge there. Comparison was healthy.
Then, there was talk of socks. And suddenly she was jolted out of whatever mindset she had been in and reminded of an important matter: soggy socks.
"I have socks," she says. "But you have to bring them back. They're the striped ones, I like them." And then, another important matter. "Something meaty that has a good texture. Those are my only requirements."
[Roxanne Brocato] Everyone was heading upstairs, or was already up there, when the door downstairs opens up with a blast of cool air and another person heads inside. She's been here a few times, it was the best place to get something decent enough to eat or drink that wasn't cooked in week old grease or over-ripe pig fat. Immediately inside the door Roxanne whips off her beanie and smooths a hand over neatly woven cornrows. The length of her hair (by today's standards) is extraordinary, a white-blond rope of plaits that reached the underside of her bottom. Black jeans, boots. Her jacket is dark too, over a black turtleneck sweater. The hair and pale skin was a contrast.
Without lingering, she moves further into the room and over towards the counter. She was getting herself some food, checking out the menu that changes now and then but still has the same, healthy choices. It was late. She didn't need too much. Her gaze drifted over to Lukas, eyeing him from the corner of her sockets.
[Agnessa Malikoff] Towels are in the woman's basket. Bathtowels, not the sort used for drying dishes or such. Restaurants don't need bathtowels.
Nessa glances at the basket, then at the woman's face, memorizing it as she has the garou in the room, for what purpose, only she knows. Unless someone in the room can read minds. "Do I intrude? I had heard.. was place for us all, here. I have come to see."
Her tone, her demeanor, should be meek. Instead, some subcurrent in her seethes with life and a restless energy which is barely contained, and Not passive. Her weight is evenly balanced where she stands, ready.
[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine rarely drank in public.
She kept her indulgences to moments that were housed behind the walls of her family home and lacking this; the intimacy of only few occasions when she and her sibling had been discussing the family business without interruption. Outwardly, her excuses never varied far from a disliking to the general taste of wine.
Beer it could be assumed she never touched.
Her demeanor was at once chaste and demanding; few could decide whether the image she tried so intently to put off was intentional or some effort at appearing unphased -- surrounded by so many other of her tribe vying to uproot her position.
Her claim by birthright alone.
Sam's eyes go to Katherine; and she looks at him evenly -- any assurances he seeks he apparently receives without the fair girl's lips moving. Though she does relax a little, the eldest of the female Bellamonte's -- well -- she unbuttons her jacket at any rate.
[Andrea] "Always." Is her mellow response to Lukas' passing query. She shifts the laundry basket to one hip, moving further into the common area, acknowledging Sam's response with another unaffected nod, the sort of calm demeanor that speaks of polite interest and a complete lack of pushiness or nosiness. A good business practice for someone running what is, effectively, a clandestine hide-away. "Of course, of course. You're all very welcome. I'm Andrea Locke, the owner -- I haven't had a chance to meet each of you, but consider yourselves more than welcome to whatever myself and the staff can offer. If nothing else it gives us free guinea pigs to test new brews on, mmm?[i]"
The same smile of barely parted lips is turned on Agnessa, a shadow in the corner, newly arrived and unsure. "[i]Of course. All. Some, however, will be using the premises for shelter as well as a simple meeting place. The second floor here is exclusive to True Born and Kinfolk alike, without exclusions unless proved otherwise necessary. I can't promise the same exclusivity in the restaurant itself, but all the staff are Kinfolk as well. Rest at ease."
Setting the basket on the long table against one wall she stands before it, folding towels with functional brevity.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Not a lot of requests, save one for something meaty and textured. Downstairs, the restaurant is quieter than it had been at primetime -- a couple at a table in the far corner, two guys at the bar.
Lukas stands a little ways back from the counter, a paper takeout menu in his hand for convenience, reading through the possibilities. Eventually, he seems to notice the woman standing silently nearby.
"Go ahead," he says, stepping back from the counter. "I'm still deciding."
[Roxanne Brocato] With the acknowledgment she stepped up to the counter and spoke quietly with the attendant. "Quiche, if you still have any, please." If not she'd have to go some sort of salad and chicken sandwich. "And an apple juice. Thank you." She fetched her wallet from her hip pocket and took out some notes to pay for the order. She'd rather pay for it now than later. That done, she stepped aside while sliding the change back into her wallet, leaving Lukas to place his own.
[Agnessa Malikoff] She may be unsure, but the Shadowlord kinfolk is far more evaluating than any sort of intimidated. Full moon ahrouns near by, so near hte full moon. Her nostrils flare, inhaling the threat and the thrill.
"I am Nessa Malikoff. Widow of Baaku Harah, the Agony Thane." At one time, she would have introduced herself differently. But she is silent with the rest of her history, family. Instead, she steps forward and takes a towel, cutting Andrea's chore shorter. "Places to stay. Is for rent? Is place for infants too, away from Rage?"
[Dylan Swan] "Thanks, Cheschire-girl," Dylan says, or said, to Armstrong. Socks, dry socks, are important. Especially when: "I think I'm going to go find Edward. Does anybody want to come?"
This, while Andrea sorts Agnessa out. Andrea's greeting hadn't been ignored, but Sam had said it all; Dylan tipped her head to the side, another non-verbal agreement. Dylan also stands, brushing herself off when she does.
ooc: 'cause -- I really have to hop off to bed soon!
[Andrea] "You should give the Cobb salad a try, miss[/i]" Is the advice from the barely-out-of-high-school lad behind the counter as he eyes over Roxanne in a manner he hopes is charmingly friendly. [ he hopes real hard, he does] "[b]'Specially with the shrimp -- Miss Coltrane makes 'em in an awesome sauce. Oh.. quiche? Yeah, sure. That's good too." With a flurry of nods and murmured repetitions under his breath he casts Roxanne a winning smile [so he reckons] and a bit of a wary glance towards Lukas before dissapearing to call the order back to the kitchen.
[Sam Modine] Sam straightens, finally letting his jacket fall away from his shoulders. He shakes his way out of it, folding it roughly in half and letting it flop over one arm. He doesn't sit again though, instead chosing to push the rather plain chair back toward the wall where he'd pulled it from earlier and head toward the open end of the room, off toward one of the boarding rooms. Each of his packmates in turn get a large hand on their shoulders. Firm and heavy it rests evenly, holding them up even where they don't need it to. It's good to be someplace new, the assurance says. On Dylan he stops, looking her over evenly.
"No more beer."
Katherine he stops on last, waiting only a moment before bowing his eyes again to the floor. "I'm going to get some sleep. Is there anything else you need before I go?" It's friendly, perhaps a bit upright for some, but he's a creature of ranks and hierarchies and tonight is no exception. Once she's answered he looks up to her and smiles a bit. "Please try and get on better with him. Your brother has him working overtime."
With that he moves past, taking his leave of them and heading off toward someplace comfortable for the remainder of the night.
[Roxanne Brocato] Poor lad. Really. She didn't give him the time or day. Her gaze had been steady the entire time and had offered nothing that resembled friendliness in return. It wasn't that she was unpleasant, in fact. But rather that she came across as rather indifferent. Closed-down. This side of a brick wall, with the manners of a politely raised woman. Social niceties and all that.
She moves over to a table nearby, having glanced to the others in the room and where they were seated. Unzipping her jacket she peels it off and lays it over the back of the chair before sitting down and drawing herself nearer the table. She eyes the contents, table salt, pepper, anything else that they put out here.
[Katherine Bellamonte] "Try the nearest strip club." Quips Katherine, surveying her reflection for a moment in a small mirror. She wipes a fingertip beneath one of her eyes as if she expected to find a blemish where there were none. The skin was unscathed, as perfectly smooth as it had been all afternoon. The compact snapped shut at Sam's comment, her mouth perfecting a frown that drew her brows downward.
"I don't do a thing to encourage his dislike of me, he's the one always taking shots."
It's a near-whine, a glimpse of a less refined Katherine.
[Andrea] "Thank you, Ms. Malikoff -- or may I call you Agnessa? A lovely name." Her smile, her contralto tone -- all speak of genial sincerity though the dark eyes that slide over people and places are notably perceptive. An eyebrow, dark as a ravens wing, arches upwards as they continue to fold the towels, her expression one of interest and muted concern. "Not to rent, though any long term residents will have to work out some kind of arrangement with me in due time -- and I'm afraid I cannot offer any space fully free -- our Cousins influence. Are you looking? I may be able to arrange a temporary space on the third floor where I keep my own rooms as well as those of my manager and cook... until we can locate a suitable permanent lodgings?"
[Armstrong] And then there was a shadowlord there, or rather, kin, asking if there was somewhere nearby that... wait... what did Nessa ask? She stopped and thought about it for the time being, trying to come up with an answer that would help her out in some way. She seemed... she seemed. That's all she could say. It was a quiet study of her, taking in her textures, her tones, her mannerisms. In a word, Nessa was interesting. It may or may not have been a good place to be.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Quiche, she orders. Lukas steps up to bat with a faint, sideways smile.
"This seems more like a meateater's kind of place," he comments, and then faces the server. "I'll get the mechoui-style butterflied leg of lamb with moroccan mint." Seems like he was on a moroccan kick tonight. "Have it sent upstairs with a large side of couscous, will you? And two bottles of honey wine. Thanks."
Payment: plastic, swiped cleanly through the reader. He glances at the total mildly, then puts the card away.
"Livelier upstairs," he says to Roxanne, offhand, as he heads up that way.
[Dylan Swan] Dylan looks -- well, nonplussed for a moment. "Wasn't going to get you any, boyscout," she says, finally. Then she glances over at Katherine and Armstrong, questioningly. Sam moves on; Katherine -- well. Dylan frowns at her, a line appearing between her eyebrows. Then the frown smooths out. She says, "Chicago's got some killer stripjoints; I can't wait to traul them all." Then she disappears after Sam because the socks won't be downstairs, they'll be with Armstrong's stuff, and you can't go out into the snowy cold without socks, and shoes, and a hat.
[Armstrong] (I think I was confused, if the post isn't applicable, delete it!)
[Agnessa Malikoff] "Please, just Nessa. Is pleasure to meet you, and to--"
Someone mentions trawling strip joints and Nessa nearly loses her train of thought. Hell?
"... be here." A smile, more friendly, and a great deal more genuine this time. "We have home, but is in Cabrini Green. Is.. not safest of places. My baby though is not yet one. Too small to be near garou. Is enough space? Between? I am looking for safe place to be for some time. I can ahh obtain funds."
[Roxanne Brocato] Her head tilts in Lukas' direction when he addresses her, and she watches him head upstairs. It wasn't often that she was invited anywhere. Upstairs, the common area's, the living quarters. What they were doing up there and who it was doing things up there, she's not sure she wants to know. A well dressed man that pays by card. She'll muse over it for awhile. Eat her quiche down here, when it comes. Until then she waits, resting her back into her chair and keeping a casual eye on those around.
[Armstrong] "Let's get socks," she said. She stood up and was ready to do what was absolutely necessary. Besides, Dylan needed socks and this, in turn, would give her time to ask for socks later. In her years of life, the greatest bit of wisdom the theurge had learned was this: one can never have too many socks.
[Dylan Swan] ooc: AND THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SCENE. (grins) I'm sorry for ditching just as new cool people come! But so tired! Started to have a hard time keeping shite straight! but, uh, until I actually sleep, I'ma watch. (twiddle)
to Agnessa Malikoff, Andrea, Armstrong, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Roxanne Brocato, Sam Modine
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (LOL -- those of you who are leaving, thanks for the play!)
to Agnessa Malikoff, Andrea, Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Katherine Bellamonte, Roxanne Brocato, Sam Modine
[Andrea] Lukas orders [and, it must be said, the boy generally seems to be pleased when he says he'll take the food upstairs], receiving a slightly stammered 'y-yes sir.' Once that is dealt with he returns to the kitchen, soon emerging with the quiche and apple juice, as well as a martini glass of cocktail shrimp and sauce. "Here ya go -- really should try the shrimp... ah.. on the house...um... anything else?"
While the quiche has been reheated, the smell is still appetizing, vaguely spiced with the hints of chorizo cooked into the otherwise fragrant confection of eggs, potatoes, onions and herbs.
-------------------
Andrea listens frankly to Agnessa's explanations, a knowing nod of comprehension with a look that holds a deeper understanding than the mere body language would show. "Of course. We'll work something out -- is tomorrow soon enough for you to come with the baby? And as for funds -- what sort of work are you looking for?"
A woman who seems to be all about making and facilitating arrangements with the same ease with which she folds towels.
As people begin to depart, they receive light nods and invitations to please come again whenever they wish. Hospitality, 101.
[Sam Modine] ((Same here guys. That was an awesome time and i cannot wait to do this again. See you!))
to Agnessa Malikoff, Andrea, Armstrong, cuddle lumpkins, Dylan Swan, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Roxanne Brocato
[Roxanne Brocato] She eased back, drawing her hands off the table when the boy served her food, including an extra dish that she hadn't asked for. He must really want her to try it. Looking the shrimp over, the glass, the way it's been arranged, she shifts her gaze to look at his face and meet his eyes. "Thank you." For the food and the thought, adding, "No." To his question, while she reached to pick up her fork and knife. She waited for him to go, looking at him, before she began to eat.
[Agnessa Malikoff] Work? I want a fat politician to fall into my thieving little lap.
"Oh, I already have employment." Is it appropriate to explain to a kinfolk she has just met that she is busy robbing the hell out of Chicago? Probably not. Nor, she has found, is it really a first date sort of conversation.
"Thank you. I will check and see. Is someone I must discuss with first. Then, I call? I know you are busy here."
Deferential? Not. Not with the way she holds her body ready and proud, full of something ephemerally untamed. Its the energy in her gymnast's shoulders, in the way her feet are poised just so.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] -- and when Lukas comes back up the stairs, he finds half the pack has mysteriously retreated to their rooms. In fact, it was just him and his favorite buddy of a packmate, Katherine.
"I ordered an entire leg of lamb, plus couscous and wine," he says, disgruntled. He picks his book up from the edge of the table, replaces it somewhere safer -- a shelf, an endtable. "And it's just you and me now?"
[Agnessa Malikoff] Lukas, Katherine, Nessa and Andrea, rather. The four of them are upstairs in teh commons area, with Nessa assisting Andrea in towel folding.
[Armstrong] They had acquired the necessary socks for Dylan, because they were important. And she had said she would acquire those. She headed on down out of her room and back to where she had been to wait for the food.
Armstong kind of bounced when she walked. It made her hair sway, because her hair did not bounce without a great deal of effort.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Well," spying Armstrong, "at least you're back. I got you lamb, Moroccan style. That textured and meaty enough for you?"
On that note he retakes his seat on the sectional sofa, slouching down to put his feet up. Lukas is well over six feet tall standing; semi-prone, he stretches for quite some distance. He nods in the direction of the women talking by the stairs.
"Might as well invite them. I doubt we'll finish it ourselves. I already ate. Anyway, one of them's our-- " he punctuates himself with a yawn, jawcracking, " --gracious hostess."
[Agnessa Malikoff] Oh goody. Cooked flesh. Nessa peeks at the lamb roast and shudders, swallowing convulsively. Its amazing how much that smelled like.. roasting fingers.
On second thought, maybe being here would be a REALLY bad idea. Ugh.
"Ahh how many kinfolk are here now? Coming to this place? I have seen very, very few in this last year in Chicago."
[Andrea] ooc: sorry about that -- had to run afk. give me a min to post.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (take your time :P and -- for the record, the lamb is still cooking, i think)
[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine has her cellphone out, she's clearly in the midst of typing an SMS and barely raises her eyes long enough to meet Lukas' returning form. He's disgruntled -- but what else is new, the man seemed to be eternally unhappy with something. Perhaps it was something to do with his moon.
And it's just you and me now?
She raises her eyes then, and the soft digital beeping pauses. "Afraid I might rematch you to a chess game, Lukas?" Of course -- then Armstrong returns, and the heiress can return to her messaging.
[Agnessa Malikoff] ()Then she smells it wafting up from below!!)
[Armstrong] Pretty much anything and anyone was larger than Armstrong. She wasn't even five and a half feet tall, her wrists were thin, her neck was long. She was, not a large person. And there was meat. It made her smile one of those strangely excited smiles. It was a quiet sort of glee; there was food. It was good.
"I'll be the judge of that once I've tasted it, but at the moment it does pass the textured-and-meaty test."
She looked at the women by the stairs.
"I'll go ask if they'd like to come over."
[Andrea] Proud and shadowy, without an attitude of being differential, indeed. In anything Andrea seems merely quietly bemused at this lean, gymnast strong kinwoman. Thankfully, Andrea seems to be one of a blessed few with a knack for appearing bemused without seeming in the least bit condescending. A useful trait, especially around such volatile tempers and resounding prides.
"Of course. Call the restaurant and ask for me."
The towels all folded, she leans back against the table, one hand reaching up to sweep the handkerchief from her head, unbinding her hair, the other hand rising to lightly massage her scalp. "I'm new here myself, Nessa, so I can't really speak for the current status of the kinfolk population. I've managed to find about nine fellow Kin to work here and most of them are locals who have probably been keeping a low profile. It's been my experience that unless given a reason to congregate -- or a demand -- we Kin do tend to wander off our own ways."
[Agnessa Malikoff] "And is unwise. We are weaker apart. Our strength is always in numbers, and what we can do together, no less than is true for garou." These are words she speaks with utter conviction. As opposed for example to simply being convicted.
When Armstrong comes closer, before she speaks, Nessa smiles as if the intended question were already asked. Aware, in this instance at least. Its not a trick she can do often, but then, this is a quiet space, and the sense of danger near the garou sharpens her senses.
"Da, thank you. I would like to join." The kinfolk savors the words.
[Roxanne Brocato] All but the edge of the quiche was eaten. The crust was left on her plate with the fork and knife that was placed down once she'd finished. It was good. It went down well with some unexpected but pleasant spice and left her debating whether she'd try the cocktail shrimp on that bases alone.
After a few sips of juice, she picked up the shrimp glass in one hand and picked up the juice bottle in the other before she stood. Remembering her jacket, she slipped (wiggled) the juice bottle into her back pocket and grabbed up the item of clothing from the back of the chair, which she then pushed into place with a knee, and began for the stairs with her jacket over her arm.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Terrified," he replies, curtly and blandly.
She returns to her SMSes. Armstrong goes to summon the women. Lukas surveys the coffee table and its mild desolation of beer bottles, some empty, many full. Then he sits up and moves the emptied bottles off the table, making room for the lamb that one of the servers is just now carrying up the stairs.
The Shadow Lord sits back to make room, watching as the meat dish is set down, flanked by couscous on either side. Two bottles of Moroccan honey wine complete the tableau, and Lukas nods his thanks.
"Please." As the kinwomen approach, he indicates the seats opposite him. "I believe the Moroccans traditionally eat with their hands. If you'd rather use utensils," this is spoken primarily to Agnessa; the restaurateur herself, he expects, wouldn't have such hesitation, "I'll go downstairs and see about getting some."
[Armstrong] She made her way over to the small collection of people neary. The collection that included her kinsman and their current host. She had her things together, there were things to say and before she could even say them- Nessa beat her to the punch. She didn't even open her mouth yet.
The look on her face was appreciative, somewhere between impressed and intrigued and curious. She brows raised, she headed back over.
"You are very observant," her tone indicated that this was not necessarily a bad thing.
[Agnessa Malikoff] She botheres a moment with an innocent smile. "When garou are around, often you fill our senses. Is nothing unusual perhaps to be aware of you."
The black-haired kin walks to the couch, the last steps utterly deliberate as the hairs on her neck, her arms, raise as if shocked. Her breathign becomes measured. Focused. "I am Agnessa Malikoff, widow of Baaku Harah. I have lived here in Chicago for.. ahh nearly 5 years now, I think. Is good to see new faces here in Chicago. I know my son will be safer for your presence." The woman inclines her head, but the gesture lacks somewhat in true submission. Doesnt' hesitate to meet their eyes, either, forcing herself to it where she must.
[Andrea] Agnessa speaks her simple words of earnest conviction. Andrea, for her part, merely settles her gaze upon the younger woman with a patent interest, though she does nothing more than to nod. A nod of understand though not, one might add, any great show of impassioned agreement. But any feeling to the contrary are left unvoiced as an emissary of the Garou guests comes to invite them to their impromptu meal, with 'Nessa anticipating the invitation.
Andrea smiles fluidly, drawing herself up straight and nodding. "Of course. How gracious." Nevermind that they are sitting beneath her roof and eating the food from her own restaurant. With a practical grace she slips along to the large, long sectional sofa, nodding to Lukas, Katherine and, again, Armstrong. "Andrea Locke. I apologize if I've been remiss in meeting you all personally -- the business of starting a business is rather consuming."
Instead of taking a seat at the sofa, she settles down on the floor on the other side of the wide coffee table even as Lukas speaks of Moroccan eating habits. Anyone else might seems quaint or coloquial sitting on the floor -- Andrea seems an unadorned regal, needing only plush pillows to recline upon to complete the image of desert nobility.
"Have you found the menu pleasing then, sir?" Spoken to Lukas who seems to be doing most of the ordering and eating.
[Roxanne Brocato] The second floor was a taken invitation. She came up the steps without much fuss, quiet enough in her movement to be only a brush of denim across denim of her jeans and legs. Pausing, she took the others in with a sweep of her gaze. It was just in time to hear Andrea's introduction.
She hesitated at the edge of the common room, untouched shrimp in hand and the other free at her side. Waiting for some break, a glance her way. Not interrupting, far from it.
[Armstrong] (Lovelies, I love the play, but I need to sleep!)
to Agnessa Malikoff, Andrea, Dylan Swan, Katherine Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Roxanne Brocato
[Andrea] ooc: thanks for playing, mindy darlin'! dream sweet!
to Agnessa Malikoff, Armstrong, Dylan Swan, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Roxanne Brocato
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] He considers Agnessa for a moment as she approaches, saying nothing, his pale eyes keen. Then, as Andrea addresses him, his attention shifts and, all at once, warms into a smile.
"It's excellent." He has a directness and a sincerity about him, Lukas: a way of looking you in the eye. "When the Guardians told me about this place I would've been happy to find a cot and a greasy-spoon. This is beyond my expectations."
The woman sits on the floor -- Lukas does not join her. He does shift to sit at the edge of the sofa, his knees just touching the coffee table. He's young -- they all are, his pack, every one of them falling somewhere in their late teens, early twenties -- but amongst his pack, he is counted as one of the elder in both position and age. It shows: a subtlety in the interaction between the three packmates, in the way they reach for the food, in the way they sit.
"Tell me," to Andrea, this, "does the Caern compensate you for any of this? I doubt your asking price even lets you break even."
[Agnessa Malikoff] Hopefully the couscous will be prepared without meat itself. If not, she declines food, and instead reaches for the wine, to pour or not as Lukas indicates.
"I glanced at menu on my way up here. Is unique and very well planned, da. " No floor cushion at the feet of the garou for her, though possibly no one but her might think it demeaning to a kinfolk. Nessa is after all, a little strange at times.
She is perhaps older than the garou. Somewhere around her early mid twenties now, 23, 24, 25 maybe. Experienced kinfolk. And so she is surprised when Lukas inquires about Andrea's financial welfare. It shows, just a little, on her face.
[Agnessa Malikoff] "And no ,thank you. I am familiar with North African dishes and table manners." Ouch. Memory...
[Andrea] Amongst such young men and women [nevermind more than half can rip her face off in a thrice -- young is young] part of her can feel each fine, faint 'smile line' [such a pleasant turn of phrase for time marching its way all over your face] as they gently crinkle about her eyes in response to the smile she grants Lukas for his compliments. Fully appreciative. The same smile is given to Agnessa [no dotting respect for someone just because they emit Rage it would seem] as she leans in to help herself to the platters of food, eating communally with bare, dexterous fingers. By all appearances her hands should be the fine, smooth things of a genteel woman; they aren't. A bit of red chapping shows here and there, signs that starting and running a business essentially from the ground up involved manual labour for the owner, too. Still, alabaster limbs move fluidly with complete disregard for what she was brought up to believe were 'faults'.
"Compensation? Ah.. no." Her smile holds a hint of good-humoured wryness as she shakes her head. "No. But I saw a need and it is within my means."
That seems to be all she wishes to say of the matter. After all, money is such a taboo subject for strangers.
Alert eyes have already noted Roxanne standing near the stairs. Now she turns her full gaze to the [again] young woman, smiling and nodding a greeting. "Good evening..." Her eyes slip to the glass of cocktail shrimp and her lips quirk, holding back an urge to laugh that wars with an urge to frown in consternation. "I do hope that Danny downstairs didn't force those on you... I don't think the boy had ever had shrimp until I hired him."
[Roxanne Brocato] Not too young, mid twenties at her youngest and that for looking after her body in ways that only a true anal person can. Rare is a hot dog and never a packet of crisps. Shrimp and sauce was pushing it and that's a prime reason why it's still in her hand untouched. Some sort of screwed sense of honour had her flee with it upstairs, maybe hoping that someone else would eat it and offense wouldn't be taken. It was on the house, after all.
"Danny?" The boy has a name, to which Roxanne nods at. "He's polite. It's the least I could do." Despite her hard features and the less than inviting air she has about her, her voice is (surprisingly) feminine. Quiet. Very polite. Doesn't quite go with the scar on the face or the cornrows, or the boots on her feet. She's not a socialite.
"Do you mind?" Lifting the glass and gesturing to the table. Whether she wanted to put them there, perhaps asking for permission not to eat them, or was seeking to offload the shrimp to the others there, was anyone's guess.
[Agnessa Malikoff] Shrimp? Nessa's eyes investigate what her mouth is unlikely to get to taste. "I am sure it is surperbly prepared shrimp, Andrea. It smells good."
Her plate holds the vegetarian couscous only.
Oooh but Roxanne abandons the shrimp! Nessa doesn't quite leap on it, but the glass Does make it into her 8-fingered set of hands in a surprisingly short time. Filched! "I would not wish to disappoint ahh Danny."
The previous shrimp owner gets her inspection in turn. Nessa waits a moment, quite curious, to see if the scarred woman will introduce herself.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (fuck, i just lost my post. hang on.)
[Roxanne Brocato] Great. Bonus, even. Nessa steals the shrimp the moment Roxanne has moved over and placed it on the table. The very observant, aka almost looking for it, will notice a slight bulk at the back of her clothes down by her back. Its usually covered by the jacket but she has that resting over her left forearm, where it hangs. She's stepped back from the table, out of the way, but still nearby.
Agnessa is still looking her way. The others, probably, expectant. "I'm Roxanne." She offers, "Brocato. Kin to the Fenrir." Well bred at that. Nothing exceptional. But then, just to have Pure Breed was exceptional in itself these days.
Glancing to each, and with a small nod she's adding, "Well met." She has no problem glancing to each in the eye, gaze contact is important with sincerity.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] No compensation -- he's not quite so rude as to show surprise. "Well," he says instead, "that's very generous of you, Ms. Locke. Thank you."
Roxanne approaches. He nods, "Please."
He wipes his hands on a napkin, then. Ultimately the gesture is futile. He'll get them messy again with the next bite. Still, it allows him to peel the foil off the first bottle of wine, crumpling it in his hand and tossing it to the table. There's a corkscrew abandoned on the table from the last bottle, and he wields it efficiently, drawing the cork out in one smooth pull. There's a casual elegance in his line of motion as he fills whatever glasses are extended his way.
Finishing, he sets the wine aside and resumes his attentions to the leg of lamb. Lukas dresses well -- impeccable even dressed down as he is tonight -- but he handles the act of eating with his hands with no difficulty at all. Then again, red meat is daily bread to his sort -- Garou, Shadow Lord, Ahroun. He's utterly at ease tearing flesh off the bone.
"By the way," he adds, offhand, "I'm being rude. I'm Lukas, called Wyrmbreaker. Cliath Ahroun of the Shadow Lords. Beta of the Unbroken Circle."
There's no accent in his tone, but the way he pronounces his own name -- with a sharp, sibilant -sch at the end -- leaves no doubt that English was not his first language. It goes along with the face, with its broad high cheekbones and wide brow: pure eastern europe.
[Andrea] "Danny is extremely polite -- sweet boy, really. One hopes with time and care he'll grow out of his awkwardness." She speaks frankly but with a genuine sense of caring, which is how she speaks of all her employees. They are more than just people on a payroll -- they are to be taken under her wing. Nevermind that her manner and motions speak of an earthy, sensual [in the true sense of the word] concern than that of a doting, cajoling mother hen.
Roxanne sets down the shrimp and Nessa grabs it up, which makes Andrea chuckle, a low, sonorous sound. She reaches for more of the sweet, tender roasted lamb, pinching it up with some of the couscous. A sip of wine to wash it down and she wipes her fingers on a napkin before nodding at Roxanne's formal introduction. "A pleasure. Andrea Locke, though I believe you heard my introduction. Did Danny manage to serve you anything you did find to your taste?"
To Nessa: "How is the shrimp, then, 'Nessa? Jennifer downstairs will be pleased if you enjoy them."
And then, as Lukas speaks she waves away any words of generosity with a slight motion of her fingers, a faint, eloquent roll of her shoulders. Without anything more to say on the matter she listens to his own proper introduction. "A pleasure, Lukas. Do I have the honour of hosting your entire pack?" Uncrossing her legs, she shifts, tucking them beneath her and looking to the Garou with all semblance of being earnest, her head tilting to one side. "If I'm not being too bold, I'd like to ask some practical advice of you." Assuming he doesn't stop her she continuous, sonorous of tone, but steady and simply spoken. "I've never tried to provide a living space for Garou and Kinfolk before and it occurred to me early on that there is a real risk of upset, when combining such -- temperaments. At the same time, I know that empty threats of consequences pale in the face of not just traditions, but simple realities... can you offer any suggestions as to how I might keep this place as violence free and neutral as possible?"
No.. she isn't some fool who believes Gaian Garou all get along swimmingly and that Kinfolk don't make the equation even more difficult sometimes.
[Agnessa Malikoff] Nessa hasn't turned her back yet to the other kin or garou; if there is something at her back, its still hidden. But her eyes track Roxanne's concealed weapon, and her rosy lips smile in approval. She is still grinning when Lukas introduces himself, marks his accent.
"Agnessa Malikoff. " She pauses, but it would be rude to not say anything at this point. He is unlikely to recognize her name, since she has been so long out of the gymnast's circuit, unless he recalls Russians from nearly ten years ago.
"Daughter of Sergei Malikoff, ragabash of Shadowlords. Sister to Fostern Milo Maevsky, Theurge of Shadowlords. Widow of Baaku Harah, Fostern Philodox of Shadowlords. Is good to meet you, Lukas Wyrmbreaker-Rhya, and yourself, Ms Brocato. "
The wine is.. potent. She blinks, and takes a smaller sip. "Different. Very Sweet. I like, I think. From where do you come? Unbroken Circle? I have been ahh out of touch for some time now. I am not familiar with your pack. "
"Yes, is very good. It has bite. I like good bite."
[Roxanne Brocato] "Quiche. I come for your quiche." Roxanne admits, a quiet response amongst the thrown titles and talk of things far more important than restaurant meals and her like (or dislike) of them. She doesn't sit down, but stands back, nearby still, and pulls her juice out of her pocket to twist off the lid and take a sip. Her gaze tracks between the three of them. Intense. There's no interruption from her.
[Agnessa Malikoff] (faaaadddinnnnngggg some))
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Roxanne Brocato
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Yeah." Lukas lifts his wineglass to his mouth. When he sets it down, the meat-juice on his fingers leaves a streak on the glass. "We're all here, for the meantime anyway. I'm likely to stay." A faint flicker of a smile. "I like the company.
"As for keeping the peace -- I think prevention is your only real option. The full moon's creeping up. I'd instruct your staff to keep a low profile, serve fewer drinks. If I or my pack are present, we'll keep a lid on things. We wouldn't disrespect our hostess with violence and bloodshed. I can't speak for your other guests, though."
Then, turning his eyes to Agnessa, "We formed up back east. Boston area. We've been traveling a while, though."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (ok, i absolutely have to sleep in 25 min!)
[Roxanne Brocato] [that's because you foreigners suck! ;p]
to Agnessa Malikoff, Andrea, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Agnessa Malikoff] (I'm no ta foreigner! i live RIGHT HERE in this house! You guys are the foreign ones, coming in to my magic box screen!)
to Andrea, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Roxanne Brocato
[Andrea] ooc: It's 4:38am for me! (groans) Stupid damon and his keeping me up late with RP -- I fucking hate you, Damon!
to Agnessa Malikoff, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Roxanne Brocato
[Agnessa Malikoff] Lukas didnt say a thing about her breeding or anything else relatively nosy. Or uhh punishing. With a fairly perky gesture, Nessa begins seriosuly polishing off the shrimp and cusscuss, and simply listens to the others speak.
[Roxanne Brocato] [We can say everyone goes their separate ways. No biggy here. Rox can return to ask the Garou some questions at a later date. ]
to Agnessa Malikoff, Andrea, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Agnessa Malikoff] (Couscous, not cusscuss)
[Agnessa Malikoff] (Yeah and nwo ROx and nessa can chat later! nuight all!!
to Andrea, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Roxanne Brocato
[Roxanne Brocato] [night share. :) ]
to Agnessa Malikoff, Andrea, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Andrea] Sipping her own wine, another sound of easy-going amusement slips from her throat as she shakes her head. "Here I've opened a microbrewery and we're all enjoying Loire wine and..." She squints at Roxanne's bottle. "Apple juice."
Wiping off her fingers once more, she finishes off her wine and then pushes herself up to her feet, stretching as she does. "Well, it has been a pleasure meeting some of my guests. I hope you all enjoy your stays and visits. And thank you for your advice and assurance, Lukas. They are most welcome. I'll make sure the staff is aware. Now I'll see to those towels -- when you're done someone will come up for the plates and things. Be well."
And, with that, she moves to go about her business.
[Roxanne Brocato] [get some sleep guys. Catcha later.]
to Andrea, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
celebration.
9 years ago