[Asha Singh] The stores on the Magnificent Mile stay open late on Friday nights. Until nine p.m. Or ten p.m. Or midnight, when a customer with an unlimited AmEx and the sort of arrogant immediacy of Asha Singh waltzes into the store, attended by a British butler, all perfunctory politeness, and proceeds to try on everything in the store.
Twice.
The moon is waxing and the girl is simmering and the night is raw, an cool open sky clotted over with clouds - but here, in the warm, golden light of the exclusive little boutique where shoes for jolly green giants or transvestites or the UConn women's basketball team are displayed on pedestals like busts of Aphrodite - here, the sky can be forgotten, the bright disc of the moon subsumed into her skin.
"What about those - " the creature asks, casting an accusatory look at the obsequious salesman, as if he had been deliberately hiding the most prominent shoes in the store from her, a pair of black pumps, with heels as high as the slight creature's feet are long. Behind the sunglasses (she wears them here, huge and reflective as an insect's compound eyes, glittering in the deliberately warm lights) her eyes are narrowed, below them, her fine mouth is drawn tight. When she smiles, there is a flash of dull, too-white teeth, which nevertheless makes the salesman terribly uneasy. " - I haven't tried those yet."
"I'm so sorry," he says, " - miss. They don't come in your size."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Outside on the street, Lukas passes by with a TCBY waffle cone in hand. And two scoops of ice cream. Dulce de leche and butter pecan. He strolls right by in the light rain, then halts, then rewinds, then pushes open the sleek, frameless glass door and steps into the museum-spacious interior of ... whatever shoe boutique it is Asha's in.
"Do they run small?" he deadpans. "Are her feet ... kinda beg?"
The salesman stares. Lukas takes a lick of ice cream and turns to Asha. Spring's here and summer's coming, or so the alignment of the stars says. The Shadow Lord is rather unshadowy tonight in pale tan trousers; a charcoal grey shirt, shortsleeved. His watch glints at his left wrist, all brushed metal. He has a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, swung around behind his back.
"You going to be here for a while?"
[Asha Singh] "Uhnnn - " goes the salesman, looking up and blinking owlishly when the unshadowed Shadow Lord walks into the boutique. The caution that was written into him earlier twists into a sort of full-scale alarum, the unstudied tension in his shoulders and spine becoming clear, studied - slow-motion, even, in the manner of slow-creeping prey hoping to avoid the immediate gaze of a close-drowsing predator.
Looking distinctly bilious, he resolves the question of whether to respond to Lukas' query by turning back to Asha. "I'll-get-them-miss." The words all run together in an impressionistic smear, and the smell of fear is sharp in the air as the man turns about and all but flees into the back.
Asha, who is standing looking at herself in the mirror, a pair of heels with an all over pattern - rather ugly, really - of some obscure designer's initials pulled out in a gold-foiled pattern against the black surface, and a gold buckle across the pointed toe - on her feet that lift her a good four inches taller, giving her the illusion that she has Grown Up overnight, like a Sim exploding from adolescence to adulthood, turns and fixes Lukas with a look, the measure of which is lost behind the lenses.
What he sees is: himself, reflected in the smoked glass.
"Maybe." says Asha with a silky recalcitrance that often marks her speech, as if she did not want to give up the secret, yes-or-no. Then, lifting her chin imperiously (her blood is royal), eying his TCBY wafflecone. " - god. That looks so boring. You didn't get chocolate? I would've gotten seven kinds of chocolate."
Plus sprinkles.
[Mila Davis] It wasn't the botique itself that caught her attention. Those were run of the mill and she usually scared the hell out of the pansy's who worked there. Plus, she couldn't really afford that sort stuff. What did catch her attention was the man standing within. The woman, she didn't recognize, but the breeding seemed clear enough - even dispite the bug-eyed sunglasses.
Mila had almost passed the window when she took a few steps back. She was curious as to what was going on. The young woman stopped and simply watched from outside. Her dark hair was straight and left down. Her jacket was leather - but not in the biker sort of leather, but in the trendy slimming.. well, frankly hot look. Her jeans, skinny and dark.. and her boots, knee highed and heeled.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Please tell me at least you got the reference," Lukas says -- to Asha -- as the salesman retreats. Then, pausing to cast his cone a droll glance, "How do you know I didn't get seven kinds of chocolate? How do you know I didn't have a nonuplet, seven kinds of chocolate piled on top of butter pecan and dulce de leche? Hmm?"
Unfazed by the behind-the-huge-sunglasses look, the tall Ahroun goes to sit beside the ridiculously diminutive one. At least, she's usually diminutive. Right now, she looks rather tall, all legs, like a teenage track star. There are no shoetrying benches here, only blonde wood and subdued, elegant armchairs, one of which Lukas sprawls into like he owns it, tipping his head back to suck melted ice cream out of the bottom of his cone.
"Mila," he greets the latest addition to the boutique. "Have you two met? This is my sister, Asha. And my cousin, Mila."
Asha must be adopted. Though Mila and Lukas share a certain similarity, dark-haired and olive-skinned, Asha is literally a world away.
[Sparrow] Cruelty free chocolate.
She wasn't sure how that was even posible, but she had found it. She was wandering through the bounties that the nice part of town could offer, and found that the word of the day was "organic." Whether it was or not, whether it came from a cruelty free farm in Connecticut or was free-traded in Nepal by women who had learned a trade to feed their starving children (and the marketing company let Sparrow know precisely how many starving children these Nepali women had)
She was making her way off to indulge again, then stopped.
She looked at the little boutique-
"Ohmigod, shoes."
She opens the door, heads in, and-
blinks. Shoes and Rage.
[Asha Singh] Please tell me at least you got the reference - says Lukas, and Asha gives him a terribly direct look, in spite of the sunglasses. There he is, miniaturized and distorted by the lenses, doubled and staring back at himself. "..." That is her first response, that sort of flat-mouthed silence that still seems bright on her, backed by all the promise of her blood - which means greatness, or ruin, which leaves little room in between the two, to be.
Then, spine stiff, and those long legs - like a giraffe's somehow, all strange stalking promise, in a way that seems impossible, gravity defying, with those heels on her small feet - she says, "No. I don't get it. And I've not met her. And - " as if they were a litany, these things, one that she had memorized, pretty bullet points all in a row, " - if you'd gotten a nonuplet with seven kinds of chocolate on top it would've fallen over or you'd at least have chocolate on your mouth."
Then, suddenly - she drops her gaze from Lukas entirely, fixes it on Mila the way a bird of prey latches onto movement impossibly far away, that sort of sudden razor-vision of a hunting hawk. "Hullo, Mila." Then, conversationally, " - If we scare the salesman away, I'll have Thomas come in and give you a proper introduction."
- worlds away, darker skin, darker hair, sharp features stamped with a nobility misused and misremembered by the Europeans, darker, to be sure, than both Shadow Lords, for all her blood sings silver.
[Mila Davis] Slow steps brought her futher into the botique. Heels clicked lightly against the likely expensive flooring. "A pleasure.." her voice was warm, rich. "Asha?" She repeated it more to remember it and pronounce it correctly.. than to question anything about what Lukas had said.
Sister? Her gaze shifted between the two - and she idly considered the differences and similarities between the two.. and then simply shrugged. Oh well, she was called his cousin - she'd just move on. It'd all come to light one day.
A slender hand lifted a braclet from a display.. and if that salesman even thought about encouraging her to put it down, she planned on scowling at him until he backed off, of perhaps disappeared into the back room.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas, meanwhile, sighs and pulls his iPhone out. In an instant it's clear how a Shadow Lord with such old blood as his can pack with a Glass Walker like Sinclair. His familiarity with the little device is utter and unequivocal. He taps for a little while as Asha and Mila exchange hellos. Then he hands the phone to Asha. It's Liam Kyle Sullivan's youtube channel.
"Be educated," he instructs, and sits back to enjoy the last of his cone. To Mila, then, "Don't let her give you the proper introduction. It's frightening."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [YOU guys get the reference, right? If not: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCF3ywukQYA -- WATCH AND LURN.]
to Asha Singh, Mila Davis, Sparrow
[Mila Davis] {*now very distracted!*}
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Asha Singh] "If you - " Asha cranes her neck, squinting at the youtube video on Lukas' iPhone, though hardly long enough to see the full clip. Instead, she cuts a direct look up at Lukas as he cautions Mila against her full introduction. Her dark brows are like bird wings, rising above the frame of her dark glasses. " - if you tell another person that, Lukas, I'm going to ask Kate to buy the cannons she is technically required to have to greet me with every time I come over."
Then, perfectly assured, back to Mila - walking now - pacing, animal - with a precise sort of elegance that becomes almost mincing because of the high heels she wears - Asha continues, smug, confiding, " - I am entitled to a thirteen-gun salute, you know. It's, like, the law."
[Mila Davis] There is an amused sparkle to her gaze as she glances over at Asha. Oh, really? Then quietly.. "I'm fairly certain that the owner would be a little upset if I shot you - plus, I didn't bring thirteen bullets. It's an unlucky number.." She smirked and set the bracelet down. By her tone, one could easily guess that she was joking, and not really attempting to start an international incident. Then again, she -was- a Shadow Lord, so who really knows.
Another body entered the botique. It was a popular place tonight. "Resistance.." Her deed name was the only one known.. and the other woman got a little up nod in acknowledgement. "You know Lukas?.. Or Asha?"
[Sparrow] "Mila," she smiles. She heads over, and she heard something about cannons and guns and an actual introduction. brows rose briefly, surprised. The Child of Gaia lets her attention wander to... Asha's shoes. The ones with the incredibly high heels. the one that proably cost about the same as one of the payments on the Prius.
Back to reality. Yes.
"I've met Lukas," she says, "but I have not met Asha."
She looked at the Silver Fang, offered a hand, "I'm Sparrow."
Sparrow. Resistance. Either one didn't sound so much like a name as it sounded like a random word picked out of the dictionary.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Well, I think it's also the law," Lukas says absently, taking his iPhone back and continuing to tap -- twohandedly now, or two-thumbed-ly -- "that cannon barrages are not permitted in residential neighborhoods."
Tap. Whoosh! says the phone, some sort of airplane-taking-off sound effect, and Lukas slips it away, smiles suddenly at Asha.
"Try the docks, maybe." And, "Hey, Sparrow. Why are shoes so popular tonight?"
[Asha Singh] "You wouldn't - " says Asha, quiet now. Something vicious in the undersurface of her skin. They cannot see her eyes, but then can hear her raw girl's voice, the way it drops an octave, the way she stills so utterly as she says it. Whatever is underneath, " - get the first bullet off before I throated you."
Just that. There's no answering smirk; no little riposte, no violence except for the promise written into the words themselves.
And then, and then, Asha smiles. Asha smiles and steps neatly out of the stupid-high heels, bare feet on the gleaming hardwood floors. Her toes are unpainted, her feet small, both her slightness and physical surety all the more evident when she is on her feet, connected to the ground. The smile isn't a threat-smile or a prey-smile or an I'm-going-to-kill-you-and-I'm-lying-with-my-mouth smile.
It is bright and sure as her blood; a winged thing cutting back across the sky, the dark surface of the wingspan silvered by the changing light. "I'll try the docks." One hopes she has not taken him seriously.
Then Sparrow holds out her hand; Asha glances from the hand, up to Sparrow, back to the hand. Back to Sparrow. Back to the hand. In the end, she decides that this hand is a trick question. In lieu of shaking (that seems so obvious), Asha stalks closer and gives Sparrow a sideways five.
"I am," - a flash of those giant sunglasses back at Lukas, "Arundhati Sunyana Elevarisi Asha Priyamvada Natajaran Singh. You can call me Asha."
[Sparrow] "Because nothing makes the week suck less than good shoes, and you can't do much more of a pick-me-up than Balenciaga. Cute shoes, chocolate, and possibly a good football game are good mood stabilizers."
Because, ladies and gentlemen, she watches Sex in the City and ESPN.
[Sparrow] (*kicks post under the rug* put that before Asha's!)
[Mila Davis] Chocolate. Mm.. Sparrow had chocolate. Lukas had ice cream. Asha had shoes. Damn she was jealous of it all at the moment. But, it's not like she'd let on to that.
Asha's words draw a dark smile from the Lord. Uh huh, nice threat. Try it Fang girl. She didn't verbalize anything in response, save perhaps a slight chuckle.
Other items in the botique were picked up, examined and set back down. There was one particular set of sunglasses that caught her eye. They were hot - and would only add to the dangerous vixen look she was going for tonight.
"Shoes are a girls best friends.. right up there with diamonds.." A sage nod and then her attention shifts to Sparrow. "We should get together soon, exchange teachings and such.."
[Cara H] [[OOC: Possible to join in?]]
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [open scene!]
[Asha Singh] (open! and, brb. must change computers)
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Still sprawled rather lazily in the armchair, decidedly not trying on any shoes, Lukas eats the last of his ice cream cone as his clear, ice-strewn eyes flick between Fang and Lord, Asha and Mila.
Their exchange, their little not-quite-play-fight, doesn't make him frown. It certainly doesn't make him intervene. He does watch, though, eyes sharp with interest, and when it ends rather peacefully the Ahroun tips his head back and pops the last of his waffle cone into his mouth.
"To each her own," he says, offhandedly, and then becomes rather quiet. His eyes focus through the glass wall at the front of the store, idling on the pedestrians coming out from the movie theater across the street.
[Sparrow] In lieu of the obvious answer, Asha stalks forward, and in those shoes she would have been a little taller than Sparrow... without them, they were about the same size. Sparrow's of a slightly more delicate [deceiving] bone structure than someone of her moon and build should be. She's tan. Tanning. Her hair was dark, lightening and bleaching out at the tips.
A few more summers outside and she'd equalize to about the same color of Starbucks cappuccino brown.
But, that's not important. The bracelets, the hair color, the all of her wasn't important because the fairly attractive features started out puzzled, she got-
a sideways five.
Which made her blink. Blue eyes wide, and eyelids flutter once. Twice. Blinkblink.
She put her hand back. And the reaction went something like this:
[I am- Sparrow was paying attention, yes. Watching, yes, Arundhati (okay) Sunyana Elebarisi (watching, still watching) Asha (okay, it's over) Priyamvada Natajaran (what?) Singh. You can call me Asha.]
She looked at her for a second, almost expecting more. And it was clear that she was almost expecting more.
There was no more.
"... you have the coolest name I have ever heard. But why do you go by Asha?"
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] And it's 1-0 in the Ahroun's favor, Lukas muses across the totemlink. Then, Everything all right, Asha?
to Asha Singh
[Mila Davis] The interaction between Sparrow and Asha is watched with interest. The look on Sparrow's face after the little sidways five was priceless. Mila slipped the glasses she was looking at on and shifted her attention to the mirror, trying to decide if she should get them or not.
Apparently, the long name had distracted her Coggie friend and she must not have heard her request for a meetin' sometime soon.
[Cara H] Perhaps she was lost. It was possible. These things have been [un]known to happen before. Should there be shame in it? With such a large city; especially IN a city. Filthy. Unclean. A blemish. With each passing day in the depths of the City she felt more and more ill at ease. Perhaps it was depression. Diving back into a city, being so far removed from the touch of Gaia.
Then again... there could be some sign of Her presence. One simply had to look inside.
With the thought, she found herself staring at her own reflection that was framed in a glass window of some shop along the street. Large dark eyes half unfocused as the images of people and cards floated by like ghosts. All around the false lights flared, pulsed; the noises filled her ears; the stench burned her nostrils. The city beat on and she stood trapped in a moment.
[Asha Singh] He receives, in response, a sort of all-purpose, wordless acknowledgment, the suggestion of presence beneath the human mind, the sense of pack. She doesn't have a witty response, not in-her-head, and the guardedness that marks many of her quips is impossible mind-to-mind. It means: yes.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Asha Singh] "Americans can pronounce it," Asha allows to Sparrow, magnanimous in the wake of her confession. The coolest name ever. There is a moment then when Asha casts Lukas a look, over her shoulder, where he lounges having finished his non-chocolate yogurt, and our Asha - she does not smirk, not precisely, but she does give him a crawling sort of smile that says: you see? and my seventeen names are awesome and I am 2.3 seconds from calling Thomas in to recite the entirety of my heritage for such an appreciative audience.
"Anyway, my great-grandfather," the girl continues, barefoot not, a slight thing - birdbuilt, though no one would ever thing Sparrow to look at her. One thinks: raptor. " - had a much cooler name. You wanna hear it?"
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "No!" Lukas says, rather too immediately. A beat. "We wouldn't be able to appreciate its awesome splendor and grandeur, being all american and shadow lord-y as we are. And child of gaia-y, in her case. Please forgive our insufficiencies," he somehow manages a posture of mock supplication, sprawled as he is: palms turned up, head lowered, "O Mighty Small One."
[Mila Davis] Don't laugh Mila.. don't laugh! Ah, but she did snicker slightly at Lukas' mock bowing.. or whatever. The glasses were replaced and she moved over to sit upon a chair, or bench somewhere near Lukas. Apparently, she'd decided she didn't really need the glasses at all. Or - maybe she was just hoping the salesman would decide to return so she could buy them.
Scott would want her to have them - she was sure of it.
[Asha Singh] "&+2310;&+2346;&+2325;&+2366; &+2360;&+2381;&+2357;&+2366;&+2327;&+2340; &+2361;&+2376;!" Asha's attention flares back to Lukas. What she says to him is lost to everyone in the store, including her Alpha. It might be: I like rice. It might be: welcome to the Hindi-English dictionary. It might be - it might be - I will eat your liver. Or it might be something terribly profane. It continues - "&+2311;&+2360; &+2309;&+2306;&+2327;&+2381;&+2352;&+2375;&+2395;&+2368; &+2361;&+2367;&+2344;&+2381;&+2342;&+2368; &+2309;&+2306;&+2327;&+2381;&+2352;&+2375;&+2395;&+2368; &+2358;&+2348;&+2381;&+2342;&+2325;&+2379;&+2358; &+2350;&+2375;&+2306; &+2310;&+2346; &+2310;&+2360;&+2366;&+2344;&+2368; &+2360;&+2375; &+2361;&+2367;&+2344;&+2381;&+2342;&+2368; &+2324;&+2352; &+2309;&+2306;&+2327;&+2381;&+2352;&+2375;&+2395;&+2368; &+2358;&+2348;&+2381;&+2342;&+2379;&+2306; &+2325;&+2375; &+2309;&+2352;&+2381;&+2341; &+2338;&+2370;&+2306;&+2338; &+2360;&+2325;&+2340;&+2375; &+2361;&+2376;&+2306;&+2404; &+2344;&+2357;&+2350;&+2381;&+2348;&+2352; &+2350;&+2375;&+2306; &+2310;&+2352;&+2350;&+2381;&+2349;&+2367;&+2340; &+2311;&+2360; &+2358;&+2348;&+2381;&+2342;&+2325;&+2379;&+2358; &+2325;&+2379; &+2310;&+2332; &+2354;&+2366;&+2326;&+2379;&+2306; &+2354;&+2379;&+2327; &+2313;&+2346;&+2351;&+2379;&+2327; &+2325;&+2352;&+2340;&+2375; &+2361;&+2376;&+2306;&+2404; &+2311;&+2360;&+2375; &+2348;&+2375;&+2361;&+2340;&+2352; &+2348;&+2344;&+2366;&+2344;&+2375; &+2350;&+2375;&+2306; &+2310;&+2346;&+2325;&+2366; &+2351;&+2379;&+2327;&+2342;&+2366;&+2344; &+2310;&+2350;&+2306;&+2340;&+2381;&+2352;&+2367;&+2340; &+2361;&+2376;!"
And there is, most definitively, an exclamation at the end.
[Sparrow] "No later than Tuesday," she tells Mila. Planning things, working her schedule, and the rather tan female nods. Plans.
Asha speaks of names. Smiles, looks, self-assuredness. And the female, more raptor than sparrow, and certainly more raptor than Sparrow, continues on. She watches, listens, logs away. He has a much cooler name than. You wanna hear it?-
No!
The look said yes, then confusion.
"This is true," she admits, " we-"
She finds herself overshadowed instead by a long spew of... well... something. Something with an exclamation at the end. Whatever Asha just said, she really really meant it. There was definitely an exclamation point and the end.
She takes a bite of chocolate instead. Chew... chew... chew some more....
[Mila Davis] Sparrow got a nod of confirmation. She'd heard, she'd understood.. and it sounded like a plan. Sometime before Tuesday the Coggie would teach her the rite. Maybe it'd be a good week after all.
And then.. the spewing. That's all she could call it. It sounded.. intense. Whatever in the hell it was. Apparently Lukas had pushed a button.. and to point that out.. she made a little gesture of someone pushing a button a few times. Note to self: don't push that one.
[Cara H] Then it passed. Just as slowly as it had been brought on. There one moment, gone the next. She started off down the street, lightly stepping around the humans that filed out of their theatre. Only breifly did she look up into the light to see what was playing, yet her feet did not stop their step-perry beat.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The tall Shadow Lord -- who is right now simply the long Shadow Lord, sprawled out as he is -- doesn't miss a beat. Or bat an eyelash. He just opens his mouth, and something similarly incomprehensible, though in a decidedly different language, all aspirated sibilants and consonants from the back end of the alphabet, spills out of his mouth.
When that's done, he grins. It's sudden, and startlingly bright. "Now if you tell me what you said, I'll tell you what I said."
[Sparrow] "I don't think either of you guys said anything. I think you're just making noises."
[Asha Singh] "I said," to Lukas, her smile is prescient, alert - knowing. "The Hindi English Dictionary English to Hindi and English words as you easily can find meaning. Founded in November 2003 millions of people today use this dictionary. Your contributions are invited to improve it!"
Then, her attention cuts away from her Alpha, back to his tribesmate, sitting close to him, now, and pushing a fake button. Neatly, Asha steps over Lukas' long legs. This time, when she grins at Mila, it is all white teeth. There is no mistaking that for a smile.
"If you want to take this to the challenge circle," Asha is barefooted now. The way she walks is more stalk than prowl, not as sinuous as one might imagine given the length of the limbs attached to her torso. She is still growing, the creature. She is still, too - glowing - when she says this. " - we go now."
[Mila Davis] Or it's just a dick measuring contest...
Hrm.. does it smell like bullshit in here?
[Mila Davis] Mila didn't back down, she didn't cower - in fact, she didn't even really look like she cared much. "Oh please. Get a sense of humor."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "What the hell?" Lukas bursts into laughter. "At least I made sense. I said: every last shoe in here is overpriced and ugly. Also, the salesman is gay. I saw him checking out my ass when I walked in."
And then --
Then Asha is stepping over his legs, which he allows. There's an unspoken familiarity in this. She steps into his personal space. He does not bristle. She steps over him, making herself vulnerable to a sudden sweep or attack. He does not press his advantage in the slightest. Instead, the elder of the two Ahrouns leans back to lace his hands atop his dark head, watching the Silver Fang approach the Shadow Lord.
When she speaks, once again his eyes sharpen with interest. He becomes reserved, quiet, watchful, though the corners of his mouth remain faintly upturned.
[Sparrow] ""Heeeeeey," she said. Hands up, and leave it to a Child of Gaia to try and make peace here, "let's take a breath here. I know things are kind of tense, but we might not need to do this here."
In a second, she'll realize how hypocritical it is that she is a full moon, preaching that we all need to just get along, sing some song, and by God someone bring the guitar. Later, she might realize it's futile, because this is a Shadow Lord and a Silver Fang getting tense with each other.
"Mila, I need to talk to you, if that's okay?"
When in doubt, extricate problematic elements from the situation.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Heeeeey, Sparrow says, and Lukas speaks up: quiet, but firm.
"As her tribal elder," he points at Mila, "and her pack alpha," he points at Asha, "and your auspice elder, I'm telling you: stay out of this. Let them handle this themselves. If they start tearing each other's faces off over Prada and Gucciwear, that's your cue to step in. Right now, it's premature."
And he goes back to observing.
[Sparrow] And she does. The rest of the thought and the statements abandoned. And she watches.
[Sinclair] It takes no effort on a night like tonight to see, to feel, Warcry coming. Down the street, to the doors. She can sense them: her pack, Alpha and younger Ahroun. And the whole goddamn world can fele her. The patrons and the employees of the store bristle as one, a wave of instinctive terror when she gets to the door, turns of their backs to the walls and pupils constricting.
To look at her, one would have to wonder what the fuck someone like her is doing in a store like this. She's dressed in torn jeans, in old sneakers, in a black leather jacket with a motorcycle collar, zipped up and covering all the ink and metal on her except that in her ears.
Her hair's in a high ponytail.
Her moon's in the sky.
She glows. Her shoes scuff, though, across the floor as she goes to her packmates. Pale blue eyes flicker over Asha all but snarling in Mila's face. Flick then to Lukas telling the stranger to stay out of it. She climbs over the arm of one of the big fluffy chairs and flops down into it, beside Lukas. For now she doesn't say a word. Not even Hey, assholes.
[Asha Singh] "The answer," says Asha, deliberate, leashed - her lean little frame taut and sure and - now, confident, even dominant. Her feet are planted shoulder-width apart, and her chin is held high. Mila can see her reflection in the huge distorting lenses covering the slight creature's eyes; and then she can see those eyes, which are dark and sure, black as a bird's in modest, ambient uplighting of the little shoe parlor. Asha has pushed her giant sunglasses up onto the crown of her head. Her fine black hair falls down around them, held back by the frames. " - is yes. Or it is no. You pick one, or the other. You accept the challenge. Or you refuse it."
The salesman is long gone; cowering in the back, out in the alley for a smoke, perhaps. Quit and committing himself to a mental institution.
"It's your choice." Flare, those white teeth again. Again, no one would mistake that for a smile. " - so make it."
[Sinclair] From the pocket of her jacket comes a faint, metallic whirring. Sinclair blinks, swats the pocket, and doesn't even look down. The whirring spikes irritably, then settles down again.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The Shadow Lord's clear eyes flick up to Sinclair as she approaches. He lifts one hand to grip her forearm in a loose, sliding handclasp, then settles both on the arms of his chairs.
Whatever conversation between the packmates is nonverbal.
[Mila Davis] Mila stood - there was no way she was going to let that little spit of a thing stare down at her -ever-. However, she still looked mostly amused with the situation. Hands slid to rest in the back pocket of her jeans. She made no threatening moves towards the woman.
"Asha - you asked if I wanted to take this to the challege circle. Oh please, usually is understood as a 'no, this isn't that serious.' Now - should you wish to change your question into an actual challenge, then.. by all means.. feel free to do so. However...
I would advise you to really think through your sudden outburst and demand for a challenge. I did not insult your honor.. nor your titles, which I can only assume you have many which are well deserved and have been passed down through generations. I merely poked fun at Lukas for clearly irriatating you. If that is something that sets you flying off of the handle, then I advise that you carefully examine where your limits are and seek to expand them.
Now, Asha - how would you like to proceed?" A brow rose just slightly, waiting to see what the woman's response was.
[Sparrow] At about this moment, the female takes a second to check her phone, and send a text message from something that probably hasn't been in circulation since mid 2006. Sparrow's phone looks like it could get run over with a truck and it would survive.
A text message gets sent... received... sent again... Put away. Sinclair gets a smile and a little wave. She speaks, and it's quiet, like she doesn't want to interrupt what's going on right now.
"Hi," simple enough, "I'm Sparrow."
[Sinclair] The beast that just entered the shoe store is five and a half feet tall. She's got skin that's longing to be tanned, and there are freckles across her nose and cheeks but they're faded, faded, barely even there. Her hair is wheat at harvest, and her eyes are summer-sky. She's slender, athletic, and something about her seems to vibrate with strength tonight, as though there's every chance she's damn near an equal for the motherfucking Fostern Ahroun in the room.
Not quite. But by god. Close.
She's a killer, and a predator, and it shows even as she tracks her eyes over to Sparrow for a moment. Puts effort into not answering Grasshopper. Gives her a single nod. "Sinclair. Unbroken."
Pulls back from the greeting for a moment, turning towards Lukas and leaning over. The whirr in her pocket comes back, a soft eeee! sound, excited and also very concerned. "What's going on?" she whispers to the Lord.
[Asha Singh] This is how far Mila gets - Oh please.
More specifically, Asha stands there, unutterably still, as Mila says Asha you asked if I wanted to take this to the challege circle. Oh please - except for her fingers, which are counting off the words.
One-two-three-four-five.
One-two-three-four-five.
She stops at ten. She has ten fingers. She has two fists.
And then she has two open palms, two flat hands, swinging at her side, the fingers open. "Oh please," says Mila.
And Asha, the little thing, laughs, suddenbright. It is the sort of sound that would break the tension in the room, except - "ohmygodyoutalksomuch!" is spoken right over the rest of Mila's little speech.
This time her smile is wide and full, the promise of viciousness is underneath it, sure and certain, because of her blood and because of her moon and because they are what they are - but this is a laughing smile.
"Hey - " says the girl, confident, sure, " - HEY!" admittedly using, perhaps, the sort of precision one reserves for certain unfortunates. " - when you figure out yes or no, I will be in the Caern." Then, sliding her glasses back down from the crown of her head to cover her black eyes again, she finishes, " - cool?"
Then, adroitly, Asha steps just aside and walks (barefoot) past Mila, headed for the door.
"Oh, hey. If you want, we can race there!" stillbright. " - but," half-grin, "I'd rather kick your ass, you know?" And indeed, Asha says the word ass the way a prescient 11-year-old might, with a certain frission of pleasure at her naughtiness.
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The eee! from Sinclair's pocket earns her a quizzical glance, the Shadow Lord leaning over to peer into it. "What's in your pocket?" he whispers back. Stage-whispers.
Then, at a normal volume, and quite drolly: "Asha's shopping for shoes."
[Mila Davis] She sighed quietly. Everything she wanted to say seemed to be veto'd before it reached her lips. Likely, it would paint the obviously immature woman in a very unkind light. In that regard, she decided she was better than that.
All Asha got as a response was.. "Don't hold your breath."
Her gaze then shifted towards Sparrow. "I've got some time if ya want to talk .."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] ...and Mila's been snarking at her all night. I think I might have inadvertantly started it when I bantered with Asha about her official introductions. Mila apparently took that as a sign of actual dissent and decided she could jump on the bandwagon. Now, I think Asha wants to kick her ass.
You might want to explain your challenge, though, he adds. This is directed at Asha. Provided she accepts it.
to Asha Singh, cricket, Sinclair
[Sinclair] "An elemental up past its bedtime," Sinclair answers simply enough, as far as what's in her pocket. "He started zooming around banging into things when I tried to leave him at the Brotherhood. So. Pocket." She shrugs, and looks at the Galliard and the Ahroun.
Asha's shopping for shoes. "Huh."
Her eyes drift to the Lord of her auspice, lingering on Mila for a few moments.
[Sparrow] She blinked.. then blinked again for good measure.
"Huh," that was her response. Asha giggled. Mila sighed. And Sparrow? Sparrow took a bite of the chocolate she had acquired earlier, only to realize that, by now, she's eaten half of it.
She looked at Sinclair, "I'm not sure if that's adorable or terrifying."
[Mila Davis] Was this all a joke? Were there cameras planted in the shoes or something? Was that just serious?
WtF?
[Asha Singh] The door is open. Outside, it is raining. Here, the rain slants sidelong when the wind blows in from the lake, from the north. It is too cold outside for the air to be suffused with the rich smell of thunderheads, but still: the rain outside, constant, soothing, drumming on the sidewalk.
The door is open, and Asha pauses at the entrance, turns around, looks at her Alpha, and then looks at Mila.
There's something reluctant about her shoulders. OhmygodwhydoIhaftatalkmore sort of reluctant, but then she squares them, pulls up her long, angular body, lifts her fine chin, sets her voluptuous mouth in a grim line.
"Mila," - the girl says, from the door, with the rain backgrounding her. " -My ancestors do not need me to defend them. I didn't challenge you for any insult to them. My names are what they are; I'm not insulted by your words. I challenged you because you sniped at me all night. That made me think: she wants to fight. And it make me want to kick your ass. not in a bad way. Just in an: I want to kick her ass way. So: I said: let's do it.
"And then you talked even more, ohmygod. That is why. Now, I'm really going to the Caern this time. I'm guessing you won't be there, but I will."
The door swings shut behind her.
Then opens "I-forgot-my-shoes!" again.
Then closes. For reals this time.
[Asha Singh] oh witnesseth!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5 (Failure at target 7) [WP]
[Asha Singh] AGAIN DAMNIT!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8) [WP]
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sparrow
[Mila Davis] As if just to check to make sure this just wasn't some elaborate joke, Mila picked up the shoe beside her an examined it. Nope, seemed normal enough. The shoe was replaced. Her gaze lingered over Lukas for a moment - what she was thinking was impossible to tell.
It seemed as if she finally noticed Sinclair. "Hey." Usually, she'd try to say more, but she was just past beyond the point of dumbfounded and words just escaped this whole situation.
Whatever Asha said, it was ignored. The girl deserved no more of time or efforts. If the girl couldn't take a joke and then decided she would like to foolishly show off just how immature she was - well, those were her poor choices she could live with. Mila would not be pulled down with her.
"Resistance.. we'll be in touch." The other two, just got a nod as she headed for the door. And no, she wouldn't be heading for the Caern. Especially since Asha didn't even have the guts to -actually- challenge her over anything..
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Rather like a spectator at a tennis match, Lukas's eyes go to Asha when she explains her stance from the door; back to Mila when she ...
... well. Ignores it.
His tribeswoman finishes her conversation with Sparrow, then, and tosses a hello to Sinclair. She turns to go -- and Lukas speaks up.
"Stormbreaker. Wait a second."
He gets to his feet, suddenly the tallest creature in the room by inches and inches. Catching up to Mila in a few strides, he nods her toward the door, stepping outside into the light rain, the cool night. The other can see the pair of Shadow Lords through the vast glass panes that make up the entire front wall of the shoe boutique; what they say to one another, though, is lost.
[Sinclair] As Lukas rises up and moves over to his tribesmate, Sinclair slides down in the armchair, slouching a bit. She looks over at the clerk who is, understandably, staring at them. She lifts an eyebrow at her. "What?" snaps the Galliard irritably, effectively ending the staring contest on that note.
The clerk looks sharply down. Sinclair turns to look at Sparrow as the Shadow Lords leave. "What's adorable? Or terrifying."
[Sinclair] And a half-beat later: Asha, if you want, I can tussle with you a bit. If you need to get your rocks off or whatever.
to Asha Singh, cricket, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Sparrow] "The whole elemental-bouncing-around-on-things thing," she replies. Ever the master of precision.
[Mila Davis] The young woman did wait when asked to, she was in no real lush - simply felt it was time to leave and finish diffusing the situation. Several steps were taken outside of the store with Lukas by her side. She stops then.
The dark haired woman was slightly on edge.. but she seemed to calm slightly as the light rain fell upon her.
[Asha Singh] I don't have any rocks? Asha's mindvoice is usually silent; present, subverbal in these sort of interactions. But, she admits, relief behind the words. I could use a fight.
to cricket, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair
[Mila Davis] (rush* not lush, lol)
[Sinclair] Um.
The burst of hilarity across the totemlink from Sinclair is hard to disguise. She's terribly amused. She doesn't try to explain the phrasing though.
Step sideways. I'll meet you out back.
to Asha Singh, cricket, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Sinclair] "Kinda both," Sinclair says to Sparrow, after a few seconds of inexplicable silence. She puts her hands on the armrests of the chair, levering herself to her feet as she looks at the relative unknown. Her expression is quirked. "I can't imagine why it'd be terrifying," she says, but shrugs, shaking her head a little. "But whatever. I'm gonna go hang out with Asha."
She looks like she's going to head towards the back of the store. The bathrooms, in point of fact. Not out the door, not after the Lord and Fang she's bonded to. "Good meeting you, uh... Sparrow."
[Asha Singh] Oh! this is like a lightbulb. OH! she says, like she had discovered something she should've known all along. - you meant diamonds! I don't have any diamonds either.
And then: Okay! - bright, her mindvoice, alive.
to cricket, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair
[Sparrow] "Nice meeting you, Sinclair," she says. Gives a little wave and, with that, goes to doing what she had intended on doing.
And that was looking at shoes. The female takes a pair of red pumps, and goes off to find some uncomfortable sales clerk.
"Can you get me these in a nine?"
[Sparrow] (okay, loves, this is my out, thank you for having me!)
[Sinclair] [Thanks for the RP!]
[Sinclair] No. Honey. No, not diamonds. I'll... look, I'll explain later. I think Kate's brain might dissolve if I tell you here.
to Asha Singh, cricket, Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Outside, the night is damp and cool -- a fine, misty April shower drifting down from the overhead clouds. Lukas lets the door swing shut before turning to Mila. Frowning faintly, thoughtfully, he watches the Galliard for a few beats before he speaks.
"There's a line between a packmate and a stranger, Mila. Packmates can say things to each other that they would tear a stranger's heart out for saying.
"Now, I don't know if you thought Asha and I were actually snapping our jaws at each other and decided to pile on, or if you realized we were playing and wanted to join in. In either case, we were playing. But when you piped up with that little joke about shooting Asha, you spoke as a stranger to the pack. That crossed a line, and it came off as an insult that was only compounded by everything else that passed between the two of you tonight. When she challenged you, Asha was reacting as any werewolf would: by showing her teeth and snarling.
"If you were deliberately provoking her, then meet her in the ring and settle it. If you didn't, be careful of what you say. A Galliard should know better, and the next werewolf you insult might drag you to the challenge ring whether you want it or not."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [night mindy!]
[Sinclair] [Liz and I are gonna throw dice at each other! Speak now if you have a preference on whether we bother with PMs and, if so, if you want to be included.]
[Mila Davis] "I am not an all together serious person, occasionally my sarcastic side, which I understand not everyone understands, nor appreciates.. gets the best of me. I was not delibrately provoking her. I understand where my err was, and will be more careful in any future interactions with those of this sept."
[Mila Davis] {Okies.. tis very late. Does he have a response that you'd like to get out there to that, or no? If yes, I will wait..}
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Sinclair] [-1R to Hispo
+9]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Asha Singh] (Commencing dice-throwing! -1R to Hispo! +9!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Asha Singh] Again! +9
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2
[Sinclair] [...Twink Twins strike again!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I'm not asking you to be a humorless grump," Lukas replies -- a faint thread of amusement twisting through his words now. "I'm telling you that some jokes should wait until you've earned another's trust and respect.
"Anyway," it wasn't a long conference. Lukas steps back, his shadow cast diffuse upon the sidewalk by the lights of the shoe boutique, "have a good night, Stormbreaker."
[Asha Singh] [-1 WP Resist Pain; -1 WP Lambent Flame.
1a. BITE.
1b. BITE.
Rage 1: BITE.
Rage 2: BITE.]
[Mila Davis] She wanted to respond with 'some shouldn't demand salutes when they're first met either'.. but clearly, she bit her tongue and held back. "Good night, Wyrmbreaker." With that, she stalked off into the darkness.
[Mila Davis] {Night all, thanks for the RP. If there's a next time.. we'll just throw some dice and be done with it!}
[Sinclair] [-1WP, Resist Pain
1a.
1b.
1c. -- all bites]
[Sinclair] [1a. -3 (split), +1 (moon)]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 6, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 10 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2
[Sinclair] [Damage. +9, pulling at Crippled if necessary]
Dice Rolled:[ 17 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Asha Singh] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Sinclair] [1b. -4 (split), +1 (moon) // +1 diff (LF)]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Sinclair] [+4! Same stipulation as before]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Asha Singh] O NOES!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Asha Singh] 1a. BITE (pulling at crippled) -2
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 5 at target 5)
[Asha Singh] Damage! (pulling, la!)
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 7 at target 6)
[Sinclair] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Asha Singh] 1b. Bite! (pulling at crippled!) -3
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 5)
[Asha Singh] Damage! pulling as stated!
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Sinclair] [Soooak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Sinclair] [1c. -5 (split), +1 (moon) // diff +1 (LF)]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Sinclair] [+4, pulling at crippled]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Asha Singh] SOAK!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Asha Singh] Per + Primal-Urge
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 7 (Botch x 2 at target 8)
[Asha Singh] Rage 1: bite!
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5)
[Asha Singh] Damage - pulling at incap! b/c!
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Sinclair] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Sinclair] [Incapp'd!]
[Asha Singh] The gathering for the lupus modi, Wrath, is rather less elaborate than it had been for the Jarl. Instead of a boat carved with human words and Garou glyphs, sanded to fineness, they lay him on the earth, the pyre underneath and around him, nothing but dry sticks and fuel for the fire between the wolf's empty body and the earth that was his mother.
The grave goods are simpler, too. There is clean, clear water in an earthenware vessel. Clay and head, no glaze. There are trophies from his kills, and others, cleansed and carved with glyphs naming him: tribe and moon and self. There are fresh haunches of raw meat, hunted and killed and dragged back from the woods so that the modi would have fuel for his journey. There is salt, and there is sweet honey, combs this time, rich and waxen.
The story this time is different, too. It is still mournful - her name is still Sorrow - but there is a certain kind of grief here that is both wider and far less specific than the grief she showed for the death of her Alpha and Jarl, subsumed and written back into the stories.
They stand, at the edge of the lake. It is dusk again, the sun setting beyond the city to the west, the quiet surface of the lake painted red and cold where it reflects the sky, blue and gray where the drifting clouds from some spring storm blot out the sky beyond.
Wrath, says Sorrow, was a lupus modi who came to Chicago to fight the Wyrm.
He came to Chicago to die fighting the Wyrm.
And he died fighting the Wyrm.
--
Other stories come later: of the Spirals he killed single-handedly, of the challenges he issued and fought and won against her own packmates, War-Handed, Gut-Song. Of his courage, and his glory, and even of his foolishness. They way he charged forward, into any battle. Of his - in the end - nearly uncontrollable rage, of his eagerness for the fray, of his final fight, when he charged off to the front, throwing himself into the ahead of the pack, how he charged and fought and never faltered, fighting until the end.
This is the story of a wolf-who-died.
Of cubs-that-will-not-be.
This is another loss.
- not just to Fenris and to Gaia, but to the wolf in them all.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker
[Sinclair] After Sinclair says goodbye to Sparrow, she goes into the restroom and she uses the mirror. In thirty seconds, in five minutes, in however long it takes, she meets Asha in the penumbra, out behind the vague, disordered reflection of the shoe store that was once a gadget outlet that was once a makeup shop that was once a candy store that was once...
The spirits that hang around here are of no particular sort. They are greedy little buggers that drink up capitalism, that are utterly delighted by this process of exchanging paper and plastic for leather or electricity or whatever else is being sold. They mostly ignore the Garou.
The impression of pavement left on the spirit world is more solid. It's to this that Sinclair drops her jacket after she unzips it. She's wearing a white ribbed tank top underneath. There's a gentle clang! inside, and an irritated Eee! whirring from the pocket. Leather wiggles, and then the uniwheeled metal gaffling that attached itself to the Walker after she and Asha saved him and his friends from that asshole Spiral rolls out, flailing his Slinky-like arms at her in aggravation.
"Oh, calm down," she mutters at her 'pet', her little friend, her sleepy spirit familiar. He doesn't calm down. He goes and runs over to a manhole cover that, in this realm, is jet-black and sinister. He rolls around and around on it, spinning, til finally he settles down and ...well. Looks like he's napping.
"Okay, now first," Sinclair says to Asha, "the whole getting-your-rocks-off thing."
That conversation never quite explains why testicles are metaphorically referred to as 'stones' or 'rocks'. In the end, all the Galliard can do is throw up her hands and admit that yes, English is weird, okay?
No rules are discussed. They're packmates. This is no formal challenge. This is nothing but a brawl, and though they've never done this with each other before, there's an element of trust to it. They assume they same form. They lunge almost at the same moment, but Sinclair is just
a tiny bit
faster.
As far as fights go, it's fairly straightforward. The Silver Fang gleams silver in the moonlight. The Glass Walker... does not turn her body to protective metal. Rage boils around the Ahroun. It doesn't so much as flicker from the Galliard. They tear at each other with their fangs, bloodying the ground and their spring-lean coats of fur. Quick, quick, back and forth,
snicker-snack. If you will.
And in almost identical lashes of their jaws, as though they're consciously matching one another -- though that can't possibly be the case -- they are both soon shredded along their sides, bleeding to the ground, yet still standing. They can't feel pain right now. They have to be grateful for that. Sinclair digs her teeth one last time into her sister, and perhaps due to her youth, or her bloodborne madness, or the simple heat of combat, Asha can't tell that the Fostern has, from the very start, been holding back.
She should have known, when Brutal Revelation did not use the gift of her rank to shield herself against attack. She didn't draw the connection, though. She doesn't see it now, the lack of fire in Sinclair's eyes as they tear at each other. She lunges one last time, and drops the Walker to the pavement, throat bearing an enormous gash.
It's less than a minute before those pale, sky-colored eyes are flickering open, ringed by dark fur. Sinclair chuffs. She rubs her head on the asphalt, or its spiritual equivalent. She swivels her eyes to look at Asha.
If you wanna go again, she says, her mental voice revealing nothing of how wounded she is, there's a couple of gourds in my jacket.
[Asha Singh] Again. The gleaming silver beast huffs, intent, nosing around in the jacket until she finds the gourds, carrying one whole in her mouth back to the Glass Walker, calling on her spirit to activate it before breaking it over her packmate. Yes.
[Asha Singh] [Scene! :) ]
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas leaves them alone while they spar. Or what passes for sparring amongst Ahrouns and Galliards, amongst Sinclair and Asha, amongst the Unbroken.
It's fast. It's vicious. They go at each other again and again, and maybe a third time too, or a fourth. In the time it takes Lukas to have his brief conversation with Mila, his packmates have time to tear each other open ten or twenty times over.
Likely they don't go quite that far. Nevertheless, by the time Lukas crosses over from some convenient alley or other, and by the time he comes around behind the shoe shop, the ground is wet with blood, and Asha is either passed out or gone home, and Tripoli ... is probably freaking out. Either that, or very, very blase about it all by now.
The Ahroun's mouth slants into a wry smile as he observes the mess. "Bonding?"
[Sinclair] Twice, only, in the end. That's how long it takes for Sinclair's gourds to run out, for one thing. And for Asha to not only spend her aggravation but to realize that the Fostern is holding back. It isn't the same as letting her win, but she isn't using all her strength. Hell, she's not even using her Rage. She's giving Asha a workout. She's giving Asha a chance to kick somebody's ass, which is what Asha needed, and what Sinclair could easily give the younger member of her pack.
Asha headed home, after all was said and done. And Sinclair is, when Lukas comes around the building to their sparring ground, trying to calm down the little gaffling that woke up from his nap to find His Walker bloody and shredded on the pavement. He's still flailing his arms, which are quite miniscule at the moment. He was pocket-sized, after all. He can fit on her palm.
"You. Must. Chill," Sinclair is telling him, while he rocks back and forth on his single wheel on her hand, Eeeing in concern. She's still wounded, but not badly so. "Dude, you know how unfair that would've been if I'd -- calm down. Caaalm down."
He keeps interrupting her. Lukas comes around the corner and Tripoli turns to him, letting out a loud EEE! as though to demand that he deal with this stupid Galliard, post haste. Sinclair rolls her eyes, wiping blood off her other hand onto her jeans and reaching for her jacket. "Yeah, I guess. She needed an outlet." She rises to her feet, and Tripoli, losing his balance, falls over on her palm, throws both arms around her thumb, and hangs on for dear,
eeeing life.
"And I get that."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas laughs under his breath. "I had a talk with Mila while Asha was letting off steam. Apparently Mila neither took nor meant any offense. That's what her mouth said, anyway. Her attitude suggested she both took and meant offense.
"Ridiculous, all of it. I was ribbing Asha about her endless introduction, and she was saying something about how she was supposed to get thirteen-gun salutes. Next thing I know Mila's talking about shooting Asha thirteen times and Asha's giving that lunatic grin of hers, saying she'd tear Mila's head off first, and..."
He doesn't actually have to finish; the outcome was obvious enough. Lukas's attention moves on, anyway, the Shadow Lord peering curiously at the metal elemental flailing on Sinclair's palm. "Is that the 'pet' you picked up from the factory?"
[Sinclair] "Yeah, she seemed a little... snitty," Sinclair says, the nicest word she can come up with to describe what little she saw of Mila. "Not to mention, what kind of a Lord wears their every last thought on their sleeve like that? Jesus, you could practically see the -- get off -- thoughts in her head on a -- whaddya call those things around buildings downtown that scroll, like, stock quotes or whatever in red lights? -- around her forehead."
As she talks, she's trying to pry Tripoli off her finger. When tugging on him doesn't work, she starts trying to coax him, cooing gently that it's okay, she won't drop him. And when that doesn't work, she starts making a metallic grinding and clicking sound in her throat that seems to calm him down a bit.
"Yeah," she answers. "He's ridiculous. Sometimes he seriously just wheels back and then goes clanging into any metal thing he can find. Best thing to do with him is make a playpen of cans and silverware and shit and let him roll around like it's a ball pit."
Sinclair eases Tripoli into the pocket of her coat, and pulls it on. She doesn't wince as the gash in her side stretches, but only because her Gift is still active. But she recognizes it, all the same: "Oy. That girl can bite hard. S'like she's my long lost... tiny... insane... Indian sister."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Scrolling marquee," he supplies when appropriate, which doesn't make Sinclair so much as miss a beat. While she talks about her spirit friend, Lukas pats down his pockets, which is more or less for show because the talen bag that drops into his hand is dedicated to his spirit. He pulls out a tiny gourd and tosses it to Sinclair without comment.
"Asha's pretty tough, yeah. The night we cleared out the spider nest, she was the heaviest hitter by a hefty margin. Made Iona jealous, I think."
Lukas doesn't mention that he spent much of the battle holding things down for Asha to bite. He wouldn't think to mention it, to qualify the statement like that, to insinuate that if he hadn't played a supporting role, he might've gotten more glory. Lukas doesn't think like that. He thinks of unity, and tactics, and victory.
They're walking now, moving away from the shoe boutique, heading in the vague direction of the Brotherhood. "I hear metal elementals are pretty tough in a fight," he adds. "Maybe when your pet's a little stronger you can think about teaching him a few tricks. If he can fight alongside you, he might not freak out so badly when he sees you wounded."
[Sinclair] A sharp, loud snap of her fingers, which turn into a mock-gun pointed at the Ahroun. "Scrolling marquee," she says, as if to say That's it. And goes right back to what she was saying before, naturally.
For once, it's a scramble to catch something tossed her way, because she wasn't expecting it. "Aw, you're a doll," she says. "I gave my other one to Asha."
Tripoli peers out of her pocket as she crushes the gourd in her bare hands, letting the water and the dust inside fall on her hair. Hardly even matters where it goes, truth be told: the gash is in her side, and it heals beneath her jacket regardless. She shakes her hair out, though, and the gaffling in her pocket whirrs contentedly, dangling his arms out towards the faraway ground.
"She did damn well at the factory, too," Sinclair adds, concerning Asha. "I mean, she's nuckfuts, but she's a Fang. Entitled, overreactive, impulsive." A smirk, tossed along with a glance up and over at Lukas. "I mean, I've never met anyone like that."
It's fond, what she says about her. As for Tripoli, though: "He was more pissed off that I didn't use Steelfur, I think. I don't think he understood Asha wasn't trying to kill me."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Well." Lukas casts the gaffling an amused glance where it peeps out of Sinclair's pocket. "He probably doesn't get the concept of 'pack' yet. All his brothers and sisters looked just like him. We probably look like completely different spirit-broods to him."
As he goes, Lukas slips his hands into his back pockets. They're not really striding; it's more of a stroll. Later on, when conversation dies down to companionable silence, they might shift. They might take their wolf-forms, she dappled-dark, he jet black, both of them athletic and strong, capable of running long distances without tiring. They'll run then, together until the gibbous moon, all the way back to the small rooms that serve as their dens.
For now, though: strolling. Moonlight casts silvery highlights onto his dark hair, glints off her bright. It makes monochromatics out of her clothes, though he was always in shades of grey and tan.
"You know, her strength," he's talking about Asha again, "probably factored least into why I recruited Asha. It's well and good to have a strong fighter, but one of the strongest fighters I've ever seen was also the packmate that disappointed me the most. Asha, though -- it's what's in her head that counts. Under all the insanity and entitlement.
"She kept talking about how none of her ancestors ever followed a Lord. But at the same time, she told us flat out that she shamed all her ancestors and family by refusing to get mated and breed beautiful inbred Fang babies. Which told me as ironclad as tradition is to her, she was willing to put it aside if she had a good reason to. And every time I talked to her about how stupid and counterproductive all these random tribal rivalries were, or about how all that grand tradition in her blood and in mine never actually managed to accomplish the defeat of the Wyrm, she understood where I was coming from and what I was getting at. I could see it in her eyes.
"That's really why I wanted her in the pack. Because no matter what else she is superficially, she fits us."
[Sinclair] What does a metal elemental know about Falcons and Thunder? Sky, that's what. Metal's nothing to do with the sky, not where it comes from, how it's forged. What's it to do with the rack of a Stag? If Tripoli knew Iona, he might like her. Banging on things! Hammers! Twisty hotness to make metal into new shapes. He might not mind Iona at all. But the Lords and the Fangs of the Unbroken: bah.
Or rather: eee.
He knows a child of the city, of Cockroach, when he sits in her pocket all day, most days. He doesn't know much about the skill these wolves have in battle, how they can stop themselves, how they can control their strikes.
He knows Sinclair, and he knows Sinclair's not-wolf male, and he knows that when he is very very good Sinclair lets him play in the silverware drawer in the Brotherhood kitchen in the middle of the night. And that is very much fun, oh yes, he likes that quite a lot, there are gadgets in there that Sinclair's not-wolf male does not have! Interesting shapes, mutliple moving parts. A whisk.
He thinks of it happily, dangling as the wolf-girl walks with the big-scary-wolf-male-thing. He daydreams of thumbtacks.
The wolf-girl listens to her Alpha, and she thinks about Asha and the fight at the factory and what she heard about the fight at the spider nest. Her hands tuck into her back pockets. At the end of it all:
"I know." A pause, there. "Not the part about the disappointing packmate or the conversations you had with her." That's almost dismissive, cast aside because she's trying to get to her point, here, and she doesn't see the necessity of taking her time with it, parsing out every single thought. "Just... that she fits. I felt that when she came to the Loft and played MarioKart."
Sinclair shrugs. "Just felt it."
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Walking alongside his packmate, Lukas looks at her when Sinclair says I know. And that Asha fits. And that she knew from the start, when they sat down and played MarioKart together, even though Asha had no idea how to play; even though Asha didn't even know what a high-five was.
Lukas saw Asha giving Mila a high-five tonight. Totally out of place -- Mila had been trying to shake her hand -- but it was a high-five, nonetheless. He had to bite back a laugh. He bites back a laugh now, though he does let himself grin. He'll have to tell Sinclair about that later, he thinks to himself.
But later. Because right now, Lukas is overwhelmed by a sudden surge of affection for his packmate. There's no clear root; no reason or cause. It just is. He's here, and she's here, and they're walking together toward their shared communal den where the rest of his pack is, and he loves them all. Sinclair, who was sometimes just a girl, a mythical hot-gamer-chick at that, and sometimes a monster, and sometimes unexpectedly wise. Kate, burdened by duty and madness; Caleb whose cavalier attitude hides the hideous death of his wife and mate; Asha who looked at him and understood when he said, if all their traditions never defeated the Wyrm, how can we hope to if we follow?. Even Theron, weaker than he should be, oft-failing as he is. And Iona, insecure as she could be, cowardly as she proved herself on the night they took the church.
He thinks of them. He thinks: My brothers and sisters. My pack.
Wyrmbreaker reaches out. It's rather sudden, perhaps startlingly so. He slings his arm around Sinclair's shoulders, hugs her against his ribs -- a firm contact, a solid connection. There's no explanation. There's nothing he could say that adequately puts what he feels into words.
A few steps later he lets her go, faintly embarrassed now. So he nudges her with an elbow, nodding at the moonlit penumbra ahead.
"You want to run the rest of the way?"
[Sinclair] "Gah!"
It is not the most poetic response to the thoughts and the emotion that spurred Lukas's sudden drawing of Sinclair against his side. The tail end of the exclamation is muffled against his coat, her arms flailing outward a bit. It's a mockery of imbalance: never for a moment would she have stumbled. Were he not her brother, were he an enemy, it's far more likely Lukas would be on his back right now, staring up at the umbral sky and wondering how the hell he got from grabbing a hold of this blonde girl to feeling the impact of asphalt on his shoulderblades.
But he's her brother. And maybe because of the bond they share, she gets it. Maybe they all feel it, for a moment, though it's equally possible that Sinclair just understands the sudden hug from nowhere, near-desperate with affection. She never had any brothers or sisters growing up. But she had parents. She had parents who decided that yup, this one was enough, this one was all they wanted. She had parents who would sometimes holler for her to come downstairs, and convinced she was in trouble for something or they had some chore for her, would find herself enveloped in an embrace instead.
It's been a very long time since those days, though. Sinclair doesn't get touched often, even by packmates. The startlement when Lukas grabs a hold of her is real, but it isn't resistance. She gets smooshed to his side, and after a second or two she puts her arm up behind him and pats his back.
S'okay, man.
Tripoli echoes with an Eee in the same tone as that silent trio of pats against Lukas's coat.
Ruffled but unperturbed, Sinclair moves back easily into her own space, a weird little smile -- part amused, part endeared -- on her face. She swats idly at his nudging elbow, grunting with mock grumpiness, then looks where he nods. Her eyes swivel slowly back up to him. "Who," she says dryly, "are you talking to?"
[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas huffs a laugh. "Oh, right," he says, exaggeratedly. "Silly of me."
No other warning than that. An instant later, the Shadow Lord dives forward, and fabric and leather and rubber and metal -- and skin, and human form altogether -- disappear in a whirl of transformation. Fur blazes over his limbs. He hits the ground on all fours, wolf-form, sending a single short howl up at Sinclair's moon as he takes off running.
His reflexes are quicker, but not by much. She's quicker, period... but not by much. They race beneath the growing moon, dashing flat-out, lean bodies stretching for distance, tough-padded paws tearing up small clods of dirt and pebbles. Tripoli hangs on for dear life. The small spirits of the city, the trash-heaps and rat-gafflings and Loud Noises epiphlings: they raise their heads, blinking, as the wolves tear by in a blast of fur, strength, power, and eeeeing.
It's not a sustainable pace. Eventually, they settle out of their sprint and into an easy, distance-devouring lope. Side by side, tongues lolling, the wolves run on. With no dialogue now between them except the deep and wordless ties of packhood, they head northward, homeward.
celebration.
9 years ago