speechwriting.

[John Thornton] "Do I have to pick just one?"

John looks like a man, plain and simple... Yet, it is there, unmistakable. Fenrir. The look in his hazel eyes seems to tell the tale all on its own.

"Maybe I just wanted a cup of coffee... Speaking of which,"

He smiles and lays a couple dollars on the table as the waitress brings the coffee, waiting until she leaves to continue the conversation.

"Can't a cop want a cup of coffee on a cold night?"

[Kemp Oates] "Believe me, there is only one Kemp Oates in the world. If there were more than one, then the world would end."

He chuckled and shook his head.

"No one made an idiot of himself in my book. He simply followed his own judgement and nature, what with the moon riding so high and all. He reacted as he considered best at the time. Who could ask for more, right?"

[Nessa Malikoff] Now she grins. Widely, and leans back in comfort wit her drink. "Of course he can want one. Question is, what is reason, oh prevaricator? For you do not answer my questions, do you? Food is very good here. You should order, da."

[Roxanne Brocato] The call coming to a close, she returns to the table to discover that someone had been eating her food. Kemp seems the likely culprit since the plate is near him and he wouldn't bother concealing something like that up anyway. "I'll talk to you later." She tells Kemp, pulling the jacket from the back of her chair to swing on over her form. There's some things she wanted to discuss.

A glance to Hatchet accompanied a small, tight nod. Curt. Goodbye.

Then to the both of them, "Good hunting." before she's walking for the door in a steady stride, slipping out into the cold streets.

[Hatchet] Hatchet nods, actually giving a serious response this time. "I appreciate you seeing it that way." He shrugs one shoulder and lifts his glass, looking unconcerned now. "Sort of the way it goes between new moons and full moons, isn't it?"

He drinks and gives an overblown "Aaah!" after he swallows. Setting his glass down again, he flicks his head slightly over his shoulder, indicating Nessa. "Whoss--" Roxanne comes back, and says she'll talk to Kemp later. Hatchet, mid-phrase, returns her nod and then finishes: "--at?"

[John Thornton] "Reason is, it's cold outside."

John seems to consider for a few moments, before shrugging. Still smiling, as though he had no intention of answering her question, whatever she said.

"It's been awhile since lunch. What do you recommend?"

[Kemp Oates] "Hey. Thanks for the eats. I owe ya one."

He acknowledged the food he had stolen with a sheepish grin as Roxanne prepared to leave. Then his attention was back to Hatchet.

"It was interesting to watch his reaction and that of the two females. Can learn a lot in a few heated moments."

And his gaze flickered towards Nessa when Hatchet asked the question.

"Female is a Lord Kin, Agnessa. Male, never seen but there's something familiar about him."

He stuffed a few more bites of steak with a nod at the plate.

"Either dig in or I'm taking it with me. My time is up. Got shit I got to see to."

[Hatchet] Hatchet's eyebrows flick up as he nods. You can learn a lot in a few heated moments, his eyes seem to be saying. You can learn quite a bit over a friendly table, too, is what he doesn't say. He doesn't glance back at Nessa again when Kemp answers his question, but keeps his attention on the other Fostern.

He gives one last nod to Kemp and gladly pulls Roxanne's plate over to himself, since...well. It's there. "See you around," he says mildly, his attention moving to the steak.

[Nessa Malikoff] "Morrocan eggplant curry, with couscous. Triple spicy. Is lovely. I am getting to go, to take home."
Most pointedly, since noticing John in the restaurant, Nessa keeps her eyes adverted from the existance of any garou or kin in any way. Not that they are particularly easy to ignore.
"Coffee is good here, but.. Is no flavorings! I like many flavors. Life is short." She shrugs briefly, still watching the man across from her. "How is your search for the young man? I have not seen him-- but I had cold last week and was not out much. Tomorrow I go for errands, will look more then."

[John Thornton] "I'll find him. Sooner than later, I'll find him. He's a very little fish in a very big pond, but there are too many big fish for him to stay deep for long."

John took another sip of coffee, watching Nessa the whole time. The hazel eyes never seemed to drift, as though dissecting her every move.

"I don't know about eggplant... Or curry, really... But if you say it's good, I'll try it."

[Kemp] ((Damnit, lost connection and my last post, must sleep and thanks for the play!))

He snagged his coat and headed for the door, pausing only long enough to mutter over Nessa's head while he looked at John.

"Nessa, I hope all is well. As for you, I'll be seeing you around."

And he was gone.

[Nessa Malikoff] It's very difficult to pretnd to be a perfectly calm, innocent and harmless immigrant Russian when wearing scarlet leather. But the jacket conceals things which need concealing well. Three fingers with three nails glossy but unpainted, tap on the glass of her beer.
Some time ago, she could have learned what he really wanted, but. Not now. Not precisely.
"I think you will find his body before you find him. He does not sound clever enough to survive long. Though, is holes potentially in drug hierarchy still from last year's clean up. Or was year before then? Hmm. Much from when I was pr-"
Shit. What? Kemp? Her eyes widen. "Thank you. Good evening to you." Mind, she doesnt say all is well. No assurance, and no use of his name.
He's thrown her too, though, never mind what John must be thinking. The confusion on her face, aimed at Kemp's departing back is no subterfuge. Her jaw snaps shut again in good time.

[John Thornton] John's eyes swung to Kemp as he approached, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. Then, after Kemp leaves, John's eyes swivel back to Nessa. If anything, his expression seems only marginally less pleasant... But underneath, one might notice a growing curiousity, or suspicion...

Or perhaps acknowledgement.

"Who was that?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The Brotherhood, common area. The Fang and the Shadow Lord; a bottle of good red wine. They've just discussed the fruits of last night's discussions -- Lukas has caught Edward up.

"So we should let the Grand Elder know," he says, refilling the glasses -- Ed's, then his own. "As a courtesy, and also as a heads-up. So he's watching us. But it'll be a delicate matter: we can't come off looking like entitled bastards coming in to grab all the goods."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (btw folks, they are in the open and all. i seriously don't mind (ooc) if a strategy meeting gets interrupted. that said we're gonna be going at a quick clip, hopefully, cuz CC needs bed in 40 min.)
to Edward Bellamonte, Hatchet, John Thornton, Kemp Oates, Nessa Malikoff

[Nessa Malikoff] Ahhh the skills of a shadowlord come to work. Deception in truth. "A protective man. He perhaps hopes you are good man, being seen with me, and not some asshole who would use me." Some truth is a lot better perhaps than lies, given the circling dance which Nessa and John are making. He might never recognize the little lie. "I have not always had good taste in male companions."

[Hatchet] Hatchet has steak. He has Roxanne's steak, which was commandeered by Kemp, and he has a half-full glass of stout, and both of these were free. This is the best day ever, as far as he is concerned, and he is digging in with gusto.

[Edward Bellamonte] For the record: Edward does nothing (but gamble and on occasion womanize) to excess - there is a glass of wine before him, and it is being nursed slowly. This bottle will be recorked, as is befitting of a bottle of the best wine the establishment has to offer (or that Edward went out and got himself, if the establishment's offerings didn't suit), unless Lukas plans on drinking the lion's share of it.

That said? "I know we should." Edward doesn't like giving heads ups - he doesn't like being watched. In this, he is even more reluctant than he is in most aspects of leadership . . . but as with everything else, he will do as he must. He will fulfill his duty - which means he also knows he will need to do the talking, more or less. "Which means I probably can't say UR SEPT SUX, hmm? I'll have to be diplomatic. Or something."

[Nessa Malikoff] (HAHAHAHHA UR SEPT SUX!)
to Edward Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas slants Ed a glance. "Please don't." -- that was for urseptsux. "And for god's sake, please don't call him a peasant -- don't look at me like that, I heard you call that Bone Gnawer one, back in Boston.

"Anyway." A gulp of wine. "I've already introduced us and our goals. Namely, restore the sept to glory, raise it to greater levels, yadda. So you don't need to speechify on that. The real points to touch are that we are not, not, implying that we want to grab every position of power in the Sept. Especially not within a week of arriving. We just think the Sept needs to shape up -- please find a better way to say it than 'shape up' -- and the first thing to be done is to fill all the offices.

"With their people first. 'Those that came before us, those that fought and bled for the caern,' something inspirational like that. And only after would we dream of filling the other spots."

[John Thornton] "I guess I could see that."

John finishes the coffee, his suspicions abated momentarily.

"Funny, you didn't correct his assumption in that regard..."

[Edward Bellamonte] "I would never . . . oh, you're right, I probably did. Was that the idiot who thought the hood of my car was a good place to sleep?" He rolls his eyes, and is easily distracted - but he also returns easily to the task at hand. "All your bases are belong to us?" Sort of. More or less. But then . . .

"'From as far away as Boston, we have heard of the glories of your sept - of how it was raised from nothing, how people fought and bled and died, gave their lives and more for this place. From as far away as Boston, we've heard that things have been too quiet, for too long, and that a great deal of your strength has left the city.

'We come to bolster those who are left, to lend our strength to the restoration of a place that should be an example to all Garou, to every sept, everywhere. With your blessings, after we have proven ourselves worthy of such, the Unbroken Circle will fill the open offices - our strength will be yours, and yours will be Gaia's.

'By the next full moon, we will have earned the blessings we seek.'" He grins, sips his wine.

"Inspirational enough?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Yeah. But I think it's just a little too us-centric. We're not here because they need us. We're just more than willing to step up to help. We think they should fill our their Sept offices with their best and brightest, and then -- only then -- would we dream of getting a slice of the pie. Make sure that's clear: them first, then us. To the greatest in station go the first of the spoils, and such."

[Nessa Malikoff] "I don't bother to correct his assumptions anymore. " And there is a story and a statement and a lifetime of lessons gained in a few short years. "Besides, I am sure you will prefer to speak for yourself, John."
Her beer is done, wasn't around long, but she waves away the motion from the waiter for another, producing a laugh. "No thank you. I would not wish to drive intoxicated in front of detective. He might tell on me or worse!" The joke hopefully will sink in, and the kinfolk at the Brotherhood will be warned.
"So. Is overblown obsessive manic holiday period again. You have family to go see? Shopping to do?"

[Edward Bellamonte] There's a roll of his eyes, then, paired with a smirk. "If they didn't need us, we wouldn't be here. They're weak, and ripe for the picking by anyone who wants it." This is, of course, spoken lower than most of what he's said thus far - he may be an Entitled Silver Fang (patent pending), but he's not foolish enough to advertise it in neon lights.

"So I throw in something about that - those who've been here longer taking the spots first - and we're good to go? I can manage that."

[John Thornton] "Oh, by all means. I'm off duty."

At this, he motions for the waitress to bring Nessa another beer.

"My foster family is in Pittsburgh, but I'll likely just send some gifts in the mail. I'm too busy with work to leave town.

What about you? Any family with which to celebrate, other than your kid?"

[Nessa Malikoff] Ouch. There's a half-wince. "Not anymore. Just Luc and I. But I am not Orthodox, " Not in any way, shape or form... "So is not critical holiday for me."
Actually, none of them are critical. She smiles with a brightness to push away thoughts of what she doesn't have anymore, but its a bit brittle of an expression.
"Pitsburg. Why such depressing name for city? Is sillly, John. Why do they not name it again? Something more cheery than Pits."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (shit! sorry. didn't see the post.)

Lukas' brow furrows -- "That's a dangerous way to think," he remarks. "Never underestimate anyone until they're dead. Besides, they may not be many, but every one of those Garou we've met helped raise a Caern. We can't say the same.

"Don't just throw it in. That's the focus. We want to see this Caern become something; that's why we're pushing for them to organize, and that's why we're willing to bolster the ranks. And that's the truth, isn't it?" Lukas, who had been slouching, sits up now. "Not the power, not the control, but the good of the Caern. That's what we're here for. I don't think it'll hurt to let him know that."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (sorry, small edit.)

Lukas' brow furrows -- "That's a dangerous way to think," he remarks. "Never underestimate anyone until they're dead. Besides, they may not be many, but every one of those Garou we've met helped raise a Caern. We can't say the same. They deserve our respect.

"Don't just throw it in. That's the focus. We want to see this Caern become something; that's why we're pushing for them to organize, and that's why we're willing to bolster the ranks. And that's the truth, isn't it?" Lukas, who had been slouching, sits up now. "Not the power, not the control, but the good of the Caern. That's what we're here for. I don't think it'll hurt to let him know that."

[John Thornton] "You mean like Chicago?"

John smiles and shrugs.

"Pittsburgh was named for a British army fort that the city grew from. I don't know why they called it Fort Pitt.

No, it's just me and myself this year. Has been for awhile."

[Word Vomit] Cody glanced around as she neared the restaurant. Where others were looking to the front door, she was looking towards the alleyway near the diner. Cuisine for the young girl wasn't Applebee's....it wasn't Sonic....it wasn't even a McD's value meal. She sniffed the air again, feeling her stomach twist in knots once more, reminding her that she needed this thing called food.

She glanced around again, noting only a few vehicles but no one likely to notice her as she moved into the alley and then to her 'buffet'. Her fingers grabbed the hinge of one of the garbage bins before moving to lift it up...

[Hatchet] The large glass of stout is empty. The plate is all but licked clean. Hatchet sits amidst Kemp's discarded sugar packets and empty coffee cup and feels not an iota of guilt for enjoying a meal he did not pay a dime for. He gives a sonorous belch, though, as he pushes his chair back from the table and then scoots it back in. That's just habit, making sure the chair is not left jutting out to trip anyone up.

Finished, he glances over at Nessa and John for a moment, then heads upstairs. The plan is to duck back into the room he's been sharing with a packmate or two, fall into a food coma, and go from there. The plan is not to run into Old Edward again.

But that is exactly what's going to happen. He tromps up the stairs slowly, heading back to the common room.

[Nessa Malikoff] "Maybe they didn't like it at Fort. I wouldnt! Maybe it was ahh less blunt term for bad place. Could have been Fort Shits."
Her eyes are very blue as she strives for seriousness.

[John Thornton] "Very true."

John glances at his watch for a moment, lays a few bills on the table, and then stands to leave.

"Good seeing you again, Nessa. Enjoy the beer."

[Edward Bellamonte] "Oh, I'd certainly say there are bright lights - that Truth in Frenzy fellow, for all that I don't see him becoming a poker buddy, seems an alright sort. Surely there are others out there with as much potential. And yes, it is the truth - for the good of the Caern, and by benefiting that, for the good of Gaia . . . but surely not all of those who remain were here when the Caern was raised."

He shrugs, toys with his glass, sips from it, sets it down and gets back to the point. "Alright. So the first bits were good - the bits about what we'd heard - and I need to say . . ." There's a thoughtful scrunching of his brow, and it's amusing, charming and - well, more than once, Lukas has likely heard Edward called cute, or adorable. Seldom handsome, but it is what it is.

"'Those who remain need to be reminded of what they have - they need to be called to serve where their efforts are needed. After that is done - after those with a bigger stake in this place than we claim have come forth - the Unbroken Circle will claim the remaining seats when the sept finds us worthy of such.'"

[Nessa Malikoff] "You too. Thank you for drink, John. I will be at grocery tomorrow, if you wish to avoid 'coincidence' meeting."
She still isnt buying it entirely.

[Nessa Malikoff] (DUDe, i just cant post right tonight! Will be on again tomorrow! sleep well when you all get around to it!)
to Edward Bellamonte, Hatchet, John Thornton, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Word Vomit

[Word Vomit] Cody hisses, swearing to herself as she accidentally clangs the trash bin door against the side of the building. She freezes, tensing as she was half way climbed inside...one broken tennis shoe in, another half way out. She glanced to the back door....but then her stomach did another knot and she was once again back to scrounging...

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Surely not all who remain...

Lukas' eyebrows go up. Then he ticks them off on his hands: "The Grand Elder and his pack were here. The Warder and his pack were here. Truth in Frenzy was here. And Evan -- well, he's not even part of the Sept. So yes, every last septmate we have met had a hand in the raising of the caern. And even if they did not -- they were here before us, Ed. They do have the better claim."

And listening again, intent, before draining his glass and setting it down. A faint grimace.

"It's not anything specific, you know -- it's just the attitude that has to change. Ed, you have to remember we're the newcomers, we're the low man on the totempole, we're the bitches. They don't know us. We have no history, no kills, no glorious dead to them. If you go in talking of 'reminding' people and 'calling them to serve', you'll come off sounding like the Fangling coming down from on high to preach to the unwashed masses. Maybe in a month we can change the tone up a little, but for now, we're here to assist, not to command.

"Here then, put it all together again, let's hear it start to finish."

[Nessa Malikoff] (*Snickers* train that Fang, Lukas!! work it, beta!! night guys!)
to Edward Bellamonte, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Hatchet] Thud, thud, thud. Stop. Hatchet pauses near the top of the stairs, tipping his head to the side slightly. Familiar voices. In particular, one familiar voice he has not heard in a little over three years. A grin spreads over his face, his mood both sated and calmed by the presence of alcohol and food in his stomach, as he takes the last few steps and walks around the corner into the common room.

...like the Fangling coming down from on high to preach to the unwashed masses.

Hatchet leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, and smiles at the Fang and the Lord.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Needless to say, the second Hatchet's footsteps are heard on the steps, Lukas stops that particular vein of conversation. So it goes something like this:

"--to the unwashed masses. Anyway," he picks up the winebottle and refills his glass -- his mind reaches out across the totemlink. Wait -- we'll have to discuss this later.

The silence is likely tense. He knew how much Edward disliked the Fianna. His tone is deliberately mild: "Buried Hatchet. Care for glass?" -- he lifts the wine in indication.

[Andrea Locke] The back door opens, first a sliver of light and the dull metallic sheen off a shotgun, followed by the blunt bulldog face of a grizzled, stocky, barrel chested black man in his mid 50's.

"OI! Oi! 'oo's out there, then?! Oi! In the rubbish!"
"Sssshh! Really, Reuben, the customers will here you..." Comes a high-pitched voice from the kitchen behind him and...
"Madre de dios.... do I pay you to jump at rats, Rueben?" A lower alto to the other womans contralto, sonorous and more bemused than anything else.
"Oh, so yer payin' me now, is it? S'like the Pope findin' his roger, 'tis. Bloomin' miracle, 'tis. Too big fer a rat."
"Have you ever been a warf rat, Don?"

Pushing past him, a light skinned and dark haired woman takes a step down the back stoop, looking towards the trash...

[Andrea Locke] ooc: (sighs) here = hear and been = seen... I love when I bold my spelling errors.

[Edward Bellamonte] ".....to the unwashed masses. Anyway."

And then, there's a noise just around the corner.

And then, there's a familiar face.

And then, there's a remarkably tight-lipped Fang Ragabash.

"Imagine that, seeing you here." No name is given - Edward knows it, maybe, somewhere in the back of his head, but . . . well. There's no obvious antagonism, not really - it's clear Edward doesn't particularly like this new arrival, but equally clear he doesn't particularly intend to belabor the point. "I figured we'd run into each other soon enough."

[Word Vomit] Cody herself is trying her damndest to hide among the rubbish....but unlike McD's which is crammed full with garbage bags....diners usually don't need quite as much. So...its rather obvious that its not a critter and someone trying to scrounge through the garbage...a broken and beaten duffel bag is lying right next to the bin as well.

Cody meanwhile has her hands over her head, whispering to herself in repetition....

'...don'tseeme....don'tseeme....don'tseeme.....I am invisibleeeeee....don't seeeee meee...'

[John Thornton] ((Well, I'mout too. Night everyone))

[Hatchet] "I know," Hatchet says brightly to Edward, his face a comic mask of overdone joy. "We're roomies. Finally," he says, unfolding his arms and clasping his hands in a prayer-like gesture. With a roll of his eyes heavenward, he sighs: "It's like a Christmas miracle."

Hatchet's hands drop to his sides as he walks into the room, over to Lukas. "I would just love some more free booze, thank you, Wyrmbreaker."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] As Hatchet approaches, Lukas gets to his feet and fetches up one of the unused glasses on the table. There isn't a lot of wine left, but he pours generously, filling the wineglass to within a finger of the top before passing it over. There's a subdued courtesy in this; in the end, Buried Hatchet is, after all, his elder.

Then Lukas sets the bottle down and returns to his seat. "Roomies -- so you're living here too, are you? Did you check out any of the other places on that list?" Wry, "I didn't. I liked what I saw here."

[Andrea Locke] It takes a moment or two for her eyes to adjust to the dim dankness of the back alley, the smell of rubbish from the restaurant, yeast from the basement and the thinks that float on the lake all mingling together. She breathes in deeply, inhaling the scents to force her senses to get use to the reek -- and then ignore it. Just about when she makes out the form of the apparent teenage girl who was just digging through the garbage.

"Well whatcher see then?" Comes the disgruntled gravel grunt from Coltrane, pushing forward with the shot gun. Andrea reaches up a hand, laying it lightly mid-barrel of the gun and pushing it gently down. "Shhhh... basta, ya." A murmured sounds, the foreign words sibilant with the slight lisp of Castilian Spanish. It would be a lie to say some modicum of distaste doesn't show briefly on her features -- a slight wince, a tightening of her lips -- but then the woman takes another step down the back steps and speaks out to the girl, standing there, trying to be invisible.

"Are you hungry, niña?"

[Edward Bellamonte] A thoughtful look crosses Edward's face, and then, "The woman downstairs is vaguely familiar - the one who owns the place." He's not sure from where he knows her, of course, or much of anything else about it other than that he must not know her well at all if all he remembers is her face.

Which would open him up for a resounding chorus of THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID if he said any of that aloud.

"Anyway - I looked at one of the places, didn't like what I saw, came back here." This with a shrug, random - his own glass is now (finally) down to half or so, and he sips it again, watching the other two over the rim of his glass. He, perhaps notably, doesn't rise when the Fianna enters the room - he makes no move to serve. He is polite, and that is all.

[Word Vomit] Cody hears the voice, clearly addressing her as she warely peers, just in case she's talking to someone else...but sees that the woman is clearly talking to her. She scrambles back a bit further into the bin, back pressed against the grease and ketchup stained interior of the rusty dumpster, sucking her bottom lip slightly as she eyed her.

"I...I'm sorry...don't call the cops...I...I won't come around here anymore, dama...."

She doesn't notice Coltrane holding a shotgun....its clear she's just afraid of being caught in general.

[Edward Bellamonte] ((Twenty minute warning.))
to Andrea Locke, Hatchet, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Word Vomit

[Hatchet] He doesn't sit down. He takes the glass that Lukas pours and hands to him, smiling rather cheerfully as though he does not necessarily consider it his due to be served by the Cliath. This is all quite novel, in fact, and it shows in the almost innocent delight of his eyes.

That delight, oddly, has an edge tonight. The moon is full and Hatchet's Rage is closer to the surface, as it is with all of them. Tonight his eyes look like his name sounds, rather than seeming misty or soft. There's youth in them, defying his bearded jaw, but it is competing with the sharpness in the corners of his gaze.

"Thank you," he says, before anything else. Then, "Cheers," and a long sip. Hatchet looks at the wine in the glass for a moment, then flicks his eyes up at Edward. They're not angry. They're amused. But moreover, they're thoughtful. At first he'd thought Lukas's question was directed at him, but then Edward answers it, so just takes another drink.

And then: "Katie-baby staying here, too, Edward?" He starts to lift his glass for the third time. "What about Gabby?"

[Andrea Locke] Behind Andrea, Coltrane snorts, eying the girl before shaking his head and turning around, heading back into the kitchen with a mountain-grumble of bit'o'skirt...s'not right...
Andrea shakes her head and steps down the last step, pausing against. Closer to the girl now, but there is still a more than healthy distance between them. No danger for Cody in terms of being grabbed at or the like. Digging her hands into the pockets of her slacks, the dark haired woman presses her elbows closer to her sides, feeling the chill of standing outside without a jacket.

"Nonsense, niña... I'm not going to call anyone. But, see, I have some left over empanadas and they came out a little too brown to serve to the guests. I'd hate to see them go to waste. Perhaps you know someone who would like them?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Don't. Take. The bait.

That's across totemphone. Simultaneously -- Lukas' voice edges in first, mild, mildly disapproving.

"The past is past, Buried-Hatchet." Surely that was a pointed usage of a name. "New city, new start. Shall we toast to that?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Hours later -- in the semi-privacy of one of the bedrooms --

"My point is simply this: we cannot afford to make enemies. We need allies, and think how potent an ally the Grand Elder of a Sept will be, even a small sept such as this. And my policy has always been to make anyone not an enemy, a friend. At least from their perspective. I keep my boundaries clear in my heart, Ed, but I try to make a friend of every last sniveling cur that calls himself a Garou, until the time is right.

"Anyway. Let's draw the whole damn speech up and see what we've got."
to Edward Bellamonte

[Word Vomit] Cody stares a little at the mention of food...free food...not food from a garbage...though that could be a delicacy in itself if you knew what to eat...and what not to eat. The body could make something gourmet if it was hungry enough and the stomach could be made of iron if desperation is lifetime routine. Cody nibbled her lower lip again, rolling the hoop ring piercing her bottom lip before she spoke again.

"I...I know someone....she....she's not here right now...but I'd certainly give them to her, yes I would."

[Edward Bellamonte] Tension is a funny thing - for Edward, in this case, it manifests quite simply in a slight dimming of that charming, boyish smile, in a reflexive twitch of hands that may or may not wish to do something a little more productive. Regardless, "My sisters are little concern of yours, Hatchet, but thank you for asking - they will be flattered, I'm sure, that you inquired after their well being."

A hand picks at some nonexistent piece of lint and of course, Edward's eyes have not left Hatchet, other than when Lukas spoke. He is not afraid, not intimidated, and more importantly, he is not. rising. to. the bait.

Over the totemphone, though? He's far less calm, to the point that it's hardly articulate.

[Hatchet] "A simple question," Hatchet says mildly, flicking his tongue over his upper lip out of long habit. Wine, unlike beer, has no foam for him to make sure is not lingering on his facial hair. Still, he drinks beer far more often than he drinks wine, which is just one more indication of the division between People Like Him and People Like Edward.

"The only other member of your pack I've seen is the Glass Walker, Dying Light. I'd hate to think you left the girls behind when you came here. They're both so..." he stops, pretending to search for the word he wants, sighing when he 'fails', and shaking his head, supplying: "Well, they just add so much excitement to a gathering."

"That, I will toast to," he says, and drains his glass.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] A simple question, Hatchet says -- and Lukas' cold blue eyes level on him, steady. He lets the man finish; he lets him drink his wine.

"It was not merely a question, Rhya," he says, softly. "A Fianna and a Philodox knows the power of words too well for that. And it is not honorable to goad your host while you drink his wine."

[Andrea Locke] "Que bueno..." Her smile is mild, but earnestly ingratiating as she nods. "It is a shame to waste food and restaurants tend to make a bad trend of it. Will you come inside, pequeña, or should I bring it out to you?"

She removes a hand to indicate the half-open door behind her, the very light coming from it giving a strong semblance of warmth, the smells of food thick in the air. "It will need to be boxed up and it's much warmer inside..."

[Word Vomit] Cody stared at the light....the idea of inside, staring at the building vaguely, warely.

"...you won't lock the door?"

She seems to hesitate but is slowly moving to crawl out of the dumpster...as soon as her feet touch ground, she's crouched possesively next to the ratty duffel bag. Its looks green though it could have been blue, its hard to tell from the dinge and mold. Then of course there is the electric tape criss-crossing its sides as it to hide tears or hold the contents inside.

[Edward Bellamonte] "'From as far away as Boston, we have heard of the glories of your sept - of how it was raised from nothing, how people fought and bled and died, gave their lives and more for this place. From as far away as Boston, we've heard that things have been too quiet, for too long, and that a great deal of your strength has left the city.'" That bit, Edward's pretty sure is good - it speaks of the effect the wonders wrought here have had on the world at large, even as it speaks of the perils of complacency, which is, of course, something that a great many people and places need to learn more about.

"We come in hopes that there will be a rallying cry; we come in hopes that our strengths and talents will be of use to you. We come to be a part of something that can serve as an example, a light to those who need it."

There's a shrug, then - he never has understood why the pack rallies around him so, what it is about him that calls to them. He isn't particularly good at this bit of things and he knows it, but . . . well, there's that charm, and that boyishness and a young, eager sort of idealism.

"When your people, those who live and die for this place, have arisen to take their rightful positions, the Unbroken Circle offers to lend their strength - to take what seats remain, to aid where we are most needed."

An eyebrow raises then, and idly he pulls cards from his pocket - the deck is now less one, but still he shuffles idly. "Won't win any awards, but maybe it won't piss anyone off, either."
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Andrea Locke] She watches the girl crawl out of the dumpster, then crouch by her dilapidated, deplorable bag with all the protectiveness of one guarding treasure. The older woman takes it in stride though, her lips quirking in another slight smile as she shakes her head. The smile is meant to be reassuring, but her body language is solemn as she answers the whelp.
"Of course not. Te lo promeso. No locked doors. And please, feel free to bring your bag..."

It does occur to her that it would be a horrible time for a health inspector or nosy guest to make a sudden appearance in the kitchen, but she accepts the risk.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "On the contrary, I think it's excellent. You lay it on thick at the start, but whatever, you're a Fang." A quick grin takes the edge off the words. "Just remember to add that before we take any seats, we will of course seek to prove ourselves, and that we will do nothing without the permission of the Grand Elder."

He leans back -- delighted suddenly; perhaps surprised at how well Edward pulled it off at the last second. Then again, that was always the modus operandi of the Fang: to somehow, somehow, be able to fish victory from the jaws of utter fucking disaster.

"That's it then. Best foot forward and everything. Let's run the final draft by Dylan; she is a galliard, after all. Do you want me to go with you, when you see Balance without Fault?"
to Edward Bellamonte

[Edward Bellamonte] "Well, honestly," Edward says as he rises from his chair, drains his own glass and sets it aside somewhere neatly out of the way, "did you really expect any better? I mean, given what we've seen so far." This with a shrug, and it's disappointed, almost sad - as if Edward truly had expected better, or at least different. "Anyway, I've some things to do."

Which means he's meeting one of the other packmates, of course, as Edward is seldom (as in almost never) seen without at least one of them - but that's neither here nor there.

"I hope you both have a pleasant evening."

[Edward Bellamonte] ((*punts computer!*))

[Word Vomit] "...vale...."

She mumbled a little as she lifted the bag...strained with it actually to her shoulder. The bag is bulging with something...thankfully nothing bad...but homeless and runaways sometimes were known for freaky things...even worse if they seemed slightly off.

She glanced towards the shadows briefly a little...hestitating before she's suddenly moving very quickly to follow Andrea...whatever hesitation she had in going in is now been changed priorities. The girl glances inside once within the kitchen, staying close to the door..but her back against the wall rather then right at the exit. She clutches the bag around the middle, hugging it against her torso...face slightly hidden by it as she flicked her eyes around and back to Andrea once more.

[Edward Bellamonte] "Of course - and perhaps Katherine, if it wouldn't seem too much. You know how she is about these things." This with a dismissive wave that really isn't so much so - Edward is nothing if not a pack creature, and the more of his pack he has around him, the more comfortable and confident he is. He literally needs at least one of them with him to be able to function anywhere near properly and . . . well, if Katherine were left out of this, she might prove difficult for him (not likely for the pack, but Edward was never particularly good at facing his sister's ire) at some later point.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Hatchet] Hatchet, glass empty and a few drops being swirled around the bottom, gives Lukas a small shrug. "True. But he's a New Moon, and -- like myself -- your elder." His eyes harden slightly. "He can take it and, if I remember correctly, give it back just as good. Also," he points out, leaning over and setting the now-empty glass down on the table by the bottle, "he wasn't the one who offered the wine. You are."

"Goodnight, Edward," Hatchet intones, his eyes still on Lukas. "Now, you may be his loyal and steadfast Beta, but as far as I am concerned, the wine I was drinking is yours, and I thank you kindly again for it."

He tips his head to the side, regarding the younger wolf. "As for attempting to remind me yet again of my purpose in life with a pointed recitation of my deed name, perhaps you had better know the true meaning behind it. If nothing else, can you agree that if I bore any true ill will towards Edward I would just punch his face in again, challenge him formally, or remove myself from his company as soon as possible?"

Hatchet smiles. "Not my fault he ain't got no sense a-humor 'bout the drunken bullshit of a Cliath three years ago."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] A faint grimace -- "Invite her, if you think she'll tolerate being in my presence for the car ride." Lukas gets to his feet, preparing to quit Edward's room. "'Night, Ed. I'll see you in the morning."
to Edward Bellamonte

[Andrea Locke] Rubbing her chilled hands briskly over her sweater clad arms, she patently ignores the stares coming from the occupants of the kitchen, preparing late night orders and cleaning. It's very warm indeed in the spacious kitchen, which is a relief. Bloody cold Chicago weather.

"Jenny, querida, we still have those empanadas, yes? My friend here knows someone who would like them so they don't go to waste..." She maintains the facade of a mysterious friend of a friend, playing along with ease. The woman Andrea addresses a thin woman in her thirties, wearing an apron, her shirt sleeves pushed up past her elbows which are rather coated in a red, fragrant liquid she is massaging over a large cut of beef in a roasting pan. As she turns to look at Andrea the long, twisted scar down the left side of her face is revealed, white and angry-seeming against her olive-kissed skin and otherwise sweetly fine features. "The empa-- oh, sure, sure... In the pantry -- Danny can you..."
"No need, Jenny, I'll get them. Thank you."

Looking over her shoulder to Cody, she indicates a small table against one corner, a folding chair beside it, away from the real bustle of the kitchen but still in the back, near the door. "Make yourself comfortable, please..." And then she's heading towards, one presumes, a pantry.

[Edward Bellamonte] "'Night, Lukas. And she will, if only to make sure you don't spike my drink or stick a knife in my side." This with a smirk - he knows, of course, how little his Beta and his sister trust each other. He finds it irksome, most times, and tries to discourage it, but . . . well, there's only so much he can do. And there is, of course, the forearm-clasp before Lukas leaves - and then there is bed, or whatever it is Edward does late at night.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Word Vomit] Cody glanced towards the seat and the chair....fidgeting she glanced at the others...skirting against the wall as much as she can away from 'Jenny'. In fact, one could call it snake like in the fact that she slides her back along the wall...the doorway..and then the other wall again till she's at the table.

She stares like Jenny might come over at her with the beef and try to beat her over the head with it as if it was a deadly Masamune blade of the bovine. She waited a bit...by the time she comes back, she would see the young girl had wrangled something from the contents of the duffel.

It might have been a cellphone three lifetimes ago...now it was just a gutted relic of plastic, silicon, and eletronic chips. The young girl has managed to bend her thin form so that her eyes are level with the table...just staring at the thing. She reaches out after a moment...poking it before her hand suddenly darts back under the table as if it the thing will leap out and attack her hand, her eyes squinting again as if this was her greatest adversary.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Night, Ed." Lukas offers his Alpha a little two-fingered wave.

Then he turns his attention back to the Fianna, listening quietly. At the end of it, he takes another sip of wine, then transfers the glass to his other hand. Sitting like this, half-sprawled on one of the sectional couches, he makes a picture of royal dissolution: expensive jeans, a casual button-up left untucked and deliberately rumpled; dark hair clipped short; sixteen-hour beard shadowing his jaw. That hadn't been there the night he met this infamous Buried-Hatchet. The rest of it, though -- the sharp, Slavic cheekbones; the broad intelligent brow; the watchful eyes, palest blue -- that's the same, instantly recognizable, steeped in Shadow Lord blood and breeding.

"Tell me, then." A pause, and then he elaborates with a small wry turn of his mouth, "The story behind your name."

[Andrea Locke] Jennifer looks at the girl curiously - and, perhaps, a touch wary of the dirt and bacteria she's carrying along with her - but keeps her distance, turning her full attention to the beef as though the idea of the owner of the restaurant picking up 'strays' was nothing new.

When Andrea emerges from the pantry she moves to take up a small, disassembled box from a stack of them, as well as a few sheets of wax paper. Bringing that and the covered tray of empanadas over to the table she goes about assembling the box, wrapping the meat and cheese pastries in the wax paper and packing it up. From the corner of her eye she does watch Cody and the banged up not-quite-a-cellphone. Dark eyes flicker a brief mixture of curiosity and concern, but then she looks back to her work and speaks up in an easy, natural voice. Just making conversation.

"I'm Andrea Locke, by the way... tengo mucho gusto en conocerte, señorita ---" An eyebrow lifting, waiting to see if the girl will provide a name.

[Word Vomit] Cody just stared at the fragments....another moment of distinct silence following before she reaches out to poke it again, frowning.

"...zote arana...."

She doesn't take her gaze off the broken electronic as she talks vaguely once more.

"...I'm no one. My friend's name is Cody though..."

[Andrea Locke] "Nonsense." For the first time there is a hint of sharpness to her words and she wraps the empanada in her hand with a bit more force than strictly needed. Licking her lips she shakes her head fractionally and the slight taut strain along her features eases away, her eyes clear, her tone once more gentle - warm - as she speaks again. "Nonsense. Everyone is someone. Everyone."

Looking to the busted up cell, Andrea lifts an eyebrow with curiosity. "Araña? Are there spiders in your phone, pequeña?"

[Word Vomit] She flinches slightly at the sharpness...for a moment distracted from the broken cell as the eyes dart at Andrea, staring for a moment before she's looking back down at it...sitting straight again before she goes to put it back into the bag. Looking inside it....there didn't seem to be any way possible for the amount of books and items inside to fit..but....they did.

"...there are spiders in every phone. But no one sees them...they don't feel them as they crawl into their brains. That's why machines have so much sway over people....they crawl in and lay their eggs in their brain...they hollow out their brains....and so they just obey the machines...sit in front of the TV, talk on the cell all the time, type away at the computer....because the spiders crawl in and out...they become a walking nest that lets them build a hive.."

She rambles, clearly not making any sense as she zipped the bag closed once more, having to take a few tugs to close it fully.

"...but the spider in this phone doesn't want to come out....or maybe its invisible. Like white people."

[Armstrong] (psst! You guys mind if I pop in? And, if not, where is everyone?)
to Andrea Locke, Hatchet, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Word Vomit

[Armstrong] (Oh, crap, I rescind that statement about the "where is everyone", I just realized that's in Damon's tag)
to Andrea Locke, Hatchet, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Word Vomit

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (*LOL* well, me and hatchet are upstairs in the common area. andrea and WV are ... around back, i think?

and the scene is open. it is ALWAYS OPEN.)
to Andrea Locke, Armstrong, Hatchet, Word Vomit

[Andrea Locke] ooc: Andrea and WV are in the kitchen downstairs.
to Armstrong, Hatchet, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Word Vomit

[Andrea Locke] Well that leaves Andrea all in all speechless. She blinks somewhat owlishly at the girl, before her eyes squint up just slightly, her head canting to the side -- looking from the phone, to the girl, to the phone. Just as she remembers herself and works to regain her composure Reuben walks by, shaking his head, lugging along a toolbox as he goes, muttering: t's'bleedin' lunatic, 'tis. poor bird. off 'er 'rocker....

Andrea clears her throat rather pointedly, her gaze shooting darts at the back of Coltrane's head as he moves off. Licking her lips once more she looks back to the girl. "Well... I don't think I've ever heard an explanation quite like that before."

[Hatchet] Smiles are, so very often among their kind, the only sheep's clothing they can put on. Granted some of their kind can crack a warm and inviting grin, and some can laugh heartily in a way that makes a person feel like it's safe to laugh, too, but most of the time -- and right now, especially -- there is no way a Garou can smile and not show their teeth, so to speak. Even if their lips are closed.

Lukas gives Hatchet a wolfish smile, wry as it is, human as the face that bears it. And Hatchet, after a moment of thought, moves over to the seat Edward was occupying previously and flops down. "I was fostered at a sept of Wendigo after my Firsting," he says, leaning back and lacing his fingers over his midsection. "There was a pack of so-called 'Wyrmbringers'," he utters the word drolly, but there is distaste written throughout the inflection on the syllables, "there bringing some message or other, when I was found. The Alpha was of my breed and tribe and moon; he taught me."

He tips his head to the side. "The Beta of that pack was a Shadow Lord Galliard, in fact," he says thoughtfully, before returning his head to the anatomical position. "Anyway. I was there for months learning the ways. The Wendigo had not wanted the pack to stay that long, and tensions were rather high when I was first brought in."

The fact that Hatchet is skipping to the end is clear when he says: "By the end of the Rite, the Lord I mentioned and an Uktena who had initially stopped the Wendigo from killing my white ass named me for what my presence and behavior had done for, ah...inter-tribal relations. I won't say that I had earned their respect as a cub, or that they saw me as a brother when I gained my rank. But I will say that when I left the sept with my first pack, they were not at each other's throats, and they clasped arms like fellows."

There's more, as there is almost always more. He has earned that name several times over since then, proved its meaning and appropriateness, but that wasn't what he offered to tell. He offered to tell how he got it in the first place. Because: "The past is past. That's the point. But as you said the night we met, Old Edward is still angry." He shrugs one shoulder and lets it drop. "More his problem than mine. You can't make people give up grudges."

[Word Vomit] "No one likes to think about it....after all...I think it would make them crazy if they did. I haven't met many crazy folks though. Or anyone who never called me crazy right after I tell them the truth...so...does that make you a believer or a crazy person? And are you crazy like Tyler Durden crazy or crazy like Jim Carrey with too much sugar? Of course...that might be because he's Canadian....I hear they're all crazy."

...and right there, just a tirade of words coming out of her mouth...she doesn't even intake air to breath as the words just roll out of her mouth. It seemed either she was comfortable around Andrea...or maybe comfortable with just talking if someone would listen.

[Armstrong] She was cold and a little soggy. It was cold and she had made the somewhat dangerous mistake of deciding to investigate whichever puddles or ice slicks were nearby. They were fascinating, really. She hadn't realized before how beautiful ice was, or the fact that it was so practical. Or easily concealable for that matter.

It made White Eyes stop and think.

It made those too-pale grey eyes fall upon the sky. It made her smile that smile that was just a little too wide, that was just a little too bright. Her teeth were painfully white, dangerously straight. And she thought, for a moment, about how long the city would stay this cold. About how clear and unsuspecting ice was. She looked at the sky like she was waiting for something. White Eyes was always waiting for something.

What was she waiting for?

There was no invitation to enter the Brotherhood written up there. Besides, she didn't need one. Mrena knew the door was open, and with that, she went in, with her bright red scarf and black coat. With her damp, dark hair and flushed cheeks. With the smile that hadn't quite faded yet. She sighed, it was a good sound.

[Andrea Locke] Finished wrapping up and boxing the food, Andrea leans a hip against the table, her full attention given to the girl as she spews forth this tirade about truth and insanity. When she finally stops for air Andrea shakes her head, much of the popular allusions going quite over her head, really. "Mmmm... well, the truth can be a difficult thing to swallow. And I've not met many people who are fond of spiders. I don't like them myself. I was bitten by a brown recluse as a child -- a nasty experience." She grimaces slightly at the recollection then Armstrong enters through the back door, Andrea's dark brown eyes slipping over to her. Recognition kindles and she nods at the cold and slightly soggy woman, a welcoming smile forming along her lips.

"'Evening. A bit cold outside to be puddle jumping, don't you think?"

[Word Vomit] Cody nods a little, not really familiar with brown recluse though she had read on them and seen some photos of their bites. Her eyes then turned towards Armstrong as she grows silent, just staring at the women a little, once more starting to climb into herself as she tried to shrink inside the seat.

[Armstrong] "It's the perfect time to go puddle jumping. No one's out to spoil them, it's ripe for the picking."

She nodded, starting to unwind the bright red scarf. Mrena folded it idly as she spoke, slipping it into the breast of her black pea coat once she had finished. She looked at Andrea and she then shook her hair out a little. Her first reaction was to shake her head quickly in hopes of having it dry out. She instead put her hand underneith and shook from there. Another day of fighting the soggy-dog reflex. The theurge was satisfied.

"Long day?" Small talk. Make a connection. Keep the connection. Andrea was a contact worth keeping.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "It's a noble story," Lukas says of the tale, and it's the sort of insincere, polite thing anyone would say. Only, when Lukas says it, he means it. Or appears to, anyway, if one were of the cynical bent. "Thank you for telling me."

A small pause. While Hatchet speaks, Lukas looks into his glass -- the way the light slices dimly through the wine, the small focal point that appears on the bottom of the glass where the refracted light bends through.

"You're right, of course. He is still angry, and that is his problem. But every man has something he holds too dear and sacred to brook any insult. Family matters to Edward -- and what you said to him, if I remember the story right, he expected a formal apology for. Instead you gave him a fist to the face."

He is matter of fact about this; he does not seem particularly upset that his Alpha once suffered such a humiliation. "And then," he continues, "three years later, expecting twice the apology he feels he was once owed, he is instead treated to a painful reminder of the whole unfortunate incident. So: yes. You can't make a man give up his grudges. That said, you can choose whether or not to stoke Edward's. But then again, I suspect at this point the apology he'd want may be more than your pride can stomach.

"At any rate." The Shadow Lord sits up to finish his wine, setting the emptied glass on the coffee table. "It's your business and his."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
to Hatchet

[Andrea Locke] Her smile broadens, flexing with humour at the Theurge's defense of puddle jumping in the frigid city. The image of it strikes her as care free and whimsical, something that apparently satisfies the owner of the Brotherhood.

Spreading her hand in a c'est la vie gesture of Iberian expressiveness, a low, humming sound of good humour sliding from her throat and along her words. "All days are long and the next one longer still. It is good. Yourself?"

Her gaze slipping to the street urchin who is attempting to melt into the chair Andrea tries once more to smile reassuringly --- "It's alright---"

Her words, however, are cut short by the ringing of a phone hooked up against the wall, a blaring ring meant to cut through the dull roar of an active kitchen. "Excuse me..." apologetic as she moves to pick up the line..

[Word Vomit] ...at first, the girl slowly starts to loosen again...sitting normally once more. Andrea was a slight comfort zone...

...then the phone rings.

A number of things happened in sequence....Cody's eyes went wide...it was almost like a mnemonic trigger, much like the ringing of a bell for a dog to come get chow. But this was likely not the same reaction science would be looking for.

The lithe Hispanic girl lunged from her seat suddenly, table going askew...her hip grazing the side of it (that would certainly hurt later). The sound of broken sneakers flopped behind Andrea in the direction of the phone...the dog tongues of the worn out shoes hanging like remnants of what use to be footwear, only the strings holding them attached.

As Andrea went to grab the reciever off the cradle, the grimey hand of Cody Santiago ensnared it like a serpent before the crazy little girl began to slam it again and again against the wall, a high pitch squeeling running from her mouth...it wasn't even gibberish...it was just a noise like 'EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE' echoing from her mouth as she preceeded to devastate it, even ripping the cord from the jack...trying to break the thing into its former plastic base.

[Hatchet] They're being ever so polite to one another. Offering and accepting wine. They've both even thanked each other, for free booze and for a story. Both have a sedative effect on their kind, at times, however mild. They are both sitting in relaxed postures, but that is the thing about a full moon and a couple of Garou of their Rage: right now 'relaxation' is a farce, an act, a mask.

It can't last.

Something happens on Hatchet's face as Lukas speaks about things that are sacred, family mattering to Edward, and so on. It's there and gone in a flash, so small that Lukas doesn't catch it. Few people would, not without a recording device they can play back frame-by-frame. It's entirely possible that Hatchet himself is unaware that it even happens.

His eyebrows do go up, though, as Lukas continues. He does not look lost or confused, just a bit surprised. "Lukas," he says calmly, neither affronted nor defensive but maybe even somewhat bewildered, "I said nothing to Edward. Nor about him. Frankly, everything I said that night about Katherine --"

(This is the first time in anyone's hearing for over three years that he has referred to her in a non-formal atmosphere as anything other than 'Katie-baby'. Lukas doesn't know that. All Lukas knows is that he has not heard Hatchet call her anything else in the two times they've met or any of Edward's recollections of the Fianna Half-Moon.)

"-- was true, if not complimentary. Well," he says with a pause, "what I remember saying was all true." He smiles almost softly with a small tip of his head. "As for the rest, I can see why he might want to smack me in the face for it. That is not, however, how Old Edward handled it." He gives a little shrug. "If he wants an apology from me, all he has ever had to do is say so, accept it, and then move on. That, in my understanding, would be the honorable thing to do, and proof of his quality as a leader."

He looks across the table, the empty space, to meet Lukas's bright, cool eyes with his own currently steely but not enraged ones. "How long have you followed him, Wyrmbreaker?" Not 'why'. Not 'how could you'. And that, potentially, is telling.

[Armstrong] She nodded a little and then looked at the girl who was not only smaller than her, but smelled distinctly like wet garbage. It made her raise a brow. And, at that moment, all she could do once the phone rang was watch with a sort of morbid curiosity. She could not leave well enough alone, and her hands went back into her pockets and she stepped in to observe.

She looked at the high pitched squeeling figure and was more focused on... on her hair. On the shape of her mouth when she squeeled. She looked at her knuckles as Word Vomit went postal on the telephone. There was a light in her silvery eyes that was obvious and aparent. It was neutral though; the spectacle was, for lack of better wording, captivating.

Like a cliche about trains or insects, Mrena couldn't look away. She was drawn.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a shift in the tenor of the conversation. Had it not happened, perhaps Lukas would've agreed on that point, that all Edward need do is ask for an apology if he actually wanted one. Or perhaps he would've debated whether or not Edward was capable of asking for an apology at all, when he felt he was simply owed one. Or --

Truth is, none of these possibilities matter, or even come into existence. The mood has moved on; something has shifted, clicked, and they are guarded towards one another now; closed.

"Nearly four years." The response is minimal; no details. "Why do you ask?"

[Andrea Locke] "Carrajo!" Is what Andrea grunts out in surprise as Cody first snatches away the phone, her eyes going wide in the sudden shock of both of the action and the ferocity [or terror stricken desperation] behind it. The other occupants of the kitchen cease what they are doing, whirling about to stare at the crazy little homeless girl attack the fuck out of a phone, wincing not so much at the violence but at the eerie sharpness of her keening squeal.

Jenny rushes up, trying to pull Andrea back and at first Andrea lets her, stumbling back on her own merit in the first impulse of self preservation. The large man at the fry station blinks out of his initial surprise and starts moving forward, large hands flexing....

"Niña! Pequeña -- ya, Basta!" Acting against her instinct to remove herself from the flailing, violent, screaming girl, Andrea retraces her steps, coming forward and reaching out a hand towards the whelp. "It's alright... estas bien.... Joaquin, get the phone away!"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (erp. reposting, missed that there was unearthly shrieking downstairs.)

[Word Vomit] Its a trainwreck indeed as her squeel does not come to a grinding halt until the receiver shatters, the magnet and guts falling out of it. It just dies like a sudden gust losing its wind before she's crouching beneath the cradle on the wall, hands going into the guts...before her eyes dart around wildly...fingers crawling frantically around before she looks at Andrea like a child that just got slapped and about to cry.

"..it....its gone. I didn't find it....I didn't find it! It...it didn't get in you, did it? No...wait...I didn't see it touch your ear...its okay...its okay..."

She looks around wildly a little before her back is against the wall...it was like from full throttle to sudden panic attack and fright as she brings her knees to her chest, wrapping herself into almost a ball.

"...I didn't find it again....it got away...they always get away...creepy crawlies....eight legs always dancing on the wire....always skittering down the lines....always waiting to get us..."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a shift in the tenor of the conversation; or perhaps only in Lukas' interpretation of it. Had it not happened, perhaps Lukas would've agreed on that point, that all Edward need do is ask for an apology if he actually wanted one. Or perhaps he would've debated whether or not Edward was capable of asking for an apology at all, when he felt he was simply owed one. Or --

Truth is, none of these possibilities matter, or even come into existence. The mood has moved on; something has shifted, clicked, and Lukas is guarded now; closed.

"Nearly four years." The response is minimal; no details. "Why--"

He gets no further than that. There's an unearthly sound, something no human (or homid) throat should make: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, followed by shouting, panic, chaos. Lukas doesn't quite leap to his feet, but he gathers, the way jungle cats gather to leap, his head snapping around to face the stairs.

"Jesus Christ." And then he does get up, swift, unfrantic, crosses the room at a smooth lope and does not so much run down the stairs as he leaps and flows, his feet barely touching the steps. He lands on the ground floor with both feet -- the restaurant is blessedly empty, or at least low-population -- and then shoulders through the latchless kitchen doors.

It's like he knew Armstrong would be there: his eyes go immediately to her. "What's going on?"

[Hatchet] He hears the phone ring downstairs amidst the hustle and bustle of the restaurant area of The Brotherhood. He hears it like he hears voices, and plates touching each other, and chairs scraping. He he hears it all in the background, his attention on the Shadow Lord he has been sitting with and has had wine with.

Now, there's something to be said about having a drink with someone, even if there is no official toast. It is not quite on par with breaking bread or sharing a meal. For a Fianna especially, however, an offer of libations is the first order of hospitality. That may be why he is responding to Lukas, who was the one to ask him if he would like some wine, who was the one to pour it out. Maybe. Then again, he is older, and there's something canny in his eyes. The fact that he sometimes looks so damn innocent and new is unnerving, just enough to make you wonder if it's an act. His calm with Lukas, the respects he is indeed paying him, could be a way to undermine Edward.

Except...he doesn't seem to really hate Edward all that much. It's confusing, at best.

Lukas is guarded in a way that Hatchet does not intend to be. Then again, Hatchet is always a little guarded, however gregarious or cheerful he seems to be. It covers something. They don't get a chance to go on, to find out why Hatchet wanted to know how long he's been following the Bellamonte brat, or to restore any measure of peace in the air between two Garou of considerable Rage. Because someone screams.

Very very loudly and shrilly, someone screams. Lukas is up and moving. Hatchet lifts his eyebrows and rises calmly, but not slowly. He is, however, farther from the door and is a few steps behind Lukas therefore. Somehow he seems to move quickly without looking like he's hurrying; it's grace, not laziness. He walks down the stairs, though faster than he might if he were as languid as his initial expression seemed.

He catches the door with his hand as it starts to swing shut behind Lukas, and follows him inside. He does not look at Armstrong. He looks at the girl who smells like garbage, and the wreckage of what used to be a phone. "...Huh," he says, thoughtfully.

[Andrea Locke] Jennifer has her apron clutched up in a white-knuckled grip, pressed up against her middle, her scarred face bunching and releasing as her jaw works with nervous anxiety. Joaquin - the giant - obviously doesn't get to the poor phone in time and is left just reaching for a ruined bit of technology, his features rather bland considering what all just transpired. He shrugs hugely, looking to Andrea for any further direction...
...for her part, Andrea would like a stiff drink. But she bears up well after the initial shock of itm shaking her head slightly, dark hair whipping softly with the motion as she mumbles another choice Spanish curse under her breath. Then she nods to Joaquin, motioning him back as she moves slowly - cautiously - over to the now crouching, huddled, fitfhy form of Cody. Going down to her knees with careful, slow precision she reaches a hand out to the girls shoulder, careful to move it away if it seems it'll upset her further.

"Yes... yes, I'm fine. Esta bien... estamos muy bien. Ya se termino, niña, no te preocupas..." The words distinct and clear, but quietly murmured in an attempt at soothing comfort. Her gaze lifts briefly to take in the new comers -- Lukas looking to Armstrong and Hatchet at the door... but then her attention returns to the street girl.

[Armstrong] "Breathe," she said. It was the only thing that she could think of to say that would have some sort of calming effect. But she could do was listen to what the smaller woman was saying.

She listened. It was all she could do at that moment. And she listened to the panic in her voice and the sound that didn't come out when she pulled her knees up to her chest. Armstrong's hands came out of her pockets, her posture was deliberate and non-threatening. Her voice was confident. her voice was competent.

"She saw something," she said to Lukas. "A spider, but... I'm under the impression it's not the kind that would live here."

Here.

She looked back at the cowering Gnawer, and her voice was as unassuming and non-threatening as she could make it. It was an effort, it was deliberate. "can you tell me what you saw, explain?"

She said Explain. Her voice said I can help you. But she was a Shadowlord, I can help you meant a lot of things. But it was clear that she believed her: she was a Theurge. Who knew what she believed.

[Word Vomit] Cody almost jumps, indeed her ass scooting across the tiles so she's away from the hand, hugging her knees tighter as she stared at the folks around her. Tears are slightly there but she's also gaining a distinct look of a deer in headlights, transfixed and afraid....too many faces, too many people.

Rather then answer the Theurge's questions..or even respond to Andrea's comforting tone...the young girl does the most comforting thing to her...she goes into her hole. Her hole being the blank space of her head as her body started to curl up on itself as she laid against the floor, face hidden, knees against her face and arms curled around her body...blocking out the world around her.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The air is frazzled with rage. The moon is full, or near enough not to matter -- there are one two three four Garou in a small enclosed space, and one of them has just shrieked to high heavens and beat a phone to bits.

Bits.



Lukas can see them, those bits: pieces, jagged little fragments of plastic, metal, rubber -- there's a button in the bouillon (the pound key, if anyone cares), and the mouth end of the receiver is half a room away from the ear end. He can see the girl under the counter too, or wherever the hell she's stashed herself; his packmate trying to talk to her; the kinwoman from last night, the one that owns this place and passes out fresh towels and sheets and scrubs the shower tiles spotless, also trying to talk to her.

"You." He points at her, then at the kitchen door, like one might a dog. "Out.

"Armstrong, get her out from under there. Buried Hatchet -- " it's here that he realizes he's taking charge out of instinct, and grimaces at himself, and tries again, " -- Buried-Hatchet-rhya, have you got a sense for the True Form?"

[Hatchet] Hatchet's attention, during this, has gone from the phone to the petite girl with the dirty and torn-up clothes. He tips his head as he looks at her, hearing something about a spider and hearing a lilting scattering of Spanish, but his eyes are on Cody.

Even when Lukas speaks, starting to bark out orders on instinct, Hatchet watches the girl. Hearing his name, he nods to acknowledge that he has heard the Shadow Lord, is not ignoring him, but does not answer his question immediately.

"Air," he says calmly, his voice level and firm but not flat. It's almost warm, and while there is not obvious compassion in his gaze, he seems miles from cold. "Give her some air," he goes on encouragingly, as though he is very sure of this and wants them to try it out.

Hatchet makes no move towards Cody, but takes his eyes off of her and looks at the two people closest to her: Armstrong and Andrea. "She is not thrashing, so she won't hurt herself. Let's just...give her a minute to calm down on her own," he says, and then he looks directly at Lukas.

In terms of rank, Hatchet is highest in this room at the moment. In terms of territory, he would make an argument for Andrea's case. In terms of leadership, however, there is only one Beta in the room. Not his own, not by a long shot, but it is a role that Lukas has been filling for -- he knows now -- four years. He looks at Lukas, after saying this, and regards him as one might look at someone known for far, far longer than a couple of nights. He looks at him as though he is waiting to hear his input, even though Lukas already jumped into action. "I do not, but when she has come out of this, I would like to speak to her. It will be easier, for me and her, if all of us become a bit quieter, and calmer."

He takes his eyes off of Lukas and looks at the others in the room, panning his gaze back to Cody. "All right?" he asks them, though he is looking at her.

[Armstrong] Its a trainwreck indeed as her squeel does not come to a grinding halt until the receiver shatters, the magnet and guts falling out of it. It just dies like a sudden gust losing its wind before she's crouching beneath the cradle on the wall, hands going into the guts...before her eyes dart around wildly...fingers crawling frantically around before she looks at Andrea like a child that just got slapped and about to cry.

"..it....its gone. I didn't find it....I didn't find it! It...it didn't get in you, did it? No...wait...I didn't see it touch your ear...its okay...its okay..."
Skittish. Like a cockroach Like a rat. And she seemed to be thinking, looking around for some sign of what the unnamed street dweller was talking about. Eight legs always dancing on the wire. Spiders. Not the usual kind, not the kind that held one firmly tethered to their location, not the kind that kept a wanderer from drifting through the umbra. A different kind of spider?

She took a few steps back, eyes going from corner to corner and then downward back to Cody. She then approached; she was, at that moment, the least intense person in the room. (With the exception of Andrea, but that was a given.) She crouched and looked at Cody from under wherever she may be. She still kept her distance; cornered animals bit.

"Come on," she said. At that moment, her voice dropped in volume. She had a somewhat charming quality about her. At about that moment, hatchet spoke. She kpet her distance, but then looked at Lukas for instructions. He was in her pack, and she waited for instructions.

[Armstrong] (bah, bad editing on my part! Sorry!)

..it....its gone.
Skittish. Like a cockroach Like a rat. And she seemed to be thinking, looking around for some sign of what the unnamed street dweller was talking about. Eight legs always dancing on the wire. Spiders. Not the usual kind, not the kind that held one firmly tethered to their location, not the kind that kept a wanderer from drifting through the umbra. A different kind of spider?

She took a few steps back, eyes going from corner to corner and then downward back to Cody. She then approached; she was, at that moment, the least intense person in the room. (With the exception of Andrea, but that was a given.) She crouched and looked at Cody from under wherever she may be. She still kept her distance; cornered animals bit.

"Come on," she said. At that moment, her voice dropped in volume. She had a somewhat charming quality about her. At about that moment, hatchet spoke. She kpet her distance, but then looked at Lukas for instructions. He was in her pack, and she waited for instructions.

[Andrea Locke] For the moment the majority of her attention is fixed on the girl, a certain amount of tender concern in her gaze, mingled with the general high-strung nerves of the moment. For all of it she is the picture of composure. Concerned - moved - yes, but quite in control. Not a woman who is shaken easily. She is moving forward gingerly, as though she might try to cradle the girl who seems to be slipping into some kind of catatonic state...

...when a guest in her home orders her out of her kitchen.

Her head snaps up, face whipping to look at Lukas, her eyes narrowing, her lips pressing into a firm line of deep distaste. The woman has some Breeding -- not a huge amount by any means, but some, and it shines through at moments like these where she feels herself slighted.

People don't boss Andrea Locke around. All that warm, hospitable, sociable nobility shifts and changes into something far more ferociously self-possessed.

Jennifer groans, watching Andrea's face, shaking her head and muttering 'oh shit, oh shit.. andy' under her breath. That seems to snap Andrea out of her death glare in Lukas' direction. She grits her teeth at the bitter taste of swallowed pride and nods, once, curtly. Rising, she looks to her fellow kinfolk -- employees -- and nods them in the direction of the door. She herself follows at the rear, ushering them all out ahead of her, her walk a back-straight glide. At the swinging door she pauses, looking back at the three garou surrounding the broken girl.

"She a guest in my home. Please be careful."

And out she goes.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Oftentimes the moments that matter, the ones that define everything to come afterward, do not approach with the sound of trumpets and horns. They blindside you, they come and go so fast as to be a flash in the pan, and the significance is only in the retrospect.

Here's one now. These packs, with their wildly different Alphas that did not like each other, and did not even properly pretend to like each other, are rivals, antagonists, the white pieces and the black on the board. Yet in this, a moment of adversary beyond the arbitrary lines in the sand they have drawn, the Fostern of one issues a command to the Cliath of the other. The Alpha of one turns to the Beta of the other -- as though his input mattered.

And perhaps, with the way Armstrong waits on his word, it did. And there's a decision to be made here: flout the word of a rival elder in a time of crisis (albeit a minor crisis) or accept it.

-- but there's no drama about this. No tense seconds of waiting. Lukas barely glances at Hatchet before nodding at Armstrong. "Go on." His glacier eyes touch on the curled girl again, briefly, and then he looks at Hatchet. "I should leave too. The moon; my rage. It won't help anybody."

Nothing more need be said. He pushes through the doors, barely twenty seconds after all the kin have filed out.

[Word Vomit] ...Lukas' yell only makes the human ball try to close tighter on herself, as she buries her head between her arms and hands wrapping over her head to touch her back. If Lukas was looking for grovelling and helplessness....then Cody certainly fit it.

...but as the rest move back slightly...give her air and room...she doesn't do much else. She doesn't try to run, she doesn't scream....she doesn't even react to the words to her. But they can briefly here some muttering as she laid there.

"...the spiders are always out to get me...always out to hurt me. I just wanted some food...the lady was going to give me food...just wanted to help....I didn't want them to hollow our her brains.."

[Hatchet] It is said that to Fianna, hearth and home and family are tantamount to a religion. That is one reason why so many intially distrust someone like Hatchet, a Whispering Rover from the start whose deeds are slow to catch up with his movements. Even his packmates, loyal and new alike, have had to get used to being dragged all over the country -- and some others -- in order to be with him. It is not easy, and it seems unnatural for one who is not a Strider.

But: hearth and home and family are something -- to use a word from Lukas's lips -- sacred. Maybe Hatchet gets that. Maybe he doesn't. He does not see Andrea shoot that glare at Lukas, which may be for the best. The Kinfolk are dismissed, and obey Lukas's order. He just gives a small nod to what Andrea says, though he does not watch her leave.

Hatchet flicks his gaze to the Shadow Lord when he feels himself being looked at. There's a pause, and then a single nod. "Thank you, Wyrmbreaker." Lukas leaves without that, but the words follow him out.

And Hatchet, almost as intense as Lukas but more controlled, puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans, staying exactly where he is. He's by the door into the kitchen, his breathing steady, and watches over Cody as though he is protecting her while she works through this. He doesn't interrupt her, but as she trails off, he tips his head and says: "She's safe." A beat. "Are you still hungry?"

[Andrea Locke] Out in the restaurant proper the few kinfolk on the night shift mill about, idle hands shifting. Andrea moves to the bar, pouring herself out a double shot of Stoli before quietly telling the others that they were free to leave for an hour or so -- she'd lock up the restaurant for now and hopefully things would be back to normal by the time they had to start prepping for the morning baked goods. Most of them leave... Jennifer wanders upstairs with Joaquin, she to find her husband, he to borrow a book from Andrea's small library.

And Andrea locks the door behind those who leave, flipping the 'open' light off and pulling down shades.

[Word Vomit] Cody stays furled up for the most part....though slowly, her arms start to slide down her head until her hands cover her face. Then she slowly slides it down as one of the eyes peek out towards Hatchet, as if he were a tempter to back to normalcy.

"....empanadas?"

It was childlike...innocent...as if the girl didn't think she had done wrong...or she did but had done right and was therefore being rewarded somehow. It was rather confusing....maybe she wasn't totally convinced, thus why she was still curled in a ball slightly..as if tensing or waiting for a beating or the like.

[Armstrong] "You did what you thought was right. You wanted to protect her," Mrena's voice was even. "You can not protect her if she has to protect you."

It seemed common sense enough. It was much more difficult than it sounded. She stayed on that lower level, choosing not to talk above her. Thoguh, her eyes wandered around the room for a moment. She sought out any clue, anything that she could see that would give any more information. Mrena waited for a moment, then put some distance between herself and Cody. Outwardly, they weren't that different. Young, of lithe builds. But Cody was even smaller than Armstrong, which was a feat.

"... empanadas are amazing."

She stood soon and made her way out of the kitchen. She gave a quiet glance to Hatchet for a moment, taking in his details, his textures. His voice lingered longer than much else; he said thank you to Lukas. Her lips upturned slightly at Cody then, but she did not bear her teeth. Keeping her mouth closed was deliberate.

[Armstrong] (I type too damned slow, sorry guys! I'm not trying to disregard anyone's posts I promise. I'll pick up the pace)
to Andrea Locke, Hatchet, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Word Vomit

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The kitchen door swinging open again lets a slice of ambient noise out. Then it shuts. It's a bit dimmer out here, indirect mood lighting or whatever-the-fuck you call it, and Lukas stands still a moment until his eyes adjust. He sees the kinfolk quietly leaving, going upstairs, pouring a drink.

"One for me, too." Lukas has a low voice, in both timbre and tone. He rarely shouts. He often speaks with a deliberate calmness; a situation-defusing mildness.

Not presently. There's an edging of hardness there; this is a command.

[Hatchet] Hatchet stands by the door with his hands in his pockets. He has his scars and his sharp gray eyes, his threadbare sweater and his worn-in jeans. He stands there without taking his eyes off of Cody even when he feels Armstrong walk out past him, giving him that brief once-over. Empanadas are amazing.

He is alone now in the kitchen with Cody, and not making a move towards her. He finally looks around, gaze zeroing in on the box that Andrea had been preparing for this girl. Hatchet blinks, and nods his head towards it. "You wanna have an empanada? I had a steak earlier, but I wouldn't mind a bite...you know, if you don't mind sharing."

[Word Vomit] Cody lingered but her hands slowly slid down a bit more, fingertips now just covering her nose and mouth as she slowly nodded, eyes moving to track him now. She's still lays there, but maybe its how he's talking..or maybe she's calming down. She hasn't move yet...but she's definitely not in her little shell world at the moment and listening which is likely better then doing the 'lalalala not here' thing Lukas found himself confronting a moment ago.

[Andrea Locke] When Lukas walks in she was back at the bar, indeed, within it's enclosure, about to put back the Stoli she'd removed to pour herself the double. But it would seem that the man-beast-Lord is intent on strutting about his imaginary castle today, commanding his whims. Beyond the faintest stiffening of her shoulders, she betrays no obvious, steely reaction this time. Calmly, she sets the bottle on the counter instead of putting it up and then walks out from behind the bar, taking her own glass with her.

"Do help yourself."

Take it. But damned if I'll serve it to you right now.

Armstrong exits from the kitchen and Andrea looks her way, pausing as she makes her way to a small table near the bar. "The girl? Is she alright?"

[Hatchet] There is no telling what this girl's experience with Garou has been, but she can sense the Rage on the tall man by the door coming off of him in pulses every time his ribcage expands to take a breath. It is retracted again when he exhales, as though the very act of taking these steady, calm breaths is what enables him to stay as relaxed as he seems. It helps him stay in control.

And there is, now that the two of them are alone, a gentle undercurrent to his voice that almost seems like...compassion. Or maybe even understanding. It does not manage, however, to completely conceal how hard it is for him to be patient with her.

"Well, if you're comfortable, I could just bring them over to you," he says slowly, as though this is not his first inclination. "But, y'know. I could just chill over here if you want to go get them yourself."

[Word Vomit] Cody bit her lip slightly...watching before she slowly slid to sit up now, watching him...eyes just watching intently, quietly for a moment before she said anything.

"...you can have one first...."

And there you have it...the main reason why she hadn't moved yet...she was going to let him have the first bite.

[Hatchet] "You sure?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows. "Like I said, I had a steak earlier. First share already went to the highest in station, you know what I'm saying? So you're good to go."

[Armstrong] It was off to go do... well... whatever the Hell it was that Armstrong normally did. She came out and Lukas was there. She observed him for a moment, and at that moment she thought like she had so many times before. She looked at him as a ball of textures and sounds. His voice lacked the padding it normally did.

She wouldn't push any buttons at that moment, and he was going to have his space at that moment. Space was respect, and she would not invade it.

Andrea addressed her and her brows raised. She turned and looked at her, silvery eyes looking at her for the time being. "She will be fine, though I recommend that you answer on speaker phone. It keeps your hands free, too."

It also keeps spiders from eating your brain as easily.

[Word Vomit] Cody glanced at him briefly before she slowly nodded...making her way towards the food....it was slow, but soon she was the box, sliding out one of the cheese empanada as she begins to eat it...though she takes her time chewing it...savoring it. The way she's eating, you would think she was at a five star French restaurant rather then eating left offers sitting in a pantry. She finally swallows the last of it down as she looks over to Hatchet, quiet once more.

"...I didn't mean to make trouble..."

She slid her knees to her chest again, sitting back in the folding chair that Andrea had her sit at barely half an hour ago.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] There's a stillness --

A full moon; a Full Moon. A Shadow Lord. A volatile situation. A direct command, rejected. A recipe for disaster.

And she can feel it, this brave, generous, uppity kin. Disaster: red and bloody, splashed all over these carefully refurnished walls, this carefully refurnished -- let's face it -- dump that she somehow rescued into a perfectly serviceable, even respectable, restaurant/pub. Wonder how much it'll cost to repaint the walls this time.

-- only, it passes. Lukas moves forward, pressing an invisible front of rage before him. He picks up the bottle she's set down, and she'd be wise to back off from it. There's a crisp sharpness to his gestures that hints at his mood. He snags a glass, turns it right side up, pours himself a drink.

Then he passes the bottle: holds it out and a little ways behind, without looking, because he knows his packmate will take it.

"Do you think," Lukas speaks gently as he finds a coaster to set his glass on, "I issue commands to the kin who hosts my pack and I because it pleases, or gratifies me?"

[Hatchet] "Trouble will make itself," Hatchet says from his post, regarding her as she starts to eat quietly, "whether we help it or not." It is almost forgivingly stated, though it is not his place to forgive her anything at all. This is not his hearth, his home, his territory. Those are not his empanadas.

He is feeling it, from outside. He's feeling the spikes and valleys of Rage, feeling the tension, and a part of him is aching to respond to it. In that moment of stillness he sees the red splashing everywhere, smells blood, feels a surge of heat that cools quickly in the December air, even protected as they are inside The Brotherhood. It takes effort, though effort he can definitely extend, to remain calm rather than letting himself be caught up in what the wolves around him are feeling.

They are not, after all, his.

"My name's Taggart," he says, lifting one hand from his jeans pocket and tapping his chest. "What's yours?"

[Word Vomit] Cody nibbled a little slower on the next one...she would save the rest for later. Two was good enough...she already was starting to feel full as she stared at him a little longer, head cocking to the side.

"Codyyyy. But shhhh....don't tell the white people."

[Armstrong] There was a sort of timed familiarity to it. He held the bottle behind him, he didn't look. She took it. he knew she'd take it. She knew he expected her to take it. It was just a bottle; this was worth staying to watch. Again, the cliche of ill-fated trains and moths came to mind. She could not leave at this point- she wanted to know what happened next.

On some level, she took a strange amount of joy in watching people interact. Maybe not even joy, intrigue? No, joy. Pure and simple. There were intricacies of interactions. Armstrong could sing Katerina's praises, but there was a double meaning. The unspoken dialogue was often more important than what was said.

This was an exchange between her host and the beta of her pack. Armstrong traced the top of the bottle idly and took a step back again to resume something close to her original position. she wasn't saying a damned thing unless someone talked to her at that moment.

[Andrea Locke] As far as penance goes, she hadn't quite banked on surrounding herself with crazies.

Still, she takes Armstrongs answer in stride -- given the rather murderous waves coming off the puddle-jumpers packmate, the last thing she's going to worry about is the question of phone styles and brain eating spiders. Besides, the most important part of the response is assurance that the homeless girl is well.

Before she can formulate a response, however; Lukas speaks - gently, which ultimately only serves to underscore the thrumming violence beneath it all. For all of her pride, petulance isn't something the older woman induldges in. Some women never grow out of it -- Andrea never really had the habit to begin with, no need to start now.

"No." She speaks just as quietly - gently - as he does, her own tones a low alto, still strikingly higher pitched in comparison to his deep timbre. "I don't." She pauses there, swirling the last dredge of her drink in its glass, before continuing, phrasing her words with care. "But it's been some time since I've been in the company of True Born. I knew many then who would command a kinwoman just to shame her into a sense of 'place'. I open my home to you and yours and others willingly and openly, free of any strings that move me in one direction or another, devoid of any 'master' who dictates my actions. I wish my situation to remain as it is; but I must remember to couch my pride in the face of commands born simply of different experience. I am sorry my instinctive reaction was to fault you."

There. Surely that was quite diplomatic.

Looking over to Armstrong -- "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name last night, miss -- would you like anything to drink?"

[Hatchet] There are few people in a ten-mile radius who are whiter than Taggart-slash-Hatchet. He is fair-haired and gray-eyed, though his tan does make him stand out a bit as it gets closer towards the middle of December. There's a chance that somewhere in his heritage his skin is just normally golden, but it doesn't look it. It looks like the work of the sun, carried over from some other location even though this one is perpetually cloudy right now.

So he is white as white is going to get. He blinks, then just shrugs and nods, as though he can understand her point. He puts his hand back in his pocket. "Fair enough." He waits for a moment then, watching her finish eating or put the rest of the empanadas away. "Who're the white people?"

[Word Vomit] "...ya know...the ones that walk through walls..don't realize they're not there anymore. I've only seen them once or twice. Mostly its the ones that don't know they're gone anymore...you see them in the alleyways sometimes...or subways....or even vacant buildings. Its not like they're wanting to live anymore..its just....they're stuck. Its all they know...to survive...so even when the body lets go....they're stuck there."

She crouches down to her bag, the untouched bag that still was near the table when she had went to get the phone. She moves to unzip it and put the food within the bag...beyond the smell of it, Hatchet can see there are books...books....books...and more books. More then she should realistically be able to put in the satchel...but they're there. And then she crams in the food...and it somehow fits as she goes to close it once more.

[Hatchet] "Oooh," he says to that, nodding a few times. This is not feigned. This is not even remotely insincere. In fact, his eyes seem to glint a bit with new understanding of the situation. He does see the books, and lots of them, and it could mean something that she chooses to haul books rather than clothes or survival tools.

But his eyes go to her face again, instead. "When was the first time you saw the white people?"

[Word Vomit] "..um....I think....three or four months ago....I don't talk to them...generally I leave them alone. I just have seen 'em is all."

She closes the bag as she straightens into her seat again, glancing around and then towards the exit a little before the eyes slide back to Hatchet.

"...so....uh...if there's no trouble...can I go home?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] For the duration of Andrea's long explanation Lukas says nothing; in fact, does not even look up. With his eyes downcast he is young, less terrifying. He does not sit, but he does lean slightly against the bar, his forearm flush against the edge, his fingers loose on the glass.

At the end of it, his eyes flicker up. They are cold as ice; in this light, without color.

Before Andrea can ask Armstrong's name and play gracious hostess -- before she can quite slip out of this one -- Lukas interrupts, softly.

"Well, that was all very tactful and properly submissive. But why, then, do you suppose I ordered you out of your kitchen?"

[Hatchet] Hatchet makes a face. It's the well-darn-wish-I-could face. "I don't know...I mean, this isn't my place. You might want to let Andrea know you're okay, first. She looked pretty startled, you know?"

"Plus," he goes on, nodding this time as the screwed-up expression leaves his features, "the moon's full. A lot of us here are on edge. I'm sure you feel it, too. I think it would help a lot if you just came out there with me. We could all relax, they could see you're okay, stuff like that."

[Word Vomit] Cody blinked a little, apprehensive at the idea of leaving the chair...going into another room...or for that matter...deeper into the building. But she glanced at where the phone had been and then her bag before she slowly nodded. She bent down, grunting as she lifted onto her shoulders, strapping it across her small torso as she waited for Hatchet to lead the way. A follower by nature.

[Andrea Locke] Lukas interrupts.
Lukas demands.
Lukas isn't satisfied.

Andrea closes her mouth as she is interrupted, her eyes sliding back to Lukas, her expression a careful mask, revealing nothing. He speaks softly, condescendingly and asks his question.

"Are you unsure why you did it? Do you question yourself? Are you looking, perhaps," She tilts her head to the side, a bird like motion, each word crisply pronounced and enunciated, though her tone is just as soft as his, sibilant as they slip from between her lips. "...reassurance? Or have Garou adopted the Socratic method of late? It. Is not. My intention. To. Submit."

[Hatchet] Hatchet takes his hands out of his pockets, and he takes a half-turn, pushing the kitchen door open and holding it for her. "Ladies first," he intones, only half-ironically. From where the others are, the door opens, but not a soul has come through yet.

[Word Vomit] Cody hesitated, before she moved to the other room...her satchel looking like a knapsack and her a grungy girl off to war as she shouldered it and walked inside like it was a death march. As she came inside, she hesitated...clearly hearing an arguement in the making as she entered...

...but she also felt a trap, a snare as she now couldn't easily retreat with Hatchet blocking her exit as well.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas doesn't even blink. Nor rage, nor shift, nor lose control. He backhands her across the face.

The gesture is brutal in its simplicity.

This is when the kitchen door opens: and Lukas glances mildly in its direction. While Andrea recovers (or screams, or cries, though somehow he does not think she will do such), he downs his drink.

"I did it," he sets the glass down with a neat clink, "to protect the kinfolk."

[Armstrong] (Alright lovelies, I had a blasng to sleep now! Assume Armstrong stands and keeps her mouth shut!)
to Andrea Locke, Hatchet, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Word Vomit

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (night armstrong!)

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker]
to Andrea Locke

[Word Vomit] (Hrmmm....I think folks are starting to nod off.)
to Andrea Locke, Hatchet, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] (i'm awake!)
to Andrea Locke, Hatchet

[Andrea Locke] She was expecting this sort of reaction -- it was in her eyes as soon as the words left her lips. All the same, anticipation never fully prepares you for reality. She'd braced herself, but the blow still rocks her back, one foot stepping back to balance herself, a hand shooting for the edge of the counter to steady herself as her face snaps in the reactive direction of the blow. A burning sting quickly replaces the shock of it, the red blush of tiny broken capillaries and adrenaline sweeping over alabaster flesh.

Just at that moment Reuben was emerging with his tool box from downstairs in the basement and it clatters to the ground with a resounding noise as he points a grizzled, slightly arthritis bent finger at Lukas, sputtering out his rage.
"Y'll leave this place! Now! Now sez I! Y'man-handlin'..."
"NO, Reuben." The words are harsh laced with pain, but strong for all of it. She straightens herself, a hand at her cheek. "No, querido... this isn't like before. This isn't so simple. Don't make it worse."

Working her jaw she looks to Lukas. "I stand for the kinfolk here. I earned that. So be it. But you'll not treat any others of mine in this fashion, do you understand? Please. I stand for them."

[Andrea Locke] ooc: I'm still awake, I just had to figure out how the hell to respond. heh. sorry.
to Hatchet, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Word Vomit

[Word Vomit] Cody just stares at the smack, for a moment wanting to dash to the woman's rescue...wanting to help her. But that's just a fantasy...a story from a book. She loved her stories..but it wasn't the real world...it wasn't here and now. She looked down a little, to the side...as if she hadn't seen anything...just remaining quiet.

[Hatchet] The sound Hatchet hears a few seconds before Cody passes him to go out of the kitchen is one he is intimately familiar with. His face, other people's hands. His hands, other people's faces. You can almost see the desire to cover his face with his palm when he hears it, because he has one guess whose hand it was this time and one guess whose face got it.

There is also a surge of Rage from behind Cody, quickly felt and even more rapidly contained. It takes effort. By god, it takes work on his part not to shove Cody to the side, roar, or do something other than grip the door he's holding hard in one hand.

He takes. A deep. Breath.

Hatchet walks out after Cody when she does not freak out but keeps walking, and lets the door to the kitchen swing shut behind him. He has no idea what was going on out here before he opened the door. He does not know what Andrea may or may not have done. He does know that Lukas's moon is in the sky. That matters.

He says nothing. Not immediately, not hearing Andrea's words to Lukas. He looks, instead, to the Shadow Lord, his expression inscrutable.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas turns to regard the aging fellow. The pivot of his body is casual, unalarmed. His face -- for those who can see it -- betrays neither indignation nor scorn. He turns back when Andrea speaks, and watches her a moment after she finishes, silent.

Then: "I apologize. But I did what I felt was necessary, in all things."

He turns to the pair emerging from the kitchen, then, his eyes moving from the raggedy girl to the Fianna, expectant. "So -- is she...?" Perhaps it should bother them all that he moves on so easily, the prior subject closed.

[Andrea Locke] How do you back away gracefully from being literally smacked down in front of witnesses? There's no easy way. And the option of somehow asserting herself in the face of, ultimately, the simple 'facts of life' is just as difficult to even contemplate.

She learned these lessons 30-some-odd-years ago.
Here she is trying to learn them again.

With what dignity she can muster [in her own eyes it is a shambles, but an onlooker might note her capacity to hold herself together] she straightens further, turning away from Lukas, motioning to a seething, fretful Reuban that she's fine. Her attention slides over Hatchet -- not lingering [why parade shameful weakness in front of a stranger?] -- then moves to Cody. Mustering a smile [a wan shadow of her previous warmth] she looks the girl over. "Estas bien, pequeña?"

[Word Vomit] Cody blinks, looking up at Andrea again before nodding solemnly, before she looks back to Lukas. She doesn't utter a word, nothing as well..it seemed Lukas was talking to Hatchet anyway...not her.

[Hatchet] Hatchet does not touch Cody. He looks at Lukas and shakes his head. Not to indicate 'no', though Lukas may very well take it as such, but to indicate that he does not know yet. It almost looks like he's at a loss. He steps out from behind Cody, so that he is not this hulking thing in her shadow, and pauses to look at Andrea. "Señora, ¿está usted herido?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas' eyes slide from Hatchet to the girl, and back. His fingers move restlessly -- the first sign of anything but absolute and iron control that any of them has seen from him. Andrea included, glaringly battered cheek or not. Then he closes his hand into a loose fist and it's gone.

"I'll be in the back if you need me, then." He picks up his emptied glass and takes it through the double doors, into the kitchen. They hear his footsteps ascending to the second floor soon after.

(okay, my brain has completed its transmogrification into mush. i'ma chill and watch a while longer, then sleep. thanks for the RP!)

[Andrea Locke] Liquid brown eyes slide up to Hatchet's at his query, spoken in her native tongue. For a moment the expression there is naked pain [more of the ego than the body, one must add], followed by a sort of mildly, wanly sardonic humour as an eyebrow arches.
Don't you already know the answer?

But what she says is quietly, simply spoken, attempting a neutralizing lightness. "No, gracias. Nada que no se puede resolver con un pedaso de carne cruda, si?"

With that she moves away from them all, into the kitchen, presumably to go put a piece of raw meat on her face, as Hatchet and Cody understood.

[Andrea Locke] ooc: I need to be off, too. Up WAY too late AGAIN.
Oh, translation for WV: No, thank you. Nothing that can't be fixed with a piece of raw meat.

Thanks for the sceneage!
to Hatchet, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, peek, Word Vomit

[Word Vomit] Cody glances to the others and then finally looks to Hatchet as she fidgets a little, eyes darting around once more.

"....can I go home now? I'm...nervous and I don't like seeing others hit...not that I'm saying he was wrong to do it or she was wrong or anything like that...I mean...I know i've been hit more then a few times and well...its kinda late...and I'm tired...and I still got my food to eat...maybe even share. And there's something I gotta read tonight....and there's not much moonlight to read with..I know I've been a bother but realy...it would be less of an issue for everyone if I could just go home...I won't come back...I'll be good..."

[Hatchet] Hatchet is just a couple of inches past six feet. He smiles at Andrea, though a bit tight at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and nods. "O una bolsa de guisantes congelados," he says dryly, as she scoots off.

Looking down to Cody, and it is -- in her case -- quite a long way down, he cocks his head to the side. "Can you answer me a question, before you go?"

[Word Vomit] Cody blinks, hesitating before she holds a finger up.

"Only one...and you don't get to ask for more questions cause that's cheating..."

[Hatchet] "That would only work if I were wishing for more wishes," Hatchet says, quirking one eyebrow at Cody. "If I asked you if I could ask more questions, then the simple thing to do would be to say no, and that would be the end of that, and I'd have shot myself rather neatly in the foot."

He makes no move towards the door, towards the kitchen where Lukas and Andrea both headed. That makes him wary, Lukas heading 'out back' and then Andrea going that same way to get her raw meat, but until he hears another smack, or a scream, he's perfectly fine where he is.

"What is the first tenet of the recited Litany?" he asks, after a pause to collect the question.

[Hatchet] (Michelle, I don't have you on AIM, so: Thank you for the play!)
to Andrea Locke, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, peek, Word Vomit

[Andrea Locke] ooc: Anytime! and AIM is shygravel, btw -- feel free to add me.
to Hatchet, Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Andrea Locke] ooc: night! (turns into an over ripe pumpkin)
to Hatchet, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, peek, Word Vomit

[Word Vomit] Cody blinks a little as she moves back slightly.

"Uh...well..um...its no getting yer freak on with yer relations....so to speak. Or rather No Chika Bow Wow with yer fellow Bow Wows..."

[Hatchet] Hatchet just looks at her for a second, contemplates her answer, and then nods a couple times. "Good enough," he says with a shrug. "At least that's settled. Now, not to be a dick here and ask more than my fair share, but I'm bigger than you, so...well...I'm gonna." He gives her an exaggerated whaddya-gonna-do shrug.

It doesn't last. The last hour or so, from meeting Edward upstairs to this moment, has him on edge. The moon has him on edge. He won't be staying here tonight. There is no telling what the hell he is going to go out and do once he gets finished with this. "Give me your full introduction, now, Cody. Deedname first, mind," he adds, holding up a cautionary finger.

[Word Vomit] Cody breathes in about to go into a tirade but falls short before she sighs a little.

"Word Vomit, Galliard Cliath of the Bone Gnawers....though I really don't like the name that much but Uncle Jitz gave it to me and I couldn't really argue cause he looked after me but still its a weird name and I never understood why he called me that. I mean honestly, its not like I barf all the time though I guess I do like to read so words sorta make sense but ya know...its not the most appealling name and sometimes I think others like to make fun of it. Like they made fun of Erkel even though the guy could be really sexy as Stefaun...or the fact that he was Sonic the hedgehog, fastest thing alive. Sometimes I realy miss Saturday morning cartoons..."

[Hatchet] He...nods. After a minute, as she is in the process of starting another sentence, he just nods once and then holds up his hands in a big T, giving a sharp whistle. "That's good," he says, cutting her off at 'cartoons'. Hatchet drops his hands then and looks at her, considering.

"My name is Buried Hatchet, Cody," he says, using the name she apparently prefers to her deedname. "I am Fianna and a Half-Moon, Fostern and Alpha of [Pop Goes the Mother-Fuckin' Weasel on this Mother-Fuckin' Plane]. The young stallion that just stalked out of here is Lukas Wyrmbreaker," he goes on drolly, pronouncing Lukas's name correctly, all Russian and resonant, "an Ahroun of the Shadow Lords of your rank, Beta to Edward [Schnooky-Wookums] of The Unbroken Circle."

He takes a breath. "And that very nice woman who gave you the empanadas is Kin to our kind. So. You didn't mention a pack. I'm assuming you're a lone wolf," he says, without judgment or disdain. "Have you been here very long? In the city, I mean."

[Word Vomit] "...uh...I came here once....there was this really good bin behind McDonald's.....mmmmm....chicken nuggets in mayo and secret sauce....I had a good dinner that night."

Thankfully, she doesn't go into full detail of the meal, but the little mention of what little she did have from the dumpster diving is likely to make a sane man queasy....Gnawers would eat anything it would seem.

"But...yeah...I don't have a pack....I never really asked for one and no one ever really wanted me. Besides...generally if someone needs me...I just tagalong for the ride. Most folks always want to have their stories told...again...and again...and again. I guess their Galliards don't remember though...so I have to keep them on my sticky notes. They're very important."

She nods sagely, as if she were talking about the Silver Record.

[Hatchet] "...Right."

Hatchet peers at her for a moment. Then: "Do you know who your tribal elder is? Do you have a tribal elder in Chicago?"