thresher.

[.Filth.] Do they have to change their name if the heart of the circle is cut out?
Broken?

Little flashes that are nothing but reflection on death stick like sharp pins into the flesh of the Gaians. Sam's constituation keeps him from even feeling the nicks of it, the flesh closing around the weapons before they can even draw up blood. But Mrena isn't so lucky. The shadow lord is not an Ahroun and at times the din of the battle distracts her mind enough that she cannot speed along those natural healing processes of the war-body she carries. People scream around them, roll about underfoot, things shatter as the background noises to the end of the world.

From all sides the attacks come and the cliaths hadn't counted on the clowns being quite so strong. One would swear any one of them could lift a car with it's bare hands. The second knife crosses infront of her face as Sam deals a flesh wound to the closest to him. He's throwing himself at the other werewolf and it's doing the same when the third strikes her though, forcing it's painted hand all the way into her insides behind a knife, taking intestines with it.

It's emotionless face never breaks glassy eye from glassy eye as it faces her down with her innards. Seeming almost surprised, enamored as she reverts back down to her breed form.

.....a scared little girl.....
...was any of it real?....
....I'm dying.....
....You killed me.....

The Fenrir reacts in fury, one hand flying back to tear the head from the possesed monstrosity that dared get within arm's reach, the sick rolling sound of it across the dance floor is down out by the cries and sobs of the terrified masses still trapped in the place. The floor beneath them is sick and he and the lead clown go at each other with teeth first, hitting the ground the process. Sam's teth find it's ribcage, tearing it wracked open like the jaws of life might an auto accident.

The clown stops moving, it's men turn on Sam and hesitate again. Then flee not of fear pout pure preservation, One going for the bar and the last thing Mrena remembers before dying is the fire. The first of the flames that lick out around them.

============================================================================

"Please wake up. Please wake up." The next thing White Eyes sees is her a pile of blonde hair collecting against her abdomen. The back of the head it belongs to faces her as her recognizable packmate lies down there. His voice is soft, hoarse. A way she's never, ever heard him. "Please."

She's in the brotherhood. In one of the empty rooms. Some of her things have been brought in though and There are some balloons that read 'Get Well Soon'. A few cards, some with the same message, some with those of birthday wishes line the dresser, propped open so they can be seen on their covers from the bed. She doesn't remember it, she couldn't. Nothing but the Red, the bloody fists of her packmate raining down about her, his sobbing as he'd carried her home. It's not back in her conscious yet, but someday she will. They always do.

She'll remember the pretty blonde girl who'd bought herself and Sam shots and had done her best not to act afraid when Mrena's brother had thanked her. She'll remember the girl's face torn to ribbons under claws and her limb not cut or bitten but torn off. The taste of the blood in her mouth and how it had seemed so tempting to simply stop and feast. How it had felt right to simply destroy so wantonly.

"I'll do whatever you ask me to, just bring her back." He's been here awhile, the way his hair tangles and there are marks in his shirt from days worth of sweat. He sounds exhausted. He sounds beaten.

Could that be Sam?

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] ( So uh... Location, location, location? )

[.Filth.] ((Monday afternoon-ish, brotherhood, spare room where Mrena's been zonked for a full day)

[.Filth.] ((and a half, *L*))

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] ( I shall post after Damon, and hopefully he will include something about Caleb in his post. "So a Shadow Lord and Silver Fang walk into a bar..." )

[Armstrong] She had not been fortunate that evening.

The only saving grace that Mrena could have counted on was the fact that Sam had been there. There was blood everywhere and, for her part, she had moved with as much grace and as much composure as she could, but it wasn't enough. It hadn't been enough to keep her intact and it had only barely been enough to keep her alive.

And she hadn't thought of anything at that moment. Taking one blow, dodging another, and then finally taking the one that should have killed her. That rendered her from being a weapon of war to a bleeding, breakable little girl. And then?

Just a rag doll with the stuffing torn out.

And the last thing she remembered before the world went out was fire.

-----

Please wake up, he said. When silvery eyes opened, she didn't notice the light in the room, she didn't notice the Get Well Soon wishes or the cards, the noticed londe hair collected against her abdomen-

[And the flash of blood was felt across her memory. She didn't know it yet, but she'll remember that it felt amazing to tear that poor girl to bits. She'll remember that the taste of blood on her tongue felt right and deserved and that it was in her nature, on some level, to be so destructive. That was how some part of her would justify it. And this would be the part that would make her sick to her stomach, make th theurge wish that she could throw up. Because it felt right.]

She let her fingertips raise up, gently moving to Sam's hair. She stroked some of the blonde curls, and for her part she seemed confused. Because the world did not make any sense for the time being. And she was trying to pull it all together and she was trying to push it all into focus and it Just. Wasn't. Working.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she couldn't think of what else to say. She was pulling for it. She was trying to gain some sort of information and it just... wasn't... working. She was trying to remember what had happened for the rest of the night and...

and...

"Please don't be upset."

[.Filth.] He's been the only sound in the room for just under an hour now.

Since the earliest hours of Sunday morning, when he'd come stumbling and screaming with her limp, unconscious body through the doors of the brotherhood, Sam has barely said more than a few mumbled incomprehensible words to anyone. After he'd thrown an ashtray at Sampson so hard that tiny bits of it would likely be found in the hardwood's nooks and crannies for years to come the visitors had slowed. To his packmate though, this small slight ashen-eyed girl whose face he'd turned to what looked like rotting prunes just to subdue her, and who now, thanks to one of the healing talen's she given him was now in pristine shape save for three scars, one like a wicked ball of hatred right on her abdomen, the one where that thing's knife had first found her, made her mouth bubble dark crimson.

His head snaps up, like a wolf hearing squirrels in the brush at the edge of it's territory. His eyelids are nowhere to be seen, opened back along his eyes so far as to make them seas of white with only an arctic glacier floating in the center. The back of one hand streaks across both eyes as he bounds up onto the bed taking her without regard for want or need up between long, strong arms.

"You made it." He chokes on the words. If he even heard her apologizing he doesn't register it, doesn't mention it. Just holds on for a few more seconds before turning back toward the door. "She's awake! She's awake!"

The folks in the restaurant have to love that.

[Wyrmbreaker]

[Wyrmbreaker] (err. ignore that.)

[Wyrmbreaker] (it was a leftover from my talenmaking in the other window. i put it in the wrong window. hurr.)

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas spent the previous night in the Caern itself, or he would've brought Caleb earlier. As is, the Ahroun is coming in the back door of the Brotherhood just now, talking to the Theurge as he goes.

"...badly hurt and almost died," he's saying as the door opens into the kitchen. "Sam's pretty shook up. Apparently he had to subdue her after her rageback Frenzy." Footsteps on the steps now. "Might make him feel better if you healed--"

She's awake! She's awake!

Lukas grimaces and picks up the pace, mounting the stairs two at a time. Mind the mortals, Sam. I brought Caleb to fix her up.

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] "Indeed. It can be a nasty thing, frenzy," he said in a half-murmured voice as he ascended the stairs behind Lukas. This might be neutral territory, but he still considered the entire establishment Circle territory. "At least the girl survived."

With Sam's bellowing like a madman, Caleb likewise picked up the pace and bounded up the stairs behind the Ahroun. When he had learned the girl that had become more of a bratty kid sister to him than a girl to watch and be wary of constantly had been hurt, he had indeed answered the summons. That, and as a theurge it was his duty to perform such actions.

[.Filth.] His celebration is cut off by the voice of his Beta through the slit left in the door that he hasn't let quite go shut save for when it had gotten loud once the previous evening, sternly reprimanding a group of kinfolk from downstairs who'd only been asked to clean the bathrooms across the hall.

They'll likely never cross the lower threshold of the stairway again.

"I..." Okay The voice of an eagle giving address to a higher flying hawk, quiet like it's miles off in their minds. "I already used the last bandage I had." He's still cocked sideways on the bed next to Mrena, one arm still beneath her head as his body cheat away toward the door. The pal mof that hand hold him upfirmly with splayed fingers on her pillow. As if realizing the folly in not even asking, in barely even addressing the theurge who's prone next to where he sits he does turn and look down at her. His eyes are puffed, red, his whole face seems gaunt and sleepless too.

"I'm so sorry," It's all he can say, parroting it right back at her.

"I didn't get him."

[Armstrong] It was almost an endearing sound. Mrena, once upon a time, was very much a fan of her personal space. Even now, there were times that Mrena did not want anyone near her, that she would push and look distinctly uncomfortable. But now? Now was not one of those times.

For her part, she was drained on multiple levels. And there was Sam, sounding smaller than she had ever heard him and something about that hurt. Hurt on an almost spiritual level, really. And so, when pulled into an embrace she didn't exactly push him away, or try to wriggle out of it. He said that she made it, and he sounded damned near excited. Elated, even.

And for her part, all Mrena could think to do was hold onto Sam for dear life. After awhile, a moment that felt like an eternity, she had to sate her curiousity. [Curiosity gets you dead.] She looked at Sam, and he relayed that he was sorry. Brows knit and she cocked her head to the size in an almost avian gesture.

"..." silence. Sam didn't get him.

a beat passed.

"... what happened?"

[Wyrmbreaker] (delete last post -- new info, gotta redo.)

[Wyrmbreaker] It's Monday afternoon. The battle was Saturday.

In the meantime, Mrena -- healing, unconscious -- has been recuperating in her room at the Brotherhood. Her packmates have been by: her Alpha, her Beta, the prospective inductee. They come for five minutes, half an hour, thirty seconds. They leave to attend to patrols, scouting, life, war.

The only constant is Mrena and Sam. They don't move.

4:23pm, and the back door opens. Lukas and Caleb, returning from ... wherever. The conversation had nothing to do with Mrena; they were discussing Caleb's joining the pack.

"...should induct you properly once Mrena's back up to fighting trim," he's saying as he reaches the Theurge's door. He raises his hand and raps his knuckles against the wood, pushes it open a second later and walks in.

He finds Sam rumpled and pale, dark circles under his eyes; unshaven; almost certainly in clothes going on 48 hrs old now. The Ahroun gives his auspice-mate a brief look. Then he looks at Mrena.

"Good to see you're back with us." In contrast to Sam's unrestrained grief and unrestrained joy, Lukas seems almost detached to the news of Mrena's reawakening. He'd never doubted it.

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] "Indeed," he said casually as he walked along beside the Shadow Lord. "I suppose it will take a weight off of Mrena, by being there. Being the theurge of a pack of more than four Garou can be trying for the best of us."

His demeanor was as cool as Lukas' - he knew what stuff Mrena was made of, after all he had been teaching her the use of a sword for some time now. She likely wasn't near the level of blademaster and neither was Caleb, but at least the Silver Fang could keep her from cleaving off her own foot when things got hairy.

Stepping inside with Lukas, he cast an appraising eye around the room. His eyes first went to Mrena to assess how she was feeling, then to Sam. The Fenrir certainly looked as though he hadn't slept, the rumpled clothes and red bloodshot eyes.

"From all that I have heard, I for once thought I was going to have peaceful mornings for a change," he said with a half-curve to his lips as he stepped a bit closer. Their back-and-forth banter by now was likely known to the rest of the Circle, Caleb viewing the incorrigable younger theurge as his little sister to an extent. "Do you require further healing?" he asked.

[.Filth.] "He was down, I swear," He sounds guilty. As if he's done something wrong. "I got the one beside me and I went after that Spiral and then you." He swallows. His eyes wrench down in what's unmistakable as anger, human anger. It isn't Rage, the two aren't nearly the same and this if at all possible is the more dangerous of the two. "By the time I got those things away from you..."

He swallows hard. "I couldn't find him. He was gone."

He stands up running his fingers into his thick blonde hair, parts of it stick off at odd angles after that as the unwashed locks simply stick and tangle with two days without cleaning the blood and sweat and grime from them. "I should've had a plan Mrena, it's my job to protect you-" Perhaps it's by virtue of their powerful totem, their auspicious formation, but they are a pack who does not see defeat, and it couldn't be more evident than right at this moment. "-i'm sorry."

Because Edward doesn't even get this kind of display. The lanky form of the Fenrir pacing around the room a hair's width from losing his temper. Rage and breeding and everything Gaia could've given ready to snap into a mindless killing machine at a moment's notice. And not simply because they'd been beaten to at least a stalemate.

But because it hadn't been him lying there dead.

[Wyrmbreaker] (this is an open scene, folks. it's just retro -- monday afternoon)
to liar, Peek, peep, rock

[rock] (Whoo! Cuz I r BORED. :) )
to liar, Peek, Wyrmbreaker

[Peek] (Hmmm...sounds like fun)
to liar, peep, rock, Wyrmbreaker

[Zeke] Eyes and ears on different things. Important matters. Disquieting moments.

It is easy to be oblivious to the sudden change in the Common Room's air pressure, free of bodies or presence (a quick peek had confirmed that).

Pop

Goes the gauntlet. Then the rustle of clothes as a seat is taken

(Placemarker. Will get more involved in a minute..)

[Armstrong] It's the first time that she had taken a breaking like that. Well, that she remembered. It wouldn't be the first, certainly, and it hopefully wouldn't be the last. All things considered, however, she was in better spirits than usual. Her voice was out of use, and for her part she seemed vaguely aware of her visitors.

It was the best she could really hope for.

"... Oh god, you brought him? Really, Lukas?" She couldn't help but grin, though it was slight. Something vaguely pleased, and he asked if she needed further assistance. Mrena shook her head; Darkensky knew she was a prideful creature. "I'll be fine, don't worry. I'll be up and about making your life a new shade of awful soon enough."

Sam swallowed, and for her part looked at him in silence. And she listened. There he was, by her side and not moving or wavering in a quiet state of self-loathing. This was the dance of a battle lost. He blamed himself, he should have had a plan. [She should have moved.] And for her part Mrena seemed desperate to understand what was going through his head.

-I'm sorry.
"Don't," she said. "If we have learned something from this, then it wasn't a waste. We were out-classed."

It was the best comfort she could offer. God, she was trying though. It had to be worth something.

[Wyrmbreaker] There's a pop! of a body suddenly appearing where once there was air -- a subaudible and instantaneous pressure-change that has Lukas raising his head like a wolf scenting a stranger.

Which is, in a way, exactly what he is.

"That's enough," he says, low. "Pull yourself together, Sam. You're not doing anyone a favor by falling apart for thirty-six hours. We need you on the front lines, not weeping in a sickroom." With that, he puts out his hand to Mrena, intending to tug her back to her feet. "Come on, White-Eyes. On your feet now."

[Maija] She is something of a ghost about the Brotherhood, coming in late, leaving early, doing little more than sleeping on an empty bed in whatever room she shares with whomever needs the other beds. She hasn't been around for a couple of days though, and perhaps those that had noticed her ghostly brief presence, might have noticed. Or not. Either way, it's a little odd to be here in the daytime.

She's scored a recent shower, and her clothing is clean, her jeans threadbare, but with the addition of another patch under one ass cheek. Otherwise, she is the same as she always is. Not exactly tall, very much too thin, and huddled inside a hoodie that's at least 2 sizes too big, the hood pulled low to cast her face in shadow. Her pack is slung over her shoulders, her beat to hell hiking boots making little sound as she slides through the backdoor, to the stairs on the way to the room where she slept last.

She'd misplaced something, and has come to find it. Simple enough.

[.Filth.] A lopsided thing, sad comes over his face there in the bedroom. It's a smile, sure, but behind it there's nothing in the way of happiness or contentment or any of the other things Sam had been trying to find again in that crowded drinking hall with his packmate. Things he'd not had in awhile and had convinced himself or perhaps allowed himself to be convinced that he should at least be able to have on his birthday of all times.

And then Lukas speaks.

And it disappears.

So does Sam.

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] Caleb stood with arms folded as he watched the inter-play between Sam, Mrena, and Lukas. The other theurge playfully antagonized him, and he quirked a brow and replied. "You make my life a new shade of awful every day," he said wryly. "I can't see as how it's something new day in and day out, but it is. Although when you showed up drunk out of your mind and nearly vomitted on my livingroom floor, that was more amusing than awful."

It even brought a chuckle to his lips, a quiet one. When Lukas bent to help her up, Caleb could only watch on in silence with his arms folded.

[Armstrong] She looked at Lukas for a minute; her Beta gave her instructions, and she wasn't going to ignore them. The theurge rolled her shoulders back, straightening herself out so that she wasn't a complete mess. A quick analysis of the damages; Mrena concluded that her hair looked like shit. That she needed a shower. And that both she nad Sam still smelled like battle and death.

She stood and then the theurge, in her diminuitive glory, gave Caleb possibly one of the most startling, bone-chilling glares that someone of her stature could. There was a sound in the common room, an audible pop and she tensed.

[Wyrmbreaker] As Maija and Zeke enter the Common Room, they can hear muffled voices coming from the room Mrena and Dylan share. The door is tapped shut, but not latched.

Inside, Lukas grasps Mrena by the forearm, but before he can tug, the Theurge stands on her own. Lukas's smile is barely visible - a tug at the corner of his mouth. He lets her go and looks her over.

"So? Show me the scar."

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] Caleb's lips twitched, fighting a smile at that cold glare. There is nothing in this world that Mrena could come up with that would terrify the Silver Fang any more than what he has seen in his life, and she is one of very few that know what terrifies him the most on the face of Gaia.

"Yes, let's see it. You are a tough woman," he said. "It must of been some wicked blow that nearly felled you."

[Zeke] The Man on the couch, as Maija climbs the stairwell to enter the common room is...well, worse for wear. His clothes are a tattered mess of ribbons and shorn shreds, sections dangling in long strips around larger portions of fabric that have managed to maintain their consistency. Black soot marks line many of the lacerations in the clothing. Amazingly enough the flesh beneath it all is remarkably unharmed, dusted lightly with soot as it were.

shaved bald, sporting a trimmed goatee and cradling his chin in one hand, the elbow resting on a couch arm, he has one ankle resting comfortably on the opposite knee, back slightly hunched and eyes regarding the wall directly ahead of him somewhat lazily.

One might be tempted to call it a moment devoted to finding some clarity.

[Maija] There are reasons she doesn't like to hang out here during the day. There's something about being surrounded by Garou when their awake that is completely different than when they sleep - it's easier to lie o oneself and say they're not walking talking death machines when you hear them snoring and snorting, and imagine them drooling on their pillows, after all. The energy is completely different when they are awake, talking and walking and meeting and greeting - then they are more aware, and it makes slipping in and out unnoticed a virtual impossibility.

Yet onwards, anyway.

She steps into the commons room, a quick glance placing the muffled voices, and where Zeek is in the common room. Then it's back to head down, quick walk, as she moves toward 'her' room, not far from Mrena's.

[Armstrong] And she lit up with a sort of macabre pride; it was as if he had asked to see her sketch book or wanted to see something she had painted or was asking how a date went. [Horribly, she usually answered. The question was rarely asked, as that Mrena did not seem to court and those that she courted rarely lived up to her expectations. Not the point. We're talking about scars, here] The theurge took a moment to adjust, living her shirt up just enough that it rested halfway up her torso.

She'd been stabbed in the stomach,a little to the side, but a solid hit none the less. Something deep, less-than-pleasant looking. It seemed to be the primary concern. "There's that, and..."

She turned a little showing her side and back to her packmate and company. Something less painfully deep on her back and another, slightly more wicked mark on her side. It was hard to tell what order those blows had come in, but they came none the less. Mrena then smoothed her shirt down, covering up all of her necessities. "Those."

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas inspects the scars with the sort of interest usually reserved for -- well. Works of art. When he straightens, he grins. "Well, at least they aren't on your back.

"Come on. You must be famished. When you've eaten we should discuss summoning the Totem sometime soon. In case you haven't heard," being unconscious and all, "Caleb's going to join us."

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] Nodding thoughtfully to himself as Mrena shows off her scars--badges of honor--Caleb smiled slightly and shook his head. Ahrouns typically would react to any such scarring as badges of honor. Caleb considered such things to be badges of luck, although he was glad to see no serious harm had come to her. Serious, as in the kill-you-dead kind of harm.

"I've spoken to Katherine about it," the theurge said. "It seemed to me that she would of been disheartened if I wouldn't of ever asked."

A wolf can never run alone for so long until it finally dies. He had been packed, briefly, but that ended just as quickly. There was still that matter to attend to. He would speak to the two Shadow Lords seperately about it in time.

[Armstrong] At least they weren't on her back- god the implications would have killed her. She then took a moment to listen to the two of them. Mrena had a lot to catch up on, it seemed. There was quite a lot that could pass while one was less-than-conscious. But, then Lukas had to mention food. Eyes widened slightly and then her stomach protested.

Oh, yeah, she hasn't eaten in thirty six hours. And then? A good chunk of Mrena's calories had come from whatever alcoholic beverages she and Sam had been drinking. "That? Sounds amazing."

She started to head out of the room and out into the common room. She turned back and spoke to Caleb as she did. "Looks like you won't be getting rid of me any time soon then, will you?"

The theurge looked to the side, noticing that... this was new. The theurge regarded Maija for a moment, and there was that curiosity again. The kind of thing that had gotten her into trouble before, that had contributed to those scars that she had. The theurge seemed to regard Maija, the sum of her parts, and cleared her throat.

"Haven't seen you before," she said.

[Maija] She glances over her shoulder at Zeke one more time, before her hand slides around the doorknob of the room she'll never exactly call her own. A turn, and she pushes the door open, and pauses. She listens inside to see if any of her bunkmates are in, and there's an inaudible sigh of relief to find the door empty. It's not as if she has anything to hide really, but she is not one who likes to answer questions.

Ever.
And Garou always ask.

Case in point - there's the question, that stops Maija in her tracks. Eyes close briefly, before she turns her head enough to let Mrena know she's heard her. She doesn't push her hood back, leaving her face in shadows, as she clears her throat slightly. "Ain't 'round much."

Simple truth. Always the best policy.

[Caleb Delacourt-Alden] Following the other two, Caleb shrugged. "Not as like I ever could," he answered blithely before sauntering along with his thumbs hooked into hip-pockets.

Mrena paused before Maija, and her voice sparked some form of recognition in him. He'd seen her before, but where? Brows furrowing, the too-handsome cajun eyed the shadows of that hood. Not to try penetrating them, but more to try and see through them. As if a face wasn't important - Maija might feel as though those Falcon's Eyes were peering into her soul.

[Wyrmbreaker] And suddenly there are three werewolves out in the hall.

Maija has probably seen Lukas now and again. The Ahroun -- because that's what his rage marks him to be -- wears the form of a young man most days; dark of hair, pale blue of eye. She would've seen him reading on the sectional couch, shaving with a straight razor in the bathroom ... coming in at ridiculous hours, staying up all night.

He's quiet, but it's not for shyness or lack of confidence. Lukas has that fabled bearing of eagles about him, straight-backed, eyes sharp.

He's seen her enough that she's not a stranger to him, but they've never spoken. He looks at her curiously, but uninvolvedly -- as Mrena stops to speak to the girl, he lays such a familiar hand on the Theurge's shoulder that they're marked immediately and indelibly as packmates.

I'll go see what Saint Jen's got on the stove, the mental comment, and bring some up.

"Hey, Zeke," Lukas greets his tribesmate casually, offhandedly, as he's descending the stairs. His gait is steady and paced, one step after the next, solid and unhurried.

[Zeke] "Need a minute of your time, Lukas..."

It comes with a nod toward the Ahroun. He seemed to have been expecting the other Thunder to emerge eventually, settling back into the couch with a comfortable clearing of the throat and the words as a reply to the greeting.

"...When you've got a minute of course." As if to indicate that Zeke was aware at least of something pressing occuring down the hall. A rush? No but the tone of his voice seemed to suggest a certain level of...importance? Somewhat. Closer still to resignation.

[Armstrong] "How long have you been here?" Curiosity or suspicion. It could have been a nice blend of both.

She hadn't exactly been conscious for a few days; Mrena was likable at times. The rest of the time she was sharp-tongued, inquisitive, and downright infuriating. Whether this would become one of those times was hard to tell just yet. The theurge looked at Maija and shut her door once all were out of her room.

Mrena was another creature that came and went at strange hours. She usually left before dawn. That was neither here nor there.

"Have a name?"

Because, you see, she would ask. Because those scars had yet to teach her anything about curiosity.

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas pauses halfway down the stairs -- half his body still above the floorline.

"Yeah?" He considers a moment. "Why don't you follow me down? I'm just going as far as the kitchen to see what's on the stove."

Provided Zeke does, Lukas waits for him. When the Ragabash catches up the Ahroun starts walking again, taking the steps quicker now: a rapid one-two trot to the stone tiles of the kitchen.

[Maija] And suddenly there are three, and he hair on the back of her neck rises, and her shoulders tense, her spine stiffens. It's an automatic fight or flight response, one that she withstands only because she has known it most of her life, before she ran. She pulls her hand from the doorknob, and shoves it deep into the 'roo pocket to join it's mate.

She moves to allow her back to press into the wall, as if for all the world she'd become one with it if she could. Caleb stares, and she glances up - just once- then finds something interesting on the floorboards to fix her gaze on - a speck of dust, something.

Mrena asks, and "Yeah," she answers. It's automatic, and obedient, if not all together comfortable, or willing. "Maija."

Mi-yah, she offers, and it rolls off the tongue easily enough that one can assume it's her real name.

[Zeke] "Actually..."

Lukas is half-way through a continuing step down the stairs, as Zeke pipes in quickly.

"This is gonna need to stay here." His hands gesture down flat, at the Common room "...Given my current state of dress and topic of conversation, I think it best I just wait for you to get back from the Humans only section." And he does. Or at least seems willing to. Patient and shifting around to get more comfortable.

[Wyrmbreaker] A cocked eyebrow. "Kitchen's off-limits to the humans too, Zeke."

Nevertheless, Lukas proceeds down alone. And returns alone a few minutes later, bearing not a bowl but a stack of bowls, and an entire fucking pot of stew.

This he sets down on the coffee table, presumably for all. He hands Zeke one of the bowls -- in case the Ragabash assumed it was a pack-only dinner. Then Lukas takes his usual place at the bend of the sectional couch, ladling a heaping portion into his bowl.

"All right, what's up?"

[Zeke] The Bowl is refused with closed eyes, a shake of the head and a wave of an errant hand. Soot falls from what's left of the sleeve on his shirt, joining the pockets of black dust thinly coating his right leg. He leans back into the couch, thumb beneath his chin and fingers running up the side of his cheek.

"How much do you and your number know about Threshers?" Unless Zeke had developed a sudden taste for large farming machines, it was obvious he was talking about something else.

[Armstrong] There was no offering of her hand, no need to do so. It was just the sort of pleasantry that came with them passing. Mrena was not the best of neighbors, by any means. She wasn't much of a talker, she got up at ridiculous hours, and she never once came by to greet Maija with a fruit basket.

Her name was Maija.

"Mrena," she said. Not Armstrong, oddly enough. Said wtih faith, a truth that it would be pronounced correctly. "Guess you're my neighbor."

A beat.

"I'll try not to have loud sex. I don't know if you're a light sleeper or not."

If she had known Mrena, this would be absolutely hilarious. As that Mrena was a stranger, and seemed to be completely serious, it seemed to be a genuine offer.

[Wyrmbreaker] (remind me wtf threshers are? *LOL* he has 1 dot in occult so he'd know roughly what they are)
to Zeke

[Zeke] (Large Bane, jaggling. Ugly and hateful fuckers. As an Ahroun, Lukas would know them as a Full-pack necessary threat. Also? Fire oriented.)
to Wyrmbreaker

[Maija] Guess you're my neighbor, the woman says, and Maija simply nods. Then there is a beat, and the following statement, and that got the girl to look up, perhaps a beat longer than before, enough to give a hint of the face in those shadows, the line of her jaw, perhaps, and the escaped wisp of dishwater blond hair that has braved the air outside the fleece.

Thin fingers - the girl could not possibly be more than 110 if she had a brick in each pocket and was soaking wet - lift to tuck away the strand, baring the line of her jaw, and very, VERY briefly the splash of a bruise faded to almost healed across her cheekbone. "Ain't no worries, ma'am." she murmurs. "ain't here long 'nuff for it to matter much, most nights, an' sleep heavy 'nuff."

Her voice is a conglomeration of accents - here, there, and everywhere, a true mix of Americana in bad grammar.

[Wyrmbreaker] "Not a lot." Lukas doesn't beat around the bush; he doesn't try to disguise ignorance beneath mountains of bullshit. "Big banes with an affinity for fire. Why?" Zeke not eating doesn't keep Lukas from eating: the Ahroun pauses to deliver a big spoonful to his mouth. After he chews and swallows, "Did you run across one?"

[Maija] ((*tags on*))

And, deep in the 'roo pocket, her other hand presses against her belly to still the growl the scent of that stew awakens.

[Zeke] "Yea'. I've been tracking one's migration patterns throughout the city for the last few weeks..."

Zeke leans forward to inspect the inside of the pot, face scrunching up in a brief sniff that is ultimately dismissive as the Ragabash leans back into the comfort of the couch.

"Fire's just one of their little party tricks. Up-close is next to impossible, made up of an assortment of twisted metal, hardly any organics. Things are like tanks. Mow through whatever they find and cut it to ribbons" He plucks at the shredded shirt and pants he's wearing as if to evidence. "Heavy doses of toxins on the metal. Corrosions and acidics. Eats a path where it rests for too long but..."

Zeke rubs along his right shoulder, wincing ever so slightly at the red raw flesh that is exposed for a moment beneath the ribbons.

"..This thing's been moving a lot. Hard to keep tabs, except in it's aftermaths. Spirits are scared of it." A pause, eyes regarding Lukas.

"Migration keeps changing, but it seems to be moving in a box. Certain borders. Traced a few of 'em to see what might be keeping it penned in but I haven't found any spirit evidence. Leads me to think it might be getting prodded..."

Another heartbeat, Zeke leaning forward with a critical eye at Lukas.

"Milo mentioned you ran into some BSDs not to long ago?"

[Wyrmbreaker] A wry look. "I'm an Ahroun, Zeke." This isn't a boast; it's plain fact. "I run into Dancers on a semi-regular basis.

"Why? You think some Dancers are herding your friend around like cattle?"

[Armstrong] Mrena Armstrong was petite. Not yet five and a half feet tall, of a weight that seemed to fit her distinctly petite frame. But Mrena did not present it as a weakness; the theurge prsented herself as a creature without fault and one beyond contempt. She was a recently twenty year old creature, cheeks round, eyes bright. Eyes that were damned near white; pale grey at the best.

"That's fortunate," she replied. Not a hint of accent. No origins. No dirty secrets, no tales from the road. Just a young woman with a voice that was high pitched and unadorned.

Her stomach growled unhappily.

Mrena frowned and all but glowered at her rather empty stomach. The look might have been a familiar one; it all but screamed shut up, I hear you, growling isn't going to get you fed any faster.

[Wyrmbreaker] (sorry to cut it short man, but i gotta dash to bed really soon! say... 20-30 min?)
to Zeke

[Zeke] Zeke takes a deep breath, lower jaw rolling in a slow circuit as he regards Lukas.

"The thing's bein' kept on the River's east side, but seems to be avoiding the Eagles turf by a good three blocks. Follows a line right above their Northern Border, like they know Silence is just waiting there to tear this thing up..." A heartbeat. "...That's too...coincidental, for my tastes. For the life of me though, I haven't seen anything that says as much but..."

Zeke's jaw hangs open slightly, thoughtful, his eyes having found the middle of Lukas' bowl to concentrate on.

"...East side of the River means it's got room to breathe. Room to roam and if someone is pushing it?" A minor shrug. "Could cause trouble for the Caern.."

[Zeke] (Np. This is a 'Letting you know' sort of scene. Not gonna need much more 'n that methinks.)
to Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] "Hm. I can have a look around there in the morning, see what I see. Or send our Strider." While Zeke talks, Lukas eats, watching the other over his bowl with sharp pale eyes. By the time Lukas says this, the bowl is empty, and he setting it down lightly.

There's a bit of sauce at the corner of his mouth. He wipes it off on the ball of his thumb, a slight, understated gesture. Then, "Any reason you think we shouldn't just throw two or three packs at the Thresher and take it down? Are you trying to follow the trail back to the herders and turn up a bigger can of worms?"

[Maija] Mrena's belly growls in concert, loud enough to be heard, while the streetrats is all but silenced with the press of her fist deep against her belly under layers of fleece. It's fortunate, the small woman says, and Maija nods slightly, once, in agreement.

Part of her is demanding she go, go NOW, get what she forgot and go hide elsewhere - perhaps near someone's book case, where other worlds beckon page by printed page. The other part knows better, and stands her ground, back pressed against the wall, as if to keep any more trueborn from showing up behind her. It's a survival move, one made without conscious thought. It says not so much that she is afraid - as she is more apprehensive than fearful. It screams instead that she has been hurt before, and more than once. It's in the little nuances of her body, the way she holds herself, the way she shrinks into the fleece, the way she answers obediently, yet carefully.

"Yes, ma'am." is what she answers, polite, even though the woman before her cannot be much older than herself.

A beat, and she follows the growl of Mrena's stomach with a soft. "Ain't meant to interrupt nuthin or keep ya. Jus' pickin somethin' up an' I'll be on my way agin." As if Mrena had the right, or need, to know.

[Zeke] "Yes and No. Yes, I've been following the damn thing trying to track it back to whatever might be keeping it 'boxed in'. No, I haven't found anything that might be linked to the effort. For all I know this spirit could be intelligent and knows not to fuck with the big bad in Cabrini..."

He huffs lowly. There is frustration under Zeke's tone.

"I'm also a little worried at this thing's power level. Organics are few and far between. Eyes and torso are near it and they're pretty well protected by the edges and blades. I tried putting some of the Weaver in it's path. Mowed through and left the spiders behind to clean up it's mess. Whatever the blades don't seem to grab, the acidics scare off or weaken. Get the feelin' we just throw folks at it? We might well get one whole pack up and running out of the survivors."

A pause.

"Came to you, because the Circle's got numbers. You've got a pack more suited to war then the Shadow and right now our numbers are spread across too many fronts to handle this thing. Even if we weren't it's a little too big...and a little too suspicious for me to want to throw things at it. It hasn't caused any major damage but..."

A helpless little shrug, a shred of his shirt dropping off to drape over the arm of the couch.

[Armstrong] "You don't have to leave," she said. "You live here too."

A pause, and the theurge studied her mannerisms. They were different. yes, quite different. But something about the younger woman seemed intrinsically pleased with the fact that Maija was apprehensive. And, on some level, she was more pleased by the sheer awareness the younger woman seemed to exude.

Obedient, but careful. Chose her words, didn't let them choose her.

The theurge started to take a step down the hall to make her stomach (finally) shut up. Lukas was right; she was famished. "You didn't interrupt anything, I just woke up."

Understatement.

[Wyrmbreaker] "All right, fair enough," at Zeke's account of its strength and might. "It might be a better idea to figure out how the herders are herding it. Then we can take them out and herd the thing ourselves at our own target. I'm sure we can find a nest of Dancers somewhere to send it at. Fellow Wyrmling or not, when their house goes up in flames I'm willing to bet they'll react.

"What's Milo say about this?"

[Zeke] "Haven't told him the full details yet."

It might say something that this is all Zeke offers to Lukas on that particular matter, the Ragabash climbing to his feet, soot falling from his clothes like dust off a weary traveler.

"Had to borrow a Healing talen to put my ass back together after my last recon. Damn thing lit the building I was using on fire, brought it down on me and then proceeded to stomp through the wreckage to get to where it wanted to go..."

Shaking his head, murmuring.

"I'll keep tabs on it and let you know more when I've got it. Meantime, you talk to your people and see if they can't dig anything more up. Say you've been fighting a fairly regular presence of Spirals? Get me some info. on any Theurges that you took out if you've got any. Same goes for your Packmates."

A nod down at the Ahroun, the No Moon preparing to depart.

[Maija] She lives here to. Sorta. If that's what one calls when you show up exhausted only to sleep for 4-5 hours and leave again before dawn, living. And let's not talk about how little she actually partakes of Jenny's cooking, which she's been told time and time again is there for the taking. She's not a charity case, and hates to be seen as such. She does nothing to earn her keep as of yet, and that failure has caused her to miss many, many of he meals offered, until she can scrounge together a buck or two to pay for something downstairs.

Of course, 9 times out of then her 2 bucks buys a 5 buck meal, but those details need not be quibbled over. At least she tries, and in her mind, that is the important thing.

She just woke up. "Yessum. Glad yer better." Everyone had seen Sam's worry, and whispers told of the state of the young theurge when she was brought in. Maija has always been acutely aware of her surroundings - to miss that would have been a gross oversight.

[Wyrmbreaker] Damn thing lit the building I was using on fire, brought it down on me and then proceeded to stomp through the wreckage to get to where it wanted to go...

Lukas laughs aloud at that. It's open, nothing held back, a good hard laugh. It's also not mean-spirited, and perhaps that's rare for a Shadow Lord.

"We'll keep an eye out and let you know." Zeke gets to his feet and Lukas joins him. This is courtesy, and Lukas has no shortage of that. "Thanks for the heads-up, Host-of-Traitors."

[Wyrmbreaker] (btw, you STing any of this? i might get stuck with the ST rotation this week since it's monday night and i ain't heard shit from CC *LOL* so if you want, i can maybe ST some suspicious BSD theurge behavior into my oneshot)
to Zeke

[Zeke] "...It's Zeke."

A Reminder to Lukas. If his expression, slight as it may be, is any indication, the Ragabash was not terribly attached to the formality of his deedname.

"...And anytime." It's just as Mrena 'rounds the corner, that Zeke lifts a hand to wave at her, a half an ass grin on his face and then...

Pop

He's gone.

[Wyrmbreaker] (thanks for the scene all! i'm off to bed myself)

[Zeke] (*chuckles* Actually I was going to blame the entire thing on one of the recent but past one shot deals. Enough BSDs runnin' around lately that stirrin' up this sort of trouble would have been all too easy to blame on 'em. Would also explain why Zeke hasn't found any obvious evidence but!

If you are interested in using this to fuel something in your One Shot, go for it.)
to Wyrmbreaker

[Armstrong] (night mister men! Thank you for playing!)

[Wyrmbreaker] (alright, i'll see if i end up on-duty this week or not. sent CC a PM... we'll see if she responds *LOL* night man!)
to Zeke

[Zeke] (Take it easy mate!)
to Wyrmbreaker