[Imogen] Imogen's mouth twists slightly as she takes a deep swallow from the bottle. "If I thought yeh smoked," she says, "I might ask yeh for a cigarette. I don't think I can stand judgement on a few crisps."
She leans forward, one hand lifting to her face to push loosened strands of hair back, tucking them back behind her ear as she turns the bag slightly so she can read the flavour.
"However," she says, pushing it back as she straightens, "I can't abide what yeh Americans call salt 'nd vinegar. You're on yer own."
She can hear a guitar playing, a quiet, light tune and she turns her head slightly to the sound.
[Rain] The sound of music in the park slows her steps. Soon Rain's chin has tipped down again and she is rooted to her place, off center of the path, hands in her pockets still and eyes unwaveringly open. An accutely tuned ear does not need to cast about for the source of the melody, no, she knows from where it emanates. Her feet may be rooted, but her gaze is cast toward that source, her shoulders turned toward him.
So it is that she doesn't quite make it to the table where Kora and Imogen are gathered, not yet. And it's possible that the guitarist catches her looking his way, with a note of appreciation on her features, something less admiring and fawning than the average fangirl. Rain, in turn, offers him a small smile, a little lift of her chin, a show of some sort of imagined solidarity.
She does not approach. Her blood is silent as to her Tribal ties. There's a moment, then, when they take each other's measure. A moment of exchanged smiles. Rain stands where she is and looks not at him while he plays, but across the distance to something unseen. She takes a moment to listen, and soon, he can imagine, she'll pick up with her walking again.
[Hunter] Where there is food there is a gnawer. The smells of sausages waft through the air of grant park and out of one of the bushes stalks a wolf. It doesn't look like any normal wolf, it looks like a man in fact.
Hunter Matthews turns his head left and right before green eyes settle on the Fenrir in Fianna clothing and the Queen of the Vikings. Then he sees the food. It's this that makes him grin and it's this that makes him wander over more than anything else. Or at least that's what he would claim if questioned.
Boots touch down heavily on grass and path and grassy path until he's entering their little bubble. Somewhere there is music drifting along like the soundtrack to a lovers dream. Hunter fucking hates romcoms.
"Sup Kora, Imogen."
A beat.
"I see ya' have food."
[Maddox] Soon she'll pick up on her walking again, yes. Maybe. Possibly perhaps. They watch each other, Garou and Kin, not fully aware of what rather than whom they are looking at. There's Rage, of course, some vague sense of menace emanating from the man on the bench, playing the beautiful tune, but it's as insignificant as a candleflame compared to the gathering over yonder. This is nothing the Child can't handle.
They smile to each other. She's too far off for him to read her expression all that well, and it's dark, and he's wearing sunglasses. He doesn't need to see the exact features of the girl's face, anyway. Still grinning, the rougishness faded in the twilight, and still playing, he tips his head at her, tilts it back. Come closer, my sweet. She may not see the gesture, looking away at something far off as she is, and Maddox doesn't let his attention drift for very long. Eventually he turns his head back to face straight ahead, and tips his chin up. One might imagine that his eyes are closed behind his sunglasses. One would be correct.
[Fiona] The landscape's a lot like one of those hidden pictures images where there are a number of - get ready for a revelation - hidden objects within the landscape. The landscape could be perfectly serviceable: a park - a path; an evening sky, shading bright into dark; it could be benches, and trashcans, an abandoned water fountain with rust pooling at its base like a relic of some barbaric sacrifice [city funds]. But then! The closer look reveals: well, fairies, wings folded, cruel-faced, laughing, if this hidden pictures book belongs to Fiona Rogers, age six, which it doesn't, because she isn't aged six anymore, hasn't been for practically a whole decade, but it could reveal other things: clocks, thieves, whatever. Werewolves. Werewolf kin. Grant Park: thrown into sudden relief - the man playing gorgeousness froma guitar, smoking and smiling at the woman walking with her hands in her coats pockets, Unicorn-blooded, feet drawing her closer to a woman whose carriage tells stories of savage, poetic monsters, whose carriage is a queen's and whose hair is a torch, to a woman who's heavy, who's a stoppered jar of transformation contained, denied, and there's Hunter, hungry, grinning - and yeah, these people.
They're hidden pictures, see? They aren't what they seem.
And here's another -
Girl. Teenager, young, youthful, very, with a coat that has sleeves just an inch too long, that's just a little too big, just a little too awkward. Dark jeans that're dirty at the knees, grass-stained on the butt. Werewolf, though whatever rage she's got is well-buried, well-hidden, which is a good thing because it's a school night, because it's Monday, because homework was due and not done, because, because they tease, they do, and earlier she was sitting on the school bus with her skinny legs hauled up to her chest, determinedly reading her book while Someone poked her arm, again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again, snickering when she didn't know how to react, moving on to tweaking her hair, and she'd looked over her shoulder, known who it was, KNOWN, but they didn't stop, and sometimes telling yourself that seriously you can totally turn into a monster and KILL people is not the comfort one might imagine.
Which is all to say, Fiona Rogers decided not to go home, decided to go to the Docks, was there upset, decided to bus to the park, and now it's late, and she's "walking" -- wandering in a line that sort've heard about what "straight" means once upon a time -- with her head down, squinting at the book in her hands, trying to read before the twilight's entirely gone, reading by path light, by shadow, reading:
'Oh, I'm a dangerous criminal, I am,' said the Dwarf cheerfully. 'But that's a long story. Meantime, I was wondering if perhaps you were going to ask me to breakfast? You've no idea what an appetite it gives one, being executed.'
But blood tells. Blood tells! Blood up and YELLS.
Fiona does sneak little glances up now and then, mostly gauging the light and the pathlight, more and more hunched over Prince Caspian, and her gaze snags across Imogen and Kora -- then skitters (! noise!) over to - a sound. There's a sound - it's - a pretty? - and - no, that was soundtrack, that was - maybe it's the fairy people because it is twilight and that is when they come out maybe maybe oh please maybe and that must be Slaughter and she is a queen so of course they would play by her oh god oh god do I look okay -
And she is so distracted by her speculation on the origin of guitar music that she walks
smack
into Rain. Unless evasive maneuver is immediately accomplished.
[Kora] "The street vendors don't carry Pringles," the Skald returns, pulling back the bag of chips as Imogen dismisses all American iterations of salt and vinegar. Maybe a bit mournful. "And he was out of barbeque." Which is the closest flavor to Bacon Double Cheeseburger she can imagine. Maybe if you took a bag of cheese and sour cream and crushed it up with a bag of barbeque it would begin to approach the taste bud nirvana of bacon double cheeseburger Pringles to the pregnant Garou's warped, twisted taste buds.
The foil crinkles with every movement of the bag, and the scent of the damn things - mixed with the deeper, heavier smell of the sausages - is particularly sharp in the cold air. Kora's sitting forward on the picnic table, enough that it looks like she's turning on the fulcrum of her stomach somehow. Each movement is made more awkward by her stomach too. She cannot bend forward, not far, cannot see her feet, cannot (it seems) ever ease the tension in her lower back and lower abdomen.
She cuts a glance over her shoulder, following the direction of Imogen's glance with the music in the air. Dark eyes touch on Rain, then Maddox, lingering on the former rather than the latter. She turns back as Hunter approaches, offering the Bone Gnawer a faint curl of her generous mouth by way of greeting, then holding out the bag of chips by way of offer. "Italian sausages. That dude with the yellow and red stripped umbrella by the fountain makes the best around here. Got an extra if you're hungry."
[Starla] It isn't coincidence that brings her to the picnic table, just a secret dalliance with one of the other vendors that had taken one of Roman's kin away from Kora's side in search of a certain craving for coffee. Starla had kept a pace behind the Jarl's heels, accompany her for no other reason that to not be alone in the church. A mumbled exchange saw the dusky-skinned kin off in search of that a warm beverage; the quest complete, the journey home was wrought with - no excitement.
A warm mist curls around the dark crown of hair that sweeps down her shoulders, twisted and plaited, two loose braids meet at the points of her hips. She wrinkles her nose, savoring the sweet, aroma of hazelnut and chocolate coffee that mingles together in the large white Styrofoam cup, warming the palm of her right hand through the thin cotton glove.
Starla arched an eyebrow, pale green eyes skimming over the small gathering of faces that collect around the Jarl. First to Imogen, and then straying to Hunter before she finally pulls them back to the Jarl. Music wafts in the air, she tilts her head away trying to listen for it, to understand the melody, but it's appreciation is lost on her. She wasn't as musically-inclined as others.
[Kora] "What the hell's wrong with American salt, anyway?" Kora continues, dark eyes swinging back to Imogen. "Or with American vinegar?"
[Imogen] "Hunter," Imogen returns the greeting as she stretches, a small muscle at a time, her movements subtle. When he asks about the food, the doctor's mouth quirks slightly. "Bone Gnawer, aren't you?" she asks.
Kora demands a question - Imogen's smirk lingers as she turns her head. "S'not an insult t'yer entire nation," she remarks, placidly, for once meaning nation with a small 'n'. "Yeh just can't be expected to get th'balance right."
Starla is nearby now, in sight. Imogen's gaze flicks there, before lifting her chin toward the younger woman, pointing her out to Kora.
[Rain] They have been admonished to be alert, to be mindful, to be wary, to be watchful and Rain has listened, more or less, in the way that children and young adults listen, more or less, when told to do things that they already do, but this time with some urgency, with some immediacy, with some pressing Something hanging over their heads that was (imagined to) not (be) there before. She is not entirely lost to the music man's song, not ready to hie and and away with this pied piper, no. She sees the teenager approaching, just in time.
No! Not just in time. Just a moment later than just in time. In time enough to not fall over when the redhead wanders, straight line or otherwise, into the left half of her back. Rain turns a bit, gets an arm out in front of her, either to steady the girl or herself should they fall. Or to something. Something. Surely she had some sort of plan that wasn't base and instinctual reaction. Right? (Maybe.)
"Oh, hey, are you okay there?" she says, and maybe her voice reaches the table, or the bench, filtering into the awareness of someone beyond this entangled duo. It's possible, see, because they are all close enough to hear the dulcet strums of an accoustic guitar and that is neither so loud nor so throaty as to carry for far. And her voice is warm, it has a note of rising above, of carrying: she carries, more and further than they might suppose: endures. It does not die out easily into the night.
She doesn't say with sharpness watch where you're going. No. Rain looks the girl over, making sure she's alright, pats her on the arm once as she steps away. No harm done.
[Hunter] "If I'm hungry." He repeats back to her with a scoff and reaches his hand for some of the goodies. Crunch. "I'm always fuckin' hungry." Which is probably not the right thing to say becomes Imogen has this to offer:
Bone Gnawer, aren't you?
And now he has no defence. He can't claim tribe-ism or oppression by those who think they are better because he just walked right into that stereotype. All he can do is give her a flat look, but with raised eyebrows like: Ha Ha very clever Imogen.
He's not very clever about these things.
Eyes follow the gazes and the point and he spots Starla. The kin gets a warm smile and a beckoning wave: come have a sausage!
"So," he says to Imogen and Kora. "Did ya' fill Imogen here on the fuckin' joyous occasion that was the meetin'? I'd hate for her to fuckin' miss out on all the fun."
[Starla] Starla's greeting is more verbal, friendlier to Imogen as she finds it easier to meet the smaller woman's eyes than she would Kora's or Hunter's. "Evenin', Doc Slaughter." The mid-western twang rumbles around her words, rolls off the tongue in a merrier drawl when she spoke.
She wasn't quite sure what the topic of conversation was revolving around, something about being a Gnawer and food, which pulls her eyes to Hunter again. A warm smile begets a broader grin from the Gaian kin, the freckles dancing across her skin on her left cheek and the bridge of her nose, scrunching it up cutely. She lifts her free hand to offer a small wave to the Gnawer, "Hey" as she's maneuvering around them to the empty half of the picnic table.
The coffee is set down, Starla turns with her back facing the edge, dropping her hands back to cover over the table's wooden surface and leans back, pushing herself up as she hops up to sit on it. The coffee retrieved; Starla's eyes widening slightly as Imogen is asked the question of the hour.
[Kora] "You know Starla, yeah?" Kora to Imogen, as the latter lifts her chin mildly toward Roman's cousin, pointing her out as she returns with coffee. To Hunter, too. There's a general tilt to the introduction. It's encompassing like that.
Nevermind that this isn't her territory, nevermind that this isn't a feasting hall, nevermind that they're on a park bench on a cold spring night and all she has are sausages, crisps and chocolate milk rather than mead and great haunches of meat turning on the fire: she'll share what's there. There's an instinctive grace to that that's larger than the place or position. Hunter grabs a handful of chips, and Kora holds out her chocolate milk a half-second later. Like it was a greeting cup, for fuck's sake.
Like Thorngrim Ghostsinger's giant paws were ghosting over her long, slender fingers. (Less than slender; she's retaining water.)
A glance back there, the collision between Rain and Fiona. A quick, close glance over her shoulder, a level look that is not alarmed, followed by a lift of the bag of chips by way of salute to Rain and Fiona.
"Naw," Kora returns to Hunter. "Too busy debating the finer points of crisp manufacturing. You heard about that though, yeah Doc? GE summoned the kin and tribe leaders, invited everyone to air out their grievances then - " A quiet, subtle snort. "Fucking - " Here, her mouth flattens, twists the rest of whatever she might've said next away. " - meetings. So damn much talk."
[Fiona] Fiona is not complicated. Fiona is no literary nymphet, adored by HH and other such suspects. Fiona mystifies noone except perhaps people who actually know her. Fiona, running into Rain, who saves her own balance and lends a steadying hand to the younger girl, makes a hiccup-gasp of surprise, and drops her book. The warm voice and the warm hand do something to assuage the anxiety that fills her eyes, the shy, kneejerk worry, chased by a sharper pang (but the fairyland door will leave now [if it's there] and the elfguitarist'll vanish [if he's really an elf]), and then a cautious smile. Her forehead crinkles up, eyebrows arcing, "Uhm. I. Uhm, yes. I'm - gosh, just so fucking stupid, I'm sorry, it's just," and she stoops down to collect her book, which is when tragedy strikes. The pages: they're bent. They're smooshed! The corners are folded quite noticeably in a way any booklover would just cringe at. The dust jacket is
[ominous music]
[a chord of doom]
ripped. "Oh no," Fiona murmurs, wretched, "Oh no, oh no oh no oh no oh no," and she pulls her turtle neck (she was wearing a turtle neck under that coat) up over her nose, to muffle the, "Oh no oh no." She gives Rain a look full of travesty, the utmost, utterly forgetting she doesn't even know Rain. "Do you think it can be fixed?"
[Maddox] Rain is right to be cautious. Something delivish and dangerous lurks the streets of Chicago. Of course, there's always something devilish and dangerous prowling this city's streets. One might suspect the guitarist on the bench is one such creature. After all, none present has seen him before. That doesn't mean he's a complete unknown. Two of his auspice know his name, one of them the elder in this city, and a third knows of him, thanks to a chance encounter in a hotel hallway. He's been sighted in The Brotherhood, but so far hasn't gone out of his way to impress himself upon the citizens of Chicago. There are those who know that he hasn't danced the spiral.
The kinswoman notices the girl coming toward her a moment too late. Maddox notices her a moment after that, when the sound of bodies colliding catches his attention. His playing stops abruptly, and he turns to look over his shoulder at the girls on the path.
And he laughs. The sound is slightly higher pitched than one might expect, but not piercing. It could be annoying to the right (or wrong) ear. Probably is. That's just Maddox all over. He doesn't start playing again, but rises, and shifts his guitar to rest against his back. With one hand he pulls the cigarette from his lips to blow a plume of smoke into the night air. The other removes his sunglasses, pushes them up his face to displace his hair in all directions before finding a natural spot to perch.
"Well well," he says, amused. One hand flicks ash from the cigarette, the other disappears into the pocket of a dark colored blazer. There's also a hooded sweatshirt, and jeans, and trainers. Keeping his pace leisurely slow, he wanders in the direction of Rain and Fiona. His eyes, visible now, are dark, intense, and focused for the moment. "Good evening, little birds. What have we got here?" He speaks with a touch of some muddled, faded accent that almost lends an air of sophistication to the skinny man. He looks at the book in Fiona's hands, his eyes go too wide. The hand removes from his blazer pocket to press to his chest, and he gasps audibly. "What did you do?" He holds out his hand for the tome. "Let's have a look then. Assess the damage."
[Izzy Montoya] Ah yes. The meetings. The stupid fuckin meeting. When Izzy stalked out, it wasn't far - it was to the nearest dive bar where she knows the bartender, where she proceeded to drink half the men under the table, and picking a likeable enough victim out of those that remained standing to follow home. This could possibly be the infamous 'walk of shame' of the day after - if she had an ounce of shame in her. It could be, but it's not, as that was hours ago and she's already put in a full day of work, and then some.
What it is, is a stop for a quick meal and coffee, because she's fuckin' hungry and needs caffeine and the park is one of the few areas she can get both AND nicotine all at the same time.
That she's here at the same time as the Jarl and company? Pure coincidence. Still, it happens that she has a cup of coffee - hot and black, just like... well, never you mind - in one hand, and a sausage in the other as she heads toward the picnic tables.
To her credit, she doesn't stop when she sees who is gathered there. She does have a feeling there will be some sort of... discussion... about what she had to say last night, though. Perhaps, in some way, it's like a bandaid. Rip it off, get it over with, quickly. No such thoughts show in her carefully guarded expression, however. There is simply recognition. That's all.
[Rain] There is a way that wolves know each other, they can scent it in each other, they can see something that kin cannot. Whatever Fiona is, it does not unnerve Rain to be near to her, tangled up for a moment in her; where others might bristle at even the quiet Rage suddenly at their backs, the songbird doesn't seem to notice it. Not at first. And then in only subtle ways. Fiona's wolf is subdued, in comparison to those at the table over yonder.
But now there are two unfamiliar wolves clustered around the kinswoman of Unicorn, and she unknowing of it in this very moment. There is sharp laughter -- sharp but not shrill; high but not piercing -- and deep worry. Rain rests a hand on the girl's shoulder, smiles warmly.
"Bent pages can be smoothed. Just place it under something heavy, y'know?" she suggests, and there's a warmth to her tone that makes it read as genuine, as open, bereft of ill-will or deception. Honest. Maddox takes up the tome, scolding the girl in the process and Rain's mouth thins a bit.
"She feels bad enough," the Gaian says, still unaware that she's standing up for (or up to) True. "You'd best help if you're going to rile her up like that," she says, weariness and some sort of protectiveness for the younger girl stepping in where her manners might have better bridged that gap.
Even still, even unknowing, some part of her twigs to the convergence here. Her hands go back into her pockets when she next has the chance; innately she separates herself a bit from them. The gold charm at her throat is buried beneath layers of cloth just now; still silent her blood offers them no suggestions. There is a glance, stolen, toward the table where the Queen of Vikings dines with pages and Knights from other Families.
[Imogen] "Starla," Imogen greets the other, neatly answering Kora's question as to whether or not the two of have met without saying a word.
Hunter's sarcastic - you are so damn clever - look in Imogen's direction is merely met by arched eyebrows that could likely be translated to a resounding affirmative. Why yes, she is that clever.
The subject moves on and rather quickly. Hunter asks if Kora has filled Imogen in. Kora offers an statement, an opinion.
"Don't worry," she assures Hunter, "I've been t'meetings before. I'm familiar wi' their dynamic." A flick of her glance toward Kora. "I heard a bit about it; Kinfolk Liaison, Sept Liaison." A faint smirk of her mouth, "More o' the same, though I imagine I'm one o' the only ones still about t'recall." Meetings in Hill House. Mary Alice at the centre, a packmate of the Grand Elder's - whose name she has forgotten - in the back as a representative.
A beat. She picks up her water, tipping it back to fill her mouth. Swallows. "Then they want a kinfolk to 'lead them all', I take it."
[Starla] "We've met - Hunter's a real White Knight when it comes to rescuing and protecting damsels." There is a playful jest in the tone of her voice, kept light as the conversation starts to grow heavy with the discussion of last night's meeting. Starla nods to Imogen behind her coffee cup, smiling, "Imogen."
The Gaian kin had fallen asleep through most of it, only to wake up and find out that Danicka had been placed in an esteemed title position that now made the renowned mate of that Shadow Lord dude, the voice of Chicago's kin. It plays across her thoughts as if she were swimming through murky water, cautious to even drop a passing comment on it.
Air passes through her nose in a noisy snerk, mouth occupied by the flimsy plastic lid of her coffee cup, sitting precariously from the hot beverage as she tried not to scald her tongue. Starla winces; the corners of her eyes crinkling up as she lowers the cup, the sugary liquid burned her tongue, the back of her mouth and throat as it warmed a path down into her stomach.
"That Danicka lady was crowned a liaison of the kinfolk, git's to sit in on moots and whatnots, be a mouth piece for the kin." She interjects at random, mouth flattening into that same thin-lipped frown she wore when she witnessed it last night. "Some guy named Matthieu gets to pucker up wit' Amy's alliance buddies."
Somewhere in the distance, Rain is making new friends, she has become a magnet for a pair of Fianna. Their shapes and motions slide along her peripheral, become the focal point of Starla's attention for several seconds as she watches the quiet display of their actions, unable to make out words that might form - just reads the faint lines of body language. She tucks her swings her legs back and forth, perched on the table, taking another swig at the scorching hot coffee, wincing.
[Maddox] A breath after she soothes the younger girl, the captivating young woman who he thinks might have some deeper appreciation for his playing than some silly, empty-headed thing, scolds. Maddox takes the book, but before he can fully look over the pages, he turns his head. Dark eyes bore into her face, and he does nothing to hide the way they travel down and back up again. He grins around his cigarette, probably because of that lewd glance, maybe for her moxie. "Shhhhhh..." he says, holding a finger up to his lips, and continues in a stage whisper, "what d'you think I'm doing, luv?"
And then he turns away. His focus shifts to the book in his hands. Fingertips slide over the bent pages, his expression thoughtful. Taking hold of the pages, he lets the book hang from his grasp before bracing the spine with his other hand. The pages get bent back, carefully, the touch gentler than Rain might imagine. There's still a kink when he's done, still a slight crease, but time spent closed should set that straight over time.
"That takes care of that," he says, and flips through the book. A brow rises briefly, lowers again, and he looks for signs of official looking stamps or little pockets for library check-out cards. Flicking his gaze to Fiona, he asks, "Is this borrowed?"
[Hunter] "Oh good," he says slyly to Imogen. "Just makin' sure we're all fuckin' equals in misery."
He slips this comment in somewhere though he says it quiet enough that he's not intruding on the flow of the conversation. Nearby there's a kinfolk and she's sitting on a picnic table. Apparently he's real White Knight and while that might make another Garou puff up with pride it just makes Hunter scowl, though there's a certain amusement in the expression.
This description of him obviously isn't a new one.
Silence for the rest of it, until Starla is done explaining and there's a rumble from the back of his throat, a slight bristling of Rage at the comments.
"Didn't say nuthin' at the time, was half fallin' a fuckin' sleep when it all came out. I dunno about this kinfolk at the fuckin' moot crap though. I mean the Gee Eee is the god damn Gee Eee so what does my opinion matter?"
He snorts.
"Just don't know about it s'all. Don't know what the need is."
[Fiona] Elves are cruel. Not in Tolkien: the elves in Tolkien are noble and just and beautiful. They're not real. Fiona's not stupid. She totally gets that (although she is also prepared to discuss matters in their language, should they ever decide to become real). Elves are cruel in all the stories. Maddox's muddled accent does not escape clarity when Fiona listens to it, and she pegs him as a man from a place where a fairy might well decide to pretend to be human. Fiona is standing with the book in her hand like it's a piece of the spear that got Jesus and she's a Catholic like it's some kind of broken holy relic like if she moves it'll dissolve like she's made out of fire and the book's spun of cotton candy and that's not going to last at all. For a second: her eyes go blank. Wide, unblinking. She is considering who she will run down and play a game with for the ability to scent out the true form of strangers at twilight. It'd be useful. Why didn't she think of it before?
And while she's considering this, back of her mind consideration, like an itch, her throat is filling up with despair, is closing with saliva, and she swallows, actually flinching at the what did you do, murmuring, "It's broken. Do you, uhm. Do you really think, do," and her eyes go bright luminous. She's not crying, mind, but the possibility is there. If she blinks, water'll gather in the corner of her eyes. "Do you, uhm, do you think smoothing it will," and she holds the book out to Maddox, shaking from adrenaline and (contained) despair. She is a teenager; these things are dramatic. "That just smoothing it will work?"
When the book's been taken, she starts biting on her pinkynail, although she offers Rain a quick smile, while watching what Maddox is doing like a vicious hungry-for-mice hawk: "It's, it's okay. Boys are always mean and kind of like - uhm they are. They're kind of - what are you doing that doesn't look okay that looks - "
Then he's handing the book back and she stares at it. The dust jacket is still ripped, but, but, but hey, that's not too bad. " - thanks, London."
[Fiona] ooc: Erk! Wait. *adds*
"And uhm." Her shoulders round with guilt. "Yes. It's my brother's."
[Rain] There's something almost magical about having a true teenager in their midst (little does Rain know), whose adept twist at melodrama has nothing to do with Rage (except when it does) and is bent more toward the immediacy of everything in those fragile years. Rain was probably like that, once, somewhere between the ages of twelve and whenever-the-fuck-it-was that she left home.
That year. When she was the same age her brother had been. When it held a certain sort of symmetry. When she'd had enough, and enough means, and a good enough excuse and there'd been an open road. Before she'd been Found, and broken, and remolded. Before she'd been Unicorn's or anyone else's. So maybe it's that she sees a slip of something so profoundly normal in Fiona's hysteria, and in the cruel-kind way that Maddox both toys with it and remedies it, that floods Rain's expression with amusement, twines it around her resident warmth, gentles whatever borderline concern she might have had to be unwittingly amongst wolves in the dusky hours of twilight.
"I've got some tape in my bag," Rain says, offering out the suggestion with a raise of her eyebrow and a little motion that would lead to pulling her hand out of her pocket should Fiona show interest. "I'm almost always fixing my sheet music," she admits, easily, as if it were one of those things that just happened of its own accord, through no misuse or malady. A little shrug.
If desired, this little bit of clear-bodied tape is produced and proferred to the penitent teen.
For Maddox, then, a side-slipped smile, a faint cousin of a smirk, at the way that his eyes travel (but not quite self-possessed enough to bespeak some worldly wisdom, just comprehension, the subtle challenge of a thing that does not expect in any way to be chased: innocence [folly]). "Nice trick," she tells him. For the way he handled the book, or the teen, or maybe even his guitar, which she eyes, now, with a similar appreciation to the way he looked her up and then down again.
There is a measure of approval in her eyes when they meet his, briefly -- another sign that she does not yet know him for what he is.
[Kora] Starla's comment about Hunter protecting damsels earns the kinswoman a longer look; direct and dark-eyed, the unblinking, unbending sort. The sort that recalls the wolf she is, underneath, makes unrevealing reflective pools of her eyes. It's steady, watchful, judgment withheld but the sharpness of it so immediate as to be immanent.
When Izzy approaches, her own sausage in hand, the detective receives a subtle lift of a chin from the heavily pregnant Skald. Just a greeting. Whatever she's dreading appears to be overshadowed by other issues.
"If I have to hear about the concerns of my tribe's kin from the mouth of a poncy, long-winded Silver Fang - " Her nostrils flare with an exhaled breath and she shakes her gleaming head. The empty hood of her seatshirt moves across her spine, half-driven by the slow-uncoiling weight of her hair. "I will eat a fucking hat and then kick someone's goddamned ass."
A glance back at Imogen, then. "We nominated you for the position. Grand Elder picked the Shadow Lord's mate. She's got this batshit chick as her sidekick, too. Doc, I've been here how long, and the only time I've seen that woman was in the fucking underworld." Here, she breathes out. "Monty - tried to work with them last year, remember? Undermined him at every turn. I've got no clue what the next step is, but for fuck's sake, Doc. They wanna make squandrons of attack-kin, or some shit. As if they were Black Eagle.
"The Sept needs more than a Shadow Lord and her batshit sidekick leading the kin."
[Izzy Montoya] Hunter doesn't get it, and Izzy's close enough to the conversation by this point to have heard what they are discussing, and hear who was appointed. She snorts. Which is what got her into trouble last night.
The need. That's what he doesn't get. "Power." She stops, and takes a swallow of toohot coffee and grimaces as it scalds her tongue, then takes another swig anyway.
"Control. She finally got what she fuckin wanted when she headed this shit up before. She just waited till some crazy bitch fucked up bad enough to get to weasel her way in and take control."
No secret that Izzy has very little use for Shadowlords - and since she's not fucking either of them, she has no use for them at all. A simple woman, our Izzy, at the core.
She nods to Kora, and comes to a stop near the table, setting her cup down, so that she can take a bite of her sausage. She was there before. She saw what happened - and that they let the crazy-bitch take any part? She snorts again. "I shoulda shot that bitch when I had the chance."
She might be kidding.
Likely - not so much.
[Starla] An all-too familiar vibration rumbles in the back of Hunter's throat, the heat under his skin bristles at the comments that Starla makes. She couldn't ignore the scowl that was shot her way, despite the amusement that is written into the Gnawer's expression. She's keenly aware of that rage - that fire in the belly - it draws the thin points of her eyebrows to furrow deeply, the pale green of her eyes to hide under the flutter of thick lashes as her gaze skims his way.
She suppressed a shudder that ruptures a spasm of tension that starts to build between her shoulders, runs along the muscles of her lower back, making the kin sit just a little straighter, her legs to swing a little less. She shifts now, pulling her legs up to cross them and tuck her feet under her thighs. She falls quiet, working her burnt tongue into the inside of her left cheek; head bowed as her mouth meets the cup once again, swallowing heavily the sugary brown liquid.
Starla has a sudden knee-jerk reaction to the weight of Kora's falling on her. She tilts her head, eyes widening suddenly, almost pinned with worriment and confusion, as if to ask if she said something wrong. And then, Kora speaks out, voices her opinions about the Shadow Lord and her batshitcrazy sidekick...
The Gaian kin chokes on the sugary swill of coffee she nearly breathes in, cheeks bulged out as the cup lowers. Starla turns her head, trying to miss anyone that happens to be in her trajectory when she spews out the coffee. One of her hands rose up to press against her mouth, coughing. A flush of color spreads over her cheeks, eyes watery - her condition worsens as Lukas appears.
[Maddox] He has to laugh at that, he can't help it, any more than he could help looking over the shape of Rain's figure. It probably doesn't put her mind at ease that she doesn't get a second such look after she removes herself. Maddox doesn't look at her like he's about to chase her through the park with the intent to eat her up and devour her. His attention is so focused on the teenager and her despair over her book, the kinswoman may actually have been forgotten. He laughs because Fiona is a girl, not just female but a girl, and while the damage to the book is probably not the worst thing that's happened to her all day or all her life, right now she acts like it. And it's funny. "London. I like that. Makes me sound," here his chin lifts, and he strikes a pose as he stares up at the dark sky overhead, "dignified." There's an air of confidence about the man that lends a certain something to the image. Then he sniffs, turns his head blow a last bit of smoke before twisting his body slightly to scrape it out against the sole of his shoe.
It's my brother's.
"Oh." The laughter suddenly dies. Dark eyes flick down to the book in her hands, then back up to that young face. He shrugs. "I was going to suggest you make a new one, but if it's not yours I guess you're fucked." There's an offer of tape, and his attention returns to the kinswoman, the look in his eyes lending more to the thought that she might have been forgotten, even for a moment. Looking to Fiona, he smirks, jerks his thumb toward Rain. "Or that, yeah. Tape fixes all manner of ills." This said with that smirk, and a wink thrown to Rain.
He doesn't say a word when she mentions a trick. He tips his chin down, has to to look at her, lifts his brows, and puts his hand to his chest again. Moi? He winks.
[Rain] For expediency's sake, we will assume that Fiona, bent as she is on righting her book, accepts the tape and busies herself with the careful administration of the sort. Fixes all manners of ills, Maddox had said, and he's right. Clear tape is a god-send, not quite as modern a marvel as WiFi or the i-Anything, but pretty miraculous in its own right.
Rain watches her, kindly, as she goes about this handiwork, but her attention quickly strays again to the fellow musician in the circle.
"How long've you played?" she asks, which is an opening for all manner of other avenues of conversation. One hand escapes her pocket, reaches up to push a lock of dark hair behind her ear, revealing the sweep of her pale jawline, the line of her neck until it is swallowed up by her scarf, and then her coat. There is no reason, really, to linger, but the supposed safety of having her extended Family just across the way makes it easier for her to strike up conversation with strangers. Easier, because Rain has never balked at the task in the past.
[Maddox] They watch the teen put her brother's book to rights, not entirely unlike...older siblings maybe? With Rain the gentle elder sister, and Maddox the teasing, testing elder brother. Playing the part of the grouse even as he picks Fiona back up and tends to scraped knees, so to speak.
Even so, Rain probably wouldn't be so easy with the Fiann if her family wasn't right over there. Their attention is introverted, however, focused on some sort of debate. Leaving Rain alone in the presence of a pair of wolves. Maddox's eyes snap to the movement of her fingers as they sweep her hair back behind her ear. His head tips to the side, the gaze traveling down the line of her jaw and her throat. This one's a brave little bird, striking up a conversation with this stranger who has no fear of staring at the lovely lines of her.
"Hm?" Attention grabbed, he looks up at her eyes, the expression curious before his mouth stretches in a smile. Maddox is not the best looking man on the block, is in fact quite plain. Most girls would prefer a man more like the burly Gnawer, all tall and broad and strong. And probably dull as a brick and twice as thick. There's a charm to the Fiann, though, a confidence some might find appealing.
"That depends, luv." Without moving his feet to actually step closer to her, he puts his hands into the pockets of his blazer (dropping the cigarette butt in one (gross) to be tossed into a bin later), tips his chin, and leans his body toward Rain. "How long as the moon circled the earth?" The lean is brief, and before he starts the next sentence, he's standing upright again, eyes toward the sky. "How long have the stars burned in the cosmos?" He shrugs. "And you? What sort of music do you have wrapped up in tape?"
[Rain] He leans forward a bit and she leans back, like a push-pull game, follow (me) the leader. She's been spending more time on stage lately and this sort of mildly exaggerated action, partnered with an expression that is part playful and part oh-not-so-very-gullible (but gullible indeed) follows directly from that. There's a self-possession in the way that she moves, that she carries herself here, in the park, in an echo-wake of a day on the stage.
He calls her luv. She retorts with, "Oh, honey, you don't look half as old as all that earth and moon stuff," she says, Southern touch stringing out the words in ways honeyed and amused. All manner of delicately irreverent. Theater people and musicians were like this, people who ply their voices and their (many faced) personas as wares, trade and barter on emotions. Strangely, for Rain, it seems more genuine than hoax, more honest than feigned.
"And I sing for my supper," she jests, only just, with a smirk to her eyes and one that curled her mouth just so. "And play where I can." But she never, ever busks.
[Maddox] They banter. It's the kind of interaction Maddox is best at, this playful back and forth. He pushes, or maybe she pulls. Then they reverse, come to rights. She tells him he doesn't look as old as the moon and the earth, and he grins at her, lets out a touch of that pitched laughter. "I could have gotten lost in the land of the faeries," he muses, as though he knows what Fiona was thinking of him. There's no way, no possible way he would know that, though. Could he?
Rain admits that she sings for her supper, and that earns another discerning look from the Fiann, as if every time he looks at her he sees something new about her, something that keeps his attention from drifting away to another world, just beyond the Gauntlet. She calls him honey and it's so sweet, so touching, that it earns a smile that starts to touch on his dark eyes.
"Excellent," he says. "Then maybe you can show me around to the better venues sometime." His smile is smooth rather than warm, yet still somehow inviting.
[Rain] "Ah, ah," she says, holding up a finger and twitching it back and forth as she clucks. "Now wouldn't that just be sowin' my own competition about? I hear you play," she says, and there's some down home something to her voice that would have made it natural to hear that followed up with son, or child, or yet again honey. In fact the absence of that endearment is felt, draws the ear along like a hanging chord, snapped off without resolution.
Her finger falls away, and she smiles a bit more fully.
"Though I might," she recants. A little. Cheeky grin. "If I'm feelin' particularly charitable."
Rain rocks back on her heels a bit, glancing over to the table where the Queen of Vikings and Miss Doctor Slaughter have dispersed, leaving the ambient Rage diminished; leaving the air around this section of the park a little less strangled, throttled upon their presence: tight.
[Kora] I should've shot that bitch -
Maybe Izzy's joking, maybe she's not. Kora's reaction is immediate (nearly an hour later, heh. Sorry guys!) and unswerving. Oh, it's banked by the shape of her body, the heaviness of her pregnancy. Her wolf is bound in soft human skin, but her eyes blaze with it. Gleam in the subtle reflection of the crescent moon.
Once moment she's sitting, the next she's standing, lifting herself off the picnic table, and in that moment of movement it's momentarily easy to forget that she's eight months pregnant or more. No one knows, in truth. She advances on Izzy one step, then two. A flash of rage that must go unfulfilled, leaving her that much more restless in the aftermath.
"Kin are banned from the Caern, Izzy - " near-deadly quiet, " - because John Thornton shot a fucking Garou there. If I hear you threaten another Gaian, Shadow Lord or no, kin or otherwise, in jest or certainty, it will be the last time, Detective. I trust we're clear."
She is suddenly not hungry anymore, standing, she wants to run. She's caged inside her skin, and that desire is - A glance at Starla, Hunter maybe. "I'm going to see if Trent's home. Someone make sure that that stranger with Rain is safe, yeah?"
--
And - out!
[Fiona] The tip of Fiona's tongue is poking out of the corner of her mouth as she very, very, very excrutiatingly carefully applies the cellophane tape and listens with half-an-ear to the (fey [elfish]) musician and the other (sweet, voice-full) musician talk about musician things.
However, there is one word GUARANTEED to get her attention. It tarts with an 'f' and ends with an 'aeries' and Fiona's head shoots up, palms pressing flat against the path she is now crouched on, fingers splayed, body bent over the book, and she stares at Maddox.
"Hey. Hey. Uhm, hey. Hey. Do you - hmm. Do you - what's the recipe - " here, she makes her voice suave, tricksy: " - for boiling eggshells?"
[Maddox] Ah, ah, and his smile broadens. She heard him play, after all. She could be sowing the seeds of her own destruction, or at least her own financial ruin, if she shows a talented player like Maddox around all of her haunts. The look he gives her is, yet again, exaggerated innocence. Who would suspect such a lad as he of such a cunning trick?
She might, though, this lovely young singer. She might take him around if she's feeling particularly charitable. He manages to keep a sense of triumph from his demeanor, a feat made easier when the little bookworm tries to get his attention. She tries to sound suave, tricksy, when she asks her question.
For a moment, Maddox just stares at her, like she's some strange being he hasn't run into before. For that moment, there's a space of silence among the trio. Then Maddox snorts. And he laughs.
"I'm not a changeling, luv," a fact that may be denied by the fact that mere mention makes him laugh.
[Izzy Montoya] Kora moves.
Izzy falls completely, utterly, impossibly, totally still.
She watches Kora, her dark eyes unreadable, her gaze even... still. so very very still... as it's laid down again. She knows what John did. More importantly, she knows why. And she will, always and forever, be on John's side of the matter on this one. He is, after all, the one she chose.
However, she doesn't move. She doesn't speak. She waits until ultimatums are given - as they have been before - and trust is broken - as it has been before. Then, she simply reaches for her coffee cup, and takes a drink once Kora has gone. A swallow, and she sets it down again, then takes another bite of her sausage. It's not really her fault everyone assumes she meant Danicka - especially when they were ALL calling the OTHER kin in question 'crazy bitch' - but whatever. They never listen - even to themselves. It really is none of her concern if they are so interested in getting themselves killed.
Hell, she threatens to shoot everyone. It's part of her charm. It's highly likely that won't change now, either. And, in the end, she simply smirks. The more things change....
[Rain] Rain McKellar was not raised on tales of Faeries, Changelings and wee Folk. The folk tales she heard, when she heard them at all, were rooted in the community that grew up alongside her own, spoken from the tongues of men and women still called Colored by their neighbors. In place where Correctness, political or otherwise, had not fully taken hold there was no room for At the End of the Rainbows.
"Well, lovely," she says, narrowing her eyes a little as she looks down at Fiona. "Wouldn't y' just put the shells in water, and heat them up a little. Gentle-like at first, so they don't break about more?"
This is, most likely, not the answer the girl is looking for but if, by some stroke of chance it resonates, well, then Rain might play about at being a Faerie, a thing she knows nothing at all about, in a flight of twilight fancy. Even kinfolk had to have good days, playful and joyous moments amidst the worry and Rage.
She glances over to Maddox, faux-seriously, as if he could confirm or deny her story with nothing more than a glance.
[Hunter] There's telling off to be done and Hunter looks bored. But then there's a re[quest] for the white knight as Starla had so kindly put it. Make sure that the weirdo talking to Rain is actually not a weirdo but an okay dude. So he does this and he flicks his chin to Starla and Izzy to see if they want to come along for the journey.
"Let's go check em' for fleas n'such."
So the burly dull thick as a brick Gnawer starts wandering towards Rain and Maddox. There's nothing intentionally intimidating about Hunter right now, he's just an Ahroun.
Strong, filled with Rage, green eyes that could and would have had Rain looking away [or running away] a month ago. Now? Maybe not. He approaches.
"What's ya' name?" He asks Maddox, then tilts his head to Rain. "Kora said we should make sure he ain't no creeper." It's obvious he's doing a favour, not following orders. He seems just as invested in this task as he has to be.
[Starla] Starla is sitting cross-legged on the edge of the picnic table. The Styrofoam cup of coffee held in her right hand, arm extended away from her as if the contents of the cup just might come exploding out of it at any second. The back of her left hand presses against her mouth, watery green eyes squint at her surroundings; the choking fits subsided, the brown sugary liquid that she spat out splashed against the ground.
She wipes the sleeve of her denim jacket across her chin, wiping away the remnants of coffee. She rolls closed for a brief second, listening as Kora's words run over her ears and she simply nods in response. The dashing White Knight of the Slums of Bronzeville takes up the banner of the Jarl's request to check out the man with Rain. He motions for the Gaian and Fenrir kin to join him.
Starla glances at Izzy, rolling her shoulders in a faint shrug and pushes off the picnic table, that may or may not look eerily familiar, and looks for a trash can to throw the cup away in. She dogs after the Gnawer's heels, bowing her head, tendrils of black hair escape from the loose bindings of long braids to sweep across the curve of her jaw and into her eyes.
[Rain] And that, boys and girls, is the fun coming to a screeching halt. Rain more than feels Hunter's Rage riding up against her skin when she nears, and there's an instinctive half-step, only partly hidden by how she shifts her body to open the circle to him.
And with Hunter, of course, being who and what he is, Rain will not make eye contact. But she will glance up, putting her attention on or about level with his cheekbone. Offer a smile that is a bit more tense, somewhat shrouded, stripped of that easy idle mirth from a moment before. He runs right up against the bounds of her will, but her chin tips up a bit, shoulders square a little.
"Evenin' Hunter," she says, her voice level and still honeyed-slow for Eve's new Alpha, Eve's brother now that Rain could no longer be sister to the Gnawer of her own right. That gaze slides to Starla, softens and welcomes a bit more. "Starla," she expands the greeting to fit them both.
[Wyrmbreaker] [oh - fyi so there's no further surprises: yeah, lukas is hanging out across the gauntlet. but i really, really need to run for some groceries before i die of starvation. so i'll be back to RP in about 20 min!]
[Fiona] Her smile is careful - is like hands held together, cupping something precious - water, maybe, which might spill and glimmer at any moment, or, or, or, or something lighter, something more winsome. The smile tucks a slanting dimple in one cheek, something that bespeaks of dreamy mischief. "You're doing a very good An Gánconágh impression. I don't know, London. You've even got faery lands forlorn in your voice. Although I guess I hear London's kind of dirty now and the ravens only talk sometimes, to some people," the dreaminess is taking control, and she stands up, hugging the book to her chest, swaying back and forth: the dimple is for Rain. "You're not. A real faery'd be like, Whoa! I never heard of anyone doing THAT before. Unless, uhm. I guess they've all, uhm, heard that story already," and she gives Maddox and Rain both a speculative look, naked greed for something supernatural. (She's a monster. You'd never think so.)
Then Hunter and Starla come over, and Fiona - starts: "Oh! You - uhm." Pause. Caution: "Hey you. I think he's okay enough for a boy. He's just being a boy. D-do, uhm. Kora? Like, uhm. I know a Kora too! Like persephone."
[Izzy Montoya] They vacate the table, and Izzy remains where she is. She takes a seat, pulls her cup to her lips for another scalding swallow, and sets both the cup and her sausage on the table. Then, the ritual search for cigarettes and lighter.
Both pockets of her coat are searched, then the inside one, finally revealing the battered pack - the lighter is located in her right pocket of her slacks, and the latter is used to light up one of the cigarettes in the former.
She takes a deep drag, and closes her eyes briefly. It is all the reaction she allows herself.
[Maddox] [percept + PU, diff 8 -1 (WP diff) -4 (Rage diff)]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 9 (Success x 2 at target 3)
[Maddox] Maddox is still chortling a bit when the bodyguard arrives, all big and brooding and such and such. They are nearly the same height, the Ahroun and the Theurge, but the difference in their builds is staggering. Hunter is at least four times as big as Maddox, by the Fiann's reckoning. And, also by his reckoning, most likely a quarter as intelligent. There's Rage rolling off the big guy in waves, and Maddox just turns to look at him, eyelids drooped, brows lifted. Utterly unconcerned.
Until the little slip of breeding wanders up behind him. It's his first clue that perhaps not all is as it seems. One careful look over Hunter, and he knows what he's dealing with here. These are not just brave little mortal girls. They're something. Maddox peers at Starla, then twists around to look at Rain, who has stepped back again. Dark eyes sweep again over the Child of Gaia. He will not, under any circumstances, change his target to the pure bred girl on the other side of the lumbering oaf at this stage of the game, no sir. He tilts his head to the side, his hands still in the pockets of his blazer.
"I'm Maddox," he says, his tone light and easy, carefully modulated to make sure the Ahroun understands him. It's only because they all seem to know each other, somehow, some way, that he continues. "Where the Sidewalk Ends, Cliath Theurge of the Fianna. Who're you?"
[Hunter] [per+pu on fiona!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Hunter] "Rain." He greets her back, there's even a little smile there for the breedless kin. But then his attention is back on Maddox and if he needed to look closely to figure out what this man is [he does] then that need is snuffed out as soon as he introduces himself.
Where the Sidewalk Ends, Cliath Theurge of the Fianna. Who're you?
"Hunter Matthews. Burnout. The White Knight of fuckin' Bronzeville." Dead pan. Thanks Starla
That's all he gets for now, attention shifting to the small headed red headed girl who it turns out isn't really a girl at all. She's a wolf, or a wolfette or maybe even a wolfina.
"Boys are stupid."
[Rain] Look, then, they're playing nice tonight. Rain as Little Red Riding Hood, Hunter as the Big Bad Wolf. Tonight is a night of (my what big teeth you have) tentative peace. She doesn't turn on her heel, or skitter away. There is no Kool-Aid-Manning-It out of the park. No, instead she stands her ground. They smile. Neither smile is mistaken for the baring of teeth.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is Progress! Celebrate it!
Rain's hands go back into her coat pockets. She dips her chin down a little, so that when she is looking at the gathered wolves it is slightly through the veil of her dark lashes. They exchange names, titles of a sort, some more figurative than others. All the while, the Gaian girl maintains and calm and quiet way of staying out of the way, out from underfoot, completely unrankled by the need to remain quiet and separate while the big kids make their introductions.
[Starla] The White Knight of fucking Bronzeville... Starla blinks. Hunter's dead pan. She coughs, cupping her hand over her mouth to hide the smile that threatens to break free. She shakes her head, tosses Rain a curious glance, as if to quietly ask if she's alright. The brief display of concern customary from this one.
The girls always looked out for each other.
"Don't deny it, Hunter, it's true."
[Fiona] [STAMINA. It'll make sense, honest.]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 6 (Failure at target 7)
[Fiona] This. This happens, in quick succession - first: wide-eyed shock, thrilling up her spine, because she has been apparently helped by a garou of her same tribe and her same auspice, and Rain must be okay too because well because Kora and now Hunter and that was totally Kora by Slaughter and, and Fiona isn't the smartest, cleverest teenage girl in the world, most of her smarts being used up with imaginary languages, but she can put two and two together at least. Still, the wide eyes take Rain in with some concern [brimming], some sudden touch of trouble, and then go beyond Hunter to Starla.
Hunter's introduction snaps her attention back to him. This time, she thinks as he is still talking, she is going to get through an introduction with dignity.
That is not what happens. The girl hugging the book to her chest stops swaying, and then Hunter adds Boys are stupid, and she flushes (blushes), then just gurgles with laughter -- shy, fey, helpless, unhelped, uncontrolled. She gasps for air, and
then starts giggling again. Not loudly. Behind her book, as a matter of fact, which she is using to hide her mouth.
[Maddox] Maddox snorts, grins at the Ahroun, all brash and bold. "Riiiiiight. Takes one to know one." And childish, too, apparently.
He looks at Fiona first, and that grin shifts slightly for the teen. Reaching out, he ruffles the giggling girl's hair, completely unable to not laugh, probably at her, but it's not any meaner than anything else he's said or done this night. "And London is a bit dirty these days, but the ravens still talk, if you know how to listen."
A step is taken back, which incidentally brings him a touch closer to Rain. Rain. He smiles to her, leans in close if she'll let him, close enough to whisper against her ear yet still managing to keep from touching her. Whatever he says, if she lets him, is between the pair of them.
Then he leans away from her, shoots a grin to the unnamed Starla, and a wink besides, "Well if you'll excuse me ladies." Another step back, and then a turn, then a stop, then a few steps back to Rain. "Oh, this will probably make sense then. I'm more or less staying at this place called The Brotherhood. Call 'round any time you want to show me your favorite places." He winks for her, and it's not the same as the one sent Starla's way. This time, when he steps off again, his steps are sure, and there's no turning back. When he nears a trash bin, he removes his hand from his pocket to toss something away.
Then the shadows swallow his passage, and the faerie Londoner is lost from sight.
[Izzy Montoya] There is helpless laughter from over in that direction, and they get a glance - but they are spared the presence of the Fenrir Kin. There is a purity to her blood that speaks of the fierceness of her bloodline, of wars and fiends and victory and crimson stains throughout the history of her people. But more so, there is an exhaustion about the woman - not a girl, and certainly not a child - who remains seated at the table.
She runs her free hand through her hair, briefly, allowing the minute light catch her features for a moment. She lets go, and then reaches into her pocket. Not for another cigarette, she's still sucking down the one she has, but for her phone. Then, the dim light illuminating her face, she checks her email, messages, etc.
[Hunter] Apparently Hunter's mere presence is enough to bring about laughter from the collective. Maybe it's what he said or maybe it's how he said it. Whatever the case, girls are laughing and they are probably laughing at him because he's really not that funny.
Starla gets another one of those amused scowls, a little twisting of his lips into a grin and shake of his head. No, it's not true. There's a picnic table somewhere in the park that is most likely testament to that fact.
The little Fiann though, she is just out of control. Her face is covered up by a book and even that can't keep out the mirth. The park can't even handle her right now. Hunter is smiling at her and it's one of confusion but not an unkind smile, more like: this is odd, but im glad you're enjoying your self.
Whispers, whispers. He doesn't speak again for some time, instead he's wandering after him to check in that rubbish bin and find out what he's tossing away.
[Starla] Maddox is rewarded with a curious tilt of Starla's head, she turns to follow him with her eyes, arching a brow at the wink, one corner of her curls back in response. She shakes her head slowly, nose twitching; she swings her attention back to the giggling sprite hiding behind a book as Hunter seems to be the punch of a hidden joke that the Gaian kin isn't privy to just yet.
She lays her hands on her hips, purses her lips together. The pale gaze of green eyes find Hunter's face, notes that same scowl of amusement that he gave her at the table, Starla smirks at him. "Yeah it is."
It's all she says in response to the quiet look .
[Rain] Starla tosses a glance her way and Rain's reply is a reassuring look. But that's before the littlest wolf devolves into a cascade of giggles. Before Maddox's voice brushes against her ear and Rain's smile twists, delicately, amused and pleased and a little abashed. Her cheeks pink, just so, and she turns to look at the Fiann as he steps away.
Whatever she's trying to hide is not all that terribly well hidden. He mentions the Brotherhood. He winks. She finds her composure again and chuckles lightly, responding: "I know the place." And yet not vetting that offer of showing him her favorite places.
That much she can jest about in the presence of the Bronzeville Ahroun. When Hunter steps away, though, some unseen tension slakes from her shoulders and Rain exhales a little more completely. Unfurls. The Gaian girl offers a glance to Fiona, seeing if the giggle-fit has exhausted itself by now, and then back over to Starla.
Finally, a true greeting for her kinswoman. "Wolves, and faeries, and sliver slip moons," she says, eyebrows lofted a little, cheeks still pinked faintly by whatever Maddox said. "I think it's time for me to head home," there's a little tip of her head, an unspoken invite for Starla to accompany her, if she so wants, back to the stout Cabrini church now that the party is breaking up.
[Fiona] "I uhm, just. I. Hee. Hee. That's your NAME." Hunter is wandering to inspect a trashcan (there are no rubbish bins in America), and Fiona worries her lower lip with her teeth, the gleam of a grin making of her eyes mischief. To Rain and Starla she says, very quietly: "It's just, like. He must of uhm. Pissed somebody off, you know. For that to be part of his name. 'Boys are Stupid.' Hee."
Then - then. There is a sound: familiar. The buzz of a cellphone going off, in the way of cellphones, half an hour after the angry, maternal message was left on the phone. Fiona, still biting her lip, reaches gingerly into her pocket and looks at it. Then her eyes go round enough for the full moon to fall in and drown: "Oh no - "
" - thank you!! Uh, Ray? Rain? Uhm - and - and - bye!"
Then she is off. Like a ROCKET of PURE SPEED, running, feet kicking up, towards the edges of the park (huff! huff!) and the last bus of the night that'll bring her home.
[Fiona] [howfast?!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 7, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]
[Maddox] [thanks for the scene, guys! *bzooms* JAYSUS]
[Fiona] [Like a cheetah.]
[Wyrmbreaker] For an Ahroun, Lukas's gnosis is potent, even impressive. That doesn't mean it's foolproof. The crossing is long and difficult this time. He snags on the webs. He gets lost in the world-between-worlds. He pulls through a second or a year later -- he's not even sure -- and Kora's long gone.
There's a rustle in the foliage. Then Lukas, stepping out of the treeline, brushing glistening webwork from his shoulders, his chest, everywhere. It fades before it hits the earth. He grimaces, rolling a shoulder in its joint.
"Kora and Imogen leave already?" This is to Izzy.
[Izzy Montoya] There's a rustle in the foliage, and her eyes snap up - she is, after all, a perceptive bitch. She is aware of her surroundings, despite the fact she seems to be concentrating on whatever information she is flipping through on her phone.
She watches, and then the figure comes into the light, and she recognizes him. There's little expression to betray her, as she meets his gaze, and answers the question simply.
"Yes."
She returns her attention to the screen of her phone, and takes another drag off her cigarette. If it occurs to her to ask how he knew they were here - she does not voice it aloud.
[Starla] Wolves and Fairies and Silver slip moons... Rain is waxing poetry at the painted Unicorn that has turned to watch the healthy flush of color stain Rain's cheeks. Starla tips her head to the side, extends her right hand out to point at the other Gaian kin, finds it impossible to speak as her attention is being thrust into different directions with Hunter stalking off to - do something - to a trash can... and Fiona is darting off like a cheetah.
There is a speed in the girl she has never seen before. The hand drops to her hip, Starla clucks her tongue against the back of her teeth. "Yeah," she agrees in a breathless murmur, "It's late and Cinderella's about ready to turn into a pumpkin by the look on yar face, sugah."
[Hunter] Hunter wanders back not too long after the Fiann has darted off into the night, his head swivels up the grassy knoll to where the picnic table is situated and -- incidentally -- a rather familiar Adren. If Lukas looks he'll get a casual little salute from the Gnawer before his attention reverts to Starla and Rain.
"You two headin' off?"
[Wyrmbreaker] She doesn't have to ask, it turns out. Lukas was never one to hide his motives. "I wanted to have a talk with Imogen," he says. "I was looking for her. And Kora. I followed her this far and then got tangled in the tapestry... so to speak."
Spiderwebs, the last of them, crack and fall from his sleeve as the Ahroun gestures to the picnic bench across from Izzy, eyebrows rising in a may I? expression. Probably just courtesy -- drilled into him from long before he was Wyrmbreaker. After he sits, tipping a returned, Sarita-style two-finger-salute at Hunter, he turns back to Izzy.
There's a pause; then, levelly, "I heard the tail end of the conversation before she left. What'd you say?"
[Rain] "That's me," she agrees easily, stepping close enough to thread an arm through Starla's. "Country bumpkin." A little nudge, a lightness to her voice that hasn't been there much of late.
It's warm enough to buoy her smile up to something truly friendly when she looks over to answer Hunter and takes Lukas measure in the distance. "Yeah," she says, to Defiance's Alpha. "It's getting late. We should get back to the Church."
Just two good little kin girls observing a reasonable curfew. Nothin' to see here.
"Say hi to Eve for me, if that's okay," she adds, but there's something wistful and ever so quietly aching under that. It surfaces, but doesn't linger.
[Izzy Montoya] He asks if he can sit, and she doesn't bother to give permission. He, as all the others, assumes he does not really need it, and will do as he damn well pleases regardless. She does, however, click her phone screen to locked and slides it into her pocket. She flicks her cigarette ashes off to the side before taking another drag.
Long and slow.
She is silent long enough that he may think she refuses to answer the question for whatever reason: its none of his business, it's not polite to eavesdrop, she has already been berated and belittled, she thinks twice of what she says, or she doesn't give two shits.
It's the latter, apparently, because she does answer. "That I should have shot that crazy bitch when I had the chance." She holds up a finger, before she continues. "Don't get your panties in a fuckin' wad, too, though - I threaten to shoot everyone. Amunet ain't fuckin' special, no matter how had she fuckin' tries to be."
She doesn't look away. She doesn't look down. She doesn't avoid his gaze. She meets it, dead on. Not with challenge, simply determination. She doesn't back down, and she isn't lying.
[Starla] Rain entangles her arm with Starla's pulls the freckle-faced kin up to her side, there is a nudge in her side, a lightness to Rain's voice that she picks up on easily; it's been awhile since she's heard it.
The warm smile that plays across Rain's face is the opposite of the frown turning down the corners of Starla's mouth, she doesn't disengage from the kin, not when Rain tells Hunter that it's late. They should be going back to the Church like the good little kin they were. Starla lifts her head up, fixes an expression that is hidden and shadowed by the fall of black hair sweeping across her eyes. It's a desire to go anywhere but home.
She relents, however, and shakes her head, agreeing with Rain, "Yeah, she's right. We should be going home."
[Hunter] Hunter studies Rain's face and what he reads is completely false. But he doesn't know it and the reaction from the Ahroun is very real. He looks disappointed; he looks resigned and sad for the breed-less kinswoman.
A shake of his head completes the expression. But he's still Hunter; he still has to ask.
"Ya' need a lift? EmmyLou's out on the street, can drop ya' off."
[Starla] "Yeah, we can use a lift, Hunter. It'd be awfully kind of ya to do so."
She interjects suddenly, ready to tug Rain in that direction, not letting her argue the point. It was better than walking at this time of night, anyhow.
[Wyrmbreaker] A black eyebrow hops up. Then, surprisingly, Lukas just laughs under his breath. "You can say and do what you want, Izzy, as long as you're willing to face the consequences. I could care less if you threaten to shoot someone; it's just bluster. Inappropriate, callous and rude, but bluster in the end. If you actually pulled a gun"
which actually happened not twenty-four hours ago, but he doesn't mention that little episode nor how it ended,
"then we'd have a serious problem. That said, I'm not sure her mate would be quite so understanding, and frankly, I think a little overreaction would be in order if the love of one's life were threatened. And Stefan's of a camp known for having ears on every wall."
A pause.
"Did you talk to Kora? You seemed pretty worked up last night about what happened to you in the past."
[Rain] [G'night guys, and thank you for the scene!]
[Wyrmbreaker] [night!]
[Rain] [Someday, I swear, Rain's actually gonna stay in a scene with one of your characters long enough for us to RP... *promises, promises*]
to Wyrmbreaker
[Izzy Montoya] Inappropriate, callous and rude.
Izzy, in a nutshell.
She smirks, slightly, and shrugs. "If I pull a gun on someone, I intend to use it, and I don't miss." Simple enough. And mates and understanding, and all of that just gets a brief roll of her eyes. Antiquated notions irritate her. Of course, most things irritate her. There's more of a disbelief that that crazy cunt could be the love of anyone's life under it than anything else. To each their own.
"No." She didn't talk to Kora. She finishes her cigarette, and immediately lights a second one. It is the only concession she gives to the affect of the current topic of conversation. "Talking won't change the mindset behind the events, let alone the event itself. After all," she's a fairly good mimic here... "It's been that way for thousands of years. Get motherfuckin' used to it. She was there. She knows of it."
She shrugs a shoulder absently. "I hadn't intended to speak. The man asked a question. One day, they'll all remember that if you don't want me to answer, don't fuckin' ask."
The twist of her lips is amused, briefly, before she shrugs. "That was not why I left, anyway."
[Hunter] [Hunter out with the girls! Unless you want to post more shann?]
[Starla] (nah we're good)
[Hunter] [aight thanks for the scene ya'll]
[Wyrmbreaker] To be truthful, there was just a touch of irony when Lukas said it: love of his life. A certain cynicism of his own in his eyes, as if he had a hard time believe that love-match, himself.
It's still there when he smiles a little. "And I suppose you're about to tell me why you really left."
[Izzy Montoya] "Not unless you fuckin' ask." Amused, that.
[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas shakes his head. "You're not my kin, Izzy. If it's something I need to know as the Ahroun Elder, I assume you'll tell me. Otherwise, I'm not going to pry too deeply into your business. It's like you said. You're not happy, but you still do your job. That's all I ask.
"Did Kora pass it on to Imogen that the kin coalition could use a more experienced leader?"
[Izzy Montoya] "You know what they say about assuming.." She shrugs, slightly. Then.. almost as if she isn't really aware she's saying it out loud... "She has no fuckin' idea. None." Amunet, that is. "No idea what it's like. What that fuckin prick Daniel did? Child's fuckin' play. Unnecessary, stupid, inconvenient. But fuckin nothing. She's got no fuckin' idea what it's like to know without a doubt bein' dead is better than living with it, day in and day fuckin' out."
She blinks, and then shakes her head and brings herself back to the actual question. "She mentioned it, than got too busy jumpin my shit."
[Wyrmbreaker] There are Garou -- gossips -- who would pry now, relentlessly, invasively, until they got to the bottom of Izzy's story. Lukas: he looks faintly uncomfortable, suddenly privy to some inner aspect of Izzy that the woman herself probably didn't want him to know. Like inadvertently walking in on her while she changed, or something.
So he averts his eyes and waits. When she's done, he looks back at her.
"Well. Maybe you could pass it on, then, unless I track them down first. Reading between the lines, I think that whole business last night served to establish a line of communication for those wanted it while neatly leaving the question of who actually takes the lead amongst the kin wide open. And while Amunet means well, I think she's lost the trust of the kin and the Garou."
On that note, the Shadow Lord gets to his feet, flicking a scrap of bark off his coat. "I'm going to see if I can catch up to one or the other. And Izzy ... whatever it is that really haunts your past, maybe you should talk to Kora about it. She's your tribal alpha. Your welfare is literally her business."
[Izzy Montoya] "She knows." In fact, she's the only in a city full of members of the Nation that does, anymore.
And then, a casual smirk, with a shake of her head before she takes a final drag off her cigarette and stands herself, gathering the remains of her dinner to be disposed of on her way from the park. "I'm a grown ass woman, Lukas. My welfare is my business."
Thousands of years of tradition be damned.
[Wyrmbreaker] "It is," Lukas agrees, "but you're not happy. You obviously want someone to listen. Why not Kora?"
[so sorry about the tiny post. i got distracted!!]
[Izzy Montoya] "What good would it do?" She looks... tired. Worn down. Weary... all of these things under the strength that she shows the world, the backbone of iron, of steel, with which she faces the world and the horrors thereof every single day. Not only in her job, both jobs, but in her past, her present... everything.
"Nothing will change. Children will continue to dictate to folks more than twice their age, evil will continue to abuse, good will continue the same and me? Well, I will continue to survive, and be a fuckin goddamn gift to all who need my talents. Happiness is a myth, Lukas. Don't buy into it too much. You'll just lose it the moment you are comfortable."
She drags her hand through her hair, then straightens her shoulders, her back, her stance. It's like pulling on a costume, a mask that she is well used to hiding behind. "Fuck it. It's all bullshit anyway, right? Someday, somewhere, someone or something will be a faster shot than me. Till then - one step at a time." Of course, she's likely to be old and gray before that happens, but no matter.
She turns and moves to the garbage can, and tosses the rest of her dinner. "Goodnight, Lukas." And, unless he's something to add, she's pulled out her phone again, and dials in to the station once more. Seem's her work day is not over yet. Not by a long shot.
[Wyrmbreaker] "Izzy!" -- he does call after her. "Happiness isn't a myth. You will lose it. It will hurt like a bitch when you do. But until then, it is worth it. And if you've known happiness at all, then I don't believe you'd honestly give those memories up if you could."
[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles. "Ah, the optimism of youth." She lifts a hand, a brief wave that is more an acknowledgement that he said something, than agreement, or even farewell. Then, her call is answered, and she is all business, instantly, as if someone flipped a switch.
"Montoya.
..where at?
Fuck you too, Finn. be there in five."
[Wyrmbreaker] [thanks for the RP! *ditches*]
celebration.
11 years ago