noodles.

[Park] The last time Savage Dawn saw Covered Sky, the both of them were recovering from injuries sustained at the hands of a creature who the Philodox confessed had been present at the death of Tiny Doom several weeks ago, one of them with ribs and organs exposed and the other with her throat cleaved straight through. Their injuries were not dire, and they were able to rest in the concealment of an alleyway in forms not their own while their bodies took up the task of healing.

It is four nights later, four heavy-mooned nights later, and Park is out in the early morning hours without anyone at her side, boots tromping heavily on the pavement, hands thrust into her pockets, eyes alert and focused on the colorfully-lit world around her. She walks with a purpose, as though she has somewhere to be, someone to meet, some reason for being out on these unforgiving streets past midnight, or at least she does a damned fine job of pretending as though she does.

[Lukas] Chinatown sleeps late. There's a noodle shop on 18th Ave open til 3am. Situated next to the Buddha Lounge, it's a wildly popular spot for club kids to grab a late snack after working up an appetite. At 1:30am, it's crammed full, standing room only. Lukas is standing outside with a styrofoam bowl of udon in hand, slurping away.

[Keith] It's colder than cold can cold the cold. Which is very cold, indeed. With windchill factor, it's getting to below zero, so only the truly insane want to be out. Want to be walking, want to be patrolling, but there's something stronger than self-preservation, something more intense than the drive to survive. In Keith, Savage Dawn, Voice of Carnage, one might very well assume that it's the drive to kill, the will to do some sort've violence, to wreak some pain on the wrongful wound the city's driving into the Mother's heart every single fucking day, and quite a few people avoid him for it. Such as the cab driver, who'd peeled away in a moment of supreme weakwill, rather than let the ahroun in. Well, fine. Fine! Fine! He's walking through Chinatown, cold as hell, and he pricks his head up when he spies Park up ahead, and on the corner between himself and Park, outside the warm (mm warmth) looking noodle shop, Lukas. And you know what? Maybe one of them has a car. He puts his fingers in his mouth and WOLF WHISTLES.

[Lukas] Lukas's head snaps up and around, noodles half in his mouth. Then he spies Keith; slurps said noodles in, lowers the bowl. Waves.

[Rory] She doesn't do much. That's what folks might say about Rory. She's not very bright, she's got no schooling, she's got nothing really to go for her - but damn, she can sure fix stuff good. The nice thing about Chinatown is that here, in the glaring lights and late night life, even in the daytime streets of carts and haggling - there's a barter system that's alive and well, and Rory has skills, skills that can net her a few dollars, and even better, a hot meal.

Which is why she's people watching here, outside the noodle shop. She doesn't attract attention, keeping to herself, with her head down, seated one a bench just across the walk. In her hands, not some tinkering task, not right now, but a container of fried rice. In her lap, between her thighs, another filled with Mongolian beef.

The whistle pulls her attention that direction, red curls flying, and she watches as she shovels another mouthful of rice between her lips.

[Park] The dark-haired woman perks up when she hears that musical ear-piercing call, the instinct of everyone within earshot to do the exact same thing, and it is the looking towards the noise that has her catching sight of the tall Fostern slurping down noodles in the frigid pre-dawn air. With the corners of her lips threatening to tug upward, Park pulls her left hand out of her coat pocket and raises it to wave to the Ahroun.

Her steps have her reaching the other Lord first.

"Lukas," she says, coming to a halt just beyond arm's length of him. Her eyes flick to the Styrofoam bowl in his hand, and she asks, "How are they?"

[Lukas] "Mmm-mm mmm," Lukas says. And gulps. And repeats, "Really good. Four bucks a bowl. Five if you want the seafood variety. I wouldn't though; it's like two shrimp and a clam."

[Keith] Chicago's a weird city. Keith's dad probably didn't expect to send his precious damned Ahroun baby boy there to toughen up and find, instead, he was hanging out with a bunch of damned Shadow Lords all the time, but lo. This, it seems, is pretty much the case. Lukas waves, Park's now next to Lukas, and there's a Rory who's yet to be noticed, but who will be soon, if only for her redred hair and her purepure blood (as pure as any of the lesser tribes get, anyway, which is pure enough). It'll take Keith a while to actually get to outside the noodleshop, so carry on without him while he picks up the pace, rubbing his hands together like the friction is an act of god, will get him warm again. "Hey," he says. "Either of you have a car? I'm stranded."

[Rory] Rory's got her backpack with her, of course. It's leaned against her hip, as she sits there crosslegged on the bench. She's wearing almost everything she owns, as it's damn cold out tonight. She doesn't have much in the way of warm outer clothing - her coat is flimsy at best, and she lost her knit hat, so her head is bare. Her fingers too, slender and pale and fragile looking, are without covering. If not for the pulsating heat of rage, she'd be frozen.

As it is, she's not - and her green eyes watch the meeting of the Fang and Lords just across the way.

[Zeke] Park's Cellphone quite suddenly erupts. Cradled in quick, sudden burps of sound. The voice on the other end doesn't bother to wait for Park to offer a Hello, as soon as the ring is interrupted in response-

"...Seems things are beginning to wind down in the southern districts. I'm on the edge of the Rich zone, hanging on your last whereabouts. Do you need a ride home or are you still out walking?" The tone is casual, comfortable even and if Zeke gives any indication as to what he's talking about, it isn't immediately known.

[Lukas] When Park turns away to answer her phone, Lukas replies to Keith. "Yeah, I'm parked around the corner. Where are you headed?"

[Park] Park nods as if there is far more at stake than the salvation of a dollar. "I can live without a couple of shrimp and a clam."

And then: Hey. The Philodox cranes her neck to get Keith in her sights, leaning slightly to see around the much taller Fostern, then takes a step back and says, "Sorry. You need money for the bus? That's the best I can--"

And then her cell phone goes off. Park quickly fishes it out of her pocket, a brand-new piece of silicon that she squints at before inexpertly hitting a green button and bringing it to her ear.

"I'm still out. Where can I meet you?"

[Zeke] "...Give me an intersection. I'll find you." The sound of the car, humming around a corner is easily heard in the cellphone's receiver, Zeke going quiet for a moment, something electronic beeping insistently, then interrupted a half-moment later.

[Keith] "Either of you know her?" The 'her' in question is Rory. Because Keith noticed her, watching them, and clearly Fianna. He's watching her back now, and he's still as he does. Lean and mean. "Home," he says, to Lukas. And then he grins, crooked. "Not the loft. I thought I'd give the pool some time to decontaminate. Thanks again for the trunks." Park offers bus fare, and then she gets a phonecall; he shook his head slightly at the offer of money anyway, because -- well. He didn't actually have any money on him, not even a dime, because he'd given it away to somebody, or forgot it in some restroom, or spent it all on food. But he shook his head because he'd much prefer not to take the bus, if possible, tonight.

[Park] Park rattles off the nearest cross streets, then thumbs the phone asleep and thrusts it back into her pocket, returning to the conversation in time to hear something about the pool being decontaminated. She huffs out a touch of laughter, then says, not having had both ears free to overhear travel arrangements being made behind her, "Zeke's on his way here, if you want to catch a ride back with us."

[Lukas] Lukas peers across the street. "Yeah, that's Rory. Used to be packed with Rises Above, who died last month." He puts his chopsticks down again; waves.

And: "I can give you a lift too, but I'm going to have another bowl first. So if you're in a hurry, ride with Park." Pause. "Zeke is back in town?"

[Rory] She scoops up some more rice, and when Keith notices her watching her, she tips her head slightly. Just acknowledgement that yes, she sees him too. She lifts her chopsticks and waves at Lukas in return, her cheeks splashing with color as she ducks her head, a shy little grin playing across her lips.

Then she continues to eat her meal, scooping it up like she hasn't eaten in days - even though Edwin made sure she was fed well last night.

[Zeke] ...Directions offered and the collective would have time to discuss in brief, Keith's adventures in Lukas Trunks before the Towncar, sleek black and well maintained, quiet and comfortable, rolling around the neighbouring corner at a stalker's pace; slow and scrutinizing.

It rolls to a halt a dozen feet down from the group on the sidewalk, the tinted windows performing adequately in maintaining the secrecy of it's interior. The Car putters to a standstill, the driver's side swinging open and the well-dressed Ragabash climbing free. He faces off toward the opposite side of the street Where Rory stands and watches.

She's given a brief flickering of gloved fingers in the form of a wave, and a lopsided smile on careful features, before he turns, bald of head and dressed in his chaffeur best, to regard the trio on the sidewalk.

"It's a might cold out, folks. One's gotta be all sorts a suspicious about people willing to be in a chill like this..."

[Zeke] ...A pause, those coal eyes turning to regard Lukas, smile evening out into a broad display, as arms rise to lean against the open threshold of the driver's door.

"Lukas. Always a pleasure."

[Lukas] (for the record, the noodle shop everyone's in front of is packed full with plenty of spillover!)

[Rory] From where she sits and watches from her bench, she waves at Zeke too.

[Keith] "Who's she packed with now?" He's very comfortable discussing someone who's nearby just as if they weren't nearby at all. Park says, hey wait, Zeke can give you a lift, and Keith goes: "Who's Zeke?" at about the same time Lukas says: Zeke's back in town? And then not only is Zeke back in town, Zeke is right there, and he's totally Host of Traitors. Keith huffs, then says, "I'm going [some neighborhood that's not great, but not the shittiest shit of all shitastic neighborhoods ever]."

[Park] Zeke is back in town?

"Mm," she confirms, about the time the town car is rolling up to the intersection. Park reaches up to swipe an errant strand of black out of her eye, then turns so that she is facing the road as the dark-skinned metis joins them on the sidewalk.

[Lukas] "Zeke." Lukas lowers the bowl and the chopsticks to one hand, stepping forward to clasp forearms, or hands, with the Ragabash. "Good to see you again." A beat. "Mrena died."

[Zeke] (....hooo)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 8, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Lukas] Oh, and:

"Why don't you ask her?"

That was to Keith.

[Zeke] Zeke blanches as Lukas lays out Mrena's death, the Ragabash's features twisting into an all too obvious frown that is at once pained and all together assessing. No stranger to such things and yet...everytime...

"...That is...unfortunate." Not the word he was looking for to begin with, as he finishes a firm grip of Lukas arm, before releasing. "...I had high hopes for her."

And then, as if to remove the stain of the moment, he turns to regard Keith, the frown taking it's time in fading.

"...That's on my way. I can drop you."

[Keith] "I'm going to take five minutes to say hello," Keith says, maybe being polite and letting the Shadow Lords have a moment. Zeke's expression was pretty -- well, hell. Even Keith noticed it. Appears to have noticed it. "If you're still here, I'd appreciate that, man."

And then he's off to do what he said he was gonna do: say hello to Rory.

[Rory] Keith heads her way, and her eyes widen slightly, before she ducks her head to hide behind her curls, and scoop up the last bit of her rice from the container, as if he might take it away from her - or to just get to the beefy goodness waiting in the second container.

Either way, she peeks up from under her curls, to see his approach, and offer a shy little grin.

[Park] The noodle house behind them is packed, with no room for bodies at any of the tables inside, but Park decides to take her chances with the line at the counter anyway as Lukas steps forward to greet Zeke with a clasp of hands on forearms. She steps back from the group without announcing where she intends to go or when she plans on coming back, ducking inside and out of the cold.

More than a few people filter out of the noodle house after the Philodox enters their midst. It's too crowded in there, anyway.

[Lukas] Unfortunate, Zeke calls it, understating. Lukas nods. "Yeah," he agrees: understating.

They're a tribe that does not abide weakness. Not even about these things. Lukas lets go, raises his bowl, finishes it off and tosses it into a nearby trashcan. It's overflowing from dozens of bowls just like his. Even on a night as cold as this, the doors of the noodle shop are wide open -- held there by people queued up to grab a bowl of hot $4 udon. Or la mien. Or whatever else was being sold by the cheap, apparently pan-asian noodle joint.

"So, you guys are acquainted?" He starts to turn back to Park, but too late: the Philodox is disappearing to get her own bowl. "Hey, can you get me another one?" he calls after her. "Beef!"

[Zeke] "Of course." He nods after Keith, features climbing down from their previous unsettling, brow the last to begin to smooth over as the seconds tick by comfortably. He turns in place, perk a brow up at Lukas whilst casting an eye toward Park as she braves the crowd of the Noodle house.

"...I take it the Circle's had some hard troubles then, what with..." Pause. "...What was his name then? Mjolnirs~Fist-..Heart" Nodding as if to himself. "Mjolnirs~heart and that entire affair and now Mrena."

[Park] "Beef!" she calls over her shoulder, confirming the order before the door slides closed.

[Keith] "You're eating like a 'gnawer," Keith says, the very soul of political correctness. "You okay?"

[Rory] She wrinkles her nose, and lifts a shoulder - one that is most assuredly very thin under those layers - into a shrug. "Hungry."

He couldn't know that she was packed with Gnawers (though maybe he does) or that old habits die hard. She eats like it'll be taken away, like she hasn't eaten in some time, and she doesn't bother with napkins, just wipes her mouth with her hand, her hand on her tattered jeans.

If not for the breeding, she could easily be mistaken for a Gnawer, truth be told.

A beat, and then. "ok." confirmation that it's situation normal. (all fucked up.)

[Keith] He probably didn't know very much about Rory or her former pack. In fact, he didn't. That's why he'd asked Lukas and Park, although Rory didn't know that either. He regards Rory thoughtfully for a moment, for two. "I heard your packmate died," he says, and that's a cheerful way to start a conversation, isn't it? But he didn't have tact. Or he did, but not right now. "I'm sorry to hear that. And I wanted to say hey. I'm Keith. What'cha eating?"

[Zeke] "Yes, acquainted would be the best word for it, really."

Zeke's gaze flicks into the Noodle place, jaw rolling off to one side, all traces of news on Mrena, fading swiftly from his features, the last lingering presence that of a few lines between his eyes that vanish before his next words are done.

"Interesting thing really. Met her in New Orleans. Showed an interest in Chicago and it's depths. Wastes. Wyrm and Warriors. I obliged with what info. I had, though-" A modest shrug "-Months old, really. Offered to be her driver and introduce but she's taking to the life admirably, really."

A pause, gaze flicking back up to Lukas, though his head remains oriented toward the Noodle shop. A passing thing, Ragabash art ensuring his eyes don't find the Fostern's own. Ragabash art and Metis training.

"Congratulations by the way."

[Rory] She hesitates with a bite partway to her mouth, shadows passing over her vision, her eyes closing briefly, before she nods, slightly. And then confirms - but corrects. "Alpha."

She stirs the beef up with the chopsticks as she peeks up at Keith again, curious, though she never meets his gaze for long, dropping them immediately. Respectful. "Rory." Her name - and single words are easier - as evidenced by the rest. "Bongolian Meef. Want some?"

She doesn't seem to notice the mistake - hearing what she intended to say rather than what she did, as she tips the container toward him.

[Lukas] "Mrena's loss hit us pretty hard," Lukas admits. "We lost Sampson too not long after. After that we reorganized and rethought our direction a bit. We're a little more pragmatic now, you might say. These days we go by the Unbroken, under the aspect of Thunder, Perun.

"You'll remember Kate and Edward from the Circle; Caleb too, when he's out of the Umbra. Sinclair and Theron run with us now too. I don't think you've met either of them, though Theron's a Tribesman. He's expressed interest in holding a tribal moot. With you back in the city that makes at least six of us, so it's a consideration."

Then, a nod. "What's with the chauffeur getup? Your side job?"

The congratulations surprises Lukas, but only briefly. Rank and dominance are more than words; they infuse every facet of the being. Lukas doesn't stand, speak, look or even smell the way he did nearly a year ago. "Thank you," he says, simply.

[Keith] "Bongolian Meef, huh," he echoes, and he doesn't seem to notice that there's much of a difference either. At least, not yet. The words are close enough and, to Keith, who's just listening to the basic shape and sound of the word, not how they're crafted, who's just listening to what Rory says as so much noise while he stares at her, eyebrows pulling together, furrow appearing between his eyebrows, grumpy Ahroun, it's all one. "Yes," he says. "Thanks." And he'll take off one glove, and pick a piece of Mongolian Beef out of her container, popping it into his mouth as quickly as he can before it's so damned cold his hand falls off 'fore he gets the glove back on. Chew, chew, chew. "Who're you running with now?"

[Zeke] "Best way to pay the bills, keep the monkeys from guessing and ensuring the veil, really." About his 'side job'. "That and my ride provides some very easy solutions to some very unpleasant problems, more often then not." His glance narrows briefly, eyes trailing toward his car, brief and appreciative.

"I recall Katherine. Edward, not as much." A twist to his features. "Don't think we ever met, really. Caleb either, though I recall the name some." A pause, a breath sucked in. "A Moot would be beneficial, if only to ensure the Tribe's representation is clear to everyone, new and old." A flick of curiosity in that quizzical glance now.

"I have to admit. I never thought you'd step back from a Totem with such power and esteem as the Talons, much less convince a pair of Kings and Queens to stand with Thunder in any aspect. Consider me impressed."

[Rory] She tips her head, slightly as he says it backwards, and waits for him to say something about it. When he doesn't, she relaxes slightly. He takes a bite and pulls his gloves on, and asks his questions.

She straightens her shoulders, slightly, with a bit of pride that she found another pack, that she was accepted so readily. "Bogeymen."

Odd, she doesn't look at all like a monster that hides under the bed - currently, anyway.

[Keith] "Who are they?"

He finally looks away from Rory for a moment, to check out the Lords. How their conversation is progressing, and all that. His attention is still mostly on Rory, though.

[Lukas] "I'll see about making arrangements, then."

As for the Talons: "It wasn't an easy choice. We'd followed the Talons of Horus for years. But ultimately our visions and purpose were starting to diverge from that of the Talons. As for Kate and Ed -- they don't really hold to traditional Fang views in some respects. Not all, though.

"Speaking of which. You might want to watch out for Dirge of the Covenant. He's as hardline Silver Fang as they come. He has no love for our tribe and less scruples."

[Rory] "The bonsters under the med." Clearly. Or not, exactly. It's said with a little grin, and then she rubs the side of her nose with a cold finger, absently, and nods.

"Edwin, Delmar. Others."

[Keith] "What's that, some new kind of drug?" He frowns, sidelong, at her. The frown is in response to her first remark, not the names she's giving, names which he just files away, because they don't mean much to him at all. He says: "Glad you've got people, though. You seem ...nice."

[Zeke] "....Mmmm, Dirge of the..." A pause, frowning. "...Name sounds vaguely familiar." And almost as easily, a dismissive flicker of a gloved hand. "I'll keep the name in mind. Easy to avoid those with loud voices. Just gotta listen for the cringing in the crowd."

He tugs his gloves on tighter, fingers lifting to pluck at his nose, a faint tinge of red creeping into his nostrils as the night's chill climbs further below.

"I suppose that makes sense. Chicago's always been a haven for free methods of thought and loose on it's stringencies." A beat. "...but then, that might be part of the issue." A glance up at Lukas again. "Park tells me you've had a rash of deaths lately?"

[Rory] She wrinkles her nose, her brow furrowed, as she tries to make sense of what he said, what confused him - and then she realizes she must have made a mistake, and sighs. Her shoulders slump, and she tries again. "Bogeymen. Monsters." a beat, and hopeful that she managed it by going slowly. "Get it?"

Then she flushes, as she smiles a little, glancing up at him and back down again. How someone with so much rage can be so shy, so controlled, so... nice... is an oddity she couldn't begin to explain, even if she really wanted too. "Who do you wack pith?"

[Keith] He scowls. "I know what 'bogeyman' means." And then he blinks. "I wack lots of people. I've never used a pith before, though; that's a helmet, right?"

[Lukas] The topic makes Lukas frown faintly, his eyes flicking past Zeke to the street, then back.

Quieter, "The Children of Gaia were nearly obliterated recently. The Bone Gnawers and the Furies took a hit too. Rory," he nods across the street, "just lost her Alpha not too long ago. A Bone Gnawer. Bones-to-Dust died too, if you've met her. And Evan Judgment-of-Sterling Silver, who's been with the Sept since long before I got here.

"There's no real pattern; it's not any one Wyrmling with any particular M.O. It's a combination of bad luck and lack of cohesion."

[Park] She isn't gone long, comes back on the combination of bad luck and lack of cohesion. When she returns from the line she's carrying a plastic bag with red THANK YOU lettering emblazoned on the side. The plastic rustles as she moves, and as she comes abreast of Lukas she reaches into to pull out the Styrofoam container marked B.

"Here you go," she says, passing the container off to the Fostern.

[Rory] She gets flustered, it's obvious. She drops a piece of the beef on her thigh, plucks it up and shoves it into her mouth, before she closes the container, and tucks it back into her pack. She then lifts her pack - which clanks and clatters - to sit in her lap, and hugs it close.

She doesn't look at him again. Then, softly, admits, "I don't talk go sood. Sorry."

[Lukas] "Thanks." Lukas passes Park four bucks to cover it; for a moment, passing cheap food and meager cash back and forth, they seem less a group of fearsome monsters and warriors, more a cluster of college-ish kids.

[Zeke] "...Bad Luck? Lack of cohesion?" Zeke stares up at Lukas frankly. Openly.

"A Few deaths, maybe, Lukas. Just a few." And Park creeps back into their little collective, Zeke interrupting his own speech to offer a flick of a nod toward the Rage heavy Philodox. "...But Orders are followed. Mistakes are learned from. Packs take care of one another. We've been doing this for enough millennium to know how to work it better."

...His hands vanish into long jacket pockets, the tie adjusted briefly just beforehand.

"That many? I'd be looking in Seer heads for omens for a solid week by now.."

[Keith] "Oh," he says, frowning. "It's okay; I don't do patience so well. Everything else, sure. Not patience, though." He doesn't say that like it's a joke. He is, after all, a Silver Fang. "And it's really damned cold out here, so I'm going to go back across the street and see about the status of my ride home. You should come join the rest of your people, if you want." And with that, Keith's re-joining Lukas and Zeke and Park.

[Rory] She glances up at him, and then across the street, and then nods. A moment after he stands, she does too, hesitating a moment before she makes a decision and heads toward the group as well, slipping her pack on her back as she does so.

[Keith] ooc: I think I'm going to have to bow out in another post, y'all. Keith can just stand around all quiet-like until either Lukas or Zeke are ready to go, and then he'll ride on with whoever. Just a warning!

[Lukas] Lukas exhales a laugh, humorless. "Now you're the idealist, Zeke, if you think we still live in a world where a dozen deaths a year could only happen if the Wyrm were doing something drastically out of the ordinary.

"If you want to consult the Theurges, though, start with Gossamer Wing. She's a Fostern of the Fenrir, and the current alpha Theurge in the city." He pops the top off his second bowl of udon and starts to eat.

[Zeke] "...Ideals are for visionaries. Paranoia, on the other hand..." A 'tsk' sound escapes his lips, though less for Lukas and more a 'What're we gonna do' mention. Lukas offers a name: Gossamer Wing and Zeke offers a nod in return, the register of a Fenrir not bothering to awaken anything special in Zeke's regard. Instead, he turns to glance across the street at Rory and Keith's approach.

"...Park, you want that ride back home, it better be soon, this face and these hands were not made for cold bones and hard winds."

An eye at Rory, smile creeping into something less Shadowlord. More genuine.

"How are the new digs treating you?"

[Park] A crinkle of paper have the bills being crammed into Park's right barn coat pocket, the transaction occurring all but wordlessly as Zeke speaks of deaths and orders and mistakes, of a search for reason and explanation as to what she can only assume is the reason they're here: the rash of deaths that have been spoken of as far away as the west coast.

She has nothing to say about the matter. She tightens her grip on her bag, then sniffs moisture out of her sinuses. Before she can comment on the weather, Zeke does for her.

"I haven't been out of California long enough for fifteen degrees to be tolerable," she agrees. "Enjoy your dinner, -rhya."

With that, she opens up the back door of the town car and, perhaps before or perhaps after Keith, clambers into the back. It's not much warmer in the sleeping vehicle, but there is no wind, and that's good enough for her.

[I require sleeps! Thanks for the RP, fuckers!]

[Keith] "I'm catching a ride with whoever's leaving first," he says, determined to get somewhere warm, it would seem.

ooc: and with that, I'm out. thanks y'all!

[Rory] She smiles shyly at Zeke, relaxing a little with a familiar face and genuine smile. "Good. Mave hy own room!"

Someplace warm to go home too - sometimes it's the little things. "And got to keep cy mat."

[Lukas] (iiii'm gonna have to head bedward too!)

"California," Lukas says, laughing quietly. "My sister lives out there. She's forgotten how to live in the cold too."

He puts the lid back on his noodles, then, dropping his chopsticks in the bag with them. "I think I'm heading out too. I'll be in touch about the gathering, Zeke. See you around."

[Zeke] "...Good to hear."

Zeke's gaze flicks to Keith and Park, creeping into the open and running Towncar, before returning to Rory. He pulls a gloved hand from his pocket, a slim card, etched with minimal writing: His Name (Zeke), his Number (Cellphone), his occupation (Driver), all in small letters barely visible from anywhere but two feet.

"You need help or want something to do, give me a ring. I can point you in some good directions."

And with that, he offers a nod to Rory, then a glance up to Lukas as he makes to depart. "...Enjoy the noodles, Lukas." Then he is around the hood of the car toward the Driver's side, plucking the car open and climbing in. The towncar would head off toward various drop off points.

(Alas, After 4 AM and I'm dead in the head. Bed calls.)

ahroun elders and pools.

[Keith] He didn't actually have a pair of swimtrunks, so he was swimming without. He'd put a thoughtful note on the door in case Gabbie (or -- someone else) happened by. The note read thus: Ladies With Virtuous Eyes, Enter Not. No swim trunks! =( (Srsly, don't come in if you're just going to stare.)

And so the Silver Fang Ahroun was doing lap after lap after lap after lap after lap after lap after lap after lap after lap.

[Lukas] ...and then something soft and balled-up hits Keith on the head.

It turns out to be a pair of swim trunks, when he stops and unwads it and looks. Plain and black, tags still on.

"Seriously, man," Lukas says from the edge of the pool, "you could've just asked instead of grossing up the pool."

[Sinclair] Around then the other blonde haired, blue eyed member of the Unbroken exits the dressing room in her suit, which is plain, and navy blue, and racer-backed. She's putting up her hair into a tight bun with deft, practiced motions. The tattoos and piercings on her arms are visible. The tattoo wrapped around her thigh is out. The scarring on her middle back is not.

She pads around the edge of the pool, hands dropping to her sides. "Be a little more uptight, man."

[Keith] He does stop, unwad it and look. He doesn't launch himself backward again; he hangs on the edge of the pool with his right hand, and he's dizzy, too much time underwater, too many swimmer's turns. The swimtrunks are held up with his left, and he blinks water droplets away from his eyelashes, which're stuck together, almost gunky, way too long for a boy. "I left a note," he says, with a grin. "But thanks." He grin fades, a little, when Sinclair comes padding in. "You didn't take the note off, did you?" He rips the tags off'a the swim trunks, depositing them neatly on the edge, and he casts a 'covert' -- which in Keith-land is sort've obvious as hell -- glance toward the door, as if he were worried 'bout someone else coming in. Which he is. Which is why he shimmies on into the swimtrunks as soon as he's stretched them out.

[Sinclair] The Galliard neither seems terribly bothered by Keith's nakedness -- or its effect on the pool -- nor terribly interested in catching a glance of Fang dong. She quirks a dark brow. "There was a note? I just got here through the dressing room. It's like Superman's phone booth. Shit, half the time I swim here nobody knows I've shown up."

[Lukas] "It's not a matter of propriety," Lukas replies. "It's a matter of hygiene."

The Shadow Lord's also in swim trunks. His are dark blue, a color that'll be nearly black once wet. There might be lobbying for a conversion of the sitting room and an expansion of the pool, soon.

There are scars on his body, of course, though perhaps less than would be expected of a Fostern Ahroun; Lukas is not the reckless type that survives and wins by sheer luck. His bone frame is large, the sort that will lend itself to a hulking, husky strength if he survives past 30, past 40; for now, there's still the last remnants of adolescent leanness to him.

The musculature of the shoulder girdle and the upper arm twist under his skin as he lowers himself to the edge of the pool, dangling his feet in.

"Anyway, you wanted to talk, Keith?"

He doesn't seem to mind that Sinclair is there; that the conversation might be private. Sinclair is pack, after all.

[Sinclair] "Dude," the Walker argues, heading around to the short end of the pool, "trunks are not a hazmat suit. They ain't keepin' germs out of the water. You just think he looks funny naked, admit it."

The last time Lukas heard from Sinclair was when Marrick died. She doesn't seem too broken up about it. Then: why would she be?

Any answer the Alpha might give to that, though she doesn't entirely expect one, is precluded by a thin splash as her body arcs into a shallow, careful dive. There is no denying who in the pack has a body built not just for war but for the thoughtlessly precise grace and force of athletics, whether tumbling or dance or swimming: Sinclair was born to move.

[Keith] Keith's still in the water, of course. He doesn't wanna get out quite yet. Water's pearling his earlobes, and his hair is all matted over his forehead until he pushes it out of the way, like maybe he should get a haircut already, huh?

"Huh." The dressing room angle; he clearly hadn't thought of that. "You up for a race?" That's to the Galliard who's just left the dressing room -- although then Lukas speaks, and Keith is staring at him blankly. "But there's chlorine." He was about to say something else -- but then! Sinclair, and he laughs (hazmat) suit, and he's still laughing when she splashes into the water.

Lukas also said you wanted to talk, Keith, though. And Keith, once he's had his damned laugh, says: "Yeah. I wanted to talk. I'm sorry that Bones to Dust is dead." This is a prelude to more, but let it rest there for a second.

[Keith] ooc: Make that "But there's chlorine."

[Lukas] A furrow appears between Lukas's eyebrows. "Yeah," he says. "Me too."

[Sinclair] She surfaces at the other end of the pool. Takes a deep breath and turns around, treading water. "Yeah, but I doubt you are," she says belatedly to Keith, utterly unaware that they're talking about Marrick now.

[Keith] "Because she thought like a general," he clarifies. "Because she reached out to the other Full Moons, irregardless," oh, wow; look at that. Keith knows fancy words like irregardless. This is when Sinclair surfaces with her belated answer, and for a second Keith regards her with narrowed eyes, eyebrows drawn together. Then "Sure I am!" he calls over, poolhouse acoustics doing that thing where he sounds both louder and quieter than he should, echo, echo. "In a few!" Then, back to irregardlessing: " - irregardless of pack. She was trying to think ahead. She was trying to -- " He frowns, this time at himself. " -- hold the Sept together, make it stronger, make it work better, faster, more efficient. So," his gaze flicks up to Lukas. "I wanted to talk to you about that. Who else is thinking that way? Is anybody?"

[Sinclair] Oh. They're talking about Bones to Dust. Sinclair's eyebrows tug together tightly, suddenly, and then she's back in the water, her body in its suit a mix of dark and pale cutting rapidly down the length of the pool.

[Lukas] Lukas shakes his head. "No," simply. "That was always Bones to Dust's greatest strength. She wanted unity in a way that no other full moon did."

There's history there, behind what he says. It happened before either of them were in the Sept.

[Keith] "So now that strength is gone." A beat. "That would be a waste. You're a Fostern Full Moon. Will you call together the auspice? Continue the good work?" That could sound mildly sarcastic, that 'continue the good work' bit. And honestly, on any other day, on any other subject, at any time when Keith was not being the Keith he is being right now (serious, idealistic, not necessarily stupid as all get out, dancing through life, lazy) -- it probably would've been.

[Sinclair] Again she misses part of the conversation. Again she drowns her senses in the pool, as though this is not important enough to her to pause her workout. Or her play. Whatever it really is. But she comes out at the other end of the pool just as before, surfacing with a breath, and grabs the edge to pull herself up and out, twisting to perch on the concrete and tile surrounding the water. She shakes the water out of her ears. It drips off of the bar through her left bicep. It drips past the symbol on her neck. It drips off all of the metal in her earlobes and cartilage.

She listens. She missed parts of this, but she listens now. Which is part of what she's born to do, as well -- other than move.

Her eyes flick over to Keith, pale and opaque, almost alien. Move to Lukas to hear his answer.

[Lukas] "I tried once, a long time ago." This is just as simple. "To lead the auspice, I mean. I lost to Bones to Dust because of exactly what we spoke of. She was the only one that thought so much in terms of unity; in the strength of the Sept as a whole. I did not, quite. I thought to strengthen each of us, individually, but not ... not to pull us together the way Marrick did."

It's hard for Shadow Lords to admit failure. It must be hard for Lukas too, though if it is, that is subsumed. The Ahroun's face is smooth, his tone level.

"And now I'm the Alpha of my tribe. And of my pack, which will always be my first and foremost allegiance after the war. To be truthful, Keith, I don't think I could give the role of Elder of the Ahrouns the time and dedication another might.

"Are you asking me this because you intend to seek the role?"

[Keith] "No. I'm asking you because I want you to do it." He frowns, and doesn't say anything else just yet. His eyebrows have drawn together again. He looks like he's walking the line between paying attention and not. "But okay." Those two words? Very, very slow-ly spo-ke-en. Not but okay, so I guess I'll seek that role -- oh hell no. More a but okay, I have heard what you have said.

[Sinclair] "Let's not canonize the dead, alright?" Sinclair says, and quietly -- for her. It's loud enough to bespeak familiarity with being heard over the lapping of water in motion against hard poolside walls, the echo of words off of surrounding glass. She doesn't sound bitter. She doesn't sound exasperated.

"All the idealistic thinking and noble intentions in the world didn't make her an effective elder or leader," she goes on, her voice still level, still carrying without effort or shout. Her words seem mostly aimed at Keith. "Her failure to follow through on her aspirations of unity may even suggest that a better Ahroun Elder would be someone seeking to strength individual Full Moons, who will then strengthen their packs, who will then strengthen the sept."

A beat. "But that's just one way to look at it. To some extent it will be up to Kate, come next moot, what kind of Ahroun Elder can best serve the sept."

[Lukas] "I might," Lukas replies, "if no other worthy Ahrouns take the position. But that you saw Marrick's strengths so clearly makes me think you could ... well." Wry now, "Continue the good work. And maybe improve on it. Because ultimately, Marrick's greatest weakness was that she couldn't realize any of the ideals she held."

Maybe that was harsh. Bones to Dust is barely cold in the ground. But there's little softness in this pack, despite their trappings of wealth and courtesy. That much is obvious enough when Lukas speaks; when Sinclair does. He's quiet until his packmate finishes, and when she does, he has nothing to add to it. Then:

"I think you should try for it next moot, Keith."

[Keith] His gaze flicks to the Galliard when she starts to speak, and stays there. His expression doesn't change a whole hellofa lot. "Fine," he says, and it sounds dismissive. "I'm not trying to canonize her, and I definitely don't disagree that strengthening individual Full Moons etcetera should -- or even can -- be ignored or given less attention when trying to ... But it's important to have someone who thinks like a general. Outside his or her own pack. Outside his or her own tribe. Someone who looks at the whole board," and he cuts himself off, frowning again, if only because Lukas is talking, and he's listening to the Shadow Lord now. His expression softens somewhat, by the end, although the I think you should try for it next moot, Keith just bounces off him much like the swimsuit trunks had earlier. "How many moons had Bones to Dust been trying to bring the Sept together? Sounds like she'd been trying for a while from what you guys are saying, and without result."

[Sinclair] Her eyebrows flick upward as Keith's tone turns dismissive. In layman's terms, her expression is very close to Excuse me, Bitch?

And she rolls her eyes when he repeats the word 'general'. And she slips back into the pool again, her eyes still pinned on Keith, like she's silently drawing lines on his face where she'd like to drag a claw through the flesh. Then again, there are those who say that's how she looks at everyone. All the time.

Without even realizing it.

[Keith] Excuse me, Bitch, is Sinclair's expression; Keith's own expression goes baffled/wounded. What? Huh? Why you givin' me that look, lady? Isn't he just the most perceptive perceptor of perception-y things ever in the world? He totally is. See!

He braces himself against the side of the pool and hauls himself out. And also? He listens to whatever Lukas has to say, before making some sort've farewell, some sort've, "Huh," response, followed by a, "I'm hungry; still wanna race later?" But Sinclair might be underwater when he says that, or maybe she isn't. And a, "Thanks for the trunks, man." And a: gone! So very gone. Gone, gone, gone.

[Lukas] "She's been trying from the moment she took the position to the day she died. But Bones to Dust," Lukas says, rather bluntly now, "was dogged by the simple fact that she lacked the strength to see her ideals come to fruition.

"That's not an indictment on her character, and I don't mean to speak ill of the dead. But we're an auspice of warriors, first and foremost. We value strength and honor. And it's hard to follow an elder who lost nearly every fight she was in. Who lost her totem over and over again. Who sometimes, when the chips were down and the enemy was facing us, simply did not lead.

"Marrick had a vision. It was a good one. But for Ahrouns more than any other auspice, action comes before word. If you have the strength to lead by example, and the foresight to think beyond boundaries of tribe and pack -- well, then you might not struggle the way she did."

[Keith] ooc: (zip) thanks guys!!

[Sinclair] Keith gets a nod, slow and deliberate. Sinclair does want to race. Sinclair is something of a pinnacle of evolution, and her bloodline did not produce something like her without a certain innate drive for competition. She doesn't say another word, though, until he's gone and she's clinging to the edge of the pool

"Kate," she begins, "is elder of her tribe, one of the oldest and most consistent members of this pack, elder of her auspice, and the Mistress of the Challenge." He knows all this. "It's also not making her any less batshit crazy day in and day out, dealing with all that. That have anything to do with why you won't lead your Moon?"

[Lukas] They're both sitting on the edge of the pool now, feet in the water. Even in midwinter Lukas's skin is tan, the scars on his body faint, paler traceries. Beneath the waterline, his legs look paler than they are, distorted by refraction.

"What I told Keith was the truth," he answers Sinclair. "I'd make a perfectly adequate Elder of the Ahrouns, Sinclair, just like I'm a perfectly adequate Alpha of the Shadow Lords. But I'm only the latter because I've met no one else better for the position. And whatever I might have aspired to in the past, if I were to take Eldership now, it would be out of some sense of obligation rather than any particular drive.

"This pack means more to me than auspice and tribe and sept combined. What I put into this pack will always eclipse what I put into rallying the Ahrouns, or protecting the interests of the Shadow Lords, or even serving the Sept of the Maelstrom. And if someone else is both worthy of the role and willing to give more than I can, then I should and would stand aside."

[Lukas] >_>
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Sinclair] He on the long side, she on the short. Only one of her legs is dangling. Her left leg is pulled up, foot perched on the edge. There is now -- as there always is, with Sinclair -- an easy perfection to her carriage, neither stately nor regal but unselfconsciously primal. It is not hard to imagine her on some cracked and barren heath, feet flat on the earth, legs bent, arms loose.

One has to wonder if she's ever been a normal human, if that was ever a life she led. If she grew up thinking she was kin. If she knew all along, as some do, that she would Change. Maybe that last: Sinclair does not seem a girl turned monster, nor even a wolf masquerading as a person. She is Garou. Whatever trappings of tribe or popular culture or history she bears, that always comes through.

Pinnacle of evolution.

Top of the food chain.

Beast.

"...So why did you tell that guy to go for it?"

[Lukas] "Because I think he might do a good job," Lukas replies. "And if he doesn't, then someone else will challenge him for it. Or I will."

[Sinclair] "And slowly, bit by bit, I will become the only member of this pack without a world of responsibility on my shoulders giving me a gradually sloping -- actually rather gracefully bent -- hunchback."

Sinclair says all this rather animatedly, her hands dancing in the air before her like spiders for bit by bit, swooping downward as she discusses the delicate curve of a malformed spine.

When her hands drop again, her balance on the edge of the pool unperturbed, she smiles at him, lips together but otherwise bright. "I shall sing many tales of how the Unbroken earned their humps."

Beat. "Their lovely little --" she paraphrases -- "lumps."

[Lukas] Lukas smirks, and then suddenly kicks an arc of water at Sinclair. "I'm taking your Galliard card. You just quoted Fergie at me."

[Sinclair] She laughs, and ducks her head aside as though she would dodge flying droplets of water. "Wait for it," she reassures him. "One of these days I'm going to quote some fucking epic shit, and you're gonna be like 'fuck, what was that' and I'm gonna just toss my hair and blithely say 'Proust' and you're gonna be like 'whoa'."

Sinclair kicks water back at him.

[Lukas] Lukas, laughing, shields his face halfheartedly from the splash. Then he pushes off the edge and plunges into the pool all at once, fanning a great splash of water at the Galliard.

"Won't that be the day," he says. "Come on, did you want to race or what?"

giftbox.

[Danicka Musil] Last night she was on her way home from shopping when she sent off a text message to the -- naturally -- first person she thought of who could clean up a horned and twisted dog so big that it shook the ground on impact. It included a street address and information on what had to be done, but it also included assurances:

I'm safe. I'm at my place. I'm exhausted.

Which was code for, sadly:

I can't be around you right now.

It's been about twenty-four hours now, though. Danicka's not at her place anymore. She's sitting in a coffee shop that she's been frequenting since she arrived in Chicago. The cups have rough black exteriors and glossy green interiors, perfect pottery. Everything is in dark, warm earth tones. It's somewhere between a lounge and coffee house. What Danicka has includes alcohol, and she is sitting in a table she usually sits in, beside the window despite the cold. She remembers sitting here one day in February before being almost literally dragged a few blocks away.

It makes no difference. She reads 100 Years of Solitude and sips her drink, her hair straightened and down.

[Genevre de Provence] Danicka's cell rings.

[Danicka Musil] Technically, Danicka's cellphone vibrates. It's sitting on the tabletop, though. She glances at the screen, one finger in her book, and her brows draw together. She taps the screen as she picks it up and puts it to her ear. "Hello?"

[Genevre de Provence] The french kin sounded a touch bummed or moody or something. "Bonjour, mon ami. Are you close by? I need to talk to someone, S'il vous plaît."

[Danicka Musil] "Whether I'm close by depends entirely on where you are, Genevre," Danicka says placidly. Over the phone, the Fang kinswoman can hear a page turn. In the cafe, anyone else present can see her look at the ceiling. "What happened?"

[Genevre de Provence] She looked about from her car "I am a couple of blocks from mon home." She had pulled over til the shaking stopped. "I went to zee Brozer'ood to check on Lonna. And Theron (which always sounds odd when she tries to say it right) was zere. Where are you? I would rahzer non talk about zis on the phone."

[Danicka Musil] Her eyes close a moment. "I also don't know where your home is, Genevre. Where are you?"

[Genevre de Provence] She spilled out the crossroads she was close to which maybe put her a few blocks from the coffee shop.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas sits down across from Danicka. He doesn't ask if he can or not; yet somehow, the gesture doesn't smack of dominance and presumption.

He smiles at her a little. She can see the way his eyes move over her, as though taking inventory. He produces a small box from inside his coat, which he then shrugs out of it, leaving it draped carelessly back over his chair.

It's unwrapped; looks like a leftover giftbox, the sort of thing chocolates might come in. It's a little late for christmas, though.

[Danicka Musil] The Fang on the other end is telling Ms. Musil where she is when Lukas sits down. Her eyes open at the presence of rage, the nearness of it, and her lips stay close together. On Genevre's end there's not so much as a sudden inhale to be heard. Just silence as she speaks. Then: "That's not far from me. I'm at the Red Lotus, do you know it?"

She confirms that Genevre does, and a moment later she's saying her goodbyes and hanging up. She closes her book. She sets her phone atop it. Danicka's sweater is the color of fresh milk. Her thin scarf is far brighter and more chaotic, reds and yellows and greens and purples, all darkened and subdued in the yarn. She looks from Lukas to the box, and back to him.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asks, then: "Genevre's on her way. She's upset about something." Just a warning. A heads up. Something.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Probably," Lukas admits. "I thought you might be running low."

He glances out the window as though expecting to see Genevre out there. Or perhaps himself, walking by, seeing Danicka inside; turning to come in. Deja vu washes over him. He looks back at her.

"It's been almost a year," he says, quiet.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] In the box:

- A stack of stiff, discolored cloth squares (6)
- Tiny baggies of grey ash (6)
- Throwing darts, the sort one might find in a dart set (10)
- Small clay tokens in the crude shape of shields (7)
- Small clay tokens in the crude shape of spears (7)
- Small clay tokens inscribed with a circle pierced with eight lines -- the approximation of a spider (8)
to Danicka Musil

[Keith Sommers] ooc: So where are you fools?

[Danicka Musil] "I have one bandage," she says. As though taking inventory, giving it back, as though it matters to him. Or maybe just because she chants it in her head sometimes, what she has in her bag of tricks that makes her a little more like Mary Poppins than she already was. "One dart. Two beads. Four bags of dust. One vial."

It's so much less than he gave her. He's seen her use one, perhaps two of the contents of the original box, or the second time he handed talens over. It's so much less.

"Dr. Slaughter wanted me to pass along her thanks for one of the bandages. I used another on Lonna Larson last night. I'm fairly certain she would have died," Danicka says quietly. She has no comment on how long it's been. She's tapping into thoughts she hasn't shared yet, and if she stops now...

...well.

She hasn't opened the box, either. She leans on the table. She could be passing endearments to his ears. She is not. "I gave one of the beads to a little boy in the twelfth century. He was rather scared afterward. And I used one of the vials to sneak behind a corrupted wolf ready for war so I could put a knife in his back."

Danicka reaches out and puts her fingertips on the sides of the box, drawing it across the table towards herself. She opens the lid and glances inside, frowns slightly at the unfamiliarity of some of them, but closes the lid again and looks at Lukas. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you any of this earlier; please don't be angry."

[Theron Locke] After the scene in the Brotherhood earlier Theron had tried to return to sleep, but found that he was unable too. So here he was walking down the footpaths of Chicago, no real destination in mind as he wandered aimlessly.

Hands buried in the pockets of a Buffalo Leather Box jacket, protecting them from the elements.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] ....and vials of inky liquid (4)
to Danicka Musil

[Danicka Musil] [At a coffeehouse/lounge called the Red Lotus. Danicka and Lukas are at a table by the windows in front.]

[Theron Locke] It was just moments later than Theron found himself passing one of many coffeehouses in this strip. This one in particular was called the Red Lotus, and he would have kept walking on by had it not been for the two familiar figures that sat in the window. So he stopped and looked and found Lukas and Danicka to be sitting inside. A smile on his lips as he pulled a hand out of a jacket pocket and rapped his fingers lightly on the window to get their attention.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Oh, and:
- Tiny feathers, like those you might find in a pillow (4)
to Danicka Musil

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas looks ... a little stunned. He leans back, frowning, staring while she enumerates her expenditures. Some of it makes him feel a little better -- they weren't all her. She wasn't so badly hurt or so badly endangered she needed so many bandages, so many protective talens.

Some of it appalls him; makes him angry until he recognizes it for fear. And some of it doesn't even make sense.

When she finishes, and apologizes, his eyes close, ice blue lost behind black lashes. Danicka can see him take a breath, and let it out. Then he opens his eyes again. "I gave them to you so you'd use them if you needed to," he says. "It ... frightens me to think how often you needed to, but it makes me glad you had them."

He leans forward, elbows on the small cafe table; scrubs his face for a second with the heels of his hands.

"You know what the bandages, the darts, the ash and the vials are. There are three kinds of clay tokens in there. They're inscribed, so separate them out and don't confuse them. Two of them you'll be familiar with. The third is new. It'll make you hit harder, no matter what you use.

"There are also feathers. When you activate them, you'll be able to direct where they float. They'll let you smell and hear everything within ten feet.

"Dani&+269;ka...

"Be careful."

Lukas can feel his packmate's presence, so the rap on the window doesn't startle him. His affect does change subtly, almost imperceptibly, though. He sits back, spine a little straighter. And he touches the cold window with his fingertips -- still gloved -- smiling faintly back.

Come on in, Theron. You should know Genevre's on her way too, though.

[Genevre de Provence] Genevre gave up on driving. She left her car parked on the street, and started walking. She was so mixed up inside right now. There was the unhappiness of 'It's over finally.' occassionally sending a ping of heartache. Then the overwhelming 'I'm free! It's over finally!' also screaming at her. Final goodbyes usally made things better. Now she just needed to figure out which one was how she truly felt. So she tightens the coat around her, and begins the trek to the Red Lotus.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [OK, so she just got:
6 bloody bandages
6 arrow killers
10 sense dep darts
7 soak talens
7 damage talens
8 trapdoor boons
4 nightshades
4 whisper feathers]
to Danicka Musil

[Theron Locke] Theron nods in acknowledgement that he has been given permission to join them. Though it's not hard to notice that brief moment when his Alpha was relaxed...not having to be on the "job". Theron had been through a lot to find that....things had progessed to a point where that might be a possibility.

He then responds to the last comment Thanks Lukas... apologies for the interruption he looks apologetic as his eyes flick to Danicka briefly Thanks for the heads up though...but I think things are going to be alright between Gen and I. She sent me her final goodbyes as he says the last he reaches up and pats the breast pocket of his jacket

He makes his way through the door of the Lounge and proceeds to their table "Evening Lukas, Danicka... sorry again for the interruption. I hope I was interrupting anything important? I'll find another table if you'd prefer?" his eyes switching from one to the other.

[Theron Locke] (( I hope I wasn't - rather....))

[Park] This is a far cry from the neighborhood that saw the two of them knocking back beers and entertaining stares from a crestfallen woman on Christmas night.

It's a little further north, a few minutes' drive, yet there is a massive difference between the dive bar with the indecisive jukebox and the beleaguered clientele and the coffee house that the pair go to tonight. Whether Keith had come by the Brotherhood or Park had gone by the Loft, one of them had found the other tonight, and one of them had suggested that they go out into the city and get a cup of coffee and talk. There was plenty they could talk about, in theory. Their conversation had been cut off when last their paths crossed.

The moon overhead is full. What few people are out on the sidewalk at this time of night do their goddamned best to keep their eyes off of the pair as they walk down the street, if only because they feel as though they are up to absolutely no good, because they feel as though a wrong glance or a wrong word will incite violence against their persons. There isn't much to either of them; they're lean and young and easy enough to look at, but not easy enough to bear.

As they walk, conversation is at a minimum. Tempers are too high for idle chatter, and guards are at a high as they move through streets that Park confesses at one point to being surprised at; she'd thought, given the rumors that they're telling as far away as California, that the gutters would course with blood here.

Park has her hood up, and it isn't until they step over the threshold and her boots connect with the hardwood floor that she reaches up slim hands to lower it. She steps out of the way to allow the Silver Fang room to enter, and then she shakes out her hair and unzips her barn coat.

[Danicka Musil] There's more. Things like And last night, the dog? There were also two leeches. Tentacles again! Why always with the fucking tentacles and these assholes?

But she'd rant about bloodsuckers. Danicka dislikes them more than monsters, partly because they so often look human, because they take away her control so often, because... because she remembers things about them, knows them as well as she knows corrupted Lords and crazy Fangs. Danicka does not fear what she can't see, or what she doesn't know, or what she doesn't understand.

She's rather intimate with all the things she fears. And hates.

They speak of such things in their near-corner table that would warp the minds of mortals. They speak quietly, etching soft words into the air, and though Danicka doens't take notes on what he tells her, she files it away. She knows that to use this means draining her reserves of energy, exhausting herself, which makes them for preparation and last resort efforts. She knew that before. Her eyebrows flick up slightly when he explains the talens that increase damage done... by bullet, by knife, by whatever it is.

But she actually looks somewhat delighted when he tells her about the feathers. "That's so neat," she says, or is about to say, when he tells her to be careful. The smile fades. Her brow furrows. She adds, more quietly: "I am."

Danicka doesn't start when Theron knocks. She does blink, though, turning her head towards the rapping on the glass. It's debatable whether or not she knew he was there, saw him coming. She didn't make eye contact, but her peripheral vision is something stellar. Her attention to her surroundings borders on hypervigilant.

Lukas touches the glass. Danicka closes the box more tightly and twists in her seat, putting it in her bag hanging off the back of her chair. "How are things with he and Anežka?" she asks before Theron enters. It isn't a casual question. Not for her.

Whether Lukas has time to answer that or not, a few moments later Theron's right there, apologizing 'again' -- though that word makes her eyebrows tug together for a second in confusion. She sits up a little bit straighter, looking over at Lukas. Deferring.

[Danicka Musil]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 12 at target 3) Re-rolls: 1
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Keith Sommers] He's in a mood. He's usually in some kind of mood: curious, friendly, self-mocking, aloof, let's do violence tonight, let's do violence tomorrow, let's do violence yesterday and today, let's sit and do nothing, let's do nothing, wouldn't it be nice to just nothing, or -- he'll come across easy, joking, just wants to do something, anything. He's often restless, Keith, but today he's in a mood, and this means he's not just letting his Rage tug him toward random outbursts. This means he's feeling low, and it shows -- the way his shoulders slope, even though he carries his head (the way they're taught: the way they're supposed to carry 'em) high enough. The way his eyelids stay half-hooded, like he doesn't want to get into the bother of meeting anybody's eyes, because he'd much rather be estranged from the (would you believe -- fucked up! -- beloved, maybe?) frisson of hatred and fury that's spiritually righteous (or so he's heard).

That mood's sort've put a damper on Keith's natural ability to carry on a decent conversation, but he's got something on his mind anyway, and Park confesses that she'd thought the gutters would course with blood. He managed an offhand reply, something about it being too fucking cold for any liquid to course -- how fast does blood freeze, anyway, just outta the body? They're in, and by sheer chance (Keith's definitely not perceptive enough to have planned going to the same coffee shop as Lukas and Danicka and Theron, as his cousin's packmates) it's the Red Lotus they've gone to for some coffee.

In Keith goes after Park, in a mood, running his fingers through his hair, boy needs to stop or maybe one day he'll go bald, but shyah. Like that'll happen. "Where do you want to sit?" He follows that up with: "Let's sit by the window."

[Danicka Musil] 8 + 11
Dice Rolled:[ 19 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "They're through," Lukas says in the moments between Theron's knock, and Theron walking up to the table.

Then the Ahroun shakes his head at his packmate. "You're not interrupting, Theron. Come on, sit down. The waitress hasn't been by for me yet." His eyes flick past Theron; to Keith, to Park.

"Have you met them yet?" He nods at the pair. Newcomers. Lukas has been in this city a year; that's somehow become a long time in comparison.

[Genevre de Provence] The weather was screaming out for more snow, and the night sky that hid the full moon behind the engourged clouds showed it.

Genevre shuffled through the streets, along the sidewalks, til she finally found the Red Lotus. Two things caught her eye. The table by the window where Danicka, Lukas and Theron sat. And yet, this time, seeing him, there was no ache. No screaming pain of loss.

And then the second window where she saw Keith with another garou. She smiled and went to their window and knocked, trying to get Keith's attentions. When he looked, she would blow him a kiss. Then made her way inside.

[Danicka Musil] There are, when Theron arrives, two chairs at the table where Lukas and Danicka sit. There may very well be a third chair by the time that Genevre arrives, pulled over by the Theurge to seat himself. The table isn't very large; Danicka is putting her book away now, too, the greenish cover mottled with various animals. Snakes. Birds.

She is blinking at Lukas as people are making their way inside, but not in surprise. She does, however, lift a hand and flag down Genevre when the Fang enters, waving her over.

[Theron Locke] Theron turns his head to the two Lukas point, he shakes his head in response "I don't believe I have. They people I should meet ?" turning his face back to Lukas.

Eventually finding his way into a spare seat as he sits down. Hearing the door of the lounge open, he directs his gaze there. His Alpha had told him to expect Genevere, so it's not surprise when he sees her entering. When and if she gets his attention , he gives her a nod of acknowledgement and a small smile.

Turning back to Lukas and Danicka , he directs his next question to the later "Does Lukas know about last night?" he asks this question before saying anything more.

[Park] It's an easy enough question, but one that is asked as Park is surveying the bodies currently occupying the coffee house's belly. It's late on a weeknight, but most of the people in here have the next day off, have had the entire week off, these students and young professionals and artists, people with nowhere else to go on a Wednesday night than the local lounge. Many of them find themselves growing uneasy. The polite-looking young man with the gorgeous blonde is, in a word, intense; the tall, dark-haired fellow who joins him is far less unnerving, yet there is an edge to his presence that makes the weaker willed of the bodies start to grow uncomfortable.

Park reaches up to gather her hair into her right hand before tossing it over one shoulder, allowing it to drape behind her rather than about her upper body, and says, "Let's."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "The woman is one of Thunder's. You might remember her from when we went before the Council ((annnd we're just leaving that there cuz we don't know how that ends)). The man is one of Kate's, and she likes him quite a bit. You might as well meet them both."

The question that follows gets Lukas's attention, though he doesn't do more than look between his packmate and his mate. Then he raises his hand in greeting at Park and Keith as they approach.

"Hey," he says. "You guys want to move a table over and combine?"

[Danicka Musil] A different woman would, after just -- finally -- hearing that his relationship with her mate's sister ended, feel sympathy for him, however misguided. She's oblivious to any interaction between Theron and Genevre other than a dance that was, as Lukas told her, just a dance. Danicka is missing more information on the social dynamics swirling inside the Red Lotus tonight than anyone else, but she carries herself with a calm grace that suggests she knows everything Theron is thinking, everything Genevre is feeling, everything Lukas wants to say but isn't.

She might.

Theron doesn't know Danicka very well. And he has no idea the reaction she has when he asks her -- not Lukas -- if Lukas knows about what happened last night. Her forehead is smooth, and a small, gentle smile curls the corners of her mouth. It's soothing. She nods. "He knows."

[Keith Sommers] Keith is a direct person (it seems, usually). Let's, Park says, and Keith chooses a table without looking around; without much thought except for the moon overhead, and whatever it is that's putting him into a bad mood tonight, whatever it is he and Grandfather Thunder's philodox are going to discuss. Which is to say, he sat down without noticing Lukas. He doesn't even notice Genevre, at first, until she knocks on the window. That gets him. He doesn't quite flinch, but he goes dangerously still (tenses) for a second. His eyebrows furrow, and he looks out. She blows him a kiss, the furrow deepens. He picks up a menu, studies it. Says something to Park, and looks up to see what she's going to make of it -- and that's when Lukas waves, and calls over, and Keith sits up (he'd started to slouch once he was in the booth, drumming his fingers on his leg, drumdrum, drumdrum). He opens his mouth to reply -- checks himself; the presence of Danicka and Theron and Genevre. He lifts his voice, says: "Lukas. If there's enough room, why not."

[Genevre de Provence] Genevre enters and is flagged down by Danicka. She glances over to Keith for a moment, then joins those of the Unbroken at their table. "I did non realize you 'ad company, Danicka."

[Danicka Musil] "Actually," Danicka says, pushing her chair back as she rises to her feet, "let's move. There's a larger table over there," she adds, pointing to one in the middle of the room that will seat six. No one is there. All the minitables, suitable for two or three people, are taken up by couples or small groups. Nobody's sitting at the two square tables with six chairs around it.

She plucks her coat and purse from the back of the chair and shakes her straightened hair off her shoulder, smiling at Genevre. "Neither did I. I just happen to be a lighthouse for our people, or something."

Notably, when she reaches the table, Danicka takes the seat to the left of the head.

[Park] Whatever Keith says to Park grabs her full attention. She doesn't reach for her own menu right away, doesn't shuck out of her barn coat or toy with her hair again. She looks straight across the low table at the Ahroun, briefly pulling her lower lip between her teeth to chew at a tag of skin, and replies in a quiet voice not meant to carry far enough to be heard. That settles the matter; they're being waved at.

The woman looks over at the Fostern who had called a meeting of the Council last week, her expression nigh unto unreadable. Keith accepts the invitation, and the woman--who had only been introduced as Covered Sky-yuf by the Philodox Elder last week, who had not supplied her human name unless asked for it--glances between the two of them before standing again.

Her eyes find the Lord kinswoman easily enough, but she doesn't stare or sniff or scoot as close to her as she can get. The Fang who had blown Keith a kiss is likewise given no special attention. There's a suggestion that they move, and Park appears amenable to this.

"Lukas," she greets the Fostern, and her eyes flick to his packmate.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Let's do it," Lukas says, and gets up.

The six of them make a small commotion in the cafe as they move, winter coats and all. At the new table, Lukas doesn't hesitate to take the seat at the head of the table, beside Danicka.

"Have you guys all met? This is Dani&+269;ka, my girlfriend, and Theron, my brother. That's Keith and Genevre, Kate's cousins. And this is -- " he hesitates for a second; he realizes he has no idea what Park's human name is, " -- my cousin Sky."

[Genevre de Provence] When they all move around and go about switching tables, Genevre does her best to get a seat next to Keith. A smile was given to Danicka. "I suppose it can wait, mon ami."

[Theron Locke] The conversation he was going to have with Danicka, stopped for the moment. He moved with the group as they changed tables.

Theron offers both Park and Keith a nod of greeting, the former now recognised as the philodox he had stood before "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

[Danicka Musil] The word 'girlfriend' makes Danicka smile in a flash, for some reason. It fades as she nods a greeting to Keith and Park, the two she hasn't met. To Genevre, a simple one-shouldered shrug and a nod of assent: "As you will."

Settling into her seat, she replaces her saucer and mug on the table in front of her, loosening her tightly-knit, brightly-colored scarf around her throat a bit more. "I'm afraid I've already eaten, but they have decent sandwiches here. And the pecan-pear salad is very good."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "If you need to talk," he says to Danicka, and more vaguely, to Genevre, "I should probably have a word with Sky and Keith."

[Keith Sommers] It isn't difficult to get a seat next to Keith for the Silver Fang kin -- at least, Keith puts no difficulties in her way. He chooses a seat at the foot of the table, just about opposite Lukas, but he doesn't take it immediately. Instead, he nods courteously to Danicka -- gaze resting on her collarbone, flicking up to her face -- then a nod of similarly measurable courtesy is given to Theron. "Likewise," he says, to Theron; a brief quirk of the mouth is meant to extend a similar sentiment (pleasure, not likewise) to Danicka. THEN he'll sit. "I'll apologize upfront if I make for bad company tonight," he says, and the furrow appears between his eyebrows again. He shrugs it off. Then: "What's their coffee like?" It's idle; he doesn't expect Danicka to know. He doesn't expect her not to know. It's filler. "And how is everybody?" He clues into something: "Ah. I don't want to keep you girls from girltalk."

[Genevre de Provence] Gen waved a hand. "It can wait. It is.....girl stuff." She smiled, her eyes going from Lukas to Keith and back, trying to give a hint about just what she needed to talk to Danicka about.

Then she heard Keith's comment and reached over to gently take his hand if he allows. "No worries, mon ami."

[Danicka Musil] [perception + empathy]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Park] Introductions are handed out in order of importance and familiarity, Danicka taking the seat to the left of the head and the rest of the group falling in from there. She is introduced as Sky, and she doesn't move to correct or amend, to offer up anything other than what has been given. Sky seems perfectly acceptable. Maybe her parents were hippies, or they just liked the way it sounded in English.

Park winds up sitting between Theron and Keith, across from Genevre, who is given a more thorough investigatory glance once she has taken up her seat. Coat is draped over the back of her chair, revealing the woman to be wearing a gray thermal shirt underneath. She hikes up the sleeves, and when Lukas says he should probably have a word with the two of them, she glances down the table.

The woman doesn't talk much. She hasn't said more than three words since they walked in, and all of them were directed at the Fang.

[Theron Locke] Theron just sits quietly and watches all the interactions, previously he would have been fixated on Genevre. But tonight it appeared he was more relaxed around her.. perhaps important events had been left in the past and now they would both move on freely.

He turns to Keith "Don't worry... I'm in the same boat. A bad night and a lack of sleep doesn't really help matters."

[Danicka Musil] It isn't Genevre who has Danicka's attention as to the matter of whether they need to talk or not. She looks at Lukas for a protracted moment, then allows Genevre's dismissal of the topic to end the matter of whether or not they'll be excusing themselves. She looks over at Keith. "Their coffee is their reason for existing. It's fantastic, and they use excellent cognac.

"And thank you," she says with a smile, "I'm doing quite well tonight."

If it's relatively speaking, it's still not a lie.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas agrees to Genevre's dismissal with a wordless gesture of his hand. The Shadow Lord slouches a little in his chair, relaxed; one arm over the back, the other hand atop the table. It's that hand that turns briefly palm-up. Then he addresses Park:

"So how are you settling in? I've barely seen you since you came to town."

[Keith Sommers] He's not really very good at hiding his thoughts. To whit: he offers Genevre a somewhat perplexed look; puts his other hand over hers, pat, pat, there there, yes, they're Shadowlords aren't they, but it's okay, then deposits her hand on the table. Keith is a gentleman, or he tried to be, sometimes, even when the moon is full. As he does this, he's raising his eyebrows (expressive, those) at Danicka. Attentive. He grins, then. "Do I take it this a regular spot for you?" Theron says he's had a bad night and a lack of sleep, and he gets a look. "I'm sorry to hear that, man. What happened?"

[Park] A quiet smile tugs at Park's lips when Lukas states he's barely seen her since she came to town, as though she finds something vaguely humorous about what he's said. She doesn't laugh, though. She just folds her hands in her lap beneath the table and takes up the other half of the conversation.

His voice is deep enough that she doesn't have to strain to hear from beyond arm's length away. When she speaks, it is not in a soft or quiet voice but rather a low, confident alto.

"I keep strange hours," she says. That is to say: she's barely seen him, either. A beat, and then, "I'm settling in well. It's nice to sleep in a bed again, I haven't been in one place long enough to have one for months."

[Danicka Musil] Tonight Danicka is dressed like a schoolteacher of sorts. Her sweater is modest, her scarf eccentric but not offensive, her pencil skirt a subtle gray and almost knee-length; demure. Her tights -- or stockings, impossible to guess without pulling up her skirt, really -- are similarly colored to her sweater. Her shoes, a pair of leather ankle boots the color of gunmetal, are hardly fuck-me heels, but take her three inches above her normal height all the same.

She is, as Lukas discovers after a moment of conversation, able to slip her small feet out of them just as easily as any regular pair of pumps. His jeans aren't loose enough for her to slide her toes up alongside his leg, but that's alright. The touch of her foot to his ankle, running up and down his calf, is... more familiar than anything else. They haven't so much as touched hands since the last time they saw each other.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Theron Locke] Theron offers a shrug to Keith "It seems just the usual for Chicago... some friends of mine ran into some trouble last night. Saying ne ended up pretty badly hurt is a understatement, thankfully she was brought to me in time and there were a couple of others to help. "

"But last I heard from her guardian.. she was safe at home, resting. Just has all left me rather tired and stressed. I'm just glad they are in one piece though" a small look to both Genevre and Danicka.

"However I don't want to be a downer... was actually out looking for a distraction. So maybe we should direct the conversation elsewhere."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "You'll have to tell me about that sometime." That's not just conversational. He means it: he'd like to hear the story behind that. They're Shadow Lords. They're not particularly known for wandering.

Lukas goes on, "I'm sure someone's already passed the word on, but I take care of our family's affairs here. So if anything comes up, or if you get in any trouble, come find me. I'm at the Brotherhood most nights, room 2."

[Danicka Musil] "You do," Danicka answers Keith, in an agreeable sort of tone. She's leaning back a bit in her chair, looking a touch more relaxed than she did at first, her head tipped slightly to one side. In this light, the amber flecks in her eyes come out more brightly, make her gaze warmer.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Perhaps it says something, how good they both are at looking ... well, normal. Above the surface of the table, Lukas's attention doesn't waver from Park. He doesn't glance at Danicka when her foot contacts his shin.

Beneath the surface of the table, his leg extends slightly; brings the hard arch of his shinbone more solidly in contact with the curl of her toes. There's a sort of familiarity in that, too; an unshy, firm intimacy, like an animal bumping up against his mate in greeting.
to Danicka Musil

[Keith Sommers] It seems just the usual for Chicago, Theron says, and something about that phrase. Keith frowns down at the table for a moment, and when he looks up, his expression is apologetic. For once, he's managing control. "You're right, Theron; and I'm no good for company at all tonight, so I think I'm going to leave. I'm sorry; I'll try the coffee another time," brief nod for Danicka, and it's amazing that he even remembers these social niceties. "If you're coming," he says, to Covered Sky, giving her the option. And to Genevre, whose player looks like she's fallen off: "Good night. Lukas? I would like to speak to you soon. Nice to meet everybody once again." And with that, he makes his escape into the cold.

[Danicka Musil] Her foot slips behind his leg, entwining as they sometimes do when they're bared. When they're alone. He often covers her legs with his own as they sleep, just as his arm wraps around her and keeps her close to his chest. On the surface level, Theron is discussing last night and -- Danicka is watching the others leave, each to their own.

So she withdraws her leg, lest they see it nestled against his as they leave, the table not covered by a cloth. And exhales.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Danicka Musil] A muscle in Danicka's cheek works as Theron goes on about last night. Again. She doesn't look at him, but nods to Genevre as the other woman takes her leave. There's a slight exhale from her and a nod of goodbye as Keith exits, possibly with Park in tow. She looks at Lukas, then at Theron.

"I wasn't aware you knew Lonna."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's brief discussion with Park seems over; he looks up as Keith stands. "Sure," he says. "I'm at the Loft often enough. Are you still staying there?"

[Keith Sommers] "Yeah, I'm there tonight; probably tomorrow. Otherwise," a moment's pause. He's antsy, can't quite keep still. Too much energy, and it gets expansive. "I think Kate has my address." Ah: so the freeloader actually had his own place; he was just too lazy to go there. Or he liked the pool. "Good night," he says, again.

Then: gone!

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I'll catch you there," Lukas replies, meaning the Loft. Or maybe the pool.

Genevre departs as well; the table belongs to the Shadow Lords. Lukas looks between the two for a moment. Then:

"You guys want to get sandwiches to go?"

[Theron Locke] "Sounds like a plan.. I've got some things I want to talk to Danicka about." and then he turns to face her "Yeah after a few casual run-ins , we've been spending a bit of time together.". Standing from the table as he readies to make his leave with them.

[Danicka Musil] That makes one of Danicka's eyebrows quirk. She doesn't know Lonna very well; she's only met her a few times, and usually something horrific is happening. But the eyebrow lowers, unexplained, and if there was a question behind it, Danicka doesn't voice it. She looks vaguely curious about whatever it is Theron wants to talk to her about, but -- again -- doesn't seem to think now is the time.

"I'm actually going to go home, I think," she says, half-turning to glance at Lukas before returning her attention to the Theurge. "You can get my number from Lukáš," she says, and -- oddly enough, especially for a kinswoman of their time -- there's a note of permission being granted, to both of them, in that statement.

She says his name differently from everyone in the city. A rounder vowel, a susurration of sound at the end. It's deeper on her tongue, warmer from her throat. It isn't just that she pronounces his name correctly. She doesn't say anyone else's name with that sort of... ache to it.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Já uvidíme se pozd&+283;ji," Lukas says to Danicka.

Then he stands up, picking his coat up off the back of his chair, raising his eyebrows at Theron. "Sandwiches, and then I'll give you a lift back to the BroHo?"

[Danicka Musil] "Brzy," Danicka says back, rising to her feet and picking up her coat to shrug into it. She shoulders her bag and nods a goodbye to Theron as she buttons her coat, smiling faintly at both men before walking out the door and down the street ot her car.

[Theron Locke] "Yeah sounds like a plan... I got permission to go see Lonna, but I think I'll save that for the morning." he gives Danicka a nod as he is told to ask for her number , and watches as she leaves.

fang party.

[Keith] It is ridiculously late (early) to drop by, but Keith Sommers isn't (doesn't seem) aware of that fact. He is outside the Bellamonte loft, and he has just pressed the buzzer with his thumb. His breath steams in the cold December air, and he is breathing heavily, as if he has just run a race with his heartbeat. Here's a hint: He has. He is not looking at the door, but rather, has turned so that he's regarding the street he came from with an air of mild interest. His profile is aristocratic, and the collar of his jacket is up: a rakish angle.

[Lukas] The Bellamonte Loft is, despite its name, not currently inhabited by any of the Bellamontes. Their houseguests might be in; two kinswomen of the Fangs, both French or close enough not really to matter. The youngest sibling is at the Brotherhood, however; the elder two are out.

Keith can hear irritable grumbling from the other side of the door. Lucille, much put-upon, cursing the hour, is throwing open the locks when a different voice -- lower, masculine -- interrupts her. The words are impossible to make out. A moment later, however, the door opens inward, and Lukas, apparently quite awake despite the hour, looks out at the Esteemed Cousin of his packmates.

Which, come to think of it, may as well be a descriptor for every Fang out there. They're all related, aren't they?

"Keith," says the Shadow Lord. "Something up?" And he steps back, opening the door wider.

[Keith] Keith did shine with (esteem him) potential that has been realized (life after life after life). It shaped who he was, and how he held himself, regardless of whether or not he thought it should, or even thought about it at all. There: the way he held his head. That was the way a (young) conqueror held his head. Someone to trust. Someone to follow. Someone to watch.

"Lukas," says the Silver Fang, who is very much a product of his family, who is very much just another notch on the family tree. His eyebrows lift (surprise, but not that much: what would be the point? He's packmate) and then he grins. His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Nothing except me." Note of disappointment? Yeah. "My apartment's far, so," he gestures expansively, stepping in, "thought I'd crash at Lady Katherine's."

He doesn't really sound like he's mocking her with that Lady stuff. "How are you doing?" You'd almost think he was courteous.

[Lukas] Even with five souls under its vaulted, glassy roof, the Loft is echoing and quiet at night. It was a warehouse in a past life; converted now the way so much of the city in this area has been converted, gentrified, made edgy and hip and expensive. Warehouses and factories have blossomed into nightclubs, spas, restaurants -- residences. This particular one is all concrete and stone and glass and bare wood, full of postmodern austerity.

Lukas thinks for a moment, counting in his head. Then, "Okay." There's a sort of offhand confidence in his casualness, very different from Fang hauteur. "I think there's one more guest room left. I doubt Kate would mind."

Lukas shuts the door after Keith is within. It's warm inside. This is not the Shadow Lord's home, but he is comfortable here: it is part of his territory. He follows or guides Keith in past the entryway, to the vast, empty spaces of the living area; the open-plan kitchen where ingredients for a roast turkey sandwich are laid out. Lettuce leaves, sliced tomatoes, sheaves of meat, alfalfa and toast line up, assembly-line-style, across polished granite. Bookending the sprawl: a bottle of beer, a bottle of dijon mustard.

"I was making a midnight snack," Lukas says. "Care for a bite?"

[Keith] Keith has yet to stay for more than ten minutes at the Bellamonte's loft, despite how comfortable he seems just dropping by at three am, so Lukas is definitely guiding the young ahroun. He's bright eyed, investigating the hall, balking for a moment in the doorway of the kitchen -- giving the ceiling lights the flicker of a worried glance. To hide this, he unbuttons his coat, and it's warm inside.

"I wouldn't want to be a bother," he says, amiably enough. It would never occur to Keith that his presence would put a single one of his family members out, however distantly related, however full their own house might be of other guests. But he wouldn't want to be a bother. "I could take the couch. Who else is staying tonight?"

Lukas says: care for a bite. Keith rubs his hands together (get the blood going). "Sure." He's always hungry. He'll give Lukas a covert look, a little sidelong, and this is where you can tell he acknowledges Lukas, for all he's a damned dirty shadowlord (blah blah blah blah), as higher-up-on-the-totem pole. He doesn't just dive at the food and start grabbing for himself and smacking together a sandwich that would make some people Fear the Size of his Mouth. He waits for a go-ahead, however physical, and then? Then he goes ahead. But not before.

[Lukas] Lukas takes up his station in front of the sandwich components. He's toasted two slices of bread, but there's a whole loaf in a bag nearby. Not many years separate the two men, and on the surface they could be just that: two guys slapping together some sammiches for a snack before retreating to the den to whale on each other in Mariokart.

But they're not. They're Garou; half-wolf; beasts. And Keith waits for go-ahead, and Lukas, casual and mild as he seems, does not hesitate to assemble his sandwich first before pushing each ingredient in turn over to the younger Ahroun.

"Kate and her sister each have a room, of course. Ed's back too. Have you met him? The eldest brother, Fostern and Ragabash." He tops his sandwich off with a spiral of mustard, then smooshes the top slice of bread down. "Then there's two houseguests staying indefinitely, both kin to your tribe. Eleanore, a friend of Ed's from France; and I think you've met Genevre."

The Shadow Lord's eyes are direct, a blue like ice, but for what it's worth -- not accusatory. He picks up his sandwich in one hand, knocks his beer back with the other, then uses the bottom of the bottle to point at the massive, double-doored, brushed-steel refrigerator.

"More beers in the fridge, if you want one."

[Keith] "Oh. Her." The tone: thoroughly unimpressed and thoroughly disgusted. There's only one Her on that list that would bring that sort've reaction from the teenager (young adult! He's gotten into clubs before! Lots've times!). However, he doesn't disparage her name, doesn't call her a bitch or even look over his shoulder like he's expecting her to come yammering out of a room with some crazy woman logic. He doesn't think about her, and that's just fine. And Lukas, well. He's a Shadow Lord. He may be packed with Katherine, but he's a Shadow Lord. He's outside the circle of trust. Pretty far outside, really. 'cause: Shadow Lord.

"And I met Edward for a brief moment," he says, shrugging -- all loose and limber, settled in his skin tonight. He rubs the back of his neck, popping bone. Ah. "He was wary; I surprised him." He looks misty eyed and vague.

Keith truly has slapped together the kind of sandwich that would make someone's eyes widen in horror as they tried to imagine just how, how, it was all going to fit. He'll snag a beer, then nod to Lukas to lead the way to -- well. Wherever it is Lukas is going to lead the way to.

The misty eyed and vague look lasts until they're seated, or standing, whereever. Then it dissipates, somewhat, to be replaced by more bright-eyed inquisition. "How'd you get to be where you are, Lukas?" To the point!

[Lukas] "Yeah," some measure of wry amusement -- and sympathy -- creeps into Lukas's tone, "her. She doesn't seem to come out of her lair much, though."

As it turns out, Lukas doesn't lead him anywhere. There are barstools on the other side of the island, which rises up to form a breakfast bar. Keith can find seating there if he wants. For his part, Lukas eats his sandwich standing, his balance easily set to one foot, and though he typically dresses and behaves as though he were born to money, born to the sort of environment that would never ever tolerate dinner at the kitchen counter, he has a careless ease to this.

More humor, quick, a grin. "Where I am?" he repeats. "What -- at the Bellamonte Loft? In Chicago? Or at the head of this pack?"

[Keith] She doesn't seem to come out of her lair much, though, Lukas says, and Keith smiles. He's got a charming smile: see? Charming, crooked, boyish arrogance: all there. "Probably for the best," Keith says. "I'm not really suited for entertaining the ladies tonight." Expansive, that. What does it mean? Don't even ask him. He doesn't know.

"And," this, right here: this is actually a serious side of Keith. He'd deny such a side existed, but it does. "Chicago. Head of this pack. Why this pack. That's the 'where you are' I'm curious about."

[Kate] There's something of a buzz across the totem-link for Lukas as he considers his answer to Keith Sommers' question of why are you here, now?, and the buzz seems to be issuing from the owner of the residence they were both now lounging within. It was common enough knowledge amongst Katherine's pack-mates that they had an open-ended invitation to use her home when-so-ever they deigned to -- she had plenty of space.

Or at least, she used to.
Her rooms were fast filling up, these days with the expansion of her tribe within the city.

Presently, the message comes across the totem-link is thus: It's Katherine, I have just met with the former Wyrmfoe of Chicago just returned known as sklora-Myrgen, Cliath Ahroun of my tribe and am bringing him to the Loft so that we may continue our discussion in a more private location. If any of you are in states of undress, now would be the moment to fix it if you are at the Loft. The bite of humor is evident, and yet beneath it is the ever-present knowledge that Katherine did not joke, she took her duties as elder impossibly seriously, of this, none could doubt.

Minutes later, Keith and Lukas can hear the automatic door of the garage opening, and two voices, one decidedly Katherine's, and another lower, masculine conversing as doors slam shut. "....I am not suggesting, of course, that he is without some credence of honor, but for the Nephew of a King to behave as such toward his own relation does speak badly, you must agree."

[Lukas] Lukas gives Keith a curious look over the kitchen counter. Then he takes another bite of his sandwich; the last. All that's left are crumbs, which he sweeps off the counter into the palm of his hand, and then into the sink.

"Let me ask you a question in return, first," he replies. "Are you asking out of curiosity, or because you want to join this pack?"

-- and then the door to the garage opens, admitting one Katherine Bellamonte, former Wyrmfoe in tow. Lukas doesn't have to hear beyond nephew of a king to know which subject was currently under discussion there.

[Keith] "Well." He's even, in this. Even-handed, even steady. "I don't know what the pack's purpose is, so," Keith replies, after a pause. The pause was for Katherine and her male visitor. The sound of the garage door, of voices and of hot gossip. "So I'm asking because I'm interested in you."

He puts his monster sandwich down. He opens his mouth to holler something -- and remembers just in time that there might be sleeping people in some of those rooms Lukas was mentioning. Sleeping people that he probably doesn't want to wake up! So he catches himself, laaast second, and exhales, grinning at Lukas: an odd mixture of unrepentence, self-mockery and repentence.

[sklora-Myrgen] sklora-Myrgen descends from the car, pushing the passenger door closed quietly, exerting enough force to cause the lock mechanism to engage, and little more. Then, as she rounds the front of her vehicle and moves to the entry door, he falls in step, a pace behind, hands linking behind his back. She continues to regale him with an account of Fons' behavior, but he witholds comment, even when she actively solicits an opinion.

Instead, he enters her loft, moving quietly, his slender frame self contained, his mien distant, as if he were trailing threads from the Gauntlet, had brought some measure of the Umbra across with him, so that he remained liminal, even beneath the glare of electric lights. His face is harsh with the purity of his breeding, such that most humans might find his prominent cheekbones, wide, thin lipped mouth and strangely canted eyes disconcerting, alien, whereas Garou, Silver Fangs especially, would be struck by the force of his heritage, the eras echoing down the passage of time, the haunting grace that is not his, but inherited, bestowed, by an inheritance centuries old.

Clad only in a strangely cut tunic of soft, elegant gray cloth that is held at the waist with a broad leather belt, and navy jeans so dark they might as well be black, he enters the main area behind Kate, and turns his pale irised eyes to examine the two men within the kitchen.

His gaze is distant, as if he sees through them, his irises the palest of blues, faded as if by overexposure to the moon, and there is within them the natural confidence of those born privileged, born to wealth and power such that there need be no acknowledgment of such boons. He does not speak, not yet, but rather allows his gaze to go from Lukas to Keith, to whom, recognizing his common blood, he inclines his head, perfectly flaxen blond hair falling smoothly about his face like two curtains of near white.

[Kate] She is almost the over-excited child the evening before Christmas in contrast to her silent companion as they flit down the hall from the garage entry and step into the kitchen arch proper. Katherine herself knows with an instinct born from years lived within the Loft and the connection to her Alpha where she shall discover him and -- ah, Savage Dawn -- if she is startled by the discovery of the Full Moon standing in her kitchen, she conceals it with little more than a brief rise of her fair brows across at him.

"Good evening, Gentleman," she says with a Queen-to-be's dignity, and a vixen's small teasing smile. "May I introduce a returning member of my tribe to the city. This is sklora-Myrgen, another Cliath Ahroun such as you are, Savage Dawn." Kate's eyes tick to Lukas, she steps to one side for the men to shake hands, or whatever they desire.

"sklora-yuf, may I present my Alpha, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Fostern Ahroun of the Shadow Lords."

[Lukas] The answer doesn't seem to offend Lukas. If anything, the Shadow Lord seems pleased by the younger Ahroun's candor. "I ask," he says, "because some of the questions you ask are things I would speak more of to a prospective packmate than to a friendly stranger."

Two more Silver Fangs have entered the immediate vicinity. Lukas and Keith face one another over the kitchen island. Keith has an enormous sandwich in hand. Lukas has finished his. Bread, lettuce, tomatoes, alfalfa and turkey are still laid out on the counter, along with condiments.

It's a moment before Lukas turns to face his packmate and her new tribesmate; long enough for him to conclude, "We'll finish this a little later, Savage Dawn."

Then he turns. In the warmth of the Loft, Lukas is down to a single layer: a delicately knit silk sweater, the material heavy, draping, a metallic grey that's a shade or two above black. His breeding is starkly different from the rest that all but permeates this room: theirs is brilliant, cool, elegant. His is dark, heavy, foreboding, night to their noontide.

He shares one feature with the newcomer, though: eyes as pale as ice. They scrutinize the Fang now, curious and astute.

"Sklora-Myrgen," when he speaks, there's a sort of low, warm courtesy in his tone -- unexpected, perhaps, from a Lord to a Fang, "welcome back to Chicago."

[Keith] Keith stood courteously (and, yes: grace. Not just fluidity of motion.) when Kate and her visitor entered the kitchen. For Katherine, he had a smile -- a boy's smile, open, honest, mischievous, aw, shucks, this is okay isn't it ma'am. "I came for your food, Katherine," he says, honestly enough. Lukas says: we'll continue this later, Savage Dawn. Look at that: now it's all garou names. And Keith's gaze flicks back to the Shadow Lord.

sklora-Myrgen nods, and so does Keith. There are plenty of differences between the Silver Fang ahrouns, the way they hold themselves, the way they interact with the world around them -- or seem to. And plenty of similarities. Let some other bard recount them some other time.

"I'm glad to meet you, sklora-Myrgen," is what he says, gravely -- even seriously. He must still have some 'serious' left over from his answer to Lukas. Because hey: He is. Although he's also calculating: sklora-Myrgren. Just what country is that name from? Probably not France, at least.

[sklora-Myrgen] sklora-Myrgen drifts forward, carried by an invisible tidal wash that deposits him a few yards past the kitchen, from where he slowly turns, surveying the immediate environs of the loft, before settling his pale, flash burn eyes on the pair of men. His attention slips from Keith to the Shadow Lord, who is identified as the Alpha of this Silver Fang pack.

Lukas speaks with surprising cordiality, warmth even, and it is not that sklora-Myrgen is cold, but rather simply distant. As if he were looking at the Shadow Lord from across the gulf of a precipace, seeking to make out details from where he stands. He steps forward then, a gliding step that is pushed off from the rear, and into the kitchen proper.

"Wyrmbreaker-rhya," he says, and his voice is soft, quiet, almost melancholy. "That Truth's Meridian follows your lead is a testament to your character. I thank you for your welcome." His words spoken, he looks at the Shadow Lord Alpha for a few beats longer, his eyes penetrating, seeming to not see into Lukas so much as through him, to some invisible vanishing point all of his own devising.

Turning then, he regards Keith, and to his he inclines his head once more, eyes narrowing with partial amusement, mouth thinning into an approximation of a smile. "I have walked with Walks in Strife, Savage Dawn. I have seen first hand the havok he could wreak, witting and unwitting, on the plans of foes and friends alike. It was an honor then, and an honor now, to gaze upon one of his blood and see that his line still stands true. Know that I am John Edward Willims Gray the third, sklora-Myrgen, Cion of the Morn, of House Wyrmfoe, that I hail from the Veridian Fulgour and stand now to inherit the title of Erl King from my father, Iaphion-Triffin, deceased now these past few months."

He pauses, and passes his hand before his face. "Or years, perhaps." The moment passes, and his hand drops. His eyes glitter anew. "A sincere pleasure to make your acquaintance, brother."

[Kate] Katherine wanders close, she has no fear within her own home, and flops over a piece of bread, a slice of meat, lifting a brow at the pair. "Did I interrupt some terribly secretive boy's meeting, then? Hm." She moves to pour herself a glass of chilled water, adding a few ice cubes to the mix, and leans against one stainless steel counter, glass in hand.

She sips from it quietly as the men greet one another, as John Edward reiterates his Fangly list of titles and inheritances with a small smile playing at the corner of her lip. "The hour grows late, gentleman, if either of you are in need of a place to spend the evening, know you are welcome to whatever I have available. I believe there is at least one guest room upstairs free, or else I am told the sofa is tolerable soft."

[Lukas] Totemphone, somewhere in the middle of Sklora-Myrgen's words to his tribesman:

This was the Wyrmfoe? Are you kidding me? Was he ...like this before?
to Kate

[Kate] Kate's amusement is evident, she laughs with her Alpha, and yet attempts to retain an ounce of chiding.

I have no idea, Lukas. I know only the story he has told me of his former position here, before he was called away. He came upon me at the Caern making reparations to Falcon for this moon cycle.
to Lukas

[Lukas] Ahrouns are, by and large, creatures of blood and bone and rage: visceral and immediate in a way that no human and few Garou, even, ever are.

Lukas is an Ahroun. He is courteous, and controlled, and thoughtful: but he is an Ahroun. Where he walks, the air bleeds rage. The room fills with it, electric and crackling. Every breath drawn in his presence is touched with it, and everything he does -- every motion, every movement, every act, every glance -- is given a certain sharp primality and immediacy by it. It's as though he burns brighter, is more real, than anything else in a given room.

Keith is much the same. His presence is unmistakable. There's fire in his eyes.

Then there's Sklora-Myrgen, whose birth and history speaks of the same, shared moon; whose presence and demeanor is wholly remote, wholly eldritch, wholly alien. Lukas watches him as he speaks, watches him afterward as well. He's puzzled. He wonders:

What the hell happened to him?

And then he puts it aside. There are two bottles of beer on the counter; one of them belongs to Lukas, and he picks it up now, draining it.

"No. Keith was just asking me why we're here in Chicago. And why I'm here, specifically, in a pack with two Fangs." There's quiet humor, and a certain fondness, in the way he smiles -- crookedly -- at Katherine. "Since you're so utterly insufferable, and all."

He rinses the empty bottle out, sets it on the counter for Lucille. And then he ties a knot to seal the bread in its bag.

"I'm taking off," he says. "Getting near my bedtime."

[Keith] "Walking Strife," he says, after a beat. With a smile, crinkle-eyed, and his expressive eyebrows raised. "He's my favourite ancestor," he says, and it's still gravely, with just a shaaaaaade of self-something.

Keith does this easily. Not like breathing. Breathing might take effort, depending on one's physical health. He's had his ribs crushed in; he's had one lung clawed from his body. He couldn't breathe easily then. So: breathing? That's tricky. But this? This lineage recitation? He could be dead, and he'd still take to it -- he'd still do it this easily. It's in the training, and it's in the blood. To whit: he totally introduces himself more completely, although nowhere near the full scpiel. Just his House, just his Lodge. His other name. That's fine.

But somewhere in that, he started to stare at Katherine. Lukas excuses himself, and Keith is still staring at Katherine. His nostrils flare, and his eyes are troubled, confused, and he -- he's already standing.

"What happened to you?"

[sklora-Myrgen] sklora-Myrgen takes a step back, turns, and walks slowly around the large living room, absorbed now in examining its space, but pausing occasionally to stare blankly at nothing, brow marred by a frown, eyes grown unfocused. Hands link behind his back again, and in his minds eye the room seems to fill with smoke, with ink grown wiry and diffuse as if dropped in water. He passes a hand before his eyes, closes them, stands still. He'll stand quietly in the back, self contained, worn out and passive, until someone either shows him to the door or a bed or a couch, upon which he will lie down and go immediately and completely to sleep, to sleep sixteen hours without moving, barely breathing, the sleep of the comatose, the exhausted, the dead.

[Kate] Lukas excuses himself -- after calling her insufferable -- and it must be almost amazing for the other Silver Fang present to watch their current elder not only accept this, but laugh at it with a delight silver tinkling akin to bells, or chimes. "Oh yes, and you are equally so! Goodnight, then." She farewells him, and her pale eye turns on Keith, who is staring at her as if she had developed a third eye upon her forehead.

She supposed, for many of their kind, she had, this moon cycle.

"I made a deal with a most powerful spirit, Savage Dawn, to placate it and save my fellow Garou more confusion at its hands. It has an ounce of my purity for a cycle of the moon, and in exchange I have some knowledge of how to aid Gaia, and lessen her suffering."

[Lukas] (bedtime for me, too! night folks. thanks for the play!)

[Kate] [Night mister! Thanks for playing!]