First Guest [Gina]

[Drew Roscoe] A phone call connected a pair of lost friends. Not enough time had passed for them to be long lost, but it sure as hell felt that way. The conversation could have lasted for hours, and that wouldn't have been nearly enough for all the catching up they needed to do, or all the soul-pouring. Instead they arranged a date. Drew was renting a new house, Gina could come over when she was done with work. She'd make pecan pie and a comfort food casserole, and Gina was going to bring 'spirits'.

The address Drew gave was out in the Cabrini, just as her last one had been. This turf seemed to have always been under the watch of Fenris, so there was no reason for her to leave it. She had enough artillery in her home to fend of a herd of Fomori, so thugs and thieves were no concern to her. It was a modest home with faded blue paint and no fence in the front or back yard, with the snow shoveled off the sidewalk and driveway. It was two stories, but barely, the second story was rather small, suggesting it was only attic space or an errant spare room up top. The signifier that this was the right place would be the big Dodge Ram truck in the driveway with the pretty dark cherry paint job.

The front bell would ring, and the chime would be old and uncomfortable, but effective none the less. Drew would answer the door dressed down for the evening in a pair of broken in jeans that she favored and a maroon long-sleeved tee. Her dark hair was longer than Gina remembered, she hadn't bothered to get it trimmed back up lately, and it was left down around her shoulders for now. She had make-up on still, in tones of green, leftover from work. Her smile was grateful and warm and overjoyed all at once, and she ushered Gina in with a big (albeit brief, it was cold outside) hug before stepping back and directing her in.

"You're my first guest," she informed Gina as she stepped into the living room (no foyer here). "That means we've gotta break the place in, right?"

[Drew Roscoe] [ Floorplan: http://www.chicagodusk.com/index.php?jove=gallery&picture=7335 ]

[Gina McClaren] *Gina steps into the living room with a bottle of vodka in one hand and whiskey in the other, and is pulled into a hug. Time in Italy had served a Strider kin well. Her hair was shiny, her skin deeply brown and healthy looking, her curves rounded once more off of a diet of pasta and cheese. The haggard, lean look to her face had gone away somewhat, and while there was a suspicious glint in her eyes where mischief had once sparkled, she looked far better. Tired. Changed, but functional, whatever peace she'd scraped for herself in the hills of Italy seeing her through now to Drew. When the pikey steps back its without the customary tinkle of jewelry, her smile warm as her hands are cold.*

Och, Drew darlin, ah'm nae havin sex wi ye. But we can gi' drunk?

*A laugh, as booze is deposited on a coffee table and Drew's given a proper hug, pikey sluffing her coat and tossing it on the back of the nearest seat. Smile like hot cocoa on a frigid afternoon. Drew gets a good looking over, before Gina kicks off her boots.*

How ye been?

[Drew Roscoe] Drew looks as healthy as she did every time Gina met her. She's small but sturdy, built athletic with a hard stomach and shoulders, thick thighs and rear (mostly muscle, but a layer of padding made this less unseemly). Her skin isn't tan, but it's wintertime, it will get sun when the weather warms. She's bathed, her cheeks are as full as they should be, and her eyes are full of life and that same beam of welcoming warmth that they were typically found with to see Gina.

She looked good. The house looked freshly moved into, also. It was apparent by the lack of decorations on the walls, how all there was to see was furniture and essentials. She had a couch and loveseat, the same from her apartment. Same coffee table, same television, same entertainment center. The kitchen counter has stools at it, and these appear new by their gloss. Beyond that is the dining room, where a solid square kitchen table stands with several chairs around it, a larger replacement from the old round pup-style thing she had in the apartment, now that she had more room for more people.

"Well, there goes that plan." The comment was casual and offhanded when Gina informed her there'd be no sex, and Drew's smile is broad, more of a grin now. Post-hug Drew's hands go to her hips, rest with the heel of her palm dug into the top of their curve. Gina looked her over, and Drew did precisely the same. The question was answered with a shrug of one shoulder and a slightly more crooked take on her smile. "Soldiering through. Trying to get my roots back down. They're still shallow and weak, but I've only been here for, what, a month?"

Another shrug, this one with her head rolling to her shoulder and her eyes fluttering closed for a second to signify 'so is life'. "How about you?"

[Gina McClaren] Aulrecht. Plenty worried bout ye, but reckon ye look aulrecht. Yer lot are a hardheaded bunch o' hooligans. Suspect ye'd nae be Fenrir effen ye stayed down n' oot fer long.

*There was no mention of the loss of the bullish modi. No further inquiry as to how his widow was. Drew seemed to be recovering, and dragging the little pistol back into a morass of grief was hardly what Gina was here for. No need to probe healing wounds, when there was vodka to ingest.*

Aulrecht, well...

*Taking up her booze once more, Drew's guest trots barefoot towards the kitchen.*

Tell me, ye've a job? Ye were waitressin afore, aye? N' daen yer hiphop dancin?

[Drew Roscoe] Drew looked well because she put on a good show and knew how to slide things onto the backburner when appropriate. She didn't want a roommate around because she wasn't finished grieving, not completely. She needed to be able to sit at her kitchen table and stare into her coffee cup until it grew cold and undrinkable without someone feeling uncomfortable about it. She needed to be able to cry into her pillow without a knock on her door. She needed to be able to wear the T-shirt of a dead man without someone wondering why it was large and the font so obscene.

But she was healing. She could be social, she could go to work without being distracted from it, and she could continue to work to provide for Family. She was functioning, and that was important.

Gina commented on the resilience of the Fenrir and that earned her a lopsided, half-modest half-proud grin before Drew waved her hand, a gesture for Gina to get comfortable. Drew already was, she had her plush pink-and-white striped socks on and everything. They were quiet on the carpet (and the the tile) as she walked into the kitchen to check the oven for dinner and how it was progressing. Also to get down glasses and pull out juices for the liquor to be mixed in and with.

"Yeah, but I'm not waitressing anymore. Managed to get my college diploma for computer sciences--" ...what? Really? That's what she was studying? "--and so I've landed myself a nice comfortable IT job at a hospital." She piled her hair up at the back and top of her head and secured it with the hairband at her wrist, and closed the oven with her hip while doing so. The food wasn't quite done yet, but almost. "I'll get back in touch with the crew soon. Not just yet, though. Need a little more time to settle in."

A pause, and she nods her head with an upward jerk of the chin toward Gina. "Where're you staying? Settled in at all yourself?"

[Gina McClaren] *There's a rustle of skirt fabric as Gina hops onto a stool and leans on her elbow across the counter. Watching Drew move about her kitchen. Making them both up stiff drinks as the Get kin works in her space. The mention of computers has a pikey casting eyes about suspiciously, a glass pushed absently towards Drew.*

Ah'm en a handful o hotels fer tha now. Hidin out frem the mad man wha thenks ee's me warder, reckon.
Drama Dram Drama.

*A smirk. Tawny fingers teasing through her hair as she sings.*

Ever tell ye ah'm scared shiteless o' computers darlin?

[Drew Roscoe] "Computers aren't anything to be afraid of. If they get too out of hand you can just throw them out a window." Drew grins, and the expression shows a strong flash of teeth. It's curiously close to their Cousins for a second, a momentary glimpse through the window that connected them. All kin had their small signs, their moments. Drew's were random and unannounced most of the time. She reached forward for the drink that Gina made her and winked. "It's the internet you have to be careful of."

The Fenrir Kin leaned back near the oven rather than forward against the counter, feeling the warmth off it and keeping the wind-up timer near her hand so she can silence it immediately rather than endure the ringing for longer than needed. She tips the glass to her lips, takes a drink, and makes a little bit of a face as the heat of the alcohol works its way down her throat and settles into her stomach.

She's working the taste in her mouth with her tongue still when she inquires about the Warder. "...So who've you got to hide from, now? I'm not sure of who's all around anymore, let alone who's leading the Tribes. Shit, you leave five months, come back and everything's different. I'm surprised the streets still have the same names."

[Gina McClaren] Nae shite.

*A glance at the pair of kin and few would expect anything so feral as a wolf in their lineage. Both had the sort of charm that invited a person closer, and yet each bore the mark of their tribe. Proof of something less domesticated in their blood. Dark eyebrows bob in silent agreement to take Drew's word for it about computers, a stiff drink tipped to her lips and swallowed in short order. The mention of her warder getting a dismissive wave, lack of bangles notable.*

Och, Warder's a huge black felly name o "Thoth".

*Drew's friend makes it less of a name and more of a hateful sound, potent voice telling more than enough in one syllable as to her opinion of the man.*

Ee's mad as a hatter, an dangerous tae. Ah'm hoppin aboot best ah can tae keep frem under hem. Reckon he'll stride on soon enough.

[Drew Roscoe] "Given your tribe, he probably will." Drew struggled to remember a big black man that was a Garou and completely failed to do so. She didn't stretch her memory too far back, though, she figured if she had an opinion on him of her own she would've recalled him in the first five seconds of thought. She took another drink from her glass, and settled more comfortably back against the counter.

"You know, I'm sure if you pleaded your case to the right person they'd take you under their wing instead. Transfer guardianship or something like that. If you can see the insanity I'm willing to bet they will too."

Drew thought about this for a second, tapping fingernails kept short and without colored paint on them on her glass lightly while she did so. "Kora's very fair. I bet she'd put up a defense for you."

There's something of a frown on the Kin's face, pale like the full moon in the sky when compared to Gina's Italy-browned skin. "Dangerous how? ...Do you need to keep one of my guns for a while?"

[Gina McClaren] Nae.. reckon ah've me own. Though thank ye fer tha offer.

*She'd been swilling the last drops of vodka in her glass, watching them slop up the slick sides and shrink back into the domed bottom. A shrug brings her eyes back to Drew, her nose wrinkling comically as she makes light.*

Ah reckon runnin an' hidin'll be me best defense. Guns'll jes piss a felly recht aft anyhow. Sides, ye kain ah'll outlast hem. Garou 'ave the luxury o bein like fire crackers, all heat n' quick fizzle. Et's tha kin left ahind tha' are stubborn n' solid as mountains. We're around longer, come hook oor crook.

*A guilty half smile, bittersweet.*

Reckon they dinnae enclude tha en tha "So ye thenk yer kin" pamphlet, dae they?

[Drew Roscoe] Drew's answer was a chuckle and a shake of her head. She finished off what was in her glass, tipping her head back to do so, then rinsed it in the sink that was set into the kitchen island and set it back on the counter, conveniently within reach of Gina to refill it if she so saw fit... though she didn't request this verbally or obviously. As Drew spoke she pulled out a drawer and pulled on some ugly orange oven mitts.

"They sure as hell didn't, no. That's more of an 'on the job experience' learning."

She pulled open the oven and tugged out a casserole dish, then set it on the stove to cool. The tin foil was tugged up at the corners so heat could escape, but not removed completely. She'd leave it that way for a few minutes, and left her oven mitts on the counter next to the stove. "Yeah, you'll outlast him. I just hope that someone decent swings through to replace him for you."

It was hard to say who would, though. Drew didn't ever see much of the Strider tribe here. More Fenrir, more Fianna and Children of Gaia and Shadow Lords and Silver Fangs. Not too many of the other tribes, though. The place had its dominant breeds and bloods, and others were just solitary whispers amongst the crowd. It made Drew sad for Gina to think about that too hard.

But, hey, Kinfolk were the bearers of burdens, and everyone's was different.

[Gina McClaren] Och, ah'm certain somewan will.

*A saucy wink is cast across the kitchen, gypo playing the harlot that Chicago rumors painted her as. At this point the worse her reputation, the more it bothered her warder. A fact that tickled her some, despite herself. There's the scuff of feet as she moves to investigate the casserole, cursing as she plucks stubbornly at the tinfoil, vying for a peek inside. Satisfied, she bumps the Get kin with a hip, two tiny women outmatched by the sheer amount of food prepared.*

Heard tell there's another kinfolk group sort o theng starin oop. Run by a Silverfang thes time, reckon.

[Drew Roscoe] Inside the casserole dish is exactly what midwesterners consider to be comfort-- cheese, potato, and meat, all stuck together with cream of mushroom soup and baked to perfection. Weight Watchers beware, but neither of these girls were concerned with watching their waistlines tonight. Gina bumped Drew's hip with her own (and their hips met because neither was much taller than the other, no one got a hip bone in their appendix this way), and Drew responded with a big grin and by sidestepping once to get down some plates and pull some forks from the silverware drawer.

"Silver Fang, huh?" Drew thought about that for a second, then made a bit of a face and shook her head. "I don't know, the way that that last one went..." She thought about Monty, and was struck for a second by the fact that he was probably gone somewhere too. She'd have to try the phone number she had of his and hope it still led to the unexpectedly obese kinfolk. "I mean, it depends on the agenda and what they're trying to do. Like I'd said last time, I don't wanna get in the way of or try and take over the jobs of the Garou."

She starts to heap the casserole onto dishes, and hands the first one (along with a fork) to Gina. "But one way or the other, I won't say no to meeting new people."