Wee Savior [Erek]

[Drew Roscoe] The night had been a disappointing one for most of Chicago. Several hours ago football fans filtered out of Soldier Field with their heads ducked and grumbles on their mind. A good number of these would go home and wait for next year. A couple of fights broke out between fans wearing blue and orange and fans wearing green and yellow. Officers were on standby to watch the game just in case, and it was a good thing because one of those fools from Chicago had a gun in his waistband. Numbers dwindled, fans either went home or out to bars to have a few 'better luck next year' drinks.

Drew hadn't been amongst that crowd, but she was downtown tonight, standing outside in front of the Chicago Art Institute and grinning a quiet little smile to herself as she sat on a bench in front of the large building and watched employees take the ridiculously large Chicago Bears football helmets down off the lion statues heads and let them return to their statuesque dignity.

She was dressed for the chill of the evening in a navy blue coat that was like a shorter version of a peacoat. There's a white scarf about her neck but no hat or earmuffs to warm her ears. She didn't like having sounds muffled, it made being snuck up on way too easy. Her hair's left down, a long mass of dark brown, to do the job instead. Wind tossed it here and there occasionally, but for the most part it did a fine job of laying over her shoulders and down her back. She was keeping her hands warm on a cup from some coffee shop lining the street and taking the occasional sip.

She looked like she might be waiting for something, but she wasn't at a bus stop so it couldn't be public transport. She looked patient, though, so it was rough to determine exactly what she glanced up and down the sidewalks for every minute or two.

[Erek Skulason] *Erek had stood amongst the crowd, blending in as best he could with the dull thrum of rage ebbing from him. It kept people out of his personal space, but it didn't send them running away in terror, just made them think twice about the young Get of Fenris. It was easy to slip in and out as he weaves through the crowd. His hands remain tucked into his coat pockets, elbows pressed into his sides. He stretched his neck out, head turning to peer over the people that he can see over as he looks for a place to go. His nose twitches, catching the scent of something upwind, gravitating towards the smell of something good he starts to wander into Drew's direction, not paying attention to her as she was a bit shorter than him*

[Drew Roscoe] Erek is wading through the crowd, pressing through the Sunday Playoffs crowd on his way to goodness-knows-where. His Rage exists, people glance at him twice for it, decide that maybe they wouldn't knock shoulders with him, but they don't go out of their way to cross the street or make a gap in the crowd so that they don't have to brush him or get within so many feet of him. He's only a touch taller than the average American man, so he blends nicely into the crowd-- at least to those who can't sense breeding. Those like Drew.

Drew's taking another sip of her cup before she rises to her feet, the flat soles of her black winter boots-- some knitted looking affair with strings tied in bows and knots at the top. They appeared cutesy, amplified the 'young and adorable' appeal that she had at a glance, but functioned just fine at keeping her feet warm and dry. That mattered more.

Erek's looking over her head, he's got a resolute nine inches of height on her, the top of her head only reached his chin. He kept on walking, and she was busy looking back at the institute's front doors. The collision course was set.

Counting down... three, two....

[Erek Skulason] *Erek's rage stems on the subconscious level that most humans can handle his presence for short periods of time. He is easily forgotten, however, blending well in the crowd with the shoddy appearance he harbors. Faded jeans that hang loosely at his hips, the edges scuffed and soiled with mud and snow, his work boots leave heavy indentations in the shape of his footsteps wherever he went, though, the boy manages to stay light on his feet with his quick movements. It is how he manages to move so effortlessly through the crowd without being stopped. He wasn't paying attention, the scenery was a distraction, still riding the euphoric high he had from watching the sports game. He brings a hand up to run it through the shaggy mop of blond hair as he draws closer to Drew*

Hmm...?

*It catches his attention, not her personal scent, but something more powerful - more akin to his wolfish nature that perks up from a lethargic sleep, roused by the instinct of breeding. This was the third time he's felt such a strong tug in his stomach. His head snaps around several times, looking at eye level and then down briefly to spy the bundle of cuteness just standing under his chin. He blinks in surprise, faltering in step and slips on a patch of ice*

[Drew Roscoe] Drew's easy to look over, but easy to keep eyes on upon being spotted. She wasn't a traditional portrait of beauty, she was far too short for that, her features a bit too dusky. She wasn't tall, wasn't leggy or blonde. Her skin was neither snowy white nor bronzed like she was straight off a Miami beach, but her eyes were big and honest and her face, even when relaxed, seemed to suggest smiles on its own.

Erek's just about to breeze by her, or walk into her, one of the two, when he notices her. The breeding about her was a muted thing, quiet and subdued but thoroughly there. It spoke of frosted iron and blood on ice. Of glory and war and the adrenaline that filled lungs and heart and belly during battle. He's surprised by her, that he about literally walked over a Kinfolk, that one cropped up under his nose like that, and in his surprise he slips on a patch of ice, someone's drink spilled on the sidewalk that turned solid and slick within the half hour.

Drew's quick. Not like the sword-wielding heroes of battle fields, but she's faster than the average dope you find strolling up the sidewalk. Her hand catches at his forearm, grips solidly, and her feet stay flat on the ground, weight anchored, and she makes herself that bracing element that is all the difference between stumbling and cracking your tailbone on the pavement.

She blinks, as though surprised by her own reflex, then smiles. It's a natural, warm thing, that expression. It used to win over customers at a restaurant she worked a while back, made sure she had regulars that wouldn't tip less than fifteen or twenty dollars on any given evening. It got her a well paying job just recently. It kept Garou from tearing out her throats every now and again and stopped a couple of fights between intoxicated bozos. Unfortunately, it hasn't once yet stopped a Wyrm-creature from charging. That's what the guns were for.

"You alright there?"

[Erek Skulason] *Erek is stunned into silence, not by the falter in his step (which is totally caused by Drew) or the sting that shot up his spine as his ass definitely slams into the frozen slush of someone's beer and snow that begins to seep into the seat of his jeans. He lets out frustrated grunt at his lack of reflexes, silently chastising himself mentally as he hears her voice asking him if he was alright*

Yeah... I think..

*Her breeding is a dull sensation compared to the shivering tremors he's felt from other kinfolk that he's met, but it is still a faint candle flicker that he can sense, did sense when he had come close to her. Blue eyes swim across her features, pulling and plucking hungrily at what he needed to see in order to make out that she was real and not some illusion that he had dreamed up just a second ago. She was not tall, nor blond, but cute in that adorable way that some women can be. Small and compact. Its her eyes that snare his attention first, and then her mouth, the way it curls into a quaint little grin... and Erek starts to mutter bashfully, huffing an apology under his breath as his cheeks burn hotter than the sun and flush red with color*

Either I'm dreaming or sprites do exist.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew's eyes, wide and simply brown rather than the icy blue that seemed to trend itself in the more purely bred of their tribe, stuck to his face while she kept her hand at his arm and his ass kissed ground anyways. She's not staring at him the same way he's staring at her, though. Her expression is a bit more studious, but the study melts away to something that would be classified as amused if there was any touch of mockery in there. There isn't. She's just grinning and leaning back to help pull the guy up to his feet.

"Well, I don't know about sprites." She sniffed the air some, then clucked her tongue at the roof of her mouth and shook her head. "Beer-ice. Bad luck there."

His Rage wasn't strong enough to phase or burn her, it didn't scream out like the Rage of so many others she's met did, it wasn't blazing and obvious. It was present, humans felt it regardless, but it wasn't enough for Drew to have a steady clue in to the fact that he was Garou. As far as she was concerned he was just like everyone else out on the street, just young with a flushed face and a splash of beer on the back of his jeans.

[Erek Skulason] *His feet slide across the wet slush he was sitting in moments ago, gaining his balance rather quickly, almost too fast for a normal human. She may be aware of it, giving how closely she's hung around Garou, or not. He just might be some kid with good athleticism like herself, which had been the case when Erek was younger. The All-star athlete before the change came about, its why he was here. The love of sports, the adrenaline it enticed had caught his attention. He couldn't remember the last time he actually sat down and watched a sports game. But Erek wasn't thinking about that right now, all he could see was the cute brunette that he towered over, and the blood pounding hotly in his ears*

Short, small people. They tend to stand barely ankle to knee high, adorably enchanting with little flappy wings?

*Erek shakes himself, trying to stop gawking, though, the color doesn't leave his face just yet. His voice threatens to crack, but he clears his throat several times before speaking again. He dusts himself off, wrinkling his nose at the smell of beer soaked into his jeans, sighing to himself*

I'll be wearing that for quite awhile.

*He turns on Drew, stepping back so he could regard her more thoroughly with a longer look, eyebrows dancing up and down as the skin forms wrinkles on his forehead.*

You've got a name, o' wee savior of mine?

[Drew Roscoe] The Kin's mouth pressed into a half-humored line when Erek straightened up and tried to explain what a sprite was. His eyes linger about her for longer than necessary. She has no idea that it's the breeding more than anything else, the bears-to-honey effect it had on Garou. Mostly because she didn't know he was a Garou. All she thought was he was some college kid, probably on the basketball or football team judging by how he'd brought himself up back to his feet and the overall look about him. He seemed capable, like he could put someone's head into a brick wall if he got it in his head to, and that someone couldn't do much to stop him.

"Here." She holds out the cup of something warm-- it turns out to be a plain and simple cup of coffee, black with sugar-- out toward him as an offering. Something to warm him up after his rear end got iced and his palms scuffed frozen sidewalk as well.

His eyes stay on her for too long, though. It's not even that she's concerned her chest (even if it was nothing but a vague outline under the heavy fabric of her coat, she wasn't as gifted in that area as some) or her thighs or ass. It's that he keeps looking at her mouth, her throat from where it peeks from under her scarf. It has her tapping her canine teeth together and eyeing him with a little less trust in her gaze. She answers anyways.

"Drew Roscoe."

[Erek Skulason] M'sorry, I'm trying not to stare at you, Miss Roscoe, it's just difficult given the past events I've experienced in the past couple of days. This city is ... a proverbial breeding ground for...

*Erek stops himself short from finishing his sentence, he wasn't exactly sure where he was going with it. He does manage to take his eyes from her, to stop staring long enough to accept the cup of coffee she offers him without question. He takes it in his hand, long fingers wrapping around the base and lifts it to his nose, pausing to sniff at it. His eyebrows raise up, head tilting back at first, then warily sips at it to test the intensity of the coffee's heat so as not to scorched his tongue. After the first taste, however, Erek claims Drew's coffee for his own, guzzling the rest of it down like a dehydrated man*

Drew...

*He tosses her name around in his mouth, muttering it under his breath as its masculine undertone confused him at first. He rolls his shoulders back, glancing away to survey the proximity of people that were close to him, realizing he could not speak as freely as he wants to with the kinfolk. The cup lowered, hand that held it drops to his hip as he shuffles on his feet*

M'name is Erek Skúlason, I'm - we 'are' - *a moment's hesitation, frowning* How can I say this ... can I talk with you?

[Drew Roscoe] He seizes the coffee readily, bypassing the 'polite thing to do' in refusing initially, waiting for her to insist before taking it with a muttered thanks. All she has to do is offer, and he's sniffing to see if it's hot chocolate, coffee, or a latte before tasting, considering, then drinking deeply. Drew's smiling a small, happy smile and tucking her ungloved hands into her coat pockets, sniffing a little against the cold as opposed to allergies or the common cold.

"I know." He doesn't need to finish his sentence about the city being a breeding ground for... something. He might say muggers, or filth, or 'bad men'. She knew well enough, whatever it was that he didn't finish saying. He tries out her name, like he's trying to find the feminine affliction to it, but then moves on by introducing himself with one of the most Nordic names she's ever heard. Her eyebrows lift a little, and she's leaning back a little when he's frowning, asking if he can talk with her.

Trap, her brain flashes. She's become cautious without being paranoid. The warning of this potentially being a trap is acknowledged, but she didn't immediately peel herself away from him or jab him in the eyeballs and try to make a break for it. Rather she stares at him, thoughtful, before nodding and rolling her head up toward the Art Institute. "Sure. Let's take a walk."

And she's turning and moving off the sidewalk, out of the pedestrian traffic that bustled along it, and walking up toward the front of the building. Rather than going inside, though, she starts a slow, steady, leisurely lap around the perimeter. It takes a minute or so, but with the doors closed to the public not many people are up here off the sidewalk. It's easy to talk here.

[Erek Skulason] *Erek watches her, blues eyes narrowing slowly, scrutinizingly. He isn't the greatest at reading body language, so he can't outrightly sense her apprehension to his request, nor is he aware of the history she has. But there is a part of his brain that nicks at his thoughts, telling himself to not be so straightforward as he'd done with Sofie. The young Get of Fenris seems pleased that she does not argue or put up a rebellious fit at his request. Drew sets the path for them, and Erek quickly takes up guard on Drew's right side, flanking her as best he can to shield her from the biting cold of the wind that passes by them occasionally. His blond hair sweeping down over his forehead into his eyes.

The cup remains in his hand, lifted in afterthought, as Erek fishes out a pocket knife. Flicking the small blade out, he starts to carve into the sides of the cup, making small sweeping indentations into it as they walk around the building*

We are the same, you and I.

*He says simply, extending the cup out to her with its glyph carvings of the Get of Fenris tribe.*

I can feel you. The ancestors that dwell in your blood, not as strongly as mine, but they are there, Miss Roscoe.

[Drew Roscoe] Erek steps up to her right side, positioning himself so as to block the wind from chilling her further. This also meant that he was on her right side and the tall stone wall of the building was to her left. She could only go forward or backward, darting to the side to escape was eliminated as an option. She sniffed again, just a little, and tensed visibly when that knife came out.

There's a moment of tension, sweet and adrenaline-slamming both at once, where he pulls out his knife and her right hand goes swiftly to her back, pushing up the back of her jacket and grabbing for what he can see, now that the jacket is up, is a heavy looking gun that had to be impossible to conceal in spring or summer weather. Her teeth are gritted, her muscles taut, and it could easily turn into a showdown.

...But he's carving into the side of the cup, and she's dropping her coat, wearing a frown that speaks of scolding and relief together, and she's recognizing the symbols instantly. He's explaining about blood and how they share it, how hers isn't as strong as his but it's present, and she relaxes even moreso.

"...Let me guess, you're a Skald, right?" They're around the side of the building now, out of line of sight for the public eye. Someone would have to circle between the institute and its neighboring building along with them in order to spot what they were up to, to hear what they were talking about. She's smiling a little now, but there's a hint of apology to the corners of her mouth, and a clarity to her eyes that says trust hasn't been earned one-hundred percent just yet. "...How you gonna prove you aren't lying though?"

[Erek Skulason] *This is the part where Erek must extend his restraint to not react violently to Drew's actions, in the peripheral of his eyes, he can spy the tension creeping over her small frame, the sudden rush of adrenaline that carries in her scent, filling his nostrils every time he breathed in. Muscles coil up along his shoulders and down into his back, hidden under the layers of winter clothes. Yet he continues his previous action to carve the glyphs into the cup. Even as hers, is to respond defensively by reaching behind her to reveal the gun she keeps hidden.

A weapon.

Erek ponders what must've been done to this kinfolk for her to react as she did when he retrieved his knife. He waits until she has seen the glyphs, when her hand moves away from her coat to fall back to her side. Relief reflected in the scowl she gives him, he doesn't smile at her, just furrows his eyebrows in confusion, and something akin to sadness. The emotions disappear quickly, however*

No, I'm not a Skald, my tongue isn't so eloquent to spin epic ballads or to bring the revel to a fevered pitch in battle.

*Erek offers her a wry grin then, tilting his head as he pivots his frame to step back, and move behind her to the wall - leaving her right flank open. The knife is put away, a hand slapping across his chest when she asks him how he will prove that he wasn't lying. Blue eyes flicker with the intensity of a predator. His voice dropping to a hallowed graveled pitch*

M'enemies call me Spinebreaker, Miss, Roscoe, you question an honored son of Fenris to see if his words run false or not? That I may, with a devil's tongue, speak trickery in your little ear to garner some sense of loyalty from you. Stranger am I, and stranger I will remain, but point me in any direction, ma'am, and I'll shed this ground with their blood if anyone lay a hand to unsettle the hair atop your head, kin of my blood.

[Drew Roscoe] The Rotagar (though she doesn't know that's his moon just yet) shakes his head after frowning sadly at her and corrects her. No, he's not a Skald. He didn't have that kind of a tongue. The grin that follows this explanation is met with a single lifted eyebrow and not much else. He twists from her left side and instead stands back against the wall, giving her the room to flee now if she still saw fit.

Rather than run, though, she stops walking and turns to face him so her shoulders were parallel with his, hands in her coat pockets once more. He slaps his chest and gives her a speech that's near poetic enough for her to ask again if he's sure he's not a Skald. When he's finished speaking, she's got her lower lip caught between her teeth and is holding it there thoughtfully, worrying it back and forth but gently so as not to break her own skin. She's making up her mind.

Finally: "Well, you sure as hell talk like one." And she's grinning again. He's got her seal of approval (that or she's making him think he does so he forgets about the heavy revolver she's keeping strapped to her lower back) and she's extending a hand, bare and free of gloves so her knuckles and fingertips are flushed red to match her nose and cheeks in the cold. "The enemy doesn't get a chance to know my name, but a couple of the other Garou have been prone to know me as Long Shot. I hear tell there's a trophy or two with that name on it in the Caern."

[Erek Skulason] By Tyr's Hand, what's Chicago delivered me into...

*This is spoken with overdramatic exasperation, tilting his chin up to cast his eyes to the heavens as Erek rolls them shut in disbelief. He pretends to sigh in disdain, the act played up until Drew speaks, offering her cold, red-chapped hand to him. He looks down at her hand, tilting his head to the side in a rather animal-like gesture. He extends his own, not taking her hand in his, but more her forearm, lacing fingers around her wrist and clasps his other hand over hers. The heat of his body hot enough to warm the numbness from her skin for the brief time he held it*

It's in the blood, m'uncle, Skúli, is a Skald, he's pretty much like a father to me and taught me everything I know. 'Sides, what good is a no moon if he can't charm the ladies, and deflect tension when it rises?

*He puzzles over the deed name she offers him, a look of surprise coming over his features as he studies her* A renown worthy deed name... I'm impressed.

[Drew Roscoe] He reaches out and grasps her forearm in a warrior's grasp rather than a simple handshake. She doesn't jar or act surprised by this, but rather accepts it and wriggles her fingers against his palm when he grasps her hand with his other. He kept warmth better than she did. Drew didn't try and match science up to Garou, she gave that up long ago, but if she had to guess she'd say it was either the Rage furnace within the Garou that had them warmer than usual like this, or it was a higher metabolism and healing rate that had them burning up more energy, generating more heat.

He appears surprised, says he's impressed when she offers a deed name, and her grin is proud. There's a bittersweet taste to the slightly ominous words that explain it, though "Well, the way I see it, there's three ways you can go in a city like this.

"You make a name for yourself, do what you have to do to make sure you and yours make it to another day. You get names and glory and all that as a result, even though that's not your aim. You can hole yourself up, push yourself away from your World and try and ignore that the danger out there is what it is. Or you can play the damsel and staple yourself to some strapping young man's side."

Her shoulders rolled in a shrug. She waited patiently for her hand back but didn't tug it to reclaim it. "Option A seemed the truest to blood, you know?"

[Erek Skulason] *Erek doesn't linger to hold her hand, nor does he think it right to put on the charm after her explanation. Drew was likely to put a cap in his ass if he harbored such thoughts. He clears his throat, pulling his hands back to his hips, sliding them into his pockets so as to keep them from mischief. He watches her with a raised eyebrow, looking amused once again*

I didn't think option C really suited you, Miss Roscoe, or may I call you Drew and not have to worry about getting shot?

*He teases her, chuckling under his breath as air expels out in a fine mist*

Chicago sounds like rough territory, you must know it well enough to be able to survive as you have. Sounds like it'd benefit me greatly to stay on your good side and work towards some civil friendship. Just came to town, all I've met is a frustratingly blond kin with too much breeding, and little brains, and a trash diving street dog.

[Drew Roscoe] Erek lets go of her hand and smooths his palms near his hips, letting them hover there for a second before trapping them in his pockets. He jokes around with her, and she just smiles back at him and shakes her head some. It was a common misconception that she would put a bullet in someone just because she didn't like what they were saying, or because their advances were unwelcome. She'd gone for the gun because he'd gone for a knife. She kept it with her because all too many times she's found herself without it and in dire straights for that.

"I prefer Drew. And don't worry, I won't shoot you unless you lose your mind and try and kill me. Even then I won't be goin' for the kill."

He's talking about civil friendships, alliances. Using her know-how to help him become more acquainted with the Windy City. He talks about a blonde Kin with too much breeding and not enough smarts to match, and some 'trash diving street dog'. Neither bring faces to mind immediately, so she just shrugs, glazes over who he has and hasn't met, and jumps straight to the mention of friendship.

"Erek. You're Fenrir. That makes us family. There's no need to 'work toward' any 'civil' friendships. It's already there, implied by blood." There's a beat, then a gesture over her shoulder in the general northern direction. "My door's open to anyone that claims roots. If you don't have a place to stay, I've got a spare bed and more than enough room."

[Erek Skulason] Ah, Drew, but you see.

*One corner of Erek's mouth curls up into a boyish grin, brightening his youthful features up and giving her a glimpse to how young he was. He pulls a hand out, curling the fingers closed except for the index finger and raised it to tap the side of his nose, then gestures at her as he points in her direction*

Being Get of Fenris, being what I am, permits me a foot in the door. It is assumed that a kin will provide shelter and hospitality, if they can provide it with little question. What I haven't done is give you a fair reason to trust me. Just because I'm family doesn't mean that I may always play nice, I give you no reason to trust me, to gain a genuine friendship? You see what I mean?

*Erek waves it off, dropping his hand to his pocket once more, he pushes his shoulders back into the wall, hips jerked forward as he straightens, stepping towards her*

Shelter's appreciated, I'm in need of seeking out the Last Watch, I was briefly informed of their whereabouts. Perhaps, you know more about them and can fill me in on personalities?

[Drew Roscoe] "Good point..." She admits that he's right about the fact that he's family doesn't automatically make him a friend. She had met a couple of Fenrir over time that she had a hard time using that word with. There were a few out of state that she would gladly see buckshot from her shotgun into the bellies of, as a matter of fact. She'd been brave, stupid, and crazy enough to break her fist on the face of one and go down trying to open him up with a broken beer bottle.

But that was there, then. This is is here, now.

"I don't think I said I expected you to play nice. I just trust the bond that is family. That while there's a solid chance at least once in the upcoming months I'll end up pissed off at you for something or another, it won't change the fact that you'll go out of your way to see me safe, and I'll do the same for you. That's family, not getting along or playing nice."

He straightens up away from the wall and steps toward her. The brave little kin stood her ground. She's had far larger infernos of Rage confront her. She's had them snarling in her face, whites of their eyes and teeth glaring bright at her, able to smell and feel angry breath on her throat and chin before they tear themselves away. She's withstood that. A simple step closer was nothing at all.

"Last Watch? Yeah, I live right outside their turf. Kora, Linus, and Roman. Kora's Jarl around here. She's Skald. Linus is Godi, and Roman's a Child of Gaia. Ragabash. Real sweet kid."

[Erek Skulason] Good, I'm glad you don't expect it. I'd be wary of those fucking no moons, they're likely to talk the shirt off your back without you realizing it.

*Erek appears harmless in all regards, he doesn't posture in front of her, or bolster some hotheaded, testosterone-fueled attitude to try and impress her. She may pick up on the small sense of loneliness that sparks in his expression, what was a genuinely friendly kid before the first change surrounded by supportive network of friends and family, is now a lone wolf - still slightly wet behind the ears so to speak. He takes in her Intel with a brisk nod of his head, indicating that they have tarried in this spot too long as the cold was starting to creep into his bones with a numbing ache*

Good to know. What is Kora like?

[Drew Roscoe] It's true. In this kind of cold, you need to keep moving or get inside, one or the other. It wasn't as bad as the Alaskan wilds had been, and she knew that if she'd survived that she could handle any winter Illinois tried to throw at her... but she also remembered passing out with sheer exhaustion when she finally made it to her destination and sleeping longer than she ever had in her life. She remembered having to meticulously rewarm her toes and fingers and how close she'd gotten to honest-to-god frostbite.

What had kept her up was movement. That was what she and Erek needed now to keep the chill from setting in their bones. So Drew starts walking again, continuing the lap around the massive monument of a building, working her way around the right flank of the building toward the back now, where an employee parking lot could be found. "Kora's.... dutiful, I suppose. She's stern, she's fair and righteous. She can smile with the rest of them, but when there's business it's business alone." There's a pause, and she figures it's only fair to warn: "She's pregnant, a few months off from delivery still. So I'd tread lightly." A playful grin accompanies the warning. It's custom to chuckle at the plight of a pregnant woman and her outrageous hormones, but when you mixed that with Rage god only knew the kind of time bomb you were going up against.

"Linus," she continues on. "Knows his shit. He's Kora's brother, and he feels like just as much a leader as she does. Real easy to listen to, I take his advice to heart 'cause his words... Well, what he has to say is usually pretty smart. He's brash, but who the hell cares about that? When it comes down to the wire, no one."

"Roman," she concludes. "is sweet. He's like a reminder of what good's left in the world, that some people still haven't gone all jaded with the War. ...It's kinda like his eyes haven't been opened all the way, though, like he hasn't seen all there is to see just yet. But his inherently good. That talks for somethin'."

[Erek Skulason] *Erek was used to motion, to the constant ebb and flow of muscles working in unison to propel towards some destination, or task, whether it be fighting or running, or playing in sports. The rush of adrenaline was the euphoric high that he craved more than anything at one time. It was only by the good grace of werewolf genetics that he never saw a severe injury that could permanently damage him for life, no matter how rough the play had been. He walks with Drew, staying closer to the wall, keeping it to his left side now, and allowing her to walk on his right. It still gave her an out if she felt she needed it, but he presumes she won't run away*

I shall take that to mind when I deal with them.

*Blue eyes skim the horizon, scanning the employee parking lot. On occasion he glances over a shoulder to check that they weren't being followed and continues on with Drew to wherever she leads him*

I think I understand what'cha mean, about Roman that is, used to know something similiar.

[Drew Roscoe] "No offense?"

She smiles brightly up at Erek across the nine inches that distance them in height. Hands stay in her coat pockets, seeking and finding warmth there, and her boots crunch quietly on half-melted ice and sidewalk salt as they cut through the back parking lot. "But you kinda strike me as being the guy that was something similar. Before you went into Fenrir Boot Camp, anyways."

A hand escapes her pocket just long enough to sweep her hair out of her face when the wind catches it, but returns quickly enough. There's a brief pause, and she's cutting to business. "So, do you want that bunk tonight? If so I'll be wanting to stop by the store so I can get enough food for a decent meal. Living alone makes your fridge full of nothing but condiments and beer."

[Erek Skulason] To be honest, Drew?

*There was no offense taken on his part, she tells him he strikes her as the guy that was something similar to what Roman is now. His expression grows blank, the look of confusion flashing across his eyes as he tries remember what else he was going to say to her in response to that. It brings out a heavy chuff of air from his lungs, frustration settling into his face to make him frown*

Can't remember if I was ever like that... don't remember of anything beyond what's got to be done as a Get of Fenris.

*Erek clears his throat, noting where his tone of voice was heading in its depressive undertone. He feigns a smile, nodding his head, looking down at her, and then up at the parking lot again as they make tracks*

Bunk's claimed, missy, best make that pit stop on the way home.

[Drew Roscoe] A hand escaped from her coat pocket as they turned the corner and started toward the bustling sidewalk once more. It lifted to settle at Erek's shoulder, at the back of the shoulder rather than directly on top of it. The touch is a bracing thing. Not nearly soft enough to be tender or coddling, but it wasn't a hearty slap on the back either. She just held her hand there for a couple of seconds, patted, then put her hand back in her coat pocket, reassuring that: "That's fine. One'a the greatest people I've ever met has always had the Kill about him. Didn't change how astounding he was."

The smiles got a sadder tint to it, but is a little proud at the same time.

He states that the bunk's claimed, and the sadness seeps from the smile. She's beaming instead, apparently thrilled to have a house guest. "Awesome. My truck's in the public parking garage, let's head back that way." She tended toward the truck more these days because of the four wheel drive against the snow, because she's been on a bus before when it'd been hijacked, because that situation had been a righteous mess, and while she'd earned more Glory to her name for it? Well, frankly, she didn't always think it was worth it.

She was pleased enough with the thought of company and a new family face that she made something warm and hearty for dinner rather than taking the easy route and going with a casserole or hamburgers. It's country fried steak swimming in gravy, corn and potatoes. Simple, but hearty and homey, exactly like any gal brought up in the midwest would have learned from their mothers. Milk and/or beer for drink, Drew went with milk because, as she warned, she worked in the morning.

The rest of the evening, though, between dinner and bed, was open for talk.