[Drew Roscoe] The first day of the weekend had been as average as the Kin could hope for. Errands were run, groceries were brought home and the fridge and pantry were restocked, along with her first aid kit. Laundry was done, sheets were washed, floors swept and swiffered and all that good stuff. The weather was overcast and chilly, it was a good day to be inside catching up on everything that needed tending to. Tomorrow could bring excitement if it wanted, today Drew was content being a homebody.
Dinner had been finished about an hour ago, leftovers still cooling in the fridge. The Kin was in the living room in the recliner with the footrest kicked out and a laptop in her lap, fingers flying deft and quick across the keyboard. A few lamps were turned on, the rest of the lights left off to save on the electric bill, so the harsh glow of the computer screen was what illuminated her face the most.
Still-damp hair was piled up on top of her head in a sloppy half-bun while wet strands licked loose around her face and on her neck anyways, and she was dressed in a pair of green sweatpants and a white long-sleeved tee.
Nothing worth noting here, folks, no wild parties or suspicious vehicles out front to draw attention from the neighborhood baddies. Just another night at home.
[Linus] His entry is sudden. It's always sudden these days. The sort of domestic shattering one attributes to blatant shows of 'You are not normal and do not belong with the normal' in this line of work/duty/familial obligation.
The air sunders, sucks in hard as once empty space is suddenly occupied by the forceful insertion of mass, density and identity. Reality, as a result of quantifiable necessity, hiccups in order to catch up and the balloon of pressure plugs ears and thrums chests with a vague ache, not worthy of being called pain for the dullness of it (Weaver re-asserting dominance) and the speed with which it vanishes (Gaia's ever so brief touch).
He's sitting on the kitchen counter, back up against one of the support walls, legs arched over the kitchen sink, with feet planted on far chrome edge. His attire is the brisk, black volumes of over-sized cargo pants, hoodie and worn out sneakers. The drip of sodden clothes on the counter leaves behind small puddles, while the run off of rain above his head falls down off the tip of nose and the thin, pallor of lips and cheeks.
He rolls his jaws and leans forward without looking up, scrubbing at a week's worth of fresh hair growth, spraying micro-drops of water in all directions. He has the decency to lean over the sink while he squeezes out his hood of excess waters, a grunt of exertion for the effort before his had comes back up again to stare at her. The eyes are no where near as tired as they may be in other situations.
Must be a slow day.
"Beer Me." With a smile, that is not exactly shit eating but hardly one of courtesy's ilk.
[Drew Roscoe] There's always about a fifteen to twenty second warning when someone (something) is about to appear nearby. Sometimes she would get an idea of it about two or three minutes prior, too, if that person or beast was having a hard time pressing through the tightly-woven webs of the Gauntlet, but always a dozen plus seconds prior to the actual appearance her ears began to pressurize like she was ascending in an airplane, her chest began to feel heavy, and she'd be unable to concentrate. She was learning to recognize this, but by the time recognition settled the pop! had already occurred and a figure swathed in black, all lean limbs and exhausted visage had appeared on her kitchen counter.
She was half up in the chair, laptop pushed aside, turned about to regard. Tense, ready, studying, but not ripping out of the room like her life depended on it. She was wary, not skiddish. Recognition settles in another few seconds, and Drew relaxes some, exhales the weight off her chest and yawns to pop her ears. The laptop is closed, footrest folded back down into the chair, and after the portable computer was set on the coffee table she stood up on bare feet and stretched her arms over her head.
Still perched on the counter, dripping and wringing himself out into her kitchen sink, Linus requests (we'll go with that) a beer. Drew's already crossing from hardwood to linoleum into the kitchen.
"Feels like more of a wine night, you sure you want the Bud?" Even as she's going to the fridge, she offers.
Whatever tension, intense dislike or irritation that there had been before, it appears to have melted away. Or it is simply slumbering, waiting for provocation to rear its ugly head.
[Linus] "Wine's for pussies, fags and arthouse students looking to show Ma 'n Pa they're all grown up." Absent-minded dismissal, like some off-hand insult meant as a fact of life. Linus continues wringing various parts of his sweater out into the sink, clearing his throat, coughing and finally spitting down the drain in one quick successive deluge. Drew's moving for beers and upon handing him his, he takes it up and tosses back a sip that turns into a few quick gulps before wiping lips on the back of a now damp sleeve.
"Your boy Eli's moved out of his old hood. Staying with the Pack for the time being. I figure at some point we'll find him another place." A pause, distracted pointing at Drew without setting eyes on her, scratching behind one ear like some common mutt, eyes closed in concentration.
"...But you knew that already I think."
He finally pulls his head back up again and slugs some more of the beer away, finally turning to look at her with something like scrutiny. Not so much the dissecting sort, as the check and rhyme of directness.
"Flip is still clear at that, something at least. Trust you've been keeping a low profile..." The tone there is suggestive. Even daring. Like some asking after of business that may or may not already be known.
[Drew Roscoe] Wine is tossed completely off the charts, and Drew just grins, the expression dusted on her face instead of filling it up like it usually would, and takes two bottles of beer from the fridge. They're popped open with a tool from a drawer, and one's handed off to the Godi, the other kept for herself. Rather than flicking the caps into the sink as so many would, seeing as how Linus was using it to wring out (and spit phlegm) into, she instead tugged open the door under the sink and deposited of them in there.
He keeps up on the counter, she leans against the island across from him, feet crossing at the ankles, one arm folding over her stomach, the other keeping loose so she could be free to take sips from the bottle as she pleased-- as was her style she started the beverage by taking two or three deep swigs from it and eased into sipping from there.
"Yeah, he'd mentioned." It's easy to leave it there, she didn't need to talk about Eli's reasons for leaving and whether or not she found them valid. She'd instead nod and offer: "Said he's looking for someplace bigger, maybe making it a halfway point for those who need. I'm still fresh off the real estate hunt myself, I could lend some aid too."
He's then pinning her down with his gaze, trusting her to have kept a low profile. To that she chuckled and shrugged with the arm that wasn't over her stomach. "For this past week, at least. There was a... hiccup in that, but I've already talked to Kora about it and have been making progress in setting it right."
[Linus] "Good."
He turns off the counter and slides down onto the floor with a grunt, taking his beer with him while straightening. A quick yawn flashes over his features, stifled a moment later with a shake of the head and a puffing of cheeks. He drifts off through the kitchen, out the archway and into her living room, taking generous glances at everything present, probably for the first time given his attentions were somewhat distracted during his last visit.
"I gotta admit, keeping track of all of you is a chore. Not entirely sure how Kora does it most of the time." Head shaking, another absent gesture, easily the identifier for when the Godi is speaking his mind rather than actively conversing. "But she manages. She's good like that." A beat or two, while the Godi's eyes take in the hallway leading to the rest of the house. He lifts his face slightly, nose sniffing briefly. Then around toward the corners of the low lit room, sucking in a quick breath.
"No new room mates or friends come to stay I take it? Keeping clean and clear?"
[Drew Roscoe] The house is empty, quiet, clean. It smells like Pine-Sol and the stew that she'd made for herself and put away an hour ago. Drew doesn't move when Linus dismounts from the counter and leans to glance down the hallway that led back to bedrooms and a bathroom, she doesn't frown or look worried when he scents the room like an animal.
The closest he gets to concern is when he asks about her keeping clean and clear. There's a rolling shrug of that free shoulder, another drink from the beer bottle, and catching the excess off her lower lip before answering.
"No one sticking around. Eli visits from time to time, Gina too. Drawn in Blood walked me home the other night, so he was on the turf, but I doubt that counts for much." The tip of her upper lip is caught between teeth, held for a second in a manner that had her chin sticking out some. Her eyes were off Linus's face, level more with his ribcage, out of focus and distracted for a moment, before she speaks again.
"I'm tryin' to. Was just looking around to see what I could find on your church's history when you showed up. But listen:" Eyes lift to his again, and her elbow hitches on the counter behind her, bottle dangling between her fingertips by its neck. "You aren't trying to play matchmaker for me or anything, are you?"
[Linus] Linus stares. Openly. Frankly. Then there's something like calamity going on around his face. Half-way between humour and irritation. Like a crazed scientist bothered by his dancing monkey, despite the entertainment value of it all.
"What the fuck are you-" And a hand is held up to forestalling any further explanations or descriptions. His mouth hangs open. He snort-laughs. Hands fall to knees, doubling over to enjoy the moment's mirth and finally back up with one hand still hovering to indicate a 'Hold on'.
"First off, even if I did make it my business to put you on the pole of the nearest Pureblood I highly doubt Kora would allow me to take the lead on ensuring that happened. Secondly, my interest in you and the other Kin extends only so far as Kora's demands, necessities and designs for you which are pretty much your well being and safety. Which, let's face it? Isn't exactly part and parcel with the Mate thing..."
He's backing away to continue pacing around the Living room, murmuring the entire way, though it isn't really intelligible what he's saying. Simply an inner monologue that is...not so inner.
"You fuck or friend who you like, just make sure it doesn't cause trouble for Kora or the Tribe and-" He snaps his fingers, a frown creasing the young face "-you make sure he's fuckin' Fenrir before anything else. Some foreign piece comes sniffing, he better have the Jarl's permission beforehand."
A pause.
"Tha' fuck is Gina?"
[Drew Roscoe] His laughter is met with a frown, but it fades away into an expression of neutrality as he goes on down his list of priorities-- why he bothered with her and why he didn't when he could avoid it. She takes this in with the occasional sip from her beer bottle and watches as he moves out of the kitchen, crossing through the open floorplan into the living room, making a circle around the couch and loveseat. The pacing made it easier to see the wolf in him, that she watched with more interest than the sodden wet spots he continued to drip off pants and shoes onto the floor.
Hardwood had been a conscious decision, she knew her Family and how treacherous they were with carpet.
"Alright."
That's all that's necessary for his answer. It confirmed that he answered sufficiently her question and she was accepting what he said, and agreed to keeping to Fenrir, not standing for any non-Tribe sniffing about. He said it'd be fine if it was cleared by Kora, Drew doubted she'd want to take that path anyways. Tribal loyalty had settled deep in her bones and belly since her Realizing, it was difficult to accept much less.
"Gina," she answers, remaining comfortably settled in the kitchen rather than hovering around after the pacing Godi, "is a Strider Kin. She's been around longer than me, knows the city and the people. Smart, warm, soft, and the most trustworthy friend I've got."
[Linus] "Strider, huh..."
And he's pausing, eying the Laptop, the burn of it's screen flaring outward to catch his features, casting them deeper and further into the promise of wane than normal light might. Hollows defined, gaunt features exaggerated until he's more a ghoul in that glare than a man. The pause is momentary, hands lifting to hover a good ten inches out from his chest.
"Tits like howitzers. Jingles like Christmas. Hair you could tie a fleet of chopsticks in?" He blinks, gaze narrowed against the screen's glare during the brief glance cast in her direction. "Caught a whiff of her in the brotherhood the other night." He whistles. A sharp sound, fleeting as attention goes back to the screen.
"What've you found out about the Church so far?"
[Drew Roscoe] Tits like howitzers earns a laugh, fuller and warmer than just a chuckle alone, and spreads a smile on her face big enough to make dimples in her cheeks. Her chin tips toward the ceiling and the beer bottle meets her lips, she finishes off what's left inside it. The bottle is tossed in a spare bin under the sink beside the one for trash, and she walks across the small house to stand beside him, hands tucking under her arms to keep them from being loose and idle at her sides (because that was never comfortable for her, she liked them assigned to a place or a task).
"That'd be her... Not a whole lot yet, I only got started like fifteen minutes ago. Just going through a backlog of old events that it hosted before it went bust right now. Tax information and previous listed owners are a little tricker to come up with. I imagine it would'a been the Church itself." Church like the Religious Institute, not like the physical shell left behind. "But I haven't got anything solid to prove that, and no contact phone numbers yet either."
Eyes cut up to his gaunt face, always tired and worn thin, often times more force of the spiritual energy under the skin than Man, but against any of that always present and controlled enough (from what she's experienced at least) that she did not fret to be near him.
"Booker said you guys wanted it to know about the electrical wiring... You know I could always have an electrician bop through and take a glance, if you guys can clear the space for two hours or so for me? I know three personally, they work for my dad."
[Linus] "Yeah. Brief pleasure, that one." In reference to Gina. He grunts briefly, another dismissive thing, already leaving the laptop behind in favour of continuing the pace around the apartment in search of whatever may catch his eye, which does not seem to be much thus far. The Godi's mood is mercurial in most circumstances and he seems to have that stilled and settled for the time being. Almost normal, almost.
"No, don't bother" To the electricians "Any sort of inspections come with possible issues with Utility companies and the like. That means we'd be on the books and that means bills, paper trails and questions as to why an abandoned church is using power. I can keep the power running in the Church without much effort. Start looking into a few odds and ends that will help out some..." His gaze, narrowing some, with the thought of solving that little tid bit of an issue.
"Keep looking through specifics and details about the Church but try to avoid asking questions that might get people interested in the place again. Don't need anyone coming around looking at the place any closer than they are. Neighbourhood does a lot to protect against unwanted attentions but only so much for the mortal world."
[Drew Roscoe] Linus is moving on, and Drew's leaning forward over the coffee table to scroll about on the webpage she'd settled on after browsing at her own leisurely pace earlier. It's some old event board, made by an amateur using some free hosting site. It's scrutinized for a second before she shakes her head and closes the laptop, pressing the screen down until it mates with the keyboard. The Kin straightens up, hands under her arms once more, and watches Linus as he drifts about the rest of the house.
He doesn't find much worth noting, no personal or family pictures hanging on the walls, no relics that may have emotional attachments or represent any memories from prior. A DVD collection is on the entertainment stand under the television itself, a bookshelf with some old textbooks and a few leisurely reading selections as well-- nothing jumps out, nothing's worthy of more than four seconds of secluded attention. Maybe memories were enough in her mind and heart that she didn't need them on her walls and tables to stare at her too.
"Yeah sure. I'll dig up what I can and give you whatever I find. It's history and all of that, Booker mentioned something about blueprints, I think, so I'll leave that up to him and you boy-folk, seems more your area of expertise anyways.
"If there's anything specific you decide you're after, though, if some spirit whispers something in your ear you want me to confirm, you let me know though, okay? It's faster and easier finding something specific than it is just gathering everything in general." Her tone of voice is a far cry from that of complaint. It's offering, if anything at all.
[Linus] "That's sexist." Off-hand humour, mentioned in passing to her Boy-folk line. His head and gaze lift to travel the ceiling a moment, before, nodding, he sucks in a low breath and points toward the East, down the hallway to the bedrooms and bathroom, glancing at her.
"Eyes remain on the flip. You want to make yourself useful, drop some leftover scraps of meat in the alleys nearby or on your rooftop. Birdfeed works too, though not too much. Don't want to get them too greedy. Anything beyond that ain't your concern. Meantime, I gotta get back to patrols. Already detoured off the main path some."
He dips back in through the Kitchen's archway, stifling another yawn as he goes. Night's ahead of walking the pack paths, Hrafn in one ear and alpha in the other. The godi flicks a few fingers up and over a shoulder.
"Catch you later."
And the air condenses again, volume and mass vanishing with the same suddenness that has the laws of physics playing catch-up and leaving behind a frustrated pop in his wake.
[Remy de Tournieres] Linus is scarcely gone two minutes before there's a rap on the door.
[Drew Roscoe] Linus leaves with some humor, which surprised her for the fact that there wasn't hate or insult laced into it, advice about keeping her house surrounded by happy spirits, and a farewell. The pressure in the home shifted, Linus vanished from kitchen to Someplace Else, and Drew moved her hands to rub at her ears, flexing her jaw 'till they popped again. She scratched at her scalp thoughtfully for a second, shifting the bun her hair was tied in to and fro while she did so, then gathered up his three-quarters finished beer bottle from wherever he'd abandoned it and killed it off while she migrated to the kitchen.
Now-empty beer bottle was scarcely discarded, she'd only just finished rinsing her sink clean of the dirty gray water Linus had wrung out of his clothes and shaken out of his hair when there's another knock at the door.
"Well who in the hell...," is the murmur, and recent visit from the Godi that had given solid (albeit sneering) advice on a prior visit had protocol fresh in her mind. She takes a handgun from where she keeps it stashed in a kitchen drawer, third down under the potholders, and holds it behind her back as she approaches the door, undoes the locks, and opens it.
[Remy de Tournieres] Who in the hell turns out to be another Godi, this one quite different from the one just departed. He stands outside with his hands wrapped into fists, his fists stuffed into his pockets. His hood is up and his collar is buttoned right up to his nose, leaving two bright eyes -- almost black in this light -- gleaming at Drew.
"Hey," he says, muffled. "Long time no see. You eat yet?"
[Drew Roscoe] The face on the other side of the door is, first, half-covered because of how high he wears his coat collar, zipped right up to the tip of his nose. Second, what remains is gorgeous, with dusky skin and dark eyes and perfectly symmetrical features. Third, though, and most important of all, it's familiar. Drew's got one hand on the door, the other behind her back as she stands in the crack opening her door had presented. The hand behind her back relaxes some, finger moves away from the trigger, the safety is clicked back on.
"Remy." In the name is confirmation and relief both at once, and she smiles bright and genuine at him before opening the door further, clear invitation for him to come in.
"I did, yeah, but I could re-heat what I made for you if you're hungry. Hamburger stew." Sounds horrific, but it's a midwestern classic. Trust her.
This, however, is beside the point. She's more focused on the fact that it was, indeed, a long time no see. "No joking. Where in the world have you been? You and Erek both vanish at the same time, I was wondering if you guys didn't kill each other, or Kora didn't kill you both and have you stuffed under the floorboards."
[Remy de Tournieres] "Hah," Remy's scoff releases a puff of steam into the cold air, "they couldn't kill me if they tried."
It's raining outside -- snow turning to filthy slush. He stomps his feet and wipes them clean before stepping in, flipping down his hood, unzipping his coat. His cheeks are flushed with the bite of the wind. He gives the air a perfunctory sniff, then looks at her.
"I ran with a pack of Dogs of War for a while. They went out pretty far; I guess I lost track of time. How you been?" His coat rustles as he slips out of it, rumpling it up and tossing it over the nearest chair, or couch, or coatrack.
[Drew Roscoe] There's a coatrack behind the door, and a couch within easy tossing distance. Wherever that coat winds up, Drew doesn't seem to care too much. She steps back to give Remy room to step into the entrance of the home, to stomp and wipe his shoes off on the mat, to sniff at the air in her house (something all Garou seemed to do first, she often wondered if they could still smell like wolves when they were wearing human skins) and then look back to her.
The home smells like the hamburger stew she'd cooked, which as most stews do smells of vegetables and meat that have been soaking and simmering all day. Only a bit stronger than that is the scent of cleaners, mostly Pine-Sol, to say today had been one of those days off work dedicated to staying home and catching up on housework. Drew herself smells like soap and shampoo, her hair's still a bit wet from the shower and wrapped up at the top of her head. She's dressed down for the night in a pair of dark green sweats and a white long-sleeved tee.
The dismissal of death is answered with a one-sided grin, the explanation of where he'd been a nod. His asking how she's been with a shrug and another smidge of a grin. "Alright. Things got pretty fucking ridiculous after we talked last, but then calmed down and evened out just in this past week or so. Had a high, had a low, found my middle ground." A pause, and hospitality kicks in when given a chance. "So, you want something warm to drink? Or should I warm up that soup?"
[Remy de Tournieres] Freed from the confines of his heavy winter coat -- from the anonymity of it, too, the urge to hide that pretty mug of his -- Remy rolls his head on his neck, windmills his arms and flexes his shoulderblades. He cocks his head at her, suddenly alert, when she mentions ridiculous.
"Ridiculous how?" And, grinning, "Warm that soup up, girl. You biscuits to go with that?"
[Drew Roscoe] Hospitality accepted, Drew walks the small but comfortable space between living room and kitchen on bare feet. The way the layout of the house was, some walls must have been knocked out in a remodeling as from living room back to dining room was all open, making the small dreary home seem larger on the inside, brighter during the day, but tonight there were only a few lamps on, so the light was dim and orange.
A container is removed from the fridge, contents put into a smaller pot on the stove, and after a faint click-click-click the light catches and the gas stove is functioning. "Can make some if you're patient. Or you could just butter some bread and be happy with it." As she's maneuvering about the kitchen, she gives explanation to what 'ridiculous' was.
"Some whopping drama involving another Kin from another tribe. Kora says I can't talk on it much, so I won't say a whole lot on her, but..." The back of her hand sweeps wavy bangs from her face absently. "Well, Kora wanted me to take her in, let her live here. I told her no, 'cause the girl wasn't tribe, because I'd never met her before, and because all the traffic I get through here of you guys it's no place for an infant.
"When I tell her 'no' she unloads on me. I get accused of wronging Joe for not coming back with a belly full of baby, get called a slut for presumably sleeping with you and Erek and goodness-knows-who-else she thought, and... I don't know. Dishonorable, selfish, all sorts of venom got slung my way. So I go, get assigned a Keeper, Linus is stuck with me as much as I am him these days I guess-- he was just here, actually, no more than five minutes before you came knocking."
Her hand waves, distracted and dismissive both. "But it's come to its head and boiled back down. Had some long talks with some people and we're evened out now."
[Remy de Tournieres] Remy isn't exactly the subtle kind. Pretty much every emotion he has sweeps past the canvas of his face. First there's amusement -- "I'll butter some bread," -- and then there's curiosity. Roundabout when Drew mentions shacking some other-tribe kin up with her, incredulity:
"Doesn't she have her own tribe in town? What is she, Wendigo?"
-- and after that, when the word slut comes out, a flash of outright offense. And more than that: something akin to a sort of kneejerk jealousy. It passes when she sums up the tale. Remy follows her more or less to the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall there with his arms folded across his solid chest.
"Linus? Isn't that that other bitchy fucker I met the other night? Man, why are all the Tribesmen in the city so bitchy?" He breaks off, looks around her kitchen. "You got a drink of water? I'm thirsty as hell."
[Drew Roscoe] "Bitchy isn't the word I'd choose to use. More like... worn thin."
The Kin pulls a loaf of bread out of some quaint little breadbox on the counter, next to the toaster, and tosses it lightly on the kitchen island. A butter knife and butter boat find their way over there in the next few moments as well. As before, she's talking, answering questions and keeping up with conversation as she moves around, stirring the pot occasionally so the contents wouldn't end up sticking to the bottom.
"Own tribe's in town," she confirms, but seems tight-lipped about the kin's origins, apparently intent to stand by her promise to Kora not to gossip. She had, after all, lost her rights to spreading an opinion about this woman when she'd spewed hate and frustration and even some fists at her much earlier in the week. "Not sure why this Kin doesn't turn to them, but..." Her shrug is dismissive.
Ice cubes are plunked in a glass, it's filled with water from a purifying container out of the fridge, then passed over to him, quick and brief from her hand to his, before she's back at the stove. "But outta that there's another Kin in town, Elijah Booker. Knew him from before I'd left-- he'd left too for a while. I'd worried some, but he's got a good head on his shoulders, he was alright after all. Smart guy, does the crazy-dance well too when he has to. Good Kin to keep around."
[Remy de Tournieres] "Yeah well, you're a lot nicer than I am. I mean, okay, party line: life sucks then you die, but guess what? It sucks until you die for all of us. Only the weak, bitchy ones whine about it. Especially when they're fucking Cliaths. If Golgol Fangs-First wants to bitch about how world weary he is, I'll shut my mouth and listen, but if some little newb Cliath does it I'm gonna laugh. And maybe kick his ass."
Tolerant, polite and nice, Remy is not. He steps forward to take the glass from her, though, then leans against the kitchen counter while she heats up the stew. A few gulps from the glass before he sets it down, turning his head to cough loudly over his shoulder as a swallow goes down the wrong way.
"Ugh!" he says when he's got his air supply under control again. "Elijah Booker, huh? I'll keep your rec in mind, but I'm also keeping in mind you're a lot nicer than I am. Where's he coming back from?"
[Drew Roscoe] "Ahhh.... Los Angeles, I think? Or San Diego. Someplace in California that I've never been. What matters more, though, is that he is back."
She doesn't argue about who has the right to complain-- she was Kin, after all, built to be the person that some lowly Cliath can come to and find a break. It wasn't the same brand of comfort that, say, Gina or Lonna had been known to offer, but she always had a shower, a warm bed, a beer and a meal ready if you were patient enough to wait for it. Basic essentials, a play at home and something mundane if only for an hour. She doesn't argue about being nicer than him either, that she just answers with a smirk.
Soon enough Remy's got a bowl of hot soup in front of him, some bread and butter to eat it with, and that glass of water as well. An offer's extended to crash in the spare bedroom if he likes, and whether he accepts or declines the night will end about the same-- the house will be quiet within an hour, with Remy wherever he decides to be for the midnight hour and Drew up in her room, no company invited or allowed to meet her there, sleeping under a quilt and freshly-washed sheets.
[Remy de Tournieres] "Hmh," is all Remy has to say on the topic of Elijah.
Soon enough there's stew. Which he eats, quickly and heartily, standing in her kitchen. He bolts down the bread, too, though he hadn't come to get fed. He came to see her -- it just doesn't mean he won't accept hospitality when it's offered.
Not always, though. She offers him room to crash in, and he declines. "Gonna get back to the BroHo," he says. "Just came by to see how you were doing. Anyway, I'm heading out. You know my number if you need anything."
So -- later, when she sleeps, it's well and deeply, in an empty house without the stirring of rage or, for that matter, some kin of some other tribe.
"Nurture your mind with great thoughts; to believe in the heroic makes heroes." -- Benjamin Disrael
Monday, February 28, 2011
Label Ourselves [Booker]
[Booker] It's night. The temperature is hovering perilously above freezing and the ground is covered with the finest smattering of snow. The streets are slick and it's highly probable that anyone operating a tow truck will be having an extremely busy night.
And, Eli is tired. He's mentally exhausted and his mortal muscles ache from moving room after room of furniture by his self. Still, he manages to stop by the tired home that Drew occupies inside Cabrini.
The truck stops and the kin hops out. He's wearing a hooded sweatshirt, the hood pulled over his head. Taking the steps slowly, one at a time, he knocks on Drew's door soundly.
[Drew Roscoe] It's night and it's late both. Drew worked the hours of a typical daily-grinder, Monday through Friday, some time in the morning to some time in the late afternoon or early evening. Around this time she would probably be either in bed or nearly on the way there. So when the tow truck rolls up against the curb in front of the little blue-gray looking house, it's probable, Eli should guess, that an answer could take some time. He could, though, trust her to answer. She might have to roll out of bed to do so, but she'd be downstairs.
He's in a sweater, hood drawn up, when he knocks on the door. Drew answers within thirty seconds, give or take, in a pair of silver basketball shorts and a black tank-top. Her hair's down and brushed out, and one hand's on the doorknob, the other behind her back when she pulls the front door open. There's confusion and suspicion on her face at first, but when she recognizes who's standing on her step she blinks once, surprised, and steps back to give him room to come in, not bothering to question what brought him by first.
"Eli." Affirmation and relief both. Once he's inside and she's relaxed her arm from behind her back he can see that she's holding one of her big heavy pistols. A girl had to be safe, after all. "Not that I'm complaining, but it's pretty damn late. Not that I'm judging, but you look like hell." An eyebrow lifts and she gives him a once over, then glances out the door toward his truck, to see if there was anything pursuing him. "You okay?"
[Booker] There are no bad guys in pursuit. No hell hounds nipping at his heels. Eli looks tired. Were he Garou he'd carry the expression and posture of a man who's wasted all his Rage and is spent. But he's not Garou, Eli is just a man and his face bears the weathering of a rough couple of days.
"Jes tired." He mumbles and slips inside, edging past her and moving to her couch. Eli sits,elbows propped up on her knees and glove covered palms resting on the back of his hooded head, which is slightly bowed.
He could sleep for two days and still feel worn out.
"I had to move." He says quietly. His voice never lifts above an intimate tone spoken just loud enough for her to hear. "It's just temporary until I can find a place."
[Drew Roscoe] He says he's tired and moves to the couch, and Drew watches him for a moment, takes a better, longer look outside until her shoulders quake with the cold air against her bare arms and the top of her back and chest. Content that there were no bad things lurking along after him, she closed and locked the door back up, scrubbed at her arm with her free hand to warm it back up, and walked around the back of the couch into the kitchen, intent on returning the pistol to its proper place and pulling down a mug from one of the shelves high enough that she had to stretch up on tippy-toes to reach.
"I'd heard," she answers. She'd been by the church earlier in the day, heard mention of him leaving his house and moving in to one of the spare rooms until he could find someplace sturdier. She sniffed some, contemplated what to put in the mug for him for a moment, then went back about puttering around between fridge and microwave for a couple of minutes before coming back to sit on the couch next to him, holding a steaming mug with a spoon in it out toward him.
"No booze in it, but it always helped my dad relax." The smile she offers is small, bracing, and her hands settle on the couch, framing her legs, and she leans forward some to look past the lip of his hood to see his face.
"Didn't hear the whole story, though... Something about the neighborhood watch being 'varmints'?" Of course that last word had to be courtesy of Roman, no one else talked like that.
[Booker] She holds out a mug and he lifts his head, eyes hooded, and takes it. "Thanks." He isn't sure what Drew has heard, word traveled fast in Chicago apparently.
"Yeah well ..." He says, his voice a deep smooth sound when pitched low as it is. "About three days ago...I went on a repossession job and stumbled on some bad shit. I found a Garou caged up like an animal and almost dead." Eli sips the concoction Drew gave him again, "I managed to get her out...but that's about it. I got her back to my place and let her rest."
"I called Kora. I was worried it'd be a trap, that I'd take shit back to the Church, so I didn't take her there. Joey and Hunter showed up last night and started a buncha shit." He doesn't give any further details on what a buncha shit means exactly.
"I can't stay in Bronzeville anymore. They'll end up hurting or killing me..." Because Eli was just that fucked up and there was no way he could hurt either Joey or Hunter.
[Drew Roscoe] The concoction that Drew made was the kind of thing that paired well with childhood memories in wintertime-- the kind where you had a day that you went out and played in the snow, came back in and warmed up leaned back against the heater, wrapped in a blanket and sipping something hot to warm up while mom worked on dinner. Milk and honey heated up, simple as that, but simplicity was the best way to go at times.
She listens carefully while he explains his side of what happened, a better account than what she'd heard in polite half-explanations through a grapevine that refused to gossip, only to inform of the basics. She propped an elbow up on her bare knee, set her chin to rest against the heel of her hand, and peered up at him with a raised eyebrow-- curiosity rather than skepticism, maybe a little bit of surprise, but all of it underlined with muted concern.
"They can't hurt you, not really, let alone kill you. That's what Kora's around for." She pauses, frowning some, just a little. "I mean, she's not quite the Jarl that Decker or Joe had been... She doesn't seem to be everywhere at once like either of them seemed to be... But they can't do that. It's downright corrupt."
[Elijah] "No, you don't get it." He says, voice hovering in that low whisper of a pitch. "I wanted to punch them. If I would of, I'd be dead or hurt. I can't deal with them." He says with a sound sense of finality. One gloved hand cradles the cup while the other lifts and tugs the hood back off of his head.
"I gotta find a place - something bigger - in Cabrini...so I'm gonna be working a lot more." Eli stands and starts for her kitchen to put the now empty dirty mug where it belongs. His booted feet echo on her floors echo off the walls.
"How you been? Everything good?" He asks, the sound of his foot falls herald his return toward where she sits - unless of course she pulled herself up and followed after him.
[Drew Roscoe] The only sound she makes to what he tells her, his explaining how this pack was dangerous to him, was quiet and both sympathetic and understanding. He rises to go to the kitchen, deposit the used up mug in the sink, and she stays seated on the couch, tugging at her tank top straps so they laid comfortably on her shoulders rather than twisted and biting into her and leaning back into the sofa cushions.
As he’s rinsing the mug (or just leaving it), Drew relates: “Been there before, that’s part of why I had to come back from Portland. This guy—I think he was the Jarl—was infuriating, insulting… I fractured my hand on his face and did my damn best to cut him up with a broken bottle. Couldn’t stick around, I’m lucky he didn’t kill me on the spot.
“I could help you look, if you want? There were some nice places I checked out before landing here I could refer you to—not the one with the Spirals, of course…” She grinned at him as he settled back into the couch, and set to brushing her lengthy hair out with her fingers, the gesture more idle than anything else.
Nevermind how she was doing, that question was left in wake of her offer to help. She was more concerned about him.
[Elijah] Eli did wash her mug. So when he returns to the kitchen it is without the mechanic gloves covering his hands.
"I just don't know." He says, sighing and letting himself ease back into her couch. His legs are spread, his hands rest idle on his upper thigh. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore." He shrugs and looks at her with big dark eyes before leaning his head back and staring blindly at the ceiling above his head.
"I need something big..." He says again, "3-4 bedrooms at least and a full basement for my workshop." He hadn't thought about the cost of it, how he'd swing the exorbitant amount of rent he'd have to pay for such a place.
"Hey ...anything you can do, you know I appreciate it right?" His head twists slightly so that it's still leaning back but tilted allowing him to peer awkwardly at her seated frame. "How are you?" He asks again, this time more pointedly.
[Drew Roscoe] Eyes trail along with him on the trip back to the couch, and she’s lifting an eyebrow inquisitively when he expresses his need for a place much larger. His settling into the sofa, how the air seemed to leave him when he sighed and confessed to not knowing what to do, it struck emotion in her, and she answered it by moving her hands from her own scalp and instead settling one on his, fingers massaging at the short buzzed hair of his ink-drawn scalp, around the scruffy mohawk left behind.
“That’s a lot of space… What’re you gonna be using it all for?”
He’s insistent on knowing where she is, though, eyeballing her as though he could press an answer out of her with his eyes, and she chuckles some and shakes her head. “I’m doing fine, Eli. You won’t believe how much better punching a pregnant chick in the kisser would make you feel. Maybe you should try it?”
[Elijah] His hand lifts, hovers above her knee and then falls gently to rest upon her knee cap, the touch is warm. The feeling of her fingers against his scalp is enough to draw a low rumbling purr from his throat while pulling his eyes closed. Eli draws in a heavy breath and then sighs.
"There's a Garou, that chick I told you about? She's gonna crash with me I think until I can convince her to join a pack." He pauses and tilts his head into her touch. "And I think Kora wants a safe house, somewhere people can go and crash....I might do something like that. Fuck, I'm hardly home anyway..."
Then, she says that she punched a pregnant person in the head and maybe he should try it, Dark eyes open and peer at Drew with a look of confusion. "Tell me you didn't slug that broad Kora was wanting to move in here??" He asks, concern touching his tone.
[Drew Roscoe] Eli’s content grumble-rumble-purr sounds draw a content smile on the girl’s face, and the settling of his warm hand at her knee has her relaxing more completely into the couch. One leg kicks up so the heel of her foot catches on the edge of the coffee table, the other foot stays on the hardwood floor of the living room, and her fingers work slow, idle, and thoughtless at the top and back of his head.
“Not a half-bad idea... Joe and Thomas always said, though, that it wasn’t healthy for a Kin to be staying with their Garou all the time—too much intense, too much bad and business and blood and all that. But if Kora gave you the green light, I guess?” She shrugs a shoulder, and glances toward the living room window that gave view out onto the street.
Skepticism and worry color his tone when he confirms who she punched, and she grinned sheepishly, cheekily in answer, returning her eyes to his. “Can’t lie to you, Booker.” And, a bit hurried, she adds: “In my own defense she was being catty as hell and had the gall to grab me by my coat like I was some kid to be disciplined. She had it coming.” Her hand takes a break from the scalp massage to wave dismissively at the air, but returns to work right after. “Anyways, I didn’t touch her stomach, she and the kid are both fine, and I talked to Kora afterwards. It’s all settled and outta my system now.”
[Elijah] Eli is listening, even though it looks as if he's falling asleep. His ears are keen and pick up on every word Drew is saying. Whenever she offers the advice of Thomas and Joe, the edges of Eli's mouth tug downward.
"Speaking of ...." Dark eyes shift and look up at Drew, his gaze able to hold hers without fear of violence. "What's up with us?" The question is one normally reserved for females, but Eli approaches it head on and throws it at Drew. "Given the other day...do we stay friends and see if that was enough to keep us satisfied or...do we try and work somethin' out?" A brow perks upward and his eyes remain focused on her waiting for a reaction.
"I know...with Joe and everything...it's complicated. And I'm cool with whatever..." His hand remains on her knee, fingers drawing circles on the bumps of her knee cap.
For now, the relief he feels when she says Kora was fine with it, rides the back of his expression. He doesn't comment on it.
[Drew Roscoe] Her assuring him that Kora wasn’t going to come breathing down her neck with her little brother in tow seemed enough to placate the other Kin and set the topic of beating up pregnant girls from other tribes to rest. Instead something else caught the focus of his attention, it was enough to open up the eyes of the very tired man after causing him to frown, to have him turn his head to look at her instead of fall asleep right there on the sofa.
He wants to know what they should do, if they were going to become a We, an Us, or if they would just stay friends. He’s hunting for a green light, maybe, or just a straight answer, trusting her for the kind of blunt honesty that they owed one another. Awkward wasn’t a word that seemed to apply to them, even in this moment with things uncertain, unstamped with a title.
His frown and mention of Joe, how things were complicated for her after him, is met with a smile and by her sliding her hand from his head to rub at his neck instead.
“I don’t really think we need to label ourselves.” Her eyes drop to his hand, how his thumb runs familiar over her kneecap. “I don’t… really wanna stop being with you? But at the same time…” She’s hunting for the right words for a second, then simply grins when she brings her gaze back up to his. “You don’t strike me as much of a one-horse kinda guy. I’d like that, but I don’t want to be a ball and chain.”
As far as Joe was concerned: “Joe was… impossible to measure. And I loved him. But he wouldn’t want me to mourn forever, probably disappointed that I have been for as long as I was in the first place.”
[Elijah] Eli is pleased that Drew is back on solid ground with Kora. It's likely she doesn't quite understand the depths to which that troubled him. He held a fierce loyalty to his Tribe - to his family - and that she mended fences with them eases the worry from his brow.
But he's brought up the question of them - Them - and now his attention is so focused on her face that it his body actually turns so that he can watch her comfortably. An arm lifts, elbow pressed to the back of her couch. She doesn't think that they need labels and he nods.
"I don't know what I am anymore." He says, and if he were looking for a green light - or if he needed her approval - it doesn't show on his face. He is pleased with her reply and a small smile begins to dawn across his mouth. "I know that...I want you. That I think I might of wanted you before I left, but respected Joe. What I'm afraid of..." And the way that he says it, she can hear the faintest him of wariness in his tone. "...is someone stalking in and taking you away from me. We both are bred well from what I've been told....Garou usually snatch kin like us up.
"But ...I don't need anymore than that. To know that you don't want to be rid of me ...that you're not giving me the whole let's be friends and it's not you it's me speech..." Eli takes her hand and draws it to his mouth to kiss the underside of her wrist.
"And I'm fuckin' thrilled you're good with Kora."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew’s gaze was typically a warm, kind thing. It was a part of her nature, ironic to and separate from her bloodline of warriors and bloodlust. It’s already soft, doesn’t need to soften anymore when he speaks honestly of his feelings toward her, even before he’d left, when he’d known she was with Joe, and moves her hand so that it’s to his mouth, pressing a kiss at the back.
“I’ll admit I felt interest too, then. But like you said, Joe.” That’s all that needs to be stated, she doesn’t have to go into detail as to whether she was worried he’d hurt her for leaving him or whether she loved him too deep to betray (it was likely the latter, possibly a blend of the two). One shoulder hitches up and drops again in an easy, lazy shrug, and a very real, honest concern is addressed.
“That’s the peril, though. We can’t place any sort of claim, and if, say, someone comes to challenge for me? Well, it can’t even be a challenge ‘cause you’re not of the Changing sort, it’s just taking. Same story if some lady-Fenrir blows into town and decides they’d like to sweep you up, I can’t stop her.
“All we can really rely on is their respecting our choice, y’know?”
And, for Kora: “Yeah, it’s nice to be smiled at by that pack again.”
[Elijah] The look on his face says this bothers him. It says he's none too pleased with the idea of needing to let Drew go because someone else is higher on the food chain. After her initial words have faded Eli rests his jaw against the back of her couch and continues to watch her.
"Yeah. I know." He pauses, drags his eyes across her face and then sighs. "It is what it is, it don't mean I gotta like it." And with that his index finger brushes the tip of her nose.
"I told Kora and Roman I was going to ask for your help with some stuff....getting some kinda records for the church...who owned it last or tax records...you know how to do that?" He asks, his hands toying with the fingers of one of her own.
[Drew Roscoe] His hand had claimed her own, paused to brush her nose briefly before dropping into a more relaxed place between their laps. She twines her fingers with his, glancing from his face to their hands while the pad of one finger tapped at the edge of his thumbnail, an idle and thoughtless gesture that comes from hands accustomed to being kept busy.
“I don’t like it either,” she says with a faint frown, eyes kept down. Just as he could no doubt think of a couple of Fenrir men that could, and maybe would sweep her away from him, she had a few faces come to mind as well. It didn’t inspire jealousy so much as discomfort. She didn’t like the idea of becoming attached only to have someone else torn away from her. A deep breath through her nose, exhaled slowly, helps to clear the threats of tightening in her chest.
A new topic was easier to focus on, so she stepped into that instead.
“I’m sure I could figure that out… I don’t know about tax information, that’s kinda kept with the IRS and housing companies, I think, but I could do some searches, ask a friend. Why’s she want to know? Any reason in particular?”
[Elijah] "They need to know who owns the church - or at least who owned it last. That place has gotta get some electric in it and a roof among other shit..." He's avoiding the topic now. They were good and he didn't care to think of any local Fenrir stomping up to Drew's door and sweeping her off her feet. He wasn't exactly a Casanova himself.
"I volunteered to do some of the shit, but I know all of nothing about computers or getting any of that information. You gotta be better at googlin' shit than I am." He grins, fingers still toying with her own. He is worn out and stressed out yet he attempts a smile and a bit of his normally witty (sarcastic) personality to shine through.
[Drew Roscoe] “Yeah, that’s no problem at all.”
He offers what he knows about blueprints and constructing homes to the cause of making the church livable, it was the least Drew could do to find records of who had owned the place initially—she figured it would go back to a church, owned by the religion’s business offices rather than any one individual. This was all just thought, though, she would check for sure and deliver what information she could find.
There’s a pause in the conversation here, a minute of peace and calm and the comfort of a warm home and a similarly warm hand to hold. Drew breaks it, resting her head sideways onto his shoulder and offering quietly:
“You know, if you wanna come lay down with me I won’t say no.” A pause, and a glance to the window. “I think your truck’ll be safe.”
[Elijah] She agrees to help and he smiles. "I appreciate it." Then, "They'll appreciate it."
Eli hadn't realized the time. He had not stopped to consider that there were some people that kept normal hours. Rushing to Drew's house to let her know what was going on seemed important, he just did not consider the particulars before coming.
"Shit ...I'm sorry." He mumbles, casting a tired eye around her home for a clock. "You're tired and I'm keeping you up..." But she told him he could lay with her and that makes his mouth twist in a wiry grin. "...but if you need a warm body to keep you company I won't say no."
His hand slips inside his pocket and he fingers the keys to turn on the alarm the owner of the company only recently had installed. "It should be fine ...and if it isn't? Do I really fucking care?"
[Drew Roscoe] It’s only when she says something that he notices the time—darn close to midnight if you asked the clock hanging on the living room wall—that he apologizes for intruding on her so late. He must keep erratic hours, she could imagine it was easier to repossess a vehicle at night, that there were more car accidents in the dark, that’s probably when he worked the most. The apology was dismissed with the shake of a head, she was noticing his exhaustion, not the time.
The invitation to stay the rest of the evening is accepted with his trademark grin, he confesses he could give a damn less what happened to the ‘cage’ out against the curb, it was only good for its hook and the money it made him anyways.
It’s with a bit of a chuckle that the petite Kinswoman rises, pulling Eli’s arm along with her to urge him up to his feet as well.
“It’s alright. Let’s go to bed.”
And, Eli is tired. He's mentally exhausted and his mortal muscles ache from moving room after room of furniture by his self. Still, he manages to stop by the tired home that Drew occupies inside Cabrini.
The truck stops and the kin hops out. He's wearing a hooded sweatshirt, the hood pulled over his head. Taking the steps slowly, one at a time, he knocks on Drew's door soundly.
[Drew Roscoe] It's night and it's late both. Drew worked the hours of a typical daily-grinder, Monday through Friday, some time in the morning to some time in the late afternoon or early evening. Around this time she would probably be either in bed or nearly on the way there. So when the tow truck rolls up against the curb in front of the little blue-gray looking house, it's probable, Eli should guess, that an answer could take some time. He could, though, trust her to answer. She might have to roll out of bed to do so, but she'd be downstairs.
He's in a sweater, hood drawn up, when he knocks on the door. Drew answers within thirty seconds, give or take, in a pair of silver basketball shorts and a black tank-top. Her hair's down and brushed out, and one hand's on the doorknob, the other behind her back when she pulls the front door open. There's confusion and suspicion on her face at first, but when she recognizes who's standing on her step she blinks once, surprised, and steps back to give him room to come in, not bothering to question what brought him by first.
"Eli." Affirmation and relief both. Once he's inside and she's relaxed her arm from behind her back he can see that she's holding one of her big heavy pistols. A girl had to be safe, after all. "Not that I'm complaining, but it's pretty damn late. Not that I'm judging, but you look like hell." An eyebrow lifts and she gives him a once over, then glances out the door toward his truck, to see if there was anything pursuing him. "You okay?"
[Booker] There are no bad guys in pursuit. No hell hounds nipping at his heels. Eli looks tired. Were he Garou he'd carry the expression and posture of a man who's wasted all his Rage and is spent. But he's not Garou, Eli is just a man and his face bears the weathering of a rough couple of days.
"Jes tired." He mumbles and slips inside, edging past her and moving to her couch. Eli sits,elbows propped up on her knees and glove covered palms resting on the back of his hooded head, which is slightly bowed.
He could sleep for two days and still feel worn out.
"I had to move." He says quietly. His voice never lifts above an intimate tone spoken just loud enough for her to hear. "It's just temporary until I can find a place."
[Drew Roscoe] He says he's tired and moves to the couch, and Drew watches him for a moment, takes a better, longer look outside until her shoulders quake with the cold air against her bare arms and the top of her back and chest. Content that there were no bad things lurking along after him, she closed and locked the door back up, scrubbed at her arm with her free hand to warm it back up, and walked around the back of the couch into the kitchen, intent on returning the pistol to its proper place and pulling down a mug from one of the shelves high enough that she had to stretch up on tippy-toes to reach.
"I'd heard," she answers. She'd been by the church earlier in the day, heard mention of him leaving his house and moving in to one of the spare rooms until he could find someplace sturdier. She sniffed some, contemplated what to put in the mug for him for a moment, then went back about puttering around between fridge and microwave for a couple of minutes before coming back to sit on the couch next to him, holding a steaming mug with a spoon in it out toward him.
"No booze in it, but it always helped my dad relax." The smile she offers is small, bracing, and her hands settle on the couch, framing her legs, and she leans forward some to look past the lip of his hood to see his face.
"Didn't hear the whole story, though... Something about the neighborhood watch being 'varmints'?" Of course that last word had to be courtesy of Roman, no one else talked like that.
[Booker] She holds out a mug and he lifts his head, eyes hooded, and takes it. "Thanks." He isn't sure what Drew has heard, word traveled fast in Chicago apparently.
"Yeah well ..." He says, his voice a deep smooth sound when pitched low as it is. "About three days ago...I went on a repossession job and stumbled on some bad shit. I found a Garou caged up like an animal and almost dead." Eli sips the concoction Drew gave him again, "I managed to get her out...but that's about it. I got her back to my place and let her rest."
"I called Kora. I was worried it'd be a trap, that I'd take shit back to the Church, so I didn't take her there. Joey and Hunter showed up last night and started a buncha shit." He doesn't give any further details on what a buncha shit means exactly.
"I can't stay in Bronzeville anymore. They'll end up hurting or killing me..." Because Eli was just that fucked up and there was no way he could hurt either Joey or Hunter.
[Drew Roscoe] The concoction that Drew made was the kind of thing that paired well with childhood memories in wintertime-- the kind where you had a day that you went out and played in the snow, came back in and warmed up leaned back against the heater, wrapped in a blanket and sipping something hot to warm up while mom worked on dinner. Milk and honey heated up, simple as that, but simplicity was the best way to go at times.
She listens carefully while he explains his side of what happened, a better account than what she'd heard in polite half-explanations through a grapevine that refused to gossip, only to inform of the basics. She propped an elbow up on her bare knee, set her chin to rest against the heel of her hand, and peered up at him with a raised eyebrow-- curiosity rather than skepticism, maybe a little bit of surprise, but all of it underlined with muted concern.
"They can't hurt you, not really, let alone kill you. That's what Kora's around for." She pauses, frowning some, just a little. "I mean, she's not quite the Jarl that Decker or Joe had been... She doesn't seem to be everywhere at once like either of them seemed to be... But they can't do that. It's downright corrupt."
[Elijah] "No, you don't get it." He says, voice hovering in that low whisper of a pitch. "I wanted to punch them. If I would of, I'd be dead or hurt. I can't deal with them." He says with a sound sense of finality. One gloved hand cradles the cup while the other lifts and tugs the hood back off of his head.
"I gotta find a place - something bigger - in Cabrini...so I'm gonna be working a lot more." Eli stands and starts for her kitchen to put the now empty dirty mug where it belongs. His booted feet echo on her floors echo off the walls.
"How you been? Everything good?" He asks, the sound of his foot falls herald his return toward where she sits - unless of course she pulled herself up and followed after him.
[Drew Roscoe] The only sound she makes to what he tells her, his explaining how this pack was dangerous to him, was quiet and both sympathetic and understanding. He rises to go to the kitchen, deposit the used up mug in the sink, and she stays seated on the couch, tugging at her tank top straps so they laid comfortably on her shoulders rather than twisted and biting into her and leaning back into the sofa cushions.
As he’s rinsing the mug (or just leaving it), Drew relates: “Been there before, that’s part of why I had to come back from Portland. This guy—I think he was the Jarl—was infuriating, insulting… I fractured my hand on his face and did my damn best to cut him up with a broken bottle. Couldn’t stick around, I’m lucky he didn’t kill me on the spot.
“I could help you look, if you want? There were some nice places I checked out before landing here I could refer you to—not the one with the Spirals, of course…” She grinned at him as he settled back into the couch, and set to brushing her lengthy hair out with her fingers, the gesture more idle than anything else.
Nevermind how she was doing, that question was left in wake of her offer to help. She was more concerned about him.
[Elijah] Eli did wash her mug. So when he returns to the kitchen it is without the mechanic gloves covering his hands.
"I just don't know." He says, sighing and letting himself ease back into her couch. His legs are spread, his hands rest idle on his upper thigh. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore." He shrugs and looks at her with big dark eyes before leaning his head back and staring blindly at the ceiling above his head.
"I need something big..." He says again, "3-4 bedrooms at least and a full basement for my workshop." He hadn't thought about the cost of it, how he'd swing the exorbitant amount of rent he'd have to pay for such a place.
"Hey ...anything you can do, you know I appreciate it right?" His head twists slightly so that it's still leaning back but tilted allowing him to peer awkwardly at her seated frame. "How are you?" He asks again, this time more pointedly.
[Drew Roscoe] Eyes trail along with him on the trip back to the couch, and she’s lifting an eyebrow inquisitively when he expresses his need for a place much larger. His settling into the sofa, how the air seemed to leave him when he sighed and confessed to not knowing what to do, it struck emotion in her, and she answered it by moving her hands from her own scalp and instead settling one on his, fingers massaging at the short buzzed hair of his ink-drawn scalp, around the scruffy mohawk left behind.
“That’s a lot of space… What’re you gonna be using it all for?”
He’s insistent on knowing where she is, though, eyeballing her as though he could press an answer out of her with his eyes, and she chuckles some and shakes her head. “I’m doing fine, Eli. You won’t believe how much better punching a pregnant chick in the kisser would make you feel. Maybe you should try it?”
[Elijah] His hand lifts, hovers above her knee and then falls gently to rest upon her knee cap, the touch is warm. The feeling of her fingers against his scalp is enough to draw a low rumbling purr from his throat while pulling his eyes closed. Eli draws in a heavy breath and then sighs.
"There's a Garou, that chick I told you about? She's gonna crash with me I think until I can convince her to join a pack." He pauses and tilts his head into her touch. "And I think Kora wants a safe house, somewhere people can go and crash....I might do something like that. Fuck, I'm hardly home anyway..."
Then, she says that she punched a pregnant person in the head and maybe he should try it, Dark eyes open and peer at Drew with a look of confusion. "Tell me you didn't slug that broad Kora was wanting to move in here??" He asks, concern touching his tone.
[Drew Roscoe] Eli’s content grumble-rumble-purr sounds draw a content smile on the girl’s face, and the settling of his warm hand at her knee has her relaxing more completely into the couch. One leg kicks up so the heel of her foot catches on the edge of the coffee table, the other foot stays on the hardwood floor of the living room, and her fingers work slow, idle, and thoughtless at the top and back of his head.
“Not a half-bad idea... Joe and Thomas always said, though, that it wasn’t healthy for a Kin to be staying with their Garou all the time—too much intense, too much bad and business and blood and all that. But if Kora gave you the green light, I guess?” She shrugs a shoulder, and glances toward the living room window that gave view out onto the street.
Skepticism and worry color his tone when he confirms who she punched, and she grinned sheepishly, cheekily in answer, returning her eyes to his. “Can’t lie to you, Booker.” And, a bit hurried, she adds: “In my own defense she was being catty as hell and had the gall to grab me by my coat like I was some kid to be disciplined. She had it coming.” Her hand takes a break from the scalp massage to wave dismissively at the air, but returns to work right after. “Anyways, I didn’t touch her stomach, she and the kid are both fine, and I talked to Kora afterwards. It’s all settled and outta my system now.”
[Elijah] Eli is listening, even though it looks as if he's falling asleep. His ears are keen and pick up on every word Drew is saying. Whenever she offers the advice of Thomas and Joe, the edges of Eli's mouth tug downward.
"Speaking of ...." Dark eyes shift and look up at Drew, his gaze able to hold hers without fear of violence. "What's up with us?" The question is one normally reserved for females, but Eli approaches it head on and throws it at Drew. "Given the other day...do we stay friends and see if that was enough to keep us satisfied or...do we try and work somethin' out?" A brow perks upward and his eyes remain focused on her waiting for a reaction.
"I know...with Joe and everything...it's complicated. And I'm cool with whatever..." His hand remains on her knee, fingers drawing circles on the bumps of her knee cap.
For now, the relief he feels when she says Kora was fine with it, rides the back of his expression. He doesn't comment on it.
[Drew Roscoe] Her assuring him that Kora wasn’t going to come breathing down her neck with her little brother in tow seemed enough to placate the other Kin and set the topic of beating up pregnant girls from other tribes to rest. Instead something else caught the focus of his attention, it was enough to open up the eyes of the very tired man after causing him to frown, to have him turn his head to look at her instead of fall asleep right there on the sofa.
He wants to know what they should do, if they were going to become a We, an Us, or if they would just stay friends. He’s hunting for a green light, maybe, or just a straight answer, trusting her for the kind of blunt honesty that they owed one another. Awkward wasn’t a word that seemed to apply to them, even in this moment with things uncertain, unstamped with a title.
His frown and mention of Joe, how things were complicated for her after him, is met with a smile and by her sliding her hand from his head to rub at his neck instead.
“I don’t really think we need to label ourselves.” Her eyes drop to his hand, how his thumb runs familiar over her kneecap. “I don’t… really wanna stop being with you? But at the same time…” She’s hunting for the right words for a second, then simply grins when she brings her gaze back up to his. “You don’t strike me as much of a one-horse kinda guy. I’d like that, but I don’t want to be a ball and chain.”
As far as Joe was concerned: “Joe was… impossible to measure. And I loved him. But he wouldn’t want me to mourn forever, probably disappointed that I have been for as long as I was in the first place.”
[Elijah] Eli is pleased that Drew is back on solid ground with Kora. It's likely she doesn't quite understand the depths to which that troubled him. He held a fierce loyalty to his Tribe - to his family - and that she mended fences with them eases the worry from his brow.
But he's brought up the question of them - Them - and now his attention is so focused on her face that it his body actually turns so that he can watch her comfortably. An arm lifts, elbow pressed to the back of her couch. She doesn't think that they need labels and he nods.
"I don't know what I am anymore." He says, and if he were looking for a green light - or if he needed her approval - it doesn't show on his face. He is pleased with her reply and a small smile begins to dawn across his mouth. "I know that...I want you. That I think I might of wanted you before I left, but respected Joe. What I'm afraid of..." And the way that he says it, she can hear the faintest him of wariness in his tone. "...is someone stalking in and taking you away from me. We both are bred well from what I've been told....Garou usually snatch kin like us up.
"But ...I don't need anymore than that. To know that you don't want to be rid of me ...that you're not giving me the whole let's be friends and it's not you it's me speech..." Eli takes her hand and draws it to his mouth to kiss the underside of her wrist.
"And I'm fuckin' thrilled you're good with Kora."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew’s gaze was typically a warm, kind thing. It was a part of her nature, ironic to and separate from her bloodline of warriors and bloodlust. It’s already soft, doesn’t need to soften anymore when he speaks honestly of his feelings toward her, even before he’d left, when he’d known she was with Joe, and moves her hand so that it’s to his mouth, pressing a kiss at the back.
“I’ll admit I felt interest too, then. But like you said, Joe.” That’s all that needs to be stated, she doesn’t have to go into detail as to whether she was worried he’d hurt her for leaving him or whether she loved him too deep to betray (it was likely the latter, possibly a blend of the two). One shoulder hitches up and drops again in an easy, lazy shrug, and a very real, honest concern is addressed.
“That’s the peril, though. We can’t place any sort of claim, and if, say, someone comes to challenge for me? Well, it can’t even be a challenge ‘cause you’re not of the Changing sort, it’s just taking. Same story if some lady-Fenrir blows into town and decides they’d like to sweep you up, I can’t stop her.
“All we can really rely on is their respecting our choice, y’know?”
And, for Kora: “Yeah, it’s nice to be smiled at by that pack again.”
[Elijah] The look on his face says this bothers him. It says he's none too pleased with the idea of needing to let Drew go because someone else is higher on the food chain. After her initial words have faded Eli rests his jaw against the back of her couch and continues to watch her.
"Yeah. I know." He pauses, drags his eyes across her face and then sighs. "It is what it is, it don't mean I gotta like it." And with that his index finger brushes the tip of her nose.
"I told Kora and Roman I was going to ask for your help with some stuff....getting some kinda records for the church...who owned it last or tax records...you know how to do that?" He asks, his hands toying with the fingers of one of her own.
[Drew Roscoe] His hand had claimed her own, paused to brush her nose briefly before dropping into a more relaxed place between their laps. She twines her fingers with his, glancing from his face to their hands while the pad of one finger tapped at the edge of his thumbnail, an idle and thoughtless gesture that comes from hands accustomed to being kept busy.
“I don’t like it either,” she says with a faint frown, eyes kept down. Just as he could no doubt think of a couple of Fenrir men that could, and maybe would sweep her away from him, she had a few faces come to mind as well. It didn’t inspire jealousy so much as discomfort. She didn’t like the idea of becoming attached only to have someone else torn away from her. A deep breath through her nose, exhaled slowly, helps to clear the threats of tightening in her chest.
A new topic was easier to focus on, so she stepped into that instead.
“I’m sure I could figure that out… I don’t know about tax information, that’s kinda kept with the IRS and housing companies, I think, but I could do some searches, ask a friend. Why’s she want to know? Any reason in particular?”
[Elijah] "They need to know who owns the church - or at least who owned it last. That place has gotta get some electric in it and a roof among other shit..." He's avoiding the topic now. They were good and he didn't care to think of any local Fenrir stomping up to Drew's door and sweeping her off her feet. He wasn't exactly a Casanova himself.
"I volunteered to do some of the shit, but I know all of nothing about computers or getting any of that information. You gotta be better at googlin' shit than I am." He grins, fingers still toying with her own. He is worn out and stressed out yet he attempts a smile and a bit of his normally witty (sarcastic) personality to shine through.
[Drew Roscoe] “Yeah, that’s no problem at all.”
He offers what he knows about blueprints and constructing homes to the cause of making the church livable, it was the least Drew could do to find records of who had owned the place initially—she figured it would go back to a church, owned by the religion’s business offices rather than any one individual. This was all just thought, though, she would check for sure and deliver what information she could find.
There’s a pause in the conversation here, a minute of peace and calm and the comfort of a warm home and a similarly warm hand to hold. Drew breaks it, resting her head sideways onto his shoulder and offering quietly:
“You know, if you wanna come lay down with me I won’t say no.” A pause, and a glance to the window. “I think your truck’ll be safe.”
[Elijah] She agrees to help and he smiles. "I appreciate it." Then, "They'll appreciate it."
Eli hadn't realized the time. He had not stopped to consider that there were some people that kept normal hours. Rushing to Drew's house to let her know what was going on seemed important, he just did not consider the particulars before coming.
"Shit ...I'm sorry." He mumbles, casting a tired eye around her home for a clock. "You're tired and I'm keeping you up..." But she told him he could lay with her and that makes his mouth twist in a wiry grin. "...but if you need a warm body to keep you company I won't say no."
His hand slips inside his pocket and he fingers the keys to turn on the alarm the owner of the company only recently had installed. "It should be fine ...and if it isn't? Do I really fucking care?"
[Drew Roscoe] It’s only when she says something that he notices the time—darn close to midnight if you asked the clock hanging on the living room wall—that he apologizes for intruding on her so late. He must keep erratic hours, she could imagine it was easier to repossess a vehicle at night, that there were more car accidents in the dark, that’s probably when he worked the most. The apology was dismissed with the shake of a head, she was noticing his exhaustion, not the time.
The invitation to stay the rest of the evening is accepted with his trademark grin, he confesses he could give a damn less what happened to the ‘cage’ out against the curb, it was only good for its hook and the money it made him anyways.
It’s with a bit of a chuckle that the petite Kinswoman rises, pulling Eli’s arm along with her to urge him up to his feet as well.
“It’s alright. Let’s go to bed.”
The Chaos of a Crowded Home [Multiple, Church]
[Drew Roscoe] The low rumble of a diesel engine in an otherwise (relatively) quiet neighborhood is the first indicator that Drew had arrived. She hadn't been by for a while, but really, how many people drove diesels in a city this big? It's perhaps a minute after the engine dies that the front door opens with no preceding knock and Drew Roscoe steps inside, knocking snow-slush off her boots at the door.
Eli's greeted in passing with an upward flick of eyebrows, surprise at running into him, and a warm smile, a few brief friendly words before he's on his way. He was on his way out, had places to be and things to do. Drew was on her way in, she had her own things to address.
The door had no sooner closed had Drew stepped through. She found Roman's back a dozen yards away or so, and grinned at him, lifted her hand to wave and then to doff her winter cap and work on undoing her coat, top button first, working her way down. "Roman! Hey, you busy?"
[Kora] "Come on, I'm starving - " urges Kora, pulling open the wooden doors to the sanctuary. She has a pair of flat boxes in hand, topped with a pair of white paper bags. The smell of Italian food - not the usual pizza - but actual Italian food, sausage and onions, pasta, garlic breadsticks, and the like - rises from the containers, sharp and savory in the cool, bright air. Melody is left to juggle the rest of the bags and a tray full of warm drinks in a molded cardboard drink carrier, enough to fill her hands and challenge her balance, especially since the drinks do not all fit perfectly into the carrier. Her voice rises, sheers off. Is carried a bit by the wind. It's lower than Drew's, quieter - but there's a certain resonance to it, and the truth is - she knows how the pack house resonates.
"And if you hold the tiramisu that close to the hot chocolate it's gonna fucking melt. The whipped cream and shit."
If nothing else, Kora's pregnancy has ensured the packhouse a rather more varied menu of takeout.
[Roman Turner] "Well howdy Miss Drew. What brings you out in this cold? Ya know they are predicting another big ole snow storm, right?"
He came forward with a welcoming smile.
"Come in, come in and warm yourself. Sure I got a minute."
That was about when he not only felt Kora drawing close, but heard her.
"And here comes Miss Drew."
[Melody Himinndottir] "I'm sorry, some of us weren't born with four hands. And I never learned to juggle."
Yes indeed, Melody is trailing along behind her sister, completely overloaded and looking somewhat exasperated. One assumes that if Kora could have figured out a way to balance something on her head, she'd be doing that, too.
"Also, you worry too much."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew's tucking her hat in her coat pockets once the heavy blue winter garment has been unbuttoned. The gloves were already in the pockets, it was chilly outside for sure but not enough that she really needed the gloves. Hands take a second to sweep her hair out of her eyes, tuck it behind her ears so it'll stay out of the way, and then disappear into her coat pockets. She leaves it on for now, helped maintain warmth in the place, so she wouldn't feel the need to hoard a space heater.
"Thanks," she offers the friendly teen, letting the door close behind her and stepping on in as suggested. Her eyes crawl up to the ceiling and the holes in it, regarding for a moment, then drop down again, past Roman's shoulder to where Kora's voice flooded from. It wasn't loud, but it filled a room and caught the ear anyways. The Kin nipped her lower lip idly, lifted a hand to wave her greeting to the Skald and those that would enter behind her, and shifted her attention back to Roman.
She just looks at him for a few seconds, like she's remembering exactly how young he was, and that's changing her mind about something. Finally, though, she shakes her head a bit and smiles, half-apologetic but mostly just warm. "Had a question but I think I just gave myself the answer. Was also gonna ask if Rain was around but I can figure that one out myself." Her head nodded, then, toward the procession of food making its way in, playing a balancing act with take-out boxes and drinks. "Think we should offer a hand?"
[Linus] "People are Loud!"
It's the wake-up call from the Godi, who's hours seem to be the most sporadic of the lot, fishing in and out of the umbra on any given day. The walk back to the pack turf after Kora's brief check in of the new Kinfolk was uneventful, as was the several hours of explorative patrolling and convincing of Hrafn to go out in the rain and keep watch and eye from the relative shelter and comfort of several safe havens. His own comfort level had been less than pleasant, having been forced out into the rainy streets several times just to prove to the Hrafn that it wasn't so bad. This had resulted in no small amount of laughter on the Blackwing's part for repeated performances and the Godi returning after the patrols were done in something of a 'mood'.
He sits up, face slightly bedraggled, jaws clapping, from inside his favoured pew, where the mix and match of his clothes piles sit, the various odds and ends of his duties and what few personal possessions he cherishes and keeps safe (fewer and fewer still these days). The sodden remnants of his clothing hang on the wall nearby, while the various layers of flannel he keeps himself bundled in are pushed off, revealing a wife-beater over a lanky frame and the comfort of a pair of black long johns. His feet touch the cold stone floor and he winces slightly, flicking toes around until he gets comfortable, murmuring a
"Refreshing!" under his breath, at the sensation before standing with a stretch and a yawn and a sniff.
"I smell Gnocchi?!"
[Prayers to Broken Stone] From inside the Church proper come the distinct sounds of a guitar.
Sitting on top of a wooden pew with his feet braced on the seat is the Galliard known as Prayers to Broken Stone, a twenty-something blond haired boy with the broad shoulders and handsome features better suited to a college footballer. Perhaps, in another life, in another reality where there was no War, or Werewolves for the cause, he would have been precisely this.
As it stands, he is a lone individual with the Rage to make any full moon proud and the weight of it; all of it; war, death, his own mortality; sitting square on his shoulders. Some days, more than others, the weight becomes staggering, sinks the Cliath's feet way down into the mud. Tonight, he's sitting not far at all from the slumbering Linus, a notebook open on one knee; his former Alpha's guitar resting across his body; pick in hand. Indeed, it's very likely it's the Fiann's idle strumming that wakes the Fenrir.
"Tends to happen," is Patrick's distracted response, head bent over a chord. "Evening, Princess." He greets his new brother, without looking up.
[Linus] "Eveni-"
Linus head snaps around toward one of the broken windows, voice carrying the sort of punctuating loudness he was complaining of a moment ago.
"Where the Fuck Did the Sun Go?!" The Godi has trouble keeping track of it these days it would seem.
[Kora] "Hey Drew," says Kora, walking in after her younger sister. The family correspondences are buried there; in a certain sharpness about the eyes, a certain length of their limbs if nothing else. In the pale, straight lines of fine blonde hair. Kora is taller, with a wider mouth and darker eyes. Older by half a decade or more. The truth is, they're half-siblings, without breeding that might mark them more strongly to Garou senses.
Both are laden with take-out, the scent of it so absolutely distinctive in the cold air. "We're doing Italian, you're welcome to join." Then Linus wakes up, to the breakfast of champions. Do I smell Gnocchi? "Morning sleepyhead. You very well may. I can't remember everything I ordered, and I might have ordered one of everything."
A glance back at Melody, a hint of sharpness. "About important things, yeah. Like my fucking dessert."
"Hey Patrick. Patrick, Drew, this is my sister Dee. Dee, Patrick's my packmate, Drew's our kin." A subtle nudge of a look, sideways. "Why don't you introduce yourself." A strange echo, that, accidentally on purpose.
[Roman Turner] "That ain't so nice Miss Drew. Ya done got my hopes up that maybe ya came to ask for a date and now ya done got cold feet."
He teased with a glance towards the direction the smell of food and sounds came from.
"Let's go help them....eat it."
His smile widened as he rubbed his hands together in an entirely greedy manner.
[Melody Himinndottir] "It is freezing out. Your dessert is almost certainly frozen. Any warmth left in your cocoa is probably only serving to restore it to its natural state. You should totally thank me." Rambling? Not quite. Though offered up in a deadpan tone.
"And I will introduce myself as soon as you tell me where you want me to put all of this stuff, unless you are expecting me to hold it all night long. In which case, you will soon be eating off the floor, because I am beginning to cramp."
[Drew Roscoe] Roman gets a chuckle and a shake of the head at the jest about cold feet, and she hums a quiet affirmation, agreement that they should go help eat all this food, and walks to meet where Kora and Melody were headed to set the food down, intercepting part way to hold her hands out to the newest sibling in offering to take something out of her hands, help with the balancing act, so that Kora's dessert didn't melt.
"Nice to meet you, Dee. Let me help ya out some, huh?"
Patrick gets a sweep-toward by the Kin's doe-brown eyes, and she smiles for him, but it's more of a one-sided corner of the mouth thing. Linus is glanced toward next, he gets what's leftover of Patrick's smile before she's focusing more on this new Rotagar once more.
[Simon Zahradnik] Simon's car pulls up at the Church and he slips out with a little smile worn on his face. It was strange how easily he melded into the neighborhood... He wasn't Urrah by tribe but he was certainly Urrah by birth. His clothing, his equipment, and his comfort within the confines of the city all painted the image that Simon was as much a part of this city as this city was a part of him. He was a new kind of predator, a hunter who stalked the streets of the city. The concrete beneath his feet was simply a new form of terrain, on which he was comfortable enough within. Garou weren't typically fond of the city but Simon was simply one of a new breed of young men and women born in response to the Garou's need to hold a larger presence within these melting pots of human ingenuity and corruption. The city was a place as wondrous as it was filthy and dangerous and who understood duplicity better than a Shadow Lord?
The Full Moon carried himself to the entrance to the Church with a little smile taking shape. His hand reaching up to pound against the heavy door. He loved this door, it always made him feel so much more awesome. Why can't more Garou choose giant concrete fortresses as their Pack houses?
Tonight he didn't come for battle, and he sure as fuck didn't come into someone else's territory to make trouble. Maintaining good terms with local packs was an important thing in a Sept and it would seem Simon knew this much. He was the consummate soldier and treated everything he did as a war. That meant keeping on good terms with his allies. It would be a bad idea to alienate one of the more important packs in the sept now wouldn't it?
He could come here and run his mouth, maybe wave his dick around and spew crap out his mouth but that would only get him un-invited. This was not his territory, despite his comfort in the area, and he would treat it with the same respect he expects within his own territory. This was Kora's house, she ran the show and as long as he was here she was in charge.
[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick does glance up at that, his mouth twisting in Linus' direction. "Got tired of waiting on you, went home." With the closing distance of other pack members the Fianna's blue eyes swing that way and he's watching the door as first Kora, then another fair-haired creature, followed by Drew Roscoe and Roman enter.
"Hey, Dee; Drew."
He doesn't get up immediately, but does slip the guitar strap over his head and carefully set it against the wooden seating. Slapping closed the leather-bound notebook with its weather-worn pages all curling and yellowing at the edges, the song-keeper wedges a pencil into it and sets it beside the guitar; sliding to his feet and scuffing a hand through his hair as he does.
[Linus] He snaps his fingers, climbing out of the pew, the pounding of the Door creating echoes throughout the interior.
"Five bucks says it's the Maytag guy. Dishwasher's been on the fritz..."
And he's struggling to put on a pair of loose trackpants, the elastic loop of such seemsbroken or much too large for his all too slim frame.
[Roman Turner] He sounded put upon, but he went for the door, calling.
"I'll get it."
In a long suffering voice. Once the door was opened, he greeted Simon with.
"Howdy Simon. Oh wait, how come ya always know to turn up when there's food? Ya smelled the garlic didn't ya? Dang it!"
Another faked long suffering sigh as he waved Simon in.
"Come on, Supper's waiting."
[Melody Himinndottir] "Drew, is it? Oh, I will love you forever if you free me from bondage." And thus begins the complicated dance that is trying to pass a number of bags from one to the other without dropping or spilling anything. By some miracle, this is accomplished with a modicum of grace and a fair amount of speed.
[Prayers to Broken Stone] "Dude," Patrick starts after Linus; spreading out his arms. "I told you I could fix that, where's the trust? I'm going to look at it right now." The Galliard deviates from the path toward the door and makes a beeline for the kitchen.
[Linus] "Dude! I was kidding! We don't have a Dishwasher!"
He's cracking up mid-way through the sentence.
"You are so new!"
[Kora] "You've been washing your boxers in it again, have you?" returns Kora to Linus. Then, she lifts her voice. "OPEN." - to carry back to Simon, knocking. On the theory that the Wyrm wouldn't knock, and with the whole pack about they can handle anything that comes through without needing the heavy wooden doors as shield. Roman's already walking over to the door, and Drew comes over to relieve Melody of her burden.
"Over there," though, she says to Melody, indicating the tables with older, abandoned pizza boxes near the couches and space heaters as the appropriate place to leave the feast. Kora's beginning to clear off the pizza boxes, find some space to spread out her feast.
"Oh, hey - Booker's moving in," she informs Linus, the retreating Patrick. "Until he can find someplace new to crash, yeah?"
[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick stops, frowning.
"Then what the hell was I putting dirty dishes in last night?"
[Kora] "Simon!" Kora here, turning and glancing over her shoulder at the Shadow Lord. "Everything's fair game except my hot chocolate and Tiramisu."
[Linus] Linus blinks and looks at Patrick. Then snaps around to Kora.
"When the Fuck did we get a Dishwasher and why the fuck didn't anyone tell me?!" He's dropped his track points back to his ankles and is pointing rather insistently toward the Kitchen.
[Melody Himinndottir] "Oh God, Kora. I know you live with a bunch of guys, but doesn't anyone throw garbage away around here?" She wrinkles her nose a bit at the pile of old pizza boxes.
[Kora] "You eat breakfast lunch and dinner out of a pizza box, Li," Kora explains, patiently. Faux-patiently. "Pizza boxes don't go in the dishwasher. Like Dee says, they go in the trash." Though to Dee, the Skald shakes her pale head once. And intones, solemnly.
"Chiminage, man. Ask Li."
[Drew Roscoe] This is the chaos of a crowded home- doors being knocked at, someone (typically the youngest, this holds true here) running to get it, two or three conversations going on at once, none of them quiet. Drew was an only child, she didn't grow up in a house full of siblings and chaos, this wasn't something she was intimately familiar with, this sort of ruckus. However, she's worked in crowded kitchens, pressed herself through slim gaps in crowded hallways and participated in college campus events where the mayhem was so much more.
She could handle it. Her eyes hopped between Patrick and Linus as they have an exchange about a dishwasher that no one seemed sure of whether it was real or not, Linus with his pants about his ankles, half-composed, not trying to be in the first place. Patrick caught between kitchen and open room, Roman and Simon at the door, Kora setting her boxes down on a table or two after empty pizza boxes were pushed away.
Drew was quiet, largely, letting Melody decide which bags to hand off to her, and once they were she set them on a corner of table before rolling her shoulders and setting to gathering up the pizza boxes and other food bags and carriers that were left behind.
One bit of the conversation catches Drew's ear though, and she's glancing up to Kora with an inquisitive eye. "Booker? What happened to his house?"
[Simon Zahradnik] He finds himself grinning when food is mentioned. He followed Roman into the church with his eyes looking around for signs of their recent battle."So how's everyone holding up since the whole... Thing?"He laughs a bit to himself cause no one was dead so obviously folks were good but it still seemed polite to ask."And when did you grow balls in place of a brain?"He asks Roman with a little smile remembering the New Moon's bold leap back into the Fray after their battle.
When he gets closer to the others his attention shifts to Kora."Please woman... I might be a full moon but I'm not stupid enough to steal food from an expecting mother. That shit'll get your ass killed."He says with a little grin presented back to her.
His attention turned on Melody."Guys can't throw garbage away... It's one of those Physiological differences between men and women I think. Women have breasts... Men can't throw garbage in the trash. I don't understand it I just accept it."He says with a knowing nod, the secrets of men were sacred and it was impressive enough that he would share these secrets with a woman he's never met before!
[Melody Himinndottir] "The spirits demand you live in filth? Just which spirits are you trying to placate here? The Trash Heap from Fraggle Rock?" The words might sound harsh, maybe even insulting, but the tone is anything but. If anything, she almost sounds amused.
[Roman Turner] "Varmits. Eli is moving out of his house cause he had varmits coming in. We invited him to come sit a spell with us."
He headed towards food as soon as he let Simon in. Knowing better than to wait in line when it came to food around here.
[Melody Himinndottir] She raises an eyebrow and gives Simon a look which quite possibly speaks volumes, but leaves it at that.
[Linus] "Close, Dee" Linus offers, finally getting around to belting up his Track Pants. A piece of the inner elastic is pulled out and drawn taut with a knot to ensure it remains in place. The Wife-beater is hidden under a second hoodie, this one a deep brown and ratted about one cuff, like it had been mauled by some vicious dog. The tattered sleeve is rolled up and pinned just behind his elbow while the Godi scratches his head and glances at the younger of his Sisters.
"Rat." He flicks a hand out and around the area. "Not worth the effort of getting into a bargain and a pinch with the little fucker, but having and cultivating the smell of so much food in and around the territory, keeps them coming back thinking they might get a scrap or some crumbs to pinch. Nothing we're not willing to part with either. It ain't proper chiminage but their presence also helps to keep the wyrm on his toes. If anything in the City promotes Gaia's 'Do Not Fuck With' moniker, it's the Rodent Pop. Keeps the Weaver off our backs almost completely."
And he draws a wide ouroborean circle in the air.
"Circle of Life, and all that." He yells on his way to the double doors, still bare foot and waddling slightly. "Taking a Leak! Don't eat my Gnocchi!"
[Prayers to Broken Stone] There's a grimace as the Fianna turns around to stare back at his brother. "Ugh, man. Pants. Pants." He's waving a hand, and vanishing into the kitchen to, as promised, investigate the potentially phantom dishwasher. When he emerges, wiping his hands free of grease; earned not in the kitchen but during the course of the day, the Galliard's attire was that of overalls, half covered by a jacket thrown atop them but the scents of a garage lingered on him; he's answering the Fostern's comment regarding Booker.
"Yeah, okay. Was meaning to say -- " a beat, Patrick's gaze hones in on the Shadow Lord for a moment, there's a tightening around his eyes as they fall away, return to his Alpha.
"I'm still living in the place I shared with Howard, it's got a working kitchen, plus room for another if someone needs a place to crash outside of here." Patrick's mood, as volatile as his Rage these nights, seems to dip for a moment as he adds: "I've cleared out all his things."
[Roman Turner] He about choked to death with Simon's words.
"Oh man, the first part? I got them in the womb, they come as a matched set, part of the basic equipment, though they ain't got a warranty. Which is what ya should remember when ya got a room full of gals and ya go on about how women folk can clean up."
[Melody Himinndottir] Melody opens her mouth, as if she's about to say something to Linus. Closes it again. Opens it. Closes it again.
Then she shakes her head, as if deciding there is nothing she can possibly say that is worth whatever sort of response she'd manage to get out of him.
[Kora] Kora unloads two flat boxes. They look like small pizza boxes, but when she opens them up they contain big aluminum containers of baked pasta. One is lasagne, the other is baked ziti. Both of them are covered in enough cheese and sauce to clog the arteries of the entire defensive line of the Chicago bears. In other words, delicious.
The last bag she sets down is full of garlic rolls, and the scent - of yeast, butter, bread and garlic - that opens up from the package is fucking heavenly. There's nothing to match it, not really, in the world.
"I think he had a visit from the neighborhood watch." Kora tells Drew, with a brief, narrow twist of her shoulders. "Found them less than hospitable, so he decided to seek his fortune in more welcoming quarters. That's my take on it.
A glance back to Simon, this one rather more level as she peaks back the foil and reaches to swipe a fingerful of sauce from the lid. "We're well, thanks Simon. Body and mind. This is my sister, Dee. Dee, this is Simon. Shadow Lord and Ahroun. And Simon," a twist of her mouth, brief. "Trent's perfectly capable of taking out the trash." Among other things. She is pregnant.
That hint of a gleam in her dark eyes changes though. She cuts a glance from Simon to Patrick, back again. There's a leveling there, a certain awareness of the subtle physical signs of tension in his eyes and stance.
Her look is straight, so direct, her dark eyes reflective and her pale features sober. Just a narrow twist of her mouth, the border of bitter and sweet, that. "You need a hand with shit like that, you let me know. Be good for you and Eli to meet, though. He's driving a tow truck. Maybe some business opportunities for you both, there."
[Simon Zahradnik] His smile grew in response to Kora's comment."I am sure he is..."He adds with a little knowing nod of his head."So I thought I would inform folks. I'm starting up a little class... Next month. I am thinkin' we'll meet Wednesday nights. Combat training essentials. Lukas thought it'd be good to help people get prepped for battle but I don't think runnin' around trying to train one person at a time how to fight was as efficient as possible. Either way I'm hoping everyone will show up... This isn't just about teaching cubs how to fight. This is about prepping a sept for war so I'd call it mandatory cept I can't force anyone to do shit they don't wanna."He says this to everyone present before smiling a little."I'm also thinkin' we'll set up a friday night self defense class for Kin."He says before taking a seat.
His attention then shifts back to Roman and his grin grows brilliant as does the sparkle in his eye."Survival of the fittest... It's how it works. If you don't survive to reproduce then you weren't fit enough to reproduce right?"He asks with a little smile.
His attention then turns back to Mellody."Got a piece? Should teach most boys right quick to clean up after themselves. That's how I'd handle it anyway... They're garou they'll live, and it'll get the message across right?"He asks her with a little smile. He could be all kinds of helpful when it came to advice!
[Kora] (phone! brb!)
[Melody Himinndottir] "I'll... keep that in mind." The smile she offers isn't quite genuine, though it's probably close enough that no one other than Kora or Linus would notice.
Though it becomes slightly more genuine as she turns to look at Linus, and one assumes images of childhood are playing through her head, as she imagines their mother yelling at him to clean his room, and then shooting him when he complains. Ahh, is there anything imagination can't do?
[Drew Roscoe] Roman's answer is met with a curious raise of eyebrows and not much else. Kora's is met with a nod and a distracted look glazing over her face as she took to stacking up pizza boxes in a more orderly fashion against the wall. If they were supposed to be for a spirit then she wouldn't throw them away and risk offending it, but she was pretty sure the spirit would accept them stacked up and out of the way just as well as it would were they sprawled across a tabletop.
Once things were neater, when there was more room for the food to be set out, Drew helps herself to one of the garlic rolls and settles for that, for now, stepping back out of the fray of hungry Garou.
She was pretty sure she'd seen someone lose a hand getting in the way of some beast's feeding frenzy before.
[Prayers to Broken Stone] There's a moment, his meeting her gaze when he seems as if he's on the verge of something; some confession; some words to speak on what's been going on inside that pretty head of his. But then he stalls, and reaches out to snare a piece of hot bread, tearing some away with his teeth in a very wolfish gesture.
"Yeah, will do."
He settles for it itself, the simple, aimless confirmation and shoots a glance at Drew as she snags some bread. "You want a drink or something? I'm gonna get some of that whiskey Imogen left behind." Melody gets the benefit of those impossibly blue eyes next: "Drink? You might need it."
Whatever orders he takes, the Fiann shuffles off in the direction of the kitchen; it's hard not to breathe a little easier when he's out of sight, it's in nobody's imagination that his presence has gotten worse, that the rage that had been high to begin with now seemed stifling. It was equally in nobody's imagination that the change seemed to have occurred in the days after Heir of the Ruined Day's death.
[shadows] ((Do you guys mind one more? I promise to bring Rain in carrying dessert for the pack party ;) ))
to Drew Roscoe, Kora, Linus, Melody Himinndottir, Prayers to Broken Stone, Roman Turner, Simon Zahradnik
[Prayers to Broken Stone] (Go for it!)
to Drew Roscoe, Kora, Linus, Melody Himinndottir, Roman Turner, shadows, Simon Zahradnik
[Roman Turner] He listened to Simon and thought about it as he went to get plates and silverware. In the kitchen he murmured low to Patrick.
"Ya gonna be just fine. Ya part of us now. It's a solid thing, this."
He winked before turning to return to set the main room and set the items on the table before digging in to one of the pasta dishes.
"Well, I reckon folk might benefit by training classes, if they have a mind to sign up or whatever. I think it could be a good place for some of them that ain't packed to find others of like mind and maybe become more solid by connecting with others if they ain't packed."
He paused to take a bite of garlic roll, talking around the lump he pushed in to his cheek between chewing.
"Some of the Kin might benefit from combat training, though maybe not so comfortable with a True teaching em, ya know?"
[Linus] Linus is gone for a few minutes and when he returns his mood has settled to a calm boil. He shoves the door open and closed behind him, moving back into the Church while pausing every so often to wipe the wet from the bottom of his feet on the cold stone floor which is not as cold as it used to be after being outside for a few minutes. He sniffs at the air again, moving through the Church proper, around the appropriate bodies as necessary until he reaches the couches. He steps up onto the cushions and moves quickly past those standing around with digging hands and reaching limbs, hitting the end of the table with a few motions at those in the way to move...move...move...
Linus plucks up the Pizza box stacks, murmuring with the effort and teeters dangerously before slumping off the Couch arm and back onto his feet. He carries the pile of near a dozen boxes, on over toward one of the Church Corners, tucked away in the shade and shadow of the flickering kerosene lamps that line the support pillars of the Church itself. Several are dumped there. He then moves around the Kitchen passageway and the Altar, and deposts a few more in the next corner. He repeats this for the other two corners of the Church and returns to the tables with a quick yawn and a glance around at those present.
"Alright you Fuckers. Since You're all so complain Mcbitch pants about the Boxes, here's the deal. You stick boxes, but only those large enough to feed a family, in the corners of the Church. Each box has to remain in place for exactly a month after which they can be thrown out. Makesure there aren't any leftovers inside before you do this or we're going to get a lot of unwanted attention. If you see-" He pulls down an eye lid and stares around the congregation, stepping up onto a nearby Pew to get some height and oration "-any Rats or Rodents scurrying about the place, that's normal. Do not, I repeat, Do Not harm or hurt. They ain't friends but they do us good service."
A pause, as if to measuring if that was getting through to everyone. Then:
"Secondly, we've got a standing pact with the Ravens in the Belfry. No one here should be going up there, unless they talk to me first. All pack members know and understand the requirements to keep them Appeased. Do not piss them off or go looking to talk to them on your own. They will find as many different ways of taking advantage of you as possible and that's my Job." A firm frown. "And if you make my job any harder than it needs to be, I will bind a fuckin' Fire Giant to your ass hairs."
And he holds up a Third finger, though he'd failed to do so for One and Two.
"There are scratched in Glyphs along the foundation of the entire Church now-" And he points, around the lower stones of the Church walls, where the carved and chipped stonework indeed bares the rough and rudimentary symbols of the Garou language. Much of it is common knowledge among the Garou, but there are some if inspected, that do not correspond to any easily recognizable symbols. "These are part of an on-going Ritual of mine that requires some very delicate and precise, measures. Do not wreck, scuff or harm them in anyway. If you notice even one of them is in some state of dis-repair, you come and tell me. If something gets damaged, you come and tell me. If you spill some Cola on the ground in the middle of the church and it threatens to spread toward the Walls, you come and tell me. This shit is important and the more free favours I have to do, the less capable I am of serving this Pack..."
A pause, again, scanning the crowd of bodies around who may or may not be listening to him.
"That said...if any of you would like to lend a hand with Spiritual endeavors? Then I will see what I can do about giving you a list of possibilities. Do not." And here, Linus' features seem to drift into something...serious. Fierce, even "Do Not, fuck around with my Bargains or this Pack's umbral turf without telling or talking to me first and I give you the go ahead. Notice anything wrong, tell me. Simple simple..."
And he finally leaps down off the Pew, with a glance up at Roman and a pointing finger.
"Teach the Kin to fight? Fuck yeah!"
[Roman Turner] ((Lord, my brain is going, that made no sense ))
to Drew Roscoe, Kora, Linus, Melody Himinndottir, Simon Zahradnik
[Rain] It is not quite yet freezing outside. Not quite. The temperature lingers barely a degree and some decimal point above, but Rain keeps valiantly holding out hope for Spring. There were a few devilishly warmer days, just enough to get her hopes up, and then right back into the white-heart of winter's madness.
The heavy door of the Church pushes open again -- Rain doesn't knock to announce herself, nor does she stop at the threshold when she hears a cacophony of voices -- and one of the pack's kinfolk carries a bag of groceries and her guitar into the entryway with her. Of those voices that reach her, all she can really make out of them, anyway, is Teach the Kin to fight? Fuck yeah! from the Godi who hates to babysit.
The door closes, shouldered firmly and pushed until it latches, and then she finds a place to lean her guitar for now.
[Simon Zahradnik] He turned his attention on Kora."If one of your kin is gettin' hassled by the locals I can go take care of that shit for ya..."He offers with a little nod of his head."This city's pretty fucked up but most people like not living their lives in a wheelchair. You just gotta know how to politely to tell them to back the fuck down. If you cave they'll take it for weakness and keep pushing."He adds politely enough."You wanna push our kin around that's cool I just want folks to understand I will tear these streets up if they wanna start crossing our kind. Aggression might not be welcome to some but it's the only thing some of these punks understand. They know violence and they respect it."
He turns his attention back to Roman when he returns."Not some folks... And not the packless. Every single fuckin' garou in this city can benefit from training and working with his peers. Especially other packs. Even if you're the toughest fuckin' full moon in town you always have something to learn from someone else and if you don't then you have skills you can teach others."He nods his head."We're going to war and I'm not gonna sit back and let another soldier go out onto that battlefield unprepared."
His attention then shifts to Linus and he listens to quite a bit of important Pack information. He didn't need to know this so much since he rarely fucked with people's territory. However, there was a little at the end that involved him and his head nodded.
"Kin too... We don't want most of them to fight or whatever but whether we like it or not they are a part of this war and sooner or later there's a chance every single one of them will find their ass alone in a dark alley with someone. I'd like to see our kin prepared for that eventuality not just my tribe... All tribes. This is war and it's not about any one tribes blood cause in a war all our blood gets spilled and mixed up in the same greasy slimy fuckin' puddle."
[Kora] There are bowls in there, sturdy, cardboard. Silverware, and when Linus returns and begins giving the pack - the full pack, here - his instructions about the bargains and deals he has made, the spirits he has cultivated, the rituals he is unleashing on the unsuspecting stones of this great shambling solid wreck of a home-to-wolves, she dishes herself out a bowl of baked ziti. This takes eight trips back to the foil-covered container with the small spoon she has, but she makes each one while Linus speaks, watching him with the considered attention of dark, direct eyes.
A winging glance at Drew as she starts to straighten up. Kora's generous mouth twists at the rightmost corner, and she looks up as Patrick picks out a hot roll, slathered in garlic and butter. Bites into it. She holds his eyes for a stilling moment, nevermind the large group around them, it feels wholly private until her gaze flicks wordlessly back to Simon and Roman.
"He's right," Kora remarks, in her low alto. "I'm not sure the kin need to learn self-defense from an Ahroun. You wouldn't begin to - " a sharp kind of breaking off here. An indrawn breath. " - to know the limits of a human body anymore. What it's like to be stuck in one.
"Maybe recruit a kin or two, let them teach directly. You could observe, offer advice if you feel the need, but Roman's point is a good one."
A fork hovers over the ziti. "Hey Dee, hand me the parmesan, would you?"
Her half-smile is deepening, a twist of her mouth. She glances over her shoulder, lifts the bowl like a toast to Rain. Mouths, "Lasange" by way of invitation without raising her voice over the interval distance, then picks up her own hot chocolate and finds a place to park it. Near a heater.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew blinks at Patrick when he offers her a drink, then grins in good spirits and shakes her head. "Naw, I'm alright, thanks though." He accepts that easy enough, it seems, and moves on to offering Dee something to drink as well. Linus goes off on a speech about his doings with the spirits and the laws-- don't hurt the rats, don't bother the crows, don't fuck with the glyphs, things like that. She pays half-attention at best, the spirits didn't pay mind to her, she couldn't see or interact with them unless there was deliberate force on their end to make communication come through and reach her.
They're talking about teaching Kin to fight, and she's grinning a little at the thought, but not piping up. Instead she's finishing the garlic roll, rubbing her fingers clean of the grease and butter on her pants, and moving toward the door, pausing only briefly to touch Kora at the shoulder when she passed and explaining: "Just remembered something, I'll catch up with you guys later." From there she's heading to the door, but pausing when she sees Rain.
Rain's leaning against the door, pressing it closed, and Drew catches up with her before she gets too far into the church, speaking in a low tone of voice while she pulls her hat and gloves on and buttons up her coat.
"Rain. About the night at the coffee shop, I owe you an apology. Stole your night away and dashed it on the sidewalk, and then left you with your kinsman and woman to deal with them when I got their tempers up and going. I owe you somethin' to make it up. You call me and let me know what you'd like to settle us even and friendly again, okay?" She smiles an apologetic and sort of goofy manner for the Child of Gaia Kin, reaches out to pat her lightly on the arm, and goes for the door. "I'd hang out but I've got an agenda for the night. We'll catch up, okay?"
And gone. We call this drive-by-making-amends.
[Kora] A brief glance back at Simon, then. Kora shakes her head, quietly. "I appreciate the offer, but neighborhood watch was a metaphor, man." There's a hint of humor, there, a brief twist of her narrow shoulders.
[Linus] "...A good metaphor though. Bout as fuckin' useful, the lot..."
He goes digging into one of the bags in search of the Gnocchi.
[Simon Zahradnik] He shrugs back at Kora."That's the thing though... When something comes for them it's not gonna be pretty or nice. Especially those whose blood makes them a target. It's gonna be big and nasty and capable of tearing your heart out and showing it to you while it still beats. We shelter our kin from what we are capable of then they're not gonna get a taste of what they need to expect right?"He asks Kora curiously."I would like to believe the world is fair but it's not and the monsters that are gonna come after our kin aren't gonna be annoying dudes in night clubs. That's not what I want to train the kin to prepare themselves to face off against."
[Rain] There's some hullabaloo going on about Ahrouns teaching kin to fight. That's as far as she's gotten into the Getting Home routine of sorting out the pack's whereabouts (and going ons) when Drew wanders up to her, apparently on her way out.
Rain offers her seeming sister an understanding smile.
"You didn't dash my night on the sidewalk, lovely. But I'll take a girls' night, no drama, someday if you want to make ammends for nothin'." Her voice is evenly tempered, more than warm for Drew. Whatever happened that night hasn't changed how Rain feels about her. "Stuff gets complicated. I get it. We're good."
She moves out of the doorway to let the Fenrir pass.
"Don't let me keep ya."
[Drew Roscoe] Before Drew's out the door, Rain's answer has her pausing and smiling. Relief spreads on her face like butter on hot toast, and she wraps her scarf more snugly about her neck before nodding to the girl that's so easily mistaken as a sibling, even once as a twin.
"Girl's night it is."
The breeze is cold only for a moment, Drew's quick to close the door behind her and prevent heat from escaping.
Eli's greeted in passing with an upward flick of eyebrows, surprise at running into him, and a warm smile, a few brief friendly words before he's on his way. He was on his way out, had places to be and things to do. Drew was on her way in, she had her own things to address.
The door had no sooner closed had Drew stepped through. She found Roman's back a dozen yards away or so, and grinned at him, lifted her hand to wave and then to doff her winter cap and work on undoing her coat, top button first, working her way down. "Roman! Hey, you busy?"
[Kora] "Come on, I'm starving - " urges Kora, pulling open the wooden doors to the sanctuary. She has a pair of flat boxes in hand, topped with a pair of white paper bags. The smell of Italian food - not the usual pizza - but actual Italian food, sausage and onions, pasta, garlic breadsticks, and the like - rises from the containers, sharp and savory in the cool, bright air. Melody is left to juggle the rest of the bags and a tray full of warm drinks in a molded cardboard drink carrier, enough to fill her hands and challenge her balance, especially since the drinks do not all fit perfectly into the carrier. Her voice rises, sheers off. Is carried a bit by the wind. It's lower than Drew's, quieter - but there's a certain resonance to it, and the truth is - she knows how the pack house resonates.
"And if you hold the tiramisu that close to the hot chocolate it's gonna fucking melt. The whipped cream and shit."
If nothing else, Kora's pregnancy has ensured the packhouse a rather more varied menu of takeout.
[Roman Turner] "Well howdy Miss Drew. What brings you out in this cold? Ya know they are predicting another big ole snow storm, right?"
He came forward with a welcoming smile.
"Come in, come in and warm yourself. Sure I got a minute."
That was about when he not only felt Kora drawing close, but heard her.
"And here comes Miss Drew."
[Melody Himinndottir] "I'm sorry, some of us weren't born with four hands. And I never learned to juggle."
Yes indeed, Melody is trailing along behind her sister, completely overloaded and looking somewhat exasperated. One assumes that if Kora could have figured out a way to balance something on her head, she'd be doing that, too.
"Also, you worry too much."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew's tucking her hat in her coat pockets once the heavy blue winter garment has been unbuttoned. The gloves were already in the pockets, it was chilly outside for sure but not enough that she really needed the gloves. Hands take a second to sweep her hair out of her eyes, tuck it behind her ears so it'll stay out of the way, and then disappear into her coat pockets. She leaves it on for now, helped maintain warmth in the place, so she wouldn't feel the need to hoard a space heater.
"Thanks," she offers the friendly teen, letting the door close behind her and stepping on in as suggested. Her eyes crawl up to the ceiling and the holes in it, regarding for a moment, then drop down again, past Roman's shoulder to where Kora's voice flooded from. It wasn't loud, but it filled a room and caught the ear anyways. The Kin nipped her lower lip idly, lifted a hand to wave her greeting to the Skald and those that would enter behind her, and shifted her attention back to Roman.
She just looks at him for a few seconds, like she's remembering exactly how young he was, and that's changing her mind about something. Finally, though, she shakes her head a bit and smiles, half-apologetic but mostly just warm. "Had a question but I think I just gave myself the answer. Was also gonna ask if Rain was around but I can figure that one out myself." Her head nodded, then, toward the procession of food making its way in, playing a balancing act with take-out boxes and drinks. "Think we should offer a hand?"
[Linus] "People are Loud!"
It's the wake-up call from the Godi, who's hours seem to be the most sporadic of the lot, fishing in and out of the umbra on any given day. The walk back to the pack turf after Kora's brief check in of the new Kinfolk was uneventful, as was the several hours of explorative patrolling and convincing of Hrafn to go out in the rain and keep watch and eye from the relative shelter and comfort of several safe havens. His own comfort level had been less than pleasant, having been forced out into the rainy streets several times just to prove to the Hrafn that it wasn't so bad. This had resulted in no small amount of laughter on the Blackwing's part for repeated performances and the Godi returning after the patrols were done in something of a 'mood'.
He sits up, face slightly bedraggled, jaws clapping, from inside his favoured pew, where the mix and match of his clothes piles sit, the various odds and ends of his duties and what few personal possessions he cherishes and keeps safe (fewer and fewer still these days). The sodden remnants of his clothing hang on the wall nearby, while the various layers of flannel he keeps himself bundled in are pushed off, revealing a wife-beater over a lanky frame and the comfort of a pair of black long johns. His feet touch the cold stone floor and he winces slightly, flicking toes around until he gets comfortable, murmuring a
"Refreshing!" under his breath, at the sensation before standing with a stretch and a yawn and a sniff.
"I smell Gnocchi?!"
[Prayers to Broken Stone] From inside the Church proper come the distinct sounds of a guitar.
Sitting on top of a wooden pew with his feet braced on the seat is the Galliard known as Prayers to Broken Stone, a twenty-something blond haired boy with the broad shoulders and handsome features better suited to a college footballer. Perhaps, in another life, in another reality where there was no War, or Werewolves for the cause, he would have been precisely this.
As it stands, he is a lone individual with the Rage to make any full moon proud and the weight of it; all of it; war, death, his own mortality; sitting square on his shoulders. Some days, more than others, the weight becomes staggering, sinks the Cliath's feet way down into the mud. Tonight, he's sitting not far at all from the slumbering Linus, a notebook open on one knee; his former Alpha's guitar resting across his body; pick in hand. Indeed, it's very likely it's the Fiann's idle strumming that wakes the Fenrir.
"Tends to happen," is Patrick's distracted response, head bent over a chord. "Evening, Princess." He greets his new brother, without looking up.
[Linus] "Eveni-"
Linus head snaps around toward one of the broken windows, voice carrying the sort of punctuating loudness he was complaining of a moment ago.
"Where the Fuck Did the Sun Go?!" The Godi has trouble keeping track of it these days it would seem.
[Kora] "Hey Drew," says Kora, walking in after her younger sister. The family correspondences are buried there; in a certain sharpness about the eyes, a certain length of their limbs if nothing else. In the pale, straight lines of fine blonde hair. Kora is taller, with a wider mouth and darker eyes. Older by half a decade or more. The truth is, they're half-siblings, without breeding that might mark them more strongly to Garou senses.
Both are laden with take-out, the scent of it so absolutely distinctive in the cold air. "We're doing Italian, you're welcome to join." Then Linus wakes up, to the breakfast of champions. Do I smell Gnocchi? "Morning sleepyhead. You very well may. I can't remember everything I ordered, and I might have ordered one of everything."
A glance back at Melody, a hint of sharpness. "About important things, yeah. Like my fucking dessert."
"Hey Patrick. Patrick, Drew, this is my sister Dee. Dee, Patrick's my packmate, Drew's our kin." A subtle nudge of a look, sideways. "Why don't you introduce yourself." A strange echo, that, accidentally on purpose.
[Roman Turner] "That ain't so nice Miss Drew. Ya done got my hopes up that maybe ya came to ask for a date and now ya done got cold feet."
He teased with a glance towards the direction the smell of food and sounds came from.
"Let's go help them....eat it."
His smile widened as he rubbed his hands together in an entirely greedy manner.
[Melody Himinndottir] "It is freezing out. Your dessert is almost certainly frozen. Any warmth left in your cocoa is probably only serving to restore it to its natural state. You should totally thank me." Rambling? Not quite. Though offered up in a deadpan tone.
"And I will introduce myself as soon as you tell me where you want me to put all of this stuff, unless you are expecting me to hold it all night long. In which case, you will soon be eating off the floor, because I am beginning to cramp."
[Drew Roscoe] Roman gets a chuckle and a shake of the head at the jest about cold feet, and she hums a quiet affirmation, agreement that they should go help eat all this food, and walks to meet where Kora and Melody were headed to set the food down, intercepting part way to hold her hands out to the newest sibling in offering to take something out of her hands, help with the balancing act, so that Kora's dessert didn't melt.
"Nice to meet you, Dee. Let me help ya out some, huh?"
Patrick gets a sweep-toward by the Kin's doe-brown eyes, and she smiles for him, but it's more of a one-sided corner of the mouth thing. Linus is glanced toward next, he gets what's leftover of Patrick's smile before she's focusing more on this new Rotagar once more.
[Simon Zahradnik] Simon's car pulls up at the Church and he slips out with a little smile worn on his face. It was strange how easily he melded into the neighborhood... He wasn't Urrah by tribe but he was certainly Urrah by birth. His clothing, his equipment, and his comfort within the confines of the city all painted the image that Simon was as much a part of this city as this city was a part of him. He was a new kind of predator, a hunter who stalked the streets of the city. The concrete beneath his feet was simply a new form of terrain, on which he was comfortable enough within. Garou weren't typically fond of the city but Simon was simply one of a new breed of young men and women born in response to the Garou's need to hold a larger presence within these melting pots of human ingenuity and corruption. The city was a place as wondrous as it was filthy and dangerous and who understood duplicity better than a Shadow Lord?
The Full Moon carried himself to the entrance to the Church with a little smile taking shape. His hand reaching up to pound against the heavy door. He loved this door, it always made him feel so much more awesome. Why can't more Garou choose giant concrete fortresses as their Pack houses?
Tonight he didn't come for battle, and he sure as fuck didn't come into someone else's territory to make trouble. Maintaining good terms with local packs was an important thing in a Sept and it would seem Simon knew this much. He was the consummate soldier and treated everything he did as a war. That meant keeping on good terms with his allies. It would be a bad idea to alienate one of the more important packs in the sept now wouldn't it?
He could come here and run his mouth, maybe wave his dick around and spew crap out his mouth but that would only get him un-invited. This was not his territory, despite his comfort in the area, and he would treat it with the same respect he expects within his own territory. This was Kora's house, she ran the show and as long as he was here she was in charge.
[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick does glance up at that, his mouth twisting in Linus' direction. "Got tired of waiting on you, went home." With the closing distance of other pack members the Fianna's blue eyes swing that way and he's watching the door as first Kora, then another fair-haired creature, followed by Drew Roscoe and Roman enter.
"Hey, Dee; Drew."
He doesn't get up immediately, but does slip the guitar strap over his head and carefully set it against the wooden seating. Slapping closed the leather-bound notebook with its weather-worn pages all curling and yellowing at the edges, the song-keeper wedges a pencil into it and sets it beside the guitar; sliding to his feet and scuffing a hand through his hair as he does.
[Linus] He snaps his fingers, climbing out of the pew, the pounding of the Door creating echoes throughout the interior.
"Five bucks says it's the Maytag guy. Dishwasher's been on the fritz..."
And he's struggling to put on a pair of loose trackpants, the elastic loop of such seemsbroken or much too large for his all too slim frame.
[Roman Turner] He sounded put upon, but he went for the door, calling.
"I'll get it."
In a long suffering voice. Once the door was opened, he greeted Simon with.
"Howdy Simon. Oh wait, how come ya always know to turn up when there's food? Ya smelled the garlic didn't ya? Dang it!"
Another faked long suffering sigh as he waved Simon in.
"Come on, Supper's waiting."
[Melody Himinndottir] "Drew, is it? Oh, I will love you forever if you free me from bondage." And thus begins the complicated dance that is trying to pass a number of bags from one to the other without dropping or spilling anything. By some miracle, this is accomplished with a modicum of grace and a fair amount of speed.
[Prayers to Broken Stone] "Dude," Patrick starts after Linus; spreading out his arms. "I told you I could fix that, where's the trust? I'm going to look at it right now." The Galliard deviates from the path toward the door and makes a beeline for the kitchen.
[Linus] "Dude! I was kidding! We don't have a Dishwasher!"
He's cracking up mid-way through the sentence.
"You are so new!"
[Kora] "You've been washing your boxers in it again, have you?" returns Kora to Linus. Then, she lifts her voice. "OPEN." - to carry back to Simon, knocking. On the theory that the Wyrm wouldn't knock, and with the whole pack about they can handle anything that comes through without needing the heavy wooden doors as shield. Roman's already walking over to the door, and Drew comes over to relieve Melody of her burden.
"Over there," though, she says to Melody, indicating the tables with older, abandoned pizza boxes near the couches and space heaters as the appropriate place to leave the feast. Kora's beginning to clear off the pizza boxes, find some space to spread out her feast.
"Oh, hey - Booker's moving in," she informs Linus, the retreating Patrick. "Until he can find someplace new to crash, yeah?"
[Prayers to Broken Stone] Patrick stops, frowning.
"Then what the hell was I putting dirty dishes in last night?"
[Kora] "Simon!" Kora here, turning and glancing over her shoulder at the Shadow Lord. "Everything's fair game except my hot chocolate and Tiramisu."
[Linus] Linus blinks and looks at Patrick. Then snaps around to Kora.
"When the Fuck did we get a Dishwasher and why the fuck didn't anyone tell me?!" He's dropped his track points back to his ankles and is pointing rather insistently toward the Kitchen.
[Melody Himinndottir] "Oh God, Kora. I know you live with a bunch of guys, but doesn't anyone throw garbage away around here?" She wrinkles her nose a bit at the pile of old pizza boxes.
[Kora] "You eat breakfast lunch and dinner out of a pizza box, Li," Kora explains, patiently. Faux-patiently. "Pizza boxes don't go in the dishwasher. Like Dee says, they go in the trash." Though to Dee, the Skald shakes her pale head once. And intones, solemnly.
"Chiminage, man. Ask Li."
[Drew Roscoe] This is the chaos of a crowded home- doors being knocked at, someone (typically the youngest, this holds true here) running to get it, two or three conversations going on at once, none of them quiet. Drew was an only child, she didn't grow up in a house full of siblings and chaos, this wasn't something she was intimately familiar with, this sort of ruckus. However, she's worked in crowded kitchens, pressed herself through slim gaps in crowded hallways and participated in college campus events where the mayhem was so much more.
She could handle it. Her eyes hopped between Patrick and Linus as they have an exchange about a dishwasher that no one seemed sure of whether it was real or not, Linus with his pants about his ankles, half-composed, not trying to be in the first place. Patrick caught between kitchen and open room, Roman and Simon at the door, Kora setting her boxes down on a table or two after empty pizza boxes were pushed away.
Drew was quiet, largely, letting Melody decide which bags to hand off to her, and once they were she set them on a corner of table before rolling her shoulders and setting to gathering up the pizza boxes and other food bags and carriers that were left behind.
One bit of the conversation catches Drew's ear though, and she's glancing up to Kora with an inquisitive eye. "Booker? What happened to his house?"
[Simon Zahradnik] He finds himself grinning when food is mentioned. He followed Roman into the church with his eyes looking around for signs of their recent battle."So how's everyone holding up since the whole... Thing?"He laughs a bit to himself cause no one was dead so obviously folks were good but it still seemed polite to ask."And when did you grow balls in place of a brain?"He asks Roman with a little smile remembering the New Moon's bold leap back into the Fray after their battle.
When he gets closer to the others his attention shifts to Kora."Please woman... I might be a full moon but I'm not stupid enough to steal food from an expecting mother. That shit'll get your ass killed."He says with a little grin presented back to her.
His attention turned on Melody."Guys can't throw garbage away... It's one of those Physiological differences between men and women I think. Women have breasts... Men can't throw garbage in the trash. I don't understand it I just accept it."He says with a knowing nod, the secrets of men were sacred and it was impressive enough that he would share these secrets with a woman he's never met before!
[Melody Himinndottir] "The spirits demand you live in filth? Just which spirits are you trying to placate here? The Trash Heap from Fraggle Rock?" The words might sound harsh, maybe even insulting, but the tone is anything but. If anything, she almost sounds amused.
[Roman Turner] "Varmits. Eli is moving out of his house cause he had varmits coming in. We invited him to come sit a spell with us."
He headed towards food as soon as he let Simon in. Knowing better than to wait in line when it came to food around here.
[Melody Himinndottir] She raises an eyebrow and gives Simon a look which quite possibly speaks volumes, but leaves it at that.
[Linus] "Close, Dee" Linus offers, finally getting around to belting up his Track Pants. A piece of the inner elastic is pulled out and drawn taut with a knot to ensure it remains in place. The Wife-beater is hidden under a second hoodie, this one a deep brown and ratted about one cuff, like it had been mauled by some vicious dog. The tattered sleeve is rolled up and pinned just behind his elbow while the Godi scratches his head and glances at the younger of his Sisters.
"Rat." He flicks a hand out and around the area. "Not worth the effort of getting into a bargain and a pinch with the little fucker, but having and cultivating the smell of so much food in and around the territory, keeps them coming back thinking they might get a scrap or some crumbs to pinch. Nothing we're not willing to part with either. It ain't proper chiminage but their presence also helps to keep the wyrm on his toes. If anything in the City promotes Gaia's 'Do Not Fuck With' moniker, it's the Rodent Pop. Keeps the Weaver off our backs almost completely."
And he draws a wide ouroborean circle in the air.
"Circle of Life, and all that." He yells on his way to the double doors, still bare foot and waddling slightly. "Taking a Leak! Don't eat my Gnocchi!"
[Prayers to Broken Stone] There's a grimace as the Fianna turns around to stare back at his brother. "Ugh, man. Pants. Pants." He's waving a hand, and vanishing into the kitchen to, as promised, investigate the potentially phantom dishwasher. When he emerges, wiping his hands free of grease; earned not in the kitchen but during the course of the day, the Galliard's attire was that of overalls, half covered by a jacket thrown atop them but the scents of a garage lingered on him; he's answering the Fostern's comment regarding Booker.
"Yeah, okay. Was meaning to say -- " a beat, Patrick's gaze hones in on the Shadow Lord for a moment, there's a tightening around his eyes as they fall away, return to his Alpha.
"I'm still living in the place I shared with Howard, it's got a working kitchen, plus room for another if someone needs a place to crash outside of here." Patrick's mood, as volatile as his Rage these nights, seems to dip for a moment as he adds: "I've cleared out all his things."
[Roman Turner] He about choked to death with Simon's words.
"Oh man, the first part? I got them in the womb, they come as a matched set, part of the basic equipment, though they ain't got a warranty. Which is what ya should remember when ya got a room full of gals and ya go on about how women folk can clean up."
[Melody Himinndottir] Melody opens her mouth, as if she's about to say something to Linus. Closes it again. Opens it. Closes it again.
Then she shakes her head, as if deciding there is nothing she can possibly say that is worth whatever sort of response she'd manage to get out of him.
[Kora] Kora unloads two flat boxes. They look like small pizza boxes, but when she opens them up they contain big aluminum containers of baked pasta. One is lasagne, the other is baked ziti. Both of them are covered in enough cheese and sauce to clog the arteries of the entire defensive line of the Chicago bears. In other words, delicious.
The last bag she sets down is full of garlic rolls, and the scent - of yeast, butter, bread and garlic - that opens up from the package is fucking heavenly. There's nothing to match it, not really, in the world.
"I think he had a visit from the neighborhood watch." Kora tells Drew, with a brief, narrow twist of her shoulders. "Found them less than hospitable, so he decided to seek his fortune in more welcoming quarters. That's my take on it.
A glance back to Simon, this one rather more level as she peaks back the foil and reaches to swipe a fingerful of sauce from the lid. "We're well, thanks Simon. Body and mind. This is my sister, Dee. Dee, this is Simon. Shadow Lord and Ahroun. And Simon," a twist of her mouth, brief. "Trent's perfectly capable of taking out the trash." Among other things. She is pregnant.
That hint of a gleam in her dark eyes changes though. She cuts a glance from Simon to Patrick, back again. There's a leveling there, a certain awareness of the subtle physical signs of tension in his eyes and stance.
Her look is straight, so direct, her dark eyes reflective and her pale features sober. Just a narrow twist of her mouth, the border of bitter and sweet, that. "You need a hand with shit like that, you let me know. Be good for you and Eli to meet, though. He's driving a tow truck. Maybe some business opportunities for you both, there."
[Simon Zahradnik] His smile grew in response to Kora's comment."I am sure he is..."He adds with a little knowing nod of his head."So I thought I would inform folks. I'm starting up a little class... Next month. I am thinkin' we'll meet Wednesday nights. Combat training essentials. Lukas thought it'd be good to help people get prepped for battle but I don't think runnin' around trying to train one person at a time how to fight was as efficient as possible. Either way I'm hoping everyone will show up... This isn't just about teaching cubs how to fight. This is about prepping a sept for war so I'd call it mandatory cept I can't force anyone to do shit they don't wanna."He says this to everyone present before smiling a little."I'm also thinkin' we'll set up a friday night self defense class for Kin."He says before taking a seat.
His attention then shifts back to Roman and his grin grows brilliant as does the sparkle in his eye."Survival of the fittest... It's how it works. If you don't survive to reproduce then you weren't fit enough to reproduce right?"He asks with a little smile.
His attention then turns back to Mellody."Got a piece? Should teach most boys right quick to clean up after themselves. That's how I'd handle it anyway... They're garou they'll live, and it'll get the message across right?"He asks her with a little smile. He could be all kinds of helpful when it came to advice!
[Kora] (phone! brb!)
[Melody Himinndottir] "I'll... keep that in mind." The smile she offers isn't quite genuine, though it's probably close enough that no one other than Kora or Linus would notice.
Though it becomes slightly more genuine as she turns to look at Linus, and one assumes images of childhood are playing through her head, as she imagines their mother yelling at him to clean his room, and then shooting him when he complains. Ahh, is there anything imagination can't do?
[Drew Roscoe] Roman's answer is met with a curious raise of eyebrows and not much else. Kora's is met with a nod and a distracted look glazing over her face as she took to stacking up pizza boxes in a more orderly fashion against the wall. If they were supposed to be for a spirit then she wouldn't throw them away and risk offending it, but she was pretty sure the spirit would accept them stacked up and out of the way just as well as it would were they sprawled across a tabletop.
Once things were neater, when there was more room for the food to be set out, Drew helps herself to one of the garlic rolls and settles for that, for now, stepping back out of the fray of hungry Garou.
She was pretty sure she'd seen someone lose a hand getting in the way of some beast's feeding frenzy before.
[Prayers to Broken Stone] There's a moment, his meeting her gaze when he seems as if he's on the verge of something; some confession; some words to speak on what's been going on inside that pretty head of his. But then he stalls, and reaches out to snare a piece of hot bread, tearing some away with his teeth in a very wolfish gesture.
"Yeah, will do."
He settles for it itself, the simple, aimless confirmation and shoots a glance at Drew as she snags some bread. "You want a drink or something? I'm gonna get some of that whiskey Imogen left behind." Melody gets the benefit of those impossibly blue eyes next: "Drink? You might need it."
Whatever orders he takes, the Fiann shuffles off in the direction of the kitchen; it's hard not to breathe a little easier when he's out of sight, it's in nobody's imagination that his presence has gotten worse, that the rage that had been high to begin with now seemed stifling. It was equally in nobody's imagination that the change seemed to have occurred in the days after Heir of the Ruined Day's death.
[shadows] ((Do you guys mind one more? I promise to bring Rain in carrying dessert for the pack party ;) ))
to Drew Roscoe, Kora, Linus, Melody Himinndottir, Prayers to Broken Stone, Roman Turner, Simon Zahradnik
[Prayers to Broken Stone] (Go for it!)
to Drew Roscoe, Kora, Linus, Melody Himinndottir, Roman Turner, shadows, Simon Zahradnik
[Roman Turner] He listened to Simon and thought about it as he went to get plates and silverware. In the kitchen he murmured low to Patrick.
"Ya gonna be just fine. Ya part of us now. It's a solid thing, this."
He winked before turning to return to set the main room and set the items on the table before digging in to one of the pasta dishes.
"Well, I reckon folk might benefit by training classes, if they have a mind to sign up or whatever. I think it could be a good place for some of them that ain't packed to find others of like mind and maybe become more solid by connecting with others if they ain't packed."
He paused to take a bite of garlic roll, talking around the lump he pushed in to his cheek between chewing.
"Some of the Kin might benefit from combat training, though maybe not so comfortable with a True teaching em, ya know?"
[Linus] Linus is gone for a few minutes and when he returns his mood has settled to a calm boil. He shoves the door open and closed behind him, moving back into the Church while pausing every so often to wipe the wet from the bottom of his feet on the cold stone floor which is not as cold as it used to be after being outside for a few minutes. He sniffs at the air again, moving through the Church proper, around the appropriate bodies as necessary until he reaches the couches. He steps up onto the cushions and moves quickly past those standing around with digging hands and reaching limbs, hitting the end of the table with a few motions at those in the way to move...move...move...
Linus plucks up the Pizza box stacks, murmuring with the effort and teeters dangerously before slumping off the Couch arm and back onto his feet. He carries the pile of near a dozen boxes, on over toward one of the Church Corners, tucked away in the shade and shadow of the flickering kerosene lamps that line the support pillars of the Church itself. Several are dumped there. He then moves around the Kitchen passageway and the Altar, and deposts a few more in the next corner. He repeats this for the other two corners of the Church and returns to the tables with a quick yawn and a glance around at those present.
"Alright you Fuckers. Since You're all so complain Mcbitch pants about the Boxes, here's the deal. You stick boxes, but only those large enough to feed a family, in the corners of the Church. Each box has to remain in place for exactly a month after which they can be thrown out. Makesure there aren't any leftovers inside before you do this or we're going to get a lot of unwanted attention. If you see-" He pulls down an eye lid and stares around the congregation, stepping up onto a nearby Pew to get some height and oration "-any Rats or Rodents scurrying about the place, that's normal. Do not, I repeat, Do Not harm or hurt. They ain't friends but they do us good service."
A pause, as if to measuring if that was getting through to everyone. Then:
"Secondly, we've got a standing pact with the Ravens in the Belfry. No one here should be going up there, unless they talk to me first. All pack members know and understand the requirements to keep them Appeased. Do not piss them off or go looking to talk to them on your own. They will find as many different ways of taking advantage of you as possible and that's my Job." A firm frown. "And if you make my job any harder than it needs to be, I will bind a fuckin' Fire Giant to your ass hairs."
And he holds up a Third finger, though he'd failed to do so for One and Two.
"There are scratched in Glyphs along the foundation of the entire Church now-" And he points, around the lower stones of the Church walls, where the carved and chipped stonework indeed bares the rough and rudimentary symbols of the Garou language. Much of it is common knowledge among the Garou, but there are some if inspected, that do not correspond to any easily recognizable symbols. "These are part of an on-going Ritual of mine that requires some very delicate and precise, measures. Do not wreck, scuff or harm them in anyway. If you notice even one of them is in some state of dis-repair, you come and tell me. If something gets damaged, you come and tell me. If you spill some Cola on the ground in the middle of the church and it threatens to spread toward the Walls, you come and tell me. This shit is important and the more free favours I have to do, the less capable I am of serving this Pack..."
A pause, again, scanning the crowd of bodies around who may or may not be listening to him.
"That said...if any of you would like to lend a hand with Spiritual endeavors? Then I will see what I can do about giving you a list of possibilities. Do not." And here, Linus' features seem to drift into something...serious. Fierce, even "Do Not, fuck around with my Bargains or this Pack's umbral turf without telling or talking to me first and I give you the go ahead. Notice anything wrong, tell me. Simple simple..."
And he finally leaps down off the Pew, with a glance up at Roman and a pointing finger.
"Teach the Kin to fight? Fuck yeah!"
[Roman Turner] ((Lord, my brain is going, that made no sense ))
to Drew Roscoe, Kora, Linus, Melody Himinndottir, Simon Zahradnik
[Rain] It is not quite yet freezing outside. Not quite. The temperature lingers barely a degree and some decimal point above, but Rain keeps valiantly holding out hope for Spring. There were a few devilishly warmer days, just enough to get her hopes up, and then right back into the white-heart of winter's madness.
The heavy door of the Church pushes open again -- Rain doesn't knock to announce herself, nor does she stop at the threshold when she hears a cacophony of voices -- and one of the pack's kinfolk carries a bag of groceries and her guitar into the entryway with her. Of those voices that reach her, all she can really make out of them, anyway, is Teach the Kin to fight? Fuck yeah! from the Godi who hates to babysit.
The door closes, shouldered firmly and pushed until it latches, and then she finds a place to lean her guitar for now.
[Simon Zahradnik] He turned his attention on Kora."If one of your kin is gettin' hassled by the locals I can go take care of that shit for ya..."He offers with a little nod of his head."This city's pretty fucked up but most people like not living their lives in a wheelchair. You just gotta know how to politely to tell them to back the fuck down. If you cave they'll take it for weakness and keep pushing."He adds politely enough."You wanna push our kin around that's cool I just want folks to understand I will tear these streets up if they wanna start crossing our kind. Aggression might not be welcome to some but it's the only thing some of these punks understand. They know violence and they respect it."
He turns his attention back to Roman when he returns."Not some folks... And not the packless. Every single fuckin' garou in this city can benefit from training and working with his peers. Especially other packs. Even if you're the toughest fuckin' full moon in town you always have something to learn from someone else and if you don't then you have skills you can teach others."He nods his head."We're going to war and I'm not gonna sit back and let another soldier go out onto that battlefield unprepared."
His attention then shifts to Linus and he listens to quite a bit of important Pack information. He didn't need to know this so much since he rarely fucked with people's territory. However, there was a little at the end that involved him and his head nodded.
"Kin too... We don't want most of them to fight or whatever but whether we like it or not they are a part of this war and sooner or later there's a chance every single one of them will find their ass alone in a dark alley with someone. I'd like to see our kin prepared for that eventuality not just my tribe... All tribes. This is war and it's not about any one tribes blood cause in a war all our blood gets spilled and mixed up in the same greasy slimy fuckin' puddle."
[Kora] There are bowls in there, sturdy, cardboard. Silverware, and when Linus returns and begins giving the pack - the full pack, here - his instructions about the bargains and deals he has made, the spirits he has cultivated, the rituals he is unleashing on the unsuspecting stones of this great shambling solid wreck of a home-to-wolves, she dishes herself out a bowl of baked ziti. This takes eight trips back to the foil-covered container with the small spoon she has, but she makes each one while Linus speaks, watching him with the considered attention of dark, direct eyes.
A winging glance at Drew as she starts to straighten up. Kora's generous mouth twists at the rightmost corner, and she looks up as Patrick picks out a hot roll, slathered in garlic and butter. Bites into it. She holds his eyes for a stilling moment, nevermind the large group around them, it feels wholly private until her gaze flicks wordlessly back to Simon and Roman.
"He's right," Kora remarks, in her low alto. "I'm not sure the kin need to learn self-defense from an Ahroun. You wouldn't begin to - " a sharp kind of breaking off here. An indrawn breath. " - to know the limits of a human body anymore. What it's like to be stuck in one.
"Maybe recruit a kin or two, let them teach directly. You could observe, offer advice if you feel the need, but Roman's point is a good one."
A fork hovers over the ziti. "Hey Dee, hand me the parmesan, would you?"
Her half-smile is deepening, a twist of her mouth. She glances over her shoulder, lifts the bowl like a toast to Rain. Mouths, "Lasange" by way of invitation without raising her voice over the interval distance, then picks up her own hot chocolate and finds a place to park it. Near a heater.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew blinks at Patrick when he offers her a drink, then grins in good spirits and shakes her head. "Naw, I'm alright, thanks though." He accepts that easy enough, it seems, and moves on to offering Dee something to drink as well. Linus goes off on a speech about his doings with the spirits and the laws-- don't hurt the rats, don't bother the crows, don't fuck with the glyphs, things like that. She pays half-attention at best, the spirits didn't pay mind to her, she couldn't see or interact with them unless there was deliberate force on their end to make communication come through and reach her.
They're talking about teaching Kin to fight, and she's grinning a little at the thought, but not piping up. Instead she's finishing the garlic roll, rubbing her fingers clean of the grease and butter on her pants, and moving toward the door, pausing only briefly to touch Kora at the shoulder when she passed and explaining: "Just remembered something, I'll catch up with you guys later." From there she's heading to the door, but pausing when she sees Rain.
Rain's leaning against the door, pressing it closed, and Drew catches up with her before she gets too far into the church, speaking in a low tone of voice while she pulls her hat and gloves on and buttons up her coat.
"Rain. About the night at the coffee shop, I owe you an apology. Stole your night away and dashed it on the sidewalk, and then left you with your kinsman and woman to deal with them when I got their tempers up and going. I owe you somethin' to make it up. You call me and let me know what you'd like to settle us even and friendly again, okay?" She smiles an apologetic and sort of goofy manner for the Child of Gaia Kin, reaches out to pat her lightly on the arm, and goes for the door. "I'd hang out but I've got an agenda for the night. We'll catch up, okay?"
And gone. We call this drive-by-making-amends.
[Kora] A brief glance back at Simon, then. Kora shakes her head, quietly. "I appreciate the offer, but neighborhood watch was a metaphor, man." There's a hint of humor, there, a brief twist of her narrow shoulders.
[Linus] "...A good metaphor though. Bout as fuckin' useful, the lot..."
He goes digging into one of the bags in search of the Gnocchi.
[Simon Zahradnik] He shrugs back at Kora."That's the thing though... When something comes for them it's not gonna be pretty or nice. Especially those whose blood makes them a target. It's gonna be big and nasty and capable of tearing your heart out and showing it to you while it still beats. We shelter our kin from what we are capable of then they're not gonna get a taste of what they need to expect right?"He asks Kora curiously."I would like to believe the world is fair but it's not and the monsters that are gonna come after our kin aren't gonna be annoying dudes in night clubs. That's not what I want to train the kin to prepare themselves to face off against."
[Rain] There's some hullabaloo going on about Ahrouns teaching kin to fight. That's as far as she's gotten into the Getting Home routine of sorting out the pack's whereabouts (and going ons) when Drew wanders up to her, apparently on her way out.
Rain offers her seeming sister an understanding smile.
"You didn't dash my night on the sidewalk, lovely. But I'll take a girls' night, no drama, someday if you want to make ammends for nothin'." Her voice is evenly tempered, more than warm for Drew. Whatever happened that night hasn't changed how Rain feels about her. "Stuff gets complicated. I get it. We're good."
She moves out of the doorway to let the Fenrir pass.
"Don't let me keep ya."
[Drew Roscoe] Before Drew's out the door, Rain's answer has her pausing and smiling. Relief spreads on her face like butter on hot toast, and she wraps her scarf more snugly about her neck before nodding to the girl that's so easily mistaken as a sibling, even once as a twin.
"Girl's night it is."
The breeze is cold only for a moment, Drew's quick to close the door behind her and prevent heat from escaping.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Where You Were Wrong [Kora]
[Kora] Late Monday night, there's a firm sure knock on Drew's door. It's a cool night, with a shivering sort of drizzle falling from orange-gray skies onto the freezing asphalt, glazing every surface with a thin skin of ice.
The rain gives the atmosphere a hushed quality, pinging off the window panes, sliding down the gutters of Drew's small rental home. It glazes the half melted snow in the yard with a lacy skin of ice, compact and solid as frozen milk.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew had been asleep when the sound of someone pounding on her front door woke her up. She roused from a sprawled-out state on her mattress, covers half-hiked up her body half-kicked down, pushed herself up with her forearms and stared bleary-eyed toward the large bedroom window from the second story of the house that overlooked her front yard. Fingers went for the gun kept in the nightstand, and she held it careful, though still half-asleep, as she looked down out the window.
Kora.
Oh great.
The gun is put away again, back in the nightstand drawer, and Drew doesn't bother to wrap herself in a bathrobe to go downstairs and answer the door for her Jarl. Kora waits out in the cold for two or so minutes, this is the time it takes for Drew to check the window, descend the staircase, and undo the three separate locks that keep the door secure at night. When she opens the door, she steps back to allow Kora inside without question, letting the woman out of the cold and into the warmth of the small home with the hardwood floors and cozy furnishings.
Drew's dressed in a pair of pale green silk pajamas, pants and tank-top combination, and while her hair is mussed and her eyes still at half-mast from being roused, she appears to be unsurprised.
[Kora] The Skald is dressed in a new sweatshirt, dark gray, with the university of chicago logo on the breast and a pounch bisected by the zipper pulled all the way up to her neck. The hood is forward, touching the crown of her head, shielding most of her face and hair from the rain. The yoke of the sweatshirt - and hood - are patterned damp from the rain.
"Drew." - she murmurs, giving the young kinswoman a dark eyed once over, head to toe and back again. She steps inside, the warmth welcome, flexing her bare hands to return circulation to the digits as she reaches up to unzip the hoodie, take off the damp cotton jacket as she pauses just inside the door to stamp off the rain and muck from her heavy black boots. There's a braided leather necklace at her throat, thinly worked, and a handful of bracelets at her wrist. Her blonde hair is scraped back from her sharply defined features. There's a stillness underneath; a certain solid presence that does not belong confined in walls like these.
When her boots are stamped clean, she walks further in. The gait like an animal's is nearly enough to make one forget her pregnancy. Except there's no forgotting it now.
"You know why I'm here." Kora says, with a lifting look back to Drew.
[Drew Roscoe] "Yep."
The answer is half-sleepy, but certain enough. She closed the door behind Kora and didn't bother locking it-- she didn't expect Kora would stay longer than necessary, and knew that, despite their differences, if someone was bold and dumb enough to try and break into her home right now just because she left the front door unlocked, Kora would surely tear them apart.
She didn't have pockets for her hands to go into, so Drew instead wrapped her arms about her chest, one hand on either shoulder, and left them there for now. She stood with her back to the wall near the door, not inviting Kora to sit, not sitting herself. It was too late for pleasantries, she knew that it wouldn't be pleasant anyways.
This was business, and it was going to be conducted as such.
"What's the punishment?"
[Kora] There's a low huff of breath from the Skald. The sound is quiet, nearly subvocal. There's a certain bitter twist to it. Underneath, though, the creature is clearly calm. When Drew asks what the punishment is so very plainly, Kora flickers another glance around the small, shadow cloaked living room before returning her level gaze to Drew.
The room is half-lit by the glow from outside, one of the lamps Drew turned on as she made her way to the door. It casts them in sharp relief, shadow play. "You think I'm going to punish you without at least hearing your side?" That sound again, a quiet snort that flares her pale nostrils, her generous mouth drawing in at the corners.
The expression is distinct and considering, but withdrawn somehow. A clinical distance. "Let's hear it." That pause. "In your words."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew shook her head and sighed, moved a hand to scrub at the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and her thumb, then placed that hand back on the shoulder it was cradling. She leaned against the wall, took another deep breath, then started talking.
"Ran into a bunch of the Unicorn kin last night at a coffee shop. I like Rain, I like Jackson, and I figured whatever was between August and I was water under the bridge. 'Cept she's spending the better part of the time I'm in there talking to Rain and this.. Phoenix guy and all acting like I'm not there, just bein' real.. coy, I guess, I don't know. I could tell she had words in her, so I asked her outside to say them.
"She's apparently not too pleased about me 'getting in her business' and trying to encourage her to be stronger for herself and her kids. Feeds me this line about how her past and how I don't know her and I have no grounds on which to be advising her what she do with her life. I tell her flat out what I think about it. That she's a liability by putting herself in these situations where she needs people to help her 'cause she can't help herself, that she's betrayin' her tribe by not turning to them for help but others? And tell her, frankly, that if she can't take care of kids herself she shouldn't be having them.
"She gets pissed and grabs me up by my jacket, gets way too close and into my face and starts bleating about her abusive mate and all that. I don't want her there, so I punch her in the mouth."
Just like that. That simple, apparently.
"Of course tempers exploded, I tried to hit her a few more times, she tried to hit me. We didn't get too far, no one got hurt 'cept some feelings and pride 'cause that Phoenix fellow stepped in and got between us. After that, I came home, had a drink, and went to bed."
The end.
[Kora] Kora's standing with her hands still in the pockets of her unzipped sweatshirt. The sides hang loose - too much fabric for her frame - down her flanks, the zipper glinting with its glaze of freezing drizzle. Underneath, the Skald's clothing is wholly utilitarian - jeans, a thermal, and a pale gray tunic, both long enough to cover her torso and stomach, pulled down to her hips. There is a ghost of darker fabric along her shoulders and around the neck, where the rain soaked through the outter layers to the inner layer.
"How did you try to encourage her to be stronger for herself and her kids?" A flicker of a look. Steady on Drew's face, stillness quiet in Kora's.
[Drew Roscoe] "Went to her house 'bout a week ago... Or I should say that what's-his-face Shadow Lord's house. Heard that was where she was staying. Hand her a copy of those apartment papers I sent do you--" Drew doesn't pause to ask if Kora got them or not, that was neither here nor there. "--and explain to her how the math and money works out, how I'm willing to help her get her own place and all that. She doesn't even glance at them-- decides she's happy playing housemaid to a Lord.
"I explain to her that she should be with her Tribe. That she should be standing up strong for those kids by taking care of them herself and not relying on a nigh-stranger from another Tribe to support them and her instead. Tell her she needs to be a constant in their lives because nothing else will be. She, apparently, took offense to that when I told her the first time.
"The second time, tonight, I told her basically the same thing, except with a lot less patience. That she kept falling in the laps of other tribes or sellin' herself out to them. There's no honor in that, and it's just.... not right for them kids. If she didn't have the buds attached to her I wouldn't give a damn what she was doing with her life-- but those kids are what we're putting our stock in, you know?"
[Kora] There's a certain sheen of light across the Fenrir's dark eyes; animal. It's there too in the way she watches Drew while the young woman explains herself - that steadiness, held back a bit. Her rage banked, perhaps spent before she came here. Once she pulls her hands from her pockets and pushes up her sleeves over her forearms. The gray tunic is shortsleeved, leaving the cuffs of the white thermal with that faint white glow in the shadows.
There's a spot of blood there.
Something for someone else to clean up.
The sweatshirt hangs open now, and the Skald slides her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. Slung low, mostly under the swell of her stomach. The top button's left undone, the imprint of it evident against the fabric of the longer tunic top.
Once more, a low sound, a quiet noise in the back of her throat, like a withheld laugh that's been swallowed by a moving wave. "I want you to think about this," Kora continues, her generous mouth twisting in a terribly human expression. " - why did you seek her out. For yourself? For her? That's the first question. And the second is: did you think that that would work?"
[Drew Roscoe] "Originally?"
To make sure they were on the same grounds. When the nod, or what have you confirms it, she presses on with a bit of a shiver and while rubbing her hands down her arms to warm them.
"Both, I suppose. I wanted the best for those kids more than her. I felt a bit guilty about refusing my home to them and wanted to make that feel right by offering her the other options she had. I wanted to feel the honesty about discussing this face-to-face rather than using you as a correspondence about the whole thing."
As for whether it would work, she shrugged: "I'd never met her before. I didn't know how obstinate she was about being under a man's thumb, regardless of who that man might be. She could do it-- take up the option I've given her. She's refusing it, didn't even think about it for half a second. I didn't realize it then. I know it now."
[Kora] "August," the word sits alone for a moment, without inflection. It rises as if roused. Kora watches Drew with that same aura of animal speculation, a certain coruscating intensity, the movement of her hands over her arms, the shiver that moves through her from the cold. "She called me tonight. She told me that the first time you came to her house - a stranger - you berated her, judged her, and informed her that she was a bad parent, even though you had never met her before. She thought that you were trying to drive her from the city - to make her feel unwanted and inadequate."
There's a twist of Kora's shoulders then, mirrored by the movement of her curving mouth. A certain irony in the background to keep the sharper, animal side of her deeply in check.
"Maybe she is stubborn. Even feckless." There's a faint gesture, a twisting shrug near the end. "But if you wanted the best for her kids; if you wanted to help her stand on her own feet, if you genuinely wanted those things, I think you fucked up."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew makes a bit of a face when Kora relays what August gave her through the phone call, but doesn't say anything more or shake her head to make a point of denying it. She'd already given her side of the story, Kora already knew her take.
I think you fucked up.
Drew didn't argue it. She just shrugged again, and stopped rubbing her arms so she could lift her hands to brush her fingers through her hair, undoing some of the 'I just rolled out of bed' cowlicks. "I probably did. I was very up front with her, 'cause I don't see sense in... I dunno, courting her, I guess?" There's a shake of her head, and she's brushing her lengthy hair down over one shoulder and working out the knots. "She called you, huh? Didn't talk to any of her tribemates first?"
[Kora] "Totally immaterial, Drew. I'm your tribesmate, and I'm here to deal with you. Not gossip about others." There's a note - pressure in her voice - there, a certain forward shift, a subtle thread of disapproval that Drew was bold enough to ask the question.
Her stance does not change, nor does the steadiness of her quiet regard. Then she makes a low noise of negation in the back of her throat.
"I don't think the problem was that you didn't court her, the problem was that you completely and utterly alienated her." There's a quiet snort at the end of this. "That letter you sent me. About apartments and classifieds. You meant is as a peace offering, did you?"
Kora pauses, long enough for Drew to affirm what the Skald realizes, only now. "I read it half-way through before I crumpled it up. Even the text seemed - " Another supple snort, a twist of her mouth near the end. "Perhaps you should avoid 'upfront' for now."
[Drew Roscoe] Kora's asking if the letter was meant to be a peace offering, and Drew's eyebrows lifted some over groggy eyes, showing a moment of sleepy surprise. She'd thought that was obvious, that was the point of the compromise. It'd be that much easier to leave it as a 'no' and let it stay there-- she'd put time and research into finding alternatives for this Kin she'd never met, and was offering up a considerable sum of money on this stranger because Kora wanted to help her. Peace offering was a good word, and she nods a bit to confirm what the Skald was now figuring out.
The suggestion that she should avoid being upfront is met with a bit of a shrug, and her arms cross over her chest securely again, hands on the tops of her biceps to keep her arms warm. The house, compared to outdoors, was nice and warm. However, the first story on hardwood floor compared to the warm bed upstairs was pretty darn chilly.
"Probably right. Figure I'm done with August too. She's not my problem in the first place, didn't want my help when I offered it, and I've done burnt whatever bridge that could be salvaged." There's a pause, then she sighs and frowns a bit. "Need to apologize to Phoenix, I snapped at him pretty badly when he got in the way, I regret that... He seemed real nice. Gotta apologize to Rain too for killing her evening."
[Kora] "That's a good start, Drew. Reasonable. Necessary." Kora concurs, in her rich, low voice. There's still that twist to her mouth as her dark gaze turns harder. Flinty, somehow. "Unfortunately, you're not quite done with August. You crossed the line twice with August, Drew. I asked you if you would take on a roommate. You said no. That was the end of it as far as I was concerned. I asked nothing more from you.
"And this is where you crossed the line. You haven't the right to go about telling other Kinfolk how to be good Kinfolk. August isn't your tribe, and I did not ask you to speak to her. Certainly, I didn't ask you to lecture her."
There's a pause there, "I'll accept that on some level you meant well. You were also horrible at it. Things ended worse than they began. If that's all there was, this discussion would end here. I'd tell you to shut the fuck up about August and stop lecturing other kin.
"But that's not the end of it. You've no right to attack another kinfolk. Another pregnant kinfolk. Bar brawls? I'll look the other way. Cat fights - ?" This quiet shake of her pale head pulls the weight of her hair against the hood of her jacket. "Jesus christ, Drew. You're Fenrir. Not some fucking Silver Fang."
Here, she draws in another breath. Expels it all at a go. "Tell me you get that. Where you were wrong in this. Where you crossed the line."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew's temper doesn't flare up when Kora explains to here where she went wrong, or even when she scolds her for cat fights. Either she's too tired, that drink was still warm in her stomach and veins, or she was content after she had her chance to vent all her frustrations at the blonde Kin and throw some fists for the first time in forever.
That or she knew Kora was right.
For any of these reasons, she doesn't interrupt or argue with the Skald while she talks. Instead she listens, and nods faintly in some areas, but otherwise is still and quiet, save for the occasional shiver that trembles along her back and shoulders.
"Naw, you're right, I know where I went wrong. I should've just left it the hell alone. I shouldn't have tried to tell her how to be, not my place. The fighting was stupid and juvenile, the both of us acted like a couple of teenage girls." There's another shake of her head, a sniff, and she looks at Kora with no disagreement, no sarcasm on her face. The fighting, the disagreements, the mean words and bad blood, she's past it apparently. "I'll rectify where I can. What do you need me to do with August?"
[Kora] For the first time all night, the Skald gives Drew the weary edge of a genuine half-smile. Her mouth is wide, quick-moving, expressive - softening the sharp angles of her features - and it curves in this Mona Lisa way even when still.
"I'm impressed, Drew. Most people are incapable of admitting fault. It's a weakness they read as strength," here Kora moves her shoulders in another of her narrow expressions, half-way to a helpless shrug. " - or pass off as truth."
"This is gonna be two parts, I think. I'm not sure which one is harder. The first one's immediate. I don't wanna hear you - or hear of you - talking about August. You've given up your right to an opinion on her. Or at least, you've given up your right to spread your opinion about. It may be hard, given your pretty definite opinions on the subject. I think it's necessary though.
"Maybe you were gonna do that already." The last like a concession.
"The second part is a little more fluid. You're gonna come up with something that you can do for her. Something that will genuinely help her. Probably without contact between you, since I can't see that ending well. Maybe you'll pay for day care for some time. Maybe you'll help her with tuition. Maybe there's something else you can offer her, without rancor. You figure it out, and bring it to me for approval.
"Got all that?"
[Drew Roscoe] Drew sniffed a bit and returned the half-smile by offering a bit of a sleepy grin in response. It was crushingly cute, thankfully Kora was overall immune to such things because it looked the perfect match to something that belonged on a pillow with the first rays of sunlight cutting through a bedroom. She brushed her hair back from her brow and settled her arms over her stomach again.
"Sounds fair," to the part about not speaking of August. As for the second part, giving something back, she's frowning, but not with disagreement so much as thought. "She won't do daycare, made a point of mentioning so the first time we talked. ...Maybe find some jobs she'd be suited to? I could look around and see if there's any... child care jobs open so she could have the kids with her? Or some other job that won't mind if she's got children with her? I dunno..."
She's dismissing that thought process for now, she wasn't near awake enough to be tossing serious ideas around. She'd been musing immediate thoughts aloud, but it didn't go too far. She just nodded to Kora, confirmed: "Got it." And moved for the door, but paused and instead hitched a thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchen. "You want, like, a cup of something warm to get you back home?"
[Kora] "Yeah," says Kora, following the movement of Drew's thumb. "I'd like that."
[Drew Roscoe] The Jarl would like that, so Drew seems quite content to comply. She doesn't bust out the coffee, not because she thinks it will damage a pregnant woman beyond repair (she didn't believe all the hype about every little thing being able to ruin you if you're pregnant), but rather because she figured Kora would be on her way to rest for the night, because she figured the caffeine would still affect the baby, and she could only imagine trying to sleep with something doing cartwheels inside you.
Rather, she warms some milk and makes some hot chocolate-- simple and modest, a packet that boasted caramel flavoring as well, and mixed it all together in a thermos that she screwed the lid onto and passed off to Kora. The Jarl is wished a good evening with a smile and seen to the door, which is closed once Kora steps past the threshold and out onto the sidewalk, and locked up with the three different locks required for this part of town.
That past she's going straight back to bed, climbing the stairs, scrubbing her face, and tucking herself in under the sheets, snuggling down against her mattress and pillow and sighing happily.
It seemed she'd needed to throw all of her cards on the table, scream a little, and when that was out of her system she was able to see more clearly-- to look back and understand precisely all the points she'd gone wrong rather than one or two and denying the rest. The conversation with Kora had gone much better than she'd anticipated. She had plans for sushi for lunch the next day at work (her supervisor's way of thanking her for the long-assed stress-filled workday she'd pulled today). Things looked up, and for that she drifted back to sleep quickly and peacefully.
The rain gives the atmosphere a hushed quality, pinging off the window panes, sliding down the gutters of Drew's small rental home. It glazes the half melted snow in the yard with a lacy skin of ice, compact and solid as frozen milk.
[Drew Roscoe] Drew had been asleep when the sound of someone pounding on her front door woke her up. She roused from a sprawled-out state on her mattress, covers half-hiked up her body half-kicked down, pushed herself up with her forearms and stared bleary-eyed toward the large bedroom window from the second story of the house that overlooked her front yard. Fingers went for the gun kept in the nightstand, and she held it careful, though still half-asleep, as she looked down out the window.
Kora.
Oh great.
The gun is put away again, back in the nightstand drawer, and Drew doesn't bother to wrap herself in a bathrobe to go downstairs and answer the door for her Jarl. Kora waits out in the cold for two or so minutes, this is the time it takes for Drew to check the window, descend the staircase, and undo the three separate locks that keep the door secure at night. When she opens the door, she steps back to allow Kora inside without question, letting the woman out of the cold and into the warmth of the small home with the hardwood floors and cozy furnishings.
Drew's dressed in a pair of pale green silk pajamas, pants and tank-top combination, and while her hair is mussed and her eyes still at half-mast from being roused, she appears to be unsurprised.
[Kora] The Skald is dressed in a new sweatshirt, dark gray, with the university of chicago logo on the breast and a pounch bisected by the zipper pulled all the way up to her neck. The hood is forward, touching the crown of her head, shielding most of her face and hair from the rain. The yoke of the sweatshirt - and hood - are patterned damp from the rain.
"Drew." - she murmurs, giving the young kinswoman a dark eyed once over, head to toe and back again. She steps inside, the warmth welcome, flexing her bare hands to return circulation to the digits as she reaches up to unzip the hoodie, take off the damp cotton jacket as she pauses just inside the door to stamp off the rain and muck from her heavy black boots. There's a braided leather necklace at her throat, thinly worked, and a handful of bracelets at her wrist. Her blonde hair is scraped back from her sharply defined features. There's a stillness underneath; a certain solid presence that does not belong confined in walls like these.
When her boots are stamped clean, she walks further in. The gait like an animal's is nearly enough to make one forget her pregnancy. Except there's no forgotting it now.
"You know why I'm here." Kora says, with a lifting look back to Drew.
[Drew Roscoe] "Yep."
The answer is half-sleepy, but certain enough. She closed the door behind Kora and didn't bother locking it-- she didn't expect Kora would stay longer than necessary, and knew that, despite their differences, if someone was bold and dumb enough to try and break into her home right now just because she left the front door unlocked, Kora would surely tear them apart.
She didn't have pockets for her hands to go into, so Drew instead wrapped her arms about her chest, one hand on either shoulder, and left them there for now. She stood with her back to the wall near the door, not inviting Kora to sit, not sitting herself. It was too late for pleasantries, she knew that it wouldn't be pleasant anyways.
This was business, and it was going to be conducted as such.
"What's the punishment?"
[Kora] There's a low huff of breath from the Skald. The sound is quiet, nearly subvocal. There's a certain bitter twist to it. Underneath, though, the creature is clearly calm. When Drew asks what the punishment is so very plainly, Kora flickers another glance around the small, shadow cloaked living room before returning her level gaze to Drew.
The room is half-lit by the glow from outside, one of the lamps Drew turned on as she made her way to the door. It casts them in sharp relief, shadow play. "You think I'm going to punish you without at least hearing your side?" That sound again, a quiet snort that flares her pale nostrils, her generous mouth drawing in at the corners.
The expression is distinct and considering, but withdrawn somehow. A clinical distance. "Let's hear it." That pause. "In your words."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew shook her head and sighed, moved a hand to scrub at the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and her thumb, then placed that hand back on the shoulder it was cradling. She leaned against the wall, took another deep breath, then started talking.
"Ran into a bunch of the Unicorn kin last night at a coffee shop. I like Rain, I like Jackson, and I figured whatever was between August and I was water under the bridge. 'Cept she's spending the better part of the time I'm in there talking to Rain and this.. Phoenix guy and all acting like I'm not there, just bein' real.. coy, I guess, I don't know. I could tell she had words in her, so I asked her outside to say them.
"She's apparently not too pleased about me 'getting in her business' and trying to encourage her to be stronger for herself and her kids. Feeds me this line about how her past and how I don't know her and I have no grounds on which to be advising her what she do with her life. I tell her flat out what I think about it. That she's a liability by putting herself in these situations where she needs people to help her 'cause she can't help herself, that she's betrayin' her tribe by not turning to them for help but others? And tell her, frankly, that if she can't take care of kids herself she shouldn't be having them.
"She gets pissed and grabs me up by my jacket, gets way too close and into my face and starts bleating about her abusive mate and all that. I don't want her there, so I punch her in the mouth."
Just like that. That simple, apparently.
"Of course tempers exploded, I tried to hit her a few more times, she tried to hit me. We didn't get too far, no one got hurt 'cept some feelings and pride 'cause that Phoenix fellow stepped in and got between us. After that, I came home, had a drink, and went to bed."
The end.
[Kora] Kora's standing with her hands still in the pockets of her unzipped sweatshirt. The sides hang loose - too much fabric for her frame - down her flanks, the zipper glinting with its glaze of freezing drizzle. Underneath, the Skald's clothing is wholly utilitarian - jeans, a thermal, and a pale gray tunic, both long enough to cover her torso and stomach, pulled down to her hips. There is a ghost of darker fabric along her shoulders and around the neck, where the rain soaked through the outter layers to the inner layer.
"How did you try to encourage her to be stronger for herself and her kids?" A flicker of a look. Steady on Drew's face, stillness quiet in Kora's.
[Drew Roscoe] "Went to her house 'bout a week ago... Or I should say that what's-his-face Shadow Lord's house. Heard that was where she was staying. Hand her a copy of those apartment papers I sent do you--" Drew doesn't pause to ask if Kora got them or not, that was neither here nor there. "--and explain to her how the math and money works out, how I'm willing to help her get her own place and all that. She doesn't even glance at them-- decides she's happy playing housemaid to a Lord.
"I explain to her that she should be with her Tribe. That she should be standing up strong for those kids by taking care of them herself and not relying on a nigh-stranger from another Tribe to support them and her instead. Tell her she needs to be a constant in their lives because nothing else will be. She, apparently, took offense to that when I told her the first time.
"The second time, tonight, I told her basically the same thing, except with a lot less patience. That she kept falling in the laps of other tribes or sellin' herself out to them. There's no honor in that, and it's just.... not right for them kids. If she didn't have the buds attached to her I wouldn't give a damn what she was doing with her life-- but those kids are what we're putting our stock in, you know?"
[Kora] There's a certain sheen of light across the Fenrir's dark eyes; animal. It's there too in the way she watches Drew while the young woman explains herself - that steadiness, held back a bit. Her rage banked, perhaps spent before she came here. Once she pulls her hands from her pockets and pushes up her sleeves over her forearms. The gray tunic is shortsleeved, leaving the cuffs of the white thermal with that faint white glow in the shadows.
There's a spot of blood there.
Something for someone else to clean up.
The sweatshirt hangs open now, and the Skald slides her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. Slung low, mostly under the swell of her stomach. The top button's left undone, the imprint of it evident against the fabric of the longer tunic top.
Once more, a low sound, a quiet noise in the back of her throat, like a withheld laugh that's been swallowed by a moving wave. "I want you to think about this," Kora continues, her generous mouth twisting in a terribly human expression. " - why did you seek her out. For yourself? For her? That's the first question. And the second is: did you think that that would work?"
[Drew Roscoe] "Originally?"
To make sure they were on the same grounds. When the nod, or what have you confirms it, she presses on with a bit of a shiver and while rubbing her hands down her arms to warm them.
"Both, I suppose. I wanted the best for those kids more than her. I felt a bit guilty about refusing my home to them and wanted to make that feel right by offering her the other options she had. I wanted to feel the honesty about discussing this face-to-face rather than using you as a correspondence about the whole thing."
As for whether it would work, she shrugged: "I'd never met her before. I didn't know how obstinate she was about being under a man's thumb, regardless of who that man might be. She could do it-- take up the option I've given her. She's refusing it, didn't even think about it for half a second. I didn't realize it then. I know it now."
[Kora] "August," the word sits alone for a moment, without inflection. It rises as if roused. Kora watches Drew with that same aura of animal speculation, a certain coruscating intensity, the movement of her hands over her arms, the shiver that moves through her from the cold. "She called me tonight. She told me that the first time you came to her house - a stranger - you berated her, judged her, and informed her that she was a bad parent, even though you had never met her before. She thought that you were trying to drive her from the city - to make her feel unwanted and inadequate."
There's a twist of Kora's shoulders then, mirrored by the movement of her curving mouth. A certain irony in the background to keep the sharper, animal side of her deeply in check.
"Maybe she is stubborn. Even feckless." There's a faint gesture, a twisting shrug near the end. "But if you wanted the best for her kids; if you wanted to help her stand on her own feet, if you genuinely wanted those things, I think you fucked up."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew makes a bit of a face when Kora relays what August gave her through the phone call, but doesn't say anything more or shake her head to make a point of denying it. She'd already given her side of the story, Kora already knew her take.
I think you fucked up.
Drew didn't argue it. She just shrugged again, and stopped rubbing her arms so she could lift her hands to brush her fingers through her hair, undoing some of the 'I just rolled out of bed' cowlicks. "I probably did. I was very up front with her, 'cause I don't see sense in... I dunno, courting her, I guess?" There's a shake of her head, and she's brushing her lengthy hair down over one shoulder and working out the knots. "She called you, huh? Didn't talk to any of her tribemates first?"
[Kora] "Totally immaterial, Drew. I'm your tribesmate, and I'm here to deal with you. Not gossip about others." There's a note - pressure in her voice - there, a certain forward shift, a subtle thread of disapproval that Drew was bold enough to ask the question.
Her stance does not change, nor does the steadiness of her quiet regard. Then she makes a low noise of negation in the back of her throat.
"I don't think the problem was that you didn't court her, the problem was that you completely and utterly alienated her." There's a quiet snort at the end of this. "That letter you sent me. About apartments and classifieds. You meant is as a peace offering, did you?"
Kora pauses, long enough for Drew to affirm what the Skald realizes, only now. "I read it half-way through before I crumpled it up. Even the text seemed - " Another supple snort, a twist of her mouth near the end. "Perhaps you should avoid 'upfront' for now."
[Drew Roscoe] Kora's asking if the letter was meant to be a peace offering, and Drew's eyebrows lifted some over groggy eyes, showing a moment of sleepy surprise. She'd thought that was obvious, that was the point of the compromise. It'd be that much easier to leave it as a 'no' and let it stay there-- she'd put time and research into finding alternatives for this Kin she'd never met, and was offering up a considerable sum of money on this stranger because Kora wanted to help her. Peace offering was a good word, and she nods a bit to confirm what the Skald was now figuring out.
The suggestion that she should avoid being upfront is met with a bit of a shrug, and her arms cross over her chest securely again, hands on the tops of her biceps to keep her arms warm. The house, compared to outdoors, was nice and warm. However, the first story on hardwood floor compared to the warm bed upstairs was pretty darn chilly.
"Probably right. Figure I'm done with August too. She's not my problem in the first place, didn't want my help when I offered it, and I've done burnt whatever bridge that could be salvaged." There's a pause, then she sighs and frowns a bit. "Need to apologize to Phoenix, I snapped at him pretty badly when he got in the way, I regret that... He seemed real nice. Gotta apologize to Rain too for killing her evening."
[Kora] "That's a good start, Drew. Reasonable. Necessary." Kora concurs, in her rich, low voice. There's still that twist to her mouth as her dark gaze turns harder. Flinty, somehow. "Unfortunately, you're not quite done with August. You crossed the line twice with August, Drew. I asked you if you would take on a roommate. You said no. That was the end of it as far as I was concerned. I asked nothing more from you.
"And this is where you crossed the line. You haven't the right to go about telling other Kinfolk how to be good Kinfolk. August isn't your tribe, and I did not ask you to speak to her. Certainly, I didn't ask you to lecture her."
There's a pause there, "I'll accept that on some level you meant well. You were also horrible at it. Things ended worse than they began. If that's all there was, this discussion would end here. I'd tell you to shut the fuck up about August and stop lecturing other kin.
"But that's not the end of it. You've no right to attack another kinfolk. Another pregnant kinfolk. Bar brawls? I'll look the other way. Cat fights - ?" This quiet shake of her pale head pulls the weight of her hair against the hood of her jacket. "Jesus christ, Drew. You're Fenrir. Not some fucking Silver Fang."
Here, she draws in another breath. Expels it all at a go. "Tell me you get that. Where you were wrong in this. Where you crossed the line."
[Drew Roscoe] Drew's temper doesn't flare up when Kora explains to here where she went wrong, or even when she scolds her for cat fights. Either she's too tired, that drink was still warm in her stomach and veins, or she was content after she had her chance to vent all her frustrations at the blonde Kin and throw some fists for the first time in forever.
That or she knew Kora was right.
For any of these reasons, she doesn't interrupt or argue with the Skald while she talks. Instead she listens, and nods faintly in some areas, but otherwise is still and quiet, save for the occasional shiver that trembles along her back and shoulders.
"Naw, you're right, I know where I went wrong. I should've just left it the hell alone. I shouldn't have tried to tell her how to be, not my place. The fighting was stupid and juvenile, the both of us acted like a couple of teenage girls." There's another shake of her head, a sniff, and she looks at Kora with no disagreement, no sarcasm on her face. The fighting, the disagreements, the mean words and bad blood, she's past it apparently. "I'll rectify where I can. What do you need me to do with August?"
[Kora] For the first time all night, the Skald gives Drew the weary edge of a genuine half-smile. Her mouth is wide, quick-moving, expressive - softening the sharp angles of her features - and it curves in this Mona Lisa way even when still.
"I'm impressed, Drew. Most people are incapable of admitting fault. It's a weakness they read as strength," here Kora moves her shoulders in another of her narrow expressions, half-way to a helpless shrug. " - or pass off as truth."
"This is gonna be two parts, I think. I'm not sure which one is harder. The first one's immediate. I don't wanna hear you - or hear of you - talking about August. You've given up your right to an opinion on her. Or at least, you've given up your right to spread your opinion about. It may be hard, given your pretty definite opinions on the subject. I think it's necessary though.
"Maybe you were gonna do that already." The last like a concession.
"The second part is a little more fluid. You're gonna come up with something that you can do for her. Something that will genuinely help her. Probably without contact between you, since I can't see that ending well. Maybe you'll pay for day care for some time. Maybe you'll help her with tuition. Maybe there's something else you can offer her, without rancor. You figure it out, and bring it to me for approval.
"Got all that?"
[Drew Roscoe] Drew sniffed a bit and returned the half-smile by offering a bit of a sleepy grin in response. It was crushingly cute, thankfully Kora was overall immune to such things because it looked the perfect match to something that belonged on a pillow with the first rays of sunlight cutting through a bedroom. She brushed her hair back from her brow and settled her arms over her stomach again.
"Sounds fair," to the part about not speaking of August. As for the second part, giving something back, she's frowning, but not with disagreement so much as thought. "She won't do daycare, made a point of mentioning so the first time we talked. ...Maybe find some jobs she'd be suited to? I could look around and see if there's any... child care jobs open so she could have the kids with her? Or some other job that won't mind if she's got children with her? I dunno..."
She's dismissing that thought process for now, she wasn't near awake enough to be tossing serious ideas around. She'd been musing immediate thoughts aloud, but it didn't go too far. She just nodded to Kora, confirmed: "Got it." And moved for the door, but paused and instead hitched a thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchen. "You want, like, a cup of something warm to get you back home?"
[Kora] "Yeah," says Kora, following the movement of Drew's thumb. "I'd like that."
[Drew Roscoe] The Jarl would like that, so Drew seems quite content to comply. She doesn't bust out the coffee, not because she thinks it will damage a pregnant woman beyond repair (she didn't believe all the hype about every little thing being able to ruin you if you're pregnant), but rather because she figured Kora would be on her way to rest for the night, because she figured the caffeine would still affect the baby, and she could only imagine trying to sleep with something doing cartwheels inside you.
Rather, she warms some milk and makes some hot chocolate-- simple and modest, a packet that boasted caramel flavoring as well, and mixed it all together in a thermos that she screwed the lid onto and passed off to Kora. The Jarl is wished a good evening with a smile and seen to the door, which is closed once Kora steps past the threshold and out onto the sidewalk, and locked up with the three different locks required for this part of town.
That past she's going straight back to bed, climbing the stairs, scrubbing her face, and tucking herself in under the sheets, snuggling down against her mattress and pillow and sighing happily.
It seemed she'd needed to throw all of her cards on the table, scream a little, and when that was out of her system she was able to see more clearly-- to look back and understand precisely all the points she'd gone wrong rather than one or two and denying the rest. The conversation with Kora had gone much better than she'd anticipated. She had plans for sushi for lunch the next day at work (her supervisor's way of thanking her for the long-assed stress-filled workday she'd pulled today). Things looked up, and for that she drifted back to sleep quickly and peacefully.
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