Stop Talking [Erek]

[Drew Roscoe] The blizzard had finally passed over-- lightning had stopped snap-crackling and lighting up the sky, thunder stopped slamming bass into the earth and shuddering window panes below. The strong, whipping winds that came with the winter storm were also what pushed it overhead, sending it toward New England and out of the Midlands. Overhead the skies were clear, the moon wasn't sure if it wanted to be a crescent or not. The mess left behind by the Blizzard of the Century was steadily, gradually being cleaned. Drew's street had been plowed, and she'd dug her truck out and cleared her sidewalk earlier in the morning.

This was precisely what she'd just finished doing, for the second time in two days. She was recovering from the frigid cold and lengthy exposure to it inside, in the kitchen, sitting on a barstool and leaned over the kitchen island with a cup of warm green tea (a housewarming gift from Gina, she brought things other than booze sometimes too) warming her hands and her face, judging by how far down she was leaned over it, breathing the vapors to warm her lungs back up as well.

Music played soft and quiet in the background from an iPod dock in the kitchen corner, next to the coffee brewer. It was a forgettable soundtrack, nothing intended to get the blood pumping or body moving so much as it was stuff to calm and lose yourself in. Boring, bland, and lame on most accounts, but Drew never once bragged about her taste in music or asked for judgment of it.

The sun was in the sky, just shy of it's midpoint. It was fifteen past eleven a.m., and the day's agenda was a considerable blank for the Kin.

[Erek Skulason] *Erek's been all over the city in the past 48 hours, from the south end of Chicago to the far reaches of the north bordering the caern. It's given the young boy time to blow off steam and to shake the god-awful bruise that's colored up his face for about day and a half now. The barest signs of yellow and purple still show in small splotches on his throat and shoulder. He meanders through the house, a towel over his head, hands shaking it over the shaggy blond hair sending flecks of water about as he pads towards the kitchen.

Blinded, he follows his nose and listens for the sounds of Drew's movement. Bare feet pad across the floor, a pair of jeans hanging off his hips as enters the kitchen. Drew might catch the cross tattoo that sits in the center of his left breast, or the little lines of runes carved across his lower abdomen in faint ink lines*

Morning, Drew. *He calls in passing, flipping the towel around his neck as he looks up at her*

[Drew Roscoe] "Mornin'," is her answer. Even though she looks like she's been up for several hours and 'morning' doesn't feel like much of a greeting anymore, not so much as 'afternoon' would. She's long since showered and dried, but then gone out working to shovel snow and so had worked up a bit of a sweat under the heavy layers of winter clothing she wore to protect her from the chill. Warming up and cooling down both, letting her back and chest breathe more comfortably in a loose pink long-sleeved shirt that was overstretched at the collar so it hung off one shoulder, along with a pair of jeans and plain white socks. Her hair was twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were closed as she leaned over the cup.

They open, though, by the time he's dragging the towel off his head and hanging it around his shoulders, and she sits up straighter to look over at him. He's been missing for the past few days, waiting out the storm before coming home (in a few senses of the word 'storm'). When he'd returned, everything was about as he remembered it-- his meager belongings weren't waiting packed for him in the entryway, the air wasn't chilly or tense. The home was as warm as it had been. If anything at all, Drew seemed a bit more tired-- but that could be because of waking up early and getting chores taken care of.

The mug followed her as she straightened up, cupped in both hands, and she took a sip from it before continuing on. "Did you end up stayin' at the Church?"

[Erek Skulason] Sorry about not shoveling the walk this morning, I must've overslept.

*He'd said he would do it, and yet hadn't kept up his word. He hasn't been home or barely kept a whisper of himself around for her to notice since she stormed out of the church with Sugar Plum in tow. Something about Remy rubs him the wrong way, the way he'd hauled the little kin up to his side and threw an arm around her, wearing that smug grin of his, itching for a fight. Erek would've been all too happy to oblige, desperately wanting to punch him in the throat.

Pity the forseti had been there and the Jarl had said no fighting*

I found some place to sleep. Don't likely remember where, backseat of an abandon car. Woke up covered in snow last night.

[Drew Roscoe] "You're alright. I only told you you could to get you up off your knees, anyways." She cracks a grin at him from around the rim of her glass. There we go, Drew was there. She wasn't seething at him, holding grudges, playing cool and ice-shouldered. There couldn't be an attack lying in wait behind that face. It was too warm, caring and easy to open up to. Non-threatening, it still surprised allies when she drew a gun, even if the Spirits (apparently) even knew about her now.

"How come you don't remember?" She's taking another sip, then gesturing to the kettle on the stove, a rotund looking little purple thing, unique and homey like you'd expect in her kitchen, as opposed to something stainless steel and efficient looking. "Water's still hot. Could make yourself some hot chocolate or tea, whatever you want."

There's a pause, and she's creasing her brow a little in concern. "You could've come back earlier, you know. Didn't need to sleep out in the streets."

[Erek Skulason] *Her features were warm and soft, her smile inviting as it peeks out from behind the rim of her glass. Erek finds himself staring at her face longer than he anticipates, eyes following the line of her lips as she pronounces each word and syllable. He shakes himself, clearing his throat and turning away to give Drew his back, heading over to the stove. He reaches for the kettle, pulling it up by the handle, and then maneuvers around the cabinets until he's found a mug*

I got a head like a rock, just watches over. In one ear and woosh out the other.

*Tea. The most unlikeliest beverage a Get would drink, let alone a boy like him. He makes a cup, settling the kettle down and turns back to look at Drew, pressing his back to the counter*

How'd it go with Prince Charming when you left.

[Drew Roscoe] The grin seemed her expression of choice. She was an artist with smiles, it was a part of her good nature, when it was all you did most of the time you began to tweek them so that many different expressions could be read into a positive, upward turning of the mouth. This time around, when he leans back against the counter across from her and inquires about 'Prince Charming', the grin is sarcastic without being cruel.

"Silent as the grave on the drive to drop him off."

Another sip, and she leans forward against the counter again, shirt slipping an extra inch down past her shoulder (which was sparsely freckled, even though her face wasnt, a sign that she spent a lot of time outside in the sun), propping one elbow up on it and letting her chin come to rest cradled in the palm of her hand.

"He swung by the day after, though. For a good chat, to set things straight."

[Erek Skulason] *Erek's eyes flow from her face to the exposed slope of a naked shoulder, sprinkled wit freckles. Blond eyebrows furrowing as she tells him Remy swung by the next day to set things straight. He raises the mug to his mouth, using it to hide the frown stretch across his mouth. He looks down into the dark liquid he pretends to drink, causing ripples across its surface as he snorts quietly*

Did he apologize? Tell you how he didn't mean to embarrass you, that he realizes you're still mourning and didn't want to disrespect your mate?

*She can tell he was curious, that he wanted to know what Remy had said to her, his words mumbled behind the lip of his cup, sounding grouchy*

[Drew Roscoe] "Well...," she starts this out as the sort of lazy drawl that typically precedes a story that one enjoys telling. It's how gossiping ladies begin when they're about to dish out some juicy new affair that they heard so and so was having on their wife with who and such. Drew just smiles, a fainter expression now that existed more in the lines of her face than in the curve of her lips, and taps a nail on the edge of her cup as she goes into detail.

"He apologized for bringing up Joe. Said that it was out of line of him. Said that he didn't mean to blurt out his thoughts on me like that, and that it wasn't his way of proposing anything." She paused to sip her tea. "He helped me to build a fire when my electricity went out to keep the house warm." There was a fireplace in the back corner of the home, right near the staircase that led up to Drew's room. That was the first time she'd seen need to use it.

Another pause, but this is to put the tea cup down, fold her hands with fingers intertwining together, and rest her chin on them as though they were now exclusively a hammock for her head.

"I'm inclined to ask why you care so much."

[Erek Skulason] *Erek drains more of the mug as she tells him, leaning in on her arms so her hands cupped under her chin. It gave her a more innocent appeal, he avoids meeting her gaze, focused on frowning into his mug and drinking the tea until she asks him why he cares so much. The boy chokes on the tea, hand dropping to lower the mug as Erek turned his head away and spews the liquid all over the kitchen floor, his shoulders growing taunt as they hunch up and his head bows down, coughing*

What the hell kind of question is that?

*He wipes the back of his wrist across his mouth, looking up at her* Why do you think I care so much?

[Drew Roscoe] He coughed back into his tea when she asked why he cared, and she couldn't help but snicker a little bit, even as he turns his head to spray it back out onto the kitchen floor. Whatever, her swiffer mop could take care of that in a jiffy. Spills didn't bother her near as much as they did old ladies who would have to fill up their mop buckets with hot sudsy water and let the mop dry in the tub for an hour or three afterward. Those awesome little quick-mops revolutionized housekeeping.

She looked like she had a very good answer to his question, but shrugged instead and chose to rephrase what her original thought might have been. "I think I phrased that wrong. You care 'cause we're Family. You're Garou, I'm Kin, it's your job to care about my wellbeing like it's my job to care about yours.

"What I should've asked, I guess, is why do you want details, or care if I got proper apologies...? I see why you don't like him. Hell, I could see why anyone wouldn't like him, he's kind of a dick from time to time. But why do you hate that he and I get along?"

[Erek Skulason] Call it being overprotective.

*He finally answers her after a long moment of silence passes between them. Erek skips over the wet spot on the floor, tilting the mug upside down in the sink, dumping out the rest of the tea. He reaches for a rag folded over the edge of the sink and drops it on the floor, using the ball of his foot to manipulate it over the soaked tiles. She might have a mop to clean it up, but he wasn't going to let his mess remain there so it'd get sticky and he'd likely be the one stepping in it*

Does it matter to you that I don't like the idea of you and Remy getting along? Would it tickle your fancy to know that maybe I find it a little intruding?

[Drew Roscoe] Drew stayed precisely where she had been sitting, watched him clean up his own mess, dump out his own tea after making it for himself. She might fuss here and there, be concerned about well being and whether someone's had a meal or not, but that didn't mean that she would do everything for a person. That was the domain of puttering housewives and grandmothers, and Drew was certainly not a putterer.

She adjusted how she was sitting, drew her legs up and folded her feet under opposite thighs so they were kept warm, creating an indian-style sit perched with what should be precarious balance on her stool. She made it look effortless though. She finished off the last sip of tea and left the mug on the counter before her, let one hand drop into her lap while the other lifted to scratch the back of her head.

"Intruding to what, exactly? Because he'd never been around here before the other day. Or after, even. And, like I think I touched on briefly at the church.... You can stay here? Feel at home? But you can't make the place your territory like a wolf. I get that it might be difficult, it's an instinct thing, but it's something that you'll have to grit your teeth against." She sounds more apologetic to the fact than she does snooty. Drew doesn't seem to have it in her capacity to behave like a bitch, even when she's telling him that this is her house, not his, it's more of a stern reminder than a true cold reprimanding.

"I don't like closing people out, Erek."

[Erek Skulason] Then I best leave you alone then.

*He says it matter-of-factly, which causes him to wince. The lean muscles in his torso tighten and coil, hardened to take shape as he bent down to scoop up the rag and toss it over his shoulder. He hasn't been here long enough to lay claim to anything, nor made any commitments to make a sacrifice for the Chicago's Sept.

He closes the space of distance to reach her, pausing within arm's length of touching her and props a hand flat on the counter, leaning his weight on it. His other hand swept up to comb fingers through wet hair to sweep it out of his eyes*

You got to understand, Drew, it ain't whether I want to or not. Whether you say I can or can't. I'm going to do it, it's nature. It's instinct.

[Drew Roscoe] The persistent smile fades off her face when he says he should leave her alone and tenses up. It's more visible without clothing hanging off him, musculature is easier to view, to read without that in the way. He goes tense, and Drew, for a second, struggles to decide if it's still the new moon or if it's a crescent. She didn't know how the in-between moments affected Garou, if it was a switch or if Auspices shared the night.

He leaned against the kitchen island, just out of arm's reach of Drew but closer now than he was before. She maintains her ground... or, her stool. Stays sitting as straight as she had been, both hands rested in her lap now, folded together loosely with thumbs on top, rubbing idly over one another.

He says he can't help it, and this brings forward a brief flicker of an ironic smirk. "Good thing I didn't send you to The Brotherhood of Thieves then. You would've had one hell of a time trying to lay claim to that turf." There's a gap here, of quiet, while she's looking at him, studying, pondering. Looking past him physically and throwing her thoughts elsewhere, following them on a trail through her mind. The journey is brief, her eyes sharpen onto his face again soon enough.

"You need a pack to run with. An outing in the trees. You need to do what the wolf does. Patrol the blocks like you have been, keep it safe, but understand that I get to be the gate. You can't be chasing my friends off, or our family, you know?"

[Erek Skulason] I can damn well chase Remy-fuck nut- motormouth away as I see fit. You can throw a tantrum if you like, Drew Roscoe.

*Erek inhales deeply, nostrils flaring out as he expels his breath slowly, he lowers his head to meet her eyes, holding her gaze with all the seriousness that has sparked since the topic started. She isn't sure if the stress in his body is that of the waning new moon, he isn't sure either. His free hand drops from his head, stretched out to catch fingers under the collar of her shirt and drag it up over her bare shoulder*

I like you. I like it here. It's warm and personal, it comfortable. You make me feel comfortable. You don't drive me insane with head games. I don't remember what home is like, so call me a jealous fuck for not wanting to share that with other wolves.

[Drew Roscoe] He leans forward, sinks closer to the counter so his head is level with hers, making boring his icy blue eyes (why are they blue? always blue, every damn one of them) into hers to drive his words home. He reaches out, plucks the collar of her shirt and drags it back up over her shoulder. She rolls them in response, pressing the shirt back some so it gapped at the back rather than the shoulder.

"Erek, honey.... I'm a Kin to the Get of Fenris. That's the whole tribe, not just one exclusively. Even when Joe was around, my door was still open. He knew that, and he had legitimate reason to guard my house like you're trying to now." There's a pause, then she shakes her head, frowning. She'd opened that up wrong, it was going down a road she didn't want it to. She rethought, and tried again.

"I'm here for everyone, okay? What you need is a home environment, I get it. That's why that room is yours and no one else's. S'why I didn't offer it up to Remy when he blew into town, or Fire Claws when he showed up at my door. They didn't need it, you did. But I'm needed elsewhere too. I need to be a friend to Gina, something old and familiar that she knows she can trust, I have to be available for her." A finger holds up to quiet him before he starts-- he'd let Gina through, she knew that already.

"What Kora may wind up needing is someone to help her with her baby when it's born. I'll be here for that, if she asks. Linus--," there's a pause, and a scowl. She remembered Linus the night of the blizzard, how cruel his smile had been, how full of teeth, when he sneered at her to try and jab at the other Godi. "...he needs more than I can give him." The frown eases up some, and she's putting her feet on the rung of the stool, unfolding her legs so she looked less child-like, more like an adult again.

"Remy needs a friend, but different from how you or Gina do. He needs someone down to earth, someone to talk to without having to measure up against or judge or worry about the opinions of. He needs someone to tell him when he's got to peel it back, but it's gotta be someone who can do that without making it sound like an attack.

"Y'see what I'm trying to say?"

[Erek Skulason] *Erek drags his hand back from her shoulder, letting it fall to his side and slap against his thigh of his jeans as he listens. He is hearing everything she is saying, not twitching a muscle or rolling his eyes. His eyebrows move, darting up at one point of her speech, and then furrowing towards the end of her words. His cheeks puff out, flushing red with color. She was getting her point across to him, but not realizing the idea he was trying to press on her.

Neither of them were making any grounds with the conversation and likely wearing each other out by just blowing off hot air. Erek pulls his other hand off the counter*

Drew, stop talking.

*Erek makes a point of his request by snaring her attention when he touches her, invading her personal space because she has yet to tell him not to, to say no to him. He reaches for her, right hand coming back to rest on her shoulder again, sliding rough fingers across her back to the nape of her neck to cup the back of her head, while the left hand draws along her cheek to cup over her ear. He touches his forehead to hers*

We are talking and talking and nothing is coming. We are hearing each other, but not getting what the other is saying. I'm not going to keep you from your friends, your family. I'm trying to tell you that if I get some notion in my head to get closer to you that I'm not going to like it if someone else does the same thing. Do you understand that?

[Drew Roscoe] Drew had never been very resistant to touch, outside of stressful situations or aggressive persons, of course. She didn't insist on keeping a radius of personal space about her, didn't scowl and wrench away from a person if they went to hug her or pat her on the head. This was why she didn't fight Remy when he pulled her into his side back at the Church-- it was double natured, posturing and protection both. He'd drawn her out of the line of fire in case it did dissolve to fangs and claws, but she'd pulled away from him right away because of the snark that came out of his mouth along with the gesture, how he was goading Erek in doing so.

So when the Rotagar slides one hand up her shoulder to the back of her neck, then rests the other at the right side of her face, she doesn't argue it, doesn't jerk away, but she does look sad and apologetic already. Touches like that, she knew where they went.

For some reason, though, his touching his forehead against hers was either unexpected or a trigger of some kind. Heat flared up across her back, her chest burnt and ached with familiarity and grief. A Skald a year back would greet her by enthusiastically seizing her head and bumping his to it. She shut her eyes, squeezed them, and moved a hand to touch the top of Erek's head, feeling for her hair. It was lengthy, wet from the shower. For him to be that Skald, it would be shorn short enough that it was barely more than fuzz growing back from a buzzed-down scalp.

Her voice is that much heavier when she talks, her throat tightened up with holding back the spasm of sadness that accompanied a gesture he surely didn't mean to relay so much. "I do, I understand, but I can't... I just-- I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it's not fair, but... fuck, I miss them so much." She's scowling hard, not opening her eyes, hands dropping to clench in her lap. She soldiered on so well, sometimes it was easy to forget how much she'd lost, how much had changed since she'd been gone. Sometimes she fools even herself. Then there are moments where the house of cards comes crashing down, like this.

[Erek Skulason] *Erek is not keen on the past of the little kin in front of him. He performs a gesture that sparks the fire of a memory so personal that it jolts a wave of sadness through Drew. He's quick to pick up on that sadness, but not the reasons for what brought it on, that he had done this. Quickly, the young Get of Fenris frowns, he makes a snorting sound that could have sounded like a whimper when she starts to apologize.

She scowling hard, shutting her eyes as her hands drop in her lap. Erek doesn't know what to do, or what he did, a bit slow to react. He draws the one hand back from her face, after she'd touch the top of his head. Mumbling a slew of expletives, Erek straightens, shifting to the side of her stool*

Dammit, Drew, m'sorry... fuck me. Don't cry, please. I hate when girls cry.

*He bends down to scoop her up in his arms, arms finding some perch on her body to literally pick her up to cradle her against his chest as he turns to sit down on her stool and sat her down in his lap, hugging her tightly to reassure her*

[Drew Roscoe] Erek withdraws, muttering to himself, cursing. He'd managed to upset her and he had no idea why. Maybe he'd come on too strong? Maybe she wasn't ready for another person to try and place dibs on her for whenever she was ready to give love another chance? Maybe she just disliked the idea of Erek wanting to play it safe just in case he might develop feelings for her that it brought her to tears? He had no clue, the poor guy, and like any eighteen year old boy that managed to make a girl-- no, she was older than him, a woman-- cry, it freaked him out.

He apologized, asked her not to cry, and scooped his arms under her small body to sit on the stool she'd been keeping warm instead, letting her weight rest in his lap and against his chest. He held her tight, squeezed his arms around her like he could wrangle the hurt out.

The funny thing about asking girls not to cry, though, was that it always seemed to have precisely the opposite effect. Tears hadn't surfaced until after he asked her not to, but when he said that he hated it when girls cried that's when the tears spilled over. Slid past closed eyelids, down her cheeks, not just one or two but a steady stream of them. Her jaw trembled with her efforts to keep it still and control her breathing, her throat felt tight and sore and constricted. Her skin flashed warm, and a breath burst out of her in a quiet sob. Just one, for now, that was all that escaped.

She pressed her forehead into his bare clavicle, between neck and damp towel that he'd dried his hair with, and hot wet tears (but thankfully no mascara, she wasn't wearing make-up today) smeared onto his shoulder.

"M'sorry," she managed to choke out, but that was about all she trusted right now.

[Erek Skulason] *Erek makes a face, his head tilted back so his eyes could look up at the ceiling the moment he heard the slightest sniffle. His arms tightened around her, head dropping back down to bring his mouth close to her ear. Lips gently nuzzling along the outer shell of her ear, his voice sending a vibration along her skin as he murmurs and shushes her. He lifts a hand to stroke the side of her face, smoothing her hair back from her cheeks with rough fingers. He rocks back and forth slowly, legs braced apart with his bare feet hooked into the foot bars for support.

He hunches over her like a protective gargoyle, eyes shut to mere slits, blond eyebrows furrowed down with wrinkles creasing the smooth skin of his brow. His other hand finds some perch against her side, tapping fingers along her ribcage as it slide up and down in a small comforting stroke, trying to sooth her. She chokes out a "M'sorry" which makes Erek draw back enough to look at her, and he laughs a little in a hoarse tone*

Look at you, all water works. Jesus help me don't look at me like that with those big wet eyes, make you look all cute and vulnerable like a baby bird that fell out of the nest.

[Drew Roscoe] His arms stay around her, protective, encasing, reassuring. He rocks his weight slightly back and forth, as though she were a child that just fell and skid her knees and he was the parent, knowing that she would be okay (because Drew would be, she was strong, and it didn't take knowing her longer than he has to know that for a fact) yet feeling awful that she cried anyways, because he didn't want her to hurt. His hands brush her hair out of her face, smooth it back from her forehead and temple, while the other scrubbed lightly along her ribs. She was petite, and he was built like a Fenrir. She fit into his lap with ease, especially with her legs curled up close to her torso like they were.

Her stocking feet were at his knee rather than hanging off the stool, and her arms were around his middle. She hiccuped her breaths with her effort to choke down the tears, the emotion. It was a struggle, it would be a hundred times easier to just let go and bawl openly until she was all cried out and hollow from it. But she was kin of Fenris, and if she didn't want to then she wouldn't, god damnit.

She muttered her apology and that caused the Rotagar to lean back enough to look at her face. Her eyes were glossy with the tears that still spilled, large and doe-brown, and her mouth was curled down at the corners, chin and lip trembling yet, even though he was trying to lighten the mood by comparing her to a baby bird.

She shook her head and moved a hand from around him to scuff the bottoms of her eyes with her thumb, swiping tears though they weren't finished brewing yet. "Just... Thomas did that. And... And I don't know if he'll ever come back. S'been so much longer than what he promised, he was supposed to meet us and never came."

[Erek Skulason] *Erek understands now. It sparks like a light bulb flickering off in the back of his skull, her reaction - the sudden burst of tears to the little gesture that he'd done. He continues to watch her, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully, a slew of thoughts rolling around in his brain, trying to form words or sentences, but none of them were the right thing to say*

Thomas may not come back, Drew, it's tough to comprehend... that he's got business to keep him doing whatever it is he's doing. He might be alive for all you know, so don't think of him as dead because you haven't seen his grave. Just think of him as out there doing what he does best.

*He can't tell her whether or not Thomas is alive or dead, he doesn't know this Garou at all, nor does he want her to feel any more grief than she already has with the loss of her mate. Erek draws in a quick breath, holding it in his chest, shoulders and pectoral muscles rising up and out, and then slowly fall down again - breathing through his diaphragm instead of his lungs*

I'll try to remember to not do that.

[Drew Roscoe] "Just...."

She's trying to explain herself, continuing to swipe the tears from her eyes the second they fall. It was a sudden spasm of sadness, overwhelming that she'd broken down and cried, trembled, for a minute. Now she was reigning it all back in, coming into control once more. Talking through it, swallowing down the hurt of loss and forcing it down, numbing it, refusing to accept it until later when it was safe and no one was watching.

For now, though, she straightened up some in his lap, unwrapped her arms from his middle so she could use both hands to scrub her cheeks dry, then used the cuff of her shirt to dry his shoulder where her tears had gotten him wet. She's chewing at her lower lip as she does this, when she's not talking at least.

"Just it was always us three. Always. He's been gone longer'n Joe... And it's the not knowing that's killing me... If he'd died, it would be glorious and right and he could've moved on and everything, be buried where he ought to alongside heroes and family. But he was in the Umbra. He could be trapped somewhere... stuck... lost... Or... maybe he just won't come back with Joe gone."

She's taking in a deep, shuddering breath, and rubbing at her throat, trying to loosen the tightness and tension within it. "It's not your bad, Erek... It was just.. sudden and unexpected. And I miss him so damn much."

[Erek Skulason] Aye, perhaps it is.

*Erek replies in a low voice, reaching up to gently pet his hand across the side of her scalp, threading calloused fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. He keeps this up, trying to sooth her through touch as she talks, scrubs her hands over her face to try and regain the loss of control. He's just watching her, his hold around her body slackens slightly, but never pulls back as he keeps her sitting in his lap*

Would you like to know where he is? Would it help with the closure so you can move on?

[Drew Roscoe] "God would I."

The tears have finally stopped, and though her eyes were still wet and glossy she didn't have to continue wiping them or her cheeks to keep them dry. She sucks in a deep, quick breath through pursed lips, scrubs her hands dry on the thighs of her jeans, and shakes her head. "But no one here can go after him. He didn't tell anyone where he was goin', just up and went. Joe might'a had some idea, but..." She let that trail off, the answer there didn't need to be stated aloud.

"Either way, you guys can't give up resources. I'm not completely in the know about the War, but I do know this-- we're in a tight spot here in Chicago, and I know we can't afford to lose people or send them away, not now.

"No, if he comes back he does. I just gotta... have faith in him."

There's another pause, and she looks at Erek with her eyes big and wet and her face pink from emotion and being scrubbed at. "...I should get down." Like she only just realized she was in his lap.

[Erek Skulason] *Erek laughs; he can't contain it. The way she appeared with those big wet eyes and her face all pink. He shifts his position on the stool, dropping his feet to the ground as he stands up, bending at the waist to set the small kin down. One arm wrapped under hers, around her torso to offer support until she finds a balance. When she is pulling away, he reluctantly releases her*

I don't know the state of the war either. I'm not bound to the sept yet, and if I had a clue of his whereabouts, I would go looking for Thomas just to bring back some reassurance for you.

[Drew Roscoe] "I appreciate it... but don't." She shook her head again, as her feet found the ground and her hands left Erek, his hands left her, when she had her balance (immediately, he may note, she doesn't waver or have to clutch to him even for a moment when her toes touch ground, if there's one thing she knows its her own center of gravity). She brushed her hair back from her brow with her fingers, scrubbed her face one more time for good measure, and finally let her hands fall to her sides, leaving her eyes and cheeks and hair alone. She'd erased evidence of crying as well as she could for right now.

"I'd only trust a Godi to go after him. And even then I wouldn't want them to. It's been so long, he could be anywhere. He could be everywhere, or anytime for all I know. That Umbra's like a black hole of mystery and possibility. ...If anyone has the strength to come back home, it's Thomas, and he'll do it if it's even a remote possibility that it can be done."

There's another pause, and in this she clears her throat, somewhat awkwardly, apologetically. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dump on you. I've gotta go meet Kora here soon, have that talk she wanted..."

[Erek Skulason] *Erek shakes his head at her, sliding back to perch on the edge of the stool. He draws his arms up over his bare chest, the tattooed cross quivering under the flexing of muscles. He clears his throat, dipping his head down in a brief nod*

It's alright, Drew. You had to let it out.

*He snorts, watching her with a scrutinizing gaze. He rubs a hand over his jaw, scrubbing at the blond hairs on his chin and jaw*

[Drew Roscoe] "Yeah. For the second, I guess." Her smile was weak and apologetic, but it still managed to catch alight like her smiles always did. He folded his arms over his bare chest, nodded, and watched her carefully while rubbing his hand along his jawline. She didn't linger or pause, didn't stretch out silence to a point of becoming awkward. Rather, the Kin snagged her empty teacup from the countertop and rinsed it in the sink, then set it in the dishwasher on the top rack, where any good person will tell you cups belong.

"At anyrate, thanks." Her thumb hitches toward the back of the house, where stairs lead up to her bedroom, and she explains as she walks back toward them, away from the kitchen (unless stopped for one reason or another). "Gonna go dress in something warmer 'fore I go."

[Erek Skulason] *Erek doesn't stop her, he remains on the stool she sat in, arms across his chest. He's gone still, his head bowing down, causing blond hair to sweep forward into his eyes. He watches her move around the kitchen, tongue poking into his cheek as he thinks. When Drew starts to make her exit, his body stiffens slightly, arms dropping into his lap as he turns his head to watch her go*

You're welcome, Drew, go easy on Kora.

*It's the only thing he can think to say to her*