Pink-Haired Girl [Charlotte, Alexei, Gordon, Mia]

Drew Roscoe
The tourist thing was old.  That opportunity had already been had, a full day of freedom a summer ago.  It was a break in the monotony of hunting for real estate, and approximately the same moment that the decision was made to live in rural Virginia rather than within the city boundaries of Washington D.C. itself.

Drew had had her taste of city life plenty before, she thought some change would be nice.

Yet here she was again, the petite Kinfolk dressed in a light tan overcoat in the cool late-winter/early-spring night.  She was just stepping out from a small corner cafe with a steaming cup of something in her hand.  The fact that her hair was windblown, mussed from the loose curls that it had been styled into much earlier in the day, suggested that she had been out walking for a little while now.  Well, that, and the way that she almost wearily stood on the small patio that edged space with the sidewalk, looking up one direction then down the other, as though either forgetful of her original course or still deciding what her next destination should be.

She probably still looked much like a tourist.  Young, bright-faced, sipping a late night latte.  More than likely whoever she was out seeing the sights with was still inside the shop, waiting for their order or using the restroom.  Certainly this girl, this Kinfolk, wouldn't be left alone for very long.


Alexei Ojala*Lex was walking along the walkway sometimes picking up the trash to toss it in the proper bin. He happens to be in the area as he was at a friend's or maybe a competitor's resturant.

Today he is wearing a designer jacket and pair of rather nice jeans. He carries on looking at others now and then. When he notes an ambulance going by he crouches down besides the bin to hide a moment*


Charlotte GrayThere are Garou whose rage announces them.  Clears the path before them like a streetsweeper.  They warp the air about them with it, bend the crowds of half-sleeping sheep into new and interesting contortions as the humans slip out of their way without ever acknowledging the deep and primal fear that brush of rage engenders in them beyond a certain edged vibe.

Charlotte is not one of them.

She is not particularly tall, at (nearly) 5'5".  She is not muscle-bound. She is not rage-ful or rage-filled.  Crowds do not clear before her without a thought; no one looks at her and sees predator or even precisely animal.  Generally, they see girl.  Slight, finely-framed, though not quite to the point of delicacy.  With a twisting mass of haphazardly cropped platinum blond hair dyed in drifting shades of cotton-candy pink.
At the moment she is seated across the street from Drew, legs crossed in this neat little posture beneath her, on the stoop of one of those Georgetown rowhouses that have been turned from one small house into two or three very very small, very very expensive condos.  She is not a resident of any of these very very small, very very expensive condos.  From a distance, she looks like an interloper.  Maybe a homeless kid.  Maybe a high school student awaiting her friends.  Maybe a crazy person, stoned or high or -

A small, tightly-knit group of co-workers exit the bar across the street from Drew, next door to the condos.  Cut past Charlotte in a thick knot, hardly noticing her.  She does not notice them, either.  Not as such.  Not as individuals who might somehow command her attention.

When they've passed on, the pink-haired girl across the street (whom Drew might only have noticed briefly in her survey of the street, as something out there.  Another figure on the periphery of her position, easily categorized as no immediate threat) is gone.

Or rather, is already half-way across the narrow street, her breath a warm cloud around her face, bare fingers pink with cold tucked around the strap of her messenger bag, which bumps against her hip with every stride, heading straight for Drew.

Look: a bee-line, and no mistaking it.

--

"Hi." - is what she says when she is in earshot.  Just like that.  Hi.  Strange, really, to be greeted by a total stranger on a dark street anywhere, without some rapidfire launch into a request for change or bus fare or five dollars for dinner or a Metro card or - or - or -

- but the pink-haired girl is already holding out her hand to Drew.  Those cold-pinkened fingers tipped with peeling orange nail enamel.  "I'm Charlotte.  I saw you once before."

She cuts a glance up at Alexei, pale, pale blue eyes narrowing, head canting with a sort of sub-lingual interest that flares her fine little nostrils.  Then looks back to Drew.


Alexei Ojala*With the 'threat' gone, Lex carries on and when he is looked at by Char he says*
Uh hi again.... I remember you from a few meetings.  *Lex says to the pretty pink haired woman. He also recalls that she is garou and such and seems to be in a nice mood. Whatever had been wrong before is forgotten*

Alexei OjalaFew times I bumped into you at various times.  *He clarifies*


Drew RoscoeA few sips of latte pass, as do a couple groups of people-- one from the bar on the opposite side of the street from Drew, and one from the coffee shop behind her.  This looked for a moment like it might have been the group that Drew belonged to, in the way that she turned her head to glance back at them when she heard the door opening.  But the trio of young adults went past with nothing more than a friendly smile from two of the three offered to Drew before they were making their way up the sidewalk.

Simultaneously, a group passed on the other side of the street.  Drew had looked back, interested in a momentary way by the miniature crowd, but what she noticed more than the several people walking up the street was the one person walking across it.

Before she really had time to search her memory banks for a personality to match the face of the woman who was striding up to her with such intent, the pink-haired girl was there before her.  A touch taller, possibly a dozen pounds lighter than the Kinfolk (the Fang was thin where the Fenrir leaned more toward 'stocky'), this woman was stating that she'd seen her before and holding her hand out for a greeting.

Although obviously surprised in the eyes and in how her eyebrows were raised on her forehead, Drew offered a light smile and accepted the hand for a shake that warmed the Fang's fingers, as the Kinfolk had been cradling the latte cup with both hands for a minute already.  "Hi.  I'm Drew.  I'm afraid I don't really remember where I've seen you."

And then there was Alexi, a handsome young man with carelessly lengthed hair, who had walked to join them from crouching out of view of an ambulance.  Drew shifted her big brown eyes to him, still appearing a little surprised and confused, but polite and ready to please none the less.  "Hello."  It was a friendly greeting that served more as an acknowledgement than an invitation for conversation.  Yes, I see you there.  I recognize your existance, that greeting said.


Alexei Ojala*Well he had actually walked over to say hi to CHar since she had glanced to him and he remembered her. The other one, Drew gets a polite hello in return, in a similiar fashion to what was offered to him. Yes he recognises her existance as well and that she was sitting with Char* Hello.


Charlotte GrayThere's this strange confluence.  Not two rivers joining their flows, but three.  Alexei, hiding from the ambulance, then walking over to greet her.  There's this note of chasing startlement across her pale face that narrows blond brows over the limpid pools of her pale eyes.  Which are blue(ish), though the darkness has robbed them of most definition of color.  Leaving them more reflective than anything else, a sort of color-soaking and clarified gray.

"I've never been to any meetings," murmurs Charlotte, her attention pulled back to Alexei, that startlement tucking into a kind of wariness that translates to her body language, the set of her shoulders beneath the cotton hoodie she wears.  It says YALE CREW on the back, though it must have been someone else's.  Charlotte is too tall to be a coxswain, and her upper body is far too slight to belong to a competitive rower.  Then Alexei clarifies.  He means that he has seen her around and she says,

"Oh," to Alexei mouth rounded, pale gaze darting back to Drew.  "Well, uhm." Cutting a glance back to Alexei, " - what's your name?  So I can introduce you to Drew."

--

A quicksilver half-smile for the kinswoman, then.  Charlotte has a wariness when she looks at Alexei.  That native charisma that pulls Garou in makes her a bit awkward with him; even wary, in a way that feels both adolescent and wholly adult.  But Drew warmed her cold fingers with redolent heat from the latte.

"I was in a car," Charlotte returns to Drew, then.  Her voice slightly lowered, the corner of her mouth rising.  "Driving by and I saw you.  With a big guy?  I told my brother.  But you didn't see me.  I'm Charlotte.  Uhm, a distant cousin of yours?"

A faint jerk of her head toward Alexei.  "So's he."  Just to get that all out in the open.  "I can tell?"


Alexei OjalaI'm Lex. I own a resturant in DuPont named FLux.  *He says obviously proud of that* We stay on the bleeding edge of cuisine always changing things up and surprising our patrons.
*He doesn't know if the other lady is safe or not* Hmm... what?


Drew Roscoe'A distant cousin of yours.'

These words, and any that are shaped to sound much like them, have been code for quite a long time.  It struck a cord of recognition with Drew that had her unpainted lips pushing out into the shape of an 'O'.  It was a silent exclamation, an 'oh' of understanding that her face wore quietly.  She nodded her head, and her face went from cautiously polite to much warmer, more relaxed and welcoming.  It was always good to meet family. (Most always, at least).

"I gotcha," the Kinfolk vocalized while she released Charlotte's hand from the shake, and took another sip of her latte before nodding to Alexei as well.  Charlotte had confirmed that he was a 'distant cousin' as well, and immediately Drew was that much more willing to open up to the man.  She looked him in the face while he explained that he owned a restaurant, and nodded with a bright flash of a smile, the sort that broke down barriers and made talking to a stranger easier.

"You own your own restaurant, huh?  I worked as a waitress in a family-run place for a while.  It's a tough market, you must be proud to be able to make a living off it."

Then, back to Charlotte:  "I can't say I know which big guy you're talking about.  Knowing our family, it could have been one of any four or five that you happened to catch me with.  ...You remembered my face from driving by in a car, huh?  Impressive."


Alexei OjalaOh I am. I started at the bottom actually and did some time serving as well. I still do on occasion though usually I run the pass between the kitchen and the dining room and of course come up with dishes and cook.  *He opens up a bit more too with the smile that makes him feel more comfortable*
May I take a seat too? Better than just standing here.  *Faint grin*


Gordon Dima"We will at that. Actually that.. I might recognize that.. yeah, I can get us somewhere from here."
Yes.. yes indeed he can. The car ceases it's aimless meandering, and finds a parking spot where it can. Really you had to take what you could get when it came to that.
Seemed to be right outside a cafe.

"Okay, I think there's a spot just around here that fits the bill. If you aren't at the just take what's right in front of us stage. Which.. I could empathize with if I tried."


Charlotte GrayAlexei was still rather wary, not quite understanding the euphemism Charlotte used to explain to Drew the bond that they shared.  The one she herself saw in both of them (the faint sense-memories of the heroes who shared their blood, Garou long-dead whose glory lived on in their blood-and-bones), that neither could sense in the other.

Or in Charlotte, for that matter, though she fairly blazed with it.

Then something clicks; it's Drew's smile, that natural warmth that opens him up.  Charlotte's pale gaze clicks between the pair in this manner that is ever-so-slightly remote, as if she were watching the mechanism of a clock, the gears turning.  The way things fit together and open up without every quite absorbing it on a human level.

--

"His face was scarred."  Charlotte explains to Drew.  Though "scarface" may well describe many of the big guys she might be seen with.  Scarred faces, war-stained hands, bulky bodies framed for war.  " - and you shouldn't be impressed," to Drew.  That regard again, pale, sweeping.  Ever-so-slightly distant.  Unfocused in that moment.  Though fixated somehow on the kinswoman's engaging grin.  " - you're memorable."

"I'm Charlotte, by the way," Charlotte continues at last, to Drew. "Nice to meet you, Drew.  And Drew, this is Lex, Lex, Drew."

Then a sharp, though wide-eyed look back to Alexei.  "What do you mean the bleeding edge of cuisine?  Do you slaughter things at the table?"  The question is curious rather than judgmental, though Charlotte does seem to believe that this is a possibility.


Alexei OjalaWhat, no its a saying that goes with tech stuff but I am using it for my cuisine... I figured I could borrow the same words and it would be trendy.  *He shrugs lightly* Only things we kill are shellfish there that are animals.

*He attempts to clarify for her benefit*


Charlotte Gray"And you're welcome to join us," quite nearly prim to Alexei, immediately on the heels of asking him whether he slaughters things at the table in his restaurant.


Mia Herron"Woot woot!" She pumped her fist in the air. "See we made it! Shouldn't be any crazy wizard of oz hobos here!"

"Me? Oh I can waaait. I won't be eating any horses soon. We can take our time looking. I mean, you don't like cafes? Not that they don't ya know..have limited food..and who wants a muffin right now when we can have spaghetti and sauce? Muffin is SO minor."


Gordon Dima"What's with this oz hobos thing anyway..?"

He'd spill loose from the car. Sort of flowing out a piece at a time. There's the leg-of-ham thighs first, then the gut bouncing out in front of them, and finally the curly hair springing up and falling over his shoulders. The car visibly tilted with the weight more even now.

"...I have seen some very impressive muffins. But I'm not hungry in specific ways.. yet. I could probably polish off anything you put in front of me."


Drew Roscoe"Ah," Drew exclaimed softly when Charlotte gave more details on the person she was walking with.  Once again a connection was made, and Drew was able to have a better understanding of the situation that surrounded Charlotte's decision to introduce herself.  She'd seen and recognized not just a Kinfolk, but a Garou that had been along with her.  "Yeah, that's Yiorgie.  He needed a bed, shower, and some square meals while situating himself in the area.  He's staying in a spare room at my house."

Charlotte called her memorable.  Drew just gave a quirk of a lopsided grin and a tilt of a single eyebrow-- the expression an 'Oh really?'.  She decided not to comment on or debate that fact verbally, though.  They could go through the banter of 'Oh no, nothing's memorable about me, I'm just a modest little thing is all' all day, but that wouldn't change the fact that Charlotte did notice and remember her.  No doubt it was the same reason other Garou were able to pick her out of a crowd -- the muted hum of blood on permafrost grounds that sang battle hymns in her bones was no beacon, but it was certainly tell-tale enough.

Again, her focus switched back to Alexei.  She was standing comfortably, there was a table nearby that they could take up, and perhaps should so that they weren't inhibiting traffic on the sidewalk.  She didn't move to sit just yet, though.  Instead she sipped at her latte and spoke merrily.  Her enthusiasm for meeting family overshadowed any weariness that may have existed before.

"Charlotte.  And Lex.  It's great meeting both of you.  I'm, ah...  my family's from the North.  All Germanic and Scandinavian and the like.  I hope that makes sense, I'm not the best at speaking on the sly."  Her sheepish grin and shrug dismissed the fact that she wasn't very good at being subtle, because at least she tried and didn't drop any noteworthy vocabulary.


Alexei OjalaThanks...  *Well he sometimes expects odd questions from the wolves. Though that one if true would violate health standards and make a damn mess of the dining area. Lex joins them* I understand. I'm from Russia. My family likes the city mostly so are worldwide in them.


Mia Herron"Dude!" She bounced in her seat and then bounced out of it. "So this guy attacked Uh that girl right? And she does a POW right in the ballsack. Course I totally jumped him from behind so I helped too.." She said with a bit of pride. "And he runs off with this whole pause and turn back like some bond villain and is all 'I'll get you my pretty and your little dog too.' Super creep!"

"But muffins aren't really food. It's like the snack of breakfast foods. Like ya know..mini donuts."


Gordon DimaThere was no muted hum from the expansive man who'd just stepped onto the street. His companion was expressive and energetic and just.. hard to miss. Gordon? Well he was hard to miss too but he mostly just had the alarming effect of making the wolf in some peoples' brains tense up and salivate.
And maybe that's why they were so hungry.

"That.. damn. Okay, I'm sorry I missed that. Maybe we should ask that group over there what place would be best to start at?"


Mia HerronSalivate was a good word for it, though she had managed at least to keep it in check. Instead, Mia bounced, grabbed his rather thick wrist and was trying to drag him. "I know right?! You missed me in action! I'm like Hello Kitty meets Hunger Games!"

"Right right! I'll ask. Come on!" She leaned forward, arm stretched out behind her as far as it would go while she tried to drag him along. "I bet they know some super good food!"


Charlotte Gray"Oh."  This is Charlotte, to Alexei, as he reassures her that they do not slaughter animals at the bleeding edge of his tables in his restaurant.  Just shellfish.  Clams, perhaps.  Muscles and lobsters crawling along the bottom of an aquarium.  Disappointed, perhaps.  Though vaguely so, as her interest in the business of cooking dissipates ever-so-slightly.  " - you should think about it, though.  It would be good for people to know where their food is coming from.  Plus some people only like meat and it's best fresh."
--
Charlotte must surely be aware of the dance of modesty in which girls are on some level required to participate.  Young women, young kin.   A glancing look back to Drew, a glitter of interest or approval when she does not begin that dance.  A faint widening of Charlotte's little mouth in what might look (for perhaps the first or second time this evening) like a note of faintly feral approval.  Not quite a showing of teeth.
"That's generous of you," back to Drew.  "Offering him a place to stay.  Do you do that often?"

Drew explains something of her heritage.  Alexei his.  Charlotte, however, is silent on that point, offering neither any clues about her tribe.  Just maybe an "Oh," for Alexei, and a nod of acknowledgment for Drew.  With a near sotto-voce, "I know, I can tell."

That thing Drew has that the wolves cannot ignore, that the wolves always see.

--

A sharp, weaving glance up then, as Gorden and Mia emerged from the car across the street.  Pale gaze fixed on the massive man, a prickle of familiarity behind her skin, a deeper prickle of wariness at the liminal, lupine awareness of his breeding.

"He's one of us, too," she informs Alexei and Drew, quietly, watching as Mia bounces and begins dragging the big guy across the street.

--
And unlike any of the kinfolk, even from a distance Mia can sense Charlotte's breeding; blazing like a corona around her.  The slight girl with the wary body language, pale eyes and pink hair is scion of the wolf-kings, there's no mistaking that.


Drew RoscoeLex stated that he was from Russia -- Silver Fang, Drew immediately thinks.  Then he went on to explain that his people preferred the city, and Drew's mind switched to Glasswalker instead.  She wasn't certain which one of the two tribes he meant that he belonged to.  It's with a moment of thought accompanied by a few seconds of surveying Alexi as a whole (posture, cheekbones, shoulders, eyes) that she decides he's probably with the Glasswalkers.  After all, he did specify that his family liked the city, and that sounded most appropriate.  The whole Russia thing might just be simple genealogy.

"Huh.  I getcha," this both to his stating where his family is from, and to his explanations to what sort of restaurant he ran and what types of food he served.

"Only so often as it's needed.  I've offered the room up twice so far since about September."  Drew's answer to Charlotte is with a small dismissive wave of one hand that doesn't stray too far from her paper coffee cup before returning and aiding the mouth of the lid up to her lips so she can have another sip.  As for her generosity...

"I don't think of it as generosity as much as me doing my share.  My 'marketable skills' are pretty situation-specific, so I don't offer a whole hell of a lot to the Family.  But what I do have is the extra room and food, so I think it's fairly well my duty to make sure that at least the basics can be provided to anyone that needs them.  I haven't done it often, but I imagine sleeping on the ground for a week can't be too refreshing."

Then Charlotte pointed out some people approaching-- a nigh-behemoth of a man accompanied by a young woman even shorter and more petite than Drew herself was.  Charlotte stated that 'he' was 'one of us', and Drew's eyebrows hopped up on her face.  "Is that right...?"  She murmured thoughtfully, and added while she watched the duo approach:  "And her?"


Gordon DimaWell, they got closer at any rate. Right? Crossed the road. Maybe waved a little when Charlotte went and called attention to them. The huge one carried no trace of anger in him. Hell he seemed to be a little fidgety and maybe just on the edge of timid. Shoulders a bit hunched in, eyes always just a bit below Mia's in spite of the height difference. But when they were in earshot..

"Erm.. hi there. We uh, Mia and I, we were wondering if you knew where around here might be a good idea to find dinner?"


Mia HerronThe anger lies below the surface, but it's so small in comparison to some of the others. Besides, with her chipperness it's almost hard to imagine there's a big toothed, raging monster underneath. She's just so pocket-sized.

Mia comes to a stop near the people, her hand still around Gordon's wrist. "Totally were! " Her eyes scan from Drew to Charlotte, drinking in the collection of heroes in their veins before she takes notice of Alexei on the side. "We're famished. Or I'm famished. And we're looking for somewhere to eat becasueI'mnewandIdon'thaveacluewheretogo for reaaaaaally great food! Course you can come too if you want! Always room for a little famfam."


Charlotte GrayDrew imagines that sleeping on the ground for a week isn't too refreshing.  Charlotte gives her the edge of a smile, nearly sly, though it does not quite impinge on that territory.  There's nevertheless a sort of conspiratorial agreement to the look.

"No, I don't think it would be.  I prefer a feather bed.  But I know someone who sleeps in his car.  He doesn't seem to mind that too much?"

A sharper glance up when Drew asks about Mia; the pink-haired girl's attention lingers there for a long moment, before she tips her mouth closer to Drew's ear.  Quietly, murmurs, "I don't know.  Can't tell." - before the pair have arrived at the edge of the otherwise empty patio.

--

Then Gordon asks about where to find dinner, and now Charlotte's sharp little chin rises.  "You should go to Flux," she says, glancing between the pair.  "It's on the bleeding edge, but they only slaughter clams and maybe mussels and oysters and possibly hermit crabs. He - " a glance toward Lex, " - owns it."

Charlotte glances back up when Mia characterizes them all as famfam, getting the implication with a keen-eyed look between the pair, without precisely recognizing the shortened slang.  There's a wariness about her that is not noticeable now unless one is close to her, closer enough to sense the taut line of her shoulders beneath her hooded sweatshirt.

"That's very kind," to Mia, quite nearly formal in her refusal.  " - but I have to go."


Alexei OjalaWell there are loads of places around here  *He offers to Mia* Looking for some kind of cuisine or just anything in general?


Alexei OjalaOh we kill lobsters too.... They come in fresh  *He shrugs ligthtly*


Drew RoscoeDrew appeared moderately surprised by the dichotomy between Gordon and Mia.  Gordon was big, in every sense it seemed.  However he was a bit nervous, and spoke with a timid tone to his words.  The small girl, true to form, seemed manic and full of energy.  She spoke quickly, with much excitement and enthusiasm.

Drew had opened her mouth to answer them, but was interrupted by her phone ringing in her coat pocket.  She paused, blinked, and began speaking even as she fished for the phone.

"Well, there's a nice mid-eastern style restaurant a few blocks up.  You know, a lot of spice and lamb and rice."  She gestured vaguely in the direction she knew this place to be, back over her shoulder.  "There's also sandwiches and pastries inside of this cafe behind us.  Excuse me."

The 'excuse me' was for all four people that she stood with now, and she put her phone to her ear and turned away from the pink-haired woman, the odd couple, and the restaurant-owner and spoke into her phone.  After approximately thirty seconds of conversation she circled back.  Her phone had gone back into her pocket, but retrieved from the same place in her coat was a bright yellow sticky note, folded over so the sticky side held it closed, with her name 'Drew Roscoe' written on the outside.  This was handed to Charlotte.  "If you need something, hit me up.  If I can't help I can at least find somebody who can.  It was good to meet you, Charlotte, thanks for remembering me."

As it turned out, Charlotte had to go too.  The timing couldn't be better.  Nor could the fact that she and Drew went different directions when they parted from the now-trio.  Drew waved a cheerful farewell over her shoulder as she went up the sidewalk and about a corner, off to wherever she had parked.

Attention [Yiorgie, Cash, Sophia]

Yiorgie Alexander
The gymnasium has been a haven for the Silver Fang.  It was a place where he could be a Garou, and not have to worry about prying human eyes and ears.  He could speak as he liked, work out as he liked, and keep close company with Garou and Kinfolk alike.  Hanging out with the Bone Gnawers had its ups and downs.  They kept him tuned in to the pulse of the city, and he let them make fun of his Bone Gnawer nickname, which is "Garlic-Breath."  Yiorgie was actually proud of the name, given its origin, and the person who gave it to him.  Having the Bone Gnawers on his side was important, and letting them call him Garlic-Breath was a worthwhile price to pay.

Staying with Drew had its perks.  He could come and go as he pleased, and there was always someone there when he got back.  She helped him clean up when he would return to the house with cuts and scrapes.  He had to keep in shape, which meant that he had to engage in combat.  He felt almost naked without the Vanguard at his back...

The Fang left the weight room, and walked into the gymnasium proper, where a group of Bone Gnawers were eating pizza and playing basketball.  Isobel must have brought them more food.


Cash VeichtThere's more than Gnawer in the gym tonight. Though it would be hard to tell the difference between the werewolf  at the weight bench and the Gnawer' playing ball. That is until you take a closer look. Cash's blood is watered down and he carries as much pure breeding in his bones as the Urrah not a hundred feet from him.

Lying on the weight bench, shirtless with faded old blue jeans, Cash is bench pressing well over 200 pounds. The weights clink into place and he slowly sits up, a hand raking back through his hair before dropping to itch at one scarred shoulder.

None of the Garou know a whole lot about Cash. He's a variable. A fucking strong and powerful unknown plopped right in the middle of their safe haven. Depending on the color of the skin on the Bone Gnawers, the Modi pays them little attention. His stare is feral, his Rage tethered by his Willpower, just barely.


Drew RoscoeThis facility was a brand new creature for Drew.  She'd never been here before.  Truth be told, she hadn't really interacted with any of the city-living Garou since she moved out to the east coast.  She was content to stay in her house out in the sticks surrounding Browntown, Virginia.  She only really came into the city when she had to visit the office for a meeting, which happened only several times a month, sometimes even less.

Yiorgie had been staying in one of her guest bedrooms for a little while now.  They had an amicable relationship, polite and understanding without being very invasive.  Yiorgie was gone during the day for the most part, and would often come back into the house only once the sun was down, dribbling blood on the hardwood floors despite his best efforts to stifle the flow from some errant cut or wound with a sweatshirt or his own hands.  She was a Good Kin, she didn't shy away from even the more gruesome displays.  She would help as it was needed, but often retire to bed before the strike of midnight on the living room clock.
Tonight she was aware that he would be at this country club on the City-Sept's turf, he'd mentioned that he would be taking advantage of the equipment available and perhaps do some socializing.  Drew had a meeting in the city, so she'd offered to be a set of wheels for him.  She drove them into the set, let the Silver Fang out wherever was convenient, and went to spend a (very) full day at the office.  Now that it was night, she had come seeking her impromptu housemate.

Somewhere around the ten 'o clock hour, the petite Kinfolk edged her casual and curious way in through one of several gymnasium doors, peeking in and getting a glance about before entering completely and letting the heavy door ease closed behind her.  She was still dressed in office attire-- a green dress with a loose and easy skirt that stopped just above the knees, a thin brown trenchcoat tied closed, and shin-high brown boots.  Her dense mass of brown hair was tied back with a green ribbon securing it in a ponytail.  This was the last time she'd be in the office between now and St. Patrick's Day, so she figured she'd dress the season while she had the opportunity.

Most people were noted but not sought out.  If she made eye contact with strangers she would flash a quick bright smile to them, polite as can be, and dip her chin in a nod of recognition before moving on.  On, until she spied the Silver Fang with the scars all about his face and scalp.  Eyebrows hopped up, having found the familiar face, and she crossed the gym to meet up with the one name she knew here.


Yiorgie AlexanderOf all the people in the gymnasium, Yiorgie was the most out of place.  His breeding was powerful.  He came from the Tribe of Kings, the Tribe That Leads, and every feature was a throwback to this hero or that.  His posture was upright, but he did not look down his nose at people.  He did not seem to push people away with his stance, but neither would he be pushed.

He stood amongst the people in the gymnasium, bare chested and sweaty.  His flesh was a tapestry of the many wars that he had waged.  His left shoulder was a mess, with many puncture wounds that clearly came from jaws much larger than his body.  His shoulder did seem slightly off, but he did not seem any worse for wear.  He was riddled with superficial scars, as well as those that obviously bothered him when it got hot and humid, which was common in the temperate zone of the east.  He had gouges, slashes, bullet hole wounds, and more.  It even seemed as if something had exploded near his face, as there were trails where shrapnel carved through his flesh, and into his scalp, leaving deep gouges where there should be hair.  Yet, for all of his scars, he was alive, and so were his former packmates...

"Hey Drew... you look lovely," he remarked.  The New Moon allowed him such pleasantries.  His Rage was great, but Luna did not tug at it the way She did during his auspice moon.  He was bare chested, and unapologetic.

Yiorgie looked around while he drank from a bottle of water.  He had worked out next to the Fenrir in the gym, but did not say anything.  Yiorgie could feel the man's Rage, even during the New Moon.  There was something terribly chaotic about the man, even reckless, dangerous.  So rather than bother the man, he simply continued his workout.

"You're going to cause a frenzy, I think," Yiorgie said.  The Gnawers had noticed her.  If they didn't wolf-call her, then they definitely gave her a longer look.  Yiorgie couldn't help but grin slightly, and pass her a knowing look.


Cash VeichtNot having a lick of breeding himself, Cash picks up on the weight of it within Yiorgie and Drew's blood. It was in every bit of their features and the regal curvature of their spine. He slouched. He prowled and stalked. His words ran out of his mouth like warm honey. Outwardly, he looked the part of a Fenrir though : dark blond hair, pale eyes, strong as an ox and capable.

Standing from the weight bench he follows after Yiorgie -- who holds the majority of his attention. At least until others start to wolf call at Drew. His brow knots together, muscles tense unconsciously. A white wife beater hangs out of his back pocket, his chest is a criss cross of white scar tissue though no where near as bad as Yiorgie's. There's a quiet air of fine tolerance about Cash when he looks at a Bone Gnawer with skin the color of chocolate. His nose twitches and he sniffs, eyes wandering over Drew again and then the Fang.

"Sup." He says, voice a low thrumming growl always.


Drew RoscoeThe compliment is met by a grin.  Drew had many smiles, all different from one another in the slightest ways-- in how the corners of her eyes crinkled, where her eyebrows were held, how tight the corners of her mouth got, how much teeth showed.  Typically when she greeted people her smile was closed-lipped and bright-eyed.  Engaging, but predominantly polite.  The grin flashed at Yiorgie was more comfortable and relaxed, a bit more genuine and at ease.  Far from romantic, but familiar anyways.

"And you look healthy," she returned.  His follow-up comment was waved away with a gesture from one hand before it went to rest parallel its twin in a coat pocket.  She glanced to the small group about the pizza box near a basketball hoop at one end of the gym, and nodded her head up toward them with a chuckle.  "Oh, I don't think that's anything I've got to worry about."

Even still, a wolf-whistle or two spark up.  It can't be helped in a place like this-- a bunch of men with their testosterone and adrenaline all spiked from sports, work-out regimen, and what have you.  She shook her head a little and looked back to the Full-Moon Royal.  Her mouth opened to say something, the look on her face suggesting she was about to ask a question, but paused at the low rumble of a greeting that came from her right.

Cash, as any other would be, is answered with a bright smile.  Drew even bothered to turn her shoulders completely to face him while they exchanged what could be called pleasantries.  "Oh, nothing.  Just passing through on the way home.  What's up with you?"

She's utterly undeterred by the concept of being flanked by bare chested scar-riddled monsters.


Treads-the-Ashen-PathWhat brings a creature like Sophia into such a place. It likely wasn't the smell of stale sweat and mildew though you never know what a crescent moon might be collecting on any given night. The sliver of light that was the moon this evening was little comfort to the Theurge. Luna could not see her and that meant she could not be heard. Luna had the most beautiful of voices it just took time and concentration to hear her. However, tonight she was silent and this left the crescent moon alone with the throngs of voices that echoed within her head.

So many longed for peace and quiet but not Sophia... Quiet was the thing she dreaded most of all in the world because it was the quiet that separated her mind from the present and plunged it into the past. Some nights it was difficult just recognizing the difference between this moment and any other given moment in time.
Those greyish-blue eyes of hers were ageless, ancient for those who knew what she had seen with them, and her golden hair was allowed to flow freely as she made her way into the... What was this place again? Hmm... Room full of healthy young men working out... Yes! This seemed like the place Sophia was needed most at the moment! Definitely here!

So in she came pausing to examine the equipment as she entered with wide eyes full of surprise and wonder. Each little machine had it's own shape and function and she found herself curious about them all! She also found herself wondering how she might improve them.

Sadly it was hard for Sophia to stand among her own kind and not find herself noticed. So even as she kept to the background she was almost impossible to ignore. Her breeding was overwhelming and powerful... Her face looked as if it had been chiseled from the Marble so beloved by her ancestors, and then painted the softest hint of fleshtone to add a flush of color to her face. She did not stand with the regal appeal of Kings who once called themselves Emperors... Rulers of the known world... She stood low, more interested in her surroundings than anything else. It was impossible to deny the strength of her heritage but she didn't appear to know she even had it.


Yiorgie AlexanderYiorgie did not answer Cash immediately.  Drew had taken up speaking with him, and the Fang seemed content with that for the time being.  Yiorgie did not know Drew as well as he had known other Kinfolk in his life.  Yet, the girl had been kind to him.  She had taken him in, given him a place to stay.  For a girl who had no one in her life, and was willing to take in wayward Garou, he felt a certain kind of affection for her.

When she began speaking to Cash, his eyes did not linger on her.  They focused more on the Bone Gnawers nearby, who had returned to their regular activities.  They had gotten an eyeful of Drew, and were now playing basketball contently.  That, and eating pizza.  When his attention returned to Cash and Drew, his eyes focused mainly on Cash.  The Silver Fang's gaze was not challenging, but it was slightly severe.  Much of it was simply the bravado of one male wolf to another.  Another aspect of it was to make it clear that he would not tolerate the mistreatment of Kinfolk.  They are the Nation's most valuable resource, after all.  Yiorgie knew that better than most, especially since he was a guest in her home.

"Not much.  Relaxing... for a change," he said, quite ironically.  He spent his free time working out, and stressing out. 

"You're new here," he said, also ironically.  Yiorgie was just as new.

"Ah... Sophia," he said, nodding his head upward to her to catch her attention.  The Theurge was cryptic, and likely held strange secrets.  Such was the nature of their Lodge.  In truth, Yiorgie was hoping to speak with her.  He had always felt at odds with being a member of the Moon Lodge.  He wished he understand it more.


Cash VeichtCash doesn't seem to be threatened by Yiorgie, and while his eyes meet the Silver Fangs they don't push and pull at his Rage as if he had something to prove. The breeding the Fang bears is enough to earn him an ounce of automatic respect, what the other Ahroun did with that was yet to be seen. Quiet, the Modi's eyes shift from Yiorgie to Drew, watching them both carefully but saying a whole lot of nothing. A hand tugs the muscle shirt out of his back pocket and he tugs it on, giving Drew one less chest to tolerate. Both hands move through his hair, scratching his scalp absently before his arms fall back to his side. Whatever Yiorgie might or might not tolerate Cash didn't know, but he at least seemed respectful of the other members of the Awakening Sept.

"Yeah?" He says to Drew first, pale eyes cutting sidelong to give her a full on look while he grabs his water bottle which had been sitting next to a black hoodie, his as well. "Workin' out."

Sophie's entrance, makes Cash a little more uncertain. He watches both Fangs curiously, though his eyes always fall back on Drew.

"Yup, just got here a few weeks ago. Cash Veicht, Fostern modi, son of great Fenris. Known as Tempered Fury to the nation." He nods to the trio.

"You Fenrir blood?" He finally says to Drew without beating around the bush.


Drew RoscoeThe formal greeting was probably intended more for the Garou in the room than it was for Drew.  The Kinfolk didn't seem to notice that fact, though, because she answered Cash's greeting by sticking a hand out for a shake.  Yeah, his palm was probably sweaty still.  Despite the clean and well put together outfit that she was wearing she didn't seem to care too much about dirt and grime and smells.

"Drew Roscoe.  Also known as Long-Shot, to any who bother using that name anymore."

Regardless of if he accepts the hand shake or not, Drew finds an easy comfort in just standing alone.  Her weight balanced more dominantly on one leg than the other, causing the the other knee to pop out some while relaxed.  Her hands would inevitably end up in her coat pockets again.  "I am.  Not from around here, though, from back in the Midwest.  I'm gonna guess that you are?  Otherwise you probably wouldn't care much what I am or ain't."  This conversation is started easily enough.  The brown-eyed Kin had an engaging quality about her, she seemed easy to talk to.

Yiorgie was calling a greeting to somebody named Sophia, and Drew cast her attention toward the very noble-featured young blonde woman just long enough to decide that she didn't recognize her.  It wasn't long before she was looking back up to the Modi, waiting for his response.


Treads-the-Ashen-PathShe gives a blink when she is noticed. Her eyes drifting from the ones playing basketball to the one who called out her name. She gave a smile in his direction. What did he want with her? What we he calling out her name? Did he just want to point out that he saw her? Did he want her to come over there and speak to him? He was being very strange with that comment and to be quite honest it had the Silver Fang a bit unsettled as her eyes narrowed and she ducked behind the nearest bench to look in his direction.

First him, and then the others. What were they doing? Why did they look so confrontational? What was Yiorgie doing so close to another Tribe's kin? Oh my is this one of those... Things?

Garou were such silly things sometimes. That came especially so for the boys in relation to the girls. She had to admit she never understood the entire idea of clinging to one's tribe... She also never understood the idea of clinging to anyone like they were the only thing in the world. How many garou have been slain over the matter of who gets to fuck who for what reason and under what circumstance? The simple answer would be far too many... She had seen it in her head over and over and over again. For love, they claim, for their undying unending love... They would forsake their duty to gaia, they would throw away everything that was invested in them, the trust and faith of their packmates, every fiber of everything they stood for all for some useless little idea they liked to call love. That wasn't love... That was selfishness plain and simple, the purest, foulest, most wyrm corrupted emotion that all garou were guilty of. They stunk of it down to their very core... That and old gym socks. Well... Mostly she was smelling the Gym socks to tell the truth. But there was probably some selfishness in there!


Yiorgie AlexanderTo call Yiorgie a member of the Awakening would be a mild insult to the Sept.  He had spent the vast majority of his time in the city, with the members of the city's Sept.  He has stood guard within the caern's borders, but he has not openly sworn fealty to the Sept itself.  He won't, if he has the choice.  It would be no disrespect against the Sept, or its patron Totem.  He knew his place, he knew the kind of warfare he wanted to wage.  To be a member of a Sept would be counter-productive.  He would be stuck in one place most of the time, and that simply would not do.

Tempered-Fury.  That did not seem likely, considering the nigh-unbridled Rage that the fellow Ahroun seemed to exude.  A deed name is still a representation of what the Garou is, or did.  Something about this Fenrir must be tempered.

"I'm Yiorgie, Fostern to the Silver Fangs," he said.  The Fang was less than formal.  He was clearly not a courtly Fang.  "I'm known as Born-From-Battle," he said, and did not go into greater detail.  His skin was proof enough of his auspice.

"I haven't heard of you, sorry to say," he said, genuinely.  "Where have you fought?" Yiorgie asked, eagerly hoping that the Fenrir would name a place that he had been.  Sometimes proximity was enough to strike up a rousing conversation, or even gamecraft.

Sophia was... odd.  Theurge are often that way, and Yiorgie did not seem turned off by it.  The Betrayed Moon shone brightly in Sophia, and it was plain enough for Yiorgie to see.  The Ahroun tried to fight the Secret of Kingship in himself, but he always lost.  Always lost.  Drew would know that better than anyone in the city.  She could hear his fright, and panic at night occasionally.


Cash VeichtDrew offers her hand, he takes it. The shake is brief, his hand is warm and moist though that doesn't seem to concern him. Eyes work their way over Drew's face from forehead to brow to nose to lips to chin and then he drops his grip and removes his attention from her moving it to Sophia's odd behavior. One brow perks up and one corner of his mouth does the same. She was interesting at least.

Who knew how Cash got his deed name. Tempered Fury wasn't his first deed name and as he clawed his way up the ladder of Renown, his deeds would label him something else and something else after that. The Fenrir that stands before them has roots far from here, in the bayous and swamps of the south, though there's a little bit of  the southeast touching his words as well. Mostly, though, he's rough at the edges. Hard to take and even harder to know.

Pale eyes look at Yiorgie for a long moment before he averts his eyes beneath the weight of all that breeding. Water bottle tipped up, he gulps the water down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Charleston." Is his answer. "Had my rite of passage 'n fostern challenge there. You?"


Drew RoscoeThis was a situation that every Kinfolk would inevitably find themselves in.  Drew was simply accustomed to it by now.  When in company mixed with Garou, there was always a point when the 'Grown-Ups' would come together to talk about 'Grown-Up Stuff'.  While Drew understood precisely what they were saying, while she could follow along just fine to know what a Rite of Passage was, what the ranks were, and even had some vague recall of conversations from way before where the locations of other Septs were.  Charleston she remembered had a Sept, although she couldn't remember much else about it.

All the same, while she could listen in on these conversations just fine she had nothing much to contribute to them-- not in any way that wouldn't make it seem like she was trying to prove something or pull attention to herself.  So, instead, she twisted idly at the waist to flare her skirt some, whirling it back and forth a couple of times before stilling, checking a watch under her coat sleeve, and speaking to the Full Moon King.

"Yiorgie, I'm gonna go take a look around, see what else they have here.  I didn't even realize this rec center existed.  I'll meet you out at the truck in a bit, alright?  I'm just parked in the main lot."  She'd graze his upper arm briefly with her fingers to catch his attention, but the touch was brief and passing.  To make sure she had his attention to hear her words and not much else.

To Cash:  "Here."  She produced a folded up sticky note from her pocket and handed it over.  It was already written on, and had her name on the front.  If he opened it, her phone number was on the inside.  "Cash, family is family.  If you need something, that phone doesn't get turned off.  You just call, alright?  It was good to meet you."

To Sophia:  Another glance in her direction, and a wave accompanied by a smile, regardless of whether the gesture was returned or not.  She was a friend of Yiorgie's, so that deserved at least acknowledgment and some form of farewell before leaving.

With all that said and done, the Kinfolk turned (pausing only to scoop up an errant basketball and lob it [successfully!] back up the court to the Gnawer crowd) and made her way out of the gymnasium to go poke about and see what else this building had to offer.

I've Got A House [Yiorgie]

Drew Roscoe
Drew had gotten a phone call somewhere in the mid-morning from an unfamiliar number, with an unfamiliar voice at the end.  He said his name was Yiorgie, and that he'd gotten her information from.. well, it wasn't important.  What mattered was that he'd been referred to her.  He was a Garou, and in need of some assistance in the way of 'human affairs'.  You know, money.  He had some funds that need to be invested and/or kept safe, he was told she worked for a bank, and that she could help.

He didn't quite know what she looked like, but from the sound of her voice she was a younger woman, probably all brightness and sunshine from the chipper tone in which she spoke.  She'd advised, 'of course!' and asked where would be best to meet.  They decided on the heart of the city, it was easiest to melt away into a crowd when those crowds were as large as they were there.  She knew of a hot-dog cart, she told him which corner to meet her at, and advised that she would be there in the evening, at about eight-thirty or so.  She'd meet him from work.

It was a date.


---------------


Sure enough, when Yiorgie found the intersection that Drew had advised him of, he'd find her there.  The woman was petite, dressed nicely in a hip-length brown winter jacket and a pair of dark wash jeans tucked into shin-high boots.  She wore nothing on her head, it was warm enough that the jacket would do just fine, and was just turning away from the hotdog vendor with a hot dog in each hand.

She wasn't recognizable because she'd told him what she looked like.  She'd merely stated that she would find him, and he her.  It was easier to understand in person-- she could sense his Rage, that prickling of intuition and familiarity across the skin of her chest and neck.  He, in turn, could find her as a flickering candle in the wind among the thinning crowd of the weekday night.  She had breeding.  Not much, but enough to set her apart from the rest of humanity.  It spoke of blood caked to iron and frozen into steel-gray fur.  It howled of Fenris.

She paused to hover several feet away from the cart, out of the vendor's small line, and looked up the sidewalk in Yiorgie's direction, hunting for a face and body to match the encroaching sense of death/wild/family that came from that way.


Yiorgie AlexanderThe ability to adapt is any living creature's greatest tool.  Humans evolved to the point to where they needed shelter, so they hid in caves, and even made makeshift homes.  They needed to hunt their food, so they created spears, and bows and arrows.  They needed to defend themselves, so they created weapons.  With their kills, they created clothing, tools, even jewelry.  They needed better tools, so they harnessed bronze.  Other humans needed to defend themselves better, so they made armor.  Bronze wasn't cutting it anymore, so they harnessed iron... then steel.  Then the humans needed to kill vast amounts of other humans... so they created bombs...

Adapting to the city would be easy for Yiorgie.  He has lived in, and fought in cities most of his life.  His heart still cries out for the wilds, though.  The wild places made of steel and concrete just don't do it for him like those made of wood, moss and grass.  But living in a city required money.  With his plans for the Vanguard on the horizon, he would need more money.  Either that, or he needed to ensure that his current resources were steady.  That required knowledge of math and money: skills Yiorgie simply didn't have.  Besides, going into a bank and writing a check is potentially dangerous.  What bank teller would actually serve him, anyway?

The Sept was kind enough to direct him to someone who could help him in this regard.  After calling the girl (and getting a questionable rendezvous point), Yiorgie set out into the thick of the city to find her.  When he came upon the hot-dog cart, he saw the girl in question.

The Ahroun attracted and repelled attention in all the worst ways.  In the human world, Rage is the worst enemy of the Garou.  People gave him a wide berth, and made startled noises when they saw him.  Others put their heads down and walked right past him, hoping that he did not notice them.  He seemed like a nondescript kind of person in his jeans and hoodie.  He had no real identifying markers, save for the terrible scars on his body.  While his face was slightly obscured from a hood, it didn't hide everything.  He had many superficial scars all over his face and neck.  While many seemed characteristic of slashes and gouges, the most obvious were the long streak marks that started near the center of his face, and went outward, as if something had blown up near his face, and the shrapnel cut his skin up.  Whatever good looks this man may have had, they were all but ruined now.  He did not seem to be bothered by that, either.

"You're Drew?" Yiorgie asked.  His eyes were alight.  Rage and fury were his friends.  He was a menacing figure, a true predator.

"I'm Yiorgie... " he said.  His lips moved slightly, as if to smile.  He didn't quite make it.  It was much more pleasant than the scowl he had been wearing, after walking among so many humans.


Drew RoscoeBig brown eyes hunted, the eyebrows above them furrowed just a touch with focus.  She was hunting.  She knew he was there, or nearby, could feel it.  It didn't take long to pick up on the pocket in the crowd, no matter how meager it was.  The man in jeans and a hoodie had a wide circle of berth about him.  He wore his hood up, he walked with the same confident stride of a predator that Drew had learned to pick up on.  She could see it in how a Garou's shoulders hips and feet all worked together, no matter how they may hunch their heads and cover their faces to avoid gaining attention.

When Yiorgie came near enough to inquire her name, she was already watching him approach, smiling brightly (and an infectious smile it is, all pearly teeth and nude lips and lively eyes).  He gave his name, and she answered by holding out a hot dog with ketchup, mustard, relish and onions on it.  The other had the same toppings, she figured them universally acceptable.

"I am.  Good to meet you."  She took a moment and a half to look up the foot-plus distance between their faces and study his.  Dominantly, the scars that marred his flesh and the structure that lay under such cosmetic blemishes.  "Warrior, then."  She guessed, but it sounded like an assumption more than a question.  "Good to know.  I've been hearing that that's what we need.  Should we walk?"  Her smile wasn't as domineering as it initially seemed, had subdued into something closed-lipped that was formed into the very shape of her rounded face rather than worn as a conscious expression.  She gestured with the hot dog she planned to keep for herself to indicate the direction they should go.

Better to walk and talk, if you asked her.  Not as easy for eavesdroppers to happen by that way.


Yiorgie AlexanderYiorgie's breeding was powerful, to say the least.  Anyone who knew to look for the features could see.  His was the blood of Kings, of the Tribe That Leads.  Despite the purity of his blood, the man was not dressed well.  He didn't smell very fresh, either.  in truth, the Silver Fang looked more like a Bone Gnawer than one of his own Tribe.  When he reached out and took the offered hot dog, he tore into it with great hunger, and little refinement.  He seemed pleased, and grateful for the meal.  It was not that he was malnourished, or even hungry.  He was simply happy to accept someone's hospitality.  To refuse such was considered an insult.  Even he knew that much.

"Did my striking good looks give it away?" he asked, smirking as he chomped away at his hot dog.

"This city needs a lot of things.  I can tell you this much: it requires a different kind of warrior," he said.  He was not very precise in his description.  To truly describe it to her, they would need privacy.  There were too many prying eyes and ears in this town.  It was one of the most technologically secure places in all the world.  It is the seat of both law and corruption.  This city is no place for a primal creature like a Garou.

"I was told you could help me out with a few things.  The first thing I need is a roof for a night or two until I can get myself set up.  The second is some financial help.  I've got some money to my name, and I've got it in too many places," he said, walking along with her.

"It's good to meet you too," he said, turning his head to give her a once-over.  He had to remember his manners.


Drew RoscoeDrew looked pleased that he was so quick to accept the food she offered.  The young woman was built to become a forty-something house mother.  It was easy to see her twenty years in the future, a few kids out of the house, several still there with her, plumper and more weathered, but with no less spirit.  She was the sort that thrived on the well-being of others, and that was evidenced for just a moment in the satisfied contentment that showed on her face before they were walking.

"Well, that's part of it," was her answer to his quip about his striking good looks.

He was straight to the point, and she appreciated that.  He explained up front what he needed-- a place to stay, someone to help him with resources that he had spread out too thinly, that needed to be consolidated, set someplace that he could access it.  She was pretty sure she could help it to grow, too, if he wanted.
His explanation of what he'd come to her for was summed up with a pause, a glance her way, an up-and-down, and a 'it's good to meet you'.  She had been quietly listening as they walked, the low square heels on her boots thumping dully on the pavement in time-and-a-half with his steps (his legs were longer, she had to walk faster to maintain pace).

"It's good to meet you too, Yiorgie.  Whoever sent you my way sent you to the right place."  She took a bite of her hot dog (the third bite now), chewed, and then continued.  "I've got a house about two and a half or so hours out from the city.  There's a few spare rooms, no kids or housemates or pets or anyone for you to worry about stirring up when you crash there.

"I do technical support for the Bank of America, but I'm in good with a lot of the people here at the main office.  I can help, if you can get me all of the information about where your money is currently stashed away."  Up close, it's easier to note certain things.  She didn't have scars anyplace visible.  She walked beside him comfortably, not put off in the least by the Rage that emanated from him and set even other Kinfolk on edge.  She smelled of other people-- an office environment, someone else's cologne or perfume from a hug.  She used a vaguely floral hairspray to hold the loose but neat curls in her hair.  Her make-up was subtle, but well done.

She didn't smell of other wolves, if he was paying that much mind he could tell.  She wasn't joking when she said that he didn't need to worry about stirring anyone or anything up in her house if he needed to bunk there.
"Well," she added after a moment, paused at an intersection waiting for the light to change so they could cross, "were you wanting that bed tonight?  Did you need to gather things up?"  Drew, the ever-willing to help.


Yiorgie Alexander"Yeah, a bed would be nice.  It has been... a long time since I've indulged in a little comfort.  A shower would be nice, too," he said.

It didn't take him long to finish his hot dog.  He ate like many of his ravenous wolf-born kin.  It was messy, and wholly without refinement.  The food itself is little more than hammered guts put through a tube, but it sufficed.  At least it wasn't that tainted hammered shit from O'Tolley's.   A hot dog with all the trimmings was like a gourmet meal, especially in the city.  Yeah, he could go to any number of fancy restaurants... but who would serve him?  Also, that was a waste of resources.  The war effort didn't need luxury.

"Two and a half hours?  That's a hell of a long way from the front," he said.  He didn't seem put off by the number, though.  Having some seclusion is good for the Garou.  Having a place to retreat to is even better.  He would keep it in mind.

"You must make a decent living working for the Bank of America.  Or... y'know... not, depending on how you look at it," he said, smirking just slightly.  He had heard enough about the financial trouble the United States had gotten itself into.  He personally did not care.  Society would break down sooner or later.  It wouldn't matter after the Final Battle begun.  The Apocalypse was already here, in his mind.

"I am grateful for all of this, Drew.  What do I owe you?" he asked.  He did not seem to be put off by the idea of owing Kinfolk.


Drew RoscoeA nod of understanding was given in a short bob of the Kinfolk's chin, and she continued to chew away at her hot dog while Yiorgie asked his share of questions-- that far away from the city, huh?  You must make a decent living.  What do I owe you?

Drew still had food in her mouth when he'd asked that last question, and was shaking her head and waving her hand before she had a chance to swallow and speak.  Once the food had gone from mouth to throat to belly she licked a bit of relish from the corner of her mouth and answered:

"Nothing just yet.  I might call on you for a favor somewhere down the line, but I can't immediately think of anything.  I know you're not Family--" yes, stated with a capitol F-- "but you're a cousin and that's close enough.  I don't think of this as me selling room and board.  I just look at it as me doing my part.  Can't exactly contribue in the way you guys do, after all."  She concluded that with a smile and a wink.

The light switched, and her boots clunk-clunked from cement to asphalt as she crossed the street.  She had some kind of destination in mind, it seemed.  She walked with direction rather than meandering.  With her feet on autopilot in the way they were, she was probably headed to wherever she was used to parking her car.

"It is a ways away.  I don't need to come into the city too much, a lot of my work I can do from home.  I just swing by once a week, sometimes more sometimes less, for meetings and appearances and all that."  The now empty hot dog carton was deposited in a public trashcan that they walked past, and her hands were dusted on the sides of her coat before going into her pockets.  "I make enough to be comfortable.  When you're just supporting yourself that doesn't take as much as you'd think."


Yiorgie Alexander"Oh, I've seen cousins like you take a beating and keep on.  There was even a group back on the last front I fought on called the War Dogs.  Damned tough company, they were," he said.  He dropped his trash in the bin just behind her.

"I pay my debts, Drew.  If it is as simple, or complicated as a favor, I'll see it done," he said, very serious for such a relaxed situation.  The Ahroun seemed to carry with him a certain sense of seriousness, and especially of duty.  He knew what was required of him.  He was especially glad to know that Drew knew what was required of her.

"You're our most valuable resource, you know.  Without people like you, we would be dead in the water," he said, nodding his head.  He looked around the city as if it was some kind of bogeyman.  In truth, it was exactly that.  There is something about the city, any city, that is hostile towards the Garou, and of other wild creatures.  The Bone Gnawers and the Glass Walkers may make their way through the city, but they probably know best that the city does not work in their favor.

"I understand.  But... enough about this.  Tell me about yourself.  I haven't met many of your people since I got here.  Few and far between... and likely far less willing to help as you..." he said.


Drew RoscoeSo, tell us a little about yourself.

Drew chuckled some and nodded once more.  She was either in a particularly pleasant mood tonight, or this had to be some kind of a front that she put up that she was especially well practiced at.  Well practiced to the point that it didn't seem like a front.  Rather, everything about her, all of the smiles, the questions, the statements... all of them came across as simple and genuine both.  If this was no act, then the world had yet to break her.  That was either a testament to her heritage, or simply a matter of time.

"Well," she started, with a brief and cautious glance from side to side to ensure that people were letting them be and paying them little mind (and that seemed to be the case).  "I'm from Chicago.  Moved out here because nobody seemed to be left that needed my help anymore.  I'm useless sitting on my hands, so I came out here-- heard talk from my kin that there were deep rumblings in this city and the hills to the south to boot.
"Browntown is the town I live just outside of.  Apparently it's, like, at least forty percent populated by folks like us.  There's an established council out there, just like there is here in the city.  Different lands, different folks, though."  She'd gotten off topic from telling him about herself and had instead explained to him the world that he'd introduced himself to in coming to the country's capital.

She led him straight up the sidewalk, then took a turn to cut down a narrow driveway that led to what was once a vacant lot and is now instead a three-story parking garage.  She kept close to the wall of the brick building that framed it, avoiding the potential of unexpected traffic.

"I had a mate.  He passed about two years ago.  Now this is pretty much what I do-- offer what help I can give where I can give it.  Not much else for me to do beyond that.  I got so used to having to fight the monsters off my doorstep back home that I'm almost stir crazy with the lack of action out here.  Weird how that works, huh?  We strive for peace, then when we find it we don't know what to do with ourselves."


Yiorgie AlexanderYiorgie wasn't fooled.  Drew might put on a friendly face, but he knew his people better than most.  To be Kinfolk who works in the name of the Garou means you live a lonely life.  You are constantly looking after people who are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.  You are constantly caring for people who you know could die a few minutes after they walk out your door.  Those poor Kinfolk who take Garou mates have it the worst, especially if they mated for love.  They are constantly alone, waiting for a partner who may not come back.  Even if they do come back, the interaction can be dangerous.  Even in the throws of passion, the Garou can be a danger to their mates.  Plenty of Kinfolk have died while havin sex.  Rage is stoked by powerful emotions... including love.

"Isn't that always the case?  If there isn't rumbling under your feet, then it is certainly rumbling somewhere," he said, both humorously, and dead serious.

"Browntown?  I know the place.  I've met some of our people there, though I have yet to introduce myself to the community there," he said.  He needed to visit the rural Caern.  His service to the Awakening was coming to an end soon.  He would need to make himself known to the Garou of the surrounding countryside.  He would need to find Garou for The Vanguard, as well.

"It's not weird at all.  I can only hope that we do our job well enough that we become obsolete," he said with a melancholy-laden tone in his voice.

"It's... noble... what you're doing, you know.  I'm glad I found someone to help me out."


Charlotte GrayWashington is a strange sort of American city.  The strangest: every street and cross-street downtown was planned, laid out in radial harmony - with its wide, sweeping avenues and classical buildings, all opening up from the Capitol building at the center.

The streets are quiet just now.  Not deserted, not precisely - so much as suspended.  The Capitol Building is brilliantly lit and packed with legislators and dignitaries.  The lobbyists and minor officials, Hill staffers and journalists, bloggers and gossip mongers, socialites and think-tank interns, and on and on and on are all tucked away in apartments and walk-ups and diners and bars watching the state of the union.  And so: traffic is suspended for an hour or two, as the president speaks and cable news anchors listen and fact-checkers haunt wikipedia and spin doctors work feverishly to find something new, or at least shocking, or remotely interesting, to say about the theater of it.

--

Just a few tourists are still out, now.  The ever-present homeless population, the protesters keeping vigil outside this agency or that embassy.  The doormen huddling beneath the awnings of the hotels and luxury condo developments, the valets at their podiums by the city's finest restaurants.

Lights from a passing car sweep over them.  Yiorgie's shadow dwarfs Drew.  Engulfs her, looming over her slight form in parti-colored patterns as the car sweeps by.  Slows to avoid collision as Drew and Yiorgie turn the corner to a narrower driveway.  The driver flicks off the brights that cast them in such stark white light.
There's no real engine noise other than a low hum, the trademark of a hybrid.  An impression of a pale forehead and cheek pressed against the cool glass, and no more than that.  The car hesitates,

[He glances at her profile; her stare at the strangers both startled and intent.  She feels the look and cuts him a mulish one back.  Aren't we late already?]

then begins to accelerate again.  Strangers passing in the night.  Hardly to be noticed at all.


Drew Roscoe"I don't think anyone's called this noble before."  Drew was fishing about in her jacket pockets again.  What she pulled free was a set of keys on a chain-- car keys and remote, house key, some other key (shed, perhaps?), and a little dark gray coin with the Get of Fenris glyph etched into it, and 'Long Shot' on the other side.  Not that he'd see this, but she glanced down for a second with the charm between her forefinger and thumb before shifting her attention back forward to the parking garage they were entering.

She didn't look about cautiously, didn't seem all too concerned about being ambushed from the shadows.  And why should she?  She had one of the more monstrous things that the world could throw at her right at her side, with something to gain from her and therefore no reason to do anything but defend her.  It was with that kind of assurance and confidence that she walked with no break in pace into the dark of the garage, lit only seldomly by flickering burnt-orange lights, tired from neglect and cold.

"I've been called any number of things before.  Hell, had my house called a brothel once.  But..."  She shrugged, and flashed a grin.  "Different management out here, you could say.  So long as I'm not stirring the pot nobody pays much mind."

There's a brief pause, then her tone shifts.  It's lower, softer spoken so that her voice didn't echo off the concrete walls and ceiling surrounding them.  The words aren't intimate, but they are only for their ears.
"I'm sure you know, but I feel it's only proper for a real introduction.  I'm Drew Roscoe.  I've got my own Name-- Long Shot.  Proud of it.  I'm Kin to the Get of Fenris, and I was mated to the late War-Handed, who was a Full-Moon of the Get of Fenris as well.  I can guess your moon, but not much else about you, Yiorgie."

-----------------------------------


Drew RoscoeThe drive from Washington D.C. to Browntown, Virginia is a long one.  It's not unbearable, not enough to be called a 'road trip', but it is still a two-and-a-half hour journey, even with Drew keeping a steady 75 miles per hour (once outside of city limits, of course) along the highway.  She had unlocked a big Dodge Ram pick-up truck painted cherry-black with a clean white shell covering the bed back in the parking garage.  When they climbed in to single bench of the truck, the charitable little Kinfolk had to shuffle a couple of folders and a laptop carrying case off the passenger seat and tuck them back behind the seat.  There they joined a very practical looking shotgun for the drive home.

Drew kept the music on the quieter side of audible, on some radio station that played easily forgetable tunes that everyone had heard at least once before.  If conversation occurred, it did so naturally.  She didn't force words to fill any lapses in silence that may happen.  If the Silver Fang happened to nod off at any point, she'd do nothing to rouse him until they reached their destination.

When the truck finally slowed, it was on a simple two-lane highway that wound out through the countryside in what seemed to be virtually the middle of nowhere.  They'd passed through Browntown to get there, and the town was really just that-- a blip of civilization in the middle of the wilds.  The wheel cranked, and the truck turned onto a short gravel driveway immediately off the road.

"Well, here's home," Drew announce.

Home was modest.  It was a cute little bungalow, a one-story affair that was white with green shutters.  The snow from the last snowfall had melted away, save for a few piles  hugging the edges of the driveway.  There were no other vehicles, and a shed at the end of the driveway, just diagonal to the back corner of the house.
There was no livestock, no fences, no pets.  There were no lights on in the window, no sign of life save the birds in the bare tree branches behind the house.  Aside from the Kin and the Wolf, the place was as good as vacant.


Yiorgie AlexanderYiorgie stayed awake for the duration of the trip to Drew's home, but he was strangely quiet.  The Silver Fang seemed to be caught up in some kind of thought or emotion.  His expression was quiet blank at first, but then it turned somewhat melancholy, even dark.  It was as if his mind turned to darker places, and bitter memories.  He seemed to fight off the urge to succumb to some kind of sadness, and he succeeded.  It was as if he mentally reminded himself that monsters and ghosts weren't real.  After a while, he seemed to calm down, and listen to the music.  After a while, he made a few comments about DC, or asked about the house they were going to.  But aside from that, he was strangely quiet.

Arriving at her home, Yiorgie's melancholy returned.  He looked at the fence, the wood of the house.  He even walked over and touched the wood with his hand.  The fence was obviously new to him, judging by the distasteful expression on his face.

"It's nice.  It reminds me of a place my pack and I used to live in when we were in Colorado," he said.
"Thanks for bringing me here," he said.  His expression was still rather low, but he didn't speak of his feelings.

"So, this is a half-way house for Garou?" he asked.  He was not going to ask why people said that it was like a brothel.  He could gather that for himself, though he would not speak on the issue.

"Please, tell me there is a bath, or shower, or something..." he said, with hope in his timbre.


Drew RoscoeEnough time was taken gathering things up from the cab of the truck that Yiorgie had his chance to get a feel for the property.  There was a small picket fence lining the front of the yard and some of the driveway, but the entire yard was not fenced.  It opened to the field on the opposite side of the house from the driveway.  The backyard was unfenced as well, and simply ended where the trees of the forest began.

Drew tugged the strap for her laptop case over her shoulder and moved up the sidewalk to the front porch.  She paused for a second behind Yiorgie, observing how he felt the house, as though assuring himself of how solid it was, how suitable it would be to rest in.  She had let him be with his melancholy, she understood that they all had their own histories.  She wouldn't bother him when he was quiet and distant if he didn't ask questions if he happened to hear sadness from her bedroom in the wee hours of the night.

"Not a half-way house necessarily.  This is my home, but I did specifically choose this property because I could house people who need a place to rest.  One day when I've got a family started I'll stop opening my doors like this, but until then it'd be downright selfish of me not to."

Keys jangled their way out of her coat pocket, and she moved on past and up the front steps onto the porch.  The front porch was covered, and she had a pair of chairs with a table between them, all wood and all painted the same muted green color, something light but mild, pleasant to the eye.  She worked her key in a pair of locks and chuckled some.

"Of course there's a bathtub.  There's a shower head in there too if you prefer that, but I figure after a hard fight or a long travel a good soak in the bath could do a body good."  The locks clacked clear, and Drew opened the door and stepped inside, holding it open for the Silver Fang to follow behind her and turning the lights on as she entered.


Yiorgie Alexander"I've had plenty of both... " he said.  "I ran to DC from Pittsburgh," he said with a chuckle.  Anyone who knew the geography of the United States would know that trek was quite a hike.  In a car it would take about five hours or so.  On foot, it would take at least a few days.

"Of course, I was on four legs, and I didn't have to deal with traffic, both humans, and vehicular," he said.  Judging by the man's physique alone, Yiorgie was a believer in hard lessons.  His body was obviously scarred.  His physique was trim, but still large and fit.  If he had the choice, he would rather run than take a car somewhere.

"You learn more when you interact.  When you're in a car, you... disconnect.  You put a barrier between you and the world.  Running was a much better trip than taking a car, or a plane... and much safer for humanity," he said.  He knew the strength of his Rage.  Although he had no love for humanity, he didn't hate it, either.  Fighting it needlessly would only strengthen the Wyrm's grip on the world.

"So... you got the money for this place on your own?  Did you inherit it from family?" he asked.  She had Garou ancestors, after all.  It was not uncommon for them to leave money behind.

Yiorgie was already looking for the shower.

[[  Scene Remained Unfinished ]]

Your Sake [Hellforged]

Drew Roscoe
Christmas had come and gone.  The New Year was nearly a full month in, and things had been pretty quiet.  Rumors had calmed themselves to quiet whispers of the old year now gone.  The world was gray and icy, and things seemed to be asleep for the season.  The hills seemed to be hibernating, and the denizens had followed suit.

So, it was no doubt a surprise when a small blip on the new Jarl's radar had made contact again.  A call came in to his cellphone the day before, and Drew was on the other line.  Her tone was polite enough, but more firm business and tolerance than anything else.  This wasn't a pleasure call, nor was it a chat to make friendly.  She cut to the chase:

"We need to wrap things up.  If you're free tomorrow, I'll be home anywhere after six in the evening.  We can talk then."

He'd agree, either he had no agenda for the next day or he found a way to make time for the outsider Kinfolk, because not long after the sun had gone down over the hills to the West and dusk had shifted into dark, Hellforged would find his way to the little white house out among trees and fields on a winding road that leads out of/in to Browntown.

Drew would be outside when he approached, even though the temperature hadn't gone above the mid-twenties all day and was only plunging closer to the single digits with every dozen minutes passing since the sun had gone down.  The little Kinfolk was bundled up in a red down winter jacket that cut off at her hip, a pair of snowpants tucked into waterproof boots, a black winter cap on her head and a scarf about her neck.  Her hood was pushed down and scarf loosened from her face, though.  She was just finishing shoveling snow from her sidewalk, and had apparently worked up enough heat doing so to warrant taking her hood down and uncovering her face.

If there was ever a good time to sneak up on a Kinfolk and give them a start, it would be now.


HellforgedHe pulled up in his truck and stepped slowly out. The rigid features of his face were both worn and rugged. He might have even been pretty once but the fires of war in which he was forged had seen fit to even take that from him. What remained was a scarred and empty looking face that had seen far more than any should at his age.

Augmund wasn't really the kind to sneak up on anyone. He even had difficulty sneaking up on his enemies! Where is the honor in combat if there is no risk? So he'd be even less likely to attempt to surprise a kin of his tribe.

He wore a denim coat, padded inside for warmth, and a dirty old cowboy hat on his head. His blue jeans and boots finished off the look which was intended to be simple, and efficient. He wasn't a fashionista he was a Forseti and he didn't dress to impress he dressed to stay warm in the freezing cold. A pair of leather gloves covered either hand as well!

His breath rose out before him in the crisp air as he approached the figure shoveling snow and his hand lifted to his lips so he could cough against his fist to announce his presence.


Drew RoscoeWell, suffice to say it's rough to sneak up in a truck, so Drew was far from surprised when Hellforged approached and coughed deliberately into a fist to announce that he'd arrived.  Drew had glanced back when his truck had pulled up and squinted to see through his window and make out the shape of his face.  Upon verifying that it was the Half-Moon that arrived, Drew turned her back to him once more to finish shoveling.  She had just tossed the last of the snow from her walkway into the yard when he'd cleared his throat.

Drew propped her shovel up over her shoulder and turned to look back to the Forseti.  Her face was flushed, bright red on her cheeks and nose.  She wasn't smiling, but to be fair she wasn't scowling either.  More than anything she looked to be that odd balance of too cold for too long, and too warm from working under so many layers of clothing.  Her greeting was an upward nod of her chin.  When she spoke, her words rode a cloud of white into the chilly night air.

"Thanks for showin'.  You wanna knock some snow off and come inside?"

If there's one thing she'd picked up after The Boys had gone away and stopped teaching her, it was to offer up hospitality.


HellforgedHe shrugged his shoulders. "Lead the way." He says with a slow and cautious nod of his head. His eyes showed little, his face even less, that expressionless gaze of his was difficult to read as were those empty eyes. He did, however, move to follow her lead.


Drew RoscoeHellforged advised Drew to lead the way.  She nodded, turned, and climbed the stairs onto the front porch of her house.  She leaned the shovel up against the wall beside her front door, just next to a bag of ice-melt salt.  After knocking the snow off her boots on the welcome mat (and, of course, it is actually a mat that says 'Welcome' on it), Drew opened the front door and stepped inside, holding it open long enough for the Garou to get inside as well.

The process of removing outerwear was something to behold, and would be amusing if nothing more for the Half-Moon to witness.  The hat and scarf came off first and were hung on an old-style standing coat rack near the door.  Gloves were tucked into coat pockets, the coat was removed and hung up as well.  Overall snow pants were unbuckled at the straps, pulled down to the waist, and then came off after the boots were removed first.  Then off went the snow pants, and those were hung up as well.  This left Drew in a pair of simple blue jeans and a long-sleeved gray thermal, with her hair in a now-frizzled braid.

Cheeks and nose still bright red, Drew gestured for the man to join her in the kitchen.  "Not sure about you, but I could use something warm to drink.  Tea okay?"

Regardless of his answer, she'd head into the kitchen on double-layered stocking feet to get a kettle of water boiling.  While filling it up at the sink, she'd glance over her shoulder to begin their conversation:  "I figured I should tell you in person-- Eric left the night you came to visit.  He's been gone for more than a month now, and I haven't heard from him since.  Rest easy, the goods aren't being spoiled."  Her tone is difficult to read-- it's hard to tell if she's being matter-of-fact or sardonic.


HellforgedHe followed behind her and he waited just behind her as he entered the house. He took the time to peel off excess layers of clothing, and those boots as well if it looked like it was needed, before he slipped forward into the house.

He took a seat wherever looked comfortable and he nodded his head when she asked about tea. Something warm would be nice... Seeing as how the heater in his truck barely seemed to work these days! Still he wouldn't dare complain about such trivialities... Discomfort was a way of life!

"I'm sorry to hear that." He notes to her in that cold tone. It wasn't entirely asympathetic. After all he knew enough about people and emotions to understand their importance and sway. One doesn't just form a bond like that with someone else and let it flutter out the window without losing at least a little part of themselves with it. "I want you to know I took no pleasure in our last meeting." He says back to her. That too was him being honest. The responsibility of the Philodox was rarely to do the stuff he would like to do! That's someone else's job. Far too often the job of the Philodox was to do the shit no one wanted them to do! it could be a thankless and lonely job.


Drew Roscoe"Yeah, well...."

Drew cut herself off, apparently deciding that what she was initially going to say was plain rude, possibly even untrue, and so she just swallowed the words, shook her head, and put the kettle on the stove.  She pulled two coffee mugs from the cupboard, sifted about through a different cupboard and came back with a pair of teabags to set on the counter.

She turned then, and leaned back against the kitchen counter at the back of the kitchen.  Her palms rested on the edge of the countertop along with her back, and she looked back to Hellforged where he was seated at the dining room table (because, if Drew was in the kitchen, it would be most comfortable for him to sit at the kitchen to continue conversation with her while she busied about).

She just looked at him for a moment, deep brown eyes uncharacteristic of her and Hellforged's shared heritage cutting across his face and reading his (lack of) expression before she spoke again.

"I want an explanation.  I want to understand why it's okay for Eric Sutherland to have a Black Fury Kinfolk for a mate.  I want to know why he gets to have that, and why he gets to stay in the Tribe rather than defect and find another for not taking a Fenrir Kinfolk for his mate.

"I want to understand why I was given that ultimatum when it wasn't given to him.  I want to know why it's perfectly acceptable when a Garou takes a Kinfolk mate from outside the tribe, but it's taboo for me to even give a relationship with someone outside the tribe a chance-- I'm not talking mating, I'm not talking having his children, I'm talking seeing where things go.  Can you explain that to me?"


Hellforged
He listens quietly, watching her with that stern gaze the entire time, and he seems to nod with her as she makes, what he would call, a very valid set of points. He was almost on the verge of smiling at that... Almost!

"You bring up a good point." He notes to her. "The issue with Eric is an important one and I have been made aware of it and when I speak with Eric he will be informed of as much. Poaching is poaching and I will not have Garou or Kin defying our traditions in that manner." He notes back to her. They could call him whatever they wished... An asshole, stuck in his ways, stubborn, old fashioned, a dinosaur but one thing they could not call the Forseti was unfair. "All should be held to the same standards. If one of our own cannot hold himself to these ideals then he, or she, has no place to call themselves Fenrir." He finishes and slowly reaches out for his tea. Something warm to take the bite of the cold off him. This should do.


Drew RoscoeA stubborn streak ran strong in this Kinfolk, a testament to her heritage that made it clear which tribe she belonged to where her physical appearance did not.  She wasn't the sort to back down, not even from a wolf holding the title of Jarl-- a title that indicated the strongest of the Fenrir in the area, the best suited to lead.

She didn't shy away from a battle, always reached for whatever gun she had with her (pistols and rifles in the house, shotgun in the truck, handgun on her person if she was out and about) and aimed for the eyes.  She belonged to her Tribe, and that's probably why she was so offended by the very idea of being given an ultimatum of leaving it.

But, stubborn though she may be, she did a fine job of listening when being spoken to.  So, while Hellforged spoke, Drew listened, even if it was with a bit of a scowl on her face.  She pulled a quietly whisper-whistling kettle off the stove and filled up two cups with hot water and tea bags, then went to sit at the table.  She held one of the two mugs out for the Half-Moon to take before she sat down herself.  When she did, she was directly across the table from him, looking him in the eye while they discussed.

"You can't just go around kicking people out of the Tribe."  Despite her frown, she didn't sound demanding or angry.  Rather, she spoke with the same tone one would expect an adviser to have.  She was offering up advice and realism (or what she perceived to be as such) to a new leader among the people.

"The Sutherland family goes way back, and so do the Cutlers.  I'm talkin' their heritage is some of the most direct to the Old Times that there is probably in the country.  Just threatening to kick him out of the tribe if he doesn't leave his woman is only going to have both families dethroning you from your new position.  He won't leave the tribe, he won't leave his woman, and there's a very real chance he'll take your throat out if you try.

"That man's tank, and while not trying to talk down your worth as a warrior, I'm advising that while he might not be a leader he is tough as hell."  She paused to take the teabag from her mug and set it in an empty glass that probably held water before and had been left on the table from earlier in the day.  "Plus, she's pregnant.  You're not splitting them up."


HellforgedHe listens to her quietly enough and reserved enough. His gaze doesn't appear to change, he doesn't look concerned, or frightened, or the slightest bit worried by the things she reveals to him. He sips his tea and allows it to warm him. Then his eyes wander around the room, slowly but surely. "You want me to change my decision. However, that would not be wise..." He says as his eyes turn back towards her. "Fenrir are not a tribe that caters to weakness. To back down on the enforcement of our ways and traditions would be to dishonor everything that it means to call myself Forseti. If I were to go that route I might as well laugh at my ancestors, at their sacrifices, at their courage, and most importantly at their honor. Honor is about doing what must be done and not necessarily what one might like to do."

"If Fenrir sees fit to place my entire tribe at my throat then so be it... I will stand and, if need be, I will die to ensure that honor continues to hold it's place within my tribe. Without our traditions, and laws... We are no longer Fenrir. We are nothing. And any Forseti who would stand idly by and allow that to happen does not deserve the blood that beats within his veins." He says this with that even tone of his that seems to be simply explaining his point of view.


Drew RoscoeDrew sniffed some-- her nose was still a little cold and runny from her long bout outside shoveling the walk.  The redness in her cheeks had evened out some, but the tip of her nose was still pink.  She warmed her face by holding her tea mug in front of it, just before her mouth, and taking small sips occasionally.

"Yeah, but..."  She shifted how she was sitting some, crossed her right leg over her left and raised an eyebrow at the Half-Moon.

"Aren't there other things to be more focused on?  Tribal purity's not gonna do anything but lessen our numbers at a time where we need to be trying to drive 'em up.  I've been told there's less and less of you guys being born every year."  She moved a hand to make a sweeping gesture around her, indicating the land beyond the walls of her house.

"How many eligible Fenrir bachelors are there out there?  Who do you figure I should be starting a family with?  Because, from what I know, there's Samuel Cutler-- married, Eric Sutherland-- has his woman and a child on the way.  Then there's you, and no offense but we're far from on the right foot toward compatibility.  And that little paranoid fellow who I've seen around, and I'm far from keen on that idea either.

"At this rate, I'll need to leave the state entirely to find anybody.  What does that say, that your people need to leave you just to perpetuate the race?"


Hellforged"Quantity versus Quality." He says in response to her questions about breeding. "If we start taking anyone and everyone at this point we will only be weakening ourselves as the end slowly approaches. I would gladly take a single Fenrir over an army of sub standard whelps. Our numbers have never been as high as the other tribes... This is the price we pay of the life we live." He finishes while turning his attention back towards his tea.

"In the end I will not force a Fenrir to be Fenrir if that is not what they wish to be. I would rather see one who does not wish this life find their happiness elsewhere than be forced to suffer a life they do not wish to take part in." He says before shrugging and looking back towards her.

"What are your skills?" He finally asks her bluntly and simply enough. Perhaps he was changing the subject but he also found himself displaying a hint of curiosity about the kin.


Drew Roscoe"You know full damn well that I want to be a Fenrir."  Drew half-snarled this impatiently at Hellforged, and pointed a finger at him from across the table while saying so.  She somehow managed to pull this off without coming across as immediately threatening-- sort of like when a grumpy old woman gone steel gray with age and experience gnarls advice at you.

"It's not about me wanting to be elsewhere.  It's about me wanting an opportunity to have a fucking family.  This elitism bullshit about keeping the bloodline pure is the kind of talk that comes back to bite you in the ass.  From what I was taught, from what I understand, it's not about purity of blood, it's about strength of character.  My dad wasn't born into the tribe, but he proved himself and was accepted in anyways.  God knows what his mixed heritage is, but Fenris Himself saw him as good enough.

"Who's to say that anyone else isn't strong enough for Fenris, 'eh?"

A sip of tea, and she answers the question he'd directed back at her.  "What I'm useful at to you guys?  I'm a crack-shot with a gun, and I've got plenty of experience fighting alongside the rest of you under my belt.  Come from a pretty dangerous city, it had more Wyrm than it had us.  I've had to put bullets between the eyes of even several Black Spiral Dancers.  Got myself a name from it-- Long Shot.

"Aside from that, I'm good for clean-up if there's a body that needs taking care of.  And my house is about always welcome to any stray that needs a place to rest their head for a few days."


HellforgedHer response wasn't surprising nor did he seem to take any offense from it. If anything it was refreshing to hear her back up her convictions when it came to her tribe. The fire of the Fenrir was in there somewhere and it shined through in the way her temper seemed to flare. He read that much from her reactions and definitely took it to heart.

"You are right. All who have the strength and courage are welcome among the Fenrir, but they are not Fenrir until they are Fenrir. That is how we determine who has the strength to be considered good enough for Fenris. If you are not Fenrir then you cannot be Fenrir and if you are Fenrir then you will do what must be done to have that much acknowledged." He says back to her. "It's as simple as that... Simple, but not easy, it is never easy." He says with a shrug of his shoulders.

She then mentions her skills and his head slowly nods. "I have spent most of my life in the company of Fenrir. I have found that sometimes our kin are the bravest among us. It's one thing to take a bullet when you know you can recover and it's another to take one when you know it will kill you." He continues.

"So you can fight. I will have to find some way we can make sure your talents don't go to waste out here." What was the point in knowing how to shoot things ig you never had the chance to do so?


Drew Roscoe"While I appreciate the opportunity to make myself useful, I just wanna make this clear."

The kinfolk tapped a finger on the tabletop between them and set her mug of tea down.  She leaned forward, locking her dark brown eyes to his more characteristic light ones.  "I don't much care for your beliefs.  I respect your conviction, because that's core to strength, which is what Fenris needs, but I feel that you are so locked in Old Ways that you have become fundamentally wrong since times have changed.

"You would've been a shining example of what we should be, what our Law should be, if this were the seventeen-hundreds.  It is not.  Things are different, not just in the human world but in our world too.  We're outnumbered, vastly, and the game is shifting to the Wyrm's favor.  You need to rethink where your concerns lie.  Worry about how to make use of me, not who's in my knickers.  Have me be an adult woman, not a teenage girl that needs help being monitored on who's a good idea to date.

"Your conviction is strong, like I said, but I'm pretty sure that your elitism will only poison your victories and turn the majority of us, the more progressive-thinking people of this Tribe, against you.  I invite you in and speak calmly because you're my Jarl, but were that not the case I'd have nothing to do with you, and probably even ignore that you exist at all.  The only reason you're here is because I need you to be, in order to stay in good standing with my Tribe."

She realized she'd been rambling, lecturing, talking down to the Half-Moon.  After clearing her throat, she took up her cup of tea once more.  "Anyway.  I'll do what I'm asked, but only because I have to, not for your sake."


Hellforged"If you think I wish to be here discussing this matter with anyone you are sorely mistaken. If I had my way I would be out there with hammer in hand freely throwing my life away against an unstoppable foe." He notes to her as he amuses himself with the idea that he might, in fact, be a man outside of his time. "When such time comes that I fall to the rending jaws of some terrible beast, or I am humbled by the strength of one of my peers then I am sure there will be much rejoicing at the death of the Tyrant who had the audacity to demand that Garou and Kin uphold the traditions that Garou and Kin have upheld for thousands of years. Until that point... I am the Jarl. So long as you do what is expected of you I could care less what you think and feel of me as a person." He finishes and lowers his glass to the table, on a coaster if she has them, and he takes the time to slowly stand.

"I don't wish to keep you any longer than I need to. I am sure you would much rather be shoveling your driveway or some other unpleasant task than be forced to look at me, and frankly I hate talking. So I will leave you be and wish you a pleasant enough evening." He always did his best to attempt to be polite. This was the Half-Moon in him shining through.

Soon enough he was headed for the door. If she spoke on the way he would listen but something told him that they would have very little else to speak about this evening so he decided it was best he head on his way.