The Turners

[Imogen M.] The evening is warm, the air heavy with moisture. The sky overhead is overcast - even here in Chicago, one can normally see the stars.

Not tonight. The moon is black and there is not even that smudge to break the ink of the sky.

She walks alone along the pathway, her heels clicking softly against the pavement, her arms folded at her ribcage, a thin stole wrapped over her shoulders, pulled over a bare back and arms. She is dressed for the evening - a black dress (or maybe it's blue) with high front, low back and straps instead of sleeves. Some ways away, a symphony has just been let out. Most parked in the nearest lot. Imogen chooses a longer, more isolated walk.

A cigarette burns between her fingers, the orange glow marking her position.

[Sparrow] "Seriously," she started, "there is a giant friggin' bean in a park near here."

Sparrow Turner's brain had been blown by Chicago's sculptures, or specifically, what people refer to as the bean. It's called Cloud Gate. She's seen this thing, and spent the better part of the day looking at it. She looked at it in the physical realm. She looked at it in the umbra. She looked at it anywhere and any way that she could.

No matter who she sliced it, that thing was weird.

As such, Sparrow made mental note to include it as part of her territory someday. The bean would be hers, or rather, it would be her pack's problem. She made her way down a rather isolated, halfway decent path. Attire was comfortable. Boots (because it was always, always boots), a skirt (because it was always, always a skirt) and a white tee shirt. She was tan. As such, the shirt-and-skin contrast was something rather surprising. Made the white whiter, made the memory of last summer seem brighter.

"It's the craziest damn thing."

[Roman Turner] "I think the fumes are getting to you."

He was a few inches shorter, especially minus the security blanket of his Grandaddy's old Stetson. His hair the color of chestnuts, though seeming darker with the lack of light. Like his cousin Sparrow, he wore boots, good shit kickers. Unlike her, he was in a stiff pair of Wranglers, creased down the middle with a good pressing. With the heat, he had conceded to wear a tee shirt.

"Who would make a statue of a giant bean?"

[Imogen M.] The sound of voices draws her attention - the two are up ahead, talking, their words half carried by the wind. The kinwoman, born of a family who prides themselves on the purity of their blood and breeding, allows her steps to slow slightly, taking stock of the situation.

Two teenagers walking alone well after 11pm on a school night.

She never quite stops completely, and after a moment, her footfalls pick up their previous rhythm, a steady, even beat, one foot after another,

[Sparrow] Who would make a statue of a giant bean?
"A giant silver bean. It's shiny. And I don't know, I figure one of us could Google it, or go hit the tourist center places... but, then again, if we went to the tourist place, you would have to go."

What Sparrow had learned thus far in the city was this: there were lots of people. Ar such, there were lots of people who were innately aware, and concerned, by her presence. She laced her fingers together and popped them. The sound was resounding.

Down the way, they were starting to close the distance between themselves and Imogen.

she slows as well, and peers at Imogen. She looked from Roman to Imogen, and...

Blinks.

"Ma'am?" time to go be a good, albeit somewhat disconcerting, Samaritan.

[Roman Turner] "Don't think I am going to go to some tourist place and ask a bunch of folk about some big ole silver bean. I was born at night, but it weren't last night."

He slowed when Sparrow became interested in some woman ahead. Slowed and reached out for her arm.

"Cuz..."

[Imogen M.] Ma'am? Sparrow acts as a concerned citizen and Roman - Roman reaches out with what might be a restraining hand.

Imogen's steps slow then come to a stop, a copper eyebrow arches upward. Her hair is red. It is visible even in this light.

"Yes?"

[Roman Turner] When he spoke it was soft and smooth as a well aged whiskey, for once managing not to have his voice crack with nerves.

"Ma'am, would you be so kind as to tell us which way to the silver bean statue?"

[Imogen M.] Her attention slides from one cousin to the other, from Sparrow to Roman.

"AT&T Plaza," when she speaks, her accent marks her as a foreigner. She has none of Chicago's flat tones, nor yet an accent even of this continent. "That way." A tilt of her head toward the north.

"Bit late to be playin' tourist, isn't it?"

[Sparrow] The cliath looked at her cousin, brows raised and a self-satisfied smirk on her lips. It fades to a grin, and she looks back at the lady. The redhaired one. The obvious Fianna, walking alone in a park.

"Thank you ma'am, I do appreciate it," she says. Then, pauses, reflects, thinks of what she should do next, "it's not too terribly late for it. Less crying babies at this time of night."

[Roman Turner] "Yes Ma'am, I was thinking the same thing when we happened upon you, but you know us country bumpkins, we ain't got a lick 'o sense."

Just as polite as could be he stood shoulder to shoulder with Sparrow.

[Imogen M.] Sparrow speaks and Imogen's gaze shifts to her. As it does, the doctor's eyes narrow nearly imperceptibly, then shift back to Roman. A tendon moves along her jaw, then eases.

She looks back to Sparrow again. A pause before a decision is made.

"Is there anything else?"

[Sparrow] It's those fractions of an inch that make the most difference. The clenching of a jaw, the narrowing of one's eyes. She thinks this over, looks for details, and?

"No thank you, I believe that's it. Have a good night," she says.

[Roman Turner] "Yes ma'am. Could you tell my cousin here where to get hair as pretty as your's?"

His look was as innocent as youth could give it, all big gray-blue eyes and polite smile.

[Imogen M.] Imogen's gaze moves to Roman.

"I'm sorry to say, it's a familial trait. Rather like a particularly bad temper or an intense appreciation for the phases of the moon," she says mildly enough.

For all her mildness, she has nothing in return for Roman's innocent smile.

[Roman Turner] "Well Roe, she done pegged you on first meeting. Ain't that something?"

He shook his head slightly and gave Imogen a polite cant of his head.

"Thank ya, Ma'am."

[Imogen M.] "It's only fair," her eyebrow flicks up, then down again. "After all, she has likely done the same with me."

[Sparrow] Stop-

Tuuuuuuurn.

She looked at Roman, eyes wide and her hands found her hips. Bracelets jingled and there was quiet, no, not quiet, just regular indignation. Sparrow sucked at hiding things.

She blinked.

"Yes ma'am, I have... and I'll be damned, that was somethin' else."

She smiles. Her canines are a little sharper than she was actually aware.

"Sparrow Turner, Child of Gaia. This is my cousin Roman- same surname, same tribe."

[Roman Turner] "Yes Ma'am."

Once more the polite canting of his head as he stepped well off the path to allow her enough room that she could of driven a truck between them.

[Imogen M.] "Imogen Slaughter," she offers in return, her eyes moving between them both. "A pleasure."

A flick of her attention to Roman, her dark eyes, nearly black, resting there for several seconds.

"Kinfolk, are you?"

[Cara Hernandez] [[Pardon. Is this open to extras or closed?]]

[Roman Turner] He was glad for the dark as a flush rose from his neck up to his face. It had him ducking his head in that faint semblance of a bow again and mumbling.

"I'm Kin to Sparrow, yes."

Even if they didn't mean it in the same manner most likely.

"It was nice to met you Miss Slaughter. I'm gonna go ahead and find that statue."

No more than that and he was taking off. She had called him a Kinfolk, the beautiful woman with the jaw that clenched like she was chewing rocks, had called him a Kinfolk, wounding him to his soul. That just added to the one hundered and one reasons why the city sucked.

[Sparrow] (I don't mind!)

[Roman Turner] (( I believe it is open))

[Imogen M.] (it's open!)

[Sparrow] He was taking off.

She looked surprised, and gave the woman a nod and a bit of a wave.

"Thank you again, ma'am, I appreciate it," she says. She turns, and is moving to catch up with Roman.

That little bastard's faster than she remembered.

[Sparrow] At that moment, however, she was torn. She stops, stands in the middle of the way, and calls back.

"Roman, I'll catch up!"

[Cara Hernandez] It was a place to start. Hunting in the scab of a city was different than hunting in the wilderness. Her senses were dulled by the human mask and then drowned in the stench of humanities threashold all around. Adjusting took a little time and meanwhile the hair on her neck and arms simply refused to lay down.

She had on the boots at least. Brown, very worn, old cowboy boots that were half covered by jeans. Black tanktop, no jewelry. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail that was left swinging while she walked. Stalked. Whatever. At least they were in a park. Now it was time to look for those tell tale signs. Start physical before spiritual came into play.

"One around?" she asked, looking to Colt before nodding along one of the pathways through the park.

[Roman Turner] He was a lot faster than she remembered, infact, he was out of sight when she thought to look for him, even if it was by design. No reply came, he was too busy using every bit of his fledgling ability to simply not be seen.

[Imogen M.] "Goodnight," her answer is a simple and she turns away, walking toward the park's edge, the parking lot and her car.

[Colt Montgomery] ~He walked beside her, Exotic ostrich skin Nocona boots crush the small stones on the asphalt. low-rise, deep indigo rinsed jeans look expensive, finished with fading and whisking to enhance their appeal. His steele colored long sleeved burberry classic fit shirt was left unbuttoned revealing the bleached white tee shirt that fit snug across his chest, his body chiseled, the outlines of his well defined muscles visible.

He stands six foot three, dark curls hidden beneath the straw cowboy hat that sat low on his brow~ "that looks good"