Imogen's Puppy.

[Sparrow] "These are the ugliest potatoes I have ever seen," she says. She's been standing in the produce, looking at those damned potatoes for about fifteen minutes now, an Idaho in one hand and a little red one in the other. She's inspecting them. There's silence. There's nothing really to say there.

Just a woman, with excessive rage, looking at potatoes.

"Roman, I miss home."

She puts the potato down.

"This food sucks."

[Roman Turner] "I gotta say, the food here does suck, except, well the pizza is good."

He was juggling three of the little red potatoes, not paying much attention to how good they were. Far as he was concerned, who wanted veggies anyway.

"Whatcha gonna make anyway? Greenbeans, new pototoes and ham? Can we have sweet cornbread? I'll get the butter, not that fake stuff."

"Oh and, hamburgers, dang, I want steak."

[Imogen Slaughter] This food sucks.

It is the significant thing the redhaired kinwoman hears as she rounds the corner near a refrigerated case boasting cheap alcohol in cans of varying sizes.

She carries a six pack in one hand, negligently, and does not look like she would either be the type to drink such swill nor yet someone who would even step into such a grocery store. Her jeans are too nice, her skin too fine. She dresses down for this neighbourhood, but it is truly just that. Dressing down. She does not quite fit the part.

"Take the 44 bus on Sunday t'just past Wacker," she says. "Farmer's market."

[Sparrow] She's very concerned about these potatoes. She finally finds one that looks acceptable. It almost looks acceptable, and she can forgive the disgusting little spot on one end. She can just cut that part off, right?

"Farmer's market, eh?" she turns around, still holding a potato. She looks statuesque at that moment. Tall-ish and thin-ish, with limbs too long and lean to hold much strength. She's more tan, at that moment, and it makes her eyes stand out more. She looks at Imogen- a decidedly finer woman. Smaller bones, higher cheekbones, nicer clothes.

"Prices comparable?"

A pause, and she looks at Roman- "beans, cornbread, collared greens. None of the Shawnee mills crap, either."

A beat.

"And if we're getting milk, see if they have Horizon organic. I think that's about as close to from-the-cow as we're going to get here."

[Imogen Slaughter] "You'll pay more," says the woman, who has perhaps never had to worry about her money, or if she has, she has not in quite some time.

"But not much."

[Roman Turner] "Ya really believe....."

His attention swung and a dreamy look entered eyes the same blue as faded denim about the same time his mouth fell open.

..."well howdy ma'am."

A big ole stupid smile jumped in to place as those blue eyes stuck to Imogen.

[Roman Turner] It was her. It was the tiny little beautiful redhead. She was so tiny she made him feel like a giant. And damn but she had the prettiest eyes he ever saw. And she smelled so good. Top it all if with the fact she totted a gun around. A gun she had used to protect him against The Bleeding Fool Wyrm! He was going to faint. His heart was racing. His palms were sweaty. His ears rang and he was hyperventilating.

[Roman Turner] ((if=off))

[Sparrow] The word, ladies and gentlemen, is twitterpated.

She looks from Roman to Imogen, to Roman's slack jaw and dreamy smile. Her brows knit together for a second and one corner of her mouth upturns. The word, ladies and gentlemen, is half-smirk.

"Thank you, ma'am, I'll remember that."

[Roman Turner] Sparrow spoke and he heard Buzz

[Imogen Slaughter] Roman greets her, and Imogen turns her attention toward him, pausing visibly at the boy(child)'s dumbstruck impression, causing a split second's pause before her resigned greeting: "Hello," what was his name, again? Never mind.

Sparrow's amusement does not go unnoticed. Imogen appears neither flustered nor amused by the scenario. She is as mentioned - resigned. Perhaps a little weary.

"Mention tha' you're from a farm," she suggests to the girl. "They might cut yeh a deal."

[Roman Turner] 'Ranch. It was a Ranch ma'am."

He was still staring at her like it was the second coming. No idea she couldn't even remember his damned name. That would crush his widdle heart.

[Sparrow] "Because I might know what quality produce looks like, or because of the idea of us being kindred spirits," she replies.

She looks at Roman again. And she clears her throat, loudly. To get his attention.

[Roman Turner] Sparrow cleared her throat and he just stood there like a geek, grinning away while still holding the potatoes he had been juggling before the Goddess herself came in to view. Yet to notice more than buzzing from his cousin.

[Imogen Slaughter] A flick of her gaze to the teenager. "A ranch then." The boy staring at her, grinning, is ever so slightly disconcerting.

"I think yer - " a beat for her to recall the familial relation, "cousin wants yeh."

[Roman Turner] "Yessum, she can't find good tatters."

Imogen spoke, the Angels sang and he heaved a blissful sigh.

[Sparrow] "... Romi, are you high?"

[Roman Turner] "What?"

That got through and earned Sparrow a double-take. In the next moment he was sputtering and beet red.

"No I ain't high!"

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's eyes fall closed briefly.

She speaks, opening them, "If you'll excuse me, I'll leave you to yer - discussion. Good luck wi' yer dinner." With that, she turns, carrying her six pack of cheap beer with her.

[Sparrow] "Then quit staring at this nice woman, it's.. it's... creepy," says the girl who almost had a mate back home. She pauses, and looks back at Imogen. Then?

"Would you like to eat with us?"

[Roman Turner] "I ain't staring."

Maybe the ground would open up and swallow him whole? His face was flaming so hot it felt like it would start popping the corn in the next bin. Even so, he made a side step to try and squish Sparrow's foot.

[Imogen Slaughter] The good doctor pauses - a flick of her gaze between the two. The offer is surely meant in earnest. It may well be the good old-fashioned southern hospitality about which she's heard so much but never truly experienced.

"I don't think so," she answers, simply and without adornment. "Ha' a good night."

There is no line at the cashier. She pays cash.

[Sparrow] "Good night, ma'am," she says.

And says with just about enough time for Roman to step on her. Which, of course, was somewhat painful. Which didn't make the ahroun yelp, but rather, made her bump him with her hip hard enough that she might have lost balance (were she not such a balanced individual.

[Roman Turner] The flame Goddess went for the checkout and he sighed, turning to hiss at Sparrow.

"She don't eat the stuff we eat. I mean, ya can tell from the way she talks. Mary Poppins only ate tea and crumbettes."

Completely pronouncing crumpets wrong.

[Sparrow] "You seem to really like her, and she's awful skinny, she definitely deserves a decent meal," she says.

She looks at Roman again and grins, "I think you really like her though."

[Roman Turner] "Ya remember that time in 7th grande when I told Asa Sims ya talked about him in your sleep?"

He had turned to give his taller cousin the evil eye.

"I'm about to do something like that again."

[Sparrow] She gives him a long look, eyes wide for a minute.

"... what are you thinking?"

This can not be good.

[Roman Turner] He just smiled and headed for the checkout line after saying.

"I think I need a beer is all."

Letting the threat lay there.

[Sparrow] She sighs, then waves him off from the checkout line.

"Go pick one out," she says.

[Roman Turner] He turned back to Sparrow, hissing.

"She has beer, let's go."

Indicating Imogen who was taking off without them.

"Come on!"

[Sparrow] She inhales, and waves off, "go pursue the love of your life, Romi, I think she's drinking your brand."

[Imogen Slaughter] She's outside by now, in the hot sticky late evening, the sun slanting through the squat, chipped and tired buildings of the 'Green.

Her footfall is silent, her flat shoes quiet on the concrete sidewalk. She carries the six pack with no bag, no sticker, the aluminum gently tapping together with every stride.

(sorry! I was going to wait for one more post)

[Roman Turner] "Laugh while the laughings good!"

He didn't wait for a second prompt, the potatoes were tossed at Sparrow, all three at once and he raced for the door like he shoplifted the royal jewels.

[Imogen Slaughter] The pounding of feet causes her to turn, a smooth even twist of her body. She glances instinctively over her shoulder, before back toward the boy.

"Where's the fire?"

[Roman Turner] At the door he turned back and let out a sharp, ear piercing whistle.

"YO! ROE!"

One hand lifted over his head and from his index finger dangled a set of keys that he jingled merrily while waving with the other hand before stepping out to chase down Imogen.

[Roman Turner] ((Oh oops))

[Roman Turner] "Back there."

He pointed back the way he came from the store as he grinned to Imogen.

"Roe and beans....not a good combo."

[Imogen Slaughter] (sorry, skipped ahead! put my fire post after your "yo roe" post and all's well!)

[Imogen Slaughter] "Roe," she repeats, her tone neutral. "Oh. Sparrow."

A pause, an eyebrow arching. "Charming."

She waits, silently for a handful of seconds, and then, if he says nothing else, she prompts: "Is there somethin' I can help you with?"

[Sparrow] She tries to pay for things about ask quickly as she can. It only takes her a second before she realizes, finally notices that the male is heading out of the grocery store. She slings a grocery bag over her shoulder, half growls to herself.

"I'm going to kill him," she says. The moon is full.

The cashier pales.

Sparrow storms out before realizing the cashier looks like she might shit herself.

[Roman Turner] "Why yessum, sure is. Ya see, it has come to my attention that this hear area ain't exactly the best kind of place to be wandering around at night, alone. So I thought in light of that and honor, that we should travel together because I might need protection. And I've a mighty thirst. Might be I could meet your six buddies there?"

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's eyebrow remains arched, as she reaches down, cracking free a beer and holding it out to the boy.

"If you are suggesting that I protect you so tha' it seems less insultin' than you offerin' to protect me," she says, "Yeh can save yer breath."

[Roman Turner] "No ma'am, you're the one with the gun. I fully expect you to see to it that nothing comes between me and this hear beer."

He saluted her with the beer she just gave him, cracking it open to take a long swig from it.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's eyebrow arches slightly. "You're the one with the war-form," she points out.

[Roman Turner] "I'm the one that needs protection, not you. You would be insulted, me? Hell I would be flattered. So.....

Another swig from the can.

"You protect me and I'll walk ya home."

[Imogen Slaughter] She studies him a moment, and then Sparrow, hurrying out behind him. There is a stillness to her expression, a quiet calculation.

The effort to convince the Garou of leaving her alone versus the inconvenience of letting him tag along.

A decision made: "I'm takin' this," the beer, "t'leave fer a contact o' mine. After that, yeh can walk me to my car." There is a slight emphasis. Car. Not home.

[Roman Turner] "Sure thing, but until the moment we part, we will have shared company and good times. Lead the way."

He waved her on with that same silly grin from before.

[Imogen Slaughter] She allows no visible expression to touch her face as she looked at the smitten Child of Gaia. Her urge was perhaps to sigh, perhaps to roll her eyes. Perhaps it is merely resignation.

Either way: Off they set to leave beer at an alleyway mouth and then to walk to her car, with one or both Garou chatting away as they went.