Moira's Mission.

[Imogen Slaughter] There's always work to be done at Hill House. Moira may not work here anymore, but her help is never turned away when offered.

"Take this list," she had been told. "Compare it to this other list. Anyone on the first list who is not on the second list, highlight it. Anyone who is on the second list who is not on the first list, cross them off." A manual, rather doldrum way of tracking whom they have gained and whom they have lost.

She'd been given a small desk at which to work, in a room full of small desks all of which are empty on this Sunday evening. Perhaps she has music to keep her mind from numbing. Perhaps she has nothing. In either case, eventually, there's a faint rap at the half open door, the slight doctor's frame darkens the doorway.

"Moira," Imogen greets her, coming in, her heeled shoes clicking quietly on the hardwood. "Joan mentioned yeh were here."

[Moira Murray] It was a dull way to spend a Sunday afternoon, but with the rain beating down outside, tapping lightly on the glass windowpanes she didn't seem to mind. There was music to keep her occupied, to help her focus on the mundane task of cataloging, marking and rechecking all the names on all the lists. Fortune for Moira, working in an office environment as Ray's personal assistant has prepped her to do this...

Quickly and efficiently.

The light rap on the door draws her attention, the music coming from her iphone not so loud that it drowns out other noises. Her head swings up, blue eyes settling on the small frame of the Fianna. She offers Imogen a small smile, waving fingers at her.

"Hey, Imogen." She sets the highlighter pen down, straightening in the chair, raising her arms up above her head to stretch and twist. "How are things?"

[Imogen Slaughter] "Well enough," Imogen's reply to the question as to the quality of 'things' is meaningless. It is merely a place holder, an answer to give an answer. Perhaps, she feels that Moira's question was automatic, a genuine reply unnecessary. Or perhaps, it is simply habit, wholly on the side of the redhead, and unassociated with anything else.

She enters the small room, the harsh lights catching in the flame of her hair. The kinwoman is dressed in jeans, a loose fitted blouse over her slender form. She moves easily, a contained grace held in her bones. No motion is wasted, no movement is unnecessary.

She perches herself on the edge of the desk, facing the younger kin.

"Mary Alice mentioned she'd told yeh I was lookin' inta Whole Heart Foods and tha' yeh were willin' to help." An eyebrow lifts up. "Still true, is it?"

[Moira Murray] Her arms fall back down to the desk, hands reaching out to pick up the iPhone device and turns off the radio. She plucks the ear buds out of her ears and folds them up to lay them on the desk. S

he nods once, "I am still interested in helping out if you need it. I don't know what entirely I can do, but I did help with the last time we dealt with the Hive."

[Imogen Slaughter] She smirks faintly. "You did. Alright, well."

Her gaze turns briefly toward the window, the rain painting the window pane, before her attention turns back. "I'll tell you what I've got and what I think, shall I, and you can tell me how yeh think yeh can help."

A brief pause.

"We found out about Whole Heart Foods a little o'er a month ago. It was in th'community centre tha' the Garou attacked," her jaw tightens briefly. The Garou had attacked there and Kemp had died, though perhaps, Moira had not been involved enough to be able to pick up these details. In either case, Imogen continues, "before they'd gone in, we ha' made sure t'close the centre down. Basically, we used the food, th'samples and some contacts t'cause damage to th'centre's standin' in th'human world."

Her hand rests on her thigh, and her fingers tap briefly, a flutter of motion. "The food was supplied by Whole Heart Foods, and it turns out tha' now, th'company's gone and provided a very substantial donation of food t'schools in the Cook County area. S'pretty clear tha' the food's tainted. Garou killed some fomori which were once humans tha' were attendin' schools in th'area receiving donations.

"S'pretty far reaching impact, as yeh can imagine. I ha' some details on the company, its corporate owner, some o' the major stakeholders. Some folks tha' live both in and out o' Elk Grove. I ha' a list o' the schools which are effected.

"It would seem t'me tha' what needs t'be done is t'get the food out o' the schools, first. Damage it's credibility, perhaps, make it unpalatable t'consider consumin' their food. From there, it's easier t'damage the company irrevocably and hopefully find some way t'shut it down. And finally, if anyone has a way, find a way to replace the food source fer the schools." Her mouth twists faintly, "Though that, in particular, is a nice t'have, as opposed to the rest."

She leans back, resting her shoulders back against the wall. Her body is lithe, sleek. It does what she tells it to, the solid muscles of her core strengthening her spine, the flexibility of her hips offering stability. She turns her head back to look at the Fenrir-born kinfolk.

"What d'yeh think?"

[Moira Murray] Moira leans forward, arms resting on the desk as she uses her elbows to support herself, propping her hands up to cup her cheek as she listens. There is a slight narrowing of her eyes at the corners, brows furrow deeply in concentration. Her nose crinkles slightly.

She takes it all in, letting it simmer over in her thoughts, "Have you considered a way t contact the County School Board and the Health Department. They could certainly pull the tainted food from the schools that are infected - if the information were dropped, maybe as a whistle-blower report? But, keeping the information contained enough so it doesn't expose what the Garou are trying to do may be the tricky part."

"I would find a hungry journalist or lobbyist that is willing to stake their reputation for a good political story, and see if you can't news of contaminated food sources from the company to the newspapers. The media is surely one way to get the word across and would effectively damage the company's credibility."

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's mouth moves slightly, a suggestion of amusement. "I have considered these things," she says, a little wryly.

"Can you help me with any o' them?"

[Moira Murray] "I don't know if I can. I lack the contacts to really be effective. All I really do is work for Ray and take care of James' club."

She drums her fingers across her cheek, frowning softly, "I knew an old BG kin that used to work for the Chicago Tribune, but he's old and homeless now, so that wouldn't help."

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen pauses, quiet.

"Feel like tryin' t'get me a sample o' the food? From th'schools or the shipments. They ha' a factory as well, wi' tours, but I imagine tha' anything they gi' from tha' would be untainted in case o' attempts fer reverse engineering."

[Moira Murray] "I could do some leg work, see if I can't find some way into the factory to get a sample. If they do have tours, it is possible that they won't display tainted samples."

[Imogen Slaughter] "Do it however yeh want," Imogen says, "but might I recommend gettin' it from the schools rather than the factory." A flick of a glance. "Less dangerous. They're not likely t'protect that."

[Moira Murray] Moira had just been thinking that, when Imogen vocalizes her thoughts, she shudders and stares at the other kin with a wide-eyed expression. She laughs suddenly, shaking her head.

"Get out of my head, Imogen. I was just thinking of doing that. You are right, I think I can come up with something. I would need to get access to the cafeteria I would imagine."

[Imogen Slaughter] "Yeh can pay a student t'get yeh the food, volunteer t'work in the kitchen," Imogen offers, more ideas than direction. "Or," a smirk twists her mouth, "Put yer hair in pigtails and pose as a teenager."

[Moira Murray] She mirrors Imogen's smirk, running her tongue along the inside of her cheek.

"I look pretty hot in pigtails you know."

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen quirks up an eyebrow. "I don't think you're my type," she replies, dryly.

She's set her purse down beside her on the table, and straightens up, reaching down to unclasp it. "I've changed my number," she says, serious now, "I'll gi' yeh the new one. When yeh've got the sample call me right away, alright?"

[Moira Murray] "What prompted you to change your number? Too many admirers?"

She grins, straightening up in the seat and picks up her iphone, scrolling through her apps to her phonebook to type in Imogen's number when she gives it. "I can certainly do that."

[Imogen Slaughter] "No," the kinwoman answers, almost mildly, "A kinfolk who had my number apparently gave it to the cursed Garou. I thought it wise to make a change."

[Moira Murray] "The FBI agent?"

Moira had heard about one of the kinfolk being taken. She sighs, looking down at her phone now. It would be such a hassle to change her number, but after hearing Imogen's excuse. It sounded like a good idea. "I may copy you and do that."

She sets the phone down, "I will call you as soon as I get a sample. How soon do you want me to try and get it?"

[Imogen Slaughter] "Him." Simple, succinct. She is subtly angry, the emotion far beneath her skin. A tendon moves in her jaw.

She gives Moira her new number, Moira sets her phone down. "As soon as possible, if you please. Say - within th'week?"

[Moira Murray] Moira snorts, echoing her subtle anger quietly.

"Yes," she says suddenly, "I will get right on it." She puts the new number in to the phone, "I am thinking of changing my number now... when I do it. I'll pass along the new number."

[Imogen Slaughter] The doctor nods, slightly. "Right then," she says, getting to her feet. "I'll let yeh get back to it.

"Ha' a good night."

[Moira Murray] "Alright."

Moira picks up the highlighter pen, reaching for the ear buds and placing them back into her ears. She shuffles the papers together, waiting until Imogen has exited the room before going back to work.

"Good night, Imogen."