Charming Woman.

[Imogen] The park is verdant with summer's full bloom, the grass, the trees, a few flowers at the base. Areas like this are carefully groomed, tidied and harnessed into complacency. A man on a john deere once a week. People fulfilling their community service with their trash picks and bags. Gardeners with sheers painstakingly trimming the grass near the trees, the edge of the man-made creek where the lawn mower cannot reach.

A woman at the edge of the creek-bed pulling a dirt smeared bag from the embankment, her hands dirtied, incongruous in her business suit.

-- that last part doesn't quite fit, does it?

The hour is late, the park is empty. Imogen is crouched, the plastic grubby and dark-smearing-white in her hand. Whatever it contains sways heavily as it comes loss, before she tosses it to the ground, wiping her dirty hands on the nearby grass.

[Simon] Soaked was the only way to describe the full moon, whose hair and face and even his shirt were soaked completely in the soothing rain. Tiny droplets coalesced to form larger beads which then lightly dropped off his nose, cheeks and chin. His hands were wrapped in white gauze though that material was not only soaked through with water but stained crimson from his own blood.

Within his chest his heart still pounded furiously against his rib cage, and a careful glance might reveal the heat that was slowly leeched from him as those droplets of water were carried off in the form of steam. There was a hint of sweat in the air, though it was only a hint most of it was being washed away in the cool shower that now soaked his form.

Dark shades masked the fury masked behind those eyes. Though that wasn't enough to offset the feeling of menace that radiated off the creature and drove others to keep as far away from him as possible. He wasn't the kind of man who fit in much of anywhere. Certainly his outward appearance would easily see him placed in the lower echelons of society among criminals and thieves, but there was more to him than his appearance. Rage boiled hot within his veins and it honestly didn't matter where he was people simply did not want to be around him.

Simon didn't seem to mind he alomost seemed to enjoy it honestly. He wasn't one of them, he did not wish to be one of them, they were beneath him and in so many ways they revolted him. He was the apex predator, the top of the food chain and they weren't even worthy of the honor of being considered prey.

Simon strolled through the park with a paper bag in hand. His attention was away from the water he had merely been passing through but the suit caught his attention. It caught his eyes anyway, it was the recognition of who it was that brought the smile to his face and drew him in the direction of the creek. Young, curious, and playful he couldn't pass up a chance to stop and say hello to the Doctor was it?

[Imogen] If it was the business suit that first catches the eye, a moment later, it is her hair which is the beacon. Bright and brilliant, even in shadow and the absolute near unlit darkness of the park, it still retains its fire, as even embers might.

At first, her back is turned toward him, but then she turns her head, one hand planting to the ground as if for balance (though truly, she does not need it) as her body weight shifts, the fall of her blazer shifting with the sway of her frame. Dark eyes fix on the Garou - and paradoxically, the tension in her spine eases a little.

Simon may revel in the reactions his rage creates in others, but he finds precious little of a prey's fear in the kinwoman. Her breeding is heavy in the air - a mark of her family, her blood, unrelenting. He'd call her Fianna, at first thought.

She gets to her feet, pressing off the palm of her hand and rising easily, the bag swaying to thud against her thigh once, before she draws it farther away from her body with a flicker of distaste.

"You're soaking wet," she observes of the Garou when the distance has closed to allow for conversational tones, her eyebrow arching.

[Simon] His eyes do snap to her hair. It was brilliant, and fiery in color, and it announced her tribe to the world. The sight of the woman reminded him of tales of the Fianna when he was younger. His mother always spoke highly of the tribe. Indeed he had no reason to dislike them. Certainly those he had met so far had earned some respect from him.

He watched her turn and even speak to him! Things are certainly going well so far Simon! Her words brought his eyes from her up towards the sky overhead then back to the woman."And you are digging garbage out of the creek."He adds in playful response to her own comment. Certainly both their behavior could be seen as somewhat suspicious.

He draws his eyes from her and down to the bag. He pulls out an apple and extends it towards her in offering."Apple?"He asks her softly.

[Imogen] Her gaze flicks down to the Full Moon's extended hand, the apple.

"No," she says precisely, concisely. "Thank-you."

One hand lifts to her face, up to wipe hair from her brow, swiping it back so it falls along her temple. The doctor's hair is back, twisted up and clipped out of the way, but still, strands have begun to escape, curls and waves of chaos, brushing her pale skin.

He can smell the copper scent of blood, muted and faded. The bag, dirt-smeared white like a kitchen-catcher insert carries something suspiciously dark, the weight of it pressing at the bottom.

Her eyebrow lifts up again, "Swimmin' fer apples, were you?"

[Simon] He shrugs his shoulders."Your loss, they're supposed to be good for you I guess."He says before lifting the apple to his mouth and taking a bite. He knew enough about etiquette not to chew with his mouth open or to talk while he was chewing so he took a few moments to chew the bite and swallow before speaking again.

"Naw I picked these up at a store down the way. I was surprised to see a little shop like that carrying any kind of produce. There's probably something wrong with it."He shrugs and takes another bite, chewing and at the same time pointing at her bag with the hand holding the apple.

When he has swallowed again he draws his hand back."I dunno if I would open that up here. Something tells me whatever is in there is gonna stink this whole damn place up."He laughs to himself and tilts his head."Are you bleeding?"He asks her before looking around the park. If the woman had been running or injured he wanted to know if there was something he should be concerned about in the park with them. He was a full moon it was in his nature to be suspicious.

[Imogen] He speaks of apples, he speaks of the bag she carries, he asks her if she's injured. She must pick and choose to which to reply, and in the act of doing that, her brow contracts slightly. The expression is brief, fleeting. There, then gone.

"I'm not bleeding," she says. "If yeh smell blood, I imagine it's from the bag." A lift of her chin indicates the drenched white and crimson bandage wrapped around his palms, "Or your hands."

[Simon] When attention is drawn to his knuckles he nods."Yeah but it's not my blood I'm smelling, must be the bag then."He says before directing his attention back to the bag."What d'ya think is in it? Is it warm?"He then shifts his attention back up to her and then once more back down to the bag."Did you just kinda find it while wandering around the park or did you know this was here?"He asks her curiously.

Another bite from the apple gave him time to think as he chewed.

[Imogen] For a moment, briefly, Imogen pauses - out of place in this conversation, or perhaps the perceived conversation that Simon is having with her, she smirks, just slightly.

"It's cold. I know it was 'ere, because someone told me they put it there.

"One o' yers killed somethin', I imagine, left a bit behind. A street bloke I know let me know he'd hidden it away fer me so I can dispose o' it."

A pause.

"S'not somethin' yeh need to concern yerself with."

[Simon] He takes another bite as she speaks and nods his head along with her words."So folks just runnin' around town leaving bits and pieces. I'd imagine that can't make you too happy... Picking up someone else's mess."He says before lifting his hand up to his lips to brush them off with his forearm.

"If it was me I would like to sincerely apologize. I try not to make a habit of leaving bits lying around."He chuckles a little then tilts his head."Do you handle a lot of this kinda crap?"

He was curious, he didn't know if the woman was humoring him or not. Then again he was at least being polite this evening which was likely a change of pace from their last conversation.

[Imogen] Imogen's eyebrow arches faintly, her mouth twisting into a wry smirk which almost disguises her surprise at the apology.

"I don't believe tha' anyone's apologized t'me fer leavin' a mess fer me to clean up, before," she observes. "But since yeh asked - yes, I do it often enough. I'm well situated t'hide evidence 'nd protect yer veil."

Her mouth twists further, if it were possible. "We must all do our duty, mustn't we just?" It is hard to quite describe her tone. Not quite cutting enough to be bitter, nor yet light enough to be flippant. Dismissive, almost. On the edge of sarcastic.

[Simon] He nods his head back to her, though a brow does appear to lift. He was curious as to what she meant by that and it showed. He took the time to take another bite from the apple before looking up at the trees around the park."We all try to do our part I suppose... But the honest fact is that this is a fucked up situation for us all to be in. Some of us can't handle it. Hell I'll be the first to admit I sometimes wake up at night terrified about the things I have done, the things I will do, and the things that have yet to happen to me."He draws his eyes back to her.

"But I suppose I took the "Me" out of the equation years ago. I mean it's not really me I am fighting for now is it?"He asks her curiously."When the soldier goes away to war he's never really the same. The things he sees, the things he has to do."He shrugs his shoulders."He comes back to a world he fought to protect and yet he will never really... Honestly feel like he is a part of it again."He was being thoughtful in his own way.

"My world is fucked up, and full of blood and screams... I fight because I must, but sooner or later I guess you realize it's not really you that you are fighting. We're not really in this much for ourselves. Cause even if we win this thing it will be a bitter sweet victory at best right? I mean... When all the monsters are gone we won't have much of a place anymore will we?"He was grinning a little, bitter indeed was that smile.

"I can see why it wouldn't be the most exciting responsibility in the world. Covering our lazy asses..."

[Imogen] Imogen's eyebrow arches upward.

"Are we supposed t'discuss philosophy now?" she enquires mildly. "I confess I never found much interest in it."

[Moira] The hour was late. Not many would be moving through the well-manicured park at such hours on a workday. It was a pretty place that was man-made and not naturally grown, even the creek that a small woman had been at was artificially constructed. The tall figure of the young girl can be seen as she cuts through the park, long strides echo against the pathways with each click of boots heels as she walks.

A hand adjusts the cap covering the heavy mane of black hair that falls loosely around her shoulders, tucking stray wisps that try to sweep into her eyes behind the outer shell of her ears. Figures slides into her peripheral, blue eyes squinting to take in the unmistakable red hair that is a trademark of Imogen. She doesn't hasten her steps, just redirects her path towards Simon and the other kin quietly.

[Victor Oseragighte] Chicago has changed a lot since he was here for a time as a boy, and that means it needs thorough exploring. Victor's been out and about on both sides of the Gauntlet, learning the area, moving ever farther from the places he's learned he can normally find his kind at. Parks are particularly worth noting, and thus he finds himself entering this one.

[Simon] He shrugs his shoulders and chuckles."We're not really supposed to discuss anything."He says before crunching down on the apple and chewing for a bit as he watches the woman curiously. His smile lifting as he chews.

"You didn't seem too enthusiastic about picking up our messes. I was kinda agreeing with you."That smile slowly fades."I've never been a fan of cleaning up other folks messes either, hell I don't even like to clean my own up."His eyes slip over her from head to toes and back to her face swiftly.

"I'd imagine to you most of us are just a bunch of walking corpses leaving trails of gore for someone else to deal with. No better than swine. Well a little worse cause ya can't eat us."

[Karl Gyllenhammar] ”I still think it would have been safe.”

The low, deep voice of the Norse Rotagar drifts through the park as he walks next to Moira. His own steps quiet compared to the clicking of heeled boots. Some strange grace to his body that cannot be explained even by the natural animalistic grace of his kind. Buzzed raven hair and a chin that has not met a razor in a couple of days at least. As always, he is dressed in simple clothes. Dark jeans and a dark tee. Piercing, pale blue eyes fixed to the shape of his mate, of swaying hips and supple curves.

A small smile on his face. His attention on Moira, only when she changes direction does he look over to the familiar forms of Simon and Imogen. Spotting them does not stop him from finishing the sentence, easily angling his own steps to mirror Moira’s, heading towards the pair ahead.

“No one was going to show up there. Now I am going crazy trying to imagine you all in blue…”

As they draw closer to the Fianna kin and the Shadow Lord, Karl raises his arm in greeting to them.

[Victor Oseragighte] He is well aware he stands out here, his good pants a bit worn, the gray collared shirt certainly not designer. Best to keep on the move, clearly, to avoid any good samaritans calling the police to chase off the vagrant. A park is a place he can disappear into, though, even a small park, and he ventures in to escape the streets for a while, heading down neatly arranged path.

[Imogen] Imogen's expression has grown still - though it was hardly mobile before. Smirks, a lifted eyebrow, a brief, singular gesture of surprise, muted and brief.

"Actually," she says mildly, "I do not think of most of you at all, except for in the ways you insert yourselves into my life. Which," the purebred kinfolk glances ironically toward Karl and Moira, as they begin to approach.

"Is rather frequent."

A small knot of Garou and kinfolk is gathering near the creek - at least two pure bred Kinwomen, one of dark hair (Moira) and the other of bright flames (Imogen), and Garou of rage, one half-wet and eating an apple (Simon) and the other simply dressed and stubbled, nearer to the dark haired kin.

[Moira] "Did you honestly think I had brought the paint with me? 'Sides, I haven't owned blue body paint in awhile, my supply is all dried up. I didn't disagree that it wasn't safe... it was just too cold."

The corners of her lips pull back in a small smirk, shaking her head as she gives Karl a side long glance, before pulling her gaze away to focus it on Simon and Imogen again. Her gait shifts, trying to match the fluid quickness of the Rotagar, but to no avail, she is slower than he by a few steps and cannot keep up. She resigns herself to her own pace again, allowing him to drift ahead of her or to slow down and match hers.

[Victor Oseragighte] A place like this brings out a bit of his predatory nature; he moves just a bit more quietly without really thinking about it. Victor is no master of stealth, however, and so they likely hear him approaching before they see him.

[Karl Gyllenhammar] Karl does slow a little, enough so that he does not get more than one or two steps ahead of Moira anyway, glancing back over his shoulder at her, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Well, I was hoping. You don’t understand the horrible curiosity in me since you told me about that…”

So most likely? Moira would come home to find a fresh supply of blue body paint in a day or two, mysteriously appeared of course. Yet the Rotagars attention is returned back front to Simon and Imogen.
“Miss Slaughter. Simon.”

His gaze roams over both, taking in the details of their appearance, lips quirking in a slight smile.

“Midnight dip Simon?”

His attention diverted for a second, glacial gaze turned to the side to look for the source of the intruding noise of someone approaching. Only when he actually spots victor does he look back. There had been a moment where his body tensed up, as if getting ready for a fight. However it bleeds away quite easily once he spots the Wendigo, and his attention returns to the small gathering.

[Moira] She clucks her tongue at him, striking it against the roof of her mouth, lips pursed together to shush at him. It signaled the end of that private conversation they were having, Moira refusing to vocally acknowledge it with further speech. Instead, she keeps her attention on Simon and Imogen the closer they got.

She waggles fingers at them in a small wave, "Imogen." She calls out, "Playing in the mud?"

[Simon] He takes this all with a smile. He seemed surprisingly calm as she speaks. A bite of his apple, he was using it as an excuse to ponder, to roll her words around in his head and try to figure out just how to respond which was, once more, a smile. He appeared so very serene, and even glanced over his shoulder towards the other two and then back to the redhead.

"You'd much rather we just leave you alone and stop troubling you?"He says before tossing the core of the apple off into the park somewhere. The local wildlife would love to sink their teeth into what remained."I could see that... Get the fuck outta my way and let me do my job."He taps his tongue against one of his canines.

"I suppose the lives of the curious, and friendly don't really mean much in the grand scheme. Faint meaningless voices that come and go and get in the way like little children. Then they just disappear never to be seen or heard from again."He said all this at the other two approached. Stopping as they drew in close enough to actually hear what was being said.

When he heard Karl's voice he shook his head a little."Rain..."He says with a laugh."Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

[Imogen] She doesn't answer Simon - perhaps might not have, in any case, but certainly does not as the distance closes. Karl offers a quip to Simon and Moira offers a quip to Imogen, and the distinguished kinwoman smirks faintly, her hands, admittedly, smeared with dirt between the fingers a white kitchen-catcher bag likewise smeared with dirt and mud and muck. The contents are dark and shift unpleasantly as she adjusts her grip, lifting the bag in gesture.

"How can I resist wi' such pleasant toys?" she says dryly.

"Now, if yeh'll excuse me," the kinwoman says, stepping away from the gathering group, and casting a brief, sharp glance in Victor's direction as he approaches, her gaze briefly narrowing. "I ha' work t'do.

"Goodnight." This, she says to no one in particular.

[Victor Oseragighte] He picks up on the voices ahead at about the same moment he narrowly ducks a piece of flying fruit. With a blink he turned to spot what he'd just avoided, then chuckled before turning back to investigate, leaving the path.

Karl is the first person he sees, but it is readily evident there are others, and he is careful approaching, not wanting them to think this might be an ambush given their present state of war.

[Karl Gyllenhammar] ”I guess you just have that look about you Simon, like a pup just out of its first stream after chasing the trout.”
Said with a wink at the other, clearly joking. Then his gaze goes to Imogen, watching the kin intently for a few moments before nodding to her.

“Brief as always. Goodbye Miss. Slaughter.”

Victor approaches, but Karl remains looking at Imogen for now, thoughtful. The Rotagar has Rage enough to nearly match the ahroun in the small group, yet his moon has passed for now. Curious and attentive as he tries to figure the red-headed kin out, so cold and distant unlike many of her tribe.

[Moira] "I see."

Moira blinks, her gaze dropping to focus on the gruesome contents of the bag in Imogen's hands, she does not approach the creek, pausing to stand a small distance away from it. She says nothing else to the other kinswoman to halt her progression, her mouth pressing in a thin line as she looks up between the pair of Garou.

First at Simon, and then to Karl.

She rubs her hands together, holding them up in front of her. It isn't until Victor comes closer that she finally acknowledges his presence, the slim line of black eyebrows raising upward in a curious tilt as she looks him over. Fingers rub together, a diversion to distract herself as she can't think of anything to outrightly add to the conversation yet.

[Simon] He nods to Imogen, his smile polite and respectful as she heads away from the group. He brightens a little when he hears Karl's comment and he watches her walk slowly away. His eyes following Imogen the entire way before he reaches into his bag and pulls out a beer.

"It's not that I don't like fish."He says finally turning to look back at Karl and then to his mate."I just feel I have better things to do like pester Redheads in the park."He says with a bright smile.

"She's a charming woman isn't she?"He asks in regards to Imogen as she flees the group.

[Victor Oseragighte] A quiet sort, he simply nods back to each present once he is acknowledged, the small hint of tension born of waiting for that recognition dissipating swiftly. His hands go into his pockets and he looks from one to the other, noting the one retreating first, hardly getting a glimpse of her. "Intruding?"