Unasked for Advice.

[Moira Murray] Light plays across the splashing water, shimmering in a vibrant display as it circulates through the Buckingham Memorial Fountain, setting off the fountain's more illustrious features. What pedestrians that still roam through the park at the late hour, hurrying off to go home, or out on romantic strolls as couples cling to each other, walk the exterior of the pathway that surrounds the large structure.

Moira watches the play of water, how the light reflects on it. Her arms pulled behind her back, hands cupped together. Her thoughts are quiet, reflecting on nothing else but the fountain at the moment, her expression almost dreamy. She shifts her weight to keep her feet from falling asleep as she stands in place for too long. The flat soles of her boots scuffing over the pavement.

Black hair was twisted back into twin braids, woven up into a crown on her head. Stray wisps of hair cling to cheeks and temples, damp from the spray of water that drifts her way as a breeze catches it. Her chest lifts, exhaling out slowly.

[Imogen] "Made a wish, did you?" Imogen had approached on near quiet feet, and now stands, a little bit behind and to the right of the younger Kinswoman.

Her hair is a vibrant and brilliant flaming red, swept back from her face and pinned up in a much less elaborate design that Moira's. Pins and twists a clasp at the nape of her neck. The strands which escape do so freely, curling and swaying loose at the sides of her face, brushing the sides of her neck. She brushes some strands back with the fingers of one hand - a cigarette caught between the index and middle finger, before lowering it to fit the filter between her lips, the ember flaring in the half lit darkness as she draws the smoke into her lungs.

[Moira Murray] "If I did, it hasn't come true yet." The corners of her mouth curl up into a little half-smile. She hadn't paid attention to the quiet footfalls of the smaller kin as she approached.

Moira turns her head to look over her shoulder at Imogen, a dark eyebrow rising up to disappear under the sweep of black bangs as she studies the other woman for a few second, her eyes dropping to the cigarette and then back up to Imogen's face. "How are things?"

They hadn't talked since Moira had delivered the samples that she needed and Ray was present at Hill House. The young Fenrir kin was quite prideful that night at received Imogen's compliment. She turns now, pivoting on her boots to step away from the fountain, walking over to close the distance between them.

[Imogen] "Were you expecting it to?" Imogen's mouth curls slightly, a sharp contrast to Moira's half smile. Imogen's expression is best described as a smirk. Wryly and caustically amused.

"Well enough," the answer is meaningless and unrevealing, spoken out of habit rather than genuine reply. The doctor's eyebrow arches upward as she turns her head slightly, exhaling the smoke away from Moira, poison scattering and dissipating in the wind.

"And you?"

[Moira Murray] She does not chide or tsk at Imogen for the filthy habit, she knows that there would be no point to it, and that it was a vice that Imogen was not likely to quit. It's doubtful that it would be the very thing to kill the redhead, knowing her line of work. She appreciates the gesture, however, when Imogen keeps the smoke away from her. Her shoulders roll up and back in a small shrug, arms unfurling from her back to smooth out imaginary wrinkles from the tunic dress she wore.

"A little bored, I think," she says with a sigh, "Adjusting to having a Garou around all the time. It is having its ups and downs, but going well for the most part. We aren't on the verge of killing each other yet." Her tone is casual, speaking of it without care to go into full details.

"Have you made any progress at all with the food situation or is that still up in the air. I know you and Ray weren't quite seeing eye-to-eye on what to do the last time I was around."

[Imogen] She watches Moira while she speaks, her gaze slightly narrowed with the smoke blowing gently back from her cigarette. There's not much revealed in her expression. Her face neutral, as Moira speaks about trying to become accustomed to having a Garou around, its ups and downs.

"I didn't ha' a problem wi' what yer friend wanted to do," she corrects mildly, focusing on the second part of what Moira has said, nearly entirely ignoring the first, "I had a problem wi' his tone and assumptions.

"Some progress, yes. We're amassin' information t'give t'the authorities. S'just th'tests and the results take time."

[Moira Murray] "Ray wasn't exactly a friend, at least, I wouldn't call him a close one. Acquaintance is more like it, he was at that time, still my employer." Moira shakes her head, she studies Imogen's features, the neutrality written into her expression as she easily masks it from the younger, perceptive kin.

"I don't always agree to Ray's methods, but he is a Shadow Lord, after all." As if just the mention of Ray's tribal heritage spoke volumes about the man's personality and method of doing things. She wrinkles up her nose, looking away from Imogen to watch the fountain again. "He's been a bit busy that one, knocked up one of the local Gnawers that Karl is packed with. You might know her, Marni I believe."

"Please call me if there is anything else I can do to be of assistance. As I said, I'm growing a bit bored with not really doing anything, and I'm not settling down to motherhood just yet."

[Imogen] Imogen's breath exhales sharply. "You've got the gossip, haven't yeh just?" this, in response to the fact that a Bone Gnawer, with whom Imogen may or may not be familiar has been knocked up by the Shadow Lord Kinfolk. Like Moira, her attention has turned to the fountain, it's purified water ever moving. Humans have an obsession with water.

Build their cities near it. Put their most coveted homes within its view. Build altars to it.

Moira wants to be told if there is anything else she can do. She mentions her boredom, that she does not want to settle down to motherhood just yet. She is not watching the other kinfolk, but Imogen's gaze moves sharply toward her, lingering there briefly.

Moments pass before she speaks. "I will." A beat.

"And how d'yeh intend t'keep yerself busy, then?"

[Moira Murray] "By continuing my training in private with another Garou."

She seems amused, her head canting down a bit, chin tucking in close to the hollow of her throat, she slides blue eyes to the side, meeting Imogen's sharp yet brief gaze. She regards the other woman, "I am starting to get around, it helps to have a trusting mate that likes to talk a lot."

It was her turn to smirk now, Moira clears her throat pulling her arms behind her once again to clasp her hands together. "Since Christmas I have been working with Bai Chou, the Chinese Uktena that dwells in Chinatown and runs an antique shop. I help him keep it running and do other menial tasks for him, help in the chiminage he pays to the spirits, keep an eye on him since he has no kin to take care of him. In exchange, he teaches me things - most recently, he aided in me learning a new gift."

[Imogen] A pause. When Moira had met Imogen's gaze, Imogen had returned the regard, ungiving, unrevealing.

Imogen's breath exhales, her mouth twisting slightly as her attention returns to the fountain. "How would you like some unasked for advice?"

[Moira Murray] She blinks, her attention turned fully onto Imogen now. Her head tilts down, arching both eyebrows at the other kin. They draw inward for a second, furrowing at the corners. "Sure, I think I may know what it is... but, I am curious to know."

[Imogen] "Find yerself something that doesn't involve them - that isn't for them or about them."

[Moira Murray] Something that doesn't involve them....

It wasn't what Moira had assumed Imogen would say, she isn't exactly taken aback by it, but is definitely surprised. She turns to face Imogen, watching her through a furrowed gaze. Blue eyes growing intense as they stared.

"I learn these things for myself, not for their benefit."

[Imogen] Imogen's eyebrow arches slightly. "And the rest?"

[Imogen] (correction:

Imogen's eyebrow arches slightly. "And the rest of it?")

[Moira Murray] "The rest..."

She breathes in, nostrils flaring out with a sudden exhale of air, "Isn't always about them." Scowling now, "Why do you tell me this?"

[Imogen] Imogen's capacity for lack of emotion, her ability to suck every inch of reaction from her expression and body language makes her seem cold. It makes her remote. It isolates her from nearly everyone.

There are few left who know her well. One might even say that there is no one left at all. Her association with Moira has never expanded to friendship, remaining as it is - a dubious rolemodel and a much younger kinfolk.

"I told you," she says. "Unasked for advice."

[Moira Murray] Through the years that she has known Imogen, Moira has unwittingly thought of her as a surrogate female figure to look up to. There is nothing maternal about Dr. Slaughter, nor are the women very close as far as friendship goes. What relationship and association Moira has with Imogen, never progressed into other territory.

The Fenrir kin falls silent, reflecting on the unasked for advice. She looks away from her, staring off at the fountain, and then a second later, turns to look back at Imogen again. Moira repeats this three times, each time there is a confused and questioning expression written into her features.

Finally, Moira looks back to the fountain, snorting softly, "Would you consider us friends, Imogen? I mean we've never been very close, and yet I know you don't let a lot of people in."

[Imogen] A brief pause, and her reply is no answer at all.

"Why do you ask?"

[Moira Murray] "I just think with all these years that I've known you, but not really know anything about you..."

A shrug.

A glance back at her, "I would like to think we were friends - on some level."

[Imogen] "No," she says, quietly, "I don't consider us friends." She flicks the remains of her cigarette to the ground and crushes it out beneath the toe of her shoe.

"But I can't think of anyone whom I do, so," her mouth twists, mirthlessly, "Don't take it personally."

[Moira Murray] "Right."

She nods her head, affirming that she won't try to take it personally. A wry grin spreads at the corners of her mouth, "Becoming friends would tarnish that whole role model - sense of godly awesomeness - I regard you with anyhow."

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, hands dropping from behind her back. "Is it difficult to let people in?"

[Imogen] She lets out a gust of air through her nose as Moira says 'godly awesomeness'. In anyone less dignified, it would be a snort.

She pauses briefly.

"I do not find it -" a moment now to choose the precise word she wants, "natural to do so."

[Moira Murray] "I think I can understand that."

Moira digs a hand into a hidden pocket in her dress, palming her iphone to glance down at it to check the time. She tucks it away again, looking around the park.

"You still singing at that one pub on occasion?"

[Imogen] "Not o' late," she answers, almost off-hand. Absently. She reaches into her purse, pulling out a small bronze cigarette case, a matching lighter.

"But I imagine I will again. Why?"

[Moira Murray] "Would you mind calling me up when you are going out some night. I would like to hear you sing again."

She smiles, shrugging, "Always liked your singing." She could think of no other reason to offer, a flush of color spreads over her cheeks, looking a little sheepish.

[Imogen] Imogen's emotionless mien can bring a series of discomforts - in the face of distress, in emotional turmoil. But in the face of sheepishness, or embarrassment, perhaps it is a boon. Particularly when she is in a mood such as this, where her face may as well be carved of alabaster or porcelain. Where hardly a flicker of it reaches her eyes, or her mouth, beyond a caustic and biting humour.

Moira is sheepish and Imogen simply nods, slightly. "Alright," she says. "Let you know the next time I intend to perform, shall I?"

[Moira Murray] Moira nods her head, she pulls out her phone to check the time again. She hums quietly to herself, canting her head to the side to glance back at her.

"Aye," she flashes her a wider smile, "Let me know." She tucks the phone away, taking a step away from Imogen, "I am starting to get hungry, care to join me for a late-night meal if you want."