Cigney North

[Trent Brumby] Kora had given him Cigney's number and told him that she worked at a gym, or something like that, and where to find it. He's finished work early and wasn't quite ready to head home yet. Erick was staying with them, a Get of Fenris kinfolk that had been rescued over the weekend from a terrible situation, and while Trent was certainly sympathetic, the nights had left him weary and drained. A small detour wouldn't hurt.

He parked his sedan out in the lot and made his way towards the gym's entrance. Trent's a tall man, broad shouldered and solid in frame. It's clear that he attends a gym himself, often, while also working hard labour. He's currently wearing a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of mens work pants, with a pair of steel capped boots. Clearly he's just come from work, a days worth of stubble shadows of face.

[Cigney North] She finishes her drink and looks down at her watch. With a small cluck of her tongue she looks up and finds herself go9ing home early now that her last appointment is 15 minutes late with no phone call. It's 45 minutes on the clients dollar. Turning to through her smoothy away, she notes someone approaching the gym and decides to hold the door. She is an employee after all.

[Trent Brumby] He approaches to find a woman holding the door open for him, which was odd to say the least - at least for him. Giving a quiet chuckle, perhaps even a little self conscious, he gestures through the door. "Please, after you Miss." He's older then her by a good deal.

[Cigney North] She blinks at this, and the looks at him carefully.

"Where's your gym bag?"

She's still holding the door and hasn't moved an inch.

[Trent Brumby] "I'm not here to use the facility," he tells her easily, standing there and waiting for her to enter the establishment first. Pale gray eyes are locked onto hers, his expression is quiet, with a little warmth. "I'm here to see someone."

"Please," nodding to the door again, for her to head in.

[Cigney North] "Who are you here to see?"

The warm smile turns into a guarded one. Upon closer inspection, he doesn't look like one of the gym's clientelle. The silvery grey eyes harden just a little, and the shoulders square up. It's not a challenge, at least not a complete one...not yet. Her foot continues to hold the door open.

"I'll be happy to get them for you".

[Trent Brumby] "Uh," he doesn't know what he said to make the change in the womans demeanor but he doesn't push it with her. He lets her stand there and hold the door open, sliding a hand into his work pant pocket to make himself appear less threatening. Women were sensitive creatures. "I'm here to see someone by the name of Cigney? Does she work here?"

[Cigney North] "I'm Cigney North..."

The smile becomes friendly again, her voice softer as she says her name.

"We're you referred to me by one of my clients?"

She watches him closely, possibly trying to read his body language. You'd be surprised the kind of people who track her down for all kinds of reasons. So she's cautious...

[Trent Brumby] His brows shoot up in surprise, quickly lowering them again. "Oh, right," he smiles easily now, flashing teeth at her, and his eyes crinkle around the edges.

"I'm Trent." Offering out his hand towards her, he introduces himself and goes on to explain: "Kora's .. . partner." Mate wasn't an appropriate term around here. They had each others numbers as well, but he hadn't bothered to call her with that, preferring to come in person it seems.

[Cigney North] "Oh!"

She takes his hand into both of her own and gives it an awkward little shake. Her face brightens, and is genuinely enthusiastic to meet him. After a few moments Cigney realizes what it is she's doing and instinctively stops. "Sorry", but it's said with a smile. "I'm done here, unless you came to check out the gym..."

The empty cup in her hand finds its way easily enough into a trash can just inside the door.

"I'd be happy to show you around, maybe get you a discount..." but she follows up a little more quietly so only he can hear her. "I don't suggest this place, to many snobs and weird cardio crap, got another place closer to Lincoln Park that has real good machines".

[Trent Brumby] Laughing again, the sound is quiet in the back of his throat and pleasant. He shakes her hand in return, far more smoothly and used to such a gesture. "It's good to meet you Miss. But no, I was just coming by to introduce myself and see how you're finding Chicago." Taking his hand back, he steps aside.

"I'm already a member at a gym, closer to home. But thanks." He had glanced inside the door then back to the young woman, lifting her brows at her comments on snobs, which had him chuckling quietly again. "It is the Mile," he jests with her.

[Cigney North] "Yes...a good mile from common sense for sure". She grins and then looks back into the gym.

"I'VE GOT A PHANTOM! SEE YOU TOMORROW!"

With that she collects he gym bag and lets go of the door with her foot and looks up a Trent. She's 5'8"...but finds herself smaller than he is. "So your Kora's...friend". Cigney had noted that he didn't refer to her in the traditional sense for whatever reason, and follows suit for comfort sake.

"You have a place in mind to talk? I'm starving...I need lean protein and carnintine stat".

She's young and it shows. Energetic, talkative, more so than she'd been with Kora and Roman for sure. Probably because Trent is kin like herself, or so she assumes...

[Trent Brumby] The girl wants food, and so she shall have it. He walks with her away from the gym door, trying to think of what was close by and good enough to take a young girl to. It'd have to be somewhere he could enter with his work clothes too. The options become rapidly limited.

"Yeah, I'm Kora's mate," this is said quietly, as they're walking away from the gym, taking slow, meandering steps. "I'm sure we can find somewhere around here to find some food."

"Are you driving? If not, I'm parked just over there." Indicating the lot with a nod of his head.

[Cigney North] "Oh no...I walk whenever possible". She nods at that, then starts in the direction he indicated without so much as a nod, blink, word or otherwise. "There's this Greek place close to Lincoln...I live down there, nice place. Do you eat lamb? Lamb's great...it's lean and the salads are to..."

Cigney shuts her mouth and bites her tongue a little,

"Sorry..." she smiles and puts herself into check.

[Trent Brumby] "You're fine," he assures her, smiling and suppressing his laugh. She's got plenty of excess energy and he can't remember the last time he was around someone that talked as much as she did - at least those within the Nation. Mrs Henry talked this much, but she was old, often repeated herself, and tried to force him to eat banana and walnut muffins every time he went over to look after her gardens.

The sedan is just a simple, every day sort of car. He opens up the passenger door to let her in, offering to take her gym bag to stow it in the back seat. "You just point the way and I'll drive," he tells her. And once she's in the car, which is neat, clean and smells like car air freshener, he goes around and climbs into the drivers seat, buckling up to head out.

[Cigney North] She doesn't heed the offer for her gym bag, just sort of tosses it into the back seat as she climbs in. "It's real simple, I walk here all the time from there...my place, not the restaurant, but its close...to where I live I mean". She sighes and little and shuts up as she closes the passenger door.

[Imogen Slaughter] A Greek restaurant near Lincoln.

The irony is, that which draws Cigney likely draws Imogen. The good food, the quality of the cuts of meat, the leanness and variety of the salads. She is merely more subtle about it; which is to say: she never brings it up at all.

Still, she sits at a table in the corner, a mug of rich Grecian coffee in front of here. Service here has a tendency to be leisurely - particularly when one is alone with a book in hand. As she is.

Further irony: she is reading Plato.

[Trent Brumby] The drive isn't all that long, finding a car park was more time consuming, but once he had, he popped the trunk and opened up a bag he kept in the back. A quick change of shirts, the polo shirt is whipped off and thrown into the back, and a t.shirt is pulled over the bare skin quickly. The small spray of cologne gets rid of some manly sweat from a days work, and has him looking a little more fresh and respectable for heading somewhere to eat. No, he doesn't change his pants in the middle of the shopping strip, that would be too much.

Closing the trunk, he locks up the car and follows Cigney into the restaurant. "So where are you from before here?" Casual conversation as he holds the door open for her, letting it close behind them.

[Cigney North] She keeps her gym bag with her as they proceed into the restaurant. A waitress recognizes her and waves her and her guest to a nearby table, Cigney speaks quietly while navigating carefully around the close knit tables with her bag. "Northern California..little place called Ferrington's Run, about twenty miles from the Oregon border". She sits in a booth that could probably accomodate a small party.

"Yourself?" As she sits Cigney goes back to watching him while attacking the glass of water the waitress sets before her.

[Trent Brumby] They're heading over towards a booth when he spots a semi familiar face hiding behind a book, sitting alone. He looks from her to Cigney, slightly distracted now. "I was in Seattle before coming here." He's lived all over the States, but stayed in the rainy city awhile before coming to Chicago.

"I'm sorry, could you excuse me a moment? I'm just going to pop over and say hello to someone." Providing she does agree, and she probably would, he gives her a smile and then wanders over towards Imogen.

"Doctor," he greets quietly, standing a foot back from her table. "Sorry to interrupt."

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen glances up, not when Trent speaks, but when she catches sight of him out of the corner of her eye. She lowers her book, setting it aside, face down.

"No need," she says absently to the apology, her gaze resting briefly on the Kinfolk standing so formally in front of her.

A flick of her gaze toward Cigney a little further away, then back again, her eyebrow arching. "A new friend?" she asks.

[Trent Brumby] He follows her gaze, throwing a look over towards Cigney then back to Imogen. He can't read much in her tone, but he hopes he's not giving the wrong impression - he'd never do that to Kora. "That's Cigney, she's one of the Tribe, recent arrival," he explains to her quietly.

"Do you mind if I take a quick seat? Or would you like to come and join us over at the booth?" Either option is asked politely. The times that she has seen Trent he's never failed to pull back chairs, fetch Kora her beers, or otherwise seem content to play the gentlemen. Despite the scruff on his face and the fact that he looks as though he'd be found shouting abuse at t.v screens with sports games, or starting fights in pubs, his personality goes against the visuals of him.

[Imogen Slaughter] There is no hint to a tone in Imogen's voice - no aural cue to tell Trent does she have the wrong impression or not. Neutral is a skill Imogen has honed like a blade.

"Have a seat," she says, tilting her head slightly to indicate the chair across the table.

"What can I do for you?"

[Cigney North] She nods her head, still sipping her water in long draughts. Cigney then looks over to where Trent is headed, wondering who exactly it is he knows. She watches the conversation without really listening in on it. When both of them look in her direction however, she instantly turns her head non-chalantly and goes about looking at a picture on the wall. Some sort of framed stitch work...

The waitress visits, and Cigney smiles. She's been here a time or two and takes a moment to talk with her.

[Cigney North] [be back in 45...]
to Imogen Slaughter, Trent Brumby

[Trent Brumby] "Thank you."

Pulling out the chair he eases to sit down, shifting it so that's he's comfortable and facing her. At first he rests his forearms on the table, then remembers himself and leans back in the chair, letting his hands fall off and one rest on his thigh.

"I've got a man staying with us. He's gone through, well," struggling how to say the what happened without actually saying it, but getting across his point, "something horrific recently. He's one of the Black Eagles?" He only learned what that was, and the way he raises his brow and lifts his tone seeks if she knew what he was going on about before he goes on. "But he's suffering some serious post traumatic stress. He's lost his arm and eye recently."

"I've patched him up and fed him some scotch. But if there's any sort of advice, or colleagues that you might know that he could speak with, I'd be grateful. I haven't deal with this sort of thing, myself." But she was the Doctor.

[Trent Brumby] [have fun!]
to Cigney North, Imogen Slaughter

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's eyebrow flicks upward. "I suppose that would depend," she says. "Do you need one who would be able to speak o' the -" she chooses her next words with something like a smirk, "trials and tribulations o' bein' a half blood as well? Or merely one who can manage the intricacies of PTSD?"

[Trent Brumby] "Definitely someone that is in the know," he answers her without hesitation, mentally having a fit about the thought of Erick going to spew all the details of what happened to him to someone outside of the Nation. It would end in disaster. He's sure Erick wouldn't even talk about the horrors to an outsider, which defeated the purpose of getting help in the first place.

[Imogen Slaughter] She nods slightly, as if it were the answer she was expecting, but still a question that had needed answering. A pause as she picks up her coffee mug and takes a swallow of the rich warm liquid.

"I can probably get him someone on the phone," she says. "But no one I know in Chicago can handle tha'. S'better than nothing, I would think."

[Trent Brumby] "I'd really appreciate that, Miss." Kora calls her Doc, but Trent falls back into the habit of Miss. It's more then a conscious thought of matters, but something ingrained in him. It had taken considerable effort to switch from that to something other, especially when it's with someone he doesn't have much contact with.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen shakes her head slightly. "Don't mention it. Ha' you a number where I can reach you?"

[Trent Brumby] "Yeah, sure." Of course he does. He glances from her down to her book, searching the table for her phone, before looking back up at her again. "I think I have some cards left." Shifting in the seat a little, he reaches down to his pocket, remembering that he had a few cards printed out recently. It's helped him pick up work, more then the spread of word did. He pulled out his wallet and flips it open to find several cards stacked together. He slides one of them out and offers it out to her across the table. According to the print Trent is a Mr. Fix It for around the home, including landscape gardening. There's a cell number listed.

[Imogen Slaughter] Her phone is not on the table, and as his gaze moves over the table, to the back of her book (with a rather worn looking stone carving of Plato on the back, complete with missing nose), Imogen arches an eyebrow.

He hands her a card, and she turns it over, her eyes tracing the words easily.

She smirks faintly. "Mister Fix-It, is it?"

[Trent Brumby] He's instantly smiling, teeth flashing in a quick laugh. Spreading his hands, he shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not a creative genius. But it sums it up." There's a small glow under his skin, perhaps from some sort of self conscious embarrassment. Imogen was a doctor, he knew that much, way above his own league. He's inferior in plenty of ways, but he seems to be alright with that, just conscious of it.

[Imogen Slaughter] She flicks the card toward her palm, twisting in her chair to slip it into her handbag, slung over the back of her chair.

"What's it mean tha' you do, then? Plumbin' or carpentry, or -?" she lets the sentence end, and allows the other to fill in the gaps.

[Trent Brumby] "A bit of all of the above. Nothing too drastic," he answers her easily. "But it's something that I can take to any city without being too worried about finding work."

"I was working security recently, until I promised Kora I'd lay off and do something that wouldn't get me stabbed." Again. That hadn't gone over well with the Garou, that her mate had been shanked several times over while working for a shitty pub trying to keep the peace. Someone had to be alive to look after their not-yet family, when the time came around.

[Trent Brumby] [brb]

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's eyebrow moves slightly, a suggestion of an arch. "I see," she says, the words a polite restriction of anything else she might say.

She picks up her cup again, taking a deeper swallow of the coffee.

"You might see if Hill House has need o' you," she suggests. "I'm not sure if yeh can be paid, but," she moves her shoulders in a sketch of a shrug, "At worst, it's volunteering for the cause."

[Cigney North] She decides to order before it gets much later. A gyro with tzatski sauce with a sparkling ginger tea.
to Imogen Slaughter, Kora, Trent Brumby

[Cigney North] She decides to order before it gets much later. A gyro with tzatski sauce with a sparkling ginger tea.

[Kora] Neither her neighborhood nor her territory, but Kora has learned her way around the city now: the way the buses run through the streets like blood through its veins, the El trains criss-crossing between the buildings, clattering past in stutterstep, the lights in the cars flashing like strobes when seen through the guard barriers that keep the cars in and the more adventurous of Chicago's citzen's off the tracks.

It's bright and clear outside, cooler but still humid, the sky sunk past dusk, though there are still streaks of blue in the distant went, that smoke-colored blue that feels lik it is just on the edge of transparent. The city's lights gleam in the plate-glass windows of the greek restaurant, turn the colored awnings into a uniform orange. It is still early enough that people are out on foot, window shopping past stores that are just closing, iron bars being drawn across the brilliantly illuminated picture windows. In these surroundings, Kora looks like one of those graduate students studying the more useless subjects - literary theory, theater, eastern european history - the sort who does not quite belong here, but can slide in about the edges. Dressed in jeans and a washed orange Edinburg Fringe Festival t-shirt, with its tone on tone printing, her hair pulled loosely back from her face, twisted into knot, secured with a twist of leather and a piece of polished wood, more disarray than artful, she opens the front door of the restaurant with her body, hip against the glass, always in motion.

And stops, just inside the front door, brow furrowed as she looks around. It takes the sparest moment, because Imogen's breeding is like a flame, and Trent is seated with her, not a conflagration but a different sort of spark against the back of her mind. Cigney takes longer to find. It's easier for her to blend in, slip past the sharp Garou's senses into the stream of humanity.

[Kora] Cigney's waitress is leaving her table, headed back to the kitchen, ticket in hand. She cuts this sort of unerring direct line, then swerves, ducks behind the counter rather than continue through the dining room. The hostess gives Kora a polite smile that spreads a hint too tautly over her mouth, which eases when the Garou shakes her head. "I'm meeting people here already," she says, slipping past the hostess' station, walking through the tables and booths toward the kin.

[Cigney North] Cigney is in a separate booth currently from Trent and Imogen. As she watches the waitress walk off, she notes the movement of the waitress, and see's Kora. Cigney gives her small wave and a warm smile, then glances over at Trent and gives a shrug...moving over in the booth if Kora is of a mind.

[Trent Brumby] "Hill House?" he's heard of it, just not all that much, "I'll give them a call or drop in, and see if they can use a hand." Between everything else that he's got on his plate, that is. Erick, Kora, his job, the River clean up, bird baths and feeders, now he throws Hill House on top of it. It's certainly going to keep him busy, less time for drinking in any case.

[Imogen Slaughter] "Ask for Mary Alice," she says, her gaze flicking up as the rage forces a hush over the somewhat occupied dining area. She watches Kora approach them, and then says, mildly to Trent.

"Perhaps you should ask your friend," meaning Cigney, "to join us, as it seems we're gathering here."

[Kora] Kora does not return Cigney's wave. She doesn't seem to be the type to wave. She does, however, return the young kinswoman's warm smile with one of her own, easily curling across her expressive mouth. Her hands are still in her front pockets, and she walks with one of those hip-centered gaits, low and easy and confident. "Doc," she says, to Imogen as she passes their table, "Trent." The smile deepens, briefly. She must have heard some portion of Imogen's mild invitation, because she stops long enough to say, "I'll ask her over - " before sauntering past, to Cigney's booth.

And pauses there, not lowering herself into the space Cigney has vacated, but instead tilting her head back at Imogen and Trent. "C'mon over. You should meet the doc." A pause, a glance at the table. The deepening of humor on her mouth. "Bring your tea, yeah?"

[Cigney North] Cigney looks up at Kora, then over at the other table. She then nods and grabs her drink...shuffling out of the booth with her gym bag. She quietly follows behind Kora.

[Trent Brumby] "Yeah, I will." He throws a glance over to Cigney, accompanied with an apologetic smile. But before he even gets out of his chair, Kora had arrived behind him and greeted them, and is already moving over to the other Kinfolk. He is careful about not looking at his mates behind, even though his eyes are drawn there, and to where her slender back meets the waist. Hmm, she had great legs, too. That walk she had, almost a swagger, was definitely eye catching. Since she's returned, they haven't had much quality alone time.

Drawing himself out of his thoughts, he rises up as the two return towards the table, moving to pull out a chair for his mate followed by Cigney. "Sorry Miss North. I shouldn't have taken so long to invite you over."

[Cigney North] Cigney shakes her head a little and doesn't say anything, giving him a half smile before taking a seat. She's tired now, and it's begining to show. The young woman looks at the red haired woman across the table a moment or s before speaking. "Good evening, it's nice to meet you".

The sparkling iced ginger tea now sits in front of her, nibbling on the slice of peach that had been resting on the side of the glass.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's mouth twists, ever so slightly, "I don't believe we have, yet," observes the woman, her voice low with a European accent, though she's been mistaken for New Zealander and Australian as well. Cornish is not particularly an accent well known to Americans - particularly when muddled with the 'pony'n'pims' accent as hers is.

"I didn't catch your name. Miss North, is it?"

Kora takes a seat and Trent retakes his. Imogen picks up her book from beside her coffee mug and leans down to slide it between the open lips of the brief case at her feet. As she straightens, the redhead lifts a pale, slender hand to her temple, pushing back errant strands of hair from her eyes.

"Imogen Slaughter."

[Kora] "Thanks, babe," Kora says casually, quietly to Trent as he brings her a chair, followed by one for Cigney. The diminutive is accompanied by a quick, lilting grin she casts back up at him as she sits, and a chaste brush of her mouth against his cheek if they're close enough for the little affection. It is private, nearly inaudible. She sits easily, half-slouching, her lower back curved inside the hard right angle of the chair.

"Cigney North," Kora supplies, as Imogen inquires after the young kinswoman's name. "Dr. Imogen Slaughter. And vice-versa. Cigney's just arrived, fitness instructor here on the mile. Doc's a forensic pathologist for the city, yeah?" Kora's dark eyes linger on the pale skinned kinswoman, brief and searching, before she sits up rather more straightly, leans across the table, and pulls over a menu to peruse. "Oh, man. Do they have that lemon soup here? I can't remember what it's called."

[Cigney North] She smiles as Kora introduces her, and then watches the woman putting away her book while she eats the peach slice. "You're a doctor? I took phlebotemy...going to be a full fledged physical trainer. I've been studying kineseology and biochemistry when I get the time". She thinks a moment. "You study bodies that have been dead awhile, right?"

[Trent Brumby] Kora gets a small smile and a light brush of his hand to her back as she moves to sit down, before settling into his own seat. He sits back as people give their introductions and Kora reaches for the menu. A small smile appears at the edge of his mouth as he listens to her declare what she wants. "I'm not in the habit of having lemon soup," he tells her quietly, smirking, "you're on your own there." He has no idea what it's called. He may be descended from Greeks but clearly he's not up to par with their dishes.

He watches her out the corner of his eye, looking more relaxed now that his mate is here, more at home around the other women too. Even if they're talking about dead bodies. "You want me to order you a drink?" He asks Kora, since the other two already have theirs.

[Imogen Slaughter] "They ha' avgolemono, if that's what you mean," Imogen answers Kora as she sets back down her coffee. "I've not had it here."

Imogen's finely carved face might well be of porcelain for all it reveals. Her dark eyes pass briefly over the affection that pass between the mated pair before turning toward Cigney again.

"Well," she says her mouth twisting slightly, "I try not t'limit myself t'those tha' ha' been dead 'a while', but I do deal wi' the deceased yes. Cause and manner o' death, among other things. Do your schoolin' at U o' C, do you?"

[Kora] "That's it," Kora confirms when Imogen supplies the name of "that lemon soup." Nevermind that it is summer outside, and something sharper, brighter, cooler - all cucumber and tomato would be more seasonal. The memory of near-endless winter is still in the forefront of her mind. "It's not just lemons, mind. It's lemons and rice and broth or something, like a lemony chicken soup maybe? I want the avgolemono - " the creature has a passable imitation of the Greek word supplied by Imogen, and now she passes it on to him, " - and a beer, I think. Something Greek if they have that, and the souvlaki." Trent's smirking, and Kora's dark eyes flash over the twist of his mouth. "Bet you you taste it and like it," she tells him, of the avgolemono. Terms, it seems, to be named later.

When a Garou is at the table, it's often easier to order at the counter, where you cannot be avoided. One adapts.

Then her attention cuts back to Cigney, as Imogen asks about her schooling; there's a certain interested light in her dark gaze, which is quick and keen, attentive between, stealing back to her mate now and then.

[Cigney North] It's a bit hard for Cigney to pick up on the accent...an make out the words. She listens really really carefully. At the mention ofuniversity, Cigney shakes her head. "No..I'm not really prepped for college. I just study on my own". She looks down at the table and then slowly rises.

"I'm sorry, I need to get going. I've got a busy day tomorrow. I'm going to take my gyro to go".

She puts the strap of her gym bag on her shoulder. "It was really nice meeting you Trent and Dr. Slaughter". Cigney gives a soft smile. "And it was good to see you again Kora". She pauses a moment. "I'm really happy to hear about the river clean up initiative, and I'll be happy to help and pitch in". Not being able to think of anything else, Cigney gives another curt nod of her head and excuses herself from the table.

"Goodnight".

[Trent Brumby] Cigney is already running off and Trent wonders if it has something to do with how he was rude, without meaning to be. He rises up from his chair as she's leaving and nods to her in a solemn sort of way. "I look forward to seeing you there. It was nice meeting you Cigney." Then she's leaving.

And he's looking back to Kora with a light smirk again. "It wasn't about that. We can discuss it later." Something else then, a private joke he wasn't willing to share with the Doctor or anywhere in public. "I'm going to order. Can I get you anything Miss Slaughter?" He pushes his chair back in as he steps around it, waiting long enough to see if she wants something else, before he's walking off to the counter to make his order.

He's only getting a souvlaki himself, lamb with the salad works and garlic sauce. Beers for both him and Kora, a refill for the doctor unless she's asked for something else specifically, and he's there long enough for Imogen and Kora to exchange a few words before he's heading back.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's eyebrow lifts slightly, but she merely says, "Goodnight."

Trent asks if she wants anything, and Imogen shakes her head. "I've eaten, thank-you," she says, picking up her coffee cup and draining it. "I probably should be on my way, myself."

[Cigney North] [thank you very much for the scene everyone! let's play again soon]
to Imogen Slaughter, Kora, Trent Brumby

[Imogen Slaughter] (absolutely!)
to Cigney North, Kora, Trent Brumby

[Kora] "Night, Cigney," Kora returns as the young kinswoman excuses herself from the table. "Be safe, yeah?" The creature turns her pale hed to track the kinswoman's path away through the restaurant, lingering as she stops at the counter to request her meal to go. She glances up at Trent as he rises, then looks back to Imogen. "What do you think she meant?" lifting her chin toward Cigney, exchanging money for her meal, wrapped in a white paper bag, "that she wasn't prepped for college?"

[Kora] (Absolutely! Thanks for the scene, and sleep tight. :) )
to Cigney North, Imogen Slaughter, Trent Brumby

[Imogen Slaughter] She shakes her head slightly, "Poor scores, perhaps. Grades. Or maybe she's a perfectionist or not finished high school." A tilt of her head, "She's young, though I'd ha' thought her twenty or so."

[Trent Brumby] He returns to his seat, sitting down by Kora and settles back. Having come from work, he'd changed his polo shirt to a t.shirt out in the parking lot. The cologne has been freshly sprayed, though not a lot of it, and clings more to his clothing then it does his skin. He feels under dressed, despite that Kora's wandering around in jeans and a t.shirt.

Like most men, he seems content to sit in the background while the women talk. Their beers would be here in short order, and a refill for Imogen.

[Kora] Kora makes a musing sound in response, her features take on a sort of narrowed, thoughtful cast as she considers that, then glances back at the counter, where Trent is entering their order, the souvlaki, the soup, the beers. When her focus is drawn back to Imogen. "If you have some time in the next few days, Doc, give me a call, yeah?" Her mouth curves, the edge of it ghosting toward the wry, though her eyes are stark. "We raided this place over the weekend. We're still cleaning up. If nothing else, I'd like the all-clear from you when we're done, make sure we've thought of everything, yeah?

"I don't think there's much danger of it being found out in the interim, so it's not an urgent sort of them. Just, when you've got time." A faint pause, narrow, inflected.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's expression stills as Kora speaks, which is not to say that it was mobile to begin with. In either case, there is a certain intentness to the doctor's features while Kora speaks, though the explanation is brief.

"What is your sleep schedule like?" she enquires, her mouth twisting slightly. Her gaze moves to Trent as he rejoins them, then back to the Garou. "I can either do very early in the morning - before six am, or late at night, after ten pm."

The kinwoman's sleep schedule, it seems, is sporadic.

The drinks do come in short order, including a refill for Imogen. She lays a hand over the top of her cup to stop it, flicking a glance up to say simply, "Just the bill, if you please." The waitress casts a glance to Trent, then back to the Doctor, and then merely moves away.

Imogen reaches around to pick up her purse from her chair, taking out a billfold to count out her cash, estimating her bill and a tip while waiting for her receipt.

[Trent Brumby] When the waitress looks at him, he nods a little. Imogen didn't want another and that was more then fine with him. He doesn't mind. Still quiet, he reaches for his own beer and takes a slow drink from it, followed by another, letting his gaze cast out towards the window.

[Kora] "That's ideal," Kora replies, her voice low. Her dark eyes follow Imogen's gaze to Trent, and naturally her gaze lingers on his face a split-second longer than Imogen's eyes remain there. Her smile edges minutely wider, the shift of expression so subtle as to be nearly indistinguishable, particularly when he's unaware of her gaze on him. Back to Imogen, then, waiting until the waitress disappears again, incising neaty between the moments so that the conversation remains private. " - we're trying to minimize the potential of being spotted there, so we're working mostly at night. Maybe a few more days yet, since we're cleansing as we go."

As opposed to cleaning, a wholly different ritual.

She picks up her beer, then, tipping back a drink directly from the bottle as the waitress returns with Imogen's check. "I'll give you a call. Or you can, me. I'll meet you there, show you around."

[Imogen Slaughter] The glance had not quite been permission - from the waitress. It had been confusion, having been asked for one thing, and then upon arriving, discovering it was completely another.

"Call me," Imogen says, "since you'll know when you're ready."

The waitress returns with her bill. Imogen passes over her cash as she gets to her feet.

"I'll leave you both to your dinner, then," she says, stooping to pick up her brief case. "Ha' a goodnight."

She starts toward the door.

[Trent Brumby] His gaze snaps back to the table when the waitress comes with the bill and Imogen is already paying for it. Setting his beer back down he rose from his chair just after the Doctor did. He nods to her with a small smile. "Thank you, Miss Slaughter. You have a good night, too."

When she's gone, he settles back down into his chair and reclaims his beer, sliding his gaze to look at Kora. "Is she going to help out with the warehouse?" He asks this quietly.

[Kora] "Night, doc," Kora says quietly as Imogen rises, nodding briefly at her request. "Be safe." No yeah? attached to tha instruction, as she had done wth Cigney. The hour is growing later, and the restaurant is emptying slowly. Here and there large tables linger over their meals. Someone orders dessert, someone else insists on the sampler platter. Except for the waitress, Imogen is the only person up, walking through the tables and booths at that moment, and Kora watches her, her expression spare, her gaze thoughtful, until Imogen is at the front door.

Trent asks if Imogen is helping with the warehouse, then, and Kora's attention slips back to him, neat and coiled, the spare edge of her expression softening. When they are alone, she stretches out, the edge of her boot against his foot, this supple suggestion of contact between thm. "Yeah," Kora returns, just as quiet. She's returning his look wth a direct one of her own. "She is."

[Trent Brumby] Nodding, he seems happy to let that go. It wasn't really his business. He didn't ask any further questions about it, simply took another drink of his beer and let himself unwind. It had been a long, long day today, and he had finished early which is why he'd dropped by to see Cigney in the first place. At home Erick awaits him, the thought has him reaching up and scrubbing a hand through his thick, dark hair.

"Imogen is going to give me a call with a number for Erick, someone to talk to," he tells Kora, keeping his voice quiet and looking from the table up to meet her steady gaze, "maybe it might help him out a bit. It's not something he can keep to himself."