A Garou's Compliment.

[Imogen] The sun is set, it's late for a Monday night. Garou do not often care about the rhythms of human time; unless they somehow hold a human job and care about keeping it, they have no need to wake up, no need to sleep at a set hour.

But for a woman in a business suit, it is late. And odd, perhaps to be sitting in an empty park, her feet on the seat of a park bench, her behind on the back, a cigarette burning between her fingers, a coffee sitting on the bench's seat.

She lifts her cigarette to her lips, held between two slender fingers and inhales deeply. It is not quite black as pitch here, but it is dark - the nearest street light just far enough away to cast her in shadow. Still, her hair is clearly vibrant, even in darkness, the colour of faded embers. Her skin is pale.

And her breeding speaks of much.

[Night's Reprieve] New to the sept, new to the city; though not new to the life he lives. Night's Reprieve patrols, much like he has done every night since he arrived here in Chicago - a reaction to his welcoming. The first night he stepped foot in this city he was attacked by the wyrm, and the second. The third night he went looking and found a fight for himself and his companions. It's not hard to find one here in Chicago, something that both troubles and excites the Godi.

Being new here, he couldn't name this suburb if he tried. Though it isn't far from where he first encountered the wyrm, not far from that sewer entrance where abominations climbed out of in the quiet of night. Perhaps this is why its here that he chooses to patrol tonight, perhaps that's why he wanders through the park with eyes and ears intently focused on what is around him. He wears a chequered red and black flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up and a few of the buttons undone, charcoal jeans and leather boots.

When he notices the woman he pauses in his step, head turning towards her and tilting just a fraction. A smile creeps into his face and he approaches. His skin is tanned, weather beaten. His jawline a mesh of stubble and his hair short and dark. Small blue eyes look to meet hers and when he speaks his birth place is marked by strong Cajun tones.

"Evenin', Mind if I sit?" His hands, stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans while he addresses her. It's late, she's by herself. He watched a woman be dragged into the sewers and feasted on not five blocks from here. He saw woman linked by chains in those sewers. There's concern in his face and in his voice, perhaps misplaced. Perhaps not.

[Imogen] Imogen's response is not so much assent or permission as much as it is dismissal. She tilts her head slightly toward the empty space on the bench and shrugs. Her movements are slight - subtle, but for all that, sharply eloquent. Suit yourself.

She lowers her hand, the cigarette caught between it to tap ash toward the ground, the ember sparking in the shadow. She lifts it again and takes another drag - this time, when she exhales, she turns her head away from him, blowing the smoke in the opposite direction.

"New, then, are you?" she asks without preamble. It is something of note. It's not easy for kinfolk to recognize their full-blooded relatives.

[Night's Reprieve] He sits, glad for the invitation even though it lacks any real inclination towards wanting or requiring company. When she blows her smoke away from him he doesn't comment, though the corners of his mouth twitch slightly in approval. Some are not so considerate.

She asks him if he's new and his brows narrow. He looks at her anew and lets out a breath that might resemble amusement.

"That easy ta' tell huh?" A pause and he leans back against the park bench, stretching his feet out in front of him and crossing one over the other. His eyes leave her then and once more peer out into the darkness.

"Ya right though, I'm new. You... you I take it are not." He looks back to her and offers a kind smile.

[Imogen] The smile is not returned. Imogen's face is finely carved - high cheekbones framing dark eyes, a delicate mouth. There is no answer to his kind expression. There is, however, a smirk to what he says, a twist of her lips as she exhales a breath, something soft and soundless.

"No," she says wryly, leaning down to pick up her coffee up at her feet, beside him on the park bench. "I am not."

With their locations, Imogen sitting on the back of the park bench, her heeled pumps on the seat, and Night's Reprieve seated correctly, his legs stretched out in front of him, she is higher than he. Still, she's slight, narrow shoulders, a slender body that has a litheness that comes from fitness. She sits straight, despite the unorthodox choice of her seating, her spine neutral, her shoulders back.

"Has someone already told yeh who t'find?" these questions, it seems, are more important than the expected ones. What's your name, where did you come from. "Yer tribe and such. Yer holy place."

[Night's Reprieve] The smile fades from his lips almost as soon as she begins to speak and by the time she finishes it has all but been replaced with a frown of eyebrows and narrow eyes.

"No, no they have not. I have yet to meet any of my tribe with knowledge to share." This seems to trouble the Godi but his position on the bench doesn't change. His body doesn't shift to make himself taller though he could; he remains slouched, coiled like a spring.

He isn't the largest of men, but his frame holds no waste. Every inch of him is toned like a warrior to rival the full moons of his Tribe, but he lacks the boiling rage and lack of control that some of them exhibit.

"Is it something you could share with me?"

[Imogen] A copper brow arches. "What's yer tribe?" she asks, pragmatically.

[Night's Reprieve] Time for introductions, and now he does sit up straighter.

"My name is Night's Reprieve, I come from the Sept of New Orleans, Godi of Fenris."

It's formal, far too formal for some peoples tastes, but its how he was raised. He looks at her expectantly like she's going to return the honor.

[Imogen] "Yeh want Kora," she says, rather than returning the favour. "Fenrir Jarl." The woman's accent is decidedly not American. She's foreign, though of an English speaking country; England or one of the colonies. That it is not stereotypical muddies the waters. She is frequently mistaken for what she's not; Australian, New Zealand, and on and on.

"She 'nd her pack stay at Cabrini United Methodist. The abandoned church on -" she gives the cross streets.

A pause, before the kinwoman tacks on: "I'm called Imogen Slaughter."

[Night's Reprieve] He pauses and looks at her strangely "The Imogen Slaughter?"

[Imogen] Her reaction is swift - her jaw tightening, a tendon clenching along the side of her face; her lips pressing together. Then it's gone, the irritation controlled and slipped back beneath her careful facade.

"I wasn't aware of another," she observes, mildly.

[Night's Reprieve] "I mean no offense, I have been to the wyrm pole, the spirits favour you." He nods approval. "It is an honour to meet you, and thank you for the information."

His body language reaction to finding out who she is might be strange, he doesn't tense up or shy away. He doesn't seem uncomfortable or nervous; instead it is the opposite. He seems to relax, maybe its because things add up all of a sudden. Or maybe something else.

[Cigney North] [Sorry! Should have peeked first! I suck!...open???]
to Imogen, Night's Reprieve

[Night's Reprieve] [Yep! open]

[Imogen] Imogen shakes her head slightly - sharply, lifting her half-dead cigarette to her lips and inhaling deeply as she looks forward over the sparse and slender trees in her vision. "'The Imogen Slaughter'," she repeats, almost to herself. "Bloody hell."

Then, his words bring her back, and she glances at him. "Don't mention it." His thanks.

She looks away again. Three seconds of silence tick by, broken by the wind moving through the trees.

"So, th'wyrm pole's what then?" she asks. "Trophy pole, is it?"

[Cigney North] Another hot day, would summer ever end? As the night begins to cool th air, Cigney decided to take a run in one of the local parks. It's close to another gym she frequents for a private client. Dressed in running leggings and a indigo blue compression shirt for hot weather, Cigney checks her heart monitor and continues training in the "red zone". Just two more minutes...

Then she hears voices...and begins to slow depending on whether or not she'd need to cut around them.

[Night's Reprieve] He grins and nods his head. "Aye, trophy pole." Strange language, strange response. The question doesn't seem to bother him though. Just then his chin lifts and his eyes twitch towards the sound of incoming foot steps. His nostril's flare as if he forgets for a second that this flesh bag state lacks the perception qualities of others he feels more comfortable in.

"You expecting anyone?"

[Imogen] Trophy pole, he confirms and she exhales her breath, the edge of it sounding like the start of a word, suppressed. A curse, most likely.

She turns her head in the direction of the sound of footfall - quick moving and steady, then slowing. She can just see the approaching form, but not close enough - or in enough light for details or recognition.

"No," she answers. "But s'a public park and a large city."

If Cigney continues to approach, eventually she'll come close enough for the details of her face to be made out. The doctor regards her neutrally.

"One o' yours," she says. "Half-blood." Her voice too low to be heard by the approaching kinfolk.

[Cigney North] Her breathing is rhythmic in timing. It begins to deepen as she slows her pace. As the voices come into sight, she realizes they're seated and decides to pick up the pace again. The hair is hard to miss on Imogen's head..and if she'd heard the woman's voice, she'd have known in a heartbeat who it was.

She slows then and begins thinking. Wow what a coincidence...was it? What does she do? She doesn't want to be rude, but doesn't want to intrude either. Maybe a quick hello...quick intro to whoever it was she was with...then continue run like hell.

Cigney had come up with worse plans...

"Good evening Dr. Slaughter...?" Her voice is a bit breathless. She nods quickly, and taps a button on her chest strap.

[Night's Reprieve] She isn't expecting anyone, the Godi shifts still straighter in his seat and looks in the direction of the sound. On the back of his neck can be seen the tattoo of a great spear head curling up from beneath his shirt. His eyes snap back to her when she speaks of who is it. She senses before him, knows before him. It's impressive.

Before he can respond however, the female emerges and addresses Imogen as Dr. Slaughter. He doesn't speak up yet, but he relaxes again against the bench with Imogen's words running over in his mind. One of yours. Half blood.

[Imogen] "Miss North." In these greetings at least this is clear: Imogen had not sensed Cigney's bloodline; she had merely known the girl already.

She leans forward - Imogen is sitting on a park bench, but sitting on its back, her feet on the seat - and crushes out her cigarette against the side of the bench, before flicking the corpse away. The kinwoman is dressed in business attire - slacks, a blazer open over a camisole. It is too dark to know the colours - the suit is dark, the camisole pale.

Several seconds of silence, then Imogen says, smirking, "He's Fenrir," Night's Reprieve, "And as I recall, so are you. So if either o' you would like to complete yer own introductions," she picks up her take-away coffee cup from the bench at her feet, "Feel free."

[Cigney North] Well that's just plan awkward...but she shrugs and wipes her sweaty palms on her leggings before offering him a hand and a warm smile.

"Cigney...North..." Rather repetitive, kind of...

"It's nice to meet you".

She looks at him briefly, then looks to Imogen.

"I'm sorry if I disturbed you, I'm actually on my turn around split so..."

[Night's Reprieve] He's Fenrir, so are you. That gets a smirk from the Godi and he offers his hand only a fraction of a second after Cigney has offered hers.

"Night's Reprieve, Godi of Fenris. Pleasure to meet you Miss North. You can call me Night if you wish.. or NR.. Both have been used in the past." This he suggests to both of them. They are human, kinfolk but still human. He doesn't expect them to want to use his deed name in full.

The handshake is brief and he shuffles on the bench, actually inching towards Imogen to allow room for Cigney.

"You've disturbed nothing, take a load off." And he indicates with his head towards the bench.

[Cigney North] As he offers her a seat, the silvery grey eyes look over at Imogen. She ain't moving till she's got the Dr.'s okay. The doctor is respected, that much is obvious by the way Kora and Trent acted around her.

[Imogen] Imogen meets Cigney's gaze when she looks at her. A few seconds pass.

"There's room," she says by way of prompting.

(sorry that took so long, guys!)

[Night's Reprieve] [NP!]

[Cigney North] Still unsure, Cigney looks at Night...then crosses her arms and decides to stand instead. It was polite enough, yet independent. She moves her shoulder in a stretch and goes quiet for a bit. Looking from one to the other. Hoping not to come off as a third wheel. Nobody likes the third wheel.

"So..."

Inwardly she rolls her eyes at herself. She's terrible at this.

[Night's Reprieve] She really is terrible at this, its okay though, NR doesn't comment on the awkwardness now thrown into the gathering. Instead he just shifts back to his original position on the bench. As soon as it was clear that the two of these kinfolk knew each other, Night's Reprieve felt slightly better about Imogen having sensed her before him. There was a moment there where he was literally shocked by her announcement of Cigney's arrival.

"You new here too? I rolled into town half a week ago." This directed at Cigney, his accent is strong, Cajun. It's obvious where he comes from and its not around here.

[Cigney North] "Uh, yeah...I've been here about a month now. Moved here from northern Cali..."

Oh thank goodness. A bone...

"Fitness instructor".

[Imogen] Night's Reprieve strikes up a conversation with Cigney and Imogen pays only half an ear to it as she reaches into her purse, retrieving the paraphernalia of her nicotine addiction. She lights up the cigarette without comment or offering it to either of them - though perhaps she assumes neither would be interested, one being a fitness addict, the other being a Garou who showed little interest in her fag before.

She drags deeply on the cigarette, filling her lungs before turning her head to exhale it away from the two, watching as the smoke curls away from her.

[Night's Reprieve] "I hope the city is treating you well, have you met many of our tribe here?"

Yes he includes her as part of his tribe, he was brought up well. Brought up in a very traditional house hold. Kinfolk are to be respected. Imogen gets a small glance when she lights up another smoke, though her addiction doesn't seem to bother the Garou at all. To each their own, though it makes him wonder what an awakened cigarette would be like.

[Cigney North] She notices Imogen lighting up, and seems a bit sad. But she doesn't say anything. Who was she to preach to a Dr. of all people. Figuring she'll probably stay awhile, Cigney begins removing some of her training gear. Looking down momentarily at the heart rate monitor, she taps a button or two to save the information. Then begin removing her watch.

"Yes, it's been a nice change. And just a few".

Cigney looks at Night, then back down at her watch.

"You're from Louisiana?" Doesn't take a genius, just watch enough True Blood I suppose...

[Night's Reprieve] "Yep, New Orleans born and raised." The playground was definitely not where he spent most of his days. He turns to Imogen and asks the next question to both her and Cigney.

"Where did you two meet anyway?"

Ah yes, the old meet and greet story. Sometimes interesting, sometimes boring. You never can tell.

[Imogen] She is not participating in the conversation - but frowns briefly while Night's Reprieve speaks, her gaze turned outward, not particularly seeing anything.

Imogen takes another drag of her cigarette, shaking her head slightly. Her hair is vibrant. In sunlight, it must be a brilliant red, the kind of colours rarely found in nature. It is also quite unruly. As she shakes her head, strands of it fall from behind the dam of her ear, slipping down over her cheekbones. She pushes them back with a hand, her cigarette still held between her fingers.

"We ha' mutual acquaintances," she says. Kora. Trent. "We met long enough t'exchange names, s'about all."

A beat.

"Has someone told yeh we're in a state o' war?" this to Cigney more than Garou, oddly enough.

[Night's Reprieve] So tempted to just ST a monster out of the shadows to emphasize that question.
to Imogen

[Cigney North] She simply listens to Imogen's response, not really adding anything. No need to cause it really isn't her place. Cigney nibbles on her lower lip, then rubs the back of her neck a little bit before taking in a deep breath. When Imogen speaks of war, Cigney blinks and shakes her head slightly...holding that breath

[Night's Reprieve] "You really shouldn't be out running around by yourself at night."

He's not coddling her or lecturing. Just pure facts. He doesn't mention what he found and killed just blocks away from here. That information is probably likely to frighten the poor girl half to death.

His attitude towards this kinfolk is completely different to his attitude towards Imogen after having found out who the suit wearing woman actually is. Not that its surprising.

[Imogen] ((*LOL* Oh the irony would be TOO heavy. and also, people named Mei must get to bed early at a decent hour tonight.))
to Night's Reprieve

[Imogen] Imogen casts Night's Reprieve a glance, her expression muted and hidden, unreadable. She merely turns her attention back.

"S'not to scare you," she says. "Or lecture you." Perhaps that was pointed, despite Night's Reprieve's best efforts. "But th'Garou ha' had it declared so for some time. So," a beat. "Just be aware."

[Night's Reprieve] Yeah for sure, I've also got a oneshot with mindy and some others in about 40 mins so will have to bail as well. Another time though, if you want. I can throw some things at Imogen and NR.
to Imogen

[Cigney North] "I'm not exactly helpless..."

But she knows what war means...

"But I'll take better precautions".

Her eyes flicker over at Night, then at Imogen.

"On that note however...it's late. I'll stick to the lighted path".

[Imogen] (sounds cool!

just don't kill me

/end paranoia

*grin*)
to Night's Reprieve

[Imogen] "That's probably for the best," the kinwoman replies, somewhat mildly.

[Night's Reprieve] AHAHA I wouldn't do that silly.
to Imogen

[Night's Reprieve] His eyes rake over Cigney once more before he replies. He almost half considers walking her out of here, or perhaps just keeping an eye on her travel home while he makes the rest of his rounds. But she says she isn't exactly helpless, he's not about to force his help upon someone who doesn't require it or wish it.

"I agree, be swift on your journey."

He'll linger a moment longer, perhaps talk with Imogen more, but he really should be leaving soon to continue his patrol. Idleness is not for one of Fenris.

[Cigney North] Cigney nods at Imogen's comment before starting on her way.

"Goodnight then, be safe".

She doesn't say anything else as an awkwardness sets back in. It's strange though, now that she's looking for something in the dark, anything really.

[Imogen] "Goodnight," Imogen replies, lifting her cigarette back to her mouth, inhaling deeply.

(thanks for the scene!)

[Cigney North] [thanks!]
to Imogen, Night's Reprieve

[Night's Reprieve] "Night." Is all that is offered from the Godi and he watches Cigney walk or continue on her run before he speaks up again, turning to Imogen. There's a quirk in his lips when he speaks and his eyes sparkle with interest for the question.

"So I told you I have been to the wyr-- Uh, trophy pole." A pause. "You've done well for yourself and its refreshing to meet a kin who actually can take care of herself beyond mere words."

There's another moment of silence there, or perhaps Imogen interjects, either way he continues.

"You have gained much honor for yourself Imogen, it is obvious to me that the other Garou respect this or they wouldn't have put your trophies up in the first place. I'm pleased to have met you."

[Night's Reprieve] [er, I forgot to put a question in there at all. *waves hands rabidly in air*]

[Imogen] (pauses in writing my reply)

[Night's Reprieve] [no its fine, just go with as is]

[Imogen] Imogen's mouth twists as he offers a word substitution. "You can call it th'wyrm pole," she says, a little dryly. "I'm not so ignorant as to need special word translations; at least not once I've had them explained to me."

He continues - she cuts him off at 'I'm pleased - '. "Don't," she says, abruptly. A pause, a beat.

"Spare me yer - awe or whatever it is. I don't want it. I never killed a thing intendin' fer the Garou to find out. And had any o' the Garou who 'respect' me so much actually asked me, did I want my trophies on the wyrmpole, I'd ha' told them no."

[Night's Reprieve] This strikes him as odd and his face shows it, his brows narrow, his eyes focus on her ever more intently. Her reaction is unsettling, albeit for a very brief moment. His jaw clenches and his body tenses.

"I.. do you know who the Garou are who have done this? Who have put your trophies on the wyrm pole? It is a great honour to be included at the caern like that. But it is a personal honour, not one that should be given against someones will."

He seems very clear-cut and definite about this point. He has strong beliefs.

[Imogen] Imogen cuts the Garou a glance, a sharp edge of it. There is tension beneath her skin, in her spine, in her muscles and sinew.

"A Garou's honour," she says, simply. "Not mine. S'your world o' glory and honour and whatever. Not mine." She's quiet for a moment. A drag of her cigarette, deep, intense. She fills her lungs and lets the poison begin to work through her blood stream. Exhales, then speaks.

"I know who are like t'ha' done it." She says, "And likely I'll let them continue t'do so because it's not affected me much. But this - " a gesture of her hand, meaning him, or perhaps this moment. "affects me. I'd rather you kept it to yourself."

[Night's Reprieve] He nods his head, his eyes drifting away from the Kin and he pushes himself up from the bench.

"I shall respect your wishes. But I must continue my Patrol. You know what's out there as well as I, I suspect. So I won't tell you to be careful like a whimpering pup."

There's a pause, he may have just done exactly what he proposed not to do.

"Be well Imogen, I'll keep an ear to the spirits about you." He grins and dips a hand into the pocket of his jeans once more. "I'm sure they have plenty of good stories to tell."

It's a compliment of course, though to use her own words; it is a Garou's compliment.

[Imogen] Imogen's eyebrow arches as he tells her to be careful by saying he will not tell her. The eyebrow settles as he continues, her mouth remaining still, even. Sealed.

It is a Garou's compliment. In the end, she merely ignores it.

"Goodnight," is all she says, lifting her cigarette back to her lips. As Night's Reprieve moves back onto his patrol, Imogen returns to her cigarette. Not long after the Garou has gone out of sight she gets to her feet and moves off, herself.

[Night's Reprieve] [WRAP!]