She Does Not Care Much for "Them" At All.

[Imogen Slaughter] There is a park through which a narrow creek cuts, quietly whispering to itself nestled between two manicured banks. In this part of the city, the grass is cut and kept green. The trees may even be large in some places , offering shade. The trees here are tightly pruned.

Her cigarette marks her from a distance, a far away burning ember that moves with the lift and fall of her hand, and sometimes lingers between her lips, though she is not drawing from the filter. In her other hand, she carries a brief case.

She is alone as she walks, her heels clicking softly against the pathway's pavement.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon was dead, he had felt it... He had lost consciousness, he had felt the darkness take take him away. The last of his life was sucked free in a series of vicious bites, the last of which tore deeply into his shoulder. He died last night... And yet somehowe he was still here. He didn't even have memory of what happened afterward. Hours passed before he awoke again... The experience could be seen as traumatizing for some. Literally his own stubbornness was the only reason he was walking around right now. Last night Simon had died... But tonight he was still here. His enemies, however, would not be walking away. This, is what it meant to be garou!

So while he didn't smile tonight he did hold his head high. The scar upon his left shoulder still ached, even though the wounds had healed themselves, the pain a reminder to him. A misstep, failing to properly guard your back, your death was literally your own mistake and it was one most do not get a chance to learn from. They would tell him that his scar was a symbol of great honor! But it didn't feel that way to the Shadow lord. It felt like failure... It felt like fortune had smiled upon him... It felt like the gods themselves had intervened to keep the full moon alive. It really didn't matter what most thought, the scar on his shoulder was his mark of shame. He had been defeated, he had lacked the skill and the strength necessary to overcome his foe and thus his work was far from complete.

Complaints, though, didn't change the fact that he was alive. There was no rest and relaxation for this full moon. He did not get to celebrate a victory with those he had fought beside. Those who had dragged his near lifeless body from the battlefield and all the way back home. Because like it or not this was a war, and whatever Simon might be entitled to there was no time for a break. Patched up and sent the hell back out! No whimpering, no bitching, no complaint. Fight, die, come back to life, sleep, wake up, rinse and repeat. Life goes on... Life always goes on... With or without you.

The soft aroma of smoke in the air hit his nostrils. He smelled it before he even saw her, the young mans senses were more strongly attuned to these things than most. He knew the scent of her brand even when she wasn't smoking... It clung to her skin and soaked into her clothing. Scent was a powerful tool and even humans were beholden to it, even if they didn't realize it. It was that scent that finally brought a slight smile to his face for the first time since he awoke. His eyes quickly spot the woman ahead on his path.

He looked her over, and then around himself suspiciously. People always had this strange way of flocking to the woman. Then again her scent was powerful and intoxicating. Certainly enough to tempt, or draw any garou in even if they weren't technically allowed to touch. Or maybe it just was coincidence?

A shrug of his shoulders before turning his attention back towards Imogen. Smile lifting as he made his approach. It would be rude of him not to say hello!

[Simon Zahradnik] [Oh shit sorry!]
to Imogen Slaughter

[Simon Zahradnik] [I didn't realize I had typed THAT much...]
to Imogen Slaughter

[Imogen Slaughter] She is dressed for business, in a white suit, the slacks and blazer of a thin linen. Her camisole is blue and her hair is red. She has eyes so dark that in this light, they are black, and skin so pale it is almost ghostly when she walks between the the pathlights.

She moves with a certain strength, a certain grace, and though her movements have no embellishment, they are nonetheless pleasing to the eye.

Then again, perhaps that is her breeding speaking. The lines between what Imogen is and what is augmented by her blood are thoroughly blurred and impossible to discern.

She sees him move toward her, and for a moment, her eyes narrow; when she recognizes him, the kin-woman merely stops, watching as he closes the distance.

[Imogen Slaughter] (it's all good! sometimes you gotta go with the flow.)
to Simon Zahradnik

[Simon Zahradnik] There was a certain sense of urgency when it came to dealings with those of the opposite gender. Especially kinfolk of such fine breeding. It was difficult for a young male not to find himself enticed, even excited in her presence. It was the kind of thing you could get an even closer example of on your average documentary. The Garou are not people sure they might look and talk and walk like they show a capacity for abstract thought and language, and even their lupine kin are vastly smarter and capable than your average wolf, but that is about where their similarities end. Young, and charming was difficult for a man-monster to pull off. The scar on his shoulder made what he was all the more recognizable... Garou did not get such marks casually... Whatever had hit him was likely enough to have dropped an elephant with ease.

Sadly for Imogen, the blow had not killed him... And what does not kill him only makes him stronger right?

So he approaches. A smile on those lips as he wanders up to her."Evening Doc. Strange I keep bumping into you in parks like that... You're a lover of nature?"He asks as he looks around the small park and then back to her. His own eyes were not nearly so dark, in fact they were surprisingly bright! Was it the lighting? Or were they always that way? It was hard to tell really. The smile that flashed her way was almost warm... And for a split second it was almost easy enough to imagien he was nothing more than a young man like so many others. That is until one returned their attention to the intensity in those eyes.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen does not smile in return. He's not seen her smile. Not once. Smirk, maybe. Arch an eyebrow to give an edge to her comment. But no smiles.

She takes a drag from her cigarette, turning her head away when she exhales. She is slender - the shape to her neck is clear when she turns, the tendons beneath the skin, the faintest hint of the blood pulsing beneath pale skin, awash in the glow of the path-light in which she stands, just within the halo. It had been indeliberate. Merely where she had stopped.

If she notices the scar, she pays it no mind. If she even realizes it is new, she makes no remark.

"You also run into me in pubs," she observes turning back, her hand lowering, cigarette caught between her fingertips to ash the fag. "And have not yet called me an alcoholic."

[Simon Zahradnik] Eyes do wander, curious eyes, across her skin to trace those pale cheeks, jawline, and even down to her neck. He wasn't leering so much as exploring with his eyes. No doubt she has realized that these are not your typical males and to get after them for such behavior would be like trying to teach a monkey not to bang his favorite toy against the wall. At best she would get a look of confusion and at worst... Well... That doesn't even need to be discussed.

Her skin was pale, not quite porcelain but pale enough that he found himself curious. She appeared so strong, she presented herself with a front of fearlessness that might cause most garou to step down and yet that pale skin gave her a certain fragility in the beasts mind. She was kin... Strong as she might be there was a certain sense of protectiveness instilled in any garou when it came to kin. It was curious and it showed in the gleam in his eyes... Which eventually made their way back to her own.

"Should I make the assumption? I mean I was quick to assume you were more than capable of handling and dealing with your own habits... But I don't know, maybe I was giving you too much credit?"He tilts his head, a playful remark back at her response."I mean there are stereotypes that would claim otherwise but come on! If we followed stereotypes we would have to assume that I am little more than a self centered asshole who wants nothing in the world but power and control. I would like to think that Stereotypes are just that, and that the individual is judged by their actions and not ones impressions. Maybe, though, that is part of my problem? I gotta harden up and be a little more bigoted?"

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's mouth twists marginally, an even expression. "Nature lover is also a stereotype," she observes. "It was kind of you to make my point for me. Though," there is no playfulness in her, merely a quiet edged sarcasm, a humour lurking like a shark beneath water, "you did go a little farther than I might have."

[Simon Zahradnik] He was almost surprised to get what he had out of her. That hard shell that surrounded her wasn't exactly cracked or even threatened, but he got what he assumed was the closest thing to a smile he would likely ever get out of the Kin. He didn't know her well enough, however, to know if that was even an accomplishment or not.

"Nature lover is a stereotype sure but it can also be a compliment in the right circles."He adds with a tone of amusement dancing in his voice. After all what were the Garou if not Nature Lovers? They worshiped Mother Nature, and gladly died for her on a daily basis!

"We all have our own survival mechanisms I guess... I really wouldn't hold it against anyone to... You know... Make assumptions about me. I'm personally pretty big on keeping folks on their toes and all."Though in truth Simon wasn't a terribly reserved or shielded guy. What you saw, for the most part, is what you got. Then again he was a Shadow Lord so it was honestly impossible to tell if there was any truth to any of that."And just how far might you go?"He asks he with a grin. He suddenly found himself curious about the woman's thoughts on the matter.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's head moves slightly to one side, not quite a cant, before she lifts her cigarette to her mouth, taking another drag. "In what? Tellin' you that nature lover in a city park is a stereotype much like alcoholic in a pub? I'd say likely no more than that."

[Imogen Slaughter] (sorry that took so long!)

[Simon Zahradnik] He shakes his head."You said I'd gone a little farther than you would have... Call me the curious one but I like to know what is rolling around in folks heads."Or maybe he was just trying to make small talk? He wasn't the most subtle of creatures in the world though he could be confusing in his mannerisms or thought processes.

"I could also say you're not much of a talker, that would be a stereotype too wouldn't it? It would also be an assumption based off only a few conversations. It's probably a little more likely that you don't care much for me..."He wasn't blind to that little matter, but then again he was a Shadow Lord and the fact someone didn't like him certainly wasn't going to stop him from starting up a conversation."But if I let that get in the way of making conversation I wouldn't ever get the chance to speak to anyone now would I? Besides you seem like good people for the most part. You haven't attacked me yet... I like to figure what does not try to kill me is the closest thing I have to a friend!"

[Simon Zahradnik] [No worries and sorry mine took so long! Rephrased it like 40 times!]

[Imogen Slaughter] (Psst. She said: "you did go a little farther than I might have." Do you want to amend your post or keep it as a misunderstanding?)
to Simon Zahradnik

[Simon Zahradnik] [Hmm I suppose I can adjust the post.]
to Imogen Slaughter

[Simon Zahradnik] He shakes his head."Simple, and concise answer, I would expect no less from a woman who has managed to make her way through High School." A statement more than anything, he was thinking out loud.

"I could also say you're not terribly talkative, that would be a stereotype too wouldn't it? It would also be an assumption based off only a few conversations. It's probably a little more likely that you don't care much for me..."He wasn't blind to that little matter, but then again he was a Shadow Lord and the fact someone didn't like him certainly wasn't going to stop him from starting up a conversation."But if I let that get in the way of making conversation I wouldn't ever get the chance to speak to anyone now would I? Besides you seem like good people for the most part. You haven't attacked me yet... I like to figure what does not try to kill me is the closest thing I have to a friend!"He smiles brightly."Not that I am saying that makes us friends or anything. More to the point that I'd much rather make small talk with someone who isn't shooting me than someone who is... Firearms should stay on the battlefield or, in some cases, the bedroom if you're into that kinda thing."He was smiling now, not implying anything just, thinking out loud again once more. Letting his mind wander from one thought into the next.

His attention returned to the world as did his smile.

[Imogen Slaughter] "I don't care for any of you," she says, almost dismissively. "And that I am not 'terribly talkative'," she continues, her eyebrow arching as she drops her cigarette to crush it beneath the pointed toe of her shoe - respectable pumps that add height to her petite frame, "is probably the only correct assumption you've made about me so far."

She brushes her hand absently across the white-clad curve of her thigh, before letting it fall loose to her side, her fingers curling slightly inward.

"You'll ha' to excuse me; I should be headed home. I'm sure you'll find someone else with whom to exchange small-talk," her eyebrow stirs, but does not quite lift again, "after all, your standards sound quite low."

She steps, headed to move around him, "Good-night."

[Simon Zahradnik] His eyes had left her own by the time she spoke again and his smile faded somewhat. Pale skin... Soft, pale skin. It wasn't a lecherous look it wasn't even a dangerous one. It was a thoughtful glance that drew in the texture and appearance of her pale flesh. He gave it long and cautious pause before he looked up and into her eyes."It's funny really... The way things are and all. I'm sure you've got plenty of reasons to dislike us... We're aggressive, arrogant, and violent. We like to take what doesn't belong to us and lay claim to that which is not our own."His eyes meet her own and his grin slowly returns.

"If we didn't have a purpose here this would would be much better off without us. I can, at the very least, give you that much."He finally says but even then his words didn't appear to shift that look that showed he was thinking something else from his face. He did, however, smile again and shake his head for a moment as if snapping out of a trance.

"I'm sure I will... Hundreds of them, and they'll be interested in what I have to say, and they will like me for who I am."His tone was sarcastic and... Friendly enough considering what he is.

"You take care of yourself doctor. I am sure you have many busy days ahead of you, the week has only just begun."He adds with a nod of his head before taking up his own walk once more. He wasn't gonna wait around or linger or keep the woman any longer than she wished to be. His smile, though, faded soon enough. Something was eating at the Full Moon... It may not have had anything to do with her directly but it was eating him no less. Was it something she said or something else? These were honestly questions that likely couldn't and wouldn't be answered.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen meets his gaze when he looks at her and had, in fact been looking at him as he stares at her, the pale skin of her face, throat, the exposed collar. She has more will than most - meeting the eyes of a full moon without a flinch. His rage should crush the air, even on a new moon night, but on Imogen, it barely seems to register.

Then again, the kin-woman is so closed off, so tightly tamped down that any fear or discomfort she might have may never reach the surface.

As he posits why she might dislike them, she arches an eyebrow. "Yes, well," these words a place-holder, meaningless and nothing. "There is a purpose and you are here, so 'that much' has very little meaning, does it?" There isn't any rancour. She does not mean to cut. The observation is even, merely that: a statement of the world.

He is here. They are here. So is she. The war goes on, and the what ifs and the whos and the whys and the hows were there.

His sarcastic tone draws a smirk - a twist of her mouth, half reluctant, "I'm sure they will," she confirms, meaning it no more than he.

Something is eating at the full-moon, his smile fading. But even by that time, Imogen has passed him, her heels clicking as she walked towards the park edge and her home beyond that, her brief case bumping gently against her thigh with each stride.