Her Choice.

[Trent Brumby] Trent is prompt. He's even a little early, but he doesn't mind waiting. His sedan is parked a little away, locked up against the night. Wearing a pair of jeans and a buttoned down shirt, he's gone for that neat-casual after scrubbing up from work. It's late enough he's already done dinner, ate with Erick, and stowed left overs for his mate.

Now he waits, hands in his back pockets, watching the world go by.

[Imogen Slaughter] The evening is clear and warm, stars hidden only by the lights of the city, skyscrapers surrounding them on all sides, glass buildings reflecting the street lights.

The building at which Trent stands has steps leading up to the front doors. Beyond them is a darkened lobby, a glassed in front desk and a single, locked door with a scan pad in front of it. The hallway, just tangible through a single window in the door, has been dark since Trent has arrived.

Imogen is late.

Some five, ten minutes - none of this matters unless Trent has a watch, unless he checks it, aware of the time he arrived, and the time that has passed - later, the light in the hallway comes on, creating a small warm glow through the square. A few seconds later, the door opens, and a slight figure steps out into the darkened lobby.

Her hair, bound back by a clip, is a muted rouge in the dim lighting, the brilliance softened, like faded embers. Her attire is black, her skin ghostly white. He cannot hear her footfall as she steps up to the doors, but he can hear the click of the lock as she undoes it, then the click of her shoes as she steps outside. She turns away slightly, keys jangling as she fits one into the door lock, locking up. No one else is here at this hour - no one except the security guards.

"Trent," she greets him as he approaches, sliding her purse down her arm to slide her keys back inside, to retrieve a hard case of cigarettes.

[Trent Brumby] He has a clock on his phone but he checks it only once, before stuffing it back into his pocket. It's a ladies prerogative to be late and he wasn't going to hold it against her. He's a patient man.

When he hears the door unlock, open, lock again, he slides his hands out of his pockets and stands up straighter. A hand sweeps across his short black hair, cropped recent enough to make curls into half their size, and steps over to meet the woman that descends the stairs.

"Imogen," he greets her with a smile. He's a little nervous. She makes him self conscious, but he handles it well. "Thanks for meeting up with me. It's nothing I wanted to discuss over the phone."

"You sure I can't buy you a drink somewhere?" He'd asked that on the phone, too, quite happy to wine and dine her -- strictly business style, of course. The Kinfolk is devoted to Kora like only a single minded man can.

[Imogen Slaughter] She shakes her head slightly as she flicks open her cigarette case, drawing out the fag and fitting it between her lips. "Don't mention it," she says, her words slightly muffled around her filter.

She lights up, drawing the smoke into her lungs slowly, filling them deeply with tar and nicotine and other poisons. She turns her head as she exhales. "Yeh can join me for a coffee," she says, speaking in a breath laced with smoke. "But I prefer t'use my own money."

She tilts her head toward the stairs, sliding her purse back up her arm as she takes another drag, starting to step away. She takes the steps easily in her heels, clicking softly against the concrete. Imogen is the kind of woman to cut a graceful silhouette. Tailored clothing, high heels, a fit body, and the confidence to move it in any way she desires.

She casts a glance the Fury-kin's way.

"What can I do fer you?"

[Roman Turner] (Er, where are they?)
to Imogen Slaughter, Trent Brumby

[Imogen Slaughter] (on the street near Cook County Medical Examiner's office.)
to Roman Turner, Trent Brumby

[Trent Brumby] Nodding simply, he followed in her wake, moving to match her pace and walk along side her. He's not offended by the fact she wants to buy her own drink, and seems quite content with coffee. It soon becomes apparent what the conversational topic is going to be, and, surprisingly, its a topic that Trent seems far more comfortable with then any other man. This is attributed to his blood Tribe and cultural raising.

His voice is low as he asks her, "Do you know much about Garou pregnancy?"

[Imogen Slaughter] A brief, untelling pause, before Imogen speaks, evenly. "I've not exactly had any opportunity fer in-depth study. Not in medical school, is it?" It's the kind of thing that should be accompanied by a smirk - however, her mouth is unmoving.

[Trent Brumby] "Mmmm," he guessed as much but was going out on a limb.

"No, I understand that," he goes on, a little unsettled by her demeanor but moving past it, "I just thought you might have heard something. I can't exactly go and speak to the Sisters around here. Since I took up with Kora, as you can imagine, I'm not the most favoured of my bloodline."

Furies vs Fenrir.

[Imogen Slaughter] A beat.

"Perhaps you should just ask me what yeh'd like to know."

[Roman Turner] He spoke from behind the pair. When he turned up, who knows? Though it was obvious pretty quick that he had been following and listening for a bit.

"Ya can't get in the motherly way Mr. Trent. Though if it does happen? Let me know cause I think we could make a truck load of money hitting the talk show circuit."

When they looked back they'd find a familiar stetson and beneath it the smiling face of one Roman Turner.

[Trent Brumby] Right.

He takes a moment to think on that, on where to start. "Do you know any dangers, aside from the obvious battle injuries, that come with a Garou carrying child?" Looking towards her. There's more, but, Roman speaks up.

Glancing quickly over his shoulder, he lets out a quiet laugh, easily amused by the thought. "I'll be sure to do that."

"How are you Roman?" Purposefully distracted by the talk.

[Roman Turner] "I'm fine. Are ya doing a paper on how to get pregnant or is Miss Kora in the motherly way and my senses have gone dull?"

He just threw it out there.

[Trent Brumby] "Kora's pregnant," he confirms. Then he gets this strange little look across his face. Trent doesn't frown that much but he is now, and for those that can read well, he's a little hurt somewhere under all that too, and worried. It passes quickly. He gets on with it.

"She didn't tell you, then?"

[Roman Turner] "Apparently not and apparently my senses have done gone dull here in the city."

He started to look a little green.

[Imogen Slaughter] A glance at Roman, wry in a sharp, restrained way. "I believe tha' someone else may ha' already done that particular stunt," she observes. "Yeh won't get much cash now."

A pause. She lets Trent answer the question before she answers his, taking a drag from her cigarette, her eyes forward on some distant point.

Once he's answered and regardless of the answer, "I would imagine tha' the obvious risks are enough," she says. "Garou do not get ill, as a rule and their bodies are more resilient than humans."

[Trent Brumby] "Sorry." What for? Maybe he doesn't even know. It's the appropriate thing to say. Garou loosing their senses isn't something to laugh at anyway. He's heard all about the hates of the city plenty times over. Maybe he's saying sorry on Kora's behalf, too.

This is an awkward situation and he's at a loss for words momentarily.

But Imogen is answering his questions then. "Yeah. She hasn't been sick. Just eating a lot of different foods. It didn't occur to her that she could be, even if, you know, the obvious." They've been together for awhile now, and while they may see Kora in a particular way, Trent knows her in a completely other manner and she's not shy with what she wants.

"What about shifting and the spirit world, all of that. Does that have an effect? She won't talk about it. I don't know if she knows. I had to explain a few things myself." About pregnancy tests. "I want to be able to answer her questions."

[Roman Turner] His color was off and he had gone silent. About the only thing he was doing was a lot of swallowing and shallow breathing.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen casts him a sharp glance, her eyebrow arching. "Really think she'll turn to yeh for them, do you?" A beat. "Questions about a world yeh've never seen, can never reach, and the only person she'll be able t'reach out to is you?"

A pause.

Imogen takes a drag of her cigarette, slowly. Exhales it. When she speaks again, the edge is duller, but still there. "Kora is a Garou and a Fenrir. She appears t'possess at least a moderate intelligence, and she is not isolated from other Garou. What's more, I imagine she knows her duty as a -" yet another pause. "Female of the blood.

"Leave the pregnancy t'her. She'll keep it if she can."

[Trent Brumby] Simply, he's put in his place.

"I know that. I'm trying to ease her worries." He's concerned. Trent doesn't want to tell them how Kora's features changed and how her fingers shook. There are things that are private and he's beginning to think that this was a mistake. Especially going by Roman's expression.

Coffee no longer sounds like a good idea.

[Roman Turner] He had been in combat with Kora, having no idea she was in a fragile condition. He had let her dive in there and he had no idea the risks. Suddenly Kora went from Alpha to female in his brain and the risks taken made him physically ill. In point of fact, he leaned forward and tossed his cookies in a splash at Trent's feet. Look who had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.

[Imogen Slaughter] There is a distinct pause at Roman's statement on the proceedings. Trent doubtlessly stops walking, and Imogen does too, staring down at the partially digested food and bile, then back up at the green Roman. Down again.

Improbably, the corner of her mouth twitches.

"So much for 'more resilient'," she observes.

[Trent Brumby] Stunned.

He's stuck on the ground where his nice leather loafers are splattered in vomit from a Garou. At least it's meatballs and not some sort of chunky bitten off fingers and the like, not that he can think of anything more then the fact -- Roman just puked on his shoes.

Trents mouth is slightly opened as he looks from the vomit up to the Garou, and one has to wonder about the way his vein throbs suddenly in the side of his head and he flushes with some colour, that has to do with a rising anger that he has to swallow down.

Roman's green features help with that, and youthful features remind Trent of age differences. "You could have turned the other way," he manages, sounding distinctly upset.

[Roman Turner] "No sir, sometimes things just won't wait."

He did have the grace, as he dragged the sleeve of his jacket across his mouth, to mutter.

"Sorry."

Visibly shaken, he was already sending across the totem link to his cousin Sparrow.

~Sweet Jesus, Miss Kora's done got herself in a family way.~

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's gaze lowers back to Trent's shoes.

"Want t'find somewhere t'clean them off, or just gi' up and go get 'em off at home?"

[Trent Brumby] "You know," this at Imogen's suggestion, he's stepping back and trying to get them off with the back of his toe to his heel, "I'm just going to take these off and go home." They've only ever seen him polite and generously willing, but right now he's a fuming, adult male who is perfectly capable of violence, thrust into a situation that isn't going well for at least two of them.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this, Roman," his shoes come off, leaving him in black cotton socks, "and if you want to talk about it when you're feeling better, give me a call." But he suspects that he'll go to Kora instead.

His tone is far more curt then it was moments ago.

[Roman Turner] "No sir, I ain't got nothing to talk to you about it. I appreciate ya telling me so I can pass word to my cousin, she should know as we are Pack."

And they hadn't been told by their Alpha. That hurt and his mouth tasted horrible.

[Trent Brumby] If he was in a better mind frame, he'd do so some explanation. Or try to. But he really couldn't care right then. He's leaving Kora to her mess, while he cleans up Romans.

A quick look to Imogen, after he's picked up his shoes, gingerly holding the back of them by the heels. "I'm going to have to take a raincheck on that coffee. Thanks for your time tonight Dr. Slaughter."

Then, to both: "Goodnight." Before he's heading back to where his car is parked at a long, unhappy stride.

[Imogen Slaughter] "Trent," Imogen calls after him as he starts to stride away.

A moment's pause, after he turns.

"Don't gi' her medical advice or what yeh hear on somethin' yeh can't understand. Tell her that she's strong enough to manage this." A tendon tenses in her jaw - only Roman is close enough to see the flicker of it, the sign of her own tension, breaking through the surface like a shark beneath the water.

"Probably a better choice o' words."

She offers Roman her cigarette, wordlessly. Hardly gum, but a different taste, nonetheless.

[Trent Brumby] "I've already done that. Don't worry. I know she's Fenrir." A glance from Imogen to Roman and back again. "She does too." With a small nod of his chin, he turns back to continue walking to his car, parked off in the distance. He's not a happy chap.

[Trent Brumby] [thanks for the scene guys! lol.]

[Roman Turner] He took the offered cigarette and started puffing like a freight train. Just waiting till the Alpha impregnator was out of ear shot.

"She should of said something. I let her go in to battle without a care for the second life she carries."

Yeah, he might be sick again.

[Roman Turner] (Thank you!)

[Imogen Slaughter] (back atcha!)

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen lets him keep the cigarette, instead reaching into her purse for her case again. She starts to walk - neatly avoiding the vomit. " I find it hard t'believe tha' Kora enters battle only wi' your express permission."

[Roman Turner] "You know what I mean."

He grimaced with the dinner left behind on the ground, yet a secret little part of him was right pleased that he barfed on the culprit of said lost dinner. That was another story he was going to have to grace his cousin with.

[Imogen Slaughter] "I know it's not your responsibility," she replies.

[Roman Turner] "I know if anything happens to that unborn child, I will never shave because I won't be able to face myself in the mirror."

He inhaled deeply as his stomach complained. Sparrow he expected, but Kora? She went from battle buddy to female with a single word and it was doing a number on his brain.

[Imogen Slaughter] "Frankly," she says, "That's your problem. Not hers.

[Roman Turner] He blinked, giving Imogen a blank look. Maybe his hearing was going too, or his brain?

"That's what I said. I will just have to be extra vigilant with her and see to it nothing can hurt her."

[Imogen Slaughter] "You're missing the point," she says, before shaking her head. "It doesn't really matter. Look - I'm walkin' home. Yeh should probably head yerself back t'yer territory. S'nothin' interesting going to happen out 'ere tonight."

[Roman Turner] 'If I am missing the point, then what is it?"

He had stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk to crush out the butt beneath his boot with a simple twisting of his foot.

[Imogen Slaughter] She walks forward several more steps before turning back to look at him. "The point is tha' it's her body. If she does not want t'be -" a moment's pause for her choice of words, "locked up in a glass box, then that is her decision. And if she does not want her packmates," her gaze is cutting as she turns her attention his way, "treatin' her like she's made o' porcelain, that's her choice as well."

She takes another drag of her cigarette, turning her head to exhale it.

"However, I can't be bothered t'stand 'ere and argue for her; do as yeh want."

[Roman Turner] "Yessum, I will. Because while it might be her choice and a blessing? It is my choice to worry for my packmate, for the future she carries and it's tiny hope it holds. That is my nature and like ya said, my problem."

He touched the brim of his hat.

"Night Miss Doctor Slaugther, Ma'am."

With that he turned the other direction and walked off.

[Imogen Slaughter] She says nothing - merely turns back on her way.