Imogen the Mob Boss.

[Kora] Mykonos - a diner on 103rd Street and Carver Boulevard - is something out of NYC. Half Greek restaurant, homestyle, half greasy spoon diner with the usual suspects on the menu. The neon sign in the window that just promises -

Food - 24 Hrs

The sun a good hour ago, and the sky is choked with clouds. There's a chilly wind rising from the north that chases away the stagnant feeling in the air. Some homeless man in a wheelchair walks himself slowly forward. The footrests are turned up, his feet move on the pavement. The smell that rises from him is a revolting combination of body odor and urine, sharp enough that the Skald gives the man a second look as the pair step around him, heading for the diner. "They have the best gyros here, man. The best."

[Roman Turner] He could smell the man before it registered he saw him. For a moment hunger was chased away by the stink. But he was raised where wheat grew in the fields and folk were different than the closed guarded way they were in the city. Maybe one day what made him different would be worn out of him, for now it wasn't. So as he walked along with his Alpha, listening, he was watching too. And when they went around the homeless man in his wheelchair, a deft as pick pocket, something green was dropped in the man's lap and a hand patted his shoulder as the pair parted and moved on.

"What's a year oh?"

He pronounced it just like it was said, though when he saw the menu there was going to be a debate on Gyros.

[Linus] (Whoop. Fack. I may have to drop in later if you guys are still around. If not, splargh! I gotta take care of some stuff alas. I'll lurk for now)

[Imogen] (don't wait for me, I'm waiting for you guys to enter the restaurant!)

[Kora] The man - a mangy speciman with a headful of wild hair knotted, thick with grease - has his head down, his arms braced on the arms of the wheelchair, concentrating on the movement of his feet. One after the next after the next on the sidewalk, with the sort of precision and concentration an amputee might give to relearning to walk. He's wrapped in three or four layers of filthy clothes, with a thick, matted beard obscuring his face. Kora glanced at him with that inherent brace of suspicion; Roman dropped him some cash, discretely acknowledging the homeless man's humanity. He looks up, gives Roman this gap-toothed sort-of smile as the kid walks by. Drops his head again, and makes that dollar or five disappear into the folds of his filthy coat. The whole tableau plays out in reflections on the plateglass windows, beneath the neon blare of the sign.

"Roasted spiced lamb," Kora informs Roman, the scent of the man behind them now, her appetite returned. " - with veggies and this sauce in pita bread. Seriously delicious." This bell rings as she pushes open the front door. A waitress and a short order cook are behind the counter, talking. The handful of other patrons look up, and conversation briefly dies. Then the waitress pushes away from the counter to show them to a table.

"No," Kora says, " - that one," and indicating a corner booth with views of the diner and street, farther from the rest of the patrons than most of the other tables.

[Imogen] Imogen is in the restaurant when they enter - not seated, but leaned against the counter, in a conversation with a greasy, balding man, his wifebeater straining over his paunch, his apron stained.

The conversation is direct, intense, the older man appearing belligerent defencive, though his eyes flick sharply toward the door as it swings open, admitting Kora and Roman into his establishment. He stares at them suspiciously before turning back to Imogen, shaking his head.

Whatever she says next stops him, causing his brow to furrow. Realizing with a certain cold satisfaction that she's won, Imogen straightens from the countertop, holding out her hand, palm up, though the abrupt pull of her fingers toward her palm, makes the gesture demanding rather than supplicating.

"C'mon, then." The word is barely heard.

He stomps away - and stomps back, an envelope palmed in his large, meaty hand. Passing it over, despite his obvious belligerence is a subtle affair, and Imogen slips it into her pocket. If at any point, either Garou approaches or appears to consider it, she'll shake her head sharply at them, her awareness now split between the two.

"Could I ha' a coffee, please?" this deliberate, quiet. The cup is nearly smashed down, the coffee slopped in. Imogen pays him with his own money, taken discretely from the envelope inside her jacket.

A little later, she is walking toward the corner booth, the restaurant's proprietor returning to the kitchen with a baleful glare.

[Roman Turner] "This one of them places where they spit in your food? Put bugs in your pity (pita) bread?"

His question came because of the glaring man, though there was miss Imogen looking like she got a pay off or something. So in his mind, she got to be the food taster, just in case.

"Howdy Miss Imogen!"

He wasn't shy about calling out and waving his arm.

[Paul Kellogg] Luck? No perhaps it were just Kismet. Coincedince didn't just happen according to most of the Garou nation. And if it did, they'd after the fact say it were destiny but never before hand.

Anyways, Paul...having done his sheit for the day. Which including self indulence and whatever else floated his boat for a typical Coggie...found himself saddling up upon a Greek resturant. Why? Well anyone who's anyone can tell you grape leaves are f***ing awesome!!!

So He entered the estabilishment, with the idea to order just that...Wearing jeans, his five finger vibrams, and a simple long sleeve tee.

[Kora] That exchange - the sharpness of it - draws the edge of Kora's attention. The Skald folds herself into the far bench seat of the booth with a fair view of the diner, the counter, the front door, the patrons, the bloody glow of that red neon light, and keeps her dark eyes forward, Imogen and the restaurant's owner in her peripheral vision.

"I have no idea if they spit in your food, Roman," Kora returns, with this quiet sense of inexorable logic. "And since I'm hungry for a gyro and some spiced fries and maybe a baklava sundae, I'm going to write that thought out of my head here and now."

Imogen returns then, her coffee cup, the bottom ridge crushed in two places from the force with which the proprietor set it down on the counter. "Doc - " Kora says, lifting her chin in greeting as she pulls the menus up from between the salt and pepper shakers and the napkin dispenser. " - the hell was that about?"

Her voice is always low, a hint of richness underneath. When Paul Kellogg walks in, Kora lifts the edge of a laminated menu in a brief, semaphore wave of invitation.

[Roman Turner] He added a wave towards Paul but his attention locked on Imogen as he stood to offer her a seat.

"Did ya call him a yella belly sap sucker or something? I don't think he was too pleased with serving ya coffee."

[Frost] Nothing like spending the day exploring the underbelly of the city. Although she seems to have made her way into neutral territory here. Hell, it may even be safe to grab a bite to eat. She settles her eyes on the Greek restaurant across the street, pursing her lips. Ah hell, why not? Checking traffic the tall blonde strides across the street. Supper is way over due. Adjusting the collar on her duster, she steps into the restaurant.

[Imogen] Imogen had ignored Roman's greeting, effusive though it may have been while she'd finished her business. When she approaches the booth, she greets them both with a flick of the eyes.

"I did him a favour," she says. "He owed me money."

A brief glance to Roman, ignoring his comment. "Do me a favour - next time ha' a care before shouting out my name. Sometimes I'd prefer others not know it."

[Paul Kellogg] Did Paul see that invitation? Why yes!..Hell he went straight for their table. Despite the fact a hostess got upset that he totally dismissed her.

Beaming bright, he settled at the table with a glance about those in attendance. Yet that did not stop him from slapping his hand down prominately upon it's hard (the table) exterior. "Women are nucking futs..thats all I have to say about them. I've resigned myself to the fact that I'll never again know a pack..Im ok with that..I'll make do with does of the blonde persuasion...all being kin of this or that for sure..but still. Anyways...I want to thank you Kora, for being the only fucker here in Chicago to have taken an interest in August's well being....thank you...I owe you big...gyro's for everyone? Do they serve more than beer in alcohol?" He inquired before looking about the establishment

[Imogen] Imogen regards Paul as he speaks, a long series of phrases, before she merely answers one part out of - well, however many.

"They ha' ouzo."

[Roman Turner] "It's supper time Paul and we got lady folk with us. And while I'm sure either one could curse ya under the table without thought, I think it's best we don't start cursing at the supper table."

Imogen mentioned ouzo and had already corrected him, so his next words to Paul were.

"Ya see, they have Ouzo, let's get a bottle and preceed to get friendly with it."

[Frost] The little bell on the door chimes as she steps inside and looks over the place, inhaling deeply of the aromas before she decides if she wants to eat here. Mmm... it does smell good. The hostess seems a little put out after being snubbed by someone and sighs dramatically when Frost doesn't respond right away to her greeting and question of 'one?' Instead she peers a moment towards the group in the back of the restaurant. Finally she looks at the waitress, pinning her with cold blue eyes. "Yes. Seat me near the back."

[Kora] "Never would've figured you for a mob boss, doc," Kora replies, her voice low, her dark eyes on the front door. There's that little bell that rang when Paul walked in. It's getting a workout tonight, and dings - this tinnysound - as Frost walks in after Paul. " - doing favors and getting payoffs." It's not approbation in Kora's voice, it's admiration, when she finishes, " - that was some fucking shakedown," - this hint of humor underneath.

Paul arrives, Kora makes room. For the moment, though - she's distracted by the woman who just entered.

There are a good two or three empty tables in either direction from the corner booth, but the group that sits there is a strange one. The blonde Skald is recognizeable even from a distance, pale hair an distinctively sharp features. Her eyes ae still, settled on Frost until the latter returns the look. The Frost receives the same semaphore gesture of an invitation - a lift of the edge of the laminated menu, and a lift of the creature's sharp jaw by way of invitation.

[Kora] Then and only then does Kora look back at Roman, the edge of a half-smile curving her mouth, before at last returning her attention to Paul, dark eyes sheening in the flourescent light of the diner. The edge of a curve to her mouth. " - you don't owe me, Paul. I'm glad you're back, though. And that your mate's well."

[Frost] She gives a slight up-nod as Kora gestures and steps past the waitress, who is batting a thousand tonight in the impertinent customers category. "I can set myself," she tells her, heading towards the colorful group in the back.

[Paul Kellogg] "Ouzo is great, cept in large quanties and without Tuaca..." And it was then that he finally seemed to notice and even accept the fact that Imogen were among his company. Which brought a huge smile to his lips. "Hey Doc...how you doin? Would ya liake a Sambuca Shot with me? If they ave it?"

Sharply making a gaze to Roman. Simple were it really...an expression that said..Sssshh..just go along. Yet his chesire grin remained the same. "Little brother, would you be more happier with something of a darker persuasion? Im of the mind to say..yes...Shall I order for you?" Turning to Kora, he simply shook his head, a frown forming on his lips

"No dear fille, while I love you most of all of your and their Get..I must say this..my mate has bid me to be an ass in the next company meet. She thinks her condition has been sullied..agree or not..Im afraid to make her happy I must be blunt..and who better than I? He without friends or pack...Hey Doc...how's tricks?" Glancing back at Imogen with a playful wink

[Imogen] Imogen scoffs faintly and perhaps had a comment to make, but Frost's entrance distracts her. When she speaks, it's a voice low, meant for Kora, though it is not as if the others at the table could not hear her, "Met her yet?" she asks.

The group is definitely ragtag. Imogen sits straight, poised in the booth, a to-go cup of coffee in hand, taking up a small corner of one far edge of the bench, closest to the exit. A slight woman, she barely takes much space to begin with. Her hair is brilliant, bright, red, and swept back from her face, twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck.

Roman, a teenager. Kora, a woman with blonde hair, doubtlessly knotted. And Paul, talking a mile a minute.

"I hope yeh like black licorice," this to Roman, before glancing at Paul. "Well enough," she says, and he invites her to drink with him, "I'll pass," she says, "thank you."

[Roman Turner] "Why? They give black licorice out with dinner?"

He wasn't sure what Paul meant about something darker. Was he talking food, drink or women?

[Imogen] "Ouzo," Imogen lifts her coffee, black for a sip, "and sambuca, fer that matter, is flavoured wi' anise." A beat, then she adds a clarification. "Tastes like black licorice."

[Kora] "Her?" Kora says, breaking off as Frost steps around the waitress, begins down the narrow aisle toward the ragtag little group. She looks up again, though. Finds and fixes Frost with her dark gaze, mouth curving into the edge of a half-smile. " - I met her once, yeah." There's a brief pause, as Kora breathes out a flaring breath. Still quiet, a sidelong glance at Paul briefly as a sort of stay, really, an acknowledgment, a sharpening of interest. She's heard him. She'll come back to that, later. " - is she what I think she is?"

Then a brief highlight to Roman, a quick negation, a twist of her pale head. "Ouzo's the Greek vodka. Tastes like liquorice." She does not add, So I've heard, but does glance back at Paul, briefly. "I'm having unsweetened iced tea. X-nay on the Sambuca, sorry."

[Imogen] "Kinfolk," this still in undertone. "One o' yours."

(and now Mei is not allowed to post anymore for a bit, holy crap)

[Paul Kellogg] All three, whenever Paul spoke. But Obviously Roman hadn't yet learned or truly picked up on that.

A nod to Imogen, he hadn't expected her to acquiesse, actually he'd been surprised had she actually said yes. So when he turned his lucid smile to Roman he simply nodded. Adding with a wink. "Pay attention my friend...." Glancing to Kora...then to Roman..and back again. Were he the only one oblivious to who they were stalking and watching with their eyes? Well...yes.

"Hey..fuck you..are ya'll drinking with me or not damnit?"

[Frost] She arrives at their table and her pale eyes take in the gathering. "Evening," she says, and she could be greeting any of them or all of them; although the two women get a nod. "Nice to see you again Imogen. Kora."

[Roman Turner] He didn't know the tall woman and at that moment he had Paul in his face offering exotic drinks. "Yah, I'm up for trying your drinks."

[Paul Kellogg] HOLY SHIT!! As Paul twisted, turned and saw. Well the most exquiste blonde he'd seen thus far. I mean for real...she were akin to a teen's porn fantasy and more.

Blinking twice he now understood why his buddy Roman were so distracted. Actually even turning towards Roman and smiling. "Dude...why didn't you nudge me?" Chuckling before righting himself and returning his gaze to the newbie...a shake of his head and he were solidfying the walls of 'NO..I am NOT Trouble' as those who mattered to him had made his latest mantra.

[Kora] "Cool," Kora returns, this quiet acknowledgment to Imogen. Roman, beside her, can feel the way that knowledge relaxes her, relieves that hint of tension in her spine, in her body. "Not me," Kora returns to Paul, " - it's a work night. The kid might be good for a few drinks, though," she continues, with a fond, sidelong glance at her packmate, sixteen years old. Going on twenty, maybe, like the rest of the Nation.

Her eyes return to Paul, then. Linger, the edge of her mouth turning upward as she corrects him, almost gently, " - you're not without friends, Paul." The firmness is underneath, that uniquely animal confidence, the ease she has in the space she inhabits. "What's this about August feeling sullied? When and by whom?"

Then, Frost arrives. Or rather, Frost arrives in the midst of that and Kora doesn't bother to censor herself, Imogen's knowledge emboldenin her. "Frost," Kora says, her generous mouth curving into an easy, expressive sort of smile. There's not a false note to it, though there's a sort of quiet there. " - have a seat, or pull one up. It's good to see you again. We need to talk, I hear we share a common heritage."

A brief pause. "I heard you know the doc. This is Roman. And Paul." Indicating each with a tip of her pale blonde head.

[Frost] Her eyes slowly glide towards the man who has taken oggling to a new level and she arches one brow at him, then Kora is speaking and she settles her attention on the woman. "Yes, Imogen and I have met. Nice to meet you gentlemen," she says, dragging a chair over from another table and turning it backwards to straddle it, sitting in the aisle at the end of the their table. Kora> "I always have time for... family." She smiles.

[Roman Turner] "Nice to meet ya. We're Paul and Roman, ya know, from the Beatles, only we were frozen so we wouldn't age and just recently thawed."

[Frost] Smirks at Roman. "That explains a lot."

[Roman Turner] "Ya see?" He leaned towards Paul was he spoke. "If you say it with conviction and present it as fact, they believe anything."

[Kora] "Ringo," Kora corrects, quietly. "There wasn't a Beatle named Roman. He was Ringo. Unless you've changed your name?"

Frost's acknowledgment of - familial - ties draws the right corner of Kora's mouth up. The lopsided half-smile would be a smirk on another face, but there's that hint of awareness there, self-awareness that does not devolve to self-consciousness - that keeps it ironic without sinking into a smirk. The dark-eyed blonde studies Frost now without interruption, this close-eyed sort of attention as the kinwoman sits down, backward, in a chair at the edge of the booth.

[Paul Kellogg] Paul just laughs and give an expression of surrender with his hands. "Thats sooo you buddy, sooo you" Though he did turn to Kora, about to speak his mind, but thought better of it and just sat silent for the time. Instead ordering himself a very stout drink and one for Roman..even if he were underage, he made it so it seemed to be ordered for himself

[Frost] She leans towards Kora, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. "See? If you pretend you believe them, pretty soon they start believing themselves."

[Paul Kellogg] Paul quickly pssst Frost. Pointing an indirect finger at her. "Hey..I miaght be attracted to blondes superficially, and always end up with brunettes...but don't let that confuse you to the fact that I know what you fuckers are about..being blonde myself..Im ahead of the game. You best at least make my boy Roman feel special.or the very least..Kora..I don't care whatcha think bout me...I got a harem full of blondes..and they all hate me..so whats one more?" Laughing before returning to Kora. "Seriously Kora...sexy, darlin, baby...what do I have to do to win your patronage or admiration?"

[Imogen] Imogen casts Roman a brief glance. "Let's here you sing 'Here Comes th'Sun'." She says, arching an eyebrow as she lifts her coffee cup back to her lips.

[Roman Turner] He accepted the drink from Paul and though his breath caught with the first sip, he finished it all. And turned a smile on Imogen, singing sweetly. "Little darling, it's been a long long lonely winter." In which he had to stop and burp.

[Frost] Paul manages to get both brows raised as he goes on a blonde rant. "Dude, take your medicine, I think you missed a dose." She grins at Imogen's challenge then laughs when Roman steps up to the plate and gives them a verse. She waves at a waitress. "Beer. Closest thing you got to black."

[Kora] When the waitress finally gets up the nerve to venture close enough to take Paul's drink orders, Kora requests a gyro, with fries, and a side of spanakopita. Doubles the order for Roman, perhaps - and requests not an iced tea as she'd thought, but a coke with a slice of lemon. Thank you, she says as the woman leaves, though the woman is unlikely to hear it, really. She just wants to remove herself from the space they all inhabit.

"So that's your strategy," Kora replies to Frost, that spark of interest gleaming in the creature's dark eyes, the movement of her head inhuman there. Just the sharp lilt of her chin upward, the way she tips her head away, the way she watches, unabashed, all speak to the animal inside her body, the wolf under her skin. There's humor there, not lilting, quiet and perhaps a bit dark, though it brightens when Imogen demands a chorus of Here Comes the Sun from Roman. And that stills as Roman sings, even sweetly.

" - well," Kora's attention returns to Paul then, lingers there as she shakes her head, rueful, and this gesture is almost limitlessly human. " - you can stop calling me sexy, for starters." The faint hint of a burgeoning smirk is a bit weary. She's tried that before. Then, that half-smile filters away, and there's something still about her. "You've got my friendship, Paul. You fought with me to avenge my kin. That's not something I'll forget."

[Imogen] "Long cold lonely winter," Imogen corrects him. "Sorry, 'Ringo', but you've been caught out."

Imogen shakes her head slightly at the waitress, taking another drink of her coffee, instead.

[Roman Turner] .In the worse English accent he said. "I didn't have me bleedin cards."

[Frost] Imo> "You gotta give him points for trying," she chuckles, although her ear is more closely tuned to what Kora is saying to Paul.

[Paul Kellogg] He looked to Frost...quickly gestured with his hand towards Kora. "Yours...not touching it..not interested even." Chuckling. It were obvious he had a few drinks before coming here. But was that out of the norm for Paul? Not really. A gaze to Roman, another Imogen. The sexy self indulgent Doctor, how he could only wish she'd treeat his illness...

Turning back to Kora he wickedly smiled. "I got an Egyptian doe staying with me and August...I miaght even have in a day or so, a Falcon's feather, both blondes. Im telling yah cause well..I liake ya.:" Smiling again, though he spun to Roman. "Im gonna need your help brother...I can't say on what or why just yet..but be forewarned..I'll be looking to you on a tribal matter here shortly..and I hope you'll be there for me, even if it's drama both you and I can otherwise have done without..but who knows the will of our opposites? Not I..not You...and thus comes our curse...how say ya? Other than hit me with another shot?

[Roman Turner] "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait." He shook his head, trying to figure out what Paul was talking about. "Ya got yourself a pack of women and ya need help with their drama?"

[Frost] She can't help laughing at Roman's response. "Yeah, get in there and help him," she encourages. "It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it."

[Roman Turner] "Oh I ain't never been much for drama and I learned real young if the drama involves a bunch of women, a man's place is as far away from that hen party that he can get."

[Frost] The blue eyes glitter with amusement. "You're not going to tuck tail in your friend's hour of need are you?"

[Roman Turner] "If he done dug himself a hole with a bunch of ladies, I will give him the advice that ya choose one and stick with it. That's about as far as I can go with that."

[Kora] Imogen correct "Ringo" and Kora huffs out this quiet laugh. It's still, except in the way it moves her shoulders, her bdy underneath. "Touche, doc," that hook-curve half-smile, here, the glance is sidelong, brief and intent. " - remind me not to let you test my knowledge of the Beatles' songbook. There's this look that Kora gives Frost, this acknowledgment of her interest, this awareness of her at the table. Then Paul's discoursing drunkenly on the state of his harem, and Kora picks up the bottle of sambuca that waitress has just brought to the table -

- along with Frost's dark beer and Roman's drink and Kora's coke and maybe even her gyro, damnit, with fries. Her gaze remains on Paul, brief and glittering. Readying herself to repeat the question she's still not had answered. A brief, lilting look toward Frost. Then back to Paul, " - why does August feel sullied?"

[Paul Kellogg] He pointed a finger at Frost. "You..shush...this is familie business..nothing to do with you blonde big wigs from the Balkains and nethers..." Swiveling on Roman, he couldn't help but laugh. "Yes...NO...Yes...but no.../b] Slaping his hand upon his knee before stealing a sip of his drink. Shaking his head again as if to re-itterate the issue. [b]"No..not drama as you miaght think...but drama simply because..yes..they are ladies. It's actually quite simple really...I can break it down for you if you liake...but frankly in the open..among well...other folks of other cultures and triates...Im not sure we'd want to do that just yet"

[Frost] Her eyes meet Kora's briefly, a silent acknowledgement... a statement of interest... things to come. A public place. A bit of banter. Most of the real talk will come later, she knows.

[Frost] Paul gets an amused look, but she eases up. "California actually," she inserts when he dresses her up in her own heritage.

[Paul Kellogg] He spun on Kora, hands open in gesture. "Im gonna talk to my battle Roman here alone in a moment..or perhaps later on a Coggie issue thank you...that you or no..yes..that means no one outside of our tribe has business with save me and him...deals with... Laughing before shaking his head, he then seemingly directs his whole attention upon Kora. "August is very upset about the fact that while pregnant many a Garou decided to see it fit to kick her from lodging at the Brotherhood..and even protection from pack because and I qoute from she...'Infants aren't good with Garou'...to the point that she would liake to take it to the voice of the Goddess of our Triabe...which in effect Kora..isn't good.."

[Imogen] (FYI, folks, I gotta start working. I'm going to be really sporadic in my posting!)

[Frost] She listens to this bit of news, lowering her eyes as Paul talks about an issue of strange interest. She's never really spent much time around this side of the family. She had always imagined they would be particularly protective of pregnant women and the very young. Apparently she imagined wrong.

[Imogen] Imogen glances up as Paul speaks, an eyebrow arching slightly. Her gaze rests there several seconds, her expression unreadable, silent, cool.

After a moment, she gets to her feet. "Goin' t'ha' a smoke," she says to everyone and no one in particular.

[Frost] She watches Imogen rise and retreat. Paul's news, unaccountably brings a flush of shame to her, for those who would put out a pregnant woman. Her eyes trail the redhead and she rolls her lips then glances at Kora.

[Kora] "If you and Roman want a moment alone, go ahead and take it." Kora replies, her voice low, as she leans over her plate of gyro and fries, peeling back the layers of the sandwich to make sure everything is as she wants it. "Frost and I have a few things to discuss along similar lines, so I would not be offended. As to the rest of it," a brief, sharp glance at Imogen, a faint gesture of her head by way of acknowledgment before her attention returns to Paul, her dark eyes even, her attention direct, easy and assured. " - the Brotherhood, and your mate, I have advice for you, if you want to hear it."

[Kora] (FYI: Blu fell off AIM, so I'm guessing he's gone for the night since it is laaaaaaaate fo him.)

[Paul Kellogg] "Its not a question of do I want to hear it, or should I? It's a matter of politics. I left my mate in the care of a Sept who set her out on her own because of her pregnancy, considering unsafe for the 'Garou' in attendance? That only you and your pack came to her aid? Who among the nation would rally behind such packs or sept if such workd were made namestay? You and I both know noone...noone would back a single pack from Chicago, no totem, no Garou for such a blatant disregard of our kin, yet it happened. Thus I can ake our charge to the Nation..and be branded here by those seeking to be well..unadmonished...or I can simply ignore my mates viable protests and keep them to myself in the hopes to secure Sept Politics.....what is more important to Chicago Kora?" With a raise of his brow to his friend. "Im asking you as my friend...

[Paul Kellogg] (wow..sorry for all the misspells lol)

[Frost] Her eyes rest on Paul as he speaks, her expression serious. This is her first direct interaction with any sept and what she's hearing does not bode well, in her mind. God she hopes Kora tells him to kick ass and take names. Her eyes flicker back to her kinswoman.

[Kora] "I don't live in the Brotherhood, Paul." Kora begins, this is quiet. There's this undertone there, a storyteller's patience written into the rhythms of her speech. Kora has an expressive face, dominated by dark, reflective eyes and an expressive mouth, this stillness underneath, this assurance, a deeper confidence. "I never have. In my home Sept, there were some lodges for cubs, for packs passing through, for unpacked Garou. We took care of our own - yeah? But nothing quite like the Brotherhood. Temporary quarters, sure, but I couldn't live there long term."

A pause. "They offer hospitality to anyone. I heard a story that Silence-rhya fell through the gauntlet wrestling a giant wyrmsnake in the common room. Garou of all manner pass through, and the place could easily be compromised at any time. Information given to the enemy. The doc's phone number - and a few others, maybe the Brotherhood's location - were compromised like that, when Joey Oliver's cousin was kidnapped, and tortured by the Wyrm. I heard that she rescued him once, then left him alone and he was taken a second time, never recovered.

"That's where I start. I don't think the Brotherhood was a good place for your mate, for your pregnant mate. There's not a pack of Garou. There are two packs, sometimes, maybe there. Ahrouns, cliaths, even cubs barely controlled - I might've advised her to seek shelter there, but I do not think they were wrong to suggest that she find another place to live. For her protection, and the child's sanity, if nothing more."

Here, Kora pauses, still, her eyes level, an undercurrent of anger in her voice, this deeper thrum of it. " - if you are telling me that the Garou of Maelstrom and the Brotherhood kicked her out without provision for her, without assuring themselves that a pregnant kinswoman - a pregnant kinswoman alone in a city at war - was safely sheltered somewhere, though. Then yes, I agree wth you - but when you level your charge, when you make you challenge, focus on the egregious failure of hospitality, not the perhaps wise thought that a child would be in danger among so many Garou."

[Paul Kellogg] "This is why I ask you Kora...because I were not HERE..I were not available to rightly take care of the mate I claimed at that time. But I hear the horror of her predicament..and a horror and complaint I can't ignoe. Thus why I give you so much regard. For according to she, you and only you..not pack..not Sept..not tribe or whatever other affliaction beyond the singular were hopitable to she in a manner that had not hating and loathing thoe of this sept and Caern but seeing them rather as the focus of her angst and energy. A woman scorned if you know what I mean. However, a woman who is my MATE...and one who were likewise seemingly turned out upon the streets. Alone...without aid....a crime to our senses, of all tribes and all auspices fille. Hence, hy I speak this to you..my concerns, reflecting what I have hearead...and what I've learned. I ask you now. were it not for yourself, would my mate have survived?"

[Frost] She sips her beer, taking this all in. There's a loaded question. One likely without an answer. Frost remains quiet, her expression schooled to a careful neutrality. She has no voice here, and she knows it.

[Rain] Maybe there's a bell on the door of the Greasy Spoon. Maybe there's a squeak in the hinge, an irritable little sound that eases-aches as the door opens. Maybe there's nothing but the rush of street sound and cooler, damp air. The door opens, and a young woman enters, holding an scrap of paper in her hand and looking around as if she expected to find someone she recognized here.

She steps in, out of the doorway, brushes her long, straw-straight brown hair over her shoulder. There's an empty table, somewhere. She may have to make her way across the room to get to it. Rain doesn't look like she should be out alone at this hour of night; she doesn't even look legal.

It takes a bit of time for the conversation to filter through to her, the slip of a girl with narrow hips and bee stung lips. It takes a little time before she realizes what and who they are.

Rain unwraps the scarf from her throat, jams it into one of her pockets. She slides into an empty chair. Runs her eyes over a menu absently. Glances around again. Keeps quiet.

[Linus] The front door jangles and the sound of muttering can be heard-

"-Think a fucking bird would be grateful every so often. Bring 'em something shiny and low and fuckin' BEhold where's the fucking gratitude? Shit in a mead horn..."

The man unbuttons a long gray coat and undoes a slate gray scarf, letting them both spread out as he pushes through the doorway and shakes out fingers, like they were wet or cold. Short buzzed hair is given a scrub, like waves of frustration bleeding off in rivulets. The sharp tang of ozone clings to him, cool and frosted like the Gauntlet smells before and after the trip.

He grunts in Rain's direction, a quick glance flashed toward the little kin, slows his gait briefly while trying to find the attached Eve that should be with her, only to speed up in dismissal as he hits the front counter.

"Two coffees, black-...Kor, you want Somethin' while I'm up here?!"

Frank and without a care for polite policy, the scruffy stubbled figure at the Diner counter, receiving glares from the late night waitress for such loud tones at this time and seven hours into her current shift (mood not helped by the bundles of Rage housed at table nine), turns toward the Table of Garou and Kin and shouts at the Jarl with as much ceremony as a Frat Brother near the Keg.

[Kora] Kora listens to Paul's impassioned speech with a stoic expression that belies the sharp - perhaps even irrational - chord it strikes in her. Her body is still, her shoulders set. She's leaning over the table, her forearms braced against the edge, her coke, the lemon slice floating in the dark liquid, marooned on a sea of ice cubes, popping and hissing with the release of carbonation. Her fingers are long, fine-boned and precise, the nails blunt, scrubbed clean, faintly pink against her pale northern skin. Bracelets encircle either wrist, forgettable things made of leather scraps and fisherman's twine that change with her body when she, she-wolf, changes.

Two tattoos are inked into her skin, nestled among those bracelets. Runes: angular, ancient.

One says thought.
One says memory.

"I think," the creature says, with this quiet, sure precision in the aftermath of his passion, this counterpoint, emphasized by the half curve of her mouth. " - that you overstate what I did, -yuf. And you needn't, not to make your point. I don't know whom you have to challenge or accuse. Perhaps they will answer for themselves when you tell the story you have to tell - be sure that they cannot be sidetracked. Your grievance is not that she was asked to leave the Brotherhood, but that they made no provision for her after, gave her no aid, offered no assistance, failed in their duty of hospitality.

Kora looks up as the front door opens, and her features shift, easy. Her half-smile deepens, she reaches for the glass and lifts it toward her brother, like a toast. "How about another Coke?"

[Frost] Still sitting backwards on the chair at the end of their table, Frost glances at the new arrivals, taking a longer look when one of them seems to know Kora.

[Paul Kellogg] Paul sat back. Quickly in his chair. More disappointed now than ever. Even moreso in hi friend. He couldn't blame her. It were a political nightmare to call injustice to an entire sept. To those who'd so eagerly turn their back on a kin. A Pregnant kin at that. Release her, no...bid her farewell into the night without so much as guidance to kin or Garou who could better care for she than they....

No, this were the first time Kora failed Paul. the first time he saw her flinch and with dismay...relent. It were an eye awakening

With a shake of his head he simply groused. "For the stability of this Sept and those I know who's hearts should be judged better than this..I shall not make this an issue. I will however say foul..and claim no Garou here my ally, nor that of my tribe. And I speak for it despite whoever claims the voice of our goddess. Kora..you are excuxed from this judgement..your heart were in the correct place..so too your honor. But not the Sept....but I'd rather see it thrive than decline by espousing the selfish natures of it's individuals..I find it lacking..and thus renounce my claim of support to Maelstrom..I protect those who Garou shall not..I protect the kin they abadone...and nothing else"

[Paul Kellogg] (wow..I really can't spell LOL)

[Rain] There's no Eve. And there's no duffel bag. And there's no pocketed twenty-dollar bill, either, for that matter. Rain has found a place to stash her baggage before finding her way all the way out to the Green. Linus will find her quite alone, and shrugging out of her jacket. She's wearing nicer clothes now, perhaps lending credence to the line she'd given him about her plans for the afternoon. These nicer clothes have long sleeves, so the markings on her left arm are obscured.

She leaves the jacket bunched into the seat beside her when she wanders up to the counter to order a coffee, and half of a sandwich. She says her pleases and thank yous. She calls the staff sir and ma'am. Perhaps, to Linus's surprise, she has money enough to cover her own tab.

With her fingertips resting on the counter, and her body turned away from them, Rain glances over at the collection of Rage and people more than once. Never at any one person. Never when any one person is speaking. She doesn't make eye contact, doesn't let it linger, but there's a nascent curiosity to it.

It'll be up in a minute, the waitress tells her.
"Thank you," she says, with a faint drawl and a slowness. It's polite. Almost sweet.

She hears the words challenge, and selfish and abandon. They send her back to her table to wait. They make her that much more wary, watchful.

[Imogen] There's a brief rap on the window - Imogen lifts her cell phone in some sort of indicative gesture - an explanation, as opposed to an exact farewell. A cigarette still scissored between her fingers - and she starts away, down the street.

(sorry, guys! I gotta work again in like 30 minutes aaaaaaaaaaaand yeah. it wouldn't be fair for me to bring back in my PC and then just fade out again.)

[Frost] ((Good night. Thanks for the rp!))
to Imogen

[Linus] "Shit rots your teeth but whatever!"

He turns to the counter and perks a brow at the Waitress who returns with two black coffees. Then he lifts a finger and points at the nearby Table, jaw pushed forward irritably.

"She wants a Coke. Put it on my tab." To which the reply is a frank hand on hip and pursed lip "Anything else, your highness?"

The gaze narrows further.

"All you people here are fucking critics, I swear." The coffees arrive just as Rain gets to the counter and he narrows his gaze when she orders. A snort later and he pushes one cup forward toward the Waitress. He doesn't take a seat at the counter. Doesn't look as if he's going to try either. He just looks across at Rain evenly, a brow perked.

"That's my Sister." A sharp head jerk off in Kora and her Company's general direction.

"She's been here a lot longer than either of us. Best person to talk to about getting you and Eve situated at this point 'cause I don't know any Rats in this Town less you found some while I was out."

He turns slightly opening the way for Rain to be able to get a good look at the table. It's an invitation of sorts. Not really a command so much as it is a piece of adamant advice.

"Where's Eve?"

[Imogen] ((Back atcha! *grin*))
to Frost