[Roman Turner] Light spilled out the windows of the old church, extending welcoming warmth to those that braved the cool temps and what lay within the church. Now and then the sound of hammer blows echoed through the place mixed with the strands of music from the radio. He'd found a local country station so he could sing along when he knew the words. Shadows bounced off the walls, cast there from the lantern.

"Hand me another one."

He glanced back over one tee shirted shoulder towards Rain, nodding towards the two by fours stacked along one wall. They were working on framing in another wall. A carpenter's apron was tied around lean hips, the front pockets bulging with nails. The hammer was shoved in the loop at the hips of carpenter jeans that were stained with paint here and there from previous work. Tonight there was no hat, he was indoors. Tonight it was a chestnut mop of hair he brushed back from his eyes as he held out a gloved hand for the board.

[Rain McKellar] There'd been a morning, sometime in the weekend, when Rain hunted him down and asked seriously if he had a black shirt she could borrow. She'd been in slim black jeans and a tank top, rubbing at her arms to keep them warm. Her hair had been tied up in a knot at the back of her head, not even threatening to spiral out and spill over her shoulders. She'd looked impatient waiting on his answer. She'd looked better. There was some spark of warmth beneath her smile, now, that didn't wait to be beckoned forward. There was a little press of personality that brightened the corners of her eyes.

She'd gone out that day, all in black and with her guitar in tow. She'd come back late, late into the evening and crashed hard. Rain had been smiling. She'd been happy.

Now they're framing in the wall and he's singing along with the country music station. Now and again, he might catch her smile warming to something like friendship. And given enough time, she might just sign along. Rain knows some of these songs better than he does. There's a chance, slim but ever present, that a particular track might come along and stop her in her paces, catch her attention away and steal it up for a moment, breathless. There's a chance that something of Rain's might come out of that radio, not that she'd tell him why the boombox got her attention for a moment and not that it'd be her voice singing on the airwaves.

She'd sold them to make ends meet, that's what she'd told Harmony.

The girl hefted another board for him, brought it over and handed it to Roman. Her smile hasn't abated. It's still warm, like the lantern light. It's wholly different than when he'd met her.

"Here ya go," she says, as the board finds his grasp. Once he had it firmly, she wandered back to the stack to get another. "How long have ya'll been workin' on this place?"

[Roman Turner] He'd given her that black shirt she asked for, giving her a choice of two, one was a button down long sleeved shirt, the other had been a black tee he bought after moving here "I (a heart) Chicago" across the chest. The times she joined in singing he'd grinned like a fool and tried to harmonize with her, even did a few two step moves. When "Nothing but the radio on" by Gary Allan came on, he even did some Cha-Cha steps, grabbing her hand and trying to get her to dance along with him.

She asked a question later as he took the board she fetched and as he lined it up and stretched up to tack it in place, he replied.

"Been working on it since I joined up with Miss Kora, on about July this summer past. Sparrow was suppose to help, but she went back home."

[Rain McKellar] She'd chosen the button up, and she'd rolled the arms up at some point during her day away. The I Heart Chicago printing would have been a bit conspicuous for what she was off to do, and that? Well, if he'd asked, she'd tell him she'd gotten a crew job. And if it worked out, it might be steady money through the holidays.

That had to be good news, right?

If Roman couldn't find the harmonies, the Rain could let him take the melody and work her voice around his. She was pretty good at this singing thing, which would explain that guitar that followed her around most days. She hadn't played in the packhouse, just yet. When Roman grabbed her hand and tried to get her to Cha Cha along, Rain laughed and followed. She was a decent follow, not a great one. A little out of practice, but the rhythm worked its way easily into her bones, and she had heart (even if her form left something lacking).

"I didn't know you danced," she said, lightly and lilting. A pleasant surprise, now doubt.

About the packhouse:

"Seems a good project, though. Rebuilding home." There's approval in her voice. It's the sort of thing Rain could get behind, even if all she was doing, tonight, was saving him a handful of shuffling steps between the pile of boards and the section of wall he was focused on. "D'ya all work on it, or just you?"

[Roman Turner] "Mostly it's been me. I'm not all that great at it, but I'm willing to try and Miss Kora, she's too important to do things like this. Sparrow is gone, so that leaves me to do this."

He didn't say he wouldn't hear of Kora lifting things in her condition because Kora might hear him and beat the snot out of him.

"So how's that new job going? Do ya sing or what?"

[Rain McKellar] "It went well enough. I'm not performing, but I'm crew. It's nice to be close to that again. We set up the stage, speakers, mics, monitors, lights, all of that before a show and break it down after. Since I can play a few instruments well enough for sound checks, it helps. Crews are a bit like family after they work together long enough. My old one traveled together, too, kinda like gypsies."

She waggles her eyebrows a bit, obviously overstating her former vagabond ways. She also doesn't mention that it's bittersweet, crewing someone else's gigs. Rain's pretty easy to please, and at least this is honest work in a field she loved. (Loves.)

"I talked to Eve this weekend," she says. Just leaves it out there while she picks up the next piece of wood and brings it over. She's figured out the cadence of her footfalls in the space. There's this many steps, then a pause to pick up the wood, and that many steps back. It's like a rhythm, offset by his hammer blows. It's almost music, when you thread in the country songs. "And met Ms. August."

[Roman Turner] His hammer stilled for a moment, losing rhythm when she mentioned Eve, though in a moment it was going again.

"I need to have a little talk with Miss Eve also. How was MIss August? After what Paul said, I ain't sure if I should approach her or what. I was hoping to find the family elder here in the city to have a word with her about Miss August, but ain't seen her once since I been here. So I reckon that's another thing on the list."

[Rain McKellar] "I told her that you and Mr. Harmony might want to talk," Rain said, still about Eve. "She said you two sound like honorable folk, and she doesn't mind."

That's probably not exactly how it went, but it's close enough for Rain. That's how she remembers it, at least, but with a measure more sadness.

"Miss August's right torqued with family. She thinks ya'll left her and Ella out to hang with what Mr. Paul's been up to." Rain's voice is even, but she's bothered a bit by that situation. August's situation bothers Rain significantly more than her own. "Miss Jeela and I are going to check in on her now and then."

A pause, then Rain exhales a little. It sounds unhappily like a sigh.

"Did y' know she's expecting, again?"

[Roman Turner] For a brief moment something like anger and guilt had him holding still again before he pushed it down.

"Who's Miss Jeela and what's she expecting?"

August blamed family for her mating with Paul? That rattled his brain box.

[Rain McKellar] "Ah, no, Miss August is expecting another child," Rain clarifies. "I'm sorry. I wasn't clear. And Miss Jeela is kin, but I'm not sure to whom. I met her the other night with Miss August and Mr. Kyle. Mr. Paul was there, too."

Even Rain's voice frowned at this. Her dislike for the Bayou-born Gaian had grown over the past week. It was undeniable. She did not elaborate on why.

[Imogen Slaughter] The glow in the dilapidated church had confirmed the presence of the pack inside. Or, one packmate. Or, to be perfectly accurate (and we might as well be), one packmate and one stranger.

The music is loud enough that the creak of the old door is half hidden in the sound of music and their conversation. But sound does not obscure sight. The kinwoman is slight, her shadow expanding before her as she steps into the laternlight, her hair brilliant in the illumination, red, but more complex than a single simple hue. There is gold buried in there, a base of deep oak brown. Roan and rouge. It is not quite ruled by the clips and pins she has used to pull it up.

Her eyes are dark, even in this light which only gives enough illumination to reveal that they're blue, and they move briefly to Rain, resting there a moment, a copper brow stirring before it flicks to Roman.

"Sorry to interrupt." It's politeness, rather than genuine.

[Roman Turner] "Let me make sure I have the right of this. Paul and Miss August were together when you saw them the other night and she's pregnant already? Not to sound indelicate, but did she say who the father was this time?"

Then Imogen was there and he bent to turn down the radio a bit with a big ole smile.

"Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am! I ain't seen ya in a coon's age. This here is Miss Rain, she's Kin of my Tribe. Miss Rain, this here is Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am."

He brushed his hands off on the seat of his jeans.

"Come on in and have a seat."

With that he was gathering chairs, brushing the cheap plastic seats off for the women.

[Rain McKellar] Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am is a mouthful, even for someone with deep Southern roots. There's a lot of titles and honorifics wrapped up in that collection of syllables. It's the sort of thing that makes a girl Rain's age stop and stand a little straighter.

Not too much straighter though. She's already five and a half feet, which is a good size for a girl who's likely got an inch left to grow into throughout her college years. And tonight, unlike most of the others she's spent in Chicago to date, Rain is smiling warmly enough to bring her natural charisma forward.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," she says, opting for the honorific over the slew of titles. She offers a hand, once she's smoothed the dust and lingering splinter-shards off on the seat of her jeans. Her fingers are cold, but not icy. There's a slow, sweet drawl to the shape of her voice.

For a moment, Miss Doctor Slaughter's arrival has tabled the gossiping Rain had started in on with Roman. She doesn't answer his questions, just yet.

[Imogen Slaughter] "Dr. Slaughter will suffice," Imogen smirks faintly, giving Roman a narrow eyed glance, "Regardless o' what he says."

She turns her gaze to the girl - younger than she is, which is hardly unusual. Imogen is a woman likely in her thirties and seems to spend her time surrounded by teenagers and young adults, at least in matters that pertain to that of the blood.

Her eyes drop briefly to the offered hand, before she reaches out to take it. Imogen's grip is firm and cool. "A pleasure," she says, by rote. The kinwoman is not American. Even with those brief untelling sentences, it was immediately clear. She's been mistaken for all sorts of nationalities - everything from Irish to Australian. It's the kind of accent that always pleases a North American ear but is never quite easy to place.

Roman makes a production of finding chairs, brushing them off, and Imogen watches him, without moving toward it. Her hands are in the pockets of her coat now, drawing the edges up toward her body. She is ill-suited to this place; too expensive, too put-together.

"It's coming along, isn't it?" she says, her gaze moving over the building, over the floor.

[Roman Turner] Imogen commented on the work inside and he grinned ear to ear, turning to look at what they had just been working on. The wall was roughly framed in and with luck they'd get hold of some wall board before long.

"Yessum, it's coming along. I finally got hold of some singles and took care of some of the leaks. It needs a new roof, a complete tear off, but for now, roofing tar and mismatched singles will have to do."

He seemed completely immune to narrowed looks from Imogen, if anything it had added to his smile.

[Imogen Slaughter] Her gaze moves briefly to the roof as he speaks about it. "Are yeh goin' to be able t'actually do that?" she asks. "Remove the roof, I mean?"

Rain has been helping. Imogen makes no effort to do the same, though she does not yet take the chair provided.

[Roman Turner] "May I offer ya a drink Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am? Heat up some soup for ya? We have a cook stove ya know. As for the roof? Sure, I know how to do it, it's a big job and ain't cheap, that's the problem. One man on this roof, it would take a solid month. It might also draw too much attention, so gonna have to talk it over with Miss Kora. Might be we will stick with patch jobs."

He brushed the chair off further, figuring he must of missed some of the saw dust because Imogen was still standing.

"Have I said it's mighty fine to see ya again?"

There was that goofy smile again.

[Rain McKellar] Rain tucked her thumbs into the back pockets of her jeans. She could do that now. Enough of the stiffness had left her back and shoulders for her body to be pliable and lithe again. It was something she was still celebrating, quietly and inwardly. The more Roman fussed with the chair, the more her mouth skewed toward one side in an unabashedly amused fashion.

"I can help," she says, gently. "With the money at least, now that I've a job. Not sure you want me up on the roof in all this rain and wind."

She watches Imogen, but not openly so. Instead Rain finds a patch of finished wall to lean against, leaving both Roman's carefully prepared chairs empty just now. On her part, she's lightly teasing the True. She's not quite sure that Imogen's teasing, though. She'd put money on Miss Doctor Slaughter being too good for sawdust and splinters.

(And Rain would understand that. Good clothes weren't for construction, after all.)

[Imogen Slaughter] "Patch jobs might be better," she says, her gaze lifted to the roof again, "this place is supposed t'be abandoned, after all."

Roman had earlier ignored Imogen's narrowed eyes. It seems that now, the kinswoman ignores the obvious fawning he makes over her. Do you want something to drink, soup, it's so nice to see you again. Rage or not, his is the kind of grin that can cause cold hearts to melt.

"I'm alright," she says to the offer of drink or soup, "At before I came by."

Her gaze lowers to the boy. "Sorry," she says, almost absently. "I've been rather busy." A pause. "I do need a favour, though."

[Imogen Slaughter] (err: "Ate before I came by.")

[Roman Turner] "Anything ya need, I am your man."

His face lit up with the words that Imogen needed something from him. That big ole smile was bright enough to light the room.

[Rain McKellar] She found Roman's attention to the other kinswoman endearing, or adorable, or some other fondly appreciative adjective. That good natured amusement remained, coloring Rain's expression faintly, touching the curl of the corners of her mouth or the edge of her eyes.

Imogen needed something. Roman's face lit up and Rain turned her attention fully toward her. They were both curious. Rain a little less avidly so, but that could be excused. She was new to town; she didn't know Imogen's name or reputation just yet.

[Imogen Slaughter] The corner of Imogen's mouth twitches imperceptibly, then stills, as she removes her hand from her pocket. In it, she holds a small toy car. A police car to be exact, one that appears to have seen much better days. Its wheels are raw and torn, its paint redone, possibly by hand. One of its sirens is broken, the plastic cracked, and sealed with what might be glue.

She studies the car for a moment, which makes an unlikely sound of sirens, and in the cup of her palm, impossibly tries to scurry up the heel of her hand to hide in the cuff of her coat.

"I was wonderin' if yeh could hold on to this fer me 'till tomorrow," she says, finally. "S'an awakened car tha' has took a likin' to me a while ago. Its creator is dead," she says this with a certain amount of bluntness, "and it sought me out. I normally keep it in my apartment, but," a slight shrug, "tomorrow, that's not possible."

[Roman Turner] When he stepped forward, it was slow and silent, even the floorboards didn't creak beneath his weight. And when he spoke it was a hushed sound.

"I'd be honored to. I'll keep the little fella safe and sound till ya come for him. Though odds are he won't be too thrilled to be away from ya if he done chose ya himself."

He extended his cupped hands to receive the little car.

"What's his name?"

[Rain McKellar] Usually Rain kept her distance from the odd things that life in the Nation brought across her doorstep. Usually, she'd stay across the room until the thing or person or worse had been handle. But a self-aware toy car? This didn't seem to phase her. She even pushed off the wall and wandered closer to get a good look.

"How long have you had 'im?" she asks, in a small hollow of their conversation, formed by someone's pause or someone else's taking breath. Her eyes flick down to the toy, then back up to Imogen's. Rain's first Warder was a Seer, often more lost to the tangible world than here in it. An Awakened car, so long as it didn't become Rain's charge, was sort of fascinatingly adorable.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's brow contracts faintly. "It's a car," she says, an eyebrow arching. "It never occurred to me to name it." Stark, the difference between the two and her. She says it. They say he and him, and want to know his name, and how long she's had him.

She passes the car over, with a sudden squawk of sirens and a frantic whirring of wheels, the little thing clearly distressed to be parted. The kinwoman's mouth tightens slightly, though it does not appear to be distress, more - a resignation, perhaps, or simply a reluctance.

"A few weeks," she says, "maybe a month."

[Roman Turner] He gently cupped his hands, curling his fingers so the car couldn't ramp up them and out to fall. All the racket had him leaning back a bit as he held out his hands to Imogen.

"Ya best tell him we ain't doing nothing ya don't want us to. Best tell him it's just for a short time. He's taken a shine to ya, that's a rare honor and blessing."

[Rain McKellar] Roman leaned back, but Rain leaned in. She peered at the little thing in his hands, with it's lights and sirens blazing and its wheels careening. She leans in enough that she can see it, even with the way his fingers curl to keep it safe.

Rain glances at the both of them, and then reaches in to touch her fingertip to its roof. As if touching it might make it a little more real to her, and also as if touching it may be incredibly fool-hardy and dangerous, or maybe, who knew, it might calm down a little (or start spinning in circles).

It was terribly fascinating, the little car that could.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen casts Roman an unreadable glance, her jaw tightening, a tendon flexing as it does. She watches, while Rain touches the car, watches as the lights all flash suddenly, the car's wheels whirring, though they go no where. The wheels are rough on Roman's palm. The little car has had a long journey or two (or ten) on tires meant for a child's toy, and therefore, no long journeys at all.

The car does seem to calm a little in the aftermath of Rain's touch, still rocking back and forth in the cup of Roman's palms.

Here is the point where Imogen is to offer consolation to ... a toy car. Reassure it that she's coming back for it. The reticent kinswoman stares down at the cupped hands for a moment, before leaning forward and saying, without any softness at all, "I'll come back and get you soon." A beat, her mouth thinning, before she adds, "It will be alright."

...

Imogen, frankly, is not the woman you want to care for your favourite pet, your child or your toy car.

[Roman Turner] "Now kiss him on the top and he'll believe ya. He's alive Miss Doctor Slaughter, and like all living things, he needs love, Ma'am."

He lifted his hands, waiting for the kiss.

"Ain't that right Miss Rain?"

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen has straightened by the time Roman speaks, and she casts Roman a black look, her eyes narrowing. "If it wanted love," she says, "it picked the wrong person to latch onto. Should it truly need a kiss, either one of you is welcome to oblige."

[Rain McKellar] Rain, God and Gaia bless her, glances down at the pitiful toy, then up to Roman, and then over to Imogen in a round-about expression of mild disbelief. She... knows better than to correct a True on spiritual matters but Miss Doctor Slaughter does not seem like the sort of person who would go around kissing toys, or skinned knees for that matter.

"I ...."

Imogen saves her from answering, so Rain's wide brown eyes swing back Roman's way to see what he might reply. Meanwhile, she pets the car's roof again, consolingly (She didn't mean it that way, honey).

Just once or twice.

When Imogen weren't looking.

[Roman Turner] "It is not asking for your love Miss Doctor Slaughter Ma'am, it is giving you all of it's love. It's decided to devote itself to ya and the least ya can do is to reassure it. It's a small gesture, Ma'am. Won't cost ya nothing but some dignity and there ain't no one here judging ya."

[Imogen Slaughter] Instead, Imogen holds out her hand to take the car back. "I'll find another way t'keep it out th'way, if you please."

[Roman Turner] The corners of his mouth twitched and before he could control it, burst in to a full smile.

"It would seem dignity is too high a price to pay for complete devotion. Just as well ya keep him with ya, he'll fret something awful if he's parted from ya. Good call."

Gently he opened his fingers, offering the little car back to Imogen with a whisper to it.

"There ya go fella, just what ya wanted."

[Rain McKellar] Incredulous. That's the best word for the expression that flicks across Rain's face when Roman whispers back to the car and surrenders it to Imogen. Miss Doctor Slaughter conjures up words like surrender and yield in Rain's mind. Roman doesn't just give the car back to her, no, that's far to simple a word.

Her hands find her way back into her pockets, and Rain wipes the amusement from her features. Mostly. She wouldn't be goaded into grinning by the broad smile Roman wore. Not just yet.

"I hope you find a good place for him," she tells Imogen. She almost corrects herself to say it under the weight of the kinswoman's un-amused expression. "Ma'am," is the addendum she settles on instead.

[Imogen Slaughter] She does not let him complete his point. If Rain has a highly evolved sense of a kinfolk's place in the world, it has likely been thrown asunder by these short moments. Imogen does not seem to abide by much of it: "Spare me th'lecture, Roman. Yeh aren't a theurge."

She takes the tiny vehicle back (which squeals its relief), and pockets it again.

Her head turns to glance at the half-done wall, her gaze resting there for seconds longer than it needed to. "I'll let you both get back to yer work, shall I?" she says, eventually, turning back. "A pleasure to meet you," this to Rain, as she steps back and toward the door.

[Roman Turner] "Don't need my lecturing Ma'am, I believe those squeals of joy say it all for me."

This is that point that if he had been wearing a hat, he would of tipped it to her. Instead he bowed his head as she started to leave and called out.

"Y'all come back, Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am. And remember, even those we reject, often have value."

[Rain McKellar] Rain rubbed her hands together. It wasn't frigid inside, but neither was it particularly warm tonight. If there was time, when Roman had finished sharing his viewpoint and before the other kin left, Rain wished her a "Good night, Doctor Slaughter."

All the same, the younger kinswoman is moving back toward the pile of boards at the edge of the lantern light and leveraging up the next one to bring back to Roman's work space. She stops and waves a bit at Imogen, or her back, or even her receding shadow. It's just polite, see, and Rain's a friendly sort.

"She seems nice," she'll tell Roman, once Imogen is out of earshot. It's pleasant and vague enough to shroud all sorts of opinions.

[Imogen Slaughter] Roman calls after her - and Imogen does respond or turn. She has exited the building before the sentence is fully finished, Roman's last words cut off as she steps out on the street.

Outside, a block away, she looks skyward toward a cloud covered sky. No stars and no moon to be seen here. After a moment, she reaches into her jacket pocket to pull out the car. There is nothing obviously poignant about this moment, she does not kiss it now, nor even stroke it. But she does lift it to her eyeline, regarding it steadily for several seconds, her mouth compressed, her jaw tight.

She returns the car to her pocket. In a few steps, she retrieves her cigarettes, and in a few more, she is smoking. Her car is a few blocks away, and she is back on her way home, the nameless police car safely tucked away in her jacket pocket.

[Roman Turner] "She calls me a bloody fool, or idgit, whatever it is, it is said with great fondness. I think though that while she is a Goddess set adrift on this world to walk alone, she is not the Goddess of Love or she would of kissed the little fella to reward him for his loyalty and sooth his concern at being parted."

He returned to working for only a few moments more before suddenly asking Rain.

"Ya hungry? I'm hungry. We could warm up some soup or go out for burgers."

And that's how the conversation went after Imogen left.

[Roman Turner] ((And now I need sleep something desperately. I think you both for the play.))