The Friend Every Garou Wants.

[Michael Carroll] A Tuesday night in February does not typically bring crowds to an outdoor tourist attraction, and tonight is no exception. The park is only sparsely populated. While the occasional small group of sightseers may pass through, the average pedestrian on this chilly evening is a local resident simply trying to make his way home. It's a peaceful reprieve from the typical chaos that ensues everyday in Chicago. The sounds of the city seem far away, as if every catastrophe had been politely moved from the relative sanctuary of the park.

Michael sits alone on a worndown wooden bench, his equally worndown fiddle resting in his lap. The Irishmans quick fingers dance across the strings, testing the tension carefully before he lifts the instrument to rest below his chin. In a moment the silence surrounding him is filled with a fast-paced and jaunty tune. He plays competently and confidently, for his own amusement. There are few nearby to hear him anyway.

[Imogen Slaughter] Eventually, someone might comment that Imogen seems to be frequently found in Grant Park, running. They'll be right. But this will be a first time experience for a certain Michael Carroll, so too much dwelling on that is unnecessary.

Certainly, she is running now. And not in panic, not in fear, not to hunt, but for exercise, or adrenaline, or - some other, wholly human cause. She runs, her leg muscles contracting and extending, her core muscles contracted, her breath inhaling and exhaling in time with her step. Her attire is lighter than most - she is moving enough to keep her lower body warm, and her upper body warmer than the average walking person. She wears only an athletic zipper-hoodie over some lyrcra top beneath, leggings, her running shoes.

She has been at this long enough for her breath to come harshly now, breathing deliberate, for her muscles to ache. Still, she is not quite so caught in her own physical exertion that she misses the sounds of the fiddle playing - and on a whim, she turns at a fork in the path towards it. She will regret it - fleetingly in a moment.

Still, the white-dressed figure, slight, red-haired, runs in the Fianna's direction. And even when she recognizes him, she slows. Her gaze flicks away, over the half deserted, snowy park, the trees black corpses with outspread arms and fingers, a figure and his dog, a dim image in the distance. The kinswoman eyes him a moment, and then approaches.

She does not stare, or even watch him over much, taking out her water bottle from a webbed packet at her hip and lifting it to her mouth. She sets it on the park bench, followed by one foot, her fingers curving at the ankle as she stretches out the limb, and the Fianna Ragabash plays his jaunty tune.

[Leon Washington] He was walking in the park, hands in his pockets. The tall, athletic blond man with piercing blue eyes wasn't smiling. Despite his rage, despite his lack of smile, he wasn't angry. It was a very different expression than what people are used to see on his face, but lately, it was the one he wore. As if the ability to crack a smile had been taken away from him.

He was nicely dressed, in a dark suit, shoes, with a blue shirt watching his eyes, and a long black jacket covering it all. He wasn't in any hurry, making his way along the path, arriving in the opposite direction Imogen had been running. He had heard the music and was slightly surprised to recognize the player. He took a few steps forward when the woman's scent and breeding hit his nose.

He stopped and looked at her for a moment. Now why do all female kin in the city had such good breeding and had to be drop dead gorgeous as well? What was about this city that attracted them all? He had no idea and to be honest, he didn't really care. The less he had to do with female kin outside of business, the better it was for him.

He did finally close the distance between him and the Fianna. He offered a nod to Micheal "Hey Michael, how are you?"He ask him in an almost friendly manner. He didn't know the man well, but they might end up being packmates. That was enough for him to be more than cordial. His eyes moved to Imogen "Evening"He say simply to her then looked back at Micheal

[Michael Carroll] Imogen approaches and Michael continues playing. When she begins to stretch on the bench beside him he cracks a wide grin. His brow arches playfully above green eyes as the tune fluidly changes to a passable rendition of "Eye of the Tiger". Not bad for a fiddle. The final note cuts through the air sharply as he pulls the bow from the fiddles strings.

A moment later Leon appears. The arrival of his prospective packmate broadens the grin on the Ragabashes face. His voice is full of good humor and it's typical lilt when he speaks.

"So have I become a fiddlers version o' the Sirens, then? Luring wayward joggers to their doom wit' my strings and rosen..."

[Imogen Slaughter] Michael starts eye of the tiger and it draws the kinswoman's attention, a turn of her head toward the Fianna. Her hair is back in a twist at the nape of her neck, held precariously by a band. Strands have begun to come free, slowly uncoiling, and several more have fallen free at the temple, obscuring her view of the Garou.

Her own eyebrow lifts His had been a joke, a bit of mockery, a bit of teasing. Imogen's was more commentary, a silent and arch critique of his choice of humour.

The expression fades as Leon approaches, and the slight woman's gaze narrows slightly as she watches the other approach.

Her mouth twists slightly as Leon greets her, then summarily dismisses her in his body language. Her own body language removes loose, unaffronted as she straightens, lowering her leg to the ground.

"I don't think you're quite that good." She remarks to the Fianna, rather than replying to the greeting.

"You know," deliberate to Leon. "I don't believe we've met."

[Leon Washington] He tilted his head at Micheal when he called himself a siren "I don't jog, not here. Owen and I have a place outside the city, surrounded by woods. It's a much nicer than here and well, you can run in any form you want. You should come over eventually. We have spare rooms and beers in the fridge."

His head moved to look at Imogen "No, we haven't" He say to her. He didn't felt liek adding anything more. He had no real intention of getting to know her, jsut incase she turned out ot be an interesting person. So unless she had skills that could be useful to him, the pack or the fight, he much prefered stay away form her. Her scent was intoxicating. And that bothered him, a lot.

He kept his hands in his pockets and looked back at Micheal, waiting for his answer

[Michael Carroll] Imogens lack of amusement does little to discourage the Fiannas humor tonight, though he does pack away his instrument while he answers. "Not that good? I'd say the three dollars and sixty-seven cents that got tossed in my case earlier today would strongly disagree with that assessment o' my skill. I've almost made enough to buy a pint."

Once the fiddle is safely in it's case, Michael rises to his feet with a lazy stretch. There is a moment of tension between the kinwoman and Leon. It does not go unnoticed, causing Michael to glance from one to the other before addressing his potential packmate. "I will make a point of visiting soon, my friend. But the two o' you should forgive me fer bein' so rude, I didn' realize you hadn't met. Leon, this is Dr Imogen Slaughter, an acquaintance o' mine. Doctor, this is Leon Washington, a Walker I may be packin' wit' soon."

[Michael Carroll] (Erm...change that to Davenport, then...Leon Davenport...)

[Imogen Slaughter] No, we haven't. and Leon looks away. Imogen's mouth quirks. "Charming," she remarks idly, picking up her water bottle from the bench and lifting it again for a drink.

Michael attempts to smooth over the tension, introducing the two, and Imogen turns her head briefly to look at the Garou with a brief inclination of her chin, her gaze far more direct than would be expected of most kinfolk, and certainly, far more than a Garou of his rage sees regularly.

"A pleasure," she says, in no different tone than she had once said to Michael - which, frankly, is with indifference. "Been in Chicago long?"

[Leon Davenport] When Michael introduce them, he look back at her and offered her a polite nod "It's a pleasure Doctor"HE say, meeting her eyes. He didn't seem to care at all if she was looknig into his eyes. His attetnion stayed on her for a moment. He wasn't staring or trying to dominate her. Something about her in the last momentshad picked his interest.

"I've been here for a couple of weeks now. It's benn..interesting." He tilt head slightly "What kind of doctor are you? If I may know"He mgiht not be smiling, but at least, now he was somewhat polite.

[Michael Carroll] "I was actually a bit curious about that myself." He turns his attention fully to Imogen now, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his heavy wool coat. His tone is mild, as if he could ease the tension further by simply being soft-spoken and polite. Peace through superior charm.

[Imogen Slaughter] Amusement flickers across her eyes, sudden, internal and unexplained. Then it fades. She has no smile, and does not shift between the twin gazes of Garou. Her body is still controlled, her rib cage still rising and falling faster than it might at baseline, her heart rate still returning to normal.

The chill is beginning to seep through her sports attire, and she holds herself more stiffly against it, schooling herself from the chill.

"I'm a forensic pathologist," she says simply. "It's the study o' cause and manner o' death in humans." The distinction might be considered interesting.

[Leon Davenport] He listened to Imogen, his expression not changing, not when she seemed amused nor when she became all serious again. "That's a very interesting job."He say with a nod Ôm pretty sure many of us like to have you as a friend"He say in a tone that would warrant a grin, but his mouth jsut stay unsmiling.

He tilt his head as he notice the stiffness. And realize her sweat was cooling. He took off his long jacket and offer it to her "Put this on your shoulders, it'll keep youwarm until you decide to start running again. Wouldn't do to have a doctor with a cold after all."He say with a simple nod to her. It was an offer without anything else behind it. She was cold, He could handle being only in a suit for a while..that was it really.

[Grace McAllister] Do you know what would be really awesome? Climbing to the top of the bean and sitting there to watch the world go by. Now, how does one get atop the bean?

The blonde girl lingering in the park tilted her head as she survyed the situation. She'd need a ladder - a big ladder!

Dang No Moon's and their antics. Well.. her plot was foiled for tonight. She'd have to gather needed supplies first.

She shrugged, hands dug into the pockets of her jacket and she turned, headed off into the park. She was young - looked like she probably hadn't graduated high school yet and her style gave that away. Nothing was mature about the way she put clothes together.. but at least they didn't have holes in them. Her rage was subtle, to say the least and in most company, she just passed as the slightly 'strange' one.

[Michael Carroll] Michaels mouth half-opens when Leon offers his coat to Imogen, his expression a mixture of amusement and some discomfort. The urge to do something is evident, but even the quick witted Ragabash can't quite find the words. He is hung up for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally he just gives up and let's the chips fall where they may.

[Imogen Slaughter] "Not friends, no," her answer is even and much like Leon's unsmiling. Imogen's expressions are ones of subtlety. They flicker just beneath the surface, and then are gone, leaving question if they were ever there at all. Beyond a smirk, a narrowing of a gaze, a moment's amusement, she does not offer much. No overtures of friendliness, though the words are not unfriendly.

Her features are fine, well carved, the eyes dark to near black between the lights as they are. She likely has the capacity to be a very pleasant woman - women who look like her never need to try hard - however she seems more content to skirt the edge of social necessity.

"But I appreciate forewarning of any messes I might be required to clean up, which in turn protects yehr Veil, so I am sure most see it as a mutually agreeable situation."

The change in Leon is startling, almost schizophrenic, the tenor of his disinterest to his interest, whatever the cause. He slides out of his coat and offers it to her - Michael, just within her line of sight opening his mouth and closing it dumbly like a fish out of water. Her irides flicker only a fraction of an inch, toward him, then back, dismissing the uselessness of his gesture.

"It's commonly accepted in the medical community that the common cold is caused by germs and not chills. I'll manage just fine," a beat. "Thank you."

[Grace McAllister] Even though her rage is low as it is, she's quick to pick up on the other's near by. It might have been the little tingle on her skin, or just a sixth sense leading her in the correct direction.. it was hard to say really. But, no matter the cause, soon enough, the trio came into sight.

She stopped for a moment, pondering, examining. And yeah, she was probably staring some - but in all honesty, she was trying to decide if she should ask them for a ladder or not.

[Leon Davenport] He shrugh "All right, as you wish" He put the coat back and placed his hands in it's pockets. His eyes study her for a momoment. It seem form her words that she doesn't have much Garou friends, she keep them as acquitances..or associates maybe? Then again, with the attittude she seem to possess, maybe she just humor them all. Whatever it was, well it was her businessand none of his.

"YEs, I"m pretty sure most would think it's a good deal" He say "And forewarning you would be the deecent thing to do. I'm sure there are a few things that would be hard to explain at a moment's notice"

He look at Micheal "So what were youup to tonight? Beside playing the fiddle?"

[Michael Carroll] "Most of my day was spent putting the final details o' my move together. Arranging my finances and...does anyone know her?" His train of thought has been fully derailed by the blonde girl standing at the far edge of their small gathering. He watches her carefully with dark green eyes that absorb the moonlight rather than reflecting it. The faint push of Graces Rage is enough to put him on his guard. Slowly, so slowly, Michael edges himself to stand between Imogen and the newcomer. With a state of war on, the Ragabash is not willing to take risks.

"Can we help you, miss?"

[Imogen Slaughter] She turns her head to look at the girl, stopped within sight.

"No," she says, her gaze moving briefly over the surrounding area. Michael puts himself between the kinswoman and the unidentified, and Imogen's eyes briefly narrow, but she says nothing, other than: "Full-blood, I think." Her voice lowered.

[Grace McAllister] "Not really.. no. Just taking a walk.. " She left out the genius plan about the Bean.. "Ya'll reminded me of.. family. Thought I'd stop by to say hi.. but I didn't want to step on any toes.." The young girl grinned a bit, but didn't approach closer yet; She saw the body language of Michael - she knew he was standing between her and the kin. {However, something told her that the kin looked like she could take care of herself..}

"I'm Grace.. " She lifted a hand in a little wave.

[Leon Davenport] He turn his attention to Grace, his good looking features looking serious. Piercing blue eyes take her in and he offer the young woman a brief nod "Good evening"He say to her. He had to agree with the Doctor, the young blonde semmed to be one of them, as in Micheal and him.

He tilt his head slightly when she explained herself, it made sense. No one, even a Garou really want to step unanonced in a gathering of unkown Garou.

"I'm Leon" He tell Grace, not introducing the others with him. They can do that themselves.

[Michael Carroll] "Michael Carroll. I'm certain you're correct about our family ties. Would you care t' join us, Grace?" Once the invitation has been extended the young Fianna glances over his shoulder at Leon, then Imogen, and speaks in a low voice. "Her breeding is strong. Hundred dollars says Fang. Either o' you care to buy in to that action?"

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's gaze moves briefly toward Michael, then toward Grace, her gaze narrowing. She cannot sense pure breed, but she can see blonde hair. "Why would I throw away a hundred dollars?" she enquires, mildly, even now starting to step back.

"I believe I will leave all o' you to -" her hand moves vaguely, "yer introductions. I should get back." The words were farewell, rather than permission, and Imogen turns on her heel and starts down the path way again, her pace an easier jog than the full-out run it had been before. The path soon turns, and the kinswoman is nearly out of sight, but for splashes of her frame, caught between the trees.

[Grace McAllister] Oh hell yeah she was going to join them. She nearly bounced in silent excitement as they invited her over. Sometimes teenagers just got a little too excited over the little things.. So, she bounded {yes, bounded} on over.

"Nice to meet you.. Michael, Leon. I just got back home from Fostering.. damn choice of season I picked, eh?" A beat. "Who's the lady runnin off?"

[Leon Davenport] He had nodded to Imogen as she left. Then she was out of sight and out of mind, mostly. Now he kew someone to help him get rid of some evidence..if the need ever arise.

"She's a kin Doctor"He reply to Grace simply"Are youa Fang, No moon"He ask softly so only her and Micheal can hear it "I think know my friend Owen"He say, watching her, still no smile on his face.

[Michael Carroll] "That was a kinwoman, wrapped in a mystery, covered in enigma and shrouded in a question mark." The Irishman muses quietly as he watches Imogen disappear down the jogging trail, then turns his full attention to Grace. "Now that we aren't shoutin' to each other across a great divide, I'll give ya the proper introduction. I'm called Wrenboys Rhyme by the People, Cliath No Moon of the Fianna. New to th' city myself."

When he speaks his nationality is obvious. Every word that contains the letter "r" seems to carry on forever in his brogue.

[Grace McAllister] "Oh yeah, I totally know Owen. Nice guy.. has a scary car though.. I think there are enough germs growing in there to create a new antibiotic.. " She shook her head, all the while grinning and thinking herself pretty amusing.

"And yeah, that's me.. " Her voice lowered some.. "Grace McAllister.. Temperance's Shadow, Cliath No Moon and Silver Fang.."

[Leon Davenport] He listend to MIchael's answer about Imogen "Man, she's a kin and a doctor. What else do you need to know, really?" He say with a brow raised, then looked back at Grace

"Pleased to meet you Grace, Owen told me about you. And you're right..he has a scary car" He was joking about his firend'scar, but no trace off amusment managed to appear on his features "And I"m also known as Hostile Takeover, Glass Walker Cliath"

[Michael Carroll] He shrugs in response to Leons question, and though it really requires no answer he offers one anyway. "There are a few things I'd like t' know about her. But I have a feeling those answers won't be comin' anytime soon."

Once more his attention is returned to the young Fang. "So are you also a prospective then? Or are you bonded to another pack?"

[Imogen Slaughter] (thank you for the scene, guys!)

Barbecue Outside, Roman Gets a Good Look.

[Starla Navarro] Stepping back from him, Starla pivots her body away towards the rusted barrel, she looks down at it, examining his makeshift grill with a raised eyebrow as Roman stuffed his face.

"Ya know when I head home for a couple of days after the weather's better to git m'car, I should probably steal a grill or two so we actually have something... better."

She laughs at his comment, shaking her head, "Have ya manage to catch up the shit that's been going on?"

[Roman Turner] He swallowed hard, picking up the third burger with a look towards the barrel grill and Starla.

"This one works fine. What stuff are ya talking about? Catching up? I only been back to myself since lastnight and that was none to fun."

[Starla Navarro] "Right, ya have been out of it so ya wouldn't know what's been going on."

Her breath explodes out of her mouth when she sighs, forming a white cloud in front of her face. She tilts her head up to glance at him.

"There was some trouble wit' a Fenrir, been terrorizing the church and Rain. I heard from the others at the Brotherhood that he threatened Miss Kora's baby. Hunter wanted to rip the man apart."

[Roman Turner] "Oh yeah, I got a message about Erek being banned from our territory. That one day he appeared and chased Miss Rain around. Didn't hear about no threats against Miss Kora and can't figure out why she let him live if he said that to her about her baby."

He was quiet several long moments, thinking as he polished off the last burger.

"I tried joking around with Miss Rain lastnight.....I guess that almost explains why Miss Kora threatened to throat me."

That still hurt, that still hurt bad enough to make him turn away to find the beer he had begun this meal with.

"Wanna beer?"

[Starla Navarro] "Sure I'll take one."

Everything she has heard about the events going on were through second hand information. It's easy to distort the original story, alter it just slightly so it spun into a different tale the more it was talked about and past around. Like a game of telephone. She notices the way e goes quiet for several long moments.

Starla keeps talking to fill up that void of silence, "I never saw any of this first hand, it's all things I've heard from other Garou and kin. Rain's tried to explain it to me, but it gets blurred around the edges. I figured Miss Kora would've likely throated him for threatening her offspring."

She shrugs, "But yeah, Rain's been bit shaken up from the ordeal, ain't comfortable around Garou much. Ya need to go easy on her, Roman."

[Roman Turner] "I learned last night that I can't joke with her. I need to keep things on a formal level like a father with someone else's child. Don't worry, I learned the lesson well. As for Hunter, how the devil did he come to be involved?"

Lord this was all confusing and he was missing most of the details.

[Starla Navarro] There were gaps in the bigger story as all the small side plots were trying to weave into the main tale. She gets a beer for Roman and herself, handing it over to him as she shrugs. "Ya don't have to be all formal like Roman. She's older than ya isn't she? Ya gotta be more adult-like."

It felt wrong telling a sixteen year old boy this, Roman was just as inexperienced as she was when it came to the opposite sex. Starla frowns, cracking the beer cap off the bottle using the edge of her shirt.

"As for Hunter, it seems he and his packmate John, the mute Fenrir? They beat the shit outta that Erek fella at the Brotherhood over some kinfolk, seems Sofie was getting bothered by him to. She was plum mad, Hunter was worse, however."

[Roman Turner] He accepted the beer, muttering.

"Adult like is formal. I will treat her like spun glass that might shatter if I talk too loud, ok? I ain't Eve and I ain't Erek, but apparently I fit the same profile. Now tell me this, how did Hunter know that Erek threatened Miss Kora's baby?"

[Starla Navarro] Starla steps away from the barrel, she crosses her ankles together, bending her knees as she sits down on the ground, pulling her legs up to her chest. She tilts her head back to look up at Roman, frowning at him when he muttered. She sips from the beer, speaking around the lip of the bottle.

"That's not what I meant... ya jus'... don't pull pranks on her. Girly girls don't like it when ya do that, it hurts their feelings." Starla wasn't one of those types of girls, she was too much of a tomboy to even care about frilly things. A scowl crosses over dusky-skinned features when he asks about Hunter.

Starla sucks in a deep breath, lowering the bottle as she tells him one name. "Sofie." She takes another drink, "Sofie was talking about it, going on and on."

[Roman Turner] "Sofie was going on and on about Erek threatening Miss Kora's baby?"

Now he wondered how many other people knew what he was just finding out. He sure as hell was going to talk to Linus about this.

"Like I said about Miss Rain. I get it Starla, be extra polite. I ain't stupid ya know."

[Hunter] [all good for hunter and imogen to drop in?]

[Starla Navarro] (It's open)

[Roman Turner] ((Outback of the Church with a fire barrel going and the smell of roasted meat))

[Starla Navarro] "I didn't say ya were stupid, Roman."

She makes a face at him, draping her arms over her bent knees, the bottle dangling from her fingers as she sat on the ground outside in the yard, next to Roman's barrel grill.

"Sofie wasn't on a tangent about it. She mentioned it once."

[Roman Turner] He turned towards her, those faded gray-blue eyes of his resting on Starla.

"How did Sofie know about the threat? Miss Kora told her and didn't tell me?"

The beer was upended, drained in three long swallows.

[Hunter] He knocks but finds no answer. This isn't exactly normal for the Church - he has never come here before and been met with silence at the huge front door - but it isn't uncalled for either, and when his nostrils flare to the smell of roasting meat he figures it out soon enough. Rather than knock louder and force someone to come inside, he wanders down the narrow gap on the side of the building with his hands stuff in his pockets and the cold sun on his face, broken only by the shadow of the church.

Dark mahogany leather covers his torso: his beloved jacket, worn and faded but still doing the job. His hands are in his jeans pockets and he twists his head to peer around each corner before he gets past them. It doesn't take him long to follow his nose and it leads him straight to the burning barrel with the two children of Gaia talking around it.

He declares his presence long before he crosses the distance towards them though.

"Sup peeps?"

[Starla Navarro] "I don't know, Roman, why don'tcha ask Sofie. It's what I heard..."

She makes a face at him, growing annoyed with the string of questions that seem to never end. She takes a swig from the bottle, draining it halfway as she watches him upend his in less the time it took her to finish hers. Starla rolls her eyes up to the sky, tilting her head from side to side. She continues to sit on the ground while Roman stands nearby.

Pale green eyes are quick to drop down and look around, finding the image of Hunter as the Gnawer strolls up along the path towards them. She offers him a greeting with the lift of her bottle. "Hey, Hunter."

[Roman Turner] "I'll go straight to the horse's mouth and ask Kora herself."

He had that sick feeling in his stomach like when he had to find out his Alpha was pregnant by overhearing it rather than being told. That feeling of being on the outside of the circle of trust. Then again, maybe it was the three near raw burgers and two beers he'd already downed? Speaking of beer, his was empty, time for another. He was just reaching for the beer when Hunter turned up.

"Howdy, Hunter. Want a beer?"

Dressed in red flannel pajama bottoms himself along with cowboy boots and a jacket. His pallor was wane, a lot of bodily resources consumed in the healing process added to sleeplessness.

[Imogen] Hunter had knocked, but received no answer. It had been indicative that there was no one within the building - and yet, it is from here that Imogen exits, stepping out through the backdoor and into the overgrown backyard where the Gaians were having their own version of a poor-man's barbecue. In usual style, they went so poor-man's it was nearly defined as a homeless-man's, but never mind.

"Bit early in the year fer a barbecue, isn't it?" she asks no one in particular, as she crosses her arms at her ribcage to keep in whatever meagre warmth her slender body might contain. Though the weather is warmer than it had been in recent days, it was still rather cool to be without a jacket. Even in her pale mauve sweater.

She's in jeans, serviceable but expensive flat shoes, her hair drawn back though strands were escaping from the chignon at the base of her neck. Imogen's casual attire likely costs more than most of their Sunday best, if they even had such.

[Roman Turner] "Howdy Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am. I got hungry and didn't want to gross no one out eating raw burger and didn't want to use the tiny little resources we got inside. This works just fine."

He indicated the 55 gal. barrel with the oven grill laid over the top.

"Ya hungry or want a beer? I got a little more burger left I could throw on the grill for ya."

[Hunter] "Sure, why not."

The last time he saw Roman Turner something was trying to crawl inside his head, successfully. Hunter tilts his head and keeps his attention on the Ragabash after giving Starla a little nod in greeting. He crosses the distance towards them and comes to stand near the barrel, not so close as to be indicative of requiring its heat, but enough for a taste of the flames. Burning barrels, beers, almost makes a Gnawer nostalgic.

Just then he hears a door closing and his head turns towards the sound to watch Imogen wander on over.

"Imogen," he offers, then his attention reverts to the Ragabash.

"No burger for me thanks," although none had actually been offered with his beer. "How you been Roman?" A narrowing of eyes, is that crazy tentacle spirit still in you? Has it cthulhu'd up your brain?

[Starla Navarro] Starla finishes her beer, sets the empty bottle down on the ground in front of her. She leans forward, resting her chin atop her knees as she hugs her legs. A shiver passes over her, shoulders shaking under her suede coat. She had come outside dressed warmly for the weather, but the chills are hard to suppress.

Her attention is turned to Imogen as she makes an appearance to join them, watching her curiously before her eyes flick away to stare at the Garou, listening. "Roman, can ya hand me another one?" indicating to the beer and not the burger.

[Roman Turner] He handed the beer to Hunter and stepped back away from the Gnawer with the looks he was getting. Nothing like being made to feel uncomfortable in your own home.

"Let's see, since the night and a half since I played with....what was it Starla? Lindy's Bear's pea soup? And I got head full of stuff I ain't got a clue how to sort out and a belly full of undigested cow and brewer's yeast."

His smile was wan.

"What about you Hunter? How ya been?"

[Roman Turner] And of course he reached in to the cooler and took the steps it took to hand the beer to Starla before prying up the grill on the barrel to add another hunk of wood that looked like it might of been part of the old kitchen door.

[Starla Navarro] "Linda Blair." She offers up to Roman, grinning now.

[Roman Turner] "That's what I said."

Mumbled to Starla.

[Imogen] "Hunter," her greeting matches his.

A brief glance toward Starla, shivering on the ground. "Perhaps yeh should find something else to sit on," she observes mildly, walking forward to peer at Roman's grill with a mockingly critical eye.

She wears a weapon at the small of her back, a double set of guns hooked into the low-slung waist of her jeans. Black and visible, incongruous against her fine clothing, a few strands of angora sticking to the leather, to the visible butt of the outermost weapon. "I think I'll stick wi' beer," she says, before bending down to the cooler to retrieve her own.

[Roman Turner] Imogen checked out his grill and bent down to get her own beer from the cooler and Lord have mercy, he checked out Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am's backside when she bent for that beer.

[Hunter] [Ack, chat stopped refreshing]

He takes the beer, opens it and takes a long swig while Roman is telling him how he has been. A sigh of appreciation when the bottle pries from his lips and he wipes the back of his other hand across his mouth.

"I been aight, can't complain, can't complain--"

Eyes on Roman, a quirked brow, an amused twist of his lips.

"Did you just check Imogen out?"

Shut up Hunter.

[Starla Navarro] Roman mumbles at her and she feels obliged to correct him yet again, "Nah, ya said Lindy's Bear's. It wasn't the right name."

Starla eyes her cousin, an eyebrow shooting up as she notes the effort he takes to check out her backside when Imogen bent over. She rolls her eyes snorting loudly at him, "Roman Turner, shame on ya..." also vocalizing the same time Hunter does with a grin.

To Imogen she offers a sheepish grin and shrugs, "It's fine."

[Roman Turner] His face flamed bright red all the way up to the tips of his ears when they asked him about checking out Imogen's rear end. He not only checked it out, he took mental pictures that were now hanging on the ceiling of his mind's bedroom.

"What?"

Yes he was Ragabash. Yes he would lie like a cheap rug purchased at the dollar store.

"How rude. Course I didn't."

[Imogen] Imogen straightens with more preposition than some would, a beer in hand, and turns to glance at Roman with an arched eyebrow, a steady, quelling glance that to a point, is at least tinged with - what. It's too subtle to be amusement.

"Of course not," she answers, mildly, deadpan, looking evenly at the boy's blushing face. "Roman would ne'er do such a thing."

Dry as the Sahara.

She cracks open her beer and takes a few steps away, before noting, "Yeh need a picnic table out 'ere."

[Roman Turner] "See, she knows."

Yeah, this was a good time to take another long drink from the new beer. Enough of these and maybe he'd sleep without dreams for a bit. Besides, he needed to get his thoughts away from other things that were making lowers regions of his body stir.

"Picnic table would be nice."

Grasping at the straw thrown his way.

[Starla Navarro] "Mowing the lawn would be a better idea. Ya'll got that overgrown garden area out here. Ya'll planning to spruce this place up or jus' allow it to look like an abandoned hovel with vagrants running in and out the door. Surprised no one's said anything in the neighborhood."

Starla's quick to pick up on Roman's recovery, she snerked behind the new beer bottle he'd fetched for her, raising an eyebrow at him as she watched the exchange between Imogen and him.

[Hunter] The quirk of his lips is now a full blown grin which he suddenly hides by pressing the bottle to his lips, he doesn't dare tip it back though while he's on the verge of laughter, that wouldn't end up well for anyone.

Roman lies like a cold dog and Imogen backs him up. The topic is seemingly ended without much more needing to be said.

Finally he tips his head back and downs some more of the beer, a quick gulp, he doesn't wolf it down.

"Nothin' wrong with a bit'a overgrown lawn. Keepin' it natural. I like it."

[Roman Turner] "Can't do much in the way of making it look too lived in till we find out if we can get it all legal like in the ways of communities. Then we'll get things fixed. I think we should call it a non-denominational church and dodge taxes too."

Imogen hadn't backed him up exactly, but he was glad that bullet was dodged for the moment. Every line of his body said he was trying not to look at Imogen, though it was like when your eyes met another and you kept looking back to see if they were looking at you and you looked away if they were, but looked back again, over and over.

[Imogen] A flick of a glance at Starla, "I imagine that cleaning up in a neighbourhood like this would actually attract more attention than would leaving to go to seed. I wouldn't worry about th' apparently vagrants either. The folks around here are practiced at closing their eyes t'things tha' would make trouble for them.

"Some where t'sit though."

Roman is looking at her furtively. Imogen, at one point, arches an eyebrow in his direction.

"Alright, are you? Not got somethin' stuck in yer eye?"

[Roman Turner] "No, no. I mean, yes! I mean, I'm fine. Fine and dandy. Just something in my eye."

That worked for him and he followed it up with scrubbing at his eye with the heel of his hand.

[Starla Navarro] "Uh, never considered that."

She was not experienced with city life and how things were here. She looks away, tilting her head up again to glance over the church, and then the yard itself. She raises an eyebrow when her eyes fall back to Roman and Imogen. Starla chuckles behind her beer bottle, lifting it to her mouth to take another swallow.

"Roman, ya should take a picture, it'd last longer."

[Roman Turner] "What? Of something in my eye? How ya expect me to do that?"

[Hunter] Hunter stretches lazily, yawns, it was a late night of patrols. His beer goes high in the air and the yawn is unrestrained, loud. He offers without even the tiniest morsel of shame.

"Don't blame ya' Roman."

Then relaxes, "I mean you're quite attractive Imogen, s'all I'm sayin'. Can't blame em."

Could he even blush if he tried? Doubtful.

[Imogen] She glances at Starla, the corner of her mouth twisting up, "S'a pretty bad part o' th'city. The folks 'ere are either doing somethin' illegal or are doin' their best t'keep their heads down."

Hunter stretches luxuriously and speaks, first to Roman, then to her.

"I am sure that does not even require a response," is her only observation.

She takes a deep swallow of her beer, one hand absently patting the hips of her jeans, until she pulls out a single cigarette and lighter. The cigarette could not have been there long - it is not rumpled as it might have been had it been pocketed for long. She lights up like it was a habit, each action completed by rote until the first inhale hits her lungs, and she is able to exhale it, slowly.

[Roman Turner] This was one of those times it was good to change the subject before the minds in the gutter lost sight of the stars above.

"How about them Cubs?"

[Starla Navarro] "That doesn't make me feel any better..." Starla quips at Imogen, her lack of knowledge about the city evident in the worried expression that flashes across her face.

A husky drawl of laughter erupts at Roman, shaking her head as she takes another drink from her bottle. "Didn't think ya liked football, Roman."

[Imogen] "Baseball." The lift of Imogen's beer disguises any expression her mouth may have made.

[Starla Navarro] "It's baseball? I thought the Cubs was football and the Bears was baseball?"

[Hunter] "Mm." A grumble of agreement and the previous topic is forgotten, not that Hunter seemed to mind it at all.

"Hey thanks for the beer Roman, I'mma take off."

He puts down the empty with the others and rubs his hands together.

"Give Kora my best wishes yeah? I'll stop by later in the week for a chat."

[Roman Turner] "I'll tell her ya stopped by."

His brows knitted in a frown for a moment, then he was explaining to Starla.

"No, no, it's the other way around."

[Imogen] "Other way around," Imogen makes a brief gesture with her hand, indicating a flip-flop. "Bears are football, Cubs are baseball. Yeh're lucky yeh said it to a bloody foreigner like me and not a die hard fan," her mouth twists, "Might not ha' gotten out alive."

A flick of her glance toward Hunter as he decides to take off. "Ha' a good afternoon," she says, lifting her cigarette back to her lips.

[Starla Navarro] Starla laughs as they try to educate her on the differences of the teams. She raises an eyebrow at the both of them, rolling her shoulders back.

"Do they kill people for mistaken which team is which?"

[Hunter] "Think we're all foreigners here."

He says, thoughtfully then finishes with a smile.

"Aight, peace homies."

And he turns around to wander off.

[Hunter] [THANKS FOR PLAY]

[Imogen] (THANKS BACK)

[Roman Turner] "They ain't too kind. It's akin to someone calling a Fang a Gnawer and the other way around. See?"

His lips curled up in a genuine smile.

[Starla Navarro] "Later, Hunter."

She calls out after him, unfurling her legs to stretch them out. Starla presses a hand down on the ground, twisting and pushing to stand up. She collects up her empty bottles, coming over to the barrel to stand closer to the fire.

[Roman Turner] (Thank you)

[Imogen] A flick of her gaze toward Hunter as he leaves, then her attention turns back to Starla, "S'a bit of an exaggeration, but the sports fans do appear, at least a little passionate about their game."

[Starla Navarro] "I'll try to remember that the next time I see a sports game."

She eyes Roman, palming the bottles in one hand, tucking it under her elbows as she folds her arms across her chest. She scuffs the toe of her left boot across the ground.

"Ya feelin' a little better now, Roman?"

[Roman Turner] "I'm fine, thanks for asking Starla. I'll be like new in a few days. Ya know how we are, can't keep us down long. It was nothing more than something like a cold. Really, I'm right as rain."

He watched her collecting bottles as he worked on draining his fourth beer.

"So how's your place inside coming along Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am? Maybe Starla could help ya with it?"

[Imogen] A glance toward the girl, "Perhaps," she says carefully. "S'mostly workin' out logistics fer now - exactly how much do I want t'do and what equipment I need t'buy."

Her mouth twists as she drains her beer, lowering the empty bottle as she lifts her cigarette to her lips - twin vices, "I'm movin' things between Schaumburg 'nd 'ere, but if I'm goin' t'do somethin' long-term, I'll need t'do quite a bit wi' that space." A beat, and as an afterthought, "Wi' yer pack's permission o' course."

[Roman Turner] He waved the permission part off with a flick of his hand.

"Ya know it's alright with us. And Starla is good at painting and moving things around, ain'tcha Starla?"

[Starla Navarro] Interest and curiosity perks up in the young kin, she raises an eyebrow as she listens, "I can help out if'n ya need it. Ya moving here to the church?"

She had started to clean up the empty bottles as Roman was emptying them out. She tilts her head to allow her eyes to stay on them. The bottles clink together as she scoops them up in the crook of her arm, giving Roman a look. Her nose twitches, "Moving, yes, painting, no. Unless yar referring to like a house or a room, then ya jus' git one of them spray attachments."

She shakes her head at him, smiling, "I can help in between work and classes when they start up soon."

[Imogen] "Not moving here, no." One might expect that one with Imogen's independence might respond swiftly to a misconception like that, but her reply is even, almost thoughtful. "But it might seem like it.

"Settin' up a lab o' sorts. I don't think the colour o' the walls matter," this a little wry. "But when I start t'get equipment the help t'move it about will be good." She lifts the cigarette back to her lips. "Just as soon as I decide what's necessary and where and how I'm goin' to get it. All I've got fer the moment is a corpse on a table."

A flick of her gaze toward Roman, "Might get yer help later to remove and destroy it. S'been hanging around long enough."

[Starla Navarro] The tremor of excitement runs through the kin as her interest expands, she grins at Imogen with a bright smile. The bottles placed into an empty bin she finds lying around near the cooler and straightens. Starla dusts her hands off on the seat of her jeans, before speaking.

"I git what'cha saying. I probably don't exactly study the same field of medicine as ya, but if'n ya need help or anything wit' researching stuff, I'm yar gal, Miss Imogen. I picked a real good knack for investigating things, love doing the leg work it's kind of exhilarating."

[Imogen] Her eyebrow lifts. "What field of medicine do you study?"

[Starla Navarro] She smiles, "Animal medicine. It's why I came to Chicago, a friend of the family back home got me a good contact so I can go to school to further my education. Right now, I jus' work as an assistant tech, and will be volunteering at the humane facility when I have time. I like it, and it's a good place to be when ya hear reports about wild dogs roaming around attacking people. Could be Garou or real dogs, or something else... wouldn't be the first time it was a wyrm critter."

[Imogen] "Ah." Her answer is reserved. Medical doctors are not particularly known for their acceptance of other professional fields.

"Take any biology courses, ha' you?"

[Roman Turner] "Ya know, if she is learning to be a vet, maybe she could stitch up Kinfolk if needed?"

He sure wasn't going to volunteer to be a patient himself.

[Starla Navarro] "Yessum." Her response is prompt.

Starla rolls her eyes at Roman, "I'll use ya as a guinea pig if that's the case. I know first aide on humans, Roman, I jus' prefer to animals since they don't bitch and moan like a big baby like some boys I know."

[Imogen] "I've not had to stitch a kinfolk in some time," she observes, "but she can help, I'm sure."

A faint smirk as Starla sallies back, flicking a glance toward Roman. "There yeh go then."

[Starla Navarro] "Yeah, I could certainly use the practice on how to stitch Garou together..."
She wiggles her eyebrows at Roman, starting to laugh at him.

[Imogen] (BRB!)

[Roman Turner] "Tell ya what, next time I need stitching, I'll remember that."

He had weeping, seeping wounds right now that he was not going to tell her about. In fact, he wasn't EVER going to tell his cousin when he was injured. Sure the girl would take great pleasure in causing him additional discomfort.

[Starla Navarro] She shakes her head at Roman, glancing around one last time before pushing her hands into the pockets of her coat.

"I think I'm gone head inside, it was nice talking to ya, Miss Imogen. Roman, I'll leave ya to dally wi'tcha lady love."

She gives him a nudge to the side as she passes him by, heading for the church doors.

[Roman Turner] Ok this time he made a face at her back with that comment. And next time he was going to get even, maybe even call Hunter her beau.

"Ya have a mean streak a mile long Starla."

[Imogen] Imogen casts Starla brief glance, eyes narrowing slightly before the expression clears. "Ha' a good afternoon," she says, much as she had said to Hunter.

A glance at Roman, "I should probably head out," absent. "I've got some work t'do."

[Roman Turner] "Yeah, I'm gonna, well go back to resting. Let me walk ya to your car?"

He drained his beer; after five he really needed to use the bathroom. Then set the bottle aside.

[Imogen] She inclines her head, then tilts it toward where she's parked, a 'Yes, come on' said without words. With that, she starts that way, dropping her cigarette to crush it out on the way.

[Roman Turner] He walked alongside her and resisted looking at anything till she moved to get in the car, then it was a quick look before he waved her off and returned inside to shift and sleep.

Imogen, the Mad-Scientist.

[Imogen] Kora is in the kitchen. Perhaps she is eating, perhaps she is merely seated at the table, perhaps she is drinking something warm on a rather dreary, rainy evening. The moist cold seeps in through the stones of the church and buries its talons into the mortar, scraping its way through the edifice. Today is not a day to live in a drafty and abandoned building, but of course there are some that have no choice.

Imogen does have a choice, though and she is here anyway. Kora can hear the sound of her footfall, her heels clicking softly against the stone, the small sound echoing, only just against the walls and roof. There is an absolute silence that comes with rain. A hush that changes the air.

"Kora," she greets the other as she steps over the threshold to the kitchen.

"Got a minute?"

[Kora] Kora makes a noise of wordless assent, rising from one of the battered chrome and vinyl chairs somewhere uncovered in an unused storeroom. It matches the metal cabinets, the non-functional old fridge, circa 1954, the battered linoleum - and it is genuine linoloeum - in a faded black and white pattern on the floor.

Already moving, though it takes an extra push for her to stand. An extra moment where her center of balance is imperfect, where the transition from seated to standing is perhaps in doubt. Unremarkable, that, in anyone, especially a woman this far into pregnancy: except that she's a murderous thing, and the body underneath the burder is defined now by a predator's certain grace, changed by her growing unwieldiness.

She's dressed for the draftiness of the wintry space, in deliberate layers, anchored by a white thermal, topped with a pale gray tunic and the hoodie she's worn for a few months. The latter left unzipped. A curl of steam rises from the mug on the table, and the chair makes a low, metallic cry as the feet scrape against the floor.

"Doc, hey - " she says by way of greeting then, "Sure. Come on in. You want a beer?"

[Imogen] There has been almost no acknowledgment from the red-haired kinswoman regarding the Jarl's pregnancy. Once a question - should she offer congratulations or ignore the subject altogether and since then, silence.

Still, there is a brief assessment - not quite clinical - of the Fenrir as she gets to her feet, the way her weight moves and her balance shifts, a little less smoothly than it had before.

Humans have paid a price for their bipedal ways, and truthfully, women have paid the bulk of it.

Her gaze moves at the offer, coming to rest on the steam coming from the Skald's mug. "I'll take somethin' warm if yeh've got it," she says, accepting the hospitality.

[Kora] "Sure," a quick gesture toward the chrome and formica table, the chrome and vinyl seats. Someone keeps the place clean, bleaches the tabletop, scrubs the chairs once a week, sweeps and mops the spaces like this one, where the pack prepares food. It's not Kora. Still, there's a faint lemon smell from some organic cleaner in the air. "Have a seat, yeah?"

There are a pair of hotplates, but its the electric kettle that Kora retrieves, depressing the lever long enough to bring the already hot water back to a noisy little boil. She grabs a mug from the cabinet as she waits, it's nearly domestic. This one says: SHE WHO DIES WITH THE MOST FABRIC WINS and must've been picked up for five cents at a thrift store. "Hot chocolate or tea? I've got green tea or Lipton." Then, a faint pause, frowning in thought. "Or cup-o-soup. Chicken noodle." Which is little more than broth with threads of tiny glutinous noodles. "That stuff's not bad," allows the pregnant woman. Who enjoys Bacon Double Cheeseburger Pringles.

Whichever Imogen requests: something hot is soon in front of her, in a ceramic mug. With either a packet of Swiss Miss or a tea bag, nothing loose or fancy. Kora returns to her chair a half-moment later, that extra hint of guarding as she sits, subtle enough still that most would miss it. "What'd you need?"

[Janis] An interruption presents herself on the doorstep of the church, cutting through an opening in the chain link fence that was brought on by rust and weather, easily manipulated with a gloved hand. She stands in awe of the cathedral, not quite expecting such a dwelling to house those of her kind.

A pale hand slips out to curl the fingers of her left hand into her palm, knuckles touching gently on one of the main doors to knock once, drawing back a second time to strike louder as she raps on the door again, and then waits. Rainwater gathers in droplets on the leather blazer that hugs the curves of her torso like armor, the zipper pulled up to the throat to hide the double-layer of thermal and cotton shirts worn underneath. Black Dickies were damp with the rain, the hems rolled up over the tops of motorcycle boots to keep them from being stepped on.

Red hair plasters against her face, running thin rivers of water into her eyes and down along her back to the middle of her spine as she waited.

[Imogen] There is a brief, careful pause after her choices are offered, one which Imogen covers by taking a seat, and getting herself settled. "Hot chocolate, I think," says the Briton for whom Lipton tea and likely, cup o' soup are something akin to drinking from the toilet bowl.

A packet of Swiss Miss is provided then, a cup of hot water. The kinswoman tears open the former, pouring it into the latter, and picking up a spoon to stir the two together.

The kinswoman opens her mouth to speak, just as Janis knocks on the door. The kinswoman's brow contracts, her mouth closing as she turns her head to glance over her shoulder in the direction of the church's main hall, the door out of sight.

"D'yeh think yeh need to get a sign?" she enquires, almost conversationally: 'Don't Bloody Knock, It's a Bloody Far Walk To Get the Door?'

She does not get up to answer it. Whether or not knocking was proper procedure, it was not her living space.

[Patrick] Patrick's moon really did no favors for him.

The night before last he'd wound up in a fist fight with a Fenrir Modi for no particular reason other than one had been indulging in weed to temper the burn of his anger and the other had seen cause to find wandering Bronzeville in an altered state a blatant act of stupidity. Words (in the theoretical sense) had been exchanged, and fists became the weapons of diplomatic (or rather the total lack of any) reasoning.

Prayers to Broken Stone had found himself knocked out, and brought back to the Church by an exasperated Metis Full Moon.

Tonight, while his moon is passing toward the half, his presence is still a searing one, the quality of which was better suited to his Ahroun counterparts. Janis, a red-headed traveler, arrives on the doorstep of Last Watch and raps and from the shadows that dwell around the monstrous buildings exterior comes the pattering of constant rain and abruptly -- crunching footsteps and a voice -- "Who're you, then?"

We got company, the newest pack-member's voice slips against Kora's mind. I'll see what she wants.

Her approaching questioner moves into the light, a hood half concealing his face but what she can see of it says it cannot be much older than twenty, perhaps twenty-one. Breeding offers a tribe, though the eyes are of so pale a caliber in the moonlight as to almost seem translucent.

[Kora] There's a moment just then where Kora's features go distant. The look would be dreamy on a young woman's face without rage. Imogen, however, well knows that look - the faint narrowing of eyebrows, the brief, far away touch of mind to mind, the ghost of a smile for the pleasure of such connections. The familiarity of it. The goddamned necessity of pack to the wolf-mind and the wolf-heart cinched underneath each Garou's skin.

Brilliant, thank you. There's that touch, back, awareness. The Doc and I are in the kitchen.

She surfaces, shakes free the thought, mouth twisting briefly for Imogen. "Patrick's got it." Dark eyes return to focus, rest directly on the kinswoman's sharp, pale features. "So - "

An enquiring cant of her head sends the half-done knot of her pale blond hair spilling over her shoulder. It is animal, the gesture, in its entirety.

[Janis] She doesn't jump out of her skin at the sounds of the voice drifting through the shadows to question her identity. She expects it, her senses reel from the smell of the rain clinging to her hair, the scent of the Fianna that addresses her and the faint tickle of breeding that marks him for a Son of Stag.

The ghostly outline of a tiny grin paints across her mouth, pivoting her body to speak to Patrick, her hand dropping away to find a place to hide in the pockets of her pants. There's a faint hiss of a brogue born to accentuate her words, "Janis Ian, I 'ave come to make a proper presentation of myself to the Jarl. May I proceed, Son of Stag?"

[Imogen] So -

She does not need more prompting - truthfully, she did not need that much, but it was appropriate. Polite. Leading the conversation back.

"I have been thinking that it might be worth taking a greater effort to study the Wyrm," she says. It's one of the rare times she uses the word, rather than cursed, or something similar. Truthfully, she rarely speaks of it at all, considering it something that is fought and not discussed. "In particular at the moment. The body we found at th'warehouse has similar characteristics to a body tha' Detective Montoya identified. I imagine there are others.

"Clearly, this is something I cannot do at a human lab," she continues, her voice even, her words unhurried, unpractised but sure, "but I did wonder about the space tha' I used fer the review o' the corpse earlier. So," a brief gesture of one hand, the palm up, her mouth twisting, "I thought I might get yer opinion.

[Patrick] Broad-shouldered beneath his own layers of clothing, dark hoodie; worn in leather jacket; scruffed jeans and workman's boots, a hood half drawn back so that he might glimpse her face cleaner in the little light given off by the Church they stand before. Rain becomes visible as it falls through it, and begins to dot the Welshman's collar; flatten blond hair revealed as he nears Janis.

Studying her without comment; without a smile to meet the tiny one on her face.

Tonight was not one of the ones Patrick did so easily, not without some kind of substance to ease him into it. Of recent nights, it was becoming harder to taper down the energy that simmered around him; that gave his motions a curiously vicious suggestion. He pushed his hood right back with one such, and stepped up onto the stoop. Janis Ian, she says with a hint of some accent, the Fiann catches it, no doubt. No Galliard worth their salt would miss an inflection in another's voice.

"She's with someone right now," the blue-eyed stranger replies, scratching at his jaw. "You can come in and wait, though."

He reaches past her, and tugs open the great door, gesturing for her to precede him. "You want a beer or something?"

--

New Fenrir, Janis Ian. Wants to do that whole introduction shtick. I'll get her a drink or something.

[Kora] There's a moment part-way through Imogen's statement when Kora's gaze sharpens on the kinswoman's face. She sits straighter, somehow, pulls herself up through the spine and lifts her chin, her dark eyes still fixed on Imogen throughout the movement.

"A lab - " there's a faint, narrow pause here. Her pale brows are drawn together. " - like," and then another pause, a twist of her mouth that lightens her expression " - Doctor Frankenstein, yeah?"

Her own hot chocolate is forgotten now, hands unlacing neatly from the warm stoneware. "We've got plenty of room," she continues, musingly - " - but we'd need to do something to get you the electricity you'd need. And if something was too - tainted," a narrow expression, that supple distaste, " - we could put it down, cleanse it."

She goes silent again, a brief touch of distance. Invite her back. I have cup o soup.

"I think it's workable, Doc. Long as you don't plan to go mad scientist on me."

[Imogen] We need something to get you the electricity you need, "And water," she says, on the edges of it. It is clear this is not a sudden decision but one already carefully considered.

"S'more important than electricity. I can get generators, UPS, somethin', if we can't get the hardware, but I need water t'be able to wash and wash off."

Kora continues - brings up taint, "S'one of the reasons I mention it. I imagine this will be rather like my body disposal only fair more -" a beat. "Messy. I imagine it will impact th'area." To say nothing of the kinswoman herself, who already requires regular rites of cleansing for what she does in the War.

Kora finishes that she thinks it's workable so long as Imogen does not go mad scientist on her. The slight, red-haired woman smirks. "If I start puttin' a lightnin' rod on the roof, you'll know it's time to stop me, fair?"

[Janis] She waits patiently, tilting her head to the side to look Patrick over, taking in his expression and his appearance. She sways back and forth on her feet. Dipping her head in a quick nod when he asks if she wants a beer and will wait.

"Aye, lead the way, a beer will be fine."

[Adara Mires] (hi...are you all at the church?)
to†Imogen, Janis, Kora, Patrick

[Kora] Yes! :)
to†Adara Mires, Imogen, Janis, Patrick

[Adara Mires] She walked inside the Church, not stepping too deep, jsut a few steps ofr now, to keep herself off the rain. She looked around, her emerald eyes taking things in. She had been invited over by Roman, but well, knowing it was his pack's place, she certainly won't barge in unannonced, especially if Roman wasn't there.

SHe pass a hand in her wet dark brown hair, letting htem fal back to the middle of her back. She was dressed in a work, faded pair of jeans, flat soled boots, a light long sleeve shirt under a warm jacket. She had her hands in her pockets, fidgetting slightly. She wondered if someone was around and how they'd react to a stranger being there.

Clearing her throat slightly, she calls out politly, her voice clear and warm "Hmm hello? Anyone here?"

She shivered slightly, she felt wet and cold, though she was used to the cold. Funny thing to say about a girl from Arizona who lived in Greece for a while. It was her stay in Seattle, and what happened there that made her used and resident to cold weather.

[Kora] "We already have water," Kora says, with a lift of her chin toward the sink. "Don't bloody ask me how. I'm sure the boys could work something out, make sure you have what you need to do the work you wanna do.

"We'll need some ground rules, I think - about what you can bring in. I don't want to insult you, since you're like to know as much about the Unmaker - on this side of the gauntlet at least - as anyone in the city, but nothing live. And if we ask you to destroy something, it'll have to be destroyed." A narrow twist of her shoulders, as she begins to rise. Touching minds with her packmate, wordlessly.

"Maybe Patrick can help you figure out if there's the right infrastructure for the power and water over there; or how we get it turned on. He's out in the church proper if you feel like being social." Her eyes hood, briefly, with that distant look. "New Fenrir, too."

Adara will find a collection of couches and pews, easy-chairs, the sort abandoned in a thrift store thanks to unfortunate plait upholstery or a cigarette burn. Empty pizza boxes line one of makeshift tables there.

Patrick and Janis are just inside the church proper, and soon enough a tall, paleheaded woman emerges from a door further into the sanctuary.

She turns almost unerringly to find Adara standing there. Lifts her chin, and calls out, in a low, ringing voice - "Can I help you?"

[Patrick] Kora can no doubt sense Patrick's approach; it's a strange thing for the male, being tied to a female force is something new, something not felt since Farrah.

There's now memories attached to Prayers to Broken Stone's thoughts; impressions of a stranger's smile, the force of a long fallen Half Moon. Stillness of Questioning would be a story he'd tell his new Alpha one night, perhaps before a fire, or with palms clasped around hot chocolate. Patrick, walking past rows of pews with Janis at his back is shaking water from his collar, and scuffing a hand back through his hair.

It's trimmed to short to do much but endure his rough-housing of it, remaining in disarray as he turns to add: "Apparently we have cups of soup, too." He half turns, gesturing ahead at the fair-haired female at an inner door. "That's who you're after, Kora. She's your Jarl." The way he says the word suggests its something he knows only by lieu of hearing those around him use it.

He speaks it like, well, a foreigner.

[Janis] Janis followed Patrick into the church, her head tilting back to allow her eyes to run the length of the church, taking it all in with a couple sweeps of her eyes. She stops when he does, lowering her gaze as it falls on Kora, dipping her chin down in a nod of appreciation to the Fianna.

"Thank ye." She says to him, folding her arms behind her back as red hair hung limply down her shoulders to stick to the sides of her face. She moves off to approach Kora and meet the Jarl half-way, only pausing in surprised as she gets a good look at her and raises an eyebrow.

[Adara Mires] She smiled at the decor, it wasn't the most classy place she has seen but it had some charm. She wonder if she would have liked crashing here. Probably. Might still happen, after all, she was stuck with a guy in her room at the BroHo. So this was more of a social visit, maybe get to know those hanging here, the members of Roman's pack. If she decide to stay over a few nights, well they'll at least know who she is.

Her eyes stop on the woman and the corners of her mouth curl slightly upward in a amile "Hi, Roman invited me over yesterday, and I thoguht I would stop by, see if he's around...or jsut check the place out if I ever need to spend the night." She tilt her head "That is, if it's not a problem?"

[Imogen] Imogen's mouth twists slightly. "No," she says wryly, indicating merely by tone that this was obviously a foregone conclusion, "Nothing live.

"T'be honest," she says, "I'm not likely t'bring in much by way o' corpses, unless it's warranted. And if it is warranted, I imagine you'll know, as a corpse fer study would ha' more - immediate concerns than the long term goals I'm suggestin' fer study. It will be more samples and th'like. S'also important that I ha' somewhere to keep notes o' some sort to track what I see, rather than having it at my apartment."

A beat, "Encrypted, of course." She is offered the moment to be 'social' with Patrick, or more accurately, ask him some questions. "Perhaps another time," the kinswoman smirks, tightly. "I should get back."

She too gets to her feet, much as Kora does, picking up her barely touched hot chocolate to dump it down the sink, rinse out her mug. It is set upside down by the edge of the sink to dry.

A few moments after Kora, Imogen steps out, a small red-haired woman dressed in business slacks and an open coat. She moves toward the door without pleasantry, apparently seeing it unnecessary as Kora picks up her duties and Patrick likely does the same with Adara, pinch hitting while his packmate deals with her tribesmate.

[Patrick] As if he'd let her get away without at least following her progress with his eyes; calling idly. "I do enjoy our chats, Imogen. Let's do this again some time." If she turns back, she'll find him watching her, amusement banked in his gaze -- if she does not, well -- she does not see anything at all and either way, Patrick does turn back toward the others.

Moving forward to stand beside the pregnant Galliard.

[Kora] "Hey," a quiet greeting to Janis, forestalled briefly with a glance to Patrick as he approaches, leading Janis through the sanctuary, toward the opened door. "Doc has some plans for the building next door. I told her she could talk to you about structural issues. That you could see if we could get water turned on, a few other things she needs. You mind?"

Long enough - direct and clear - her dark eyes linger on Patrick. Then she cuts a look back to Janis. The pale-haired woman in the distance from Adara, closer to Janis - is tall, dressed in layers for warmth in the drafty old stone church - dark jeans tucked into Doc Marten's, a thermal and t-shirt beneath an unzipped hoodie, her hair twisted behind her neck, uncoiling over a shoulder. She's pregnant. Very late in the second trimester, early in the third - obviously showing.

Patrick's comment to Imogen earns him a brief, sweeping upward look. A twist of her mouth. "One second, Janis." A lift upward of her chin toward Adara. "Roman lives here, are you kin?"

(OOC: does Adara have pure breed?)

[Adara Mires] (no PB at all)

[Imogen] She does not quite turn, but absently lifts a hand over her shoulder in an indifferent wave in Patrick's direction, though she does not quite deign to fire back a retort.

The door closes behind her and she is gone.

(thanks for the RP everyone!)

[Janis] "Nay a problem, Jarl."

Kora is likely taller than the redhead, she stands eight inches over five feet, maybe an inch or two taller in the boots she wears. She dips her head in a nod to the Jarl when she's asked to wait. Her eyes begin to roam the length of the room they stood in, slowly rolling her head from side to side.

She pulls her hands free from her pockets, sliding them up to comb through the damp hair to gather it up at the nape of her neck, twisting it into a thick knot that may not stay put for very long. Her clothes were dark: leather blazer zipped up to her throat over a pair of Dickies pants.

[Adara Mires] She blinked and chuckled at Kora's question "Me, kin? No not really."She smiled warmly "My name is Adara MIres, of the Black Fury, Cliath, Gallaird" She grin slightly as she offer almsot the same introduction she did yesterday when Imogen asked for a proper one. She jsut opted to take away the if you have more questions comment she had added then.

She offered a nod to Imogen as she pass her by "Evening Doctor". She brought back her attention to Kora and the others "I didn't want to bother you if you have things to discuss. Roman told me I could crash here if needed. I don't right now, just thought I would come by, maybe met new folks. If you're busy or want me out of here, it's fine too"

Her tone was respectful, polite. It was their place, she was an intruder after all, who ddn't really needed to be there.

[Patrick] The fellow Galliard adopts a leaning stance against an old, worn pew when Kora addresses the request his way. He frowns, arms crossed over his broad chest and lifts his eyebrows. "Yeah, I'll do what I can." He's a silent, frowning accomplice only another moment before he pushes upright again.

Eyes flicking to Janis; Adara.

"I'll get some drinks, you okay with beer?" This to Adara, a faint bleed of humor over his mouth. "I stock it myself so you know it's decent."

[Kora] Kora looks from Janis to Adara, and back again. "Well then, introductions are in order. I'm Kora EyjÛlfsdÛttir, she who offers sorrow, renders bone to the Nation, Fostern Skald of the Get of Fenris, Alpha of Last Watch and Jarl of the Fenrir. Fostered at the Sept of Vindur und Ringing in Hjaltland. I bound myself to Maelstrom this winter last, and followed Kemp Truth-in-Frenzy rhya until he fell.

"This is my packmate," a lift of her chin toward Patrick. " - and our packhouse. Our territory is open to the Sept members and all Fenrir. Adara, if you need a place to stay, you're welcome here, but I will expect you to sacrifice to Maelstrom and honor the peace of my hall and the word of my pack within these walls."

Then, an expectant look toward Janis.

[Kora] (guys! I'm'a hafta sleep soon. :) )

[Adara Mires] She offer the woman a slightl bow "It's a pleasure meeting you Rhya" She say very respectfully. œ know about the sacrifice, I'll do it tonight. I jsut haven't decided exactly what I should sacrifice, though I'll be decided when I get back to the Brotherhood."

She look at her "And thank you for your hospitality, it's very appreciated"

She turn her attention to Patrick, offering him a smile "Beer would be really good. And it's a pleasure meeeting you"Her eyes move to Janis as well, her smile widening a little "You as well"

[Janis] "Janis Ian, she who devours the sun, hunts the shadows, riding the Jˆrmungandr's tail or what's been changed to Rides~like~Cowboy thanks to Ragabash of the Sept of the Green. I am Rotagar and Cliath to the Nation. Sadly, Jarl, I came to Chicago to visit my brother and his wife as they dwell here in the city. I wasn't alone in my first visit here, but now I am. My pack and I, two Gnawers that I ran with from New York, hit a skirmish with the wyrm on the southside near the abandoned industrial districts by the riverfront.

"We'd heard stories of your plight, but hadn't anticipated being ambushed when we hit the city. My pack mates didn't survive, I wouldn't be here either if it weren't for the aide of one of our tribe's kinfolk."

[Kora] "I'd like to hear that story," demurs Kora to Janis. "And soon, yeah? In the meantime, if you've no place else to stay, you're welcome to find a bed in our halls. The place is huge and the territory is open to the Fenrir and members of the Sept. There's beer in the kitchen, just through that door. Food, too."

Then, her phone starts to ring, and Kora steps away, holding up a finger by way of apology to go answer it, leaving the others to interact on their own.

[Kora] (sorry guys! need to go make a forums post then poof and sleep. oh gods, sleep. thank you and take whatever liberties are necessary to keep playing and bring simon in!)

[Janis] Janis inclines her head to Kora in thank you for the offer of hospitality. She turns to look around at the others as the Jarl walks away. Eyes scoping over Patrick first, and then to Adara.

There had been an offer of beer, she takes the next steps to go find that beverage to wet her throat.

Hot Dogs and a Blackfury in a Park.

[Imogen] Imogen and Roman stand in line at a hot dog vendor, a line which has grown increasingly uncomfortable, even in Roman's presence. Roman is talking, as he often does, about some subject, and Imogen is half listening, as she often does, and only answering from time to time, picking and choosing from the deluge of words.

"I'm really not sure that's what it is," she says, reaching into her handbag to retriever her wallet, counting out the cash required for their meal.

It is drizzling out, and she has a loosely knitted brown hat over the back of her hair, half protecting it from the fine fall of rain. Fashionistas would call this hat a slouch-beanie. People like Roman likely just know it as that hat that most people seem to be wearing lately.

In either case, it looks fashionable, dark against her pale skin, against her redhair. A pale brown suede coat and brown leather gloves; add in brown boots and purse and Imogen's accessories all match. One should not be surprised.

Her jeans are dark, but her coat is open, offering the only splash of colour in the form of a pale mauve sweater. The kinswoman begins to remove her gloves, finger by finger, in preparation for their meal.

[Roman Turner] "Ya know, back home we had this place called Red's and they had the best chili dogs. Came with big ole slices of onion, cheese and a big ole dill pickle on top of the chili dog. It weren't till I came here that I ever saw a wiener with beans on it. Beans? I mean, don't take me wrong, I like my beans, but on my wiener?"

His dark stetson was wet from the drizzle, but not so wet it was dripping off the ends yet. Like usual this time of year, here he was in a jean wool lined jacket and those stiffly starched deep blue Wranglers. Looking like he stepped out of a Western Wear clothing add. The hat gave him a couple more inches in height which suited him just fine.

[John] The full moon is over with minimal bloodshed and broken bodies, yet now that Luna is beginning to swing towards a darker yet more peaceful series of phases John looks almost as much like a couch-surfing divorcÈ as he does a Modi belonging to a pack with a carnival barker masquerading as an Alpha.

Couch-surfing divorcÈs probably have fewer stalkers and some source of income besides well-meaning Kinfolk, but that's beside the point.

After Imogen and Roman have found a place to sit and Imogen has removed her gloves, a press of Rage comes out of the distance. Compared to its typical weight, he will hardly cause a seasoned police officer or a military veteran to run the other way, but the majority of humanity still feel uneasy around him right now. Beating up Fianna and spending hours upon hours walking around a city is an enjoyable enough way to pass the time, but it's draining.

At any rate, he comes out of the distance with a mostly-empty knapsack slung over his shoulder, winter jacket adding a layer of padding to an otherwise solid form. He doesn't bother stifling a yawn as he he cuts through the park. It's the only sound either of them have heard him make, is the cavernous, voiceless escape of air as he exhales.

[Imogen] "You know," she observes mildly, "I think you're just taking advantage of this moment to say 'wiener' as much as possible."

[Imogen] (whoops! I had hit send before I saw John's post. Adding more)

[Imogen] They get their food - Imogen a coffee and a hotdog, the former drunk black, the latter adorned with onions and tomatoes, ketchup and mustard and relish.

A picnic table is chosen for its isolation, and the kinswoman smooths down the hem of her jacket beneath her as she takes a seat, picking up her coffee first, while her hot dog balances on the slats.

"In England," she observes picking up a conversation from a few moments ago, "we frequently eat beans on toast." This is when John comes into the picture, yawning audibly, as he wanders through with a sagging knapsack on his shoulder.

"Long night, was it?" she says when he's approached.

[Roman Turner] He was still moving a little on the gingerly side, but that apparently hadn't stopped him from coming out for a free meal. Imogen mentioned he was taking advantage of saying wiener and that brought a little color to his face. He was more than grateful when John came in to view.

"Howdy John. Boy don't ya just look like something the cat drug in. Take a load off, sit a spell."

He liked John and it shown in his eyes.

[John] Although the creature moving down the path is Fenrir--they of the stoic, hypermasculine persuasion--and he walks with his spine straight and his footfalls measured and his head up, there isn't much concealing the fact that he did have a long night and he does look like something the cat dragged in. Imogen asks her question, and he snorts before attempting to convey what it is he wants to say without breaking out pen and paper.

He gestures over his left shoulder, then holds up his hands about a foot apart.
Pointing in front of him, mouthing Today?, leads to him holding up his hands shoulder-length apart.

It's worth mentioning he doesn't appear to have shaved since before he arrived in Chicago over three weeks ago.

When he's offered a place at the picnic table by the other Cliath he doesn't go so far as to smile or attempt a stab at friendliness, but there is something like gratitude to his expression when Roman speaks up. For whatever reason, the Modi has taken a shine to the significantly smaller and louder Ragabash. John bobs his head in a nod and sits himself down next to the teenager.

[Roman Turner] He did what any one raised proper was suppose to do. He broke his hot dog in half and offered the half to John.

"Ya look like ya could use a wiener."

As deadpan as they came.

[Imogen] Imogen's mouth twists slightly. "That good, 'ey."

Roman offers John his wiener, deadpan, and Imogen regards him with something like resignation, her eyebrow arching. "Proud o' that one, aren't you?" she enquires mildly.

[John] Roman's double entendre either goes completely over the statuesque Modi's head, or he chooses to ignore it for the sake of not providing positive feedback. In either case his weathered face remains entirely deadpan as he accepts the halved hot dog from the Child of Gaia, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he lifts the offering in what Imogen likely recognizes as his form of thanking a person.

He takes a huge bite out of the hot dog, and his chewing comes to a staggered stop when the kinswoman asks Roman if he's proud of 'that one.' His brow furrows in blatant confusion, and after a pause he decides pursuing enlightenment isn't worth the effort; he keeps chewing.

[Roman Turner] "My ma and pa taught me to share Miss Doctor Slaughter Ma'am. It's all I'm doing, sharing. Besides, I like this fella. He ain't like most."

For a few seconds he was quiet as he polished off his half of the wiener. Pushing his drink towards John with a mumbled (because his mouth was full) "Want some?" Offering the soda.

[Imogen] "D'yeh want to get another?" Imogen does not offer to feed Garou often - in fact, the question is not posed to John at all, but entirely to Roman, the southern teenager in a stetson hat in a big city.

[Roman Turner] "Yessum, I believe if ya don't mind and all, we'd like two more."

He was including John in the bargain. And he was giving Imogen his best smile on top of it.

"That is, if'n ya don't mind."

[John] Considering that he's homeless and long-term unemployed, never mind the fact that according to the US government he doesn't even exist, John does very little begging or outright asking for things that are not immediately necessary to his ability to survive. The one and only time he has asked for anything of Imogen, it was so he could sew his stomach back together so he could continue across town without being accosted by police officers. He has only been a city-dweller for three weeks, yet he's learned enough quickly enough that he knows that human lawgivers don't appreciate the sight of large, wild-looking males wandering around covered in blood.

At any rate, he hasn't finished his hot dog by the time Imogen offers to buy Roman another one. He seems to be reeling from being told he's not like most, or else is too far into a state of prandial bliss to pay too much attention to the conversation. John is a big guy, and requires more food in one day than Imogen likely eats in three to stay that way, yet beyond that first massive bite he eats as though he isn't entirely sure when he's going to see a meal again.

[Imogen] She retrieves the cash without fanfare, holding the bills folded between two fingers as she passes them over to Roman, wordlessly. Apparently she draws the line at actually getting up to procure food for them. "Should be enough for both. Drinks and hot dogs."

When the money is taken, she picks up her own hot dog, more or less untouched. She takes modest bites, and is likely the kind of woman who will not see another hot dog for another six months. Or at least not until Roman wants another outing.

"It's not charity," she says absently a few moments later, after Roman has left. "In case it matters."

[Adara Mires] (location if you don't mind? a dinner or something else?)
to†Imogen, John, Roman Turner

[John] At that clarification, John actually looks around as though there is someone else nearby to whom she might have been speaking. There is slight amusement written into the way he frowns, in the tension around his mouth, and after he looks back at Imogen, having concluded that yes, in fact, she was addressing him, the Modi flicks his eyebrows and takes a slug of the soda Roman offered him.

I didn't say it was, a creature with vocal cords might feel the need to announce. In John, it just seems to translate as affirmation: Alright.

[John] [We're at a picnic table in the park. DINERS ARE FOR THE WEAK.]

[Roman Turner] He snagged the bills and headed back to the hot dog vendor before Imogen could change her mind with a.

"Get anything for you, Ma'am?"

If she asked for something, he'd get it too while gone.

[Imogen] Imogen raises a hand, dismisses the offer to get her something - the hot dog and coffee she has is enough. Her gaze follows Roman briefly until he gets in the line up.

John acts confused as if she might be speaking to someone else, and though he does not portray precise sentences to her comment, he portrays intent and emotion easily enough. Enough so that Imogen can smirk, her own eyebrow arching.

"I did say 'if'," she notes.

[Adara Mires] She walked in the park, taking some time to enjoy the fresh air. She had been there for a while, her cheeks taknig a pinkish color from the cold. She was dressed in a flat soled boots, a pair of worn and faded jeans with a warm coat. Her lnog dark brown hair were loose, falling down her back. Her emerald eyes were looking around and her attention stopped on Imogen for a moment, a soft smile appearing on her pink lips.

She was going on her way when she felt the rage coming from the two men near the redhead. Her steps changed directions and she made her way closer, but slowly, in case they didn't want to be bothered. "Hello" She say in a soft, warm voice,

[John] [I lost my post give me a minute or five.]

[John] She did say if.

John, whose table manners are questionable at best, manages not to chew with his mouth open but does still try to clear food from his teeth as Imogen's talking. Lips remain together, at least, even when he finds himself laughing in that quiet, nasal manner of his.

He lifts his eyebrows again, a facetious cast to his expression as if to say Yeah, okay, then polishes off the hot dog. As he chews, his eyes drift away from the table to take in the form creeping closer. There is no territoriality in him, Roman having been here first and Imogen being more than capable of handling herself thank you very much, but Roman is off procuring more food. The male eyes her, wary rather than outright suspicious, and takes a loud swallow of soda without speaking.

The look on his face is expectant, as though he's waiting for her to introduce herself, or ask for money.

[Imogen] Imogen turns toward the woman who walks up and greets them, rather abruptly. It is not only the rage of the Garou which could have drawn her, but the breeding of the red-haired woman. There is history there, rich as loam. It hangs in the air around her, and touches her gestures, even as it shines through her bright hair, her dark eyes.

John looks at Adara expectantly, and at first- Imogen merely regards her with a deep and sudden focus.

There are very few reasons someone would come up and speak to them like this. After a moment, Imogen is sure.

Her own question gives words to John's expression, "Can I help yeh?" She is foreign, her English accented with a different nationality. She's frequently mistaken for certain English speaking colonies, to say nothing of Irish or Scottish.

[Adara Mires] She watch them both, the silent one and the talking kin. Her smile widen slightly as she look at Imogen "Help me? No not really" She say, her hands in her coat's pockets. "I thought I'd come over and introduce myself, since chances are we'll bump into each other once in a while" She say with a light shrugh

"I'm Adara" She tells them, while her right hand move out of the pocket and is offered first to John then to Imogen. She doesn't add that she's new. It would be fairly obvious to both of htem if they have been around after all

"I won't bother you too much. I just felt it'd be polite you know"

[John] If he were in an animal form, the Modi's hackles would rise about now. He doesn't bristle or make any noise, but he straightens so he isn't leaning against the tabletop, his hands going to his thighs in preparation to get to his feet. Eyes don't flick to Imogen at all as the dark-haired woman speaks, and he doesn't take her hand. His nostrils flare, as though he's pulling for something.

His eyebrows lift sharply, as if to ask Adara what?

So much for being polite.

[Roman Turner] He'd just turned back with a fully loaded Hot Dog in each hand when he spotted the female approaching his friends at the picnic table. One chestnut brow rose for a split second before he was eating up the distance between the now trio. Black stetson hid most of the Chestnut colored hair on his head. There were those cowboy boots along with dark blue stiffly pressed Wranglers. Soft wool caressed the line of his jaw where the collar of the wool lined coat lift and fell in the cool breeze. His stepped slowed as he got closer, then that smile appeared, all polite-like.

"Well boy howdy, I walk off and we get company. Howdy Ma'am. I'm Roman Turner. And you are?"

[Imogen] There is a brief pause - Imogen, perhaps surprisingly, follows John's lead - if Adara offers her her hand, she does not take it.

Roman walks up, all southern charm and friendliness.

"Best add the rest o' yer introduction this time," the kinswoman advises, "We aren't unfriendly -" says arguably one of the most unfriendly of the lost, "but we are cautious. If yeh speak low enough, yeh won't be heard." There is, in fact quite a bit of space around them - Imogen and Roman had chosen a table isolated from the humans, and with John and now Adara's presence an even wider berth has occurred.

[Roman Turner] He came around the table and set a hot dog down in front of John before setting his own down. Though his stance was relaxed, he didn't sit down just yet. An expectant smile still lingered, after all he was Ragabash and misdirection was his bread and water.

"Ain't everyday a purdy lady comes strolling up to the likes of us out of the blue. Why if I'd known ya were coming, I'd offered ya a wiener."

[Roman Turner] ((Sorry, had the neighbor stop by))

[Adara Mires] She raise a brow at John and Imogen's reaction, taking back her hand mouthing silently "Ooookay" Her smile return as Roman introduce himself "You must be the charming one" She say in a slightly playful tone. Then her attention turn to the three of them when Imogen ask for a full introduction

"All right, fine"She say "My name is Adara Mires, Black Fury, Cliath, Galliard. Most recently from Seattle" She say low enough for their ears only. She tilt her head "Now would you min telling me about you a little? And is there more you want to know from me?"She ask, the last matter fo factly. They could ask whatever they wanted really. She didn't have anything to hide after all.

[Imogen] Imogen's eyebrow arches slightly as Adara elongates a word, then uses the ever pointed 'Alright, fine'. "It's an introduction," she says, the edges of her mouth twisting up, "not a pound of flesh."

"They call me Imogen Slaughter. Kinfolk."

Tribe is absent, though her blood marks her clearly as Fianna; perhaps she considers it unnecessary.

[John] He seems to relax somewhat, not because Roman provides some semblance of physical security by his very presence but because his ease and--yes--charm take some of the electricity out of the air. With the second use of the word 'wiener' John seems to not only comprehend what Imogen was referring to earlier but finds some sliver of sharp humor in it: he snorts, relaxing by degrees that are easily missed by anyone not looking at him, and briefly peels his attention off of the stranger to acknowledge Roman's delivery of the not-charity.

Slowly, not relying on either the kinswoman or the Ragabash to do the speaking for him, John gets to his feet. He is not staggeringly taller than Roman, yet he's considerably bulkier, and has facial hair and breeding that leaves little room for question as to who and what he is. Digging through his knapsack, he pulls out a leather-bound journal and a pen. Rather than writing, though, he just flips to a page that has already been marked with glyphs and offers that up first.

Drawn in Blood
Cliath Modi
Packless Defiance

Under this, in English:
To humans - John

He gives her mere seconds to read his childlike handwriting, then flips to a clean page and scrawls out, the question marks reinforced by the furrowing of his brows:

Why leev See at el? Wer is pack?

[Roman Turner] "Ya want to know something about me?"

His smile widened as a hint of devilment entered the depths of eyes the same color of faded denim.

"Well let's see."

Rocking back on his heels with his hands in his back pockets as John showed the girl the book then wrote something and showed it again.

"Me, I done told ya my name. Let's just say I was born on the dark of the moon and I'm just another Cog in the wheel. Same level ya got too. Though I like long walks on the beach, Lucky Charms and spending time with my friends. I prefer country music and my favorite color is blue."

[Imogen] Imogen's gaze flicks toward the journal that John's written in, her fingers moving slightly as if in thought, before reaching over to pluck the pen from his hand without ever touching him, and turning the journal briefly toward her. In a quick stroke, she crosses out 'See at el' and replaces it with 'Seattle' in slanted and sharp edged writing.

A glance toward John, a raised eyebrow toward the spelling correction before she turns the journal back to Adara, and hands the pen back to the mute.

[Adara Mires] She nodded to Imogen "Pleased to meet you Imogen" She read John's note, grinning at Imogen correcting it "Pleased to meet you as well." She look up at him, being 5'5" and wearing flat soled boots, she was smaller than him "Well Seattle just didn't fit me anymore. Not enough of us, too many Galliards, no real threat to justify my presence here. I moved away. As for my pack...well some stuff happened. One just up and left, without any goodbye and I think it was too hard for everyone. It had been for me. So we disbanded."

Some sadness had crept in her eyes and voice but she blinked it away and her voice was normal when she spoke to Roman "Thanks ofr the earlier offer...I was very..generous"She grin "I might actually go get me some burger in a moment..not a fan of wieners" She say with an amused look "And I'm glad youlike music. I can play some pretty mean country music when I feel like it"

[Roman Turner] "Not a fan of wieners....."

It started with a little snort that turned to another snort and built to a full out laugh. He slapped his knee.

"Hot dang, I get it! Not a fan of wieners. That was a good one. I could go so many places with that."

[Imogen] "Roman," Imogen's voice is quelling. "For chrissake gi' the penis euphemism jokes a break, will yeh?" The sentence is delivered deadpan, though the phrasing was likely deliberate and not meant to quell at all.

A glance toward Adara, "A pleasure," she added by rote.

[John] There are a number of reasons, most of them scratched into the journal in glyph form, why Imogen might hesitate before taking the journal of a Modi and correcting his spelling in front of his peers. He doesn't tighten his grip on it to keep it in his possession, and when she hands it back to him, John tilts it around so he can read it. His attention is unevenly split between the Galliard's story and Imogen's correction, yet when he scoffs it's evident that it's amusement at her having the stones necessary to do such a thing and a vague moment of So that's how you spell it! that quickly passes.

He cuts a glance to the kinswoman, something that might have been a smile if it weren't so rusty coming across his lips, and holds up the book in that Thanks gesture of his. On the downbeat, right after Roman quips about going places with Adara's not liking wieners, he backhands the Ragabash in the upper arm with the journal without looking at him.

[Adara Mires] She chuckled, amused by Roman's words and how John and Imogen reacted to them. "Have fun taking that stement to any places you want, my dear"She grin loopsidly "For, msot of what you will come up with is true" She wink at him then look at them all again "Would you mind if I go get something ot eat and join you? I do't want to impose more than I have"

[Roman Turner] He snorted with laughter with the hit from the book even as he danced out of reach.

"Critics, I'm surrounded by critics!"

He darted in like a flash to snag up his hot dog before dancing back out of reach again.

"Fine, y'all have it your way. I'll just take my wiener over yonder and have at it."

[John] [SORRY GUYS WE WERE TALKING ABOUT PORN MEI IS POSTING NOW]

[Imogen] (WE WERE NOT TALKING ABOUT PORN, JAMIE JUST LIKES TO BE SALACIOUS)

[Imogen] "Sit down wi' yer wiener, Roman," Imogen says, gesturing imperiously. "Yeh're causing neck strain."

A glance at Adara, first when she admits there is perhaps more truth to what Roman says than not, her eyebrow stirring, then as she asks if she can join us. "Go ahead," she says absently. "S'enough space."

[John] John looks from Adara to Roman to Imogen, the expression on his face reading Wait, what? He isn't thick-skulled or mentally deficient, and it doesn't take too much thinking for him to put together the separate thoughts of "Black Fury" and "not a fan of wieners."

He doesn't look disgusted, necessarily, but he does look at her the way humans look at other people when they confess that they are serving as host to some sort of airborne illness. He takes a step back, nodding in greeting, then sits himself back down at the picnic table and sets about eating his meal, silently.

[I HAVE TO GO TO WORK I WILL BE BACK IN AN HOUR AND A HALF]

[Adara Mires] She smiled a little more as she noticed Imogen'sand John's reaction. She doesn't mind, really. She was used to it by now. She accepted who she was some time ago. After all, her orientation didn't define her, it was jsut part of who she was. And she was much more than that.

She nodded when Imogen said she could sit with them and she nodded to the woman, heading toward the hot dog stand. Her smile grew wider as her back is turned ot them, coming from the thought that two garou males were being ordered by a kin woman. Yep, she already like the serious woman a lot, and respected her.

She came back shortly after with only burger mea, no buns and a small fork. There was no sausages on her plate. Well, she lvoed meat..but hot dog sausages...not for her. Real italian sausages and the like were more tasty. She sat gracefully and started eating slowly, watching them.

[Roman Turner] He could make tons of jokes about the burger patty, though he was trying to behave. He'd returned to sitting next to Imogen because well...she said wiener. Though now and then he snickered, just dying to say...."You said wiener."

[Roman Turner] ((Sorry..."You said wiener" was his thought LOL! ))

[Imogen] And so Imogen sits beside a rather amused and snickering sixteen year old. One she does her level best to ignore for the moment while she eats her ...

wiener.

[Adara Mires] She ate slowly, watching them, sitting not too close to John whom expression earlier had told her they probnably will never be friends. She hadn't really expect anything less form a Get, but you know..one can hope.

"So, could any of you tell me a little about the state of the city and maybe a short who's who so I don't mess up? Not taht I expect I would, but you know, jsut to be safe?" She say with a small smile. Roman's amusement seem to amuse her back. She didn't look to be much older than him. Maybe 20 at most.

[Roman Turner] "Well to be honest, the best place to find out the er, state of the city is in the city itself. Or ya could go to the Caern and make it all official. As for who's who? Best way to know folk is to meet folk face to face. Cause well, it ain't polite to be tellin no tales out of school, ya know?"

His tongue flicked out, gathering mustard from the corner of his mouth.

[Imogen] A flick of her glance toward Roman, before she swallows her bite. "They call th'city at war fer now. S'what I tell every new kinfolk I meet," this is almost offhand, smirking, "so I might as well tell you. I don't know any o' yer tribe, but if yeh can get a Garou to tell yeh where the Brotherhood is, yeh can start by asking there."

[Imogen] (sorry guys, I was dealing with system stuff)

[Adara Mires] She nodded to Roman "Sure, I can roam the city some more and continue to bump into people." She shrugh, she didn't mind donig things that way to be honest "And would you mind telling me I need to do to make things official?"

She smiled to Imogen "Thank you for the info. I met one of my sisters, trying ot meet the other one eventually. I also know about the Brotherhood, trying to secure a room there actually, but so far nothing. As Roman suggested, I can make things offical..might help me get in touch with others, and find my place here"

[Roman Turner] He picked up on something Adara said pretty quickly.

"Well then, ya say ya done met one of your tribe, then she can show ya where things are. How to get in touch and make yourself official. How come she didn't offer ya a place to stay?"

He was slightly puzzled with that.

"And from what I hear, most anyone can stay at the brotherhood. Just go crowd in a room. Right?"

[Imogen] What Roman says is sufficient - Imogen instead takes a drink of her now cooling black coffee, allowing Garou tp speak to Garou.

[Adara Mires] She smiled to Roman "I think my sister just don't have enough space where she live to have me around. And it's fine. I don't want to crowd her. Though I'll have her tell me about what need ot be done to make my stay official"

She ate some more of her meat "As for the brotherhood, I was told to ask the managers for an official place."She shrugh "Anyway, if it doesn't work out, well either I'll live off the street for a while, or find myself a gig so I can actually rent an appartment"

She didn't seem really preoccupied with her living arrangements

[Imogen] Imogen flicks a glance toward Adara, "Yeh won't find many gigs here tha' pay well enough fer that, particularly if yeh're new to the area. Even established artists ha' a hard time makin' ends meet without a real job." A faint smirk touching her mouth.

"Better t'find someone t'pay fer you or find a bed at the Brotherhood than depend on a musician's coin."

[Roman Turner] He actually squirmed a little on his seat.

"Ya need to make your pledge to the Sept, surely your sister ta ya that? As for a place to sleep. Well, I reckon we can offer ya a place out of the weather at my Pack's home. We got an old drafty church and Miss Kora would expect ya to behave, she's Fenrir. If ya don't follow the rules, ya will know it right quick. But like I said, it's a place out of the weather till ya find yourself a pack and place."

[Adara Mires] She make a face at Imogen's words, scruching her slightly upturned nose "Really? That bad huh? I'llcheck it out a little anyway...I'm very very good."She say with a slight smile "Any idea what else I could d? I mean keeping a job when you make peopel uncomfortable isn't the easiest thing"

Her emerald eyes move to Roman "We haven't had time to talk much, but I'll call her to tell me all the details. And your offer is very generous. I cna pay for my motel room for a few more nights, but if you don't mind giving me the adress, I'll try to meet Kora and have her tell me the rules. I don't want to mess things up, especially for oyu since you're the one who invited me"

[Roman Turner] It's an old church, ain't much to look at but we're working on it. And largely it is full of Fenrir, which makes some a mite uncomfortable."

He gave her the address, and general directions.

"Over in the Green. As for jobs? Our job is to fight in the war, like our fathers and father's father's and mothers and mother's mothers have always done."

[Imogen] I am very very good. "So are they," Imogen smirks faintly. "And they've not got the price o' rage."

She returns to her meal as Roman and Adara discuss the details of living arrangements.

[Adara Mires] She chuckled at them both. "I guess you're right" She say to Imogen. Then she look at Roman "I think you're wrong on this one, Our job is not only to fight the fight, it's also taking care of our own, remember those before us, doing our best to preserve Gaia"She said the last softly

"We're not just killing machines...though some probably are, and well they're very good at it. Still, fighting for fighting will make osme lose their focus, the knowledge of why they fight. We need more than simply fighting."

She grin at him "And well..also, fighting and our sacred duties don't pay the bills."She smiled "That's why i'mlooking at the Brotherhood or your church as good options to stay at. Sadly, I doubt I'll find something that pays except music and I've been told that's not really an option"

[Roman Turner] He studied the girl for several long moments like he had found something he just couldn't identify. Finally after a little squirming he said what was dying to come out.

"Ya just talked so much in circles it was like white noise."

[Imogen] Roman speaks, and Imogen arches an eyebrow, but says nothing.

The red haired kinswoman is slight, delicate. She is not built for war though the torso visible through her open jacket, covered by an angora sweater is fit, well-cared for. She sits poised even on a picnic table, eating a hot dog.

The last bite is swallowed, and a dab of ketchup is wiped from her knuckle with a napkin then crumpled by her hotdog wrapper.

[Adara Mires] She blinked at his comment "Really? Damn. All right..well there's more to our job than just fighting."She grin at him "MNa, if I ever tell you a legend, I'll have to keep it simple. GEat warrior was born, he fought and die gloriously..the end" She say teasing him

"Seriously, sorry about earlier. Didn't think I was so hard to follow" She say, finshing her meat, then look at Imogen "May I ask what kind of work you do?"

[Roman Turner] "No, no, you see the word fight in this case means so much more than a physical fight. Our lives are so much more than just a physical fight. It's the fight for survival to preserve our Kind, our ways, our very being. It's the fight to serve the Mother. It's the fight to protect our people from the world that grows ever more crowded and corrupt. It's not something we do after a nine to five job, in our free time. It's twenty four seven every day and night of each and every day. I'm not saying each waking moment we are going out to pick a physical fight with something. Ya see?"

[Imogen] She glances at Adara as Roman finishes speaking, a small curve to her mouth as she gets to her feet, gathering her garbage. "Answer you when you two are finished, shall I?"

With that, she walks toward the trash receptacle to toss the remainders of her meal away.

[Roman Turner] "We are an endangered species, Miss Adara. And like every creature on this world, we struggle to survive."

He paused to take a drink of his now watered down soda.

"And hate to tell ya, but I done heard the Get story in every form so far. Fury warrior was born, she fought, she died, the end. Same for my Tribe, only they add something. Gaian was born, he fought, he made lots of love and died. The end."

Yes he smiled when he said it.

[Adara Mires] She grinned at Imogen's comment then looked at Roman with a smile about the story "What? She died? We never die, Fury are immortals"She say with a nod and playful smile "Kidding, we do our thing like everyone else. Too often it end with death. And my bad about earlier. Most of the time, when one of us say fight..they mean it literally. And you're right. I"m not going to debate it.

But I like something call eating and sleep in a bed. As I don't have a...mate.." She say the word in a very unsure way "Or a pack for now, or kins that can help me out, well I need to do something to get some money. I doubt that everything at the Brotherhood or at trhe Chruch is free you know"

[Roman Turner] "We chip in where and how we can at the church. Like I said, it ain't much but it's got a roof over most of it. And heck, I ain't got a mate either, don't make me anymore or less than I am, right?"

He took another drink from the soda.

"Anyway, ya have the address and are welcome to crash if ya need to."

[Adara Mires] She nodded "I do and thank you. What I meant about mate is that for some...it's a financial source amongst being a life partner and everything else. Certainly not that it defines you or anything." She smiled to him

Her attention move back to Imogen "It seem that we're done ifyou want to come back to the coversation"She say with a small grin "And, I'm ready for your answer if you still want to tell me"

[Imogen] Imogen is returning as Adara speaks to her, arching an eyebrow slightly. "I was throwin' out my garbage, no hidden meaning."

A pause as she takes her seat. "I'm a forensic pathologist - fer the county. 's someone who studies manner an' cause o' death."

[Adara Mires] She smiled to Imogen "I hadn't meant it that way. An it's very useful job you have. Not that you didn't know that laready" She watched them all "Well if any of you need help with something, I'm offering."She look at Roamn "Well you, I might see often if I crash at the church"

Her eyes move to Imogen and John "I can give you my number in case you need anything" She shrugh slightly "Depend on what's needed, I can be pretty useful"

[John] John takes so long to eat it's almost as if he's fallen asleep mid-meal. He allows the verbal Ragabash and the kinswoman to handle the passing-along of information to the Fury as he eats. When she offers up her number, John is sucking soda through his straw: it squawks when Adara's eyes move to him, and he pointedly looks at Imogen.

[Roman Turner] He grinned, and offered his number to Adara,taking the attention away from John for a moment.

"Well folks, I need to get back for my shift. Miss Doctor Slaughter, Ma'am, thank you for the wonderful meal and company. John, I still like ya and ya know you're always welcome at our place. And Miss Adara, it was a pleasure to meet you. If ya have a need, ya have directions. Just knock."

[Imogen] John looks pointedly at Imogen and there is a brief flicker of her gaze in return, a drawing down of the eyebrows the narrowing of her gaze, a silent question. Imogen does not speak if her expression can do so for her, and it seems that being around the mute only exacerbates this habit.

She turns her attention back to Adara, "Frankly, yeh'll probably need me before I need you," she says this without a shred of boasting. "My job as yeh've said, is useful." She picks up her purse and sets on the picnic table's edge, undoing the clasp before she reaches into it.

This is clearly a habit - she does not need to rifle through the contents of her handbag. It takes only a second for her to retrieve a clip of business cards and remove one, offering Adara one caught between two fingers. "Call th'mobile if yeh need anything. I'm rather -" a beat, "adept at clean up, and I'd rather know about it when yeh make the kill than when it shows up on my doorstep."

[Imogen] (SORRY ROMAN!)

Roman gets to his feet, making his farewells. "Don't mention it," says the red-head. "I'll see yeh in a few days, I imagine. Goodnight."

[Roman Turner] "Night y'all."

A single touch to the brim of the stetson was given and then he was turning to wander off down the trail.

((Thanks guys, must sleeP!))

[John] As Roman prepares to leave, the Modi extends his non-dominant right hand to shake with him, clasping his arm at the wrist rather than taking him by the palm. A nod takes the place of written word, and he claps him on the elbow, much lighter than he'd smacked him with the journal, before releasing him to go on about his night.

[Adara Mires] She nodded to Roman "Thank you, I'll keep both your number and the Church's adress in mind" She say with a smile and offered him a small wave. Her attention shift to Imogen, taking the card "I'll remember that and hopefully, if I ever need your services, I'll be able to repay the favor. Thank you" She say with a smile

Finally she look at John "I know you don't talk, but I"m sure you can text, so that's when my number comes handy, or you mgiht even give it ot someone who can call me if you or that someone need me" She put her hand out "Permission to have your pen and write my number in your book?"

[John] She loses him at 'text.'

The look John gives her goes from mildly interested to completely flat in about half a second, as though she'd just uttered a forbidden word. He sets aside the half-consumed beverage cup and sniffs, dragging his left hand down the lower half of his face before returning his attention to the Fury. When he responds--actually responding instead of simply staving off the urge to sigh--John shakes his head No, then retrieves his journal from wherever it wound up before.

[Imogen] Imogen makes a faint dismissive tilt of her head. Either the kinfolk feels there is no need for payment of her services or she's given up on Garou ever being able to come up with anything. "Just call me beforehand, rather than makin' me deal wi' it afterwards. S'enough."

She flicks a glance toward John as he reacts to Adara's sentence, but says nothing.

[Imogen] (Sorry guys! I know there are only like... three people posting, but I somehow keep losing track that it's my turn)

[Adara Mires] She watches his reaction to the word text. She tilt her head with a frown "Sorry, didn't meant to insult you John." She say, keeping her eyes on him for a few more seconds "Anyway, I was just offering"

She look at Imogen "Don't worry, if something happen, I'll call you" She look at her empty plate "Well maybe I should leave you. You've been nice enough to help me out. I'll let you two hang out"She say, starting to get up

[Kora] (hey darlings, please do not wait for me. I logged in and then said to me: totally silly for me to join your scene right? since I have to work in the morning. Oh, morning. So: I am not actually joining, but it is not because I am rude, just because my body requires sleep.)

[John] Her eyes are on him, and while he can feel the weight of them as he scribbles on a fresh page in his journal, he doesn't look up. Up comes his free right hand to wave away the apology, or the notion that she insulted him, or else just to get her to let him concentrate on spelling.

About the time Adara starts to stand, John has finished scratching out his message. He looks up, flummoxed but not frustrated, and taps on the table with his palm to get her attention.

Dont us fon. No insalt.
Mak sakrifis to malstrum - wil tak mor then.

[Imogen] "I appreciate it," Imogen's eyebrow lifts slightly at the comment about letting them 'hang out', her mouth stirring, but she does not speak on it. John writes something, but Imogen makes no effort to read it, instead, reaching into her purse to retrieve a bronze cigarette case, and flicking it open.

[Adara Mires] She look down at the piece of paper, reading it, then she offered John a warm smile "All right, Ican understand not wanting to us one. They're a necessary evil to me. I can't howl all over the city..seems liek people don't like it" She grin "And thank for the tip. I'll seek him out, do my thing." She half offer her hand to him "It was nice meeting you John"

She look at Imogen "And you as well doctor." If she meant something by her earlier comment about hanging out, it didn't show. To herm aybe they're just friends, or she's hiding her thoguhts really well. "I hope to see you again, without the need of your expertise"

She smiled and start heading out, a small wave in the direction.

[Imogen] "Goodnight," she says, absently.