Amy's Got Troubles.

[Hunter] Imogen's phone rings, or vibrates, or chants with the sweet tones of pink-floyd. Whichever the case.

[Slaughter] Imogen's phone rings. Like a phone. It vibrates as well, the sound of the case rattling against the surface on which it lies.

It only rings the once. "Slaughter," she answers it, perfunctory, her voice even, as if she'd answered the phone this way a hundred times before. A thousand.

[Hunter] The way Imogen answers the phone quirks Hunter's lips at the corners and it sounds out through his voice when he speaks.

"Yo it's Hunter, need ta' meet ya' bout somethin'."

A brief pause.

"Where ya' at?"

[Slaughter] She pauses.

"There's a park at Wolfram and North Lakewood. Meet you by the swings, shall I?" He can tell by the sound of her phone, she is indoors. There is no whisper of traffic or rush of outdoor air.

[Hunter] A snort at mention of meeting him by the swings.

"Sounds like'a date."

And before she can correct him the phone is hung up and he is on his way.

----

It is a good twenty minutes before Hunter Matthews arrives. A lot of the snow has melted but the temperatures insure that it continues to refreeze each night leaving the roads slick and dangerous even for a driver like Burnout. He comes waltzing through the park with his hands in his pockets and his chin tucked down to his chest, sheltered by the thick and tall popped collar of his jacket and a black scarf which half hangs out to trail down his side, snagged by the window now and then, thrown about wildly.

There is something decidedly different about the way he walks, less nimble, lacking in that preternatural grace she has seen in him. He was a match for her at the least, faster even, but now? He still retains some of that agility but it is decidedly heavy placed. It looks like his strength building form turned out to be not so bad after all.

[Slaughter] She is waiting by the swings, her hands pocketed, dressed in a woollen coat, a scarf around her throat, bright against her pale skin. Her jeans are dark-washed and her boots are expensive, but other than that, he can see nothing else, not with her coat done up.

Her eyes are on him as he approaches, her eyebrow arching. It is all he gets for a greeting, an expression that says, silently, 'What is it?'

Her hair back, held in place by a clip. A few strands are loose and they are blown into her eyes by the wind, but she does not move to tend to them, yet.

[Hunter] She raises an eyebrow, asks him what this meeting is about without actually going ahead and doing it. She looks impatient to the Gnawer, she looks like she doesn't particularly want to be out here and wants to get this over with as quickly as possible. Of course, Hunter Matthews is about as good as a rock at figuring out Imogen Slaughter.

She is such a puzzle to the Ahroun.

"Imogen," he offers in greeting as per usual, though only waits a brief moment for her reply if there is one. "Whatchu' know bout'a Junkyard on King's Boulevard in tha' north'a South Side? Kora said some other pack used ta' hold it, now it's tha' enemies."

[Slaughter] A line creases Imogen's pale brow, then smooths, just as quickly.

"It was held by Fenrir, including Kora," she says. "The rest ha' died or left. If anyone could answer your questions, it would be her."

[Hunter] He licks over a tooth in thought, frowns slightly.

"Fenrir? Thought they was all up in tha' church area? Anywho she didn't got much ta' say bouts it, ya' know tha' land much?"

[Slaughter] Imogen shakes her head slightly, "I'm referrin' to a pack, not alluding to the entire tribe."

He asks her what she knows of the land, and she shakes her head, "As I said before, I don't keep track o' pack-lands. I knew where they lay their heads, but not their boundaries. The surrounding blocks, as far as I know, are as low income as anywhere."

[Hunter] He saunters closer then dumps himself down into one of the swings. A fist curls around one of the chains that holds it, twists in that grip and tightens. He sways but remains with his feet touching the ground. If there is a readable look on his face it is a troubled one, Hunter Matthews is a troubled man.

"S'way in deep north, ain't near ma' boundaries but looks like'a good place for n'outpost ta' push em' back from. Easy ta' defend n'all. We's gon' hit it sometime this week."

He doesn't sound as confident about the assault as he could be. Did he bring her here for info? Surely he must have known that the Kinswoman wouldn't have too much knowledge about a packs territory. She has said as much in the past.

Eyes raise from the snowy bark to her drifting tendrils of red hair and then her eyes.

"How ya' been anywho? Ain't heard from ya' in awhile cept at tha' church that day."

[Slaughter] She turns to face him, but does not deign to join him, standing, her gloved hands still pocketed. As she does, her head tilts slightly, pushing the hair back away from her eyes with the motion.

"Seems a bit pointless to split yer efforts," she observes. "Yeh can't work at cleaning both."

He asks her how she's been, mentions he hasn't heard from her for a while, and her eyebrow lifts slightly, "I wasn't aware I was supposed to call to 'drop in'," she remarks, almost idly.

[Slaughter] (Err. CHECK IN.)

[Hunter] He raises an eyebrow at her, head tilted to the side.

"Ain't fuckin' supposed to, that don't mean ya' can't."

The comments about his tactics are seemingly ignored.

[Slaughter] "Doesn't mean I will, either."

[Amunet Trujillo] She's bundled against the still too fucking cold for her, half stomping down the sidewalk with a cigarette in one hand, trying to text with the other.

[Hunter] He half snarls, half scoffs and kicks at the frozen bark beneath his feet.

"Na', guess it fuckin' don't. Wouldn't fuckin' hurt though ya' know?"

The two of them are situation within the park by a pair of swings. Hunter sits in one, Imogen stands nearby.

[Hunter] [situation >_> situated]

[Amunet Trujillo] "FUCK!" It's way too loud for this late, bouncing off of empty buildings. She pulls her hand back as if to throw her phone, but then stops herself and shoves it into her pocket instead. Fuck.

[Slaughter] There is a straightness to the kinwoman's spine, her back turned to Amunet, a stillness to her body.

"If I ha' anything to tell you, you'll find out," she says, "yer concern fer my safety, if that is what it is, is neither warranted nor necessary."

[Hunter] He snorts.

"That whatchu' think it is? Concern for ya' safety?"

He pushes himself up out of the swing, points a finger at her.

"I'll choose what's fuckin' necessary with ma' own concern, but fret over ya'? I wouldn't fuckin' dare." The words angry and sharp. He pauses though, eyes drifting up off Imogen at the sound of a voice swearing and reverberating around the buildings. He looks up and around, following that sound before they snap back to Imogen.

A second later he starts moving, a long loping gait that turns into a run as he seeks out the source which leads him towards the road.

[Amunet Trujillo] Smoke. Stomp. Smoke. She tosses the cigarette butt aside when she's done with it. Her phone comes out of her pocket again, and she's clearly considering the same treatment of it.

[Slaughter] "Whatever it is, you'd better stop or yeh'll find yerself eternally disappointed."

Amunet screams out a curse, and Imogen turns sharply, one hand slipping beneath the fall of her coat, touching the base of her back.

Hunter goes loping off in the direction of it, and Imogen watches him go for several seconds, before she walks after him, her gait even and unhurried.

[Hunter] This is Lakeview, it isn't Bronzeville, there aren't creatures lurking around every corner, the streets aren't a warzone at night. Hunter obviously isn't used to the nicer side of town.

He sees her and he lets out a huge sigh, it isn't exactly one of relief more one annoyance as his feet come to a halt about. He steps out of the park onto the side-walk about fifteen feet from the girl.

"Tha' fuck ya' doin'?"

[Amunet Trujillo] Attention grabbed by the voice, she looks Hunter over quickly before raising her chin. "Hey. Just out. What the fuck are you doing?"

[Slaughter] She comes up behind Hunter, her gaze moving to the pacing, angry looking woman.

"People screaming in this neighbourhood - or any neighbourhood for that matter," she observes, mildly in undertone, "do not automatically require saving."

[Hunter] His eyes flick back to Imogen, the annoyance at seeing Amy acting like this doesn't fade away when his gaze settles on the Fianna.

"Come fuckin' spend a night n'my neighbourhood."

His attention reverts to the strider.

"Ya' lost ya' god damn mind? Jesus christ I ain't got time for this shit." He clearly has no choice though because he stays. With a sigh and with utter resignation he reluctantly asks. "What's tha' problem?"

[Amunet Trujillo] Her eyes narrow. "For what shit? I didn't even know you were fucking here." She fishes out another cigarette and lights it, offering the pack to first Hunter, then Imogen.

[Hunter] He doesn't take the cigarette.

"No, ya' fuckin' didn't know I was there. What else didn't ya' know is there?"

[Slaughter] The kinswoman's eyebrow arches in response, but does not reply aloud. The expression could be understood more than one way - the challenge in it, the quiet and effortless confidence.

Hunter returns his attention to one whom - for all Imogen knows is a human. Until that last phrase. There is no reason to speak to a human like that.

Her gaze flicks toward Hunter, then Amunet, something like resignation crossing her expression.

"Worked out what he is yet?" she enquires mildly of the kinfolk, this slight woman near this raging Garou without flinch or fear.

[Amunet Trujillo] "Nothing I can't handle." She shrugs her shoulder and puts the cigarettes back into her pocket. "I can fight, remember?"

[Hunter] He raises an eyebrow at her and he can't help it when his gaze flicks to Imogen like are you fucking serious?. His eyes settle on the owlet again.

"Ya' gon' answer her? The fuck am I?"

[Amunet Trujillo] "You're an asshole. I know that." Her eyes flicker to Imogen and she offers a slight nod, then takes another drag off her smoke before looking back to Hunter. "You seen John?"

[Hunter] You're an asshole

His jaw twitches and Imogen might be surprised that he doesn't straight up pimp slap a bitch considering what she has seen from the Ahroun. It isn't this that has him reaching forward, it is the last part, the question.

His hand snakes out, grabs her by the front of her shirt and he lifts her off the ground like she weighs about as much as a shoe.

"Listen close, I ain't no fuckin' messenger boy for ya', What John is up to is none of ya' fuckin' business unless he fuckin' makes it so. I can tell whatcha' are from across tha' fuckin' block n'ya don't even know I'm there--"

He releases her, throws her back away from him.

"Use ya' fuckin' brain before ya' lose what's left of it."

[Amunet Trujillo] One second she's standing, the next she's in the air, and the next after that she's on her ass in the snow. Scrambling up, she looks like she's ready for a fight. "Oh fuck you. I don't know what fucking kind of fucking kin you have around here, but I don't need you. I don't fucking need a single fucking one of you."

[Slaughter] Hunter's gaze flicks toward Imogen reflexively. The slight, red-haired kinswoman is still, but her gaze moves toward him. She meets his eyes, but there is no echo of his reaction in her. There is no echo of anything at all. The kinwoman might as well be stone.

Her only reaction as Hunter reaches forward is to step back, out of the way, then she turns away, looking down what is a thankfully empty street.

But I don't need you -

"Then go." Imogen interrupts harshly, stepping, deliberately between the Kinfolk and Garou. "Yeh don't need them, yeh're right. So yeh don't need to prove yerself to them, and yeh don't need to explain yourself to them."

[Hunter] Hunter looks over Imogen's shoulder with a raised eyebrow like Well?

[Amunet Trujillo] "Who the fuck are you?" She looks Imogen over slowly, keeping a portion of her attention on Hunter.

[Slaughter] Hunter's rage is behind her. It should be intolerable, or nearly so. It should raise her metaphorical hackles, get her heart rate up, her jaw tense. Her eyes are fixed on Amunet, the beast at her back, ignored.

The woman is small, even in heeled boots, which augment her height. Slender, fine featured. Brilliant hair, and pale pale skin with dark eyes.

A set jaw and an even, unbending mouth.

"Tha' hardly matters, does it? I'm a half-blood, and yeh don't need the full-bloods so yeh certainly don't need me. Now, yeh are yelling, in the middle o' a street, and yeh are baiting a Garou. Either yeh don't need them, and therefore yeh ha' no need to bait them, or yeh want to cause trouble.

"Which is it?"

[Hunter] Hunter takes the opportunity to come and stand beside the Fiann, his arms cross over his chest and a curious look on his face.

[Amunet Trujillo] "He came charging over to me, sweetheart. And since you're not in his fucking pack, I'm pretty sure I wasn't fucking talking to or about you."

She's equally unaffected by the rage, though she seems to be simmering with her own form of anger.

[Slaughter] The woman is somewhere in either her late twenties with bad genes or a hard life or her mid thirties with good genes. She regards the younger woman placidly, her only reaction, a tightening of her jaw. "Yeh think curse words and exaggerated confidence, tha' swagger in yer step makes you strong.

"Strength is not loud. Strength is very quiet. You are not acting like a kinfolk who needs no one and nobody, you are acting like a child who thinks the louder you shout, the more they will respect you.

"And it is my business. Because if he leaves you as a bloody smear on the sidewalk, I'll clean up yer blood. And if he injures you, I will sew up yer wounds, because you will not be permitted to go to a hospital."

[Amunet Trujillo] "If he injures me, sweetheart, then it's because I couldn't hold my own and I fucking deserved it" She turns most of her attention back to Hunter, but keeps the other kin in her awareness.

[Slaughter] Imogen smirks faintly.

"Alright."

A flick of her glance toward Hunter, "Goodnight. I suggest yeh leave her yelling at the buildings." And she turns and starts to walk back through the park.

[Hunter] He looks at her like a predator regarding a rather mouthy trapped mouse. She squeals and she makes bold claims, Imogen is having none of it. Hunter it seems is having none of it either.

"Night Imogen." He huffs.

And then starts walking down the street past the Strider kin.

[Amunet Trujillo] "Goodnight, Hunter." Her tone is sticky sweet, and clearly taunting. "So nice to see you again."

Maybe she wants to get her ass kicked...

[Hunter] The taunt is ignored, he doesn't even seem like he heard it at all. Footsteps take him further out of range and then he disappears down a side street.

The owlet is left alone in a city where troubles are many. Somewhere in the back of Hunter's mind he hopes she can take care of herself as well as she claims.

[Amunet Trujillo] "Fuck you. Fuck you and him."

He probably can't even hear her, as she watches he and the kin walk away with her arms crossed. Jaw set, she shakes her head and goes in search of some way to blow off the head of steam she's collected.

[Hunter] [good scene thanks all!]

[Slaughter] (thanks for the RP!)