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!)