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.