Simon's Views.

[Simon Zahradnik] All garou were warriors somewhere deep down within but the Full Moon differed from the rest in the fact that even at rest he never let the war get more than an arms length away. Simon was never without a weapon, never without the comfort of knowing that he could kill anything that came within arms reach in the blink of an eye and anything outside in just a few more seconds. Even in contacting Imogen he arrived at the Brotherhood ready for battle.

The common area seemed as good a place as any to meet and talk. Though these days it would appear even the brotherhood was likely compromised. Maybe the time has come for the garou to find a new cover? Whatever the case that wasn't a matter that needed discussion at the moment. He had arrived to speak to Imogen, called her number and invited her to meet him here and so this is where he could be found.

Boredom would take him sooner or later and as the moon grew in the sky he found himself increasingly agitated and bothered. So needing something to do he found it in one of the pool tables. Though he didn't have anyone to play with that much was probably good. Nothing pisses a full moon off more than losing.

[Imogen] It is not the first time in recent memory that Imogen has graced the second floor of the Brotherhood with her presence, and that, in itself might be considered an oddity. This is a break in her elongated workday - she enters the common room dressed in slacks, a blazer over a blouse, her shoes clicking lightly on the hardwood.

She is a slight woman, particularly when compared to the larger-than-life of Garou, but somehow, her delicacy is less than an inhibition. She too, is larger than life, though in her own way. Pure breeding infiltrates the air about her, settling spores in lungs and mind. Her self-possession diminishes her fragility with a straight spine and dark and unflinching eyes.

She is carefully attired, her hair back and twisted away from her face, braided and then pinned up until it is almost neatly contained. Almost is the operative word - strands have escaped the pins and braids to brush against her cheek, or her temple, her neck, or to get in her eyes.

She turns her head slightly to let gravity push the hair from her eyes, as she scans the common room. It does not take long - she recognizes the Shadow Lord at the pool table.

"Simon," she greets him, when she has approached and they are in speaking distance.

[Simon Zahradnik] He hears her voice, and after lining up a shot he stands tall to look the woman over. He offered her back a smile after a brief moment of gathering his senses."I was told by Lukas you'd be looking into the whole matter with the assholes out there setting up shop."He says with a nod of his time."If you ask me it's about time... I asked Kora a month ago if she and her pals were willing to help me out. Seems the enemies gotta be knocking on our fucking door before anyone has the forethought to even bother to do shit about the problem."He says with a look of annoyance searing in those eyes of his. Obviously there was a hint of frustration from a month of playing Chicken Little it would seem.

"Whatever the case I am glad to see we've got more delicate hands on this whole matter..."He says with a shrug of his shoulders."Problem is I am finding it hard to believe that this shit is all just the doing of the mob."He adds cautiously."They're a mundane agency... They only care about profit. However, this shit goes way the fuck beyond the mob. Plans to turn our Caern into a dumping facility? Radioactive waste in the water?"He shrugs his shoulders."Why in the fuck would the mob even invest in this shit? Have they gone stupid?"He asks her curiously."Someone is pulling their strings... We've been looking but so far the Garou I've sent haven't been able to dig up more than a couple names..."He shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders."And now they're at the door beating against the wall..."He looks in the direction of the facility.

"I will kill every last motherfucking one of them before I let them in... I will find them in their beds and I will kill every single one before I let them set foot on our Caern."He adds with the frustration showing in his eyes."But no we've gotta play nice with the Mob for now. So that's what we do... But I'd like to know someone else has a few ideas here for getting us back on track."And there he passes the torch to her.

[Imogen] Imogen regards him evenly as he speaks, her eyebrow arching slightly when he mentions Kora, but no other visible reaction to her expression.

Her eyes are dark, rimmed with copper, steady and unnervingly direct. He finishes, and feels that he's past the torch to her, metaphorically, and for a moment, there is only silence.

"Perhaps you'd better explain a bit more clearly why yeh've asked me here," she says. "Unless it was just t'offer yer thoughts on the matter."

[Imogen] ("Her eyes are dark, rimmed with copper lashes...")

[Simon Zahradnik] He smiles just a hint."I want to hear your thoughts and plans on the matter... I've been riddled with bullets over this thing, and still I have to hold back. They've threatened my friends, and my comrades and still I've gotta sit in the background and watch. Now they're threatening our Caern directly and deliberately. Yet still I've gotta hold my ass back when I could be out there dealing with these assholes directly."He speaks in the kind of bitter tone that one might expect out of a Full Moon after this much time has passed.

"If you asked me what we should do my answer would be simple. We find the assholes behind this whole thing and we start chucking them out windows till they catch the hint. The assholes behind this are not dealing in this matter legally... They pumped a house full of lead in an attempt to kill a helpless woman in order to get what is in the damn Flash Drive... Then they had the cops cover up the evidence saying she was a fuckin' coke dealer."He says with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Right now they've got vans casing our pack house looking for a certain kin."He says this with a little sigh."I wanna know what people are thinking about the whole situation. Lukas seems to think you know your shit, and that's good... I am gonna assume you do. That means exchanging information... Tossing ideas back and forth. If I gotta play fluffy bunny with the mob while they've got a shotgun pointed at the back of my head... I wanna know we've got shit coming down the pipe that's gonna hit them so fucking hard they wont know what hit 'em."He smiles a bit.

"You're the big guns right? I'd like to know where we're takin' aim."

[Imogen] "If you deal wi' the 'assholes' directly, right now," she says the curse word as if it were a word in a foreign language, deliberately taken from his lexicon and shoved into hers to make a point, "you will likely stir up more human reaction than yeh know how t'deal wi'. The problem is tha' this is high profile. It is visible to both the criminal and the legal elements o' this city. This is not simply a cursed creature you take and kill and nail t'the wyrm pole, these are people wi' presence who will be missed if they disappear and will be investigated if they are murdered.

"We would ha' a far more difficult time concealing your blood bath than we will attempting to stop this another way. You could bring th'whole area under scrutiny - including your caern, the Brotherhood and anyone seen t'be connected wi' either."

A pause. "So we do it carefully. We use the human avenues and we exploit th'fact tha' they are immoral, and they are illegal and they think tha' their power protects them. The caern is protected, identities are protected and no one becomes a target if we can avoid it. We make the area around the caern unpleasant t'own, their plan unprofitable and untenable - through protests, unions, media coverage, and if we can, we stop it in the courts, by politicians and the like.

"The plan won't be set in stone until everyone is in a room. But I imagine it will be a multi-pronged attack - media, unions, law enforcement, politicians. We wear them down, we get them out. Fer the moment, protectin' the caern is th'first priority."

Another beat. "After that, kill the wyrm wherever it dwells and whenever it breeds." There is a faint flash of her teeth in her smirk. "I imagine you'll be first in line."

[Simon Zahradnik] He nods his head slowly."That's what I keep hearing... As if no one in the mob has ever up and disappeared or been found dead in a ditch."He says with a hint of a laugh before looking back at the table and lining up another shot.

"They've already got the police on their side... So I think we're gonna have to pursue the route of federal authorities. Problem is I don't want feds anywhere near us. They get a whiff of anything in our direction and we're fucked. That kinda surveillance is gonna be worse than anything anyone can throw at us. We're also looking at business influence, these folks are rich as fuck."He says just before taking another shot. It doesn't matter after that, he isn't even paying attention to the game more to her.

"I will show up at the meeting, and see if I can offer any ideas... However I don't know how much direct help I can be to folks. I'm likely already on their hit list so about the best I can do at this point if I'm not Killin' em... Is offer advice. Still I don't wanna completely take a back seat here. This shit gets bloody we need someone who has intimate details on who all we're dealing with. Names, faces, where to find them, and bring the fight back to them."He says with a nod of his head.

"In other words... If we're lettin' our kin handle this then that is exactly what we should do right? Take a back seat and let you all do what you do best?"

[Imogen] He speaks of the mob never ending up in a ditch. "The issue is not that one mob member ends up in the ditch. But the number we would ha' to kill and remove and hunt down to stop this ending up in a ditch."

He continues. "We'll ha' to feel it out. S'a balance - protect the caern and protect it's privacy. It might be wise t'get Theurges t'ramp up th'protection o' yer holy place," her eyebrow arches slightly. "I assume it has some."

When he finishes, she smirks ever so slightly. "I daresay that's correct, yes."

[Simon Zahradnik] He shakes his head."The Packhouse is fine... If they wanted in they'd have to fight their way though the halls and that's not smart. Not to mention they're not gonna send an army into a high priced hotel to gun someone down. They'll do it in an alley or the like where there wont be so many security cameras."He adds before laughing softly to himself.

"We know who runs the organization... We take care of them and the lower rank and file will understand we're not someone to fuck with. You might wanna start there. Gerald, and Antonio Scarpesci and Jacob Puucelli are the three you wanna keep your eye on. They run things... Problem is I suspect they've got someone else behind them. I just can't quite get that layer peeled back."

"Maybe now we've got folks working on this shit we can peel this shit back and get at the real story underneath this whole deal."He continues.

"I wanted to speak to you and see if you had anything pulled together yet and see what direction this is headed. I'm the Wyrmfoe, and even if there isn't some agent of the Wyrm directing these assholes hands. They're doing the work of the Wyrm as it stands and that makes their lives forfeit in my eyes."

"I'll bring all the info I got in neat little files for everyone to see to this meeting. You feel free to set it up and send a message my way and I'll be there."

[Imogen] He gives her some details, and she nods. "As I said, the first step is t'stop th'incursion on th'caern. Then we worry about stoppin' them from ever tryin' again."

He continues and her mouth twists faintly. "I already feel free t'do whatever I please. I don't need yer permission, though thank you for the lip service." There is something amused about her lips, but something sharp-edged about her eyes.

"If yeh can get me the details beforehand, I would appreciate it."

[Simon Zahradnik] He nods his head slowly."You got a secure email or the like I can send the information to? It's all digital as things stand."He says with a nod of his head.

[Imogen] "I'd recommend givin' it t'me on disk," she says after a moment. "Email can be intercepted and encryptions can be broken."

[Hunter] There's a wall of Rage coming up the stairs but to both the inhabitants of the Common room, it is barely worth the mention. Heavy booted steps bring Hunter into view and he scans the room with quick green eyes. There's surprise on his face -- easily readable -- and he looks first at Imogen with a raised eyebrow before heading slowly over to them.

Jeans and a t-shirt is all he wears, Hunter Matthews is a simple man[wolf] if nothing else. His jaw holds only the finest of a shadow, hardly there at all but his eyes are sharp and bright and his hair is clean: a healthy animal, to be sure.

"Imogen." He greets her, as per usual, though there's something cautious about the way he approaches, like this is not at all the encounter he was looking for.

"Sup Simon?"

[Simon Zahradnik] He nods his head."I'll grab another flash drive and copy the data over."He says back to her before looking around the room."I guess that's about all we'll be getting to the bottom of tonight so I will see you again whenever this meeting is set up."Unless of course they meet up again before then but that's not exactly on the agenda.

"Thanks for the meeting."He says back to the woman.

Hunter's presence draws his attention and he nods his head."Not much just having a friendly little chat with Imogen but I think our conversation is winding down so I think I'll be on my way."

Simon might talk a lot but if there is one thing in this world that Simon was not it was a socialite. He liked to keep conversation to business and when business was concluded he tended to slip away like a thief in the night. Personal just wasn't one of those things Shadow Lords did all too well. He's spent too much time playing nice with others only to find it backfiring in his face. Needless to say the Shadow Lord learned quickly why their kind are the way that they are.

With a nod of his head first to Imogen, and then to Hunter he lays the cue across the table and begins towards the door. His hoodie was lifted up and over his head and he slipped down the stairs. Unless he was stopped on the way out for some reason.

[Imogen] "Don't mention it," she answers absently, watching the Ahroun as he goes, her expression unreadable, closed.

Simon takes his leave and Imogen begins to pick up the balls that he has scattered, plucking them from pockets and dropping them into the triangle.

"Fancy a game?" she asks, almost off-handedly.

[Hunter] "Yeah.. yeah sure.. gimme a sec." He says to Imogen, and then: "Hey, wait up Simon. Got a favour to ask of ya'."

[Simon Zahradnik] He stops near the stairs and reaches up to draw back his hood before turning to face Hunter."S'up?"He asks short and simple.

[Hunter] "Ya know questin' stone?"

[Simon Zahradnik] He nods his head."It's a useful thing to know... You need help learning it?"He asks the other Full Moon curiously.

[Hunter] A thoughtful pondering. "Yeah, one day. Bit more urgent n'that though. Look I don't wanna hold ya' up over this right here, but I'll give ya' a buzz later."

A beat.

"Need ya' help with somethin'."

[Simon Zahradnik] He nods his head."Something urgent? Or the kinda thing that can wait?"He asks him curiously. Simon wasn't exactly the kind of person to leave something lingering in the air not if it was important.

[Hunter] "It's urgent, but say.. I'll met ya' at ya' place n'like an hour?"

[Simon Zahradnik] He nods his head."I'll see you then."He says before pulling his hood back up and over his head and turning around to exit once more. This time he manages to make it down the stairs and out into the street towards... Wherever he was headed!

[Simon Zahradnik] [And with that Simon is out! Thanks all!]

[Hunter] With that he swivels back to Imogen, eyes lowering upon the pool table. "I ain't very good." He says to her plainly and walks around to collect one of the sticks.

"Got beat by a Fang kin once."

A frown.

"Whatchu doin' up here anyway..." The sentence drags away and he twists a quizzical grin into his lips and eyes. "I hear ya' raisin' the flag'a maelstrom high for kin everywhere."

[Michael Carroll] The day's work is done for now. The sun has gone down and that damned drainage system is unfixable in daylight, much less in the dark. Michael has come down from the roof and made his way inside, searching for something with the word "proof" somewhere on the container. Hydration, after all, is very important. His faded blue jeans are covered from ankle to knee with soil, the long-sleeved undershirt he wears has turned from white to gray.

The drink is found before long, and he makes his way to the common room in search of company. The Irishman will drink alone in a pinch, but thankfully he won't have to tonight. He spots the pair by the pool table and lifts his hand in greeting. "Lovely evening Doctor. Out for a game o' billiards? If you're playin' for money I'll take a piece o' the action." His green eyes move to Hunter, a nod offered as salutation for the Ahroun. "Evenin' t' you as well. Don't think I've properly introduced m'self. Michael Carroll, No Moon o' th' Fianna."

[Imogen] The pool table does not take long to set up. It is done before Hunter turns back - by the time he does, Imogen is perched on the back of the couch, holding a pool cue like one might a staff.

He ambles over and she arches an eyebrow a faint smirk touching her mouth. "That's probably fairly unfortunate for you," she answers in response to his warning that he is not very good. Insinuating, of course, that the kinswoman is good.

"Yeh want t'break?" she asks, getting to her feet.

Michael enters and Imogen casts him a brief, dry glance. "That depends, you betting for or against me?"

She removes her blazer absently, laying it on the back of the couch. What was concealed there before is now carelessly visible to all - her gun in a holster at the base of her spine. She shoots a sharp regard to Hunter over the line of her shoulder. "I don't recall raisin' any flag."

[Wendy Berber] *Never has a more stuttering step made its way up the stairs into the common room. The clump kalump of worn leather shoes falls hesitantly. So hesitantly in fact, that shaggy black hair is rising up between the banisters, cokebottle glasses reflecting beyond unkempt bangs. A prey animal peeking through the grass, making certain all is clear before emerging in the open.

One face she recognizes. Imogen. Decker's mate. The very thought of the fenris modi is enough to threatening her bladder control, and Hunter gets a panicked once over. No. That wasn't him. She looks to Michael as he strides to the billiards table. Nope. That wasn't him either. Relief has her wetting cracked lips. Unknowns were dangerous. But Decker was suicide.

Reassured somewhat, the Kalumping resumes - and a tall, thin - nay skeletal young woman emerges awkwardly at the top of the stairs, shoulders hunched, holding a suitcase to her chest like a shield.*

Um....

*A quick dart of eyes to Imogen, before the girl ducks her head.*

Um.. H-hey?

[Imogen] A timid voice draws her attention. The redhaired kinswoman turns her head to look at a rather timid, yet ridiculously tall skeletal woman. The contrast in confidence (Imogen - more; Wendy - much less) and height (Wendy - more; Imogen - much less) is almost comical.

A line forms briefly between her eyebrows, then clears.

"Wendy, isn't it?" she pulls the name from a memory nearly faded.

[Hunter] "Michael, think we bumped heads once out in C-Town, nasty shit in the Umbra, don't remember much'a it but it fuckin' made me crazy for weeks afterwards."

There's a beat.

"Hunter Matthews, Fostern Ahroun, Bone Gnawer." Green meets Green and there's a nod of his head followed by a reaching out of his hand to clasp the wrist of the Fiann. Whether he takes it or not, his head turns to the new comer, Wendy, or unknown frail kin as she appears to be.

"Sup?" He says to her in that rowdy voice of his.

[Hunter] [jesus she's taller than Hunter]

[Michael Carroll] "Well, it's a dumb bet since I heard your competitor here sayin' he wasn't that good. But I'll lay twenty on him." He grins and shakes Hunters offered hand. A moment later the Fianna slaps a bill on the edge of the pool table before taking an observatory position nearby. "I dare t' dream for th' underdog."

Wendy appears from the stairs, drawing Michaels attention immediately. He regards the overly shy girl with an arched brow and an almost sympathetic smile. This sort of behavior wasn't entirely unheard of among Kin from his own home Sept. It's a hard life, realizing that not only are there monsters in the world...but one day they may show up at your door and ask you for a favor. If you're lucky.

[Wendy Berber] Y-yes M-Ma'am. You're D-d-d-doc-do-doctor um. Sl-Slaughter.

*Hair is tucked nervously behind her ear, Wendy nodding shortly. She and Imogen were a study in contrasts. Maybe the glasswalkers just bred them feebler. Or the Uktena. Or whatever she was. No breeding to mark her as anything, in truth. She was simply kin. An underfed, sickly kin, by the looks of it.

The girl's cheekbones are stark, eyes sunken, fingers bony around her suitcase. Her knees - are a knobby crime against eyes, exposed by an ugly wool skirt two sizes too large. Eyes carefully on the floor, she wiggles twiggy fingers to Hunter as he addresses her, shirking his gaze.*

Um. S-sorry.. I.. uh. is there a room av-v-vailable? That I could m-maybe st-sta-st-st .. have?

*A deep breath. Held. Maybe it would stop the stuttering.*

[Imogen] A conversation with a stutterer is about nine times longer than anyone else. Imogen does not help her or correct her, letting her get through the words, the staccato consonants while red-haired kinswoman watches her without any sign of pity or impatience, but no sign of compassion or patience either.

"I imagine so. Know Jenny, do you?"

Given the effort Wendy required to get out her question, the ease with which Imogen speaks is almost startling. "She's likely workin' in the kitchen at th'moment. Can get yeh set up, if there's space."

[Hunter] Michael is probably the only one here who would have any idea if there were available rooms or not so while Imogen helps out the kinswoman, Hunter is busing lining up a break on the pool table.

If there's space

Crack

Balls go rolling everywhere, nothing gets sunk. He peeks over at the two kinswomen. "Ya' shot Imogen." The money that was put on the table gets handed back to Michael.

"Save ya' money man. I'm gonna lose for sure."

[Michael Carroll] He laughs and shakes his head, taking the money from Hunter and laying it right back on the table. "The wager's been made, my friend. It'll never be said that Michael Carroll backed out o' any bet."

In fact, he has no idea about the availability of rooms. Most of the time when he's here, he's on the roof. He watches the gangly young girl as she struggles around her own words. Listens as Imogen instructs her on how to secure lodging here. There is little he can do to assist here, but he tries the best way he knows how. "Care for a drink, Wendy?"

[Wendy Berber] K-k-k-kay. Um. T-th-thank you Miss Sl-sl-sla-sl - um, d-doctor..

*For a moment there she sounds like she's choking on a chicken bone. Head ducked, turning to leave, suitcase hugged tightly to her chest as she pivots on twin stir-stick legs to go ask Jenny about -

Crack

Luggage is dropped, case spilling open, clothing and books tumbling everywhere as the kin spasms nearly out of her skin, a sharp intake of breath and the hard clunk of her elbow on the railing of the staircase following on the heels of Hunter's shot. Glasses askew, nerdy features crumple into a wince, red blaze of embarrassment creeping all the way to her ears as Michael addresses her. Leaving her - well - stumped.*

A d-drink?

... *Stick girl tries to nonchalantly step on ugly grey granny panties as she clears her throat, shoe scuffing across the floor.*

uh - wuh. K-kay. I can um.. g-g-get you one? If you'd li-like.

[Michael Carroll] Another laugh followed by a slight shake of the head. To his credit, he does not blatantly stare at the girls belongings as they are scattered on the ground. He simply steps around her on his way to retrieve more beverages. "No, y' just focus on collectin' you're things and gettin' settled. I'll get th' drinks. What d' y' prefer? Hunter, Doctor? Either o' y' care for anything?"

[Imogen] "Don't mention it," the doctor replies to the thanks of the Kinfolk much like she had the thanks of the Wyrmfoe.

She is about to turn away to look at the table when Hunter breaks and Wendy freaks. Her gaze moves from the spiralling balls to the nerve-wracked kinfolk, then down to the chaos of clothing and books, her eyebrow arching minutely. After a moment, she merely turns away, focusing on the table again. It is perhaps the kindest thing she could have done.

She eyes the mess that Hunter has made of the table before choosing her angle, leaning forward to commit to it. A moment later, a solid ball sinks into one of the pouches. "You're stripes," she says as she steps away from the table.

[Wendy Berber] Um. J-juice. Ok?

*What she needed was some sort of weightgain cocktail. And a Valium. Blushing red, back stooped, she makes haste to gather up her books and embarrassing under garments, shoving the clothes haphazardly back into her suitcase. Books taken careful care with, but shoved away quickly and protectively none the less.*

[Hunter] "I usually call em' bigs n'smalls." He says to her then pauses. "Guess stripes is smalls right?"

Likewise he is trying not to look at the kinswoman in her state of distress, though he did look extremely guilty when her luggage went everywhere. There was a cringe like ee, my bad but beyond that, what's a man to do?

Wouldn't pay to go helping her collect up her underwear and such things. "Beer'd be fantastic he calls out to Michael, somethin' dark if possible though I ain't one to be fussy."

[Imogen] "I'll ha' -" she's cut off by a chime, and the kinswoman turns without speaking, sinking to a crouch to retrieve her phone from her purse, glancing at the screen as she gets to her feet, handbag in hand, reaching for her blazer.

"Never mind," she says, lifting the phone by way of explanation. "I ha' to go." A flick of her attention toward Carroll, "Take my turn, will yeh? Yeh can see if yeh can protect your money."

To Wendy, as she steps around her, heading for the stairs, "Welcome back."

[Michael Carroll] He returns promptly, expertly carrying three drinks in two hands. A juice blend for Wendy, a pair of lagers for himself and Hunter. The Gnawer recieves his pint first, then Michael joins Wendy on the floor to help the girl in gathering her things. He is careful not to touch the more delicate possessions out of respect for the kins embarassment.

Imogen passes to exit, and he waves her farewell. Then realizes something once she's gone. "Shit, I bet against her. If I lose th' game takin' her turn, I win th' money. But then my pride suffers. An' there's no one t' pay me."

[Wendy Berber] *Michael helps her gather her things. Books with titles like "A study in Alchemy" and "Tippington's ledgers on Occulte in the New Worlde", and "Urban Legends Research Manual - Chicago.". Wendy stammering her thanks quietly, inching away from the Fianna in degrees. Imogen makes to leave as the twig-thing lurches to a stand. Kin blinking.*

I - um. Th-thanks?

*The word comes thin as the older kinswoman makes to leave. Makes to leave her. With two strange garou. Ink blue eyes crawl up the shorter ahroun, then dart to Michael. Wendy's mouth twitches thin.

The Titanic looking at an iceberg.

It takes two tries to pick up her juice from the coffee table.*

[Imogen] (beeeed. Goodnight! Thanks for the RP!)