[Hunter Matthews] The fangs are always the most fun, and this one doesn't disappoint. How lovely for you, she says, like she's the god damn queen of england looking down on him from a great height and it only makes him grin all the more. They can see his eyes now, impossibly green eyes beneath a short mess of thick brown hair.
"Ain't it just? Fuckin' lovely alright. You gotta name ta' match that--"
But there is politeness from the stag, which halts his words - which aren't mean or biting, full of jest - his eyes turn on her. It's not every day he has to consider that a kinfolk doesn't know what he is, after all he spends most of his time watching humans run as fast as they can in the opposite direction. What else could he be?
He scratches his chin briefly.
"Don't think so, nah. Would'a remembered you fo'sho. You too blondie." He almost laughs and considers dragging the game out a bit longer of just what he is, but it's a new year after all, time to be nice. "Some call me Burnout, Alpha of'tha Vanguard." He grins and raises his hands palm out in a sign of peace. "Don' worry bout me girls, ain't no dancin' crazy come ta' drag ya' off. Though if I was ya'll be passin' tha test of caution"
A nod of his head.
"Yessir, yo Guardians be proud."
[Bridget Geroux] This gives the Stag a bit more ease. The smile might actually morph into something genuine now. She gives Kristiana's hand a gentle assuring squeeze before speaking again. She gives almost a sigh of relief.
"So you say," she says with a small laugh.
"Alright, so which do you prefer.. Hunter or Burnout? We're on the prowl for chow if you'd like to be our escort for the evening? And... sorry about that just then. Things are a bit tense right now."
That should explain things well enough until they can talk in a more private location. The two look like an odd pair: the Fianna in secondhand punk clothes, the Silver Fang in her usual prim and tidy street wear. But they look cozy enough.
[Bridget Geroux] "Oh," she says while shaking her head, eyebrows quirked up. "Jeez, where's my head? I'm Bridget."
She offers a hand to the Ahroun.
[Kristiana Coleman] "Yes, please join us." She nods, glancing up at him before looking back down. "We're getting tacos or something. My treat."
Which is, of course, rich Fang for 'Please accept this monetary offering and don't kill me'.
[Hunter Matthews] He raises an eyebrow at her and a pained yet amused look crosses his face.
"Hunter, please."
Things are a bit tense she says and Hunter knows all about that, he doesn't need to hear more at least not out in the street. And then there's the hand which is grasped by the Ahroun, perhaps a little too tightly but he can't help it. These things just happen.
"Nice ta' meet ya Bridget, and taco's sound amazing, fuckin' amazing. And your treat too blondie? Well shit, you know how'ta sweeten a deal."
And he motions with his arm, sweeping it out in front of him.
"Lead the way, ain't been here in awhile."
[Kristiana Coleman] She waits for Bridget to lead, having very little idea where she's going herself.
[Bridget Geroux] The Canadian winces, takes back her hand and shakes it out. She doesn't seem injured, so no foul. The brunette smiles again and starts walking....
"This is Kristiana, by the way. She's uh... she's shy."
She's not familiar with this part of town, that much is obvious. But the Silver Fang has a smartphone!
After about a block, she turns to Kristiana, "Uh.. I really don't think they have street vendors this time of year. Except for hot dogs. And I'm not too familiar with this side of town. I'm sure I could call Simon and ask him, though."
[Kristiana Coleman] "That's okay. Let's go in someplace. I'm freezing" She gestures with her free hand to a cafe across the street.
[Hunter Matthews] "Shy eh? Well, we'll sort that out won't we bridgey." He says rather cheerfully. Yes he just called her Bridgey. And they cross the street, directed by the Fang kin. Some fancy looking cafe (they're all fancy around these parts, at least to Hunter), the tables and chairs are all inside, doors shut against the cold. But a light is on, and when the door is opened by the Ahroun the smells of hot bread and coffee greet them.
He holds the door open, let's them both in before stepping in afterwards.
[Kristiana Coleman] Ragey kin and punk chick in a wealthy area. Between the two, it's not after Krist leads them to a table in a far corner that the room begins to clear out on it's own. She orders soup and coffee, indicating the others to get whatever they'd like.
[Kristiana Coleman] (Ragey guy, rather. Oops)
[Bridget Geroux] The Canadian nods her dark head and looks for an opening in traffic before leading the other kinswoman and the Ahroun across the street. The girls scurry across the street like a couple of birds just released from the roost. Bridget also starts to shiver, perhaps from her poor wardrobe choice.
Even with tights, thick socks, and a jacket, it's not much against the cold. They enter the cafe with haste. Bridget gives Hunter a quirked eyebrow at her newly acquired petname, but just shakes her head as if to say Okay. Whatever.
The smell of coffee, pastries, and deli treats makes the Canadian's eyes go wide. She orders a hot spiced cider, then has quite the internal debate over whether or not she wants soup or a sandwich. After some jittery movements she finally decides on a sandwich.
She can't really help being hyper around the Garou. The Rage makes her nervous, brings out this weird jittery, loud, sometimes flirtacious, and slightly obnoxious like some teenager. She's probably the legal drinking age, but it's obvious she hasn't been out much.
"Kristiane," Bridget goes for the French pronunciation again. "You should get some water, too. Trust me. Oh, and here."
Ever the Fianna, the kinswoman pulls out a bottle of aspirin and forks it over to her blonde companion.
[Kristiana Coleman] She looks confused, but takes the aspirin. Apparently, the bit of blonde fluff hasn't dealt with very many hangovers in her days.
[Hunter Matthews] He sits, and his eyes scan around the cafe as he does so. People look away, even shift tables or leave all together when the Ahroun enters. It's something he has never quite gotten used to, but at least he doesn't turn his face to the wall and avoid eye contact any more. One step at a time.
Water, aspirin, new years.
"You feelin' a bit fragile Kristiana?"
He orders himself two sandwiches and a coke.
"Bridge's got it right ya know, drink lots'a water. Feel fine in no time."
[Kristiana Coleman] "I don't usually drink so much." There's a tiny pause, and her voice lowers to a whisper. "Hunter Rhya"
[Bridget Geroux] "I wouldn't be much of anything if I didn't know how to handle a hangover," she declares. She takes two aspirin herself and washes it down with the coffee that finally comes.
The Stag kin whips out her phone and tries to text something for a moment before chiming in again.
"So, Hunter. Where are you from and all that jazz?" She's feeling rather chatty.
[Hunter Matthews] His brows knit together and a tiny smile creeps into the corners of his lips, he even flicks his green eyes over to Bridget briefly before looking back at Kristiana.
"Just Hunter, we all friends here right?"
Fangs and their etiquette, it's not lost entirely on a Garou like Hunter, he appreciates the sentiment, but he never even called his mentor Rhya. Certainly doesn't expect other people to call him it now.
"LA, dog town. Though that was awhile ago now, guess Chicago's ma home for a little while longer. What about you two?"
[Kristiana Coleman] Her head snaps up, and she looks at him more closely for as long as she dares.
"LA? Los Angeles proper, or one of the suburbs?"
[Bridget Geroux] We're all friends here... Usually this would be a cause for alarm, but Bridget's warm brown eyes find this concept rather amusing. She approves.
"Never been. I'm from Canada. Some little sept in Alberta you've probably never heard of."
This would explain the slightest touch of an accent she has. It's hard to place, really. Not quite being French and having the faintest hint of the typical Canadian accent that dumb Americans tend to stereotype the lot with. She hasn't even said 'eh?' once.
[Hunter Matthews] "Proper." He nods his head. "Moved around a bit, Compton, inglewood for a bit, long beach. Ain't no canada that's fo sure. You must think this shit's positively balmy." He grins. "Scuse ma french"
[Kristiana Coleman] Her nose wrinkles almost imperceptibly. Inglewood, for Gaia's sake? Compton?
"I'm from Malibu." She smiles and offers it up in a friendly tone. They could practically be neighbors.
Except for the poverty, and the crime and the gangs.
[Hunter Matthews] He raises both eyebrows and sucks in a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest in a sign of exaggerated realisation. But the grin is still there, that smile that never seems to fade from Hunters lips.
"Oooh Malibu. Right." He nods as if she's just answered all his questions.
Yes, practically neighbours.
[Kristiana Coleman] Her head ducks again, and she becomes very, very interested in stirring cream into her coffee.
[Bridget Geroux] The Canadian watches with wild-eyed fascination. She doesn't say anything about Hunter's very American quip about French. He probably doesn't know she's Quebecois. Their interactions draw a laugh out of her. Their orders are up soon enough, and Bridget goes to get them without being asked, shaking her head the whole way over.
When she returns, Kristiana is pretending to have her chin stuck to her chest. And Hunter is staring at the blonde with his arms over his chest like he's won the moment. And he has.
Bridget disarms the two sandwiches Hunter ordered, then sets Kristiana's soup before returning to her own spot with her food. She tucks in like she's got the metabolism of a teenaged boy. She probably does, with that lithe frame.
The grazing stops for a moment, "Nah, we still get cold. Only difference is I'm not in some cabin on the mountain curled up next to a giant wolf."
As was explained before to another Silver Fang kinswoman, Canadians just don't get cold. Because they cuddle.
[Kristiana Coleman] She glances at Hunter, then smiles at Bridget and stirs her soup.
"That still doesn't explain why you dress so lightly when you're not around other people. I'm always freezing here."
[Hunter Matthews] The gaze from his green eyes is distracted by the arrival of food. "Thanks." He says to Bridget and takes a sandwich up in each hand, biting heartily into the right one, almost devouring half it in one go.
"That's one lucky wolf." He mumbles as he chews.
[Bridget Geroux] To Kristiana's comment, Bridget shrugs while she's in the middle of chewing. "Guess I'm just used to it," she says.
Hunter's mutterings draw another laugh out of the Stag kin. She doesn't feel the need to explain that she was talking about her father. Some don't understand their closeness. Really, though, Meuric Geroux finds his daughter to be the one tie he has left to the human world. Some older Garou are just bitter like that. Some find swift ways to die, others cling to their families, whether kinfolk or their packs.
She tries not to choke on her food, stopping to savor the coffee. She taps her foot absentmindedly, like she's got a song stuck in her head. Bridget isn't really that jittery when she's alone or just with other kinfolk. With a rare few Wolves she's found an uneasy trust she can use to channel that reaction to their Rage, to their wildness.
[Kristiana Coleman] She stirs her soup more than eating it, absently playing with a lock of hair.
[Bridget Geroux] [Jacqui!!! *glomptackle*
to Patrick Llewelyn
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Can I crash your scene or is it uninterruptable? :P ]
to Bridget Geroux, Hunter Matthews, Kristiana Coleman
[Kristiana Coleman] (Crash away!)
to Bridget Geroux, Hunter Matthews, Patrick Llewelyn
[Bridget Geroux] [totally crashable. I had B send out a text invite to Simon earlier. If Patrick has a phone, that would be a convenient entrance.]
to Hunter Matthews, Kristiana Coleman, Patrick Llewelyn
[Bridget Geroux] [I dunno if Nick is actually going to join or not though]
to Hunter Matthews, Kristiana Coleman, Patrick Llewelyn
[Hunter Matthews] "Soooo" He says after he has finished his first sandwich, reaching across the table to grab his coke and sip at it loudly.
"Things are tense yeah?" And suddenly there's a side of seriousness that neither of these two kinfolk have seen from the Ahroun.
"Tell me all about it."
[Bridget Geroux] Kristiana's idleness draws Bridget's attention. She smiles to the handsome, green-eyed Garou and nods her head. Her attention goes back to Krist for a moment. She leans down close and speaks quietly.
"Quelque chose sur votre esprit, de miel?" (Something on your mind, honey?)
It occurs to her that Kristiane is too shy and probably doesn't know much about what's going on, so Bridge explains while the blonde has time to think things over.
"Oh, excuse me. Yes. There have been a few attacks lately from our friends on the other side of things. One of yours fell today defending a cousin of mine."
One of yours. Obviously she means a Garou, because she has no idea of his tribe. Bridget is good at making the conversation appear casual on the surface.
[Kristiana Coleman] Her head shakes and she returns with her own quiet comment to Bridget.
"J'ai fait un fou de moi-même. Ma famille serait mortifié."
[Hunter Matthews] He sucks in his cheeks and the grip around his glass of coke visibly tightens before he relaxes.
"Mmph." Is all he says at first, just a grunt. "Never good." Of course, he is no stranger to death. It is something that those of his kind and even their half blood brothers and sisters have to deal with. Everyone has skeletons in their closet, everyone wishes they could have done more at some point in their life.
"Chicago's a rough town, that's fo'sho." His ears twitch at the sound of a foreign language and he casts a glance between the two kinfolk. He doesn't know what they are saying so he just admires the scenery. They are rather good looking.
"Je mai faire du velo." He randomly blurts out the horrible barely even French words. "S'all I know."
[Kristiana Coleman] She giggles a little "Je me faire du velo. You should not go to France, if all you know is how to claim a bicycle."
[Patrick Llewelyn] Patrick doesn't own a cellphone, so it wasn't any invitation from the charismatic brunette Kinswoman of his tribe that brings him to the Cafe. It's just serendipity. The garage where the Galliard spent many of his days was only two blocks from where they currently sat, discussing the Fenrir who had fallen earlier today over caffeinated beverages with a near-stranger.
A more discreet Fianna might take them to account for that, so close on the heels of death by the Wyrm to be hanging about with just anyone who felt like they breathed and slept with Rage as a pillow at night. But -- Prayers to Broken Stone was not particularly discreet, and his Rage was not because he was so irate at another of his kind dying while he was not present to aid him.
He was not that honorable, not Patrick.
It was the waste.
When he reaches the Cafe, he pushes the door open abruptly, and cold swirls in, in the wake of his anger and jacket-clad figure; the collar turned up against the chill factor. Blue eyes flick about the diner, note the way the remaining patrons shift their weight awkwardly as his eye draws near them, spot the two Kinswoman with the unknown male and halt there a beat. There's the tightening of his mouth, and he returns his eyes to the menu.
[Bridget Geroux] [cha+emp. you'll see why]
[Bridget Geroux] Bridget is attentive, but there are two entirely different conversations going on and it has her attention split evenly. She's a lot more liberal in attitude when it comes to honorifics, and some Garou would find this behavior rude. Among the Fianna, however, she's being quite polite. Especially when you consider what Fianna she's been hanging out with lately.
"Yes. I was ambushed just last week. Luckily, I had some friends nearby and a shotgun handy," is all she says, but clearly there's a bigger story there.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I know some people think it's rude, but like I said, she is shy. Excuse me for just one second."
Bridget turns to Kristiana, touches her shoulder gently, and speaks to her with a soft, compassionate voice.
"Écoutez-moi Kristiane. Je n'aime pas vos traditions familiales, mais je sais deux choses. Ils ne sont pas ici pour être mortifié. Aussi, vous devez simplement vous-même être, car qui sait quand vous aurez l'occasion une fois que vous êtes marié."
She makes a damn convincing argument to the Silver Fang, who's already giggling when Patrick bursts through the door like the raging winter wind. His kinswoman immediately whips her head around at the sound, as if she's been caught off-guard. It doesn't make her argument less convincing.
However, the woman looks as if she has something urgent to do. Bridget looks to Hunter with wide eyes and raises to her feet.
"Excuse me. That is my cousin. I'll be right back."
And with that Bridget makes her way over towards the Welshman.
[Hunter Matthews] Well shit. Hunter Matthews doesn't really know what to pay attention to now. This cute little fianna got ambushed last week but fortunately she had a shotgun handy. Isn't that great. He's no fenrir, he doesn't perk up at the slightest inclination of a female wielding weaponry, but he's no child of Gaia either. He seems amused, impressed sure.. but amused.
His grin broadens into a smile and then a pfft of laughter.
"Well shieet girl, remind me not'ta bump into ya in a dark alley."
And when she gets up to leave his head turns to see what cousin she is talking about. He doesn't recognise him, so his gaze drifts back to Kristiana and he gives a shrug of his shoulders like Whatchu gon do?
[Kristiana Coleman] She winces slightly at whatever Bridget says to her, forcing a minuscule smile. When the woman scoots away, she glances to Hunter again, giving him a shy smile.
"How long has it been since you were in LA?"
[Kristiana Coleman] (Kicks AIM for dropping me)
[Hunter Matthews] "Oh, I stopped in not long ago just'ta check it out n'all. Ain't lived there in awhile now though, six months or so."
A pause and he sips obnoxiously at his coke through the pink straw that came with it.
"What'bout'chu?"
[Kristiana Coleman] "I've been here... two weeks? Almost three. You make it sound like it's been a lot longer"
[Hunter Matthews] The smile slowly drops from his face, only for a second before he runs a hand over his chin and smiles.
"Feels like it."
[Patrick Llewelyn] Bridget heads toward him and the Welsh-born Singer's shoulders tense. He turns his head to note her as she draws near in a cloud of pure breeding and nods, vaguely. He's very unfriendly tonight, apparently, or else his misery is just riding a little closer to the surface than usual.
Were his Alpha present, he'd note this was common for Patrick after someone he knew was cut down as a part of the War. His depression grew empowered, and threatened to overwhelm him, it was almost stifling right now, to be close to him, the way his eyes seemed to glow with some unspoken sentiment; the way his voice seemed in knotted with some low-level snarl cught in his throat.
"If you're coming to tell me about Night's Reprieve," he says in an undertone, handing money to the cashier and collecting his coffee. It steamed, black and bitter -- there was simile there, no doubt, between itself and its purchaser. "I already know," he moves, and the scent of coffee, and snow, and grease lingers.
"Been to the Caern."
[Kristiana Coleman] She stares at him for a full thirty seconds before glancing away again "Do you miss it?"
[Hunter Matthews] His eyes snap up from the glass of coke and meet Kristiana.
"What LA? Shit no." He laughs, a cheery bark of laughter. "I mean, it's'ma home town'n'all but nah, that's the past. Ain't nothin' for me there."
[Kristiana Coleman] "I thought it was nice, the few times I went there. Exciting." She stirs her coffee and sneaks looks at him. "I'm sorry about before. I didn't know who you were."
[Bridget Geroux] Bridget just stands there in awe of his rage and depression. She doesn't reach out for him, but she just stares... and nods quietly. She switches to Welsh so they can perhaps talk a bit freely. That Trilingual bitch!
"Doeddwn i ddim. Yr wyf yn cyfrifedig ydych yn gwybod. Fe ddes i weld sut ydych chi," she says with a certain softness in her voice. Her hands shiver from the sheer force of being caught between an Ahroun she doesn't know and this face of Patrick she was unfamiliar with.
"Roedd yn rhyfelwr wych."
Bless her for trying. The young woman, dressed like a total punk with a studded leather jacket, a blue tartan print dress, blue tights, thick black socks, and her usual combat boots. Her expression finally looks defeated, so she lowers her head and tucks a lock of dark hair behind her ear.
[For Jacqui: I didn't. I figured you knew. I came to see how you are.
He was a great warrior.]
[Hunter Matthews] He flaps his hand and then slaps it down on the table with a grin.
"Don't worry 'bout it. Hows you to know I ain't some horrible person? Never'pologise for bein' careful. Specially not in this town blondie."
[Kristiana Coleman] "Everybody says that. Like I'm going to be murdered at any second.
[Bridget Geroux] That is a very real possibility in this town. Kristiana doesn't know the half of it.
[hahaha look at my irrelevant commentary post!]
[Hunter Matthews] "Hah! Well, I mean. Happens to tha' best of us ya know? When ya see some battle hardened veteran full moon go down, hows one ta' think a halfies safe ya know?"
He shrugs.
"Do tha best we can n'all. And there's worse way's to go fo'sho."
Spoken like a true full moon.
[Kristiana Coleman] She nods a little, still stirring her coffee.
"Do you stay at the house?"
[Kristiana Coleman] (NM got it!)
[Hunter Matthews] "The house?"
It takes him a few seconds to realise what she's asking and as he does this he just blinks.
"Oooohhhh." a pause. "You mean tha' broho. Nah, ma Beta's got a sick ass warehouse out in bronzeville. It's mad. We stay out there, keep an eye on tha street's n'all."
He smiles and his eyes drift off into the distance.
"Brotherhood. Shit, ain't been there in ages."
[Kristiana Coleman] She puzzles out what he said, translating it into 'rich white girl' before nodding.
"You. Live in a warehouse. That's... lovely."
[Hunter Matthews] He frowns, not quite sure what she is trying to say by that. He sounds rather defensive and incredibly innocent when he says
"It's got rooms'n'all! And heaps'a space for fightin' and shit!"
[Simon Zahradnik] He had been summoned and so he arrived, like a really pissed off genie in a bottle who doesn't grant wishes but might kill you if you piss him off, the location was a little hard to run down but he arrived soon enough. Dressed well for the weather with an extra heavier coat atop his outfit. Goddamn the cold sometimes... Sure it might be natural and he might follow a god of the Storms but his god was a god of Thunder and Lightning and Rain! Not fuckin' ice! That shit was for Fenrir and Wendigo both of whom were known to have a major masochistic streak!
He arrived with his hoodie pulled over his head and a bandanna covering his mouth though the bandanna comes down and the hoodie is slipped off as soon as he enters to let the genuine warmth within slip back into his core. His eyes close for a moment or two and he just soaks it all in.
[Kristiana Coleman] "How lovely." She makes sure to add a bright smile now, so as to not be offensive.
[Hunter Matthews] "Yeah." And it's his turn to gulp and look at his drink before taking a loud slurp through that pink straw.
[Quinn] The entrance to the cafe opens, and in steps a tall, dark-haired kinswoman of the Fianna. As the door shuts, she unfastens her leather jacket, revealing a grey t-shirt with black heart outlines done in a brushed paint style. Jeans and heeled boots complete the outfit of the unusually somber Quinn.
She steps in and looks around, looking for a table whens she spots Patrick and Bridget, the first familiar faces she's seen outside of The Brotherhood and the bawn, outside of death and sorrow all day. Her eyes light up, more so than they have all day. She looks tired, the kinswoman. It was a long night, and has been a longer day. But when she spots the melancholy Galliard, she looks a little lighter.
Her steps carry her in a straight line toward him, and regardless of the conversation, despite who he's talking to, she grips him by the shoulder and turns him. Patrick has just enough time to register that she's not a threat, that she's his kinswoman, that he's being turned against his will before he finds Quinn's arms sliding around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug.
[Kristiana Coleman] She sighs and squirms in her seat.
[Patrick Llewelyn] Bridget talks to him in Welsh, perhaps in an attempt to console him for the loss.
But the problem was, Patrick's anger is not that of grief; or perhaps the grief is encased within his anger, who knew, but for the most part his reaction was the impotent rage of the nonbeliever. He was no pacifist the Fianna, he understood that War as a whole, as the kind humanity wrecked upon itself was sometimes a necessity. But he did not comprehend this war. This one he was branded for, that he bore scars as a result of.
Where was the good to it, where was the point.
Instead of headed to the table Bridget had been seated at, Patrick slides into an empty booth and presuming Bridget follows in his stead to finish addressing him, she gets his response, his voice melodic in the tongue of the Welsh, a strange juxtaposition to his Rage, and the cloud of misery cloaking him. "A oedd ef? Yr wyf prin wedi cael amser i wybod."
His eyes tick over her face, drop, fall away. He frames big hands around his cup. "Nid oes angen i wastraff tosturi ar mi, Bridget. Dydw i ddim yn galaru ef."
A beat, he grimaces.
"Yr wyf yn ddig am y rheswm pam ei fod yn marw."
He's lifting the coffee cup to his lips when Quinn enters. He'd been at the Caern, he'd heard the story of Night's Reprieve's own lack of such from death itself, and knew of the Fianna Kinwoman's own part in the events. He freezes mid sip and his pale eyes narrow fractionally as he watches her approach. Something flickers in those bright eyes, that's for sure. She reaches him, he's sitting, looking steadily at her.
She turns him, touches him and then puts her arms around him. For a moment, his eyes find Bridget over Quinn's shoulder and knit; then, slowly, stiffly, his arms enfold the Kinwoman and one braces the back of her head; much as one might imagine a parent would comfort a grieving child. He does not pet her; or rub her back, but rather simply holds her for a moment.
His expression tight.
[Translation: "Was he? I barely had time to know. You don't need to waste compassion on me, Bridget. I'm not mourning him. I am just angry at the reason why he's dead." ]
[Patrick Llewelyn] Bridget talks to him in Welsh, perhaps in an attempt to console him for the loss.
But the problem was, Patrick's anger is not that of grief; or perhaps the grief is encased within his anger, who knew, but for the most part his reaction was the impotent rage of the nonbeliever. He was no pacifist the Fianna, he understood that War as a whole, as the kind humanity wrecked upon itself was sometimes a necessity. But he did not comprehend this war. This one he was branded for, that he bore scars as a result of.
Where was the good to it, where was the point.
Instead of headed to the table Bridget had been seated at, Patrick slides into an empty booth and presuming Bridget follows in his stead to finish addressing him, she gets his response, his voice melodic in the tongue of the Welsh, a strange juxtaposition to his Rage, and the cloud of misery cloaking him. "A oedd ef? Yr wyf prin wedi cael amser i wybod."
His eyes tick over her face, drop, fall away. He frames big hands around his cup. "Nid oes angen i wastraff tosturi ar mi, Bridget. Dydw i ddim yn galaru ef."
A beat, he grimaces.
"Yr wyf yn ddig am y rheswm pam ei fod yn marw."
He's lifting the coffee cup to his lips when Quinn enters. He'd been at the Caern, he'd heard the story of Night's Reprieve's own lack of such from death itself, and knew of the Fianna Kinwoman's own part in the events. He freezes mid sip and his pale eyes narrow fractionally as he watches her approach. Something flickers in those bright eyes, that's for sure. She reaches him, he's sitting, looking steadily at her.
She turns him, touches him and then puts her arms around him. For a moment, his eyes find Bridget over Quinn's shoulder and knit; then, slowly, stiffly, his arms enfold the Kinwoman and one braces the back of her head; much as one might imagine a parent would comfort a grieving child. He does not pet her; or rub her back, but rather simply holds her for a moment.
His expression tight.
[Translation: "Was he? I barely had time to know. You don't need to waste compassion on me, Bridget. I'm not mourning him. I am just angry at the reason why he's dead." ]
[Bridget Geroux] [WHAT IS THAT LOOK PATRICK!!!
Per+Emp]
[Patrick Llewelyn] That look, that look is part confusion, part uncertainty.
Emotion, that look panics at. She wants comfort from me? There's incredulity to it, and some sense of reluctant acceptance that this was his role. He doesn't want it to be, but such is life, his eventual response to her embrace reads. She can see this, can sense that Patrick wants to help Quinn, but knows he's useless at it.
to Bridget Geroux
[Quinn] Quinn doesn't hold onto him for long, and when she pulls away, perhaps surprisingly there are no tears welling in her blue eyes as they did on Christmas night. There's a sadness, true, but it's not spilling over. She's not drowning.
When she pulls away, she doesn't linger on him but rather looks to her hands to begin peeling off a pair of blue and white knit gloves. They match the hat she wears. For the moment, she looks alright again, like that brief, awkward embrace was just the recharge her batteries needed.
"I'm surprised to see you guys here."
And then she looks up at them, barely a handful of seconds later. "Oh my god, were you on a date? I'm so sorry, I didn't even think..." Shoving her gloves into her pocket, she smiles at Bridget apologetically and starts treading backwards toward the counter. "Hey, good to see you."
[Bridget Geroux] Bridget certainly did not mean to "summon" Simon, merely grant a friendly invitation for him to get out of the packhouse if he wished. Thank goodness for the dark of the moon, or else the rage in this room would be entirely unbearable for the poor two kinfolk.
The people however, area different story. They pile out seemingly as Simon enters, followed by Quinn. She observes the exchange that goes on between them, saying nothing about what Patrick said to her.
They're seated at the back, probably taking up two tables' worth now, or fairly soon. Bridget squints at Patrick, then her face relaxes and she gives a very slight smile, nodding. He's doing the right thing.
Quinn starts asking strange questions. Bridget laughs and shakes her head. Her eyes drift over to Simon. She welcomes the Ahroun with a smile and gestures to a vacant seat.
"Hey, you made it. Great."
[Kristiana Coleman] Her eyes track Bridget as more people that she knows start to surround her, and lock on Simon when he enters.
[Kristiana Coleman] (BRB!)
[Hunter Matthews] His eyes lift from the table and his head turns to see where Bridget had got to. And there she is, with yet another pure blooded kinfolk and a pure blooded Garou. Shit. There's so much purity in here the Ahroun feels like he's stepped into the twilight zone.
Over hearing something he quirks a brow at the booth of blood nearby.
"Date? Shit bridgey, and here I was thinkin' we was on a date." He's grinning, probably joking, but he's always grinning so how the fuck can you tell?
"Ya know, you got me a sandwich, it was tasty. There were sparks." He flaps a hand and turns his eyes onto the tall.. jesus. Incredibly tall, OTHER fianna kin.
"Shit where they make you doll?" He says to her. "Grab a brew, come sit down. We'll start our own sandwich-romance and bridgey isn't invited." He smiles and holds out his left hand.
Which has a sandwich in it.
[Patrick Llewelyn] Quinn draws back after a few seconds of embracing, much, it should be easily read in Patrick's body language, to his relief. It was not the relief of the boy attacked by some female he had no interest in and was repulsed by but rather the action of someone clearly not at ease with close, physical contact of the sort that required the investment of his emotions, too.
Prayers to Broken Stone had enough trouble dealing with his own.
So she lets go, and says something about a date and Patrick's sandy eyebrows draw down over his eyes, his eyes flick to Bridget, then to Quinn when she starts backing up, still talking. In contrast to her constant motion, and words, the Galliard is like a statue. He's got both hands on the table and one eventually reclaims his coffee cup. But he doesn't prevent Quinn's departure any more than he prevented her from extracting from his physical presence the comfort she apparently needed.
He opens his mouth -- the other Garou starts calling things out, and his expression twists a little -- of course, then the Wyrmfoe is upon them, and the Gibbious moon draws in, rounds his shoulders down and hunkers a little over his coffee cup. He nods at Simon, but it's clipped. Terse.
"What is this." He mutters, for nobody's benefit but his own ears.
[Simon Zahradnik] Simon takes the time to pull his gloves off and look around the room slowly. His smile lifting when he catches sight of Bridget and then he glances at Quinn and finally in the direction of Patrick. His eyes linger there for several cautious moments as he takes the time to stuff his gloves into his coat.
However there is this nagging feeling rolling through him. The feeling that eyes are upon him, and soon enough his eyes find the source. He catches sight of Kristiana and his smile lifts just a little. He could feel the purity of her blood radiating off her in waves. In much the same way it radiated off Bridget. He took the time to nod his head in greeting to the Kin acknowledging the woman for what she was without really needing to shout it out across the room.
Before he could meet anyone, however, he needed to get something. Coffee was always good... Maybe a little snack. So up he went to the counter flashing a smile to Bridget in passing. She had invited him and so it would be impolite of him not to at least show he was there even if she appeared at first glance to be quite busy. No worries he could use something to eat anyway so it really wasn't a big deal.
[Bridget Geroux] Bridget finishes her damn sandwich before everyone decides to label her the town slut without her knowledge. The punk-for-a-night does so while she can, then washes it down with her coffee, glad to not have to talk to anyone or be split between three conversations for one gorram moment.
But surely the moment fades when she feels Simon eyeballing her and Kristiana. It brings a smile again.
"Anyone up for a game of poker?" she asks finally. "I don't have much cash, but we could always swap favors or something."
[Quinn] Bridget laughs, Patrick stands stone still. No one denies that the two Fianna are here together. Together together. Maybe on another day Quinn would look more closely at the pair of them, see more than what's just on the surface. Today she simply doesn't have the energy.
Backing toward the counter, she catches the attention of a stranger. A stranger with Rage. Quinn stops and looks at him, brow quirked with disbelief and amusement. Her blue eyes study his face before dropping to the offered sandwich. Casting a glance back toward Bridget, she gives her a look. You know this guy? It's not really a confirmation she's looking for, but more of a Seriously?
And she shrugs, because why not? Lifting her messenger bag from her shoulder, she sets it carefully on the floor and takes a seat between the Garou and the quiet kinswoman.
"No thanks," she says to Bridget over her shoulder. "Unless you're planning on wagering for sandwiches?" she asks Hunter. Shrugging out of her jacket, she leaves it draped over the back of her chair. That grey t-shirt is worn over a white long-sleeved shirt, and she leaves her hat on. Holding out her hand for the sandwich, she asks, "What kind is it?"
[Bridget Geroux] "It was just an idea," she says with a shrug. Bridget confirms with Quinn that, yes, she knows Simon.
She moves closer to Quinn and whispers something in her ear. A devious kinfolk plot of the notorious knitting circle fellowship called Sluts Anonymous. To be sure!
[Hunter Matthews] He seems absolutely jubilant that this tall kinswoman has not only accepted his offer of a seat but is now possibly about to accept his offer of a sandwich too. It's not often the Gnawer gives away food, the fact that he didn't pay for it is beside the point. It's his now, given to him. And now he's handing it to Quinn.
"Smoked chicken, avocado, salad.. things like that."
And it's passed over.
He sips on his pink straw, peering at Quinn as he does so. Slurp.
"I'm Hunter." He says after his thirst is quenched.
[Quinn] "Oh, sounds pretty good." Pulling a napkin from the dispenser, she unfolds it one-handed into a makeshift plate and rests the sandwich there for a bit. "I'm--"
A tap on her shoulder, and Quinn leans back to catch a whisper in her ear. Her brows lift, her head angles at the strange Ahroun -- not at all a surprise -- and her mouth quirks in a smile. "Thanks, Bridget. And she turns to whisper somewhat loudly, or at least loud enough for their table to hear, "Don't leave your date alone too long, he'll turn into a statue."
Slurp.
A low chuckle, and her attention is back to her own small gathering. "I'm Quinn. Thanks for the sandwich."
[Patrick Llewelyn] Quinn needs him to be something to her, perhaps simply to stand up and go to her and correct the assumption he's here on a date with Bridget, the woman who has been spending time with and at the very least kissing his Alpha under mistletoe and while high. He has no idea what Simon wants from him with that glance shot his way -- probably for him to get up and inform him that he didn't mean any of what he'd said the last time they met and could he be put to work, Sir.
Please, Sir.
Or, something.
But the blond Galliard doesn't do any of that when he does get to his feet. "I need some air," he informs, who, exactly, and strides to the door; pushing it open and stepping out into the freezing night. He lets the oxygen out of his lungs, Patrick and moves a few paces from the door.
A packet of cigerattes; Howard's brand, is extracted from his pocket and he taps one out, scowling into the night in reaction to the chill rather than the result of some mood.
Shk, shk
The lighter flares to life, and he bends to light the end of the smoke; the eerie orange glow giving the Garou a scarier presence than perhaps he warrants.
[Quinn] [Aw, what's up, Pat?: empatheee]
[Hatchet] And what to Patrick's wondering eyes should appear but a jolly old elf and an utter and complete lack of reindeer.
He's just strolling by. Patrolling the area, maybe. Checking on an old apartment, maybe. Or walking. Walking through the cold, familiarizing himself with the city that changes too much in eight months. He pauses when he sees Patrick outside lighting up, tips his head, then comes and quite silently stands beside the other Fiann.
[Hunter Matthews] He sits there patiently, big emerald eyes staring at her and his face tensed in a grin of anticipation. Go on, eat it! Eat it up! But she has to thank him first so he finally relaxes and lets out a breath, leans back in his chair.
"No probs, Quinn. Quinn hah! Like that old show fuckin' what's it called. When we was little the fuckin' nurse at the orphanage was like"
And his voice changes into something trying to resemble an old woman.
"Take ya fuckin' medicine or sully will getcha with a fuckin' tomahawk!"
[Patrick Llewelyn] [Man + 'Sub', just because. Watch this hilarity. +1 Diff because of his complete and utter lack of credibility without Sub.]
[Bridget Geroux] Bridget watches Patrick leave in a huff to go get filtered air. Bridget shakes her head, squints, and makes a hand gesture as if to say. No, you've got it wrong.
Brown eyes do flick back to watch Patrick smoke, however.
Jeez, Quinn. You playin matchmaker or somethin? she thinks to herself, staring back at her coffee with wide eyes.
Soon enough, she's distracted. The girl retrieves her harmonica from her bag and starts to furiously polish it. After Paul put his skeezy paws all over it, she hasn't felt like taking the senitmental heirloom out in front of the other Garou.
But now she does. What Hunter says catches her off guard. Bridget looks puzzled for a moment, but finally puts it together.
"You watch Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman?" she asks flatly, eyebrow quirked.
[Patrick Llewelyn] He's angry. He's rankled by the Wyrmfoe's presence and he's not sure how to deal with what just happened between Quinn, himself and Bridget. Patrick is not someone accustomed to being held to account for anyone but himself -- and Howard. The entire scene is making him edgy.
He can't deal.
to Quinn
[Kristiana Coleman] (My internets hate me :( )
[Kristiana Coleman] The Fang kin comes shuffling back in from her lengthy phone call, scowling and making her way back toward Bridget.
[Patrick Llewelyn] Alright, so storming out of the Cafe was amateur.
Were Howard present he'd be giving him grief for it via totem-phone, calling him names and questioning his manhood. But, then again, that was pretty much every other day of the week for Howard and Patrick; the lads of Volcano. In so many ways their totem was so well suited to one who could not hold his tongue, and one who did until he could no longer and said the unspeakable things.
The simmering and the explosion.
Right now, as Buried Hatchet comes to stand beside him, Prayers to Broken Stone was neither; he was the smoldering ruin after the fact. He offers the cigarette to the Fostern silently; and lets out a long breath of smoke; it's captured by the wind, and dragged off to pollute the ozone.
"Patrolling?" He asks idly. "Or caffeine hit?"
[Hatchet] One question about Hatchet is answered when he takes the cigarette from Patrick and puts it to his mouth, but what that question is depends on who is wondering about answers, at all. He takes a practiced but unaffected drag and then hands it back as he exhales. "Walking," he says lightly, and glances over his shoulder through the window of the brightly-lit cafe. Sees people. Smells and senses breeding, and his eyes fix on Bridget, then Quinn. But he doesn't go inside. He looks back to Patrick.
"Having a moment, or are they just all non-smokers and wouldn't join you for a puff? I mean not that it isn't positively balmy out here, but it seems kind of depressing nobody would keep you company."
His tone is dry. His wit is, too. He laughs, and Patrick's seen it, but what levity there is to Buried Hatchet is kept neatly in check by a profound groundedness. If Patrick had known him before he left, he wouldn't recognize him at all. And: he'd recognize him too well.
He holds out his fingers for the cigarette, after Patrick has another hit.
[Bridget Geroux] Kristiana storms back in from where Patrick left. Either the combined Rage in the room has the Canadian jittery and nervous as hell (hence her behavior), or she just-- no, it's just that she is feeling a bit uncomfortable.
So she does something that might mortify the Silver Fang kin. She gets a big grin, stretches her arms out.
"Mon amour. Nous pouvons courir loin de tout ça!"
In this moment, she's channeling pure Howard, only she has a moticom of tact by reverting to French. She pats her knee at the kin, then starts laughing hysterically.
"Je suis désolé. Désolé! Revenez. Vous avez été cruellement défaut." The tone is more sober.
[Quinn] Quinn is distracted from conversation with Hunter as a familiar brush of Rage stalks past. Her head snaps up, and she watches Patrick, sees the conflict on his face. A part of her wants to reach out to him, touch his hand, do something.
But she knows better. She didn't even know she wanted comfort from the Galliard when she entered the cafe, just knew that when she saw him, one of the few people she's spent the most time with in this city, it hit her. She lost a friend this morning. And damn it, she just needed a hug. Patrick isn't the same. He needs solitude and air. So she lets him go.
Which keeps her from catching what Hunter says until Bridget asks that flat question. Quinn fixes the Ahroun with a stern eye, one belied by the grin that curves full lips.
"Oh my god, don't you even...Do you know how many people made fun of me in grade school for that?" Chuckling, she leans back in her seat, and makes a show of straightening her napkin. Then she picks up her sandwich and takes a bite. "Mmwow," she says, after she's had a moment to masticate and swallow most of that first bite, "this is pretty good. You've got good taste in sandwiches, Hunter. I approve."
[Kristiana Coleman] She laughs, hugging Bridget and surprising herself by kissing the other Kin's cheek.
"Je suis d'accord. Allons rejoindre le cirque."
[Patrick Llewelyn] "Neither," he answers after the Philodox's queries.
Breathes out; turns his head so that Hatchet is no longer gifted with merely his profile; the suggestion of whatever it is Patrick is hiding out from; pretending isn't affecting him. Or simply his detachment from everything. "It's just stifling." He qualifies; and doesn't expand on it.
Just hands the cigarette back to the other Garou.
"Another one died last night, first one to go here that I knew." A beat, he ducks his head, his face forms the portrait of negligent distaste for it.
[Hunter Matthews] His smile cracks wide and his mouth opens in silent laughter when Quinn begins her swift shut down of any future Dr Quinn jokes. It calms and relaxes as she eats and his lips press back together. He seems proud, like only a Gnawer can be.
"Hells yea, tasty eh? But nah, can't be makin' too many jokes." That's a lie, he can and may. "Ain't seen much of that show ya see?" And he offers the words to both Bridget and Quinn. "Had ta' have good behaviour ta' get TV privileges."
He makes it sound like the orphanage was a prison. It probably was.
[Bridget Geroux] Two cute french-speaking girls of good breeding. Surely, this is some sort of Garou porn waiting to happen. Only, it's not. Because no one is that lucky.
Bridget returns the cheek kiss, because it's customary. "Yes, the circus. We must!"
She laughs again and returns to her coffee. Hunter talks about the TV show, but she has nothing really to say about it.
"I think we had three channels on a good day back at the cabin."
[Hatchet] If Patrick is lying -- he might me -- and Hatchet can tell -- he could if he wanted to know -- the Philodox doesn't call him out on it. The Galliard, not terribly surprisingly, mentions the honored dead.
Hatchet just nods, absently. "I heard. I didn't know him." And that's it. No sorry, no that sucks, because the criteria Patrick mentioned were just that Night's Reprieve was the first one here that he actually knew. Others have died, other places. Others have died that he didn't know. So it goes. Hatchet expresses neither sympathy nor sorrow.
He takes the cigarette one last time, hands it back again, and looks at the other man. "Thanks for the smoke. Can't stop walking, though. You get too cold if you just stand still."
With a little nod, and a second glance at the girls inside as though to implant their faces into his memory, Hatchet pushes off from the wall and puts his hands in his pockets. He walks on down the sidewalk, and he doesn't freeze. Tonight.
[Kristiana Coleman] She settles in again, pushing her cold coffee away from her.
"We have a screening room, with cable and two satellite services"
[Quinn] "Hm," she says, because it's all she can say with a mouth full of delicious deli sandwich. It's obvious she has a question, though, in the way her brows quirk and the way her jaw works just a little faster.
Before she can fully swallow her most recent bite, Bridget mentions three channels. Quinn's brow quirks, and whatever she was going to ask gets lost when she swivels to look at the girls at the booth. "You should sit with us. I mean," angling her head to include Hunter, "I don't think he really meant you weren't invited to the sandwich date, did you?"
[Bridget Geroux] "Girl!" Bridget exclaims in shock. "I need to take you camping the second this chilly weather goes away. You need to get out into the world."
Quinn's talking to her again. She looks like she's been caught in the headlights because, frankly, she has deep respect for the woman. Actually, there's not a single kinfolk she's met yet that she doesn't have respect for.
"Oh, no," she replies, then takes Kristiana's hand. "We should go be social. It's good for your skin, donchaknow?" Bridget fakes her best Palin impression.
[Hunter Matthews] A laugh is left out with a pftt of pursed lips at Kristiana's comment and he taps his chin as if he's thinking about whether or not the other two are invited to the sandwich date, green eyes resting on each kinswoman one by one.
"I dunno.. I mean.. It's getting kinda' intimate'n'all. First a sandwich, then maybe we share a piece'a cheesecake next thing ya' know we're shoppin' for strollers."
[Kristiana Coleman] "Camping" She says it slowly, in a tone much like one she'd use if Bridget suggested they get naked and wrestle in sewage.
[Quinn] Quinn laughs at that. "I think you're missing a few very important steps there, hon. Cheesecake does not lead to strollers, unless it's some kind of chocolate covered, chocolate crusted, chocolate madness."
[Hunter Matthews] "Camping! Shit!" And he looks utterly enthused. "We should totes do it. I mean, It's fuckin' winter'n'all but who cares right? Get some warm clothes, head out to tha woods for a campin' trip."
[Quinn] "Yeah, you have fun with that," Quinn chuckles. "I'll save my camping trips for when I don't need to use a jackhammer to break through the ground to plant the stakes."
[Bridget Geroux] "Yes, camping," she repeats. "I swear, get a bunch of people together and you won't miss the electricity. We might even be able to rent a cabin."
Bridget leaves out that she knows well enough how to survive without most things... like packaged food. The fact that the bumpkin has trapped rabbits and gone deer hunting with her Dad is... well... unspoken. Simon is the only one present who knows about it at all.
She seeks him out in the crowd, having nearly forgotten about him.
Hunter says something that catches her attention. She lights up. "Tabernak! Hells yeah." Bridget makes a face.
"You need a few people or it's not so much fun."
[Kristiana Coleman] She blinks at Bridget, then Hunter, then at Bridget again, looking more and more horrified as the seconds tick by.
"What do you mean, not miss the electricity? There's no electricity?!?"
[Hunter Matthews] Hunter's eyes flick to Quinn like he's taking mental notes.
"Right so.." And he pretends to write on the back of his hand. "Campin's out, but what was that? Chocolate covered madness chocolate crusted with chocolate -- " He pauses. "What about strawberries, where does that get me? Bottle'a wine?"
[Bridget Geroux] The Canadian cracks up at Kristiana's reaction. As if she'd die without her connection to the world. Tears come to her eyes, and she can hardly breathe for a moment. She just, loses her shit.
When she finally does come to, Bridget wipes her tears and looks for Simon, still giggling.
"Oh dear," she says with a sigh.
"Kristiane, do you know you have cousins that do without it their entire lives? They do without electricity, spas, smart phones, even hot showers. And they do just fine."
She giggles again,"They have fur though, so I guess that makes things a bit different."
[Kristiana Coleman] "But. I'm rich. I don't have to do without anything." She likely doesn't even realize how that sounds. It all makes perfect sense in her head.
[Quinn] "It's out for now," Quinn corrects, pointing her index finger down at her crumb covered napkin. "And I think," those incredibly blue eyes of her move up to the overhead lighting, and she squints in thought, "a bottle of wine will get you varying degrees of hand-holding, depending on how good it is."
It's obvious, at least from where she's sitting, that Kristiana and Bridget are talking from opposite sides of a spectrum. Namely, Bridget on one side, who knows a thing or fifty about surviving outdoors, and Kristiana, who does not. Quinn watches their interaction, smiling. Then she folds up her napkin, pushes first one arm, then the other into her leather coat, and shrugs it on.
"Well, ladies and gent, it's been real. I'm gonna grab a coffee to go and head out. Something tells me I should start keeping an eye out of strollers, just in case." She winks at Hunter, goodnatured and friendly rather than alluring and enticing. And she pushes her chair back and rises.
[Hunter Matthews] He's stands when she does.
Oh sit down Hunter. But he doesn't.
"Yeah, okay well. How bout' I let you buy me'a coffee ta' go as well and if we happen ta' see a shop sellin' strollers I mean--"
And he grins at her.
"No harm in just browsin' right?" His tone turns falsely serious. "I mean it'd be such a shame not to, what with all em' afta christmas specials n'all."
He raises an eyebrow at her.
[Simon Zahradnik] Somewhere in all the confusion Simon stops to look at Quinn and then over at the others and then, finally, back to Quinn. He lifts his muffin to his lips and takes a bite. He chews quietly while studying the woman with curious eyes as she wanders out before shifting his eyes towards Bridget and her friend.
"Busy place tonight."He says to Bridget before smiling politely and pulling up a seat nearer to her.
[Bridget Geroux] To this, Bridget just shakes her head, finishes her cold coffee. Hunter says something that is definitely eyebrow-quirk worthy. She's done trying to convince Kris that she needs to delight in the outdoors, because she knows the Babe would be miserable in the woods.
But at least she found potential camping buddies, even if they are jesting about future baby-making plans. Masterful, Quinn.
It has to be getting late. Bridget checks her watch, then her phone. She's missed a call from her Dad in all of this. A scowl forms. The drag and shuffle of Simon moving catches her attention. She turns her head.
"Oh, hey."
[Kristiana Coleman] She squirms around a little, enough to lean her head on Bridget's shoulder and more or less keep her voice to a whisper.
"Qui est votre ami avec les tatouages?"
[Bridget Geroux] To this, Bridget blushes. Bright friggen red. She met Kris the night she drunkenly said something stupid about getting into trouble. She hides her face by whispering back to the female.
"Seigneur des ombres. Il ya une pleine lune," she replies.
"Simon, this is Kristiana Coleman," she decides to introduce the two so she can turn her head down, pretending to dig furiously through her bag while hoping Kristiana doesn't remember or doesn't say anything.
[Kristiana Coleman] She apparently doesn't.
She does, however, offer her hand and an excessively charming smile to Simon. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
[Quinn] No harm in just browsin' right?
Quinn bends to retrieve her bag and pulls it up to her shoulder. She takes a moment to fasten up her coat before pulling out her gloves. When the Ahroun stands, one this becomes abundantly obvious: in these shoes, at least, Quinn is taller. Adjusting her hat, she says, "Sure, why not. I could use the escort." She's smiling when she says it, but she means it.
After all, she was jumped outside her own bar this morning. It can't hurt to have a bodyguard of sorts on her arm.
"Alright, I guess we're out. See you around, Bridget. Oh, hi," she says to Simon before she goes, and she looks a little surprised to see him. "I didn't recognize you without the elf costume. Happy new year, everyone." Nodding her head, after you at Hunter, the Gnawer and the Fianna exit the cafe, with a brief pit-stop for a couple of coffees.
[Bridget Geroux] Bridget waves at her kinswoman before she leaves. (meant to add that)
[Simon Zahradnik] He looks towards the other woman and takes the offered hand in his own."And you as well... I take it this means you two know each other then?"He asks with a soft little laugh before taking another bite from his muffin. He looks between the two of them and then back to Bridget.
"Have you met Kate yet? She's a sweetheart you should really meet her before too long. i'm sure there's a few others but she's the important one I guess."He says before turning his head back to Bridget."So what's up?"He asks her with a little smile."I got a text to meet you here. I am assuming you aren't in any kinda trouble by this point."
[Simon Zahradnik] He looks up at Quinn and grins back and nods his head."Well I do like to get festive."He says with a nod of his head."You two take care."
[Kristiana Coleman] "I haven't met her officially yet." A slight blush starts to creep up her neck, but she squeezes his hand and amps up the smile a tiny bit to cover her discomfort.
"I keep her out of trouble, usually."
[Hunter Matthews] "Nice ta meet ya Bridget, Kristiana. Try not ta' let her scare ya off campin' by the way. S'all good fun."
And his eyes tip upwards ever so slightly to meet Quinn's. This makes him grin, makes him smile that smile of his and when they step out onto the street he tucks a hand against his hip, offering his arm to her.
They see my stroller, they hatin'..
[Bridget Geroux]
[Bridget Geroux] "Oh, no. I just wasn't sure about that guy, and I was in the area."
And... her composure is regained. There's a slight twitch in her face between movements from having her attention drawn from the bag to Simon and Kristiana.
"Yeah, she's my conscience. Who knew?"
Her smile seems genuine.
[Kristiana Coleman] "I am." She nods in agreement, then drops her voice to a near whisper for Bridget again.
"Il est mignon. Vraiment, vraiment mignon."
[Kristiana Coleman] (He's. Not it's. Oops)
[Bridget Geroux] "Oui, il est. Je pense qu'il pourrait ne pas être ... droite? Je ne sais pas. J'ai l'habitude de traîner autour de lui beaucoup avant Caldera s'est présenté," she replies to Kris. Her words are deliberate so the important ones do not come across as cognates.
Afterwards, she gives Simon a smile.
"Do you mind? You told me to give you a buzz anytime."
[Simon Zahradnik] He nods his head slowly and smiles between the two."Conscience... Damn. I hear I could use one of those things. You mind if I borrow yours sometime?"He asks Bridget with a playful smile of his own before glancing back to Kristiana.
"I dunno about that guy."He says looking at the door as Hunter walks away."I mean I've seen him around but that's about it. i'm sure you're safe with him though. Least I think you're safe. I've never personally determined this or anything."
[Patrick Llewelyn] Eventually, the Fianna re-enters the Cafe.
He brings with him the wash of cigarettes; and the cold. He glances in passing at Bridget, Kristiana, Simon. Makes some mental note of who has departed and walks on by to reclaim his very likely all but stone cold coffee. He picks it up, and downs the entirety of it in a single gulp.
Impressive, were it not, as suspected, luke-warm. "I'm headed out," he calls to Bridget, and turns the collar of his jacket up, then heads for the door to do just that.
[Kristiana Coleman] Her eyes darken just a touch when Simon's playful smile is directed at Bridget. After all, she's used to being the girl that gets all the attention.
[Bridget Geroux] Patrick re-enters. Bridget raises her eyebrows. "Okay, bye Patrick!"
Only after he leaves does she swear under her breath. "Fuck. I meant to ask him where their packhouse is."
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Prayers to Broken Stone
