whatever, man [Brotherhood, Various]

[Kristiana Coleman] "But I don't want to stop shopping...." She looks like she'd readily curl up in a corner, though, between the sandpaper like Joey, and zombie Bridget.

[Bridget] There were people in the room apparently, meaning she's been lying there thinking for a while. There is a lot of noise. She's distracted.

The Fianna returns to her shared room a moment later with the bottle of whiskey she bought from downstairs and hid in some strange place like underneath the couch, behind the TV, or something crazy like that.

She returns and there is a pile of clothes larger than Bridget's entire set of belongings. She blinks, just now realizing what's going on here. She grins, dashes over to the bed with the other two, and leaps onto a corner that may or may not have submerged limbs beneath.

Bridget checks after she lands, then falls over beside the LUMP that is Kristiana. She jostles the liquor bottle back and forth, her eyes lit up.

"You need to stop shopping so you can afford to go out and rock what you've got on the dance floor."

[Kristiana Coleman] "I already can afford to go out. And I don't dance. You guys dance?" She picks up a few things and drops them again. "You guys should take some stuff"

[Quinn] At some point while bodies clogged the doorway to room 8, a stray wandered into the bathroom. The water in one of the showers has been going for about ten minutes and so far shows no signs of stopping. A feminine voice can be heard humming off-key occasionally.

[Cordelia] She looked at Kristiana like she was speaking a completely different language. She tilts her head to the side, and she rubs her head as though she has a headache or like she had been hit in the head with something heavy and blunt. Her hands fold low across her stomach.

"I don't dance," she says, "sounds almost like a challenge. How can you not dance?"

[Bridget] Bridget can't really complain about the offer. She unscrews the cap and takes a swig of the bourbon, then holds it out in offering to either of the Swanlings.

"You own all this shit and you don't dance?"

A grumble comes from the Canadian while she gauges the girl. Finally she takes a deep breath and declares the following loudly:

"WOMAN! Vous avez besoin de faire l'expérience de la vie. Vous avez la joie de vivre, mais vous n'agissez pas sur elle! La vie est précieuse. Un jour, vous clignote et ..." She makes a stroke with her flat hand in the air. "Vous serez trente. Ou quarante. Et vous regarderez en arrière et de penser: «Qu'est-ce que j'ai fait de ma vie»"

[Kristiana Coleman] "I just don't. We go, we let people take our pictures, see what guys will buy us bottles..." She shrugs. Apparently California clubs are different than Chicago clubs. "And I have forever before I'm thirty. Gawd. Pick stuff out so I can bring the rest of it over. And the shoes.

[Cordelia] She accepts aforementioned burbon, holding it loosely in her hand and tipping it back. This wasn't like the whiskey she'd had with Winston. It doesn't make her snort or feel like her lungs are on fire... okay, strike that, it does make her feel like her lungs are on fire, but this doesn't make her eyes water and her fingertips tremble and it certainly doesn't reduce her to a coughing mess.

Metis don't fuck around with their booze.

Cordelia just stares at Kristiana, and takes another long, harsh drag. She hands the bottle back.

"... we party on two different wavelengths."

[Bridget] It was worth a try, anyway. Bridget caps the bottle of whiskey unless Cordelia takes it, then slumps in defeat with an arm across the bundled blonde. Amidst the carnage of chiffon, polished cotton, sequins, silk, and whatever other glamorous gore was spread over here, Bridget breathes quietly for a few moments.

Then it occurs to her Hunter left... in persuit of Howard. Her brows furrow in confusion for a second before it hits her. If Howard is here and hasn't made a grand entry, he's either pestering someone (which is entertaining) or smoking pot (might be what she needs).

So with a bit of a struggle, she gets up and launches off in persuit of something to get her out of the zombified funk, bourbon in tow.

"I'll be back in a bit," she says.

[Hunter] "I know." Is all Hunter says.

The door gets opened by his left hand and swung wide by his left foot before he limps the Theurge down the stairwell. It isn't a pleasant journey, nor is it one that is particularly fast. But here for once, Hunters smaller height is of benefit. Howard can comfortably lean on him and Hunter takes each step first so there is something to support the crippled Fiann as he makes his way down.

Through the common room they go, back out to the corridor and quickly into the bathroom where Hunter lets go of him, letting him rest against the wall near the sinks.

"Aight--" He pauses, there's running water. "Who's in here?"
to Howard, Patrick, Quinn

[Kristiana Coleman] "Alright" She watches the bottle of burbon longingly, but doesn't ask for any. Instead, she gives up on sorting clothes and flops back into Cordelia. "Did I tell you that Mattieu took me to dinner the other night?"

[Cordelia] "You did not," she replies.

[Kristiana Coleman] "Oh. Well. He did." She gives Cordie a smile that says she knew damned well that she hadn't mentioned it yet.

[Quinn] The sound of people coming into the bathroom has long since stopped causing the kinswoman to pause and listen and tense. She never went to college, never got to experience shared showers outside of a few times in high school, and then only with other girls. The Brotherhood is full of creatures drawn to the blood pulsing through her veins, and she is perhaps at her most vulnerable in the shower. After all, she can't carry her gun in with her, and she's shit in a fight without it.

Nowadays she doesn't worry about it. The humming doesn't stop until one of the bodies asks who's in here.

"Hunter?" her voice echoes out into the bathroom proper. "It's Quinn," she says after a moment, because he might not recognize her.
to Howard, Hunter, Patrick

[Cordelia] This is an instance where Cordelia is acting like a girl. She looks around, then plops herself down in the pile of clothes as though it's just an incredibly expensive, high-thread-count beanbag. Her legs splay outward to the side.

"So.." she syas, she grins, "what happened?"

[Kristiana Coleman] "He's nice." She's trying to play it cool, and mostly succeeding except for the wide, goofy grin. "He's really nice. He opened my car door."

[Howard] Whatever non-vocal sounds Howard makes are muffled but not entirely obscured by the rushing water in Quinn's shower stall: he crashes into the tiled wall as though he's been dragged ashore, his sunglasses crack into the flat surface a few times as his shivering abates, his sneakers squeak on the floor as he tries to maintain his balance. The Theurge coughs, groans, his breathing taking on a high-pitched stridor, and when he hears Quinn's voice he drags his forehead across the tile to look in her direction.

"Oh Jesus," he announces. "Quinn darlin', earmuff it!"
to Hunter, Patrick, Quinn

[Patrick] It was the ironic thing about the Brotherhood.

You moved out and wound up spending more time back there than you ever did whist an actual occupant within it. Not that Prayers to Broken Stone and his Alpha had really lived there longer than, what had it been, three weeks? -- It had felt like years by the time they packed up their shit and moved it across town.

Now, the only reason why Patrick ventures back is either to locate one of the Kinfolk he's gotten to know, or hunt down his Alpha -- usually, he can find one when he does the other, which was handy. Tonight; he's coming to the Brotherhood directly from a late night at the Garage; reeking of cars and sweat and with a smear of grease across his neck. Beneath his leather jacket is his navy blue overalls, and heavy boots thud with a finality as he stamps them just inside the door.

From behind the counter at the bar, Reuben Coltrane, a grizzled bear of a man glanced up from counting the night's take so far and nodded at the Fianna. "Hey, man," Patrick called with what passed for good cheer from the Galliard. He rubbed his palms together as he crossed toward the man. "You see my Alpha making a nuisance of himself tonight?"

Reuben's lip curled, and he jerked his head toward the stairs. "Last I saw," he growled, and Patrick saluted him, and started making his way toward the stair-well, fingers rubbing off traces of his day from his flesh.

[Bridget] "Oi!" cries the Canadian once she reaches the hallway. "Where did you queerbaits run off to?"

The rooms are empty. The common area is vacant. She sighs in her strange hippie-chic attire, slumped over with a half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey in hand resting against her thigh. They might be on the roof or in the bathrooms.

Just then a noise distracts her: footsteps padding up the stairs from the bar below. She turns to look and spots a tall, broad-shouldered Welshman.

I guess you'll do.

[Hunter] "Oh shit," He whispers to Howard, "Quinns in here!" Like Howard doesn't know, he just TALKED to her. Hunter is a strange one.

"Uh." Hunter says, and takes on a voice that is his attempt at normal-person speech. "We're just, takin' care o somethin's. You just... you just keep on doin' what you're doin'."

A gulp and he hisses at Howard.
to Howard, Patrick, Quinn

[Hunter] There comes muffled sounds from the bathroom and then the voice of Hunter hissing. "Bend over."

[Howard] "No shit?" he whispers back, as though this is news to him.
to Hunter, Patrick, Quinn

[Quinn] "Earmuff it?" she mutters as she digs her fingers into her hair, working in some conditioner. There is, of course, no one on this side of the Gauntlet to see her frown. But she holds her tongue for now, and decides it's high time to finish her cleansing routine.
to Howard, Hunter, Patrick

[Cordelia] "He is nice," she says. She sits forward and perks up a little.

now, let's put this in perspective. This is Matthieu that Cordelia is talking about. This is the same Matthieu that has very little in common ideologically with Cordelia. This is the same Matthieu that Cordelia, for some reason, can't seem to find three nice things to say to unless she is horribly intoxicated.

"He's fairly optomistic," apparently, though, she doesn't completely despise the poor man.

[Howard] "What! No!" comes the distinct squawking of a certain foreign, antisocial delinquent. He's considerably louder than the Bone Gnawer. "I'm not bendin' over, if you're gonna do it, fuckin' do it!"

[Kristiana Coleman] "He's very sweet." Says the kin, in that 'OMG I like him SO much' voice. "I think he might ask me out again. Maybe. Do you think that people have been spreading rumors about me?" She sits up to look at Cordelia. "Have you heard any rumors about me?"

[Bridget] What a strange development. I mean, they've all joked, but... No, wait. At least Howard's bi, or he's covering damn well. As far as Hunter? Fuck knows! Bridget pads over towards the bathrooms.

"Hold that thought," is all she says to her tribesman.

[Quinn] Yep. Definitely time to get out of here. Quinn rinses out her hair and shuts off the water. And she pauses as she wrings the water from her long dark hair. She wraps a towel around her body and pulls back the curtain and sees...

nothing. Her hand is clapped over her eyes, the other occupied with holding up her towel.

"I'm not looking," she whispers, and decides to leave her bathroom supplies behind for now. "I'm not looking please wait until I'm out I'm not looking," she repeats.
to Howard, Patrick

[Cordelia] She looks at her cautiously... but mostly, her expression just confused. Her eyebrows are knit together, then pushed upward. One eye is a little more open than the other, and her lips are pressed into a line. Her arms unfold and rest on her knees.

"Why... would... anyone..? Eh?"

[Hunter] "I ain't done this before!" comes shouting back. A long pause ended by a sound from hunter that vaguely resembles shocked disgust.

"I can't! It's IN TOO DEEP I CAN'T GET IT OUT. QUINN GET OVER HERE PLEASE HELP ME!"

[Patrick] When Patrick spots Bridget, he almost looks a touch startled. Or was that guilty? It's something and it might occur to the Kinfolk that Howard has either spoken to, or Patrick knows of her time with his Alpha. He is quick enough however, to school away his expression into something far less pointedly aware and cants her a lop-sided, tired half-grin.

"Hey, Bridget." He gestures at the bottle as he comes fully into the common area, glancing in passing at the Silver Fangs gossiping in a corner. He still wasn't sure what to make of that tribe, honestly. "Drinking solo tonight?" Then, there's a distinctly familiar squawking from the bathrooms, and Patrick's eyebrows crawl toward his hairline.

"Uh," Hold that thought. "Bridget, maybe you should wait."

Then, repressing a smile, Patrick rubs the edge of his thumb over his eyebrow. Howard? Whatever you're doing, finish up before you destroy the coping mechanisms of everyone living here.

[Kristiana Coleman] "Just. You know. People telling people that I've done things that I haven't... That sort of thing." She picks up a silky tank top, looking it over before tossing it in the opposite pile.

[Patrick] [Whatever. I can't fucking keep up with you lot. Patrick is where ever he is, ignore that SF Kin. Or... don't. Whatevs, man.]

[Bridget] It's written on Patrick's face. He knows, the bastard gossip hens!! Really, the feral kin couldn't give a hair off Stag's tail about who knows. She just doesn't care. And the bathroom situation is just too intriguing for her to wait. Besides, she's already near the door when he says something.

Pandora. Box. Open Sesame!

[Cordelia] "Kristiana," her voice is stern, "is that a pointed comment or are you actually concerned?"

[Howard] [FUCKING IE ATE MY POST FUCK HANG ON]

[Quinn] The outburst startles her into dropping her hand from her eyes to see...oh. Oh hahaha. Oh that's not so bad.
to Howard, Hunter, Patrick

[Howard] Once Quinn turns off the shower head, whatever's going on in the bathroom becomes considerably more audible to the rest of the floor. Even the kinswomen in Room 8, if their door is shut, are not spared. Howard is goddamn loud even when he's calm and sitting still. Right now he's neither.

"Look, man, you fuckin' started this. Don't pussy out on me now!"

[Quinn] "You need a better grip on his hip." Compared to the squawks of the boys, Quinn's voice practically floats out of the bathroom. "Here, put your hand here."

[Hunter] "Put my hand WHERE?" Hunter whines. "And you shut up Howard, you started this. You practically begged me for it."

[Bridget] A few steps into the bathroom provides no clues, so she follows the loud shouting until she finds the source.

"What the fuck is going on?" she asks loud enough to be heard.

[Kristiana Coleman] Cordelia can see the panic starting to seep in. "Why? Are people saying something? Did he tell people that we did something? Because we didn't. I knew he was going to do that. Guys like that always do that. Oh my GAWD, what if Mattieu hears that we did something?!?" She wails, burying her face in a pile of Calvin Klein cardigans and Michael Kors sweaters.

[Howard] "You want me to keep beggin' you? Christ you're sick... here."

He says this, but then he clears his throat. There's a rustling to accompany his speech.

"Please Hunter Jesus I need you fuck!"

[Cordelia] She stands up and sighs. Who would have thought her to play the older sister role. Who would of thought her to be the nurturing, somewhat protective type. Then again, she's proven her metal recently. The young woman sits down beside Kristiana and she pats her on the shoulder. She notices panic, she notices a lot of things. The female pushes her glasses up.

"Calm down, it's okay... breathe..."

She says.

"Did you know my sister's a philodox?" she has a train of thought there.

[Quinn] A few steps into the bathroom, at least from where she's entering, and Bridget gets nothing more than the benefit of the trio of voices echoing off the bathroom walls. If she steps in further, moves around the sinks in the center of the room, she still sees nothing.

Unless she looks down.

There are two, no three pairs of feet beneath one of the shower curtains. One set, which can't be anyone's other than Quinn's, is bare and facing inward. There's a sneakered foot, a booted one right along side it, facing out.

"Now you've got it. Howard, do you need a hand?" One of the bare feet shifts forward.

[Kristiana Coleman] "She is?" That doesn't seem to make her feel any better.

[Hunter] "So help me howard, I'll turn this fuckin' car around." He warns and then there's a bit of silence followed by grunts. "Shit Howard, it's tighter'n'a nuns holy place. Ugh, oh oh there I think--"

A huge sigh of relief and a slippery sound.

"DONE!" Triumphant, proud.

Silence, drip drip drip.

"WE GOT A LEAKER!, QUINN! GET A TOWEL!"

[Howard] [I don't know where the hell Jacqui went but I'm giving her 15 minutes before I post again!]

[Cordelia] "She is," she tells Kristiana, "and some people say that circular, adament denial... especially in the way you're denying... doesn't do well to prove the strength of one's case. Your response is paranoid, and leads me to believe one of two things- one being that something did happen between you and your nameless mister and you are feeling the impact of buyers remorse... or you didn't do anything, and you genuinely are afraid of what the perception of your feminine virtue will say about your family and will decrease your prospects of doing what you were sent to Chicago to do."

A beat passes. She sighs and reaches over. The female runs her fingers through Kristiana's hair. She sighs and relaxes. There's a certain worth in what she says.

"If it is either of those possibilities, then it determines your next course of action."

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She seems to be in a good mood as she opens the door and slides into the main room, a little grin as if she's managed to amuse herself with some private thought. She's shivering under her duster...the girl is used to warmer climates. Thus, the door is quickly shut and she shakes off the chill, rubbing her hands as she glances around.

[Patrick] [SORRY. TYPING.]

[Kristiana Coleman] She leans into Cordelia, sighing. "Is that not how you were raised? A Kin is worth more if they're pure." She chews on her bottom lip for a moment. "It seemed like a really good idea at the time."

[Patrick] Patrick follows after Bridget, more out of expectant amusement than horror. He's well acquainted to Howard's tendency to pick, uh, public places to get amorous and can only trail behind with one arm over his chest, the other resting against his chin. Eventually, Bridget will come upon the three sets of feet sticking out from under a shower curtain.

Patrick rocks back on his heels a little.

Considers; then says in a carrying voice. "Should I get you three some Vaseline?"

[Cordelia] How was Cordelia raised? She keeps stroking the other young woman's hair, and she thinks about this... she's unsure of how she should act next. She looks down, and Cordelia exhales. Slowly, deeply, and she inhales through her nose. Takes in the air, "you need to define, for yourself, what you are worth and what purity is."

If seemed like a really good idea at the time.
"Why? Did you want to?" she's cautious with this question.

[Howard] Somewhere amongst all that noise there's a sharp, histrionic noise that isn't quite a scream and isn't quite a moan. Coming from most of the other people in this building it would either be stoically muffled, or there would be little doubt that this was genuine pain being expressed.

DONE! Hunter says, and Howard can be heard panting under Patrick's question.

"You're such a bloody stoppered-up twat," he says, sounding utterly indignant. "Don't fuckin' stop, fuck!"

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She purses her lips to the left, eyes narrowing a bit. She's seen all of the downstairs already, and nothing too exciting is going on...time to explore. She pauses a moment, trying to remember the directions she got on the tour of the upstairs, and then shrugs as she trots over to the stairs. They get ascended with every other step skipped.

[Kristiana Coleman] She looks around, slipping into French just to be sure the conversation stays private. "Vous ne pouvez pas dire à personne, Cordelia. Promets-moi. Si Mattiew découvre ... Non pas que je pense qu'il me prend pour un compagnon, mais je voudrais au moins à la date de lui pendant un certain temps. Je ne veux pas qu'on sache que j'ai fait une erreur comme ça."

[Hunter] There's a pause and then a clinking as something falls down on the shower floor. It looks like a claw. "I swear ta' god I'd put it back in if it weren't such a fuckin' hassle gettin' it out." He throws open the shower curtain and storms out leaving a bleeding Howard and a nearly naked Quinn.

[Howard] "YOU'RE NOT EVEN GONNA STAY AND CUDDLE?!"

[Patrick] Patrick watches the progress of the Bone Gnawer as he stalks out of the communal bathrooms, dropping his hand from his face and its adopted pose of nonchalance and tucking both hands into the pockets of his work clothing. Revealed with Hunter's departure is a nearly nude Quinn and a bleeding and somewhat suggestively positioned Howard.

Patrick's face forms itself into something of resigned bemusement.

He glances at Bridget, "it's honestly easier just to accept it at face value than to try and comprehend it."

[Quinn] "Another towel'd be nice," Quinn calls. "We've only got the one and it's, uh, sort of in use."

A claw drops to the floor, the shower curtain is pulled back. Hunter is seen first, then Quinn, her long hair dripping wet, a white fluffy towel wrapped around her body. Until tonight, the only person in Chicago to see this much of Quinn's body had his own burned to his Homelands. Now, Bridget, Caldera and Hunter can see: the trail of birds working around her right forearm, the outline of a star on the inside of her left wrist, claw marks that start at her right shoulder and trail nearly to her elbow and, when she turns, the branch of some tree in blossom, stretched across her upper back.

She smiles at Howard in sympathy. "Are there anymore?"

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Into the common room she heads, peering around with a swipe of her hand through her hair. She pauses a moment to try and remember which way is what, then just gives up and follows the sound of voices.

[Hunter] It's then he sees Bridget, standing there. He looks at her with raised eyebrows. "Go give em'a cuddle, he's like a big baby."

Then he stops, turns around, looks at Howard and cracks up laughing. "You're fuckin' ridiculous."

A pause.

"I can't believe I just pulled a claw outta'ya ass. I'm hungry, and I need a fuckin' drink. I also wanna' get the fuck outta' this place. Who's comin'?"

[Bridget] The Canadian gawks with a bottle of liquor in hand. She unscrews the bourbon then sips at it.

"What the hell happened?" she asks.

[Howard] Once he thinks he doesn't have an audience anymore, Howard turns his back to the shower wall and doesn't so much let himself slide down as he just collapses. Quinn is close enough to see that his hair froze from taking a shower and then going outside for far too long, that his corduroys--previously yellow--are drenched in blood. It seems to have originated from his left sacroiliac region, but the entirety of his leg and backside has turned a stomach-turning red, and it's stained his torso as well, as though he was lying in blood for a good amount of time. Pain has turned his skin dusky, and there is blood on his hands as well; hand prints coat the walls of the shower, and there's a trail of prints where he was marched across the floor.

He's still panting as he rests on the wet floor of the shower. To his credit he doesn't attempt to peek up Quinn's towel; with his sunglasses on no one can see he's squeezing his eyes shut.

Quinn wants to know if there are anymore.

"Wha?"

You're fuckin' ridiculous.

"Oi!" Howard snaps, his rancor feigned, before lifting a bloody hand to flip Hunter a bird.

Who's comin'?

All the Theurge does is laugh a high-pitched, almost hysterical laugh and rest his head against the wall of the shower.

[Cordelia] "... Le plus gros problème ici, c'est que vous n'êtes pas s'accepter soi-même et vous n'avez pas à accepter vos décisions. Les gens font des erreurs. Les gens grandissent. You are human," she doesn't chide. Maybe it's the nature of the language, it sounds softer. Something about the way Cordelia handles the language makes it gentle.

She sighs, and her voice drops to the realm of almost inaudible.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She makes a slow walk down the hallway, the grin ratcheting up a touch for no immediately apparent reason. Maybe it's just an involuntary reaction to approaching trouble.

[Kristiana Coleman] She nods slightly, her voice quiet. "Il vient de quitter après. Je n'avais pas honte avant qu'il vient de quitter."

[Patrick] Patrick studies his pack-mate, his mouth thinning with something like distaste for the state of him, then cuts a glance at Quinn. It's short, but considering. He takes note of her scarring, of her tattoos. If ever a man could make you feel at once attractive and an oddity simultaneously, it was the Galliard.

Still; he doesn't leer.
That must be a point in his favor.

"I think there's more towels in the hall closet, if I remember right. I'll get you one." He takes up Bridget's bourbon, first, however, downs a gulp and gestures toward Howard. "Get some into him, he needs it. He looks like something's chewtoy."

Eyes back to Howard.

"What the hell were you fighting with, anyway?" This as he ventures into the hall to return with clean towels.

[Quinn] "No clue," Quinn says in answer to Bridget's question. With one hand holding her towel in place, she carefully squeezes her knees together as she lowers herself to her knees beside the Theurge. Her eyes take in the hair, the sunglasses, and the bloody trousers. Rather than looking overly concerned, her mouth quirks. when she first met Howard, she was both amused and confused. Now, she just looks at him with a kind of sad amusement.

Reaching out to at least attempt to knock a frozen curl back from his forehead, she looks at his face and says in a voice not meant to carry, "I think you'll be okay if you shift. A claw to the ass really isn't that bad."

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She pauses, head tilting as she sees Patrick come out of the bathroom, and gives him a quick appraising look and a grin. "Hola."

[Cordelia] "Pas tous les hommes sont comme ça. Votre point de vue sur le sexe es différent que le sien. Je pense que ... vous recherchez un lien affectif, et que vous voulez quelqu'un pour vous faire sentir aimée," she sighs, and just strokes her hair still, "Je ne pense pas que moins de vous."

[Bridget] There is a huge bloody mess everywhere. The Canadian just blinks. Her sequin top does indeed look ridiculous at this point. That's neither here nor there. Quinn seems quite concerned, so she kneels down to where the Fiann lies on the floor. Patrick instructs her to take him the whiskey and temporarily conviscates it without asking and returns it to her. The girl swishes the liquor bottle into his field of vision.

"You need to stop getting your ass handed to you. I already carried you here once all bloodied up," she says quietly.

And after a moment of thinking about it, she adds, "Are you alright?"

[Kristiana Coleman] "I ruined everything. I should have just listened to you."

[Howard] What the hell was he fighting with, anyway?

"My feelings," he says.

Quinn ducks down next to him, her towel secured, and he doesn't horse around as he tends to, doesn't try to flip her hair into her eyes or loosen her towel. She tells him he'll be fine, and he doesn't argue with her, exactly, but neither is he in any great hurry to get up and haul himself out of there either.

"Oh, no, the ass would've been fine," he says, his own volume dropping so as not to overpower the kinswoman's, "but there's bone, Quinn! So much bone!"

And there's Bridget. Howard draws a breath; the finger of one hand splayed on the floor involuntarily twitches.

"Well, tell ya the truth, Hunter's a tad selfish. Didn't exactly give me a reach-around just now. Sooo, unless you're offerin' to finish the job..."

[Patrick] He has to duck his head around the side of the closet door to glimpse the Hispanic woman who addresses him at random. Patrick was a tall guy, though not as tall as many of the male Garou in Chicago at 5'11. He had quite vividly blue eyes and a head of blond hair to match that was kept short no matter the season.

Currently, he was also covered in car grease, his overalls soiled from time spent beneath vehicles.

The stranger grins at him; and the Galliard, who in truth almost matched some Ahrouns for sheer force of Rage turned, shutting the door with his back. His arms were full of towels, and voices carried from the bathroom. "Hey," he replied with a quiet, somewhat restrained tone.

He hesitated a beat. "You lost, or? If you're looking for a place to sleep," was he about to offer to share a bed with her? "I think the owners are downstairs. Ask for a Jenny." Then the broad-shouldered Welsh-man vanished back into the showers in time to hear Howard's final words. He offered a towel to Quinn, and tossed the latter at Howard's head.

[Bridget] An eyebrow turns upward, a sigh escaping her. He's joking, so he's fine. But he does not take the bourbon, and instead kind of lashes out at her with his brilliant sense of humor. She takes a long swig of the bourbon and sets the bottle down on the floor of the shower stall.

She's in a strange mood today. Howard is okay, so the cabin fever rolls back over her like a heavy cloak. She'd do for a good night's worth of sleep, but that will never happen here it seems.

"Nice," is all she says before rising back up to her feet.

[Cordelia] "No," she sighs, and she hasn't taken her hand off of Kristiana's hair, "no, you did what you thought was right and you made your own decision. All you can do now is learn from it and move on. If you don't want me to say anything, I won't say anything."

[Kristiana Coleman] "Don't. Please. I don't want people to know." She reaches up and pats Cordelia's hair too. "You can take whatever clothes you want."

[Quinn] She quirks a brow, tilts her head, and she smiles. There are things she could say. Questions she could ask.

But just like that night on the roof, Quinn doesn't close that distance. For one thing, they're not really alone in this stall. There's an audience, just over Quinn's shoulder. For another...well, who knows.

She pats his shoulder. "Finishing what he started means he started something. I thought you weren't into men's manly muscles." Rocking back, she rises to her feet just after Bridget. She shakes her head to the offer of another towel. "Thanks, but I'm covered." Hah.

"Hunter, I'd be super happy to head out with you if you'll give me a couple minutes to put some clothes on? This extended leave of absence crap is making me crazy."

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She opens her mouth to answer, but just grins when he's gone quicker than she can do so. She reaches out and opens the door slightly so she can get her response out. "Ain't you ever seen the bumper sticker? Not all who wander are lost. Think it's in some kinda book, too. But no, I'm just explorin' a bit. Thanks, though."

[Hunter] He sighs, looking at Howard, and then makes a blergghh face.

"Jesus H Christ." And he steps back into the shower, grabs him by the front of the shirt and pulls him to his feet.

"C'mon dick face." He says to Howard. "Quinn, I'll meet ya' downstairs, bring a coat."

And begins manoeuvring the stubborn Theurge out of the shower and hopefully out of the bathroom, back to his brother.

[Cordelia] "I'll hand it to him, Ivan Press is nothing if not discreet. So, if you don't say anything, he won't... and I gave you my word."

[Howard] By the time Hunter gets back to Howard he has quite literally curled up on the floor of the shower stall to cuddle with the bottle of bourbon Bridget left behind to keep him company, as if he's just planning on going to sleep in a pool of bloody water. His momentary respite from being asked if he's alright is interrupted by a meaty hand grasping the front of his drenched shirt and hauling him to his feet.

"Whoa!" he shouts, louder than is absolutely necessary, not grabbing the Ahroun for support this time. "What! No! Fuck! Where are we going!"

He's limping, but he can actually assist in the walking task now, his left Converse squelching with blood every time he steps off of it.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] Hearing people approaching the door, she lets the door close the crack that it had been opened and takes a few steps back, simply so as not to block traffic.

[Kristiana Coleman] "I was worried about that. Good." She pulls away to stand. "I should go back to the hotel and get the rest of my things." (Which is Angelina for "I'm exhausted and it's past my bedtime")

[Cordelia] "You need to get rid of some of this," she chides. Her heart's not in it; she can't stop grinning, "go get your things."

[Kristiana Coleman] She scrambles up, leaning to kiss Cordelia on both cheeks before heading out.

[Bridget] As for bloody messes, she's seen it before a few too many times to get all worked up right away. Bridget knows Howard is fine now, so she retreats back into the original pensive, quiet state she was in prior to all this. Part of her is sick of the city, sick of being cooped up like a goddamn bird.

Hunter marches past her into the stall to go have another potentially-homoerotic-themed spat. Bridget blinks, then follows. She just keeps walking past all the mess and straight into room 8, where she shuts the door behind her. The girl doesn't even look at the two blonde kinswomen before she does an epic swan dive onto her own mattress.

She could actually get out of here for the night, but frankly she's kind of tired of the Garou antics. She's exausted, homesick, and tired of the big city and all it's unwild mess. Rotting, Simon had described it.

So the kin mumbles into her pillow, sounds like singing, but it's half-hearted.

"Shu shu shu shu shu shu, Sugar town."

[Quinn] Quinn goes back into the shower she'd used just a bit ago. When she comes out she just smiles, doesn't even pause to tell Hunter Adoy. Of course she'll be bringing a coat. It snowed today for Christ's sakes. Quinn will be going out in full on tundra gear, hat, scarf, gloves, sweater and leather jacket, jeans. And she'll leave her heeled boots behind in favor of shoes with traction.

The tall kinswoman disappears into room 4 to make that outfit happen.

[Patrick] Sarita follows after Patrick a few steps to respond to him, but the Galliard's focus has by this point been drawn back to the scene at hand before him. He watches Hunter drag Howard up and out of the showers by his shirt front; the latter leaving bloody foot prints in his wake and glances around, then at the towel in his hand.

"Yeah, whatever."

He mutters to the air, and moves over to turn the facet on in the stall Howard had curled up in; blood begins to wash down the drain, and Patrick leans his body against one side of it, towel slung over his shoulder. The Galliard does not follow after his Alpha and the others just yet.

He watches the water turn pink, then clear.

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She just leans against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed as she watches the various people emerge from the bathroom head in their own directions in their various physical and emotional states. She looks more bemused than anything else. "It's like watching a clown car empty," she says quietly to herself.

[Cordelia] Cordelia looked at the pile of clothes on her bed, and then at the pile of clothes on the floor. The female sighs, and she starts to strip out of whatever it was she was wearing. Cordelia rummages through her drawers to find something to throw on. Alas, the female doesn't find anything.

Bridget's closet yields better results. The female ends up sleeping in a tee shirt that isn't hers and a pair of camoflage underwear. Given that there's a giant pile of clothing on her bed, she blends right in.

[Hunter] "You got a car? Need'ta sleep man." He asks Howard.

"Either that or you're growin' some fur, either way ya' gettin' better for'I'leave."

[Bridget] The noise picking up in the bar and carrying through the floor makes the Canadian glare angrily into the dark. She watches a naked Cordy raid her closet, turns her head, and sighs. She plays at trying to sleep some more, but it won't come easily. After staring for a while, she drags herself to her feet and goes back out the door. She tiptoes out and closes the door quietly, then slumps down with her back against the wall, just staring.

[Patrick] At some point, whenever the next to arrive does so in the showers; they find them quite deserted and empty. Patrick had never re-emerged after the others, and there's a clean towel neatly folded beside a stall that smells, faintly, of recent blood. The coppery tang lingers in the air.

There was, of course, an abundance of mirrors.
One can only assume where the Cliath had vanished to.

[Howard] Howard is not exaggerating the difficulty he's having with walking; if anything he's attempting to downplay the fact that he doesn't have the Gift necessary to ignore his wounds nor the constitution of a man who can endure being stabbed by just grinning and spitting in his attacker's face. As he's shuffled down the hallway, he keeps clutching the bourbon bottle to his chest; being asked direct questions has even less effect than usual.

"Your concern is touching," he says, "really, it is."

[Sarita Ecos de la Risa] She tilts her head as she sees Bridget come out and then sit against the wall, glancing around before she shrugs and approaches. "Hola. Y'okay?"

[Patrick] [Thanks for play, all! :D]

Read more...

Right down till the Bitter End [Simon, Howard, Hunter, Izzy]

 Missing first half! 

[Llewelyn] Patrick is too furious to answer, that much is evident in the manner he just stares blindly at Howard, then looks at Simon. He holds the bottle of whiskey out to the Wyrmfoe in what may pass as a truce of some degree and staggers to his feet. "Be right back," he mutters to everyone and no-one and staggers out onto the road, across the street and toward the nearest trash can.

He then proceeds to throw up.

It's anyone's guess as to why.

[Simon] He shakes his head."I wasn't really headed down here I just happened to be driving by. What the hell happened here and why in the hell are you lying on the floor?"He asks him as he offers down a hand to the Theurge."That cunt was some Fenrir cunt. I forget her name she's a cop though and pissy as hell... Something... I guess she doesn't like that I don't hold much love for cops. Though I think she might be the kinda girl who just hates people because."He says with a nod of his head.

"Your packmate is over there crying... Or throwing up or something. You might wanna see to him."He says with a nod of his head.

[Hunter] The first serious face this evening crosses Hunters face when Patrick begins to hulk out. But it isn't fear that Patrick sees in Hunters green eyes. His head tips and he gives him that wolf gaze that is entirely inhuman. That look that says, I'm not sure what you're doing is such a smart idea. Of course how is Patrick to know that? Hunter is fit for sure, well built but he isn't insanely tall, in fact he's short by Chicago male standards. He doesn't look particularly intimidating, especially when he's drunk as all hell and his rage is lower than usual.

See, Patrick might have all this Rage, but he isn't used to it. It is an abnormality. That level of Rage feels like home to a Garou like Hunter Matthews, so he knows what he's looking at and he takes a toke on the cigarette while he's studying it.

Hunter is used to dealing with Garou like Christian--who thrall if you say their name wrong--he's used to fighting Garou like Joey who has no business being as deadly as she is, what with her freckles and all. Whilst Patrick cuts a fine figure and is impressively hairy when he begins to change -- there's just something missing. He just doesn't seem like he has it in him to lose himself to the beast like that.

At least not tonight.

Hunter lets out an almost inaudible clicking sound with his tongue when Howard moves away to sit down, then tosses his cigarette butt on the ground, stamps it out.

"I'm Hunter." He says to Howard, and his voice says remarkably more sober than it did five minutes ago.

[Ivers] He sits blearily inspecting the held-out hand for several seconds, eyebrows raised in curiosity that would be comically uncertain if it weren't for the fact that he still looks as though he'd been hit by a goddamn bus. The Theurge's face is painted with blood, since-replaced teeth littering the sidewalk, fractures still littering his skeleton, broken blood vessels still littering his internal countryside. That was one of the stupidest things he's done recently, but attempting to explain to a twenty-two-year-old male that jumping off of a fire escape when he's high isn't just lacking common sense but flat-out suicidal is nearly impossible when said twenty-two-year-old male knows damned well that Garou fall into two categories: impossible to kill, or destined to die young.

Howard isn't one for labels, and eventually he claps a blood-stained hand in Simon's and uses him for leverage to get to his feet. He falls against the car again, the THC and alcohol burnt off but pain still hindering his movement, then reaches up to wipe the blood off of his face with his hand. For as perfunctory a solution as it is, it just makes the overall effect worse.

"Hunter?" he echoes, and forces himself to stand upright. He laughs, the sound short and sharp, then claps Simon on the cheek as he starts to shuffle after his packmate. "Jesus Christ... are you bootin', man? The Lords are looking at you!"

[Simon] He rolls his eyes when Hunter's hand claps against his cheek and he sighs in annoyance as the Fianna rushes off in the direction of his Packmate. His arms come to rest under his chest and he pauses to look the two of them over quietly. He kept his smile and yet he remained there in quiet contemplation before glancing over at Hunter.

"You ever had an uncle or a cousin who drank just a little too much and you found yourself asking yourself if it was better for you to sit back and let them make their own choices or to actually step in and intervene?"He asks the man curiously as he stands there. He wasn't sure how to take the situation, but there were obviously thoughts being weighed in the back of his mind right now as he watched the pair.

[Simon] [Change the first hunter to Howard and the second Hunter to Hunter!]

[Llewelyn] It's funny, though not surprising, per say, how much better you feel after vomiting up most of the contents of your stomach. Patrick leans over a foul smelling trash can and empties the last few hours into it, then straightens, wipes off his mouth and turns to curse the fact that he'd handed his whiskey to the Shadow Lord and that it appeared Howard was coming after him in Glabro.

He didn't even have the energy to yell.

He just moved over to perch himself on the steps of an apartment complex and brace one arm over his knees, his head slightly lowered as he -- what, recovered -- dug out that crushed as fuck packet of cigarettes he'd been toting about earlier out and stuck one between his lips.

So much for quitting, hey.

He's struggling with his lighter by the time Howard reaches him; and he stops trying. "You scared the shit out of me just then," he says baldly.

[Hunter] "Uncle or cousin?" He raises an eyebrow. "Don't know nuthin' bout that."

He pauses, this is where he would stay silent if he had grown up more, and the fact that he pauses means he has changed somewhat. He isn't the same Hunter Matthews that left Chicago with a Fostern for a Beta and a super-fly brit-ho in tow. Not entirely different though either.

"Baxter use'ta drink a'lot but fuck intervenin there." He grins. "You try tell a grumpy old fuckin' Metis Fostern Ahroun to stop drinkin' and see how far it gets ya."

He grimaces.

"Not fuckin' very far, I tells ya."

[Ivers] [He totally shifted back into his birth form two posts ago.]

[Llewelyn] [he DID? Totally delete that part of my post. I'm retarded.]

[Ivers] Howard is breathing like an obese man attempting to walk from the couch to the bathroom, still has an arm tucked around his abdomen, and when he reaches Patrick he crashes against the side of the building, using it for the purposes of remaining upright. He wipes his sticky hand on the thigh of his jeans, the blood practically blending in with the black denim, and awkwardly snatches the lighter from Patrick's hand.

"Oh fuck off," he says. An experimental shake reveals the lighter is still filled with fluid; he is about to light the Galliard's smoke when a thought occurs to him. "Thought you fuckin' quit."

[Simon] He shrugs in response to Hunter's."All depends on the problem and what you can do about it."He says softly to himself."They're missing something..."He says softly."Like two scared pups sometimes. Pulled off the teat just a little early, not quite ready to be out from under the wing."He says to himself as he looks from one to the other. Patrick was scared, worried for his packmate. There was love there, a genuine affection shared by packmates that he too understood rather well.

"You get so used to the idea that your job is to kill that you sometimes miss that there's more to war than killing."He tenses his hands into fists as he looks at these two. If they were just smart mouthed pricks he could beat the shit out of them but there was more to them than that and it pissed him off.

[Llewelyn] Howard snatches the lighter out of Patrick's hand and he glares at him, but doesn't stop him. He's about to light his cigarette when he realizes what, and who he's doing it for and asks the logical question. He thought he'd quit. "I did," he protests and props his back against the wall, coughing once. A wash of white air puffs as he does, and vanishes away in the chill.

"I have. You bring the addict out in me, what can I say?" He decrees, with no small amount of sarcasm, and gestures for him to proceed. Regardless of whether or not he does, the Galliard glances across the street and finds they appear to be the subjects of study by the Wyrmfoe and the Bone Gnawer.

"That dick almost pissed on your head, by the way." He says with a nod, then continues: "You on a fucking suicide sprint, or what? Cuz I get it, I'd just like to know so I can, y'know, rent your room."

[Hunter] Hunter rubs a hand over his chin and peers around the street. The cop is gone, his precious bike is lying on it's side in the road. Joey will have a fucking fit about the fresh scratches on it.

"Ain't about bein' more to war than killin, it's bout bein' more to life than just killin'."

"Maybe they just fuckin' do things differently s'all. Don't know fuckin' nuthin' bout em, but they seem aight to me. Gots a fuckin' family together there probs, what's more important? The stocky one could use a bit'a practice with the old fisty-cuffs tho."

And he peers past Simons shoulder.

"Aye friend?"

But there's not much more to say. If he knew more he could comment more, having lived outside of the nation himself for most of his life. He could tell Simon what it's like to have no family all your life and then suddenly belong to a pack. To lead your own pack. War doesn't seem that important when you find something like Howard and Patrick share, it doesn't seem that important when you lose something like they had either.

They'll fight, when they have to. When what they care about is threatened, just like all the rest. They aren't puppies.

"Imma' head home, keep it real boys."

And he moves to his bike, lifts it up and slides a leg over. They can hear the 1400CC engine roar to life and it's almost deafening at this close pace. When it quietens down he holds up his index and middle finger to the three of them.

"Peace out."

And he zig zags off down the road and out of sight.

[Ivers] "Did he?" Howard can't see across the street to identify which one of them Patrick is referring to, but he turns his head and squints into the washed out world that exists outside of the dark pockets anyway. "Sick bastard..."

The battered Theurge all but flings himself at the opposite wall, letting his back smack against the frigid, graffiti-covered brick and sliding with a scratch of leather against building so he can sit beside his brother. With the lighter-yielding hand he carefully removes the cigarette from Patrick's lips and implants it between his own to light. A call to keep it real comes from the street, and without thinking Howard holds up his index and middle finger, as well; unfortunately, it's the back of his hand facing the Bone Gnawer, not the palm. There's a pause to light the unfiltered cigarette, a miserable, wet cough, and Howard pockets the lighter before handing the Lucky Strike to Patrick.

"In case you're havin' trouble with your eyes," Howard says, "I'm fine. Yeah? See? Still in one piece."

[Simon] He listens to Hunter and all the while he watches the two of them. He is a Shadow Lord and by now you woulda figured he would have simply lost all interest in the pair and gone his own direction. Yet something caused him to pull over and actually check on the two. It was something he already told himself and more than that it was the fact the Sept has already had more loss than he wanted to discuss. Maybe the deaths that occurred were not his fault but that didn't mean the Full Moon didn't feel a responsibility. After all it's also his job to keep folks asses alive.

He takes in every word Hunter shares and he even nods his head. A slight smile grew when he mentioned life and shared one of those Happy Days moments where the Fonz shouts some cheezy cliche then rides off into the night.

"See now that's what we need more of in this sept... That I can handle..."He mutters to himself before looking back at the two and walking up closer to them."You two need a ride back to the Brotherhood or something? It's cold as fuck out here."

[Llewelyn] "Yeah, today."

There's no small amount of emphasis placed there, as Patrick accepts the cigarette and takes a long, slightly less shaky inhale from it before offering it over to the Theurge. "But if that's how you plan to, I don't even know man, deal with random people we meet dying, you need to tell me right the fuck now."

He stabs at his knee with a fingertip, then glances up, appearing more than slightly rankled by the Wyrmfoe's approach and address to them. His pale eyes snap to Howard, then return. "We're probably good. You still got my whiskey?"

Priorities, you know.

[Ivers] When Simon walks up to the two-man pack, Howard is looking at his brother with an incredulous expression on his face, a cigarette streaming between his fingers, blood still oozing from various orifices. He idly wipes a gloved hand under his nose to sop up the fluid he can feel trickling its way down his face, sniffs and hawks the results against the opposite wall.

He's silent up until Patrick asks if Simon still has his whisky, at which point he decides decorum can go take a flying leap.

"Look, man," he says, then pauses to grimace and roll his jaw around on its hinges until a duet of pops announces that it's back in alignment. "You think booze and pot is all there is out there? Fuckin' adrenaline, man. Wakes your ass right up. This shit doesn't even hurt all that bad, it's like... fwoom! you know? Fuckin' shot of hardcore shit right in the fuckin' kidneys. Urban skydiving, I'm goin' to start callin' it." A beat. "Besides, that metis prick kept stealin' all my lighters. Hard to fuckin' keep stealin' lighters when you're fuckin' dead, aye?"

Drag.

[Llewelyn] "He's fucking dead, Howard!"

Oh dear, Patrick is back on his feet, and he's shouting again, with or without Simon's presence. There's something disturbingly agile to the manner Patrick tosses the cigarette aside in favor of continuing with his spiel as if he'd never taken a moment to do so. It hits the ground and continues to smoke at their feet before the ice extinguishes it.

"Night's Reprieve is dead, and I sat there and I talked to the bastard and I knew his face and he's fucking dead because some dickwads who think it's fantastic to be part of the evil incarnate's side came and kicked his ass and somehow, we're all meant to be okay with that!"

He turns, and kicks the door, hard.
It leaves the imprint of his boot.

"I'm not even part of this Sept, we're not meant to care, but all I can think of, all I see," he rubs furiously at his temple a moment with a manic's intensity. "Is this guy who I saw, who I knew who's fucking dead now and I can't even wander by and pay respects the way I want to because everything I want to say would result in those assholes," -- Simon gets a brief gesture "No fucking offense man" -- "killing my ass for saying so."

He stops, breathing hard.

"Quinn came and hugged me today. She just -- she hugged me, like I would make it better, somehow. What am I meant to do here? Pretend it doesn't matter? Pretend I'm not angry, pretend I don't hate them all, for walking into their own demise?"

He drops his arms, turns and punches the wall, dropping a fist and leaning against it heavily.

[Ivers] Despite and throughout his brother's outburst, Howard just sits on the cold ground, legs akimbo, body visibly battered, staring at Patrick with eyes that are still that horrific red color. He looks young without his sunglasses on, the lack of wrinkles on his face and the still-burning light in his green eyes all the proof the world has that he hasn't become the burnt-out shell they believe his brother to be.

Yet his brother, for as Harano-bound as he is, still reacts. He still admits when something hurts, when something sucks. Howard jumped five stories and broke nearly every bone in his body but didn't scream; Patrick nearly panicked, nearly frenzied, because even if Howard wouldn't admit the implications of his actions, Howard wasn't the one who had to witness his brother plummeting to what could have been his death. Patrick rants and lashes out when someone they were affiliated with through virtue of camaraderie has been killed; Howard makes jokes about him stealing his lighters.

"Nobody is gonna 'kill your ass,'" he says, the last three words spoken with flat American inflection. It disappears a moment later. "And if you run around callin' everybody names and shit, they're goin' to get offended. That's what people do. I bet you five bucks this guy--" He gestures to Simon. "--has the grandaddy of all lectures stored up for you. He's just waitin' for the opportune moment."

[Simon] He nods his head at what Patrick says and shrugs his shoulders."Suit yourself..."He says turning as if to walk away and the two go on, however something snaps inside Patrick and that... brings Simon to a dead halt. He doesn't turn, though somewhere inside he almost formed a little smile as he heard the Galliard shout. He listened to every word... You see it was hard for Simon to deal with folks who just didn't fucking seem to care. However the outburst showed that there was something there and that showed that there was, indeed, still something left inside the Galliard to save.

"I'm going to find them... And I am going to kill them."He says back to them as he turns around."I am going to kill them and I am going to put their nasty fucking heads on poles where their brothers and sisters can see them. Then I am going to find their friends and I am going to kill them. I am going to call the fucked up monstrosities they call a sept... Or whatever twisted word they use it and one by one I am going to rip the life from their bodies. I am going to hunt them down, and I am going to give them something so terrifying that their sorry asses will have to huddle in their caves like the cowards they are and wait for death to finally come and burn their sorry fucking asses out."He says back to Patrick in a strong and firm voice.

"Night's Reprieve is dead... But I am not. That will be the last, and worst mistake they made. Same thing goes for any member of this sept, members or not... Not a single death will ever be in vain. Not so long as I live and breath."He finally mutters back to the pair."I just need to find them first."

He then turns and walks directly towards Howard."And this! Is for being a shithead!"He says throwing a sharp and powerful punch directly down at the Theurge. Something he has been wanting to do for a long long long long time.

[Dex+Brawl]

[Simon] [Dmg: Str+3]

[Ivers] [Ack!]

[Llewelyn] [Don't HIT MY ALPHA! Dex + Brawl]

[Llewelyn] [Damage]

[Simon] [Soak!]

[Llewelyn] Perhaps he does still care.
Perhaps that's what his rant is about.

The burning amber of his desire to care again, to want to fight the good fight once more. Patrick had never stopped caring for humanity, for people in general, or even for his fellow Garou. What he had lost faith in was the War. Was the reason for all of this. He didn't see it as some great and noble sacrifice -- he saw it as the long told company line that everyone believed because it was simply easier that way to believe it.

Not to fight for independent evaluation for why they were still at war, after all this time.
Was it needed.
Was it necessary.

He certainly hears what Simon has to say -- right up until the point when he kicks Patrick's Alpha in the head, and then the Galliard is less receptive. Then, he's in the Shadow Lord's face with his fist. And this time, unlike the last with Hunter --

he doesn't miss.

"I'm glad you're hunting them down." He bites each word off. "But do that again and I'll do more than give you a blood nose."

[Simon] He takes the punch with startling ease and finds himself facing Patrick. His attention on the man as he brings his fist to his nose and looks down to see that Patrick has managed to draw blood."So you can fight... It's nice to see you've still got that somewhere inside you. I could use your help in tracking these guys down, Howards as well... And you can sure as hell bet the Fenrir are gonna want in on this. If that's all you have in you to fight for then that's all you can give, but I am not about to turn my back on anyone who still has something left in them to give."He didn't seem bothered or even phased by the punch. He gets beaten within inches of his life on a regular basis and sometimes dies a little... No biggie really.

"You're Volcano's chosen... And I look forward to the day I can watch in awe as you erupt and crush our enemies beneath your feet. We're not men... We're forces of nature and when we're unleashed nothing can stand in our way."He then smiles a little and looks down at Howard.

"Howard is fine... I'll help you get his ass home if you like."He laughs a little."He has totally been asking for it though. Like... Totally asking for it."

[Llewelyn] Patrick glances back at his pack-mate, then back at the Ahroun. His arm snaps out to block any easy access to Howard.

"I'm fine, I'll take care of him."

Then, after a beat, he calls out to, or simply speaks depending on how far Simon has ventured before Patrick reaches out, at least verbally, to the Shadow Lord. "Tell me why you do it. Why you care.

And don't feed me a fucking for the good of Gaia line. Be honest."

[Ivers] [PU+Wits: WAKE UP]

[Ivers] Howard knows damned well why he received a broken nose; the first words out of his mouth when he regains consciousness aren't pleas for comprehension or mercy. That punch had not hurt nearly so bad as hitting the sidewalk, but it knocked him out and left him with a concussion on top of everything else that continued to linger after he jumped. For several seconds all he can do is lie there, nearly bereft of Rage and with the world spinning. He groans, thoroughly disoriented, the press of Rage from his brother a reminder that he's still alive.

His blood-red eyes are loose in their sockets, focusing on nothing that he points them at, and he's oddly quiet now that Simon's punched him so hard his ancestors could probably feel it. All he's capable of doing is dragging himself a few inches so he's behind Patrick's legs, and then he collapses on the ground, his respirations high-pitched and whistling through his nose.

"Pa, verskoon my, stop slaan my," he slurs into the pavement before falling silent again.

[Simon] He shrugs his shoulders and his eyes meet Patrick's directly. You see that question was complex on one side and simple on the other."There's women out there right now at this second screaming for someone to help them. They're being raped or beaten or stabbed or even tortured... No one will find them, no one will get to them in time, they are going to die. There's kids, little kids out there and they are screaming for someone to help them... No one will find them and no one will help them. There is death and misery and suffering. People are starving and being tortured and being chopped up for their parts. Buncha fucked up shit that happens every day... And somewhere we caused every last inch of it. Not you and I, but our ancestors, our most ancient and wisest of heroes. We were put here on this planet to protect humanity. To keep THIS from happening... And we fucked up and now we're suffering too. I'm not doing this for something my Elders talk about though. I'm fighting for all the people who died praying for someone to save them. I am fighting for all the misguided fools who thought there was some benevolent force out there watching over them when they were tortured to death. I am fighting because someone somewhere out there actually gives a shit or gave a shit... Some girl is rotting in a ditch right now and the least I could do for her is keep fighting. Cause she did... Right down till the bitter end."He says this wit that flaring intensity locked on Patrick's eyes."I fight for everyone who ever needed someone to stand up for them, and for everyone who will need someone who will stand up for them."It was surprisingly romantic that a Full Moon, and Shadow Lord would have such strong opinions to share.

[Llewelyn] Howard drags himself a few inches, so he's behind Patrick's legs and his pack-mate is careful, then, not to take a step backward and crush his already broken face. He does pay attention however, to what the surprisingly eloquent full moon says to him; him with the bleeding knuckles, and the bruised head and the scent of vomit and beer and weed hanging about him.

He listens, then his mouth twists with a bittersweet expression disguised as a smile.

"I wish I felt that way," Patrick admits, and then nods as if to set Simon free of them both for the evening. He turns; twists, and drops to his haunches over his Alpha. "How the fuck are you feeling?"

[Simon] He nods his head and shrugs before looking down at Howard and then back up to Patrick."With any luck one day you will."He shrugs."But it's way too fuckin cold, and I need to warm up. You, get him outta the cold soon."He points at Howard and heads for his car. Setting himself off as soon as the car can start up.

[Ivers] [FADE AND SHIT]

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Night's Reprieve [Patrick, Quinn, Hunter, Bridget, Hatchet, Kristiana, Simon]

[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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