meeting the locals.

Genevieve

Thu 10:30PM CST
to Brand: It is never so much that she followed anyone anywhere; but that they happened to be where she was going...
An impression she gives with actions no more blatant than her modulated, easy breathing. An immpression fully believed by most.
Though not all.

Further strengthening said impression is that she is in Chicago naught more than a day and an evening and already she is keeping herself busy with her 'scholarly' (...black-market providor and Mystic relic finder...) pursuits.

In a borrowed office past dusty bookshelves in an moldy file room within the storage-annex cellar, she sits cross legged atop a desk, the lithe lines of her body draped in the finest linens and creamiest cashmeres. Cool winter white tones few woman can pull off - but she more than manages. Oh yes indeed.. and it's not even looks so much as it is presence. She can carry it off because she wills it to be so.

And so amidsts dust and mold and dim lighting, she has been left alone to devour the old, tarnished, chipped and scratched artifact in her hands, held up to the swinging shade-less lamp. An expression upong her ethereal face that is part ice cold calculation - assessment - and part heated-rush of reigned in excitement. Anticipation.

And by sheer force of presence it is not that she is out of place in her surroundings, but that her surroundings are quite out of place around her.


Brand

Thu 10:48PM CST
to Genevieve : Quiet voices drift echoing down these silent halls. Afterhours, and only a few security guards and even fewer late-night workers still remain. Questions asked and answered; footsteps ringing down the halls, distorted by distance, sharpening with proximity until it resolves into two pair feet coming upon this musty file room.

"--she should be in here." The voice of the young security guard who had shown her in, in the first place. And then the deeper voice of the alpha wolf, whose bass rumble could be both felt and heard through the rows of cabinets, "Thank you."

These shelves and cabinets do not list nor lean, but dust coats them thick in furred grey. Files are piled atop, some stacked to the ceiling. An earthquake here would be disastrous; could she escape the falling towers in time?

Always be planned for any disaster.

And he's hunting her amongst the grey cabinets as a wolf hunts amongst grey winter trees. Overcoats seem a thing of this pack. His is black as well, cashmere wool spun thick and watertight, single-breasted, the lines simple, quietly showcasing the breadth of shoulder and imposing height. Coming to her aisle, wider than the stacks in order to accommodate desks, he looks first the other way, finds it empty, turns. There have been many a brave man frightened by the sight of that stern face, the heavy Teutonic bones. He turns the corner with military sharpness, bringing to mind a brief and fast-fading image of captain-princes of old. His gloved hands undo the buttons on his overcoat as he approaches. He tosses the outercoat on the chair beside her, then the inner coat. Without a word, with only the creaking of the old wood, Brand climbs up on the desk behind her.

The length of his legs hem her in on either side. His muscled thighs brush her waist; he wraps massive arms about her lithe frame, easily enveloping her in his scent of wolf and sandalwood and winter aspen. His skin is swarthier than hers, his shirt and slacks dark. A day's growth of beard scratches her smooth cheek when he kisses her jawline.

"What are you doing?" She feels him speak as much as she hears it, a low affectionate rumble like a growl.


Genevieve

Thu 11:11PM CST
to Brand: She can be no more oblivious to his approach as she could be to a crackling stick of dynamite laid down beside her. First it is a pasing tingle deep down in the cradle of her pelvis, swimming up along the hips were a womans centre of gravity lies. Then the rising up of the fine platinum-blonde hairs along her delicate-boned limbs beneath the splendor of her D&G suit; the passingly visible rise of shivering goose-flesh along her bare arms. Her own overcoat likewise cast aside over a chair, despite the chill air down here in the cellar where the heat from old, clanking furnaces never quite reaches. Her breath even rises up in the barest of wraithly mists, but one is at least out of the damnable CHicago wind... and, for her, the cold is deliciously clearing of the senses.

...and proves all the better to feel the contrast of chill air and swarthy, heated flesh as he climbs up behind her, encompassing her with a figure that dwarfs hers by far. A shiver that has nothing to do with fear (at the moment, at least.. has there been times she has feared him? more than likely) ripples along exquisite flesh in primal response to his nearness. A smile to play games along the generous swell of her lips and she relaxes back against his solid frame, inhaling his scent as fully as he might inhale her own: Woman and juniper and dust and cool, cool breezes.

...she lowers the tarnished artifact - some sort of hand mirror it would seem - and angles her head back, brushingly surprisingly warm lips along the stubble so recently prickling the blush softness of her cheek.

(it should be infuriating. how she settles back in repose against him and within him, as though she'd been perched there all along knowing full well he'd soon arrive to warm her. Presumptuous and arrogant.. or so it would be if it was not just as clear that she draws a real, simple pleasure from his nearness. His arrival. Like she was sure he would come.. but only after he arrived)

"In great, liberal America would it be uncouth for a wife to attend to her husbands grooming?" The smile felt agianst his stubble and heard in the balmy smoothness of her low-keyed words. Fingertips leaving the artifact to brush slowly and lingeringly along the lines of his face, eyes closing.. like she might memorize the sight of him via touch. "I've been neglegent."

And then, lifting the artifact one handed-- a hint of ruefull quality slipping into her cultured tones. "As for what I'm doing... well, I couldn't very well romp across the Atlantic chasing after you without some backup plan, hmmm? A colluege once wrote me about an odd little find kept here and so I arranged to have a look upon my arrival."


Brand

Thu 11:28PM CST
to Genevieve : Brand's embrace lays heavy on her shoulders. On the worst of days such a touch is nearly unbearable. An energy seethes inside the Ahroun like electricity, or fire, or ice eighty degrees below freezing. When he's agitated, angry, that energy amps up into the red and the very molecules of the room seem to dance a little faster around him.

On the best of days - and tonight is one of the better ones - his embrace is a heavy, warm, reassuring thing. His strength seems indestructible sometimes. Like any true lord, he commands the trust as well as the respect of those who bow their head to him. From the storm of the world, he is shelter.

"Mmg." His lips curve slowly, his eyes falling almost-shut as she touches him, mouth first like a wolf, then fingertips. Just as slowly he licks his lips, his arm tightening briefly across her shoulders, then releasing. "This is considered cleanshaven. When you are not with me I grow a great and tangled beard."

The Ahroun tugs off his gloves by feel over her lap, the fine supple leather stretching like skin, and then is casually tossed with a twist of the mighty torso. The gloves land atop his coat with a soft plop and Brand turns back, leaning over her shoulder to stare, animal-intent, at the artifact she lifts. A hand-mirror? Silver perhaps. Either way he grasps it with little fear, and just barely enough care to prevent its irrevocable damage.

Reflected dimly in the tarnished image, he eclipsed behind she like a larger, darker sun behind a luminous moon. In his eyes, whose color changed with light and texture from darkest umber to a resonant tawny amber, the wolflike specks of green glitter and gleam. A beat later his hand closes around her wrist instead, thoughtfully, the sword-callouses on his palm scraping rough over her skin.

"Colleague?" A note of vague curiosity drifts into his tone, and out. He lowers her hand and the artifact in it. Likely he does not often think of her trade and profession. Perhaps he imagines her as a sleek creature in a glass bubble, set free to move and exist when he returns in the dead of night from some quest or campaign or other; set back into suspended animation when he leaves before the dawn. It's uncertain if he even knows all the details of her career, or, for that matter, cares.

"Strange," he muses, a laugh in his tone. "I know everything about you," - his free hand opens against her stomach, the size of it such that the thumb brushes the undersides of her breasts while the little finger extends well past her navel - "and nothing at all. We have not spent enough time in one another's company, Genevieve."


Jaan Rafe

Thu 11:41PM CST
*Nodding at her beauty and the way she's able to push such things back in her mind he stands.
Smoothing his long coat he tugs the italian leather driving gloves tight and nods to her. Moving to the door of the building he opens it, letting Danica enter and moves in behind her. Calling across the open skys of their linked minds in which Raptor hunted he querys the alpha*
You there my brother? We have arrived.


Genevieve

Thu 11:44PM CST
to Brand: "Do you think so?"

With lesser men (beasts. kings.) such a question would be the first warning of entering into a shifting ground of deepest dangers. With but an inclination of her head to soak in the besmudged reflection of him in the aged mirror. The entering of coolness into her tone as she sniffs delicately and moves to slip down from the desk, her free hand curving along the hand at her stomach slope, beneath the slender rise of her breasts - and pulling it away, not with physical force so much as personal will.

"And yet, curiously enough, you forbade me to follow you. Ordered me to - what was it: Presume you dead." Sheild-maiden she might have been in a different time, in a different world. Glimpses of it flickering through her cultured, dulcid facade in moments like theses where her smooth, square jaw sets and her ample-formed lips press together. Spine erect, shoulders straight... moving to a shelf to place the artifact there.

Her back to him.

Regal even when wounded. Slighted.
Fierce even in her vulnerability.

Speaking in tones less perceptive sorts would take as.. bemused.
...and why not? Even the most deadly of poisons can have the most tantilizingly pleasing of scents.


Brand

Thu 11:57PM CST
Totemphone reply: Yes. A moment, if you please. We will be there shortly.


Brand

Fri 12:05AM CST
to Genevieve : For a beat, a deadly stillness like the moment before a tornado, when all the world holds its breath.

Then Brand laughs behind her, an open, bemused, amused sound perhaps no less cutting for it. "Come now, Genevieve; don't be that way," he cajoles, he who could easily break her over his knee for such daring as to turn. her. back. Other Fangs have done more, for less.

Lesser Fangs, perhaps.

The desk creaks as he vaults from it, landing with surprising lightness of foot behind her. She hears him lift his coat and snap it out, slip it on; repeat with the overcoat. The gloves retrieved. The buttons done up. Like any gentleman of old and cold lands, he wears his layers: the outer, the coat, the waistcoat at times, the shirt, the undershirt.

"What would you have me have done? Bid my pack all follow me to my doom? Bid my kin follow me to an uncertain future in a strange land?" Her coat lifted, settled over her shoulders. "The pack awaits outside. We will speak on the way. Come."


Genevieve

Fri 12:25AM CST
to Brand: It would be far too uncouth for her to gap open mouthed in response to words she finds to be incredulously.... insensitive? Idiotic? Arrogant?
No, she doesn't open and close her mouth like a guppy for truth be told she isn't reall all that surprised at his response. It was more a matter of which road he would take: violence or careless teasing.

In the face of his opted course, she casts him a long, sidelong look. Controlled and tightly reigned in to give no hint of her exact thoughts. Her precise emotions....

...saying nothing she slips into the ivory-cream coloured overcoat with its texture as smooth as butter. Takes up her tan coloured kid gloves, slipping them on in decided fashion. Not scowling. Not sulking. Not brooding. Such are not the mannerisms of a woman such as she; displeased she is but already she is relaxing her persona to the visage of the lovely, graceful, personable mate.

A role to play.
To own.
To embody.

"I would have had you even briefly entertain the notion that your Kin might be more than willing to follow." She speaks the words quietly, aerial and soft as she deftly buttons up the coat. "That perhaps the Mate you know everything and nothing about might still wish - need - to follow. It is not that you forbade me to come that scarred... it is that you either believed I prefered it that way or did not care."

Her chin lifts and in an instant she is smiling sleek as can be. Nonchalant and unconcerned which might make him wonder if she was ever hurt at all--

"But yes, you are right, mate. Of course, I shall not continue to 'be that way'."


Brand

Fri 12:31AM CST
to Genevieve : For an instant Brand's countenance darkens as though a cloud had swept over it. She can see his jaw clench, the muscles in it popping. Doomed now, irrevocably, he does his best with what time he had left. And part of that was to stay on course. Avoid distractions. Avoid useless anger, pointless clashes.

What he needs is a perfect mate. Better yet, none at all.
What he wants might be significantly different.

"What you and I prefer, Genevieve, has little--" he begins (she defers, maddeningly); stops. The glance he casts her crackles like the discharge from a capacitor. He clears his throat and straightens his back, throws back his shoulders.

"Excellent. Let us continue."


Brand

Fri 12:34AM CST
Perhaps five minutes after the brief totemic conversation, Brand and Genevieve appear on the open balcony of the second story, overlooking the main hall. To have arrived so soon, they must've started walking immediately. To look upon their faces gives away nothing of their private conversations and private lives. Brand nods down at Jaan, his footsteps echoing off the high ceilings as he takes the straight, buckled staircase down - arm offered to his lady, of course.

"Sergei and Rasputin?"


Jaan Rafe

Fri 12:36AM CST
*Still waiting near the entrance of the Museum he looks to his watch. A bit of an annoied frown crosses his face as he looks to the Hamilton Venture. Looking up when the alpha arrives he waits till he's on the same level and not actually looking down on him from on high. The Symbology not lost on Jaan.* ~G~ Sergei is outside. I was begining to wonder.
*A nod to Gen* Lovly as always. Love the earrings.


Genevieve

Fri 12:39AM CST
to Brand: A moment. The briefest span in which her luminous feathers shift and it seems she might blurt out some uninhibited, un-galvanized, un-tampered with or dressed up truth--
--but then they can spot Jaan a'waiting and those empyrean features are mastered. SMoothed out and she nods ever-so-slightly, plaing her fingertips feather-light atop his offered arm--


Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard

Fri 12:40AM CST
True enough sergei pulls up outside and heads in, after donning his coat and clicking on the alarm. he's wearing a pin striped suit and pinstriped dress shirt underneath the jacket, polished dress shoes a black necktie and a black leather trenchcoat lined with black fur on the lining and lapel, mink. the whole wardrobe is black, as devoid of color as it's wearer was devoid of true emotion. he walked inside, his polished shoes rapping on the tiled floor.


Genevieve

Fri 12:47AM CST
An arm offered and an arm take - though only with the lightest touch of her kid-glove ensconsed fingertips. Decked out in a D&G suit of creamiest winter white, the overcoat long and flared in the latest trend. Luminous this woman of Breeding and More---

--generous lips curve upwards for Jaan and she chuckles silkenly faint.

"I'm glad you like them. Do feel free to borrow them sometime."

The barest mischevious glimmer in clear-indigo hued eyes, before her gaze drits along to Sergei as he enters and she nods a respectful greeting with another pleasently smooth smile.

--and then, she looks to her mate.

"The difference in time zones is still draining me, Brand. If it's alright I think I'll return home."


Brand

Fri 12:49AM CST
Buttoning his cuffs, the Ahroun strides toward the doors with a nod. A long breath through flaring nostrils centers his mind and focus. "Sergei notified me earlier of the upcoming meeting of the locals. Subway station, was it? What a god-awful choice of location."

Break in the business; he glances at the woman, his eyes a dim glint in the darkness, dark with a hint of green flash. A simple nod as he holds his arm out, allowing her hand to slip from the crook of his elbow.

"Drive safely," he bids her. If any of the gathered wore hats, it's doubtless they would now be tipped.

And speak of the devil. As Genevieve departs Brand nods curtly to Sergei, motioning toward the doors. Apparently this was only a meeting point, and now they were going elsewhere. "Any word on local packs and territories yet?"


Brand

Fri 01:32AM CST
Fang and Lord kin.
Don't they know better here?

The door swings open. Brand, Jaan, Sergei. Three compelling examples of the highest tribe. The purebreeding in this place just doubled, and then some. Even the mortals take notice, chatter stopping briefly, eyes rounding. Behold nobility.

Brand's eyes are fixed on the American Fang, but without hostility. Rather, it's curiosity and a certain gladness - at last! Cousins. Even when the seating hostess comes up, all smiles and fawning, his gaze does not leave the other. He speaks briefly to her, glancing at her ever so briefly to bestow a faint smile, and then brushes past.

They head toward Tucker and Sereleia's table, the husky Teutonic Ahroun and his packmates.


Tucker Riley

Fri 01:32AM CST
Somthing turns his head, be it her breeding or the perfume but Tucker's head moves, cranes in fact to see Sasha come in. His gaze lingers for a moment before he turns back to Sera.

"here comes Sasha, you'll like her. I promise."


Jaan Rafe

Fri 01:34AM CST
*A bit of a grin at Sergie's reply. It was... amusing if you looked at it the right way. Keeping silent for hte moment he turns and checks 6. Born of the halfmoon he's a balanced individual, or he tries to be and juuuuust in case. He looks behind the pack. And just because he knows how Devious the Spirals and baddies and People from Jersey can be, he looks UP as well.

Falling back into step he heads for Tucker and co's table*


Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard

Fri 01:35AM CST
Sergei follows brand quietly observing with a haughty arrogance or cold calculation either way his eye bores into anything it comes across as if searchinf for hidden flaws. his left eye nothing but a glass faccimiley of the right moves with the left but sees nothing.


Sereleia Mikhailovna

Fri 01:36AM CST
She glances up from her pancakes, dabs a napkin at her mouth and turns to catch a glimpse of who this Sasha person is.

The hair on the back of her neck starts to stand on end as she watches...Sasha...then two guys...then Sergei walk in. She swallows, blinking. You know, my luck is about as good as the old drunk who walked under the ladder and broke the mirror in the same day. Yeesh. Still, there's not much she can do about it, other than sit there. Or eat her pancakes. She stares at her pancakes again - they would come in while she's eating. No fair.


Brand

Fri 01:39AM CST
A curt, but polite nod to Sereleia first: old-world manners. Greet the lady. "Madam."

Frigid cold.

Then, considerably friendlier, a smile at Tucker, extending one strong sunbrowned hand. Lowland German, Brand is swarthier than either of his packmates, built large and strong. The essence of lordliness and kingship is hard to ignore. It's literally bred into him.

"Brother," he greets Tucker, warmly. "We had hoped we would meet an American of the blood."


Anastasija

Fri 01:40AM CST
An amalgamation of beasts in an all-American diner. And looking much out of place it would seem for some - fancy suits - Prada, no? A splash of Armani, of this and that and... European brands reeking on each rage-ridden forms. The air is suddenly stiffling - hot, thick, heavy. Ahhh, all that body heat.

This is not a usual path for Anastasija. Indeed, her wanderings oft took her elsewhere, but on this night - steps would choose here. Coincidence, then, that she would be in passing to feel that thrum of bare restraint, that edge of the wild: like the prick of a dagger's blade (sink deeper; sink deep). A familiar shiver arcs between shoulder blades, and its not long after that she enters the diner also.

Neon bright within, dark lashes narrow briefly and shield an expression which would otherwise be flat (As flat as the sea in the eye of the storm). They could be a pretty feature, much like the rest of her face - if it were not for the rigid lines; the scar which angled across temple and cheek; the twisting, corded hair which is roughly pulled back from her face and bound. Even more scars are seen caressing neck and sinking deep beneath clothes worn and unremarkable, raw under the light, and textured.

And for a moment, she just stands by the door, intensity in each gaze and it lands and ferrets through the gathered.


Sasha Delacroix

Fri 01:42AM CST
If it wasn't for purebreeding... You'd almost think Sasha wasn't even a wolf. The low rage affords her the advantage to socialize with the mundane and kinfolk. Not to mention the pretty friendly smile that graced her lips, spoke of a rather charismatic nature, if a bit flirty. She offers that smile to Sereleia and Tucker. Hitting their table just as the blue-bloods did, which almost makes her choke. The stone pulled up into the palm of her hand, closing fingers around it as it slips into a coat pocket.

"Evenin', mes amis," words flowed like honey, accentuated by the cajun drawl in her voice, naturally sweet on the ears. "Hey, Tuck, keepin' new company, shugah?"


Jaan Rafe

Fri 01:43AM CST
*The hair on the back of his neck stands and he slowly turns. Those green eyes clear and sharp as Raptor's children would have them, fall on Anastasija. He notes the scars and gives the woman a regal nod. He keeps watch that way now. Brand was introducing and Sergei... well was Sergei. He had his own thing goin' on.*


Tucker Riley

Fri 01:46AM CST
Too much stimuli for a man with this much coffe. "Yeah," nice to meet you, Tucker Riley. He reaches out and shakes the man's hand. When Sasha speaks he perks up sitting straighter.

"Don't really know these guys, but this is Sera, Sera meet Sasha Delacroix. She's the shit, I swear it."


Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard

Fri 01:47AM CST
Sergei regarded tucker with a languid nod and turned to catch jaan's look and took in anastasija another nod then his eye scanned the various other patrons and inhabitants cold calm and detached as he often was when not trying to win another's trust.


Sereleia Mikhailovna

Fri 01:48AM CST
She looks between Tucker, the iceman, and finally the woman who is introduced to her. She manages a smile to Sasha, "Hi. Nice to meet you, Sasha. Would you like to sit down?" Sasha is much less intimidating than the rest of the giants in the room. Her blue eyes flicker back in the direction of the newly-arrived Fangs...who don't seem too happy to see her.


Anastasija

Fri 01:51AM CST
Two she recognises - Sasha and Tucker - the rest not, but at the nod from a stranger one is returned - a mere fraction it falls (pride brims in its surface) that a blink would miss it. No smile graces her face, nor is there a gleam in her eye to emit even the faintest sliver of emotion. Rigid, indeed.

Yet she does approach, predatory steps seeped with economy of movement - a stark contrast to the other female garou in the room.


Brand

Fri 01:54AM CST
"Brand."

--simple. What, no recounting of 30 ancestors and all their deeds? He shakes solidly, grasping the forearm rather than the hand, and then straightens. A nod to his packmates, "Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard, Jaan Rafe."

A glance toward Sasha, lifted eyebrow immediately noting the source of her breeding, and that it was not quite sufficient for one of Falcon's own. Back to Tucker. The smile has since dwindled to a bare curving of the lips.

"Strange company you keep, Tucker Riley." Like ice, steady and ungiving, his eyes flicker up toward yet another Lord's daring approach. Were he in wolf form, his hackles would be up, his body posture fearless and aggressive - head high, tail stiff. But he is in the shape of a man, and his tone is light, cool, as he looks Anastasija over, nods. "Another of your friends? Introduce us."

The voice is deep and undershot with a growl.


Jaan Rafe

Fri 01:56AM CST
*As Anastasija approaches, Jaan turns fully to face her. Shoulders squatred. Eyes watching her. His were keyed to movment and the like and well those scars, that hair, the eyes. Yum.

Hands withdrawn from his pockets are clad in italian leather driving gloves. A Regal nod, decendant of Czars is offered, then his hand* Jaan Rafe.


Sasha Delacroix

Fri 01:56AM CST
"De pleasures mine, Sera." a small incline of Sasha's head to the girl, nostrils flaring to breath in the air, the pedigree of this one almost as overpowering as the trio of royalty. Sasha steps around the tables until it places her closer to Tucker, allowing her to keep pale blue orbs on everyone. Including the recent addition of the other female garou.

She acknowledges the Lord by speaking her name. "Anastaija, so nice of ya to join us t'is evenin'."


Tucker Riley

Fri 02:00AM CST
"I keep the company of Fenrir and outcastes, as well as those I deem worthy." His Rage is coalescing above and around him. Hackles up. [Order me.... I think not.]

"S'Anatasija, Sasha, and Sera." Short, simple, concise.


Anastasija

Fri 02:01AM CST
There is long drawn moment, where she just stares at him - where she seems to disdain the hand suspended between them. A glint in her eye, perhaps amusement, perhaps scorn, its meanings made murky by those dark hidden depths. And then, interestingly, even as her hand lifts - her attention, if not eyes - turn briefly away. "You also, Sasha." The accent which tumbles from her tongue is thick, almost wrangling. A glance is flicked in the other woman's direction, the brief tugging blade of a smile.


Sereleia Mikhailovna

Fri 02:02AM CST
She inwardly bristles, her instinctive reaction chilling the blue of her eyes. Her chin rises ever so slightly - I'm as good as you are, dammit. Her hands, set carefully in her lap and mostly hidden by the table, curl into small fists as she sits there. She says nothing - it would be unwise to say anything at this point. Instead, she stares. Openly. At all three of them. But not in adoration - no, despite her best efforts to appear neutral and calm, with dislike.


Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard

Fri 02:02AM CST
Sergei's eyes eventually find their way back to tucker and bore into him coldly "My aren't we feirce..."


Sasha Delacroix

Fri 02:04AM CST
One step over and Sasha slips up next to Tucker, almost matching him in height. Her hand lifts up, fingers brushed in a hidden caress up his back to clasp firmly on his shoulder. Stand down... the gesture felt through the firm squeeze of her fingers digging into muscle, expressing her dominance over the ahroun, she considered her charge. Pale blue eyes brim with amusement at the display of body language, almost enjoying the scenery of this little union. She returns the Lord's smile with one of her own.


Jaan Rafe

Fri 02:05AM CST
*And the lords disintrest doesn't go un-noticed. As his hand grips hers it holds. His green eyes waiting for her own to return to him. Waiting for a greeting to be given in return. Holding her hand in his grip. His mood darkening a touch at the insolence. Manners were extended and rebuffed.
He hand is gripped and he waits. A light shimmer of the overheads reflected in his green eyes as he does.*


Brand

Fri 02:08AM CST
A beat. Then, a chuckle.
"Interesting."

To each of the three as they are introduced, he nods gravely. "Pleasure, ladies." His posture speaks for him: back held effortlessly straight, chin up. His height in and of itself is imposing, but even were he the shortest man in the room he would still have that same aura of command.

It shrouds him like a mantle.
It surrounds him like a corona.

One hand closes on the back of the chair closest to him. He pulls it out and sits uninvited. Why should he wait? The very air he breathed was his by birthright. No slender, pretty Fang, this one: large and overbearing, his dominance almost a scent on the air.

"I wish this could be a purely social meeting," he continues once he is seated, "but our time here is short. We wish to make the most of it. If you would kindly inform us of the lay of the land, the 'groups' and their claimings, we would be obliged to you."


Anastasija

Fri 02:11AM CST
It does return, the moment with Sasha fleeting, and dark eyes willingly spearing Jaan's own. The smile, as subtle as it was, has faded completely. And the grip is returned. By greeting, it is a simple thing - a repetition of what has already been said twice, yet shortened to add not to the insolence. She wouldn't want him to take further insult at such spoon-feeding. "I am Ana." Until he releases her hand, she makes no move to free it, though one eyebrow would lift slightly in the only indication of amusement, should that hold prolong.


Jaan Rafe

Fri 02:13AM CST
*One long second longer and he pumps her hand once. Letting go. A flicker of a brow risen as well to match her look.
He'd need new gloves after this no doupt. His voice, trained by tutors comes out properly modulated for english, but clearly not his first language* A pleasure to make your aquatienship, i'm certain. Would you care to join us in converse.... Ana.
*The use of the common and familiar a bit of a condesending slap at the end of his pointedly polite iscorce*


Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard

Fri 02:15AM CST
Sergei's good eye wanders again, fallowed by his glass one, taking in the small dirty diner (when you're used to expensive restraunts it was filthy and plain) then eventually back to the group, he stood at his alpha's shoulder his arms folded onto his chest, he was tall broad shouldered and wirey his rage manifested in his cold calculating assessment of anything he saw and in his haughty emotionless stare.


Sereleia Mikhailovna

Fri 02:17AM CST
Great. She looks down at her pancakes. Alas - they will not be eaten. Already her appetite is leaving her, surrounded by so much rage and people who seem to nigh on hate her. She shakes her head at her own thoughts and lets out a little sigh, waiting to find out what the oh-so-lordly ones have come down from on high to impart to the mere mortals.


Tucker Riley

Fri 02:21AM CST
Huff. Puff. The big bad silver wolf.....

Stands. Down. But he won't be polite, he turns to give Sasha a defeated look. Angry once again, and he had been in a good mood tonight too.

"You're sittin' in Eagle territory, compadre, and if ya go a few block that way you'll be in the knight's back yard." He pauses to point.

NOw this direction about six blocks from here or so, is the crows' territory, it stretches inta parts of downtow. There's a fury pack in grant park, don't really know them all that well and the Quick runs chinatown." He nods, curt.


Anastasija

Fri 02:22AM CST
This time she does smile in reply - and that is all, turning from him to his Alpha. In the little that was said between Jaan and herself, it was not hard to hear what else was spoken around the table. "My pack, the Ferrets, hold claim over Grant Park. Beyond that.." Eyes turn slightly considering as they rove Briefly over Brand, measuring. ".. I am still learning them also."

She has yet to glance at the Kin, or indeed, even Tucker, beyond that first scrutiny made in the doorway.


Jaan Rafe

Fri 02:24AM CST
*He remains standing. Watching Anastasija. The green eyes cool and collected with out being cold or uninviting*


Sasha Delacroix

Fri 02:26AM CST
Senses reeling from too much stimuli from everyone. Sasha keeps her hand on Tucker's shoulder, squeezing it gently this time, Good boy...

Nostrils flaring slightly, she lifts her head up, chin raised to lift eyes on everyone else to keep them level. "Mind ya manners while in t'is territory. I'd hate to see ya pretty suits dirtied by a curbstomp from a buncha pissed off Germans. T'ey don't take kindly to rough-housin' in t'eir turf. Neither do I for t'at matter. Seein' as t'ey's friends of mine. All high rankin' ones like mahself."


Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard

Fri 02:30AM CST
Sergei glances from tucker to anastajia then to sasha with an unimpressed almost bored expression on his face, he lifts a hand to stifle a yawn. more for show but partly because it was late and he was still on german time. "Interesting..." was all he said in his cold emotionless voice.


Tucker Riley

Fri 02:30AM CST
"I have a life debt to every one of the eagles, fuck with them, and it becomes bad diplomacy for house... guessing gleaming eye??"

His look is hard but he still doesn't look back into Brand's eyes. His hand goes up to feel Sahsa's on his shoulder, making sure it's still there.

"Was there somthing else you three gentleman needed?"


Brand

Fri 02:32AM CST
"You have our thanks."

Willful ignorance: he does not seem to note Anastasija's measuring gaze, nor Sereleia's mounting irritation. Sasha's comment, however, at last earns the Coggie (...Coggie? What a pity, and so close to the Highest Tribe, too.) a long moment of cool consideration. He sits at his ease in the chair, turning wood and screws into a throne. One arm slung over the back, the other hand toys idly with a salt shaker as he examines Delacroix at his leisure.

Click, the salt shaker set down. The Fang leans forward.

"Madam," his studied, edged politeness is oddly not at all incongruent with his broadness of shoulder, strength of jaw, "we remember the old ways better than any. And you'll find we are here to keep the law. Not to break it."


Sereleia Mikhailovna

Fri 02:33AM CST
Still silent, because they wouldn't want to hear from a mere kin anyway. She glances over at the iceman sitting next to her, just watching him for now. Then her eyes flicker to Tucker for a moment, then up and around as she finally takes a look at the scarred woman...the other one she hasn't met. She doesn't appear to be with the others....hmmm.


Jaan Rafe

Fri 02:34AM CST
*A bit of a smile crosses Jaans face as he watches Anastasija, then looks to the table*


Jaan Rafe

Fri 02:35AM CST
to Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard, Brand: This one here has an almost psychotic hatred of humans... someting that could be exploited. And she needs to shave her pitts...


Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard

Fri 02:37AM CST
to Jaan Rafe, Brand: Her legs too i'd imagine... She has the breeding but lacks a certain... flair.... pity... she will make a useful pawn.


Sasha Delacroix

Fri 02:41AM CST
Her hand remains there for a second more, pulling from Tucker's shoulder to drop down behind his back, away from the eyes of Lords and Fangs. Moving even lower, just past his ass in a subtle movement to steal a grope of some precious, personal items of Tucker's. She leans forward to growl softly in his ear. "Watch de tongue, Tuck"

After that, Sasha quickly drops her hand to her side, turning those pale blue eyes upon Brand meeting his gaze. "Good to know t'at, sir." she replies in a calm tone of voice.


Brand

Fri 02:41AM CST
to Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard, Jaan Rafe: "We have no time for games of politics," the Ahroun growls over the totemphone. "If she stands with us she will stand behind us. If she stands against us she will fall. That is all that matters."


Anastasija

Fri 02:42AM CST
Brand's words tear her attention from him as surely as if he'd grasped her jaw between his fingers and centred her on Sasha. The solemnity is back in those features once more, stretching smooth flesh where pain's lash had not touched. And in this presence of Fang, despite the confidence which already emanates from her form - her chin suffers subtle, unconscious lift.

She did not know the woman so well to intrude, and so she says nothing, studying both Sasha and Tucker equally. It was nice of the Fang Alpha to embed pretty seeds in that iron-visioned mind.

Many thanks.


Jaan Rafe

Fri 02:43AM CST
*his green eyes flicker to Sasha when her hand dissapears. Watching with out accusing. Not assuming but curious. A bit of a lean to see what she's doing. His nature that of a rather curious individual.
Flicker glance back to Ana, then back to Sasha, ohhhhh she was easy to look at.
She was mannerful too. Always a plus*


Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard

Fri 02:46AM CST
Sergei meerly observes with all the warmth of a scientist observing the interactions of caged chimpanzees.


Brand

Fri 02:47AM CST
Subtleties: the Fostern's gaze is held an instant, then dropped.

The salt shaker is pushed gently back beside the pepper, standing like a glass chesspiece. Brand raises his eyes again, this time to Tucker. The color of the irises hard to name: in some lights as dark as burnt umber; in others, as resonant as amber. And in this, somewhere in between, the color of oiled oak, flecked with green.

"House Gleaming Eye. Yes. And you, Wyrmfoe?" A slight tilt of his head - "Curious, though. You seem less than eager to continue conversation with your cousins. What should we make of this?"


Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard

Fri 02:50AM CST
Now for the first time sergei smiles. not an emotion filled smile but the predatory smile of a king watching a gladitorial game. a battle of wits almost as interesting as a bettle to the death.


Sereleia Mikhailovna

Fri 02:51AM CST
She takes a breath, lets it out. When was the last time she slept? Ummmm...shit. Organic Chem. Today. In... She glances down at her watch - T-Minus 8 hours and counting.

"Dammit." She mutters the word softly, leaning over and pulling out her backpack. She ignores the rage machines - screw 'em. She's got stuff to do. A truly enormous textbook is pulled out of her bag, and she pushes her plate out of her way as she plunks the thing on the table and opens it.

Organic Chemistry, aka Masochism 101. She rubs her temple with one hand, hoping the headache that's coming on will go away...and concentrates on the text.

Let the Garou be the usual dick-waving Garou. She has an exam to study for.


Tucker Riley

Fri 02:52AM CST
Blink. [Did she just grab my...? Well then.] "Sorry." To the Coggie beside him.

"S'Long as you don't go around playing the rulebreaker I got no problem with ya, stickin' around."

He clicks his tongue. "Yeah, house Wyrmfoe. Make of it what ya like, I'm around often enough, look me up cuz."


Jaan Rafe

Fri 02:54AM CST
*His eyes fall over the book that brought the curse to the little womans lips. A bit of a curious expressin then dismissal.
looking up to Tucker he listens and a soft chuckel escapes him*


Brand

Fri 02:59AM CST
"Goodnight, Tucker Riley." Rising an instant after the other Fang, he nods formally to the women. "My exit cue as well, ladies. Goodnight."

Passing his packmates, he clasps first one and then the other lightly on the shoulder, then pushes past and out the door. I'll walk tonight, I think. Keep an eye on the Lords.


Sasha Delacroix

Fri 02:59AM CST
Gleaming Eyes... Figures, reminded her of LeRoy and his proclamation of being of that house. He was just a silver-blooded Coggie like Sasha, both from backwater redneck's ville. A loud cough to clear her throat, nudging Tucker in the shoulder with her elbow. "I'm awfully sorry to break up de tea party, but it's late. I'm 'fraid Tuck and I need to head out. Duty calls elsewhere, right Tuck?" polite, friendly, courteous to the Fangs as she offers them an apologetic smile. "I'm sure we can hook up another night."


Jaan Rafe

Fri 03:01AM CST
*Jaan lets the Alpha leave and offers his hand to Sasha and then to Tucker* A pleasure. Perhaps again when we have more time in a setting... more convienant to privacy.


Sergei Vladimir Skovgaard

Fri 03:01AM CST
Sergei nods respectfully to brand then gives the slightest inclination of his head to the others who are leaving and the smile slowly fades back to his typical stoic look.


Sereleia Mikhailovna

Fri 03:02AM CST
She glances up, blinking - eh...they're all leaving. Perfect. She rubs her eyes and goes back to reading, turning a page. Let them all leave. Her head is really pounding now.

Hmm. Sleep. Now there's a concept. Sleep. Hrm.


Sasha Delacroix

Fri 03:02AM CST
Sasha accepts Jaan's hand in a quick shake, no firm grip or anything. "Night all. C'mon, Tucker..." she reaches out to loop her hand through his arm pulls him off.


Jaan Rafe

Fri 03:03AM CST
*Surprisingly enough he offers his hand to Serelia before turning* I apoligise for intrrupting your studying miss. Do have a good night and let us pick up yuor bill.
*Pulling out a money clip he flips out a few $20s and lays them on the table* Good evening ladies.
*A regal nod*


Anastasija

Fri 03:04AM CST
Should it irk her that in the middle of this maelstrom, the little Kin is... sitting there studying? Maybe it shouldn't - but then, she never did have much tolerance for kin. So even as the Fangs leave - a bare glance slithering its direction at their departing backs - most of her attention seems to be boring a hole into the bowed head of Sereleia. And where the other garou hadn't riled her, she's fairly bristling with irritation now.

Not that it would be noticed by someone who barely knew her.