dropping in on drew.

[Drew Roscoe] The first day of the weekend had been as average as the Kin could hope for. Errands were run, groceries were brought home and the fridge and pantry were restocked, along with her first aid kit. Laundry was done, sheets were washed, floors swept and swiffered and all that good stuff. The weather was overcast and chilly, it was a good day to be inside catching up on everything that needed tending to. Tomorrow could bring excitement if it wanted, today Drew was content being a homebody.

Dinner had been finished about an hour ago, leftovers still cooling in the fridge. The Kin was in the living room in the recliner with the footrest kicked out and a laptop in her lap, fingers flying deft and quick across the keyboard. A few lamps were turned on, the rest of the lights left off to save on the electric bill, so the harsh glow of the computer screen was what illuminated her face the most.

Still-damp hair was piled up on top of her head in a sloppy half-bun while wet strands licked loose around her face and on her neck anyways, and she was dressed in a pair of green sweatpants and a white long-sleeved tee.

Nothing worth noting here, folks, no wild parties or suspicious vehicles out front to draw attention from the neighborhood baddies. Just another night at home.

[Linus] His entry is sudden. It's always sudden these days. The sort of domestic shattering one attributes to blatant shows of 'You are not normal and do not belong with the normal' in this line of work/duty/familial obligation.

The air sunders, sucks in hard as once empty space is suddenly occupied by the forceful insertion of mass, density and identity. Reality, as a result of quantifiable necessity, hiccups in order to catch up and the balloon of pressure plugs ears and thrums chests with a vague ache, not worthy of being called pain for the dullness of it (Weaver re-asserting dominance) and the speed with which it vanishes (Gaia's ever so brief touch).

He's sitting on the kitchen counter, back up against one of the support walls, legs arched over the kitchen sink, with feet planted on far chrome edge. His attire is the brisk, black volumes of over-sized cargo pants, hoodie and worn out sneakers. The drip of sodden clothes on the counter leaves behind small puddles, while the run off of rain above his head falls down off the tip of nose and the thin, pallor of lips and cheeks.

He rolls his jaws and leans forward without looking up, scrubbing at a week's worth of fresh hair growth, spraying micro-drops of water in all directions. He has the decency to lean over the sink while he squeezes out his hood of excess waters, a grunt of exertion for the effort before his had comes back up again to stare at her. The eyes are no where near as tired as they may be in other situations.

Must be a slow day.

"Beer Me." With a smile, that is not exactly shit eating but hardly one of courtesy's ilk.

[Drew Roscoe] There's always about a fifteen to twenty second warning when someone (something) is about to appear nearby. Sometimes she would get an idea of it about two or three minutes prior, too, if that person or beast was having a hard time pressing through the tightly-woven webs of the Gauntlet, but always a dozen plus seconds prior to the actual appearance her ears began to pressurize like she was ascending in an airplane, her chest began to feel heavy, and she'd be unable to concentrate. She was learning to recognize this, but by the time recognition settled the pop! had already occurred and a figure swathed in black, all lean limbs and exhausted visage had appeared on her kitchen counter.

She was half up in the chair, laptop pushed aside, turned about to regard. Tense, ready, studying, but not ripping out of the room like her life depended on it. She was wary, not skiddish. Recognition settles in another few seconds, and Drew relaxes some, exhales the weight off her chest and yawns to pop her ears. The laptop is closed, footrest folded back down into the chair, and after the portable computer was set on the coffee table she stood up on bare feet and stretched her arms over her head.

Still perched on the counter, dripping and wringing himself out into her kitchen sink, Linus requests (we'll go with that) a beer. Drew's already crossing from hardwood to linoleum into the kitchen.

"Feels like more of a wine night, you sure you want the Bud?" Even as she's going to the fridge, she offers.

Whatever tension, intense dislike or irritation that there had been before, it appears to have melted away. Or it is simply slumbering, waiting for provocation to rear its ugly head.

[Linus] "Wine's for pussies, fags and arthouse students looking to show Ma 'n Pa they're all grown up." Absent-minded dismissal, like some off-hand insult meant as a fact of life. Linus continues wringing various parts of his sweater out into the sink, clearing his throat, coughing and finally spitting down the drain in one quick successive deluge. Drew's moving for beers and upon handing him his, he takes it up and tosses back a sip that turns into a few quick gulps before wiping lips on the back of a now damp sleeve.

"Your boy Eli's moved out of his old hood. Staying with the Pack for the time being. I figure at some point we'll find him another place." A pause, distracted pointing at Drew without setting eyes on her, scratching behind one ear like some common mutt, eyes closed in concentration.

"...But you knew that already I think."

He finally pulls his head back up again and slugs some more of the beer away, finally turning to look at her with something like scrutiny. Not so much the dissecting sort, as the check and rhyme of directness.

"Flip is still clear at that, something at least. Trust you've been keeping a low profile..." The tone there is suggestive. Even daring. Like some asking after of business that may or may not already be known.

[Drew Roscoe] Wine is tossed completely off the charts, and Drew just grins, the expression dusted on her face instead of filling it up like it usually would, and takes two bottles of beer from the fridge. They're popped open with a tool from a drawer, and one's handed off to the Godi, the other kept for herself. Rather than flicking the caps into the sink as so many would, seeing as how Linus was using it to wring out (and spit phlegm) into, she instead tugged open the door under the sink and deposited of them in there.

He keeps up on the counter, she leans against the island across from him, feet crossing at the ankles, one arm folding over her stomach, the other keeping loose so she could be free to take sips from the bottle as she pleased-- as was her style she started the beverage by taking two or three deep swigs from it and eased into sipping from there.

"Yeah, he'd mentioned." It's easy to leave it there, she didn't need to talk about Eli's reasons for leaving and whether or not she found them valid. She'd instead nod and offer: "Said he's looking for someplace bigger, maybe making it a halfway point for those who need. I'm still fresh off the real estate hunt myself, I could lend some aid too."

He's then pinning her down with his gaze, trusting her to have kept a low profile. To that she chuckled and shrugged with the arm that wasn't over her stomach. "For this past week, at least. There was a... hiccup in that, but I've already talked to Kora about it and have been making progress in setting it right."

[Linus] "Good."

He turns off the counter and slides down onto the floor with a grunt, taking his beer with him while straightening. A quick yawn flashes over his features, stifled a moment later with a shake of the head and a puffing of cheeks. He drifts off through the kitchen, out the archway and into her living room, taking generous glances at everything present, probably for the first time given his attentions were somewhat distracted during his last visit.

"I gotta admit, keeping track of all of you is a chore. Not entirely sure how Kora does it most of the time." Head shaking, another absent gesture, easily the identifier for when the Godi is speaking his mind rather than actively conversing. "But she manages. She's good like that." A beat or two, while the Godi's eyes take in the hallway leading to the rest of the house. He lifts his face slightly, nose sniffing briefly. Then around toward the corners of the low lit room, sucking in a quick breath.

"No new room mates or friends come to stay I take it? Keeping clean and clear?"

[Drew Roscoe] The house is empty, quiet, clean. It smells like Pine-Sol and the stew that she'd made for herself and put away an hour ago. Drew doesn't move when Linus dismounts from the counter and leans to glance down the hallway that led back to bedrooms and a bathroom, she doesn't frown or look worried when he scents the room like an animal.

The closest he gets to concern is when he asks about her keeping clean and clear. There's a rolling shrug of that free shoulder, another drink from the beer bottle, and catching the excess off her lower lip before answering.

"No one sticking around. Eli visits from time to time, Gina too. Drawn in Blood walked me home the other night, so he was on the turf, but I doubt that counts for much." The tip of her upper lip is caught between teeth, held for a second in a manner that had her chin sticking out some. Her eyes were off Linus's face, level more with his ribcage, out of focus and distracted for a moment, before she speaks again.

"I'm tryin' to. Was just looking around to see what I could find on your church's history when you showed up. But listen:" Eyes lift to his again, and her elbow hitches on the counter behind her, bottle dangling between her fingertips by its neck. "You aren't trying to play matchmaker for me or anything, are you?"

[Linus] Linus stares. Openly. Frankly. Then there's something like calamity going on around his face. Half-way between humour and irritation. Like a crazed scientist bothered by his dancing monkey, despite the entertainment value of it all.

"What the fuck are you-" And a hand is held up to forestalling any further explanations or descriptions. His mouth hangs open. He snort-laughs. Hands fall to knees, doubling over to enjoy the moment's mirth and finally back up with one hand still hovering to indicate a 'Hold on'.

"First off, even if I did make it my business to put you on the pole of the nearest Pureblood I highly doubt Kora would allow me to take the lead on ensuring that happened. Secondly, my interest in you and the other Kin extends only so far as Kora's demands, necessities and designs for you which are pretty much your well being and safety. Which, let's face it? Isn't exactly part and parcel with the Mate thing..."

He's backing away to continue pacing around the Living room, murmuring the entire way, though it isn't really intelligible what he's saying. Simply an inner monologue that is...not so inner.

"You fuck or friend who you like, just make sure it doesn't cause trouble for Kora or the Tribe and-" He snaps his fingers, a frown creasing the young face "-you make sure he's fuckin' Fenrir before anything else. Some foreign piece comes sniffing, he better have the Jarl's permission beforehand."

A pause.

"Tha' fuck is Gina?"

[Drew Roscoe] His laughter is met with a frown, but it fades away into an expression of neutrality as he goes on down his list of priorities-- why he bothered with her and why he didn't when he could avoid it. She takes this in with the occasional sip from her beer bottle and watches as he moves out of the kitchen, crossing through the open floorplan into the living room, making a circle around the couch and loveseat. The pacing made it easier to see the wolf in him, that she watched with more interest than the sodden wet spots he continued to drip off pants and shoes onto the floor.

Hardwood had been a conscious decision, she knew her Family and how treacherous they were with carpet.

"Alright."

That's all that's necessary for his answer. It confirmed that he answered sufficiently her question and she was accepting what he said, and agreed to keeping to Fenrir, not standing for any non-Tribe sniffing about. He said it'd be fine if it was cleared by Kora, Drew doubted she'd want to take that path anyways. Tribal loyalty had settled deep in her bones and belly since her Realizing, it was difficult to accept much less.

"Gina," she answers, remaining comfortably settled in the kitchen rather than hovering around after the pacing Godi, "is a Strider Kin. She's been around longer than me, knows the city and the people. Smart, warm, soft, and the most trustworthy friend I've got."

[Linus] "Strider, huh..."

And he's pausing, eying the Laptop, the burn of it's screen flaring outward to catch his features, casting them deeper and further into the promise of wane than normal light might. Hollows defined, gaunt features exaggerated until he's more a ghoul in that glare than a man. The pause is momentary, hands lifting to hover a good ten inches out from his chest.

"Tits like howitzers. Jingles like Christmas. Hair you could tie a fleet of chopsticks in?" He blinks, gaze narrowed against the screen's glare during the brief glance cast in her direction. "Caught a whiff of her in the brotherhood the other night." He whistles. A sharp sound, fleeting as attention goes back to the screen.

"What've you found out about the Church so far?"

[Drew Roscoe] Tits like howitzers earns a laugh, fuller and warmer than just a chuckle alone, and spreads a smile on her face big enough to make dimples in her cheeks. Her chin tips toward the ceiling and the beer bottle meets her lips, she finishes off what's left inside it. The bottle is tossed in a spare bin under the sink beside the one for trash, and she walks across the small house to stand beside him, hands tucking under her arms to keep them from being loose and idle at her sides (because that was never comfortable for her, she liked them assigned to a place or a task).

"That'd be her... Not a whole lot yet, I only got started like fifteen minutes ago. Just going through a backlog of old events that it hosted before it went bust right now. Tax information and previous listed owners are a little tricker to come up with. I imagine it would'a been the Church itself." Church like the Religious Institute, not like the physical shell left behind. "But I haven't got anything solid to prove that, and no contact phone numbers yet either."

Eyes cut up to his gaunt face, always tired and worn thin, often times more force of the spiritual energy under the skin than Man, but against any of that always present and controlled enough (from what she's experienced at least) that she did not fret to be near him.

"Booker said you guys wanted it to know about the electrical wiring... You know I could always have an electrician bop through and take a glance, if you guys can clear the space for two hours or so for me? I know three personally, they work for my dad."

[Linus] "Yeah. Brief pleasure, that one." In reference to Gina. He grunts briefly, another dismissive thing, already leaving the laptop behind in favour of continuing the pace around the apartment in search of whatever may catch his eye, which does not seem to be much thus far. The Godi's mood is mercurial in most circumstances and he seems to have that stilled and settled for the time being. Almost normal, almost.

"No, don't bother" To the electricians "Any sort of inspections come with possible issues with Utility companies and the like. That means we'd be on the books and that means bills, paper trails and questions as to why an abandoned church is using power. I can keep the power running in the Church without much effort. Start looking into a few odds and ends that will help out some..." His gaze, narrowing some, with the thought of solving that little tid bit of an issue.

"Keep looking through specifics and details about the Church but try to avoid asking questions that might get people interested in the place again. Don't need anyone coming around looking at the place any closer than they are. Neighbourhood does a lot to protect against unwanted attentions but only so much for the mortal world."

[Drew Roscoe] Linus is moving on, and Drew's leaning forward over the coffee table to scroll about on the webpage she'd settled on after browsing at her own leisurely pace earlier. It's some old event board, made by an amateur using some free hosting site. It's scrutinized for a second before she shakes her head and closes the laptop, pressing the screen down until it mates with the keyboard. The Kin straightens up, hands under her arms once more, and watches Linus as he drifts about the rest of the house.

He doesn't find much worth noting, no personal or family pictures hanging on the walls, no relics that may have emotional attachments or represent any memories from prior. A DVD collection is on the entertainment stand under the television itself, a bookshelf with some old textbooks and a few leisurely reading selections as well-- nothing jumps out, nothing's worthy of more than four seconds of secluded attention. Maybe memories were enough in her mind and heart that she didn't need them on her walls and tables to stare at her too.

"Yeah sure. I'll dig up what I can and give you whatever I find. It's history and all of that, Booker mentioned something about blueprints, I think, so I'll leave that up to him and you boy-folk, seems more your area of expertise anyways.

"If there's anything specific you decide you're after, though, if some spirit whispers something in your ear you want me to confirm, you let me know though, okay? It's faster and easier finding something specific than it is just gathering everything in general." Her tone of voice is a far cry from that of complaint. It's offering, if anything at all.

[Linus] "That's sexist." Off-hand humour, mentioned in passing to her Boy-folk line. His head and gaze lift to travel the ceiling a moment, before, nodding, he sucks in a low breath and points toward the East, down the hallway to the bedrooms and bathroom, glancing at her.

"Eyes remain on the flip. You want to make yourself useful, drop some leftover scraps of meat in the alleys nearby or on your rooftop. Birdfeed works too, though not too much. Don't want to get them too greedy. Anything beyond that ain't your concern. Meantime, I gotta get back to patrols. Already detoured off the main path some."

He dips back in through the Kitchen's archway, stifling another yawn as he goes. Night's ahead of walking the pack paths, Hrafn in one ear and alpha in the other. The godi flicks a few fingers up and over a shoulder.

"Catch you later."

And the air condenses again, volume and mass vanishing with the same suddenness that has the laws of physics playing catch-up and leaving behind a frustrated pop in his wake.

[Remy de Tournieres] Linus is scarcely gone two minutes before there's a rap on the door.

[Drew Roscoe] Linus leaves with some humor, which surprised her for the fact that there wasn't hate or insult laced into it, advice about keeping her house surrounded by happy spirits, and a farewell. The pressure in the home shifted, Linus vanished from kitchen to Someplace Else, and Drew moved her hands to rub at her ears, flexing her jaw 'till they popped again. She scratched at her scalp thoughtfully for a second, shifting the bun her hair was tied in to and fro while she did so, then gathered up his three-quarters finished beer bottle from wherever he'd abandoned it and killed it off while she migrated to the kitchen.

Now-empty beer bottle was scarcely discarded, she'd only just finished rinsing her sink clean of the dirty gray water Linus had wrung out of his clothes and shaken out of his hair when there's another knock at the door.

"Well who in the hell...," is the murmur, and recent visit from the Godi that had given solid (albeit sneering) advice on a prior visit had protocol fresh in her mind. She takes a handgun from where she keeps it stashed in a kitchen drawer, third down under the potholders, and holds it behind her back as she approaches the door, undoes the locks, and opens it.

[Remy de Tournieres] Who in the hell turns out to be another Godi, this one quite different from the one just departed. He stands outside with his hands wrapped into fists, his fists stuffed into his pockets. His hood is up and his collar is buttoned right up to his nose, leaving two bright eyes -- almost black in this light -- gleaming at Drew.

"Hey," he says, muffled. "Long time no see. You eat yet?"

[Drew Roscoe] The face on the other side of the door is, first, half-covered because of how high he wears his coat collar, zipped right up to the tip of his nose. Second, what remains is gorgeous, with dusky skin and dark eyes and perfectly symmetrical features. Third, though, and most important of all, it's familiar. Drew's got one hand on the door, the other behind her back as she stands in the crack opening her door had presented. The hand behind her back relaxes some, finger moves away from the trigger, the safety is clicked back on.

"Remy." In the name is confirmation and relief both at once, and she smiles bright and genuine at him before opening the door further, clear invitation for him to come in.

"I did, yeah, but I could re-heat what I made for you if you're hungry. Hamburger stew." Sounds horrific, but it's a midwestern classic. Trust her.

This, however, is beside the point. She's more focused on the fact that it was, indeed, a long time no see. "No joking. Where in the world have you been? You and Erek both vanish at the same time, I was wondering if you guys didn't kill each other, or Kora didn't kill you both and have you stuffed under the floorboards."

[Remy de Tournieres] "Hah," Remy's scoff releases a puff of steam into the cold air, "they couldn't kill me if they tried."

It's raining outside -- snow turning to filthy slush. He stomps his feet and wipes them clean before stepping in, flipping down his hood, unzipping his coat. His cheeks are flushed with the bite of the wind. He gives the air a perfunctory sniff, then looks at her.

"I ran with a pack of Dogs of War for a while. They went out pretty far; I guess I lost track of time. How you been?" His coat rustles as he slips out of it, rumpling it up and tossing it over the nearest chair, or couch, or coatrack.

[Drew Roscoe] There's a coatrack behind the door, and a couch within easy tossing distance. Wherever that coat winds up, Drew doesn't seem to care too much. She steps back to give Remy room to step into the entrance of the home, to stomp and wipe his shoes off on the mat, to sniff at the air in her house (something all Garou seemed to do first, she often wondered if they could still smell like wolves when they were wearing human skins) and then look back to her.

The home smells like the hamburger stew she'd cooked, which as most stews do smells of vegetables and meat that have been soaking and simmering all day. Only a bit stronger than that is the scent of cleaners, mostly Pine-Sol, to say today had been one of those days off work dedicated to staying home and catching up on housework. Drew herself smells like soap and shampoo, her hair's still a bit wet from the shower and wrapped up at the top of her head. She's dressed down for the night in a pair of dark green sweats and a white long-sleeved tee.

The dismissal of death is answered with a one-sided grin, the explanation of where he'd been a nod. His asking how she's been with a shrug and another smidge of a grin. "Alright. Things got pretty fucking ridiculous after we talked last, but then calmed down and evened out just in this past week or so. Had a high, had a low, found my middle ground." A pause, and hospitality kicks in when given a chance. "So, you want something warm to drink? Or should I warm up that soup?"

[Remy de Tournieres] Freed from the confines of his heavy winter coat -- from the anonymity of it, too, the urge to hide that pretty mug of his -- Remy rolls his head on his neck, windmills his arms and flexes his shoulderblades. He cocks his head at her, suddenly alert, when she mentions ridiculous.

"Ridiculous how?" And, grinning, "Warm that soup up, girl. You biscuits to go with that?"

[Drew Roscoe] Hospitality accepted, Drew walks the small but comfortable space between living room and kitchen on bare feet. The way the layout of the house was, some walls must have been knocked out in a remodeling as from living room back to dining room was all open, making the small dreary home seem larger on the inside, brighter during the day, but tonight there were only a few lamps on, so the light was dim and orange.

A container is removed from the fridge, contents put into a smaller pot on the stove, and after a faint click-click-click the light catches and the gas stove is functioning. "Can make some if you're patient. Or you could just butter some bread and be happy with it." As she's maneuvering about the kitchen, she gives explanation to what 'ridiculous' was.

"Some whopping drama involving another Kin from another tribe. Kora says I can't talk on it much, so I won't say a whole lot on her, but..." The back of her hand sweeps wavy bangs from her face absently. "Well, Kora wanted me to take her in, let her live here. I told her no, 'cause the girl wasn't tribe, because I'd never met her before, and because all the traffic I get through here of you guys it's no place for an infant.

"When I tell her 'no' she unloads on me. I get accused of wronging Joe for not coming back with a belly full of baby, get called a slut for presumably sleeping with you and Erek and goodness-knows-who-else she thought, and... I don't know. Dishonorable, selfish, all sorts of venom got slung my way. So I go, get assigned a Keeper, Linus is stuck with me as much as I am him these days I guess-- he was just here, actually, no more than five minutes before you came knocking."

Her hand waves, distracted and dismissive both. "But it's come to its head and boiled back down. Had some long talks with some people and we're evened out now."

[Remy de Tournieres] Remy isn't exactly the subtle kind. Pretty much every emotion he has sweeps past the canvas of his face. First there's amusement -- "I'll butter some bread," -- and then there's curiosity. Roundabout when Drew mentions shacking some other-tribe kin up with her, incredulity:

"Doesn't she have her own tribe in town? What is she, Wendigo?"

-- and after that, when the word slut comes out, a flash of outright offense. And more than that: something akin to a sort of kneejerk jealousy. It passes when she sums up the tale. Remy follows her more or less to the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall there with his arms folded across his solid chest.

"Linus? Isn't that that other bitchy fucker I met the other night? Man, why are all the Tribesmen in the city so bitchy?" He breaks off, looks around her kitchen. "You got a drink of water? I'm thirsty as hell."

[Drew Roscoe] "Bitchy isn't the word I'd choose to use. More like... worn thin."

The Kin pulls a loaf of bread out of some quaint little breadbox on the counter, next to the toaster, and tosses it lightly on the kitchen island. A butter knife and butter boat find their way over there in the next few moments as well. As before, she's talking, answering questions and keeping up with conversation as she moves around, stirring the pot occasionally so the contents wouldn't end up sticking to the bottom.

"Own tribe's in town," she confirms, but seems tight-lipped about the kin's origins, apparently intent to stand by her promise to Kora not to gossip. She had, after all, lost her rights to spreading an opinion about this woman when she'd spewed hate and frustration and even some fists at her much earlier in the week. "Not sure why this Kin doesn't turn to them, but..." Her shrug is dismissive.

Ice cubes are plunked in a glass, it's filled with water from a purifying container out of the fridge, then passed over to him, quick and brief from her hand to his, before she's back at the stove. "But outta that there's another Kin in town, Elijah Booker. Knew him from before I'd left-- he'd left too for a while. I'd worried some, but he's got a good head on his shoulders, he was alright after all. Smart guy, does the crazy-dance well too when he has to. Good Kin to keep around."

[Remy de Tournieres] "Yeah well, you're a lot nicer than I am. I mean, okay, party line: life sucks then you die, but guess what? It sucks until you die for all of us. Only the weak, bitchy ones whine about it. Especially when they're fucking Cliaths. If Golgol Fangs-First wants to bitch about how world weary he is, I'll shut my mouth and listen, but if some little newb Cliath does it I'm gonna laugh. And maybe kick his ass."

Tolerant, polite and nice, Remy is not. He steps forward to take the glass from her, though, then leans against the kitchen counter while she heats up the stew. A few gulps from the glass before he sets it down, turning his head to cough loudly over his shoulder as a swallow goes down the wrong way.

"Ugh!" he says when he's got his air supply under control again. "Elijah Booker, huh? I'll keep your rec in mind, but I'm also keeping in mind you're a lot nicer than I am. Where's he coming back from?"

[Drew Roscoe] "Ahhh.... Los Angeles, I think? Or San Diego. Someplace in California that I've never been. What matters more, though, is that he is back."

She doesn't argue about who has the right to complain-- she was Kin, after all, built to be the person that some lowly Cliath can come to and find a break. It wasn't the same brand of comfort that, say, Gina or Lonna had been known to offer, but she always had a shower, a warm bed, a beer and a meal ready if you were patient enough to wait for it. Basic essentials, a play at home and something mundane if only for an hour. She doesn't argue about being nicer than him either, that she just answers with a smirk.

Soon enough Remy's got a bowl of hot soup in front of him, some bread and butter to eat it with, and that glass of water as well. An offer's extended to crash in the spare bedroom if he likes, and whether he accepts or declines the night will end about the same-- the house will be quiet within an hour, with Remy wherever he decides to be for the midnight hour and Drew up in her room, no company invited or allowed to meet her there, sleeping under a quilt and freshly-washed sheets.

[Remy de Tournieres] "Hmh," is all Remy has to say on the topic of Elijah.

Soon enough there's stew. Which he eats, quickly and heartily, standing in her kitchen. He bolts down the bread, too, though he hadn't come to get fed. He came to see her -- it just doesn't mean he won't accept hospitality when it's offered.

Not always, though. She offers him room to crash in, and he declines. "Gonna get back to the BroHo," he says. "Just came by to see how you were doing. Anyway, I'm heading out. You know my number if you need anything."

So -- later, when she sleeps, it's well and deeply, in an empty house without the stirring of rage or, for that matter, some kin of some other tribe.

long shot.

[Gah! Dunno what happened to the first part of this transcript. Remy basically goes to find Drew!]

[Remy]
Remy's good at this, too. He gets the fire starts quickly and easily. Good with his hands. Good with physical stuff, brute-strength type stuff. Nothing like the stereotypical theurge, the perfect theurge.

With the flames licking up amongst the logs, Remy sits back on his heels. He strips out of his coat the way one might strip out of a sweater: pulling it up over his head, tossing it on the ground to sit on. Under that he's got a microfleece zip-up on, thin but warm. That comes off too, and he tosses it at Drew.

"To sit on," he elaborates. "So it's not just your bony butt and the hard floor."

Despite broaching the topic, he seems to be in no hurry to continue. He picks up the mug of coffee and blows on it gently, then sips. His gloves off now, he has surprisingly beautiful hands -- longboned and lean. Then again, maybe that's not a surprise. Everything about him is beautiful, no matter how hard he tried to make himself hard, muscular, tough, aggressive.

"I just thought," he says after a while, staring at the fire, "that maybe I should ... explain myself. I mean. First I brought up your man. And maybe that was kinda out of line of me. I only did it because I honestly thought Erek was sniffing around your skirts and I was ... offended."

[Drew Roscoe]
She's warming up still-cold fingers on her mug of coffee, cupping it with both hands, when he leans back and pulls off the outer layers of his clothing, jacket first then sweater. She watches him take off the coat, curious to the fact that he tugs it over his head rather than unzipping it like most people would, but glances back to the flames, dismissive and non-judgmental. How one undresses was hardly something to be making tabs on.

When he tossed the sweater over, she looked a little... not surprised, but curious at first. He elaborates, and she nods, lifting her rump off the ground and tucking the sweater underneath, grinning a little at the 'bony butt' mention. She was far from ideal, especially when compared to Remy himself. She was short, dark haired and eyed rather than blonde and blue-eyed like so many other Fenrir kin seemed to be, muscled in most areas, soft overtop that in some, but certainly not long or sleek. If there was one thing she could be sure of, though, it was that her butt wasn't truthfully classified as 'bony'.

They sip coffee for a second, and she doesn't press him to hurry up and explain himself. He does so in his own time, on his own terms, and she listens as he does. She keeps the mug up by her lips, occasionally pressing her cheek to the ceramic to warm it more quickly, to take away the rosiness from the sharp sting of snow and wind that had been assaulting them all morning.

She speaks calmly, softly. There wasn't much need to be loud when the only background noise was the whistle of wind through tree branches and the crackle of a growing fire. "It set me... a bit melancholy last night that you mentioned Joe, I'll admit, but I don't think it was real out of line. Mistaken, maybe?" Another sip of coffee, and she rests the mug's bottom on one knee, running a thumb along the edge of the handle, eyes down on her hands, the reflection of the ceiling in the coffee itself.

"But still, on a level I have to appreciate it anyways. A lot of people don't understand grieving. Either they're so used to loss and having to move on from it, or they're accustomed to seeing the wayward affairs that people around here are prone to... but I don't feel like most want to give me time. Kora, bless her, jumps immediately into business the first time I see her. That's how she is, how she has to be, I understand that.

"I just know how it is when Kin don't have anybody with claim on them. Some of you guys see it as open game and turn it into that. It's nice to know someone's at least willing to stand up and explain things how they are." A finger taps at the rim of the glass, and she grins some at him. "When I say it, the answer is 'the lady doth protest too much.'"

[Remy] Beautiful he might be, but there's no finesse, no polish whatsoever to the muscular young Godi in Drew's dining room/den. He sits hunkered over, legs crossed indian-style, shoulders and chest so thick they seem fit to burst out of the plain thermal t-shirt he has on under everything else he had on. He shifts uncomfortably as she so easily forgives him -- praises him, even -- for respecting boundaries. Remembering her mate. All that.

"Yeah well," he says, slurping another sip of coffee before setting the mug down. In two quick, thoughtless gestures he tugs his shirt out where it had ridden up under his arms, then picks the mug up again in his big hands, almost restless. "That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I kinda just ... blurted it out last night. That I thought you were hot."

He takes a gulp of coffee. Too big. It scalds him on the way down, making him grimace and wince. Remy takes his coffee with a little cream, no sugar; when he sets the mug down yet again, the rich brown liquid inside is still visibly steaming.

"I just wanted you to know it wasn't some hidden declaration of love or anything. I mean, I like you. And I do think you're pretty cute. Plus you've got that... y'know, a bit of that je ne sais quoi that turns heads. Especially Garou heads. But I figure you for a friend, all right? We barely know each other. You just lost your mate. I get that and I respect it. You don't have to start wearing chastity belts around me."

His eyes are downcast. Idly, absently, he plays with the little spoon in the mug, swirling it around and around until there's a veritable whirlpool in his cup. Letting that slowly spin down, he looks at Drew at last.

"Anyway, that's what I came to say."

[Drew Roscoe] Drew's sitting in a manner quite similar to Remy, but instead of hunching forward so drastically she's straightened up some, posture drilled to be better by years of lessons, but enough time has passed between them and now that it wasn't so stiff. She sipped her coffee, then set the mug on top of her thigh and shifted her position, stretching her legs out toward the fireplace to warm her toes and propping her left hand on the floor behind her to maintain balance.

She's got her loosely-tied ponytail over one shoulder, and is smiling warmly over at the handsome Godi that, understandably, was typically mistaken for anything but. The smile has a hint of apology to it, and she shakes her head some when he closes his words up simply.

"I'm not oblivious. I noticed." Not full of herself, she doesn't present this like she thinks all eyes follow her up the street or that she could have a string of lovers trailing in her wake. She's too down to earth for that, too practical. She was the kind of girl that worked with her hands, as opposed to the kind that would charm a man into doing it for her. Yet that didn't make her an ignorant, sexless little girl either. She'd caught glances, trailing eyes from the Godi, and figured he wouldn't continue accompanying her on things as silly as visiting Last Watch and hunting for a young Rotagar out in a blizzard if he didn't at least enjoy her company.

She's hesitant to continue from that point, but it was only fair. Remy'd come out through the continuing blizzard to see her, to talk to her. He'd had the respect to do so in person rather than muttering awkwardly over the phone. She owed him that much honesty in return.

"Were timing different, Remy? I'd give it a shot. You're downright intolerable sometimes," and this is said with an affectionate grin, honest but accepting, "with all the fighting and egging on, but that's in your guys's nature to a point. I can't fault that too heavily. The rest of the time, though... Like this? Now? It's nice. You're good company. I like being around you, going out for beers and shooting the shit."

She nips at her lower lip with her incisor. "It's far from fair to ask anyone to wait around, I won't do that."

It seems she could add more to that, might have been considering, but decides against for one reason or another. Instead she brings her mug to her lips and takes another drink, this one deeper than the small sips she'd been nursing the drink with but not fast enough to scald and make her flinch like what Remy had done with his.

[Remy] Something almost shy about Remy in the last few moments. Stumbling words, hesitation between. Now, though, when she tells him not to wait around for her, his grin splits wide and white. It's his usual self again: loud, boisterous, cocky.

"Don't you worry about me. I won't be hanging around your doorstep pining away for the day, missing out on sweet tail in the meantime. If some fine young mama sees fit to bat her eyelashes at me, you can bet you ass I'm gonna go get mine. My life's too short to be waiting around, sweet-tits."

-- not exactly the declaration of eternal fidelity and faith one might hope for. Not exactly the respect and courtesy he implicitly promised, either. But then Remy lifts his mug again, takes a smaller, more careful sip, dark eyes all but twinkling over the rim. When he lowers it, he licks coffee off his upper lip and smiles, and it's a genuine smile, warmer, not so full of bluster.

"But. Y'know. If the day comes that moving on stops feeling so much like betraying a beloved's memory, you should let me know. Until then maybe we'll just keep grabbing beers now and then."

[Drew Roscoe] She's smirking right back at him while he's promising her that he'd be more than happy to go chase a tail that wagged for him, but not bothering to correct. She's stepped out onto the street with him several times before, seen how girls (and the occasional guy) will stare with a relaxed jaw at him, how some of those will take a second to shoot daggers in her direction. She neverminds it, but she knows that for Remy there'll be no shortage of opportunity.

His life was too short, he said, and she nodded faintly. He was perfectly right on that one, their lives were too short. Far too short.

But he switches gears, more warm than bolstering. Says that if the day comes, when she feels less like it would be betrayal, she should tell him. When the day came that she could think about moving on and not compare every detail to Joe, then perhaps she would. She says so.

"Y'know, I think that sounds about perfect."

that big mouth of his.

[Bridget] [in the den in this weather*]

[Kora] "I don't care." They're standing inside the front vestibule, underneath the choir loft. Close enough that Kora can hear Fire Claws ask for her, and lifts her chin in acknowledgment of the Forseti's request. Her expression says: one minute, two. She's let go of the blanket, now, deeming it beneath her dignity in this moment. Her expression's still, her eyes dark. "You're a stranger; you wanted into my pack's home in the middle of a terrible storm. I'd fail in my duty of hospitality to you to send you back out there. And I'd fail in my duty to protect them - " a tip of her head toward the motley group gathered at the edge of the fire. " - if I just take you at your word, and let you go. I'm Kora. Roman - there, and Linus, there are my packmates. Patrick's Garou, looking to join us. The rest are kin, mine and others. Go sit. Have a piece of pie. Give us a chance to check you out and make sure you are what you seem to be."

There's no edge to that anymore, just a clear, quiet direction and a sort of dismissal.

Keep an eye on him. Find out if he has any local references. If he checks out, we'll let him go. A moment later.

If he doesn't.
That part's wordless.

"Fire Claws," Kora greets her tribesmate, then, turning her attention back to him, her generous mouth twisting, faintly - without showing teeth. He can see his breath here. "Of course. Let's talk." Wisely, she refrains - at the last moment - from using the idiom I'm all ears with the feral-born Forseti.

[Sofie Janssen] Izzy explains that Lego Indiana Jones is an xbox game, and Sofie has heard of that, at least. She nods once and gives a brief lift to her mouth at the jaunt directed at the Fianna Garou. "I've never played the xbox." Just to keep the conversation going, really. She's not terribly interested in computer games.

When Roman makes a reappearance he's ready for bed, has out mattresses and blankets, and is offering her chips. Her nose wrinkles distastefully. "No thanks. You know how much artificial shit is in those? Potato laced with chemicals and no nutritional value whatsoever."

[Kora] Also: Roman better not be eating Kora's Bacon Double Cheeseburger Pringles again.

She shoots him a look across the sanctuary, from a distance, hearing that distinctive crunch.

[Roman Turner] He just grinned at Sofie and as if saying the weather was wonderful asked.

"Ya know how long I am likely to live? It won't be the artificial and chemicals that kills me first."

Soon as Seth got close he held out the Pringles to him.

"Pringles?"

Offering hospitality with Kora's favorite treat.

[Seth Cohen] Wonderful. A guy named "Fire Claws". That should do a lot to put Seth at ease.

Kora walks away from him dismissively and he sighs. He begins to pace again, discomfort evident on his face. Constantly his eyes move from face to face, exit to exit. He is calculating odds and angles with every moment that passes. Seth stays close to the fire with his pacing. No sense in freezing.

And he will take the offered Pringles, because there's no sense is starving either. "Thanks. Bacon Double Cheeseburger Cheeseburger, huh? Nice."

[Sofie Janssen] "That's why you can have them all to yourself," Sofie tells Roman with a brief flicker of humour in her features. She understood why the Garou ate whatever they want. They weren't likely to get sick. It still didn't stand to reason, really, but whatever. "You know, buying that shit just encourages the company's to make them."

[Fire Claws] His eyes turn to look in the direction that Kora turns her own, looking back at the ragabash a few moments before returning his attention on her. It seemed he was trying to find the proper words for whatever he was trying to say, especially considering he was somewhat unsure of some of those around him. Even if they wore the mystical cloak of breeding about many of them.

"Jarl... I.. am 'ere cuz' I wanded onta ya land while 'untin'. Killed wat shuld'a been yas. I am 'ere ta make... right."

[Linus] He's a Strider, Kor', what sort of local ref you expecting?

But he's moving already, shaking out the thickness of his dress and attire, stuffing gloved hands into the hoodie front pocket as a slow pace and saunter is made toward Seth. The features are vaguely grim and the eyes, scrutinizing. He sticks his jaw out slightly and flicks a brief glance at Kora. He'd keep an eye, easy enough.

His stare turns to Seth, narrowing fractionally. It isn't angry. More dissecting then anything. As if he could cut to the Wyrm heart possibly beneath with that stare. That stare remains until Seth takes up a pringle. It has him nodding briefly, like that one little gesture was enough of a sense wyrm for him. Or at least a sign of normalcy. (Who the fuck doesn't like Pringles?)

He follows after Fire~Claws and Kora. A distance yet, but in the Church you didn't need to be close to hear a conversation. He remains somewhere off to one side, quiet in the thick shadow and dark of the Church's outer realms, beyond the bonfire.

"

[Roman Turner] For the first time Roman sighed.

"You are right Miss Sofie. Infact, I think ya should tell Seth here all about them chemicals and encouraging companys and all that stuff."

He was already handing off the chips to Seth and slipping off towards the kitchen again to get more eats that might send Sofie off the chemical deep end.

[Bridget] A smirk comes from the Canadian after she digs her paws into the pringles and takes some. Seth says nothing at her little encouragement, but he comes over to share some food. Bridget takes a few and moves back to a spot by the fire with her harmonica.

Before she stuffs some into her mouth, however, she decides to play a scale or two, just practicing. Patrick might know by now she has to do something to express those instincts when surrounded by all this latent Rage. Her behavior is not surprising, but her relative silence is.

[Sofie Janssen] Looking from Roman to Seth, she glances the man over from head to toe and then eyes the Pringles like it's a box full of maggots before turning away. She reaches up and finally takes off her knit cap, brushing her other hand through her hair. A blue scarf still winds its way around her throat, the blonde strands caught in it at the back. Small tugs get it all out, and toss hair down her back.

"Are you staying here tonight?" She asked Patrick, who was as quiet as she was, it seemed. Then it occurs to her she's only assuming other details and decides to get that clarified while she's at it. "Or do you live at the Brotherhood?" Where they had met last night.

[Kora] "The only good hunting in the city is Wyrm, Fire Claws. Otherwise it's just vermin," there's a brief twist of her mouth, wry. The heat of the fire is starting to permeate the structure. Up close, it's warm enough to sleep. Here, well - Kora starts unbuttoning her winter coat. " - hardly worth the time you take to run them down."

A pause, then; she looks back at her brother in the shadows at the edge of the fire he's constructed. Curves her shoulders in a brief, helpless sort of gesture when he asks her what sort of local reference she might expect a strider to have, then looks back to Fire Claws. "Are you still hunting alone?"

[Izzy Montoya] She watches the banter between Roman and Sophie, and then lets her gaze rest heavy on Seth once more as he dares close the distance, if only in search of pringles. She waits, and then times her reach for some chips so that it brings her hand to bump against his. When he looks up - because of course he does - she's arched a brow, amusement resting across her lips.

She takes her chip, and sits back. It was very much a 'i know why you're nervous' encounter. Even if she doesn't, exactly. She's just mean.

For the most part, though, she remains silent. Watchful.

[Roman Turner] It wasn't too awful long before he reappeared, this time fully dressed once more as if he might be planning on going out. More chips were handed out and then the Coggie made himself at home on the pew, pulling his hat down over his eyes as if he were going to sleep. Quietly across the link was whispered.

I'll follow him if he suddenly ups and leaves.

Meaning Seth. In a few moments his breathing was nice and easy.

((And I must sleep. Thanks for the play!))

[Fire Claws] He listens intently to Kora when she speaks about what is good hunting, his body starting to shake a little to shuffle off any of the rest of the snow that sits on his heavy jacket and hat, familiar acts and such. His hands soon burying themselves deep within the pits of his arms, trying to warm up the tips. His attention turns once when she pauses, eyes turn back to the pair of untamed kin women sitting around the mattresses, eating at what food is offered. Distracted.

When Kora asks him if he is still hunting alone, his eyes snap back to her.

"Ya. Still 'lone."

His mind retracing her previous mention of good hunts.

"I kill'd da wyrmlin' on ya territory. Ya right. Ya 'onor, not mine."

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Sorry all, phonecalls about Cyclone Yasi! Eesh.]

[Bridget] Bridget's head snaps to attention when she feels the press of someone staring, but she's not sure at first where it's coming from. She shakes it off, then curls over her harmonica. Unlike the usual wail, the kinfolk keeps things relatively calm. The kinfolk is soon lost in her playing, making unusual coaxing noises from the metal shard rather than the blues wail.

It doesn't really matter that everyone's lost in their own thing. Bridget finds a way to get lost as well, with much more consistent company.

[Linus] Takes this shit seriously, doesn't he?

Is Linus offer over the totemlink to Kora, his own attention shifting to the small group of huddled Kinfolk and Trueborn. He allows himself a brief moment to relax, take in the sight. Family through and through, despite the baggage that came with it. A nice neat little package. He pushed his jaw forward and breathed through his nose, trying to dull the tension riding his spine.

"...Bunch of lay abouts..." Quietly and to no one, the Godi remains where he is in the dark, off to one side, returning his attention to the pair of Fenrir in Jarl and Forseti. Arms cross over chest and he begins to teeter back and forth from one foot to another, notes from a harmonica creeping into the air to lend cadence to the wind howl and snow drop outside.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Prayers to Broken Stone had not vanished, had not ceased to exist. Well, at least not physically. What the Galliard had in fact been doing was focusing on some spot on the ground; frowning. The coffee beside him was forgotten, stone cold by the time he seems to stir again, and tune back in to his surroundings.

Kora is speaking to an unknown figure, the Kinfolk are still present -- Bridget playing the blues on a harmonica -- and even Linus appears to have calmed down.

Straightening, Patrick slides from his perch wordlessly, and starts to venture around the premises; finding some shadowy nook, the Galliard takes up residence in it, and hunches his back against the wall. In his pocket, fingers worry a lighter.

[Remy] "...it's not even that cold." The door of the church creaks open on Remy's grumbling. "Just a little windy is all. Button up over your nose and mouth and you'll be fine. Don't know why you insist on stopping off here. Not like it's that much farther to the El station."

And WHUMPF goes the big ironwood doors of the Church, shutting out -- if not quite the chill -- the wind and the snow, at least. The muscleheaded Godi and the slighter, recently-widowed kin stand in the nave of the church, the former peeling outerwear down from his head.

"VISITING IN YOUR TERRITORY!" Remy bellows. It echoes off the buttresses, reflects back from the arched ceiling. "There, that ought to be polite enough for them."

[Izzy Montoya] Patrick gets up to move, and it catches her attention. Very little misses her attention, actually, his movement simply gets her to glance his direction. She tracks his movement across the room, then marks each of the other occupants once more. Roman is snoozing. Linus is rocking. Bridget is playing. Kora and Fireclaws are talking and..

Remy is bellowing. Subtle.

She lifts the coffee cup to her lips, and remains quiet, for now. She digs her phone out of her pocket, and thumbs through her messages, tension tightening along her jaw as she sees nothing from Dabney, or anyone who can come get the car. And her.

[Kora] Kora half turns, following Fire Claws' line of sight toward the kinswomen gathered around the fire. When she looks back to the feral Forseti, her eyes are bright with reflected light. "Wolves weren't meant to hunt alone." It's a truism. A cliché. And a truth. Kora's eyes are trained on his rough features, which never seem wholly human to her, as if she could see the wolf in him pushing through his skin, opening his human mouth with its blunt teeth, unbending his human posture - the straight spine, the well-set shoulders. "Who will tell your stories around the fires. Who'll bring you back to yourself when you claw you way back from death. Who'll howl for you when you die."

Her mouth twists again; some part of her knows that he cannot read it as a human would. Look, she's smiling, not showing teeth. The coat swings open and it is clear that she's pregnant, even if he does not know precisely how pregnancy looks on human women. Her one lean, narrow frame looks - not feminine, but instead: distinctively female, though she's a few months off from delivery yet.

Kora crosses her arms beneath her breasts, glances back at Linus, her features in profile, illuminated. Then, back to Fire Claws. "Well, here's the payment I want from you. Linus' Hrafn flock is grounded by the storm. We need eyes and ears in the territory, this side and the other. You'll run with us; take your turn standing watch when you haven't got duty at the Caern."

Remy and Drew walk in, the former bellowing his presence. Kora's off in the shadows beneath the choir loft, arms crossed, her head tucked, intent on her conversation with the feral. Still, she glances up when they walk on, dark eyes touching on the pair. Remy, Drew.

"Don't eat my Bacon Double Cheeseburger Pringles." Her voice carries; she needn't bellow. Call it a welcome, of sorts.

[Sofie Janssen] Getting up from the pew, she makes her way towards Izzy. It's only a few steps away, and then she sits herself down again. She doesn't know the Kinswoman, they hadn't really spoken, but Sofie strikes up a conversation quietly. It's a question, really, followed on after she watched the other woman check her phone. "Think cabs will come out tonight?" The words are low.

[Drew Roscoe] The door opens, snow and wind cuts into the building when it does so, and in through the havoc of white step a pair of Fenrir together, chattering, mid-conversation with one another. The tall, muscled, oh-so-handsome Godi is grumbling down to the Kinfolk that came along with him, a girl with her hair twisted back into a ponytail so the wind wouldn't blow it into her face, decked out as much as possible for the cold with a winter hat, gloves, scarf, coat, boots... the whole nine yards. She's got her chin lifted so her mouth is free from the scarf, so what she says can be heard over the whistle of the wind: "Just wanna check and see if he's here or not, I told'ja that. I know he's a big kid and he'll be fine, but it's been three nights." The last time she didn't go searching for someone she found out a month after that they'd been dead the whole time and no one had bothered to come tell her.

The door slaps closed behind them, with some effort on Remy's part to force it back against the wind. Then Remy's hollering into the church, acoustics bouncing the sound all about the place. Drew cringes some against the sound, then shakes her head when he muses about how polite the announcement had to be, that Last Watch of course would be content with it.

"You know they've got an open-door policy to Tribe, right?" And Drew's unwrapping her scarf from about her chin, knotting it more loosely about her neck so it wasn't strangling her, and glancing about the worship-room that they had stepped into. The sound of music was replacing the echo of Remy's voice and the ringing it left in her ear, the crackle and snap of flames as well. She's not asking right away, searching verbally for the Rotagar. Rather, she's hunting with her eyes. If he'd be anywhere, it'd likely be with the group.

[Izzy Montoya] Sofie settles next to Izzy, and she takes another drink, before looking over at the other kin. She returns her gaze to her phone, as she lifts a shoulder into a shrug. "Slowly, if at all."

There's a beat, and then. "If my car decides to start, I can get you to the Brotherhood."

[Sofie Janssen] Considering the offer, she looks back to where Patrick had disappeared to, then back around to Izzy. "Patrick, the Fianna, he's a mechanic. Maybe we can get him to have a look at it. I don't think he wants to be here either," she says what they all seem to be thinking. Nobody likes being trapped, even if it's by nature Herself.

[Linus] Linus remains off to one side of the church, bowed to his haunches whilst inspecting something along the foundation line. Carvings in the stonework done by crude claws and time. Kora and Fire~Claws conversation is left to the wayside for the moment, Linus attention picking out his name and the description of the Hrafn. His silence was approval, if not outright comfort at knowing there would be someone there to keep watch while he wasn't. The tension in his spine ebbed slightly...

...And Remy and Drew's arrival brings him around from his inspection of the glyph-work along the foundation. His gaze narrows and his jaw juts out, off to the left and in the dark of the large Church doors. The Bonfire just infront of the Dais where the altar use to be is a hotbed of Kin and True all settled in a relaxed. Several of the pews have been dragged over to act as seating.

"Got more bodies tonight than a fuckin' Brothel on 2 for 1 Tuesdays..."

[Remy] "Whatever, they want polite, this is my idea of polite. You announce yourself when you're on another wolf's turf." And then he draws in a deep breath to yell back, "NOT LOOKING FOR FOOD, JUST HERE TO LET TWINKLE TOES WARM UP."

Which isn't really the truth, but. Remy stuffs his wool cap in his pocket, then unzips the front of his jacket from top to bottom. Underneath that he's got a microfleece inner jacket; under that, a thermal longsleeve tee. All of it pads out a frame that's already -- well. Impressive is putting it nicely. Standard-dumb-jock might be putting it more accurately.

"Who're we here to check on again?"

[Linus] "Shut the fuck up already and go get warm then!"

[Bridget] "Hey, Izzy. I'd like to come with ya if you'll take me. I'll buy you a beer or something."

She stops playing long enough for that.

[Remy] Remy's head snaps around. He squints through the murk. He doesn't really dial it down very far: "Did it look or sound like I was talking to you, squirt?"

[Linus] "Did it sound like I give a fuck 'bout your Preferences, Roadkill?" From the dark, Linus pulling up to his feet and dusting his fingers down over his jacket.

[Izzy Montoya] Patrick there, is a mechanic. Something in that statement seems to amuse Izzy, for all that she comments "I know." She hasn't asked him though, has not imposed on his knowledge. After this, though, she might. Bridget asks to join, and she lifts dark eyes to the Fianna kin, then back to her phone. Perhaps it's agreement.

"Depends on the car star..."

And then Remy snaps his head around. His focus is on Linus, who stands to face the other Fenrir, but that doesn't stop the twist of tension along her spine. She refuses to show it, other then a slight clench of her jaw.

[Sofie Janssen] It has to be telling, that there's Kinfolk that would rather go out and brave it in a storm then to stay in the Church with the Last Watch. Sofie looks from where Remy is bellowing and entering with Drew, over to Bridget as she asks to get a ride out too.

Her gaze cuts across the figures at various places in the Church. The bonfire is warm, crackling over to the side and the smell of smoke drowns out that of the damp snow beyond. It could have been the slumber party Roman had seemed to want, but it's far from that ideal right now.

If the tension wasn't enough before. Now there's Get of Fenris yelling at each other in a place where sound seems to carry just fine. "Fuck it," she murmurs low to Izzy. "I'm slipping out the back door." The cap in her jacket pocket is pulled out and held in a hand as she rises off the pew.

"Comin'?" To Izzy and Bridget.

[Drew Roscoe] He bellows that they don't want food, just shelter long enough for Drew to get some circulation back into her 'twinkle-toes'. Him calling her that had her peering up at him, then grinning ironically. She shook her head a little, and looked toward the huddle of Kin grouped together, from them to the direction from where Linus's voice was ringing out, the vague shape of him, the statuesque and curved figure of Kora, and a stout, not-immediately-recognized person along with them, mostly hidden in the shadows.

Remy and Linus are calling back and forth, and Drew grunts and nudges her elbow into Remy's side, which felt an awful lot like digging her elbow into a section of beef slab, only slightly cushioned by the layers of clothing on top.

"Here for Erek. And could you not? He's Last Watch, this's their land. Why you gotta be picking fights all the time?"

[Fire Claws] He turns his attention to the Godi who seemed to be hanging around the conversation between himself and their Jarl. He watched the godi and his inspection of the foundation and the glyohs carved around the room. Turning back to the alpha of the pack, he furrows his brow.

"Oka'.

It was a pack, even if he was not dedicated to it. It was a start, something to call himself apart of. But within a few moments, his head quickly snaps back to the door, a scent he had learned of and a faint one he had found at the Sept a few days ago. Eyes turning on Drew and her guide, but the smell not the same.

Focused on the new arrivals now.

[Remy] Drew can feel Remy's rage flaring. The solid young Godi jerks his head to the left, giving his neck a quick, sharp crack. "It sound like I started this fight?" he mutters back at Drew. "Who told me to shut the fuck up first? Anyway, his territory or not, he better get ready to defend it --

"HEY FUCKFACE. Wanna come over here and say that again?"

[Patrick Llewelyn] Remy enters; in the darkness, the Fianna's eyes gleam as he lifts his face. He's taken the lighter out of his pocket and flicks it open, ignites the flame and then flicks it shut again. The slow, steady repetition might give the Kinfolk pause about checking with him about anything.

Especially considering the way his Rage seems to have swarmed.
Especially considering the grim set to his jaw abruptly.

Remy's remark to Linus draws a snort from his corner. If Remy paid attention, he'd see the outline of Patrick, there. He can certainly smell Fianna.

[Bridget] Bridget shucks off the blanket, grabs her bag, and stuffs her father's harmonica into it, popping the chips into her mouth at last. Doubtful Kora wanted it after they've been pawed at, which happened before the warning was confirmed.

"Been out hunting in worse," she says, wiping her hands off onto her jeans. Her eyes cast towards Patrick, then the Lupus-born before she looks back to Izzy.

[Linus] ...And Linus peels out of the darkness with a narrowed eye and a flicker of something like a smile, faint and off.

"I think I know about you." A beat, eyes flicking off Remy toward Drew, finger pointing at the other Godi, his lanky frame draped in the thick Trappings of winter. "This how you have fun now?" And the smile vanishes with a flash of something distasteful.

[Izzy Montoya] Bridget and Sophie make as if to dash out the back, the sudden tension too much, to sudden too soon. Izzy doesn't move, because... well. She's a stubborn bitch, and she refuses to allow any Trueborn to think they've gotten to her. Even if said True has zero attention spared in her direction. She needs to check on the car, and ensure it starts.

"Patrick, think you could take a look?" That, first, and then to the kin.. "I'll call a cab for you guys. It might take a bit." Especially if there is a brawl, first.

[Drew Roscoe] "Choice of words aside, I don't think he was looking to pick a fight."

The Kinfolk's scowling, the bridge of her nose wrinkled up, and tugging her gloves off her hands to stick them in her coat pockets, but leaving the hat on her head anyways. How a Godi, who was supposed to be lost in Spirits and Other Worlds, calm and focused, got more riled up and strutted more than a rooster did was beyond her. Hell, Joe was friendlier and far more reasonable.

Linus comes out from where he'd been standing with Kora and Fire Claws, into more ready view, and answers to the challenge like any Fenrir would. Drew's exasperated already, and sighing heavily, but, oddly, not peeling away from Remy's side. Not just yet at least. She's just muttering to him under her breath.

"I swear I'm never going places with you anymore."

[Sofie Janssen] "It's alright," Sofie gives Izzy a nod of her head, "I've got a phone. I can call a cab."

Looking to Bridget, she nudges her head towards the door. Despite saying that she was going to slip out the back door, Sofie's going to walk right out the way she came. Quite content to walk with an unknown woman, safety in numbers and all that, Sofie begins towards the door.

As she's putting her hat back on, passing by Drew and Remy, she offered: "Hey Remy," as she's heading out.

Kora gets a small lift of her hand as she reaches the door to open it.

[Remy] Remy comes forward as Linus does. They meet amidst toppled pews and dusty, torn bibles. Hymnbooks. In this silent arena, pervaded through and through by some immaterial sense of the holy, or at least what mortals hope to be holy, Remy is a blunt weapon, a burning brand, irreverent and -- by all appearances -- stone-deaf to the secret life around him.

He puts a gloved hand to his ear, exaggeratedly mimicking a listening gesture. "What's that? Oh, that's right. I didn't hear you calling me Roadkill again, did I now."

A second later the mockery flashes dark. He takes a step forward and sideways, in front of Drew. "Hey, bitch. If you're too afraid to sling insults at the Trueborn, don't take it out on the kin."

-- his eyes flick toward Sofie. "Hey, Sofe. Where you going?" They come back to Linus, hard and dark.

[Kora] Kora's arms are crossed; the agreement's set with Fire Claws, requiring no further words. Instead, her attention narrows on Linus and Remy, nostrils flaring with a sharp sort of distaste.

"Bone-Writer," there's caution in her voice; which is to say: warning. "No." She knows the church as well as anyone; better than anyone living, and she's crossing the distance in long, moving strides. The edges of her winter coat flare out around her frame as she advances on Remy like she's going to run him down.

"Drew, shut the fuck up."

"Remy, shut the fuck up. You are going to hold your tongue or walk out that fucking door. You want to throw down; you'll do it after this fucking storm."

[Sofie Janssen] "Anywhere that's not here." Sofie shoots back and then steps out into the blizzard and the storm that's raining down on the city.

[Kora] (guys, I really, really, really need to sleep since it's 2 a.m. If this is going further than sniping, we have to pause. )
to Bridget, Drew Roscoe, Erek Skulason, Fire Claws, Izzy Montoya, Linus, Patrick Llewelyn, Remy, Sofie Janssen

[Bridget] "Bonsoir," she blinks at Remy on her way out with the other kinswoman of significant breeding. She seems to know enough of the same people, so she must be alright.

Bridget usually isn't bothered by all the tension, moreso than usual. She just isn't feeling in the mood to deal with drama, and she's got more of her own personal drama in spades.

Sofie suddenly leaves and the other lanky, wolfish girl follows into the blizzard.

"This is nothing. You been into the mountains before?" she asks the blonde.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Izzy wants him to take a look at the car.

Shk.

The flame is snuffed out again, and Patrick shifts; feet scraping against floor debris as he moves back out of the shadows, coming up alongside Linus. "Yeah," his eyes are on Remy, flick to Drew, then shift to Izzy. "I can take a look. Let's go."

He heads toward the door Sofie had just scuttled out of to escape them all.

[Remy] A clench of his teeth, muscles drawing taut from temple to jaw. Remy jerks a thumb at Linus.

"He started it."

[Izzy Montoya] Something Kora says gets a reaction from Izzy - though it's hidden as she continues to thumb through her phone. She takes an extra moment, checking another message, before she looks up again, and tucks the phone away.

Patrick agrees to take a look, and only then does she stand. She nods toward Kora, though her attention is elsewhere, and turns to follow Patrick to the door. "It's not far."

[Linus] "...And When I deem you important enough to insult a second time you'll know-"

Kora speaks. It doesn't still Linus' tongue as much as it does get his attention. Hermodr was good like that. Especially in the Jarl's hands. His head tilts away from catching Remy's gaze with that grin like suggestions and Name calling to die when he meets Kora's gaze and mention of a single, adamant word. His response is a grunt and a cluck of the tongue.

"Yeah."

And then around on Remy again. He leans slightly, regarding Drew again with that same weird smile and narrowed gaze.

"Pick 'em sweet 'n tender." A jab there. Something suggestive. "Good on ya." Before the Godi's pulling off without another word or eye at Remy, glancing at Patrick as the large Fianna goes wandering past and for the door. The party was dying as quick as it started, arrivals turning to departures without much effort.

"I'm gonna see if I can convince Hrafn to settle in. At least keep eyes on the Church outskirts." And around toward Fire~claws, a serious tone creeping into a small phrase.

"You comin' with?"

[Fire Claws] His attention is pulled in several different ways as he continues to watch the ongoing of the pair of Godi as they snipe back and forth. Watching and waiting for one or the other to go beyond words.

Back to Bridget, Sofie, Izzy and Patrick as they talk about leaving into the blizzard, about cars and other issues he had no understanding about. He just stands and watches the interaction of monkeys as they go about their situations.

Just curious.

[Sofie Janssen] "Mountains? Well, depends what you call mountains." Sofie answers Bridget, pulling the scarf up around the bottom half of her face and working on her gloves as they step out into the cold. The street is far from friendly today, but the other Kinfolk is right - there's been worse. "Most of the hiking I've done is not in the winter."

"Where you from anyway? Your accent, it sounds familiar." Because Sofie has ventured into Canada a few times, just not enough to immediately place her there. The town and Sept she was with wasn't too far from the borders edge.

[Fire Claws] He nods when Linus directs his attention back to him. Back to something he actually knew about. Spirits and hunting.

"Ya."

[Kora] "Squirt.

"Roadkill."

Trust a Skald to remember the precise series of insults tossed out. "I don't care who started it. I'm ending it tonight. You want to take it up again, when the storm's passed and we're not fucking blind, you do that. Tonight: no fucking way."

Then, another frisson of anger sparks in Kora's eyes and she rounds in an arc of motion, leaving Remy at her back, scowling at her brother. "Bone-Writer, that was un fucking called for. Apologize to Drew, you owe her a debt of honor. And you're not to say a cross-word to kin - not a stray fuck - for a week, or I will take it out of your hide. Hear me?"

[Bridget] "Red Deer Sept, some podunk place in the mountains of Alberta. We're a good two or three hours from the nearest anything. We have a cabin out there, it can get pretty rough in the winter."

Her accent isn't the form of Canadian familiar to most people in Fargo. She's got a good deal of the Quebecois in the way she speaks, more apparent when she's drunk or angry and swearing.

"What about you?"

[Erek Skulason] *There's friction afoot, the no moon can feel it in his gut as he waded through the blizzard towards what he considered sanctuary. A tall, figured covered in head to boot in heavy winter clothes, a scarf wrapped several times around his throat, jaw and nose to protect it from the cold, a knit cap slammed down tight on his skull to cover his ears. Blue eyes peer out the slit that was made for his vision, sniffling a red-chapped nose*

[Remy] Remy's eyes narrow a beat on Kora. But then Linus is moving, and Remy's pivoting in place to watch him go. When their relative positions have changed enough that Linus is closer to Drew than to Remy, the latter puts his big hand on Drew's shoulder and brushes her almost effortlessly behind him again. His free hand -- since he's decided not to keep running his mouth for now -- flaps open and shut in a distinct yappety-yap gesture. And when Kora dresses her packmate down, Remy's smirk is positively shit-eating.

He nudges Drew, "This yapper's the one you're here to check up on? We've checked on him, you wanna go now?"

[Drew Roscoe] Linus and Remy are all but at one another's throats. Remy's shifted so he's standing in front of her, spitting venom at the other Godi for insulting Drew-- though she seems to have missed how she was insulted. She's muttering, and Kora's interjecting, her voice all brass and authority.

Drew, shut the fuck up.

This was far from the first time she's heard those words, there's nearly a quip of humor at the corners of her mouth at the familiar cadence of the order. She presses her lips together, wrings her hands for warmth, and cups them up to her mouth to breathe on them, bringing circulation back to her fingertips and stepping out to the side so she's part behind Remy, part to his side now instead.

Linus's eyes fall on her, sarcasm and bitterness in them as he compliments Remy on his choice of 'sweet and tender'. The Kin frowns, hard. She doesn't look taken aback, shocked or upset like delicate girls tend to when they've been had like that. Rather, she just looks annoyed. Really now? her eyes said into his. Unnecessary.

And Kora's stomping on the fight, firm that it will not happen, not here and not tonight. She's demanding that Linus apologize to the Kin, affirming what Drew felt in her chest when the insult was made. She doesn't look haughty, though, or satisfied that Kora took her side. She just sniffs against the effects cold will have on a healthy nose and breathes further into her hands.

The doors open from behind, Erek's working his way in, and Remy's nudging her with his elbow, talking toward her ear. She glanced back toward Erek, and an expression of partial relief softened her features away from the irritation that was set there prior.

"Yeah. On both counts."

[Patrick Llewelyn] [Can I repair da car? Dex + Crafts (Car Repair)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Fire Claws] He moves over to Linus as he goes on about being blind, while he was being reprimanded by his alpha. Moving up along side of dressed down true he was suppose to help with this 'blind problem.'

His eyes moving over Drew a few moments as he takes in the scent on her. Looking her up and down a little more as he realizes what he can smell now, smirking. The grin widening even more when the scent comes walking through the door.

Then back to Linus.

"Why ya blind?"

[Sofie Janssen] "Never been to Alberta." The conversation they are having is low. Sofie walks with her hands down by her sides instead of in her pockets. Her balance is better that way. The ground is unforgiving, blanketed with snow. The hem of pants will be wet by the time they get wherever it is they are going, walking up the street.

A glance is given to the stranger, who she knows as Bridget because she had been listening earlier. "Small place, over by Montana." Top end of Idaho. Doesn't really matter where. She's not there now, but she's starting to feel a little pang of homesickness.

"You heading to the Brotherhood?"

[Linus] Linus freezes in place at that all too familiar tone in Kora's voice. Shoulders hunch and his face screws up in something like grim displeasure. Fingers curl with arms straight to either side and then he's turning with a large exhale to regard Kora. Something of a dead pan;

"Yeah, Renders~rhya. I hear you." And then he turns narrowed eyes at Drew, mouth working around something...displeased and displeasing. "When I find something, you'll be the first to hear about it. Trust in that if nothing else." A promise of something. An apology now would be rife with...well, worse than any further insults. The Debt and the Apology would come as one.

Fenrir didn't do Sorry. At least, not well.

He turns back toward the Lupus, last vestige of something human drifting away to leave behind the possibility of what was to come: Duty. Spirits and Hunting. A much needed release.

"Let's do this, Claws~Yuf." Because the Lupus was a forseti and because Gwen had said he had jaws for tradition. The Godi seems to collect himself for a moment, then Fire~Claws asks. He turns and his face splits into a grin.

"Cause of all the monkey two legs running around, I talk the most. Rarely listen."

The air collides with a Pop and he vanishes into the Umbra.

[Patrick Llewelyn] Izzy leads him to her car -- which, according to her -- was not that far. The Galliard is mostly silent as he follows her; roughly tugging the zip up his jacket outside. The storm has not lessened with the passing hours, if anything, it has worsened and before long his face is all but numb despite his hood and gloves.

He signals the Fenrir to get inside her car; and opens the front; his upper body vanishing under the hood. After several moments; a palm smacks the side of the vehicle twice through the snowy windshield she can see Patrick winding his finger. Translation: Start her up.

[Kora] "Drew." Kora's arms are crossed underneath her breasts, over her stomach. "When the storm lets up, you are going to come here and find me. We need to have a talk." A sharp look over the kin's shoulder, at Remy. "Alone."

Then she's finished, Kora. And wanders off someplace while her player collapses into a coma.

[Erek Skulason] *Erek hovers outside near the door, watching the traffic of people exiting the church, he isn't privy to what's going on inside. His head turning, tilting to the side to track his vision over Izzy as she and Patrick are getting into her car. Further away, to barely see the tail end of Sofie heading down the sidewalk, and then finally Drew with Remy, when he's swung his vision back to the doors. Shoulders rolling back in faint shrug under clothing*

[Kora] (Gah, sorry! (grins) if Erek's about Kora'd ask him to give Roman a hand with patrols. NOW I SLEEP. :) )

[Bridget] "Never been there. But yeah, I'm crashing at the Brotherhood for now. Cordelia and I shack in room 8. You want to call a cab? My phone's dead."

Bridget pushes her hair out of her face as her eyes seek out what there is on the street.

[Izzy Montoya] She doesn't say anything as they walk the short distance to the car. It could have been worse, of course. It could have broken down anywhere on the way home. But it was here, and as luck would have it, so was the Mechanic, who's wanted to get his hands on her ride since he, well, rode in it.

He signals that she get into the car, which she does, rubbing her hands together in some hopes of getting warmth to the palms and fingers, freezing despite the leather gloves she pulls on. Patrick does something under the hood, and then signals her to give it a go. She reaches forward, and turns the key, confident that he's worked a minor miracle.

[Fire Claws] His face scrunches into a strange look of curiosity when the spirit-talker says something about talking too much and never listening. What exactly did that have to do with being blind? These monkeys were strange indeed.

But before he follows Linus on his duty, he turns and looks towards the doors, where he could smell Erek. Yelling out to the rotagar.

"SEEMS YA FOUND SUMTIN TO STAY FOR SPINEBREAKA'"

And with that the air about him pops as he fades from the physical.

[Izzy Montoya] Her confidence is well placed. The car roars to a start, and she flips on the heater instantly, and huffs a breath of relief. Then she steps out of the car to join him once more as he goes about shutting the hood, and look pleased with himself.

She's quiet a moment, and then. "Thanks." A beat, and she lifts a chin toward the church. "Staying here tonight, or looking for other accommodations." Or a rematch, of course.

[Sofie Janssen] Digging out her phone from her pocket, Sofie slows her walk as she navigates buttons with fingers in gloves. It's harder then it looks to press buttons in wool covered tips. "I'm staying in room seven," she tells Bridget, voice low. "Seems an okay place."

Then she puts the phone to her ear to call them a cab. The diner isn't far, she nods towards it as a suggestion and gives the address over the phone. She'd be happy to go and sit over a warm drink until their cab arrives, and just as happy to sit in silence or talk about random nothingness.

[Erek Skulason] *Kora manages to catch the young Get of Fenris before he too had a chance to sneak away since everyone else was abandoning ship, but she snags his ear and asks him to help with patrols. He merely gives her a silent nod, pulling and pushing the wrappings away from his mouth. He peers inside to hear Fire Claws yell something at him, but isn't quite sure how to take it*

Lupus sarcasm, fabulous.

[Drew Roscoe] Kora's firm before she leaves-- Drew was to, once the storm had died out and the bonfire was nothing but crackling embers, come to her and have a talk. Come to her alone. Drew could only imagine what the conversation would be about-- spending too much time with Garou men? Not having a proper agenda? Not honoring her dead mate? Not bringing Remy by here anymore because he was such a pain in the ass? She had no firm idea of which it would be, but she imagined at least two of those topics would be touched on, and they wouldn't be speaking with smiles of reminiscence on their faces.

Fire Claws is looking at her, and she's recognizing his face, offering a nod and a weak, brief flash of a polite smile-- no teeth in it, though, she remembered that. But then he's smirking, bellowing to Erek as he came through the doors, and vanishing along with Linus-- who promised something intangible rather than really apologizing-- before she could react otherwise.

There's a moment of quiet, then the Kingirl's simply gritting her teeth and lifting her hand to rub her palm along her forehead and dig the heel of her hand into the bridge of her nose, eyes closed. Sometimes just going away felt like a great idea, at least for a time.

[Erek Skulason] I think we should change your name to "Pain-in-the-Ass", Ms. Roscoe, seems you ain't shooting so straight these days.

*There's a bit of dry wit that drips in his voice, which sounds rough and fatigued, when he speaks out to Drew. Shifting his weight, Erek regards her with a curious look. His gloved hand wiping snow drifts from his face and pushing the scarf down more until it sat more comfortably around his throat. The dark shades of bruised skin slightly mark the left side of his jaw*

[Remy] Kora's sharp-eyed glance toward Remy makes the young Godi touch the tip of his tongue to the tip of an incisor, smirking. At least it might be a smirk, even if that twist of his mouth makes it look closer to a sneer. He rolls his head on his shoulders again, then closes his jaws and turns that smirk on Drew.

"Oo-oo-oo," he intones. "Looks like you're in trouble."

His eyes flick past her when Erek speaks up, though. Chicago's been good to the Godi. When he showed up here he was defensive, wary. Barely a month and a half later, when Remy shifts to face a new face more directly, he moves sway-shouldered, stares straight and sharp. All around him is the defiant, cocky attitude of a bareknuckle brawler that's too good, too young.

Erek was talking to Drew, but Remy answers. "Who's talking?"

[Drew Roscoe] Erek quips that she should change her name, and Drew's shaking her head, hand still at her face and eyes still closed. "See, that's precisely the problem. Can't use bullets on Family. That's what got us banned from the Caern in the first place-- can't even go visit graves anymore." She sniffed again, hefted a deep breath, and sighed it out slowly as Remy smirked about her being in trouble and voiced it to boot.

"Well, shit, how much trouble could it be?"

It was an honest question that she didn't expect an answer to. She probably wouldn't get one either, because Remy's swinging around onto Erek now, and Drew's peeking at him from behind her wrist, then tugging on her hat to adjust it more securely over the tops of her ears.

"That's Erek, the guy we were here lookin' for." And, before Erek has a chance to bristle back (she knows what moon it is, knows to beware), she gestures for him, one hand going from aiming toward Erek's chest to Remy's. "Erek, this's Remy. He's Godi, Family."

[Remy] "Only whatever trouble you let her put you in," Remy replies. "You haven't done shit wrong. So maybe she just wants to talk to you about your Potential Contribution to the Tribe or something."

Anyway. He glances Erek over as he's introduced, and then gives a short, sharp nod. "Rémy de Tournières," he says. "Godi, like she said."

[Erek Skulason] *There's a twitch in his bruised cheek, just under his eye. He sniffles, running thumb and forefinger across it a few times. His shoulders rolling back as he cuts a narrowing gaze across Remy (likely sizing him up). Just an inch difference in height, a few weeks difference in moons, and pretty boy packs more fire in his gut whilst Erek's beat him on pedigree. The corners of his mouth flatten a little, taking on an edge as he hears Drew, but isn't looking directly at her*

Well, goddamn, Drew! Ain't you just the pertiest thing tonight. Look at'cha all sexay-back and posturing. You packed on some weight, beefed up, just a tad.

*His speech directed at Remy, he lifts a hand up to gesture with his fingers when he says "just a tad", and then grunts, the devil's smile playing along his mouth*

If Linus's Pumpkin, Roman's Peaches, I'm Cream... well, Jesus fuck me, that must make you Sugar Plum, Remy, nice to meet'cha.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew snorted dismissively at Remy's mention of 'potential contribution', having a pretty good idea what that choice of words tends to mean. "Not anytime soon," she told him, and left that topic precisely on that spot.

...And then there goes Erek, Rotagar Extraordinaire.

Drew's breath catches, just for a second, her muscles tighten under the heavy winter coat that hung off her frame more than it hugged it, and her weight rocks forward just a touch, like her body's already moving to wedge between the two before her mind's caught up. Thankfully, her mind was quick enough to stop her from jumping in half-cocked. She had to consider the position here-- Rotagar with no moon in the sky, a Godi who was brawl-happy, but had just barely gotten fresh-in-his-ears orders that he would not fight while this storm was blowing overhead.

So Drew just shook her head, slowly, and muttered unintelligible grumblings under her breath and into her scarf.

[Remy] It turns out Remy wasn't referring to babymaking at all. That much is clear because he gets that confused look on his face a second after Drew replies. A couple beats after that: "Wait... what?"

Not much room for that conversation to continue, anyway. Erek's coming forward, goddamn!ing and all, eyes on Remy the whole time. The brawl-happy Godi -- which might be putting it lightly -- smirks back at him, but there's something quick and dark in his eyes, a flash of bad temper.

"Well, fuck me. I thought I was mouthy. Let me guess -- Rotagar?"

[Erek Skulason] Let me guess...

*He taps his fingers on his chin, looking up for a second in thought, and then back to Remy*

You're a Chippendale, right?

*He sucks in a deep breath, sighing as he drops his gaze to Drew for a moment, considering her as she moved to stand in between them, and then back to Remy*

Erek Skúlason, Spinebreaker, Cliath No moon of the Get of Fenris.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew hadn't moved, not just yet at least. She'd rocked forward, shifted her weight, become on guard... but not yet had she physically placed herself between the two. Yet remains an operative word, because Rage was cropping up like flash fires both to her side and before her, seething and boiling and rumbling in the both.

It didn't make Drew entirely uncomfortable, she'd sat squashed between two veritable bonfires of that murderous driving force on more than one occasion, but it did put her on edge.

"Nuthin'," is what she murmured to Remy to finish up the dying-dead conversation about what Kora would want to lecture Drew about, and from there the Kin returns to silence. Watching, for now, and waiting to see where this went, when a good time for intervention would be. It tended to be all about timing with these guys. Timing and execution.

[Remy] Again, that thundercrack of darkness in his eyes. Put down fast and hard, and with a sharp crack of his neck to the left. Then Remy grins again, toothier.

"Well, I'd watch my mouth, Spinebreaker. Way I see it, I'm already bigger, stronger, and faster. This pretty mug of mine -- " he clicks his tongue, flicking Erek a wink, " -- just means I get more tail than you. You really want to publicize that?"

[Erek Skulason] Yeah, sure, you keep thinking that. I'm ain't the one that has to lick the Jarl's boots for not getting along with the litter mates, Sugar Plum.

*Hot breath expels from his lungs, his eyes taking on the darker shades of blue, squinting them until lines crinkle at their corners. He's watching Remy closely, body pivoting, turning his back to the door and facing Remy more. He taps the side of his nose and then points at him*

Were you dropped on your head as a child or something? Is this what all the cool Get kids do these days? Too much fire in the belly and shit. Way I sees it, darling, I've already been in bed with the kin of our tribe long before you can bat a pretty eyelash to make their panties wet.

[Drew Roscoe] "Okay."

This is where Drew steps in, both verbally and physically. She stands between the pair, hands out of her coat pockets and at her sides. She isn't touching either of them yet, but she's got her left shoulder to Remy and her right to Erek, looking back and forth between the two with a firm, stern scowl on her face. "That's enough. More than, even.

"Kora's Jarl. She said we're not fighting here, not tonight. That encompasses blows and words. Now just because she's out of the room doesn't mean there aren't some kind of eyes watching, and even if there weren't doesn't mean you get to disrespect her words." She pauses here, then throws out a question to make it feel a little more like she's talking to them, convincing them rather than scolding: "Right?"

There's a pause, and she's looking at Erek with one eyebrow lifted-- not so much in skepticism as sheer curiosity. "Who'd you go to bed with?"

Get him talking to you, switch his focus.

[Remy] Drew's attempt to intervene...

...doesn't really work. Remy slings a heavy arm around her shoulders and pulls her right back to his side, out of the line of fire. Or maybe right back to his side. Hard to say for sure.

"And yet here you are," Remy observes, more or less ignoring the good kinswoman's attempts to placate, "hating on me the second you saw me. What's the matter, baby? Don't like seeing me escorting the lovely Ms. Roscoe around?"

[Erek Skulason] *There's another twitch in Erek's jaw, his head tilts to the side, eyebrows dancing up and down as the smooth skin on his forehead wrinkles with lines. Drew is doing her best to intervene, to mediate between them. Erek looks at her, spares her a glance as she asked him that question*

I.. *his mouth claps shut, then Remy's pulling Drew to his side, slinging an arm around her shoulders. The no moon bares his teeth in a human snarl*

Listen up, Sugar Plum, you ain't the escort for one, two you're ass don't go near her place at all as I'm the one staying with her, and three?

*There's always a number three*

[Drew Roscoe] This wasn't the first time that Drew got hooked under Remy's arm and dragged into his side. The other time this happened he was posturing in front of Patrick, chasing the Fianna away before he had a chance to get any ideas into his head. At that point Drew hadn't seemed to thrilled, her irritability was sky-high and her patience was paper thin at that point. Right now, though, it seems she's more aware of thin ice with a Garou whose moon was hanging over their heads, or she was just too worn out from the cold, the storm... stress... who knows what. Either way rather than ticked off she just seemed completely done with the situation and ready to end it.

While kept in the Godi's side, Drew shrugs her shoulder into his arm, but doesn't try to rip herself away from him. Just eases out from under it instead, frowning. "Erek, you don't get to make rules for my house." Not defending Remy, but reminding Erek whose territory he was talking about. If they wanted to get technical, Kora had that right, but beyond her, without a mate to claim the turf that the Kin lived in, no one else could truly be laying down these laws.

If she were anybody else, with any other senses tacked into her besides that ever-persistent sense of duty that hummed in the back of her mind, she would just wrap her scarf about her mouth and nose and go out into the storm, brave the wind and the eye-lashing snows to walk the twelve-or-so blocks back home. They could tear one another apart, she wouldn't even care..

..except that she did. So she stayed, kept near. If nothing else, she would present herself as potential collateral damage that couldn't be risked.

[Remy] "Shut up," Remy interrupts, sudden, vicious, all mockery flashing from his face.

It's like a fight. Like wolves circling: every jibe back and forth another snap of jaws on empty air. Then all at once someone pushes too far, someone reacts, and it's a short, vicious, brutal scuffle.

"Just shut up, and listen, unless you're really ready to throw down with a brother you never met over some girl that's not yours. There's nothing between Drew and me. Not saying I don't wish there was something, because fuck -- look at her. But you know what? I got some respect beat into me when I was young. Drew here just lost her mate. Spirits still talk about it. Sometimes they say good shit, sometimes they say bad shit, but always they say he was a true Son of Fenris and they say Drew loved him. So that's reason enough for me to keep my paws off until she gives some sign she's moving on.

"As for you, she likes you. If she didn't like you, she wouldn't have dragged my ass ten miles in this weather to come see you. Fuck if I know why, but she's taken a shine to you. Congratulations. But if you're interested in her, then don't run your disrespectful little mouth about all the kin you fucked. Don't run your fucking mouth about boarding up with her like you want the whole city to think she's some kind of slut.

"And if you have any fucking respect for the dead at all, quit sniffing around her skirts until she's ready. Odin's balls, I'm no reader of men, but even I could see your tongue hanging out from a mile away."

[Erek Skulason] *Erek loses it. He just simply loses it. It's like a mad man the way he suddenly barks out in laughter, the roughness of his voice filling the air around them, bouncing off the exterior of the church. His shoulders shake beneath the heaviness of his clothes as he takes a step closer to Remy, breaking that verbal circle*

Shit, son, you just met me tonight and already you're laying out every crime I've already done. I haven't fucked anybody. Listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth, there's a huge difference between fuckin' a girl and being in a bed with a person. Ain't my arm slung around her shoulder, Sugar Plum, dragging her up against your side like a slap of meat.

*His eyes pass to Drew, focus on her whilst he speaks to Remy*

I've known about her mate, brah, she's a sweet little lady with a big fucking heart on her chest that's takes a shine to family and is willing to risk a lot to care for a stranger, take'em into her home, and cloth and feed'em. She's got my respect for that and above all else, I'm there to watch her back. My tongue ain't hanging out, cuz I'm not the one wishing to get into her pants, brah, unlike you.

[Fire Claws] The air about him slowly starts to crackle and soon enough. POP!

Exactly where he left, he was standing once again, his body stretching out as his birth form was given way just before passing back into the physical world. But the scent in the air seemed, different. The embers of the fire had slowly died down a little now, the fire only slightly flaring up here and there as the chill of winter started to encroach on the stone den once more.

His eyes intense as he took in the smell about him, his sense still heightened from when he was hunting, taking in the smell of those monkey-born about him.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew's quiet while Remy talks, eyes slipping downward from faces and chests alike. She's not focused on either. The nudge to get out from Remy's arm is acquiesced to and the Godi loosened his grip, so she shrugged his arm off like she would a blanket she was walking around with over her shoulders, and side-stepped to put an extra two feet of distance between her and his Rage-warm flank.

That quiet persists. Her thoughts are following the string of words, but without hovering for lengthy amounts of time on who wanted to be with her or didn't. They're stuck on the word 'widow', the words 'dead mate', the fact that the spirits still talked about Joe and how much she'd loved him. Her heart gets heavy enough that her chest starts to ache some, and she tugs the gloves out of her pockets and pulls them on, wiggling her fingers into place. She wraps her scarf more snugly about her neck, wriggles her chin and mouth into it. These motions are small, slow, meant not to draw attention without an obvious effort toward being sneaky.

Erek defends that he hadn't had sex with any Kin, proving he was edging words to get an upper ground. No one could really fault him on that, he was a New Moon after all. He talks Drew up, about how she let her doors opened to Family in need even if she had no personal investment in them beyond blood, how she had a big heart and was sweet as hell. Yet he still manages to get a jab in at the end.

'Unlike you' is punctuated by Drew's opening the church doors and stepping outside without a word.

[Fire Claws] (Perception+Empathy. What the hell is goin' on here?)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 4 at target 4)

[Remy] [oh, fuck. screen didn't refresh.]

[Remy] [i'ma roll too *dies* percep + primal urge: trying to get a basic sense of whether erek's telling the truth about not wanting to get in drew's pants or not!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Erek Skulason] ooc/oh hi there, mr. not refreshing the screen. sorry didn't see it until now.

[Remy] [i'ma reply to you soon as i get a reply from nemean, because it'll impact what remy's feeling.]
to Fire Claws

[Erek Skulason] *Remy can see it, there's no intention to move on Drew to get into her pants. He's rather straightforward with that jab, maybe a little too honest in that moment, but there it was. Drew shakes herself free of Remy's arm, which seems to settle the boy's hackles a bit, followed by the presence of Fire Claws. He groans inwardly, eyes rolling up to the ceiling just as the kin makes her exit out the door, leaving them all there. Erek turns his head to watch her go, eyes narrowing as the door swing open and closed and she disappears out into the snow*

[Remy] There's a moment of silence -- then Remy's eyes narrow, his chin lifts, his nostrils flare as he takes a big, deep sniiiiifff! out of the air.

It blasts back out a second later, snorting like a bull. Standing by, the lupus - sharp-sensed as he is - can feel some tension in Remy abating, if not by much. The young musclehead of a Godi grunts, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well, maybe if you didn't come charging out like you were burning up with envy, I wouldn't mistake your intentions." Another pause, and then he gives a quick jerk of his head up. "Apologies where due. My bad."

It's not much of an apology, but for what it's worth -- it's genuine. A flick of a glance at the lupus, and then Remy hikes his thumb over his shoulder. "Better go catch my ride before I get left behind."

[Remy] [Remy was disgusted with Erek when Fire Claws first came in and protective of Drew. After Erek said he wasn't looking to get in her pants, he was suspicious -- then he seemed to believe Erek. After that his dislike for Erek calmed down considerably. He's feeling a tad bit embarrassed now at having leapt to wrong conclusions, and he's getting outta here.]
to Fire Claws

[Fire Claws] If there were any mistake of what species he was born under before, there would be little mistaking it now. His voice was guteral, primal, oozing with instinct and feral urge. His eyes snapped between the pair of Get standing in the middle of their Jarl's den. Almost snarling when he begins to speak.His head snaps and tilts and fidgets as knuckles crack while he extends his hands.

"Dis will be reported ta da Jarl."

It came out more of a snarl then a matter of fact response.

[Erek Skulason] S'not the burning with envy, Remy.

*Erek jerks his head back, catching eyes with the other as he's making apologies*

It's the gut instinct to protect family, show the dead a little more respect next time.

*He twirls a finger in the air* The forseti has eyes and ears...

*Erek grunts, looking back to Fire Claws as he speaks up* I figured as much.

[Fire Claws] He watches keenly as Remy motions to move off and follow Drew out of the church and back to wherever they were heading off to. It was dangerous out there, but he was not going to stop them. They were capable of protecting themselves.

However he turns on Erek when he grunts in return.

"Ya offa' to Malestrom yet? Cuz' if not ya just a visita 'ere. Allowed ta stay around on da graces of da eldas. If so, den betta learn da rules 'ere. And quickly."

[Erek Skulason] *Erek's aware of the keen eyes staring him down, his shoulders twitch under the heaviness of his coat, hitching up as he rolls his head back and forth on his neck. The words coming out of the wolf's mouth striking hard on his ears. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder in Remy's direction*

Hold that thought, lemme go get pretty and I'll get right on that, Fire Claws.

[Remy] Gut instinct. Respect for the dead. Remy smirks -- hardly all sunshine and rainbows now that the worst of it was defused.

"About what I wanted to say to you," he replies. A flash of dark eyes to the wolf-formed one, then. Forseti, the Ragabash names him. "Have yourself a ball," Remy tosses off. Erek might catch somewhat less than total respect for said Jarl in that tone there. The only other farewell the two of them get is a halfassed little two-fingered salute before Remy turns and rolls out the door behind Drew.

He catches up to her at the bottom of the steps -- trotting to keep up. There's one or two sidelong glances her way; a whole lump full of crap he wants to say blocked up in the pit of his stomach. In the end Remy decides silence is golden. The silence between them hangs all the way back to the BroHo.

[thanks for the RP, folks!]

[Remy] [whoops, that was meant to be "Fire Claws might catch somewhat less than total respect..." -- but Erek can catch on too if he wants *LOL*]