might makes right.

[Eve] She is pacing, now, and the movement is less controlled than she realizes it is. There should be some comfort there, but it isn't. The whining stops in favor of a snapped-

"What do you want, I said stop it-"

About that time, Stefan is coming up. She looks at him. He's not... he flicks a dismissive hand and the female grits her teeth. The movement stops. The open, churning irritation stops. Instead, replaced with something else. A supernatural tension comes back. Eve's not been known as an angry creature, but... well, now. This is different.

She looks at Stefan and takes a step away. She doesn't interrupt them. She's just waiting.

[Stefan Knezevic] Any tension, supernatural or otherwise from Eve is left unacknowledged. He watches Amunet for a moment longer and then reaches out, settling what some might consider a surprisingly gentle hand on his mate's shoulder.

"I am here." Three words, no more. The rumble of Rage carries with them, but as an undercurrent only. The Theurge is good at controlling his emotions, and this is no different, no matter what he's radiating.

[Eve] [Because I'm absurdly perceptive...]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 5, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Amunet] She doesn't die. Her heart does not tear from her chest, and her lungs drag in breath between heaving sobs.

There's nothing left when she's done. It must be very much like the feeling after a frenzy, when the tightly coiled ball of rage is spent. She feels empty.

[Eve] Eve has heard stories.

"If she wants to be treated like us," she says, "then she has to be prepared for being treated like us. I failed to respect the territory of another, though, and your desire for retribution is justifiable."

It's such a text book answer from the philodox. Calm, though she isn't calm. She can't stop staring at them, her breathing deep. She doesn't cite the obvious- respecting those beneath you. She doesn't cite other various verses. Eve looks more tired than imposing, but the philodox is built solidly. Not a scratch on her. The shirt's going to have blood stains on it, though.

Her stomach growls and she goes to investigate the nearby trashcan. Stefan gets a passing look, longer than necessary. Her eyes grow colder. They narrow slightly.

[Stefan Knezevic] He listens to her for a moment longer, his brow furrowing in uncertainty for a moment. He then reaches out and puts his arms underneath the kin to gather her up. He is not the strongest man, and it does take some effort for him to pick her up this way, but it is a gentle way.

He is trying to be the way he should. He is trying many things at the moment, not the least of which is to hold his mate until she can stand on her own.

He stands up with some effort, and looks at Eve. "This had nothing to do with you teaching her a lesson about being treated like us, Inconvenient Truth. The truth here, deeply inconvenient for you, is that you have wished to do this for some time. At the very least, since the Gathering. Even if you may have thought otherwise. You just allowed yourself to become the creature that pretending to be human typically prevents you--prevents all of us--from being."

[Eve] "You talk too much, theurge," she tells him, "don't insult my honor further unless you are willing to challenge over it. I've admitted fault in failing to respect the litany. You're too wise to be so presumptive."

Eve doesn't bridge the gap, but she is... she is strangely aware of her surroundings and strangely aware of how to stand on her own. The female is threadbare and edged. A knife in a broken scabbard.

[Amunet] It is a delicate balance which has her both leaning on Stefan for support and keeping herself apart from him. Her head stays down and she stays silent, focused instead on returning her breathing to something approaching normal.

[Remy de Tournieres] There's a loud pop! of someone snapping his gum. And over there stands Remy, in plain sight under a guttering streetlight, shamelessly and avidly watching the ongoings. He doesn't interrupt. His dark eyes glitter and gleam, though: unabashed bloodlust.

[Stefan Knezevic] "Perhaps," he says to the Theurge, his anger held in check. "We shall deal with that at a later time."

And then Remy appears out of nowhere. The Theurge snarls through human lips at the sudden appearance, his arms curling possessively...and perhaps oddly, protectively...around the kin held in his arms. He looks the Get over, lip curled, and ignores him as he moves to carry Amunet to his bike.

[Amunet] "Put me down" It's quiet, with no force behind it. There's no fire to her now, and she gathers to him like a rag doll in his arms.

[Eve] "She's fine, stop babying her," she growls. Throws her hands in the air and takes a step away.

Her attention flickers to Remy, and her left eye twitches slightly. She recognizes him, and whatever rage she had is ever-so-steadily returning. She looks from Remy to the Lord and his mate. Eve steps out of the alleyway and folds her arms across her chest. She takes up space. Owns it. Her feet aren't quite planted, but she seems ready. She takes up wherever she is, positions herself in such a way that coming through is difficult at best.

Mine.

Even if it is just an alley.

[Stefan Knezevic] He settles her carefully on the bike seat, and then with Eve's words, something tenses in him. His back goes straight, his chin rising. His fingers flex, fingers moving as if they were twirling a pen or the like between them. A low rumble comes forth and he shakes his head with a force of Will[power point].

"I will be in contact, Inconvenient Truth." He moves to get on the bike in front of Amunet, waiting until she wraps her arms around him before he starts it up.

[Remy de Tournieres] "What, that's it?" Remy shrugs upright from the lamppost, rumbling down the street toward the Philodox, the departing Theurge, his shaky burden. "You're just riding off into the sunset? Pfft."

[Amunet] Gaia help her, she still hasn't given up hope. Her eyes search the area carefully when she's set down, even though she knows it's futile.

A sense of resignation drapes over her as she wraps her arms around Stefan's middle.

[ohnoez] [;((((]

[Stefan Knezevic] If he were Sarita, he would tell Remy to just wait until the sequel, which would be far more The Howling than Twilight. If he were Jackson...well, he wouldn't have said anything to Remy, just slunk away. But if he had said something as Jackson, it would simply have been that it isn't over yet.

But it's not Sarita. And it's not Jackson. It's Eyes of Crow. And the Theurge just looks at Remy--fixes his cold, stark gaze on his auspicemate--for a couple of moments before a dismissive look away. And then, he's started the bike and is driving away.

[Eve] "If he doesn't want to fight, that's on him," Eve says. There is still tension there. She's still ready none the less. There is something in her eyes, something that makes her eyes look colder and makes her form look hungry. She is hungry. Always. The Gnawer looks at Remy.

"You want to go?"

Sapped of most of her rage, down on self control, Eve is still ready for a fight.

[Remy de Tournieres] That cold stare is met levelly, and not without humor. Remy's eyes are dark and brilliant at once, catching the streetlight and throwing it back, all but dancing with vitality and health and eager, joyful violence. They're auspicemates, but they share very little else, Remy and Stefan.

The speedbike revs off, the Godi turning and watching it go. And then back. One of those perfectly formed eyebrows cocks up, and then he smirks. "Feeling bad for beating on kin, so you want to take on something bigger, is that it? What's she do to you, anyway?"

[Eve] "Respect the territory of another," she says, "she shouldn't run her mouth and expect there not to be consequences."

Eve shrugs. Remy... well, let's just say this. Remy is distinctly prettier than Eve. Eve's eyebrows look like eyebrows. Remy's eyebrows are gifts from Gaia. Oh, the joys of comparison.

[Remy de Tournieres] "Heh. Yup." And that's all there is in terms of agreement or disagreement. He comes closer - three or four feet away now, the yellow streetlight casting the breadth of his shoulders into stark relief. Remy's is the kind of beauty that stops traffic, turns heads. He walks into a room and gets glance after glance. He walks into a Sept, a Fenrir Sept, and they automatically assume he's some sort of lily-livered pussy.

Hence the shoulders. Hence the biceps. Hence the body that says, I'll fuck you up, so keep your mouth shut.

Close enough now to inspect the Bone Gnawer -- and it's not so much curiosity as a sort of puzzlement. "She seemed like a rag doll to me though. What'd she say?"

[Eve] She smells like blood, but that's a week old. She smells like dirt- city dirt. Not the precious, life-giving kind. No. The shit you find under your nails after a day of riding on the El and ouching public doorknobs. The streetlights are yellow, casting him in some artistic sense. Eve's cheekbones are high, her jaw is square. She might have broken her nose once or twice. Except she's metis. It would have heeled anyway; Eve's nose is just a little crooked. She's five feet eight inches tall. Hundred and fifty pounds.

Her frame could stand ten more, but she's not complaining. Eve's not emaciated, namely because Eve doesn't seem to be picky. Her shirts (plural) have holes (also plural) in them. There's a ketchup stain on her shirt, along with some bleach spots on her pants where she worked too hard to get some mystery Other stain out.

"Said I had a problem with her, got in my space, said she had right to be here, called my alpha hers, and-" she says "-stared too long."

And that seemed to be it. Eve has a hard time coming up with that list, but that was it. That tidbit of information- the staring. Eve emphasizes that, like that fact of looking too long was enough for Eve.

"I don't have patience for an entitled priss. If I did, I'd pack with Fangs."

[Remy de Tournieres] And Remy laughs -- not at all a nasty laugh, or a mocking one, not of Eve and not of Amunet. Just: laughing, hearty, bold, laughing -- as Sandburg said of this very city they stand in -- like an ignorant fighter that has never lost a battle.

"Mouthy little kitten, wasn't she." And even that isn't cruelly spoken. It's a remark, an observation, a Truth as he sees it, amused. So's this: "You sure shut it for her."

Once upon a time there was another Fenrir in this city, a friendly grey-eyed fellow who lived by the docks. Might be Remy's met him, even, him and his glorious father up at Storm Hammer. If he did, he's never heard this tribemate of his say violence ain't the answer but it sure stops tha questions. The sentiment's the same, though. Maybe that's just the sentiment of the whole goddamn tribe.

"Probably should've put the mate down too though," he adds. "Finish what you started or they come back for more."

[Eve] "Then he'll come back for more," the ire has drained, and Eve just shrugs. Shoulders go up, then down, "they're perfect for each other. Probably gonna make a bunch of fat, happy, mouthy babies. Good for them."

She shrugs. Doesn't have a lot of people calling her Inconvenient Truth unless they're irritated with her. She puts her hands on her hips and she shifts her weight from a centered position to slightly over the left.

"But he's good for his word. He'll be back, and if he's not he's a coward who won't stand up for his mate," she says, "simple as that."

[Remy de Tournieres] "I would've just caved his face in the minute he showed it for not teaching his kin any manners," Remy opines, openminded, liberal, nonviolent angel that he is, "and as a lesson fee for being so kind as to teach her for him. But that's me.

"Anyway." He hikes a thumb over his shoulder. "I've got places to be, spirits to scare. I'm taking off." Pause. "I live at the BroHo, room five, end of the hall. You know, in case you beat some other kin up and feel like you need a whuppin' to feel good about yourself again."

[Eve] I live at the BroHo, room five, end of the hall. You know, in case you beat some other kin up and feel like you need a whuppin' to feel good about yourself again.
"Oh dawlin', if you're gonna talk dirty to me like that I won't know what to do with myself."

She feigns the charm of a southern lady, and Eve heads back to the alleyway to get her jacket. The accent drops immediately.

"I'll look you up, I haven't had a good ass whuppin' in a couple weeks. Getting rusty. See ya 'round."

preparations for a feast.

[Remy] The violence and rapidity with which his quarry dies is little consolation for all the epic fails that came before. After the fomor's dispatched, after his rotten head has bounced off into the dirt, the Godi sinks his jaws into the headless corpse, snarling, and whips it furiously back and forth like a dog with a rat for a good ten, twenty seconds before letting the lump of putrid flesh fall.

Then he goes and picks up the head, first in his teeth, then in his crinos-paws. Holding it in the crook of handpaw and wrist, the Godi slings it out over the lake, shotput-like, one mangled lump of bone and flesh and brain and hair sailing out yards and yards and yards and yards to splash! into the dark waters. The body he keeps, digging claws into trachea and esophagus and aorta, holding it by these three hot, stinking orifices the way a man holds a bowling ball. Step by step, the Godi drags the corpse across the thawing park grounds, hunting down his baseball bat.


Some minutes later, when Sofie has the unluck to come strolling down the midnight paths, she hears an odd sound. An intermittent, distant, wet snapping and popping. And the occasional low growl.

[Sofie Janssen] The sound has the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She casts a look upward, across the dark spaces of the trees and down through the slopes to the tall trunks. Her hands are taken from her pockets and she had slowed her brisk walk just enough to take in the details of her surrounds. She had stuck to the more main paths of the park, wanting her time in there, at night, to be brief. The city, as she's been told over and over, is not home. It has different rules.

Pale eyes dart from place to place, and her heart thunders harder, quicker in her chest. She has no weapons on her, nothing but some switch blade and a cellular phone. Neither of which will do good against the sounds that she can place as semi familiar by similar association. She's hoping it's a dog. A dog too engrossed in its meal to pay any attention, and if it's not a dog lapping up its kill, that it's not another sort of canine that might catch whiff of her ancestry.

She quiets her breathing, speeds up her step and takes a longer stride, all the while trying to be quieter and become aware of which way the wind is blowing by licking a thumb and holding it to the air as she goes.

[Remy] The thing about dogs -- or any canine, for that matter -- is that their hearing is so much sharper than a human's. And that's to say nothing of their sense of smell. By the time Sofie thinks to quieten her steps and check the wind, the popping and snapping has already come to a sudden, ominous stop.

Silence. And then -- very close by -- a sudden crack! of a twig snapping.

[Sofie Janssen] Fuck.

Too late. Her head snaps to the side, glancing sharply in the direction of the sound.

She's continuing to walk, not coming to some dead standstill like a deer. Her heart is pounding louder now, blood rushing through her ears through strained hearing. Pale hands are already in fists at her sides, not so much prepared to fight as it's clenched through rising anxiety strumming through her body.

Adrenalin floods.

[Remy] There's a certain sixth sense that warns of danger; an intuition that draws upon all five of the other senses in ways too subtle for the conscious mind to comprehend. The faintest stirring of a breeze. The slightest sights and sounds. The smell, however dim, of old, putrid blood. Most humans have forgotten how to use it, but not the kin to the Garou. And right now, Sofie's danger-sense is shrieking, crescendoing --

-- abruptly leveling off and fading. Whatever pursued her, watched her, hunted her is gone. She's safe, for the moment. Perhaps she slows. Perhaps she keeps going at that quick, smart clip. Perhaps --

it doesn't matter at all. Suddenly there's a sense of rending, not of the physical world but of timespace, of reality. Something large and savage boils through; a huge hot hand grabs her, the other clamping over her mouth, dragging her into the bushes like the boogeymen of childhood tales.

She's clamped back against a body that feels like a tower of muscle and rage. The hand over her mouth tastes like blood, stinks like rot. A fierce whisper slices past her ear: "Shh! It's me," - but the voice isn't quite recognizable, too low and rough.

[Sofie Janssen] Its sweat that comes across her lip, down the back of her neck, the cold sort that comes with a fear that everyone says they don't have, but they do. Its what they do with fear that matters, or so she's been told. Hers keeps her walking and looking out, not shying back from it. She has better sense then to go and investigate though. Those noises weren't anything human.

Fading off gives her this sense of, not relief, just wariness and a moment where a fist isn't closing tight around her heart and throat. It's followed, a second later, of this other sense that she could never put into words, but generally means run.

She goes to do just that, shifts weight to start off in a sprint, but she's almost caught by some coathanger move that jerks her in the other direction and has something larger than she, stronger by far, hold on. Sofie isn't just pulled into the bushes calmly. Muscles and hold are a little worked as the Kinfolk jerks and kicks, tossing weight towards the ground. Her nose is half squashed under the palm of the hand, which she digs her teeth into with a sharp bite, intending on ripping flesh right from the palm in a chunk.

It's not a pleasant taste that. That someone is coaxing her to quiet in an unfamiliar voice has her struggle anew. Sofie isn't a small woman, she's tall and she's had more than her fair shares of down and out brawls, but she's already in a hold, and is at the mercy of the Garou. But it's clear she's intending on going quietly.

[Remy] "Ow!" It's hard to snarl in a whisper. "Sofie. It's me. Rémy. Keep quiet. You hear me? Keep. Quiet."

And cautiously - slowly, one finger at a time - the Godi removes his hand from the kinswoman's face.

[Sofie Janssen] His hand moves finger after the other and she's jerking her shoulders, trying to get her body out of his grip, hating to be helpless. She spits off to the side. The taste in her mouth is more than awful and is threatening to kick in her gag reflex. Other than the sound of her trying to get spit from her tongue and off her lips, she says nothing. Her breath comes hard.

Fear is turning to fire.

[Remy] He's letting her go as soon as it's clear she's not about to scream her bloody head off. When she spins around to face him, it's Remy and it's not: it's some hulking, neanderthalic version of the pretty, pretty Godi, his clear brow sloping and low, his chiseled jaw a square-off chunk of bone. Sharp teeth clip against his lips. A dense fringe, more fur than beard, frames his face. The backs of his hands are dark with hair.

His eyes are wolf-yellow, even in the dark. They glint as he looks about sharply, then back to her. He palms a little gourd out of nowhere, hesitating only a moment before crushing the top in his dull claws. He holds it out to her -- there's clear water within.

"Rinse your mouth." It's scarcely over a whisper. He keeps looking around, sharp and alert. "Spit it out. Do it two, three times. What the fuck are you doing in the park at this hour?"

[Sofie Janssen] "The fuck are you doing?" it's a harsh whisper, keeping her voice low as she's trying to spit and not hack. The back of her own hand is used to wipe against her mouth and her outstretched tongue as if she could scrape the taste off. She can't see as well as him in the dark, only make out features that are him and yet not. Its the marvels of the shape changers form to twist their features at will.

Taking the gourd from him she looked at it, up at him - her expression is far from friendly, as is expected from an angry, startled Kinfolk, but she (mistakenly?) trusts him and does exactly as he asks. The water swishes in her puffed cheeks and spat in a quick stream on the ground, his question not answered until it's done three times.

"I missed the bus heading home."

[Remy] "Hunting," comes the singleworded answer. A moment -- a wary swing of his head about, and back -- later, another few. "Making preparations for a feast, you could say."

The feral-shaped Godi shifts ever so slightly to the side. A few inches at most. Enough that she can look past him, across the carefully manicured, perfectly aligned arboretum that forms this part of Grant Park. Moonlight gives this place -- so orderly, so civilized by day -- an eerie cast. On the ground, far away, almost too far to make out the details, is a dark lump of flesh. Headless. Carved and flayed open. Butterflied like poultry, bones gleaming white.

The Godi shifts back. His thickshouldered frame mercifully blocks the view. She can see the blood on his hands still, thick and black; the blood on his mouth, as though he'd used his teeth to kill the thing.

"Fillet of fomor served with a side of bone-meal might not sound too appetizing to you and me," he says, teeth showing in a savage laugh, "but the Dogs of War sure like it."

He reaches out again then, grabbing her by the arm, steering her deeper into the woods -- cutting toward the broad avenue on the other side of the arboretum. "Come on. Where there's one there may be more. I'll take you as far as the road. This summoning works only on a fresh kill, a full moon night. So get a cab, because I can't follow you home."

[Sofie Janssen] She still wants to hit him, to lash out. But she won't. Not while his eyes are born of yellow like that and he's brow is deep and cutting, like the sound of his voice. The pent up frustration will snap through later, for now it boils, swallowed under the surface. It still leaves her eyes bright.

They stare past him, take in the shape of the kill and the details offered by the moonlight, until his broad self blocks her view of it again and forces her attention up to his squared, brute face. She can see the blood there when he offers his barking laugh.

He barely gives her a chance to speak, not that it's stopped her before, and his man handling her again. By the arm she's pulled along, feet working to keep the pace and her lean, long muscle under his grip tightened with the way she fights not to jerk against him. "You're getting shit on my clothes," she hisses at him. "I gotta walk in public yanno."

"How's my face? Cos yours is covered in shit."

[Remy] The form makes Remy's smirk look like a snarl. "You might want to wipe it off a little," he says, but he does let go her arm, striding ahead of her. His path is angled -- they never really get any closer to that horrid corpse in the trees.

"And you might not want to come through Grant Park alone in the dark," he adds over his shoulder. "I've seen and heard about more shit going down here than you can imagine."

[Sofie Janssen] "Good to know," she mutters, using her other sleeve to wipe at her face and then her hand, checking her fingers after to look for signs of darkness against the pale digits. Without a mirror she can take it only on faith that she's not wandering with a red stained mouth or cheeks from his clamping hand. "Would love to hear about 'em sometime."

Following dutifully, she's glancing around - not so much at the corpse as the surrounds.

[Remy] Remy's laugh is a silent, hard exhale. He doesn't answer. A second later he's not even remotely human anymore, dropping forward on four legs, shifting through the hulking warforms to a barely-lither wolf-form. Large, rugged, ghost-silent nonetheless, the wolf ranges ahead, is lost amidst the trees.

That's how he leads her out of Grant Park. Glimpsed in flashes and moments, coming back suddenly. Never quite out of sight; never quite alongside her. Eventually they come too close to the edge of the park, to Lake Shore Drive, for him to wear the lupus form even at this hour of the night.

He pauses in the shadow of some athletic field, some stadium that looks ancient as the Colosseum in the moonlight. "You can get a cab out on Michigan," he says, returning to the near-man shape, nodding at the wide boulevard. "It's only two blocks that way. Try not to get yourself killed en route."

[Sofie Janssen] Walking along in the darkness, lead by a Garou through the spaces and shadows, the Kinfolk watches. A glance over her shoulder here and there, over to the side, and catches the tail of his colour in the night as he weaves back again.

By the edges, she stands with him, not dwarfed so much in height as she is by everything else about the wolf-man. "If I had money for a cab, I'd not be in the park," she points out with a barely there smirk. But she nods to him, lifting her chin to do so and begins walking ahead. "I'll call someone." To get a ride, to get off the street in an area, he says, that is trouble right now - maybe always has been.

And, her voice, already growing distant: "Thanks."

[Remy] An irritated sort of growl escapes him, but for what it's worth, he doesn't chase after her to manhandle her into a cab. As she walks away, so does he. If she looks back -- seconds later, he's gone, vanished into the shadows or across the barrier between worlds.

hey batter batter.

[ooglah booglah boo] So one minute you're walking along minding your own business, maybe thinking about your honey, maybe wondering if the taqueria is still open this late, maybe thinking about how awesome it would be if something just jumped out of the bushes right now--

and then a Fomor jumps out of the bushes.

This thing stinks. The smell would be enough to turn the stomach of an inexperienced warrior, and the sight on top of it is horrific: this creature's jaw is unhinged, wide enough that a domesticated animal or small child would easily fit in its maw, and strips of flesh and torn clothing hangs from its teeth. When it hisses, which it does as soon as it lays eyes on the Godi, the smell wafts toward him like a warning. At the end of both of its hands are long, glistening claws, and it twitches, snuffling and snorting in what sounds like glee, as it starts to advance.

[Remy] When you're a Garou, trouble finds you. When you're a Fenrir, you go looking for trouble. And this would be why Remy's trawling the dark lawns and tree-lined paths of Grant Park tonight, baseball bat in hand, whistling off-key, whacking indiscriminately at shadows and shrubs as he passes.

When the fomor pops out of hiding, Remy's whistling cuts off for a second, long enough for him to split a grin. He taps the head of the bat on the ground once-twice, then gets into an exaggerated batting stance. "Well, well. Looks like little Tommy wants to come and play ball. Come on, now, don't be shy. Bring that pretty face over here."

And he starts whistling the stadium charge.

[Remy] [-1WP resist pain, -1Gn soak talen for +3!]

[ooglah booglah boo] [+7!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Remy] [current inits = 1d10 +7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[ooglah booglah boo]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Remy] [tiebreaker!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Remy] [-1R: pop crinos
1a. hey batterbatterbatter SWING!
b. bite!
R1. claw!
R2. bite!]

[ooglah booglah boo] [1a:
1b:
1c:
1d: swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe!]

[ooglah booglah boo] [1a: -5]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [+1]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 5, 7, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Remy] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [1b: -6]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [+1]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Remy] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [1c: -6]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [OW MY EYE]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [SOAK]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [1d: -7]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 3, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [+0]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Remy] [soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Remy] 1a. -2 SWING!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [2 suxx, treating it like a club, makes it diff 5! *gavelslam*]

[Remy] [whoops, diff 5 = 2 suxx. str +1 +1(succ) Bashing]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [Owwwww!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Remy] HAHA. least it fuckin failed to soak. *LOL*

b. chomp! -3
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Remy] [dam = str +1 (crinos bite) +1 (succ)]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Remy] R1. claw!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2

[Remy] [dam +2 (crinos claw) +5 (succ)]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [Nooo I want to liiive!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Remy] R2. bite!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 5)

[Remy] [dam +1 +4]
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [Ack!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Remy] [ehem. R1's damage again -- wrong + of dice!]
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Remy] Three seconds later -- an eternity in combat-time -- the most grievous wound done on the creature remains by its own hand. Aggravated now, the dappled grey beast throws aside the cheap-ass Louisville slugger. It whips into the trees, fast enough to clip branches clean in two -- disappears into the murk. Beating his open palms on his chest, gorillalike, the Godi roars a slaver-mawed challenge at the Fomor.

[Remy] [inits, now +8]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[ooglah booglah boo] The Fomor is insane: it's clearly slowed down by the amount of damage done to it, yet when the Fenrir roars in its face, it giggles.

[ooglah booglah boo] [+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[ooglah booglah boo] [1a:
1b: SLICE]

[Remy] 1a. bite
b. bite!
c. bite
R1. bite. *unimaginative*

[Remy] [erk and! -1R to hispo ffs.

-3 dice!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Remy] [dam +2 +3]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [HEE HEE HEE]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Remy] b -4
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Remy] [dam -- same]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [THAT TICKLES]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Remy] c -5
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Remy] [srsly, HAIL MOTHERFUCKER.]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] [OH HO HO HO]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[ooglah booglah boo] This thing dies so hard it's not even funny. Its head goes sailing down the sidewalk, putrid black blood spraying for several seconds before it falls at Remy's paws. This thing is tall but solid; its bones will make excellent dust for a summoning.

[YEEBOI]

sushi.

[Sofie Janssen] Later afternoon, crawling towards evening, and Chinatown is flooded with people. Scurrying to and fro, they move through the streets like cockroaches, rats hustled to their next meal, to hiding holes tucked in crumbing buildings, scrabbling to get into closed, cramped quarters before full dark falls and the bigger predators stroll the streets.

Sofie's walking along one of the pavements, dodging people, weaving through them as she walks. Blonde and taller than most Asian persons, she'd stand out more if not for the hat that hides the pale streaks. She's still white. She's still an imposing figure compared to the sixty year old senior pushing her grocery cart home, and the young clusters of high school girls with Hello Kitty bags drooping from shoulders, but she doesn't stick out like a sore thumb. Too many people for that, brushing past one another in mobile groups.

Dark jacket flows over blue jeans. Sneakers step neatly over pooled puddles, avoided by the train of people before her. In the bared fingers of her left hand hangs a paper bag with rolled handles, stuffed with green groceries from the market and some neatly packed fish, claimed to be fresh. Her pale eyes drift along the windows as she passes them, looking for something that might satisfy a growling stomach and a sparsely filled money pocket.

[Derek Anderson] He was standing in front of a store's window, looking exactly like a sore thumb. Almost 6'4, muscular, with blond hair, no one would mistake him for a local. He was dressed in dark pants and shoes, a white shirt, black tie and a winter jacket. Nothing that indicate him as a cop. His weapon was hidden by the zipped jacket.

He was staring at some nicely crafted swords. He wasn't a collector or anything but he was pretty good with blades and he wondered if the blacksmith who did those lived here. Having a silver coated sowrd would be pretty useful, in hard to hide.

One hand moved to the back of his head, scratching it. Ah well, maybe he'll make inquieries later. He felt his stomach grumbled and looked around, trying to find a place to eat. He spotted one place saying restaurant so it was a good place as any to start his search for dinner

[Sofie Janssen] She noticed him. It wasn't that hard. He was dressed nicely, and his height and broadness was much greater than those around him. It also helped that she was walking in the opposite direction and would pass him before he reached the restaurant. Shifting her hold on the bag in her left hand, she gripped it more comfortably before calling out a short: "Hey!"

"Derek?" They hadn't spoken all that much or really bothered to get to know one another, but each of them had passing conversations and shared a billiard game or two. He was a friendly sort, helpful, and she tried to be. But more than that, they had things in common, and that was enough for her to slow her walk to catch up in the middle of the street.

[Derek Anderson] He heard in name in Chinatown? Called by a woman? He looked in the direction of the voice and tilted his head. It took him a moment and her being closer for him to recognize who was hiding under the hat. His lips curled into a warm friendly smile when he did though "Sofie, my god, long time no see"

He wait for her to be level with him "How have you been? The last few times I've been to the BroHO you didn't seem ot be around. So I kinda stopped going, since you're probably the only person worth knowing there and you were never there"

He look at the restaurant "Are you hungry? I'm starving and thought maybe this place would be fine. Unless you mgiht prefer another place and having company of course" He was looking at her, hands in his pockets.

[Sofie Janssen] When they came level, she offered him her right hand to shake. She's smiling too, though it's probably a smaller version than his. "It's good to see you too," she tells him, and after shaking his hand, pulls hers back to slide it into her jacket pocket.

"Oh, I'm still staying there. I just keep quiet and to myself." Her eyes roll and her mouth quirks upward in a bemused, and some might say slightly mischievous, grin. "I upset a few people while they were busy smoking tokes and making a racket. I'm sure the Scarlet Woman of the Brotherhood is now ready to break some teeth. If only she would try." This last is given with a soft, wistful sigh.

Distracted, then, by his talk about food, she looked towards the restaurant she had passed, considering the option of what might be found in there and whether or not she could handle company to actually dine with, before looking back to him. "How about some sushi? There's a small bar down the way." Nodding her chin in the direction she was walking.

[Derek Anderson] He shook her hand gently and put his hand back in his pocket too. "Well I"m glad you're ok and still there. I was getting worried a little" His kind blue eyes were looking into hers "As for said woman, well I think I know who you're talking about and if she ever mess with you, let me know. I know you can handel yourself, that you could talk to the boss of your family, but if soemthing happen, I'll talk directly to her sis."

He shook his head "Damn except for Sarita who's her blood, I haven't hard anything about that girl" He shrugh "Anyway, how about we talk about people more interesting"He smile to her "Sushie sounds like a good option" He start to move in the direction she was heading, making sure she was walking with him

"So beside being quiet, how have you been? Found some work yet?"He doesn't ask if she checked the place he told her about. Either she did or didn't. Either she will mention it or won't

[Sofie Janssen] "I can handle my own. Don't make them in my family without being able to at least hold yourself respectfully and back up your mouth, you know?" Get of Fenris she's talking about. It's hard to imagine a Get of Fenris that couldn't throw a punch. That doesn't mean that Sofie could necessarily kick another's ass, just that she'd give it a good shot rather than skulk away and have someone fight for her. Nor is she some tender, whip thin girl of fragile limbs. She comes from sturdy stock.

Walking down the path, she's watching around them now, rather than him. "I'm doin' a few things here and there," she tells him, not getting into the details of the work she does. "I looked into that place you mentioned, but it wasn't for me. A guy here once said, if I found myself in a job where I was being disrespected, or where I was waiting on others like a wench, he'd find food for me himself." The very idea that this came from Remy's mouth is almost laughable, but it had. She smirks now just to think about it. "I think he wanted me for his personal wench," she jokes.

"How you been?"

[Derek Anderson] He nodded to her words "Well, as lnog as you get some work, I"m happy for you. Sorry the place wasn't for you" He was walking at her pace, not forcing her to follow his usual long strides "Somehow, I odn't see you be anyone's wench. You actually would be the type to tame one of them or something"He say with a slight grin

"As for me, I've been working a lot, meeting peopel here and there. I helped this girl who had been traumatized to heal some of her psycholgical wounds and open up to people. She had to leave but she was much better than when I met her. Beside that, nothing much. Drinks here and there, video game night with another detective, stuff liek that nothing fancy"

He pause "Except the fact I"m investigating some disapearances, might be link to the evil version of our cousins and they would be hunting us. So, you must know about that part already, if you don't, well be acreful when you're out alone ok?" He say with some concern

[Sofie Janssen] Her laugh came easy, even if it was short, at the mention of her taming others. "I wouldn't quite put it like that." But maybe he had some point to it. She wouldn't be anyone's wench, not in this lifetime and not in any others. It's not in her nature, as he's pointed out.

Listening to him had her nodding. She didn't say much while he talked, just acknowledged with a glance here and a nod there, while they made the way down the block. Her grocery bag was silent in her hand, no rustling or bumping against her leg - she wasn't the type to swing it around, but rather carry it still, hanging by her side. "Video games and donuts? Cops are good for donuts, right?" If he looks at her, she's grinning.

But that soon fades as the mention of ugliness rises up between them. Evil Ones. The Corrupted. Twisted Dogs. Whatever name they went by, she knew them. It had her look a little more somber, but not necessarily grave. "Its war," she tells him, "whatcha expect?" Shrugging lightly, she cast a look back at him, this time with a raised brow.

The Sushi Bar is a small place, tucked after a corner store that sells everything from cigarettes to dried mushrooms, and rice by the armload.

[Derek Anderson] He had chuckled at the donut's comment "Nah, no donut was involved during that evening. Just beer, chips and first shooter games" He was smiling widely.

He did nod at her words "Oh I know it's war and it's dangerous and all that. But this thing is actively hunting us, not jsut radomly catching us unaware. Hence why the warning og being more careful. I'm not too worried about you. You're a pretty smart woman, I know you won't take unecessary risks"

He opened the door for her, letting her in, then asking for a table for two.

[Remy de Tournieres] "That is not at all what I said." Weeks go by and there's neither hide nor hair of him, and then Remy's simply just rolling up next to them. "What I said was, if you got a job as a hooker I'd hunt food down for you to keep you out of it. If you got a job where you got disrespected and didn't quit, I'd just laugh at you for being an idiot."

He's nowhere near as tall as Derek, this Fenrir. He's solid as a bull, though, his shoulders big as boulders, his back and chest composed solely of slabs of muscle. It's warming up in Chicago. He's out of his winter jacket, in a red hoodie instead that does nothing to hide those muscles, that frame. The hood is razored open along the throat seam, letting it open wider and lie flatter against his back. His eyes are very dark, very brilliant, and they assess Derek without fear, but with no small amount of wariness.

"Who're you?"

And he follows them into the sushi bar, invited or not.

[Sofie Janssen] "That's nothing new," she tells Derek, right before Remy has strolled up along side them and correcting her earlier remarks. Instead of getting stroppy, she's grinning instead. She can feel the Rage slide off him under the fatter moon rising through the sky, feel it ride up her spine and creep through her bones, but it's almost a welcomed thing - for now, until his blood may boil and his temper flare. Until then it's familiar, like a hearth fire, or maybe not quite.

"I don't remember no mention of hookers," she tells the Get of Fenris lightly and raised her brows at him. But that is just an off hand remark, maybe even a little in jest, and she swings her attention back to Derek as he's questioned, opening the door for her - and now a Garou.

Nodding her chin at Derek, she passes him with a small grin of encouragement and wanders inside the Sushi Bar. It's no big thing this place, narrow and cramped. Most take their food out in containers strapped down with a rubber band, their sushi rolls sitting nicely packed within. But there are a few tables to be found, most with only two chairs, opposite one another. A counter rides the short length of the window overlooking the street and four stools are bolted to the floor there.

[Derek Anderson] He raised a brow at the man and he felt what he was. One would have to be completly stoned or drunk not to notice. He was about to reply Who the are you? as an answer to the man's question but it would have been truly disrecpectful. Yet he couldn't bring himself to be compelty respectful either "I'm Derek, who are you?"

He noticed Sofie's reaction and wondered if there was something between those two. it wasn't his business though, so he didn't and certainly wouldn't ask. He held the door open for the other man, and then stepped in. He followed them to a table of their choosing and laso pick wherever they wanted to sit.

He was still smiling, less than before. Not out of jealousy or anything, more annoyed by the man's lack of manners. Yet, he was a true born and as such, Derek couldn't talk back to him. Instead he sat, picking up the menu

[Remy de Tournieres] "That's because Manny's Diner was so good the foodgasm blew your mind."

Remy ducks into the backalley sushi joint, shoulders brushing the door and frame on the way in. No $100/head gourmet place, this. Sticky floors and clothless tables; sushi in plastic rubberbanded boxes to go. The young Fenrir's head turns as the kinsman asks his name; a scoffing laugh blasts out of him.

"I'm Rémy, brah." Despite the careless americanisms, the name's French, and the accent -- faint as it is -- is a jumble of languages. "Sofie's my kinswoman. You ought to be glad you aren't Trueborn, or I'd really be all up in your face right now." He pauses as Sofie finds a table. "They have sukiyaki here? I love sukiyaki."

[Sofie Janssen] She claims the counter by the window. There's more chairs there and its less confining. This also leaves them looking out the windows rather then being forced to look one another in the eye. Her paper grocery bag is set down on the counter, careful not to loose the bokchoy out the top. While they're talking, she's stripping off her hat, smoothing back her pale hair, and shredding out of her jacket to leave her in a simple sweater of v-neck cut and a white tank beneath.

Tossing the jacket over a stool she's clearly claiming, she looks over to Remy as he asks her if they have-- "What's that? I've never had sushi before." This is admitted in a clueless remark that is offered without any sort of shame, maybe some sort of naivety that's found in rural country towns. "But I heard you can get chicken, is that right?" The questions directed more at Remy than Derek, automatically deferring to the Garou in the room as if it's some sort of second nature. "Cos I don't want no raw fish."

When her nose creases, the pert end lifts and so does a corner of her lip. The expression is briefly less human, despite the fact that she is one. Her pale eyes slide from him over to the sushi bar itself where seaweed rolls are lined up in trays, neat and precise and probably full of growing bacteria.

[Derek Anderson] He actually beside Remy instead of having Sofie between them. Why? Not because he liked the Garou. Nope. Not either because he was letting the True born "win" Andcertainly not because he wouldn't liek sitting beside his friend or at least good acquiantance. In fact it was to spare her to be caught between them, if things well wrong..so she doesn't feel liek she has to refereee the situation.

He didn't to wonder about bacteriea or the hygiene of the place. And since her questions weren't directed at him, he didn't answer them. He replied to Remy though. "Don't worry..bro. I"m doubly blessed right now not to be born a true born"

He doesn't say that it's because if he was, with his rage, maybe and his Silver Fang blood, he might be tempted toteach the man a lesson about respect...or that if getting into someone's face for being friend with a kin was proper Garou behavior, then he much prefer to be kin than an ass. Instead, he picked his menu and selected suhies, looknig very calm, even smiling.

[Remy de Tournieres] "What? Sukiyaki's sort of like... soupy teriyaki. It's good." Remy props his feet up on the rail along the window, jams his knees against the underside of the counter, and leans back in his chair, balancing. Curiously, "Have you never had Japanese before?"

[Sofie Janssen] "I've never had that neither," she tells Remy, considering the options while still standing. Instead of looking at a menu or the board up on the wall, and those hanging above the buying counter, she's looking at the food directly on display.

After a momentary silence, she glances from Remy to Derek and back again. "So what's the recommendation? And be nice. Don't give me no octopus ass strings or some killer stone fish. I'm after some chicken." Deciding that maybe neither of them can be trusted, she flicks a glance back over to the counter and the people working behind it.

"I'll just ask them," she says, and within a second she's already walking towards the counter to get someone's attention. It's sure to be an entertaining one to overhear. Sofie and her lack of knowledge of any sort of Asian dish and some limited English on the other end, has plenty of pointing and repeated questions.

[Remy de Tournieres] "Oh no you don't," Remy snags Sofie by the back of her jeans and hauls her back. "This is how we're going to do it. You get chicken teriyaki. I'll get beef sukiyaki. Derek here can get some fancy-schmancy sushi, and then we'll both let you pick at our food so you can try it all.

"You have to try at least one piece of raw fish, though. Otherwise it's no deal."

[Derek Anderson] He raised a brow at Remy's action. The man suggested...well ordered Sofie what he was about to suggest to her, so he stayed quiet. When it was time to order, he got 6 different sushie, none with alguae and some beef teryaki. He was silent for the moment, not really sure what to say. It seemed to him that having a friendly discussion with Sofie would be impossible to have with an overbearing Garou there.

He wondered if he would have the time to empty his gun in the back of the man's head for about 7 seconds of quiet if he got too annoying. Probably not. Instead, he will liten to them and pitch inwhen appropriate. Tonight was the kind of eveening he hated being part of the world he was in. When you couldn't talk back to someone who thought they were important because of their nature.

[Sofie Janssen] Jerked back by her jeans, she back peddles, surprised at being so easily and casually manhandled. But Remy doesn't have some lecture in her face, like some other time, and seems rather jovial for his usual character, leaving any sort of argument or indignation slide. Both fair brows raise, she looked at him, back to the counter, before pale eyes level on him again.

"What!" Huffing, her nose gave that brief lip-snarl again, a soundless thing. "Why do I have to try raw fish? Doesn't that shit kill you or something?" Her hand brushed out, backhanding fingers against the flat of his muscled stomach. "I don't have no cast iron stomach like some."

"And don't even get me started on the whole organic trade and dirty food practices." One would think she might have the grace to say such things a little more quieter, but she doesn't. She's becoming known for her little rants on these things.

[Remy de Tournieres] "Yes," Remy says blandly, "I'm trying to assassinate you by fish. Because that's obviously the most efficient way to go about it. Hey!" Remy calls out to the single, tired-looking waitress as she passes, then lowers his voice as she visibly jumps. "We're good to go here, miss."

[Sofie Janssen] "Heh." Alright, that amused her. She hadn't thought about it like that and doesn't bother to try and clarify.

While he calls to the waitress, she slips up onto a stool after flattening hands down the back of her jeans and muttering: "No need to have given me a wedgie." Comfortable again, she's sitting down, sneakers on the rung of the stool and jacket now hanging on the back of it.

"Sound good by you?" She asked Derek, turning her head this way.

[Derek Anderson] He watched them and did smile a little at their antics. It was kinda funny. He nodded with a smile to Sofie "Yeah, sounds good to me"

He wait for the waitress to come and order what he wanted, with water and let the others order their meals. Once the lady was away, he leaned forward so he could see Sofie and asked

"So what brought you in Chinatown today?" He looked at her bag "Food at least but you can get it jsut about everywhere..is the queslity better around here?"He remember her talknig about how most places fed people chemically altered food and such

[Remy de Tournieres] So they order, and afterward - as Derek strikes up conversation again - Remy fidgets in his seat, rocking the stool back and forth on an unstable leg.

[don't wait on me -- multitasking and it's getting late!]

[Sofie Janssen] "Smaller grocers tend to be less mass produced," she answers Derek reasonably serious. Her order had been for chicken teriyaki and a water, having been asked with a Thanks tacked onto the end. "I don't know if the quality is better, but less chance of it to be drowned in pesticides."

Which reminds her of something and she reaches into the bag of groceries she's had packed neatly, to grab out a wrapped paper. She offers it out to Remy. "Can you smell that and tell me if it's good to go? I don't think it's fresh out of the sea today, but you've got a better nose than me." She thinks nothing of asking the Garou to do this small task for her. He can already pick up on the fact that it's fish.

[Derek Anderson] He nodded to her "You have sound points" He smiled as she has Remy smelling the fish. He doesn't say anything about it, because well, there wasn't much to say about it. It was just a little funny to watch.

Hedrank some of his water, and put down the glass, elbows on the counter, arms crossed as he lean forward to look at her "Any plans for later tonight?" He ask her "Maybe a game of pool could be fun at the BroHo or out..movies or drinks maybe. Nothing too extravagant or that ends late. I have to work tomorrow, but you know hang out"

He look at Remy "Ifyou want to come, you're invited too"

[Remy de Tournieres] Remy's progressed from rocking gently on that uneven leg to flat-out grabbing the edges of his seat and thumping the stool up and down, hopping it around like it was the biggest, ungainliest pogo stick in the world. Most the Garou of Remy's auspice have a tendency to be vague-eyed, half-present. Not Remy. He goes fullblast, all the time. Hardly ever sits still. Is hardly ever anything but ferociously, burningly physical.

He seems to make up for it, though, by disappearing without warning for days at a time. Sometimes weeks. Maybe that's when he goes fullblast spiritual. Hard to say -- Sofie's never seen where he goes or what he does, and neither has most of his fellow Garou.

Regardless: she rummages out a paperwrapped ... fish and holds it out for him to sniff. Remy glances up, half-startled by the interruption, looking mildly guilty like a schoolboy caught copying homework. He gives his stool one last hearty thump and then takes his hands off the rim, relaxing into a hip-centered slouch. He eyes the fish a moment. Then Sofie.

"Look," the corner of his mouth quirks irrepressibly up, "if you want me to put my face in something fishy and tell you if you're good to go or not, you don't have to do this whole song and dance of taking me to a seafood joint and pretending like you're actually talking about fish."

Oh yeah, he went there.

[Remy de Tournieres] [whoops!]

Then, to Derek -- "Nah, you kids have fun."

[Sofie Janssen] "Yeah, pool at the Brotherhood sounds good. I'm not into paying money to watch something on a television screen, and I got so drunk last weekend that I've sworn of alcohol for a month," she tells Derek. Then Remy is dropping down onto all four legs of the stool, ready to do what he does best.

Give smartass remarks. The fish is still held out, casual like, with her arm resting on the counter and wrist slightly twisted to offer the package out to his side. But his remark has her brows raise and it takes her several confused moments to get what he's talking about. This is because she's not usually hanging around people that are so blatantly dirty. She doesn't go red faced, or choke, but she does give him this wry look. "Please, I know I'm good, and I'm about as subtle as a sledgehammer. So if I ask you that, you'd know."

"I'm more concerned about keeping this temple of mine sacred." This is where she grins, outright, brightening her features and making her eyes gleam.

[Derek Anderson] He nodded to her "All right, pool it is"

He thought Remy's comment lacked class..on many levels. He said nothing letting Sofie handle it. Which she did, really well. Another guy would have been slapped on the back of the head by the cop though. He smiled warmly at her, but didn't laugh. SOmehow he doubt the Fenrir would like it.

So he drank some more water, waiting ofr the meals.

[Remy de Tournieres] Class is definitely not one aspect where Remy excels. Fortunately for Sofie, she gives as good as she gets, making the dark-eyed Godi burst into laughter. Across the room, some college kid stopping in for a quick bite glances up, startles. The second time she looks at Remy, it's a lot longer, and it's not because she's frightened.

He leans down, though, and gives the wrapped fish a good sniff. "I'd eat it," he pronounces -- though that might not comfort Sofie much. Likely he could also eat an entire pot of salmonella chowder and not get so much as a hiccup. "Your sacred temple, too, but that's another story altogether."

[Sofie Janssen] Still smirking, and just short of rolling her eyes at the Fenrir, she reclaims her fish and tucks it into her bag. "Get in line and go speak to Grandpops," she tells Remy, "then you can start talkin' those stories." Sofie takes it all in stride, oblivious to the college girl salivating over the Garou currently, though she'd noticed these things before.

"Alright, where's this deadly catch." Twisting, she looked over her shoulder and back towards the counter, keen to take on the sushi now that it's been ordered. Her stomach is grumbling and hungry, even if it holds a twinge of anxiety.

[Derek Anderson] He thought about, even straighten up a little to be in position to smack the Fenrir, he almsot did it. Instead he looked ath meals arriving "Thank god for food" It might shut up the foul mouthed Fenrir, then again, probably not. The man is surely capable of saying obscenities with his mouth full

Once the plates were settled in front of each. He lifeted his plate and reached over Remy's toward Sofie "Sorry" He say to the Fenrir then smiled at Sofie

"Try the forst one of the left. I think you might like it. It doesn't taste too strong and there's enough rice around to make is easier to eat"

[Remy de Tournieres] "So Grandpops is the nearest Garou relation, huh?"

Remy leans back to allow the waitress room to set down their food, his mouth mercifully shut for the moment: Sofie's teriyaki chicken, his own sukiyaki beef, Derek's selection of sushis and teriyakis. Standard bargain fare, but at least passably fresh. When the waitress is gone again, he picks up his chopsticks and snaps them apart, polishing them against one another for a moment before rather expertly using them to maneuver some beef, onions, enoki mushrooms and napa cabbage onto Sofie's plate. There's this to be said: he's generous with his food, sharing out a good portion of his dinner and following it up with several brimming soup spoonfuls of broth.

"What's your story, anyway? I can't remember if you've told me already. You come out to the big city, never had japanese before, never had a pastrami sandwich before ... hey," distracted by Derek's food, "can I have one of those?" He points at a scallop nigiri.

[Sofie Janssen] Leaning back from the counter when Derek leans across it, she nods once at his apology, not minding at all his better table manners and glanced over the food that was available, particular that which was suggested. "This one?" Pointing to it, she pushed her sleeve up past her wrist, baring the fair, fine hairs along her pale forearm.

Her hand darts out again when Remy starts filling up her plate and she eyes the way his hand uses the chopsticks. For a moment she marvels how such a brute, built with such a vicious, broad body can use sticks almost delicately like that. She picks up some chopsticks herself and copies, far more awkwardly.

"Mine?" Making sure he's talking to her. "Yeah, Pops is the closest relative, and this isn't the first time in a big city, just the first time living in one. Makes all the difference." Doesn't mean she likes it either, but she's still here and not complaining. "Dunno how long I'm going to stick around though." There's plenty to factor into that.

"What about you? You bench press before ... you know, everything?" Shifting into a nine foot killing machine, she means. She was always curious about that. Did the muscles become before the change or after? At least for those that wear them so strapped like he does.

[Sofie Janssen] [darts out again = darts back away]

[Derek Anderson] He smiled to Sofie "Yep this one" He let her take it before replying to Remy "Sure, help yourself"

He picked his sticks and started to eat as the other two were talking. He listened, not saying anything as he wasn't implicated. The food tasted really good. So he ate in silence for now, glancing at them once in a while He knew he was probably as bif, if ont bigger than the Garou. He also knew the man could kill him with one blow

He was curious about his answer though, wondering if the man earned his shape by hard work or recived it because he got lucky at the gene lottery.

[Remy de Tournieres] "No?" When she says she might not stick around, Remy's eyes are intent on Sofie for a moment. "That'd be a shame."

Then they're back on his food, downcast, lashes long and dark. Such a pretty face; such a pretty, pretty, dumb jock of a Godi. He laughs a little at the benchpressing question, dimples creasing his cheeks. A shake of his head, then.

"I played soccer. Lacrosse. Rugby. Football. Wrestling. Water polo. Every time my stepdad moved -- and we moved a lot, because he was Navy, though I don't wantcha to go thinking I had a wicked stepdad or anything like that. I didn't. He's a good man, and he did right by me after my mom died. Near fifteen years now he's done right by me.

"Anyway. As I was saying, everywhere we moved, I picked up a new sport. And I was good at 'em too. Coulda been one of the best, maybe."

Those thick shoulders shrug; he slurps up a mouthful of rice noodles from his sukiyaki, then helps himself to one of Derek's scallop sushis. In repayment, he flips his chopsticks around in his big hand and offers him back another significant portion of his meal. At this rate, he was going to go for seconds.

"I didn't really start training hard -- I mean, deliberately trying to build myself up and get tougher -- til after this 'stuff' though. Derek hasn't heard, but I told you about my Fostering Sept. Norman Fenrir, Fenrir that cut their teeth on other Fenrir. They were hard motherfuckers." His eyebrows draw together, the first genuine frown on the young Godi's face all this time. "Relentless. Maybe even cruel. You were fucked if you weren't up the snuff. They'd rather you died a cub than come out anything but what they want a Fenrir to look and act like. It was a constant race for your life getting Fostered there: cubs beating on cubs, mentors beating on cubs, everyone fighting to stay out of Omega position because Omegas had a life expectancy of about a week. I've seen them thrash, hound, harry and flat-out work more cubs to death than I've seen them pass 'em to Cliath. Way they figure it, maybe if the weak one died they'd be reborn stronger. Less shameful to the tribe.

"Anyway, apparently this face was too pretty for them, and I wasn't ... very quick picking up on the spirit shit. So I had to make up for that by being twice as tough. One thing I'll say about the Norman Fenrir: they respect strength like nobody else. You can be dumb as a brick, blind as a bat, inbred and deformed, but if you could kick ass they'd still figure you useful. Cannon fodder maybe, but useful.

"So there's your story." Remy grins again; it's a little more wan than the last. "Simple answer, nope. No benchpressing before 'everything'. Just surviving, after."

[Sofie Janssen] While entrenched in Remy's story, she barely touches the food. This also may have something to do with her lack of being able to use chopsticks, being a first timer and all. But she's persistent with it and doesn't get hot under the collar when she's trying to balance the food in the tip without dropping it and trying to get it to her mouth.

"Reminds me of the Spartan stories," she tells Remy quietly, thoughtfully. There's not much for her to comment on his lifestyle, not here and now, maybe not ever. It could be saved for one of those walks back to where she's staying, like they had last time, or a subject never touched again.

After a mouthful of food, of which she chewed slowly, mouth closed and jaw working, she offered a little more about herself. "I'm from a small place, all Fenrir with the occasional wanderer. Traditional, but doesn't seem so hard as the one you're talkin' on, you know? Don't get me wrong, they're tough as nails and then some, but more on quality and plenty on values. All about family, loyalty and strength. You've probably heard it a dozen times or so." She throws him a quick smile.

"And I'm sure there's plenty you'd hate too." She recalls their first meeting with a ironic twist of her mouth. But rather than getting into it, she looks the other way, taking in Derek's quiet demeanor and asks; "What about yours?"

[Derek Anderson] He nodded his thanks to REmy when the man taded food with him.

He was silent, lsitening to their stories and surprised when askd about his "My what? Story?" He shrugh "There's nothing special. I was raised in Pittsburgh, I have two older siblings, my sister the oldest is the olny one who changed. She became the jewel of the family leaving mIchael and me in the background. It was fine and all, we gerew up lacking nothing. Since I"ve been raised near warriors, I wanted to do something similar. I went to school, army camps during the weekends and sumemr and realized that killing wasm't my calling.

I preferd ot help and protect, keep peopel alive instead of putting htem in the ground. So I went ot the police academy and did pretty well. Yet, no matter how good I was, my sister laways looked odwn on me, for being what I am. Eventually I got tired of it, don't know how Micheal stand it and when I was promoted detective, I asked ofr a transfer and landed here"

He say with a soft smile "So far, I have no complains about my life in Chicago"

[Remy de Tournieres] "Not Spartan," Remy replies. "Thunderers of Mjollnir, though -- plenty of those."

Then Remy laughs under his breath, elbowing Derek in the side. "Well, aren't we just a pair of mistreated, disinherited youths. What's this about hating on your family, though?" His attention goes back to the kinswoman. "I've never even met them."

[Sofie Janssen] "Couldn't imagine being a cop," she tells Derek, "I don't think I'd have the restraint not to shut some mouths, permanently. I'm not one that can look the other way, and I sure don't believe in human justice." Leaning over the table she ate some more and set her sticks down to reach for her bottle of water.

Twisting off the cap has her looking to Remy. "Nah, not my family. I meant some of the things we're taught. I remember you not liking the fact that a Kin recites some laws."

[Remy de Tournieres] "It's not that I don't like it," Remy says. "Just where I come from, if a kin recites the Laws, a kin gets beat for it. If I recite the Laws, most likely I get beat for it. If a Forseti recites the Laws -- well, he might get away with it. Or maybe some higher ranking Forseti'll beat his ass for it. If you don't mind that, you can recite all you want.

"I guess it's just ... I was taught everyone has their place. And they're kept there by tooth and claw. Or they climb out of it by tooth and claw. Either way, tooth and claw."

[Derek Anderson] He looked at Remy "I odn't hate them, And I do love my sister. I just wanted to be away for a while, have the chance to make my mark without them looking over my shoulder all the time."

He smiled to Sofie "Being a cop ain't easy and yes the system is crooked, no other way to say it. Yet..it's better than no jsutice at all, in my mind at least"

He shrugh and finish his meal and leaned back "Well that was pretty good." He looked at Sofie "REady ot head to the BroHo for some pool?"

[Sofie Janssen] [I need to get my ass to bed folks.]

[Derek Anderson] (same here...you can wrap if oyu want)

[Remy de Tournieres] [me too! thanks for the RP!]

[Sofie Janssen] thank you!