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."