So: it's summer solstice, the longest day and the shortest night, the first bloom of summer. There's a gibbous moon in the sky, a breath away from the largest full moon in years. And here in the heart of the park, sheltered by ageworn red sandstone and low, bent tree -- a gathering of wolves and their kin.
There are fires sparking to life as the sun slides beneath the horizon. Little ones around the edges, and a big one over which kin and Garou alike are roasting the prey and the produce they've caught or brought. The mouthwatering scent of charred meat rises with the smoke; mingles with the smell of burning oak and hickory. There's music, nothing planned, no repertoire or sequence; just people and their guitars, their bongo drums, their mandolins, their harmonicas, their pan-pipes and their fiddles, their iPhones and their portable JBLs blasting electronica. Whatever they might have brought. Their voices, if they have nothing else, or if they have a particularly good one, or if they've already had a bit much to drink.
And -- yes. There are things to drink. There's beer and here's wine and there's whiskey and there's scotch; there's vodka (grain and potato), and there's stuff in unlabeled bottles that range from crystal-clear to amber to brown. It's a game of pick your poison, and every single prize from first to last is getting smashed.
Listen: the laughter, the chatter, the shouting. Someone's sweet-talking someone else over behind one of the sandstone monoliths. Someone else has already stumbled off into the scrub to vomit behind a bush. There are two girls riding on two guys' bare shoulders, doing that poolparty thing where they try to wrestle each other off, except there's no water here and both those girls are actually wolves so if and when they fall off it'll probably turn into a brawl. And out a little ways from the heart of the party,
sober, watchful, armed,
some kinfolk with their rifles. Some Guardians with their claws. A mute and subtle reminder of the ever-present threats that -- for this one night -- they're all going to try and forget.
Calden White[post at will, guys. no posting order! i think this scene is small enough right now that we don't have to label where we are, but if it becomes necessary we'll figure something out.]
Avery ChaseThere are kin guarding those fires, ferocious as badgers. It was only yesterday that the massive, sweeping wildfires that nearly had Denver proper surrounded were contained. Not eliminated. Contained. Strictly speaking, every fire the garou burn tonight is illegal anyway, and would seem absolutely insane lately. So: the kin, particularly the ones who work in the parks department, zealously watch every spark. The state has no moisture to speak of these days.
Down in the town of Roxborough Park, a couple of people who live closer to the borders of the bawn almost think they see glowing sparks, or smoke in the air. They forget. Earth itself erodes their memories of the visions, protecting itself. Protecting its people.
Avery Chase, Reverence of Dawn, From Whom The Stars Shall Not Be Hidden By Sunrise, she of multiple middle names and the WASPiest upbringing that ever set foot on a sailboat, is not going to tend a fire, or stay very close to one, because the heat will dry out her skin and the smell will stay in her hair. Instead she drinks scotch from a recycled-and-compostable cup -- a serving choice that horrifies those who consider the Red Solo on par with holy chalices -- and watches the contest of wolves-on-shoulders, cheering occasionally for the one of them that is, as Avery, a Philodox. She doesn't even know her name.
Keisha BallardKeisha's actually dressed down a bit for the first time at a big area-wide gathering. Most of the time when she's run into people for moots or during Umbral patrols or the like, she's been in simple dresses or some sort of all-purpose dedicated clothing valued more for ease of motion. Tonight she's taking it easy and instead is decked out in a shiny-looking sleeveless shirt with a variety of designs and symbols over it, from peace signs, suns and moons to stylized pagan and goddess images. From the waist down it's all black jeans and a pair of heeled sandals. For her, this is "going out and having a night" garb.
She's also drinking, too. Keisha once told someone that she's all about moderation in everything, but everyone has to let go sometimes. Which isn't to say she's going crazy, but she's not counting drinks and judging how much she sways with each step. She's gone with teguila herself; its her drink of choice. Hey, you drink what you can get your hands on when you start in your teens, and her parents preferred it. That's just the way it is. She's enjoying herself as she watches the elevated wrestling match, listens to the music (but doesn't eat the meat). She's still keeping to herself a bit though, at least until she sees Avery. She smiles and heads over in that direction, nodding as she comes up.
"Hey, you." A simple enough greeting. "How've you been?"
PhoebePhoebe has already gotten up to sing once, twice, a few times really. There's a reason Siren of Persephone is usually just called Siren. Her voice captivates, it enthralls. It floats on the air like those whiffs of purfume in old Warner Bros. cartoons, and it turns everyone into Pepé Le Pew. People are drawn to it. Or, they were drawn to it.
Dressed in hiking boots, shorts, and a racerback tank top that fades from watermelon pink to something a few shades darker at the hem, her long hair left to fall loose down her back and over her shoulders, she's sitting with a smallish gathering of kin and Garou, alike. They've been passing one of those unmarked bottles between them for the last several minutes, making Keisha far from the only one swaying right now. A fact that makes itself apparent when the Theurge tries to get up. She has to brace herself on the shoulder of the person to her right, jostling them a little while she gets her feet under her. It's not that she's completely wasted (though she's getting there), it's that she's not particularly graceful even when she's sober and well. She's not very sober anymore.
Once she's up she breathes out, smiling at her accomplishment. She asks if anyone wants anything and sways her way over in the direction of the food. On her way she gets distracted, as sometimes (often) happens. The Gauntlet here is whisper thin, so sometimes she sees things others of less heightened spiritual accuity, and sometimes, like now, she sees a person. A real live flesh and bone physical person that she does not know and she has to fix that right this minute. Food can wait. She had a CLIF bar a few minutes ago, she's good.
She wanders her way over to a pair of lovely women, one with caramel skin the other white as fresh fallen snow. Setting her hand on Keisha's shoulder, she looks very long and deliberately into the woman's eyes when she turns to look at her (because hey, a stranger just grabbed and leaned on her shoulder a little, of course she would look).
"I don't know you," she says, and looks at Avery. "I don't know you, either. No wait." She stares between them, first at Avery, then at Keisha, and her expression suddenly brightens. "You were both at the moot. I'm Phoebe."
Avery ChaseEven after night fell, heat clings to the air. A subtle breeze moves through the area occasionally -- panicking the fire-guards every time -- but it isn't much. There is sweat merely from walking around, not to mention all the other activities going on this evening.
Avery smiles as Keisha walks over. "Why, hello! I've been lovely, thank you for asking. And you?" Even as she's saying this, she's gesturing at the ground beside her, sit, sit. If Keisha does, she taps the edge of her silent cup against the Theurge's, then takes a sip. One mustn't toast, even wordlessly, without drinking. It's not only poor manners, it's poor luck.
They don't have much time to devote to their greetings before Phoebe approaches, however. Drunken Phoebe. Avery is still on her first portion of scotch, though it was poured by a Fianna who winked at her and gave her quite the splash. She's not sure if this qualifies as a double or a triple.
Avery is sitting on the ground. Keisha hasn't yet. Phoebe is... sort of slurring, or at very least swaying. Avery looks amused. "Yes," she confirms. "Yes, I was. A pleasure, Phoebe. Would you like to sit and help us cheer on our champion?" 'Our'. She just makes that sort of blanket statement. She would. She's a Fang. If you sit with her, you cheer for her team, even if that team is capriciously chosen.
It's too late, though: her champion falls, wrestled to the ground from a man's shoulders by the other werewolf. They tumble to hard-packed dirt over even harder stone and throw themselves into something that might be a hug, might just be a continuation of a wrestling match.
JackJack lounges at the center of his own constellation. Not to say that he is the epicenter of the denim and leather entourage of kin that accompanies him to the Caern for these explosive and excessive festivities, but because they are so damn active.
Ma and Pop make their introductions, treating everyone like an old friend, slapping backs and making compliments and off-color remarks that they don't apologize for, not in a million years. They are personalities as large as their bike, their bikes large because the lean years are behind them and they are growing fatter and happier with old age. Pops could play Santa Clause at a demolition derby with that ZZ Top beard, and Ma's got a roundness the can't help but wrap his big bear arms around as they lumber through the gathering pouring drinks and making friends.
Oh, they have names, though they introduce themselves with no shortage of pride: “Jack's Pop, Sonny, Sr., pleased to meetcha, that's a pretty girlfriend you got there, you lucky bastard, better make sure you keep Jack away from her,” guffaw and so forth, and “Jack's Ma, Amaleen. Oh, your sister? You don't say. Really, she should meet Jack,” and while they don't apologize for themselves, no siree Bob...
Sonny, Jr. and his own wife, Marg, pick up the slack on the niceties, smoothing things over effectively enough.
“Yeah, no joke, trade ya, Silvia eats too much anyway,” Sonny Jr. cuts in.
Silvia being the next in the line, a real looker in the daisy dukes and swimsuit top she strips down to. No, she doesn't look like she eats too much, just enough to have all those wonderful buxom curves and dimples where they should be: on her face and just above her backside.
Mikey is scrawny, probably because Bobby hogged every bite in the womb, and still is as they start fighting over a single bottle in the sea of liquor.
“My favorite.”
“No, mine.”
“Get back here, you- hey, check her out.”
Well, sometimes they can share. But not for long.
Jack had said he had a pack of men and women he ran with, didn't he?
And it is the form he takes, that of Man, a bottle in his hand that had been put there (“Look like you're having a good time and go find a girl, boy,”) from the small case of contributions (some half-finished, others almost full) the kinfolk with him had brought. He wears the same thing many of them do, that leather vest, though he's traded denim for welder's pants in heavy duck colored canvas. Some of them have coveralls or overalls or carpenter jeans on and look fresh from some construction site – they even smell like iron and sawdust. He swallows and sucks in air, looks down at it, and then shakes his head like he knows he won't get drunk from it despite the burn.
Not in this form. Those who know a few things about the lupus as a breed and the forms they take (which may indeed not be many people) might know that. A Fianna kinsman certainly does, when he sees Jack going to put the bottle on the table when his Ma isn't looking and trades him some of the awakened liquor with a wink.
He finally breaks off, mood loosened, to approach Keisha and Avery, as Phoebe does, raising the new bottle in a toast before taking a long pull from it. He doesn't jump into the conversation other than to give his name, "Jack," which his vest reads plainly enough with the prefix of 'Rabid.'
Keisha BallardKeisha is about to reply to Avery and say that she's fine when Phoebe comes over. It's worth noting, of course, that the Gaian has her staff with her. She's never without it. Ever. It's as much a part of her as her leg; the amount of training that she's put into the staff-fighting art (not to mention the changes it wrought in her life) have assured that much. And while she feels perfectly safe around here from some kind of situation where she would need to employ it, there's no way she's leaving it somewhere here for a drunken Ahroun to try and use as a toothpick or splinter in some other ill-advised fashion.
It is that staff she leans on for a moment when she stops near Avery. She looks like she might be about to sit when suddenly there's a tipsy woman with a lovely voice peering into her eyes, hand on her shoulder. Some might be put off by the lack of regard for personal space, but Keisha just smiles a little bit.
"Hey, Phoebe. Nice to meet you. I'm Keisha." She moves to sit now, looking back to Phoebe. "Come on, join us."
She looks back to Avery then. "I'm pretty good, thank you." SHe sips from her own cup after Avery initiates the toast. Keisha believes in superstition as much as any Theurge.
Calden White"All right, that looked like fun."
It's a voice from the other side of the surging, cheering throng that had gathered around the mounted combatants. As the defeated twosome make their way out of the ring -- which is only a ring in the very vaguest of senses -- the cowboy who was at Beltaine with his cowboy cousins steps up.
There's a beer in his hand, which he drains. There's a shirt on his back, which he loses. There are rules. He scans the crowd, a goodnatured glint in his eye -- that sweep pauses just a second when he catches sight of
a certain Silver Fang Philodox
but then it moves on to the Child of Gaia next to her. "How 'bout it, Keisha?" he calls out, grinning. "Feeling un-pacifistic today? I bet we could win a few rounds."
Jack"I got it," Jack says, as soon as he spots Calden and hears him trying to rouse Keisha into the next bout, hands out like he's miming an action he'd seen humans - maybe wrestlers - do as they headed for the ring.
Oh, yes, Jack is decidedly loosened up. He has just a bit more balance than Phoebe, and only after a few sips of the spirit with an awakened spirit, already half-bent over as he starts chug-chug-chug-stepping toward Calden, head down, shouting: "Jump on!"
The stout little Engine That... Engine That maybe Can, pointing to his broad muscular back as he trudges forward at the Fianna kinsman with one gnarled fat sausage finger. "GET ON! GET ONE!" As if trying to start his own chant.
The ugly brawny troll he's advancing on Calden, intent on getting him up on his shoulders.
Keisha BallardKeisha looks over at Calden when he asks if she's feeling unpacifistic, brow quirking. Oh, he means the wrestling thing. She grins a little and shakes her head, firing back. "I don't think you could handle me being on your shoulders." It's said without barbs, just a friendly tease.
But then Jack charges the poor kin and chants for him to get on, and she blinks. "That...I did not see coming."
PhoebePhoebe is, in fact, only slurring a few of her words. This is a fact that will no doubt change in the very near future, but for now she's merely swaying, and merely breaching people's personal spaces, because it's a party and she's loose and hey everyone is my friend today! Some of them are friends she hasn't met yet.
Or rather, not met personally. All up close and with shaken hands or smiles or whatever.
She does go ahead and sit down, even though the match is over. "Hello, Jack," she says with a gracious dip of her head, and she sits, hands resting on her knees. Before she can ask Jack about that patch, he's off, headed toward a handsome and decidedly shirtless kinsman of Stag.
"This should be interesting."
Calden WhiteCalden can't help a blurt of laughter. Then he whips that emptied bottle of beer in the vague direction of one of the trashheaps. "Not my fault if your spine telescopes," he says -- which is a way of saying yes.
Jack's in front of him. The Gnawer is brick shithouse-shaped, several inches shorter than the Stagsman, barrel-chested, square-shouldered. Not that Calden is a slender nymph, himself. The fellow's a bit of a bear in his own right: all hairy and broadchested, tipping the scales at somewhere well north of two hundred pounds.
He doesn't hesitate, though. He climbs on. There's a roar of laughter. Calden, playing his part to the nines, blows kisses like a Miss America contestant, and -- provided Jack's spine doesn't in fact telescope -- raises his fists to rally the crowd into another laughing cheer.
"Miss Chase!" he shouts from atop his, uh, trusty steed. "I'm off to do battle! Am I going to get a favor from you?"
Avery ChaseNever think that Avery is unused to people gathering to her, surrounding her. They bask in her light. They tremor with smiles of their own in answers to hers. And they can't be blamed, no, she would never blame them for craving her presence and her attention, though truthfully, she also would not blame them if they didn't. She knows Jack from at least one battle fought together from an enormous carcass still rotting in the penumbra around City Park, and smiles as he approaches as well, giving him a nod.
Keisha drinks with Avery, another thing to make the Half Moon smile that shining smile. Her eyes flick towards the 'ring', such as it is, as a big, tall man with big, broad shoulders whips off his shirt. "Oh, my," she says mildly, with more demure shock at the impropriety -- nevermind the near-nudity of more than a few other kin and garou in the area -- than lust of her own. She glances away, ladylike as ever, even as he approaches them.
For a horrifying moment she thinks he's going to ask her to get up on his shoulders. The Look she gives him then, warning and wide-eyed, may be what changes his mind. Or maybe he was just teasing her: he asks Keisha. Avery exhales and shakes her head, amused.
And then Jack: nope, Calden on his shoulders, not Keisha on Calden's. Avery starts to laught, a bright and glittering noise. Her hand lifts to cover her mouth, French-manicured fingertips catching a little light. Then Calden accepts. She laughs a bit more, tipping her head back, unafraid to bare her throat even in this gathering -- or perhaps any gathering. Someone calls her name and she tries to compose herself, sipping her scotch to keep from grinning.
He asks for a favor. Her eyebrows lift, and she sets her scotch on the ground, reaching up to undo the clasp in her hair that holds a white rose against her locks. Her lady's maid would be so sad to see the hairstyle she perfected fall like this, but Avery shakes her hair out like a goddamn Loreal commercial, holding out the rose, which is fresh and attached to a hair-clip. "If you want my favor, you will wear my sigil."
JackJack rights himself, his stance a little broader and clomping steps like a Budweiser Clydesdale, only thinking of wrapping his burly arms around Calden's thighs after the fact so that he wavers a bit in steadying himself. But he manages to get him up, and he tosses his head, not really caring what of Calden's lower bits his skull might butt up against as he does so, though the cowboy might have saddle sore by the time this is done.
The biker gang joins in with the cheers, those close enough clanging their glass bottles together hard enough they threaten to break as Calden raises his arms and...
And Jack does the same. He realizes his folly fast enough to grab Calden and hold him on again. "Oh, fuck, sorry, buddy,"
Avery holds out her flower and Jack's nose scrunches at the smell. He has his own odor, though he's washed for this the same way he'd washed for the last moot. The way the smell of the rose makes his nose itch gives him an idea and he begins snorts wildly.
He might be trying to mimic the knight's horse, but it comes off as a bull ready to charge. He turns around a couple times, putting on a show, before approaching Avery again so that Calden is close enough to reach for the favor if he should try to take it.
Keisha BallardKeisha watches the whole exchange between Jack and Calden, then Calden asking Avery for her favor, with amusement. She is honestly enjoying herself, sitting her amongst a motley gathering of tribes, auspices, and kin/Garou. In that, she is very much prototypical of her tribe.
Avery auditions for a shampoo commercial and challenges Calden to wear her sigil. An eyebrow on the mocha-skinned Theurge arches, head cocking as she looks to Calden to see if he'll take it.
Once they've passed, she says to the two Garou around her. "Five bucks on them."
Calden WhiteThis is a precarious business at best. Their little totem pole is top-heavy, and Calden for one has had a few drinks. They teeter. They totter. Calden almost pitches off when Jack raises his arms gladiator-style -- rights himself awkwardly, laughing. They sway their way over to Avery. Calden leans down to snag the rose and almost pitches headfirst into the dirt. He manages, though.
"It would be," he says with utter and mock gravity, "my deepest honor to wear your sigil." And he's bloody shameless: he tucks it behind his ear, the bloom fragrant by his temple, and mugs for imaginary cameras.
"C'mon," he eggs Keisha on again, "what's with this five bucks business? Find yourself a partner, miss, and saddle up. We see who ends up in the dirt."
PhoebeA Gnawer gets a Fiann up on his shoulder, then almost loses him. Phoebe laughs at the display. One pretends he's on a noble steed, the other becomes his noble bull, snorting and ready to charge down their opponents at the first flash of red.
She grins at Keisha. "I shouldn't take that bet, but I will."
But then there's Calden throwing down the gauntlet, as it were. Phoebe watches to see what Keisha's answer will be. "Oooh, you shouldn't take that from him. If you need a mount, I can try it," the tall, stick thin Theurge offers.
Keisha BallardKeisha looks at Phoebe with something not exactly akin to optimism. "I'm a pacifist, you're a little drunk, I'm only slightly less so, and I just bet you they'd win. This is a terrible, TERRIBLE idea."
And that's when she stands, brushing her jeans off and holding out a hand to Phoebe. "I'm totally in."
She looks over at Avery. "Keep an eye on her, will you?" She nods to her staff.
Avery ChaseThis is perhaps the most absurd thing Avery has seen yet in this absurd place. Yet she grins as they lean over to her for Calden to take up her rose. It looks ridiculous in his large fingers, though not nearly as ridiculous as it looks in his hair. She grins, for a moment just at Calden, but then,
just grinning. At everything.
He invites Keisha. Avery brightens. "Oh, you should!" she says excitedly. "And you!" she says, almost squealing, as Phoebe offers to carry her. "This will be very amusing!" There's a beat of a pause, a moment of concern: "But you must be careful not to damage him. Or my flower."
Keisha leaves her staff with Avery. Avery nods, sipping her scotch and keeping the staff nearby. Now this is a match worthy of her cheering.
Phoebe"Terrible ideas are the best ideas," Phoebe says, punctuating the statement with a sage nod. And it is a terrible idea. Both of them together are probably less strong and powerful than just one of their opposition.
She accepts the offered hand and as she rises to stand beside her Auspicemate Avery tells them to be careful not to damage him. Calden. Phoebe just laughs.
"We'll try our very best."
Grinning now, she looks at Keisha and heads for the makeshift ring. "Ready?"
She takes a knee, the better for Keisha to get onto her shoulders.
And here it is very important to note that this is a pair of Theurges here. One of them is a pacifist, the other is so skinny she probably has to avoid the heart of the Caern out of concern for falling in. And disappearing. Forever.
Phoebe's strength is in her arms, used to hours held in just the right place to shape clay spinning on a wheel. It's not in her back or her shoulders, but she does try her very best to stay upright once Keisha's on.
JackJack looks like he might be considering backpedaling toward the ring for the effect of it, but thankfully he doesn't even try. It probably wouldn't have ended well. He turns and finds their corner instead. "Sorry for dropping you," he says, though he hasn't dropped Calden.
Yet.
Jack in fact seems to be steadying himself, trying to get a better grip, and now that Garou (even of the Theurge variety) are readying themselves he is finally paying attention to just how this is going to work. "It would be a lot easier if I threw you out them. Pops taught me how to bowl," like he's considering it as he talks to himself, and only in passing to his rider Calden, now.
Calden White"That's right," Calden echoes, "don't damage her flower. Or me. I am fragile and delicate and frail."
The females mount up. Calden can't help a slight wince, just watching. The 'horse' is a beanpole. If he and Jack are unstable, the two of them are ... a living Janga pile.
"All right," he reaches down to slap palms with Jack, "let's do this. You're forgiven for dropping me, but you can't throw me at them. That's against the rules. Now let's kick their asses. No mercy!
"Give us a 'go', Avery!"
Keisha BallardAs it happens, Keisha is probably best-suited to be the bottom of this particular two-person pile. But she doesn't even hesitate a moment before clambering onto the other Theurge's back, being careful to stay still as the other straightens out. The ahisma takes very, VEEEERY slilght leans in a couple directions to see how stable she is, and then looks across at Jack and Calden.
And THEY'RE the ones Avery is worried about, kinfolk or not.
"I'm gonna eat dirt in like, T-minus thirty." She says it with a grin, like she doesn't mind.
"Let's throw down!"
JackCalden is talking about the rules to a Philodox who isn't paying attention to what he's saying despite his auspice and its foibles.
All Jack hears go.
He goes, swaying to the left, then the right, making it an almost gyroscopic circle as he flexes and adjusts Calden one more time in a burst of strength, who ends up with his weight shifting forward so that Jack can now charge Keisha-on-Phoebe.
Avery ChaseAll the drunk people seem to agree that this idea, which is absurd and awful, is the best thing they could be doing with their time. The truth is, Avery is not terribly worried about Calden. He's ever so large, you see, and his mount is Jack, and she's reasonably sure that between the two Theurges, the real trouble if he got more than a bit bruised would be their arguing over who would heal him first.
Avery, at her core, has a great deal of faith in all of them. She doesn't even question it.
"He's not a bowling ball!" she calls out to Jack, though, laughing. And almost without giving them a chance to breathe, yells: "Go!" while. Clapping her hands. Delicately and happily together. Twice.
Calden WhiteHERE! The previous poolparty mounted combatants have obviously cleared aside for, um, jackcalden vs keishaphoebe.
--
So: it's summer solstice, the longest day and the shortest night, the first bloom of summer. There's a gibbous moon in the sky, a breath away from the largest full moon in years. And here in the heart of the park, sheltered by ageworn red sandstone and low, bent tree -- a gathering of wolves and their kin.
There are fires sparking to life as the sun slides beneath the horizon. Little ones around the edges, and a big one over which kin and Garou alike are roasting the prey and the produce they've caught or brought. The mouthwatering scent of charred meat rises with the smoke; mingles with the smell of burning oak and hickory. There's music, nothing planned, no repertoire or sequence; just people and their guitars, their bongo drums, their mandolins, their harmonicas, their pan-pipes and their fiddles, their iPhones and their portable JBLs blasting electronica. Whatever they might have brought. Their voices, if they have nothing else, or if they have a particularly good one, or if they've already had a bit much to drink.And -- yes. There are things to drink. There's beer and here's wine and there's whiskey and there's scotch; there's vodka (grain and potato), and there's stuff in unlabeled bottles that range from crystal-clear to amber to brown. It's a game of pick your poison, and every single prize from first to last is getting smashed.
Listen: the laughter, the chatter, the shouting. Someone's sweet-talking someone else over behind one of the sandstone monoliths. Someone else has already stumbled off into the scrub to vomit behind a bush. There are two girls riding on two guys' bare shoulders, doing that poolparty thing where they try to wrestle each other off, except there's no water here and both those girls are actually wolves so if and when they fall off it'll probably turn into a brawl. And out a little ways from the heart of the party,sober, watchful, armed,some kinfolk with their rifles. Some Guardians with their claws. A mute and subtle reminder of the ever-present threats that -- for this one night -- they're all going to try and forget.
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 7, 7) ( success x 2 )
Jack[ Round 1
Calden and Jack's Brawl + Dexterity - 4 for DRUNK. ]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
Keisha Ballard[Keisha & Phoebe Dex+Brawl #1]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )
Jack[ Round 2
Same roll. ]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
Keisha Ballard[Keisha & Phoebe Dex+Brawl #2]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
Calden White[and round 3!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
Keisha Ballard[Keisha & Phoebe Dex+Brawl #3]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 10) ( success x 1 )
Calden WhiteWell, that wasn't very fair, was it.
Drunken and swaying, JackCalden charges PhoebeKeisha. No mercy, Calden said, and apparently means it: they slam together, he grapples and wrestles with Keisha like he's twelve years old again and fighting with his brothers, while down below Jack grunts and snorts and shoulder-checks the beanpole Theurge so hard that both Calden and Keisha nearly lose their footing.
For a while there, the Theurges seem to have the upper hand. They're not drunk, for one. They're nimble, they're quick, they've had a lifetime's worth of experience fighting foes larger and stronger in hand-to-hand than they are. At one point Keisha manages to shove Calden so hard he teeters and reels, and Jack as he backpedal to keep their precarious balance.
They do, though. They keep their balance. And then they square their shoulders and somehow, all at once, they seem to find some sort of synergy together. The males lean forward as one. They charge the field, yelling at the top of their lungs, impacting the Theurge-tower so hard that the dull thud of impact is audible clear across the ring. The Theurges go sprawling.
Calden half-jumps, half-tumbles down. He staggers sideways, regains his balance, throws an arm around the Philodox's meaty shoulders and punches a fist into the air. Such a gentleman. Such chivalry: Calden lets out a true barbaric yawp of a victorious whoop.
JackJack's open meaty palm slaps into Calden's back and the shout that he joins the kinsman's with sounds more like a howl than any man's should.
Which makes perfect sense, as he's a Garou, and of wolf born at that. It is a moment before he even seems to realize what has happened, that they won, that Keisha and Phoebe are separated and at the floor.
He walks between the two, offering each a hand, and if they take trying to pull them up in one brutish tug up to their feet.
Keisha BallardShe made an honest go of it, she really did.
You wouldn't know it from looking at her, seeing her hippy-dippy style or hearing her talk about how she is an ahisma--vowing never to harm a living being--but there was a point in time when Keisha Ballard was one hell of a fighter. This was before her First Change; she was legendary at her school for some of the knockdown, drag-out brawls that she got in, often at the drop of a hat. She doesn't go full "OH HELL NO YOU DIDN'T BITCH!" here though; even a bit tipsy and even in the middle of a horrible idea, she retains her ideals. But she proves surprisingly apt at trying to take down the man-mountain in front of her and a couple of times very nearly has it accomplished.
But alas, it is not to be. Calden and Jack topple Mount Keisha/Phoebe and the Gaian Theurge hits the ground with a laughing, undignified squawk. She sighs, lying there partially tangled around Phoebe's upper body, then carefully pulls herself free. She grins at the other theurge.
"Do I still win the bet? I swear I didn't throw it."
PhoebeIt wasn't very fair. Two adult males, both strong and built for hard, manual labor. Or for war. Or for Looking Tough in His Motorcycle Gang. The Theurges on the other hand are, well, Theurges. They fight, of course, because they all fight, but their place is not on the frontlines. They are healers, or casters of a sort. A healer and a warlock versus a paladin and a tank.
It ends pretty much the way everyone expected it to end.
But there was a moment where the Theurges were winning. Phoebe, swaying beneath the weight of Keisha, planted her feet a little better and managed to hold her ground, long arms wrapped around her rider's legs to keep her firmly in place. They'd almost knocked Calden over.
A second later the tide turned and they were both leaning, leaning, fallingfallingwhoof! On the ground.
Phoebe lays there, half-pinning Keisha beneath her unless the Child of Gaia managed to avoid it. She doesn't answer the question. And she doesn't immediately accept the offered hand up. She's laying there on the ground, her body curling up as she rolls to the side, laughing too hard to handle life.
AngelA BBQ? A Party out in the boonies? If Angel loved anything it was a good ol fashioned get together of family and friends, it strengthened bonds and healed old wounds. It also made fresh wounds that were just as integral to a healthy and ongoing community.
So she wouldn't miss it for the world, but did that mean she showed up on time? No chance in hell. The distance was great, and Angel had heard about it at the last moment from a couple of mothers who hadn't been able to go themselves. She'd left work in that big old monster jeep and drove out into the darkness, the high beams piercing the darkness as she cut her way across the land until at last she had to trudge the rest of the way in.
Having stopped to briefly talk to the wards and guards Angel pressed on, coming into the warm light of the fire. It was everything she could hope for, there was celebration and jubilation, there was camaraderie and mirth, and it seemed there was human jousting going on? And how couldn't it get any cooler then that.
A pack of thick fat steaks is dropped off with the cooks to ensure the good times kept rolling, and then the Gnawer kinswoman strode through the crowd in her hiking boots looking for familiar faces.
Calden White[oh yeah! you guys missed this set-up post from the start -- ]
So: it's summer solstice, the longest day and the shortest night, the first bloom of summer. There's a gibbous moon in the sky, a breath away from the largest full moon in years. And here in the heart of the park, sheltered by ageworn red sandstone and low, bent tree -- a gathering of wolves and their kin.
There are fires sparking to life as the sun slides beneath the horizon. Little ones around the edges, and a big one over which kin and Garou alike are roasting the prey and the produce they've caught or brought. The mouthwatering scent of charred meat rises with the smoke; mingles with the smell of burning oak and hickory. There's music, nothing planned, no repertoire or sequence; just people and their guitars, their bongo drums, their mandolins, their harmonicas, their pan-pipes and their fiddles, their iPhones and their portable JBLs blasting electronica. Whatever they might have brought. Their voices, if they have nothing else, or if they have a particularly good one, or if they've already had a bit much to drink.And -- yes. There are things to drink. There's beer and here's wine and there's whiskey and there's scotch; there's vodka (grain and potato), and there's stuff in unlabeled bottles that range from crystal-clear to amber to brown. It's a game of pick your poison, and every single prize from first to last is getting smashed.
Listen: the laughter, the chatter, the shouting. Someone's sweet-talking someone else over behind one of the sandstone monoliths. Someone else has already stumbled off into the scrub to vomit behind a bush. There are people riding on each other's shoulders, doing that poolparty thing where they try to wrestle each other off, except there's no water here and half the contestants are wolves, and a real brawl always rides the edge of possibility. And out a little ways from the heart of the party, sober, watchful, armed,some kinfolk with their rifles. Some Guardians with their claws. A mute and subtle reminder of the ever-present threats that -- for this one night -- they're all going to try and forget.
Calden WhiteThere was enough barbarism and volume in that triumphant bellow to strip Calden's throat raw. Grinning in the aftermath, he gives Jack another congratulatory slap on the back as the goes over to haul the Theurges to their feet. For his part, Calden scrubs sweat off his brow, ambles over, puts his hand out for a conciliatory handshake.
"You guys all right?" he laughs.
Keisha BallardKeisha laughs and accepts the offered hand from Jack, pulling herself roughly up to her feet. "You guys totally cheated by being too drunk to know to fall over." She grins and throws him a wink, then looks back at Phoebe who is practically fetal with laughter. She chuckles and shakes her head, before nodding to Calden.
"I think we're fine. Nice work. You win...this time. We'll rematch at some point." It sounds like a promise. She is standing so she doesn't need the offered hand up, but she accepts the handshake. "Nicely done."
"Don't forget to breath, hon," she calls out teasingly to Phoebe as the Fury laughs. "Breeeeaaaathe..."
Avery ChaseAs delicate and ladylike as Avery seems -- and in some ways, is -- she does not yelp or gasp when the combatants collide. Like the Romans of old, the brutality only gives a charge to her blood. Unlike the Romans of old, she does not intend for her life, her civilization, to collapse around her while she dances in the flames. But when the gladiators wrestle, she claps. She cheers -- truthfully, for both teams -- and laughs uproariously at the turns the match, however brief, takes.
The Theurges go sprawling. Avery laughs. She claps. She knows a trick, and she employs it: two fingers in her mouth, a piercing whistle that carries through the park. More clapping. "Bravo! Brava! Excellent!"
Calden is still wearing a flower in his hair. That makes Avery grin, even as he and Jack help Keisha and Phoebe to their feet. Or try to, anyway.
JackThat helping others up is perhaps what finally tells Jack that he has had more than one too many. He smiles and laughs and not too impolitely turns away to find his bottle, though it is more a lifesaver that lets him jump into the stream of the party, wading across it until he returns to his place closer to his kin.
He will probably be up and carousing once he's found his second wind and perhaps emptied him stomach of some of the more volatile spirits inside, but for now he disappears, and if any of them start looking they might find him lying down napping - still in his homid form - between two large motorcycles.
PhoebeIt takes her a few moments, but Phoebe does eventually manage to collect herself. At least enough to unpin Keisha and, wiping at her eyes, accept that hand up from the Philodox at last.
"I'm good," she says, wheezing a little from the laughter that doesn't really want to fade from her throat. She doesn't bother dusting herself off, it covers her whole back and backside. "I'm good," she repeats. "I could use another drink, though. Does anyone want anything?" she asks. She remembers suddenly that she'd ask this very thing to another group of Garou and kin not that long ago, but she doesn't let the remembrance bother her. Those who know her know the probability of her returning after she's wandered off is about one in ten.
These people don't know her, though. Well, a few of them don't.
AngelTo many Angelica is a known face, a friend when the chips are down. So there are many stops along the way for the kinswoman. Hellos and hand shakes, hugs and waves. If the smile wasn't so broad and the twinkle in her blue eyes any less genuine you might think she was running for some kind of office.
As is always the case however, it is not the booze, or the food that dictates where Angel heads, it it the largest source of commotion and laughter, which happens to be the recently completed human back jousting. She slides her way through the crowd. Until she comes upon the group clustered around, righting themselves after the match.
Shes dressed to party, or at least how she likes to party, a flowing peasant skirt with one side cinched up to her knees and a bilious red chemise, all meant to keep her cool in amongst the press of the bodies.
She looks at the group, realizing the two women had lost and raised her hands in the air. "I'll take that offer." She asked with a warm laugh to Phoebe before looking back at the others. "And if theres another round? I'm ready to step up!"
Calden White"I'm sure we will," Calden replies. "Though truth is I think my stocky friend there did most the work. I just tried to stay on." He brushes the ball of his thumb across his nose -- turns, laughing, as a passing reveler, three sheets to the wind, thumps him on the shoulder and slurs a congratulations.
Swings back when Phoebe offers drinks. "Ahhh, alcoholic tributes to the victor," he says. His smile gets an edge, a hint of smirk. "It's right and proper for me to accept, so .... I'll take a doubleshot of the Islay single malt they've got in the barrel over there. I'll be over there when you get back," he nods thataway, "returning a lucky flower to its rightful owner."
Keisha Ballard"If you're getting, I wouldn't turn down a tequila." Yeah, she'll have a few more. Tonight, of all nights, should be a good one for her to let loose a little bit. It's so rare that she does so. She gives Phoebe a little nod. "Actually, I'll go get with you, in case there are more drinks to bring back than hands." From the looks of it, that's not entirely improbable.
Angelica shows up and Keisha gives the woman a warm smile. "Hey there. Nice to see you again." She grins when Angel offers to step up for the next round. "You can take my place if you want for the potential next round. I'm one and done. Well, for that anyway."
EvaAvery is not the only spectactor clapping. Eva's applause, however, is rather more ironic. The dark haired kinswoman stands at the edge of the gathering, flanking a tall, lanky man in his mid-40s whose golf shirt and khakis says: lawyer at play as much as anything else about him. Both are a few rings back amount the spectactors. He has a drink in hand, she a bottle of water. Their conversation shifts enough that he takes his leave by clapping her on the back and she gives him a wry look as he goes.
The wry look lingers as she skims through the crowd, on an intersect course with Calden as he goes to return a lucky flower to its rightful owner.
Calden White"Well, well." Calden -- sweaty, shirtless, with a rose tucked behind an ear like some flamenco dancer -- raises his eyebrows as he sees everyone's favorite defense counsel on an intercept. "I'm starting to think you're growing fond of these booze-and-barbecue debauchery-fests."
AngelBefore Angel had been somewhat closed off to Keisha when they had met in the desert. But now that closed off feeling is nowhere to be seen. Angel waves to Keisha and offers her own smile in return. "It is good to see you again as well chica. How was the rest of your walkabout?" She asks, inquisitive as well it seems.
Avery Chase
Some drift away to get more drinks -- or nap -- and Avery has remained where she started, sitting on the ground on a little blanket, Keisha's staff kept safe nearby, a nearly-empty cup of scotch in her hand. Calden, still shirtless (and yes, this does bear repeating), walks back toward her to return the clip with its rose to her. She's starting to smile at him, or smirk at least, when a tall, shapely, gorgeous woman of an age closer to Calden's own intercepts him.
There's a beat of a pause, a mere hint of a fallen crest, but then she tips back the rest of her scotch -- a mouthful only, really -- and gets to her feet, shaking out her pretty white sundress and lifting Keisha's staff, as well. She walks over to the Child of Gaia with it, holding it rather reverently, padding across the ground in sandals that are too expensive for this party.
EvaÉva: cool and crisp in a short-sleeved white button-down blouse and jeans. Practical, low-heeled hiking boots have her at 5'8" or so. Given the temperature, perhaps not so cool and crisp then, but still. If she is discomfitted by the heat she makes no sign.
The briefest flicker of her dark eyes over the evidence of the Fiann's battle. Sweat and dust smeared over his torso, then her attention cuts back with perfect ease to his face.
She lifts the water bottle in a mildly ironic toast. "I have no defense." Which is a perfect and perfectly level concealment. The Sept might require release after recent events, but Éva has three children at home, presently being guarded by one woman with a shotgun. On short nights light this one with waxing moons and enemies at the gate, she would be more comfortable with two women with shotguns on guard.
"You've found me out." She allows the faintest edge of her smile to show, then tips her head toward the central ring, "Quite a victory you scored." Then back at the rose. " - is that a favor you're restoring to its rightful owner?"
Calden WhiteCalden's smile splits into a laugh -- he touches the stem of the rose. "You've found me out. It is indeed. I went to war on a trusty mount; it felt like I should have a favor to complete the picture."
Calden's path takes him from Keisha. Avery's path takes her to Keisha. So inevitably there's an intersection there; a moment when they are closest before distance begins to grow again.
The Stagsman turns at that moment. Looks the Fang in the eye, with a smile curling the corner of his mouth. He does not return the rose just yet. He, instead, like the very first time they met when she was monstrous and he was cowboying:
lifts two fingers to his temple. Doffs an invisible hat.
A moment later she's past. He turns back to Eva, smiling. "You'll be happy to know," he says, "I've bought myself a handgun. So I can stop borrowing yours." Then the smile fades; his look is serious. "How're you holding up? That night was ... rough. I wanted to check in on you before I left, but you were still talking to one of the Guardians."
Keisha BallardPhoebe sees someone she recognizes and heads off, and that gives Keisha a chance to turn around and see Angel and Avery. She throws her head back to get the dreadlocks out of her face and smiles when Angelica asks about the walkabout. "It was good. Energizing. I don't get the chance to just go wandering quite as much as I'd like to, but when I do I make sure to get the most out of it. How have you been?"
Avery comes up, bringing her staff and carrying it like something of import. That brings a fond smile to the Gaian's face and a look of gratitude. "Thanks. Clearly, she was in good hands."
Avery ChaseAvery only barely catches Calden's hat-doffing. She gives him another Look, this one more arch, less warning, as though she's quite above the lifting of imaginary hats. Which she is. She is a Chase. She's sure they've owned stock at some point, but she is hardly some cowgirl.
But there is a glance, too, as he's turning back to Eva. There's a small smile curling the corners of her mouth. No more. She turns to Keisha and hands her her staff, smiling more openly. "You flatter me. I merely sat with it."
Turning to Angelia, Avery blinks and looks down at her, considering. "And who do I have the pleasure of being introduced to now?"
Angel"When do we ever get to relax as much as we want to?" She asks with an energetic shrug of her shoulders before going on. "And I am in my natural state, busy and sleepless." She laughs gently as her eyes dart here and there, a man wanders by shirtless with a rose, another woman stands nearby and the shirtless man approaches her. In another moment Keisha and Angelica are joined by another woman bearing Keisha's staff and Angel offers the woman a wave as well.
"Hey Chica, I can only imagine what bet you had to win to get that walkin stick for a while." She said warmly, oblivious as to the why Avery had it, just that she imagines a good story went along with the fact she did. "I'm Angelica Cordozo." She says sticking out a hand, and looking up to meet the other woman's gaze. "I run the Villa down off Federal Boulevard."
EvaBoth her laugh and smile are wry; and more free than they should be. But everyone here is free tonight, drinking and celebrating the shortest night and brightest moon of the year. The laugh for his acknowledgment of the need for a favor, the smile for him, as he returns back to her from doffing an imaginary cap to Avery as she crosses the field.
And both fade as surely as they arose when he sobers and informs her that he's purchased a handgun.
"I'm happy to share, but glad you're prepared." The brief arch of her hooked brows rises, then falls as he, too, sobers. Her attention is fine and moderated as her gaze slips from his eyes to his mouth, to some point in the distance beyond his profile.
There is little enough change in her expression beyond her evident sobriety, but listen: she lets out a single breath, low and slow. "I'm - " the hesitation between the words is not enough to undermine their superficial truth. "well. Replaced the car. Only Ellie noticed.
"She's saving it for later, though. When she needs leverage again." Then, the lift of her child to him, returning the question with a distinct and certain ease. just as quiet and in much the same tone that she assured him she was well. " - and you?"
Calden WhiteHe was walking when she joined him, and he's still walking now -- though he's heading for the alcohol, the casks and the barrels and the bottles. Pauses, though, when Eva asks him the same question in return.
There's a hesitation. No smile, not even a hint of it. A faint furrow to his brow, an intent but distant sort of regard: scanning the dark shapes of those sandstone monoliths, the muted gleam of a rifle out in the darkness. Reminders of war, ever at the edges. These things are cyclical. The longest day means the nights grow longer from here on out.
"Sometimes I have dreams where he punches through the windshield and tears my throat out." His eyes come back to Eva. They are not haunted. They are direct, unflinching. "But when I was ten, I was running around alone on the ranch and a rattler struck at me because I didn't watch where I put my feet. Its fangs hit the heel of my boot. Left a dent, but didn't go through. I had dreams about that for months, too.
"I'll get over it," he says. It's almost gentle. And then he smiles, faint but real. "If I don't get over it, then they win. So I'll get over it."
He starts walking again. Phoebe's nowhere to be seen; Calden'll get his own drink.
Keisha BallardAvery may not know it, but Keisha doesn't just leave her staff with anyone, even just to sit with it. It has that level of importance to her, and there's a significance of her having left it with the other. The slightest bit of that is conveyed in the grateful look that she gives when she takes it back. "Still, thank you. I appreciate it."
She is about to introduce Angelica when the kinfolk does it herself. Keisha pauses and realizes that Phoebe hasn't returned with the drinks, and with a little nod to each of the other women she sets off to go find her.
She doesn't return. Odds are 50/50 that she's getting stoned wherever Phoebe went. Another 40 of that 50 is that she's getting stoned alone, with the final 10 being that she is either getting chatted up by someone determined to challenge her ways as an ahimsa or her actually heading off, deciding she's had enough fun for one night.
Probably not that last, though.
EvaHis response has her breathing out all at once, fast and raw. In that moment of raw honesty, she meets his gaze. Her own eyes are equally unflinching and equally direct and always veiled behind a layer of reserve that seems to be pierced only by the occasional spike of human or empathy, some twist of bemused love for her daughter, her children.
He's walking for the booze; she matches his pace for now. Is looking away from him, off at the line of scrub trees, those gambol oaks lining the clearing.
"I am sorry." She returns, still without looking at him. "We should have gone around. It was reckless and - " hesitation, but only minute, " - foolish to think that a car," could kill one.
"Accept my apology."
Avery ChaseShe's too polite to come right out and say she has no idea what The Villa is, or, by asking, reveal her ignorance. Nor does she want to insult the woman by undercutting her. The best she can do is brighten, smiling, saying: "Lovely! Ms. Cordozo, it is a treat. My name is Avery Chase." They shake. Avery's grip is firm, does not wilt or prance about the way one might imagine, but her hands are soft.
Avery, in fact, does not know how much weight Keisha gives her staff, or how much it might matter to her. She only did her best, but that is all she would ever do. Naturally. She does, however, notice Keisha's grateful look and repeated thanks, and smiles in return to it, giving a small nod. When Keisha leaves to go find Phoebe, Avery mentions that she had noticed the Theurge hadn't returned, but then: a few revelers are sleeping something off.
Turning back to Angela, Avery nods her head at Eva and Calden. "Have you been introduced to Mr. White? I believe the lady he is speaking with now is a prominent lawyer in the city and one of Cold Crescent's more well-connected kinfolk. You two should absolutely meet, if you have not, though I will have to defer to Mr. White on the introduction, as he owes me one as well."
Calden WhiteI am sorry.
-- he stops the moment she says it. Frowning now, lines in his forehead and between his eyebrows. She goes on: reckless, foolish, should have gone around, accept her apology.
"No. I won't. Because you don't owe me one. If you'd gone around, I would have told you to go back. Maybe our contribution was insignificant, but it was still a contribution. We bought a little time or we distracted one of the Dancers or we didn't do a damned thing but we still tried. And that's enough. That's still better than running tail-tucked, pretending we didn't see anything, hearing from the Sept how many people died and wondering, sick to our stomachs, if we could have made a difference if we'd stayed.
"Don't ever apologize for standing your ground. Not to me, anyway."
Angel"Nah, can't say I have. Work keeps me busy. How bout you and I track them down on the way to that grill over there?" She jerks a thumb over her shoulder towards the BBQ and the sizzling, mouth watering meat that was being prepared.
"If I don't eat something soon, I'm gonna turn cannibal." A light chuckle floats up from her lips as she turns and allows Avery to lead the way if she wishes, off to find new friends....and equally imporant, food.
Avery Chase
Unfortunately, Avery and Angel don't get those introductions -- at least not yet. Calden and Eva are, after all, embroiled in a discussion that seems... serious. Instead, Avery slips her arm through the shorter woman's elbow and they traipse off to get some food just as soon as Angel mentions that she's hungry. Avery does lead the way, even if she walks at Angel's side. That is Avery's way. That is how she is.
"Splendid idea," is all she says. And smiles. That smile feels like a blessing.
Eva"I wasn't suggesting," and now her voice is tight. The Shadow Lord stops, quite abruptly. This flash of anger through her that cannot be contained beneath her cool exterior. She's not looking at him now. Instead, she's staring off toward the red rocks rising above the scrub trees lining the clearing, remembering the way he talked about the sky.
"I was suggesting that we shoot the fuckers in the head without throwing ourselves directly into them.
"If you think I mean that we should have run, you don't know who, or what, I am."
Calden WhiteThat draws a long, furrowed glance from Calden. At the end, the Stagsman simply shrugs. "All right. I misunderstood you. My fault."
He starts walking again. If she doesn't follow -- well; he gets his drink and he comes back. It's only a few feet at this point. Regardless, he doesn't speak again until he's hand a swallow.
"That's a lot of anger over a simple misunderstanding, though," he adds.
EvaÉva does not follow him all the way to the alcohol, although now, at this precise moment, she would probably give her eyeteeth for a good stiff drink. But there is this: she does not run away. She calms herself and uncaps her bottle of water, which is dripping with condensation, lifts it and tossing back a cold swallow, two, three.
The sudden burst of anger dissipates as abruptly as it rose, or perhaps she merely covers it up. Pulls the curtains, sweeps the stoop, so that when he returns the evidence has disappeared from her face; only a note of tension is left behind, which she banishes with a quick and taut smile that has no joy in it. Just a note of acknowledgment and another of wry apology of her own.
She absorbs his addition without looking at him, her brows drawn together in thought.
That is what he has, her profile, the furrow between her brows, the dark reflection of the evening in her eyes when she responds to his comment with a taut nod of agreement.
"My mate died last year." She uses the term mate easily with Garou. Less easily with kin. But she uses it tonight. "Andraj.
"They told me that Th'nak'vis killed him. I told them not to tell me anymore.
"Accept my apology, Calden." Here is where her dark eyes cut back to him, sure and steady once more. "And enjoy your evening. I have children at home."
Calden WhiteEva can see the exact moment her words impact Calden. His eyebrows flash up. Then they pull together. He looks at her differently. She might mistake it for pity; she's a Shadow Lord, after all. It's not, though.
"I'm sorry," he says, which he did not say before. My fault is not the same thing. She maneuvers toward a goodbye; he steps back, angles his body. It's like a door opening, an exit path.
"Goodnight, Ms. Illeshazy," he supplies as she passes. "Drive safe."
EvaThe faintest tip of her head as she passes.
Her only reply: "And you, as well."
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