Decker Rohl

[Silence] There wasn't much warning when he left. There was the blasted silence of a splintered totemlink; there was a single painful meeting in the warehouse where he'd lived for years. Then a few weeks of silence, no contact, during which he nailed up so many bodies that the Umbra around the warehouse began to look like the Appian Way in the time of the Romans.

Then, one night, a note tucked into Imogen's door. It was simple and brief, written out in Decker's heavy, clumsy block print.

Came by while you was out. Check phone.

There's a message on her phone. It's possible she heard it before she ever saw the note. It, too, was simple and brief -- his low drawl distinctive and characteristic across the tiny speaker.

My father axed me ta come back ta Storm Hammer. Ta stay. There's a short pause. I said yeah. A longer pause; a few aborted breaths. He might've wanted to ask her to go with him. He might've decided against it. He might've wants to offer reasons, rationale; decided against that, too.

In the end, Thought you should know.

And a click.


That's it then; all the advance notice anyone anywhere got. Soon thereafter, the Barracuda disappears from the warehouse. His scant personal belongings clear out too. The shared things -- much of it scattered, hurled around the warehouse, shattered against walls and broken against concrete -- stay where they are. He locks the warehouse when he leaves, and slowly but surely, those dark elementals of cement and steel fall back into slumber.

The trophypoles stay where they are, their grisly burdens melting away to bones.


Weeks go by. Months. Then one day there's another message on her phone.

I'm'on be passin' through Chicago tomorrow night, 'bout 9pm. Meet me outside tha Caern, will ya? In the short silence, she can hear activity in the background; voices, clanging metal, rough laughter. Then, Please


When Imogen comes to the edge of the Caern, she can see Decker just past the chain-link fence. He's not alone. He's with a small cadre, men and women Imogen has never seen before. They are unmistakeably Garou, with stark faces and fierce eyes. Unmistakeably Fenrir, though some are fair and others swarthy, some bearded, others cleanshaven, some tattooed and pierced, others carven with rune-scars.

Though Imogen knows the Modi's rank is very nearly exalted now, it is not immediately apparent who the leader is. There are two in the group who look him in the eye, who speak to him and to one another with the ease of equality, which is perhaps a feeling that Silence had all but forgotten in his time in Chicago. There are four others who are clearly of lower rank. The deference is in their body language.

A small war-band, then. A group of warriors and, perhaps, their proteges. A stopover in the Caern of the Maelstrom before taking the moonbridge onward to ... wherever.

There's a sense that they're idling; waiting like passengers at a bus stop. There's light conversation ebbing and flowing. Silence has not grown any more talkative, though. He doesn't say much. He watches the borders of the Caern, this Caern his hands helped shape, this Caern where his entire pack, finally, was buried. When he sees Imogen, he unfolds his arms from across his chest and hikes up the short slope the roadside.

He looks different from the last time they met. Better. He looks lean and alert, the savageness beating under his skin tempered by a reasserted control. His hair is mowed down to a buzz; his beard down to bristles. His clothes are rough and handmade, though. Dedicated. Leathers and hides. He wears a broad belt, on which hangs a number of small talismans or trophies, their purposes obscure.

His eyes gleam in the dimness. He looks her over, and that at least is the same: slow and unashamed, taking her in.

"Hey," he says quietly. And, "Thanks fer comin' out."

[Imogen] She had parked her car in sight of the unknown men and women, of the caern, where she cannot tread though her name is writ there where she'll never see. The engine is cut, the headlights burnt out, her body silhouetted in the dim lighting of the fading gloaming as she exits the vehicle, moving to the front of the car, and there to wait, coming no closer, not calling out, not raising a hand in greeting. Her gaze lowers as the Modi approaches, dropping to the ground and then to her pockets, to which her hands stray like she might pull out her cigarettes.

Perhaps it's the location. Perhaps she's quit. Her hands fall away from her blazer, lowering to hook into the belt loops of her low slung jeans. She'd looked down first. Away. When the distance truly begins to close, she raises her gaze - and this has not changed either, much like his regard for her.

Nothing else about it is the same. The defiance, hardset; her jaw, hardset. Her pulse beating hard in her throat.

Her voice is steady, remote and like his, quiet.

"I nearly didn't." She's barely looked at him - does not look at his clothing or his face. Meets his eyes and does nothing else.

The kinfolk of Stormhammer are nothing like this. They know their place. Their duty. They accept it.

"So. Why am I here?" She means: What do you want?

[Silence] Perhaps he should be shocked by her directness, offended by her implicit defiance. The kin of Storm Hammer are not like this. They are hearty and bold as all kin of Fenrir are and must be, but they know their place, and they live it the way their ancestors have lived it for a thousand years, ten thousand, more.

He doesn't know a lot about them, though. His life now is war and battle, the rough fire-forged camaraderie of brothers and sisters in arms in the Sept that is now his. Always, before, he let his hair grow out when he went there. Wore the clothes and the beard like a disguise, as though to tell everyone, or to remind himself: this is not who I am. This is not where I belong.

Different, now. That's changed, too.

"Thought I oughta see ya," he says. "Figger out where things stand 'tween us."

[Imogen] She doesn't speak immediately. Silence cuts between them like blades. When she speaks, her voice is no balm.

"I believe a note under my door and a voicemail on my mobile already made that clear, don't you?"

[Silence] There's a brief hardening at his jawline, a flexion that squares the angles of his face. Then he lets it go, exhales with a short glance down. Back to her again, eyes the same stormy grey as ever.

"'m sorry 'bout that. Ain't had time fer much else."

It's not an apology intended to excuse, or even offered in hopes of healing the palpable rift between them. Everything about her speaks of anger turned cold and resolute: attitude and voice, word choice that he knows - know from seven, eight years of experience - is no accident. Seven or eight years they gave each other. Grown closer, grown up, changed; and finally this. Growing apart, perhaps.

There's a gulf between them right now broader than the distance between storm hammer and maelstrom; more impenetrable than that borders of this Caern, which no longer allow kinfolk within. Even kinfolk of such renown as this one, who is getting close to goddamn Cliath Ahroun status in her own right.

After a long pause:

"So that's it then?"

[Imogen] Those who've seen her, day by day likely miss the differences. There are some which are undeniable, but put to her anti-social nature. She plays her guitar less. Sings less. Visits the bars less and works more.

To him, though, who at least once knew her body and skin, her muscle, sinew and bone, who has had the dubious benefit of months of separation. Well.

She was never soft, but she's harder now. Skin closer to the bone.

She looks away. Not down, away, away from the caern, from the lake, from the unfamiliar Garou. Away from him, toward the street, the distant hard lines of squat warehouses. Her eyes are dark, nearly black now in the fading light. Her skin as pale as ever, so delicate that one might almost see the blood move, beneath. Her hair is brilliant, red and vibrant, pulled back from her face, held in place by a covered elastic band. She's dressed plainly; as if she might have been in Cabrini Green before this, in Bronzeville, muting her vibrancy as best she can by simple, serviceable clothing.

Her jaw moves as she flexes it, an ache forming in her molars, then loosens it, her hand closing as her jaw eases, replacing one tension for another.

"What do you want, Rohl?" she's not spoken his name in - she doesn't know how long. "For me to say it's over, or that I -" she cuts off, rather than hesitating. "Or that it's not."

[Silence] "I wantcha ta tell me what you want," he says. "I wantcha ta decide -- "

That is a hesitation. A sharp cutoff -- but a hesitation as well. He frowns, shifts his weight, and in that singular gesture is nearly a decade's worth of memory. He's always had that animal ease of motion. That absolute surety of motion. He's always shifted his weight from foot to foot just like that, not awkward and fidgeting but smooth, slow, with unconscious bone-deep strength.

"I wantcha ta come to Storm Hammer with me. I wantcha with me. As my mate. And I wantcha ta know that life ain't gon' be nothin' like whatcher used ta. 'r maybe even what you kin stand.

"So I wantcha decide if yer gon' come with me 'r if yer gon' stay here."

There's a pause. Decker has faced down a hell of a lot. He's killed things that should never have been born, much less be able to die. He's grown strong, grown powerful. Things that would crush the younger wolves amongst his small cadre are negligible to him now.

Still -- this is hard for him. And he has to force the words:

"'cause we ain't mates if we's seven hundred miles apart."

[Imogen] Her eyes shut briefly while he speaks. Not long, not for long at all, but for long enough to be more than a blink. To be an expression of something. Pain, resistance. Some emotion which she cannot contain with her eyes open.

They open again. They remain away from him. He finishes his hard words, his request.

"Be nothing there, wouldn't I? Just your mate, your woman. A thing that spreads my legs and can't even breed. A broken mare." The words are half introspective, so quiet they are not even directed to him. Her gaze lowers then down, forward but down still, her gaze on the ground between them. Her closed fist taps her thigh, once, twice, thrice. It isn't fidgeting, quite, but it is certainly a small symptom of her inner agitation.

"If you remembered who I am at all, you'd never think this was even a possibility." She raises her gaze.

"If you want me, you can have me here. I've lost enough."

[Silence] There's a flash of anger in his eyes -- not at her but at the words she says, the concepts: broken mare. a thing that spreads my legs. It crackles through the grey like lightning across a hurricane sky. Silence is controlled now, his rage back under the iron fist of his will, but he is not tame. He is nothing close to tame.

She's always known that. From the moment they met on adjoining balconies in a Jersey suburb; to a day in the Barrens pushing through terrain too rugged for her, though she took it uncomplainingly; to standing knee-deep in flat saltwater in the gulf of mexico; to this moment. Decker Rohl is the son of his forefathers, a Fenrir to the bone, savage and raw and brutish. His rage is like a fire in his blood, licking up at the slightest fuel thrown its way.

All he says, though, is this -- singular and fierce:

"I remember who you is."

A few moments pass. He draws a breath that expands his chest; looks over his shoulder for a second. The other Garou are not looking at him. Perhaps they've very deliberately not looking this way.

He turns back, exhaling that breath now.

"'f I come back ta Chicago," he says, quiet, "'ll look ya up, 'Gen."

[Imogen] Both hands have closed now, two fists, useless, impotent. She is a slight woman, if an indomitable one. She fights with her mind, with a gun, if pressed with a blade. She does not fight with her fists. If she did, she would be ineffective. Useless.

She is not that.

Her jaw is tensed as well. There is little about her that is not tense. Her body taut like a guitar's E string tuned up too high, vibrating at the strain, on the edge of breaking.

I remember who you are. He says and she does not answer. She neither agrees nor offers disagreement. Denies or concedes.

What does it matter, anyway.

Her mouth seals shut, and behind the seam, unseen, her teeth press on her bottom lip, leaving it raw. She resists the immediate, visceral reaction, the words which catch in her chest.

Come back.

Her ribs are a cage, creaking, aching but ultimating withstanding the storm.

Instead, she says: "I suppose, then, there's nothing left to be said."

[Silence] Nothing left to be said. Nothing for him to say, either. There's room here for some corny one-liner, some sappy phrases about love and devotion or, at the least, remembrance. There's room for a goodbye kiss. Hell. One last beautiful night together. Something absurd and storybook like that,

but that's not their style. And never was.

After a long pause, when one or the other is on the brink of turning away -- Silence holds his hand out. Not for a handshake, but the way he always did: palm up, fingers a little open.

[Imogen] Her eyes lower to the offered hand - the first time she's acknowledged he is more than eyes to look upon directly, the first time she's taken in any part of him that hasn't been in defiance.

"I can't." Quiet, low.

[Silence] There's a beat of silence. Then Decker lowers his hand back to his side. The nod is the same as it ever was -- a tilt of his head upward, unhurried and thuggish.

"Yeah okay."
That's the same too.

Not much lingering after that. Another second or two. A beat of the heart, two. Then he takes a step back, and another. It's on his mind to wish her a good night, or to tell her to drive safe; tell her he'll see her later. Something of the sort. He doesn't.

[Imogen] "Rohl." As he begins to turn, or some half second before. If he turns back, she looks at him, her eyes lowering then lifting, her fingers moving slightly. She remains where she is, unapproaching, as her gaze flicks beyond him toward the Garou who loiter within the caern's boundaries.

"Make sure one o' them knows to tell me if you die," she says, lifting her chin to indicate them. "Will you?"

[Silence] [*erases last couple lines from last post, transplants 'em here!*]

A hesitation -- a brief furrow of the brow. Then he nods.

Turns, sturdy ugly boots crunching on the loose gravel as he strides down the embankment. Purposeful now.

When he reaches the others they rise with an air of expectation and waiting come to fruition. No one offers sympathy or commiseration, or even gives the slightest hint of knowing -- or caring -- what words were exchanged between the Modi and the Fianna-blooded woman who was, by all accounts, his mate. Those who were sitting stand. Those who stood hoist their bags if they have one; check their belongings. There's a sense of ranks closing, and then they move out.

[Imogen] She does not stay to watch him go. As he turns away, so does she. While he approaches the caern's fence, he can hear the choppy unadjusted sound of the Volvo's engine as she starts it, the gravel crunching beneath the vehicle's wheels as she pulls away.

[Joe War- Handed] At some septs- ones that can fill books with a list of their fallen that stretches back for generations, the Fenrir keep a Hall for such gatherings. An ancient building or a more ancient cave gritty and scented with the blood that follows in the steps of Fenris' children.

Here in Chicago, the city perched at the Maw of Maelstrom (and NOT the other way around), Things come faster and a hell of a lot harder. Wars that see twenty dead at other septs can take years. Here its measured in months.

A place where fellows mean more than any span of time. So, the Fenrir set their Moot at nothing more ancient or glorious than a campsite. The same one, in fact, where the seasonal bonfire is held. The only exception being a cleared challenge circle, and at one end of the clearing, near a stream, a roughly carved altar bearing the marks of

Children, Honor, Fenris

Joe sits perched on the first of six kegs. One or two stolen, and awakened both for ease of travel and for the KICK of its brand new spirits. The rest provided by a fat man firmly entrenched in the City's beaurocratic maze. Ah Monty. He's like Santa Claus, today.

[Holds the Line] Ting.
The Fenrir moot’s differ wherever you go in the world, but the name is recognized in most places still.
Joe told him there would be a gathering. Karl’s reply was a simple one.
“Ting? I will be there.”

And so it is that it finds the Rotagar, on all fours, running through the forest in the near dark. Homid born. True born. The wolf never cast aside, but embraced. He had run like this in his ancestral home, through forests thick with pine and firs, through snow, over tundra and lush grassy fields.

Tekakwitha woods cannot hold a candle to it, but it is still…Familiar. The lupus approaches the clearing, stopping to scent the air not far from it, then moves forward, secure that only Garou are nearby.

The midnight black wolf, its pelt thick. A shadow in the darkness. Only those glacial blue eyes, catching the light to reflect it with a shine gives it away when it approaches. Gives it away because the Rotagar has no need for stealth here. Here is his Tribe. His people.
On old maps a place such as this would have shakily written text.

Here be Monsters!

[Kora] There are glasses. Actual beer glasses, the tall glass sort that let the bouquet of the brew bloom, the way it should, when drawn on tap from a keg. There's a stein, too, a ceramic stein set atop the nearest of the run-down picnic tables that has survived the Garou's use of the clearing as the site of the bonfire over the years.

The stein is the real thing, with large enough for at least two pints worth of brew, with a metalworked lid you tip back with your thumb before drinking. Kora has a glass of beer in hand. She's staked out the kegs Monty purchased for them from Goose Island Brewing Company and is avoiding the others, the cheap ones, the Natty Light or Budweiser they swiped from the back of some liquor store, from some upcoming fraternity party.

She's staked out the Goose Island kegs and tapped the first of two. Has a glass full of a nice bright pilsner in hand. Yesterday was warm, but cool air has already filtered back into the Chicago area. Still, there's a drying sheen of sweat on her bare airs from the work to drag the kegs out here. There is a breeze that stirs the tops of the trees - much as it stirs her pale hair, loose around her shoulders, gleaming only when the light hits it.

"I think it'll work," the creature says, leaning back against the second keg. The only with microbrewed pilsner inside. She getures to the stein with her glass. " - is anyone bringing food?"

[Drew Roscoe] A moot was a gathering of Garou, a putting together of minds to discuss the war, the packs, the politics, and, ideally, the solutions. Often times what actually happened was arguments, challenges for positions that were nothing but a name, and bickering about disrespect amongst the ranks.

Not that Drew knew any of this. All she knew was Joe said it was a Fenrir meeting, that she was Fenrir, and therefore she should be there. It was out in the woods, where bonfires usually took place, but there wouldn't be anybody outside of the tribe there this time. So Drew'd agreed to come, offered to bring supplies. He said drinks were covered, so she instead took up the duty of food. Her little grill on wheels was loaded up into the back of the truck, a cooler full of patties and dogs (and a few raw steaks, in case there were wolves like Wrath [who she still didn't know was dead) showed up) put in the back as well, and out to the forest she drove.

Near the kegs she'd set up the grill, not too far off from where was perched, ass warming up the cold beer underneath it. Patties and plates and condiments and cups were set up on a card table next to her, and she was steadily loading grilled burgers and hot dogs and brats onto respective plates for people to take from. She had an earbud in one ear, iPod tucked into the breast pocket of a blue plaid button-up short sleeved shirt she wore open over a snug black tank-top. Jeans were practical for the forest, cuffs tucked into her hiking boots to prevent ticks.

[Joe War- Handed] Something Man would name as 'mania' colors the all- or- nothing smile (bracketed by a few freckles, here and there) that seems stamped permanently on Joe's face. It is a gleaming, anticipating thing. Joy thrumming across the hard bulk of him as he rises- precariously- to stand on top of the first keg and watch the greatest Beasts in the world come out of the trees. The look is one part taking stock. The heavy eyed glare that will one day direct friend and foe in battle without words.

Lets be honest though. The other part is the look of a kid watching his heroes walk closer. Open faced. Imagining all that the Fenrir are as an idea. As the very greatest Gaia has to throw at Jormugandr.

"Drew gat us on da foodt- but I also managed ta bring down a deeah. Its ovah by th' fiah pit." Joe cranes his head around and points with his chin toward the blackened, leaf covered hole in the ground.

In particular, Joe watches the kinfolk approach.. satisfaction flickering around the corners of his face. Perhaps he'd hoped more than a few would come.. but a few was enough for an opener.

[Colt Montgomery] ~Colt drove the Yukon to the set spot, he was still the new kid on the block, from the back of the SUV he pulled a large ice chest with steaks and chicken, he wasn't even sure how many of the tribe would show, but he brought plenty, he carried the chest over to where Drew had the grill~ "I brought some red and white meat, not sure who the Chef is" ~he lifted the lid so she could see it, then closed it~

"Thanks for the invite" ~he nodded to Joe, then walked up to Kora, and grabbed a glass filling it with the good brew, he looks over the crowd, it was a tough one.

exotic ostrich skin Nocona boots crush the small stones on the soft earth. low-rise, deep indigo rinsed jeans look expensive, finished with fading and whisking to enhance their appeal. His steele colored long sleeved burberry classic fit shirt was left unbuttoned revealing the bleached white tee shirt that fit snug across his chest, his body chiseled, the outlines of his well defined muscles visible.

He stands six foot three, dark curls hidden beneath the straw cowboy hat that sat low on his brow~

[Joe War- Handed] Joe's broad chest swells, then the ooooone tiiiiime that horrible Jersey Bray is useful becomes quickly evident- it carries. Batters at trees, scrapes its way inside ears. He still stands on that one keg, becoming slowly more accustomed to the precarious perch.

"Booze is ovah heah!" He waves thick arms, and points under his feet. "We got da food comin', less some uh yew roughneck fuckers wanna get it raw- in which case, th' deer is ovah by th' fiah pit!" He flaps a hand toward a musty smelling creature, limp under a ratty blanket.

"Comeahn an' gedda beeah.. weah gonna get stahted inna sec wit all da braggin' an' fightin' an' gettin' ta know each uddah bettah. Foyst dough, I gotta story I wanna tell youse."

With that, Joe jumps off the keg and grabs one of the sturdy bar- style beer glasses.

[Trudy Adler] Trudy arrived with a back pack filled with various goods; spiced and mustard spreads, some flat bread, and decent wheel of cheese, all to compliment whatever meat and beer was being already stocked. She'd greet those she knew on her way through, nodding to those she didn't, and unpacked the foods over with the kegs.

[Holds the Line] The dark wolf steps into the crowd, head turning slowly to take them all in before the sound of cartilage, bone and muscles reforming as he shifts into the human skin once more. Karl stands a respectable 6’1. Not the tallest, but not exactly small either. Buzzed raven hair and a few days shade seem to permanently darken the Rotagars chin.
Dressed simply, in black jeans and a dark tee, with a well-worn leather jacket over it. He rolls his shoulders slowly, stretching, then relaxes. Slowly he lets his eyes wander again, giving each person present, Garou or Kin, Jarl and fresh face an equal, measured greeting, a low nod.

Then he is moving towards the offered beer, coming up next to War-Handed.
“Jarl.”

Voice low. Joe has met Karl enough times now to recognize the other. There is a diminished feel about the Rotagar tonight, his rage not as pressing as it normally is, not as thick. Normal nights, he can measure with most Modi for his anger, not so tonight.

[Josie Clark] She took a taxi to some nearby point, and got to walking. Hiking. Whatever.

By the time she actually got to the gathering, she had mud on the bottoms of her jeans and caked into the bottoms of her tennis shoes. They didn't have tread on them; wherever she was going was followed by a lack of scent and blank footprints. On some level, Jocelyn Clark has to be aware of how hard it was to find her sometimes. On some level, she tried to play off on this.

Eventually, she shows up where she's supposed to be.

And immediately decides that she should have brought food.

Crap.

[Blood Summons] It's the spirit-talkers' moon tonight.

Barely visible in the city, with its smog and clouds and light pollution, it's clear and sharp out here in the woods, a thin sliver intermittently showing itself against the deep-black backdrop of the night sky. Tonight is the sort of night when the spirits are more inclined towards riddles and battles of wits than they are towards playfulness and fun, and those who were born on a night like tonight tend to be moodier, more secretive. They tend to spend their time in the Umbra conducting their business, tend to become elusive creatures difficult to get ahold of.

He's not in the Umbra tonight. Perhaps he'd rather be, perhaps tonight is not a good night for him to be around other people, but eventually, inevitably, the Godi appears at the edge of the tree line.

Blood Summons is road-worn and wild-eyed when he comes out of the darkness, tall in his human skin and rangy, lean, walking with a sort of lope that drunks and showmen have down to an art. His hair is a curly mess, tugged about by the breeze, and he's not wearing a jacket, as though his Rage is enough to compensate for the chill in the air. The hairs on his arms don't stand up against the damp cold. There's a knapsack on his back, his hands are empty, and the first thing he sees when he gets his bearings is the son of Hermodr standing atop a keg announcing that he has a story to tell.

The Godi rolls his shoulders, and starts towards the Jarl.

[Joe War- Handed] "Yew kin listen up.. Because dis is fah yew guys most." Joe tips back the now full beer to wet his throat, wipes his mouth on a shirtsleeve, and continues, his attention passing over faces in one long sweep.

"Yew guys an' we Trueborns.. we don' get along, ta say da least. If we aint buttin' heads I'm gettin' fuckin' shot at." Joe cackles, but doesn't pause for long.

"I been tryin' a figgah a way aroun' dat. So fah, I aint got nuttin' but dis story I heard once. Its abaht a real guy tew- his name was Egil Skallagrimmson. Serious hardcore berserker. Ass- kicker of da late Viking age. By all accounts, he was mean as fuck an' about as batshit insane as it gets an'.. like.. still be able ta put 'is own pants on. Dat sorta t'ing."

[Colt Montgomery] ~Colt nodded at all those present, Josie got a wave, the glass to his lips as he took a long haul off the beer, watching as the others arrived. He knew the Jarl was about to set the party in motion with a tale, so he hung out near Kora, Joe and Karl, though he wasn't familiar with Karl, he got an upnod from the Modi~

[Holds the Line] The rotagar spots Trudy as she arrives, and he gives her a nod, and raises his glass to her, then goes back to looking at Joe, listening to what the Jarl has to share.

[Trudy Adler] She grabs herself a glass of beer, listening to the Jarl. Soon enough, drink in hand, she's standing beside Karl. There's a slight curl of her mouth as she nods a silent greeting to him. Tonight she's in jeans, hiking boots and a t.shirt under an opened jacket. Her free hand tucks into the pocket while she takes a drink of beer, watching.

[Moira Murray] It would have taken a bit of persuasion likely on the dark haired kin's part to get Izzy Montoya to even go, then maybe some pleading and offering to buy her a six pack for the ride out into the woods. However it is Moira manages to get Izzy to come, expressing that the invitation to go to the Fenrir Moot was for all Trueborn and their kinfolk of the tribe.

The detective's car would appear parked in a spot near some of the other vehicles that were there before them. When it comes to a stop, Moira hops out of the passenger seat, glancing over at Izzy and offers her a small smile.

"It can't be that bad... right. I mean you aren't going to shoot anyone... maybe? No?"

[Joe War- Handed] "Now, durin' his life, Egil was a champion to 'is King, a brave an' cunning leadah tew 'is own crew of roughneck bastahds like 'isself, a husband, an' a faddah quite a few times ovah. Dude accomplished a lotta shit." Joe's eyes widen, he nods excitedly as his attention gleams against faces.

"A lotta shit. Great, right? Well see, like I said- guy was completely nuts. People said da reason feh dat was he was half Troll. Bones made of iron- an' apparently as well as bein' jus' fuckin' HUGE, he also had dis wierd shaped head. All lumpy and fucked up, yeah? Also- he nevah wore a helmet inta battle- no sword or axe could pierce 'is skull. Tawk about badass."

Another drink.

"Well ya can maybe imagine what sorta home life dis dude musta had. Ugly as fuck, an' twice as mean. Couldn'a been tew great a time feh his wife an' children, yeah? In fact, dose is some of da stories dat get told abaht 'im most. Da t'ing is, uddah guys wit da same t'ings abaht 'em- I mean like... Crazy, iron bones, fucked up heads- theah bodies 've been dug up in burial mounds an' dat kinda t'ing. matched da description of what Egil looked like. Well, it turns out he had some sorta... well.. I can't really remembah. Like boyth defect owah sumpfin. His bones were fuck-me dense, see. From too much mercury, owah too much fish. I dunno. Some dietary deal."

Joe takes a step toward Josie, holding up one hand and gesturing with the tip of his little finger.

"One of da side effects of dat shit is dat his sinuses were about da size of da tip of yowah pinky. If it helps, imagine da woyst evah migraine makin' cold yew evah had, and times it by like, a hundred. DAT's da kinda pain dis guy woke up in every day of his life, an' he went ta bed widdit tew."

[Izzy Montoya] It took a considerable amount of weedling and pleading and begging on Moira's part, as Izzy hadn't heard of the moot, and when brought to her attention, certainly didn't mean to attend. Moira, however, is used to getting her way, and if only to get her to shut up about it, Izzy finally agreed to give her a ride.

She did not agree to stay long.

Moira hops out, and then looks hopeful that Izzy won't shoot anyone tonight. The Fenrir Detective simply looks at the younger, prettier kin and arches a brow. "Don't count on it."

But in the end, she gets out of the car, tucks her keys into her pocket, and takes the time to light a cigarette before she follows the perky child into the woods, toward the gathering.

[Kora] Kora stands close to her Alpha until the others begin arriving. She offers a neat, causal little "Hey - " to Colt as he walks up, the greeting accompanied by the edge of her half-smile and the faintest tip of her half-full glass of beer. The expression is easy and friendly. The creature's dark eyes turn to the wolf until he shifts, and then she offers the Rotagar a similar greeting. Trudy arrives bearing a huge wheel of cheese, Kora briefly breaks away from the knot of her tribesmates gathered around her Alpha, " Hey - need a hand?"

Maybe she just wants first crack at the cheese.

Either way, when Joe has climbed to the atop the keg to begin the story he wanted to tell, Kora returns to the edge of the firepit, where the kegs are set out, a piece of flatbread topped with a thick slice of cheese, her half-finished beer glass in the other. She holds it carefully, her hand around the base of the glass, the glass held level with her waist. " - rhya is her greeting to Blood Summons as she passes him, her voice low in both pitch and tone. "Grab yourself a beer, yeah?" Then, her dark eyes return to the Jarl.

[Josie Clark] When people are talking, Jocelyn Clark listens. Or, rather, Jocelyn Clark remembers. She might not be listening, but she certainly remembers it. Joe takes a step to her, she takes a step to the Jarl, everything seems to balance out just fine. Not a direct line, but a slight arc. There's no real need to take a full on direct walking-head-on-into-people approach.

Colt gets a wave, a wiggle of her fingers and a smile.

Karl... Karl gets a look, one brow raised, going from a smile to a grin and she doesn't say a word. A bit wide eyed for a second, taking in the sheer volume of bodies at this scene.

[Moira Murray] Maybe it was the moon, or something Moira drank before coming out here. She was rather excited. It was her first moot (of any type) and she was curious to see what was going to happen. There was a brief moment of apprehension and paranoia as she looked onward towards the gathering area, her eyes skimming around for the tallest figure of the Get, that would definite stick out like amongst them.

She shoulders the nylon bag she brought with her, glancing back at Izzy with a childish grin and nudges the detective. "Thank you for the ride."

[Joe War- Handed] "Dat changes shit, if Egil had da same t'ings goin' on wit him. It goes from 'Because he was dis awesome bat-shit crazy berserker, he accomplished all dis stuff' an' toyns it into 'In spite of da kinda pain dat'd bring any uddah dope ta t'row himself off a cliff, Egil accomplished so much he's remembah'd ta dis day."

Joe scratches his scalp and bawls out the rest.

"Now, I aint da most successfully socialized mudda fuggah anybody evah seen... but it seems ta me, sumpfin' as simple as a change in da way we look at t'ings could help us get along wit owah fambly a whole lot bettah. Simple fact is, we need yew guys. Yowah wheah owah tribe came from. Yowah wheah owah tribe's goin. Yew carry us inta da next generation an' give us a future. Ahmean, we Trueborn? Weah gonna fuggin' die tammorrow. Yew guys is da reason dat works jus' fine."

Joe begins to pace back and forth. The short, snapped off stalk of a wolf.

"Theah's gotta be some kinda middle. Help us find it. Believe it owah not, we actually don' wanna loose yew guys."

He tosses back the rest of the beer and smacks his lips loudly.

[Izzy Montoya] She's nudged, and she looks over at Moira, and lets a breath escape in a huff of almost amusement. "Yeah. But I don't promise to stay long - you might wanna make other arrangements."

And as they come up to the group, joe's talking. Telling a story of some sort, and Izzy seems to be ignoring it. They should know better. They should all know better - as the Detective rarely misses anything at all. She doesn't enter the clearing completely, standing to the edge of the group without actually joining it.

She arches a brow slightly at the topic, but says nothing, and remains still.

[Colt Montgomery] ~those hazel eyes lift as Izzy and Moira step into view, he noticed that Izzy hung back a bit, just another new face in the crowd to him, the breeding of both was so pure, totally random thoughts, and he shook his head, back to the story at hand~

[Drew Roscoe] Enough food had been grilled up for now that Drew figured it okay to give manning the grill a rest. So she turned off the propane, left the lid up to allow it to cool, and made her way around to the front of the table instead of standing behind it. She put a brat on a bun for herself, applied condiments willy-nilly, and stood amongst those that had gathered closer in the half-circle of the Fenrir present to see and hear what Joe had to say.

He told his story of some man that lived long ago, a warrior with a defect, used it as fuel and example for the point he was trying to make about Kinfolk supporting their warriors.

She didn't interrupt, didn't chat with anybody to her left or to her right. She remembered grade school, how you got in trouble for talking when the teacher was lecturing. She'd had her nose put into corners and had to give detention slips to her father more than a few times for that problem. Eventually, though, lessons on respect had been learned, and were applied to this day.

So she stood, listened, and ate her bratwurst.

[Joe War- Handed] The burly Modi blinks, watching the faces of his kinsmen to left and right, at a loss for a moment.. then the problem occurs to him.

"Oh! yeah- guys- I'm done! Get some beah feh chrissake an' lets talk bidness. Anybody got anytin' dey need ta bring up?"

[Moira Murray] Moira stops on the edge of the clearing with Izzy. She looks around at the people she can see, her eyes skimming the crowd for any familiar faces. She can count two handfuls of Get a mix of Garou and kin. The nylon bag slips from her shoulder as she tugs it off, eyebrows arched as she catches Izzy's faint smirk.

"I had a feeling you wouldn't stay long. I can catch a ride home, or walk, the hike won't bother me much."

She came dressed for the woods, jeans and comfortable boots, a long sleeved jersey with a hood pulled over a thinner tee shirt. Long black hair pulls away from her face, in two braids that were twisted and woven into the crown of hair, like milkmaid braids. She crinkles up her nose, not leaving the detective's side as she watches the gathering.

[Kora] Joe finishes the story; cuts a look back toward the edge of the group where Moira and Izzy stand. She raises her beer to both of the kinswoman, a crisp little gesture of acknowledgment, then looks back toward her Alpha. "Lots of new faces here, boss. Maybe we should start with introductions all around, just so we have names for faces and faces for names, yeah?"

[Holds the Line] Karl listens to the story the Jarj tells. He is quiet, thoughtful. He was raised with the history of the Vikings, of the Norse. History tied in with his own blood in some cases. He does not speak however.

Then Moira and Izzy arrive. Izzy stays back, as does Moira, and Karl looks to them both for a moment. When Jarl finishes his story, the Rotagar moves through the gathered, until he comes to the two kin women. Izzy is given a nod and a thoughtful look before the No moon turns around, standing next to Moira.

His gaze goes back to the others, waiting, listening. Those glacial eyes cold, as always. The Rotagar strikes an intimidating figure by his very presence, heightened by the purity of blood and those disconcerting eyes.

[Izzy Montoya] She hadn't changed. She doesn't change - but this time, the reference is to her clothing. Everything about Izzy screams 'cop' - from the way she stands, to the way she watches everything, everywhere at once, to the way she dresses. Business casual it would be called in some circles - slacks, a tailored blouse that fits her perfectly, and a light leather jacket that likely conceals her weapon.

One of them, at least.

If she has any comment on Joe's story, it's kept to herself. She simply continues to smoke her cigarette, and watch. Silent. When Karl joins them, and studies her, a brow quirks upwards, slightly, but she answers his greeting in kind. A nod, and silence.

[Colt Montgomery] ~Colt finished his first glass of beer, and heads for a refill, it doesn't take but a minute, making sure to knock the head off the amber, he wasn't into that stuff, a few things happen by the time he's back in the semi circle with the rest, Karl disappeared to the edge of the trees with the two kin, he didn't seem to be chattin them up either, more like he was the bouncer at the party, he saw the cook had joined the party and the food was smelling mighty fine, his belly growlin as Kora speaks up~

[Joe War- Handed] The young Modi looks a bit ashen about the edges.. not pleased with his delivery of the story. Certainly it was the sort of thing he'd likely muttered at trees, at sidewalks.. working on tone and inflection. Where to make the point and how.

Then of course, hindsight follows. The understanding dawning slowly about where he went wrong with it, and why. Frustration creeps in a red undertone up the Modi's bullish neck, and he casts a wry glance to Kora. She'd been right. He'd have done better to let her tell it. Damn.

"Good idea. HEY! Folks, we got a Forseti now. Mediation goes tah me owah her iff'n yew guys can't sort yahselves out, awright? Trudy, introduce yahself."

[Odins Eye] The wind tore at the leaves, clouds blotting out the sky... And in the tumult of this, one makes his way from the darkness in the skin of man. He had heard them, smelled them from his quiet den in the woods...

A large figure emerges from the treeline into the clearing. Topping 6 feet, 4 inches, and every bit of 240 pounds, a wild mane of hair flows beyond his shoulders in golden waves, as eyes the color of polished tool steel consider the assemblage. A tee shirt bearing a skull and other nightmarishly twisted scenes spreads across the broad chest of the Modi, as dark denim jeans whisper beneath the louder sound of thick soled biker boots striking the packed earth. The whole of the ensemble was distressed... giving him a somewhat thug-like look.

He says nary a word...

[Joe War- Handed] With that, he murmurs to Kora, eyes sweeping to Drew as he speaks. The presence of other Fenrir near her awakens something in the back of the boy's mind. The knee jerk response of a mate tending to his own.

[Moira Murray] Color flushes pale cheeks, her head dips down, eyes casting towards Karl with a heavy-lidded gaze as he comes to stand next to her. She doesn't make any immediate move towards him, just stands there quietly. Her hands wringing into the strap of the nylon bag she holds in her front of her.

Joe's bellowing voice caught her attention briefly, glancing his way, and then to Kora when there was a nod of greeting. Moira straightens her shoulders, a line of tension running through her as she can see Matthias rolling into her peripheral, she remains where she is... with Izzy for now.

[Trudy Adler] Joe starts yelling about the Foresti, her, and she half chokes on the mouthful of beer as she chuckles. Patting her chest, she got it down to the stomach instead of her lungs before she raises her beer to the Jarl. She looks over at others, all doing their own thing, quiet for a bunch of Get of Fenris. She doesn't jump onto a keg or make grand gestures. She simply calls out:

"I'm Fistful of Reason, otherwise known as Trudy Adler. While I'm not as seasoned as some of you," Fosterns, what have you, "I have some life experience up my sleeve. Grab my number if you want it, and give me a holler if you need to chat."

That was all. She went to go and grab some of the spread and cheese on some flat bread.

[Colt Montgomery] ~the largest of the Fenrir stepped out of the treeline, couldn't miss all that wild mane of blonde, reminded him of one of those hairbands in the 80's, that were plastered all over Cara's wall back on the ranch, he waited as the introductions seemed to be in order

another glance in Karl's direction, the older of the kin, she looked like a cop, from the way she carried herself, the clothes, the cigarette, girl wouldn't be able to run in a few more years, not without an inhaler, he smirked, but he did want to meet her, offer his tracking skills to one of the good guys~

[Josie Clark] [WP...
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Joe War- Handed] Joe raises cupped hands to his mouth and bellows again. Kee- rist they're quiet for Get.

"Anybody at ALL! Cuz' if yew guys is all hunky dory, My name's Susan!"

[Odins Eye] Steely eyes turn to Moira... Focusing on her briefly. His expression stern, unyielding in the dim lighting. Matched by the twin pairs of red eyes that peek above the neck of the tee shirt in stark black inkwork on fair skin.

Then, he grins ever so slightly...

"Can we call you Suzy?"

[Holds the Line] ((Oh, shall we be persuasive tonight?))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Odins Eye] ((Suzy question was for Joe.))

[Joe War- Handed] Joe's face splits into a wide, happy grin, and he winks at Odin's Eye. All at once the boy is in motion, rumbling toward Odin's eye with one hand held out to shake.

"Only yew, snookums! Glad ya made it!"

[Holds the Line] Karl looks to Moira, then up to the gathered. The new arrival. He never met the man, but he knows him. Only one that matches what little Moira had told him. Those glacial eyes on the man for a few moments before the Rotagar steps forward, raising his voice to be heard, channeling his human persuasiveness into his voice.

“Some of you I met at the caern moot. Others do not know me, yet. I am holds the Line. Rotagar, and Cliath to the nation.”

A breath, then he shakes his head a little, and a ghost of a smile falls on his face.
“I am new here, still learning, but all Fenrir, True and family have my ear when needed. Have my skills always.”

[Drew Roscoe] Drew's eyes flicked from face to face, most she recognized, several she did not. She'd finished up the bratwurst, licked the ketchup and mustard from the corners of her mouths, and filled herself a beer from the kegs. She sipped past the head, wiped the foam from her upper lip, and listened...

..to the crickets. To a one-on-one conversation between Joe and Trudy, where they addressed the crowd but the crowd didn't address back. She caught a figure over at the trees, and made a quiet, inward sound that was borderline amusement. So the guy that had scared the piss out of Gina was a part of the tribe, not a monster after all. That would make him, what the fourth Get she's met with a pistol aimed at his head?

Joe called out, Drew glanced at him, then huffed out a breath of air and raised her glass to indicate that she was going to speak, and dropped it down to chest level again.

"I'm pretty sure I'm just out of the loop... I mean, I'm not on the front lines, I don't hear what you guys talk about, what you've fought or how many times you've fought 'em... Who's dead, who isn't... It's hard to keep track..." She'd gotten off topic, shook her head a little to bring herself back, and continued. "Shouldn't we be talking about that? What we're doing to stop the rash of deaths and the Kinfolk disappearing? I don't think we ever got Joey's cousin back... Since we're all together, why don't we...," and her tone quieted some when she realized this was probably out of line, but it was too late to stop completely anyways. "...talk about that? ...Talk at all?"

[Colt Montgomery] ~well he chimed in, a step taken, texas accent~ "Colt Montgomery, Culls the Beast. Modi, and Cliath to the Nation"

[Josie Clark] She's counting heads.

One... two... three... Her head nods as she does, blue eyes taking in the details of what was around her. Standing in silence, thought hat silence turns to tense muscles, as introductions are made. Joe speaks, and it's all she has to-

"No kidding-" she can't hold back "-no intelligence? No challenges? No important information? Nothing that your kin might need to know to-"

She stops herself. Almost literally bites her tongue. The female inhales.

"I don't even know half of your names. And-"

It hits her what Drew said-

"How did that happen?" She looks at Drew, from the female to the Trueborn. She looked surprised to say the least.

(I know this comes out of time order, I'm sorry guys!)

[Josie Clark] Then-

"Oh, I'm Josie, by the way? Josie Clark."

[Trudy Adler] There we go. The Kinfolk start chiming in.

Trudy bites into the bread as she watches, her gaze flicking from one to the other. Namely from those speaking up and over to Joe, the Jarl, to see what he has to say about it.

[Izzy Montoya] Another joins at the edge of the clearing, and she flicks her gaze in his direction, resting there briefly before dark eyes slip away again. She lifts a cigarette to her lips as Drew speaks up - of course she does - and looks her way. This glance lasts half as long as the first, and she simply continues her observation.

Perhaps some expect her to speak up with some problem or another.
She doesn't.
[Yet.]

[Kora] Kora - Sorrow - is a tall blonde, narrow shouldered, standing close to her Alpha. He leans closer and muttered into her ear, and the right corner of her expressive mouth hooks upward at the corner, twists into the faint impression of a fine, curving sort of half-smile. Then her eyes flash to Trudy, Holds the Line, and Culls the Beast as they offer their introductions.

"Kora Eyjólfsdóttir - is her own, her voice even and low and wholly American. " - she who offers sorrow, Cliath and Skald, fostered at the Sept of Wind and Rain in Hjaltland, Maelstrom's for some moons, packed under Hermodr with Joe War-Handed as my Alpha." There is an expectant look cast back toward Odin's Eye for a moment, and an attentive glance toward Drew and Josie, and a moment of concentration.

[Moira Murray] What excitement she had earlier on the walk over to the gathering has drained away. She lifts her head up, eyebrows arching as she looks across the way to meet and match the steely gaze of Odin's Eye - the sternness in his expression noticeable.

She lowers her face, a closed fist raised up to cover her mouth as she clears her throat, listening to those that start to announce who they are. She offers her own, shooting a glance to Izzy once and then shrugs her shoulders.

"I am Moira Murray-Tasgall. I was once a kinfolk once bound to the Eagle's Chosen and formerly a ward of Silence. I have lived here in Chicago off and on for the past five years... I have seen and experienced much here. For those that do not know, I am in service to the tribe by the late Jarl to serve as a Healer to any that request it of me, kin or garou. As that is what I am capable of, being one so blessed by Gaia and capable of using her gifts to heal those in need."

[Odins Eye] Matthias takes Joe's hand and shakes it firmly, nodding...

"Hard to sleep with so many in the woods. Never know when some drunk will pee in your den."

Then, releasing Joe's hand, Matthias meets Kora's expectant look wordlessly... Before considering the group as a whole.

The deep bass rumble thick with accents of rural Minnesota.

"I am Matthias. Odin's Eye before the Nation, Cliath Modi to the Fenrir.

I stand alone... For now."

[Joe War- Handed] (No apologies necessary. Too many folks to worry about that. *G*)

"Ya shuwah as fuck are, aintcha." Its delivered a bit wry- but not at all intimidating.. Rather, a vaguely impressed expression flickers across his face.

Joe watches Drew, then Josie as they speak. "Way ta speak up theah, goyls. Steady on wit da throttle dough, huh? Weah only jus' gettin' wit' da introductions."

"I'm Joe War-Handed, Cliath Modi of da Get of Fenris. Son of the Swords of Heimdal, Jarl of da Sept of da Maelstrom, an' Alpha of Aesir's Call. Nephew to Stone~Tooth, great grandson of Arn Witch-Strike. Drew Roscoe-" He points to the short kinwoman. "Da hottie ovah theah- is my mate. Sah no touchy."

[Izzy Montoya] She watches Moira, as she clears her throat, dark eyes shifting between Karl and Matthias, and back to the young kinfolk again. And then she just finishes off her cigarette, and sinks into a graceful crouch to put it out against a rock, making sure the butt remains in her hand, before it's slipped into her pocket once more, for now.

When she stands again, fluidly, gracefully, she lifts her chin slightly, and then in the silence. "Detective Izzy Montoya. CPD. Homicide." It's all she says. It's all that's important.

[Joe War- Handed] (Sorry- the 'sure as fuck are' bit was in reply to Josie's outburst a while ago.)

[Holds the Line] The kin women calls for talk. Calls for words. For the Garou, things are a bit differently. Had all here been known to each other, the mood would have been different. More rowdy without a doubt. But there are new faces. New scents and instincts that had to be taken in, measured, weighed and processed before it was time to get rowdy.

Yet the Rotagar listens, watches, and then speaks up again once more.
“Drew is not wrong. Strangers we are still, many of us new to each other, but we are all Fenrir. In us runs the Blood that has stained a thousand battlefields. Time to raise our cups, for Brothers, sister and family.”

And the Rotagar does just so, raising his glass into the air. He is no Skald, but there is a strength to his voice, strengthened by the blood of heroes in him, a shadow of the skalds that seem to be lacking tonight, yet If none of them are around to raise their voices, then the Rotagar does so, and does it happily.

[Drew Roscoe] One corner of her mouth pulled back a bit, but it was hard to place an emotion with the expression. It could be anything from exasperation to a smile being bitten back. Joe started up part of her introduction, explaining that she was hands off and precisely why that was (not that anyone had done so much as make eyes at her tonight, she was pretty sure most of the crowd had caught on to the fact that she was taken, and by the 'boss' no less). She followed up with a statement of her own.

"Drew, like he said. I live out in Hyde Park, just off the lake shore. I've got a spare bedroom if anybody finds themselves in the area and needing a place to recuperate for the night."

And then Karl spoke up, agreeing with her (which honestly caught her off guard, she hadn't seen a smile on that man's face when it was pointed in her direction yet). He called for them to raise their cups, in what she would assume to be a drink for the fallen. Or a drink for those who would live on. Or both. It didn't matter, she raised her cup along with him.

[Colt Montgomery] ~those hazel eyes move around the crowd as everyone begins to fall in line with the whole introductions, a wide grin to the Jarl as he speak his mind and lays claim that no one touches the cook, he heard that one coming.

Izzy Montoya, so there she was, the CPD, he was right about her, he'd have to make his way over there, though she seemed like she didn't want to be a part of the Moot, he wasn't sure she would want anything to do with him, probably wouldn't want his services either, but he'd offer still. he end the looke loo with Holds the line, lifting his glass with the others, and taking a long pull~

[Joe War- Handed] Joe turns back around, having filled his glass again, and returns Holds-the-Line's toast. Beer scatters in droplets as he lowers it again, stares into it and takes a deep drink.

"Awright folks, dem goyls is right- time ta get down ta sumpfin' moah serious befoah we deal wit' da fun parts."

Clearing his throat is a rough, gravely sound, but he seems strangely relaxed, given the topic.

"Anyone what's been ta da kinfolk meetin's an' stuff, take a step ovah heah. Feh da next little bit, yew guys is gonna be my ovahsight, awright? Got suggestions, corrections, belt'em out."

Joe raises his head, trying to catch Izzy's eye. If she meets his look, he tilts an eyebrow. Unspoken question and challenge at once. With that, he returns his attention to those gathered within speaking distance.

"Last month, a cousin of Joey- Rotagar in town, runs wit' da Sentinels pack- got taken by da Moraine Hills hive. Joey an' her crew got him back- but apparently he ran back off again. He was apparently wit' da Federales, tew- sah if yew, Iz, owah John got any way ta track 'im, get a handle on wheah he is an' what he's dewin- cuz dat second time he went of his own free will. Prolly gone feh good. If he aint, we need a heads up sah we can take him down. Got it?"

[Joe War- Handed] (ehm, assume he inserts the guy's name right here.)

[Kora] "To those who've gone before - " Kora murmurs, lifting her glass with Karl's toast toward the Rotagar. It's not nominative, this. There's memory written into her words. There's death underneath her skin. " - and to those," to Drew, to Moira, to Izzy, the glass is raised again, " - who come after."

Then, circles to stand close to her Alpha, looking out over the loose knot of her tribesmates, back to her Alpha when he speaks. Like Joe's, her fair head swings toward Izzy somewhere in the middle of the recitation of the news.

When her Alpha has finished, she appends, "Joey told the Guardians that he might've had your number, Detective. Thornton's too. And Dr. Slaughter's. She's changed her number; I trust you will too. Be watchful, especially if you've met him. Let us know if you catch wind of anything; or if some stranger's giving you funny looks."

[Izzy Montoya] Oh she meets his look, and a brow arches slightly in reply. Challenge, question, whichever it is, it's clear she's listening, paying attention - she always does. She clasps her hands behind her back, standing at ease, and listens. While she doesn't take a step 'ovah theah', he knows she has attended those meetings. He also knows, perhaps better than most, that she has no problem speaking up to correct him. Any of them. Despite what it may cost her.

She's proven that - and as a result, he asked her why she didn't just go. Just leave them to themselves, just forget who she is and run away until they deemed it necessary to bring her back once more, most likely. So many questions... too bad not a damn one of them really knows anything about her at all, hm?

"Matthew Oliver. Got it." She doesn't write the name down - she doesn't have too. She'll remember.

Then Kora's words get two reactions. The first, when she's looked at for 'those who come after', her lips curve into a slight smirk, a huff of breath through her nostrils, perhaps in amusement. Slim, trim, there's clearly nothing coming after from her. Then, to the addition after Joe... that gets another reaction entirely. Irritation flashes through her gaze, a tightening of her lips in anger, and above all, thoughtfulness. It smooths away almost instantly, and she nods, slightly. "Of course."

[Odins Eye] Matthias, for his part, approaches the refreshments. Filling a beer stein, he turns and raises it perfunctorily, his expression dour. Then, in a thoughtful tone, he speaks...

"It would be wise to circulate his picture among those of the tribe, so that those who have not met him may still identify him. It is possible he may be found by mere happenstance."

[Moira Murray] Conversation blooms all around her. She has fallen quiet, listening for the most part. Moira starts to break away from her place beside Izzy and Karl as they become involved in speaking. She picks up the nylon bag, slinging it across her shoulder as she glances around, making her way towards the refreshments and food to browse over it.

[Colt Montgomery] ~he was listening and drinking, but the growl in his belly was getting louder, and so he made his way to where a few of the others had gotten their grub on, a plate was picked up, a link and some steak, something pretty rare, he was all about the pink meat~

[Joe War- Handed] Joe nods at Odin's Eye's suggestion.

"Dat woyks tew, but I aint got any way ta get th' guy's picture. Mebbe da cops can help widdat."

Joe thrusts his chin at Izzy, then looks between Kora, Trudy, and Karl.

"Drew ovah heah tol' me Matt got taken da foyst time when some Spirals was tryin' ta kidnap someone else." He points between the aforementioned garou. "Yew guys an' me ah gonna go ta da intended victim's house an' see what we can come up wit. Maybe figgah out who dey was aftah an' why."

He looks to Colt. "Yowah pack got phones- give Izzy heah yowah numbah. She can touch base wit' youse guys if she comes up wit' sumpfin."

[Joe War- Handed] "She's prolly gonna need youse guys ta be ready ta move quick if she calls.. an' I want yew guys ta grab Matt if da opportunity presents itself befoah anyone else at da sept can. Dis is owah fuckup, an WE need ta be da ones what fix it. sah I hope yowah a light sleepah."

[John Thornton] A light is seen at the edge of the clearing, bouncing like a will o' wisp amid the tree trunks and foliage. A man in a black trenchcoat and suit steps from the trees, the light revealed as a large, heavy mag-lite flashlight.

His hair was a thick mop of brown near to black in the darkness, and his eyes were ringed in dark circles... He looked as though he hadn't slept... in forever, if that was possible.

Still, a wan not a smile breaks out upon an untelling deadpan as he approaches and takes a spot standing near Izzy.

[Holds the Line] He is no Skald, but perhaps he managed to sway them a little. At least they have started talking more openly now. He turns slightly as Moira passes beside him, heading for the food. He watches her go, glacial blue eyes on her for a long moment before he looks to Jarl. Another drink taken from the glass then he is moving forward.

Yet it is clear in short order that Joe is not his intended target. It is the large Viking of a man, Odin’s Eye. He speaks when he reaches the man, tone low, just loud enough to be heard over the talk going on around them.

“Odin’s Eye, we need to talk.”

The Rotagar looks up at the man, those cold blue eyes focused on him. Holds the Line stands relaxed, yet there is tension if you look close enough, if you know what to look for.

[Trudy Adler] Trudy gives a small nod both at Joe and Drew, letting them know she's listening but without interruption. Her gaze had flickered to watch Moira wander for food and Karl to approach Matthias. She's just about finished her first beer.

[Colt Montgomery] ~he looked up just in time to see Joe lookin at him, plate in one hand, beer in the other, a yes sir was given, he made his way from the table with all the fixins over to where Izzy was~ "Evenin Detective. I'd offer ya a handshake, but ain't no place to put my plate" ~so he grinned instead~ "Colt Montgomery, my packmate and I are bounty hunters and i offer up our services for the cause, anytime. If you need anything. You call me." ~he then spouted off his phone number even if she looked like she might not want it~ "You got a card? Ya can tuck it in my shirt pocket if ya like"

[Izzy Montoya] "Gotta name?" For the intended victim, she means.

And then there is another, and for those watching, there is something suddenly.. different in Izzy's stance. It's not something overt, not something obvious, but subtle, and it happens the moment John Thornton enters the clearing, and he takes a spot at her side. She meets his gaze evenly, and though she says nothing, there is obviously some sort of communication happening in that moment. He smiles his wan smile that's never quite a smile [but for when they're alone, of course] and her smirk... warms. Briefly.

There's a connection there. It's as clear as the day is long.

Then she returns her attention to the conversations at hand, and the warmth is gone, hidden away. Colt moves her way, and she nods. She pulls a card from her pocket and tucks it into Colt's shirt pocket. When he looks at it later, it's much like she is - simple, unadorned, no-nonsense. Her name, her number, her cell number under her extension at the station. She writes his down as he rattles it off, then returns card and pen to her pocket again. "Alright. Thanks."

[Odins Eye] Matthias turns to Karl, and after downing a significant swig of beer, eyes him sternly. The beer stein then finds its way back to the top of one of the beer kegs, there to rest silently. There is tension, easily read in the Modi, even as his hands hang loose at his sides.

"Do we?"

[Moira Murray] Moira turns suddenly, the tension that had been building in her shoulders as spread down her spine, forcing it to go rigid. Her head snaps to the side, eyes sliding around as they catch sight of Karl heading for the tall Viking figure of Matthias. Hands that clenched the straps of the nylon bag release it, allowing it to drop on the ground at the refreshment table.

She moves as quickly as her curvy frame will allow, hoping to intercept Karl as he makes his way over to Matthias, coming upon them both.

"Karl..." a low warning edging into her voice.

[Joe War- Handed] Joe doesn't turn around. He doesn't twitch. but steel filings may as well have been dusted through his nearly donkey- like voice.

"Holds-da-Line. If its what I t'ink it is, its been delt wit. So, da tew uh yew can go tawk if ya need ta- but don't tawk any further den th' circle ovah deah."

His half lidded gaze swings to Karl.

"Take ya prollems out innit if ya want. But yew boff bettah step back outta dat circle tew."

[John Thornton] John, standing beside Izzy, takes out a card from his wallet and puts it in Colt's pocket as well.

"In case Izzy's busy with paperwork..."

He smiles that wan not-a-smile, as eyes of hazel swing to Izzy, turning off the flashlight and putting it into the trenchcoat pocket. Then, he considers for a few moments...

"I don't think we've met. Detective John Thornton... Also C.P.D."

[Izzy Montoya] Paperwork, he says, and the careful mask that Izzy always wears.... cracks. She smiles. It's brief, it's warm, it's amused, it's... something that turns her strong features into something almost... pretty.

She looks up at him, and then away, so that she can carefully school her expression once more as John introduces himself.

[Colt Montgomery] ~Colt noticed as John took his place next to Izzy, Colt offered him a nod and a grin as well, again his hands were full, his texas accent hard to miss~ "Thank ya Sir" ~yep he was even respectful to the men in uniform, even the kin. He was happy to have the two cards, he'd be contacting either or both of them in the near future~ "Colt Montgomery also known as Culls the Beast. Modi. Claith. I'm new here. Pleasure to meet cha Detective Thornton"

[John Thornton] "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Montgomery. If what little I overheard upon my approach is any indication, your skills may prove invaluable with respect to Miss Oliver's relative."

John nods, and then his eyes stray to Colt's plate...

"I hadn't realized it was a carry-in; I would've brought something."

[Colt Montgomery] "I'm here to help in anyway I can, all ya gotta do is call me" ~he hoped his skills would be used and tested, he was tired of sittin on his hands, and being new was hard~ "No worries, I brought in a big chest full of steak and chicken, the Jarl's mate was busy grillin it up, ya should get cher self a plate before it's cold"

[Holds the Line] (do we?)
(Its been delt wit.)

It seems no one bothered to inform the Rotagar that the thing that had been hanging over them had been resolved. Holds the Line normally has enough rage in him to match the Modi he stands before, yet this night, it is diminished after last nights battle.

His shoulders roll, slowly, breath released slowly with a sigh. He faces Odin’s eye with a level gaze. But there is no challenge there. He nods then.
There is nothing more to be said right now. Matter is settled.
The Rotagar forces himself to turn to Joe, nodding to the Jarl.
“We will get to that soon enough War-Handed. First, we need more beer and stories to raise the mood.”

Holds the Line walks away from the two, heading towards Moira.

[Moira Murray] Karl will not have far to walk as Moira had been heading in that direction of the two Get of Fenris. She was standing there, hands on the round curve of her hips. Face tilted up as she watches them. A flare of nostrils, chest rising and falling with the quickened pace of her breathing.

"Karl?"

[Josie Clark] Jocelyn Clark was listening. She was listening with that big, too bright grin on her face. She even went to go get a beer. The female was going to be walking home, so it wasn't like she needed to really... well... The air fell silent, and she watched, eyes wide and attention unwavering. She took a long pull off of her beer.

God bless Monty, whoever he was.

[Joe War- Handed] The answering nod is respectful.. one born of a knowledge of the heat- lightning passing across any mated garou when their-

Joe blinks.. glances at Kora for a moment as he chews on whatever thought had taken him next. The bullish Modi lets out a long breath and looks back the kegs himself. Next, a drink. Then, well.. he's sure it'll come to him.

[Drew Roscoe] Drew had fallen back to quiet complacency after speaking her turn and offering up the spare bedroom in her house to any who needed it. She'd taken a moment to pull an elastic band from her wrist, gather her hair up at the back of her head and secure it into a ponytail of thick, run-of-the-mill brown that dusted the tops of her shoulders once secured, that hung a few inches past them when left down.

Karl approached someone who introduced himself as Odin's Eye, the big blonde man out of a Norse history book, and Moira got edgy. Drew watched this with her lips pressed together into a thin line, turning the thick ring of crude design but delicate, certain, accurate craftsmanship on her left ring finger, one cut with glyphs and designs, with a tingle of spiritual energy trapped within.

Joe broke it up, chatter started around the food table, and Karl stepped away from the Jarl and Norseman, no doubt to liquor himself up a little bit better. Drew watched this for a second, then shook her head and moved over to stand at Joe's side, slugging back a few deep swallows from her glass of beer as she stepped up to his right. First, though, before addressing the Jarl, she looked to Matthias and smiled a slightly awkward, but undeniably charming smile. Sheepish would be a good word for it, and she stuck out her right hand toward him as she spoke.

"Odin's Eye, did you say? Just wanted to meet you properly, I'm Drew, and I'm sorry I pointed my gun at ya those few days ago. Didn't realize you were family, man."

[Trudy Adler] Chuckling quietly from where she sits, she turns from the gathered to pour herself another beer and get herself some of the cooked food before moved off to settle down on a dry patch of ground with something to lean against. Her phone was checked and pocketed back into her jeans, and without any messages or calls from home, she started eating down some food, content to watch and listen in the background.

[Joe War- Handed] Joe's heavy jaw swings toward Drew as she casually drops the potentially lethal circumstances of her meeting with Odin's Eye.

"Yew did WHAT?"

His attention swings to the other massive Modi.

"Shit, bruddah.. dat means she LIKES yew! Shot me twice befoah I could get 'er ta bat 'er eyes, huh?"

[Izzy Montoya] She nods, slightly, at Colt. "We'll be in touch."

She doesn't make a move for the food herself. She seems content to stay where she is, on the outskirts of the festivities, where she can watch everything, hear most everything, keep herself apart and in one piece. Joe comments on Drew's gun skills, and there's a tightening at the corner of her lips as her jaw tenses, and she takes a slow breath, and releases it again.

She's bound up tight, the tension an iron band along her spine as she reaches into her pocket for her cigarettes and lighter. Her thoughts are her own however, safely tucked behind the mask.

[Odins Eye] Matthias watches Holds the Line, fighting the urge to growl in that all too deep voice of his. Still, he does speak, before the other Fenrir turns his back to walk away.

"The matter is settled; you have won. Gloat too loudly and I will have your head on a post in these woods."

Now there was nothing more to be said.

Turning to where Drew addressed him, and then Joe, Matthias shrugs.

"It is of no consequence... You did not fire.

Though I do wonder if you point firearms at all those who unnerve you with their appearance."

A mere grin, as Matthias takes his beer in hand yet again.

[Kora] Kora returns Joe's look, the corner of her mouth twisted as her dark eyes track Karl's path back through the clearing toward Moira. There is a quiet moment when she is still, utterly still, the beer held against her stomach, her shoulders set in the worn black cotton of her dedicated t-shirt. There's a fire in the firepit, small enough, and it catches out the colors in her pale hair as she lifts the glass to her mouth and drinks, deep, draining the glass entirely.

Then, she brushes back past her Alpha, toward the kegs sitting out in the green, growing grass, arrayed around the fire. There she finds the Goose Island pilsner, grabs the spigot, and leans forward, pumping air into the tap with a practiced hand before refilling her glass.

[Colt Montgomery] ~he stepped back away from the edge of the clearing, leaving the two detectives alone, he hadn't really missed any of the action, the whole Karl steppin up on Matt, and the pretty lil girl who seemed to be with Karl, his beer was gone, so he made a pit stop to fill it up, Goose Island pilsner for him, even though he had to wait behind Kora, he picked up the hose, and drained the rest into his cup, the head lay firm across the top and then he blew it off with a chuckle. this was his last one, just needed something wash down the food.

he found a spot on the ground, where he could still see everything close to trudy, he gave her a nod~ "Heya, mind if I take up a spot on the ground here?"

[Imogen Slaughter] It is not really her style of party.

She does not call herself Fenrir. She does not call herself much of anything at all. Not kinfolk, not mate to Silence or Decker or Rohl. She's been known to refer to Kinfolk as 'they' and Garou as 'they'. She lets her blood speak for herself, the lack of rage, the human trappings of her career.

The blood which marks her as Fianna - though she does not call herself that, either.

Still - she arrives when the sky is full dark, a hand touching a tree in an unmeant gesture for balance. Her eyes skim the crowd. Some she recognizes. Many she does not, and there are none whom she knows well.

Though she is dressed in jeans and has deigned to wear hardier boots for the occasion, Imogen is not much of an outdoorswoman. It is in the way she reaches down, plucking a twig from her jeans and flicking it away to the grassy floor.

"You can always count on a Fenrir party to include beer," this to Kora as she glances up - they are close enough for speaking distance. She brushes her hand against the thigh of her jeans, her other hand lifting to push over her hair, the bright red flames ironically muted in the firelight. Red mutes red.

[Drew Roscoe] Whether he shakes her hand in return or not, it drops to her waistline, thumb hitching into the empty beltloop of her pants while the other hand kept a grip of the sweating glass of beer. She rolled her eyes at Joe, but grinned anyways. "Hey. I shot at you twice. I'm pretty sure one of them missed."

For Odin's eye, she shook her head and rolled one shoulder. "Nah. Only the ones that have my friends cowering and screaming on the ground and make me feel like they're gonna kill indiscriminately." No doubt she was referring to his Rage, even though she had no idea what it was or how to properly describe it.

With that matter settled, though, her eyes skimmed the crowd once more, and her elbow moved to nudge Joe in the side. The grin had faded away from her face completely, and a pinch between her eyebrows suggested concern. When matched with the way her mouth was held, tight at the corners, pressed together in the center to thin her lips, it made for an expression that was almost comical in how sincerely uneasy it was.

"We're missing people, Joe..."

[Kora] "Fianna'll throw in whiskey," Kora returns, having registered the hint of Imogen's breeding in the air before she has registered her presence. There's a line from one to the other, a certain neural pathway snug beneath the more human folds of her mind. " - and maybe decent Scotch if you're lucky."

Then, holding out the spigot, attached to the hose, attached to the keg, her thumb on the trigger. "Grab a glass, yeah? I'll pour." There is a small pause, neat and narrow, accompanied by a familiar quirk of her mouth. "This is the decent stuff. If you want the Natty Light, though, that's the next keg over." Her shoulders curl beneath the black PIXIES t-shirt, " - gotta have something for everyone."

There's a scent of alcohol in the air, too. The grass around the kegs is damp with deliberately spilled beer. Every time Kora fills her own glass, she gives the grass a drink. One for the living, one for the dead.

"Good to see you, doc."

[Imogen Slaughter] "Fianna would be holdin' drinkin' contests by now," Imogen replies, pausing before she takes a glass, holding it out for Kora to pour, tilting it to control the head of foam. "Do a shot, take a punch, tha' sort o' thing."

Good to see you, doc. Imogen's gaze cuts, restrained, to the younger Fenrir, and rests there for several seconds.

"Hm." A quiet sound. "Well, I've seen th'Fianna trade blows and I've seen th'Sept play football. Might as well see wha' the Fenrir get up to."

[Joe War- Handed] (Back in a few, gotta go check something.)

[Kora] "At some point," Kora says, finishing the pour with a flourish that does not etch a four-leaf closer into the head of the foam. Another little drink for the damp grass, and then she coils the tubing around the tap, lifting her own beer to her mouth to cover her half smile. " - they might get together and start measuring. Until then, I'm afraid we'll likely forgo the drinking games in favor of a few good fights. And then drink to the victor, and the loser. Maybe their ancestors, and then the dead in the house of the gods.

"Though," she starts ambling away from the kegs, opening the space to whoever wants the next drink. " - if you wanted to challenge someone to a drinking game, I don't think anyone would gainsay you."

[Moira Murray] No reply from the Rotagar, Moira scrunches up her nose. She turns on her boots, lifting up her hands to scrub them across her eyes and sweep aside black bangs that try to blind her. She returns to the nylon bag left sitting on the ground at the refreshment table.

She leans down to pick it up, continuing on until she finds a seat and sits down across from Josie. Eyebrows furrowing as she sits the bag down on the table. She looks over when a flash of auburn slides into her peripheral and waves at Imogen.

"When did you get here?" She calls out to the other kin.

A huff of breath, Moira pulls her legs up to cross them under her and looks across at Josie. "Hi."

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's breath exhales her mouth twisting in a humourless smirk.

"I don't imagine that I will," she says, smirking faintly as she, too, steps away from the keys, turning her head toward the sound of someone calling out to her. She sees Moira, her hand waving, and lifts her own hand part way in response.

"Thirty seconds ago," she calls back - though it is as much the skill of pitching one's voice to be heard as raising it.

She turns her attention back to Kora, "But I'll keep it in mind, shall I?"

[Colt Montgomery] ~he finished his beer and food, made for the garbage to dispose of everything, then headed over to sit near Josie~ "Hey where's yer sista?"

[Josie Clark] She looks at Moira, lips upturn and the female grins. She wiggles her fingers at the other female. She sits across from her, and she straightens up, "Hey there stranger, what's new?"

She glances at Colt, who takes a seat nearby. Ever the jovial one, ever the conversational one, "Jesse... shit, I don't know. She's always moving around and doing shit... I don't know, her job takes her weird places."

She shrugs. She plays it off.

[Joe War- Handed] (back)

The glass of beer gripped in one broad fist is all but forgotten.. Joe's gaze remains riveted on Holds-the-Line and Odin's Eye, the two garou's forms too still, eyes too hard against the other, for that to be anything but a test of wills. Along one side of the challenge circle, Joe paces back and forth.. a few steps one way, then he turns to move in the other. His jaw is clamped shut tightly- teeth grit together as he walks.

Though he's given the two Fenrir room, crowds neither one, he is one bound away from the pair of them.

"Whadaya mean?" His response to Drew is distracted, to say the least.

[Kora] "Do," says Kora. The expression on her face is not a smirk; just a faint, lively halfsmile that finds as much expression in her dark eyes as if finds a the edges of her generous mouth. " - I'd like to see you drink a modi or two under the table, Doc. Hey, if you win," - she gestures toward the stein, sitting in the center of one of the picnic tables arrayed with food. " - you get to drink out of that, and feel like a real Viking. We couldn't come up with a hat with horns on such short notice, or there'd be one, too."

There is a quick, subtle gesture with the beer glass toward the food. " - plenty if you're hungry. Trudy brought flatbread, the mustards and cheese. Colt brought steaks and chicken, and Drew brought the burgers and brats."

No one brought carrots. Kora does not mention the musty smelling dead deer covered with a ratty blanket by the fire.

[Moira Murray] Moira reaches for the nylon bag beside her, casting a glance at Colt and Josie. She nods to the other kin with the lovely voice. Her head drops, looking into the bag as a situation arises between the two fenrir she had abandoned.

"Do any of you drive? this to Colt and Josie.

[Colt Montgomery] ~he shrugged it off, Jesse didn't look old enough to have a job, and a girl who skated around on heeley's, well he just didn't say anything..looking at Moira~ "I drive" ~then looking back to Matt, Joe and Karl to see what was going on~

[Drew Roscoe] She watched Joe pace back and forth outside the circle etched into the dirt, frowned faintly, turned her head to glance after Karl, then returned her attention to the Jarl. Her eyes followed the roll of boulder-like shoulders, traced up to his face and the way he held his mouth, how his eyes were stuck inside the circle, bouncing between the two that had threatened conflict.

These people drank violence like boxed wine, she supposed it was only a matter of time before someone bled.

Her incisors clipped at the inside of her lower lip, and she gave a worried little mumble. "I don't see Joey. ...Don't see Wrath. Don't see Thomas..." You can hear the heartache in the last name, the hand-wringing concern that was better suited to someone pacing back and forth around an old kitchen table, waiting anxiously for the phone to ring, anticipating and dreading it all at once for the news that had to be at the other end of it.

"Booker didn't make it either."

[Josie Clark] "I? Do not."

[Blood Summons] One minute, there was a Godi standing by the beer kegs, listening to a story about a badass berserker with a thick skull and tiny sinuses. The next... he just wasn't there. It was as if he had vanished, or wandered off, without anyone noticing. He wasn't there for introductions, and he wasn't there for Karl to confront Matthias, for Joe to tell the two of them to take it to the challenge circle if they were going to insist on doing this.

When he reappears several minutes later, he's still bare-handed and hardly dressed for the weather. He rejoins the festivities as though nothing had happened, says nothing about where he had went; he just picks up a beer glass and starts to fill it.

"Doc," he says to the Fianna kinswoman, glancing sidelong at her as he pours beer into the glass.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's gaze flicks toward the challenge circle, the locked eyes of Garou. She takes an absent sip of her beer, her eyebrow arching slightly as she watches, before answering Kora a few seconds later than she might if her full attention were on the other.

"Should ha' had the hat," she says. "Then I might ha' truly been interested."

[Moira Murray] "Good. I may have to bother you for a lift back into the city."

Moira turns her head, glancing behind her to where she left Matthias and Karl standing, the Modi and the Rotagar facing each other as they try to stare each other down. Her nostrils flare out, tension rolling through her shoulders and back. A flicker of anger brimming in her eyes.

"Yes, definitely going to need a ride back to the city."

[Colt Montgomery] "Not a problem. I can drop ya off. Just grab me" ~with that he headed over to get a better look, he thought it was tense before, well he was a bettin man, he wondered what the odds were, and where everyone else was placing money. he waved at Imogen~ "Evenin"

[Joe War- Handed] As the two Fenrir start the invigorating process of battering each- other senseless- and old school style at that.. bare fists, no shifting, Joe's teeth flash in excitement.

Blood equals good, in a Modi's world.

His chin twitches toward Drew, his eyes soon after. Now that the exciting parts have arrived, Joe's pacing is stilled, as though the meaty smack of knuckles on flesh were all that was lacking to calm him down.

"Thomas is lookin' feh sumpfin. He's in th' Umbra Drew- he'll be fine." Lips twitch into a short lived smile.

"Wrath went down against a Danceh- an' went down well tew. As feh dis Booker guy- I don' know 'im. Who's dat?"

The bullish Modi's thick neck swings back to the fight. "Ah FUCK! DAT's gonna leave a lump!" He brays.

[Holds the Line] Karl turns to walk to Moira to find her almost upon him. Then Odin’s eye speaks up, and the Rotagar stops dead.
Oin’s eye growls
(Gloat too loudly and I will have your head on a post in these woods)

The Rotagar turns with an agility matching the wolf inside him, those glacial eyes burning. Odin’s eye stands inches taller then the Rotagar, yet somehow, it does not seem to bother the Rotagar at all. Teeth bared, he fixes Matthias with a stare, direct, challenging. Karl is physically smaller, yet within him sings the blood of heroes, of purity of the Blood-Snow.

[Trudy Adler] (ooc: there's a fight? I must be missing posts.)

[Izzy Montoya] (they're doing it in PMs. we requested posts so that we can react. :) )

[Holds the Line] (Not a fight, a staredown. post coming shortly from Odin's eye)

[Kora] Kora's eyes flash to the Garou locked in a staredown, too. She studies them closely, her mouth stilling as she assess their respective stages, then frowns at the kin closest to the pair. With her eyes still on the duo, who are now apparently fighting, she breathes out a laugh over another sip of her beer, enough to set the surface of the gradually diminishing head rippling.

"In that case, doc," she replies, "I'll start planning earlier, next time. You'll have to get me your hat size, ahead of time." Then, as Blood Summons joins them, flanking the Fianna kinswoman. " - rhya."

[ooc: there's a fight going on? ]

[Trudy Adler] (ooc: Oh. Got confused. I didn't see nothing.)

[Drew Roscoe] "Booker's Kin, lives a few blocks off from me, works for-..."

She trailed off, but not because of the fight occurring in the circle that Joe paced anxiously outside of, back and forth to one side of her. Her fingers loosened on her beer glass, enough that it slipped, but she caught it before it fell and beverage was spilled. Her eyes dropped from the pair in the circle to the stamped-down grass beneath their feet.

She swallowed a little to hard, huffed her exhale too loudly, and then was quiet.

[Odins Eye] The two Fenrir stare at each other, eyes of steel meeting those of chill blue... The Modi stares down at the Rotagar, his teeth likewise barred... Until eventually, Matthias' lips draw back in a full snarl and he swings a meaty fist at Karl's head.

It hits... Something.

Then, with a low growl in his throat, Matthias stalks back toward the woods whence he came... A distinct urge to kill growing steadily stronger within him. He reaches the woods and melts into the form of a pure gray wolf...

A low, baleful growl sounds from the wolf's muzzle as it disappears from view, licking its chops hungrily.

[Josie Clark] Her head snaps towards the direction of the growl, her muscles are tense, and she isn't blinking, she isn't wavering, she isn't looking away. No, no in fact, Jocelyn Clark is sitting quite, quite still. Whatever words were there were gone. Whatever words were there lost, and the female sits.

She shouldn't be that still. She watches as the wolf, pure grey, stalks off into the woods.

There's no world outside of her observation at that point.

[Izzy Montoya] Izzy's attention is drawn to the circle, and the tension ratchets a bit tighter along the base of her spine. She forgets her cigarette for a moment, two, and then she lifts it to her lips and takes a deep drag. It's no accident that her right hand rests against her thigh, that her attention is locked on the circle.

The wolf takes off into the woods, and Izzy breathes again and mutters under her breath. "Christ, I hate these fucking things..."

[Trudy Adler] Her food long gone and her second beer on it's way to joining the other, she had watched the two Garou stare-down. One lost, swinging a fist at the other, and then turned and stalked off like some bully beaten by the younger, smaller kid in the school ground. She found herself snickering a quiet laugh to herself.

[Holds the Line] The Garou face each other. In the end, Odin’s eye admits defeat like a true Get of Fenris.
The punch is quick. Karl raises his hand just in time. The heavy punch connects solidly with Karl’s raised fist, hard enough to send the Rotagar a half step back.

Then it is over. Odin’s Eye turns from the Rotagar, stalking towards the woods.

Holds the Line does not follow, instead looking after the other Fenrir, breathing deeply.

The Rotagar does not move until the large Viking has gone completely out of sight. Only then does he turn towards Joe. He looks at the Jarl steadily for a moment.

“You were right Jarl War-Handed.”
Holds the Line shakes his head.
“It has been settled.”

And he turns then, searching for Moira.

[Imogen Slaughter] Doc.
"Bob." The greeting is brief, succinct and to the point. On both ends.

Colt greets her as well and receives a flick of a glance. There is marginal familiarity there - born of passing acquaintance rather than formal meetings.

Odin's Eye lashes out at Holds the Line - then stalks off, shifting mid-step to his wolf form, snarling as it disappears from view.

The kinwoman watches it from beginning to end, though she does not quite seem disturbed by it. Her attention is abstract, almost incidental.

There is no hint to her opinion of this. She merely lifts her drink and swallows deeply.

[Moira Murray] A menacing growl fills the air, Moira jerks upright, shooting up off the bench to stand up. She blinks suddenly, the corners of her mouth twitching down as she watches the results of the stare down along with the others. The Viking swings a meaty fist for Karl's head.

She flinches - eyes narrowing briefly in reaction, and then her gaze is swinging off to follow Josie's watching the gray wolf stalk off into the woods. Blue eyes snap back toward the Rotagar, her chest rising as she sucks in a deep breath. Throat rippling under heavy swallows of air as her eyes begin to widen now. Still standing at the table with Josie and Colt.

[Blood Summons] The stare down between the Modi and the Rotagar doesn't draw his attention the way it does so many others'. He seems focused on filling his beer glass without spilling any, and then for the second time tonight--the first time he's actually seeming to hear her--Kora is addressing him. As he steps back from the small army of kegs, the Godi takes a swig, then clears his throat. It does no good. It never does any good. His voice always sounds like he's recovering from a month-long bender, like he's living off of hard alcohol and chain-smoking cigarettes. The rest of him doesn't look as though he treats himself any better.

"Sorrow," he says, about the time one of the combatants slips into his wolf skin and prowls off towards the woods. That gets his attention, has his water-colored eyes leaving the females at his side to watch the Modi's path. A swallow of beer, and the recently-returned Fostern asks, "What was that all about?"

[Joe War- Handed] THAT'S it! Joe is a flurry of activity as he wrenches his jacket off and tosses it in a heap- its canvas, so the clink and grind of metal is likely due to whatever is up the sleeves and in the pockets. Grinning broadly he bends over to begin unlacing his boots, fingers quick, trembling with excitement as they fumble at the knots.

One of them is off by the time he realizes Karl has left the circle. One boot still on, he watches the Rotagar walk away- a touch crestfallen.

"But... theah's still some meat left onya! Awwwwwuh..." He grumbles at the grass, and looks dolefully to Drew. Who seems.. rather.. upset.

"Hey. Whatsa mattah?"

[John Thornton] John, for his part, just watches the two stare down... His interest turned at the sound of the growl. Then, with a sigh, he just shakes his head.

"I love family reunions."

Then, he starts to walk to the refreshments, and after a few moments, settles for a plate of food.

[Drew Roscoe] Odin's Eye snarls, swings, and stalks off toward the treeline. At some point he blurs from man to wolf, but Drew doesn't really seem to notice that. Karl addresses Joe and leaves the circle, while Joe had been leaning down to tug off his boots, apparently anxious to get some blood on his knuckles too. When he turns his head to look up to Drew, she's still staring at the grass, muscles lax enough that she looks like she's very tired, about to sit down, or like a strong breeze could knock her over.

Her answer to his question was quiet. "No one told me."

A hand lifted to scrub a thumb at the corner of her eye, and it dropped with saltwater rubbed onto the pad of it. She shook her head, shifted her feet so that she was more certain that she'd keep standing, and looked at her mostly-empty glass of beer. Chewing at the inside of her lower lip, biting it sharply, she tipped the glass and let the rest run into the dirt. "Poor kid."

[Kora] "Moira," the Skald's dark eyes track Odin's Eye as he throws a punch, then flees the circle, melting into his wolf form. There is Moira, watching, breathing deeply. Kora's eyes are fixed on her in that moment, watching the way the light cuts across the planes of her pure bred features, catches out the healthy gleam in her dark hair. The tension written into her form. Then, she glances back over at Imogen and Blood Summons, " - if I don't miss my guess."

Joe is half-way undressed by now. "He's ready to fight. If someone doesn't oblige him, I'll have to give him a go-round."

[Trudy Adler] "I'll go." Trudy jumps up from where she's sitting as she overhears Kora. "I'm out and about, got some time away from the rug rats, nothing better then to suffer a beating by the Jarl to complete the night. No point wastin' it, now is there?"

Pulling off her jacket, she throws it down by her bag, raising up her voice: "Jarl! You and me." Nodding to the circle if he looks her way. "Let's go bare knuckled." She's reaching to yank off her well worn hiking boots and socks.

[Izzy Montoya] John walks away, and that gives her something to watch, something that isn't Fenrir searching for a fight, because hell, that's what they do. Some days, it's too much. Not the fighting - hell, she loves that - but the hypocrisy that so often goes with it.

But that doesn't matter when John starts to move away, and pulls her attention away from the snarling. She remains where she is, and remains silently smoking her cigarette. Her thoughts, once more, her own.

[Joe War- Handed] "Know wheah he is now?" Joe says it as he bends back over. Immense muscles writhe like snakes under the skin of his arms as the kid unlaces and tosses away his other boot. When he stands again, he's nearly solemn. About to finish the thought- but Trudy's challenge brings his face swinging back around like a bull in a pen, and he grins with the wide, almost wholesome zeal of youth.

If one squints just right, the swastikas and 'SS' emblems could be simple tricks of the light.

"MARRY me, Trudy!" It sounds like a 'thank you' maybe. Joe leaps into the middle of the circle, dancing from foot to foot.

"Dunno.. yowah a muddah an' all... maybe I oughta go soft on ya, huh? HUH?"

[Holds the Line] He takes a few steps towards the table where Moira is standing with Josie and Colt. His voice is low, rough, near enough a growl.

“It seems the riddle is solved, Flame of my Heart. I simply wish someone would have told me it was solved before it began.”
Moira has learned to read the Rotagar. Where other see that icy cold exterior, Moira sees more, deep in those glacial eyes.

And Karl continues walking, as if to continue past the table to some other destination in the clearing.

[Imogen Slaughter] Moira, says Kora, and Imogen flicks a glance toward the Fenrir kinfolk, an eyebrow arching.

"I imagine so," she says after a beat.

Kora suggests that Joe is in need of a fight, and Trudy, unfamiliar to the kinwoman leaps up to oblige. The beginning smack-talk provokes a smirk.

"And this is what yer tribe does," this, absent to Kora.

"I think I'll go before they spill blood," she says, wryly. "S'too much for my tender constitution." That the kinwoman delivers the line dead-pan does not change the absurdity of it.

She takes another deep drink of her beer, before turning away to dump the remainder on the patch of grass which Kora has already watered. One for the living one for the dead. Her farewell includes both Blood Summons and the Skald.

"Enjoy yer night."

[Trudy Adler] Laughing at that, she called out a hearty, "Fuck you, little boy. I'm going to teach that mouth of yours some manners." She knows, fully well, that the Modi is probably going to beat her to a pulp. But, there's a certain satisfaction in that. Blood and adrenalin pumping, she couldn't very well attend a Fenrir Moot and not get bloodied and bruised, or broken.

As she approaches the challenge circle, but before she steps into it, she's retying her hair into a ponytail and wrapping it into a loose knot. "And just maybe, Jarl, you can teach this old wolf a few tricks or two." Which had been the whole point of wanting to go bare knuckled. To pick up some skill, test it out, not to just tear shit to pieces with their teeth and claws.

Then she steps into the circle, bare foot and in jeans and a t.shirt. She's probably got ten years on Joe, but that matters little in the world of Garou.

[Drew Roscoe] There was little in the way of reassurance or sympathy or coddling here. Drew knew that already, she didn't expect much in the way of such things. Garou were tough and hard, not entirely man, not entirely wolf, but completely beast. War and Death were commonplace for them, from what she understood the ultimate goal was to die in battle (though she thought it was to win the battle, that made more sense). They had their time to mourn the fallen Lupus, but the news is brand new to Drew, and she couldn't decide which was worse-- the fact that he died, or the fact that it was so expected that no one bothered to speak of it afterward.

Joe said something with the inflection of questioning at the end of it, and Drew looked at him for clarification, but already he was hopping into the circle because the woman introduced as Trudy, someone she'd certainly never seen before, had challenged him, though over what was left unseen. Both were smiling, so this had to be for sport.

The Kin's mouth set in a funny sort of line, caught between displeasure and a negatively-geared kind of awe. She shifted her hiking boots backward through the grass, glanced down at the toes of them, then up to Joe's face, all shining with excitement and pure joy. She shook her head some and turned her back to the circle, walking instead to the charred mark in the earth that was the fire pit that bonfires roared to life in four times a year, but not tonight. Instead it housed the carcass of a deer, uncooked and untouched aside from the claws and teeth that killed it.

Here, just outside the stink of death and the cloud of gnats and flies that swarmed the meat, Drew settled in the grass and crossed her legs.

[John Thornton] John goes back to where Izzy stands, taking a bite of the food and offering her some as well. He stands without the circle, watching...

Then, once the food is eaten, he turns to Izzy.

"I have some paperwork to finish yet tonight... I should go."

[Kora] There is a subtle snort at Imogen's wry line about her tender constitution; a twist of her mouth that is the closest Kora ever comes to a true smirk. It sparks something brighter in her eyes, though, gleaming over the lip of the beer glass as she watches the back-and-forth before the promised fisticuffs.

Then, Imogen is stepping away. "Night, doc - " Kora says, lifting her eyes from the promised fight, casting a glance over her right shoulder long enough to track Imogen's path away from the circle of the fitful firelight. " - thanks for coming out." She lifts her beer glass in a vague toast in Imogen's direction, before turning back to the fight.

[Izzy Montoya] She accepts the offer, when John returns, and then - as he mentions paperwork again, the tension drains from her shoulders, slides through her form and away as she nods slightly.

"I've some files that you should look at tonight, too." The corner of her lips quirks upwards, slightly. "So, how bout I join you?"

[Joe War- Handed] In reply to Trudy's taunt, Joe grins broadly, makes a kissy face, and waggles his eyebrows. "Don' use yowah cane Ma- dat's cheatin!"

Then its on.

[Blood Summons] "You do the same," Bob tells the kinswoman.

The oncoming brawl steals his gaze then, the powerfully-built blonde squaring off against the Jarl, and he indicates the challenge circle to Kora with a tilt of his head before he heads in that direction, his combat boots causing the grass to cry out beneath his feet as he walks.

[Imogen Slaughter] Thanks for coming out. Imogen flicks her fingers in an absent gesture, almost dismissive. She does not waste much time on goodbyes, though Moira might get a nod if the redhaired kinwoman - so starkly different from the Northern Blooded Fenrir - happens to catch her eye.

She heads out of the clearing and back toward the path she'd taken to get here in the first place, familiar to her by now, as she heads back towards her car.

[John Thornton] John nods, smiling a bit more genuinely than before...

"Meet you there."

And with that, John turns, reaching into his trench coat pocket to withdraw the flashlight. The white beam shines brightly into the woods...

Perhaps in spite of himself, John draws the gun at his side as well... Just in case.

[Moira Murray] She can read the look in his eyes - a bit more deeply than others may try to perceive it. Moira lowers her gaze, shaking her head as she shoves away from the table. She extends a hand out to grab for her bag, looping her arms through the straps and hitching it up onto her shoulders. Moira flinches at Karl's words when he passed by. She sighs, pushing away from the table. Her head turning to follow his path through the clearing and to where she settles.

"Good night, Imogen..." A call to the red head who was starting to leave, she considers saying more, but doesn't just a nod to the redhead. Moira looks around trying to decide what to do.

[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles, briefly, and then simply turns to the path, and makes her way through the trail in his wake. She'd warned Moira she wouldn't be around long, and likely would leave without a word...

..and that's exactly what she does. After all, there is paperwork to see too...

[Kora] Sorrow pauses to refill her beer - and to retrieve the victor's stein from the picnic table, filling it with beer from the "good" cask - then catches up to Blood Summons as he crosses the clearing to the edge of the challenge circle. She has the stein in her left hand, the base resting against her thigh, and the glass in her right, held against her stomach as she settles in to watch the promised fight.

[Silence] This isn't even fashionably late anymore. This is just late. Like he forgot all about it, or like he doesn't give a damn anymore.

Silence does turn up, though. Eventually. He doesn't announce his presence. He doesn't swagger up. He's just there, standing apart from all the others, the young Fenrir that made up what was purportedly his tribe in this sept. Hard to say when he showed up, exactly, but the rage that beats off him, counteracted by an iron fist of a will, makes him unmistakable. And sooner or later, it's impossible not to notice.

He watches Imogen go, though, and doesn't move to stop her. He lifts an arm. Points after her.

"That's my mate."

He points at Moira.

"That's my kin."

His hand drops back to his side. Grey eyes like a storm sweep slowly over the gathered, reading faces, looking for any reaction other than acquiescence.

[Holds the Line] Karl doesnt go far. The moot is far from over, and the rotagar finds he has energy to burn away.

He spots Izzy and John as they leave. He had been to caught up to notice the other Kin. He watches them for a short while, then turns to watch the fight that is about to start.

He lets his gaze sweep over those still gathered before settling on Trudy and the Jarl, watching with interest.

[Kora] "You and me, next?" she says to the Fostern as she ambles up, her head canting sidelong, her pale hair loose around her shoulders. The fire is at their backs, now, so there's no spark in her eyes, just shadow, dark, the vague gleam of reflected starlight.

[Holds the Line] ((Scratch that last post!))

[Josie Clark] That's my mate.

Silence points at Moira.

That's my kin.

She blinks once, then twice, then gets another drink and gets back to watching. Blessed be some booze.

[Imogen Slaughter] Silence appears like a rage storm - and Imogen turns briefly toward the sound of his voice, not yet out of sight and therefore, not yet out of hearing.

A pause, her gaze touching on the Fenrir who stakes his claim so boldly.

(The Fenrir who is has earned the right to stake his claim with no argument. These cliaths haven't even the right to challenge him)

A muscle moves in her jaw - she says nothing. Does nothing.

Merely turns and completes her original intention: She leaves the Fenrir to their business.

[Holds the Line] Karl is about to watch the fight, when a presence arrives among them. It is undeniable. It is More then any other here. Karl turns his gaze to the Athro Fenrir and watches him point after Imogen.
Message taken. Don’t touch.
Then he points to Moira.
(That’s my kin)

Karl draws a deep breath. He doesn’t even glance to Moira. There is no room for doubt or Hesitation. No room for doubt.
“I Challenge your claim, Silence-Rhya.”

Karl takes a step towards the Modi.
Silence is More.
Silence is Athro.
Silence is in Karl’s way.

[Moira Murray] That's my kin.

"Awe fuck me..." as a dead Rotagar used to say quite frequently...

Moira was about to step away from the table, her mouth dropping open as she blinks and stares at Silence. Her eyes quickly snapping around to look for Karl.

Karl challenges. (Three days later, few mourners attend Karl's Gathering...)

She going to grow dizzy with all the turning she's doing, Moira looks up at Decker. Lips pressed into a thin line, "What?"

[Joe War- Handed] Its a brief, laughing exchange that soon gives way to grunts and the smack of fists on flesh. Eventually Joe's on the ground, and Trudys knees are digging into his chest. Like bull riding- except there's more blood involved.

Joe smiles through a bloody grin- that disappears the moment Silence speaks. His face jerks to the side, and all joking is gone from his features.

"Get up, killah."

[Joe War- Handed] (mod previous post. Joe won. Had trouble deciphering the rolls.*L*)

[Blood Summons] With his shoulders back and his spine straight, the Godi still doesn't manage to look as tall as some of their tribesmen. He doesn't cut a physically impressive figure: his muscles are visible but lean, his body made up of hard lines and little bulk, and despite the battle scars and the tattoos, he looks as though it would take little work to pound him into the ground.

The Skald makes a proposition, and Blood Summons looks over at her as the Athro arrives at the clearing, pointing to various Kinfolk and proclaiming them to be his in some fashion or another.

"You're on," he says.

That's about the time Karl challenges Decker for his claim over Moira. The Godi glances away from the circle to look over at the Rotagar, his brow knit into an expression that can be briefly read as: Oh, shit.

He drains his beer.

[Trudy Adler] For a good, bloody moment she had been throwing solid shots, dodging others, and getting floored by harder more accurate punches from the Modi, and it's she that ends up on the floor, being ground by knees in the chest and spitting blood from her mouth. They were both looking towards Silence and the relatively quietness that has settled over the camp area. Tension rides the air, now, instead of banter. She pats the Jarls leg, motions for him to get up - he was the victor, and rolled to her feet spitting another gob of blood to the ground again, as she tries to get a hold on what was going on.

[Silence] [sniiiifff: percep+PU! basic emotions-of-the-moment read.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
to Moira Murray

[Joe War- Handed] Joe doesn't help Trudy to her feet. Instead, the bullish kid is looking from Silence to Moira, drops of blood dripping from the artfully destroyed mass of nose that's been broken many, many times before. He forgets himself for a moment, then hops up from Trudy's chest.

Another cliath in the crowd for a moment, before his eyes settle like gleaming stones on Moira.

[Kora] "Brilliant." - this is Kora's quiet reply to Blood Summons' you're on.

When the fight is over, Kora holds out the nearly full stein to Joe as he and Trudy rise from the ground, bloodied and - not laughing, not now. Not with Silence's appearance, not with Karl's challenge. Still, wordlessly, the Skald offers the stein to her Alpha, pivoting on the damp, trampled grass at the edges of the circle, her own attention swinging neatly between Silence, Karl and Moira. The bout with the Godi is forgotten for the moment.

[Silence] Karl speaks. Silence's eyes skate directly to him, flicking like stones. His head turns a moment later, faces the Cliath he's only seen once before. Silence's nostrils flare. He sniffs, once, sharp and long.

A pause. Then one word. No explanations:

"No."

[Drew Roscoe] A presence blew into the clearing like a sharp, hot wind that cut across desert, cutting you with the sand that it carried, not allowing you to ignore or forget it. Drew glanced over her shoulder toward the more central point of the gathering place, where people had stilled and quieted and turned to watch, to see Silence and the New Moon that stood up to him, to look at the black-haired Kinfolk that it was all about.

She licked at her lips, shook her head, and looked back to the dead deer gone to waste.

[Imogen Slaughter] (thanks for the scene, all!)

[Joe War- Handed] Surprise, then concentration each pass in turn across Joe's broad face. His attention remains on Silence.. then Moira.. and back again.

Damnit. His gum is all the way over there in his jacket. Gonna have to think without it. Thankfully it doesn't take him long to arrive at a decision. Of the two options that occur to Joe regarding the kinwoman so often a bone of contention, only one works.

The third would not come to him for some time.

"Silence-rhya. Can I challenge feh 'er? Dat goyl cut loose widdout a mate aint been a good t'ing sah far."

[Trudy Adler] "Can I interject here?" The Philodox doesn't wait for an answer though, even if it is the Jarl. She had came out of the circle bloody and moves to stand a step behind and beside the Jarl, looking at the highest ranked Garou of the Tribe.

"Silence -rhya, when the Kinfolk introduced herself earlier, she said she was formerly a ward of yours. There seems to be some communication going awry." She's not saying anything about Karl's challenge. Silence had the right to refuse it, or beat the Cliath into a bloody, limp biscuit.

[Moira Murray] Moira folds her arms across her chest, she brings a hand up to press fingers to the bridge of her nose, head dropping down into her palm. Joe's offer to challenge draws the kinfolk's narrowed gaze to him. Her nostrils flaring out.

"You have a mate, War-Hand," she replies whether he listens to her or not, "And there is the fact that I am still widowed not even two months from my last mate."

[Holds the Line] It is like a hammer stroke.
Karl levels the challenge.
Silence refuses it.
There is too much between them. The cliath and the Athro.
It is Decker’s right, and Karl stands powerless, without right in the nations eyes.

Karl looks from Silence then.
That glacial gaze goes to Moira. He watches her in silence for the space of three deep breaths.
Then he turns back to Silence, and moves forward.

Karl has Breeding.
Silence is as Heroes reborn

Holds the Line has a strong will.
Silence is Unbreakable.

The Rotagar has Rage to match the other Modi gathered.
Silence has enough to scorch the clearing.

Karl stops in front of the Athro. He looks at him, yet he is unable to meet the others gaze.
Silence is More.

“What will it take?”

[Silence] The Modi rolls his neck, that complex weave of muscle in the upper back, in the shoulders shifting, bunching, releasing. His head locks back into place, his jaw is set, chin lowered like a bull an second before the charge. Eyes fast on the younger Modi now:

"She's. My. Kin."

He enunciates every word; low, deliberate, like laying stones down across a seething bed of coals. There's a hard pause, a beat where all the concentrated weight of his presence presses down on Joe.

Then his eyes flick to Karl. To Joe. Back.

"If 'n when she's ready, you'll gitcher crack."

[Moira Murray] "Decker..." She speaks loudly and clearly, tilting her chin up to look at the Athro Modi, "No."

She points to the Rotagar, gestures to Karl. "I chosen Karl. He has been serving as my protector for the past couple of weeks. I want to remain with him, please."

[Joe War- Handed] It had been mostly desperation. Perhaps a glint of worry. After all, when he'd last seen their Elder, the Athro had seemed more than a little out of balance.

This is different. When Silence's gaze had settled on Joe.. it had been even. Controlled. Not a step away from lashing out. This was that origional Silence. Reseated in who he was. Joe doesn't look away- but slowly, as the realization dawns on him, a knot of tension unwinds itself from around his spine.. and Joe realizes he's looking at an Elder again. A superior, instead of the devistating thing Silence had become.

Joe's eyes find the ground in front of the elder Modi's feet, and the ghost of a smile threatens to tilt his mouth. The situation is handled.

[Trudy Adler] (ooc: leaving here. Thanks for the scene. Grab me another time if someone wants to talk with Trudy.)

[Drew Roscoe] Drama, silence, the halting of festivities boil down to the dark-haired Kinfolk and the Garou that wish to claim her. Bodies were still and eyes were watching, waiting for the tension to fade from the air, for silence to place down his final word, for a conclusion, solid and heavy as the head of a hammer, to come down and put an end to the conversation entirely. Those gathered knew how this would end. Decker was not a man to be swayed, no matter how big the baby blues aimed up at him were.

With a bit of a groan, and a mutter under her breath to no one that was too quiet for even the nearest person to decipher into intelligible language, Drew pushed herself up onto her feet, brushed off the ass of her jeans, and tread softly over to Joe's side. Her fingers touched his arm just below the elbow, and her words were light when she spoke to him, body rocked up so she was standing on her toes, chin tipped up so she could speak into his ear and not be so loud as to interrupt the show.

"I'm not feelin' the festivities anymore, I'm gonna go."

[Silence] All told, this has been a progressive moot when it comes to kin. Kin are present, for one. Kin have been permitted to speak. Kin were openly lauded by the young Jarl of the Chicago Fenrir. No one so much as batted an eyelash when a kin admitted to pulling a gun on a Garou.

In the Sept of the Storm Hammer, where his Athrohood was forged, Silence is considered progressive, which is not necessarily a compliment. Silence is considered unconventional, fruit fallen far from the tree: a Fenrir whose lineage is heroes and slaughterers who would take a mate not of Fenrir blood; who would stay with her despite that she has never borne him a single cub. A Fenrir who spends his days guarding a precarious Sept perched on the lip of a huge, sprawling Scab.

He's a progressive there. Here, he's brutally traditional. And when Moira speaks:

Silence stares her down.

For what it's worth, then: afterward. When she's fallen to silence. Then, he does answer her, his voice low.

"We'll discuss this shit later."

His attention moves on, then. The other Fenrir. The Cliaths and sole Fostern, young wolves who shared his blood and lineage and, it seems to him, almost nothing else. Joe, though. He has something in common with them. Shameful past or not, scars of petty human bigotry or not, there's an idealism to him, if any Fenrir could be said to possess such a thing.

If not that, then at least this: youth. Which is something all the Cliaths had. Which is something Silence, young still by human standards, a stone cold veteran by Garou measures, has long since lost.

He exhales a short breath, something like a whuff. Nods with a jerk of his chin, upward, at the younger Modi.

"War-Handed," he says, something like acknowledgment, and turns to go.

[Holds the Line] Silence turns to go.
It was settled.
Rage boils in the young Rotagar, and is crushed down, relentlessly.

Karl cannot press it now. Silence has settled it like an Athro.

As the Athro turns, so does Karl. There is a fire in his eyes. In his blood.

He looks to Moira. She had chosen him. He had chosen her.
Foolish children playing games it would seem.
Except perhaps for the children themselves.

He doesn’t look from the kin woman.

[Joe War- Handed] "Shuwah t'ing, lady. But I gotta feelin' yew might miss da main event.. yew shuuuuwah?" Joe's elation is quiet, broadcast from his face rather than his bray of a voice. The words are loud enough to be conversational-

Then his face jerks back around to Silence. Brow furrowed, as though he'd guessed the ending of a movie and it turned out differently than expected.

"uh?" He clears his throat.

"Seeya latah Silence-rhya"

[Drew Roscoe] "Yeah, I'm sure. I'll see ya at home."

She rested her cheek against the broad expanse of his upper arm for a second, taking her moment there to pull in a deep breath, to flick her eyes toward, then just as quickly away from Silence while he regarded Joe and Joe regarded him back. She had no idea how Imogen could stand to share a bed with that guy, assuming she did at all. Seeing the pair of them interact the first time she came to a Garou gathering, they seemed more the type of couple that had their own singles beds, and it was an uncertain thing as to whether they were even in the same bedroom. Had to take a spinal cord made of iron to be so close to something like that.

But he moved along, and she lifted her face away from the comfort of a similar monster's arm, that of a boy that had scared her senseless, evoked survival and defense instincts in her within the first few encounters, and slipped her hand down his arm to give his fingers a squeeze.

"Bye," was her farewell, and she turned to find the beaten path that led out to the patch of dirt intended for campers and hikers to park their vehicles in.

[Moira Murray] We'll discuss this shit later.

She is stared down. Her tongue holds its silence, cut off from any other words. She does not lower her eyes or chin until the Athro Modi is gone. She has forgotten to breath. She remembers that she is suppose to when she can feel pain in her chest.

Moira sucks in a deep breath, expels it out in a small sigh. She runs a hand cross her eyes and then looks back at the Rotagar, meets his pale blue gaze. She turns to close the distance between herself and the Rotagar. A hand comes out to lay against his arm, stretching up to press her cheek against his.

"I will speak to him." It is all she can promise.

Mouth to Karl's ear she murmurs something into it and then pulls back away from him. It seems the party was over with, and after having ruined the festivities for the Get gathered. She pulls away from Karl to walk away down the path to leave.

[Silence] [thanks for the play, folks!]