Daniel Broken Hammer

[Callie] *It's dinner time. Actually well past dinner time in Callie's opinion but it's been a slow morning and she planned on something more substantial than scavenged hot dog. It's payed off too, some passing suit taking pity on her sodden state, or maybe feeling the guilt, but either way she got a big fat payout from it and now she's about to make the most of a sandwich almost too big to hold in both hands and spilling over with sausage, bacon, egg and whatever else looked good at the counter*

[Daniel Ingenssen] As it so happens, Daniel is getting dinner from the same sandwich joint. Or well, for him it's not dinner; it's lunch. He stares for a long time at the meats and shredded vegetables on display; in the end, he gets a philly cheesesteak... minus the cheese, with absolutely nothing on top.

The sandwich guy looks at him a little funny as he hands over a heap of meat in a hoagie roll. Daniel pays with coins and, walking out, looks for a place to sit. It turns out to be about six feet from Callie. The Fenrir, whose only mark of being such is his sandy blond hair, his prominent bone structure, and the rage baking off his skin, pays the Fianna no more mind than he would any human. Frowning at his sandiwch, he lifts the top piece of bread off and starts to eat the meat off the roll with his fingers.

[Daniel Ingenssen] LESS LURK. MOAR PLAY.
to

[Daniel Ingenssen] LESS LURK. MOAR PLAY.
to ...

[Callie] *Callie's too busy scoffing her own to pay much attention to anyone else or their choice of filling. If it weren't for that unmistakeable sense of being close to a human-shaped bomb she probably wouldn't even have noticed his existence. But, once her initial hunger has been satisfied and she's got time to look around her eyes drift instinctively in his direction*

[Daniel Ingenssen] By this time Daniel has picked at least half his roll clean of meat. He pauses to pick up the slab of untouched bread that had once capped his sandwich, tearing it into small chunks with his fingers. These he throws out onto the pavement, all at once.

Needless to say, a tornado of pigeons descend.

Masked by their wingbeats, Daniel mutters to the waif eyeing him, "Keep your eyes to yourself, girl." There's a faint accent in his voice, hard to place. His eyes stay on the birds, dark and direct, occasionally blinking quick as a hawk's.

[Callie] don't worry, I won't scare off your little feathered friends *she says, and it could be indignation and reassurance. A large chunk of sausage is extracted from the remains of the sandwich and popped into her mouth, complete with a staggering amount of some kind of sauce.* but if you don't mind me saying I'll be surprised if you get them to come any closer!

[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel's head snaps around at that, nailing Callie with a fierce, dark stare. "And why do you say that?"

[Callie] because you're a scary looking guy *she grins, holding off on eating any more while he seems to want her to talk. Her head tips just a little to one side, squints at him through the still-falling rain and waves her free hand in his direction* do you ever look in the mirror?

[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel's eyes narrow now. Callie could swear Daniel actually sniffs in her direction, a quick staccato series of inhales, nostrils flaring. Then he snorts out as though he'd caught a foul scent.

"Fianna. I should've known. Why didn't you announce yourself, seeing as how you were already sure of what I am?"

[Callie] *she shrugs* well, if I wasn't before I am now . . *if she has a recognisable accent it's nearly British, overlaid by now with hints of Boston. She doesn't seem particularly bothered by his obvious disdain for her tribe. She returns to picking bits and peices out of her sandwich, eating and licking her fingers in between talking* besides, why should I. This isn't your territory that I know of

[Charlie] It's near dinner time, and rather than partaking of the food in the kitchen at the Brotherhood, the Theurge staying in Room 8 has decided that he'd rather like to find some sort of meat on a stick from downtown. Downtown is the only place in the city where he's been able to find meat on a stick. So he goes downtown.

The weather is brutally cold, the sort of cold that normal people don't want to stay out in for too long because it causes the nose to run and the fingers to numb up and fumble, but it's above freezing and for those who are from areas of cold weather, who know what a winter in New England or Canada is like, this is nothing. This is still somewhat temperate. 35 in December is to be expected, not complained about.

Still, Charlie is actually wearing a coat today, one of the hemp affairs that his kinswoman gave him months ago, hood up and hands without gloves. He's got his hands in his pockets, and he's got the hooded-eyed look of someone who's been communing with the great spirit Ganja recently.

He comes upon his brother and a Septmate, pigeons swarming the nearly empty sidewalk. Callie is saying that this isn't their territory, and Charlie squints as he slows, joining them without a word.

[Daniel Ingenssen] "Because it's the polite thing to do," Daniel replies, vexed. "And the smart thing. If Spirals came I'd know you were an ally instead of trying to take your head off along with theirs."

The Forseti, who has the thin, wiry look of someone who's lived close to the land, close to the bone, looks at Charlie as he approaches. His mind reaches out to the Theurge's: a wordless greeting.

"This is my packmate, Charlie Lights-Out," he says to Callie. "And I am Daniel Broken-Hammer, a Forseti."

[Drew Roscoe] You'd think that after Drew's weekend she'd want to just stay inside for the following five days and recover. Just keep her arms wrapped about her bristly-furred dog, proper her feet up in front of a space heater, and watch horrible movies that she loved so dearly and shamelessly until the memory of barn stables and screaming, dying werewolves was faded out from her memory. But she heard Lonna leave her apartment, peeked out the window and watched her friend get in her car and putter on away to do goodness-knows-what, and Drew came to a decision-- why the hell should I waste precious minutes of my life lingering on the bad? To hell with that, I'm going out.

So Drew had patted her canine, left the radio on for him, and departed.

She'd come to the park rather than going off to the mall or stopping in at The Artisan for a free meal and a smile and hug to everyone that was working. Outdoors rather than indoors, she wanted to feel fresh air and smell freedom (and exhaust, and greasy rolled tacos from vendors, everything that reminded her she was back in Chicago and not lost out in the rural Illinois hills), so she went to Grant Park.

The little Fenrir Kin was trotting merrily along one of many paths that whipped and wound through the space, hardly aware of the face that the only Metis she'd had the pleasure of meeting (aside from one that was now dead with pieces of his flesh still stuck in Joe and Curata's teeth) was up ahead along with two other wolf-folk. She had a pair of ice skates strung together by the laces like this was the forties, tossed around her neck and thumping off the chest of her nicely insulated red winter jacket. Hands were in her pockets, earbuds jammed into her ears, and her pace was bopping along to whatever music she was listening to.

Wasn't being alive nice?

[Callie] and then obviously, I could just go around introducing myself to Spirals by mistake. *seeing Charlie she holds up her still slightly smeared and sticky hands in acceptance* ok . . ok . . fair enough, well, I didn't know. Hi Charlie

[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel looks irritated as his introduction fails to garner a return of the favor, but he says nothing more about it. Instead, the Forseti continues to eat his sandwich, leaving conversation to the Theurge instead.

If it can even be called a sandwich at this point. He's removed the top slab of bread, torn it up and fed it to the birds. Pigeons are still swarming at a radius of two or three yards at him, occasionally darting in closer to snatch a crumb of bread up. Sitting on the bottom loaf of bread is a stack of sliced beef and absolutely nothing else; no sauce, no vegetables, nothing.

He's eating the meat with his fingers. And when he finishes, one expects he'll throw the second piece of bread to the birds as well.

[Charlie] Daniel is almost as thin as Charlie, who has the build of a Bone Gnawer and the stubborn tenacity in fights to match. It's why he's often mistaken for one. That, and his perceived perpetual deference to those around him. Most people mistake him for either a Bone Gnawer or a Child of Gaia before he bites the bullet and offers up his tribe. Even then people aren't always immediately convinced that he's actually a Fury.

If he were truly convinced of his own worthlessness and weakness, one would have to imagine that he wouldn't be choosing to spend any amount of time around Daniel after the confrontation that had occurred after their last battle this weekend. Yet he doesn't slink up to the bench with his metaphorical tail between his legs. He walks up with his shoulders back and his head up, and he stands beside Daniel as though they are in a pack and not as though he fears or expects domination.

"Hey," he answers Callie, reaching up to scratch at his sternum through the weight of his coat. He sniffs, then asks, "How much did that sandwich cost?"

[Callie] *she looks at what remains of something that was once a fairly substantial sausage and salad and goodness-knows-what-else sandwich and grins* less than you might think! . . they sell them over there *she points to a stall in the distance* they got all the prices set out so you can pick and choose as much as you want to spend

[Daniel Ingenssen] "About three dollars if you don't get any of the fancy toppings," Daniel adds; no cheer, no commentary, just the facts.

(sorry folks, kinda busy!)

[Drew Roscoe] This is what an average teenager looks like when they aren't letting themselves get wrapped up in the average troubles of a young soul-- homework, boys, girls who get the boys, fashion, Wyrm monsters trying to devour your essence... They looked like Drew Roscoe in this moment, happy and healthy and young and bright. Or they were supposed to, at least. And who cared if she technically wasn't a teenager? Semantics, semantics.

Her lips moved to whatever she was listening to as she bopped on up the path, and she stopped a couple dozen yards shy of where Charlie, Daniel and Callie made a lot of Rage for one little bench outside of a tiny little sandwich stand. She wasn't looking toward them, though, didn't recognize the blast of Rage in the icy air just yet-- it wasn't quite strong enough to strike fear into her weathered (still weathering) heart just by proximity alone. She was busy looking out behind the stand at what lay beyond the light slope of a small hill. Surrounded by tightly knit young trees, branches bare, looking cold as a sweaterless chihuahua would on a day like this, was a pond. With snow on top of it. Which meant ice.

She flashed a grin that looked mostly victorious and ducked her head to pull the ice skates from off her neck, and stood right where she stopped, feet spread apart and hips switching left to right with whatever she was listening to while cold, mostly numb fingers worked to undo the laces.

[Charlie] The Theurge's eyes lazily jaunt down the street to follow the Ragabash's pointing, the rest of him leaning somewhat so that he can get the place in his sights. She gives a roundabout answer whereas the Forseti's is more straightforward. He nods, ceases his aimless scratching of scar tissue that is hidden from view thanks to his layers of clothing.

"Sweet," he says, and troops down the sidewalk without another word. Apparently he's made up his mind.

[Joe Holst] Sullen muttering wafts like smoke from the corner of the bullish Modi's mouth as he tromps down one of the paths. Eyes red rimmed, nose cherry red from the cold, he's dutiful if unhappy about it. He'd told Marrick he'd patrol Grant Park- so patrol he did, with broad shoulders hunched and fists punched like heavy stones into the pockets of his flight jacket.. the flight jacket that could use some lining, for fuck's sake.

Grumblegrumblegrumble. He stares hard at a happy, passing couple- begrudging them the right to be so happy outside of a heated enviornment. The strange part is he's Fenrir. The Great Wolf made them- but bitter cold whelped them.. it seems less the temperature and more hidden concerns that take his humor away.

[Callie] *Charlie drifts away again, as he so often does, and Callie finds herself once more with the Fenrir. She sucks the last vestiges of sauce off her fingers and slides round on the bench, slippery with rain and sleet, facing him* ok . . Callie Walks-the-Line. Ragabash. So, there you are. Introductions made.

[Moira Murray] The afternoon spent in the park is a stolen bit of time away from her duties. The morning wasted on the boring task of playing errand girl for someone at Hill House. Moira had called in after her lunch break and made up a story just to get the rest of the day off. She spent that freedom wandering Grant Park.

Stepping out into the cold after visiting the museum, she huddled up into the heavy layers of a black wool trench coat. Her hair bound up in its usual style of a long single braid that escaped the confines of a snug wool knit cap to fall over her left shoulder. The sturdy flat-soles of worn combat boots thrum against the pavement, crunching down snow as she escapes the pathway to cross over snow-filled lawns.

She twists her head, turning to watch the people that linger in the park, eyes taking in the sights and wonders of how different the city look painted in winter. For as long as she has lived here, the southern born kin has never grown used to it. Often reveling and swearing about the cold.

[Daniel Ingenssen] Charlie walks off to get food. The 'polite' thing for Daniel to do now would be to resume conversation with Callie, particularly since she'd offered an introduction.

But he doesn't. The Forseti's attention is caught elsewhere -- so firmly and so suddenly that it draws his wiry, lean frame upright; furrows his brow. He stares for a few seconds. Then, without so much as an excuse-me, he gets up and walks directly, purposefully toward the Fenrir-bred kin with the ice skates.

Drew is just bending to put her first skate on when Daniel reaches out to pluck her earbuds out of her ears.

"Kinswoman of Fenris," he addresses her, as though this were her name.

[Callie] *Another shrug, Callie slips off the bench, scrunching the remnants of a paper napkin up into a ball and wanders off after Charlie in the direction of the sandwich stall where at least they have a bin*

[Drew Roscoe] Drew's cold-numb fingers were nimble enough in the end, the laces had come undone, and she hummed a verse to herself from the iPod tucked away securely in a pocket somewhere on the inside of her coat, grinding a little strain into the last note when she dropped down to sit on the pavement, where at least the snow was cleared away, even if her ass would chill through the denim that covered it, and started to go about untying the shoelaces that kept her sneakers on.

It was about that point that a set of shoes and knees came directly in front of her, and a hand moved toward her face.

Can you blame the girl for her immediate response? I'd hope not. After all, she'd shot down a Black Spiral Dancer in this park before, it was a dangerous place to be, and while she had scolded herself and promised to just take it easy and have some fun today, that didn't stop her from being ready and alert. She reached up to swat the hand away, jerked her head to the side to try and keep his fingers away from her face, and rocketed up to her feet, nose and forehead crinkled up in a 'what the hell?' expression.

Kinswoman of Fenris, he called her. This had her blinking, expression smoothing just enough that it went from offensive, fight-or-flight, to cautious suspicion. "....Yeah?"

[Joe Holst] Crunch crunch crunch.. the boots keep a loud cadence as he tromps aimlessly, everything zipped and clipped and buckled to his chin. A stutter step and his boot whisks through a snow covered pile of leaves, sending drifts of snow to float through the air.. the brief sparkles seem to pick him up a bit. His attention continues to slide through the trees until a small clearing around a fountain reveals some of the other's enjoying an Illinois winter day. The terrible donkey bray will never be interrupted by anything as debilitating as a cold, so it remains just a bit too loud. The hunting horn of a dangerous lower middle- class.

"Ey MOIRA! Yoah shit fallin' off yet?"

[Moira Murray] The bray of the Jersey drawl snaps Moira’s attention immediately, she isn’t used to hearing her name screeched across the park like that. The statement almost has her hackles raised as she expected the mouthy Rotagar to be yelling it, but is a bit surprised to see Joe instead. Her nose crinkles up, pausing to stop and stare back at him.

She starts to laugh, pink color blossoming in her cheeks standing out in bright contrast to pale features and bright blue eyes. “No, Joe, I’m bound rather securely, but thank you for asking… I think.”

Nothing else holds her attentions, so Moira redirects her path to walk to the young Jarl, meeting up him halfway. She grins at him, “I’d think you of all people would be used to this weather, Jersey boy.”

[Daniel Ingenssen] Now that he had her attention, this 'kinswoman of Fenris', Daniel seems at a loss. He stands there frowning at her, her earbuds in his hand.

The Forseti is not particularly tall; an inch or two under six feet, one might guess, and narrow across the shoulders. Narrow in the hip. Narrow, narrow, all of him lean and tough as jerky. His eyes are dark, and the slant of his orbits -- pure scandinavia -- combined with the downturn of his mouth give his face a permanently mournful look. If Rage weren't burning off of him, as strong as an Ahroun's, it would be easy to write him off as the downtrodden, the weak, the neglected and dejected.

His hair is cut close, a sandy blond. And he's rather underdressed for the weather in jeans and a fleece-lined hoodie. The cold doesn't seem to bother him.

Fenris made them, after all. And the cold whelped them.

At length he releases her earbuds. Unless she catches them, they fall to the snow, almost soundless. "Do all purebred kin of Fenris wander this protectorate openly?" Dark eyes flick around; return. "The Scab is dangerous."

[Drew Roscoe] He stared at her, and she stared right back. Whatever examination he was making of her while trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with himself after actually bringing himself to the girl's attention wouldn't yield an awful lot. Her lower lip was busted open and scabbed over, like someone had landed quite the blow to her face a few days ago tops. Her skin was lightening up now that the sun was spending most of its time hiding behind clouds and she was bundled up under clothes. Her hair was brown, rich not bland, and bound at the nape of her neck with bangs falling helter skelter about her face. Her eyes were also brown, and about as strong as you'd hope a Get of Fenris Kinfolk's would be.

One eyebrow crawled a little higher as she waited for him to say something, then a small yelp of "Hey!" was exclaimed when he dropped her earbuds after having yanked them out of her ear. She reached out to catch them, did so (barely), then wound them up around a hand to tuck away in her pocket.

His question was met with a sniff and a sideways tilt of her head. "You telling me I should have an armed guard wherever I go, or that I should just stay inside all my life?"

[Joe Holst] "Foyst Wintah like-" Joe blinks and clears his throat- put your head together, Joe.. screamin' out shit like that.. He tromps closer to the dark haired witch and chucks his chin up a bit before he continues, voice lower. He turns to walk with the slender Seidr-cona and speaks as bright eyes continue to swivel against the winter glare, watching the park. "Et's mah foyst wintah on tew feet since I hit mah secon' pub'aty, yeah?" He cocks an eyebrow and nods a bit.

[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel's head tilts too. No; it cocks, like an animal's. Suddenly his eyes are very direct, utterly unwavering.

"It was a question, kinswoman. At the Sept of the Seventh Isle, where I was born, our kin lived close to the bawn where they could be watched and protected."

[Moira Murray] If Moira realized that the Fenrir beside her regarded her as witch, she would have laughed outright. The notion was very far from the truth, she did possess a cauldron, and an ancient textbook filled with herbal remedies and potions… and owned a cat, which wasn’t black.

It takes her a moment to decipher his accent, Joe always made her brain work overtime, having to think on his choice of words. His second pub’aty, brought a confused look to her features, dark lashes sweeping down against her cheekbones in confused blinking.

“Second pub’aty?... oh, Oh! Right,” she shakes her head, “Your first change…” she murmurs the latter. Her eyes sliding away to glance over the park as his did. “I grew up in the south, in Florida. We don’t have snow ever… just every other act of God known to mankind.”

[Moira Murray] (very close to the truth - blah, not far)

[Drew Roscoe] "Dude."

..obviously this girl wasn't raised on etiquette and proper terms with which you should address what could be considered your 'betters'.

"I don't know what a 'bawn' is, for one. For another, I've got my protectors, thank you very much, and I can call on them if I find myself needing them. So far that system's worked out pretty well, seeing as how I'm still alive." She tipped her chin down some, spread her arms open in a gesture to her own physical well-being (busted lip aside, of course), then looked back up to him with an expression torn between 'See? Told you so' and something more pleasant, what really should be there when you're meeting someone new.

"Don't suppose we could, like, exchange names or something? I'm sure you're about as keen on being called 'Wolfman' as I am being called 'kinswoman'."

[Callie] *Callie tosses the screwed up napkin into the bin and starts walking through the slush, all that remains of the formerly neat edged path and grassy spaces, heading for the exit that will place her closest to home*

[Daniel Ingenssen] "Are you not a kinswoman?" Transiently, the corner of Daniel's mouth crooks up. "Am I not a wolfman? I call things as they are.

"But for the sake of the Veil, you can call me Daniel." Before she quite gets a chance to respond, he points at her lip. "What happened there?"

[Izzy Montoya] Coffee. She lives on the stuff, and has quickly relocated every coffee shop, every coffee stand, and has learned which ones to avoid, which ones are passable, and which ones are the best. This little stand in the park is by far only passable, but it's closest to her, and they at least brew a cup that's hot and mudlike, vs. lukewarm at best.

As she stands at the window, waiting for her cup, there's no mistaking what Izzy is; Most obviously, to all, she's a cop. She holds herself like one, her look seems to scream it even if her badge is currently in the pocket of her sleek trenchcoat, and the astute would even notice the bulge of her holster at the small of her back. She wears sensible shoes, dark slacks, a light colored blouse that is tailored to fit her slender form, and finishes the look with leather gloves that fit her hands like a second skin. To others, those born True in the nation, she is more - so much more. She is the daughter of Heroes and Warriors, of those filled with bravery, courage beyond measure, honor and wisdom and glory above all. It fairly thums through her being, her blood, singing to those who glance her way. She is a Daughter of Fenrir, and one of note.

To Izzy, though? She's simply cold. "Hurry the fuck up man. Seriously. Coffee, black, four sugars one cream - it's not fuckin' rocket science!"

It's bloody cold here in Chicago. Moving back in November? Not one of her brightest ideas.

[Joe Holst] "Dassright. FLahrida, huh? Hip Hop land? Wouldn'a t'ought it ta lookit ya." Steam floats away from Joe's unhandsome, heavy jawed mug as they walk.. he blinks again as he spies Drew down near the pond, and the lean, hard lined man with her. There's pure breeding, and then there's raw Scandinavia shrieking from your skin. The difference might be subtle but as they draw closer it becomes more and more telling. Something hitches gleefully across Joe's shoulders.. Drew seems as comfortable as she's likely to get around a stranger for a while.. could it be? More of Great Fenris' own?

[Moira Murray] “Where did you think I came from? Bellow war cries and brandishing a spear while riding wolf-back like some Valkyrie down the cliffs of the Scottish Highlands?”

Amusement writes itself into her voice, shaking her head a little as she glanced his way, studying the pit-bullish heavy features of the Fenrir she walks with. She follows his eyes to the pond, her attention drawn there now. A hand pulls out from a coat pocket, bound in soft leather, lifting up to rub across her brow, sweeping aside black bangs to tuck them along the rim of her knit cap.

“Seems as if Drew is a magnet for strangers, is he one of ours?” The question pressed quietly, focusing her gaze fully on Daniel as she watches him, trying to gauge his mannerism and attitude through the expressions of his body language.

[Drew Roscoe] "Yeah, I guess, but still..." She furrowed her brow just a little, but the frown was more comical than it was true, staged for effect, to try and coax a full smile out of the sandy-haired guy perhaps. Sandy-haired, but she could call him Daniel. She greeted this offering of a name with a broad smile, one that was bright enough that the urge to reach out and pat her on the head eclipsed most other for half a second. Her hands jammed into her coat pockets, both at the same time, while she put the earbuds away, even if that was only necessary for the one hand.

"Awesome. I'm D--..."

She's cut off by his lifting a hand and pointing to her face, asking what happened. She blinked and pulled her lower lip in to hold it gingerly between her teeth, running her tongue over the scabbed-up area. Oh, that. She let go of it so that she could talk again, finishing the sentence she was trying to get out when he jumped in with inquisition. "Well, I'm Drew, so you can call me that. And this is a story I probably shouldn't tell in a park. But let's suffice to say that it wasn't exactly friendly fire, y'know?"

[Dominick Crane] It's cold outside. Too cold for hanging out in the park, or walking the trails or passing a blissful day in repose. Not that he'd partake of any such activity. Hot, or cold. He steps off the bus at the corner, clipping the metal latch of his messenger bag shut as he slings it over one slender shoulder. The Chicago wind blusters his ebon hair, revealing a shock of pale white skin, and a glitter of baby blues before he lifts a half gloved hand and rakes his shaggy hair back into place over his eyes. "WTF is up with this wind?" He says into the blue tooth that hangs from one ear as he starts toward the park.

Just because he wouldn't partake of a lazy day in the park, doesn't mean he doesn't have reason to go there. Black and white striped Converse sneakers have a choke hold on thick wool socks which in turn strangle the sleek black denim of skinny jeans. Skinny jeans take on a whole new meaning when they're encasing the twiggy legs of a pubescent male whose voice has barely made it through the awkward crackling stage of puberty. "Fuck that noise. Reznor's a pussy. Did you see the numbers Crainus put up last week? That's what I'm talking about. Pure pwnage man." A pair of metal balls adorn in full lower lip, a fact that is almost hidden by the sheer volume of the black and pink paisley scarf he wears. A three quarter length wool jacket flaps around his knobby knees as he veers into the park, baby blues sweeping the landscape as he goes. "Bring it asshat. I'll be online by six. Fuck no... I am not doing Ulduar again."

[Joe Holst] A smirk colors his face as he tilts his chin to respond to Moira. All teen, no reverence. "Dunno- but dat's HOT, so youse outta tell dat one instead. Flahrida's feh pussies. Heh."

Holy... Joe's considerable forward momentum is reigned in with a haphazard scrape of boots through snow and ice- he blinks past Moira to Izzy- a swivel of eyes to compare the two before he scowls slightly in confusion.

" 'Ey Em- yew know dat broad?" Joe tilts his chin at Izzy.. jaw slackening somewhat at the BLAZE of breeding surrounding her motions in shades of hard winter and harder swords.

[Izzy Montoya] Finally, coffee in hand, paid for and mixed to her specifications, and she turns away from the stand and starts off on the path. She plucks the lid off the coffee cup, dropping it in the nearby can as she starts to walk toward the pond - for no other reason than that's the direction she's headed in.

She lifts the cup, steam washing over her face as she takes a sip, than hisses as it burns her tongue. "Motherfucker..." and then takes another swig anyway. Sometimes you gotta burn your tongue to save you the travesty of taste.

[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel doesn't give a full smile. If anything, he goes the other way, the corners of his mouth turning down again. "And that's exactly why the Seventh Isle kept their kin close to home. Your breeding makes you a beacon for the Wyrm. Even those as wretched as Jormangandr's own know the strength of Fenris and covet it for their own."

The lean Forseti's eyes are everywhere at once, perceptive in a way few humans would dream of being, and few Garou even managed. That Moira and Joe are watching him catches his attention sooner or later. Makes him turn, makes him look right at them. A beat; then he leans down and picks Drew's ice skates up. Apparently she was done skating before she even began.

"Come with me, kinswoman."

[Dominick Crane] Motherfucker...

Baby blues life behind a veil of shaggy black hair, and settle on Izzy briefly. A slow smirk forming on pierced and lightly glossed lips as a half gloved hand comes up again to sweep hair from his eyes. Black fingernails color the pale tips of his fingers as he adjusts the scarf around his neck and taps the blue tooth at his ear to shut it off. "Newb." He mutters under his breath in response to his phone conversation as he finds a bench and sets his messenger back atop it. Peering around the park, he pauses before unclipping the metal latch of the bag and flipping the flap open.

From inside he pulls a digital camera. A laptop. A connecting wire. Expensive equipment for an for a kid to be toting around.

[Moira Murray] “Tell you what, Joe, I’ll go find a spear and you give me a ride and I’ll scream battle cries just for your amusement.”

She ends up walking a few paces past the Fenrir before stopping completely, turning back to look at him in surprise as he is stopped in bewilderment. She looks around, first in the direction of Drew and Daniel, and then back to Joe.

When he asks her about Izzy, she tilts her head furrowing her eyes a little. Moira knew some people, but not many of the recent faces. “No, I have never seen her before in my life, why?”

[Drew Roscoe] "Jormund--" she thought she'd try out that crazy new word for herself, but messed it up before she even reached the middle. Her brows dipped in close together as a frown of serious thought, genuine this time, settled onto her face. She shivered a bit and moved her hands to tug the fur-lined hood of her coat up, then looked down to follow this new guy's movements when he leaned down to scoop her ice skates up in one hand and insisted that she come along with him wherever it was that he was going.

"Hey! Again, it's Drew. One syllable, ain't that tough, Daniel. And you wanna know what I got for extending my trust to some stranger last time? No, ya probably don't. I don't what you are. Could be putting up a really good act for all I know."

She half-squinted about, then paused at the image of two familiar faces up an adjacent path from them.

"Here, look." One hand swatted Daniel's elbow to catch his attention (as though that was necessary), then that same hand pointed over to Moira and Joe. "Big bald kid? You met him yet?"

[Dominick Crane] Setting up his "rig" he kneels next to the bench, skinny legs bent at the knee, pale black nailed fingers picking away at the small laptops keyboard. When he's through, he lifts the camera and plugs the connector into it before turning it on. Checking the screen on the laptop to make sure the picture is good, he starts taking aim and shooting.

Naked branches. Wind torn litter. Iced pond. Drew and Daniel. Joe and Moira. Izzy.

Whatever crosses his view finder.

[Joe Holst] "Cuz we outta. Like right away. She's fambly- an' mebbe him tew-" Never one for manners when brutish gusto will suffice, Joe thrusts a thick finger at Izzy, then at Daniel.. who gets a doubletake, and the hint of a scowl that seems oddly solemn. His attention remains on the man long enough for him to drop the hand pointing at him, and bullish Joe gives the lean man a faint nod. Good. Everyone coming together.

Joe spreads his hands and claps them together as he nods from Moira to Izzy. "Yew get her. I'mma say hi tew da new guy. We all needa know each uddah."

He chuckles a bit, teeth flashing from behind thin lips as he responds belatedly to what Moira herself had said. "An' don' t'ink I dint catch dat. Any moah outta youse an' imma tell Joss on YEW."

The smile explodes across his face almost manic, then he drops it again and turns to Drew and Daniel, waiting for them to arrive. Yes.. that man isn't completely human. Joe's stony hands slip from his pocket with the unconscious over-preparedness of any Fenrir who still carries a bit of the patina of the Fostering. Their tribe makes a hard lot... and it only gets harder.

[Moira Murray] “You are a big boy, Joe,” she grins at him when he responds to her comment, “You don’t need to hide behind Joss to handle me.”

With that, Moira walks past him, giving the young Jarl a friendly nudge in the arm with her shoulder as she does as she is asked, making her way towards Izzy. She watches the woman, moving as quickly as the snow will allow her to, boots flattening a pathway with each snapping crunch.

A tilt of her head, warm breath steaming in the air as she exhales, calling out to Izzy, “Excuse me, Miss?”

[Izzy Montoya] She is the observant type. In her line of work, she has to be. Perceptive, aware, and despite her brashness, good at her job. She has noted the group ahead, as well as the boy on the bench. While the equipment is expensive for a kid to be toting around, it's not necessarily a warning sign. Not in today's electronic world. She simply notes him, his position, and scowls as his camera is aimed her way.

As she's deciding whether or not to approach that bench, she is called too. Politely even. She takes another swig of her coffee, and when Moira has closed most of the distance, answers. "Can I help you?"

Aw, she CAN be polite.

[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel is nothing close to human.

He walks on two legs. He has opposeable thumbs. The hair on his head, the bristle of his beard, and a light dusting of body hair is all that remains of his mammalian fur. Other than that, he shares almost nothing with humanity.

His eyes are too direct, too unwavering. There's something about the way he moves, too, light on his feet, wolf-lean. As Drew follows along, prattling like the girl she is, Daniel says to her quietly -- not rudely, though rather firmly -- "Be quiet, kinswoman."

Then they're within the Modi's range, and Daniel drops his eyes quickly, but significantly, from the other's. It's a rare Fenrir that will defer to another without even a show of might-testing; but then, Daniel is not entirely like most Fenrir.

"War-Handed, I saw you at the moot." Once he begins, there's no stopping; it all comes out, laid forth with no hesitation, no pride, no fear. "My name is Broken Hammer, a son of Fenris shamed by his own blind wrath. I have stolen from Fenris. The theft was that of the life of one of his True warriors, wrongly slain for a crime he did not commit. I will never be able to repay Great Fenris, but you are Jarl in this protectorate. If wish to exact a price from me, it's yours to ask."

[Daniel Ingenssen] (i know you've been busy, so you mighta missed this post in the moot thread:

http://www.chicagodusk.com/smf/index.php?topic=7053.msg38635+msg38635

--but that's where Daniel introduced himself to the sept and gave a pretty good summary of what he did!)
to Joe Holst

[Joe Holst] ((Thanks for reminding me!))
to Daniel Ingenssen

[Moira Murray] Moira stops a few feet away from Izzy, enough to be a considered a polite distance when approaching a stranger to converse with them. She looks back over her shoulder once, to see how the encounter with Daniel and Drew is playing out. She swings her gaze back to Izzy, flicking her eyes up and down quickly, and then offers her a rather pleasant smile.

She points over her shoulder to Joe, “My friend, Joe, would sent me over. He’d like to make your

[Drew Roscoe] Daniel was walking off with her ice skates anyways, muttering to her a quiet but firm and direct 'be quiet'. Drew stood, blinked once, and opened her arms to no one in particular in a 'What the fuck?' gesture, palms turned skyward. She huffed some, indignant, and shook her head, then walked along after him.

Not because he said to follow, but because he was heading over to Joe, and because that asshole was still carrying her ice skates.

"It's Drew," she insisted yet again to his back, and jammed her hands back into her pockets as she trotted to catch up, then came to a stop beside the too-lean man, reaching out to snag her skates back from him while he was glancing down and launching immediately into some explanation of how he killed someone and wanted to pay Joe fifty bucks to make up for it or some shit like that.

"Hey, don't you think you should contain that? Since this is kind of a public arena and all?" She fully expected another 'be quiet kinswoman', but didn't seem deterred by that at all. Instead she glanced to Joe, flashed him a smile and lifted her hand in a silent 'hi'.

[Moira Murray] She points over her shoulder to Joe, “My friend, Joe, would sent me over. He’d like to make your acquaintance, that is, if you aren’t busy.”

(finishes sentence...)

[Izzy Montoya] She arches a brow, slightly, and looks past Moira to Joe. There's an awful lot of Joes in a city as big as Chicago, and she gives him a slow once over - and then smirks, slightly.

"Alright. Any particular reason why?"

She takes note of the others speaking with the bullish kid, and then returns her gaze to Moira, closing the distance between them, a gesture with her cup letting her take the lead in the groups' direction.

[Joe Holst] "Drew. Shaddap a minit." He nods to reinforce the heavy order before he returns his eyes to Daniel. "At's a story I'll have in full, Broken- Hammah." His reception of the other's introduction is wolf- swift.. a thing easily missed by any not very aware of the often dangerous underpinnings of body language. The bullish kid is receptive, polite enough, and precise- the rest is missed for the wintery glare even under Chicago's muddy sky. A gust of air preceeds what else he says, then Joe's muted Jersey honk skates between them again.

"Ah'm new ta dis. Ta mah role. Buh' I dew know yew reprimand in private. If Maelstrom owah yoah folk demand a price from yew we'll deal widdit back home. Tanight, when I'm shuwah yew aint awready paid twice. Ok? Inna meantime welcome ta da Scab, Forseti."

[Moira Murray] She clasps her hands together, curling leather-bound fingers over the knuckles as her arms draw up to her chest. She waits until Izzy has closed the distance between them, stepping to the side and turning, walking when Izzy starts to join her.

Her voice is low, “He’s the Jarl,” she says with a grin, “And identified you as family?”

[Joe Holst] ((Guys I am really sorry but I have to run off for about 40 minutes. Truly very sorry. I look foreward to continuing with you all later though.))
to Daniel Ingenssen, Drew Roscoe, Izzy Montoya, Moira Murray

[Izzy Montoya] She arches a brow slightly, and gives him the once over again. The smirk returns, and she takes another swig of her coffee. It really does taste like shit - the other guy does it better.

"Ah. That Joe. Christ, he's just a motherfuckin' kid." She runs leatherclad fingers through her hair, and lets it fall back over her shoulders. They get younger every fuckin' year. "I figured he'd find me sooner or later. Met a friend of his... Thomas... a week or so back."

Yeah, that went swimmingly. "Name's Izzy. Detective Izzy Montoya. I take it you're a member of this family too?"

[Drew Roscoe] Be quiet, shut up. Shhh, big kids are talking, just stand there and look chilly for a minute.

Drew lifted her eyebrows a little, then sighed her defeat and shrugged. Sounded like business anyways, the kind of stuff that maybe she should be paying attention to so that she could learn details, become more educated... but it was political. Garou politics were made of centuries old meetings around fires in European woodlands and pacts made over shields. They were primal and outdated, though rooted in simple, functional logic, she had to admit. She didn't much care for many of them, but she didn't argue openly with them either.

Instead she clicked her teeth together once, glanced down, then knelt and set her skates up on her thighs so that she could re-lace them. Looks like she wasn't ice skating any time soon after all.

[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel nods to that, once, grim and sharp.

Then the bullish young Jarl is moving off; Daniel is rounding on Drew. "Does your mouth never stop, girl? Learn to keep it shut when the Trueborn are talking, or one of these days a wolf with a harsher temper than mine will shut it for you."

[Drew Roscoe] Joe excused himself with some sort of murmer that was too low with that thick Jersey muck of his for even her to make out, and she typically did a pretty bang-up job of getting around it to understand what he was getting at. Soon as the boy with hulking muscles and a gap in his front teeth was a dozen yards or so off, Daniel spun about to berate her.

She looked up at him with a crease of irritation on her face. Her mouth tugged at one corner, pulled back in something that looked like it might be half of an obviously forced smile, but in truth was simple restraint. Her eyes narrowed a touch, then closed when she forced lines smooth by pushing her eyebrows up and shrugging.

"Alright. Whatever you say, chief."

[Moira Murray] “Yes, as a matter-of-fact, I am,” Moira says without looking at Izzy, her attention on Drew mostly, narrowi-eyed as she watches her and Daniel together. Joe has to make a hasty retreat and she sighs, her head drops down and shakes slightly.

“She may need rescuing,” this murmured to Izzy with a bit of fondness, glancing to her. “Moira Murray, I work with Hill House, a kinfolk organization here in Chicago.”

Moira clears her throat, lifting her voice up over the park so it reached the other kin clearly, "Hey, Drew, have you met..." indicating to Izzy, who walks beside her.

[Izzy Montoya] "Pleasure." It comes across as something simply said, that she has no real investment on if meeting Moira is a pleasure yet or not. She can be polite. She simply rarely is. "I've heard mention of the 'House, though haven't looked very deep into it."

Then Joe slips off, and Moira suggests Drew may need rescued. "Goody. I haven't fuckin' shot anyone today." A beat. "Yet." It might be a joke. It might not. Izzy doesn't clarify.

[Daniel Ingenssen] Amazing; she actually shut her mouth. Daniel looks nonplussed. Then he looks down; her ice skates are still in his hand. He holds them out to her.

"There are many of the tribe in the vicinity, so you might as well go have your fun. But go straight home after. The Scab is no place for a purebred kin to wander about recklessly."

(i gotta take off soon! will be back laterishly.)

[Kemp Oates] If he had heard the babysitting he would of choked to death. What little he knew of Drew, it was that she thought she was a God and never EVER listened. And he had little tolerance, it grew shorter by the day. It had gotten to the point that mostly he turned away rather than deal with the urge to splat. Fortunately Kemp turned up some distance from all of them. Just in time to catch a glimpse of Joe walking off in the distance and the sight of Drew and Daniel (who he had yet to met other than seeing him at the moot) and Moira over there with another he didn't know. Worse part was, out of those he saw 3 out of 4 was female Kin. It made him twitch.

So, despite his height, he worked at that one thing he did best, he tried to blend in with his surroundings, despite the puff of his breath in the cold.

[Drew Roscoe] "Yeah, yeah, I get it," she responded to him and snatched her skates back, completed lacing them together, and slung them about her shoulders carelessly enough that one might have a momentary jolt of panic for her that she's going to thrust a blade through that coat and into her chest. It doesn't happen, though, the ice blades click off one another and lay still and harmless on her chest.

She straightened up and glanced over to Moira when she spoke her name, blinked, then smiled. She remembered Moira quite well. Get of Fenris Kinfolk, one that apparently had some sort of history with Kemp. From what she picked up, anyways, and she didn't pick up much. They knew each other as kids or something like that. What she knew about Moira, though, was that the girl had to be claravoyant or something since she sensed danger that night in the dance club, she knew that the girl was practical, fairly smart, and what she would deem to be 'easy to get along with'. She'd decided she liked Moira when the girl had tossed her a gun and let her do her thing as opposed to running away along with the crowd.

"Hey Moira!" She cut a glance up to Daniel, briefly, as though checking to make sure he wasn't going to breathe down her neck for talking to Moira and this new woman or something, then turned her attention to Izzy. She had to look at the woman for a moment, had to think. She looked familiar but she couldn't place why immediately. Two seconds tick by, though, and it clicks. "Yeah! You're the gal that Thomas, like, gave a ballad about. Sorry, I didn't really catch your name so much as your grandpa's that day."

She smiled apologetically and shrugged, grabbing a hold of an ice skate with either hand and letting her arms relax like that, hanging by her chest.

[Daniel Ingenssen] Daniel, doubtlessly to Drew's relief, does not chase after her to berate her for some other wrongdoing or other. When she looks back, the Forseti is watching her go, frowning.

Then he too is turning away. He catches sight of Kemp -- but they're a ways apart, and the Adren looked like he was trying to be inconspicuous. After a hesitation, Daniel decides to leave him be. He nods to his elder; when he moves, though, he walks the other way, out of the park, toward the Brotherhood.

(thanks for the RP, folks! taking off for a while!)