Daniel Broken Hammer

[Broken Hammer]
Sometime late last night, Daniel seeks Kemp out. The Forseti is grimfaced and bloodyhanded. He carries what looks very much like a kill on his shoulder, but when he lays his burden at the Adren's feet, it's a woman. Still alive. Fenrir blood is strong in her veins. Her face is a ruined mess, as though someone had slammed it repeatedly into a brick wall.

Which... is exactly what happened.

Broken Hammer bends his head, eyes to the ground before the Adren.

"This is a Kinswoman of Fenris. I did this to her. I brought her here unhealed so you can see what I have done.

"We met on the street last night," Broken Hammer explains, tone neutral and uninflected, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. "We exchanged a few words; then I called her Kinswoman, which is what she is. She spat curses at me and screamed at me to call her by name. I attempted to beat her for her disrespect. She dodged. I told her to stand still for her punishment. She cursed me again, and I slammed her face into the wall twice. I then demanded apology. She spat her name at me instead, utterly unrepentant.

"At that point I ran her face into the wall three times. It was sheer luck that kept her alive. I do not think I would have pulled a killing blow.

"Standing witness were Dirge of the Covenant of the Fangs, Moira kin to the Fenrir, and Gabriella kin to none. Though none interfered, Dirge of the Covenant, to his credit, attempted to counsel wisdom toward the end. To my shame, I did not heed him.

"I believe she deserved a beating, Jarl. She has no respect for the Trueborn and for the sacrifices we make. But I do not believe she deserved to die. In light of my previous sins, my loss of control was utterly unacceptable.

"I ask punishment for my weakness."

Kora
Broken Hammer finds the Adren Rotagar at the storage locker that serves as his den. It is the dark of night, but another is there, too. The female is seated on the cold concrete floor a half-dozen feet from an electric heater humming on low, cross-legged, a Coleman lantern not far from her right knee, a notebook open in her lap. Blood is in the air. She looks up, sharp, still, from the Jarl to Broken Hammer, then down to the bloodied kinwoman at his feet.

Kora stands then, a neat uncoiling like a rope pulled to use, picks up the lantern and crosses the distance to the trio, the soft slap of her bare feet on the concrete floor. She doesn't mind the cold.

The cold light of the lantern casts the woman's injuries in stark relief - a pulp of flesh and bone, mucus and blood bubbling from the woman's broken nose with each shallow breath. "This woman," the Skald sinks to her haunches, then drops one knee to the ground, holding up the light over the kin's face as she studies Izzy's injuries. " - requires a doctor. Or a healer. She should not be moved."

In a gesture that would be tender were it not so matter of fact, Kora touches the kinswoman's temples with the tips of her long fingers, smoothing a few stray hairs away from the ruin of her face. She looks from Broken Hammer to the Truth-in-Frenzy again, her features still with thought - or memory, clearly awaiting the Adren's permission to speak.

Kemp
He was caught in the process of pulling on a clean shirt when the unexpected guests arrived at his luxury home, aka the storage shed.

To keep the chance of being seen to a minimum, he stepped back, allowing Daniel to enter and lay his burden on the cement floor at Kemp's feet.

No, he was not alone, so when Daniel spoke, it was in front of the Tribal sister, Kora. Before he got more than a grunt out at the bloody gift, Kora came over and made her observation.

"This woman requires a doctor. Or a healer. She should not be moved."


Kemp slowly looked from the smashed woman to Kora with a quirk of one brow.


"Ya think?"

"Daniel, if you have not met her, this is Kora. You two can do your introductions to each other, but first, if neither of you has a means to keep this one from croaking on my floor, then you Daniel, find it now. I want her alive enough to hear me out."

[Broken Hammer] Broken Hammer nods once, a curt and wordless jerk of his head. He kneels and -- not particularly gently -- clamps his hand over Izzy's forehead.

He is not an accomplished healer. He is, however, one of Bear's. Spiritual energy ignites somewhere deep within the Forseti; a moment later, the worst of the kinswoman's injuries heal. The crumpled-in scaffold of her cheekbones and nosebridge reassert themselves. A tooth, knocked free, spontaneously regenerates. Ruptured arteries bleeding out into sinus spaces reseal.

She's nowhere near fully healed. But she'll live. That accomplished, the Forseti stands upright again.

Kemp
Kemp watched as Daniel patched Izzy together, somewhat. Then glanced to Kora, one brow lifting as he waited for Izzy to stir.

"Let me guess, you have a story that goes with this? One that involves a Foresti who beat a mouthy Kinswoman to a pulp?"

Izzy
The first thing is pain. Blinding explosions of agony through her face, her skull, her mind. She doesn't groan though - she does not make a noise as she wakes - not at first. Then, she sniffs, and then gags on the blood in her mouth, and rolls to spit the bloody phlegm from her mouth, then makes a sound low in her throat, and does it again.

Quiet then, she listens, to hear where she is, who all is here. She could likely deduct where she was taken, but Kemp's question confirms it. Fuckin' wonderful.

Had she heard the story told, she would have corrections to make, the truth to be told. Had she heard... but naturally she did not. She is no where near healed, though it is enough that she may not need medical attention, but the night is still young. Her eyes are black and swollen, mere slits her lips cut and bruised, her face mottled colors that no face should be. She was no great beauty to begin with. This doesn't help.

She pushes herself up to sit, and begins the ritual check of her pockets, silent but for the harsh sound of breathing through her mouth. The search is two fold - it allows her to find her badge, her cuffs, her ID, her gun all where they should be - and it allows her to find her pack of cigarettes which is what she really wants. She shakes one out, and props it between her lips with a hiss, and digs the lighter out of the pack too. Pack returns to her pocket, she pulls her knees up, and braces her arms on them - holding the lighter in her right, and pulling the cigarette from her lips with the other, her head bowed as she clears her throat and spits on the floor again.

Charming.

Kemp
Izzy moved. She spit, she coughed, she fished out cigarettes and she spit on Kemp's floor yet again. It was the last straw. In a flash of movement his hand shot out, the smokes snagged, crushed in his hand as he leaned in towards her battered face and spoke in an oh too soft, level tone.

"You are in my home, such as it is. You will honor it, even if ya don't honor your own survival at this moment. Spit again on my floor and I will clean it with your body. Are we clear?"

Kora
"No - " Kora snorts softly. She looks up at the Adren then, her dark eyes glimmering with reflected, her mouth twisting wide with a lively - albeit decidedly grim - sort of humour. "I'm afraid, Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya, that it is not quite that specific. Still, if you'll hear it - " the Skald goes silent at first to ensure that the Rotagar's sardonic question was also an invitation to speak. She remains so, watching the exchange between the Adren and the kinwoman as the latter comes to, sits up, and pulls out a cigarette.

The grim smile stills, her features smooth over with thought, and her tone quiets. She pushes herself up from her crouched posture, standing to her full height. Then, she continues: "When Thorvald Shield-breaker beat a kinwoman into stupidity, Kveldulf Giantsbane - the Allseer - laid the wergild upon him to replace what he had stolen from Fenris and Gaia. Since none other would have her, Thorvald Shield-breaker mated her, and gave her care otherwise to his mother's daughter. In doing so, he restored that which he had taken from the tribe."

Izzy
"Oh for fucks..."

Only it sounds more like uhfafuh.

She grabs the waist of her blouse, destroyed already, and tears the buttons loose. Belatedly - not exactly clear thinking at the moment - she shrugs out of her coat, and then pulls her fuckin' shirt off to swipe at the spit because heaven forbid it mingle with her blood already all over the fucking place. Clad only in blood splattered bra, she pulls her coat back on, and tosses the shirt between her feet and braces her arms on her knees again.

The woman there says something, though it's not exactly clear through the buzzing in her own head. Stories names mating something. thumb idly slides over the wheel of the lighter, as she clears her throat again, leans forward and spits the wad of bloody phlegm into the ruined ball of her shirt, carefully wiping her mouth with the back of her hand afterward.

[Broken Hammer] Daniel tenses visibly, flicking his eyes from the ground to Kora.

"I am mated, Skald. She may have been taken from me on account of my failures, but when I have reclaimed my honor I will return for she who is mine. Do not think to dishonor me by forcing a second kinswoman on me."

[Kemp Oates] He listened to Kora's story and where he had been leaning over Izzy in menace, he now straightened with a horrible gleam in his eyes.

"You, shut up and listen."

He snagged the lighter from Izzy and threw it to the back of the small room as he spoke.

"You and you, introductions."

He indicated Kora and Daniel with a lift of his chin.

"We start throwing away order and we will be as bad as this willful Kinfolk."

Then he crouched down in front of Izzy and spoke.

"This is not a debate. There is no fairness here. We are wolves, not humans. So listen to me, and listen well for I have seen ya in action already. Twice now I have and twice now I have not been pleased. This is damned near strike three."

[Broken Hammer] "Daniel Broken-Hammer, Forseti and Cliath, fostered in the Sept of the Seventh Isle." Daniel has a faint, odd accent; something vaguely european but indistinct. Kora, with her Icelandic(?) ear, might pick up a hint of Scandinavia there, but it's adulterated, blended.

[Kemp Oates] "Bravery is one thing. One is brave when they risk themselves for a greater good. Even if that risk is because in their heart they too wished they could flee like everyone else. Mouthy is not bravery. I don't care what your ulterior motives were. I don't care if someone taught ya to be this way, or if ya have P.M.S. I don't care if this is your version of trying to show you are brave."

He remained crouched in front of Izzy, speaking in a soft even tone the entire time. His arms rest on his spread thighs, hands dangling loosely between.

"There's Brave and there's plain stupid and there's also instinct. Instinct....let me put it this way. A roach is a smart insect. It comes out when no one is up or home. It comes out in the dark, parties, has a great time. But when the lights come on, those with instinct, scatter. Those with a big mouth and balls, remain out in the light and get squished. Right now, you are the squished. Why? Because ya don't use the common sense instinct gives a roach."

[Kora] Her chin rises briefly, then she nods to the Adren's direction, turning back to Daniel. "I am she who offers sorrow, Skald and Cliath, fostered in the Sept of Vindur og Rigning, in Hjaltland. Our kin call me Kora Eyjólfsdóttir." Kora's own English is virtually unaccented, almost wholly American, except for the faint lilt that someone might bring back after an extended period abroad.

The Skald meets Broken Hammer's regard clearly and steadily, neither bristling nor turning away. The humor is long gone, however, and her glint in the lantern light. "It is an often-told apologue in the Sept where I fostered, Broken Hammer-yuf - " she responds quietly, surely. " - not literal advice, nor an attempt to dishonor you."

[Izzy Montoya] Were they able to actually see her eyes, there would be something there, a spark, a flare, something. As they are near swollen shut -there is nothing. A muscle flexes in her cheek, sending a whiteflash bright light of fresh pain through the bone, and she makes no sound - just a huff of breath through clogged nasel passages.

It's her name.
It's a simple thing.
It's a simple request she's made repeatedly - with growing ire. She did not even scream it. Exasperated snap, much as one of them would should she call them other than by their name. [...there's an idea...]

They know nothing of her - and she is not about to fill them in. Far from broken, far from squished. Aside from ragged breath through injuries, silence.

[Kemp Oates] "What I see here is either an uneducated Kinfolk, or a Squished Roach."

One finger jabbed at Daniel.

"I see there a hot tempered Garou. I see someone that would die for your kind, one that has lost brothers and sisters just this past week because they put their lives on the line every single moment of every single day. I see one of a dying race who deserves simple respect simply because of what he is."

He held up a hand to stop anything Izzy might be ready to cough out.

"Yes, you put your life on the line. I ain't discounting that. I am however questioning your respect and your instinct for simple survival. When Broken Hammer called ya Kinswoman, that was a sign of respect. It is not an insult. To take umbrage to it is one thing. To get hit and then still insist on being an ass, is asking to get exactly what ya got. Once again....instinct. The simple common sense of a Roach."

He smoothly rose, looking at Daniel again.

"Ya came to tell me that a Fang had to talk sense into ya. Ya came to confess and dirty my floor with this. Ya wanted punishment. Where it is."

He pointed at Izzy.

"This one is your responsibility now. You are to take her. Train her. Teach her. Protect her. If ya have to beat her, do not kill her. I will take umbrage to killing her."

His attention shifted to Izzy.

"Ya force this from me, just so ya know."

Once more he looked to Daniel.

"There is another ignorant Kinfolk named John Thorton. I don't think this one and that Kinfolk should be alone with each other. From this moment on, if she has anything to do with him other than work, you are to supervise it. Until she proves she is not a bad influence on a weak mind, I don't want them spending private time together."

[Kemp Oates] "In case ya haven't noticed, I don't care for Fangs having to consul my Tribe in anything. Anything. I don't care to know that the most insane one I have ever laid fuckin eyes on, had to be the voice of common sense."

He was staring at Daniel as he spoke.

"Your challenge is to make something of this mess."

He jabbed a finger at Izzy again.

"Don't disappoint me."

[Broken Hammer] This is the first time Broken Hammer and Sorrow have met. It is likely that ever thereafter their memories of one another will be marked or tainted by this single incident. It will not matter that Daniel was, until now, largely known for his few words and iron control, his devotion to the traditions of a bygone world. It will not matter that he counseled a brutal wisdom to his own packmate, nor that he stood against Truth in Frenzy in a Jarl challenge that was purely to honor the Adren and the tradition.

What will matter is that she sees him now, a Garou with a short temper, dark eyes snapping with rage, hands bloody from bashing a kinswoman's face against a wall repeatedly.

And, more importantly: a Garou who could not control himself.

The muscles at the corner of his jaw flex when punishment is laid down. He would have preferred a beating to this. He would have preferred a public shaming to this. It is quite possible he would've preferred anything to this, but in the end Broken Hammer only nods once.

"It will be as you say, Jarl. I ask only one thing. If I am to teach her and ward her as my own, then I ask that I am her sole and only guardian on all matters short of life and death. Henceforth let her be accountable to me alone."

[Kemp Oates] "Of course she is will be accountable to only you and of course, the Jarl. It is as it should be. What she does shames not just you and our Tribe, but me. I am sick to death of shame at another's hands."

His voice was steel.

"We are clear on this? I don't want her influencing the soft mind of John Thorton nor any other Kinfolk with a bad example. If she learns something, let me know."

"

[Izzy Montoya] Something in there amuses her - but there is barely a twist of her lips, before she's clearing her sinuses again, and voiding the mess from her mouth to the shirt.

Otherwise, she remains silent.

She'll have plenty to say, no doubt about that, but for now...

[Kora] The Skald stands quiet now, holding her counsel in close rein. Her arms are crossed and her hair loose, bare feet spread shoulder-width on the cold concrete floor. The lantern on the floor casts them in wild, looming shadows, but her attention flashes neatly between their faces - the bloodied Forseti and the steel-voiced Jarl.

[Broken Hammer] Again that tension in the side of his face. "No Jarl," he says quietly, "I mean -- accountable only to me. I pledge not to kill her, and if I do then that shame is mine to bear. But otherwise, let her be my kin and mine alone if I am to teach her. If she knows the Jarl stands above me, she will run to you every time she disagrees with what I say to her."

[Kemp Oates] He shook his head slowly.

"You heard me. I will not budge in this. Though I will give ya this much."

He looked down at Izzy.

"Ya come running to me? Remember first the Roach. I will accept no whining."

He looked back up to Daniel, dead in the eyes as he spoke in a even tone.

"What I said stands."

[Broken Hammer] The Forseti's lean cheeks flush with color. For the first time, his eyes flick to the Rotagar's, but hold only a second before dropping away.

"It will be as you say, Jarl," he repeats.

[Kemp Oates] He nodded once, curtly.

"Now, if you require further healing for your Ward, I will call in help. Otherwise, get her out of my sight after she wipes her mess from my floor."

[Broken Hammer] Daniel looks at the kinswoman for a moment, then returns his eyes to the floor between Kemp's feet.

"That won't be necessary, Rhya. She doesn't need further healing."

He reaches down, though, picking up the bloody mess of Izzy's shirt in one hand, hauling her to her feet with the other.

"Wait for me outside," he instructs.

[Kemp Oates] He might be Jarl right now, but he was also a Ragabash. It suited his own sense of justice and that weird sense of humor to make each of them responsible for the other. He watched as Daniel hauled Izzy up. She liked to show she was strong, she was above it all. This was another one of those chances.


"Remember Izzy Montoya, Kinswoman of the Fenrir. What you do reflects on Broken Hammer and it reflects on me. I won't take any more shit. Show me you are worthy of the blood in your veins and smarter than a Turkey drowning in the rain. Show some respect and you will gain some."

[Izzy Montoya] He reaches for her, and she grits her teeth, the flash of agony white hot between her eyes, across her skull as he hauls her up.

She jerks her arm free the moment she's on her feet, straightens her coat, doesn't bother to button it, and when she's sure she can see the door, she stalks out - mostly in a straight line. She does not stumble until she hits the door, over the lip of the storage unit that she couldn't see, but she catches herself with a grip along the side, and steps past the doorway and outside.

At least someone knows how to use her motherfuckin' name.

[Kemp Oates] "WAIT!

He bellowed as Izzy jerked her arm free.

"Already you start on the wrong foot! Don't...piss...me....off!"

[Kora] The female stands back from the pair of them now, watching. Her arms remain crossed in front of her lean torso, her feet flat on the bare floor. Then Izzy jerks her arm free and the Adren bellows at the kinswoman's back as she stalk/weaves toward the door. The Skald's mouth flattens into a narrow line, but her expression is largely lost in the mottled darkness.

[Kemp Oates] He was on the verge of doing something ugly to Izzy himself. His voice was nothing more than the grinding growl of gravel tumbling from the back of a dump truck.

"You do not jerk your arm from his grasp. You show humility Izzy Montoya, or I will show you what frightened really is. Now, turn around, apologize and then get out of my sight in a courteous manner."

[Broken Hammer] Daniel, bloodsoaked shirt in hand, waits silently.

[Izzy Montoya] Again, the grit of her teeth as she turns. Oh she will have plenty to say. It is bottled for now as she grits out. "My apologies."

And out again.

Daniel will find soon enough that touching her will never be pleasantly received.

[Kemp Oates] He didn't wait for her to get out of eyesight before he spoke to Daniel.


"I take it back. If you find it impossible not to kill her, I might not take umbrage to it. Sure I will frown a bit and make noises, but this one shows no sense of survival instinct. It might be a lost cause."

[Kora] The skald-woman does wait until Izzy out of the door. Then, in a low voice that suggests a sort of leashed, subsumed fury, she speaks. "Respectfully, Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya, Broken Hammer-yuf - that woman is a tool to be used like any other, not destroyed. Before you kill her - " she looks from the Rotagar to the Forseti, and back again. " - give her to me."

[Kemp Oates] "She is a fucked in the head, thick skulled, stubborn fool who lacks the instinct survival. If I gave her to you, how long before she was doing just as she is now? I don't think she needs coddling, I think that's what's wrong with her now. Someone filled her head with M&M's and the fuckers are melting."

[Broken Hammer] Broken Hammer watches her go. His eyes flicker Kemp's way again, an impression of darkness and alertness. He says nothing; bends to scrub blood and phlegm off the floor, grimly silent. When he's done, he wads the shirt up in his hard hands and stands.

"Weak swords are returned to the fire, Skald." There's a hardness in his tone; he does not shy from her gaze at all. A beat, and then he nods to Kemp. "Jarl, I'm taking my leave."

He waits for dismissal.

[Kemp Oates] "Broken Hammer?"

He waited till he was sure he had Daniel's full attention.


"I can understand why you lost your temper and beat her. I really can. I just expect better of ya. You don't need someone of another Tribe advising ya not to kill your Kin. What you need is to learn to control your urges, no matter how fucking good it feels to give in to them at that moment. Punishment is not really a learning thing. Ya can't just do something and then say, oh I was wrong, punish me. It's not like confession and Hail Mary's."

He spoke softly, then lifted his chin, letting Daniel go.

"If it becomes too much, come to me before ya kill her. I will take the shame first."

[Kora] "Swords at not the only tools at hand, Forseti," the woman responds, her attention direct and clear. " - if the weapon breaks when you use it as a lever to lift a heavy stone - is the weakness in the weapon? Or in the hand that wields it?"

Then, to the Adren. "Jarl, I do not ask for the woman. I have no desire to keep her. I would not coddle her. But before you endorse the death of a pure blooded kin of the tribe, I ask that you give her to me."

[Kemp Oates] He turned his head to look at Kora.

"No, not at this time. Let us see how they grow together, if they can grow."

[Kora] Kora looks at the Adren, her dark blue eyes gleaming. Then, she simply lowers her head, blonde hair loose, spilling over her shoulder as she does so: acceptance, submission.

[Broken Hammer] (hey, can i get a post in?)

[Kemp Oates] ((Do it!))

[Kora] (Apologies!)

[Broken Hammer] Kora receives no response: Kemp ends the debate; speaks to Daniel.

Again that muscle flashes in Daniel's cheek, the Forseti so lean and hard that the motion is clear under his taut skin.

"Rhya," he says quietly, every word hardbitten, "I was cast out from my Sept and the Hand of Tyr for inability to control my wrath. I know very well what my weakness is. It is how to conquer it that I have yet to learn.

"I have given my word. I will strive to teach this kin, not to kill. If I fail, then the shame is mine."

There is no farewell; he simply turns away, stepping out of the storage shed. A thin crust of snow crunches beneath his feet. Near Izzy, that snow is red.

"Let's go," he says to the kin.

[Kemp Oates] As the door closed behind Daniel, Kemp smiled. Then he chuckled.

"Ya know."

He turned to look at Kora.

"I find casting out such a pussy way out of doing what ya should of done in the first place. This one I will not cast out. I might have some altercations with him, but I ain't giving up as easy as his old Sept."

[Izzy Montoya] He appears, and she slips her hands into the pockets of her unbuttoned coat. She needs a cigarette like whoa - but has another pack in her car. A long fuckin' walk away.

The snow under her feet is red, but she pays it no mind. He doesn't touch her. He doesn't call her kinswoman. He says too words and she starts to walk - back straight, ramrod thing, thrumming with tension and pain, chin lifted, head held high.

She is Fenrir, after all.

"I need to get to my car before questions are asked." It sounds considerably less clear than that, but hopefully understood enough.

[Kora] There is still something leashed and fierce about the Skald's expression. Her features are sharp, and her expressive mouth is still. The grim good humour that drifted to the surface earlier in the encounter has long since subsided, and the tension in her body is clear - in the set of her narrow shoulders beneath the close-fitting thermal she wears, in the iron-straightness of her spine. The Cliath looks at the Adren though, her dark eyes focused on his features as his face melts into a smile and a chuckle thrums through her chest.

She is still keyed up when: Ya know - he addresses her, and her head cants sidelong, the gesture distinctively lupine, the blonde hair spilling further loose as she listens. Something eases in the set of her shoulders, then - not wholly, but just enough to lower the sprung tension stiffening her spine. Kora flashes a look - more tooth than smile. Her voice is intense and sure. "I'll remember that, Truth-in-Frenzy-rhya."

She is a Skald. Of course she will.

[Kemp Oates] "Heh. Ok, blow my mind with your tales. I could use the sound of a voice other than my own."

He made himself comfortable on the old twin mattress crowded in the small space and promptly closed his eyes.

[Kemp Oates] (((Thanks folks))

[Kora] (And thanks for letting me poke my nose in!)

[Izzy Montoya] (thanks for the play! :) )

[Broken Hammer] Broken Hammer does not slow. He does not appear to change his heading, either.

"Follow. Don't speak. Listen."

They leave Kemp's makeshift den behind, such as it were, and the Forseti's strides are the same determined long pace they always are. He has no vehicle -- no car, no motorcycle, nothing. He made the journey from the Quebecois shore to Chicago on his own feet, two and four. He is used to walking.

"It is not to my joy that you are my kin. I doubt it is to yours either. Nevertheless, here we are, and there will be rules.

"There will be a hierarchy. I rank above you, just as Truth in Frenzy-rhya ranks above me. Your human mind may not like it, may believe in equality and democracy and all those lies, but that is how it is. The day you manage to best me in combat, you will rank above me. I would not hold my breath for it.

"Because I rank above you, you will treat me with respect. If you do not, if you attempt to dishonor me, I will exact my price on your hide. You will not shout at me. You will not curse at me. You will not attempt to command me anything. And you will cease this idiocy in demanding that I call you by your human name. It is a stupid name, and tells me nothing about you. I did not call you broodmare, sow, cow, bitch, or any such term that may have justified indignation. I called you what you are. Until you earn a better title, Kinswoman is what you are.

"Because I rank above you, I will treat you with what respect I deem you deserve. I will not command you frivolously unless you show me that you are worthy of no better. I will not degrade or demean you for my own pleasure. I will not make a slave of you, the way other tribes do their kin. Contrary to what you may think, I have not treated you like offal, Kinswoman. Don't tempt me to.

"Because you are my responsibility now, I will protect you from genuine threats. I will also punish you for any mistakes you may make, in or out of my presence. Don't think to act one way to my face and another behind my back. If you dishonor me, I will react as if your insult were to me, personally.

"Finally, so long as you are my responsibility, you will live where I do. You will move into the Brotherhood of Thieves and take up a bed there. And until a Garou or kin sees fit to challenge me for your hand, your whoring will stop."

[Izzy Montoya] It is the last that she bristles at - the rest she expected because he is most certainly predictable. "I cannot live there. You are welcome to live in my home - even have the fuckin' bed, but I cannot live there."

There's something under it, something under her words, something she can't quite control, even as slurred and mushed a they are.

As for her whoring.
Well. She says nothing.

[Kemp Oates] ((Ok, I Must sleep. Let me know if I need to build that funeral pyre. Someone else has to bring the marshmallows and hotdogs. I will provide the roasting sticks and flame.))
to Broken Hammer, cricket, Izzy Montoya, spirits

[Broken Hammer] Broken Hammer stops dead, turning on Izzy.

"Did I fail to make myself clear? I rank above you, Kinswoman. So long as you are in my care, you will obey me. You will move in yourself, or I will drag you there by the hair. It's your choice."

[Izzy Montoya] She grits her teeth. "And I am ASKING you not to make me do that. I said nothing of anything else. Just that."

[Broken Hammer] And Broken Hammer's fist meets Izzy's battered face again.

There's this, at least: this time he's holding back. She ends up on the ground, dazed, not dead. He hauls her back to her feet.

"You will not shout at me," he says flatly. "And your request is denied. You will move into the Brotherhood until I can trust you elsewhere."

[Hatchet] [charisma + performance]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Hatchet] [nuh-uh!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 6, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[Hatchet] [that's right.]

[Nate Cross] [ Cha + Per ]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Hatchet] Hatchet is in the common room, a place he hasn't frequented much since last winter, when he and his pack first came to Chicago. They were under a different totem then, and they were a different pack. Even the Sentinels have undergone vast changes. Hatchet is the only remaining, only living, original member now that Curata has joined Charlie in whatever afterlife awaits them, though separated by the borders of different ancestral homelands. Since coming back to the city after his brief sabbatical, he's spent most of his time in his own room or patrolling, rarely seen otherwise. Only nowadays:

he sits like this in the common room, playing his used but well-tuned and cared-for acoustic guitar, strumming it idly for a long time before any particular song comes out of it. When it does, it's a song from a quarter of a century ago. He wasn't born then. He knows it well, though. It meanders at first, picking up speed and intensity only when he gets to the chorus.

"I'm just an agin' drummer boy, and in the wars I used to play, and I've called a tune to many a torture session..."

Though he seems to be playing idly, Hatchet's skill with the guitar and the warmth and richness of his tenor are startling, especially since he speaks in a rather low baritone. In another life he might have been a musician, not as hobby or habit but as a purpose in life. As it is, his purpose in life is war. Whatever talent he has with music -- and from the sound of things, he has quite a lot of it that could even now be cultivated further -- is going to remain a sidenote to the rest of his life.

[Nate] It had been several days since Nate had last seen or spent time with his pack. Of course he had dropped in to tell them abou the Gnawer meeting and how after much discussion he was now their mouth piece. He had wanted to tell Hatchet, but his Alpha wasn't able to be found.

But now Nate is walking out into the common room, a vaguely familiar voice filling the air. Nate had never heard his Alpha sing before, so he was surprised at how well he sung. He then joined in to finish the first verse with his own voice.

"Now they say I am a war criminal...And I'm fading away...Father please here my confession"

A smile playing on his lips as he remembers the song. The verse finished, Nate goes quiet as he waits for his pack leader to continue. Quietly finding a seat to continue listening.

[Joey] It's been some time since Daniel's voice came over the totem link, asking for one of their number to retrieve a kinswoman's car. Of The Sentinels, only the females, the No Moons, can drive. Both drive as if they were born to it, as if they learned to drive before they learned to walk. Joey learned other things before she first got behind the wheel of a car, but as soon as she was there she took to it as easily as she took to sports in her youth, and as quickly as she became accustomed to the ability to change forms a few years later.

The Get and the Walker turned to each other without a word. A few seconds later, and Joey's scissors beat Echo's paper, and the two set of to find an unmarked police car. That car was pushed to limits it might never have known it had in the brief time it took to get from the Mile to The Brotherhood. Joey drives like a monster, as quick and cunning on four wheels as she is on four legs.

The sound of their alpha's voice and his guitar greet them as they head up the stairs. Joey is silent as ever, unable to join her voice to her brothers' whether she knows the song they sing or not. She smiles at them when she enters the common room before disappearing down the hallway.

A few minutes later, she returns without her winter attire. She's dressed in a faded black t-shirt and worn jeans, feet bare and hair askew. Dropping herself down onto one of the bean bags, she settles in to listen to Hatchet and Nate sing.

[Izzy Montoya.] (repost)

He hits her. Again. It matters not that he's holding back, due to the amount of damage already done - she sees stars, she sees white flash agony, she falls again.

And is hauled upwards.

Mind switches tracks. Tickticktickticktickticktickingtimebomb....

[Hatchet] Very, very early this morning, Hatchet was lacing up his boots when his packmate's voice came across their link and informed them of what had transpired with Izzy. He doesn't know Izzy, hasn't met her that he can remember, hasn't heard anything about her. She's Fenrir Kin, so -- at least over the totem -- he says nothing about it. It isn't much later now, and he's sitting on the sectional couch waiting for what his mind has begun to simply refer to as Incoming.

Daniel coming in with his Kinswoman.

Joey and Echo coming in after retrieving her car.

Nate getting there whenever Nate gets there, which is now, to help him sing.

Hatchet's in jeans and a t-shirt and has kicked off his boots, sitting in socked feet while he plays as one by one, his packmates join him, bolstering their collective strength.

[Daniel] Early this morning, the whole pack received a message across the totem. After, there was nothing for hours on end. Then, not long ago:

There is a car parked on [address]. It is a [description]. Will someone retrieve it? I am escorting my kinswoman to the Brotherhood. I will explain when I arrive.

No explanation there, either. And no matter how long it took Joey and Echo to find and hotwire the car -- probably not long -- it takes Daniel much longer to walk back from Bronzeville.

Eventually, though, his presence nears across the totemlink. His footsteps sound on the stairs -- light, swift. Likely, the woman that follows him has a much heavier, less certain tread.

When he comes into view, Daniel is flushed from the cold and the walk. There's a wariness in his eyes that brings to mind some feral animal, half-starved in winter, vicious if cornered. He finds his pack, finds his Alpha, and looks directly at him as he steps away from the top of the stairs to allow Izzy to come into view.

To call the kinswoman battered is an understatement. Daniel allows his pack to look at her for a moment before he speaks.

[I'm just gonna keep typing -- just wanted to boot that out so I didn't take forever on my first post!]

[Hatchet] Hatchet's response when Daniel arrives with Izzy is minimal, on the outside. His fingers slow and then cease their strumming as he looks up and over at the woman. His rage is... surreal. It fills the room, pours out of him like a flood of light and heat. He is silent now, still poised over his guitar as though this will only take a moment, if that, and then he'll get right back to playing.

[Echo] End Transmission had heard the barest of details about what happened.

But, surprisingly, for her, she'd kept her mouth shut about her opinions on the matter, even when she went off with Joey to fetch Detective Montoya's unmarked cruiser. One of the benefits of driving with a Fenrir who had taken a vow of silence was that you didn't have to handle questions -- or push for conversation, really.

For once, Echo Quinn wasn't saying much, but knowing the Glass Walker No Moon, whatever she isn't saying will most likely come out eventually; anyway.

Holding back, at least verbally, isn't exactly something she was renown for. She re-enters with Joey, her dark hair hidden beneath a purple page-boy cap, her fingers and lips chafed from the cold. She ducks into her room briefly to shuck her coat and cap, her shoes and returns a short time after the Fenrir does in sweat-pants and a T Shirt, thrown over a longer-sleeved jersey. The tee has a logo on it, but the red writing is too faded to clearly make out.

She's still standing, knee resting on the arm of the sofa when Daniel turns up with Izzy.

The Ragabash's eyebrows draw together; she frowns, lips pressing together. Her Alpha's Rage is not the only that spikes at the presentation of a young battered woman, trailing after a Garou.

[Daniel] (btw, if you haven't already seen it? what daniel said on totemphone is on the pack forums.)

[Hatchet] [Clarification: I was just describing Hatchet's regular Rage. It didn't spike. *L*]

[Echo] [oh, well just echo's then!]

[Izzy Montoya.] Her tread is uncertain for more than one reason. One. she can barely see. Two she's about to piss him the fuck off again.

He heads up the stairs, and doesn't hesitate. She waits at the bottom. She waits until he's all the way up. And then she waits some more. She waits until he moves from the top. And then she waits another minute, two, while she simply breathes.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.

The sound is hard and harsh and thick and filled with phlegm and blood and god knows what else. At some point she swallowed a tooth. That will be a pleasant discovery on it's way back out of her system. Finally when there is no one on the stairs, she steels herself and makes the way up - quickly. When she gets to the top her teeth are clenched so tightly the pain is screaming along her skull, her spine is ramrod straight, and her breath shallow.

And her chin is still lifted. Her head held high. She makes no attempts to skulk or hide or anything. She stands there, her coat open, showing the bloodspattered bra, the blood coating her torso, her hands simply in the pockets of her coat. Her eyes are nearly swollen shut - unreadable. Her lips are cut, bleeding, and the bruising is really rather spectecular.

But she is not cowed.
Or beaten. Figuratively speaking.

[Daniel] Surprisingly, Broken Hammer does not lose his patience and haul Izzy up by -- as he threatened -- the hair. He stands at the top of the stairs waiting, looking directly at his pack. When she finally appears, unholy mess that she is, he makes a brusque gesture toward her.

"This is my kinswoman." His tone is clear, matter of fact. "In order to teach me control and teach her humility, Truth in Frenzy-rhya has given her into my keeping. She is now my responsibility. Mine to protect, mine to teach, and mine to punish if necessary. In this matter, I am and must be answerable only to Truth in Frenzy. I respectfully ask you all not interfere directly in my dealings with my kin.

"I have explained to her the laws of hierarchy that I will expect her to live by. Those of greater standing have the rights and duties of dominance and protection toward those of lesser. I have also explained to her that I will tolerate no disrespect toward those of greater rank. If she should behave dishonorably, please tell me at once. I will bear her shame, and I will mete out her punishment.

"Please do not discipline my kin directly.

"Until she is no longer in my care, or until she proves that she can be trusted farther from my sight, she will live in the Brotherhood with us. I realize the rooms are full. I will find a place for her to sleep."

He's finished. There's a curious formality about all this. He looks around to see how his pack takes his public service announcement.

[Hatchet] One of the tall Half Moon's brass-colored eyebrows lifts at some of the first words Daniel has to say. It lowers again, and his brow furrows faintly, at some of the rest. By the end, however, his expression has smoothed. He gives a single, small nod of acknowledgment, then starts to bend his head over his guitar again.

Out loud, he says nothing.

[Hatchet] I trust all of you are aware that the vast majority of what Daniel just respectfully asked of us should not need to be asked at all?

He asks this in a tone that could be labeled Just Checking.
to Daniel, Echo, Joey, Nate

[Nate] Understood Alpha is Nate's only comment
to Daniel, Echo, Hatchet, Joey

[Joey] Joey sits with her eyes half-closed when the sounds of humming guitar strings fades away. She opens those dark eyes when she hears footsteps on the stairs, looks first over Daniel, then curiously at the space he's left at the top of the stairs.

When Izzy finally arrives, the Rotagar's rage does not spike at the sight of the kinswoman's blood. Like the others, she's already been apprised of the situation. Whatever her thoughts on the matter are kept between firmly sealed lips.

She listens to Daniel's announcement thoughtfully from her place on the floor, not just to the words he says but how he says them, listening and absorbing. When he finishes, she just nods once. She doesn't say anything aloud, but she turns her head toward Hatchet, nodding just the once again.

[Nate] Nate sits quietly for the most part, his eyes fixed on Izzy and her injuries. A part of him would never understand how some of these other tribes worked.

[Daniel] There is a certain sense of abashment.

Understood, Alpha, Daniel echoes.
to Echo, Hatchet, Joey, Nate

[Echo] Echo Quinn is a big ol' hypocrite.

She isn't the gentlest of creatures toward some of her own Kinfolk. She knows this, she knows that sometimes she flies off the handle when she shouldn't, that despite the rank she's achieved, she's still got a lot to learn about being a decent human being. Because, the fact of the matter is, by her own standards -- Echo isn't human.

She doesn't remember being human, she only remembers being covered in blood and quaking with a fiercer anger than ever before.

She knows she's a murderer.
She knows she killed a bunch of people in cold [alright, frenzied but still ] blood.

She lives with the guilt of it, day in and day out and she does what she can to atone; to not be a complete and utter shithead to the world around her. But the fact of the matter is -- Echo Quinn takes a look at what her pack-mate has done to Izzy Montoya ... and she feels sick to her stomach. She feels something twist in her gut like it crawled inside her and will never emerge again.

She sees blood on her fists.

She stares at Daniel for a good long while, as if lost to the moment altogether; then she blinks away, jaw clenched and visibly forces herself to back down, to keep her temper. "Alright," she finally says, voice tight.

[Echo] Echo's corner is quiet, they can feel her anger, it's all mixed in there with understanding, with respect that Daniel accepts he's done wrong, with guilt all her own. I hear you. She says, in the end. Because she does, beneath the anger.
to Daniel, Hatchet, Joey, Nate

[Hatchet] That said, Hatchet goes on, a little bit quieter in their minds, a lower rumble, Broken Hammer, your treatment of your kinswoman affects how we see you just as Echo's altercation with her own did. Bear is a warrior, and Bear is strong, but Bear is a protector... and of humans, for god's sake.

I know you know you crossed the line when you lost control. I know many Fenrir deal with their Kin differently than other tribes.

I also don't care. Find another way to discipline her: this is not how the followers of Bear treat their Kin, or teach those weaker than they are. From the way she's holding herself, I daresay beating her won't do much good anyway.

For a minute there, he almost sound idealistic, as though he were speaking solely of who they are as a pack, why they exist, what Bear is about and how that relates to the purpose. At the end, his attention to mere practicality is almost cold.
to Daniel, Echo, Joey, Nate

[Daniel] He can heal her. They all know this. An hour or so ago, they felt him pull on the strength of Bear to do just that. Even with Mother's Touch spent, he still has talens; countless Breaths of Gaia that could repair all the damage done to the woman in seconds. She could be standing before them now hale and whole, unmarked except for the blood on her shirt.

But he does not.

Instead, Daniel brings his kinswoman here battered and bloodied. And he looks each of them in the eye; Echo the longest, as though measuring or memorizing her disgust and disdain and anger.

Then he turns away, nodding Izzy toward the hall. "Come. I will make a place for you to sleep."

[Daniel] There's a pause in Daniel's retreat, barely detectable but present.

Alpha, I cannot agree. There's a sense of trepidation there, banked but present. She is not human. She is kin, and as much a Fenrir as I am. She is subject to the same laws of discipline and hierarchy that I am. If I shouted obscenities at you, called you a defiler of your mother and demanded that you call me by name when you addressed me by title; if I thereafter refused to submit no matter how you warned me, I would expect to end up as bloody and beaten as she is. From the way my kinswoman behaves, I would say she's gone far too long without such consequences for her disrespect.

I do not intend to beat her forever. I do not intend to abuse her, or break her spirit, or reduce her to chattel. When she proves to me that she is no longer a willful child who understands only the language of visceral reward and punishment, I will teach her in other, better ways.
to Echo, Hatchet, Joey, Nate

[Echo] Maybe it's because their conversation the other night is still so fresh in her mind that the disgust shows so clearly in her eyes; maybe it's because she arrogantly assumed she could turn a lifetime's of learning around in another not of her tribe in the space of a half hour's conversation.

Sharing opinions.
Shooting the breeze with his Kinswoman.

It's hard to deduce exactly why she lets Daniel see all her reactions skitter-patter over her face; because there is more than simply disgust, or disdain or even anger there. There's also a tinge of the beast within her that meets his eyes and acknowledges him; that agrees with him, that understands him precisely in that moment -- and that goes hand in hand with the guilt, the shame that steals off her gaze, and she looks down, frowning.

[Izzy Montoya.] There's a muscle in her cheek that continues to jump. That it causes her obvious pain to continue gritting her jaw, doesn't stop it from happening. That she remains there, silent, is a testament of will. That she would meet their eyes evenly, their looks - no matter what they are, what they consist of, is clear, even if there is no real meeting of the gaze, with her's nearly swollen shut, unreadable.

Daniel could do a lot of things.
Izzy's mind is ticktickticktickticking, though there is precious little evidence of it outwardly.

He nods her toward the hall. She eyes the doorway. There's another spike of agony as her teeth grit harder - this time there's a sound in the back of her throat. There, than cut off. Chin lifts, and she follows him into the hallway.

whiteflashflareagonypainflashflashflashbreatehbreathebreathe

[Hatchet] As one by one his packmates respond -- either verbally or with nods, with glances -- Hatchet starts to strum at the guitar again. The song is slower now, different. He looks up only once more, watching Izzy and Daniel as the latter leads the former out of the common room and into the corridor. Pale eyes follow them coolly, gray irises turned almost metallic by the nearness of the full moon.

[Hatchet] For what it's worth -- and it may very well be worth a lot, coming from a wolf that outstrips him in both rank and status, at least in this pack -- Hatchet hears Daniel out. He doesn't cut him off at any point.

Daniel, I was not asking you if you agree. As often as I inform you all of my opinions, he says with some wryness, it is not necessarily that important to me that you all see things exactly as I do. I think if you wait for her to prove something to you before you try a method of training her that hasn't already shown itself a failure, you will end up with a broken female, an enemy, or a corpse.

However: this isn't about this woman, or about how the Fenrir behave. This is a tribal matter and I will not interfere with you or stop you if you beat her again; I will only intervene if I see you lose control, because that is the help you have asked for and that is my duty and desire as your brother.

My point remains: this is not how the followers of Bear treat their Kinfolk, or teach those weaker than they are. And it would grieve me, greatly, to lose you because your view of how members of your tribe must behave keeps you from behaving as members of this pack must.
to Daniel, Echo, Joey, Nate

[Daniel] A longer silence.

Then: Understood, Alpha.
to Echo, Hatchet, Joey, Nate

[Joey] From where she sits, Joey can't see the expressions that cross her sister's face. If she could, if she could understand more than what the Glass Walker let out across all of their minds, she might act differently.

But, her eyes are on the kinswoman, Daniel's and not hers. She studies the beaten, swollen face, the signs of a loss of control. She looks at Daniel, quiet again, stoic, keeping control with a sometimes iron fist. When they leave to head down the hall together, Joey pulls herself up from the beanbag in which she lounged. The Rotagar follows at a respectful distance from the kinswoman, her hands in her pockets.

She goes to watch and observe some more.

[Daniel] Daniel is very quiet as he leads the way down to Room 8. He walks ahead, hardly seeming to notice if Izzy hangs behind, and at the door concentrates on fitting his key into the lock.

When the door swings open, Room 8 is dark. It does not stink inside, but it does smell used, occupied: like someone else's territory.

Daniel reaches out and flicks the light on. The single ceiling lamp casts a rather harsh, unforgiving light over the paltry furnishings of the room. There are three desks, one very messy, one clearly in use, one almost bare. There is one large closet and one dresser exploding with clothes. There is one nightstand. Of the three beds, one is a pigsty; one is pink; the last, doubtlessly Daniel's, is neatly made and plain. There is a single old backpack stuffed under that bed.

"This is the room I share with my packmates Joey and Echo. My space is here," he indicates the bed, "and here." The desk nearest that bed. "You will not disrupt my packmates while you stay here. They have split the dresser and most of the closet between them, so store all your belongings in this desk.

"The bathrooms are shared. Towels are in the linen room. They also have soap there. The kin will feed you downstairs, but you have a job and you should pay for your fare. If you can contribute to rent, they would appreciate it.

"If you need to rest, you can sleep on the floor for now. But I will build a bunk onto my bed, which you can use as yours as long as you stay here. It will not take me long, perhaps a few hours."

He clearly intends to start right now.

[Daniel] (okay okay i have been informed both comforters are "shades of purple")

[Joey] [thank you!]

[Hatchet] True to her vow, and true to the purpose of it, Joey gets up and goes to observe. She goes to learn from another Fenrir, even one who is currently showing them his beaten-to-near-death kinswoman. She is going to watch, and listen, and not ask questions or offer opinions but ... pay attention. Hatchet's mouth actually twists slightly in a small, wry smile as she leaves, and as he goes on playing his guitar.

"You okay, Echo?" he asks quietly, after Daniel and Joey and Izzy have exited the common room.

[Izzy Montoya.] Joey steps into the hallway behind them - though it is a respectful distance, Izzy's shoulders turn, listening, grinding her teeth again. Her steps keep her isolated in her space in the hallway, even as he steps into the room, she hangs in the doorway. It's a physical force that screams through her, that has her hands clenching tightly in the pockets of her coat, that has her shoulders so stiff they ache, the blinding flash of pain whitehot between her eyes. [trembleshake]

He shows her a space on the floor.
He shows her the space claimed by the girls.
The windows are blocked.
There is a small space on the floor.
The.
windows.
are.
blocked.
thereisasmallspaceonthefloor

Joey's presence is felt behind her.
Daniel's fills the room.
Three Garou sleep in the room.
[rageragerageragerageragerage]
Izzy cannot take that first step past the threshhold.
Her eyes are on the window, blocked by a bed. On a window blocked by a desk. Of the small space where he would have her sleep until a bed can be built to enclose the room further, make it smaller, lockeddoorslockeddoorssmallroomsfourpeoplewindowswindowswindowsareBLOCKED.

Softly. Barely mumured. Practically whimpered though those gritted teeth.

please.]

This.
This no one ever sees.
If he could see her eyes, he would know.
There. is. panic. brewing. there.

[Izzy Montoya.] (coding fail! this:

"please."

is audible, if barely.)

[Echo] "Yeah," the pale-faced urrah says after a few more minutes of silence. She's crawled onto the sofa across from Hatchet and is currently staring off into space, fingers idly picking at a loose thread in her sweat pants. "No, I dunno, honestly." She says with a long exhale and draws one leg up, resting her chin on it and idly watching her Alpha's fingers on the chords.

"I'm real conflicted about what he did," she says, keeping her voice private, her thoughts off the totem-link. It does not feel like exclusion -- but courtesy. He was busy with his Kinfolk, she didn't want her words buzzing around his skull and distracting him. "On the one hand, I'm so disgusted I could puke," she admits, her honesty always there, like a slap in the face. "On the other, I look at what he did and think, yeah, I get why you did that. I so get it, and then I feel real ashamed of myself."

She makes an angry noise, and shifts her weight.

"In short, no, I ain't that okay."

[Joey] Joey follows after Daniel and Izzy, joining them at room 8. She doesn't speak up, or draw attention to herself, at least not on purpose. She's just here to observe, to watch.

Because she has so much to learn. Nearly all of her experience with kinfolk of their tribe has to deal with her family, and Joey would never discipline her mother or father, or her older brother. She would like to think she would never lose her control around them as Daniel has with Izzy. But her rage is only getting stronger, more fierce the longer she stays alive.

She follows behind Izzy, and if she notices the stiffness of the kinswoman's shoulders, if there is anything she can see from behind that would tell her of the panic brewing there, she says nothing. Joey does nothing, not to draw Daniel's attention to the kinswoman, nor to ease Izzy's fears.

But she is blocked from entering the room, her room along with Echo and Daniel. So she waits.

[Daniel] Standing in the center of the room giving the grand tour, Daniel frowns at Izzy, vexed. "What is the matter with you now? My packmates will not attack you for entering their space."

[Hatchet] No, I dunno, honestly, Echo finishes after her initial denial, saving Hatchet the trouble of calling Bullshit. Or Shenanigans. He likes both, frankly.

He listens, idly strumming, his eyes on the strings. To some, it might seem like he's not listening, but perhaps with Echo he just doesn't want to put the added pressure of his gaze on her. He just lets her talk at her leisure, without eye contact to indicate that he's waiting for her to do so.

When she's done though, he glances up and over at her, his fingers still traveling lightly. He plays scales. "If you ask me, it isn't the conflict between disgust and understanding that's messing you up. It's the shame."

[Izzy Montoya.] She swallows. Hard. Her hands are clenched so tight she draws her own blood across her palms with her nails - though she is so blood covered this new instance is likely to escape notice. Joey pauses, but is so close. So close.
[pushherinpushherdownlockthedoorsbarthewindowsthereonthefloorthereisasmallspaceonthefloor]

Where there was no hesitation, no fear, no anything when he beat her near to death - where there was no repentance, no pleading, no shaking - here there is what he'd wished from her then.

Her there is trembling.
Here there is fear.
Here there is blossoming panic.

"too.small."

With all of them.
With the rage.
thereisasmallspaceonthefloorthewindowsareblockedfourofthemragerageragerage

breathebreathebreathe

"Daniel, please."

breakingallisbreakingsheisbreaking
[weknowthisiswhatyouwant]

[Echo] Her dark eyes tick to the Fianna, she's tense, but notably, her agitation is not directed outward at him, nor anyone present now. It's entirely inward. Some might peg her fidgety, finger-tapping behavior as akin to that of an addict going without their next fix and truth be told, the Glass Walker does crave nicotine.

But her cigarettes are in her coat.
Her coat is in her room.
Daniel, Joey and Izzy are in her room.

Ergo, she doesn't get her hit. She gets a dose of the truth from Buried Hatchet, and looks at him -- measuring -- for a beat. Both these Garou have been Alphas before, one is currently the pack leader of the other. Between them is a sort of respect, at least on the female's side, that is different to that of the respect held toward the other pack-mates. Not merely that they are Fostern to their Cliath, but that they comprehend the hardships of being the Alpha. Of losing those bound to you, closer than any others to you.

Hatchet calls it shame, and coming from another, she might just have had a witty remark, for him, though, she has the truth.

"You might be right. Maybe it is shame, maybe it's cuz I understand it too well. Cuz I keep tryin' to fit you all into slots in my head. I figured I had Daniel in the right one, and suddenly --," she scratches through her dark hair. "I realize I don't know diddly-squat."

[Nate] For this whole time Nate had been quietly watching and listening. He had never been a witness to something like this before. Conflict filled his mind as he tried to process what he saw..what he heard...what he had been taught.. and what he felt in his own heart.

He had gone to speak several times, but this night words seem to fail him. However his fingers did itch though, and soon the pull of the chalk would be too strong. Nate would find himself somewhere...a brick wall or a deserted pavement and he would express what he had seen and heard tonight. A picture was worth a thousand words .. if it was done right.

[Daniel] Daniel frowns ferociously. He casts about the room. It's small for three -- four -- people; but it's not a goddamn sardine can. He's been in far tighter spaces. His eyes come back to the kinswoman.

"This is a weakness as well. You will learn to overcome it."

For a moment she might think he means to drag her into the room even if she flies into a screaming panic attack. But he doesn't. The Forseti looks over her shoulder at his packmate instead, unzipping his outer hoodie and flinging it onto his bed.

"Joey, can you help me?"

It'll take them a while. With his packmate's help, they completely the rearrange the entire fucking room until his bunk is situated somewhere beside the second window.

[sorry monki! you're gonna hafta redo that map *LOL*]

[Hatchet] He notes it. He knew it, felt it when he listened to her, understood on a level that -- interestingly enough -- no one else in this pack can. He and Echo have a rank in common and almost nothing else.

Almost. But not quite.

He's listening, and it seems no different on the surface from the respect he grants the other members of their pack, Cliath or no. Echo and he have not spent any time together privately talking over their lives. If there's an understanding between them concerning what it means to be an Alpha, it's possible Hatchet is unaware of it. He doesn't know jack shit about the Kismet Bytes, or that they ever existed. He hasn't ever asked Echo about previous packs or her roles in them.

Just as he doesn't talk about the Weasels, or whatever came before them for him.

If he shares her view of their relationship, if he shares the respect built around that commonality, it's hard for Echo to tell.

"Well," he says mildly, a touch wry again, "you said yourself you were ashamed. I didn't come up with that insight myself, sorry to say. That was all you, sister."

Hatchet glances over at her and smiles slightly. It looks warm, which may be unexpected but for the way he said sister. The way he called Daniel brother. The way he has, for the last several days, been spending more time with Joey doing little more than sitting together, being quiet together.

"Daniel's a complicated guy," is all Hatchet has to say about that. "Right now he's got at least three important parts of himself pulling him in three different directions, and those are just the ones I can see or guess at.

"You are, too. I can tell you this much, for what it's worth: I understand how you feel. Appalled, yet getting it completely. And I don't think less of you -- or myself -- for understanding why he reacted to her behavior with smashing her fucking face into a wall until it looked like raw meat. I don't think you should feel ashamed for being able to grasp that while still feeling... whatever else you feel. It isn't a bad thing, Echo, to be able to fathom that kind of brutality when we are, every last one of us, born and bred for it."

He stops playing his guitar, or stopped some time ago, and watches her. "If nothing else, it can help you be packmate and No Moon and sister to Broken Hammer."

[Echo] Echo cants him a smile, it's subtler than was typical for her, but there all the same. "I hope so, really. There's a lot to dig about the guy," she frowns, abruptly concerned. "Even if he doesn't get my The 300 references to his tribe. I need to open his eyes to popular culture, stat."

The No Moon rises, and hikes a thumb toward the kitchen.

"I need a beer, want one?"

[Izzy Montoya.] He's been in far tighter spaces - but not like this, not like the dark chasm that is swallowing her, not like the memories that choke her voice that have her do what she'd never do otherwise, actually ask - no, beg for him to just. stop. to just. compromise. To just take her home.

He asks Joey to help, and Izzy takes a step back to the side so fast her head snaps against the door, her hands moving from her pockets to hit the door beside her shoulders - even now her only conscious discipline is that she not go for her gun. There is blood on her palms, fresh. There are nailmarks there, testament to how tightly clenched she is.

She hates this.
Hates this.
Hates that of all places to force a breakdown it's here. It's in front of him. It's in front of them.

Her eyes are closed. Her breath shallow and fast. A tear trailing from the corner of a swollen eye, completely unfelt, unnoticed. He doesn't know, he doesn't understand..

fourtherewerefourandthispainisnothingjustalittlemorecomeonebitchyoulikeit
rageragerageragefuckingkinswomanfuckingwhoreragerageragejustaspotonthefloor
lockthedoorblockthewindowragerageragerage

They rearrange the room. She hears the movement, and even in her panic she recognizes what is done. weakyoureweakgetoveritgetoverititsnothingyourenothing but she remains there, pressed tight against the open door dontmoveitllbeoversoondontmove.

She finally slams her head back against he door.
stopstopstopthevoicesstop
Twice.

Brightwhiteflashintensitypain.

Breathe.

[Joey] Joey's head comes up when her name is called, and her attention shifts from the stalled Izzy to her brother. She doesn't nod, simply pushes past the kinswoman, regardless of her reaction to the sudden press of rage as the young Rotagar moves past her.

She helps Daniel rearrange his room. Unable to give suggestions, Joey moves some things to where she thinks they'll fit best, waiting to see if Daniel moves with her or redirects. Together, they make it work.

In a way, after they've shifted things around, Joey feels -- and looks -- relieved for the change. When they're done, she brushes her bangs from her face, then just settles herself on her bed, out of the way, watching again.

[Hatchet] "I'm good," he tells Echo, and bends his head over his guitar again.

Hatchet is unaware of the drama ensuing over Izzy's claustrophobia in Room 8. Joey and Daniel aren't alerting the rest of the pack to it over the totemphone, and he can't hear screaming, so he isn't disturbed. He strums his guitar while Echo heads out to get a beer, and when she comes back upstairs --

-- her Alpha is rising up, getting ready to take himself and his guitar into Room 1 so he can get some rest. He's been up all night. He gives a nod to Nate and, passing by Echo, bumps gently into her side. It isn't quite a hug. It doesn't quite need to be.

He closes his door behind him.

[Daniel] Izzy descends into hysterics. It may be some consolation for her to know: Daniel actually pays very little attention to her breakdown.

Instead, he works with his packmate, almost as silent as she is. They scoot things around. They lift and pull and move, and oftentimes the only communication between them is a tug on their shared burden. The desk shifts; the bed, the closet. By the end of it the wiry Forseti is sweating. He pulls his second hoodie off over his head, leaving himself in a thin t-shirt.

"Thank you," he says to Joey, who then parks herself on her bed to watch the show.

For his part, Broken Hammer walks out of the room, stepping past Izzy without pause. Hatchet and Echo see him briefly -- he's heading downstairs. And then down again, into the basement. Things thump around. Creak. Thud. When he comes back up, he's in near-man form. Under one arm is a great collection of hammers and nails, chisels, beveling tools and parers, a saw. Under the other are bed lofts, clearly designed to raise their twin beds off the ground to provide storage space underneath.

He drops everything in the middle of the floor with a great crash. Then he looks at Joey.

"Do you want to help me?"

[Hatchet] [Thank you guys for the RP!]

[Echo] Echo comes back upstairs, gets a passing goodnight bumping from Hatchet and points without speaking toward her room where all the crashing is happening. Wordless communication of: going to see what's going on. She comes to stand in the doorway if its free, if not, she waits til she can scoot past and then stares at the rearranged mess.

"What the fuck, man." It's a complaint and comment all at once.

She sips from her beer, and then offers a sip to the frazzled Kinswoman. "I can help, I guess."

[Daniel] (hey jimmy! everyone's in room 8, but door's open and an unholy racket is coming from it as Daniel & co engage in carpentry. also, izzy is having a meltdown at the door.)

[Jimmy Berchill] ((ah, I see, thanks.))

[Izzy Montoya.] She says nothing, there is a keening cry that raises as the voices threaten to overcome but she beats it back, she beats it back againagainagainagain. thudthudthudSLAM

He brushes past her and she flinches.
For the first time - and it isn't even him she feels.

While he is gone, she moves out of the doorway, to the solid wall of the wall in the hall, which she slides down, the press of her gun a comfort at the small of her back, the ache of her injuries, the flaring whitepain of her head... she hangs her arms over her knees. Closes her eyes.

Breathe.

[dontcaredontknowdontunderstadbreakbreakbreakbrokenragerageragerage]

Just breathe.

[Echo] Echo is watching Izzy, drinking her beer in silence. You sure she's alright? She don't look so good, man. Maybe I should get her a whole can of beer.
to Daniel, Joey, vikthya

[Jimmy Berchill] He looks around the area. "This isn't where I parked by car." He didn't own a car. He owned a truck. And it was somewhere near a train station in Cabrini-Green. How the fuck did he end up wandering out here. He didn't put it past himself to wander. Something in his blood always caused him to end up miles from home. He still was covered in cuts and bruising around his chest and face. His clothing is ripped and torn. Blood soaks his Navy blue shirt, Carhart jacket and his jeans -- what's left of them anyway. Maybe someone can tell me exactly where the fuck I am. He stumbles, slightly favoring his right leg into the area, where he hears the racket coming from. "Jesus, Joseph, and doggy style Mary...the fuck is going on around here..." He says it to himself.

[Joey] Joey can't answer him. She's not supposed to communicate with anyone, not aloud, not over the totemlink, not even with gestures or written words unless it's absolutely necessary. Of course, what is absolutely necessary is completely dependant on Joey's on judgement. By now, they all know this. They know that Joey is quiet so she can watch, listen, learn.

Daniel asks if she wants to help, and Joey raises her head, curious interest in her dark eyes. She likes making things, and fixing things. By now they've all seen her around The Brotherhood, fixing what needs fixing, working on her car, things like that.

She grins at Daniel, and pushes herself up off her bed to offer her assistance.

Izzy's weakness is completely ignored. Joey didn't follow after them to watch drama unfold. She came to see how her brother handled his kinswoman, and this whole situation. When Echo enters, Joey flashes that grin at her, then tugs at Daniel's bedding before looking to him, to see if this was part of his plan of action.

[Daniel] "My kinswoman has a problem with enclosed spaces." As he speaks, Daniel is on his knees amidst the pile of wood and tools in the middle of the floor, arranging. "She will learn to overcome this weakness, but in the meantime I've moved closer to the window."

He's quite matter of fact. He's absolutely ignoring the fact that Izzy is beating her head against the wall.

"I am making her a bunk atop my bed for as long as she stays with us. She will be using my desk for storage. She will not disrupt your belongings."

He stands up, lifting the headboard of the lofter, setting it flat on his desk.

"Come," he invites his packmates. "I'll show you what to do."

[Daniel] I believe she's as a child allowed to run wild all her life, Daniel replies. Until yesterday, I doubt anyone ever raised a hand to her. Whatever my lapse of control, at least one good thing came of it. Now she knows which lines are absolutely forbidden to cross.

So she's reverting to other methods of rebellion and attention-seeking. I believe right now she's throwing a tantrum. Leave her be. If you coddle her, she'll never learn.
to Echo, Joey, vikthya

[Daniel] (erk, cut the first "i believe"!)
to Echo, Joey, vikthya

[Echo] Echo Quinn scratches her elbow, and glances at Izzy in the hall.
Then at Daniel, studiously ignoring her plight.

"Uh. Huh." She says slowly, drawing out the syllables to expression her lack of total 'on board with this train'ness. Still, she doesn't deny him the right to fiddle with the room, she'll only the draw the line at his pulling up the floorboards and stowing the Kinswoman beneath them like some prisoner in the cellar.

Cuz, damn. That would be too fucking weird for her tastes.

"Hell, I only own like a handful of clothes, she can have some of my space if she likes, I leave most of my stuff on the floor, anyway."

[Echo] [express, not expression. Hurr hurr, I speak words GOOD.]

[Izzy Montoya.] Breathe.
Just breathe.

She remains where she is, eyes closed, concentrating only on the pain painisreal of each breath, of each deep intake of air into her lungs through cracked and broken lips, expelled once again, the pressure of swollen skin and bruised flesh, the hard unrelenting pressure of her gun at her back. She needs a fucking cigarette. She needs a fuc....

Breathe.

[Joey] [guys, I need sleep. just assume Joey's quietly helping out with the carpentry and the building and stuff]

[Daniel] Daniel offers a faint huff of a laugh, the first this evening. "Why don't you stow your stuff in your space, then?"

The Forseti proves -- though they already know this from the building of the longhouse -- to be a diligent, skillful carpenter. Though he has no great flair, he's familiar with the use of tools, and his hands are steady. He directs them with few words, relying largely on gesture and demonstration, but what instruction he offers turns out to be patient and sure.

A Half Moon, after all.

Gradually, he shows them what to do: how he'll first whittle the bottom ends of the lofter posts into cross-shaped protrusions; how he'll bore matching hollows into the tops of the posts on his bed. How the pieces will then fit together like lincoln logs, the top inserted into the bottom, stabilized by thin girders nailed around the sides of each bedpost. How the reinforcing runnerboards of the lofters will then be converted to sides for the top bunk, and how extra planks will be added along the bottom to support the weight of a mattress. Finally, bedposts are secured to the bedframe with short, sturdy crossbraces, giving structural integrity to the thing.

It takes some time -- several hours, most likely -- though it goes faster after a while with all three of them working. Room 8, and the hallway outside, and the common room, and likely the kitchen below, resound with the sound of hammering, sawing, moving furniture.

When they're finished, Daniel's bed is converted to a bunk. There's nothing pretty about it, but the furniture is sturdy, serviceable, and unlikely to collapse.

[Daniel] (sorry about crap terminology! not a carpenter!)

[Daniel] (er. dex+crafts!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Daniel] (...right. make that last line read: "It's a fucking masterpiece. A Da Vinci of bunk beds.")

[Izzy Montoya.] (*LMAO*)

[Joey] [dex + crafts]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Joey] [alright, i need to be sleeping. thanks for the scene! g'night!]

[Izzy Montoya.] Eventually the noises stop. Eventually they have finished with whatever they do. She ignores it all. She remains where she is, seeking the ability to enter when she must. Ticktickticktickticking the thoughts race, and points settle here, there, grasped kept, tossed, ignored.

She breathes. Her fingers flexing, then relaxing where they hang over her knees, relaxing into a curl. And she waits.

She doesn't say that she won't need room in any dresser, that very few of her belongings will make it here. She has no intention of giving up her apartment, of living here any longer than absolutely necessary. She doesn't say that she will not sleep until she literally can no longer stay awake. She doesn't mention that her gun will be under her pillow, with her finger on the trigger. She doesn't mention that she will stare out the window just to be able to breathe. She does not say she will be working double shifts, that she will be doing what the CPD has begged all along. She does not correct him when he suggests it's merely a weakness to get over. She doesn't say what he said that set off her meltdown. She doesn't say the thoughts that tangled in her head, that caused such intensity of reaction.

She doesn't admit she had a melt down at all.
She says nothing.

She simply breathes.

[Echo] When it's all said and done and complete, and they stand back to admire their handiwork, Echo has added another two beer cans to her little crumpled collection on the night-stand. Despite this, she helps where she can; she carries, she holds, she hammers if its called for and she refrains from singing while she does it to spare Izzy.

Or maybe its her pack-mates that she's sparing.
Who knew.
She cracks her back, the No Moon, and pushes sweaty hair from her brow. "Nice." She declares, and then nudges Daniel. "You should carve your name on it somewhere, a little sign to show you made it. Ain't that what people do?"

[Daniel] Daniel looks at Echo for a moment, wry. Then he picks up hammer and chisel and, in a few short strokes, carves a mark onto the top half of the bed.

Not his name, after all. A pawprint. A bear paw.

"Kinswoman." He's setting his tools down one by one. There's sawdust on the floor, which will have to be vacuumed up later. "The top bunk is yours now. There are bedlinens, blankets and pillows in the laundry room. I will go find a spare mattress for you so you can make your bed. In the morning, when you wake, please clean up the sawdust on the floor. We have built the bed for you; that will be your contribution.

"Henceforth, you will also return here every night by midnight. If you cannot return by midnight, you will call and inform me of the reason why. Do not lie to me. Do not make me track you down. Finally, as Truth in Frenzy-rhya decreed, you are not to go near John Thornton again.

"These restrictions will be lifted gradually as you prove yourself worthy of trust and respect. Consider this something of a Fostering, Kinswoman. When you have proven yourself able to handle your independence, you will be returned to your own devices.

"Are we clear?"

[Echo] Echo grins unabashedly when she notes what Daniel has carved on the bunk-bed. For herself, she had the same habit she urged him to begin engraved in the wood, engraved in her flesh. Tattoos, on both her hips, her shoulder, her lower back -- all marking moments in her life thus far.

"Awesome," she adds emphatically, and lopes across the room to dig through her clothes to locate her crumpled packet of cigarettes. She tosses her empty beer cans in the trash bin, and waves the smokes in the air, along with her coat to suggest her purpose. "I'm going up to the roof for a bit, be back later."

With that, the Glass Walker takes her leave for the moment.

[eee, I'ma call that echo's departure for the scene, guys. :] thanks for the play!]

[Izzy Montoya.] That is not exactly what was said, and he knows it. More importantly, she knows it. She knows exactly the restrictions that were made concerning John Thornton.

But she says nothing.

[breatheizzybreathe]
[ticktickticktickticktick]

Her jaw clenches [flashwhitehot] and she forces it to relax again. The hours in silence have garnered her some measure of control again. Echo waves cigarettes about and Izzy feels the need rise again. She beats it back.

Are. we. clear.

There's a lift of her chin, slight nod.

[Daniel] (*cough* change what daniel said to whatever kemp said. bad memory!)

[Daniel] Broken Hammer returns the nod in a single, curt gesture -- a jerk of his chin toward the door as he wipes his hands free of sawdust.

"Go get cleaned up. I'll go find you a mattress."